Work Text:
monday
Michelle Jones-Watson is on the brink of a breakdown.
Finals are a week away. The summation of her college years and everything leading up to them will come to fruition a week from now. And she's never felt so unprepared.
She doesn't know how she ended up in this predicament. Despite being a little rebellious at times she's always been a model student. There's never been a test or assignment she's felt unprepared for. Always been ahead of the curve.
But here she is, a week away from finals, wondering why she even chose to study psychology at MIT in the first place.
She huffs with exasperation as she makes her way through campus to the library, her heavy black backpack slung over one shoulder. (She's pretty sure she's knocked at least four people with it by now but she's really not in the mood to care.)
Everything is frustrating, everyone is annoying, and by the time MJ makes it to the second floor reading room she's seconds away from either crying or kicking someone—she hasn't decided which yet.
And then, as if matters weren't bad enough, the absolute worst has happened.
Some fucker with messy hair and the most obnoxiously orange hoodie is sitting in her seat.
MJ has sat in the same seat for the past three weeks. It's the first desk on the right side of the room, right by the window. It has a good view of the campus greenery, it's close enough to the exit to make sure toilet or coffee breaks aren't a hassle, and most importantly, it's in view of the stacks of books for subjects beginning with P.
And everyday for the past three weeks, MJ has arrived at around 4pm, and left at around 10pm, and she's never had to fight anyone for that seat.
But she's more than prepared to today.
She marches over to orange hoodie boy, hiking her backpack higher up on her shoulder as she reaches out and taps him solidly on the shoulder.
He startles a little, pulling one of his earphones out as he looks at her wildly.
"Can I help you?" He says.
And maybe it's the way he raises his brow at her, or the annoying sound of his voice, of the way he's holding his earphone just a few centimetres away from his ear as if he's preparing to put it back in soon—or maybe it's none of those things—but MJ really, really wants to hit him over the head with her book bag.
"That's my seat." MJ says calmly, but she can feel her nostrils flare and her jaw tense as she says it.
The boy stares at her for a long while, as if he can't comprehend the words that have just come out of her mouth.
"Huh?" He says.
MJ takes a calming breath that doesn't do much for the anger bubbling inside her. "Listen." She says sharply. "I get here every afternoon at 4pm and leave at 10pm every night. And I sit here every single time. It's the only place I can think. And it's..." she trails off to check the time on her watch, "4:09 right now, so I'm gonna need you to get up."
Orange hoodie boy has an odd expression on his face as he looks up at her. Almost like he's torn as to whether he should burst out laughing or contact the campus counsellor for her. After a moment of studying her he raises a brow, leaning back in his (her) chair as he pulls out both of his earphones and drops them onto the desk.
"Well," he says, interlocking his fingers, "I get here at 10am everyday and leave at 4pm. Only, I tend to get bored and leave a few minutes early—so one might say...this is my seat." He counters.
By now this little standoff of theirs has attracted a small audience, and MJ would probably feel embarrassed if she weren't so damn angry. "That's not—"
"You should probably thank me," he interrupts, "you know, for the fact this seat is always free for you at 4."
MJ gets closer to full on furious tears with every single word that comes out of his smug little mouth. "That's...this...you're..." she stammers.
His expression changes as he looks at her, to something softer, something kinder. He seems to take pity on her before the ticking time bomb of her patience finally explodes and sends the entire library crashing down into a pile of rubble.
"You know what?" He says after a moment, reaching out to close his books and stack them. "I was just finishing up anyway."
As MJ stands there shifting on her feet and adjusting her bag on her shoulder while she watches him stuff his things into his backpack, she suddenly feels terrible. And awkward. And more than a little ashamed.
But when he stands up and throws his bag over his shoulder he smiles at her, an easy, lighthearted smile before saying, "Happy studies."
And then he's gone, and MJ clears her throat as she slowly sits down in the seat he's just vacated and begins to unzip her bag. Slowly the six or so students who had watched the drama unfold go back to their work without another word. Except for the nosy girl sitting across from her who feels the need to keep staring.
"Got a problem?" MJ shoots quietly.
The girl immediately shakes her head and casts her gaze downwards, pretending to read.
MJ sighs, finally opening up to the back of her psych textbook and beginning to scan the practice questions.
What a day this has been.
tuesday
MJ overstretches on her midday pre-library nap. She wakes up with a start fifteen minutes later than she'd planned, and all her rushing only enables her to gain back about five minutes.
