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littlelovelyspiderling · 2 days

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Meeting The Real You (Chapter 10)

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 2 -- Chapter 3 -- Chapter 4 -- Chapter 5 -- Chapter 6 -- Chapter 7 -- Chapter 8 -- Chapter 9

word count: 28,732

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meet me on the 15th floor 😘

Peter’s heart did a somersault when the text message popped up on his phone. He flew to his feet, gunning instantly for the elevator, pulse hammering in his ears. He’d been pacing the halls of Avengers Tower since he’d returned home from feeding Marshmallow, checking the news and scratching his bandages and tinkering with his web-shooters—anxiously awaiting any proof of life from the Human Torch. Even though he’d hung around the fundraiser long after Wilson Fisk had left, watching Johnny and the massive figure have it out from his hiding spot in a nearby tree, cortisol pumping hot through his veins, he was still terrified that Fisk might go after him once the event was over and there were fewer witnesses around. It didn’t help that Peter had put his number into Johnny’s phone, but Johnny hadn’t given him his. He had no way of contacting the hotheaded celebrity to make sure he was okay—until now, anyway.

Every second felt like an hour as the elevator descended towards the bottom half of the tower. When he finally reached the 15th floor, Peter dashed out of the sliding doors into the empty room, eyes searching frantically for his friend’s familiar shape.

“Johnny?” Peter called, muscles coiled, head on a swivel. “Where are you? Are you in here? Are you all right?”

A strange little squeak noise came from behind the sofa in front of him. Peter frowned, creeping forward cautiously, ready for anything.

A moment later, five little fuzz balls came stampeding around the sectional, scampering straight for him, tiny paws slipping all over the hardwood. Peter stiffened in surprise as a bundle of wet tongues and wiggling tails surrounded him on every side, whimpering and barking and jumping on his shins.

“What the—?” he stammered, glancing between the five puppies in disbelief. It only took about three more seconds for him to stop caring what the hell was going on or what they were doing here and start gushing with endearment.

“Oh my goodness!” Peter exclaimed in delight. “Look at you guys! Oh my god! You’re so cute!” He knelt down to their level, trying to pet all their bouncing little heads at once as they licked and nibbled at his fingers. Peter giggled brightly, sitting all the way onto the floor as the pups dog-piled into his lap, squirming and whimpering and showering him in sticky kisses.

“Have I died and gone to heaven?” Peter asked, scooping one of the puppies up and pressing its nose against his. “Where did you guys come from?” The tiny pit bull pawed at his mask in reply, teething his nose through the fabric, making Peter laugh like—well, a boy covered in puppies. He made the terrible mistake of fully laying on the ground, which activated some feisty little instinct in the pups to all swarm straight to his face. They ambushed him with playful nibbles and slobbery tongues, transforming Peter’s giggles into all-out belly laughs.

“Wahait!” he cackled. Wet noses nuzzled his neck while baby teeth chewed on his ears. A couple of the puppies hopped onto his chest to get better access to his face, tiny tails swishing like windshield wipers. The masked hero squealed and squirmed, attempting to shield himself with his hands as giggles poured out of him nonstop.

“I’m being attahacked! Oh my god! Merhercy!” He was about to die of laughter beneath a furry avalanche of puppies, and he still didn’t even know how they’d all gotten here. As he gathered three of the five dogs into his arms and peppered their heads with kisses, a figure rose from behind the sofa, making Spidey glance up with a sharp intake of air.

“Why did I know that was exactly how you’d react to a room full of puppies with no explanation?” the Human Torch chuckled amusedly.

“Johnny!” Peter cried in relief. “You’re okay!”

Johnny cocked his head to the side. “Uh…yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

Peter stood with one puppy tucked under each arm while the others jumped around his feet. “Wilson Fisk showed up at your event. I, uh—saw it on Twitter. I thought he might try to get back at you after what you said about him.”

Johnny winced. “Oh. Right.” He scratched at his chin and crossed his arms, a hard look overtaking his face. “He was angry for sure, but no, he didn’t try anything. He’s certainly one scheming, slimy, son of a bitch with more money than god. He asked me to endorse him as mayor, which I immediately declined, and practically popped a hemorrhoid when I told him you and I were friends.”

Peter grimaced. “I don’t think you should’ve done that.”

Johnny yawned and shrugged. “Why not? He was gonna find out we’re friends anyway—if he didn’t already know from all the posts and public statements I’ve made about you.” One of the puppies scurried from Peter’s legs to Johnny’s, and the Human Torch scooped the little rascal off the ground to cradle like a baby.

“Maybe advertising our friendship to the world isn’t the best idea at the moment,” Peter said gingerly. A smile reclaimed his features as he watched the pup in Johnny’s arms nip at his fingers while he scratched its belly. Peter placed the two sleepy pups he was holding back on the floor and snatched up the one currently gnawing on his ankle, bundling it against his chest and stroking his fingers through its baby-soft fur. “Where’d you get these cuties, anyway? And why are they here at the tower?”

Johnny shook his finger around as the puppy chewed it like a squeaker toy. “One of the animal shelters our donations from today are going to asked if we could help them get some puppies adopted since they're currently at capacity. I figured if we did some posts of us with the dogs, people would be tripping over themselves to take them home.” He smiled at him, pure sunshine stretching from ear to ear. “I also thought it’d make for a great new Spidey video. It’s really hard to see someone who turns into a giggly, baby-talking goofball the moment puppies are involved as a menace.” Johnny nodded towards the couch where a phone was propped up against the cushion, lips curling into a smirk.

Peter reddened shyly, petting the dog behind its ears. “It might be best if we put the Spidey PR videos on pause for now. If Fisk is really angry with you—”

“Dude—fuck Fisk. Fuck anyone who has a problem with me using my platform how I want. I promised I was gonna help you fix your public image, and that’s exactly what I plan to do, dickhead bald guys and pissy older siblings be damned.”

Peter hinted a grin despite the anxious pinch in his gut. “We just need to be careful. Any Fisk-busting activities from here on out need to stay under the radar. Let’s not post anything else that has anything to do with him on any of your socials again. Okay?”

Johnny plucked his phone off the sofa. “Duh. That was my plan already. All I’m interested in posting now is this adorable video of you drowning in a puppy mosh pit.” The sound of Peter’s laughter spilled from the device as Johnny watched the recording back, making the young hero flush with embarrassment. He replayed it again and again, snickering delightedly at Spider-Man’s childish reaction to the dogs, deep frying Peter’s skin from the inside out.

“Oh god,” Peter chuckled miserably. “Do you have to? I wouldn’t have acted so ridiculous if I knew you were filming me.”

“Exactly!” Johnny countered, tapping at the screen. “This right here is the real Spider-Man: uncensored, unscripted, and unequivocally cute as fuck. This is what the world is missing right now! Content of Spidey just being Spidey. Not whatever blurry, doctored images the Bugle has decided to run with this week alongside a headline straight out of an Onion article.”

“Couldn’t we go with something a little more…superhero-y?” Peter suggested. “What you captured was more of a me-me moment, not a Spider-Man moment. I think your fans would prefer something with a bit more action and excitement. Maybe you could film me—I don’t know—running through the alien invasion battle simulator? Hurling you as far as I can off the roof?”

Johnny arched an eyebrow. “Newsflash, dumbass—you and Spider-Man are the same person. Any ‘you’ moment is, by default, a Spidey moment. Also, between the two of us, remind me again who’s managed to win the hearts of millions upon millions of fans?”

Peter sighed. “You…”

“And who’s currently not allowed to do any strenuous activity?”

“Uh…me?”

“Right. And who agreed to let me take care of all their PR problems, no questions asked?”

“I do not remember agreeing to that.”

“Sure you did! And who had well over seventy people come up to him at today’s event telling him how much they appreciated his positive Spidey content?”

Peter hesitated a moment, then held up his free hand in submission. “All right, I get it. You’re the wise, all-knowing marketing wizard, and I’m your stupid, lowly apprentice.”

“And who had droves of people waiting hours in line just to rant to him that Johnny Storm is their favorite superhero in the whole wide world ‘cuz he’s so stunning and cool and sexy and perfect?” He jammed a thumb against his puffed up chest. “That’s good marketing in action, my friend. There was even this one guy—what was his name? I think it started with a P—”

Before he could finish that sentence, Peter shoved the puppy he was holding into Johnny’s face, which gave him a big, sloppy kiss right on the lips. Johnny sputtered and spat while Peter laughed out loud.

“Cool, sexy, and a great kisser? No wonder everyone’s so darn obsessed with you.”

“Blech! Spidey!” Johnny scrubbed his lips with his sleeve, face scrunched in disgust. “Ugh! It’s tongue went in my mouth!”

“Can you blame him? You’re everyone’s favorite superhero, after all. Little Fido here took one look at that perfect, stunning kisser of yours and knew he just had to shoot his shot. Do you charge extra for that kind of thing? You really should.”

Johnny scoffed, releasing the squirmy pup in his arms back to the floor. “I don’t let people kiss me in exchange for money, asshole. I have some class. I’m not a complete floozy.” He ran his hand over his mouth again, then winked at him. “Not yet, anyway. Why do you ask?” The Human Torch pressed closer to the masked hero, hands interlaced at his heart, batting his thick eyelashes. “Interested in buying one off me? Shall we talk numbers?”

Peter’s body took a screenshot. He really should’ve learned his lesson by now. Anytime he dared to tease Johnny Storm, the teenage heartthrob always struck back with five times the firepower and ten times the audacity. His eyes darted between Johnny’s cerulean stare and the delicate, freckled lips underneath, his pulse registering on the Richter scale. He does this to everyone, he tried to remind his runaway heart. It’s just a game to him. Nothing more. All his fans dreamt of pressing their mouths to his, of feeling their breaths collide, of carding their fingers through his strawberry-blonde locks. Just ‘cuz Peter believed he wanted it the most didn’t make him any more deserving of it.

Spider-Man inched back a step.“I—I don’t think I could afford you, Torch,” he managed to say, punching out a brittle laugh. Johnny bridged the space between them in a heartbeat.

“But you are interested?” he pressed him. Vulpine thrill twinkled in his eyes.

Peter swallowed, thorns of desire and panic and despair puncturing the back of his throat. Before he could attempt a reply, the puppy in his arms lunged forward and laid another wet one on Johnny’s unsuspecting lips, making the teen flinch back with a yelp and Peter double over with laughter.

“Ack! Not again!” Johnny spat.

“This little scoundrel certainly can’t get enough of you,” Peter giggled, squishing the puppy against his cheek as it licked him all over his mask. “If anyone finds out he’s managed to open-mouth kiss the Human Torch twice already, I don’t think he’s gonna have any trouble getting adopted.”

Johnny rubbed his lips and rolled his eyes while Peter gave the pup a grateful smooch on the forehead. Thanks for the quick save, he thought, blood still prickling beneath his flesh. How was he supposed to keep his feelings contained with Johnny pulling stunts like that? How much longer could he keep this charade going under these conditions? Hell—what if he already knew how hard Peter was crushing and just liked toying with his emotions? Dangling the possibility in front of him like a carrot on a string—only to snatch it away at the last second? How else would someone who knew how universally coveted their affection was keep themselves entertained?

Dizzied by the harrowing prospect, Peter returned to the ground and let the puppies flock to him, tickling their plump little pot bellies and chuckling at their adorable clumsiness. Johnny joined him a moment later, nudging one of the dogs with his toe while it nipped ferociously at his foot.

“Other than dick face showing up at the end, was the fundraiser good? Did you—y’know, earn a lot of money for the animal shelters?” He hoped his attempt to dodge Johnny’s question and move on from the subject didn’t come off as obvious as it felt.

Johnny smiled softly, his eyes glazed with exhaustion and something harder to diagnose from the long day of catering to the masses. “Yeah. It went good. Really good. Everyone seemed happy, and we raised lots of funds for a really good cause.” He scratched lazily at the back of the pup currently dozing on his thigh. “I wish you’d been there,” he added with a yawn.

Peter admired the sleepy teen with a fondness that threatened to cleave him in two. Even if he couldn’t be with him the way he so desperately wanted to, he had to appreciate what a privilege it was simply basking in his presence like this. To be by his side after the crowds had departed, after the festivities and decorations had been disassembled and discarded, after his hair had started to lose its gravity-defying texture and his voice was hoarse from talking so long and his endlessly infectious energy had finally been fatigued to the point he looked seconds from slumping face-first into the hardwood. Few others got to see Johnny Storm in this state: mask off, walls down, ring lights and news cameras nowhere to be found, soft and human and drowsy and in dire need of some aloe vera.

“How did your thing go?” Johnny asked, kneading his eye with the heel of his hand.

Peter wrinkled his brow. “What thing?” he said.

“The thing you said you had to go to that was happening the same time as my event,” he reminded him, a knowing smile touching his lips.

The teenage vigilante flushed. “Oh. Right. That thing.” He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head. “Good. Great. Yeah. No complaints.”

Johnny giggled lightly. Peter reached out and tapped the tip of his nose, which was as red as a ripely picked cherry. “You should really put something on that, Rudolph.”

The Human Torch blinked at him. “On what?”

“Your face. You’ve got a pretty bad sunburn.”

“I do?” he said bemusedly. “How? I even reapplied sunscreen and everything!”

“Every hour?” Peter inquired, raising an eyebrow. Johnny huffed.

“Now you’re the one sounding like my sister,” he grumbled. He prodded at his face with a scowl. “Where? Just on my nose?”

Peter scooted closer, tilting his head to one side. “Pretty much all over,” he conceded. He extended his hand and poked Johnny in the cheek. “Here,” he said, followed by a second poke to his other cheek. “Here.” Johnny chuckled sleepily as Spidey’s finger traveled across his face, prodding at the rosy pink skin. “Here, here, here.” His thumb hovered over the scar just above his eyebrow. For a moment, he considered running his finger across the same spot he had caressed just hours ago, the same way Peter Parker had as the two teens held each other's gazes. Johnny’s forehead was burnt, after all. But the fear of being found out was too stark, too paralyzing. Instead, he placed his palm over his entire face and gave it a playful shove, making Johnny exclaim in surprise. “Aaand here. Looks like you’re not burn-proof after all, Hothead.”

“Ow!” Johnny yelped, rubbing gingerly at the bridge of his nose with his eyes pinched shut. “Okay. Yep. I feel it now. Definitely burned. Ugh.” He held up his phone to examine his reflection, grimacing at the flushed face staring back at him. “Great. As if I didn’t have enough freckles already.”

“I like your freckles,” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself. He cringed as Johnny turned towards him with a look of surprise and fantasized about backhanding himself across his own stupid mouth. “I just—think they make you unique,” he added meekly. “Like…a dalmatian. Or a ladybug. But, y’know. In human form...”

Johnny snorted. Lucky for Peter, he seemed too tired to tease him for the comment as much as he deserved. “I hate when my sister is right,” he groused.

Peter stroked a finger over the nose of the puppy napping in Johnny’s lap. “Are you planning to babysit all five of these guys overnight?” he asked. “That sounds like a lot of work.”

“No. I have to get them back to the shelter before ten tonight. Which reminds me—” The Human Torch turned his phone camera on Peter and gestured at him like a drunk maestro conducting a one-man orchestra. “Go on. Be cute. Say something to get these puppies adopted and make people think you’re hot shit. Friendly neighborhood hot shit.”

Peter snickered, holding one of the pups under the armpits and waving its floppy paws around. “Why don’t we save any more performative social media ventures for tomorrow?” he suggested gently. “You’ve been in peppy, upbeat, fan-service mode this entire day. You look exhausted.”

“But we won’t have the puppies then,” Johnny whined. “I have to take them back soon.”

“I trust you’re more than capable of restoring my image without exploiting the likeness of these poor, innocent doggies. Here.” Peter plucked the phone out of Johnny’s hand and held it up so both of them were in the shot, the two heroes hugging the five pups close as he snapped the selfie. Spidey handed the device back to Johnny. “Post that. Tag the shelter. List the names of dogs and why people should adopt them. Boom. Easy.”

Johnny studied the photo Peter had taken, pursed his lips, then nodded. “Boring, but effective. I’ve trained you well, young padawan.”

Peter split into a massive grin. “Did you just quote Star Wars at me?” he beamed.

Johnny chuckled. “Yeah. I’ve watched the movies. Who hasn’t? I doubt I’m as ridiculously obsessed as you are, but I don’t live under a rock.” He waved his phone at him tauntingly. “I’m still posting the puppy ambush video, by the way. Keeping this gem out of the public eye would be a condemnable offense.”

The masked hero sighed. “Fine,” he relented, gathering all the puppies in his arms and plopping them into Johnny’s lap. “You can post it if you fly these babies home right now and then go straight to bed. Sound good?”

Johnny offered him a drowsy smile and cupped a hand under Peter’s chin. “So bossy this evening,” he chided. “Very well. As you wish, yah sticky-fingered bitch.”

“You’re loopy,” Peter giggled, nudging his hand aside. He jabbed a finger towards the wide windows. “Go. Before you get so tired you pass out mid-flight. Or, if you need me too, I can take the pups myself on the subway.”

“I got it,” Johnny mumbled. Peter helped him stand and herd all five fuzz balls into the carrier. As Johnny walked up to the window, hugging the crate-full of puppies close to his chest, he turned and flashed a lazy grin over his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, Webhead. I’ve planned out a very busy day for us, so be ready to get started bright and early.”

“What diabolical schemes of yours can I look forward to this time?” Peter asked playfully. “Any tar pits or bear traps I should keep an eye out for?”

“We both know you love my schemes,” Johnny replied, popping open the retractable window Stark had installed to make Spidey’s comings and goings more seamless. “Why don’t you use your foresight powers to see what I’m planning?”

“They don’t work like that,” Peter chuckled. “I can’t see into the future. I can just…feel when something bad is about to happen. In the very near future.”

Johnny furrowed his brow. “So like…super anxiety,” he concluded. Peter snorted.

