Archive of Our Own ^beta

~*~

“Look, it’s not really a crush! He’s just my favorite superhero!” Flash protested as his friends grinned at him, the frantic words a desperate attempt to maintain at least a semblance of his dignity. Yeah, this was why he despised truth or dare. The game was the epitome of vulnerability but only, only with answering the most ridiculous of questions, like the typical tween girl query of who do you like-like. Truth or dare was especially nerve-wracking when a person was playing with MJ and Betty, who seemed to have a knack for knowing dirt on people.

Flash was no exception to their intuition.

“Whatever you say, Flash,” MJ agreed, an amused smirk still tugging at her lips. “But you have to admit. Spider-Man is a little more… local than the other Avengers. You could run into him on any given day. So a relationship with him is—dare I say—achievable?”

Ha! In what universe? Flash’s dreams, maybe.

“And you aren’t a half-bad catch either, Flash,” Betty teased. “Ever since you got your head out your ass, people actually want to be friends with you for reasons other than your parents’ money!”

Flash’s scowl deepened. Betty was pretty much the only person he’d accept that kind of commentary from—painful but accurate commentary, in other words—and that was solely because they’d known each other since middle school. “Thanks, Betty. Way to boost my ego.”

“Look, I’m sure Spider-Man would be… flattered by your interest,” Ned said in a clear attempt to reassure Flash. Of course, his words did nothing to resolve the crimson blush still flaring on Flash’s cheeks. God, Flash never should have agreed to come to this sleepover. “Don’t you agree, Peter?”

Peter, Flash noticed, had been eerily silent ever since the words ‘crush’ and ‘Spider-Man’ had left his mouth in response to MJ’s question. Was Peter… no, there was no way he was homophobic. He and Ned gushed way too much about Thor for either of them to be heterosexual. Also, Tony was openly bi—there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d hire Peter as an intern if Peter was homophobic. Which left…

Okay, Flash really wasn’t sure what other options remained. Maybe Peter had reacted with that weird, strangled noise and then fallen to silence because… well, he did know Spider-Man. Was it possible he thought Flash’s crush on Spider-Man was weird since he was so buddy-buddy with the hero?

If that was the case… Rude, honestly.

“Uh—yeah!” Peter exclaimed, only realizing Ned had addressed him after he received a sharp elbow to the side from his friend. “Yeah, I’m sure Spider-Man would be very… flattered.”

Flash did not appreciate the pause, which he attempted to make clear by shooting Peter an unamused glare. Gee, thanks. Peter, to his credit, winced in response.

“Would you say you’re close with Spider-Man, Peter?” MJ mused. There was a mischievous glint to her eyes that made Flash wary. “Good friends and whatnot? Known each other for a couple years now?”

Peter exchanged a paranoid glance with Ned, and the smirk on MJ’s lips widened. Flash was starting to wonder if there were two different discussions being had in Ned’s bedroom, one of which he—and probably Betty as well, based on her confused expression—was not privy to.

“I guess so,” Peter admitted after a pause, giving the group an awkward smile. “I mean, I don’t—know him personally, really. Because of his… secret identity. And stuff.”

Wow. Flash thought he was a bad liar. To all except his parents, of course, but they set the bar so low it was in hell. Still—Peter could give him a run for his money for the crown title of ‘Worst Liar at Midtown.’

“You talk with him regularly?” MJ offered, and Peter shrugged.

“By superhero standards, sure.”

“Then you could arrange for him and Flash to meet up, right? Knowing you, Spider-Man probably owes you one.”

Peter’s face paled while blood rushed to the tips of Flash’s ears, and Flash knew that not even the dim light of Ned’s bedroom would hide so deep a blush across his skin.

“That will not be necessary,” Flash protested, shaking his head with a humiliating amount of vigor. “Thanks but no thanks.” He would seriously rather die. Or—well, maybe not die, but Flash would at least prefer to formally meet Spider-Man once he was older and had gotten past his not-a-crush.

Peter cocked his head, apparently having gotten over his initial shock at Flash’s romantic revelation. It had only taken him all of five freaking minutes. “Why not?”

“What do you mean, ‘why not’?” Flash sputtered. “Are you crazy?”

Peter laughed. “Look, MJ didn’t ask me to set you up on a blind date with the guy. What’s the harm in me seeing if he’ll meet up with you once just to hang out?”

Flash opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. A very anxious goldfish. There were more than a million ways that meeting Spider-Man could end in disaster, he was certain, if not more than a billion, and yet Flash’s brain refused to procure a single one of them. Betrayed by his own nervous system, dammit.

“Besides!” Peter said, now speaking with an unusual—suspicious—cheeriness. “Maybe you’ll hit it off with him! Spider-Man is a pretty cool guy.” He gave Flash a lopsided smile, which was almost unnerving, because that uneven quirk of Peter’s lips told Flash his friend definitely knew something about Spider-Man that he did not.

“It’s settled, then,” MJ said with an approving nod. “Peter, do your thing and get in touch with Spider-Man.” A chuckle escaped her lips, earning her a warning look from Ned that she pretended not to see. “Flash never has plans besides hanging out with us, so you can tell him any time works.”

Flash glared at her, but unfortunately MJ wasn’t far off with her assessment of his nonexistent schedule over the next few days.

“Whose house are you at this weekend, Flash?” Peter asked. “I can see if Spider-Man will drop by sometime in the evening.”

An exasperated sigh escaped Flash’s chest as he resigned himself to his fate. “My mom’s. She has some gala thing Sunday, so…” He shrugged, the half-lie having slipped from his lips easier than melted butter. Which would probably come back to bite him in the ass later. But what did it matter if his mother was out of the house or unconscious within it, really? Hardly a difference. “Any time between 8 and midnight, I guess.”

Peter gave him a sympathetic smile but nodded. “Cool. I’ll let him know.”

God. What was Flash getting himself into?

~*~

Truth be told, Flash had not expected Peter to go through with it. Arranging for Spider-Man to meet him, that was. Not because he thought Peter was disingenuous—Peter Parker was many things, Flash had learned throughout the gradual process of their one-sided rivalry transforming into a mutual friendship, but callous dishonesty was not one of them—but because… Come on.

It was Spider-Man. There was no way any superhero, local or otherwise, would have time to drop by a random civilian’s house out of the blue.

It was Sunday night, and Flash was sitting on his bed, nose scrunched up and eyes squinted to where they were all but closed as he tried to reread a section of his physics textbook. There was a quiz on the chapter tomorrow, and Flash was reasonably sure he’d do fine thanks to Ned and Peter’s help, but he still liked the reassurance of having reviewed the material.

His semi-confidence didn’t make the tiny-ass font any easier to read, though. God, who the hell thought it was a great idea to put so little space between the letters of this book? And yes, sure, Flash had a better handle on his dyslexia thanks to the therapist he was privately seeing, but unfortunately that did not mean the printing presses of the world had started catering to dyslexic people.

Flash had thought it a horrific irony, once, that Peter’s ADHD made him struggle with reading in ways not dissimilar to himself. Now? It was just nice having someone to gripe with. Flash had just started to convince himself to pause his review session so he could text Peter and complain when he was startled by a series of quick knocks on—

Not on his bedroom door, actually. Okay. Sure. Definitely not weird or terrifying or suspicious.

Flash nearly fell off his bed as he realized the source of the sound.

Spider-Man—holy shit, Spider-Man—was standing outside on his balcony, giving him a cheerful wave before pointing down at the handle Flash knew was locked. Why? Because he wasn’t batshit enough to trust the average New Yorker, even though his balcony sat well above the ground floor.

God, was Flash really and truly about to unlock the doors to his bedroom for a total stranger?

Well, said stranger was Spider-Man, local hero and arguably God’s second gift to mankind. Plus, Flash could at least consider him a… friend of a friend, since Spider-Man knew Peter. That made it okay, right?

Oh, fuck it. Flash slid off his bed, unlocking the glass doors for Spider-Man before he could talk himself out of it or—worse—take so long to decide that Spider-Man up and left. Ugh, Peter would never let him hear the end of it if that happened.

“You must be Flash,” Spider-Man said—Jesus Christ, Spider-Man was talking to him, Flash was not going to survive this conversation—as he pulled open the right door.

A sound not dissimilar to guh escaped Flash’s lips. He promptly snapped his mouth shut and put all his effort into an emphatic nod instead of speaking. Couldn’t fuck up a nod, right?

Shit, he better not have jinxed himself with that.

“Peter has told me a lot about you!” Spider-Man continued, either politely disregarding Flash’s half-starstruck, half-panicked reaction or remaining blissfully ignorant to it. He gestured to the inside of Flash’s bedroom. “Is it okay if I come in?” When Flash hesitated, he added, “Or we can sit out on the balcony, if you prefer.”

Flash did indeed prefer that. His mother was more than unlikely to come check his room—8 o’clock on a Sunday night? She’d probably had three glasses already—but to play it safe… “Yes,” he said, shocked at how evenly his voice came out. “Yeah, let’s sit out here.”

Flash closed the door behind him, knowing it would further muffle any sounds of conversation his mother might potentially overhear. He stiffly sat in the chair on the right of the balcony, unable to stop himself from staring as Spider-Man took the one on the left.

Dear God. Spider-Man was on his balcony. Spider-Man was a friend of his friend.

When had Flash’s life become so bizarre?

Actually, Flash was fairly certain he could pinpoint the specific moment everything had changed: when he and Peter had first become friends.

“You know, you didn’t actually have to come,” Flash found himself admitting after a pause. He winced. “I mean, not that I don’t want you here, because I definitely do, but you’re a superhero, which means there’s no way you actually have ‘time off’ from saving the world so dropping by some kid’s house really can’t and shouldn’t be a high priority on your list—”

He was interrupted by Spider-Man’s laughter, which—and Flash couldn’t even bring himself to be embarrassed to admit this—made butterflies flutter in his stomach. How many kids at Midtown could say they’d made Spider-Man laugh, huh? Sure, maybe Flash had done so with horrific, messy, foot-in-his-mouth rambling, but still. A victory was a victory.

“Peter told me you’d say something like that,” Spider-Man said, and Flash had a feeling he was grinning behind the mask. “Trust me, I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t want to.” He shrugged. “A friend of Peter’s is a friend of mine.”

Right. Lest Flash forget, Peter had been the one to arrange this.

Man, he really owed Peter one now, didn’t he?

Flash blinked as Spider-Man’s words fully sunk in, because hold on. Wait a damn minute. Peter had talked to Spider-Man about him? Not unexpected, given the current circumstances, but how much had he…

“Uh, what else has Peter told you about me?” Flash asked, his voice a solid octave too high. He cleared his throat. “I mean, did he mention anything about why I wanted to meet you?”

Spider-Man shrugged again. “He said you’re a fan of my work around Queens. Oh, and that you love art history. Pretty much it.”

Okay. No big deal. Peter had told him nothing about Flash’s crush that was really not a crush, no matter the fact that Flash’s face was yet to cool down since Spider-Man had arrived. “My two most important qualities,” Flash said wryly, earning another laugh from Spider-Man.

It was… kind of flattering that Spider-Man had agreed to drop by while knowing only those two things about him.

But on the subject of ‘knowing.’

“How do you and Peter know each other, anyways?” Flash asked. Peter always avoided giving him a straight answer whenever Flash asked, but surely Spider-Man wouldn’t be so rude. Although the lull in their conversation was now nearly long enough to be concerning—

“Through Tony Stark,” was Spider-Man’s belated yet hasty reply.

Flash absentmindedly wished he could see Spider-Man’s face as the hero spoke. He was certain Spider-Man was handsome, for one, but also because… well, a person’s face often said more than their words did.

Except his father’s, of course. But Flash suspected he was an outlier.

“Huh,” Flash ended up saying in response. He frowned. “I guess I’m not at SI whenever you are, then.”

Spider-Man snapped his fingers. “Right, Peter also mentioned you know Tony, too.” His mask blinked, as if refocusing on Flash. “He didn’t say how, though. If you don’t mind sharing.”

“Uh…” Flash tapped the armrest of his chair. “It’s kind of a long story. But basically, he helped me find a therapist for my dyslexia.” He chuckled—maybe a little bitterly. “My parents don’t know about her, though. They think I’m someone’s office secretary.” Which wasn’t a total lie. Flash lent a hand at SI on the regular and got paid a decent amount for it, too. But he was mostly there to meet with Dr. Nguyen.

Spider-Man nodded. “Got it, got it.” There was a pause before he asked, “So, what other interests do you have? Besides art history, I mean.”

The evil, horrible, wicked optimist in Flash’s mind whispered that it was a good sign Spider-Man seemed interested in getting to know him better. The realist and the pessimist promptly countered with the reminder that Spider-Man was just doing Peter a favor by meeting with Flash this one time.

“Well,” Flash finally said, an awkward smile tugging at his lips as he tried to not let the conversation flounder, “I’ve recently become obsessed with origami.” Once he’d found some dyslexic-friendly instructions online, that was.

“Really?” Spider-Man’s surprise sounded more… genuine here, as if the other facts Flash had revealed about himself were not truly unfamiliar to him, but this one was.

A little weird, but rang no major alarm bells.

 “That’s so cool! I’ve always wanted to learn more about origami.” Spider-Man tilted his head, and Flash wondered if he was smirking. Or maybe giving him a shy smile. God, that stupid mask—Flash hated this uncertainty. “I don’t suppose you have any projects you’d be willing to show me?”

Flash absently wondered if he could give Spider-Man an origami heart to win him over.

“Uh, sure,” was the eloquent response he ended up going with, getting to his feet and heading back towards the balcony doors. Flash gripped the silver handle, then hesitated, Spider-Man pausing behind him.

“Something wrong?”

Flash sighed. “Not really. We just… have to be quiet.” The fingers of his free hand drummed his thigh—nervous energy had to go somewhere. “My mom’s downstairs. She probably won’t hear us, but…” He shrugged.

Spider-Man frowned. Well, Flash couldn’t see him frown, but the hero seemed taken aback by Flash’s revelation. “Peter told me your mom wouldn’t be home.”

Flash snorted. “What Peter doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” His face reddened as he added, “And… I honestly didn’t think he would go through with inviting you.”

Spider-Man said nothing in response, so Flash forced himself to be content with the silence, praying he hadn’t royally screwed things over with that comment as he pulled open one of the glass doors into his room. He quietly closed it behind them, too, before moving to crouch down beside his bed. Flash kept his completed origami projects and all his supplies in a box beneath it, where so far his mother had not found them. Sometimes Flash allowed himself to wonder if origami was a hobby his parents wouldn’t be diametrically opposed to, but…

Well. Why risk it?

And even if they would approve—or tolerate the idea, at least—Flash needed to get better, first. If the finished product wasn’t perfect, it had to go.

Which was definitely a healthy attitude to approach a hobby with.

“It turns out making stuff out of square paper is equal parts fun, relaxing, and aggravating,” Flash said, keeping his voice low but allowing himself a small smile as he pulled the plastic lid off the container. He removed one of his more recent projects: a butterfly. It had only taken him three tries to fold the purple paper to satisfaction—a new record. “Something about being a hands-on activity, I bet.”

Spider-Man cradled the butterfly in his hands with incredible tenderness when Flash offered it to him, as if he thought the faux insect was made of glass, as if the paper creature would shatter with too tight a grip around it. And, well, okay—Flash had seen Spider-Man’s superstrength in action. Maybe such caution wasn’t unreasonable.

