Archive of Our Own ^beta

“This meeting is now in order!”

Rictor banged a little gavel on the table. Once. Twice. Three times. Shatterstar placed a hand on his wrist, and he put the gavel down. “Sorry, uh – Northstar usually runs these things. I like to sit in the back.” 

“We know,” drawled Psylocke, filing her nails with an instrument that looked dangerously sharp.

“Do not fret, friend!” boomed Hercules. His voice alone shook the building. “You are doing a superb job! But if you would rather I take over –,”

Polite protests fluttered around the room.

Felicia leaned into Peter’s side, her lips brushing his ear. “The last time Hercules ran a meeting, he tried to get everyone to take off their clothes and wrestle.”

Peter side-eyed her. “You had a problem with that?”

She smirked. It sent a familiar jolt down to his core, but he could only enjoy the sensation for a moment before his insides wrapped themselves in confused knots.

He felt . . . weird being here, for a whole list of reasons he kept compartmentalized in a corner of his brain. Felicia’s killer smile and long legs were only the beginning. There was also the fact that he had no idea most of these guys were gay. They were his teammates and his enemies and he was worried he was betraying their trust by knowing these huge secrets when they didn’t even know they already knew him.

This was so weird.

“Okay, so, uh, welcome to the Gay Superhero Alliance,” Rictor said. “I see some new faces . . . Or, like, one.”

Peter slunk lower in his chair. Felicia kicked the legs out from under him, sending him tumbling into Deadpool.

“Well, hello,” said Deadpool.

Peter jumped back, right into Mystique.

“Watch it,” she said, yellow eyes piercing.

“Sorry, sorry.” Peter was regretting all his life choices up until this point when the door flung open. He spun – and there, standing in the doorway, was the Human Torch.

Johnny Storm, actually. Since he wasn’t, you know, on fire.

Johnny stared at him. He stared at Johnny. Then –

“Parker?”

“Johnny!”

“The hell are you doing here, man?”

Oh god. Johnny wanted him to spell it out? What did he think he was doing here?

“You’re not a superhero!”

Oh. Right.

“I am not a superhero,” Peter agreed. His voice cracked, which was embarrassing, but hopefully cemented his not a superhero image.  

They stared at each other some more. Someone giggled.

“Sit down, Peter,” Felicia said. Peter thought that was pretty ironic, considering she was the one who kicked him out of his chair in the first place. He sat.

“Everyone, this is Peter Parker,” Felicia said, socialite voice in full effect. “His sexuality is currently undeclared, but he rolls with me and Spidey sometimes so I thought he could tagalong today.”

"Of course,” Johnny grumbled, going to his own seat. Peter rolled his eyes. He and Johnny were friends now, for the most part, but that never stopped Johnny from feeling some weird sort of competition with him. It was pretty funny most of the time – because, like, hello, Johnny Storm, celebrity superhero, and Peter Parker, nerdy closeted superhero – but it could also be tiring. Peter would bet that the next time he suited up, Johnny would try to make him confess that Spider-Man and Torch were way better pals than Spidey and Pete would ever be.

“You’re very welcome here, Peter,” said Rictor. “I’m pretty sure Jean-Paul has some pamphlets for like, queer friends of superheroes or something. He has those, right? Right?”

No one seemed to know.

“Okay then.” He took a deep breath. “Okay. Who wants to go first?”

“This is the part where we talk about our feelings and shit,” Felicia whispered.

“Anyone? Any . . . one . . . Come on guys, throw me a bone.”

As Rictor struggled, Peter’s eyes drifted back to Johnny. He couldn’t believe that guy. He had the nerve to get all up in Peter’s grill about not being a superhero and coming to the secret gay superhero society when he wasn’t even gay.

Oh. Wait a sec.

Peter turned to Felicia so quick he got a crick in his neck. She was already watching him, laughter barely contained, just waiting for him to figure it out.

Johnny Storm – Human Torch – founding member of the Fantastic Four – resident heartthrob – Spider-Man’s best friend and Peter Parker’s relatively average friend – was actually –

“Perhaps I shall recount the tale of when the warrior Achilles and I –,”

The room burst into protests much less polite than the last time Hercules spoke. Peter felt kind of bad for the dude.

“I’d lay off on any stories including graphic sexual content, big guy,” Rictor said.  

“Those are the only stories I have,” said Hercules.

“Rub it in, why don’t you,” Deadpool huffed. “Cable ran away from his problems to the future again, and he’s my main source of man meat.”

Peter looked at Felicia, alarmed. Cable and Deadpool? he mouthed.

She smirked.

“Does anyone got a hot grandpa? Preferably with full use of his penis, but you know, I’m flexible.”  

It turned out no one had a hot grandpa, or if they did, they weren’t willing to share. But Deadpool’s outburst proved to be the perfect icebreaker, and people began to share what was going on in their lives. They talked about being gay and stuff, but most people talked about . . . regular things. School. Their families. Significant others. Things straight people might talk about, but gay. It was surprisingly normal.

Like gay people aren’t normal, a voice whispered inside Peter’s head (it sounded an awful lot like MJ). Way to go, asshole.

Johnny didn’t speak up at all, which might have been even more surprising. If there had ever been a time when he wasn’t actively trying to dominate a room, Peter couldn’t remember it.   

No one pressured Peter into speaking about his own experience – not even Felicia – and he was grateful. He was content to listen, and he was surprised when Rictor announced it was time to wrap up.

“Have a good one. Only fifteen days until Northstar is back from his honey moon.”

Everyone cheered. Rictor rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, I suck.” Rictor didn’t look too bothered, but Shatterstar nudged him before he had the chance to relax. “Oh, um, remember we have a donation box for underprivileged LGBT youth going around. For the holidays. Though they probably need it all year round. We should look into that.” 

Peter dropped a couple of dollars in the donation box on his way out. He noticed Johnny at the end of the line, pulling wads of stark green bills from a leather wallet.

Felicia dragged him into the hallway, well-lit with energy efficient bulbs Peter couldn’t see. The GSA rented one of the rooms in the Stark Industries headquarters twice a month. It was a pretty sweet setup, all glass and smooth steel, something that should exist a hundred years in the future.

If he was an Avenger – if he had said yes to the Avengers – he could be here all the time. Another weird thing to think about in a weird day.

Felicia linked her arm with Peter’s. “So?”

“It was . . . weird. I mean, cool. What I was expecting, but also not at all.”

“Let me guess, you didn’t know gay people thought about things other than being gay.”

“Leesh.”

She patted his hair. “It’s okay, you’re new. You get a freebie.” 

Felicia turned to face him in the middle of the hallway. People filtered out around them, some calling out hellos and well wishes, others with much more pressing goals.

“How’d you really feel about it though?” she asked. Her icy eyes looked straight through him.

Peter ducked his head. “I don’t know. I thought it would be this immediate sense of belonging, if I was really – you know. Or like I wouldn’t relate to anyone, if I wasn’t. And it wasn’t either of those.”

Felicia ran her hand though his hair, nails scratching the top of his head. “Give it time, sweetheart. You’ll figure it out.”

Felicia’s eyes flicked over Peter’s shoulder and then she was leaning in to capture his lips in a long, hot kiss.

Peter froze. His first thought was that Felicia never kissed him when he was out of uniform. His second was that there must be a rule against making out with a girl right after meeting with a gay group. But then he was falling into the kiss because it was safe, and familiar, and good.

Felicia pulled back too soon.

“I trust you can catch a ride home?”

Peter’s brain was mush. “Huh?” 

She waggled her fingers. “Hi, Johnny.”

Peter forced himself to look over his shoulder, where Johnny stood, hands stuffed in jean pockets and a slight frown on his otherwise perfectly symmetrical face. Something twisted inside Peter. He turned back but Felicia was already rounding the corner at the end of the hallway, silver hair whipping out of sight. 

He coughed and turned back to Johnny. “So.”

“I thought Black Cat was Spidey’s girl?” That . . . was not what Peter expected him to ask.

“Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, no. Black Cat isn’t anyone’s girl.” 

Johnny nodded, satisfied. He took a step forward.

“Look, Parker. Peter. This whole thing . . . I’m not really out to a lot of people. So, like. I’d appreciate if you wouldn’t, you know, spread this around.” 

Peter blinked at him until Johnny started to look a little awkward.

“No, sorry, of course,” he rushed to say. “Whatever you want, man. I would never – do that to you. To anyone.”

Johnny beamed, so sudden and blinding that Peter half expected him to burst into flames.

“Thanks, man. You’re the best.”

“Nah, I’m just better than you.”

“I like your spirit, Parker. Dream big.”

Peter was about to shoot back when Rictor and Shatterstar ambled down the hallway, clipboard and donation boxes tucked under their arms.

“Don’t listen to anyone, Julio!” Johnny yelled after them. “Jean-Paul has nothing on you!”

Rictor flipped him off.

“It was nice meeting you, Peter Parker!” Shatterstar tossed over his shoulder. “We look forward to seeing you again soon!”

Peter felt himself blushing. “Thanks, man. Great meeting.”

Rictor threw Peter a deeply betrayed look as they turned the corner.

Peter faced Johnny, helpless. “I was being serious.”

Johnny shrugged. “You just have one of those faces, I guess. It always feels like you’re being sarcastic.”

Peter’s shoulders slumped and Johnny snickered. He turned him around by the shoulders and steered him out of Stark Industries.

“Come on, buddy, I’ll buy you a hot dog. Or a taco if that makes you feel more comfortable.”

“I hate you,” Peter informed him.

Johnny laughed. As if he’d been joking. He guessed he just had one of those faces.

He couldn’t pinpoint when it started. He supposed it had always been there, in some capacity, but he never let himself think about it. He never needed to think about it. There was Gwen. And then there wasn’t Gwen. There was MJ (and there was always MJ).  There was Felicia, sometimes, but most of the time, he didn’t know if there was Felicia.

He’d been stuck in a “wasn’t” phase of his life. Fresh out of college. Fresh out of a breakup. Fresh out of his aunt’s house. It allowed him time to think.

And then he wound up in the bathroom of a McDonald’s with his tongue down Iceman’s throat.

So maybe he was doing a bit more than thinking.

He’d been rather enthused after helping the X-men take down Juggernaut. He was tired, too, because he got assigned to clean up duty. This guy wasn’t even his villain but Cyclops said, “You’ve got this one, don’t you, Spider-Man? Bobby, help him out.” Peter couldn’t very well say no to Cyclops because Emma Frost would probably murder him, so he and Bobby were tasked with making New York presentable after a twelve-person superpowered fight.

When they finally finished, Bobby was all, “Wanna grab a burger?” and Peter was all, “Hell yeah” because hell yeah. They ambled into a Mickey D’s, signed a napkin for the sweet girl behind the counter, chatted as they ate their junk food in the near-empty restaurant, and when Peter went to the bathroom, Bobby wasn’t far behind. 

They kissed. It was this hot physical thing, disconnected because Bobby didn’t know who Peter was beneath the mask rolled up to his lips and Peter didn’t know much more about Bobby when he thought about it. He certainly didn’t know this. 

When they pulled apart, Peter saw the fear in Bobby’s eyes. He wondered if that was how he looked, and realized it didn’t matter: Bobby was staring into blank, white lenses. 

“I’m not –,” Bobby started.

“It’s okay,” Peter said. He didn’t kiss him again, even though he sort of wanted to. “It’s okay.”

