As Peter Parker entered his senior year of high school, he found a rhythm to his crazy life.
In order to keep up appearances, he decided to dedicate himself to decathlon practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and rejoin robotics club on Wednesdays. That left four days for Spider-Man patrolling in the afternoons and nights.
Peter wasn’t doing as much as he wished he could, but he couldn’t keep burning the candle on both ends. He still was, in a way, but he’s managing better than before.
Besides, that team in Hell’s Kitchen sometimes entered Queens territory, and could help when Spider-Man couldn’t be there.
Since Ned was around most of the time too, Peter had someone to talk to and help out as the Guy in the Chair.
But there was a monkey wrench thrown in, on the very first week of school, at the first decathlon practice.
It was like being a magnet, drawn into someone’s orbit in a way he couldn’t explain.
Peter promised himself that he wouldn’t focus on girls anymore. After what happened last year, he couldn’t put anyone else in unnecessary danger that didn’t have a choice in the matter.
That flew out the window the moment he set eyes on Michelle Jones beside their teacher at the debate table.
Peter had seen her every school day for years, but something has changed. Something was different, but not with her. MJ looked the same as always: messy wavy hair, a makeup-free face, several layers of clothing covering up most of her brown skin.
It was Peter who had changed. It was Peter who was suddenly shocked still by her, for a reason he couldn’t quite understand.
Flash knocked on his shoulder because he hadn’t moved, and said, “yeesh, watch where you’re goin’, Parker.”
Considering Flash could have just as easily swerved past him, Peter rolled his eyes and imagined webbing his mouth shut.
Peter was knocked out of his stupor and chose to sit at the opposite table, since Flash had taken up residence beside MJ. Asshole.
Ned entered the room, taking the empty seat to Peter’s left. He leaned closer and whispered to Peter, “I’m glad you’re back, man. This is a real good idea.”
Peter held up a discreet hand to silence him once Mr. Harrington cleared his throat.
“Okay,” Mr. Harrington said, “welcome back to a new year of decathlon. Since we had some departures at graduation, we have a new captain.”
When he motioned to MJ as she smiled awkwardly and shrugged, Peter’s eyes widened.
“I chose MJ to be our student captain,” Mr. Harrington said, “because she lead us to victory last year at the D.C. finals.”
“Yeah!” Betty clapped, starting a smattering of applause. Peter was first to note how uncomfortable MJ looked at being the center of attention.
And did Mr. Harrington say she lead them to victory?
Peter’s head spun, and he felt very dizzy at the information.
Did she really? And he missed that?
Goddamn Vulture.
“It’s up to MJ,” Mr. Harrington continued, “to choose a co-captain. She will be asking the questions for our first warm-up round, so do the best you can to make a good impression. You just might make it to co-captain!”
Peter could tell from nervous body language that half of the team was too shy to want the job.
Good thing Peter wasn’t shy.
The warm-up round began, with MJ at the podium between both tables, resembling opposing teams. She glanced at a long set of flash cards resting in her hands, shuffling the subjects like a poker deck.
When MJ’s gaze looked up, it expressed an overall coolness that was a mixture of seeming uncaring but truly caring too much. Peter didn’t know how he knew that, but the feeling wasn’t new to him.
MJ said in a breezy tone, “first question: what was the significance of the Earthrise photo?”
Ned pushed the buzzer. “It showed that the Earth was small, fragile, mortal,” he paused, “and vulnerable.”
Peter caught Betty’s starry-eyed gape, and found that he was taken aback as well.
“Correct,” MJ said, the embodiment of coolness, unfazed by Ned. She went to the next flash card. “Second question: what does Walt Whitman use in ‘Passage to India’ to establish continuity rather than rhyme?”
Peter’s mind went on overdrive, picking out the answer, and he happily pressed the buzzer. “Word repetition,” he replied measuredly.
Every head swiveled towards Peter, and he knew why. Science was his specialty, not literature.