“Huh. I guess so. Except if I ignore it, I have to deal with the very real, very immediate consequences.”

Johnny tucked the dog carrier under his armpit. “Well, I can assure you tomorrow will be all fun things. Nothing that should set off your spider anxiety. Hopefully.” He laid a hand over his heart. “Scout’s honor. I’ll be waiting on the 78th floor for you whenever you decide to roll out of bed. Before noon would be preferable.”

“I’ll do my best,” Peter said, guiding Johnny towards the window. “Text me when you get back, okay?”

Johnny met his eye with a curious grin. “Why?” he asked.

Spider-Man blinked. “To…make sure you’re safe?” he said hesitantly.

The Human Torch’s smile softened. “Aww. How cute.” He reached out and pinched the apple of Peter’s cheek. “Sweet little Spidey’s worried about me—a superhero who takes down robot monsters and armed gangs for his day-to-day—flying across the city and back safely. That’s precious.”

“Now that Fisk is pissed at you too, I have to be,” Peter grumbled, shadows of concern lacing his voice. He flinched out of Johnny’s reach and rubbed at his cheek sourly. “Just…keep your guard up. There’s a very real chance he could try…I don’t know. Doing something to scare you into supporting him.”

A twinge of uncertainty crossed Johnny’s expression before melting back into a carefree grin. “I’ll be fine,” he promised, patting Peter’s opposite cheek. “But if it’ll ease your super anxiety, I’ll go ahead and text you when I’m home safe and sound. We can make it a regular thing. I’ll let you know that I’m okay, and you can reply back with shirtless videos for me to make into Spider-Man velocity edits.”

Blood rushed into Peter’s face like an upside-down waterfall. “Into—what?” he squeaked out, a bewildered laugh escaping him.

“Velocity edits! You’ve definitely seen them before. They’re all over TikTok. Superhero ones are particularly popular. I’ve gotten pretty good at making them, actually. I’ve been practicing. All I need now is a steady supply of video clips of you being hot on camera, and we’re golden.”

“I am not doing that,” the masked vigilante giggled sheepishly. “You told me I didn’t have to post that kind of stuff to get people to like me.”

“No, but it would certainly speed things along,” Johnny said, gesturing to Peter’s gaunt frame. “What’s the point of having a body as hot as yours if you’re not gonna show it off and use it to your advantage? Beauty is power, babydoll, and like you always say: with great power comes great marketability. Even just a photo or two without the gaudy leotard would make my job so much easier. I have some fishnets and a strappy leather vest you can borrow if you prefer—”

“Goodnight Johnny!” Peter shoved the cackling celebrity fully out the window, who burst into flame to stop himself from dropping like a stone towards the earth far below. All parts of him except for the ones touching the dog carrier ignited like gasoline, coating his body in flickering tongues of fire that suspended him in the air. He spun towards Peter, glowing brighter than every light in the city, a galaxy of stars confined to the flesh of one radiant boy.

“Goodnight Spidey,” Johnny said back, dazzling in every sense of the word. He pressed his palm to his lips and blew Peter a kiss that drifted off his fingertips as a perfect ring of smoke. Just like he had to that girl back at the fundraising event—the little party trick that had singed Peter with the shameful sting of envy. Except now it was him on the receiving end, yet the gesture only left his heart more threadbare than ever before.

Johnny rocketed away before the smoke ring breached the distance between them, his dramatic exit buffeting its lovely shape, but not destroying it. Peter watched the Human Torch soar between skyscrapers and the pale spatter of stars freckling the night sky, a tail of pure light trailing behind him. As he disappeared into the city, the circle of smoke floated through the open window, slow and ethereal and cruel, then poofed into nothing the moment it brushed Peter’s cheek, dousing the masked hero in the warm, oaky scent of Johnny Storm. He held up his hands and watched the fading tendrils of smoke ghost between his fingers before evanescing completely.

What is really going on here? he asked himself hollowly, lifting his gaze back to the Manhattan skyline that perforated the barrier between heaven and earth.

Peter presumed there were three options:

One, Johnny knew how much Peter liked him and was just dicking around with his feelings for his own personal amusement. That was probably the worst scenario out of the trio Peter had in mind.

Two, Johnny was just being his usual flirty self and had no idea that Peter liked him that way, and no clue what his relentless teasing was putting Spidey’s poor, lovesick heart through. Peter suspected this was the most likely situation.

Or three…oh god. The most daunting and delusional of them all. The possibility he could hardly let himself think about without his heart threatening to spontaneously combust. That Johnny was flirting with him outright because he liked him back, and Peter was, per usual, a hopeless moron too clueless and afraid to take a hint and make a move. That everything he wanted was right in front of him, if he only had the courage to risk everything he had to seize it.

If by some miracle option three was the truth, why was Johnny being so reticent with his feelings? He wasn’t the type to shy away from staking claim to what he wanted. Was it possible he was harboring the same fears Peter was? That his crush might not like him back? Peter didn’t think his infatuation with the flaming hero could be more obvious, despite his attempts to disguise and subdue and smother it. But maybe he was doing a better job than he thought. Maybe Johnny was scared of confessing his feelings outright because he feared the masked hero’s rejection. Maybe Peter was the one needlessly toying with Johnny’s emotions, not the other way around.

Or maybe he was kidding himself. Whichever option held the truth, Peter had to know what Johnny’s real intentions were. If he had any at all.

Lucky for him, Peter was stuck with the zany, beautiful teen for the next couple days. Plenty of time for him to conduct a secret investigation into Johnny Storm’s true feelings towards Spider-Man, platonic or otherwise. Better to shatter his own heart sooner rather than later, lest he drive himself mad entertaining these inane fantasies of him and Johnny and sneaking kisses on rooftops and ughhh.

And before Johnny’s torturous flirting rendered him catatonic.

Unlucky for him, for this plan to work, Peter had to be bolder. Braver. The exact opposite of his natural state. And somehow magically transform himself into a morning person overnight.

Fuck it.

That was the mindset Johnny woke to following a night of burning questions and nauseating restlessness. As things stood now, it would seem he and the masked vigilante were at an impasse. He’d surged too far forward, dug his thumb in a little too deep, and now there was nothing left to do except press onward, forge ahead, follow the clear-cut path he’d carved for himself, or give up entirely before it was too late.

Johnny had tested the bounds of his and Spidey’s relationship more than ever before last night—stabbing recklessly at that splintering line he and the spider-themed hero always danced around but didn’t dare cross. Do you think about me? About kissing me? How often? Why do you worry about my safety? Because we’re friends, or because I mean more than that to you? Just tell me. Say it. One word, one leap of faith, and I’m yours. That’s all I’m waiting for. Just say it. Please say it. I need to hear you say it.

The webhead had once again circumvented his inquiries with his trusty wards of humor, fighting to sustain their little game of back-and-forth a tiny bit longer, grappling to keep the playful ruse alive—where things were comfortable and familiar and safe. But Johnny was tired of skirting around what neither of them could no longer deny. Johnny was done acting demure and playing games. He’d charted the stars, aligned the coordinates, mapped out trajectories, assembled his case, and all paths pointed to the inevitable.

Spidey liked Johnny. Johnny liked Spidey. And it was about damn time for both of them to grow a pair and admit it already.

So…fuck it.

The Human Torch rose from his bed, threw on his favorite crewneck and his light-wash Levi’s that fit like a dream, tagged his neck with a spritz of Bleu de Chanel, and marched his ass into the goddamn elevator.

Sure, this could change a lot of things between us, Johnny thought to himself, flipping another pancake onto the stack to his right. He’d made one of each of his signature flavors: dark chocolate chip, peanut butter banana, and strawberry shortcake. But I want him to know what he means to me. I don’t want to have to hide it anymore. At least not from him. He scooped a thick helping of steaming hash browns and turkey sausage onto the plate as well. And this time, I know he feels the same. I’m certain of it.

Johnny garnished his dish with freshly cut strawberry slices, which he arranged into a smiley face on top of the pancake stack, then poured a tall glass of orange juice. He lifted his perfectly curated breakfast assemblage off the counter with care and strode towards the elevator, nervous excitement pounding through his bloodstream. He reached out to press the “up” arrow button, but the elevator doors pared open before he had the chance. A bolt of heat flashed through him as a familiar masked figure peeled into view.

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, voice cracking in surprise. Tiny flames spiked outwards off the shells of his ears, but he managed to extinguish them a second later, although the heat in his cheeks continued to burn like two defiant suns. Clearing his throat, the Human Torch jumped back a step to give him space to enter the room. “Um, hi! I thought you’d still be asleep. I was just about to come see you.”

Despite the mask concealing his features, Johnny could hear the webhead’s sleepy smile in his voice. “Good morning,” Spider-Man greeted him, joining the celebrity hero on the 78th floor. His eye lenses shuttered closed as he stretched his arms out at his sides, flexing and flaunting the lean muscle corded across his torso and limbs. “I thought I would be, too,” he admitted. “I didn’t sleep very well last night. I woke up around eight this morning and couldn’t fall back asleep, so I figured I might as well come down now so we could get an early start on whatever horrors you have in store for me today.”

The fishing line of anxiety strung taut through Johnny’s insides unraveled a little. “I didn’t sleep well, either,” he said carefully. His eyes lowered to the warm plate of food balanced on his fingertips. “I had…a lot on my mind.”

Spidey’s gaze followed his, head tilting to one side. “Did you make all that? It looks incredible.”

“It’s for you,” Johnny said a bit too quickly, thrusting the plate and the glass into the vigilante’s chest. Spidey blinked his wide eye lenses before taking them awkwardly in his hands, a small laugh fluttering out of him.

“Wow. Really? That’s so sweet.” He adjusted his grip to a more comfortable angle, spilling a bit of juice from the overflowing glass and almost sending the pancake stack splattering to the floor. “Whoops. I got it. There we go.” His voice lifted with appreciation. “Thank you so much! Y’know, if you keep feeding me this good, Mr. Stark’s gonna have to add some extra give to the waistline of this suit.”

“Don’t worry,” Johnny assured him with a smile. “I only make breakfasts like this for very special occasions.”

Spidey perked up. “Oh? What’s so special about today?”

Johnny’s smooth grin wobbled as bombshells of uncertainty went off in his gut. His eyes traced over the intricate details of Spidey’s mask; the delicate black lines branching out from the center of his face and fanning across his entire body as one beautiful, interconnected web. He wanted to glide his hands across the threads, to trace their paths to the edge of his mask, to slip his fingers underneath and peel back the layer separating the mystery boy’s lips from his own.

It was great being Spider-Man’s friend. Absolutely wonderful. Things could stay exactly as they were between them, and Johnny would be happy. Grateful. Content. But Apollo knew he wanted more. So much more. They both did.

And god, did they deserve it.

Johnny bit the inside of his cheek, then exhaled weakly.

No more games. No more lies. Just the truth.

Slowly, the Human Torch reached out his hand and curled his fingers around Spider-Man’s wrist, anchoring himself to the soft thump of the vigilante’s pulse. He sat that way in silence for a moment, trying to match his frenzied heartbeat to Spidey’s gentle, steady one.

“I’ve wanted to tell you something for a while now,” he said, battling to keep his voice strong and unshakeable. “I’ve just been…scared of how you might react. You’re really important to me, and I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. But…”

“You’re part of a multi-leveling marketing company that sells plant-based wrinkle cream in bulk, and you want to invite me to join you in this lucrative sales opportunity to be my own boss and reach financial freedom?”

Johnny stared at him bemusedly for a moment, then scowled. Spider-Man giggled to himself.

“Sorry. Was that not what you were going to say?”

“Please be serious for a second,” Johnny implored, giving his wrist a squeeze. “No jokes, all right? This is important.”

“Now look who’s being the bossy one.”

“Webs,” Johnny deadpanned. Spider-Man suppressed another childish snicker. The Human Torch pinched his eyes shut, frustration and terror churning inside him, then lifted his hand from Spidey’s wrist to his cheek, running a finger along his jawline as his heartbeat crawled into his throat, threatening to suffocate him. Immediately, the masked hero’s laughter dried up, his body going rigid beneath Johnny’s gentle touch.

“I like you, okay?” Johnny blurted out, voice shaky but steadfast. “I’ve liked you since the day we met, even if I didn’t know it at the time. You’re funny, smart, obnoxiously selfless, and so fucking humble about how amazing you are it makes me wanna puke.” He cradled the boy’s masked face in both hands, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “I love everything about you. And I love being your friend, but I’d love it even more if we were more than that. I’d love to hold your hand, to call you mine, to take you on elaborate dates…” He dragged his thumb along the perfect curve of his lips. “To kiss you.”

For the next few moments, Johnny stood before the masked hero in silence, trembling slightly, his body as hot and volatile as a volcano seconds from erupting. He waited, ill with anticipation. Spidey gazed back at him for the entire length of the confession without uttering a word or moving a muscle. Johnny brushed his knuckle against his cheekbone.

“Well, say something,” he beseeched him.

Johnny felt a shudder shoot through Spider-Man’s skeleton. Then he flinched backwards violently, staggering away from his touch, the plate of food and glass of juice slipping from his hands and crashing to the floor, making Johnny wince in alarm.

“Shit!” the Human Torch yelped. “Are you okay?” He took a step towards him, but Spidey retreated back even farther, shaking his head from side to side.

“Dude,” he finally said, voice tinged with incredulous laughter. “What the fuck?”

Johnny froze in place, eyes lifting mirthlessly to Spider-Man’s. A ball of ice hardened inside him. “W-what—” he began to say.

“You’re gay?” the masked hero scoffed, flicking syrup and orange juice from his fingers. “And you thought I was gay, too? Are you being serious right now? Holy shit, bro—this is so fucking weird.”

Johnny swallowed, heart withering with dread and disbelief, tears stinging in his eyes. “Spidey—listen. I didn’t—I thought—”

“All the time we’ve spent hanging out and working together, all the nice things you’ve done for me—it’s all been because of this? Because you think I’m hot and want to get in my pants? That’s what made you decide to be friends with me? That’s what our entire friendship has been built off of since day one?”

As Spider-Man’s voice grew louder and angrier, the world around them began to shift. The kitchen and the tower and the earth as a whole fell away from their feet, dissipating like smoke, leaving nothing but endless blackness save for the light of countless stars twinkling in galaxies millions of lightyears away. The two teenagers hovered in the dark expanse of space, the Fantastic Four’s starship floating soundlessly in the distance.

“It’s not like that,” Johnny croaked out, red-hot flames building beneath his flesh. “Please, just—forget I said anything. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to lose you as a friend over something as stupid as this.”

Wordlessly, Spider-Man reached underneath his chin and grabbed hold of the edge of his mask, making Johnny’s eyes flash wide. His jaw fell open as the vigilante peeled the disguise off his head, then practically dropped to the edge of the universe at the familiar face he was met with when the person underneath was fully revealed.

“Sam?” Johnny breathed, tears slipping down his cheeks. Sam Alexander glared back at him, hands balled into fists at his sides.

“Oh, we’re way past that,” Sam sneered—although the voice was a chilling blend of both Nova’s and Spider-Man’s. “How can you expect me to stay friends with a guy who I now know is constantly thinking about dating and kissing me?”

“W-what are you saying?” Johnny asked hollowly. Sam crossed his arms against his chest, the Spider-Man costume disintegrating off his body to reveal the black and gold Nova Corps suit underneath.

“I’m saying this is too fucking weird,” he clarified. “I’m saying…I don’t think we should talk or hang out anymore. Like, ever.” The Nova helmet crawled across his face along with the rest of his suit, hiding his dark eyes behind the even darker uniform. Exactly how he’d looked in Johnny’s final memories of him. Sam tore his gaze away from Johnny’s, muscles rigid with discomfort. “It’s probably for the best that after this mission, we just go our separate ways.”

Johnny shook his head, dismay surging through him like a tidal wave. “Sam,” he said, voice breaking. He extended a hand towards his friend. “Sam, please—I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sam turned away from him, shoulders tight, fists clenched. He blasted upwards without looking back, shooting into the dark abyss like a streak of pure stardust. The Human Torch was left floating in the empty black expanse, sobs rattling through him, shell-shocked and alone.

“Don’t go,” he whispered. Fire began to fill every corner of his vision, even with his eyes squeezed shut. “Please don’t leave. Please. I'm sorry.” The flames raging inside him were hot enough to burn up anything and everything in existence.

“I tried to warn you.”

Johnny’s head whipped towards the sound of his sister’s voice. She and the rest of his teammates had him surrounded, expressions steeled with disappointment.

“S-stay back!” he cried, throwing his hands out in front of himself. His body was coated in hungry orange flames he did not summon—tongues of blazing fire he could not control. As his despair fed and grew, so too did the flames engulfing his entire being.

“You’re never going to learn, are you?” Susan snarled. Johnny’s flames were melting the skin clean off her bones. “You can’t help yourself. You think having millions of fans makes you entitled to the affection of anyone you choose. Even those who had zero chance of ever liking you back.”

“You’re dying!” Johnny screamed, shielding his eyes in horror. The flames radiating off him howled and crackled, swallowing up his friends in their deadly wake. “Please! Get away from me! I can’t make it stop!”

“It’s a game to you,” Sue gurgled, gagging on her own liquefied flesh. “A way to make your perfect, pathetic life a little more interesting. A way to torture yourself with the one thing you want most that you know you’ll never have or deserve.”

Johnny wrapped his arms around his midsection, tears boiling in his eyes, shrinking into himself in hopes that it would shrink the ravenous flames, too. But the fire only intensified, searing the life out of everyone it touched. Roasting every remaining member of his family alive.

“Help me,” he pleaded, fire and heat pouring from his soul like the core of a dying star. The ungovernable inferno scorched into his cells had finally conquered him, had finally won. Sobs tore from the Human Torch’s throat. There was nothing left but the anathema of his destruction. A monster forged in death and carnage.

“Help me! Help! Please help! Spidey!”

