#thanks for bearing w me in these trying times i had brain rot and just yknow | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

augment-techs · 3 years

Note

I DON'T KNOW HOW THE WRITING PROMPT MEME WORKS REALLY

but it's WAYYYY too CUTE to not do. Sooooo how about I toss ya some numbers! ^^

Hand holding: 12 and 10! 33,

Hugs: 2, 18, 27

Hope it isn't too much!!! ^^

Kim was emotionally fluctuating between feeling sorry for Tommy, and trying not to go into shock whenever she walked into a room and found her older, alternate universe, badass-self kissing an older, Coinless General Bulk. Watching them seemed more perfect than she might have dared hope for whatever fate was allotted to the Ranger Slayer. When they'd first dropped into their Command Center and explanations had been given, Alpha had allowed Bulk to lead his Kimberly to the medical bay, and Kim had followed after them in case they got lost. Bulk was incredibly good with the damaged woman that could probably beat him into the ground at any moment. Kimberly hadn't even huffed when he'd offered her a piggy-back ride and then insisted on bandaging up her hand that'd been cut open when she'd gone after Tommy and he'd had to defend himself with Saba. He'd sterilized the wound, wrapped it tight but not without sympathy and hadn't bothered untangling their fingers or letting go when they'd wandered back into the room Zordon occupied so they could all talk and argue and occupy themselves with searching the data banks for ways out and locating their other friends for hours. The kissing was on the extreme end of their affections, though. In the days that followed, Kim didn't see them lock lips as often, as they usually found themselves training or cooking or reading with just one hand, as the other one was invariably found more often holding onto the other; like two magnets that would always find themselves connected if given enough time. It was, admittedly, adorable as anything she could have imagined, but still a surprise she couldn't help but balk at. Tommy underwent the same amount of shock with the random displays of affection that he often stumbled into with Kim, but he had more pressing issues: when he left to walk into a room with one of the Coinless universe alters, he always had to keep his movements to a minimum, hands far away from his pockets, and eyes to the ground. With the older Trini, Zack, and Bulk, it wasn't so bad; with the Omega Rangers out in space and their history with this smaller Tommy helping them before Drakkon shattered the Morphin Grid, they were more willing to acknowledge that the evil despot and the teen weren't the same. With those Coinless who had never been Rangers--Rocky and Aisha in leather and combat armor with battle scars, had looked very shocked when they'd met their younger selves in Ranger gear, Adam being given the oddest looks from the elders--it was much harder, because they hadn't even spoken to Tommy. And they'd all been dumped through a hole in space and time that the Eltarians and Zedd had caused when Zelya had gotten away from the moon, so everyone was still reeling--especially with them being separated into three groups around Angel Grove. Perhaps they'd make up their minds when the stragglers from Drakkon's universe arrived at the Command Center... * * "He's very strong, and very sure, but he's no Drakkon." "No offense, Skull, but how--" "Could I know that?" The spy--spy, spy, actual double agent who had to relay messages and blend into the background and not die a horrible painful death at the slightest misstep, how the fucking hell--smiled with benevolent pragmatism. Rocky nodded, mouth tightening into a line as Aisha stood her own ground in their questioning. They would have loved not to have come to such an awkward position with having to use Skull to calm down their worries, put them to bed, and smother them to death, but they couldn't find solace and reassurance in Zack and Trini's words and it didn't seem fair to keep putting the kids in defense positions just because they could calm the fuck down. Skull flicked his hand open and made a motion for Tommy to come closer to him, which he did with only a slight hesitation. He wasn't wearing his suit, but Skull had been the only person so far from the other dimension who hadn't looked at him and gone fully rigid, so he had a good sporting chance of not being injured here. When he was only a

step or two from walking directly into Skull, the man offered up his open palm, harmless and dangerous at the same time, and Tommy blinked, unsure and afraid, before deciding it was better to get everything that was going to happen one way or another out of the way. He lifted up his own hand and laid it flat in Skull's. There was dirt under his pointer finger and he only had a single twitch of a moment to be embarrassed before the much bigger fingers circled his wrist and wound around his knuckles, brought his hand upwards, as if he was little more than an infant fresh from a tub, or a sun warmed kitten. Tommy felt a coil behind his belly bunch up all of his nerves at once when Skull's fingers slotted between his own in a possessive kind of way that sparked familiar-unfamiliar thoughts--those all fading away when the man kept their palms together and brought his head down, breathing out like a gust of a train through a mountain pass, and inhaling at Tommy's wrist. Nose tip to his skin raising all the goosebumps Tommy thought he even had. He's pretty sure his ponytail sparked at the end when he jerked a little back. Which swiftly brought him to absolute internal humiliation that showed across his face like a goddamn Muppet. Just because he'd seen that Skull let the Coinless drink his blood right from his finger and they all ate it in bread and stuff after he'd let a tube from his arm pour into the batter of whatever he made them, didn't necessarily mean the man would bite him. ...He hoped. Then, as if that hadn't been the weirdest thing, Skull lifted his head to grin at him, but didn't let go of his hand as the man addressed Rocky, Aisha, and all the other adults--and Tommy was too confused to ask him to let go, so... there was that, "He doesn't smell like he's rotting from the inside; like he needs to be wearing five layers of Axe Body Spray. And he isn't getting all put-upon and squirrely with me holding onto him. And, if you'll humor me a moment?" He was looking at Tommy directly at the last bit, but didn't let the teen answer before he found himself being wrapped in arms that had way more muscle than Skull had any right to have in any universe holy hell--and Tommy was suddenly in a bear hug, feet off the ground and spun around twice as much as he had ever been even at five years old; three times around and around, before he was planted on the couch like a sack of flour right next to Kim (his Kim, who looked utterly stunned and far too amused). The giggle that left his mouth when he smiled at her smiling at him should not have come into existence, and if he hadn't been red before, he was practically blazing as he brought his hands up to cover his mouth. Skull's hand patted him on the head as he ducked his head as much as possible at the sounds of snickering and the other adults choking on their own reactions. He definitely felt like a kitten. "See? Totally harmless to us. Now let them take us to the Juice Bar and feed us; I'm hungry and Ernie's alive here to make me that banana-marshmallow smoothie I haven't had in over a decade." * "I...played the right politics." It would have been so fucking nice if Billy would stop asking Skull questions about the past and present the Coinless had to live through. He didn't mean to make the adults with faces he knew and worried over angry or tired, but Adam was getting very, very annoyed with how he always seemed to find the core root of things that made Skull look... All the emotion left Skull's face at that word, every single time. Politics, like a euphemism for something else entirely. (And it was.) Adam remembered, because he was there when Zack and Trini, Aisha and Bulk, Rocky and the others weren't; inside the fortress Drakkon ran and imbibed in terrorizing whenever he got especially bored. The monster loved to play games with his sentries, with his prisoners, but rarely with his staff, because it took time and effort to train up new ones. But the sentries were his favorite, because they had to prove their loyalty each and every day. Some in

little ways, some in big ways. And Drakkon remembered Skull. Zack and Trini hoped he wouldn't, and Skull, when he was giving help and clues and time that he could to them, made it seem as if he never even crossed Drakkon's mind from being a punk that wore a spiked collar back in high school to becoming one of the higher-functioning members of the red sentries. Oh, being a spy made him so good at pretending nothing was wrong, how to be cool under pressure, how to avoid danger on all sides with one way out or none at all; how to think ahead, think like his opponent, pull facts and plans out of instinct and thin air (because what other choice was there, after all). That was why he was the best; probably why, too, he was revived from death by the universe and multiverse reshaping itself with the Grid's renewal. Politics translated so well to Games in Drakkon's palace. (It was amazing how often the horrible bastard made the sentries fight or fuck each other in his presence; the threat of his being displeased getting them through most of the time, and out the door when he was finished with himself to go vomit or find a shower or smoke so many cigarettes. As far as Adam knew, Skull was one of the very rare few who were made to fight or pleasure Drakkon himself. Skull and Adam and one yellow sentry that died before Kim returned to their world. If Kim was ever made to do as they were, she didn't tell or didn't remember, and Adam was thankful for that. And thankful for Skull. When he fought other sentries, he injured with care to avoid it being permanent or knocked out the other in a show of force that Drakkon appreciated that didn't lead to brain damage but made a good show. When he was made to fuck the others, he carried necessary aids to protect them from hating themselves or leaving much of a trace behind--condoms made from animal skin by Finster-5 he bribed out of the little freak; lubricant so there wouldn't be blood or bruising; an aptitude for pleasing other people as thoroughly and as quickly as he could while being on top and leading them through it with hands calloused but still soft. When he had to use his mouth on Drakkon or submit to the tyrant--often in front of others and while being degraded with his real name being used like words from a djinn or an immortal snake--he did so efficiently and made it seem as though he wasn't being forced at all. Adam hated Drakkon more than anyone those times he had to be there and watched Skull pull his armor back on and resume his place in line among the other sentries like nothing had happened. He hadn't known him before the world came crashing down, but before he'd traded his loyalty for the hope that his family might survive--what a stupid hope that had been--he'd heard that the man had cried over Billy Cranston's gave for a week after his death and been good.) But this small, wide-eyed Billy Crantson, alive and well and looking at Skull with so much awe and respect that Adam could spot it from a mile away if he was goddamn blind, didn't need to hear that. Did not need the thought in his head like a rotting wound festering with so many white little maggots. So Adam continued sipping his coffee (pumpkin spice; which was so fucking good after years of straight, bitter instant black) and remained in his usual place beside Skull in the daytime, watching him go through the motions in this time out of joint from their own. Gladder still to be in the Juice Bar, watching the teens enjoy themselves, play at their video games, ramble on about tests they had to take in school; watch the Coinless eat their food and drink their smoothies, enjoy watching their young reflections practice gymnastics or martial arts. When Billy excused himself to talk to the Stone Canyon Trio about some notes they'd asked for from Ms. Appleby's class, eyes still sparkling with information given and listening to Skull like he would have listened to him even if he knew everything out of his mouth could have been a lie; nobody saw Adam wrap an arm around Skull's waist and squeeze

him from the side. It was just as well.

