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Chapter Text

Peter Parker didn’t usually drink.

Scratch that—Peter Parker had never drunk.

But tonight was different. Tonight, Ned had shoved a cup in his hand and said, “Just try it, man. You’ll loosen up.”

Which was why Peter now found himself in a crowded living room, sitting cross-legged on the carpet, cheeks burning, and giggling way too hard at a dumb joke someone had made about Pop-Tarts. His head felt light, his limbs warm. Everything seemed a little fuzzy around the edges.

He wasn’t alone in his misery.

Because Flash Thompson, of all people, was sprawled on the couch above him, equally flushed, clutching his own cup like it was the last anchor to reality. His usual sharpness was dulled, words slurring as he heckled anyone who walked past.
And somehow, impossibly, they’d ended up talking.

“Parker,” Flash said, squinting at him over the rim of his cup. “You’re drunk.”

Peter snorted. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, but I always look good drunk.” Flash waved his hand vaguely. “You look like you just sniffed paint fumes.”

Peter giggled. Actually giggled. “That’s… that’s so mean.”

“Truth hurts, Penis.” Flash grinned, but it lacked its usual venom.

Peter flopped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling. “Why do you even call me that? It’s not funny.”

Flash blinked at him, then shrugged. “Habit.”

“Stupid habit.”

“Yeah, well, so’s being nice to you,” Flash muttered, slurring the words.

Peter turned his head, confused. “You’re not nice to me.”

“Am now,” Flash said. “Talking to you, aren’t I?”

Peter laughed again, warm and dizzy. “You’re ridiculous.”

“So are you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the party raging around them, until Flash leaned down a little, eyes squinting. “You ever notice how nobody actually likes these parties? Everyone’s just pretending.”

Peter blinked. “I like… chips.”

Flash burst out laughing, nearly spilling his drink. “God, you’re such a nerd.”

Peter smiled dopily. “You’re laughing with me, not at me. That’s… that’s new.”

That shut Flash up. He stared at Peter for a beat too long, something strange flickering in his expression.

Then he muttered, “You’re cuter when you shut up.”

Peter’s heart did a weird somersault. He should’ve been offended, but the alcohol blurred the edges, made the words feel softer, almost fond. “You think I’m cute?”

Flash froze. “I—no. Shut up.”

“You totally just said I was cute.”

“You heard wrong.”

Peter grinned, dizzy with both alcohol and something else entirely. “You’re cute too, Flash.”

Flash blinked at him, clearly thrown. “You’re wasted.”

“So are you.”

“…Fair point.”

The silence stretched again, heavier now. Their knees brushed—just barely—but Peter felt it like a spark.

It was Flash who broke it this time, voice low. “You ever think we’re both just… playing parts? You, the golden boy. Me, the asshole. Like… what if we’re both lying?”

Peter’s throat tightened. He should’ve laughed it off, blamed the booze, but instead he whispered, “Yeah. All the time.”

Flash’s gaze locked on his. And for the first time, Peter didn’t see his bully. He saw a boy just as lost, just as tired, hiding behind bravado.

Peter’s chest ached. His hand twitched, like it wanted to reach out. And before he could talk himself out of it, he blurted, “I like you.”

Flash stared. “…You’re drunk.”

“Still true,” Peter mumbled.

The air between them was thick, pulsing with something unspoken.

And then, in a move neither of them would be able to explain later, Flash leaned forward and kissed him.

It was sloppy, off-center, tasting like cheap beer and recklessness.

Peter gasped against his mouth, then kissed back, because God, he wanted this, drunk or not.

For a long, dizzy second, everything was heat and clumsy desperation.

Then Flash pulled back, breathless, eyes wide. “Shit.”

Peter blinked, dazed. “That was—”

“Didn’t happen,” Flash cut in, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Peter’s lips tingled. His heart thudded. “I can’t.”

Flash stared at him, torn between panic and something softer. “You’re such an idiot.”

Peter smiled faintly, drunk courage still buzzing in his veins. “Guess you like idiots, then.”

And for once, Flash didn’t have a comeback.

Peter’s head felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls and then hit it with Thor’s hammer for good measure.

He groaned, rolling over, and immediately regretted it. The sun slicing through his blinds was an act of cruelty, stabbing straight into his skull. His tongue felt dry, his stomach queasy.So this was what a hangover felt like.

Terrible. Awful. Never again.

Except—last night.

Peter froze, heart lurching. Memory crashed into him in fragments: the music, the laughter, Flash’s flushed face leaning too close, words blurring together— You’re cute—and then—

The kiss.

Oh God.

Peter buried his face in his pillow, muffling a groan. He’d kissed Flash Thompson. Or Flash had kissed him. Both? Either way, it had happened.

And worse—Peter had liked it.
His stomach twisted again, this time for reasons that had nothing to do with alcohol.

At school Monday morning, the world felt like it had shifted half an inch off its axis.

Everything looked normal—kids gossiping at lockers, the PA crackling announcements, Coach Wilson yelling at someone down the hall. But Peter’s nerves buzzed with the weight of a secret he couldn’t shake.

He spotted Flash near his locker, surrounded by his usual group. Same smirk, same swagger, like nothing had changed.

Except when their eyes met for a fraction of a second, Flash looked away too fast.
Peter’s chest tightened. So they weren’t talking about it. Fine. Maybe that was for the best.

But as the day dragged on, the weight in his chest only grew.

It wasn’t until after chemistry that Flash cornered him, shoving him lightly against the lockers. Not hard enough to hurt—just enough to remind Peter he was there.

“We’re not talking about it,” Flash muttered, low and sharp.

Peter blinked, startled. “About what?”

Flash shot him a look. “Don’t play dumb.”
Heat rushed to Peter’s cheeks.

He glanced around—the hallway was crowded, noisy, but still he felt exposed. “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Good.” Flash stepped back, jaw tight.

“Because it was nothing. We were drunk.”

Peter’s heart sank. He nodded quickly, forcing the words out. “Right. Nothing.”

Flash’s eyes lingered on him a second too long before he turned and stalked off.

Peter exhaled shakily, shoulders slumping.
Nothing. Right.

So why did it feel like everything?

The weeks crawled by, thick with tension.
Flash avoided him in ways so subtle only Peter seemed to notice.

No more casual shoves, no more taunts in the hall. He didn’t sit near Peter in class, didn’t partner with him unless forced. It was like he was trying to erase the night from existence.

But every now and then, Peter caught him staring.

In gym class, during a scrimmage, Flash’s gaze lingered a beat too long. In English, when Peter laughed at MJ’s comment, he swore Flash’s jaw clenched. And sometimes, late at night, swinging across rooftops, Peter thought about that kiss—sloppy, clumsy, real—and wondered if Flash thought about it too.

One Thursday after decathlon practice, it was just the two of them left in the classroom, packing up. The silence was thick.

Peter finally blurted, “Are we really just going to pretend forever?”

Flash froze, notebook half-shoved into his bag. “What?”

“That night,” Peter said, heart hammering. “You keep acting like it didn’t happen, but—”

“Because it didn’t,” Flash snapped. His voice cracked. “We were drunk, Parker. That’s it.”

