CHAPTER FIFTEEN
I Think I Like You

━━━━━━🕷━━━━━━

            TWO TEENAGERS ON OPPOSITE sides of a conflict—one deemed below the Avengers' paygrade—sat on a bench together, side-by-side. Neither of them made any mood to take down the other, to settle things once and for all. Instead, they just sat, their shoulders brushing every so often, taking sips from the paper cups of coffee they'd gotten from the nearby café. It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision to go inside, but the weather was slowly growing colder, and the chalkboard by the door had boasted that today, everything was half-off. Neither of them could resist the temptation of that.

It hadn't taken them long to migrate out of the Olivier apartment and out onto the streets. Both because Cecelia had been afraid that someone would overhear their conversation—especially as it became progressively louder—and because they needed to stretch their legs. Cecelia had wiped the tears off her face and prayed that her parents wouldn't notice her red eyes. Peter had shoved his hands in his pockets, awkward around the family, and gave them a far too polite goodbye. Then, they were off, back into the pollution-filled NYC air, until they'd reached the café and, later, the little playground at the end of the block.

Most of that time was spent in silence. Cecelia was attempting to process what Peter had told her—though he couldn't have known what he was talking about; he was the most naïve person she'd ever met, after all—and trying to convince her steaming hot cheeks to cool down to a reasonable temperature. She'd never cried in front of someone she hadn't been close to, and never in front of someone who was technically her enemy. Peter had to be judging her for it. Even if he'd been stupidly nice to her, bringing her tissues and a glass of water.

That was probably what he was thinking about now, too. It was probably why he'd hardly said anything since they'd left. Or maybe he was calculating the best way to take the company down. He now knew about Uncle, and he'd likely seen Toomes's face, too.

Cecelia really should have done something. Instead, she just sat. A light breeze drifted over her, and a stray strand of hair tickled her nose. She brushed it away with far more force than was required.

Beside her, Peter cleared his throat. He'd had his nose tucked into his phone for the past five minutes, which would have really made it easy for Cecelia to take him by surprise. Even with his freaky senses. But now, he was looking straight at her, his eyebrows furrowed slightly. The decaf latte in his hand—apparently, he couldn't have caffeine, lest he risk literally bouncing off the walls—was nearly finished. Cecelia still had a quarter left of hers.

"What?" she asked. She'd been spending this time staring at the playground. It was one of those dumb ones with woodchips that would always get into your shoe. The only slide was metal, guaranteeing that the children who went down it during the hotter months got burned alive, and it had two swings, one of which was broken. Still, a few kids were playing on it now, screaming and shoving each other in competition for the monkey bars. A mother with a stroller sat on the playground's other bench, looking frazzled. At least the baby within was asleep.

Pitching his voice low enough that neither the kids nor the mother could hear, Peter spoke. "Are you okay?"

Cecelia rolled her eyes and took a sip of her coffee. She'd added too much sugar to it, and, even though she'd stirred it thoroughly, granules still crunched between her teeth. "I'm great. Thanks for asking, Peter."

Peter shifted in his seat. "Look, I've never really done anything like this before—"

"What? Sit with a girl?"

His nostrils flared. "No! Well, yes, sort of... but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about you. You know, usually I just web up the guys I'm fighting and leave a note for the police. Quick and easy. I don't even talk to them, unless you count my zingy one-liners."

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just say 'zingy one-liners'."

"What? They're funny!"

"Yeah, about as funny as a funeral."

Peter sighed. "You are so hard to hold a conversation with, you know that?"

"I do. Alex and Christine have told me enough times."

"Okay, can I finish? What I was going to say is that I don't usually... try to help the people I fight. I just turn them in to the authorities, then wipe my hands of them."

Cecelia narrowed her eyes. "I don't need your help."

"Your uncle is hurting you, Cecelia."

"It's not a big deal."

"Of course, it's a big deal! He shouldn't—no one should be doing that to anyone! You were black and blue! And I know that wasn't the first time it happened."

"Maybe it wasn't. So, what?"

"So... you don't deserve that. Even if that's not the reason you're working for your uncle. No one deserves to be hurt by the person who is meant to protect them."

"But—"

"And even though you're a criminal, you're not in this for the usual reasons. There was this one kid I busted a couple months ago dealing magic mushrooms to kids at his school. He didn't care that people might overdose; all he wanted was to get money. But you're not like that. I don't think you even get paid, do you?"

"I don't... I don't need to be paid. I'm... Uncle says I'm doing the right thing."