Later, after Bobby had snuck out the back way and Peter was swinging above Manhattan, he would wonder why he didn’t say, I’m not either.

A long time had passed since he talked to MJ. They used to see each other all the time, and then she went to Los Angeles. They skyped every day. And then skyping turned into short phone calls and calls turned into texts and then . . . nothing. It had been a long time. 

So maybe that’s why he opened up to Black Cat, of all people. He already had a weird sense of trust with her that he couldn’t find with most of his fellow superheroes (if that’s what Felicia was these days). She knew who he was, the person he lived as in his day to day life. She knew – and maybe she didn’t want anything to do with that person, but she was still here. Gwen wasn’t here. MJ wasn’t here. Felicia was here.

“Can I ask you something?” He webbed a would-be jewel thief to a wall.

“Sure, it’s not like I’m busy.” She roundhouse kicked a guy in the head and he fell hard and fast.

“Have you ever had thoughts about - you know, a girl? In like, a sexual way?”

The guy stuck to the wall started snickering so Peter webbed his mouth shut, and then his ears for good measure.

“I’m flattered, but now is not the time to find new masturbatory fantasies. Watch porn like everyone else and leave me out of it.” 

Peter knocked out a dude with unnecessary force. He felt bad, but he really didn’t want any witnesses for this.

He waited until Felicia had taken care of the final thief and then said, “I kissed a guy.”

You had to hand it to Felicia. The only indication of her surprise was a slow arch of a dark brow.

“Was it Harry?”

“What – no, it wasn’t Harry!”

“Flash Thompson?”

“No, oh my god.”

“Was it –,”

“Stop guessing. You don’t know him.”

She probably did. But he wasn’t about to out Iceman.

“Hmm.” Felicia considered a particularly large ruby. “I can’t say I was expecting this. Were you?”

Peter crawled up a wall to give himself something to do. “No. Maybe. I’ve always liked girls.” 

“Me too.”

Peter craned his neck to see her from his new vantage point. “Really? Always?”

“Yup. Surprised?”

“No.” Peter sighed. “Maybe.”

Felicia dragged a careful nail on the glass encasing the gem.

“Cat,” Peter warned.

“Oh, lighten up, I’m just looking." She turned her back on the jewels. “I go to this group once in a while. The GSA. Gay Superhero Alliance. It gets a bit too sentimental for me, but it can be fun. Has all the best guys in the business. You up for it?”

Alarms blared, far too late. Footsteps echoed in the hall. Probably best to get out of here, in case the guards were “shoot first, ask questions later” people.

“I’m up for a lot of things, apparently,” Peter said. He held out an arm for Felicia to fit herself under, and shot them through the ceiling.

After Peter’s first meeting with the GSA, he decided it wasn’t for him. Everyone there knew who they were. Peter wasn’t like Felicia and her “always.” He wasn’t like those kids – Wiccan and Hulkling and Ms. America. He hadn’t been born out and proud. He wasn’t even sure there was a word for what he was. 

Bisexual, probably. Or pansexual. Polysexual. Maybe there were too many words.

It was a lot to wrap his head around.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket, and pulled up a familiar name. He stared at the little grey bubble of her last text, dated four weeks ago.

Have fun, Tiger.

He’d lied about having a party to go to when he really had some important meeting with the Avengers about joining their team (but only if he did things their way and Peter Parker was no government lackey). He had meant to text her back. 

He typed out a text, choosing each letter with precision. 

You were right about the vibes you got from Rictor and Shatterstar.

Delete delete delete.

I’m having a gay crisis. Lame, right?

Delete delete delete.

I miss you.

His thumb hovered over the send button. It had only been a few weeks since they last spoke and already it felt as if years had passed. He'd experienced more than he could ever put in a text or say through a phone receiver. He wanted MJ to come over the way she used to, curl up in his bed with her sock-clad toes pressed to his ankles, red hair fanning around her and covering his sheets like wildflowers. They would laugh about their respective jobs and how lame their bosses were and they would talk about their dreams. MJ’s dreams. MJ would ask him to move to LA with her, and he would humor her, always, even though they both knew he couldn’t leave Aunt May for long.

They kissed sometimes. MJ kissed with a fire Gwen never had, and Peter hated himself when he thought it. She would pull away, flushed, grinning, a little sad. He would wonder if she was thinking about Gwen too, or even Harry. He wondered if he had more fire or less.

Their relationship wasn’t all nostalgia and daydreaming. It only felt that way when she was miles from home and he could really use a friend.

He pulled up Felicia’s number and hit dial.

“What’s new, pussycat?”  

He rolled onto his back. “Really?”

“Part of my new superhero initiative is trying to fit my alter ego. I don’t even own a cat. It’s upsetting.”  

“Well, stay away from puns. That’s my thing.”

“So why the call? I feel like we’ve seen an awful lot of each other recently.”

“I was wondering . . .” He cleared his throat. He’d already done this once. It shouldn’t be so hard. “When’s the next one of those GSA meetings?”

“Peter Parker,” Felicia said, and he could hear her smile through the phone. “It’s your lucky day.”

A couple of people waved at Peter when he walked through the door with Felicia. He tried to smile back, to feel like he belonged here. Like he was a part of them, a part of this.

He felt like a fraud. In more ways than one.  

A blonde ball of energy shot over to them. It took Peter a minute to realize it was Julie Power. He had gone on an adventure or two with the Power Pack years ago (MJ, in particular, found them adorable). He knew Alex was doing some work with the FF, but the last he’d heard, Julie was in southern California. It brightened his mood to see her here, radiant and full of life, no longer a shy kid trying to understand her powers.

He half expected her to hug him, but she threw her arms around Felicia instead. The look on Felicia’s face was enough to dull the sting.

“Excuse you,” Felicia said.

“Two meetings in a row! Does this mean you like us? You really like us?”

“Absolutely not. I’m trying to help my sad, pathetic friend figure out his life – for god’s sake, let go of me before I make you.”

“You would never.” Julie pecked Felicia on the cheek and Felicia glowered so hard, Peter thought the lights dimmed. She thrust out a hand to Peter. “I’m Julie. It’s so awesome you came back.”

“Thanks.” Peter grinned. He couldn’t help it. The Power kids were always infectious, no matter how old they got.

“Don’t worry about not having your life figured out, by the way. I, like, totally don’t know what I’m doing. That used to really freak me out, but not as much when I’m around these guys.” Her eyes drifted over the room of assembling heroes. She reminded him a little of MJ when they first met. Flighty, boisterous, full of heart.

“Thanks, Julie,” Peter said. “I appreciate that.”

She grinned and ran to join Karolina Dean, whose tie die shirt was the most colorful thing about her today. They collided into a mass of giggles and gossip. 

“Sweet kid,” Peter told Felicia.

“Says the guy who regularly teams up with children. I personally find them heinous.”

They searched for seats. There was no need to avoid Deadpool, since he appeared to be skipping the meeting today, but Peter was seventy-five percent sure the dark-haired bombshell in the sequined dress was Loki. He kept to the opposite side of the room to be safe.

Rictor and Shatterstar took their seats near the head of the room.

“I thought Northstar was back!” yelled Karma.

“He is,” Rictor said, and proceeded to drop his head to a table.

Shatterstar said, “Apparently, Jean-Paul is in desperate need of some ‘me time.’ I do not know what that means. It could be serious.”

“He was on his honey moon for a frickin’ month,” Ms. America said. “How much more ‘me time’ could he possibly want?”

“It is likely Northstar was too often engaged in coitus to truly focus on his inner self,” said Hercules. 

The group groaned. 

“Been there,” a voice murmured, and Peter spun around to see Johnny, sitting right behind his shoulder. Peter wouldn’t have thought it was possible for Johnny to sneak up on him. Both because of his Spidey senses and because of Johnny’s . . . Johnnyness. 

As if reading his mind, Johnny said, “Years of sneaking past the Invisible Woman. You learn a few tricks.”  

Peter raised his eyebrows. “And in all those years, how many times were you actually successful?”

Johnny smirked. “Twice.”

Rictor was half-heartedly trying to gain the group’s attention. No one seemed to care, except for Shatterstar, who gazed at Rictor like he wasn’t sitting under his permanent proverbial raincloud. Felicia played Candy Crush.

“Hey, man.” Johnny lowered his voice, trying to be polite. When Peter turned, he was surprised at how close their faces were. “I’m sorry if I was a jerk last time. I was pretty surprised to see you, ya know? I like to keep that part of my life separate from this part.”

“The gay part?”

“Parker,” he huffed, but he was smiling.

“Up until now, the gay part has been separate from all parts of my life,” Peter said. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “So separate I wasn’t even aware it existed.”

“Sounds like a story.”

“A dude kissed me in the bathroom of McDonald’s and so I made out with him. The usual, really.”

“Did it taste like McNuggets?”

“Nah, he got the filet-o-fish.”

“Gross.”

“You're telling me.”

“Do you cabrones have something to share with the class?” Rictor called.

“See, if Jean-Paul said that, it would be intimidating,” Johnny said, “but with you it’s kind of sad.”

Rictor appeared to be debating whether he should bring down the ceiling and end their misery once and for all.

“Is there anything anyone wants to discuss?” Shatterstar asked, casting nervous glances in Rictor’s direction.

It turned out many people wanted to discuss many things. Ms. America needed to know how hard-to-get was too hard-to-get and Hercules was invited to an orgy last night, but couldn’t make it, and Psylocke’s coffee machine was broken, which explained why she was more aggressive than usual (Felicia snorted in a highly derisive manner, but Peter didn’t think she had room to judge).

Peter kept waiting for Rictor to gain control of the meeting. He wondered if it would be this chaotic were Northstar here, but he also realized that no one seemed to mind the chaos. They didn’t want to talk about gay sex at one thirty and hate crimes at one forty-five and superheroing at two. All they wanted was to talk about the inconsequential parts of life, and have someone to listen and understand. 

Peter wanted that, too. But he couldn’t find the words.

He wasn’t the only one not participating. At his side, Felicia had moved onto a vicious game of Words with Friends against realhellcat25. Other than the occasional jab at Rictor’s expense, Johnny was quiet.

Peter’s pulse thudded in his ears. He closed his eyes, and placed his hand palm up on his knee.

Felicia’s lithe fingers locked around his. Johnny rested the toe of his shoe against Peter’s heel. It was strange. A month ago – a week ago – yesterday, he would have laughed at the idea of Felicia Hardy and Johnny Storm acting as his beacons of stability. He wasn’t sure what changed between then and now. 

Either way, something about Felicia’s grip and Johnny’s presence over his shoulder made him feel like he could do anything. Well – maybe not anything. But at least like he could make it through the next forty-five minutes.

He made it through the next forty-five minutes. And then some.

“It was very good to see you again,” Shatterstar said, a hand resting on Peter’s bicep. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of attractive young people who come to one meeting and then disappear forever. That’s why I make it a point to go to every meeting, so the others aren’t as deprived as I have been over the years.”

“Um,” said Peter. “Thanks, I think.”

“If you ever want any help, with anything at all, please feel free to call me. I can teleport anyone I have a connection with –,”

“Oh my god, ‘Star, give it a rest,” Karma said. She fixed her stylishly dark lipstick. “Sorry, Peter. He’s a slutty polyamorous bisexual.”

“Don’t be offensive. I am a polyamorous bisexual, who happens to be rather slutty.”

“You tell ‘em,” said Johnny.

