Archive of Our Own

Johnny showed up at school wearing Daken’s jacket and doom settled over Peter like one of those lead aprons they made you wear at the dentist. He knew it was Daken’s jacket because Johnny didn’t own anything that looked like that, grungy and black, and also because Daken had slashed his name into the back of the leather.

Daken’s little sister saw it and rolled her eyes so hard Peter thought they might fall out of her head.

If that wasn’t enough to confirm his suspicions and make him wish he'd stayed home sick, there was the fact that he walked in on them necking in the janitor’s closet.

“Hey Pete,” Johnny said cheerfully with Daken’s mouth latched firmly onto his throat like a vampire or a lamprey: too many teeth and a bad attitude. “Close the door, would you?”

Daken was the worst idea Johnny had ever had for a lot of reasons.

“Please tell me you’re not making a PowerPoint,” Mary Jane said. "Not again."

“It’s a list,” Peter said, defensive.

Mary Jane and Gwen traded a look. Harry raised his fist to his mouth and said, “cough nerd cough,” because Peter’s friends were incredibly supportive of his noble mission to save Johnny Storm from both himself and the devil with the bad hair.

“I didn’t ask for your judgment,” Peter said. “I asked for your help. He has to know what he’s doing is stupid, right?”

“Does Johnny ever know what he’s doing is stupid?” Mary Jane asked, shrugging. It was a good point, and out of all Peter’s other friends, she was the one who liked Johnny best. Gwen was always watching him like she was just waiting for him to hit on her so she could shut him down. Harry and Johnny had a relationship of mutual distrust. It worked for them.

“Maybe it’ll blow over,” Gwen said, picking at her lunch. “Like a phase. A mohawk dude phase.”

“Maybe,” Peter said, brightening. “He does have the attention span of a gnat.”

“Or maybe he’ll tame the wild beast,” Mary Jane suggested with a wicked grin.

“Gross,” said Peter.

“What?” Gwen defended. “Daken’s hot. Bad boys never go out of style. Even the mohawk’s kind of cute, in an escaped from the ‘80s way.”

“You know, he interned with my dad once,” Harry said.

“See?” Gwen said, knocking her shoulder against Harry’s.

“That wasn’t a plus,” said Harry. “He’s definitely evil.”

Peter put his head down on the table with a groan.

Peter had never meant to fall into Johnny Storm’s orbit -- he’d spent the first two years of high school hating him with a vengeance. Then one day he’d looked up and Johnny had just sort of happened to him, like a tornado or the flu.

He tried explaining it to his friends but they just gave him pitying looks.

“Yeah,” Mary Jane said, slurping her soda. "That’s kind of how I discovered boys too.”

The point was, Peter was stuck with him forever, basically. The super glue of unintentional friendship. It was cosmic, fated, and incredibly annoying. Johnny Storm might have been a handbasket of bad decisions and personality defects wrapped up with an incredible smile, but he was Peter’s handbasket of bad decisions -- of which Daken was still the worst one Johnny had ever made, and Johnny had made some truly bad decisions.

Crystal Amaquelin, who was really into Sailor Moon and had a dog the size of a house and a silent brother-in-law who was maybe a mob boss. Frankie Raye, who couldn’t get through a chemistry lab without setting something on fire - notably, one time, her own sweater. Bobby Drake, who had earned his own personal brand of high school fame by being the only guy in their school to have the paramedics called because he’d gotten his tongue stuck to a lamppost - three separate times.

(“Every time you kiss him you are kissing lamppost,” Peter told him, because it was his civic duty to remind Johnny how stupid he was being at every possible opportunity.

Johnny just smirked and did something obscene with his eyebrows. Peter regretted everything.)

He’d been Janet van Dyne’s rebound for all of three hours, a relationship centered mostly around how long her ex-boyfriend Hank would keep crying in the men’s room.

Aunt May said it was because Johnny didn’t have enough positive parental supervision in his life -- he lived with his sister and her boyfriend, both big time super genius scientists, and one or both of them was constantly off at some convention.

Johnny agreed with Aunt May, but Peter was pretty sure it was just because she kept feeding him.

“He’s a nice boy, deep down,” Aunt May said, every time Johnny left the house. “You look out for him, Peter.”

Peter’s response to that was exasperated groaning. Trying to look after Johnny was like trying to give a cat a bath.

Case in point: the fact that Johnny was currently trying to suck Daken’s soul out through his mouth, hands fisted in Daken’s flimsy t-shirt, oblivious to the gym class all around him. Coach Logan’s eye wouldn’t stop twitching; Peter felt an almost spiritual kind of connection with him.

It was broken a moment later when Coach Logan caught him staring and asked what he thought he was looking at, bub, but the solidarity had been nice while it lasted. He and Coach Logan had a beautiful relationship that way.

The lucky thing was Johnny’s relationships tended to have a shelf life of about two days tops. All Peter had to do was make it through the rest of the week and things would be back to a beautiful, Daken-less normal. He couldn’t wait.

Two days passed. Then three. Then all of a sudden it was the next week and Daken was still there, glued to Johnny’s hip. Pretty literally. His hand was like, right there, and creeping steadily lower, the spread of his palm possessive.

“We’re in public!” Peter hissed, glowering at them from behind his locker.

“Some of us are, anyway,” said Gwen, who seemed unconcerned about Johnny’s inevitable Daken-led downward spiral, probably into drugs, stolen car radios and clothing with holes in obscene places. Aunt May would weep.

Daken said something right in Johnny’s ear, and Johnny laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Peter clutched his locker door so hard his fingers went numb.

“Am I the only one seeing this?” he demanded.

“Oh, I’m seeing something,” Gwen said, taking a long, slow sip of her latte. She didn’t even bother trying to look like she wasn’t judging him, which was completely unfair because it wasn’t like he was making out with Daken Akihiro in the hallway.

"I'm having a life crisis," Peter said. "He is giving me a life crisis."

Gwen knocked her fist against his shoulder, her sympathy clearly hollow, then left for her first class.

“Okay,” Johnny said when he bolted into class a whole thirty seconds before their history teacher. He leaned halfway onto Peter’s desk. “I know what you’re going to say, but I want you to hear me out first.”

“You have thirty seconds,” Peter said. “And -- go.”

Johnny opened his mouth, gaped like a fish, and then closed it.

“I didn’t actually think you were going to go for that,” he said. “Uh. He’s actually really nice?”

Peter pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and snorted. He said, “Okay, no. Didn’t he shove you into a locker back in ninth grade?”

“He’s changed,” Johnny said with a sigh, propping his chin up on one hand. “He’s into alternative music and stuff. He’s artistic. He designed all his tattoos.”

Peter was going to roll his eyes right out of his skull.

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Rogers said. “Is there something you’d like to contribute?”

Peter cringed, pasting his best I’m Really a Good Student So Don’t Judge Me by the Company I Keep face on. He waved. Mr. Rogers raised both his eyebrows but went back to talking about -- something. Peter really had been a good student once upon a time, before Johnny Storm.

A note bounced off the side of his glasses. He unfolded it and read Johnny’s messy scrawl: also he has a car.

Peter shot Johnny a disgusted look. Johnny stared straight ahead and pretended to be very interested in history.

“Are you coming over tonight?” Peter asked after class. If he couldn’t talk sense into Johnny, then Aunt May’s success record was pretty great. Or maybe Johnny was just easily bribed by food. Either way, Peter was willing to try it.

“Rain check?” Johnny said. “Kind of going to this party tonight.”

“In Daken’s car,” Peter said. Johnny grinned.

“It’s a really great car,” he said. “Engine purrs like a kitten. Roomy backseat.”

“Stop,” said Peter. “Right there. Stop it.”

“You should come to the party,” Johnny said.

“Am I invited?” Peter said, raising his eyebrows. Johnny shrugged, throwing an arm around Peter’s shoulders. He did that all the time, but usually not when he was dating someone. Peter had for months been keeping track of Johnny’s relationship status by whether or not he draped his arm over Peter’s shoulders as soon as he saw him.

It was an easy gesture to return, and it made everything feel right side up again.

“Would I go to any party that wouldn’t have you?” he said, bumping Peter's hip with his own. Peter threw him a look. “Don't say anything. You’re invited to this one."

“You don’t even know who’s throwing it, do you?” Peter asked, feeling unbearably fond.

“Who makes the rules here?” Johnny asked, squeezing Peter once before letting go. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. I’ll text you the address. Bring Gwen and MJ.”

Gwen probably already had an invitation and MJ had her theater club, but Peter only shrugged and said, “Maybe.”

“I’d better see you there,” Johnny said, moving past Peter into the parking lot. He turned so he was walking backwards and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Bring hot girls!”

Peter rolled his eyes and mentally wrote the whole party idea off --

-- Right up until Daken swooped in like some great tattooed hawk and proceeded to pin Johnny up against a car. Not his car. Scott Summers’ car. Scott had the good grace to look suitably scandalized.

