Felicia Hardy was going to murder someone.
Not just anyone though. She definitely had someone in mind. Namely the super-villain that was currently interrupting her morning commute.
It wasn't an unusual thing, per say. This exact situation had played out more than once since she'd started moonlighting (and often day-lighting) as the Black Cat. It was part of the superhero job description apparently – 'be flexible' - and all that. But today she really, really didn't have time for it.
And seriously, Big Wheel of all people?
The maniac in his motorized monstrosity had driven clean through the wall of the Imperial Bank of New York, parked inside long enough to hitch the gigantic steel vault to his namesake, and then plowed through the other wall out into the street. Felicia had been waiting for the bus when Big Wheel had trundled past, blasting Eddy Grant form his wheel's speakers and dragging the vault behind him, sparks and chunks of concrete getting kicked up in its wake.
Mere seconds later, Black Cat was giving chase, vaulting from rooftop to balcony to awning, teeth grinding as she glared daggers at the back of Big Wheel's stupid big head, stuffed into the helmet of his ugly, garish, neon-green jumpsuit...
"This is just like Fast Five." Said a voice to her left.
Gravel crunched as a pair of feet landed next to her on the roof, keeping pace with her as she continued her pursuit. She didn't have to turn her head to see who it was.
"What are you talking about?" She replied.
"Fast Five. You know, the Fast and the Furious?" The leapt in unison, touching down on the next rooftop. "Directed by Justin Lin? With Vin Diesel and Michelle Rodriguez? It's the best film of 2011."
"I haven't seen it." Ahead of them, their rooftop path ended as the city opened up to large square.
Without looking, she reached out and took her partner's arm, pulling herself to him as he took to the air. A soft thwip carried them aloft and she wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him as they swung high.
She shivered at the touch, as she always did, but despite the tingles that danced along under her suit, her next words came out as a purr: "But maybe you and I could have watch it sometime? I make an excellent movie date, you should know."
She couldn't see the eyes under his mask, but she would have bet one of her nine-lives that he was rolling them.
"I can loan you my DVD." He offered instead.
Another thwip and now they were descending, closing the distance on Big Wheel as he carved a path through the square.
"Are you serious? You don't even have the Blu-Ray?"
"Money's tight!" With his free hand, he grabbed her wrist and tugged her free from his neck. The bank's vault, bouncing along below them, was quickly rising up to meet them and she understood what her partner was planning. "And high definition isn't always worth it."
Dangling from Spider-Man's arm, Black Cat narrowed her eyes at the top of the vault, calculating the speed of her target against the current trajectory of their swing.
Maybe I should have payed more attention in Physics class, after all...
"We'll finish this discussion later, but just know that you're wrong. Let's hurry and wrap this up, Spider." She shot him a wink, then dropped from his arm. "I have somewhere important to be!"
Black Cat landed on the vault, hard, and nearly bounced off it again. Her claws were sharp enough though to dig small grooves in the hardened shell and she clung on tightly as it skittered along. If Big Wheel noticed his new passenger, he didn't give any indication. Eddy Grant was still blaring and was currently singing about a country's poor math skills and failure to feed all its citizens.
"Late for a vet appointment?" Spider-Man guessed, swinging above her.
Black Cat didn't answer. Her teeth rattled as the vault shuddered and she could see the end of the square ahead, where dense traffic loomed. They'd been lucky so far, Big Wheel knew how to pilot his vehicle with pinpoint precision, but Black Cat seriously doubted he considered or even cared what may be crushed by the weighty cargo he was stringing along. If she and Spider-Man didn't stop this now, someone was bound to get hurt.
The vault was attached to the back of Big Wheel's ride with two, sturdy-looking chains. Black Cat eyed the first one and, gritting her teeth again, raised one hand and slashed with her claws. The links shredded like paper and the chain snapped like an elastic band, flailing wildly and causing the vault to leap roughly under the tension of the remaining tether.
Black Cat felt herself slipping off the vault, but dug her claws into the metal again, arms and legs shaking from the effort. She could see Spider-Man overhead, swinging closer and closer to Big Wheel, the super-villain still seemingly completely unaware to their presence.
