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MJ’s glad it’s a Saturday because that means she doesn’t have to sneak past any security guards to get to the roof of her old high school.
There’s no reason for her to be here. She doesn’t like the view and she’s not too keen on heights but it’s always quiet and there’s just something in her that is screaming at her to get away. To ignore the voices in her head that tell her she’s missing something. When she’s on the roof, she can ignore everything.
So, she sits down with her sandwich from Delmar’s that she unwraps even though she’s sure she’s not going to like it.
“Oh.”
She spins, seeing a guy standing at the bottom of the ladder, a similar bag in his hand and she hopes he got a nicer sandwich than her. It’s a little annoying that she has to share the roof today but for some reason, she doesn’t mind.
Maybe it’s because he looks like he’s in crisis and she does like to sketch the furrow between people’s brows. Maybe it’s because he’s cute from over here and she thinks he might be cuter up close. Maybe it’s the way her heart settled when she saw him. Maybe it’s because he looks like the guy in her sketchbooks. Maybe it’s because she swears she’s seen him before.
“What did you get?” she asks. She’s not sure why she’s talking to him because she really doesn’t like to talk to people at the best of times but he’s been hovering like he can't decide whether or not to sit down for almost a minute and she can't eat her sandwich with the nervous energy he’s letting off.
“Er, erm the number five,” he replies. She decides to look out at the horizon as opposed to the guy near her who has been squirming now for way too long because if she looks at him again she’ll get caught up in the blush of his cheeks and the way his thighs look way too nice under his ripped jeans.
“Snap,” she says, holding her sandwich up to him as she takes another bite. His eyes noticeably soften when she looks at him and she fights the urge to smile. Half because she doesn’t know him at all and half because her teeth will be full of a sandwich she doesn’t even like that much.
“Smushed down real flat I see,” he laughs, a pretty but unsure sound - like it’s the first time his body has ever reacted with humour.
“Mmmm, it tastes better,” she replies.
“I think so too!” he says, even though his sandwich is still in its wrapper. MJ isn’t sure why she wants him to stay up here. She likes her own company and she’s been meaning to come up to the roof to sketch, or lay down, or look for whatever she thinks is missing since she got back from Boston. But now she wants him to sit with her.
“Sit down, nerd.” That’ll work, be mean to him. God, she got over her awkward stage in Midtown she was pretty sure. Well, she can’t quite remember working on it but she has people fawning over her in college so why can’t she speak to this guy without having an internal breakdown?
Maybe it’s his fluffy hair and pink nose. Maybe it’s because he’s unfairly cute and she feels calm around him. But she’s spent the better part of a year questioning things she can’t understand and she’s so tired of it.
But then he shuffles sitting down next to her. He’s not touching her, not even close but as he crosses his legs she swears she can feel a pull. Like if she moved closer and leaned her head against his shoulder - he wouldn't push her away. It's stupid. But she entertains the thought anyway.
“I didn’t know anyone else came up here,” she says as she swallows another bite. It’s not a bad sandwich. It’s just not good.
“I like it up here,” he breathes, both hands on his food like he’s nervous she’s going to steal it. “It does something to my mind - like I can’t think about all the mundane things on the ground if I’m up here.”
“Yeah,” she says, a little too much excitement in her voice. “Like if your problems are on the ground and you’re in the sky, they can’t hurt you.”
“Something like that,” he laughs.
“Wish I could fly, then I’d just never go down,” she mumbles.
“Hmm, it would be nice. I’m Peter… by the way. Peter Parker.”
“Peter Parker! That’s why I recognise you,” she says, spinning to him slightly. His eyes are wide like he’s not sure they’ve ever met and she might be weird for telling him she recognises him from the bakery a year ago but she doesn’t like he’ll judge her anyway. So she tells him.
“From Peter Pans. You ordered a drink I know you never drank because no one even likes black coffee -”
“You remember that?” he asks, his cheeks pink. He clearly remembers too so it’s no big deal.
“Not everyone introduces themselves with their full name - I was waiting on your social security number as well.”
He laughs and it’s delightful and she feels all the better for it.
“Sorry,” he shrugs. “Don’t have one.”
“Loser,” she laughs with him. There’s no reason for her to feel this comfortable with him but she does and she’s so bored of trying to figure everything out - it never goes anywhere anyway. So she’s just going to lean into it.
“Can I tell you something crazy?” she asks.
