mila

“Whoever gives nothing has nothing.

The greatest misfortune is not to be unloved, but not to love.”

peter definitely says it before you do, and each time he imagines it in his head, it's perfect. it's too bad that real life is less than perfect, and the moments he feels closest to you end as abruptly as a bomb that's detonated.

there's one time at homecoming and your hands are around his neck, head on his shoulder, and he's not quite breathing properly because this is the closest he's been to you and the slow song that's playing is one that was actually on your playlist for him. what a coincidence, right? not like you were on the committee for homecoming or anything. and so you can't stop grinning, trying extremely hard to hide your smile when you look up at his big brown eyes and you're sure he's about to kiss you. and he does, of course, and it feels fucking euphoric, like discovering your favorite ice cream flavor for the first time. however, he has three words choked up in his throat that can't come out. and before you know it, the song ends, and mj swoops in between you so that she can drag you into her circle in honor of the rihanna song that's playing. peter joins, of course, with a fake smile and the ghost of a confession on his lips.

there's another time when you're tending to his wounds. you could never really stomach blood -- you had to go to the nurse's office that one time in middle school after you had to prick your finger for science class. another time, you remember being carried by a fourteen-year-old peter to the nurse's office because the biggest guy in your grade happened to run into you in PE, causing you to eat shit while the other kids laughed. a scrape on your leg decided to bleed profusely, and in haste, your PE teacher sent peter to carry you bridal-style to the nurse. it's funny, really, the way he'd taken care of you then, and now you were the one bandaging him up after a night of patrol. he admires your unwavering gaze at his wounds even though he knows you're usually squeamish, but you don't admit that you'd gotten over your fear of blood because you'd wanted to help him (that, and your older brother insisted on putting on so many gory horror movies on during your childhood that you'd become desensitized).

it's ironic, really, that the first time peter parker tells you he loves you is when both of you least expect it. it just... comes out one night. after an exhausting night of him fighting bad guys and you studying pages upon pages of useless material about dead white men for your sociology exam, the two of you find relaxation in each other's company. more than anything, peter parker is your best friend, and you feel the most content in the world when he's laid in your bed with you watching a studio ghibli movie to wind down. and both of you are drunk on the idea of sleep, maybe a tad intoxicated on leftover wine that you'd stolen from your mother's pantry, and peter's now rambling about how if you were a fish, you'd be an adorable fish.

"you're just like her. so full of life," peter rambles during the credits of ponyo.

"so you think i'm a fish," you retort. smartass.

"sure, but an adorable one. like, the cutest one ever. and you can't not tell me that i literally embody sosuke."

"you do," you admit, nodding along.

"we're just like them. two best friends in love."

your stomach flips at the sound of that. you can't tell if it's from the alcohol or not.

"hm?"

"i... they remind me of us, i think. the way sosuke loves ponyo is so fucking cute," peter murmurs, eyes still fixed on the screen. "i think i love you like that, too."

"you love me?"

peter looks at you with a serene expression, as if those three words were as easy as saying yes to a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

"i love you, y/n."