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There are bad days. There are worse days. And then. There are Peter’s days. His bad luck has enabled him to break that scale and become a superlative for awful that no one could quite conceive.
To anyone else, a bad day might include missing their alarm and waking up late for work meaning they have to skip breakfast and only swallow down their boss’ ire for sustenance. A worse day might include all the makings of a bad day, waking up late and irritating their boss, but add into the mix a night of very little sleep and forgetting their wallet so they can’t buy lunch.
To make a ‘Peter Parker’ day, you’d have to include all of the above, and preface it with the fact that he’d only arrived back to his apartment a few hours ago because Dr. Connors had decided that the holiday season needed a little less ‘Ho, ho, ho’ and a little more ‘hiss, hiss, hiss’ and attempting to turn the remaining drunken Santa Con revellers from overly jolly red fellows into scaly grinches.
‘Peter Parker’ days didn’t end there, however.
You would then have to add the fact that in his hurry to the office, not only did he forget his wallet but he also left his keys in his apartment, effectively locking himself out. Add in the poor pedestrian that he’s pretty sure he sprayed with street slush when he’d rounded the corner on his bike a little too fast and you just might have the beginnings of a ‘Peter Parker’ day.
The problem with Peter’s days is that his string of bad luck never seemed to end.
“Parker!”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Where are those photos? I need them for the spread! We’re going to print in an hour!”
Biting his tongue, Peter lazily moves his eyes away from the crossword he’s been using to procrastinate on his phone to look at the image awaiting touch-ups on his laptop screen. Some blessedly kind individual had gotten photos and footage of Spider-Man’s fight with the Lizard last night.
Of course, none of the videos or photos submitted showed Spider-Man’s triumphant victory. Instead, this stranger had decided to share clips of Spider-Man getting his ass handed to him by a hoard of lethargic lizards in red and white fluffy Santa suits.
There was already a video up on the Bugle website, and Peter was currently being mocked with the image of his alter-ego being held in a headlock by Santa Claws.
Fucking Santa Con.
Silently, he wondered if this photo could be sufficient evidence to shut the fucking thing down for good. It said more than enough that Jameson wasn’t even running his typical ‘Spider-Menace’ angle and was making his piece a whole spiel about the disrespect many SantaCon attendees had for the city– of course he couldn’t help himself and mention that this also demonstrated how unqualified Spider-Man was to be intervening in such events– again , everyone forgetting that Spider-Man won and de-lizified everyone.
“And where’s my coffee?!”
“With your assistant?! I don’t know!”
“Don’t talk back, Parker. I had to send her out because you were late. She’s doing you a favour by filling in with the City Parks coverage, show some team spirit and fill in for her.”
“But–”
“Get me my coffee!”
“Would you like that before or after I kill myself?” Peter mutters to himself before pushing himself upright to head downstairs to the coffee stand. His stomach grumbled pathetically, whimpering and begging him to feed it.
At the very least, he could grab a danish on Jameson’s dime– they were being ‘team players’.
The Bugle occupies one level in a larger building. Jameson paid out the ass for the rent here, the building was years old. Still had some of the original furnishings from the twenties and was owned by some financial conglomerate who’d only started renting floors out because half their employees didn’t come into the office anymore. Jameson wanted space here because he wanted the Bugle to seem like a ‘legacy’ paper rather than something he started from his home. Their print division was only held afloat by the website which had remained a glorified version of TMZ - much to Jonah’s frustration, who was continually trying to position them as ‘something more substantial’, but that didn’t bring in the money.
Stepping out of the Bugle’s floor and downstairs, Peter always feels immediately out of place. His footsteps echo through the marble building, the sound always drawing eyes towards him like people know that neither he nor the paper he works for belongs in this building. Today, his footsteps sound even louder . With the holidays fast approaching, there is no queue in front of the coffee stand and no one occupying the lobby.
Well.
No one except her.
The only person who could make Peter’s day better.
Michelle- MJ if you were lucky enough (and somehow, Peter was)-- started working at the coffee stand at the end of the summer. A woman after his own heart, MJ had graduated from MIT and then immediately decided not to make use of her degree, instead returning to New York to pursue theatre.
She explained it to him once when Peter was dodging one of Jameson’s angry tirades.
‘I was going to be broke in New York anyway, so I figured I’d be broke in New York for a reason, you know?’
His own pursuits of a ‘ real job’ might be on hold because the people he’d interned with had each turned into villains and weren’t exactly of ‘sound mind’ to be dolling out professional references, and the ones that hadn’t, well… they weren’t exactly his biggest fans due to punctuality and commitment.
May worries that he’s coasting, but… Peter tries to convince himself that he’s coasting for a reason. Jameson lets him get away with a lot which means he can do more as Spider-Man. He figures this is what balance looks like. It made Peter feel a little better knowing that he was sitting in the same boat as someone like her.
Usually, MJ breaks up the sound of his own footsteps drumming against the hard floors, calling out to him with a dry, witty remark and a barely there smile - a secret thing that is only noticeable to those looking– Peter finds it difficult not to look.
