I went through like 7 different titles for this stupid chapter, from "Spider-Man seduces millions" to "Spider-Man is a lucky mother fucker" because my brain hates me. Hopefully this one is a bit better because my brain is broken
~
Will's pov
—

I shouldn't be inside on this beautiful spring day, birds chirping, cars honking, children giggling on sidewalks with their chalk hopscotch, jump ropes and bubbles. It was nearly 25 degrees (Celsius) for gods sake! In May! I could basically smell the flowers.

Or maybe that was the hydrangeas in a glass vase on the kitchen counter next to me as I stared angrily at my homework, because biology, truly, was the bane of my existence. I've said it about a million times at this point.
The flowers smelt like sunshine and also the mini putt course me and Nico loved as kids. When we didn't have to worry about sun damage, or frown lines, or school, or super powers, or adrenaline-driven kisses at the wrong place and time.

I rubbed the sweat off my forehead and stared at the small box tv on the counter so my mum could watch the news while she made dinner. It was boiling in my apartment, and with our currently broken AC, my only relief was the ceiling fan in the living room and the rare breeze trickling through the sheer curtain covered kitchen windows. I could sense the cicadas buzzing, even if I couldn't hear them over the sounds of the city.

I had the news playing on the small tv, looking for Nico as I worked on my genetics worksheet.
Well, I was probably watching the news more than I was working, but no one was here to tell me otherwise. I was allowed to pine and sulk and sweat in the safety of my home.

Nico and I haven't talked properly in two weeks, ever since the school was targeted because there was a chance Nico—Spider-Man— attended. Ever since I was held hostage, and he took his mask off in front of a stranger to save me. Ever since he kissed me.
We haven't talked properly since then, and we have absolutely not talked about the kiss.

Which was kind of rude, in my opinion. He kissed me and then tossed me out a window! As if that wasn't bad enough, then he practically ghosts me? Rude. He could have at least explained himself. Or not, because that would be even more awkward... what would I do in this situation?
Probably the same, expect without a straight face when we were around each other. He acted like nothing happened while simultaneously avoiding me. I am not that smooth.

He also hasn't come over after patrol at all, which was also kind of worrying, because I am the only one who knows about him being Spider-Man (besides my mom) and the only one who patches him up after a bad fight. I've resorted to watching the local news every night to keep an eye on him. He's gotten in some fights that would normally warrant a visit (he usually came over after every patrol, but.) but it was nothing too bad. But still. Still.
I was obviously being avoided.

And I don't want to text him, either, because I knew Nico was probably freaking out in his Nico way. The Nico way where he isolates himself from the world when he's overwhelmed and doesn't have the capacity to deal with others. Usually that doesn't include me, though.

He'll get over it eventually, I know, but if it goes on for much longer I'm going to have to prod him to come back, because I'm going crazy without him.

At school he barely talks to me (we've been back for 4 days after the damages were repaired), he only goes to lunch if Cecil and Lou Ellen are there, and he avoids one-on-one contact with me like I have a deadly disease. Or really bad breath.

And yeah, it hurt. It hurt a lot. I missed my best friend. I don't think we've ever gone this long without talking properly. Ever!

The worst part, though, is that all I want to do is talk to Nico about how lonely I am, but I can't, because he's the reason I'm lonely, and I don't want Nico to freak out or break down or feel guilty.
Nico may be a superhero with advanced strength and a tough backbone, but he's more sensitive than anyone would think of Spider-Man. He doesn't show it often, and when he does, it's only ever to me, but he hurts, and he struggles with the burden of his new job.
He feels guilty when he can't save someone, like it's his fault, like he was the reason they died, like it's his duty to keep New York safe, and he still aches over his mother and sister's deaths every day.
He keeps everything pent up, so deep inside, in a sealed box in the darkest crevice of his mind, and this added weight, the weight of the tension between us, was probably making it harder.

I groaned and pushed my homework away, irritated with my trackless, distracted brain and also Punnet Squares.
An ad for dog food vanished off the screen, and the news reappeared, opening with a video recording, from what seems like a shop's security camera, of Spider-Man man swinging from the ceiling.
The bottom caption read "Spider-Man stops armed robbery" in a blinding red, and I was in front of the small tv in an instant.

The security footage was slightly blurry and grey, but it's clear enough to see that Spider-Man was off his game, and was punched across the jaw where he easily could have dodged. I winced. That would leave a nasty bruise.

