chloe jordan

hello! my names chloe, i'm 22, and i am doing pretty much whatever makes my heart content on here! I write from time to time, but also just oogle at hot people as well.

i'm listening to music, and if i'm not, i'm asleep or dead. here are the people who've kept me sane and altered my brain chemistry

i am a Gerard (and Frank), Braeden, Tyler, Niall, and Pete girl for those bands specifically, though they are all hot, i can admit. i wouldn't have made it through some calendar years without these people filling my brain with their greatness, so if you wanna chat music, FEEL FREE I WILL BE GEEKING.

now listen, i love and listen to A LOT of music, but if I had to pick a top five for albums of all time?

in no particular order

"IGOR" by Tyler, the Creator "Tell Me That It's Over" by Wallows "DAMN." by Kendrick Lamar "Inbred" by Ethel Cain "Bcos U Will Never B Free" by Rex Orange County

i don't exactly have a favorite MCR album, i sort of attach to one depending on the "era" of my life if you will. i would say rn i'm leaning on bullets for the moment, but i just came out of a HEAVY danger days phase.

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as for fandoms that i'm in, i will try and fit some of my main squeezes in, but please understand that i am a yeerner that longs for many souls, so i obviously love more than just these people

am i saying i don't love Spencer Reid, or Bob Reynolds, or Ejirou Kirishima, or Mr. Terrific? NO. these are just like ones I will crumble and have crumbled to the ground at the thought of losing. if the character has multiple actor portrayals, i've put my favorite one as well!

tbh, i am a very fluid person when it comes to shipping characters, i.e. i like boblena, sentryagent, winter agent, sambucky, stucky. WE MULTISHIP IN THIS HOUSE.

ships that i deeply enjoy? sambucky, goldwing, jancy, henderhop, byler, destiel, hilson, superbat, but there's more i'm sure.

as of now, when it comes to fandoms that i'm writing fanfictions for, they are as follows; Criminal Minds, House MD, Marvel, DC Studios, Sky High, Stranger Things, and Supernatural. i do have a My Hero fic sitting in the drafts that i haven't worked on in probably four years lol.

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other things i enjoy are watching movies, my letterboxd top four changes all the time but i could probably scrape together my top four for this, though i might be changing it as i exist and consume movies!

i enjoy tv shows just as much, as seen earlier, i am a deep enjoyer of Stranger Things, Criminal Minds, Supernatural, and House MD. other tv shows i watch are Daredevil, The Pitt, CSI: Miami, Hawaii Five-O, the end of the fucking world, I'm Not Okay With This, and Sex Education. i will watch The Punisher eventually i promise, i know Frank Castle will be my obsession the second i see it, but i don't have time rn okay!

i don't watch much anime, but the ones that i enjoy are Death Note (manga more tbh), My Hero Academia, and Yuri!!! On Ice. I just recently started watching One Piece per my friend begging me to and i'm sadly enjoying it.

and - if i'm not watching anything i just mentioned, i'm watching youtube!

i've been watching the top four, and GMM, since i was in middle school, they've been my favorites for a long time, tbh will probably be getting a tattoo for mark, sean, felix, and ethan just cause they kept me going at times. noel and fraser are recent, and by recent i mean like 2020 and on, but i love them regardless. the only other youtuber i watch besides these guys is TRO and Repzion!

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i also enjoy thrifting, antique shopping, covering my walls with posters and trinkets, buying funko pops, halloween, writing, singing in my college choir, and spending time with friends and family!

i might change this as i think of things to add, but i think that's it for now! thanks for reading!

“Why the hell are you running?”

You attempted to shout after Will as he nearly sprinted to Layla at the bus stop, but he wasn’t listening. Layla looked at you first, seemingly nervous as you just widened your eyes and put your hands up in defeat.

“Layla!” Will greeted her, chipper beyond an acceptable amount. “You’re not gonna believe what happened to me last night.”

When you saw the fortune cookie in her hand, you quickly pulled your lips into a line. Layla said she’d handle it. There was a painful beat of silence, followed by your darling idiot brother saying “oh, I love these” and starting to eat the damn fortune cookie. You’d apologize to Layla later, you had to handle this yourself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you scolded him, looking at Layla with utter disbelief. 

You yank the other half of the cookie from his mouth, holding the fortune out for him to see. 

“Your loyalties are clear when it comes to friends,” he read, smiling like an idiot. 

“Look where it’s from, dumbass!” 

Will looks closer, and then finally it dawns on him, seeing the Paper Lantern logo at the bottom of the slip.

“Oh God! OH!” fell from Will’s mouth, followed by the most half assed excuse you’d ever heard. “I’m sorry, I-I know you must wanna kill me.” 

“Makes two of us,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Actually, just the opposite,” Layla quickly said, covering up your grievances. “I have something to tell you.” 

Come on, please. You can do this, you silently begged. 

Homecoming quickly got brought up, which you were dreading to hear Will’s side of. He’s going with Gwen Grayson, what a surprise! Totally not weird at all, freshman taking a senior!

You can hear Layla’s heart being crushed on the sidewalk as they spoke. And then your own heart is crushed as you see how pained she is having to respond to that news in a happy manner, as if she wasn’t ready to curl into a ball and cry. 

The bus pulled in before you could grab Will’s shoulders and shake some sense into him. 

You were in Magenta’s sight for a mere second and she was already smiling ear to ear.

That morning, your mom surprised you with an apology gift.

She had flown to the venue Green Day had been performing at last night and bought you a piece of their tour merch; a baseball style long sleeve with “American Idiot” on the front. She left it on your dresser, along with a new pair of red Sk8 Hi Vans, shoes you hadn’t replaced since your last pair crapped out on you. She had taken the liberty of washing your favorite jeans, too, folding them up next to Warren’s jacket, laying out this cute outfit for your school day. You had to give it to your mom, she knew you very well.

Magenta only cared about one of those garments right now. 

You just shook your head at her antics, stealing the spot next to her. Luckily, Layla and Will sat towards the back, otherwise this whole goss sesh Mag was waiting for would’ve had to wait. 

“I love being right,” she beamed, sighing for extra effect as this all washed over her. 

You bit on the inside of your cheek, trying to fight the smile that was threatening to tug at your face. She just kept looking at you with this knowing stare. Waiting patiently.

“Okay, I was having the worst night ever, just to preface this,” you started, Magenta nodding along. “My family was irritating the shit out of me so I met Layla at the Paper Lantern.”

“Okay.”

“And I was telling her about my parents and everything.”

“Okay.”

“And then Warren walked up, cause apparently he’s been working there for a while, and got us food.” 

“Okay.”

“Layla ended up going home after a bit, and I asked Warren to hangout.”

“Okay.”

“I went and sat in the trunk of his car until he was done at work.”

“Okay.”

“And then I started crying.” 

She dampened for a moment, but locked back onto the conversation when you reassured her it was fine. 

“Eventually he came out and he comforted me.” 

“I love it.”

“And then after I felt better, he wiped the tears off my face, and we just kinda stared at each other for a second.” 

“I love it even more.” 

“This is gonna sound stupid, but the moment was perfect, like movie perfect.”

“No, I know exactly what you’re talking about.” 

“And then we just…” you started, not able to fight the heat pricking at your ears from thinking about kissing Warren. Her stare shifted, and then you started smiling, and her eyes widened, and you giggled.

She leaned in closer, dropping her voice, just loud enough for you to hear. 

“Did you guys kiss last night?” 

“A few times, yeah,” you whispered back, her jaw immediately dropping. 

She gasped dramatically loud, grabbing your hand and shaking it as she danced in her seat. She might have been the only person rooting for this relationship so shamelessly, but you weren’t complaining. 

“I know I said it already but God, I love being right,” she mused, then poking the leather on your shoulders. “And cherry on top, he gave you this.”

“Yeah, I know,” you said under your breath, running your hands over the jacket with admiration. It still smelled like him. 

Mag gushed as she took it all in, like this was her favorite tv show and it just kept getting better. And when you showed her that Warren kept your phone number in his jacket pocket, she all but squealed in glee, holding your wrist as she looked at it. 

She reassured you as you were all getting off the bus that she was going to be insufferable at lunch that day. You couldn’t wait. 

You attempted to make your trek to Chemistry as short as possible, walking in with a little more pride than usual. 

Medulla glanced up from the quizzes he was grading to tell you “Good Morning,” having to hide the grin that formed on his face when he saw you. 

He may or may not have predicted that this was going to happen. It was the basic laws of attraction. 

Now, you were able to check Warren out unabashedly, taking your time as you walked back to your seats. 

He’s replaced his jacket with a black dress shirt. He must have known you loved his tattoos since he’s rolled the sleeves up to his elbows. 

He was wearing a band tee you hadn’t seen him wear before, “Rage Against The Machine” spanning across his chest. He looked really good in red, and he has fantastic taste, as always. 

He was half way through The Handmaid’s Tale, folding the cover over itself and diverting your eyes to his gloves. The memory of how his hand felt interlocked with yours forced themselves to the front of your mind. The warmth of his skin against your cheek was close behind it, too. 

And, to make sure you gushed wholeheartedly, he looked up from his book as you set your backpack down, that perfect smile of his forming on his face as he saw you.

“Hi,” he said, sweeter than he’s ever said anything. 

“Hi,” you replied, unable to break your eye from his. 

The air between you was infinitely different but in every way the same. 

“You look a little weird without this,” you teased him, taking off Warren’s jacket and draping it over your backpack.

“You’re the last person I’d want to think that,” he remarked, dogearing his page and tugging out his notebook. 

“You’re welcome to have it back if you’re so concerned,” you half-joked, knowing you’d miss seeing him in his famed attire.

“Never gonna happen.”

You had to break eye contact with him then. Warren thought it was adorable. 

He was admiring you just as much, even if you didn’t see it.

Seeing you gladly wearing his leather jacket around your school made his heart skip in his chest. He’s always loved that you smiled constantly, and he took a lot of pride in the fact that he was responsible for causing one. What Warren loved most of all was when he could fluster you. He hadn’t seen many people do that, you usually had something to say to anyone or anything. The fact that he could get you to look away and smile to yourself instead of some witty comment back, there was just something so cute about it. 

These romantic feelings have always been floating through your interactions, you just didn’t know they were mutual. And now that you do know, they are all but consuming every second that you’re together, in the best way possible. That and you guys can kiss now. 

“Miss Stronghold,” Medulla droned, unwavering as you finally snapped back into reality. He was standing with your freeze ray solution in hand, waiting for you to come and get it from him.

Right! Yes, you were still in Chemistry class!

Despite the fact that you were now romantically involved with your lab partner, your project persisted. You were up and taking it out of his hands without another reminder. You begged that he hadn’t been standing there for too long.

Midterms have been on the horizon for a while, and you’ve been ahead on your project since Medulla announced it. Though, you were probably gonna lose your lead at least a little. New distractions.

You and Warren couldn’t go a few seconds without looking at each other, and promptly smiling like idiots. Each time your hands brushed against the other’s felt as though there was a constant static, desperate for just a second longer of contact to finally get that crack of electricity. At one point, while you were showing Warren the progress of your ray solution, he tucked some of the hair that fell in front of your goggles behind your ear, and you had to use everything in you not to kiss him. You even almost rested your cheek against his shoulder as he was showing you the fourth prototype of the ray casing, but Medulla happened to walk by your desks at the time, so you refrained. 

For the first time in your life, you were sad to hear the class bell ring. It felt like time doubled speed when you were with Warren. 

Just before the two of you parted ways in the hallway, he interlocked his pinky with yours, his skin affectionately warm as always. He squeezed your finger once before letting it go, looking down at you with a smile that attempted to say everything he had been wanting to say since he’s met you. 

Your stomach fluttered all the way to Hero Etiquette, and didn’t stop despite the test you totally forgot about. You aced it, though. 

This class was built-in for students that didn’t have public facing hero parents, but you’ve had plenty of real life experience. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, you wouldn’t say. 

While everyone else finished up their tests, you read Jane Eyre and listened to music. You were surprised that Mrs. Precision hadn’t said anything about you wearing your earbuds in class, but you were gonna take advantage of it while you could. 

You’ve been shamelessly listening to all of blink-182’s love songs since you woke up. 

They didn’t write about romance as intensely as some of the other people you listened to, but you loved it.

They talk about girls that are unbelievably cool, and every second they spend with her feels so easy, and loving her through everything because, ever since they met, life hasn’t felt as heavy as it used to. 

While you’ve always wanted someone to think about you the way their songs expressed, you couldn’t help but realize that it’s become the opposite. You’re thinking about someone that way. 

You’re thinking about Warren that way. 

You considered sending him one of their songs purely for the lyric“this world’s an ugly place, but you’re so beautiful to me,” but you didn’t want to be weird. 

Was that weird? 

You weren’t just friends anymore, but you weren’t even sure if you could label the two of you as a “thing” yet. You kinda wanted to be a “thing”, or more than that. If Warren wanted to be, obviously. 

There’s the whole thing with your familial feud also that was kinda intimidating, but it wasn’t exactly at the front of your mind last night. Was panning this out to be more than just a “thing” gonna work? Was your dad gonna ground you indefinitely when he found out?

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but luckily class was almost finished up and most people were goofing off. You still try to be as sly as possible when you grab it. 

Warren: You look adorable today. As always. 

God, you were gonna spontaneously combust if you weren’t a thing. 

You: not so bad yourself ;)

Now, that sadness for class ending turned into an unbridled anticipation, leaving you antsy as you counted down the seconds until you could run and change for CNW. Boomer was never allowed to know that information. 

You all but floated out of your seat when the bell rang, shamelessly listening to Blink-182’s album Enema of the State for the third time that day. Perhaps day dreaming about a certain someone to a certain fourth track.

You don’t pay anyone any mind as you change into your gym clothes, leaving your shoes behind like usual. Warren’s eyes snapped up from his lap the second you walked in, and the smile that you’ve gotten giddy at the sight of followed. 

You sat right beside him, your knee brushing his. People still sat a fair distance away from Warren, which you hoped would cease, and luckily, the girls that you had become friends with were starting to not be so frightened by him. Maybe you were rubbing off on his reputation. 

Seemingly, listening to it a million times wasn’t enough, and you found yourself humming the chorus of the aforementioned “Going Away To College.” You hadn’t realized you were staring off, not talking whatsoever, until Warren asked what song was stuck in your head. Without exposing that you thought of him whenever you heard it now, you tell him the title, and the fact that it was one of your favorites by Blink.

“It’s not the favorite, though?” 

“I’d say top ten,” you reply.

“Which one is then?”

“I have two,” you start, Warren cocking an eyebrow at you. “Don’t ask me to pick between them, I love them both for different reasons.”

“Alright, fine.” 

You take the moment to gush about Tom Delonge’s vocals and song writing, and, although you haven’t experienced all the same things as he has, you can always feel and connect with the subjects he writes about. That’s why “Stay Together For The Kids” has been at the top since you heard it. Your parents were happily married - hopefully - but there were times they’d fight or be cold towards each other, and you’d turn to that song. There was just something in the way Tom sang, he knew your pain intensely. 

Your other favorite was “Violence” purely because it’s just good. It’s always the songs you’re a little hesitant on the first listen that end up being the ones that you become obsessed with. And it didn’t help that Tom looked jaw droppingly gorgeous in the leaked music video for it. 

“I’ll have to listen to them,” Warren adds, pulling his hair up into a bun as Boomer finished attendance. 

He just keeps getting better and better. 

The devious grin that Boomer was sporting as he gathered you all around the main fighting ring made you nervous. And like usual, you and Warren had to be his guinea pigs. 

You stand next to each other, watching as Boomer grabbed his stop watch and gestured for you to shake hands. You did so, with puzzled looks on your faces. 

“And, your time starts…now,” he enunciated, much too pleased with himself as your faces dropped. “Strategy on the fly, that’s your lesson for today.” 

He clicks his pen and grabs his grading sheets, chuckling as you and Warren move to fighting stances in a panicked blur. 

“Don’t worry, you guys get an extra 30 seconds,” he whispered, clearing his throat to announce to the rest of your class. “We’re cold calling a mini test today, strictly spar, no harsh contact. Winner gets ten extra points. Alright, go.”

You’ve had a decent confidence boost since the beginning of the year. Partly because your winning streak dwarfs your losing one, but also how amazing of a partner Warren was. Fighting used to feel so disjointed and awkward, but now it came with ease. And so did predicting Warren’s next move. 

The lock up came embarrassingly fast, Warren’s limbs all tangled up with yours and your leg nestled behind his. He could struggle as much as he wanted but you had him right where you wanted him. A few of your classmates were even egging you on, begging you to finish Warren off.

“You gonna go easy on me now?” you murmured, holding him tighter. 

“No,” he says, as if any other answer was stupid. 

“Good,” you smirked, throwing Warren on the ground with a little more force than necessary. He’d be alright. 

Warren laid on the mat groaning through the final countdown, Boomer declaring you victorious and putting your hand in the air for funzies. 