The second chain was severed with another swipe of her claws and this time Black Cat actually was flung from the roof of the vault. She sailed through the air, twisting to land on her feet and slide for several meters as the weighty vault tumbled past her and finally came to a stop with a resounding crash.
Big Wheel pressed pause on his music and craned his neck back for the first time to see that he'd lost his cargo. Unfortunately for him, he did not see Spider-Man dropping down on him from above.
It was over in a matter of seconds.
"Damn you, Spider-Man!" Big Wheel howled as he was pulled from his seat and webbed to a nearby lamppost. His beloved mechanical wheel came to a screeching halt and tumbled over on its side just at the edge of the city square as soon as its driver was removed. "And you too, Black Cat! You may have thwarted me today, but I'll be back! With an even bigger wheel next time!"
"I don't doubt it." Spider-Man said, clapping Big Wheel on the shoulder of his stupid, verdant suit. Sirens wailed a few blocks over, quickly growing closer. "Until then though, please say 'Hi' to the folks over at the Raft. I hear they've updated their cafeteria menu. Right, Cat?"
Spider-Man turned to find Black Cat starting to sidle away.
"Sorry, Spider. Can't stay and chat. I wasn't kidding when I said I had somewhere to be." Before she turned away, she leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on his masked cheek. "I wasn't kidding about me being a good date though. Let me know whenever you want to watch Speed Squad and I'll be there."
"It's Fast Five."
"Whatever."
"Can you two, please not flirt in front of me." Big Wheel groaned.
"We're not-" Spider-Man began, but Black Cat didn't hear the rest.
She turned and scampered away before the police arrived. Spider-Man was much more suited to dealing with them than she was and, well, she was now very late for the first day of class.
Felicia arrived twenty minutes late.
She slipped through the doors of the chemistry lab, dimly hoping she could grab a seat unnoticed or that she wasn't the only one running late, but alas, she had no such luck. The class was packed with students sitting at worktables in pairs and they all turned to look at her as she entered. Felicia recognized a few of the faces, foremost being Professor Marconi, who was perched on a step-ladder at the front of the room, halfway through writing something on the large whiteboard.
The classroom doors clanged shut loudly behind her and Felicia heard a few snickers as she sidled a little sheepishly towards Marconi.
"Sorry I'm late, Professor." Felicia adjusted her backpack and tried to look less wrinkled. "There was something happening on my route and my bus got delayed. I think there was a super-villain or something."
Marconi raised an eyebrow and capped her dry-erase marker.
"A super-villain huh?" A small smirk quirked her lips. "A year ago I wouldn't have bought that excuse, but now I guess anything is possible."
"Who was it?" The voice, Felicia recognized, belonged to Harry Osborn. They'd shared a class last semester and he was looking at her now with sudden, rapt attention from the front row.
"I think it was…" Felicia pretended to think for a second. "What's his name? Wheel-Man? Or something like that."
"Oh." Harry visibly deflated. "Big Wheel. Lame."
Felicia had to agree.
"Could you please pass me the roster?" Professor Marconi directed Felicia from her step-ladder to a sheet on her desk. Felicia grabbed it and returned to her. "What's your name?"
"Felicia Hardy."
"Hardy." Marconi found her name and crossed it off. "Super-villain or no, you're very late, Miss Hardy. I know it's difficult to predict disturbances like this, but this isn't high school anymore. You have to take responsibility."
Felicia resisted the urge to respond that she was very well aware of this, having been given a similar dressing-down by multiple professors last semester.
"I know, Professor. It won't happen again." She promised, knowing very well it probably would.
"The rest of the class has already picked lab partners, so we'll have to fit you in as triplet somewhere later. For now though you can sit over there." Marconi pointed to the only empty worktable. Felicia started towards it, but was stopped by a small hand on her arm. "I'm glad you're okay, Miss Hardy."
Felicia only nodded, hurrying to her seat after Marconi released her, the skin of her arm tingling from the brief contact.
She had just sat down and was rummaging through her bag for a notebook, when the classroom doors slammed open again.
"Mister Parker." Unlike with Felicia, Professor Marconi greeted the newcomer with a genuine smile. "Let me guess, Big Wheel delayed you too?"
