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She finds him under a table at the library, hyperventilating.

"So," Michelle sighed as she crouched down, plopping down into a cross legged position. "Ned's gone for one day and this happens."

Peter tries not to flinch, he really does, but Michelle's voice is so loud along with the rest of the world, and he can't help but curl even more into himself.

Michelle instantly stops talking and stares at him long and hard, eyes calculating and thoughtful, before she asks softly, "Can I touch you, Peter?"

He almost wants to shake his head, to say no and let that be the end of it, remembering the day in the subway, but at the same time his skin feels fine, it's just his ears that are ringing and screaming, so he nods and tries not to cry because that would be embarrassing.

Huh. Funny how he's still worried about crying when he feels like he's dying.

Michelle reaches out to press a soft but firm hand against his back, and rubs her thumb gently against the back of his neck, bumping over the very top of his spine in a gentle massage. At first it feels uncomfortable, but after a while it soothes him, and he leans into the touch, closing his eyes and trying to focus on her touch instead of the way that the world's shouting at him.

It works, for the most part.

It also doesn't work, for the most part.

If that makes sense.

He curls up even further, pressing his head between his knees and she quickly pulls away, and he wants her to not do that, wants the hand on his back, warm and comforting, but it's not there anymore and he's too tired to ask for it.

They just sit there, Peter wishing for Michelle's warmth, and Michelle trying to pretend that she's not freaking out, and Peter finally manages to choke out, "Hand."

Michelle starts and quickly crawls back in front of him. "Hand?" She echoes, eyebrows knitting themselves together in confusion.

"Neck." He's given up on any bit of his imagined dignity, and sobs out the word, wishing that he could be back home in bed with Aunt May reading him a book and a cup of hot chocolate in hand.

She gets the gist of it, though, and puts her hand back where it was before, thumb scraping up and down the back of his neck, ever silent and patient.

He leans into her touch and they stay like that, quiet and comfortable and right.

When the world stops screaming at him, Peter's already closed his eyes, head tucked onto Michelle's shoulder, her humming softly as she sketches out a picture of him drooling in his sleep.

They pull apart silently, perhaps not needing words, perhaps simply not knowing what to say. Whatever the case, not a word is exchanged, merely a look, an understanding.

And if Michelle starts sitting across from them or Ned starts talking to her about getting Peter therapy, then it doesn't really mean too much, does it?

(At least, that's what Peter tells himself, until he crawls in through her window a few nights later.)

The End

A/N: Did you see how I added that little reference to At Your Window with that last sentence?`(It's one of my Michelle and Peter fics. Shameless self promotion.)