How Michelle Jones Finally Got to Kiss Peter Parker

the one time peter almost told mj he was spider-man

seven weeks before

Peter was glad he was wearing the mask right now, because he could feel the tears coming.

His nostrils, his throat, his tear ducts told him so, just because he saw an arc reactor replica on the front of a comic book store. Proof that Tony Stark has a heart, it read.

Reading it made him feel like a sponge dunked into a cold ocean, the force in his chest heavy even though nothing hit him, and suddenly, he couldn't breathe.

"Hey Spider-Man, could I get a photo?" someone was calling out to him from the street, but he didn't hear. In fact, he couldn't hear anything other than Tony Stark's echoing voice, as he attempted to shoot his web and just try to get away, far away from there.

Except there was nowhere he could go where the pain didn't exist.

He pulled his mask off hastily when he finally found himself alone on one of the rooftops in the city, trying to breathe, gasping for air like it would help the pain, but as he let himself collapse against the roof all he could do was start crying.

"Ah, shit, no, no, no," he groaned to himself, the tears coming hot and fast, his breathing coming back in short, sporadic spikes.

For a while he just let himself be. He let him curse out the world that gave him Tony Stark but took it away too damn fast, he let himself replay the night of his death over and over and over, he let himself apologize to the wind, hoping it would reach a dead man's ears, until his tears were dry and he just lay there, tired, the personification of a wrung out rug.

The night's job wasn't done, but God, he was weak. He kept thinking that maybe the world would be a little more generous tonight and let the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man rest, all the way as he swung back to his apartment.

He let his suit fall down to the ground as soon as he stepped in, pulling his mask off and throwing it in the pile on the floor, and Peter just fell into his bed in his boxers, running his hands through his damp hair and his swollen, tired face, absentmindedly reaching for his phone.

He scrolled through it, meme after meme, viral video after viral video flooding his timeline, and it usually helped him, usually induced enough endorphins for him to shove the image of Tony Stark's death into a small box in the corner of his brain and move on for a while, but tonight it wasn't like that.

He felt like drowning. He felt like the surface of the water was thousands of feet above him, the shore, millions.

It was a small ding from his phone that pulled him out of it, just for a little bit.

Mj sent you a video.

Mj. Mj.

He didn't know why, but a lightness in his chest touched him for a little bit when he thought of her, and Peter clicked on the banner as soon as it popped up on his screen. It was a cat video. He didn't watch it.

Instead, he typed without hesitating.

Hey Mj.

Her reply came in seconds. Did you watch hahaha

Peter typed faster. Yeah, he lied. Are you at home?

To that, she didn't reply as fast, but she finally did just as the boy pulled on some clothes.

Yeah... weird

Can I come over?

He didn't feel the weight of those words as he sent them, with his mind still buzzing and whirring and all over the place, but he should have, and he should've realized the very real chance it would make his friendship with Mj really weird. He was lucky she said yes.