"Uh – I – Professor, what are… you?" Peter spluttered, eyes wide.
If Felicia looked a little ruffled from her dash to class, then Peter looked like he'd been rolled down a hill into a waiting, industrial-sized food processor. His hair, usually somewhat messy, was wildly windswept, his glasses were dangling from the end of his long nose, his sweatshirt was definitely inside out, and a split seam in his messenger bag was leaking papers at his feet. No doubt his trail through the halls of Empire State University could be tracked by the loose notes he left in his wake.
Unrestrained laughter sounded in the classroom at Peter's floundering (Felicia couldn't help but smile herself), but Professor Marconi took pity on him.
"Felicia is also late, although she has the excuse that a super-villain delayed her bus."
"I-." Peter began.
"Probably have an equally good excuse," Marconi interrupted "But for now though, please take a seat."
There was only one vacant stool left in the room.
Peter shoveled most of his scattered notes back into his bag and headed towards Felicia's table. He made extended eye contact with Harry Osborn as he passed, who looked to be in extreme distress. Felicia could guess why. For all his antics, Peter was a highly sought-after lab partner and Harry was not the only one to eye Felicia enviously as Peter slouched into the stool at her side.
His face was apple-red and Felicia, glad that he'd taken the attention off her, shot him a small smile that she hoped was reassuring. Peter only flushed further.
"Now that everyone is accounted for," Professor Marconi turned back to the whiteboard and indicated what she'd written there, the date: August 31, penned with clean script. "I was just explaining the first major project for this semester, which is listed in your syllabi. You and your partner are to prepare your own experiment and then present it for the class."
Felicia felt her stomach clench. The first day of the new semester, in the very first class, and she was already being assigned a project. Apparently the brisk pace at which her classes moved last semester had not been a fluke as she, along with most of her classmates, apparently, had hoped.
"Don't be fooled by the two weeks allotted for this project." Marconi continued. "Students historically need all of that time to prepare, so no procrastinating. And while I expect more than baking soda and vinegar volcanoes, I have to ask that you do not take this as an opportunity to set off a bomb in my classroom – no matter how much you might come to despise me this semester."
More laughter from the students, although there was a nervous lilt to it this time. Felicia had heard through the grapevine how strict a grader Professor Marconi could be.
"I need your project proposals by next class on Wednesday." Marconi climbed down from her ladder and walked around the front of her desk, taking in her student's sour faces. "Try not to look so distraught. This is your chance to try some real chemistry. Experiment. Be creative. Have fun. But above all: be safe. Go ahead and take," She glanced at the clock over the wall. "Ten minutes to discuss with your partner."
Sighing, Felicia turned to Peter, expecting to see at least some her own trepidation reflected in his face, but instead he was positively beaming behind the frames of his thick-rimmed glasses.
"Isn't this exciting?" He asked.
"I guess." Felicia huffed, drumming her pen on her notebook. "I just didn't expect to have a project so soon. I knew that science classes as ESU were tough, but isn't this supposed to be core curriculum?"
"It is." Peter nodded. "But that doesn't mean they can't challenge us, right?"
"You and the rest of the brainiacs can be challenged all you want. The rest of us idiots just need a passing grade."
"You – you aren't an idiot!" Peter shifted in his seat to face her, turning so fast his elbow caught one of the glass beakers sitting near the edge of the table. It would have smashed on the classroom floor, if he hadn't lunged and deftly snatched it an inch before it hit the ground.
It had happened so fast. If Felicia didn't see him return the beaker to it's original spot on the worktable, face flushing redder than ever, she may not have noticed anything had happened.
"I- I mean," Peter tried to recover. "You were great in Physics last semester! And besides, aren't you majoring in Criminal Justice? You've gotta be good at science to do that stuff, right?"
Felicia was taken aback. She was surprised Peter knew her major and she wondered when she'd shared it with him in. While they had been friendly in the past, she couldn't remember if they had exchanged more than two dozen words all of last semester in the couple of classes they'd shared. They didn't run in the same circles and she certainly didn't know his major. Although she could guess it was something impressive and highly technical.