Peter flinched. “You kissed me.”

Flash’s face twisted. “And you let me. Which just proves how wasted we were. End of story.”

Peter’s throat ached. He wanted to yell, to demand honesty, but Flash’s expression was a wall. So instead, he nodded, stuffing his books into his bag with shaking hands.“Right. End of story.” But as he walked out, his chest burned with the certainty that it wasn’t.

Flash Thompson was in denial.

Peter could see it in every stolen glance, every too-sharp comment, every time his voice shook when the subject got too close.

And maybe Peter was an idiot for hoping—but denial was still better than nothing.

It meant there was something to deny.And maybe, just maybe, one day, Flash wouldn’t be able to anymore.

Chapter Text

Peter was supposed to be heading home.

Patrol had been quiet—just a couple of car alarms and one guy trying to tag a subway wall. But as he swung low past the park, he caught sight of something that made him pause.

Flash Thompson, sitting slumped on a bench under a busted streetlamp, hood up, staring at the ground like the weight of the world was pressing down on him.

Peter hesitated, perched on a nearby lamppost. He could’ve kept going. Should’ve. But something about the way Flash looked—small, defeated—made him drop down.

“Late night stroll?” Spider-Man said, landing lightly a few feet away.

Flash jolted, eyes widening. “What the—? You—” He tried to mask his surprise with a scowl. “Don’t you have muggers to catch or something?

Peter cocked his head, masking his nerves with the usual quip. “Eh, figured I’d take a break. You look like you’re auditioning for ‘Brooding Teen of the Year.’ Wanna talk about it?”

Flash let out a humorless laugh. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

For a long moment, Flash didn’t answer. He picked at the edge of his sleeve, jaw tight, like he was fighting himself. Then, all at once, the dam broke. “It’s this guy at school.”

Peter’s blood ran cold, but he forced his voice steady. “What about him?”

Flash dragged both hands through his hair. “God, I’m such a screw-up. I’ve— I’ve liked him for years. And instead of… I don’t know, being normal about it, I made his life hell. Teased him, shoved him, called him names—because I couldn’t deal with how I felt.”

Peter’s chest ached.

Flash’s voice cracked, low and raw. “And the worst part? He kissed me back once. At this party. We were drunk, yeah, but he didn’t push me away. And now I can’t stop thinking about it. About him. About how maybe I ruined the only chance I’ll ever get. Because why would he ever—ever—look at me like that again, after everything I did?”

Peter stood frozen in the mask, heart pounding so hard he thought Flash might hear it. He couldn’t speak—not really. Not when every word was a confession aimed straight at him.

“Anyway.” Flash slumped back against the bench, eyes dark. “You can laugh now. Everyone else would.”

But Spider-Man didn’t laugh. Couldn’t. His voice was softer than he meant when he said, “Doesn’t sound funny to me. Sounds like you’ve been carrying too much alone.”

Flash glanced up, startled at the gentleness. “You think there’s… still a chance? With him?”

Peter’s throat tightened. He wanted to scream yes, rip off the mask, tell him right then and there. But instead, he whispered, “Sometimes people surprise you.”

Before Flash could reply, Peter’s earpiece crackled—dispatch calling in a robbery gone violent. His chest clenched.

Perfect timing.

“I have to go,” he said, backing up.

Flash frowned but nodded in understanding.

“Sorry,” Spider-Man muttered, already webbing upward. “Stay safe, okay?” He swung into the night, leaving Flash staring after him.

The robbery turned into a disaster. Too many guys, too many weapons. Peter took down most of them, but not before a crowbar slammed into his side, right where the taser wound from a few nights ago still throbbed. He went down hard, gasping, ribs screaming with pain. He barely made it out alive. By the time he staggered home, he knew he’d bruised something deep. Maybe even cracked a rib. He patched himself up as best he could, praying he’d bounce back by morning.

The next day at school, Peter moved slower, every step sending sharp pain through his side. He thought he was hiding it well. But Flash saw everything. Especially later, in the locker room, when Peter peeled off his shirt too quickly.

The ugly bruise across his ribs made Flash freeze in place. Peter yanked his shirt back down fast, pretending it was nothing, but Flash couldn’t get the image out of his head.

That night, Spider-Man was nowhere to be seen. No sightings on social media. No police chatter about him swooping in. Queens felt… quieter. Flash lay awake, staring at the ceiling, the puzzle pieces rattling in his head.

And then— The next day, Peter strolled into class looking completely fine. No limp. No wince. No bruise. It was like it had never happened.

And that night? Spider-Man was back on patrol, swinging across rooftops like nothing had slowed him down.

Flash’s stomach twisted. He didn’t want to believe it. He couldn’t believe it. But the suspicion was there now, burning, gnawing, impossible to shake.

So he avoided Parker. Pretended none of it mattered. Pretended he wasn’t piecing together the impossible. But his eyes followed him, every move, every laugh, every time he disappeared for just a little too long.

The truth was out there, right in front of him. Flash didn’t want to believe it. He told himself the bruises in the locker room could’ve come from anything. Gym accident. Some dumb stunt Parker pulled at home.

And Spider-Man missing that same night?

Coincidence. Had to be.

But then the coincidences stacked up. Parker disappearing right before Spider-Man appeared. Parker limping into class, and Spider-Man swinging stiff like he’d pulled something. Parker yawning through lectures, and Spider-Man turning up in grainy phone videos the same nights there’d been reports of all-night fights across the city.

It wasn’t just a hunch anymore. It was obvious. Peter Parker was Spider-Man. And Flash wanted to throw himself into traffic.

Because that meant Spider-Man knew everything. Every word Flash had said on that bench—about the crush, the kiss, the years of bullying.

He’d poured his guts out, thinking he was talking to someone safe, a stranger in a mask. But it hadn’t been a stranger at all.

It had been Peter.

And now Peter was walking around school like nothing happened, smiling that shy little smile, trying to talk to him in the halls like always. “Hey, Flash—”

Flash ducked into the bathroom. “Flash, wait up—” He pretended not to hear, headphones jammed in.

By the end of the week, it became a game of cat and mouse.

Peter would catch his eye in class, mouth starting to open, and Flash would look away so hard his neck ached. In the cafeteria, Peter slid his tray down beside him once, and Flash stood up immediately, muttering something about forgotten homework.

It was pathetic. Transparent. And it humiliated him even more. Because Peter wasn’t stupid. He had to notice. And Flash couldn’t stand the thought of what he must be thinking. That the kiss disgusted him. That Flash couldn’t even stand to be in the same room after it happened.

Peter’s expression every time he got brushed off—confusion, then hurt—made Flash’s stomach twist. But what was he supposed to do? Walk up to him and say, hey, I know you’re Spider-Man, and I’m mortified you know I’ve been in love with you since middle school? Yeah, right. So instead, Flash kept dodging.

The guilt pressed in tighter every day. Because under the embarrassment was something else—something worse. Relief. Relief that Parker was Spider-Man. Because that meant Peter wasn’t weak. Wasn’t just the quiet kid Flash had picked on for being easy prey. He was brave. Strong.