“Correct,” MJ said after a beat, her gaze observing Peter for the first time since the meeting began. Her eyes slid away before Peter could hold it there. “Third question: how are monocrystalline silicon ingots produced?”
Peter smashed the buzzer. “The floating zone crystal growth process,” he recited easily.
MJ blinked over at him, and Peter felt like sliding on his chair and hiding under the table. His entire neck and cheeks felt hot, and he cleared his throat discreetly to distract himself.
“Correct,” MJ said, quickly flipping over to the next card.
Peter allowed Ned and Betty to answer several questions, backing off purposefully. Decathlon was a team sport, not an individual one. He saw sparks flying between the two, even though they were competing on opposite teams.
“Question ten: what influenced the balance and symmetry observed in music during the Classical Era?” MJ asked.
“Greek architecture,” Betty chimed with the buzzer.
MJ shuffled the flash cards again, her gaze flickering towards Peter, as if willing him to speak. “Question eleven: which good has the least elastic demand in economics?”
He knew this one!
Peter hit the buzzer and answered, “gasoline.”
MJ looked pleased, a gleam in her eyes as she said, “correct.”
Peter allowed Flash and some other kids to answer questions again. He watched how MJ specifically glanced at him when she thought he would answer.
He wouldn’t say MJ was disappointed when he didn’t respond, but he would say that she was intrigued.
Peter knew most of the answers, but he didn’t want to be a show-off. Did MJ know what he was doing? Did she suspect? What were her thoughts?
Why was Peter suddenly so interested in what MJ thought about him?
“Question fifteen, the final question for the warm-up,” MJ said, “what technological advancement was the ancient Mediterranean world characterized by?”
Peter blinked, hitting the buzzer as his mind reeled. The reply sounded like ash stuffed in his mouth. “Metalwork.”
His mind flashed to a memory of Tony, working with him on the Iron Spider suit in upstate New York. Peter sometimes spent weekends at the Avengers base, free to work in the lab with Tony since the Avengers themselves were rarely around.
The image was superimposed on his eyelids, an image of Tony stripped to his cargo pants and undershirt, arc reactor heart glowing a soft blue. He was laughing as one of his robots failed to make spiderweb incisions across Peter’s light metal suit. Tony’s eyes were bright underneath clear protective glasses, and his genuine grin made his teeth shine especially bright.
This image was replaced by the same arc reactor heart floating away on a wreath of flowers during Tony’s memorial service. Peter was too scared and distraught to speak with anyone, preferring to hide in Aunt May’s skirts like a little boy.
Meeting Harley, though, was certainly interesting.
The image, played across his mind, was there and gone in seconds. Peter had to blink and refocus just to hear MJ’s “correct.”
The rest of the meeting was a blur, and Peter was sure he replied to some questions. He just couldn’t remember what they were.
He was proud of himself, though. He could have had a panic attack and left the room, but he calmed himself down. He was good. He was fine.
Losing Tony had been hard on him, but Peter could control himself. It had been months. He was getting there.
The decathlon meeting was dismissed, and Ned nudged Peter’s shoulder. “See you, man.”
Peter nodded, and he gathered up his backpack. He was one of the last students out, but before he could leave, MJ snuck up on him.
“So,” MJ said casually, Peter’s eyes widening at her proximity, “why were you playing dumb?”
Peter blinked, taking in her blasé expression and nest of hair. There was a long strand over her eye, and he wanted very badly to brush it back.
“Dumb?” Peter furrowed his brows, his tone getting a little squeaky. “I-I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were holding back,” MJ said. “Why?”
MJ was way more perceptive than she made herself out to be.
Peter replied awkwardly, “decathlon is a team sport.”
“Yes,” MJ batted her lashes boredly, “but I don’t want you holding back.”
Peter glanced down, wondering why her gaze, as lazy as it was, felt so intense. Maybe because he knew she was looking closely. Because he knew her racket: pretending to see nothing, but really seeing everything.
