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Peter Parker wasn't sure he'd ever get used to this.
Not the flirting.
Not the stolen smiles across the school cafeteria.
Not the way MJ leaned her shoulder against his whenever they sat together on the subway.
No.
It was the fact that they remembered him.
For so long, every interaction had felt like balancing on a knife's edge, hoping they might one day know him again.
And now...
They did.
It wasn't exactly how things had been before. The history wasn't there. They didn't remember Europe or Mysterio or everything they'd survived together.
But they remembered Peter.
They remembered choosing him.
And that was enough.
More than enough.
---
"So..." Ned said, balancing his tray as he slid into the booth. "Important question."
Peter looked up from the set he was building with ned
"Hm?"
"Do you own anything besides hoodies?"
Peter frowned.
"...Yes?"
MJ looked over the top of the book she'd been reading.
"He doesn't."
"I do."
"You own hoodies," she corrected.
"They're different hoodies."
"One says Midtown Tech."
"School spirit."
"One says Stark Industries."
"...Free hoodie."
"One says 'World's Okayest Scientist.'"
Peter looked down.
"...That one was a gift."
MJ smirked.
"I rest my case."
Ned burst into laughter.
Peter rolled his eyes but couldn't stop smiling.
This.
This was everything he'd missed.
Being teased.
Being included.
Feeling normal.
MJ closed her book with a snap.
"Speaking of hoodies."
Peter blinked.
"What?"
She reached into her backpack dramatically.
"I have acquired something."
Ned gasped.
"Contraband?"
"Worse."
She pulled out three tickets.
Peter stared.
Metallica.
Live.
Madison Square Garden.
Tomorrow night.
Ned nearly screamed.
"No way!"
MJ grinned, looking almost pleased with herself.
"I figured since we're..." She gestured vaguely between the three of them. "...doing this friendship thing again..."
Peter couldn't stop staring.
She'd bought three tickets.
For all of them.
"You got tickets?" he asked softly.
"They sold out in twelve minutes," Ned said.
"I know."
"How?"
MJ shrugged.
"I have mysterious ways."
"You bribed someone."
"I'll never tell."
Ned practically launched himself over the table to hug her.
"YOU ARE THE GREATEST HUMAN BEING ALIVE."
"I know."
Peter laughed so hard he nearly dropped his piece
MJ looked at him.
"You in?"
He didn't even hesitate.
"Absolutely."
-
The next evening...
Peter stood outside Madison Square Garden staring up at the glowing lights.
Thousands of people.
Thousands.
His enhanced hearing was already working overtime.
Conversations layered over conversations.
Laughter.
Arguments.
Car horns.
Someone singing off-key two blocks away.
A dog barking.
A crying baby.
Someone unwrapping gum.
His jaw tightened.
Focus.
He'd gotten much better over the past few months.
Most days.
Some environments were...
Harder.
"Pete!"
He looked up.
MJ was waving.
She wore ripped black jeans and an oversized vintage band shirt she'd probably found in a thrift store.
Ned wore a denim jacket absolutely covered in patches.
"You ready?" Ned asked.
Peter smiled.
"Yeah."
They joined the line.
It wrapped around nearly half the block.
Peter took one look at the crowd and swallowed.
Too many people.
Too many heartbeats.
Too many voices.
He shoved his hands into his pockets.
You're fine.
You're okay.
MJ nudged him lightly.
"You look nervous."
"I'm good."
"You've said three words in five minutes."
"...Have I?"
"Yes."
He hadn't noticed.
The line shuffled forward.
Someone bumped his shoulder.
His muscles reacted instantly.
Too fast.
He caught himself before spinning.
Normal.
Be normal.
The security guard laughed with another employee.
Somewhere nearby, glass shattered.
A woman shrieked.
Peter's head snapped toward it automatically.
False alarm.
Someone had dropped a bottle.
His breathing slowed.
Barely.
"You okay?" MJ asked quietly.
"Yeah."
She watched him another second before nodding.
"If you say so."
