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Flash means to just walk up to Parker and apologize, like “Hey, I did some uncool things, sorry.”
He doesn't think it's working.
“Hey,” Flash says. His teeth want to chatter. It's freezing in the courtyard. That's probably why Peter is alone, so, yeah, not complaining. This is a great chance for Flash to make his super-dignified and very manly apology without an audience.
Unfortunately, it's also a great chance to catch hypothermia and die.
Can sweat actually physically freeze on your skin?
Flash doesn't know. Peter probably does, but that's not how Flash wants to start this conversation.
“So. Uh. Par...ker?”
Peter isn't looking up from his camera. Nothing new. Peter's tried the 'ignore him and he'll go away' tactic plenty of times. Flash has got ways to deal with that.
Unfortunately, 'I'm going to bounce a basketball off of your face so that you'll pay attention while I half-assedly apologize for all the times I've bounced a basketball off of your face,' probably isn't the best way forward.
“Mind if I talk to you,” at you? “for a second?”
“...”
“Right.” Flash sits across from Parker, who's still doing something geeky and technical to his camera. Film camera. And who the fuck uses film anymore, anyway?
“I saw you out here so, uh, I thought maybe I should... I mean, I know we haven't exactly ever, uh, but I thought maybe-- I should sort of. Yeah.”
Oh hell, Thompson. Really?
Flash takes a deep breath, and lets it out in a rush.
“YouCanHitMeIfYouWant.”
Well. That wasn't part of the plan.
But he means it.
It also seems to be working, because Peter is finally looking at him. Flash clears his throat, and shrugs. “I figure you owe me one or two.” Or twenty. Or fifty.
Peter finally makes a sound. Admittedly it's not much of one, something between a laugh and a snort, but he's looking at Flash, and that's progress, right? Peter stands up. So does Flash, trying not to back away as Parker comes around the table to stand in front of him.
Peter raises a fist (the other's still holding his camera), and Flash clenches his own, determined to keep them down. He shuts his eyes and tenses and--
Click.
Flash opens his eyes and stares into a camera lense. “What?”
Peter grins all crooked, in a way that used to give Flash itchy fists. But it occurs to him that the expression has never gotten turned towards him before. Not for real.
Peter snorts. It turns into a chuckle, then an outright laugh that's raising echoes off the icy courtyard.
Flash sputters. “What? Hey, no! Delete it!”
Peter shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Film. Can't.” He's still shaking with laughter. “That look on your face? Oh, god.” He guffaws, and pats the camera. “I'm gonna keep this forever.”
Peter's grinning, but Flash recognizes something else there, too. A few weeks ago he'd have floored Peter by now, just for laughing at him. They both know it.
But now Flash only stands there, feeling stupid and also kind of... something. He doesn't know. He's way out of practice interpreting his own emotions, because anger burns up everything, but suddenly it's a little hard not to laugh along with Peter because, damn, he does look stupid, doesn't he? And nothing terrible is happening. Peter's just standing there, grinning. Not attacking. Not zeroing in on Flash's vulnerability like a shark scenting blood.
He's not acting anything like Flash would, if there positions were reversed.
“Hell,” Flash mutters, crossing his arms. He looks away, “It's fucking freezing out here.”
“You should go inside.”
“Yeah.” Flash agrees. He doesn't move. “Hey. Pete. I actually came out here to say-- uh, y'know.”
Sorry. Sorry about everything.
Peter huffs out a laugh, and pushes him towards the school.
“Inside. Come on. Go.”
- - -
“Half-assed is asking for an ass-kicking.”
That's what his old man used to say, and it's daddy dearest on his mind when some kid cracks a joke about Flash in his hearing during lunch.
“What'd you say?” Flash asks, all low and quiet and threatening, coming up behind the kid where he's sitting at the lunch-table. He knows the boy. Jordan. Flash has maybe had to kick his ass a time or two, back when he still did that. But hey, details. He's not intending anything physical today.
Not unless the kid is dumb enough to start something.
Flash watches the boy jump up from the table and spin to face him, wearing a perfect Oh, shit expression that makes Flash work hard to suppress a laugh. “Say it again,” he says instead. “Come on, speak up. 'S a joke, right? We all want to laugh.”
He sets a hand on the guy's shoulder and leans in close. Then he freezes. Over the kid's shoulder, he sees Parker turning towards them.
Fuck. What the hell am I doing?
Distracted, he doesn't recognize the suckerpunch until he's flat on his back with the wind knocked out of him.
Shock turns to perfect clarity as his former victim leans over him, face set in an expression of terrified exhilaration. It's the face of someone realizing for the first time that they can hit back. Hit harder. Punch everything until it can't hurt them anymore. Flash recognizes the look. He's seen it in mirrors.
Oh. Well. Shit.
He can't breathe. He can't move. Can't do anything to block the savage kick to his ribs from a kid who doesn't pull his blows because he's never had the opportunity to break bones and doesn't know what he's capable of.
Nobody's going to stop him.
Who the hell would risk their necks to save Flash Thompson?
Flash finally gets a breath. He rolls over and tries to get up, but another kick lays him flat. He knows there's another one coming, and not a damned thing he can do.
But it doesn't happen.
There's a yelp, and a thump, and Flash watches a body hit the ground beside him.
“Careful,” comes Parker's voice. He's helping the kid up. “Floor's slippery in here.”
Then he's reaching down to Flash, pulling him upright. Or as upright as Flash can manage, with a stomach that feels like it got kicked into his spine. He feels the stares of the people around them. He should worry about that, but somehow his mind keeps sticking on Peter's hand, still there, still steadying him.
He forces himself to step away. Then he looks at the kid who'd managed to put him, Flash Thompson, on his back in front of everyone.
“Not bad,” he says. Then he shakes his head. “And not worth it.”
He stalks away without a backward glance.
- - -
Fuck. Just, fuck.
He makes himself look at Parker, and the expression he sees makes him think that maybe, just maybe--
The Peter's smile dies.
“No. No, can't.”
Flash's fists are already shoved deep inside his pockets. Now the nails bite into his skin. “Right.” His voice sounds wrong. Strained. He coughs out a laugh. “Of course. Hah. Wow. Dumbest thing I ever said.”
It is.
He stays still. Peter isn't moving either.
Think of something, think of something, think of something to make this better before it's all awkward and ruined and fucked up forever because you're a fucking idiot Eugene!
But he can't, and now the only thing he wants is to run away and curse his stupidity in private. He turns on his heel, but gets brought up short when Peter grabs his arm.
“It's a bad idea,” says Peter. “We can't.”
“So... let go?”
Flash tries not to snarl. He does. But he's embarrassed, and scared, and that means angry, because Flash Thompson can't just stop being Flash Thompson, no matter how much he wants to. And Peter's just holding on and looking at him, like he doesn't know what to do but has got a all fucking day to think about it.
“Hey, uh. It's not you. Ok? I just can't.”
Holy hell, you moron.
“Forget I mentioned it.” Flash wraps his hand around Peter's fingers, and tries to detach them from his sweater. Peter ignores his efforts, and keeps babbling.
“I mean, I would. I mean I'd think about it really seriously if I could, it's just that I got this thing, and I can't--”
Goddamn everything. Just shut. Up!
Flash grabs a fistful of Peter's shirt and pulls himself closer. He kisses a mouth that finally, (finally!) stops moving.
He pulls back quick, before Peter's got time to get over the shock. “'No,'“ he growls, low and hoarse and looking everywhere except Peter. “That's all you need to say. That's how a rejection works.”
“Uh,” says Peter. And for a genius, this guy can sound so damned moronic sometimes. “Nnno? Uh. Well. Maybe?”