A/N: NOT MY ORIGINAL WORK. I'M ONLY UPLOADING THIS HERE SO I CAN LISTEN TO IT MYSELF. IF YOU WANT TO LISTEN ALONG WITH ME, FEEL FREE.
YES, SOME ASSHOLE IS SELLING THIS FOR HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS EVEN THOUGH IT'S FREE FANFICTION. I'M NOT GOING TO NAME THE FANFIC—WHERE'S THE FUN IN THAT?
IF YOU REALLY WANT THE FULL THING, GO FIND IT LIKE I DID, AFTER A WHOLE LOT OF FRUSTRATION.
AND YES, THE NAME WILL MAKE SENSE AFTER A FEW CHAPTERS—AND WHY NAME IT LIKE THIS? IF YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW.
***Chapters on average is about 4.5K***
The pain in my hand was immense, like a hot iron pressed up against my skin. Whatever it was burrowed through my skin and into the veins in my hand. I grunted, trying to hold it in, but a roar of pain tore out of me.
"Argh!"
And then suddenly, I realised I was somewhere else.
The floor was pristine marble, reflecting my face. My skin was pale, my hair brown, and I was wearing the biggest pair of circular glasses I had ever seen in my life.
"Mr. Parker, are you okay?!" someone called out.
I looked down. The face looking back mirrored my own. 'Was that me?' I asked myself, unbelievingly. My hand stung. I looked down and saw it swelling to twice its size, with red streaks running up toward the wrist.
"Mr. Parker? Mr. Parker?!" someone shook me.
I blinked as I looked up and found a crowd of students staring at me. They were all looking at me like a caged exotic animal. Right before me stood a woman who appeared to be a teacher, her hair pulled neatly to the sides.
A name popped into my head — Mrs. Sonada. That was her name. She was a biology teacher. My biology teacher. I blinked. 'That's not right. I've never met her before in my life.'
"Mr. Parker!" Mrs. Sonada called out once more. "Are you okay?"
I blinked. "I — yeah, I am," I responded on reflex. Suddenly a sharp pain ran through my hand and I flinched. It was hurting badly.
"That looks bad. We should get that checked out," she whispered. She turned to the rest of the class and announced, "Alright, class, we're cutting this short! Everyone get your things!"
"Alright! Guess puny Parker was good for something after all!" a tall blond teenager yelled out to his friends.
I looked around. I was in a lab of some kind. People in lab coats were walking around, monitors displayed the DNA of a human being actively manipulated, numbers scrolling across them. I didn't recognise any of them.
"Come, Peter. I'll get you checked out," Mrs. Sonada whispered as she guided me outside. A large yellow school bus was waiting for us. We got on and she put me in the front seat. My vision was blurring, sweat pouring down my brow. And then, slowly, darkness.
I remembered seeing flashes. Getting off the bus and onto a hospital gurney. A doctor looking me over, informing me I was suffering from an allergic reaction. Somehow I managed to grunt in understanding.
I remember someone picking me up. His face was aged, his hair white and cut short. But the moment I saw him, I knew he loved me and cared for me deeply. He drove to the outskirts of the city and pulled up before a humble-looking house that filled me with warmth.
I was put into a bed that was already made. The moment my head hit the pillow, my eyes shut for good and I began to sleep.
Memories upon memories flooded into my head. I could recall so many events that weren't a part of my life. Names, people, mathematical formulas so advanced I knew I shouldn't have understood them — but somehow I did.
There was a school, a kid being bullied. A house and two relatives raising him with nothing but love and kindness. A kid growing up to be a genius without equal, but shunned and unaccepted. And then, finally, I was hit with a name.
Peter Benjamin Parker.
And with a gasp, I woke up.
I jumped in shock and found myself ascending toward the ceiling. Acting on instinct, my body swerved, arms and feet smacking against the plaster. There was a jerking motion, and then I was looking at the world upside down.
I was panting. I could feel my body cooling down. I looked at my arms and feet stuck to the ceiling of my room. I pulled one hand back and pieces of the roof came peeling off, still sticking to my fingers. I willed myself to let go, and suddenly I was falling.
My body twisted again and I stuck the landing on the mattress. I looked down at my hands. I could feel something there. I focused on the swirls on my fingertips, and there they were — tiny protrusions, curved inward.
"Holy shit," I gasped.
