Chapter Text

Peter Parker stared at the dorm assignment email on his laptop screen for the third time, willing the words to somehow rearrange themselves into something less anxiety-inducing. Jason Todd-Wayne, 20, Literature major, incoming freshman. The sparse details felt ominous after his disaster with Johnny—two years of living with someone whose idea of "keeping a low profile" involved literally setting things on fire when he got frustrated with coursework.

The burns on their shared desk had never quite faded, and Peter still flinched whenever he smelled smoke.

This has to be different, Peter told himself, closing the laptop with more force than necessary. It has to be.

The housing assistance that came with his senior year scholarship was supposed to be a blessing—a chance to move back to campus after a semester of commuting from Queens that had nearly tanked his GPA. Living with Aunt May again had been comforting in some ways, but the three-hour daily round trip on subway delays and bus transfers had made his research opportunities suffer. Dr. Connors' transformation into the Lizard and the subsequent scandal at Empire State University had already derailed his academic trajectory once. He couldn't afford another setback, not when graduate schools were expecting his portfolio by February.

The guilt still ate at him sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep. Could I have saved him? Should I have seen the signs earlier? The questions circled endlessly, mixing his failures as Peter Parker the student with his failures as Spider-Man. Connors had been more than a professor—he'd been a mentor, someone Peter had looked up to and trusted. Finding out about the illegal experiments, watching the man transform into a monster, having to fight him while trying to find a cure... it had shattered something in Peter's ability to trust his own judgment about people.

The transfer to NYU had been financially motivated as much as anything else. Full scholarship, better research opportunities, and enough distance from the ESU scandal that professors didn't automatically associate his name with the lizard attacks. But it also meant starting over socially, again. Harry was at Columbia now, and their friendship had grown strained anyway—Harry's hatred of Spider-Man for his father's death created a constant undercurrent of tension that Peter couldn't address without revealing his identity. MJ was thriving at Juilliard, but their relationship had slowly faded into polite texts and occasional coffee meetups that felt more nostalgic than romantic.

The grief over Gwen still hit him at unexpected moments. Three years later, and he could still feel the phantom snap of webbing, the horrible moment when he realized he'd been too late. She'd died because he'd made choices as Spider-Man that put her in danger, and that knowledge colored every relationship he'd attempted since. How could he get close to anyone when caring about them might get them killed?

An alarm interrupted the familiar spiral of self-recrimination. Peter glanced at his phone—2:30 PM, exactly when his new roommate was supposed to expect him. Running late. He shut his laptop quickly, and hauled ass out of the library.

The walk across campus to the off-campus housing was mercifully short, though Peter still managed to work himself into a minor anxiety spiral about roommate compatibility. By the time he found the right building—a nice place, definitely nicer than anything Peter could afford on his own—he was second-guessing everything from his choice of casual clothes to whether he should have brought some kind of housewarming gift.

He climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, checking the apartment number twice before knocking. From inside, he could hear muffled shouting that sounded vaguely like someone having a very heated argument with technology.

“ROY, SHUT THE FUCK UP FOR A SEC—I HAVE TO GO BE A REAL PERSON.”

Then a louder voice, farther from the door: "THEN ACT LIKE A REAL PERSON  AND NOT SOMEONE WHO THINKS THEIR MIC SHOULD BE SET TO ‘SCREAM’"

Peter blinked, wondering if he should come back later, but before he could decide, the door swung open.

"Please tell me," Peter said, slightly out of breath from the stairs and his own nervousness, "that you're my roommate. Jason Todd?"

"Peter Parker?" The voice was deeper than Peter had expected, with a slight rasp that made it sound older than twenty.

"That's me," Peter confirmed, then stopped short as he got his first good look at Jason.

Tall was his first thought. Jason had at least four inches on Peter's own 5'10" frame, with the kind of broad shoulders that spoke of serious time in a gym. His dark hair was slightly windswept, like he'd been riding with the windows down, and there was a small scar bisecting his left eyebrow that caught the hallway light. But it was his eyes that made Peter pause—an unusual teal color that seemed to take in everything about Peter and their surroundings in a single, assessing glance.

"Jason," his new roommate said, extending a hand. "Thanks for letting me be your roommate."