Your peers clapped and cheered as you reached down to help Warren up, a sense of pride filling his face as you pulled him up with just one hand. You didn’t need the other one anymore.

You are quickly reminded of your height difference, and just how handsome Warren is, as he stands up, your forearms pressed together as he looks down at you. 

Boomer handed you both your grading sheets, adorning yours with a big smiley face, which you appreciated. He requested that you used the rest of class time to practice for your mid term. Or, in Warren’s case, learn how to not lose, as Boomer joked. Mildly. 

You took the time to show Warren how to get in and out of the lock up you’ve perfected. He got frustrated at first, which you remedied with some teasing comments, and those feelings quickly turned into determination to prove he could do it.

Eventually, you just offered to show him yourself, but that was just his secret plan to be able to hug you in the middle of class. He claimed he just “forgot” how to set it up properly, but you could see the satisfaction in his eyes as he held you from behind for a moment, head tucked between your shoulder and your neck. 

If that’s how he wanted to play it, fine. You’d play along. 

Once he insisted that he knew how to get out of the move, you allowed him to demonstrate. Obviously, he took his time, thinking that you’d just let him do so, but after giving him about ten seconds, you swept his legs out from under him. But, just to repay the favor, you caught him before he hit the ground, your face mere inches away from his.

The two of you stared at each other, your eyes darting to his lips for half a second. Toying the idea of kissing him right there in the middle of class. Before he could get too excited about it, though, you pulled him back to his feet, pretended that nothing happened. 

He was gonna remember that. 

In fact, that was all he could think about as he sat through his next class. 

Warren couldn’t give two shits about the history of crossbows and their significance to early superheroism, not when he could have kissed you a half hour ago. 

He didn’t even want to touch his lunch until you joined him, satisfied with whatever drawing he hadn’t finished. Well, he was satisfied with that until a certain hippie joined him. 

You had just, in her words, abandoned Magenta in the lunch line to talk to Will about your plans that night. You were cancelling on him sadly, and lunch was probably the only time you could speak to him and get it rescheduled. 

Gwen and her friends were very clearly not happy that you were breathing the same air as them as you walked up to their lunch table, but you pushed your disdain aside, since Will actually seemed happy to see you. 

“Hey, I need to raincheck going to the book store tonight, can we go tomorrow?” you asked, flashing all the prissy girls at the table a fake smile. They didn’t pay it back, of course. 

“Yeah, sure,” Will replied, pulling his lips into a line. 

“Oh, now we can go look at ties together!” Gwen squealed, grabbing Will’s shoulder like this was the most exciting news she’s heard all week. 

“Do you wanna go dress shopping with Gwen and her friends?” Will offered on behalf of Penny and whatever stuck up girls Gwen surrounded herself with. 

They did nothing to hide their disdain on their faces. Nice. 

“Thanks, but Mag and Layla are taking me in a few weeks.” 

“That should be fun!” Penny chimed in, that fake smile burning strong on her face. 

“Are you going with anyone?” Will asked, prolonging this interaction with you longer than Gwen had wanted. 

“Not yet, why?” 

“Well, I figured Mag and Zach would go together,” he started.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” you added, the irritation of their little dance around these crushes of theirs peeking through. 

“And Layla said she was going with Warren Peace, weirdly.”

Wait.

What?

Your shock must have showed on your face, because Will immediately said “I know, so weird.”

“Wait, what?” you questioned, trying not to show how fast your heart leapt to your throat. 

“She said they were going together this morning,” Will nodded towards Warren’s table.

Sure enough, Layla was sitting there. Warren didn’t let anyone else sit with him, besides you. 

That meant something, at least you thought it did.

When did they become so…close?

“Apparently he asked her last night,” Will tacked on, much to your heart’s dismay. 

Oh. 

Here’s the first move of Warren’s you wouldn’t have predicted in a million years. 

So, on the same night he kissed you for the first time, gave you his jacket, took you out on a cute ice cream date, he also asked another girl, your best friend no less, to homecoming. 

A devastating hurt settled in your stomach. 

You didn’t look at them too long, facing Will and Gwen before anyone saw how crushed you were. 

“She hasn’t told me yet, I guess,” you responded, inhaling to try and quell the sting forming in your eyes.

Did they actually like each other? 

When did this even happen?

When did Layla and Warren become friends?

How have you not seen it until now?

What was last night about? 

Did it mean anything to Warren? 

Did he even care?

What were you to him? 

Were you even anything to him?

Did he even like you back?

What the hell is going on?

“I’ll see you later,” you trailed off, your jaw tensing as you turned on your heel. You needed to be out of sight, fast. 

Magenta passes by you in a blur, and you ignore her questioning as to where you were going. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you walked to your locker, somehow not drowning out the terror that swirled in your mind. 

You ripped Warren’s jacket off your body, the item feeling tainted and much too heavy for you to bear much longer. You dropped your backpack at your feet as you fumbled with your locker combination, the sting starting to dwindle up your throat too.

When you finally ripped the door open, it seems that someone decided to write something in Sharpie on the inside.

“Stronghold Slut” written in huge, black, degrading letters. 

Cool. Really exactly what you needed right then. 

Your phone buzzed as you tossed Warren’s jacket onto the top shelf, out of your sight. You figured it was one of your friends checking up on you, wondering why you peeled out of lunch in a frenzy. 

Nope. It was your dad, doing exactly what he said he wasn’t going to do this semester; harassing you about your grades.

He’s curious why you have a 90% in Physics on the last grade report, opposed to his preferred 100%, and he’s taking the time out of his super busy professional hero schedule to text you about it.

You didn’t even have the heart to respond, just whimpering as you slammed your locker shut and hiding all the evidence of your failures. 

If you could curl up into a ball in your bed, never to be seen again, you would. You’d have to settle for sitting outside. It was finally starting to cool off, so people were sitting inside for the most part. The school usually was torture in the fall since there weren’t any buildings disturbing the wind current. You were willing to withstand it to just be alone. 

Your lungs were spasming with pain, from you trying to hold this all in until you couldn’t, and everything was stinging, throbbing with the need to snap. You just wanted to push it all back down. Push it back down until you were numb and you could smile and pretend everything was okay.

School wasn’t the place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t get much of a choice. 

You sat with your knees pulled to your chest, replaying “Endless, Nameless” over and over again, as loud as your headphones could allow. You hoped it would chase away anything that threatened to enter your mind. It usually did. 

Your absence seemed to be the top priority in the lunchroom amongst your friends. 

Zach set his backpack on his seat, taking a few things off his lunch tray before starting to walk away.

“Where’re you going?” Ethan asked as he opened his chocolate milk.

“I’m gonna go check on her,” he said quickly, glancing out through the windows at you. “Might have a migraine or something.” 

Layla waited until Zach was out of ear shot before she teasingly said “Ask her to homecoming while you’re at it.” 

Ethan and Magenta laughed with her, even adding on little jokes themselves, but Warren didn’t find any of it funny. His heart dropped to his damn feet. 

Layla noticed the sort of lost look in his eye as he listened to what they said, realizing he wasn’t privy to this inside joke. 

“Zach’s had a crush on her for years, we kinda just give him shit for it,” she told him, trying to reassure Warren. He only felt worse. 

“Don’t forget that he’s been calling her Starfire since the fifth grade,” Magenta added. 

Warren was really struggling to find the joke in all this, and he was almost beating himself up for it. There was a jealousy and competition that settled in his chest. He knew why.

He didn’t entertain crushes for most of his adolescence, due to knowing none of them would ever work anyway. He always assumed most people hated him too much to find any interest in him either. 

You were his first real crush. 

Before he met you, Warren had never been truly captivated by someone. It was this special feeling he’s been treasuring since it formed. Treasuring what he had with you. 

Apparently, what he had wasn’t very special, and something gross crawled under Warren’s skin. 

Meanwhile, you were on your twelfth listen of “Endless, Nameless.” It was barely helping.

You found some stability in the tree you were sitting against, trying to ignore that Layla was the one who grew it. 

Your heart lurched at the fact that you’ve had a lot happier moments under this tree, with Warren. It clenched at the thought of him having the same moment, maybe better moments with Layla.

Every moment you’d ever shared with Warren was getting turned over, picked apart, every minute detail being questioned in your mind. What all of it meant. If any of it were real. If you should even be sad at  all. You were technically entertaining someone your dad would flip shit over, you half considered pretending it never happened to protect your sanity.

God, your dad. 

It felt like, the older you got, the less he gave a shit about what Will did, and he seared all of his left over attention onto your every move.

He used to be a lot cooler, honestly. Music used to be your thing to bond over. He showed you all the oldie rock bands he liked, took you to your first concert, bought you your first CD.

Funnily enough, it was the same record you were blasting now, trying to dry the tears he helped cause. 

The last couple years, he’s just been so angry. About his past adversaries, about his job, about something your mom did. Just constantly filled with a rage that never seemed to go away. You hated catching the strays of his outbursts. 

It was humiliating how he pointed out every flaw he could find. Nothing got past him, even a single digit percentage change on your grades. As if he wasn’t this accomplished superhero, with the perfect wife and family, and the perfect house.

No, what his reputation really hinged on was if his daughter had an A opposed to an A+. 

Oh, and not to mention, two senior boys were bullying you and broke into your locker to call you a slut. 

You flinched as someone tapped your shoulder, tugging out one of your earbuds and apologizing. 

“You got a migraine or something?” Zach asked, crouching next to you and his face promptly dropping seeing the tears on your face. “What’s wrong?” 

You shake your head, digging your face into your arms.

“Did Lash say something to you?” Zach asked, ready to throw hands with the aforementioned jackass. 

You take in a defeated breath, your chin twitching as tears fell on your jeans. Zach just took a seat next to you, waiting until you were able to answer.

You glanced at him, seeing him fiddling with an Uncrustable and a bottle of orange juice as he waited. 

“What’s that?” you mumbled, sitting up just slightly. 

He looks up at you, then back down at the items in his hands 

“Didn’t want you to be hungry,” he says, sheepish as he gives them to you. 

A barely there smile pulls at your lips, crossing your legs and putting the items in your lap. 

Zach was always a great friend, and person. You appreciated him so much. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever known.

He should be someone you feel comfortable talking to.

“Do you…ever feel like you’re drowning?” you breathe out, watching the grass move in the breeze. “And you can’t keep up? You just…get pushed under over and over again?” 

Now it was time for Zach’s heart to lurch. 

He hadn’t seen you this visibly upset in a while. Even with the whole threat after Save the Citizen, he kind of just got used to you being happy all the time. It was hard seeing someone he cared about so down.

“Probably not as bad as you have, but I get it,” he replies, dampened as he watches your expression.

You wipe your face again, though it doesn’t do much. 

“I just…I don't know, lately I feel like nothing I do is good enough.” 

Zach looked at you intently now. 

That statement was just ludicrous coming from someone like you. His best friend since 5th grade, coolest person he’s ever met, doesn’t feel good enough? 

Not while he’s alive and breathing on this planet. 

“You are genuinely the smartest person I know,” he starts, earnest despite the vanquished look on your face. “You’re in advanced classes for fun, dude. Who fucking does that?” 

Your lips twitched into a dulled smile. He only pushed further. 

“And you just amaze me all the time. I mean, no one else at this school has the balls to step in the middle of a fight and completely squash it. But you do! You kick ass and are still an incredibly kind, humble person, and you didn’t ditch your friends for a girl like that dumbass,” Zach added, pointing with his thumb over his shoulder. Talking about your darling idiot brother. 

“I would never,” you reassured him, just barely feeling better. 

“I know,” he smiles, something easy in his presence. “Just…whenever you’re feeling like that, remember that I think the world of you, and nothing you do will ever disappoint me. Unless you like, turn into a supervillain or something.” 

He manages to get a short chuckle out of your depressed state, that was all he was hoping for. 

“Didn’t plan on it,” you muttered, appreciative as you finally looked at him. “Thanks, Zach.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, someone’s been watching you for a moment. And he was gonna hate what came next. 

After a bit, Zach stood up and helped you to your feet, and you went in for a much needed hug.

He held you tight, rubbing his hand over your back and swaying you ever so slightly. Like he’s done this a million times before and knows exactly how to make you feel better. 

You smiled once Zach pulled away, wiping your face as Zach said something inaudible. Something funny, since you laughed again. 

You seemed to be magnetically attracted, cause Zach slung his arm over your shoulder as he walked you back to the school, carrying your backpack for you as he continued to speak about something. And you seemed intently interested in what he had to say. 

He knew he was torturing himself, but Warren couldn’t look away.

Apparently, someone else has been captivated by you too.

And had his own nickname for you.

And he listened to the same music as you did. 

And has been one of your closest friends since you were eleven years old.

He could get you to smile so easily. 

He could get you to laugh when you were in tears. 

He could comfort you in a matter of minutes. 

The way he hugged you looked so effortless, so natural.

And suddenly, everything from the last night - hell, the last couple months - felt like nothing extraordinary, and it made Warren question if you were as interested in him as you said you were. 

Since, everything he thought was special about you and him was apparently not special at all. 

It was all incredibly and pathetically worthless. 

credit to @chrisssiren for the gorgeous dividers, and to the original posters for the pictures used in the banner

“Come on, please?!” Zach begged as he followed you up the bleachers. 

“Not happening,” you replied absentmindedly, waving to Layla as she motioned for you to sit next to her.

Zach has probably asked that exact question a million times since you got to school. He’s had this fantasy in his head since childhood; you and Will, destroying whomever got put up against you, in an amazing display of powers that you would win easily. You weren’t exactly happy to burst his bubble, but you weren’t going to encourage it either. 

“What are you being annoying about?” Magenta teased as Zach literally put his foot down, irritated that you weren’t caving into his request. 

“She’s not doing Save the Citizen!” he whined back, reflecting the behavior of a three year old as he gestured to you. 

“Dude, she almost died three days ago, you’re actually insane,” Ethan deadpanned, disappointed as he tugged Zach by the arm to sit down. 

You had to admit, despite your feelings about it, Save the Citizen was still fun. The gym was already abuzz with excitement as the first fight was warming up. The music they’ve been using to soundtrack the event since your dad walked these halls hummed low in the room, creating an almost movie-esc scene. 

Will jogged up the bleachers as Boomer was announcing the first round, and even though his stupid fight was still fresh in your mind, you still smiled at him. 

“Sorry, got caught up with Howlett,” he rushed out, returning your smile genuinely.  

You were just glad he could still be bothered to sit with you and your friends. He embarrassed them enough with the whole thing Gwen did at lunch earlier that day, this was the least he could do, if you were being honest. But, his usual self was still shining through. 

After Will got home the other night, you guessed he had enough time to think about what happened during his extremely long detention, because he apologized without your mom even berating him about it. She still let him have it regardless. 

He said he was sorry over and over again, asked if you were okay, asked if you hated him. You didn’t, you didn’t think you ever could. You could tell that he felt horrible, and that was all you really needed to forgive him, anyway. 

Despite the fights drawing the attention of everyone else in the room, Zach still bothered you, or the “Wonder Twins” as he started saying, about participating. Will just shook his head, his eyes trailing Lash and Speed tag teaming one of their fellow upperclassmen and flinging him across the room. 

“Zach,” you said sharply, reaching into your pocket and nearly throwing the paper at his face. “My dad literally exempted me last week.” 

His eyebrows furrowed as he read over the print out, rolling his eyes as he just handed it back to you. 

“Will’s got me,” he whispered, patting Will’s shoulders with too much confidence. 

Lash and Speed started pummeling their next set of opponents, your classmates cheering and clapping as the freshman they picked ran in fear, but your attention was far from their fight. 

You tried to be as inconspicuous as possible as you looked for Warren amongst the crowd. You had an inkling that he might have skipped class, given his hesitancy about Save the Citizen before.

After a few seconds, you found him sitting alone, and it was as though there was a three foot forcefield around him. No one got too close, the sight still saddened you. 

He was doing what he often did when he was zoning out; fingers laced together, drumming whatever song that was stuck in his head with his thumbs, nodding along to the beat and looking off at nothing. You kinda wanted to see what he looked like doing the real thing. 

You hadn’t realized you were staring at him until his eyes met yours. Like he could feel that you were admiring him. 

Immediately embarrassed, you darted your gaze to something else, but against your better judgement, it moved back to Warren a second later. 

A sheepish smile spread on your face, and the corner of Warren’s lips twitched at the small wave that followed. It reminded him of the first time you two “met,” how you went completely against the version he had come up with prior. In the best way possible, of course. 

He half wished you got up and sat with him, or that he had the courage to sit with you in the first place. 

Just as he went to wave back, the reason he decided to sit alone grabbed your shoulder to bring you into the final countdown. Will was as eager as everyone else to rub in that Ramirez and Hamilton had failed to save their citizen. 

Warren’s smile fell before it even formed. 

As the final buzzer sounded through the gymnasium, you lazily cheered, drowned out by how excited everyone else was to watch a citizen dummy get mulched for the tenth time. Boomer recorded the result, probably the same exact thing for the last hour, then asked who Lash and Speed wanted to go up against next. 