“Are you going to be a problem,” MJ cocked her head to the side, her hair tipping down her cheek, “like last year?”
“Uhhh,” Peter cleared his throat, “no. No. Um. No. That was just…I was having a hard year. That was all.”
The natural haze in MJ’s brown eyes didn’t diminish, and Peter was glad of it. He found it refreshing that she didn’t feign concern. “So I can count on your glorious presence at every meeting?”
“Heh.” Peter’s mouth felt parched at MJ’s easy dryness. “Y-yeah. Yes.”
“Are you agreeing that your presence is glorious, or that you’ll be at every meeting?”
Peter huffed out an awkward laugh, his head caught somewhere between the air and the clouds. “The, uh, last one.”
“Great, dork,” MJ snorted, shouldering her bag and breezing out of the room.
Peter blinked a few times, and he was grounded once again. As an afterthought, his skin caught on fire.
Ah, shit. No girls rule? Broken.
————
By week three, MJ had assimilated herself into Peter’s life.
It all started when she plopped herself at the lunch table he usually sat at with Ned. No one bothered them, but MJ took a seat like it was hers. No trial period. It was hers, and it had always been hers.
MJ sat on Ned’s side, so as to lean in Peter’s direction. She always had her flash cards and a large thermos of contraband tea. She quizzed them as they ate, MJ only munching on the occasional snack. A part of Peter was worried about her diet, but that seemed like level five friendship stuff.
Peter noticed MJ’s ticks by the second week. When she sat down, she carded a hand over her long hair, so the natural waves wouldn’t obscure her vision. MJ dragged her finger pad across the flash card deck, as if daring the paper to cut her, but it never did. She shuffled the deck for no particular reason at all, just to keep her mind interested, which Peter could relate to personally.
MJ was left-handed. Her smile was barely noticeable, the slightest half-tip of her mouth upwards. Her lashes always hung low on her eyes, as if bored of everyone’s existence. She spoke in the same way, as if verbalizing words was a chore she shouldn’t have to complete. She wore so many layers of clothes that they were contrasting colors and didn’t match.
There was something about her, though, that gave Peter pause. Something that made him stand at attention and listen to whatever words she had for him that day.
MJ bled her way through Peter’s life. He sometimes saw her walk to school unaccompanied in the mornings, and he would catch up to ensure she wasn’t mugged.
Not that MJ couldn’t handle herself. She had pepper spray and was passionate about her self-defense classes.
MJ was also in three of his hour-long classes throughout the day, one of which required a science partner that wasn’t Ned. Instead, his best friend shyly partnered with Betty, who was just as hopeless as Ned in the feeling-sharing department.
Not that Peter was one to talk.
He saw MJ in the mornings, in three classes, at lunch, and at decathlon twice a week. That was a lot of MJ-seeing.
The more time he spent with MJ, the more of a crush developed. It didn’t help that she was probably the smartest person Peter knew. And he knew quite a few smart people.
When Peter was patrolling the streets on a Friday night, Ned took full advantage of the uncharacteristic quiet moment. “Dude, so,” he said through the communications link from his own bedroom, “do you have a crush on MJ?”
Peter sat on a rooftop, his legs dangling over the edge. He kept one ear trained below him, and kept his eyes forward. “Do you have a crush on Betty?” He countered.
“Damn,” Ned sighed, “we’re both done for. Our bromance is over. Sorry, bro.”
“It’s okay, bro.” Peter snickered. “At least we got this, right?”
“We gotta make a pact,” Ned said. “Don’t involve them, you know?”
“Yeah,” Peter nodded, “yeah. Pact made.”
The sound of police sirens several blocks away alerted Peter.
“Robbery,” Ned said curtly, “on fifty-sixth.”
Peter got to his feet, shot out a web, and free fell from the roof. The web caught him, and he swung.
————
“Would you consider yourself a socially awkward person?”
Peter blinked, and an exhale came out a half-whistle, half-laugh. He swerved past a businessman yelling on his smartphone, and gravitated towards MJ again. “I-I mean...I don’t know?”
