Outside smelled like wet concrete and something burnt. Someone's overcooked lasagna was committing crimes three doors down.
[System]: Mmm~ You just hugged her from behind. +1 XP. Low-level domestic tension detected. Apron scent archived.
"Why do you have an archive of apron scents?"
[System]: For science. And spank bank. Both.
I ignored that. Streets were calmer than usual. Must be laundry day. Half the block was lit with blinking washer signs and the smell of soap that somehow still reminded me of feet. Cars passed like background noise. I scaled the ladder, and reached the rooftop.
She was already there.
MJ, perched near the ledge like she was thinking about jumping, but only for the drama. Legs crossed, hands in her lap, wind tugging at her hair.
"Yo," I said, dragging it out. "Am I late?"
She looked up, moonlight catching her smile. "No. I just got here too. It is a beautiful night."
It kinda was. I dropped down beside her, let my knees hang off the edge. Moon looked fat. Full. There was that faint purple halo bleeding around the edge of it too. Cosmic vibe. Kinda made me wanna howl, not even gonna lie.
MJ turned her head toward me, eyes still on the skyline. "Are you okay? You were not hurt, were you? I never seen you ditch school before. Like ever."
I huffed. Nudged her with my shoulder. Barely. We were on a roof. She was MJ. Her father was a certified asshole. Last thing I wanted was to find myself in jail, forced to bend over by thugs. Because if that man came to my face, I would probably kill him.
"I am fine," I said. "Little shaken, sure. But it was overdue. Flash finally knocked some clarity into me."
She squinted. Not convinced.
I pulled one leg up, balanced my arm on it. "I realized I spent so much time trying to not piss people off, I forgot that some people only speak caveman."
She waited. Gave me the look.
"Bullies don't understand common sense. They understand the basic laws of nature. You know the bigger-"
"Fist?" she cut in.
I grinned. "I was gonna say bigger dick but sure, let us go with fist."
She snorted a laugh. Like she was not quite ready to admit that version of Peter existed but also too curious to ignore it.
"Do you think that is how it works?" she asked. "That fighting back makes it stop?"
"No," I said. "But it does change the flavor. Bullies smell fear. You stand up once, it ruins the meal."
MJ went quiet. Not totally convinced. Her foot tapped the roof edge in slow rhythm.
"I don't want you to get in more trouble," she said eventually.
"Too late," I replied. "I already exist."
She did not smile. But she did not stop looking at me either.
[System]: You are on the edge, baby. Push gently or pull back. Emotional ledge detected. No parachute.
"Look," I said, adjusting how I sat, "I am not gonna go full hallway bully. No dramatic speeches. No trench coats. Just... letting people know I am not the chew toy anymore."
Her lips pressed together. Thoughtful now.
"What is with the sudden flirting?" she asked.
"What about it?"
She sighed, looked like she didn't know what to say, "It... it feels like I am talking to someone else."
I leaned forward, elbows to knees. "That is because you are." I shrugged. "I am someone else."
"I know it sounds sudden. Like I flipped a switch or hit my head too hard and now I am making mixtapes and flirting with cafeteria girls."
She were not amused. "I am serious, Peter."
I rubbed a hand through my hair like the motion could swat away the urge to say something sarcastic just to derail this whole rooftop therapy session.
"So am I."
Seeing her squint, I shrugged, "I was always this. It just never made it to the surface. It was just suppressed. People wear masks. We all do. Even you."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, like that was not the answer she expected. She gave me that half-smirk, the kind you use when you think someone is bluffing.
"You do too. Mary Jane, the daughter of Philip Watson, is not the same as MJ, the popular, smoking hot redhead of Midtown. One smiles pretty for yearbook photos. The other is Daddy's proud girl."
"But I get it," I added, "Comfort zone is a bitch. Predictability is addictive. People like sameness. Routine. Like their personalities come with a reset button."
"So now that I dropped the quiet next-door mask, I feel like a stranger. I know. But people don't change overnight," I said, watching a plane blink across the clouds. "They just stop pretending."
"Is this you stopped pretending? Were you tricking me all these years?" Her face and voice were like she had just watched someone drown their childhood dog. Not mad. Worse. Hurt.
What the hell.
I tilted my head, squinting at her like maybe she said something else and the words got lost in translation.
God. These people really never learned about ID, EGO, SUPEREGO? Seriously? High school students but somehow mentally stuck in an after-school special. I expected more from the girl who once wrote a whole essay on Hamlet being a mood. Guess not.
I took a slow breath.
"I didn't," I said. "I wasn't faking anything..."