"What's the right thing? Is it the right thing for you, or the right thing for him? For the Vulture?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Cecelia said. The coffee in her stomach was threatening to make a reappearance. Peter was asking questions she'd asked herself since she was twelve years old. Questions she'd always thrown to the side. "I'm not going to stop, okay? What I'm doing... it may not be my favourite thing to do, but I've got to do it. I... I have to."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do! You don't know what it's like! Uncle's the reason I came into the Olivier family in the first place. If he hadn't found my file, I would've never been adopted. He's done so much for me, and I... I can't just forget about that. Even if he sometimes hurts me. Even if he leaves me behind."

"You don't owe him anything," Peter growled. "Is that what he tells you? That you have to pay him back for giving you a family? It's not true, no matter how much it feels that way. I used to think that May and Ben deserved better than having to take care of me. When I was old enough to realize what had happened, I tried to make myself worth being there. But Uncle Ben... he reminded me that it's what guardians are supposed to do. You never have to pay them back just because they took you in. You didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for it."

Cecelia heaved in a deep breath. She'd forgotten that a part of Peter's story was very similar to hers. He'd only been a year younger than Cecelia when his parents had died. It may have been a plane crash instead of an explosion, but both accidents had been sudden, violent, and completely unpredictable. It had been an instant that had taken their families away. An unfair instant that should have been avoided.

"I still want to help him," she said quietly. "So, we... we might as well just get it over with now. I can't have you interfering again. You ruined everything last time."

"I already told you I'm not going to fight you," Peter said.

"Why not?"

"Because it's not—it's not right. You're not a bad person, Cecelia. I know you're not."

He was wrong. Cecelia was. She'd always been a bad person.

"I'll—I'll do it. I'll... I'll hurt you, Peter."

"No, you won't."

"Please." Cecelia buried her face in her hands. "I don't understand you."

Peter went quiet for a moment, looking anywhere but her. The children on the playground started a round of Grounders. A distant siren wailed. A dog barked. The wind tickled Cecelia's nose.

Then, he spoke. "Mr. Stark took the suit away."

"What?"

"Mr. Stark took my Spider-Man suit away. So, even if I wanted to fight you—and I don't—I couldn't. I'm not Spider-Man anymore. I'm just Peter Parker."

Cecelia raised her head back up. "Why did he take it?"

"Because of what happened on the ferry. Because he—because he specifically told me to stay away from things, and I didn't. And because I was there... well, you know what happened."

"Oh," Cecelia said. Then: "You're still Spider-Man, though."

Peter blinked. "What?"

"Suit or no suit, you're still Spider-Man. What, do you think I cease to be Phantom the moment I step out of my own costume? No. I'm still Phantom when I'm in the warehouse, helping the Tinkerer with tech. I'm still Phantom when I'm going on post-mission excursions with Uncle. And I'm still Phantom even now, even as Cecelia. What makes me Phantom is not just a silver jumpsuit and a mask. It's my abilities, sure, but also me. That doesn't just go away."

Peter went to take a sip of his latte, then realized it was finished. With the slightest squeeze of his hand, the cup folded in half. He heaved it into the garbage can, where it made it a perfect landing. Then he said, "That's surprisingly nice of you to say."

"I'm not being nice," Cecelia insisted. "I'm just being realistic. You've still got your freaky stickiness, your super strength—as demonstrated just now—and whatever else you gained when you got your powers."

"Enhanced metabolism, enhanced healing, and my spider sense," Peter listed.

"I don't even want to ask what 'spider sense' means."

"It's like a danger warning." Peter shifted sheepishly. "It kept going off around you, and I couldn't figure out why. But I guess now I know."

For some stupid reason, Cecelia's gut twisted at the confession. Even though it shouldn't have mattered that Peter felt like he was in danger around her—she was his enemy, after all. But the feeling remained regardless of rationality. She ducked her head.

"You still get that around me?"

"No," Peter responded. "Which is why I know you're not going to fight me."

"Or maybe your spider sense has taken a nap."

"It doesn't do that."

"This conversation is going nowhere," Cecelia pointed out. "What I said on the ferry still stands. You stay out of my way, and I stay out of yours. If you tell anyone about me or my identity, I leak yours across all of New York. I'm sure there are a few accounts on Instagram and Twitter who would love to get their hands on that kind of exclusive information."

Peter's eyes flashed. "So, what? You're blackmailing me?"

"What? Did you think I was above that?"

He jumped to his feet. "You're making it really hard for me to want to help you."