"Yeah, well, Crim Jay is a social science." She pointed out, deciding to not acknowledge the nearly-broken beaker. "Not a science science."
"If you work in a forensics lab or something, you'll have to know a lot of chemistry, I bet."
"Hell no." She snorted and Peter grinned. "I'm going to be out in the field, catching bad guys, getting in car chases, drinking martinis."
"Upholding the sanctity of the justice system?"
"Yeah that too, but after all the other stuff." Felicia checked the clock as Peter laughed again. They only had a few minutes left before Professor Marconi would call their attention again. She sighed. "Please tell me you have an idea for this project, because I got nothing."
"I have a few ideas, but – uh, we should really brainstorm together. I want our project to be something you're interested in too." Peter was suddenly very intrigued in the warped spiral of his notebook. "Would it be... cool if I got your number? To text you about the project and… stuff?"
He flicked his eyes up at her and Felicia suppressed the urge to roll hers.
Was she really that intimidating of a person?
She reached for her own notebook and tore out a blank page. She scribbled her cell phone number on the first line and passed the sheet to him.
"Text me now so that I have your number too. Maybe we can meet up tomorrow and nail down an idea before Wednesday?" She suggested.
Peter only nodded, pulling out his phone to send her a quick text. At the front of the classroom, Professor Marconi was shuffling through her notes, preparing to call the room's attention so they could spend the rest class in lecture.
"Oh, and one thing before I forget, Peter." Felicia said.
"What?"
"I noticed this when you came in and I wasn't going to say anything, but-" She pointed to his jeans with her pen. "You should probably know that your fly is down."
This time, when Peter whipped away from her to fumble with his zipper, the poor glass beaker he jostled actually hit the ground, startling the entire class with a tremendous smash.
If anyone were to ask Edward Whelan what his least favorite thing about his job was, they'd probably be surprised by his answer.
After eight years, he didn't even register the rancid smells. The all-encompassing darkness was a like a warm blanket around him. Even the rats had gone from fat, furry monsters, to nuisances, and then to what he might even consider his closest friends.
He liked the way they moved, how they scampered and leapt and wadded their way through the city's detritus. He liked to entice them with scraps from his packed lunch, bits of meat or a hearty lump of cheese, their claws and teeth flashing as they ripped into the food (and sometimes other competing rats) lost in the unbridled frenzy that always came with snagging a meal.
They could also be incredibly gentle too. Well... at least they were gentle with Whelan. Multiple times a day, he'd feel them brush against his ankles as he shuffled through the darkness, as if they were dropping in to check on him while he worked. There was even one rat in particular that Whelan was positive had taken a distinct liking to him, a magnificently large, brown beast with a snipped tail.
Whelan liked the rats.
The worst thing about his job, by far, were the people he worked with.
"Ay, think fast, Eddy!" A wet, horribly soft something collided with the side of Whelan's head, splattering his protective visor with sludge. A chorus of laughter echoed around the enclosed space. "Oh, damn. Sorry, buddy."
It was Shane, standing on the opposite end of the sewer's channel, with traces of the sludge he'd thrown smudged on the glove of his own protective suit. Two of his cronies were also there, chortling at Whelan as he tried to wipe his visor clean with his forearm. He only succeeded in smudging the mess around though, leaving his view blurred and tinged slightly green.
"Gotta keep your head on a swivel, Eddy." Shane continued and Whelan didn't need to see clearly to know his tormentor was sneering. "Never know what might be down here with us."
Nothing but rats and garbage and pieces of filth like you. Whelan thought, but he bit his tongue.
Retaliating would only make things worse. He had spoken to his supervisor many times over the years about the treatment he got from his crew while on the job, but he had never been taken seriously. Eventually he'd just given up. Shane was popular with the whole team and it didn't hurt that his uncle had been to one to successfully renew their contract with the city's sanitation department.
The blatant nepotism was almost enough to make Whelan resign, but he needed this job. He couldn't imagine returning to his shabby apartment, unemployed, when he was already short on rent; couldn't image submitting his paltry resume to a temp agency or another public school, where he'd be scraping gum from the bottom of desks under burning, florescent light.
He much preferred the sewers. Coworkers aside, he liked this job.
He liked the rats.
