Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mr. Stark : Come over, I have homework for you

Mark frowned at his phone when he saw the message he just got. He didn’t know that he'd been staring at his phone long enough to gain his friend's attention. “What’s wrong?” Jake asked, knocking him out of his mind.

“Oh just my intern stuff,” Mark said hastily as he shoved his phone back in his pocket.

Jake whined childishly, “I still can’t believe you got an internship in Stark Industries out of all places. I’m so terribly jealous.”

That’s the lies Mark has been telling his aunt and his friends after Tony Stark found out about his identity. Tony was horrified knowing that he did his Superhero-gigs — his words, not him — with sweatpants and hoodies, so the man offered to give his suit an upgrade which Mark had stubbornly refused.

Tony being Tony, sweetly told him how he would tell an eye-patched bald man that there’s a minor vigilante roaming around Queens.

Mark didn’t know who the man was but according to Tony’s explanation he would force Mark to stop helping people. In under no circumstances Mark would stop helping, maybe unless he was badly injured, or died. So Mark agreed with one condition: he will help.

Mark’s not as smart as the Tony Stark obviously, but he knew enough to catch up with Tony’s ramble about flexibility or schematics. He was the one who came up with the web-shooter after all. However, going in and out of the tower as a high-schooler will raise questions. For the sake of his still secret identity, he lied to his aunt and friends that he just got the internship at Stark Industries, even though Stark Industries never accepted a high-schooler as an intern before. They believed it though, as far as Mark knows.

“I’m sure you will get a better opportunity than Stark Industries internship,” Mark said, closing the zipper of his bag.

“There’s no better company than Stark Industries,” Jake muttered sulkily.

Mark rolled his eyes at his friend, “You are just in love with Tony Stark.”

Jake turned to give him a side smirk, “Aren’t we all?”

“He’s three times your age. He can pass as your father.” Mark pointed out.

“That’s the trend nowadays, Mark. Have you heard of DILF vibe?”

“Nope! Nope! We’re not talking about my Boss like that!” Mark covered both of his ears as he quickly walked out of the class while Jake laughed beside him.

“Oh come on! Can you take a picture of him for me? Preferably when he wear his tight waistcoat and sunglasses—”

“Jake! No!”

“---and a really tight pants that perfectly hugging his cro—”

“Jake, for the love of God, shut the fuck up!” Mark quickly put his hands over Jake’s mouth and it only made him laugh even harder, that bastard.

The workshop door slid open with a soft hiss after Mark punched in his code. The faint hum of machinery greeted him, but his eyes quickly landed on Tony, already hunched over the workbench. His back was to the door, tools scattered around him, and the faint smell of soldering filled the air. Without turning, Tony spoke, his voice carrying that signature mix of humor and authority. “There you are, Spider-Mark. Took your time, huh? Come over here. You’ve got homework—real homework this time. As in, you’re finally doing intern-level stuff today.”

Mark tilted his head, his curiosity piqued. “Homework? What kind of homework, Mr. Stark?”

Tony turned, putting down the screwdriver he’d been wielding like a scalpel. “The kind that makes you useful outside of this workshop. Remember when we were figuring out the best materials for your suit? The ones flexible enough to let you do all your Spidey acrobatics without making you feel like a tin can?”

“Yeah, of course. Did you finally find something?” Mark asked, stepping closer.

Tony smirked, his eyes glinting like he had a secret he was dying to share. “As a matter of fact, I did. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me sooner. I was tinkering with Black Widow’s gear—she needs to move fast and stay flexible, just like you. So, I took a few notes, added some extras, and voilà: thermoregulation features so you don’t turn into a popsicle in winter or a puddle in summer.”

Tony walked to the back of the workshop and rotated a sleek glass case. Inside it was the suit—his suit. Mark’s breath hitched, his eyes widening. “Oh my God,” he whispered.

The sight of it made his stomach flip. Sure, they’d been working on this together for weeks, but seeing it complete, gleaming under the soft light, was something else entirely. He looked at Tony, almost like asking for permission, his hands itching to reach out.

Tony’s smile softened. “Go on, buddy. Play with your new toy.” Mark didn’t need to be told twice. His hands tentatively brushed over the suit’s surface, and he suppressed a laugh at how unreal it all felt. Compared to his old sweatpants and hoodies, this was like stepping into the future.

“This is all mine?” he murmured, almost to himself.

Tony’s response was swift and sharp. “Nope.”

Mark snapped his head toward him, startled.

“Not yet,” Tony clarified, crossing his arms.

His expression turned serious, and the shift in his demeanor made Mark’s stomach twist nervously. “That’s where your homework comes in, Spidey. When I hand this over, there are rules. Big ones. You’re starting on beginner level, kid. The suit’s got a bunch of features, including her, but most of them are locked until you prove you can handle the basics. This isn’t a toy; it’s a tool. If you’re reckless with it, people can die. And one of those people might be you. Got it?”

The gravity in Tony’s tone wasn’t something Mark was used to, and it took him a second to nod. “Yeah. Got it. I trust you. And… uh… her?”

Tony’s stern expression cracked into a mischievous grin. “Oh, right. Meet your new best friend. Wake up, sweetheart.”

A soft, distinctly feminine voice emerged from the suit. “Good evening, Sir. Good evening, Mr. Lee.”

Mark jumped. “What the—? Did the suit just talk?”

Tony chuckled, clearly enjoying Mark’s reaction. The voice continued, smooth and polite. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lee. I’m your personal assistant. I’m connected to JARVIS and here to help you with anything you need.”

Mark’s jaw practically hit the floor as he looked between Tony and the suit, sputtering like an old car engine. “Wait, wait, wait. Is this—? Did you seriously put an AI in my suit?”

Tony leaned casually against the glass case, his grin widening. “Yup. Thought about cloning JARVIS for you, but let’s be real—he knows too much of my dirty laundry. So, you get the next best thing: your very own AI. She’s tied into JARVIS’s network, so if anything goes south, he’ll inform me immediately. Pretty cool, huh?”

Mark stared, trying to process it all. “Cool? This is insane. I don’t… I don’t deserve this, Mr. Stark.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his voice barely above a whisper. “You didn’t even have to make me a suit, and now you’ve given me this too? How do I even—how do I pay you back for something like this?”

Tony stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Mark’s shoulder. “The fact that you’re reacting like this—that’s how I know I made the right call,” he said warmly.

Mark frowned, his voice hesitant. “Why do you trust me with this? I’m just… I’m just a kid from Queens.”

Tony’s eyes softened. “You remind me of someone. Steve, actually. You’ve got that same selfless streak. The kind of guy who’d throw himself on a grenade without a second thought to save the people around him. We need more people like that in the world, Mark. You’ve got the heart of a hero—this suit just helps you do what you already do best.”

Mark opened his mouth to protest, but Tony cut him off with a raised hand. “Nope. Don’t argue. Just promise me one thing: keep it small, okay? Stick to the basics. Catch thieves, help grandmas cross the street, rescue kittens—whatever. But if something big and ugly comes up, you call me. Save the alien invasions for the Avengers. Deal?”

Mark nodded without hesitation. “I promise. I’ll call you.”

Tony stepped back, satisfied. “Good. Now, about the AI—have you thought of a name for her?”

Mark tilted his head, thinking. After a few moments, he said, “Karen.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, then nodded approvingly. “Karen it is. Go on, introduce yourself.”

Mark turned back to the suit, still feeling a little awkward but a lot excited. “Hi, Karen. I’m Mark. Mark Lee.”

The AI responded immediately. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lee. Thank you for the lovely name.”

Mark smiled, the awe evident on his face. “You’re welcome. And, uh… just call me Mark.”

“Of course, Mark. Let me know if you need anything.”

Tony clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright, Spider-Kid. Playtime’s over. Suit’s ready when you are, but remember—beginner mode. No shortcuts.”

Mark nodded, a grin spreading across his face as his fingers brushed the suit one last time. He couldn’t wait to try it out.

Mark perched on the edge of the rooftop, the city humming below him, as he unwrapped the warm sandwich the store clerk had given him. He hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and the smell of the toasted bread made his stomach growl. Just as he was about to take a bite, Karen’s voice interrupted. “Mark, put your mask back on and head to Central Park. Now.”

Mark froze mid-bite, his heart skipping a beat at her strained tone. Karen didn’t usually sound like this—urgent and, dare he say, worried. “What? What happened?” he asked, quickly shoving the sandwich back into his backpack and pulling his mask over his face.

He didn’t waste any more time, shooting a web to swing down from the rooftop. Karen’s response was clipped. “JARVIS requested our assistance. He’s unable to maintain contact with someone and noticed we’re the closest to the person’s last known location.”

Mark swung between buildings, the wind rushing past his ears as he processed the information. “So, someone’s missing, and JARVIS can’t track them? And they’re important enough for him to ask you for help?”

“That’s correct.”

Mark frowned beneath his mask. It didn’t make sense. The only people he could think of who were important enough for JARVIS to care about were the Avengers. But if it was an Avenger, why would they need him? They were leagues ahead of him in combat, strategy, and, well, everything.

Still, Mark pushed the questions aside. Whoever this person was, they mattered to JARVIS, which meant they mattered to Tony. And Mark had promised himself he’d never let Mr. Stark down.

Central Park wasn’t far. In fact, it was just a few swings away. As Mark neared the park’s edge, he heard the faint sound of a struggle—a grunt followed by the unmistakable smack of a punch landing.

Mark moved closer, sticking to the shadows and keeping quiet as he crouched behind a tree. Through the dim light, he spotted two figures: a man towering over a much smaller figure. “—You need me alive, or you won’t get the money. Do you think I’m stupid?” the smaller figure said. His voice was firm but young. Too young.

Mark squinted. Enhanced vision or not, the boy looked impossibly young to be in this situation. From their conversation, it was clearly a kidnapping. No wonder JARVIS was involved. The boy had to be someone important—maybe even a target for ransom. “Stupid enough to wander around alone at night,” the man snapped.

“Karen,” Mark whispered, his voice barely audible. “Is this the boy JARVIS is looking for?”

Karen was silent for a moment before responding. “Yes, Mark. That’s him.”

Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot a web toward the man, yanking him away from the boy. But it was the wrong move. The second kidnapper, who Mark hadn’t spotted earlier, immediately pulled out a gun, pressing it against the boy’s head. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot him!” the man barked. Mark froze, his heart pounding in his ears. He could feel the boy’s gaze through the leaves. Their eyes met, and the boy mouthed a single word: help. That was all Mark needed.

In one fluid motion, he aimed his web-shooter at the boy and yanked him away from the gunman, making sure the kid landed on a soft patch of grass. Before the man could react, Mark webbed the gun out of his hand and tied him to a nearby tree. The kidnapper struggled against the webbing, but it was no use.

Mark turned his attention to the boy, who was grunting in pain as he tried to sit up. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Mark blurted, helping him to his feet. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean for you to fall like that. I was just scared he’d pull the trigger, and I panicked, and… oh crap, I think you sprained your wrist! Your cheek bruised, too. We need to see a doctor. Wait, no, we should call the police first. Or your parents! Do you have your phone? I can take you to the nearest station—”

The boy stared at him, wide-eyed, as Mark rambled on. Finally, he interrupted, his voice quiet but firm. “No! My dad can’t know about this. Please. He’ll kill me. Literally kill me. Probably resurrect me just to kill me again. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

Even with the dim light they barely get, it was enough for Mark to make out the boy’s frightened expression. And he hasn’t seen that look even when the kidnapper got him. Mark was horrified as he realized that the boy was more scared of his father rather than the kidnapper.

“Wait— what? Are you okay? I mean, is your dad, you know? To you? Are you okay in your home?” Mark sputtered, he knew he could be wrong, because the idea of parents abusing their own children still won’t make sense in Mark’s mind. Was this the reason JARVIS deemed him important? Did the Avengers save him from an abusive household and keep him safe? Were those kidnappers someone his father paid for to harm him? Mark shuddered even more at the thought.

The boy stiffly nodded and Mark could spot the bruise on his cheeks better now. “Yes, please, I just don’t want him to be worried.” Mark noticed that the boy seemed more relaxed talking about his father now. “I’m fine, you help me, good timing by the way and thank you. I haven’t said that.” A bit of amusement lingered in his eyes and Mark tried his hardest not to stare too long. Those were beautiful eyes though.

Mark observed the boy’s body language. Despite the mild injuries, he didn’t seem afraid. A little bit of adrenaline but Mark could understand that. He couldn’t spot the tense on his shoulders or how he fiddled with his fingers like other abused kids he came across so it was a good sign then. Maybe whoever his father was would just wreck havoc if he knew his kid was in danger.

Mark sighed as he finally asked, “Fine, but I can’t let you go home alone. Where do you live?”

The boy shrugged and visibly limped though Mark didn’t say anything about his injuries. “You don’t have to, I drive here.” He said, as Mark slowed down his pace and scoots closer, arms ready if the boy suddenly loses his balance.

The answer made Mark furrow his eyebrows and turn his head. “You drive?” He asked, if Mark wasn’t wearing a mask the shock would already be plastered all over his face. “I thought you were the same age as me,” Mark was usually good at guessing someone’s age, but perhaps he guessed too low this time.

“So you are fifteen?” The boy asked.

Without much thinking, Mark blurted, “Sixteen.” Then, he realized how he just gave out a civilian about his age which was supposed to be classified. “Shit, that’s supposed to be classified.” He continued quietly, mostly talking to himself rather than to the boy.

Mark looked at the boy with the corner of his eyes and he could see the amusement forming in his face. He knew he was just potentially giving out his identity to a stranger, but seeing how the boy’s face relaxed seemed worth it. “I know you are young, Spiderling. That’s not hard to guess.” He said, his lips twitched in an effort to keep himself from smiling.

Before it became harder to divert his gaze, Mark whipped his head to look at the road in front of him instead. He gulped then said, “Still. And you’re not answering my question. If you are fifteen, how can you drive here? You can’t even have the license.”

“So? I don’t need a license to drive a car.”He shrugged.

Mark frowned, “Police can arrest you!”

“That’s the point. I never get caught.” The boy bluntly answered again.

“You are breaking the law!” Mark argued.

They were looking at each other's eyes again and the boy facepalmed at him. Oddly enough, the expression felt so familiar but Mark couldn’t pinpoint where he saw it. He definitely remembers that this is the first time he’s meeting the boy. “You will never become a vigilante if people don’t break the rules, Spiderling, let’s be real.”

Even the way the boy kept calling him with another name felt so familiar. Also, why did the boy call him Spiderling? Sure, he is not as famous as Captain America, but almost everyone in New York at his age has been talking about a YouTube video about him stopping a bus full of kids. Or is he from a different town? It’s possible.

“Spiderman. I’m Spiderman, not Spiderling.” Mark muttered quietly. It’s odd to introduce yourself when you’ve been known well enough in the town.

The boy shrugged again, limping slightly as he walked toward a sleek car parked nearby. Mark hurried to keep pace, ready to catch him if he stumbled. When they reached the car, Mark stopped dead in his tracks. “Wait. This is your car?” he asked, pointing to the Dark Horse Mustang.

His eyes narrowed as pieces started clicking into place. “Oh, no wonder those guys went after you. You practically scream, ‘I’m rich, kidnap me!’ Your clothes, your watch, your shoes… you’re a walking ransom note, dude.”

The boy looked genuinely surprised, glancing down at his outfit. “I didn’t realize,” he mumbled.

Mark sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Figures. Look, next time, wear something normal. Like, I dunno, jeans and a hoodie. And don’t wander around at night. It’s dangerous.”

The boy smirked. “Thanks, Mom.” He opened the car door, pausing to look back at Mark. “Seriously, though. Thanks for saving my ass, Spiderling.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “It’s Spider-man.”

“Sure, Spiderling. See you next time,” the boy said with a teasing grin before sliding into the car and driving off.