“Alright, we’ll take little Stronghold,” Speed goaded, smirking as he pointed in Will’s general direction. 

“The guy, obviously,” Lash added, smug as the two of them laughed to themselves. You could feel the tension that filled Layla as she sat beside you, but you had her covered plenty. 

“Go fuck yourself,” you shouted, cupping one of your hands by your mouth just to make sure Lash heard you. The laughs that erupted among your classmates assured you nearly as much as the smugness falling from Lash’s face. 

“You’re just scared ‘cause she’d wipe the floor with your dumbass!” Zach yelled even louder, standing up to project his voice as far as possible. You loved that kid so much. 

Will got up eventually, appreciating the encouragement you tried to give him before he got too far. After the laughing settled, Boomer asked Lash and Speed who they wanted their other opponent to be, doing a very poor job to cover up the wry smile on his face. 

“We pick Peace,” Lash huffed, not as hyped as he was before. 

Magenta crawled over the bleacher and took Will’s spot, sitting next to you with a grin. 

“This should be interesting,” she commented, just loud enough for you to hear. 

This was actually a fight that you’d watch, intently, and if you had to be honest with yourself, if they worked together, this combination could work really well against Lash and Speed. Working together would be the crucial thing, though. 

After getting the not very effective suit and protective pads on, wearing someone else’s sweaty gear yet another reason why you didn’t want to participate, Will and Warren got the usual intro of being the Heroes. Will managed to wave at his “girlfriend” before anything got too serious, which you just rolled your eyes at.

Three minutes seemed so short on the countdown, but some people say it feels never ending in the moment.  

The mulcher started grinding as Boomer yelled “BATTLE”, much too loud for his environment as always. Lash and Speed started in “The Pinball”, as they called it. They always began their fights with it, you weren’t sure why Will and Warren got flustered. 

You felt a little bad when Will hit his jaw on the ground, which was probably more painful given his bruise was still lingering. Don’t get into fights, big brother. 

They recovered quickly, Warren becoming Lash’s victim of the Wrap Around, Lash’s signature move. 

“That’s not gonna end well,” you mumbled, your chin perched in your hand. 

Warren burst into flames a few seconds later, prompting Lash to whimper and cry, trying to call it a foul. Boomer laughed at that request. 

You clapped and cheered, much louder than you had all period, getting your friends in on it as Will got back up too. He might have been knocked on his ass a few seconds later by the Drive By, as Speed called his best move, but it’s the getting back up that matters most. 

Amidst Lash and Warren fighting each other, Boomer took a fireball to the face, which was the funniest thing you’d seen all week. 

Will took a few more hits, clearly getting frustrated. You yelled some encouraging words as loud you could, Will glancing at you for a moment before he rolled his shoulders out. You could see the gears working in his head, and hell, call it twin telepathy or whatever, but you knew exactly what he was about to do.

“Yes!” you yelled, sitting up straighter as Will reeled his fist back, jumping up off the ground. “YES! DO IT, WILL!”

His fist collided with the gym floor, uprooting the panels in a shockwave of power. A classic Commander move. 

Speed tripped over a mailbox, though stuck the landing, and Lash flew across the room, collapsing into a bench as the crowd roared with praise. 

A proud warmth filled your chest as Will thwarted his enemies perfectly. Tying Lash to a pole? Genius. 

But, since he had been holding his own the entire time, your focus didn’t turn to Warren until it was too late.

Speed was doing The Death Spiral. 

It was a move coined by heroes with super speed a long time ago. It was banned from being used in Save the Citizen, for extremely obvious, lethal reasons. 

The excitement drained from your blood the second you saw Warren struggling to breathe, and upon seeing him fall to his knees, nothing else in the room mattered. 

You tried to keep your hand out of sight as you focused on Speed’s body. That familiar ache surged back, sharp as it curved around your skull, but you couldn’t care less. You winced as you finally got a Hold, your breath hitching as you planted one of Speed’s feet to the ground. With enough gravity to make him fall flat on his face. 

Speed slammed into the floor with a loud thud, the momentum he formed causing him to put a decent dent in the gym floor. The entire room erupted with groans, Will running over to pick him up and throw him towards the pole that Lash was tied to.

You held your breath, the pain dulled just enough to grit through it. Your gaze stayed locked on Warren, gasping for air, barely able to push himself up. That sight hurt more than anything your powers could ever do to you. 

A warm trickle slid down your lip, which you expected.

You wiped it with your sleeve, letting out a tense breath as you moved your power’s focus to Warren’s body, taking just enough gravity off of him to make standing up easier. 

You flinched as blood dripped onto your shorts, quickly catching the rest with your hand. 

Warren finally got to his feet, though still unsteady, and only then did you allow yourself to look away. Pressing your palm to your throbbing head, whimpering as you caved in on yourself. The migraine that formed felt like you were taking a freight train to the brain. So, so lovely. 

Magenta’s voice cut through the fog as she placed a hand on your back. She asked what’s wrong, but you barely manage a mumble, grateful for the convenient, bloody excuse. Somehow, you found the strength to stand, pinching your nose as you make your way down the bleachers, determined to reach the nearest bathroom. 

The locker room door swung open under your weight, and you stumbled inside, heading straight for the sink. Cold water rushed from the faucet as you let the blood drip into the stream, your hands shaking as you scrub them clean. 

The veins in your arm were already darkening again. Awesome. At least it was contained below your wrist, small victories. Once the bleeding was under control, you splashed water on your face, hoping it would somehow erase the bloodshot in your eyes. Didn’t do much.

The idea of going back to the gym felt impossible. If anyone noticed what you did, you could get in serious trouble. Best to avoid it all together. 

No matter how many times you blinked, those white and black dots kept sprinkling through your vision, and didn’t go away as you slumped on a bench in front of your locker. You were very aware of how your blood was moving through your body, the wave of lightheadedness catching you off guard. 

You took a moment to rest your head in your hands, breathing as slowly as you could. These symptoms would usually be staved off on an average day, but due to your prior activities in the lunchroom, you weren’t on your A game. Just stupidly undid all the healing your body had done over the weekend. Stupid, but worth it. 

You blew a long breath through your mouth as you put in your locker combo, shuffling out of your gym clothes awkwardly. The bench wood was cold against your thigh as you pulled out your skirt and sweater, glad that you weren’t drenched in sweat as you put them back on. You kicked off your tennis shoes and let them meet their fate at the bottom of your locker, tugging your Docs from your backpack. As you leaned over to tie them, your vision tunneled, nearly blacking out completely. Your knees were nice braces as you tried not to fall over. 

Once you were presentable enough, you held your backpack by the top strap and snailed out to the hallway. The muffled cheers and music soundtracks your hobbling around the school, holding onto the wall like a child at a roller rink. Your main goal was getting to your emergency meds, which were stowed away on the other side of the school.

That fight was almost laughable. 

How could no one else see the problem with what just happened? Not even an immediate foul or scolding from Boomer. You stepped in because you knew Speed danced the line of giving Warren brain damage, or even killing him. The fact that no one else seemed to care drove you insane.

By the time you’d shuffled down the right hallway, your backpack felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds. You dropped it at your feet, half-lucid as you fumbled with your combination. It took an embarrassingly long amount of time to open it. 

When you finally tugged your locker open, Save the Citizen was over. Great. Now to dig around all the shit you managed to stuff in here to find the most important capsule of pills ever. 

“Did you use your powers during my fight?”

You jolted, your heart slamming against your ribs. Will’s voice came out of nowhere.

“What makes you think that?” you muttered, barely able to hide the annoyance rising under your skin.

“People don’t just dent the gym floor like that,” he points out, watching you like a hawk. “And you’re very obviously having a migraine right now.” 

“Speed went too far,” you said flatly, rummaging through your locker, teeth grinding as you realize you forgot to restock your meds. That meant you’d have to go to the nurse, and the only explanation for your condition was admitting you’d broken the rules. 

Will shook his head, exasperated. “He wasn’t gonna kill him or anything.” 

Anger flared hot in your ribs. 

“Will, it’s a game we play in gym class. Speed didn’t need to suffocate him.” 

Will rolled his eyes, but you didn’t have time to berate him for it. 

Your gaze shifted as Gwen and her friends approached the two of you, their smug smiles sending off a fresh wave of irritation. You turned away, pretending to look for something just to avoid their scrutiny. Gwen gushed about how proud she was, how amazing Will did, blah blah blah. 

Will took it all in, bathed in the praise actually. He didn’t pay anyone else a second of his attention when Gwen was standing in front of him. Bothered the shit out of you. He only proved your point when he completely ignored your friends, walking off hand-in-hand with Miss Perfect. 

You had hoped he’d remain his usual self, but the ego of super strength got him too.

You slammed your locker with a scoff and leaned against the door, the cold metal providing some fleeting relief as you sighed. 

“Rough day?” 

You tilted your head, one eye open, smiling slightly as Warren tilted his head to match yours. 

Layla seemed deeply concerned as she approached you, asking a million questions like your own mother. She didn’t take your reassurance very far, providing you with her peppermint and lavender oils, and insisted that you kept them. Zach and Ethan were still droning on about how awesome Will was, despite Layla telling them to shut up. Mag dug out a few large bandaids from her purse, which you took begrudgingly.

“They’re broken in,” you grumbled, referring to the Doc Martens you’ve been uncomfortably shifting in all day. 

“Doesn’t matter, you haven’t worn them for a year,” she clarified, kicking her foot with yours to remind you what real, broken in boots looked like. And when you pulled your skirt down for the millionth time that day, she cocked an eyebrow. “And you didn’t wear tights…because?” 

“I didn’t want to!” you fumed, shoving the bandages in your backpack. 

“Don’t ask me for fashion advice and then get angry when you don’t take it.”

Magenta traded a few annoyed glances with you before she turned to Warren, telling you to go to him for Doc advice since you were giving her attitude - which was her being subtle about your crush on Warren. She didn’t even hide the satisfaction on her face as you death glared at her. 

Layla pressed you one more time about your condition, to which you told her once again that you were probably fine. She still urged you to go to the nurse and offered to save you a seat outside when you were ready, then left hesitantly, waving to both you and Warren as she walked towards the courtyard with Mag. 

Warren lingered, ignoring Zach and Ethan’s awkward attempts at small talk, waiting until they were gone to speak.  

“You didn’t have to do that,” he started, voice small. He’d never be able to forget how your powers felt, even when he was almost passing out. “But I appreciate it.” 

You scanned his face, noting how shaken he looked. 

“You okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he promised, but his gaze flickered downward, landing on your hand. “Are you? Do you need to go to the nurse?” 

“I didn’t participate in any fights, so if I go, they’re gonna know I did something.” You settled for rubbing the essential oils Layla gave you on your pressure points, trying to remember the right spots she showed you. It helped, a little. “I might just stand here and ice my forehead on this.” 

You were only half-joking.  

“This might be the only time I wished I had Cryokinesis,” Warren said earnestly.

You couldn’t fight the smile that formed on your face, and he seemed to be in the same predicament. 

“STRONGHOLD!” 

Your heart dropped to your feet.

As you turned over your shoulder, you found Lash and Speed, the latter having a giant bruise across his jaw, storming down the hallway, furious. They must have figured out what you did, and being the petty assholes they were, they needed to let you know just how much it pissed them off. 

“You’re fuckin’ dead,” Lash growled, his glare cutting through you easily. 

You had nowhere to run. Your powers were basically useless, and without them, you were too weak to put up a real fight. Backed up against your own locker, you felt helpless. 

Warren planted himself between them and you, his backpack hitting the ground before they got too close. Lash and Speed exchanged a glance before chuckling, cocky smirks plastered across their faces as they loomed closer. 

“You goin’ soft, Peace?” Speed sneered, glaring at you over Warren’s shoulder. 

“Protecting your girlfriend?” Lash added with a cruel laugh.  

Warren didn’t flinch. He didn’t acknowledge their taunts, just stared them down, shoulders squared and unmoving. Lash tried to push past him, but Warren shut him down in an instant, gripping his shoulder in a vice-like hold.  Lash just smirked, letting out a dark chuckle as he turned to face Warren. 

“You remember who her fucking dad is, right?” he scoffed, his tone dripping with disbelief. 

The second the words left Lash’s mouth, you saw Warren’s entire body go rigid. 

A sharp crackling filled the air, fire erupting from Warren’s hand. Lash recoiled with a pained cry, slapping frantically at the embers burning through his sleeve. Speed moved to retaliate, but flames had already crawled up Warren’s arms, flickering violently in warning. 

“You want a repeat of last year?” Warren’s voice was low, dangerous. 

Lash and Speed froze, the bravado melting from their faces. Then, without a word, they scrambled backward, cursing under their breath as they fled the scene. 

Warren extinguished the fire with a sigh before turning to you, his expression shifting almost immediately. The deadly edge was gone, replaced by something softer.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful, protective. 

You swallowed hard and nodded, chewing on the inside of your lip. 

You had barely moved since they yelled your name. Everything was drowned out by your heart pounding in your ear drums. People were staring at you now, whispering through rumors of why they targeted you, pointing at the black veins you were suddenly extremely embarrassed by. 

You tugged on your sleeves and balled the fabric of your sweater into your fists, your stomach twisting as the tears finally came. Brimming your eyes with a heat that felt pathetic. 

Warren didn’t hesitate. He bent down, grabbed both of your bags, wrapping his arm around your shoulder.  

“Come on,” he murmured, shielding you from the eyes still lingering in the halls. Warren led you outside, where Layla instantly noticed that something was wrong. 

She got up and ran over, holding your arms as you tried to catch your breath. Magenta and Zach were close behind, Ethan stuck grabbing everyone’s backpacks so they wouldn’t get stolen.

Warren filled them in on what happened, which pissed all four of them off. They each had their own threat conjured up for the next time they saw Lash and Speed, and Layla made a point to thank Warren for being there to stop it. 

That moment had been a first for him. 

Warren hadn’t really felt like a hero until then. 

He was actually using his powers to stop bad people from doing evil things to good people, and it felt so natural to him. He’d do it again, a thousand times over, especially for you. 

Something warmer than even his own powers ignited in his chest. 

After the rise of anger between your friends, they settled for their previous spot in the grass, under a tree that Layla had secretly grown on campus. They talked amongst themselves, Warren begrudgingly joined them, sitting next to you and reading quietly. You needed a break. 

Laying in the grass, eyes closed, and listening to music helped bring you down. You flipped through a couple albums, torn between suffocating the remaining feelings with something heavy like “I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love”, or letting everything settle with something calm like “Nebraska” - Warren’s rec. You settled for “The Bends” by Radiohead, something in the middle. 

Music became quite the escape for you the older you got. For however long an album was, you could pretend you weren’t in your body, and just feel it. Feel the rhythm of the instruments working together, feel the meaning of the lyrics, feel the story unfold as you listen track to track. All of the things that drew you to your favorite artists in the first place. 

Although it wasn’t a perfect comparison, you found some relation to what Radiohead portrayed. 

The title alone, referring to the debilitating feeling of surfacing too quickly and causing permanent damage, puts some of your deepest fears into words. Thom wrote about how little substance being “famous” has, and how difficult it can be to find genuine human connection when you’re stuck in the cycle that they were all in upon their first album blowing up the way it did. 

You found it mirrored your own struggle with being a Stronghold, everyone’s expectations putting you in the ground, trying to maintain this image of the superhero they thought you were, even if you were just a kid still. And the horror that constantly followed you whenever someone heard your last name to begin with. It made you feel like some ill-placed God, and it got you treatment that you would push away for the rest of your life. 

You didn’t want to be the Commander and Jetstream. You just wanted to be good. 

Someone that people felt safe when they saw you flying above them, someone they knew they could call for in times of need. Fame was never an integral part of being a hero. 

The final chorus of “My Iron Lung” was wrapping up when you finally opened your eyes, feeling someone lay beside you on the grass. You peeked one eye open, watching as Warren just stared at the clouds above you. 

You offered one of your earbuds to him, unintentionally making his eyes dart to the black lines that had reappeared on your skin. Because of him. 

He turned to you, hesitant as he bit on the inside of his cheek. The guilt was all but falling from his face. 

“I’m okay,” you whispered. 

He looked at you for a moment longer, taking the earbud silently. He had to scooch a little closer so that they wouldn’t tug from either of your ears, your shoulders pressed to the other’s. Today was one of the off-chances Warren wasn’t wearing his leather jacket, so the warmth spread through your blue sweater relentlessly. You didn’t mind. 

You hand your iPod off to him to pick an album, which he takes his time doing. When he finally sets it between the two of you, a guitar lick that you’d recognize any day of the week started playing, and it genuinely filled you with utter joy that he picked it. 

“My Name Is Jonas,” the lead track off of Weezer’s blue album. That's what Warren decided to listen to. 

He found the way you contained your excitement extremely adorable. 

You laid with your arms crossed over your chest, a dopey grin on your face, your feet happily swaying to the song. And he maybe half picked that album for this exact reaction. More like 95%, and the remaining 5% because he enjoyed some of it.  

