Chapter Text
“There are some moments in life when you just look around and wonder about the poor life choices that brought you here,” Peter muses. “What have I become? When did my life turn out like this? I have a degree in chemical engineering.”
Johnny rolls his eyes and elbows Peter with more force than necessary. “You didn’t even graduate, Parker. But that’s besides the point. We’re Christmas shopping, you Scrooge.”
“I’m Jewish,” Peter complains, plaintively. “And you brought me to Macy’s. Macy’s, Storm. The week before Christmas.”
“It’s festive,” Johnny declares. He picks up a blouse and scrutinizes it before hanging it back on the rack with a dismissive head shake. “All the hustle and bustle.”
“If by hustle and bustle you mean the crush of bodies,” Peter mutters. “I think that little old lady just tried to pick my pocket,” he adds shooting the perpetrator a glare.
Johnny tsks, then holds up a blue sweater that is, from Peter’s perspective, indistinguishable from the other blue sweater he’s holding up for comparison. "Where's your holiday spirit?"
Peter doesn’t roll his eyes at Johnny but it’s a close thing. “What do you have against gift cards?”
“Shut up, or we're going to Saks next,” Johnny threatens.
Peter shuts his mouth so fast his jaw clacks audibly, and he shoots Johnny a baleful glance. Johnny, the jackass, ignores him in favor of deciding on one of the blue sweaters and handing it off to the pretty--too pretty, in Peter’s opinion--shopping assistant who has been following them around the women’s department.
“Send this to gift wrap with the others, if you would, thanks,” Johnny says, using his movie star smile. Peter makes a noise under his breath that makes Johnny smirk when their eyes meet.
Johnny slings his arm around Peter’s shoulders amiably and his tone turns cajoling. “Come on, Pete. Where’s your Christmas spirit? This is what Christmas is all about.”
“Suffering?”
Johnny sighs and drops his arm as he leads Peter through the maze of aisles to a wall of purses. “Making an effort,” he says, pointedly. “Showing someone that you thought about them.” He stops in front of the Coach display and trails his fingers over the leather. “You know when Sue and I were kids, we couldn’t afford any of this. So maybe I get a little carried away, sometimes, but they deserve it, you know? And Christmas is the one time of year when you can spend as much money as you want on someone and they can’t argue with you about it.”
Peter knows, intellectually, that Johnny wasn’t always rich. That he grew up without parents the way that Peter did. That in some ways, Sue and Reed are to Johnny what May and Ben are to him, but he forgets, sometimes.
“You’re secretly a nice person, Johnny Storm,” Peter says, quietly, stepping close to where Johnny is standing to make sure he can hear him.
Johnny snorts. “Said no one ever,” he says, dryly. “Hey, which one of these purses would May like more? The Beechwood and gold, or the Blossom and silver?”
Peter blanches. “Johnny, that’s a $400 purse.”
Johnny shrugs. “I get her one every year.”
“You what now?” Peter's eyes narrow. “She told me it was from a suitor!”
“Well, maybe I am,” Johnny replies. “Have you seen your aunt lately?” He wolf whistles. “It’s like she’s getting younger every five years.”
“Stop now,” Peter says, strangled. “Seriously though, every year?”
“Other than that one year,” Johnny replies. He’s avoiding Peter’s gaze, stroking his hand over the leather.
Peter swallows. The year they don’t talk about. The year Johnny spent in the Negative Zone. Aka, one of the worst years of Peter's life, when his best friend was, unbeknownst to him, not dead, but actively dying, on a daily basis.
“Get her the pink one,” he says, and Johnny beams at him.