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Minute knows something is happening. He just doesn't know what, and it's driving him up the wall. There’s a sinking feeling in his stomach, his organs long replaced with a black hole, void spreading through his limbs and leaving a dull ache in its wake. His fingers twitch with the need to fix something, the quiet buzz of electricity sorely missed in the absence of all other feelings. If there’s anything Minute can do, it’s build, and when there’s nothing else to do, it’s what he relies on to hold on to any semblance of normalcy.
There’s just something missing in his calculations, one vital piece of his puzzle painfully absent. It’s not just the fact he’s been struggling through job interviews and resume adjustments as he tries (and fails) to find a steady, reliable place to work that doesn’t compromise all of his morals, there’s something else, he just can’t. Figure. Out. What.
It certainly doesn’t help that crime has amped up with the incoming snowy weather. Hannah got caught in the crossfire while The Phantom Spider, their favourite friendly neighbourhood hero (vigilante? volunteer?), fought The Hand. Wrong place at the wrong time, as all civilians so often find themselves in, but thank the lords above for their web-slinging crime fighter, because he swooped right in and dropped her off near home. How he knew where that was, they’re not sure. Hannah said he barely even talked while he swung through the city, which was odd, because he’s famously quipping at every moment.
Now, Hannah is staying in their apartment more, with squinting eyes as she pours over arachnid textbooks and invertebrate physiology articles. She used to frequent parties and clubs, often with Leo, but she stays more often reading in their living room than not. Minute makes her matcha, and Leo… is nowhere to be seen. He’s disappearing more frequently, and coming home without either of them noticing. He doesn’t tell them where he’s been. Minute is half concerned he’s selling or doing drugs.
Hence why, the past couple of weeks, Minute has spent every free waking moment locked in his tech lab of a bedroom in their shared apartment, and even when he's not hunched over his desk, his hands are never without some sort of machinery. They fill the gap between his fingers when nothing else does. Now, as Minute is sitting with his hands regrettably empty, watching Hannah pace back and forth across their shared living room, he thinks he’s never wanted to be tinkering with something quite as badly.
Her footsteps are controlled and consistent, rhythmic beats against the hardwood floor like a metronome. Six steps, turn on her right foot, six steps, turn on her left foot. Anxiety is practically wafting off of her, souring the air and drowning the home in a heavy fog.
“Hannah, he’ll be home soon. There’s nothing to stress about,” he tries, flexing and curling his fingers around nothing, ignoring the pops of his joints in protest. Hannah doesn't look the slightest bit comforted from his meager attempt to get her to sit down. She’s practically wearing her footprints into the wood, now, each step a bit heavier as she worries with her bracelets.
“He was supposed to be here an hour and a half ago! And he stopped texting an hour ago too! His shift ends at five, it’s a thirty minute subway ride, there’s no reason he shouldn't be home by–” she checks the clock on the oven, taking a second to subtract the five minutes it’s ahead by, “seven twenty-three!”
Minute rubs at his forehead, trying to smooth the lines between his brows. He really, really wishes Leo would turn on his phone location for the two of them. He knows he somehow finagled it to have both of theirs, but he’s too cagey to give Minute more than a minute (har-har) with his own phone. Minute needs to steal it in the middle of the night or something. Though, with how light that guy sleeps, the operation would be over the second the door opened.
“Okay, so he’s running late and not answering texts. Why would that possibly be?” Minute asks, desperate for an escape from the tension polluting their apartment. She falters, her pacing slowing down to a stop that has Minute exhaling and dropping his shoulders minisculely. This isn’t the first time he’s been late, and it certainly won’t be the last. Every time though, Hannah stresses as if he’s the pinnacle of punctuality.
“He’s dead,” she announces, and turns right on her heel to walk even faster. Minute’s head drops into his lap. He really needs her to start taking anti-anxiety meds. Living in New York, the world centre of crazy superpowered bullshit, is frying her nerves. It's frying his too, but he’s been medicated since he got into MIT, and she’s been anxious since birth without interference. At this point he’s going to slip his pills into her morning tea.
“He’s not dead, Hannah. He just does this sometimes. Last week he was late every single day,” his voice is muffled from how he’s bent in half, knees digging into his forehead as he tries to level his breathing and not sigh impatiently at her antics. She’s his best friend–other than Leo, of course. He doesn't want to be irritated just because she's concerned about Leo’s wellbeing and safety. Even if it is a little exaggerated.
Angry typing makes him raise his head, his bangs covering his eyes when he tries to squint at what Hannah’s looking up. He doesn't have to wait for long before she’s showing him the screen. It’s too bright for him to read, and she quickly grows agitated at his lack of response, shoving it closer to his face until it bounces off his nose.
“Scorpion was spotted at the subway!” Her pitch has raised an octave, taking the phone back to point at his picture where only she can see, as if to prove her own worries correct. She loves being right– even when she doesn't want to be right. The article is scrolled back up to the top when he catches sight of it again.
