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There are approximately three hundred and twelve things Peter wants to say to her.
Like, You used to know me. Or, We used to be something. Or, most vividly, I love you. I don’t know how to let that go.
Instead, he holds out the paper bag of garlic knots.
“I figured you were working late,” he says. “And I remembered you said the ones from Carmine’s are better than the ones at Joe’s.”
MJ looks down at the bag. “You just guess what people like a lot, or…?”
“Not usually,” Peter says.
She raises an eyebrow. “So I’m special?”
He almost smiles. “Something like that.”
She holds the door open.
“You coming in or what?”
⸻
The apartment smells like lavender detergent and ramen and some weird citrus candle she probably got as a gift from a coworker… maybe even Ned. There’s a book turned upside down on the couch, two mugs in the sink, a plant she insists isn’t dead even though it definitely is.
She moves like something in her recognizes him.
Kicks the door closed with her heel. Gestures to the chair for his hoodie, casual, automatic.
Like it’s habit.
“You don’t talk much,” she says, sitting on the edge of her bed with the garlic knot bag in her lap.
Peter shrugs. “Hm. I used to.”
“Did I like that about you?”
He meets her eyes. “Yeah.”
She doesn’t say anything for a second. Then she pulls out a garlic knot and offers it to him.
He takes it.
They sit in silence, chewing.
It should be awkward, but it isn’t.
“Hey,” she says quietly, like she’s not sure if she’s allowed to ask, “were we—”
She doesn’t finish the question.
Peter goes completely still.
“Were we close?”
Peter swallows. “Yeah.”
“How close?”
He closes his eyes. “You kissed me in an alley once and then threatened to tase me if I told anyone.”
Her brow furrows.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” he adds quickly.
MJ laughs. It’s low and unexpected and full of something that makes Peter feel like a thousand-thread-count ache.
She looks down at the bag in her lap. “Well, for what it’s worth… I don’t usually let strangers in this late.”
Peter watches her for a long moment.
“Then maybe I’m not a stranger.”
MJ’s hand stills on the paper bag.
And she doesn’t disagree.