"Good! I told you, I don't need your help."

"But—"

"Leave me alone, Peter. You don't even have your Spider-Man suit. If we're not going to duke it out, then let's just stay out of each other's way. I can continue what I'm doing, and you can... I don't know, go to Homecoming."

"I can't just sit by when something like this is happening."

"Why the hell not? It's what everyone else does."

Cecelia wasn't sure why she was so passionate. She hadn't even spoken to Uncle in days, and here she was, constantly defending him. Even though Peter might... even though he might be right. Mom and Dad had punished her multiple times in the past for transgressions worse than mouthing off, and yet, they'd never laid a hand on her. The worst thing they'd ever done was take away her phone for a week, and that had happened when she was two hours late for curfew.

(That was the day Uncle had shoved a lit cigarette into her ribs. Cecelia hadn't said anything, though. She'd just gone to the bathroom, smeared burn cream on the wound, and tried not to let her whimpers break free.)

"Please," Peter pleaded. "Let me at least talk to Mr. Stark. We can—I bet we can work something out. For you, for your uncle, for everyone."

"No." Cecelia stood up, too. Now that her cup was drained of coffee, she dropped it into the trash can, too. A fly buzzed irritably close to her face, and she swatted away. Nearby, the baby in the stroller woke up and started to cry. "Now, I've got to go. I still haven't finished the Physics assignment."

"Come on, Cecelia!" Peter reached out to take her arm, but his fingers slipped right through her skin. Cecelia would have walked right through him just to prove a point, but there were too many bystanders. Instead, she walked around him, beginning to make her way back to her apartment. "Cecelia!"

"Goodbye, Peter," Cecelia said. When she began to walk, she didn't look back. The lack of footsteps behind her told her that Peter wasn't following.

Cecelia's eye twitched. Somehow, that revelation hurt.

THERE WERE ONLY TWO more days until Homecoming, and the entirety of Midtown Tech was buzzing with excitement. You couldn't turn one corner without hearing chatter about who was taking who to the dance and what their dress looked like. It was about all Betty and Jason spoke about on the daily newscast now, even the teachers were bringing it up, and the incessant banners lining the walls really didn't help, either. In fact, the obsession with the Homecoming dance was so intense that it had overtaken the fixation with Spider-Man.

Cecelia should have been happy about that—the whole 'spider spirit' thing Midtown had had going on had certainly ground her gears—but all this Homecoming talk was somehow worse. At least when it had just been Spider-Man, people were asking Cecelia about relatively interesting things. Now, girls she didn't even know came up to her in the hallways to ask her what her dress looked like. Cindy, Liz, and Sally all talked about their dates (Cindy was just going with friends, Sally was taking Abe, and Liz was going with Peter Parker) whenever they saw each other.

Even Christine and Alex were insufferable. Cecelia had bought a dress to appease them, but they seemed to take that as an opportunity to bring her into every conversation about it. Like Cecelia, neither of them had dates—although Cecelia continued to pester Christine into asking Ned—and were obsessed with the idea of having a splash of matching colour in their outfits to signify their friendship. Alex had already bought a purple bow tie to match the ribbon that would be tied around Christine's waist, and forced Cecelia to wear an identical one in her hair.

It was driving Cecelia insane.

In all of the madness, the only kindred spirit she could find was Michelle. Her classmate wasn't on the Homecoming hate train that Cecelia was, but she at least admitted that she'd never liked parties and dances. Then she'd gone on to rant about how fancy parties pressured women into obsessing over their appearance, and, honestly, Cecelia completely agreed. Homecoming or no Homecoming, she wasn't shaving her damn legs.

Unfortunately, Michelle wasn't there to save Cecelia from the Homecoming mania that morning. The bell had just rung for lunch, and Cecelia had met Christine and Alex at the lockers to head into the cafeteria. Cecelia's mouth was watering, craving the pork dumplings Christine had packed today, but neither Christine nor Alex was walking as fast as she would've liked. They were too caught up in a debate about the music that always played at school dances—Alex was firmly on the side that it was always lame and outdated, while Christine insisted that she didn't mind. Cecelia wanted to ram her head into her locker.

"Settle this for us, Cee," Christine said, putting her hands on her hips. Cecelia, who'd been thinking about the fact that shoving her head into a toilet and flushing would be infinitely preferable to another Calculus class with Mr. Rivera recalling his own Homecomings back in the day, sighed. "What do you think of the music at school dances?"