Peter reached out to shake hands and immediately understood why some people have a fixation on hands . Jason's grip was firm and calloused, with hands that were larger than Peter's own despite Peter's post-spider physiology. The calluses weren't the soft ones that came from occasional weight-lifting, either—these were the hard ridges that developed from serious manual labor, or repetitive impact against rough surfaces.

"I already called dibs on the front bedroom," Jason said, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture that seemed almost nervous. "But the other one's got a balcony, so... honestly, you probably got the better deal."

"Balcony?" Peter perked up instantly. "Oh, that's awesome. I can use it for studying and like... fresh air or whatever people say they do when they pretend they're not just procrastinating."

Jason snorted. "You've gotta be from around here, that's a totally different reaction than I've ever experienced back home."

Peter tilted his head. "Queens."

"Yeah, that tracks. I'm from Gotham."

Just then, the voice from before screamed again from what sounded like Jason's bedroom.

"JASON, IF YOU DON'T COME BACK HERE AND FIX YOUR SCENE TRANSITION SETTINGS I SWEAR TO GOD—"

Jason sighed and yelled back, "I'M BUSY BEING SOCIALLY FUNCTIONAL, ROY, SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Peter blinked. "Was that...?"

Jason waved a hand dismissively. "Long story. That was Roy, my best friend-slash-loudest enemy. He's currently trying to teach me how to work a program called OBS, which—personal opinion—has big cursed energy. Like, Ouija board meets NASA control panel kind of cursed."

Peter raised an eyebrow, already amused. "Ah. That explains the yelling. I thought maybe someone was trapped in a microwave."

Jason chuckled, shaking his head. "Nope. Just Roy. Being Roy."

Now in the apartment, Peter watched Jason survey their shared space with the same assessing gaze he'd used in the hallway. Their housing arrangement was efficient rather than spacious—a small living room with a kitchenette, two tiny bedrooms, and a bathroom they'd have to share. He took a look around, noting the lack of box mountains he’d grown to associate with incoming students. A few were still by the door, so Peter figured he’d move them to make room for his own things.

"Not much stuff for a freshman," Peter observed, reaching for one of the book boxes. Christ, what do they feed kids in high school these days? The box was heavy enough that Peter had to consciously not use his strength to lift it.

"I travel light," Jason said simply, hefting the other two boxes with an ease that made Peter wonder what kind of workout routine produced that casual strength. "Plus most of the family stuff is back home. Didn't really need to bring everything to start over."

Start over. Interesting phrasing for someone beginning college. Peter filed that away as they made their way back upstairs. Jason moved with unusual spatial awareness for someone supposedly new to navigating tight urban spaces—anticipating the narrow stairwell turn, adjusting his grip on the boxes to avoid scraping the walls, stepping aside for the elderly woman from 3B without being asked.

"This is way better than the dorms," Jason said, setting his boxes down near the further bedroom. "I appreciate you being cool with a random roommate situation."

"Trust me, random is better than my last roommate," Peter said, then caught himself. Don't overshare about Johnny on day one. "He was... dramatic. You seem pretty low-key in comparison."

Jason's mouth quirked up in what might have been amusement. "Low-key is definitely my goal. I'm hoping to actually focus on school this time around."

"This time around?"

"I took some time to figure things out after high school," Jason explained, his hands moving expressively as he talked. Peter found himself watching those hands again—the way they gestured with controlled precision, never quite relaxed but not tense either. "Traveled a bit, worked some jobs, tried to get my head on straight before committing to four years of academia."

That explained the unusual maturity Peter was sensing. Jason carried himself like someone older than twenty, with the kind of self-possession that usually came from experience rather than age. There was something almost familiar about his presence, though Peter couldn't place what it was. His spider-sense wasn't reacting to Jason as a threat, but there was definitely something there—a background hum of awareness that Peter couldn't quite categorize.

"What kind of work?" Peter asked, genuinely curious.

"Bit of everything," Jason said, which wasn't really an answer. "Construction, some security work, helped out with family business. Nothing too exciting. What about you? Junior year, right?"

"Senior, actually. Double major in Physics and Biochemistry." Peter gestured toward his desk, which was already cluttered with textbooks and research papers. "I transferred here sophomore year, so I'm playing catch-up to graduate on time."

"Why the transfer?"