Peter smiled.
It probably looked convincing.
He hoped it did.
---
A few places behind them, two teenagers began arguing.
Peter heard every word.
"...told you she likes him—"
"Shut up, man—"
"You literally asked—"
Someone coughed three rows over.
Another person unwrapped candy.
A phone vibrated.
A bus hissed to a stop.
The city never stopped.
Normally he'd learned to push it into the background.
Tonight...
Everything felt louder.
Sharper.
Like someone had turned the volume of the world all the way up.
His palms were damp.
He rubbed them against his jeans.
Ned glanced over.
"You alright, dude?"
Peter nodded quickly.
"Yeah."
"You seem..."
"What?"
"I don't know."
Ned looked at MJ.
"...Jumpy?"
Peter laughed.
It sounded wrong.
"I'm fine."
The line moved again.
Security was closer now.
Music from inside leaked through the walls.
Heavy drums.
Bass.
Crowds cheering.
Peter's stomach twisted.
He'd fought aliens.
He'd fought multiversal villains.
Why did a concert suddenly feel intimidating?
Because there would be thousands of people inside.
Thousands of voices.
Thousands of heartbeats.
Thousands of movements.
He hadn't been somewhere this crowded since...
Before.
Long before.
---
When Peter stepped through the entrance, it hit him.
Like a wave.
No—
Like standing beneath a waterfall.
Sound crashed into him.
Music testing through enormous speakers.
People shouting over one another.
Security radios crackling.
The squeak of shoes.
The metallic clatter of barriers moving.
Hundreds...
No...
Thousands...
His senses reached everywhere at once.
Peter stopped walking.
"Pete?"
He blinked.
Right.
Move.
He forced himself forward.
---
The arena was massive.
Lights swept across the crowd.
Every seat seemed occupied.
The floor was already packed shoulder to shoulder.
Ned looked like Christmas had arrived early.
"This is AWESOME!"
MJ smiled.
"It kind of is."
Peter nodded automatically.
"Yeah."
His voice sounded distant.
His heartbeat felt too loud.
Or maybe everyone else's did.
He couldn't tell anymore.
They climbed the stairs toward their section.
Peter counted each step without meaning to.
Forty-two.
Forty-three.
Forty-four.
Someone laughed behind him.
Someone spilled popcorn.
A child cried six sections away.
His head pounded.
---
"Here!"
MJ held up the tickets.
"Row twelve."
They squeezed past people already seated.
"Sorry."
"Excuse us."
"My bad."
Peter mumbled apologies automatically.
Every accidental touch made him flinch.
Finally...
Their seats.
Ned collapsed into his.
"This is incredible."
MJ sat beside Peter.
He lowered himself into the chair carefully.
Too carefully.
His breathing hadn't slowed.
He wiped another sheen of sweat from the back of his neck.
The arena was cool.
So why was he so hot?
His leg bounced uncontrollably.
He pressed it still.
It started again a second later.
MJ looked over.
"...Peter."
"Hm?"
"You're sweating."
He touched his forehead.
Sure enough...
His hand came away damp.
"It's warm."
She looked around.
"It really isn't."
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yeah."
His voice cracked slightly.
Ned leaned forward.
"Dude..."
Peter forced another smile.
"Seriously."
"I'm okay."
Except he wasn't.
His chest felt tight.
Every inhale seemed too shallow.
He drew another breath.
Another.
Still not enough.
The lights dimmed for a moment before brightening again as the crew made final adjustments.
The crowd erupted anyway.
Peter winced almost imperceptibly.
MJ caught it.
"You don't look okay."
"I'm just..."
He swallowed.
"...a little overwhelmed."
"Too many people?" she guessed gently.
He nodded once.
"Maybe."
She smiled reassuringly.
"We don't have to stay if you don't want to."
Peter looked at her immediately.
"No."
Too quickly.
"No... I want to be here."
With you.
He didn't say the last part.
Instead, he managed another smile.
"I'll be okay."
MJ studied him for another long moment.
