I.
Even as a kid, Michelle Jones was plucked out of the crowd to be criticize. Maybe it was for her hand-me-downs, that so obviously didn’t fit her, and so obviously were boy clothes, or how her hair was bigger than her head on humid days, or that, since her mother was an English professor, her vocabulary was much more advanced than all the other third graders. It didn’t matter, though, because it didn’t change the fact that other children picked on her.
On Valentine’s Day, Michelle wore her brother’s Iron Man shirt. It was specifically made for that day, with hearts coming out of his jets stream and some cheesy caption that she later would forget about completely. She was so proud of how she’d gotten it; Michelle snuck into her brother’s room the night before, stole it from his floor, and sprinted back to her room. It was her first stealth mission, but wouldn’t be her last.
She never even thought of why it was on the ground. Her brother didn’t know how to use a laundry basket, to their mother’s dismay, so he would just throw his clothes anywhere. And Michelle, poor, innocent, nine year old Michelle, didn’t even realize how much his shirt stunk until a few of her classmates pointed it out at recess. She was getting over a cold, and her nose was incapacitated.
Two boys, Johnny Storm and Flash Thompson, had walked over to her, as she minded her business on the swings. They snickered as they stood, far enough away for her not to hear what they were whispering about, but close enough for Michelle to know who they were looking at.
“Hey, Flash,” Johnny yelled, purposely raising his voice, “what is that smell?”
Rehearsed, Flash blurted out, “I don’t know. I think Michelle forgot to change her diaper.”
In hindsight, what a stupid fucking insult. If anyone said that to her in high school, she’d think they were stuck in elementary. But, because she was, it made her heart sank to her stomach, and her eyes start to well as everyone--everyone--laughed at the dimwitted zinger that the two boys had come up with.
Then, like God had sent down an angel, one kid spoke up. The smallest boy in their class, with bulky glasses and busted sneakers, stood from the seesaw and got right in Flash’s face. “That’s not very nice,” Peter Parker’s voice wavered, his tiny fists balled up, his face fearless.
Johnny and Flash stared at each other in a mocking awe, and burst out laughing.
“Apologize to her!” Peter demanded. “My uncle says--”
Michelle had finally came to a complete stop on the swings, and she just stared at the confrontation happening in front of her. Peter was going to get hurt. Flash was a whole head taller than him.
“Hey! Guys! Let’s listen to what Penis Parker’s uncle says. No, I wanna hear what your dad says,” Flash snickered.
And the playground fell silent.
Everyone was aware of what had happened just last year, and nobody was allowed to mention it, like some unspoken rule. Michelle’s mother had sat her down and explained that Peter might be distant, and that she should be nice as possible. Talk to him when he wanted, leave him alone when he wanted-- just do whatever made him happy. And, that’s pretty much what everyone did. Up until that very moment.
In an instant that shocked teachers and students alike, Peter jumped up, and punched Flash in the face. You could tell that it hardly hurt, with Flash only recoiling a tiny bit, but it was the surprise factor that stunned him the most.
And, as expected, Flash pushed him to the ground. Peter landed on his side, scraping his hand on the pebbles, and groaning in pain. Flash opened his mouth to slur another insult, but the bell rang to go inside. He and Johnny raced each other, joyously, to the line up area.
Michelle ran to Peter’s aide. “Are you okay?” she asked, lifting him so that he was sitting straight up.
His face was scratched and his knees and hands were bleeding. “I’m okay. Are you?”
“I-I’m fine. My dad always says that ‘sticks and stones’ thing, I’m pretty tough,” she tried boasting, and helped him to his feet. “Do you want to go to the nurse? Do you want to tell Ms. Leland what happened?”
“I’m pretty tough, too,” Peter smiled, his lips in a fine line.
Their teacher blew her whistle, yelling something inaudible at them. Michelle hooked her arm with Peter’s to help him walk, even though he pretty much was okay. She looked over and placed a quick peck on his cheek. That’s how her mom always thanked her for doing the dishes, or cleaning her room without being asked. “Thank you, Peter,” Michelle said.
