Chapter Text
“Wow.”
It’s a word Peter’s said more in the past six hours than he has in his entire life—always under his breath, behind a dreamy, dopey smile that he has no hope of ever controlling. One that has his cheeks aching, his heart fluttering as he stares up at the ceiling of his hotel room—another kind(?) gesture by one Nick Fury after their flight was (understandably) canceled last minute due to Tower Bridge getting destroyed by an army of killer drones.
The emotional whiplash that had come from the last twenty-four hours is enough to leave him dizzy. How he could have gone from just barely dodging multiple attempts on his life one minute to the next kissing the girl of his dreams on a bridge, surrounded by the smell of burnt rubber and smoke, and then later have the same girl giving him a quick, fleeting peck on the cheek, a squeeze of his hand in her own before she’s taken to her room.
He almost can’t believe it; it specifically being the kiss. Everything on the bridge.
No, fighting an army of drones left to him—for some reason—by the late Tony Stark, getting nearly killed by a man in a motion capture suit and a bubble helmet that controls said drones is perfectly believable. Basic, run-of-the-mill superhero stuff.
But MJ actually liking him back? Kissing him?
No. Can’t be real.
Impossible.
Parker Luck doesn’t work that way.
With a gentle scoff and a shake of his head, his lips pull into a quiet smile as he gingerly touches them, swearing he can still feel the softness of hers.
Despite how bruised, bloody, and broken his body is, despite the betrayal, the emotional manipulation he’d been put through at the hands of a scorned former employee of his late mentor, he feels like a man on the moon—light and weightless, a feeling akin to the same adrenaline that pumps through him as he swings through the city.
But then, he wonders how she’s doing with all of this. The explosions, the destruction, the guys in weird costumes trying to kill everyone, it’s this chaos that he’s used to living with, but that his friends have all been unknowingly dragged into by simply being around him.
He has to see her—to at least make sure she’s doing okay. To see how she’s handling everything.
And well, okay. He also just wants to see her.
Sure, he’ll get that chance in the morning when they get on the next plane out, but still. He doesn’t think he can wait another second.
It doesn’t take much to have him jumping out of bed and practically sprinting to the door, yanking it open with a force that might have broken it had he not caught himself.
But the wind is knocked out of him, when he sees her standing on the other side, her hand hanging midair, held in a fist.
Michelle jumps slightly at his speed, startled before breathing out a laugh, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Hey,” she says, lips pressing into a timid smile.
Peter almost forgets to respond with how quickly he gets lost in just looking at her, taking in just how soft she looks in her pajamas—the oversized t-shirt, the mismatched socks, the messy braid.
Flashes from the bridge flicker on and off in his mind, and he catches himself lingering on the memory of her hand at the back of his neck, playing with his curls; the softness of her lips.
But thankfully, he remembers himself before he can be made even more of a fool, clearing his through and hiding it behind a weak cough before laughing out a very lame, a little too high-pitched, “Hey.”
He blinks.
A beat passes, one where he desperately tries to seem cool, chill, calm, and collected and not at all like he’s in a never-ending fight against the urge to giggle and kick his feet.
“I was just—” They both say at the same time.
They laugh again.
Peter feels like his heart is about to burst out of his chest and onto the floor, his face impossibly warm. “You first.”
Glancing down at the ground, MJ rocks back on her heels, fingers toying with a loose thread in her t-shirt. “Oh, uhm—” She shrugs. “Just, uh—just wanted to… to say hi and uh—check up on you. See how… see how you were holding up.” She huffs out another laugh as she meets his eyes, scratching the back of her neck. “So… hi.”
“Hi.” Somehow, his grin widens, no doubt making him look like a crazy person with how hard he’s cheesing as he glances down at his feet, knowing now that there’s no hope of him ever coming down from his spot on the moon. It would seem he lives there now. “I was… I was actually gonna ask you the same.”
“Oh!” MJ breathes, her lips forming a small circle before breaking into a small grin. “Well, uh, I’m…” She pauses, nodding slowly. “I’m good.”
“Good?”
“Yeah, yeah. I mean, sure, our trip getting ruined by some ex-theater kid sucks, but…” She snorts faintly, as if she hadn't just figured out not even eighteen hours ago that the boy she likes is a crime-fighting vigilante. As if said boy hadn't inadvertently helped to ruin their trip by giving a multi-million dollar pair of sunglasses to a stranger. As if it's no big deal. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah?” Peter finds himself asking, unable to hide the concern in his tone.
And again, she smiles at him in a way that feels as if he’s been wrapped in a warm blanket. “Yeah.”
Another beat.
“Are you okay?” She asks carefully, brows pinched ever so slightly together as her gaze flits from the cut on his cheek to his eyes.
Peter grins, nodding, his chest swelling when she smiles in relief, overcome with how pretty she is under the warm hallway light.
“Yeah.” He’s never been more sure of anything. “I am.”
The air crackles and pops between them, and Peter’s once again filled with the overwhelming urge to laugh as he tries to keep his smile from growing any wider. But then, his gaze trails downward, landing on the shattered black glass delicately hanging from her neck.
“I like your necklace,” he says lamely, huffing out a breathless chuckle.
MJ blinks owlishly before glancing down. “Oh! Yeah. I uh—” she clears her throat again, feigning an air of nonchalance. “I thought I’d try it on.”
“It looks good,” he replies, grinning a big, stupid grin.
Wow.
“Thank you,” she says, somewhat sheepish, her tooth poking slightly from between her lips when she gives him another soft smile.
Another beat.
“I should probably…” MJ trails off, throwing a quick thumb over her stiff shoulders as she breathes out a laugh. “Head back.”
“Oh! Yeah. Uh—” Peter nods quickly, huffing in giddy amusement. “Get some… Get some rest. Yeah.”
“Mhmm,” she hums, slightly strained, lingering still, rocking on her heels, her hands twisting in front of her. “G’night.”
“Night,” he offers back, unable to take his eyes off of her.
And they stand there dumbly, nervously, neither of them wanting to be the first to move away, hearts racing. Peter unconsciously wipes his palms against his sweats, almost worried that gravity is going to give out on the two of them.
But then, her eyes briefly meet his, and she’s moving forward, closing the distance between them to place a quick, fleeting, yet impossibly sweet kiss on his lips, her hand resting on his cheek. It’s a small gesture, a little clumsy even, but it’s perfect—enough to have him seeing stars, enough to have him actively try not to pump his fist in the air like in a dumb rom-com.
(At least not in front of her.)
He wants to take a picture of her as she tells him goodnight one more time, as she gives a light wave before walking back down the hallway; to bottle this feeling and keep it forever on one of the cluttered shelves in his room back home.
And sure, it may be early. They may be young, not even a week out of their junior year, but now, as he softly shuts the door and leans back against it, smiling stupidly up at the ceiling, he can’t help but think how lucky he is, how he has to pinch himself to make sure this isn’t a dream.
Because he’s a thousand percent sure, without a doubt, that he’s hit the jackpot.