Archive of Our Own

Peter hates his apartment. 

To be clear, Peter doesn’t “hate.” It’s too strong of a word. Frankly, that emotion ranks at the bottom of the list of things he’s feeling right now. 

The top of the list? Exhaustion. Hunger. Loneliness. The heavy baggage that comes with being a superhero. When these are the emotions he experiences regularly, hate pretty much pales in comparison. That, and Aunt May always reminds reminded him that hate is a disease with a chance to infect his heart and his whole life if he’s not careful. 

So, in conclusion, Peter doesn’t hate. He gets angry, emotional, and may not make the best decisions at times. But what he doesn’t do is hate.

However, standing in front of his apartment, the door refusing to budge despite Peter’s every effort to push it open, he can definitely say this with certainty:

Peter hates his apartment. 

He hates this apartment so much.

“Come on,” Peter groans, rattling the doorknob from his twisting and turning. “You can’t do this to me on a Sunday.” 

Despite Peter’s fantastic attempts, the door remains locked. 

He resists the urge to slam his forehead to the door. This is the seventh time his apartment locked itself without Peter doing anything. To make things worse, Peter knows his key is inside because he intentionally left it behind earlier so he wouldn’t lose it.

He learned his lesson when he lost his replacement key seventy times during his patrols and fights as Spider-Man. At first, the landlord was really nice about it and gave him replacements for free. But over time he began charging Peter because he once lost his key six times in just one month. Which is why Peter decided to never bring his key along and leave his apartment unlocked instead. 

Besides, it’s not like anyone would rob him. There are no valuables worth stealing in his apartment. Zero. Absolutely none. Unless anyone wants to steal a broken microwave that can’t heat up food properly, a semi-functioning sewing machine, a broken chair supported by secondhand books, or a tiny dining table with three water bottles stacked on top of one another as one of its makeshift legs. 

If none of those things entice a robber, then they surely won’t steal the damp mattress he found near the garbage where he hides most of his money.

(Most being like… forty dollars.)

Peter knows New York is unpredictable, and maybe there is a robber out there who might steal his stuff anyway, but he’s gotten away with leaving his apartment unlocked so far. His luck in this specific situation is incredibly fortunate and a little offensive to be honest. Fortunate because he gets to keep the small amount of belongings he accumulated over the years, and offended because no robber deemed any of his stuff worthy enough to steal. 

He’s getting sidetracked. 

The point is that his apartment shouldn’t be locked at all.

Yet it is, and Peter is trying so hard not to break his door down out of frustration. 

Peter sighs and hangs his head down. He’s not usually worked up about things like this. But it’s been a long day of fighting a lot of people bigger than him, barely scraping enough money to pay his rent, and getting yelled at his part-time job for over thirty minutes because he forgot to remove the olives in a customer’s pizza (even though he’s just the delivery boy).

He’s had worse days for sure. But it’s not a good Sunday for him, if he’s being honest. 

Peter grips his doorknob tight. He’ll just have to break it and fix his lock later. It’s not like this is the first time he’s done this. There are cracks on his door around the doorknob from the countless times Peter broke it to get inside.

Huh. Maybe he should take another part-time job as a handyman. He could use the extra money.

He’s gotten pretty good at fixing his lock with random screws he finds on the sidewalk and forcing them through the small holes despite the difference in sizes. Though, it has a bad effect of making his doorknob impossible to open properly. Maybe that’s why it developed a habit of locking itself.

… on second thought, maybe Peter shouldn’t be a handyman after all.

Peter is about to twist the doorknob and break it until he senses someone approaching. He turns his head to face who just arrived and his breath immediately hitches, just like the first time and every other time he’s seen her here. 

MJ.

She is walking up the stairs to their floor, seemingly on the phone. She looks effortlessly put-together with her long black dress and wavy hair.

Her hair used to be curlier. Peter used to spend all day at school looking at the back of her head, his fingers itching to touch those brown strands while he was working up the courage to confess his feelings. When they were together, Peter couldn’t stop himself from tucking her hair behind her ears or playing with the ends, careful not to ruin her ponytail. 

Peter doesn’t have any right to do that anymore. 

Peter should really stop being a creep and staring at his ex-girlfriend neighbor like this, but his heart always softens at the sight of her. Four years may have passed, but he still can’t escape the quiet longing aching through his bones when she’s around. 

He immediately looks away when their gazes meet for a brief second, his heart skipping erratically. He hopes his face isn’t red. Is his heartbeat too loud? It feels like it’s too loud. Loud enough that it’s echoing in his eardrums. Can she hear it? Can she hear his nervousness? Can she hear his yearning? 

“I’ll call you back,” MJ says as Peter tries to control his raging heartbeat. “Hey, neighbor.”

Peter snaps his neck to look back at her, surprised at being acknowledged. “Huh?”

“I know you.” MJ walks over from across the hallway. “We met, right?”

Peter’s throat clogs up with hope, even though it’s impossible she’d recognize him. “What?”

“A month ago?” MJ clarifies. “At my housewarming party? I’m MJ, if you forgot.”

Just like that, the hope instantly shatters. He tries not to show his disappointment too much as he laughs awkwardly. “Oh, yeah. I was there. It was a fun night.” 

“You left after twenty minutes, though.” 

Peter freezes, but he tries to laugh more forcefully. “What? I — no, I wasn’t—”

“I’m very observant,” MJ says. 

Don’t I know it? Peter thinks wistfully.

“And besides,” MJ continues while she rummages through her bag. “It’s hard to forget someone who gave me flowers. That’s the nicest thing I experienced here, and I’ve lived in New York for most of my life.” 

Peter can’t help the small smile forming on his face. “New York can be pretty rough. I just wanted to show my support as your neighbor.” 

“A friendly neighbor,” MJ jokes, repeating her words from that night when he clumsily handed her those flowers. Once again, the irony is not lost on Peter. “Why are you just standing there, by the way?”

“Huh? O-Oh.” Peter awkwardly tries to open his door, but the doorknob only rattles stubbornly. “I’m locked out. And, um — I’m pretty sure I forgot my key inside.” 

Peter winces at his words. He shouldn’t have said that. Now MJ knows his door is locked, which means he can’t just super strength his way into breaking into his apartment. At least until she gets into hers and he’s one hundred percent sure she’s not watching him through her peephole. 

It’s a little too brazen to assume she’d be watching him at all, but she noticed Peter left her party early. Peter would rather not slip up around her again. 

“Have you been standing here this whole time because of that?” MJ frowns. 

Peter shrugs. “It’s not the first time this happened.” Peter should really stop talking right now. He’s giving more information than he should and it’ll be even harder to use his powers when MJ is around—

“Then,” MJ interrupts his thoughts. “How about staying with me for a while?”

Peter’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Until the landlord shows up and unlocks your door for you.” When she fishes her keys from her bag, MJ smiles — stealing the oxygen from his lungs, his legs shaking underneath the weight of his emotions at the sight of it. “I don’t mind some company. My friend is supposed to eat dinner with me but he’s running late.” 

“I — I don’t—” Peter starts, his brain not working fast enough to think up a clever lie to decline her invitation. 

“It’ll be fine,” MJ assures him. “It’s what neighbors do, right?”

Peter isn’t so sure about that. For the four years he’s been living in this apartment building, almost all of his neighbors have shouted and gotten mad at him for making too much noise while climbing up the stairs or thudding on the floor in his room. 

To be fair, most of the time Peter is either bleeding, injured badly, on the verge of passing out, or all three at the same time. He makes it up to his neighbors by giving them slices of pizza that he brings home from his part-time job. More often than not, he ends up sleeping hungry, but at least his neighbors won’t complain to the landlord about him.

“I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding at all.” MJ unlocks her door and steps inside, gesturing with her head for him to follow. “Besides, I’m just repaying you for the flowers.”

“You don’t have to,” Peter insists. “I was just being nice.”

“Then I’m being nice too. Come on. I have too much food and only myself for company.” 

She holds up the plastic bag in her hand, where Peter can see two boxes of takeout inside. Just the thought of food, of being able to eat, makes his mouth water instantly. He bites his tongue, hesitating. Earlier, he had a banana a nice lady offered him after retrieving her wallet from a pickpocket. It’s the only thing he ate today.

Honestly, with his depleted energy, Peter just wants to crash on his worn-down mattress and sleep as much as he can before he goes out on patrol again. But a nice meal sounds good.

Based on the churning of his empty stomach, any meal sounds really, really good right now.

“Okay,” Peter agrees, his hunger winning against his common sense. “Thank you for having me.” 

MJ smiles again and holds the door out wider for him. Peter enters through and MJ shuts the door behind him. She leads him to the dining table and it’s taking everything in Peter to be respectful and not look around the place she and Ned are staying at. But curiosity wins and he fails miserably.

It’s big. A lot more spacey than Peter’s apartment. Quieter without all the people from a month ago crowding the space. It looks nice too, with all the decorations and memorabilia displayed on the shelves and countertops. He pointedly ignores the board where there seems to be Spider-Man pictures and news clippings posted on it.

While MJ’s back is still turned, Peter’s eyes take a quick scan around. There are movie posters and picture frames on the walls. String lights are spread across the room with no clear pattern or design. Peter smiles ruefully at the sight. It’s the type of thing MJ would do. An artist who likes the appearance of organized chaos. 

Ned and MJ must’ve saved up a lot for this apartment. A great place for the two most important people in Peter’s life. The swell of pride in his chest outweighs any sadness he feels at the moment.

“You okay?” MJ asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Trust me, I told Ned he should move his Star Wars posters in his room instead. But he insisted on putting them up everywhere for all the guests to see.”

Peter laughs, feeling light. “It’s okay. It looks good.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not, I swear. I actually like Star Wars.”

“You and Ned would definitely get along,” MJ snorts while bringing out the two takeout boxes from the plastic bag.

The light feeling he just experienced twists into something more bittersweet. It seems like the longer he talks to MJ, he’s drowning into the memories of what used to be. Memories of a simpler life, a kinder one. But that life has gone and passed a million years ago. 

There’s no returning to the past. It’s for the best.

“He’s your roommate?” Peter asks, being polite. He barely got to talk to Ned during the party, much less introduce himself. 

MJ nods. “Yeah. We’ve been friends forever. We lived together in college and when we decided to move back into New York, we agreed it’d be better to just continue the arrangement.”

“That’s nice,” Peter mumbles.

MJ smiles, and wow, Peter is reminded of how much he really likes her smile. “My friendship or the fact I can’t afford rent without a roommate?”

“What? No, no, I meant—” Peter backtracks— “I didn’t—”

“I’m messing with you.”

Peter stops rambling before chuckling under his breath. It seems that even after four years, he’ll still fall for MJ’s tricks every time. 

“Come on and eat already,” MJ says. “I texted the landlord and he said it’ll take an hour for him to come by.”

Peter approaches the table and pulls out the seat across her, hoping his sweaty palms won’t stick to the chair. He quietly thanks his lucky stars for letting him successfully sit on the chair without any hiccups. 

MJ slides the takeout box to him. Peter whispers a thanks as he opens the box, the smell immediately hitting his nostrils.

Peter stops himself from sighing like a creepy man, but he can’t help the saliva accumulating in his mouth. The food looks absolutely heavenly. It has fried rice with eggs and shrimp. There’s four pieces of glazed chicken on top with smaller, fried tofu mixed in with the rice.

It’s most likely food Peter can’t afford, which doesn’t help the hunger growing in his stomach.

“I’m…” Peter scrambles for something to say. He wants to say I’ll pay you back, but he’s on his last forty dollars right now and he still needs a couple more to afford next month’s rent. “Uh… thank you. Really.”

MJ waves him off. “It’s fine. Ned ate out anyway, which is why he’s running late. At least the perfectly good food won’t be wasted.”

There’s something off about her statement, but Peter can’t bring himself to look into it deeply. Not when he’s so hungry and the food in front of him smells delicious. When MJ starts eating, Peter takes that as a sign to dig in. 

A muffled moan slips past his lips at the first bite. The food tastes as good as it looks. Peter hasn’t had a warm meal like this in forever. Every spoonful of rice and chicken is a burst of flavor in his mouth, and he has to slow down to savor it so he doesn’t finish his food in under a minute.

This, quite literally, is the best meal Peter has had in his entire life. 

“This is really good,” Peter complimented between his chewing.

MJ grinned. “Right? Ned told me it’s unhealthy to eat this for dinner every night, but I could eat this for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.”

“I mean… for the rest of your life? Really?”

“Not you too.”

Peter can’t stop himself from smiling. “I’m not judging. You and I just have different preferences.”

“You mean to tell me you have better options?”

“Maybe.”

“Name one.”

“You know Delmar’s?”

MJ quirks a brow at that. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am!”

“No way you think a sandwich is better than fried rice and chicken.”

“It’s what I would eat for the rest of my life if I could.” 

“You’re lying.”

Laughter bubbles up his throat and spills out of his mouth. “I really am serious. I used to buy their Number 5 sandwich combo with pickles and have it smushed down real flat all the time. It’s a delicacy.”

“Smush it down real flat?” MJ repeats in disbelief. Her lips are quivering from keeping still, as if holding back how amused she really is by him. “I can’t believe you’d choose a flat sandwich over rice and chicken. You have atrocious taste.”

“If you tasted it, you’d know.”

“I would prefer not to.”

“Oh, come on. You should try it. You never know if you’ll change your mind.”

“No way. Not a chance. I don’t trust your preference at all.” MJ shakes her head, and if Peter was delusional, he might even think she looks a little fond. “The next thing I’d know you’d recommend some other bizarre food. Like, orange-flavored chocolate or something.”

Peter stays silent.

“Oh my god, you like those?” MJ exclaims, her smile spreading even wider. “You are so weird.”

“It’s not that bad once you try them!”

“No, absolutely not. Orange should not be in chocolate!”

“You’re very judgmental.”

MJ laughs even harder, her brown eyes sparkling like stars. “You clearly haven’t eaten a variety of food if you think a sandwich, a flat one at that, and orange chocolate are better than the meal you’re having now.”

Peter smiles softly. His heart still aches from, well, everything. But talking to MJ, like they used to do before, as if no time has passed at all, it’s just… 

It’s nice. Really nice.

It isn’t long before they both finish eating. Peter tries to help clean everything up, but MJ refuses his offer and tells him he’s still a guest in the apartment, even though she disagrees with his opinions on food. There’s a knock on the door and a call for Peter’s name. The landlord must’ve arrived already.

“You should stop losing your key, Parker,” Mr. Schneider growls as he unlocks Peter’s door with his backup key. “How clumsy are you to lose your damn key for the hundredth time already?”

“It’s actually only been seventy-four times,” Peter corrects. “And I left my key inside so I wouldn’t lose it.”

Mr. Schneider gives him a deadpan look. “Aren’t you the brightest?”

Peter smiles sheepishly. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Schneider. I’ll try to do better next time.”

“Then in three days you’ll tell me you need another replacement, again,” he complains with a roll of his eyes. “You should be glad your new neighbor is the one who texted me. I would’ve left you out here for the whole day if the message came from you.”

He says that, but Peter knows Mr. Schneider is surprisingly a very soft person. He has three cats and a daughter he dotes on, and he always lets Peter pay his rent late, even if he tells him off every single time he does. 

“Thanks again,” Peter says when Mr. Schneider turns to leave. He scoffs and doesn’t reply, only walking away. Peter should get his daughter something as a peacekeeping present. 

“So you do get locked out a lot,” MJ points out. Peter turns around and sees her standing at her doorway, her arms crossed over her chest. “You weren’t lying.”

“Told you so,” Peter chuckles. “My apartment hates me. It’s been locking me out ever since I first moved in here.”

MJ lets out a delighted breath, shaking her head. “It’s not the apartment’s fault that you forget your own keys.”

“I disagree with you one time and this is what I get?” Peter jokes. He instantly regrets it. He’s not close with her anymore. He shouldn’t go around joking with her so casually like this. He should take it back—

“Heh.” MJ smirks, surprisingly not offended by him. “You’re not so bad. Got a name? Or should I keep calling you the friendly neighbor?”

It dawns on him that he never even introduced himself during the whole time he ate MJ’s food, for free too. The horror must’ve shown on his face because MJ’s smirk melts into confusion. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter apologizes profusely. “I am — I didn’t mean to be rude—”

MJ’s concern quickly morphs into understanding. “No, it’s fine. You don’t have to be sorry about that.”

“I do—”

“It’s really alright,” MJ reassures him. “You can make it up to me by giving me your name now.”

“It’s Peter. Peter Parker.”

MJ smiles. Not in the way she used to when she heard his name all those years ago, but it’s close enough for Peter to pretend it’s the same. “See you around, Peter Parker.”

“Yeah,” Peter whispers. “See you, MJ.”

Peter retreats back into his apartment. As much as he wants to keep talking to MJ for a little while longer, he’d rather not see her shutting the door to his face. He might end up staring at it the whole night, dreaming of a different time, wishing he could stay inside and watch her laugh forever.

But this is just a one-time thing. It won’t happen for the second time.

In the end, Peter Parker is a selfish man. He’d rather walk away from the pain than risk losing everything again.

After entering through the window, Peter falls to his knees with a heavy thud.

He’ll probably get some complaints from his downstairs neighbor again, but Peter can’t bring himself to think about that right now. He’ll just apologize next time with a pizza when he sees her again. Maybe a whole box for her kids too.

Peter tugs his mask off, breathing heavily with his cheek pressed to the ground. He’s sure all sorts of dust and dirt are sticking to his face right now. It’s not like he cares. What’s more important is the blood and sweat from his bruised body pouring over the floor. It’ll probably take the whole weekend to clean up the mess again.

Suddenly, Peter remembers he forgot to buy bleach and he’s running low on soap. He doesn’t even have the money to purchase any new supplies right now. He just paid off his rent and he doesn’t get his salary until next week, which means the bloodstains will probably dry out by then. It’ll take even longer to clean them away.

