Chapter Text
Mike was swinging through the city, surveying the streets below with sharp eyes. The sun was creeping closer to the horizon as afternoon slipped slowly into evening. Spider-Man-ing had become a part of his daily routine by now, and while it used to feel like an obligation after a long day of classes, now he was able to find a strange kind of comfort in it. He knew that fighting criminals and street thugs wasn’t what most people would consider relaxing, and that there was a lot of real danger in it, but honestly? Once you figure out you can dodge bullets, taking down some random mugger kind of loses its gravity. Mike had fun swinging through the streets, getting an adrenaline rush every time he stopped some petty crime. He liked being flagged down by strangers who needed a favor. He liked it when he swung past and heard the awed gasps of 'Look, it’s Spider-Man!' that followed him. Sure, the stuff he did wasn’t always important, at least not in the grand scheme of things, but Mike didn’t care. He just liked to feel useful, liked knowing that he had a purpose. He liked that people saw Spider-Man as someone to be trusted rather than feared. God knows the media didn’t see him the same way. He’d been getting real tired of the “Spider-Meanace” headlines and cops bemoaning his so-called ‘vigilantism’ in press conferences. He needed some better media coverage if he really wanted to be the “friendly neighborhood Spider-Man” like he’d told Will.
Stop, he scolded himself as he rounded a corner. You’re not supposed to be thinking about that right now, remember?
It was true -- he had been trying very hard not to think about that. It wasn’t really working.
It had been days since that amazing-then-disastrous museum visit, and Will still hadn’t uttered a word about Spider-Man to him or any of their friends. Mike would get it if Will was still pissed at him, but he’d tracked him down the next day, determined to properly apologize, and Will had just given him a weary smile and shrugged it off.
“Seriously, Mike, it’s fine,” he had said. “I was just out of it yesterday and didn’t know what to say. But I’m not mad, alright?”
“But--” he’d tried to cut in.
“No, Mike, I’m telling you that you don’t need to apologize anymore. Let’s just… forget about it, alright?”
Mike had nodded uneasily, worried Will was just saying it as a dismissal, but by the end of the day, everything was back to normal between them. They were making the same jokes as always, hanging out with the group, and having moments that were so confusing it made Mike want to rip his hair out, so he knew there really wasn’t any lingering animosity. But if that was the case, then why had Will not said anything about meeting Spider-Man?
Like, what the fuck!?
Mike was driving himself crazy over it. Because what would prompt Will not to say anything? If he were some random civilian and Spider-Man saved him, the first thing Mike would do is tell his friends about it. And he didn’t exactly seem that ambivalent about the interaction when it happened. So why the hell hadn’t Will said anything?
Mike had concocted a few theories over the last few nights of overthinking, and he didn’t like any of them very much.
One: Will had told everyone else about it and neglected to tell Mike. That would mean that he didn’t trust Mike for some reason, or maybe he was actually still mad and was just really good at hiding it. Mike didn’t really buy either of those options.
Two: Will was embarrassed he’d needed Spider-Man to come save him. It sort of made sense from an outside perspective, but he couldn’t see it as the type of behavior that made sense for Will.
Three: Will didn’t want their friends to freak out or get upset about him being in enough danger to warrant a Spider-Man rescue. Especially if they found out it was because he was jaywalking, which he knew all of them hated. This one was more on-brand for Will, but Mike still doubted it.
Four: Will didn’t actually like Spider-Man, and rather than telling everyone because he thought it was cool, he was trying his best to forget it had ever happened. Mike knew that Will read the newspaper and kept up with current events, especially things going on in the city. Will would have seen all of those negative headlines, and it was just like him to hold his tongue on his personal opinion of the superhero because he didn’t want to ruin the idea of Spider-Man for his friends. It was Mike’s least favorite theory, and also the one that made the most sense to him. Which would mean that Will hated Spider-Man, and by extension Mike, and… well, that would really fucking suck.
So basically, he was really, really dying to know what Will was thinking.
He’d tried to bait Will into saying something about it, or prompt him with very specifically targeted questions, but there was only so much he could say. After all, he couldn’t just say “Hey, random question, but have you had any run-ins with Spider-Man lately?” without sounding pretty damn suspicious. Essentially, he had no choice but to wait for Will to come to him, and it wasn’t exactly easy to think about anything else while he waited.