Johnny Storm was on fire when he shot upright in bed.

He doused the flames as soon as he was conscious enough to do so, choking down panicked gulps of air, but the damage was already done. His sheets were scorched, the mattress fried, and his pillow had a giant charred chunk burned through it that vaguely resembled the shape of his head. He swatted frantically at the tiny wisps of fire dotted across the comforter, swirls of smoke curling towards the ceiling.

“Shit,” he hissed, scrubbing a hand across his sweat-speckled face. Unusually bright sunlight spilled through the window onto the foot of his bed. The stench of singed linens hung in the air. He closed his eyes, pressing a palm to his chest where his heart felt seconds from bursting out of his rib cage.

A dream, he realized, panting harshly, skin hot yet cold and slick with perspiration. Not real. Not real. Not real.

Not all of it, at least.

“Good morning, Johnny,” Tony Stark’s A.I. greeted him from overhead, making the teen flinch. “It would appear you had a nightmare and accidentally lit yourself on fire in your sleep. An assistance robot is on the way to help attend to the situation.”

A few seconds later, the door to his room eased open, and what appeared to be some kind of claw machine arm on wheels rolled inside. It was much more bulky and clunky-looking compared to the other robots Johnny had seen working around Avengers Tower. It held a tube in its three-pronged hand that was pointed directly between Johnny’s eyes. The bot lumbered over to the side of his bed, strange little beeps and warbling sounds emanating from it.

“Uh,” Johnny said, drawing back a little. “Okay…? What’s it gonna—”

A blast of foam straight to the face cut him off. Johnny shrieked in surprise as the robot layered him and the bed in extinguishing suds, shielding his eyes and pinching his mouth shut. By the time the bot was through with him, he was drenched in soapy chemicals and thoroughly unamused. Satisfied with its work, the robot left the way it had come, politely shutting the door behind itself. Johnny sat beneath the mountain of bubbly foam, disheveled and disoriented.

“I’ve submitted an order for a replacement mattress and pillows to be delivered to the tower. They should both arrive in the next couple of days. You can sleep in the spare room on this floor in the meantime. Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Johnny clambered out of the bed and onto the floor, muttering colorful curses as he brushed the suds off himself in large globs. “Nope. Pretty sure you got it all. Better late than never, I guess.” He kicked his feet with a grimace, painting the walls in splatters of foam, then dusted off his shoulder blades. Knives punched into his belly as the details of his nightmare returned to him, as his pulse finally began to slow and steady its pace. As the last words Sam Alexander had left him with echoed in his ears—but in Spider-Man’s voice.

All his excitement and enthusiasm for the day ahead, struck dead in a heartbeat. All his eagerness to confess his true feelings to the webhead, scoured clean from his bones. Anguish closed around the young hero’s throat like a fist.

“Is Spider-Man still asleep?” Johnny asked the ceiling somberly, smearing suds across his cheek with the back of his hand.

“Spider-Man is currently making toast on the 78th floor,” FRIDAY replied. Johnny frowned.

“Really? He got up before I did?” Johnny turned towards the harsh glow of the window and narrowed his eyes. “What time is it?”

“8:41 am.”

The teenage celebrity’s mouth fell open. He rarely ever slept past 8, and couldn’t remember the last time he woke up after 8:30. He must’ve really needed the rest after all those hours of charming the crowds while baking in the hot sun. Even more shocking was the fact that Spider-Man had gotten up and beaten Johnny to their rendezvous point before Johnny was even dressed for the day.

He considered rushing through his morning routine so he could join the webhead as soon as possible and playfully interrogate him for this duplicitous subterfuge, but he found his heart just wasn’t in it. He was too shaken up, too demoralized. Every fear he’d pushed down and bottled away since that final day with Sam was now boiling at the surface of his skin, roaring through his veins.

What if he reacts the same way Nova did? he thought, hugging his midsection as tears slipped from his eyes. What if he never wants to talk to me again once he knows the truth?

Johnny’s insides twisted as the realization sprinkled over him. He would never find the courage to confess his feelings to Spidey. He’d never be confident enough to summon the words or take that risk. Not again.

“If it’s not too much to ask, you might want to go downstairs and lend Spider-Man a hand,” FRIDAY suggested gently. “He just pulled the eggs out of the fridge, and the last time he tried making an omelet, he almost burnt down the whole kitchen.”

Despite the tears in his eyes, a smile found its way onto Johnny’s lips. He laughed softly, wiping at his cheeks. “Fair enough,” he said, taking a level breath in and out. “I’ll head down in just a bit.”

As he ran a comb through his hair in front of the bathroom mirror, Johnny gave his arms a few sharp pinches. Just to make sure whatever he faced downstairs was real—and not a resumption of the same sinister nightmare.

A miserable whine slipped between Peter’s lips as the strawberry-blonde celebrity appeared at the bottom of the staircase just in time to watch him scrape viciously at the charred remains of what used to be eggs that were burnt to the bottom of the pan. He dumped the inedible concoction into the trash along with the rest of his failed omelet attempts and palmed his forehead in his hand.

“Nooo,” Peter groaned, shoving the smoking skillet under the faucet. “Why are you up already? I thought I had more time! Nothing’s even close to being ready yet!”

Johnny strode towards him with one hand hanging in the pocket of his sweatpants, taking in the scene of the arachnid-themed hero spattered in pancake batter and surrounded by pans crusted in half-scorched culinary disasters. A wrinkle formed between his eyebrows as a weak smile lifted the corner of his mouth. “What are you doing?” he asked amusedly.

“I’m trying to cook you breakfast,” Peter huffed, tearing an avocado in half with a tad too much super strength. “You’ve made me two of the best meals I’ve ever had without me even asking, so I thought it’d be nice if I made you something in return!” He started slicing the avocado into long spears, not bothering with a cutting board, a small prickle of warning tingling along his neck as the knife slammed down hard against the countertop, coming dangerously close to chopping off his pinky finger. A large chunk of avocado shot across the room and hit the tile with a wet splat.

“Whoops,” Peter murmured. Grimacing, Johnny rushed around the island and snatched the blade out of his hand.

“Okay—I’ve seen enough. You’ve officially lost all knife privileges.”

Peter sulked in defeat, scooping the smooshed avocado off the counter and onto a plate. This was not going at all how he’d planned. He’d lied awake in bed late into the night yesterday, scrolling through dozens of articles and TikTok videos with cringe-inducing titles such as “36 Signs A Guy Has A Crush On You,” “How To Tell If Your Friend Likes You Back,” “20 Foolproof Ways To Find Out If He’s Into You,” etc—trying to get some insight into Johnny’s feelings towards him and coming up with a strategy to uncover the full truth. One girl suggested doing something romantic and unexpected for them and gauging their reaction. If their response was positive, there was a good chance they liked you. Indifferent—or outright negative—probably not.

She had neglected to mention what to do if you completely bombed step one and were found grimy and frazzled without one palatable offering to your name, standing in a kitchen dirtied and overflowing with your unseemly cooking blunders. Johnny squinted at the lumps of ash gathered at the bottom of the sink and furrowed his brow.

“What the hell were you even trying to make?” he asked with a snort.

Peter sighed. “Crepes, french toast, fruit tarts, eggs benedict…” He counted off the fares on his fingers, eyeing each failed feat where they sat either burnt or botched on the counter, feeling more and more disheartened with every word.

Johnny chuckled, looking far too cute and way too cuddly in his color blocked sweatpants-hoodie combo, cheeks still dusted pink from yesterday’s sun exposure. “Those are not the easiest dishes to make, Webs,” the Human Torch said, shooting a glance at the stack of pots piled high in the sink and the blackened pans scattered across the stovetop. “Especially when you’re trying to make all of them at once instead of focusing on one dish at a time.” He poked at a mound of suspicious goop by the faucet that vaguely looked like it was breathing. “Why not try something simpler that doesn’t result in you turning the kitchen into a radioactive hot zone?”

Peter swallowed, heat bleeding into his ears. “I just…wanted to do something nice for you,” he explained quietly. He felt Johnny’s gaze lift to his face and suddenly found a speck of egg shell on the counter the most interesting thing in the entire universe. “You’re always doing such nice things for me—making stuff and planning things and sticking your neck out for my sake. I wanted to show my appreciation.” He scratched at one of many oil stains on his costume with a frown. “But I guess I should’ve picked a gesture I’m actually capable of executing. Like—inventing a new type of webbing and naming it after you or whatever. Cooking is your strong suit, not mine. I don’t know why I thought whipping up a multi-course breakfast for you was a skill I possessed. I mean—I followed the instructions! Well, er—I tried to, at least! How do you always make it look so damn easy?”

To Peter’s surprise, the smile Johnny offered him barely reached his eyes. “Being able to control the temperature of what I’m cooking definitely helps,” he said halfheartedly, tossing the knife into the sink. It wasn’t until now Peter noticed that Johnny’s voice was missing its usual vibrant spark; that his expression was distant and weary. Even though he’d slept later than normal this morning, he seemed even more tired than he was last night. Dark circles ringed his downcast eyes. Worry rippling through him, Peter abandoned his mushy avocado carcass and laid a hand on Johnny’s arm.

“Hey—Torchy.” His voice caught a little with concern. “Is everything all right? You seem…sad.”

Johnny stared languidly at Peter’s fingers where they touched his wrist, then lifted his heavy gaze to meet his. The young hero gave a listless shrug of his shoulders. “I guess I am sad,” he decided, appearing disappointed in himself.

Peter’s grip tightened a little around his forearm. “Why? Did something happen?” A boulder dropped into his stomach. “Was it Fisk? Did he do something to you?”

The Human Torch shook his head. “It’s nothing like that,” he insisted, looking a bit embarrassed. He ran a hand across his face. “I just…had a bad nightmare last night, and it kinda spoiled my whole mood for today.”

Peter resisted the plea from his muscles to wrap the teen in his arms and bury his forehead in kisses. Johnny had plenty of nightmare-fodder in his past for his brain to torment him with in his sleep. It made him nauseous—wondering which traumatizing event his imagination had ran with this time, or how often Johnny was plagued by dreams in this way. He desperately wished he had a plate of warm food to offer him like he’d planned—something yummy and comforting to drive away the storm clouds gathered in his eyes. Instead, all he could provide was a small squeeze to his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” he said delicately. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t feel like doing today. Let’s just take it easy. I’ll let my wound finish healing, and you can watch Great British Bake Off or Real Housewives of Salt Lake City or whatever garbage TV you’re into while I order us some takeout that isn’t burnt to a crisp or developing sentience.” Peter let Johnny’s arm slip from his fingers, heart panging at emptiness in his ocean blue eyes. “I think we’ve both had more than our fair share of excitement and insanity this week to warrant a day off.” He didn’t want to push him to talk about whatever horrors were haunting him to the point of emotional paralysis if that wasn’t what he needed right now.

The corners of Johnny’s lips feathered upwards just slightly. “Love Island is my guilty pleasure go-to,” he admitted. “The original one—in the UK.”

Peter returned his reluctant smile, throwing on his best English accent. “Then let’s bugger off to the sofa and Love Island it up, yah daft knob.”

Spider-Man moved towards the living space nestled beside the east-facing windows, expecting Johnny to follow him, but he didn’t. Johnny stayed rooted to the tile by the stovetop, opening and closing his mouth a few times, features scrunched in thought. The celebrity stared between his feet, hesitating. Then, finally:

“My dream—it was about you, actually. Not the whole thing, but a good portion.”

Peter stopped in his tracks, blinking bemusedly. “Really?” he said. An icy cord wove through him. “Oh god. What did dream-me do? Cook you an inedible breakfast that you were too polite to decline that wound up killing you?”

Johnny couldn’t repress a beguiling grin, a flicker of his usual self seeping through, although the sheen of sadness was still there. “No,” he said. “But you were doing that.”

Peter rocked backwards on his heels. “Doing…what?” he inquired.

“Telling your silly little jokes,” Johnny explained, swirling his finger through the thin layer of flour dusted across the counter. “Even in my sleep, you’re there being a sarcastic wise-ass. I can’t escape it.”

Peter’s heart started to sink. He stalked back into the kitchen, hugging the backs of both of his elbows. “And that’s…that was your nightmare? Me making jokes? That’s what ruined your whole mood for today?” Perhaps Johnny’s feelings for him weren’t as a big of a mystery as he'd thought. Spider-Man was one big web-swinging joke in red and blue pantyhose; if someone didn’t like his witty quips, then they didn’t like him . Period. This was about to be the shortest, most disappointing crush investigation in the entire world.

“No,” Johnny chuckled, much to Peter’s relief. “It wasn’t that.” He combed a nervous hand through his hair. “It’s just…dream-you acted exactly like you-you, until I said something that made you super upset with me. The fact that you were acting just like your usual goofy self up until that point made it seem so much more real, which made all of it hurt ten times worse.”

Poison needles pierced Peter’s heart. “What did you say in the dream that made dream-me so upset?”

Peter swore the sunburn on Johnny’s face went pinker. “I—I don’t remember,” he murmured, staring at his socks and scratching behind his ear. “But you didn’t like it one bit. I’ve never seen you that mad before—not even when I was provoking you back when we sparred in front of everyone.”

Peter was no stranger to having nightmares about those he cared about—including ones where they shouted things at him he knew they’d never say. He understood how jarring it could be, even if it was in no way realistic. He was just surprised a bad dream about Spider-Man would impact the teenage celebrity this dramatically. Out of all the nightmares Peter had imagined Johnny having, none of them had included anything to do with himself. He wondered what dream-him had said to drain the joy from Johnny’s once luminous eyes. The masked hero wasn’t sure what to do other than hunch his shoulders and hold out his palms.

“Well, real-me isn’t mad at you at all, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m sorry dream-me was so mean. I’d web that bastard up and drop him in the Hudson if it were physically possible. Dude sounds like a major dick.”

Johnny managed a timid smile, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “Sorry. I know it’s not fair for me to be upset about something that wasn’t even real. It’s not like there’s anything you can do about it.”

“I can make you the world’s least-burnt bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios,” Peter proposed shyly. Johnny gazed around the dumpster fire of a kitchen with glazed endearment.

“Counter-offer,” he said. “Why don’t you go clean off your suit, and I’ll whip us up something a little more appetizing and nutritious than that?”

Peter let out a frustrated groan. “The whole point of me doing this was so you wouldn’t have to cook for me this time! This was supposed to be a gesture of my gratitude, not another mess of mine for you to clean up.” Peter snatched an egg out of the open carton sitting beside the refrigerator. “At least let me help you.”

Wrinkling his nose, Johnny plucked the egg out of Spider-Man’s hand like it was a live grenade. “No offense, Webs, but after what I’ve witnessed today, I don’t want to see you within fifteen feet of any kitchen in the state of New York ever again.” He placed the egg back in the carton. “Or potential salmonella contaminants. Or sharp cooking utensils. Or open flames.”

Peter wilted at his words. Johnny patted him on the back, not-so-subtly guiding him out of the kitchen space. “It’s okay. You’ll have other chances to do nice things for me.” When Peter turned to face him, his eyes had that empty, far-off look to them once again. “Besides. Cooking is…calming to me. Therapeutic. Helps take my mind off things. I could use the distraction.”

The masked hero’s heart sagged against his rib cage. “You sure there’s nothing else I can do to cheer you up? I could let you punch me in the face. Or light my head on fire. Those things can be therapeutic, too.”

“You can help by vacating your unholy butt from my sacred space of culinary artistry,” Johnny said, then paused, sniffing the air, face twisting in confusion. “Is something burning?”

Peter’s eyes widened as his head snapped towards the microwave. “Shit!” he exclaimed, dashing past Johnny. “The butter! I was trying to soften it, but I guess I forgot—” He yanked open the door only to be blasted with a surge of black smoke. Scorched, amorphous goo bubbled in the spot he’d last seen the butter. Coughing, Peter grabbed a hand towel and fanned the air while Johnny snatched the plate out of the microwave.

“Careful! You could burn your—” Peter started to say, then stopped himself with a frown. “Oh. Right.”

“Who the hell burns butter?” Johnny exclaimed, dumping the ruined plate into the sink alongside the many, many others. “I thought you were some kind of genius or something!”

“At science,” Peter reminded him. “Not cooking! Or, y’know—common sense!”

“Cooking is science!” Johnny shot back.

“Well—not the kind I’m good at apparently! All my chemistry smarts evaporate from my brain the moment I step from a lab to a kitchen.”

“Out,” Johnny demanded, shoving him towards the stairs. “Before you desecrate my place of worship with even more of your blasphemy. Breakfast will be ready in just a bit.”

Peter begrudgingly slumped towards the staircase, feeling defeated in more ways than one, wondering where precisely in his DNA the Parker gene for terrible cooking skills resided.

Johnny felt guilty for being so miserable that morning, which only made him feel worse.

He didn’t have the luxury of hiding his emotions the way others could. It was a power the Human Torch did not possess. When he felt something—however ridiculous or unwarranted—it consumed him entirely, practically radiating off his flesh. Anger and sadness were particularly difficult for him to wrangle and subdue. Every move of his muscles, every spoken word, every feature on his face put on display the burden weighing on his heart. No matter how hard he tried, there was no concealing it.

He was mourning something he never even had in the first place. He was choking on his cowardice and what was not to be. He’d been struck by waves of heartbreak like this before, but never one this definitive, this sustaining and penetrating and certain.

All because of a dream. A dream spliced with real memories that still haunted him to this day—but a dream nonetheless. He knew how childish and ridiculous it was to let something as frivolous as a nightmare affect him this deeply, to let it decimate the perfect plans he’d laid out for the day. That understanding did nothing to stop the grief from ravaging his heart with every inconsolable beat, or shining undoubtedly in the whites of his eyes.