Though the second “No One Else” started playing, Warren immediately skipped it. 

“Why did you do that?”

“Terrible song.”

“It’s a fantastic song,” you insisted. 

“It’s misogynistic and abusive,” he countered, looking at you with a cocked brow. 

“Yeah but, like…” you paused, deciding how to word this properly. “They’re aware of that, Weezer isn’t encouraging that behavior by writing about it.”

“I still don’t want to listen to it.”

“Okay…” you drew out, allowing him to be in his closed bubble. 

From then on, you covered your iPod whenever you knew a song he hated was going to come on. He could endure a few questionable Weezer songs at the expense of skipping one of the great ones, roll his eyes all he wants. 

There was one song in particular that Warren had to keep the facade going especially. 

When he had first listened to this album, per your request, he had been doing homework, chores, whatever he occupied his time with. When “Only In Dreams,” the last song on the album, finally came around, he had just collapsed on his bed, staring at the pattern on his ceiling. 

Bad idea, now he’s actually processing the lyrics. 

And he couldn’t help but think about you. 

A song about this amazing girl, who seems to take up every molecule of his life, who’s limited to his dream-like fantasy, because how could he ever manage the courage to ask her out? How would he ever entertain anything romantic with her in real life when he’s not worthy of it? But how could he stop himself from wanting her anyway? How could he stop himself from looking at someone so beautiful and wanting nothing more than to hold her hand? 

Warren repeated that song more times that night than he’d like to admit. And now that he was actually laying next to you, arm pressed against yours, his heart nearly burst out of his chest. Luckily, the buses came before he did anything stupid. 

Your welcome home was nothing small. For Will, anyway. 

He pretty much had your dad’s attention until further notice, tucked away in the Sanctum recounting how he just single-handedly won Save the Citizen, and was this amazing hero with such amazing strength. 

You preferred homework over that nonsense. 

In the depths of your physics homework, which you hadn’t rage-quit purely out of spite, you heard voices down in the kitchen. You guessed you hadn’t heard whoever it was over your radio. 

You had been meaning to talk to your mom anyway. Today was your power anniversary, after all.

She made a big deal about it every year, usually flew with you to Europe to celebrate, get genuine gelato and all that good stuff. You were just curious when you would be going. But, as you got to the bottom of the stairs and into the kitchen, that was quickly the last thing on your mind. 

Gwen Grayson was standing in your kitchen. Great.

Of course, she’s fully dressed in one of her preppy outfits, laughing at something your mom said as they prepared dinner. And, of course, you’re standing in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles pajama pants, and a long sleeve Sky High shirt you stole from your dad. 

“Oh, hey, honey,” your mom happily greeted you, unaware of how much you were hating this interaction already. “Do you know Gwen?” 

“Yep,” you replied, hating how little you hid your irritation at that fact. A fake smile should fix it. “Uh, Mom, when are we…going, later?” 

You weren’t exactly inviting the idea of sharing something deeply personal with some random girl, because that’s what she was to you. She wasn’t even a peer in your eyes, just some girl that your brother had been entertaining romantically. Their weird age gap was apparently besides the point to everyone else on the planet. 

“Going where?” your mom asked, too enthralled with your class president to even look you in the eye. 

“Like, after dinner,” you said lowly, trying to make eye contact. “Me and you?”

“Are you guys gonna get ice cream or something?” Gwen asked, that same fake, happy smile on her face. 

“No, but that sounds like a great idea,” your mom replied. 

Was she being serious?

You’ve been doing this since you were in 2nd grade and she’d just…forgotten now?

You can’t even get a word in before your dad and Will join you in the kitchen. They just started talking to each other, the four of them. It was like you were out of frame. 

Anything you tried to add, they didn’t acknowledge. The conversation you tried to start died immediately. They didn’t even look at you, any of them. 

You weren’t even there, you were invisible. Even as you slowly backed out of the kitchen, disappearing up the stairs, they didn’t even ask where you were going. They didn’t care.

You took in a long breath as you closed your bedroom door behind you, hating the sting that was crawling up your throat. You needed to leave, right now. You couldn’t feel like this any longer.

You grabbed the first pair of jeans you found, kicking off your pj pants as you dialed Layla. She answered on the first ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you right now?” you asked, phone wedged against your shoulder as you tugged your jeans on. 

“The Paper Lantern, I was-” 

“I’ll be there in five,” you muttered, hanging up and digging out an old pair of blue Vans from your closet. 

Your mom and dad were chatting in the kitchen when you got back down stairs, barely acknowledging you as you walked past them and made for the side door. 

“I’m gonna hangout with Layla,” you said as you were leaving, fully expecting at least some protest from your dad. 

Nothing. The one time you want them to be overbearing, they couldn’t care less. 

No concern where you were going, why you were missing dinner, why you looked so angry. Just a weak “Okay, honey.” 

Truly, that was the fastest you’ve ever flown in your life. 

Layla visibly perked up when she saw you walk into the Paper Lantern. The place was deafeningly empty, aside from the traditional music drifting under the air and workers cleaning up. They were still open for another hour or so, which you felt bad about. 

“Hey,” Layla starts, her eyebrows furrowing as you sit down. “Are you alright?”

“No,” you said flatly, running your hands over your face to get the wind chap off your cheeks. “I’m so fucking angry.”

“What’s wrong?” 

With a defeated sigh, you told Layla every degrading detail. With Layla, you didn’t need to hold anything back. She was the best listener in the entire world, and always offered the perfect thing to say in between points. There was always so much ease when you and Layla were together. 

“Will was supposed to meet me here, but clearly he had different priorities tonight,” Layla confessed, dejected as she nursed her cup of ice water. 

You rolled your eyes, upset with Will even more. 

He was really just throwing away relationships in his life for this girl, and with such little care. You were sure, if Will’s locker wasn’t directly next to yours, you would never see him outside of your own house. 

“Alright, hippie.” 

Layla sat back as a plate was set in front of her, a barely there smile forming on her face as she went for her fork. You looked up at the server who brought it and was pleasantly surprised. 

“Oh, Warren works here,” Layla informed you, covering her mouth as she spoke.

“I see that,” you replied. 

And see you did. 

Of course, Warren had his hair up, which always made you swoon. This is the first time he’s worn anything other than a band t-shirt or his jacket around you. Biceps on full display. And his tattoos, ugh. 

“For how long, exactly?” 

“A couple years,” he answered, seemingly nervous. It was a weird emotion on him. 

You turned to Layla, puzzled. “How have we never seen him before?” 

“I’m not really out here very much,” he adds, setting the pitcher he had in his hand on the table instead. Probably melting the ice.

“Well, I get that,” you started, crossing your arms over the table. “You’re probably not good with the customers.” 

There’s that smile you’ve gotten a little too happy about seeing at times. 

Warren huffed a laugh, shaking his head as Layla giggled too. 

“Do you want anything or are you just gonna harass me?”

“Yes, fine.” You fake contemplated what you wanted for a few seconds, as if you haven’t gotten the same thing ever since Layla brought you here for the first time. “Number 1 with chicken, and a side of egg drop soup, please.”

“I’m only getting that for you because you said please.” 

You didn’t feel totally better, but the weight got a little lighter as you and Layla sat there.

You guys tried to trade as much info as you could when you were in person, it just wasn’t as good over the phone. She updated you on what Magenta said about her crush on Zach, and you updated her with info from Zach about his crush on Magenta. You, Layla, and Ethan were seriously gonna rip your hair out if they didn’t tell each other soon, it was getting hard to keep both their secrets. 

You told Layla about the new sushi spot you and Warren had found downtown, told her about their biodegradable cups, which she raved about. You two always found a way back to the environment and things relating to it, just something you both loved talking about. 

After a while, Layla decided to finally bite the bullet and go home. 

You offered to try to talk to Will for her, but she said not to bother, and that she’d handle it in the morning. She gave you a long hug and insisted you call her if you needed anything, and that you could even spend the night if you needed to. You appreciated it, deeply. She was your best friend for a reason. 

You finished up your food and left enough money for a decent tip, checking the time on your phone. 

Wasn’t as late as you thought, actually. 

You: how long until you’re off

“I am standing ten feet away from you.” 

You nearly tore your head off as you turned around, finding Warren wiping down the front door with a cocky grin on his face. 

“Well, you didn’t answer my question,” you deflected, getting up to rest your elbows on the booth top. 

“Probably like a half hour,” he responded, slinging the rag in his hand over his shoulder. 

“Do you wanna hangout then?” you asked, hoping to God he said yes.

“Sure, I can come pick you up.” 

“Can I…just wait here? I don’t really want to go home right now.” 

Warren’s face instantly shifted. “Is everything alright?” 

“Yeah…I just,” you trail off, everything still simmering under your skin. “Can I just wait in your car or something?” 

He hands you his car keys without a second thought, pulling them off his belt loop. The key chain of a skeleton instantly grabbed your attention.

Warren promised to be quick with the rest of his cut work, which you assured him wasn’t necessary. You started drafting a text to your mom as to why you’d be out pretty late, walking to Warren’s car in the back parking lot. 

Warren’s famed black jeep sat, waiting perfectly for you, which brought you some small form of comfort. He had taken all the doors off since you rode in it last, probably one last time before it got too cold. 

You settled for sitting in the trunk, letting your legs dangle. You found a lot of interesting things back there; jumper cables, fire accelerant, a couple of old CDs, and his leather jacket. 

You glanced back at the restaurant, trying to make sure no one saw you as you grabbed the garment and put it on. The fact that it was even on your body was something you reveled in. 

You stuffed your hands in the pockets as a little wind picked up, a piece of paper catching on your fingers. You took out the tiny folded note, thinking it was trash or something. 

It was your phone number. 

He kept it.

He actually tore it off of the project outline you wrote it on. 

Maybe Magenta was right, as much as you hated admitting it. 

Just to be hopeful, maybe a little childish, you looked to see how bright Polaris was shining. To perhaps wish on it. The lighthearted thought turned sour as you found it amongst the stars. 

Your fascination with science, and stars in particular, was all because of your mom. 

She had to burst your bubble when you got your powers that stars were balls of hot air, billions of miles away in space, and that you couldn’t go and touch them. She started teaching you about science shortly after to try and cheer you up, which is what led you to be so advanced in the subject. 

Now, your mom was so different in your eyes. 

She forgot an important thing in your relationship, something you’d been doing for nearly half your life, and it made you so angry. You tried to come up with some sort of reason why this would happen, something to quiet the voice in the back of your head that was saying she just didn’t care anymore. But, to no avail. 

What if she really didn’t care anymore?

Did she ever like doing it in the first place? 

Was she just doing it for my sake? 

What else is she gonna forget? 

Does she even like spending time with me? 

Do any of them like being around me?

Do they like Gwen more than me?

Do they even care to know where I am right now?

Why haven’t they asked?

Are they missing me at dinner?

Are they missing me at all?

Am I doing something wrong?

Am I being difficult?

Am I forgettable?

Am I disappointing my family?

Am I upholding the Stronghold name?

Am I cut out for this?

Am I a good hero?

Am I good enough? 

Is Will gonna forget about me?

Do mom and dad still love me?

“Hey…” 

Your head shot up, having been glued to your lap as everything finally hit you. A typical thing for you to do, wait until you are completely alone to be vulnerable. Now that someone was watching, you needed to pack it all up and pretend the feelings weren’t there anymore. 

Warren was sitting next to you now, his face melting with concern as you wiped the evidence off your face. 

“It’s okay,” Warren whispered. Despite wanting the tears to end right then and there, they kept sliding down your skin. 

You wanted this day to end, so many bad things kept happening and you just wanted to curl up in your room and disappear. And you couldn’t even do that, Miss Perfect had to ruin the one place you could avoid her. Your migraine never really went away, you might have a bounty on your back for the rest of the school year, and you feel like you’re watching your brother disappear in front of you, and you have no idea how to fix it. 

Everything rampaging through your mind narrows down to the feeling of Warren’s arms wrapping around you. 

The ache that lingered in your damaged hand started to slip away as you hugged him too, like a heating pad relieving the remaining discomfort. 

Warren smelled so nice, like caramel.

Here, in his arms, the twisting feeling in your chest melting away, you felt safe. 

And when you dug your face into Warren’s neck, whimpering as the tears finally fell without you fighting them, he held you tighter. He didn’t ask you anything, just let you cry it out. You really needed it. 

After most of the vulnerable feelings subsided, you started pulling away. A few tears lingered, a couple still trickling along the side of your nose, and before you got the chance to wipe them from your skin, Warren’s hands were already cradling your jaw. 

He was impossibly gentle as he gathered the teardrops with his thumbs, holding your face like it was the most precious thing in the world.

To him, maybe it was.

The way Warren was looking at you right now, like nothing else in the world mattered to him, like the only thing he cared about was making you feel better, it's how you wanted him to always look at you. 

It was like the world stopped, and you were the only two people on Earth right now.

You realized, this was your “perfect first kiss” moment.

Like in 10 Things I Hate About You, when Patrick and Kat are running around the paintball course, and you can feel the love blossoming between them, before he just can’t hold it in anymore and takes the risk. 

You could see this exact scene in your mind. 

The camera panning between you and Warren’s faces, slowly zooming in as the two of you just stare at each other. A curated moment of the perfect song - if you had to pick, it would be “Yellow” by Coldplay - coordinated to a specific moment in the song as you finally kissed each other. And the people watching your movie would just gush at how sweet and perfect it was.

You’ve wanted that, you’ve wanted this exact moment your entire life. It just needed someone to take a little risk.

So, you took it. 

Warren’s lips were warm as you pressed yours to his, much like everything else on his body. There was what felt like years of tension and pining and feelings just releasing in an instant, just the two of you sharing this moment of intimacy.

But even then, Warren pulled away. Just enough to rest his nose against yours. 

You could feel his hesitation. 

He wanted to make sure you were in the right head space for something like this. And, he knew this was the point of no return, that both of you knew you shouldn’t be doing this for the obvious reasons. 

But, fuck, he hasn’t felt this alive in his entire life. 

He couldn’t fight how long he had been wanting this. Not when your hands were running along his sides, wearing his fucking jacket, looking as perfect as he imagined. Warren broke through that final wall keeping him from giving in, holding the back of your head like he was terrified you’d disappear before he could feel your lips on his again. 

He might have pressed back a little too hard, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Kissing Warren was already something you couldn’t get enough of. Each was deeper than the last, saying all the unspoken words that neither of you had the courage to share.

His breath hitched as you ran your hand over his chest, your arms wrapping around his neck and leaning into him further. You could feel the raging heat through the leather, his fingers splayed along your spine as he held you. And between kisses, as his tongue split the seam of your lips, meeting yours as you went in for more, you swore a spark ignited.

Warren shivered, which he didn’t do often. Actually, he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he’s shivered in his whole life. 

He knew what was coming. 

Warren hadn’t ever experienced it himself, but he knew he would succumb to it eventually. He was too in love with you for it to stave off much longer. 

It took one more kiss, along with you running your hands through his hair, before he physically had to separate himself from you.

He hopped off the trunk, swearing under his breath as sparks started flying from his palms. You watch as he tries to almost wipe them off, staring as the embers glow against his skin. After a moment, Warren shivers again and holds his hands together to try and soften the flames forming. 

“I might have pushed that a little,” he remarked, ringing his hands out and his powers disengaging.

“Pushed what?”

“I would love to show you, but you’d catch on fire,” he smiles as you cock an eyebrow, stepping closer. “I wear leather for a reason.”

“It’s not for the brooding, bad boy aesthetic?” you tease, looking up at him as he comes to stand in front of you. 

“I had to attract you somehow,” he whispered, only partly kidding. “Pyrokinetics can lose control when they’re feeling something too strongly.” 

Usually, it was strong feelings of anger or fear. Warren’s case was love, a lot of it.

“You have to show me now.” 

Warren playfully rolled his eyes, holding his hands behind his back as he smirked down at you. He leaned down and stole only one kiss before fire burst from his skin, flames crawling up to his biceps, making you laugh as he grimaced at the feeling. 

He stepped away far enough so you wouldn’t be in danger, tensing his fists as he tried to put a lid back on his powers. Warren’s face scrunched up with discomfort as he tried to disengage the flames. 

“God, that’s so weird,” he grumbled, suffocating some of the fire with his shirt. 

“Are you okay?” you asked, not exactly hating the heat wrapping around your cold limps.

“Yeah,” he gruffed, shaking his hands out as the fire finally subsided. “It just tickles a little bit, I hate it.”

You chuckled at that, allowing yourself to shamelessly admire Warren now that the veil of “I have a crush on this guy but I can’t tell him” thing was gone.

Warren actually had a stunning smile, he just didn’t let anyone besides you see it. His eyes were gorgeous, too. Dark brown, with small marks of gold, almost like embers trying to outlive the char around them. It wasn’t just his skin, if he was really comfortable, everything about him was warm. He just seemed to carry himself differently than when you first saw him, like he enjoyed being himself now. 