“Hey, Peter,” Gwen said, catching up with him. “What’re we standing around for?”

“Gwen,” Peter said, rounding on her. “How’d you like to go to a party?”

The party was absolutely not Peter’s kind of scene.

“I still think you should have let me put eyeliner on you,” Gwen said, swaying in place to the music. Her thousand bracelets jangled in time to the beat.

“That’s never going to happen,” Peter said, trying to angle himself between Gwen and the corner. There were way too many people crammed into someone’s parents’ very nice living room, and Peter was all elbows on a good day. He just wanted to get out of dodge without breaking anything expensive and heirloom-y.

“Why are we here anyway?” Gwen said, shimmying. She raised her voice so she could be heard over the music, except she mostly ended up shouting in Peter’s ear. “Not that I mind. But you hate parties. You kind of hate fun.”

“I don’t hate fun!” Peter said. “I -- that time with the -- the thing, that was fun.”

“Wow,” said Gwen. “You literally can’t think of a single time you had fun. No wonder you’re not dancing with me.”

The last time Peter had danced with Gwen he’d tripped over his own shoelaces and they’d both gone down in a pile of elbows and knees. He’d gotten a black eye. Gwen had sprained her ankle. Aunt May had stared at them suspiciously for weeks.

“Johnny invited me,” he said, batting one her hands away from his face. “Stop it, you’re going to put somebody’s eye out.”

Gwen snorted, twirling in place.

“Oh,” she said. “That explains it.”

“What?” Peter said, craning his neck. He couldn’t see Johnny anywhere in the crowd. “Explains what?”

“I’m not going to tell you if you can’t figure it out,” Gwen said.

“What does that even mean --” Peter started, right before a flash of platinum hair and a slinky all black ensemble caught his eye. Next thing he knew, he was being pounced on.

“Peter Parker!” exclaimed Felicia Hardy, the cat hair on Peter’s otherwise impeccably clean sweater of high school entanglement.

(The record went something like: dated Mary Jane, broke up with Mary Jane, dated Mary Jane again, broke up again. Ill-advised fling with Gwen. Dated Mary Jane again, broke up again. Tipsily made out with Harry in a broom closet and then dated Mary Jane and -- okay, maybe Felicia wasn’t actually the problem.)

“What are you doing here?” Felicia asked. “You hate fun!”

“I don’t!” Peter protested. “Why does everybody keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true,” Gwen sang.

“This party sucks, anyway,” Felicia continued, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “I was about to ditch, actually, but then I saw you…” she gave him a slow smile that went straight to the pit of his stomach. “Want to dance?”

“Um,” Peter said. Dancing with Felicia Hardy was a very bad idea for many reasons, but as usual it was hard to remember exactly what they were when she was looking at him like that.

“He doesn’t,” Gwen cut in. “But I totally do.”

“Fine by me,” Felicia said, snagging Gwen by the hand. She winked at Peter. “See you around, Peter.”

They disappeared into the crowd and then Peter was all alone in the corner. He could feel the universe judging him. Well, it was half the universe and half Pietro Maximoff, who was in the next corner over pretending he was too cool to make eye contact with anyone. Peter decided to leave, just in case Pietro tried to talk to him.

Away from the music seemed like his best bet for survival, so he slunk off down the hall only to stop short.

Johnny and Daken were making out up against a wall. Surprise of the century. Daken was pressed up against Johnny, one hand pinning Johnny's wrist back. Johnny's eyes were shut, all long lashes, head tipped back to give Daken better access to his throat, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Peter stomach twisted as he looked away.

Peter tried to turn and go back the way he came, but he hip-checked a table in the process and just barely saved a vase from meeting an awful fate.

The clatter made Johnny start, eyes flying open, but Daken stayed exactly where he was, like his mouth and Johnny’s neck had met with some kind of tragic superglue accident. Johnny’s gaze fell on Peter and his face lit up.

“Hey!” he said. “You showed!”

“Yep,” Peter said, sticking his hands in his pockets. Daken hadn’t blinked, looked up or stopped his onslaught against Johnny’s long neck and it was getting really, really awkward. “Here I am.”

“It’s fun, right? You’re having fun?”

"Define fun," Peter said. "Nice remora you've got there, by the way."

"Pfft." Johnny smacked Daken hard on one broad shoulder. “Hey, c’mon, my friend’s here -- the guy I wanted you to meet? Quit it!”

Daken grumbled, unlatching his mouth from Johnny’s throat like it was some kind of terrible chore. His eyes swept over Peter without really looking.

“It’s, what, Ben, right?” he asked with a distinct air of indifference.

“Peter, actually,” he said. Daken quirked an eyebrow.

“You sure it’s not Ben?” he said. “You look like a Ben. Or a Kaine.”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter said. “Pretty sure. Kind of been my name my whole life. I don’t think there are people actually named Kaine.”

Daken made a noise that might’ve been a “huh” and a face that was definitely a sneer before he turned his attention back to Johnny. Peter hated everything about him.

“Right, good talk,” Peter said, dropping his gaze and pushing his glasses back up. His face was burning and his palms were sweaty and he felt a little sick, watching Daken’s hot gaze rest on Johnny’s mouth. “This has been great and all, but I think I’m gonna go.”

“Hey,” Johnny said, disentangling himself. Daken fell back against the wall with a huff. “You leaving already?”

“Yeah, I’m going to find Gwen and then get out of here,” Peter said. “Kind of had my fill of being a wallflower for the rest of the school year.”

“Okay,” Johnny said, frowning. “You should come to these things more often! It was fun, right?”

“I’m not going to dignify that with an answer,” Peter said.

Johnny rolled his eyes, squeezing Peter’s shoulder. “Whatever. You could actually try to have a good time, you know?”

“Or I could go home and do my homework and not give my aunt a heart attack,” Peter countered, smiling in spite of himself. Johnny’s expression was wounded, like Peter’s lack of a good time was some kind of personal attack against him.

“You’re the worst,” he complained, but then, to Peter’s surprise, he yanked him in close for a hug, nose pressed to the side of Peter’s head. He pulled back and said, “Okay, fine. Be boring, go home!”

“I am!” Peter laughed. “I’m your one boring friend.”

“Yeah, yeah, out of my sight already,” Johnny said, waving him off.

Peter left before he had to see Johnny try to bite Daken’s face off again.

“Peter!” Gwen exclaimed when he found her, throwing her arms around his neck. He fumbled for her drink before she could spill it down the back of his shirt. He sniffed it, then took a hesitant sip.

“I wouldn’t,” Felicia sang, right as Peter spit it back into the cup.

“That tastes like hairspray smells,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

“You would know,” Felicia said with a pointed look at Peter’s hair.

“Yeah, this is toxic,” he said, setting it down. “Hey, Gwen, I’m gonna head out.”

“What, already?” she said.

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I mean, I’d love to wait for your dad to show with the cops, but I’ve got homework, so.”

Gwen snorted.

“C’mon, my shrinking violet,” she said, linking her arm with his. “I’ll escort you back.” She said bye to Felicia, wiggling her fingers over her shoulder as Felicia’s laughter followed them. It sent chills up Peter’s back.

“She has got some stories about you, Parker,” Gwen said with a grin, elbowing him in the ribs.

“They’re not true,” he said. “Every word out of her mouth is a lie.”

“She has photos on her phone!” Gwen sang, leaning her head tipsily against his shoulder. “She’s going to send them to me.”

“I’ve always loved you the most,” Peter told her as they made their way back onto the street. “Please don’t blackmail me.”

Gwen hummed, noncommittal. “Are we really leaving because you have homework? Not because Johnny and Daken are in there getting cozy?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Uh, my powers of deductive reasoning?” Gwen said. “Also, small apartment, too many teenagers. Like twelve people told me. Is May working tonight?”

“Yeah,” Peter said with a guilty pang. Aunt May had been taking the late shift fairly regularly and, though she’d never said it, Peter knew it was because his college tuition loomed in the distance. “Why?”

“Can I stay over?” Gwen asked. “I don’t want to go back to my place and just sit up all night waiting for my dad.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “But you have to microwave our dinner when we get there.”

Peter microwaved their dinner, because Gwen could never remember to take the tinfoil off leftovers. He knew that she knew that he knew that when she’d made a big show out of agreeing to hit some buttons in the first place, which more or less summed up their friendship.

Gwen was sitting on the couch, phone in hand, when he carried two plates of spaghetti and meatballs in.

“Eating on the couch?” she said in mock-awe as he slid their plates onto the coffee table.

“I figured I’d keep the party going,” he said. “Don’t tell May. Who were you talking to?”

“MJ wanted to know how the party went,” Gwen said, falling on the food like she’d never seen any before. Peter was pretty sure she and her dad lived on cup ramen and takeout, since he knew neither of them could cook.

“You told her I heard the music today and had a heart attack, didn’t you,” he said.

