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Peter couldn’t honestly say he had made peace with the situation. Acceptance wasn’t even the right word. It just was. He had been alone for four years, and now they were back. Simple as that. Down the hall from him, one MJ Watson and Ned Leeds moved back into his life and those were the facts.
At first he chose avoidance. If he was heading out as one of them came out their door, he made a sharp pivot and back into his own apartment. This only worked for about a week, though, because he could only be late to work for so many days. Unrealistically, for a day or two, he considered moving apartments completely. But it was New York, and there was no way in hell he could afford to break his lease 3 months early.
But then the house warming party invite slipped under his door, and guilt wormed its way into his chest and buried itself there. He could tell the flyer had been hand-drawn by MJ herself, with Ned’s scrawly handwriting on the bottom to sign his name, and then photo copied on blue paper. They were making an effort to meet the people around them, and he had avoided them like the plague.
It was easier to forget while they were states away. They were his friends, just away at college and too busy to reach out. That lie was easier to stomach than the reality that now threatened to swallow him whole.
So maybe it makes him selfish. Maybe it’s his insistent need in him to right the wrongs, but over the few days leading to the party he decided at the very least, they deserve the truth. So he began rewriting that letter over and over and over.
How to explain that he had deliberately broken a promise, and sat on that lie for four years to follow? How to make her understand that he doesn’t expect anything to change, yet can’t bear the lie any longer?
Secretly, some part of him knew that he was just lonely. A selfish part of him, maybe the only human part of him that remained. Maybe, he just didn’t want to be alone with this lie anymore.
But he didn’t deserve that, the forgiveness that could come with the truth. The reconciliation, the empathy, their love. He didn’t deserve any of it, he wouldn’t have it. But she deserved the truth.
Hi, my name is Peter Parker and I-
No.
Hi.
You don’t know me, but…
But what? But you actually do?
No, she doesn’t.
Pages of crumpled paper collected on his desk, semblances of thoughts haphazardly scribbled out. Rough drafts that he was able to piece together into one final letter. It wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t even what she deserved, but it was done. He also got flowers from the vendor on their corner, a simple arrangement he knew MJ loved.
Peter had been to space, and yet he still felt more out of place in this apartment than when he had been surrounded by aliens and titans and wizards. He grabbed a beer from the counter on his way in, nursing the bottle as he walked a path through the rooms. He passed the living room crowded with people he somewhat recognized. He saw the neighbor who lived directly across from him, a college kid a few years younger than him. Maybe 21 or 22, and played music with no concern for anyone else in the hall. A girl, a few doors down from him, who always tried to make conversation when they found themselves in the elevator together. He was polite, but really, he had no interest. In her, or letting anyone into his life again.
He moved down the hallway, inconspicuously peeking into a room with the door cracked open. He knew immediately it could only be MJ’s, with the stacks of books on shelves and the same quilt on her bed she’d had since high school. And then he saw her, spraying perfume and smoothing over her dress before heading to the door. Something instinctive took over and he jumped away, moving down the hall and rounding the corner.
With his bottle in one hand and the flowers still stubbornly clutched in the other, he found himself in a room with a large corkboard, completely covered in pictures of Spiderman, thread attached with thumbtacks making patterns from one picture to another. Newspaper clippings, random New Yorkers that he could only assume were suspects of his secret identity. He moved closer, analyzing the work that had been done. He found himself smiling in spite of himself, realizing that a part of them still felt connected to Spiderman.
“Oh, I see you’ve stumbled across my board,” an unmistakable voice said from behind him. He turned to see Ned approaching him, and let out a dry laugh, awkwardly nodding his head.
“I’m not one of those weirdos, I swear,” Ned said defensively.
His brain had responses ready. I don’t doubt it, or, this is impressive work. But another voice beat him to it.
“He’s a little weird.”
His heart stuttered, his brain firing off maybe thousands of neurons in response to her voice. It was a feeling he knew well, and something that apparently even four years couldn’t erase.
