La Fin
Peter
Peter sighs once he gets inside, rubbing at his eyes. He swore he could still see the glowing rainbow lights from the club every time he closed his eyes. His head pounded with the remnants of the music he had hummed on his way back home.
Shit.
Had he really given MJ his phone number?
He looks down at his arm and sees her own number written in neat penmanship. There was still alcohol in his system, but seeing those digits sobered him up immediately. God, he was so stupid. He ended up leaning against his door at some point and pushes himself off. He wants his bed.
He makes his way towards his room, kicking off his clothes as he goes. He stumbles and falls as he’s kicking off his pants, landing on the ground with a loud groan and thump. He was so close to landing on his bed.
His phone vibrates on the floor where it had fallen out of his pocket and he almost whips it at the opposite wall. Scratch that, he does whip it at the opposite wall.
It lodges itself into the wall, right under the white patched up hole in his wall.
Damn you protective phone case.
Stumbling out of his pants, he rushes over to the wall, pulling his phone out from where it’s stuck. A new message pops up from an unknown number.
No. No. No. No.
Peter puts his phone down on his bedside table. He couldn’t handle this right now, he’s drunk?
He’s not sober. He should not text people when he’s not sober. Would an intoxicated person be smart enough to think that though? Maybe he was sober.
He picks his phone back up.
Your credit card is going to expire soon, send us your information and we will renew it for you!
Peter sighs out a relieved breath, it was just a scam text.
That’s the only text he gets for a week.
Peter is used to rarely receiving messages, with Wade only blowing up his phone when he’s bored, which isn’t as often as Peter thought it would be. Of course Karen texted him occasionally, and Matt only when Daredevil needs something, but he receives no messages this week.
He wouldn’t care, really he wouldn’t, but knowing that he could possibly be receiving a message this week has made him care. His stomach dropped every time his screen lit up, and then it dropped, somehow, further when he realised it wasn’t MJ.
He wasn’t supposed to care, he didn’t want MJ to get close to him again, so why was he so upset about her doing exactly what he wanted. Karen could help.
On day eight of no next Peter swings over to Nelson, Murdock & Page. He quickly threw his work uniform back on over top of his suit before shoving the mask, shoes, and gloves into his backpack, tripping over himself as he put his converse back on.
Matt meets him at the door.
“What’s wrong?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. Peter shakes his head.
“Nothing’s wrong, I need to talk to Karen.” At the sound of her name Karen pops out from the kitchen.
“Hey Pete, what’s up?”
“She didn’t text me.” Karen emerges from the kitchen, moving towards him with a confused look on her face.
“Who didn’t text you?”
“Right, I didn’t really explain what happened.” Peter goes on a long rant about his discussion with MJ. Matt leaves about five minutes in with Foggy replacing him.
“Well why didn’t you text her first, you said she wrote her number on your arm?” Foggy asks.
“It’s complicated.” Peter says. Foggy laughs, pinching his brow.
“This is very complicated. You want her to text you but you don’t want her to text you at the same time?”
Peter nods, nibbling at his dry lips. He felt like a complete idiot right now. He pulls at his hair groaning.
“This sucks. I should just hook up with someone and forget about it.” Karen laughs, shaking her head.
“I really don’t know what to tell you Peter. I am genuinely stumped.” Peter groans again. He thought she would be able to help.
“Okay, that's okay. Thank you.”
Day twelve still no text.
Peter’s given up. His anxiety has turned to relief. This was safer for MJ.
Of course Peter can’t catch a break because on day fifteen MJ strolls into his workplace, beautiful as ever.
“Peter.” She greets him once she reaches the counter. Peter stares, dumbfounded.
“Hey, Michelle, hi.” He finally says once he’s done staring at her.
“You gave me the wrong number.”
Fuck of course he did.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mhm, and you didn’t text me so I figured I gave you the wrong number as well.” Peter nods, and then he shakes his head.
“No, no you didn’t. I washed your number off my arm.” Her mouth twitches downward. “Not because I didn’t want to text you, I was just nervous. And intoxicated.”
“Why did you give me your number? I want to think that you like me, but I’m getting a lot of mixed signals Peter.” Peter sighs, rubbing at his eyes. He’s not exactly sure where to go from here.
“You asked me what my deal was, at the club. I figured I owed you an explanation of sorts.” MJ nods. “So I was going to tell you over text because I don’t know if I’m brave enough to say it in person.”
“I think you’re brave.”
“You don’t know me.”
“So let me know you.” Peter sighs. “Peter.” MJ pushes.
“Yes, okay, fine I will tell you, just not while I’m at work.” MJ nods, a pleased look on her face. Peter gives her his number this time, the right number. They’ll meet for coffee the next day, and until then Peter will feel sick.
He wasn’t sure if it was anxiety or shame that made him feel sick. He’s going against every rule he’d set in place for himself.
Karen tells him she’s proud of him, again, and it almost makes him cry. He didn’t do anything to deserve all of these people, he’d made them forget him for a reason.
He has Wade who makes him laugh.
Matt who helps him care for his wounds.
Karen who makes him smile so hard it hurt his face.
And now, finally, he had MJ back.
He pushes down the guilt and shame and negative emotions as he gets dressed. Pushing them down as he grabs his note for MJ and pockets it. Breathes through them as he takes the bus to the coffee shop location that MJ sent him, and laughs his way, hysterically, through giving MJ the letter.
Three years ago when he wrote the letter, paper crinkling from tears, he knew he wasn’t going to ever give it to her. He thought that maybe if he’d gone to that coffee shop with the letter he would have possibly been impulsive enough to hand it to her. He didn’t, which wasn’t a surprise, but now he sits across from her at a dirty table in a coffee shop and watches as her eyes skim over the old letter.
He watches and bites at the skin around his nails as she folds up the letter.
And finally, when MJ smiles sadly and grabs at his hand, he smiles back and convinces himself that maybe he does deserve to have people in his life.
Maybe he won’t mess it up this time.