The romantic tensions are heating up, folks! This fic has been getting such a great response, with so many of you keen to see more Spideychelle moments. I promise you, there are plenty of them to come! I've already got some followers on my Spotify playlist, but I keep adding to it, so keep an eye out if you're curious to know what else I've added. There are so many great songs out there, you never know when you'll come across a new one.

For this one, I suggest maybe listening to Snap My Fingers by Bridgit Mendler, Carolina by Harry Styles, Viola by This Is Ivy League, Love Song by Sara Bareilles (seriously, though) and Rearview by Bad Suns.

Hopefully this chapter will please those of you who can't have this relationship come quick enough!

Mondays were never a good thing for anybody – the moment where your brain suddenly fell asleep after the hype of the weekend had passed.

Peter Parker was experiencing a Monday quite unlike any other he'd ever had before in his life.

He was still fully awake. Buzzing, in fact – the adrenaline having gone to his head almost immediately afterwards.

Apparently, unscripted kisses and chocolate bars could do things to people.

The canteen seemed to have gone fuzzy all around him, unable to drag his eyes away from Michelle, as she stood in line to get her lunch, head stuck in a book, moving minimally as the line moved with her.

"I still don't get it, though – she kissed you?" Ned asked, arms folded as he looked on with him. It felt like a flashback to his days gazing after Liz. Except Michelle was no Prom Queen, or popular girl among the student body. People generally avoided her for fear of ruffling her temper, and Peter supposed they did well to keep a wide berth around her.

"Mmm, yeah," he mumbled, chin in hand as he pushed the food around with his fork in his other hand.

"Dude, that's – that's crazy. It's Michelle –"

Peter laughed a little, smiling.

"Yeah, I know, Ned,"

She'd raised her head just a little, checking to see how far away she was from the food. Her satchel was slung on her shoulder, black jeans, boots and a large, white linen shirt complimenting her dark skin. A cardigan was wrapped around her waist, her hair left loose today, the messy curls freefalling down her back, corkscrew spirals bombastic in amongst the sea of straight hair the other students possessed.

He thought she looked so much better for it.

"Don't you think you should stop staring? You know what it was like with Liz, right?"

Peter turned to look at him, brow furrowing.

"Ned – this is nothing like with Liz. Michelle, she – she's… different?" he wasn't sure how best to describe it. She certainly was different, but not in the way he imagined people thought. She wasn't quiet or bookish in the movie sense; she was loud and blunt and bookish in the real-life sense, where she didn't want people interrupting chapter 56 of whatever book she was reading. She believed in freedom and the empowerment of women, and the importance of protesting for better rights for the black community, and making a point of saying she didn't fit into any category because she determined she wasn't a part of any of them.

She was little, but hell, was she fierce.

"Different – that's your description? Dude, you can't just decide you like her –"

"She kissed me, Ned! What should I do about that? Forget about it?"

Ned smirked at Peter's bewildered expression, a worried tone to his voice.

"To avoid her impaling you on a stick – yeah, I would forget about it,"

Peter frowned, turning back to her, as he stabbed at the breaded chicken fillet on his plate. That chocolate bar had been super nice – how had she known he'd liked fruit and nut so much? Instinct? Lucky guess?

He froze – maybe, did she -?

No. He dismissed the thought immediately. Even he had tried to tone down the familiarity he had with her when he was Spider-Man; the more he gave away, the easier he was making it for her.

He wanted to tell her; she was his friend. He saw her like he saw Ned – as someone to laugh and talk and spend time with.

Just some girl.

Except, now he had admitted it to himself – he kind of did like her. Not in a fascination, who-the-hell-was-she way.

A crush way. An infatuated way.

The way he had been when Liz walked in the room.

Her books and her frown and her squints and mad hair and plain clothes and strange quotes and blunt responses. Her intelligence, and wit, and humour. Her everyday nature becoming something so electrifying and strange and real that he could barely look at her with open eyes. Like –

He couldn't even think of what to say.

