Blame it on the lingering brain fog, but New York City seemed vibrantly alive as Peter made his way back home.

He couldn't call May to let her know he was okay because he'd left his phone in the apartment—along with his regular clothes, which meant he didn't have pocket change for a payphone either. She and his friends were probably very worried right now if they weren't still at the graduation ceremony—which was quite honestly a possibility given that he really didn't know what time it was—so he tried to hurry.

He guessed it had been close to an hour after he'd left his apartment, but there was still a somewhat fuzzy chunk of memory surrounding his encounter with Daredevil.

At any rate, he couldn't (safely) go any faster than he was currently, swinging from building to building, and he didn't really want to think too hard about how he'd totally missed his and his friends' graduation. So, he chose to actively enjoy the beautiful night breathing around him instead.

It seemed…cleaner, almost, in this part of the city, away from Hell's Kitchen. The atmosphere was clearer than it had been near the water and smelled like typical downtown city air. The rich, varied scents of food from the restaurants were layered over the greasier smells of car exhaust and trashy alleyways, which he had to spend a lot of time crossing over, of course, given his mode of transportation. If he didn't think too hard about it, he'd almost say the overall scent was familiar enough to him that it smelled good.

But what Peter really enjoyed experiencing when he swung around was the way the lights of his city blurred by him, mesmerizing and disorienting all at once, steady pinpricks or dynamic smears depending on where he looked. Tonight proved to be no exception on that front.

He leaned forward into his next swing and detoured at the last second, twisting and releasing his web at its apex so that he could swing into a crouch on a nearby roof. He landed a little clumsily in the packed gravel there—his metabolism wasn't advanced enough to rid his system of the drug that quickly—but he recovered soon enough.

He was just a few minutes from his apartment now anyway.

He just needed a moment. His therapist said he could take "moments" every once in a while to calm himself down, didn't she? More importantly, if he was calm, it would be a lot easier for May to be calm should she be freaking out when he got home.

Peter walked to the edge of the roof and, after checking carefully to make sure he was entirely alone, pulled his mask off. The gentle breeze snaking its way over the rooftops felt good on his sweaty skin, and he relished a few deep breaths as he stared out over the city he had 'chosen to protect,' as Daredevil had phrased it.

Everything felt refreshingly familiar up here.

The lights glittered and smudged and danced below him—oranges, reds, whites, blues—

The sounds of a typical Friday night drifted up to him: car horns, conversation over a good meal, yelling, laughing—

And though the neat angles of dormant skyscrapers and office complexes populated the skyline like dark sentinels, Peter could even make out a thin sheen of moonlight blending with the orange tint of the sky above.

Peter inflated his lungs with another rich breath of air, allowing a good deal of the tension and adrenaline of the past hour or so to seep out of him with his next exhale. His shoulders relaxed, his jaw unclenched, and the buzz that so often seemed to be a permanent sensation in his fingertips receded to the point that he only really noticed it if he tried to. He knew the guilt over what had happened tonight would come crawling back into his headspace sometime soon, but for now, he was content to just let it be.

With a grin, Peter pulled on his mask again, swept his eyes one last time over the living, breathing thing that was New York City, and then made his way off the roof. His city might feel like home when he stood on the rooftops and stared out at it from a distance like that, but Peter had learned several years ago that it wasn't actually home.

Home was with May and with his friends.

Home in its truest sense was what he fought to protect for everyone he came across.

Because if people didn't have a home to return to at the end of a hard day—if they didn't have a place where they felt safe, where they felt loved, where they could breathe without choking on the pollution—then what was the city but a collection of dismal buildings set in concrete?

No, Daredevil had been right about one thing tonight, at least: Peter needed this city just like it needed him, and he thought he was learning a little bit more about what that meant each time he went out as Spiderman these days.

He belonged here—even if he did mess up more often than he should.

The lights were on in the front windows of his apartment, which implied that May, at least, was already back from the school.

Peter hoped graduation went well.