It's about 4:10 when she bursts through the door of the second floor reading room and makes a beeline for her seat.
In her haste she knocks shoulders with someone, stumbling a little on her feet. When she turns around to apologise she's taken aback by the face she sees. It's him. Orange hoodie guy. Except today his hoodie is a forest green colour instead. He has his hood pulled up, dark waves of hair peaking out from the front as he looks back at her with amusement on his face.
MJ's relieved when she deduces that he's on his way out, but the relief is short lived when she looks over at her desk just in time to see someone else waltz over and sit down.
"No no no!" She mutters, grasping at the roots of her hair with exasperation. "Fuck."
She hears a snorted laugh come from beside her and turns to look back at hoodie guy, fuming as he shrugs at her unhelpfully before slinging his backpack over his shoulder and walking leisurely toward the exit.
MJ groans, letting her book bag slip off of her slumped shoulder and hit the floor. She can't go over there and fight for the seat again—she's pretty sure doing that two days in a row will have her dragged out by campus security.
With a heavy sigh she turns around and drags her bag over to the other side of the room in search of somewhere to sit.
wednesday
MJ gets to the library late again today. Through no fault of her own this time. Her landlord finally decided to come over and check out the leaky faucet in the bathroom and really outstayed his welcome. It's 4:55pm when she finally arrives and she's not hopeful. But when she gets to the second floor and sees that her desk is still free, she smiles with relief and thinks that the universe must be on her side for the first time this week.
But all her hopes come crashing down when she gets to the desk and sees a notice printed on a piece of paper and stuck down on it.
Desk broken. Please do not use.
"What?" She mutters dejectedly. With a heavy sigh she looks up and around the room and sees that every other seat is already filled, and no one looks to be moving any time soon.
She huffs, reaching out to push at the desk a little, to see what exactly is wrong with it. As she glances down her eyes catches the corner of a bright pink note hidden just beneath the piece of paper. She almost doesn't bother to inspect, but her curiosity gets the better of her.
Her brows furrow as she reaches underneath the out of order sign to pull the sticky note off of the desk and read it.
Psst! If the girl with the curly hair and black backpack is reading this...the desk isn't broken. Just saving it for you.
You're welcome!
From, the guy who does the day shift—aka, Peter Parker.
MJ feels herself blush intensely, and she glances around before pulling out the chair and slowly sitting down. She reads over the note three times, then a forth, and then a fifth, before shaking her head at herself and sticking it back down in the corner of the desk as she retrieves her books from her bag.
She can hardly remember what he looks like, but his soft brown eyes and crooked smile come to her mind all of a sudden. All of a sudden she's thinking of his messy wavy hair and bright hoodies, and she can't help but reach for the note again. She feels a little giddy just looking at it, which makes her concerned about the current state of her existence because there is absolutely no reason why she should be this excited over a damn sticky note.
Perhaps it's more about the gesture. The effort he went to to print out a sign to save this seat for her. Maybe he did it out of pity, having witnessed the first few stages of her finals-induced emotional breakdown firsthand. Either way, it's sweet. Possibly the sweetest thing anyone's done for her in recent memory, and that's...pretty sad too.
She shakes her head, setting the note aside again as she tries her best to focus on studying. "Okay..." she breathes, "organisational behaviours..."
By 10pm, MJ has her books packed up and ready to go after a fairly successful study session. But before she leaves, she takes another glance over at he pink sticky note on the corner of her desk.
She bites her lip thoughtfully before unzipping her bag and reaching for a pen and a small pad of yellow sticky notes. She bends over the desk and writes out a quick message.
Hi Peter Parker
Thank you for saving the seat for me.
And sorry for being so weird about it the other day. Finals, amirite? Turns out that surviving on coffee and minimal sleep can make me a little combative.
I hope everything's going well with you.
From, MJ—the gal on the evening shift.
She tucks the note under the broken desk sign, sticking it down with just a single yellow corner peaking out from beneath the white paper. Then she drops her pen and pad of notes into her bag, before making a last-ditch decision to collect Peter's pink note and put that in her pocket.
She leaves the library with a small smile on her face.
thursday
MJ feels like shit today. She hardly got any sleep last night due to Gwen's late night antics with a guy from her study group. For two people whose sole purpose of meeting was to study, MJ has not once seen either of them open up a single book. Instead, they spend most of their time opening condom wrappers and legs.