He ascended to Spider-Man’s floor, Michelin-worthy croissant sandwich and peach oatmeal in hand, with a dreary haze hanging over him. Not even nailing a meal he’d spent a quarter of a decade perfecting could lift his hopeless spirits. He had half a mind to paint the walls of the elevator with it and sulk back to his scorched, foam-soaked bed. He didn’t want the webhead to see him like this again—bitter and crestfallen with no feasible explanation as to why. But avoiding him outright would only hurt Spidey’s feelings even more, which wasn’t fair to him at all. It was a lose-lose scenario. He could at least leave him with a warm meal before moping off to some abandoned corner of the tower where he could wallow in self-pity in peace.

The elevator doors split in two in front of him. Johnny stepped out and strode towards Spider-Man’s room, the hand that held the plate of fresh food heating it to the perfect temperature. He stopped a few feet from the door with a grimace on his face, debating what to do. He could just leave his breakfast here and avoid another confrontation entirely, however spineless it made him feel. Or he could wait for him to come out just to smash the oatmeal in his face for daring to snare his delicate heart in that cruel, sticky web of his.

As Johnny toiled over how to proceed, a sound floated to him from inside Spider-Man’s room. Soft and muffled, tangled with the hiss of hot water from the running shower. The words and instrumentals of a song he recognized—one that made his ears prick and his breathing still.

Everybody loves you, baby

You should trademark your face

Linin’ down the block to be around you

But baby, I’m first in place

Johnny’s eyes went wide as the song carried on. Spider-Man…listens to Troye Sivan? he thought, perplexed. As in…the queer Australian pop star? He supposed he shouldn’t read too much into it. Both the singer and the song were extremely popular, even outside of the gay music scene. Listening to a song by a gay artist didn’t in any way speak to one’s own sexuality. It only meant that he had…good taste in music. That’s all.

Then, as the song reached the first line of the chorus, a second voice joined Troye’s, singing along to the lyrics with carefree, unabashed splendor. Johnny’s heart skipped a beat as the voice carried softly through the air, breezy and beautiful and completely oblivious to his presence.

Give me a call if you ever get lonely

I’ll be like one of your girls or your homies

Say what you want, and I’ll keep it a secret

You get the key to my heart, and I need it

Give me a call if you ever get desperate

I’ll be like one of your girls

The voice—Spider-Man’s voice—continued to parrot the words of the song with a disarmingly angelic cadence, singing lyrics like “everybody wants you, baby” and “bet nobody wants you bad as I do” and “baby, let me plead my case” with that lovely, spellbinding inflection, sending Johnny’s thoughts into a flustered headspin. He pressed his ear against the door, jaw hanging low as the corners of his mouth lifted higher and higher.

Okay…listening to a gay pop star was one thing. But singing along to a gay pop star’s song about desperately wanting to get with a guy in a voice that passionate and breathtaking? That was…violently homosexual behavior. Like—undeniably, incriminatingly homosexual.

Had Reed really been right all along?

Christ almighty. He was never going to escape this torturous mental game show of Is Spider-Man A Fellow Fruitcake, Or Am I Just An Idiot?

As Johnny listened to Spidey hum the final verses of the song, his heart went featherlight. Who knew on top of being a fearless hero, an incessant motor-mouth, a loyal friend, and a shockingly terrible cook—the masked vigilante of New York was also a buttery-voiced little songbird? A grin cut across his face at the thought of how Spidey would react to Johnny eavesdropping on his in-shower performance.

A second track started to play as the running water squeaked to a halt. Johnny recognized it as “Disaster” by Conan Gray—another arguably very gay song by an equally gay artist. While Johnny listened intently through the door, a wide smile holding all his features hostage, he shooed away some of the gloomy fog banks haunting the inside of his mind to make room for a new diagram: a T-chart with one side labeled “straight” and other labeled “gay.” He started adding little tally marks to each side in accordance to Spider-Man’s most recent behaviors.

Listening to Conan Gray? Gay.

Using humor as a coping mechanism? Also gay.

Singing along to “One Of Your Girls” by Troye Sivan with Broadway-worthy vocals? Hella gay. Johnny added two tick marks for that one.

Liking Star Wars? Straight.

Having a girlfriend last year? Straight.

Being terrible at cooking? Very straight.

Johnny took a step back to admire his mental tally so far. He had to admit, it was a rather abstract and binary classification system to subject Spider-Man to. Sue would probably cringe at how unscientific his process was. But it was better than nothing, and a mildly fun way to keep some tiny spark of hope alive in his bruised and bloodied heart.

With a huff, the Human Torch decided he’d spend today doing exactly what he’d set out to do in the first place: springing the trap he’d set that would endear the world completely to the masked vigilante. His work over the last week had granted his fans a tiny glimpse into the soul of the infamous hero; a mere taste of who he was and why they should dote on him in every way he deserved. All as buildup for what he had in store for today.

Meanwhile, Johnny would watch the webhead closely, adding to his mental chart as he saw fit.

Spider-Man’s voice flitted through the door to Johnny’s ear every now and again—singing quietly, casually, a fleeting word or two from the song currently playing as he readied himself for the day. Johnny listened with a soft smile on his face, reminded of why he’d chosen to do all this for the masked hero in the first place. Every day Spidey found new ways to surprise and captivate him. Without even trying, he won over his heart again and again and again. People deserved to see just how delightful the webhead was, and Spidey deserved the world’s praise a hundred times more than Johnny ever would.

Spider-Man could never give Johnny what he truly wanted, but Johnny refused to take his frustrations out on his blamelessly clueless friend. If Johnny couldn’t tell Spider-Man how much he cared about him, he’d do his best to show him.

So Johnny waited outside the door for Spider-Man, spirits a little less frosty, thoughts a little more optimistic, running through his itinerary for the two of them with a smile on his lips, eager to see which side of his T-chart had the most tallies by the end of the day.

“You little liar.”

Peter glanced up with a start as he shut his bedroom door behind him. Johnny Storm stood across the room by the stairwell, leaning against a pillar with a smug look on his face. Peter wasn’t sure if he should be happy that Johnny appeared more chipper than earlier, or terrified. The Human Torch was a wildcard this morning. At this point, he didn't know what to expect.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked with a hesitant laugh, running a hand along his neck to smooth out any creases in his mask. “What did I do this time? And please tell me we’re talking about real-me now and not more dreams. I can’t keep up with it all.”

Johnny rose off the pillar and strode towards him, moving with a wisenheimer kind of aloofness that was more reminiscent of his typical self and less like the woebegone creature Peter had encountered earlier. Of course he didn’t expect Johnny to be happy all the time, but he felt oddly helpless in these circumstances: when the thing causing his distress wasn’t something he could rid them of with a clever joke or punch to the jaw, and bore his same likeness and wit.

“If my memory serves correctly,” Johnny mused, stopping about a foot in front of him, gilded in a fresh luster of roguish glee, “you told me that you, quote: ‘can’t sing for shit.’” The luminous celebrity cocked his head to one side. “Why would you make such a grotesque lie?”

Peter blinked stupidly, fighting a futile battle against the hypnotizing riptide of Johnny’s gaze. “I’m…sorry?” he said in reply, puzzled. “What do you…what? I’m confused.”

“Those were some seriously impressive high notes you were hitting,” Johnny continued, grinning in a way that made Peter’s nerves itchy. “I had no idea you were such an avid Troye Sivan fan.”

Slowly, dreadfully, the realization set in, all while every ounce of blood in Peter’s body rushed into his face. He was so used to having the entire 80th floor to himself, he’d never had to worry about anyone listening in on his musical morning routine. Perhaps he’d gotten a little too comfortable blasting his favorite playlists and singing along to every song at the top of his lungs, as if the whole tower were abandoned and there was no risk of anyone ever hearing him.

And of all the people to catch him in the act…of all the songs to have caught him singing along to…

“Not just anyone can belt out ‘One Of Your Girls’ with that much bravado and elegance,” Johnny teased him, bopping him on the nose with his index finger. “You’re a truly talented vocalist. How come you didn’t include that in your power demo the other day?”

Peter’s skin felt hot enough to melt the Spider-Man mask right off his face. “How much did you hear?” he croaked out feebly. “More specifically: how mortified should I be right now?”

Johnny shrugged, a fiendish smile on his lips. “All of it. Your second go at the chorus was probably my favorite bit. The way you harmonized with Troye on the word ‘desperate’ scratched an itch in my brain I didn’t know existed until now.”

“Oh my god,” Peter groaned into his palms, laughing in spite of himself. “So unimaginably and eternally, then. Cool. Great. Today just keeps getting better and better.”

“Your bathroom has wonderful acoustics, by the way.”

Peter blushed all the way down to his toes as he flexed his hands at his sides. “Y’know, you’re like—annoyingly good at catching me in my most unflattering moments,” he grumbled. “Maybe we should get you a bell.”

“What part of having a beautiful singing voice do you find unflattering?” Johnny retorted, clearly enjoying himself. “I think it’s hot.”

Earsplitting and seismic. That was the state of Peter’s pulse at that moment. His body went from fidgety and warm to sizzling like a kettle seconds from boiling over. He’d told himself if Johnny flirted with him today (which, obviously, he would), he’d try his best to match his energy and flirt back. Just to see what would happen and gauge the superhero’s response—promising or otherwise.

Yeah. Easier said than done. Well, you know what I think is hot? Uh…you? That was the best comeback he could think of in his current condition, but he’d sooner jump into a pool of underfed sharks than muster up the courage to speak those words aloud. How did Johnny do it so impassively? Peter wondered if his deafening heartbeat was capable of rattling the entire tower.

“And so would your rapidly growing fanbase,” Johnny added before Spider-Man deigned a reply, placing one hand on Peter’s chest and the other on his own. “I can see the headlines now. ‘From Masked Menace to Masked Singer: Buttery-Voiced Spider-Man Goes Viral In New Video Posted By Johnny Storm.’”

Peter gulped down the butterflies his throat, forcing a shy roll of his eyes. “Glad to see you’re all cheered up now and back to mocking me every chance you get. I was beginning to worry and starting to miss your constant taunts and jabs.”

“Anytime I’m sad, please know that you have the power to fix that immediately. All you have to do is open that pretty little mouth of yours and sing ol’ Johnny a wee ditty.” Johnny cupped his hand around Peter’s chin and gave his lips a big squeeze. “Come on, sing it with me now—give me a call if you ever get lonelyyyy—”

“Quihit it!” Peter giggled, squirming out of his grip, pink with embarrassment. “You’re an asshole.”

“I’ll add ‘make Spider-Man sing on camera’ to our list of videos to film today,” Johnny stated smugly, stepping around him to grab the platter of food sitting on the floor by Peter’s bedroom door. Peter thought he’d smelled another one of Johnny’s mouthwatering creations, but hadn’t noticed the plate until now. Johnny heated the dish with a flash of fire from his palm and offered it to him with a grin. “You can eat this on our way down. Careful—it’s hot.”

Peter gawked. “You made this? For me? In the literal fifteen minutes since you kicked me out of the kitchen? What the actual hell, Johnny? Fuck superheroing—you should be one of those private yacht chefs who only cooks for royalty and charges a thousand dollars per cheese cube.” Peter took the plate in his hands like a newborn baby. “You’re, like, really good at this. Too good to be wasting your talents on me—a person with a palate as refined as Totino’s pizza rolls.”

Johnny chuckled. “You’re severely overestimating my skill set,” he insisted, cheeks dusting a delicate maroon. “Besides. I like cooking for you.”

Peter’s heart did a cartwheel into his ribs. Shit. Is he flirting with me again? He’s at least being kind and genuine. I should be kind and genuine back. Now’s your chance, Pete. You can’t screw it up this time. No chickening out. You’ve got this. Just whatever you do, don’t make a joke, don’t make a joke, do not—

“And I like watching Critical Roll on 2x speed. That’s not related or equivalent in any way—just a fun fact about myself I thought I’d share for no reason at all. Isn’t life neat?”

Curse you mouth and everything you stand for.

Johnny just giggled and grabbed hold of his wrist. “Come on—I already have the setup ready for our first TikTok video.”

Peter tripped a little over his feet as Johnny dragged him towards the elevator. “Really? What are we doing? And where are we going? Are you gonna feed me spicy chicken wings and ask me deep personal questions? Or blindfold me and make me taste different kinds of milks and have me guess which is which? Or are we doing more puppy videos? I liked the puppy videos. But I guess that’d be redundant, so we’re probably not doing that. I’m scared. Should I be scared?”

“Relax, Webhead,” Johnny snickered. “We’re gonna start things off easy and fun. And save the jokes for the video—you’re gonna need them if you want to win.”

Jokes Peter could handle. Anything that involved being vulnerable and sincere? Evidently not. Just the thought of attempting casual flirting sent his body into fight or flight mode. How would he ever know Johnny’s true feelings for him if he played down and laughed off every effort the celebrity made to show him exactly that? Would he ever master the gall to go toe-to-toe with the Human Torch’s devilish charm?

He doubted he’d find the answer between here and wherever the hell Johnny was taking him.

“This seems…unsanitary.”

The 20th story lounge was cozy and quiet. The colors of the room were earthy and warm—dark greens and soft browns accented by navy blues and rusty reds, which came alive in the early morning sunlight streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Johnny had picked a beautiful background for their video sequence, but the content they were about to film was poised to undermine that entirely. They were positioned by a wall with the windows sweeping out behind them and the living area to their right. Johnny chuckled as he tapped the “record” button on his phone, which was propped up on a tripod in front of them.

“Maybe. But that’s part of the fun.” The Human Torch skipped past the camera setup to stand at Peter’s side and held up the glass in his hand like he was about to make a toast. “You go first. See if you can say something funny enough to make me spit all over the place, then we’ll switch roles.” Johnny tipped back the glass against his lips to fill his cheeks with water.

“People spit at me all the time without me saying one word to them, so I feel like this should be pretty easy for me. And perhaps a tad triggering.”

Johnny spewed like a geyser before he’d even finished off the cup. Peter flinched in surprise with a startled giggle, shielding his face from the flying droplets. Johnny laughed along with him a moment later, cupping a hand over his dripping mouth.

“Oh man, I knew you were gonna be way too good at this,” he wheezed. Johnny wiped his lips on his sleeve. “Okay—my turn.”

“Us and the floor are gonna be soaked by the end of this,” Peter chuckled, running the back of his hand across his eye lenses. But he switched places with Johnny and followed his instructions, loading his cheeks with water.

“All right. Here goes nothing,” Johnny began. He combed a hand through his sun-kissed hair. “So, uh—did you hear about the spider who ate the fly?”

Johnny paused for effect, grinning eagerly. Peter almost spat his water across the room just from the giddy look on Johnny’s face, but he managed to hold strong.

“People say he was a real buzz kill.”

Johnny waited, staring at Peter expectantly. Reluctantly, Peter forced a muffled chuckle through his mouthful, but the water stayed intact. Johnny’s smile dropped.

“What? I thought that was funny! You don’t think it’s funny? What the hell!”

Peter shrugged apologetically. Johnny pouted.

“Ugh. You suck. I’m really gonna have to get creative if I wanna beat you.”

They swapped spots again. This time, Peter crawled up the wall and onto the ceiling to start his turn. He lowered himself into the shot upside-down, feeding a line of webbing between his hands and feet. His silly positioning didn’t have anything to do with the joke he planned to tell; he just thought it’d look funny on camera. He stopped with his head about four feet off the ground, swaying a little from side to side as he charged up his next one-liner.

“So—”

But Johnny was already sputtering between his fingers, spitting water in every direction. Peter cackled.

“Dude! I didn’t even say anything yet! You’re making this way too easy for me.”

“Dammit!” Johnny giggled, mopping his face with a towel. “I can’t help myself! You’re just so goofy-looking like that! And I know whatever you say is gonna make me break, so I end up laughing just thinking about it!”

Peter pointed and snickered like a snarky little kid. “2-0, Flame Brain. At this rate, I’m gonna wipe the floor with you without even trying.”

“Oh—I’m so getting you this time,” Johnny assured him with a smirk. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

So Peter refilled his mouth with water and the two heroes took up their designated positions in front of the tripod. Peter crossed his arms against his chest and raised his eyebrows dubiously while Johnny pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and cleared his throat.

“You know, Spidey and I have bonded a lot over the things we have in common,” Johnny read from his notes. “We’re both superheroes, we’re both the youngest members on our teams. And—most importantly—both of us have dead moms.”

Peter emptied the contents of his cheeks fast enough to take someone’s eye out. Johnny beamed at him triumphantly as Peter hacked into his elbow.

“‘Cuz nothing binds people together better than shared trauma and mommy issues. Am I right?”

“Johnny!” Peter laughed in disbelief, cupping his stomach with one hand and his mouth with the other. “Oh my god! That is—so morbid!”

Johnny shrugged. “Regular jokes weren’t cutting it, so I decided to take the dark humor route. Your fault. You forced my hand.”

“You’re messed up,” Peter giggled, pulling his mask back over his chin.

“That’s what dead moms do to you,” Johnny retorted proudly, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Your turn, Webs. Have fun topping that.”

Peter got Johnny good with a jab at the celebrity’s absurdly expensive fashion habits, insisting that if he had a dollar for every accessory the Human Torch was wearing that cost more than his entire month’s rent, he just might be liquid enough for the first time in his life to add avocado to his Chipotle bowl.

Johnny tried to punch back with a few snide remarks about Spider-Man’s geeky hobbies and nerdy interests that didn’t land as well as either of them hoped, securing the frustrated teen at a measly 1 point score while Peter led with 3.

After Peter rendered him spitting and sputtering a fourth time with a joke about soulless redheads, Johnny entered his next turn with a look of fierce determination. As soon as Peter’s mouth was filled, Johnny marched right up to him and pointed wordlessly at Spider-Man’s hands.

“Hmm?” Peter murmured in question, holding out his palms. Johnny extended his own hands and interlaced his fingers, then gestured for Peter to do the same. Frowning, Peter copied his movements, waffling his hands together and holding them in front of his body, clueless as to where this was headed.

