Chapter Text
The restaurant was far out of Peter’s socio-economic status.
Ned and MJ were both university graduates, but at least they were roommates and only had to pay half of the rent and groceries that he did. They also didn’t harbour secret superpowers with a super-sonic metabolism.
He starved himself most nights - somewhat of a meal but not enough. He thrived off of sheer will and protein powder.
And it worked. Mostly.
He ignored E.V. when she spoke otherwise.
Anyway.
The restaurant looked pretty decent on the website. Some Italian hole-in-the-wall joint with dark walls and low lights that set the scene for some romcom date. Fancy, for college graduates whose life’s achievements were becoming employed and buying houses because everything was so goddamn expensive.
He was here because Ned had gotten a pretty awesome internship with some incredibly reputable company that gave Ned an open door into coding as a career.
And Ned was good at coding. Really good at coding. Peter remembered fondly when Ned had hacked into Peter’s first Stark Spider-Man suit in a motel in Washington. He knew his shit, and it would take him places.
So, Peter had put on his cleanest shirt and a pair of jeans. The one with the least rips and stains because he never went anywhere nice, so he didn’t have anything nice. Then, he’d chosen to walk because his skin still itched like something was constantly wrong in New York, and maybe if he walked, he could pay attention to the streets around him and not about the thoughts in his head.
He took a breath.
The restaurant looked nice. Nicer than online. Less of a hole-in-the-wall and more Instagrammable. He almost felt a little underdressed.
Ned’s eyes lit up like a firecracker when he saw Peter. “Dude!”
“Dude,” Peter let the grin fall naturally across his face. Ned. His rock. The only person in the fuckin’ universe that knew he existed. “Holy shit, congrats on the internship - you’re gonna blow their minds.”
“The woman on the panel said she found my Spidey Tracker ‘gratifying’,” Ned exclaimed brightly.
Peter’s eyes widened. “That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, man, this’ll look great on my resume,” Ned added with a wink. “Now c’mon. Come meet people.”
Peter didn’t even have a second to blink before Ned sensed his immediate change in expression. The hesitation that his best friend could read off his face like a book.
It was why Spider-Man wore a mask - Peter Parker wore his emotions on his sleeve.
“Can’t I just sit next to you and, I dunno, grovel?”
Ned’s face screwed up into a laugh. “Solitude has not done you good, dude.”
“Hey.”
“I’m not wrong.”
“I did it to keep you safe,” Peter protested quietly, eyes already automatic in scanning the restaurant population.
Ned snorted, dragging Peter mercilessly past tables. “And fate brought me back. Now, c’mon. The other guys - they’ll like you. You’ll like them.”
“Sure,” Peter croaked. And so, Ned pulled him towards the long table he’d booked out and shoved Peter into the seat beside his. Peter had to stop himself from slouching in the seat as he felt all eyes fall onto him.
The group fell back into a comfortable, easy chatter that Peter hadn’t been a part of. Something about the subway line near LaGuardia and disruptions and someone's aunt ending up on Staten Island. The conversation felt like a bubble, one that he couldn’t pop because it was awkward to engage in a conversation with strangers, and if anything, he was socially inept.
“Dudes, this is my long-time bro, Peter,” Ned grinned, pointing ostentatiously at Peter. “He’s a Queens guy - I’ve known him since grade school.”
“Um, hey, guys,” Peter forced a smile, trying his best to meet the eyes of everyone at the table. He was lonely, but he had manners, okay? May raised him well.
He wasn’t going to admit he stared at MJ’s boyfriend for a beat too long to go unnoticed. Luckily, it was after MJ, so he didn’t have to meet MJ’s utterly obvious falter in expression.
“Yeah, I went to college here,” Peter tried. “ESU.”
“ESU?” A guy piped up. “Do you know-”
The conversation spiralled into a long tornado of steering away questions he couldn’t answer and avoiding MJ’s face every time Peter brought up a memory from Midtown Tech. For a little while, it was relatively okay, because those memories never failed to bring a smile to Peter’s face. It also fulfilled him to receive gratification and even recognition from Ned, who spitballed back moments like a tennis ball.
Soon, they were putting out memories Peter hadn’t thought of for years. Moments that went unnoticed till Ned was visibly cringing and Peter found himself laughing brighter than he’d ever done so after the spell. And it felt warm, oh so warm, through his chest and his bones.
“Peter,” Ned spoke up, tapping him on the shoulder. “You know what you’re getting, bro?”
