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Peter stood outside the door of an unfamiliar apartment and slowly let out a breath. He wasn’t like he had been in high school anymore, getting painfully shy every time he had to face someone new. Especially not when he’d been invited as a guest rather than barging in unannounced. Still, if he was being honest, he was a little nervous right now.
That was because the person who lived here was a rather unusual friend he had only recently made—Jean Grey. Even being generous, their first meeting hadn’t exactly been pleasant. But after going through a great many extremely internal experiences together, Jean and Peter had come to understand each other on a profound level. They were very much alike: both extraordinarily powerful, both grieving someone precious, and both having been alone for a very long time. That was reason enough for two people who had once seemed as distant as stars to pull one another close like orbiting moons.
Peter knew it was almost time, but he still couldn’t bring himself to knock on the firmly closed door. Jean’s apartment was on the third floor of an ordinary building. It was tucked a little way down an alley, but compared to Peter’s place—with its plywood partitions and asbestos dust drifting through the air—it was practically luxurious. A real home. There was even a streetlamp outside that actually worked.
I’m glad she found a decent place.
With that thought, Peter stared at the plaque marked 308.
The door suddenly opened with a click. Peter jumped and took a step back.
“How long were you planning to stand outside someone else’s apartment looking stupid?”
Jean poked her head through the doorway. Her brows were drawn together beneath her wavy red hair. Peter quickly raised a hand in greeting.
“Oh. Hi.”
“Don’t ‘hi’ me. You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were some creep.”
Jean opened the door all the way and stepped aside to let him in. Peter looked at her face and hesitated. Was it really okay for him to just walk into her apartment like this? He glanced over his shoulder.
“...Sorry, can I go somewhere real quick?”
“What? Where?”
“I, uh... How do I put this? I completely forgot to get you a housewarming gift—”
“Then what’s that? Did you bring it outside to get some sun?”
Jean jerked her chin toward the bouquet in Peter’s hand. It was a small bunch of daisies wrapped in manila paper.
Peter looked down at the flowers he was holding and flinched as though they had startled him. Ridiculous. Jean let out a short laugh. With an embarrassed smile, Peter held the bouquet out to her.
“Thanks.”
Jean accepted it and lightly breathed in the scent. A soft smile settled across her face.
“Come in.”
“...Excuse me.”
Peter stepped carefully into Jean’s apartment. It was modestly decorated with old fabric-covered furniture and little ornaments. The moment he entered, Peter couldn’t help remembering the first apartment he’d lived in alone—the shabby little place he had barely managed to find after no one in the world remembered him anymore, when he’d walked away carrying everything he owned in a single box. Jean’s apartment was much larger and better furnished by comparison, of course. Even so, it carried the same faint scent of loneliness.
“Sit wherever you want. Sorry it’s so small.”
“It’s not. It’s nice. Finding a place these days is hard, and you did pretty well. You get good sunlight, too.”
Still looking around, Peter awkwardly pulled out a chair at the table and sat down. The apartment wasn’t very large, so Jean was quite close as she unwrapped the bouquet by the sink. She seemed to be having trouble with the knot at the bottom. Peter wondered whether he should help, and just as he started to rise uncertainly from his seat, Jean managed to untie it. Peter dropped back into the chair, straightening his posture for no reason.
“Hm. Flowers are a nice gift.”
“Oh, do you like flowers? They’re pretty, right?”
“Yeah, they’re nice. Some idiots bring roses for everything, but daisies? You’ve actually got some sense.”
“Huh?”
Jean turned toward him after placing the flowers in a vase.
“Roses are for love. They’re a terrible housewarming gift.”
As she spoke, she carried the vase over to the table. Peter had no idea what he was supposed to say to that, so he simply smiled at her. Jean placed the vase at one end of the table and sat across from him. She lifted her head and looked directly into his eyes. Peter instinctively glanced away, but not before noticing that her eyes were a vivid green.
“So, Spider-Man.” Jean leaned toward him. “Tell me what happened after that.”
“After that?”
“Have you been doing okay? Looks like you made some friends.”
“Friends...”
Peter slowly raised his head.