“It was very sad,” Gwen said. “No, I told her about Johnny and Daken and about how you were so jealous you had to go chop wood in the mountains or whatever guys do in movies.”

Peter almost choked on his reheated spaghetti. Gwen didn’t even bat an eye.

“Horror movie?” she said, picking up the remote.

“You’re a horror movie,” Peter said. “Hit it.”

Peter woke up when Gwen got up at the end of the movie, jostling him off her bony shoulder and sending him faceplanting into the couch cushions. He levered himself back up, yawning.

“Was it good?” he mumbled.

“Nope,” Gwen said. “How can you sleep through a chainsaw massacre?”

Peter shrugged, standing up. He glanced at his phone and saw that there was still an hour before Aunt May got home and shooed him off to bed; he figured he’d save her the trouble.

“Need help making up the couch?” he asked. Gwen shook her head.

“I know where everything is,” she said, shrugging out of her sweater and reaching to tie up her hair. “But, Peter? One thing before you head up?”

Peter hesitated, one hand on the railing. “Sure, anything.”

Gwen’s grin was small and embarrassed. “Help me check for axe murderers?”

“Seriously?” Peter said, laughing.

“You slept through it!” Gwen said, already heading for the kitchen door.

He briefly thought about going upstairs and abandoning her, but on the extremely off chance that there actually was an axe murderer lurking in the dark he’d have to live with the guilt forever. Aunt May would never let him forget it.

The air was chilly. Gwen shivered, huddling against his side as he shone a flashlight up and down the little alley between Aunt May’s house and the neighbor’s, barely big enough for his skinny self to sidle through.

A nearby bang made him jump, startled into a scream, and he backed up, trying to squash Gwen safely between him and the wall as he aimed the flashlight into the gloom. For one heart pounding split-second he expected something knife-wielding and gruesome.

There was a possum on top of a nearby trashcan, hissing. Gruesome, at least, he got right.

Gwen peered around him, then burst into laughter.

“It could have been a murderer!” Peter said. “You don’t know! That possum could have intentions!”

“You screamed so high,” Gwen giggled, slowly releasing her death grip on the back of his shirt.

“You were the one who wanted me to check!” Peter said as they scrambled inside. He cast one last look over his shoulder, just in case the possum had any ideas.

“But you screamed!” she said. “I think you broke a couple windows there.”

“I’m going to bed,” Peter said, tossing the flashlight back in the kitchen drawer and trudging towards the stairs.

“I’m telling Johnny!” Gwen cackled, collapsing backwards over the sofa’s arm.

“GOODNIGHT, Gwen!” Peter shouted.

Gwen’s laughter faded as the door shut and Peter closed his eyes, twisting to face the wall. He closed his eyes, breathing evening out, and then --

His phone blared.

He sat up, fumbling for it. There was one new text from Johnny, and Peter couldn’t explain the way his heart leapt into his throat.

hey man u get home okay??? attacked by any rogue wildlife???

Peter scrubbed at his face with one hand, smiling a little into his palm.

i forbid you from talking to gwen, he texted back. are you home?

still here dude, Johnny sent back a moment later.

go home johnny

Peter waited a minute, but there was no reply. He was just settling down again when his phone beeped.

will do, mom Johnny said, accompanied by about a thousand unrelated emoji. Peter smothered his grin against his pillow.

Almost a month in and Daken and Johnny still hadn’t broken up. It was getting ridiculous - Johnny didn’t have month-long relationships. He and Darla Deering hadn’t even lasted through last year’s production of Grease.

(“They just don’t have the music in them,” he’d told Harry in faux sadness, right around the time Darla, up on stage, broke out of Jennifer Walters’ restraining grip and tried to hit Johnny with a microphone.)

Peter didn’t know whether to stage an intervention or call the Vatican about a miracle. Mostly he just whined to his aunt.

“You realize the fact that you hate him is probably encouraging this,” Aunt May said, passing him three tomatoes and a knife.

“Ughhhhhhh,” Peter said eloquently, and bent nearly double putting his head down on the chopping board. A dish towel swatted him on the shoulder.

“I’m serious,” she said. “Pretend to like this Daken boy and Johnny will get over it within the week.”

“I can’t pretend to like him, he’s evil and Coach Logan will fail me,” Peter muttered, straightening up just enough to start chopping. Aunt May scoffed and he added, “Besides, I know Johnny’s not the brightest crayon -”

“Peter.”

“- but I don’t think he’s going to fall for the whole reverse psychology schtick,” he finished, grinning while she rolled her eyes. “What does Johnny care what I think about his boyfriend and their criminal future?”

“That boy would jump off a bridge if you told him to,” Aunt May said, and Peter nearly choked on his tongue. “Don’t, in case it needs to be said.”

Peter managed to recover enough to say, “What if it’s a small bridge, though? That’s okay, right?”

“No bridges,” she said.

“Like just over a pond. Broken ankles, maybe a shin, tops.”

“Less talking, more chopping,” Aunt May said, and that was the end of that.

Peter was only briefly tempted to tell Johnny to jump off a bridge the next day when he and Daken decided that tonsil hockey was a completely valid form of exercise to be engaging in during PE.

“You have murder face,” MJ said, poking him in the arm.

“I have murder feelings,” Peter corrected. It had to be some kind of crime, the way Daken fingers gripped Johnny's arms, and the way Johnny was tilting his head to deepen their kiss. There was a hickey on his neck. An actual hickey. Peter could have torn his hair out. “Possibly a murder plot.”

“Get in line, kid,” said Coach Logan, casually aiming a dodge ball at the back of his own son’s head.

Peter’s phone rang while he was busy falling asleep in front of the Trek marathon he’d chosen over homework. He fumbled for it, instantly awake, heart beating fast in his chest -- Aunt May was working the night shift again, what if something was wrong, or what if it was Harry, or Mary Jane, or Gwen or Gwen’s dad, or -

It was Johnny.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Hey,” Johnny replied, a beat later. He sounded strange. “Sorry, I know it’s late -- hey, just. Listen, Pete. Can you come get me?”

Peter was halfway out the door already.

Johnny was huddled on the sidewalk by the time Peter found him, jacket pulled tight around him. He was drunk. Peter had kind of guessed that part from the phone call.

“Hey,” he said. “Come on, Hothead.”

Johnny looked up and Peter saw that he had the shiny new start of a black eye. Peter hissed out a breath between his teeth, taking Johnny gently by the chin and tilting his face up towards the warm glow of the streetlight.

“What happened?” he asked.

Johnny knocked his hand away, scowling. He climbed to his feet unsteadily, brushing dirt off his jeans. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, it’s a black eye!” Peter said, grabbing a handful of Johnny’s jacket. He was half-expecting some stupid line, you should see the other guy, but Johnny only shrugged him off and started walking. A horrible thought occurred to Peter. “Did Daken do that to you?”

Peter had never punched anyone in his life but suddenly he wanted to. It would be worth Daken inevitably beating the hell out of him, if he’d done that to Johnny.

“What?” Johnny whipped around, confusion written all over his face. “No, don’t be stupid, it was -”

He broke off with a frustrated gesture and a mumbled ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’ Peter caught him by his jacket again.

“Tell me what happened,” he said.

“If I wanted the third degree, I would’ve called Sue,” Johnny griped.

“Sue’s in Atlanta with Reed,” Peter said automatically, and then immediately felt like a jackass when Johnny turned a hot glare on him.

“Yeah, I know,” Johnny snapped. “So I’d’ve called Ben, or… except --”

He cut himself off, breathing heavily. Peter bit his tongue to make sure he kept his big mouth shut.

“One of Daken’s loser friends badmouthed Ben,” Johnny admitted after a moment.

“You spend every day of your life badmouthing Ben,” said Peter. Johnny crossed his arms, tucking his chin into his chest.

“But I’m the only one who gets to,” he said. "So when Gargan opens his dumb mouth you better believe I'm going to put my fist right through his face -"

"Mac Gargan?" Peter spit out. "You punched Mac Gargan? The guy who spent all of ninth grade wearing that Pokemon costume?"

"He talked shit about Ben, so yeah!" Johnny shouted. He stumbled, cursing, and Peter grabbed him by the arm.

“Whoa there,” he said. Johnny yanked his arm away.

“I’m cool,” he said. “I’m okay. Road’s just -- the road sucks.”

“Yeah,” Peter said, tucking his hands into his pockets against the urge reach out and snag Johnny by the elbow. “What’d he say?”

Johnny glanced at him, mouth set in a grim line, and then he shrugged.

“Just some shit. Doesn’t matter,” he said, viciously kicking a pebble out of his path. “I’m done with it. Done with them.”

Peter tried not to feel too glad about that on account of how miserable Johnny looked, but it took considerable effort.

"Okay," he said, reaching for Johnny again. This time Johnny didn't shake him off. He let Peter take him by the elbow and pull him in against his side. "Let's go back to mine, alright?"