“Um, nope, still deciding.”
“You’ve never been this indecisive before,” Ned snorted. “Pick something, it’s all on my tab, remember?”
Peter’s eyes flashed. “What?”
“I’m paying,” Ned said, like it was that easy. Maybe it was.
Peter felt his chest loosen a little. He nodded carefully, tried not to share eye contact with any of Ned’s other friends, and picked out something on the menu. The numbers meant less now, but he still chose something cheaper.
Just because it felt a little better within.
Peter looked over at MJ.
She had the ghost of a smile on her face, even if her hands were intertwined with her boyfriend’s. Her eyes were wide like she was hooked on every word. Maybe like she was trying to relive each moment even if it had been scraped from her mind.
A few times, someone would turn to her and ask if she remembered. She would simply shake her head and say something along the lines of, “they were closer than I was”.
But she never turned her head.
After a while of reminiscing, Ned brought the conversation back into work. The internship, something apparently huge by the looks of his smile and the way his hands shook as he spooned pasta into his mouth.
“Okay, okay, I guess I’ll tell you guys,” Ned grinned, utterly ecstatic. “The internship, it’s with… Oscorp.”
For a split second, the world fell from under Peter’s feet.
And like the crack of a whip, he was back.
Somehow it helped that Ned’s other friends were incredibly supportive. They all clapped and cheered like Ned had won an award. Then, they peppered him with questions and showered him with praise as if they knew Peter was too paralysed to do so.
“You really want to provide another soulless corporation with your coding skills?” MJ piped up, a teasing smile on her face.
“Look,” Ned started. “I know it’s Oscorp, but it opens up doors! They’ve got some cool ass scientists there, and imagine how much I could learn.”
“...How to turn into a glorified corporate zombie?”
“MJ, imagine how sexy health insurance would be.”
“Man,” Peter heard one of Ned’s friends snort. “Did you just call Oscorp health insurance sexy?”
“Imagine getting paid,” Ned said, starry-eyed.
Peter swallowed, body tense as he took a slice of pizza. The greasiness didn’t blanket the nausea swirling in his stomach. Oscorp, run by Norman Osborn. Osborn, who wore May’s blood like gloves. He knew, under all the grief and sorrow, that this was a different guy here and Osborn wasn’t going to go all evil–mental-sadist in a snap of two fingers. But it still didn’t hide the feelings.
Ned’s eyes shifted to Peter as he sported a small smile.
“Look, I’m not seeing it as a long-term job,” Ned explained casually. “I was taken aback too. Like, woah, Oscorp? Norman Osborn? Isn’t he the Green Goblin?”
“Yeah, well, look what happened,” Peter said quietly, attempting to blanket the bitterness.
“But,” Ned continued. “I thought about it. And that Norman was from another universe, where he’s evil, and each universe is vastly different, so I thought it would be okay.”
Peter nodded feebly.
“Plus, you got bitten there, didn’t you? They do crazy advanced work. And Stark Industries didn’t accept me, so we’re going with my second option.”
“Stark Industries doesn’t know you hacked their suit,” Peter huffed out a laugh. “You’re too good for them.”
“Iron Man’s rolling in his grave because you said that,” Ned poked him. “But yeah, it’s not the same without Tony Stark anyway. His legacy lives on or whatever, but also the Avengers aren’t really the same - I mean, you’d know.”
Peter nodded again, and took a breath. “Yeah. No, yeah, it’s not the same. I haven’t really tuned in to Stark Industries lately.”
“Just standard old stuff. Haven’t been breaking the same barriers without Tony Stark as head of R&D, apparently,” Ned shrugged, still smiling. “Oscorp, this’ll be a good opportunity for me, Peter.”
Peter huffed out a laugh that didn't feel genuine. He suspected Ned knew too, but didn’t say anything. “Fine, fine. But seriously, congrats, bro. Oscorp or not, you’re gonna be a gem.”
“Thanks, man.”
—
Dinner was something.
Ned really tried to include Peter more. But it was hard once people got talking about MIT, because Peter didn’t know how to talk to people about experiences he wasn't a part of. All Peter had at the moment was Spider-Man, but he couldn’t talk to Ned’s college bros about his secret vigilante identity to explain what he was up to for the four worst years of his life.
Attention sounded really fucking horrific right now.
So naturally, Peter’s attention fell straight across the table, past the wall of chatter and through to where MJ was.
