Spideychelle one-shots

Worst Birthday Ever

If Peter had to pick a birthday that was worse than this one, he didn't think he would be able to. All of the things that could have gone wrong had. Aunt May had been called in for an emergency at work, Ned was away visiting his cousins, and Mr. Stark hadn't sent him so much as a text. Peter supposed that he shouldn't have expected Mr. Stark to remember his 16th birthday, but he had still gotten his hopes up.

And on top of all of that? Peter had a cold. So his day had consisted of being grumpily snuggled up on the couch, amidst a pile of used tissues and empty tea mugs.

To the casual observer, he may have resembled a disgruntled cat, curled up with his hair sticking out all over the place. He had immersed himself in a Star Wars marathon but had been unable to concentrate on the plot. Even a cheery happy birthday text from Ned hadn't lifted his spirits.

May had called, telling him she should be home later in the evening and that they could celebrate his birthday when she got back.

Peter idly flipped through the gallery on his phone, smiling at a picture of him and Ned from last weekend. He swiped again and paused. He'd stopped on a picture of MJ, light filtering through the windows of the school library and creating a halo around her. She was laughing, in the middle of making a weird face at him. He couldn't remember why he'd taken the picture or what they had been talking about, but he suspected that MJ had made that face just so he couldn't get a good shot.

But he thought it was perfect. She looked so happy, so full of life. Peter wondered what she was doing right then... Probably not thinking about him, that's for sure. Why would she ever like a loser like him.

She wouldn't. That was the answer. And Peter rued the day he'd let himself fall for her. She was his friend, and he wouldn't wreck that. He couldn't.

Even if it meant living his life as a lie. Because with every day that passed he loved her more. And he didn't think he could handle it. It was just that... Well, he had always imagined what love felt like. And in his head, it was this soft, fluffy thing full of rainbows and cloud nine and all that.

And maybe it was like that for some people. But for him? For him, it was feeling like he couldn't breathe when he wasn't her, or coming across a picture of her unexpectedly and just freezing. It was a constant ache, a pit of loneliness and the need to just be around her. And it wasn't like he was imagining large things either.

He dreamed of holding her hand, of brushing a piece of hair off her face or slinging an arm around her shoulders. Giving her his coat when she's cold, and then stealing hers back when she isn't looking. Waking up with her. Doing homework together. Falling asleep snuggled up on the couch. Arguing over TV shows.

A lifetime of moments and he didn't even know if she cared. If she remembered his birthday. If she would ever stop calling him loser, because even though he knew it was a term of endearment for her, he also suspected it was a way to keep people from getting to close. And he wanted to be inside the walls she put up, to be the one she told everything to and the one in on all her jokes.

He wanted to be hers.

And he had to do something. Peter sat on his couch, head in his hands, debating. What if he ruined their friendship? What if he told her he liked her and then she didn't feel the same way so it was awkward?

He was pulled from his thoughts when the door opened, revealing May, her arms full of bags.

"Hey, Birthday Boy," she said, dropping the bags on the table and giving him a hug.

"Hey," he said, his voice scratchy from sickness. "How was work?"

"Work is boring and not something we need to talk about on your birthday! How has your day been?" she asked, sitting down beside him on the couch.

He shrugged. "Okay, I guess."

"Oh, buddy. Have you just been lying around with your cold all day?"

"Ned's at his cousins', so..."

"I'm sorry I had to work today. It hasn't been that fun today, hasn't it?"

"Eh," he shrugged. "I had some time to think so that was nice. And I got to stay in my PJ's all day."

May smiled. "All right, how about you sit down and I'll make dinner, then we can go out to a movie or something. And of course, we have to do cake and presents..."

"You're going to bake a cake?" Peter asked, slightly alarmed.

His aunt laughed. "Don't worry, I bought one. From your favourite bakery! Now that you mention it, I should probably just order takeout."

She wandered into the kitchen, pulling the takeout menus from a drawer. "Oh yeah, I almost forgot. There was a package left outside of the door for you, I put it on the table."

Suddenly curious, Peter made his way to the table and starting moving the bags to the side, finally pulling out a brightly wrapped present.

"Do you know who it was from?" he asked, but his aunt was on the phone and she only mouthed a 'no' at him before moving back into the kitchen. Peter sat down and started unwrapping the soft present. It was wrapped neatly and precisely, unlike most of him or Aunt May's efforts. He pulled off the tape, revealing an envelope with his name neatly printed on the front. He opened it up, and pulled it out, noting the familiar handwriting. He knew that handwriting from somewhere... He didn't want to get his hopes up, but there was only one person he knew who wrote like that. He shook his head and began to read.

Hey Peter,

I guess it's your birthday or something, so congratulations.

I had to take this stupid Home Ec. class last semester and I knitted this hat. You can probably tell I've never knitted before.

Anyways, it's kinda weird and full of mistakes but also really soft, and it reminded me of you.

I hope you have a good birthday, loser. I'll see you at school, I guess.

-MJ

PS.: If you ever tell anyone I knitted you a hat, I'll send those photos of you pretending to be Ironman to Stark Industries. I'm sure Mr. Stark would love them.

Peter carefully pulled the hat out of the wrapping. It was a mixture of blues, super soft, and while she had claimed there were mistakes he couldn't see any. He tried it on, and it fit perfectly.

May came out of the kitchen, looking at him quizzically. "So who was it from?" she asked. "It's a very nice hat."

"Just a friend from school," Peter said, shrugging it off, but he was having trouble keeping a smile off of his face.

This was, definitely, the best birthday ever.