“This is amazing,” Spider-Man said. His awestruck tone sent blood rushing to the tips of Flash’s ears. “You made this”—he tilted his head towards the open container—“all of these by yourself?”

Flash nodded, 85% sure he was still blushing. He decided to pretend he wasn’t. “Everyone needs a hobby.”

Spider-Man laughed. “Yeah, I guess they do.” He made eye contact with Flash, or as much as Flash reasoned the mask could allow. “Do you mind showing me more? Actually, wait.” Spider-Man stood straighter, eagerness all but radiating from his body. “Can you show me how to make something?”

Was that a date? Was Spider-Man asking him on a date? Could making origami together be considered a date?

“Uh, sure,” Flash stammered, pushing those embarrassing thoughts to the back of his mind. “We should probably start with something simpler than a butterfly, though.” A box? Or an envelope? Nah, those were boring as hell. How about… “A boat?”

Spider-Man nodded eagerly. “Yes, sure! Whatever you think is best. I mean, you clearly know what you’re doing here.”

Flash ordered his heart to stop beating so erratically at Spider-Man’s compliment, the flattery was not a big deal. Even if the anxious perfectionist in him all but wept at the praise. “Ha. Yeah. I guess I—thanks.”

Smooth, Flash. Real smooth.

Just as he’d returned the purple butterfly to its container and began gathering the square sheets of paper needed for each of them to make a little boat, there was a splintering crash from downstairs. Flash winced—goodbye to Mom’s wine bottle. Hopefully just her first. But probably not.

“Eugene!”

Oh, shit.

“What was that?” Spider-Man asked. There was a new tension in his shoulders, as if he was bracing himself for a fight.

Flash shoved the box of origami back under his bed, not bothering to snap the lid on properly before he turned around and began steering Spider-Man to his balcony. “You need to go. She’s had a glass and a half to drink by now.” Idiomatically. He assumed Spider-Man knew what idioms were.

“She’s—what?”

Flash rolled his eyes, opening the door and pushing Spider-Man outside. “My mother likes to get buzzed more often than the average person. It’s not a big deal, but she won’t be happy to find a superhero chilling in my bedroom.” To be fair, she wouldn’t be happy about that if she was sober, either.

“Are you gonna be okay?”

Flash blinked, taken aback by the genuine concern in Spider-Man’s voice. Maybe it shouldn’t have surprised him, though. Spider-Man was good, even when he didn’t have to be. That was one of the reasons Flash admired him so much. “I mean, yeah.” He shrugged, trying to reassert his nonchalant demeanor. “She’ll sleep it off like she always does.”

“Does she hit you?”

Okay, even more blunt than the previous question. Kinda reminded Flash of Peter… in a weird, roundabout, unimportant way.

“Nah,” Flash went with in response, still attempting to keep the conversation casual. “She’s more of a screamer.” He paused, frowning. “Verbal punches?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I mostly tune her out.” He’d had years of practice at honing his technique.

Flash tried to push Spider-Man towards the railing of his balcony, knowing it was only a matter of time before his mother started banging on his door, but couldn’t budge him. Stupid superheroes and their stupid superstrength.

“I can help you contact an AA for her, or CPS for you,” Spider-Man said, his voice so serious Flash almost laughed. A beat passed, and Spider-Man added, “I mean, you shouldn’t have to live with an alcoholic, even if she doesn’t physically abuse you.”

Now that Flash did laugh at. In retrospect, probably a weird reaction. “Yeah, right. Everyone knows it’s only ‘alcoholism’ if you’re poor. For the rich?” He shrugged bitterly. “It’s just a little too much to drink.”

Because if someone had money, they could get away with anything. That was how the wild and wicked world turned. Flash had long since accepted his family’s high status for all its parts—the good, the bad, and the ugly.

“Eugene!”

Flash winced. “Seriously, you need to go.” God, he never thought he’d see the day where he wanted Spider-Man to leave his house. Alas, cruel world.

Spider-Man hesitated again. “Fine,” he said, “but this isn’t the last time we’re hanging out, okay?” He winked at Flash, the right eye of his mask closing and opening almost as quickly as a human’s. “You still need to show me how to make that origami boat.”

And with that, Spider-Man swung off into the night, leaving Flash alone on his balcony with his heart pounding out of his chest. Not even his mother’s angry shouts could distract Flash from the fact that—holy shit.

Spider-Man wanted to see him again.

~*~

The next day at school, Peter would not stop staring at Flash. In itself, not so weird. Peter’s ADHD could make him prone to getting lost in thought, and as a result he might stare at people without actually seeing them. But this stare? Yeah, Flash knew Peter was seeing him. He just didn’t know what the hell his friend was looking for.

And how could he ask him about it, anyways? Hey, Peter, I could feel you staring at the back of my head for all of 4th and 5th period. What’s up with that?

Actually, not the worst of ways to introduce the subject, if blunt. But it wasn’t just the fact that Peter was staring more often which had Flash on edge, no—it was how he was staring, too. Namely, whenever Flash caught Peter in the act, Peter would immediately avert his gaze. He didn’t offer an embarrassed or apologetic smile like normal. Nope, all he did was snap his head away like he’d been burned. And that?

Yeah, that had Flash a little freaked out.

He’d asked Ned about Peter’s new stare, even MJ and Betty, and none of them had a clue what he was talking about. Which made Flash feel so much better, really. And also left him with only one option: cornering Peter Parker to ask about it after school. Or rather, after Decathlon practice.

“Hey,” Flash hissed, jumping up to grab Peter’s arm before Peter could get more than a step away from the table as the rest of their teammates cleared out the library. “What the hell is going on with you?”

Peter did not make eye contact with him, only serving to further heighten Flash’s suspicions. Jesus, had he said or done something wrong? He’d thought they were on the up and up in their friendship!

“Uh—nothing,” Peter stammered, pulling his arm out of Flash’s tense grip with what appeared to be zero effort. Damn. Apparently Peter was stronger than he looked.

“Bullshit,” Flash snapped, glowering and crossing his arms over his chest. Peter might have had two inches in height on him, but Flash could stare someone down when he needed to. He’d inherited that ability from his mother. “You’ve been looking at me weird all day.”

Guilt flashed across Peter’s face, like he’d been caught in the middle of an act worse than murder. “I haven’t—”

“Oh my God, Parker. You are the least subtle person I know.”

Peter tilted his head at the comment. “I mean. I’d say Mr. Stark is less subtle than me.”

Ha, like Flash was going to let Peter get away with changing the subject, true as his words might have been. “You’ve been staring at me all day,” he repeated, “and I would like to know why. Did I do something wrong? Forget to do something right?”

Peter opened and closed his mouth like a flustered goldfish, which might’ve been hilarious if Flash hadn’t still been pissed at his friend’s evasive behavior. “No, you didn’t do anything,” Peter finally admitted, grip tightening on his right backpack strap. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you… stressed.”

Flash snorted. The understatement of the century. “Apology much appreciated.” He squinted at Peter. “But okay, fine. If I didn’t screw something up, why haven’t you been able to keep your eyes off me?” A beat passed, and Flash realized how that sounded. “Uh, I mean”—he shook his head, shoving a cocky grin on his lips—“I know I’m fine as hell, but your stare was weird, dude. Are you okay?”

Peter flushed, whether from Flash’s poor attempt to maintain his dignity or from the questions he’d asked, well, Flash didn’t have a clue. He didn’t really want to learn which, either. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Peter hesitated, then exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “I… Okay.” He finally met Flash’s gaze. “Last night, Spider-Man asked me to look out for you today. Since I accidentally made you have a crisis, I’m thinking I took his request a little too much to heart. And maybe also too literally.”

Flash was pretty sure his brain was going to explode from processing the information contained in those three sentences alone. One, Spider-Man cared about his well-being, holy shit. Two, Peter—by extension—also cared about his well-being, enough so to quite literally watch Flash’s back the entire day. Weirdly sweet of him. Three, Spider-Man had talked to Peter about him—

Flash’s eyes widened, his jaw clenching so hard it ached. “Wait. What specifically did Spider-Man tell you?” His family business was his business, no one else’s. His friends didn’t need to worry their pretty little heads about the occasional screaming matches his mother liked to instigate.

“Nothing!” Peter exclaimed with the haste of someone who had definitely been told more than they were letting on. “I promise, all he said was that he wanted me to check in with you today. And periodically throughout the rest of the week.”

Flash’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, frustrated energy all but exuding from his body. He didn’t know whether or not to believe Peter. “You’re sure that’s all he said?”

Guilt flickered across Peter’s face once more as his gaze fell to his feet—really, he was easier to read than those Dick and Jane children’s books. “Well… He didn’t say why, but he also wanted me to offer you my apartment to stay at this week. Or longer, if you need it.” Peter met Flash’s eyes again, and this time, Flash could see a steely certainty behind his friend’s hesitance. “And my place is always open if you need somewhere to go. May would have no problem taking you in for—for months, even.”

This time, Flash found he believed him when Peter promised Spider-Man had told him nothing more. There was also a lump rising in his throat at how generous Peter’s offer was. Man, having real friends was still so fucking weird.

“Thanks,” Flash finally said, swallowing hard, “but I’m okay.” His parents’ custody arrangement was perpetually on shaky grounds—he didn’t want to rock the boat further by disappearing to a friend’s house for longer than a couple days.

Peter surveyed him with an intensity not dissimilar to the stare he’d fixated on Flash the entire day. This time, though…

Flash didn’t mind it so much.

“How did meeting Spider-Man go, by the way?” was the next question Peter asked, and Flash blinked at the rapid change in subject. “Was he as delightful and charming as you hoped him to be?”

Heat flooded Flash’s cheeks at Peter’s additional—unnecessary—commentary. He distracted himself by grabbing his own backpack from the floor beside his chair and slinging it over one shoulder. “I don’t see how that’s your business.”

Peter laughed, poking Flash on his free shoulder as they fell into step together and headed out the library. “Aw, come on. I’m the mutual friend between you and Spider-Man. You’re both legally obligated to fill me in on the juicy details.”

Flash snorted. “I don’t remember signing a contract.”

“It’s unwritten but still binding. Now tell me what went down!”

Flash sighed, knowing full well that Peter would not let him off the hook here. Fine. Flash just wouldn’t divulge every little detail. “Honestly, he was a lot more… relaxed than I expected. Easy to talk to.” Flash paused. “Well, it’s not like I’ve met many superheroes besides Tony, though, so maybe my expectations were skewed.”

Peter laughed. “I get it. I was really surprised when I learned that Spider-Man is our age, you know?”

Flash was so taken aback by Peter’s comment that he stumbled over his own feet, and might have fallen flat on his face if Peter hadn’t caught him by the wrist. “He’s—what?!” Flash had suspected that was the case, maybe, especially after the very teenage-like eagerness Spider-Man had demonstrated while holding the origami butterfly last night, but to have his suspicions confirmed?

Jesus Christ. Flash was so, so screwed.

“Yeah!” Peter said with another laugh as he steadied Flash before letting go of his arm. “Come on, you didn’t think MJ would have me set you up with a superhero legally out of your league, right?”

Flash’s face was burning. Fantastic. “There was no ‘setting me up,’ Peter. It was not a date.” An amused smile pulled at his lips despite himself. “Also, I’m pretty sure that just being a superhero automatically puts Spider-Man out of my league, genius.” Although the implication otherwise was kind of flattering, Flash wasn’t gonna lie.

“Aw, don’t sell yourself short,” Peter teased. His expression soon shifted to a genuine smile. “I’m really glad you had fun talking with him, though. Do you want me to arrange another meet-up?”

Well… This isn’t the last time we’re hanging out, okay?

“Nah,” Flash said slowly, a shyer smile inching onto his lips. “I don’t think you’ll need to.”

Peter raised an eyebrow at his response but didn’t comment, for which Flash was silently grateful. The last thing he needed was more teasing from Peter—and inevitably MJ, Ned, and Betty—about his not-a-crush on Spider-Man.

“For what it’s worth,” Peter said after a pause, “I think Spider-Man really liked hanging out with you, too.”

Flash somehow fought down what would have been an embarrassingly wide grin. Instead, he smirked at Peter. “Of course he did. I’m a delight to be around.”

Peter burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah you are.”

Chatting with Peter, Flash realized, was as easy as talking with Spider-Man. Or would it be the other way around, since he’d known Peter longer? Whatever—that was a problem for future Flash to resolve. For now… He was content to continue exchanging lighthearted jabs with Peter, walking steadily at his friend’s side down the main hall.

~*~

When Spider-Man had told Flash that he wanted them to hang out a second time, Flash had figured oh, maybe the information would be passed through Peter again—albeit not arranged by him—or maybe Spider-Man would simply drop by his balcony at some point during the week. Both were reasonable conclusions, right?

Apparently not.

Flash was sitting on the bleachers after soccer practice, trying and failing to do calculus as he waited for his mom’s butler to pick him up. There’d been some kind of traffic accident, hence why Gerald was late. Flash knew the butler wouldn’t lie about that. It was Flash’s father who always forgot—no, Flash, I didn’t forget, I was just delayed in sending Molly—to pick him up after school.

God, Flash couldn’t wait to have a car of his own again. But his father was understandably still pissed about the disaster that had occurred when he’d first lent Flash one of his cars. Yeah, that was a homecoming Flash would never forget.

“What’s up?”

Flash bit back what would have been a very unmanly gasp as Spider-Man swung down into the space next to him, landing with enough grace so as to avoid the ear-ringing clang that often came with excessive force exacted on Midtown’s metal bleachers. “What are you doing here?” was the first response that left Flash’s mouth, which he belatedly realized did not at all answer Spider-Man’s question.

Spider-Man didn’t seem to care, though, as he just shrugged. “I was about to st—I mean, I was in the middle of my afternoon patrol when I noticed you hanging out here by yourself. Thought you might want some company.”

“Oh, a pity visit?” Flash retorted on instinct before grimacing. Zero mind to mouth filter, huh? “Ugh, sorry. Old habits die hard.” An understatement, but Spider-Man waved his hand dismissively.

“No, you’re fine. I’ve run into far crabbier people than you on patrol before.”

Flash snorted. Yeah, that made him feel loads better. “I do appreciate the company,” he offered after a pause. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Spider-Man sat down, crossing his legs in a way that reminded Flash of how Spider-Man was his age, his age, possibly a year older or younger. “So—what are you still doing around here after school’s already let out?”

Flash gestured towards the field in front of them. “I had soccer practice. Now I’m waiting for my ride to pick me up.”

Spider-Man tilted his head. “Really? I thought you had a car…” He trailed off, the eyes of his mask widening. “Oh, shit.”

Flash snorted. “Yeah, no new cars for me ever since I let a certain web-slinging superhero steal mine and then it never saw the life of day again.”

Flash had a feeling Spider-Man was grimacing behind the mask. “Right. My bad.” Spider-Man coughed. “Trust me, you, uh—you don’t want what’s left of that car.”

Flash bit the inside of his cheek to hold back a resigned sigh. Yep, he’d figured that was the case. “It’s fine. I’m almost back in my dad’s good graces.” ‘Almost’ meaning a few more months to go before his father relented—a show of kindness from him, truly.

“He’s a bit of a hardass?”