"I literally couldn't care less, but the music sucks ass," Cecelia responded immediately. Alex shot her some finger guns.

"Validated. Chris, I think you just like it because you have the music taste of a middle-aged soccer mom."

Christine shot him a look. "Rude."

They were just continuing down the hallway when a familiar head of black hair caught Cecelia's eye. When she lifted her head, her eyebrows raised.

One gentle elbow found its way into Christine's ribcage. "Look who it is," Cecelia said. "Have you bitten the bullet and asked him to Homecoming yet?"

"Huh?" Alex, who'd been on his phone, scrolling through Twitter, looked up. "Who is Christine asking to Homecoming?"

"No one!" Christine squealed. "Absolutely no one, so you shouldn't even ask."

Alex followed Cecelia's gaze. It was his turn for his eyebrows to shoot up. "Ned Leeds?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up." Christine waved her hands frantically, her head ducked. Even though she didn't blush visibly—Cecelia, unfortunately, wasn't that lucky; she could go as red as a tomato sometimes—Cecelia could tell she was embarrassed.

"If you want Ned to go to Homecoming with you, then you have to ask," Cecelia pointed out. "He's definitely into you, but he doesn't know you're into him. And before you say it, no, the guy doesn't have to ask. That whole thing is outdated, heteronormative, and sexist."

"Don't forget cisnormative," Alex added.

"That, too."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about Homecoming," Christine groaned, putting her head in her hands. "Can we go back to that?"

"I still don't give a shit about the Homecoming itself," Cecelia defended. "This is about you, Chris. I want you to be happy. You're my best friend."

A sign that things were weird right now: Cecelia was giving her friend relationship advice. Next thing she knew, she was going to start waking up early and having a decent sleep schedule.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Alex asked.

"You're my brother, moron. It's different."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Just one question. Well, two actually. One, how did you find out about this, Cecelia? Did Christine tell you? And two, how long have you known?"

"That's three questions," Christine muttered. Then: "I can't believe this is happening right now."

"Chris did tell me," Cecelia started. "But I totally knew before. The official timeline, though, says that it became conclusive last week."

"Last week!" Alex threw his hands in the air.

"In Cecelia's defense, I did ask her not to tell anyone," Christine said. "I didn't—I don't know what I'm going to do, okay?"

"You can do this," Cecelia said. "Come on, girl. You can do this. We... believe in you?"

"I don't like how that sounded like you were unsure."

"I'm not too good at pep talks."

Christine looked like she wanted to shoot back, but they'd already reached Ned's locker. He was too busy stuffing a poster board in there to notice them, even with Christine trembling enough that her bones must have been creaking. He breathed out a sigh, then swung his backpack off his shoulder to deposit his books.

Alex nudged her. "Come on."

Christine raised her foot to step forward. Then she immediately put it back down again.

That was, of course, the moment Ned finally turned around.

He stopped in his tracks, and his eyes went comically wide. The look on his face—all deer in headlights, with the faintest hint of a blush forming on his cheeks—nearly made Cecelia laugh. But then she looked to Christine, who had also frozen, too, her mouth partially agape.

Ned cleared his throat, then scratched his ear. "Uh... uh... uh... hey, Christine."

"Hi," Christine squeaked.

"Just do it!" Alex hissed.

"Wow, you should be in a commercial for Nike," Cecelia remarked. Alex stepped on her foot.

"What are you—how's it—uh... hi," Christine said. She was even more awkward around him than she'd been before. At least at the bus, she hadn't spoken with him. "I already said that. Um... how are you?"

"I'm great, I'm great, I'm great," Ned said. "Just finished a project for Bio. I gotta present tomorrow."

"Cool, cool." Christine raked a strand of hair behind her ear. It came free, and she repeated the action. "Um... are you... are you ready for Homecoming?"

Ned was definitely blushing, now. "Um... yeah. I got my—I got my suit and everything. But Peter's going with Liz, so I'm just hoping I won't be the third wheel, ha-ha... at least MJ said she'd hang out with me."

"So, you're not taking anyone?" Alex asked. "No hot date?"

"Um—" Ned's eyes flickered from Alex to Christine. "Not yet."

"Why do you get to call her MJ?" Cecelia asked. Alex went to step on her foot again. Cecelia dodged.

Christine looked to her friends for guidance. For once, she looked less than perfect. Sweat was beading on her temples.

Just ask him! Alex mouthed. Cecelia gave her a discreet thumbs-up.

"I'm not going with anyone either," Christine blurted. "I mean, a few people have asked me... but I kind of ended up turning them down."