Peter sighs.

He should get up. Wipe away as much blood as he can. Maybe change clothes too. He should also do his laundry because everyone is probably busy having dinner than being in the laundry room downstairs. He’ll have a chance to wash his suit without anyone seeing. 

Peter struggles to stand but he manages to get up on his feet. However, when he tries to make a single step, he unceremoniously falls face-first to the floor. He coughs up blood and spit, his chest intensifying with pain from the impact.

Ah, shit. Sherry will probably come upstairs to complain about the noise again. He’ll have to wear a face mask and some sunglasses to cover up the ugly bruising he’s sporting on his right eye and cheekbone. That is, if he has enough strength to even stand.

Peter tries to lift himself up, but his trembling arms fail him. He ends up crashing against the floor again, landing directly on his nose.

God, that hurts.

Peter rolls on his back, coughing out a few more times. His healing ability is taking longer than usual to take into effect. It makes sense. He barely eats and his metabolism burns through his stamina quickly. The small meals he could afford himself isn’t even enough to maintain his energy. He needs to consume at least three times the amount of food to satisfy his greedy digestion system and sustain muscle mass. 

But Peter can barely afford a sandwich, much less buy a meal worth a thousand calories. It’s no wonder he’s getting thinner and his healing ability is taking a hit. His super strength and flexibility is still intact, thankfully, but he doesn’t know how long those will last before they start being affected too.

Peter runs a hand down his face. 

This day sucks. 

He doesn’t know how long he stays there on the ground. His breathing echoes in the room, shallow and loud. He can feel the scrape of the knife across his hip healing, albeit slowly. His dermis and hypodermis are working overtime to produce continuous cell formation, synthesizing collagen to form a scaffolding to fill in the open gap from the laceration. The granulation tissues are probably forming right now, closing the wound so his tissues would regrow and reform the original state of his skin.

His healing may be slower right now, but it’s still faster than a normal person’s. However, what makes this situation particularly worse is that Peter can literally feel countless of his cells mutating to heal himself. Damaged blood vessels constrict all around the injuries across his body to slow the flow of blood loss. His skin pulls at itself from all over, forming itself back again, repairing what has been hurt.

Normally, Peter wouldn’t even feel this because of how fast his healing used to go. Now he’s experiencing all the stages of wound healing at once, his senses going haywire from the pain and effort it’s taking to fix his injuries.

Peter is cut off from his withering when he hears someone knocking on his door. 

He groans. Sherry sure is quick to complain this time.

This day really sucks.

Knowing it’s better to deal with her now rather than later, Peter finally forces himself to sit up from the ground. He flinches when his back cracks uncomfortably. He doesn’t even want to know what his back looks like while it’s still in the process of healing. His best guess is that there’s probably dried blood and scabs forming everywhere.

Peter webs a hoodie and some pants, pulling it to himself. He hastily puts them on. It’s easier to layer them for now than take off his whole suit. He kicks his mask and gloves somewhere inside his closet and webs a pair of shades in his hand. He pulls his hood up and slides the shades to his face, grabbing a pair of socks on the way to the door and making sure every inch of his exposed skin is covered. 

He probably looks insane, but Sherry has already seen him in all states of disarray by now. She’s used to him looking like a mess in the four years they’ve known each other.

“I’m really sorry about the noise,” Peter apologizes immediately when he opens the door. “I know it’s your kids’ television time. I was just tired and tripped a couple of times. I’ll make it up to you—”

“You always get locked out and you constantly trip too? Maybe your apartment hates you after all.”

Peter’s eyes widened when he realized someone else was standing in front of him. 

“… you’re not Sherry,” Peter says dumbly.

MJ offers a smile. A confused one, but a smile nonetheless. “I quite like my name as it is, and as far as I know, I don’t have kids. So no, I’m not Sherry.”

Peter gulps.

He can’t breathe. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, maybe it’s the slow healing. Either way, his lungs always seem to malfunction when he’s in MJ’s vicinity, but it seems to be a bit more severe now. 

He’s close. Too close. Close enough to see the speckles of light reflecting in MJ’s eyes. Pick out every strand of hair poking out from her neat bun. Admire the way her lips curl higher to the left than the right. Even breathe in the sweet citrusy scent of the perfume she apparently never changed since high school.

“Did you change your perfume?”

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

“I do, but I thought you didn’t like citrus scents? You complained about my dumb preferences two days ago.”

“I still think you have atrocious preferences.”

“Then why change your perfume?”

“You said it smelled too strong. Your senses are turned up to eleven, right? I just… wanted to make things easier for you.”

Peter clears the lump lodged in his throat. “I — uh. What… what brings you here?”

MJ tilts her head, her eyes twinkling. “You’re really awkward. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Peter chuckles, wiping the sweat from his palms on his pants. “It’s just Parker luck, you know? It’s like a more awkward version of Murphy’s Law.”

Oh god. Peter should really learn how to shut his mouth when talking to MJ. It’s like he’s physically incapable of saying something downright embarrassing around her. While his top priority may be avoiding her, he still wants to make a good impression at least. 

Back then, he had the excuse of teenage nervousness to explain his behavior. Now he has no reason to be even more jittery around her than he was in high school.

“Is it also part of the Parker luck to wear sunglasses indoors? Or is that a Parker trait?”

“Oh, uh.” Peter fiddles with his shades. Hopefully it’s big enough to cover his bruised eye, but he knows the bruise across his cheekbone is still visible right now. Peter hopes MJ doesn’t point it out. “Definitely a Parker trait. I get really bad sensory issues. Just overwhelmed. I usually sleep it off but… um. I needed to finish a paper, so… wearing shades helps. With oversensitivity.”

That may be the stupidest lie Peter has ever uttered in his entire life.

It’s clear as day how sketchy his excuse is. If Peter was a stupider man, he might wince at the way he stammered over his words. His voice even cracked at the end, further proving how much of a liar he is.

For the record, Peter is not this bad at lying. He can lie pretty well, if he says so himself. He’s just a little tired from fighting all day. Not only that, but he’s aching all over from his healing, he still needs to wipe the blood off his floor, and he really wants to take a nice shower to clean off all the blood and grime on his skin.

So, yeah. He’s not at his best right now. He wouldn’t even be surprised if MJ calls him out on his ridiculous excuse—

“That’s rough.” MJ nods in understanding. “I get it. I used to chug five energy drinks to finish a paper before the deadline at midnight and take an exam the next morning. College is tough.”

Peter’s shoulders drop in relief. She seems to believe his pathetic act. That’s a miracle.

“It doesn’t get easier,” Peter agrees. He scratches the back of his neck, hiding his shaky fingers. “So, was I too loud? Is that why you’re here?”

MJ blinks before her face dawns with realization. “Oh! No, that’s not why I knocked. Well, sort of. I didn’t know if you were home but when I heard rustling inside, I thought I’d stop by and offer something.”

“Offer what?”

MJ revealed a tupperware, which Peter didn’t even realize she’d been holding this entire time. “It’s leftovers. Ned and I bought too much food and we couldn’t finish it. It’ll go bad if we put it in the fridge, so I thought I’d come over and give it to you instead.”

Peter opens his mouth. Words fail him.

“Oh,” Peter mumbles.

It’s nothing big. It’s not even anything out of the ordinary. Neighbors give each other leftovers all the time. 

His next-door neighbor, Greg, hates his guts but he sometimes gives Peter a carton of eggs, claiming his wife bought too much and he’s sick of eating meals with eggs in them. Another neighbor down the hall, Patricia, brings him apple slices when she and her wife cut up a tad too many for their afternoon snack. 

Even Mr. Schneider, his landlord and someone who probably hates Peter more than anyone else in the building, hands him a packet of cookies every now and then. His daughter always seems to sneak in more treats than she’s allowed when they’re grocery shopping. Instead of disposing them, Mr. Schneider shoves the extra sweets into Peter’s hands when he comes by. Even if he seems extra annoyed about it.

So he knows this isn’t special — Peter isn’t special. MJ is just being a nice person. It’s probably not even a big deal to her.

It’s such a small gesture. A random act of kindness from one neighbor to another. 

It means everything to Peter.

Peter is glad he had the foresight to wear shades because he’s sure his eyes are watering right now.

“This—” Peter hesitates— “I…”

“What?” MJ asks playfully, her brows raised. “Never received leftovers before?”

Peter laughs, even though it comes out more strained than he’d like. “No, I — it’s not like that. You already repaid the flowers with the meal we had a week ago, so it’s just…” Peter trailed off, his chest blossoming with an overwhelming emotion.

MJ seems to understand what Peter is implying. Her lips lift into a smile. She takes his hands in hers and Peter tries to ignore the instant electricity from the brief touch. Peter’s hands curl automatically when MJ guides them under the tupperware, handing it off to him.

“It’s just leftovers,” MJ says, her voice soft and considerate. “Not a favor. You don’t have to pay me back or anything.”

Peter gazes down at the tupperware. He doesn’t recognize the food inside, but he’s not complaining. Receiving any food at all is enough to make him emotional. “Thank you. You didn’t have to.”

“It’s nothing. I honestly don’t know anyone else in the building other than you.” MJ shrugs. “And you’re just across the hall, so I thought I’d give it to you instead. It’s convenient.”

Peter smiled, nostalgia washing over him. He missed hearing MJ’s pragmatic logic. It reminded him of the days they spent on the rooftop of Midtown High, talking about everything and nothing all at once. She used to be so cryptic, jumping from hoops to hoops to convince him of her pessimistic point of view. Though, he thinks he did pretty well convincing her in seeing the positive side of life when they were still together.

The memories of those times are still fresh in Peter’s mind. It feels like it was just yesterday when they were video calling in the middle of the night, giggling and whispering so they wouldn’t get caught.

Sometimes, Peter wishes his memories would stop overlapping with the present. The past is gone. He made his choice and he should stick with it.

“You’re really nice,” Peter mumbles. “I guess you’re the friendly neighbor now.”

MJ grins. “Don’t tell anyone else. I’m trying to uphold a reputation here.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To scare people off. Ned is too much of a softie, so I have to be the tough one between us. I don’t want any weirdos knocking up on our apartment just because we’re new.”

“How about me?” 

“What about you?”

“Don’t you want to scare me off?” Peter asks, his heart in his throat. So far, all MJ knows about him is the fact he gave her flowers, left her party after only twenty minutes, gets locked out of his apartment constantly, trips a lot, and he’s oddly sentimental about food. He tried so hard to maintain some distance that he ended up revealing all these embarrassing things to her. 

If that isn’t weird, then it’s definitely creepy. Oh god. Does MJ think he’s a freak?

“Why would I want to scare you off?” MJ asks, brows furrowed.

“Aren’t I a bit of a weirdo to you?” 

MJ stares at him, her lips parted. She says nothing for a moment before her expression melts. “You are, but it’s fine. I think I can handle a weirdo like you in my life.” 

A familiar warmth spreads across Peter’s chest. It’s the closest thing he’ll get to a compliment from MJ, but since he never expected one to begin with, receiving it at all throws him off a bit. He’s sure if MJ could see his eyes now, they’d probably reveal the emotions he never got rid of. They lie dormant from years of watching from afar, until now. 

Everything feels too big for his body. Too intensified. 

Maybe it’s because of their proximity. Or maybe Peter just can’t stop falling in love with MJ a hundred times over, even if he thought he stopped.

“Thank you.” Peter can’t hide the fondness from his tone. “I wish I could pay you back for this.”

“You don’t need to pay me back for leftovers.” MJ’s eyes crinkle at the corners. Peter tucks away the knowledge that he still knows how to amuse her in the back of his mind. “Just make sure to return the tupperware. Ned will get mad at me for giving away our containers.” 

Peter can hardly imagine a scenario where Ned is truly angry, but he just nods along “Got it. I’ll return it squeaky clean. I don’t want your roommate to have a negative impression of me.” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. I told him you also liked Star Wars and he basically questioned me about anything you could have said about it.” 

“We didn’t even talk about Star Wars last time.”

“That’s exactly what I told him,” MJ said, a bright smile taking over her lips. “See? He’s a weirdo like you. When you meet him, I won’t be surprised if you two get along more than you and I do.” 

You think you and I get along well? Peter wants to ask. 

“You sure know how to give a vote of confidence,” Peter chuckles. “Maybe next time. I, uh, still have a paper I need to write.”

“Oh! Yeah, I forgot.” MJ stepped back, still smiling at him, still taking his breath away. “You don’t have to microwave those leftovers since it’s pretty fresh. It may not be your flat sandwich, but I promise you’ll like it.” 

“You’re not gonna let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” MJ said cheekily. She walked backwards a few steps while waving at him. “Well, good luck on your paper.” 

“Thanks.” Peter hopes the tupperware hides his heart that’s bursting through his sleeves. “Have a good night.”

“You too.” 

When she turns her back to enter her apartment, Peter closes the door and presses his back to it. He clutches at his chest, his heart beating a hundred miles per second. His face feels hot and his cheeks are aching. Not from the punches earlier, but from smiling too much. 

He looks back down at the tupperware in his hand. 

There are a lot of things Peter doesn’t deserve. He knows the list like the back of his mind. He sees it whenever he closes his eyes, memorized down to the very last letter. The darkness details sentences of his flaws, paragraphs upon paragraphs of the mistakes he made that affected everyone he loved. Peter bears responsibility as well as his faults. 

Most of all, Peter doesn’t deserve MJ’s kindness. Not after he ruined her life. Not after he broke his promise. 

Not after everything that happened.

Still, Peter clutches the tupperware close and convinces himself he could deserve this. Just this one time. He’ll accept this kindness today and go back to avoiding MJ again. 

He’s just… just…

He’s just really hungry.

There’s nothing wrong with that, right? 

Peter changed out of his clothes and his suit. He wiped away the pool of blood in his room, even though it already stained the floor. He stood under his shower for five minutes before he started washing away the sweat, grime, and scabs from his body. When he finished, he didn’t feel as heavy as he did earlier. He’s still tired, but his mind is clearer now. Less hyperactive.

Peter settles on his broken chair and unseals the tupperware. The smell is enough to ease his tense shoulders. When he takes a bite, he closes his eyes and sighs. This is the second best meal he’s had in years. 

For the first time in a long while, Peter doesn’t go to bed hungry.

Somehow, they develop a routine.

MJ comes by and… feeds him. 

Constantly. 

Always with an excuse. A casual invite. New tupperware even if Peter hasn’t returned the previous ones yet. 

“Ned bailed on me and he won’t be coming home until midnight. You can have his meal instead.”

“Want to come over? The nice lady around the block gave me extra sushi for free.”

“Ned and I have too much leftovers after a couple of our friends visited. We can’t finish them anymore. If you haven’t eaten yet, here.”

“Hey, Peter. If you aren’t busy, want to have lunch together? I’m trying out this new recipe and I need a taste-tester.” 

“Peter, can you come by tomorrow for dinner? Ned’s out and I’m celebrating my four-months anniversary living in the apartment. Before you ask, yes, it’s a thing because I said so.”

It’s weird.

It’s new. Very new. Peter finally has some semblance of a normal human interaction through random meal invites and leftover handouts other than fighting all the time and forced group work in college.

But it’s just… unusual.

Peter does his best to cut his interaction short with MJ every time, but she’s very persistent. She used to knock on his door only once or twice a week for a quick conversation and maybe a short lunch. Until she started inviting him to eat at her apartment three times a week, then four, and now she’s part of his routine every day. 

Whether it’s forcing Peter to come over or chatting with him for over twenty minutes while she hands him another tupperware with leftovers, MJ somehow always finds a way to interact with him.

They talk a lot now, too. More than Peter expected they would. More than he ever deserves.

“You know,” MJ mentioned once when they were in her apartment. They were eating Chinese takeout. Ned was supposed to be eating with her, but he’s being held up at his job. “If I could have any other job in the world, I’d choose to be a detective.”

Peter coughs into his takeout box, trying to hide his smile. If only she knew.

“Why a detective?” Peter asks after he recovers.

“I like riddles. I think I could do a good job in solving murders and crime,” MJ replies. “Though, I don’t really like what cops represent. Maybe I’ll be a private investigator instead.”

Peter grins. “I think you’d be an incredible private investigator. You’re already investigating Spider-Man’s identity.”

“Oh, shut up,” MJ scoffs, without any real annoyance whatsoever. The small smile on her lips gives her away. “You always tell me I’m judgmental, but you’re being judgmental right now.”

“I’m not being judgmental. I just think it’s really cute that you’re obsessed with him.”

After the first couple of times Peter visited her apartment, he finally worked up the courage to ask her about her Spider-Man wall. When he did, her eyes lit up just like the time they first kissed.

She rambled about Spider-Man. How she knew him in high school and how she interacted with him four times: in DC, in Venice as Night Monkey, in London when the Mysterio attack took place, and near the Statue of Liberty. Peter could feel the sweat building in his palms when she described those experiences, waiting for her to say anything that could indicate she might know the person behind the mask.

She didn’t, though.

All MJ remembered is that there was one time she came close to figuring out his identity, but the stress of the attack in New York must’ve blocked it from her brain somehow. She heard that people develop selective amnesia about certain memories under intense distress. She joked that she must’ve been so traumatized by the attack that she forgot nearly everything about Spider-Man’s identity.

It’s a relief she doesn’t remember him. But it breaks Peter’s heart that even when the spell has rewritten her memories to erase him, it still ends up hurting her in the end. 

Peter didn’t know how to reply to her. It was fine, because MJ must’ve sensed his change in mood and decided to talk about something else. Since then, whenever they talk about Spider-Man, MJ doesn’t bring up any of the traumatic things she’s been through — only the fact that she’s trying to figure out his true identity.

“I’m not obsessed with him. I’m just really observant,” MJ corrects. 

A sense of déjà vu flickers in the back of Peter’s mind, but he shakes it off. “You know, you can be obsessed and observant at the same time. There’s no need to lie.”