Twenty minutes later he was manhandling Johnny through the doorway, saying, “Home sweet home,” and, “no, just sit there, I’m getting you ice,” and “you don’t get a raw steak, we don’t have any steak -- sit down, you’re drunk.”

“You’re not fun,” Johnny whined, planting his chin on the arm of the sofa. He watched Peter with baleful eyes while Peter bustled around the kitchen, slamming a tray of ice down on the countertop and grabbing the first tea towel that smelled okay.

“I’m so fun,” Peter said. “Ice packs are a party. Tilt your head up.”

Johnny’s eye looked worse under the living room's warm light, and Peter had to bite back a sympathetic wince. Johnny caught it and made a face like he couldn’t decide whether or not to smile.

“Quit it,” he said, pressing the icepack firmer against his face. “It’s not your devastating good looks gone forever.”

“Uh-huh,” Peter said. “Just hold that there, would you?”

Johnny hummed. “Where’s May?”

“Late shift,” Peter said. He gave Johnny a sideways glance. “You gonna stay over?”

“Yeah, if it’s okay,” Johnny said, already headed towards the stairs. Peter scrambled after him.

“Sure,” he said a little too quickly, accidentally biting the tip of his tongue. “You need to call anyone or --?”

“Nah,” Johnny said over his shoulder. “Everyone already thinks I’m here anyway.”

“I’m your scapegoat?” Peter said. He was surprised by the sting of the idea, Johnny telling Sue or Reed or Ben that he was staying over at Peter’s and then heading out with his squeeze of the week instead.

“Yeah?” Johnny said. He had one hand on Peter’s door, hesitating. “I mean, I’m yours, right? Oh, wait, I forgot -- you’ve never needed one.”

“Haha,” Peter said, barging ahead of him. “You’re so funny you can take the floor.”

He settled down on the bed, grabbing his laptop. Opening it he found he’d left the episode paused in his rush to go find Johnny. Before he could close it Johnny threw himself down on the bed, right in Peter’s space.

“Cool,” he said, settling down with his head against Peter’s shoulder. “Reed loves this episode. Hey, hold my icepack?”

“Hold your own icepack,” Peter said, so of course three minutes later his hand was full of damp towel and melting ice, arm crushed between Johnny and the wall.

The only way for Peter to really see the screen comfortably was to put his own cheek down against Johnny’s hair, so he did.

“Got the next one?” Johnny asked when the episode ended, long after Peter had lost the feeling in his arm.

“Reed like that one too?” Peter asked, unable to help himself.

“Shut up and play the episode, Parker.”

Yawning, Peter acquiesced. They sat in silence for a few minutes, but over the opening theme Peter couldn't resist the urge to ask any longer: "When you said you were done - did you mean you broke up with Daken?"

Johnny glanced up at him, his head still on Peter's shoulder, his eyes shadowed by his long lashes. Peter's chest felt too tight.

"Yeah," he said slowly. "That's usually what done means, so. I guess."

Peter squeezed his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Johnny."

He wasn't, but he felt he should say it anyway.

"It's okay," Johnny said. "It was getting boring anyway, right?"

"Was it?" Peter asked before he could stop himself. Johnny exhaled.

"I don't know. No. But this is good too. Just you and me again, right?" Peter glanced down to find Johnny smiling to himself. "Just two wild and crazy guys?"

"Two single losers," Peter corrected him. Johnny laughed quietly to himself for a second before he glanced up at Peter again.

"Are we?" he said. "I heard from Gwen you ran back into Felicia at that party."

"Thaaat's not happening," Peter said. Felicia was beautiful and fun and exciting, but he was also pretty sure she was going to end up a cat burglar. Peter couldn't scale through a window to save his life. He'd get caught, Felicia would escape and his aunt would be so disappointed at the hearing. Uncle Ben would judge him eternal from beyond the grave.

"Too bad for you, she's hot," Johnny said around a yawn. "Good, though. Means it's just us."

"Yeah," said Peter, very quietly.

When he woke up the laptop was closed and placed on the desk and Johnny was lying parallel to him, hands pillowed beneath his head and the ice pack forgotten and melted all over Peter’s floor.

“Knew you snored,” Peter said to him, affection bright in his chest, and then he let his eyes fall shut again.

The sunlight was the first thing that woke Peter, followed by the smell of breakfast wafting up from the kitchen. Johnny was gone, the blankets rumpled where he’d slept on top of them.

He ducked into the bathroom, splashing water on his face, and then tugged on a change of clothes. Aunt May was downstairs in the kitchen, cooking wheatcakes, and Johnny was sitting at the table with his crumpled jeans and his black eye, getting the third degree.

“I told you, Mrs. Parker, I was surrounded,” Johnny said, elbows up on the table and everything. It was the hypocrisy that killed Peter; Aunt May had never stood for his elbows anywhere near her tabletop. “There were like ten guys! But I handled it.”

“Mmhmm,” said Aunt May knowingly. Spotting Peter in the doorway she bustled over and leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek, tilting his chin none-too-subtly up towards the light. “There you are. Still in one piece, too.”

“Well my fight club doesn’t meet ‘til next week,” he said, grinning when she swatted him with a dish towel.

“Don’t joke, Peter Parker,” she said. “I come home to a house full of injured young men, I worry!”

“Just one injured person,” Peter said, pulling out a chair.

“These are delicious, Mrs. Parker,” Johnny said, which was clearly code for seconds, please.

Aunt May tipped the next stack onto his plate, ignoring Peter’s squawking, and said, “I wish you’d tell me what happened.”

“It was an accident,” Johnny said, locking eyes with Peter across the table. “Right?”

Peter had one brief, terrible moment to contemplate whose scorn was worse before he nodded and said, “Yep. My fault, sorry.”

Aunt May fixed him with a look that said a) she didn’t believe him and b) he was giving her the full story later, but let the subject drop, saying only, “You know the rules, boys, no roughhousing.”

“You know me, Aunt May,” Peter mumbled. “Elbows everywhere.”

“Knees like steak knives,” Johnny added helpfully, grinning at Peter. It was his most charming smile, the one Peter knew he’d practiced over and over in the mirror because he’d been there, mocking Johnny every single second.

He’d seen it a thousand times before, bright and flawless. This time, though, sitting at Aunt May’s tiny kitchen table with the sunlight streaming in the window and Johnny’s hair rumpled from Peter’s pillow and the bruise coloring his face -- this time something sharp and warm and painful bloomed in Peter’s chest, caught him by the throat.

Oh, Peter thought. I’m screwed.

“I need to talk to you,” he said to Gwen first thing at school on Monday, catching her by the arm and reeling her back. “It’s an emergency!”

“Whoa there, Tiger, what’s going on?” Mary Jane demanded when he snagged her with his free hand and stumbled all three of them, Harry hot on their heels, into the men’s room.

Bobby Drake shrieked, hands flying to his crotch.

“Zip it, Drake!” Gwen barked. “Literally!”

“This is the men’s room,” Bobby hissed, fumbling with his fly, but Peter couldn’t really hear him over the slow brewing panic he’d been nursing all weekend finally becoming a full-fledged storm.

“Peter?” Mary Jane said, taking him by the shoulders. “Peter, what’s wrong?”

“I think I'm in love with Johnny,” he blurted out.

There was a long, horrible moment of silence before Gwen said, “So?”

“So?” Peter asked, hysterical laughter bubbling up. “It’s -- I’m in love with Johnny. Johnny Storm. I’m in love with him.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Old news, Pete.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. “Wait -- are you telling me you knew?”

“Well,” said Harry, shrugging. “Yeah.”

“How?” Peter demanded. “You couldn’t know! I didn’t know!”

“Everyone knew, Pete,” Mary Jane said with infinite kindness.

“I knew,” said Bobby, raising a hand.

Gwen pointed one lacquered finger at him. “Out.”

"It's true!” Bobby protested. “And this is the men’s room!”

“Out!” Gwen repeated, stabbing her finger towards the door. Bobby slunk out the door with one last glower and some choice words about Gwen. She sent a vicious glare at his back.

Peter sagged back against the wall, pushing his hands through his hair and sending his glasses askew.

“I don’t get it,” he said, peering at his friends. “How did you all know? Does everybody really know?”

With dawning horror he pictured the entire student body, whispering about his -- ugh -- feelings for Johnny. Actual feelings, the kind he’d always reserved for real people, not Johnny “Good News, That Fire I ‘Accidentally’ Started In Chem Got Me a Date” Storm.

“Well,” Mary Jane hedged. “Not everybody.”

Peter whined, knocking his head back against the wall. “Bobby knew! Bobby doesn’t know anything!”

“I resent that!” came Bobby’s voice from just beyond the door. Gwen swiveled around, hair swirling in her wake, and stormed out of the bathroom. Two seconds later there was a loud shriek.

“I’m in love with Johnny,” Peter said, mostly to himself, “and everyone knows it.”

“Hey, look on the bright side,” Harry tried valiantly. “You didn’t know!”