Mark muttered under his breath, “I hope not.” He said, before he walked the opposite way.

As much as he wants to see him again, meeting him as Spiderman only means one thing: the boy is in danger. And Mark would hate to see him in the same circumstances again. As he turned around the road, he swung back to his rooftop, and only then did he remember one thing.

“I could’ve sworn the car is very familiar too, but where,” Mark mumbled to himself before his eyes widened.

“Karen, is the car the same car I saw in Mr. Stark’s garage?”

“It seemed like the same car.” Karen responded.

“Why does he have Mr. Stark’s car?” Mark wondered to himself, but before he could find the answer, he heard someone calling for help. He immediately jumped into action then found a fire on the highest floor of an apartment. It was chaos after then, eventually making Mark forget about his curiosity.

Mark loved patrolling, but tonight was dragging. Not that he wasn’t relieved the city seemed safe, but come on—he needed something exciting.

He sighed, swinging effortlessly from building to building, scanning the streets for any sign of trouble. You’d think with his luck, he’d stumble on something bigger than helping an old lady cross the street or rescuing a cat from a tree. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the small stuff, but how was he supposed to push his new suit to its limits with no real action? Tony had packed all kinds of features into it, and he still hadn’t figured out half of them.

“Ironic, isn’t it, Karen?” Mark muttered under his breath. “I’m actually out here hoping for criminals.”

Karen’s voice, calm as always, responded in his earpiece. “Unfortunately, Mark, I’m not detecting any crime in progress.”

Mark groaned dramatically, dangling from a web for a second as if that would somehow summon danger. “Nothing? Seriously? Not even a jaywalker?”

“There is a cat stuck in a tree. On your left.”

Mark stopped mid-swing, his head tilting as he sighed again. “Another cat? Really?” he grumbled, though a small smile crept onto his face. As silly as it was, rescuing animals had its charm.

Adjusting his trajectory, he landed on a tree branch where a tiny, scruffy kitten was yowling pitifully. “Hey there, little guy. How’d you manage to get here?” he cooed, gently scooping the cat into his arms before lowering it safely to the ground. He chuckled as the kitten nuzzled his leg in thanks. “You’re welcome, buddy—”

“Spiderling!”

The shout startled Mark, and his head snapped upward. Instinctively, he tensed, ready for trouble.

Karen chimed in quickly. “The voice is coming from the Stark Tower rooftop. It’s the boy from the park, Mark.”

Mark looked up to the tall building and there, he could spot the same boy he just saved the other day. “Is he in danger, Karen?” Mark asked, as he quickly made his way to the rooftop of the building.

“No, Mark. He just noticed you, I think.”

Even with the reassurement, Mark couldn’t feel relaxed. Can you blame him though? The last time he met the boy, someone tried to kidnap him. Mark’s heart pounding inside his chest, until he reaches the rooftop and sees it with his own eyes that the boy is clearly unharmed. Mark could feel his shoulders relaxed. “What are you doing up here?” Mark asked.

It’s an inevitable question because almost all of the people in this country know exactly who resides in this building.

The boy didn’t even flinch. He turned to Mark with an easy smirk. “I live here.”

Mark froze. “You—what?”

“Yup. Home sweet home.” The boy shrugged like he was talking about some boring suburb instead of the Avengers' literal headquarters.

Mark knows that his expression was covered well with his mask, but his body language talks a lot more than his face sometimes. “W-what?” He sputtered.

There is a lot of probability with the statement the boy just gave him. 1) He is somehow connected to the Avengers, because as far as Mark knows, there’s no Stark Industries employees who live in the building. Aside for Happy, maybe. 2) If he’s connected to the Avengers' members, he could be brother, nephew, or maybe oh God, son?? 3) He is one of the Avengers, but seeing how Mark just helped him the other day, he doubted the boy is one of the heroes. But what if he is? What if he’s very capable of helping himself but Mark just doesn’t know? God, did he just save the Avengers' members? How embarrassing that would be.

“You gave me your secret about your age, so I give you one now.” He answered while Mark‘s mind still centered towards the probabilities.

But Mark is aware enough to understand the meaning of his statement, they are trading secrets, so the fact that Stark Tower is the boy’s home is considered a secret.

Mark couldn’t help but ask, “Are you— Are you the Avengers?” He knew he sounded stupid, but to think that the boy has a family related relationship with the Avengers seemed like a more bizarre idea.

“Do you have another secret you are willing to tell me? Because we’re trading secrets now.” He said, confirming Mark’s initial thought. He didn’t have any secrets he’s willing to tell though and as far as he’s curious about the boy in front of him, he’s not ready yet to tell strangers about himself. “Don’t ask if you don’t want me to ask you something too.” He continued when Mark didn’t answer.

It’s a fair agreement so Mark easily agreed. “Alright,” He said, as he sat next to the boy. “But what are you doing up this late? Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping?” He asked instead.

The boy shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I can’t sleep and I can’t go outside since the incident in the park. So, the safest option is to come here.”

In the corner of his eyes, Mark could see the boy pouting and it made his whole body oddly relaxed. “Why do you like going out at night so much?” Mark asked.

“It’s quiet, used to at least in my old town. And it’s cold, I always love the night breeze especially if you’re walking on the beach. I like how it feels like the world belongs to me for a while.” Mark watched as the boy stared at the night, causing his eyes to open even wider. Mark couldn’t help but notice that the boy had thick eyelashes that framed his eyes beautifully. Even the sky above him couldn’t tear his gaze from the boy beside him. “It’s different here. It’s not eerily quiet like I wanted, the city is noisy and instead of a peaceful walk I got kidnapped instead.”

“But you still go out today,” Mark pointed out, despite how distracting the view beside him was. He kind of wants to pat himself on the back to still be able to keep up with the conversations. It’d be very awkward if the boy noticed how long Mark stared at him.

The boy once again shrugged. “Well, one failed kidnapping attempt won’t flatter me. Besides, it’s still nice to go out at night. Though, I prefer to walk on the road rather than on the roof floor.”

Something clicked in his head, something so risky but it’s there, budging him on the front of his mind. He knew that the moment he decided to become Spiderman, he couldn’t let himself befriend regular civilians. Sure, it’d be awesome if he can befriend other Superheroes, like his childhood idol Captain America— God, it’d be so awesome, but to have a friendly relationship with regular civilians is very risky. He didn’t even tell Jake about his intern job.

However… The boy clearly is not a regular civilian, is he? First, JARVIS knew right away when someone kidnapped him and he’s important enough for the AI to reach Karen for help. Second, the boy even lives in the same tower like the rest of Avengers.

Surely, whatever his relation with JARVIS or the Avengers, the boy is clever enough to know that Mark is very uptight about his identity.

Mark licked his suddenly dry lips before he asked, “Do you want me to walk with you?”

The boy turned around to face him, a sly grin plastered on his face. “So you can be my knight in shining armor if someone tries to kidnap me?” He asked with a teasing smile. It was the same smile Dash gave Mark when he’s being a dick, which means he does that everyday because he’s a dick every single day. However Mark liked the expression on the boy’s face. Something about it made him look so boyish, flirty, yet shy at the same time. It doesn’t even make sense in Mark’s head.

Mark mustered all of his scattered courage and responded, “No one is stupid enough to kidnap someone who walks with Spiderman.” He nearly let out a relieved breath as he could answer the boy without stuttering. He needs Jake to teach him how to properly flirt with someone. Wait, was he flirting? It was one of those times Mark thanked God and all other Almighty above that he was safely hidden behind a mask. He will be an embarrassment if he doesn’t wear any.

The boy coughed and said, “Well, you hear that JARVIS? I’m going out with my personal bodyguard. No need to start the protocol, right? I will be safe.” Mark’s eyes followed the boy as he stood and brushed his jeans, but Mark’s mind stopped.

His mind was buzzing with the realization but before he could even reach the conclusion, he heard JARVIS respond, “Please bring your glasses with you, Young Sir.”

Young Sir.

JARVIS always called Tony with Sir. If it means the boy is Young Sir… does it mean the boy has any relation with Tony? His mind whirl towards the first night he met the boy. The way JARVIS was frantic enough to reach Karen, the boy’s expensive attire, the same Mustang car Mark saw in Tony’s garage. Everything clicked in place. And Mark was terrified— he just discovered probably the biggest secret on earth and he didn’t know if he could trust himself to not spill it out to the world.

Tony Stark has a son and the son is standing beside him. Holy Mother of God.

“Well, do you want to go down by elevator like commoners or we swing down the road?” Only then Mark realized that he’s been staring, again. He knows that his mind is still not in the right place, he’s still stunned by the revelations, but he also knows that he promised the boy something. Moreover, the fact that he’s Tony Stark’s son makes him easier to trust. If he wants to be close with someone without worrying about his secret identity, the son of Superheros is close enough to the answer, right?

Mark glanced over his shoulder, down at the streets far below, then back at the boy, who stood patiently, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Ever tried flying?” Mark asked, a teasing edge to his voice.

The boy’s entire face lit up, excitement bursting forth like a child stepping into a candy store. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked, practically bouncing on his toes.

Mark grinned beneath his mask, even though he knew the boy couldn’t see it. “Depends. Do you want to find out?”

The boy didn’t need to be asked twice. He stepped forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms securely around Mark’s neck from behind. “Show me the world, Aladdin,” he quipped, his tone laced with mischief.

Mark snorted, his grin widening. “Sure thing, Jasmine.” With that, he leapt from the rooftop.

The boy’s squeal of delight turned into laughter as Mark swung them through the city. His legs instinctively tightened around Mark’s waist. “Oh my God!” he shouted, his voice filled with exhilaration. “This is incredible!” Mark couldn’t help the surge of pride that swelled in his chest.

Encouraged by the boy’s enthusiasm, he decided to show off a little. Launching higher than usual, Mark executed a few daring maneuvers—twisting mid-swing and leaping farther between buildings than he typically would. Each move drew peals of laughter from the boy behind him.

“Do you like it?” Mark called out, raising his voice over the rush of wind.

“Like it?!” the boy exclaimed, still laughing. “This is the best thing ever! Do that again!”

Grinning, Mark aimed for a taller building, scaling it quickly before hurling them into the air once more. Just before they could plunge toward the street below, he shot out another web and propelled them higher. The boy’s carefree laughter echoed in Mark’s ears, and he couldn’t help but think it was one of the best sounds he’d heard in a long time.

“Hey, look!” The boy tapped Mark’s shoulder, pointing toward a food stand below. “The hotdog place is still open. Can you drop me off there? I want one.”

“Sure,” Mark said, lowering them to the ground with ease.

The boy slid off his back and stretched before turning to Mark. “You want one too? Oh, wait—you can’t eat with that mask on, can you?”

Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “Nope. But go ahead, grab one for yourself.” The boy nodded and approached the stand, ordering with practiced ease.

The vendor shot them a curious look—unsurprising, considering how odd it must have been to see Spider-Man casually standing next to a civilian ordering a late-night hotdog. Still, he said nothing, handing over the food as the boy paid.

As they walked side by side down the quiet street, Mark noticed how the boy hummed softly between bites, clearly content. It was oddly endearing.

The boy suddenly turned to him, a curious glint in his eyes. “So…are you superhuman? Like Captain America?”

Mark shrugged. “Not exactly. I guess you could say I’m…enhanced. I heal faster than most, my reflexes are sharper, I’m flexible, and my metabolism’s ridiculously fast. But it’s not all perks. My body doesn’t stay warm in the cold, so I had to tweak my suit to help with that.”

“Like a real spider,” the boy mused, dabbing at a spot of sauce on his chin. “They’re cold-blooded, right? Can’t regulate their temperature.”

Mark nodded. “Exactly.”

The boy tilted his head, his curiosity deepening. “How did it happen?”

Mark let out a small sigh. “A spider bit me. No clue what kind it was, though. One day I was normal, the next…” He gestured vaguely at himself.

“Where were you?”

“Oscorp,” Mark said simply, his tone tinged with both annoyance and nostalgia.

The boy grimaced at the mention of the infamous corporation but didn’t dwell on it. His eyes drifted to Mark’s wrist. “So…does the web come from, like, your body?”

Mark shook his head quickly. “Nope. I built the web-shooters myself. The abilities are all me, but the webs? Pure engineering.” The boy nodded thoughtfully, as if mentally filing the information away.

They fell into a comfortable silence, their footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night. After a while, the boy looked up at Mark, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

Mark blinked, surprised. “For what?”

“For this. For tonight.” The boy’s voice was soft but steady. “I’ve missed this feeling so much. You’re literally a lifesaver.”

Out of habit, Mark rubbed the back of his head before he realized what he just did and hastily put his hands together on the back. “It’s fine, it’s nothing anyway. No one needs me tonight apparently, so, you know, I’m happy to help. You can call me again if you need company,” Mark forced his lips to shut as he realized that he’s rambling.

Fortunately, the boy only smiled even wider. “You are cute when you’re rambling like that.”

And if Mark’s heart stopped a little after the compliment, who’s to blame? He’s fully aware that his heart beat passed the normal rate and he’s forever grateful that Karen stayed silent through the conversation. Because one thing he still doesn’t want the boy to know is how his father helped him to build the suit.

“I don’t know if it’s a compliment or an insult,” Mark said instead and that made the boy snort.

Mark’s heart skipped a beat when the boy suddenly wrapped his arms around Mark’s neck from the side, forcing him to shift and wrap his right arm securely around the boy’s waist for support. Their bodies were pressed close, and Mark could feel the warmth radiating off him. “Come on, can you climb with one hand?” the boy challenged, tilting his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

Mark’s breath hitched. The boy’s face was so close, and he found himself teetering between a full-blown panic attack and a deep desire to rise to the challenge. Pride won. Tightening his grip around the boy’s waist, Mark pulled them even closer together. “What do I get if I prove that I can?” he asked, his voice lower than intended.

The boy blinked, clearly flustered. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and the sight sent a wave of satisfaction through Mark. At least he wasn’t the only one affected by their proximity. “You’ll be my second favorite superhero,” the boy replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Mark frowned dramatically. “Why not the first?”

“I’m sorry, Spiderling, but no one can beat the Hulk,” the boy teased, grinning.

Mark snorted, shaking his head. “Fair enough. Hold on tight.” Before the boy could respond, Mark began ascending the tower, one-handed. It was challenging, even for him, but the wide-eyed amazement on the boy’s face made it all worth it. When they finally reached the rooftop again, the boy slipped out of Mark’s grasp with a soft laugh. “Okay, that was impressive,” he admitted, his tone light but his smile genuine.

“Good to know I’ve earned second place,” Mark quipped. They exchanged goodbyes, and Mark waited until the boy disappeared safely into the tower. Only then did he begin climbing down the building, the adrenaline still coursing through him.

“Your heart rate has been elevated for hours, Mark,” Karen chimed in, her tone carefully neutral. “Are you okay?”

“Shut up. You know exactly what that means,” Mark muttered, heat rushing to his cheeks.

“My apologies, Mark. I just wanted to confirm without making any assumptions.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Don’t lie to me. You didn’t say a single thing while he was there, so obviously, you already know.”

Karen didn’t respond immediately, but Mark could practically hear the smugness in her silence. Instead, he spoke. “Did you know he’s Mr. Stark’s son before tonight? Did JARVIS tell you?”

“No, he didn’t tell me,” Karen replied.

“But you guessed.”

“The same way you did, Mark.” Mark sighed as he climbed through his bedroom window, closing it behind him.

“Do you think I should keep seeing him? He’s Mr. Stark’s son. What if Stark doesn’t want his kid hanging out with me?” His voice faltered, the usual confidence he carried as Spider-Man slipping away.

“I believe Mr. Stark would be fine with it, Mark. But I think the real question is about you. Do you think you can handle this?”

Mark hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to.”

“Then have it,” Karen replied softly.

Mark wished it were that simple.