Just bright. In so many ways.

Peter sighed, staring at the remainder of baked beans on his plate, scraping at the sauce on the edge of the plate, chin slumped in his hand, lips in a downward pout.

"Are you going to tell her?"

Peter jumped, whipping his head round to look at Ned, who alarmingly resembled a balloon about to burst as he tried to contain his laughter.

"What?! No! No, no - no way. You can't be serious,"

"I think you should – just to see her reaction,"

"Now who wants me impaled on a stick?" Peter sniffed, turning back to look at her. Her book was tucked under her arm as she waited for her food, staring aimlessly around the canteen.

"You should stop staring though. It's still creepy, you know."

Peter sighed in response, resigned in his dilemma.

He couldn't ever tell her – probably wouldn't, even if he was dared.

"Yeah, I know, Ned,"

At that point she turned around, plate filled, and traipsed over to their table, taking a seat 3 chairs away from them.

Two less than she usually did. Peter stared, just as Ned nudged him, eyes wide in warning.

Stop staring, dude!

Michelle looked round at them both, as she slammed a whole other stack of books on the table, her current one, 'Oroonoko', marked at about half way. Her fingers flipped it open, pulling out the bookmark and putting it at the back, just as she squinted at them both.

"Losers," she shook her head, delving back into the story as Peter and Ned frowned in return.

"Why are you still sitting with us, then?"

Michelle snorted in response.

"Because you're my friends,"

Peter's heart fluttered a little, coughing as he scratched his neck.

Michelle narrowed her dark eyes at him, making him gaze on like a lovesick pre-schooler, eyes open and expression vacant, as he fought hard to appear disinterested.

By the curious look on her face, it didn't seem to be working.

"Then why are you still sitting away from us, then?" Ned looked amused, a slight curl to his lips as he continued his line of questioning, expression light but filled with contained laughter.

Michelle's bored look softened, her eyes cast downward. Peter quirked an eyebrow, leaning forward.

She recovered almost immediately.

"Because you're messy eaters, and I am not getting my books covered in baked beans because you both can't keep a hold of your forks,"

Ned laughed out loud, just as he said,

"Peter wants you to sit with us,"

Peter froze, cursing Ned and his big mouth. Things just… slipped out, and he only ever realized after the whole room had gone quiet.

Peter shoved him under the table, making Ned 'oof' in shock, as Michelle glared at him from over her book. She looked positively livid.

Peter swallowed carefully, trying to find his voice.

"No, I don't – no, well, I do, just, you don't have to –"

Dammit, Peter. You sound even more like a moron than you normally do.

Sometimes he really wished his inner voice would shut up.

And just like that, Michelle had shoved her stack of books towards them, along with her tray, getting up out of her chair as she slid into the seat in front of them both - now in such close proximity that Peter prayed to any God out there that he'd remembered to put on a clean shirt and possibly some after-shave.

He sort of remembered doing that.

Sort of.

Details. Dammit.

Michelle – no, MJ, his friend, his other best friend – looked at him boredly, book lying open on the table.

"Satisfied, Parker?"

Peter nodded mutely, shoving a forkful of half-cold baked beans into his mouth by way of avoiding having to say anything. MJ raised an eyebrow, before dipping her head again, now entranced once more by her prose.

Ned glanced over at him, a smug look on his face.

Guy in the Chair, he mouthed back at him, and Peter nearly choked.

Man, he had to get this reigned in.

Once the final bell rang, Peter waited for MJ to follow him out, planning to trek down to the library with her to continue working on their assignment. Peter was beginning to realize how appropriate the book was becoming to his life – trapped in a cycle of love and hate, unable to decipher how she felt about him, unable to understand how he should be around her.

Unable to decide whether he ought to tell her who he really was.

It was such a big thing to consider – Ned had been an accident, May had been an accident. He'd planned to tell them both eventually, but the circumstances had changed so drastically, and he'd had to spew the all –important 'keep-it-a-secret' reel, panicking way more than he'd planned in his head.

