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The first day Peter walks into his new job, he’s excited. It’s way better pay than the Daily Bugle ever gave for freelance photography, unsurprisingly, and while he doesn’t get to make his own hours anymore, he does get an office.
Okay, he gets a large desk he shares with nine other people. But the supplies are free! As is the coffee.
Therein lies Problem One of his first day: they’re out of creamer. It’s not the worst thing in the world, of course, but he’s become pretty reliant on his caffeine fix and he hates his coffee black. Half cream, all sugar; it’s the only way to live.
“Is there a secret stash of extra creamer somewhere?” he asks the man next to him, though it seems like a long shot given he’s happily downing his own coffee with no milky or sugary additives. Peter resists the urge to wrinkle his nose at the grossness of it because that would be rude. He succeeds, because he has practice.
For a moment, he thinks there is a secret stash hidden somewhere by the way his coworker’s eyes light up with a pleased grin, as if excited to show Peter this special place. His hopes are dashed when the man simply shrugs and says, “I don’t use creamer,” before walking off, whistling We Wish You a Merry Christmas. In June.
(It takes three weeks for Peter to give up and start bringing his own damn creamer.)
Black Coffee Man’s name is Wilson-comma-Wade, Peter learns.
He does not learn this the way he learns everyone else’s name (through others saying it in conversation, or even politely introducing themselves). No, Wade is special. He lies down sideways on the desk, to the vocal annoyance of their coworkers, and introduces himself somewhere between explaining the tragedy that was the discontinuation of French Toast Crunch and listing cat foods in order from “yummiest” to “least yummy.”
Peter asks—half-joking, half-horrified—if Wade has cats or if he eats cat food himself. His wide grin and boop to Peter’s nose is all the proof Peter needs that people who drink black coffee are psychopaths.
A month after his first day (one week after he starts bringing his own creamer), Peter notices six little creamer cups tucked in his mug. He doesn’t understand why, but 45 seconds of top-notch sleuthing skills shows he’s the only one. It bubbles a laugh out of his throat.
“What’s so funny, baby boy?” Wade asks, resting his chin on top of Peter’s head.
(Wade is very tall and has no boundaries. Peter only makes half-hearted attempts to persuade him to stop.)
“I found creamer,” he admits. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Maybe the thief has a crush on you.” Wade sounds like he’s grinning. Peter looks up at him with a teasing grin of his own.
“Projecting, Wade?”
Wade looks delighted. “You don’t have to be sly to try and figure out if I like you, sweet cheeks; all ya gotta do is ask!”
He laughs but can’t bring himself to ask.
The creamer shows up twice more, and Peter stops bringing his own.
One of the office chairs breaks. Specifically, Peter’s chair breaks. As soon as he sits down after washing up from lunch it falls apart, leaving Peter sprawling onto the ground with a—very manly, thank you very much—squeak.
“Jeez, Parker. Maybe just a salad tomorrow?” Johnny Storm laughs across from him.
Peter rolls his eyes.
He stands upright and frowns at the item formerly known as “chair.” Fortunately (or unfortunately; he hasn’t decided yet), he’s barely sighed out a “Guess I’m standing today,” before Wade is graciously pulling Peter onto his lap, holding him firm with arms around his waist and a chin hooked over his shoulder.
“I’ll be your chair for as long as you need me, Petey Pie!”
Peter does not blush.
(He absolutely blushes.)
Peter’s sure they’ll get told off for being unprofessional, or just plain made fun of, probably by Johnny again. Surprisingly, the only response is from Wade’s “office bestie!” Nate Summers, and even that’s just an exasperated shake of his head.
He doesn’t get a new chair for two days, and Peter has suspicions that it’s Wade’s fault.
There’s no creamer in Peter’s mug.
There is creamer in Johnny’s mug, and he ruffles Peter’s hair condescendingly and says, “Aww, looks like I’m the favorite now. Tough luck, pal.”
Peter believes him for a second. Then Nate grabs Johnny’s mug and dumps the creamer cups into Peter’s. “It’s impolite to steal someone’s creamer,” he grunts.
Johnny sputters. “I— The creamer thief did it first!”
Nate doesn’t dignify that with anything more than an unimpressed glare, and a minute later Peter is smiling into his barely-brown coffee.
Peter oversleeps. He’d stayed up most of the night finishing up the project they’d been working on all week.
It takes seeing the empty office for Peter to realize it’s Saturday.
“Fuck me,” he groans.
“Oh, that can definitely be arranged, baby boy,” Wade purrs into his ear. Peter nearly hits the ceiling with how much he startles, glaring at Wade when he laughs.
“Why are you here?”
“Why, I’m so glad you asked!” With seemingly no effort, he grabs Peter and hefts him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Wade, put me down!”
Wade does a twirl instead.
“You see, Petey, it was mid-winter of 2016, and I’d had three chimichangas for lunch. Which isn’t relevant to the story; I just wanted you to know that I can eat three full-sized chimichangas in one sitting, in case that’s your secret desire…”
It’s the one day that Peter gets there more than ten minutes early. He walks in, drops his bag down, and pauses a few feet from the kitchenette.
Peter should have realized it earlier, he thinks as he watches Wade drop six little creamer cups into his mug. All the signs were there, but sometimes Peter’s a bit oblivious. He’s always got a lot going on, sue him.
(Please don’t sue him.)
Wade puts the mug back in its spot and turns around, grinning wide and happy when he sees Peter. “Petey! You’re early!”
Peter cocks his head to the side. “So you’re the creamer thief.”
Wade looks behind him as if he hadn’t been caught red-handed, then shrugs and makes jazz hands. “Surprise! Happy birthday!”
“It’s not—” Peter huffs and shakes his head. “So,” he says instead, walking to his coffee cup and preparing the drink. “You have a crush on me?”
“Oh, no, the jig is up!” Wade mock-gasps. “However did you know? Really, baby boy, I haven’t exactly been subtle. Hey! Maybe I can take you for some real coffee now? My treat.”
Peter smiles into his mug. “Okay. Oh, and Wade?”
Wade’s eyes are sparkling with laughter. “Yes, my sugary angel cake?”
“I actually use nine creamers.”