“You can tell me anything,” he replies and she believes him. There’s no reason for her too but maybe you just have a link with someone when your random hideout spot is the same.
“I don’t even like the taste of this sandwich… even with it smushed down flat.”
“What - why are you eating it then?” he asks, riffling through his bag. “I have some sour sweets or -”
“It’s alright,” she laughs slightly. “I’ve already eaten half so I’m not hungry. I just - I get it every time and I don’t know what other than that’s all I can think about when I go to Delmar’s… Maybe my dad used to eat it or something It’s stupid - having a connection with food that I don’t remember or like.”
“It’s not stupid, Michelle,” he says, his voice far too melancholy for the dislike of a sandwich but she doesn’t push him on it.
“How do you know my name?” she asks, her brows furrowed.
“It was on your name tag,” he replies. Oh right, yeah.
“You remember that?”
“Yeah,” he shrugs. “You remembered -”
“Did you blip?” she asks, interrupting him but she can’t find it in herself to apologise. She’s never told anyone how she feels within her mind. That it feels like her heart is beating for someone she doesn’t know. But she wants to tell Peter and she’s chicken out if she thinks about it too long.
“Erm, er yeah, yeah I did,” he replies, his fingers pulling at the threads of his jeans and she wants to tell him to stop because judging by the bald knee patches, they’re about one fall from disintegrating.
“Was everything weird when you came back?” she asks, turning to face him properly even if she’s going to spend the whole time looking at her hands.
“In - erm, in what way?”
She takes a deep breath, flicking her eyes up to his face and he's already looking at her like he knows everything she’s thinking. MJ doesn’t like people knowing things about her that she hasn't freely given, so the concern on his face should irk her but it only makes her feel better. Feel safer. So she tells him.
“I just - when I came back everything was different right? There were new buildings and my parents had split up and my dad lives on the other side of the country now and everything was hot garbage. But mostly it was the same.”
“Sorry,” he whispers. Like it’s his fault any of that happened.
“It’s not - don’t be sorry, Peter. I just - ugh, do you think something else has happened?”
“What do you mean?” he asks, his brows high. God, he’s so cute and she wants to hold his hand, to see if it’s as soft as it looks. To see if he’d hold her back. Maybe he’d hold her hand with both of his like she’s breakable. She’s not. She knows that. She wants everyone else to know that but it might be nice for someone to care for her at that level anyway.
“Like another universe wide,” she starts, flailing her hands around so she doesn’t reach forwards and take his hand. “Event? That doesn’t seem like the right word but you know what I mean?”
“But everyone is still here,” he says, a panic in his voice that she feels bad about putting there.
“Not necessarily the same one… it’s stupid, don’t worry,” she huffs, shoving a hand through her hair.
“Michelle,” he whispers, knocking his knee into hers and she feels her panic lessening. Like he’s taking it from her. “You can tell me. Nothing you say could be stupid.”
“You don’t even know me,” she mumbles, her lip caught between her teeth. “I could be stupid.”
“Please,” he laughs. “I don’t believe that for a second. Please tell me.”
“Ugh, okay but if you think I’m insane after you have to keep it to yourself,” she says, holding her pinky out but mainly because she wants to touch him again.
“Deal,” he says, curling his finger around hers and she hopes he can’t hear the intake of her breath.
“Something's missing.”
He swallows and she feels it where their fingers are still linked together. She doesn't drop his hand because everything settled when he touched her. Like everything made a little more sense. Like maybe if she doesn't figure everything out it'll be alright anyway.
“Something’s missing and I can’t figure it out and I hate - well I don't hate not knowing things. I love figuring things out. I love murder mysteries even though you don’t always find the answer -”
“Like the Black Dahlia?” he asks, his eyes wide like that’s a weird thing for him to say. It wouldn’t be if it wasn’t her favourite unsolved crime.
“How did you know?” she asks, her eyes flicking across his face.
“Your necklace,” he murmurs. She looks down, the chain visible but the actual petals are still hidden by her top. Maybe it popped out when she was way too animated earlier. He doesn’t actually know her.
“Oh,” she whispers, her fingers tracing over the blank spaces. “Yeah.”
He squeezes their hands together and she blinks, barely remembering what they were talking about before.
“Erm, so -”
“You hate not knowing but you don’t hate not knowing,” he says, with a small smile.