#wasn't sure who you wanted it written for since you didn't request specific names or pairings so I just kind of winged it #ask fill #prompt fill #boom! comics power rangers #shattered grid #mmpr #ggpr #eugene skull skullovitch #farkas bulk bulkmeier #kimberley hart #tommy oliver #adam park #rocky desantos #aisha campbell #billy cranston #implied/referenced dubcon #tomberly #world of the coinless #coinless Bulk x ranger slayer Kim

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vixenpen · 3 years

Text

Caged Hearts

Chap 26. Captured (we almost at the end omg)

((Hawks x Miku ((OC))

OK so I realize that a lot of you guys are missing parts of this fic and that’s because I have ADD and I ended up losing my count a couple of times and I’m pretty sure that I numbered the chapters wrong so I’ve been trying to go through and correctly number the chapters and link off to the next chapter in each previous part. So bear with me because that is a lot for my ADD brain to handle. But OMG GUYS WE ARE ALMOST AT THE END!!!

(Trigger warnings: restraints, non con touching, r*pe implications)

The surrounding forest was burning. The only reason the fire was contained as much as it was, was thanks to the abundance of water quirk users on the heroes side.

They kept the fire wielders at bay which allowed Keigo the room to slice and fly through the chaos and into the old temple.

Compared to the chaos in the surrounding forest, the inside of the rotting old temple was eerily still and quiet. It was massive with sagging tatami flooring and battery powered lamps. But at the center of it all was Dabi.

He stood cross armed in the middle of the messy temple.

“Hey hero. How’s that scar?”

“Ugly and annoying, but mostly forgettable after the ointment. Just like you.”

Dabi’s smirk widened.

“You’re as pleasant as ever, Hawks.”

At the sound of his hero name coming from Dabi’s mouth, Keigo’s lips twitched down and he softened his grip on his feather blade slightly.

“I wouldn’t let my guard down if I were you.”

“Oh trust me, I’m not. Unlike you, I don’t do half baked schemes. So what exactly was the plan, Dabs?” Keigo asked, drawing closer to his villainous ex. “You revive the nomu project and try to pick up where smarter more capable villains than you like Shigaraki and Stain left off?”

A deep scowl replaced Dabi’s smirk.

“I have more vision than both of them, asshole. Just because I don’t have half the resources they had—“

“Half?” Keigo let out an incredulous laugh. “Dabi, you don’t even have a quarter teaspoon of the resources or the vision that they had. You’ve been running around causing chaos with these under powered lackeys of yours while prancing around like the queen of England Letting everyone else do your dirty work. You’re a nuisance at best and a busy day at worse, but you are no Shigaraki and certainly no Stain.”

“Fuck you talk to much,” Dabi growled, his face was pinched in anger. “If you’re gonna do something then do it, hero.”

Keigo smirked. “Why don’t you make me Dabi? I’ll even give you a head start.”

Dabi planted his feet, but hesitated to do anything.

Keigo scoffed. In a blur of red, Keigo had the man pinned to the floor with his arms twisted behind his back.

“So that copycat quirk of yours can’t duplicate other people’s quirks, huh, Chiba Chidori?”

“You’re good.” Chiba chuckled as he struggled in Keigo’s grip.

“You’re obvious. Just like your leader.” Keigo shot back. “Now where’s Dabi?”

Chiba still in his Dabi disguise tilted his head against the dirty tatami flooring to face Keigo.

“Wherever your little girlfriend is.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cold metal cuffs kept Miku’s arms suspended above her.

Despite the heaviness in her head, her mind was still spinning. She blinked against the colored spots in her black vision until slowly, it sharpened.

The room was cold and dimly lit. Nothing but a dirty lightbulb swinging from the ceiling to illuminate a concrete floor.

The exposed skin of her arms and legs were pressed to a frigid stone wall. She couldn’t even attempt to move her wings.

Anxiety and dread swallowed Miku whole. Her legs felt gelatinous.

She clenched and unclenched her fingers as she forced herself to breathe deeply through her nose. More details about the room swam into her vision.

There was a cell that she thankfully wasn’t inside of and a set of concrete stairs with a heavy looking metal door at the end of them.

Fuck! Fuck, fuck!

Miku glanced up at her wrists and blinked back the tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She rattled the chains futilely.

Just then, the metal door swung open with a loud bang. Dabi’s tall, slender silhouette stood in the spill of light pouring into the room.

“Ah. So Sleeping beauty’s finally awake, is she?” He drawled, slowly descending the stairs.

“What do you want?” Miku hissed back at him, tugging against her restraints.

Dabi didn’t reply as he advanced on Miku slowly until his chest was pressed against hers. She could smell the stench of tobacco on him, and turned away in disgust.

“Relax, Angel Face,” Dabi chuckled, snatching her chin until she was facing him again, “this’ll be a lot easier for you if you do.”

Then he dropped to his knees before her.

“W-what are you doing?”

“Gotta Pat you down, Hummingbird,” Dabi explained with a lazy smirk up at her. “I’m sure your man is trying to keep tabs on you. Just a matter of finding the feather.”

His hands were warm causing goosebumps to rise on her skin as they trailed up her calves and between her thighs. Dabi stopped his touch just as his index finger brushed across the slit of her sex.

He repeated the action along her other leg letting his hands linger on her thighs and heating them slowly.

“Stop.” Miku whimpered.

His laugh was taunting as His hands worked the short dress up Miku’s thick hips.

“Not done yet, sweetheart.” His smile widened. “Ooh I see those pretty wings of yours flexing. Too bad, baby, those are quirk repressing cuffs.” He bit his lip as he eyed the trail of trimmed white pubic hair before him.

Standing to his feet, the man snatched the top of her dress down.

“Nothing here, either hm?” He squeezed her big breasts harshly.

A choked yelp escaped Miku’s mouth.

“Damn, Angel Face,” Dabi grinned, it was sinister and probing, and somehow felt even more invasive than his wandering hands. “Maybe I should do a cavity search. Hm? Gotta say, I like feisty types like you. So much more fun to break.”

She could only respond with Shallow, shaky breaths.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t fight.

She couldn’t fly!

Just as she felt her fluttering heart about to give out on her, the anklet she wore broke. He heart shaped charm attached, clattered to the floor as large shadowy tendrils manifested from it.

Miku blinked, dazed as she watched the pair of smoky, phantom like limbs snatch Dabi’s lanky body up like a rag doll.

The ghostly hands wrapped around his body easily and slammed him into the stone wall, just beside Miku. The woman shrieked as the impact of his head colliding into the wall echoed in the dank room.

Dabi slid to the floor unconscious and crumpled at her feet.

“Boss!”

She looked up at the stairs not recognizing the dark haired teen in the doorway. He looked like a mini Dabi with his piercings and black mop of hair.

His dark eyes widened at the sight of his boss and the shadow hands.

“What the—“

The large tendrils snatched him up too. In a fast, fluid motion, they knocked the teen unconscious as well.

And just as quickly as they appeared, they disappeared.

It took Miku a moment to process what had just happened. Konan’s protection charm. It had bought her some time.

Her captors were now sprawled unconscious at her feet, and a set of keys were attached to Dabi’s belt.

Miku was running blind through the halls of what she now realized was a lab of some sort. Fluorescent lighting lit up the cold, sterile floors. Medical rooms filled with machines, devices, and tanks could be seen through the glass panels.

She had no idea how long Dabi and his sidekick would be knocked out nor how long that locked metal door would hold them, but she wanted to put as much space between herself and them as possible.

As she ran through the labyrinth like halls, she pulled off her remaining shoe—the other had been ditched in the basement with Dabi—and pulled out the now sticky and ruffled red feather. She ran her fingers along the barbs and held it up to her lips.

“Keigo,” she huffed rounding the corners of the hallways, “Kei, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I really need you right now. Dabi’s got me at some...fucking...fuck.” She looked around the long halls and maze of locked metal doors, in a panic. “Underground lab or...I don’t know. I...just—Please, please come quick.”

With that final plea, she snapped the feather in two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The distressed vibrations of Miku’s voice hummed through Keigo’s feathers. There was over 500 miles between them, but he could parse out the unique cadence of her voice easily.

Konan’s voice crackled through his headphones, her voice just barely cutting through the whistling wind.

“Keigo!” The Latina’s voice exclaimed.

“I’m here, Ko,” he pressed the headphone harder against his ear, trying to hear her better. “You got a read on Miku?”

“When her charm broke my signal showed that she’s at some location underground. On the far outskirts of Tokyo.”

Konan rattled off the coordinates, but Keigo didn’t recognize the location. Regardless, he pushed himself to fly harder.

“I should be there is less than fifteen minutes,” Konan explained, “you?”

“If I book it any harder maybe twenty or less. Ko, do everything to keep her safe.”

“No doubt. Over and out.”

The line went dead. Keigo couldn’t breathe.

The entire world blurred before his eyes.

This was his fault. Miku shouldn’t be in this situation.

His mistakes. His fuck ups. His negligence.

It was going to get someone he loved—

Fuck!

His speed tripled.

He was going to kill that son of a bitch. Fuck Tartarus. Fuck detaining. Fuck his years of training. Todoroki Touya was going to die today.

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the-prince-and-the-thief · 4 years

Text

Proof of Bonds

//I promised that I would post the story behind why Akechi has those mysterious red gloves, and here it is! Hope you guys like it!

TW: Gore, Death.

“Just show him th….” Ren stopped himself. He let out a weary sigh. “Actually, if he’s on his way here, it’s already too late.”

“I beg your pardon?” Sae tilted her head, “You just said that he’s going to kill you. Are you really giving up now?”

Yes. Ren thought. He knew that Sae wouldn’t understand, but he couldn’t do it again. If she knew, perhaps she would be lenient, but… Ren just couldn’t watch Akechi sacrifice himself again. And he couldn’t be the one behind that door again. The last sounds he would hear being Akechi’s desperate wailing was more than he could bear.

“Just trying another plan,” Ren said, a slight smirk on his face. “If it works, everything will be fine. And if it doesn’t… well, it won’t matter anyway.”

Sae sighed, and stood up. Ren would not be convinced to change his mind, this much they both knew for certain.

“If you’re sure,” She said as she turned to leave, “Just… don’t do anything reckless.”

