Chapter 7: Jealousy

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He wakes up with their sweaty bodies pressed together, and MJ's fingers laced with his, and his face nuzzled against her neck. He sits back slightly and looks at her, not even feeling like last night actually even happened.

He lays against her for a little while, just savoring this moment in its entirety. He feels amazing, content, happy, and he wishes he could stay like this forever.

He knows she was drunk, but he still can't believe she allowed him to ever be this close to her anyway.

But it doesn't take him long to remember what it was like to be cuddling with her two mornings ago, when she woke up in a panic thinking it was his fault. He knows he can't leave it like his. As much as he doesn't want to, he unpeals his body from hers, and unclasps his fingers from hers, and quietly backs up to his side of the bed. He looks over at her, a surprising amount of sunshine pouring through the window—especially after the downfall of rain yesterday. He stares at her, seeing her shift and pull the blanket up to her chin with a sleepy sigh.

He gulps as he watches her, suddenly finding that it's harder to breathe. He thinks over last night: their fight, how drunk she was, the way she kissed him, the way she held onto him and pulled him closer as she fell asleep. And all of the things she told him about herself.

This all just makes him so incredibly confused. They only fight and get annoyed while sober—but the second that one of them starts drinking, it feels different. Their kissing feels different, the way they talk to each other feels different, the way they touch feels different. And he doesn't understand why.

And he finds himself propping his head on his hand to watch her sleep, just to see the way she breathes and the way she sighs and the way she brushes her hair from her face while she dreams.

Her hand is there on the pillow, and he stares at it for a moment, before slowly reaching over and gently setting his hand on top of it. He swallows thickly and lays his head back down on the pillow, feeling her soft, warm skin against his, and seeing the way she lets out a small, unconscious huff when he touches her.

Is this what it would be like to wake up to her every day?

"God, did someone beat the hell out of me last night or what?" MJ groans, blinking her eyes open. Peter hurriedly pulls his hand back and off of hers before she realizes it's there. "I feel like someone actually dragged my ass through hell and back. Or I might still be in hell, I don't know. That's sort of what it feels like."

"What do you mean?" Peter laughs nervously, confused at why she's confused. "It's probably just a hangover."

MJ sits there for a second and thinks, before rolling over and looking at Peter.

"It's all a huge blur," she sighs and rubs her eyes, before pressing her fingers to her temples. "What happened? I didn't do anything too embarrassing, did I? Like laugh at one of your jokes?"

Peter sits there in shock, just looking at her. Does she really not remember? Any of it?

"You...you don't remember?" he asks, sitting up to look at her.

"I mean, I remember our fight or whatever, and then I went to Jenn's and grabbed some of her whiskey, but nothing really after that," she shrugs, sighing. "Why? Did I do something? Do we know each other biblically now?"

"No," he shakes his head, gulping. "Nothing really happened. I just went and found you and brought you back, and then put you to bed."

"And I assume we made up because I don't really feel mad at you anymore," she replies, blinking at him. "Not more than usual, at least."

"Yeah, we did," he nods, fighting the urge to reach up and rub the back of his neck. But he now knows what that means, and he knows that she knows what that means, so he holds back from it.

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