It was Friday. Friday meant it was almost weekend, and that was just fine by Peter. It had been a long week.

The Academic Decathlon State championship was coming up, and study/quiz sessions were two hours now, three days a week.

On top of that, on Wednesday evening, his patrol as Spider-Man led him to a distraught man holding up traffic in the middle of a busy intersection. He spent thirty minutes patiently talking the man down from doing something he'd regret. Fortunately, he managed to calm the man and get him to safety. Less fortunately, some of the motorists were not so patient about being stuck for half an hour because of some kid in red and blue pajamas chatting with a weirdo in the middle of the road, and they made their displeasure known by shouting and honking – the full thirty minutes.

That long, loud patrol on Wednesday evening led to a mild headache on Thursday morning. He was still getting used to his enhanced senses, and it was becoming clear they had downsides, too. The mild headache made getting out of bed a bit difficult, and he ended up late for class. Mr. Davis was not amused by his weak excuses, earning him a detention on Thursday evening.

So yes, a long week.

Right now, he walked into the cafeteria. Hundreds of high schoolers having lunch is not a quiet affair. That mild headache from Thursday morning had evolved into a freight train running through the middle of his head. He chose the most secluded spot and ate his packed lunch quickly and quietly, keeping his eyes closed more often than not. He finished his lunch, emptied his glass of water, and dropped his head on his arms. He cursed himself for forgetting the expensive noise cancelling headphones he bought for just this type of occasion.

The last period of the week was English Literature. Unfortunately, the teacher, Mrs. Donovan, decided today was the perfect day for a class discussion on French influences in the English language. Peter was counting down to the end of the school day, staring at the clock, willing it to go faster and trying to block out everything else, including the spike in his head. Fourteen more minutes until he could pack up, trudge home, and crawl under the covers with ear plugs in. He doubted he'd be ready for the world again in time to do a patrol this night.

"Peter, what do you think?"

He startled, for a moment looking like a deer in headlights. He saw Mrs. Donovan looking at him expectantly and he tried to remember the question, but he hadn't the faintest clue. The rest of the class was looking at him as well, so he ventured a non-answer, "Well, it's an interesting idea. It's all about finding that balance, I guess."

"Nice try, Peter, but empty generic phrases are not an answer to my question. I know it's last period, but the school day is not over yet. Pay attention!"

He slumped back in his chair, but dredged up his last shred of focus and tried to give the teacher whatever attention he could muster.

Finally, the last bell rang. He could get out! He packed his bag in record time and sprinted to the door to beat the hallway rush hour. But Flash reached the door first. "Leaving so soon, Parker?" Peter looked longingly to the door, but his chances of escape dwindled when Flash grinned and stepped even closer. Peter's plan of getting in front of the crowd was already doomed. He made an involuntary whine of despair. Judging by Flash's grin, the whine was loud enough for him to hear. Undoubtedly, Flash interpreted it as fear, and felt encouraged. Flash leaned over him, talking almost directly into his ear, "Maybe if you didn't spend so many nights studying trying to beat me at Decathlon, you wouldn't have so much trouble STAYING AWAKE!".

That last bit, screamed right into his ear, was too much. He couldn't take this anymore! His ears started ringing, he felt his pupils going wide, his head was splitting open, he felt pressure in his skull, he … he needed to get away!

He dodged Flash, raced into the hallway, and skidded around a corner. Students were streaming from the classes, and their excited voices seemed to carve directly into his brain. The world was just too bright, too loud! Colors popped, regular hallway lights shined like miniature suns. Each slamming locker was like a fist to his inner ear. Wasn't there any quiet place in this entire school?

He raced down the hall, saw the open doors to the gym, sprinted in, and slid under the bleachers. He sat there, in the shadows, eyes squeezed shut, hands over his ears, chest rapidly rising and falling with short, shallow breaths.

After a few minutes of trying and failing to calm down, he heard someone saying something, but he couldn't make out what it was. His breathing was still fast, and he shook his head to clear the noise. That was a mistake, the rapid motion causing a brand new lance of pain, making him squeeze his eyes even harder, struggling to get control. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him.

"Peter, what's wrong?"

He carefully cracked open one eye and stared right in the concerned face of MJ.

"I'm fine, I just need a minute, leave me be, OK?"

She frowned, turned around and started walking out.

"Wait." She stopped and looked back, but didn't say anything, obviously waiting for him to continue.

"Do you have headphones with you? Can I borrow them for five minutes?"

She didn't react for a few seconds. He had been short with her a few seconds before, so he didn't know what she'd say.

"Only if I can listen along."

"Fine."

MJ sat down next to him, took her headphones out of her bag and gave them to him. He took out his phone, connected the headphones, opened his music player and scrolled to his "emergency auditive tranquilizer" track, saved exactly for this type of situation. He turned up the volume, put on the headphones, and pressed play.

MJ lifted one side of the headphones, listened for a few seconds, and then looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

Peter ignored the eyebrow, instead focusing on the white noise now streaming through his head. He closed his eyes again and started working on slowly controlling his breathing.

They sat there, together under the bleachers, in companionable silence. Slowly, the world came back into focus, colors became less loud, and the splitting headache faded to a dull throb.

After a few more minutes, he unlocked his phone and stopped his white noise track. He wordlessly gave MJ back her headphones. He felt like he should say something, but didn't really know how to explain what just happened.

MJ looked at him again, staying silent for a few seconds, before asking, "Peter, … are you alright?"

"I'm fine, really. It's just been a long week and I've had a headache for days. Flash shouting in my ear was just the last straw." He stood up, and gave her a wry smile and a hand to pull her up. "But thank you, for the headphones and for the concern."

MJ looked like she didn't completely believe the explanation. But she just replied in a bored tone, "I wasn't concerned, you were just the most interesting thing happening right then. Don't forget Monday's Decathlon practice, loser," and walked out the door.