"Oh," Ned breathed. "Um... are you going with Cecelia and Alex, then?"

"Well, yes, unless... I found someone to go with me?" Christine's tone pitched, capping off the sentence with a question. "You know, there's this one guy that I've been into for a really long time, but I wasn't sure if he was into me, but my friends say he is, and... um..."

Ned's face fell. Both Alex and Cecelia slapped a palm to their foreheads.

"O—oh," Ned said. "Okay. Who is this... who is this uh, mystery guy?"

Christine's eyes flew wide, and she seemed to realize she'd messed up. Clenching her fists together in two little trembling balls, she took a deep breath. Cecelia marvelled at the way she was able to recover so easily. If this had been her, in front of her non-existent crush (she was picturing Howl Jenkins as a transfer student), she would have already taken off to the bathroom to die inside.

"Um... he's super sweet, and really smart, and cool, too," Christine began. Ned nodded along, not really paying attention. "He's, um. He's on the Academic Decathlon Team, too."

His head shot up.

"He really likes LEGOs. He told me about this, um, LEGO Death Star he got, with over four-thousand pieces. I thought it was really cute when he was excited."

Okay, this had to be it. This had to be the moment that Ned realized Christine was talking about him—she was going about it with all of the subtlety of a bull in a China shop. But Ned's eyebrows were furrowing. A frown began to etch itself on his face. Not the expression you'd expect from someone who just learned his crush liked him back.

"Dude..." he breathed. "Are you talking about Peter?"

"No!" the words burst from both Cecelia and Alex's mouths in an instant. Startled, Ned jumped nearly six feet into the air. Christine swallowed.

Then she finally spit it out. "I'm talking about you, Ned."

Ned stilled completely. It was like one of the art students had crafted a photorealistic model of him in wax. "Huh?"

"YeahI'mtalkingaboutyouIreallylikeyouNedandIwaswonderingifyouwantedtogotoHomecoming?" Christine blurted.

Cecelia and Alex exchanged a look. Cecelia had maybe picked out three words from that garbled sentence.

Ned's brow furrowed. "What?"

Christine's breath was coming in heavy pants, and her eyes were darting everywhere—from her shoes to the array of lockers to the ceiling to her fellow students—in an attempt to avoid Ned's eyes. She was trembling, too, like she'd been in a freezer for far too long, and sweat continued to shine on her usually immaculate face.

Out of the blue, Cecelia reached out and took her hand. Christine had always been the touchier one in their friendship, while the same gestures had the potential to trigger Cecelia out of the blue. But Cecelia shoved aside this discomfort for now. Her friend needed her, and she'd spent way too much time thinking about herself as of late.

Christine shot her a grateful smile. Then, she took in another deep breath. Finally, she met Ned's eyes.

"I like you, Ned. A lot. And, um, I was wondering... I was wondering if you wanted to go to Homecoming. With me."

She might as well have told Ned that he would be meeting all of the Avengers (well... all that remained, anyway). His already wide eyes became even more expanded, until his pupils were ringed by a sea of white. A beam, white and bright enough to blind, spread onto his face. His posture immediately straightened. He was practically glowing.

"Really?" he asked. "You really... you really want to go to Homecoming with me?"

"Yeah," Christine said breathlessly. "Yeah, I do."

Ned stepped forward and pulled her into a hug. Christine accepted it, landing her head upon her shoulder. She gave a little sigh of contentment, and Cecelia swore Alex wiped away a few tears.

"I'd love to take you," Ned said. "I like you too, Christine."

Alex put a hand to his heart. "I feel like a proud parent. For as long as I live, I promise I shall never forget this day."

Cecelia snorted. Then abruptly sobered at the familiar footsteps approaching her.

Peter, pale and downcast, as was his new usual, ground to a halt at the scene playing in front of him. He pointedly did not look at Cecelia.

"Um..." He adjusted the straps of his backpack. "What did I miss?"

━━━━━━🕷━━━━━━

HAVEN: WEEDS CANON LET'S GOOOOOO EVERYONE CHEER!!!!!!!!!

also peter and cecelia are there too, i guess.

okay, seriously, though, i love christine and ned so much, even if they're just a side couple <3 ned needs more love (seriously, WHERE are all the ned fics???) and christine is just a perfect match for him, honestly. i love them sm :)

next chapter, we're finally going to homecoming! you know, the name of the movie lol. i hope you're ready, because a lot of shit is gonna go down >:)))))

thanks for reading!