You couldn’t help the smile that burned into your features as Warren came to stand in front of you. He reached up to adjust his jacket that you couldn’t in a million years forget you were wearing, making sure to not touch your skin. 

“You look cute in this,” he breathed, earnest. 

“I’ve been meaning to tell you the same thing,” you whispered back. 

Even in the dark parking lot, you could see the blush forming on Warren’s cheeks. He nearly swooned. 

After collecting himself, Warren nominated that you get ice cream together, in hopes of getting you to feel better. 

You happily climbed into his passenger seat, Warren leaning on his center console as he pulled out of the parking lot. Your hand made contact with his for merely a second before he pulled it away. Though, it took everything in him to do so. 

He claimed he wasn’t cooled off, and that once he was, you could hold his hand. You just rolled your eyes, opting to rest your cheek on Warren’s shoulder as he drove to the nearest open-late diner. 

One strawberry and one chocolate milkshake later, that Warren insisted on paying for, sitting across from each other as Glenn Miller drifted through the air. You couldn’t have set the scene better if you tried. 

When you attempt to hold his hand again, he still doesn’t let you. 

“What?” you asked, annoyed. 

“I’m not cooled off.”

And upon your further annoyance, he comically wraps his hand around his shake, the condensation that had formed on the glass evaporating in a short sizzle. He smirks at the shock on your face, explaining that he’s been coming down from the initial 310 degrees, and that he was only down to the low 200’s. He would need to get below 109 degrees to make sure he didn’t burn you, even though he claims his resting body temperature was 105. How he doesn’t die, he couldn’t answer.

While you waited, you let out everything that had been bothering you. Warren intently listened, his face twisting with irritation as you went on and on about Gwen, and your parents, and Will. Unlike Layla, he actually offered angry feedback, and told you how much he hated everyone who did something to hurt you in any way. He just keeps getting hotter and hotter. 

Sadly, it was by the time you were finished with your delicious strawberry beverage that Warren finally let you hold his hand. You’d take walking back to his car, where he happily opened your door like a gentleman, fingers laced together, over nothing. 

“What time do you have to go home?” he asked, starting his car and putting his hand on the shift.

Oh, right. You have to go home at some point.

It was almost your curfew, actually. You had enough time to get home, but that was it. Surely, Gwen was long gone. Hopefully. 

“Probably now, sadly.” 

Warren didn’t even try to hide his disappointment, but he held your hand all the way there. 

He noticed your reluctance to get out, just staring at your house when he finally came to a stop. Warren squeezed your hand, leaning closer and whispering some reassurance, which you appreciate. 

You look at him one last time, all the dread of going inside leaving in an instant as you see his handsome face. You can feel the smile threatening to tug at Warren’s lips as you kissed him again. 

Were you both slightly nervous doing this in front of your house, where your parents could see you at any time? Sure. Did either of you care enough to stop? Absolutely not.

He held the side of your face as he pressed his lips to yours, his thumb dragging along your cheek as the two of you got lost for a second. But, this make out session of yours was cut short when Warren pulled away, just enough to put a mere inch between you, despite your muttered protest. 

“This is gonna start hurting in a sec,” he murmured, tapping his finger on the back of your hand. 

You opened your eyes, brushing noses with him as you glared at him. He just raised his eyebrows back. 

You weren’t sure if you were gonna be able to keep it together at school tomorrow. You saw Warren multiple times a day, and you were expected not to steal a kiss from time to time? 

You tugged your hand from his and stole one last fleeting kiss, a satisfied grin forming on your face as you pulled away finally. 

“Playing with fire’s dangerous,” he teased, still leaning close. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, hot head,” you grumbled. 

Warren’s eyebrows creased instantly, a displeased look forming on his face at that nickname. 

“Sorry.” 

“That’s what I thought,” he added. 

You sighed at the thought of leaving, kissing Warren on the cheek goodbye as you finally unbuckled your seatbelt. 

“Goodnight,” you told him, saddened that this day that you had begged to end was actually doing so. 

“Goodnight, Stronghold.” 

And you watched as he drove away, standing in your drive way, in his leather-

Wait. 

He didn’t take it back. 

He gave it to you.

Warren gave you his leather jacket that everyone knew was his and holy fuck you guys kissed tonight. You kissed Warren Peace, and he kissed you back, and he likes you so much that he bursts into flames against his will, because he can’t contain his crush on you. 

Warren has a crush on you. 

Oh my god.

You have to call Mag. No, better to tell her in person. 

You seemed to have a permanent smile for the rest of the night.

You attempt a silent entrance, hoping that the placeholder door your dad bought wouldn’t allude to you coming home a little late, cringing when you see your parents sitting in the living room. 

“I’m home!” 

You announce your presence to try and absolve yourself of any suspicion of trying to hide it, plastering on an innocent face as you walk into the living room, the difference in facial expressions on your parent’s faces catching you off guard. 

“How was hanging out with Layla, sweetie?” your dad asked.

“It was good! We just went to the Paper Lantern and gossiped.” 

Your mom was eyeing you longer than usual, but she didn’t say anything, just smiling when your dad put his arm around her. 

“Sounds like fun.”

You curtly nod, trying to go up the stairs without sounding like you were going as fast as you could, slowly closing your door until it latched. You let out a sigh of relief, feeling home free that they didn’t think anything of what you were wearing. 

You didn’t even want to take off Warren's jacket, everything was still bouncing around in your head. Every kiss. Every second you held hands. Every flirty comment. All of it just colliding at once and making your heart swell.

You’re taken out of your thoughts when your mom knocks on your door, asking if she can come in. You frantically rip the jacket off, trying not to make a sound as you put it on your bed, attempting to make it not stick out from the natural clutter of your room. 

You opened your door after a moment, hoping that you didn’t take too long. The knowing look on your mom’s face wasn’t giving you too much hope.

“Is that his?” 

Your mom points to the jacket that you poorly threw on your bed, the smile on her face making you feel a little better about your answer. 

“Warren gave it to me.” 

She nods, kissing you on the forehead. “Be safe please.”

“I know,” you mumble back, the whole reason you were upset the whole night hitting you as she turns to leave. “Mom?”

She looked at you from her bedroom door, that same calm, easy smile that was always on her face. 

Something Warren said earlier, whilst listening to you complaining, came to the front of your mind. His philosophy to approaching this whole situation was; it’s better to know you’ve fucked up, so you can try and make it right, than being none the wiser. 

“You forgot my power anniversary.” 

Her face morphed into something terrible, and you could practically see her heart breaking as she looked back at you.

She all but ran to tug you into her arms, apologizing over and over again. You held her tight, tucking your face into her chest. You were just glad she cared enough to be horrified by her mistake. 

She promises a trip to Europe that weekend, and anything you wanted while you were there, a million more apologies along with it. 

Your mom pulled away after a minute, red eyed and disappointed in herself. Her hand formed along the side of your face, affection pouring from her gaze as she kissed your forehead. 

The twisted feelings of betrayal and rejection finally unfurled, the tiniest sting forming in your eye too. You both whispered “love you” and “goodnight,” and the secret of whose jacket was sitting on your bed sealed between the two of you, something you were glad to have. You always had an inkling that your mom didn’t care about this whole Barron Battle nonsense.

You finished the worst day, turned best, staring at your ceiling and blasting “Yellow” by Coldplay - you had to. Daydreaming, smiling, replaying moments until the film wore thin. And as your eyelids grew heavy, the glow in the dark stars on your ceiling alighting the darkness of your bedroom, you couldn’t resist texting the person who turned your day around so fast. 

You: sleep good please <3

He didn’t even try to wait.

Warren: You too. <3

Unbeknownst to you, Warren had been laying in bed, too. Phone on his chest, waiting for that text since he got home. In fact, he almost dropped his phone when he sat up, smiling at what you said. 

He sadly didn’t have the perfect love song to blast at the thought of you. He hadn’t ever understood romantic songs - I mean, he gets what they’re about, he just didn’t have anything to compare the feelings to. The idea of someone being so deeply in love that they create the most beautiful art on Earth had been beyond him. 

Until now. 

Now? These songs he’d never connected to for years were finally putting the warmth in his heart that they’ve always meant to. 

Lines like “I could die for you. Oh, this life I choose,” and “Whenever I’m alone with you, you make me feel like I am home again,” it feels like Anthony Kiedies and Robert Smith were articulating feelings that he couldn’t himself. 

For the first time, Warren’s in love. 

He never thought he would be, but he’s over the moon that he is.

And even happier that it’s you.

credit to @chrisssiren for the gorgeous dividers, and to the original posters for the pictures used in the banner

This was a horrible way to start lunch.

Of course, the one day that you need to stay back and talk to Mr. Keldron about your essay revisions, Will, your darling brother that you hate so fucking much, decides to pick a fight with his “pre-determined archenemy” like a jackass. 

And what do you walk into? 

Half the cafeteria’s on fire, everyone watching as Will Stronghold cowers underneath a lunch table, with Warren Peace standing above him, asking for a fight. One that Will certainly can’t win. 

“Where’s your sidekicks, sidekick?” 

Upon seeing your friends confront Warren’s taunt, with an ill-placed loyalty to Will, your stomach dropped. And it sunk even further when Warren didn’t hesitate to crack more flames across his arms, holding it above his head, ready to hurl at them. 

In the nicest way possible, only one of them, Layla, would be able to hold their own against someone like him. 

You hurriedly pushed through the crowd, nearly slipping on Ethan’s puddle as you rushed to the front. Zach shrunk behind you almost immediately, a habit he’s had since childhood that you couldn’t blame him for. It made you want to be a hero, and it made you feel like a hero. 

But you didn’t want either of those things right now. 

Because that would mean there was someone that needed saving, from something evil, and you hated where that evil was coming from. 

Your breath hitched as you locked eyes with Warren. 

The fury in his gaze sent a chill down your spine. It wavered for a split second as the two of you stared at each other, but the anger forced itself to the front like always. 

And just as a hazing levitation was wrapping around your body, ready to do something about whatever was going on here, the universe finally threw Will a bone. 

“Leave her alone!” Will shouted, struggling for a few seconds. 

He did it. 

He lifted the table above his head. 

Holy shit. His powers finally manifested. 

The thing that he wanted for so long, the source of so much insecurity, alighting his face with triumph, and you wanted to be happy for him. But at the expense of fighting someone, your friend no less, putting his entire future in jeopardy? You begged him not to do something stupid.

Will tossed the table aside, and you flinched as Warren ricocheted off the ceiling. The sharp crack that echoed through the cafeteria made your stomach churn, the sound of Warren’s body crashing into a lunch table making you cover your mouth in horror. 

He could have been severely hurt, and Will didn’t seem to care.

All he seemed to revel in was the crowd that erupted into cheers. 

“Now, who tripped me?” Will asked, his new strength filling him with an unsettling bravado. Lash and Speed exchanged nervous glances.

“Will, that’s enough,” you said sharply, stepping closer, hoping to pull him back before things spiraled.

Lash and Speed took the opportunity to escape, leaving Will standing “victorious”. 

“Stronghold!”

A little relief washed over you when Warren stood up from the destroyed lunch table with relatively no struggle, but it was short lived.

Warren bursts into flames again, and Will turns to him, his confidence plummeting as he awkwardly shifts into something of a fighting stance. He had no idea what he was doing.

Warren charges toward him again, quickly being punched into a wall, and you didn’t like how little effort it took Will to do so. 

“WILL! STOP!” you cried out, desperate to end this before he did something he couldn’t take back.

He shoved you off as you took hold of his arm, hard. Hard enough to almost knock you over. Your chest tightened, but the betrayal stung more. 

Will had never done anything like that before. Well, he never had the strength to do so. But it hurt.

“What?” he barked, grinning wide, too high on adrenaline to recognize what he had done. “Isn’t this awesome?!”

“You’re gonna get expelled!”

Ethan and Zach high-fived him, as if he did something worth celebrating. Your skin crawled with unease as Warren stepped into the cafeteria again, shaking off some of the drywall and dust that covered him.

“Think I can’t take a hit?!” Warren yelled gruffly, the anger burning hotter in his eyes. 

The flames that shot out of his arms seemed to fill the room with a stifling heat, one that scared you more than you’d like to admit. 

Warren wasn’t done, neither was Will, and no one was stopping this. Despite Mr. Boy’s swift attempt to find someone more qualified to step in. 

In a cruel irony, this was a fight where you knew exactly what to do. 

The easiest resolution you could come to was diffusing the fight, which you had powers to make that easy, with the right amount of strength. Which you knew you didn’t have, but there was no other willing participant and no other options.

You let out a tense breath as Warren started running towards the two of you, choking out an apology as you held out your hand towards him. 

Your powers required a lot of concentration along with physical strength, and you needed all of it to pull this off. Jaw clenched taut, hand already shaking, standing alone as everyone else ran away, you slowly formed a Hold around Warren’s body and lifted him off the ground. 

His face dropped, his flames dissolving in an instant as panic flickered in his eyes. The weight was unbearable, it felt like you were holding two of him over your head, but you held on. You had to.

You slowly turn to Will, holding out your other hand and forming a Hold around him too, adding just enough gravity to keep him in one place. 

The ability to breathe was becoming a luxury sadly. Your brain scrambled less if you held your breath, but the panic of what the fuck you were doing made you hyperventilate when you finally took in a new breath. 

The feeling of your muscles teetering on giving out wasn’t on the painful side of your powers, it was just on the side that you had to grit your teeth through and hope for the best. Hold it as long as possible. Luckily, you were dealing with precious cargo, so your motivation was easy to source. 

The only time you’ve ever rivaled this feeling was when you failed a rep lifting weights with your dad. Your muscles were so weak and strained that you laid on the bench, your arms wobbling as you struggled to lift the bar even a millimeter. 

It was anxiety-inducing that you were actually lifting people now. 

“Let go of me!” Will snarled, his glare burning into you.

And when you didn’t instantly comply with his demand, he got angrier. He fought harder against your powers, thrashing without a care in the world for the consequences.

A scalding pain ripped through your body as he broke the Hold you formed around him. One that dyed a vignette in your vision and echoed your screams through the room. 

When a Hold is broken, it bursts your blood cells in the affected areas instantly. Due to the force, your veins start to bruise, and it all starts slowly traveling back to your heart from the moment of impact. And given that you can be fighting twice the amount of weight in some cases, having that turned back against you in the span of seconds makes this process go fast and makes it deadly. 

Will, of all people, knew he wasn’t supposed to do that. But he did it anyway. 

You grabbed onto a nearby table as you almost fell to your knees, making sure to keep Warren off the ground. As you wedged your arm onto the surface, a clipped sob fell from your lips, barely able to force your feet underneath you. 

Your blood felt as though it was going to rupture through your skin, and it made contracting your muscles all the more excruciating. And the fear of knowing there were elements from your cells threading through your bloodstream that could kill you if you didn’t put an end to this, it was hard not to give up. 

The betrayal, the pain, the sadness, all of it, flipped, into a rage that you couldn’t keep a lid on.  

As you finally managed to look Will in the eye, staring daggers through your bleary vision, his smugness dropped. 

Your entire body shook, and somehow you had enough sanity to focus all your remaining energy on your idiot brother. Weakly, you raised a few of your fingers laying on the table in front of you, the black lines flooding across your skin pulsing with an eerie, red glow. You focused on each part of Will’s body individually until he was frozen in place, and with a raw, tired voice, you spat a deeply sarcastic “sorry, Will” and closed your fist as fast as you could. 

Will slammed forward onto the ground, his jaw ricocheting off the linoleum, the sound of it rising pained groans from the onlookers who stuck around to watch. You tried to put enough gravity to not injure him too badly, but you weren’t exactly trying to be gentle, either. 

You trembled as you stood, needing the table as you nearly fell again. You were honestly surprised you were still conscious. 

The arm that was holding Warren in the air was starting to run cold, your blood unable to cycle to your finger tips. The dark bruising climbed higher through your veins as you held Will on the ground, only adding to the underlying terror that ran through you as your lungs crapped out every other breath. 

The sound of heels approaching was your God-given solace, Principal Powers rushing in panicked.

“That’s enough, Miss Stronghold,” she said softly, her hands forming over your shoulders.

Your breath stuttered as you held Will’s gaze, watching as he glared back. As if you did something wrong. You let Warren down as gently as your shaking body allowed, but just as he was a few feet from the tile, your body finally caved in on itself. 

You whimpered as Warren fell, seemingly fine as he stumbled for his footing. 

And like the amazing friend he always was, Zach was quick to catch you before you collapsed to the ground completely. 

He looped your arm over his shoulder, Principal Powers helping the effort to guide you to a seat as quickly as possible. Layla knelt beside you as tears started to run down your face, holding your hand in hers as you started sobbing. 

That was some of the worst pain in your entire life, and the fact that your brother was the one mostly responsible for it made you cry even harder. You whine as everything starts to hit you, leaning into Layla as she hugs you.