He scaled the wall leading up to his bedroom window, his fingers skimming each helpful niche in the rough brick with a surety that came from repetition. When he got to the window, he smiled a little at noting that it was, indeed, unlocked. He was in luck tonight.

Or, he was now, at least.

With great care and another good dose of muscle memory, Peter silently eased the window up. He slipped through it as soon as he could, feet landing with a thump in the darkness. He could barely see anything since his bedroom door was closed, blocking out any light from the living room, so he was happy to know he hadn't been stupid enough this time to leave anything in front of the window (like that one time…)

His stomach growled, and he put a hand over it, grimacing, as if that would help.

He was just about to start stripping his suit off to attend to his injuries—he didn't want to look half-dead when he confronted May after two hours of virtual radio silence—when the door opened without preamble, light flooded into his messy room, and May herself stood in the doorway.

Her mouth went slack, and Peter had an intense bout of déjà vu that…yeah, he really wasn't sure how he felt about that. How did this even keeping happening?

"Peter!"

There was an awkward pause, which Peter hurriedly broke with his own graceless greeting—

"May!"

It was a much better reaction than the last time she'd caught him sneaking in his window as Spiderman. He firmly decided that was a good thing.

And of course what followed next was a fierce hug that Peter didn't mind at all, despite the protests of his bruised body.

May pulled back after a few seconds and held Peter at arm's length silently, appraising him as if he were a long-lost relative visiting for a family reunion. She narrowed her eyes, and Peter just knew she was going to say something about the blood on his suit, the way he probably looked and smelled like he'd been rolling around in a sewer somewhere because Hell's Kitchen was just that dirty down at the docks—

He took a deep breath, explanation half-loaded in his brain.

"So, there was this—"

May shook her head.

"You don't have to right explain right now, Pete," she said quietly. Peter's mouth hung open, brain spinning uselessly in his skull. She…wasn't freaking out. Like, at all.

And when she looked Peter full in the eyes, she didn't even look remotely upset. She didn't even look sad. She looked proud, and Peter was so disoriented and tired that he didn't even try to mentally dive into all the reasons she shouldn't be proud of him for what he'd done tonight.

He just chose to…not take her for granted. To accept that her love—her selfless forgiveness, her quiet strength, her unfailing support, her endless enthusiasm for helping anyone and everyone around her—was as much a part of her as Spiderman was of him now. Maybe even more so. He chose to believe that she was, in so many ways, his home—the home he'd gotten to return to tonight, thanks to another (friendly?) neighborhood vigilante.

And he was so, so grateful for her. He was so grateful that even though he knew she had questions and worries about what had happened tonight, she was apparently choosing to give him the space and time he needed to process it himself first—that she was trusting him enough to tell her what she needed to know when the time came. Because he would, wouldn't he? She deserved it.

"You—

Peter interrupted her this time with wide smile and a hug of his own, trying to keep to one side so he didn't get her dirt. Though he did notice she was in pajamas instead of her fancy dress.

How long had she been home?

"Peter, honey, are you okay?" May asked, her voice sounding vaguely alarmed against his shoulder. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, so he closed his eyes, leaned deeper into the hug.

"Yeah," he said. "I just…I love you, May. And I'm so glad you're…you're my aunt."

He wanted to say more, but her hug made him feel exhausted in the best way possible, and his words just seemed to clog in his throat. May seemed to process the words he did say, however, and he felt her relax again.

"I love you too, Pete. And I am so very proud of you, in so many ways. I mean it."

Peter felt tears prickle underneath his eyelids, but he didn't even think they were sad tears. They were just there, so he let them be just like he'd left the guilt alone to do its own thing earlier.

They stood like that for a few more seconds, and then Peter finally pulled back again, realizing just how heavily he'd been leaning on May—how foggy his brain still was and how heavy his limbs still seemed. He looked at her, smiling sheepishly, and then gestured to himself.

"Sorry about the, uh, nastiness?"

May laughed and then wrinkled her nose up, batting the air in front of her face with one hand.

"I wasn't going to say anything, but…you definitely need a shower or two. I'll make brownies for when you get out."