He’d tried to throw himself into Spider-Man-ing to forget about it over the last few days, but it wasn’t doing him any good because, naturally, the one time he wanted a distraction, New York had nothing to offer. Why did criminals only decide to act when he was busy doing something else? Did they have some sort of sixth sense he didn’t know about? Normally, he would prefer quieter streets -- because he wanted people to be safe, obviously -- but the lack of violent crime was really starting to mess with him. Like, muggers and pickpockets just weren’t cutting it today. Mike needed something good -- a car chase, maybe, or a gang conflict. A good bank robbery. A minor natural disaster. Hell, he’d even take a runaway subway car. He pleaded with the city of New York to send him something good.
It didn’t matter. Like usual, the city couldn’t give two shits about what Mike wanted. Go figure.
It was getting to be early evening by the time he decided to call it. The streets obviously didn’t need him right now, and he couldn’t stay out too much longer without raising suspicion with his friends anyway. Mike honestly had no idea where they thought he was during this time, but he tried to make it back to get dinner with them most nights, so usually they didn’t question it. Unless he was heinously late, which happened more often than not, and in those cases, Max liked to rip him a new one. Regardless, they probably assumed he’d continued his lab internship from over the summer. It wasn’t a bad assumption -- he really did like working there, and he’d left on good terms with them. Dr. Owens, the lab director. He’d told Mike that he could come back anytime he wanted, either to lend a hand or use the equipment for his own purposes, which was an offer he’d taken him up on a few times already when he needed to figure out how all of his superpowers worked or build himself some new gear. He hadn’t been by in a while, though, and he made a mental note to do so soon.
He began the trek uptown to campus, halfheartedly scanning the streets for any sign of nefarious activity that might require his intervention. He swung from Greenwich Village to Chelsea, losing himself in the enormity of the city that, within a year, had become more of a home than Indiana ever was. He felt like he was a part of New York now, just as much as it was a part of him. He didn’t know if he’d consider Spider-Man essential to the city, but it definitely felt… big. Bigger than he had expected it would be when he first decided to put on a mask back in the summer. He felt like he’d gone through some sort of trial, and his reward was earning the city, winning its heart. Or maybe he was still going through the trials. Mike didn’t know for sure. All he could say for sure was that he wanted it desperately, and he’d go through as many trials as it--
Wait.
Mike swung to a stop and took perch on top of a lightpost outside Bryant Park. He hadn’t even noticed the distance he’d traveled, the streets blending into one collective Manhattan as he flew by. But there was a tugging in his gut, a strange feeling that slithered down his spine, telling him to stop. Something was going on here, and even though it set him on edge, he cracked a grin all the same. Finally.
He scanned the scene before him and didn’t see anything out of order. Bryant Park was bustling, full of people who had just gotten off work and wanted to catch a nice evening with their friends before it became too cold to do so. Someone caught his eye and waved at him, and Mike smiled and waved back. He would’ve stayed longer, but his attention was being drawn to the end of the park, where the massive New York Public Library loomed. It was an architectural feat, all imposing marble and dramatic masonry, and if Mike was in Midtown for non-Spider-Man-related reasons more often, he’d love to explore all it had to offer. Right now, though, his eyes were being drawn to a row of small windows close to the ground, which he assumed provided some natural light to a lower level of the library. That one there, at the end… it was completely shattered.
Mike looked around, but people either hadn’t noticed or didn’t think it to be out of the ordinary. Maybe it had been broken for a while, so no one questioned it anymore. But… his senses were telling him that wasn’t the case. It must have been broken recently, and how no one noticed it happening, Mike couldn’t say, but it couldn’t mean anything good.
He swung across the park and crouched down by the window. He could just go to the front desk and report it, and maybe ask to investigate. But he could never be sure how much public institutions like the library were going to trust him, and if the answer was no, he couldn’t exactly justify breaking in afterwards. He didn’t want to make them send any employees to check it out either, in case something bad really was happening. So, before he could think about it too deeply, he jumped through the window and landed in a long hallway.
Light filtered in periodically from windows, but for the most part, it was dim and dusty, and smelled faintly of mildew, or that vague scent that accompanies old things. Mike imagined they had to keep the basement this way to protect rare or antique books, but… damn, this was bleak.
Taking a deep breath, he let his instincts guide him down the hallway. He wasn’t sure where he was going, and it was unnerving to put his faith so blindly in a part of his powers he didn’t fully understand, but hey, they hadn’t let him down yet. He took a few odd turns before arriving at another short staircase. At the bottom was a door simply labeled The Stacks. Well, that wasn’t ominous at all.