He gave her a quiet nod as she shut the door, but deep down, he knew that his “plan”, if one was generous enough to call it that, was recklessness personified. Still, he wanted to believe that he’d made an impact on Akechi. He wanted more than anything to believe that his feelings had reached the guarded, lonely young man that he’d spent nearly four years trying to save. And if he hadn’t… then at least he could try again.

Ren closed his eyes. The interrogation hall was dead quiet. He could hear the sound of high heels clicking against concrete. Of an elevator door opening. Whispers in hushed tones between Sae and Akechi. Then a request from Akechi to the cop.

Sorry for bringing you into this. Ren thought, remembering what Akechi would very soon do to him. I have a feeling that you’ll be fine in the end, though.

After all, if Ren were to meet his end here, then the poor cop dragged into this situation would also have time turned back on him.

As Ren opened his eyes, the door also opened. Just as had happened before, he and the cop entered the room. His wine-dark eyes were cold and empty, and his gaze, as he entered the room, seemed fixed on something far beyond this small interrogation room.

As the door shut, Akechi waited for the cop to turn his back to him. He took the pistol the man carried and shot him with it.

“Huh?! W-what are you--”

With two silenced shots, the man fell to the ground in a bloody heap. The smell of copper and brain matter was burned into Ren’s memory by now.

“...Thank you, for all of this.”

Goro turned the gun on him.

“That’s right, you and your little friends were vital to our plan. That’s what you were going to say next, right?”

That got the empty look out of Goro’s eyes. He stared at Ren, wide-eyed with shock, and gasped.

“H-how--”

“I can’t explain everything. Right now, we’re still in his domain.” Ren looked up at the man who held a pistol to his forehead without fear. “Just let me say my piece. After that, if you still want to kill me… then do it.”

“Very well,” Goro’s cold, monotone voice made Ren shudder. It was as though the young man wasn’t there anymore. Perhaps he wasn’t. People weren’t made to kill, after all. It was possible that to keep up his role, he kept his true self far, far away, protected from pain.

“Let me just start with this- I know what you’re planning. You want that man to reach the top of the world, then ruin him, and enjoy that brief moment of power over him.” Ren carefully watched Goro’s expression. He looked not horrified but instead angry. “...Do you really think that the masses will care? If all of this scandal hasn’t destroyed him yet, why would one more sex scandal make the public hate Masayoshi Shido?”

“What the hell do you know?!” Glaring with murderous intent, Goro shoved the muzzle of his gun against Ren’s forehead. “You think you’ve got me all figured out?! You piece of shit!”

“Goro, you’re being used. He’ll just throw you away when he’s done with you.”

“Shut the hell up!” The man screamed. “Do you think you can look down on me?! You’re just some piece of trash living in an attic!”

If Goro was intending to upset Ren, he was bound to be sorely disappointed. If anything, Ren looked sad, like he was watching a family member writhe about in a straight jacket.

“We’re both being used. At least, I was.” Ren sighed, “You were going to say that this is where my justice ends. But, Goro… I’m not fighting for my justice anymore. I’ve already won that battle. I know you won’t understand what I’m saying, but I want you to remember all of this.”

Goro clicked his teeth and experimentally tightened his grip on the trigger. Ren did not flinch. He had no reaction in the slightest.

“I already know that my justice will win. I was chained to hell itself, and I broke free. But I couldn’t leave you behind. All of this, it’s just a rigged game, and we got put on opposing sides.” Ren’s gaze was serious and unrelenting. Even the drugs he’d been given didn’t seem to be holding him back. “I’m not a pawn in this game anymore. I’m playing my own game, and I’m putting my bets on you.”

“What do you mean…?”

“I wish I could tell you, but I’m playing against a cheater. I’ve gone as far as I can go, but… we’re still here. I’m still on the chopping block. I… I’m sorry, Goro.”

“Why are you apologizing? Are you mocking me?” Goro no longer seemed to know if he was angry, frightened, or saddened. His eyes quivered and darted about like they were looking for a way out.

“No. I’m sorry. I thought that I had gotten through to you. I thought that I had made it clear… that things didn’t have to be like this.” Ren bit his lip and tasted blood. “I need you to do one last thing for me.”

Ren pulled something out of the pocket of his school uniform— a pair of red leather gloves. His gloves, from the metaverse. He’d hidden them carefully before his arrest, just in case. He slid them across the table to Goro.

“Take this,” He pleaded, “If you take my life… if you aren’t satisfied with what comes after this… there’s an airsoft shop in Shibuya. You’ll find a door that shouldn’t be there. Unlock the door. I’ve given you the key to change your fate.”

Goro took the pair of gloves. There was something in one of them, something hard. He pulled it out. A key in a deep, eerie blue. It seemed to glow with some sort of power. His eyes seemed to shine with a faint recognition.

“This is…” For a moment, Ren thought that Goro had truly remembered… but Goro shook his head. “...I see. Have you said your piece?”

“All but one thing.”

Ren felt the muzzle press against his forehead again. It made his bruises throb with pain.

“Any last words, then?”

Ren smiled at Goro, a warm, gentle smile. His gaze softened, and his eyes began to water. Ren didn’t fear death, not anymore. He had seen the other side enough to never fear it again. But this… these words? They were a weight he had carried for years, and he feared to speak them.

“I love you, Goro. I know you’ll do what’s right.”

BANG!

———

With one pull of the trigger, Goro Akechi severed the only bond he’d ever had by his own hand.

Bits of brain matter and misty blood splattered the walls. Some landed on his cheek. It sprayed his gloves in a fine mist. The thick, coppery scent of blood and exposed flesh filled the air, suffocating the detective. The warmth that Ren’s face had just moments before was gone, the life in his eyes lost, and he fell. He slammed into the table and bled in deep pools of crimson.

This kind of scene was something Goro had seen so many times before. He thought he would be numb to the feeling of blood soaking his shoes and socks, that he no longer would feel sickened by the unforgettable stench of death. Yet, his eyes stung. They blurred and watered. His throat tightened and burned as hot stomach acid forced its way out. He lurched over and retched, staring with empty eyes as blood and vomit intermingled on the floor beneath him.

“...Why?”

Why did he say any of that? Why did he have such unfailing faith in Goro? Why did he seem to read the detective like an open book? Why did he apologize? And why….

“Why in the hell did you say you loved me?! Why were you looking at me like that?!”

Goro clung to the table with all his might, lest his knees give out in him. He felt blood soaking through his gloves. The slimy, lukewarm texture made him nearly vomit again.

Drip, drip… water fell to the ground. Only then did he realize that he was sobbing.

He had to go. He had to. He couldn’t stay here. He placed the gun in Ren’s right hand and took out his phone. He couldn’t be seen like this, covered in blood, vomit, and tears. It would ruin the whole plan. As if he hadn’t ruined it already.

He didn’t remember what he was thinking as he escaped. He just ran and ran, through Mementos, through the train stations, to his lonely apartment. It all felt unreal like he was watching himself from a distance. The only sensation that told him this was undeniable reality was his agonizingly loud heartbeat, beating against his chest and ringing in his ears.

He ran into his shower, nearly forgetting to undress in his haste to be clean. When was the last time he felt this much pain after ending someone’s life? Not since the death of Wakaba Isshiki….

No matter how many times he washed his hair, or how roughly he scrubbed at his skin, Goro still felt the stench of death stain him to his core. It felt like his body was rotting away before his eyes. He wanted so badly to scream, but he remembered the thin walls of his apartment. Someone would hear him if he did.

As the adrenaline slowly wore off, the pain set in. He had rubbed his skin raw and bleeding. His body felt heavy, ragged and worn. The ringing in his ears and the tunnel vision that had kept him going had begun to fade— replaced by the ring of his cellphone.

Reluctantly, he turned off the water and answered. The familiar voice on the other end seemed almost mocking to Goro.

“I’ve been trying to contact you for an hour! Where are you?! Has the job been done?!” The voice of his father felt like a needle to the eardrum.

“M… my apologies. The job is complete. It seems the leader of the phantom thieves committed a… a murder-suicide.” The script he had so carefully planned fell apart as that warm, gentle smile lingered in his mind. “There was some cleanup that needed to be done on my end… I used the MetaNav to escape.”

“Of course.” Shido’s scathing tone was like salt in his wounds. “See to it that any evidence is properly disposed of. I expect you to begin with the rest of the phantom thieves shortly.”

“Yes… certainly.” Goro had no energy to argue. He merely hung up the phone.

What Ren had said… he knew from the sound of his voice and from the determined look in his eye that not a single word had been a lie. That man had truly placed all of his hopes in Goro. He had loved him. He had been trying through every day they spent together to make that clear to Goro. And Goro repaid that kindness and love with a bullet between his eyes.

His time with Ren had truly been the happiest days of his life. He… he hadn’t wanted to kill him. But he always assumed that Ren would never accept the disgusting, broken man that Goro had become. He thought that he had to kill Ren before he could throw him away.

“I was so… so foolish.” He sobbed, “It didn’t have to be this way….”

And if Ren had been right with all he had said, then what was any of this good for?! What had he killed his one chance at happiness for?! For a fleeting moment of power before he inevitably ended his own pathetic life?

That key. Ren had said to use that strange blue key, hadn’t he?

Goro threw on a shirt and pants, hastily buttoned them, and grabbed the gloves that Ren had given him. They were, he realized, the gloves he had worn as a phantom thief. Ren truly had given Goro a piece of himself, with the hope that Goro would do the right thing.

I’ll make this right.

--------

In a dusty corner of Shibuya lay a simple airsoft store. The area itself looked like a gathering place for criminals, but in Goro’s state of mind, this only meant that he fit right in.

Right where Ren had said it would be, there was a blue door, not unlike a prison cell. It seemed attached to nothing and like it would go to nowhere. But it had the same deep blue glow as the key he now held in his red glove clad hand.

Goro placed the key inside the lock. It effortlessly fit in, and the door nearly opened on its own. Where nothing had been before, there was a deep passageway lit in eerie blue.

Taking a hesitant step inside, the so-called detective felt a wave of vertigo. His vision seemed to warp, and for a moment, he could not tell if he was moving at all. When his sight came back to him, he saw a prison cell in front of him.

