Title: give up, give in (check the grin you're in love)

Summary: Peter and MJ drive home from university. MJ POV. The consequences of one car, one bed and, on occasion, one room.

Disclaimer: I am not associated with Marvel and make no profit from any of what I am posting.

Chapter 3: day three and the day after

She wakes up to the sound of Peter's alarm.

He lets go of her, reaching for the bedside table to turn it off, and for one terrible moment, she's on her own. And then, all at once, he's back against her, his arms around MJ, and his face in her hair. She's dimly aware of the fact that she's never slept better. Of how comfortable she feels pressed against him, and of how perfectly they fit.

"What's the time?" she whispers.

"Half-five."

They're supposed to leave early today, MJ remembers. That's why he'd set the alarm. "I should get ready," she says, making to get up, but Peter holds onto her.

"Stay in bed," he whispers into her hair. "It's warmer. We'll leave in a bit."

She shouldn't, MJ thinks, even as she sinks deeper into bed, closing her eyes. She really shouldn't.

(She does.)

When she next wakes up, he isn't holding her.

MJ reaches out towards where Peter had been sleeping, but his side of the bed is cold. He's been gone a while. From the window, sunlight streams into the room - not warm enough, and yet, oddly comforting. MJ stretches, grabbing her phone. There's a text from Peter that tells her that he left ten minutes ago and that he'll be back soon. MJ sighs, flopping back into her bad and holding her phone to her chest as she stares at the ceiling.

Her thoughts wander back to last night. To how Peter had felt against her; to how he'd held onto her early today morning. The smallest of smiles tugs at the tips of her lips. She'd liked it, MJ thinks, closing her eyes. The warmth of his body, half on top of her. The way she'd felt safe curled up against him. It had felt like home. Peter had felt at home.

Her eyes fly open, and MJ sits up, her heart hammering against her chest. The knot in her stomach is back, and her cheeks feel warm, but she shakes it off.

She should get ready. Peter will probably want to leave as soon as he gets back.

The door flies open just as MJ's doing her hair.

"I got breakfast!" Peter says, and she jumps, startled.

He shouldn't make her nervous now, not after they spent the night together, but the feeling in her stomach somehow intensifies when Peter comes to stand right next to her and MJ's surprised she manages a nonchalant: "What did you get?"

Peter doesn't reply, though. He's staring at her intently, eyes narrowed. "You missed a—" he says, stepping forward and brushing his thumb over her cheek. MJ's breath hitches. She takes a step back, if only for the sake of her sanity.

Peter doesn't seem to notice, though. He raises his hand, and sitting on the pad of his thumb is a single eyelash.

"Make a wish," he says excitedly, grabbing her hand and carefully pressing his thumb to the centre of her palm, leaving behind the eyelash.

MJ rolls her eyes at him. "Why?" she challenges.

"Why not?" Peter replies. And then, "Please?" He's looking at her oddly again, and her heart's started to act funny, and her cheeks feel like they're on fire and Jesus. Why is he stressing her out this much? It's just a stupid eyelash.

She huffs. Rolls her eyes again. Then closes them for a second, and blows at her palm, too distracted to come up with something to wish for. Peter's still holding onto her hand, and when she opens her eyes, MJ's struck by how close he's standing.

She takes a second step back, but Peter's already moved on.

"Are you ready to go?" he asks, stepping away, and scanning the room. Like it was nothing. Like he isn't thinking of last night over and over again the way she is. It was nothing , MJ reminds herself. They're friends. He was keeping her warm. That's all.

And yet, her skin still feels warm where he'd just held her. Like his touch has been seared into her memory. Like – MJ shakes her head, gaze following Peter as he hurriedly stuffs his belongings into his backpack.

"We'll eat in the car," Peter says. "I've found a nice place for lunch, but we'll have to figure out the rest of today's route then."

And then they're off.

They don't bother with music today. Peter rants about his Organic Professor, and MJ talks about the mammoth-skeleton at Lincoln that she'd have loved to visit if they had more time.

For most of the morning, though, she stares out of her window, trying to take in the countryside as they speed past it. The GPS tells them that it's another seventeen hours to Queens which, to MJ, means that they won't be able to reach by tonight. They've got at least another day together, and the thought of it both excites MJ and scares her.

Not for the first time since they left, her thoughts go back to last night. It feels wrong to be thinking about it now; during the day. But, every time they fall quiet, and there's no string of conversation to keep her distracted, MJ's thoughts wander.

She'd wished, at Julesburg, that he'd hold onto her forever. But now, as they speed through Iowa, she finds herself wishing they'd stayed in bed for longer too. She wonders why he left to get them breakfast, and, more than that, if he's thinking about it too.

Peter turns, as though he feels her watching, and he raises his eyebrows at her for just a second before turning back to the road.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she says. Whispers.

"So," Peter says, "May wants you to come over for dinner once we're back."