“That’s rich coming from a guy who lies about liking orange chocolate.”

“One, ouch. Two, uncalled for. And three, I’m not lying about that.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You just have really awful taste buds.”

Peter stifles a laugh behind the palm of his hand, but he’s sure his smile gives him away anyway. “I just think you shouldn’t dismiss something just because you haven’t tried it yet.”

“I’m entitled to my own opinions.”

“Your opinions are just making fun of me.”

“Exactly,” MJ says, a cheeky grin on her face. “Besides, you deserve it. Someone has to help you differentiate between what’s actually good from what’s bad.”

Peter shakes his head. He’s sure his fondness is written all over his face at this point. He doesn’t even attempt to mask it.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What would your dream job be?” MJ asks. “I mean, unless your current job is already your dream job.”

“Delivering pizzas and selling photographs to The Daily Bugle isn’t really my dream job.”

MJ’s face scrunches. “You work for The Daily Bugle?”

Peter’s hands freeze in place, his chopsticks halfway in his mouth. “Uh, yeah. I do. Just freelancing, though. I sell them photographs and write a couple of columns.”

Peter takes quick glances at her, trying to gauge her reaction. Everyone in the city pretty much knows The Daily Bugle is a controversial newspaper. The articles are severely biased, extravagantly overdramatic, and heavily influenced by the editor-in-chief. Yet, even if Jameson is too harsh and flippant with his words, he’s very vocal about civil rights and openly condemns crime. Not a lot of newspapers would give coverage to such issues.

But not a lot of newspapers are very anti-Spider-Man either.

Admitting Peter works for the newspaper company is the same as admitting he’s condoning the very inaccurate propaganda Jameson spreads about Spider-Man. Even though Peter himself sometimes writes those articles, he’s not sure how well MJ would take it. After all, no matter how many times she teased Peter with the ridiculous articles written about him before her memory was wiped, he would catch her balling up those newspapers and throwing them in the trash when she thought he wasn’t watching.

“Let me guess,” MJ remarks. “Shitty company, shitty boss, but you need the job because bills won’t pay themselves?”

Peter’s eyes widen before he lets out a snort, relieved. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“I’ve been there.” Mj’s tone is sympathetic. “I used to work at this coffee shop before college. My manager told me off every shift because my coworker never does what he asks, which is why I get blamed for most of it.”

“Sounds rough.”

“Yeah. At least I saved up some money working there. That’s the only good thing about that place. It must be hard working for J. Jonah Jameson.”

For someone like MJ, who refused to enter the Washington Monument because of her beliefs and morals, somehow understanding Peter’s situation and giving him some grace is more than what Peter needs right now. The weight pressing down on his chest grows a bit lighter. And maybe he’s just reminded all over again why he likes her so much.

Peter smiles sadly. MJ always knows exactly what to say to soften his heart.

“It’s not so bad,” Peter admitted. “He gives me snacks sometimes. Last year, I tried to quit because my camera was broken and I didn’t have any money to fix it, so he went ahead and got it repaired for me. He didn’t even take credit for it. He just called me into his office, handed it back to me, and demanded I get back to work.”

MJ pursed her lips. “Huh. I never expected Spider-Man’s biggest hater to look out for anyone.”

“He’s still an annoying boss, though. Like all bosses are.”

“That’s expected,” MJ chuckles. “So, if you didn’t have him as your boss and you’re not delivering greasy pizza, what else would you have wanted to pursue?”

Peter opened his mouth and closed it right after.

He… doesn’t know.

It’s been so long since Peter even thought about the future. All his concerns are just short-term issues. Earning enough money to pay off his rent for the month, or stopping the bad guy of the week from destroying the city, or just getting enough sleep the night before he has to go out and be Spider-Man again.

When Peter was in high school, all he wanted was to be a hero for a cause greater than himself.

Now, years later, he’s living that exact dream. But it’s different.

It’s not that he’s jaded, or cynical, or changed completely from who he used to be. Peter is just… weary. A little dulled out. 

He’s still upholding the responsibility only he can handle. He will never stop being Spider-Man, but he doesn’t have the same thrill for it anymore. His naïve eagerness from when he was a teenager has worn down and transformed into disenchantment.

Peter doesn’t even remember what he used to be so passionate about when he was in high school. He remembers being part of the marching band. That was fun. Not his passion though. 

He also liked figurines and Legos. But that’s more of a hobby than a passion. No, if Peter were to choose something he was passionate about, it’d probably be—

“Science,” Peter murmurs.

MJ hums, raising her brows.

”I would’ve wanted to be a scientist,” Peter repeats louder. “I was really good at chemistry and biology in high school. And geometry too. I was actually part of the school’s decathlon team. We even went to Nationals.” Even though Peter wasn’t there for it. “But I also liked robotics. I just… really like science and technology.”

“Huh.” MJ looks at him strangely, her eyes calculating. “I had a feeling you were a nerd, Peter Parker.”

“That’s all you got from what I said?”

“That, and you’re cute.”

Peter sputters, his face heating up instantly. Did he mishear that? “W-What?”

“I said it’s cute,” MJ says. Oh. Peter did mishear her. “If you went to MIT, I would’ve made fun of you all the time. But I think we would’ve been friends.”

We would have, Peter thinks. We were.

That about some sums up the conversations they have.

MJ never gave Peter a chance to avoid her, and the more they ate together, the more Peter found it harder to accomplish that. Spending time with her feels like Peter never spent the last four years without her. She fits back into his life like she never left, like none of the bad things happened, like Peter could pretend it’s always been like this. 

Like it’s always been them. Always Peter and MJ. MJ and Peter.

It’s strange. Sometimes, even without outwardly saying anything or giving off any physical signs of discomfort, MJ still managed to pick up the signals of which topics Peter would not answer. MJ knows mentioning family or friends would make Peter shut down and reply in one-word answers. She knows asking about Peter’s education will only get her a flimsy explanation. She also knows not to point out or look too long at the scars and callouses prominent on Peter’s hands.

For Peter, he understands why he’s unable to pull himself out of MJ’s orbit. She’s interesting and funny and endlessly charming with a humor that has only grown sharper since they were teenagers.

But he doesn’t quite understand why MJ would keep talking to him. Or invite him for meals. Or offer him leftovers when they don’t eat together. Or just be so considerate even though she doesn’t owe him anything. They’re just neighbors, after all.

It’s so strange. Peter knows people change. But MJ liked only having a small group of friends. She opened up more during their sophomore and junior year, but she mostly stuck with Peter and Ned. It took over a year for MJ to let her walls down, and even longer for them to develop an actual friendship. So Peter doesn’t know why she’d go through so much effort to be friends with him now.

But it’s not bad.

Peter hasn’t had a normal interaction with anyone for so long. All he’s been doing these past four years is waking, saving people, and working to earn money. He’s going through the motions every day, trying to live up to the people he respects, honoring the words of the people he lost. It’s the only way he ever survived.

Until now.

Until MJ came back.

So, Peter decided he won’t do anything. He won’t avoid her. He won’t decline her lunch offers or the tupperware leftovers. He won’t think about how off this whole situation is. He’ll quietly observe nearby, committing new information she shares about her life into memory. If all he can do is watch her and be a friendly neighbor she eats meals with, then he’ll fill that role as best as he can. 

In his unlucky and less than subpar life, MJ is the best part of his present.

In fact, MJ might be the only one Peter is looking forward to every time he comes home to the apartment for the night. When he’s consumed with shivers and tremors from nightmares, the promise of seeing MJ the next day always has a way of calming his nerves. When he starts picking at scars and scabs from his messed-up healing, he remembers an offhand comment MJ made or some joke she shared, and it unknowingly makes Peter feel marginally better.

MJ always makes Peter feel better.

And even if Peter promised himself he wouldn’t get involved in her life anymore, he doesn’t stop opening the door for her when she knocks.

Peter never really had a good track record with keeping his promises anyway.

Peter doesn’t feel so good.

He doesn’t know what’s happening.

His breathing is shallow. Sweat drips down his brow. Every step to climb up the stairs feels like a herculean task. He can barely focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other and hoping he doesn’t fall flat on his face. There’s a painful ringing in his ears, shrill and muffled at the same time, like some sort of continuous bell is stuck in his eardreams while its sound is smothered around layers of spiderwebs.

Just a few more steps. A couple of more to get to his floor, into his apartment, and sleep this sickness away.

Peter didn’t even know he could get sick anymore. Since he was bitten by that radioactive spider, his physical wellbeing advanced unbelievably. His immune system evolved into a completely invulnerable network and the asthma he had since he was four years old magically disappeared. He gained accelerated healing abilities which improved every injury he ever gained from his fights as Spider-Man.

So why, even with his enhanced physiological capabilities, can Peter barely stand right now?

Peter blinks and he almost blacks out. He shakes away the fatigue burning in his eyes, even if it only succeeds in making himself dizzy. Peter takes a deep breath once. Twice. He forces himself to continue trudging up the stairs.

Even if he shouldn’t be sick at all, Peter can’t say he’s not surprised. These bouts of disorientation and extreme weakness began over a year ago. It started with a headache, just some throbbing he can ignore in the back of his head, until his eyes become teary out of nowhere. Then the headache becomes more prominent while his limbs turn heavy like they’re filled with lead, and it’s making all his movements sloppy and disorganized.

His lungs are affected next. Not getting enough oxygen. Somehow unable to breathe even though Peter is taking big gulps of air, to the point where he has to rip his mask off so he has nothing blocking his mouth and nose. 

Lastly, his heart. It honest-to-god stops beating for a couple of seconds. Peter loses all functioning in his body when this happens. He ends up really cold too, because after it stops beating, it takes a couple of minutes for his heart to pump up enough blood throughout his body normally. Peter has to wait for over thirty minutes for the blood to circulate so he can feel the tips of his fingers to the joints of his limbs again.

When these symptoms first happened, Peter chalked it up to stress. Or battle burnout. Maybe even the lack of sleep for a lack of a better reason.

But then these symptoms, or more like episodes per se, keep happening once a month. Few and far between. Not enough to be a problem in his daily and superhero life, but enough to warrant some concern at least. 

Then he starts getting them every other week, and it quickly becomes a regular occurrence at least once or twice a week. The episodes grow longer too — his headache is more persistent, he can’t breathe properly, and his heart palpitates in a way that has his entire body going frigid until it stops and begins beating again a couple of seconds later. 

When these episodes happen, Peter finds his back stinging after falling in the middle of swinging as Spider-Man. Sometimes he even blacks out and the next thing he knows, he’s spread across the streets of New York with everyone else walking around his body. Count on New Yorkers to not give a damn to a passed-out stranger on the sidewalk. 

The point is that Peter keeps having these random episodes and he doesn’t even know why. He plans on secretly using the technology in his college to scan his vitals or maybe track his blood to see if anything is maybe affecting those. 

But Bruce Banner is a tricky man to sneak past from. He’s always lurking nearby the advanced tech in the department building, which makes it even more difficult for Peter to use the machine. All Peter is waiting for is the perfect moment where Bruce is distracted or on the other side of the campus. He’ll be able to slip past security and finally find out what’s happening with his body.

In the meantime, Peter has to deal with these episodes by sheer luck and prayers that he doesn’t have them during fights. He’s gotten good at predicting when one will come, so when he senses it, he’ll have ample time to get to a safe place and just pass out for a couple of minutes until he’s good to go again.

Which is why, as Peter sluggishly takes another step up the stairs, he already knows what’s about to happen.

“No,” Peter whispers. “You can’t do this. Not when I’m so close to the apartment. Can’t you wait?”

His heart beats dangerously, taunting him of what’s to come.

Peter sighs. Why can’t his body cooperate with him just this once? “You know, I shouldn’t be begging for you to do your job. You should be working normally. You’re being real temperamental for no reason. I thought the bite would, I don’t know, make you a better heart than regular hearts who don’t get bitten by radioactive spiders—”

And just like that, his heart stops beating.

Everything is dark. His whole body is stiff like stone. He can’t feel his hands or his lungs or his mouth. His ears are stuffed with cotton. Everything just completely stops in its tracks, like he’s standing on the verge of a cliff with a large drop and no safety net or suit to help him with the plunge. 

His senses are clashing along with his mental state. He’s not alive, but he can still perceive his surroundings although he can’t see any of it. He’s not dead, but all his internal organs have just halted, like there is no reason why they should function when the main organ isn’t even working.

Peter feels himself fall. His feet aren’t moving. He’s not leaning or tipping over. It’s as if the ground disappeared from under him without any warning. There’s no wind rushing to his face, nothing to indicate how far or which direction his body is falling into. He doesn’t know if his eyes are open or closed. He can’t move his limbs or stretch his fingers. He can’t do much of anything at all.

All he knows is the uncomfortable feeling whirling in the abstract of his brain. The familiar pattern recognition in his nervous system indicates that he is, without a doubt, falling. 

Falling.

Falling.

And falling.

Falling and falling and falling—

Peter returns to himself with a gasp, his heart in his throat, pounding against his ribcage painfully.

His hand flounders wildly before gripping tight onto the railing, his whole body swerving heavily to the right and crashing to the wall. Pain shoots up from his shoulder, but he manages to catch himself in time before his face meets the stair noses. 

His whole body is in indescribable agony.

His lungs are shrinking and expanding, desperately taking in as much oxygen as they could to breathe. His eyes are wide open, but there are black spots enveloping his entire vision, no matter how many times he blinks the fogginess away. His fingers are clammy and tingling with tremors as he’s holding onto the railing for dear life. His legs are shaking uncontrollably, unused to the weight of his body, like they could give in at any moment.

Peter is in so much pain from all over, but at least his heart is beating again.

His whole face is drenched in sweat. He wipes the droplets above his mouth with one hand before pressing the heel of his palm to his eye. It doesn’t do anything to mitigate the tears stinging in them. If anything, it only makes his headache worse. Peter pushes his palm back harder, hoping that the pain from his pushing might be enough to overwhelm the throbbing of his migraine.

He really hopes none of his neighbors are around because he might just take a bit longer than thirty minutes to adjust from this episode. If any of them come by and see him hovering and dry heaving over the staircase, they might just file another complaint to the landlord about his eccentric behavior. Peter really can’t handle another ten minute lecture from Mr. Schneider right now.

Peter just needs to catch his breath. Yeah. He just needs his lungs to function and his heart to kindly stop stopping, thank you very much.

Peter doesn’t know how long he stands there, just leaning beside the wall and trying his best not to puke. He hopes that doesn’t happen. If he pukes, he’ll have to clean it up and he can’t really spare any of his products today.

He’s already running out of cleaning materials even though he just restocked them a few weeks ago. He can’t just leave his puke either because he’d rather not have anyone else clean up his mess. Peter is already inconveniencing his neighbors enough with the noises he makes when he crashes in his apartment after a rough day. He doesn’t want to make their lives even harder by seeing his vomit all over the staircase.

He tenses, his hair standing on edge. 

Someone is here.

Someone is right behind him.

Seriously? Peter inwardly groans. His heart stops for a minute and suddenly his spider senses couldn’t even give him an earlier heads-up. Great. He has to pretend to be okay in front of a neighbor — who probably couldn’t care less about him — when he can’t even manage a single step right now.

Distantly, he hears someone calling his name. But it sounds muffled, somehow. His ears are still ringing, adjusting from the nasty episode he just experienced. 

“—ter? Wha — ening?”

Peter knows someone is holding him, asking him if he’s alright. It’s nice. The hands holding him feel safe. It would’ve been sweet if Peter could tell them that, but he’s currently preoccupied with not passing out from oxygen loss. 

“Sorry,” Peter wheezes. “I’m — I need to catch my breath. Just… I’m just a little lightheaded.” 

The person holding him doesn’t move. Their hands are still supporting his body, wrapped around his torso and holding one of his elbows. They’re keeping him steady, and at this point, this person may be the only thing preventing Peter from falling on his face.

Which is strange. Peter doesn’t know why he’s leaning more of his weight on this random stranger. His spider senses alert him of danger, but they also make sure he’s aware enough to take care of himself so he doesn’t need to rely on others. 

His spider senses are unusually quiet.

That can’t be. The only possible way that could happen is if MJ is the one holding him, but this person seems a bit shorter than her. Their hands are also different. MJ is tough, sure, but she can’t possibly carry Peter’s weight all by herself. And if he remembers correctly, she told him yesterday that she’d be coming home late today because of a late shift at her job. 

That could only mean one thing. There’s no other explanation where Peter feels safe enough with a stranger to reveal his vulnerability like this, unless it’s with someone he already trusts.

Ned.

That realization comforts and scares him at the same time.

“Are you okay now?” Ned asked, his tone laced with concern. “Dude, you should go to a hospital if you’re not feeling well.”

Peter forced himself to smile, even if his lips won’t stop shaking. “I’m fine. Really.” 

“No, you’re not,” Ned replied flatly. “You can’t even stand up straight.”

“I’m just feeling a little dizzy. I haven’t eaten all day.” 

Peter hasn’t actually eaten since yesterday. MJ didn’t have any leftovers to offer and she said she wouldn’t be able to make time for dinner tonight. She promised she’d make it up to him, but Peter only told her to worry about herself.

It’s a little pathetic to rely on MJ’s leftovers and frequent meal hangouts, but again, Peter is broke and the initial guilt he felt from accepting MJ’s offers is pushed to the very back of his mind. To make up for just receiving all the time, Peter tries to pay her back by discreetly hiding some money in her apartment. It doesn’t work because MJ notices every time and slips the dollars back into his pockets when he leaves. Other days, Peter insisted on being the one to buy their meals, but MJ would always beat him to it. 

It’s not like Peter wants to keep taking advantage of her kindness like this. But he’s gotten so used to it that his body doesn’t know how to go one day without eating anymore. 

“That’s not good. You should never skip meals, you know.”

Peter shrugged helplessly. “I’m trying my best not to.”

“I can see why MJ feeds you constantly,” Ned whispered.