MJ wasn't going to find out. He was going to tell her. Eventually.

It just begged so many questions – how would he even approach that subject?

How would he even begin to tell her that he was actually the web-slinging superhero who had saved people from getting run over or beat up? How could he even begin to explain how his senses had gone haywire, or that he had millions of tiny little hairs on his palms, making him climb walls and buildings?

How did he even begin to say 'Hey, I'm Spider-Man'?

Peter sighed, watching as MJ packed up the last of her books. She gave him a quick glance out the door, as he slouched against the doorframe, hoodie a light grey that complimented his pale, blue checked shirt.

He smiled back at her, only to receive a small, insignificant smirk in return.

His temperature increased by about 30 degrees every time she looked his way, as they walked to the library.

Michelle had to admit that spending so much time with Parker wasn't as horrible as she'd originally thought.

Yes, the crush had yet to disappear, but she hardly expected it to now.

She supposed her previous actions that Saturday had been way out of line – who just kissed people out of nowhere? – but she wasn't prepared to admit to it. Something told her that she wasn't the only of them to have been more than surprised by it.

As time went on, she began to realize that she was acting more and more unlike herself as said crush got worse and worse, unable to think of Parker without immediately thinking of his soft sweaters and fluffy hair.

God, I sound like a walking rom-com film.

As they turned into the next street, the library now only a mile or so away, Michelle dared a glance at him beside her.

He was walking casually, hands in his jean pockets as he sauntered along, head tipped back a little as he looked overhead, a whisper of a smile on his lips as the sun beat down on their skin, the sky bright and clear. It was amazing to think that this idiot was Spider-Man; that the dorky classmate she'd often dismissed as being just another guy was suddenly - probably -the most important guy in the city.

And yet here he was. Ambling along beside her, hair still mildly waved, figure strong but lithe, backpack slung over one shoulder as his scuffed sneakers navigated the busy sidewalk, stepping in closer to her as a mother and her young son pushed past. Michelle caught a flash of his aftershave, woodsy and light, like pinewood and musk, mixing in with something that seemed just him. She never paid much attention to aftershave – she never wore perfume herself – but she had to quietly admit to herself: Parker's aftershave wasn't half bad.

Peter looked back round at her as he went back to her side, flashing her an apologetic smile.

"Sorry about that," he laughed, shrugging his bag strap onto his shoulder again.

Michelle just flashed him a smirk, sharp and cutting.

"I'll leave you behind if you don't watch where you're going, Parker,"

He just laughed in return.

Michelle had never felt more at home.

She couldn't understand how this had come on so quickly – that she suddenly wanted to be as close to him as she could, no matter how she pushed him away to retain some half-hearted notion of a cold image. She was growing tired of being alone all the time. Her solitude was always a great comfort to her – to be at peace with just herself, and not have to be crowded in with so many other people.

But being with Peter and Ned – sitting at that table, and listening to their lame jokes, and serious conversations, and watching them geek out over the newest Star Wars film or Doctor Who episode or something – it made her feel like she'd found a second family. Just a pair of people who felt right to sit with – who made her feel comfortable and at home.

She didn't like the idea of losing that.

Finally making it to the library, they made their way to the table Michelle had sat at on Saturday, she once again taking out her books with a practiced indifference, trying to desperately avoid looking at Parker in such a way that would give him cause to look up.

Sliding into her seat, she twirled her pen around, watching as Peter flipped through his notes, glaring at the page as he tried to figure out where he'd left off. A curl of hair was hanging in his face, all the rest of it that had been swept back now falling in disarray across his forehead, in some quirky version of a quiff.

Biting her lip in annoyance, Michelle whipped open her book and found the next chapter, reading the first few lines to keep her head busy.

"OK, uh – found it," Peter smiled up at her, grabbing his own pen as he jotted something down in the margin.

"Right, loser, let's get to work."