Mark found himself wandering back to Manhattan the next night. It wasn't like he had nothing to do, because unlike last night, he actually has something to do tonight. He helped to prevent another store robbery which made him grunted in annoyance.

Seriously, he’d been patrolling for months now, and people still thought they could get away with this stuff? It was almost insulting. And they weren’t even trying harder, which meant Mark couldn’t use the features in his suit to level up his skills.

Still, even after all that, his feet led him back near Stark Tower. He perched on the roof of a nearby building, scanning the rooftop of the tower for a sign of movement. And when he finally spotted it, a flicker of movement under the faint glow of rooftop lights, Mark’s instincts took over.

Who’s to blame that Mark’ immediate response was to climb the tower?

“Hey, why are you still awake?” Mark asked as casually as he could, hopping over the railing to land smoothly. It was a fair question—it was already past one in the morning.

“Can’t sleep, sit with me?” The boy answered. He wears pajamas today, clearly doesn’t have a plan to go out unlike yesterday. “Or are you in the middle of patrolling?” He asked.

Mark hesitated for a split second, but obliged, settling beside him. Even with his thermoregulated suit, the chill of the night cut through, and the sight of the boy shivering in just his pajamas had Mark frowning. “I was patrolling,” Mark admitted, tugging at his mask idly. “Helped the cops catch a thief earlier. Just got around here.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. He’d come here on purpose—he just couldn’t admit that without sounding desperate or clingy.

“Am I bothering you, then?” the boy asked, tilting his head, his voice soft but earnest. “I mean, helping people is obviously more important than sitting here with me.”

The logical answer was yes, Mark should prioritize saving people over chatting with some boy he’d only met twice—no matter how pretty his brown eyes were, or how his lashes curled, or how his lips looked so—wait. No. Stop it, Mark. Inappropriate.

But there was a part of him that wanted to stay. To sit there, getting to know him. Fighting the heat rising in his cheeks, Mark shrugged, aiming for casual. “I’m resting now. I can stay for a few moments.” Hours, preferably, he thought.

The boy fiddled with the edge of his shirt, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he broke the silence, glancing up. “J, can you pull up a screen to show if anyone’s in urgent need of help?”

“Of course, Young Sir,” a polite voice answered.

“Thank you, J.”

“It’s my pleasure, Young Sir.”

Mark blinked under his mask, taken aback by the gesture. The boy had asked JARVIS to make sure Mark wouldn’t miss an emergency while sitting with him. It was thoughtful, and something about it made warmth bloom in Mark’s chest.

“You don’t have to do that,” Mark murmured.

The boy turned to face him, his cheeks faintly pink—likely from the cold, though it didn’t stop Mark’s heart from skipping a beat. “But you still want to help people, right?”

Mark nodded. “I do. But I can still give you company. I told you—I’m resting.”

“But now you can help people and rest here with me,” the boy countered with a small, shy smile.

Mark sighed, though his lips quirked into a smile of their own. “Fine. Thanks, though.”

The boy shook his head and turned his face away, “No problem.”

Silence fell between them, but it wasn’t awkward. It felt comfortable, easy. Still, Mark couldn’t help noticing the way the boy hunched his shoulders when a particularly cold breeze swept by. “Aren’t you cold?” Mark asked finally.

“A little,” the boy admitted, though his teeth threatened to chatter.

“Go grab a blanket,” Mark urged. “A thick one.”

The boy hesitated, biting his lip. “Will you stay here?”

It was such an innocent question, but the way he looked at Mark—with those wide, hopeful eyes, his body curling in on itself as though to shield from the wind—made Mark’s breath catch. He had to take a moment to steady himself before answering.

“Of course. I’ll be here,” Mark assured him softly.

The boy smiled then, a gentle, genuine smile that made Mark feel like his chest was too tight. Without another word, he disappeared inside, only to return minutes later with a fluffy white blanket.

“I know your suit’s thermoregulated,” he said, unfolding the blanket as he sat back down. “But you’re still cold-blooded, right? Bet you could use the extra warmth.”

Before Mark could respond, the boy draped the blanket over both their shoulders, pulling them close—shoulders, hips, and legs pressed together.

Mark’s hands stayed firmly on his thighs, every muscle in his body tensing as he tried to keep himself in check. God forbid his hands wander or do anything stupidly inappropriate.

“If I didn’t know better,” Mark started, aiming for humor, “I’d think you’re just using me for the heat from my suit.”

The boy gasped dramatically, eyes wide with mock betrayal. “Oh no, you’ve uncovered my evil master plan!”

Mark snorted, grinning. “You’re not great at being evil, you know.”

“What can I say? My dad always told me I’m a little angel.”

The terrifying part was, Mark found himself agreeing.

He was so, utterly, and completely, fucked.

Patrolling was always fun for Mark. It wasn’t just a duty—it was something he genuinely enjoyed. This was what he wanted to do, to help people and be useful. Even if his actions weren’t monumental, they still made a difference, and that was enough for him. He wanted to make the world a little better, one step at a time.

But what made patrolling even better lately was the fact that someone was waiting for him. On the rooftop of Stark Tower.

Every time Mark climbed up to the tower, the boy was already there, sitting on the bench as if he’d been waiting, too. It made something inside Mark flutter, warm and hopeful in a way he didn’t entirely understand—but he wasn’t complaining.

“I brought you something,” Mark said as he joined the boy on the bench, holding back a grin.

The boy blinked, tilting his head in confusion. “What?”

“I noticed your Hulk slip-ons,” Mark began, trying to sound casual. “And you said if I could climb the tower with one hand, I’d be your second favorite hero, right? So...” He pulled something from behind his back with a dramatic flourish.

It was a pair of Spiderman slip-ons. Bright red, with his mask plastered across the front in an almost cartoonish design. The kind of thing a kid might pick up at a department store. Definitely not the most mature choice for a teenager, but Mark couldn’t resist the idea of the boy wearing them.

The boy took one look at the slip-ons and snorted, biting back a laugh. “Are you seriously trying to bribe me into buying more Spiderman merch?” he teased, though he was already taking off his Hulk slip-ons.

Mark watched, a smile tugging at his lips, as the boy slid on the new pair without hesitation. “Is it working?” he asked cheekily.

“Not really,” the boy shot back with a smirk, wiggling his toes in the new shoes. “But your effort is cute.”

“Hey, at least I can say I tried,” Mark quipped, shrugging his shoulders.

For a moment, the boy went quiet, his gaze fixed on the slip-ons. Mark studied him curiously, the way his expression softened slightly as if he was lost in thought. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “You know, my favorite color is, ironically, red.”

Mark tilted his head. “I didn’t know that.” And he hadn’t. Though now that he thought about it, the irony made sense. Red was a dominant color in his father’s iconic suit, and maybe the preference had been inherited—or influenced.

The boy turned his head toward Mark, giving him a gentle, almost fond smile. “Well, now you know.”

Mark’s breath caught for a second, and he quickly cleared his throat to steady himself. “Lucky for me, Spiderman merch happens to be mostly red,” he said lightly, hoping it masked the sudden warmth creeping up his neck.

That fond smile morphed into a teasing one, and suddenly, Mark was regretting his choice of words. “Why, Spiderling,” the boy said, his tone playful, “if anyone heard you say that, they might think you want me to wear something of yours.”

Mark’s heart stuttered, and his brain short-circuited. He could feel the heat radiating off his cheeks and ears even through the layers of his mask. Thank God for the mask—without it, he’d be mortified.

“I, uh...” he stammered before quickly recovering. “I’m pretty sure we’re not trading secrets right this second.” His voice carried a teasing edge, even as his chest threatened to explode from how much he was not panicking.

The boy laughed, soft and unguarded, and Mark couldn’t help but notice how his own cheeks flushed faintly pink. It was a beautiful shade that somehow made Mark’s stomach flip.

Totally worth it.

The next time Mark swung by the tower, the boy was already there, bundled up in a big fluffy blanket that dwarfed his frame. Two mugs of something steaming sat on the small table in front of him, and the sight immediately warmed Mark in a way that had nothing to do with the drinks.

“Cold night?” Mark asked as he settled on the bench beside him.

The boy nodded, his lower lip jutting out in a tiny pout. “Yeah. I almost gave up and just went inside.”

Mark instinctively scooted closer, his movements automatic, but he stopped himself from wrapping an arm around the boy like his body wanted to. “Do you want to go inside now?” he asked tentatively.

The boy whipped his head toward Mark, glaring at him like he’d just suggested the most offensive thing imaginable. “Really? I’ve been out here freezing my ass off, waiting for you, and the second you get here, you tell me to go inside?”

For some reason, the words sent a strange flutter through Mark’s chest. His heart sped up, and he realized he was grinning like an idiot.

“What?” The boy pouted again, his brows knitting together as he stared at Mark in confusion.

The sight snapped Mark out of his daze, and he quickly shook his head. “Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that. Stay. Please stay. I mean, if you want to.” He winced at how desperate he sounded but couldn’t help it.

“Why do you think I grabbed blankets and made hot chocolate, you silly?” The boy muttered under his breath, and Mark barely caught it.

That made his grin widen even more as he scooted closer, this time until their shoulders and thighs pressed together. It was almost natural now, how easily he gravitated toward him.

They sat like that for a while, chatting easily. The boy excitedly told Mark about the newest Star Wars figures he’d bought, his hands animated as he described the details. Mark found himself matching that enthusiasm, sharing his own love for the franchise with wide eyes and exaggerated gestures.

It felt good—easy, natural. Until the boy suddenly tilted his head and asked, “What’s your background story?”

Mark blinked, caught off guard by the question. He was still processing when the boy clarified, “You know, every superhero has their big turning point. The thing that makes them decide to become a hero. So, what’s yours?”

The words hit Mark like a punch to the gut. His entire body stiffened as the memories came rushing back, unbidden and unwelcome, the one he is desperately trying to bury all this time. The smell of blood filled his nose, vivid and metallic. He could feel the wet stickiness on his hands, the way it had seeped between his fingers as he pressed desperately against a gunshot wound.

He heard the sirens in the distance, faint but growing louder, far too late to make a difference. And then, worst of all, he heard Uncle Ben’s voice. Whispering to him in his last breath, “I’m sorry.” like it was his fault. It was Mark’s and everyone knew that.

Mark sucked in a shuddering breath, forcing himself to push the memories down as he clenched his fingers tightly into fists. He was painfully aware of the boy beside him, still waiting for an answer.

“I... I didn’t save someone when I could have,” Mark finally said, his voice low and strained. “I had to watch him die. I don’t want to feel that way ever again.”

He shut his eyes tightly, his chest aching as he tried to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said softly. Just two words, but they carried so much weight.

Ironically, the same two words his uncle ever said to him but this time, it was nice. They weren’t goodbyes like Uncle Ben’s had been. They weren’t filled with regret or finality. This time, they felt like comfort, like someone telling him he wasn’t alone anymore.

Mark nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. He turned his head toward the boy, managing a weak, “It’s okay.”

The boy’s expression was unreadable, his eyes deep and searching. Then, without a word, he reached out and gently placed his hand on Mark’s head. His fingers threaded through the fabric of the mask, moving in slow, soothing strokes.

“You’re doing good, Spiderling,” the boy said softly. “They’d be proud of you. I know they would.”

Something in Mark cracked at that. His throat tightened, and the burn behind his eyes grew harder to ignore. He wasn’t used to this, to being seen and understood like this.

“Spiderman,” he managed to choke out, his voice barely a whisper. It was all he could say without completely falling apart.

The boy smirked, his hand still gently ruffling Mark’s mask. “I can call you whatever I want, Black Widow wannabe. Now shut up and let me pet you like the good little puppy you are.”

Mark snorted at that, the sharp sound pulling him back to the present. Just like that, the memories receded, the storm of emotions inside him settling into something calmer, lighter.

And for the first time in a long time, Mark felt like he was okay.

Mark didn’t expect the scene that greeted him the next time he arrived on the rooftop. Instead of the usual bench, there were two bean bags spread out under the open sky, a small table set between them, piled high with snacks.

“My ass is starting to hurt from sitting on that hard bench,” the boy explained as he flopped onto one of the bean bags with exaggerated drama. “You don’t mind, right?”

Mark laughed, shaking his head at the ridiculous excuse. It was so like him—casually charming and completely endearing. “Nope, I get it,” Mark said as he plopped onto the other bean bag. “Gotta take care of those old bones, huh?”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me? You’re the older one here.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t the one complaining about a hard bench.” Mark smirked.

“You’re a dick.”

“Rude.”

They both fell into a comfortable silence after their playful bickering. Mark sank deeper into the bean bag, relaxing as the chill of the night air faded into the background. Then, out of nowhere, the boy spoke again.

“You know my last name, right?” he asked, his tone casual, but Mark immediately tensed.

It wasn’t a question Mark had wanted to answer—not yet. But it was inevitable, wasn’t it? He always knew this moment would come.

The truth was, Mark had figured it out long ago. The clues weren’t exactly subtle: the way JARVIS seemed overly protective, the designer clothes, the sleek cars, and most of all, the boy’s undeniable connection to the Avengers’ inner circle. The pieces all pointed to the same conclusion.

“I guessed,” Mark finally admitted, his voice quieter now.

The boy didn’t say anything right away, and for a moment, Mark thought he might have dodged the conversation entirely. But then the boy tilted his head, his brown eyes soft but searching. “Do I get to know yours? At least your last name?”

Mark froze, the weight of the question pressing down on him like a ton of bricks. He didn’t have an answer. Or maybe he had one—he just wasn’t ready to give it.

The truth was, being Spider-Man felt safe. It was a persona he could hide behind, a cocoon where he felt confident, useful, and strong. But Mark Lee? What could he offer as himself? What if he wasn’t interesting enough? What if, without the mask, he was just... boring?

And then there were the other worries—the ones that gnawed at him in the quiet moments. What if the boy’s father didn’t approve? Tony Stark had given him the suit, sure, but would he really be okay with someone like Mark being close to his son? Tony trusted him as Spider-Man, but as Mark Lee? As a person?

Mark’s chest tightened as his insecurities threatened to drown him. He was barely past the beginner level when it came to being a superhero—what right did he have to think he was good enough to be someone’s friend? To be someone important to him?

The spiral of his thoughts was abruptly cut off by a shriek. Both of them turned to one of the screens JARVIS had pulled up, where chaos was unfolding.

Mark shot to his feet instinctively, his body already in motion, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He stepped toward the edge of the rooftop, ready to leap into action, when he remembered.

He hadn’t answered the boy’s question.

Mark hesitated, turning back for a brief second. He swallowed hard, his gaze glued to the ground as he muttered, “I’m sorry.”

And then, before the boy could respond, Mark jumped.

Mark didn’t go back to the tower for three days. Each day felt worse than the last. He knew he was being an idiot—and probably an asshole too. The thought that he might have hurt the boy’s feelings made his stomach churn, but fear was paralyzing him.

His guilt consumed him, so much so that even his English teacher noticed. “Mark, if you’d kindly stop daydreaming and rejoin the rest of us here in reality,” she snapped after catching him zoning out for the second time that day.

By lunchtime, Mark wasn’t faring any better. He sat in the cafeteria, poking half-heartedly at his food. Across the table, Jake studied him with raised eyebrows, finally jabbing his elbow into Mark’s ribs.

“Alright, spill it,” Jake said. “Who killed your puppy? You look like you’ve been rejected from ‘America’s Got Talent’ five times in a row.”

Mark shook his head, keeping his gaze fixed on his plate. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, shoving a piece of lettuce around like it had wronged him.

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Jake scoffed. “You can’t sit there looking like someone stole your fries and expect me to buy that ‘nothing’ crap. Three days, Mark. You’ve been moping for three days straight. That’s long enough for even you to be out of drama points.”

Mark sighed and set down his fork. “I’ve just... been making new friends,” he admitted slowly.

Jake’s eyes lit up like Mark had just handed him a juicy slice of gossip pie. “Oh, really? Friends? Tell me more.”