II.
“Betty,” Liz smiled, “I dare you to eat a spoonful of mayo and canned cheese.”
“Weak,” Betty retorted. “I could do that in my sleep.”
Six years after their playground rendezvous, Michelle and Peter, and a few other kids from their school, sat in a circle, watching Betty prepare her dare. Michelle was eerily close to him, their fingers brushing every so often, their feet purposely kicking each other, just to mess around when they got bored. She liked the contact. She liked him, ever since he stood up for her, and, even though it sounded shallow, she started liking Peter more when he started filling out his clothes.
Betty was the only person who knew. And before they came to Liz’s house that night, she made a joke saying, “I’m making you kiss Peter, tonight,” and so every time she was chosen, which was always from Betty, she choose truth. And Peter was beginning to make fun of her.
“What happened to the tough MJ we all love?” Peter had jabbed, nudging her with his shoulder. “I already know everything about you! This isn’t fun.”
Then Betty, sweet and conniving, had promised him, “Don’t worry, Peter, we’ll make her do a dare. Peer pressure is good for something, right?”
So, Michelle was sweating in anxious anticipation for her turn. As she watched Betty gag on her too big of a nauseating spoonful, she considered making a run for it. She knew what Betty was going to make her do, and Michelle had thought about it every night for years, but this wasn’t what she wanted.
Betty put her head underneath the sink to wash her mouth out. “Disgusting. I hate mayo,” she spit. Betty collected herself, and as she came to sit back down in the circle, she slowly rolled out, “MJ. Truth or dare?”
Next to her, Peter whispered, “Dare, dare. MJ, do a dare,” over and over again until she made her decision. “If you do truth again, I’m never talking to you again.”
Michelle bit her lip and kicked Peter in the shin. “Dare,” she discontentedly sighed. Peter punched his fists in the air in victory and didn’t care when the others laughed at him. She stared with stars in her eyes, smiling so wide you wouldn’t even believe it.
“I dare you to kiss Peter,” Betty slyly said, without skipping a beat.
Peter, his fists still raised above his head, froze. “You dare her to do w-what?” he stuttered out.
“To kiss you.” Betty smirked at Michelle’s reddened face, and took her silence as a no. “I triple dog dare you.”
“Triple dog dares haven’t been a thing since the sixth grade,” Ned, Peter’s best friend, corrected.
“Who cares?” Flash said from across the circle. “It’s a dare, MJ has to do it. MJ, do it.”
Michelle glanced around, feeling multiple pairs of eyes glued on her every movement. Peter, though, had just lowered his arms and was stuttering profusely, looking at Liz, for some reason. And the pit in her stomach that controlled her jealousy and her hatred had taken over, for she hissed out an, “Okay. Whatever,” and reached her arm out to grab Peter’s head, and to pull it towards her’s.
It lasted for three seconds. He was frozen, one hand resting on her knee cap, his lips not moving at all. Michelle didn’t do anything either, really; it was her first kiss, if you could even count it, and all she was doing was holding both of them in place.
Betty cheered, and so did everyone else, and when they seperated, Peter’s pale skin looked like he’d put his aunt’s blush on.
“I’m sorry,” Michelle whispered during Ned’s turn. He was trying to walk in Liz’s heels.
He cleared his throat, “It’s okay, MJ. You had to do it, right?” He smiled, scrunching up his whole face. She still was worried. “MJ, seriously, it was just a dare. It’s nothing.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, unhooking her hair from behind her ear, “Nothing.”
III.
Michelle knocked on Peter and Ned’s hotel room door, her book hooked underneath her arm. “Let me in, losers!” she shouted, emotion crowding her words.
