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periprose · 1 year

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Florence - Chapter Two

Despite your attempts to keep a healthy amount of distance between you and Peter, you end up growing closer together (a bit fast for your own tastes) as you experience the joys of air travel. MJ seems to be having wedding troubles when you get there, so it's up to you and Peter to cheer her up.

Becoming friends again, mild flirting, banter, mutual pining, Peter not understanding his own feelings, air travel stuff, lots of going on about how beautiful Italy is

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You’re surprised how fast the month goes after that. It’s July 15th, and tomorrow, you’ll be on the flight to Italy.

You pack every Sunday- just putting away all your cute, summery clothes, your swimsuits, and other nice dresses that might be needed for special events. MJ is supposedly bringing a whole bunch of extra outfits for everyone, which was notably given to her from Dior’s fashion house.

The mental bill you’re calculating for the whole thing is getting really high.

Ever since Peter moved back into his house, you’ve been catching him doing silly things through his room window- brushing his teeth while dancing, waking up shirtless (you averted your eyes so quickly), and today playing with a tennis ball, accidentally throwing it through his open window and hitting your window with it, looking sheepish about it- but it started a conversation between the two of you.

Hey. Peter mouths, and then he waves at you.

You blink, and then wave back.

What’s up? He mouths, and you shrug.

You lift up a pile of clothing. Just packing.

Same. Peter holds up a ratty sweater- and your eyes widen with recognition.

You open up your room window, and Peter finally smiles, because he’s gotten you to talk to him.

“Is that-?” You point to it, and then start laughing. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you still have the Mathematics Club sweater!”

“I can’t believe you’re admitting you got rid of such a cherished memory. So casually, too, Howlett.” Peter sighs, as if he’s actually defeated by such an idea.

“Wait.” You hold up your finger, and Peter does wait as you rummage around in your room, until finally, you pick up a raggedy old cloth. You hold it up to him.

It is your ninth grade sweater- at least, it’s a piece of fabric with the same emblem- and it’s just clearly being used as a rag to clean things up.

Peter scoffs. “Jesus, Howlett. That thing looks rancid.”

“It’s for cleaning!” You’re indignant, but Peter is laughing at you, and you jokingly huff. “Okay, whatever. Pack a sweater that won’t fit you, I don’t care. I’m not wearing it.”

“Okay, mom.” Peter tosses it on his bed, and you feel such familiarity towards him suddenly. It’s hard not to smile- but you remind yourself that Peter just wants friendship, and he’s just trying to be on good terms with you.

You shake your head, letting your smile falter a little, and continue packing in mutual silence with Peter.

You wake up really late by accident. Like, 4 AM, and the red-eye flight (it’s a fast one that will get you there in 4 hours, courtesy of Harry) is at 5:30 AM, and you need at least two hours to go through all the bullshit at the airport before you can get to your gate.

Logan is snoring downstairs- he’s fallen asleep on the couch by accident. If your dad didn’t weigh like 300 pounds of pure muscle (you don’t know how a teacher could be so buff) you’d lift him up out of the living room.

But you decide to just get ready for the airport. You shower really fast- brush your teeth- and throw all the extra stuff like makeup, skincare, and perfume into your mini backpack, where your phone, passport, and wallet are already in. Airport clothes are a comfy pair of green Adidas running shorts, a loose gray muscle tee, sneakers, and your hair pulled back in a claw clip.

Logan is very slow as you try to push him out the door.

“Dad- C’mon- We’re gonna be late-!” You’re shoving against him, with your suitcase and bag and all of your might, and Logan is just so. Damn. Slow.

He grumbles, scratches his face, and then makes his way out the door, with one shitty duffel bag and a pair of sandals that you don’t think will last the walk to the car. Logan is never prepared for shit.

As you’re walking out, in the very dark early morning, Peter, May and Ben are all inside their car, and Logan suddenly groans.

“I forgot to fill up the tank yesterday.” He yawns, and you look at him with the most irritated, pissed off look you can muster.

Years of doing that still have no effect on Logan. He just rolls his eyes.

“Fuck off, Lettie. We’ll call a cab.” He says, but Ben, who’s at the wheel of the Parker car, immediately waves at you two.

“We’ve got room- if you don’t mind stuffing your bag in the back seat.” Ben points to Logan’s duffle bag, and he sighs and tells you that he’s still sitting in the front.

Leaving you to put your own suitcase into the trunk, and then awkwardly clamber into the back seat, where you’re wedged in between Peter and May.

May touches your arm with a fond warmth- and it immediately makes you feel guilty that you’ve pushed away this family. They never did anything to you, you were just being extraordinarily selfish.

Peter’s bare leg is touching yours, and you snicker at how prickly it is.

“What?”

“Your leg is so… hairy.” You joke, and Peter’s eyes narrow.

“It’s called being a man.” He leans back in his seat, and you try not to laugh at just how lanky and tall Peter looks sometimes. He’s wearing a t-shirt and gym shorts combo, which looks like his pajamas- it would not surprise you if it was.

“It’s 2023, Pete. Doesn’t hurt to be gender non-conforming now and then.” You retort.

“Let’s not pretend you care about woke-isms now, Howlett. You just want to be comfortable.” He responds without missing a beat. And if anything, he pushes his leg against yours a little harder.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t like it.

“What the hell are you guys going on about?” Logan mumbles in confusion, and you and Peter giggle. Logan rubs his eyes- and then decides to disguise his tired expression with sunglasses.

“Beats me.” Ben pulls out of the driveway, and begins the short drive to JFK International Airport. “You two better not bicker like children the whole time.”

Logan laughs at that, and you look down at your feet, thinking that you missed bickering with Peter.

Peter pulls out a phone- evidently his work phone- and May immediately tuts.

“It’s supposed to be a vacation, Peter. You deserve that, at least.” She reprimands him, and crosses her arms. Making you lean even closer to Peter. “No work. Lettie, tell him.”

You meet Peter’s glance- and he has an interesting look on his face. Like he’s daring you to talk to him for real, in a serious way where you care about what he’s doing.

“It’s not really my business, but…” You start, and you can see Peter’s eyes shift ever so slightly- he’s disappointed, you think. “I think you should let yourself have fun.”

“Okay, that’s fair. I’m putting it on silent.” He makes a big motion of pressing the do not disturb button, and then stuffs it into his backpack. “Hey, want a gummy bear?”