It seems like where I belong right about now… He thought to himself. He moved towards the gate in slow, labored steps. A ball and chain weighed him down, he realized. Fitting.

Inspecting the area beyond the bars that contained him, he saw a being that wasn’t quite human. His large eyes nearly bulged out of his bald head. He scarcely thought the man could blink. He was lanky in limb but had a sturdy torso and a head that seemed too heavy for his body to handle. But nothing was as strange as the large, almost beak-like nose that jutted out far more than any nose reasonably could. The man was like an unsettling doll- resembling a human but just different enough to make one’s skin crawl.

If the long-nosed man noticed Goro’s confusion, he certainly didn’t make it clear. He grinned an unnaturally wide grin and gestured for the young man to pay attention.

“Welcome once again to the Velvet Room,” The voice of the man was nasally (as expected), but high pitched and somewhat gentle. Strange though the man was, his voice put Goro at ease. “I see you’ve borrowed a key once more. I trust that you’re here because you wish to change the path you’ve awakened to.”

Goro opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come to him. He shut his mouth, then opened it again.

“I’ve been here before…?”

“In another time, you visited me once before, guided by the Trickster.”

Goro had absolutely no idea what he meant, but he at least gathered that the “trickster” he mentioned was probably Ren.

“I… I can’t remember.”

“Indeed, another force has taken hold of you. Mind, body, and destiny all rest in the hands of that force.”

Goro recalled Ren saying that they were being used in a rigged game. He wondered if this “other force” was the one using him…

“Ren, he told me to come here. He said you could change this.” Goro’s eyes were watering again. He had never cried this easily before… what had Ren done to him? “Please… I’ve made so many mistakes. If there’s any way I can change any of that, or make up for what I’ve done— I’ll do anything! Just bring him back!”

The unusual man’s expression did not change, but his voice softened, “...I believe humanity has limitless potential, and thus, the Velvet Room exists, between dreams and reality, mind and matter… if you truly wish to live up to your potential, then I will give you that chance. You have grown since your last visit. I sense a change in your heart.

“Still, to break the shackles of fate is no simple feat. Do you truly wish to try again?”

“I… I don’t just wish to. I need to. He trusted me to do the right thing, and I betrayed him. I destroyed everything I had… I want to prove that he wasn’t wrong to believe in me.”

This seemed to satisfy the being that sat before him.

“Then let the wheels of time reverse. That key, of course, must return to its rightful owner… but the proof of your bonds will remain to guide you.”

The long-nosed man snapped his fingers, and Goro felt as though his entire being was beginning to unravel.

Ren… I’ll fix this. I’ll repay your kindness. This is my vow.

Ren…

I love you.

---------

“Now arriving at Shibuya station. Please gather all your belongings before disembarking.”

Goro Akechi didn’t remember falling asleep. It was difficult for him to rest when he knew other people were watching. Yet, here he was, rubbing the sleep from his eyes in the middle of a busy train.

He looked down at his left hand. Cradled in his red-gloved hand was a note with the name of his next target--

Wait. Red gloves?

“When did I…?” He blinked. He could have sworn that he had been wearing black gloves when he’d fallen asleep…

He shook his head. I must have forgotten, he thought, But… where did these come from? I don’t recall purchasing them.

The bright red gloves didn’t fit his outfit, to begin with, so he probably wouldn’t have bought them. But the gloves felt important to him. Just looking at them filled his chest with a bittersweet, almost nostalgic feeling.

“Someone must have given these to me,” he realized, “But I can’t remember who…”

For now, Akechi didn’t have time to answer his question. As he disembarked the train, luggage in hand, he reminded himself why he had come to this city. The gift he had been granted. The chance to ruin Masayoshi Shido.

I can’t afford to make a mistake now.

He typed “Mementos” into the red-eyed app that he carried, feeling the waves of nausea ripple through him as he entered the twisted subway.

“Now, I believe this one was a subway driver, yes? This should be simple enough….”

#myserious gloves #fic time #ooc #tw gore #tw death

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theadorablespderman · 6 years

Text

Hair: Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Ash

Description: After a fire the ashes remain, alone and deserted. And Peter always hated being alone.

Spideychelle

F/M

Notes: CHAPTER 3 IS UP! My gosh, everyone has been so amazing and supportive of this story! I do want to apologize for how long this chapter took to complete, so thank you all for sticking it out! This chapter is gonna be a long one so I hope you guys enjoy! You guys can also read the fic here on AO3.

Big shout out to my amazing beta @literalprincess for being amazing and being such an awesome help this chapter! Seriously, look this girl up because she’s fabulous! Also another shoutout to @you-guys--are-losers who was a great friend and help during this chapter as well.

Enjoy guys! :)

Peter had never been the type of person who enjoyed being alone. After he’d come to live with May and Ben when he was little, May had said he’d barely ever left their side. They’d cleared Ben’s office out to make a room just for Peter. He never slept in it. He’d slept with them for a year until they started prodding him to his own bed. He’d hated it. The night always was far to silent, too easy to disrupt. Without his Aunt May’s steady breaths brushing his neck or Uncle Ben’s snores right in his ear, he couldn’t know that they were safe. Bad things happened to people, and if he wasn’t there to stop the bad things, how could they be safe?

Maybe he thought he was stronger than he was, but every car-ride, every place they went, he needed to be right there beside them. Peter made himself sick with worry when they’d leave him with a babysitter. He’d sit on the couch, waiting for the phone to ring or a knock on the door. The sounds that changed his life so easily, so suddenly, before May and Ben.

As he grew older—wiser—the anxieties faded, but never left. He spent more time with Ned, but not once did he sleep over like other kids did. Peter couldn’t be away from May and Ben for that long. He was convinced something would happen to them. He needed to make sure that, whatever that thing was, it could never hurt them.

Once he hit his teenage years, Peter was able to function normally. He did his school work while Ben tinkered with old computers. Sometimes, Ben would let Peter help once he got all of his work done. They’d watch movies as a family nearly every night, half the time with Ned included. When the nights came to a close, Peter slept in his own bed, rarely worrying about a faceless threat to Aunt May or Uncle Ben.

After the spider-bite, Peter found his anxieties nearly quelled. Ned and him had sleepovers. He went to parties. He lived the life of a teenage boy.

Peter had been at a party the night Uncle Ben died. His uncle had gone out to the nearest store for milk and never come back. The police had quickly caught the man responsible. He’d still had blood on his shirt when they found him, and yet he never confessed to the crime. When asked, he wouldn’t give information. Nobody really knew how everything had progressed, or how the confrontation ended so tragically. All they knew was that Ben been stabbed in the chest, and when the police had found his body an hour later, his wallet had been missing.

Peter knew damn well that if he’d been there, the way he would have been any other night, he would have been able to stop it. It wasn’t a what if question. He knew that if he’d been there, his uncle would still be alive.

Spider-Man was born of the loss and loneliness that came following Ben’s death. If Peter could save people, put criminals behind bars, he could make sure nobody had to suffer the losses he’d suffered in his life. If he could just be like Iron Man or any of the Avengers, he could keep the bad things from happening. He never felt isolated again; he threw himself into Spiderman instead. Alone wasn’t something he could feel when he was helping old ladies with directions, stopping arms dealers, or trying to prove himself to Mr. Stark. He couldn’t possibly feel the void when he was helping to keep others from experiencing it.

So, when it happened, he couldn’t cope. Turning to ash—dying—it had been all too real, too much.

He had never experienced a pain so intense that it felt like he was being ripped apart by a fire. Fire that consumed organs and bones. It charred his skin until there was nothing left but ash, carried away in a breath of wind.

The pain wasn’t the worst part of it. Begging Mr. Stark to save him wasn’t what gave Peter nightmares—it was the loneliness that followed.

Others had described the Soul Stone as comforting. They said it was harmonious, that they never really missed home while they were there. Peter didn’t know what that was like. He’d spent hours, months, decades alone. Completely and utterly alone. He was confined to his room, just beyond his windows an endless plane of water the same golden color as the sky.

The people that were still alive, the people that needed him were unprotected. He couldn’t leave his damn room, and everyone he loved was either gone, or unreachable. Not knowing anything about how, or where, they were destroyed him.

Confined to the four falls of his room, an island on the water in total isolation, Peter spent days, years, or maybe even minutes—he’d never know—waiting for Iron Man to save him. He waited because he was scared, and a kid, and sometimes he needed to be saved instead of vice versa. Over what felt like an eon he tried every possible way out of the room. Nothing would budge: the window stayed intact, the walls survived his beatings, and the door remained unmovable. Eventually he spiraled into despair. The inferno urging him on turned to nothing more than ash as he spend more unmeasurable time in silence, utterly desolate.

When his soul was pulled back, the first thing Peter saw was the warm, swimming eyes of Tony Stark, and he knew he was home. Peter had cried, sobbed, because he wouldn’t spend eternity rotting away, wondering if the people he loved were safe and if he could have ever saved them.

Peter had come back, back to where he could feel the heat of the sun on his face, and the chill whisper of rain as it rolled down his neck. There was warmth when he heard MJ laugh, and calm when Aunt May sang. There was passion when he saved civilians, and happiness from joking with Ned.

The memories were ones he repressed, and Peter never talked about his time in the Soul Stone. Peter actively forced down the panic when he found himself alone in his room as it glowed gold when the sun set in the sky. He forced down the anxiety when May left for the store and Ned canceled plans. Forcing it all away was better. It was selfish of him to dwell on the ash or the island—the pain and the isolation—when so many others had suffered worse fates at the hands of Thanos. Others would give up the earth and sun to have a miracle like his.

For the past twenty-four hours, however, the welling panic of desertion continually forced its way into Peter’s thoughts. He knew why the anxiety was slowly building, tangling knots and snarls in his chest. It wasn’t a mystery to him why he felt the singe of desolation coiling in his abdomen.

One day—a total of eleven and a half hours—ago, MJ had stormed out of his apartment, after confirming that she and Ned were romantically involved. He hadn’t heard from Michelle since. Which may not sound unusual, if it weren’t for the fact that she had made a habit of texting him in the middle of the night, just to wake him up with random memes. He’d slept through the night, much to his concern. Her lack of communication had only served to water the seed of Peter’s anxiety. The loneliness spread far beyond just that. His two best friends had been a couple for god knows how long and had seemingly kept it a secret behind his back.