The walls in her apartment aren't super thin, but perhaps the stress and irritation has heightened MJ's sense of hearing. Maybe it's the jealousy too. Gwen's on course to ace all of her finals, and has also managed to find a guy she really likes (who, by the sound of things, is also really good in bed). MJ, on the other hand, can hardly recall the basics of psychology and hasn't had sex in so long that she suspects she may have forgotten how it even works.
She treks her way through campus on autopilot, making her way to the second floor of the library. She feels a little better when she sees her seat is free, the 'broken desk' sign still working its magic.
There's another sticky note. Just like yesterday, but also, not at all like yesterday. This time it's blue, not pink. And instead of being hidden under the sign, it's attached to the side of a venti coffee cup.
MJ's brows furrow when she reaches out to collect the note and feels warmth from the cup against her fingers. The handwriting is the same as yesterday, and she feels a weird flutter in her chest as she reads it.
Finals are kicking my ass too, don't worry about it. Since you're surviving on coffee I thought I'd help you out with that. I hope it's still hot by the time you get here. It's an oat latte. I had to take a guess at your order but you seem like someone who drinks oat milk.
Mind if I ask what your major is?
Anyway, study hard—but not too hard ;)
From Peter Parker, aka saver of seats and supplier of coffee.
MJ breathes out a disbelieving laugh as she reaches out and grasps the coffee cup. She sits down slowly, dumping her book bag on the floor. Objectively, she probably shouldn't drink this. A guy she's met all of two times for a total of no more than five minutes, who she's exchanged a couple of notes with isn't the most reliable person to accept edible gifts from.
But fuck it, if it kills her at least she won't have to sit her exams next week. She takes a sip, and her eyes flutter shut at how good it tastes. It's not scorching hot, but still warm enough to make her feel relaxed and fuzzy inside.
She has no clue what's happening here, what this little thing he's doing is, but she has to admit to herself that it's...making her feel a certain way. She wonders what his angle is, if he even has one. The rational side of her mind is telling her that there's no such thing as a free coffee and she should cut this off before things get weird. But then, there's another side of her. The side that secretly likes watching romcoms and cries a little when sees old people holding hands in the street and sometimes wishes she knew what it was like to be in love. That side makes her throw caution to the wind a little, makes her savour each sip of her oat latte as she lets it warm her hands and heart.
At 10 MJ starts packing up her stuff to go home, but when she opens her bag an idea occurs to her. She fishes out a few snacks she didn't get round to eating—an orange, a couple energy bars and a pack of skittles—and piles them up in the corner of the desk. She pulls out her pad of sticky notes and begins to write.
Peter,
The coffee was still warm—even though the library was freezing today. (I think someone fucked with the air conditioning and I'm not happy about it.)
You really didn't have to do that, but I really appreciate that you did. Thank you.
And, I'm a psych major. You?
Anyway, here's some stuff you can eat if you want, you know...if you get peckish.
From MJ, aka, your friendly library snack dealer.
She sticks the note to one of the energy bars before getting up and making her way home.
friday
MJ gets to the library with anticipation fluttering in her stomach today.
It's stupid, and childish, that she could hardly sleep last night wondering what she would encounter at her desk in the library today. But it's objectively the most exciting thing going on in her life right now so she's not too mad at herself for being completely taken by it.
She's on time today, and when she walks into the second floor reading room the 'broken' sign still clings to her empty desk. She smiles when she walks up to it and sees her note and snacks from yesterday are gone, but her attention is immediately drawn to something else instead.
There's a red hoodie flung over the back of the chair with a bright green note stuck to the back of it. MJ peels off the note and reads it with butterflies swimming in her stomach.
MJ,
Thought this might be of use to you, if you're cold again. Someone most definitely did fuck with the air. Don't worry, the hoodie's clean ;)
I'm a physics major. Although I might as well be a geography major or something because I feel like I know sweet little about physics rn.
Hope you can read this—my pen's running out of ink and I don't have a spare (if you haven't realised by now, I'm a terrible student)
From, Pete.
P.S., thank you for the snacks, I inhaled them all in five seconds flat. Skittles are my favourite.