It was after decathlon practice, where Peter had dominated the science quiz questions. Since MJ awarded him the job of co-captain, she said it was fine to show off. The fact that it pissed off Flash made it more enjoyable.
After the meeting, MJ nearly decked him with her bag and said, ‘walk with me, dork.’
Peter had no choice but to follow her across the streets of Queens. Since it was mid-afternoon, he figured it was safe enough.
The question caught him off-guard, since they were able to comfortably cross three blocks without speaking.
“The way you stammer,” MJ observed, “makes me think you’re socially awkward.”
Peter couldn’t tell her that he stammered because of her. This was a predicament.
Deep breath, Parker.
“That’s just,” he said, “something I do. I don’t mean to.”
“I see,” MJ said, a faint glimmer of interest in her gaze. “Do you mind going to a tea shop with me? Do you have to be anywhere pressing?”
Peter was supposed to meet Aunt May for dinner, but until then, he was meant to patrol as Spider-Man.
But he didn’t feel like suiting up. He felt like standing still and staying here. Right here.
Peter shook his head, and MJ turned away before she saw his blush. “Alright, loser. Prepare to be wowed.”
There was a sudden pep in MJ’s step, an eagerness to get to their destination as they rounded a corner.
Peter realized dazedly that he hadn’t MJ this happy in...well, ever. He had never seen her express an emotion besides boredom or casual coolness.
Now that Peter had spent ample time in MJ’s presence, he knew how to spot any change in her normal operating system. It was like finding a glitch in a computer, but not wanting to fix it.
MJ lead them down another block, where a shop made of darkly-varnished wood stood out among the concrete and steel.
How has Peter never noticed this shop before?
MJ ducked inside as the door jingled open, and Peter followed her, swerving past someone carrying two bags.
“Welcome to my sanctuary,” MJ said, a dazzling impish smile reaching her lips.
Peter had to painfully extract his gaze away from MJ to see what made her so happy.
The tea shop was more of a cafe, shelves of specialty teas on the left, and a cozy space to eat and drink on the right. The bohemian theme was definitely not what Peter was expecting MJ to like.
She flounced towards the teas, and explained, “I’m almost out of tea at home. It’s to the point where I have to buy convenience store tea. It’s really sad, man.”
Peter blinked, and followed MJ around like a lost puppy. He made mental notes on what teas she chose.
“So, um,” he asked carefully, “what do you like about tea?”
“The real question is,” MJ said, “what isn’t great about tea?”
“Heh.” Peter smiled wanly. “What isn’t great about tea?”
MJ suddenly turned towards him, her entire being observing him with interest. Her eyes were a little wide, and Peter felt a blush rising on his cheeks.
“Tea is great,” MJ offered, “because it has antioxidants, strengthens your immune system, and has less caffeine than coffee.”
“Oh,” Peter smiled sheepishly, “I didn’t know that.”
“The more you know,” MJ said, her hands forming a rainbow with a star on the end.
Peter laughed, a two-tone quick sound that was there and gone in a second. He loved that meme.
“Huh,” MJ remarked, turning away sharply and unshelving some sort of powder concoction. “I’ve been thinking about something lately.”
“Okay…”
MJ went down another aisle, passing by another customer. Peter followed her, and MJ raked her gaze over something called ‘oolong.’
She found the strain she was looking for and said, “since we’re co-captains, we should probably hang out somewhere to get everyone ready for competition. The first match is in two weeks. What are your weekends like?”
“Um,” Peter racked his brain, “I go to church with my aunt on Sunday mornings, and have dinner with her every day. Other than that, I just...do homework and hang out with Ned.”
MJ went to the final aisle briskly as she thought, staring at different black teas. Her finger went between two types, and she picked one called ‘English breakfast.’
She shoved the cylindrical tin in his hands, Peter scrambling to hold it. “That’s for you,” she said.