“My father?” When Spider-Man nodded, Flash laughed. “That’s one way of putting it.” For both of Flash’s parents, yes, but especially his father, it was do everything right or don’t do it at all. Accept nothing less than the best. Error was akin to failure. A depressing way to go about life, no doubt, but also the only method Flash knew how to practice. He had about a hundred not-quite-perfect origami projects in a recycle bin that could testify to it.

“Would he appreciate it if I bought you a new car?”

Flash stared at Spider-Man with probably more scandal than necessary. “What? Are you serious?” When Spider-Man nodded, Flash aggressively shook his head. “Jesus, no, you don’t need to get me a new car!”

Spider-Man made a so-so gesture with his hand. “Look. I was the one to wreck it, so realistically it should be me who—”

“Hell no,” Flash said flatly. “My father will buy me one eventually. I’d feel way less guilty getting a car from the man with oodles of cash than I would getting one from you, a superhero Peter says is our age and is therefore probably surviving on spare change like most normal teens.”

Spider-Man snorted. “Please. I know Tony Stark. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not taking his money, but he would never let me ‘survive on spare change.’”

Ha. He sounded just like Peter, with the ridiculously expressive finger quotes to match.

“Either way, I prefer letting my dad deal with it,” Flash repeated. “End of story.” There was a pause, and he added with an amused huff, “When I do get that new car, though, I’m not letting you anywhere near it.”

Spider-Man burst out laughing, a warm sound that sent butterflies soaring through Flash’s stomach like the breeze of an early spring morning. “Aw, what? I thought we were friends!”

Flash pointed at Spider-Man with the end of his mechanical pencil in an accusatory fashion. “No, you and Peter are friends. We are acquaintances at best.”

“Acquaintances? Peter insisted you were my number one fan. And that’s what your Insta handle is. Unless you’ve forgotten how much you admire me.”

Heat rushed to Flash’s cheeks because oh, right, his Instagram was definitely public for all the world to see. His blush only deepened when he realized holy crap—apparently, possibly, maybe Spider-Man followed him on Instagram. “Uh… Well, that’s diff—”

“What, are you gonna deny it?” Spider-Man teased, and Flash immediately shook his head. Probably with too much emphasis, but whatever.

“Hell no. I’d be president of the Spider-Man fan club if the school had allowed me to make one.” As soon the words escaped his mouth, blood rushed to Flash’s cheeks, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret the declaration.

Spider-Man shook his head before saying, “You sure know how to flatter a guy,” and Flash was pretty damn certain his heart skipped three entire beats because of that comment alone.

“Anyways,” Spider-Man continued after a pause, “I was wondering if I could drop by your house this evening and you could show me how to make that origami boat. You’re still at your mom’s place, right?”

Flash nodded, using every ounce of his conscious willpower to keep his jaw from dropping. Really, one would think he’d be past the ‘stunned into silence’ phase of talking with Spider-Man at this point. “I—yes, absolutely. My mom’s house. Origami. Tonight.”

Spider-Man laughed at his fractured response. “Great! I’ll see you around 9, then.” He stood up, brushing off the front of his suit. A suit which Flash had never once thought about how form-fitting it was around Spider-Man’s biceps, of course, because that would be weird and indicative of a crush Flash definitely did not have. “I need to get back to patrol now, but it was great seeing you! Always a delight to chat with my number one fan.”

Flash didn’t bother to disguise his scowl at Spider-Man’s teasing. “Don’t make me change my mind about having you over.”

With a final laugh and a cheery wave, Spider-Man swung off over the city, and it wasn’t until ten minutes before Spider-Man was supposed to drop onto his balcony that night when Flash realized something odd about their earlier conversation.

Spider-Man had said you’re still at your mom’s house.

But how did he know Flash’s parents were separated?

His parents certainly weren’t propagating that information, and neither was Flash himself. The only people he’d told directly were Peter, Tony—well, Tony had figured it out through FRIDAY, and Flash had confirmed it for him—and Betty, though he suspected MJ and Ned had pieced it together from his general lack of subtlety around them. Ned didn’t know Spider-Man personally, at least not to Flash’s knowledge, and neither did MJ or Betty, which meant they couldn’t have told him. Tony would never bring it up, not when he intimately understood the need to keep personal details private in a way no one else that Flash knew did. Which meant…

No. No way. Had—

Had Peter told Spider-Man about his parents’ separation?

Flash’s stomach rolled at the thought, not that he was able to pinpoint why the idea made him mildly nauseous. But Peter wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t. They were friends now, he knew Flash didn’t like having his family information out in the air and would never tell anyone, even if that ‘anyone’ was Spider-Man.

Right?

Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out. Or at least only one way Flash was willing to consider. He grabbed his phone off his dresser and scrolled to his latest text thread with Peter—as of late, much higher up than it used to be—and clicked call on the contact.

“Flash?” There was a weird, almost muffled fuzz to Peter’s voice, like there was something over his mouth as he spoke. “What’s up?”

Flash forced himself to lessen his grip on his phone. “When you arranged for Spider-Man to meet me the first time, did you tell him my parents were split?”

Huh. He was almost shocked by the forwardness of his own question.

“Did I—what? No, no I’d never do that.” There was a pause followed by a strange whoosh sound. “Why? What happened?”

Flash exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. Peter wouldn’t do that to him. Of course not. “Nothing. He just—he specifically mentioned ‘my mother’s house’ earlier today, but he probably figured out my family arrangement on his own.” Spider-Man was rumored to be a super genius like Tony Stark, it was only reasonable to conclude that he could put two and two together. Flash was just being paranoid.

“I’d never tell anyone without your permission, Flash. And I can promise you that Spider-Man’s not the type to kiss and tell,” Peter said. Flash could’ve sworn he heard a bird shriek in the background of the call—what the hell was Peter doing? “I can text him to let him know you’d prefer to keep that information private, if you want.”

Flash blinked. “What? No, you don’t need to do that.”

“Too late!” Flash could hear the smirk in Peter’s voice. “Already done.”

Christ, okay. But—wait. Hold on a minute. If Peter had texted Spider-Man… “Spider-Man has a cell phone?”

Peter laughed. “Something like that.” Flash heard another strange noise from Peter’s end of the line, but before he could ask about it, Peter was signing off. “I have to go now, but talk to you later?”

“Uh… Sure?” Was there a reason Peter wanted to continue this conversation?

Peter laughed again. “So you can tell me about your date with the amazing and heroic and dreamy Spider-Man, duh.”

Flash’s face heated like midday in July. “Shut up, Peter, it is not—”

“Bye, Flash! Have fun!”

Flash groaned as Peter hung up on him, tossing his phone onto his bed without bothering to click off to the lockscreen. His friends were evil. The whole lot of them. Especially Peter Parker, who apparently loved chatting with Spider-Man about Flash behind his back, because how else could he have known Spider-Man was visiting him tonight?

At the same time… Well. It was nice they cared.

Spider-Man showed up just under fifteen minutes later, after Flash had returned both to his desk and to the calculus homework he’d been struggling with earlier on the bleachers. Numbers were easier for him to process than letters, sure, but that didn’t mean Flash’s mind was attuned to math, much to his parents’ dismay.

Flash found he didn’t care so much about meeting his parents’ obnoxious expectations as of late. Still, he didn’t want to fail the class, which meant the homework had to get done.

“How’s it going?” Spider-Man asked cheerfully—loudly—before immediately slapping a gloved hand over his masked mouth. “Oh, shit. Is your mom downstairs? Do I need to be quiet?”

Flash cracked a smile at how bizarrely considerate the question was. “No, you’re good. She’s at some gala thing tonight until 11.” If not later.

Spider-Man nodded in relief. “Okay, cool. Didn’t want to get you in trouble.” He blinked, leaning over Flash’s shoulder to peer at the assignment on his desk. “Is that calculus?”

Flash knew an embarrassed blush had darkened his cheeks, as he was distinctly aware of the pathetically few problems he’d managed to complete. “Uh—yeah. Yeah, it’s my AP Calc homework. Due tomorrow.” He started to close the binder the worksheet was in, shoving his pencil and eraser aside. “But I can do it after you leave, no big deal. I promised to show you the ori—”

Spider-Man interrupted him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Don’t worry about that. Origami boats are not on Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, but homework definitely is.” He grimaced—or Flash got the impression he did. As always, he could only guess because of the mask. “Ugh. Can’t believe I’m encouraging homework over hobbies.” Spider-Man shook his head. “Anyways. Want some help?”

Flash blinked. “From… you?”

Spider-Man laughed. “I don’t see anyone else in your room.”

Flash stared at him for probably longer than necessary. Spider-Man, a literal superhero, was… offering to help him with his calculus homework?

What the fuck was his life?

“I’m fine. I can do it on my own,” was the instinctual response that left Flash’s lips, ingrained from too many years of parents insisting a tutor was a sign of stupidity and that Flash was perfectly capable of completing assignments without any assistance from others. It had taken him the better part of three months just to let Ned and Peter help him with physics, and that was only because they’d created a sort of trade system where he helped them with AP Art History in return.

Spider-Man shrugged. “Well, yeah, I’m sure you could. Peter has mentioned how smart you are. But what’s so wrong about having a little help to make it easier?”

Flash blinked. “Peter still talks about me?” He was under the impression Peter had given Spider-Man the bare minimum of information about him one time, not engaged in regular conversation.

There was pause, and as always Flash wished he could see Spider-Man’s reactions behind the mask. Was he panicking? Contemplating? Making goo-goo eyes? Probably not that last one, but—

“Of course he talks about you,” Spider-Man finally said, his tone almost suspiciously even. “You’re friends, right?” He snapped his fingers. “Fun fact—Peter still feels like he owes you for helping him out a few weeks ago with that APUSH quiz he’d forgotten about, so if you ever need math help when I’m not here, I recommend him as your go-to.”

Flash’s face darkened with another blush. If he was honest, he’d almost forgotten that one-off incident had ever happened. Which was probably a good sign that he was really and truly getting over the obnoxious, unrequited rivalry he’d created with Peter. “That wasn’t a big deal.”

“And neither is me lending you a hand with some calculus,” Spider-Man affirmed. “Besides, I love math!” He winked at Flash, the eye of his mask clicking quietly. “This gives me a chance to impress you, at least. I know I’d only make a fool of myself with that origami boat.”

Flash would honestly rather himself do the impressing, but nonetheless the fact that Spider-Man wanted to impress him made his heart flutter with embarrassing lightness in his chest.

“Okay,” he finally agreed. “I’d… appreciate the help. But”—his grip tightened on his pencil, and he dropped his gaze back to his desk—“don’t laugh when I make stupid mistakes.” Laughter was preferable to angry shouting any day, but that didn’t mean Flash particularly desired either.

“Everyone makes stupid mistakes,” Spider-Man reassured him. “I promise any laughing I do will be in regard to my own errors.”

Flash offered him a small smile at that, a little more relaxed than before, and they both moved to sit on his bed so Spider-Man wouldn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder at the assignment. After that, they started working through the problems one by one. Once Flash got over his initial embarrassment at needing to ask questions—mostly about trig derivatives, fuck trig derivatives—he could honestly say the process was kind of… fun. Not the math itself, God no, but Spider-Man’s breezy manner with which he approached each problem, his gentle tone when Flash got frustrated, and his wild excitement when Flash got an answer right all created a more comfortable atmosphere than Flash had enjoyed while doing math homework in… well, a long time.

At one point, Flash found himself pausing halfway through a particularly nasty quotient rule to ask, “Do you help all of Peter’s friends with their homework?” For a reason entirely unrelated to the crush he did not have on Spider-Man, Flash wanted to know if his situation was… unique or not.

Spider-Man blinked. “No, I don’t. But I also haven’t met many of Peter’s friends more than once.”

Flash kept his eyes glued to the binder on his lap for fear of Spider-Man noticing how red his face was turning. “So I’m… a special case? Because this is the second”—third, if Flash was being technical—“time you’ve hung out with me.”

Spider-Man grinned at him. Or at least Flash wanted to think he did. “What can I say? There’s just something about you.”

Flash was very proud of himself for not passing out after hearing that. His voice may or may not have jumped up an octave when he’d tried to thank Spider-Man, sure, but it was whatever. A voice crack was considerably less embarrassing than straight up losing consciousness.

It took them almost two and half hours to complete the calculus assignment, mostly because Spider-Man had no problem with taking their conversation off on unrelated tangents when he noticed Flash getting frustrated with a particular concept or question. He only returned to the assignment once Flash had taken a deep breath and was ready to try again or attempt a different approach, a level of kindness and consideration that did not at all make Flash’s heart flutter. That would be outrageous.

“I should probably head out,” Spider-Man said about five minutes after they’d exchanged a triumphant high five to celebrate their completion of the problem set. “I want to make a few laps around the city before I turn in tonight, and I know you said your mom’s gala thing ended at 11.”

Flash sincerely doubted his mother would be home anytime soon, but he refrained from saying so out loud. He frowned. “I didn’t get to show you how to make an origami boat, though.”

Spider-Man shrugged, and Flash had a gut feeling the hero was smirking behind the mask. “Guess I’ll have to swing by again, huh?”

Flash groaned at the pun, but he couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Right. My balcony is always open.” Only for Spider-Man, though. Flash didn’t know what he’d do if other superheroes started interrupting his evenings.

They exchanged casual goodbyes, and soon Flash was closing and locking the two glass doors as Spider-Man swung off into the distance. He felt… good, surprisingly. His math homework was done, and moreover, it was almost certainly done correctly. Spider-Man would be visiting him again in the future. His mother wasn’t even home yet, which meant Flash could ride this high for a little while longer, too.

Flash’s phone buzzed on his dresser, pulling him out of his thoughts. He signed in with his thumbprint before immediately rolling his eyes as he read the full notification.

Peter: spider man told me he had fun hanging with you tonight ;)

Flash wasn’t sure whether Peter was saying this out of his ass to annoy him or if Spider-Man actually chatted with Peter about his affairs the second after they concluded like a tween girl.

Flash: we just did math homework. guess his idea of fun is as weird as yours

Peter: oh, ouch

Peter: i deserved that

Flash snorted. Sure did.

Peter: did you have fun, tho??

Flash sighed, but a smile inched onto his lips despite himself.

Flash: yeah. i did

~*~

“So Spider-Man has come over to your house how many times now?”

Flash rolled his eyes at Peter’s question. “I thought you’d know the answer to that already, given your apparent propensity for gossiping with him about me.”

“It’s not gossip if it’s rooted in concern for your well-being,” Peter said, pointing at Flash with his pencil for further emphasis.

Flash snorted. “What, you have weird suspicions about Spider-Man?”

He and Peter were currently sitting at the high counter in one of Tony’s personal kitchens, a space adjacent to a pseudo-living room. Each of them was working on a different assignment to pass the time until their respective rides arrived. Well, Flash was waiting for Gerald to arrive. He didn’t know if Peter planned to leave the tower or not. His internship had weird hours.

Flash was in the middle of making index cards to study K’iche’ vocabulary. Encouraging him to reconnect with his great-grandmother’s heritage on her side of the family was one of the only good ideas his mother had ever had, and Tony had been eager to provide him with resources for getting started. Flash had recently contacted his eldest cousin—read: his mother’s estranged niece, thanks, Mom!—about his studies, too, and she was in full support of his work. He wished he was able to see her in person more than once a year, but their newly-consistent texts and emails were enough for now.

Peter, on the other hand, was brainstorming some technical design for an SI project he refused to explain to Flash. Asshole. But since Flash had just had a fantastic session working with Dr. Nguyen on some new reading strategies for fonts with loopier letters, he refused to let even Peter’s weird secrecy bring him down.