"I'm pretty sure Mom will call you over too," MJ admits. "She's always asking about you, you know? Every time she calls. It's kind of sad, really."

"Why?" Peter asks, and his eyes find hers. "Don't you like talking about me?"

MJ rolls her eyes. "Not particularly," she says. "No."

"Ouch."

He's looking at her again, for longer than a moment this time, and MJ swears her heart swells. There's a part of her that hates the fact that they've only got two days left. One and a half, even. She's barely texted anyone other than her Mom since they left, and it's slowly starting to feel like they're the only people in the world. The only people that matter, at least.

Worse still, the thought of going home still fills her with dread. She's not looking forward to meeting her Dad's family in part because they've never really gotten along, but mostly because that'll be a full week they spend in a crowded and bustling house. If her parents lose their shit then, MJ'll definitely be the one interrogated about it.

Worst of all, the thought of not being able to meet Peter every day once they're back scares her. She knows she's only busy for a week, but there's a part of MJ that wonders if the distance will push them back into old-habits where they forget to meet or find something else to do.

They've slipped back into something similar to what they were before Stanford, and MJ's desperate to cling onto it.

There's a part of her that suspects, or hopes, that Peter feels the same way too.

At lunch, he hovers in front of their table after he grabs their tacos from the counter, looking like he's trying to solve an equation in his head. And then, with a shrug, he slides into the space next to MJ rather than across from her.

He's sitting close enough that his knee bumps into hers every now and then. Once they're done eating, he scoots closer, resting a head on MJ's shoulder while she squints at Google maps, trying to plan the road they should take.

Her face feels constantly flushed, and MJ blames it on the cold. But yet, as they walk back to the car, the back of Peter's hand brushing against hers, MJ realises that she doesn't really believe herself anymore. That deep down, even she knows she's lying.

It's her idea to pick up dinner when they stop in the evening. They're walking around Toledo when she spots a Burger King across the road, and MJ says: "We could get takeaway and eat by the lake instead of stopping for dinner," MJ says. "It'd save us time."

Peter's immediately on board.

When it gets dark, Peter drives them off the highway, parks the car and they walk down to the banks of Lake Michigan. They sit on the ground, their backs against a bench, and they stare into the horizon. It's funny how, in spite of the fact that they're practically in Chicago, the world has never felt more quiet or empty. The cold winter wind blows against them, and MJ's teeth chatter until she's got a few bites of her Impossible Whopper inside of her.

And all along, despite how bloody cold it is, MJ feels warm on the inside. She doesn't think she's ever felt more at home or more in love with the universe.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Peter says, and she feels him shiver against her.

"You're cold," she says, and without thinking through it, she presses the back of her hand to his cheek. Peter flinches, pulling away.

"Cold!" he hisses, swatting away her hand. MJ freezes, eyes wide. Peter stares back at her. And, all at once, they're both giggling.

"Loser," she mumbles, remembering a time when she'd always call him that.

"Says the person who tried to freeze me alive," Peter retorts, but there's a soft edge to his voice. Something more serious. MJ can feel him watching her again, and this time, she raises her brows at him in question.

Peter shakes his head in dismissal, snaking an arm around her waist and leaning against her.

"Don't let the fact that I'm freezing my ass off out here, fool you; I'm having a great time," he tells her.

"Me too," MJ says. And then, she adds: "I'm not ready to go back just yet. I like it here." Right now. At the lake. With Peter. She means all of it at once.

"Everything feels infinite, you know?" Peter says. His voice has dropped to a whisper. As though he's scared of disturbing the silence that surrounds them.

And MJ gets that. "It makes me feel small," she says quietly. "Like, no matter how important everything feels, nothing really matters in the grand scheme of things."

"But it's special too," Peter says at once, and his arm disappears from around her waist as Peter turns so that he's facing her. "Put it like this. The probability of you being born is one in about four hundred trillion. The probability of us meeting? Exponentially less than that. The probability of us being here, right now? Practically zero. And yet," Peter says. "We're here. Together."

"That's different," she says, rolling her eyes at him. "We chose this. Maths is constant; it's well defined. You can't predict something as indefinite as a choice with math."

"Of course you can," Peter says. "I mean, the probability of us hanging out is higher than, say, the probability of you hanging out with Flash from Midtown, but it could still be described as a probability, even if, you know, the probability needs to be updated every now and then. Everything always comes down to math if you try hard enough."

She rolls her eyes at him again, but somewhere, at the back of her head, Peter's words click.

And without thinking, MJ leans forward and kisses him.

Her lips brush against his for a fraction of a moment, and then she pulls away startled at herself. Peter blinks at her.

He makes a noise in his throat and grabs her arm, pulling MJ towards him. She shifts climbing onto his lap, cupping his face in her hands.

And suddenly, everything falls into place. The knots in her stomach, the warmth in her cheeks. The way he'd look at her, and the way she'd look at him.