“O-oh, I’m fine,” Peter said, his voice getting squeaky. He hated when that happened.
“It’s for coffee drinkers,” MJ said, picking out another black tea strain for herself. “Give it a try instead of coffee. I guarantee you’ll get the same caffeine intake. I’m buying.”
“O-oh,” Peter blushed profusely, and was glad MJ wasn’t looking at him, “o-okay.”
MJ started to walk towards the counter in the back, moving past two customers going to the sitting area. “I’m free for decathlon preparation on Saturday afternoon,” MJ said. “Can I come over to your place?”
“Uhhh,” Peter’s mind was thrown on a tilt-a-whirl, “sure.”
“You can let Ned come over too,” MJ said with a shrug as she took a place in line. “He might be helpful, since I almost picked him instead of you.”
“Yeah?” Peter laughed shortly. “That makes sense.”
MJ glanced at him, as if finding him an alien species. Before Peter could ask what was wrong, it was MJ’s turn in line.
————
Peter crossed his arms and stared down at the stage platform, the bronze curtain obscuring the team from public view. His dress shoes didn’t fit right, and they were going to bother him if he didn’t sit down at the table soon. His slacks and shirt were also too tight, as they were an old pair that Aunt May said he had to struggle to breathe in until more money came their way. The ugly mustard-colored jacket that represented their school, though, did well enough at covering up his discomfort.
“Dude,” MJ snorted, standing in front of Peter, “are you a victim of the tedious emotion known as ‘nervousness’?”
Peter blinked up at MJ, unable to help registering that her layers of clothing beneath the mustard jacket made her look amazing. He was sure that she could look good in anything.
Peter numbly shook his head. “I’m not.”
He absently noticed hair ties around her wrist, and watched as she gathered up her long waves. As MJ tied back her hair in a bun, pinning the sides, she asked, “are you going to give a pep talk to the team, or are we too good for that?”
“Um,” Peter glanced over at the rest of the decathlon team, who were a mixture of bored and tired, “I don’t think we have to worry about nerves. Except maybe with Ned. But I can handle him.”
Peter’s head turned to MJ again, and found that her face, for once, wasn’t hindered by hair. He noticed the natural shine in her light brown skin, the brightness to her eyes. The floral pattern beneath a ruffled white dress shirt and mustard jacket complimented her well, even with the clashing color palettes. Her bow tie was another quirk that Peter couldn’t help but smile at, and he had gotten used to seeing her emote more often.
MJ got along shockingly well with Ned, and she had become a part of their group. They were a decathlon trio that met up on Saturdays in Peter’s room to study and make up flash card questions. And Ned knew that Peter had fallen hard for MJ when he heard her laugh for the first time. It was a laugh that only lasted a second, like his awkward laugh, and Peter was mesmerized.
He couldn’t find a way to tell MJ, though. Or about how he barely drank coffee anymore due to her intervention with black tea.
“Well,” MJ was observing Ned, “you can go for it. He’s looking too excited for an event of this low caliber.”
Peter really didn’t want to, but he went over to Ned anyway. “How are we, dude?”
“Good, dude. Real good.” Ned smiled, his brown eyes bright. He looked ready to run outside the curtain and start dancing to a nonexistent song playing.
“Well, can you calm down? MJ is concerned.”
“Concerned?” Ned snorted. “Please. That woman allows two emotions out at one time, and concern isn’t one of them.”
Peter narrowed his eyes.
Ned held up his hands. “Alright. She’s concerned. I’ll take your word for it.”
Peter sent a sideways glance in Betty’s direction, and saw her trying to look inconspicuous with her own concern for Ned. “Betty’s concerned too, for the record.”
Ned’s eyes widened comically, and he deflated. “Okay, I’m cool. I’m as chill as a penguin.”
“Fantastic. When are you going to,” Peter lowered his voice, “do something about Betty?”
Ned snickered. “The same time you do something about MJ.”
Peter sighed. “That’s fair.”