Peter ignored a fleeting moment of scathing bitterness when he saw Ned leaning against his locker waiting for him. Strolling up and throwing a strained pleasantry to the shorter boy, Peter worked on opening his locker, stalling so as not to have meet Ned’s eyes. The blue paint around the lock was chipping, showing muted metal underneath.

“Hey.” Ned began, a weary tremor in his voice. “So, uh—do you know if MJ is ok?”

Peter yanked his physics textbook from his locker, his eyes fixated on the cover, still unwilling to look at Ned. “I was going to ask you the same question.” The malice in his voice was nothing like his usual tone. Guilt panged in his stomach, but he said nothing to rectify the statement. He only turned, finally looking at his best friend, the same best friend who had shared every secret with him since elementary school. It felt like he was staring at a stranger. How many times had he kissed MJ? Peter blinked the abrupt thought away. It didn’t matter. At least that was what he told himself.

He and Ned started navigating through the hordes of students. Peter wouldn’t admit it, but he was still attempting to avoid looking at Ned. “I figured you’d know if she’s ok.” It was his lame attempt at diffusing the tension, even if there was still a small bite to his statement.

Ned shuffled between a few cheerleaders before catching back up with Peter’s brisk stride. “Why would—Oh right. Um, yeah. She hasn’t talked to me.”

“So how long has, uh—you know, it been going on?” The words stumbled off his lips, half of him not wanting to know, while the other really did. The question had been burning the corners of Peter’s brain since MJ had said yes to his question last night. When he’d asked if she and Ned were an item.

Ned slipped next to him. Peter threw his arm out, steadying him. “W-What?” Taking the opportunity to meet his eyes for the first time, Peter silently asked what he couldn’t bear to aloud. Why had they never told him? Why had they kept it a secret? Just, why?

Peter smiled reassuringly, trying to be genuine and focus on being happy for them, if only shortly. “I’m just curious, Ned. I had no idea.” His head gestured for them to continue.

“Um, not long. It’s a, well—um—It’s’a still a’pretty new.” Ned’s voice turned into a horrible Mario impression, obviously trying to lighten to mood.

“Seriously? I’a know you can’a do a’better than that.” Peter glanced back at Ned while they walked through the door to first period. The ghost of his smile was still on his face. For a moment they fell back into their usual rhythm, until Peter’s nagging brain grew unsatisfied, wanting answers that weren't vague deflections hidden in the guise of the Italian plumber.

“Anyways, it’s new then?” Peter once again prodded, hoping for an actual answer. His carefree, happy friend instead looked like he had hidden a body. “Hey, you ok?”

Ned answered while they took their seats at the front corner of the classroom. “Yeah. No, I’m cool. I’m fresh. It’s all good.” His smile was wobbling, strained.

Seeing Ned flustered wasn’t unusual. He rambled more times than Peter could count. This time was different though. If Peter knew any better, he would have thought that Ned was hiding something.

“Did you just say that you’re fresh?” Peter’s smile broke through for just a moment. Ned’s vernacular never ceased to amuse Peter. “But seriously, what’s going—”

The warning bell cut through the air, effectively cutting off Peter’s conversation with Ned. People who hadn’t already filed into class began pouring in. Flash was among them, he smacked into Peter’s shoulder on his way to the back of the class. “‘Sup, Penis Parker?” Ignoring Flash had become habit, but it didn’t stop Peter’s temper from rising particularly quickly.

“You’d think someone that’s as smart as you claim to be would be able to come up with a better insult.” It was neither Ned or Peter who had spoken. MJ had come through the doors, slipping through people like silk. She walked directly past Peter and Ned, not even acknowledging their existence.

“Shut up, MJ.” Flash snarled.

“Wow, another stellar response from the resident dip-shit.” Her voice was her usual cool melody.

MJ had wrangled her hair into a ponytail, a drastic contrast to the bouncing mess of tangles she’d sported the day before. Her face was composed and her eyes their normal, critical selves. She looked the opposite of the rolling anger Peter experienced just the night before as she’d stormed out his apartment. The rays of the morning sun bounced off of her cheeks and nose. Her deadly eyes turned copper in the sun, glaring down at Flash, MJ was as indifferent as always. Instead of turning around and sitting next to Peter—on his left side as always—she slouched into the unclaimed corner seat in the back of the room.

The seat was broken, which was why no one sat in it. Peter knew she was pissed, but he didn’t think she was that pissed.

He turned in his seat. She’d taken her sketchbook out; her hand was already flitting around the page. “MJ,” Peter couldn’t say anything else before the final bell rang and the physics teacher came bounding into class, already shouting out the page numbers to open their books to.

Throughout class, Peter desperately tried to get MJ’s attention. He had absolutely no idea what he would do once he got it, but he wanted to see her steely gaze just to verify that he wasn’t invisible. Never once did she look up.

Half-way through the lecture on nuclear fusion, Peter turned to Ned, who was busy scrawling notes over the page. “Dude, how can you read that?” It was all a jumbled mess of ink and maybe hieroglyphics. How the obscure text translated into something, Peter had no idea. Ned opened his mouth, ready to reply, but Peter didn’t bother waiting for it. That wasn’t what he cared about anyway. “Why isn’t MJ sitting with us?”

Ned’s head remained down, his hand furiously producing more notes. “Maybe she wants space?” He glanced up to the whiteboard. Peter found it odd that Ned wasn’t even gracing him with a sidelong glance.

“Shouldn’t you know, though?” Catching another glimpse of MJ over his shoulder—her head bent down with her bangs shielding her face from view—Peter felt his breath catch somewhere behind his sternum. Her hair was a haloed brunette-copper, a realization of celestial beauty. Why was her hair so perfect?

“Know what?” Ned’s response brought Peter’s attention careening back to reality. The reality in which he had just been making googly eyes for his best friend, who happened to be dating his other best friend.

Clearing the knot that was forming into a stone in his chest, Peter distracted himself with copying down the notes he had abandoned while he had been focusing on MJ. “I’d think that since you guys are, well, you know—” The stone was impeding the word from taking shape. He deserted the words all together, clearing his throat. “I just thought you’d know why she would decide to sit in the Broke-Back-Mountain chair instead of by us.” The way in which the desk had acquired that name was too long, and too graphic, of a story to tell.

Ned snuck a look over to MJ, as did Peter. She was shifting in the cracked seat, looking uncomfortable. Her eyes momentarily flitted from her notebook up to Ned. She completely ignored Peter. Peter didn’t even have enough time to form her name on his lips before her eyes flitted away, latching attention onto her notebook. Her gaze never wavered back their way.

“I’m sure she’s fine. She’s probably just having an ‘MJ’ day.” On some days, rarely, and out of the blue, MJ would barely talk to Peter and Ned. Peter always felt like she’d gotten trapped in that brain of hers and couldn’t find her way out. There was always a dazed, introspective look to her. But she never actively ignored them.

Peter turned back, clenching his jaw. “No, I don’t think that’s it.”

When the bell rang Peter fought against the rush of students stampeding toward the door, wanting to catch MJ before she left. However, her newly found spot was empty, much to Peter’s surprise. Broke-Back-Mountain stood alone. Peter whipped his head toward the door, at a loss for words. How had she managed to sneak to the front without him noticing? Yet, there she was. The shoulder of her leather jacket was peeking through the crowd, her hair floating like a cloud over her head.

“MJ, wait up.” Peter was hurtling desks to close the distance. He needed her to see him, to listen to him. She needed to understand how badly he felt about the previous night. “MJ! Hey, come on, wait up!” When she ignored him yet again, Peter groaned, following her out the door. “MJ?” She wasn’t in the hall when he emerged from the classroom. Her mess of waves and curls had completely vanished.

Ned appeared next to Peter holding the boy’s forgotten backpack out to him. Aimlessly, Peter accepted the strap of his bag, swinging it onto his back.

It felt like a small part of his chest had fluttered away into ash.

…………………………………………………

Decathlon practice had yet to be canceled. Peter took this as a good sign, seeing as MJ was the captain of the team. Both Ned and Peter headed to sixth period in silence. Ned had been acting odd all day, and Peter was still trying to understand why MJ was upset enough to not even be talking to him, much less Ned, her boyfriend. No matter how many times that word rolled around in Peter’s head regarding Michelle and Ned, it never felt right.

There was no conversation between the two as they weaved through the hallway. Peter braced his hands on the straps of his backpack, trying to gently approach the topic that he so desperately wanted more answers to. Answers about the one and only Michelle Jones, who, over the course of twenty-four hours, had become a complete enigma. “So, why do you think MJ’s so mad?”

“Seriously, Peter?” The exasperation in Ned’s voice wasn’t unearned. Peter had been subtly prodding all day. Not so subtly.

Peter responded with a shrug of his shoulders, flashing a quick closed-mouth smile, feigning innocence. “I’m just wondering.” Ned looked completely unconvinced. Peter dropped the act, his face shattering into an anxiousness that was slowly spiraling out of control. “I mean, I get why she’s upset. I didn’t think she’d be this mad though.”

Ned pushed open the doors to the library, turning to head into the private study rooms where they met for decathlon practices. “We all kept digging into her love life after she told us not to. She got mad at me for pushing during lunch, and then you and Gwen kept asking her questions. Can you blame her?”

Peter stopped short outside of the study room. Through the windows he could see Flash leaning back in his chair and Cindy going over notes with Abe. MJ was nowhere to be seen.

Right before Ned closed his hand over the door knob, Peter’s full attention latched to the boy. “Wait, why were you poking around at lunch yesterday?”

There were more than a few things Peter knew about Ned. One of the defining things about his best friend was that he was not good under pressure. “What do you mean? What makes you think I was poking around?”

“Stop answering my questions with more questions, Dude!” The librarian a few bookcases over leaned her head into the open to shush them. Peter lowered his voice to a strained whisper. “You’ve been doing that all day.”

Ned’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Why are you so interested, anyways?”