“What?”

“Come on,” Ned said while helping Peter climb up the last few flights of stairs to their floor. “You’re lucky my lola brought some food over. I have enough to feed us both.”

“Huh? No, no.” Peter shakes his head as he tries to escape from Ned’s grip. “You don’t need to feed me. I’m fine. I just need to get some rest.” 

“No offense, but you look like you’re going to pass out at any minute. Do you know how pale you look right now?” 

“It’s just some sickness. It can be fixed with sleep—”

“—and food,” Ned interrupted. “Dude, it’s alright. It’s not like we don’t know each other.”

Peter’s eyes widened, an unfamiliar emotion building in his chest. Could it be…?

“MJ talks about you all the time. You’re the one who eats with her when I’m not around in the apartment. She also gives you our leftovers, right?”

His heart sinks. Of course that’s what Ned meant. What else would he be talking about?

“Yeah,” Peter murmured. “She’s nice. I’ve been trying to repay her but it’s not working so far.”

Ned snorted. “Makes sense. If she doesn’t want you to pay her back, then she’ll find every way possible to ensure that wouldn’t happen. She’s really stubborn like that.”

“Don’t I know it,” Peter sighed. It comes out a bit more affectionate than he expected.

“And,” Ned continued with a pointed look. “She’ll definitely get mad at me if I don’t help you. You’re her friend. That makes us friends by association.”

Again, there’s something off about that statement of MJ getting mad. Peter remembers her making a similar remark about Ned, but he just can’t fathom the idea of Ned or MJ being angry. Even during the worst high school year of their lives, they never got angry at him or anyone else for that matter. They were frustrated by the situation, but they were overall level-headed people. 

Maybe they’ve changed over the years. Maybe Peter’s perception of them isn’t accurate anymore, since it relies on past information which doesn’t even matter in the present. As far as Peter knew, no one but him remembers the past.

And as far as Ned and MJ knew, they never even had a third person in the friendship to balance everyone out.

Still, Peter can’t wrap his mind around the impossible situation where either of them are mad. It’s just not who his friends are, or ex-friends at least.

“You don’t have to,” Peter insisted. “I’m grateful, but I just need some painkillers and sleep. I don’t need to eat—”

In a moment of incredible timing, his stomach grumbles loudly.

Silence.

Peter’s cheeks heat up immediately, shame and embarrassment curling in his gut. 

Nothing is going right for him today.

“Uh huh. Sure. You totally don’t need to eat,” Ned drawled, a brow raised. “Just come inside, man. It’s not a big deal.”

“You don’t even know me,” Peter argued, a weak attempt to change Ned’s mind.

Ned paused. “True, but MJ told me you’re a good guy. And if Miss ‘I don’t like having a lot of friends’ likes you, then I trust her judgment. I mean, there’s gotta be a reason why you’re her favorite neighbor, right?”

Peter choked, his face probably bright red right now. “Did she say that?”

“Nope. It’s kinda obvious though.” When they finally arrived on their floor, Ned pulled him towards the familiar path of their apartment. “Just let me feed you, dude. My lola cooked a lot of food and she’ll kill me if I don’t finish them. I swear, she has a sixth sense whenever I throw out her food. She always just knows for some reason. You’ll actually be helping me out if you eat some of her cooking.” 

When Ned lies, he’s unusually concise. His mind goes into overdrive in thinking of any possible excuse he could give, which results in short answers and clipped sentences. 

On the other hand, when Ned is telling the truth, he talks a lot. He likes saying what he knows and what he thinks. Peter used to listen to him ramble all the time about how he believes magic could run in his family when they were building the Lego Death Star together. 

Knowing these two facts about someone who used to be his best friend, Peter can confidently assume that Ned is actually serious about trusting him. 

It makes Peter feel slightly overwhelmed, to be honest. Like MJ, Ned doesn’t owe him anything. Ned doesn’t have to feed him. He didn’t even need to help Peter up the stairs. 

So, receiving Ned’s simple kindness and trust, it just… it reminds Peter of meeting Ned back in kindergarten and sharing crayons together. It reminds him of the times when they were watching movies in middle school past their bedtime and developing their love of Legos in high school.

Ned is meeting him as a neighbor his roommate is close to. Peter is meeting him as a person with a history only he knows the story of. 

They entered Ned’s apartment without any resistance from Peter. After making sure Peter can stand by himself, Ned heads to the kitchen to prepare the food his lola supposedly brought home for him. Peter immediately walks over to the dining table he’s intimately familiar with after so many months of sitting at it with MJ across from him. He pulls a chair out and ungracefully lands on it, his head spinning briefly from the action.

Peter takes a sharp breath. His chest still hurts. He doesn’t know if he can go through this meal hiding how much pain he’s actually in, but he’ll try. Ned didn’t sign up to take care of him. Peter will just eat as quickly as he can and leave as soon as possible. 

“I have some sinigang,” Ned called out from the kitchen. “And pancit bihon. I can make some torta and lumpia too, if you’d like. Are you allergic to peanuts? I also have some leftover kare-kare. Unless you want something spicy? I have some sisig for that too.”

“Um.” Peter blinked, overwhelmed by the number of options, some of them he painfully recognizes from the times he spent at Ned’s house. “Your lola brought you a lot of food, huh?”

Ned laughed. “Yeah. She cooks a lot more than my parents. It reminds her of home.”

“That’s sweet.” Peter’s gaze drifts down. It must be nice to have some comfort from home, no matter how far away it is, because of a few homemade recipes. 

Peter wishes there were some recipes Aunt May left behind. But he wouldn’t trade away any moments he spent swallowing the horrible walnut bread she baked for anything else. Peter even misses it. He’d do anything if he could just eat another one of her awful cooking again. 

(Sometimes Peter gets lost in his dreams so much that he imagines he’s still living in the apartment he shared with Aunt May, the one they had before they lived with Happy. He can still feel the flat mattress of his bunk bed, the way the light filtered in through the windows, the smell of something burning from the oven.)

(He can still feel Aunt May’s arms wrapped around him, her hands in his hair, Peter’s head on her shoulder while they sit on the couch and watch some cheesy television show on the weekend.)

(It feels so vivid sometimes. So visceral. The long waves of her hair tickling his cheek. The way she snorts while laughing. Her gentle but firm tone when she reminds Peter to do what’s right. The warmth of an afternoon after Peter returns home from school, where he’s greeted by a big hug and a kiss on his forehead.)

(It feels so real that when Peter opens his eyes and wakes from his dreams, he still feels disappointed when he is met with nothing but air and the bitter loneliness of his empty apartment.)

“Hey, you alright?”

Peter snaps out of his thinking when Ned appears in front of him, already placing two bowls on the table. “Yeah. Sorry. Got distracted.”

“You were zoning out for a while,” Ned pointed out. “I decided to pick for you. Hope you don’t mind eating sopas. I thought maybe eating something light might be better for your stomach.”

“That’s perfect.” Peter pulled the hot bowl near him, warming his frozen fingers. “Thanks again. I really appreciate it.”

Ned only grinned. “No problem. Besides, I’ve wanted to talk to you for a while now. MJ told me you also like Star Wars. I’ve been waiting forever to have someone to talk about it with. You’re the most interesting person in this apartment building and we have to bond now.”

Peter laughed nervously. “I don’t think I’m that interesting.”

“Dude. You work for The Daily Bugle. I don’t like the Jameson guy, but I’ve seen your pictures of Spider-Man and they’re so cool. Getting paid to take pictures of a superhero is a dream.”

“You think so?”

“For sure.” Ned nodded. “I’ve always dreamed of being Spider-Man’s sidekick. His guy-in-the-chair, you know? I could definitely help him with tracking down bad guys faster. Maybe I could help fix his reputation too.”

“Like a PR manager?”

“Yup, exactly like a PR manager. Great comparison, by the way,” Ned complimented. “I owe Spider-Man a lot for saving my life so many times in the past. He’s an amazing person. I just wish the whole world knew it too, you know?”

Peter smiled. “Yeah. I do.”

He doesn’t know how to describe the feeling in his chest right now. It’s not another episode. Not some sort of cardiovascular disease. It’s something softer, something similar to sentimentality. His heart is full of tender emotion from the knowledge that Ned still looks up to him in a way, not with resentment or fear, but with gratefulness and awe. 

Even if almost all of their memories together are gone, Ned still finds a way to admire Peter, even if it’s through Spider-Man.

Peter looks down at the bowl of sopas, fighting back the tears prickling in his eyes. He grabs the spoon and scoops up the macaroni and vegetables before shovelling it in his mouth.

Oh.

This…

(Peter having a sleepover at Ned’s place, the first one he’s ever had. He had to beg Uncle Ben and Aunt May for a week to allow him to stay over Ned’s place before they finally relented.)

(Ned and Peter arguing over a math problem while they’re rewatching their favorite Star Wars movie for the fifth time.)

(Ned’s lola calling them over to the dining room for dinner.)

(Ned telling Peter that it’s one of his favorite meals and he’s excited for Peter to try it.)

(Ned and Peter continuing their conversation while eating freshly-cooked bowls of sopas. The meal fills Peter’s belly. The two of them sip their bowls clean until soup dribbles down their chins. Peter hoping this won’t be the last time they have a sleepover together. Peter wishing Ned will stay as his best friend forever.)

Peter swallows a heavy lump in his throat.

“It tastes good, right?” Ned asked, a hopeful smile on his face.

Peter looked up at him and offered a teary smile of his own. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Tastes like home.

“So, what’s your opinion on Legos?” Ned is biting his lip. His fingers are fidgeting with the spoon he’s holding, one of his tics when he’s not sure if the other person would judge him or not. Peter hopes this doesn’t happen often. He’d really like to believe Ned flourished in college based on the videos he posted on his account. 

Out of everyone, Ned deserves to have another best friend. Even if that’s not Peter.

“I really like Legos,” Peter replied. “I used to collect them with a friend back when — um, back in high school, I mean. We built Star Wars sets together.”

“No way.” Ned’s eyes grow as wide as saucers, shining with excitement. “You’ve just become a hundred times cooler. Oh my god. I’ve always wanted to build a Star Wars set with someone, but MJ doesn’t really like Legos so I’ve just been doing them myself. What sets have you made?”

“My friend and I made the Lego Death Star in just two days,” Peter claimed proudly, even though said friend is, well, Ned himself.

“Holy shit!” Ned exclaimed. “I also have the Lego Death Star in my room! I’m missing a Palpatine minifigure though, probably after I moved for college. But I’ve always wanted to build another Lego set. I’ve been thinking about either the Mandalorian Baby Yoda set or the Millenium Falcon set. What do you think?”

“There’s a Mandalorian Baby Yoda set?” Peter asked, momentarily in shock.

“Yeah! It just released. You haven’t seen it yet?”

“No, not yet.” Peter should really get back into his hobbies again. Once he has the money for it. “But I think you should go for the Millenium Falcon set. I mean, that’s the next best set after the Death Star and—”

“—the X-Wing Starfighter,” they both finished at the same time.

Ned looks at him with an astonished gleam in his eyes. A wide grin spreads across his face, and Peter is struck with the realization that he’s actually talking to Ned again. It’s been four years since Peter even got to be in the same room as him, and now they’re talking about Legos like they’re back on the floor of Ned’s lola’s house. Like he never stopped being Peter’s best friend. Like there wasn’t a Ned-sized gap in the crater of Peter’s heart, along with all the other fissures of the people he missed the most. 

“I think I’ll really get along with you, Peter Parker,” Ned mused.

Peter tilts his head. “You… know my name?”

Something flashed across Ned’s face for a brief moment before his features schooled back to normal. “Of course. MJ talks about you a lot. And why wouldn’t I know my neighbor’s name?”

“Oh,” Peter said. “That makes sense.” 

Even if Ned’s excuse is unusually short.

They continue talking about anything and everything. They discuss their favorite Star Wars characters and argue which was the best movie in the franchise. They talk about Legos and the upcoming sets they will definitely save up for. They even moved on to talking about science and technology, going down the rabbit hole of exchanging jargon and babble that would make no sense to anyone else but them.

That’s how MJ finds them a couple of hours later. 

MJ finally arrived back at the apartment after a long shift. She was pleasantly surprised to see her neighbor and her roommate geeking out with each other at the dining table. Their bowls are empty and pushed to the side, probably have been for a while now, but the two of them clearly don’t care. 

Ned looks really excited and happy, as he always does when gets to nerd out with someone who understands him. He’s nodding along and talking in some gibberish terminology that only a techie geek like him would say.

MJ’s eyes slowly slide to the person across from him.

Peter Parker.

Unlike when he’s with her, where he has an air of resigned longing around him, his face is lit up like an overjoyed puppy right now. His hands are gesturing wildly, words falling out of his mouth faster than MJ could understand. His eyes, which normally have a heaviness he tries but fails to hide, are clear and filled with childish joy. 

For the first time since MJ met him, Peter doesn’t look like he’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looks genuinely carefree talking to Ned about Star Wars, just as MJ assumed he would.

MJ smiled.

She knew they’d get along well.

After that incident, Peter made sure not to have any worrying episodes around Ned or MJ at the apartment or anywhere where they could see him. Thankfully, the episodes don’t come up too often anymore.

However, Peter is dealing with a new problem.

Aside from MJ, Ned also seems to involve himself in Peter’s life.

With MJ, Peter sees her every night or in the afternoon on the weekends. She does two things: give him leftovers or invite him for a meal. When they eat lunch together, MJ usually hands him a tupperware for dinner. On other days, she reverses it. She probably has a shifting schedule in her job, which explains why she can only eat with him once a day.

On the other hand, Ned always seems to be available. He always greets Peter in the morning when Peter is leaving his apartment. When MJ isn’t available for lunch, Ned is the one inviting him over the apartment with some promise of his lola’s homemade food and the continuation of their previous conversations. Sometimes, when Peter comes home after a few classes in college or a grueling patrol, Ned somehow always bumps into him in the hallway and practically drags him to his apartment for food and video games.

It’s a little surprising, to be honest. For the first few months when Peter only ate with MJ, it seemed like Ned was never around in the apartment. Peter thought Ned might’ve had a mid-shift or a shifting job schedule which keeps him at the office longer. But recently, Peter sees Ned more than MJ these days, and he wonders just how much his schedule must’ve changed for him to stay at home for longer. 

Still, it’s really nice to spend time with them. Peter doesn’t even try to feel guilty about inserting himself back into their lives anymore. He’s probably breaking some backward promises and reaching new levels of hypocrisy, but Peter just can’t find it in himself to care.

Ned likes him. MJ likes him. Even if the only way they get to interact is by eating meals together, it’s good enough for Peter.

It’s a bit egotistic for him to say, but he feels like he deserves it, at least. He never allowed himself anything for the past four years. Never reached out to Happy. Never approached Ned or MJ, unless it’s to check out Ned’s posts when he really, really needs some comfort after a rough day. Peter survived all those years alone, curled up into a broken mattress on the floor, the lights and heater not working because he didn’t have enough to pay for electricity.

The only way he got through those painfully cold and dark nights was with the comfort that his friends were doing so much better. They’re living their dreams in college without Peter ruining their opportunities. 

No matter how many times he wanted to message them, to call them, because he could still recite their phone numbers by heart, he never did. Even if Peter was dealing with the loss of Aunt May, all his records being wiped, of the crushing realization that he’s completely alone — Peter promised himself he would never make any decisions that could affect Ned and MJ’s futures.

Even if it was heartbreaking. Even if Peter broke down crying every night for the first few months after everyone’s memories were erased. Even if it was the most difficult choice he had to make because it was just so lonely, Peter accepted the reality that he would never get his friends back again. 

So this thing, this one good thing, he’ll allow himself to be selfish for once in his life. 

Surely it’s alright to keep this. It’s alright to be greedy for a couple of meals and interactions with the two people who used to be — still are his entire world.

And so, other than eating together, what Peter loves doing is observing them.

For one part, they still act the same as they did in high school. Ned still rambles a lot about technology, and MJ still makes cryptic comments to mess with Peter. Even if they’re the ones who’ve been roommates for years, Peter doesn’t feel like an outsider when he’s with them. If anything, it seems like their friendship solidified even more when Peter is around.

Sometimes, Peter even sees them act as if they’re the same person, unconsciously mimicking each other’s gestures. Ned would shake his head when he’s amused, the same way MJ does when she finds Peter funny. MJ also crosses the utensils on her plate before she cleans up, just like Ned does when they eat together. Peter doesn’t know if these habits were because Ned picked them up from MJ, or MJ formed them because of Ned, but it’s interesting to see them act so similarly to each other. It must be because of how long they’ve been in each other’s lives.

(Lives that Peter was supposed to be a part of.)

But on the other hand, there are changes. Just little shifts Peter observed the more they hung out together.

Like how Ned drinks coffee now, with three spoons of sugar and cream. Or that MJ developed a love for writing and oil painting. Ned wears glasses occasionally when he stays on his computer for too long. MJ tends to clip her hair back when she’s focusing on something rather than let it fall over her face.

It’s like a fresh start. Peter is learning about them all over again.

Of course, even though their routine is eating lunch and dinner together in their apartment, Peter’s heart still ends up wavering. Even when he’s listening along to something Ned is saying, his eyes almost always drift to the girl sitting next to him.

He catalogs the differences between the MJ he once knew and the MJ today. She used to only wear lip balm, the glossy kind. Her hair used to be curlier, always pulled back with a bun or a ponytail because of the wild curls. There was a level of distrust and neutrality in her eyes at most times because it was the only way to keep people from approaching her.

Now she wears matte lipstick with a sprinkle of blush on her cheeks. Her hair is wavy and rests on her shoulders, curving around her face. She smiles more now too, freely giving away affection Peter had to earn for a year back before they started dating. 

Peter drinks up every miniscule change. Every mannerism, every new tic. He’s been missing out on their lives for four years, and it feels like no matter how much time they spend together, it’s not enough for Peter to know what else changed for them. 