“Yeah. MJ and Ned. They used to be my friends, and I think... maybe we could become friends again. Their memories still haven’t come back, but I guess I’ve gotten a little braver. Some things happened that reminded me why we were friends in the first place. We were that close because we naturally got along.”
“That’s good. What did you have in common?”
“Well, we’re all kind of outsiders. We like terrible jokes. And we’re all a little weird.”
“A little?”
“A little.”
Peter smiled faintly. Then he began telling her about them. Jean listened as though MJ and Ned were friends of hers too. Peter grew more animated as he spoke, eventually gesturing with his hands while he explained what had happened.
“So we ordered bánh mì, but I didn’t get to eat a single one! They told me they ordered five! They probably ate all of them after that, though.”
“All five?”
“Uh... Maybe that wasn’t enough?”
Jean burst into laughter.
Peter stopped speaking for a moment as he watched her. It was the first time he had ever seen her look genuinely happy. Ever since they first met, she had always looked sad and exhausted, always crying without ever being able to shed tears. But the Jean in front of him now was simply a girl his own age. A girl who had just been through a little too much.
“You’re pretty when you smile.”
Jean’s laughter stopped. She stared at Peter, her eyes suddenly wide. Thinking he had said something wrong, Peter hurried to explain.
“No, wait, I just mean—I don’t think I’ve seen you smile before. Not that you aren’t pretty when you’re not smiling. You’re already pretty. I mean—what am I even saying? What I meant was—”
“I know. You said it without thinking.”
Jean smirked, one corner of her mouth lifting.
“Wow, you really get your words tangled up when you panic, don’t you? At least you’re never boring to watch.”
“...”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re fun to tease?”
Yes. A lot.
Instead of answering, Peter stuck his lower lip out slightly. Jean rested her chin on one hand and smiled at him.
“I can see why your friends like you.”
Peter felt his face grow warm. The apartment suddenly seemed a little too hot. Had he worn too many layers? Pretending not to care, he muttered petulantly, “That’s supposed to be a compliment, right?”
“What? Of course it’s a compliment. How could you possibly take that as an insult?”
“The part where you said they like me because I’m fun to tease...”
“Oh. Damn. And here I thought I’d fooled you completely.”
Their eyes met, and they both burst out laughing. It occurred to Peter that Jean’s sense of humor matched his surprisingly well. What would happen if he introduced her to MJ and Ned?
An image formed in Peter’s mind: all four of them gathered at Ned’s place, eating bánh mì and laughing together. Playing some amazing four-player board game... No, wait. He would have to introduce Jean carefully. If Ned found out about her powers too quickly, he might get so excited he passed out.
Peter wiped away a tear that had leaked from the corner of his eye.
“Don’t worry about your friends,” Jean said. “They don’t remember clearly, but... they both still think about you.”
The shy smile on Peter’s face vanished instantly. His expression went cold. His brown eyes slowly met Jean’s. Her green eyes were still fixed on him.
“...What does that mean?”
“Hm?”
“How do you know what my friends are thinking?”
Jean’s eyes widened.
“...Did you possess them?”
“Not now. I just—how do I explain it? I saw them once.”
“When?”
Faced with Peter’s cold expression, Jean looked away without meaning to.
“...Um. I don’t know. I don’t think it’s really important.”
“Right. You don’t think it’s important, Jean. I want to know. When did you do it?”
“That’s...”
“...”
Jean bit her lip. Peter knew she wasn’t going to answer, but out of courtesy, he remained silent and waited for a moment. Then he slowly stood.
“...I should go. Thanks for inviting me, Jean.”
“Peter.”
Jean grabbed his wrist.
“I... I didn’t do it on purpose. But I can’t tell you right now.” Her voice faltered. “I’m sorry. I’ll apologize properly later.”
“...”
Peter stared at her.
He knew that expression far too well. Desperate. Grieving. The expression of someone who didn’t want to be left behind. The hand around his wrist was trembling. He knew that trembling, too. He hated how well he knew it.
Once, with hands trembling just like hers, Peter had stroked May’s face again and again as he begged her.