“Why are you not? She’s your—” The word still wouldn’t crest past the stone. “Well, you know.”

“I am worried about her. But she probably wants space. As she explained to me yesterday, sometimes girls just need time to think.”

“When did she say that?”

“After she stormed out of the lunchroom.” Ned said.

“And why did she storm out of the lunchroom?” Peter set the bait.

Ned took it. “Because I was digging into her love life, at lunch, just like you and Gwen did last night!” Another shush from the librarian. Ned’s ears turned minutely darker, blushing.

“My question is, why would you be digging into MJ’s love life.”

Checkmate. Peter could feel it, something was going to happen. Ned looked on the verge of cracking when a voice sliced through Peter’s mind and body. “Can you move?” It was authoritative with none of the usual malice.

When Peter flipped around, there, in her shining glory, was MJ. Three academic decathlon study guides were hooked by her left arm against her chest. Hanging from her opposite shoulder was her bag, riddled with patched holes and broken zippers. Her face was cold, the depth of her eyes closed off, housing emotion so controlled Peter couldn’t tell if there was any left. Maybe she’d used them all up the night before.

MJ elbowed past Peter and Ned, throwing open the doors to the study room. Peter and Ned stumbled in after her. “MJ—”

“Alright! It looks like everyone’s here—”

“Mr. Harrington’s not here.” Flash interjected.

“Flash, I swear to God.” The animosity in her voice was enough to shut Flash up. It was enough to scare Peter.

MJ situated herself at the table in the center of the room, right in between Cindy and newcomer Alexa. “Anyways,” MJ continued, controlling her voice, yet again, into her usual aloof tone. “We have the first qualifying meet for Nationals this weekend. We need to hit this one hard if we want any chance of defending our National title this October. I’ve printed up the quiz sheets. They’re color coded by subject. Answer sheets are stapled on the back.” She slapped a stack of papers on the table and continued. Her devotion to organized study guides was something the team was used to at this point. “Okay,” She clapped her hands. “Let’s run some drills.”

There was literally no opportunity for Peter to get a word in. She kept the meeting packed with non-stop questions and drills. She never picked Peter to do any. She called Flash in every time. Flash. Peter could tell everyone thought it was odd, but no one was willing to call her out on it. She looked like she had just killed twenty people and buried the bodies.

Sixth period eventually came to an end. Peter tried yet again to get a word in with MJ. She was just as elusive as he was persistent and managed to slip away yet again.

Peter elbowed Ned. “Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

Ned rolled his eyes, muttering something about ‘stupid love’ before following her nonetheless.

“Wait, did you say ‘love’?” The stone in Peter’s chest exploded to the size of a boulder. Ned never responded, already taking off after MJ, not hearing Peters quiet whisper.

Peter stood, a feeling of desolation creeping along his skin.

//////////////////////////////////////////

Ned plopped down next to where Peter was sitting against the wall of the hallway. Two days of MJ avoiding Peter had passed, and today was the decathlon meet.

Ned handed Peter a breakfast sandwich still wrapped in paper. Peter blindly accepted it, his eyes still glued to the study guide in his lap. “Thanks.” He deftly unwrapped the sandwich and took a large bite.

“What happened to your face?” Ned tucked into his own sandwich, eyeing the bruise that had bloomed across Peter’s eye. “Don’t you have like, healing powers or something?”

Peter quickly shushed Ned. “It’s not ‘healing powers’, it’s enhanced healing.” Again, concentrating on the study guide, his lips pressed into a thin line. “A mugger punched me.” The smirk in his friend’s voice caused Peter’s shoulders to sag.

“You swung into a building, didn’t you?”

“Maybe just a little.” Peter replied

The snicker shielded behind Ned’s hand was the only response.

“It’ll hopefully be gone in a few hours.” Peter stated.

“Must’ve hit pretty hard.”

Peter folded up his study guide and tucked it into his bag. “So, have you talked to MJ?” For the past two days Peter had been asking the same question, with the same result. Each time Ned replied, Peter’s chest constricted farther. He found asking somewhat doused the blistering fire ravaging the cage of his ribs. Each day, he snuck more questions about MJ and Ned into conversation, hoping Ned would take the bait. Peter told himself he was only being inquisitive, told himself that the flame licking his interior was nothing more than curiosity.

“Actually, yeah,” Peter’s eyes zipped over to Ned’s, searching to find any extra information. “She answered the phone last night.”

Peter’s entire body pivoted towards Ned. He was up on his haunches now, ready to pounce. Grabbing Ned’s shoulders, Peter pulled him the smallest bit closer. “Well, what did she say?”

The natural almond shape of Ned’s eyes rounded. The shoulders beneath Peter’s increasing grip, stiffened. “Uh, nothing much. We just talked.” From the pitch of his voice, Peter found Ned’s statement unconvincing.

“Dude, you know I can tell when you’re lying right?”

Ned shrugged himself out of Peter’s hold. “Well, we did. We talked. That’s what people do on the phone.”

“What did you talk about?” Peter’s felt like all heat in his chest was aimed into lasers cutting Ned open.

Ned scrapped his teeth along his lip. His eyes broke away from Peter, all cylinders firing. “I, uh—I can’t tell you.”

“Why?” And then, the most horrific reasoning shot into Peter’s brain, as violently as possible. Maybe they’d not talked about the fight at all. Maybe, they’d talked about intimate things. Oh god. “Were you guys talking about—” His tongue suffered some type of temporary paralysis. He muddled through, forcing out the next words. “—like, sexual stuff?”

It was the first time Peter had seen Ned turn totally red. It wasn’t just a slight coloration under his dark skin. No, he was confident saying there was a full blush taking hold of his friend’s entire face. “No! Oh my god, no. That’s just—ugh,” His body managed a quiet shiver. “That’s so not what happened. That’s just gross.” He was still shaking his head, face blown into utter shell-shock.

Peter recoiled. “What did you say then?”

Ned, still reeling from Peters question, took a large chunk out of the breakfast sandwich dangling in his hand. “No. I mean, MJ’s great and all, don’t get me wrong. Super pretty, nice when she wants to be. But no, I’m just not into her that way and—” He froze in the middle of his sentence, mid chew on his sandwich. Peter could see the sense of doom crawling over his friend’s face. Something horrific was playing behind his eyes.

“Hold on, what?” Peter managed. There was a concoction of dangerous emotions welling up around his lungs, causing the air suck in. He hated to feel so relieved, Ned had sounded so dismissive to MJ, she didn’t deserve that. But then again, Peter had never known Ned to be so heartless with other’s feelings. It was like a frenzy. The fire was lighting in so many places across Peter’s body. Electricity felt like it was crackling in the air.

On the other hand, Ned looked completely shell-shocked. War veterans may have thought the poor kid had gone through some gruesome battle with the empty, terrified expression he wore. When his breathing picked up after it’s momentary pause, two small words wheezed out of his lips, “Oh shit.”

“What do you mean, Ned? What’s going on?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Peter tried again, not willing to let this opportunity slip him by. Ned had been acting weird ever since the secret came out about MJ and him. “What’s going on, dude? Seriously, you can tell me. Just what’s going on with you and MJ? Why aren’t you talking to me about it? You haven’t told me anything.”

Ned stood up, clearing his throat, searching for a way to escape. Peter could see the flight response in his eyes. “MJ has been all we’ve been talking about for the past two days.”

“No, you’ve been avoiding all of my questions. What aren’t you telling me?”

Ned glanced down the hall, chuckling. “You know, I think I dropped my study guide down the hall.” He tried to slip past Peter. Peter caught him by the arm, the momentum swinging them around. Somewhere behind them Flash made some lame joke about them dancing together.

Peter, hand clasped around Ned’s arm, begged him silently to talk to him. “Look, it sucks that you and MJ didn’t tell me about your relationship. I thought we were friends and you guys have totally shut me out and it’s seriously freaking me out. I just want to know what’s going on. Please, just, don’t shut me out.” Peter let his hand drop from Ned’s arm, too tired to fight the crush of desertion as he spoke what had been boiling under the surface for days.

There was a moment of silence, of understanding between the two. Ned was the first to break it, a sharp breath sucked in before he spoke. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” A smile stretched across Ned’s lips. Not the reaction Peter was expecting. “You’re totally digging MJ.”

“What? No. That’s not what’s—No. I’m not into—She’s your girlfriend. That’s just—” It just wasn’t true. MJ was his friend, just a friend. So, what if she had incredible hair, or soothing eyes? And, yeah, maybe he loved it when she watched Star Wars with him and her arm touched his just slightly, but Peter definitely didn’t love her. Peter didn’t love how when she looked into his eyes it was like he had never known loneliness. He, for sure, didn’t love that when she sang under her breath she captured the world’s attention with her melody. He didn’t think it was amazing that her hard exterior could handle anything the world threw at her, and it definitely wasn’t his favorite thing about her. Peter didn’t love Michelle, didn’t like her in any way beyond a platonic kinship. There was no way he had feelings for his sharp, sarcastic, and intelligently annoying friend. No way that he secretly loved that her style was a kaleidoscope of weirdness, or when her hair was secured to her head or floated around in natural coils. There was just no possible way that Peter felt that way about Michelle Jones.

“Peter, you’re awesome and all, but sometimes you’re actually really stupid.” Ned’s words broke Peter from his stupor. Ned was only smirking at him, no signs of betrayal that his best friend liked his girlfriend. Suddenly the anxiety, the fire in Peter’s chest, made so much more sense. The light bulb flickered on. Peter felt the realization crash into him. The circuitry in his brain fired and sparked. “Oh, dear god.” He tried to gauge Ned’s response. “I’m—I think... What am I gonna tell Gwen? Oh god, Ned, I’m so sorry.” He was frantically gesturing, as though to show just how sorry he was.

Ned reassured him with a calming smile. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal? You’re dating MJ. How is this not a big deal to you?”

Sighing, Ned rolled his eyes. “Dude, did it ever occur to you that maybe MJ and I aren’t dating?”

Peter stopped. “No, Ned. That was not something that crossed my mind.” Peter kept his voice level, but his brain was raging. “Wha—why would she say you guys are a couple then?”