Mark squirmed under his best friend’s intense gaze. “He’s, uh... he’s cool. I like talking to him. He’s fun.”

“And?” Jake prodded.

Mark winced, his shoulders slumping. “And I messed up. Big time.”

“What’d you do? Accidentally insult his grandma? Spill ketchup on his shoes? Snore during a movie night?”

Mark let out a humorless laugh. “I... didn’t tell him something. Something big. He asked, and I just... clammed up.”

Jake frowned, leaning forward. “Is this something you wanna tell him eventually? Or is it, like, super top secret, buried-with-you-in-the-grave kind of stuff?”

Mark hesitated, thinking back on the past few days of guilt and self-reflection. Deep down, he wanted the boy to know. He wanted to be honest, to be himself. But the idea terrified him.

“I do,” Mark admitted quietly. “I want to tell him. Just... not yet. I’m not ready.”

Jake nodded like a wise sage—if wise sages ate fries while dispensing advice. “Then just tell him that,” he said simply.

Mark blinked. “What?”

“Tell him you’re not ready. Let him know you want to tell him someday, but you need time. If he’s a decent human being, he’ll understand. If he doesn’t... well, maybe he’s not as cool as you think.”

“That’s not an option,” Mark said, groaning.

Jake’s grin stretched wide, devilish and smug. “Oh, he’s not just a friend, is he?” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Mark’s face turned scarlet as he stuffed a giant forkful of food into his mouth. “Shut up,” he muttered through a mouthful of chicken.

Jake laughed, nudging Mark’s arm. “C’mon, you can’t hide it from me. Who’s this lucky guy? Give me a name!”

“Shut. Up. Jake.”

Jake leaned in closer, undeterred. “I’m your best friend, Mark. We share secrets! Dreams! Snacks! You can’t leave me hanging like this.”

“I’m revoking your best friend privileges,” Mark deadpanned.

“No, you’re not. You love me.”

“I regret it every day.”

Jake snickered, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Fine, fine. At least tell me his last name?”

Mark froze for a split second, immediately imagining Jake fainting on the spot if he said the word Stark. He could already hear Jake screeching about how Mark was dating the Tony Stark. Mark cringed at the very idea—both of the misunderstanding and, ew, thinking about Tony like that. Perish the thought.

“Nope,” Mark said, shaking his head decisively.

Jake whined like a kid being denied candy. “What? Come on! Give me something. I won’t tell anyone—I swear on all the fries in the world.”

Mark couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in his chest easing just a little. Jake always had that effect on him, pestering and teasing until Mark couldn’t help but feel a little lighter.

Still, he couldn’t wait for the day he’d get to tell Jake the truth. Oh, how satisfying it would be to watch Jake’s face when he dropped the bomb: He’s Tony Stark’s son.

Ha. Take that, Jake. You might have a poster of Tony on your wall, but I’m the one who got the son.

The smug thought was short-lived, though, as a new, horrifying realization struck him hours later.

He wanted to date the boy.

Holy Mother of God, he was in so much trouble.

For another three days, Mark freaked out.

His thoughts swirled with confusion and self-doubt, emotions he rarely let himself dwell on. Sure, his GPA would call him smart, but when it came to feelings? Mark was utterly clueless, a product of an emotionally stunted household. Aunt May loved him, he knew that much, but after Uncle Ben’s death, love had turned quiet—too quiet.

Facing the truth about his feelings for the boy was terrifying. Wanting to be friends with him was one thing, but romance? That was a whole new level of vulnerability. The what-ifs began to claw at him. What if the boy didn’t feel the same way? What if he wanted to stay just friends? Mark told himself that would be fine, but could he really handle seeing him fall into someone else’s arms?

Questions gnawed at his peace of mind, making him restless. Could he bury his feelings forever? Could he stay close without letting his emotions spill out? The idea seemed impossible. And yet, the alternative—telling him—seemed equally daunting.

Patrolling didn’t offer the usual escape. His web-slinging moves felt sluggish, his mind elsewhere. The city blurred beneath him, but his thoughts stayed sharp and relentless.

“Mark, to your left!” Karen’s voice snapped him back, too late.

Pain exploded in his leg, sharp and unrelenting. “Fuck!” Mark hissed, scrambling to hide behind a rooftop vent. Blood was already soaking into the fabric of his suit.

“A gunshot,” Karen stated, her tone clipped. “They spotted you. This happened because you weren’t paying attention.”

Mark winced. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ve just… had a lot on my mind.”

Karen’s lack of emotion somehow made her disappointment sting more. “Then clear your head, Mark. Your distraction put you in danger—and you’re lucky it’s only your leg.”

Groaning, he pushed himself upright. Pain radiated through him as he moved, but he couldn’t just sit there. “I’ll handle it later,” he muttered. “What’s happening now?”

“They’re trying to rob a bank. But I’ve already alerted the authorities,” Karen replied.

With a shaky breath, Mark jumped back into action, ignoring the agony in his leg.

It was an hour later until everything had been handled. A few people were injured but nothing worse than his own wound. “ You need to check up on the wound, Mark. ” Karen said. 

Mark winced and scrunch his nose as he could feel his whole legs sore and stiff. “Later, I— I need to find my bag first.” He said as he climbed again to the rooftop he'd been sitting on before the whole disaster. “Are you still mad at me?” Mark asked. 

He swore that he could hear a sigh coming from her but it's impossible. “ No. I’m not mad at you, Mark. But it’d be better for you to not get distracted on the battlefield. ” She answered. 

“I know, I just have a lot of things going on.” 

“ Then take care of it, Mark. Meet him, I know you miss him. ” 

Mark hunched his shoulders as he stared at his own two hands. “I do.” He whispered. 

“ Then go, apologize and say that to him. ” 

Mark bites his lower lips as he contemplates the suggestion. His eyes wandered to his wound and he suddenly had an urge to meet him. He has a very dangerous life. He’s constantly in danger, hell, he’s constantly seeking dangers. What if the gunshot was directed toward his head and he died? Before even saying what he’s thinking to the people whose matters for him? What if he left the world without taking the chance to apologize? He would just leave people in pain. And they don’t deserve it. 

“You are right, Karen.” He said before he quickly jumped from one building to another building leading him to the Stark Tower. 

“ I mean after you mend your wound, Mark! ” Mark ignored her and laughed when Karen kept reminding him of the danger of blood loss. 

It was a pain in the ass to climb a really tall building with a bullet still stuck on his leg. However, Mark managed to get on top of the building, panting hard. He saw the boy sitting on the chair with sleepy eyes. Mark couldn’t help but smile knowing that even after everything, the boy still waited for him.

Scaling the Stark Tower wasn’t his brightest idea—especially with a bullet lodged in his leg. But somehow, Mark made it. The boy was there, sitting under the open sky, blinking sleepily. Mark’s heart clenched at the sight.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice softer than he intended. The boy looked up, eyes widening at the sight of him.

“Is that a gunshot?” The boy was on his feet in an instant, closing the distance between them. His concern was palpable, and Mark felt the strangest mix of guilt and warmth.

Before he could explain, the boy grabbed his arm, steadying him. “What the hell are you doing here? You need a hospital, not a rooftop!” He turned toward the AI. “JARVIS, get the first aid kit. Now!”

“I’m fine,” Mark tried to argue, but his balance wavered, and the boy’s hands tightened around him.

“You’re not fine,” he snapped, guiding Mark to sit. As he crouched down, inspecting the wound, Mark found himself staring. Thick lashes framed his hazel eyes, his lips were set in a firm line, and his touch was impossibly gentle.

It took him a few moments before he realized the reasons for his presence tonight. He needs to apologize and he needs to tell him the truth. Not the whole truth because it’s still scary, but he deserves much better from him. He doesn’t deserve this. Mark took a deep breath before he said, “I really really want to say sorry. I hurt you and I need you to know that I didn’t mean it like that. I just freaked out. It’s okay if you can’t forgive me, though. I understand.” The last sentence sounded more strained than he would like to, but it doesn’t matter. Mark needs the boy to know that he’s not obligated to accept him if he doesn’t wish so.

“You’re an idiot,” the boy muttered under his breath, snapping Mark out of his daze.

“Probably,” Mark admitted with a weak laugh. “But I had to come. I couldn’t leave things the way they were. I’m sorry—for everything.”

The boy froze, his eyes darting to Mark’s face. “You think an apology is worth bleeding out for?”

“Well… yeah?” Mark said with a sheepish grin.

After that, the boy became more annoyed and Mark’s heart sank at the sight. But it only lasted until he noticed the red forming on the boy’s ears and cheeks. “Keep your mouth shut, Spiderling. Or I will toss you out of this roof.” He grumbled, but Mark smiled because of it. 

“Sir, yes, sir.” He said, feeling an immense relief washing through his lungs. 

Mark couldn’t help but notice how gentle the boy’s touch is. Both him and the boy know that he’s not breakable, but it doesn’t stop him from tending his wound so gently that Mark could feel a flutter forming in his stomach again. “I’m starting to think that you purposely came by tonight because you know that I can’t be mad at you if you’re bleeding,” The boy said as he finished the bandage around his leg. 

“One of the reasons,” Mark teased him and the boy glared at him. It was adorable that his fingers twitched to caress his cheeks. He managed to hold it still though. “The biggest reason though, I would regret it if I died and still left you to think that I don’t like you. Because I do, I do like you. I do like talking to you, I do like hanging out with you. I just—” Mark stopped to wet his lips before continuing, “ I’m just not ready, yet. I’m sorry.”

Mark continued to chew on his lips as he watched the boy look down on the floor and stayed still for a few minutes. “Okay,” The boy finally said after an excruciating silence between them. It felt like eternity for Mark. 

“Okay?” Mark asked, grimaced at the hope in his voice. He didn’t want to sound pathetic. 

The boy nodded and lifted up his head to stare at him and Mark couldn’t help but silently admired the hazel eyes. “Okay, take your time. I can wait,” He said and Mark wished that he’s brave enough to take off his mask so he can show him how happy he is. 

“Thank you,” Mark said, painfully aware of the silence stretched between them. “I promise you I will tell you, just— just not now.” 

The boy didn’t say anything when he got up from his position to sit down beside him. “It’s not because you don’t trust me right? I just need to know that.” He said and Mark hated how he sounded so small. Mark hated himself even more that he made the boy feel that way. 

“No! No, oh God, is that what you’ve been thinking all this time? I’m such an asshole, aren’t I?” Mark huffed out a breath and winced in pain as he accidentally stomped his injured leg. “It’s me, it’s all in me. I trust you won’t ditch my identity to anyone, heck, out of all people you are the safest option considering… your relations. It’s just me, I don’t— I’m not ready. Spiderman became a very comfortable cocoon for me and it’s hard to peel it off? If that makes sense, I just, I need time. That’s all. It’s not you, I want to clarify that.” Mark finished, not quite meeting the boy’s eyes as he chose to stare at his hands instead. 

“Okay,” The boy said and Mark let out a relieved breath as he could hear the softness in the boy’s voice again. “I’m sorry if I push you too far, but I understand. As I said before, I can wait. Take your time.” He said. 

This time, Mark couldn’t help but turn his head to meet the boy’s eyes which were already waiting for him. A small smile formed and his face and Mark’s tense shoulders relaxed. His whole body itched to scoot closer and wrap him in a tight hug but Mark doesn’t think that he’s ready for that type of intimacy yet. “Thank you and I’m sorry too,” He said quietly. 

“No problem. So, tell me who’s bullet that was? Do I have to tell the whole Avengers to kick someone’s ass?” 

Mark recited the event as best as he could and he tried his best to assure the boy not to report it as Avengers’ business. The boy muttered under his breath when Mark explained how he climbed the roof without mending the wound first but Mark could only smile at that. He likes that the boy worries for him. If that doesn’t make him feel like an asshole Mark probably will do more of the stunts just to see the same reactions. 

That night, Mark slept very comfortably despite the injured leg.

The next day felt like a continuation of the happiness Mark had experienced the night before. He practically bounced on his way to class, his unusually upbeat demeanor catching the attention of those around him. Jake, in particular, gave him a perplexed look as they stopped at their lockers to grab books. “So, I’m guessing you talked to that friend of yours again?” Jake asked, skepticism and amusement evident in his tone.

A shy grin spread across Mark’s face as he nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we did. It was… amazing.” His voice dipped into a soft, almost dreamy tone.

Jake raised an eyebrow and nudged Mark’s shoulder playfully. “Good for you, dude. Let me guess—they know you’re into them? And don’t even try to deny it; it’s all over your face.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” Mark muttered, cheeks warming under Jake’s teasing gaze. “No, they don’t know yet. But… I’ll tell him. Eventually.” His hands fiddled with the edge of his textbook, betraying his nervous excitement.

Before Jake could respond, a familiar voice interrupted from behind. “So, Markie, finally find someone desperate enough to date you? I bet she’s as dull and lifeless as you are,” Dash sneered, his tone dripping with mockery.

Mark didn’t even have the chance to reply before Jake slammed his locker shut with a bang that echoed through the hall. “Piss off, Dash,” Jake growled, his eyes narrowing. “You’re like human noise pollution. Every time you open your mouth, somewhere, a dolphin cries.”

“I wasn’t talking to you, prick,” Dash snapped, glaring back at him.

Mark sighed, recognizing the familiar tension in the air. He placed a hand firmly on Jake’s arm, holding him back before things escalated further. “It’s fine, Jake. Let it go,” Mark said quietly before turning his gaze toward Dash, his tone far more composed than he felt. “And you,” he added, addressing the other boy with a calmness that was almost unnerving. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were jealous.”

Dash blinked, momentarily thrown off balance, and Mark couldn’t help but enjoy the rare sight of the boy caught off guard. “Sorry to disappoint you, but you’re not my type nor other people’s type, it seems.” Mark said with a smirk, his words smooth and deliberate. “May I suggest to be less of a dick so you’ll finally get laid?

Without waiting for a response, Mark grabbed Jake by the arm and steered him away, leaving Dash gaping like a fish.

Just before they rounded the corner, Mark turned back and shouted over his shoulder, “Oh, and for the record, it’s a he, not a she!”

Jake stared at Mark in disbelief as they walked down the quieter corridor. “Wait a minute… Did you just come out in the middle of the school hallway?” he asked, his expression a mix of astonishment and amusement.

Mark ducked his head, his cheeks burning as he stammered, “It wasn’t intentional! It just… felt like the right thing to say.”

Jake let out a low whistle. “Congratulations. You’ve just guaranteed yourself a feature on the front page of this month’s school gossip column.”

“Totally worth it,” Mark replied without hesitation, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“You’re such a sap,” Jake said, shaking his head. “And, just to be clear, he’s not even your boyfriend yet.”

Mark puffed up his chest and retorted with an exaggerated level of confidence, “Key word: yet.”

Jake snorted. “Keep telling your delusional-self that, man.”

Mark pouted at the teasing, but his grin refused to fade.

That night, Mark came to the tower carrying his backpack. Aunt May started to lose her mind every time Mark forgot to retrieve his backpack and ended up asking for a new one every week, so it is probably the safest choice for him to carry it everywhere unless he’s in action at least. 

Unlike his other nights, the moment he arrived at the rooftop, he couldn’t spot the boy at all. But his enhanced hearing could hear a beautiful violin melody coming from inside the building. JARVIS oddly didn’t soundproof it this time. “ Good evening, Spider-Man. Would you want me to fetch Young Sir? ” Mark heard the familiar embodied voice of JARVIS as he walked closer to hear the sound better. It was so beautiful that it took him a while to realize that JARVIS had been asking him something. 

“Oh yeah, yeah, please, if you can? But if he’s busy, I’m fine to wait too.” Mark answered. 

“ No problem, Spider-Man. Young Sir specifically told me to and I quote ‘Disturb me if the Spiderling came’. ” JARVIS said and Mark smiled at the answer. 