Mary Jane shot him a look, running a comforting hand up and down Peter’s arm. Harry held up his hands and shrugged.

“He’s almost got a point,” she said. “Not that you didn’t know, I mean -- obviously, you didn’t know. We’ll tackle that later, Tiger.”

“I didn’t really know, either. I just thought you were being, y’know, you,” Harry piped up. “But then you've been glaring daggers this whole month -"

“What I meant, Pete," Mary Jane cut in, "is that Johnny doesn’t know. You know what he’s like when he knows someone has a crush on him.”

Peter did know. It was painful, like watching a horrible yet easily preventable twenty car pileup in slow motion, and it happened all the time because Johnny was stupidly good-looking and, in spite of all the glaring personality defects, charming too. When Johnny knew someone had a crush on him, you could see his smugness from space.

“Okay,” Peter said, taking a sharp breath through his nose. “He doesn’t know. I can still salvage this. I just have to kill Bobby.”

“Doable,” said Harry.

“No,” said Mary Jane. “Not unless Gwen’s already done it.”

“Done what?” Gwen asked, coming back in through the door. She looked murderous but her hands were clean, so Bobby probably lived to stick his tongue to yet another icicle come winter.

“Maybe you should just tell him, Peter,” Mary Jane said, plowing on ahead. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“The earth will finally open up and swallow me whole? No, no way,” Peter said. All he had to do was play it cool until whatever this thing he harbored for Johnny blew over. It was like the flu, he told himself. In a week everything would be back to normal. "I'm just going to wait it out. I'll be over it soon."

Gwen and Mary Jane exchanged a long look. Harry mostly just seemed relieved.

“Okay, Peter,” Mary Jane said at the same time as Gwen chimed in with, “That’s a stupid plan.”

Something terrible occurred to Peter.

“No,” he groaned, hands over his face again. “No, no, no -- I’m jealous. I’m jealous of Daken!”

“Oh no,” Mary Jane said, taking Peter by the elbow.

Peter groaned wordlessly, sinking down on his heels.

The door swung open. Scott Summers stared at them from behind his ever present sunglasses, then tipped his head back and groaned, “I hate this school.”

Peter didn’t get over it.

He did try, sort of. He made himself a list of all of Johnny’s worst qualities, but it didn’t matter. All 796 of them couldn’t compare to the feeling he got when Johnny turned that one smile on him, the jolt in his stomach whenever Johnny slung his arm over Peter's shoulders.

He was suddenly filled with a great and terrible sympathy for the members of the Johnny Storm: Been There, Done That club.

“I’m going to die,” Peter said, resting his forehead against the sweet, forgiving linoleum of the lunch table. “I’m going to die, and he’s going to kill me.”

“Try not to keel over before I can copy your homework,” said Harry, utterly unsympathetic.

“How can you all be so calm about this?” Peter demanded.

Gwen and Mary Jane exchanged a look. Harry turned his gaze studiously towards the ceiling.

Something horrible dawned on Peter. “How long have you guys known?”

All three of them looked suddenly guilty. Harry pretended to drop something so he could dive under the table.

“I mean, I don’t know exactly how long,” Gwen started, looking at Mary Jane. “Just when you two decided you were friends after all.”

Peter’s jaw dropped so far open he thought it might unhinge. Mary Jane, supportive friend that she was, took the opportunity to toss a french fry at his mouth. She missed and it hit his nose instead.

“You hate everyone he dates,” she said, shrugging. “Literally every single one of them.”

“Because everyone he dates is terrible!” Peter hissed. “That doesn’t - I don’t - they’re all just TERRIBLE.”

All three of them were looking at him with a mix of judgment and sympathy. Peter grabbed a handful of Mary Jane’s french fries and stuffed them in the mouth just so he wouldn’t say anything else stupid.

“I'll give you Daken, but Frankie Raye’s nice,” Mary Jane said. “So’s Crystal. Darla. Nita. Bobby.”

“Mmmmf,” Peter mumbled disparagingly through a mouthful of potatoes, loathe to relinquish his point over something stupid like the truth.

Something over Peter’s shoulder caught Mary Jane’s eye.

“Oh wow,” she said. “Your face looks really bad!”

That was all the warning Peter got before Johnny threw himself down right in his space, their knees banging together. Peter choked on a fry. Johnny slapped him on the back, which didn’t help very much.

“Thanks, Mary Jane,” he said, rolling his eyes. He plucked a fry right out of Peter’s hand. “Right back at you.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

It wasn’t common for Johnny to sit with them, but it wasn’t rare either, especially if he was temporarily single. He’d just appear out of the blue, settle down next to Peter and proceed to steal half his food and his entire drink. He should have been used to it, but the press of Johnny’s thigh against his own made his whole being electric.

What had he done in a past life to deserve this?

Johnny leaned in even closer, and for one horrible moment Peter froze - had Johnny always sat so close? - before he said, “Why’s Bobby staring at you like that?”

Peter caught Bobby’s eye across the room; Bobby mouthed ‘GO FOR IT’ complete with enthusiastic double thumbs up and eyebrow waggling.

Peter mimed stabbing him with his fork.

“Um,” said Johnny, looking confused.

“It’s nothing,” Peter said.

“Do we hate Bobby now?” Johnny asked.

“No,” said Peter.

“Because I can do that, y’know, if that’s what’s happening,” Johnny said. “I can totally hate Bobby. I’m with you, man, one hundred percent.”

“We don’t hate Bobby,” Peter said, laughing in spite of himself.

“Sure,” Johnny said, then leaned backwards off the bench and shouted, “YOU BETTER WATCH YOUR BACK, DRAKE! WE’RE COMING FOR YOU!”

“Oh my God,” Peter laughed so hard he had to put his head down on his crossed arms for a second, completely inaudible over Bobby’s shout of, “ET TU, STORM?”

When he looked back up, Mary Jane and Harry were staring at him with identical disbelieving looks. Gwen was snapping a picture of Johnny on her phone, but when she looked up her grin was evil.

Across the room Daken was staring at them, too. The look on his face was his usual shade of surly mixed with - something else. His gaze met Peter’s, heavy, before his sister caught his attention with what Peter was pretty sure was a knife trick. He was never going to understand that family.

Johnny was perched halfway off the bench, and that was why Peter slung his arm over his shoulders, pulling him in closer, until he was practically half in Peter’s lap. That, and no other reason.

Johnny turned to grin at him, and Peter’s heart nearly skipped a beat. He was really, truly screwed.

"You really sure you're okay?" Peter asked, catching up with Johnny as school let out.

“You know me,” Johnny said, shrugging. “Memory of a goldfish, right?”

“Johnny,” Peter said, “if you can remember an insult I used two years ago…”

“Okay, okay,” Johnny said, elbowing him. “But I really am okay, Pete.”

“Okay,” Peter said. Johnny didn’t look okay, head bent, mouth set in a stubborn frown. Peter wondered suddenly what it would be like to kiss that look off his face and nearly walked into the doors.

Johnny laughed, pushing them open. “Who’s having a hard time now, genius?”

The sunlight hit him, highlighting his smile, the one he reserved for Peter. Nothing polished or practiced about it – just pure Johnny, bright and warm. Peter almost swallowed his tongue.

A car horn shattered the silence, breaking him out of it.

“Ugh, that’s Ben,” Johnny said, gesturing over his shoulder at a big blue minivan. “Time to cart me back to home sweet home.”

“You in trouble?” Peter asked.

“I maybe got busted about Friday,” Johnny said, shrugging. “Hey, come over sometime, yeah?”

“Nah,” Peter said. Johnny huffed a laugh, then before Peter knew what was happening he dragged him in, arms wrapped tight around him and chin digging into his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Johnny said, nose pressed against Peter's hair. His lips brushed his ear; Peter shivered. It had been a better time, before he realized what he felt for Johnny. A simpler time.

“For what?” Peter asked.

“Coming to get me,” Johnny said. “Letting me crash at yours. Getting me ice for my eye. Do I need to go on?”

“Not making fun of the fact that you’re a secret Trekkie,” Peter added.

“Reed says they’re called Trekkers,” Johnny said.

“Reed would,” Peter said. “It’s fine, Johnny. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not fine,” Johnny said, actually scowling at him like Peter telling him everything was okay was some kind of crime. It was taking a lot of willpower not to burst out laughing at him, but Peter swallowed the instinct. “It was really nice, okay, Pete? You’re just - you’re a really good guy. You’re the best. You know that, right?”

“Because you only hang around good guys, right?” Peter said, unable to help himself. Johnny gave him one last squeeze before pulling back. He was smiling that smile again, bright as the sun. It was hard to look directly at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

Ben honked again. He dangled one huge scarred arm out of the window and rolled his wrist in a hurry it up motion. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“I gotta go,” he said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Peter said. He leaned around Johnny to wave in Ben’s direction. He got one brief wave back before Ben hit the horn again.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” Johnny said, shooting Peter one last annoyed look before he took off across the parking lot. Peter watched him go, smiling despite himself.