"...you see, when a kid grows up, a lotta stuff gets baked into who they are. Looks, strength, how people treat them, if their friends hype them or hang em out to dry. Even that one girl who likes one dumb thing about them. Boom. Changes everything."
She gave me that look.
Like, speed it up or I start judging you harder.
So I did.
"We grew up together. You know me. Or, you think you do. I am an orphan, MJ. That is two strikes already. Started life from behind the line. Uncle Ben and Aunt May, bless em, they love me. But when you ain't got parents, there is this fear. Like... no matter how kind the house is, you feel like a guest. Like one wrong move, and you are out."
I ran a hand along my neck. Those memories, old Peter's, still clung to the nerves, like gum in your hair. Would not wash out. "Then there were my peers," I muttered, "Calling me names like it was a sport. Morning announcements, lunch, locker room bashings..."
"These two alone make someone like me either shut in… or turn thug. Could have turned bitter. Angry. But Uncle Ben and Aunt May were the kind ones. Like... too kind."
"So I adapted," I said. "Stayed quiet. Folded into my hoodie like it was armor. That soft-spoken nerd mode? Wasn't a lie. Was a survival patch."
I could feel MJ watching me. Probably trying to track how the guy who once nearly cried in chemistry for getting a B-minus now sounded like he had been reincarnated with sass pre-installed.
"That is just one example," I added. "You get hit enough, you learn which side of the hallway keeps you out of the blast zone."
She looked reeled, like something inside her just clicked into place, and for the first time ever, she was actually seeing it. Like the locker hits and the hallway bruises suddenly had weight. Real friend, that one. Real late.
I shrugged. "I am not saying these so you can pity me."
Pulled out my phone. Swiped it open. Navigated like it was muscle memory. Buried under the apps was a little browser tab, still logged into some ancient-ass forum. Username was so dumb it made me want to uppercut past-Peter into a wall.
I held it out.
She took it.
Read.
Brows pulled together like she was watching a puppy get roasted online.
"Can I Park My Thing Into Your Garage2."
The name sat there like moldy cheese. Sticky. Weird. Tragic. But with that sad kind of charm that said it was born from the mind of a child who thought it was clever. Probably chuckled when he made it. Probably got banned for using it too often.
The post thread below?
Disaster.
Memes. Rants. Awkward flirt attempts at faceless usernames with anime avatars. Somewhere between horny, lonely, and 'needs therapy but chooses bandwidth.' The kind of content that made secondhand embarrassment sprout wings.
MJ's finger scrolled fast.
No words. Just this slow, dawning realization that Peter Parker online was... not the Peter she knew.
And maybe never was.
Not even close. That version? He lived behind a keyboard, spat out memes and desperation like it was currency. And yeah, maybe that was closer to me than anything else. Not same. But familiar. Mirror at a weird angle type shit.
After all, even Peter's Spider-Man persona, mask on, voice pitched, jokes loaded, was not the same kid she passed in the halls. That was half the point of the mask, right? People got real when their face was hidden. Ironic. But also true. Most online profiles said more truth than a heart-to-heart ever could. Parents did not know half of who their kids were. But the search history? That knew everything. Regret, rage, repressed horniness, and a decade of anime forums.
MJ looked like she was still buffering. I could see the way her lips parted, then closed, then parted again. Her tongue darted out like she was going to speak but bailed. Twice.
"You really posted this?" she asked finally, holding the phone like it was dipped in bleach.
"Regrettably," I said. "Though, in my defense, I thought it was clever at the time."
"You named yourself Can I Park My Thing Into Your Garage."
"Yeah. In retrospect, it is not even anatomically accurate."
She pinched the bridge of her nose like she was about to develop early-onset migraines.
"Did nobody stop you?"
"They tried. Mods banned me. Twice."
That actually pulled a snort from her. Not a laugh. Just air escaping her nose in protest. Victory. Micro one. But I would take it.
"So..." she started, scrolling again, "this is you?"
I shrugged. "One of me. The more real me. If it helps, when Flash bashed my face into the locker, mask dropped. This is more real me than the Peter you knew."
She looked at me, head tilted, pupils a little tight, trying to figure out if I was fucking with her or about to drop a manifesto. Like she was trying to read subtitles on a foreign movie and halfway convinced I was speaking in code.
Yeah. She was not ready.
I knew it. People hated surprises. Worse than jump scares. They wanted you neat. Predictable. Labeled like cereal boxes. Slap a "quiet nerd" sticker on my forehead, and if I broke character, suddenly I am a malfunctioning toy.
System: Mmm, honesty kink unlocked? Dangerous~ But delicious.
I ignored her. Mostly.