Peter laughed in response. Flash had almost forgotten he’d asked him a question. “No, nothing like that. Spider-Man is great! He’s an amazing guy, a good friend, a great potential partner, if you catch my drift.”

How subtle.

“I just meant”—Peter paused, pursing his lips—“okay, hang on. Let me figure out what the hell I meant.”

Flash snickered. “Didn’t you have a session with Dr. Nguyen about focus tactics right before I saw her?”

“Maybe you’re just very distracting, Eugene.”

“That sounds like a you problem, Peter.”

Now there was a change Flash was still getting used to. Weirdly enough, spending more time with Spider-Man had resulted in Flash spending exponentially more time with Peter, too. Or maybe it wasn’t that weird, seeing as Peter technically continued to be their mutual friend.

Still—his and Peter’s dynamic had changed over the past few weeks, so much so that Flash would call it banter if it weren’t for… well, if weren’t for the fact that Peter was the one Flash had this new rapport with. But Peter acted like this with Ned and MJ already, Flash was pretty sure. Fake flirting, faux charm. He figured the inclusion of himself in such behavior was just a sign their friendship status had been elevated.

Flash had been happier about that realization than he’d ever admit aloud.

Peter’s brow furrowed as he presumably tried to figure out the best way to phrase his question, and Flash decided to take pity on him. “Spider-Man has visited my balcony seven times,” he said, flipping his index card over to write the English translation on the back. “At my mom’s house.”

Peter gave him a grin that resembled a smirk enough for Flash to feel justified in shooting him a glare. “Yeah? And what about at your dad’s?”

Flash bit back a sigh. “Three times.”

He refused to mention the unofficial visits where Spider-Man had ambushed him around the city. A grocery store, the soccer field, just walking down the street. Peter could find those out from Spider-Man himself if he wanted to know so badly. Hell, one time Spider-Man had dropped in on Flash while he was at the park—having a nice moment away from his parents, in other words—and they’d ended up getting churros together.

Flash still wasn’t sure whether or not that counted as a date.

Flash also couldn’t get the memory of Spider-Man’s face from that day out of his mind. Well, the bottom half of his face. Of course Spider-Man was a white boy. Still cute, though.

Peter whistled. “Wow, okay. Spider-Man doesn’t even visit me that much, and I’ve known him for almost three years now.”

Flash snorted. “Guess you don’t possess my innate charm.”

Peter chucked a piece of eraser at him, which Flash managed to avoid with a lean to the left while snickering at his friend. “Please. You w—”

“What’s this I hear about innate charm?”

Flash turned around to see Tony enter the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of steaming black coffee from the pot that Flash hadn’t realized had been brewing. “That I have a lot of it—”

“—and he won’t share it with anyone, no, correction, he won’t share it with me because he’s too busy wooing Spider-Man with it every other day of the week,” Peter interrupted with a smirk, and blood rushed to Flash’s cheeks.

“I am not wooing anyone, Jesus Christ, Peter.” If anything, or so Flash dared to hope, Spider-Man was the one wooing him. Spider-Man didn’t buy churros for just anyone, did he? “And it’s not ‘every other day’ I see him.” He paused, ignoring how Peter smirked at him. “It might be twice a week, though.”

“See? You guys invented romance—”

“Oh my God, shut up before someone makes you.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at their banter—yeah, Flash could no longer deny that’s what it was—his gaze flickering between the two of them with a knowing amusement that made Flash squirm. It made Peter flush a cherry red, too, so at least Flash wasn’t the only one.

“Is that so?” Tony took a sip of his coffee, grimacing when it burned his tongue. Flash had long since realized that Tony had as little impulse control as Peter—probably why they got along both all of the time and also never. “You must feel pretty special, Flash. Being Spider-Man’s chosen company so often.”

Although he addressed Flash by name, Tony was staring at Peter as he spoke, and Flash had a distinct feeling that Tony was, in fact, not talking to him at all. Based on how Peter’s blush had flared up to the tips of his ears… Yeah, okay, clearly some unspoken conversation was being had between the two of them. Whatever. Flash was used to not knowing what the hell Peter and Tony were going on about.

“I mean, I guess so,” he finally said in response to Tony’s comment. “But it’s not like—who else does Spider-Man have to hang out with, anyway?”

Tony snorted, and Peter shot him an unsubtle glare. “Besides me and Pete here? Probably no one.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sure Spider-Man is very popular in the teenage superhero community,” Peter protested, and Flash snickered.

“The one that doesn’t exist?”

Tony burst out laughing, forced to lower his coffee cup to avoid jostling the liquid out. “Fighting words, Mr. Thompson.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you’re a riot, Flash” He tapped his pencil on the table twice before pointing the eraser at Flash in the same manner he’d done earlier. “I think the better question is why you hang out with Spider-Man so much instead of your regular friends.”

Yeah, no, Flash did not like that question. Or rather, he did not like what answering it would make him have to consider. So he brushed it off with a wisecrack. “Maybe you guys just aren’t very good company.”

Peter frowned while Tony laughed again. “Wow, Pete. You’re getting roasted within an inch of your life.” He clapped Peter on the shoulder in a pitiful attempt at comfort and took another sip of his coffee. Before he could say more, though, he was interrupted by FRIDAY.

“Mr. Stark, Ms. Potts is requesting your presence on the fifth floor to review some new paperwork that came in related to the Accords.”

Tony sighed, his next comment directed to both Flash and Peter. “Pep and I are still working our asses off for the Ex-vengers trying to finalize their pardons, but I bet we won’t get a lick of gratitude from their bitter selves in return, huh?” He shook his head. “Thanks, FRI. Tell her I’m on my way up.”

“Will do, sir.”

Tony threw a finger gun at Flash with his free hand before ruffling Peter’s hair. “Keep up the hard work, nerds. And Flash”—he winked at him—“let me know how romancing Spider-Man goes, yeah?”

Flash didn’t have a chance to do more than stammer a nonsensical response before Tony had disappeared into the elevator and was off to the lower floors. “I can’t believe I ever thought Iron Man was cool,” he grumbled to Peter instead, consciously keeping his eyes glued to his flashcards as he shuffled them around for a blank one to record a new K’iche’ vocab term.

Peter snorted. “Oh, same.” He resumed his sketching of the blueprints in front of him, but Flash could tell even from the occasional glance via his peripheral vision that Peter was distracted. Distressed, even. The constant erasing and redrawing and re-erasing gave him away, as well as the incessant tapping of his left foot against the bottom rung of the stool he sat on. Oh, and how he kept stopping to pick at his eraser—definitely weird behavior for Peter.

Huh. How long had Flash been able to read him so well?

“You okay?” he asked, because Peter was his friend and it was normal for friends to check on each other.

Peter blinked. “What? Yeah, I’m good.” He paused. “Uh—why do you ask?”

“Because I’m an extraordinary friend, Peter, and I care about you so much.” Flash couldn’t stop an amused smirk from tugging at the corners of his lips. “But mostly because you’re murdering the eraser on that pencil. You normally worry too much about your erasers’ well-being to pick at them.”

Peter stared down in disbelief at his battered eraser. His shock was understandable. He’d really done a number on it in a short amount of time. “Oops.” Peter reached over to his backpack, unzipping a small pocket and pulling out an extra eraser. “Thanks for catching that.”

Flash nodded in response, but after another agonizing pause asked, “Seriously, though. Are you good?”

Peter sighed, the tapping of his left foot slowing. “I’m fine.” He met Flash’s eyes with such intense curiosity that Flash was all but sucked in, powerless to look away. “But you didn’t answer my earlier question. Why do you spend so much time with Spider-Man? And not with me?” He paused before hastily adding, “And Ned and MJ, obviously. Betty. You know. All of our group.”

Peter’s face dusted with pink at his slip-up. Flash filed that information away for never.

“To be fair, I have been spending more time with you,” Flash pointed out, but the excuse sounded weak even to him, and he resisted the urge to grimace. He was a Thompson, for fuck’s sake. He was supposed to be better at dodging questions than this.

“‘More time’ doesn’t mean much when you compare it to before,” Peter said dryly, and this time Flash did grimace. Sad but true. “But I guess—that’s not really—okay, I didn’t ask the right question.” Peter paused, his brow again furrowing in a way that should not have been so endearing to Flash. “I just get the impression you’re way more… relaxed around Spider-Man. Compared to the rest of us. You know?”

Flash stared at him, unable to keep suspicion from edging into his tone. “No, I don’t know.”

Peter sighed. “Look, neither you nor Spider-Man give me play-by-plays of your ‘hangouts.’ But you guys both tell me bits and pieces of what goes on and I just”—he shrugged helplessly—“I mean, you like origami, apparently? I didn’t know that! Ned and MJ and Betty don’t know that! Friends usually tell each other about their hobbies, you know?”

Flash… had not considered that perspective. To him, origami was still like art history—probably not an interest that would be wholly shameful to his parents, per se, but not something he could admit to enjoying with a straight face. Not unless he wanted a lecture and half, minimum.

But, he supposed, his friends weren’t his parents.

“Old habits die hard,” Flash muttered, his pen jerking across the blank index card he’d retrieved and leaving a bright blue streak across his thumb. He sighed. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t think you guys would care.”

Peter rolled his eyes before giving Flash a smile that had no right to be so soft. “Of course we care. We’re your friends, Flash.” He bit his bottom lip. “And I’m not saying that you shouldn’t be so open with Spider-Man. It’s great that you are. But… you can be open with us, too.”

Of all the places Flash could have convinced himself he’d have a heart to heart with Peter-goddamn-Parker, one of Tony Stark’s private kitchens was not one of them. And yet here he was. What a fucking world.

Flash returned Peter’s smile, probably with more gratitude than he would ever want to acknowledge. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Peter grinned at him. “Anytime.” His eyes lit up, and he lifted his graphite-smudged blueprints. “Hey, why don’t you show me how to make something right now?”

Flash tilted his head. “Uh… using your design?” He was all for making origami out of unusual paper products, but official SI documents didn’t seem like a good—or legal—idea.

Peter waved his hand dismissively. “I’m scrapping this one. The websh… The motor is all wrong.”

Wow. The pause and the dramatic shift in pronunciation told Flash that Peter had absolutely given him a phony excuse there.

Peter didn’t wait for an answer as he slid off his stool and moved to the one directly on Flash’s right, leaning over to place the blueprints in front of Flash. Flash didn’t understand why his heart skipped a beat as their shoulders brushed, and he really and truly never wanted to. “So, what’s a good origami project for first timers?”

“A boat,” Flash answered instantly, remembering how his heart had skipped a beat in a similar fashion when he’d reached around Spider-Man a few weeks before to help guide him through the more complex folds. They’d been using blue paper then, too, albeit not blueprints.

Peter, strangely enough, did not make eye contact with Flash as he nodded. In fact, it almost looked like he was blus… Nah, Flash reasoned with himself. No way. Peter had no reason to get flustered by their proximity. The red was probably a weird trick of SI’s lighting.

“Sounds good to me,” Peter affirmed after a pause. He elbowed Flash in the side, grinning. “What’s the first step, oh origami expert?

Flash snorted at the gibe, and whatever the hell moment had been happening between them was shattered. Which was probably for the better, in Flash’s opinion. There was only so much emotional nuance his teenage brain could handle at once.

Still, as Flash began directing Peter through one fold at a time… he wasn’t so deluded as to pretend everything was the same between them. Not after that conversation. Even though Flash wasn’t sure what had changed, exactly. But when Peter gave him a wide, excited smile, gently cradling the finished paper boat in his hands—

Flash knew it was a change for the better.

~*~

Ever since MJ’s discovery of his interest in art history, she had gone through with her word and put Flash at Midtown’s table as their resident Academic Decathlon expert in art. Fortunately, this discovery had coincided with the graduation of two seniors, so Flash didn’t have to feel bad about displacing anyone. Peter still slaughtered the competition in the math and science categories, but Flash found he didn’t mind Peter’s prowess so much. Not anymore.

Spider-Man had helped Flash prep for this particular practice the last time he’d dropped by Flash’s house. It had been the fourth time he’d visited Flash’s dad’s home, as it happened, and Flash had practically seen him cringing through the mask when Spider-Man caught a glimpse of the shiny new car in the driveway.

“When I told him Spider-Man was the one who stole it,” Flash had teased, “he didn’t believe me, you know. He still thinks I ditched it somewhere to hide the evidence.”

“‘Hide the evidence’?” Spider-Man had sputtered. “Of what? That makes you sound like a murderer!”

Flash had shrugged. “For all I know, that’s what you were up to.” He’d winked at Spider-Man to let him know he was kidding, and they’d gone back and forth on the subject of cars and crime a little longer before Spider-Man had noticed his box of custom Decathlon cards out and offered to quiz him.

Surprisingly—or maybe not—it was the most successful practice Flash had ever had. He’d been nervous at first, he wouldn’t lie, because Spider-Man was the one quizzing him, for fuck’s sake. How embarrassing would it be for Flash to get something wrong in front of his hero and not-crush? Once he’d gotten into the groove of the practice, though…

“You’re incredible,” Spider-Man had told him when they’d reached the end of the personalized set. Flash hadn’t slipped up once. “I mean, Peter has mentioned how much you know about art history, but”—he’d shaken his head, awestruck, if Flash had identified the emotion correctly—“there’s something even more impressive about seeing you show off your knowledge in person, you know?”

Flash remembered wanting to thank him. And maybe also wanting to cry a little bit, because God, when was the last time he’d received a compliment like that? Not from his mother, who split her life between a wine glass and whatever event had her name on it, and certainly not from his father, who thought STEM was the only subject worth studying and would rather Flash be first alternate for all subjects than at the table specifically for art history.

Tony was a newfound cheerleader of his, though, so it wasn’t like Flash was completely without adult support. Not to mention his cousin, who Flash had recently learned was delighted to hear about his art history expertise. She was so cool.

“You should come to the tournament in a few weeks,” Flash had blurted out. At first, Spider-Man had only stared at him in response, which of course led Flash to will the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Spider-Man had then teased. Flash had consequently pleaded with the Earth to swallow him whole with twice the speed, pretty please, if it wouldn’t mind picking up the pace.

“I mean—only if you want it to be,” he’d finally managed to say, and Spider-Man had smiled. Or Flash had been reasonably sure he’d smiled. Stupid mask.

“I wish I could,” Spider-Man had then answered, tone ringing with regret as he rested his right elbow on Flash’s desk and dropped his chin on his hand. “Peter gave me the dates for the different levels of the competition a while back, and the only one I would’ve been able to make had already passed by the time Peter put together the list.”

Flash had easily ignored the dull disappointment weighing in his chest, because it was no big deal, really. Nothing he wasn’t familiar with. So he’d said as much to Spider-Man. “Not the first time people I know can’t make Decathlon. Don’t worry about it.”

He realized the second after the words had left his lips that—well, that had probably been the wrong thing to say, because Spider-Man had flinched, breaking eye contact with Flash. The disappointment in Flash’s chest had been immediately replaced by guilt. “Oh, crap. I didn’t mean to compare you to my parents or anything, I was just trying to—”

“I can’t make the competition,” Spider-Man had interrupted, staring down at the index cards he still held in his left hand, “but what do you say we meet up an hour or so afterwards? Maybe get ice cream to celebrate?”

