Chapter Text
Ned’s tears won't stop falling. “You promise?”
“Yeah, I promise.” Peter hugs his best friend tightly. “I'll come find you. Okay?’
“I know you will.”
“You better,” MJ cuts in. “If you don’t, I’m just gonna figure it out. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.’
“I promise I'll fix this.”
Meeting his eyes, MJ breathes through the tears and nods. “I really hate magic.”
“Yeah. Me, too.”
As they step closer, their fingers grip the edges of each other's sleeves, as if terrified to let go.
“I love you,” she breathes, and Peter’s heart breaks all over again.
“I love—”
“Just wait. Wait and tell me when you see me again.”
************
One Week Later
MJ’s bedroom door slams shut, followed by a grease-stained paper bag hitting the desk. She peels off her green donut shop visor and apron, tossing them onto a stack of half-taped cardboard boxes.
“I’m ninety percent sure I’m packing too much,” she says into her phone's mic, leaning over to pull a heavy plastic bin out from under her bed. She flips open the lid and starts sorting through winter coats and folded jeans. “But I also refuse to freeze to death in Massachusetts because I underestimated it.”
“You're overthinking it,” Ned says over the speaker. “Just pack five hoodies, your laptop, and whatever grim existential dread you usually carry around. That’s the college starter pack.”
“Very funny.”
MJ stands up, placing a folded sweater onto the bed, and walks over to her dresser. The wooden surface is almost completely bare, save for a few stray hair ties, a half-empty bottle of moisturizer, and a small, faded velvet jewelry tray.
Sitting right in the center of the tray is a tarnished silver chain attached to a shattered, black dahlia pendant.
Hesitating, MJ touches the broken pewter petals before picking it up by the broken clasp.
“Hey, Ned?”
“Yeah?’
‘Did I buy a necklace in Europe?” She holds the chain up to the light coming through the window, tracing the jagged crack running down the middle of the black dahlia blossom.
There is a brief pause on the other end.
“Uh ... the black flower thing you wear? I mean, maybe? We went to like five different street markets in Venice alone. You bought a lot of weird stuff.”
“No, see, that's the thing. I remember wearing it in London. I remember having it on the bus in Prague. But ... I don't remember buying it. At all.”
“Was it a gift? Like ... from your aunt or something before we left?’
“My aunt thinks silver looks tacky,” MJ says dryly, staring intently at the crack in the center of the pendant. “And besides, how did it get broken?”
“I don't know. So you bought it from some sketchy vendor on the Rialto Bridge and forgot about it because we were almost murdered by giant water monsters. It happens.”
MJ runs her thumb over the rough edge where the resin has cracked and split, a strange ache settling right behind her ribs. It makes no sense. She can remember the exact smell of the rain in London, the chaos on the Tower Bridge, the terrifying roar of the wind. She can even remember sitting in the back of the airport shuttle, holding this exact necklace in her palm.
But the hands that gave it to her, or the shop where she found it, are completely blank. There's a gap where a memory ought to be.
MJ carefully sets the black dahlia down next to her pile of packing tape. She stares at it for one second longer, brushing a thumb against her lip before shaking her head and pulling a marker out of her pocket.
She just can't figure out why she holds onto it.
Four weeks later, the necklace is still with her. But now it's sitting on a bedside table in her dorm room.
College! MIT! She's finally getting a taste of freedom here.
The autumn chill in Cambridge hits early, but MJ barely notices as she navigates the swarm of freshman rushing across the main quad. She has her backpack slung over one shoulder, a half-empty travel mug in hand, and her eyes glued to the campus map on her phone.
She sidesteps a group of tour guides, turning the corner toward the engineering quad, when a sudden clatter of plastic echoing off the concrete makes her look up.
A few yards ahead, an older man has dropped an overfilled plastic bin. Binders, colorful dry-erase markers, and reams of loose paper are scattered everywhere, rolling across the pavement in the brisk wind. The guy next to him immediately drops to his knees to grab as much as he can.
MJ stops walking. He’s wearing an oversized thrifted sweater with the cuffs slightly frayed, and his backpack is insanely beaten up as he practically scrambled across the brick path to gather the papers.
"I got it, I got it, don't worry!" his voice carries over the crowd, bright and slightly fast. "Here—these ones didn't even touch the wet grass. You're good."
The man nods, breathless with gratitude, taking the neatly stacked pile back. "Thank you. Really, thank you."
"Anytime! Have a good class!" He stands up, brushing off his knees, and turns around, and MJ instantly recognizes the messy brown hair and the hyper-earnest posture.
It's the cute guy from the Peter Pan Donut shop. The one who came in last month, ordered a single coffee, looked like he was about to give a grand speech, and then just ... wished her good luck at college and left.
He goes here too?
MJ steps forward before she even fully processes why she’s doing it.
"You know, usually people in New York just step over dropped stuff," MJ says, stopping a few feet away with one hand tucked into her jacket pockets. "It’s part of the regional charm."
The guy freezes mid-stride. He turns his head slowly, and when his eyes land on her, he goes completely still. For a second, he doesn't even seem to breathe.
"MJ," he breathes out. It's loaded with a terrifying amount of relief and a sharp, aching sadness that catches her completely off guard.
“Uh, yeah. Though usually people start with 'hi'." She tilts her head, her eyebrow tweaking up in amusement.
He must have read her nametag before, but she's shocked he remembers. Should she be creeped out or flattered?
Well, she remembers his name too, she supposes.
He blinks rapidly, color rushing to his cheeks as he snaps out of whatever trance he was just in. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Right! Hi. Sorry. Hey. I'm—hi."
"You okay there, donut shop guy? You look like you just saw a very intimidating pigeon."
"No, I—I'm good. I'm great," he stammers, adjusting his backpack strap. "Just ... surprising to see you here. I mean, not surprising, because you go here! Which is awesome. You made it to MIT."
"I did," she says slowly, watching him carefully. As he stumbles over his words, she's slammed with intense deja vu. It gives her pause a moment before she pushes on.
"And what are you doing here? Did you follow me all the way to Massachusetts just to rescue people's dropped office supplies?"
He laughs a short laugh that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. Gesturing vaguely toward the science buildings, "No! I actually ... I'm going here too. Got into the engineering program."
"Wait, really? You're a freshman here?"
"Yeah. Yeah, just started yesterday," Peter says softly. His eyes dart down to her scarf, then up to her hair, like he's trying to memorize every detail. "How are your classes going? Have you settled into the dorms?"
"Classes are fine. Trying to adjust to living with a complete stranger, though. My roommate spent three hours last night practicing acoustic guitar. It's an ordeal."
Peter smiles, a soft, bittersweet look touching his eyes. "Well, at least she's ... artistic?"
"That's a very generous word for it," MJ says dryly, though her tone remains light. She looks at him, watching the way he shifts nervously on his feet.
There’s an overwhelming, awkward warmth radiating off him, the kind of nervous, puppy-dog energy that should make her immediately guarded. But strange as it is, she likes him for it.
"Well, Peter Parker. I have to get to Physics in 16 minutes.”
“Oh.” His smile drops slightly. “In North River Hall?”
“Yeah. Are you going there too?”
He looks up at the building, then back at her and nods awkwardly.
“Let's go then. We can sit together if you promise not to make us late.”