Peter
Things had a way of going exactly as Peter expected it to. Like Aunt May burning the new soup she was trying (who the heck can burn soup??) or Ned being absolutely reliable in every single situation that you needed him (except when Betty Brant was involved, because then priorities change, and Peter understood that). It wasn’t always a good thing, because he always expected cafeteria food to be trash, and he always expected Flash to pick on him at school, and he always expected to be the loser in high school, and he was always right.
Things also had a way of taking him by surprise. Like when Mr Stark picking him up after school for ice cream because “he was in town”. Or when it seemed like a quiet night during patrol, and a gang of weaponised criminals robbed a bank. Or when Aunt May miraculously insisted on keeping the stray puppy that decided to follow him home after a communion of bacon and bread (‘look at it, Peter, IT’S EYES ARE SPEAKING TO ME’). Or when he was walking down the hallway and freaking Michelle Jones screamed “BABE!!” and flung herself at him, clinging to his neck like he was her last hope.
“Play along and I’ll make you cookies for a week,” she growled in his ear. “Don’t, and watch me make your life a living hell.”
The colour drained from his face, even as his heart hammered erratically in his chest. While the prospect of cookies was already a good enough incentive, the fear of making MJ his arch-nemesis was far more terrifying, so he didn’t even need a moment’s consideration before he nodded subtly. Seemingly satisfied, she released him and turned around.
“Sorry Jake,” she almost seemed apologetic. “I know what I promised, but I don’t think my boyfriend will be very happy if I don’t take him to prom.”
“Wha-prom??” Peter stuttered, clearly struggling to grasp the situation.
“I know,” MJ sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes. “But it was before us, I swear!”
“Um-”
“You goddamn bitch!” ‘Jake’ yelled, garnering unwanted attention from surrounding students. “You made a deal.”
Immediately, Peter went on the defensive.
“Whooaaah whoa whoa whoa,” Peter interjected, throwing his hands into the air as he instinctively moved between MJ and Gregor Clegane. “What’s going on?”
“Your girlfriend here promised that I could take her to Prom if I did our science project by myself,” he growled out in reply.
“That was last year!” MJ rolled her eyes.
“A deal is a deal, Jones,” he bit out. “Never took you for a liar.”
“Okay now listen here, Igor,” Peter stepped in.
“What the fuck did you call me?”
“I know you’re still hung up about things that happen in the past,” Peter continued, unperturbed. “But you need to move on if you want to grow! Mind you, you should actually stay off the steroids, it might be hurting your brain.”
“You little shit-”
“But one day I’m sure, Hodor, you’ll come to realise that there’s so much more to life than forcing dates out of pretty girls and bullying people smaller than you.”
“My fucking name’s Jake!!”
“That’s what I said, Wun Wun,” Peter rolled his eyes. “C’mon, stay with me here. I’m trying-”
“I don’t appreciate that you called him Wun Wun,” MJ grumbled as she joined him on the roof of her apartment with an ice pack. The sun was beginning to set, and the orange hues that bathed the city in gold were mesmerising. It was almost a safe spot for the two of them, where they sat above the city, and had some semblance of freedom from a world that perpetually pulled you down.
“What??” Peter exclaimed through a mouthful of cookies. “But he was being a dick!”
“I know, so don’t disrespect one of my favourite characters like that,” MJ smirked, (oh that wonderful terrible smirk).
Peter just grinned in response and accepted the ice pack, gingerly placing it on his bruised eye.
“Why didn’t you fight back anyways?” MJ grumbled as she sat next to him and hugged her knees. “You coulda trashed him - you’re fucking Spider-Man.”
“Language,” he warned.
“Okay Captain America,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re freaking Spider-Man. Better?”
“Much,” he grinned cheekily. They sat in a comfortable silence, impeded only by the crunching of the cookies and the distant New York traffic in the streets below them. There was a certain comfort that came with the dissonance of the city, a tiny reminder of life and activity, the promise of happiness and sadness and busyness and everything in between.
“I don’t know,” he said after a while, eyes staring off at the sky that was painted in blue and red and gold. “Probably for the same reason that I don’t fight back when Flash picks on me.”
MJ didn’t say anything, she knew he’d continue in his own time.
“It probably sounds stupid,” he mumbled, grabbing another cookie. “But I mean, fighting fire with fire doesn’t actually work. Nobody became a better person because they got beaten down by someone stronger than them. Most people become bullies after they got bullied anyways.”
MJ shifted to take a cookie as well.
“And anyways,” he took a gulp of milk (God Bless you MJ), “if they can’t pick on me, they’ll probably pick on someone who can’t take it, right?”
She didn’t answer, just reached over and took a sip of milk. And then she smiled at him.
It wasn’t a flirtatious smirk or an amused chuckle, just a very simple smile. A pleasantry that said she understood his words, and she appreciated them. A smile that meant so little and so much at the same time. And yet it melted his heart and he yearned to reach over and kiss those beautiful lips, to run his fingers through her gorgeous curls and pull her close to him.
But yet he couldn’t. She never had feelings for him, and she never would. They were best friends, and changing that could ruin everything.
This was fine. This was perfect, in fact. He didn’t need her to love him, as much as he wanted it. He could just love her with his whole heart, and stare at her beautiful face and watch her eyes sparkle with the reflection of the sun. He didn’t need to be happy – he just needed to be content.
“I love you for using Game of Thrones references, though,” she smirked, eyes still pointed to the sky.
And there she went, pulling his heartstrings with the greatest ease. And all he could do was smile back, while his chest ached and throbbed, hoping to the stars that one day, one wonderful and blissful day, she would say it while looking at him square in the eyes, and say it the way he would to her any day. One day.
“So,” he cleared his throat. “I guess we’re going to prom?”