Peter smiled. Of course she knew by now that he'd be hungry after a night out—and brownies were one of his favorite quick desserts.

"Okay."

May raised her eyebrows as she flipped on the lights in his room. He hadn't even thought to do that.

"Do you need any help with anything else?" she asked quietly when she turned back towards him, and Peter saw how her eyes flitted around the bloody arm and leg of his suit, saw the way that her whole body seemed to lean forward—as eager to help and care for him as always—even though she was obviously trying hard to assume a casual stance.

Peter shook his head after experimentally flexing the muscles in his bicep and quads to assess the extent of the injuries there. It wasn't bad at all. He'd be fine.

May hesitated for the briefest of seconds and then stepped through the doorway with a soft parting smile of acceptance—a reaction that meant she trusted him to be honest with her about this. Peter let out a quiet sigh as the door clicked shut behind her.

He was glad she hadn't brought graduation up yet—he needed some time to switch his brain from fight mode to relax mode so he could think clearly. He also felt so suddenly warm and sleepy he was pretty sure he could have curled up on the floor at that exact moment and slept for several hours uninterrupted, though that wouldn't exactly jive with the impression that his injuries weren't that serious.

And a hot shower actually sounded amazing—as did brownies—and he definitely wanted to know how graduation went once he got out. He was a little disappointed that Ned, MJ, and Betty weren't here to tell him about it too, but he figured they were probably tired after all the excitement of the night. Maybe they'd even wanted to go out and celebrate some like they'd planned—and he couldn't blame them.

Yeah, it honestly hurt worse than before, thinking about the fact that he'd missed seeing them walk the stage and get their diplomas—that he'd missed the chance to walk the stage to get his diploma. He hadn't even gotten to wear his Star Wars socks with Ned like they'd been planning for years, and his friend was bound to be disappointed—but…it was what it was.

Plus, he'd gotten to meet the Devil of Hell's Kitchen (Ned was going to freak), so they weren't the only ones who'd have a story to relate tomorrow.

They hadn't asked to be a part of Peter's unpredictable vigilante life, after all, and he was just glad that their night didn't seem to have been significantly impacted by what had happened. They deserved to have the best graduation night possible, and Peter was perfectly content to hear about how things went tomorrow if that's what they wanted to do.

He'd made his choice, and despite how it had turned out, he couldn't say he wouldn't make it over again if he had to.

At least he was home.

At least they were safe.

When Peter emerged from his room after showering and donning a fresh T-shirt and pair of sweatpants, the apartment felt strangely empty.

It also smelled strongly of brownies—and his stomach was growling almost as much as Daredevil had during their conversation earlier—but he didn't hear anyone moving around. Peter squinted down the hallway and toweled off his hair one last time.

"May? You in here?"

No answer.

Now suspicious, Peter put his towel down and quietly moved down the hallway, surprised to find that it was dark again. There were no longer any lights on—not even in the kitchen, where he could make out a pan of brownies only because they were glowing orange under a small light in the oven's hood.

Yeah, something was definitely up.

(But it wasn't anything insidious, he thought. Even with the lingering strands of sedative, he could tell nothing bad had happened).

Peter reached to turn on the lights—

And as soon as light flooded the room, someone—or maybe more than one someone—yelled "boo!" Peter may or may not have yelped, jumping back a little bit on instinct, and then—

There they were.

May, Happy, Ned, MJ, and Betty. Happy and May, the latter of whom was wearing a uncharacteristically mischievous grin, seemed to have been hiding out in the closet. His friends—who were each in various stages of laughing at his reaction—appeared to have been kneeling behind the couch.

Peter blew out a breath, grinning, as his heartrate slowed down once more. His gaze fell on MJ, who had a hand up to her mouth in a presumed attempt to stifle her own laughter.

"You guys—"

"Are the best?" MJ suggested immediately, her voice only slightly skewed with laughter.

"Are kind of rude for scaring you?" Betty asked, casting Peter an apologetic glance that was too bright to be totally genuine.

"Could totally be ninjas?" Ned added hopefully.

