Trust Issues

Takeout Talks

"No."

It was a simple enough answer, but it didn't feel entirely genuine- or maybe you were just overthinking it. You stared at him, eyebrow raised in questioning. You weren't going to just let him off so easy. If he disliked you, it would hurt, but it was better than him hurting you more with a lie.

"Look- I get it if you don't like me or whatever. People have their reasons and what not but- are you even listening?", you asked, frustrated.

He was frantically scribbling onto a torn piece of paper, grunting around the pen cap in his mouth. When he was done, he handed you the paper, "I don't not like you. Things just come up at my job and I have no choice but to leave. I won't be able to meet you for lunch, but if you want, you can drop by my apartment later. We can have Chinese or pizza and actually finish some work. I hope seven works, I should be home by then. I'm really sorry me leaving so much makes you think I dislike you. It's not like that."

He pressed the paper into the palm of your hand, and for a brief moment, his skin brushed yours. You hated the tingling warmth it left behind. You hated how quickly you nodded in response and how you watched him leave into the snowy streets of New York. You were supposed to be mad- supposed to be damn tired of his constant leaving and how little work he'd do. Instead, you were surprised at how much he spoke to you. At how he didn't stumble over his words and how genuine and serious his tone was.

He invited you to his apartment.

Peter very stupidly thought that inviting you over would be a good idea. In the moment, his brain convinced him that if he just got all this over with, he'd be fine in the end. The hurt look on your face made him falter more than he ever had before, and now he was paying for it. How could he think that any of this was a good idea? You, in his apartment, cozy with takeout on a late Friday night? Fucking idiot-

This was every romcom movie cliche ever. He was supposed to be trying to distance himself from you, not get closer to you. His goal was to be able to save himself from whatever this could become. Yet he was frantically cleaning his little apartment, while listening to May laugh over the phone and ask a million questions. Hearing her nephew reluctantly tell him that a girl from college was coming over made her heart jump for joy. She knew of his heartbreak. She saw him slowly deteriorate in front of her very eyes. The look he had held, and sometimes still did, struck her hard. She recognized it. It was the same look she saw in herself years ago, the same one she still sometimes saw on her bad days. His was just slightly different. He'd lost his love to someone else- lost his heart to someone undeserving of it, not to bad circumstance. Not to death. He could heal, but he'd need some help, just like she had. She wasn't fully healed, but as long as she still had him around, she was complete enough to function. Ben didn't fully leave her. He was in her heart, and part of him lived on inside of Peter. She loved when she could spot him. In the small things- the way he smiled and his mannerisms. May had done what she could in helping heal him, as he had done her and still does.

However, he could only do so much, and she could only do so much for him as well. There were things she couldn't do, ways she couldn't love him like he needed and deserved. So hearing about this girl? About you? She was hopeful. She wanted to know you- wanted to know that you'd be the one person he needed to finally get back on his feet. He was moving forward, but god it hurt to get by on your knees. The scrapes were killer- the pain, though often dull, never stopped, and sometimes, your knees ended up on glass. Big jagged shards- they pierced through your skin, deep into your muscle tissues and sometimes struck bone. Some days the glass never came out.

She hoped you'd be able to help him pull out the shards from his knees, and obliterate the ones that crept up into his heart.

He could only talk to her for so long. You were well on your way and he didn't have the time to give May an in-depth description of you. Especially not while cleaning up his stray socks and such. He had to let her go, unaware she was clinging to hope like it was a lifeline. She wanted him happy again, and she hoped you would bring that to him.

You arrived right on time (within a few minutes, your brain refused to allow you to be there at seven on the dot). Everything started off sluggish and awkward. He was very much regretting inviting you over. Why did he think this would go smoothly? The two of you barely talked in public spaces, so why would his small apartment be any better?

Everything was silent for a long while. Nothing could be heard but the sounds of typing, shifting couch cushions and the occasional crinkle of a water bottle. It lasted until you quietly asked for more water. He looked up at you, nodded, and pointed to his fridge.

"Help yourself.", he had said, soft as always, and short as always.

'This is a disaster-', you began to think to yourself. At least until you made it to the fridge and found, not water, but..

"Beer?", you asked aloud, catching his attention, "I didn't think you were a drinker, Peter."

"Well- I-I'm really- it's just- I don't..", he sighs, "I'm not."

You shake your head, "Hey, it's fine if you are. We're legal and as long as you're not drinking yourself to death, it's not a big deal. Uh.. you're out of water though."

Peter pursed his lips, if only you'd seen his fridge months after the break-up. It was full of beers and some other hard liquor. He wanted to drink himself to the brink of death, as pathetic as it sounded. He wanted to forget, and so he tried his damn hardest to intoxicate his mind when he had the chance.

"Sorry, I thought I had more."

"It's cool. Uh.. well, we're almost done, right?"

"For the night, yeah. We still need more research and sources.", he replied.

You nodded, "Okay then, why not have a drink or two to celebrate? We actually got work done without you having to run off. It's a Friday night and.. I am really thirsty right now. You in?"

His brain screamed for him to say no. It pounded the words into his skull- but his heart felt like this might be nice. He could loosen up, talk to you, "Sure."

Mistake-mistakemistakemistakemistake-

"Alright.", you pulled to cold beers from out the fridge and made your way back to him.

Two beers, that was all it took to get the ball rolling. Within no time, the both of you were sprawled out on his floor, bottles of beer scattered about around you. You were sure you had some duck sauce on the corner of your mouth- especially considering Peter had a small lo mein noodle stuck on his cheek. You'd both finished eating a while ago and your brain was happily swimming in the effects of alcohol.

"I reaally don't not like you, I promise.", he slurred out, a dopey smile on his face, "I just- I gots to go placesss.. gotta..gotta-", he burped before continuing, "Ew. I gotta not burp..."

A giddy laugh left you, "I'm g-glaad. I just- waass worried, y'know? Cause like... you're cooool and sweet and stuffs. I-I wanna be your frieeeend. An-an maybe one day.. moorree."

It was his turn to laugh, happier than he'd been in months, especially while a little drunk, "I-I'd like that.. I wouulld, but I- I- I'm hurt... oh man. She hurt me bad- so bad- why'd she do that? I loved her.."

Drunk you frowned at that. Neither of you would recall this conversation. Neither of you would remember what caused you to crawl his way and wrap your arms around him in the tightest hug an intoxicated you could manage. He wouldn't even remember the smile that graced his lips at feeling you so close to him.

Nope.

He'd only remember the rude awakening in the morning..