Ned had shown mercy by seating Peter as far from MJ as he could. Which in some sense was great. Peter could only just see MJ sucking face with her boyfriend.
But it was also not so great. Because Peter could only just see MJ sucking face with her boyfriend. Well, not really sucking face. It could have been worse because her boyfriend’s hands could have been all over her and she could’ve been completely into it.
The boyfriend, which she’d complained to him about, only a month prior, to Spider-Man.
And now he was here. In a restaurant - a celebratory dinner for a job Ned had gotten - pretending to like what he was drinking and trying not to stare too hard at MJ’s boyfriend like his eyes had lasers.
He’d only agreed to come because it was for Ned. Because Ned made everything okay, and Ned remembered, and when Peter reminded himself of that, it made everything else okay. Because he had his best friend back.
There were a few strangers here. No familiar faces, not even any friends from high school because wow, hadn’t it been so long. But he knew Ned and Ned knew him, and things were sort of fine.
Besides MJ’s boyfriend.
Yeah, Peter remembered what she’d said. And he knew it hurt like a bitch. But here he was, being civil because MJ loved this man and no matter what, Peter would do anything for MJ. Even if it meant taking an extra antidepressant and doing a little more when he next went out for patrol.
Peter was thankful enough for the low lighting. Sure, he could hear everything in a 2 mile radius at the same time, but at least his eyeballs weren’t being assaulted as he tried to decide what was the cheapest meal on the menu.
He sat back, sort of listening to conversation like it was a podcast. He tuned out the other sentences like they had a switch and let his eyes drift off.
A mother nearby was coaxing her son to take another bite of pizza. It reminded Peter faintly of when May and Ben would take him out to eat and try to feed him sardines to expand his taste palette. Peter shivered faintly at the thought of sardines.
“Peter.”
The couple at the table over was discussing their favourite kinds of gelato, a reminder of when they were apparently in Italy for a past summer trip. Giolitti, the woman had said, and Peter wished that maybe he could go
“Peter.”
The waiters were bickering gently over a late meal for table 5, which was a trio of women who seemed tipsy enough to not quite realise.
“Peter, are you listening to me?”
Peter blinked, taking a deep breath as he brought his consciousness back, and stared up.
Into MJ’s beautiful, dark eyes.
“Oh, um. Sorry,” he choked out. “I zoned out. It’s loud.”
“You’ve been zoning out for a while.”
“You were watching me?” Peter frowned slightly.
“We’re friends,” MJ reminded him quickly. “And I’m observant.”
“No, yeah, that makes sense,” Peter nodded. “What’s up?”
“Ned’s gone to pay. We’re all going back to our place for drinks. Are you coming?”
Peter hesitated. “I mean, it’s getting late, I really should-”
“Peter,” MJ cut him off. “If I see you going on patrol instead-”
“Fine, fine,” Peter stood up suddenly. “I’ll come.”
—
Ned and MJ’s apartment felt different when it wasn’t just the three of them.
Peter stood in the kitchen, fingers curled around the edge of the countertop. He was, by definition, lurking. Ned and MJ’s friends filed into the kitchen one by one, carrying leftovers and smiles that Peter wished he could plaster across his face too.
It was strange, putting himself in this room and then staring at the group like he was floating outside of the bubble. Because that was what he was - an outsider, even if Ned did remember him. Because Ned had a life without him that had been cultivating ever since Dr. Strange cast the spell.
MJ and Ned were the last in.
“No, no, I got it,” MJ said quickly, almost tearing the pizza box out of Peter’s hands.
“You sure?” Peter blinked slowly, standing near enough in case the food slipped again.
“I can help her.”
Peter turned right into MJ’s hunky boyfriend’s chest. He stumbled back, unaware as the boyfriend stood towering over him, and moved away from the bench.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, go ahead,” Peter said quickly, watching with wide eyes as MJ’s boyfriend helped with soft hands and slow movements. The boyfriend’s eyes met MJ’s, and she relaxed.
Then, she turned to Peter with a small smile. “Paul, meet Peter.”
“Peter, hm,” MJ’s boyfriend, Paul, noted, and held out his hand. Peter took it automatically and nodded once.
“You’ve got a solid grip, Peter.”
Peter tried to smile. “Nice… to meet you.”
“Dude… dude, you’re crushing my bones,” Paul huffed out a laugh but drew his hand back too fast. “You in the military or something?”