The two of them had lapsed into a companionable silence as they scribbled in their chosen jotters, furiously scratching out all the lines that didn't make sense. It was a hard way to go about doing the essay for Peter – he felt like he couldn't daydream as he often did when doing it on his own, lest Michelle shoot him a frosty glare and make him freeze up in his seat, her gaze demanding he stop drifting off. She was serious about this stuff, so any kind of slacking, and Peter just knew she'd smack him over the head and tell him to concentrate.

Peter twirled his pen absently, staring at the paragraph he'd written – something about heroes being selfless. He couldn't determine if he was writing this from a completely unbiased point of view – he was one of them himself. And trying not to let that show in his essay was proving difficult. How could he write this essay and not write how he actually felt about the whole thing? It was all well and good for other people to consider what it might be like, but he was actually living it, and that's where the differences began.

He knew what it was like to drag himself home, his shoulder screaming at him as the blood dripped down, trying to climb in through his window one handed as he shed the suit, limping to the shower as he caught a flash of his gaunt face, skin pale from loss of blood, shoulder looking like he'd been mauled by a tiger. Sure, he'd stopped the guy, but he did it all at a cost.

He knew what it felt like to sit on the rooftops and have to watch everything that was going on, even though his eyelids felt heavy and he knew he was barely surviving on a 7-hour sleep schedule, never mind a 5-hour one.

He knew what it was like to see his suit hung up in the wardrobe, his stomach jolting every time he realized that was technically his job now.

He looked up at Michelle, her head dipped as she wrote on, curls falling into her face, obscuring her dark eyes.

"Hey, uh – what – what do you think of –Spider-Man?" he snapped the silence in half, Michelle's head lifting at his stuttered question.

"What?" she snapped, clearly irritated by his interruption.

Peter laughed nervously, Michelle's expression unimpressed.

"Oh, I was just, uh, curious – what you thought of him, cause, you know – he saved a whole bunch of people and it's kind of relevant to the essay and stuff,"

"What does it matter to you?"

Peter froze, mouth open to answer before closing it again, trying to find the best way to answer that question.

"It's relevant," he repeated, smiling awkwardly. Michelle raised an eyebrow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"He's OK, I guess. The whole hero thing doesn't really do it for me," her smile was sarcastic.

Peter laughed again.

"Oh, right – so no superhero crushes then? Right,"

"Never said that, Parker. He's cool – he's weird. But then – when is anybody normal these days? Or at least what people think is normal, anyways,"

Peter blinked.

"Weird?"

Michelle choked out a laugh, waving her hand. It gave him a sharp flashback to that time she'd waved him off before.

I'm just kidding. I don't care. Bye!

"He climbs up walls in a spandex suit and shoots webs from his wrists – what part of that sounds normal, Parker?"

"It just seems a little harsh, is all,"

"Harsh, my ass. He's a superhero – harsh is what he deals with,"

He couldn't exactly argue that.

Michelle's head dipped again, her eyes staring at the page as she propped her chin in her hand.

"But, yeah – he's cool,"

Her voice had gotten softer, her tone slightly less blunt than usual – like she'd only confessed it because it was only him here.

He knew 'cool' was implying a lot more than she was letting on.

He smiled to himself, running a hand through his hair, feeling the softest of blushes bloom on his cheeks.

"Right,"

"He just does it for the people, you know? No glory. He's just there because he knows he can help people out. That's why,"

Her addition startled him out of his reverie, but he was glad of it.

"Right," he couldn't think of what else to say. So he just stuck to simple, as he tried to fight down the blush.

He was half-tempted to thank her, just to let her - maybe - get some bright sparkle in her eyes as she realized he'd told her.

Man, he was considering it so much. She'd get that hint. He knew she would.

But he just couldn't. Not yet.

Hey continued writing, both glancing up at teach other one last time, only to catch the other one looking. They both smiled, turning back to their papers.

Such smiles never went unnoticed.