I looked around and found a book with the name 'Peter B. Parker' plastered on the front. I looked in the mirror and sure enough, a frail, skinny teenage boy stared back at me.
"I'm Spider-Man," I gasped in realisation.
'What the fuck?!'
---
A few days later:
It took me a day to fully come to terms with what had happened to me. I pretended to still be sick every time Aunt May or Uncle Ben checked in on me — those names were strange to say — and they left me alone.
I spent a day trying to remember just what the hell had happened. I was alive and well in another body, another life. And now I was here, in the body of Peter Parker, somehow transplanted into this world.
It was almost like I was Doc Ock, taking over Peter's mind in an effort to become the 'Superior Spider-Man' or something. Though last I checked, I wasn't a super villain.
I checked my memories — or rather, Peter's. The spider bite had just happened. That was the pain I felt when I... arrived... into his body.
I tried to figure out what kind of world I was living in. Classical Spider-Man? Ultimate Spider-Man? Maybe one of the movie-verse Spider-Men? But so far I had nothing definitive. Stark had outed himself publicly as Iron Man, so there was a strong chance I was currently living in some version of the Marvel cinematic universe.
Peter also didn't have many friends. Even Harry Osborn was more of a study partner than an actual friend. No Gwen Stacy. No Mary Jane. No one. He was, frankly, a very lonely kid.
I learned that in this world Peter was smart — extremely smart. Frightening smart. Like, if he had been pushed far enough he could have become the next Doctor Doom, given enough time. But he was afraid of being an even bigger outcast than he already was.
The sensation of having so much more processing power was startling, to say the least. My brain was functioning at a pace I wasn't used to, but at the same time I had no problem keeping up with it.
I did wonder how the hell this had happened. How did I end up in this body? If the Marvel universe was real, and my world was one where they only existed as comic book characters, did that mean my world was also real to them?
Did one of them do this to me? Put me in Peter's body just to see what would happen? A test of some kind?
I sighed as I opened the window to my room and stepped outside, sitting on the window sill as I watched the sun rise on my second day of 'bed rest.'
I took a deep breath and looked around at the world around me. I was at an impasse. Should Spider-Man live? That was the question.
Being Spider-Man was something Peter did out of guilt for getting his uncle killed. But with me, I didn't think that was going to happen. I wasn't going to let the old man die, and that was that.
So that option was out of the question.
I also didn't particularly like the fact that being a hero basically ruined Peter's life in so many ways. Romantically, socially — heck, even his superhero lifestyle was a constant struggle, with everyone and their mother calling him a menace.
Plus, to be fair, I wasn't a hero. Why the hell should I risk my life for others? I was a genius. Maybe I should just invent gadgets to help people. I could be the next Reed Richards — I'd do far more good as an inventor than I ever could as Spider-Man.
With my mind made up, I got up from Peter's room — I suppose it was my room now, since I was Peter Parker. Just who the hell had done this to me?
I went downstairs and found Aunt May cooking breakfast and Uncle Ben already awake and getting ready for work. I blinked. "Good morning?"
Aunt May looked up and smiled warmly. "Ah! Peter! So good to see you up and moving about. How do you feel, dear?"
"Better," I shrugged as I sat down at the dining table. May placed a stack of pancakes before me. I eagerly grabbed one and immediately noticed it tasted off. "Ah... I don't mean to complain, but—"
"That's because it's a rye pancake," May exclaimed with a grin. "I found the recipe on the internet! It's supposed to help flush any unhealthy foreign substances from your body. So eat up!"
I grumbled. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not everything you read on the internet is true?"
Ben chuckled. "He has you there, May."
"Oh, hush, you two. Eat up, Peter. I want you at full strength today!"
I shrugged and dug into my pancake. "So what's so special about today?"
"Well, you see, Anna Watson's niece is coming to stay with her. The poor dear had to move due to some family trouble. We were wondering if you might like to come over and introduce yourself."
My mouth froze mid-bite. I turned to May with wide eyes. "You're kidding."
"Peter, she's a perfectly nice girl. Just a little shy. But if you're not feeling up to it—"
"No!" I said quickly, surprising them both. I quickly added, "I mean — I would love to! I feel great! Better than great, in fact! When is she coming?"
"Around noon, I think," May replied, unused to my enthusiasm. "Are you sure, Peter? I don't want you to tire yourself out."
"No trouble at all, Aunt May. It would be my pleasure," I said. I bit into the pancake and immediately stopped chewing. "This tastes like cardboard."