Nothing had even happened. Liz and Betty were distracted, planning what they were going to do with their free time, like where they would eat lunch and in what order they were going to visit the monuments. Flash had brought his PS4, unsurprisingly, and hooked it up to his hotel room issued TV, so him, Abraham, and Charles were all playing a first person shooter. The rest of her teammates had gone swimming in the pool.
And nobody thought to invite her. Not even her roommate, who said she was going to get a candy bar from the vending machine, and then didn’t come back. Michelle found out where she had gone when she saw her Snapchat story.
God, it was so stupid. She wasn’t even planning on leaving her room, anyways. She was just going to bury herself in her book, avoid everything, and go to sleep. But, no; once Michelle found out no one truly wanted her around, there was nothing she wanted more than to be with people who actually liked her.
That list consisted of Peter and Ned. And, before, she had thought she was okay with that.
Behind the door, Michelle heard Ned scream, “But it away, dude!”
“I’m trying. It won’t zip back up. You could at least help,” Peter hissed back. “Once second, MJ!”
“I am trying to close the page. This thing is so fucking weird, okay?”
She heard footsteps approach, and Peter opened the door. His face was sweaty and he was slightly out of breath. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Are you two watching porn?” Michelle asked.
“GROSS!” Ned screeched from his bed. “I would never-- I mean, I would never watch porn with Peter! MJ, I have a girlfriend!”
She pushed passed Peter and flopped onto his bed. “It was just a question. And, god, just because you watch porn with someone doesn’t mean you want to fuck them. I mean, seriously, Ned. Betty and I once played that game where you come up with the most ridiculous porn tags and--”
“Alright,” Peter clapped his hands together. “What’s going on, MJ? Why are your shoes on my bed?”
Michelle rolled her eyes and slipped her shoes off. “I’m bored. Can I read my book in here?”
“Yeah, of course. We were just watching, uh, TV.” He pointed over his shoulder to the television, that was shut off. “We were about to watch TV.”
“Uh-huh,” she grunted, to please them.
Michelle pulled the blankets over her body and, soon after Peter turned the TV on, he laid down next to her. It had been a year since she had kissed him, and there was a period of time after where this would’ve been baffling to her. He would dance around her; if she sat too close, he’d get up to grab something across the room, that he didn’t even need. If she sat too far away, he’d scoot just a bit closer, so it wasn’t obvious how uncomfortable he was.
But now, Michelle in her short sleep shorts and Peter in his basketball-length ones, with them riding up, their thighs would graze, and he wouldn’t flinch.
At one point, even, when Ned had fallen fast asleep during their seventh episode of Ridiculousness, Peter had scooted closer to the middle and put his arm around her shoulders. “I sleep in the middle of the bed,” he sleepishly explained.
“Whatever,” Michelle, acting infatuated with her book, mumbled.
She rested her head in the crook of his neck, taking in the comfort. It’s what Michelle had needed, really, when she knocked on his door that night. She wanted a hug, and if this prolonged “cuddle” session was all she was getting, she was happy with that.
Michelle was ignoring the fact that besides swearing to herself that her obsession with Peter had faded, it was coming back. Her book no longer entertained her. She wanted to whip around, straddle him, and plant kisses all over his body. She wanted his hands to truly discover how short her shorts were, because just looking at them didn’t do them justice. And she wanted to discover what was underneath that ill fitting shirt, since Peter liked to show off my doing handstands and backflips and she’d just get a peek of his six pack abs, but Michelle had a huge urge to study them, to draw them, to run her hands across them.
“You haven’t flipped the page in a while,” Peter yawned. “Are you asleep?”
She snapped out of her hormone filled day dream. “I’m fine. I just found a passage I really liked.”
“Oh yeah? Read it to me,” he genuinely asked, leaning his head against her’s, and probably closing his eyes.
Michelle scoured the page that she hadn’t even begun, and thankfully, found a line that meant anything. “‘He’d discovered his purpose. To run from things, like he always had, diminished what he was put here to do. He was here to make her-- No, not just her. To make people happy.’”
