a/n: my small contribution to the andrew garfield renaissance. directly inspired by the line âsqueeze my hand three times in the back of the taxiâ in the song new yearâs day by taylor swift. special thank you to my other favorite taylor (aka @secretschuylersisterâ ) for beta-reading and also bullying me into posting this. please be kind, I am rusty. let me know what you think! Â
warnings: lots of fluff, a little angst, mentions of uncle benâs death, mutual pining, two idiots in love
summary: peter is in love, you are oblivious, what could go wrong
word count: 3.1 k
It started in middle school, when you were partners for the science fair. Peter was bouncing off the walls, so eager to present your project that you had been working on for what felt like ages, but in reality was only a few weeks to the judges. You, on the other hand, were two degrees away from shaking in your boots at the thought of standing up in front of all these people and talking about the mathematical patterns that can be found in Bach compositions. He was so tongue tied when he noticed what was quickly approaching panic attack territory, that he was unable to find the right words to calm you down.
All the time that he had spent staring at the back of your head in class had presented him with the picture of confidence, and you had been so sure of your topic and all of the work that you had put into it mere hours ago, sitting around the kitchen table with Uncle Ben and Aunt May. So, instead of a rambly and ultimately unhelpful pep talk, he settled for grabbing your hand and squeezing three times. It brought you back to Earth, you presented your project and snagged a first place ribbon. He liked to joke it was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, and you were not one to argue.
You were attached at the hip after that, where one of you went, the other followed. Peter dragged you kicking and screaming through advanced chemistry Sophomore year, he pretended to be interested in your russian politics of the 20th century course. If you were in a club, Peter signed up to take the photographs for the yearbook. You were together all of the time, and had never thought to question when he would grab your hand, squeeze three times before running out of the door to get home before curfew.
Peter was the one that made you watch Star Wars for the first time, disgusted you had been friends for years, âliteral yearsâ he said, and that you didnât understand the references he had been making the entire time. Christmas break rolled around and you were cuddled up on the couch, nestled between the crook of his arm, popcorn bowl in your lap when Aunt May poked her head in from the kitchen. âIâm making your guysâ favorite, sprinkle cookies. Any interest in helping your favorite Aunt?â It didnât matter that it was several days after Christmas, with the tree glowing softly in the corner and the stockings hung up beside it, the holiday spirit was lingering in the Parker household. They were your favorite cookies, and they were Peterâs favorite because he loved watching you agonize over picking the cookie with the best dough to sprinkle ratio.
âYouâre my only Aunt.â Peter called back, eyes not budging from the screen.
âI will!â you called, preparing to swing your legs off of the couch, when you felt Peterâs arm tighten around your waist.
âWe havenât even seen the best part,â he whined.
âYou think that every part is the best part.â You rolled your eyes, attempting once more to ditch your movie day in favor of quality time with May. Peterâs arm refused to budge, and you saw May smile to herself before disappearing back into the kitchen.
âIâm rightâ he whispers, before you feel his hand squeeze your waist three times before wrapping further around your middle to hold you against his chest more firmly, resolute in his silent promise to keep you planted on the couch.
That was new, but you didnât think much of it, as the movie swept up your attention.
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