Turning from Shane and the rest of the crew, Whelan pointed his headlamp down an offshoot of the sewer system and started to slosh his way down the branching path.
"Come on, Ed." A voice called after him. "We're just playing! Don't be like that!"
He didn't turn back though. The water and gruel that coated the floor of the sewer was increasing in volume, sucking at his boots like mud and forcing him to tread more carefully. In one hand, he held a clawed stick for picking through the muck and in his other – a nylon bag for depositing anything that didn't belong in the city's waste system.
There were the usual suspects: clumps of wet wipes, some disposable razors, toothbrushes, wedding bands, some of which Whelan kept if they were interesting enough. He had even found a severed human finger once, which – while cool – he'd been forced to turn in to his supervisor for investigation.
He was just pondering whether or not they'd found the owner of that finger, when he saw it:
Something sparkled dully under the light of his lamp and he snatched it up with his claw. Holding it aloft, he saw that it was a long, silver chain.
An oval pendant made of brown stone swung from it's links, some kind of symbol carved into its face.
Whelan stowed his claw into his bag so he could hold the pendant in his palm. Even through his rubber glove, he could feel an odd heat radiating from the stone. With his thumb, he wiped the pendant clean, and stared at the etching engraved on it. His breath came out ragged and loud through the filters on his mask. He could feel his heart racing, seemingly matched by the pulsing heat the charm in his hand gave off, as if it had a heart of its own.
Carved into the oval stone, was a simple glyph in the shape of a rat.
Peter Parker was on cloud nine.
The next few hours after Chemistry passed by in a blur. He barely took notes in his other classes of the day and in the blink of an eye, it was late afternoon, and he was standing in a train car as it rattled underground.
For what was likely the umpteenth time that day, Peter fished out the carefully folder sheet of paper from his pocket and thumbed it open to read the numbers penned to it. Her handwriting was small and a little slanted. She crossed her sevens and slashed through her zeros. Her fours were topped with tiny peaks, interspersing the seven digits (plus area code) like petite mountain tops.
"What is that you're reading?" Harry was seated next to Peter, glaring up at him. "You've been looking at that all day.
"It's nothing… just." Peter showed him. "Felicia gave me her phone number."
Harry's eyebrows shot up to disappear into his curly hair.
"You're kidding. Is that why you ditched me this morning? So you could get partnered with her? I got a front row table for us and everything!"
"No! Of course not." Peter folded the paper and pocketed it again. "I really tried to get there on time, but my alarm didn't go off and I overslept. I am sorry, Harry."
"Not as sorry as I am." Harry slouched in his seat and folded his arms. "You're not the one partnered with Flash Thompson."
"He's mellowed since we graduated high school."
"He may not be as big of a dick as he used to be, but he's still dumb as bricks."
"Hmmm." Peter considered, feeling his good mood start to wane. "I could… talk to Marconi, see if I could swap and be your partner… if you wanted."
Harry looked up at him again.
"Nah, I couldn't ask you to do that. Who am I to deny to you the chance to make googly eyes at Felicia all semester."
"I- I do not- Nobody is making googly-"
"Pete, you've had a crush on her since you first laid eyes on her."
"No- I mean, not exactly." Peter rubbed the back of his neck. The train started to slow, signaling that their stop was approaching and he moved to help Harry stand. "I just think she's cool. Too cool for me anyways. There's no way she'd ever want to go out with me."
Taking Peter's arm, Harry used his friend's strength to haul himself upright, at the same time grabbing his forearm crutches from where they rested on the seat beside him. It took half a second for Harry to find his footing as the train car jerked beneath them, but soon he was steady on his crutches. Only then did Peter let go of his jacket.
Harry's muscular dystrophy didn't slow him down very often, but Peter knew riding the subway was always somewhat of a challenge.
"But still," Harry said, as the car doors opened, letting them shuffle onto the platform with the rest of the afternoon crowd. "You got her digits. That's more than either of us have gotten from a girl before, ever."
Peter scratched at his cheek where Black Cat his pecked him earlier that morning, after they'd stopped Big Wheel together. She'd done stuff like that before plenty of times, but that was just part of her routine, the flirtatious front she put on during moments of levity, usually when there were no super-villains to fight and they were left to simply putz about on the rooftops together.