“Hmm,” Peter let out. “That is nice.”
“It, uh, it reminds me of you.” Michelle grabbed her bookmark to save her page and placed the novel on her lap.
He held her closer, obviously just going through the frameworks of getting ready to sleep. When she checked over her shoulder, his eyes were glued shut. “Why’s that?” he mumbled.
“You’d sacrifice yourself for the people you care about. Remember, the day we became friends? Flash would’ve kicked your ass if it hadn’t been for that bell.”
“Mhm. You were the only one who never treated me like a freak after my parents died,” he was now whispering. “I’d do anything for you, MJ.”
“Anything?” she queried, her eyes wide.
“That’s a stupid question.”
Michelle turned to lay on her side, facing Peter. He looked at her with his eyebrows scrunched together as he blew hot air onto her neck. “MJ, are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just--Promise to forget about this later, okay? I mean, unless you, like, agree or something.” She absentmindedly played with the neckline of his shirt, not daring to look him in the eyes.
“Forget about what?” he repeated.
“Just promise.”
“Okay, I promise. I swear on our Decathlon win tomorrow that I’ll forget about it, unless I happen to forgive. What’s up?” He was laughing, such a joyous laugh that made Michelle’s insides turn to mush.
She looked up into his eyes, and hesitated momentarily. Then, moving her hand to the back of his neck by following the edge of his shirt, she drew his face closer to her’s. Their noses grazed, and Peter’s breath turned shaky. “MJ--” he stammered.
Michelle lightly placed her lips on top of his, like a test of the waters. Then, again, and again, each time applying more pressure and heat than the last. And, around the fourth one, Peter was brought back down to reality and kissed back.
He, with incredible strength, brought her body in so they were completely pressed against each other. Michelle spun them around so that one of them--her--was on top, and she did exactly what she dreamed. She placed kisses on his jawline. Peter’s fingers found the waist of her shorts and rested there. Michelle pulled his shirt up, her fingers tracing his stomach as she did. His tongue slipped inside of her mouth, and she let out a subtle moan.
That sent him over the edge.
“MJ, stop,” he said, breathless. Peter sat up, and it made Michelle hit her knees against the headboard. “Shit, I’m sorry.”
“I’m good. Why’d you stop?” She leaned her forehead against his, her hands still pressed against his abs.
“I--” He held her waist like she was going to run away. “I’m not sorry about that. Well, I am. It’s just-- I like-- You are my favorite person ever, MJ, but-- I like… I like Liz.”
Slowly, Michelle reeled back. Her hands retreated from his stomach and peeled his hands off of her. Of course he did. Of course Peter liked Liz. Liz was, well, Liz. She was smart, she was beautiful, she wasn’t embarrassing to be around.
Michelle felt like throwing up.
“MJ, don’t go,” he protested as she stood up. He chased after her as she got off the bed. “MJ, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed back. I should’ve told you sooner.”
He got ahold of her wrist just as she began to open the door. “Please let go of me, Peter.”
“Michelle. There’s no one I care about more than you. Please, just-- Just lay back down, and we can have a sleepover, you know, like we used to do in middle school?” He was pleading. With his words. With the waterline of his eyes, and how they were quickly filling, just like Michelle’s. “And you can read me some of that book?”
There’s no one I care about more than you. That was like a stab in the heart. “I can’t,” she sobbed out, losing control. “I’m sorry, Peter. Please let go of me.”
He did. Peter let go, and watched her storm back to her own room in tears. She didn’t realize until he texted her, a minute later, that she’d left her book. She wouldn’t get it back for a month. A month of not talking to Peter, and no one knew why. Not even Ned, not even Betty.
At least he kept his promise.
IV.
Someone was knocking at her window, with slow intervals in between each one. “MJ,” a voice yelled. “I can see you. Help me.”