She laughs against Peter, and his lips leave hers. "You're laughing," he says, shaking his head at her. "I've been dying to do this for years, and you're bloody laughing."

"What's the probability of that?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

Peter splutters at her in disbelief. "Does it matter?"

"No," she says. "Not really."

And then she's kissing him again.

It's past midnight when they check into the hotel.

"One bed?" Peter had casually asked as they'd walked in, and MJ only had to smile in reply. This time, she gets to complain about the dim lights and the ugly carpet while Peter, curled up against her, laughs.

He kisses her between conversations, his eyes closed and tracing patterns on the small of her back.

"Peter," she whispers. "Do you like me?"

She feels him laugh under her. "I do," he says. Promises. Whispers.

"I think I like you too," she mumbles.

"That's a good thing, right?"

She props herself up. "What if we break up?" she asks, and something about the way Peter's face breaks makes MJ hate herself for asking. But she needs to know. It's important to her, and she'd like to think that it's important to Peter too. She's seen first-hand what a broken relationship looks like when it comes to her parents, and MJ doesn't want to see them fall apart just because they choose wrong.

"I want to be friends," she says firmly. "I don't want to stop being friends because of this."

She half expects him to dismiss her worries. To promise something that they both know he can't. Instead, Peter reaches up, brushing her hair off her face.

"We'll try our best," he says, and for now, that's enough.

She can't stay away from Peter after that.

They should get home by noon at the latest, but they stop for the view and to kiss and, on occasion, make out. MJ doesn't know how she's gone so long without threading her fingers through his hair or pressing her lips against his. She doesn't know why she let go of him so quickly in uni.

She hates that they didn't get to this part sooner.

To think they've lasted half their lives being just friends. (To think that they lasted the last three days at all feels suddenly bizarre.)

They make out in the parking lot of a Pizza Hut and Peter keeps a hand on her thigh whenever he drives. They hold hands when they're walking, and he rests his head on her shoulder when they're sitting.

It's like they've forgotten how to stay apart; like they've forgotten how to let go.

And yet, even though MJ desperately wishes their trip would go on forever, they're driving through the familiar streets of Queens before the sun sets.

Four days on the road, with nobody but Peter for company, and yet, she wishes they had another day. Or two. But, before long, they're turning onto her street, her home visible in the distance. MJ can make out her parents, standing in front of the house, waiting for her, and it instantly fills her with dread.

"Promise you'll call," she says, turning to Peter. There's a sudden desperation tugging at her heart. They've got a few seconds, at most, and then she'll have to spend a week away from him.

"Text me," he says. "Whenever you need to talk."

He finds her hand and squeezes it briefly, and MJ's glad for it. For him.

The car comes to a stop, Peter's hand disappears from around hers, and MJ squeezes her eyes shut, trying to etch into her brain the way his hand felt in hers. She gets out of the car and hugs her parents hello. Peter's already got the trunk open. He gets out her suitcase, takes out the bags of toilet paper and her perfectly planned First-Aid kit that they never ended up using.

MJ grabs her backpack, unplugs her phone for the charging port up front. And, all too soon, they're done. She's left nothing of hers in the car, and Peter stands in front of her, hands buried in his pockets. MJ doesn't know what to say.

She remembers being desperate to talk the day they'd set out, and she's overwhelmed with the same need to fill the silence now. To say something and everything all at once, and even then, MJ doesn't think it'll be enough.

"I had fun," she says.

And Peter grins. "Me too," he says.

"I'm out this week but next week — swear we'll meet next week."

His mouth quirks in a small smile. "I swear."

Peter steps forward, closing the gap between them, and pulls her into a bone-crushing and parent-friendly hug. MJ lets herself melt. She lets herself breathe in the scent of his cologne and feel the warmth of his arms and the way he makes her feel steady in an unsteady world.

"I'll miss you," he whispers into her ear, quiet enough that only MJ can hear.

She closes her eyes. "Me too," MJ says, and then Peter pulls away.

He gets back into the car, waves at her one last time, and, just like that, Peter's gone leaving MJ shivering from the cold.

Prompts Used in this Chapter:
C13. Cold, sleepy cuddles (-ish, pt. 2)
D37. "Stay in bed. It's warmer."
D43. "Isn't it beautiful?"
D50. "Don't let the fact that I'm freezing my ass off out here fool you; I'm having a great time."

I cannot write smut to save my life but imagine there's smut when they're in the hotel together.

This chapter was not easy to write, but I don't hate it fully? It does feel rushed at the end, but I didn't want to drag it on unnecessarily either and I have been short on time because somehow life decided to be hectic during the universal holiday season.

The internet was generally vague about Lake Michigan (why is Lake Michigan in Chiago? Is that normal? Isn't Michigan a state too?) but I'm hoping it's where I wanted them to stop.

Just one more short chapter to go and then we're done with this!

As always, thanks for reading!

You can find me on Tumblr: FanfictioningFangirl