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A few days had passed since Peter had been released from the hospital and he hadn't left his apartment since. Finally given a moment to rest if not a little by force, Peter was left alone made to feel both the pain of his aching wounds and MJ's words circulating around his brain like arrows chilling away at his last ounces of hope.
The sunlight didn’t fully reach his windows leaving the studio cast in gloomy shadows. He’d left the fluorescent overhead lights off, they stung his eyes more than they used to, while the incessant buzz of the fridge pierced his ears, almost hypnotizing him to leave. He hadn't felt at home in years. Now, Peter wasn’t stupid enough to hope for something as loving as that, but it didn’t soften the blow that somehow, even in his own apartment, he still didn't belong.
He sat at his desk, a pint of protein shake in front of him. He didn’t know how long he'd been there with his phone in his hand, but the protein powder had started to separate and the sounds of the city had shifted from bustling crowds to booming music flooding his ears. Peter had been thinking about texting her since he’d woken up and Frank had passed along her number. He couldn't suppress the small upturn of his mouth at the thought. But now after staring at the dark screen for gods know how long he didn't even know how to start.
How hard could it be to message someone you've known for literal years, even if you weren't around for the last few years and the universe had changed so they didn't even know you existed until 6 weeks ago…
Never mind, it was actually very hard. Gods could even call her MJ, they'd shared all but maybe 5 conversations and 1 life threatening event that she didn’t even remember. He definitely didn't have MJ privileges yet especially after keeping everything from her. He really had to separate them in his mind, this wasn't the MJ he remembered. She didn’t love him and they were barely even friends. This was Michelle and he would address her as such. He spent longer than a normal stranger would typing his message, hitting send before throwing his phone onto the bed in an attempt to escape the anticipation.
To Michelle:
Hi Michelle
It's Peter!
Frank said you left your number for me.Thanks so much for visiting me in the hospital! Sorry I wasn't awake then.
Just wanted to know if you're doing okay after everything. Please respond so I don't go insane.
Thanks!
Peter spent the better half of the next five minutes pacing the room, his face shifting through various expressions of stress, hope, and mortification. Maybe three exclamation marks was slightly too much, but he didn't want to come across as rude or off putting. Though Peter remembered past MJ was very much a night owl made a conscious effort not to project that truth on to Michelle, yet while he was coming to terms that a response that very night would be optimistic at best his phone buzzed from across the room.
Peter would never admit to anyone that he used his webs to grab it instantly and in hopes not to seem overly excited he instilled the patience of a saint to wait a few minutes before opening the message.
From Michelle:
Hey
I’m think I’m probably doing better than you
Because I’m not the one who got shot!
Sorry that sounded dark
Are you free for lunch tomorrow?
If you’re up for it?
It would give me some peace of mind to see that your organs are all in the right place.
Peter's heart hammered against his chest, his eyes stung as he read the message. Out of all the possible responses he could've asked for he truly didn’t expect this. She actually wanted to see him.
He wiped his eyes, blinking quickly checking what his read was real. Satisfied he responded with only one exclamation point this time.
To Michelle:
Yeah sounds great
but no promises my organs tend to have a mind of their own so don't blame me if they’ve moved!
Let’s say that if hypothetically Peter barely slept and spent the first half of the morning anxiously picking out an outfit he thought MJ would approve of, and hypothetically went through every possible way that him and his big mouth could lead to a dramatic obliteration of their already fragile strangership to the point where he missed two of his trains he would never share that information unless MJ- Michelle asked herself. Unfortunately that hypothetical wasn’t hypothetical at all and that was the sad reality of Peter’s morning so in order to make up for some time he swung across the rooftops to the corner shop, picking up a bouquet of irises before reaching Michelle's Apartment.
Now, Peter had fought against aliens and telepaths, but knocking on Michelle’s door felt like the most daunting task of all. They had met before of course, once a fleeting moment, the next out of a pure necessity for safety, yet this time felt inexplicably different. Michelle wanted Peter there and he would do anything for her to ask him again.
He could hear her footsteps as she neared the door anticipating the moment he would get to see her face again. Every meeting felt like a blessing from time itself. He couldn't take this chance for granted.