Michelle stood up from her desk, and trudged over to the window. This had been a common routine, ever since she found out about Peter’s vigilante business a few months ago. He’d come over in the middle of the night to bug her, or to check up on her, or best of all, scar her. When she opened up the window that night, though, she saw Peter laying on the fire escape with his suit cut open in different places, blood pouring out of all of them.
“Oh, shit,” she cursed. “Peter, can you stand?”
He groaned as he did, and even worse as he swung his leg over the edge to crawl into Michelle’s room. She covered his mouth; her parents were home, and they couldn’t figure out about Peter’s late night visits. Even if he was almost dead.
“This was the closest place and all I need is for you to sew me up. I’ll be good as new, then.” He stumbled backwards and slumped against the wall, then pressed the button on his suit, making it instantly become loose. Then, he struggled out of it.
“You want me to what?”
“Sew me up.”
“I’ve never sewn anything.”
“Doesn’t matter, I’ll teach you. Please?” He batted his eyelashes at her, making a pouty face.
She nudged his feet. “I think you’re perfectly capable yourself, if you can make jokes.” Michelle had a fear of needles, to be frank. And, she wasn’t even sure if they had any of the right stuff.
“There’s a spot in my back that I can’t get.”
He leaned forward for her to look, and there on his lower back, was a stab wound a few inches wide. “You owe me,” she said, disgruntled. Michelle snuck into the hallway and opened the closet door, and stood on her toes to grad the first aid kit. Her parents, who were just in the living room, didn’t seem to notice.
Michelle scurried back in after making sure to grab a black towel. “Sit on this,” she demanded, throwing it at Peter’s face. She gave him the first aid kit to look through.
“Sterilize this first, then thread this through it and just go at it.” Peter handed her the needle.
She went to her drawer and pulled out a lighter, ignited it, and hovered the needle over the flame. “That’s good,” Peter stopped her. “Where’d you get that?”
Michelle followed his instructions, making sure to start at one of the front wounds. She tried to do it like they did in TV shows. “I stole it from my brother. He smokes cigarettes now, so if he keeps losing his lighters, maybe he’ll just stop. I have like, twenty in that drawer.”
“Ow, be gentle,” he hissed. “I don’t think that’s--ow--how it works. He’s got a job now at 7/11. I bet he gets discounts or something.”
“Then I’ll get him fired,” she shrugged, “I don’t want him dying from lung cancer just because he said fuck it one day. There, finished.”
Peter expected the stitched, and made a ‘so-so’ face. “It’s okay for your first try. Now, do the back one. I might be bleeding on your wall. Anyways, why don’t you talk to him about it?”
Michelle, again, obliged, and scoffed, “We don’t talk about our feelings much in this family. My parents taught us to have well articulated thoughts and the dumbest hearts. Wow, that didn’t make any sense.”
“No, it did,” Peter confirmed. “And I’ve noticed that, actually. There’s a lot of things we don’t talk about because of it.”
He turned his head, his eyes scouring her face, with a slight smile. She did the same, but with a frown. Michelle knew what he was referencing to. No words came out of her mouth, just flustered breathing as she stared down to continue the stitches.
“There. Done. When did that bruise get there?” She lightly placed her finger on top of his cheekbone, making him wince.
“Fast healing,” he explained. “Do you know what May always used to do? She’d kiss it to make it feel better.”
Michelle crossed her legs to sit comfortably on the floor. “Yeah, my mom used to do that, too. With booboos and scrapes, when I was seven.”
“It hurts, MJ,” he pouted.
“I’m not your mother.”
“No,” he paused. “You’re not.” And the way he searched her with his eyes--It was like he was completely over Liz. Like he hadn’t just mentioned how much he missed her last night, or the last five months before that. It was like they were back in that hotel room in D.C, and Liz never even knew them.
“I’m not your older sister. I’m not your nurse. You are seventeen, and got an A+ in biology. You know that’s not how things work.”
“But things were so much more simpler when we were younger. Everything that hurt would go away with a kiss.”