Peter shared a quick glance with MJ. “No, I just… work out a lot. Yeah. I hit the gym.”
“Oh nice, which one?” Paul pulled his arm back, and Peter didn’t miss how he wiped his hand on his thigh. Were Peter’s hands that sweaty?
“Somewhere in Queens.” Up in the sky.
Paul’s smile grew. “You’re from Queens too? No way, dude. I used to live down there.”
“Woah,” Peter said, trying to blanket the ever-growing flatness in his voice. “That’s cool. Yeah. I’m… still there.”
“What gym are you at?” Paul kept talking, much to Peter’s disgust. “I might know some buddies there - it’s been a few months since I’ve been in the neighbourhood but I’ve got a few guys that move around.”
“Ah, shame, it slipped my mind,” Peter lied through his teeth. “Somewhere in Astoria.”
Paul chuckled. “Damn, guess I’ll have to find it myself.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you… do you guys want a drink?” Peter swallowed carefully, hoping his words would swallow up the awkwardness lingering between them.
“You don’t want one, right?” Paul asked, looking over at MJ with kind eyes.
“No, yeah, thanks,” MJ said quickly. “I don’t really drink.”
Peter flushed. “Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologise. It’s not like you would have known,” MJ shrugged. “It’s a societal norm to drink at social events like these, and we haven’t… spoken in a while.”
Peter’s eyes widened a little from where he stood. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”
“Because of all the vanilla vodka you downed at MIT?” Ned’s friend interjected.
MJ rolled her eyes, but the small twitch of her lip suggested Ned was right. “It wasn’t my finest moment.”
“None of those moments were - I didn’t know you were so into karaoke?”
“You’re into karaoke?” Peter said.
“Yeah, she can do a mean rendition of Crazy in Love,” Paul snorted, and Peter felt himself die inside a little. A few of their friends piped up, all jumping on the memory like a bandwagon.
Peter just huffed out another laugh and took a sip of the beer in his hand.
The night continued on like that - Peter would stand and stare, chasing the opportunity to pipe up and then maybe not look so much like a loser. But when the conversation rotated around MIT and Paul and MJ had retreated down the hall, Peter was feeling less and less like he had anything to add.
He wasn’t there for Johnny’s fraternity hazing or that time they tried to make tiramisu with the cafeteria milk and coffee. He didn’t attend Harry’s cousin’s Bat Mitzvah and he most certainly didn’t see Ned and Harley’s robot win a club competition where their robot smashed the competition within thirty seconds.
Peter’s eyes shifted between Ned and the man’s friends.
He winced. “Ned, where’s the… bathroom?”
The sentence was domestic, yet it hurt more than Peter chose to admit. He didn’t even know the stupid, meaningless things about Ned.
“Oh, yeah, down the hall and on the right,” Ned said, waving a hand towards the door frame.
“Okay, okay, thanks,” he said quickly, placing the beer onto the counter. “I’ll… be back.”
Ned nodded enthusiastically.
And so Peter moved. Cautious, as if every pair of eyes was weighing him back like sandbags tied to his feet.
“You know, now that Ned’s got this internship,” MJ said softly, eyes shifting down to where her hands were interlinked with Paul’s. “Maybe I’ll reach out again.”
“You turned down that corporate job,” Paul reminded her carefully. “Where are you gonna try next?”
“What’s the guarantee I get in?” MJ said casually, even if her tone was a little flat. Peter could sense it by the way her inflection lowered and she trailed off. “Expect disappointment and you don’t get disappointment.”
“Okay, MIT grad,” Paul laughed, bright and vibrant. Peter shoved his fist into his mouth.
“I’m serious,” MJ pressed her hand to Paul’s chest. “I’m not desperate for a job. Not if I want something even remotely un-soulness.”
Peter watched Paul lift his hand and draw it down MJ’s cheek. MJ melted a little, eyes finally meeting Paul’s.
“Whatever you do, I’ll be here to support you,” Paul said, before pressing his lips to MJ’s again.
Peter felt the floor drop from under him.
MJ kissed her boyfriend back. And wrapped her arms around his neck like she might slip
Peter wanted to die.
His feet were moving before he could stop them, tumbling and slapping the floors without any cohesion. His balance swerved, tilting left and right until he wasn’t quite sure whether he was still standing on the ground.