His body turned the other way to face her, awkwardly stammering for just long enough to definitely make it awkward. She gave him a once over, eyes lingering on the bouquet still in his hands.
“Nice flowers,” she deadpanned, a tone that was so MJ he nearly broke out into a grin.
“Oh! They’re- uh, a housewarming gift,” he managed. He was hyper aware of every movement he made, manually extending his arm to hand over the flowers.
She accepted them, turning them over in her hand.
“I’m MJ.”
“You two…don’t know each other?” Ned questioned. MJ’s gaze averted to him, and she shrugged.
“I’m just a neighbor from across the hall,” he answered, taking another sip of his drink
“Friendly neighbor,” she quipped. And he choked, embarrassingly.
“Does the friendly neighbor have a name?” She pushed, obviously trying to help him move the conversation forward.
“Flash Thompson in the HOUSE!!” Flash’s voice interrupted the relaxed pop playing from the speakers.
“Oh, God,” Ned groaned. “How did he get an invite?”
“Guess we’ll find out,” MJ replied with a breathy laugh. They both turned to head down the hall before she turned back around. “Thanks for the flowers, uh…”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah I’m, uh, May…nard.” He internally kicked himself. So much for honesty. The silence between the three of them held long enough for him to wish he could disappear.
“I’m gonna go put these in some water,” she said, turning away from him. “It was nice to meet you, Maynard-nerd, Maynard.”
All he could do was force his head to nod.
The music changed to loud rock, whipping Ned’s attention back to Flash and followed MJ down the hall.
“MJ, get Flash off the Spotify jam.”
He made his rounds, awkwardly lurking in corners and making a total of two half-hearted introductions to overly friendly people with some alcohol on their breath. About thirty minutes in, he saw MJ alone in the kitchen putting his flowers in a vase and positioning them on the counter. He pulled the letter from his pocket, nervously running his thumbs over the folds in the paper. Why had he lied about his name? One more thing to apologize for. A mental battle in his mind, if he should just give it to her and leave or wait for the end of the night. If he waited, he would almost definitely talk himself out of it. But doing it now could make the evening uncomfortable. That is, if she even read it right now.
Sure, he could just say he meant to give it with the flowers. ‘Just read it later!’ Sure.
He moved his legs, moving to the center of the living room in one, two, three strides before he froze in his tracks. A guy had made his way to her side, gently brushing her arm to get her attention. He looked at her with such gentle eyes as she turned to him, leaning against the counter in easy conversation. She laughed, the sound spreading like something warm from Peter’s chest to his fingers. The man’s arm reached up and brushed her hair away from her face, lingering for a moment before he kissed her. Peter felt frozen in time, and felt completely stupid for even coming under the pretense of moving forward. She had moved on without him already, of course she had. He had never given her reason to know there was anything to have moved on from.
To get out of the room would require passing right by her, so he went the opposite direction toward the balcony and grabbed another beer on his way. He leaned against the rail, swallowing the alcohol faster than he knew he should. But he felt antsy, and it gave him something to do. The now crumpled letter was in his other hand, flipping the paper between his fingers. His mind moving much too fast for him to keep up with, combined with the fluctuating sounds of the city buzzing all around.
Alcohol didn’t affect him the way he sometimes wished it could, but it still helped loosen him up. The closer he got to the bottom of the bottle, the quieter his thoughts felt. Suddenly content with continuing to live this lie, to continue to let her be, he carelessly pushed the letter back in his pocket and made his way back inside. His legs felt heavy, making his way through the crowd that had considerably grown in the time he was outside. He immediately spotted MJ and that guy dancing in the crowd. He had no reason to hate him, but resentment festered in his chest. With a sharp turn to the other side of the room, he tripped over the base of the couch and consequently bumped into the group next to it. With only minor spillage of their drinks, he apologized and made his way out the door.