Flash remembered that his heart had raced like there was no tomorrow at Spider-Man’s question, because going out to get ice cream together? Such an offer was hard to construe as anything other than a date. Of course, instead of promptly agreeing, Flash’s moronic self had said, “But what if we don’t win?”

Spider-Man had laughed. “Then you don’t win. No harm in celebrating that you tried.”

And hell if that wasn’t a foreign fucking concept to Flash. But he’d flushed, grinned, and agreed. Now Flash had a not-date with Spider-Man on his itinerary, and he was never ever going to speak a word about it to his friends.

At least not until after it happened.

“Alright, guys, the theme for this year’s state semi-finals is revolutionary,” MJ explained as she took her seat at the head of the table, pulling Flash from his thoughts. “The gist of it is significant changes within your subject, hence ‘revolutionary.’” She pointed at each of them as she continued. “Peter, that’s going to be important developments in mathematical and scientific concepts. Cindy, historical revolutions and how the economy reacted to them. Flash, specific artwork and general trends associated with or produced in response to revolutionary periods.”

MJ continued rattling off categories for the rest of the team, something about music for Ned and language and literature for herself. Flash tuned it out. Not intentionally—in fact, he wasn’t quite sure what had him so on edge. Hell, ever since his perfect run-through with Spider-Man and the establishment of their kind of, sort of a date, nausea had rolled in Flash’s stomach at the thought of attending this practice. The reason? Yeah, something Flash could not for the life of him pinpoint.

It was weird and—far more importantly—annoying as hell to be dealing with this unexpected bout of anxiety. Flash would just… not mess up any of the questions. Then he’d be fine.

Peter gave him a weird look as Flash tapped his foot beneath the table, a nervous habit he was pretty sure he’d picked up from hanging around Peter so often. Although Flash wasn’t sure how Peter had heard the noise—the library’s carpet under their feet muffled almost all of the sound. Maybe Peter was one of those people with too-good hearing.

That could explain several things, actually.

Flash was saved from thinking too deeply about the possibility of Peter having superhuman hearing when MJ officially started their practice, pulling out her stopwatch and a massive stack of cue cards from her backpack. “We’re treating this like the Super Quiz, everyone. All topics are fair game, and if you know an answer but it’s not your normal subject, you give your teammate five seconds before going for it yourself.”

Everyone nodded, and MJ offered them one of her rare smiles. “Great. Let’s get started.”

In the beginning, Flash was pretty sure his inexplicably intense nerves helped him. He was more alert and more attentive, answering with greater speed than—well, than he probably ever had. MJ appeared impressed by his response time, giving him an approving nod with each question he got right. Ned would grin and throw him a thumbs up, and Flash noticed Cindy beaming at him throughout practice, too. Even when he stammered or stumbled over a word, there were no lighthearted jabs tossed at him. In fact, Flash was tempted to call it the perfect practice. Just like with Spider-Man.

Tempted.

Despite his success, there was still a weird anxiety gnawing at Flash’s stomach, and it only worsened with each question he answered correctly. As if—As if every ‘right’ was being stacked into an unsteady tower that would inevitably crumble beneath the addition of a single ‘wrong.’ The sensation was not at all helped by Peter continually throwing worried glances in his direction, not that Flash understood how the hell Peter recognized something was off with him. Some kind of sixth sense, maybe?

“What was the original title of La Marseillaise,’ the national anthem of France adopted in 1795 but first written in 1792?”

“‘Chant de guerre pour l’Armée du Rhin,’” Ned answered after a pause, and MJ nodded.

“Good.” She clicked her stopwatch, flipping to her next card. “What mathematician is known as the father of modern optics?”

“Alhazen,” Peter said, and Flash ignored how Peter was still staring at him. Ignoring Peter was getting easier, as it happened—the knots of tension in Flash’s stomach were proving to be an effective, if nauseating, distraction. God, what the hell had him so on edge?

“Yes. Learn his true name, too, please, not just the Latinized version.”

Peter’s only response was to nod, earning a raised eyebrow from MJ but no further commentary. Wow, Flash’s head ached.

“Alright. Next question.” MJ shuffled to a new card. The silver ring on her pinkie caught the sunlight through the window, and though the glare couldn’t have shone for more than a few seconds, it was as if Flash had been blinded.

He closed his eyes, massaging his right temple. There was literally no need to be so stressed about a damn practice, he reminded himself. The whole point of practice was that mistakes were important and inevitable. If he messed up, it would be okay. Perfection and power were overrated.

Yeah, no. Flash needed to get every question right or he’d die.

“What was the inspiration for the design of Ai Weiwei’s Circle of Animals following the Cultural Revolution?”

Flash paled. He knew the answer to that. He knew the answer, Spider-Man had quizzed him on an almost identical question the night before. The sculptures had been inspired by the Zodiac Fountain in the Yuanming Yuan, aka the Imperial Gardens that had peaked in appearance under the Qianlong Emperor of China. Flash knew the answer, he loved Weiwei’s work, he’d almost had the chance to see the heads in person when they’d come to NYC—

So why was his tongue lead in his mouth?

“And that’s time,” MJ said, clicking her stopwatch. Flash didn’t meet her eyes, all of his willpower going into keeping his breathing even. “Yuanming Yuan, Flash. Make sure to review the Cultural Revolution.”

Flash managed a nod, his chest tight. What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Alright, let’s move on. When did—”

“MJ, why don’t we take a quick break?” Peter interrupted. “I know I need a minute to… get some water and relax my voice. Which means you should, too, since you’re the one reading off all the questions.”

MJ massaged her throat before nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Take five, everyone.”

Flash had no doubt he would’ve remained glued to his chair, counting each and every second that passed until their break ended if Peter hadn’t grabbed his forearm and pulled him upwards out his seat with way too much ease. Seriously, how strong was he?

“Come on,” Peter instructed, tilting his head towards the door leading into the hall. “We’re getting water.”

Flash’s protest about him having a water bottle in his backpack died in his throat when Peter pointedly met his eyes, and he allowed Peter to guide him out the library to the water fountain a few yards down the empty hallway.

“You actually should drink some water,” Peter said, releasing Flash’s wrist to cross his arms over his chest and lean back against the lockers. “Water is the cure to 90% of all ills.”

A laugh escaped Flash’s lips at that. “Right.”

“Hey, who’s the team’s resident science expert?”

Ha. Yeah, definitely Peter. A fact Flash had begrudged for an embarrassingly long time. He leaned down and took a sip from the water fountain as Peter had instructed, and the chill temperature did ease some of the anxiety rolling in his stomach.

“Feel better?”

Flash nodded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Peter studied him a moment before asking, “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

A year ago, Flash would have told Peter to fuck off without hesitation. Six months ago, he probably would have ignored Peter. Three weeks ago, he might have told Peter it was nothing. But now?

Flash groaned, slumping against the lockers beside Peter. “If I knew what the hell was going on, sure. I might tell you.”

An amused smile flickered on Peter’s lips for the briefest of seconds before his concerned expression returned. “Want to… describe it, then?”

“What are you, my therapist?” Truth be told, Flash didn’t have a proper therapist yet—Dr. Nguyen was strictly educated in learning disabilities, and for him that was just managing his dyslexia—but Tony had been not-so-secretly suggesting names to him as of late. Flash had a feeling it was only a matter of time before his visits to Stark Tower increased to twice a week.

Peter laughed, gently elbowing him in the side. The normalcy of the action was… calming, oddly enough. “No, it’s called being a good friend. You didn’t look too hot in there, so I’m just”—he shrugged—“trying to lend an ear. The way you check in on me.”

Flash blinked. “I do?”

Peter snickered again. “Yes, yes you do. Literally last week at Mr. Stark’s you were asking if I was okay when I was tearing apart that eraser, remember?”

Oh, right. “Maybe I was more worried about the poor eraser than you,” Flash grumbled. Peter snorted but didn’t comment, and after letting silence hang for another minute, Flash sighed. “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

There was a fragility to his confession, a vulnerability to his words that Flash couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to demonstrate. And to Peter-freaking-Parker, of all people.

It was the truth, though. Flash didn’t care—tried so damn hard not to care—about his parents’ impossible expectations, where he was doomed to fall short time after time, but the Decathlon team? His friends?

He couldn’t let them down, too. He had to be perfect for them.

“I’m going to hold your hand, if that’s okay.”

A strangled noise escaped Flash’s lips as his eyes widened to the size of saucers. “You’re going to—what?”

Peter gave him an amused smile, but Flash didn’t miss the flicker of anxiety reflected in Peter’s own eyes, too. “Hold your hand. If you’re okay with it.”

Flash should have asked why. Hell, if he’d been in any other state of mind besides a panic that reminded him too much of elated butterflies fluttering in his stomach, he probably would have asked why. But it was…

Well. It was Peter.

In retrospect, weird as it was, that was reason enough.

“Okay,” Flash whispered, an odd breathiness to his voice that he had no desire to contemplate. He cleared his throat. “I mean, sure. Whatever.”

Peter was clearly biting back a chuckle as he slid a hand into Flash’s, lacing their fingers together before giving Flash’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I can’t speak for everyone in your life,” he began, and Flash knew all too well Peter was referring to his parents, “but I can promise that you aren’t going to disappoint the team. We all make mistakes and get questions wrong, especially under the pressure of the live competition. But we’re all trying.” He gave Flash a soft smile. “That’s what matters, you know? At the end of the day, we tried.”

Flash’s heart skipped a beat at the familiarity of the phrase, and he swallowed hard. “Yeah. You’re right.”

Peter laughed freely this time, an airy sound that made warmth blossom in Flash’s chest. Was it weird how Peter’s hand seemed to fit so naturally in his? “Whoa, Flash Thompson agreeing with me? The end is nigh.”

Flash rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull his hand away. “Okay, no need to be a dick about it.”

“I’m serious, this is a historical—no, a revolutionary moment. It should be documented for Decathlon questions a hundred years from now!”

“You know what, Peter? Screw you.”

Peter’s laughter only increased, his grip on Flash’s hand tightening ever so slightly as his shoulders shook with the heartfelt sound and his eyes sparkled with genuine glee and—

Oh, Flash realized.

Oh.

Oh, God no.

~*~

This could not be happening to Flash. It had taken him all of an entire fucking year to semi-accept that oh, he kind of had a crush on Spider-Man, and hey, that wasn’t such a bad thing! Add a crush on Peter-goddamn-Parker to the equation? There was a reason Flash had required help with his math homework. But this particular problem?

He was pretty sure he’d have to solve it on his own.

Fuck.

At least Spider-Man was clearly flirting with Flash. Maybe it was in more of a joking or teasing fashion and Flash was just reading too deeply into it, but the light flirtation was still there. Concrete, existent, undeniable. And Flash distinctly remembered the appearance of “Bider-Man” at last year’s Pride, so Spider-Man’s sexuality wasn’t up in the air, either. Again, not that Flash had a real chance with him—he was still a superhero, for crying out loud—but at least there were no guessing games.

Peter Parker, on the other hand?

Yeah, Flash knew a lot more about Peter now. More than he ever thought he would. He knew Peter hated loud noises and bright lights, he knew Peter fidgeted with whatever was in his hands when he was thinking deeply, he knew Peter had an odd dislike for Captain America, he knew Peter loved Star Wars, he knew Peter—

Yes, Flash knew Peter. Definitely knew him better, more intimately than he knew Spider-Man. But there were still times when Peter would just… pull away, an unexplained bruise plastered across his cheek, only confiding in Ned and his aunt and sometimes Tony or MJ.

Flash was embarrassed to admit he’d realized there was little more he wanted than to become part of that ‘inner circle’ for Peter, as it were. How far Flash had come since his days of calling him “Penis Parker,” huh?

Of course, Flash had one major problem: there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that Peter liked him back. More than that, Flash didn’t even know if Peter liked guys! Maybe all his gushing about Thor was a… a man-crush, or whatever people called it. Sure, Peter had gone to Pride, too, but he hadn’t displayed anything more explicit than tying the rainbow flag around his neck. For all Flash knew, he could just be a great ally.

Flash doubted that. He really, really doubted that, but still.

Uncertainty lingered.

Flash groaned, rolling over onto his stomach and burying his face in one of the many pillows at the head of his bed. Would it really be so bad to suffocate and die? At least then he wouldn’t be forced to deal with his feelings.

Of course… There was one wannabe investigative journalist who kept an ear to the ground for gossip in the school. She could be a stickler for doling out information, though, believing in reporter’s privilege even when she determined truths solely of her own accord. But Flash did not have the guts to ask Ned or MJ about Peter’s romantic preferences—MJ would figure him out in a second and Ned would offhandedly mention the topic to Peter before Flash could blink, both of which were the last things Flash needed.

Betty it was. She probably owed him one for something or other in middle school, anyways.

Flash sighed, pushing himself into a sitting position to grab his phone off the dresser beside his bed, clicking call on Betty’s contact before he could chicken out of it.

“Flash?” Betty’s voice contained evident confusion as she answered. “What’s going on? Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Flash’s heart skipped a beat, his mind jumping to the wild conclusion that somehow Betty knew about his mother’s penchant for drinking and screaming—

“You never call me,” Betty continued, and he could practically picture her crossing her available arm over her chest. “I can only assume you’ve been shot and are bleeding out in an alley.”

Flash snorted, his resting heart rate returning to normal. Right. No need to overthink her comments. “For sure. And my natural instinct would be to call you before anyone else.”

“Obviously. Me first so I’d have the scoop on the case, and then Spider-Man afterwards to come save you, wink wink nudge nudge.”

Flash was thankful she couldn’t see how his face had flushed at her words. “Ha ha. You should be a comedian.”

“That’s my backup career, actually. MJ and I would be a double act.”

As much as Flash’s curiosity was piqued by that particular revelation, he’d called with a purpose, and he refused to let himself bow out. “Look, I have a question that I’m pretty sure only you can answer. But you can’t tell anyone, anyone I asked, okay?”

There was a pause, and Flash could practically hear her frown as she said, “I can’t agree to that without more context, Flash. Is whatever answer I give you going to hurt or be used against someone?”

Flash might’ve been offended by her question, but he’d been a dick for too many years to count, plus Betty had known him longer than most. Hell, she’d been there for the one fistfight he’d ever picked—7th grade, man. Terrible time. “No. It’s just—the answer is just for me. To process.” And possibly weep about, because regardless of if Peter was queer or not, Flash was still pretty sure he had less of a chance with him than he did with Spider-Man. Karma was a bitch.

Betty hummed in contemplation. “Alright, fine. My lips are sealed. Ask away.”

Flash’s mouth was unexpectedly dry, and he had to clear his throat twice before he managed to force the question through his lips. “Is Peter… gay?”

There was a disturbingly long pause on Betty’s end of the line. Flash started to sweat—well, not literally, but his anxiety was once again working on overdrive. God, this had been a terrible idea. The hell had he been thinking, asking Betty about Peter’s sexuality? Would it be an overreaction for him to change his name and flee the country before—

“No,” Betty said, and as Flash’s heart started to sink, she added, “But he is bi. Out and proud and prefers his close friends to know, or else there’s no way I’d be telling you. I don’t think you two were buddy-buddy when he officially ‘came out,’ though.”

Flash lost count of how many beats his heart skipped. Was this what cardiac arrest felt like? It had to be. And Flash decided very quickly that he hated the feeling, God, he was going to die because now the annoying little optimist in the back of his mind wouldn’t stop whispering about there being a chance, a chance, a sliver of a chance. Flash knew that wasn’t true. No way, no how, insisted the pessimist and the realist.