No, May. Look at me. Don’t go. Please... Please don’t leave me alone...
May had always listened to anything Peter asked of her. Anything except that. And so Peter had been left alone. He had never resented her for it. Not once. He swore he hadn’t. But he couldn’t do the same thing to Jean.
Peter let out a long breath.
“...Okay. But you have to tell me later.”
“...Okay.”
He felt the strength leave the hand around his wrist and sat back down. The inside of his wrist still ached faintly, a lingering wrongness from when his spider genes had gone out of control.
“...I’ll apologize, so introduce me to your friends. Later.”
“...”
Jean spoke in a tiny voice with her head bowed. For a second, Peter thought he had misheard her. He looked at her in surprise.
She didn’t read my mind earlier, did she?
“...Really?”
“Huh?”
Jean frowned as though he were the strange one.
“How else am I supposed to apologize without meeting them? Over the phone? Or should I send them an Instagram DM?”
“...”
Well. She had a point. Peter tilted his head to one side.
“Okay. Then sometime later... I’ll try to arrange something for all four of us. They’re not especially shy, so it should be fine.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
Jean lowered her head again. Silence settled between them. Peter’s lips moved as he prepared to say something, but before he could, Jean abruptly jumped to her feet.
“What am I doing? I invited a guest over and haven’t even offered you anything to drink. Do you want coffee? Juice? Tea? Um, I have beer too.”
“Oh. Coffee, please.”
“Right. Coffee.”
Jean opened a kitchen cupboard and took out an electric kettle. It looked like something she had bought secondhand at a flea market—old enough that anyone could tell at a glance.
Peter quietly watched as Jean busied herself filling the kettle and plugging it in. It had been a long time since anyone had prepared something for him.
That’s enough.
Someone inside him whispered.
This is enough. Jean is going to be okay now.
“...Jean.”
Jean had both hands on her hips and was glaring anxiously at the kettle. She turned toward him.
“I think... I’ll be okay. Don’t boil it. I should go now.”
“What? Why? Stay for coffee.”
“No... It’s fine. I should get going.”
Peter smiled as he got up from his chair. Jean glanced sideways at the kettle, which still hadn’t started boiling, and then looked back at him.
“Is this because I invited you over and didn’t treat you properly? Seriously? You’re really going to do this?”
“No, it has nothing to do with that. I really do have to go.”
“Why? Do you have somewhere else to be?”
“No. I don’t have any other plans.”
“Then what? Is someone waiting for you?”
“Someone waiting...”
Peter suddenly lifted his eyes and turned toward the window. Jean followed his gaze. There was nothing outside but the sky glowing with sunset. She stared for a while, trying to figure out what he was looking at, then turned back toward Peter. But he was still staring through the window.
The back of Jean’s neck went cold.
“...There is.”
“...”
Jean couldn’t enter Peter’s mind, but she understood instantly who he meant. And she knew she could never, ever win against her. Jean bit hard into her lower lip. Now, all she could do was gamble on his kindness.
“...What about me?”
“Huh?”
“Don’t you remember? You said I had you. You told me yourself—”
Peter turned toward her with wide eyes. Jean’s voice trembled.
“The person I’m waiting for... is you. So what am I supposed to do?”
Peter could only stare at her, speechless. Her face had turned as red as her thick hair.
“Since Sara, I haven’t... I haven’t waited for anyone like this.”
Tears filled her large eyes in an instant. Peter sucked in a breath and instinctively reached toward her, but his hand stopped awkwardly in midair, unable to touch her face.
“I—I’m sorry. I won’t go. I’ll stay here. Jean, don’t cry. Why are you crying? I’m not worth—”
“Don’t say that. Seriously. You’re so annoying.”
Jean scrubbed furiously at her eyes and turned away. At that exact moment, the kettle finally boiled and switched off with a click. Jean deliberately made as much noise as possible as she took out the mugs and made the coffee.
Peter sat back down and waited in silence. Between the clinking of the spoon against the cup, he could hear her sniffling softly.
“Here!”
Jean shoved a mug of coffee toward Peter. She did it so forcefully that the liquid sloshed over the rim. Peter pretended not to notice and accepted the mug with both hands.