Frustrated and quite frankly emotionally exhausted, he rattled the doorknob to his own apartment to get it to unlock. Unceremoniously kicked off his sneakers, and collapsed onto his bed.
**
MJ had never been a party person, a fact she didn’t try to hide when Ned and his grandmother suggested they throw a housewarming party once they were settled into their apartment. But, here she was, leaning against the wall next to the front door as people slowly filed out. Friends said their goodbyes, some strangers thanked them for the party, saying it was good to meet them. Others left without a word.
Ned had started cleaning up their kitchen, and Paul had been good enough to stick around and help out too.
Paul, her…boyfriend? They had been on six dates now. She had met him in her photojournalism class this last semester, were partners on their final project, and here they are. And he happened to be from Brooklyn, not far from where her and Ned were now living. It was something different for MJ. She hadn’t dated at all throughout college, part of her not having the desire, another part not feeling whatever she thought she would feel if she cared for someone like that.
That same part of her that, despite being exactly where she always intended to be at this point in her life, felt extremely out of place. That felt like something important was missing. She tried not to dwell on it, because when the feeling did come, it always overwhelmed her. Ned felt it too, sometimes. Maybe it was just part of growing up.
But Paul was kind, he was intelligent, and he was handsome, sure. When he first asked her out, the small group of friends she had made in her time at MIT pushed her to give him a chance, saying she’d be crazy not to. And she liked him, she was sure she did. He was good for her, extroverted where she was introverted. He got her to dance with him, he made her laugh, and it was easy to be around him. Still, there was that part of her that didn’t feel what she had expected she would.
With a huff, she pushed herself off the wall to begin her part of cleaning up their apartment. She gathered cups on the ground and coffee table, stacking them into one pile. She got down on her knees to reach for a cup under the couch, finding a crumbled piece of paper as well. She paused at the sight of handwriting as she was about to drop it into the trash pile. It was the nosy part of her, the part of her that wanted to become a journalist so badly. She set the cups down, sat down on the couch, and smoothed out the paper.
Hi
My name is Peter Parker, and you don’t remember me, but I have something to tell you that’s going to sound crazy. But it’s the truth, and I know you’re going to believe me, because you’re very good at telling when I’m lying.
We used to know each other. We were together. But something bad was going to happen to the world. And the only way to stop it was to make everyone forget me, including you.
Because I’m not just Peter Parker.
I’m SPIDER-MAN.
And sometimes, Spider-Man has to do the hard thing. Even if it breaks Peter Parker’s heart.
Maybe I’ll never read this to you. Maybe I’m just writing this for me. Maybe that’s my responsibility, to live alone with the truth.
But the truth is I love you.
And I hope that deep down something inside you remembers you love me too.
Her eyes scanned over the paper so many times, she had practically memorized the thing.
“Ned!” She called without moving her eyes from the paper, to no response.
“Ned Leeds get your ass in here or else I’ll-”
“Woah, I’m coming, I’m coming,” he hastily said as he entered the room. “Are you okay?”
Shakily, she handed the paper over to him.
“Spider-Man,” she whispered, “he was- he’s-”
“Oh my god,” he said, sitting down on the couch next to her as he finished reading. “He was here? Tonight?”
“Sounds like it. Wasn’t very careful with his things either,” she let out a breathy laugh.
“Wonder who this was meant for?” He folded the paper neatly, passing it back to her.
“Better question is, who the hell is Peter Parker?”
“Spider-Man, by the looks of it.”
Paul came back into the room, carrying two trashbags in his hands.
“What about Spider-Man?” He asked.
“You gotta see this-” Ned started.
“This new video of him on YouTube,” she interrupted, feeling suddenly defensive. She pushed the paper into the drawer on the coffee table and stood up. “I’ll show you later, let’s get this trash out before it stinks up your clothes.”
In the weeks that passed, she couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. It had resided on her bedside table for weeks now. She couldn’t shake the feeling it gave her. Something almost familiar, though she knew how crazy that sounded.