“Oh cool, please then JARVIS.” 

“ Young Sir is on his way. ”

“Thank you, JARVIS.”

“ My pleasure, Spider-Man. ”

It was a few minutes after when the boy came out of the building with a violin in his hand while he greeted Mark with a smile. “Hey, you came early tonight. I was practicing before you came.” He said as he sat on the beanbag chair next to Mark. 

Mark forced himself to relax as he could feel the blush forming on his cheeks. Was it that early? Mark didn’t notice, the only constant thing in his mind was just to get the tower as quickly as possible. “Uh yeah, early night that’s all.” Mark hastily answered before coughing and covered it with a horrible effort to shift the topic, “It was really beautiful but it’s not familiar to me. Was it classical music?” 

The boy looked shocked at Mark, “You can hear that?” 

“Yeah, enhanced hearing, remember?” 

“Oh, yeah.” The boy nervously fiddled with the string of his violin. “Did you really like it?” He asked, voice small and eyes not quietly meeting Mark’s. It looks like the boy is shy for some reasons that Mark desperately wants to know. 

Mark nodded firmly, “Yeah. It sounded rich and beautiful, I felt like I was in an opera theater or something. I was distracted for a moment when I heard that. I didn’t know you played.” 

“Thanks,” The boy quietly said as he put down his violin and the string on the table. “I played a lot of instruments, and have been interested in them since I was a kid. My Dad is really supportive about it, hiring me instructors for all the instruments I wanted to learn. What you heard before, it was Amy Beach. One of my favorites.” The boy finished with a small smile and Mark couldn’t help but lean towards it. 

He cocked his head to the side, fully aware that he’s closing the distance between them with his gesture. “Yeah? Is violin your favorite instrument? How many can you play? I can play guitar, electric and acoustic. If you want, we can duet together sometimes. And it’s beautiful what you did before, really. I wanted to record and save it on my phone if you let me.” 

“Too many questions at once, Spandex guy.” The boy grinned but Mark noticed that his cheeks were red. “I don’t know what my favorite instrument is because I like them the same amount. I can play piano, guitar both electric and acoustic too, violin, drum, and flute. I can play bass a little bit I guess. If you can play guitar, maybe I can sing instead? Uh,” He paused to lick his lower lips and Mark’s gaze couldn’t help but follow it. “Sure, I can play it again for you to record.” 

Mark’s face beamed but because he couldn't show it to the boy directly, he spread the joyful feelings to his body language instead. “Really? Will you really play again for me?” He asked, hands already moving on its own command to grab his phone inside his backpack. 

The boy chuckles and softly shakes his head. “Yeah, Spidey. Go on, press the record.”

With permission, Mark quickly grabbed the phone from his backpack and opened the recording app when the boy suddenly asked, “Who is that?” It seemed like the boy didn’t mean to say it out loud because the boy quickly added, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pester your life.”  He ducked his head and made his hands busy fiddling with the violin in his hand. 

Mark closed the recording app and showed the boy his wallpaper in his phone, “This? This is Uncle Ben.” Mark gulped down all the emotions in his throat before continuing, “The reason why Spiderman existed.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry,” The boy softly said and Mark forced himself to stare at those hazel eyes to make his breathing calmer. 

“It’s fine. I like to stare at his photo when I miss him sometimes,” Mark shrugged, hoping that he appears nonchalant about it despite the pain still clawing his inside every time he looks at the picture. He opened the recording app again and turned around, “I’m ready when you’re ready.” 

Bless the boy because he understood that Mark was trying to disperse the conversation. He immediately in his position to play then give Mark a little nod as a sign. When Mark pressed play, the boy started to play and it was so mesmerizing that Mark felt so bad for hearing it for free. He felt like he should pay. He felt like the boy needed to play in a very expensive theater, not that his family couldn't afford it, Mr. Stark is more than able to afford renting a fancy theater, so it is probably because the boy didn’t like public attention or just liked to play for himself. 

When he finishes, Mark is fully aware that his mouth can’t stop gaping and eyes staring fondly at the boy. It was only fortunate that he was hidden behind the suit because it’d be so embarrassing for him. “Beautiful,” Mark couldn’t close his mouth shut though, because that’s literally the first word that came out of his mouth when the boy put down his violin. 

Also, he’s glad that at least he can make an excuse for the violin sound being beautiful rather than the boy himself. “Your violin, I mean, no I mean the sound, the voice. I mean, you played beautifully, it was— it was beautiful, the music.” Mark had to pinch his thighs to stop himself from rambling but he felt better when he saw a shy smile on the boy’s face. 

“Thanks. I’m glad you enjoy the music. Not all people love those types of music, not even my Dad.” He snorted and Mark was aware of that. Mr. Stark, for all he knew, really liked metal bands. If the constant AC/DC blasting the workshop whenever Mark visited wasn’t proving enough, Mark didn’t know what else. He couldn’t say that he knows though because as far as the boy knows, he’s just a random vigilante that is no way near Avengers type of level.

“I love it, it’s calming for some reasons.” Mark said, “Do you have any recommendations for me? I’d like to explore classic music, similar to what you just played maybe?” 

The boy was taken aback for a while then he nodded, “Sure. I can give you the link to my playlist if you want?”

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“JARVIS, can you put the barcode so Spidery can scan it?” The boy asked. 

“ Of course, Young Sir. ” 

Mark cocked his eyebrows at the new nickname, “Spidery?” He teased him. 

“Well, what else am I supposed to call you? Spiderman and Spiderling starting to become mouthful. Spidey is lame. And Black Widow Wannabe is just too long. You just need to deal with it until I find a better one. Or do you prefer Spandex guy?” 

Mark scanned the barcode JARVIS showed him before he answered, “It sounds like I’m an old pervert guy that wears very tight pants in a park filled with children.” 

“That’s oddly specific, but okay, point. Spidery it is.” 

“It sounds like I’m hairy, which I’m not.” 

“Why are you complaining so much? It's just a nickname.”

“You make stupid nicknames.” 

That makes the boy roll his eyes and scowl at him. “Fine, Webhead.” 

“The webs are technically coming out of my hands, not my head.” 

The boy scowled at him and Mark couldn’t help but snort at the sight. “You’re a dick. I will just call you Webdick. How about that? Or Spider-Ass. That works too.” 

Despite the insults, Mark is grinning so widely his cheeks hurts. “I like that and I can’t even explain why.” 

“You are a very weird guy, Webhead.” But the boy is smiling too and if Mark closes his eyes, he can pretend that the boy genuinely likes him like that. Like how he likes the boy too.

And if the next day Aunt May looks at him weirdly because he blasts classical music in his room, Mark only smiles at her as an answer. And if there’s a like in the playlist from an anonymous account, and that said anonymous account has been replaying the same playlist for a whole day, Mark doesn’t have anything to excuse his actions.

The next time Mark arrived at the rooftop, there was a screen projector, two bean bags, a small table filled with two mugs and snacks. “What is this all about?” Mark asked, placing his backpack on the ground next to the bean bag before sitting on top of it. 

“I want to watch a movie with you, if you don’t mind? I’m sorry I didn’t ask before, it kind of slipped my mind.” The boy said. 

Mark noticed that despite the projector, beside it were much smaller screens showing CCTV footage JARVIS could get incase there’s someone needed his help. Mark nodded and sank further to the chair, “Sure. What are we watching by the way?” 

The boy seemed hesitant and Mark had a sudden urge to comfort him but he succeeded in staying put. “It’s a very controversial movie actually, but I’m curious. The movie called Split, it said it was about dissociative identity disorder. He basically has 28 different personalities, in one body.” The boy explained.

“So, what’s controversial about the movie?” Mark asked.

“It makes people think badly about the DID community because in the movie, one of the personalities is a psychopath. It didn’t represent the community well, that’s what people didn’t like. Majority of them aren’t aggressive at all, in fact most of the time they’re the victims instead of the perpetrator.” The boy turned to look at him and he looked almost shy when he continued, “I hope you don’t mind? I was just curious. And the review said it’s scary to watch alone, so.” He shrugged and diverted his gaze from Mark. 

It oddly made his inside warm and fuzzy knowing the boy wanted Mark’s company, his company, can you believe that? To watch a movie on his too-scared-to-watch-alone watch list. “Sure. It sounds interesting to me too. After your playlist, I think I’ll blindly follow your taste, you have a good one.” Mark answered. 

That caused the boy to smile while his shoulders slowly relaxed. “Yeah? You like my playlist?” He asked, then told JARVIS to start the movie for them. 

Mark nodded and behind his mask, he was smiling. “You have no idea how many times I replay the playlist. I played it when I was doing my homework at home, it was very soothing.” 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” The boy’s voice sounded so fond and all the features on his face went softer. He looks so young when he’s relaxed like that. 

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“I’ve been wanting to listen to my playlist with someone for a long time. I haven’t managed to find someone who’s willing to do it so I think, I’m the one who should thank you for that.” 

“You can share everything with me. Anything at all. Books, movies, songs, I will read and watch it together with you. And even if I don’t like it, I won’t sugarcoat it just for the sake of your feelings. If it shits then I will say it as it is.” Mark shrugged. 

The boy snorted. “Well, you just said I have an impeccable taste so I don’t think anything I like will be shits.” 

“You’ll never know.” Mark grinned and the boy rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, the movie is starting to get interesting.” 

The movie turned out to be very gruesome at the end and Mark worried that it’d disturb the boy with that much blood and gore. “Are you okay?” Mark asked.

“Huh?” The boy responded but didn’t take his eyes from the screen. “What?” He asked distractedly and it made Mark smile. It seems like the boy is the type of person who can’t get distracted when watching movies. That explains the silence whenever the plot got intense.

“That was a very intense scene, I thought you’d be disturbed with that much violence.”

The boy shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve watched my father fly a nuke through the sky and watched him free fall after. Nothing will beat that.” 

And isn’t that just sad? Mark never thought that deeply before, how the superhero gigs Iron Man did affected the boy’s mentally. He must’ve been in a lot of constant worries and pressure from that alone and isn’t it unfair to add another burden on top of that from him? 

It’s not like Mark is hoping there’ll be any developing relationship between them, lies, he’s very much hoping, but if, let say Mark confessed and by 1% chance the boy also has the same feeling, isn’t that going to make the boy even more pressured? Not only his father who’s constantly being in danger but also Mark? Isn't that just plainly cruel?

Mark huffed out a breath and is glad that the boy is too focused on the movie to notice him. He shoved those thoughts deep inside and forced himself to just enjoy the night. It’s not happening yet, meaning it’s future Mark’s problem, not him. 

The boy asked for his rating to the movie and Mark said it was 8 for the entertainment aspect and 2 for moral compass. Because Mark understands now why the movie is controversial. It gives a very bad stigma to people with the same conditions and it’s not fair for them. The boy gives him a small smile when Mark explains. 

“Do you have any movie recommendations for me?” Mark asked. 

The boy’s eyes lifted up and it was so adorable Mark nearly pinched his cheeks. “JARVIS, show him please.” He said, still smiling. “Give me your review about them, okay? Just the rating at least.” 

Mark nodded and smiled back though the boy won’t know. “I will.” He said. 

“Good. And uh, thank you for watching this with me.” He said, a visible blush could be seen on his cheeks. 

“Anytime, I enjoyed the movie too. It was—” 

“ I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a robbery at the store near the tower, Spider-Man. ” 

In an instant, Mark’s demeanor changed and he was about to jump with his backpack in his hand when he remembered the boy. He turned around to see him but the boy only said, “Go! Go, save them! We can talk again later.” 

Mark immediately nodded but before jumping he hastily shouts, “I will be back tomorrow!” 

He didn’t remember that he hadn’t got a chance to take a picture of the movie recommendations but he saw an email for JARVIS that said, 

Young Sir wants me to send you this. But I assure you that he doesn’t know your email nor your IP address. Your identity is perfectly secure and safe.

Mark smiled and replied, “Thanks, JARVIS.”

The next day, Mark made his way to the rooftop, finding the boy already there, lounging on a bean bag with his phone in hand. He looked up as Mark approached, a soft smile gracing his lips.

“Hey, you,” Mark greeted, setting his bag down.

“Hey, you,” the boy replied, stretching his legs out and sinking deeper into the bean bag. “Did you get the list from JARVIS?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mark nodded as he settled beside him. “Yeah, I watched one this afternoon—Call Me By Your Name. Turns out a bunch of the soundtracks are in your playlist.”

The boy’s lips curled mischievously. “I hope no one caught you watching the, uh, ‘intimate scene,’” he teased, wriggling his eyebrows.

Mark flushed, throwing a hand over his face. “I’m a pro at hiding my laptop screen from my aunt, thank you very much. Wait—hold on. That movie’s rated R. You’re not even seventeen!”

The boy groaned dramatically and facepalmed. “Neither are you, Webhead. Did you forget you let your age slip during one of our late-night chats?”

Mark crossed his arms, pretending to be indignant. “Fine. But if your dad asks, I’m totally covering for you. Something like, ‘How could this pure, angelic, good boy ever watch something so risqué?’” He feigned an innocent tone that had the boy laughing.

Mark watched, enchanted, as his laughter made his nose scrunch and his eyes crinkle. It reminded him of the first time he’d heard him play the violin—utterly mesmerizing.

“I think my dad would be more disappointed if I were that innocent,” the boy said, shaking his head. “He’d want me to at least recognize when someone’s hitting on me.”

“Wait… has that happened? People hitting on you?” Mark’s curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to observe the boy’s profile.

When the boy turned to meet his gaze, Mark felt like the air had been knocked out of him. Of course, he’d known from the start that the boy was gorgeous—Mark wasn’t blind—but there was something in those eyes. They always made him feel like he was being drawn into something deeper.

“Oh yeah, a few people have tried,” the boy said nonchalantly. “I’m not really interested, though. Not my type.”

Mark’s throat suddenly went dry. He coughed awkwardly, his voice coming out raspy. “Oh, uh—you have a type?”

The boy’s face became unreadable, his expression carefully neutral. “Of course I do,” he replied.

Mark hesitated. Asking your crush what their “type” was felt embarrassingly desperate. But his curiosity won out. “What, uh… what is your type?” he stammered, cringing internally at how awkward he sounded.

For a moment, the boy simply stared at him, their faces growing closer without either seeming to notice. Mark was acutely aware of the proximity, his heart racing. Then the boy smirked. “That’s a secret. We’re still trading secrets, remember? What’ll you give me if I tell you?”

Mark exhaled sharply, realizing he’d been holding his breath. “You’re messing with me. That’s mean,” he grumbled, putting some distance between them.

“No, I’m not,” the boy replied, though his playful smile said otherwise.

Mark rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I like hanging out with you,” he muttered.

The boy grinned wider. “Actually, I have something for you. Wait here.”

Before Mark could respond, he disappeared into the building, leaving Mark to fidget on the rooftop. He returned minutes later, holding a thick book with pages full of scribbled notes.

“I remember you mentioned your body doesn’t regulate temperature properly, so you adjust your clothes a lot. That’s actually similar to a phenomenon in ectotherms, or cold-blooded creatures, like spiders,” the boy said, flipping open the book on his lap. “You also said you didn’t know what species bit you. It’s tricky to pinpoint without seeing the bite, but if Oscorp’s involved, it’s almost certain the spider was genetically modified—probably hybridized DNA, or maybe even spliced with traits from different species to create unique properties.”

He paused, glancing at Mark to make sure he was following before continuing. “I’ve been doing some research. For example, your heightened strength and reflexes could be modeled on species like the Darwin’s bark spider. They spin silk that’s not only incredibly strong but highly elastic—ideal for your webbing. Your agility might be inspired by jumping spiders, which have phenomenal spatial awareness and reaction times.”

Mark blinked, taking it all in, as the boy continued to scribble in his notebook.