She didn't seem convinced.
Neither did Ned.
Peter leaned back in his seat, trying to ignore the pounding of thousands of hearts surrounding him.
Trying to pretend the walls weren't vibrating.
Trying to breathe normally.
Trying to convince himself that everything was fine.
The lights dimmed again.
This time, they stayed dark.
The roar of the crowd became deafening.
Beside him, MJ glanced over one last time.
Peter was breathing a little too fast now, one hand gripping the armrest hard enough that his knuckles had turned white.
"Peter..." she whispered.
He didn't look away from the stage.
"I'm okay."
I'd be happy to write this scene. Since it's a finished piece of prose, I'll put it in a writing block.
The opening riff exploded through the arena.
The crowd surged to its feet as one.
Thousands of voices became one deafening roar.
Peter flinched.
Not outwardly enough for anyone to notice.
But inside...
It felt like someone had shoved an ice pick straight through his skull.
He sucked in a sharp breath.
It's fine.
The band walked onto the stage beneath a shower of lights, and the audience erupted into cheers so loud the floor itself seemed to vibrate.
Every amplifier.
Every drumbeat.
Every screaming fan.
Every clap.
Every whistle.
Every heartbeat.
It all slammed into his enhanced senses at once.
Peter swallowed hard.
His ears rang violently.
He'd trained.
He'd practiced.
He'd spent months learning how to separate sounds, to focus on one thing at a time instead of everything all at once.
Usually...
Usually he could manage.
But he'd never tested himself in a place like this.
A sold-out arena.
Twenty thousand people.
Twenty thousand voices.
Twenty thousand heartbeats.
It was too much.
His breathing grew shallower.
He pressed the heels of his hands against his knees, trying to ground himself.
Just breathe.
The drums kicked in.
Another explosion of cheers.
The pounding behind his eyes doubled.
His stomach lurched.
"Oh my God!"
Ned was already on his feet.
"They're actually here!"
MJ laughed—a real laugh, bright and completely unguarded.
Peter looked over.
She was smiling.
Not her tiny, sarcastic half-smile.
A genuine grin stretched across her face as she sang along to the opening lyrics.
Ned threw one arm around her shoulders, shouting every word despite being hopelessly off-key.
MJ shoved him away, laughing.
"You don't know the words!"
"I KNOW THE IMPORTANT ONES!"
"You literally just made those up!"
"I IMPROVISED!"
She rolled her eyes before laughing again.
Peter couldn't stop watching them.
They looked...
Happy.
Completely carefree.
They were dancing in place, singing horribly, bumping shoulders every few seconds whenever the crowd jumped.
For a moment...
Peter smiled.
It was small.
Almost invisible.
They remember me.
Not everything.
Not the history.
Not the adventures.
But...
They remembered him.
He got to sit beside them.
He got to laugh with them.
He got invited here.
He wasn't invisible anymore.
He wanted—
God.
He wanted so badly to stand up.
To sing with them.
To laugh.
To be another college kid at a concert with his best friends.
Just...
Normal.
His smile faltered as another crushing wave of sound crashed into him.
His head throbbed.
His vision blurred around the edges.
He blinked hard.
The lights streaked strangely.
His stomach twisted harder.
He tasted acid at the back of his throat.
No.
No, no—
Not here.
Please not here.
He swallowed repeatedly.
His hands had begun shaking.
The music felt louder somehow.
The bass vibrated through his ribs.
Each beat seemed perfectly synchronized with the pounding inside his skull.
His chest tightened.
He squeezed his eyes shut for half a second.
When he opened them again, MJ was looking toward him.
She frowned.
"You okay?"
Peter forced a smile.
It took everything he had.
"Yeah."
She clearly didn't believe him.
"You look pale."
"I'm just..."
His voice nearly disappeared beneath the music.
"...gonna use the bathroom."
"What?"
He leaned closer.
"I'm gonna hit the bathroom."
MJ nodded slowly.
"You want one of us to—"
"No."
Too quickly.