Peter Parker had no social media presence, no real trace on the internet either. Which she figured was smart, if he was planning on leaving letters revealing he’s Spider-Man in random people’s apartments. She even built up the courage to ask the leasing office if they had any residents under the name, but they refused to give up that information. It was maddening.
But if this situation was the way the letter made it sound, everyone forgetting him, maybe that meant records were wiped too. She was baffled to think that someone could have that type of power. It seemed unfair, to make the entire world forget one singular person. It made her sad to think about, how alone this Peter Parker must be.
Because as much as Ned had worked at (and consequently she had been roped into) finding Spider-Man, she wasn’t necessarily concerned with having her a-ha! moment in unmasking the guy. She couldn’t explain it, but she had felt a pull towards Spider-Man for as long as she could remember. She knew Ned did too, he was their favorite hero. Still, something about it went deeper than that. She felt a sense of protectiveness for the guy.
More than once, the thought crossed her mind – one she quickly tried to shake right back out because it made her feel borderline insane.
What if I was meant to be on the receiving end of this letter?
The ramifications of that statement alone offered missing pieces in her mind the more she dwelt on it, in spite of herself.
Let’s say she had known Peter Parker. Had been with him, fallen in love with him. She had memories with Spider-Man throughout high school, most hazy around the edges, but definitely there. And then there were patches in her memory too, as if something had just been wiped and discarded. When she had first told her dad she was having issues remembering things, he had set up a meeting for her with the school counselor. It didn’t help, but she dutifully went each week. And then she graduated, and she learned to deal with it, as annoying as it was.
Losing her first love like that, hypothetically, wouldn’t it explain the missing piece she’s felt in her life for so long? Ned too, because he would've been in the mix of their friend group as well. It could be the reason some of her fondest memories with Ned felt fuzzy sometimes, too.
As much as these reasons seemed to click into place, the rational side of her couldn’t accept it as the truth until she had all the facts laid out in front of her. If she really had known him, wouldn’t she have found some way to avoid this? Michelle was many things, and stubborn was most definitely at the top of that list.
Would she even remember the pieces she placed for herself to resolve this?
And that is how she found herself on her bedroom floor one night, surrounded by high school year book, sketchbooks and her shoe box of memorabilia.
She started with her yearbooks from her first three years of high school - she found him in pictures a few times throughout the pages, but never prominently in the pictures. It was almost as if someone had poorly tried to crop him out. Still, it was enough for her to notice how he changed throughout those three years.
In 9th grade he was scrawny and awkward, and he had the brightest smile. He got rid of his glasses at the end of that year. Sophomore year brought an immense change, for lack of better words. He was taller, more muscular. Knowing what she knew about Spider-Man, this must’ve been the year he got bit.
By the time she found him in junior year’s book, her heart sunk. His smile had faded and his eyes didn’t shine like they did the previous years. That had been the year of the blip, and she had a sinking feeling that he had experienced things no 16 year old should ever have to go through. He looked strangely familiar now, yet she still couldn’t place her finger on where she knew his face.
In the back of the book she found a note from him:
“It was great getting to know you more this year!
I hope you have a great summer! Can’t wait for Europe :)
- Peter”
She had known him well enough to let him write one of the three notes she had - the other two being from Ned and Betty.
In her senior yearbook, though, there was no trace of him at all. Not one picture, note, or mention of his name.
She grabbed her sketchbooks next, starting from her oldest ones to her newest. In the older books from junior high and her freshman year, she wasn’t extremely surprised to find a sketch of him every now and then. She had drawn nearly everyone from Midtown. What did shock her, however, was how rapidly the amount of drawings of him increased over the next two years. Throughout the pages, images of Spider-Man found their way into the mix as well. She had full sections of her books that showcased him laughing, some of him upset, similar to the yearbook pictures she had seen. In the back of one book she found a loose polaroid of him, and it struck her to her core to see his eyes full of admiration; she tried to ignore the thought that, surely, he had been looking at her. Underneath she found the last page, dated the middle of November of her senior year, with a hazy, unfinished sketch of Spider-Man with the Statue of Liberty in the background.