“Oh yeah, so, figuring things out is fun, you know? I like it. But I only like it when it’s fair if it has to do with my life. But this isn’t fair - whatever has happened. Whatever I think has happened. Because there’s something missing. Someone. And I can’t - I can’t figure it out.”
She looks up at him and he doesn’t look at her like she’s crazy. Kinda just like he understands. He strokes his thumb over her knuckles. So she continues.
“It feels like my chest is going to explode with how much I miss them. This person I dream about but they have no fucking face and I - do you know what it feels like to wake up thinking about someone you can’t place? To spend a year searching for a hand while you’re walking that is never text to you or listening to a song and wanting to send it to someone but you just - they don’t exist and I feel like I’m going crazy. But I’m not because there’s enough, right?”
“Enough what?” he asks, his voice strained and his eyes damp.
“Enough proof that something has happened I just,” she starts, clenching her fists as she tries to let out her frustrations. Peter just holds her hand tighter. “There are sketches of someone that I clearly liked… It's embarrassing for me but it’s fine. There are photos where someone has just… been erased? There’s such a strong pull in my chest like - it hurts. It physically hurts and I can’t help it.”
“Em,” he whispers. The nickname feels too personal and perfectly in character all at once.
“Sorry,” she laughs, a watery sound as she sniffs. “I don’t know why I just bombarded you with all that. You just - make me feel - you just seem like the right person to tell.”
“It’s alright,” he replies. She looks at him then. The kindness and understanding in his eyes are so obvious that it takes her back slightly. Can she just forget about the person she’s missing and let Peter fill the space? He seems like he’d be a perfect fit anyway.
“Actually, I have something as well -”
Three sirens blast past, Peter sighing as MJ turns to see what they are.
“Fire engines,” she mumbles. She starts to pack her things but then she realises there’s no need for her to rush home. It’s not like she can help with the emergency. But as she turns back, Peter is already standing up chewing his lip.
“I have to go,” he says and somehow she already knew that. But she wants to know what he was going to tell her - she’s greedy for him to tell her anything.
“Oh -”
“But I’ll be here tomorrow as well if you ever - erm if you ever want to talk or figure out what’s going on?” he asks, his eyes flicking across her face like he might collapse if she says no.
“Yeah,” she breathes, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“Okay,” he smiles. God, he’s so fucking pretty. “See you later, MJ.”
“Bye, Peter.”
MJ’s eyes flutter closed as she spends the first night since everything became strange falling asleep thinking about anything other than the person she’s missing. Now she’s thinking about Peter. She falls asleep thinking about his weird eyebrow and the way he smelt familiar and the way she wanted to do nothing but lay her head on his shoulder.
She falls asleep before she can think about how he called her MJ.
Michelle wakes up panting, the sweat dripping down her brow as the images play on a loop. The way his pinky brushed against her hand on the bridge in Venice, the way she laced her fingers with this in the airport. The stolen glances and then ice cream dates. The way he kissed her as he crept out her bedroom window. The way they crawled up to the roof of the school when everything just got a bit too much. The way she told him she loved him. The way he promised her.
And she’s fuming.
She’s not entirely sure how she got dressed, only that she neglected to notice it was pouring outside and she didn’t wear a raincoat. She’s not sure how she made it to the roof when she can barely see through the downpour. She has no idea what the time is and she has no idea if looks like a madwoman. But she does know Peter will be here.
And he is. Standing in the corner like he knew she was on her way. Like he could hear her footsteps from three blocks away. He’s drenched, his jumper sticking to his muscles in a distracting way.
“Hi, Michelle,” he says with a small smile and a wave and she sees it now. The guilt is all over his face. The way he plays with his fingers like he did in Europe when she called him out on stalking her on the bus. The way he looks at anything but her like when Brad talked about taking her on a date and Peter was clearly eavesdropping. The way his entire body gravitates towards her before he forces himself back so it always looks like he’s swaying.
“What did you tell people you were doing yesterday?” she asks. He’s taken aback by the question and she’s annoyed she still finds his surprised face so cute. She could tell him she knows now but she’s desperate to know if he’s replaced her and Ned with someone else. If he went home last night to someone that runs their hands through his hair when he’s stressed and someone else that stitches him up when he’s hurt.
“Erm,” he starts, rubbing his lips together. So he’s about to lie to her. She watches the rain dripping down his face, making his curls bounce as it drips from his hair and she misses him so much she clenches her fists to stop shouting about it.
“Just that I was with a girl on the roof,” he mumbles, looking anywhere but at her.