Mike hesitated for half a second before letting out a sigh. Fuck it. Whatever. Before he could think too deeply, he bounded down the stairs and opened the door as quietly as possible. He slipped into the room, not closing it for fear of making too much noise, and took in the sight before him. “The Stacks” was about as literal as it gets -- he was surrounded by row upon narrow row of bookshelves that seemed to stretch on forever. There were dusty tomes and file organizers piled onto shelves, and it looked like it would be a nightmare to parse through to find anything. He heard the slide of a file drawer opening to his left, and Mike crept toward it. He felt like he was in Ghostbusters, and even though he’d never found Slimer particularly scary, the connection didn’t help his nerves.
He crept up to each row, peering around the corner, then advancing to the next one when he saw it was empty. If there was an organizational method to the endless shelves, Mike wasn’t aware of it. He wondered what the hell someone would be doing down here, and how the hell they were finding whatever it was they needed. He hoped that it was just a librarian, and that the shattered window was a coincidence. But he knew it wasn’t.
After he’d passed at least twenty stacks, he peered down an aisle and saw a figure about a third of the way down. Mike ducked back, then, carefully, peered around again to get a full view.
He was half-expecting something obviously sinister, like a mob boss in a three-piece suit or a special ops-looking dude outfitted with countless firearms. But this guy just looked like… well, a regular guy. Tall, thin, blonde. He was wearing a plain white button-up and matching slacks, which struck Mike as a bit eerie, and he was wearing some sort of mask that obscured his features, so he clearly had some sort of nefarious intentions. But he seemed to be unarmed, so despite the uneasiness rising in his chest, Mike resolved not to attack without asking questions first.
“Hey, man,” he called from the end of the row, “I like reading just as much as the next guy, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be here.”
The man didn’t even look up from the filing cabinet he was sifting through, like Mike wasn’t enough of a threat to warrant his attention. “Is that so?” he drawled lazily.
Mike bristled. “Yeah, it is actually. We really don’t need to make this complicated, alright? How about you just come with me and leave that stuff here, and then we can go our separate ways. No harm, no foul.”
He found the file he was looking for and put it in the bag at his feet, then swung it onto his shoulder. “I expected to meet you at some point, Spider-Man. I just didn’t anticipate it would be so soon.”
Mike rolled his eyes. “Well, sorry to disappoint.”
The man took a couple of slow steps forward. “I’ll level with you here. Am I going to need you gone eventually? As of right now, the answer, regrettably, is yes. Now, I don’t have anything against you -- in fact, I admire this whole… hero shtick. But I have many goals I need to accomplish, and if you just keep out of the way, then we’ll be perfectly fine. But I expect you don’t see it the same way, and if you insist on getting in the way, well, then… I have no qualms about killing bugs.”
Jesus. Mike threw his hands up and tried to act like he wasn’t rattled. “Okay, so I guess we do need to make this complicated.”
The man laughed. “Oh, no, not at all. I’ll need you gone eventually, but to be honest, I’d rather not go through that whole ordeal right now. I doubt you want to either, so I think it’s best if we do just go our separate ways.”
“Fine by me, but I think you’re forgetting something.”
“I wouldn’t suggest you try to take this from me,” the man said, shouldering his bag a bit tighter. “It won’t end well.”
“For you or for me? Because I can think of a few different ways I could snag that man-purse from you, and I’m happy to workshop them if you’ve got the time. I’m always open to suggestions.”
“I’ll give you one chance to move, Spider-Man.”
Mike held his ground. “Hey, how come you get to know my name but I don’t get to know yours? Feels a bit unfair to me.”
“Fine. Your choice,” the man said, and the second he took a step, Mike was leaping into the air with one arm extended out. He planned to flip over the man’s head, snag the bag with a web while he went, and then make a mad dash to the exit. This guy seemed smart, and he was probably quick, but he was unarmed, so he didn’t really have anything against Mike. Then he’d figure out what in these books was so damn important, and hopefully stop this guy from accomplishing whatever “goals” he had in mind. Which totally wasn’t creepy at all, by the way.
It registered that Mike hadn’t actually jumped yet, even though he could’ve sworn he did, and that if he had, he should be long gone by now. It took another second to realize that no, he did jump, it just… didn’t happen. He tried again, and even though he could conceptualize it in his brain and feel his muscles responding to the neural message, his body remained frozen in place. Shit. What was happening?
He looked at the man, who had one arm outstretched, and it hit him with sickening clarity. The man was armed, and Mike wasn’t the only one with superpowers out there.
Fuck.
