You're right in front of me

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★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

chapter five

in the dark night, I look for you 

Peter was wide awake, staring at the ceiling. Every creak of the house, every passing minute felt louder and more unbearable than the last. The briefcase sat on his desk, taunting him with its silence. After tossing and turning in bed for what felt like hours, he finally gave up. Pulling on a hoodie and running a hand through his messy hair, he crept downstairs as quietly as possible, but the house felt like it had ears.

The soft glow of a porch light caught his attention. He looked outside and saw Meredith sitting on her porch, her nose buried in a book. She looked comfortable, like she had the entire night figured out, while Peter felt like a jumbled mess.

He grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and headed out toward the porch, his sneakers softly scraping against the pavement.

"Pride and Prejudice?" he called out, half-joking, half-serious, as he came into view.

Meredith looked up, startled, but then smiled when she saw it was him. "Parker, you're not supposed to be awake at this hour unless you've had a life-altering experience. You good?"

Peter leaned against the porch railing, glancing down at her book. "I've had my fair share of life-altering experiences, but right now, I'm just haunted by my dad's old briefcase."

Meredith raised an eyebrow. "Haunted? Are we talking actual ghosts or just... metaphysical torment?"

"More like emotional haunting," Peter said, his voice lower than usual. "Now that I have, you found it, I can't stop thinking about it. My dad left me this stupid thing, and there's nothing in it. Not even a note. Just... emptiness."

Meredith set the book down on the porch beside her and patted the spot next to her. "Well, come sit. We can talk about your emotional baggage while I try to figure out how Mr. Darcy fits into this mess."

Peter hesitated, but after a second, he made his way over and flopped down beside her with an exaggerated groan. "I'm getting a new perspective on emotional baggage. It's not all glamorous like they make it seem in the movies."

"Movies lie," Meredith said with a smile, "and so does Darcy. Have you seen how brooding he is? He needs therapy. And a haircut in the movies."

Peter snorted. "Honestly, he doesn't look that bad. He's got the whole mysterious, misunderstood, totally-not-giving-you-brooding-looks-to-make-you-feel-attracted-to-him thing going on."

Meredith raised a finger, mock-lecturing him. "I will not stand by while you slander Mr. Darcy. Yes, he's brooding. Yes, he's awkward. But that's the appeal. He's got 'deep emotional complexity' written all over him. It's a vibe."

Peter put his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Darcy's got a vibe. I'm just saying, if he was a real guy, he'd be that one dude who spends too much time at the coffee shop, stares into his mug like it holds all the answers, and then has an existential crisis whenever someone asks about his day."

Meredith laughed loudly, looking over at him. "Okay, now I'm picturing Darcy, sitting in the corner of a café, wearing a scarf that's way too complicated for the weather, and every time someone asks if he wants a second shot of espresso, he just gives them a deadpan 'I'll think about it'."

"Exactly!" Peter grinned, relieved to be able to joke about something other than the briefcase for a second. "See, I can totally understand why you like him now."

Meredith chuckled, her eyes sparkling in the soft porch light. "There you go. There's hope for you yet, Parker." She nudged him lightly with her shoulder, and for a moment, Peter forgot about the cloud of grief hanging over him. He felt, for the first time that night, just... normal.

He groaned dramatically. "Alright, but seriously—Pride and Prejudice is like... the most romantic thing in the world, right? So where's my romantic drama? I'm over here talking about my dad's dead briefcase like it's my only connection to the past, and meanwhile, you're out here reading about British people falling in love under awkward circumstances."

Meredith paused, giving him a side glance. "You want romantic drama? You've got it right here. Let's start with the fact that you're not talking about your feelings and are literally pretending your dad's briefcase holds the secrets to your soul."

Peter stared at her for a moment. "I don't... I don't really want to talk about it, you know? It's dumb. It's just a stupid briefcase. But, like... why did he leave it for me? Why couldn't he just tell me what he was thinking? If I had known him better, maybe I would've understood."

Meredith's expression softened. She could see the walls going up again. "Peter, I—" she started, but he quickly interrupted her.

"I swear, if you start telling me to 'open up' or 'talk about my feelings,' I'm going to... I don't know, make a joke about you being obsessed with Darcy again."

"Darcy is hot! But I'd take Bingley any day. He's sweet, doesn't have a superiority complex, and actually communicates."

"Bold choice," Peter teased. "But what's a romance story without brooding and misunderstandings?"

She smirked. "Sounds like your life. Brooding? Check. Misunderstandings? Check. All you need now is the grand gesture."

"Grand gesture, huh?" he said, leaning back on his elbows. "What would that even look like? Me riding a skateboard into the sunset?"

Meredith snorted. "More like you not skating into another fight with Flash Thompson."

Peter winced. "Noted."

They fell into a comfortable silence for a moment, the night settling around them. The faint rustling of leaves in the breeze filled the quiet.

She grinned. "I mean, I am obsessed with either of them, just like to imagine them shirtless. But, look, if you ever want to talk about it, you can. No pressure."

Peter smiled, his expression lightening a little. "Thanks. You're weirdly understanding. It's kind of creepy, actually. How do you know exactly what to say?"

She shrugged, looking back down at her book. "It's a gift." Then, after a pause, she added, "You're welcome. You know, I'm not totally cold-hearted. Despite my unrelenting love for fictional brooding British men, I can handle the real brooding just fine."

"Brooding is an art form," Peter said, pretending to adjust his hoodie like a dramatic, tortured soul. "But you're right. I probably do need to get some sleep. I'll figure out this briefcase thing eventually. Hopefully before I turn into Mr. Darcy and start writing tragic poetry about the weather."

Meredith burst out laughing. "Please, please tell me you won't write tragic poetry. My heart will never survive it. Just don't be that guy."

"I'll try my best," Peter said with a grin. "But no promises. A man's gotta brood sometimes."

Meredith snorted, reaching for her book again. "Brooding and tragic poetry. That's what makes you a man?"

Peter threw his hands up in mock frustration. "Don't underestimate the power of a well-timed brooding stare."

Meredith rolled her eyes, trying to keep her laughter in check. "You're a terrible influence, Parker."

"Well, now that you know my secrets, you're welcome," Peter said with a wink. "I'll be sure to work on my brooding skills, just for you."

"Please don't," Meredith said, holding up a hand. "I can't deal with that level of intensity."

Peter stood up, brushing off his pants. "Alright, alright, no brooding... for now. I'll let you get back to imagining fictional men shirtless."

"Good luck, Mr. Brooding," she called after him, grinning. "And don't forget to sleep, or you'll end up with dark circles under your eyes, and no one will be able to tell if you're brooding or just exhausted."

Peter stopped in his tracks, turning back with a sly smile. "You're just jealous of my brooding potential. It's a talent."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that," Meredith shot back, shaking her head as she picked up her book.

Peter waved and started to head back to his porch. "Night, MJ."

"Night, Parker."

As he stepped inside, Peter found himself smiling despite everything. Maybe things weren't so complicated after all. Maybe, just maybe, they would figure it out together. Or at least, he'd get more practice brooding in the process.

im back?