“Kisses cause hurt, too.”
“Not this kind.” Peter smiled mischievously when she had no response, and tugged on her hands. “My eye hurts, MJ. It hurts really bad.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “But your stitches don’t?”
Peter shook his head no, but added, “I mean, they can if you want.”
“Shut up,” she pushed his chest, even though it did nothing but knock his head against the wall lightly. Michelle leaned forward and placed a small kiss on his left cheekbone, and after, shoved his face away. “You feel better?” she mocked.
“I feel amazing.” And, again with the look. The look that wouldn’t let her quit her pining, that would only end terrible for her, and her alone.
V./I.
It was movie night.
The first Friday of every month, Peter, Betty, Ned, and Michelle came together, all pitching in money for a pizza, and sat down to watch a movie together.
Michelle had already lost it. Betty and Ned shared the leather recliner, for “couple reasons,” so she sat next to Peter on the couch. Peter who, a week ago, was becoming increasingly terrible to be around. It wasn’t him, per se. He didn’t become anymore annoying, or any less fun, he just became…
Well, Michelle was sexually frustrated. She’d wanted to jump Peter’s bones more times than she could count in the past week. They had gym together, so when they went to the weight room, instead of focusing on her own routine, she’d watch Peter’s muscles flex. The guy was built like a fucking Roman statue. And he knew how much Michelle liked him, he’d be stupid if he didn’t. So, Peter had started doing these little things; putting her hair behind her ear, placing his hand on her lower back just because, and staring at her in class.
She couldn’t handle another rejection from him. She couldn’t handle losing him.
Michelle was trying to, just slightly, distance herself. She wouldn’t go to the library after school, because she claimed to be helping her mother with dinner. When Peter asked if she wanted to spend the night when they studied late, Michelle would always say no, she’d rather sleep in her own bed. If she distanced herself, maybe her crush would go away.
It’d been there for seven years. It wasn’t going away.
Especially when her hand kept hitting his in the bowl of popcorn. Was he just keeping it in there, waiting for her? Was Peter having fun with this? Eventually, Michelle stopped grabbing popcorn, so Peter started leaning over to whisper things in her ear. “This is my favorite part,” or, “I’ve always been confused about their relationship. How did they even meet?” or, “How old is Doc Brown?” She’d just shrug and nod.
And when that got boring for him, Peter moved closer. Every so often he’d readjust his body, and every time, he got an inch closer to Michelle.
“Can you believe that Marty just kissed his mom?” he laughed, his thumb rubbing her shoulder.
“I have to go,” Michelle announced. She stood up and went to put her shoes on.
“What?” Ned asked. “B-but Marty hasn’t even went back to the future yet! It’s the title event!”
“I just remember that my mom and I were going to do this painting class early in the morning, so I should get to bed soon.”
“It’s ten,” Betty pointed out.
She nodded, “Yep, the class is at, like, six thirty.”
“Let me walk you home,” said Peter. “You two can stay here and finish the movie.”
“Oh you don’t have to--”
“May would kill me if I didn’t.” Peter slipped his shoes on, grabbing Michelle’s jacket as he did. “Let’s go.”
He always could tell when she was lying, just as she could with him. It was a curse of knowing someone like you knew the back of your hand; never being able to keep anything from them. Usually, that would’ve been a good thing. But, as the moonlight gracefully lit up Peter’s features, Michelle wished she had developed a tell he didn’t know about.
“S’there something going on with you?” he asked, keeping his hands secure in his pockets.
“No. Why?” She kicked a stone along the sidewalk.
“You’ve been acting weird. Since when have you ever not wanted to watch Back To The Future? I thought it was your favorite movie.”
“No,” Michelle insisted, “It is our favorite movie. Our friend favorite movie. The middle ground between my love of drama and your love of sci-fi.”
He scoffed, “And since when have you not wanted to finish our friend favorite movie?”