Peter hesitated. The real answer involved lizard transformations and secret identities, neither of which were great roommate conversation topics. "My mentor at my old school turned out to be... not who I thought he was. Research scandal. NYU offered better opportunities anyway."

Jason nodded like he understood the pain of misplaced trust. "That sucks. Hard to know who you can count on sometimes."

Something in his tone suggested personal experience with betrayal, which made Peter look at him more closely. For a twenty-year-old gap year student, Jason seemed to carry a lot of weight in his expressions.

"You planning to set up a photography darkroom in the bathroom?" Jason asked, apparently noticing the photography equipment among Peter's belongings.

"Only if you're okay with it," Peter said quickly. "I can work around your schedule. It's just a side gig, really, but I like developing my own film sometimes. Old-school therapeutic, you know?"

"No problem. Can I watch sometime? I've never seen the actual development process."

Peter blinked, surprised by the genuine interest. "Seriously? Most people think it's boring."

"I like watching people do things they're good at," Jason said simply. "Plus, stories about people trying to come back from impossible situations—that's kind of my thing. Film development seems like it fits. Taking something exposed and ruined and making it into something worth keeping."

The description was poetic enough to remind Peter that Jason was a literature major, but there was something personal in the way he'd phrased it. Like he was talking about more than photography.

"Yeah," Peter said slowly. "Yeah, I guess it is like that."

They spent the next hour getting Jason settled, and Peter found himself relaxing despite his initial anxiety. Jason was nothing like Johnny—no drama, no superhero baggage that Peter could detect, no tendency to treat their shared space like his personal kingdom. Instead, Jason seemed genuinely interested in making their living arrangement work. He asked about Peter's study schedule, offered to handle trash duty since Peter was dealing with a heavy course load, and suggested they coordinate grocery shopping to save money.

When Jason helped Peter rearrange his photography equipment to make room for Jason's books, Peter got another chance to watch those hands in action. They moved with surprising gentleness when handling Peter's delicate camera gear, adjusting light meters and film canisters with the kind of careful precision that spoke to experience with delicate work. But when Jason absently massaged his knuckles while listening to Peter explain the equipment, the motion seemed automatic—muscle memory from repetitive impact.

"You box or something?" Peter asked, nodding toward Jason's hands.

Jason glanced down at his knuckles, seeming surprised by the question. "Used to. Nothing serious, just staying in shape."

Another non-answer, but delivered with enough casual confidence that Peter didn't want to push. Everyone was entitled to privacy, especially on move-in day. God knew Peter had enough secrets of his own.

"Well, if you ever want to get back into it, there's a decent gym about six blocks from campus," Peter offered. "I go sometimes when I need to blow off steam from studying."

"I might take you up on that," Jason said, and something in his smile suggested he meant it.

By evening, they'd established a comfortable routine. Jason’s friend, Roy, had cleared out to go do something Peter had missed. May had called a few times, confirming that Peter didn’t need his help to move his things up (which no, he did not). Peter had peeped his head into the bedroom Jason had claimed, finding a surprisingly sophisticated computer setup for someone supposedly focused on literature. They'd discovered mutual preferences for quiet study time, late dinners, and keeping the living room clear for pacing while thinking through problems.

"This is working out way better than I expected," Peter admitted as they shared Chinese takeout at their small table. "My last roommate's idea of considerate was texting me before he set things on fire."

Jason raised an eyebrow. "Literally set things on fire?"

"Drama major," Peter explained, which was technically true even if it left out the part about Johnny being the Human Torch. "Very... method."

"Sounds like a nightmare for someone trying to maintain a low profile."

Something about the phrasing made Peter look at Jason again. Maintain a low profile. Not just stay focused or avoid drama , but specifically about keeping a low profile. Like Jason had personal experience with the importance of not drawing attention.

"Yeah, exactly," Peter said. "I really need this year to go smoothly. Graduate school applications, research, all that academic pressure. Can't afford any major distractions."

"No superhero roommates this time," Jason agreed with what might have been a completely innocent smile.

Peter nearly choked on his lo mein. "What?"

"Drama majors," Jason clarified, still smiling. "They all think they're saving the world through interpretive dance or whatever. Very superhero complex."

"Right," Peter managed, wondering why his heart was still racing. "No dramatic saves this year."