And yet there Flash was, stuck hoping.

Optimism was shit.

“You said this was information for you to process, right?” Intrigue bled into Betty’s tone. “Any particular reason why?”

“No,” he snapped, then winced. “Ah, sorry. Didn’t mean to… bite like that.” Too much like his mother. “I don’t think I’m ready to explain why.”

Flash knew Betty was probably dying for more explanation. She had a natural curiosity like that. But he couldn’t tell her. Not now, not when his brain was spinning in infinite circles and about to ooze as sludge out his ears. Seriously, feelings were bullshit.

“That’s cool,” Betty said after a pause. “If you ever need to get something off your chest, though, you know I’m here for you. Okay?”

Still kind of a foreign concept to Flash, but—“Yeah, I know.” Peter had reminded him those few weeks ago, and Flash had not yet succeeded in forgetting. “Thanks.”

“Alright. My dad’s yelling at me to do the dishes now, so I’ll either talk to you later or see you tomorrow.”

“Cool. Have fun with your chores.”

“Ha! Yeah, I’ll try my best.” There was a pause. “For what it’s worth, though, I totally think Peter has been flirting with you lately—”

“Goodbye, Betty!”

Betty burst out laughing, her own goodbye barely leaving his cell’s speaker before Flash hung up, placing his phone face down on his dresser before dropping onto the edge of his bed with a hefty sigh. God. He was in way too deep. Way, way too deep. How the hell was he supposed to face Peter tomorrow? Because Peter, the observant little shit he was, would definitely know something was up. It was only a matter of time before—

“How is my number one fan this fine evening?”

Flash fell off his bed—literally fell off his bed when he tried to jump to his feet, wow, Flash had never craved the sweet release of death as much as he was craving it tonight—when Spider-Man stepped through the open doors of his balcony. How had he managed to forget Spider-Man was dropping by?!

“Are you okay?” Spider-Man exclaimed, rushing over to Flash to pull him to his feet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You’re fine,” Flash muttered, determined not to meet Spider-Man’s “eyes” until he was certain his face was no longer a flaming scarlet. “I was just—distracted.”

Understatement of the century.

Spider-Man tilted his head, a sign he did not believe Flash’s pathetic excuse—which Flash really couldn’t blame him for—but he evidently chose not to press further, as he casually plopped down on Flash’s bed and crossed his legs. Seemed to be his favorite sitting position. “Well, how’s your day been?”

How had Flash’s day been? He’d had—correction, he was still having dual crises about his newfound affection for one Peter Parker and his continuing affection for one Spider-Man. He’d argued with his father over the phone after school about his latest calculus quiz, because an A- was a good fucking grade and not to mention a letter higher than his last two math quizzes. Consequently, Flash had taken great care to avoid his mother when he’d gotten home after Decathlon practice. Not because she’d been drunk—as far as alcoholics went, his mother tended to stick to wine in the evening, and Flash appreciated her predictability—but because he knew if his father had called to yell about his grades, that meant he had likely contacted his mother so she could take a turn, too.

One thing of few that they agreed on: an A- wasn’t good enough for a Thompson.

“Shitty,” Flash said with a scowl, sitting down beside Spider-Man. “I don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight.”

Spider-Man shrugged. “That’s okay. No one can be 100% all the time.” He pulled his left hand out from behind his back, revealing a small red gift bag that Flash hadn’t noticed he’d been carrying when Spider-Man helped him up. “Hopefully this will make your day better.”

Flash stared at the present. “That’s for me?”

Spider-Man gave him a lopsided grin, or so Flash liked to imagine he was. It was probably an adorable expression. “I don’t think I’d be offering it to you if it wasn’t.”

So much for not looking at Spider-Man while he was blushing. That was turning out to be an impossible task. “Right.” Obviously.

Flash accepted the bag, pretending his hands weren’t shaking as he removed the white tissue paper from the top. Inside was…

An origami instruction manual, he realized as he pulled the small book out. But it wasn’t one Flash recognized, which was saying something, because he’d spent days scouring the Internet for origami instructions that didn’t murder his eyes when he tried to read them.

Flash flipped forward three or four pages, inhaling sharply as he was able to skim the first few lines. As in truly skim them, without having to go back and reexamine the letters over and over. No, the words remained just about clear before him. How…?

“It’s custom made,” Spider-Man explained, voice soft as he answered Flash’s unspoken question. “I think the writing is called Dyslexie Font? It’s dyslexic-friendly, obviously, and I asked for the font size to be a little larger than normal so you can hopefully still read it with ease even on the bad days.” There was a pause as Spider-Man looked up at Flash, and—“Oh God, are you crying?! I’m so sorry, Flash, I thought you’d like it—”

Flash rubbed the tears away with the heel of his palm, embarrassment heating his cheeks. “Shut the hell up.” Wow, he’d just sworn at his idol. “It’s”—his voice cracked, and he aggressively cleared his throat in a way that did not at all disguise the fact that his had voice had literally broken in front of his favorite hero, good God—“it’s perfect.” He laughed wetly, shaking his head. “You’re perfect.”

Kind of like he’d always thought Peter had been.

Like he thought Peter was, now in… in a very different way.

Spider-Man didn’t respond, and Flash regained enough of his composure to smirk at him. “I hope you’re blushing red as bright as your suit under that mask.”

Spider-Man chuckled. “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

A yes, basically.

“Thank you,” Flash said, swallowing another rising lump in his throat. “This did. Make my day better.” The last time he’d received such a heartfelt gift from someone was… Okay, clearly longer ago than he wanted to think about. Unless Tony helping him meet with Dr. Nguyen counted.

Panic then seized Flash’s chest, desperation edging his tone as he said, “Wait, I don’t have anything for you—”

Spider-Man interrupted him with a firm shake of his head. “Nope. I was not expecting and do not want anything in return.”

Flash opened and closed his mouth, stunned. “You don’t?” But gifts were supposed to be reciprocated. Spider-Man was so weird, if in a good way. A way Flash probably found too attractive. Just like Pe—for fuck’s sake, he was not about to go there.

Spider-Man grinned at him. Flash was pretty sure he was grinning, at least. “Sometimes gifts are just about the giving, Flash.”

Yep, so weird. So, so weird.

“Thank you,” Flash managed to repeat. “But if—okay, if I can’t get you something in return, then when I make origami using this manual, you can’t refuse anything I give you.”

Spider-Man laughed. “Fair. That’s a deal I can work with.” He gestured to the book. “What do you say we use it now? I think my skills have honed enough to make an origami flower.”

Flash snorted, tension easing from his shoulders for the first time that day. First time excluding his… peaceful moment with Peter in the hall during Decathlon practice. A realization which made Flash tense up all over again. “Maybe an origami lily. You aren’t ready for a lotus.”

“Well, good thing I have such a great teacher.”

Flash bit his bottom lip to hold back what would have been an embarrassingly sappy smile. “Enough useless compliments. Let’s get started.”

His dual crises would be waiting for him tomorrow. And probably the next day. And the day after that, too. But for now? Flash was going to make origami flowers with Spider-Man and have a goddamn blast doing it.

And maybe, just maybe, he’d work up the nerve to make something for Peter, too.

~*~

“Rumor has it everyone’s favorite local hero stopped by with a gift for you last night,” Peter said, giving Flash an exaggerated wink as he dropped onto the couch beside him. Flash shot him an irritated look at the disruption, because he was clearly trying to study APUSH before Gerald arrived to pick him up from SI. The nerve.

“And what if he did?” Flash challenged, returning his attention to the review book on his lap. God, he hated the John-John, as every junior at Midtown not-so-affectionately called their comprehensive APUSH study guide. It had the most cramped font in the whole damn world and no audiobook available because it wasn’t considered a true textbook. The only plus of Flash’s situation was that his irritation currently served as an effective distraction from how his heart rate had skyrocketed at Peter’s newfound closeness beside him. “None of your business.”

“Spider-Man’s business is always my business,” Peter countered, and Flash rolled his eyes, “because don’t forget—I’m you guys’ mutual friend.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Flash grumbled. “You talk about him more than I do.”

Flash paused at his own revelation. Peter… really did talk about Spider-Man a lot. Defended him almost as much as Flash did, though his “defenses” were usually more comedic in nature while Flash got genuinely pissed whenever Spider-Man was slandered by the media. Peter had a habit of singing Spider-Man’s praises as both a superhero and a friend, too, not to mention he always wanted to know the details of the time Flash spent with Spider-Man, what Flash thought about him, even the way—wait.

Oh, no. Please no. Flash could not handle any more of this shit.

Did…

Did Peter like Spider-Man?

It made sense, in a roundabout sort of way. By introducing Spider-Man to Flash, Peter effectively allowed himself to spend more time with Spider-Man, since they apparently spent every night catching up on whatever the hell Flash had done and talked about when Spider-Man visited him. And Peter was always trying to bring up Spider-Man around Flash—at the very least, that had to be a sign of subconscious affection, surely. Not to mention Betty said Peter was bi, meaning Spider-Man was clearly within Peter’s realm of romantic attraction.

God. Flash was so, so screwed. The two guys he liked probably liked each other. And hell, Flash couldn’t blame either of them for that. Spider-Man was a motherfucking superhero and Peter was—well, Peter was Peter. Funny, charming, nerdy in a way that was endearing. Spider-Man would be a fool to pass him up.

Flash had the worst luck.

“Come on,” Peter urged, poking Flash’s right shoulder. “What did he get you?”

Flash sighed. Irritation leaked into his tone, sharper than usual. Probably a result of Peter’s well-intentioned but bothersome pestering, an annoyance only compounded by Flash’s aggressive overthinking and his inability to read the stupid APUSH assignment even after all the advice Dr. Nguyen had given him an hour earlier. “Maybe you didn’t notice, Parker, but I am not in the mood to waste time talking to you—”

“Flash, Mr. Stark would like to talk to you before you leave,” FRIDAY said, interrupting what would have likely been an unnecessarily harsh tirade from Flash. “He is in the art room. And he recommends bringing your backpack with you—your butler is less than fifteen minutes out.”

Flash swallowed the rest of his too-cruel retort to Peter. The bitter nausea in his stomach painfully reminded him of the person he was a year ago, where he’d seen Peter as little more than an icon to both imitate and despise. He wasn’t supposed to feel like that anymore. Not towards his friend, God, not towards someone who Flash wanted nothing more than to move beyond friendship with.

And yet here he was. Stuck.

Peter was staring at him, expression unreadable, and Flash distantly wondered how long he’d let silence linger since FRIDAY had spoken to him.

“Tell Tony I’m on my way down,” he finally said. He shoved his review book in his backpack and zipped the bag up with enough force where the aggressive scrape of plastic against plastic made Peter cringe. Guilt flickered in Flash’s stomach at his friend’s reaction—he knew Peter’s senses sometimes worked on overdrive, though no one had ever explained to him the cause—but he couldn’t bring himself to let the apology on the tip of his tongue escape.

Once a selfish asshole, always a selfish asshole.

“Talk to you later?” Peter offered as Flash began heading towards the elevator, his words more request than confirmation based on the cautious lilt to his tone.

Flash didn’t respond. He tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack, avoiding Peter’s gaze until the elevator doors slid shut. It wasn’t until they had completely closed and the machine was taking him downward that Flash allowed himself to exhale, sinking against the wall behind him. The metal bar jammed uncomfortably at his lower back, but he didn’t care. Flash needed a bubble bath. And some ibuprofen. Anything to be rid of the aches in his body, aches he pretended weren’t emanating from his heart.

It didn’t take long for Flash to arrive at the ‘art room,’ which was really just an oversized—way oversized—closet full of copies of famous paintings that Tony didn’t have on display at any given moment. It was otherwise known as the room where Flash had first met Tony a year ago, on his class’s field trip to SI.

Flash wished he could say he was a different, a better person today, but the frustration bubbling beneath his skin as he joined Tony was the same now as it had been then.

“Hey, kid,” Tony said, taking off his blue-tinted glasses. He didn’t look at Flash as he addressed him, instead gesturing to the two paintings he had propped up against the wall. “I’m taking down The Storm on the Sea of Galilee on the seventh floor to replace it with something a little brighter. Which one do you prefer?”

Flash still wasn’t quite used to being Tony’s go-to person for art commentary—well, ‘go-to’ after Ms. Potts, who tended to be unavailable during business hours—but it was an unofficial position he took pride in all the same. It took just a single glance at the two paintings for Flash to decide.

“Viva la Vida, Watermelons,” he said without missing a beat, pointing to the copy of Frida Kahlo’s final painting. “The Picasso is nice, too, but”—he shrugged—“I always found Kahlo’s work more engaging.” Flash’s grandmother on his father’s side had been part of a Guatemalan diaspora in Mexico, the one that had resulted from the Guatemalan Civil War. It was in Mexico where she’d met his grandfather, who’d had the chance to attend Kahlo’s first solo exhibition before her passing. Flash had always felt close to Kahlo’s work as a result.

Tony nodded. “Agreed. I’ll have someone switch them out by tomorrow.” He gave Flash a sideways grin. “You answered that pretty fast—you a Kahlo fan, by any chance?”

Flash somehow refrained from saying Duh, who isn’t? “Hard not to be,” he went with instead, returning Tony’s smile with a smaller one of his own. Calm seeped into Flash’s bones, probably a result of being in his element. Surrounded by and talking about artwork, that was. “The Broken Column is my favorite of her works.”

He didn’t like thinking too hard about why that was the case.

Tony nodded again. “A striking piece.”

Flash managed a light laugh in response. “Yeah, that might be an understatement.”

“Ha! You’re probably right.” Tony cast a final look at the two paintings before turning fully towards Flash. “I didn’t ask you to join me solely to discuss artwork, however. Dr. Nguyen informed me you seemed… off during your session with her. I thought I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”

Flash fought back a scowl. “Doesn’t that violate doctor-patient privilege?”

Tony snorted at that, and Flash’s angry frown quirked upwards despite himself. “Please. All she did was describe your ‘vibes,’ as you teens might say. And as one of the few responsible adult figures in your life, I feel it is my responsibility to keep an eye on your well-being.” Tony grimaced, shaking his head as he processed his own words. “Dear God. If someone had told me a few years ago I’d be considered a ‘responsible adult’ and pseudo-mentor to a growing gaggle of teenagers, I’d have thought they were dreaming.”

Flash didn’t doubt that. If someone had told him a year ago he’d regularly visit SI and chat with Tony-freaking-Stark in his free time, he’d probably have flipped them off or called them delirious. An embarrassingly crass reaction.

“Well, I’m fine,” Flash said firmly, shouldering his backpack like it wasn’t already secure. “I appreciate the concern, but Dr. Nguyen was mistaken.”

Tony gave him a dubious look, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I might have believed you before, I sure as hell don’t believe you now, kid. I know something’s up when you start talking like your parents.”

Fuck. He had slipped into their stupid formalities, didn’t he? ‘Was mistaken.’ Jesus Christ.

“I’m not saying you need to spill your guts to me,” Tony said after a pause, and Flash realized he’d let an awkward silence hang in the air, oops, “but I do know a thing or two about being a mega rich and kinda nerdy high schooler, so…” He shrugged. “If you have a question, shoot.”