“Not that I’m not very happy in a monogamous relationship!” Shatterstar raised his voice. “Because Julio absolutely satisfies me in every way that counts.” 

A loud groan was heard from the other end of the room. Karma laughed. “Bye, guys. I hope I see you around again, Peter. Anything to keep Felicia coming.” She winked.

Peter waved after her. Karma was so cool, and super under appreciated. He hoped he never became one of those old, snobby, rich superheroes, too bogged down in their own inner turmoil and archenemies and on-again-off-again flings to be friends with the new guys.

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny asked. Peter blinked. “You were sweating a little. I figured you must be thinking too hard.” 

Peter punched his shoulder. “I was thinking about how I’d never even heard of some of these heroes, and yet they’re all so, I dunno, colorful.”

“There’s a reason for that,” Felicia said, slipping under his arm.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, “it’s because we got rid of all the boring heteros.”

“Hey, now,” said Peter, “some of my best friends are straight.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I have a straight sister! I’m not heterophobic, I swear.”

Peter and Johnny stared at each other. They burst out laughing.

Felicia watched them with mild disgust. “This isn’t going to be a thing now, is it?”

Johnny would have responded, but Rictor and Shatterstar walked right past them and Johnny couldn’t resist a final, “Hey, Ric, I think I counted two less Spanish f-bombs than last time.”

“Fuck off, Storm!” yelled Rictor. “How’s that for English?”

The look on Johnny’s face was so sincerely appalled that Peter couldn’t stop laughing.

Well. He probably could have, if he tried, but making fun of Johnny felt too good.

“Have you talked to Mary Jane lately?”

Peter’s phone lit up with a text. I’m telling you, man, you say you wouldn’t screw Galactus NOW…..

He scoffed as he typed back: I am absolutely certain that, under no circumstances, would I ever have sex with Galactus.

“Peter?”

But everything’s so much bigger . . . ;)

He flushed. Stop.

Ok fine. Name one villain you might consider banging. Guy or girl.

His hands shook, like he was doing something elicit, not playing a knockoff slumber party game. Johnny even gave him an out. Guy or girl. He could say “the Enchantress” and be done with it, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to.    

Crossbones, he typed with unsteady fingers.

Johnny’s reply was immediate. You’re sick, man.

Crossbones is way more normal than Galactus! And he’s not MY villain! I mean, have some self-respect.

“Peter, what on earth are you doing?”

He jumped a mile high, phone flying from his hand. He barely refrained from whipping it back with his webs. It clattered against the tile floor, and he flinched.

“Goodness, it’s like you’re in a whole other world today.” Aunt May hurried over to his phone, picking it up with a gentleness only she could possess. “It’s not broken, thank goodness. The last thing you need on your plate is a phone repair.”

“Tell me about it,” Peter sighed.

Aunt May walked back to Peter, his phone firmly in her grasp. He prayed his conversation with Johnny wasn’t still displayed. 

She didn’t give him the phone. This was going to be a talk.

“I spoke to Anna May recently, and she said Mary Jane hasn’t mentioned you in some time.”

Peter tangled a hand in his hair. “Thanks, Aunt May. I really appreciate that tidbit of information.”

“She was worried you might be in an argument. You two were thick as thieves in college.”

“People grow apart.”

Even as he said it, it felt like a lie. He hadn’t grown apart from MJ. She might have grown apart from him, but he sure as heck was hanging on tight as always.

Like she was reading his mind (or the droop of his eyebrows), Aunt May said, “Not you and Mary Jane.”

Peter wished he was flying through the air, wearing a mask, decking a bad guy on the jaw. He wished he was soaring above a million unaware heads and not in his Aunt May’s kitchen with her too sad, too kind eyes. 

He supposed it wasn’t healthy to use superheroing as a means of getting out of awkward conversations.

He wasn’t sure superheroing in general was healthy.

“She’s in Hollywood,” he forced himself to say. “Doesn’t got time for little ol’ me.”

“If there’s one thing I know about this world, it’s that Mary Jane Watson will always have time for Peter Parker.” Peter hung his head, a pleased flush working its way up his cheeks. “Why, I remember fearing for your sweet heart when you went off to college. But the friends you brought back! Mary Jane, of course, the little fireball, and Harry, I hope he’s doing well, and sweet Gwen Stacy –,”

Aunt May broke off. Peter studied his shoelaces. He could talk about Gwen – it wasn’t forbidden territory. But there was always this moment when her name was mentioned. This moment where everyone else forgot she was dead. But not him. He could never forget. 

That moment suffocated him.

Aunt May’s voice was softer when she continued. “If not Mary Jane, who have you been texting like a bat out of hell?”

Peter forced the air through his nose, and he forced it back in. When he spoke, his voice was strong.

“You remember when I had that internship with Reed Richards? I reconnected with Johnny Storm because of – this thing – and we’ve been talking. We get along pretty well.” 

May’s smile was like a gust of warm wind the way it washed over him. “You should invite him to the house. I know you’re a big adult now, with your own place, but you can still bring your friends here. Unless you’re too embarrassed of me –,”

“Never! It’s him I’m embarrassed of. You know celebrity types. Think they own the world.”

Aunt May ruffled his hair and moved on to check her roast beef, finally leaving Peter’s phone on the table. He grabbed for it. Three missed texts.

But mine’s, like, a weird fantasy that would never ever happen because, you know, Galactus. You, on the other hand, could totally fuck Crossbones.

I mean. If he consents. And likes dick.

He’d be stupid not to hop on the Parker train if he had the opportunity.

Peter rolled his eyes, and typed:

I think my aunt’s in love with you. I told her you’re an asshole but she wouldn’t listen.

She invited you for dinner.

Johnny’s response: Score

And then:

When can I come over?

Peter smiled so hard he thought his face might split in two.

Johnny Storm in Peter’s aunt’s living room was a visual oxymoron if there ever was one. He glowed with the light of his sun kissed skin and hair product and natural luminescence. This house, and everything in it, turned into negative space when he crossed the threshold.

Peter watched Johnny circle the room, a ball of static trapped in his chest. Something about this place made Peter feel like he was eighteen again, desperate for Johnny’s approval.

Johnny stopped in front of the mantel place. His fingers traced the ornate carvings framing a sepia photograph of Aunt May and Uncle Ben on their wedding day. “They’re beautiful.”

It wasn’t what Peter expected. “Yeah, they, uh . . . they really loved each other.”

He placed the photo down, a tenderness in his movements Peter had never seen before.

“Are these your parents?”

It was one of those weird, too formal family photos parents always thought were important. They wore matching red and blue sweaters in front of a white background. Peter remembered not wanting to go. He had an itchy throat.

“You don’t talk about them much,” Johnny said.

“Neither do you.”

“Pete, I didn’t even know your parents.”

“I meant –,”

“I know what you meant.” Johnny tapped a finger to the glass. “You were a cute kid though. I dig the glasses.”

“Shut up.”

“No really. Your nerdy hipster aesthetic was so strong.”

“I don't think any girl would agree with you.”

Johnny gasped. “Gwen and MJ!”

Peter moved forward, pulled along by something deep in his gut, to see a photo in a small, plastic frame. A college-aged Peter sat on a sofa next to Harry. It was only because he knew Harry now that he noticed how colorless his cheeks were and the dullness of his eyes. How could Peter have not seen that he needed help? He forced his eyes onto MJ and Gwen, sitting on the floor across from the boys. Gwen’s head rested on MJ’s shoulder, blonde and red bleeding into one another. It was a holiday weekend. They were playing monopoly.

“Man, what you ever did to land them, I’ll never know,” Johnny was saying. “And without the glasses.”

“I’m telling you, the glasses were holding me back.”

“What about the guy? Were you banging him too?”

“Your eloquence is always astonishing and no. I didn’t even know I was – what I am – until recently.”

“Ah, right. Illicit McDonald’s make outs. Mc-make-outs?”

Peter couldn’t help laughing, even as he said, “Stop, my aunt will hear you.”

“You mean you haven’t spilled the beans on getting slipped the Mc-tongue?”

Peter knew what he was really trying to ask, in a roundabout way. “I don’t think I’ll ever tell her about the Mc-tongue.”

“Hey.” Johnny play punched Peter’s shoulder. “If it helps, I don’t think she’d have a problem with it."

“You barely know her.”

“But I bet she’s the kind of person you can know without knowing. The kind of person who is what she is what she is.” Peter stared until Johnny started to fidget. “Am I wrong?”

He shook his head. “You’re absolutely right.”

Johnny beamed, bright and cocky like he’d never really doubted himself. “Don’t act all surprised. Just because I’m not a science prodigy like some people, doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”

“I’m not a science prodigy.”

“False modesty is never sexy, Pete. I remember when you worked for Reed.” He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, embarrassed, remembering. “I was so jealous.”

“You were?”

“God, yeah. You were so damn smart without even trying. There was always a beautiful girl hanging off your every word. The way Reed raved about you . . . It was like you existed to be the less cool but still somehow better version of me.”

“I thought you were perfect.” The words were barely out of Peter’s mouth before he was flushing. He looked back at the picture of his friends, staring hard. Johnny had met them a handful of times, but never for long. He wondered what they’d all think of each other. “It infuriated me, if we’re being honest.”

“Ha. That’s me. Completely infuriating. Ask anyone.”

Peter turned back to Johnny. His eyes were downcast the slightest bit. Peter reached out a hand, and dropped it.

“You know I don’t feel like that anymore, right?” he asked.

Johnny cracked a half-grin. “You don’t think I’m perfect?”

Peter groaned. “You’re impossible.”

Aunt May poked her head out of the kitchen entryway. “Dinner’s ready, boys!”

“Sweet! I get to sit next to Aunt May!”

“There are only three of us. It literally doesn’t matter.”

Peter raced him to the kitchen anyway.

They ate roast beef as Aunt May and Johnny traded rapid fire questions about each other’s lives. Do the paparazzi give Johnny too much trouble? Don’t tell anyone, but Johnny kind of liked it. Was book club fun? It was when you liked the book you were reading, but Aunt May had given up on this one after two chapters, and now she reads the Wikipedia article before meetings. Did Peter do this annoying thing with you like he did with me? Of course.

They stayed at the kitchen table an hour longer than they needed to, and then moved into the living room for pie and ice cream. But Aunt May had not made any pie, and she only had half a tub of ice cream, so she made Peter and Johnny run to the market. 

They went down every aisle, even though they knew where the pie and ice cream were, pushing each other in the shopping cart like they weren’t grown men. Peter kept giggling into his hoodie and Johnny would hiss at him to knock it off every time someone walked past them.

Johnny insisted on paying because he wanted three pies (apple, banana cream, and pumpkin) and five flavors of ice cream (chocolate, strawberry, cookie dough, mint chip, and superhero/villain-themed popsicles, which were basically an excuse for Johnny to say he sucked on Magneto).  When they returned, Aunt May didn’t question the purchases, taking the bags from their hands. She served them plates jammed with skinny slices of each pie, tiny dollops of ice cream, and a single popsicle. Peter enjoyed his strawberry Captain Marvel.

Aunt May offered them the house for the night, but as fun as pretending to be kids had been, they did have responsibilities. So they each hugged her tight, promising to finish the pie later, and left Aunt May’s home.

Johnny walked Peter to his apartment.

“Thanks for tonight,” he said. “Your aunt is awesome.”

“I know. I would keep her to myself, but that would be way too selfish.”