You’re taken aback. “Uh, no. It’s probably too early in the morning for that- plus I don’t want to think how long gummy bears have been in your bag for.”

“Your loss.” Peter tosses a handful in his mouth as you gag. “What, c’mon, Howlett. We all need a hearty breakfast to start the day-”

“I’m buying real breakfast at the airport.” You cross your arms, and Peter nods, chowing down on more gummy bears.

“I’m hungry.” He smiles at you, and his teeth are covered in gummy bits, congealed in a disgusting rainbow of colours that has you instantly cackling with laughter.

“Oh my god, dude. You’re gonna get so many cavities.” You’re literally trying not to laugh but Peter is really, really good at stupid faces, and he keeps sneering at you like a little pig, and you shake with laughter as he keeps nudging you.

You’re doing your best to be his buddy, and you feel like it doesn’t hurt as much as you thought it would. If anything, you actually… you like being his friend, even if you can’t have it all.

You have a small, sheepish smile on your face that you’re desperately trying to get rid of now. Peter side eyes you- and he’s content to see that he’s still got the ability to make you laugh uncontrollably.

The airport is incredibly busy for 4:20 AM.

Families are running- literally jogging with all their bags and new paraphernalia bought from the airport shops- towards their gates, TSA agents are being really touchy about everything today, and the line ups for everything are really, really long.

You don’t need to check in any suitcases, so you skip that. Your passports and tickets are checked by multiple different authoritative people.

It seems to happen in a bit of a rush. You’re pushed through security, and you grimace as they look through your suitcase- for some reason the TSA agent opens the zipper of the clear mesh bag holding all your underwear and lingerie- and he leers at you.

“Going on a special trip? Maybe some yachting?” He asks, grinning, and you know he’s insinuating that you’re one of those girls who “yacht”, as in, providing sexual favours to guests there as a hired hooker.

Your dad’s fist tightens, but you push him forward. “It’s fine, dad. We don’t really have time for this.”

“No, it’s not fine.” Peter speaks up, and he’s scratching the back of his hair, but you can tell Peter has that look on his face- he’s not gonna let this go. He’s a protective, justice-oriented guy, you know that.

“Peter, please… it’s the TSA. You don’t want to get in trouble with them.” You shake your head and peer up at him, and Peter can’t really say no when you’re pleading at him with those big, sad eyes.

The TSA agent doesn’t like that Peter said anything at all. “Sir, I’m gonna need to do a pat-down procedure on you.”

You turn, a level of shock and just awe at the audacity of this guy working it’s way onto your face. “Are you serious? Is it because he said something?”

The agent is silent for a moment. “...Not related.”

You don’t buy it, and you’re about to say something, but Peter squeezes your shoulder.

“Howlett, it’ll just take a second. Otherwise we’re going to hold up the line, and then we’ll be late for our flight. Right?” He whispers, and it’s very Peter to comfort you like this- but you can see in his eyes that by defending him, you did do the right thing, the very thing that he wanted you to from the beginning- that you care.

You do care, even if you tried to act like you didn’t.

“Okay. Just… stay safe.” You say, and you look back at Peter being ushered into the pat-down booth as you, Logan, Ben and May are allowed to pass through security.

You’re waiting in the check in line when Peter finally returns, grinning widely. He’s holding his cheek in a weird way- and you look up at him, looking inquisitive, but Peter sidesteps your almost-question instantly.

“I bought breakfast?” He holds up a bag, and reaches in to hand you a breakfast burrito. You’re too hungry to ask your question and eat at the same time, and Peter beams at you, May, Logan and Ben as you guys eat. Quickly, too, because you’ve only got ten more minutes to check in.

Checking into the flight goes a lot smoother. The check-in lady recognizes that you have first class seats, which are very coveted and basically label you as VIP members of the flight.

You cringe at the level of opulence that Harry seems to be paying for- Peter, too, gives you a look that just reads “yikes.”

It’s not very growing-up-in-the-poor-suburbs-of-Queens of you, but you’re not gonna say no now.

The airplane seats are large and spacious. You struggle to reach the luggage hold, and Peter wordlessly lifts up your suitcase, puts it in, and then his own, and shuts the hold with a clink. He gives you a funny look- like he’s about to raise his arms and say “no, really, it was my pleasure.”

And he does just that, to your mild surprise. He used to do that all the time when you were kids- if you got too cushy about Peter being your little servant, he would go overboard to make you give him some gratitude.

“Sorry. Thank you, Peter.” You say with as much sincerity as you can muster, because you’re just exhausted at this moment.

“No worries. I’m tired too.” Peter leans back in his seat, which has a metre gap of distance from you. There’s a large flat screen in front of his seat, which is really like a lounge chaise sofa, and a table that is ergonomically designed to also rest his arms on. Everything looks like a futuristic piece of art.

Peter suddenly scowls, and holds his cheek again.

“Hey… you never told me what happened to your face.” You lean forward on the arm rest of Peter’s chair, and gently pull his hand back.

Peter’s face is sheepish as you do. He refuses to meet your glance, even when you gasp.

“Peter! That’s a-” You touch the newly red, freshly bruised skin on his cheek, and he flinches. “A bruise-!”

He clamps his hand over your mouth. “Shut it, I don’t need Aunt May on my case about that.”

You gently pry his hand off of you. “But what happened?”

Peter’s eyes fall to the floor of the cabin.

“Don’t lie to me.” You immediately start, and he sighs with a well known just-my-Parker-luck air.

“Okay, listen. I wasn’t trying to be a hero, or anything like that…” He plays around with his knuckles. “The TSA dude didn’t exactly shut up when he got me into the booth.”

You’re silent, but you’re listening really, really hard, and Peter looks up just to make sure that you are listening. God, he missed the times when you looked at him so intently.

“Well, I don’t know if I should say what he-”

“Say it.” You give him your consent, because you need to know what got Peter so riled up that he would let himself get beat up.

“He… um…” Peter swallows, and he wonders if he should. Because you’re only now just starting to open up- he’s worried that he’ll say the wrong thing and push you aside, and he can’t have that again.

Peter continues anyways. “He made a shitty joke- just some offhand comment about how he could show you a better time than me, I guess?”

You feel your face turn hot at the implication.