“Is it bad? Is she gonna be okay?” Zach choked, looking for hope as Principal Powers looked over your arm.

You attempt to look through your tearfilled eyes, scanning the room for Warren. He stood in the same exact place you left him, staring at you with a metric ton of guilt. 

He was safe. That was all that mattered to you. 

“I’m not sure, we need to move her, now,” Principal Powers ordered. “Boomer!”

The aforementioned gym teacher appeared through the hole in the wall and ran over, gently taking you into his arms and screaming for the crowd to split. 

The lunch room buzzed with shock as Will and Warren were led away, Layla grabbing your backpack and following behind Boomer, along with Zach, Magenta, and Ethan, all of them trying to reassure your worries. You had great friends. 

The trek to the nurse’s office felt endless, but when you finally laid onto the stiff bed, it felt like a cloud. You curled up into a ball instantly, quietly crying as Layla ran her hand through your hair. Surprisingly, Boomer was nice enough to let her stay while Nurse Spex sprung into action, forcing the rest of your friends back to class.  

While it wasn’t the worst it’s ever been, there was still a lingering lethality to what was happening to you internally. The fastest thing to stabilize your condition was to draw your blood with the burst cells to prevent them from further cycling back to your heart, preventing cardiac arrest. No pressure. 

Layla held your free hand as Nurse Spex started the IV, the contaminated blood flowing out as you held your arm still. You guessed you’d only need to give a pint, which you would gladly take over the gallon you had given before. 

And after that was all said and done, Nurse Spex handed you the emergency doses of pain killers and sleep meds they kept in case of emergencies, along with a cup of water, gently reminding Layla that it’d be best if she went back to class. 

Layla left hesitantly, her voice soft as she promised to come over as soon as she could. 

You nodded weakly, taking the pills and swallowing as much water as you could manage. The last thing you heard was the lights flicking off, exhaustion consuming you as the sleep aids finally took effect. 

You hoped you could at least dream of something, anything, but all your mind focused on was the lingering ache. Even with the painkillers starting to dull the worst of it, the strain clung to you, heavy and unrelenting.

Will was so stupid for getting into a fight at school. He should have never entertained it in the first place. And to be so dense as to not consider his opponent? You always take everything into consideration, because there’s a line that superheroes don’t cross, and it’s your responsibility to do everything in your power to make sure of it. 

He could have killed Warren. He’s lucky Warren could take some serious blows. 

You were afraid this was exactly what he would turn into once he got his powers. You had hoped and prayed he got flight or some random power from your lineage, because he couldn’t handle the ego that comes with having super strength. 

But that wasn’t what scared you the most. 

Warren. 

You hated having to use your powers on him. You tried your best not to subject people to it if they were unwilling, it was the courteous thing to do. 

And when you ran in, when you saw him standing there, a massive fireball crackling in his hands, you had frozen. For the first time, you looked at him and hesitated. You hated that, so much.

You stirred when someone whispered your name, the sound pulling you from the edges of unconsciousness. Your eyelids felt like lead as you forced them open, wincing at the painful crunch of exhaustion weighing you down. As your vision focused, you realized the person sitting in front of you was…Warren. 

For a moment, you thought you were dreaming. 

You blinked a few times to be sure, but he didn’t disappear. His jaw clenched as you locked eyes, fresh tears brimming in his own. Your stomach twisted. 

You knew how you looked. 

Depending on how long you’ve been asleep, you could have started to show signs of jaundice. The bruising was going to show under your skin for a week at minimum. You still struggled to breathe fully, barely able to move. 

You shifted slightly, furrowing your brows. 

“I thought…you had detention,” you murmured, voice raw. 

Warren nodded, his gaze darting away as a tear slid down his cheek. 

His shoulders curled inward, small in a way that felt wrong on him. Like a child waiting to be scolded. He wasn’t acting like the confident and brave guy that you knew him to be. 

“I had to apologize,” he whispered. His voice was soft, barely audible. 

You shook your head, wincing at the sharp twinge of pain from the action. “It’s not your fault.” 

His lips pressed into a thin line, another tear slipping down his face

“You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if I hadn’t-” 

“Warren.” Your voice cut through the air, firmer than you thought you could manage. You weakly lifted a hand to get his attention, waiting until he looked at you before continuing. “It’s not your fault.” 

His eyes flickered with something unreadable, the tears still fresh on his eyelashes.

“Well…regardless, I’m sorry.” He was quiet, and as his mouth opened, like he wanted to say something, something important, he swallowed it down. Whatever it was, it hung between you both, thick as smoke. 

“Is Will alright?” you asked, somehow still caring for your dumbass brother. 

“If a giant bruise on his jaw is alright, then yeah, he’s peachy.”

“He’ll be alright,” you gruffed, stretching your legs out. “I think you went easy on him,” Warren whispered, earnest. 

“Let’s just tag team him next time, he’ll be too scared,” you half-joked, laying on your back. “I still expect your full effort in CNW, by the way.” 

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah, full effort in getting my ass handed to me.” 

You let out a quiet chuckle, only to cough as the movement sent a jolt through your chest. Warren sat up straight, panicked for a moment. When you relaxed, so did he. 

“I’m sorry I used my powers on you,” you whispered, your voice still raw, turning towards him more. 

He shook his head. “You did what you had to do.” He hesitated, then added. “If it makes you feel better…I thought it was kinda cool.” 

You snorted, smiling a little wider. You really didn’t want Warren to be beating himself down over something that he didn’t do. It spoke volumes that he was the one in here, not Will.

Warren’s gaze moved to the bandage on your damaged arm, then the pint of blood that had a “HAZARD” label on it. 

“It’s contaminated,” you whispered, which made him cock one of his eyebrows. “It’s gotta be destroyed.”

Before Warren could ask why, he was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. Principal Powers stood in the doorway, a soft smile on her face. Warren sighed, knowing his time was up and he needed to leave. 

But before he did, his fingers curled gently around your forearm, thumb running along your skin. God, the warmth was grounding. 

“Get some rest,” he murmured, giving your arm a light squeeze. You nodded weakly. 

He gave you one last lingering look before stepping away, offering a sad, lopsided smile as he left. 

The last thing you remembered before you passed out again was Nurse Spex coming to tell you that your dad was on his way to pick you up. You were grateful for that, at least. 

You figured you weren’t asleep for long, but with the meds and pure exhaustion, you really couldn’t tell. Your dad was still in his Commander suit when you finally opened your eyes. He was very clearly angry, but trying to cover it up for your sake. 

“Hey, honey,” he whispered, forcing a smile as you woke up. “How’s my little girl feeling?”

“Horrible,” you grumbled out, rubbing your eyes in an attempt to remove the strain. 

“Understandable,” he said flatly, helping you sit up as Nurse Spex came to join you.

She filled your dad on the events of that afternoon, and the deep seated anger twisted further and further in his gaze. You assumed she opened with the fact that you got hurt when she called him earlier, maybe tacked on to the fact that Will had gotten detention for fighting at school afterwards. Given by the tension that rose in his shoulders when he learned that Will was the person responsible for causing your injury, he was more than pissed, but he kept up a good act. 

Your dad happily carried you out of the school, cradled in his arms and he tried to keep himself composed. He left his jet pack in the middle of the courtyard, too concerned with you to care where he parked it. 

You were going in and out of sleep, the wind impact keeping you awake for most of the flight home. 

Laying in your bed when you finally did get back felt heavenly. You took for granted how amazing your mattress was, but never again.

After getting you just about everything you needed, including your favorite soup, your dad lightly grilled you. 

“Can you tell me what happened?”

You bit on the inside of your cheek as you looked up at him, contemplating just turning your face into your pillows and pretending you’re too tired. But, you knew the truth deserved its time, and Will was going to be seriously grounded. You were more than willing to be a snitch, he deserved it.

“Will got his powers at lunch today,” you started, your dad’s posture stiffening. “He started fighting one of our classmates, and it was getting bad, so I stepped in and stopped it, and that’s when Will broke the Hold I had put on him.”

Your dad’s face was unreadable for a while, taking in everything. Eventually, he leaned down, pressed a kiss to your forehead, and tucked your covers tighter. 

“I’m really proud of you,” he told you genuinely, squeezing your hand in his. “Even if your brother wasn’t the perpetrator, I know you would have broken that fight up regardless, because it’s the right thing to do.” 

He takes in a long breath, steadying some of the frustration trying to break through.

“You are already turning out to be a fine young hero, and I’m sorry your brother isn’t quite there yet.” 

You shrug your shoulders, half smirking at him as you squeeze his hand back. “He’s only had his powers for half a day.” 

He barely smirks back, nodding. 

“Well, I hope he’s having fun with them, because when he comes home, he is royally grounded…” your dad trails off, looking down at his watch. “I’m letting your mom take care of that.” 

You grimace on Will's behalf, knowing all too well what kind of reprimanding would be waiting for him when he came home. 

Your mom had a cruel way with words. Most people would think your dad had the iron fist of the family, but when it came to issues between you and Will, your mom was all over it. Always has been. 

When she found out what happened today? What Will did to you? You’d be surprised if he could leave the house by Christmas. 

Your dad eventually left you to pass out, sleep everything off. Very much needed. 

More often than not, the meds that you took for power-related symptoms gave you fever-like dreams. Luckily, this was one of the instances that it was just nothing. More like skipping through time. 

You just barely forced one of your eyes open when Layla’s voice softly drifted through the air. 

She was kneeling in front of you, arms resting on your bed with a warm smile on her face, Magenta sitting crosslegged by your feet. 

With a long inhale, you finally rolled over, rubbing your eyes past the acceptable amount as Layla asks how you’re feeling.

“Meds kicked in for sure,” you languidly replied, happy that the pain was pretty much non-existent now. “Just have to look like a freak for a bit.”

“You don’t look like a freak,” Magenta quickly added, much to the huff of annoyance you hurled back. 

“Are you feeling up for a movie in the backyard?” Layla asked, seeming eager but cautious. 

“Will’s not here, is he?” you grumbled, pushing hair out of your face. 

“I think they got four hours of detention,” Magenta clarified, chuckling as Layla raised her eyebrows in shock. “Seems light for destroying the cafeteria.”

The three of you chuckle to yourselves before Zach’s voice shrills up the staircase, begging for Layla’s help on setting the projector up. She just rolls her eyes, yelling after him to keep his voice down due to your sensitive state, making you smirk. 

Magenta glances over her shoulder to make sure Layla was far out of ear shot before she spoke again. 

“Complicated crush you have, huh?”

You huff out a weak laugh, shaking your head at her antics. 

“Well, unlike Will, he actually managed the courage to apologize,” you remarked, still angry with your brother. 

“Over text?”

“No, he came to see me in the nurses office,” you told her, cringing as her face dropped. 

“Okay, let me get this straight,” she started, crawling to lay next to you on your mattress. “Warren somehow got out of detention just to see you, and say he was sorry, and you don’t think he has a thing for you?”

“He just felt bad, he was pretty upset over it.” 

“He has a crush on you,” she stated, as if it was fact, and all this evidence was lining up perfectly for her. 

“It’s normal to cry over sad shit, it’s not that deep-” you began, quickly cut off. 

“What!?” Mag asked as she snapped her head to look at you. “He cried?”

You instantly regretted saying anything. 

“You made the Warren Peace cry?” she asked, much too loudly. 

“He just felt bad,” you insisted. 

“For the girl he has a crush on,” she tacks on, smiling nearly ear to ear.

You just shake your head again, groaning as you slowly sit up, Magenta getting up to offer you her hand as you try to stand up.  

“He did WHAT?!” You and Mag made eye contact as your mom’s scream rang through the house, a wry smile forming on your face. 

“Will is so fucked.” 

“Now that we’ve built some confidence in this class,” Medulla said over his shoulder, shutting his door to hopefully shame someone for being late. “I would like to announce your next project.” 

He manages to get most of his students' attention, including yours of course. Even if you’d prefer to keep talking to Warren. 

He was just starting to explain why Bruce Springsteen only has one good album, and why it’s not “Born In The USA.” You’ll have to ask him to expand upon that further. 

Due to Medulla’s fierce rules on punctuality, there was always the frantic scrape of stools on the tile when he started giving instruction. This morning was no different. 

He closes his eyes, still, through his many years of teaching, finding the noise extremely annoying. 

You chuckle as he passive-aggressively slams the marker in his hand on the counter in front of him, a fake grin plastered on his face. 

“Good morning, everyone.”

A few of you say good morning back to him. You always tried to, and now Warren did too. Prior to him meeting you, he wasn’t one to wave in the hallway, or smile when he sat down. He’s slowly gotten into the habit now. Just with you. 

Your response was overshadowed by the sound of notebooks and pencils being pulled out of backpacks in a frenzy, panicked at the very thought of what a project would entail with Medulla’s wrath. 

“This is the list of rays available for your midterm project. For obvious reasons, if your power would give you an unfair advantage, you can’t have it.” A few groans erupt around the room, which Medulla just rolled his eyes at, continuing. “I’m being gracious enough to let you have partners and over a month to work on this, I think you’ll manage.”

He walks over to the mysterious cabinet he had yet to open that semester. The blaring “DO NOT TOUCH” plaque above the handles had always intrigued you. That classic mad scientist smirk spreads on his face as he pulls the doors open, revealing his life’s greatest work.

“You all will have unlimited access to the parts I am providing, but please be intentional with how you use them. I don’t want to be cleaned out this early in the semester.”

The unveiling of this mythical cabinet garnered the undivided attention of all of you as Medulla showcased an impressive array of components to just about everything. Some seemed questionable in a classroom setting, but that’s neither here nor there. 

It was as meticulously organized as everything else he owned. Everything had a place and a label, and some were even individually bagged. For the things that needed to be in jars, they too had places, labels, and an expiration date. You found the look on his face to be extremely fitting, you were sure that cabinet was his heaven on earth. 

“You will have access to this,” he started, happily locking the cabinet just as everyone started getting interested. “Once you complete an extensive research project, which must be personally approved by me.” 

That condition elicited another round of groans from your class. He didn’t care.

“I have taken the liberty of preparing folders for each of you,” Medulla continued, gesturing toward a stack of folders on his counter. “I’ll call you up in pairs to select your ray and begin your research. Your final approval is due by the 16th, which is next Friday for those of you who don’t regularly check a calendar.”

Medulla began calling up pairs, starting in the front. You anticipated all the cool options would be gone by the time it got to you and Warren. Damn him and his loner tendencies.

“Which one should we do?” you asked, not really sure what you’d even pick yourself. 

He tilted his head, scanning the list for a few seconds.

“Death ray sounds hard, but interesting,” he replied.

“You didn’t want the heat ray?” you teased, a hint of amusement in your voice.

“No,” Warren chuckled. “Believe it or not, I’m not always interested in fire and hot things.”

“Oh, so only like 98% of the time then?” you smirked. 

You two had been getting on well. 

Having two classes together, borderline three since you two saw each other at the end of the day, helped. You felt your friendship was coming together organically. 

Warren was a lot funnier and nicer than people let on. He was also an insanely challenging partner, despite your winning streak in Combat and Weapons. 

He still hadn’t warmed up to Will, but you couldn’t blame him. Will was an idiot and, if you weren’t his sister and love wasn’t built in, you wouldn’t like him either.

“Just pick one,” you insisted, resting your cheek on your hand.

Warren furrowed his eyebrows. “Why do I have to pick?”

“Because I don’t want to,” you said, deadpan. 

“Bossy today,” he said under his breath, scanning the list once more, pondering his decision. You were glad he could give and take the teasing too. Will usually quit before you even got started. 

Warren ends up choosing the freeze ray, and if it was taken, you’ll take the death ray, since no one ever picked it. You would have assumed the freeze ray would already be gone, but Warren claimed it wasn’t as popular as you’d expect. 

As Medulla moved on to the pair in front of you, the hum of conversation in the classroom grew louder. It was one of the off days when Medulla had his curtains up so it gave you all the illusion of a sunny day. People were talking projects, texting, gossiping about homecoming even though it was a month away. 

“Miss Stronghold! Mr. Peace! Get up here,” Medulla called out, interrupting your conversation. You both hopped off your stools and made your way to the front of the class. “This is what’s already taken. What would you like?”

Warren was right, freeze ray wasn’t taken.

“I appreciate the challenge, Mr. Peace,” Medulla mused, turning to the stack of materials next to him. “Never thought I’d be printing these names together.”

He was referring to both of your last names spanning across the top of your project folders. You found a little pride in the fact that Stronghold and Peace were finally together in a positive connotation for once. 

Medulla waved you off, calling up the next pair. The classroom grew even louder, and you’re surprised Medulla is allowing it. 

Warren asks if you’ve ever built a freeze ray before, you haven’t. He says the same. 

“I have faith, we’re pretty smart,” you offered, trying to inject some optimism into the conversation. You weren’t used to it. Maybe you’d ask Layla for tips. 

“I appreciate the confidence,” Warren trailed off, closing his notebook and looking through the folder Medulla gave the two of you.