Johnny slung an arm over Peter’s shoulders. His warmth seeped through Peter’s hoodie and fought off the chilliness in the air. Peter tried not to blink. He wanted to be here, in this moment, young and alive and full of empty carbs.

“I can’t believe I sucked Magneto.”

Peter shoved off his arm. “There it is.”

“I should have known he’d be grape-flavored.”

Peter couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so hard when the dawn was still so far away.

“I can’t believe this became a thing,” Felicia said. “I specifically told you not to make it a thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peter said from where he sat across from Johnny with an origami fortune teller situated on his fingers. “Pick a color.”

“Orange,” Johnny said.

“O-R-A-N-G-E.” Peter moved his fingers in time with the spelling. “And a number.”

“Mmm, four.” Johnny flipped up the flap. “Apparently I’m going to marry the Invisible Woman.” He arched his eyebrow. “Really?”

Peter shrugged. “I made this when I was, like, fifteen. And the Invisible Woman was hot.”

Johnny’s eyebrow crept farther upward.

“I mean hot, like, popular, you know!”

Johnny rolled his eyes. “Sure. Let’s do you now.” They switched the device on to Johnny’s fingers. Their skin brushed. “Pick a color.”

“Blue.”

“Why are you the most boring person.” Johnny sped through the letters. “Number.”

“One.” Peter flipped it open and read, “Spider-Man is secretly in love with you.”

Felicia placed a single finger to the bridge of her nose, like she was too tired to face palm.

“Who’s Spider-Man secretly in love with?” Wiccan asked as he walked through the door.

“I hope it’s me,” said the non-green version of Hulkling, earning him a good-natured slug in the arm.

“Obviously it’s Johnny,” Julie said, as she skipped past.

“Johnny wishes,” said Striker, smirking. “I don’t know why, though, I could never date someone more famous than me.”

“Spider-Man is not more famous than me! And I told you that in confidence, buddy.”

Ms. America scoffed. “Yeah, him and all other twenty people who were at the meeting that day.”

“Okay, missy, no more hanging out with the Hawkeyes. It makes you even sassier.”

“Wait,” Peter said, feeling as though they’d all taken off at a sprint and he was left in swirling dust. “What’s happening?”

Felicia plucked a stray hair from her eyebrow. “Johnny Storm’s humongous crush on Spider-Man.” She met Peter’s eyes in her compact mirror. “Oh wait. Didn’t I tell you?”

“No,” said Peter. “You definitely didn’t.”

“It has something to do with his butt and his arms and his witty banter,” said Roxy, the baby mutant lesbian who was made out of something that was decidedly not skin. “Personally, I don’t see it.”

“I do,” said Prodigy, the former baby mutant who was in fact made out of skin, although it was hard to tell with mutants. He fist-bumped Ms. America.

Peter turned to Johnny. Words caked his mouth but he couldn’t unstick them.

“What?” asked Johnny. “You take pictures of the guy. You must think he’s a little hot.” He perked up. “Hey, do you know who he is?”

“No,” said Peter.

Johnny deflated.

Peter took back the origami fortune teller, not letting their hands brush at all.

“Okay kids,” he said, “since Ric is running late, who wants to know what their superhero fortune would have been when I was a sophomore in high school?”

Every single hand shot up.

Fifteen minutes later, a frenzied Rictor walked in to find Johnny and Peter playing with origami, surrounded by gay teenage superheroes proclaiming their worst enemy was Quicksilver or their soul mate was the Wasp. He almost turned around and walked back out. He really did.

“How could you not tell me?”

Felicia didn’t even glance up at where he crawled along the ceiling. She crept through the endless steel hallways, eyes tracking every crevice for some sort of booby trap. They hadn’t found one yet.

“Are you still going on about how Johnny Storm has a bigger boy crush on your alter ego than Tony Stark has on Captain America?” She paused, then carefully stepped over a trip wire. It was so outdated the only reason she even stopped must have been disgust. “I didn’t think it needed saying.”

“If it was so obvious, how come I didn’t know?”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

Peter frowned down at her, even though she couldn’t see because of the mask, and also the ceiling.

“You have gotten significantly less sexy lately, and significantly more mean,” he said.

“It’s all the time we’ve been spending together. Really a boner killer.”

“For how long?”

“Have you stopped turning me on?”

“No, how long has Johnny had a crush on Spider-Man.”

“Probably since you met. The spidermobile incident solidified it, I’d say.”

“Huh. Wait, you know about the spidermobile?”

Felicia didn’t deign that comment with a response.

They turned a corner and could now see a metal door looming at the end of the hallway. Peter flipped down to examine padlock. It might have been high technology at one point, but now, he only needed a few expert keystrokes for the door to swing open.

Blackness flooded out of the doorway, clashing with the hall’s stale light.

“Ezekiel?” came a voice.

Ezekiel Sims? Was he behind this?

“No,” said Peter. “I’m Spider-Man.”

“And the Black Cat,” called Felicia, never one to be outdone.

Silence. And then –

His spider sense went off, too late – he was already being flung backward. Something familiar, something like his own web fluid, stuck him in place. He struggled but it was stronger than him. Not many things were stronger than him.

A light flickered on. Peter was attached to a wall, and so was Felicia. A girl stood before them in ratty pajamas and tangled black hair, webbing pulled over her mouth and nose.

“Hi?” Peter said.

“Ezekiel said you’d come,” the girl said. “Who are you? Who sent you? What do they want?”

“I’m Spider-Man.” The girl stared. “Spider-Man? Does whatever a spider can? No? Nothing?”

“Shut up!” she shouted. “Who sent you?”

“No one sent me! I needed to get out of my head tonight, and thought I’d investigate this vaguely suspicious abandoned bunker. Cat’s been on a hero kick, so she tagged along.”

The girl looked at Felicia, who shrugged. “It’s true.”

She looked back to Peter.

“So you’re like . . . a superhero? Like Iron Man?”

“You could say Iron Man is like me. But essentially, yes.”

“And you help people?”

“I do my best.”

The girl lifted a hand to remove the webbing from her face. She must have been about Peter’s age. Her eyes were tired.

“I’m Cindy Moon,” she said. “Silk. Or, I would be, if I were a superhero. Come to think of it, I probably shouldn’t have told you my secret identity so soon. You’re really not the bad guys?”

If this girl was gonna survive as a superhero at all, she needed to be less trusting. But Peter didn’t intend to be the one to break that trust. 

“We’re really not,” he said.

“I can be a bad guy,” said Felicia. Peter made sure his mask lenses were all squinty. “What? Honesty is the best policy.”

Cindy pulled the webbing off of Peter first, then Felicia. Peter got a good look at the room. Disney VHS boxes cluttered the floor. A well-used Gameboy sat next to a boombox on a pink bedside table. Something dark and sad churned in Peter’s gut.

Felicia beat him to the punch. “How long have you been here, Cindy?”

Cindy shrugged. “A long time, I guess. I stopped keeping track. Ezekiel never told me.” 

“Ezekiel Sims?”

“Oh, he’s the guy who set this whole thing up. He found me, told me how much danger I’d be putting my family in if I stayed.”

“You have a family?” Peter asked.

“Doesn’t everyone?’ Cindy laughed. Then frowned. “Actually, they totally don’t – sorry.”

“I guess we should probably find them.” Anything to take his mind off this whole Human Torch Sort of Not Really Has a Crush On Him thing. “Let’s go.” Peter went to move, but a gloved hand found his elbow. Felicia. She nodded at Cindy, who was staring at the door like she’d never seen one before. 

“Go?” she asked when she realized they were waiting for her.

“Yeah. It’s time to leave.”

“But . . . what if Ezekiel comes back? What if someone comes to find me? What if they go after my family?”

Peter thought of the abandoned hallways, the outdated tech, the Gameboy and the video tapes.

“Cindy.” He tried to sound as gentle as possible. “I don’t think anyone’s coming for you.” 

Felicia walked forward like she was approaching a wounded animal. “You don’t have to go home yet. But you do have to leave.”

“Where would I go? This is – this is the only – I’ve been here a long time.”

“I’m actually pretty curious, too,” Peter said. “Where would she go again?”

“Oh come on. It’s not like you don’t know some rich superheroes with a propensity for taking in damaged kids.”

Peter grinned.

They soared through the air, flinging themselves from one rooftop to the next. Cindy’s black hair whipped behind her. No matter how quick Peter swung, she was unreachable.

“I thought you said your chest makes you go faster!” Peter shouted over the rush of wind in his ears. “Why aren’t we going faster?”

“Sorry, honey,” Felicia yelled back. “These babies are loyal to me alone." 

“WOOHOO! THIS IS SO COOL!”

Felicia hid her smile in Peter’s neck, and he grinned. It was Cindy’s first time out of that hellhole in who knows how long. Now she was almost flying. It felt like the first time for all of them.

The Baxter Building loomed ahead.

“That’s where the Fantastic Four lives!” Peter shouted, catching up to Cindy for a moment. She slowed to let him swing alongside her. God, he was getting old.

“The rock guy and stretchy dude?” she asked.

“That’s the one!”

They landed on the side of the Baxter Building, Felicia swinging around to hang onto Peter’s back. He led the way across the multitude of sleek windows to the one he knew by heart – Johnny Storm’s bedroom. He rapped on the window.

The door on the other side of the room opened and Johnny stumbled in, dressed in oil-splattered sweatpants and a shirt with holes in it. Peter's stomach somersaulted.

To his credit, Johnny only took a moment to see the three of them before he was flinging the window open.

“Spidey! What’s going on?”

Peter froze. For a millisecond – less than a millisecond – he’d forgotten he was in uniform.

“I have a favor to ask,” he managed.

“Anything,” said Johnny.

And then, Peter was reminded that Johnny had a huge crush on him. On Spider-Man. Whatever.

Johnny has a crush on me. Johnny has a crush on Spider-Man. Johnny has a crush on me.

Felicia dug her nails into his bicep.

“This is Silk,” he said. “We found her in an abandoned bunker, where we're guessing she's been for a decade or so.”

“Oh,” Johnny said. “Hey.”

Cindy waved.

“She needs somewhere to stay until she’s, you know, ready to accept her status as a free member of society, and we thought you might have an open room . . .”

“You know I can’t resist a pretty face, Spidey,” Johnny said.

Behind her web mask, Cindy blushed.

 “Ha,” said Peter. “Yeah.”

They helped Cindy into the room, even though she clearly didn’t need anyone. It had been a while since she’d gotten attention from anyone who wasn’t an old creep, probably, and she let Johnny take her waist and Peter place a steadying hand on her back. 

She was too trusting, Peter reminded himself. She couldn’t stay that way. But Johnny was good. Johnny would never hurt her.

“Are you leaving?” Cindy asked, eyes big and a little scared. Brave though. Very brave.

“We’ll be back,” Felicia promised. “We’ll be looking for your family, but for now, stay with Johnny. He’s a celebrity. He could never get away with kidnapping you.”

Cindy cracked a grin. She was braver than she knew.

“So, you’ve been trapped for, like, ten years?” Johnny asked. “Have you seen Up? The Princess and the Frog?” He gasped. “Shrek 2?”

She shook her head.

“Don’t worry, Spider-Man,” Johnny said, slinging an arm around Cindy’s shoulder in a gesture he’d used on Peter a hundred times before. “She’s in good hands.”

“I’m not worried,” Peter said, and he was swinging away before Johnny could respond.