Next, she looked through her contacts on her phone, knowing the answer already, but still disappointed when nothing came up. She had clearly been close to him, but she didn’t have his number saved? After scrolling through her camera roll for nearly an hour, she threw her phone down in frustration. When the tears pooled in her eyes, she didn’t restrain them in the way she usually forced herself to when this feeling came around. She fiddled with her necklace, in the way she always did when she felt anxious or lonely or sad.
But the truth is I love you.
And I hope that deep down something inside you remembers you love me too.
She couldn’t bring herself to share the information with anyone, even Ned. She had retreated into herself, the looming feeling of being incomplete stopping her from taking care of her relationships. Missed calls and texts slowly piled up from Paul and Betty and Gwen. Ned would check in on her as they got home from work, and she would shrug.
“Just that funny feeling,” she would tell him. And he would nod, because he understood.
“Well, if you need anything, let me know,” he’d offer as she’d make her way into her room.
And eventually the sadness turned into frustration. If Spider-Man were to walk past her on the street, she was ready to give him a piece of her mind.
Unless it wasn’t about her, the rational part of her argued. Unless she was just grasping for pieces to fill the holes in her heart.
Still, she resolved to keep the letter in her pocket, or purse, or somewhere on her person. On the off chance she had the chance to sit down and chat with the guy.
It was ridiculous, she knew.
Until it wasn’t. Because there he was, Spider-Man in all his red and blue glory, standing in her living room.
He had climbed through the window with little to no ceremony. Basically, she was in danger, she had to come with him to get her out of danger, et cetera, et cetera.
Something about the desperation in his voice nearly solidified her suspicions completely.
“Fine,” she had said, and agreed to climb back out the window with him and clung on as he swung them across the city.
**
Much later that night, she found herself on the rooftop of her building with him. She had demanded to know what had put her in such danger, and he had rattled off the surface level details to her. She knew it wasn’t the full truth. She knew there were many truths he owed her.
So she pulled out the letter, smoothing it out before handing it to him.
“You dropped this in my apartment,” she said. She couldn’t see his face, but recognized the way his body stiffened as he realized what he was looking at.
“This, uh-” he stumbled, “I don’t know how-”
“Don’t bullshit me, Peter.”
His head snapped up at the name, the whites of his mask glued to her eyes.
“You- do you…do you know me?”
“I don’t know, do I? I won’t tell anyone, if that’s what you’re worried about. Sounds like the whole world forgot you.”
“Yeah, uhm, they had to.”
“Do I? Did I know you?”
The silence was loud between them, and that in and of itself was an answer to her.
“Maybe,” he finally said, “I can’t-”
“Listen,” she interrupted. “Maybe you are just a stranger and this letter was meant for someone else. Maybe, I shouldn’t even be pushing this. But finding this letter, it felt like it was meant for me. And, I don’t know, it made something in me feel complete? I’ve felt like something was missing for years now, and I just-” her voice caught over the emotion in her throat. His head tilted downward, no longer able to hold her gaze. “If this is what I think it is, I really need you to be honest with me.”
She watched his shoulders move up and down as he breathed, and the longer he waited to answer the more she wanted to reach out and shake his shoulders. Well??
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. He met her eyes again and handed the letter back to her. “I can’t give you what you need.” And with that, he turned from her and swung down.
And she stood there, stupidly, staring at the place he had just been. Tears stung her eyes, and the paper in her hand felt heavy. She hadn’t heard the words she wanted, but maybe she had gotten what she expected. Either way, it was confirmation enough.
It wasn’t satisfying, it didn’t suddenly piece the broken pieces of her back together. She didn't know what she had thought it would do.
But his silence had been her answer, and that, at the very least, was a start.