“Thank you.”
“Blow on it before you drink. Don’t burn your tongue.”
Holding the other mug, Jean perched on the edge of her chair. She blew across her coffee with a disgruntled expression, sending white steam curling upward. The skin around her eyes was red from rubbing them so hard.
Peter felt a little guilty.
“...Jean.”
“What?”
“Thank you.”
Jean looked at him. Peter lifted the mug resting between his palms and smiled. She made a sound like air escaping from a tire, but Peter clearly saw one corner of her mouth lift afterward.
“...I’m glad I met you too,” he murmured, looking down at the coffee rippling inside the mug. “But I really am exhausted today. I’ll drink this and then go.”
“...You can sleep here.”
“Hm? What did you say?”
Peter hadn’t quite heard her and asked again. Apparently assuming he was doing it on purpose, Jean furrowed her brows as deeply as she could.
“There’s a bed in the other room. If you’re that tired, you can sleep here.”
“...Here?”
“Yes.”
Jean cleared her throat quietly. Peter still couldn’t quite understand what she meant.
“Um. You mean... in your bed?”
“How many times are you going to make me say it?”
Jean shot to her feet irritably. She strode across the apartment and flung open the closed bedroom door. Peter stared at her, mouth slightly open. The room was dark, so he couldn’t see much inside, but he could just make out the silhouette of a bed against the far wall.
“Yes! If you’re that tired, sleep in my bed. I don’t mind.”
“No, that’s—I don’t think people usually don’t mind something like that.”
“I said I don’t mind.”
“I’m the one who minds...”
Peter let out a small groan.
“Jean, you’re acting kind of weird today. I mean, technically, today is the first time we’ve ever really talked like this, but... you’re still acting weird.”
“Think whatever you want. Either way, you’re not taking a single step out of this apartment.”
“What is that supposed to—”
Peter was suddenly overcome by a powerful wave of dizziness. He pressed one hand to his swimming forehead. At first, he thought it was another episode of sensory overload. It wasn’t. It felt completely different from the headaches he had been experiencing lately, too. It was as though the world had split into entirely separate channels.
Peter looked down at the mug in his hand. Then he looked back at Jean.
“...What’s wrong? Dizzy?”
Jean slowly approached him and placed her own coffee on the table. His vision shook so violently that he couldn’t make out her expression.
“...Jean. Why?”
“Why?”
She sighed.
Or maybe she laughed.
“You’ll find out soon.”
Unable to endure it any longer, Peter collapsed onto the table and closed his eyes. The sensation of the ceiling trading places with the floor wasn’t exactly unfamiliar to him. The speed at which they kept switching, however, was far too fast.
As his consciousness faded, Jean’s voice echoed softly.
“Oh—right. By the way, you’re fucking terrible at kissing.”
Peter opened his eyes.
His whole body felt constricted and impossibly heavy, as though a truck had parked on top of his chest. The bitter, sterile smell of disinfectant seeped through the mask covering his nose and mouth.
“...”
His eyelids were so exhausted that closing and opening them once required a monumental effort. After several painful blinks, his dry eyes slowly adjusted to the fluorescent lights.
He looked around.
He was lying in a white bed.
“This is...”
His breathing tightened, and Peter pulled off the mask covering his face. Frank, who had been asleep beside him, startled awake at the sound of his voice.
“Kid!”
“...Frank.”
Peter tried to sit up, but quickly gave up. Everything below his collarbones throbbed as though it had been crushed. He dropped his head back onto the pillow with a groan.
“Everyone... Is everyone okay? Was anyone hurt? What about Jean Grey?”
“Calm down. Don’t move. Everyone’s fine. Jesus Christ, what the hell happened?”
Frank stood and looked Peter over.
“Jean Grey’s fine too. That woman was using some kind of voodoo shit to keep you from dying.”
Peter’s eyes widened. Frank continued talking rapidly, worked up about something, but Peter’s gaze slowly drifted toward the ceiling.
He thought back to the path he had taken to Jean’s apartment.
[Do you want to come over to my place?]
He couldn’t remember.