Ben laughed heartily as May glared at me, though I really didn't mind.
Uncle Ben left for work shortly after breakfast, so I decided to take a shower and get ready. I put on Peter's best clothes — a t-shirt under an open, button-up plaid shirt and jeans. It wasn't fancy, but it was sadly the least nerdy thing Peter owned. I was going to have to do some shopping soon.
I also discovered I didn't need glasses. No surprise there. At least now I wouldn't look like a total nerd.
I was ready by ten, and honestly I was excited as hell. This was Mary Jane Watson, for God's sake — the girl of Peter's dreams, the woman he'd one day marry! Sure, there was a small chance things might not go that way, but I wasn't going to overthink it.
I honestly didn't know why I was so excited. Maybe it was because I was going to meet a pretty girl. Maybe it was because I wanted to see Mary Jane in real life. I genuinely didn't know.
I had two hours to kill. So with nothing else to do, I sat down in front of the couch and turned on the TV, surfing channels until I reached the news.
The anchor spoke: "Billionaire Tony Stark, also known as the superhero Iron Man, was seen in Flushing Meadows in Queens today, working on what many assume to be a new exhibition. On-scene reporters and bystanders have snapped several photos and posted them online. These include pictures of Mr. Stark in his signature Iron Man suit, helping to construct various structures. Among what this expo will bring, many assume it will announce the launch of his suits for public commercialisation."
My eyes went wide. The Stark Expo. The beginning of Iron Man 2. So I was definitely in the Marvel cinematic universe.
I kept listening as the anchor went on about Stark's technology and the government's growing unease. I knew there was nothing to worry about. Tony would handle it. But I understood why they were scared — they didn't realise that aliens were real and that they would desperately need someone like him on their side.
This also meant something specific for me. If Sony didn't have the rights to Spider-Man locked away, Spidey would have been introduced far earlier in this universe. I now lived in a world like that.
I whiled away the two hours that way, learning as much as I could about this world I now found myself in. And soon, the clock struck twelve.
May arrived right on time, dressed in her Sunday best and positively beaming. "You're up, Peter. I just know you'll make a wonderful impression!"
I blushed and followed her out. We crossed the road and knocked on the door of the house directly across from us. A few moments later, Anna Watson — a kind older woman with warm eyes — welcomed us in.
"Ah, Peter! So nice to see you! I heard about your little accident. Are you sure you're alright to be up and about?"
I smirked. "I'll be fine. It was just a spider bite."
"Oh, that's my Peter," May smiled. "When I told him about Mary Jane he was so excited! Practically jumped at the chance!"
A blush crept across my face as I shot May a glare. "Aunt May, stop!" The old lady just giggled. Crazy woman.
"Well, come on in then," Anna invited us inside. It was a homely place — pretty pictures on the walls, a TV, antique-looking furniture filling every corner.
Just then a girl with wet hair came rushing down the stairs, two at a time, wearing green shorts and a purple tank top, holding a hair dryer. "Aunt Anna, the damn thing's broken again, it just—"
She stopped as she realised she wasn't alone. I looked at her, and her eyes landed on me, widening in alarm. They were so green. Her wet red hair clung to her scalp, framing her face perfectly.
I couldn't help it. It was perfect timing. I whistled softly and smiled. "Damn. Looks like I just hit the jackpot."
Her face turned red. May and Anna looked surprised — I supposed they'd never expected Peter to have it in him. I chuckled at the silence. "So... you're Mary Jane?"
The girl nodded. "Y-yeah. Hi."
I nodded and looked down at the hair dryer. "Not working?"
"Um, yeah. It just kind of stopped," she said slowly.
I held out my hand and she passed it over. I took a look at it and, drawing on Peter's remarkable knowledge of mechanics, quickly identified the problem. "The motor's fried. I can probably fix it."
"That would be lovely, thank you, Peter," Anna nodded before turning to MJ. "Mary Jane, maybe it's time to put on something more decent."
"Ah, right," the redhead nodded quickly before turning and heading upstairs. She glanced back at me one last time, searching for something. I smiled at her. When she finally closed her room door, I turned to Anna and May.
"I'll go to the hardware store and get the parts to fix it, Ms. Watson. I'll be back soon."
"Why don't you wait for Mary Jane to get ready, Peter? Maybe you two could go together," May suggested oh-so-subtly.
