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There’s not many opportunities to sit in the fresh air in New York. There’s even fewer opportunities to enjoy the sinking sun, since the rays are blocked by the buildings and construction. Fewer still is the chance to tie up a macrame hammock between two trees- between a black spruce and an eastern redcedar. Mostly because those trees are native to upstate New York, and the cramped city would never allow for them to grow large enough to support a hammock full of people.
Peter loves his city, he truly does. He loves Queens, his home, the apartment he and May share, he loves it. But he also relishes the fresh air of the cabin, the murky freshwater of the lake. He likes that he can see the setting sun as the sky is doused in orange and red. He likes that he can strike up a macrame hammock between a black spruce and eastern redcedar. And most of all, he likes that he can enjoy all of these things, while laying in said hammock with Michelle Jones.
She’s curled into his side, and if she’s not asleep, she will be soon. He’s got an arm wrapped around her, a hand brushing back and forth on her shoulder. They’re swinging slightly- he’s keeping his foot on the ground to push them and make sure they don’t stop. A bird composes a song some feet away. It sounds like something he knows, but can’t quite place, the words on the tip of his tongue.
Pepper and Tony are inside with Morgan. It’s summer, so she goes to bed when the sun’s still out. May’s busy doing everyone’s laundry. Happy and Rhodey went to the store a while ago to find snacks and popcorn for movie night when the sun finally does fall. In honesty, though, Peter would be okay if movie night never came. If he could freeze this moment, if he could pause the whole world right now, he would.
Michelle tucked in his arms. Waves from the lake lapping the shore. Sinking, golden hour sunlight wafting through the trees, its tendrils making everything it touches sparkle. The breeze that smells like the grass Tony mowed earlier and dirt and sand and clay. Peter takes a deep breath, taking in all those smells, taking in the gold of the sun on the earth and the trees, taking in the feeling of Michelle in the hammock, rocking side by side with him.
He could stay here forever.
So he says, in a whisper the volume of a flap of a butterfly’s wing;
“I could stay here forever.”
Michelle huffs a laugh, her eyes staying closed. “Me too.”
“This is perfect,” Peter confesses. “It’s finally quiet.”
“Mmm,” Michelle hums in agreement. “I can’t even hear your stomach growling,” she teases. Peter scoffs.
“I’m a growing- a growing boy. Growing man. Growing Spider-Man, who needs his food,” he defends, but it just makes Michelle smile. God, Peter loves that smile. It’s brighter than the sun itself, he’s sure. The dimple on her right cheek. The faint freckles on her nose. And it’s all tinted gold.
“You can eat whatever you want,” Michelle amends. “Whatever your growing spider-heart desires.”
Peter shakes his head. “Not right now.” He tightens his grip on her shoulder ever so slightly. “This is perfect. We’re staying right here.”
“You gotta eat sometime.”
“Not right now,” he repeats, and Michelle sighs.
He keeps rocking them back and forth, between the black spruce and eastern redcedar. He presses a kiss to the top of Michelle’s head. She’s perfect, and he didn’t think it was possible for her to get more perfect, but then the wind pushes the branches away and the golden hour sunlight presses onto her cheeks, her nose, and Peter almost gasps because this view- this sun filtered view as got to be the best thing he’s ever seen. He loves her. He loves her.
“I love you,” he whispers. Michelle stiffens. “You don’t have to say it back, but I needed you to know.”
She cranes her neck up, looking at him from where she lays in his arms. Her face is impassive, but the sun, God, the sun-
“I love you too.” She kisses his chin before tucking herself back onto his chest. She closes her eyes and falls asleep in the macrame hammock.