The footage ended quickly with the man tied up on the ground as the police made there way towards the store. Spider-Man swung out of the store, not stopping for the press who called his name.

The news reporters commented on it, as they always do— because the news is never unbiased— calling him a hero, a vigilante, a pain, and reiterated that the police hated him, before moving onto the scene of a car accident involving a truck and a fire.

I leaned back and let out a breath I had been holding.
He didn't get hurt, besides the punch, but I wanted to see him so bad. I knew he wasn't coming, and it hurt.

I wandered back around the island to sit down and finish my homework when my phone, face down on the table next to the flowers, buzzed.

I snatched it off the table like a violent and easily startled animal, not really expecting Nico to text me, but when I looked at the screen, he did.

My hopes raised; for a split second I thought that everything was fine again, that the sunshine outside predicted a good day— and then my stomach and heart and lungs and all the other important organs in my body plummeted, because the text from Nico was nothing but a location, and that couldn't be good. What if he really was hurt?

I clicked the location and zoomed out to see where it was compared to me. His little blue dot was quite a ways away from where he was last sighted, so he was obviously avoiding people... and he was at an apartment building? Maybe he was in the alleyway next to it? Maybe the punch was harder than it seemed and he had a concussion or he was bleeding really bad. Or maybe the punch dazed him and when he was swinging away his web missed its target and he fell from a really tall height, and hit the road hard, and maybe he couldn't walk and he needed my help—

Or maybe I'm catastrophizing, and Nico was finally up to take pictures with me because he got over his isolation period. Or maybe the punch ripped his mask and that's why he ran away from the press so fast, and he couldn't be seen because his face was on display.
Or maybe he wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him. He always said I was his favourite person, right?

I had no clue, but my heart was racing, so I was running.

I grabbed a pair of socks and my camera bag (that was conveniently stuffed with a roll of bandages, bandaids and a small bottle of antiseptic hydrogen peroxide) from my room, stuffed my shoes on my feet, and left the apartment in a flash, only stopping to lock the door.

I stared at the location on my phone as I stomped down the stairs of my building. It was a good few blocks away, but from the news I knew traffic was bad, so running would have to do.
I pushed out of my building and sprinted down the sidewalk, the late spring breeze finally blowing back my sweat-damp hair and through my hot T-shirt, my camera bag bouncing uncomfortably on my side. I couldn't feel any of it, I didn't notice at all, because my mind was focussed on nothing but the strange location on my phone. I wish I could focus this well on my homework.

I shoved past people at top speed until I arrived at the street the apartment building resided on, and slowed to a brisk walk that most New Yorkers carry, like hyper pop was playing in everyone's earbuds, to avoid unwanted attention from strangers. Weirdly enough, the road was pretty empty, compared to normal. I only saw one other person on the sidewalk.

I passed the alleyway next to the building Nico sent, but it was open wide and bright, with absolutely nothing to hide behind, and if that wasn't enough to make me move along, there was no sign of my masked best friend.

I stepped back out of the alley and looked up and down the street, sauntering to the doors of the building. It didn't seem special; it just looked like a normal apartment complex. Not too tall, not too fancy. Grey with rusted window frames. Quite unremarkably normal.

I let out a sigh. Where did I go from here? I mean I could always text him—

Something hit my shoulder, and I let out an undignified yelp-and-jump, like a child.
I looked down, expecting a large bug or something to cry about on my shoulder, and relaxed at the sight of familiar webbing stuck to my shirt.

I cupped a hand over my eyes, shading them from the pulsing sun, and peered up towards the sky. After my eyes adjusted, I caught sight of a masked head poking over the edge of the roof, one arm outstretched like he was lying on his stomach, connecting him to my shoulder.

He didn't seem to be injured or dying.

I raised my free hand up in what I hope conveyed "what the fuck", but if he said anything, I couldn't hear him. His other hand appeared, waved twice, and then gestured for me to come up. What was I supposed to say, no?

I huffed and yanked on the web to try and get it off my shirt, but it wouldn't unstick.

"Ugh," I groaned, shading my eyes again to stare at Nico far above me. I pointed dramatically and annoyedly at the web, hoping no one was watching this exchange between me and the sky, like the people who claim they can talk to god. Nico's shoulders jumped in what I assumed was a laugh (which made me feel more annoyed but also better at the same time) and released the web. It floated gracefully through the clear air to the ground next to me, which meant I could move, except now it was stuck to me like a piece of toilet paper to my shoe.