I shrugged. "Sure. No problem."
"Oh, look at you, acting so innocent," Anna giggled. "Didn't I tell you they would hit it off, May?" I tuned the two old women out as they proceeded to gossip about me and MJ.
It took a while, but soon the redhead returned, this time in a pair of jeans, a hoodie and sneakers. I looked her over and smiled. "I liked the other outfit better."
"Peter!" May gasped. "That is no way to treat a lady! I taught you better than that!"
I looked into Peter's memories. She was right — she had. I turned to MJ and gave an exaggerated bow. "I am so sorry, my lady. My conduct has been entirely uncouth! I beg a thousand pardons for my grievous offence!"
Mary Jane chuckled. "Your Shakespeare needs a little work there, Tiger."
"Shakespeare? I was doing my best fancy-pants impression."
"That is Shakespeare."
"Ah. So the voice has a name." She laughed. Yes — she liked me.
Anna gave us some cash and quickly sent us on our way, telling us to grab lunch out after getting the dryer fixed. And just like that, MJ and I were walking side by side.
"So what do I call you?" I asked as soon as we stepped outside.
"Hmm?"
"Mary Jane seems like a mouthful," I shrugged. "Do you have a nickname?"
Mary Jane shrugged. "Most people call me MJ."
"Hmm. Cool, but not very creative. How about Red?"
"Red? Really? And you complained MJ wasn't creative enough."
I shrugged. "I'm sure we'll figure something out. I'm Peter, by the way. Peter Parker."
"Oh, I know. My aunt won't stop going on about you. I figured she must have some sort of crush on you," she teased.
"Hmm... tempting. She is totally my type," I teased back.
MJ's eyes went wide. "What?"
"Kidding," I chuckled. "I actually like redheads." Mary Jane blushed. "So where are you from, MJ?"
We talked all the way to the hardware store a few streets away. She told me about her life upstate. I gave her a few tips about the neighbourhood but generally steered clear of topics like friends, since Peter didn't really have any.
We had to walk a little further to find a restaurant for lunch, though I didn't mind — and neither did MJ. We sat and ate. I threw out a few jokes, she laughed, she teased me back. Well... it wasn't quite a date... but it wasn't far off either.
We came back to her home and found our aunts still chattering on the sofa. I sat down at the dining room table with the broken hair dryer and began opening it up with a screwdriver.
As I worked, MJ watched, whistling softly. "You're pretty good at this, huh?"
I smiled. "Very good. I'm sort of a nerd, in case you couldn't tell."
"Believe me, I know," she said. I looked confused, so she clarified: "No one talks about Star Wars that much without being a nerd." I blushed. She was right — I had gone on about it quite a bit.
"So is this what you want to do when you grow up?" MJ asked as I replaced the motor.
"A handyman? No. My ambitions are a little higher than that," I smiled.
"Like what?"
"Like... well... I honestly don't know. I know I'm smart, and I could probably do a lot of good... but I don't know exactly what form that should take."
MJ smiled. "Maybe you should build yourself a suit of armour and fly around saving the world."
"Nah, the suits are more Tony Stark's thing," I chuckled. "Besides, being a hero is dangerous, and the job has a horrible pay-off."
"Well, heroes don't do it for the thanks. They do it because they're heroes."
I sighed as I leaned back. "Is it a bad thing that I'm not that selfless?"
MJ looked concerned. "What? No, I just meant—"
"I know what you meant. I get it. It's just... why do they have to be heroes? Can't they just be normal?"
MJ looked at me, trying to gauge whether I was angry. Seeing that I wasn't, just genuinely curious, she thought for a moment. "Well... maybe because if they don't... who will?"
"The po—" I stopped. I knew how ridiculous that sounded. The police? They could barely handle street crime, let alone aliens from outer space and metahumans. That was a sobering thought for a man.
I sighed. "Yeah... you're right."
I did manage to fix the hair dryer, much to Anna's gratitude. MJ and I spoke a lot — mostly about school and her life before the move. We also talked about superheroes, which was a somewhat delicate subject for me, though she didn't know why.
We exchanged numbers to keep in touch, and I left her with a promise to see her again the next day. Judging by her smile, she seemed to like that idea very much.
---
That night I found myself down in the basement in the small lab Peter had set up for himself. It was filled with chemicals and gadgets he had tinkered with over the years. I sat down at the workbench and stared at two broken watches with metallic straps.