He softened his voice.
"I'll... I'll be right back."
Ned gave him a thumbs-up without taking his eyes off the stage.
"Don't miss the guitar solo!"
Peter managed the tiniest nod.
"I won't."
He hoped.
He stood.
Immediately regretted it.
The world tilted.
His knees nearly buckled.
He caught himself on the armrest before anyone noticed.
Keep moving.
One step.
Then another.
He muttered apologies as he squeezed past the people in the row.
"Sorry."
"Excuse me."
"My bad."
Every accidental brush of someone's shoulder felt electric against his skin.
The aisle seemed miles away.
His breathing became uneven.
By the time he reached the stairs, his vision had narrowed.
The music followed him.
Even outside the seating area it thundered through the concrete hallways.
The fluorescent lights overhead seemed painfully bright.
He rubbed at one eye.
His fingers trembled.
Keep walking.
He passed families buying drinks.
Couples laughing.
Teenagers running toward the merchandise stand.
Nobody looked at him.
Nobody knew he felt like he was falling apart.
The bathroom sign finally came into view.
Thank God.
He pushed through the heavy door.
The noise dulled instantly.
Not gone.
Just...
Farther away.
The echo of the concert still vibrated through the walls.
It was quieter.
Enough that he could think.
Barely.
He stumbled toward the last stall.
Locked it.
Sat down heavily on the closed toilet lid.
His elbows rested on his knees.
Both hands came up to cradle his head.
The pounding hadn't stopped.
If anything, the silence made him realize how bad it really was.
His pulse hammered behind his eyes.
He pressed his palms against his temples as though he could physically hold his skull together.
"Come on..."
His own voice sounded shaky.
"Breathe."
He inhaled slowly.
One.
Two.
Three.
His breath hitched anyway.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
The darkness behind his eyelids wasn't much better.
Every flash from the stage outside still lingered in his vision.
His stomach rolled again.
He swallowed hard.
You're okay.
You're Spider-Man.
You've fought aliens.
You've died.
You can handle one concert.
His laugh came out weak.
"...Right."
The words didn't help.
Instead...
Something else crept in.
A quieter fear.
One he'd thought he'd finally buried.
What if they forget again?
The thought slipped in so naturally it made his chest ache.
He knew they remembered.
He'd spent weeks with them.
Shared coffee.
Movie nights.
Study sessions.
Inside jokes.
MJ had bought him a concert ticket.
Ned had texted him six times this week.
They remembered.
So why couldn't he stop worrying?
Why did a tiny voice keep whispering that maybe tomorrow they'd look at him with blank eyes again?
Maybe this was temporary.
Maybe this would disappear.
Maybe he'd wake up and they'd be strangers all over again.
"No..."
He whispered it aloud.
"They remember."
His voice cracked.
"They remember."
His breathing hitched.
He blinked rapidly.
Not here.
Please...
Not now.
His eyes burned.
He rubbed them roughly with the heels of his hands.
The pressure in his head only worsened.
Another shaky breath escaped him.
Then another.
He curled forward until his forehead rested against the cool metal wall of the stall.
The cold helped.
Just a little.
Outside, the muffled roar of the crowd erupted again as the band launched into another song.
Peter stayed exactly where he was.
Curled up in the tiny bathroom stall.
Hands pressed against his pounding head.
Trying to steady his breathing.
Trying to convince himself that his friends still remembered him.
Trying to gather enough strength to walk back out there and pretend he was okay.
He wasn't ready yet.
Peter focused on counting.
One.
Two.
Three.
In.
Four.
Five.
Out.
Again.
Again.
Again.
The cold metal wall of the bathroom stall pressed against his forehead, but it barely dulled the pounding in his skull.
The music outside shook the building.
Each beat rattled through the concrete floor.
His enhanced hearing refused to cooperate.
The bathroom should have been quieter.
Instead, his brain kept reaching beyond the walls.
Someone laughed in the hallway.
A hand dryer roared to life.
A child complained about wanting popcorn.