“Let me go!” he yelled, straining to make his body do something, anything. Nothing happened. Mike tried not to panic, but was succeeding less and less with each passing second. He looked up at the man and was terrified to see that, except for the intensity of his face, he showed no signs of duress. Mike was completely incapacitated, and he hadn’t even broken a sweat.
“I told you,” the man said slowly, “that isn’t going to happen.”
Mike strained again to no avail. “Why don’t you let me go and try me in a real fight, huh?”
The man exhaled a breath that could have been a laugh. “That would end far worse for you than it did for me.”
“Bullshit,” Mike said, tone biting. “Quit bluffing, coward.”
Within a second, the man’s eyes narrowed, and Mike realized he’d made a mistake.
“I don’t want to kill you today, Spider-Man,” the man said lowly, venomously, as he raised his other hand and began to close it into a fist. As he did, a pressure began to build in Mike’s outstretched forearm. It was… like his arm was trapped in a vice, slowly tightening without any means of escape. He realized that if this kept up, his arm was not going to break, but shatter. He could visualize the bone collapsing in on itself from the pressure, fragmenting into pieces so small that it couldn’t possibly be repaired. He understood what it was to be truly powerless, and it was so terrifying that he didn’t even notice when the pressure finally let up. He gasped a sigh of relief, a noise more raw than he knew he was capable of making.
“I don’t want to kill you today,” the man repeated. “But make no mistake. I could.”
He moved past Mike in a leisurely stroll, keeping him frozen all the while. Mike didn’t have it in him to try to fight it. He couldn’t turn to watch him walk away, but eventually, the door to the Stacks slammed shut, and whatever curse Mike was under broke. He collapsed to the floor. Whether he was trembling from pain, exertion, or fear, he didn’t know. Maybe all three. He needed to go after him. He needed to find out who he was, what he was planning, why Mike needed to die to make it happen. He needed to sleep. He needed to talk to Will. He needed to do anything other than lie on the floor, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, pinned in place by the racing of his thoughts.
---
Fuck. Mike couldn’t remember the last time he was this exhausted. Whatever powers that guy had must’ve sapped the energy from him. Or maybe he’d just over-exerted himself trying to resist that mind-control bullshit. Mike frowned. Given how futile his resistance attempts had been, that was a pretty bleak thought. He chose to believe the former, even if his gut was telling him otherwise.
He was able to pull himself together after leaving those damn stacks, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t rattled. There seemed to be no lasting damage from whatever the man had done to him, save for the bone-deep exhaustion he was currently feeling. It was a miracle Mike even made it back to campus by his own means of transportation. He seriously considered taking the subway, but the prospect of doing it in his Spider-Man suit was both so embarrassing and daunting that he turned himself off the idea. He wasn’t even entirely sure how he made it into his dorm room, but eventually he was standing in front of his mirror in a t-shirt and pajama pants, staring at his reflection and hardly recognizing the person who looked back. He hadn’t had time to get a haircut recently, and it was long, longer than he’d kept it for a couple of years. Maybe he’d see if Will thought he should get it cut. The bags under his eyes were deep and unforgivably purple, the kind that he doubted would ever go away, even with consistent rest. He lifted his shirt and gazed wearily at the smattering of bruises across his ribs and abdomen, turned, then dropped it when he saw his back was just as bad.
He splashed some water on his face in place of a proper nighttime routine and brushed his teeth unenthusiastically. Was this really the life he had signed up for? He hadn’t realized the burden becoming Spider-Man would create. He felt heavier than he ever had before, heavier than he had even thought possible. Why did he ever think he was ready for something like this? Mike was 19. He didn’t know how to be a hero. He barely knew how to be a person.
Briefly, he considered quitting, shoving that suit deep into the recesses of his closet, and becoming just Mike Wheeler again. For a second, it was so enticing he could hardly bear it. But it was too late for that now. Spider-Man belonged to New York. Mike belonged to New York. And it was a heavy duty, but a good one, too. It felt good to be needed, to be counted on. This place had taken him in and made him their own without even knowing it. And even in times like this, Mike knew, deep in his bones, that becoming Spider-Man was the best choice he’d ever made. This was who he was now, for better or for worse. He couldn’t turn his back on it now.
He glanced at his clock as he trudged toward his bed and was mildly surprised to see it was only early evening. That made sense -- Lucas was probably at dinner. Huh. Well, if he asked tomorrow, Mike would simply say he had felt sick. It would have to be enough. For now, it was all he could do to climb into bed, and sleep overtook him the second his head hit the pillow.