Everything Flash admired but never admitted. It made the shame sharper, like jagged glass under his ribs. He hadn’t just bullied a crush. He’d bullied a hero. And now that hero kept trying to talk to him. Flash wanted to believe maybe it wasn’t too late.

But every time he looked into Parker’s eyes, all he saw was his own mistakes staring back. So he stayed silent.

And Peter Parker, Spider-Man, the boy he’d kissed, the boy he couldn’t stop thinking about, was left to believe Flash Thompson hated him.

Chapter Text

Peter Parker was confused.

No—he was more than confused. He was frustrated, worried, hurt. Because Flash Thompson had gone from tolerating him, even softening in little ways after the party, to acting like Peter had the plague.

Every time Peter tried to talk to him, Flash bolted. He stopped sitting anywhere near him in class. He pretended not to hear when Peter said his name.

And in class, when Peter asked if he could borrow an extra pen, Flash just shoved one into his hand and walked away without a word.

Peter didn’t get it.

He’d replayed the night of the party a thousand times, scouring for what went wrong.

The kiss? The drunk confession? Did Flash regret it that much? Was the idea of being near Peter now that revolting to him?

The thought made Peter’s chest ache in ways no bruises ever had.

At first, he told himself Flash was just embarrassed. That maybe, if he gave him space, Flash would come around.

But weeks passed, and nothing changed. If anything, it got worse.

Peter caught him staring sometimes—during class, across the cafeteria, on the subway platform—but the second their eyes met, Flash looked away like he’d been burned. Peter was left with silence.

And it was killing him.

For Flash, the silence was torture too, but for a different reason.

He wanted to tell Peter everything.

He wanted to explain that it wasn’t disgust making him avoid him—it was shame. It was humiliation. It was the raw, unbearable knowledge that Peter Parker was Spider-Man, and that Spider-Man knew everything.

The kiss. The crush. The bullying. How do you face someone after that? So Flash ran.

Over and over, he ran. Every time Parker looked at him with that earnest confusion, Flash’s stomach twisted so hard he thought he’d puke. He wanted to talk to him—God, he did—but the words never made it past his throat. Instead, he hid behind sharp deflections and cold shoulders, even though it wasn’t what he wanted at all.

And still, Parker kept trying.

“Hey, you okay?”

“Flash, wait up.”

“I just—can we talk?”

Every attempt was a knife to the gut. Because Peter thought it was about the kiss. About him. And Flash couldn’t bring himself to say otherwise.

It came to a head one afternoon after decathlon practice.

Peter lingered at the door as everyone else filed out, fidgeting with his backpack straps. “Flash,” he said carefully. “Did I… do something wrong?”

The question was so soft, so genuine, Flash’s throat closed up. He wanted to blurt it all out. That Peter hadn’t done anything wrong. That it was him—always him—who’d screwed things up. That he knew the truth now, and it terrified him, because it meant Peter Parker was braver and kinder than he’d ever been, and Flash didn’t know how to face that.

But all he managed was a weak shrug. “Leave me alone, Parker.”

Peter’s face fell, and Flash had to look away before it broke him in half.

That night, swinging over the city rooftops, Peter’s chest was tight. Maybe Flash hated him. Maybe that kiss really was the end of everything. And maybe he should just let it go.

But deep down, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going.
Something Flash wasn’t saying.

Flash Thompson had mastered the art of avoidance.

For weeks now, he’d been dodging Peter Parker like his life depended on it. He took different hallways to class, changed where he sat at lunch, even started arriving late to practice just so he wouldn’t have to talk to him.

But it was getting harder.

Because the signs — the proof — that Peter was Spider‑Man were everywhere.

The bruises that vanished overnight.
The excuses about why he was late.
The way he always disappeared right before Spider-Man swung onto the scene.

At first, Flash told himself it was coincidence. A crazy, impossible coincidence. But as the pieces clicked together, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Peter Parker was Spider-Man.

And the weight of that realization was eating him alive.

Every time Peter tried to talk to him, Flash’s brain screamed he knows. Every time their eyes met, he remembered every awful thing he’d ever said, every shove, every cruel nickname — and the fact that he’d confessed everything to Spider-Man without knowing it was him.

And worse than that?

Peter had heard every word and still tried with him. Still smiled. Still reached out.

It made Flash feel small. Stupid. Worthless.

So he stayed away.

Until the day he slipped.

It was after gym, the locker room half-empty, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Flash was yanking his shirt over his head when Peter walked in, hair damp from the showers, a faint bruise still fading at the base of his neck.

It was small — barely there — but Flash’s stomach twisted. He’d seen that same bruise last night on Spider-Man’s shoulder during a news clip of a rooftop fight.

And now here it was, on Parker.

Peter didn’t seem to notice him at first. He was humming under his breath, scrolling through his phone, completely oblivious to the way Flash was staring.

“Hey,” Peter said finally, glancing up with a hesitant smile. “Can we—”

“Does it hurt?”

The words slipped out before Flash could stop them.

Peter blinked. “What?”

“The—uh.” Flash gestured vaguely toward his neck, panic surging. “The bruise. Does it—does it hurt?”

Peter’s eyes widened, suspicion flickering there for a split second before he covered it with confusion. “I, uh… bumped into a locker. It’s fine.”

Flash’s mouth was dry. He nodded too quickly. “Right. Locker.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Peter tilted his head, watching him too closely.

“Why do you care?” he asked quietly.

Flash’s chest felt too tight. “I don’t.”

“Then why ask?”

“I said I don’t, Parker.”

And then he was gone — shoving his things into his bag and bolting before Peter could say another word.

But as he stormed down the hallway, heart pounding, he knew he’d messed up.

Because that look on Peter’s face? That slight shift in his expression?

He knew.

Peter knew that he knew.

From that moment on, everything spiraled.

Flash was even more distant, if that was possible. He barely spoke in class. He avoided eye contact entirely. But when Peter stumbled on the stairs one day, Flash was there — too fast, too instinctive — catching him before he fell.

“You okay?” Flash asked, then cursed under his breath and walked off before Peter could answer.

It was torture.

Because Flash’s actions betrayed the words he refused to say. He cared. He was terrified. He was humiliated.

And Peter… Peter didn’t know what to do with that.

He tried to approach him again — in the hallway, after decathlon, even outside school — but Flash always found a way to escape.

Until one late afternoon, as the two of them ended up alone in the chem lab, Peter decided he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Flash,” he said softly, setting his books down. “You know.”

Flash froze. “Know what?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Peter swallowed hard, heart racing. “I can see it. The way you look at me now. You figured it out.”

Flash’s hands clenched at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do.” Peter’s voice cracked. “And I don’t understand why you’re acting like this. I thought—after that night—maybe you didn’t hate me anymore. But now you won’t even look at me.”

“I don’t hate you.” The words were sharp, desperate.

“Then what is this?”

Flash’s jaw worked. He wanted to tell him everything — that he’d known for weeks, that he was terrified Peter hated him for the way he’d treated him, that he was so humiliated he could barely breathe.

But the words wouldn’t come.

“Forget it,” he muttered, shoving past Peter and storming out the door.