Flash hesitated. Talking to Tony about more personal subjects was still a pretty strange experience for him, and asking for love advice would only make it stranger, he was sure. Then again: Tony knew Peter and Spider-Man. Tony—as Iron Man, usually—looked out for Spider-Man in the field the way Tony as himself looked out for Peter during the day-to-day. So if there was anyone who’d know about Peter’s feelings for Spider-Man…

Fuck it.

“Does Peter like Spider-Man?” he blurted.

Tony’s response was to do nothing but stare. A half-dozen, wildly different expressions shifted across his face. Flash was pretty sure he saw him undergo the five stages of grief at one point. But before Flash could convince his body to turn around and his feet to run the fuck away to another country, Tony cleared his throat.

“I’m assuming you mean in a… romantic fashion,” he said, removing his blue-tinted glasses from his pocket and putting them back on. Flash had a feeling that choice move was to partially hide whatever his eyes might bare in response to Flash’s question, since eyes were ‘windows to the soul.’

“Yes,” Flash admitted. He was already neck-deep in this mess—couldn’t hurt to take another step forward in the water. Maybe he’d even remember how to swim along the way.

Tony’s mouth twisted upwards into an odd grin that Flash could not for the life of him identify the primary emotion behind. Amusement, clearly, but also something—something hidden, like Tony knew a secret about Spider-Man and Peter that Flash did not.

Of course, he was Tony-freaking-Stark. He probably knew half of the whole world’s secrets.

Which didn’t make Flash feel much better.

“You have no idea how much I am dying to ask why you want to know this,” Tony said, shaking his head with undisguised mirth, “but to actually answer your question, no, Peter and Spider-Man are…” He snickered in a way that told Flash he was clearly withholding true laughter. “They’re, uh, two peas in a pod, sure, but nothing romantic is going on between them.”

A relieved sigh escaped Flash’s lips, much to his embarrassment. But despite the mild humiliation he was experiencing, tension eased from his shoulders, allowing Flash to slacken his grip on his backpack’s straps. He opened his mouth to respond, but—well, how the hell was he supposed to respond to that? ‘Good’? ‘Thanks’? All conceivable options felt weird.

Huh. He could always explain… Shit, it wasn’t like he had anything left to lose.

“I asked because”—Flash licked his lips, unsurprised that his mouth had gone completely dry—“because I like both of them, and it seemed like a really fucking cruel trick of the universe if they were interested in each other.”

Much to Flash’s relief, Tony did not laugh at his revelation, and in fact seemed to ponder it with an odd intensity. Flash found himself wondering if he would have preferred laughter to this heavy silence.

“Both of them, huh?” Tony finally said. “You want advice about who to pursue?”

Flash was pretty sure his entire head and neck went scarlet at the question. “What?! No, I was just explaining why I asked you, oh my God, no, I don’t need—”

“Because while I am one of Spider-Man’s biggest supporters,” Tony continued, as if Flash wasn’t having half a breakdown in front of him, “he’s still a superhero with a secret identity, and that’s a pretty big limiting factor on a relationship. If I’d kept my identity as Iron Man under wraps, I doubt Pepper would have dated ‘him’ over Tony Stark, you know?”

Flash felt his current situation was very different to Tony’s hypothetical, seeing as he’d nearly driven himself off the edge with envy of Peter for a good two years of his life, but… All the same, Flash was pretty sure Peter didn’t offer to hold just anyone’s hand. Although—dammit, Peter was also the kind of person who just might be so gentle with others, wasn’t he?

Still. Peter had been so gentle with him. That had to mean something.

And Tony was right, anyway, unsolicited though his advice was. Flash didn’t know Spider-Man’s true identity. He didn’t know much about Spider-Man at all. In fact, now that Flash was actively thinking about it, his conversations with Spider-Man more often than not remained focused on Flash and Flash’s life and Flash’s interests whenever the hero visited. Which was flattering, but very one-way, and that couldn’t be a good quality of a relationship. Not to mention issues of idolization that would undoubtedly crop up—

Okay, Flash was getting way too fucking far ahead here. He had no reason to be bracing himself to reject Spider-Man when odds were that Spider-Man was not romantically inclined towards him. Beyond their friendly flirting, at least. And their not-a-date after the upcoming Decathlon tournament. Also, more importantly, Flash had no real reason to allow himself the hope that Peter liked him in a romantic sense, either.

Besides the hand-holding, of course. Which Flash was yet to stop reliving over and over again in his mind. And the banter. And the teasing. And the way Peter seemed to blush more often around him than he did anyone else—

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Why did everything have to be so confusing? The teenage experience was shit.

“Hello? Earth to Flash?”

Flash blinked. “Sorry,” he stammered. He’d definitely tuned out there.

Tony chuckled. “No worries. Attention spans do as they please.” He grinned at Flash. “Don’t tell me you were trying to think of a way to romance SI’s best intern.”

Flash cringed. He’d once thought talking to his friends about his love life was bad. Not anymore. Talking to Tony Stark about it was way, way worse. “Uh, I think my ride is here,” he began, slowly backing out the room, “so I’m gonna head downstairs now. Sorry we can’t continue this conversation ever!”

Flash was not sorry, and based on how Tony burst out laughing, he had a feeling the man knew it. “See you next week, kid!”

Oh, yeah. Flash was really looking forward to that. He just prayed Tony wouldn’t mention any of their discussion to Peter or to Spider-Man or to—anyone, actually. He would prefer Tony take it to his grave.

Flash groaned as he stepped into the elevator, slumping against the back wall exactly as he’d done earlier. Well, he’d gotten himself into this mess of feelings. It was high time he got himself out of it.

~*~

Flash did not have a plan, per se. He had a vague semblance, that bare bones of how he hoped Spider-Man’s visit would go, and as such he intended to run with that figurative skeleton.

More than anything, Flash wanted to… ‘come clean’ was arguably the best way to put it. Because the reason Peter had arranged for him and Spider-Man to meet, the origin of his and Spider-Man’s entire friendship—Flash was confident enough to say they were real friends, at least, not some parasocial shebang—was the fact that he’d had a crush. But Spider-Man didn’t know that. Thus, Flash owed his hero the truth.

Or so he had convinced himself.

“Eugene? I hope you haven’t locked yourself in there.”

Flash grimaced as his mother’s voice floated through his closed bedroom door. “No, ma’am. It’s open.” He’d never make the mistake of locking it again when she was home. At his father’s house, he could get away with it more often.

His mother walked in, the door creaking quietly while the clack of her stilettos were muted as she stepped onto his carpet. “I assume you plan to take advantage of the quiet house tonight for studying?”

A question, but not really. Not from her—all she knew was how to direct orders.

Flash glanced down at his open APUSH review book in front of him. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”

His mother smiled at him, her lipstick the same deep red as the logo of her favorite brand of wine. Flash doubted it was a coincidence. “That’s what I like to hear. Keep me posted on your”—she reached around his shoulder to check the cover of the book—“history test scores. Do well and I’m sure there’ll be a reward in it for you.”

Right, like some extra allowance she’d remember to give him a month after the fact.

Flash nodded anyways, his throat uncomfortably tight. “Yes, ma’am.”

Not that his mother knew, but APUSH exams usually involved a lot of reading. Excerpts to identify and analyze. He’d struggled with them in the past, the words bleeding together on the page like spilled ink. His new testing accommodations made it easier, now, not that his mother knew a thing about those, either. Flash was not interested in another rant of hers about the only real disability in the world being human laziness.

His mother hummed, giving him a look of faux concern. She’d perfected every possible human expression after being in the spotlight for so many years. “Are you alright, Eugene? You seem… passive.” She chuckled. “I suppose you get that from your father.”

Flash knew that wasn’t true, having been on the receiving end of his father’s explosive tirades about his grades more than once. Further proof his parents no longer understood a thing about each other, since all but the only time they were in the same room was at public events. Nothing real, nothing genuine.

“I’m fine,” he answered before the silence could grow awkward. “Thank you.”

And that was enough reassurance for her, because his mother’s ‘care’ was just another type of performance. Flash’s attitude only mattered when it could affect the family reputation. “Good.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, because that was what mothers did, and Flash didn’t flinch at the touch, because that was what sons didn’t do. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Flash doubted that.

“Whatever your teacher gave you for homework, find a similar assignment online and complete that, too. You could use the extra practice.” His mother tapped his nose with her pinky, the green acrylic nail scraping uncomfortably across the bridge. “I’ll be checking for it—you know the consequences of failure.”

Flash nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

His mother smiled at him again, an expression Flash was yet to see reach her eyes, before leaving his bedroom.

She didn’t bother to shut the door behind her.

Flash waited until he could no longer hear the clicking of her heels against the wooden floor to slump down in his chair, a harsh sigh escaping his lips. A conversation gone well, all things considered. He hadn’t wanted to risk angering her—not when he had plans of his own tonight.

Which was why Flash had deliberately chosen his APUSH book to display on his desk. He’d completed his class assignment—hopefully correctly—the second he’d gotten home from SI and found a related short essay online, which he’d also finished as quickly as possible. His mother was predictable even when she wasn’t swimming in a bottle, and Flash had known exactly what she’d demand of him. Score. Now it was just a matter of wai—

“Is she always so distant?”

Flash jumped at the familiar voice, one hand flying up to clutch his shirt over his heart like he was someone’s grandmother. “Jesus fuck, you scared me,” he hissed, and Spider-Man chuckled as he plopped down onto Flash’s bed. “What’s with the stealth mode, huh?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.”

Some habit.

“Is she, though?” Spider-Man repeated, tilting his head inquisitively. “When she’s not… you know.”

Flash bit back a sigh. “Eavesdropping is really rude, superhearing or not.” His tone was snappier than needed, maybe, but he wasn’t particularly interested in discussing his mother. So sue him. “She has two moods, alright? Hot and cold, just like the Katy Perry song. And yes, as you might expect, she’s colder when she hasn’t had any alcohol to warm her up.”

Flash turned around to close his review book on his desk, hoping the pointed action would demonstrate he’d like to close that line of conversation, too.

Spider-Man seemed to take the hint, as he said nothing further about either of Flash’s parents. Thank God. Instead, he asked, “Have you been using your new origami manual?”

Origami. That was a topic Flash could handle. “Yep,” he said, pulling the plastic container out from beneath his bed and snapping the lid off. “I made a fox earlier.” He carefully removed the small creature, pride blossoming in his chest despite himself. Getting the tip of the fox’s tail and its snout to be white while the rest of its ‘fur’ was red had been a hell of a challenge, but the final product was so worth it. And it had only taken him four tries, too!

Not to mention he’d specifically needed to make a fox for the purposes of his… ‘confession,’ as it were.

“That’s amazing!” Spider-Man exclaimed, and when he held his right palm open, Flash placed the paper fox in it. He was probably getting way more of an ego boost than he deserved as he watched Spider-Man admire his work, but—well, he wasn’t going to complain.

Spider-Man started to return the fox to him, but Flash shook his head. “No, it’s for you.”

“What? Flash, I can’t keep this—”

“We agreed you couldn’t refuse anything I gave you that I made using your origami booklet,” Flash interrupted, crossing his arms over his chest. “The fox is yours, no arguing.”

Spider-Man still appeared hesitant, at least based on the tension he was so obviously holding in his shoulders. Flash sighed, dragging his desk chair over to his bed so he was sitting in front of the hero. “Look. I’m not giving it to you for no reason.”

Spider-Man frowned. Well, Flash was pretty sure he’d frowned. Another reason why he and Spider-Man could never work out—Spider-Man’s secret identity meant a mask 24/7, leaving Flash constantly guessing about his expressions. Not great for romance in the long run.

“Foxes can symbolize deception,” Flash began, fiddling with the watch on his left wrist. “Lying. Tricksters. All that.” He forced himself to take a deep breath. “And I lied to you. Uh—kind of. Lying through omission, I guess.” Flash met Spider-Man’s eyes, and suddenly he found himself grateful for the mask—right now, it was better he couldn’t see what Spider-Man was thinking. “Peter didn’t originally ask you to meet with me just because I’m a fan.”

He could do this. No backing out now.

“He asked because I… I might have had a crush on you.”

Spider-Man continued to stare at him, the mask unblinking, and Flash took that as his cue to continue.

“I couldn’t—I couldn’t keep hanging out with you, like this, without you knowing the truth. And we probably shouldn’t go out for ice cream after the Decathlon tournament, either.” The words fell from Flash’s lips faster now, like a thunderstorm whipping up the sea into foam. “I’m sorry. I know it’s weird for you to hear all this and you probably feel like I took advantage of your kindness so I completely understand if you don’t want to—”

“Had?” Spider-Man interrupted, and Flash snapped his jaw shut so hard he winced at the resounding clack. Ow.

“What?” he asked as the pain subsided, massaging the left side of his face.

“You had a crush on me?” Spider-Man repeated.

Heat rushed to Flash’s face, probably darkening his cheeks to a maroon the same shade as his mother’s lipstick. “Uh…” He cleared his throat when his voice squeaked. Smooth, Flash. Real smooth. “Yes?” He shook his head. “I mean, no, I didn’t—” Flash cut himself off with a huff. Fuck this. “I have a celebrity crush on you. That’s why I apparently can’t speak like a normal person right now.”

Spider-Man chuckled at that, and the relaxed sound eased some of the tightness in Flash’s chest. Some. “So you used to have a regular crush on me, but now you just have a celebrity crush.”

Flash opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. Probably a very attractive expression—not.

“Yes,” he finally agreed. “Close enough. I mean, I still think you’re the coolest superhero out there and I love hanging out with you, maybe too much, but I realized I don’t…” He trailed off, a helpless sound escaping his lips as he shrugged. “I don’t know you. I can’t know you. You’re my idol, and I hope I can say you’re my friend, too, but…” Flash shrugged a second time. “You’re still a superhero. I’m just a civilian.”

That was all they could be. And… Flash realized, maybe belatedly, he was more than okay with that. Because how many people in New York could say they were friends with Spider-Man? Not a lot, but he, he was one of the few.

Not a bad deal at all.

“You could be a superhero if you wanted to,” Spider-Man said after a pause, his voice containing an airy lilt where Flash suspected he was on the receiving end of at least a cheeky grin, if not a full-blown smirk.

“Right, thanks,” Flash said, rolling his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind if my other job opportunities after college don’t pan out.”

There was a pause as Spider-Man placed the paper fox down to his left, resting it against Flash’s pillow. “Thank you for being so honest with me,” he said, not meeting Flash’s eyes as he adjusted the fox’s position. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you were taking advantage of anything by letting me hang out at your place. That’s just what friends do, you know?”

Flash knew that now. Maybe he hadn’t a year ago. “Yeah,” he said, exhaling a relieved breath. “Yeah. We’re friends. Like—you and Peter.”

Spider-Man laughed. “Oh yeah, exactly like me and Peter.” He leaned towards Flash, close enough where Flash’s heart still skipped a beat at the proximity. “You and Peter, though… That’s different.”

Flash blinked. “What.”

Spider-Man grinned at him. Flash didn’t need to see behind the mask to know that. “Come on. Normal crushes don’t get downgraded to celebrity crushes without good reason, especially when you’re actually in the process of getting to know that celebrity. There can only be one other person you were getting to know better at the same time as me, ergo…”

Flash barely suppressed the expression of sheer horror threatening to flood his face. What the fuck? First Iron Man, now Spider-Man was interrogating him about his love life? “I don’t”—his voice dropped to a harsh whisper, as if there was an imaginary third person in the room who might overhear him—“how did you know it was Peter?”