---
The room was dark when Mike jolted awake, and Lucas was snoring loudly from the other side of the room. It was that weird kind of sleep where it felt like he had just blinked and was already waking up, and it left him dazed and disoriented. It took him a second to register a phone ringing, and he lunged toward where it sat on his nightstand with a grumble.
“Hello?”
“Hey,” a voice Mike would’ve recognized anywhere came quietly through the phone.
“Will?” he groaned and glanced at his alarm clock. “It’s like, two in the morning, man.”
His voice came through rushed and a little frantic. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I kind of needed help with something and you were the first person I thought to call.”
“Oh.” Mike sat up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Yeah, okay. What is it?”
“Okay, so, I have a portfolio due tomorrow for my drawing class, and I was going through and gathering up all of my works when I realized that I forgot one. And of course that one counts for, like, 40% of the grade, and this is like the biggest portfolio I have to turn in all semester, so basically if I don’t have it by tomorrow morning then my grade is fucked, and I really don’t want to have to take this class all over again--”
“Whoa, Will, slow down,” he said into the phone. “What’s the assignment?”
“It’s just a charcoal portrait. It shouldn’t take too long, but I need someone to pose for me, so I was wondering… can you help out with it really quickly?”
“So wait, you have to draw a portrait,” Mike said slowly, “and I was the first person you thought to call?”
The line is quiet for a moment. “You’re right, that was stupid. I’ll just bother Dustin or El or someone, I’m sure they’re awake--”
“No, no,” he cuts in quickly, “I didn’t say I thought it was stupid.” Actually, for a second there, he thought it sounded almost romantic. But it’s not, of course, because Will doesn’t mean it that way.
“Mike, you seem tired, and I don’t wanna waste your time.”
“Will,” he said curtly, “don’t. I’m coming over, and you can’t change my mind.”
“Mike--”
“I’ll be right over, see you in a minute!”
Will might’ve said something in reply, but Mike ended the call before he heard it, grinning like an idiot as he dropped the headset back into its place. Will needed to make a portrait, and he called Mike. He could’ve asked literally any of their other friends, but instead, he called Mike. Mike, whose dorm is on the opposite side of campus and completely out of the way, especially for such an urgent situation. It probably didn’t mean anything, he knew that, but it put butterflies in his stomach all the same.
Mike went to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face, rinsing away the last remnants of sleep. He expected to still feel tired, but with how early he went to bed, he probably got close to eight hours. That was a lot more than he got on any regular day, so he'd take it. He was glad he got as much sleep as he did, but he couldn't help cursing his past self for not just sucking it up and taking a shower last night. He looked like an absolute bum. Well, no time for it now, so he grimaced and went to work combing out his bed head until it was just the right amount of messy to look unintentional but not so much so that he looked like a slob. It was an art, and if he thought too hard about what he was doing, he got embarrassed, but hey, when you’re going to your crush’s dorm to get your portrait drawn, you’ve gotta do what you’ve gotta do, right?
He walked back into his room to see Lucas still sound asleep, snoring like a foghorn despite all of the commotion Mike had just made. Honestly, Mike was impressed. His power to sleep through just about anything was pretty incredible. So incredible, it gave Mike an idea…
He shoved a couple of things in his backpack and swung the strap over his shoulder. Will’s dorm was probably a ten-minute walk, but it was a lot faster when he wasn’t travelling on foot. Normally, he wouldn’t risk using his powers when there was a chance of Lucas being around, but given the fact that he slept through Mike’s incredibly loud conversation and even louder primping and prepping, he decided to take a calculated risk. He nudged the window open and carefully ducked out, inching down the side of the building until he could grab the window frame and slide it shut from the outside. He made it as quiet as possible, but there was still a decently loud thunk as it hit the windowsill -- it always got stuck right before it fully closed, and required a bit more force to get it shut the rest of the way. He waited for a moment, watching Lucas with bated breath, but when it became clear his roommate wouldn’t stir, he grinned and launched a web onto a nearby lamppost.
There was something freeing about swinging through the city without a mask on. Mike didn’t do it often, and when he did, it was always with a hood up -- he couldn’t afford to be that careless -- but at times like this, when it was late at night, and the streets of the campus were empty, it felt like a breath of fresh air. When he was in the Spider-Man suit, he felt like he had to be constantly on guard, terrified of doing something that would come off the wrong way and mess up his public image. He already got more than his fair share of criticism from those bullshit journalists who loved to paint him as “Public Enemy No. 1,” even though he hadn’t done a single bad thing in the Spider-Man suit. But when he was like this, he could just get lost in the rhythm of swinging from web to web and not think about all of that for a couple of minutes. He needed that after whatever the hell had happened earlier. He kind of needed to see Will, too, but what else was new?