When he crawled through the window of his empty apartment, and settled down in a bed with too thin sheets and a too lumpy mattress, when he was staring at the water-stained ceiling and listening to the street cleaners below him, when his heart was beating so slow he had to relax all his muscles to feel it working inside him, he almost called MJ. But he stopped himself. Instead, he pulled out his laptop and emailed J. Jonah Jameson to find out if there were any job openings because he knew a sweet, daring young woman who might be in need of a source of income rather soon.

“Hey there, Parker.”

A guy slid into the seat next to him, and for a second Peter was worried it might be Deadpool – that guy had some serious boundary issues, even if he was not-so-secretly in love with Scott Summers’ ancient son from the future – but it was actually a young guy with a too long Mohawk. He was kind of hot – Peter blushed at the thought – but he also looked like he’d be number one on the list of suspects if your cat went missing.

“Do I know you?” Peter asked.

“Name’s Daken.” Peter stared. “Akihiro? Dark Avengers?” He shrugged, helpless, and Daken sighed. “Wolverine’s kid?”

“Oh yeah! I remember you, hey man, how’s it going?”

Daken scowled. “I was wondering what’s going on with you and Johnny.”

“Me and – Johnny? Nothing. I mean, we’re friends, but – nothing.”

He smirked. Peter wanted to punch him.

“Good. Johnny and I are kind of a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, you know, a thing. Like Cable and Deadpool. Or my dad and Hercules.”

“Does everyone know about Cable and Deadpool? Wait, what the hell, Hercules and your dad? Is no one straight anymore?”

Daken rolled his eyes. “What is this, the sixties? Keep up.”

“Don’t be so hard on him, D,” Felicia finally thought to say. She was painting her nails a pastel pink. “He’s new.”

Just then, Johnny entered the room with Cindy in tow. She looked nice, her hair brushed and braided, bangs falling in her eyes, converse scuff-free. Peter had a feeling Johnny had treated her to a shopping spree.

He was such a nice guy. It made Peter squirm to think about him being anywhere near this douchebag.

“Hey, guys!” Johnny said. “Oh, Daken, hi.”

“Hey, babe,” said Daken, all bad boy casual. Johnny flushed, a smile tugging at his lips.

Peter really wanted to punch Daken.

“I hope it’s okay I'm here,” Cindy said to Felicia. “I didn’t feel like being cooped up. Plus, I mean, I’ve spent the last nine years in a bunker – I could totally like girls now!” She waved at Peter. “I’m Cindy. Johnny said you’re friends with Spider-Man.”

“Friends is a loose term.” His voice was harsher than he intended. “We work together.”

Cindy sank into the seat next to Felicia. Johnny frowned at Peter and sat next to Daken. Peter hung his head. 

“Hey, guys,” Rictor said. “I know the meeting doesn’t start for a few more minutes, but I’ve been thinking, and I would really like to start off today with some words about respect –,”

“Aren’t you that kid who sits in the back every meeting?” Daken called. “Where the fuck is Northstar?”

Peter glared. Johnny closed his eyes. Rictor’s hands shook.

The earthquake was a four point five on the Richter scale. No permanent damage, but it made the news. Tony Stark even gave an interview about how Manhattan would come out of this stronger than ever, though his building seemed to be the only one affected.

When the meeting ended, Peter was out the door as fast as he could go without using his webs. He raced down the hallway, slipping between Stark employees in lab coats and business suits alike.

“Peter! Hey, Pete!”

Peter forced himself to slow down as Johnny grabbed his shoulder to swing him around. His hair stuck up at odd angles and he was looking at Peter like he’d announced he was a skrull.

“What?” Peter snapped.

“The hell’s wrong with you? Cindy thinks she pissed you off.”

At the thought of Cindy, the fight seeped from Peter’s shoulders. “No. Cindy’s – great, I was only – I don’t know. It’s nothing. Where’s Daken?” 

Johnny was still looking at him strangely. “Probably hitting on Mystique.”

“I thought you guys had a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah. Like Deadpool and Cable. Or Wolverine and Hercules.”

“Since when have Hercules and Wolverine had a thing?”

“I have no idea.”

Johnny shook his head. “I had a thing with Daken, but it was a while ago. I mean, he’s hot, and can be weirdly sweet, but he’s still . . . Daken. It’s pretty difficult to have a thing with someone when you don't know anything real about him.”

Peter looked down at his worn out Vans. “Right.”

“Hey, what are you doing after this?”

“Uh, work?” Johnny deflated. Peter rushed to add, “I mean, it’s freelance. I could do something else.”

Johnny beamed. He wasn’t on fire, but . . . he was. Everything was on fire. “You should come over to the Baxter Building, have dinner with my family. Get to know Cindy. She’s awesome. We could invite Felicia, too, if you want!”

Peter looked into Johnny’s eyes and, god, his body was both exhausted and thrumming with energy. In that moment, Johnny could have asked him to pull the moon from the sky and Peter would have sworn to find a way.

They sat around the Baxter Building rec room eating pizza. Felicia didn’t end up coming, saying she’d spent far too much time with them already, but Peter had the feeling it was because she still felt uncomfortable around superheroes sometimes. She had a handful of friends in the superhero community – Hellcat and Firestar and Monica Rambeau and Peter – but she kept to herself a lot. People didn’t trust her.

Peter had never wondered how that might make her feel. He thought she was invincible.

“I have missed pizza . . . so much,” said Cindy around a mouthful of pepperoni. “Good pizza. Ezekiel didn’t starve me, but the food was pretty crappy.”

“Pizza is one of man’s finer creations,” Reed Richards said. It was strange to see Dr. Richards lounging on a sofa with his daughter curled in his lap with her own Stark-issued laptop.

He wondered if Sue and Reed knew he was Spider-Man. There was something in the way they looked at him when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Did it scare him? No, not really. Johnny trusted them. And Peter . . . Peter trusted Johnny.

“Where d’you work again, kid?” Ben asked.

“The Bugle,” Johnny said. “He does a lot of superhero photography, especially of Spider-Man.”

“I think Peter can speak for himself, hon,” said Sue. Johnny pouted as he settled deeper into the sofa.

“Got any plans to make it a career?” asked Ben. His hulking, rocky form was surprisingly relaxed as he lounged on a reimbursed love seat.

Peter wiped his mouth free of tomato sauce on the hem of his hoodie and immediately tried to hide the stain. He didn’t want Johnny’s family to think he was a pig.

“It’s a steady source of income, but I don’t think of it as, you know, a career. I couldn’t work with J.J.J. full time.” He dragged the zipper of his jacket up and down, up and down. He’d never told anyone this. “I majored in bio, but I was thinking about being . . . a teacher. For high school maybe.”

Johnny stared. “Really?”

“Uh, yeah. I mean, I’ve worked with kids a lot . . .” As a superhero. Same difference.

Johnny kept staring. Peter studied the ceiling.

“Well,” said Reed, “if you ever need a reference, feel free to ask. You’re a hard worker, Peter. Any school would be lucky to have you.”

Peter smiled, touched.

“Oh, hey, that reminds me!” he said. “Cindy, I got you an in at the Bugle.”

Cindy paused in her voracious consumption of pizza. “How’d you know I was looking for a job?”

“Um. Felicia told me.”

She perked up. “That was nice of her.”

“That’s Felicia, for you.”

Johnny snorted.

“Isn’t that Spider-Man’s super villain girlfriend?” Franklin asked from where he sat on the floor. 

“Yes,” said Valeria. “He keeps very dubious company.”

“She doesn’t do that anymore,” Peter said.

“I didn’t say I don’t like her. I’m simply surprised Johnny does.” She smirked and Johnny glowered.

“Val,” Sue chastised.

Ben tried to smother his chuckles.

Peter wondered if Johnny’s family knew he wasn’t straight. He’d always gotten the feeling it was a secret, but then again, Johnny lived in an apartment complex full of super geniuses. Or maybe his alleged crush on Spider-Man really was obvious.

Sue caught his eye. He looked away.

“That’s it.” Johnny exploded from his chair. “How would my true friends, Peter Parker and Cindy Moon, like to go for a stroll on the roof with me? No one else is invited, for the record.”

“Don’t be a jerk,” said Franklin.

“He’s jealous of greatness,” said Valeria.

“I think I’m gonna head to bed actually,” Cindy said. She stretched her arms above her head. She was so pretty, and sweet, and Peter thought that in a less confusing world, he would have already asked her out. “Who knew the twenty tens could be so exhausting?”

She hugged them all, telling Peter she’d be in touch about the job, and then headed off.

Peter wondered if, now that Cindy was gone, Johnny would still want to go to the roof. But Johnny was looking at him expectantly, like he never imagined he’d say no, and so Peter got to his feet.

They took the stairs. There must have been a fancy elevator somewhere, but they took the stairs, all the way to the top.  

When they reached the roof, Johnny held the door for him. The crispness of the evening air stung less than Peter expected, maybe because he was side-by-side with a living furnace. Heat emanated off Johnny like his skin was the pavement in July. 

The sky to the west lit New York is a haze of pink and purple and indigo. People liked to think there was nothing beautiful about this place with its concrete jungles and starless skies, but it was because of those that the sunset and the Hudson and the skyline still managed to take Peter’s breath away. He hoped he never lost this. This love for where he was.   

“What a view, huh?” Johnny asked. “Ever seen anything like it?”

Peter wanted to say, you have no idea, but he turned to Johnny, skin glowing golden from the sun, a sun within a sun, a sun on fire, and Peter said, “Never.”

Johnny smiled. “Watch this.”

He took off his jacket, quickly folding it and placing it on the roof floor. And then he lit up like his blood was gasoline.

He zoomed into the air, an arc of flame from the blazing red over the Hudson to the purple twilight over the East River. He drew patterns in the sky, from the FF’s famous “4” to doodles that meant nothing other than they were created by Johnny. Peter had flown alongside Johnny, fought alongside Johnny, but he’d never watched Johnny for the sake of watching. He had seen alien invasions and people rise from the dead and humans who could control the world with their minds, and Johnny Storm was a wonder all of his own.

Johnny flashed back to the rooftop where Peter stood, more graceful than a ball of falling fire had a right to be. His flames died out, leaving him the same as when he left. His clothes weren’t even singed.

Peter wondered if it would burn to touch him.

“Where does it go?” he asked. “The fire.”

Johnny shrugged. “Not totally sure. Reed has his theories, but. . . I don’t think it goes anywhere, you know? It’s in my skin. It is my skin. I’m always on fire, even when I’m not.”

It felt like an invitation. Peter reached out a hand, slow enough that Johnny could move away. He didn’t.

Peter’s fingers grazed Johnny’s exposed bicep and then he rested his hand there. It was warm, even in the autumn chill. But it was safe too.

“Do you really have a crush on Spider-Man?” Peter asked.

“I don’t know,” said Johnny. His quiet voice echoed. “He’s funny and has a nice body, but it’s not like he’s interested.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Storm.”

Johnny’s grin was soft somehow. “Don’t get all sweet on me now, Parker.”

There were moments in Peter’s life, defining moments. He could name most of them. Not going after that guy with the gun. Putting on the mask for the first time. Agreeing to a date with Mary Jane. The split second between Gwen falling and rushing to save her. Saying no the Avengers. Pretty much every conversation with Harry for a while there. Joining the GSA, maybe.

He had a feeling this could be one of those moments. He was too scared to find out.

“I gotta get home. Queens at night. Not the best.”

Peter hoped he hadn’t heard.