Each thud of his foot rattled like someone had cocked a gun. He stumbled, shuddering as each footstep stunned him, snapping like an erratic spray of bullets across his skin. His hands reached for the walls as if he could maybe latch to the side, but his fingers hit the wall in an explosive thump. He had to bite down on his tongue and pray to latch back to the side.
His back slammed against the wall, forcing out a stronger explosion that made his fingers curl in. His nails scraped at the plaster to ground himself. He could hear a raw growl, but it was so amplified by his ears that it felt like it was tearing through his skin and shivering through his bones.
The talking was too loud, like someone had brought a megaphone to his ear and screamed the lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody. He could hear nothing and everything all at once, a bloody cacophony of sound squished together by a hydraulic press until it was one furling ball of misery.
“Peter!”
He could see Ned, just barely, through the swarm of light clouding his vision. Nothing was more than shapes and colours, all blurred together like paint swishing into a water drain.
He tried to call out, but his voice came out too sharp at the edges, a serrated knife stabbing through his ear canals and scraping at the upper layer of his skin where he had those stupid sensory hairs that picked up external stimuli like a frat guy at a liquor store.
“Peter, take a deep breath.”
The breath swamped him in a tidal wave of air. One hand curled into his shirt while the other attempted to steady itself through a fistful of plaster and paint that crumbled like a landslide of rocks. He flinched like he’d been slapped, teeth gritting as he fought through the overload.
He stumbled into Ned, who held him up like he was glass. He pretty much was.
“Shit, shit, sorry,” he croaked, pressing his eyes into his sleeve. “This is so embarrassing.”
Ned frowned, patting his back tensely. “Peter, no, take another breath.”
Peter tried to, before soberness washed over him like an icebath. “Shit, um, yeah. I should go. Get some fresh air.”
“We have a balcony,” Ned offered with a small smile.
“Your friends are drinking… on the fire escape,” Peter coughed and began to draw circles against his temples. “I think… I need sleep.”
The lie felt easy on his tongue. He’d gone months withholding truths, secrets that weren’t really secrets buried far under his ribs. It was normal to lie, because if he lied then he couldn’t open up his skin and be vulnerable. And if he wasn’t vulnerable, there wasn’t the potential of the rug slipping from under his feet again.
But this was Ned, he reminded himself carefully.
But it wasn’t the Ned he knew four years ago. It wasn’t the starry-eyed, excitable, nerdy teenager who dreamed of LEGOs and how cool it was to be a hero. This was the new Ned Leeds, who was popular and a graduate and had friends that didn’t leave on a whim and break every promise.
And Peter’s heart ached too much to be vulnerable. If he took the leap of faith, he’d start sobbing in the foyer while MJ and Paul ate each others’ faces only a few rooms over. Then, he’d face anguish and public humiliation. First impressions were important when they were the first impressions he had as a living, existing person.
So, he took a breath. “I’m sorry… I just need to breathe,” Peter croaked, stepping back from Ned with eyes that begged otherwise.
“Dude, if you’re just socially inept, you can just tell me,” Ned huffed out a laugh but winced when Peter’s lip barely twitched. “Fine, just don’t fuck yourself up. I’m here if you get shot or something.”
“Yep, yep,” Peter nodded. “And, um, thanks. This night… was great. And congrats on the job.”
“Get some rest, man,” Ned said again with a small smile. Someone called his name and his head turned back quickly to the kitchen. “Hold on! I’ll be a second!”
Peter’s lip curved upwards into a sad attempt at a smile. “I’m gonna… I’m gonna go.”
“See you, Peter.”
The air was icy crisp when Peter’s skin hit the sky.
—
Paul was a nice guy.
Sometimes he and MJ had conflicts, but he was nice. And he kissed really well.
MJ had gotten lost in the taste of his tongue, the faint hint of beer on his lips. She tended to avoid alcohol, mostly because any time she’d drank it was chained to some traumatic memory of drinking too much. She shuddered periodically, mind wandering to university.
He groaned against her lips, one hand curled into her camisole and the other wrapped around her waist. “You’re so gorgeous,” he whispered, lips curling into a smile.
“And therefore… I have… value?” She replied with a twitch of her lip, letting herself press closer without much thought.
“You have value because you are you,” Paul added slowly, pressing kisses down her jawline and towards her neck. “Being gorgeous is a happy perk.”
“You’re so… God, cheesy.”
Paul paused from nipping at her neck to give her a goofy smile. “For you, baby.”