He wants to know more. What they went through at MIT. The courses they had the most difficult time with during their semesters. People they met in their classes. How they adjusted to their lives without him.

Peter wants to know everything.

But it’s weird if Peter keeps asking about them, so he tries to balance it out by sharing some facts about himself too.

When Ned asked which high school he went to, Peter told him he dropped out and had to take his GED instead.

When MJ asked if he’s sleeping properly because he’s juggling his classes and two part-time jobs, Peter said The Daily Bugle lets him submit his photographs at any time and he usually takes the night shift for the pizza place he works at.

When they ask why he never invites them over, Peter says he hasn’t had the time to clean up at his apartment. When they’re curious about his family, he tells them he hasn’t seen them in a while. 

He answers their questions honestly, or as honestly as he could. By bending the truth a little. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want them to know. He does, he really does. They’re warming his already tender heart with the budding friendship of their trio. The more the days go on, the more Peter wants to place his trust in their hands, just like before.

But he knows Ned has a soft heart and would cry for him if Peter admitted he dropped out because no one could pay his tuition anymore. MJ might grow concerned if she finds out Peter gets a total of two hours of sleep since he usually patrols as Spider-Man after classes and swings across the city to deliver pizzas and fight crime. 

He can also imagine the anguish that would no doubt show up on their faces if he reveals that he’s an orphan. He has no family left, and the messiness of his apartment reflects that, so he’d rather not let them see it.

Peter just doesn’t want to hurt them any more than he should. He can handle his own problems and repressed trauma. He doesn’t need to confide in them at all.

He can handle himself. Just like he’s always done before.

Eight months later, Christmas Day comes.

Peter used to love Christmas. Everything was joyous about it: the snow, the decorations, the festive atmosphere. Christmas was a time when Ned and Peter exchanged presents and ended up getting one another matching Lego sets they’ll definitely build together. It was a day when crime went down, not by a lot, but enough for him to have a nice dinner with Aunt May at a restaurant they both liked. 

And, well.

After Aunt May died and Peter lost everyone else, he found no reason to celebrate the holiday anymore.

Though, just because Peter doesn’t celebrate it, doesn’t mean his friends don’t.

“You’ll be gone for a month?” Peter asked in surprise. He had just sat down on the sofa when Ned broke the news to him.

Ned gave him a sheepish smile. “Yeah. I’m going to visit my parents, and then I’ll be spending the New Year with some relatives. Work allowed me to use as much paid time off as possible, so I’m going to be back by mid-February.”

Peter furrowed his brows. “That’s — isn’t that kinda long? Will your time off cover until then?”

“I work from home anyway.” Ned waved off. “I’m just going to bring my laptop so I can stay longer there. I want to spend more time with my lola.”

Peter swallows. 

Of course Ned would be gone for the holidays. How could Peter forget? Ned always went out of town to visit his family for Christmas and New Year’s. Peter can still remember all the times Ned came home with a bunch of presents for him from his relatives, because as it turns out, Ned talked about his best friend so much that his uncles and aunts went out of their way to buy gifts for Peter as well.

(Peter still has those gifts. A set of pajamas. A Mets hat. A Lego keychain figurine.)

(Peter sometimes wonders if Ned’s relatives remember spending money on a boy who doesn’t exist.)

“How about you, Peter?” Ned asked while he’s zipping up his backpack and his suitcase. “Do you have any plans?”

Peter’s mouth dried. He shifts on the sofa, his fingers fidgeting. “Uh—”

“Christmas is an overrated holiday,” MJ suddenly cut in. “Halloween is clearly superior. That holiday should’ve lasted for an entire month.”

Ned snorted. “Only you would like that. Who wants to see blood and ghosts for a whole month?”

“Everyone does. That’s how you get into the festive spirit.”

“You really have a unique take on holidays.”

Peter meets MJ’s gaze as she walks into the room. With a grin on her lips, she crosses her arms over her chest. She’s looking at Peter expectantly.

Somehow, Peter thinks she must’ve noticed his discomfort with Ned’s question. He wants to know how she ever figured that out, but it’s probably written all over Peter’s face anyway.

Peter mouths a quiet thank you.

MJ winks at him as a reply.

“Well, I’ll see you guys in a month and a half.” Ned slides his backpack on and strolls his suitcase near the doorway. “Don’t have too much fun or else I’ll develop terrible FOMO. And please don’t play the new Resident Evil game without me because I’ve only played Grace’s part and I haven’t reached Leon’s yet. As a matter of fact, can I lock the PlayStation in my room instead—”

“Ned,” MJ interrupted with a gesture of her head. “Don’t you have a bus to catch?”

Ned’s eyes filled with realization before he glanced at his watch. “Shit, yeah. I’ll see you guys, okay? Keep in touch. Don’t starve. I’m looking at you, Peter. And remember everything I just said. My FOMO is crippling—”

“Ned,” MJ stressed.

Ned cuts himself off with a smile and a salute. He turns to exit and shuts the door behind him, leaving only Peter and MJ behind in the apartment.

For a minute, they both don’t speak. It’s a moment of complete silence, but it doesn’t last long. It never does when Peter is with MJ.

“So,” MJ starts. “Do you have anything better to do?”

Peter tenses. Uh oh. Is he overstaying at the apartment? Does MJ have somewhere to be? Peter briskly stands from the sofa. “Sorry. I didn’t know you had plans—”

“No!” MJ exclaims, startling both of them. She bites her lip as her eyes dart around. “I didn’t want you to go, I mean… I just wanted to know if you were going anywhere.”

“Oh.” Peter stands awkwardly, his arms hanging loosely at his sides. “Um, why?”

MJ tucks her hair behind her ears before shrugging. If Peter looks closely, he might even think her ears look suspiciously red. “No reason. I don’t have any plans today. I visited my parents a week ago, so. If you wanted to, you know, spend Christmas together, I wouldn’t, I — I’m free. That’s all I’m saying.”

If Peter were a weaker man, he might tease MJ for stammering about something as simple as spending the day together.

If Peter were a delusional one, he might think she’s stammering and blushing because of him.

Peter immediately crosses that thought away from his mind.

“I don’t really have any plans,” Peter says. MJ’s eyes light up and Peter’s heart skips a beat. “But I’m going to visit my aunt for a bit. J-Just a little while! We could meet up later for dinner, if you want?”

MJ looks taken aback, but then her expression turns hopeful. “You’re going to visit your aunt?”

Peter nods, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. I always try to make some time for her at Christmas. It’s my own tradition, like Ned’s.”

“Then… can I come with you?”

Peter’s breath hitches in his throat. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” MJ rushes to explain when she notices the shock on Peter’s face. “We could — yeah, we’ll meet at dinner like you said. I, I just thought it would be nice to meet your aunt. It’s the third time you mentioned her.”

“It is?”

“The first time, you said she liked larb when we were eating Thai food. The second was when you mentioned she hated The Daily Bugle.” 

“I…” Peter blinks rapidly. He didn’t even notice that he talked about her at all. In contrast, he thinks about her all the time, but those thoughts have just blended into the background of his subconscious. 

When he lost Aunt May, it was nearly impossible not to miss her. At first, Peter didn’t understand what this feeling was. It was too shallow for it to be grief, but it was too deep for it to be anything else. It took a while for Peter to realize why he feels this way, and even longer for him to name the emotion plaguing every single waking moment of his life.

Homesickness.

It was homesickness. Because Aunt May was everything to him and she was Peter’s home in every sense of the word that mattered. It stuck to him like glue, surrounding him in a never-ending spiderweb. It was a recurring emotion — almost as constant as breathing. 

Peter would wake up in his firm mattress and miss home. He would eat lunch with his friends and miss home. He would swing through the streets of New York and miss home. He’d fight, eat, study, work, fall asleep, and miss home every single second. 

Every day he has to face the fact that this is his responsibility. That his homesickness is the byproduct of the correct course of action to save the multiverse. And every day, he still carries the responsibility that never erased the guilt from his mistakes. 

It was the right choice.

Yet.

Yet…

Yet, yet, yet. 

Yet Peter looks at cars passing by the street and thinks of Aunt May’s car that was sent to the impound. He sees families walking closely to avoid losing each other in the crowd and thinks of how he already forgot the feel of Aunt May’s hand clasped in his. He notices two brothers playing with their food in some fast food restaurant and thinks of how he never got to watch the sequel of the movie he and Aunt May used to look forward to. He hears high school students talk about their plans to go to karaoke and thinks of how he never got that chance of being a kid because he had to grow up early to be a superhero.

But what else could Peter do? He made his bed, now he must lie in it.

His life continues. 

It… it doesn’t get easier.

It doesn’t get easier, even when months pass. 

It doesn’t get easier, even when Peter spent his eighteenth birthday alone. 

It doesn’t get easier, especially when Peter sees the pictures of Ned and MJ celebrating another finished semester and Peter isn’t in any of the pictures. 

It doesn’t get easier, even as Peter spends his first Christmas crying himself in his room because he misses his family so much but this is what he asked for, this is his responsibility, why is he crying why is he so sad. 

It doesn’t get easier.

But Peter gets used to it.

The burning sting of homesickness transformed into an ache, a wound marked on him but only sensitive with pressure. It isn’t as noticeable as it was back then. Peter adapted. He changed. 

What else could he do otherwise?

Peter gets used to it.

Peter gets used to it… right?

He doesn’t. 

The homesickness, Aunt May’s death, his loyal companion of guilt, the ache of missing everything he ever had in the past — these thoughts spread across Peter’s brain, seeping into every corner of his mind, never making him forget the painful reminder burning into the darkness every time he blinks: 

This is your fault. 

This is all your fault.

The disease of knowing you has done nothing but hurt everyone you love. 

How does one even go about reconciling with the mistakes they make? How does one own up to it?

How can he stop blaming himself for it? 

Peter could never find the answers to these questions no matter how many times he stays up late at night figuring it out. Peter never found the right words, the right advice, or the right comfort, no matter how many times he scrolled through the internet and through the videos of Ned and MJ’s posts.

Peter realizes he may never will. 

Which is why Peter never talks about Aunt May. It’s still painful. It’s a scar that will always be too raw. A laceration over his heart that continues to leak, preventing his vessels from constricting to stop the flow. The homesickness and grief and guilt spread through every single nerve and every single crevice in his body. 

The wound doesn’t stop hurting, the blood doesn’t stop bleeding, and even Peter’s advanced healing can’t help when he’s perpetually stuck in emotional and mental suffering.

So Peter never brings her up. Too afraid of what might spill out if he says her name. 

But MJ still managed to catch the words Peter never thought dropped. Just simple facts about a woman who was so much more.

Peter gulps. 

If…

If MJ knew, she’d understand him. 

She’s uncomfortable with emotional situations, but she’d listen to him. She always did, and she still does.

At the moment, all Peter could think about was that he wanted to tell her.

“Just promise me one thing,” Peter said.

MJ straightens. “What is it?”

“Please don’t judge when we get there.” 

Incredulity passes over MJ’s face before softness takes its place. 

“Of course not,” MJ whispered. “Not when it’s you.”

There might be something more she’s implying, something Peter should definitely look more deeply into, but he ignores it for now. That’s an observation for next time.

“Okay.” Peter licks his lips. He can feel the sweat building up in his palms. “Let’s go, then. I’ll lead the way.”

On the way to the cemetery, Peter is half-scared and half-regretting his choices.

A silence settled over them when they walked. It wasn’t uncomfortable, it’s never uncomfortable when Peter is with MJ, but he could tell she’s growing curious. The air between them was filled with something strange, a feeling Peter couldn’t name. The strange feeling electrified Peter’s chest every time MJ’s fingers grazed the back of his hand, almost too many times for it to be a coincidence. 

He could tell she was thinking hard, and the longer they walked, the more she couldn’t hide her concern for him. When they made one last turn, the view of the cemetery was just up ahead. Peter glanced at her a couple of times when he clearly headed towards it, and he saw the exact moment her eyes filled with understanding when they got closer.

Peter almost asks her if she wants to stay behind and wait for him instead, but then something unexpected happened. MJ looks at him with firm eyes and a smile that promises she wouldn’t leave him. “Let’s go meet your aunt. She must’ve been waiting for a while, right?”

His heart is locked in a vice-grip. 

Peter knew she would understand.

They entered the cemetery. Peter leads the way deep inside, getting closer to the familiar path near the place he frequents the most. It feels harder than it should to walk across the area. The snow slows their footsteps, and Peter is slightly grateful for it. The closer they approach, the more his chest tightens, and the more his palms sting from how hard his nails are pressing into them from his balled-up fists. 

They arrived at her grave.

Even though snow covers it, Peter sits on the patch of land before her tombstone. MJ follows suit, sitting next to him and not making a sound. 

“Hey, May,” Peter murmurs. His voice already sounds wet. “Merry Christmas.”

The cemetery is quiet at night. Even though they’ve passed bright lights and listened to Christmas songs on the way here, this place feels like a whole other dimension because of how empty it is.

Peter stares at her grave. The words embedded in the stone. 

Peter is sure MJ has figured it out by now. Her mind is probably deducing everything he ever said based on this knowledge. She already knows they’re around the same age. If she subtracted the number of years from this year to the year Aunt May died, she’d figure out how young Peter was. How her death led to him dropping out of high school. Why Peter lives all alone and never mentions any family. 

Peter knows MJ is curious and full of questions.

But MJ doesn’t ask. She doesn’t mention any of her observations either. She only sits beside him quietly, respecting his moment with his aunt.

Once again, MJ knows exactly what Peter needs even when he doesn’t say anything.

“Sorry for being late.” Peter reached over and pressed his fingers to the name on the grave. “I promise I wasn’t avoiding you. It’s just another difficult Christmas without you.” 

A rustle of wind passes by.

Peter breathes in. A decision pops into his head. Something that could potentially bite him in the ass if he’s not careful. But there’s something about being at Aunt May’s grave with the person he trusts most in the world that lets his walls down, just for a while. Even though he knows MJ must’ve figured everything out already, he still wants to tell her. 

He wants her to learn everything about him too.

Peter makes his choice.

“I used to go to Midtown High,” Peter says after a moment. He can feel MJ looking at him, but he doesn’t look away from the tombstone. “I dropped out when she died. I, uh, couldn’t really afford to pay tuition by myself. The apartment we were staying at — or used to stay at — was evicting me. I didn’t have enough money to pay rent because I spent most of it on the funeral arrangements. So I had to drop out. It took me a while to find a job to support myself, and even longer to find an apartment that costs less.”

Peter repressed the memories of that time as much as he could. He never wanted to remember that period of his life again. He could still remember the hunger echoing in his bones, the cold, wet streets he slept on, the emptiness in his chest where his heart should be. It was gone. Aunt May took it with her when she went six-feet under.

Every time he remembers how bad it was, he has to remind himself that he’s doing better now. A run-down, crappy apartment with neighbors who complain about his noises is better than the times he spent shivering inside abandoned buildings with only torn newspapers to keep him warm. At least now he has a blanket and a place to stay.

But somehow, talking about his experience now feels different. Like the pain is flowing out of him. As if the words he’s letting out are also releasing the weight his body has been carrying for four years. 

Only MJ has this effect on him.

“She was the only one I had left,” Peter continued. “My parents passed away when I was little, and my uncle died when I was fourteen. Before her, I also lost someone important to me. My, um, my mentor. They never really got along because May didn’t like him, but—” he lets out a small laugh— “they both cared for me, in their own ways.”

The trees rustle behind them. 

Snow continues to fall.

“You can ask, if you want,” Peter said. “I know you’re curious.”

Conflict flickered across MJ’s face. “No, it’s not—”

“MJ,” Peter interrupted softly. He finally turned his head to look at her, giving her an encouraging look. “It’s okay. I want you to ask. That’s why I brought you here.”

MJ still looks unsure, but then she asks: “Was… was she the victim from the collapsed building four years ago…?”

Out of everything she could have possibly asked, Peter didn’t expect that. Even now, MJ continues to surprise him.

“Yeah,” Peter replies. “She was.” 

“Are you… why would you still work for Jameson?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s…” MJ looks like she’s in a struggle for words, which is a first. “You’re amazing at photography. You can write good columns. You could work for any other newspaper company in New York, so I don’t, I — why would you work for someone like him?” 

“I don’t understand,” Peter says slowly. He genuinely doesn’t know what MJ is implying. 

“Jameson,” MJ clarifies. “He… he reported the news that Spider-Man killed your aunt. He published dozens of newspapers mentioning your aunt and her death. It just — why would you work for someone who used your aunt to push propaganda? Aren’t you furious at him?”

Ah.

So that’s what she meant.

Peter wants to tell her Jameson only reported what was true. 

Peter wants to tell her that he did kill his aunt, that his stupid actions led to her dying in that crumbled building, and he left her behind just so he could escape.

Peter wants to tell her he’s angrier at himself. He took on the responsibility of Spider-Man to protect the people, to be a friendly neighborhood superhero for the little guys. With great power comes great responsibility, and Spider-Man lives by that mantra every day to save the people of New York.

But the only person Spider-Man couldn’t save is the person who matters the most.

Peter wants MJ to know that. He wants to tell her he never stopped feeling guilty. He never stopped hating himself over it. Instead, what comes out is this:

“I used to be so angry.”

MJ scoots closer, her expression open, listening intently.

Peter lets out a shaky breath. “I was so angry, just. Consumed with it. I lost everything. I didn’t know if I was ever going to feel anything else.”

Peter remembers the sorrow.

Peter remembers putting flowers on Aunt May’s grave.

“But…” Peter begins. “May told me hate is a disease. It will infect my whole heart and my life. It would only kill me.” It almost did. “I didn’t understand at first. I was entitled to feel things my own way, you know? If I wanted to keep my anger, I should. If I wanted to keep my hatred, then I would. There’s nothing stopping me.”

Peter remembers holding her for the last time.