“There’ll always be a superhero to save you,” Johnny said, even as he stepped out from under Peter’s hand. 

Peter thought he might have to live the rest of his life in a state of before and after. Before he touched Johnny’s bare skin, and after. Everything was so much colder.

Peter didn’t go to his own apartment. He went to Aunt May’s.

“Peter, you know you don’t have to knock,” Aunt May said when she opened the door. “Unless you lost your key again –,”

“I’m bisexual.”

Aunt May took a step back, as if to take all of him in. “Huh.”

“I’m – bisexual,” he repeated, the word foreign in his mouth. “That means –,”

“Honey, I’m old but I’m not that old.”

"Are you surprised? Did you know all along? Am I disowned?”

“Peter, come out from the cold –,”

“I’d rather not, in case I’m disowned –,”

“Peter Parker, if you really think I would disown you, then I have failed as your aunt and your guardian. Now come inside.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter mumbled, slipping into his aunt’s home.

She never moved, no matter how many times Peter insisted she should. “It’s not healthy to live with ghosts,” Peter would say, and Aunt May would reply, “I’m smart enough to know the difference between ghosts and memories.” Peter thought of himself as plenty smart, but he still wasn’t sure he knew the difference, so he dropped it. And eventually he stopped bringing it up.

Now this old, familiar house gave him strength.

Aunt May put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guided him into the kitchen, where she began to make a pot of coffee. 

“I can’t say I knew all along,” she said. “I can’t say I’m surprised either. I always did have my suspicions about you and Harry.”

“There is no ‘me and Harry,’” Peter said with a roll of his eyes that was lost on her back.

“Flash, then?”

“No, god. Why does everyone assume I’m dating my friends? Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Peter, please.” Aunt May threw a look over her shoulder, a look he’d been on the receiving end of quite a lot in his life. “You have to admit, you get a bit obsessed with them.”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“What about Johnny?”

Peter flushed to his hairline. “Well.”

“Ah.” Aunt May turned back to the coffee, but Peter had a feeling she was smirking like a C-list super villain.

“We’re friends,” said Peter.

“But you want to be something else.”

He sat in a kitchen table chair, so forceful he felt it creak beneath his enhanced strength. “I don’t know.” 

Aunt May didn’t speak as she finished the coffee. She brought over two mugs, and though Peter took one, he couldn’t imagine drinking it. It was scalding, but still not as warm as Johnny’s skin.

Aunt May laid her wrinkled hand over the top of his calloused one. “It’s okay not to know some things,” she said. “It’s okay not to have it all figured out. But I hope you always know one thing: I have loved you since the moment you came into this world, and I have loved you every moment you’ve been a part of it, and there is nothing you can do or be that will ever make me stop loving you.” 

Tears that felt too fat for his eyes slipped onto his nose, and dripped onto his t-shirt, splotches of dark grey against his collarbone like freckles or constellations.

“I know,” he said. He wasn’t lying. “You’re the best thing in this whole world, Aunt May.”

She smiled, loving and gentle, and he’d been on the receiving end of this smile quite a lot too. “I don’t know about the best. Pandas exist, and chocolate lava cake, and you. But I’m certainly up there.”

FOUND SILK’S FAMILY, read Peter’s phone. It came from Felicia, followed by an address. He changed direction midair, heading towards Staten Island.

When he got to the apartment complex, Cindy, Johnny, and Felicia were already on the roof.

“Took you long enough,” said Johnny.

“You know New York traffic,” said Peter.

“Cindy’s freaking out,” Felicia said before they could get too far into the Torch-and-Spidey banter.

“I am not!” Cindy said. They all looked at her. “Okay, maybe I am. But can you blame me? I haven’t seen them in years, and the last time we were together, they let Ezekiel take me. That’s probably a hint that they didn’t want me in the first place.”

Peter was trying to think about how to defend Cindy’s family when, in reality, he thought it was absolutely abhorrent what they did to Cindy. Or what they let happen to Cindy. It was all the same, in Peter’s book. A glance at Johnny told Peter he was in the same boat. 

To both of their surprise, it was Felicia who stepped forward to put her hands on Cindy’s face, holding her steady.

“Your parents . . . they made a mistake,” Felicia said. Cindy’s eyes were locked on her, unable or unwilling to move. Peter knew the feeling. “Mistake’s not the right word - they made a bad choice. They let some stranger take you, and lock you up, and that’s on them. But they did it because they love you. Because they thought you were in danger. And that doesn’t make it better but – maybe it’s been hurting them all these years, too. Maybe they tried to find you, and they couldn’t. Maybe they tried to make it better, and they couldn’t. Trust me when I say that’s it’s own kind of punishment. You don’t owe them shit, but you owe it to yourself. To see them again. To make your own choice.” 

Not for the first time, Peter realized that Felicia Hardy was not Spider-Man’s supervillain girlfriend. There was so much inside of her he didn’t know, that he couldn’t know. Maybe that was why she ran away that first time he took off his mask. Not because she thought Peter Parker was a loser, but because she knew he was a stranger.

“You’re right,” Cindy said. “I have to see them. I have to choose.”

“Do you want company?” Johnny asked.

“Thank you, but no. I’ve been alone a long time. I can handle this.”

They watched as Cindy climbed down the wall to ground level. They watched as she took a deep breath. Steeled her shoulders. Knocked on the door.

Trust and courage. Cindy Moon.

There was a moment, prolonged by the nerves of watching and waiting, when nothing happened. And then the door opened. A man with short, dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses stood in the entryway.

They stared at each other like they were staring at something distant and not fully real, like an old photograph. Cindy cracked a hesitant smile, like the photograph used to make her feel sad, but she was starting to see the good in it too.

“Hi, Dad,” she said. It was only through Peter’s super senses that he could hear the words. “I’m home.”

He stared some more. Peter’s stomach twisted.

And then –

“CINDY.”

The man threw his arms around her, engulfing her in a hug so tight their bodies melded together.

“Cindy,” he sobbed. “Cindy, baby, I’m so sorry. We never should have – I’m so – missed you so much –,”

“Albert, what are you –?”

A woman and a teenage boy appeared at the door. They looked on in shock, but it wasn’t long before they had joined the pile of tears and apologies and forgiveness.

Bus horns honked. Cabbies yelled. Business people and students and tourists alike passed each other on the sidewalk. Someone played mariachi music nearby. And a family of four found each other again.

“We should go,” breathed Felicia. She turned her back on the display and stared out at the opposite horizon.

“Cat?” Peter asked. “You okay?”

“You two can stay and watch all the snot-filled reunions you want, but frankly, I don’t have the temperament for it. See you around. Or not.”

Felicia got ready to take a running start at the adjacent rooftop.

“Wait!”

They spun around again. Cindy stood on the lip of the building, eyes red, spitting hair out of her mouth. She was looking at Felicia.

“Before you jump off this rooftop and leave forever, you’ve gotta listen to my big speech because I listened to yours, and it’s only fair. Got it?” They all nodded, even though she only addressed Felicia. “Okay. I know I’m not a safe bet. I know you’re mysterious and a Bad Girl, and probably don’t do commitment, let alone with someone you only met a few weeks ago. But I also know you’re more compassionate than you want people to think you are, and you’re too beautiful to be so funny, because I always thought people don’t get to be both. Also, I have gone way too long without kissing someone and I can’t wait one more day.”

And so Cindy strode across the rooftop building and kissed Felicia Hardy right on the lips.

Peter and Johnny looked at each other.

“I guess this settles whether or not she’s into girls,” Johnny said.

They looked back at Cindy and Felicia, who were still kissing. They looked like they might be at it for a while.

“Disappointed?” Johnny asked.

Peter wasn’t sure if he was asking about Cindy or Felicia. Either way, the answer was the same.

“No,” Peter said. “I’m really, really happy.”

“Felicia not coming today?” Karma asked. “We’ve gotten used to her being here.”

“Oh, she’ll probably come next time,” said Peter. He was a bit distracted because his hand was resting on Johnny’s knee while Johnny painted his nails a sparkling purple. He couldn’t remember why, but he wasn’t about to ruin Johnny’s hard work. “She’s on a date.”

Half the girls up and left. The other half firmly stowed away their compact mirrors, eyeliner wands, and lip gloss tubes.

Rictor had to end the meeting early.

Peter was at work when the Fantastic Four nearly blew up his building.

Come to think of it, the explosion may have been Galactus. But it was Sue Storm who came rushing in, and Sue Storm who would take the blame in his head.

Peter said the only thing he could think to say. “What. The. Hell.”

“Are you okay?” Cindy asked, helping him to his feet. She’d been in the middle of telling Peter all about her date with Felicia, while he trained her on the rules of the workplace. No personal talk, had to be number one, but Peter got the feeling J.J.J. was a bit sweet on Cindy (in the least weird way possible for J.J.J.). She was a rather talented multitasker, more so than Peter had ever been.

“I’m fine!” Peter yelled. “Get everyone out of here!”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, trust me!”

Cindy gripped his wrist. Her hand was shaking.

“Come on, Cindy Moon,” he said, forcing her fingers off one by one. “It’s time to be Silk now.”

She stared at him, and he wondered if Peter Parker wasn’t supposed to know about Silk. But then she gave a sharp nod and moved on to helping civilians to the exit.

Peter rushed Sue.

“Peter, thank god,” she said when she saw him. She gripped his biceps, her hands like steel clamps. “Johnny needs you.”

Peter’s heart stopped. “What?”

“Galactus teamed up with Mysterio –,”

“Galctus teamed up with Mysterio? Isn’t Fishbowl a little below his pay grade?”

“Peter.”

“Sorry.”

“Mysterio’s done something to Johnny – something to make him believe he doesn’t have his powers anymore. We need your help.”

“I don’t understand why you’d ask me –,”

“Peter, please.” Tears welled in Sue’s eyes and it was that, more than anything, that shocked Peter to his core. “He’s my brother.”

It’s time to be Silk now, Peter had told Cindy. Maybe it was time for him to take his own advice. Maybe it was time for Peter Parker to be Spider-Man. Or maybe it was time for Spider-Man to be Peter Parker.

“Where is he?” Peter asked.

Sue insisted the Four had Mysterio under control, even though Peter insisted Spider-Man had taken out Mysterio a hundred time before and could do it a hundred times again. Sue told him that Spider-Man could come join the fray (they would need all hands on deck with Galactus), but his first priority was Johnny.

“Bet Galactus isn’t looking so hot now,” Peter mumbled as he spotted Johnny cowering in an alley between two smoking buildings, head between his knees. Peter felt a little bad for that crack, even if Johnny didn’t hear him.

“Hey, Flame Brain! Incoming!”

Johnny barely looked up as Peter somersaulted into the alley. His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused.

“Johnny, come on, look at me.”

He could see the supreme effort it took for Johnny to focus on Peter.

“Spidey? What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for you,” Peter said, holding Johnny’s shoulders.

He blinked, and some of the fog cleared.

“For me?” he asked, like the concept was completely foreign, like no one had ever come back for him, like his sister hadn’t blown up the offices of New York’s most famous newspaper for him, like Peter could look at him without seeing the entire solar system reflected back.

“For you, always for you.” He placed his hands on Johnny’s cheeks, like he’d seen Felicia do with Cindy. His skin was cool to the touch. It scared him. “Come on, buddy, you gotta get your powers back.”

Johnny shook his head. “They’re gone." 

“No they’re not. Mysterio tricked you. All you gotta do is clear your mind, and you’ll be good as new.”