Spider-Man shrugged. “Well… I didn’t know for sure.” Oh yeah, he was definitely grinning at Flash behind that stupid mask. “But thank you for confirming.”

Flash dropped his head into his hands. “Oh my God.” He’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Embarrassing.

“Don’t worry, I think it’s sweet,” Spider-Man teased. “I bet you’ve got your confession planned already.”

Flash lifted his head to glare at him. “None of your business.” He… kind of did. Much like tonight, Flash had the bare bones of a plan. A plan he did not intend to run by Spider-Man.

Spider-Man held his hands up in mock-surrender. “Okay, I deserved that.”

Uh, damn right, Flash wanted to say, but he didn’t have a chance to do more than open his mouth before he was interrupted by a series of beeps from… Spider-Man’s suit?

“Dammit,” Spider-Man muttered, displaying a hologram from his left wrist and swiping through a series of images before he dismissed the blue light. “Looks like our visit will be cut short tonight. There’s trouble downtown.”

Flash didn’t ask what kind of trouble. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, really.

“Good luck with Peter,” Spider-Man said brightly as he jumped off the bed. “For what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure he likes you back.”

Flash gave him a suspicion frown as he followed Spider-Man out onto his balcony. First Betty, then Tony, now Spider-Man? “What makes you say that?”

Spider-Man winked at him from where he was now balanced on the balcony railing, his mask clicking quietly as he did so. “The origami manual? The dyslexic-friendly font? Those were his ideas.”

Flash’s heart stopped. “Oh.”

Oh.

“Don’t tell him I told you, though. He wanted to keep his involvement a secret.”

Well, that explained why Peter had been so curious about Flash’s reaction to ‘Spider-Man’s’ gift.

Spider-Man laughed, presumably at whatever odd expression had crossed Flash’s face. “You guys will be cute together.” Flash expected him to swing away after that, but instead Spider-Man rolled up his mask, just enough to display the bottom half of his face. “Can I get a goodbye kiss? A memento for the vestiges of your crush on me? Or just a kiss for good luck—I’m not picky.”

Flash couldn’t stop himself from laughing at how fucking bizarre the request was, because really, hadn’t Spider-Man just been trying to set him up with Peter? There was no good reason for this situation to be so outrageously funny.

“Why the hell not?” Flash finally said, shaking his head and still laughing like there was no tomorrow. “Bet there aren’t many people who can say they’ve kissed Spider-Man.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Spider-Man said, and this time Flash could see the wide grin that was stretched across his face. Before he could chicken out, Flash stepped forward to press a quick kiss to Spider-Man’s cheek, the touch of his lips lighter than the flutter of a butterfly’s wings.

“Go save the city, Spider-Man,” Flash said as he backed away, and the hero gave him a thumbs up with one hand while pulling his mask back down with the other.

“And you go get your man, Mr. Thompson.”

Flash snorted. “I’ll keep you posted.”

With a final laugh, Spider-Man swung away into the night. Flash returned to his bedroom once the hero was but a speck in the distance, pulling his balcony doors shut behind him. He took a few steps forward, and—

Wow.

Spider-Man had left the fox behind. Tsk tsk.

Well, celebrity crush or not, Flash had a feeling that wasn’t the last time Spider-Man would be dropping by his balcony. Maybe one day Peter would be available to join them, too, and they could all hang out together.

Speaking of Peter… Flash had a new origami project to work on.

Flash bit back a sigh at his own cheesiness as he pulled out a square sheet of red paper. Fortunately, he knew Peter Parker liked cheesy, thanks to MJ and Ned’s consistent—but lighthearted—teasing about it.

Flash dragged his chair back to his desk, cracking his knuckles as he sat down.

Tomorrow. Sink or swim, he was telling Peter tomorrow.

~*~

Peter would not stop staring at Flash. Again. And this new stare was even weirder than the last, however many weeks ago that had been. Why?

Because Peter was smiling at him, too, and Flash did not know what to make of this particular smile. Kind of mischievous, almost excited, with that usual tinge of I know something you don’t. And despite being mildly disturbed by said smile, Flash also found it freaking endearing. Because hormones were repulsive like that.

Ned knew what was going on. On the one hand, that was a given. Ned was Peter’s best friend. On the other hand, Ned was also ridiculously unsubtle with how he over and over again went out of his way to avoid conversation with Flash, as if he feared exchanging even basic pleasantries would lead him to give Peter’s not-so-secret secret away.

“What the hell is their problem?” Flash hissed to MJ as he dropped down into the seat across from her in the cafeteria. He jerked his head towards Peter and Ned as he spoke, who were still waiting in the lunch line.

MJ glanced at the two before returning her attention to Flash. “I’m not sure,” she admitted, fingers lightly drumming the table. He noticed her glittery blue nail polish was slightly chipped. “I have my suspicions… but I’m not sure.”

Oh, great. If the most observant person in the whole damn school wasn’t privy to whatever the hell was on Peter’s mind, there was no way Flash would be. He sighed, the exhale edged with irritation. “Fantastic. If there’s something Peter wants to tell me, he should just say it!”

MJ raised an eyebrow at Flash. “Au contraire, mon ami. If there’s something you want to tell Peter, then you’re the one who should ‘just say it.’”

Flash didn’t like her tone. Or her smirk. Or her casual, not-quite-mocking finger quotes. But despite his dislike of those particular factors—yeah, MJ was right. She tended to be. It was why she was captain of their Decathlon team. “Maybe I will,” was the most defiant response Flash could muster, and based on MJ’s amused head shake, it hadn’t been particularly defiant at all.

“What’s up?” Peter said, startling Flash as he took the seat beside him. “Talking about Ned and I behind our backs?”

Flash snorted while MJ rolled her eyes. “In your dreams,” they both said, and a beat passed as they exchanged wary stares. Flash supposed there were worse people to be in sync with than MJ, who proceeded to flip him off.

“Don’t steal my thunder. I am the supplier of witty commentary in our friend group. Go back to being the token rich asshole.”

Flash sputtered an incomprehensible noise or two while Peter snickered. “Gee, thanks,” he finally said, rolling his eyes. “I feel so loved.”

“You should!” Peter said cheerily, elbowing him in the side. Flash pretended his skin hadn’t been set alight at the touch. “My—our group would be incomplete without you.”

Before Flash could think too much into Peter’s minuscule slip-up, Betty joined them, taking her usual spot beside MJ. “You guys never wait for me,” she complained, adjusting her glittery blue headband.

“It’s not our fault you take so long to get down here,” MJ said, spinning spaghetti around her fork before stuffing it into her mouth.

“Because I’m coming from the third floor, MJ! The lunch line stacks up!”

“What we need are three lunch shifts,” Ned mused, and from then on their conversation was solely about the pros and cons of two lunch shifts versus three. Flash was more on the side of two, personally, since that made it more likely for all five of them to actually have lunch at the same time, but he kept most of his thoughts to himself. For one, he was severely distracted by Peter’s closeness. Was it just him, or was Peter making every excuse for their shoulders to brush? Whatever. Two, Flash was reviewing his plan.

Well, ‘plan’ was still a strong word, even if it was more cohesive than what he’d put together the night before. Overall, it continued to be a series of vague events that would hopefully work out in Flash’s favor.

He needed to get Peter alone somehow. After Decathlon practice would probably be best, once their teammates had cleared out and the librarian had stepped away for his smoke break he thought no one knew he took. First, Flash would apologize for being a major fucking ass at SI yesterday. Second, Flash would explain what had transpired with Spider-Man last night, namely how Flash’s crush on him was primarily an extension of his idolization. And third, Flash would…

Bare his soul, he supposed. Offer Peter his heart—literally and figuratively.

Flash prayed to any god listening that it would all work out.

The rest of the day passed at a snail’s pace, which Flash probably should have expected, since that was what always happened when someone urged time to pick up the pace. Peter continued to stare at Flash, too, whenever he thought Flash wasn’t looking, making the clock tick even slower.

Finally, finally, the end of the day rolled around, and MJ ended up cutting their Decathlon practice a half hour short.

“It’s Friday,” was all she offered as explanation, but Flash didn’t miss how her gaze flickered over himself and Peter. “Keep studying over the weekend. I’ll see you guys on Monday.”

Flash had an excuse on the tip of his tongue about why Peter should stay after practice for an extra few minutes, but it turned out he did not need said excuse, as Peter promptly turned in his seat to face Flash while everyone else filtered out the library. He was still smiling that stupid smile, a mixture of amusement and elation glittering in his pretty brown eyes.

“How’s it going?” Peter said, as if that was a totally normal thing to ask and not weird as hell considering they’d been sitting side by side for the past hour.

“You are so weird.” Flash bit his tongue, because whoops, definitely hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Fortunately, Peter just laughed.

“Well, you like that about me.”

And Flash’s heart stopped, because Peter’s brand new smile and brand new stare suddenly made perfect sense. “Oh my God.” He stood up, hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly it was a miracle he didn’t break it. “He told you.”

Peter simply continued to grin at him, like he’d been waiting for this moment all day. Fuck, he probably had, and that really did explain the disturbing-yet-kinda-sweet smile he’d had on his annoyingly attractive face ever since the bell rang for first period. “Who told me what, Flash?”

Spider-Man had just been demoted to Flash’s second favorite superhero. Iron Man could have the top spot again.

Flash groaned, lifting his hands so he could bury his face in them. “Jesus Christ. I had a plan and everything.” Now Peter already knew, everything was ruined, there was no reason to—

“No, no!” Peter exclaimed, jumping to his feet and gently moving Flash’s hands off his face. “I want to hear it. See it. Whatever you had planned.”

Flash gave him a dubious look. “But you know exactly what I’m gonna say.” Or what he was leading up to, at least.

Peter shrugged, giving him a shyer smile than the one that had previously been on his lips. “Maybe. But I don’t know how you’re going to say it.”

Flash huffed, because that was a very good point. “Okay. Fine. Sure.” What did he have to lose? Peter already knew of his feelings—because of Spider-Man’s gigantic mouth—but he was yet to shoot Flash down. That had to be a good sign.

Flash unzipped the front pouch on his backpack, closing his hand around the origami project he’d completed first try last night. It was a simple design, a smaller one, and Flash kept it hidden within his palm as he returned his attention to Peter.

“I’m sorry I was a jerk to you yesterday,” he blurted with far less elegance than he would have preferred. “At SI. I was pissed at myself”—for a lot of reasons—“and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Flash forced himself to lessen his grip on the folded paper in his hand. He was not about to crush his work before he could at least offer it to Peter.

“I appreciate that,” Peter said with a sort of finality that told Flash he didn’t want to hear any more on the subject, as if Flash’s snappy behavior hadn’t been a big deal to him. And maybe it hadn’t. Peter had always been too forgiving, too kind.

Flash hesitated, recalling the conversation they’d—well, the conversation Peter had tried to have with him yesterday. “You know… Spider-Man told me the origami manual was your idea.” Oh, look at that. Sweet revenge against Spider-Man spilling the beans about Flash’s feelings for Peter. “Thank you. It’s—I really love it.”

Peter blushed at the praise. Satisfaction flooded Flash’s chest that he had been the one to garner such a reaction from him, ha. “It’s not a big deal—”

“Oh, shut up,” Flash interrupted, rolling his eyes. “I know humility is like, your thing, but a thoughtful gift like that is a big deal.” He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to the floor. “To me, at least.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. When Peter offered Flash his hand, Flash didn’t hesitate to slowly intertwine their fingers, maybe staring with a little too much awe at how perfectly their hands still seemed to fit together. He cleared his throat a second time, both to break the silence and to get his head back in the game. Come on, Flash. Back to the plan—time to see it through.

“Remember how I thought I had a crush on Spider-Man?”

Peter’s lips quirked upward, and Flash could tell he was trying not to laugh. Fair. “Uh huh.”

“Well, I still kinda do.” He wasn’t going to lie to Peter. “But it’s not… a real crush.”

“So it’s a fantasy?”

Flash grimaced. “Don’t love that description, but sure. Why not.” He shook his head. “My point is that I like someone else. More than I like Spider-Man.”

Peter whistled. “I wonder who the lucky lady could be.”

Flash snorted. This asshole. It was so annoying how badly Flash wanted to kiss him. He didn’t respond to Peter’s tease, though—at least not directly. Instead, Flash lifted his free hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal the red origami heart in his palm. A project he’d only let himself have one try at making. One shot.

Right here, right now.

“I’m giving you my heart,” Flash said. He licked his lips. “If—If you’ll take it from me.”

Peter’s eyes widened, and the hint of satisfaction Flash received from Peter’s surprise helped ease the bite of anxiety in his stomach. Ha. Spider-Man hadn’t known he’d planned this.

Flash needed to have a serious talk with Spider-Man about the importance of boundaries, though. There were some things that Peter Parker did not have to hear from Queens’s favorite webslinging superhero.

Flash snapped back to attention as Peter accepted the small origami heart, his fingers cradling it with an overwhelming caution and gentle touch that made the heart in Flash’s chest skip a beat.

“Is that… a yes?” he whispered, silently berating himself for how damn breathless he sounded.

Peter didn’t respond right away, instead taking a step closer to Flash. Shit, they were barely an inch apart now, Flash was going to have an asthma attack, sweet Jesus—

“Can I kiss you?” Peter asked, and Flash’s initial instinct was—logically—to die. Instead, though, he managed a weak nod, and soon Peter was leaning in to press the sweetest of first kisses to Flash’s lips.

“So… this means you like me, too?” Flash asked when Peter pulled away, and Peter laughed.

“I don’t kiss everybody, Flash.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know the kissing habits of Peter Parker—”

Peter cut Flash off with another kiss, one Flash reciprocated with maybe a little more passion than the first. He had to admit that he wouldn’t mind Peter interrupting him like this more often, because God, was this what bliss felt like? Peter’s hand in his, Flash’s other hand resting atop Peter’s hip, an electric warmth tingling through his body as Peter’s lips melded all but perfectly with his own?

When Peter pulled away again, he pressed his forehead against Flash’s, and Flash knew the tenderness of the action was making him blush for the umpteenth time. At least Peter’s face was dusted with a pretty shade of pink, too.

“Okay, what I’m getting from this is that I must be the only person who has kissing privileges with Peter Parker,” Flash said, unable to keep a smirk off his lips.

Peter grinned at him. “Oh yeah. It’s an exclusive benefit. Only comes with being Peter Parker’s boyfriend.”

Flash’s heart stuttered in his chest—boyfriend—but he played it cool. “Guess I’ll have to take advantage of that benefit pretty often.”

“I can say with certainty Peter hopes you do.”

And that was really all the confirmation Flash needed, his hand drifting up to graze Peter’s cheek before sliding down his neck as he pulled Peter into another sweet kiss. There was an… odd familiarity to it, as if Flash had kissed someone else with butterflies in his stomach like this before. But that was impossible. The only other people Flash had kissed were Betty, once, for a dare in 8th grade, and Spider-Man last night—and that had been only on the cheek. There was no reason whatsoever for Flash to find familiarity in Peter’s touch.

Weird.

Out of sight, out of mind, Flash decided, humming in contentment as he let Peter deepen the kiss. He could figure that conundrum out later. Because right now?

He’d chosen Peter. Peter had chosen him.

And nothing else mattered.

~*~