When he turned around he found Daken watching him, his gaze unwavering. Peter, who had mastered staring contests against Gwen long ago, stared right back, unblinking.

After a second, Daken cracked a smile. He swaggered up to Peter, his gaze appraising. Peter had an inch on him, but there was something about Daken that filled up all the space around him. It took all Peter’s nerve not to step back.

“You’re the one who took him home, right?” Daken said, and the tone in his voice left no room for interpretation. “He really laid into Mac.”

“Sounds like he had a reason,” Peter said stiffly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Harry and Mary Jane, and they had clearly seen Daken if the way they were moving closer was any indication.

Daken flicked his gaze towards them. “Your friends don’t like me, huh?”

“To be honest,” Peter admitted, “neither do I.”

Daken’s smile was all teeth. He flicked the edge of Peter’s glasses, almost knocking them off; Peter had to fumble with them.

“Tell Johnny to call me back, won’t you?” Daken asked, walking away. Peter gaped after him.

“What was that?” Mary Jane asked, catching up to him. She flung out an arm, stopping Harry in his tracks before he went after Daken. “Peter?”

“I can honestly say that I have no idea,” Peter said.

“Really?” Johnny said the next day, hanging upside down off Peter’s bed. “He said to tell me to call him?”

“With his words, yeah,” Peter said, working on his assignment. “With his body language it was more of a ‘please build a rocket and shoot me and my stupid hair into space’ kind of vibe.”

When he glanced over his shoulder, though, Johnny was only staring up at the ceiling, gnawing on a thumbnail. Peter had to look away; the long familiar sight of Johnny lounging on his bed was doing all kinds of new things to him. He couldn’t forget the way Johnny had pressed in close that night he’d stayed over.

That was just Johnny, though – he was touchy with everyone.

“I don’t know. Should I?” Johnny asked.

“Should you what?” Peter said. “Build a rocket and launch him into space? Sure, but I’ve seen your grades, so you’re probably going to need to ask Reed for help.”

“Shut up, no,” Johnny said. “Call him.”

Peter twisted around.

“To… tell him you want to strap him to a rocket and –”

“Why are you fixated on that? What is wrong with you?” Johnny asked. He leveraged himself into an extremely shaky handstand – or tried to, anyway. He ended up sprawled on his back on Peter’s floor, spread-eagled with his shirt rucked up.

Peter had to look back to his assignment, quick. His face felt too hot. “Uh, why else would you call him for?”

There was silence. When Peter glanced over his shoulder again Johnny looked oddly guilty.

“Johnny.”

“What?” he said, throwing his hands up. “I’m – I don’t know, I’m bored.”

“So pick a new flavor of the month!” Peter said.

“He was fun, though,” Johnny muttered. “I, I don’t know. I liked him.”

“Last time you went out with him, you ended up with a black eye,” Peter pointed out.

“Not because of him,” Johnny countered. “Mac Gargan’s always been a creep, you can’t blame that on Daken.”

“No, but I can cast aspersions on anyone who willingly hangs out with Mac Gargan,” Peter muttered, propping his elbow up on the desk. “Remember that thing with the bugs freshman year?”

“I try really hard not to,” Johnny said, making a face. “Listen, I know you don’t like Daken –” Peter snorted “— but I do, okay? Can you try, for me? He’s really not so bad.”

Peter remembered the curve of Daken’s smirk, and the way his gaze tracked Johnny’s movements.

He nearly snapped the pencil in half.

“Come on,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Video games?”

Brightening, Johnny accepted his hand up.

That was the last Peter thought about it until school rolled around on Monday and he slammed his locker shut, only to find Daken waiting for him.

“Parkman,” he said.

“Parker,” Peter corrected, bristling. “We’ve only been in the same school for four years, Daken.”

“I just wanted to say thanks for passing along my message,” Daken said, the cat that got the canary grin on his face. He had a scarf wound around his neck, but it highlighted rather than hid the marks there.

Peter really wanted to strap him to a rocket and shoot him off into space.

Gwen, standing beside him, said in a warning tone, “Peter.”

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of young love,” Peter said with an arch glance at Daken’s throat. Daken’s grin edged a little bit wider, showing off more sharp teeth.

“To be honest, I didn’t think you’d say anything,” he said. “Since you don’t like me. Why is that?”

“The aforementioned four years of being at school with you,” Peter answered. “Johnny’s my friend. I don’t keep secrets from him.”

“Peter,” Gwen repeated, glancing between him and Daken.

“See, I don’t think that’s true. I think you don’t like me because you are his friend – or do you wish you were more? Is that it? Do you just wish it was you he was under last night in the back seat of a car?” Daken asked, leaning in close. His words dropped to a whisper. “You getting to hear the noise he makes when you pull on his hair? You getting your hands under those tight jeans… Look at your face, that is it.”

Except Peter’s vision had gone red somewhere after ‘car’, and there was a strange ringing in his ears. He didn’t register what he had done until Daken had reeled back, grunting, one hand pressed to his face. Peter’s own knuckles stung.

Gwen gasped, hands over her mouth. “Peter!”

“Okay,” Daken said. “I did not see that one coming.”

He started forward and Peter moved, only for someone to shove between them before either of them could land a hit.

“What,” Johnny said, wedged between them with one hand on Daken's chest and one on Peter's, “the fuck is going on here? Peter?”

“I,” Peter said, furious heat in his cheeks. Looking at Johnny, staring wide-eyed at him, he couldn’t do anything but remember Daken’s words. Shame burned in his chest as images of long, lean Johnny stretched out in the backseat of a car flashed through his mind. “He was –”

“I was asking him about you,” Daken said, too smooth.

Johnny looked at him, at the hunched shoulders and the hand pressed to his cheek, and then he looked back at Peter. “Did you punch him?”

“No!” Peter said. “I mean, I did, but that wasn’t what he was saying –”

“What was it, then?” Johnny asked, scowling.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but he couldn’t say the words. Not to Johnny. He couldn’t say them, and Daken knew that.

Just like that, Peter had lost the fight, without Daken ever having to hit him back.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Peter tried, desperately, reaching for Johnny’s shoulder. “Johnny, come on, the things he was saying –”

“Quit it!” Johnny said, shrugging away from him. “You’re not my sister! You’re not Ben! I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!”

“Johnny, don’t be an idiot,” Peter said. It was always, always the wrong thing to say to Johnny in a fight, and he knew it, but his blood burned and his hand hurt and he wanted Johnny to get out of the way so he could hit Daken again, even if it was a fight he probably couldn’t win.

“Fuck you,” Johnny said, pushing him backwards, away from him when Peter tried to move closer. He stumbled backwards into Harry, who surged forward at the prospect of a fight, looking ready to jump into a fight with Johnny himself. Mary Jane rushed them from across the hall, flinging out her arms to stop both of them.

“Johnny,” Peter said, pulling out of Mary Jane’s grip, but it was too late for that.

“You think you’re so smart?” Johnny snapped. “Fine.”

“John,” Daken said. Johnny whirled on him next, but with less fire.

“Let’s go,” he said, grabbing Daken by his sleeve and pulling him down the hall.

“Johnny, wait,” Peter said, but Johnny was turning away from him already.

“What was that?” he said, waving one hand by his ear as he fell into step with Daken. “Guess I was too stupid to understand.”

Daken turned to whisper something in Johnny’s ear, and the edge of his grin was sharp. Peter felt himself start forward again, only for Gwen to catch him by the arm, her glittery nails digging through his shirt like a death grip.

“Do you want to get your face smashed in?” she asked.

“Johnny –” Peter started, gesturing after him, after them, Daken’s hand at the small of Johnny’s back.

“I missed the part where Daken rode up on a horse and bridenapped Johnny, obviously,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes. “He’s a big kid, Peter. He can make his own dumbass decisions.”

“But I,” Peter said, struggling for the words. The world seemed to have narrowed to Johnny shoving him away, the fury on his face, the way Daken touched him like it was a victory. “He’s my friend, and I –”

It was Mary Jane who hugged him, hooking her chin over his shoulder. “I know, Tiger.”

Peter relaxed a little bit into her embrace, and into the way Harry grabbed at his shoulder, squeezing.

“Let’s key his car,” Harry said.

“Let’s not, Mr. My Dad Can Afford To Bail Me Out,” Mary Jane said, squeezing Peter. “But let’s get ice cream after school and pretend we did.”

Afterwards, Peter went to his room and sat down on his bed and stared at his phone. There were no new texts from Johnny, not that he’d really expected any. He thumbed through their last conversation – something dumb about a movie Johnny seen and then immediately needed to tell Peter every single detail about – and felt strangely hollow inside.

He should text Johnny. Offer an explanation, maybe. A reason why he’d swung at Daken. Any number of reasons: I don’t like him, I don’t like the way he looks at you, I don’t like the way his friends look at you. Or, you know I don’t really think you’re dumb, so please stop acting like you are.

