A/N: Thanks for the comment! I really appreciate it. All the events in this story happen on a Wednesday stuck sometime in-between the Silver Sable and the Deadpool arc. Other incongruities shall be accounted for by artistic direction. So there. :P
By the way, please continue with the critiques/reviews, whether grammar/story-wise. Thank you for reading.
Chapter 2: 1:04 P.M.
Peter had his head titled to the side, a vacant look on his face. The lecture on John Donne fizzled into nothingness before it could even reach his ears. He was too busy recreating how MJ's emerald eyes looked when he said that he was going to go to the fair with Kitty.
Peter remembered avoiding MJ's gaze out of shame, but for a split-second, he saw her eyes: and they weren't filled with anger or jealousy; it was more of yearning. Yearning for a home, something to cling to and be safe in. MJ looked so fragile, as if she'd crumble into pieces with the slightest touch. And Peter remembered how, during that moment, he wanted to reach out and take her in, to gently wrap her around a blanket and tell her that everything would always be okay.
But he couldn't. Instead, he watched her stagger away.
Peter knew that it wasn't much about Kitty but the fact that things would never truly work with him and MJ – and that everything will never be always okay.
Moreover, everything seemed to be perfect with Kitty. Kitty is great, Peter thought. She's fun, she's sweet and she's a superhero! Just like him! He has the time of his life whenever they're out together. The problem was Peter couldn't be with MJ when he's with Kitty. And MJ needed him.
Peter didn't know what to do. He resorted to listening to his professor.
"Now, let us analyze the last line: Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be, if she whom I love, should love me."
Peter raised his hand.
"Yes, Peter?"
"May I use the restroom?"
I need a break.
Peter made his way to the restroom. He leaned on the basin with a sigh. He felt the guilt nestle itself inside his chest. All he could think about were MJ's eyes.
Peter turned the faucet on, letting loose a stream of tepid water which he cradled with both hands and splashed on his face. The faucet continued to run as Peter found himself fixing his stare at the mirror.
For a second, he felt like he was looking at another person. He saw his eyes: an endless pitch-black tunnel.
He splashed another handful of water on his face. He took one last look at the person on the mirror. Just be honest with yourself.
Peter ambled out of the restroom and into the empty hallway. He walked back toward his class, the floor resounding with his heavy steps, only to stop before the mahogany door. Then gradually, setting his back against a cold set of lockers, he sank to the floor. He sprawled his feet out and shut his eyes. The makeshift darkness was a welcome change.
Peter felt so drained. He wondered how exactly he can be honest with himself.
He sat there for a while. Soon, he couldn't tell how long he remained outside of his class.
Then a hand, light as a feather, rested itself on his shoulder.
"Peter? You okay?"
Peter pried open his eyes.
"MJ?"
"Hey."