“And… he just wouldn’t stop. I tried, you know, to just ignore it, to respect women and not give into the toxic masculinity bullshit. But that made him more… eager to get a response.” Peter stares at his hands, and he starts getting a bit of a grimace going on. “He started going on about how your body must look- I’m not gonna repeat that, sorry, even if you want me to, I think it’s too much- and I guess he kept saying it was a shame you were wasted on me.”

You hold Peter’s arm, and he looks back up at you.

“That’s when I couldn’t take it. I punched him.” He shrugs, and your eyes widen.

“Peter…”

“I don’t regret it, Howlett. He had it coming- it was so satisfying to watch.” Peter shakes his head. “I know, I know. That’s toxic. And he punched me back, see?”

“I thought you knew better than getting into fights.” You cross your arms. “Ah, well at least I can rest easy knowing it wasn’t about me.”

“Wasn’t about-” Peter gives you an incredulous glance. “Of course it was about you, moron.”

“Huh?” You look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “C’mon, Peter. You only punched him when he made you feel inadequate.”

“I don’t care about that.” Peter is impatient, but you’re just barely listening now. Already convinced of your own idea. “I care that he thought all of your value was summed up in whether or not he got a hard on. That you exist just to be the receiving object of some idiot’s orgasm.”

“Great visuals as usual, Peter.” You snicker, but he’s entirely serious. “Okay. I’m sorry… I know that you care.”

You ignore the hollow feeling in your chest as you say that. Maybe Peter was so disgusted, so thrown off by the very idea of you two together, like that, that he would defend your honour in the most purely, platonic way.

You know these thoughts aren’t rational. You’re just too cowardly to really talk to him about it.

Peter doesn’t even really know what threw him off like that, anyways. Of course he was going to defend you- you’re too special to him that he would let anyone talk about you like that. Even a potential boyfriend.

He shudders internally at that thought for some reason, and then can’t place why. Why beat someone up for you? Why feel threatened by a boyfriend?

He doesn’t love you… right?

Peter’s got a hell of a lot of questions swirling around in his brain now, and they’re not getting any clearer as you start backing away a little. There’s a couple of potential answers, sure, but he’s not going to get a genuine one unless he talks to you.

“I… um… I care about you too.” You say in the most monotone whisper, and Peter cannot tell if you mean that in any way at all, let alone platonically or romantically.

Damn it, he thinks. She’s pulling away again. Is this what happened last time? I was accidentally displaying too many feelings, and she didn’t know how to reject me?

Peter exhales. He thinks this should be a good thing. You’re at least talking to him- he’s going to be okay with that for now.

“Okay.” He blinks. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.”

“No…” You roll your eyes at your own antics. “Peter, I’m just an overthinking idiot sometimes.”

“I know.”

You hit his shoulder and he laughs.

“We’re good, right?” You ask, and Peter nods, as if he was insulted that you had to even ask the question. It seems a tad put on, but you take it.

“Aw… we can’t watch a movie together now.” He tuts, pointing at how individual and faraway your seats and personal screens are.

“Maybe that’s for the better.” You yawn, stretching and teetering on the arm rest that you’re sitting on. “We should get some sleep?”

Suddenly, a flight attendant walks past you in the aisle with the drink cart, which hits you just hard enough that you fall over the arm rest. You steady yourself, and your face brushes against Peter’s cheek.

He’s unnerved how close you are to him now. It doesn’t help that the relationship between the two of you that was assumed by the TSA agent was so… erotic in nature.

Peter’s head is swirling with ideas and thoughts that he’s not sure have any valid place in reality- he nearly bites his tongue when he’s possessed by some inane urge to kiss you. He looks down at his legs, and then back at you, feeling guilty when he just said he cares about you as a person. Maybe he sees it both ways? Maybe he likes you so much that it’s truly intertwined in that emotion that one might describe as love?

Peter’s eyes drift towards your own, and then back to your lips. You feel your face warm- and then your stomach flip flops, and you decide to put an end to it before it gets complicated.

“I’m- uh… I’m gonna just-” You get up and motion to your seat, and he nods, unable to talk about what just happened.

Peter only wakes you up close to when the flight is over. It’s only the two of you in this cabin, and it’s very dark, so you nearly punch him until you realize who it is.

“Jesus, Peter!” You draw your arm back, and he snickers. “What is it?”

“You fell asleep for most of the flight.”

“So you were watching me, creep?” You blink at him, only half joking.

Peter sighs, and leans forward on the balls of his feet.

“This coming from the girl who would stare at me through the window when I was waking up for elementary school every morning?” Peter raises his eyebrows, and you shake your head, laughing.

“That was perfectly innocent.” You snort. “I was just saying hello to my good friend. You.”

He notices that you sound more okay with being his friend again, and he’s glad. You wave at him, making a mockery of how you used to always say hi, and Peter grabs your hand.

He nudges- well, pushes- you to move over on your absolutely massive seat-bed, which was honestly too much space for just you, anyways. And he sits down next to you.

“So?” You try to ignore how Peter’s body is against your own.

“Here.” He hands you a aluminum foil container, that you’re kind of surprised you didn’t see him holding, and you take it. It’s quite heavy.

“You were knocked out cold for a bit, and the flight attendant really didn’t want to leave you hanging with airplane food.” Peter scratches his face. “I know, right? VIP privileges right there.”

“Yeah. There have been plenty of summers us poors have been forgotten back in the economy seats.” You sniff, and Peter laughs.

“So yeah. It’s just your food.” He nods, but you wonder why he’s sitting next to you, and tell him as much.

“Oh, right.” Peter pulls out his phone. “MJ kept texting me about something… just give me a moment…”

At the sound of her name, you feel your heart plummet rapidly.

You try to remind yourself- it’s been almost a decade, and you’re too old to be caring this much about that- plus these are some of your closest friends.

You resist the urge to push Peter away, and yet, you miss what he’s said entirely.

You’re seventeen years old again. You’re sitting outside at a park bench with your friends.

MJ is telling you about how excited she is to go to prom this year- and how she just must find the perfect dress in the most accurate blue-green shade that matches her eyes correctly.

You’re only half listening- you don’t really care all that much about prom. What’s more important is getting into university.

You have your heart set on NYU, and Peter, Empire State. MJ and Har, on the other hand, are leaping headfirst into their careers, MJ with modelling, and Harry taking over a management position at his dad’s company.

You’re not even really thinking about university right now, either. Peter is staring at MJ as she talks to you, her long red tresses of hair bundled into a messy bun, making the perfect halo of copper strands. She looks like a princess of some faraway medieval kingdom- she’s just missing a crown.