“Leo should have been off the subway by the time Scorpion showed up,” he points out wearily, tapping his nail on the timestamp of the article, “and it looks like Phantom Spider has it covered.” That much, Minute actually knew, due to an alert on his watch about twenty minutes ago.
Tension bleeds out of Hannah’s body, folding into herself and melting into the couch next to him. He watches her green eyes flick back and forth as she reads the rest of the report. The picture of Phantom Spider holding up a car to protect a fallen child is reflected in her wide pupils. Minute looks away.
He tries, futilely, not to think too hard about how it could’ve been Leo who had fallen, looking up at a four thousand pound vehicle looming above them, the only thing between him and the crushing of every bone in his body being a vigilante in a spider-suit. Death always seems around the corner, in the beautiful city of New York, skyscrapers always stretching to the sky as it falls down on the civilians nearly every week. There are people to protect them, sure, but it feels so abstractly empty to carry a pocket knife for defense when the person mugging you could have super-human strength, and there could be a chunk of concrete being thrown towards your apartment at any moment.
It gets exhausting. And yet, Minute doesn’t think he’d trade it for anything. The adrenaline coursing through his veins when he sees the ping of police reports near his work, the breathlessness of being hauled through the air by a surprisingly gentle Spider hero, the chaos of conflicting reports from people on-scene and what the Daily Bugle reports; it’s home, to him, to everyone who hasn’t left the crime centre that is NYC. Plus, M.I.T. is still the best university he could ever dream of attending.
If not that— Minute would never leave Hannah and Leo. With a sidelong glance, he can see Hannah chewing at her bottom lip, her gaze falling to every picture posted of the recent Scorpion attack, scanning each face for their best friend. His home is wherever they go, whichever apartment they find themselves decorating with Lego and convenience store bouquets, however close or far from this first home.
“Do you think he’s got a secret girlfriend?” He asks, mostly to get Hannah to stop thinking about the possibility that Leo is another nameless casualty laying in the fallen snow of a New York City street. He knows it works because he can see her eyes light up in his peripheral vision.
“What, Leo? Or the Phantom Spider?” Her lips are curled into a small smirk, as if the idea of either is equally unbelievable. He tries not to laugh too hard; Leo is a loveable guy, doesn’t Minute know it, but he’s never been interested in dating. He stays relatively reserved even within friendships, obviously with two key exceptions. If there was someone in Leo’s life, they would’ve probably solved it by now.
“I don’t think the city’s hero has much time for a girlfriend. Or boyfriend,” he adds, raising his pointer finger to Hannah’s obvious glee, her laugh vibrating through her chest. She pokes him in the side and he squeaks.
“Maybe he has good PTO. Do you think the city pays him? They gave him that big ass key,” she holds her chin in thought, as if crime fighting is a viable career option. Minute sincerely doubts he gets anything more than a sore back and a discount on street food while wearing the mask. The idea of risking your life so often and the main reward being a hot dog at half price is incredulous.
Minute snickers. “Somehow it’s hard for me to believe the Phantom Spider is saving the city for the tax write-offs. He’s probably doing it for love of the game, something like, I got these powers, I must use them for good.”
“That’s a nice thought process,” she replies, looking out the window as if Leo will suddenly pop through their fire escape, “I don’t think either of them have a girlfriend. I think Leo picked up a second job and just hasn’t told us.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell us?” It’s definitely a possibility— probably the most realistic one. Both Hannah and himself are backed by their parents, however close they are with them or not, but Leo doesn’t have that. He dropped M.I.T. to work full time even though he’s one of the smartest people Minute’s ever met. There’s a world where Leo has started doing another internship but this time paid, or delivery work and that’s why it has such odd hours, or maybe he’s even babysitting, Minute doesn’t have a clue at this point. It could be anything. They don’t know, because Leo hasn’t told them.
She sighs, her eyebrows furrowed so intensely they cast shadows over her eyes. Minute can tell just by the irritation in her expression she’s been thinking about this for a long time, and knowing her, she’s exhausted every possible outcome as to why he wouldn’t, but she’s still ended up empty-handed. Her voice is more sad than annoyed though, when she finally finishes with “I don’t know.”
There’s not much else to say after that. They lapse into semi-peaceful silence. Hannah is still anxious beside him, the taps on her Samsung lulling him to relax against the back of their couch. He bumps his knee against hers, dully hoping it’ll help soothe the way it’s bouncing restlessly. It slows, but doesn’t stop. If Minute can be a slight comfort, slow the racing worries in her mind just the slightest bit, that’s all he wants. His eyes slip closed.
“Minute?” He perks back up immediately, looping an arm around her shoulder to get a better look at the screen she has tilted towards him. The Spidey-Tracker app flashes yellow icons across the blue background, and hey, that street looks familiar. “Why is the Phantom Spider on our street?”
