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His mind is awake before his body is, soon to follow of course, but a bit slower on the uptake. He comes back to himself in pieces, remembering fragments of last night in the wrong order. Punched in the face, and then he’s riding the bus with flowers, peeling off his suit while Ned goes on a rant about baby powder and chafing, Mj is snarking about an mayoral election in another state, and then he’s waking up and groaning about starting the day again. A bit muddled but within a few moments, smoothes out and his body gives a twitch, his nose itches, and it’s about time to get up.
Eyes open first, squinting. The shades have been drawn but with his senses dialled up to eleven, it's always about his mind adjusting before he’s able to be comfortable. Mj suggested sleeping masks but Ned always had a habit of snagging them and using them for himself, only for his anxieties of the dark to have him throwing them across the room and getting lost. Again. When they ultimately do their monthly house clean, Peter is bound to find them all underneath the vanity, dust bunnies and encrusted with what he doesn’t want to know.
And anyway, an eye mask would get in the way of falling asleep to his other halves. As cheesy as it sounds, it’s a rather nice way to fall asleep. Except now when he has to take several breaths and slowly open his eyes. A squint and exhaling out his nose and he’s fine. For the most part.
The clock is half covered by half a pair of socks someone, he’s not naming names, threw haphazardly. So the only number marked is the hour. Close enough to dawn that he’s not far behind the schedule he’s made up in his head but he could do better. He has things to do and people to help. He doubts the city will let it slide if Spider-Man just wanted to sleep in a little. This city certainly never sleeps and—
“St’p fucking m’ving, diggin’ ‘n my thigh,” comes a muffled voice. Grumpy, but Ned has never been an early bird. It was always Peter who woke up early on sleepovers and even started making breakfast in Ned’s own house before anyone was up. “H’y…”
“Sorry,” Peter mouths and then realizes that Ned’s face is currently squished against the crook of his neck so he whispers it instead. “Time to get up.”
“No.”
Oh, Mj’s awake. Peter turns his head, face to face with eyes almost closed, but not quite. Just a sliver of a crack open, enough to see those deep browns glaring at him. Mj is neither a morning person nor a night owl and when Peter and Ned asked for clarification one day, she simply shrugged.
“I gotta get up, Mj,” Peter tries to say softly. Did he wash his suit, or even hang it up? He does not want to wear a damp suit, he really should make a spare for laundry day.
Instead of answering him verbally, Mj is throwing a leg over his waist and nuzzling her face into the other crook of his neck. Her arm that had already been thrown over his chest presses just a little bit harder. Whether because he was paying attention or just decides at that moment, Ned has his own arm over top of Peter as well. Not to mention their legs currently tangled up together. Feet tickling and only one of Ned’s is covered by a sock.
“You know I can easily break out, right?” Peter huffs. “Super strength and all that.”
“Then do it,” Mj says, her lips brushing against Peter’s bare skin, a threat of her teeth.
Not so much a challenge as it is a warning. Ned mumbles something too but peters off halfway through and he’s snoring softly. It does something unbelievably gooey to Peter’s heart. “I will,” Peter lies, lying in bed still. And he— the city needs him, there’s chaos around every corner. A little old lady who will need help carrying her groceries, some kids will inevitably get their football caught in a tree, someone trying and failing to shoplift a crossbow, and sure the occasional world ending catastrophe. Spider-Man’s work is never done.
And yet Peter hasn’t moved a single inch, hearing the flutters of Mj’s heartbeat against his own, Ned’s snoring growing louder. Mj has been getting into the habit of putting her hair in a braid before bed, although it always has a way of getting loose. The hair tie somewhere in the blankets. Wild strands, sticking to her forehead and the drool by her lips. She’ll swallow it if she’s not careful so Peter is gentle when he plucks it from her face. Softly enough that her brow only furrows slightly, tucking it behind her hair, playing with the strands he catches.
He needs to get up, but then his other hand finds Ned’s back and fingers run along his shoulderblades. Two moles, right over the backside of his heart. Ned would say that it’s his and Mj’s because he’s a sap. Mj would say that it’s too cheesy and have to hide her blush behind a banned book. Ned runs hot and Mj has always been a little cold. The soft wool blanket over her body and Ned having thrown off his thin sheet in his sleep. Leaving him in just his boxers and Mj drowning in his sweatshirt and Peter’s pants.
Falling back asleep, or just dozing, but blinking and glancing at the clock again. The hour has dragged on without him. He could move to get up, but Ned is lying directly on top of him now, and he always struggles to find positions to sleep right, it would be cruel of Peter to wake him. And anyway, Mj is pressed up against both of them, craving Ned’s body heat and what little Peter has. He can hear them whispering to each other, they must think that he can’t hear them. But when he opens his eyes, they’re both smiling softly at him.
Peter feels a wave of gratitude like none other wash over him. The grief is there, the four years he spent without them will weigh on him for the rest of his life, he thinks. But like May would say; dwelling on what if’s and what could have’s will only make him more miserable with what he already has. And Peter is done with being miserable.
“Love you guys,” he whispers, the words clogging in his throat but pushes them out anyways. “M sorry.”
“Banned word,” Ned says as a reflex, already leaning down to give Peter's lips a quick peck. Mj is there, on his cheek and then they switch.
“I know but…” Peter trails off, the lump in his throat growing larger by the second. It’s going to consume him and he can feel the dampness of tears, how his head is already starting to throb, and his legs feel restless.
And then Mj burps. Proudly, in his ear and Ned is giggling when Peter jerks his head away only to get it caught in the hand that’s been playing with his hair. Trying to move up but Ned’s face is there and he didn’t really mean to kiss him and of course Mj is nibbling a little on his earlobe and he’s not really able to feel as sad anymore.
“Just a little while more,” Mj says, resting her chin on his shoulder and peering up at him. The light catches her eyes, soft and brown and with a glimmer of mischief. God, had he missed those eyes.
Ned has his cheek pressed against his chest, his own eyes being gifted the same lighting and his stupid dimples beaming up at him. “C’mon, it’s still early.”
“Okay,” Peter whispers, his voice so soft, a fragile thing. As if he’ll speak too loudly and break this precious thing he has. And it’s longer than just a while more, but the city that never sleeps gives it to him, allowing just a small slice of peace.