Your smile falters as you watch Peter blink, and turn red, unable to tear away his gaze at MJ as she giggles at his not-that-funny joke.

This is so stupid. You think, but your thoughts are barely coherent. I was never even an option for him. Why can’t I just be normal? Why do I have to get upset over every little thing? I just want him to look at me like that. He didn’t do anything wrong…

But you think to yourself that Peter did do something wrong. This whole time, you had started to grow affectionate when he would offer to hold your books, or walk home together from school, or study in the library for finals. He had become exceedingly good looking- no longer wearing his reading glasses, brushing his hair into more of a long, scruffy look, his scrawny teenage body slowly becoming more built into the body of a man- and you find that lately Peter’s brown eyes mean more to you than you used to think.

Perhaps your only mistake was assuming that anything he did was any different from your usual friendship.

The thought sobers you from your internal thrashing. Peter hasn’t really led you on at all, you’re just an idiot with too many feelings.

Peter says something about how MJ’s eyes are more blue than green, and she giggles and widens her eyes so he can take a good look at them and see just how wrong he is. As he leans closer, and closer, his eyes peering into her own as if he’s actually studying the colour and not looking for an excuse to just be near her, you feel sick.

Sick of being ugly, being the weird best friend, being totally boring and just not as cool as MJ. And sick of the unrequited nature of this fondness you feel for Peter- it’s not anyone’s fault, but you wish it just didn’t happen. It’s like an awful joke.

You’re back to the present. Peter has been shaking your shoulder.

“Huh?”

“MJ says she’s really sorry, but she needs to ask us to be at a rehearsal wedding and reception today.” Peter says, and he shows you his phone like it’s nothing. “Something about the Cathedral not being available any other time.”

Like you’re not a creep who wouldn’t immediately check how often he texts MJ.

You take a tiny inhale. Remember how old you are. Remember that Peter does care about you and what’s in the past is in the past. You read the Instagram messages like a normal person.

maryjanewatson: Hey peter!! Can you tell lettie that we’re having the wedding rehearsal today? Like 5 hours after you guys get out the airport

maryjanewatson: So sorry btw, i tried to rearrange it for tmr so u would at least have a day’s rest!! sadly it did not work out.

pbp: yeah that’s fine. Don’t worry about it, I’ll tell her. We’ll try to be awake :)

You blink. It’s just messages between friends, not even a hint of flirting between them, and then you wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you expected any different. MJ loves Harry- she would never look at another man the same way as she did him- and Peter, regardless of whatever his current feelings were, would always respect that.

“So that’s fine, right?” Peter comments, because you haven’t said anything in a bit and he wonders what you’re zoning out about.

“Yeah, she can’t help that. It’s fine.” You yawn a little. “I wonder what we’ll have to do.”

“Knowing Harry and MJ, it’s going to be a super coordinated affair, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Peter pauses. “At least, I’m sure you’ll be fine. I might trip when walking down the aisle.”

“And who’s arm am I holding?” You nudge him jokingly. “I’ll try to hold you up, Parker.”

Another IG message from MJ pops up before Peter can respond, and you read it before you instinctively tell yourself not to.

maryjanewatson: Oooo, so you guys are tired??? What on EARTH could u two have been doing to be so sleepy, I wonder? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Peter groans, and you- to your credit- start laughing. Cackling, really.

MJ knows how to joke around, so it doesn’t sound nearly as bad in the way she puts it. But you wonder if she’s been teasing Peter a lot, and it makes you feel guilty, that your own silly former crush is making MJ feel the need to play matchmaker.

Peter is amused at your reaction, but he doesn’t know why you’re laughing so hard, and why he cares so much about the reason.

“She doesn’t-” Peter starts, but so do you.

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” You nod, and Peter nods in solidarity.

You’re glad you can at least form a union on that.

Peter checks out his reflection in his phone screen. “Shit.”

“Huh?”

“This looks pretty bad.” He points to his face, and you see that the bruise still looks shiny and red. “Howlett, you’ve got makeup or something, right? Can’t imagine what Harry and MJ will do when this ruins their pictures.”

“I’m sure it will heal in a day or two.” You say drily, but you still pull out stuff out of your backpack. “Here’s a cream for burns- it’s not really meant for bruises, but it will help with the pain, if you’re feeling anything.”

Peter takes it, and slathers some on, instantly sighing as the cool sensation relieves the heat of the bruise.

“Oh, you just gotta-” You don’t know how to tell Peter that he needs to rub it in, so you do it for him, your fingers gently patting and rubbing the cream into his cheek.

Peter stares at you, and keeps staring even as you look away into your bag again. Your face is warm again, because you forgot just how close you are to him and MJ’s last message really doesn’t help your thoughts here.

But you also just feel a fondness for him, which is nice. It’s nice to be his friend, and take care of him like this- if Peter would let you, you’d do this for the rest of your life.

“Okay, I know this looks odd, but this will draw attention away from the redness.” You pull out a green colour corrector, and Peter nods.

“Colour theory. Nice.” He says drily as you dab little green spots with the doe foot applicator, and then rub his skin.

Peter’s eyes drift from your hand, to your face, to your eyes, and then to your mouth again, and you watch his jaw clench- he visibly swallows and lets you keep going.

You stop when the green has melted into his skin, making it look effortlessly clean and peachy like his natural skin tone, as if nothing had happened.

“Better?” You ask, and Peter looks at his reflection again.

“Better.” Peter says in a significantly more husky tone, and you try your best to ignore the shivers down your spine.

The airport in Florence is pretty ordinary. A modern building with not much appeal inside of it. You, Peter, Logan, May and Ben arrive there around 2 PM, thanks to the time zone difference. You head inside a cute mini bus after a quick chat with the security agents- Peter doesn’t have to punch this guy, as he’s perfectly polite- and it’s off to drive to where the Villa Cetinale will be waiting for you.

Your dad taps your shoulder, and you turn.

“Smile for the camera, kid?” Logan holds up his Canon camera, and you have to laugh at the fact that he takes photography so seriously. There’s a whole Italy album spanning years worth of funny, heartfelt moments.

You nod, and Peter flashes bunny ears behind you as you smile. The next picture is of you shoving him, and Peter laughing.

The wind coming through the shuttle window is relaxing. You find yourself feeling more relaxed, remembering that this is a vacation, and you are supposed to have fun.