Ned waved down the hallway, a smile breaking on his face. “Hey, MJ.” Peter jerked his head over to look. Walking down the hall, the light from the windows dancing across one side of her face, was MJ. Her teeth bit aggressively into the apple in her hand, and she raised her brows in greeting. “Maybe, she just wanted people to stop asking so many questions.” Ned answered under his breath as she approached.

“Alright Losers,” MJ said as she pulled open the door to the practice room. “Let’s hit the drills one last time. We’ve got three hours before we need to check in.”

Mr. Harrington, who had been awaiting MJ outside the practice room with everyone else, sighed. “Michelle, how many times do I have to tell you not to address the team as ‘Losers’.”

Ned pushed the still miffed Peter into the room after the rest of the team. Peter glimpsed MJ moving the table around and setting up the chairs on one side. “It’s just a simple team motivation strategy, Mr. Harrington. Makes them work harder.” She shot him an innocent smile and Peter thought maybe the room had exploded. There was no excuse as to why it took him so long to notice how his fingers and toes seemed to tingle around MJ, or how her smile caused his chest to swell.

“Bro, pull yourself together. Stop staring before it gets weird.” Ned hissed in his ear.

Peter blinked a few times, effectively cutting off his wandering thoughts. “MJ, do you think—”

“Alexa, you’re going to be put in for the competition. Justin can’t make it.” MJ’s eyes were focused on the study sheet in her hands. She marked something on the paper before shoving the pen behind her ear.

Flash scoffed. “Are you serious, Michelle? She’s brand new. I’ve been on the team for a year.”

Scowling, MJ turned to look at Flash. “Maybe it's because I don’t want to screw this up. You’ve never answered a single question during competition. And what you do answer during practice is wrong half the time.”

Flash started complaining to Mr. Harrington.

Peter turned to Ned. “Why is she still so pissed at me? You said she talked to you.”

“I told you, I can’t tell you.” Ned shrugged off his bag. “Just try talking to her yourself.”

Laughing quietly, Peter dropped his own bag to the floor. “Right, I never thought about that. How silly of me.” His eyes were murderous. Ned only shrugged before taking his seat at the table.

“The next person to talk is going to end up with a leather boot up their ass.” MJ wasn’t looking at Peter, but he snapped his jaw shut nevertheless. Peter plopped in next to Ned, shooting daggers his way.

From his chair behind MJ, Mr. Harrington let out a long, tired sigh. “Michelle, no threatening the team, and please watch your language.”

“Sorry,” She cleared her throat, readying her papers. “Alright. Economics. If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?”

……………………………………………………………………..

Quarter to one o’clock, the team started to get ready to head backstage. Everyone was placing their cell phones and study guides into their bags, some of them sliding back into their bright yellow coats. Peter slid past Ned and dropped his sheet and phone into his bag.

MJ was marking something else on her study guide in the spot she’d been standing throughout the practice. When she placed the pen between her teeth, folding the paper neatly, Peter lightly pushed her by the small of her back out of the room.

“What the hell?” When they were in the hallway, tucked away in a classroom doorway, she elbowed his hand off her back.

Her glare was piercing, but Peter’s was growing with intensity too. The burning anxiousness that had been creating hopeless ash over the past two days burst into anger. “I could ask you the same thing.” His voice hissed, his words a snake, leaking the venom that had been shut inside him for days. He stepped closer, eyes just barely having to glare up at her. If she were barefoot she’d be the same height as him, but her clunky boots always gave her the advantage. “You’ve been ignoring me for days. I’ve tried to talk to you and you didn’t listen. I’ve been worried. You can’t—” Peter managed a strangled breath, pushing back down the words he couldn’t say. The words that showed Peter Parker couldn’t handle three days of being ignored by her because he felt abandoned. Instead, he averted his eyes, trying to come up with the right words. “I’m sorry about the movie night. Gwen pushed and so did I, and you’re right, it’s nobody’s business. I was just curious who you liked, and when Gwen started asking about you and Ned. I thought you guys were a couple and didn’t tell me. I never wanted to make you so upset, but I just—I can’t keep wondering if you hate me over this. If you want to flush a year long friendship down the toilet because of one mistake that’s your decision, but I don’t agree with you on that. You just mean—”

“Peter, calm down.” Her voice, smooth, with just enough edge, brought him back. He realized he hadn’t really been seeing anything at all until her eyes enveloped his vision. The steady, unwavering, gaze that he’d been striving to connect with for days was now focused solely on him. Her hand reached over and gently squeezed his wrist, spreading a cool warmth up his arm. The feeling of desolation—of being the boy stuck forever in the prison of a room—was fading, floating away into the wind. “I’m not angry.” She still wore her dissociation from the world like a mask on her face, but it was just a mask. Peter could see the emotion brimming in her eyes. The guilt. “I was embarrassed. Really embarrassed, about letting everything boil over like that, and then yelling at you. I feel so bad about it.” She was fiddling with the paper still clutched in her hands.

This was one of the few times Peter saw MJ lacking her hardened exterior. He could see the uncertainty washing over her face. There was even the slightest blush kissing her nose and cheeks.

Peter crushed her into an embrace, his chin resting perfectly on the curve of her shoulder. Her body froze. In all the time Peter knew MJ, he couldn’t remember a time when they’d ever hugged. “I was so worried you’d never talk to me again.” MJ’s heart was beating against his chest and it was the most wonderful thing he’d experienced in his life. It was home. “Next time,” He spoke into her hair, which smelled like lavender, “I’d rather you yell at me for three days than ignore me.” She laughed against his shoulder, just a chuckle, but he felt it soothing the barbed knot that had been tightening in his throat.

“Fair enough, Loser.” When her slender arms wound around his shoulders, he was no longer grounded to the earth. He was grounded to her.

“Peter?” He knew the voice. He broke away from MJ, and if there had been a sound of their embrace breaking, it would’ve been a booming crack.

There Gwen stood, dressed in her Student Council sweater and a flowing tulle skirt that was the same cream color as her hair. Her eyes shot between Peter and MJ, calculating. “Gwen, hey. Uhm, MJ and I were just having a friendship moment there.” Guilt was clawing his stomach to shreds. He wasn’t planning on breaking up with her until after Prom. He wasn’t going to be the heartless dick who broke up with her a week before the biggest dance of the year.

Gwen smiled, her teeth perfectly straight and white against the peach coloring of her lips. Peter sensed no malice behind her smile. “I’m glad you guys made up.” She motioned her head down the hall, her fingers folding into both her pockets. “But the decathlon is about to start, and I’ve been tasked to come find you. So, you might want to book it in there.”

MJ stuffed the paper in her pocket. She glanced at the clock above the lockers on the opposite wall. It was five to one. “Oh, Shit!” MJ was already sprinting down the hall.

Gwen, with her hands hidden in her sweater, her smile turned into a sweet grin. The smallest drop of sadness in her eyes. Peter stepped toward her, reaching out. He wanted to explain, tell her that he didn’t know this would happen, that he didn’t want to hurt her. “Gwen—”

“It’s ok, Peter. We’ll talk later.” She bumped her shoulder against his, that same wonderfully kind smile was still on her lips. In a way, he wished she’d just be angry with him, her kindness was making him feel worse. “Now go. You’ve got a competition to win.”

…………………….

“We are now entering sudden death. The next team to answer this question correctly will win the District Competition and advance to Regionals this June.” The host of the decathlon presented a showy smile to each side, gesturing with a manicured hand to the small trophy the winning team would receive as a physical prize.

Peter shifted in his seat, setting his elbows on the table. There were bells placed in front of each of the twelve participants. Six on each team. Everyone was gearing up for the question. “Alright, here is our final question of the night!” Each person on both tables leaned forward just the slightest bit. “This is an Economics question. The question is: If the money multiplier equals eight, the reserve ratio equals?”

MJ’s hand slammed down on the buzzer. “Midtown Tech?”

Peter couldn’t believe their luck. The question was exactly how they’d studied it during practice. Mr. Harrington had even mentioned that the money multiplier wasn’t mentioned in depth in the practice guides and studying it wasn’t crucial.

MJ shrugged, turned her head towards the official, and Peter could see the slightest twitch of her lip. There was the glimmer of pride in her eye. He could see how much this meant to her. “Twelve-point-five percent.”

There was a drawn-out silence. The entire team knew they’d won, they were all trying to keep their excitement to a minimum until it was officially announced. Peter clasped Ned and MJ’s hands under the table. “Midtown Tech has won the District Division!” The team immediately ruptured into shouts and chants. Peter swept MJ out of her seat and hugged her. The entire team joining in. He could feel her quiet laughter bubbling over everyone’s happy shouts. Her beaming smile was pressed against Peter’s neck. Out in the crowd somewhere, Peter could distinctly hear May screaming over the applause.

The group-hug lasted only a few seconds more before the team broke off. They all collectively walked over to shake the other team’s hands. A particularly greasy looking kid gave MJ more of a sneer than a polite smile. Her face remained cold as ever, but it didn’t stop Peter from glowering at the kid when he shook his hand.

Before Peter could even reach the next person, the kid called over the official. The crowd was still cheering, Ned was pushing at Peter to move, but something bad was about to happen. He could feel the tingle rushing over his arms, up his neck. When the official arrived at the boy, Peter perked his ears up. Pushing away Ned’s jabbing hands, Peter shushed Ned as the official leaned his ear to the boy’s mouth.

Peter picked up the conversation easily, it was second nature by this point. “Sir, I don’t mean to be a poor loser. But, I’m only concerned about Midtown Tech’s captain.” Peter’s eyes shot over to MJ, she was shaking the last person’s hand, starting to move toward the edge of the stage. “Sir, I only noticed that she has a paper sticking out of her pocket, I was concerned that it was possibly a guide or quiz answers. I found it suspicious she knew so quickly the final question after my team had only begun working it out.” Peter’s heart stopped. As the kid had said, there was a folded sheet of paper barely sticking out of MJ’s back pocket. It had been hidden up until this point by her decathlon jacket. When they’d all hugged her, it must have pushed her jacket behind the paper. Peter knew with absolute certainty MJ had no idea it was still there.