A horribly jovial giggle bubbles up out of MJ's lips and her hand flies up to cover her mouth when the person opposite her tells her to shush. She sits down slowly, pulling the hoodie off the back of the chair and holding it in her lap. This is...weird. It's really weird. She can't put on the clothes of a person she barely knows. But she can't shake the fact that on some level she feels like she does know him. Or at least that she's starting to.
Without another thought on the matter she shucks off her denim jacket and pulls the hoodie on over her head. It's incredibly soft, a little too big, but she finds an odd sense of comfort in the excess room. He wasn't lying about it being clean. It smells mainly like cheap laundry detergent. But beneath that is another smell, something she doesn't recognise, something woody and a little sweet. And the realisation that she's smelling him sends an electric jolt through her body which shoots straight between her legs.
She shakes her head, resists the urge to bring the fabric up to her nose and inhale, and gets her books out of her bag.
At 10pm she's already writing her note:
Pete,
Firstly, thank you for the hoodie, it really helped. How many of these do you have by the way? Seems like you have a whole rainbow full. Anyway…
She pauses writing, looking around on her desk for something she can leave him in return. She glances over his note once more, and then reaches for her pencil case. She picks out a black pen, a blue pen, a yellow highlighter, and a 2B pencil with an eraser.
...you said you had no pens left so...here you are. You don't have to give them back. I like to think of this as an investment into your education.
From M.
P.S., don't beat yourself up...I feel like the defining trait of physics majors is knowing absolutely nothing about physics ;)
She sticks the note to the highlighter and pushes all the items to the corner of the desk before standing up and grabbing her bag. It takes her a second to realise she's still wearing the hoodie. For some reason, it's a little hard to part with. But she takes it off anyway, folding it up and leaving it on the seat before she leaves.
saturday
There's no note today.
MJ gets to her desk at 4pm to see that it's exactly how she left it at 10pm last night. Peter's hoodie is still folded neatly on the seat, and the pens she left him sit untouched beneath the note in the corner of the desk.
Her chest deflates. And then she feels worried. She hopes Peter's okay, that nothing bad has happened to him or that he isn't too stressed out about finals or—
MJ shakes her head, immediately feeling stupid. Why is she worried about a guy she doesn't even know? He's probably fine. In fact, he's probably just bored of her, of this little game he's been playing. He's probably moved on to something more interesting, someone better.
She clears her throat and moves the hoodie so she can sit down. She reaches out and scoops up the pens she left him along with the note and stuffs them all into her bag before focussing on her work.
When 10pm rolls around she considers leaving another note, but decides against it. Maybe this little thing of theirs has run its course.
With a soft, disappointed sigh, she packs away her things and goes home.
sunday
MJ almost doesn't make it to the library on Sunday. She's tired, and fed up, and she thinks she might be coming down with something. But she pushes herself. One final push before finals start.
She drags herself into the library like a zombie, reminiscing about times when the most she had to worry about was a six hour shift at the bakery on a Sunday.
But her entire mood changes when she gets to the second floor reading room and sees that there's a note on her desk. Her footsteps quicken as she makes her way towards it, ripping off the pink sticky note and bringing it up to her face to read.
MJ,
I usually don't come here on weekends, but I didn't know where else to find you. So here's hoping you see this.
If you are seeing this, Sunday is no day to be studying. Especially with finals starting on Monday. My aunt always says, "If you don't know it now, you're not gonna know it by tomorrow."
On that note...meet me downstairs for dinner instead? Please?
From Peter, aka the guy who really wants to buy you dinner today
Well, this is…not at all what she’d expected today. She’d expected to come here, study fruitlessly for a couple hours, before stress-crying, eating chocolate and bran bars for dinner, and then going home.
But dinner with Peter sounds far more appealing. (And also infinitely scarier and a thousand times more thrilling). She bites her lip, trying to make a rational decision. But she realises that Peter has already done the rationalising for her. He’s right, or rather, his aunt is right. There’s nothing she can learn tonight that will stick for tomorrow. So why doesn’t she just go for dinner with the strange boy who might, if she’s really lucky, end up becoming her first crack at romance in a long, long time.
She snatches the note off the desk and shoves it into her pocket as she turns around and walks back the way she came.
She finds him sitting on the library steps when she exits the building. He’s back in the orange hoodie today, minus the backpack, and MJ likes to think there’s some sentimentality in him choosing to wear the same thing he was wearing the day they first met.
“Peter?” She says softly as she comes up behind him.