“I… don’t know,” Minute squints as if he’s seeing it wrong. The Phantom Spider doesn't come down this way, not unless there’s a crime nearby– and Minute would know, he made the fucking app. He keeps alerts on his watch and everything— the watch he made, as well, so he knows it works.
As if Hannah triggered it by speaking, the black band on his wrist lights up golden, an electronic voice modelled after his own beeping with Spidey is spotted near you! The icon blinks its goggles at him. Minute blinks back.
“You don’t think it has anything to do with Leo missing, does it?” Hannah asks, ever the worrier. Minute can’t fault her because that’s where his mind first landed, too. The Phantom Spider could be taking a new route, scouring for new crime, helping someone home; there’s a thousand possibilities why he might carouse their street. There’s a dozen Minute could list off that have something to do with Leo. He indulges none of those thoughts.
He just squeezes her shoulder, pulling them closer until their arms bump each other. Her head falls onto his collar bone. “I’m not sure,” he says honestly. It’s all he can offer her, and she doesn’t ask for more. All they can do is wait for him to return like he has every night the past two years they’ve lived together, and see if this time he’ll explain why he’s home late.
They sit, tangled together and intertwined with worry, watching the Spidey-Tracker stop a couple doors down and stay stagnant until the mark fades to a silver-hued circle, then disappears completely as well. He tries not to be disappointed— if the Phantom Spider was at their apartment, that would probably mean something bad happened. It’s better he’s not. Even if that means they’re left without a roommate, and without any idea where he is.
Minute lets a couple more moments pass, sharing the warmth of contact and pacing their breathing together, before he carefully untwines himself from her and stands up. Whispering a reason— something silly, like he wants to check on a build in his room— that they both know is untrue, he walks out of her line of sight to stand, leaning against his bedroom doorframe, staring out the window.
It’s snowing, small flakes dancing through the air and collecting on the fire escape outside his room, lining each stair in a layer of fluffy white. The wind hasn’t turned biting yet, just chilly instead of frigid. Leo’s probably cold. He left without his gloves this morning, they’re still sitting on their countertop, much to Minute’s chagrin. He had reminded him last night not to forget them.
A piece of Lego falls. Minute turns his attention to it, picking the whole structure up to examine the damage. It’s a single flat two by one, so simple it could fit anywhere. The Lego Death Star (2008) has almost four thousand pieces, and while it’s dwarfed by his 2025 Death Star that has over nine thousand pieces, it’s still pretty fucking big, and he’ll probably need to do a side-by-side in order to see what’s missing.
His parents bought him the set years ago for his birthday. That was before they all moved in together, the two of them knocking on his door with breathless laughter and armfuls of presents. They had run all the way to his parent’s house to surprise him while their hot chocolates were still warm— even though Minute very easily could’ve microwaved them again. It’s the thought that matters, Hannah had remarked, setting up her cushion on the floor and beckoning them both to sit with her.
They’d built the whole thing that night, with Christmas movies playing quietly on his TV, the last sips of their hot chocolates ice-cold in the bottom of their paper cups. It had snowed the whole time, big fluffy flakes covering the house. Minute insisted they slept over because it was “too cold” to walk anywhere. Leo and Hannah had just laughed and pulled out backpacks full of their overnight necessities that he hadn’t noticed they brought. The three of them laughed until morning came, falling asleep right there on his bedroom floor, all circling the completed Lego Death Star sitting peacefully on the coffee table. Fondness fills his body like the warmth of a steaming drink at the memory.
His reminisce is interrupted by the creaking of a window opening. Minute tilts his head, turning around to check if Hannah is overheating, but she’s still on the couch, draped across the pillows. There’s a quiet shuffling, the sound of light feet hitting the carpet. He peers around to the open door of Leo’s room. The window is open.
Snowflakes are slipping through the ajar glass, melting as soon as they touch the windowsill. Whispers of the breeze float around the pieces of half-finished tech and drawings hung across the room. Red thread pulled taut by pins reverberates like harp strings, without sound. The only thing Minute can hear is the rushing of blood in his ears.
There stands the Phantom Spider, the city’s hero, the same man who’s saved both Minute and Hannah more than either of them can count. His suit is scuffed, dirty, and he’s bleeding beneath it, superficial scratches spanning from his hips to his shoulder blades a dark red. It’s stark against how blank and bright the white of his costume is, only otherwise contrasted with the black lines like spider webs and the gold emblem on the centre of his back. He looks even broader in person, every muscle visible through the… spandex? Something more mechanical, Minute can see electricity sparking through the black veins he originally thought were decoration.
