I hate the way you (don't) talk to me
Peter doesn't talk to him anymore.
Flash remembers talking to Peter on his first day of school at Midtown. In addition to learning where his locker was going to be and the best spots for mid-day power naps, Flash learned a lot about Peter. He won't admit to remembering it. Peter Parker grew up in Queens in a working class neighborhood, he has a pun problem puns and he rides the bus to school. Elementary school sucked for Peter and middle school was worse. He usually has a spare snack in the third pocket on the front of his backpack. His eyes are pretty. Maybe as pretty as a girl's. When Peter asked Flash about himself and offered him a granola bar, Flash scoffed and told Peter he "isn't a charity case", but took the snack anyways.
Flash grew up in Manhattan, he hates English with a burning passion and his mother drove him to school every morning in her brand-new Porsche. Sometimes his father drove him in the Mercedes. Elementary school was spent with other doctor's kids and lawyer's kids and a few actor's kids and middle school was worse. Middle class among the rich, Flash learned to attack or be attacked. Strength came from picking out the weak and reminding the bigger predators that you weren't like them. Flash let Peter talk to him for a few days before nailing down a nickname and striking. Peter's eyes welled up but he didn't cry. He was too used to this by now. Peter grabbed his books and left, some dork in a Star Wars shirt chasing after him to offer words of comfort only the outcast knew. Flash vowed never to learn them.
Peter's eyes are still pretty and Peter doesn't talk to him anymore.
And the way you cut your hair
Flash has his mother's hair and his brother has his dad's. His sister's hair was all her own. Flash's hair is thick and wavy, like obsidian. He heard that Michelle chick say that you could see your reflection in Flash's hair. Flash knew it was meant to be a crack at the amount of hair gel he used, but his mother's hair was shiny, just like his. Years in a country that beat her down and tried to stop her from achieving her dreams never wrecked her spirit. Or her hair. It grew thick, shiny and strong. Just like her. And Flash tried to make his do the same.
Peter's hair was soft. Too soft, like it would break if you touched it. Flash wants to. He wants to so badly, but he sticks to shoulder-checking him in the hallway. Peter never cut his hair until he had to, not until 10th grade when he starts noticing Liz. After that he started gelling it. Not that Flash noticed. Not that Flash knew they used the same products because he watched Peter get ready after gym class.
He doesn't watch Peter.
He doesn't see Peter trying to keep his hair out of his eyes, struggling with the dual task of pushing back his bangs and getting his books into his backpack. He's not doing well. It's summer and his hair is sticking to his forehead, just a little bit. He's gotta do something.
"Hey Parker!"
Peter looks up from stuffing his books into his worn out bag and sighs. His hair falls in front of his eyes. "Yeah, Flash?" He has to push it backs so Flash can see his dismay. Flash swallows.
"You should cut your hair. You look like you got rejected from One Direction."
"Really Flash?" Peter sighs. "That's the best you can do?"
"Well, I thought calling you a dirty hippy was too cliché and I wasn't sure if you'd know who the Ramones are so…." Flash trails off. Peter is raising an eyebrow at him.
"Of course I know who the Ramones are, Pinhead."
Flash almost slams Peter into the lockers, but realizes that he's making a joke. "Yeah, well you talk like you had a teenage lobotomy."
Peter almost smiles. Almost. He clearly thinks about his next wisecrack, but stops and sighs. "I'm going to be late for class."
"Whatever man," a song about wanting to be his boyfriend dances on his tongue, but he says instead "I'll be glad to see you go, Parker."
"Yeah, sure Flash."
Flash doesn't watch him go.
Peter cuts his hair after school the next day. It looks less soft with all the products the stylist put in it, and Flash hates it. Maybe in a few months, when it grows back, he'll be able to work up the nerve to touch it. Maybe this is a reason not to.
But Flash can see Peter's eyes now. They're so pretty. So maybe he doesn't hate it that much.
I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare
Flash learned to drive as soon as he could. His parents took on more hours at the clinic and the hospital, likely to prepare for his brother's next degree. They're well off, yeah, but Ralph got into a master's program and couldn't work through school like he did for his bachelors. Ralph is Flash's hero. He's never told him that.
Flash got his license on his first try and started driving himself to school the next day. He offered to drive Jesse to school too, but she refused. She loved taking the bus with her friends, and she was just at the stage where her older siblings were dorky. It hurts more than Flash lets on.
He tells his friends he got his license because he doesn't want to get up early. Flash doesn't tell people a lot of things. Like he didn't tell his dad Spider-man wrecked his car. It just wouldn't be right. Spider-man is a lot like Ralph.
One Thursday Flash catches Peter running for the bus, a trail of papers flying out of his backpack behind him. Rain streams from the sky and Peter's clothes stick to him. Fat raindrops soak his homework and Peter looks like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry. Flash almost speeds up. Almost.
He pulls over, parking right in the bus lane. "Parker!" He yells. Peter doesn't hear him. "Peter!" Still nothing. "Hey! Penis! Penis Parker!" This gets a reaction. Peter glares up at him through his hair and Flash waves him over to the car. Peter shakes his head. "Come on Penis Parker! Get in!"
"I'm not getting in there if you keep calling me that!"
"You didn't respond to Peter!" Flash protests, but Peter is already by his window. Peter's faster than he looks.
"What do you want?" Peter asks, more venom in his voice than usual. Flash is taken back.
"I just wanted to ask if you wanted a ride home." He says, quietly. He tries to smile at Peter, show that he's sincere. Peter's gaze softens, but he still looks cold and pissed. Peter has no reason to get in with him. He knows that. "I promise I'll call you Peter the whole time."
Peter sighs, looking up at the sky with a "why me?" expression. He opens the passenger seat and tosses his bag in the back.
"What about your homework?" Flash asks, eyeing the now pulpy math problems littering the ground.
"I'll get a copy from Ned." Peter says. "I just want to go home."
"No problem." Flash puts on the radio and the drive stretches silently on. Peter stares out the window, only talking to offer directions. Flash follows.
Finally, Peter says, "I thought your car got wrecked."
"This is a rental, Peter."
"Oh." Peter looks away. "I guess that's why you're letting me drip on your leather seats then."
"I'd let you drip on any of my seats," Flash blurts, awkwardly and too informative and slightly too loud. Peter stares at him. Flash squirms, almost missing a turn. He feels his cheeks burn and stares that the road. He likes Peter's attention a little too much. "I mean, I'd help you out whenever. I know I can be a dick at school, but I wouldn't let you get pneumonia."
"I'm sorry," says Peter, "I didn't mean to..."
"Don't worry." Flash interrupts.
After a few moments of silence, Peter blinks back tears and whispers, "My Uncle used to pick me up. Last year, he...he's been gone a year."
Flash nods. It explains why he's been so snappy. He was like this last year too, right after the funeral. "That sucks man." He says. Peter looks at the floor. "I know people say stuff like "I know how you feel" and like "it gets better" but I don't know that. I don't know if it will and I don't know how much it hurts. But thanks for telling me. I'm sorry for your loss and I hope that at least today gets better."
Flash stops. Peter says nothing and Flash's heart pounds and his hands feel slippery. Peter just stares at him, watching Flash like he's seeing him for the first time. He smiles a little."Thanks man." Peter says, finally.
"You're welcome," Flash says. Peter half-smiles the whole way home. Flash's face burns and he pretends it's just the sun peeking out from behind the clouds.