You look pretty, too.

“Hey…”

He’s talking to her, but her eyes don’t want to meet his. They want to stay focused on the ground, where she can read the details of the carpet instead of the confusion she knows is painted across his face.

There’s a beat, followed by another. The silence is deafening, but she misses it when Peter pushes further. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” Her answer is barely audible and comes out warped, almost gargled, like she’s underwater. 

But maybe she is drowning under the weight of what’s to come. “It’s over.”

She’s still not looking at him, but she hears it. She can physically hear the worry in his words when he asks, “What’s over?”

“This.” Her hands shake when they motion back and forth in the space that’s grown between them. “You. Me. Us. It’s over.”

“I don’t--” he stammers, pausing to clear his throat and then trying again. “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. There’s nothing here. We’re nothing. We’re done, Peter.”

Michelle tries to turn away. But his hand stretches out and catches hers before she’s got the chance. “Hey, wait wait wait,” he pleads. “Look at me.”

And she can’t, she really can’t. She bites her lips, and squeezes her eyes shut because she can’t do it.

But she knows she has to. She knows the only version of this where he’s okay is where they aren’t.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“I met someone else.” Her words fall through the air, like a punch to the gut, and she feels the impact when he drops her hand and steps back. And all Michelle wants to do is reach out, step forward, and take it all back.

The worst part is that Michelle Jones knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s an expert at pressing the right buttons, saying exactly what needs to be said in order to push someone away. It’s a skill she’s been perfecting for most of her life with everyone in her life, except for him.

“I know... I’ve been busy with-- things lately.” And she knows what he’s talking about, and he knows he’s trying to take responsibility. She also knows he has a responsibility, she’s always known that. Not once has the thought of taking that from him crossed her mind. And now, she’s silently screaming for him to remember that. To put those super senses to good use and realize something’s not right. The words in her mouth taste foreign, and they’re not hers, and he has to know that. 

No. 

He doesn’t have to know that. 

He can’t know that. 

And so she presses on. 

“Obviously. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?”

(It isn’t.)

“Who is it?”

“Someone who shows up. No bullshit excuses. There when I need them, and I need that. I need more than this.”

Each word is precise, carefully calculated to drive the nail into the coffin. The coffin that will go to the grave she’s digging. 

And it’s all going according to plan.

And then Michelle makes the mistake of looking up.

She sees those big brown eyes-- the ones that crinkle when they laugh. Sometimes they get little golden flecks in them, when the sun hits just right. But now they’re rimmed with red, and his cheeks she’s kissed a thousand times are streaked with tears that’s responsible for. She did that. 

And she’s still not done.

“MJ--”

“Michelle.”

Peter looks like he’s been shocked, lips parted, visibly stunned. “What?”

“It’s Michelle.” There’s a strength in her nod that doesn’t match the tremble in her voice. “Not MJ. Only my friends get to call me that.”

This time when she turns away, he doesn’t grab her hand. He doesn’t call out her name, try to follow, or even try to stop her. Because this time, it’s worked. This time, it’s done. 

They’re done.

And her heart feels like it’s been shattered into a thousand tiny pieces. She feels like he’s dying.

But at least he’s not.

At least he’ll be safe.

That was the deal.

-

“It’s for the best, really. You break up with him, and then I don’t have to break every bone in his body.”

“And how do I know you won’t?” 

“I’m a man of my word. I won’t lay a hand on your precious Peter Parker.”

-

In the end, it’s not a hand.