"It's just so we can talk about the chemistry project," Peter explained. "Nothing more than that."
Together they ascended from the underground into the city streets. Above them, a towering skyscraper stretched up over their heads. Before Peter had been bitten by that radioactive spider, the sight of the massive Oscorp building looming like that would have given him vertigo. Now, however, as he looked up to the distance spire above his head, he made an exercise of mentally judging how long it would take to scale it and just how much time of free fall he could have if he ever decided to take a leap from its roof.
At least nine seconds. He decided, double-checking his math as he and Harry ducked into the building's lobby.
"Harry." Bernard, the Osborn family driver, was waiting for them. "You weren't outside of the university today."
"I decided to take the train with Pete."
"You know your father doesn't want you taking public transportation."
"Good thing he won't find out about this then, right?" Harry gave his driver a grin that if Peter's aunt had seen she would have called 'shit-eating'. "You can drive us home after we're done today though. Why don't you go catch a bite?"
Bernard's lips drew up into a thin line as Harry and Peter continued past him to the building's elevators. Peter sent him an apologetic look as Harry swiped his access badge and soon the two friends were rising up through the many floors.
"You should be nicer to Bernard." Peter chided. "He could tell your dad a lot of the things you do and then you'd be in really big trouble."
"Oh ol' Bernard's got a soft spot for me. He would never."
The elevator slid open when they reached their floor and they navigated the chromed hallways together, eventually stepping through a pair of wide doors into Oscorp's state of the art bio-lab. Numerous worktables, complete with centrifuges, microscopes, and other equipment were arranged in an orderly grid across the laboratory floor, broken up by large, complicated, and extremely expensive machines that were used to run experiments.
A variety of animals slept, scuttled, and chittered in cages against the far wall and in the center of it all was Doctor Curt Connors. Tall, slim, just starting to seriously bald, and one-armed, Doctor Connors was the smartest man Peter knew and the happy glow he'd been feeling since Chemistry with Felicia increased two-fold at the sight of his mentor.
"Welcome back, gentlemen." Doctor Connors greeted them with a smile, lowering a clipboard he'd been examining. "How was the first day of classes for you?"
"Exhausting." Harry threw his backpack onto a clear spot of a nearby table. "We've already got tons of readings to do and a project due in two weeks. I don't know how how I'm going to juggle it all."
"Well I appreciate you both for applying for this work-study again." Connors grabbed Harry's backpack and moved it to the floor. "With all the projects your father is sending our department, there are many administrative tasks the regular staff can't get to."
"Whatever you need help with, we're here." Peter assured, looking around the lab space hungrily.
He couldn't get enough of it.
Never in a million years did he think he'd be lucky enough to spend time in a lab as sophisticated as this, working in close proximity with Doctor Connors, whose academic papers on bio-medicine Peter had been reading since he was twelve years old. Harry had made it happen though, or rather, his father had. All it took was for Harry to show a mild interest in medical research, a few phone calls, a grant to Empire State University, and suddenly a work-study program was put in place under Oscorp's very own roof. Applications were more of a formality than anything else. Harry and Peter signed up and spent several evenings a week the previous semester shadowing Doctor Connors and his laboratory staff.
Well, Peter did at least and he had learned and seen tons. Harry, on the other hand, spent most evenings scrolling through his phone, just happy to have a place to hang out that wasn't his father's cold, cavernous penthouse in the heart of Manhattan.
"You can start by changing the bedding in the mice cages." Doctor Connors nodded to the far wall. "I'd grab some gloves if I were you. We've been trying a new diet with beetroot and it hasn't been agreeing with many of their stomachs, unfortunately."
"Wonderful." Harry grumbled, starting over towards the cages, his crutches clacking against the hard floor.
Peter joined him and together they got to work, moving the lab mice to temporary housing so their cages could be emptied and then filled with fresh wood chips. Doctor Connors was pretty adamant that the filling was exactly two inches deep, so it was tedious work, and as he had predicted, pretty gross in many instances. Both Peter and Harry had to turn and gag multiple times, causing Doctor Connors to chortle at them from across the lab.