Mr. Harrington appeared from behind the curtain, garnering the team’s attention. “Alright!” He clapped his hands. “Who’s ready to rumble?”
————
Aunt May dug out a twenty-dollar bill from her giant purse, slipping it into Peter’s hands with a conspiratorial smile. Peter hid a blush as MJ opened the door to a pizza parlor.
“Okay,” Aunt May chirped, “I’ll see you in two hours.” She winked behind her round reading glasses, and Peter huffed. “Have fun!”
Peter stuck the twenty in his decathlon jacket pocket and saw MJ holding open the door. She smiled impishly at Aunt May and said, “thank you.”
“Sure, dear.” Aunt May whispered to Peter, “be an upstanding date. Hear me?”
Peter reddened considerably, and he saw MJ’s smile widen. He’ll bet that she has super sonic hearing and heard his aunt’s joke. His life was over.
Peter cleared his throat in place of an answer, and Aunt May slipped away. Peter met MJ at the door and allowed her to enter the pizza parlor before him.
They ordered a cheese pizza to share and found a cleared booth in the corner. Since it was still early evening, only half of the restaurant was occupied so far.
MJ twirled her straw in a plastic glass, watching the ice cubes swirl across the top of the water. “I overheard Ned ask Betty out after we won. Betty hugged me all excited and said they were going to an Italian place. One of those schmoozy upper class restaurants.”
For Peter, this was a lot to unpack. Was MJ nudging him to ask her out?
It was best he not think about that possibility.
He held up a finger, and thought about the rest of her words. “First, how did I miss this?”
“Your aunt was squeezing you in a really tight hug,” MJ recalled.
“Ah,” Peter said, “okay. Second,” he held up another finger, “you let someone hug you?”
“I didn’t let Betty hug me,” MJ snorted, “I was just...too nice to stop her. Yeah.”
Peter held up a third finger. “And finally,” he asked, “did you say the word ‘schmoozy’ unironically?”
MJ’s mouth tugged upwards on one side. “What? Got a problem with the word ‘schmoozy’?”
“And you began a sentence improperly!” Peter narrowed his eyes. “Are you okay, MJ?”
MJ took a sip of water through the clear plastic straw, and he knew she was hiding a laugh and a smile. She pulled back from the straw, completely composed, and replied, “I’m good. That was my mistake. I apologize vehemently.”
Peter couldn’t help the cackle that came out of his mouth, and it was stifled by the cheese pizza arriving at the table. MJ helped herself to the hugest dilapidated piece, and Peter found the knowledge endearing. He went for the next largest slice, and they didn’t speak until the first piece was consumed.
As MJ sucked down water, not trying to eat daintily like his aunt, Peter found that he accomplished something great.
That gave him the courage to say, “MJ, I have to tell you something.”
“Is this about,” MJ suddenly got real quiet, and she leaned forward. Peter leaned forward too, brows furrowed as their heads got really close.
Kissing distance close. But Peter wasn’t thinking about that.
MJ’s cautious and shy gaze upturned to look at him, and Peter felt his heart stutter. He had never seen her so vulnerable before.
To Peter’s unending surprise, what MJ said next was not a love confession.
MJ whispered, “is this about you being Spider-Man? I already know about that.”
Peter blinked as it registered to his mind, and it registered about three seconds late.
He didn’t move. He looked at her face, so very close to his, and he exhaled shakily out of his mouth.
Peter couldn’t cause a scene. He had to be careful. Very careful.
And his mind was reeling, wondering how in the whole world MJ figured it out.
Peter murmured, “how did you know?”
MJ’s lashes hung low on her eyes, as they always did when she put on a facade. Her fingers stuck in her decathlon jacket pocket, her movements slow and lazy.
A flash of a broken metal web-slinger glinted in the overhead lights, and she dropped it back in her pocket.
MJ’s eyes never left Peter’s, and his gaze slid back up to her. “I found that under your bed when we were making up questions.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t even trying to snoop. My hand just touched it by accident. You must not have kicked it far enough.”