Having left Michelle in no doubt that he could be suave (sometimes), Peter left the library, bidding her goodbye as she saluted at him, her head still in her book.

Racing across the road, slipping in behind his dumpster, he donned the suit, tightening it around his frame once he'd webbed his backpack to the wall, this time checking how well it'd stick for the next few hours. He was slowly working on a new formula, hopefully with a longer sticking time, but it was a very slow work-in-progress.

Webbing up onto the nearest rooftop, he peered out over it, into the heart of New York, spread out before him. Time for the big city, then.

He was there in minutes, swinging in amongst the traffic as he looped around, civilians waving at him from the sidewalk. He saluted them back as he swung round the corner.

It seemed fairly quiet today – some days were like that, though. Nothing much happened, meaning his job felt more like a hobby. He appreciated that – it gave him more of a break, able to be a little more interactive with the civilians rather than just zipping away again without so much as a hello, having already seen another crime taking place. As he dropped down on top of some coffee shop's roof, he caught sight of a little girl sitting on a bench, swinging her legs idly, face pouty as she looked from side to side, clearly annoyed – or upset – about something.

Huh.

Swooping down to land in front of her, he tilted his head as he draped his arms over his legs, bent down low so he could look up at her.

"Everything alright, kiddo?"

She shook her head vigourously, pushing her fingers together as she avoided his gaze.

"You lose your mom?"

The little girl looked at him, black, curly hair tied up in two buns on her head, a summer dress on her slight frame. She didn't look any older than 7.

She nodded once.

"Yeah."

"Aww, bad luck. You want me to help you find her?" he offered her his hand, which she stared at quizzically.

"Mom told me not to talk to strangers, you know," she said proudly, turning away her face.

Peter laughed, impressed. These kids these days had good heads on them.

"Good advice. But I'm not a stranger – I'm Spider-Man! Here to help," he smiled underneath the mask, eyes open wide, in what he hoped was a friendly look.

She looked at him from the corner of her eye, taking his hand tentatively, her gaze curious. His fingers curled around her slight hand, giving it a little shake.

"It's gonna be fine, bud. Where'd you last see her?"

She pointed in the direction of the street, downwards towards the grocery store.

"Sure thing – let's go!"

They began walking down the street, Peter making some effort to talk to her. Good thing he had some familiarity in this situation – he'd lost May before, multiple times when he'd been younger, as his mind had wandered off. He'd always been told to go to the till, but he still understood the nature of it. Losing that safety at such a young age could send plenty of kids into a spiraling panic, unsure what to do with themselves.

"You got any hobbies, kid?"

She nodded, looking out around the street as they walked, her face still a little worried. He could see people on the street giving him strange looks as he walked past, until they saw the girl beside him, each face melting into one of understanding.

"Reading,"

"Hey, I have a friend who loves reading! You got any favourite books?"

"Harry Potter. Mom reads it to me. I want to read it myself, though,"

"Awesome. I'm sure you'll be able to soon. Hey, is this the store?"

Her head turned to look, just as she pointed excitedly at the front door.

"Mom's there!"

Peter looked up to, eyes narrowing as he saw a woman standing out front, calling the girls name. 'Sadie', it seemed.

Taking her over, he failed to notice Michelle, who had just emerged from the store as well, a bag in one hand, hair now pulled back in a messy bun since their time at the library.

"Uh, Ma'am? I think this is your daughter,"

The woman turned to look, expression guarded as she looked at him, until she saw her daughter holding his hand.

"She got lost, so – I said I'd help her find you,"

Her mother bent down, taking her face in her hands.

"Where'd you get off to, monkey? I told you to stick by my side,"

Sadie muttered something about an accident, but her mom swept her up in a hug, standing up again, Sadie in her arms. She'd only been at the end of the street, but it could still feel like miles to a kid.