He could’ve swung straight to Will’s window -- embarrassingly, he knew exactly which one was his -- but that would’ve been a terrible idea for very obvious reasons. So, he did what he always did instead -- dropped down around the corner from the building, so his walking in through the main entrance could offer him some plausible deniability. He dug his keychain out of his wallet and found the one that got him into his friends’ building. He shouldn’t have been able to get in, since there was a strict one-key-per-resident policy, but Dustin had found a loophole that allowed him to procure keys for both Mike and Lucas. They came and went as they pleased, which made spending most of his free time in Will’s dorm very, very easy.
Mike bounded up the couple of flights of stairs and quickly arrived at said room. He knocked on the door with perhaps more vigor than necessary at 2 AM, but when it came to Will, he could never help himself. He opened the door a second later, and Mike could see the tension melt from his shoulders when he saw him.
“Oh, thank God you’re here,” he said, smiling tiredly. “You’re a lifesaver, Mike, seriously.”
Mike almost laughed -- Will had no idea. “Anytime,” he grinned, and began to kick his shoes off the second he came through the doorway.
“You got here really fast,” Will noted. “I mean, you hung up, what, eight minutes ago, and didn’t I wake you up when I called? How’d you get here so quickly?”
“Oh, um…” Mike didn’t realize just how fast he’d been swinging. It must’ve been two minutes to get here. “I just… was really motivated, I guess.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Motivated enough to run here?”
Mike’s hatred of running was widely-known public knowledge. At least, he used to hate running, before he gained the endurance of an Olympian overnight and began to find it incredibly, incredibly easy. But he needed to maintain the facade, so he scoffed at Will’s question. “Are you kidding? No, I just speedwalked. I didn’t have to wait for any crosswalks either, because it’s super dead out there, so I had no trouble."
Like always, he felt a little twinge in his gut at the lie. But, like always, he pushed it down and smothered it by reminding himself that he had no choice. It still stung, though.
“Hmm… I guess so,” Will said, not looking entirely convinced. He was thankfully distracted enough to drop it, because he had Mike seated and posed within a minute.
“Wow, this really has you stressed out, huh?” he asked as he watched Will organize the materials frantically on his desk.
“I just can’t believe I let this happen. This isn’t like me at all, to forget about something and leave it until the last possible minute.”
“Well, yeah, but you have to cut yourself some slack,” Mike frowned. He hated it when Will beat himself up. “It’s bound to happen to everyone at some point in college. And hey, at least you realized you forgot it before it was too late.”
“Well, I’d be screwed right now if you hadn’t picked up the phone. Thanks again, by the way.”
He blushed a bit. “I mean, it’s nothing, really. I’m sure you’d have been able to find someone else if I hadn’t woken up.”
“Yeah, probably,” Will said while lining up various sticks and pencils of charcoal, “but I always prefer it when I’m drawing you.”
Mike’s breath caught in his throat. “Really?”
“Oh, absolutely. I mean, with that bone structure? You’re, like, every artist’s dream.” He settled into his chair, holding his sketchpad and grabbing a pencil from the desk. “Now hold still for a second.”
Mike tried his best, but he always struggled when he was Will’s subject. First, because Will would make comments like that. It was always when he was working on a piece, and they were always abstract compliments about Mike’s facial aesthetics or something along those lines. They infuriated him to no end, because while they sounded great, they clarified absolutely nothing for him. Like, was Will calling him beautiful in an objective, artistic way, or because he actually found him attractive? Over a year of posing for portraits for Will, and he still didn’t know the answer.
Second, he felt so… examined when Will drew or painted him. It was stupid -- he was easily the most recognizable person in New York City, and yet Mike had never really enjoyed being the center of attention. Being under a mask and hiding behind the Spider-Man persona made it easier, but when it was just boring old Mike Wheeler, he was perfectly okay with blending into the background. So when Will picked him out like this, and made him pose, and looked at him so intently, for minutes or hours on end like he was something special, like he deserved to be noticed… it was as exhilarating as it was unnerving. Plus, the prolonged eye contact filled Mike’s chest with warmth, making him giddy and nervous. He began to squirm in his seat, like he always did, and clenched his hands tightly in his lap so he could ignore the stupid urge to fix his hair or something.