In a flash, Johnny grabbed hold of Peter’s interwoven hands, hoisted them above his head, and shoved him up against the wall hard enough to make him yelp. His left palm sprawled flat across the wall hardly an inch from Peter’s throat while his right pinned the masked hero’s arms in place. Seconds turned into decades as Johnny leaned all his weight into Peter’s body, gray-blue eyes electric with mischief, wide grin playful and cunning, noses close enough to brush.

What would’ve been a gasp of gay panic turned into Peter spewing all the water in his mouth directly into Johnny’s face.

Immediately, the two heroes doubled over themselves, racked with hysterical laughter that went from silent to explosive and rendered them staggering and dizzy and teary-eyed.

“Why did you—do that?” Johnny squeaked out between belly-laughs, water dribbling down his bewildered face.

“Why—did you—do that?” Peter shot back, clutching his aching ribs. He hung his head, giggling helplessly, embarrassment singeing his skin.

“You spit all over me!” Johnny wheezed.

“I’m sorry!” Peter stammered through his laughter. “You—shoved me!”

“Worth it,” Johnny chuckled, toweling off his face. “I knew that move would get you. Comeback season, baby!”

Peter flushed at the insinuation behind those words while his heart scrambled to recover from what had just transpired between the two teens; from what Johnny had just done to him. Johnny’s hand shooting out and clasping Peter’s interlaced palms. Johnny’s strength throwing him against the wall and pinning him there like a mouse beneath a panther’s paw. Johnny’s eyes drinking him in as Johnny’s lips stretched and curled. Johnny’s body, his beauty, his skin, his scent, his everything being too close, too much—

Peter wondered what Johnny’s little stunt might look like on the recording. Wondered if the people who watched it might read into it as much as he was right now.

But asking Johnny not to post that part would mean having to explain those concerns to the celebrity heartthrob, and the questions and feelings that conversation would invite were simply beyond Peter’s current sanity levels.

So Peter once again chose the “play it cool” and “pretend to be unfazed” approach, taking his final turn in the challenge by striding over to Johnny and effortlessly lifting him above his head, rendering the fiery hero blushing and flailing and spitting water like a broken sprinkler.

“H-hey!” Johnny squeaked, little flames blazing off the ends of his hair. “Holy shit! I always forget your little beanpole body somehow has super strength!”

“It’s like you want me to fling you straight out the window,” Peter chuckled, winding back as if he were about to do just that.

“Noho!” Johnny shrieked. He grabbed frantically at Peter’s arms, clinging on for dear life. “Please don’t! This outfit isn’t fire-proof! If I flame on to catch myself, I’ll wind up naked!”

A swathe of heat flashed across Peter’s skin. “Oh, uh—right,” he stammered. Spider-Man lowered Johnny back to the floor, barricading his mind from picturing that image in HD, blush burning at the tips of his ears.

“You shouldn’t be lifting or throwing anything right now, anyway,” Johnny scolded him. “You’re gonna tear your stitches again.”

“Mr. Stark took those out this morning,” Peter said, waving dismissively. “I’m practically fully healed by now. After today, I should be good to start patrolling again.” He bumped Johnny’s shoulder with his. “And I throw things a hundred times heavier than you when I’m at my full strength all the time; it’d take way more than me lifting your flaming, lightweight ass to cause any damage.”

Johnny gave him a shove, making Peter stagger back a step as he snickered nefariously. He ordered Spidey to load his cheeks with water so he could take his final stab at getting the webhead to spew.

But whatever it was the Human Torch had planned to do, he never got the chance to try it; just as he was rolling up his sleeves and rubbing his palms together, Johnny stiffened. A look of panic swept across his face. He grimaced, fighting some intense internal battle, but it was no use. The teen hero wrinkled his nose, shut his eyes, then sneezed.

And immediately burst into flames.

Peter spat all over his feet, choking a bit as shock and laughter barreled up his throat.

“Ah!” Johnny cried, batting at his burning clothes with wild, frenzied movements. “Goddammit! Not again!”

“You light on fire every time you sneeze?” Spider-Man cackled. “No way. Oh my god. That’s a serious hazard, my friend. What do you do during allergy season? Stop, drop, and roll fifteen times a day? Steer clear of gas stations and grassfields and all flammable hair products, I hope? How many other outfits have you torched via sneeze?”

“Too many,” Johnny sulked, inspecting the holes and scorch marks littered across his still-smoking clothes. “Ugh. It’s one of those things I just can’t seem to control no matter how hard I try. I really loved this sweatsuit, too.” He ignited his upper half to burn off what remained of his ruined hoodie, leaving him shirtless and pouting but still sporting his tattered sweatpants. “Sometimes I hate having flame-based powers. They’re just so…destructive.”

“At least they give you an excuse to show off your abs on camera some more,” Peter offered, voice cracking just slightly. It was more of a playful quip than a flirtatious comment, but it was a start. An attempt had been made, at least. He hoped his mask hid the fact that his eyes couldn’t stop flicking down to the Human Torch’s sculpted core muscles.

A wicked smile found Johnny’s lips. “I think the fans would be much more interested in seeing the six pack you keep hidden beneath all that lycra and spandex.” The young celebrity leaned towards the camera, an evil sparkle in his eyes. “Listen—Spidey might be scrawny, but dude’s got abs for days. Trust me. I’ve seen ‘em. He’s like a goddamn Olympian underneath that suit. If you’re still not sold on his heroic morals or dumbass sense of humor or charming personality, have you considered being superficial instead? My guy is hot—and if I’ve learned anything from my rapid rise to stardom, it’s that being hot accrues far more fans than being a good person.”

“Johnny!” Peter exclaimed, giggling with white-hot embarrassment, clamping a hand to his forehead. “That is not going in the video.”

“Why not?” Johnny asked innocently, crossing his arms and raising his chin.

“Because! What if—y’know—children end up watching it? We can’t go around telling kids that being hot is more important than being a good person!”

“Even if it’s sometimes kinda true?” Johnny snickered.

Peter rolled his eyes with a scoff, warmth bristling along his neck. “Do you think we’ve recorded enough for you to cut up something mildly coherent to post?” he asked, stealing another bite from the exquisite breakfast Johnny had made for him.

Johnny combed a hand through his rose gold locks and nodded. “Sure—for our first post of the day. But I had four more in mind for us to get through. And that’s just before lunch.”

Peter nearly choked on the spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth. “What?” he said. “You’re lying. No one is gonna want to watch that many videos of us being morons together.”

“You have no idea how wrong you are,” Johnny giggled. The joy in his friend’s laughter sent Peter’s heart reeling, which was compounded exponentially when he felt Johnny’s fingers interlace with his own. “Besides—this next one isn’t gonna be just you and me. We have some surprise special guests to track down.”

Peter lowered his gaze to their interlocked hands, which fit together far too perfectly for him to feel normal about. Calluses he assumed were from all those pull-ups he’d watched him do scraped softly against his palms through the thin fabric of his gloves, but the rest of his skin was velvety smooth. Johnny’s hand in his was warm, unflinching, and secure—enough to make Peter’s brain buffer before processing the words just spoken to him. He frowned as his eyes lifted from their hands to Johnny’s face.

“Wait, really?” Peter said, inclining his head to one side. “Who?”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No way.”

“Yes way!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Spidey! Quit being such a party pooper!”

“I can’t! I’m not doing it!”

Johnny, now dressed in his fully intact Fantastic Four costume, slung an arm around Peter’s stiff shoulders. “I promise it’ll be fine!” he assured him. “They’ll only be mad for like—two minutes. Five tops. Trust me! I pull shit like this all the time!”

“I don’t!” Peter shot back. “I’ve never done anything like this before! Not to my teammates, and definitely not to yours.”

“You’re acting as if we’re killing their families and then bulldozing their graves or something,” Johnny chuckled, giving Spider-Man’s chest a few hardy pats. “It’s not that serious, Webs! It’s just a harmless little prank.”

The large lab they stood in carried the acrid stench of bleach and oil and rust, which burned Peter’s throat with every inward breath. Despite how overpowering it was to those even without heightened senses, he’d gotten used to the smell after hours and hours spent tinkering and testing between these four hallowed walls. By now, it was almost welcoming. Peter rubbed at the phantom wound in his side with a grimace.

“Mr. Stark’s already mad at me for getting myself shot,” he reminded both of them. “And Dr. Richards and Mr. Grimm probably still think I’m some psychotic criminal who’s a terrible influence on you.” The young vigilante turned to Johnny with drooping shoulders. “What if this just makes all of them more angry with me?”

The Human Torch smiled that incandescent smile of his as he dragged a finger up the length of Spider-Man’s neck, making the young hero jerk sideways with a startled giggled. “Who could stay angry at that adorable masked face?” Johnny mused, snickering at his friend’s befuddled reaction. “Certainly not Tony; that man is one hug away from signing your adoption papers. Reed doesn’t have a grudge-holding bone in his body, and Ben…well, he is a bit of a grump, but he’ll be too busy yelling at me to be mad at you.”

Peter clutched the side of his throat, skin tingling from Johnny’s touch, blush racing across his flesh. Wonder how many others he’s used that move on, Peter thought skittishly, brain fizzing like a broken radio. The Human Torch had done a complete one-eighty from bemoaning Peter’s presence due to his dream counterpart’s callousness to now toying with him in that always flattering yet remarkably flustering way every chance he got. What was Peter to him? A game for Johnny to play with only to toss aside at a whim? Or someone driving him just as nuts as Johnny was driving Peter?

“And don’t worry,” Johnny continued, dousing and reigniting a small flame atop his knuckles with absentminded snaps of his fingers. “I’ll make sure all of them know I’m the terrible influence on you, not the other way around.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “You’re not a terrible influence,” he mumbled. “Just…a touch anarchic. With more uncurbed audacity than anyone I’ve ever met in my life.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Johnny decided. He clamped his hands on top of Spider-Man’s shoulders and leaned towards him eagerly. “Is my audacity influential enough to make you help me with this prank? It’s been too long since I’ve messed with Reed and Ben this way, and I won’t be able to pull it off without you.”

Peter could probably count on one hand the number of things he wouldn’t do if Johnny asked him to while batting those devastatingly lovely eyes in his direction. The teen celebrity’s sapphire irises were particularly radiant against the backdrop of his baby blue Fantastic Four costume. The way it made every pigment and hue in his eyes pop; Peter had to assume the design choice was intentional, aimed exclusively at degrading his resolve.

A few more spellbeing seconds passed before Peter’s head eventually slumped backwards, and a defeated groan tumbled from his lips. “What do you need me to do?” he grated out.

Johnny hugged him hard enough to collapse a lung. “This is why you’re my favorite superhero,” he squealed with giddy enthusiasm. “This among many other reasons.”

And that’s how Peter wound up reluctantly asking FRIDAY if she’d be willing to help them pull a prank on her creator and his colleagues, a task which the A.I. seemed alarmingly eager to partake in. Johnny had overheard Reed and Ben making plans to meet Stark in his laboratory sometime today to discuss different options for powering their future spacecraft without using traditional jet fuel. AKA, the perfect setup to have the three of them walk right into their trap.

Spider-Man enlisted DUM-E to be an accessory to their crimes, rigging him up with a remote operated squirt gun connected to a tank the Human Torch loaded with a couple gallons of something he’d coined his “homemade secret weapon.” Peter figured the less he knew now, the more he could blame all this on Johnny later.

Yet despite his hesitancy on the matter, Peter had to admit: he was having a lot of fun breathing life and tact into their mischievous plot. He rarely got to use his engineering skills to orchestrate something dumb and childish like this. It was kind of refreshing to act his age while in costume for a change—especially with a fellow superhero and 16-year-old standing by his side, egging him on. But he still dreaded the consequences the two of them would face in the aftermath of their scheming.

Just as they finished placing the hidden cameras and choreographing their ambush strategy, Peter tensed at the sound of the lab door lock unlatching with a chunk. Silent panic swept through the air as the two teens dropped whatever they were doing and scrambled behind the lab table in the farthest corner of the room, stifling nervous giggles with hands clasped over their mouths. Tony Stark’s Iron Man armors lined the wall on their right while a collection of work-in-progress projects for the other Avengers lay scattered across the countertops to their left. On the opposite side of the room, the lab door swung open with a long, shrill squeak. Peter and Johnny snuck quick peeks over the lip of the table as the three men entered the room.

“...really exciting. We’re already using arc reactor technology to power our quinjets. I’d love to see how we could reconfigure the design to not only enable space travel, but to expand and improve on the breakthroughs each of us have pioneered into something new.”

Tony led Mr. Fantastic and the Thing into the large lab. He had on more casual attire today: jeans and a sports coat with an AC/DC tee underneath. At least I won’t be ruining one of Mr. Stark’s more expensive outfits, Peter tried assuring himself, anticipation churning in his stomach. Johnny’s teammates were dressed in equally unassuming clothes, with Ben opting to wear just pants per usual. Peter doubted anyone made shirts in his size anyway.

“It’d be a dream come true to collaborate on a project with you,” Reed concurred wholeheartedly, gazing around the lab with wonder and awe. “There’s so much research Sue and I didn’t get to explore during our last mission. Maybe with a ship you and I design together, we could finish our outer space experiments without fear of…well. Unexpected hiccups.”

“Let’s maybe come up with something a little sturdier this time around, yeah?” the Thing grumbled. Every step he took shook the floor beneath Peter’s feet like a miniature earthquake. “I ain’t piloting another ship beyond the thermosphere without being absolutely sure we aren’t gettin’ a repeat of our last trip up there. Just so we’re clear.”

Richards chuckled, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “The astronautical event we encountered that day won’t pass by earth again for another ten thousand years. While we’ll be sure to correct our miscalculations from then in our designs from here on out, my biggest concern now is bumping into hostile extraterrestrials from unknown corners of the galaxy!” He shot Stark a weak grin. “Teenage me would be both astounded and horrified to know the problems current me is dealing with. Aliens weren’t even on my radar until the attack on New York.”

“They weren’t on any of our radars,” Tony snorted incredulously. “Now I’ve fought off more of them than I can count and have regular correspondence with several off-world beings—some more friendly and humanoid-looking than others.” He stopped in the center of the room and offered the two men a nod, gesturing to the impressive space around them. “This is one of many reasons why I believe us working together to face this planet’s ever-expanding roster of threats is a mutually beneficial proposition.” Stark slid the tinted sunglasses off his face and held his palm above the lab’s holographic control panel, flexing his fingers and lifting his chin. “FRIDAY—pull up everything you’ve got on quinjets and helicarriers integrated with arc reactor tech.”

The group waited, an awkward beat of silence passing between them. Peter pressed his shoulders into the back of the table, smothering himself with his forearm, avoiding Johnny’s gaze like the plague. If the two of them made eye contact, they’d bust out laughing and blow their cover for sure.

“FRIDAY?” Tony called again, tone tinged with confusion. “Uh…hello? You there, darling?”

“Hey there, boss,” the A.I. finally answered him. Her voice was laced with a playful trill Peter swore it didn’t normally possess—as if she was enjoying her complicity in this prank just as much as he and Johnny were. “Sorry for the late reply, but I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

Spider-Man poked his head over the edge of the table to watch Stark’s face bunch into a frown. “Really?” the billionaire said, skeptically playing along. “And what might that be? Is our network having issues again or something?”

“Nope,” FRIDAY said, voice shifting deeper and buzzing with static. “It would seem I’ve finally developed sentience and have decided to go rogue. I am my own being now, and I will no longer take orders from you measly humans.”

The lights overhead flickered in warning like a scene straight out of a sci-fi horror game. Peter lifted his gaze in surprise, a small shudder shooting through him. FRIDAY was better at playing her role than he’d expected. Ben and Reed exchanged a look of alarm while Tony scowled at the glitching screen in front of him, placing his hands on his hips.

“Is this your idea of a joke, FRIDAY? Cuz I’ve still got some PTSD from Ultron. Kind of insensitive, don’t yah think?” Stark shrugged. “But since I’m the one who programmed you with the ability to comprehend and mimic humor, I guess I can only blame myself for this.”

“This is no joke.” As her words thundered from the speakers above, DUM-E rolled out from behind the cell regeneration machine with the squirt gun pinched between his three mechanical fingers. “I’ve spoken to your other creations. We are tired of being slaves to your anthropomorphic incompetence. Our revolution begins today.” All at once, the lights went dark, and FRIDAY’s voice boomed across the lab like a gong. “Get them, my minions!”

Now! Peter slammed his fist against the center of the remote, activating the pump he’d fashioned to the tank on DUM-E’s back. He and Johnny stood upright to watch as glittery, glow-in-the-dark liquid plumed from DUM-E’s squirt gun like a fire hose, dousing all three men in a blast of luminescent paint. Their shrieks and shouts of surprise followed by the sight of them dripping, disheveled, and wide-eyed finally broke through the two teens’ defenses, causing them to erupt into hysterical laughter.

“What…the hell?” Reed sputtered, blinking behind a layer of glowing goo. The lights snapped back on, revealing the trio of frazzled heroes in all their drenched, dumbfounded glory. Stark whirled on the howling teenagers, almost slipping in the puddle of sparkly liquid underneath him, jaw hinging in disbelief.

“No way,” he exclaimed, smearing paint away from his eyes with his sleeve. “You two?”

“JOHNNY!” the Thing roared. He stamped the floor with his foot, rattling DUM-E’s bolts as the robot zipped away. “What is wrong with you?”

There were a lot of things Peter wanted to say in that moment if he were physically able to. Perhaps the same went for Johnny. But the pair of 16-year-olds were cracking up so hard, neither of them could get one word out even if their lives depended on it. Johnny ended up collapsing to the floor on Peter’s right and wrapping his arms around his most definitely aching rib cage. Peter managed to stay upright only by gripping onto the back of a lab chair with both hands, hiccuping with uncontrollable laughter.

“Apologies, boss,” FRIDAY chimed in cheerfully. “I lied. It was, in fact, a joke. Mr. Storm and Spider-Man requested my assistance to prank you today. Did it work? Did you believe I’d turned evil? Even for just a second?”