“Darn. We didn’t get any Neapolitan pizza.” Peter says, and you tell him that you’re sure you can get some in Florence.

“Really, Howlett? I thought our years of Neapolitan pizza eating would teach you some well-deserved snobbery.”

“Is it going to be that different in Florence?” You raise an eyebrow at him.

Peter takes a dramatic pause. “...Yes. Don’t you know anything about the regional differences in food here?”

“I’m sorry, I forgot you were Italian. Apparently.”

As you banter, May and Ben smile to themselves. Thinking just how great it is that you two are finally in cahoots with each other again.

One hour later, an hour you’ve spent mostly napping, as it is, you arrive to the Villa Cetinale, which is in Siena. Despite MJ saying that it wouldn’t be like Florence, you’re uncultured enough that all of Italy feels the same. Peter wakes you up with a tender grasp on your shoulder, and Logan gives the two of you an inquisitive look- which makes Peter drop his hand immediately.

“Oh my god.” Those are your first words as you walk out of the bus, after you’ve thanked the driver that Harry has apparently paid to drop you right off at the Villa Cetinale.

The first thing you see is a gorgeous, lush garden, full of mossy bushes and trees that are snipped into geometric shapes, perfect square and triangles that you can walk through. There are large, marble sculptures covered in vines, and you assume they must be decades if not centuries old, just based on some of the weathering and rough textures.

There are massive flowerpots in between the bushes, containing either shrubbery or pretty, delicate yellow flowers. And at the centre of the land, is a beautiful square, boxy building, looking as large as a mansion, in an off white colour contrasted by green window shutters, somehow both cozy and luxurious in it’s scattered brick exterior. A four pillar opening to an inner loggia (an open patio of sorts) and swirling emblems give the impression of an art piece.

It’s stunning- it looks like a vacation home fit for a royal family.

It totally makes sense why Harry would rent this place for his wedding. Yes, it’s probably obscenely expensive, but you have to admit- it has that soft touch that MJ probably wanted, and it’s very pretty to look at.

The air quality is almost sinfully clean, and you feel a wide smile working it’s way onto your face. The sun is shining, the smell of the soil and path around you is familiar- and you turn to smile at Peter.

“I love Italy.” You beam, and he, for whatever reason, looks away for a moment- if Peter was honest, it’s because you were unexpectedly too cute and he could not handle it- but he turns back towards you and says that he agrees.

“I’m glad we’re back.” Peter comments as you motion for him to come along while you pull your suitcase, and walk down the gravel path towards the door.

It’s kind of a long walk, actually, which tells you how much land this place actually spans. You pass by other smaller buildings- they appear to be sheds, or perhaps homes for the servants of the villa, you can’t be sure- and as you walk, you turn just to take in your surroundings. There’s loads of forest spanning both the front and back of the villa.

When you reach the front gate of the villa, MJ pops out of the front door immediately, swinging through the patio chairs and tables between the pillars. She’s wearing a bright coral sundress that somehow does not clash with her red hair, and she’s also wearing big, white framed sunglasses, which make her look even more famous.

You think she and Harry will raise a great nepo baby someday, just based on the current vibes you’re getting. You wonder if you’ll be an adequate aunt.

“Lettie, Peter! Buongiorno!” She runs towards you guys, and hugs you both. MJ is a pretty firm hugger- you feel squeezed lovingly, and it’s as if she didn’t see you recently- and she pulls back with a gasp.

“We need to talk about your guys’ outfits. It’s too…” She trails off.

“Poor?” You try, and MJ laughs but shakes her head.

“Casual?” Peter attempts, and MJ sort of nods at that, giving him the point of her finger.

“Yes. Casual sounds about right. No worries, we’ve got tons of clothes for you guys to try on here.” MJ takes a moment to hug Logan, and then May and Ben, and then motions for you to follow her.

“MJ’s gonna make us over until we’ve become little signores and signoras she can be proud of.” Peter whispers as you enter through the pillars of the Villa, into a large foyer with sloping ceilings and elaborate tile work.

“I heard that.” MJ says, cheerfully so. “I don’t mind if you guys want to wear your own clothes- it was just a humble suggestion.”

“That’s coming from you. A total bridezilla?” You ask, only half-joking, and MJ… despite how happy MJ always seems to be, she seems to crack a little here, and then she snorts and laughs loudly.

“I needed that. Needed a laugh. I’m so glad you guys are here. I am so tired of playing up the role of future Mrs. Osborn.” She admits rather candidly, and Logan gets a wary look on his face.

“Don’t mean to intrude, but… isn’t that bad if you’re going to be that for the rest of your life?” He says with nearly no tact, and you gasp, affronted.

“Dad!” You scoff at him, while MJ’s smile trembles a little, as she flinches. “She didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I took it more like, it’s hard to be the lady-in-charge of the Villa and all the wedding planning and stuff, right, MJ?” Peter asks, and she nods a little too eagerly.

“Y-Yeah. Exactly.” MJ sighs, and then tells a servant standing nearby to take your suitcases to your rooms. “I’m sorry… just give me a moment.”

She walks through the main hall, and through the back door, probably into the vast garden of the back.

Peter winces. You glare at Logan.

“What, Lettie?” Logan crosses his arms, getting that grumpy I-know-better-than-you look. “People always need honesty, even if they don’t want to hear it.”

“Not if we don’t know the whole situation, Dad.” You roll your eyes, and Peter doesn’t want to comment on this, but he feels that you’re right. He’s just really bad at coming between you and Logan- he’s afraid of what Logan will say to him, and he really can’t risk losing the hard-earned friendship he’s spent literally decades cultivating with Logan.

Peter just hopes you won’t be annoyed that he’s not defending you in this moment.

“Do we want to go talk to her?” He asks gently, and you hear the usage of we, like a couple, and fail to respond for a moment.

“Let’s give her a minute and then go.”

Ben and May are the first to agree with you, kind of- they still have the older mentality of telling it like it is. Still, Ben thinks highly of MJ and Harry, and he tells you as much.

“I always thought those two were on the same page.” Ben tuts, flipping through one of the many books that the main hall offers for you to read. “It’s probably just pre-wedding jitters.”

“Lord knows we had them.” May giggles suddenly, and Ben chuckles at that. “I thought Ben was going to leave me when I started crying about the ring being a little too loose.”