“Hey Peter, come on in, glad to see you on your feet again.” Michelle opened the door and Peter's thoughts all but disappeared as they eyes met.
“Hi. I-thank you,” he said, awkwardly gesturing to the slightly flight-crumpled flowers in his hands as he continued. “I brought some more flowers with me, I hope you like them.”
Michelle took the flowers carefully, ignoring the crinkle of the plastic that he had squeezed too hard in stress on the walk up. She moved further into the apartment to find a vase, her voice carrying across the apartment as she spoke. “So when I said lunch, I hope you weren't expecting anything too fancy. I might have gotten into MIT but I flunked HomeEc in high school.
A laugh escaped him and for the first time in years it actually came from the heart. He would never be able to forget her awful attempts at cooking, or how many times she smoked up Aunt May's kitchen in an attempt to whip a nice surprise for them.
Yet the sound lasted a moment too long for two strangers sharing small talk. It died in his throat, stale, as if it could tell that Michelle was struck with a realization. It wasn't huge or stifling, but instead a slow constant reminder of what could have been, what was just out of reach, for both of them.
“But you knew that already, didn’t you. God, I just can’t wrap my head around it. There's probably so much you know about me and yet all I know about you is that you're Spider-man.”
“I'm gonna be honest that's a whole lot more than most people,” it slipped before he could stop himself and this time a small chuckle was shared between them fizzling out faster than he would've liked.
“Oh, come on, I'm serious.” she began lightly, yet her voice sobered before continuing. “I know that I’m- “ she paused that ever present silence returning as she tried to find her words. “that we’re not the same people who well…” she trailed off awkwardly fiddling with her necklace.
He didn’t need her to finish the sentence to know how it ended.
We’re not the same people who loved each other.
Peter felt whatever hope he’d had collapse into the chasm of silence between them. Then MJ spoke, her words, the first bricks in the bridge that would bring them together again.
“But if you want to, I'd really like it if we could maybe be friends. Start fresh, you know?” She gave him a small smile, sideways and shy and so painfully familiar and suddenly it was as if the chasm of silence separating them was more like the gap between the platform and the subway.
“Friends? Yeah, I can do friends.”
His throat felt dry, voice cracking, caked in emotion as spoke, it came across so raw it was as if his heart was speaking instead of his head.
He would do anything she wanted. But friends don’t say crazy things like that to each other so he kept that to himself.
Peter had an inkling that Michelle also wasn’t one for awkward pauses so he wasn’t surprised when she suddenly declared the food was ready, deconstructing any vulnerability in the room.
She returned moments later, hands full of pasta bowls and a carton of juice. She poured them both a glass while Peter raised his eyebrows at her choice of drink. The old MJ hated juice, maybe he really didn’t know her at all anymore. People change, it was a fact of life that would have happened anyways, but he underestimated just how painful it would be to miss even the seeming minute changes of the people he loved. If time had forced him to wait another five years before letting them meet again would she have become unrecognizable? He pushed the thoughts to the back of his head.
Though Michelle might not have been able to find the exact source of the confusion in his eyes she could tell something was up and shifted the topic to topic a little easier for the heart. God, he forgot how well she could read him.
“Sorry there’s no wine, I don't want Spider-man to be drunk on the job”she said, her voice laced with sarcasm
“Hey, I’m technically Peter Parker right now” he responded, his arms wide open gesturing to the apartment around them.
“Aren’t you technically Spider-Man all the time?”
He sighed to hide the smile pulling at his mouth, “Well maybe but Captain DeWolff told me to use this time to take care of myself, so if we’re being pedantic by order of the NYPD I’m not Spider-Man right now. But I really don’t mind I don’t drink anyway"
She let out a laugh, a smile gracing her lips and Peter's heart melted all over again. His shoulders finally relaxed in what has probably been years. He’d waited years to spend just a few minutes together, he’s not going to rush anything so let their lunch be just that moment shared between two new, hopeful friends.
“Um, anyways, here is my infamous Chicken Alfredo. I can't promise that it’s fully cooked but my stomach is used to it at this point and I think your spider-stomach should keep you all okay.”