Peter didn't mind the manual work though. He was so engrossed in it, that when his phone vibrated in his pocket, he flinched, standing up so quickly he knocked his head into an open cage door.
"Yikes." Harry hissed. "You okay?"
"Oh, uh- yeah." Peter remembered that bumps like that were supposed to hurt people without super powers and he rubbed the top of his head as he pulled out his phone. The only people that ever texted him were Harry and Aunt May, so that meant…
Felicia Hardy:
Hey peter, did you still want to meet up tomorrow? my last class ends at 4.
Peter must have been standing frozen for a while because Harry threw wood chips into his face.
"What is it?" He asked.
"It's… Felicia. She – uh, texted me."
Harry was at his side with unusual speed, reading her text over his shoulder. Peter pulled the phone to his chest, turning away.
"What's the matter?" Harry was grinning at him much like he had done Bernard earlier. "I thought ya'll were just talking about the chemistry project, right?"
"We are! I just..." Peter looked back down at his phone. "I just wasn't expecting her to text me first like this."
"Well, let me give you some advice. Whether or not her texting you is a big deal, do not act like it is. You gotta play it cool, bro."
"Cool. Yeah. I can play things cool."
Harry didn't look convinced and Peter couldn't blame him.
"Can I see?" He asked and Peter relinquished his phone. "Hmmm, we gotta think of a good response to this."
"What do you mean?"
"Well you can't just send her any old lame response. Now's your chance to set the groundwork for when you eventually ask her out."
Peter balked.
"What? No, I'm not- that won't be- Harry, I don't even want to…"
Harry just looked at him, waiting, exasperated. Eventually, Peter regained control of his tongue, giving up.
"Okay," He sighed, resigned "what do you suggest?"
As an answer, Harry began typing into Peter's phone. A second later, he flipped the screen around to show what he'd drafted
Peter Parker:
hey felicia sorry but i can't do tomorrow maybe next week
"What? But our project proposals are due this Wednesday." Peter reminded him.
"I know, but see, this is about establishing your supply and demand. You don't want to be at her beck and call. You gotta start by keeping your distance – don't agree to any of her plans, cancel on her. It makes you seem more desirable."
"I don't know…"
"It's science, Pete. I expect you to know that."
"No, I think this is a bad idea." Peter reclaimed his phone. "She and I have to meet up before Wednesday."
He erased Harry's draft and typed up a new message.
Peter Parker:
Hey Felicia! Tomorrow after 4 is perfect! Do you want to meet up somewhere on Campus? The Library maybe? Or we could grab coffee somewhere? Have you heard of 'Kate's Coffee Shop'? It's pretty nice!
"Wayyy too much. You can't be sending exclamation marks and all these questions." Harry critiqued. "You're giving her too many options. Lemme see…"
Harry tried his hand at a third draft.
Peter Parker:
tomorrow works want to come to my place
"I am not sending that!"
"Why not? It's perfect."
"Give me my phone."
"Hold on, hold on, I'll try again."
"I'm serious, Harry. Give it-"
"Whoa, dude, relax- Hey!"
A short scuffle resulted in Peter yanking his phone back. He flipped it around so he could get back to the keyboard, but his fingers froze over the screen, hovering, statue still, as the color drained from his face.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked.
"It- it must have… when I grabbed it from you…" Peter swallowed hard. "That last message sent."
Harry didn't say anything. The two stood in silence, staring at the screen of Peter's phone where Harry's most recent message sat, irretrievable.
Too forward. Peter's mind spiraled. Way, wayy to forward. She's going to think I'm an asshole or that I'm trying to pull something. She's-
Three dots bounced along below the last message. Felicia was typing back.
Felicia Hardy:
Sure, that works. what's your address
Harry let out a low whistle.
"Tell me, Pete. Am I good or am I good?"
"I wouldn't say that." Peter felt like he'd just sprinted through a marathon. He started typing out a reply with the address for his apartment. "Appreciate the help, but I think I'll take it from here."
"Suit yourself." Harry raised his hands in defeat. He grabbed a bag of wood chips and began filling the next mouse cage. "Just remember me when you're deciding on a best man for your wedding."