“You just weren’t eating, May.” Ben reminds her. “You must’ve lost… like ten pounds or something like that, it’s no wonder the engagement ring was sliding off.”

The thought that MJ isn’t eating because of nerves, combined with that strict modelling regime needed to stay hot and skinny, strikes you suddenly, and you tug on Peter’s arm.

“We should go talk to her now.” You say, fear becoming apparent in your voice. You’re worried- Peter can see that clearly in your eyes- because you do remember how frazzled MJ seemed to be, just on the edges, throughout your bridesmaid dress appointment, and that lunch where she just picked at a salad… and how often she checked at her phone, with a disappointed glance, which she quickly covered over with a smile.

You feel like the worst friend. You hadn’t really noticed that MJ needed someone, and you need to be there for her now.

It’s easy to be distracted by all the pretty interior design of the villa, and even as you step through the backyard doors, into the outside, there are more beautiful marble statues, two twin staircases that lead to the second floor of the villa, and many more trees and bushes- you think you can see the famed lemon garden here- but you assert yourself to stay focused on MJ.

Peter walks quickly, not just to keep up with you, but because he’s worried, since you are. You have pretty good judgement of most emotional situations- in fact everyone usually comes to you for advice. So Peter knows your opinion is valuable, and he’s really hoping MJ is okay.

She’s sitting on a white garden chair, under an umbrella, in the shade. Her hair looks like a deep auburn- and it just makes her seem more sombre.

MJ’s drinking a lightly iced tea, and you can already guess there’s no sugar in there.

“Hey, Mary Jane…” You touch her shoulder, and she tries her best to smile at you.

“Lettie.” She sighs, a deep sigh embittered with pent up sadness, and you wonder why. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been nicer to you guys… what a horrible start to your vacation.”

“We don’t care about that.” You start, and Peter thinks about the use of we, too, but he quickly brushes that aside. “Just… are you okay to tell us what’s wrong?

“You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.” Peter says, and he sits down next to her, and you do, too.

MJ breathes in. Shuts her eyes. And then squeezes a wedge of lemon into her tea.

“It’s not a big deal, at all. It’s just me being silly, I swear.” She suddenly, violently squishes the lemon, and lemon pulp splatters onto the table.

You wince, and give Peter a look. He knows what you mean- things are not well.

“Who am I kidding?” MJ scoffs at herself, and her normally pristine complexion is harsh, red with stress. She’s becoming Tomato MJ. “The wedding planning is a lot, yeah. But even worse- someone went behind my back for next year’s New York Fashion Week, and now I might not be able to secure a designer to model for, and Harry isn’t responding to my texts, and I have no idea why because he’s usually always ready to talk to, and it feels like… it feels like… like I’m alone?”

Her voice breaks, and she bursts into tears.

“Oh, MJ…” You hug her, and she cries as she holds onto you, her eyelashes becoming wet with big, fat tears. Her head quickly finds that gap between your shoulder and neck- and it’s as if no time has passed, again, because you feel like that gap was made for this friendship. You remember all the times you’ve hugged her, and you hope you’re still providing the same comfort.

MJ sniffs, and Peter gently pats her back. He feels like you’ve got it covered- he gives you a thumbs up and you give him a sheepish smile.

“It’s just… I’m not mad at anyone, I just wonder why no one is talking to me.” She wipes a tear away as she lets you go, and you listen carefully. “Why no one seems to want to communicate. Like, fuck, how am I supposed to do the right thing if I don’t know what it is?”

MJ’s comment cuts deep, and you feel like you’ve been in that situation a lot. With Peter, you’re never sure where your standing is with him.

“Listen. I know it’s not the best advice, but you just gotta hang in there, okay?” You hold her hand, and MJ nods, wiping her face a little more vigorously. “It’s frustrating, but soon you’ll find out who did what and for what reason. No need to freak about all the unknowns right now, because they’re just unknowns.”

“Okay. That’s true.” MJ agrees, but she’s still got a hint of worry on her face, and Peter can see that.

“And me and Howlett will help with all the wedding stuff. Promise.” He swears, and MJ’s face brightens. “Maybe we can also help you with the New York Fashion Week thing? What exactly happened there?”

“Oh…” MJ plays with the hem of her dress. “Someone sent my usual designer at Dior an email… and they were already doing a huge favour by taking on someone like me, y’know? I’m not very well known in the model space yet. So the email was accusing me of using connections from Harry to be in the model industry… and as far as I know, Dior is looking into it seriously because they don’t take kindly to frauds using their model-in-training funds.”

“But that’s total bullshit!” You exclaim, and MJ and Peter both look towards you as you start talking. “You must have in your proof of records that Harry didn’t do anything like that for you, right? You started off pretty small, I remember, it was for a local show.”

“Howlett’s right.” Peter nods, affirmative. “We can both look into your history- if that’s okay, MJ- and prove to whoever did this that they’re wrong. And you won’t be booted.”

“I don’t know… it does seem kind of suspicious since I’m marrying him and all.” MJ says, but she immediately shakes herself out of it. “No, you guys are right. I worked hard.”

“You did.” You nod, and then MJ takes on a more suspicious, dark look.

“I think it was one of my friends.” She admits, and Peter looks to you, but you don’t know them either, so you give him an unfamiliar glance. “One of the models that will be here on Wednesday. Elektra, Wanda, Kitty, Bucky, or Nat. Nat and Kitty are already on Dior with me, so that leaves Bucky, Elektra, or Wanda. And I’m pretty sure they were on the shortlist to make it for New York Fashion Week.”

Peter grins. “This is easy. Right?”

It takes you a second but you clue in. “Oh my god, yeah. MJ, you wouldn’t happen to still have the email, right?”

“Of course I do.”

“We can trace back the IP address of the email ID that sent it.” Peter squeezes your hand from across the table, and it’s an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by MJ. “Howlett and I, we’re really good at coding and shit- we’re techie kids and all that, right- so it can’t take more than a day, I swear.”

“I believe you.” MJ smiles. “I’m just wondering when you got all sweet on Lettie, and suddenly decided to hold her hand.”

Peter lets go, kind of dramatically, but his hand twitches for a moment, grazing over your own palm before moving back.

“Can friends not hold hands?” You ask timidly, but MJ gives you such a suggestive look that you’re laughing.

“Okay. No more drama, you guys.” MJ laughs too, shakes her head, and stands up off her chair, into the sunlight. “We should have fun before the rehearsal today. What do you want to do?”