I looked them over and sighed before getting to work.
The formula for what I wanted to make was genuinely difficult. It took every bit of Peter's brainpower to even begin thinking about the chemical chain needed to produce webbing. The compound would need to be sticky, elastic, and nearly unbreakable in structure. The problem was that I was working entirely from scratch.
It wasn't finished in one night, though I made progress. The next day I spent with MJ, helping her catch up on some homework and teaching her some basic chemistry. We didn't finish, though — mostly because we got distracted talking about TV shows. That gave me a good reason to come back tomorrow.
The nights I spent in my basement lab, working on the web formula. It was a pain in the ass, honestly. I nearly caused a small explosion when I accidentally mixed the wrong compounds and had to abort the reaction before there was a chain reaction. Otherwise, Peter goes bye-bye.
I was on doctor's orders to stay home all week, so I took full advantage of that. Every day I switched between spending time with MJ and refining the web formula, making progress on both fronts. MJ and I even started texting late into the night, though Aunt May always complained that I was keeping her up.
On Friday night, I cracked it. I synthesised the formula, and when I tested it, I found it to be perfect.
The webs lasted for about twenty minutes and weren't enormously strong — which was to be expected for a first attempt. They could carry around 300 pounds of weight, but I knew they would improve over time.
My next problem was creating a pressurised delivery cell. For that I had to buy a small soda machine with my allowance and modify it slightly. Instead of pushing gas into liquid, it would now push the web formula out through a controlled nozzle. The final cartridge was roughly the size of a lithium battery disk, good for around 50 yards of webbing.
I used the two broken watches as the body of the web shooters. I hollowed out the watch faces and removed the small screw from the side, using the screw hole as the shooter's nozzle. The trigger was a small pressure pad on the inside of the strap that could be pushed in like a button.
On Saturday night, they were done. Two brand new web shooters made from Uncle Ben's old watches. I looked down at my creations with pride — and a little confusion.
After all this time, I honestly didn't know why I had made them. I hadn't decided to be Spider-Man. I knew I wasn't hero material. But what MJ said had really struck a chord in me. I supposed I was keeping the door half open — keeping that option half open.
I grumbled, snatched the shooters, and stuffed them into my back pockets. Whatever the reason, they were here now. Whether I liked it or not.
---
The next day MJ came over to hang out, deciding not to warn me and just stopping by instead.
I was snoring into my pillow when she threw the door wide open and announced brightly, "Morning, sunshine!"
"Wha—?!" I yelled in surprise, jumping out of bed ready to fight. I'd had a bad dream about the Green Goblin coming to kill me, singing 'Itsy Bitsy Spider' as he did. It was not a pleasant way to wake up.
I caught my breath and realised MJ was staring at me.
"Oh. It's you, MJ. Sorry about that — nasty dream," I grumbled, rubbing my hair. She didn't say anything. She was just staring. "MJ? You okay?"
"Ah-hum," she nodded dumbly, her eyes fixed on my chest. I looked down and noticed I wasn't wearing a shirt — it had been too hot.
I blushed. "Ah... maybe you should wait outside."
"No, I'm good right here," she shook her head, her eyes not leaving my torso. She whistled softly. "Damn. Looks like I just hit the jackpot!"
"Seriously?!"
"What? You saw me in my pyjamas!"
"Hey, I didn't stare!"
"Oh please! You were totally checking me out!"
"No, I... well, okay, but — ah! Out, MJ!" I turned her around and pushed her toward the door.
"I don't know why you're so upset," she chuckled as I closed it behind her. "You should be happy a girl's checking you out!"
"Out!" I grumbled, slamming the door shut.
I quickly got ready and put on a fresh shirt and jeans before heading downstairs to find Aunt May and Uncle Ben already hosting MJ.
"So are you excited for your first day?" Ben asked her.
"Yes, Mr. Parker. Peter's been helping me prepare, so I think I should be fine with most of the subjects," MJ smiled.
"Well, that's lovely, dear. I'm so glad Peter and you are getting along so well," Aunt May smiled. She noticed me coming down the stairs. "Ah, speak of the devil!"
I glared at MJ. "Peeping Tom."
"Suck it up, Tiger," she smirked.
"Morning, Uncle Ben. Morning, Aunt May," I greeted them as I sat down and ate the breakfast Aunt May had prepared. I turned to MJ as I munched on some bacon. "What's up, Peepers?"