“No no no, my powers are gone. There’s nothing there. I’m so cold.”

“At least try –,”

“I’VE BEEN TRYING.”

“Okay, okay, it’s okay.” Peter raked his gloved hand through Johnny’s hair, anchoring the both of them. Sobs racked Johnny’s whole body. Peter fought to keep his own hysteria at bay.

“Johnny,” he whispered, and louder – “Johnny. Where does it go?”

Johnny peered up at him. “What?”

“The fire, when you’re not using it, where does it go?”

“I . . . I don’t . . .”

“I know Reed has his own theories, but you’re the only one who knows what it’s like. So where does it go?”

Johnny’s mouth moved, forming words he couldn’t vocalize.

“It doesn’t go anywhere, does it? Because you’re the fire. The tinder, the oxygen, the spark. It’s all in you. All you gotta know is where to look.”

Johnny’s cheeks began to warm.

“It’s in your skin,” Peter said.

“It is my skin,” said Johnny.

Peter grinned. “Hell yeah it is.”

“Get back,” was Johnny’s only warning. Peter stumbled into the alley wall, and then Johnny’s whole body was ablaze, an explosion short of a supernova.

“I don’t know what happened,” Johnny said, voice crackling and popping, a living bonfire. “I couldn’t access my heat.”

“Mysterio’s an idiot but he’s good at what he does. It’s happened to the best of us.”

Johnny shook his head, trying to rid himself of the remnants of the hallucination.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.

“Sure,” said Peter.

Johnny shot into the sky to go join his family's fight. Peter swung after him to round up Mysterio. But when he was done, he didn’t wait for Johnny. He went home.

He answered Johnny’s texts, but only to explain why he was too busy to talk. He didn’t return his phone calls. He figured that if Johnny was desperate enough, he could come find him. He wasn’t exactly hiding.

The first GSA meeting Peter missed, Felicia sounded concerned in her text to him, asking him why he wasn’t there. The next meeting he missed, Felicia sent him, If you think I’m about to chase after you, you’ve sorely misinterpreted the kind of person I am.

After the third meeting he missed, she texted, I took you for a lot of things, but never a coward.

Cindy sent him a, Hope you’re doing well!! with too many emojii’s. He texted Harry, Flash, and Liz Allan on the regular because it was nice to have friends who weren’t a part of the current mess that was his life (though they’d all certainly been involved in their fair share of Peter Parker’s Messy Life in the past).

He read through his old texts with MJ, as far back as he could go before his phone freaked out. Their conversations were always so effortless. They would fire back and forth texts like volleying a ping pong ball, and they stayed up much too late, even when they were college grads, trying to be adults. They always had the time. They made the time.

Now Peter wasn’t sure they would recognize each other if she passed him in a crowd.

He paused on a conversation from right before MJ left for LA. They’d had a fight that afternoon, the kind of fight you don’t realize is a fight until it’s already over. And later, he texted her when the realization hit: you’ll be gone for Gwen’s birthday.

MJ said, Gwen doesn’t care if I’m in New York for her birthday.  

Peter almost texted, But I do. Instead, he sent, ok

Gwen’s birthday. Peter fumbled for his bedside clock. 11:48 PM. Gwen’s birthday was in twelve minutes. He couldn’t believe he’d almost forgotten. And for all the grief he gave MJ about it too.

There was no thinking. He pulled on a hoodie and a coat, stuffed his feet into boots, and was running to catch the next subway to Manhattan.

He sat on the train with a handful of others who were wandering somewhere unknown in the middle of the night. A girl far too young to be traveling alone caught his eye. He waved. Her lips quirked before she looked back out the window.

Peter got off at his stop. It felt cold enough to snow, but the air was dry. He walked the rest of the way to the cemetery, taking his time. Gwen could wait. The night was surprisingly peaceful, and he never saw a person in need.

The cemetery was big and elaborate, so unlike the one in Queens where Uncle Ben was buried. Gwen had visited it often after her father died and she always thought it a lovely place. She was never afraid of it.

Peter walked along the headstones, painted black in the night, mindful of the flowers laying at his feet. As he approached Gwen’s, he could see a silhouetted figure standing above it. And even from a distance, he knew who it was. Maybe he knew from the moment he decided to come out here at one in the morning. Something inside him was tethered to something inside her.

MJ didn’t turn at the padding of his footsteps. She held freshly picked lilies in her hands.

“Hey, tiger,” she said when he stopped at her shoulder.

“You came,” said Peter.

She cracked a soft smile. “I couldn’t miss Gwen’s birthday.”

“You were right though. She doesn’t care.”

MJ looked up at him. Even in the dark, her hair seemed to glow.

“But I do,” she said.

And then Peter was hugging her, crushing the lilies between their bodies. She dropped them to the ground and wrapped her own arms around him and Peter wondered if he had been holding his breath since she left him, or if she was the oxygen.

“I missed you,” she whispered. “Let’s never do this again. You’re still my best friend.”

“I’m sorry I got so angry. You didn’t deserve that.”

“You didn’t deserve to have it sprung on you. I’m sorry I wasn’t more compassionate –,”

Peter pulled away, enough to look her in the eye. “Don’t you ever apologize to me, Mary Jane Watson. You’ve never done anything wrong, ever.”

She cracked a watery smile. “You’d be surprised.”

It didn’t matter, Peter wanted to tell her. Whatever she did that she was ashamed of, it didn’t matter to him. All that mattered what that she was here.

He let her pull away to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

“So how’s LA? Is it what you were looking for?”

“Not even close,” said MJ. “The weather’s always beautiful and everyone says one thing, but means something else and it’s, like – where’s the heart, you know?”

Peter tried to keep his hopes trapped firmly inside himself. “Does that mean you’re coming back?”

“Not yet. I think I will, eventually. I like the stage better than movies, but – I’m not ready. Sorry, Peter.”

“Don’t be.” Peter took her hand.

She laced their fingers together. “How about you? Same old Queens?”

“When is Queens ever the same?”

She tugged on his fingers. She knew it was a copout because she always knew. There was something about this night, about being here with MJ and Gwen, something about how you could see the stars and taste the cold. It made him want to tell his secrets.

“I met someone,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow, nonchalant. “Oh?”

“Yeah. I mean, we met a while ago, but we’ve grown a lot closer over the last few months and, well . . . I think I really like him.”

A slow smirk spread across MJ’s face, not like she was laughing at him, but like they were in on a joke together. He didn’t know what the joke was, only that it wasn’t him, or his feelings for Johnny, and he couldn’t help smiling back.

“I messed it up pretty bad though,” he said, smile fading. “It was – self-sabotage, or something. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.”

“Peter Parker, you don’t see yourself clearly at all, do you? There’s not much someone wouldn’t forgive for someone like you.”

Peter didn’t think that was true. He didn’t think Gwen would have forgiven him. 

“This isn’t exactly how I pictured my life,” he admitted.

MJ laughed, the noise startling among the ghosts. She bent in front of Gwen’s headstone and traced out the ornate letters in the marble with a single finger. Gwendolyne.

“Gwen hated change,” MJ said. “One of the advantages of being poor and having a dysfunctional family is that you get used to things never staying the same, I guess. But Gwen was so afraid of it. She wanted life served to her on a platter exactly the way she thought it should be. The degree in science, followed by the career. The nuclear family. The perfect boyfriend. There was never room for anything else . . . even if it made her happy.”

Pieces of Peter’s life were starting to click into place. The way Gwen and MJ fought over him without ever fighting. The way they danced together, even when there was no music. The way only MJ could understand how it felt to lose her. Gwen’s head on MJ’s shoulder, gold and red.

“MJ,” he said.

“And in the end, she didn’t get any of it.” She stood. Crossed her arms and turned away. “All that fear for nothing.”

“Come home with me. Just for the night. Until you leave again.”

MJ smiled. If Johnny was the sun in human flesh, then MJ was all the stars wrapped up in a girl with scarlet hair and sharp cheekbones and the saddest smile Peter had ever seen.

“Not tonight, tiger,” she said. “But you can walk me back to my hotel, and I’ll call you tomorrow to make breakfast plans. Deal?”

“Deal,” said Peter.

MJ stayed in town for three days. They got breakfast together each morning and had lunch with Flash and Liz. They hung out with Aunt May and made a gingerbread house, like that time in junior year, frosting painting their fingers and noses. Harry treated them to a fancy dinner where MJ wore a slinky black dress and Peter wore one of Uncle Ben’s old tuxedoes and they let Harry pay for the sparkling champagne because this might be the only chance they’d get to drink sparkling champagne together.

Peter drove MJ to the airport, even though she insisted she could catch a cab. He walked her to security.

“Take care of yourself, Pete,” MJ said, hugging him tight. “Make sure to let me know what happens with you and your dream boy.”

“If anything happens,” said Peter, hugging her back. “Text me when you land. So I know your plane didn’t crash into the Pacific Ocean or something.”

They pulled apart and Peter kissed her on the forehead, and she ruffled his hair. And then they went their separate ways, like last time. But unlike last time, Peter knew she was coming back. It was enough to let him leave happy.

A week before Christmas, Julio Richter showed up at Peter’s door.

“Am I on something,” Peter said. “Because I really feel like I would have to be high for this to be happening right now.”

Rictor rolled his eyes, and Peter knew that no amount of drugs would allow him to reconstruct Ric’s eye roll so perfectly.

“Look,” said Rictor, “I need you to come to the GSA’s holiday-slash-new year party today.”

“I’m flattered, Ric, but what would ‘Star say?”

“I am about one sarcastic asshole remark away from caving in this whole building.”

“You wouldn’t do that to sweet Mrs. Lumpkins! She owns the building and she’s, like, 80.”

Rictor thought about it. “Fine. I’ll just explode all your beer cans.”

Peter blinked. “Can you do that?” 

“Do you wanna find out?"

He stepped aside to let Rictor in. He didn’t take off his coat or beanie, so Peter got the feeling he wasn’t planning on a long visit.

“Why do you need me to go to the party today?” Peter asked.

Ric took a deep breath. “I need you to do it for my own sanity. For everyone’s. Storm is miserable without you there, but he insists on coming to every meeting, like you’ll show up. Do you know how – how fucking nerve-wracking it is to constantly be on edge, waiting for him to be an asshole but he’s too depressed to be an asshole because the other half of his asshole team had some sort of mental breakdown and doesn’t even have the guts to break his heart to his face?”

“Uh, wow. You lead every GSA meeting, and that’s still the most I’ve heard you talk in one sitting.” 

Rictor rolled his eyes. Once, Peter and Johnny counted how many times Rictor could roll his eyes during a single meeting. The total was twenty-seven, and Peter was pretty sure he’d been in a good mood that day. 

“Go to the party,” Rictor said. “It’s in two hours. Set everything straight so we can all move on with our lives.” He took off his beanie to scrub a hand through his dark hair, as he muttered furiously in Spanish.

Peter had never realized how young Ric was. He always thought of him as old and stuffy because of the day’s growth of stubble he always sported and the premature lines around his eyes and his generally bad attitude, but he could have been Peter’s age, or even younger. Right now, with his hair sticking up and his Spanish curse words, he looked every bit his age. 

“You’re a good guy, Ric.” Rictor narrowed his eyes, but Peter insisted, “I know that sounds sarcastic, but I mean it. I really respect you.” 