A janitor's cart squeaked over the tile.
Every sound stacked on top of the next until they blurred together into one endless wall of noise.
Peter squeezed his eyes tighter.
"Come on..."
His voice shook.
"Come on..."
His breathing sped up despite every attempt to slow it.
His chest felt too tight.
Too small.
Like no matter how deeply he inhaled, there wasn't enough air in the world.
Then—
His Spider-Sense flared.
Not sharp.
Not dangerous.
Just...
Constant.
His head snapped toward the bathroom door instinctively.
Someone outside stumbled on the stairs.
He felt it before it happened.
A drink flew from someone's hands.
Plastic cup.
Ice scattering.
People jumped back.
The sensation disappeared.
Before he could even process it—
Another.
A loose cable near one of the speakers backstage.
Someone would notice it.
Move it.
No danger.
Gone.
Another.
A little girl climbing onto the railing near her seat.
Her father reached for her.
Safe.
Gone.
Another.
Someone dropping a phone from the upper level.
Someone below catching it.
Gone.
Another.
Someone backing into an elderly man.
He steadied himself.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
His body reacted to every single one as if it needed to leap into action.
Muscles tensing.
Heart racing.
Adrenaline flooding.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
"There isn't any danger..."
Peter whispered.
His hands trembled violently.
"There isn't..."
His Spider-Sense buzzed once more.
Someone nearly slipping on spilled soda.
Safe.
Gone.
It wouldn't stop.
His body couldn't tell the difference between a world-ending threat...
...and everyday accidents.
His breathing dissolved completely.
Each inhale came quicker than the last.
His vision blurred.
His fingers tingled.
He wrapped both arms around himself, trying to stop the shaking.
You're freaking out.
Get it together.
MJ's going to think you're insane.
Ned will think you've completely lost it.
You finally got them back.
Don't ruin it.
The thought lodged itself firmly in his chest.
They remembered him.
Somehow...
Against impossible odds...
They remembered Peter Parker.
They invited him out.
They joked with him.
Flirted with him.
Wanted him around.
And here he was...
Curled up on a bathroom floor because he couldn't handle a concert.
His stomach twisted painfully.
"What is wrong with me..."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
He buried his face against his knees.
If they saw him like this...
What if they decided this was too much?
What if they stopped inviting him?
Stopped texting?
Stopped trying?
His eyes burned.
"No..."
His voice cracked.
"They'll think I'm..."
He couldn't even finish the sentence.
The tears came anyway.
Silent at first.
Then his shoulders shook.
He covered his mouth with one hand, trying desperately to keep quiet.
He didn't want anyone to hear.
Didn't want anyone to know.
Outside...
The concert continued.
The crowd screamed.
The drums pounded relentlessly through the walls.
Another tiny pulse of his Spider-Sense rippled through him.
Someone nearly tripped over a backpack.
Safe.
Gone.
Another.
A security guard catching a falling flashlight.
Gone.
Another.
Someone leaning too far over a railing.
Pulled back.
Gone.
His exhausted brain couldn't keep up anymore.
He slid farther down the stall wall until he was sitting completely on the floor.
His breathing came in uneven gasps.
He didn't know how long he stayed there.
Five minutes.
Ten.
Maybe longer.
Then...
A soft knock.
Not loud.
Just...
Gentle.
Peter froze.
Another knock.
"...Peter?"
MJ.
His heart lurched.
Silence.
Then her quiet voice drifted through the door.
"...Peter... it's me."
That was all.
Nothing dramatic.
No questions.
No panic.
Just...
"It's me."
Someone had come looking for him.
For him.
Not Spider-Man.
Not because they needed saving.
Because Peter hadn't come back.
His eyes squeezed shut.
Fresh tears slipped free before he could stop them.
He pressed his sleeve over his face, taking several shaky breaths.
"...Peter?"
Her voice was softer now.
"You don't have to answer."
A pause.
"But... I'm staying."
Peter laughed weakly through a sniffle.
It sounded broken.
"I'm..."