He turns around, and immediately stands up when he sees her. “Hey.” He sighs out, his face relaxing into a relieved smile.
MJ breathes out a gentle laugh. “Hey.”
They go to one of the campus cafes and order a couple of sandwiches with some fries to share.
But their highly anticipated dinner ends up not being all that MJ had hoped it would be. Peter hardly talks. The openness and wit from his notes and gestures isn’t there in person, and instead he answers MJ’s questions with single word answers and unintelligible shrugs and noises.
MJ figures it’s just her luck. This could have been the meet-cute of the century, but alas, stuff like this never happens to her. In hindsight she thinks she was rather foolish to believe it would.
When their plates are mostly empty and they’re awaiting the check, MJ finally gives up on trying to make conversation and decides it’s easier to just sit in wildly uncomfortable silence.
She sighs quietly as she glances out of the window, wishing she’d spent this time studying instead.
"Hey, do you have any notes on you? And a pen?" Peter asks out of the blue, breaking the awkward silence.
MJ's brows furrow. "Um...y-yeah." She stammers, before reaching into her backpack and producing the requested items. She slides the pad of sticky notes and a pen across the table to him with an inquisitive look on her face. "What...what do you need—" she cuts herself off when she sees him start to scribble away and instead tries and fails to make sense of his writing upside down.
She doesn’t have to struggle for long though, because a few seconds later he puts the pen down on top of the small square pad and pushes it back over to her.
She frowns at him as she turns it around slowly before looking down and reading.
I’m sorry I’ve been shitty company.
Guess I'm a bit (a lot) nervous...and I think it's because I kind of (really) like you.
A kaleidoscope of butterflies is released in her stomach all at once. And she almost feels sick with excitement and anticipation. She looks up, sees the vulnerable, open look on his face, and smiles at him. Soft, wide, and genuine.
And then she looks down and tears off the sticky note he’s just written on, setting it aside, before writing hurriedly on the blank one beneath it. As she scribbles out her words she’s acutely aware of the imprint his own words have left on this piece of paper. And there’s something sweet about it, something quite romantic.
She bites her lip as she pushes the pad back to him once she’s finished writing,
I think I kind of like you too.
When he finishes reading and looks up at her, she thinks the smile on his face might be the most beautiful thing she’s seen in a long while.
six months later
When MJ wakes up the bed beside her is empty but the sheets are still warm. She smiles as she stretches her arm out across the bed and breathes in the scent of the pillow next to hers. Woody and a little sweet.
She's about to roll over and catch a few more moments of sleep, but then she sees it. Stuck right in the middle of his pillow, a bright orange note. She grins as she sees his familiar scrawl, and she pulls it off the pillow to read it.
My MJ,
Happy 6 month anniversary.
I love you.
From Peter, aka the guy who still can't believe you're dating him x
MJ laughs softly, pressing the note to her chest, holding it over her heart for a moment. She breathes out softly before sitting up and stretching out her arms. She swings her legs over the side of the bed and stands up, padding her way barefooted into the hall. She can hear the shower running, can small the faint scent of his soap coming from the crack in the bathroom door.
She pushes the door open and steps into the bathroom, the hot steam from the shower engulfing her. She can hear him humming to himself in there, which makes her chuckle to herself. It sounds like some kind of cartoon theme tune or something.
MJ reaches for the hem of her (his) shirt and pulls it up over her head, dropping it down on the floor by her feet. She pulls back the shower curtain gently, and steps inside as quietly as she can. It's futile though, her stealthiness, because she knows by now that Peter probably heard her coming from down the hall.
"Morning." MJ breathes over the sound of the splashing water as she wraps her arms around his waist, pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder.
Peter turns around in her grasp, and the feel of his wet, naked skin brushing against hers makes her weak in the knees.
He smiles at her widely, leaning in to press a soft, passionate kiss to her lips. "Mmm." He hums against her. "Morning love."
"Happy six monthiversary, Peter Parker." MJ says with a smile. "Nice touch with the sticky note, by the way. Very authentic."
Peter smirks, his fingers roaming inquisitively across all her edges and curves. "Glad you appreciated it."
MJ slides both of her hands to the sides of his face and draws him in for another long kiss. "Plans for today?" She asks.
Peter shakes his head easily. "Only whatever you want to do."
MJ smirks, moving her right hand down from his face to his neck, and then to his chest, his stomach, and then—"I have some ideas."