“Don’t call me that,” MJ reminded him, but let him continue to kiss her neck and draw out soft sighs. His breath was hot against her skin and his lips were hotter, sucking a little at her collarbone.
Paul hummed and pressed another kiss to the base of her neck. She shivered, pulling herself closer until they were pressed against each other. MJ could feel his thighs against hers.
Paul’s fingers curled just at the hem of her camisole. Not intrusive, just there, waiting. She didn’t protest, continuing to let him explore without restraint. She could hear Ned and his friends faintly from down the hall, busy and occupied as Paul’s hands roamed her body.
It felt nice, as always. Gentle but eager,
MJ tensed as Paul’s hand travelled further under her camisole.
“No, not now,” MJ said, a beat too fast. “People are here.”
“Of course,” Paul nodded, pressing a final kiss to her lips. “We can just stay here and I can keep tasting the soda on your—”
He was cut off by a heavy thud down the hall. She stiffened like someone had shocked her. Her eyes moved to Paul, whose hand had instinctively found hers. “We should check on that.”
Paul swallowed slowly. “Must’ve just been the guys. Ned would have it under control.”
MJ restrained her protest - he was right, Ned was plenty responsible and he could handle it. She could stay in the quiet for a little longer.
“C’mon, let’s sit down.” Paul sat on the edge of the bed and pulled MJ with him. They sat in silence for a moment, chasing each others’ warmth as MJ pressed herself into his chest.
“So, the new guy. Peter, right?” Paul hummed. “High school friend?”
“Oh, well, yeah,” MJ said too casually. “Me, Ned, him. It was a little friend group.”
“You guys close?”
“Peter and I dated,” MJ blurted before her voice could betray herself. She tended to avoid lying, and this tasted like a lie on her tongue, something that itched at the blurry part of her brain that she couldn’t pick apart.
Something in Paul’s face shifted. “He’s your ex?”
“Yeah,” MJ continued without restraint, lips pursed. “We dated for a little while in high school. It, uh, didn’t work out.”
Didn’t work out was hilariously superficial. She had to stop herself from laughing, because it was so ridiculously not enough to describe the situation Peter had put her in.
“Oh?” Paul’s eyebrows raised.
“It wasn’t really anything,” MJ continued, even if it felt more wrong because whatever Peter had done had been far from normal. Intergalactic, even. She knew, even if she didn’t want to admit it, that it had been enough for Peter to seek out witchcraft. “Anyway, you’re my boyfriend. He’s closer with Ned - they’ve been friends since grade school.”
“How come I’ve never seen him?” Paul huffed out a laugh.
“He didn’t go to MIT.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry,” Paul squeezed her hand. “I forgot. Ha,you’ve never been this forthcoming with me.”
The comment twisted in MJ’s stomach. “That’s a weird thing to say.”
“Well,” Paul shrugged carefully. “You’re fairly withdrawn.”
“Yeah, ha ha, fine.”
“I still love you though.”
MJ sighed. “Saying that doesn’t change what you said.”
“You can be withdrawn and I still love you. And, you weren’t withdrawn today. We had a vulnerable conversation about feelings.”
“You’re a sap,” MJ pretended to gag. “Ew, feelings. I hate those.”
Paul kissed her again. “Remind me who you said yes to dating?”
—
The apartment room always seemed to smell just off.
Maybe it was the asbestos. But he knew, logically, it couldn't smell like asbestos because asbestos didn’t have a smell. Maybe instead, it was the unmoved takeaway boxes stacked in the sink, or his sweaty, unwashed clothes that were utterly pungent, and he really needed to wash them.
Peter knew the room was crappy. It wasn’t exactly a unit - far from it, really. It was an attic that used to be for storage but now felt more like home than the last place he stayed. That place he’d first moved into that breathed of grief and fell from his feet within a matter of months.
But even if this place was better, these new memories seemed to hide in the crevices of the walls. Tiny, unbearable reminders of MJ, like that coffee cup that hurt like a brick both to stare at and to attempt to discard.
“I don’t love you.”
The words had cut deeper than any knife had. Not even the ones that he’d have to dig out with pliers because it had embedded itself so far into his skin that it was wedged tight between bones and muscles.
It hurt more knowing they were true, and it was inevitable, and that Peter couldn’t stop it. It hurt because she was right - she always was, that was the beauty of her - and it had been his fault.
He hadn’t meant for her to find the note. He hadn’t meant to keep it, but every time his hands grazed the paper, he could step into his own shoes four years prior and feel the sinking, splitting, scorching in his chest.