Rictor softened. It wasn’t until this moment that Peter realized Rictor was always on guard, always ready to fight. Due to his friendships with Mary Jane and Harry, Peter could recognize the different levels of ‘unloved’ a kid could grow up feeling. He was pretty sure Rictor topped the list. 

He had the sudden urge to lecture Shatterstar about making sure to treat his boyfriend right.

Rictor cleared his throat. “I’ll see you at the party.”

“See ya,” Peter said, lost in his own thoughts. It wasn’t until the door slammed shut that Peter realized what he said.

The GSA meeting room was unrecognizable. Fairy lights lined the ceiling and every possible December celebration was represented in the decorations. There were more people here than had ever been at a single meeting before. Wiccan was teaching Hulkling, Roxy, Prodigy, and a silver-haired kid Peter thought must be Wiccan’s brother how to play a dreidel game. Mystique cuddled with the mutant Destiny on a loveseat. Deadpool sipped cocktails with Cable and Domino, and Psylocke was actually laughing with a man and woman in identical costumes. Karma, hair dyed a cheery pink, dragged giggling girls underneath mistletoe for sloppy, silly kisses. Ms. America and the cooler Hawkeye defiled the sounds of N*Sync Christmas as they bumped and grinded on a makeshift dance floor. Rictor and Shatterstar embraced in a much more modest manner, swaying to the beat and staring into each other’s eyes. Peter thought he might have glimpsed Electro talking to Loki, but he was so not ready for that. Baby steps.

“Peter!”

“You made it!”

Two colorful blonde balls tackled him on either side. He stumbled.

“Whoa whoa whoa, let the man breathe!” Striker said, prying Karolina Dean and Julie Power off of Peter. “Don’t worry, Parker, I got your back.”

“Shut up, Brandon,” said Julie. “We’re so excited you’re here!”

“We missed you so much,” Karolina agreed. “Peter, meet my friend, Nico! Nico, this is Peter!”

Nico waved. Her entire wardrobe, from her hair to her eye shadow to her socks, was black.

“Nico’s here because she’s gothsexual,” said Striker. 

“Shut up, Brandon,” the girls chorused.

“So what’ s your superpower again?” Nico asked.

Before Peter could answer, Julie said, “His superpower is that every superhero loves him. I mean, look at him. It’s impossible not to.”

Peter blushed. The kids all giggled.

“Oh, look Felicia and Cindy!” Karolina said. “They are sooo cute.”

“They really are the cutest,” said Julie.

“Don’t judge me,” Brandon told Peter. “But they are pretty cute.”

The kids ran off to the sugar cookie decorating station. Peter’s ears were still ringing from all the exclamation points when he turned to Felicia and Cindy.

Cindy wore a truly horrifying Christmas sweater covered in singing white blobs Peter assumed were snowmen. Felicia wore a low cut black sweater with nothing underneath because, damn it, she was Felicia Hardy and she would wear what she damn well pleased to a holiday party.

Cindy offered Peter a hesitant smile, but Felicia’s face was stone.

“So,” Peter said. “Nice party, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Felicia said. “You don’t get to up and disappear for over a month and then waltz back in like we’re all best buds.”

“I had to figure some stuff out. And I didn’t disappear, I still lived in my house, I was still working –,”

“I know that. I followed you around to make sure you weren’t dead or dealing drugs or something.”

Peter blinked. “You did?”

Felicia drummed her claw-like fingernails against her bicep. “Of course I did. God. I can’t believe someone who’s so smart can be so stupid sometimes.”

Cindy took Felicia’s hand.

“Leesh,” she said, massaging the tendons in her hand. “It’s not like you’ve never worried Peter. Have a little empathy.”

“But he’s a hero,” Felicia said, stubborn as . . . everyone else Peter knew. “Heroes aren’t supposed to do those things.” 

“I’m a doofus,” Peter said. “You hang around heroes as much as I do, and you realize a lot of them are doofuses. Most of them probably.”

Felicia’s lips were beginning to twitch. “Your argument is persuasive.”

Peter grinned. Cindy clapped her hands together.

“Hug and make up!” she chanted. “Right now, let’s do this!”

Peter opened his arms. Felicia moaned and stepped into them. Cindy hooted.

Felicia pretended to resist but she wrapped her arms around him. Peter had a feeling Felicia didn’t hug people often. He hoped Cindy could change that.

“Love ya, Cat,” Peter whispered.

“You’re not the worst person I’ve ever met,” said Felicia.

As they stepped back from one another, Peter’s eyes involuntarily swept the room of partygoers.

“I can’t believe it,” Felicia told Cindy. “I’ve only just forgiven him and he’s already got eyes for another.”

“Aw, give him a break,” Cindy said. “He’s in love.”

Peter glared at them. But he couldn’t bring himself to deny it.

Peter tried to forget he was looking for Johnny, and he tried not to obsess over what he would say when – if – he showed up. He lost himself in the Hanukkah/Christmas/New Year/Holiday extravaganzas. He danced with Karma and decorated sugar cookies with the Young Avengers and introduced himself to Cable, who had Deadpool so distracted he didn’t spend much time leering at Peter. Julie and her gang dragged him along for story time with Hercules, who recounted how he used to spend this time of the year in ancient Greece (lots of orgies). He tried not to intrude on Cindy and Felicia’s date, but they pulled him over to Shatterstar, who play flirted with them in order “to make Julio jealous.” Julio, in question, looked on fondly from the eggnog table. 

It was funny. He had been going to these meetings for so long, having a good time but not feeling like he really belonged among these colorful individuals with their colorful identities. But now he felt like belonged here more than anywhere else. They were all messes. They were all evolving.

“Hey, Peter!”

Peter turned from Shatterstar to see Billy and Teddy rushing in, their hair mussed and lips red.

Teenagers, Peter thought.

“There’s a message for you!” said Billy.

“In the sky!” said Teddy.

“It’s from the Human Torch!”

“You have to go to him!”

“Right now!”

Billy and Teddy shoved Peter out the door.

“That’s so romantic,” Billy sighed.

“A fire hazard is what it is,” Teddy pouted as the door swung shut.

Peter stood for a moment, staring at the door. And then he took off running.

He found the nearest window and sure enough, blazing in the sky, brighter than the lights of New York City was a message:

PETER PARKER – MEET ME ON THE ROOF

“Subtle,” Peter laughed. And then he was running again.

He took the stairs because he couldn’t bother to wait for an elevator. He dodged scientists, CEOs, and someone who may or may not have been Pepper Potts. None of them mattered as much as getting to the roof.

When he flung open the doors, his eyes found Johnny, pulled by the cosmos. He sat with his feet dangling from the ledge of the building but hopped up when the door opened. He stood before him, bathed in the glow of his own flames lingering in the sky. Peter was convinced that nothing in the whole world – not the Niagra Falls, the Aurora Borealis, world frickin’ peace – could be more beautiful. 

“You came,” said Johnny, like he was every bit as startled to see Peter.

“Couldn’t resist a call like that.” Peter gestured to the sky.

Johnny grimaced. “Too much?”

“No. Never.”

Johnny didn’t seem convinced. “I knew I had to do something big to get your attention. I know you’re mad at me –,”

“Wait, what?”

Peter’s mind whirred. Mad? At Johnny? How?

Johnny squinted. “What do you mean, ‘what?’”

“I’m not mad at you. I assumed you were mad at me.”

“For what?”

“For not kissing you when I should have! For not telling you I was Spider-Man, for being such an asshole afterwards. Pick one.”

Johnny looked up at the sky, down at his shoes, and then back at Peter. “Oh.”

“I was fully prepared to serenade you to ‘Santa Baby’ in front of, like, everyone.”

“Wait, hold on. We can still do that. I definitely still want that.”

He was trying to be contrite and sincere, but something about Johnny made him want to smile. So he did.

“I am sorry though. You didn’t deserve to find out like that. And I’m sorry I ran. I was scared, I guess. But I don’t think I am anymore.”

Johnny stepped forward. He didn’t touch him, but Peter could still feel his heat. His gravitational pull.

“Peter,” Johnny said, and the way his name sounded on Johnny’s lip was its own kind of music. “Listen to me very carefully. The only thing you have to be sorry for is the fact that I totally thought I was in some cool, forbidden love triangle with my mysterious superhero best friend and my nerdy-hot boy-next-door best friend. So yeah, it kind of sucks that that’s not happening. But it’s also really awesome.”

Johnny brushed sweaty hair from Peter’s forehead. Peter couldn’t breathe.

“I’m in love with you, Peter Parker. All of you. For longer than you or Spider-Man have been giving me the time of day.”

Johnny moved his hand to the back of Peter’s neck. 

“And I get that you were scared. It’s okay, okay? If anyone knows how scary a secret identity can be, it’s the GSA. But you’re here now. Right?”

“I’m here,” Peter whispered. He meant it in every sense of the word. Body, mind, heart, soul. The air in his lungs, the blood in his veins, the nerves in his flesh. He was here.

“Good,” Johnny said. And he kissed him.

Johnny was the sun, and he kissed like the sun would kiss. His hands were sandy beaches after stepping out of the ocean. His lips were parted clouds on a stormy day. Peter could lose himself in him, fall asleep in him, come alive in him. He could do this forever. He wanted to do this forever. He wondered if this was how sunflowers feel.

When Johnny pulled away, Peter expected a rush of cold. But the warmth was still blooming inside him, rekindled in every place Johnny touched.

Johnny’s eyes held questions, as if he still wasn’t sure Peter wanted this. As if Peter had the strength to say no after that.

“I was supposed to woo you,” Peter said.

“Then woo me,” said Johnny, and he kissed him again.

When Peter and Johnny walked into the GSA’s room, holding hands, a group cheer rose to meet them, like they were in some clichéd eighties prom movie Peter wouldn't be caught dead watching. He kind of loved it.

“Northstar has officially resigned,” Rictor announced. “He wants to focus on starting a family with his husband. They’re moving back to Canada.”

“Does this mean you’re our leader for, like, ever?” Julie asked.

Rictor blanched. “Not forever –,”

“Rictor is going to be our club president for the rest of his life, case closed,” said Johnny.

Peter grinned up at him. They relaxed on a sofa in the back, Peter’s head in Johnny’s lap. Johnny winked. 

“If I reach thirty and am still the president of this stupid club, someone please put me out of my misery,” Rictor said. 

“You know I would have to kill anyone who tried,” Shatterstar said. He kissed the inside of Rictor’s wrist.

“I never got to meet Northstar,” Peter said.

Johnny raked his hand through Peter’s hair. “You’ll run into him eventually. No one gives up superheroing for long.”

Peter closed his eyes, letting Johnny’s hands take him away.

“I can’t believe you’re even more irritating now that you’re together,” Felicia said. “I can’t believe I ever thought there was a cure for this.”

Felicia and Cindy were seated in separate chairs “like respectable people.” Peter was pretty sure she mispronounced “boring.”

“There’s no cure,” Peter and Johnny said at the same time, and grinned. Cindy and Felicia gagged.

The door opened. Peter sat up to see Iceman standing in the doorway.

“Hi,” he said, voice shaking. “I’m Bobby. I need to figure some stuff out.”

Silence. Everyone stared at him, probably because one of the original X-men walking through that door was the biggest news since . . . well, since Johnny Storm. Spider-Man would be big news, but he didn’t count. 

“Bobby,” Peter said. Bobby’s frantic eyes met his. Peter realized Bobby had never seen his eyes before. He threaded his fingers through Johnny’s for courage, for strength. “You’ve come to the right place.”