But most of all, he remembers the words she once told him:

“Peter, you have to tell me what’s going on. Just lay it out,” Aunt May coaxed, a desperate smile on her face. “It’s just me and you.”

It’s just them.

Peter doesn’t have to be angry. Not anymore. Not when Aunt May is still with him, in his heart. Not when MJ is right beside him, not in a relationship like they were before, but with a deeper bond Peter never thought he could accomplish again.

Peter still has the people he lost in his life. Maybe in a way different from back then, but he continues to carry his memories of them with him. That’s more than enough to keep going forward.

Peter’s fingers unfurled from his clenched fists. “But after a couple of months, I understood what she was telling me. Anger and hate, those won’t change anything. They won’t save anyone. It’s easy to hate. It’s easy to lose myself in anger. But what would be left? If I let my rage consume me, who would I see in the mirror?”

It’s what Aunt May was trying to tell him, in the last few moments before she died. She told him that he had a gift. To carry that gift means to carry the power and responsibility that came with being a superhero. And to be a superhero means to be someone the people can rely on. 

Spider-Man is a friendly neighborhood hero, which is why Peter Parker must not be a vengeful nor a hateful person.

“I get it now,” Peter says. “I really do. I know what she was trying to make me see and what she was preventing me from becoming. It helped a lot all these years, but…”

It’s just…

“It’s just been really lonely,” Peter finishes with a strained laugh. 

For a moment, nobody speaks. Peter’s words hang heavy in the air between them, just like the wind that blows around them. 

Then MJ surprises him once more.

Peter’s breath hitches in his throat when MJ takes his hand and interlocks their fingers. It still feels as electrifying as it did when they were seventeen years old. She’s touching him so gently, and it warms him up entirely, even in the middle of all this snow.

The hollow feeling in Peter’s chest fills up, just a little.

“How are you still alive?” MJ murmurs. Peter laughs. “I’m serious. It feels like you’re so much older than me when we’re just the same age. You’ve lost so much when you were so young. How could you… how did you get through it?”

His heart does a somersault. He knew she’d understand.

“Sometimes, life straps weights onto your shoulders you never asked for, then expects you to keep moving like nothing happened. You can’t talk to anyone about it. You end up living with burdens and traumas you just can’t let go of.” Peter closes his eyes. Even when he says this, there is no resentment or pain at all. “Day by day, it feels like things are getting worse, and after a while you don’t even know why you’re still trying. When nothing makes sense anymore, you start blaming yourself, and it slowly wears you down.”

MJ places her other hand on top of their intertwined fingers. She caresses him gently. Peter knows he’ll never regret telling her this.

“But I learned that all those things, everything I feel, all of it is real and it matters. I don’t know when things will start getting better, but choosing to keep going is one of the most meaningful things I can do in this life to honor my aunt’s wishes. I learned I don’t have to feel okay right now. Just…”

For the first time today, Peter finally cracked a smile. ”When I feel ready, all I need is to pull myself together and raise my fists again. As long as I keep getting my back up, nothing ever truly gets buried in the dark.”

It’s what Aunt May would’ve wanted for him. 

It’s what Mr. Stark would’ve wanted too.

MJ looks at him, her eyes focused completely on Peter’s face. He’s gotten used to her gazes for the past few months they’ve been eating together, but this one is different. She looks fond, almost. Gentle around the edges of her mouth, some admiration across her features, and a deeper emotion hidden in the brown flecks of her irises.

“You know,” MJ whispers. “I also went to Midtown.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. If… if we had met, I would’ve remembered you. I probably would’ve sketched one of your distressed faces. I feel like you would’ve made a lot.”

Peter smiles wider. “Yeah, I know.”

“But,” MJ swallows. Her hand tightens around his own. “If I remembered you, I would definitely be there for you. I wouldn’t have let you go through all that pain alone.”

Oh.

Peter softens.

His head falls on her shoulder. He laughs, a little out of breath, his cheeks pinching from how hard he’s smiling. His heart is beating too much, but Peter knows it’s safe in MJ’s hands. Like it’s always been.

“That would’ve been nice,” Peter whispers. “I wish that happened.”

“I wish that too.”

They stay there for a while, sitting on the ground before Aunt May’s tombstone. Peter’s head is nuzzled against MJ’s shoulder, their hands interlaced with a warmth that was better than any Christmas miracle.

After that Christmas, Peter and MJ spend their days together.

The routine still continues. They eat together. MJ gives him her leftovers, and Peter eats them during his patrols late at night. MJ texts him if he wants to grab a meal together, and Peter has to text back in the middle of a fight. Everything is still normal.

But something changed. A little addition to the routine.

When they eat together, MJ stares at him more. She tells him to stay longer when they finish, then they watch a movie with MJ pressed so closely to Peter’s side. Before Peter leaves the apartment, they spend at least another thirty minutes just talking in the hallway, as if they both don’t want the conversation to end.

MJ is a lot more physically expressive now, too. She flicks his forehead when he gets lost in thought. She gives him a hug goodbye before he returns to his own apartment. She ruffles his hair when Peter teases her about her Spider-Man obsession. And most importantly, in the moments of silence, she holds his hand. Constantly.

After eating lunch. When they’re watching a movie. During one of Peter’s stories about his day. Whether it’s palms clasped together or intertwined fingers, MJ somehow makes the move to hold his hand when they’re spending time with one another.

It’s an extraordinary change.

It’s also a terrifying one.

Peter doesn’t want to mess this up. Whatever it is between them, Peter wants it to last as long as possible. It doesn’t matter if there’s no label or if MJ doesn’t really have any feelings for him. He doesn’t care if she doesn’t see him in a romantic light. Being with her is the only thing that makes him happy. 

Peter would fall for her a hundred times without reciprocation, as long as he can still be a part of her life.

That’s all he wants. 

Nothing else matters.

“Your shirts are getting tighter.”

Peter blinked before looking down at the shirt he’s wearing. “Are you mocking me or something?”

“No, idiot,” MJ snorted. “I mean that in a good way. It’s not an insult, promise.”

“Really? Or is this some roundabout way of you asking me to lose weight?”

“That’s the last thing I want. Why would I feed you all the time if I wanted you to lose weight?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s part of your evil plan to let my guard down so you could kidnap me and use me as bait to lure Spider-Man into your apartment.”

“That’s not a bad idea. I’m sure Spider-Man would love to talk to the person taking his pictures and writing exaggerated slander about him in the newspaper.” 

Peter laughs. “I’m sure he would.”

It’s a Friday afternoon, one of the rare days both of them don’t need to be at work or have any plans for the day. They’re both on the couch watching some indie movie, but it’s mostly background noise while they’re both talking about anything else. 

No matter how many times they’ve hung out together, Peter still can’t quite get used to just. Being with her. Near her. Every time they’re together, Peter cherishes every second he gets to be by her side.

Like today. Peter doesn’t need to patrol until at least nine PM, so he has some time to spend a while longer with MJ. 

— who apparently keeps staring at his shirt.

“Is it really that obvious?” Peter frowns, adjusting the hem of his shirt awkwardly.

MJ shrugs. “Yeah. You’ve obviously gotten bigger. You need new shirts.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.”

“Oh, definitely an insult. You should let me help you dispose of your t-shirts. I’ll start with the ones with the horrible science puns on them.”

“I knew you had an ulterior motive.”

“What can I say? I’m just doing my part as your friend to get rid of the bad shirts from the good ones. Your taste in anything cannot be trusted, and that applies to your fashion sense too.”

MJ’s disdain for his science pun t-shirts aside, Peter did notice his shirts have been getting tighter for a while now.

Peter didn’t mind it at first. He thought the shirts might be shrinking because of years of overuse, even though they should’ve been stretching out instead. Again, Peter didn’t really care for logic. It wasn’t a big deal to have a couple of normal-fitted shirts instead of loose ones on his body.

Then it started affecting his entire wardrobe. His shirts and hoodies started becoming smaller, and every time he wore them, they were a tad bit tight-fitted on him. Even his pajamas weren’t exempted from this change; every shirt and jacket and tank top he has fits his body snugly, especially around his torso and arms. 

There’s only one possible and obvious explanation for this. 

Peter has been eating with MJ for close to nine months now. His weight and size difference gradually developed over those months of lunches and dinners. He’s been eating so normally that he hasn’t even noticed how much muscle he’s gained and how much he improved from being underweight all those months ago. 

In a way, Peter only has MJ and Ned to thank for sustaining him with their never-ending kindness and food supply.

However, all those meals have one consequence of making nearly every single one of Peter’s shirts tight or unbearably fitted that he can’t use them anymore. 

“Maybe I should cut back on meals,” Peter mutters.

“You really don’t have to do that,” MJ immediately replies. “You’re finally at a healthy weight. A few old clothes shouldn’t make you revert yourself.”

“Again, I don’t know why you have such a grudge against my clothes.” Peter remembers how much MJ teased him about them in high school, but she still liked them, anyway. How come she doesn’t like any of them now? “And I’m not reverting myself or anything. I’m just thinking of going on a diet, maybe.”

MJ quirks a brow. “Oh yeah, you definitely need a diet. Growing muscles and not being alarmingly skinny is such a bad thing, boo hoo. You should totally go back to looking pale and scrawny and haggard.”

You think I have muscles? Peter wants to ask.

“I wasn’t alarmingly skinny,” Peter argues instead.

“Sureee, you absolutely weren’t malnourished when me and Ned first moved into the apartment.”

“I wasn’t!”

“Peter, you are a horrible liar. You know that, right?”

Peter rolls his eyes. He knows that, but that’s a different conversation. “I wore hoodies and oversized shirts all the time. How would you even notice something like that?”

At that, MJ suddenly goes quiet.

Peter turns his head to look at her. She’s avoiding his eyes, which is unusual. MJ is not an anxious or a nervous person. There’s no reason why she wouldn’t say the first thing that comes to her mind right now. “MJ?”

“I’ve been watching you,” MJ whispers.

“What?”

“That’s how I noticed. I was watching you.”

Peter’s heart skips a beat, and he doesn’t know if it’s from butterflies or something more dangerous. 

“Wh… why would you do that?” Peter asks with a shaky laugh. “A-Ah, I get it. You’re very observant, right?”

Peter tries to tease her with her signature catchphrase, but it falls flat. It sounds like a flimsy excuse to ease the growing awkward tension between the two of them. 

Peter looks at her expectantly, his gut coiling and swirling with the uneasy feeling of hope. All MJ needs to do is take the olive branch Peter is handing her to curb his hope and put him back in his place. Like she always says, she’s not obsessed, just very observant. She just needs to say that again so Peter won’t expect anything else from her.

Because… because if she’s not observant, then… then—

“Being observant has nothing to do with it,” MJ says softly. She meets his eyes. “I just… wanted to watch you. You looked like you needed a friend.”

Oh.

His heartbeat rapidly picks up, ringing loudly in his ears, and Peter is afraid she might hear it. Peter can feel the sweat building up in his hands and on the back of his neck. His face feels really hot and his entire body is on fire—

Peter gasps.

Suddenly, MJ’s hands are holding his shoulders and touching his face. “Woah, Peter, are you okay? You’re burning up.”

Peter screws his eyes shut to block out the splotchy patches of black in his vision. His heart is beating dangerously, almost reaching the level of intensity when he has an episode. His breathing is getting shallow, not enough air, and soon he won’t be able to breathe at all—

“Pete?” MJ asks, worry etched on her face. “Talk to me.”

Peter shakes his head helplessly. He grabs her wrist, the one near his cheek. “It’s nothing.”

“This is not nothing, Peter. What’s wrong?”

“Lightheaded. I get cases of disorientation sometimes. It’ll pass after a couple of minutes.”

MJ doesn’t look like she believes him, but after a few seconds, her expression turns firm. She lets go of his face and shoulder and scoots back from him until she’s on the other side of the couch. She nods at him. “Come here.”

Peter’s mouth dried. “Huh?”

MJ pats her lap. “Rest your head here.”

“MJ—”

“Can you please accept my help for once in your life?”

Peter automatically snaps his mouth closed. MJ gives him a pointed look and Peter can’t do anything else but give in. He shifts his position on the couch and slowly lies down with MJ’s lap cushioning his head. Peter tries not to show how freaked out he is on the outside. Sitting close to each other, staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands — those things, Peter can handle them just fine, even if he falls more deeply for MJ every time.

But this feels different somehow. More intimate. Less friendly and more personal than any of their other skin-to-skin contact in the past.

Peter’s heart spikes up when MJ places a hand over his eyes, obstructing his vision. 

“Is this better?” MJ asks, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Wha…” Peter clears his throat. “What are you doing?”

“You get bad sensory issues, right? So, I thought this might help. With the oversensitivity.”

It takes a while for Peter to understand what she’s talking about, but then he realizes that’s the exact excuse he used back when she first offered him her leftovers. 

She remembered.

Even if it was a lie. Even if Peter was weird as hell for wearing shades with his hoodie up and acting as conspicuously as possible. Even if it’s just one offhand comment he made so many months ago.

MJ remembered.

“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, his heart slowing, his breathing getting deeper. “Yeah, it helps. Sorry for making you do this.”

Peter thinks MJ is smiling at him, but he can’t be too sure. “Classic Peter Parker. Always apologizing even though you’re the one suffering. Can you stop blaming yourself for just one second or are you physically incapable of that?”

Peter breathes out a chuckle. “I think that’s also a Parker trait, so yes, I am physically incapable of not apologizing, especially when I’m being a burde — ouch, hey!”

MJ’s hand goes back to covering his eyes after it slapped his cheek. Granted, it was a light slap, but still. “You should really focus on yourself more than trying to make things comfortable for everyone else.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Really?” MJ deadpans. “The whole diet thing earlier, that was you focusing on yourself rather than a convenient excuse to, I don’t know, stop eating?”

Peter resists the urge to tense up. Either Peter is really obvious or MJ is just a really, really good guesser. 

“It’s completely unrelated,” Peter lies. MJ’s hand covers his eyes, so it’s not like she can see what he’s actually feeling.

“Sure, Parker,” MJ snorts. “Just get some rest. Don’t you have a class tomorrow?”

Peter groans. “Ugh, thanks for reminding me. I have a paper to pass tomorrow, too. My program is kicking my ass.”

“I’m sure your nerdy brain will figure it out.” Peter feels MJ’s other hand carding through his hair. He hopes she doesn’t notice his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “What program are you taking?”

“Oh, um. I’m doing a double major in Chemical Engineering and Mechanical Engineering.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. Best and worst decision of my life two years ago.”

“Two years ago?” MJ echoes. “Is that how long it took for…”

Peter immediately understands what she’s referencing. He knows she’s referring to their conversation back at the graveyard. “Yeah. After I got my GED, I focused more on earning money and securing an apartment. When I finally found my footing, I applied for a scholarship. That’s how I was able to pursue two majors.”

“Of course you did,” MJ chuckles, sounding somehow fond of him. “Why didn’t you apply for a scholarship at MIT? We would’ve met sooner if you did.”

“I never knew you were so dedicated to your alma mater.”

“I’m not, but you talk about science and tech stuff with Ned so much and you’re such a geek that it’s impossible for you not to have MIT in mind. Sometimes, it feels like you know MIT more than me.”

That’s because Tony went there. That’s because Peter actually had dreams when he was younger.

“It just wasn’t in the cards for me,” Peter admits. “Besides, even if I did get into MIT with a scholarship, it still would’ve taken two years for me to get there. We wouldn’t have been in the same year, and we still would have missed each other.”

MJ’s fingers stop from where they’re running through his hair. “No.”

“No?”

“That’s not right.”

“Really now?” Peter teases. “Why not?”

“Two years later, or even as a freshman and a junior, I still would’ve noticed you,” MJ says, as if it’s that simple. “I’d watch you, we’d become friends, and we’d be part of each other’s lives. One way or another, I’d end up seeing you, Peter Parker.”

Peter doesn’t know how to reply to that. So he reaches up and takes MJ’s hand in his own, intertwining their fingers. MJ hums, and Peter focuses on the press of their pulses against one another, beating in the same rhythm, a melody Peter doesn’t mind listening to until he slowly drifts off to slumber.

From the first moment Peter opened his eyes, he knew it was going to be a bad day.

Still, Peter has school to go to and work to finish. Even if every single one of his nerves is screaming at him that something is wrong, Peter makes the decision to ignore them.

He doesn’t pay any attention to this bad feeling when he finds out his water is gone. Even when Peter had nothing to eat, he relied on water. He uses water to refill his shampoo bottle and his carton of orange juice. He uses water because he can’t afford to buy a good meal. But now his water was cut off because he couldn’t pay the water bill for the month, which should be the first sign that this day will only get worse.

Peter ignores his nerves when he arrives almost an hour late to one of his classes, in the middle of one of his midterm examinations. He had to take the exam with a reduced time limit and a fifteen-point deduction because of his tardiness. Then he had to run to the other side of campus to turn in a paper because he forgot the deadline was also today. 

Peter continues ignoring this gut feeling when he gets yelled at by Jameson for his less than stellar photographs and by his boss at the pizza place for his even less than subpar performance. The pizza place docked his pay for the month, and Jameson refuses to pay him at all unless he provides better pictures on top of his already busy schedule.

Peter doesn’t acknowledge the bad vibes even when he fights a group of men with a lot of weapons and even stronger super strength than his own. He’s beaten within an inch of his life, but he somehow wins the fight, just barely. 

When he gets home, he is bleeding, bruised, and wounded all over. He immediately pulls his mask off, gasping desperately for air. It’s not enough. He still feels trapped. Claustrophobic. Peter scrambles to get his suit off, kicking it towards his closet along with his mask. He can’t wear it. He doesn’t want to wear it anymore.

Everything hurts. His eyes are heavy. His eardrums have bursted from one of the supersonic rays used against him. Everything is fading in and out. His spider senses are going haywire. And the cherry on top of this terrific day is that he definitely feels an episode coming. 