"Thank you," she said to him, a gentle smile on her face. It was at times like this that Peter realized how honestly glad he was to have this job. He felt like he was making a real change here – helping out people with all the small, normal, sometimes worrying everyday problems that happened way too often on a daily basis. Losing their kid; forgetting a shopping bag; getting their car stolen; being robbed; helping elderly people cross the road.

Even the stupid stuff too – a box too heavy for someone, or perhaps needing directions for someplace they weren't familiar with. Giving out autographs or letting a child have a picture and a high-five.

It made the job worth doing. It made it feel special. What he couldn't do as Peter Parker, average high schooler, he could do as Spider-Man.

He felt like he was actually trying, where so many others would run away from the fight.

Michelle watched on as Spider-Man talked to the young girl, now in her mother's arms, as he gave her a high-five, enthusiastically showing her his web-shooters as she smiled on, a big tooth missing from her top row of teeth.

It seemed odd.

There he was again. Peter Parker.

She'd literally seen him 20 minutes ago, sitting across from her in the library, hair yet again a rumpled mess and checked shirt rolled up at the sleeves, revealing rather strong forearms that'd made her look away again, trying to reign in her emotions.

And here he was now, having helped a young girl find her mom. It was extraordinary. Kind of crazy, sure – almost insane that he was strolling about, trying to keep said double life under the radar – but it gave her some little glow of pride for him.

He was such a good person. Good in the sense that he seemed immeasurably selfless, consistently kind.

Kindness was so rare.

Just as he turned around, saluting the girl goodbye, he stopped to see Michelle standing in front of him, shopping bag in hand, a sly smile on her face.

"Yo," she quipped, brushing back her curls from her face.

"Hey," he chirped, making a move to run his hand through his hair, until he realized he was wearing the mask.

"Are you – are you good?"

"You literally saw me two days ago,"

"Uh, yeah,"

Michelle smirked, until she blinked once, smile disappearing.

"Saturday meant nothing," she blurted, folding her arms defensively.

Peter's mind whirred, blinking in the mask, the mechanics of the eyes narrowing as he squinted in confusion.

"What?"

"Saturday. Chocolate. Window. That 'scene', idiot,"

"Scene? What, I don't understand –"

"It meant nothing. Just thank you. Continue to not be a dumbass."

She walked past him, her shoulder brushing past his, as she walked on, hips swaying ever so slightly, hair waving as she walked. Peter stared after just, blinking way too much as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Saturday? What had happened -?

Oh.

Saturday.

Peter's limbs suddenly went into overload, as he tripped over his feet, reaching out a hand.

"Michelle, wait! I can – it's not – aaand she's gone," he muttered, kicking his foot against the pavement, swiveling on his heel in frustration.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed. Remembering Saturday quite clearly now, he tore his hands down his face, groaning. Of course he had to forget the only thing he'd been thinking about all day, just as she made a mention of it.

His life seriously sucked. His memory seriously sucked.

This girl was handing him his ass on a silver platter, for Christ's sake.

Peter looked around the crowded street, people looking at him curiously, two teenagers walking past, spluttering into laughter as they watched him glance around like he was lost.

He saw an old man walk past, a casual gait on show.

"Hey, old man! Can I ask you a question?"

The old man turned around, white hair and dark sunglasses hiding a pair of bright eyes, a kooky grin on his face, dressed in a white linen suit.

"Go for it, son,"

"How'd you deal with girls?" He asked plaintively, his voice pitching higher as he gradually got more and more confused by what had just happened.

The man laughed, waving him off as he turned around again.

"No idea, kiddo!"

"But you're like, seventy-four!" Peter cried back, waving his arms in exasperation.

"Ninety-four!" he yelled back, as he continued down the street, leaving Peter stranded in the street, still totally confused by Michelle's behaviour.

Saturday didn't matter?

His ass.

What the hell did that even mean anyway?

Climbing in through his window, Peter stumbled into the kitchen, pulling his mask off as he did so, May unloading groceries from her shop.

"Oh, hey, sweetie! Productive night?"