“But I’m also curious about your metabolism,” the boy said, glancing up. “You said you heal fast—accelerated healing could align with certain spider traits. Spiders have enzymes in their venom that help them break down prey for consumption, which might correlate to your body’s ability to repair itself quickly. I’d like to ask you some questions if you’re okay with that.”

Mark was so busy staring at him—his passion, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke—that he missed most of what he’d just said.

“Uh, yeah—sure. Ask me anything,” Mark stammered, sitting up straighter to hide his distraction.

The boy shook his head with a knowing smile. “Okay. But before we start, let me explain some key traits from different species that might’ve been incorporated into you.”

This time, Mark forced himself to focus. He listened intently as the boy explained various spider abilities—like the orb-weaver’s silk synthesis, the wolf spider’s speed, and even the ability of some spiders to regulate water loss in arid environments.

Mark found himself fascinated, but he also couldn’t stop marveling at the boy’s intelligence. He couldn’t help it—he had a thing for brains. And this boy wasn’t just smart—he was scarily smart.

If Mark had ever doubted whether he was Tony Stark’s biological son, those doubts vanished now. He’d seen Tony Stark get lost in a web of ideas, rambling on with such intensity that most people couldn’t keep up. The boy was the same, except his passion was biology, not engineering.

And wasn’t that just the most adorable thing ever?

Their conversation was interrupted by a shrill alarm from one of the screens JARVIS projected. Mark immediately jumped to his feet, ready to spring into action.

“Be careful!” the boy shouted after him, his voice tinged with worry.

Mark shot him a grin and a playful salute before leaping off the building.

The fight was tough—another robbery attempt—and by the time Mark swung home, his muscles ached. But he couldn’t stop smiling.

Mr. Stark  : Okay, so when are you going to tell me that you sewed my multi million dollar suit with a needle and thread because recently you just got a gunshot on your leg? 

Mark : …

Mark : I’m sorry…?

Mr. Stark : Get your ass here tonight.

Mark instantly panicked, because why wouldn’t he? First, he needs to get the tower and there’s a high probability that he would accidentally meet the boy somewhere. Well, he could just climb to the garage in front of the workshop but still. Mark doesn’t know whether the boy would be allowed in the workshop when he’s there. 

Also, it’s concerning that Tony knew about the gunshot. Well, there’s a lot of probability about what happened about that too. It could be because Tony placed some sort of censor when Mark poked the suit, maybe preventing him from hacking it? Mark maybe couldn’t, but Jake would easily do it for him if Mark asked. Or maybe instead of the suit, Tony connected Karen with JARVIS and because whatever Karen knows, JARVIS knows, it could be because JARVIS told him about what happened. The last probability though, Mark doesn’t want to think about it at all. Because it means Tony saw the footage of his son mending Mark’s wound on his rooftop. 

Mark groans in despair but he doesn’t have any choice than to oblige the request. No, that’s not a request, that was definitely an order. 

Mark : :(( okay  

“What should I do Karen?” Mark asked, his suit laying down next to him. 

“ Do you want me to tell JARVIS to tell the boy that you can’t make it tonight? ” Karen asked instead. 

The groan comes out once again and Mark turns around to bury his face on his pillow. “Yes, please. It is probably the best.” Mark murmured. 

“ If I may give suggestions, I think it’s best for you to not use the elevator this time, Mark. ”  

“Garage?”

“ Yes, garage. ”

And that’s exactly what Mark does. 

When Mark arrived at the workshop—thankfully without crossing paths with the boy —Tony was already hunched over the bench, tinkering with Iron Man’s arms. Without looking up, Tony said, “Strip. And for both our sakes, I hope you’re wearing something under that suit, or this is about to get real awkward.”

Mark flushed, a deep red creeping up his neck as he nodded hastily. He peeled off his battered suit, trying not to meet Tony’s gaze. Honestly, he thought he’d done a decent job patching it up himself. Not perfect, sure, but it didn’t warrant a full-on Stark intervention. Still, here he was.

“I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark,” he mumbled, holding out the ruined suit like it was evidence of a crime.

That’s when Tony finally looked up. His sharp, assessing gaze landed on Mark, making him squirm in his seat. “What happened?” Tony asked, setting down his screwdriver.

Mark slumped into the chair across from him, his fingers fumbling nervously. “I, uh... I got distracted,” he admitted, staring anywhere but at the older man.

Tony’s brows shot up. “ Distracted? You’re supposed to have spidey-sense—or whatever it is you call it—for exactly this kind of thing.”

“In my defense,” Mark began, a weak attempt at humor, “I didn’t know it was possible either... until it happened.”

Wrong answer. He could tell by the way Tony’s eyes narrowed, like he was about to peel apart Mark’s excuses layer by layer.

“What,” Tony said slowly, his tone dripping with suspicion, “could possibly be distracting enough to knock you out of your ‘great power, great responsibility’ groove while you’re on patrol?”

Mark’s brain screamed at him to say anything—but not that. Because the truth?

Your son.

Yeah, that’d go over great. As if admitting he not only knew about the boy but had been hanging out with him wasn’t bad enough, how was he supposed to explain why said son was so distracting? That was a death sentence, no doubt about it.

Mark coughed, and immediately regretted it. Tony’s gaze sharpened, dissecting him like he was some kind of blueprint that needed decoding.

“I… have personal problems with friends?” Mark offered weakly, praying to every god he could think of that the excuse would be enough to end this interrogation. His heart was hammering so hard it felt like it might punch through his ribcage.

There was silence for a moment, thick and heavy, while Tony studied him. Finally, the older man picked up the suit, inspecting the spot where Mark had clumsily patched it with needle and thread.

“I didn’t know you were in a romantic situation with Jake,” Tony said casually.

Mark choked on his own saliva. What.

“Wait—what?! I’m not! And how do you even know about Jake? Actually, no, I don’t want to know. But no! God, no! He’s my best friend, okay? Best buddy. No romantic feelings whatsoever! I love him, but, like, as a brother, you know?”

He knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. Just the idea of being in a relationship with Jake made his entire body shudder. Not that Mark was against the whole friends-to-lovers trope. He wasn’t, but Jake? Anyone but Jake. he guy knew way too much about Mark’s embarrassing little secrets. If they ever dated and broke up, Jake would probably write an exposé.

“Not a fan of dating your friends, huh? Fair enough. I can respect that,” Tony murmured, his tone oddly amused.

“No! I mean, I’m not against it,” Mark blurted, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just... Jake. I’d never, not in a million years, date him like that.”

Tony smirked, clearly enjoying Mark’s mental breakdown. He tossed a pair of goggles at him. “Alright, lover boy, get back to work. And next time? Don’t butcher my multimillion-dollar suit like that. You did a crap job.”

Mark sulked. “It wasn’t that bad,” he muttered, earning himself a sharp, raised brow from the older man—eerily similar to the look Black Widow gave when she wasn’t buying anyone’s BS.

“Right. Yes, sir,” Mark sighed, giving up as he focused on the repairs.

When he finally finished, Tony surprised him by offering to grab some food before he headed home. It was a tempting offer—his stomach was practically growling—but the thought of running into the boy in the kitchen made him freeze. Eating would mean taking off the suit, and he couldn’t risk it.

“Uh, no thanks,” Mark said quickly, trying to sound casual. “Aunt May’s probably got takeout waiting for me. Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

It was a lame excuse, and Tony clearly knew it. But to Mark’s relief, the older man didn’t press.

“Suit yourself,” Tony said, waving him off.

Mark practically bolted out of the tower, relief washing over him as he made it home without running into the boy.

Later that night, sprawled on his bed, Mark noticed a new email from JARVIS.

It’s okay, take your time. Can we meet tomorrow though?

Mark’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much as he typed his reply.

Obviously. I’ll buy you the hotdog.

There was no response, but it didn’t matter. The grin didn’t leave his face as he drifted off to sleep.

The hotdog was still warm in Mark’s hands as he landed lightly on the rooftop of Stark Tower. But the moment his feet hit the ground, he knew something was off. The boy wasn’t there. The usual sight of him waiting, smiling, was nowhere to be seen.

Mark’s stomach twisted. He frowned, glancing around the empty rooftop before calling out, “JARVIS, where is he?”

JARVIS’s voice chimed in, soft and—was that a hint of apology? “I’m sorry, Spider-Man. He has locked himself in his room, and no one has been able to coax him out.”

Mark’s brows furrowed, confusion etched across his face. “What? What happened? Is he okay?”

“Young sir is physically fine,” JARVIS replied, “though I cannot say the same about his emotional state.”

Mark let out a sigh of relief, tension ebbing slightly from his shoulders. At least the boy wasn’t sick. But emotionally? That was a whole different beast to tackle. “Can you tell him I’m here, please?” he asked, voice tinged with hope.

“I already forwarded your message, Spider-Man,” JARVIS said, his tone neutral.

Mark’s shoulders sagged as realization dawned. “He doesn’t want to see me, does he?”

JARVIS hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I’m sorry, Spider-Man. It seems that is the case.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Mark should’ve listened to Jake when he said therapy might be a good idea. Because his first, utterly ridiculous thought was that this was somehow his fault.

We were doing so great yesterday, he thought bitterly, staring at the now-cold hotdog in his hands. It was supposed to be proof—proof that things were okay, that they were good. But something had shifted, something he didn’t understand.

What had happened in the last eighteen hours?

Mark didn’t leave right away. He stayed on the rooftop, letting the city’s noises blend into the background. He peeled back his mask just enough to take a bite of the cold hotdog, chewing in silence. It wasn’t exactly comforting, but it gave him something to focus on—anything to keep his mind from spiraling further.

When he finally finished, he stood and hesitated, swallowing hard before asking, “JARVIS… can you let me know if—if he’s willing to see me again?” The words felt like gravel in his throat, but he had to ask.

“Of course, Spider-Man,” JARVIS replied.

Mark offered a faint, tired smile. “Thanks.”

The smile didn’t last. By the time he swung down to the street, it had vanished entirely, leaving only a dull ache behind.

“It’s not your fault, Mark,” Karen’s voice came softly in his ear.

Mark snorted. “Feels like it is,” he muttered, shrugging as he shot a web and swung toward Queens.

Karen went quiet after that, but her presence lingered—calm, steady, like a hand on his shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to keep his head above water. She was always there, always had his back.

Mark refused to dwell on how pathetic it sounded that his closest comfort came from an AI.

Despite the dull ache in his heart, Mark came back the next night. In his naïve, stubborn hope, he clung to the idea that maybe tonight, the boy would show up. He had to—because the longer the boy stayed away without a word, the harder it became for Mark to shake the gnawing thought that this was somehow his fault.

When his feet hit the rooftop, his hope crumbled all over again. It was empty.

The gut-punch feeling returned, sharper this time, as Mark sank onto the cold, hard bench—the same bench the boy always complained about. Mark had never really noticed how uncomfortable it was before. But now? Now it felt like a concrete slab digging into his back.

I miss him.

The thought hit him like a freight train. It wasn’t just loneliness; it was like losing a piece of himself. Mark missed the way the boy would sit here beside him, groaning about the uncomfortable bench, rambling about movies and songs he loved, or just chatting about whatever was on his mind.

He just wanted him here. Was that too much to ask?

Mark was so lost in his thoughts, replaying every moment, every word they’d shared, that he didn’t even notice someone else had joined him.

“Hello, Spider-Man. I don’t think we’ve met in person before, have we?”

Mark whipped around so fast he almost fell off the bench. The voice behind him was deep, familiar, and immediately sent his brain into overdrive. When he turned, blue eyes met his, calm and steady, and blonde hair caught the moonlight just right. The man gave him a small, gentle smile.

It was freaking Captain America.

Mark froze, his jaw going slack as his brain short-circuited. “Uh—uh-oh,” he stammered, sounding every bit the dumbstruck teenager he was.

Steve Rogers’ smile didn’t falter as he stepped closer and casually sat down on the very bench Mark had just been occupying. “Are you here for him?”

The words hit like a jolt, snapping Mark back to reality. His idol was sitting right in front of him, asking that question. Mark blinked a few times, forcing himself to sit back down—holy crap, he was sitting next to Captain America —before shoving the thought aside and nodding weakly.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, fidgeting with his hands before hesitantly asking, “Do you know where he is? Is… is he okay?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, something clicked. Captain America hadn’t even said who “he” was.

Mark’s heart dropped into his stomach as his brain pieced it together. He knows.

He knows Mark is here for him . He knows about the boy. He knows Mark has been hanging out with Tony Stark’s son.

And then came the bigger realization: Mr. Stark must know, too.

Mark sat bolt upright, stiff as a board, his mind racing. If Steve Rogers knew, then there was no way Tony Stark didn’t. And if Tony knew, could that be why the boy wasn’t showing up anymore?

Mark’s chest tightened as another thought slammed into him. Did Mr. Stark tell him to stop? Is that why he’s not here?

He could practically feel his brain vibrating as it spiraled. Did he screw up? Say something he shouldn’t have? Was it his fault that the boy wasn’t allowed to meet him anymore?

Mark’s wide eyes darted to Captain America, who watched him with calm curiosity.

“Is—did Mr. Stark say something? Is… is that why he’s not here?” Mark blurted, his voice cracking slightly at the end.

Steve sighed, his gaze softening with a trace of guilt in his eyes. “It’s not that he doesn’t want to see you, per se. He thinks it’s because of what Tony did.”

Mark blinked, confusion spreading across his face though it’s concealed with his mask. “Wait, what? What does that even mean?”

Instead of answering, Steve tilted his head. “How much do you really know about the boy?”

Mark froze. The question hit harder than it should have, and the truth settled heavily in his chest. He knew a lot about the boy—how much of a Star Wars fanatic he was, his love for classical music, the fact that he could play an absurd number of instruments. But there was a glaring hole in all of it.

“I don’t even know his name,” Mark admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The older man nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “But you know he’s connected to Stark, right?”

Mark shifted awkwardly. “Yeah… I figured that much.” His voice was small, tinged with embarrassment.

Steve turned to him fully now, studying him like he was piecing together a puzzle. “How long have you been friends with him?”

Mark flushed under the man’s steady gaze. “Uh… not long. Maybe a month?” For some reason, the question made him feel like he was being interrogated.

The response was a raised brow, his voice even. “And the first time you met him… you saved him from kidnappers?”

Mark’s head shot up, his mask doing nothing to hide the surprise in his eyes. “How—how do you know about that? Did he tell you?”

“He did,” Steve confirmed with a small nod. “Told us about your little adventure in Central Park. Gave us all quite the shock, not gonna lie.”

Mark winced, guilt twisting in his gut. “I… I’m sorry I didn’t tell anyone about it sooner.”

Steve gave him a meaningful look. “You should tell that to Tony. He was very worried when he found out.”

Mark grimaced, guilt hitting him harder this time. “Yeah… I probably should’ve told him,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

The rooftop fell into a tense silence before Mark spoke again, his voice soft and hesitant. “Is that why I’m not allowed to see him anymore?”

The man’s expression softened, and he shook his head. “No, Spiderman. You’re still allowed to see him.”

Mark frowned, the confusion returning. “Then why isn’t he here? Did I do something wrong?”

Steve sighed deeply, his shoulders rising and falling in a way that spoke of years of carrying heavy burdens. “It’s… complicated. All I can tell you right now is that it’s a miscommunication. I’m pretty sure he’ll explain everything to you when he’s ready.”

The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him making Mark’s shoulders slumped. “But he doesn’t want to see me,” he said quietly, his voice cracking slightly.

“He doesn’t want to see me either, Spiderman. Sometimes people just need time to cool off,” Steve countered.

Mark nodded weakly, not fully comforted but willing to accept the explanation for now.

The older man placed a firm hand on his shoulder, the gesture grounding. “Keep your chin up, soldier. Don’t give up on him, alright?”

Mark managed a small smile behind his mask, nodding again.

Seemed satisfied, Steve stood, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. “By the way,” he added, his tone lighter but sincere, “thanks for looking out for him. For keeping him safe when we couldn’t. I owe you one.”

