six
The second Peter sees where MJ is looking, his chest constricts and his stomach does flips. Wide eyes flick to his friend's, his heartbeat racing. "M-MJ," he stammers, shooting to his feet as he tugs his sleeve down so quickly that it almost tears.
Her eyes are still honed in on his arm, her mouth open in a surprised 'o'. "It's not- I didn't-"
"Peter."
The whisper cuts him off, and he finally meets her eyes, chest heaving. Sucking in one shaky breath after the other, Peter feels his eyes burning with tears. MJ looks close to tears herself, and she finally moved from her spot rooted to the floor. Pursing her lips, she takes one halting step toward him, then another until she's right in front of him, slipping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shoulder.
Peter melts into her arms, dropping his head onto her shoulder and snaking his own arms around her. When he returns the hug, MJ's arms tighten around him. His breath hitches, and his voice wobbles as he speaks up again. "P-Please don't tell anyone," he begs her, a choked sob leaving his lips, "MJ, please don't tell."
"I won't," she whispers, "I won't." The promise serves to make him melt into her embrace even more, and just like that, his resolve snaps.
One more stilted sob leaves him before, finally, finally, he breaks. With somebody else holding him, seeing him for the first time in- ever, Peter cries. He weeps into her shoulder, shoulders shaking and eyes squeezing closed.
And despite the definitely unattractive sounds escaping him, she doesn't pull away, she doesn't even slightly loosen her grip. MJ just hugs him, and it's everything Peter has wanted- needed for so long.
At some point, Peter is crying so hard that he's choking, hiccuping and coughing, and that's when MJ finally pulls back slightly, her tear streaked face shining with worry. A distressed noise is pulled from the boy at that, and she's quick to bring one hand up to his face, her brows furrowed in concern. "Breathe, Parker. You're gonna make yourself sick. Breathe," she instructs. "Peter, breathe."
He nods a bit too quickly, chest still heaving as he tries to steady his breaths. Slowly, his sobs dwindle, the silence in the room interrupted only by the occasional hiccup or hitched breath. "Sit. I'll be back, okay?"
She pushes down on his shoulders to get him to sit back in the chair she'd had him in before, and for a moment he panics, watching her retreat to the kitchen. MJ returns a moment later, though, a glass of water in her hand. With the other, she picks up the dye she'd dropped, and sets it on the counter.
She comes back to him, pressing the glass into his hands. "Drink."
He's confused, a little, but he listens to her, taking a small sip. Then another, and another as she watches him. After a moment, he shakily brings it down to rest on his thigh. "A-Are you gonna tell May?" Peter asks, voice meek.
Her eyes flicker across his face for a few seconds, before she shakes her head. "I said I wouldn't," she reminds. Running her tongue over her teeth, she purses her lips. "Just- Just. . ." She trails off, sighing quietly.
Peter watches her, trying to keep his breaths steady. MJ turns back to the counter, running her hand over the dye. "You still want your hair done?"
Relief floods him. Very, very hesitantly, the corners of his lips turn up. "If- If you still want to?" His voice comes out questioning, and he brings his hands up to wipe under his eyes, nearly cringing at the sticky feeling the tears left.
His eyes are--no doubt--red and puffy. "Course. We're gonna match," she tells him, then holds up the two boxes in her hands.
"I can either do this one," she holds one of them up, "or this one." The other. "The first one is for dark hair, so it won't look as bright. The other one, I'd need to bleach it first."
Peter blinks owlishly at her, his previous panic slowly leaving him. "U-Um, how do you even know so much about hair dye? You've never done it before, have you?"
At that, she cracks a grin. "My cousin is a cosmetologist. Hair stylist, basically," she clarifies.
"Um, the brighter one?" Peter suggests, wincing when his voice cracks. He clears his throat.
"Great." She turns away from him again, and he watches her every moment, fidgeting with his nails. He has no idea what she's doing, but follows her with his eyes anyway as she mixes up a bowl of something (bleach?) with a yogurt like consistency.
