Your day started off a little rough when Ned came to school wearing a Santa hat. It was ridiculous to be upset about it, but you were. How was Christmas this close already? You suddenly didn't like the taste of the hot chocolate in your mouth. You handed your cup to Peter, telling him he could finish it.
"Thanks," he said, cheerful as ever. He leaned against the set of lockers and took a long sip. "Hey," he complained, "no peppermint."
You forced a smile and nudged him. "Stop whining, you big baby."
He grinned at you and then fake pouted. Ned, meanwhile, was ranting about all of the dozens of plans he had this season.
"First, Mom's on Christmas Eve. Then Dad's on Christmas. Then, my dad is driving me upstate to visit my grandparents Christmas night," Ned said. "Honestly, it's gonna suck."
Your heart beat painfully. How could someone say that? What would you give for one more day, one more Christmas -
"I'm sure it won't be bad," Peter said. "I think May and I are going to attempt to make dinner this year. She has this new recipe for stuffing and she's excited, but the last recipe she tried on Thanksgiving really tasted awful, so-" He stopped and laughed, then looked at you. "What about you, ___?"
"Oh," you said, shrugging. "I don't know."
Peter furrowed his eyebrows. "You don't know?"
"No," you replied.
Ned tilted his head. "Christmas is in a week. How do you not know what you're doing?"
"I... didn't know it was so soon," you said.
Ned cracked a smile. "But don't you have traditions?"
"No," you said. "Not anymore." You stared at the floor for probably too long before taking in a deep breath. "I, uh, am gonna go. See ya." You turned and went down the hall, eyes burning.
You just wanted Christmas to be over.
Peter, on the other hand, was excited. Of course the holidays were bittersweet. Uncle Ben had been such a huge part of them (and of their everyday lives) but time healed. Nothing would ever be the same, but he was growing comfortable with the new normal he and his aunt had.
He recognized the grief growing hard in your eyes.
At lunch, while Ned was still in line for food, Peter sat next to you. He nudged you gently with his elbow and leaned close.
"Hey," he said. "You really don't have plans for Christmas?"
You shook your head. "No. My parents are out of town," you told him.
He frowned. "Like last year?"
"Uh-huh."
He pulled his bottom lip into his mouth. He felt so horrible for you. He understood how you felt, how he felt that first Christmas, when May had taken the night shift because it was too hard to be home for Christmas without Ben there -
"Come over for our Christmas, then."
You looked at him. "What?"
"We have dinner," he said. "And presents... and a lot of traditions." He smiled warmly. "It'll be fun and so awesome if you came."
"Oh, I don't know," you said.
"___, please?" He touched your arm, then pulled his hand back, blushing.
You looked empty. "Peter, I don't want you to invite me because you have, like, pity for me. I'll survive this, you know-"
"No, I know that and I know you will. This isn't out of pity. It's just.. I know how hard it is and I know how much harder it's going to be without your parents home, so just come hang out with me."
You frowned. "I... I-I won't be much fun," you admitted. You ducked your head down and tucked and let your hair fall around your face like a curtain. "It's still hard."
"That's okay," he assured you. "You can be as un-fun as you wanna be. No matter how boring you are, you're still my best friend."
You couldn't help but smile at him - at least a little bit. "Okay," you decided, "I'll come."
He half-gasped with happiness and leaned in, hooking an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. He hugged you quickly.
"I promise," he said, lips close to your ear, "it's gonna be great." He pulled back, gave your arm am awkward pat, and turned back towards his tray.
You took a deep breath through your smile.
...
Peter was up bright and early Christmas morning, a big plate of pancakes on the table. As soon as he had set the plate down in the center of the table, there was a knock on the door.
"I got it!" he exclaimed, sliding on sock feet out of the kitchen and running to the front door. He pulled it open, catching his breath and fixing the strand of hair in front of his eyes at the same time. He saw you, dressed in a sweater dress and leggings, hair pinned out of your face, arm full of small gifts. "Hey, Merry Christmas!"
Somewhere in the kitchen, Aunt May echoed him. "Merry Christmas!"
"Hi," you said. "Merry Christmas." You blushed as you came inside of the apartment. He closed the door and took the gifts from your hands.
"You didn't have to do all of this," Peter said. He put the gifts under the tree.
"I did," you said. You stepped out of your boots and smiled.
"Well, you're great," he said, feeling weirdly confident with himself. "You look great, too."
"Oh, thanks," you replied. You took a deep breath. "It smells good in here."
"That's because we made Christmas pancakes!" he said.
"Christmas pancakes?"
"Uh-huh." He waved you towards the kitchen and grabbed you a plate. He put a couple of pancakes on it and then grabbed the can of whipped cream. He sprayed a large dollop on the center and then grabbed a tub of red and green sprinkles. He dusted the pancake with them and handed it to you. "There! Christmas."
You smiled. "Um, wow. Festive."
Aunt May placed two cartons on the table. "We have eggnog and milk," she said. "Help yourself! Oh crap - I think I just burned these pancakes-"
After Aunt May tossed the blackened pancakes out of the window (sending them soaring seven stories down) and left it cracked open to air out, everyone sat down and shoveled Christmas pancakes into their mouths.
The kitchen was smokey and hot, and the air smelled weird, and the eggnog and pancakes combined hurt your stomach, but you laughed. You smiled and laughed at everything Peter said. May was funny, too; telling stories of her Black Friday adventures, telling Peter to slow down after his sixth pancake.
And Peter, you noticed, kept glancing at you.
He knew how fragile you were. He knew how careful you acted, how guarded you were. Every family tradition you were introduced to was a reminder that yours ended long ago.
After breakfast came presents, and Peter had you open one of yours first. A handbag, new book, and stocking full of candy from May and a couple of comic books from Peter came first, then they exchanged gifts. After that, Peter handed you a box.
"I had it specially ordered," he said proudly. Then he shyed away. "I, uh, hope you like it."
It was from him - a graphic t-shirt of your favorite movie super villain. You grinned and thanked him, holding it to your chest. "Oh my gosh!"
"You like it?"
"Peter, I love it," you said.
"You - you do?" He scratched the top of his head. "I-I got the size right and everything?"
"Yes," you said, reaching over and grabbing his hand. "It's perfect." You squeezed his fingers. "You've made all of this perfect."
"All of it?" he asked. He smiled.
You tugged on his hand, inviting him to move from the floor in front of the couch to the cushion beside you. He did, fingers twisting to intertwine with yours.
"You made everything so perfect, Peter Parker," you said. Your eyes were full of tears. "I couldn't ask for a better Christmas. Thank you so much."
He smiled softly and nuzzled his head in the dip of your neck, cuddling close with you and falling in love with you as the Christmas morning went on.
When May wasn't looking, you gave him a kiss on the lips as a proper thank you.