Dirty Little Secret

Chapter 1 - Monsters in the Dark

The body isn't supposed to forget how to breathe.

So why did it feel like Peter's lungs were constricting, unabling oxygen to flow through?

"No," he moaned in his sleep. He writhed in his sheets, sweat drenching them.

His eyelids remained shut but his eyes moved wildly underneath them, as if he was seeing nothing and everything at the same time. His breathing was uneven and shallow, a few gasps escaping here and there.

The rest of New York City slept, unbothered, as the rain poured down on the streets, making the world a lot more darker than usual. A flash of lighting and the roar of thunder suddenly woke Peter. He sat upright in his bed with his fists clenching his sheets.

He panted as he ran his hands down his face and then up and through his hair. He looked outside his window as he gathered his surroundings. After a few minutes of trying to calm himself down, he threw the covers off and stood before making his way into the bathroom. Pulling on the small string attached to a lightbulb, the fading light illuminated his face reflecting back at him through the mirror. His eyes were hollow, his skin pale and clammy. His brown curls were in disarray. The vague shadow of facial hair made him aware that he was due for a shave.

He leaned down and splashed his face with some cool water and gripped the edges of the sink as he reminded himself that it was all a dream.

More like a nightmare.

He decided that making some coffee or tea will help him relax but as he exited the bathroom and started to make his way downstairs, he felt his legs shake like as if he had just run a whole marathon.

"C'mon, Peter. It's over. You're awake now," he muttered to himself as he forced himself down onto the first floor where it opened up to his living room/kitchen.

He checked the time on the microwave; a little after five. That meant he wouldn't even be able to try to sleep again before getting ready for school.

He opened a cabinet and frowned when he saw he was missing both coffee and tea.

"Crap," he said and returned back up the stairs and into his closet. He figured he could go grab a drink at the coffee shop down the street.

Leaning down, he pulled out a huge, black trunk and laid his thumb on the bottom right side. A small ping signaled his thumbprint was approved and a small latch protruded from the top. Peter pulled the chain that hid underneath his shirt and retrieved the small key that hung from it. He slid the key in, turned it and the trunk popped open.

Inside, a black spandex-like material covered whatever was underneath it. Peter grabbed his suit and stared at it, thinking if maybe he should skip the coffee run and check out what was happening in the city instead.

He shook his head and dropped it back down, pushing it aside to grab his favorite sweater. "Sorry, Karen," he said, as he locked the trunk and pushed it out of view.

He slipped on his sweater and grabbed his keys, wallet, and phone from his bedside table. Near the door, he put on his shoes and was about to seize his umbrella when he decided against it and walked out.

The air outside was cold and crisp and Peter could already feel his mind clearing. The rain had ceased but a small drizzle still fell on his cheeks so he reached for his hoodie and placed it over his head.

He began his walk down to the coffee shop, digging his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. The streets were almost empty; a few taxis driving by and even a few people running past on their morning jog.

It's been years since the war had occurred and although the nightmares have continued here and there, they were never like how it was tonight. It had felt too real.

Soft, yellow light glowed through the windows of the coffee shop as Peter neared it. He descended the small steps that led to their door and walked in, cleaning his wet shoes on the mat. The strong aroma of coffee and sweets hit his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, welcoming it. He slid his hoodie off and walked to the counter. Steam billowed from a machine as three baristas were hard at work completing orders.

"Chamomile tea with sweetener, please," he ordered as he took out a couple of bills to pay with.

"It'll be out in a few minutes," the lady behind the counter told him.

He nodded his thanks and turned to look for a seat. He found one near the windows, overlooking the street. He sat and noticed the sky beginning to get a bit lighter since he left his apartment. He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his text messages until he found Ned's name. He thought about calling him but then he remembered that he was probably still asleep. Aunt May too.

Peter sighed and put his phone down on the table and crossed his arms.

"Your tea," the lady announced as she placed a black cup with its adjoining plate down in front of him.

"Thank you," Peter muttered, barely glancing up.

He grabbed his cup and blew into it before taking a small sip. The warm and tangy liquid slid down his throat, spreading its warmth all throughout his body.

Perfect.

He continued to take small sips while he looked out the window, the sidewalk becoming a bit more crowded as people began their day. He watched feet dash this way and that, taking a look at their owners occasionally.

One pair of rainboots caught his attention and when he glanced up to see who dared wear such eccentric shoes, he choked on his tea, some of it coming up and out of his nose.

"Fuck!" He cursed under his breath as he tried to clean both his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his sweater.

He looked outside and the source of his almost-death was still standing outside. He recognized that face. He hadn't seen that face since... well since high school!

Peter thought about going outside and saying hi but then he looked down at himself and frowned. He was in the same clothes he had slept with, not to mention sweated in. He hadn't fixed his appearance since he last saw himself in the mirror so there was no way he was going out and greeting her like this.

He peered out the window again, carefully this time as to not attract any attention. He no longer saw her standing outside but then the door opened, letting the sound of the outside world in for a moment before it became muffled again.

"Shit. Crap," Peter whispered harshly as he tried to find a way to hide himself.

The familiar face had just walked in, along with a much smaller woman, who followed right behind her to the counter.

Peter pulled his hoodie up and stared down at his tea, his senses allowing him to listen in to what they were saying.

"This is a great place, MJ! How'd you find it?" The small woman chirped.

"Don't call me MJ. Only my friends call me MJ."

Peter glanced up then. Their backs were facing him but her wild curly hair identified her right away.

"But... I'm your assistant," the woman added, a hint of hurt in her voice.

"And...? MJ asked, looking down at her assistant. Peter remembered how tall she used to be back in high school. "Don't worry, Linda. You'll get there."

Linda smiled then, and nodded, content that she at least had a chance of having the honor to call her boss by her nickname.

Peter took the chance to admire the slight change MJ had gone through since high school. Her hair was pulled back in a half ponytail, the rest falling down almost to her waist. She wore jeans but a suit jacket on top. Then there were her bright blue and red rain boots and Peter couldn't help the big grin that formed on his lips. He guessed that nothing much had changed then, except their age.

He was too busy checking her out that he hadn't noticed her and Linda had turned around so that they were facing him.

"Holy shit."

His blood drained from his face as his eyes went wide with shock.

"Peter Fucking Parker," MJ whispered, a small half-smirk planted on her face.