Why the fuck is the Phantom Spider in his apartment. They don’t have anything special beyond a missing (late) roommate and some tech they probably shouldn’t. Sue Minute for testing the limits of what he can make! Leo encourages it! He’s got some illegal tech on the desk right there, right next to where the fucking Phantom Spider is standing! Better yet, why did he waltz through the window as if he’s done it a million times, and why is he taking his mask off—
He’s still facing away, but Minute would recognize those curls anywhere. He’s spent years chasing his back through their high school hallways, finding him curled over in the chemistry lab, tucking a blanket over him when he falls asleep face-down on their couch. He knows the short white threaded with black hair that never stays straight, or tapered down to his head, for longer than a couple minutes. It’s got a mind of its own, Leo says. Hannah tried to slick it back and it was puffed back out within an hour. She couldn’t figure it out. Neither could Minute.
There were a lot of things Minute couldn’t figure out. Why he felt so off, why Hannah was always so anxious over Leo missing, why he got the sense something was happening but could never quite figure out what. Why Leo is always leaving and never saying why. It’s starting to make sense, now. Guess this is why Leo wouldn’t let him out a tracker on his phone. And why he never explains his disappearance when they ask where he’s been. And, why the Phantom Spider—Leo— always seems to appear just in time to save the two of them, while Leo is nowhere to be seen. He’s been in plain sight this whole time.
What is he supposed to do, here? Wait for him to turn around? He’s not that patient. But, he’s seen the news, he’s studied articles, he made the goddamn Spidey-Tracker app. There are a couple hypotheses he’s had that he wants to test, and what better time than the present? He wants to see if those spidey-senses are as good as the media says they are. Minute drops his Lego Death Star.
Before it hits the ground, Leo whips around and throws his arm out, a white blur catching the ship before it can smash into a thousand blocks strewn across the carpeted floor. Thank god, Minute thinks vaguely, because it would’ve been so annoying to clean that up.
Leo’s eyes go so wide Minute worries they might genuinely pop out his head. He’s sure he looks a lot calmer than he feels, a faux nonchalance surrounding him he can’t ever seem to turn off, not even in the most important moments. For many, many long seconds they just stare at each other. His eyebrow quirks up, and Leo doesn’t blink. His pupils dilate until his entire eyes are black. That’s… new.
It’s kind of pretty, though. In a weird way. He looks like a baby deer, with big black eyes, or maybe a baby tarantula, one of the fuzzy ones that can’t actually hurt you. Minute’s never been afraid of spiders, he struggles to see why someone would be, especially standing face to face with the masked vigilante who’s saved his and everyone else’s lives so many times. Leo, on the other hand, looks about ready to bolt right back out the window.
“So,” Minute starts, trying and probably failing to seem casual, muffling a laugh on how the six foot three guy with superpowers looks scared of him, “you’re the web-slinging menace who haunts New York City.”
A choked laugh escapes Leo, his eyes crinkling as he smiles, the pockets of void reflecting the hung Christmas lights like stars. Hannah put them up because she said the room looked too gloomy. The mirth is quiet, just simmering above the surface. It’s quickly swallowed again by the guilt and fear that seems to consume him. “Would hardly call myself a menace,” his voice cracks, barely above a whisper.
“Only when you start money-spreading to wild deer.” Looking back, it is a weird coincidence that Phantom Spider showed up at their Japan trip to save him and Hannah from a circus wheel falling over. Kind of hard to connect the dots when you’re busy being evacuated, though. The memory makes Leo smile wider, his eyes little crescents, tiny pools of ink shining in the low light. Minute returns with a crooked grin of his own.
A floorboard creaks from outside the room. Leo straightens as if ready to fight, and wow, Minute doesn’t know how he was hiding both his height and his strength, practically filling out the room when he stands upright. He looks imposing, powerful. Certainly not like someone Minute would want to throw a car at. And, certainly like someone strong enough to catch a car being thrown at him. Kind of ironic he was so concerned he might get crushed by one earlier.
When Leo speaks, it’s foreignly soft, each word crackling like a low fire, nothing like the boisterous laughter and yelling he’s so used to. Minute practically has to lean in to even catch what he says. “Is Hannah home?”
“Yeah, she’s been worried sick about you not coming home on time. Better think of a good excuse if you’re going to keep your charade up,” he replies without thinking. Guilt flashes across Leo’s features, but is quickly replaced by bewilderment, cocking his head at Minute’s casualty.
“Wait, you’re not mad?” He asks, tugging off his golden gloves and dropping them on his bed. Minute pauses. He didn’t even consider the possibility of being angry at Leo for hiding this huge secret, which, honestly, he could be. He would probably have every right to be upset that his best friend has been sneaking away in the dead of night, risking his life every day, keeping an entire half of his life away from his best friends.
But he’s not. Looking at Leo, clad in white, black, and gold, with a web keeping his Lego Death Star from breaking, all Minute can think is that he’s proud. He’s proud that his best friend has saved so many lives, proud he’s accomplished so many marvellous things, proud he’s stopped so many bad people from hurting civilians, all while still having time to help Minute fix his coding after supper, and watching another season of some action-comedy series with Hannah on their couch. He’s proud of the Phantom Spider, and he’s proud that it’s Leo, his best friend, who is the Phantom Spider.