"Are you still on that?" MJ asked, rolling her eyes.
"Peepers," I repeated with a glare.
"Whatever. Anyway, I just came over because I have exciting news!" She pulled out two tickets and practically shoved them into my face. "Hamlet. Apollo Theater. Tonight. You in?"
I took the tickets and whistled. "Damn, these are great seats. How did you get them?"
"My mom got them for me," MJ smiled. "She wants me to get used to the town and have some fun. So... you in?"
"Most definitely!" I called out before I felt two pairs of eyes land on me. I gulped and turned to my aunt and uncle. "You know... if that's okay with you two."
Ben dropped the glare almost instantly. "Of course it is, kiddo! Have fun!"
May groaned. "I don't know, Ben. It's awfully late. They'll have to come back by train, and you know the stories we hear about those late-night trips."
"Oh, it'll be all right. Our Peter here will just beat anyone who tries something, won't you?" Ben asked with a grin.
I smirked. "Damn straight."
May protested for a while, but after MJ, Ben and I kept at it, she eventually agreed — though not without making MJ promise to carry some pepper spray.
After breakfast I took MJ back into my room, booted up Peter's old Nintendo 64, and loaded Smash Bros. I taught MJ how to play, and needless to say she was a natural. The hammer item seemed to particularly appeal to her.
We had lunch at home, then got ready to leave. Before I walked out, Uncle Ben stopped me and slipped me a hundred-dollar bill. He winked. "Make it a good night, champ."
I smiled. "Thanks, Uncle Ben."
We took a cab to the train station and caught the first one into Manhattan. MJ kept going on and on about how the theatre troupe was one of the best in the city and how I was going to love it. In another life I'd been an admirer of the theatre, though now my interests lay... elsewhere.
We reached the city with time to spare, so I insisted we explore. Peter had done so before, not in great detail, so I had some idea of where to go and what to see.
We went to Central Park and enjoyed a long walk. MJ loved the greenery, and I loved her smile. Honestly, I thought I might be falling for this girl. It had been what — a week? Clearly, this was somehow Peter's fault.
We reached the theatre just in time for the play to start. MJ was excited and I shared her enthusiasm — a good Shakespearean performance was always worth being excited about.
The play lasted three hours, but it felt much shorter. The actors were extraordinary, each one leagues above anything I had seen before. They were energetic, passionate, and completely alive on stage. And while MJ enjoyed the play, I found myself focused on something else entirely.
The story itself was one of revenge. Hamlet discovers his father had been murdered by his uncle and sets himself on the path of vengeance. The premise wasn't entirely unlike Peter's own story — his uncle killed, his guilt, his responsibility.
But there was a critical difference. Hamlet kept postponing his vengeance, and in the end it cost him everything. He had a duty to his people, to his kingdom, to remove a murderous man from the crown. He had failed that duty, and it led to the death of all he cared for.
Peter Parker, on the other hand, had taken upon that duty — that responsibility — and had grown the better for it. Was what I was doing right? Was Spider-Man really what I needed to become?
The question plagued me, though I pushed it aside and focused on the performance. It never truly left.
And then the curtain fell.
"That was so freaking cool!" MJ yelled out, pumping her fists. A few nearby patrons looked at her and chuckled warmly at her enthusiasm.
"Yes it was, Peepers," I nodded. "It really was something else."
"Did you see how they acted? God, it was like they were actually going to kill each other on that stage! And Hamlet — oh, that guy — I felt like yelling, 'Do something, you ass! That's your dad!'"
I smiled. "Oh no. You've caught the bug."
MJ blinked. "What bug?"
"The theatre bug," I replied. "Symptoms include an intense love of the stage, a passion for drama, and an insurmountable desire to be under the spotlight."
"Hey, that's mean," MJ pouted. "I just like it, okay?"
"I know, I know. But I stand by what I said. Besides, I think you would make a great actress." We walked down the street, the city still alive even in the middle of the night.
"R-really?" MJ asked.
"Of course. Why — don't you think so?"
"No, I do. But... no one ever really thought I could do it..."
"Well, I'm glad I'm the first," I smiled, and I reached out and gently took her hand in mine. She didn't hesitate — she squeezed back. "I'm serious, though. You would be amazing."
MJ smiled. "Thanks, Peter. That... that means a—"
KABOOM!