“Don’t be modest, you’re acing Pre-Calculus,” you grumbled, smiling to yourself as you did the same. 

Unbeknownst to you, Warren smiled too. 

Medulla didn’t skimp on the material, and honestly, if people didn’t get this pre-approval thing done by the end of day, they were just stupid. It looked pretty straight forward, you and Warren could probably finish it in an hour. 

You both used the remaining class time to start the project proposal, per Medulla’s parameters. Warren took it upon himself to sketch out what casing type you were picking. His ability to produce an almost picture perfect copy from memory impressed you. 

You took on the actual planning and verbiage for the initial outline, since taking Medulla’s science class over the summer got you familiar with them. It was pretty much putting in writing that you were going into the project knowing what you were doing, that you were going to have a purpose for everything you used, and that you weren’t going to be wasting his time. You respected Medulla for requiring something like this. 

You were barely a fourth of the way in when the bell rang, Warren seemingly in the same predicament, too engrossed with recalculating some measurements to realize he had only finished the handle.

Your classmates were a mess of notebooks, pens, and quick promises to work outside of class. You realized that would probably be a good idea.

You ask Warren just that, “Do you wanna hangout later? Get a head start?”

He looks at you silent for a moment, but he responds with a quiet “sure”, his voice small. You wondered why. 

You jotted your phone number down on the corner of his drawing, adding a smiley face for good measure. He folds the paper into his notebook and shoves it in his bag, which he insists on never actually putting on properly, despite you teasing him relentlessly for it. 

“See you in a bit,” you said happily, offering your fist for a bump. 

Warren nodded, extending his fist too. “I’ll see you in CNW.”

And, as though the universe knew you were excited to see Warren again, your next class dragged. 

Mrs. Precision droned on about the importance of proper hero introductions, her enthusiasm matched only by your growing sense of boredom. Your phone chimed in the middle of her lecture, and you felt your face flush as Ms. Precision muttered her mantra about silencing ringers in her class. Hastily, you did quickly, trying to suppress the small smile that crept onto your lips upon seeing who it was. 

(567)111-7856: Hey. It’s Warren.

As Ms. Precision began demonstrating the exercise for your class, you seized the opportunity to text Warren back. Watching someone demonstrate a “hero handshake” wasn’t something you needed to pay attention to, given how many times you’ve seen your parents do it. 

You: hi :D is horizon line downtown an ok hangout spot?

As she loudly asked for some volunteers, you jerked your head up from looking down at your lap, flipping your phone over to rest on your thigh. You attempted to look engaged and attentive, hoping Ms. Precision would call on someone who looked less interested. 

She did. Picking on a few kids in the back who were talking. Your phone buzzed against your thigh as they walked up to the front of the class, smiling a little to yourself. Ms. Precision turned her back to watch their attempt at the exercise, allowing you to happily turn your phone over under your desk. 

Warren: Sure. I’ve never been.

When a few giggles erupt from the group’s half-assed attempt at her exercise. Ms. Precision demanded some seriousness from your peers, making the group standing at the front to retry. You waited until she turned her back again to respond .

You: layla and i go all the time, it’s great

Ms. Precision gave them a courteous golf clap as they begrudgingly finished the handshake, the four students quickly walking back to their seats. You flip your phone over as Ms. Precision turned around, the glass screen cold on your thigh as her gaze roamed over the class again. Luckily, you are again overlooked as she called on another handful of students.  

The quick buzz against your skin makes your pulse hike.

Warren: When do you wanna go?

Your tortured classmates start the extremely unnatural exercise Ms. Precision was demanding of them, your brows furrowing at their poor attempt at mimicking your dad. You do some mental math; bus ride, chores, and if your mom’s home, you could be done pretty early. Your dad asked an excruciating amount of questions when you or Will tried to hang out with someone, your mom was the much easier parent to deal with. So as long as everything is aligned, you should be good.

You: 4?

You nearly get caught when you hit send, looking up just in time as Ms. Precision calls your name to participate in the class activity. You try to not break your composure when your phone buzzes in your pocket. When it’s your turn, you try your best to buy into the stupid exercise so Ms. Precision would give you a good grade. After the rest of the people in your group go, you’re able to sit down, hoping that Warren didn’t have something going on at 4.

Warren: Sure.

You don’t even try to hide your smile this time. It creeps up fast, pulling at your cheeks before you can stop it. 

Ms. Precision gave you all feedback, moving on to handing out your homework, and you care a little less about getting caught as you respond.

You: awesome :)

You found it extremely hard to focus on the worksheet Ms. Precision gave you, but you managed to finish it before the end of class. Always a good student. 

You practically floated out of the classroom, the worksheet long forgotten in the turn-in bin as you bounced your way to the training rooms, grinning like an idiot the whole way. 

You pushed the locker room door open, waving at the girls who said hi to you before going to your locker to change. You pulled on one of your uniform shirts, opting for your sweatpants over shorts. You threw your blue Chucks in your locker, not even bothering to put on your gym shoes as you walked to the training rooms. You dropped them by the door, tying your hair out of your face as you walked over to Warren. 

He was still sitting alone, which made you a little sad, but you hoped your classmates would warm up to him soon. Pun fully intended. 

He shot you a smile as you sat down, glancing at the clock as you crossed your legs in front of you. 

“Does Horizon Line have good stuff?” 

“Oh, you bet they do,” you turned to him, ready to gush. “Layla and I have been going there for a while. They’re really eco-friendly and their stuff is super high quality. They give you jars for your drinks to go.”

“Jars?” he questioned as he half smirked at you. 

“Sustainable, remember?” He nods and rolls his eyes, making you laugh. A couple girls on the opposite side of the room have been side-eyeing you since you sat down next to Warren. You tried not to glance at them, but hearing them giggle to each other got your attention easily. You shook it off. 

“And their food is so delicious, I have three things I rotate when I go there,” you rambled. Boomer’s arrival interrupted your conversation, his recurring referee uniform drawing a chuckle from you as he announced the day’s agenda. “I’d go broke if I got all of it every time, but it’s so good.” 

“I’ll have to take some recommendations then,” Warren offered, barely able to get that out before Boomer started talking over him. 

“Guess what, folks? You guys finally get to actually hit each other today,” Boomer announced, punctuating his words with a sarcastic thumbs up, sparking a frenzy of excited conversations across the room. He adjusted his hat, methodically checking off names on his attendance clipboard. “Peace, you gonna do Save the Citizen this year?”

Warren shrugged, unaffected by Boomer's disappointed sigh. You noticed the girl from earlier exchanging a knowing look with her friend, whispering in her ear, which irks you slightly as they both laugh to themselves. Again. What was so funny?

You barely remembered their names, they didn’t really talk to anyone in this class. Emily and Olivia? Maybe? To the best of your memory, they had the ability to fly, which you didn’t think was substantial enough to warrant the kind of ego they had. They both kept to the clique they created, all of them stuck up and think they can treat people however they want. And, unsurprisingly, a lot of their friends overlapped with Gwen’s.

“Did you chicken out last year?” you teased.

“No,” Warren replied with a dry chuckle.

“You think Peace would back down from a fight?” Boomer added with a wry grin. 

“My opponents did,” Warren responded, chuckling again as your face dropped.

“Are you serious?” you gawked, a little taken aback by the picture they were painting. 

Backing out of Save the Citizen was probably the one thing you could never live down at this school. It made you question what Warren must have done to cause such a thing. 

“Oh yeah. Most pathetic freshman fight I’ve ever seen. You and Higgins were a force to be reckoned with.” Boomer laughed to himself as he finished up attendance, going to put his clipboard on his desk. “You’re all gonna need gear assignments, so follow me.”

Your class gets up and follows Boomer to a large closet in the corner of the training room, rows of gear lining the shelves as he pulls open the door.

“For those of you who did cute hairstyles a few minutes ago, unless you want a concussion, I’d take them out,” Boomer advised, finding some amusement in the ensuing irritation. 

You watched Warren take his hair down, a twinge of disappointment that you tried to not think much of. You had to admit, a messed-up bun looked cute on him. 

You looked away when Magenta’s voice filled your head, her constant questions about if you thought he was cute flooding your mind. 

You thought Warren was an attractive guy, but you figured he wasn’t in the market for dating, and certainly not you.

Boomer lined you all up, distributing gear one by one. When it was Warren's turn, Boomer sighed in annoyance.

“Give me a second, hot head,” Boomer called out before he disappeared into the closet, leaving a brief moment for the girls from earlier to chat. 

Their snickering and muttered comments cut through the air, and even though you couldn’t catch every word, it was clear they were making fun of Warren.

You didn’t really understand the dynamic people had at this school. 

He wasn’t this scary, intimidating monster. He wasn’t some outcast to laugh at. He wasn’t some evil villain that people should wipe out of existence. What had Warren ever done to them to get this kind of treatment?

Fed up with their behavior, you turned around, a mixture of disgust and anger etched on your face as you locked eyes with them.

“Can you not do that?” you asked firmly, irritated.

“Do what?” Olivia retorted, full of attitude. 

“Talk shit about people - people who are gonna be your coworkers in a few years?” you calmly said back, not wanting to get that angry. That emotion didn’t help, ever. “I mean, honestly, it’s just dumb and it makes you look like a stuck up bitch.”

That got a few of your classmates to laugh, some grinning to themselves. Olivia and Emily, or whatever the fuck their names are, seem offended. 

“And what makes you think you can talk to me like that?” she asks, actually very offended. 

“I don’t know, you seem to be struggling in this class and I’m a freshman who tested into it,” you start, feeling your egotistical side make its once in a lifetime appearance to the world. “And I’m actually kind to people, which seems to be a weak spot for you, too.”

More of your classmates laugh, both of the girls' faces furrowing with something unreadable. 

“Look, we’re all gonna have to save each other from something at some point,” you add, even though you feel like you’re talking to a brick wall. “Probably best to get the drama bullshit out of the way so people will actually feel inclined to help you some day.” 

They both scoffed, exchanging grievances about your attitude as an underclassman and the supposed lack of respect you’re showing them. But, they quieted down eventually, and you felt good about at least telling them off this once, even if they didn’t listen. 

“Here we go,” Boomer announced as he emerged with a cardboard box under his arm, adorned with fire retardant stickers. He set it down, rummaging through it before handing Warren his gear. “Please try not to burn through it.” 

Warren nodded, walking to your sparring circle and getting started on putting his knee pads on.

Once Boomer got the rest of you set up, he went through the specific moves required for your spar, as well as any additional moves you’d like to incorporate. He’d call you up in pairs for your “mini-test”, where you’d be graded on a 5-minute fight, and the winner earned 10 extra points. 

Glancing at the clock, Boomer gave you all 10 minutes to warm up in your sparring zones, happily throwing on his usual dad rock to fill the silence. 

You begrudgingly took your hair down, immediately finding the helmet annoying as you pulled it on, prompting Warren to laugh at the look on your face. 

“How do you not hate these?” you griped as you adjusted the velcro strap.

“I don’t love them, but they’re not that bad,” Warren replied, pulling on his gloves. “If it keeps me in one piece while you kick my ass, I’ll take it.” 

“I don’t kick your ass,” you mumbled, feeling slightly uncomfortable with Warren’s implication that you’re a better fighter than him.

“Don’t be modest as if you’re not acing this class,” Warren chirped in a high-pitched voice, mocking you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

You attempted to put him in a lock-up, which he quickly backed out of, profusely apologizing as he keeps you at an arm's distance. 

You smirked, backing away with your hands up, assuming your usual fighting position, Warren doing the same. Thanks to the daily practice you’d been getting, you could go on autopilot for a bit before your “mini-test”.

You were quite content that you and Warren were getting closer. 

While you initially enjoyed the satisfaction of proving everyone wrong and becoming friends with your predetermined archenemy, you also started to value Warren as a real, genuine friend. 

Putting aside the attraction you had towards him, he was a great person to be around. He’s extremely witty, well-read, intelligent, and he enjoyed challenging you in just about everything. Even if he didn’t always come out on top.

You were excited to hang out later, too. 

Maybe it would be an opportunity to learn more about him, if he’s willing. While you could make some educated guesses about his life outside of school, due to your dad never shutting up about his family, you hoped he’d feel comfortable opening up to you. 

Although he rarely interacted with anyone else, you wondered what kind of relationship he considered you two to have. His earlier hesitation about hanging out made you wonder if he only sees you as a casual friend, someone he wouldn’t talk to outside of school, and promptly forget about over the summer. 

You tried to push those thoughts aside, after all, he seemed to be genuinely excited to hang out when he asked you about it earlier. 

You finally clocked back in when your back hit the mat, though not nearly as hard as you could have, which was something you always appreciated about Warren. He always lightened the blow if he could.

“You going soft on me, Stronghold?” he teased, offering you a hand up. 

“No,” you replied, quickly sitting up. “Just preoccupied.” 

“PEACE! STRONGHOLD!” Boomer’s booming voice interrupted, summoning you both to his side of the gym, where a more elaborate sparring circle is painted on the mat. 

He assigned you to your corners, gesturing for you to shake hands as he settled back down in his chair.

“You got this,” Warren encouraged, bumping your fists before he steps back. 

Somehow, he always seemed to sense when you were nervous, even before you did. 

You shook your hands out one more time, taking a deep breath as Boomer called for your fighting stance. 

As the timer started, nervous energy shot down your spine, and you lost hope in yourself fighting it off.

Despite your efforts to push your doubts away, they nagged in the corners of your mind, clouding your focus. The initial moments of the spar felt clumsy and disjointed as you struggled to find your rhythm.

Warren moved with a fluidity that you envied, effortlessly dodging your strikes and countering with precision. With each block and parry, you felt your frustration growing, the voice of doubt growing louder in your mind.

You had all this training, yet your confidence in this class still lagged behind. Warren could call you a better fighter all he wanted, but you weren’t ready to believe him.

Sky High was full of extraordinary people, and you felt like a child. And the high expectations placed on you weighed heavily. 

Your parents always talked about their perfect high school experiences, and you knew they expected the same from you. 

One wrong grade in this class would disappoint them. You were supposed to be good at this, so why did you always feel like a coward? When someone watched, you had a freakout and lost all your confidence. You focused only on your mistakes, unable to think ahead to win.

Warren took out one of your knees, and your hands barely got under you as you fell, your leg throbbing from the blow. You contemplated not even standing up. Just tapping out and accepting an incomplete. The pathetic wobble in your elbows only made you feel worse.

You didn’t have enough muscle to keep up with Warren. You never understood why you were paired up with him. 

He pummeled you daily, even if you won by a small margin. Warren could stand up after a fight, ready for the next one. You could barely get through one spar without losing your breath. 

You stared at the mat underneath you, wishing Warren had just thrown you against it and taken the win. It’s not like you were going to win this anyway.

“Come on, Stronghold,” Warren just barely whispered.

You begrudgingly looked up at him, finding both comfort and annoyance in his encouragement. He wasn’t a fan of letting you quit, something you learned very quickly in your friendship. It was moments like this when he was the most persistent. 

You rolled your eyes at the smirk on his face, using one of your knees to help push yourself off the ground, hesitantly putting your hands back up to fight.

You continued out of spite, determined to get Warren off your back and to not look like a total loser in front of the rest of your class. It would be better to lose than to give up.

You pushed yourself harder, channeling your energy into each strike, in an attempt to give Warren a worthy opponent. Eventually, you started to see patterns in Warren’s attacks, noticing the slight shifts in his stance that signal his next move, and as Warren moved in for another attack, you saw your opportunity. 

In a piss-poor moment of clarity, you ducked, parried, took hold of his dominant arm, and started shoving him into position. To your surprise, you managed to knock him off balance. With one more big push, you managed to tug Warren off his feet and throw him in front of you. 

Your heart pounded with a mix of excitement and disbelief at your unexpected display of strength. But in your newfound confidence, you made a split-second decision to try and catch Warren before he falls completely. To sort of pay back when he did it for you. 

Didn’t go as well as intended. 

Instead of a smooth landing, Warren slipped and fell flat on his back, unprepared and somewhat winded. 

The thud of his body hitting the mat echoed in the gym, the low rock music the only sound in the room as people started staring. You’ve never cringed so hard in your life.

Boomer’s disapproving face only made you feel worse as Warren laid there, motionless and trying to process what just happened. He groaned softly, sitting up slowly and taking a deep breath to steady himself. 

“You’ve gotta stop doing that,” he muttered as he rubbed his back, his nervous system probably shocked.

“And that’s 10 extra points for Stronghold,” Boomer announced, handing you both the grading sheets he completed during your fight.

“You guys can stretch for the rest of class, get some water. If you need to practice not dropping him like that, Stronghold, please do so. I’ll start docking points next time.” 

You nodded sheepishly, offering Warren a hand to help him up, which he took gladly.

“I’m sorry,” you rambled, requiring your other hand to pull him off the ground completely. “I didn’t mean to fuck it up that badly.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Warren reassured you, taking off his helmet as you both walked to the water fountain. 

“Losers first?” 