“You’re a dick for not telling me, ‘cause you know I’d be your guy in the chair, but you wanted to be mysterious, that’s fine,” Minute rolls his eyes at the way Leo practically sparkles at the words. He wilts after a couple seconds though, looking at the ground with the biggest puppy dog eyes Minute’s ever seen. He looks like he’s got his tail between his legs.
“I’m sorry,” he’s entirely serious, not one hint of insincerity in his demeanour. Again, Minute thinks he should be mad. He has been worried sick, after all, losing sleep and cracking his knees from how much he can’t sit still, restless with the thought of Leo being in danger. And he has been in danger. A lot. Purposefully.
But it’s Leo. What Minute said before, about how the Phantom Spider probably feels like it’s his duty to protect people because he can… That would be Leo’s reasoning. Nothing more than the simple fact he has the power to save people, so he will. It’s natural for him. The dangers of his job probably barely register as soon as he’s on the street in his mask. If he doesn’t fight to save, who will?
So Minute just reaches out a hand, and doesn’t look away from the man he’s called a best friend since he turned fourteen. “I know. I know you probably wanted to tell us too, but I’m not mad you didn’t. You’re doing what you think is right. I’ll never blame you for that.”
“So badly,” Leo exclaims, then lowers his voice with a glance at the still open door of his bedroom, “I wanted to tell you both so badly. It was killing me. Every time one of you was in danger, I almost couldn’t stop myself. I don’t know what I would do if—if one of you was there, and I couldn’t help you in time.”
They’re both choking up now, countless memories of being face to face with death’s door flashing through their minds. Hannah, just recently. Leo holding up a car to save someone else. Minute on the top of a burning ferris wheel in Japan. Basically every part of their Academic Decalthon trip. So many times where even one moment of hesitance could’ve meant serious injury or worse. There’s many worlds where one of them didn’t make it, two of them, all of them, resting in tandem graves side by side.
“I should tell her. It wouldn’t be fair to keep it from only one of you,” he reasons, his voice frail as he peels off the top of his suit— cool, Minute thought it was all one piece— and cranes his neck to inspect the cuts on his back. They’re not deep, barely even bleeding anymore. Increased healing, for sure. That must be how Minute has missed any scrapes or bruises.
It soothes a bit of his worry, knowing that Leo has quick recovery, some sort of healing factor. Makes him feel better about the fact he’s getting hurt so often. After that stress is slightly extinguished, he processes what he’s said, and his eyebrows raise on their own accord. He can’t help but quip “I have the feeling if she found out first, you wouldn’t be so stressed to tell me.”
“Huh? You’re my best friend, man!” Leo, to his credit, looks genuinely upset by the implication he wouldn’t tell Minute before Hannah. “I would’ve told you both, way sooner, but I didn’t want— you know, I wanted to keep you both safe— safer. As safe as possible.”
“Safe from what?” Hannah pops around the corner, her curls cascading down as she tilts her head. Just in time to see shirtless, very muscular and slightly roughed up, Leo, halfway through replacing the lower half of his spider-suit with sweatpants. Minute looks between the two of them. They stand in silence.
Nobody moves for a couple of seconds. Hannah blinks. Leo… slowly pulls his sweatpants on. If Minute wasn’t a fairy’s breath away from crying, he’d think this is quite the funny situation to be in. He means, he’s getting caught with his best friend who is in the midst of changing, and their mutual roommate is having an internal crisis that could rival a president’s midlife crisis.
Silence stretches between them. Even if there wasn’t his suit discarded on his bed, and the injuries very clearly from a certain scorpion’s tail, Minute’s Lego Death Star is still hanging in the air, suspended midway to the floor with a web too strong to be a regular spider’s. There’s nothing to deny, here. Their roommate is the Phantom Spider. It’s clear as a sunny day.
Emotions flicker across Hannah’s face, everything from shock to sadness to excitement flashing through her features like someone picking an expression for their sims character. He glances back at Leo, who is slowly putting a shirt on, keeping it above his face so she can’t see the way his eyes are swallowed by black. Minute does what he thinks will be the most helpful: he smacks the back of his head.
“Ow!” Leo whines, finally tugging his shirt all the way on. His eyes are still pockets of the night sky, shining in a way that reminds Minute of a puppy. He’s still failing to understand how anyone could be scared of a guy like this. “What was that for?”
Minute shrugs, trying very, very hard not to smirk. Even when Leo glares, the creases from his eyebrows pinching just look silly, not even near frightening. He’s suddenly finding the super-strength and agility a lot harder to believe. “I thought you’d be able to sense it.”