Or, I know I’m a jerk. Forgive me?

Or even, I really want to kiss you. I think about it every time I look at you.

Or just, I’m sorry.

In the end, though, he threw his phone towards the foot of the bed and curled up in the side and glared at the wall until his aunt got home.

The week crawled on excruciatingly slowly. Peter didn’t text Johnny. Johnny didn’t text Peter. At lunch Peter watched Johnny sit at Daken’s table, jaw set tight. Once he looked up and their eyes met, but Peter looked away before Johnny did. When he looked back Johnny was glaring at the tabletop even harder than before.

“Talk to him,” Mary Jane urged. “Look at him, he’s miserable.”

“Punch him again,” Harry advised. “Daken, I mean. Though if you really want to punch Johnny…”

“No,” Mary Jane said, glowering at Harry. “Do not punch anyone, punching is bad.”

If Peter had a shoulder angel and a shoulder devil, they were Mary Jane and Harry, respectively.

“Fake your own death,” Gwen suggested. Mary Jane elbowed her sharply.

“I’m the only one giving advice from now on,” she said.

“No,” Peter said, arms crossed on the table. “I like that solution. That one’s good. I’ll grow a mustache and go to Canada. I’ll be Peter Parquagh.”

Mary Jane made a face. “Look at both of you, this is tragic. You should just explain it to him.”

“What am I going to say, MJ?” Peter asked, throwing his hands up. “Hey, Johnny, my supposedly completely platonic friend, your up-and-coming player in the criminal underworld boyfriend implied I wanted to be the one sleeping with you instead, so I decked him?”

“In a jealous rage,” Gwen said, pointing with her fork. “Don’t leave out the good part.”

“There is no good part,” Peter groaned.

“Peter,” Mary Jane said, frowning.

“No, it’s – we’ll work it out. We always do,” Peter said. “And he likes Daken. I mean, I think he really, actually likes him. It doesn’t matter how creepy I think he is, right? If he honestly likes him?”

“Interned for my daaa~aaad,” Harry hummed under his breath, surreptitiously checking his phone. Peter tossed a tater tot at his head.

Gwen and Mary Jane exchanged a glance.

“What?” Peter asked.

“You care,” Gwen said, very slowly, “about his feelings.”

“Oh,” Peter said, at the same time Harry said, “Ugh.”

“Oh, Peter,” Mary Jane said, settling a companionable arm around his shoulders. “You’re right. It’ll all work out.”

Peter looked up in time to see Daken pull Johnny towards him, his hand on Johnny’s hip, and let his head hit the table with a dull thud.

When Friday rolled around, though, Johnny was nowhere to be seen. Peter didn’t think too much about it until the rumor started going around. He heard from Gwen, who’d heard from Mary Jane, who’d heard from Harry who’d heard from Flash who’d gotten it straight from the lips of the school’s very own gossip queen, Liz Allan.

“MJ made me promise not to tell you,” Gwen said, flopping into the seat next to him. “Daken got caught making out under the bleachers yesterday.”

“Ugh, Johnny, really?” Peter muttered. “Salt in the wound, Gwendolyn.”

“Um, did I say “Johnny and Daken got caught making out under the bleachers”?” Gwen asked, eyebrows shooting up. It took Peter a painfully long second to catch on.

“Oh,” he said, slowly.

“Oh,” Gwen echoed.

“Who?” Peter asked.

Gwen shrugged. “No idea. Liz just says she saw a cheerleader skirt.”

“Wow,” Peter said, taking another moment to process. “Can I punch him again?”

“Are you out of your mind?” Gwen said. “Go! Get your man!”

Peter snorted. “I think I should be talking to him again before anything else, Gwen.”

Gwen was quiet for a long moment. “I’m going to say something now, and it’s not my fault if you hear MJ’s voice coming out of my mouth. Sometimes her ideas are good. But maybe you really should just find him and…”

“What?” Peter asked.

“Tell him?” Gwen suggested, shrugging helplessly.

Peter didn’t have to find him.

Johnny was sitting out on Peter’s front porch steps, his knees drawn up. He waved when he saw Peter coming, looking a little guilty.

“Hey,” Peter said, lowering himself down next to him. “What are you doing here?”

“I got sick of fighting,” Johnny admitted, smiling crookedly at Peter. “Besides, you were right. I was being dumb.”

“No, it’s me. I’m the jerk,” Peter said. “I should’ve apologized. I almost did, a bunch of times. Started writing you texts and then deleted them. But I wanted to send them.”

“I know,” Johnny said, hugging his knees. “I saw you typing, once, but then nothing arrived and – I should’ve said something. But I didn’t.” He shrugged a little. “I maybe read our old messages a lot. I know that’s weird.”

“No,” Peter said, heart thudding behind his ribs. He grabbed Johnny’s knee, squeezing. “I did, too. I missed you.”

Johnny sighed, leaning back. He stretched his legs out in front of him, then nudged Peter’s knee with his own.

"Daken and I broke up again," he said. "For good, this time."

"Oh," Peter said and very carefully did not throw his hands up in celebration. He slid a look Johnny's way, trying to figure out what to say, and Johnny snorted, throwing an elbow Peter's way.

"You can stop pretending you're not thrilled," he said. "It's okay. It was mutual."

"Yeah?" Peter said.

"Well, okay, finding him under the bleachers with Karla Sofen, not so mutual," Johnny admitted. He laughed, too loud, ducking his head. "But have you seen Karla Sofen? Who can blame him?"

"You know I know you way too well to fall for that one, right?" Peter said, watching as Johnny swallowed hard. "I was there. I saw your face the first time."

“Yeah, okay,” Johnny admitted, ducking his head and scrubbing at his hair. “So it sucks. So what. You tried to warn me, right? So I was being stupid again, that’s all.”

“You’re not stupid,” Peter said. “You know when I call you stupid I don’t actually mean it, right?”

Johnny shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, Pete.”

“It does,” Peter said, grabbing him by the shoulder and turning him to face him. “You are a crazy reckless absolute weirdo and you drive me up the wall every single second of every single day, but you’re not stupid, and you didn’t deserve that.”

“Pete,” Johnny said, blinking wide eyes at him.

“And anyone who would cheat on you with anybody under the bleachers is the stupid one,” Peter said. “I don’t care how short Karla’s skirt was today.”

“So you did notice,” Johnny said, cracking up. He stopped laughing after a minute, gaze dropping to the steps. “You’re a good guy, Peter.”

“I don’t know why you even liked him,” Peter mumbled, letting his hand fall, regretfully, from Johnny’s shoulder.

“He was hot,” Johnny said. He looked up again. “And he was kind of like you, you know?”

“Please never say that again,” Peter said. “I need a shower now -- how is he like me?”

“Just, you know,” Johnny said, sighing, but he was smiling now, eyes shining as he looked at Peter. “He was funny and smart. Like you."

It was a beautiful, clear night and Johnny was sitting next to him, smiling at him like Peter was his favorite sight, and suddenly Peter forgot all the reasons why he shouldn't kiss Johnny. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to lean in and brush his lips against Johnny's smiling mouth.

So, like a man possessed, Peter put one hand on Johnny's knee, leaned in and did just that.

Johnny made a soft, surprised noise, his hands flying up, fingertips points of heat where he touched them to Peter's jaw. Then he pulled away so fast he fell off the steps.

Peter scrambled after him and nearly toppled over himself, catching himself on the brickwork at the last moment and staring openmouthed down at Johnny, blinking dazedly at him from amidst May’s petunias.

“Peter,” Johnny said, voice oddly flat. “What the hell was that?”

“Um,” Peter said. Two seconds ago this was not where he’d expected the moment to go. “What it looked like, basically. But now I’m thinking it was a mistake.”

“But. You’re my best friend,” Johnny said, eyes wide. He pressed his fingers to his lips. “You just kissed me, what the hell?”

“Was that not what was happening?” Peter asked, panic edging its way into his voice.

“No!” Johnny said.

Heat flooded Peter’s face, along with the urge to move somewhere far, far away, like maybe Indiana. “But you were – we were – you said I was – and then your face was so close to mine, and – I’m an idiot.”

“Yes!” Johnny said, struggling out of the flower beds. “No! I don’t know! Peter, you kissed me!”

Peter cringed. “Can you not say it like that, please?”

“Like what?” Johnny said, clambering back up the steps. He had flower petals and leaves stuck in his hair. The mortification was all that was keeping Peter from reaching forward to brush them away.

“Like it was like getting kissed by your chainsmoking great aunt, or some kind of swamp monster,” Peter said.

“No, that’s not what I,” Johnny said, breath hitching. “It wasn’t bad, I just – why?”

“Because I’m crazy about you,” Peter said, honestly. “You make me laugh and your smile – I think about your smile all the time. And I know you. Weird, dorky, practicing looks in front of the mirror, secretly watched all of Star Trek, punched a guy in the face for talking about Ben – that you.”