Will raised an eyebrow, but his gaze remained intense as he stayed focused on the drawing. “You sat still for… five minutes this time? I mean, that’s gotta be a new record.”
“I try,” he said, then blinked. “Wait, shit, sorry, I shouldn’t talk.”
“You’re fine, just try not to move your head too much.”
Mike almost nodded in response before catching himself. “So, what’s been on your mind lately to have you so distracted? You seem kind of… I don’t know, it’s just not really like you.”
Will hesitated for a second. “It’s not important. You’ll probably think it’s silly.”
Oh my God. This had to be what Mike was thinking it was, right? Was Will actually going to tell him about it? “Will, come on. You can tell me anything.”
“Okay, it’s just… don’t laugh, okay?”
He tried to hide his excitement and just barely succeeded. “Never.”
Will sighed. “Well, alright, I didn’t tell anyone about this, because they all would’ve just freaked out, but… Spider-Man kind of saved my life the other day.”
Finally. Mike gasped — maybe a bit more theatrically than necessary, but hey, he had to sell it, right? “What?”
“Yeah. Well, I don't know if I would’ve actually died, but it was kind of intense. I was jaywalking -- don’t say anything, I don’t want to hear it -- when this car just, like, swung around a corner and came right toward me. I just like, froze, and then right when it was about to hit me, Spider-Man swung in and scooped me out of the way.”
Mike searched his eyes for an opinion, a reaction, something. “Are you okay? That sounds really scary.”
He shrugged, narrowing his eyes to focus on one particular part of the portrait. “I was shaken up for sure, but I’m okay now. What I really keep thinking about is just how lucky I was that Spider-Man was there, you know?”
Mike searched for the right thing to say, but it was weird to talk about himself like this. He’d never really known what to say when people gave him compliments, much less talk about his alter ego. How would a regular person react to a statement like that? “I mean… yeah,” he ventured. “Spider-Man sounds kind of amazing.”
“He really was,” Will gushed, using his finger to smudge the portrait. “And after he saved me, I realized I know, like, nothing about him. So I know this is weird, but for the past few days, I’ve been… I don’t know, researching?”
“Researching?”
Will switched out the charcoal stick he was using. “Yeah, like, I’ve been at the library, going through copies of the papers to learn more. Like, where did he come from? Why is he here? Who is he?”
Shit. If Will started poking around at Spider-Man’s true identity, he’d probably start piecing a lot of things together really quickly. “But what’s the point of even knowing any of that stuff?” he laughed nervously, trying to deflect. “What, do you, like, like him or something?”
“No,” Will scoffed, and stupidly, Mike was a bit relieved. God, was he seriously jealous of his superhero persona? This was reaching new levels of pathetic. “Obviously not. I don’t even know him. I’m just curious about him, is all. But…”
“But what?”
He was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on something above Mike’s eyeline, and he assumed Will was studying his hair for the portrait. He turned back to his paper and continued. “I keep seeing these articles that seem to think he’s a bad guy. Like, The Daily Bugle and other sensationalist papers like that, but also, like, the Times and the Journal, and magazines and stuff too. They say he’s dangerous, and a vigilante, and ‘Public Enemy No. 1.’ But… he can’t actually be a bad guy, right? Because if he was, why would he go around saving random people like me, right?”
Random. Mike could’ve laughed. If only he knew.
“Spider-Man is not a bad guy,” he said a bit too forcefully. Will glanced up, and he tried to modulate his tone. “I mean, you’re right. If he were actually a bad guy, he’d be going around using his powers to rob banks and stuff, not sweeping people off their feet and saving them from fatal accidents.”
Will rolled his eyes. “He didn’t sweep me off my feet--”
“And don’t listen to what the reporters say. They’re just trying to make a quick buck. It’s all just… bullshit media propaganda.”
Will chuckled and shook his head. “You seem very passionate about this.”
“Oh, I’m not, not really,” he said quickly. “But I was here in the summer, when he first started popping up and everything. People were scared of him at first, but it seems like he’s just trying to do the right thing, you know?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Just… don’t tell the others about that, okay? I don’t think they’re gonna get it.”
Mike frowned. “Why? Do they think he’s a bad guy?” If his friends talked extensively about Spider-Man, it happened when Mike wasn’t there to hear it, but he thought they had positive opinions on him, right? Mike was living through the type of thing he’d spent his childhood reading comics about, and he knew his nerdy friends were the same. Whatever was holding Will back, he truly doubted it was that.