Peter didn’t have the reaction he thought he would. He thought he would get defensive and make up excuses.
But what was the use? MJ was so incredibly smart that she would see right through him.
Peter glanced down at the table, then back up to her. MJ’s face was still so close. “And you’re somehow,” Peter asked softly, “okay with this?”
“Well,” MJ said quietly, “I’m not okay with the fact you were indirectly experimented on, because that’s messed up.”
Peter couldn’t help but glance around to ensure no one was eavesdropping.
“However,” MJ continued, “I’m okay with the fact that you’re doing something good.”
Peter suddenly felt dizzy, and he leaned back, resting against his side of the booth. He blinked up at the overhead light to regain his wits.
But he found himself wanting to do something very risky.
And he was going to do it. He was definitely going to do it.
Peter refocused on MJ, who was also leaning back, and said, “that’s not what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
MJ folded her arms, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What, then?”
Did she really not know? Peter was going to tell her. Before he chickened out, he was going to do it.
Peter said, “I was going to say that I have feelings for you.”
MJ cocked her head to the side, hair spilling down her cheek. “Huh. Why?”
“Why?” Peter repeated dumbly.
“Why?” MJ clarified. “I’m genuinely curious.”
“Um...because you’re...because you’re amazing.”
“Amazing?”
“I can’t find the words to describe you,” Peter said, “because you don’t fit into a mold.”
MJ’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second before she went back to her usual coolness. “Intriguing. How very intriguing. You like me because I don’t fit into a mold?”
“Mhm.” Peter flushed, and he let her see as he glanced down shyly. “I, um...I never met anyone like you.”
“You’re okay,” MJ pitched forward, eyes blazing with interest, “with the fact that I’m not some cookie-cutter girl? You’re okay with the fact that I don’t...dress nice and wear makeup and cheer you on like a good love interest?”
“All of that is smoke and mirrors,” Peter said, finding himself thinking about the last girl he had a crush on. He packed her in a box that he will never open again, focusing on the here and now. “I like you because you’re smarter than me.”
MJ blinked rapidly. “I thought men like you didn’t exist in real life.” Seeming to have an existential crisis and an awakening all at once, MJ gaped in shock. “Holy shit.”
“We exist,” Peter said weakly, smiling impishly. “Did you think Ned had a crush on Betty because she was pretty and blonde?” He shook his head. “Ned told me it was because she was an overachiever.”
MJ’s eyes widened, and they were chocolate saucers roasting in coffee grounds. Her eyes had a depth to them that she never let anyone else see.
Except him.
While she recovered from whatever was happening in her mind, Peter leaned forward and said, “I was also raised by a woman. So there’s, um, that.”
MJ blinked, and her expression was incredulous. She looked at him, and he looked back, wondering what was happening and where this was going and what he was going to do when-
Quicker than lightning, MJ had closed the distance between them, her lips brushing his. And just as quickly, MJ was pulling away, wide-eyed, a hand over her mouth.
There was a beat of silence, and she said frantically, “sorry! I know I should have asked permission, and um, I’m sorry.”
Peter found his hand touching her cheek, and MJ didn’t protest. She wasn’t looking at him, and he had to change that immediately.
“Do that again,” Peter requested.
MJ’s eyes slid over to his, her breath hitched. She leaned closer, and Peter bridged the gap.
MJ tasted like sauce and salt and cheese and burnt bread, but he wouldn’t change it for anything.
Three seconds, and Peter nudged away lightly.
His head was spinning, and it was MJ’s hesitant eyes that grounded him.
“Just so we’re clear,” MJ said, in a daze, “I’m not your love interest.”
“I’m yours,” Peter corrected softly.
MJ’s smile gave Peter goosebumps and a wave of heat all at once. He was entranced by her, and the loss of control didn’t scare him.
“Good,” MJ said simply, grasping her water cup and taking a sip.