Peter smiled wanly.

"Quiet, actually. Like, crazy quiet. Not even a shoplifter."

May snorted, putting the two cartons of milk in the fridge.

"Wish it was like that every night," she muttered, as Peter fell into the sofa, head sagging back against the cushions as he closed his eyes.

He was still confused.

"Hey, May?"

"Uh, yep?"

"How'd you know when a girl hates you?"

May laughed, as Peter turned around, looking over the back of the sofa as she took out the last of the groceries, the bright twinkle in her eyes undisguised by her glasses.

"It's not funny, May," Peter whined.

"Last time I checked, you and girls was always a funny situation,"

"Oh my God, May, don't even say that,"

"Already have, honey,"

Peter sank back into the sofa as he fiddled with his web shooters. He was running kind of low on webbing – he'd need to make some more soon. Except it was super difficult to make said webbing when the Chemistry lab didn't exactly have screens to disguise him very obviously not looking at the board. He'd dived in dumpsters for so many things – like that DVD player that one time, which worked like a dream – but he couldn't do that for the answers he wanted about life.

"So, what has you asking about girls? What happened to Liz?"

Peter sighed.

"Liz moved. To Oregon. Cause of her Dad –"

He turned around, expression open.

"Cause he was the Vulture dude-"

"I remember the Vulture, Peter,"

"Ah, OK. But yeah – I can't go out with her when she's in Oregon."

"You wanted to go out with her?"

"I went to Homecoming with her,"

"You were supposed to go to Homecoming with her. You told me you bailed,"

Peter frowned.

"Oh, yeah. I did. Forgot about that,"

May laughed, beginning to slice up the bread for the dinner – hot sandwiches tonight. Peter was planning on having as many fillings as he could manage. Food was about all he could rely on these days.

"So who's the new girl?"

Peter leaped over the back of the sofa, grabbing a t-shirt from over the laundry rack as he slapped his chest, the suit falling down around his shoulders. Pulling the t-shirt over his head, he picked the suit up, jogging to his room for his black track bottoms, shouting back into May.

"I think she hates me, though. Like – as Spider-Man. But I dunno if she likes me, like – as me?"

He yanked on the track bottoms as he stuffed the suit into his backpack, zipping it up again as he traipsed back into the kitchen, grabbing a slice as he walked past May to the fridge.

"Hands off, Parker junior!"

Peter laughed, bread in his mouth.

"Michelle," he admitted, pouring himself a glass of milk.

"Michelle? Really?" May said, walking past him to the fridge, Peter making his way around the counter as he stood eating his slice of bread, unbuttered.

"MJ," He clarified, as May began slicing up the fillings. Cheese, tomatoes, lettuce – anything that counted as suitable for a sandwich.

"This is new," May smiled, Peter adopting a mock frown.

"She's just a girl – in my class. You saw her - she's tall. Like, giraffe-tall. I'm catching up though. Oh, and she reads a lot."

"She certainly seems very different from Liz,"

"Well, yeah. She's MJ. She's different from – well, everybody."

"Sounds like true love," May laughed, making Peter splutter out his drink, covering his mouth in apology. May looked up at him in annoyance.

"Sorry," he mumbled, a smile breaking across his face.

"Sure you are, Peter,"

"It's not true love, though!"

"Wasn't it with Liz?"

Peter considered. Not in the joking sense that May meant it, no. But in a deep, honest infatuation way? Yeah. He guessed that was fair.

Liz had been his first real crush. Two years he'd spent pining after her. Two years of his life having gone out to a girl he thought he'd had no chance with. And then the powers came, and suddenly he was everywhere near her, actually confessing to her, actually going somewhere with her.

But then it had ended all too soon, and just as he'd felt he'd gotten to know her a little for who she actually was, she'd went away to another state, probably never to be seen again.

"Uh, maybe? In a roundabout way? We never actually got to know each other that closely,"

May raised an eyebrow.

"What do you like about her?"

