(THESE CAN BE READ AS STANDALONES)
"Hey," you asked, your fingers twisting to put in the last number of your combination, lock popping open, the door following suit, "you're still coming over later, right?" Peter swapped out his Spanish book for his Chemistry text, closing his own locker and then spinning the combination to lock it back up. He walked over to you, leaning a shoulder into the locker next to your own, adjusting the sleeves of his sweater, pushing them up to his elbows before crossing his arms in front of him.
"We have to finish up that history project, you know," you spoke around your door, peering around the side to see Peter looking down at his shoes, one sneakered toe pushing at a rogue pencil someone had dropped on the ground. You could already sense it coming, that heavy feeling of disappointment working its way up from your toes to mix with the contents in your stomach. You finished swapping out your own textbooks, lightly closing the door, sighing as you tucked your binder close to your chest.
"Actually," his hand was rubbing at the back of his neck, disturbing those curls you so loved, "I have-uh, I have a thing."
A girl brushed past you in the hallway, bumping into your shoulder, almost causing you to drop your things. You tossed her a look, silently scolding her for her lack of manners. You adjusted to settle your weight on your shoulder, leaning into the door of your locker, looking up to see that Peter was now fumbling around with the edges of the notebook he held.
"You have a thing?"
"Yeah, you know, a- uh thing that I have to do a-after school," the tone in his voice made it sound as though he were asking a question, "for May." His eyes met yours, doing his best to offer you an apologetic smile for missing out on yet another important after school study session.
A few months previous, Peter had fallen ill. He missed almost an entire week of school and had refused to let anyone visit him at home. His behavior had taken an odd turn after that. Suddenly it was like there wasn't enough of Peter's time to go around; he was never really present, and even when he was his thoughts were a million miles away on some unseen planet that only he was privy to. When asked, he always had some excuse primed and ready to shrug your concern off with the brush of a few stammered words and nervous gestures.
He had you and Ned worried. You missed him.
"Peter, this project counts for a huge chunk of our grade," your brows furrowed at him, your brain already beginning to work out how much you were going to have to do when you got home to finish the assignment on your own, "and you promised you weren't going to bail on me this time."
Ned walked up to the two of you then, a bright smile on display. He placed a hand on yours and Peter's shoulders, giving each a light squeeze. It took him a moment to gauge the mood, the smile leaving his face as his eyes bounced between the two of you. Finally sensing the tension, he dropped his hands and took a slight step back. "So," he looked at you then, a sympathetic expression on his face, "I guess you're ditching again?" He looked at Peter, who was now frowning, arms crossed in front of him.
Peter's eyes were on you now, his brown orbs scanning your features, "Look, I'll make it up to you, OK?" His fingers found yours, his warm calloused hand smothering the top of your cold one. You focused on where your hands met, following the contours of his fingers and the way the lines of him changed as they molded with your own.
"Sure, Peter," you conceded, voice soft and defeated. Your hand was suddenly cold again as he pulled away, tucking his arm back around his notebook. He began to back away from the two of you and in the direction of his next class. The hallways were clearing, most people having already transitioned to their next period. You felt a light touch on your back, as Ned gave you his silent support.
"O-OK," he said, before offering a weak smile to his friend, his eyes on Ned's hand. He turned away to head upstairs.
"It's not the first time you've broken a promise," you whispered to his retreating form, Ned's hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. He grabbed your arm then to lead the both of you to your English classroom.
You had no way of knowing that Peter had heard you. You had no way of knowing that your words had left his stomach in a knot and an ache in his chest.
When you got home from Art Club later that night, you were surprised to find a folder lying on the center of your bed. Picking it up and opening it, you found that Peter had finished the shared project. He had even completed a few of the questions you still hadn't answered yourself, his neat, blocky handwriting marking each sheet of paper.
Despite the gesture of good faith, you were still upset with him.
The next morning when you arrived at school, Peter was waiting for you. You nodded your head at him and gave him a small smile. Turning your attention to your locker, you found that there was a note taped to the combination lock. You gave Peter a look, asking for an explanation, receiving instead a shrug of his shoulders and a sheepish expression. You peeled the note away from your locker and unfolded the little piece of paper.
'I promise you that I'll get better at this, that I won't keep letting you down. No more broken promises, [Y/N.]'
You met Peter's eyes then. His hands were shoved into his pockets, knuckles hanging out over the edges of the denim as he stood there anxiously awaiting your response. You said nothing, and instead reached out to him, weaving your arms around his neck, pulling him towards you, your bodies meeting in an awkward embrace. A few moments passed before he relented, relaxing into you, removing his hands from his pockets to wrap them securely around your back.
"I'm sorry," he breathed into your hair. "I'm not trying to hurt you, or-or let you down," he pulled you in tighter, his fingers clenching, the fabric of your shirt bunching, "I just have some things going on right now that are really difficult to explain."
You nodded your head, chin digging into the top of his shoulder, skin chafing against the strap of his backpack. "I - we just worry about you, Pete."
"I know," his warm breath tickling as his face pressed against the side of yours, "I'm sorry."
"Whatever it is you have going on, you can talk to me about it." He let out a sigh of contentment as you brought one of your hands up and into the hair at his neck, carding your fingers through the first sets of curls there.
"I really can't," he said.
Nodding your head again, continuing to play with his hair, "OK, that's OK," your hand making its way a little further into the bulk of his tresses, fingers brushing behind his ears, "I just mean that when you're ready, whenever, I'm here to listen; whatever it is."
"OK," he replied in a small voice, his fingers now twirling through the fine hairs at your neck that had managed to escape your braid.
Ned came around the corner then, stopping a few feet in front of the two of you, grinning as he met your eyes and giving you a not-so-subtle thumbs up. You responded with a beaming smile before motioning for him to come over, grabbing at the strap of his backpack when he was within reaching distance to pull him in. He wrapped his arms around the two of you then, Peter letting out a laugh as Ned squeezed, rocking the three of you back and forth.
"We should make this a thing, this is nice," Ned declared; the two of you nodding your heads in agreement before the three of you separated. You smiled at Ned, reaching up to fix his hug-disturbed collar, offering him a good morning. You turned to look at Peter then, his eyes meeting with yours, a light blush painted across his cheeks.
You smiled, a blush of your own forming as he said, "This is nice."