However, today, MJ’s eyes lift and there’s no twinkle of familiarity, there’s no twitch in her mouth, there’s nothing apart from her beauty to spark the flutter of butterflies in his stomach. Today, there’s only… annoyance in her stare. There’s a gloom that hangs over her that contrasts the laurels and garlands hanging above the stand.
“You.” She says flatly with a squint of her eyes,
Peter looks over his shoulder. No one is behind him. “Me?” He asks lamely. “Uh– Yes? Me? Hi.”
Add his crush suddenly deciding to hate him onto the pile. His bad luck well and truly knows no bounds.
Although, he must not have pissed her off that badly because MJ pushes herself upright and turns to face the coffee machine, wordlessly beginning to make his order. His heart does something funny when she reaches for one of the flatbreads under the counter and places it in the toaster. He’d propose if he knew his day was going any better and give him the certainty of a ‘yes’.
The look she hoots him over her shoulder tells him that he’d best wait.
“I– feel like I’ve done something wrong. And my aunt raised me to know better than to upset your barista. Always said it’s dangerous to piss anyone off that deals with your food.” MJ doesn’t say anything, her silence making him feel worse with each passing second. “My uncle always told me that it’s dangerous to piss off a pretty woman. Told me that they’re always right, and he never fought with my aunt after ten years of marriage so– I figure he was on to something.”
MJ finally turns back around, frothed milk in one hand, a shot of espresso in the other. “Was that a line?”
Peter’s eyes flick to the side, running back what he’d just said. “Not intentionally. More a fact.” A beat. “That also wasn’t a line.”
MJ’s rolls her eyes and he swears, swears that he saw her mouth move. A glimmer of the usual fondness she holds for him, a fraction of it– it doesn’t matter how small it is, it gives Peter hope.
“You passed me on your way to work. Skidded around the corner and sent snow up my leg.”
“Oh…” Shit. “You.”
“Me.”
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
Somehow, this day had exceeded even Peter’s expectations for ‘bad’.
“I am— I’m so sorry. I– that’s not a very good apology but I really do mean it. I could pay for dry-cleaning or I could take you to dinner? I mean. I could pay for dinner. I figure, after today you probably wouldn’t want me there so I could pay for your food without being present. Like a gift card or–”
“I never realised how much you talk.” The lid is snapped onto his drink, his flatbread is slid in front of him. A second cup appears a moment later - Jonah’s order.
She is heaven-sent.
“Happens when I’m nervous.” Something about his reply makes her mouth twitch in the familiar and enticing way. He doubles down. “I really am sorry, MJ. I was in such a rush today, which isn’t an excuse because no one deserves sidewalk slush up their legs.”
“MJ hums, eyes lifting upwards and expression thoughtful. “I think I can forgive you. I might have been projecting a little so… I suppose I owe it to you to be nice.”
“You really don’t.” He says. ”Bad day?”
“You don’t want to hear it.”
“I really do.” He counters, leaning up against the side of the counter. The decorations above them swing when his hip bumps the pillar.
MJ raises an eyebrow, giving him one more out that he shakes away before she starts telling him about her latest round of auditions. Jonah’s coffee might go cold but that’s on him for not specifying that he wanted it hot.
Listening to her talk about the perils of auditioning over winter, everybody already mentally checked out before she even steps into the room, he decides that he’d rather take on fifteen packs of drunken lizards than try what she’s doing. IT takes a different kind of courage to do that, get up time and time again in front of people who have already made up their minds. It is a persistence that he admires, something he says as much.
“Or is it stupidity?”
“No way. Not with you. They’re the stupid one–”
“Oh my god, cute!” Someone interrupts. Both Peter and MJ turn their head to see Betty arriving back from whatever task Jonah’d sent her on. She stands a few feet away, lifting her phone and taking a picture of the coffee cart. “Love what you guys have done with this! Didn’t notice it on my way out this morning.” She comments. Peter looks up at the decorations again. In his mind, there were prettier things to focus on behind the counter, but– each to their own.
Betty moves on, however, Peter’s eyes remain fixed at the garlands above, noticing a few beads of white interspersed within the green. At first glance, he thought they were fairylights but now he realises it’s–
“Mistletoe,” MJ says bluntly, her eyes focused on the same thing as him. “Paige decorated. Probably thought it was funny.”
Peter swallows, nodding. “We don’t have to– It’s a dumb tradition. I don’t even– I’m Jewish. This stuff doesn’t mean– I don’t want you too-”
MJ smiles– softer and more timid than anything she’s sent his way before. She leans over the counter and pecks his cheek. Fast, barely there, gone so quickly he might have dreamed it. “Thanks for listening to me complain, Peter.”
“Anytime, really.” He says immediately. “Like maybe… At dinner?”
“Another apology dinner?”
“Really hoping I don’t do something that warrants another apology, but I’ll do what I have to, I guess.”
MJ laughs and he doesn’t understand how he ever thought this day could be bad. It was pretty fucking great if you asked him.