I huffed again (god damn Spider-Man) and bunched the loose web into a ball in my hands, trying to ignore the awful sticky texture that I have hated every since I hung from it outside a window (I still have the bloody calluses to prove it). I flipped the sky (Nico) off with two middle fingers and ran forward as someone left the building, slipping through the open door.

I located the emergency stairs and started running up them two at a time, my converse slapping the concrete steps and echoing through the tall stairwell.
When I finally arrived at the roof door, I shoved it hard, expecting it to be heavy and stiff, but it opened easier than I expected and I tumbled outside, arms out to catch my balance, camera bag swinging as I looked around for my potentially hurt friend.
My previously mentioned best friend was sitting on the concrete, cross legged, toying with his web shooters like he was waiting for me at a cafe, fiddling to waste time.

"Are you ok? Are you hurt?" I asked anyways, stumbling towards him, tracing his body for injuries.

"What?" Nico asked, looking up, "of course not."

I stopped in place, staring down at him, and blinked. My heart slowed. My breath caught up.

"Then..." I pressed my fingers to my temples, "then why on earth would you only send your fucking location without ANY CONTEXT?!" I shouted, dropping the extra web to pull my phone out of my pocket and point angrily at it.

"Um... I'm lazy?" Nico shrugged innocently, mask covering whatever cheeky face he was making. He was lucky, because I'd probably strangle him if he smirked in that way that he does. I hate him.

"Jesus Christ, Nico, you nearly gave me a heart attack! I hate you. I hate you so much," I stomped over to him, shoving my phone back in my pocket, stopping a foot away and gestured angrily at my web covered shoulder, "I'm not waiting two hours for this to dissolve, super strength it off. God, I hate you," I reiterated, glaring at him.

Nico pulled his mask off as he rolled his eyes at me, because he always called me dramatic, and I could see him calling me dramatic in his mind, but I couldn't be mad at him for it because holy shit— he was beautiful.
His hair poked up every which way due to the mask reveal, proving that he hadn't worked too hard to stop the robbery; his forehead clear of sweat or dirt or blood. His hair was getting long, but it was choppy and layered and stuck up like bat wings and I- god. I loved it.
And his eyes. His eyes caught the sunlight just right, looking like glittery pools of melted chocolate, rather than how they looked black in shadows, and his long eyelashes framed them like expensive art. Lord, he looked like a model, even with the angry red and purple bruise on his cheek and jaw.
Which lead my gaze to his lips, of course. God, his lips. I knew what those lips felt like, now.

Those insufferable lips pulled into a smirk as he stood.

I had to do a double take. What changed in the past two hours since school ended, when he wouldn't look me in the eye? What flipped the switch? I hadn't seen him smirk like that in weeks.
Did he finally get over the kiss? Was he deciding to act like it didn't happen? Or worse, did he decide he didn't care? That it was a one off thing, that it would never happen again?

What was going on.

"If I did that I'd rip a hole through your shirt, dummy," Nico dismissed, brushing his legs off before taking a hold of the string. He wrapped one hand around the long end and the other at the base of the thread, tugging hard, arms flexing in the most mesmerizing way under his suit, snapping the web like a loose thread on an arm chair, leaving only the base. "There," he patted my shoulder, brushing at the leftover web looking satisfied, "It'll go away in an hour or two."

I narrowed my eyes at him and his weirdly calm demeanour. He caught my gaze and looked away instantly, taking a step out of my personal space.

"Why couldn't you just text me why you needed me like a normal person?" I frowned, patting my shoulder down as well, still rattled by my earlier panic.
Nico shrugged again, taking another step back. And another, not looking at me.

"I don't know. Just felt like it," he shrugged again, and I could feel the tension rising again. Shit. I ruined it with my questions.
Why couldn't I be satisfied with what he gave me? Why couldn't I leave it alone?

"Is there a reason I ran seven blocks to find you here?" I questioned more, because I couldn't stop my stupid mouth from opening and saying the first thing on my mind, apparently. I was going to make everything so much worse.

"I just, uh," Nico raised his gloved hands and started to fiddle, "I missed you? I guess?" He confessed, spinning to walk as close to the edge of the building as he dared without his mask on. He stared across to rooftop across the street for a moment, and then turned and began to pace the perimeter.

"Why didn't you just come over?" I asked, softer than before, because now we weren't joking. I don't think we were, anyways. And I really wanted to know what was happening here.
What if he left me? What if the stress was too much, and he didn't mean to kiss me, and decided to leave me?

