Spideychelle one-shots

Angst

"I know there's something up with you," MJ said. "You haven't looked at me in weeks, Peter. Ned either. What is going on with you?"

They were standing by the lockers after classes, Peter pulling out books and stuffing them in his bag. "I don't know what you're talking about, MJ," he said, wishing he was anywhere but there. Anywhere but anywhere, if that made any sense. He wanted to be nowhere.

"Come on, Peter. Is it Flash? Is there something going on at home?" MJ just kept pushing and pushing, and Peter couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't take any of it.

"God, MJ, it's not like you even care. Oh, don't look so surprised, all you do is call me and Ned losers. You're just friends with us because there isn't anyone else." He turned around before he could see the hurt on her face. "I have to go. Tell Ned I'll see him tomorrow."

He walked away, slipping his earbuds in and sighing as he walked out of the front doors of the school. Finally. If he'd had to spend another minute in that place, he was going to go crazy. He couldn't take it anymore. Flash, the endless amounts of homework, everybody-everybody-calling him a loser. Nothing he could about any of it.

Even Spiderman couldn't really make him happy anymore. All he saw when he was in the suit was more proof of the fact that humanity sucked. People robbing and stabbing and killing others all for their own profit.

And Mr. Stark still hadn't called him. It had been two months-two months- since Germany, and nothing. He didn't care about Peter either. Clearly, Peter hadn't been good enough.

Peter was never good enough.

He knew it would only be so long before Aunt May guessed something was wrong- he had only escaped her notice so far because she had been working a lot. The hours spent in his room; how uncommunicative he was; all things May hated. She said she wasn't going to let him get with being an 'angsty teen' all the time. Peter didn't care.

If people knew who he was, he would be cool. He wouldn't be shoved into lockers, or beaten up in the parking lot, or any of the myriad ways Flash and his gang made Peter's life a living hell.

He knew he shouldn't be taking it out on MJ and Ned. They were his friends. Or they had been before he'd pushed them away. And he was sure that MJ wasn't gonna let those comments slide.

But it was just so hard to care.

He took the subway home, to tired and listless to go out and save people. He'd just tell May that he'd been working so hard that Mr. Stark wanted to give him a day off. He walked quickly with his head down, hood up and music blasting. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, counting muscle memory to lead his feet to the apartment.

He didn't look up from his feet until they almost tripped over MJ's leg. She was sitting outside of his door, glaring up at him and clutching her bag.

"How do you know where I live?" he asked, shocked. "In fact, why are you even here? I'm pretty sure I made myself pretty clear back there."

Some small part of his brain was yelling at him to shut up, this was MJ, one of his best friends, the girl he liked-but he wasn't ready to deal with that yet.

Even if the way she was biting her lip and tucking her hands into the ends of her sweater made his breath catch in his throat.

"This is an intervention," she said, standing up and moving away from the door. "I'm not leaving until you tell me what's going on with you."

"Then you're going to be there for a very long time," he said, fumbling with his key.

"I bet May will love to hear your explanation as to why there's a girl sitting outside your door," she called after him. He paused for a moment, ruing the day he decided it was a good idea to have friends.

"Fine," he said, opening the door and ushering her through. "But you have to be gone before she gets back."

Suddenly there was a knot of nerves in his stomach, the awareness that he was alone with the girl he maybe liked hitting him like a ton of bricks.

MJ pulled off her bag, setting it on the floor and wandering into the living room.

Peter stared at her back, the swirling emotions inside of him making it hard to breathe. He was just so tired.

"Why won't you talk to me?" she asked, coming closer and standing in front of him. This close, he could count each individual freckle on her nose.

"I don't have anything to say," he said quietly, the words falling out of him. "I don't have anything, anymore. I don't..."

He trailed off, frustrated by his inability to put his feelings into words.

"Peter, I know that you're Spiderman," she said suddenly, looking him right in the eyes.

"W-what?"

"Ned told me." When she saw the look on his face, she put her hand on his arm. "Don't be mad at him. He was just worried about you."

Peter sighed, shifting on the balls of his feet. "I couldn't tell anyone," he said. "Ned found out by accident and I feel bad enough about that already. I didn't want you to get hurt, MJ. I couldn't bear it. If something happened to you...I think I'd lose myself."

"Peter, I'm not going to get hurt. Look, I'm safe, I'm right here in front of you."
He shook his head in frustration. "No, you don't understand. It's dangerous to be near me, MJ, and I can't lose you."

"Parker," she said fondly, reaching out and catching his wrist in her hand. "It's gonna take a lot more than the threat of danger to get rid of me."

Peter swallowed, not wanting to believe her, not wanting to let her get close. "I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it. I..." he shrugged. "I actually kinda like when you call me loser. Because I know you don't mean it. You don't, right?" He asked, eyes turning upwards to meet hers.

"No, I don't. I never have. It's just...hard for me to connect with people. Honestly, it scares me a little."

"Me too," Peter said, smiling.

Peter didn't think it was possible for MJ to get any closer, but then suddenly it was, and she did.
"I really like you, Peter," she whispered, and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his eyelashes.

"I really like you to," he replied, and, before he could lose his sudden spurt of courage, he leaned up and kissed her. Her lips were a little rough, a little chapped, and they tasted like spearmint and honey. She broke off, smiling, and tangled her fingers in his hair.

And Peter's heart skipped a beat.

"Good," she whispered. "Because you aren't getting rid of me that easily."