“The girl from the roof. That's all I am to you?"
"What?" he asks, his eyes wide and she can practically feel the pain radiating off him but he promised her. Even if deep down she knew he was never going to tell her - she's still heartbroken about it.
"The girl from the roof. Is that all I am to you?"
"I - What else could you be?" he pleads.
"The girl who loved you," she breathes, her voice shaking. She doesn't care - she'd show Peter anything. Even now. He makes a sound she never wants to hear again. Somewhere in the middle of heartbreak and loneliness, he would never deserve.
"Em."
"The girl you left at the statue of liberty promising you'd find her. That you didn’t speak to for a fucking year.”
“I’m sorry, I’m so -”
“Would you have told me?” she asks. She knows he’s sorry. There’s no part of her that would ever think this wasn’t one of the hardest choices he’s had to make. Even if in the end he would have ended up doing the same thing every time.
But she does care if he ever planned on telling her. If he ever missed her enough to talk to her.
“MJ.”
“Would you have found me at any point, Peter? Would you have told me?”
“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I don’t know, MJ. I had to keep you safe - it was the only way to keep you safe and it’s worked, right? You’re okay -”
“I’m not okay,” she stresses, her brows furrowing as he looks ready to break down.
“But physically,” he pleads, his hands waving. “Physically you haven’t been pushed from scaffolding and you haven’t had to run from lizards and you’re - you’re safe. So, I should have left you alone. It was right to.”
“Peter -”
“But I missed you,” he says, his voice hoarse as his eyes scream at her. “I missed you so much I could barely take it. But it’s what I deserved. For my failures, it’s all I deserve - to be alone.”
“No,” she says, determined as she shakes her head. “You haven’t failed anyone. You don’t deserve to be alone and if - if I’m too much, if I’m too wrapped up in everything then choose someone else. But you can’t be alone for the rest of your life.”
"I have no choice," he begs, his voice loud to be heard past the rain. “I thought keeping away from you would - God, Em. You’re better off without me. Spider-Man is -”
“I knew you were Spider-Man before we got together. And I would have stayed with you," she says, her voice low as she traces a raindrop falling down his face. "You wouldn't have had to do all this alone, Peter."
"I'd do it all over again," he whispers. "I'd do anything to keep you safe."
"And what now?"
He looks at her like he truly doesn’t know the answer and she feels like maybe she’s about to feel actual heartbreak. Instead of the lingering pain that's settled in the back of her chest for the last year.
She feels the burning at the back of her throat as he looks at her, his face portraying so clearly how he feels the same as her. She guesses it’s just her luck in life to fall in love with someone selfless enough to go through the heartache just to keep her safe. But fuck if she doesn’t want him to be selfish just once.
But then her eyes water and her arms tremble and she thinks she’s about to cry but she sneezes instead. That’s what you get for standing in the rain for forty five minutes.
Peter’s next to her in an instant, his hands running up and down her arms like it’s muscle memory. As if touching her is the only thing he needs right now.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his eyes holding concern as if she broke an arm and didn’t just sneeze.
“I’m fine.”
"Come back to mine," he says. "I'll tell you anything but you're going to get sick out here."
"I'm not made of glass, Peter," she mumbles, rolling her eyes as he steps closer.
“You are to me,” he breathes. “Please.”
And she thinks if she goes to his apartment and sees his life, the intimate details she’s been kept in the dark about, and then she still has to leave. Well, she’s not sure she can come back from that. She’s pretty sure it will ruin her.
But as his thumbs rub over her arms, she knows she’d follow him anywhere.
“Okay.”
His apartment is practically bare which hurts her heart in a way she’ll struggle to describe if she had to. Yet it still manages to scream Peter Parker.
There are a few trinkets, Ned’s lego figure that he’s been missing since high school - she’s pretty sure he won’t mind if he gets Peter back.
There’s a sewing machine she thinks Peter salvaged from a dumpster, a red thread sat on the top.
There’s a picture of May on the windowsill and MJ’s heart aches at the people he’s lost. The people that deserved to be here to watch him grow up. He’s still so young.
There’s a photo of MJ on the fridge, stuck together with a post-it from May that reads “you almost forgot this” with a heart and her eyes grow damp.
“Erm, here,” Peter says, handing her some sweats and a towel. She barely resists the urge to inhale and fill her lungs with him. “The bathroom is just through there if you want.”