Peter snorted and moved forward with a smile to initiate his and Ned's special handshake, his brain already imagining Ned in the place of the kind-of-actually-a-ninja he'd met tonight.

"Definitely the last one," he grinned.

A few minutes later, the four teenagers were settled on the couch, brownie sundaes in hand and the smell of popping popcorn drifting in from behind them.

May had insisted that, despite the fact it was close to eight thirty and everyone had had a long night already, they should get in some celebratory snack and gametime before going to bed. No one was asking him any questions about how things had gone with Spiderman tonight, which was both a relief and slightly concerning, but Peter decided to just roll with it and agreed with her plan. The vague wooziness in his head actually made it easy to roll with it, too, and he could see no reason not to fully embrace such a fact at this time of night.

Games sounded fun, even if he was tired and kept randomly zoning out.

Food sounded even more fun.

May soon commandeered Happy, who gave Peter a halfhearted shrug when confronted with his querying gaze, to help her with assembling the sundaes and popping the popcorn. Peter had laughed at that—he got the sense that Happy hadn't exactly signed up to be an assistant chef when he'd come over tonight—but the man didn't seem terribly upset as he assumed his dutiful position at May's side.

Which brought up a good question that definitely wasn't just something his brain used to distract himself from May and Happy's proximity.

Why was everyone even here?

"So. How was graduation, guys?" he asked when no one else seemed interested in initiating a conversation. He took a massive bite of brownie and almost closed his eyes in pure bliss. He glanced sideways at MJ, who was curled on one end of the couch, not quite touching him with her leg but coming awfully close.

"I thought you'd be out, you know, celebrating or something."

Ned let out a disbelieving snort from Peter's other side and leaned forward just so he could give MJ an exaggerated look of longsuffering.

"Dude. He thinks we'd celebrate graduating when, like, literally twenty-five percent of our friend group was missing."

MJ shook her head, face neutral as she took an adorably small bite of her sundae.

"Dork," she said sagely.

Peter rolled his eyes, but he couldn't resist smiling. He was a little disappointed that they hadn't gone out and had fun because he wasn't there too, but at the same time he couldn't deny there was a little warmth in his chest at the thought that they wanted him with them enough that they wouldn't.

"Thanks, guys, but you definitely should have gone and done something without me."

Betty giggled at that—pretty much the first sound she'd made since they sat down—and Peter looked over at her.

"Huh?"

"Sorry," she said, setting her empty bowl on the coffee table. "It's just—"

Betty looked at Ned with kind of glowing expression that made it very obvious she was holding something back. Peter narrowed his eyes as Ned shook his head vigorously—a stark contrast to the way his expression cracked into an enormous grin.

"Wait…none of you have even answered my question. How did graduation go?"

Everyone was suddenly looking everywhere but him, and alarm bells went off in Peter's head. He put his bowl down as well even though it wasn't quite empty, frowned as suspicion blossomed inside of him.

"You did go, right?"

Why wouldn't they go?

May and Happy emerged from the kitchen before anyone answered. Happy was bearing the colossal bowl of popcorn, which glistened with butter and melting cheese, and May was grinning at them. Again. Everybody was grinning a lot tonight, which seemed weird because he was sure at this point that it hadn't been anyone's best night.

"We went, Peter," she said lightly as she and Happy assumed their spots in the loveseat (yeah, okay that was fine—May and Happy, Happy and May). "And it was…interesting."

Peter looked between his friends, his suspicion allayed somewhat because why would May lie about something like that? But from the expression on their faces, he knew that wasn't everything. MJ especially was freaking him out just a little bit because she was looking very pointedly at the arm of the sofa, biting the inside of her lip like she did when she was trying really hard not to laugh at the Aca-Dec team goofing off during study sessions.

He swiveled his gaze to Happy, who froze with a piece of popcorn held to his lips.

"Happy," Peter said warningly. "Did graduation go alright?"

Happy raised his eyebrows but, to his credit, didn't look to anyone else for the moral support he seemed to want.

"I couldn't make it," he said bluntly, shrugging again before reaching into the popcorn bowl for another handful of popcorn.

