Chapter Text
It took Peter Parker five years to ask MJ out after they became friends the end of his sophmore year. Five years of friendship that consisted of movie nights, study sessions, beer pong championships, decathlon wins and lots and lots of fights. The best and worst thing about his relationship with MJ was that she was never afraid to call him on his shit, even before they became close. But once she felt really at home in the little group that he, Ned and MJ made in high school she started to ask questions.
Superhero related questions.
And he lied. Of course he lied. Mr. Stark was always warning him to keep things close to his chest, that the more people that knew who was behind the mask the more dangerous things would be for the people Peter cared about. Ned and May both found completely by accident, he had lied to himself back then when he reasoned hiding his identity from MJ, and that if he could go back and change the pair of them knowing, he would.
MJ liked to joke that the real reason they hadn't started dating in high school, which they always had felt on the precipice of doing back then, was because Peter had some dumb noble reason related to her safety. She liked to only halfheartedly joked that it was that dumb noble reason that made him start dating Betty Brant their senior year. That joke always felt forced. Not that Peter blamed him. He really screwed the pooch on that one.
They had been so close, then, he remembered. The decathlon team had even started a betting pool about when he and MJ would crack and make-out with each other's faces. And they almost did. But Peter really fucked it up at the finish line.
Flash had thrown a party, an end of junior year bash, and Peter had prepping himself all week to take the plunge. That night he had planned to dress his best, get some alone time with Michelle and tell her how he felt or kiss her. Whichever came first.
The night had been a mess of flashing lights and drinks so strong that only irresponsible teenagers would have mixed a concoction so damn deadly. Ned was three cups deep when he stumbled over to Peter, throwing an arm around his best friend.
His breath was murder as Ned did his best attempt at a whisper drunk, "It's my friend. It's Peter!"
Peter had clapped Ned on the shoulder with an easy smile, "Dude, you good?"
"Oh Peter," Ned pat Peter on the head, "You poor sap."
He remembered the confusion of that comment swirling up inside him the way only vague comments could really attack someone's confidence. But he remembered trying to act cool and collected. He had convinced himself that night was going to be perfect. He was just short an MJ.
And that was when it had all gone wrong.
"Harry Osborn's here," Ned said, as if that explained anything.
"Okay?" Peter had said slowly, waiting for Ned to make any sense. He remembered when Harry had transferred to their school in the middle of junior year. He hadn't joined the decathlon team but he'd been friendly to all of them. In fact, Peter had considered them friends at the time. Now, well, it was more complicated (see: Green Goblin), but back then they'd been decent friends.
Until-
"He and MJ are making out in the backyard."
And, even now, Peter could recall the feeling those words sucker-punched into his chest. How stupid he felt for making a big deal about that night, how much expectation he had thrust onto their friendship. He remembered telling himself that he had misread all of the signs, all of the touches, their laughs and moments. His MJ, the version that was dating him five years later, liked to remind Peter that drunk people were not the most reliable news delivery source.
Later, he would find out that Harry had kissed Michelle, sure, but that MJ had politely told him she wasn't into him. MJ's politeness even extended to a kick in the shin and drink in Harry's face.
But in the height of teenage self-pity, Peter fucked up every chance he had with Michelle. The edge, the precipice of something they were on, blew up in a fourth of July fireworks spectacular level explosion.
He had found Betty Brant, who had been innocently making herself a drink at the bar, when he crowded her against the table and kissed her. Her surprise had been evident (apparently everyone outside of decathlon also knew about the weird something Peter and MJ had going on) but she'd caved. Peter might have chosen her because he knew she'd harbored a little crush on him. It wasn't his proudest moment.
When MJ found him later he was attached at the mouth and hip to Betty. Ned, later, described the Betty-Peter first make out session as a gross tangle of hands and tongues. He hadn't seen Michelle the rest of the night but the point was that she had seen him.
MJ only liked to half-joke about his relationship with Betty Brant, now. Only half.
After that catastrophe they were barely friends for six months. Both of them mad at the other for silly things that only high schoolers thought were important. And in those six months, Peter lost his virginity, nearly got exposed as Spider-man by his girlfriend's father and was recruited to be an official Avenger when Thanos touched down.
Thanos was why he and MJ became friends again. At the end of the world, the things that are important really become apparent. And if he was going to go off to war, maybe die, he wanted to do it with no secrets between them.
He'd ended things with Betty the day before he was expected to go upstate for training and that night he went to Michelle's house. Opened her window and slipped inside still in his suit.
He had taken off his mask, clutched it to his chest as he considering waking her. She looked so much younger in her sleep, even now Peter thought that. Every night when she cuddled up to his side with a grumble for him to move over.
But then, oh then, it had been his first time seeing her asleep. It warmed his bones and made him want to refuse the call to battle. Tony had told him, after all, that he could choose to stay behind. He wasn't an adult, he had no obligation to this fight.
He had touched her shoulder and whispered her name.