And Peter was left standing there, heart aching, more confused than ever.

Flash lay awake that night staring at the ceiling, thoughts chasing themselves in circles.

He knew. He was sure of it now. Every detail lined up too perfectly to be anything else.

And the fact that Peter Parker — the boy he’d bullied, the boy he’d kissed, the boy he couldn’t stop thinking about — was Spider-Man made his chest feel like it was splitting open.

Because Spider-Man had saved him. Spider-Man had listened to him. Spider-Man had seen the worst parts of him and still tried to reach out.

And now Spider-Man was Peter.

And Flash didn’t know how to face that truth.

So he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He avoided. He ran. And he watched from a distance, heart pounding every time Peter winced or stumbled, every time he caught a glimpse of red and blue swinging above the city.

And slowly, painfully, he realized something he couldn’t unlearn:

He wasn’t running from Peter.

He was running from himself.

Chapter Text

It happened on a Friday.

The week had been brutal—tests, practices, the usual grind—but it was nothing compared to the chaos that hit Midtown right after the final bell.

The alarms went off first. Fire alarms, blaring down the hallways. Then the shouting started, students stampeding toward the exits.

Word spread fast: there was a break-in at the science wing. Armed men. Hostages.

Flash barely had time to process before the teachers were herding them outside.

His adrenaline spiked, his chest tight. He tried to keep his head down, tried to focus on the crowd of students flooding the courtyard.

But Peter wasn’t in the crowd.

Flash scanned frantically. No messy brown curls, no too-big backpack. Nowhere. And then, minutes later, Spider-Man swung through the broken windows of the science wing.

Flash’s heart dropped.

The fight was fast, brutal. Spider-Man moved like lightning, webbing guns away, dodging fists, flipping over blows.

He was incredible. But there were too many of them, and Flash saw it happen—one of the men catching him from the side, slamming him into a column.

The sound of impact made Flash’s stomach turn. Spider-Man staggered, clutching his ribs. He fought through it, of course—he always did—but Flash could see it. The hitch in his movements. The strain in his breath.

When it was finally over and the cops swarmed in, Spider-Man disappeared before anyone could blink.

Flash knew where he went. And he knew what he had to do.

He found Peter in the locker room hours later, long after the chaos had died down and most students had gone home.

Peter was sitting on the bench, shirt half-off, a dark bruise spreading across his ribs in the exact spot Spider-Man had been hit.

His face was pale, his jaw clenched against the pain. It was undeniable this time. Even though he already knew.

“Jesus,” Flash whispered before he could stop himself.

Peter jerked upright, eyes wide. “Flash—what are you—?”

“You’re him.” The words tore out of Flash’s throat, raw and shaking. “You’re really him.”

Peter froze. For a moment, neither of them moved. The silence was deafening, filled only by the distant hum of the building.

Flash’s hands curled into fists. He wanted to yell. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to punch something, anything, just to let out the storm raging in his chest. “You let me—” His voice cracked. “You let me say all that stuff. About the kiss. About… about you. And you knew the whole time.”

Peter flinched. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t.” Flash’s laugh was sharp, bitter. “God, I was such an idiot. I thought I was talking to someone safe. Someone who didn’t know me. And it was you. All along, it was you. The crazy part is I’ve know for weeks, but actually seeing it?”

Peter’s mouth opened, then closed again. For once, he didn’t have an answer.

Flash dragged a hand down his face, humiliated heat burning his cheeks. “No wonder you’ve been looking at me like that. No wonder you—God, Parker, you must think I’m pathetic.”

“I don’t,” Peter said quickly, voice low and desperate. “I don’t think that. At all.”

Flash shook his head, backing toward the door. “Doesn’t matter. You know. And I can’t—” His chest heaved. “I can’t deal with this.”

And before Peter could stop him, Flash was gone, storming out into the night with his heart in pieces.

For days after, he avoided Peter harder than ever. He didn’t look at him, didn’t speak to him, didn’t breathe near him if he could help it.

But it wasn’t the same kind of avoidance as before. This wasn’t suspicion. This wasn’t guilt. This was humiliation.

Because the truth was out now.

And it was worse than he’d ever imagined.

Peter Parker knew every secret Flash had tried to bury. And Flash had no idea how he was ever supposed to live with that.

Peter, meanwhile, couldn’t take the silence anymore.

He knew Flash knew. He’d seen it in his face that day in the locker room, heard it in his voice when he’d said, You’re Spider-Man. There was no undoing that.

And Peter had thought—maybe foolishly—that it would change things. That Flash would finally understand why he disappeared, why he lied, why he kept everyone at arm’s length. That it would make things easier between them.

Instead, Flash wouldn’t even look at him.

Peter had expected questions. Anger. Maybe even awe. What he hadn’t expected was this: the wall of silence, the sharp retreat, like Peter was suddenly toxic.

It stung. Worse than stung—it gutted him.

Because Peter couldn’t shake the fear that it wasn’t the Spider-Man thing driving Flash away. It was the kiss. The drunken confession. The messy, reckless truth between them.

Maybe Flash regretted it so much that even knowing Peter was Spider-Man didn’t matter. Maybe, in fact, it made it worse.

He finally cornered him one afternoon after decathlon, planting himself in the doorway before Flash could bolt.

“Why are you doing this?” Peter asked, voice tight.

Flash froze, jaw flexing. “Doing what?”

“This.” Peter’s chest ached. “You won’t talk to me. You won’t even look at me. You know. You figured it out. And now you can’t even stand to be in the same room.”

Flash’s stomach lurched. He wanted to tell him it wasn’t true. That he avoided him because he couldn’t handle the humiliation, not because Peter disgusted him. But the words jammed in his throat, his pride a vise around them.

“It’s complicated,” he muttered.

Peter’s fists clenched at his sides. “No, it’s not. If you hate me, just say it. If you regret the kiss, just say it. But stop pretending I don’t exist.”

The word kiss hit Flash like a sucker punch. His ears burned, his whole body hot with shame.

“You don’t get it,” Flash bit out.

“Then make me get it!” Peter’s voice cracked. “Because right now, it feels like you’d rather erase me than deal with me. And I can’t—” He stopped, swallowing hard. “I can’t take that anymore.”

Flash’s throat burned. He wanted to scream that Peter had it all wrong, that he didn’t regret the kiss, that the real reason he couldn’t face him was because he’d said too much, revealed too much, and Peter had been behind the mask the whole time.

But all that came out was a muttered, “Drop it, Parker.”

He shoved past him, shoulders tense, heart hammering, humiliated all over again.

And Peter was left in the doorway, chest hollow, certain that Flash’s silence meant only one thing.

He regretted everything.

Chapter Text

Peter hadn’t slept much.

He kept seeing Flash’s back as he shoved past him, kept hearing the silence that said more than words ever could.

By morning, the weight of it dragged at him. His steps were heavy, his chest hollow. He regretted everything.

Ned noticed first.

“Dude,” he whispered as they shuffled into first period, “you look like you lost a fight with a Dementor.”

Peter tried for a smile, but it landed crooked. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Ned said. “You didn’t even laugh at my Star Wars pun just now.”