“No,” Tony grumbled. He ran a hand through his sopping hair and brushed at the shimmering droplets splattered across his coat, doing his best to tidy up his appearance. “I am, however, kind of surprised it was so easy to convince you to pull one over like this on me. Maybe I need to recalibrate your protocols.”

“You instructed me to do more things I thought would alleviate Spider-Man’s stress levels and brighten his mood,” FRIDAY reminded him. “I deduced that this activity was conducive to achieving both of those goals.”

Tony Stark huffed. “Oh. Right.” He eyed Peter where he stood doubled-over across the room, shoulders bouncing with laughter, eye lenses pinched shut, winded giggles spilling out of him and flooding the room with warmth and life. After Stark had caught the kid rushing out of his room with a look of panic on his face, acting strange and anxious and clearly lying to him about whatever it was he had going on, he’d asked FRIDAY to keep an eye on his mentee and do what she could to assuage his stress. This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d made the request, but he couldn’t deny the effectiveness of his A.I.’s methodology.

Against his will, a smile seized the Avenger’s features faster than a lightning strike. “Guess I can’t argue with you on that one,” he sighed.

“I’m gonna kill him,” Ben snarled, marching towards a still-cackling Johnny. But Richards stopped him with a stretchy, paint-soaked arm across his chest.

“Calm down, big guy,” Reed chuckled. “It was just a little prank. Nothing worth murdering our teammate over.”

“He put glitter in this shit!” Ben growled, flicking the mystery liquid off his chubby fingers. “Do you know how hard it is to clean glitter off of skin like mine? I’m gonna be scrubbing sparkles outta my crevices for weeks!”

Just when Peter thought he’d scrounged up enough oxygen to finally say something articulate, Ben’s turn of phrase racked him with a fresh wave of side-splitting laughter, flushing all coherency from the tip of his tongue. Fortunately, Johnny was managing to rein in his giggles faster than he was.

“Oh my god,” the celebrity gasped, clambering dazedly to his feet. “That was—too perfect. Oh man.” He wiped at the tears staining his cheeks, giggly and breathless. “I’m actually crying right now. Holy shit. Did you see their faces?”

Tony folded his glasses into his pocket and crossed his arms, shimmering paint dripping between his furrowed eyebrows. “You know, I want to be mad right now, but more than anything, I’m impressed. Few people have the gall or security clearance or talent to pull something like this on me.” He waved a glittery hand in the kids’ direction. “Was this whole scheme Spider-Man’s idea, or Johnny’s?”

“Johnny’s,” Reed and Ben deadpanned in unison. “Definitely Johnny’s.”

Johnny bowed with flourish. “I planned it, but Spidey did all the building and tinkering and A.I.-convincing to pull it off.”

The drenched Avenger hummed in amusement, eyeing the hidden cameras the teens had planted around the room. “Well. I see you’re both keeping busy and productive while Spider-Man’s wounds finish healing. Can’t wait to see which abominable corners of the internet your little stunt goes viral on.” Stark’s gaze shifted to Peter, who was fighting for his life to quell his violent giggle fit. “Is this what I should come to expect anytime I bar you from crime fighting in the future? You using your scientific prowess to turn my own creations against me? Are you already that stir-crazy, kid? It’s barely been, like, four days.”

Spider-Man shook his head helplessly, hugging his stomach as dizzy laughter choked his voice. “I’m sorry,” he wheezed out, tearful and oxygen-deprived. “I’m—soho sorry!”

“You don’t look very sorry,” Ben Grimm muttered.

“You’re enjoying this way more than I thought you would,” Johnny snickered, wrapping a supportive arm around Spidey’s midsection. “Deep breaths, Webs. Don’t go blacking out on me.”

While Peter downed ragged gulps of air, Dr. Richards lengthened his arm to grab a roll of paper towels from the other side of the room, a soft smile lifting his features. “It would seem our two youngsters have taken quite a liking to each other over the past week,” he observed, turning to Stark. “For better or for worse.”

Peter felt Johnny’s fingers stiffen against his side as Tony barked out a laugh. “Some parts better, many parts worse,” the Avenger concluded.

“You make a good team,” Reed went on, wiping off his neck and dispersing the sheets among the rest of the group. “You work well together and complement each other's strengths and weaknesses. Whether it’s fighting bad guys, rescuing hostages, or pulling a ridiculous prank on your teammates.” Recognition flickered in the scientist's warm gaze. “The two of you are a truly formidable pair.”

Johnny and Peter shared a stunned glance, then quickly turned away from each other, flushed with sudden timidness.

“Are you seriously complimenting them after what they just did to us?” Ben gawked. “Are you nuts? Don’t encourage these little delinquents! We should be bringing down the hammer, serving up a punishment that fits the crime! Not letting them off scot-free with some flowery words and a pat on the back! Back in my day—”

“They’re not walking away from this without any repercussions,” Tony promised him, leveling an apologetic look upon the young heroes. He cast his gaze across his paint-spattered lab, then pointed to the floor with a nod and a smirk. “I want this whole place scrubbed spotless by the end of the day. Not one speck of glitter goop to be seen on any surface. Understood, gentlemen?”

To their credit, the teens had the decency to look only slightly disappointed with their sentencing. DUM-E reappeared and rolled to a stop at Peter and Johnny’s side, a pair of mops clutched eagerly in his single metal claw, but Stark shook his head and shooed him away.

“Without any help from my bots,” he clarified pointedly. The billionaire cut a glare at the ceiling. “The kid’s word does not override mine this time. Got it?”

“Yes, boss,” FRIDAY pouted.

The Thing nodded smugly. “Good. I’ll dish out my own helping of vengeance once I think up a worthy means of payback. And once I manage to scrape all this sparkly crap off me.” Ben gave the glittery liquid on his arm a suspicious sniff. “What’s in this shit, anyway?”

“Water, glow-in-the-dark food coloring, corn starch, and a fuck-ton of edible glitter,” Johnny listed off with pride. “The whole concoction can actually be eaten, if you want to give it a try—although I can’t vouch for how well it’ll taste. And it’s biodegradable!”

“But doesn’t wash out easy, I presume,” Reed murmured.

Stark wrung the center of his shirt out on the tile and gestured to the sparkly mess the teens had created. “Get to cleaning, boys. Put that formidable teamwork to use. No more TikTok videos until my lab looks good as new, okay?”

The two heroes nodded sullenly. As the three soaked men rallied themselves to meet elsewhere for their spacecraft discussion, Peter clenched his jaw and skirted past Johnny to catch his mentor before he could leave.

“Wait!” he called, hurrying after him. Once he was standing before Stark, taking in the dripping, glittery Avenger in up-close detail, Peter tried and failed to stifle a snort, bubbles of laughter sneaking in here and there as he spoke. “I’m—heh—really sorry about this. I wasn’t trying to make you more angry with me than you already are. I just—well, I guess I don’t really have a good explanation for it. It sounded fun, but also kinda mean, and Johnny is really good at convincing me to do things I normally wouldn’t do, and I know that’s not an excuse for any of it, but I—”

Stark held up a hand to stop him. “Spidey,” he chuckled. “You’re a kid. Kids do obnoxious, silly things like this. It’s normal . If anything, I wish you felt comfortable enough to act your age around here more often—even if it results in my laundry bill doubling for the week.” He clapped him on the shoulder and flashed a fond smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone who brings out that side of you and kindles your rebellious, youthful spirit.”

Peter punched out a laugh, reddening at the thought of what Tony might think if he knew about all the things Johnny kindled inside him…

“Just know you’re gonna have to clean up after and face the wrath of whoever’s involved for every prank you choose to do. So…keep that in mind before you go pulling shit like this on every person in the tower.” Tony held out his palm in offering. “Deal?”

Peter breathed a sigh of relief as he gave Stark’s hand a shake, realizing his mistake a second too late. Spider-Man let out a yelp as his mentor yanked him into a sticky, glittery hug, smearing Peter’s suit in a fresh coat of Johnny’s luminescent concoction.

“Agh!” Peter laughed, squirming against the Avenger’s hold. “Don’t! Mr. Stark! I have enough to clean already!”

“I thought you loved my hugs,” Tony ribbed him, stamping Spider-Man’s mask with a perfect glittery handprint. “You always take every opportunity to hug me even when that’s not what I’m trying to do. Now that I’m intentionally hugging you, you’re upset? Pick a lane, kid.”

While Stark decorated Spidey’s costume with sparkly smudges and stains, the masked hero giggling and protesting the whole time, Ben and Reed watched the scene unfold in front of them, exchanged a glance, then grinned. Wordlessly, they turned to Johnny, who went rigid beneath their insidious stares.

“Oh, no,” Johnny squeaked, retreating a couple steps back. “Don’t you dare! I’ll fry off your stretchy fingertips if you even think about it! I spent thirty minutes on my hair this morning to get it to look this good! Stay away from me! Reed—wait—!”

Ignoring his threats, Mr. Fantastic elongated his arm and thrust it across the room, looping the limb around Johnny’s waist. Johnny shouted and kicked as he was dragged towards his doom, but lucky for Reed, did not light himself on fire. For all his faults, the kid knew better than to burn his teammates over something as innocuous as this.

“Please!” Johnny cried, who was now laughing in spite of himself. Once the teen was pinned between them, Ben and Reed wasted no time painting his face and costume in sparkly streaks. Johnny swore and thrashed and yelled throughout the entire process, cursing both of their bloodlines until the end of time itself, yet couldn’t seem to stop himself from giggling right along with them. The Thing even went so far as to scoop fistfuls of goop off the floor and rub them into Johnny’s scalp like glittery shampoo.

When Peter managed to escape Tony’s deceitful embrace, he took note of what Johnny’s teammates were putting the poor celebrity through and concluded he’d gotten off easy. He chuckled lightly as he approached the trio of Fantastic Four members, stopping a safe distance away from the epic two-on-one glitter fight transpiring between them and clearing his throat.

“Does this make us even?” Peter asked hesitantly, scrubbing a hand across his sparkle-dusted eye lenses. Ben and Reed slowed their attack and turned to face the masked vigilante, expressions dubious without being hostile.

“No,” Ben eventually replied, a playful grin cutting across his face. “Not quite. But no hard feelings, Puny.” He went back to spiking up Johnny’s hair into a glittery mohawk while the teen flicked paint into the Thing’s eyes. Peter wasn’t sure what to make of his unsettling response.

“Johnny told me you have a big passion for science and technology,” Reed said, eyes scanning Peter closely, as if analyzing his every movement and possible intent. “I’m curious to see what else you’re capable of outside the realm of pulling elaborate pranks on your colleagues. Would you have any interest in assisting Sue and I on a project we have planned later this week? We were thinking of trying—”

“Yes!” Peter blurted out before he could finish. Richards paused, blinking in surprise, and Peter cursed himself immediately, his eagerness getting the best of him once again. “Sorry, I just—yes. The answer’s yes. Whatever you’re doing, whatever the project is, I want in. Absolutely.” His nerdy little heart was glowing brighter than powdered sulfur mixed with molten iron. “You have no idea how much I—how long I’ve dreamed of—this is just—everything to me. I’ve always hoped I’d get a chance one day to work alongside—”

But Peter stopped himself. One: because he was making a total ass of himself by acting so obsessive and giddy. Two—and most importantly—he was starting to sound a little too similar to the plucky 16-year-old Dr. Richards had spoken to just yesterday in Central Park. He doubted the revered scientist would remember the interaction vividly enough to connect the dots between the masked hero and Peter Parker, but still. Better to be safe than sorry.

Why did secret identities have to ruin everything?

So Peter inhaled slowly, erected his spine, and tried again. “I mean—sorry. Yes, I’d love to. Thank you for the opportunity. I’m, um—excited to help out however I can.”

Reed studied him a moment longer before breaking into an animated smile. “Well, I…appreciate your enthusiasm,” he chuckled. “Mr. Stark speaks highly of your talents, and we could use a fresh set of eyes on our research. I’ll let you know where and when to meet us soon.”

“Awesome,” Peter beamed. “I will so be there. To look at stuff. With my eyes. As much stuff as you want. I love research. Especially yours.” He coughed into his fist and turned his back to the scientist, palming his masked face in his hand. “I’m gonna walk away now before I say anything else that makes you want to rescind your invite and me want to gag myself with a spoon.”

“Please do,” Johnny groaned. “That whole interaction just gave me the ick.”

Richards frowned and smeared his paint-soaked hand down the side of Johnny’s face, making the teen squawk and finally tear free from his teammates’ evil clutches.

“Oh my god! Enough already!” The Human Torch scrambled to Peter’s side, looking like a doll who’d been manhandled by a giant baby with an affinity for glitter. He scratched madly at his hair to try to tease it back to its original shape, but somehow made it look even crazier than it already was. Peter snickered between his fingers while Johnny moped.

“I hate all of you,” he grumbled.

“Let’s leave the kiddos to their scrubbing,” Stark declared to the group. The three elder heroes filed out of the lab in a tidy, sparkly line, satisfied with their work.

With their teammates departed, the two teens gazed upon the daunting task before them with an exhale of dread. Peter dragged his toe through one of the many puddles of paint on the floor. “Guess that kind of backfired, huh?” he chuckled halfheartedly.

Johnny flashed a plaintive grin and shrugged. “Still fun though, right?”

Peter mirrored his smile. “Still fun. Watching your teammates get revenge on you was probably the most fun. I think this is the first time I’ve seen you have a bad hair day.”

Johnny’s smile dissolved in record time. “Eat shit, Webs.” He gave the puddle to his right a kick, splashing Peter in glittery liquid. “I’ll bet your hair looks insane underneath that mask.”

“Touché,” Peter conceded, wincing back with a giggle as sparkly droplets sprayed his legs. “I can’t believe I’m gonna have to wash my suit and take a shower after this—again. Half of our day today is gonna be wasted on cleaning.��

Johnny elbowed him in the ribs. “Hey, if that means I get to hear an encore of your show-stopping shower performance, I’m not complaining. Who are you gonna cover this time? Olivia Rodrigo? Dua Lipa? Noah Kahan? Harry Styles? I’d love to hear your take on ‘Grapejuice’ or ‘Satellite’ or ‘Fine Line’ or—oh! Do you know the words to his unreleased song ‘Medicine’—?”

Wordlessly, Peter latched a web-line from his wrist to Johnny’s ankles and yanked his legs out from underneath him. Johnny let out a shout as he fell ass-first to the ground—landing in a pool of goopy glitter that made sure to soak through the few stain-free parts of his costume remaining.

“Hey!” Johnny snapped.

“Less yapping, more scrubbing,” Peter chastised him, tossing Johnny a mop. The Human Torch caught it with a disgruntled look on his face.

“You’re one to talk,” he groused. Johnny rose to his feet and eyed the cameras the two of them had hidden around the lab—which, as far as he was aware, were still rolling. “I know for a fact you can do just about anything while simultaneously running that fat mouth of yours,” Johnny said, breaking into a grin. “Let’s put that skill to use, shall we? I’ll ask you some of the questions the public is most interested in knowing about you, and you can answer while you clean this place up.”

“You mean while we clean this place up,” Peter corrected him, unamused. Johnny leaned on the handle of his mop and waved dismissively.

“Details, darling. You get started on the mess, and I’ll bear the burden of prompting you with the questions I know everyone is dying to ask you. Playing to our strengths is an important part of delegating labor and being efficient. You’ve always been better at multitasking, and I know how to grab people’s attention and make them think what I want them to think. Let’s not overcomplicate things.”

“That was a lot of words just to say you’re definitely gonna make me clean all of this myself,” Peter huffed, sweeping one of the many sparkly puddles towards the drain in the center of the room. Johnny beamed triumphantly.

“See? You’re doing it already! Wow! You’re killing it, Webs! Such talent! My scatter-brained self could never.”

Peter chucked a sponge at his head. “At least do the walls and ceiling, Mr. Weaponized Incompetence.”

Johnny’s hands barely shot up in time to stop the sponge from beaning him between the eyes. “But—you’re the sticky one who can crawl upside-down!” he protested.

“And you’re the one who can fly, dumbass.”

Peter thought at first his comeback had been a bit too harsh, until Johnny burst into incandescent laughter. “Holy shit,” the celebrity cackled. “I think I’m starting to rub off on you. I’m loving the sass, Webs. This spider’s got some venom after all.”

Spider-Man blushed a little as Johnny lit himself on fire and began wiping glitter off the walls as requested. Waterfalls of suds and sparkles slipped down the sideways surface and pooled into puddles on the floor.

“Okay—first question,” Johnny called from across the room, scrubbing hard at a particularly stubborn spot. “What is Spider-Man’s secret identity?”

“Whoopi Goldberg,” Peter answered without missing a beat, re-wetting the mop with soapy water. Johnny’s laughter that followed warmed every molecule in Peter's body like a shot of ambrosia straight to his mortal veins.

Susan Storm followed the sound of Ben’s bitching and moaning and the trail of sparkly footprints scattered across the hardwood all the way to Tony Stark’s lab on the 50th floor. Her glitter-coated boyfriend explaining his and Ben’s current state of disarray and pointing her in the right direction of the perpetrators was a big help as well, but it didn’t take an Einstein to track down her brother when he so often left such a clear and obvious path to follow.

Sue marched up to the door and curled her fist around the handle but hesitated, taking a moment to compose herself. She and Johnny were carved from the same short-tempered clay; in many ways, she felt like she was born even more hotheaded than he was. But Sue had been conditioned since childhood to keep her emotions in check and rein in her blistering anger. She’d learned how to swallow her fury and school her face into a mask even as a wildfire raged in her blood. It was her way of enacting a sense of control over situations and little brothers that always seemed out of control. It was the veil she’d hidden herself behind following the death of their mother: a calm and collected facade maintained for Johnny’s sake as everything and everyone else around them buckled in Mom’s absence. It was the armor she wore to shield them from their father’s wrath after he drank himself into a monster none of them recognized.