But fate was never on his side. Not when his legacy was in the hands of whatever magic Dr. Strange had inflicted on him all those years ago. And it wasn’t his fault when he’d followed Ned back to whatever house party he was at and witnessed MJ kissing a guy that wasn’t him. And now MJ knew that there had once been something, even if she couldn’t put her finger on it.
It pissed him off that the universe couldn’t let him live in peace. Things had finally, sort of, been okay. He’d been taking the right dosages of antidepressants and medication for that headache problem he’d developed.
And then he’d kissed MJ. And for too long, it felt real. But it never was, it hadn’t been, and he’d kissed her even if it wasn’t her, just her body.
Now that she was kind of back in his life, he would never tell her just how bad that made her feel.
And he’d learned too late in life that he couldn’t rely on trust. Not when his identity was ripped from him because he’d put too much security in Quentin. Not when May was ripped from reality because Peter had caught on too late, too far in the game.
But he’d kissed MJ and she hadn’t wanted it and that was worse than anything he’d ever done.
And now it was a constant reminder in his head. A sentence highlighted in electric yellow against a dusty textbook. Crimson red, like the blood he wore on his hands.
He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling and waiting for time to pass.
If he went out to patrol too early, Ned would forward a call through and drunkenly remind him that he nearly exploded in the man’s apartment foyer. And that he should take a break, and maybe that he wasn’t emotionally stable enough to attempt to save lives in the field.
But the mask slipped too easily back onto his face. Like a drug he couldn’t stop taking, just so addicted to the high of flying.
—
Patrol went the same as how it always had.
He’d swerved Frank’s van into a pole after Frank had tried to put a bullet through Tombstone’s brain again. Some guy tried stabbing him. The knife slid straight through his thigh and skewered his suit. Again. Blood was leaking out of his leg first in rivulets but now it crystalised and glistened like rubies. It was almost a little pretty, like the beads of blood were gemstones.
Wow, Peter, what an outlook on life.
E.V. had alerted him of a few crimes across New York but it seemed relatively mundane. Until, of course, Tombstone crushed him under his fist and Peter lost control of himself again. The arachnid DNA levels had hit an all time high, and sure, maybe it was important to respect his identity and who he was. But he didn’t want to grow freakish limbs or have spiderwebs coming out of his ass - he just wanted to stay human.
He was bleeding like he’d been pulled through a paper shredder, leaving a disgusting trail of crimson on the sidewalk as he crawled home. The blood wasn’t so pretty anymore.
Ned and his friends were probably too drunk for him to call. And he wasn’t ringing MJ - not when Paul was probably on the other line, psychoanalysing every step he took with that stupid-kind smile that was infinitely condescending.
And none of them could know about the spidery thing. Not now, inebriated and foolish and with a mind full of rocks. Not tomorrow, when a sinking headache pressed in the base of their skulls.
The plans for the inhibitor needed to be deleted. But he’d get to that. Maybe he’d keep them in case he went full spider one day. But his apartment was mostly safe. Jean Grey was the outlier, but Peter knew she was an outlier by the way she froze an entire city with her mind.
But that inhibitor - those plans, which he’d realised, were incredibly dangerous - would never see the light of day. He’d come up with a better idea somehow, something that could suppress the growing arachnid DNA without causing a mutant uproar.
But that was a problem for when he wasn’t bleeding out. He had to sew himself up, and maybe try to get some sleep without the events of earlier curling into his brain.
—
Peter wasn’t quite awake when he stumbled through the apartment those few hours later.
Barely conscious, bloody fingers curling at the window frame as he pulled himself into the unit. His muscles ached like he hadn’t swung for weeks, even if it had only been a few days of recovering from injury.
His vision was blurry and every sound was too sharp, too hard around the edges. Even the rattle of the wind, which usually lulled him to sleep. It wasn’t as bad as when he was at Ned’s but it certainly wasn’t great. Any night where he had to pinch a needle and press it through his flesh was a bad night.
But tonight, he froze, sobering up immediately.
The unit was trashed. Not like before, which was a ridiculous imitation of a college student; takeaway boxes, protein powder, unwashed clothes.
No, this was different. And things were gone.
But Peter couldn’t tell what. Not when his feet were slipping and his body was floating and his head was stuffed with cotton like he was a ragdoll. Not when the world turned sideways and his head hit the floor with a bang.