Peter forced a weak smile. “I’m just tired, had a long night.”

MJ picked up on it in English.

“You’ve been staring at the same paragraph for twenty minutes,” she said flatly, sliding into the seat beside him. “Either the book’s cursed or you’re spiraling.”

Peter mumbled, “Just tired.”

MJ gave him a look but didn’t push.

From the back of classrooms and down the hallways, Flash saw it all.

He saw Parker dragging through the day like his backpack weighed a hundred pounds. Saw Ned and MJ trying and failing to get him to smile. Saw that familiar light dimmed in his eyes.

And Flash knew why.
Because of him.

Guilt coiled tight in his stomach. He hated seeing Parker like this — hated knowing he’d put that look on his face.

By lunch, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He approached their table with his usual scowl, though his chest felt like it was caving in.

“Parker.”

Peter looked up slowly, surprise flickering in his eyes. “What do you want, Flash?”

Ned bristled instantly, shifting closer to Peter. “Back off, man. He’s not in the mood.”

MJ just raised an eyebrow, watching.

Flash’s jaw clenched. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t mean to screw you up, okay? Yesterday… I handled it wrong.”

Peter blinked. His heart thudded. “You don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” Flash cut in, voice sharper than he meant. Then, lower, rougher: “I don’t regret it. Any of it. You got that?”

The table went quiet.

Ned’s mouth dropped open. “Wait. What are we talking about here?”

Peter’s face burned. “Ned—”

MJ’s gaze stayed steady on Flash, then flicked to Peter, piecing the silence together. She didn’t say a word.

Instead, she leaned back, sipping from her juice box, and said calmly, “Well. That clears up why you’ve been sulking all day.”

Peter shot her a mortified look, but she just gave him the faintest smirk — a warning and a promise all in one. She wasn’t going to announce it to the room. Not yet.

Flash’s face went red. He muttered something under his breath, then turned on his heel and stalked out of the cafeteria before anyone could press him further.

The second he was gone, Ned spun on Peter.

“Dude. What is happening right now?”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “Nothing. It’s—ugh—it’s complicated.”

MJ leaned in, eyes sharp, voice low. “Complicated, maybe. But not nothing.”

Peter groaned. He wished he could web his own mouth shut.

Because now, his two best friends knew something was up. And Flash Thompson had just made sure he couldn’t run from it forever.

Flash’s retreating footsteps faded into the cafeteria’s chatter, leaving the three of them in stunned silence.

Ned’s fork clattered onto his tray. “Okay. Nope. Not letting that slide. Peter, what the hell was that?”

Peter tugged at his sleeves, face hot. “It’s… nothing. Forget it.”

MJ arched an eyebrow. “Nothing? Because your favorite bully just wandered up to our table to deliver a cryptic emotional confession and then fled the scene. Doesn’t exactly scream nothing.”

Ned’s eyes widened. “Wait. Was that—was that about what I think it was about? Did Flash…?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Did Flash kiss you?”

Peter’s head snapped up. “Ned!”

The cafeteria’s hum drowned their voices, but Peter still glanced around nervously, making sure no one else heard.

MJ’s lips twitched, but her gaze stayed sharp. “Judging by your tomato impression, I’d say Ned nailed it.”

Peter groaned, dropping his forehead onto the table with a thunk.

Ned sputtered. “Are you kidding me? Flash Thompson? The guy who’s made fun of you since kindergarten? The guy who literally calls you ‘Penis Parker’?”

Peter mumbled into the table, “Yeah, that guy.”

MJ tilted her head. “And yet, from the looks of it, he’s not making fun of you anymore.”

Ned gaped. “But—why? He’s been awful for years.”

Peter lifted his head, rubbing his temples. “Because… apparently, that was the point. He told me—” He cut himself off, unsure how much to share.

MJ leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Told you what?”

Peter hesitated. The words tasted impossible. But then he remembered the way Flash had looked yesterday — desperate, guilty, vulnerable. And the way he’d just told Peter, plain as day, I don’t regret it.

“He… likes me,” Peter admitted quietly.

Ned’s jaw dropped. “No way.”

MJ, on the other hand, didn’t flinch. She just studied Peter, her expression unreadable. “And you?”

Peter swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

Ned sat back, still reeling. “This is insane. Flash Thompson has a crush on you. On you. That’s like Thanos having a soft spot for Captain America.”

“Not helping,” Peter muttered.

MJ finally spoke, voice even. “So. That’s why you’ve been dragging around all day like somebody died.”

Peter nodded, guilt gnawing at him. “I thought he regretted it. That it was just some stupid mistake he wanted to forget. But then he says that in front of you guys and… I don’t know what to do now.”

Ned ran a hand through his hair, still looking like his brain was buffering. “So what happens next? Do you… like him back?”

Peter hesitated again, cheeks warm. “I don’t… hate the idea. But I don’t even think he wants me to say anything. He literally bolted the second he admitted it.”

MJ’s gaze softened, just a little. “He’s embarrassed. Probably terrified. And you’re not exactly handling it like a pro either.”

Peter slumped in his seat. “Because I don’t know how to handle it.”

Ned sighed, leaning closer. “Okay. For real, though, what are we supposed to do? Because if Flash is serious, then this is… huge. Like, world-turned-upside-down huge.”

Peter stared down at his hands. “I don’t know. I guess… I just wait? See if he even talks to me again?”

MJ smirked faintly. “Or you could stop letting him dictate the pace and figure out what you want.”

Chapter Text

Peter swung through the city, the mask hiding the swirl of frustration and exhaustion pressing down on him.

He hadn’t meant to be out this early, but he needed space—somewhere to think, to breathe, away from the cafeteria, away from the awkward tension that had followed him all afternoon.

He landed lightly on a fire escape, crouching for a moment to steady his breath.

“Hey.”

The voice made him tense instantly. Flash. Leaning against the brick wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on him.

Peter froze mid-step. “Hey,” he said carefully, voice low behind the mask.

Flash tilted his head. “You’re out… Spidey style. Didn’t expect that.”

“I needed to clear my head,” Spider-Man replied, tone neutral. “City’s quieter than school.”

Flash ran a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but Peter’s face. “Right… yeah. I get that.”

They stood there for a beat, silence stretching, neither wanting to break it too quickly. Peter could feel the tension radiating off Flash—restless, frustrated, embarrassed, but also… vulnerable.

“I’m still sorry about lunch,” Flash finally muttered, voice low. “I didn’t mean to—”

Spider-Man held up a hand. “I know. I get it. I’ve been thinking about it all day.”
Flash’s jaw tightened. “You’ve been thinking about it… all day?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, voice soft. “It matters.”

Flash let out a humorless laugh, glancing away. “Figures it matters to you. You always think everything matters.”

“You said things that mattered, Flash,” Spider-Man countered gently. “Even if you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

Flash’s shoulders slumped a fraction. “Yeah… well, I’m still embarrassed.”

Spider-Man tilted his head, studying him. “I get it. Me too.”

There was a pause, charged but quiet. Neither knew exactly what to say next, but the tension had shifted slightly—less like a wall and more like… a bridge.

Finally, Flash muttered, “Don’t think this changes… school. Or me. Or… anything.”