“Whaddya have in mind?” Peter throws right back at her, and she gets another mischievous look on her face.

It’s a very lovely bakery next to the corner store in a teeny village, just a , with loads of different kinds of gelato and ice creams and crepes and tiramisu and biscotti and panna cotta.

Of course MJ would consider this bad, considering that she’s not allowed to eat anything so unhealthy usually. But she’s excited, she’s saying that she deserves a bit of a break for the wedding. You wholeheartedly agree with her.

“But guys, I swear, you two need to let loose and party a little. I’m gonna make everyone drink and party like crazy this week- this is definitely not the extent of our festivities.” MJ chirps excitedly, and pays the cashier while telling him to keep the change.

You sit outside on the patio, looking at a cobblestone street full of Italians and tourists alike.l.

Peter takes a bite of his gelato. It’s a rich, smooth raspberry flavour, and you knew he was going to get it. It’s one of your usual Florentine traditions.

MJ got a new cheesecake tiramisu- apparently sacrilege to the Food Gods of Italy, as the cashier told her he got yelled at by a couple of Nonnas earlier- but she loves it, absolutely grins at the flavours melting on her tongue.

“Better than NYC cheesecake?” You ask, and she nods, taking another massive spoonful. You’re glad to see that MJ is eating, and she definitely seems less stressed.

“Who says tech kids don’t party?” Peter starts, and MJ laughs as he becomes a little offended. “No, really. We might work hard but we still like having fun. Right, Howlett?”

“Is this fun you speak of just between you two?” MJ asks teasingly, but Peter’s face turns red and she lets it go. “Really. This week shouldn’t just be blah blah wedding stuff. I want to make sure we’re all having fun and doing things we want to do.”

You take a bite of your own basil-mint gelato, in a very appealing light green colour. The flavour might not sound good, but it’s really like a refreshing, minty sorbet, not that savoury at all. Just herby.

“Can we choose what to do?” You ask, but MJ is just waving your question away.

“You don’t even have to ask. We’ll try to do anything you guys want.” MJ beams. “And don’t even worry about the other guests- there’s no strict itinerary in place other than our dinner parties, so they probably will want to do other things, and they definitely can.”

“Whoa, whoa, Howlett.” Peter suddenly holds up a finger. “You’ve just got some sprinkles on your face…”

Peter reaches out with a thumb and gently swipes the edge of your lip, and your cheek,and some sprinkles fall off towards the ground. Then, in the most disgustingly lascivious, possibly slutty, kind of perverted way that only Peter could do, he sucks on his thumb.

“Hm. Minty.” He grins, popping his thumb back out, and it takes all of your willpower not to retort back, because Peter has been like this for ages and you refuse to believe that it’s genuine flirting.

MJ looks between the two of you, having trouble believing that you’re both so oblivious.

When you just make it back to the Villa, there’s a lot of splashing, and some loud Italian electronic music playing in the front yard. MJ rolls her eyes, but she smiles. “That must be Harry.”

MJ waves him down, and Harry swims upward, glad to see a few familiar faces.

“Lettie, Peter, it’s me!” Harry pulls himself up off the ledge of the pool, and he looks just as rich-boy-tired-but-chic as you’ve always remembered. Those heavy eyebags have never gone away. He’s sopping wet as he hugs you guys, drenching you both in tons of water.

“Ugh- Har, are you serious-”

“Yeah, Harry!” Peter shoves him lightly. “We’re totally wet now.”

“Yeah, but you guys love it.” Harry snickers. “What the hell are you wearing, anyways? Where’s the Italian finery? Do I need to call a maid over to help-”

“Oh, god, don’t get started on that, please.” Peter pinches his brow, with a small smile because he knows his friend. “We’ll change now, okay?”

“In that case-” Harry shoves Peter, who falls and bumps into you, and you both fall into the pool, water immersing you quite quickly. The blue ceramic tiles of the pool fill your vision, and you kick upwards. You resurface, and pull your hair back, panting, and Peter is shaking his hair, trying to get it out of his face.

“You okay?” Peter asks immediately, and you have to fight down the thought that of course that would be the first thing Peter would say, and you nod.

“We just gotta get this clown back for that.” You lean forwards, and tug Harry’s ankle, which causes him to fall in with a splash, too.

“Now you guys are having fun, damn it.” Harry splutters when he resurfaces. “I missed you guys.”

It’s very touching, but now you have to actually go change and shower when you just wanted to rest a bit before the rehearsal, and that’s a tad bit annoying. Just like Harry usually is- but you can’t help but like him anyways.

Harry tries to hug MJ as you all walk towards the villa- and she rebukes him, holding her hands out and saying that her dress will be ruined if it gets wet. Harry instead places a sopping wet kiss on her forehead, and she groans loudly, but you know she likes it. It still makes you feel a little alone- being a third wheel.

Well, at least Peter is one, too.

What’s distracting you is how Peter’s shirt seems to cling to his waist when it’s wet, and you can’t help but stare, seeing taut stomach muscles through the damp parts of his shirt. You shake your head and wonder why everyone had to turn hot except for you.

When you step out of the shower, just in a white terrycloth towel, MJ is waiting at your bed, and you flinch for a moment.

“Jesus!” You start, and then see her smiling. “Next time just tell me you’re gonna be in here, or knock or something.”

“Will do.” MJ stares at her nails. “Have you decided what you’re going to wear to the rehearsal?”

“Not really.”

“It’s a informal-formal affair. I guess semi-formal.” MJ tells you, as you start getting ready for it. “I’ve picked out a few dresses you can wear.”

There’s a few dresses crowded around in the massive wardrobe when you look, but the first one that catches your eyes is a lovely deep yellow, with embroidered white flowers through our the ruched bustier and long skirt, and very teeny spaghetti straps. It matches your bedroom, strangely enough, since the walls are a nice pale yellow hue, and the canopy over your four-pillar bed is a pretty ivory shade.

When you’ve tried it on, MJ immediately starts clapping.

“Chill out, I’ve barely even tried it on properly!” You say sheepishly, fixing the skirt so it flows out better, and she giggles.

“It just looks beautiful on you.” She asserts, not a hint of irony or wit or any sort of sardonic tone in her voice, and you sigh, knowing that MJ doesn’t lie about fashion.

“Thanks.” You are still bad at taking compliments, and she knows, so she doesn’t take offense.

