Peter
“No.”
“Oh come on, this is gonna be awesome!” Ned laughed, holding up a pamphlet. “Queesnborough Community College Art Show,” he read. “Listed artists: Michelle Jones.” At this he turned to MJ with a cunning smirk. “Yeah, we’re totally going.”
“No,” she repeated. “You’re not.”
“How’d you even get a spot at the art show anyways?” Peter asked through a mouthful of sandwich. “I thought they were only showcasing their own students.”
“I am one of their students,” MJ dropped casually. “I’ve been taking classes with them part time.” She popped another french fry into her mouth before turning the page on Goodnight Mister Tom, seemingly oblivious to the silence that had followed her announcement.
“WHAT?” Ned gushed.
“Oh we’re so going to this show,” Peter decided at the same time.
“How could we not have known?!”
“There’s no way you’re stopping us.”
“I mean we’re your best friends!”
“Even if I have to get Mr. Stark to cover my patrol that night…”
“I’m actually hurt that you didn’t tell us!”
“He might actually come too, if I told him.”
“I feel like we’ve failed as best friends for not knowing everything that happens in your life.”
MJ shut her book with a thud and looked up, effectively silencing them. “No,” she spoke. Such a simple word that held so much weight.
“Okay, okay,” Ned chortled. “We won’t go.”
“Oh, we’re totally going,” Peter argued. “In fact, we have to get the flashiest brightest suits we can find to pretend like we’re important art buyers-”
“Art collectors,” MJ supplied.
“-you know what I meant-”
“And art collectors don’t necessarily wear flashy loud suits to art shows.”
“Still gonna do it,” he grinned deviously.
“The art pieces aren’t even for sale,” she protested. “It’s just an exhibition to showcase the school’s students!”
“Still. Gonna. Do. It.” His grin did not drop.
The defeated sigh that followed made Peter’s grin widen at his victory. “I’m gonna be so embarrassed,” she muttered.
“Aunt May I know I said 8:00 on the dot but there was this car chase that I had to stop because there was a lady pushing her baby across the street and I only just got done dealing with the cops and Mr. Stark-”
“Pete,” his aunt interrupted. “Breathe. Do you want to meet me there? I can take a cab down.”
“Oh my heck Aunt May you’re the best I’m so sorry I love you.”
“I love you too, Peter,” she laughed, before hanging up and whistling down a cab.
Okay, he thought. Right down Park avenue, turn on 6th and head straight to Calmac, then turn left. C’mon c’mon c’mon!! He reached the dumpster where he had hidden his backpack, hastily snatched it up before swinging off into the night again. C’mon, you’re Spider-Man! Swing faster!
As he approached his destination, he could see Aunt May getting out of the yellow taxi. Immediately, he landed behind the shrubbery and hastened to changed, almost declaring war on his pants for not cooperating. First thing this weekend will be a discussion with Mr Stark about making changes between costume and civilian easier. Heckin’ pants.
“Aunt May!!” He called out, still struggling with his sneakers. “Over here!”
“Goodness Peter,” she giggled, turning around. “There’s no need to be that excited. We’ve still got…” she looked down at her watch. 9:20pm. “10 minutes left.”
“Yeah I’m really really sorry!” He took her hand and hurriedly led her inside.
“Oh wow, these kids are really good,” she marvelled, looking around.
“Mmhmm,” Peter replied distractedly. “Aha! There she is! MJ!”
A mess of beautiful curls whipped around to reveal a face that was filled with surprise. “Peter?” She almost whispered in surprise.
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” he finally stopped, looking up to catch his breath. “There was a huge thing with the police and a baby and-” he looked around. “Ah I’ll explain it to you another time.”
“You came,” she almost smiled, which made Peter grin as his stomach flopped against his rib cage.
“Of course we came!” He beamed. “We came to see amazing art!”
“We?” MJ suddenly looked confused.
“Hey MJ.”
She spun around again to see the tall redhead smiling at her warmly. “Aunt May,” She breathed. “You came too.”
“Of course, sweetie!” She smiled warmly. “This is important to you right?”