His voice caught.
He cleared his throat.
"I'm okay."
Even he didn't believe it.
"...You're a terrible liar."
A watery smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"...I know."
Neither of them spoke for a long moment.
The music vibrated faintly through the walls.
Finally...
Peter unlocked the stall.
The door creaked open.
MJ looked up from where she'd been sitting against the opposite wall.
She stood immediately.
The teasing expression she usually wore was gone.
Instead...
She simply looked worried.
Peter couldn't meet her eyes.
His face was pale.
His curls clung damply to his forehead.
His hands still shook.
"You found me."
"You were gone a long time."
"I'm sorry."
He said it instantly.
Too quickly.
"I'm really sorry."
"For what?"
"I ruined tonight."
"You didn't."
"I did."
His voice cracked again.
"You bought the tickets... you were excited... Ned's excited..."
He rubbed a hand over his eyes.
"I just..."
He swallowed.
"I don't think I can stay."
The words hurt to admit.
"My head..." He shook it slightly. "Everything's just... too loud."
He looked completely defeated.
"I wanted to stay."
"I really did."
His shoulders sagged.
"I just..."
Another shaky breath.
"I can't."
He looked at the floor.
Guilt settled heavily in his chest.
"You guys should go back."
"What?"
"I'll just..."
He gestured vaguely toward the exit.
"...take a walk."
He forced another tiny smile.
"It'll help."
"You can come find me after it's over."
MJ stared at him.
"No."
Peter blinked.
"...No?"
"I'm not leaving you to wander around Manhattan looking like you're about to pass out."
"I'll be fine."
"You've said that at least six times tonight."
"I mean it this time."
"I don't."
He sighed.
"I don't want you to miss the concert because of me."
She folded her arms.
"I'm making an executive decision."
Peter gave her a tired look.
"You're not the boss of me."
"No."
A faint smile tugged at her lips.
"But I'm smarter than you."
He almost laughed.
Almost.
"You can argue with me later."
She nodded toward the hallway.
"You wait outside."
"What?"
"I'm going to get Ned."
"And then?"
"And then we'll figure it out."
"You don't have to—"
"I'm aware."
Her voice was calm.
"I want to."
Peter looked at her for a long moment.
Then, slowly...
He nodded.
"...Okay."
"Good."
She gave his arm the gentlest squeeze.
"So don't disappear."
"I won't."
"You promise?"
"...Promise."
MJ held his gaze for another second, making sure he meant it.
Only then did she turn and head back toward the arena doors, leaving Peter leaning against the cool hallway wall, exhausted, head still pounding, but no longer completely alone.
Peter leaned against the cool concrete wall outside the arena entrance exactly where MJ had left him.
He kept his promise.
He didn't wander.
Didn't disappear.
He simply stood there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, eyes fixed on the polished floor beneath his sneakers.
The muffled music still reached him through the walls.
Even out here it felt loud.
His headache hadn't eased much.
The pressure behind his eyes still pulsed steadily, his senses still buzzing as people walked in and out of the arena around him.
Every conversation drifted to him.
Every footstep.
Every zipper.
Every phone notification.
It wasn't as unbearable as inside...
But it still left him exhausted.
He rubbed tiredly at his eyes.
His sleeves came away slightly damp.
He hoped MJ hadn't noticed he'd been crying.
She definitely had.
The thought made his stomach sink.
Great.
Now she probably thought he was completely falling apart.
He stared at the floor harder.
Maybe he was.
A few minutes later, the heavy arena doors burst open.
MJ hurried out.
Alone.
Peter straightened.
"Where's Ned?"
"I told him to save our seats."
"Oh."
She stopped in front of him, breathing slightly heavier from walking quickly.
Neither of them spoke for a second.
Then she reached into her backpack.
Peter frowned.
"What are you—"
She dug around for another moment before pulling out a black zippered case.
"I forgot I even had these."
She unzipped it.
Inside sat a pair of large black headphones.
Not the kind for music.
Noise-cancelling headphones.