The words hit Mark like a punch to the chest—Captain America, the living legend himself, owed him? The realization was so surreal it completely derailed his spiral of self-loathing.

Mark watched the man walk away, his resolve hardening. No matter what it took, he wasn’t going to give up on the boy. Not until he understood what had happened between them.

That thought carried him through the rest of the night and lingered as he finally drifted to sleep, determined and hopeful.

The next day, Mark found himself back on the rooftop, but once again, it was empty. Eerily so. Without the boy’s presence, the place felt wrong—too quiet, too still.

Mark tried not to let the disappointment weigh him down. Instead, he decided to sit and wait, fully aware that JARVIS had probably already notified the boy of his arrival. Still, part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he was just wasting his time.

Lost in thought, Mark barely noticed the subtle tingling of his spider-sense at first. But as the sensation grew sharper, he straightened instinctively, his muscles tensing. Someone—or something—was watching him.

The feeling intensified. Whoever it was, they were moving closer. Silent as a shadow, no sound to betray their presence, but Mark’s spider-sense didn’t lie. His unease grew. He didn’t like being watched, especially not by an unknown presence.

Suddenly, he moved on reflex, spinning around and snatching something from the approaching figure’s hands—a gun. Wait… a gun ?

“Impressive.”

The voice was calm, almost amused, but it sent a chill down Mark’s spine. Only then did he realize who he was facing. Standing before him was none other than the Black Widow, Natasha Romanoff, her expression unreadable and her eyes sharp as knives.

“You’re the first person to notice me when I’m being stealthy,” she said, her tone neutral but tinged with something that felt like… approval?

Mark gulped, trying not to squirm under her piercing gaze. Even with his mask on, it felt like she could see straight through him, peeling away every layer until she uncovered the truth of who he was.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice cold and calculating.

It was a simple question, but it felt like an interrogation. Mark’s throat went dry. “I—uh—I just… I thought…” he stammered, his brain scrambling for a coherent answer.

Her eyebrow arched, a subtle but terrifying gesture that sent his nerves into overdrive. “I thought maybe today he’d want to see me,” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Natasha’s expression didn’t shift—not even a flicker. It was unsettling, to say the least. “And what will you do if he still doesn’t want to see you?”

Her words hit like a punch to the gut, shattering the fragile hope Mark had been clinging to. He stood there, stiff as a board, trying not to fidget under her unrelenting stare. Finally, he clenched his fists, summoning every ounce of courage he had.

“Unless he tells me himself that he doesn’t want me around, I’ll keep coming back,” Mark said firmly, his voice steadier than he expected. “I’ll keep trying.”

For a moment, there was silence. Natasha’s expression remained as unreadable as ever, but then she took a step back. The tension in Mark’s chest eased ever so slightly, though he didn’t dare relax just yet.

“Where are the kidnappers?” she asked abruptly, her tone sharp.

Mark blinked, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “Uh… I called the police on them.”

Her eyes narrowed, a faint twitch betraying her annoyance. “Next time,” she said coolly, “make sure they bleed before you put them in jail. Do you understand?”

Mark gulped, his heart hammering in his chest. “Y-Yes, ma’am.”

Satisfied, Natasha nodded and holstered her gun. Without another word, she turned and walked away, her movements as silent as when she’d arrived.

It wasn’t until she disappeared from view that Mark finally let out the breath he’d been holding. He slumped onto the bench, his hands trembling slightly. “That was terrifying,” he muttered under his breath.

“That’s a common sentiment,” Karen chimed in, her voice breaking the silence. “You handled it well, though, Mark.”

Mark snorted weakly. “Yeah, sure. Still scary as hell,” he murmured, clenching and unclenching his hands in an effort to steady them.

He didn’t know what scared him more—the fact that Black Widow could sneak up on him so easily, or the cold, calculated way she had dissected him with her gaze. Either way, one thing was certain: Natasha Romanoff was not someone he ever wanted to be on the bad side of.

The next time Mark came to the rooftop, he honestly didn’t expect much. He had all but convinced himself that the boy wouldn’t show. But when he spotted the familiar ruffled brown hair and that warm, unmistakable smile, it was like a jolt of electricity shot through him.

“You’re here!” Mark blurted out, his joy spilling over before he could stop himself. He didn’t even try to hide the grin stretching across his face as he quickly made his way over to him.

The boy smiled, soft and sweet, and Mark’s heart swelled at the sight. God, he’d missed this. Missed him .

“What happened?” Mark asked, dropping down to sit beside him. His voice dipped lower, hesitant. “Cap said you locked yourself in your room. Is… is everything okay now?”

The boy nodded, his small smile lingering. “It’s okay now,” he said, his tone casual, though it carried a hint of lingering weight. “It wasn’t before—I mean, if me barricading myself in my room wasn’t obvious enough.” He shrugged lightly, but his eyes darted down to his hands, betraying his effort to play it cool.

Mark hesitated. “What happened?” He needed to hear it from the boy, even though he had a rough idea of the situation.

The boy sighed, leaning back and staring out at the cityscape. “Dad found out about the kidnapping,” he admitted. “And let’s just say… we were a mess. He said some things he didn’t mean, I said some things I didn’t mean, and it got ugly. Instead of dealing with it, we both just—” He gestured vaguely, “—hid in our corners. If Steve hadn’t dragged us out of it, we’d probably still be stuck in an epic sulk-off.”

He turned to Mark, meeting his gaze. “We’re okay now, though. We talked it out. We’re fine.”

Mark nodded, relief settling in his chest. Then he dropped his gaze, guilt gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. “I—I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I mean, I’m glad you’re okay now, but… I feel like all of this is my fault.”

The boy’s response was immediate, his head shaking firmly. “No. It wasn’t your fault, Spidey. We’re just two stubborn, overly dramatic idiots—well, one dramatic man and one dramatic boy—but still. Not on you.”

Mark let out a breath and nodded, his gaze flicking to the skyline. The conversation lingered in his mind, but another question burned at the back of his throat. His chest tightened as he nervously asked, “Did… did your dad say anything about me? Like, does he even want me coming around here anymore? Because, you know, I kinda attract danger. I get it if he doesn’t want me here—”

“Webhead.” The boy interrupted, his tone pointed but warm. “My dad is literally Iron Man. Me living in a tower full of Avengers attracts more danger than you ever could.”

“But people don’t know about you being here. Or that you’re… y’know… you .” Mark hesitated, then added, “The hotdog stand guy knew about your relation with me. The kidnappers knew—”

Something in the boy’s expression shifted, and he abruptly changed the subject. “Are you free tomorrow?”

Thrown by the sudden turn in conversation, Mark blinked. “Uh… yeah? Why?”

The boy leaned forward slightly, his smile shy but hopeful. “It’s my birthday. There’s going to be a big party at noon, but I want you to come to the private one—at 8 p.m., here in the tower. Just the Avengers, Uncle Rhodey, Happy, Aunt Pepper… and you.”

Mark’s brain stalled. Birthday. His birthday . How had he not known? And just like that, the guilt came rushing back, sharper than before. He didn’t even know the boy’s name , let alone his birthday. He was going to need Jake’s help for this—there was no way he could pick out a gift on his own.

But then another thought crashed into him, stealing his breath. The Avengers . All of them. In one room. With him . That was both terrifying and mind-blowing.

And worse? If he went, he couldn’t show up in his suit. That’d be weird. No way Thor would be swinging a hammer in casual social settings, right? That meant Mark would have to show up as… well, himself . The idea alone made his palms sweat.

The boy must’ve noticed the silence stretching too long. His shoulders slumped, his voice softening. “Or not. I mean, I’m probably asking too much. We could just hang out the day after. It’s fine. Someone’s bound to be snooping if we meet tomorrow anyway.”

Mark’s brain is still wired from all the information dump he just got so the only thing he managed to utter was, “Okay.” 

When Mark climbed down from the tower, he made a beeline for Jake’s house.

“Mark, wait—you’re still in the suit!” Karen warned.

Too late. Mark swung through Jake’s open bedroom window, only to freeze mid-step.

Jake stood there, shirt halfway on, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief. “What the fuck ?!”

Mark instinctively slapped a finger to Jake’s lips. “Shh! Not so loud!”

Jake swatted his hand away, his eyes narrowing. “Hold up. Why is Spider-Man in my bedroom? And why do you sound—wait a second. Do I know you?”

Mark sighed in defeat, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d trusted Jake with pretty much everything else in his life, so maybe it was time. He took a deep breath and pulled off the mask.

Jake’s jaw dropped even further.

Grinning sheepishly, Mark said, “So… I need your help.” 

“I still can’t believe this,” Jake muttered as he trailed down the store aisle, scanning shelves for a decent birthday gift. “I mean, my best friend is Spid—”

Mark clapped a hand over Jake’s mouth, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You wanna announce it to the world?” he hissed.

Jake retaliated in the grossest way possible—by licking Mark’s palm. Grimacing, Mark pulled his hand back, wiping it on his jeans. “What are you? Five?” he muttered, turning his attention back to the Star Wars LEGO set in his hands.

It was good . Perfect, even—if you ignored the fact that it cost an arm, a leg, and probably his next three allowances. But then again, the boy was literally a billionaire’s son . Mark frowned, setting the LEGO back on the shelf. “Nope. Not good enough.”

Jake frowned. “Why not? Dude, I’d lose my mind if someone got me that for my birthday.”

Mark shrugged, sighing. “He’s a billionaire's son, so he's a billionaire himself. He could probably buy the whole store . Heck, the entire company.”

Jake didn’t respond, which was weird because silence wasn’t in his nature. When Mark turned, he found his best friend staring at him, wide-eyed.

“You knew he’s loaded and didn’t tell me?!” Jake finally burst, grabbing Mark by the arm and dragging him toward the exit. “We’ve wasted so much time! God, Mark, if he’s that rich, we’re not doing anything store-bought ! Common sense, my dude.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do, then?” Mark demanded, stumbling after him. “I’ve got, like, ten hours!”

Jake grinned. “Easy. You’re not half-bad at drawing, right?”

Mark gave him a wary look. “I mean… I’m decent.”

“Perfect. You’re gonna make him something. Custom stuff. A one-of-a-kind Spider-Man creation.”

And that’s how they ended up at a poetry house, hunched over a table and furiously painting mugs and plates. Mark worked quietly, biting his lip in concentration as he sketched a Spider-Man mask on a mug with the words Spider-Mark underneath. 

They’re in the middle of doing the poetry, Mark finished his. It was a mug with spiderman on it and the text “Spider-Mark”. Common people will just see it as a silly fanboying moment, but those who know that Mark is actually a Spider-man mean a lot more. Along with that, he drew a violin, the one he remembered the boy used on a plate. It’s very simple, but as Jake constantly reminds Mark, the boy won’t find it anywhere. Because Mark only made this for him and him only. 

Jake leaned back in his chair, inspecting his own work. “So,” he said, breaking the silence, “who’s this billionaire’s kid you’re apparently dating?” Jake asked, he finished his poetry and they both waited for the finishing process. 

“I’m not dating him—”

“But you want it, ugh come on. We’re constantly talking in circles about it and don’t deny it, I know you did this to distract me. So who is he? Is he hot?” 

Mark glared at his friend then he slumped in his chair, watching the TV played in the waiting room. It seems like Stark Industries will do a press conference. Probably launching the newest version of their phone. 

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.” Mark said. 

“Oh come on, what’s more surprising than the fact you are, you know, your second job who’s red and blue. Nothing can top that.” Jake rolled his eyes.

“Ten bucks I say you’re wrong”

“You are suck, don’t you know that? You can’t possibly hide more secrets from me, we’re—”

“Shhh,” Mark clamps Jake’s cheek and forces him to watch the TV. “Look, your idol Tony Stark is talking.”

Jake’s eyes lit up like Christmas lights. “God, he’s so hot,” he mumbled, completely entranced as Tony Stark took the stage. Mark rolled his eyes but couldn’t help focusing on the screen as well.

“This time, I hate to disappoint all the Stark Phone enthusiasts out there, but this announcement isn’t about gadgets, upgrades, or my brilliant engineering. It’s about something far more important to me. Something—believe it or not—even more important than my suits, or, dare I say, Iron Man.”

The room fell eerily silent.

Tony smirked, letting the tension build. “Yeah, I know, shocking, right? But hey, even I can have priorities beyond saving the world and looking fabulous while doing it.”

The crowd chuckled nervously, unsure where this was going.

“Sixteen years ago,” Tony continued, his tone softening but still carrying his trademark sarcasm, “I met this incredibly beautiful woman. And, well, when a ridiculously handsome genius like me meets someone that gorgeous, there’s bound to be… chemistry.” He waggled his eyebrows for effect.

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd.

“That chemistry,” Tony added, pointing a finger, “usually results in fewer clothes, a bed—or occasionally a yacht, depending on the evening—and probably some over-the-top expense reports for whoever’s in charge of covering our ‘business dinners.’ You get the idea.”

He paused, letting the room laugh, before continuing with a deeper tone. “What I didn’t know then was that night, I left behind more than just my charm, wit, and stunning good looks. I left something… precious. And that woman—she took care of that precious thing all on her own, right until the day she passed away.”

The humor drained from the room, replaced by a stunned, heavy silence.

“That ‘precious thing’,” Tony said, his voice cracking just a little before he quickly recovered, “is my son. And today is his birthday. A big one. We’re celebrating it together for the first time, and, yeah, it’s a pretty big deal—for me, at least. For him, he’s probably more excited about the cake.”

A murmur of excitement rippled through the reporters as cameras flashed like fireworks.

Tony held up a hand, instantly silencing the room. “Before you all lose your collective minds, let me clear a few things up. First: I’ve kept his identity a secret because—surprise, surprise—I wanted him to have a normal childhood. No billionaire name. No paparazzi. No ‘Stark Kid’ headlines. Just a boy doing boy things. Second: I know what some of you are thinking. ‘But Tony, you didn’t have a normal childhood, and look at you! You’re perfect!’ And you’re right—obviously. But that’s a terrible standard for a kid.”

The crowd chuckled again, though some were still too stunned to process the moment.

“So,” Tony went on, raising his voice slightly, “he’s had a shot at normal life up till now. But tonight, we agreed it’s time to let you know about him. Not because we want a circus, by the way. If I see one stalker, one privacy breach, or one reporter climbing his treehouse, I’ll sic my lawyers on you so fast your head will spin. And trust me, Pepper Potts will handle the rest. Between the two of them, they’re scarier than me in a bad mood.”

Another round of laughter erupted.

Tony took a deep breath, his usual bravado giving way to something almost tender. “So, without further ado, I’d like to introduce you to my son. He’s smart. He’s talented. And yeah, he’s pretty damn good-looking—clearly, he takes after me. Everyone, meet Hadrian Stark.”

The doors at the back of the press room opened, and Mark felt like the floor dropped out from under him.

There he was— Hadrian .

The boy stepped forward, flanked by two bodyguards, his hair slicked back and his suit tailored to perfection. Despite the flash of cameras and the roar of reporters, he carried himself with calm confidence. His smile was small, almost shy, but the kind of smile that could light up an entire room.

Mark couldn’t stop staring. His breath hitched, and his palms started sweating.

Jake, meanwhile, was gaping. “Oh my God . Don’t tell me… That’s the boy,” he whispered.

Mark swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not… dating.”

Jake didn’t even look away from the screen, his jaw dropping as realization dawned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

The silence hung between them like a loaded slingshot. Jake’s expression slowly morphed as he pieced it together—his eyes went wide, his jaw hit the floor, and then, like a spring-loaded catapult, he shoved Mark square in the chest.

“WHAT THE HELL? YOU’RE DATING STA—”

Mark’s reflexes kicked in just in time. His hand slapped over Jake’s mouth, muffling the rest of the very-unwanted announcement before it could make the leap into the ears of nosy strangers.