“That’s for actual danger, not his chungus roommate slapping him,” Hannah remarks, stepping all the way into the room. Her voice is surprisingly level— the same gentle tone she uses whenever someone breaks something. If Minute was blindfolded, he would’ve guessed Leo knocked a glass off the counter, not that he’s accidentally revealed he’s the Phantom Spider. She regards Leo, looks him up and down, but when she moves closer he flinches back.
He looks very small, all of the sudden. And very, very young. They’re all the same age, same grade, and would be the same year in M.I.T., except Leo dropped out in the second semester of their freshman year. Minute still gets nervous ordering his own drink at the giant cafeteria sometimes. Leo is mirroring that irrational anxiety as he shies away from Hannah’s careful gaze.
The man who can fling grand pianos and hold up falling skyscrapers all while throwing stupid jokes at the people trying to kill him, is shrinking into himself because his roommate is stepping closer to him, approaching with the same type of patience one would have for a frightened puppy. She keeps her hands out where he can see them, moving slowly, keeping eye contact with the smallest smile.
As soon as she’s close enough to touch, Leo shakily raises his hands, a silent invitation she happily indulges. She loops her arms around his neck, standing on her tippy-toes as he wraps around her waist, burrowing his face into her shoulder. If Minute sees a tear fall, he doesn’t mention it, just covers the two of them as he joins the hug.
Leo is shivering, but he’s silent, every muscle in his body shaking as if he’s lifting up a building. He’s holding the two of them as if the entire world will end if he doesn’t have a grip on them. Somehow, with what Minute is sure is great restraint, he refrains from squeezing them, instead regarding them with the same care one would a small, fragile animal. Hannah is warm from where she was curled up moments prior, and Leo is cold, still frosted by the cold air outside. His window is still open, so Minute pulls away just for a second, flicking the latch shut. Leo’s pitch-black eyes don’t leave him for a second.
His eyelashes are collecting unshed tears like morning dew on blades of grass. Minute is reaching up before he even processes it, wiping a gentle thumb across his cheekbones, smiling at how he melts into the touch. Finally, finally,, he relaxes his taut muscles, the tension dissolving beneath Minute’s hands.
“You must have been so lonely,” Hannah says, and that’s the final nail in the coffin for Leo. A soft sob escapes his throat, and he starts embracing them with more force, as if he’s no longer the hero holding up the sky but just a guy in his twenties under far more pressure than anyone could’ve expected.
His cries are faint but heart wrenching to Minute’s ears. He sounds like a man falling apart, after so long of keeping it together, not just for himself but for the entire city. The grief wracks his body in waves like a crashing ocean. Minute and Hannah are squished together in each of his arms, just tight enough they can barely move but with enough room they can still breathe easily. Leo’s demeanour has switched from a hero getting caught, to a guilty roommate, to a man truly destitute with desperation as he begs to keep the people most important to him safe. Minute can hear the unspoken prayer as he cries– it sounds like stay alive, stay alive, stay alive.
There’s nothing for them to offer beyond breathing exaggerated enough it moves the arms wrapped around their torsos, and Hannah’s whispered reassurances of we’re here, we’re okay, we’re safe, you’re safe. The mantra sounds practiced as it falls from her lips, each clause measured and slow, deliberate in every syllable. Leo disassembles further with each word like she’s manually unravelling each knot in his muscles.
The sobs fade to cries fade to sniffles, and eventually to simple shallow exhales, Leo wiping his nose with the back of his fist. Hannah makes a face at him, to which he replies by mauling her, taking hold of her shoulders and letting all his body fall onto her.
Hannah shrieks under his weight, suddenly lifting a six foot plus super-powered spider on her own. Minute simply takes a step away, taking the distraction to discreetly wipe his eyes dry. Hannah puts up a respectable fight to stay upright, but she stands at a mighty 5 '4, unfortunately without enough muscle from lifting textbooks to haul up their roommate.
“Help!” She squeaks, muffled by Leo hanging over her, engulfing her as they fall to a heap on the floor. Minute cracks a smile and doesn’t help. A single hand escapes from under him, shaking pathetically before dropping with a thud. Following it are exaggerated death sounds, and Minute can practically hear the expression he’s sure she’s making– tongue out, eyes closed, a smirk even as she fakes being a cartoonish corpse.
Laughter bubbles from Leo’s chest like he can’t control the joy erupting from him, laying across Hannah on the floor, clutching his sides and wiping his face from happy tears. Minute’s heart swells. When Leo opens his eyes, they’re thin crescents creased from his smile, but Minute can see the white and hazel has returned in place of the void. His lips curve up. There’s his best friend back.
Minute watches them play fight on the carpet for a couple seconds more, before he clears his throat and grins at the way they immediately pause and turn to him with matching owlish stares and starry smiles. “I was thinking about making hot chocolate.”
