Peter
Peter's POV
Peter's mind had gone blank as he watched Michelle, MJ, burst into tears that had his chest feeling like it was being torn apart. Michelle barely showed emotion ever. Everything just always appeared to be so in control and it was almost like she was above such petty peasant things like feelings.
But here they were.
MJ, his friend and his own comfort, was crying her eyes out right in front of him, and they weren't small tears. They were long, painful sobs that had her body shaking. He hesitated only momentarily before placing his hand on her back and began to rub small circles. He didn't fully know what this was about but he knew they were in it for the long run and dammit, he was going to stay with her every step of them.
As Michelle cried and cried and cried, Peter glanced around the room. It was small, barely fitting a desk and chair plus her bed and there was a cupboard in the corner. He noticed a door near the cupboard that was open, leading to a bathroom. He noticed that despite the piles of books stacked up on the floors and over the desk and cupboard, that there wasn't much personality here. MJ might say that her personality was being a reader but there was more to her, he knew. The walls were a bland cream colour and her comforter and sheets were various shades of grey. It made him feel sad. Especially right now, she deserved as a room that felt like a home. This one felt like a prison to him.
"It hurts so so much," MJ choked out and he to stop himself for pulling her to him. He felt useless right now. His hand was still rubbing gentle, slow circles but he wanted to do more. He wanted to take that pain for her.
"Do what you would want someone to do for you," his brain prompted and he quickly thought back to instances he had cried to Aunt May when the pain of reality was just to much. She would make him a hot drink, sit with him on the couch and pull him into her side, playing with his hair as she ran her fingers through her hair and his tears soaked the shoulder of her shirt. She would be silent, except for the occasional soothing comment.
"I'm here." "I've got you." and the simplest but the most encouraging statement that reminded him he wasn't alone in his pain, "I know."
He whispered those words to MJ with barely any thought.
As she continued to cry, he said everything he could think to say, gently and quietly so just to be a calming presence and to remind her that she wasn't alone. Whatever this was, whatever had caused her to feel like this, it had to be big. Very big and ugly and messy and painful.
His eyes landed on the one photo in the room he could see. It was pinned right above her bed and it showed a junior Michelle, hugging a woman who must be her mum tightly in the dress she wore to homecoming. She was smiling broadly, and the mother was grinning as well. His mind snagged on the comment she had made today, about her mother being a drug addict and his mind began to slot the information together. The photo was taken before Homecoming and Homecoming was before the Blip. She had mentioned one night that her mother didn't disappear like she had and they didn't really speak about how awful that must have been for her mum and for MJ when they returned five years later. What had happened in those five years? In the photo, her mother definitely did not look like an addict and he supposed that maybe she really had been joking, but as his eyes returned to her occasionally shuddering frame, he wasn't so sure.
When MJ stopped and they exchanged a few words, his ears began to fill with static energy as his sadness for energy morphed into something close to pure unadulterated rage. Someone had done this to her. Someone had made her feel this pain and someone had made her feel like she had to hide it, to control it and to apologise for it.
"Get your shit together," his brain scolded him and he had the mental capacity to realise that outright demanding, "did your mum do this to you?" would be a sure way to get himself kicked out of the apartment and kicked out of her life.
He took a deep breath before asking as gently as he could,
"You've been hurt by someone, haven't you?"
He knew what she'd say but it hurt to hear just the same. So when she answered yes, his hand unthinkingly reached across to grab her own. It was the right move, he realised, when her fingers gripped him tightly, almost to the pain. He didn't mind. He squeezed them tightly and Michelle began to talk.
"You must know I don't like to talk about myself," she said hoarsely and coughed to clear her throat. He didn't reply, just nodded for her to continue. "I thought the best way to keep myself together was to keep this," she gestured to herself, "under control. To keep the thoughts away and to keep the feelings hidden so I could keep going."
"I know exactly what you mean," he told her because it was true. He used to feel the same way and occasionally felt like he reverted back to that. But he had been trying his hardest not to and after seeing a therapist after Tony Stark had died, had made a conscious effort to find anyone to talk to whenever he could. He had Aunt May and Ned and he guessed even MJ, but who did she have?
"Just you," his brain whispered and he knew it to be true.
"I don't know how to say this in a way that makes it any less awful, so you're going to have to tell me if it's too much. Can you promise me that?"
A shadow of the usual MJ was in her eyes as she looked at him sternly and he nodded. He silently made a vow to himself that regardless of the contents of her story, he wanted and needed to hear it. She was his friend, and he was hers. He would be that person for her, even if she was the only one.
She looked back down at their hands and her grip tightened even more.
She began to talk.
Peter felt like he experienced every possible feeling under the sun as Michelle talked and talked. She told him about how when she returned after the Blip, it felt like her mother had been replaced by a lookalike clone. How one moment for MJ, her mother was kind and happy all the time and was suddenly replaced by a zombie, who drank alcohol and took all sorts of drugs and dragged random men home from time to time. As awful as the blip was, he was reminded as MJ spoke about how thankful he was Aunt May had blipped with him when Thanos snapped his stupid fingers. He knew it would have killed her and he knew she probably wouldn't have survived it.
"Focus," his mind told him, demanded. And he did.
Michelle told him that the reason she was on the rooftop that night was because she hated being in the apartment because it was a reminder; a reminder of a few nights before when she left her room to get some fruit and instead went back to it, covered in bruises, bleeding and scared. He listened, sickness coiling in his throat as she told him about the rape she went through that night; about how she tried to scream for help, but her mother was passed out on the floor, right in front of the couch where Michelle had her virginity taken from her violently. The man had forced her face into the couch, so the neighbours didn't hear. She told him about how surreal it felt when it was over and she stumbled to her room and fell in the shower, water running over her as it burned her skin before eventually turning to ice-cold; about how the next morning her mum didn't remember what had happened and asked why Michelle was covered in bruises and she lied because she didn't want to think about it and that had become her mission. That's why she was out that night, to not think and to not feel because the apartment made her feel.