They ran diagonally across the street, Michelle at the tails of Peter’s feet. “I’m just not feeling it tonight, Pete.”
“You haven’t been feeling anything lately. I just want to make sure you’re doing good, that you’re okay and stuff.” He playfully pushed her with his shoulder, trying to get a smile out of her.
Michelle stopped walking. So did Peter. “Do you want to know what’s going on?” she offered. Her apartment complex was a street down, if she wanted to make a break for it, she probably could. Peter couldn’t run fast; in fact, she couldn’t remember the last time Michelle saw him run.
“Yeah, tell me. Spill.”
It was early May, but some people had yet to take down their Christmas lights. So Peter’s head was surrounded by fairy lights, and he had a dopey smile on his face.
He was going to reject her, again. But, he wanted to know.
“Okay, Peter. I have been in love with you for years. Specifically, seventh grade. I don’t even know why seventh grade, or what happened, but that’s when I realized it. And for years, I’ve been beating myself up about what happened in Liz’s basement. And you don’t know how much I have wanted to cry thinking about what happened in the hotel room.” How much I have cried, she mentally corrected herself.
“MJ--”
“You don’t feel the same way, it’s fine, whatever. You like girls like Liz, and I am not anything like her. But you’ve started-- You’re so touchy recently. I need you to stop doing that.”
“O-okay.”
“And I can’t go to movie nights anymore. I think it’ll be best for our friendship.” He looked so sad; it was breaking her heart. Peter just stared, his eyes empty.
“Whatever you want.”
Michelle took a harsh breath in, and stepped towards him so she was close enough to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for being so understanding,” she mustered out. “I’ll see you Monday.”
Michelle started down the street and shook out the nerves in her hands. She didn’t look back, because she knew she would see Peter, just standing there in disbelief. What was she supposed to say? That she couldn’t stand being around him anymore? He couldn’t tell when she was lying. And she didn’t feel like lying anymore.
She didn’t feel like crying, even though she’d probably just ended a relationship with the only person who genuinely cared for her. Peter texted Michelle at one in the morning, just asking if she was doing okay, just because he felt like it. Not even her parents did that when she went to summer camp, but Peter did. Every night. Michelle just felt numb.
She blared through her living room, disregarding whatever her parents asked her with an, “I’m just really tired,” and locked herself in her room. Michelle hit her head on her door and groaned out, “I’m so stupid.”
“You’re not,” Peter’s voice said from her bed.
Michelle screeched, jumping twenty feet in the air. “A spider!” she yelled at her parents. “What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“The window was open. You leave your window open for me, so when I saw it was open…”
“I hadn’t had time to close it, jackass. You can’t just break into my house!” Her heart was still beating a thousand times per minute.
Peter got up and walked up to her. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
She pushed against his chest, making him stumble backwards a few paces. “I thought we agreed to see each other less. ‘Whatever I want,’ remember? You said that three minutes ago?”
“I take it back.”
“You… take it back?”
“Yes. MJ,” Peter whispered, and took her hands in his. “MJ, I like you. It took me a while to realize it. It took me way too long to realize it, and I was sure I had lost my chance. What I did in that hotel room was cruel.”
“I kissed you,” she corrected.
“But I kissed back. You had no way of knowing and I-- I enjoyed making out with you. That was no reason to lead you on.”
“I thought you said you like me,” Michelle sneered.
His hands traveled to the curve of her lower back as he took a step forward. “I do. When I came here asking you for help, I thought that if you still wanted to be with me, you’d say something.”
“You’re an idiot. Asking me to kiss your bruises is not the way to tell me--”
Peter cut her off. He kissed her, slowly, but full with passion, unlike they had ever kissed before. This wasn’t a stupid dare or a hotel hook-up; this had meaning behind it. He kissed her in such a way that made all of this worth it.
He broke the heated lip lock to place smaller, more caring kisses. “I’m in love with you, Michelle. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize it.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she softly spoke. “We’re here now.”