When she slips on a pair of gloves, his interest is piqued, perking up in the chair. He thinks she's going to come over and put the mixture in his hair, but first, she pulls a few strands out of her ponytail to frame her face, and coats them with it.
The strong scent hits his nose as she finishes, walking toward him. Peter curls his nose at it, only smiling again when MJ snorts at the look on his face. "Just a little bit, 'kay?" She murmurs to him, and the second she put her hands in his hair, he sighs quietly, letting his eyes flicker closed.
The pattern feels random, but, knowing MJ, it was probably pre-planned out. Just as she starts to pull away, Peter peeks one eye open, squinting at her, accusatory. "You didn't say it would itch."
MJ bites her lip to prevent a smile, and the sight makes Peter struggle to hide his own smile. The hair that she'd bleached on her own head is already starting to lighten, and Peter's eyes flicker over it with intrigue. Then, his face sours.
She catches it, huffing out a laugh. "What?"
"I'm imagining you as a blonde and it's weird," he mumbles sheepishly. He expected the flick to the forehead, but cringes back with a laugh anyway. "See if I finish your hair now. I'll just leave you with blonde," she taunts, eyes crinkling at the corners when he pouts exaggeratedly at her.
"MJ," Peter whines, drawing out her name long enough that she rolls her eyes, shaking her head.
Done with the bleach, the girl licks her lips and peels off her gloves. With nothing to do but wait, she leans against the counter and just watches him, smiling every time his nose twitches at an itch he can't scratch.
"Ned's gonna be jealous," Peter suddenly says, tilting his head a bit. He pulls his legs up to sit cross-legged on the chair, wide eyes peering up at her.
MJ shrugs, feigning indifference. She only lasts a second of the doe eyed look before she caves. "I have an extra box, don't worry."
He beams, running his fingers over his sleeve absentmindedly, but then freezes when he notices MJ watching the movement again. For a moment, he just sits there in his own thoughts, feeling an impending anxiety attack, when her voice draws his attention.
"Peter?" She asks quietly, "How long have you. . . you know?"
Overwhelmed, he looks to his hands, lying limply in his lap. "Since, um," he stammers, "since I was thirteen. It was right after. . . right after Ben. . ."
MJ makes a quiet noise at that, but he keeps his gaze firmly on his lap. "I know," he starts, swallowing hard, "I know it's dumb, I know I never should've done it. I just- I can't stop."
His words tremble as they leave his lips. "I'm really struggling lately, MJ," Peter admits to her, and finally meets her eyes.
And MJ just looks so sad. "What can I do to help?"
He's surprised at that, blinking rapidly in shock. Very slowly, he says, "Just- Just be here?"
And at that, a sad smile forms on her face. "Always, Parker." And then, looking to her own hair, she nods. "Let me wash this out and then I'll wash yours out."
The vigilante nods obediently, and his curiosity has him standing up and trailing after her into the kitchen. She washes her dark (and light) curls out in the sink with ease. Peter knows for a fact that if he were to try it himself, there'd be a pool's worth of water on the ground.
He's spared of the worry though, when she instructs him to lean over the sink, and washes his hair out herself. It's honestly a surprise that he doesn't nod off right there with her massaging his scalp, but just before he can, she's tapping at his shoulder to get him to stand up, and she drops a towel on his head.
It draws a surprised laugh from him, but he dries his hair off as best as he can while she dries her own, and then peeks out from under the towel to catch her staring at him with a small smile on her lips.
She's so pretty.
Peter finds his cheeks reddening at his own thought, and he looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Time to dye," she says flatly, holding up the box.
His eyes pop at her words, and she seems to realize what she said right after it leaves her mouth, her other hand flying up to cover it. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry."
And Peter laughs.
Everything feels so much lighter with her, and having finally told someone has taken so much weight off his shoulders. So Peter really laughs, and that same exhilaration stays with him the whole night.
(And then, when he's leaving the next day with matching purple streaks of hair, the smile fades from his face, and he is once again struck with the realization that it will never last.)