( mj settles back into his bed, leaning against the double stack of pillows. her eyes carefully follow and catalog peter's movements and tone: the curve of his twisting, thin mouth; his brows knitted together when he turns to look at her with anxious eyes; his voice cracking like ice as he explains himself to her. of course he's acting like this. it would be completely out of character for him not to be like this. she wonders how she can let him know and understand that he did what had to be done. if that would put him at ease. mysterio would've burned the world down if it wasn't for peter. of course, it's easy for mj to say that. to believe that. she didn't know the guy, didn't come to trust him. she wasn't betrayed by him, didn't fight him or watch him die. it's so easy for her to criticize and judge others when she's removed from the situation and has the power of hindsight.
so, the decision is made to drop it. she'll bite her tongue and skip offering him weak placations that he's probably already told himself a million times. look, they're both alive. he saved the world from a megalomaniac and he's finally confirmed his two biggest and worst kept secrets to her. stop trying to shove five pounds of shit into an one pound bag. they have time. if after their meal, a shower, and a good night's rest, he's still on an eleven, then she'll bring it to the floor for discussion. till then, she'll drop it. at least, he's the jittery nervous peter rather than the peter of eight months ago practically somnambulating through the motions.
still, she makes a mental note to casually mention to him later that, if he wants, he can talk to her about the "weird after things" stuff.
if he wants.
no pressure.
in the meantime, mj will try a different approach to put him at ease: distraction by attempting to inject some joviality in the room. hooking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, she lightly snorts and tilts her chin towards his lackluster spread of a dozen books haphazardly stacked on a small shelf above his desk. the hair falls back down from behind her ear and a smirk tugs at her mouth. ) Only thing I'm judging here is the sad state of your bookshelf. I already knew you had shit taste in books after you did that presentation on TekWar freshman year, but seriously? Twelve books? And half of 'em are graphic novels? ( she shakes her head, an exaggerated expression of glum dragging down her sharp features. ) For shame.
( she's so over this depressing, bummer of a scene dragging them down. they're alive. they're alone in his apartment. they're getting pizza with extra garlic bread. why shouldn't they have fun and enjoy themselves? it's been a hard week. )
no subject
so, the decision is made to drop it. she'll bite her tongue and skip offering him weak placations that he's probably already told himself a million times. look, they're both alive. he saved the world from a megalomaniac and he's finally confirmed his two biggest and worst kept secrets to her. stop trying to shove five pounds of shit into an one pound bag. they have time. if after their meal, a shower, and a good night's rest, he's still on an eleven, then she'll bring it to the floor for discussion. till then, she'll drop it. at least, he's the jittery nervous peter rather than the peter of eight months ago practically somnambulating through the motions.
still, she makes a mental note to casually mention to him later that, if he wants, he can talk to her about the "weird after things" stuff.
if he wants.
no pressure.
in the meantime, mj will try a different approach to put him at ease: distraction by attempting to inject some joviality in the room. hooking a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear, she lightly snorts and tilts her chin towards his lackluster spread of a dozen books haphazardly stacked on a small shelf above his desk. the hair falls back down from behind her ear and a smirk tugs at her mouth. ) Only thing I'm judging here is the sad state of your bookshelf. I already knew you had shit taste in books after you did that presentation on TekWar freshman year, but seriously? Twelve books? And half of 'em are graphic novels? ( she shakes her head, an exaggerated expression of glum dragging down her sharp features. ) For shame.
( she's so over this depressing, bummer of a scene dragging them down. they're alive. they're alone in his apartment. they're getting pizza with extra garlic bread. why shouldn't they have fun and enjoy themselves? it's been a hard week. )