Jake licked Mark’s palm in retaliation, but Mark refused to budge. “I swear,” Mark hissed, “if you don’t shut up right now, I will web your mouth closed.”

Jake’s muffled protests died down, though his glare could have burned a hole through steel. When Mark finally let go, Jake stepped back, furiously wiping his mouth.

“Oh, we’re talking about this at home,” Jake hissed, pointing a finger like he was delivering a death sentence. “You think you’re getting off easy? No way. This isn’t over.”

Mark shrugged nonchalantly, like Jake hadn’t just threatened to interrogate him like a spy. “Well, that’s future Mark’s problem. Current Mark has a birthday party to get to, remember? Beside, you owe me ten bucks now."

Jake threw his hands in the air, looking as if he were ready to combust. “Oh, for the love of—Mark! This is Tony Freaking Stark’s son ! And you’re just like, ‘Oh, let’s go to the party’?! What is wrong with you?”

Mark smirked and clapped Jake on the back. “Plenty, Jake. But we don’t have time for that list. C’mon, we’ve got a billionaire’s party to crash.”

“God damn it, Mark!” Jake groaned, throwing his head back dramatically as Mark walked off with a grin.

It wasn’t until Mark was ready to leave that he noticed Tony had left him a message.

Mr. Stark : So, when are you going to tell me that you’re dating my son?

Mark blushed at the message. He’s not dating Hadrian! God, it felt so good just knowing the boy’s name.

Mark : I didn’t…

Mark : Wait, you’re not mad even if I was?

Mr. Stark : I’m mad you didn’t tell me about the kidnapping incident. Which, FYI, you’re getting homework for.

Mr. Stark : But no, I’m not mad if you date him.

Mr. Stark : Just remember, we have a Hulk. Think twice before even slightly hurting his feelings.

Mr. Stark : Oh God, does this mean I have to do the birds and the bees talk? I suck at that.

Mr. Stark : Should we ask Steve? He loves being awkward.

Mark’s face was on fire. If he was blushing before, now he was a full-blown tomato.

Mark : Mr. Stark! God, no!

Mark : We didn’t do anything.

Mark : And no, I’m not dating him…

Mr. Stark : You’re both hopeless. It’s honestly getting ridiculous.

Mark hesitated, then typed out another message, his fingers trembling slightly.

Mark : But um

Mark : Can I…

Mark : Can I come to the Tower? For his birthday?

Mark : And… can I come without the suit?

Mr. Stark : He’d be thrilled.

Mr. Stark : Sure.

Mark : Thank you, Mr. Stark!

Mark ended up arriving late. Jake, of course, was to blame—he kept forcing Mark to change outfits like this was some kind of high-fashion runway. Mark finally settled on a fitted blue button-down shirt, a dark blue vest layered over it, and green trousers that, to Jake’s approval, "brought out his eyes."

When he reached the Tower, JARVIS’s smooth voice greeted him as soon as he stepped into the lobby.

“Welcome, Mark. Sir, Young Sir, and the rest of the Avengers are upstairs. I’ll guide you.”

Mark, feeling jittery, only managed a quick nod as he stepped into the elevator. The ride up felt like it lasted forever. The moment the doors slid open, he hesitated at the threshold, his nerves threatening to pull him back.

“Deep breath,” he muttered to himself, and then cautiously stepped out.

Natasha was the first to spot him, lounging on the couch with her feet propped up. She didn’t say anything—just raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment. Tony, on the other hand, popped out from the kitchen holding a bowl of popcorn. His eyes lit up. “Look who finally showed up! Is that a present?”

Mark flushed, clutching the small, wrapped package tighter. “Uh, yeah…” He trailed off, suddenly doubting himself. Compared to the mountain of extravagant gifts Hadrian had probably received, his little hand-painted mug seemed… well, kind of lame.

But Tony waved him off before his insecurities could grow. “Perfect! I guarantee this is the only gift Hadrian will care about. Those hundreds of boxes downstairs? He couldn’t care less. Come on.”

Mark followed Tony into the living area, where a crowd of people were sprawled across couches and chairs, focused on the movie playing on the enormous screen. Mark’s gaze landed on the familiar mop of brown hair near the front. Hadrian was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, entirely absorbed in the action on screen, his face lit up with childlike wonder.

Mark stood frozen for a moment, gripping the gift nervously. What am I even doing here?

But Tony clapped him on the back, nearly making him drop the present. “Relax, kid.” Tony coughed as he announced loudly, “Iyan, there’s someone who wants to meet you.”

Tony gently pushes his back to give encouragement. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and took a tentative step closer.

“Huh? Who?” Hadrian answered without looking back. 

“Uh, um, hey you?” Mark cursed immediately after those words came out of his mouth. Really, it’s supposed to be the first time Hadrian will see him as more than Red and Blue Spiderman and that was all he could do? 

Even without the suit on, Mark could feel Hadrian’s presence in the room shift. The boy turned so fast it was like a gust of wind hit him, his wide eyes locking onto Mark in an instant. Then, before Mark could even open his mouth, Hadrian was on his feet, staring like he’d just seen a ghost.

Mark froze under the weight of that stare, gripping the gift tighter in his hands. Every part of him screamed to bolt back into the elevator, but he forced himself to stay put. He’d come this far.

“Um…” His voice cracked a little, but he pushed through. “I’m Mark. Mark Lee.”

For a long, terrifying second, Hadrian just stared at him, like he was trying to piece together some impossible puzzle. Then, finally, he blinked, and Mark saw the tiniest flicker of something—hope? Excitement?—flash across his face.

“And happy birthday,” Mark added quickly, shoving the words out before he lost his nerve. “I watched the interviews. You were awesome.”

He smiled nervously, hoping that would break the tension, but instead, Hadrian’s expression tightened. The warmth in his eyes disappeared, replaced by something guarded, almost bitter.

“Did you come here because my dad asked you to?” Hadrian’s tone was sharp, and Mark felt the question hit him like a punch.

“What? No! No, I didn’t!” Mark shook his head so fast he probably looked ridiculous. “I came here for you. I wanted to meet you… without the mask and all.”

But Hadrian didn’t look convinced. His shoulders stiffened, his gaze narrowing like he was trying to figure out if Mark was lying.

“No, you didn’t.” His voice was quieter this time, but no less cutting. “You rejected me last night. So why did you come?”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “Hadrian—no!” He took a step forward, careful not to get too close. “I didn’t reject you. God, I’m so sorry I made you think that. I—” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, desperate to explain. “I was nervous, okay? You told me today was your birthday, and I freaked out because I didn’t have a gift. Then you asked me to meet your dad and the Avengers, and I panicked. I was a mess last night, but it wasn’t because I didn’t want to meet you. I swear.”

Hadrian’s eyes flicked toward him, searching for something in his expression. His voice softened, losing its earlier edge. “So… you’re not lying?”

The question made Mark’s chest ache. “No, I’m not,” he said earnestly. “In fact, I was the one who asked your dad if I could come. Not the other way around.”

Hadrian hesitated, his gaze darting past Mark to Tony, who was still standing nearby. Tony, ever the showman, gave him a big, exaggerated nod. “He’s telling the truth,” Tony said casually, popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

Finally, Hadrian let out a breath, his shoulders relaxing. “I’m sorry, I just—”

“No,” Mark interrupted quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to make you think… I mean, I didn’t realize how it might come across. I’m sorry.”

Something in Hadrian’s expression softened even more, and for a moment, Mark forgot how to breathe.

“Okay,” Hadrian said, his voice quieter now.

“Okay,” Mark echoed, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Want to try this again?”

Hadrian’s lips curved into a real smile, the kind that made Mark’s stomach do an embarrassing flip.

“I’m Mark Lee.”

“Hadrian Anthony Stark.”

And just like that, Mark felt the knot of nerves in his chest unravel.

The cool night air felt like a relief after the heat of the movie room. Mark wasn’t sure if it was the stuffy space or the sheer awkwardness of being surrounded by Earth’s Mightiest Heroes that had him on edge. Now, sitting side by side on the bench on the roof with a warm mug of hot chocolate in his hands, he finally felt like he could breathe.

Well, mostly.

He snuck a glance at Hadrian, whose profile looked even better under the soft glow of the city lights. Mark stared back down at his mug, suddenly hyper-aware of everything about himself—his hair, his outfit, his posture. Did he look okay?

“So, are you, um… disappointed?” he blurted before he could stop himself. “With how I look? Or, uh, did I exceed expectations?” He grimaced immediately, cringing at his own words.

Hadrian turned to him, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation. “You’re asking a stupid question, Mark.” He shook his head and took a sip of his hot chocolate like he hadn’t just dropped a verbal anvil on Mark’s nerves.

Mark bit the inside of his cheek, staring at the swirling steam rising from his mug. “It’s important to me,” he mumbled, voice barely above a whisper.

That got Hadrian’s attention. He put down his mug, fully turning to face Mark now. “Mark, can you look at me?”

Mark hesitated. He could feel the heat rising to his face already, but he forced himself to meet Hadrian’s eyes.

And wow.

Hadrian was looking at him like he was the only thing in the world that mattered. Mark was too busy trying not to combust to realize he was holding his breath.

“The reason I always came to talk to you,” Hadrian began, his tone soft but steady, “is because I like talking to you. You’re fun, you’re entertaining, and you actually listen to my random rants and laugh at my jokes. I don’t care that you sit here with me wearing spandex from head to toe because it’s your presence that matters, not your face.”

Mark blinked, his heart stuttering in his chest. Hadrian wasn’t done.

“But,” he added, leaning in just slightly, “for the sake of your peace of mind—yes, you’re exceeding my expectations. Your eyes are beautiful, you scrunch your nose when you laugh and it’s adorable, your neck is—” Hadrian stopped himself, smirking. “Well, let’s just say it’s very nice. And your lips?” He tilted his head, his eyes flicking down briefly. “Distractingly kissable.”

Mark could feel his face burning, and judging by the way Hadrian was looking at him—smug, like he’d just won some unspoken game—his ears were probably as red as his cheeks. He hated how obvious he was, but at the same time, it was almost impossible to calm down when Hadrian was staring at him like that.

“Earth to, Mark Lee?” Hadrian’s teasing voice broke through the buzzing in his head. He snapped his fingers in front of Mark’s face, that infuriatingly charming smile plastered across his lips.

Mark knew he should probably say something—anything—but his brain wasn’t cooperating. Instead, he put his mug down on the bench and took a step closer to Hadrian. His heart was pounding, loud and erratic, but he ignored it.

“I’m going to do something really, really stupid right now,” he blurted out, the words tumbling from his lips before he could second-guess them. “If you don’t want it, feel free to push me.”

His voice sounded breathless, shaky, and he hated that it made him seem so vulnerable. But when he looked at Hadrian, he realized he wasn’t the only one struggling to breathe.

“Okay,” Hadrian whispered, so soft that it sent a shiver down Mark’s spine.

And just like that, he stopped thinking. Mark leaned forward and pressed his lips to Hadrian’s, every nerve in his body buzzing with a mix of fear and exhilaration.

For a moment, he panicked. What if Hadrian didn’t kiss back? What if he’d completely misread everything? But then—slowly—he felt Hadrian respond. The kiss deepened, and Mark’s world tilted, his mind going blissfully blank except for the sensation of Hadrian’s lips on his.

It was clumsy, unpracticed, but that didn’t matter. It felt perfect in a way Mark couldn’t explain.

Then Hadrian’s hands slid up to his hips, the touch light but grounding, and Mark couldn’t stop the tiny noise that escaped him—a mix of surprise and something else, something softer.

When they finally pulled apart, Mark’s chest felt tight, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Hadrian’s gaze. He took a shaky step back, his heart still racing. “I, uh—I shouldn’t have—”

“Shut up.” Hadrian’s voice was gentle but firm, and when Mark felt those hands still resting on his hips, he froze. “Don’t you dare apologize for that.”

Mark forced himself to look up, his face still burning. But when he saw the way Hadrian was smiling at him, something warm and hopeful flickered in his chest. “You—you liked it?”

Hadrian let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Liked it? Mark, I’ve been trying to figure out how to kiss you for weeks with your mask still intact. You just beat me to it.”

Mark blinked, stunned. “Oh,” he managed, his voice barely above a whisper. He wasn’t sure what possessed him, but the next thing he knew, he was leaning in again, this time with more confidence.

Hadrian met him halfway, and this kiss was different—slower, steadier, but just as electrifying. Mark let himself get lost in it, in the warmth, the closeness, the quiet hum of something that felt so much bigger than just the two of them.

Mark was still riding the high of kissing Hadrian Stark.

His lips tingled, and his heart was pounding in his chest. He swore he could still feel the warmth of Hadrian’s hands on his face, the pressure of his fingers against his neck. Every nerve in his body felt alive, buzzing with the memory of what just happened.

Hadrian was looking at him like he’d just won some sort of jackpot, his smug little smile doing things to Mark’s stomach he couldn’t begin to describe.

And then—

“Ekhm.”

The sharp cough shattered the moment like a hammer on glass.

Mark jolted back like a spring, eyes wide as he turned toward the sound. Standing there, arms crossed and an unmistakable I’m-not-impressed expression on his face, was none other than Rhodey.

Oh no.

Hadrian’s reaction was instant—his hand shot to his chin, wiping at what Mark assumed was a very obvious trail of… well, evidence. Mark’s face burned hotter than a reactor core.

Rhodey looked between the two of them with a disapproving glare that made Mark’s insides twist. “Did your dad already give you the birds and bees talk, young man?” he asked, his voice stern, the kind of tone that left no room for smart remarks.

Hadrian croaked out, “No.”

Rhodey sighed, long and heavy, like he was carrying the weight of every bad decision they’d ever made. “Figures.” He shook his head before leveling them both with a look that had Mark straightening up like he was at military roll call.

“Now,” Rhodey said, pointing a firm finger at them, “I expect you to come down after breakfast tomorrow—and that includes you, Spider-boy.”

Mark scrambled to answer. “Y–yes, sir.” His voice cracked, and he stood as stiff as a board, wishing the ground would swallow him whole.

Rhodey wasn’t done. “Good. Now, it’s past midnight, and it’s late. You can sleep here, Mark, but no —” he jabbed his finger for emphasis—“I repeat, no sleeping in the same room until we get the talk. Understand?”

Mark and Hadrian both nodded like guilty schoolkids caught passing notes in class. Rhodey, apparently satisfied, gave one last intimidating look before turning and walking back inside.

The moment the door shut behind him, Mark exhaled a shaky breath. “Your uncle is scary,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hadrian snickered, far too amused by the situation. “This is what happens when you have great taste in men, Mark.”

Mark groaned, throwing his head back. “Do I have to go through this type of conversation with everyone ?” he asked, giving Hadrian the most pitiful, pleading look he could muster.

Hadrian smirked. “Probably.”

“Who’s going to be the worst?”

“Natasha. No doubt.”

Mark groaned again, sinking lower on the bench. “I’m afraid of her,” he whispered, like admitting it any louder might summon her out of thin air.

“Only stupid people aren’t,” Hadrian said, his tone matter-of-fact.

Mark sighed, resigning himself to his fate. “Well, at least Cap seems nice,” he offered weakly.

Hadrian snorted, which immediately put Mark on edge. “He’s dating my dad. He’s basically my second dad.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

And then—

“WHAT??”

Mark’s voice echoed across the rooftop, and Hadrian burst into laughter, leaning back against the bench with a grin that said he was thoroughly enjoying this. Mark, meanwhile, buried his face in his hands.

He wasn’t sure if he was more horrified by the fact that Captain America was dating Hadrian’s dad or the fact that he’d kissed said dad’s son without knowing this crucial detail.

“Kill me,” Mark mumbled into his hands, earning another laugh from Hadrian.

“Welcome to the family, Spider-boy,” Hadrian teased, and Mark groaned for what felt like the hundredth time that night.