“Well…I mean…Um…” MJ struggled out a stutter.
“Oh hush,” May pulled her into a hug, and nobody, not even the seemingly apathetic MJ, could refuse an Aunt May Hug. “We’re all really proud of you. Now why don’t you start showing off to us?”
“Ok,” she mumbled, turning around, but Peter was already staring intently at her paintings.
“Holy crap you did oil paintings?!” He whistled. “This cannot be cheap.”
“Yeah I-”
“Dang, these are pretty amazing! Aunt May! Look, it’s Queens! You could see our apartment from here!”
“It’s not-”
“How did you get such detail with oils? I just make a messy blur and call it interpretive art.”
“You-”
“And this one’s Midtown! You even painted the school?? I thought you hated school!”
“I-”
May placed a gentle hand over Peter’s mouth. “Let the poor girl talk, you’re overwhelming her.”
Peter immediately blushed a deep red. He knew how he rambled when he got excited, but holy moly, he had no idea that MJ could paint, and paint so brilliantly at that. Looking at MJ, he noticed that the usually confident girl had a hard time looking him in the eye.
“Excuse me, sir, ma’am.”
They turned to see a staff member smiling at them. Possibly a student worker. Or a really really young professor. “The exhibition will be closing in 5 minutes. Can I help you with anything before we close?”
“Yeah!” Peter chirped. “Is purchase of these art pieces allowed?”
The staff member smiled again, warmly. “Purchase of the art pieces are between you and the artist,” she replied. “The purpose of this exhibition isn’t for the sale of art, but if the artist agrees, who are we to hinder their budding career?” Okay, so definitely a really really young professor then. A really really young professor who seemed really proud of MJ.
“Now, wait just a minut-”
“Aunt May! Can we buy one please?” Peter interrupted, eyes shining.
“Okay, Peter,” she smiled knowingly. She knew how much this meant to MJ, and how much it meant to Peter, but most of all, she knew how much MJ meant to Peter. Mum Instincts. “Just one though, ok?” She warned, as if allowing him to buy candy.
“Peter, you can’t,” MJ protested weakly. “These aren’t any good.”
“What’re you talking about?” He laughed. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re the best artist in this entire gallery!”
“I’m just a high school kid in a college exhibition,” she mumbled.
“And that’s what makes you amazing,” he replied, and he meant every word. Michelle Jones was an extraordinary person, and she didn’t need superpowers to get there. She just set her heart and mind to it, and she’d get there in a jiffy. Looking at the menu, his eyes settle on one and he knew. It was the New York Skyline while the sun was setting, and the streaks of gold, red, orange, and so many other colours burned his soul, and he loved it. It took him back to the previous week, and that little moment they had on her rooftop, where he resigned to love her with his whole heart, even if she never returned those feelings. “This one. I want this one. How much d’ya want for it, Ms Jones?” He teased.
“Nothing.”
He turned around, surprised, before being unexpectedly pulled into a hug, and as he hesitantly placed his arms around her, she whispered, “because I love you.”
He froze. No way. There’s no way. But before he could supply either question or answer, she’d pulled away and flicked him on the forehead.
“I’m kidding, loser,” she smirked. Oh, that wonderful terrible smirk that tore him apart and mended him back together again. “It’ll be 50 bucks. Do you have any idea how expensive oil paints are?”
“Yeah, I do,” he smiled shakily, although his heart was shattering all over again, and the pain in his chest threatened to double him over. “Good thing I asked Mr Stark for some cash before coming here.”
“In that case, it’ll be 70.”
“Hey!” he gasped in mock offence, but she’d already hopped forward and given May a big hug.
“I love you, Aunt May,” she said, distinctively more audibly.
“Aww honey!” cooed May. “I love you too!”
Peter smiled painfully. So it was that sort of love. The familial sort, where one never abandoned another. Not the sort of love he’d hoped, but a good sort anyways. How could he ever hope to capture the attention of a star? How could he wish to pocket that sun and make her his? He’d burn a whole in his hand and deprive the universe of her light. But today, he placed a smile on the sun’s face, and today, that was good enough.