Chapter Text
Ever since Lara Jean met Peter, they've been inseparable.
It made complete sense in hindsight, even if anyone looking at the match-up objectively would have found it a bit weird. Lara Jean Song Covey was kind-hearted, hopelessly romantic and organized, but also somewhat awkward when put on the spot in social circumstances. Peter Parker was the same, only with less social awkwardness (but still plenty of terrible timing and heart of gold).
Making friends was excruciatingly difficult for Lara Jean to begin with when she moved to New York for college. The city was a roaring, endless mass of concrete and unapproachable strangers. She didn't know a soul, and her family back at home felt worlds away. On the flip side, Margot wasn't here to gently manage her schedule, Kitty wasn't here to slide sarcastic remarks past her in the morning, and her dad wasn't here to make overly enthusiastic pancakes every Sunday. She quickly learned that being on her own wasn't such a bad thing, but it wasn't always easy. Her tiny apartment often felt too large for just one person.
She felt a weight lift off her shoulders the day she met Peter in the campus library. They both reached for the last annotated copy of a classic literature text, knocked over a stack of heavy anthologies and spent a good twenty minutes whispering frantic apologies on their hands and knees to each other.
After that, the city didn't seem half as intimidating, lonely or difficult to make friends in. It didn't seem so scary to spend long, exhausting hours in lectures, when she'd finally have someone genuine to talk to.
"Lara Jean!"
She'd had an awful day at college. An agonizing seminar discussion on 19th century poetry, her favourite fountain pen leaked dark ink inside her canvas book bag and the sharp, autumn breeze from the river was nipping at her cardigan sleeves. All she wanted was a nice, chilled-out hangout session with her best friend, at their favourite local coffee shop tucked away in a dimly-lit city street that smelled of old roasted espresso beans and the scent of aged paper.
Looking up from her pastel leather planner, where she furiously color-coded her reading lists for the week, Lara Jean spotted a smiling Peter by the door, waving eagerly at her. He caught his shoe on the edge of a mat and hopped up to a quick, remarkably agile stance before walking over to their usual corner booth to sit.
"Hey, Peter!" she replied, her face lighting up at the sight of him despite her bad day. She snapped her gel pen shut as she looked at him. "How come you always know when I need you?"
Peter looked at her and grinned slightly, adjusting the strap of his worn backpack. "Well... You could say I just sensed it."
Lara Jean leant across the small wooden table to whisper to him conspiratorially."Is that part of your 'Peter Tingle'?"
She burst out laughing as Peter's cheeks flushed bright, immediately disgruntled by the teasing.
"Hey! I told you that in confidence!" Peter hissed playfully, sneaking a quick glance around the café to make sure no one else was listening. "I can't have both you and Aunt May making fun of me. It's a legitimate physiological reaction, LJ!"
Lara Jean giggled, covering her mouth with her hand as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I promise to keep the 'Peter Tingle' strictly off the record. Swear on my collection of first-edition paperbacks."
Peter shook his head fondly, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly. He leant back in the cozy leather booth, eyes softening as they landed on her tired face.
"So..." Peter began, leant on the table. "What made today so terrible? Did someone insult the mid-century romanticism in your favorite essay?"
Lara Jean sighed and slumped forward onto the table until her chin was resting on her hands. She tapped her open planner rhythmically with her pen.
"Worse," she groaned, voice muffled against her sleeves. "The English Department's Literary Society is hosting their annual spring social next week. It's the event for all lit students. Everybody who is anybody is going, and they're all bringing these ridiculously cultured, sophisticated dates who know how to quote Shakespeare and analyze obscure prose over punch."
She looked up at him, pouting slightly.
"And I accidentally let it slip to the head of the organizing committee that I was dating someone. A very cultured, very attentive university student who loves classic literature."
Peter blinked and pointed a thumb at his chest. "Wait... are you describing me, or did you make up an imaginary boyfriend who happens to sound vaguely like me?"
"I was describing you, silly!" Lara Jean said, her face burning slightly pink. "Except we aren't dating. But then I spent the whole afternoon sitting in the back of my novel analysis lecture thinking... what if we pretend to?"
Peter opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get a word out, Lara Jean rushed on, her words tumbling out in a classic, rapid-fire stream that only made sense in her head.
"Think about it! It's a total win-win scenario, Peter. You've been struggling so much lately trying to explain to people why you disappear during group study sessions, or leave in the middle of campus events. If anyone asks where you are when you're out... doing your other job, I can just say you're on a grand, romantic errand for me. Hunting down rare book editions, picking up vintage bookmarks across town, whatever! I'll give you the best, most airtight alibi in the entire city."
Peter looked at her for a long second, his brain whirring. His usual frantic, stressing mind about the whole balancing midterms, rent and between skyscrapers saving people had suddenly lightened up.
"An airtight alibi," Peter repeated softly, an actual, crooked grin spreading over his face. He leant in a bit closer. "You know... that's actually... really smart, LJ."
"Of course it's smart!" she said, her brown eyes immediately lighting up. "So... what do you say, Peter Parker? Will you be my fake boyfriend?"
"Under one condition," Peter said, lighting up his eyes playfully. "You have to help me look the part. If I'm supposed to be a cultured literature lover, I need you to make sure I don't look like I just rolled out of a high school gym class."
"Deal!" Lara Jean squealed, clapping her hands together.