His forced nonchalance did not fool Peter, and the teenager sighed before leaning back into the couch again.

Everyone was acting weird, yeah, but it didn't seem like anyone was upset, so that was good? Maybe something really embarrassing had happened onstage and they just wanted him to find out about it some other way (though he couldn't exactly see Ned being able to contain his enthusiasm if it were something that exciting).

Peter took his bowl up again and decided to let the awkwardness linger until he could think of something to say that might make them want to tell him what the heck was going on. He vainly attempted to slog through his highly convenient bout of brain fog for a full ten seconds before Betty cleared her throat and then asked in a high voice:

"So, how was your night, Peter? Did you catch the bad guys?"

"Yeah, let's hear about that," Ned said excitedly, spoon clinking against his bowl as he finished his sundae off. As if the weird let's-all-keep-a-secret-about-graduation-from-Peter-for-no-good-reason thing didn't just happen. Peter stared into his bowl, confused, trying not to wonder where he would even start if he did decide to tell them what had happened tonight.

Why would they choose now to ask him about a subject he'd assumed they'd been avoiding all night because it might be a sensitive subject for him? Because that's why they'd been avoiding it, right?

Peter looked at his friends, firmly ignoring the way his brain fog now unexpectedly began to physically manifest itself, his eyelids drooping closed of their own accord. He couldn't exactly pull off an intimidating look if he was half-asleep.

What was going on again?

"I'll tell you if you tell me what happened at graduation that you don't want me to know about," Peter finally managed.

Happy spoke of his own accord for the first time all night.

"Maybe we should wait until the morning, when you've had some rest, huh?"

Peter looked at him, offended not only by the content of the words but also, irrationally, by the entirely earnest way in which he'd said them, leaned forward towards Peter with his eyebrows up. He'd definitely noticed Peter falling asleep despite himself.

"I'm very…not tired," Peter protested immediately, and his voice was unconvincing even to his own ears. A yawn burned in his throat, but he kept it contained by sheer willpower. No need to undermine his words even more.

Silence settled over the room as Happy shrugged in response, and then everyone exchanged a collective glance when Peter's stare made it clear that he meant what he'd said about wanting to know what happened. He was beginning to feel more out of the loop than he'd ever been in his life when Ned finally let the secret fly.

"We sabotaged the whole graduation ceremony!"

"Like, hardcore sabotage," Betty grinned.

"And actual graduation is Tuesday night at six," May added quickly, smiling again.

Peter blinked, looked at them.

"What?"

"We delayed graduation for you, blockhead," MJ said quietly, and Peter turned to her with a slack jaw.

He'd so successfully pushed back any disappointment over not making it to graduation, burying it with excitement over how happy his friends must be that being suddenly confronted with the fact that he could still graduate properly with them anyway just felt…weird. And this was entirely not what he'd been expecting from their uncharacteristically collective secret-keeping tonight.

But the weirdness and surprise quickly turned into something a lot closer to excitement. His impulse to yawn had been satisfactorily obliterated. For now.

"You mean…no one actually graduated yet?"

Betty shook her head furiously and leaned forward so she could better face Peter. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she glanced mischievously between him and Ned—Peter wasn't sure he'd ever seen her look quite so devious before. It was a little scary.

"It was amazing," Betty drawled. "MJ messed with all their papers—"

"Betty started wailing in front of her uncle on the school board," Ned interjected with just as much enthusiasm. Betty flushed but picked up with,

"And Ned hacked into all the lights and speakers and played 'Baby Shark!'"

"And "The Imperial March," MJ chimed.

Peter blinked again, looked at MJ—who wasn't even trying to conceal her deep smirk anymore—and then turned his gaze to May and Happy so he could gather their reaction to things. Happy looked as if he were trying to maintain some semblance of adult-like disdain towards this whole ordeal while also being extremely proud of the people involved, and May had her hands clasped in front of her, her grin wider than it had been all night. She wasn't even trying to pretend she wasn't just as excited about what his friends had done than they were.

"It's true," she said softly.

