Chapter Text
Eugene “Flash” Thompson has got three big secrets. Emphasizing the “big” because, obviously, he has more, but comparatively those mean nothing.
Number One, He hates his life. What he hates, even more, is how bratty and ungrateful that sounds. Everything has come easy in life for him, at least, money-wise. There's this really big Retailor company, Thompson and Co, the company his parents own. The one he’s the heir to.
“What a creative name.” He mumbled, sarcastically. Parker twitched and glanced in Flash’s direction like he heard the boy but didn’t wanna make it obvious. News Flash (no pun intended), that guy made it really damn obvious he apparently heard everything. Lowkey creepy.
The thing is, Flash knows that some people, actually, a lot of people, would kill to take his place. Really, who wouldn’t wanna have rich parents, live in a big house and attend a school specifically intended for super-smart kids? Not him. It’s like going to the Zoo. You’d think about how fun, relaxing and easy something like that would be, but you never factor in how much walking it is. Or about the fact that you could be allergic to some of the animals. Or the overall negative energy of the place, seeing so many bored, old animals that are outrageously under-stimulated that frankly enough don’t give a shit about your existence.
In his little weird analogy there, his Mother and Father are like the animals. Whenever they do actually acknowledge their son, which isn’t often, they're disappointed that he doesn’t have anything to offer. Flash rarely comes home with awards or 100s on tests anymore, not like he had in middle school.
He feels allergic to them sometimes. When he can smell Father coming down the hall, he gets a little shaky. His hands get slippery as they build up sweat, right as he passes by the cracked open door, continuing down the hallway. It wasn't until recently that Eugene realized how unnatural it was that he could smell the difference between people, even if they were sharing everything scented like clothes and hair wash (the gross PDA couples at school).
Often in the evenings Flash could smell that the downstairs alcohol pantry had been opened, and then his Mothers favorite whiskey. From all the way across the house, with his door closed and right after he had sprayed cologne. Again, weird, that's not normal right?
He usually tries to find the best possible excuse for needing to be out of the house for a few hours on evenings like these. Not that she really cares where the boy is during the night, just as long as he never skips school. That’s the only example one could use if debating whether she’s a “good parent.” Like, the one and only example.
He doesn't want to inherit a Company. He doesn’t want to be a CEO and go to meetings all day. He wants to draw. On people. To be a Tattoo artist, go on a season of Ink Master if it gets some revamp in 20 years once- if he's got good experience.
What he really wants is to restart. Which is pretty sad, considering he's only been alive 15 years and regrets every decision that's gotten him to where he is now. “Then again, I’m only 15, and I have the last 3 weeks of Sophomore year, both Junior and Senior years to figure this all out, so I should probably pay my attention back to Mr. Harrington.” Flash thought. He’s been going over the next few units the class be studying in next year’s AcaDec. tournament. Lame. Flash continued to sketch the birds we was scratching into the blank spaces in his planner.
The teacher smelled very distinctly of Rice Krispie cereal, Clorox wipes, and something unique to him. Everyone was like that, they’d have a few things Flash could recognize, and then their own scent.
Jason, somehow, was mostly saltwater and his unique scent. The same goes for Abe and Tiny, except theirs are Sour candy and office supply stores, respectively. Along with their scents, of course. He deemed referring to the unique smell of an individual as simply their “scents.” It made sense to him, and that's what mattered.
The girls were usually more complicated. Except for MJ, whose favorite food is probably Ravioli, given that and pencil graphite are the two things accompanying her unique scent.
Betty was like roses. Not in a romantic way, she smelled so strongly of fake rose perfume that it was slightly repulsing. And also drywall. Sally and Cindy had in common smelling like lemonade, along with their few other things and scents. Ned Leeds was simply Legos, dry bread, and his scent.
Oh then there's Seymour and Charles, who reek so bad he hasn't bothered trying to decipher what exactly is even going on with those two. He's genuinly a bit concerned neither have heard of a shower.
The whole scent phenomenon was his second secret. And although it's interesting, it's one of the few things he's never told anyone. The whole concept makes him feel way different from his peers, and not necessarily in a good way.
3rd big secret? Turns out the son of the company known among this younger generation for being the biggest donor to anti-LGBTQ+ organizations and movements in New York City, is gay. Ironic, innit. Specifically speaking, gay for Spider-Man. Which is less of a suprise for a teenage boy. Many like him share the sentiment.
Spider-Man’s scent seems like it would probably be something sweet like chocolate, maybe like clouds because he spends so much time swinging through the air. He’s never met the guy, so all Flash knows is no matter what it is, he’ll like it. It’s Spider-Man! How could he not?
Suddenly, everyone at the table starts to shift. The meeting is over, and Flash missed just about all of it off in his own little world. It doesn't matter though, Mr. Harrington will put it all in the group chat anyway.
Today is a Friday in the middle of May. School ends in three weeks, and Flash is cherishing every moment he won’t be bored at his house since his “friends” really only hang around him during school.
Walking out with a pamphlet and the form for next year's team, Flash stopped by a convenience store to pick up Advil. There may or may not be a slight addiction to the pain relief aspect of them, but that's another story.
While there, he noticed a DNA kit that was from a genealogy company, and thought, “Fuck it.” He wasn't white, and darker people tend to have interesting heritage. So, why not, you know?
Who knew fifteen dollars would change his life as much as it did.