Peter collapses on the floor, pushing his arms out to catch himself. A foggy haze of exhaustion clouds his mind. His breathing is sharp and irregular, his lungs burning with exertion from the effort it took to use them. His whole body is aching with gashes, his muscles are straining with depleted energy, and his bones are rattled in extreme and excruciating pain.

Peter feels blood building up in his throat before he heaves it up on the ground below him, mixed with his spit and snot. Some of it splats on his hands, staining his already dirt-stained skin a muddy red.

Shit.

Maybe this day is bad after all.

Peter needs to — he needs to get somewhere. He — he needs some help — no, no he doesn’t. He needs to — stop. His heart will stop. He’ll die. For only a few seconds, but he’ll die and it’ll be cold and Peter won’t even know if his heart will beat again. He needs to leave. Needs — needs to get away —

“—ter? Oh my god, what happened?”

Peter’s blood turns frozen.

He was panicking so much that he didn’t even notice anyone entering his apartment.

It should be impossible. No else has his key. Peter already paid his rent, so Mr. Schneider shouldn’t even be storming in.

Peter lifts his gaze to see who the voice is.

MJ.

It’s MJ.

MJ stands in front of him, looking down at him with an expression filled with horror and fear. She’s breathing heavily, her hair a little frazzled, as if she were in a rush.

Peter feels something prickle at the back of his head, his eyesight blurring out the edges of his vision.

Oh shit. Not now. He can’t pass out in front of MJ without even getting a chance to explain himself. If he passes out now, it’ll only make this look worse, and Peter doesn’t know how to recover from that.

He needs to say something. Anything.

“Peter—”

“Please—” Peter struggles to get the words out— “no hospitals.”

He thinks MJ says something in reply, but her voice seems so far away. Peter’s head falls to the ground as his eyes roll back. The exhaustion takes over, and he immediately goes unconscious.

“You’re gonna forget who I am.”

“Forget who you are? Wh — what are you talking about?”

“It’s okay. I’m gonna come and find you, and I’ll explain everything. I’ll make you remember me, and it’ll be like none of this ever happened. Okay?”

“Okay, but what if that doesn’t work? W-Wha — what if t-that doesn’t work? What — w-what if we can’t remember you? I-I don’t want to do that. I, I don’t — I don’t want to do that.”

“I know, MJ, I know—”

“Wha… what — there’s not something we can do? We can’t — can’t come up with like a plan or something? There’s always something we can do.”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

A hopeless, teary expression.

A bloodied, resigned smile.

“But it’ll be okay.”

“You promise?”

His best friend.

The one who’s been with him from the start.

“Yeah, I promise.”

A last handshake.

A tight, warm hug.

“I’ll come find you, okay?”

“I know you will.”

The separation.

“You better.”

Another last look of longing.

“If you don’t, I’m just gonna figure it out. I did it before, I could do it again.”

“I promise I’ll fix this.”

“I really hate magic.”

“Y-Yeah. Me too.”

A beat.

Soft hands cradle his face.

“I love you.”

“… I lo—”

“Just wait. Wait and tell me when you see me again.”

A silent agreement. He was always weak to whatever she wanted.

The sky rumbles around them; it is the final curtain call. The bell signaling its end, reminding them to say their bitter farewells. 

It is time.

Their gazes meet.

They reach for each other as their lips crash desperately.

There was nothing much that could be said about the kiss. It tasted of ash and tears, and his lips were split and dried with blood. But strangely, the kiss was soft. Gentle. Everything they could have ever wanted. The situation wasn’t ideal, but they both know they’d kiss over and over if they could. 

His heart races as a painful warmth clenches around his chest. Even in the face of this horrible situation, he still thinks it's the best kiss he’s ever had.

He hates it.

He hates it, because it has to happen before everyone’s memories of him are wiped.

He hates it, because soon after he’ll lose everyone and everything in his life. 

He hates that he loves this kiss. He hates that it’s their last.

As quickly as they started, they pulled away slowly, savoring the last few seconds in each other’s arms, in each other’s breaths. 

He wishes he could stay here forever. He wants nothing more than to be embraced in the arms of the girl he loves who loves him back, who is looking at him with an unbearable sorrow in her eyes, something he wishes he could take away. He wishes she didn’t have to go through this because it’s tearing him up inside how much pain he’s causing her. He wishes there was another way to stop this. He wishes he didn’t have to lose her. 

But Spider-Man has to do the hard thing.

Even if it breaks Peter Parker’s heart.

Peter wakes after a dream he does not remember, yet leaves a pang of melancholy in his heart.

He peeled his eyes open, squinting at the light above him. He brings his forearm up to his face, blocking out the light from his eyes. 

He’s not in pain anymore, that’s a start. His abilities must’ve already healed the last few cuts and bruises he got from the fight. He feels strangely refreshed, too. And… minty? Did someone brush his teeth? Why does this room not stink of blood and his vomit? 

There’s a soft mattress under him, which is already wrong. His mattress is lumpy and thin and hurts his back every time he sleeps on it. This mattress is bigger, way less scratchy, and on a bed frame that Peter definitely can’t afford. 

Okay. Peter is not at his apartment. He’s not on his raggedy, damp mattress or in a pool of his presumably dried-out blood. Damn it. Peter barely got the blood out of his floors from last time. He’s gonna have to scrub it off again—

“You’re more persistent than I thought,” a familiar voice remarks. “I thought you’d sleep in for a while longer.” 

Peter’s arm drops from where it’s covering his eyes, his head automatically jerking to the person sitting by his bedside. His body goes rigid when he sees that it’s someone he does not expect to see in this situation.

“Well?”

Peter gulps. “Uh.”

He has to think of something. A lie to cover his tracks. Something that explains why Peter was in such a terrible state before he was found. It shouldn’t be too hard—

“You’re not thinking of lying, are you?” MJ deadpanned. 

“What?” Peter laughs, sweat dripping down the side of his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Peter, it’s written all over your face. You’re physically bad at lying.”

Uh oh. MJ’s expression looks perfectly neutral. She doesn’t look mad or angry or disappointed at all, which is somehow worse. 

“Is this how you treat a recovering patient?” Peter jokes. Deflect. If he can’t lie, then he can just avoid talking about the whole situation. 

MJ doesn’t laugh. She doesn’t even crack a smile. She only looks at Peter, gazing at him with an emotion he can’t quite decipher.

Then she sighs, her shoulders sinking. She hands something to him, one wrapped in a roll of paper that Peter hadn’t even realized she was holding. Peter cautiously takes it from her, albeit a little confused. 

Peter looks down at it. It’s probably food. It smells good and… familiar. Is it something she gave him before? No, that can’t be right. She doesn’t eat sandwiches. She never liked eating them because it’s not as filling as other meals. 

“You… like that, right?” MJ asks when Peter looks up at her with knitted brows. “Delmar’s? A flat Number 5 with pickles?”

Oh.

She remembered.

Peter doesn’t say anything. Speechless. Unable to even think of a reply. What does he even say to that?

I didn’t know you cared so much about me.

I still have a hard time believing I’m part of your life again.

I’m happy you’re concerned about me. It makes me feel like you still love me.

Turns out, Peter didn’t need to say anything at all because MJ began rambling. “It’s a little soggy now because I was supposed to give it to you earlier, but then I heard some thudding and groaning coming from your apartment, so I rushed inside. I, um. I got a spare key from Mr. Schneider because I thought it might help if you get locked out again. That’s how I found you.”

Peter opens his mouth.

“I know it’s a breach of your privacy,” MJ explains, her words coming out rapidly as if she’s nervous. “I know I should’ve told you. If you’re mad, I totally get it. But I want you to know that I don’t regret it because seeing you unconscious and unresponsive in a pool of — of blood, it was terrifying. And the last thing you tell me is no hospitals, which freaked me out even more because do you know how close to death you looked? Y-You had blood in your mouth and bruises and gashes all over, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“MJ.”

“Ned isn’t around because he’ll be returning tomorrow, so I had to carry you all the way to my apartment and treat you as best as I could with a first aid kit without any first aid experience. Then I waited all day and I couldn’t even sleep all night because you weren’t waking up. That was really fun, by the way.”

A wave of shame and guilt washes over him. Peter knew it was bad, but he didn’t know it was that bad. Whenever he’s on the verge of death, he knew his body would somehow recover from it, no matter what. One way or another, Peter is God’s personal cat toy, and Peter knows that no amount of injuries will ever lead to him getting any rest whatsoever.

Looking at it from MJ’s perspective, that must’ve been horrifying to witness. If Peter had to watch her be all bloody and bruised, he doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it.

If Peter had to watch MJ die…

Peter doesn’t want to finish that thought.

Which is why he knows what he has to do next.

“I think we should stop being friends.”

MJ recoils, her expression twisting in shock. She looks at him for a few seconds before she shakes her head. “No.”

Peter sighs. “MJ—”

“No, Peter,” MJ snaps, and it’s the first time Peter has heard her voice rise against him. “That’s not a good joke at all.”

“I’m not joking.”

“You’re lying, then.”

“I’m not doing that either.” Peter places the sandwich on the nightstand next to him. MJ tracks his movement with her scrutinizing eyes. “I don’t think we should be friends anymore. It’s not good for you or for me.”

MJ scoffs. “How would you know what’s good for me?”

“Because — it, it just is, okay?” 

“Very convincing.”

“I think it’s best if we don’t get involved in each other’s lives anymore.”

“Best for who?”

“For you, so you don’t have to take care of me or feed me or see me like that again. You’re not obligated to help me, and I don’t want you to do that anymore.”

“Oh, and then what?” MJ throws her hands up in exasperation. “I just stand by and watch you not take care of yourself?”

Peter ignores the jab. “That’s none of your business.”

“It is if you’re clearly being self-destructive.”

“I am not—“

“For once in your life, Peter, could you please stop lying to me?!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Then what’s the real reason you want to ‘stop being friends’?”

“Because of this!” Peter yells, his voice booming in the room. He swings his legs over the bed and walks a few steps away from her, trying to calm his racing heart. He shouldn’t yell. He really shouldn’t shout at the only person in the world who still cares about him. But he’s just so frustrated and tired and he just wants the stress to stop. “Because you keep — you just keep—”

“I keep what? I keep caring about you?”

“Yes!” Peter exclaims, turning around to look at her. “I don’t know why you care so much! Why you keep involving yourself with me!”

“Don’t tell me you don’t know.” If Peter didn’t have enhanced hearing, he might’ve missed the way MJ muttered those words. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t obvious.”

Peter doesn’t understand what she’s saying, but he continues on. “You invite me all the time and you give me food, but for what? You do all these nice things for me and I barely give anything back, so I just don’t know what you want from me.”

“I don’t want anything from you.”

“Then why talk to me? Why remember my favorite sandwich? Why…” Peter swallows, hard. “Why approach me in the first place?”

Ever since the beginning, Peter had a strange, gut feeling that MJ hadn’t been honest with him. Not in the sense that she’s doing it out of malice or a hidden motive, but there are clearly some things she’s not telling him. Peter never called her out on it. He has secrets of his own, and it’s not his place to force MJ to tell him anything. 

But as more time passed, Peter kept ignoring this feeling just to spend time with her. It didn’t matter if she kept conveniently catching him when he’s free, even though he never told her his schedule. It didn’t matter if she was friendly with him before they were friends, even when the MJ he knew would take a couple of months to break her walls down. 

But just because it didn’t matter doesn’t mean Peter understood why MJ would do any of it in the first place.

“You seriously don’t know?” MJ laughs disbelievingly. “You don’t know why I did any of that?”

Peter sighs, running a hand down his face. “MJ—”

“Do you have any idea how bad you looked when Ned and I moved in here?” MJ asks, cutting him off. She abruptly stands from where she’s sitting on the bed, her fists clenched at her sides. 

Peter doesn’t move. He’s frozen, pinned on the spot by MJ’s heated gaze. It’s like she’s all he could see, his vision tunnel-focused on her and solely her. She still takes his breath away, like every other time he’s with her, but this is different. This is more serious, more tense. Deeper.

“Do you, Peter?” MJ repeats, taking a step towards him. “When you came over for the housewarming party, you looked fine. A little tired, but normal. Then a month passed by and every time I saw you, you were getting thinner. I wanted to talk to you because every day I passed by you in the hallway, it seemed like you were always going through the worst time of your life.”

MJ sees the way he flinches at her last sentence, but she keeps going. “And even when we finally became friends, you look like you’re constantly suffering and keeping to yourself, but you—” her face scrunches, desperation flashing in her eyes— “you just keep smiling at me anyway and y-you — you don’t tell me what’s wrong. All I could do was give you leftovers and maybe have lunch with you because you wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong and I didn’t know what else to do. I want to help you and you won’t let me.”

Peter’s chest is awfully tight.

“You want to know why I did all of that? Why I remember your flat sandwich order and keep talking to you? Or why I never stopped approaching you even when it was clear you didn’t want me to keep pushing?” MJ presses on. “Because you needed a friend. But you wouldn’t let me in. Do you know how many times I wished I could walk up to you and ask you why you looked so sad all the time? Do you know how many times I held my tongue and instead teased you about your stupid tastes and preferences?”

Peter takes a step back when MJ takes another step closer to him. Her face was twisting into something similar to despair, something more wretched. “I really wanted to help you, but I was also afraid that pressuring you to tell the truth might traumatize you further. I was worried that our friendship would fade away in an instant and… you would leave me. That’s why I couldn’t bring any of it up. I was scared that if I asked you why you looked so tired every day, I’d just hurt you even more.”

“You’re thinking too deeply into it,” Peter says, avoiding her eyes. Her words are too much. He doesn’t want to think of the implications of it. He doesn’t want to think about it at all. “There’s nothing wrong—”

“Cut the bullshit, Peter,” MJ hisses. “I know you hate being a burden. I know you think you have to carry everything on your shoulders, but I want to help you. The only way I can help you is if you tell me what’s going on. So please, just lay it out. It’s just me and you.”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat, his heartbeat picking up. The words are triggering something inside him, and he needs to get away. He feels like a thin coil sprung tight, pulled on the edges, stretched to the absolute limit until he eventually breaks.

He can’t break. Not here. Not in front of MJ.

Something must’ve shown on his face because MJ looks even more devastated. “Peter, please.”

“It’s for the best,” Peter whispers, lacking any conviction in his tone.

“Not for anyone,” she retorts. “You’re just pushing me away, and it’s not going to happen. I care about you so much. I’m — it pains me that you don’t see that,” MJ laughs hysterically, burying a hand in her hair and messing her curls. “I’ve been so obvious. Even Ned makes fun of me because of how forward I was being, but how else would I get to know you? You don’t even talk about yourself and you barely share anything about your life, so I always hang on to every single fact about you. Like how your eyes crinkle when you smile. Or you don’t talk about high school, but when you do, it’s always with a sad sort of nostalgia.”

Peter feels the telltale sting of tears burning in his eyes. “MJ, please—”

“No, I won’t stop.” MJ shakes her head stubbornly. “You need to know. You need to know that I’ve always paid attention to you, Peter. Even if your stories don’t make sense sometimes.”

Peter’s fingers twitch. “What?”

MJ scoffs. “I’ve always found it suspicious that you went to Midtown and were a part of the Decathlon team before you dropped out. We wouldn’t have known each other in the last year of high school, but we would’ve been on the same team before that. Maybe you were part of the team for a short while. Maybe we were in different classes in Midtown. And maybe we never even crossed paths at all in high school, but if we had met, if I had talked to you just once, I would’ve remembered you. I would’ve remembered you and never forgot, ever.”

“Forget who you are? Wh — what are you talking about?”

“What if that doesn’t work? What if we can’t remember you? I don’t want to do that. I don’t — I don’t want to do that.”

Peter’s heart beats fast. His emotions are balancing on a delicate ledge.

“You don’t have to look out for me, if that’s what you’re feeling,” Peter says. “I’m not — I can take care of myself.”

“I know. I know you’re not fragile and I know you can handle things on your own, but I’m here,” MJ stresses. “I want to handle things with you and I want to hug you when you’re tired. I’m not going anywhere, Peter. You have to know that.”

“Look at me. I’m here.” Hands cradle his bloodied cheeks, and it’s like they’re the only two people in the lab. “I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna get through this and we’re gonna get through it together.”

“I know you care,” Peter starts, his voice shaky. “I know you’re concerned about me as a friend, but I still don’t understand why you’d go so far for someone like me.”

Because Peter is a nobody. Everything special about Peter was wiped from the entire world four years ago and no one will remember who he was before that ever again. His whole life is reduced to nothing but a delivery boy and a photographer for an anti-Spider-Man newspaper. None of his past achievements matter because they don’t exist anymore and all of it has faded away into nothing.

Peter Parker is no one, and MJ deserves better than being with a nobody like him.

But slowly, little by little, meal after meal, Peter’s will wavers. His conscience and oath and promise crumble away with every moment he’s allowed to spend by MJ’s side. His shame should be an alarming sign of his hypocrisy, but he doesn’t listen. He doesn’t listen to any of what is just and what is right because he just doesn’t care.

Peter doesn’t care. He doesn’t care about knowing what’s best when MJ pushes a little too much or makes time for him every day, no matter what. He doesn’t care about his guilt when MJ smiles at him softly or holds his hand or sits too close to him. 

He knows he will never get his relationship back. The past will never return, and Peter always has to give up the things he never wanted to lose. It’s one of the two sides of the coin of being a superhero; other than his life being a constant cycle of letting go, he has to bear the weight of his power. 

It’s why, even with all the months they’ve spent together, Peter never dared himself to cross the line. He can’t. He just couldn’t. 

The truth of his feelings will just be that: his truth. Just his own. It’s his to carry, not to pass it on to MJ and ruin her life again. 

A responsibility. To live alone with this truth.

But the truth is Peter loves MJ. And deep down, he had always hoped something inside her remembers she loves him too.