Peter looked back at his friends, his mouth suddenly dry, heart racing with a wild mixture of emotions he had no clue someone could even feel in a situation like this. His friends had actually done that?

They'd actually concocted a successful plan to derail their own graduation ceremony—on the spot, no less—probably snuck around the school half the night putting the pieces together, and risked severe disciplinary measures in order to…what? Make sure Peter didn't have to miss the biggest event of his academic career up to this point because he was out trying to be a hero in Hell's Kitchen?

A huge grin broke out on his face, and the uncertain tension that had filled the room since their admission crumbled immediately (Peter tried not to be too distracted by the way MJ's face lit up when he finally smiled).

Of course his friends had done that for him.

He didn't deserve them in the least.

"I want to hear everything," Peter said, his smile still so wide it was actually making his face ache and his eyes feel disconcertingly crossed.

His friends gladly obliged, and for the first fifteen minutes, at least, Peter totally forgot just how strangely dissociative and exhausted he was.

Nearly an hour and another whole bowl of popcorn later, Peter was still smiling.

His face felt numb, he'd yawned involuntarily about two-hundred times despite his excitement, and he was ninety-four percent certain that his sedative-induced brain fog had completely destroyed his ability to think rational thoughts, but he was so proud of his friends. And more convinced than ever that he absolutely did not deserve them.

Beyond those somewhat vague feelings—and the faint throbbing of his graze wounds, like the bass notes of a song in the background of his consciousness—Peter was suddenly aware he had practically zero energy left to do anything but bask in the brilliance what he'd just heard.

That sedative was freaky.

This night was freaky.

"So? Was it genius or what?" MJ said suddenly, nudging Peter's foot with her own when the gap between Peter's last round of laughter at Ned's expressions and any new comments stretched too far. May and Happy were taking everyone's dishes to the sink, still grinning themselves, and Betty was in the bathroom trying to wipe the tears of laughter from her eyes before they "ruined her second round of mascara tonight."

It was perfect.

And just like each and every one of them.

Peter leaned his head back against the couch and fought the impulse to close his eyes. His smile remained without any effort on his part.

"It was abs'lutely genius," he murmured, and his words kind of slid together like they were made of liquid.

He wanted to tilt his head and let her know just how genius he thought it was—how genius he thought she was—but the words wouldn't come. And even if he did have the energy to tell her that, how could he explain everything else? How could he explain that the way she waved her hands when she talked or the dry planes of her voice as she recounted what had happened made a little warm spot grow in his chest and fill his belly—the kind he only used to get when he stood and looked proudly down at Queens from the rooftops?

Or how could he tell her that the way she'd held her ground against Principal Morita or the way she'd so methodically carried out her plan even though he knew she'd been worried about him were things that made him feel like he was the luckiest guy in the world? How could he tell her that her compassion, wit, bravery, and quiet strength had been some of the few things lately he knew he could hold onto so tightly when he started slipping into the mistakes of his past?

How could he tell her he loved her?

Peter blinked.

Wait, what?

With a stab of panic and a complete lack of awareness of his own surroundings, Peter wrenched himself out of his own thoughts with enough mental force he must have actually flinched. MJ blinked, and the lighthearted conversation he had totally (maybe?) been missing around him ground to a halt.

"Dude? You good?" Ned asked from his end of the couch. He looked more confused than concerned, and obviously no one in this room could read minds, but Peter still felt himself blush.

"Yeah, uh, sorry. I—" he was interrupted by a yawn that made his jaws ache and his embarrassment get swallowed up by another intense wave of exhaustion.

At least it spared him further explanation.

MJ laughed, something that was both musical and sarcastic at the same time. Somehow.

She stood up, and Peter involuntarily gave up the battle with his eyelids. If anyone said anything else in the next few seconds, he wasn't aware.

Micronapping, his brain whispered, and somewhere deep inside himself Peter made a face. Happens when you're sleep-deprived.

Wait a second—

"Okay, then, sleepyhead. Hint taken."