Her fingers brush the back of his hand when she takes the clothes and he looks away when she tries to catch his gaze. He’s going to break her heart again.
She towel dries her hair as best she can, as she tries not to imagine herself here with him. For long weekends when she can drive home from Boston late on Friday and she’d be able to let herself in because he’d be on patrol and she’d make his side of the bed warm for him and he’d get up early on Saturday to make pancakes because he felt guilty that he’d woken her up but she’d tell him she was just glad he came home.
God, she’s fucked.
She slips his sweats on, pulling the jumper over her head and feeling entirely safe and at home and like she never wants to leave. She hangs her clothes over the bathtub knowing they won’t dry at all but she’s not going to risk going to find a dryer right now.
When she comes out of the bathroom, Peter has tea waiting on the floor next to his bed and she has to take a deep breath to stop her chest from cracking in half.
“Thanks, dork,” she mumbles, sitting on the edge of his mattress.
There’s a short period of time where she does nothing but steal looks at him, trying to commit everything to memory as if he isn’t on every page in her sketchbook and she couldn't even remember him. He’s always already looking at her.
She wonders if he knows how badly she wants him to tell her he loves her. If he knows she has no idea if he wants her to stay with him as much as she never wants to leave.
It’s the not knowing that makes the words jump out.
“I know you can live without me,” she whispers, chewing the inside of her lip as she tries to get her heart to settle. “And I can live without you… But I don’t want to.”
“Em,” he starts and he sounds so tired. So utterly exhausted that her eyes water, the tears dripping down her cheeks before she can try and stop them.
“I’m not saying anything to make you feel bad, okay?” she says, looking up at him. He’s looking at her like he wants to stay but she’s not sure he’ll make that choice. A shiver runs through her body, the chill from the rain not yet subsiding with how cold his apartment is.
“I just need to tell you because I’m really bad at not telling the truth and -”
“I know,” he chokes, his voice watery as she smiles at him.
“And I don’t know if anyone has told you how much better you make their life since - well, for a while. But I want to come home to you and I want to wake up to you stumbling through the window way too late and I want to hold your hand when we go and buy milk and I - I want to see what we could be. But if you don’t want this… I won’t hold it against you.”
“Okay,” he swallows, taking a deep shaky breath. He moves until he’s lying down, his head against his pillow. “Can you come here?”
MJ lays on her side, her head on a pillow she hopes no one else has ever used but she guesses she doesn’t have that right anymore - she’s not his girlfriend. She hasn’t been for months longer than she ever was. She rubs her feet together, desperate to get some feeling back in her toes.
“Are you cold?”
“Only a little,” she replies but it’s too late. He’s manoeuvring until he’s under his duvet, noticeably a different set than he had at May’s and she wonders if he got anything from his childhood at all. She wonders if he’ll let her stay long enough for her to figure it out.
He pulls the duvet from under her, placing it back over her, tucking her in slightly at her waist. His hand strokes down her arm but he doesn’t link their fingers at the end.
“You’re making it really hard for me to leave,” she tries to joke but it lands flat. The sadness of her voice is obvious even to her. And Peter knows her better than anyone she’s ever known, so she knows he picks up on it.
“I’m not sure I want you to,” he whispers.
“Peter,” she says, sniffing as she touches her toes to his. “This is already going to be the hardest thing -”
“I don’t want you to leave,” he repeats, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “I don’t, Em. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. The thought of losing you, it - it drives me crazy but I -”
“What?” she begs.
“I am so lonely without you,” he says, his face so close she can smell the tea on his breath. She can see the freckles on the bridge of his nose. She can see everything she wants. Everything she's been missing.
“Okay, it’s okay,” she replies, reaching for his hand. It’s right where she thought it would be and he pulls her closer, or maybe he moves and meets her in the middle - she’s not sure.
“I didn’t even notice it at first,” he says. “I thought everything was grey and lifeless because I lost - because I lost May. And it was, you know? Everything is just a little bit worse without her but she’d hate for me to live thinking about losing her. So I tried my hardest not to. I patrolled and I worked at FEAST and I visited her so often and it - the time went on and I could think about her with a smile but still nothing was getting better.”
His hands find her waist, pulling her closer and she feels warm all over but she won’t take his jumper off now if someone threatens her. She wants to tell him it’s okay. That she forgives him and she loves him but she’s missed his words over the past year and she’s craving them. So she lets him continue.