Peter thought for a moment. How did you explain something like this without sounding like some amateur poet?

"Her hair's pretty cool - it's always been curly. Like, crazy curly. It goes everywhere. She dresses really weird though," he frowned, taking a drink of milk.

"Weird?"

"Lots of black and white."

"Sounds sophisticated. She's in your classes, right?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah. Most of them, anyway. She's academic Decathlon captain as well. Same as Liz."

"You seem to have a type," May couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

Peter choked, laughing.

"What? No! No, I don't. She's just… we're friends. But I just kinda like her – a bit more than that? But just as a crush thing. I think."

"Are you going to ask her?"

"No! She'd bite my head off. Which is why I think she sort of hates me. But how am I supposed to know?"

May sighed, setting down the knife she was slicing the tomatoes with, glasses perched on her nose as she looked at him. She brushed away his hair, looking up to the heavens as she tried to conjure an answer. If anyone knew, it was May.

"Well. Has she told you upfront that she hates you?"

"She calls me a loser. All the time. But she sits with us – Ned and me – at lunch. And we're doing that project together."

"Hmmmm." May sighed again, propping her chin up in her hand.

"It seems to me that she actually pretty likes you. Maybe she's just proud. I knew I was. But your Uncle Ben was too much of a jokester to keep me from being serious all the time. He brought out the fun side in me. So maybe you just need to make her see you're just being friendly. She sounds – private. Introverted. Just be honest with her. She sounds like she appreciates honesty,"

Peter deadpanned, trying to keep a straight face.

"You trying to hint at something, May?"

May burst out laughing, ruffling his hair.

"No, baby. You don't need to lay it all out for her. Honesty about Spider-Man is for further down the line. But just be yourself."

"According to Ned, no one wants that."

"Then prove him wrong. Girls like guys for being who they are. Providing they're nice."

"Right, May. I'll try to remember that."

"Sure thing, honey. Dinner'll be ready in about 20 minutes, OK?"

"'K, May! Love you!" He made his way to his room, shutting the door behind him, pulling out some random calculus homework as he pulled out his chair, collapsing into it.

Maybe May was right.

She usually was.

Hours later, Peter was still sat in his chair, mask on, after dinner. He'd pulled up the recording mode, flicking through all the stuff Karen had kept a track of in the past week.

"Hey, Karen, can you flip back to Saturday?"

"Why do you want to see Saturday, Peter?"

"Uh, no reason. Just something MJ said."

Karen began to rewind back.

"Whoa, whoa! Stop there – yeah, just there."

Karen obligingly paused.

He'd paused at Michelle's window, except everything was upside down, something alarmingly strange to watch when he knew he was sitting upright.

"Yeah, yeah, play it from there."

Peter watched as Michelle began re-enacting the encounter, handing him the chocolate bar, a firm expression on her face.

"Why did you want to see this part again, Peter?" Karen asked, voice at ease, as it always was.

"Just, uh – I wanted to see something."

He watched with bated breath as recorded Michelle leaned in, brushing a kiss across his cheek. He could see everything he'd seen that day. The way the sun made her dark skin glow; how her curls brushed past his shoulder. How, even though he was seeing her face up the other way, she still seemed ridiculously pretty. As she leant back, he zoomed in on her expression.

She looked just a little shy about it.

Peter breathed out, sitting back in his chair.

"What was the significance of that moment?" Karen queried in the silence, as the footage changed to more scenery, as he swung out into the city again. Karen cut the footage, leaving his vision clear.

"I just wanted to see how she looked, is all. It's nothing."

"Are you sure?" Karen asked, a curious tone to her electronic voice.

Peter considered.

"Um… maybe not?"

"Do you like her?" Karen asked. She didn't mean in the 'friends' way.

Peter paused, thinking. Huh. Maybe he was in a lot deeper than he even realized.

He smiled to himself under the mask.

"Yeah. I guess I do."

Once again, reviews and kudos are always appreciated!