MJ wordlessly slides a very, very nice weighty gold bangle on your wrist, and before you can express that it’s too much, she gently tells you it’s a special gift for her maid of honour.

“Oh.” You grin. “I wonder if Peter gets anything similar?”

“Depends on if Harry actually tried.” MJ sniffs, somewhat jokingly.

After a bit of makeup (MJ tells you that in Italy you only need a sheer, glowy base like a bit of concealer or a skin tint, a lip and cheek tint, and maybe a little more eyeliner and mascara than usual since that’s what the style is here, and you’re wondering if you’ve been secretly Italian this whole time with this extremely natural, less-is-more look) and some small heels because you know you’ll never be able to rock the 6-inch heels that MJ does as a model, you’re now waiting downstairs.

MJ is wearing a corset sundress, with more elaborate ribbon straps tying the dress tightly across her waist, and the pattern reminds you of those blue-and-white china plates. She looks amazing, of course, and she’s donned a practice veil, apparently not the real thing.

MJ is explaining something about what you’re supposed to do as you walk in the church, but you’re not really listening, because Peter has just walked down the steps from his side of the Villa, towards the main hall. Where you and MJ are sitting on one of the couches.

He’s absentmindedly fixing his hair, not really paying attention to where he’s walking, and he just looks unfairly good. Like MJ-level modelesque, and you feel your breath catch in your throat for a moment. Peter’s wearing a basil green button up top, and casual khaki dress pants, and even though you always teased him for getting sunburned easily as you grew up together, somehow these colours are matching his complexion perfectly, making his skin have a golden hue that you swear you’ve never noticed before.

You bite your lip and look at the ground, unable to really look at him.

“Hey. Is the car here yet?” Peter asks, and you shake your head. MJ has a laugh deep in her throat, just threatening to come out.

You wish you weren’t so obvious.

“Anyways. Like I was trying to say, except Lettie really wasn’t listening.” MJ taps her acrylics against the little side table next to her, and Peter nods, listening.

He’s a little distracted, too- that shade of yellow somehow complements your complexion exactly, and something about you looks glowy and ethereal in a way that Peter doesn’t think you looked like back in NYC, but then he feels weirdly defensive and wants to think that you’ve always looked pretty, and then he internally fumes at the idea that he has always been attracted to you, and is only noticing now, apparently? That can’t be true, right? He’s not that dumb, right?

He decides he’s just going to blame something in Italy’s air.

The car honks outside, and you stand up, ready to go. Peter stands up a little too quickly too- and he bumps into you, and you fall a teeny bit forward, and Peter’s hand grasps around your wrist, steadying you.

“Thanks.” You smile up at him, and Peter feels a disgusting amount of affection.

The wedding rehearsal goes on pretty easily, if not for the fact that everyone seems to be distracted by how beautiful the Florence Cathedral is. You tell Peter as much, and he looks wistfully up to the tall domed ceiling, and down back at you, holding your gaze for a little too long, and agrees that it is beautiful.

You have no idea why every conversation with Peter seems to make you feel soft.

MJ’s mother, Madeline, and Harry’s mother, Emily, both walk down the aisle first, and they do so easily- you hadn’t seen them when you arrived, but it turns out they were out shopping all day, so here they are now. It is crazy how much Madeline you can see in MJ’s face. Harry, on the other hand, must take after his father.

Then it’s Harry’s father, Norman, the absolutely intimidating CEO who you really hope isn’t as terrifying as all your colleague buddies have said. Everyone’s who’s ever interviewed at Oscorp knows what they mean. He’s not here in Italy yet, obviously on important Oscorp business, so you breathe a teeny sigh of relief for that.

After that, it’s Harry, who walks down with a bit more of a strut than necessary… the priest side eyes him.

Then it’s time for the other bridesmaids and groomsmen. Gayle, MJ’s sister, isn’t here, and neither is Gwen, Betty, or the groomsmen- it seems that they’ll all be here Tuesday, with MJ’s model friends as well. You feel a bit bad for her, because so far it only seems like you and Peter’s families are the only extended people really cared to show up at this point, but that’s what happens with destination weddings sometimes. Not everyone can take time off, just like that.

Then it’s time for you and Peter to walk down the aisle. He raises his arm for you to hold onto, and walks at a pace that’s pretty slow, which is what MJ wanted so photographers could take good pictures of everyone. It’s kind of funny- you feel like a kid again, when you and Peter would have to pose at Logan’s insistence for pictures.

Even now, Logan is snapping pictures as he sits in a pew, and it feels like a long walk until you reach the front of the altar, where everyone else is.

Peter is warm, and he smells good- some kind of citrusy soap that makes you think of the lemon gardens in front of the Villa.

“Hey, Howlett.” Peter whispers from gritted teeth. “Nice bracelet. Did that cost half your paycheque, or what?”

“Uh, no. MJ got it for me.” You snort under your breath as you walk, and Peter nods with an approving look.

“I guess we’re matching. Harry did the same thing.” Peter tugs his sleeve slightly, and shows off his own gold chain bracelet. Whereas yours looks feminine and dainty, delicate in how it hangs on your wrist, Peter’s is significantly more masculine, with chain links and a more rugged detail running through them. Still, it does scream matching, and you have to think MJ and Harry did it on purpose.

You tell yourself it’s just a friendship thing. Or a maid of honour-best man thing.

Peter feels soft, reliable to hold onto- you don’t want to let go when you’ve reached the altar. But you do, because you have to go to the side where the bridesmaids are supposed to be standing.

As you make your standing there, Peter does a tiny little wave at you, and smiles, and you do, too.

You watch as MJ sashays down the aisle with her father- he’s been napping all day- but you wonder if the bride should be acting like a model, exactly? It’s not that she doesn’t look amazing, it’s just not very churchlike.

MJ stops herself halfway down, looking somewhat irritated at herself. “Wait- nope, I’m starting over. Sorry, daddy.”

She begins again, holding onto her father’s arm, and this time, it’s a slow walk that demonstrates what a shy, blushing bride MJ can be, and you know if she really wanted to, she could be an actress.

You catch Harry looking at her, with a wistful smile- but Peter looks rather fond of her too, and you can’t decide if it’s just friendship, or if he wishes she was his.

You wonder if anyone will ever look at you like that. Just as you look away, Peter shoots a glance at you, hoping that you notice.

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