"Erm... I don't know. Thought maybe we could... take some pictures?" He shrugged again, voice wavering like he wasn't sure. "You still need new earbuds, right?"

"I sold an older photo to a magazine last week..." I murmured, tearing my gaze away from his pacing. It still hurt like a fresh wound that he hadn't spoken to me, avoided me on purpose, for two weeks. I know it was his way of coping, but it felt like he didn't care.

"...oh," Nico said awkwardly. I glanced up to see him making a face, wringing his hands around his mask that he seemed to have picked up in his travels around the roof.
He slicked his hair back and tugged it on, walking to the edge of the building, and for a second I thought he was going to leave me here.
"Wanna swing with me?" He asked instead, voice catching in the breeze that picked up. My curls blew back. I frowned. This interaction was weird. Nico was acting weird. What was happening.

"Uh...?" I looked around the the building for an excuse, but found none, "after the last couple times? Not really. Kinda makes me nauseous and also I always fear for my life," I admitted instead.

Nico's shoulders dropped and he slumped. "Oh," he said again, dropping to a clumsy seat on the edge of the roof, making my stomach lurch, even though he's Spider-Man. If he fell he could easily catch himself and not get hurt, but he's swinging his legs into open air and his right on the fucking ledge—

I was behind him before I realized my legs had moved, bending down to place a hand on his shoulder and pull him back. It was dangerous to be seen with Spider-Man like this, where people could easily look up from the street below, but my anxiety was more pressing as I pulled him back.

Nico looked back at me as I pulled at his shoulder, snorting at the worry clear on my face, but hopped back up and started skipping away from me, shaking his hands out. He was restless, which was fine, but it would be more fine if we weren't on top of a 8 story building.

I watched cluelessly as he stopped in the middle of the roof, facing away from me, yanking his mask off and throwing it to the ground. He was really restless.
I trailed him hesitantly, trying to figure out why the hell I was here. He seemed... not ok. Anxious. Was he on the verge of a panic attack? God, I couldn't tell.

"Should you really have your mask off up here while you're in costume?" I asked instead, like an idiot, because I wanted him to say something to me that made sense. He was the smarter friend, but none of his actions so far seemed to make sense.

Nico spun on the spot, whipping around so fast to face me that it blew his hair back, finger outstretched in a finger gun, and I loathe to admit I stumbled back a little in surprise. The look on his face was... determined? What was going on.

Nico's single finger gun wavered as he opened his mouth. Then frowned, closing his mouth. And opened it again, like he couldn't gather the words, or if he could, couldn't force them out of his mouth.
He snapped his mouth shut and glared at his weak gun, dropping it.

"Well, I. Erm... I wanted to do something," he finally voiced, which was not what I expected at all, and honestly, I had no clue what was going on, but the wind in Nico's hair sure looked pretty.
Didn't he say he wanted to take pictures?

"Well I can't take pictures of you with your mask off, stupid," I forced a laugh, unzipping my camera bag.

I paused, though, when Nico huffed and scuffed a pebble, sending it skittering across the roof and off the side of the building, which couldn't be safe.

"That's not- ugh shut up," Nico growled, shaking his head, which felt kind of aggressive. I dropped my hands helplessly as he visibly took a few deep breaths, fists clenching and unclenching, because I was not reading this situation correctly at all.
I held my ground, though, as he stalked up to me. Right up to me. Like, less than a foot away, tilting his head up to initiate startling eye contact. I could feel his breath on my chin, and it sent goosebumps down my arms and the back of my neck and my spine and— why on earth is he staring at me like that? What is happening. Is he going to hit me? Is he... is he mad at me?

"Can I—" Nico paused, like his vocal chords stopped working, not blinking as he stared and tried again. "Can I kiss you?"

This wasn't happening.
What???

Oh god, it was happening.

My brain was short circuiting, mouth hanging open, staring into Nico's chocolate eyes because I couldn't, for the life of me, look away (was that another one of Spider-Man's powers? The mastery of hypnotism?) and lord. Come on brain. Work.
Work for Nico, because I could see the doubt leaking into his hard eye contact the longer the silence was stretching, biting the inside of his cheek.
Say something.

Say something, you idiot, before you ruin this, because god, this is what you wanted!