Will frowned like he couldn’t piece together the words he wanted to say. “No, it’s just… well, I don’t know, I guess it’s not that important. Maybe I’ll tell them about it. But it’s not like it matters, anyway. I doubt I’ll ever see Spider-Man again.”
Mike smiled despite himself. “I don’t know, you might get lucky.”
“I guess we’ll see.” Will put a couple of final touches on the portrait, held it at arm’s length to examine it, and then nodded. “Okay, I think it’s done. Wanna see?”
Mike shook his arms out, finally free to release his pent-up energy. “Um, duh. I hope you made me look extra…” his voice petered out.
Will raised his eyebrow after a second. “Mike?”
Mike tried to say something, but his voice seemed to fail him as he laid eyes on the portrait. Even though it was just charcoal, every line was expressive and meaningful, and full of life. It was a bit messy, but in a purposeful way. Mike’s hair formed a dark halo around his head, but his face was angular and sharp, every detail done in perfect clarity. Everything looked so good, even down to the spots where Will must’ve just smudged the charcoal with his finger, that Mike couldn’t believe this was all done in the time he was sitting here. And his eyes were the best part -- they looked attentive, yet soft, like he was listening to Will speak and clinging onto every word. Hell, that’s probably how he always looked at Will, but the way he displayed it so perfectly just in black and shades of gray was incredible. There was no way Will could capture that expression so clearly and not know how Mike felt about him. Right?
“Will, this is…” he finally managed. “I mean, I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t? Is it bad?”
“No, it’s… It’s amazing. I mean, you made me look so… I…” he looked up at Will, voice full of emotion and strained from the weight of unspoken feelings. “It might be the best one you’ve ever done of me.”
Will laughed shyly, averting his eyes the way he always did when someone tried to compliment his art. “I don’t know about that, Mike.”
“No, Will, I’m serious. This is… It’s beautiful. It’s incredible. You’re incredible, okay? And you’re going to get an incredible grade on this, too. I promise.”
Will smiled softly. “Thank you.”
Mike lingered for a while longer while Will cleaned up, still barely able to formulate a thought after seeing that portrait. His brain couldn’t help from whispering to him that it had to mean something. But, like, it had a point, right? How could Will make Mike look that beautiful if it didn’t mean anything? If Will didn’t see him that way at all? He couldn’t, right?
Right then and there, as he watched Will collect his charcoals and arrange them meticulously in his drawer, he almost asked. He could feel the words, there on the tip of his tongue, just waiting to be spoken into existence. But then Will looked over to him and said something about being super tired and wanting to go to bed, and Mike nodded, and the spell was broken.
“Hey,” Will said, leaning against the doorframe as Mike lingered in the hallway, not wanting to leave, “I’m really, really glad you came over. I know it was a hassle, but… thank you.”
Will’s gaze was so earnest and genuine that it sent butterflies buzzing around Mike’s stomach. “Anytime,” he breathed.
Will grinned. “You’re a really great friend, Mike.”
Something caught in Mike’s throat, and every butterfly shriveled and died at the word ‘friend.’ That familiar, coiling sense of dread replaced it. Friend. Because that’s all you’ll ever be to him, and it’s about time you got that through your head.
“Mike?” Will frowned. “You good?”
“Yeah, yeah. I’m just tired. I should really get going.”
Will nodded with a gentle smile, but the crease between his eyebrows remained. “Alright. Goodnight.”
Mike stood there staring at Will’s door long after it had closed. Friend. He was so stupid to think any of it meant anything else. Will was an art student, for Christ’s sake. Of course, he’d be able to make a beautiful, expressive portrait of any of his subjects. He was no different. It didn’t mean a single thing.
Mike didn’t go straight back to his dorm. He swung around the city aimlessly until his wrists ached and his muscles screamed for relief. Still, it wasn’t enough to escape the thoughts running through his mind. Finally, he got back to his dorm and collapsed into his bed, trying to ignore how soon his alarm was set for. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to get any sleep, not with Will’s word echoing through his brain. Friend.
He might’ve been New York’s resident superhero, but when it came to the things that really mattered, Mike Wheeler wasn’t brave. He thought back to yesterday, the fear that had paralyzed him long after that man had vanished. He thought about every time he could've reached out to Will, only to back out at the last minute. Maybe they could be more, if Mike could actually speak his mind, but even as he considered the thought, he knew that it would never happen.
No, Mike Wheeler wasn't brave. Really, he was nothing more than a great big coward.