“This is why we say you’re a genius,” Hannah remarks as soon as the words ‘hot chocolate’ have left his mouth, hopping to her feet and reaching to help Leo. Kind of funny how his joints creak while he takes her hand as support, since Minute has seen him climb skyscrapers and rip apart concrete without breaking a sweat.
As if he, too, is just now remembering he’s capable of such feats, Leo grabs Hannnah by the waist and hoists her up over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ignoring her yelps and her valiant attempts for him to release her– soft raps with her knuckles against his chest are probably like a fly’s sneeze to him. Minute is laughing, almost doubled over at the sight, until he realizes Leo has one free arm and a mischievous glint in his eyes.
He puts up a good fight; as good of a fight as you could expect from him, a mechanical engineering major who builds codes and Legos for fun. He does not win. When he runs, Leo catches up, and when he tries to push him away (without hitting Hannah in the crossfire), Leo simply catches his assaults and manages to get a good enough grip on his waist to yank him. Minute ends up likewise to Hannah, thrown over their roommate and best friend’s shoulders, giggling and yelling as he runs around their apartment as if they weigh nothing to him.
Well, in comparison to a genuine car, they probably do weigh nothing. Minute is never lifting a finger in the house again. Leo is going to be his personal errand boy to gain his forgiveness for hiding his secret alter-ego from him, and he’s going to be carrying in all the groceries for the foreseeable future. All he does is let out a barking laugh when Minute tells him such, shaking his head in disbelief but not actually disagreeing. Hannah seconds the motion, so then it’s two votes against one, in Minute’s favour. That’s democracy, says Hannah. Leo drops them on the couch in lieu of a response.
They all tumble down together because Hannah manages to grab hold of the back of his knees as she falls. With all the grace of three drunk sailors on a choppy sea, they land in a pile of limbs and skewed pillows, still breathless with mirth. Minute shoves the lifeless, lazy body of Leo off his legs and stands to make the drinks for all three of them.
Fondness infects his smile as he gazes at the two of them still giggling like little kids on Christmas. He watches them as the water boils, listens to them whisper as he gets out the spices and hot chocolate packs, pretends he doesn’t have so much affection in his chest it’s making him feel like he might explode as he gets out their favourite mugs. They’re steaming when he passes them out and takes his place, right in the middle of the couch, cuddled up with his favourite people, and starts the conversation with “So you don’t have a secret girlfriend.”
“That was your guess?!” Leo almost drops his mug immediately– thank god for his spider-senses, and enhanced agility, otherwise Minute might’ve been suffering some first degree burns across his lap. His eyes have flown wide, mouth opening and closing like a bewildered goldfish.
“Not really,” Hannah interjects with a giggle, “that was more of a joke. We doubted you or the Phantom Spider had girlfriends, or boyfriends, or whatever. My theory was you picked up a second job.”
“Which is kind of right,” Minute points out, much to Hannah’s pleasure. She grins at him like he’s just complimented her life’s work, all 32 pearly whites shining. Loves being right, that’s his best friend he’s watched be proven correct over and over again, ever since she won them the Academic Decalthon in high school. Leo grits his teeth a bit.
“Unpaid volunteering more like, but I do get free stuff. Like, a lot. I almost feel bad.” He scratches at his neck and looks away like an embarrassed anime protagonist. Hannah reaches across Minute to squeeze Leo’s cheek, so reminiscent of a grandma meeting her first grandchild, just struck with cuteness aggression.
Minute regards him as if he’s grown a second head– which, at this point, wouldn’t even be the craziest thing. It would be in the top three of the crazy list, but not first. “People are thanking you for saving their lives, and you feel bad?”
“Well, I can’t always accept it. Like dude, you tried to give me food once while I was on the way home to you guys,” he laughs as Minute’s ears turn pink, “I gave it to someone sitting on the street, so it–the stuff doesn’t go to waste, obviously, but I just– can’t accept it all.”
“Aww, you’re so grateful, Minute!” Hannah teases, flicking his blushing cheek while an evil smile that says I will remember this forever. Mentally, Minute files away the fact he’ll be lovingly bullied for the next month with this information. She pauses, and looks up at Leo. “Wait, where is the key to the city?”
“Under Minute’s bed,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious place in the world, as if he hasn’t been hiding the key to New York Goddamn City under Minute’s bed. How much is that even worth? How many are there? Should they have security? Oh yeah, he guesses, they have the Phantom Spider. Security is covered, then.
“Why not your own bed?” He asks instead. Minute has spent a lot of time in Leo’s room, it’s not as crowded as he’s making it seem. Sure, there’s clutter, but not that much more than Minute’s controlled chaos. He thinks Leo just wants an excuse to not have certain things in his space. That’s fine on its own, but why do those things have to live with Minute?
Leo has the audacity to shrug it off like it’s a stupid, nonsensical question. Minute wants to strangle him, even more when his response is simply: “Not much room. You have a lot of room. Or, you did, before I started putting stuff there.”