“Oh,” Johnny said, very quietly.

“And I wanted to kiss you,” Peter said.

“For how long?” Johnny asked, eyebrows drawn together.

“Not that long,” Peter told him. “Johnny, it’s okay.”

"Pete, I can't," Johnny said, brow furrowed, looking for all the world like he was the one getting his heart broken.

"It's really okay," Peter said, trying to stamp out the ache he'd known from the start was inevitable. He wasn't the kind of guy Johnny dated, and that was fine. He'd sulk for a couple days, get mercilessly bullied out of his room by Gwen and MJ and eventually he'd get over it. Someday. Maybe in thirty long, mortifying years. "I get it, Johnny."

“Stop saying that! You don’t get it!” Johnny shouted, a sudden outburst, hands curled into fists. “I don’t have any other friends, Pete!”

Peter stared at him in stunned silence for a second, and then he burst out laughing.

“Stop it!” Johnny said, but Peter couldn’t. “It’s not funny! Peter!”

“Sorry,” Peter said, still laughing. “It’s just, that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I have literally never seen you not be in the center of attention – what are you talking about?”

“That’s different,” Johnny said, hands balled into fists. “Those are all people I’ve dated, or hooked up with, and – they’re not you. And if we go out and you change your mind – I won’t have any friends, Peter.”

“What?” Peter said, feeling like he’d gotten the rug pulled out from under him. “That’s not – Johnny.”

“And that’s why,” Johnny said, hot-eyed. “Not because you’re a bad kisser, or because I’m not crazy about you, too. But if I mess this up with you, that’s it.”

Tentatively Peter reached out. Johnny flinched when he touched his hand, but after a second he flipped his palm over.

“Well that’s ridiculous,” Peter said. “Never gonna happen. Ever. You’ve got friends – MJ, and Gwen, and okay maybe Harry’s a frenemy but he’s frenemy who would key your ex’s car for you, if you asked. And you’ve got Bobby.”

Johnny snorted. “It’s different.”

“And Sue and Reed and Ben…” Peter continued.

“They’re my family,” Johnny said. He let go of Peter’s hand, and Peter’s whole being panged, but Johnny only reached up to hook his fingers in Peter’s shirt. “They have to put up with me.”

“Yeah, that one’s really not true,” Peter said softly, flicking Johnny on the forehead. "I'm not going to stop being your friend, Johnny.”

Johnny made a quiet noise, his hands fisted in Peter's shirt. When he tugged it was a gentle thing; Peter curled his own fingers over Johnny's, prying them from the fabric so he could twist their hands together. "You don't know that."

"I kind of do," Peter said, squeezing Johnny's chilly fingers. He trapped them between his palms, rubbing, and Johnny made a broken noise, tugging them away.

"You don't," Johnny said, all trembling breath. Peter just wanted to kiss him again, but when he leaned in Johnny slapped a hand over his mouth. "Listen. You're going to college, Pete, and I'm never getting in anywhere. You know I'm not, right? You're going to college and you're going to meet all these hot, smart people who get how great you are and you're gonna forget about me."

"Never going to happen," Peter promised, knocking his forehead against Johnny's. Their noses bumped, their lips brushed. Johnny's sigh was so shaky Peter thought he might die. "You've scarred me too much, emotionally speaking. I'm going to be seeing a therapist about you 'til I'm fifty."

“That’s sweet,” Johnny said, snorting. Then, quieter, more seriously, “You’re sweet.”

He was the one who leaned in this time, the touch of his lips hesitant. Peter had spent a truly mortifying amount of time over the past few weeks imagining what kissing Johnny might be like, and he’d always thought – well, Johnny’d had a lot of practice. He thought he’d be confident, annoyingly so, and aggressive.

The reality was feather light and a thousand times better. Johnny sighed when they broke apart, his eyes still closed, his hands resting against Peter’s shoulders.

“Johnny,” Peter said, reaching up carefully to touch Johnny’s cheek. “In a thousand years, I could never forget about you.”

Johnny laughed, shaky. “Oh, man, I really want to make fun of you right now but – yeah. Same here.”

“Nobody drives me crazy like you,” Peter said.

“Up the fucking wall, right?” Johnny said, smiling like he couldn’t help it. Peter touched the corner of his mouth, unable to help himself either. Johnny’s hand came up to cover Peter’s, his eyes falling shut.

“And I’m not going far,” Peter said. “I’m staying in New York. At most I’ll be a long subway ride away. You can come see me whenever you want. We can torture my poor, unfortunate roommate, it’ll be fun.”

“But if you do?” Johnny asked quietly. “Go somewhere. Later. In the future.”

“Then we figure it out,” Peter said. “Because, right now? I kind of can’t think about anything else but kissing you again.”

Johnny laughed softly, leaning in and pressing his lips to Peter’s, soft and warm, and then, when Peter deepened the kiss, hotter, hungrier, Johnny’s mouth opening under his. He rested one hand on Johnny’s thigh, squeezing.

“Okay,” Johnny said when they broke apart. He nodded, fingers gripping Peter’s so tight Peter was losing the feeling, but he didn’t care. “We’ll figure it out.”

Peter’s phone buzzed on a Saturday, when he was supposed to be studying.

can you come over, the text read, no emoji, no stupid selfie attached. The phone was ringing before Peter could even register hitting the button.

"What's wrong?" he said, practically tripping over his own tongue. His heart had started up a desperate samba as soon as he'd read the words. Can you come over because something happened. Can you come over because Sue and Reed defected to Russia and Johnny was supportively going with them. Can you come over because Johnny liked him too much to break up over text. All he could hear from Johnny was a quiet hitch of breath across the line. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Johnny said, words belied by the shake in his voice. "But can you come over?"

"You can't do this to me," Peter said. "The only thought running through my head is 'who died.'"

"You're not going to find out if you don't come over," Johnny said. "Oh, and bring a shovel."

"You're not funny," Peter told him before he hung up. Please don't break up with me to my face, he thought, curling his fingers around his phone. That voice in his head warred with the one saying he was being ridiculous: the Russia thing was way more likely.

It took him half an hour to get to Johnny's doorstep, and an interminable thirty whole seconds spent waiting before the door swung open and revealed Sue. She looked a little like she might cry, but in a happy way.

"The Russians offered dental, didn't they," Peter said.

"You and my strange little brother deserve each other," Sue said, stepping back from the door.

Johnny was just sitting on the couch, clutching a piece of paper. His face lit up when he saw Peter.

"ESU, Pete!" Johnny said, jumping to his feet. "I got in!"

It took a second for it to sink in: Johnny had got into ESU, Peter's first (okay, not his first, but his first affordable) choice.

"You got in," he said, watching as Johnny's smile widened, his quick jerky nod. The sheer happiness radiating off of him was enough to go to Peter's head. "You got in!"

"I got in!" Johnny laughed, throwing his arms around Peter's neck. Peter wrapped his arms around Johnny's waist, squeezing as tight as he could, and throwing his head back with laughter. It wasn't any real surprise when they overbalanced, toppling together over the arm of the couch. They landed together, all elbows and knees, Peter braced haphazardly above Johnny.

Johnny’s shirt was rucked up, his hair was a mess. His grin was blinding. “I got in.”

Peter tried to kiss him and accidentally sent them both sprawling to the floor instead. Johnny tucked his face into the crook of Peter’s shoulder, laughing. Peter wrapped his arms around him, squeezing.

“I told you, you could do it,” he said. He grinned up at Sue, staring down at them with her eyebrows raised. “I told him he could do it.”

“That’s nice. Get off the floor, please,” she said. “Peter, are you staying for dinner?”

Johnny leveraged himself up just enough to grin down at Peter, waving the his acceptance letter in his face. Peter grabbed it out of his hand so he could read it himself. “What?”

“Dinner,” Johnny repeated, catching Peter’s face between his hands and kissing him, quick and off-center. “We’re ordering in. Say you’ll stay.”

“Yeah,” Peter said. Johnny got to his feet finally and pulled Peter up with him. “Definitely, I just have to call my aunt.”

“I got in,” Johnny repeated one more time. He threw his arm around Peter’s shoulders, dragging him closer. Peter almost tripped, catching himself with an arm around Johnny’s waist. He squeezed as they stumbled towards the kitchen together.

“I told you,” Peter said, laughing. “Why don’t you ever believe me? I’m a genius.”

“I know, I just,” Johnny said, tripping over the words, suddenly flustered. Peter took pity and, sneaking a look to make sure Sue wasn’t around, pressed Johnny back into the kitchen doorway so he could kiss him in light of saying, it’s okay, I know.

Johnny curled his fingers into Peter’s shirt, tugging a little as he kissed back.

“Just try to get away from me now,” Johnny said. “We haven’t told Reed yet. Ten bucks says he faints.”

“Fifteen says he cries,” Peter countered,

"Deal," Johnny said, laughing as he tangled their fingers together and pulled Peter into the kitchen.