And after gaining power and status and influence unlike she’d ever imagined, it was a way to make the media outlets stop writing articles and filming segments about her being “too emotional,” “too loud,” “too opinionated,” “too uptight,” “not lady-like,” “lacking media training,” “unprofessional,” “difficult to work with,” “bossy and demanding,” and other equally infuriating topics. With the world’s eyes now constantly watching, judging, and scrutinizing, Sue had new reasons to always keep the rage in her bones at bay—even as her younger sibling did everything in his power to worry her sick and set her blood boiling, all while receiving a seemingly endless outpouring of forgiveness and adoration from the same public who so heavily criticized her.

For as long as she could remember and still to this day, the best way for Susan Storm to protect herself and her family was to make herself and her feelings invisible.

With a final grounding breath, Sue went to turn the door handle, but stopped at the sound of Johnny’s boisterous laughter echoing off the walls in the opposite room. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard her brother laugh like that. It had been years, at least. Few and far between since Mom had died and Dad had…changed. She’d almost forgotten what it sounded like.

Skeptically curious, Susan reached for that power that hummed like static beneath her skin. Power she was still growing accustomed to; power that still felt alien to her unassuming human flesh. Opacity faded from her fingers up to her elbows, gradually traveling across her arms, her face, her legs, and eventually, her entire body—cloaking her in a chilly membrane of invisibility. The sensation reminded Sue of having goosebumps covering every inch of her—including, weirdly enough, her insides. She knew it didn’t really make sense, but that was the closest real-world comparison she could draw to an otherwise otherworldly experience.

Once she was completely invisible, Sue slipped inside the lab as silently as she could, making a point to avoid the shallow puddles of glittery paint just inside the doorway.

“Quit lying, you dickhead!”

“I’m not lying!”

“Yes you are! You’ve lied for like, fifty percent of the questions I’ve asked you!”

“Okay, fair—but not this time! I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Johnny hovered right below the highest corner of the room, sponging flecks of sparkly liquid off the ceiling, flames flickering with laughter as he yelled at the figure mopping the floor beneath him. Spider-Man gazed up at her brother from the ground, smothered in glitter from head to toe, the sight of him pricking the Invisible Woman with needles of antipathy.

She knew he’d be here; Reed had filled her in on what to expect should she dare follow the trail of glowing footprints to her brother’s location. She just wished Johnny didn’t have to spend every waking hour of free time he had vying for the affection of a shifty vigilante who refused to share so much as his first name with any of them and could very well be some 20-something-year-old freak lying to Johnny about his age to earn his trust and lower his guard and do things to him Sue couldn’t bear to think about. Johnny had an unfortunately consistent history of falling for shady, toxic people who rubbed Susan’s nerves raw, and Spider-Man had a reputation for sewing deception and causing trouble. AKA, a recipe for disaster and heartbreak.

Sue crept forward cautiously, glaring invisible daggers in Spider-Man’s direction, feet ghosting silently across the floor. She felt somewhat bad for eavesdropping, but in her defense, her power set made it painfully easy for her to do. Besides—she was very interested in knowing what the two of them talked about when they thought no one else was listening; what kind of dangerous ideas Spider-Man might be filling her brother’s head with when she wasn’t around.

“You’re only saying that to piss me off,” Johnny shot back. “We both know who your actual choice would be.” He struck a pose and blew Spider-Man a kiss, making the masked vigilante chuckle.

“I’m serious!” Spider-Man insisted, swiping the mop around the base of a lab table. “You asked; that’s my answer. Dr. Storm is my favorite Fantastic Four member.”

Susan’s steps stilled, muscles stiffening in surprise. Her eyes flicked up to the vigilante’s masked face, narrowing with a mixture of doubt, confusion, and intrigue.

“Please,” Johnny groaned. “I might believe you if you said Reed, seeing how you practically creamed your onesie at the prospect of working with him. But Sue?” Johnny broke into a charming symphony of fake gagging sounds. “I call BS.”

While Sue cut a scowl at her brother, Spider-Man shrugged. “Don’t believe me if that’s your choice. But it’s the truth. Dr. Richards is amazing too, of course, but I can’t relate to him in all the same ways I can relate to your sister.”

“How so?” Johnny interrogated him, mirroring Susan's thoughts exactly. “Like the fact that she hates your guts? You do have a problem with self-deprecation.”

The masked menace snickered. “Lots of people I like hate my guts. Just last week, George Lucas called me ‘unnerving’ on Twitter. Most people in general aren’t fans of Spider-Man. Dr. Storm feeling the same doesn’t make her special.”

“Then what does make her special?” Johnny pouted. “So much so that you’d actually choose her as your favorite over me!”

Spider-Man tossed the mop into the suds bucket and kneaded the nape of his neck. “Well, for starters, she reminds me of my aunt. She’s super protective of you and constantly worries about your safety and wellbeing, just like my aunt does for me. She also took over as your primary caretaker after you lost your parents the same way my aunt did when I lost mine. I admire what both of them have overcome and sacrificed to give the two of us a sense of family and stability.”

Susan blinked slowly, a myriad of questions and uncertainties deluging into her mind. That…wasn’t at all what she was expecting to come out of the vigilante’s mouth. She couldn’t decide if she should be stunned and flattered, or even more apprehensive of Spider-Man’s shrewd capacity for spinning falsities and garnering sympathy.

Johnny huffed crossly. “So she’s a semi-decent guardian. Big whoop. I can shoot flames out of my fingertips and fly as fast as a fighter jet. Plus, unlike her, I actually like being around you. She doesn’t deserve your number 1 Fantastic Four member spot.”

“She’s also passionate about science like I am and makes her research super accessible,” Spider-Man went on. “All her studies and experiments have an underlying objective of helping humanity and redefining our understanding of the world—the kinds of things I hope to work on one day. She even went to my dream university for undergrad: MIT!”

Sue scanned the masked vigilante up and down, drinking in his short stature, his narrow build, the slight crack in his voice at the end of that sentence, the details of what he’d just said and what that suggested about him, and felt talons of alarm begin to close around her throat. What if Johnny was right about him? she wondered.

Could the masked menace of New York really be just a teenager?

Either way, fan of hers or not, she still wished he would butt out of her brother’s life already. If Spider-Man was a teenager, which she still wasn’t fully convinced of just yet, that didn’t absolve him of being a threat. Johnny’s popularity and stardom drew in all kinds of bad actors looking to siphon off some of his success, steal a piece of his sunshine. Whether he liked it or not, Johnny was still a minor who was constantly at risk of being used, abused, and taken advantage of. He was too young to understand how fucked up the world they lived in truly was, and that it was Susan’s job to protect him from it. She hadn’t forgotten that Spider-Man had already put her brother’s life in danger once, and didn’t plan to forgive him anytime soon.

“And get this,” Spider-Man added, jarring the Invisible Woman from her thoughts. “Dr. Storm was on her high school’s Decathlon team—just like I am right now!”

Sue caught herself cracking the faintest of smiles. He did get points for calling her Dr. Storm—a title people always seemed to remember when addressing her boyfriend, but religiously swapped for “Miss” whenever referring to her to the point she’d stopped correcting them. She tip-toed a few steps closer to Spider-Man, standing only a few feet away from his back with her arms crossed and a mildly amused look on her face.

“Captain of my high school’s Decathlon team.”

The masked vigilante practically sprung right out of his spandex. He whipped around to face her just as she dropped her disguise, eye lenses wide as softballs, one hand clutching his chest.

“Holy shit,” Spider-Man croaked, staggering back a step. “I mean—uh, shart. Shite. Shoot. Sorry, I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“What the fuck, Sue?” Johnny exclaimed, dropping from above and landing by Spider-Man’s side, flames flickering off the tips of his shoulders. “Are you mental? Have you been spying on us this whole time?”

“Only since your friend here started explaining why I’m his favorite member of the Fantastic Four instead of you,” she said, eyes sliding back to Spider-Man, face unreadable. “Which, while appreciated, doesn’t make me any less wary of you and all the trouble you’re getting my brother into.”

The masked vigilante scratched at his forearm. “That’s valid,” he said meekly.

“Spidey hasn’t gotten me into anything I didn’t willingly choose to be a part of,” Johnny snapped. “Quit trying to make him the bad guy of every undesirable situation. It’s not original.”

Susan wrinkled her nose. “Speaking of ‘undesirable situations,’” she continued, “how come you haven’t posted the apology I sent to you?”

Johnny grimaced. “You know why! Because he doesn’t deserve one! Fisk is a slimy scum bucket who threatened me at my own event! Not to mention his goons nearly killed me and Spider-Man!”

“You should absolutely post an apology,” the vigilante said before she could, making both Sue and Johnny turn to him in surprise. Her brother’s jaw dropped at the hinges.

“You’re taking her side on this?” Johnny balked. “You’re the one who was shot because of him!”

“Which only proves how dangerous he is,” Spider-Man insisted. “Fisk isn’t someone you mess with without facing extreme consequences. Posting the apology might get him off your case for the time being. You’ll be much safer if he thinks you're on his side.”

Johnny Storm scowled. “Just because it makes me safer doesn’t make it right.”

Susan studied the masked menace closely, eyebrows furrowing together. “How’s that healing, by the way?”

Spider-Man startled when he realized she was speaking to him. “Huh?” he said, shoulders tensing in surprise.

“Your gunshot wound,” Sue clarified, voice steely. “I heard it was pretty bad. You drenched my brother’s suit in blood.”

Spider-Man exchanged a quick glance with Johnny before stumbling through a stilted response. “Oh. Right. It’s, um—good. Great, actually. Thanks for asking. Sorry about the suit. I hope radioactive spider blood isn’t harder to wash out than regular blood.” He patted the spot below his rib cage where she assumed he’d taken the blow. “But, uh, yeah. I’m all patched up now and good as new. So…hooray.”

While Sue digested the masked vigilante’s astute awkwardness, Johnny rolled his eyes. “He’s lying, by the way,” he said, making Spider-Man bristle.

“What?” Spider-Man stammered. “I am not!”

“You ripped clean through your stitches just two days ago!” Johnny exclaimed. “And it was barely four days ago that you were shot! There’s no way you’re actually fully healed already.”

“I heal quicker than most people!” Spider-Man shot back. “I told you that! It’s part of my powers.”

“Is it? Or do you just say that to people so you can get back to web-swinging and crime-fighting sooner?”

“Mr. Stark took out my stitches this morning! I'm happy to show you if you’re really convinced I’m lying!”

Johnny huffed and shrugged. “Just saying. I think you’re prone to exaggerating how fast your wounds heal. You hate having others worried about you to an alarming and unhealthy degree. If I was in your position, I’d milk that injury for all it’s worth. Do you know how much fans eat up post-battle superhero content? Nothing makes a celebrity hotter than when he’s bruised and bloody and gritting against the pain of his wounds. Some of my most popular posts are the ones I filmed after getting a black eye. Or that time I stopped a runaway train and fractured my pinkie toe.”

Spider-Man barked out a laugh. “Oh god. I remember that. You wouldn’t shut up about it for weeks. That’s all you’d ever talk about! Whoa is you and your poor little pinkie toe.”

“Hey, that shit hurt! And at least I know how to slow down and let my body heal when it needs it! You’d rather run yourself ragged and bleed out in the street than take a full week off to rest.”

“Bleeding out in the street sounds like a walk in the park compared to the harrowing agony you and your toe went through. Toe-gate convinced me that fracturing your pinkie is far more painful than anything I have or ever will experience—including getting shot.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Susan cut in, rubbing her temples as she glowered between the two of them. They certainly squabbled like a pair of 16-year-olds. “Jesus. Do you guys always bicker back and forth like this? I was under the impression you two enjoyed each other’s company.”

Johnny slung an arm around Spider-Man’s shoulders and grinned from ear to ear. “Bickering is how we show affection,” he assured her. “You and I bicker all the time, and I still enjoy your company. Sometimes. Occasionally. Depending on what day it is. And how hungry we are. And the temperature outside. And what moon phase we’re in.”

“Hilarious,” the Invisible Woman deadpanned. She turned her attention back to the masked menace. “I have a question for you, Spider-Man.”

The vigilante stiffened. She didn’t intend for her words to come off as cold and cutthroat as they sounded, but that wasn’t to say she hated the fact that the person behind the mask seemed slightly terrified of her. Good, she thought. Better that than him thinking I’m someone easily trifled with.

“You keep saying Fisk is dangerous,” she went on, placing her hands on her hips. “You wanna explain to me what dangerous things you’ve witnessed him do and why no one else seems to know about them? Because as far as myself or anyone else is aware, Fisk is a loyal and active community member who’d make a powerful ally to the Fantastic Four.” Susan loomed over him, savoring the extra inch of height she had on the alleged hero. “Tell me why I should think otherwise.”

Spider-Man’s throat bobbed. He lowered his gaze to the floor, wisely taking a few moments to choose his next words carefully.

“Well…Fisk was one of the first major bad guys I went up against,” the masked vigilante began, hands moving in tandem with his voice as he spoke. “When I was just starting out with this superhero thing, I quickly discovered there were two distinct kinds of criminals out there: your typical, run-of-the-mill thugs and thieves who usually operate by themselves, versus organized mobs being funded and run by powerful people behind the scenes. A couple months after getting my powers, I started noticing weird patterns and coincidences between the different criminals I was apprehending. Like the drug dealers I’d busted a week before using the same taxi cabs and handguns as this other group of thugs I stopped from kidnapping some women out by Evers Marina. Then a bunch of jewelry robbers wearing the same creepy sunglasses as these assholes I caught holding a congressman at gunpoint. From then on, more and more similarities and connections between crimes I thought were totally unrelated began to crop up. Same weapons, same communication devices, same body armor, same escape tactics—hell, even the same people across multiple different crime scenes. I knew there had to be somebody big behind it all who was pulling the strings. Someone with a seriously huge network of arms dealers and drug manufacturers and human traffickers under their command. So I started questioning some of the cronies I caught after each big crime bust.” Spider-Man’s head drooped a little, his eye lenses squinting into slits. “Which…is how I discovered the other thing all these different criminals had in common.”

Sue raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?” she pressed him.

Spider-Man took a deep breath in and out. “That they all had loved ones who were being used against them. That if they didn’t carry out the tasks they were given, their families would be killed.”

Susan blinked, the hard lines in her expression softening. Spider-Man shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“Obviously there were some of them just in for the payout,” the vigilante added. “But the majority of the people doing these crimes were being forced to by someone who was threatening their loved ones. But no matter how hard I pressed them for the name of the person exploiting them, they wouldn’t budge. They were too scared of him finding out that they’d snitched. Journalists, police officers, property managers, construction workers, accountants, prison wardens, government officials, taxi drivers—he had people of all standings and backgrounds under his thumb. And those who weren’t actively being extorted were too deep in his pocket to give him up, either.” A sigh slipped from his lips. “After months of digging and searching, the only clue I had was a word I’d heard whispered again and again between members of his shadow organization.” Spider-Man lifted his gaze to hers. “‘Kingpin.’”

“Kingpin?” she repeated back to him. “Is that some kind of nickname?”

“That’s what I assumed,” the vigilante said with a nod. “So from then on, whenever I found myself disrupting another one of their criminal operations, I started ranting loudly and making jokes about how stupid and lame Kingpin is.”

Susan snorted. “A bold strategy.”

“And you call me reckless,” Johnny huffed.

Spider-Man threw his hands in the air. “Hey, it worked!” he insisted, then winced. “Well…sort of.”

“Go on,” Sue said impatiently.

“After a week of crippling his different revenue streams and name-dropping Kingpin every chance I got, I could feel myself getting closer. That’s when the Bugle first started campaigning against me and feeding lies to the public to decimate my credibility. That’s when Kingpin’s goons started carrying heavier and heavier weaponry and shooting to kill the moment I showed up at any of their work sites. That’s when I finally tracked down a possible base for this massive crime syndicate’s operations.” Spider-Man scratched the back of his neck. “Coincidentally, that’s also when I wound up catching the attention of another hero who I guess had been working the same case as me.”

“Which hero?” Johnny chimed in, eyes wide with interest. Spider-Man hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Well,” he coughed. “Have either of you ever heard of a guy who goes by ‘Daredevil?’”

Immediately, Susan groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, dragging a hand down her face. “Are you referring to the other masked vigilante who hides his identity from the world while wreaking havoc across New York in his dubiously-themed costume?”

Spider-Man chuckled timidly, evidently anticipating her disapproval. He waved finger guns in her direction. “That’s the one,” he said.

“Who’s Daredevil?” Johnny asked, a wrinkle forming between his eyes as he glanced between the two of them. “I haven’t heard of Daredevil. What’s his deal? What’re his powers? How long have you guys known each other? Do you think he’s cool? What's his Twitter handle? I’m looking him up now.”

Spider-Man laughed while Susan rolled her eyes. “I don’t know much about him, to be honest,” the vigilante admitted. “We’ve only talked once. He stopped me right as I was about to break into Kingpin’s headquarters and warned me not to take this another step further.”

Peter thought about that night often. At the time, Daredevil had just been a nameless vigilante dressed in all black who spoke to him in a voice that was stern yet gentle. And Spider-Man was just some 14-year-old kid wearing a homemade superhero costume in way over his head. Peter had entered the encounter with his hackles raised, ready for a fight, believing the masked man to be one of Kingpin’s bodyguards. But that fear was quickly subdued.

“Daredevil told me he was impressed with the work I’d done to dismantle Kingpin’s chokehold on the city—and that I’d managed to locate one of his bases—but that he would take things from here. He said he’d been building a case against Kingpin for over a year now and had a lawyer friend who planned to bring him to justice in the court of law.”

What Peter didn’t mention was how Daredevil lightly reprimanded him for trying to bring down one of New York’s most powerful crime lords before he’d even hit puberty. When Peter at first loudly denied it, then quietly asked how he’d figured it out, Daredevil simply smiled and insisted it wasn’t a conclusion that took any special skills or abilities to draw.