She pointed out the deadbolt and the water bottle. She told him about her plans to get a fridge in case it was necessary. Through it all, he listened, finding himself gripping her hand as hard as she was his, trying to keep his anger and complete sadness at bay. He never looked away. He sat, he felt and he held her hand as she told him it all as time flew and soon the clock hit 1:30am.
Eventually, she fell silent and she slowly tried to pull her hand away but he instinctively gripped them again. She looked at him then and though they kept eye contact the whole time they talked, she was really seeing him now.
"Was that too much?" she eventually asked as he struggled for words and he shook his head violently. "I know that this part of your job is the worst for you."
"Well," he thankfully found his voice. "Firstly, this," he gestured between the two of them, "is not my job. You're my friend, MJ. I'm here for you." She shifted uncomfortably but he continued. "Secondly," he leant forward and she looked up at him again. "I'm so incredibly sorry this happened to you, MJ. No one, no woman, should ever have to go that, especially the way it did. I wish you had told me sooner so I could have done more for you, but I completely understand why you tried to keep this hidden. It doesn't work and it would have been eating at you bit by bit because that's what happens to me and we wouldn't even notice it until it's to late."
He took a breath but before she could continue, she jumps in.
"I just... I don't know how to do this feelings thing. It hurts and I don't want it to hurt."
"I know," he replied simply. "I know."
They sat in silence then, MJ looking thoughtfully as her fingers began to play with his. Eventually, she said, "thank you for being here with me, especially after how I treated you today."
"I was confused," he admitted, "But I knew something was wrong, then and now. I just wanted to wait for you to feel like you were ready to tell me if you ever decided you were."
"I think that was smart," her lips curled slightly. "I would have definitely punched you if you had tried."
He smiled in return. "Oh, I was counting on it."
She chuckled and got to her feet so he did too. MJ yawned and stretched before rubbing her eyes. He didn't really notice before but she looked... cute. Her hair was a mess and her clothes were basic, but she also looked tired and worn out but still... cute.
He looked away as she went to do the door, locking it and then the deadbolt. His heart plummeted as she checked and double-checked it was secure before turning back to him with a shrug.
"Mum will be home soon."
"Should I go?" he reached for his mask but that was definitely the last thing on earth that he wanted to do. But he knew MJ and knew he needed to tread carefully for both their sakes.
MJ chewed on her bottom lip, something he had begun to notice she did when she was thinking hard before answering,
"Look, she's probably going to hit the booze and will probably cause a ruckus, but she never comes to my room and will leave us alone. Besides," she looked him up and down, "you look kind of fucked Peter."
He laughed and shook his head.
"I'll be fine."
"I know," she continued to chew at that lip of hers before adding, "I understand that this is really weird and this whole day and night has been weird, but, if it doesn't bother, would you consider staying with me? I don't think I can sleep now, not with the memories."
He completely understood. Peter shoved aside his feelings of awkwardness as he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.
"I'll stay and I'll be quiet."
She gave him a tired smile and began to rattle off the things he needed to do. He had his backpack so he went to her bathroom to change. She had offered him some of her own clothes but that was just a tad too awkward for him so he just put on his clothes from the day after reminding her that he'll probably stink.
"Ew," she wrinkled her nose but sent him on his way.
When he opened the bathroom door, the room had been dimmed in the simple lamp by her bed was the only source of light outside of the phone she was scrolling through.
"Is it too late to get a blanket?" he asked, stepping towards the bolted door before stopping, shifting uneasily. "Uh.. I mean if there is one?"
Michelle sat up from her bed and retied the hair into a neater bun. It was still messy but a bit tamer than before.
"You're sleeping with me, weirdo."
Peter had never slept in any vicinity near a girl before unless you counted Aunt May and he most certainly didn't.
"Is that a good idea?" he eventually asked, hoping the dim light hid the heat that was burning up his face. "I mean, won't that... could that trigger anything for you?"
She pursed her lips and tilted her head, surveying him before finally answering,
"I trust you and I think just having you ask that makes me trust you more."
His heart leapt at the compliment as he shuffled towards the bed, trying to quell the nerves in his chest.
MJ pulled back the blankets and slide to the side closest to the wall, patting the spot next to her. He crawled in, feeling stiff and rigid as he lied Stockstill on his back, staring up at the ceiling.
"Sorry there's not another pillow," she rolled onto her side and he could see her looking at him barely through the dim light. He wasn't going to ask if she wanted the lamp turned off. He didn't want to embarrass her because he somehow just knew that it helped her feel safer.
"I don't mind if you don't," he said after a moments pause and he slowly turned to face her too. "You can have all of it you know, I can sleep on just the mattress."
She punched his arm lightly and they chuckled together as they awkwardly slid closer, each lying on half of the pillow as they simply looked into each other's eyes.
"She's really pretty," he thought to himself as he noticed a single curl had fallen from her bun. After a seconds thought he reached out and tucked it behind her ear, hesitating only briefly and moving slowly so she could stop him if she wanted to. She didn't say anything as she just watched him.
They stayed like this, chests falling and rising in a rhythm and her eyes began to flutter as she started to fall asleep but was stopping herself.
"Sleep, Michelle," he eventually said. He was tired, but he wouldn't fall asleep until she did. "I'm not going anywhere."
It sounded sappy and the sort of thing she would have made fun of, but she didn't. For the first time in her life, she listened to Peter and closed her eyes, breath becoming deeper almost instantly as she passed out.
Peter fell asleep not long after, still watching her.