Spider-Man nodded. “I’m not expecting it to. Just… wanted you to know I heard you. That’s all.”

Flash looked at him, eyes softening just a little, before turning to walk away. “Yeah. I… yeah.”

Peter watched him go, heart hammering, but he didn’t move. From above, he followed Flash at a discreet distance, ensuring he made it home safely. Every glance behind his shoulder, every pause at a crosswalk, made Peter tighten his grip on the web-slinger’s sense of duty—protective, careful, silent.

By the time Flash disappeared into the doorway of his building, Peter lingered on a nearby rooftop, letting out a slow breath.

The night was quiet, the city stretching out beneath him, and for a moment, the tension of the day eased slightly.

He couldn’t say why, exactly, but watching over Flash… it felt necessary. Like a promise he couldn’t voice.

Peter was sprawled on his bed, phone in hand, trying not to think too hard about the events of the day. Then—buzz.

He glanced at the screen and froze.

Flash: why were you following me home?

Peter’s chest tightened. Oh no. He knows. He knows I was following him. Oh god, don’t panic, don’t panic…

He typed fast, fumbling for words.

Peter: I wasn’t following you.

Seconds later, his phone buzzed again.

Flash: don’t lie to me. I saw you.

Peter’s stomach sank. 

Peter: …fine. I was following you.

Another pause, then:

Flash: …why?

Peter’s fingers hovered over the screen. Why?! Because I care? Because I’m a total idiot? He typed hesitantly:

Peter: I wanted to make sure you got home safe.

There was a long silence. Peter could almost hear Flash thinking. Then the phone buzzed again.

Flash: okay.

Another pause.

Flash: but… why lie?

Peter’s throat tightened. Yeah. Why did I lie? Because I’m scared. Because I don’t want him to see how stupid I am. Because I—

Peter: I panicked. I didn’t think you’d notice? I guess I just… didn’t want to look dumb.

Flash: Oh

Flash: Well thanks I guess.

Peter exhaled, a little lighter than before, though his chest was still tight. 

Peter: anytime.

Chapter Text

Peter trudged through the halls, backpack heavier than usual, heart still buzzing from last night’s conversation. He hadn’t slept well—every glance at his phone, every replay of the texts made his chest tighten.

As he rounded a corner near the lockers, his stomach sank. Flash was leaning against a locker, laughing at something a guy next to him had said. They were close—shoulders brushing, easy banter flowing—and Peter’s chest twisted painfully.

Why do they look so… comfortable? he thought. Why am I thinking about that?

The guy nudged Flash playfully and he laughed at something he’d said, tossing his head back, and Peter’s chest ached.

Peter shoved his hands into his pockets, trying to force himself to keep walking, but every step felt heavier than the last. His jaw was tight, and his usual humor and chatter were gone.

By first period, his shoulders were tense, and he was snapping at anyone who tried to talk to him—even Ned and MJ.

“Peter, are you okay?” Ned asked quietly as they walked to class.

Peter muttered something incoherent and kept walking, cheeks burning. MJ shot him a concerned look, but Peter avoided her gaze. I’m fine. I’m fine. Don’t make it weird.

Flash noticed. He couldn’t stop stealing glances at Peter, trying to catch a sign that he was just overreacting, that maybe it was nothing. But Peter’s clenched fists, hunched shoulders, and quiet scowl told him otherwise. Concern gnawed at him.

At one point, Flash caught up with him near the stairwell and pulled him slightly aside, his expression uncharacteristically serious.

“Hey, Parker… you okay?” Flash asked quietly, leaning against the wall. “Did something happen with… Spider-Man? Were you hurt or anything last night?”

Peter’s head snapped up, eyes flashing. “Why do you care?” he snapped, voice sharp. “I’m fine. Really. Just… leave me alone, okay?”

Flash froze for a second, surprised at the bite in Peter’s tone. “Whoa… okay, didn’t mean to—”

“I said leave me alone,” Peter muttered, shoving past him. His chest burned with a mix of guilt and frustration. Why am I even snapping at him?

Flash watched him go, jaw tight, concern flickering in his eyes. Something’s wrong. Really wrong.

By the time lunch rolled around, Peter barely touched his food. He stayed at their usual table, staring down at the tray, cheeks warm from the memory of last night and the pangs of jealousy from seeing Flash with the other guy earlier. Ned nudged him a few times, and MJ tried to joke with him, but Peter only gave monosyllabic replies, pushing food around absentmindedly.

Across the cafeteria, Flash’s attention was fixed entirely on him. His friends tried to get him to join a table, but he ignored them, eyes tracking Peter’s every movement. The slump in his shoulders, the quiet isolation—it was all too clear.

Finally, unable to hold back, Flash shoved his tray aside and strode over, his usual bravado replaced with something raw and hesitant.

“Parker,” he muttered, leaning against the table awkwardly. “You… what’s wrong?”

Peter looked up, surprised. His heart leapt, then sank. “I—nothing,” Peter mumbled.

Flash’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been watching all day. You’re… miserable. Spill it.”

Peter’s eyes flicked to Ned and MJ, who were watching quietly, curiosity written on their faces. He swallowed hard, debating whether to lie, brush it off, or tell the truth. His mind raced faster than he could think.

“I… it’s nothing,” he said again, but his voice cracked slightly. “Just… seeing you with… with him earlier… it’s stupid…”

Flash’s eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across his face. “Wait—what? With him?”

Peter’s cheeks flamed red, and he immediately wished he could disappear. “I didn’t mean… I just… you looked… happy, and I—uh—I don’t know, it made me feel… weird.”

Flash blinked at him, stunned. He stepped back slightly, processing Peter’s words. “Wait… so… you’re… jealous?”

Peter froze. Did I just say that out loud? Did he really just figure that out? “I… uh… maybe? I don’t know. I didn’t mean to say it like that. I—”

Flash ran a hand through his hair, trying to collect himself. The teasing, easygoing persona was gone. For the first time in a long time, he looked… exposed. “Wow. I… I didn’t expect that.”

Peter’s heart hammered. “I’m sorry, I—”

Flash held up a hand, cutting him off. “No. I’m not… mad. Just… surprised. That’s all.”

Peter let out a shaky breath, relieved but still embarrassed. “Yeah… I just—seeing you laughing with him… I don’t know why it hit me so hard.”

Flash’s lips pressed into a thin line, his usual confidence slipping. He leaned forward slightly, eyes locking on Peter’s. “So… you really care about me, huh?”

Peter blinked, unsure what to say, and murmured, “Yeah… I guess I do.”

Flash’s expression softened, but there was hesitation, a flicker of guilt or confusion in his eyes.

There was a long, heavy pause. Peter’s heart thumped in his chest, the tension thick and almost unbearable. Flash’s gaze flicked away, scanning the cafeteria, restless, trying to process what had just happened.

Finally, he pushed back from the table, running a hand through his hair again. “I… uh… I need to think,” he muttered awkwardly, standing. “Yeah. I’ll… catch you later.”

Peter’s chest tightened as he watched him walk away. Flash didn’t look angry, not really—but the distance he put between them only made Peter’s thoughts spin faster.