The heavy-duty kind.
Peter blinked.
"...MJ?"
She held them up.
"My uncle bought these for me last year."
He looked from the headphones to her.
"I don't..."
Before he could finish, she gently settled them over his ears.
The world changed instantly.
Not silent.
Never silent.
His hearing was too sensitive for that.
But—
The hallway softened.
Footsteps became distant.
Voices blurred into a low murmur.
The fluorescent lights stopped buzzing quite so loudly.
Even the constant hum of the ventilation system faded.
Peter's shoulders dropped before he even realized they had been tense.
He stared at her.
Wide-eyed.
"...Whoa."
MJ smiled.
"I figured."
He slowly looked around.
The music from inside still filtered through.
Faint.
Manageable.
He could still hear individual conversations if he concentrated.
His hearing was simply too good.
But now...
They weren't crashing into him all at once.
"They don't block everything," MJ said.
"I know."
"I figured with..." She gestured vaguely toward him. "...the whole super-hearing thing..."
A tiny smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"...You'll probably still hear the concert."
Peter tested it.
He focused.
Sure enough...
He could still make out the drums.
The guitar.
The crowd.
But it no longer felt like they were drilling into his skull.
Instead...
They sounded distant.
Like listening from another room.
"It won't be perfect," MJ continued quietly.
"But maybe..."
She shrugged.
"...Maybe it won't be unbearable."
Peter just looked at her.
She'd...
Thought of this.
She hadn't laughed.
Hadn't acted like he was strange.
She'd simply...
Solved the problem.
His throat tightened.
"...Thank you."
The words came out barely above a whisper.
MJ shrugged as though it were obvious.
"I like having you around."
The simple honesty of it made something in Peter's chest ache.
He looked away quickly.
His eyes had started burning again.
He rubbed at them with the sleeve of his hoodie.
When he looked back, MJ pretended not to have noticed.
She simply adjusted one side of the headphones until they sat comfortably.
"There."
Peter swallowed.
"I really ruined tonight."
"No."
"I—"
"No."
She interrupted him gently.
"You had a bad time."
"That's different."
He let out a shaky breath.
"I wanted this to be fun."
She tilted her head.
"It still can be."
He looked at her uncertainly.
"You think?"
"I think..." she said, "...we spent way too much money on those tickets."
He laughed.
A real laugh this time.
Small.
But real.
"There he is."
"What?"
"You smiled."
"I smile."
"Not when you think no one's looking."
Peter rolled his eyes.
"You analyze people too much."
"It's one of my hobbies."
He couldn't help smiling again.
MJ nodded toward the arena doors.
"Come on."
Peter hesitated.
"You sure?"
"I'm positive."
"What if—"
She cut him off.
"If it gets too much, we leave."
"But—"
"We leave."
"What about—"
"We leave."
Peter stared at her.
"...You're really stubborn."
"I've been told."
She reached out and caught his wrist.
Her hand was warm.
Before he had time to react, she gently tugged.
"C'mon, Parker."
He stumbled a step after her.
"MJ—"
"Nope."
"I can walk."
"I know."
"So why are you dragging me?"
"Because if I don't, you'll stand out here apologizing for another twenty minutes."
"...Fair point."
She grinned.
"I know."
Together they walked back through the arena doors.
The music swelled again, louder than before.
Peter instinctively braced himself.
Then...
Nothing.
Well—
Not nothing.
He could still hear it.
The bass.
The guitars.
The roar of the crowd.
His enhanced hearing still reached beyond the headphones.
But the sharp edges had been softened.
The pounding in his head eased just enough that he could breathe.
Beside him, MJ glanced over.
"You okay?"
Peter took a careful breath.
Then another.
For the first time all night...
He didn't feel like running.
He looked at her.
A small, grateful smile spread across his face.
"...Yeah."
It wasn't perfect.
His head still hurt.
His senses were still working overtime.
But as MJ led him back toward their seats, he realized something that mattered far more.
He didn't have to face it by himself.