However, even if she never remembers, even if she doesn’t love him back, his time with her is the only thing that makes him happy. And maybe, somewhere along the line, Peter realized MJ will have another partner, another person who could make her happier than he ever did. Maybe she’ll find the love of her life, and he’ll just fade away after that.

But she’ll always be the love of Peter’s life, a hundred lifetimes over. No matter how many times Peter tries to push his feelings down otherwise.

She didn’t have to love him. But he wanted her to be happy, even if it’s with someone who isn’t him.

Peter could live without her love, but not without her happiness.

“I’m entitled to my own opinions.” MJ approaches him close enough to stand only a few breaths away. She takes his hands, electrifying his skin and his heart at the same time. “Even if you don’t think you’re worth it, you are to me. That’s why I care about you. That’s why I’m here for you. You matter so much, Peter.”

There was only truth in her eyes and in the warmth of her hands in his, leaving Peter to dread how he’d ever live with himself if she left him once more. Because she’s the only one who makes him desire something he doesn’t deserve.

Peter shakes his head. He can’t do this. “This isn’t right.”

“Why? Why isn’t it right?”

Because Peter never wanted MJ to care about him like this again. Because after he broke his promise to her about telling the truth, he made another promise to himself that he wouldn’t let her worry about him again. Yet Peter failed at both those promises and more than he could ever know.

“You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand,” MJ insists, gripping his hands tightly, not giving him any chance to slip away. “Make me understand why we can’t be friends. Tell me why it isn’t right or why I can’t care about you.”

“Stop—”

“Not unless you tell me the truth—”

The thin coil of his control snaps.

“Because I love you!”

MJ’s expression falters at that, but the dam has been broken. Everything was spilling out and Peter couldn’t stop it. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you from the moment we met to when you first invited me to your apartment and all the moments that came after. I’ve loved you at every meal, at every conversation, every time we’re together, and even more when we’re not. When you look at me, the words are on the tip of my tongue. When you hold my hand, I fall more and more deeply in love.”

Peter thinks MJ’s face is morphing into something else, but he can’t stop. The words spill out of him like the stray tears that escape his cheeks. His emotions are too big for his body, and Peter can do nothing but let them infect everything he’s saying, even if it only exposes a fraction of the weight of what he really feels for her.

“I love you, and that’s why this isn’t right. That’s why we can’t be friends. What you said is true. The stories I tell you about my life don’t make sense, and I’ve been keeping a lot more secrets than you could ever imagine. It’s not fair to you that you only have half of me. I love you too much to make you go through that. I love you too much, which is why I won’t let myself be selfish when it comes to you.”

Just as fast as it came, the adrenaline leaves Peter’s body. He lets go of MJ’s hands to press his palms to his eyes, harshly wiping away any tears that stream down his face. His chest squeezes tight, and he wishes this was easy. After so many times of losing everything and everyone in his life, Peter wishes his heart would get used to letting go, so it doesn’t have to hurt every time that he does.

But it’s still painful. His heart is tender and sensitive and so full of love. There is no reality, no realm of possibility where Peter could ever let go of something he wholeheartedly cares for without every inch of his heart breaking to do so.

“Then…” MJ whispers. “I’ll take it.”

Peter slowly lifts his head from his hands. “What?”

“I’ll take it,” MJ repeats, determined. “If you can only give me half of you, then I’ll cherish that half. I’ll stay and wait and be beside you until you’re ready to be whole again.”

His heart skips a beat. 

“You can’t.”

“Why not?”

“MJ, please—”

“You haven’t given me a single good reason I should leave you, so I’m not doing that. I’m staying.”

“I don’t—” Peter croaks out, his pain finally seeping through— “I don’t want to ruin this—”

“I do!” MJ interrupted, frantic and desperate. “I want to ruin this. I want to ruin our friendship and be with you because I’m obsessed with you. I always was. Ever since the first moment we met at the party, I was inexplicably drawn to you and your dumb smile and your flowers. That’s why I invited you over for dinner. I wasn’t really going to eat with Ned that time. It was an excuse so I could build up the courage to talk to you again. So when I saw you locked out of your apartment, I took the chance. It was a complete coincidence, but it was always something I wanted to do.”

Peter can’t breathe. He can’t speak.

“That’s why I never stopped talking to you,” MJ continues. “Why I kept giving you leftovers, why I kept inviting you over even though we barely knew each other. It’s why I always bring up random topics, just so our conversations could last longer. And why I keep making fun of you because I don’t know how else to show affection. I’m not—” MJ swallows visibly— “I’m not good with people and relationships. I don’t even know how Ned and I have been friends for so long. But all of it, everything I did, I was doing it all for you. And I know that’s not normal, I know you’re not telling me the whole truth about who you are, but I love you so much that I didn’t care either. I couldn’t say it properly in words, so I never stopped showing how much I love you through my actions.”

His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic pounding in his ears. A flush crept up his neck, warming his skin, and his breath hitched in his throat, growing shallow and rapid. Peter is completely overwhelmed by everything. There’s too much to process, and MJ is way too close and he still wants to run away and never confront this again.

But all his attention zeroes in on her words. His focus is zoned in, his heart expanding and coming up into his throat. Peter opens his mouth—

“You… you love me?” Peter asks, his voice cracking. 

He must’ve misheard her. It’s not real. It can’t be real. He doesn’t want to expect anything. He doesn’t want to be disappointed again.

Even when he tries to stop it, hope blossoms across his chest. Time stands still. Everything in Peter’s body just stops, and he’s completely at MJ’s mercy until she crushes his heart once again.

But she doesn’t do that. 

Her eyes soften, even though they’re filled to the brim with tears. 

“Obviously,” MJ murmurs, her lips lifting to a smile. “Obviously I love you. I was only observant because I was obsessed with you. You’re not the only one who fell in love when we met, you know. Why do you think I noticed you left the party early? Why would I cook a large batch of food just so I could give you leftovers?” MJ lets out a breathless chuckle. “Why else would I keep kicking Ned out of the apartment just to eat with you?”

Oh.

Oh.

“You love me,” Peter whispers. He can’t quite believe it or wrap his head around it. “You love me.”

“Everyone loves you. You’re just too blind to see it,” MJ snorts quietly. “But I love you the most. That’s why I wish we met in high school or that you went to MIT. I’m sure that if I noticed you or we met sooner, I would still end up falling in love with you like I do now. I’d end up watching you and approaching you and doing everything just so I could spend time with you and — god, Peter. Of course I love you. Of course all of it was for you. Everything is because of you. Everything.”

His mind is still reeling. He’s not sure if his lungs are even functioning properly. “You were watching me all this time because you love me?”

“Yeah, of course.” MJ smiles a little wider. “Why else would I be watching you?”

Silence.

A beat passed.

Their heavy breaths echo in the room.

Peter steps forward and grabs her waist before pressing their lips in a kiss. 

It’s frantic and reckless and maybe a bad idea. But Peter’s wanted to kiss MJ for the better part of four years now and god forbid he gives up the opportunity now. MJ’s lips slotted perfectly with his, just like how her fingers reached up to his nape and tangled in his hair, and the way her mouth pushed incessantly against his own. It was all perfect, just like the first time, and the second, and all the kisses before.

There’s not a single trace of hesitance in the kiss, only longing and passion dripping from their mouths. Peter grips her hips tighter and pulls her closer, kneading his lips deeper. A heat lights up in his heart and spreads to his chest, and Peter kisses MJ with a hope that she feels everything he’s trying to convey.

MJ gives as good as she gets. Her mouth is warm and soft and every bit as gentle as she’s always been with him, but so sure and confident and so tender in the way she kisses him. Peter feels the last of his walls melting and cracking like permafrost, chipping away piece by frigid piece.

“I—” Peter breathes when he pulls away— “I should stop—”

“Don’t stop,” MJ whispers as she chases his lips.

Peter moves away again. “I should—”

“Don’t you dare stop.” MJ’s palms hold his face, her thumbs grazing over his cheekbones. She pulls him close, and Peter can’t resist kissing her once again.

Peter flips their position around and pushes MJ to the wall, cushioning her head with the back of his hand. Peter makes a muffled moan as MJ parts her lips, tilting her head so the angle is even deeper. And it’s incredible how much Peter has spent the last four years of his life without this. He doesn’t know how he ever endured being without her, how he was just satisfied with short videos and pictures she posted on social media. 

He thinks he managed his discontent well, but Peter now sees that it wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy letting go then, and it was never easy just being MJ’s friend these past few months. He was never satisfied, not truly, because all Peter wanted to do was have a single chance to kiss her again. 

But now he’s here. Now he has her in his arms again and Peter won’t let her go anymore.

Peter melts into the kiss, his other hand on MJ’s waist moving to splay across the small of her back, mapping out the skin there. MJ’s hands on his cheeks slide down his neck and then to his biceps, gripping onto them tight, like she’s been waiting a long time to touch them. Just like how Peter’s been waiting a long time for this moment.

MJ nibbles on Peter’s bottom lip before she pulls away. This time, Peter chases after her lips, unwilling to break off contact already. MJ doesn’t seem to mind, even smiling against his lips.

MJ indulges him in another searing, heated kiss. Peter’s tongue swipes over mouth, making sure to give attention to every inch of her lips. MJ lets out a soft sigh, and she holds him closer, kissing him like they have all the time in the world. 

And maybe they do.

There are a lot of things that they haven’t talked about yet. Peter is sure MJ is curious why he was in such a bad state earlier and what else he’s hiding from her. There is so much Peter still has to tell her, and he doesn’t know how to say any of it without breaking her heart again.

But as MJ holds him and kisses him and loves him all over again, Peter knows she’s not the girl from his memories anymore. She’s not the same person who cried when he told her she’d forget about him. She’s not the one who almost died in the Statue of Liberty. 

She’s older now. More mature. Safer and secure in her life and her job, without him. 

But somehow, like she said, even against logic and time and magic itself, she still fell in love with him.

MJ loves him.

Maybe it’s that easy. Or maybe it’ll never be easy. Maybe it’s a matter of time before Peter has to let go again, before he loses her and ends up all alone. Maybe it’s his fate to keep loving her and losing her over and over.

But maybe it’s fate that will keep bringing them together, anyway.

It’s this kind of love that makes Peter happy. The kind of thing that makes him proud, even, that nothing else had ever worked out in his life. Suddenly, he’s thankful for the past four lonely years. He’s grateful for everything he has ever gone through because they all led him back to her. 

Back to MJ.

Peter loves MJ, and he continues to drown in the pleasant warmth of her arms around him and her gentle, all-consuming kisses.

Peter is back here again. 

Peter knew the ground would be damp from the rain, so he’s glad he had the foresight to bring a small blanket. He spreads it across the grass before her grave.

“Hey, May,” Peter greets, kneeling carefully as he arranges the flowers he brought at the base of her headstone. “It’s a nice day.”

Peter sits on the blanket, crossing his legs over the other. He lets the silence sit for a moment. Aunt May never liked the quiet. She always turns on the radio during the mornings of the weekends and chatters happily with the people she worked with for FEAST. She believed connecting with people and communicating with them was the best way to help someone, and if she helps them, then she helps everyone.

But Peter thinks she would have enjoyed sitting here in silence like this. She wouldn’t have minded the simplicity. Even after all this time, he still remembers her, and he can still predict what she would’ve wanted for him. 

He knows she would have wanted him to be comfortable. She would want him to be honest.

“I’m sorry I haven’t visited in a while,” Peter said. “I’ve just been busy. I know it’s an excuse, but it’s real this time. I’m doing well in my studies. Mr. Banner is a really great professor. I think you would’ve liked him more than Mr. Stark, but I think you would’ve liked anyone else other than Mr. Stark anyway.”

Peter looks at the name embedded in the stone.

“You remember MJ?” Peter asked with a nervous laugh. “She was my girlfriend and, uh. She’s kinda my girlfriend again? We haven’t talked about it, but she told me she loves me and she won’t leave me, even if I don’t deserve it. I really love her too, so I hope we last longer this time.”

Peter looks down at his hands. His healing pretty much erases all of his cuts and callouses, but he can still feel them there. The phantom of them, at least. 

He sighed. “That sounds a little negative. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to come here to make you sad. I’m just trying to do better, but…” he laughed again. The strained noise sounded wrong, because Peter never felt bad when he was with Aunt May. She was his home, his comfort, the ease of his heart after a long day of fighting to live.

“Truthfully, I’m tired, May,” Peter whispered. “I think I’ve been tired for a long time now. Maybe I’ve been tired since you’ve been gone. I’ve been taking care of myself all this time without you and my friends and anyone else in my life.”

Peter half-expects some sort of sign. Some divine intervention from above. But there was nothing. There was only a warm, buoyant sensation that settled deep in his chest.

Peter closes his eyes, relying on his senses. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, a soft whisper in the quiet. Birds chirp nearby and far, a cheerful melody. The scent of damp earth and pine needles fill his lungs. 

“But now, I think my heart has a place to rest.” Peter’s mouth curves to a smile. It is soft and genuine, though tinged with a touch of wistful longing. “It’s not you anymore. I never wanted it to be anyone else, but you’ll forgive me, right? I — I just want to be happy again. Maybe I shouldn’t be. Or maybe I should? I don’t know. I don’t know what to feel. If you were here, maybe you would’ve known. You would’ve told me what to do. What should I do, May?”

And then something remarkable happened. 

In retrospect, Peter would’ve thought the ground moved, or a sparkle of light came shining down from the sky across the graveyard. Some symbol that grants him the epiphany he’s looking for.

But none of that happened. It was nothing that sight or hearing could interpret. Nothing as palpable or tangible; it was just an odd shift. A sense within himself, as if all his pain and feelings and thoughts have finally found the place where they belong. 

And Peter knew. He knew Aunt May would’ve wanted him to be happy. He knew she would’ve wanted him to pursue whatever he wanted, even if it means he has to let go of the homesickness in his heart to make space for something new. 

Aunt May loved him, and she would have liked knowing that Peter found — or found again — the person who makes him extraordinarily happy.

“I love MJ,” he said, the words a familiar declaration, but made him smile anyway. “I love her and Ned. I don’t think I ever stopped. So I’ll stop running. I won’t avoid them. They’re my friends and I don’t want to lie to them anymore, so I’ll be honest with them and tell them everything. The whole truth. It’s what they deserve.”

Peter finally opens his eyes. He touched Aunt May’s name, etched in the headstone. “They’ll probably think I’m crazy when I tell them. But I think you would approve. I think you would’ve been proud of me for doing this,” he whispered. “Sometimes I think you arranged the whole thing, wherever you are. You were probably tired of me denying myself love, weren’t you?”

Peter laughs again, more carefree this time. “I’m sorry for that. I promise I won’t run away, and I won’t keep my friends in the dark anymore. Even if they end up not talking to me again once they find out, I won’t regret it.”

Peter won’t regret telling them the truth because he already experienced what it’s like to be loved and cared for by them. He’s known grief, known loss, but nothing else will matter more than the love he has for Ned and MJ. Whatever they choose to do after Peter tells them the truth, he will never regret being part of their lives once more.

If all of their moments together will stay in his memories from now on, then at least Peter took the chance to love and be loved in return.

“I love you, May.” He kisses his fingers and presses them to her grave. “You don’t have to watch over me anymore. I think I’ll do fine on my own.”

He doesn’t need the ghost of Aunt May’s memory following him. He thought he did, because being haunted is better than being alone. Because if he suffers, then it feels like she never left. 

But the truth is she’s gone, and Peter is still here, and the most he can do now is live for himself. So he surrenders his longing and all his walls. He won’t need them anymore. He’s sure Aunt May will keep them for him until the day comes where Peter visits her again. 

For now, Peter folds the blanket and pushes it into his backpack. He walks out the graveyard, not looking back, eyes focused straight ahead. It almost feels like a fresh start. A stepping stone into a future he can make for himself. A better path.

A brand new day.

Peter enters the apartment with sure steps and an even surer heart.

MJ and Ned are already waiting for him inside. They must’ve been waiting for him for a while, probably after Peter texted he had something important he wanted to tell them. 

“Hey, you okay?” MJ asks with a smile, reaching up to caress his cheek.

Peter nods. “Yeah. I will be.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” MJ whispers. “Like I said, I don’t mind having half of you. Ned doesn’t either.”

“I’m sure,” Peter said. His voice had gone soft, but he didn’t care. He turned his head to kiss the inside of MJ’s palm. “I’m ready. I want to tell you everything.”

MJ leans in and presses a tender kiss to Peter’s cheek. “Okay. Ready when you are, tiger.” She pulls away from him and joins Ned at his spot on the couch.

Peter takes a deep breath.

No more running. No more half-truths.

He promised he would make them remember. He’s four years too late, but he’s ready to fulfill his promise now.

Peter crosses the room until he’s standing right in front of them. No one says a word, only basking in the silence along with the familiar company of one another. It doesn’t surprise Peter that he doesn’t feel awkward at all. In fact, this may be the most comfortable he’s ever been in a while. There are no words spoken among them, yet Peter feels warm already.

Peter swallows as he brings out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. The words on the page are smudged, and there are tears and discoloration on the sides. He can basically recite the passage from memory, but holding the paper in his hands makes the moment more real. Finally getting to say the words he’s written and rewritten over and over makes him feel, well, unprepared, even though he’s been holding onto this for four years.

But he wants this.

He wants them to remember.

So, here it goes.

“Hi, my name is Peter Parker,” Peter begins nervously. Ned and MJ look slightly confused, but he can see the unwavering trust in their eyes. MJ smiles at him, encouraging him to continue at his own pace. Peter smiles back, and he knows that whatever happens, the love he feels for her will always be something he’s grateful for. 

Just like his realization at Aunt May’s grave, Peter knows he will never regret being friends with Ned and falling in love with MJ all over again. No matter what the ending will be.

He takes a deep breath.

He can do this.

“You don’t remember me, but I have something to tell you that’s going to sound crazy.”