As Flash disappeared into the crowd, Peter let out a shaky breath and sat back, overwhelmed. The words had been said, the tension had been exposed—but neither of them knew what to do next.

Chapter Text

The bell rang, dragging Peter out of his thoughts and back into the chaos of the hallway. He barely noticed the jostling of backpacks and chatter as he made his way to class, still carrying the weight of the lunch incident.

When he stepped inside, he froze slightly. Flash was already there, leaning casually against a desk, but his usual smirk was tempered by a quiet seriousness that made Peter’s stomach twist.

“Alright, everyone,” their teacher said, clapping hands once. “For this project, I’m assigning partners. Peter Parker, you’re with Flash Thompson.”

Peter blinked, heart sinking. He swallowed, trying to steady his voice. “Of course,” he muttered, sinking into the chair next to Flash.

Flash raised an eyebrow but said nothing, shoving his notebook onto the desk. The tension between them was palpable, thick enough that Peter felt it pressing down on his shoulders.

After a few moments of awkward silence, Peter cleared his throat. “Uh… look. About this morning… or, you know, lunch… I—”

Flash looked up, frowning slightly. “Yeah?”

Peter took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was… snappy with you. I wasn’t trying to be… I was just… jealous. And stupid. Sorry.”

For a moment, the room seemed to shrink, their classmates’ chatter fading into the background. Flash’s gaze softened just slightly, though he kept his usual teasing glint.

“Okay,” Flash said finally, leaning forward over the desk. “Fine. Apology accepted. And… I guess I can… try not to make you jealous, maybe.”

Peter let out a quiet laugh, still a little embarrassed, but his chest felt lighter. “Thanks.”

Flash smirked, but it lacked its usual bite. “Don’t thank me yet. We still have a project to do.”

Peter groaned, but the tension had shifted just a little—less like a wall and more like… something they could climb together.

And as they started going over the assignment, words flowing awkwardly at first, there was a strange sort of comfort in the silence that settled between them. For the first time all day, Peter didn’t feel like he had to guard his thoughts or feelings.

The classroom buzzed with quiet chatter as other students grouped up and started their projects. Peter and Flash sat across from each other at the small table, books and papers spread out between them.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, both caught in the awkward bubble of their recent conversation. Peter fidgeted with his pencil, staring down at the worksheet. Flash leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching him.

Finally, Flash sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright… look. I should probably say something too.”

Peter glanced up, heart thudding. “Yeah?”

Flash leaned forward, his elbows on the desk, gaze fixed on Peter’s. “…I’m sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you—before, after… last week… all of it. I was a jerk, and I acted like I didn’t care. But I did. And… yeah, I was stupid.”

Peter blinked, momentarily stunned. “…You’re apologizing?”

“Yeah,” Flash said quickly, almost defensive, but there was a softness in his voice. “I’m… sorry. I treated you like crap for a long time. And then… last week, I said some things I shouldn’t have. And I… well, I don’t know, Parker. I just… I don’t want to mess this up anymore. Or you.”

Peter felt his chest twist. Hearing Flash admit all of that—so raw, so honest—hit him harder than he expected. “I… I didn’t realize… I mean… it’s okay. I get it. I just… I was hurt too.”

Flash exhaled, leaning back in his chair with a small, awkward laugh. “Figures, huh? Both of us being idiots.”

Peter smiled faintly, a little wobbly but genuine. “Yeah… both idiots.”

For a moment, they shared a quiet laugh, the tension between them easing just slightly. It didn’t erase everything—the jealousy, the awkwardness, the past—but it was a start.

Flash picked up a pencil and nudged Peter’s notebook. “So… let’s try not to fight while we do this project, yeah? Deal?”

Peter nodded, still a little shy. “Deal.”

They leaned over the assignment together, side by side, the air still tinged with awkwardness and lingering feelings—but for the first time in a long while, they were on the same side, both literally and figuratively.

And as they worked, Peter realized that maybe this project—awkward as it was—might actually be the first step toward something neither of them knew how to say out loud yet.

Chapter Text

Peter stared down at his notebook for the hundredth time, tracing the same diagram he’d drawn over and over. He had been staring at it for the past twenty minutes, not making any real progress, and the ticking of the clock in the classroom was starting to drive him crazy.

Flash leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, looking more relaxed than Peter felt. “Seriously,” he muttered, “you’re going in circles. You’re staring at the same thing like it’s going to magically fix itself.”

Peter groaned, pushing his pencil across the desk. “I know, okay? I’m trying. I just… it’s… tricky.”

Flash sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright. Look—maybe you just need a change of scenery. A place where you can… I don’t know… focus without overthinking everything.”

Peter’s head snapped up. “A change of scenery?”

Flash shrugged, leaning a little closer. “I don’t know. I’m just saying—you look like you’re about to implode. Maybe you should take a break, or… do the project somewhere else. Somewhere quieter.”

Peter’s chest thudded. Quieter… somewhere else… His brain jumped ahead immediately to one possibility. “Uh… well… I mean… my place isn’t too far, and Aunt May isn’t home… if you wanted to… we could continue working there?”

Flash blinked at him, eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second before widening slightly. “At your house?
”
Peter’s cheeks heated, and he pushed a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “Yeah… I mean, if you’re not busy… it’s fine if you’re not…” He trailed off, feeling like an idiot.

Flash smirked, though there was a softness to it, not his usual teasing bite. “You want me to come over?”

Peter swallowed hard. “Yeah… I think it’d be… easier to focus. And, uh… maybe we can finish this tonight?”

Flash leaned back in his chair again, smirking faintly. “Alright, Parker. I’ll bite. Let’s go.”

The ride to Peter’s apartment was mostly silent. Peter’s stomach twisted uncomfortably with nerves, anticipation, and something heavier he couldn’t quite name.

Flash, for his part, was quiet too, though Peter could tell he was watching him out of the corner of his eye more than a few times.

When they arrived, Peter let Flash in and tried not to notice how close he stood to the door, heart hammering.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Peter mumbled, gesturing vaguely toward the living room.

Flash dropped his backpack onto the couch and glanced around. “Not bad. Quiet… except for the occasional traffic noise outside.”

“Yeah…” Peter said softly, fidgeting with his pencil case. “It’s usually pretty calm when Aunt May isn’t home.”

Flash’s eyes flicked toward Peter, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Sounds… tempting.”

Peter flushed, shoving the notebook toward the coffee table. “Right… the project. We should get started.”

They sat across from each other, notebooks open and laptops humming softly. For the first ten minutes, it was fairly normal—silent scribbling, murmured calculations, occasional corrections. But the tension was palpable. Every brush of arms, every lean over the table, made Peter’s stomach twist in ways he didn’t expect.

Flash broke the silence first. “So… you really were jealous this morning.”

Peter froze, pencil halfway to his notebook. “I… uh… yeah. I guess I was.”

Flash smirked, leaning back just slightly, but his gaze softened. “You didn’t have to be. I… I wasn’t doing anything with him. You’re the one I care about.”

Peter blinked, heart hammering. “I… care about you too,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Flash leaned forward a fraction, resting his elbows on the table. “You sure about that?”