Peter's eyes snapped open a few seconds after MJ spoke, his brain picking up on her comment and its implications far too late. He hadn't meant to imply he hadn't been listening or wasn't interested in what they'd done—stupid sedative thing. Peter swallowed and lifted his head off the back of the couch even though he was slightly wobbly and cross-eyed.

"Wait, no…guys, I really appreciate what you did tonight, and—and thank you s'much…I didn't mean t—"

MJ stopped him mid-rant by—

Yep, by kissing him. Right there. In front of everyone (he didn't really care but wow okay). He fell back against the couch, caught completely off-guard.

When MJ pulled back after a moment, her own face flushed as she stared down at him, her eyes were so mischievous and brown and beautiful that Peter wished he never had to blink again. And not just because he would probably fall asleep if he did blink right now.

He couldn't say anything—again—but it turned out he didn't have to.

"We know, Peter. And we know you're tired because you've been out saving people. You're the one who wanted us to tell you this now, remember?"

Her voice was soft and teasing, but Peter still opened his mouth instinctively to protest the "saving people" part. MJ put her finger on his lips, smirking.

"Goodnight, dork. We'll catch up tomorrow, okay?"

Did he really look that tired? He had no clue what anyone else in the room was even doing at this point, but surely it wasn't that obvious that he felt like he could sleep for ten straight years with no problem.

Actually…was any of this even happening right now, or was he dreaming?

And was micronapping even an actual Thing?

MJ pulled away, leaving Peter sitting there in a different kind of daze than before, his heart pounding but feeling as if it were strangely disconnected from the rest of his body. Someone—Ned, maybe—cleared his throat with an unnecessary amount of force as MJ crossed the room and Peter dimly became aware of May and Happy whispering lowly in the kitchen. His eyelids drooped lower, and though something deep inside him was fighting to resist this irresistible sleepiness, it felt almost…nice giving in to his exhaustion like this, with the lingering ghost of MJ's presence on his lips.

At least he wasn't falling unconscious on a pier in Hell's Kitchen this time.

Peter tried to say something else then because it felt really weird and rude to fall asleep practically in the middle of a conversation, but the words got lost somewhere between his brain and his next yawn. He thought that maybe Ned came over and said something, tried to initiate a fist bump (that Peter's shrinking awareness did not allow him to return), that Betty might have given him an awkward side-hug and then—

Well, the next thing he knew, he was waking up, morning light flooding the apartment around him with a familiar Saturday-morning glow.

He was curled on his side, the comforter from his bedroom draped across his (slightly aching) body, and the entire room smelled like pancakes—his favorite breakfast. It took him a solid minute to clear his brain of sleep enough to actually remember what had happened last night—him coming home, his friends telling them what they'd done for graduation, MJ kissing him right before he fell asleep in front of everyone—but when he did remember it, he didn't even feel embarrassed.

How could he?

Yeah, sedatives sucked and he was probably going to feel off for a little while yet, but—

His friends—his family—were the absolute best. He was home. They were safe. He would even get to graduate…provided that nothing else came up between now and Tuesday night. But even if it did and even if graduation couldn't get delayed for a second time, Peter couldn't have cared less. He knew where he belonged and he knew what he was fighting for.

He smiled, chest filling up with something light and warm and heavy all at once.

"Thank you," he whispered, to no one or perhaps to everyone in particular.

And then he slipped back into sleep, a small smile curving his lips.

A/N: HAI GUYS.

I am SO sorry for the huge delay in getting this chapter up. I accidentally lied when I said I'd have the whole fic finished before school started. College has now officially become a Thing for me, and between ancient Chinese philosophy, an expanded coffee-drinking habit, and an ongoing wrestling match between pride and my literal soul, I've been...busy (but so very blessed :) That being said, I will no longer be making any declarations regarding the timeline for finishing this story, but I love each and every one of you and hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless (es muy largo ;) Also...I HOPE YOU'RE DOING FABULOUS OUT THERE, YOU BEAUTIFUL PERSON YOU. God bless. 3

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...a time to cast away stones and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to cast away." ~Ecclesiastes 3:1, 5-6