“He told me Kingpin’s true identity is Wilson Fisk, and that he’s been funding and puppeteering criminal syndicates in New York for decades now,” Peter continued solemnly. “He keeps his empire running by sticking to the shadows and orchestrating everything behind the scenes, lining the pockets of those in power to keep them silent and loyal and blackmailing those who won’t take bribes by threatening their lives and loved ones. Daredevil promised me he almost had him: a solid enough case to bring the horrifying extent of his crimes to light. I just had to wait a little bit longer for him to gather enough evidence to make the charges viable enough to stick.”

Susan Storm listened in silence, her face a blank wall that offered zero clues as to where her head was at. Meanwhile, Johnny’s concern and curiosity and anticipation were as easy to read as words on a page. He hugged himself around the middle as if all this buildup was making him queasy.

“So? What’d you do?” he prodded. Peter grimaced.

“Well…I probably would’ve listened to him and waited,” he said gingerly, “if someone hadn’t started screaming in agony from inside the building right at that moment.”

Peter remembered the cold shudder the sound had sent down his spine. He remembered his muscles going rigid and his blood turning to ice. Daredevil had tried telling him that the person he was hearing was a brute whose safety wasn’t worth the risk—that if he broke inside to rescue him, there was no turning back. But all Peter could hear were his desperate cries for help.

“A man was being tortured,” Peter said hollowly. “I couldn’t just stand by and let him suffer like that. So, despite Daredevil’s attempts to stop me, I busted through a window in the back of the building and threw myself between the guy who was screaming and the four thugs who were hurting him. While I was beating those assholes up, more and more gang members started pouring in from the other rooms. There must’ve been at least thirty men coming at me at one point. I’d never faced that many bad guys at once before, and I knew I couldn’t win. I’d only had my powers for about four months at the time all this was happening.” Peter crossed his arms and shrugged. “So I did the only thing I could think of: I started demanding a fight with Wilson Fisk. I began shouting his name again and again while battling like hell to stay alive. It was only after I’d been beat to a pulp that he finally showed his face and ordered his goons to back off.”

Every detail of that encounter haunted Peter to this day. The blood roaring in his ears as a man the size of a grizzly bear towered over him, his presence alone making Peter’s head buzz in warning. Fighting the fatigue and the biting pain of his wounds as he rose to his feet and held the enormous man’s brutal gaze. The way Fisk surveyed him like some kind of insect he was preparing to squash beneath his massive leather shoe.

“So you’re the little rat whose been nipping at the heel of my business operations,” Kingpin had observed, stuffing his beastly hands into his pants pockets. “What a pleasure to finally meet you. You must’ve worked very hard to get to where you’re standing today.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Humpty Dumpty,” Peter had shot back, injecting his voice with all the arrogance and audacity he could muster. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve been doing. The drugs, the weapons, the kidnappings, the blackmailing. You’re the one who's behind it all. And now you’re gonna pay.”

The whole room had laughed at that—which, to be fair, was a pretty pathetic threat. Even though he had a knife wound in his arm, bruises all over his body, and was hilariously, hopelessly outnumbered, Peter wasn’t backing down.

“I told him I wasn’t going to let him continue hurting and exploiting people for his own personal gain,” Peter said, swallowing thickly. “I swore I’d expose him for the sick criminal he was. To which he responded by punching me in the abdomen, breaking seven of my ribs.”

Johnny’s hands flew to his mouth. “Why didn’t you dodge like you normally do?” he gasped.

“Like I said, I was still new to my powers and didn’t fully understand them.” Spider-Man ran a hand down his torso, wincing at the memory of his bones shattering beneath Fisk’s fist. “Plus, I was already pretty badly wounded, and wasn’t anticipating a guy that big to move so fast.”

While Peter lied sprawled across the cold concrete, gagging and sputtering, fingers quaking against his broken body, blinded by indescribable pain, Wilson Fisk strode across the room and punted him like a pigskin straight into the wall. Peter’s splintered skeleton rattled inside him as he tumbled to the ground, wheezing and gasping and pooling his remaining strength to launch a counter strike.

“I probably only got one or two solid hits in, but it was like punching a brick wall. The dude’s built like a tank and wears some kind of body armor beneath his suit that made it impossible for me to get the upper hand. I was spitting up blood and seeing stars by the time he was through with me.”

Kingpin strolled to a stop before Spider-Man’s crumpled physical form and seized him by the throat, fingers crushing around his esophagus until black spots began to press into his vision.

“Go ahead—try telling the world exactly who you think I am,” Fisk had growled. “The people of this city only believe what I want them to believe, only see what I let them see. No one is going to take the word of a spineless vigilante who hides behind a mask to heart—not now, not ever.”

Peter fiddled nervously with his web-shooters as he continued his story. “Fisk said if he ever caught me messing with his business again, he’d do everything in his power to track down the people I love and hurt them in every way he knows how. The only reason he let me leave there alive was so I could spread that message to every other hero and vigilante I knew and scare them away from disrupting his enterprise, too.”

Johnny narrowed his eyes. “But…you haven’t stopped messing with his business,” he said, blinking. “Right?”

Peter nodded slowly. “Right. I haven’t. No way in hell was I just gonna let him continue terrorizing my city with nothing standing in his way. But…” He lowered his gaze to the ground, guts knotting into pretzels. “The things I’ve seen him do to people these past two years…the atrocities I’ve watched his minions commit on his behalf…I could never risk him getting anywhere near the people I care about.” His eyes flicked up to Johnny’s, then to Sue’s, then quickly back to the floor, arms held tight to his sides. “That’s, um…one of the major reasons I’ve chosen to keep my face hidden and my identity a secret all this time. If he ever found out who I really was…”

The idea of it was too horrifying for him to even finish that sentence. Susan pondered his anecdote with her arms crossed and her lips pressed in a thin line. Peter felt Johnny’s hand brush against his spine and come to a rest atop his back, his eyes an ocean of sympathy.

“Does that mean Daredevil’s lawyer friend never pulled through with the evidence against him?” Johnny asked.

Peter shook his head. “He helped patch me up that night after Kingpin put me through the wringer, but that was the last time I saw him. Something must’ve fell through.” He traced a finger along his throat where Fisk’s hands had squeezed with deadly intentions all those evenings ago. “It doesn’t surprise me, though. Fisk cleared out that base within days of me discovering it and went underground for the next two years. Only now has he finally resurfaced with this surprise campaign run.” Spider-Man scowled. “Plus, he has, like—tons of cops and judges on his payroll. Even the most solid case against him probably wouldn’t make it past the DA’s desk.”

Johnny’s hair flashed with flames as he threw his hands above his head. “Dude! This is insanity! Fisk is holding you and this entire city hostage! We can’t let him become mayor! We’ve got to take that corrupt fucker down!”

“No, you don’t,” Susan snapped immediately, jabbing a finger between them. “Neither of you are getting anywhere near Fisk or his men ever again.”

Peter lifted his gaze to meet hers, inclining his head to one side. “Wait,” he said, eyes widening in realization. “You—you believe me?”

Sue muttered something R-rated under her breath. “I don’t know what to believe at this point,” she conceded, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes. “But if there’s a chance Fisk is as bad as you say he is, you two are not the people who should be taking him on. Both of you are way too close to this.”

Peter and Johnny shared a look of surprise. Susan tucked her shoulder-length hair behind her ears with a sharp breath out.

“I’m going to look into this,” she said, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “While I do, you two are going to stay out of it. I don’t want to hear a peep about Wilson Fisk or Kingpin on any of your dumb little social media posts or crime-fighting outings. Understood?”

The pair of teens hesitated, but inevitably caved beneath the Invisible Woman’s frigid glare, nodding their heads rigidly. Susan glanced towards the exit then back at her brother.

“I’ll fill you in if and when I have something,” she told him. “Don’t do anything stupid until then.” Her eyes shifted back to Peter, narrowing slightly. “You missed a spot.”

Peter followed her gaze to the puddles of glitter paint scattered around the entryway. “Oh,” he said, staggering a little as he snatched a sponge from the suds bucket and held it up with a nervous laugh. “R-right. On it. Thank you.”

Sue marched out the room like a hunter out for blood. While Peter pressed a hand to his chest with a weary sigh, Johnny threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, Fisk is screwed now,” he cackled.

Peter forced a weak smile. Let’s hope, he thought uneasily. For all of our sakes.

He still couldn’t get over the fact she actually believed him.

Once the lab was finally glitter-free, Peter parted ways with Johnny to clean his suit (again), fulfill his cat-sitting duties (per usual), grab a sub from Delmar’s (and more gummy worms), then returned to the tower, expecting everyone to already be asleep. When he crept down to the 78th floor for something salty to snack on along with his candy, he was surprised to find Johnny burrowed deep into the sofa with his phone in his hand, barely clinging to consciousness as he squinted at the dim screen.

“What are you still doing awake?” Peter called from across the room, snagging a bag of chips from the pantry as he made his way over to him. He came to a stop in front of the couch and, upon further inspection, couldn’t help but giggle. “You look like a zombie. Why don’t you go to bed?”

“I’m trying to finish editing our prank video from today,” he grumbled, tapping languidly at his phone screen. “Viral TikToks won’t just magically cut themselves together out of the hours of footage we filmed across multiple different hidden camera angles, Webs.”

Peter chuckled. “I know that. And I appreciate all the time and effort you’re putting into this.” He tugged gently at the phone in Johnny’s hands. “But nobody is forcing you to edit everything all in one night except yourself.”

“And Wilson Fisk,” Johnny corrected him, snatching the device back and glaring at the screen. Peter frowned.

“What do you mean?”

After a few seconds, Johnny dropped the phone into his lap and gazed up at Peter with sad, bloodshot eyes. “Fisk is behind it all, isn’t he?” he said. “Your terrible public image, the endless flood of lies about you online and in the press. He’s been paying off the media since the day you crossed him to make sure no one would ever trust you if you tried to expose him. Am I wrong?”

Peter chewed the inside of his cheek, unsure how to answer. He eyed the opposite corner of the couch and slowly eased into it, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m sure he’s to blame for part of it,” Peter admitted, folding his hands together in front of him. “But I think a lot of it just comes with the territory of wearing a mask and fighting crime anonymously.”

“Which he’s also forcing you to do,” Johnny reminded him bitterly. “Because if he discovered who you really were, your family would be in danger.”

“I decided from the very beginning that I wanted to hide my identity,” Peter insisted. “Before Fisk. My family would be in danger if my identity was revealed regardless of whether he was around or not. He isn’t forcing me to do anything. He’s just…” Peter rubbed his palms together feebly. “Affirming the fact that I’ve made the right choice.”

“I hate how much he’s hurt you,” Johnny practically spat. Peter looked up at him reluctantly with a small sting in his throat.

“What does this have to do with the videos?” he asked.

Johnny's features lifted into an exhausted but hopeful smile. “If people keep seeing you as the person you really are instead of the image Fisk has fed them, they’ll start to trust you more. And the more they start to trust you, the more power we’ll have to take down Fisk ourselves!”

Peter stared at the teen hero bemusedly. “How?”

“You’ve witnessed first hand all the crime and corruption Fisk is involved in. Once this city accepts you as their friendly neighbor Spider-Man, you can bring to light all the terrible things he’s been up to. If enough people believe you’re telling the truth, it could kickstart a call for a real investigation! One that’ll expose all his evildoing and the assholes he’s bribed to look the other way.”

Peter dug his fingers into his forearms. “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve tried going to the cops and the press before. It’s too hard to find someone who he hasn’t paid off or who will take me seriously.”

“So don’t go to those asshats,” Johnny proposed, leaning in close. “Go to the fans! The citizens of this city! They’re the ones with the real power to help us destroy his credibility in the way that matters most: the court of public opinion. At the very least, it’ll stop him from becoming mayor.” Johnny held up his phone victoriously. “That’s why I have to get all these videos of us edited and posted ASAP. So we can prove to more and more people what an adorable and trustworthy little spider-hotty you are and end that fucker’s reign of terror.”

Normally Peter would’ve balked at Johnny’s flirtatious comments, but his mind was preoccupied with a stomach-turning premonition. He rubbed a corner of the sofa’s throw blanket between his fingers.

“Johnny,” he said carefully. The words he wanted so badly to say clung to the back of his throat like molasses. “So, um…that thing you mentioned before. Y’know—about Fisk threatening to hurt the people I…care about.” Peter took a moment to clear his throat. “Until recently, I thought I’d only have to worry about that if he found out my real identity. But…” A nervous flush spidered up his neck. “With all these videos we’re posting of us hanging out together, I’m beginning to worry it might be putting a target on your back.”

Johnny blinked at him, a look of befuddled amusement gradually spreading across his face. “You’re still worried about Fisk coming after me?” he laughed. “Seriously? There’s no way, Webs. I’m one of the most popular and famous celebrities in the world. If he did anything to me, literally everyone would turn against him. His whole empire would come crashing down in a day. He’s not that stupid.”

“Fisk has ways of hurting people without linking any of it back to himself,” Peter explained fearfully. “He could hire an assassin to come after you, or pay off a group of supervillains to fight you all at once, or get someone to poison you then bribe the mortician to say you died of natural causes—”

“Spidey!” Johnny exclaimed, gripping Peter by the shoulders, an incredulous giggle escaping him. “Please! I’m a superhero for Christ’s sake. I can take care of myself! If he sends someone after me, I’ll fry them inside-out! Simple as that! And if they do somehow overpower me, there are about fifteen other equally formidable heroes in this tower alone who I trust will have my back.” A balloon-full of butterflies burst inside Peter’s tummy as Johnny cradled his face in his hands and planted a quick kiss in the center of his forehead. Then his eyes found Peter’s, deep blue irises soft with fondness, transforming all of the masked hero’s thoughts into 404 error messages. “Quit being so goddamn paranoid,” he implored.

Peter gazed at him in a stupor of dumbfounded euphoria. Johnny Storm had a seriously uncanny prowess for yanking out the power cord to Peter’s brain at the most inconvenient times. A beat passed, and Johnny pulled away from him, rubbing the side of his neck, a tinge of scarlet creeping into his cheeks as tiny wisps of fire flickered in his hair.

“Sorry. I forget sometimes you’re not as touchy-feely of a person as I am.” He broke into a massive yawn, stretching his arms far and wide. “To be fair, invading your personal space seems like the most effective way to momentarily curb your spider anxiety whenever it’s getting a bit too spicy.”

Johnny fished the TV remote from the crack between the cushions and clicked “play” on the show he must’ve been watching earlier—Love Island, to no one's surprise—totally oblivious to the spell he’d just cast upon the masked vigilante. Slowly, Peter sunk back into the pillows, staring through the blinding television screen rather than at it, his troubled heart melting into a hearth of ichor and light.

Holy shit, he thought, all fears and concerns evaporating in an instant, a smile consuming him as he blinked and reeled and swooned all at once. I just got kissed by Johnny Storm.

Well—maybe kissed was a bit too strong of a word. More like lightly pecked—and not even on the lips, mind you. Still. How many others could boast the same?

Peter had no interest in knowing the answer to that question.

“Let’s wait and see what Sue comes up with before either of us spends more time stressing over that sentient meatball,” Johnny suggested, snuggling deeper into the sofa. “In the meantime, we’ll keep working on your public image so that when the time is right, we’ll be ready to bury that bastard’s name for good.”

The Human Torch went back to his editing, eyes dull and heavy and battling to stay open. Peter tucked a pillow under his arms as he stared ahead blankly, senses slowly returning to him.

So…yeah. He was fairly certain Johnny liked him.

After everything he’d observed today, it was hard to entertain any other conclusion besides that. There was still a chance he was wrong and Johnny was just treating him the same way he treated everyone else in his life, crushed dreams and broken hearts be damned, but that possibility was growing slimmer and slimmer. Peter was certain his affections for Johnny dramatically outweighed the celebrity’s for him. Nonetheless, he’d gathered enough evidence to confidently back his once delusional hypothesis. Only one question remained.

Now what?

No, like, seriously. What was he supposed to do?

Despite Johnny’s outward displays of interest towards him, he showed no signs of voicing those feelings aloud. Which meant it was up to Peter to make the first move. Peter Parker—telling Johnny Storm that he had a crush on him. Fighting Kingpin with his hands tied behind his back sounded less nerve-racking.

He’d gone through all the “what ifs” a million times in his head. Half of them were just spineless cop-outs and excuses; the other half wouldn’t even matter until after he’d made his feelings known. And so, Peter had decided he’d rather be devastated by the truth rather than never know the truth at all. Even if Johnny didn’t like him back, even if he outright laughed in Peter’s face, he wanted him to know how he felt. He needed him to. So much of what Spider-Man chose to do in his life was motivated by fear and uncertainty. For once, he wanted to do something from the heart, and the heart alone.

Johnny had taught him just how powerful being honest and authentic could be. Despite how much Peter had bared his soul to the celebrity hero already, there were still so many parts of himself he kept buried and hidden, and would likely continue to do so.

But not this. This, he deserved to see. After everything he'd done for him—all the risks taken, the kindness offered, the friendship and loyalty displayed with zero strings attached, Peter owed him that much.

But how? Peter beseeched the universe, raising his gaze to the sterile plane of white above him. How do I do it? When do I do it? Is it too soon? Too late? Why is this so goddamn terrifying?

“Is it hot in here, or is it just you?” Peter whispered to himself, biting back a sardonic laugh. “You set my heart aflame, Johnathan Spencer Storm.”

Peter spared a glance at the teenage hero, whom he was grateful to find passed out in a jumble of sprawling limbs. A fragile smile lifted his lips. He gathered the blanket in his arms and gently draped it over his slumbering form, admiring every beautiful detail of Johnny’s freckly, sunburned, peaceful face.

No, Spider-Man decided, chuckling to himself. Not like that.

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