Peter nodded quickly, cheeks flushing. “Yeah. I—look, I just… I didn’t know how to handle it this morning. And… and I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Flash’s smirk softened into something more vulnerable. “You didn’t. I… I just… I don’t know how to act around you sometimes. I’m… stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Peter said quickly, leaning a little closer, though he tried not to. “You’re… human. And I… I guess I’m the same.”

There was a pause, filled only with the sound of their pencils scratching on paper and the quiet hum of the laptop. But the air between them was heavy, charged with the things neither wanted to say aloud.

Peter’s pencil slipped from his hand, clattering onto the floor. He bent over to pick it up, and Flash’s hand brushed against his arm. Peter froze, heart in his throat. Flash didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave a small, almost imperceptible smile.

“Stop being so tense,” Flash murmured, almost a whisper.

Peter’s cheeks burned. “…I’m not tense.”

“Sure you’re not,” Flash said, a teasing edge
returning to his voice. “You’re sitting there like you’ve got a secret superpower or something.”

Peter’s stomach lurched. “Maybe I do,” he whispered, heart racing.

Flash’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh yeah? What kind of superpower?”

Peter’s pulse spiked. He looked up at Flash, eyes locking with his. “…The kind that makes me… care too much.”

Flash blinked, then leaned forward a little, just close enough that Peter could feel the heat from his body. “…Care too much about me?”

Peter swallowed hard. “…Yeah.”

There was a long pause. Every sound—the hum of the laptop, the ticking of a wall clock, their own breathing—felt amplified. Flash’s gaze dropped to Peter’s lips for just a fraction of a second before flicking back to his eyes.

“…You know,” Flash said softly, voice low, “I’ve wanted to do this all day.”

Peter’s stomach flipped. “…Do what?”

Flash’s smirk faded completely, replaced by something vulnerable, open, real. He leaned in, just a little closer, eyes locked on Peter’s. “…This.”

There was a pause, electric and charged. Peter could feel every heartbeat, every tiny shift of Flash’s body toward him. Their faces were inches apart, the room suddenly smaller, more intimate, filled with unspoken words and desire.

And then, without another word, Flash pressed his lips to Peter’s.

The kiss started tentative, slow, almost testing, but Peter couldn’t resist. His hands went to Flash’s shoulders, then tentatively to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss. The world outside—the project, the homework, even the quiet hum of the laptop—disappeared. There was only Flash and him, heartbeats racing, breaths mingling, tension burning hotter with every second.

Flash’s hands rested lightly on Peter’s waist now, holding him just enough to anchor them both without making it too overwhelming. Peter’s fingers tangled in Flash’s hair, pulling him closer, pressing against him in a mix of need, relief, and something urgent they had been holding back for too long.

When they finally pulled back, both breathing heavily, Peter’s forehead rested against Flash’s chest, heart hammering. “I—uh…”

Flash chuckled softly, breathless. “Yeah… me too.”
Peter lifted his head slightly, cheeks flushed.

Flash shook his head, smirking faintly, though his eyes were softer than usual. “Neither of us is getting out of this without being a little ridiculous.”

Peter laughed nervously, hiding a hand against his flushed cheeks. “Ridiculous… maybe. Happy… definitely.”

Flash leaned closer, voice dropping just enough to make Peter shiver. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting this go. Not anytime soon.”

Peter’s chest tightened, a mix of nerves and exhilaration. “I… don’t think I’d want you to.”

They leaned back against the table together, shoulders brushing, hands occasionally touching, breathing slowly returning to normal.

The tension hadn’t vanished—it had transformed into something heavier, warmer, charged with possibility.

Peter’s heart felt like it might burst, but in the best way possible. And for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel afraid of how he felt—or of how Flash felt either.

Chapter Text

Peter woke up with his heart still hammering. Last night’s kiss—the heat, the closeness, the way Flash had leaned into him—played on repeat in his mind. His chest ached in the best way, and even beneath his sheets, he could still feel the warmth of Flash’s hands and the softness of his lips as if they were still there.

He lay for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. What now? he thought. Do I say something? Do I just… let it linger?

Before school, Peter had arranged to meet Flash at the school’s unused art room—a quiet place they could talk without anyone around. When he arrived, Flash was already there, leaning casually against the counter, arms crossed, a small, awkward smile on his face.

“Morning,” Peter said softly, stepping in.

“Morning,” Flash replied, his voice low and hesitant.

“Uh… so… here we are. Private. No one to… interrupt.”

Peter chuckled lightly, feeling some of his nervousness ease. “Yeah. Finally, somewhere we don’t have to dodge everyone.”

Flash shrugged, still leaning against the counter.

“Good. I… uh… wanted to see you.” His eyes flicked to Peter, soft and unguarded. “…After last night.”

Peter’s chest warmed. “…Me too.” He swallowed, feeling the tension between them, the electricity of their closeness.

“I’ve been… thinking about it. About us.”

Flash ran a hand through his hair, awkward but deliberate. “…Yeah. Me too. Can’t really stop thinking, honestly.”

They stood there for a long moment, neither speaking, just letting the quiet settle around them.

The room smelled faintly of paint and old paper, the sunlight from the high windows casting soft shadows across the floor. Every glance, every small movement seemed charged.

Finally, Peter took a small step closer. “…So… last night. The kiss. I—”

Flash tilted his head, letting him speak. “…I know. Me too.” His voice was softer now, almost a whisper. “It… it meant a lot.”

Peter’s heart fluttered. “…It did for me too.” He swallowed, voice barely audible. “…I don’t want it to be… weird. Or rushed.”

Flash shook his head slowly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “…No. I don’t want that either. I just… I like being close to you. And I… like you. A lot.”

Peter’s chest tightened. “…I like you too. More than I probably should admit.”

The room fell silent again, the words hanging between them. They moved a fraction closer, shoulders brushing, just enough to make the warmth between them undeniable. Peter’s breath caught as he realized how tangible the connection had become—how real and soft it felt, even after only a few moments.

Flash’s hand twitched, hovering near Peter’s. Tentatively, he let their fingers brush. Peter caught the gesture, holding his hand for just a second, savoring the contact. The room felt smaller, more intimate, and somehow safer.

“…So,” Flash murmured, breaking the silence, “…where do we go from here?”

Peter looked into his eyes, heart fluttering. “…I… don’t know. But I want… I want this. I want us.”

Flash leaned in slightly, just enough that Peter could feel the warmth of his body, the tension in the air, the electricity of the moment. “…Yeah. Me too.”

They stayed like that, shoulders brushing, breaths slowing, letting the closeness settle. There was no rush, no pressure, just the quiet acknowledgment of what had started and the shared desire to explore it.

Peter’s lips twitched into a small smile. “…Together?”
Flash’s hand brushed against his again, fingers intertwining lightly. “…Together,” he repeated, soft and certain.

The moment stretched, heavy with meaning, vulnerability, and unspoken promises. Peter realized that he didn’t need answers right away—just this.

This closeness, this intimacy, this shared understanding that whatever came next, they’d face it together.

And for the first time in a long while, Peter felt completely at ease.