“Because it’s you. I missed you . You were in every thought I had. You were just - everywhere and you’re my heart and I missed you. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he replies, resting his forehead against hers. She can feel his body shaking with his sobs as he repeats how sorry he is and she rests her hands against him, feeling his heart rate already slowing.
“I forgive you,” she says, her hands tightening against his chest. He slips his hand up her arm, tucking some hair behind her ear.
“It’s always going to be you, for me,” he whispers, his eyes wet as his hand rests against her neck. And she’s already kissed him first once and then he left her. So she really needs him to make the first move.
“Peter -”
“I love you.”
“What?” she gasps, her heart trying to claw its way out of her chest to go to him.
“I am so in love with you. I always have been. I wish I had told you that morning.”
“I told you not to,” she says, her eyes wet in a good way.
“I know,” he replies, his nose brushing hers. “You told me to wait until I saw you again and I’ll never forgive myself for it being so long but I loved you then and I love you now.”
“I love you, as well,” she says as he touches his lips to hers. It soothes the Peter shaped hole in her heart. She wonders if there’s anything she can’t do if Peter is right here with her.
“Don’t leave,” he whispers, his hand threading through her hair to pull her closer. His lips are against hers again and she claws at his shirt.
“I won’t,” she promises, touching her tongue to his lip.
“Please don’t leave,” he repeats, his arm circling her waist as he rolls her underneath him. He strokes her hair from her face with his thumb as he pulls back. He looks at her like she’s the sun and she wonders if she’ll ever be enough to heal how lonely he’s been. But she’ll try every day that he’ll let her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she replies, her hands wrapping around his arms. “I love you.”
“I love you so much,” he cries, his lips heavy against hers. “I missed you. I’m so sorry. I’m so -”
“Peter,” she laughs a little breathless. “I love you. And I’ve missed you and I really just need you to kiss me again.”
He laughs, the sound bubbling up his throat and she can’t help the happiness that pours out of her.
“Anything for you,” he smiles, pressing his lips to hers once more. She slips her hand under his jumper, scratching lightly at his back as he tilts her head to kiss down her neck. She moans as he moves on top of her and he abruptly pulls back, his cheeks pink and his eyes full of concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks, his breath heavy as he looks at her.
“Yeah,” she replies, smiling at him as his eyes soften.
“Yeah?”
“Better than okay,” she mumbles, her hands slowly moving his jumper up until it’s bunched around his chest. “Better if you kissed me again.”
“Oh yeah?” he replies, his slight cheeky nature peeking through even as he blushes a deep pink. She loves him so much. “And would it be better if I took this off for you?” he asks, eyebrows wiggling as he tugs at his jumper.
She swallows thickly, her eyes flicking over his face. “Yeah.”
“What?” he whispers, his cool demeanour disappearing.
“I love you and -”
“I love you as well.”
“Peter,” she laughs, then, “I love you. And I want you. I always want you and now you’re right here and we don’t - we don’t have to do anything you don’t want but -”
He interrupts her again but this time his lips are on hers and she can’t find it in herself to care when his hand slips up her jumper, his thumb rubbing circles against her ribs. His fingers spread against her shoulder blade and she feels insane already and he's barely touched her in all the ways she wants.
“Are you sure?” he pants, his forehead resting against hers.
“Yes. If you are.”
“I am,” he says. “I love you.”
But he’s kissing her again so she can't say it back. She thinks she knows. Besides, she can tell him for the rest of her life.
MJ isn’t cold anymore, even with the lack of clothes. She’s wrapped around Peter, her head on his chest as she attempts to get her breathing to level out.
“That was amazing,” Peter pants, his lips against the top of her head. “You’re amazing.”
“You weren’t bad either,” she giggles, feeling far too happy for how sad she was this morning.
“I know you’re going to call me a loser,” he says, his hand buried in her hair. “But I don’t want to spend another night without you.”
“Loser,” she replies, tightening her hold on his waist. “You don’t have to. Just be honest with me, okay?”
“Okay,” he promises, then, “I love you.”
“I would have loved you without the memories,” she whispers as he plays with her curls. “If I’d met you somewhere else. I would have loved you anyway.”
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice sleepy as anything as he pulls her closer.
“Yeah. It’s you, Pete,” she yawns against his chest. “In every lifetime, it will be you.”
He laughs, something tired and warm as she sinks into sleep. But not before she hears him whisper.
“Loser.”