“How much of your shit is under my bed, dude?” He drags a hand down his face while his two best friends—traitors—share a snicker at him. The first thing Minute is doing when he gets up is checking what alien technology and spider secrets are hidden in his room. He probably won’t be getting up for a while, though.
“Is there stuff under my bed?” Hannah pipes up, leaning forward to see Leo’s face better. He shakes his head no, which serves to placate Hannah and annoy Minute further.
Hannah pats Leo’s shoulder as if to congratulate him for passing a friendship test. Minute is excluded from this interaction, because his room is now Leo’s dumpster, and Hannah gets off blissfully untouched. He rolls his eyes. “Oh, just me. Cool. Is it ‘cause you’re mad I made the Spidey-Tracker?”
“What? No. That’s actually pretty helpful. I like reading the chat room. People fuck with the Phantom Spider,” his smile is audible in the words, and Minute feels pride unfurl like wings in his chest. The public loves his best friend, his Spidey, and the Phantom Spider likes his app. It doesn’t really help the fact Leo’s been using his bedroom for extra storage, but whatever, he can bother him about that after. Maybe he’ll (steal) keep the key.
“Why ‘The Phantom Spider’ anyways? Are you trying to have aura?” Although it’s said skeptically and her eyebrows halfway up her forehead, her eyes are alight and playful. Minute leans forwards at the same time Leo leans back. He’s feigning disinterest, and Minute is sure he’s been asked this before but didn’t have to actually answer— he and Hannah will not be letting this go so easily.
There’s a momentary lull in the conversation as Leo takes a slow sip of his hot chocolate. Hannah and Minute exchange a look. He's either going to explain a tear-jerking backstory, or say something so stupid it makes them both wonder how he manages to be so smart while simultaneously being… not. Leo gulps loudly, then says: “It was that or Spider-Wook.”
“Why would those be the only options?” Her voice is exasperatedly fond, like an older sister seeing her baby brother try on suits for his first Prom night. Disbelief is mixed with glee as she mentally rifles through the possibilities of Leo’s name being Spider-Wook— he’d be found out instantly, for starters, since it’s his literal last name. Leo doesn’t seem concerned at all with that though, smirking at Minute like they’re in on one secret together as he raps his knuckles on his back.
“Minute thinks it’s cool. He would’ve named himself Spider-Bat or the Night Shadow, or something like that.” Leo’s shoulder bumps into Minute’s, a huge smile across his face, mirth practically bleeding out his every pore. Hannah on his other side sports matching joy, combined they’re bright enough to light up the whole apartment. He can’t deny it, or won’t, just to keep those looks on their faces.
“Dallright…” As corny as it is, all he can manage to say is agreement. Minute doesn’t think he’ll ever love anything as much as he loves sitting sandwiched between his roommates and best friends, a cup of hot chocolate warming his hands, existing happily and without worry within their shared apartment. The air smells like cinnamon and nutmeg, snowflakes sparkle outside the window as they paint the city white, and Minute is washed in a wave of happiness that warms him from the inside out.
When he looks around, all he can see are the memories they’ve captured together, the little lives they’ve carved for themselves in the big city decorating the walls. Hannah’s drawings are hung by magnets they’ve collected travelling to the fridge, stock-full of Minute’s energy drinks and Leo’s festive desserts. Minute’s Lego sculptures that don’t fit in his bedroom line the shelves, keeping his and Hannah’s textbooks upright. There’s scorch marks from when Leo’s little chemistry experiment went awry and he exploded his glass tubes, and attempting to hide the ashy smudge are the newer, more resilient test tubes Minute and Hannah bought him the day after. Their MIT acceptance letters are framed and affixed up in the kitchen, same with Leo’s Stark Industry internship offer. Polaroid captures of them are littering across every available surface and bedazzled with stickers. Every special moment, from their trip to Japan, their Academic Decathlon win, and their first rent payment, all the way to Minute’s first time trying vodka (he hated it and didn’t have more than a sip), Hannah crying over the dog Leo saw walking home, and Leo falling asleep standing in the corner; it’s all pinned and taped and otherwise attached to every part of their apartment.
The dots are connected, the puzzle pieces have fallen into place. It all makes sense to him now. Of course Leo would spend his time saving them. Of course Hannah would have a lingering feeling that it’s him who swings her home after a brush with death. Of course Minute would be the one to find out first, accidentally, through virtue of a Lego Death Star. It’s all so perfectly them.
He wouldn’t trade this for the world. Now, with both his best friends home and safe, cuddling into his sides, he thinks he’s exactly where he belongs. Nothing matters as much as them all being together and safe. Right here between them, joking about the likelihood of Leo shooting organic webs, a stitch in his side forming from how hard he’s laughing, with the stresses of the Scorpion and falling cars far behind them. Minute loops both of their arms with his and melts back into the couch.
Yeah, he’s right where he belongs.