She came to slowly and then all at once. Her eyes blinked and took in the suit and the look on his face and she had known. Everyone had seen Thanos touch down on the news, everyone knew what was coming. War was inevitable and Peter was a soldier.
He hadn't said anything stupid like "surprise, I'm Spider-man" or declared his ever-dying love for her, he was teenager and love was a terrifying emotion he preferred to ignore. Instead, he sat on her bed, took her hand and apologized, "I'm sorry I let six months go by."
She had sat up so they were face-to-face and wiped her sleepy eyes, "So, you're going then?"
He nodded, "Have to."
"That's what my Dad always says before he signs up for another tour overseas. He has to. I think its bullshit. I think you want to."
"It's both," Peter had conceded, "I want to and I have to. I can do things other people can't, MJ. Super things. And if I don't go and people die when I could have saved them...that's on me."
She had hugged him for the first time in months and he remembered feeling the wind kicked out of him, "What about me?"
"I'm gonna come back," he promised.
"My Dad always says that, too."
He remembered gently brushing her wild curls off of her face. Their eyes meeting in the middle like a sweet, desperate moment of connection. Like she was trying to memorize the way he moved in case he died. He had smiled, weak, "Stop comparing me to your Dad."
"Don't die, Parker. I've got plans for you and me."
And that had been it. She hadn't kissed him, they hadn't fallen into bed together or let their passions overwhelm them. All of that would come later.
Just like he promised her, Peter didn't die. But he spent five months fighting Thanos. He missed his senior graduation, he missed prom and high school parties. He missed everything and lost even more.
When the fighting was done and the world was finally free of Thanos, Peter didn't leave headquarters for another month with the rare exception of attending an Avengers' funeral. There were a lot of people to bury in those days. Tony and Steve and Captain Rhodes and Natasha and Nick Fury.
In August, even in death, Tony Stark saved Peter from himself. Happy brought him a letter from Tony. Peter still had the letter. It was the letter that brought him back into the world after Thanos' War.
It was short, perfunctory.
"Peter,
If you're reading this letter....I'm dead.
I can't be there to guide you now. You gotta do that part on your own.
I know you'll be better than we ever were. Do one last thing for me?
You friend,
Tony"
Peter found his acceptance to MIT and a check to foot the bill of college.
It took some time but he couldn't deny Tony anything, even in death. He moved to Cambridge, which luckily wasn't far from the upstate headquarters, and went to school. And there, he slowly started to repair his relationships. May, first. She took the longest. She hadn't understood why Peter hadn't said goodbye. Ned was next. That took hardly any time at all. And lastly, he reached out to MJ.
She wasn't far, Harvard and MIT were in the same city, but she had been distant. Aunt May had been furious and then upset, but Michelle was cold. But slowly, they grew back together, and by their sophomore year of college they were friends again.
Their junior year, five years of friendship and something more, Peter cracked. He wasn't heading off to a battle or in the middle of a passion filled speech about his feelings for her. It was quiet, their beginning.
She was laying on his bed in his apartment in Cambridge with a highlighter in her hair, her eyes squinting at the text in front of her. She popped her head up and groaned, "I'm all for authors fucking with form. But sometimes punctuation helps, you know?"
And that was it. He kissed her. Barely, it was more like his mouth brushed against hers.
It was a comfortable and casual feeling and he kicked back beside her after the kiss, "Let the authors do what they want, MJ."
She blushed, and Peter could have fist pumped to the sky. "What was that, Parker?"
He grinned, "What was what?"
"Don't play dumb, MIT. What was that?"
"Oh, that was a kiss."
"That much I gathered."'
"Glad we sorted that."
She paused and found a smaller version of her voice, "Do I only get one?"
Peter pulled the book out of her hands and inched her onto her back on his bed. He wasn't a nervous teenager anymore. He knew what he wanted and he knew that waiting was something that scared little boys did, not self-assured young men. Michelle's eyes blinked up at him in cautious curiosity. He loved that look, that look of suspicion and gentleness all-in-one. Even after all of this years, there was a small part of her that didn't trust him to stay. And he delighted in proving her wrong. Again, and again. With a glint to his eye, he offered, "As many as you want."
MJ rolled her eyes up at him but carded her fingers through his floppy, tangled hair. He closed his eyes, relishing the touch. "That was super lame," she whispered.
He opened his eyes and practically beamed down at her, "You like me."
She huffed and he could have squeezed her for how adorable she was being. "I tolerate you."
"I like you," he mumbled, taking her lips again. She arched her body up against his and fisted her hands in the back of his shirt, desperately trying to rid him of it. He laughed and helped her pull the shirt over his head. Her cold hands touched his bare chest and he hissed, "Damn, MJ. Hands. Watch it."
She kissed his face, in a rare display of sweetness, "I like you, too. In case you missed that."
"Believe it or not," he grinned, "I got that."
"And I want to date you," she tacked on.
"I got that, too," Peter smirked.
"And like...meet my family and shit."