They settled into comfortable quiet after that, both focused on food and their respective thoughts. Peter found himself stealing glances at Jason, trying to piece together the puzzle of his new roommate. There was something almost familiar about Jason's presence, though Peter was certain they'd never met. His spider-sense remained quiet, but there was definitely something there—an awareness that felt like recognition without memory.

Jason, for his part, seemed content with the silence. He moved through their small apartment with unusual spatial awareness, automatically stepping around Peter's scattered research papers and adjusting his reach to accommodate their shared space. When he got up to throw away his takeout container, Peter noticed he moved almost silently across the hardwood floor.

Interesting, Peter thought, filing away another observation for his mental roommate notes. Very interesting.

"So what's your story?" Peter asked as Jason settled back at the table. "Literature major who travels light, handles camera equipment like a pro, and moves like a ninja. You're not exactly typical freshman material."

Jason's hands stilled for just a moment before resuming their casual position. "I'm older than most freshmen," he said mildly. "Gap years give you different perspectives."

"And the literature focus? You mentioned stories about coming back from impossible situations."

Something shifted in Jason's expression—a brief vulnerability before his features smoothed back into casual friendliness. "Let's just say I have personal experience with things that seem impossible to recover from. I like reading about people who figure out how to do it anyway."

The honesty in that statement hit Peter unexpectedly hard. He recognized the careful phrasing of someone who'd been through something significant but wasn't ready to share details. It was the kind of statement Peter might make about his own experiences, if he could ever figure out how to talk about losing Gwen, or failing Connors, or the weight of being responsible for other people's safety every time he put on the Spider-Man suit.

"That makes sense," Peter said quietly. "Sometimes it helps to know other people have figured out how to keep going."

Jason looked at him with something that might have been recognition. "Exactly."

The moment stretched between them, comfortable despite its intensity. Peter had the strangest feeling that Jason understood something fundamental about him, even though they'd known each other for less than eight hours. It should have been unsettling—Peter's secrets were too important to risk—but instead it felt almost like relief.

Maybe this roommate situation would work out after all.

As they finished cleaning up dinner, Peter found himself watching Jason's hands again as he rinsed dishes with the same careful precision he'd shown with the camera equipment. The small scars, the controlled movements, the underlying strength—it all suggested a history much more complex than gap year travel and odd jobs.

But then again, Peter's own history would probably seem complex to someone who didn't know about the spider bite, the costume hidden in his bedroom closet, or the weight of secrets that shaped every relationship he tried to maintain.

Maybe having a roommate with hidden depths wouldn't be such a bad thing. Maybe it would even be exactly what he needed.

"So," Jason said, drying his hands on a dish towel, "what's the bathroom darkroom schedule looking like? I'm genuinely curious about the process."

Peter grinned, feeling more optimistic about his senior year than he had in months. "How about tomorrow evening? I've got some film from today I need to develop anyway."

"Perfect," Jason said, and his answering smile was warm enough to make Peter's chest do something complicated. "I'm looking forward to learning something new."

As they said goodnight and headed to their respective bedrooms, Peter reflected on the day's revelations. Jason Todd was definitely not typical freshman material—too mature, too skilled, too careful in his words and movements. But he was also genuinely kind, intellectually curious, and seemingly committed to making their shared living situation work.

Peter's spider-sense might not be reacting to Jason as a threat, but there was definitely something there. Something that felt like recognition, like possibility, like the beginning of something Peter couldn't quite name yet.

For the first time since transferring to NYU, Peter fell asleep looking forward to tomorrow.

In the bedroom next door, Jason lay awake staring at the ceiling, processing his own observations about his new roommate. Peter Parker was brilliant, obviously, and dedicated to his studies in a way that spoke to genuine passion rather than just ambition. But there was also a careful control in how he moved, an awareness of his surroundings that seemed almost enhanced, and a way of talking about his past that suggested significant editing.

Jason's life experiences were extensive enough to recognize the signs in others. Whatever Peter was hiding, it was big enough to influence how he interacted with the world. But Jason's own past was complicated enough that he wasn't about to start throwing stones.

Besides, Peter had been genuinely kind today. No judgment about Jason's vague answers, no pressure for details he wasn't ready to share. Just practical help with moving, genuine interest in making their living arrangement work, and the kind of easy conversation that Jason hadn't experienced since before his death.

This could work, Jason thought, finally relaxing into sleep. This could actually work.