With a few words into a walkie-talkie, the official called for MJ to be taken aside. Peter had managed five swift steps towards her, but she was already to the edge of the stage, just out of his reach, when a security guard pulled her off to the side. Mr. Harrington arrived beside her just before Peter did. “Miss, we’re going to have to ask to see your pockets.”

Mr. Harrington interjected, “What’s this all about?” He shoved the glasses back up his nose, his eyes carrying over the officer.

“Sir, your student has been accused of cheating—”

“What?” MJ’s arms swung out, nearly elbowing Peter’s gut, before she folded them firmly across her chest. Peter attempted to slip his hand into her pocket, just enough to grab the paper and store it in his own jacket.

“Sir,” The officer’s tone was unyielding, and Peter’s head snapped up. His fingers were inches from the paper, but the officer was right there, his eyes clearly staring at the little corner of white peeking out of MJ’s forest-green jeans. “I see what you’re trying to do, and you need to back away.”

MJ twisted her head around, her glare finding Peter’s fingers inches from her bottom, and inches from the paper in her pocket. Her indifference broke so thoroughly, so quickly, Peter felt like he’d been gut punched. Stoic and unbreakable as MJ was, it was like crushing diamonds when her eyes burned out. The flicker of fire in them giving way to dread.

“It’s mine!” The confession was easy. He needed to save MJ from that look plastered on her face, from the thing inside her that was causing her eyes to dim so drastically. He could save her from it. Peter knew he could. He stepped in front of her. Looking the officer dead in the eye and lied. “It’s mine, I was planting it on her.” Four pointed knuckles jabbed into Peter’s back, He shot MJ a hard glare over his shoulder, urging her not to intervene.

The officer crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Why would you sabotage your own team member?”

The entire team was starting to circle around. Mr. Harrington was trying his best to push them back, as well as get a word in with the officer. Peter spoke over him. “I, uh—hate her. I’d rather see the whole team go down than have her win for us.”

The officer swept Peter out of the way. “Look, kid, I really don’t have time for heroics. Come on, Miss.” MJ stepped up to the officer, oozing broken confidence, and pulled out the paper in her back pocket. Her fingers dropped it into the officer’s hand.

An official showed up, talking over the radio. Midtown’s principal trailed behind. “Is this her?” The official asked. The officer nodded, and before Peter could get another word in, they were taking MJ away with Mr. Harrington in tow.

The entire team converged on Peter. Flash was grasping their newly won trophy like an idiot. “Parker. What just happened?”

The anger was tinting his world red, he wanted to punch that sniveling kid who’d ratted on MJ. He looked over. The kid was gone. Flash was the only asshole available. “Put down the trophy, Flash. You didn’t even compete, you look like an idiot.”

Flash’s chest puffed out, his nostrils flared, and Peter was ready to aim his fist right at them. “Say that again, Penis. I dare you.” Flash growled.

All Peter needed to do was cock his fist back and let it fly. He got as far as snapping his back his fist before two small hands were pulling his arm down. Two more arms were holding him back. Ned was yelling in his ear to leave Flash alone, that he wasn’t worth it.

“You’re so fucking full of yourself!” Years of pent up anger, of swallowed pride, was bursting from Peter at the seams. Ned was dragging him back with the help of the mystery hands. Abe was grasping with all his might to keep Flash from launching at Peter.

When the stage door closed and there was nothing but the silence of the hallway and the shimmering light of the evening sun filtering through the glass, Peter finally shrugged Ned off.

“Dude, what was that?” Peter turned to Ned and could only stare at the scrape on the peak of Ned’s cheekbone.

“Where did—? Ned, did I do that?” A rush of shame hit him. He’d hit his best friend. He’d lost his temper.

Ned touched his cheek lightly, checking for blood. “It’s not a big deal, Peter. You just bumped me.” He smiled, as if that would fix Peter’s impending guilt.

“Peter, what’s going on? What was that?” Gwen stepped out of nowhere, Peter assumed she’d been the other set of hands pulling him back. He rapidly checked her for any bruises, but she seemed fine. Her ponytail was now slightly askew.

The hum in Peter’s bones, the memory of MJ’s face, crippled him. His back smacked against the wall and he sunk. The ground smacked his bottom hard, his head fell between his hands. “They think MJ cheated. When I talked to her before we went in, I’d grabbed her before she put her study guide away. We had to run to get in the gym on time and she must’ve put it in her pocket without thinking.” He sighed. “They could expel her.”

“I don’t think they’d expel her. She’s an amazing captain and she’s got amazing grades. There’s no way they’ll expel her for cheating. She didn’t even cheat, we both sat by her, there’s no way she cheated.”

Peter knocked his head back against the bricks of the wall. “May’s probably wondering what’s going on. Why she hasn’t seen us yet.” Peter stood, ready to go seek her out and explain what’s been going on.

Gwen helped him up, worry etched into her brows. “Ned, maybe you could go get Peter’s aunt and then meet us by the principal's office? That’s probably where they took MJ. Is that ok, Peter?”

Peter could only stare for a long moment. Gwen was a gorgeous and wonderful person. He could only hope that she found a guy that deserved her. “Yeah, that works.” Ned headed off down the hallway, leaving Gwen and Peter alone.

Peter risked a glance at Gwen. He knew the conversation was coming, and he had no idea how to broach it.

The subject was addressed by Gwen right away. “You love her, don’t you?” There was a long spell where she gave Peter the time to find his words. None of the words or sentences he could think of would do. He didn’t even know if he loved MJ, but he sure knew that he liked her a lot. After a reasonable amount of Peter’s floundering jaw, Gwen cut in again, her voice sweet and calm. Her hands were tucked into her yellow student council sweater yet again. “You do, even if you don’t want to admit it. I have a good eye for these types of things, always have.” Her smile was small, understanding, and he ducked her head down. The fine hairs on her ponytail hovered in the minuscule breeze walking created. “I know this isn’t the time to bring this up, but were you going to tell me?”

Peter finally swallowed his tongue and managed to find some words. “Yes. I mean, I only figured it out today—that I like her. I was going to tell you as soon as I could, though. But I didn’t want to tell you before Prom and ruin it for you. I asked you and I still want you to have a good time, it’s just—”

“I’m just not the person you want to be with the most.” She shrugged. “I’m not going to say I’m not upset. I do like you, Peter. You’re very kind and funny, but I’m sure that this won’t hurt for too long.” Peter cocked an eyebrow. She laughed. “You know what I mean. We’ve barely started this,” She motioned between the two of them. “Thing.”

Peter laughed this time. “I really am sorry. I didn’t want you not to have a date for Prom.”

“Oh, I’ll have a date. You can’t get out that easy, Parker. I’d love to go as friends, if you’re not set on dumping me completely, that is.” She bumped her shoulder into his, stopping outside of the darkened front office. Peter could see a sliver of light under the door.

He took a glance away from the door and smiled at Gwen. Her eyes were soft, if a little sad, but in all she looked okay. “Nope. I’d be honored to take you out.” Gwen smiled back at him. She wrapped an arm around Peter’s bicep. It was comfortably platonic and did well to help calm the anxieties rearing their ugly heads.

There was a door between MJ and himself. He could be doing so much more to help her, but he was stuck on the wrong side of the door.

When Aunt May and Ned showed up, they had half the team in tow. They’d ended up camped outside of the office, waiting. The afternoon light turned into the blue ashy color of twilight. May had been trying to get ahold of MJ’s mom, but it repeatedly went to voicemail every time. Peter mentioned that MJ had said last week that her mom was going to be out of the country on business. May left multiple voicemails and text messages just to be safe.

By the time the lights flicked on in the hallway, Cindy’s head was on Alexa’s lap and her feet in Abe’s. Ned had placed both MJ’s and his bag beside him against the wall. He was going through his phone to pass the time. Gwen had also stayed, her head resting against Peter’s shoulder as she to scrolled through her phone. Seeing how she switched her position every ten or so minutes, Peter realized he was nothing more than a more comfortable cushion than the wall.

May checked her watch. “They’ve been in there for a while.” She eyed Peter with a sly smile. “You think she’s putting up a fight?”

“If she didn’t I’d be worried.” Peter said. The light under the office door flickered. Flickered again.

May’s smile turned into a retrospective, prideful one. “That’s my girl.”

Then Peter could see people through the glass. He bolted up, Gwen and Ned following soon after. The decathlon official, with her curly red hair and snug high-waisted khakis, emerged first, casting a curious look towards the group of kids sprawled on the floor. The officer then emerged, followed by Mr. Harrington. May shot over to Mr. Harrington instantly. They began talking in hushed whispers, as was common with adults in situations like this.

MJ snuck around Mr. Harrington, her eyes never rising from the floor. Peter couldn’t see the brown of them beyond her bangs. He took a small step forward, before Gwen grabbed his wrist. So lightly that only he could hear, Gwen whispered. “I don’t know her like you do, but she doesn’t look like she wants to talk right now.”

Peter was just about to discount what Gwen had said until MJ’s eyes finally, painfully slowly, dragged up to meet Peter’s. The blood in his veins came to a complete halt, he felt the impact deep in his chest, piercing the place where everyone he cared about was kept.

Michelle Jones was crying.

Her eyes were puffy, red, and even as she looked at him a tear skidded down her cheek, crashing into her lips. Her throat visibly contracted. Her eyes bounced between Ned and Peter, Peter and Gwen.

Peter had no idea what had happened, what had gone so wrong as to cause MJ to cry. He never thought God himself could make MJ cry. It just wasn’t possible.

“MJ—” He reached out, ready to catch her, wanting desperately to heal her. “What happened?”

His only answer was the quiet shake of her eye as she averted her eyes once more and walked down the hallway. Everything was silent. May had halted her conversation, eyes raking over MJ, just as shocked as the others.

Ned called after her so did Peter, neither one knowing if they should run after her or not. She disappeared around the corner, looking like a specter floating aimlessly away. “What do we do?” Ned asked the question, Peter needed the answer. He was so close to running after her, he would have if the shock of what just happened hadn’t immobilized him.

May stepped between the boys, her eyes never leaving the corner MJ had disappeared behind. “You don’t do anything right now. I’ll go talk to her, see what I can do.”

Neither boys argued, they merely watched as May disappeared around the corner after MJ.

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