“If I Could Tell Her” Peter Maximoff x Reader
Request: “Hi, can you do a fic based off “If I could tell her” from Dear Evan Hansen with a fluffy ending please 💕” ~ @actual–hobbit
Warnings: Fighting, Guilt, The death of Alex Summers :(
Pronouns: Female (I naturally write with female pronouns, but I try to change it up every once in a while. PLEASE feel free to request a version of this, or any previously written imagine with different pronouns. IT IS NO TROUBLE AT ALL, Also, if you have a request, feel free to make specific pronouns part of it.)
A/N: Ok, @actual–hobbit! I’m a theatre kid myself, but I’ve never seen Dear Evan Hansen. Needless to say, I did some research after getting your request and I LOVE the story and this beautiful song. I may have changed some things up (Alex wasn’t really abusive, like Connor) and I don’t think I made it fluffy enough at the end, but I really hope you like it! Thanks for requesting (and introducing me to a fantastic new musical <3) ) and have a groovy day!
(P.S. It sounds just as incest-y in the song. I promise. Beautiful song, though. Give it a listen. )
Peter felt like he was begging for a distraction. He wished that he could just sit down and read like a normal person. Instead, he paced the room with his History book open and his attention snagging on everything in his line of sight. He let out an exasperated groan and stuffed the book inside his backpack. Maybe, Y/N could help. He never had trouble focusing on her. She always grabbed his attention. That was part of the reason why he was failing history.
He knocked lightly on the door, to no response.
“Y/N?” He pushed the door open and looked around the room. No one.
“Damnit.” He whispered, plopping down in her desk chair. He scanned the walls and shelves pensively. He was in her dorm all the time, but he’d never really looked around that much. He was always there to watch movies and things like that. Not to mention Y/N was typically in there with him, meaning his level of attention to things other than her was pretty limited.
It was a home-y little room, filled with little decorations and pictures of her family and friends. He stood, picking up a picture from her shelf. Jean and Y/N in front of the Statue of Liberty. He smiled and grabbed another. Him and Y/N laying out on the grass in front of the school. It had only been a few days after the battle with Apocalypse. Peter still had his cast on. It had been a long couple of days and everyone was beyond exhausted. They’d fallen asleep by the lake and Jubilee managed to capture the picture before they woke up. As he propped the photo back up against the shelf, a loose photo fell from the back of the frame. He grabbed it just before it hit the floor. It was an older photo, dusty with bend corners. Captured in the frame was Y/N, her bothers, and an older man and woman. Her parents. He remembered seeing them at her brother’s funeral. She had written on the bottom of it. Summers’ 1975.
He studied the family, feeling a churn in his stomach. Alex Summers had died the day Peter evacuated the school during an explosion. Turns out, he had missed someone.
Alex was a friend. More importantly, he was a good person. Peter had never forgiven himself for overlooking him. Five months after his death, and Peter still felt nauseous at the thought of it. He should have gone deeper into the blast. He may have been able to get him out in time. If only he had gotten there just a little bit sooner. Alex deserved to make it out, not Peter.
He swallowed thickly. He was never fast enough. Not when it mattered.
He rested the photo up against the back of the shelf trying to erase it from his thoughts, but he couldn’t get the tightness out of his chest.
Suddenly, a distraction presented itself. A muffled door slam echoed down the hallway followed by quick footsteps. Y/N flung the door open and throw her bag down on the bed, tears in her eyes.
Peter stood, “Y/N?”
She jumped and flipped around.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry, Peter. I didn’t know you were in here.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her sleeve and sat down on the bed, trying to gather herself. Peter joined her on the bed, hesitantly.
“What happened to you?”
Y/N took a deep breath. He could tell she was trying her hardest not to cry.
“Scott…He hates me… Alex hated me to.”
Peter frowned. Y/N loved her older brothers more than anything, but she wasn’t really that close to either of them. Alex had been gone a lot with the school and the X-men while she was growing up. That, in itself, had its effects. Every time she talked to him, it was as if they barely knew each other. Presumably because, they did barley know each other. They had both wanted to be closer, but neither of them knew how to get there. Scott, on the other hand, was with her everyday, growing up. They never left each other’s side until Alex died. After the funeral, they stopped talking and started fighting.
The tightness in Peter’s stomach returned.
“Scott doesn’t hate you, Y/N. And Alex didn’t either. He thought you were awesome.”
Y/N scoffed turning away from him.
“He thought I was awesome? My brother?” She whispered, intrigued by the comment. He followed her eyes, climbing over on the bed so that she was looking at him again.
“How?” She seemed to cling to his words. Like, it was the only thing left that could prove her wrong.
“He’d talk about you all the time, Y/N. He thought it was so funny that you’d fill out those quizzes in magazines…And you know how your mom gets angry when you draw on the cuffs of your jeans when you get bored…he knew all about that.” Peter paused, seeing the tears in her eyes. She gave him a watery smile.
“He loved your smile…” Peter whispered, “He said you’d never know how great it makes people feel when you smile”.
Y/N looked down at her feet. She would’ve killed to hear Alex say those things. Any of them.
“Did he say anything else?” Peter was caught off guard.
“Never mind, I don’t really care anyways-“
Peter grabbed her shoulder, still fumbling to hold her attention, “No, no, no—just, no, no—he said—he said so many things, I’m just—I’m trying to remember the best ones.”
Y/N laughed and caught a tear that was rolling down her cheek.
“Remember in middle school? When you put indigo streaks in your hair?”
Y/N nodded, remembering. She had begged her mom to let her dye her hair over the summer. It had taken her weeks to convince her, but she was entirely too happy when she finally caved.
“He thought it was really cool, when you did that.”
“Yeah! And whenever you danced at Jubilee’s birthday last year, he said you danced like the rest of the world wasn’t even there!”
Y/N laughed as Peter sat up on his knees, grabbing her hands. She sighed and looked over at the family photo on her nightstand. She took it, running her fingers over the glass pane.
“Hey…” Peter tilted her chin up to look at him, “Don’t worry about Scott. He’ll come around.”
She nodded sadly.
“You’ve both had something…something terrible happen to you. Sometimes, being there for someone is the best thing you can do. “
Peter could feel the pit in his stomach begin to return.
Y/N looked back at the picture, “It just seems like he’s so far away. It’s like I don’t know anything.”
Peter felt short of breath. If only he could tell her how much sleep he lost at night. If only he could tell her how he’d never forgive himself. If only he could tell her about how her smile seemed to make the sick feeling in his stomach go away for a while. That sort of subtle, perfect, real smile. If only he could tell her it was him who loved her blue hair and her stupid dancing and her magazine quizzes and the cuffs of her jeans. It was him who lived for her smile. It was him who loved her.
If only he could tell her.