“That’s reassuring, how do I know this ‘friendship’ wasn’t an elaborate ruse to poison me?.” Peter tried to joke when in reality he’d eat anything if it came home cooked. Food was a labor of love and what he wouldn’t do to feel that again.
“That’s the fun part Peter, you don’t know,” Michelle whispered ominously, her tone and smirk devastatingly familiar.
Michelle watched him carefully as he took a bite of the pasta, seemingly studying his face for a reaction. It was definitely a bit under cooked and felt slightly odd in his mouth but he ate it all because it was the first food he’s eaten in years that tastes like home. Whatever that is to him anymore.
They finished the meal in peaceful silence. It's comfortable and warm and felt like a hug at the end of a long day. With his stomach and heart full he hummed in content before speaking, braving the moment.
“Now that you know I'm fed, watered and my organs aren't falling out did you want to ask me some questions?”
“I did, but I think we can save that for next week don't you think?” Michelle’s smile returned; it had lost its teasing nature and instead was full of curiosity.
“We’re turning this into a weekly thing? ‘cause i'm going to be honest my place isn't quite up for visitors right now. I haven't had any in well…” He trailed off as he got up carrying the dishes to the sink.
“Well yeah, that's what friends do right, see each other regularly?” Peter's face lit up from across the room, he kept his grin between him and the kitchen cabinet, no need to overact at all as Michelle hadn't finished talking. “Don't worry about the mess Peter, I’ve seen a twenty year old man’s apartment before I know it's the stuff of nightmares. You can come back next week, maybe I can even get Ned to join us.”
Oh, that did it.
The thing was he and MJ were brought together by circumstance. Were they ideal: no, but was it a catalyst that finally brought some light into his life, absolutely. If he and Ned were to reunite that would be his choice and while he was trying to follow Aunt May’s advice he couldn’t help but feel greedy . His plan had worked: Ned and MJ had everything they wanted; he couldn't let himself ruin it again. Yet wasn’t that line already crossed.
It was almost as if she could sense the sudden tension in the air, like it was so thick and palpable that she could taste it in her mouth: the discomfort that had formed between them. She placed a gentle hand on his arm, grounding him back in his reality.
“Only if you're comfortable with it,” she added quietly.
“Maybe we could save that until the fifth lunch for something,” he stumbled over his words hoping, praying he hadn’t ruined it all. “If that's okay?”
Now while this Michelle didn’t know Peter very well, to her it was easy to tell when anyone needed comfort. She wasn’t necessarily the best at providing it to anyone apart from Ned. Her and her boyfriend had fought about her so-called lack of emotional intelligence, but surprising both of them she pulled Peter into a tight hug hoping it would offer a small reprieve.
He hugged back a little too tight before her small gasp seemed to remind him of his super strength and he awkwardly loosened up. His brown eyes filled with tears that he couldn’t hold back and if Michelle decided to politely ignore his sniffles
“Friends?” he questioned again wishing for confirmation that he could file away in his mind when it turned against him.
“Friends.” MJ replied with such confidence and finality that the only thing Peter could do was believe it.
Eventually he pulled away cursing himself for quickly he was getting used to how it felt to be held, his bloodshot eyes meeting Michelle’s own. It was still slightly awkward, the stark contrast of emotions in the room made him uncomfortable.
“Thank you for inviting me” Peter whispered between them his words holding more weight than he could carry these days.
“Thank you for coming,” she whispered back, sharing the weight.
They moved slowly to the door, aimlessly chatting while Peter slipped his shoes on before going to leave. Michelle stopped him, gently grabbing his arm before realizing what she’d done and dropped it awkwardly . She opened and closed her mouth a few times, starting and stopping her sentences before finally landing on…
“I’ll see you next week, flower guy, okay?”
“I’ll see you, Michelle.” He waves slightly, unable to fight the stupid smile forming on his face.
“Peter,” she says, stopping him just as he turns around to leave. “My friends call me MJ.”
He nodded before returning to the bustling streets of New York where Peter Parker was known to nobody.
They might not be the closest of friends, or even dating anymore but Peter and MJ definitely weren’t strangers now, and for that he would forever be grateful.