"I—" I forced out, words shaking. "Yes. Yes, please," finally tumbled out of my mouth in a finalized breath forced from my lungs, not more than a whisper.
And I could hear how much it sounded like begging, and I couldn't even find it in me to care, because there was a surprised smirk pulling on Nico's lips and the adrenaline fuelled glint was back in his eyes as he cupped one one hand around the back of my neck and the other on my jaw, pointer finger and middle finger bracketing my ear, before he pulled me down and reached up until we met in the middle, lips locking.

It was even better than the first time; the first time I didn't expect it, and our noses clashed, and I was terrified because I had just been held at gun point and I thought I was going to die (Nico wouldn't let me die, but still. I had nightmares about it for a whole week) and Nico had just been outed, mask on the ground, and the kiss was nothing but stress and fear and poorly executed adrenaline.
But this? This kiss was on purpose.

He was kissing me on purpose. And oh—oh— it was so good.

Nico must have done some research (considering I was his first kiss. Wow.) because he leaned left as I leaned right so that nothing bumped. We fit together like we were meant to, like when he held my hand and it felt right.
He slotted our lips together— he didn't just press them like I would have out of stress-induced jitters— so that my bottom lip was in between Nico's, soft and careful. His fingers nestled into the curls at the nape of my neck and he was— good lord— he was moving his lips against mine, and that alone pulled me back to the present, back to reality, out of my surprised dissociation.
Wow. Wow. Nico was kissing me— me!— because he wanted to. Because he liked me. That same way I have liked him for months and agonizing months of second guessing myself and cursing unwanted attraction.

I gained control of my arms, the paralysis leaving them tingly and heavy, and skipped them onto Nico's waist which was oh-so accessible due to the red and blue suit of a hero clinging to his skin; so very familiar and yet incredibly foreign.
Nico's hands trailed up my neck and jaw and up to my face, cupping both of my cheeks, his thumb smoothing feather-soft circles over my burning skin and, damn. Holy shit— this was the kiss everyone talked about. The kiss in fiction and media that I had never experienced with another person, that I had believed to be fake, because how could there be such thing as a perfect kiss when spit and noses and teeth were involved? But this. This was a kiss that changed everything. That flipped my world upside down. That made you feel cherished and appreciated and loved, and I was allowed to experience it at the ripe age of 16 for the first time ever, past hook ups and relationships be damned.

My best friend, my idolized super-hero crush, who I never thought would see me in the same way, was kissing me like I was the most important thing in his life. And maybe, if I thought selfishly, I was.

But, of course, all good things must come to an end, because we were both running out of oxygen, not used to the mechanics of kissing and breathing simultaneously (this was only his second kiss, and I haven't kissed anyone since I started crushing on him) and it would ruin the moment if one of us fainted.
Nico pulled away with the stereotypical 'kiss sound', a wet pop echoing in my ears, and the it was the only sound that mattered to me in the moment, even as it left both of us blushing cherry red. Nico dropped back onto his heels, his fingertips dragging achingly slow off of my face, with a gigantic grin on his lips, eyes squinting against the boiling sun and cool breeze and also, I hoped, because he couldn't contain the pure unfiltered joy out of his smile like me. Nico rarely smiled that big.

I was the reason he was smiling that big.

When Nico's hands finally left my cheeks I felt ten degrees colder, gaping in astonishment at the life shattering achievement of kissing my best friend.

He released a euphoric laugh, the one he usually covered up with a hand over his mouth, and twisted in my hands (that were still holding his waist, the only thing keeping me from floating away into the wide open sky), turning to shoot a web at his mask that sat dejectedly on the concrete a few feet away.

He yanked it towards him and caught it with ease, using his other hand to slick his wild hair back (which he should do more often. I needed to find a reason for him to push his hair back like that for me, because hot damn) and pull his mask on half way, settling it right above his nose. My dumb struck gaze obviously fell back to his lips.

"Are you gonna take pictures of me or what? You always say you want to take proper portraits so you can make a magazine front cover, don't you?" Nico's visible lips quirked, pressing up on his tiptoes to stamp another quick peck on my lips, leaving me punch-drunk and dazed. I wonder if my lips looked different, now that they'd been kissed (properly) by Nico.
My fingers reached for my mouth without permission as Nico stepped out of my hands, laughing and pulling his mask all the way down.

"Let's go paparazzi, I don't have all day!"

A/n
AHHHHHHHHHGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

That is how I feel after writing that chapter. Good lord. What a chapter. I love HAPPY STUFF even my fics make it seem like I don't.

How are you guys doing a year into covid?

I love you guys super duper much (also sorry for the username change ppl irl were looking for me and I didn't want to be outed)

Thea