peter/mj.
It's not fair of me, Peter. My club burned down, because one of those goblins threw pumpkin bombs in my place. Me and a bunch of people were trapped. They'd managed to pin all the doors, so we couldn't get out. You weren't answering my calls. I thought I was going to die. I would have died if the firefighters hadn't shown up. I thought it was you. And then months and months of you not returning my calls, and I knew it wasn't like you. But I couldn't get a hold of you. You kept blowing me off. And then that damn symbiote.
I was just so angry that you seemed to want to just pick up where we left off, and I get it. It was like no time for you, but I couldn't. A year of it, Peter. A year of counting on you and constantly being let down. A year of thinking I didn't even rate a phone call to see how I was doing.
I was just so tired of all the weird stuff that always happens, you know?