Warren just shakes his head with a smirk, taking as much water as he needed. You were relieved he could take a joke.

You pulled your helmet off while you waited, dropping it on the ground and quickly pulled your sweaty hair up and out of your face. After your turn getting some water, you and Warren sat across from each other, happily pulling off all your gear and following the stretching routine Boomer taught the class for a post-fight cool down.

“What does yours say?” you asked, stretching one of your legs as you read your feedback.

“Work on close combat, stop letting her find your weak spot, 48/50,” Warren replied, mirroring the same stretch. 

You furrowed your brows at his response, quickly jumping to conclusions.

“Do you let me win?” you accused, preparing to be deeply offended. 

“No, of course not,” Warren replied, switching legs with you. “You’re very good, I just get worked up.” 

“If you say so,” you replied, still not quite believing him, stretching to grab your foot and leaning towards it. “He said I need to open with more confidence, but I got 60/50.”

“I agree,” Warren said, crossing his legs and leaning back on his hands.

“I don’t get why you’re so nervous.”

“I know how to fight, I just… “ you trailed off, staring at the floor as you crossed your legs, glum. “Crack under pressure, I guess.”

“I saw exactly when you got out of your head and just did it. I could tell when you caught on to what I was doing and started predicting my every move,” Warren put his hand on your arm, grabbing your attention in an instant, his warm, brown eyes melting into yours. “You’re smarter than you realize, just stop selling yourself short.”

Any attempt at denying that you liked Warren was permanently out the window.

His hand was perfectly warm, and you felt dumb for being surprised.

He has always tried to encourage you, and though you never understood why, it made you feel better. 

You wondered if you two were meant to be friends from the start, that it was fate that you decided to go against what everyone said and worm your way into his life.

You looked at him, bashful. Your cheeks flushed with heat as you looked back down at his hand, staring at his tattoos. 

As cliché as it was, you found them attractive. Getting flames tattooed on his forearms was as respectable as it was cool. The hair tie that sat on his wrist reminded you of how cute he looks with his hair up, making the heat in your face worse.

You hated when Magenta was right.

“I appreciate it, Warren,” you said quietly, trying to keep your blush at bay as you focus on stretching instead. He squeezed your arm gently before pulling it away, making it even harder to hide your flustered state. You excused yourself to get more water from the fountain, a smile tugging at your lips as you walked away.

You and Warren chatted for the rest of the class, about your project or places downtown you liked to go. You managed to push aside your growing crush on him until the class was over, though it was no easy task.

When you got to Villain Training, you felt somewhat relieved. At least there you could focus on taking notes for a while. 

Mr. Keldron began the unit on how villains are formed, which you found really interesting. Even with something as serious as supervillains, Mr. Keldron knew how to make it fun and upbeat. He slipped in jokes or a cute animal image between slides to make sure you all weren’t too bogged down. You cringed when Barron Battle’s image appeared on the screen as one of the examples, hoping that the school had removed it when Warren was in this class. 

Your focus started to wane as Mr. Keldron put on an interview with a villain expert, and you’re thankful when you feel your phone buzz in your back pocket, grabbing it out with as much stealth as possible.

Warren: I appreciate you standing up for me.

You smiled at Warren’s name on your screen, happy that you did something nice for him.

You: don’t mention it, she was being mean

You managed to jot down a few more notes about the villain the video was discussing before Warren texts back.

Warren: I’m not sure why but she’s never liked me.

You lingered on what to say next, each idea seeming too much. You didn’t want to reveal your feelings to Warren just yet. You’re not even sure if you ever would. 

The thought of what your parents or Will would say if they found out you were dating Warren crossed your mind. You hoped Will would get over his stupid archenemy grudge, but what if he didn’t?

You: yeah idk. you’re great, i don’t get her issue

You felt a little stupid for freaking out over texting him that, resting your phone on your thigh and trying to focus on the video instead.

What if that was too much? All you said was that he was “great,” it’s not like you really confessed anything. You knew you were overthinking this whole situation, but you haven’t had a crush like this before. 

Your focus crumbled in seconds when your phone buzzed again, swearing under your breath as your pen rolled onto the ground. You try your best to grab it without making too much noise.

Warren: Thanks.

“Let’s make sure we’re paying attention, guys.” Mr. Keldron announced, a slight firmness in his voice.

You quickly put your phone away, trying not to get noticed as you attempt to focus on the video again. Your leg bounced nervously against the ground, and you instantly regret saying anything remotely flirty.

Your thoughts raced, making it nearly impossible to concentrate. 

What did “thanks” even mean? 

Did he think you were weird? Did he feel the same way? 

Obviously not, you’ve only known each other for like three weeks! How did you even develop a crush on him so fast? Sure, he’s cute, but how did this happen so quickly? What were you even doing? You just met him!

The figures on the screen blurred together as your mind replayed every single interaction with Warren, every word you’ve ever said to him, wondering how he could feel about you. 

Was he really just wanting to be friends and you just fucked everything up? 

Nerves ran through your blood when your phone buzzed again. You debated whether you should even look if it was Warren.

The room felt stifling, Mr. Keldron’s lecture a distant hum as you barely mustered the courage to check your phone. 

Warren: You’re great too.

Your heart skipped a beat, which you thought was a little pathetic. It wasn’t much to freak out about, but you couldn’t stop rereading it. 

You: thanks partner

“I really hope my lecture isn’t so boring that you’d rather be texting your friends,” Mr. Keldron admonished, giving you a final warning before he confiscated your phone. You slipped it into your pocket as slyly as you could. “Who doesn’t love learning about the disgusting minds of the supervillains who plague our world?”

You shot him a simpered smile, tapping your pen on your notes as he switched slides.

Despite your efforts to stay on good terms with Mr. Keldron, you were growing increasingly frustrated with the endless slides, especially as they began to eat into your lunch hour. 

You were more than relieved when he finally let everyone leave, but you appreciated his apologies as you all stampede down to the cafeteria.

You didn’t really want to admit why you were so excited to go. You told yourself it was because you were hungry. But deep down, you knew the real reason.

You rushed through the lunch line, grabbing the first thing you saw, too focused on finding Warren to care about what you were eating. You wanted to gush about how good he was in CNW and beg him to teach you some of the moves he used during your spar.

You smiled when you finally spotted Warren at the lunch tables, engrossed in his drawing and ignoring his food. You tried to walk at a normal pace, not wanting to come off as too eager or overly consumed by this crush you’d just admitted to yourself.

“You have to show me how to do that kick combo tomorrow,” you raved as you sat down, hoping Warren wouldn’t mind you joining him. He looked startled at first, then amused. “I don’t even care that it hurts like hell, I just want to know how to do it.”

“Why? So you can use it against me?” Warren teased, setting his drawing pad aside and finally. “Besides, I need all the help I can get. I have a reputation for losing to you.”

“But you’re so much cleaner than me! Come on, please?” you pleaded, smiling when Warren gave you a deadpan expression. “I probably wouldn’t even move you if I tried it, you have such a huge strength advantage over me.”

“Since you’re so smart, you figure it out. I’m sure that’s more impressive.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, trying not to get too hung up on Warren’s compliment. “How was class?”

Warren instantly rolled his eyes. 

“Mr. Murdock can’t teach a history class to save his life,” Warren grumbled, shaking his head as you laughed.

“I’ll refrain from taking his courses.” 

“Good,” he nodded, unwrapping the sandwich he got. “You had Keldron, right?”

“Yeah, he kinda yelled at me for texting.”

“He’s cool, I’m sure he didn’t care that much,” Warren reassured you. “I’ll try not to text you during class if you’re gonna be a goody-two-shoes about it.”

“I’m not a goody-two-shoes,” you corrected, causing Warren to laugh at your defensiveness. “I just don’t like getting in trouble.”

“That’s what a goody-two-shoes means, dork,” Warren smirked.

“Dork? Really?” you retort, trying to keep your voice down. “I’ll keep knocking you on your ass if that’s how you wanna play it.”

“There’s that confidence I was looking for,” Warren grinned, pointing at you. “Maybe I need to insult you before we fight, get that anger going.”

“Whatever, you..,” you trailed off, annoyed at how easily Warren matched your energy in conversation. “You dork.”

“No, no, that is my insult. You have to come up with something yourself,” Warren insisted, taking much pride in his half-baked nickname.

“What, like loser?” you shot back.

“Sooo creative,” Warren mocked, earning an eye roll from you.

“Well, maybe if you won from time to time, it wouldn’t be as fitting,” you twisted the knife back, hoping he’d give up eventually because you couldn’t lose.

You grab your phone out of your pocket as it buzzes, already annoyed when you see Will’s name on the preview screen.

“What’s wrong, dork?” 

You glare at Warren through your eyebrows, scrolling to read Will’s text and somehow getting more annoyed at what he said. You turn around and scan the room for him, finding Will staring at you with an ill-sourced urgency. 

Will: what are you doing?

“Will being Will.” You tried to hold in the irritation in your voice as you responded. 

You: why are you texting me

“So, he’s being intolerably annoying?” Warren asked, taking a bite out of his apple. 

“When is he not?” you fake smiled, putting your phone on the table beside you. 

Just as you’re about to keep on conversing with Warren, your phone buzzes three more times. That earned the attention of both of you, Warren only becoming further amused as you get pissed. 

“I’m sorry,” you snatched your phone in a rage, putting your bag over your shoulder and taking your tray in your other hand. “I will see you later.” 

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Warren grinned as you walked away.

You stared daggers into the back of Will’s head, angrily sitting next to him and slamming your lunch tray on the table. You swatted the bottom of Will’s drink as he takes a sip, making him spill over the front of his shirt, a small smirk growing on your face as you set your bag down at your feet. 

“What’s your problem?!” Will screamed as he attempted to blot the juice on his clothes.

“I’m your sister, not your carbon copy. I don’t have to ask you to do things, just so you’re aware.” 

You gave your friends a curt greeting as you got back to your lunch.

“My bad for trying to protect you,” he grumbled.

“You are the last person I would ask that of, trust me,” you quipped back, which just made Will’s face twist with anger further. “What the hell are you gonna do? Fumble through a sentence to scare him?” 

“Guys,” Layla lays her hands on each of yours, a stern but nurturing look on her face. “Let’s calm it down, alright? People are staring.” 

You glared at Will one more time, earning an eye roll from him in return, making Zach chuckle. 

You abandoned your food for a bit, opting for texting Warren instead. 

You: maybe if we combine our powers, we can get him to shut up for a bit

You set your phone down and took a long sip of your orange juice, careful to keep an eye on Will in case he retaliated. Your phone buzzed against the table, earning a glance from both you and Magenta, who shot you a knowing look. You rolled your eyes and checked your phone shamelessly. 

She was going to bring this up in a few hours. 

Warren: I don’t think we’re strong enough for such a task.

You smiled to yourself, ignoring Zach’s attempt to see who you were texting. His curiosity often got the best of him. 

You: :,(

You settled for putting your phone away when Will begged you for the hundredth time to help him with his physics homework that night. You offered up Ethan as his sacrificial lamb in your absence, since you were busy. 

You told them about your very important chemistry project and that you were meeting with your partner to complete the research, and it tides over just about everyone. Magenta gave you that knowing look again, the one that said “I’m definitely going to be bothering you about this later,” which you couldn’t really blame her for.

The usual catching up ensued. Ethan recommended a few songs for you to listen to, Zach rambled about this new comic he was reading, you and Layla admired the new nail polish Magenta had bought, and Will actually became less annoying as the lunch hour went on.

Your next couple of classes were nothing special. Your physics class was getting easier to understand, debating vigilantism with the egotistical boys in your hero program was always a good time, Algebra II was normal as it was in non-hero schools, and of course there’s Comic Painting. 

You were just setting up your paints when Magenta sat down next to you, an unusual amount of excitement nearly bursting through her expression.

“Is there a crush that I should know about?” she asked, much too loud for your liking.

“No?” you responded, trying to feign some kind of innocence. 

“Let me rephrase,” she said, scooting a little closer on her stool, dropping her voice. “Is there a guy you think is cute that I should know about?”

You rolled your eyes, dunking a few of your brushes in your water reservoir to soften them up. 

“Nothing’s gonna happen.” 

“So, you do think Warren’s cute,” she pried, her eyebrows raising in anticipation. 

“It wouldn’t matter if I did, it’s not like he would actually date me,” you whispered, trying to appear absentminded to deter her from pressing the matter. “Because you’re the daughter of The Commander?” 

“Yes,” you huffed, turning to her. “My dad would flip out, so would Will, and there is no way that Warren Peace would ever date me in the first place.” 

“And you clearly haven’t been thinking about it or anything,” she chuckles, continuing as if she didn’t hear what you said a few seconds before. “You’re the only person he’s ever allowed to sit with him.”

“That was…mostly forced upon him,” you insisted, giving Magenta a little side eye as you dry off your brushes. 

“He genuinely smiles when he talks to you. I didn’t even know he could do that,” Magenta half joked, making you smirk a little.  

“Look, just because we’re friends doesn’t mean he’s gonna magically grow romantic feelings for me,” you insisted further, hoping she would just drop it. 

“Right, and that’s why he agreed to do homework with you at a cute coffee shop, because he doesn’t like spending time with you,” she said as casually as possible, knowing she was fully right.  

You rolled your eyes again, letting out a long sigh and flashing her a fake smile. “How’s your crush on Zach going?” 

“Changing the subject, that’s very telling of how comfortable you are with the conversation we’re having.” 

You turned to her, lowering your voice even further, which she thinks is hilarious. As if Warren could have heard you. “Yes, I have a crush on Warren. Happy?” 

She started quietly applauding with pure joy, which you just turned away from and started working on your painting, relieved when the bell finally rang. 

It was somewhat of a work day in your painting class. You were all working on the first unit still, which was mostly background work. You were supposed to eventually make a classic looking comic painting, but the subject matter was up to you. 

A lot of students picked some of the heroes that littered comicbooks, or their favorite hero who graduated from Sky High, some of which were your parents, so to give your teacher something fresh, you decided to paint your grandmother. 

She was who you inherited your power from, and you were quite close to her when she was alive, so it felt like a nice homage. 

You and Magenta took the hour to catch up, particularly on topics you couldn’t speak about at lunch. Mag had grown a slight crush on Zach, and you had to power through the painful experience of knowing the feeling was mutual. You, Layla, and Ethan were becoming middle men for these two, and it was manageable for now, but the three of you feared that Zach and Magenta would never actually confess to their feelings. You were glad to get the crush topic off of you, though. 

And, like clockwork, you and Warren bumped into each other as the final bell for the day rang, students filing out to the buses with glee. 

Of course, Magenta was quick to ditch you, saying that she’d catch up at the bus, shooting you that knowing smirk as she intentionally left you alone with Warren. 

He had a canvas tucked under his arm, seemingly taking home his art homework. You offer him a calm smile, looking down at the half completed painting as you come to stand next to him. 

“Can I see?” you ask, tilting your head to get a better look. 

He nods, turning the painting to face the two of you, careful to not smudge anything. Your face drops slightly as you take in how realistic it was. How detailed the background was, how photographic the pair of eyes were. His class must have been working on cover artwork, which usually demanded a lot more realism. 

“Holy shit,” you gasped, leaning in closer to see all the brush work. Warren must have been working on this piece for a long time, or he just had legendary, Da Vinci-esc talent. “That is amazing…” 

“Thanks,” he said sheepishly, carefully holding the canvas by his side. “It’s not anywhere close to being done.” 

“Well, given what I’ve seen, it’ll be great,” you noted, smiling at him over your shoulder as you pushed the door open, holding it for him. 

“Let’s not inflate my ego too much,” he jested, walking beside you as the buses came into view. 

“Oh, sorry, my bad,” you chuckled, glancing at Magenta and Layla chatting outside of the bus that took you home. You looked up at Warren, trying your best to push down the growing attraction as he ran his hand through his hair. “See you at 4 then?” 

“Yep,” he agreed, offering his fist to you. 

You happily bumped yours with his, the leather wrapping around his knuckles warm and soft as it pressed to your skin. Yet another reminder of Warren’s perfectly warm hands, that had been comforting you a couple hours prior. 

You’re brought out of your little daydream when your name filters through the crowd of noise, Will hurriedly motioning for you to get on the bus, as if Ron would ever think of leaving without you. 

You groan under your breath, widening your eyes as you look back up at Warren. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Later, Stronghold.” He smirks as you part ways. 

As you walk toward Will, he once again looks at you like you’re insane. You just pushed him through the bus door, not wanting to get into his stupid feud. You gave Ron a curt wave as you passed by him, nearly running into Will as the bus jolted forward. You ended up gabbing with Layla and Magenta the whole ride home. You also managed to side step who you were getting coffee with, not wanting Will to freak out over nothing. 

Once you got home, Will sulked off to his room to do God knows what, and you knew you were on the clock. You trotted into the kitchen, where your mom was going over paperwork on the island, her glasses hanging from her fingers as she hunched over the endless files. 

“Is dad home?” you asked cautiously, standing next to her, your fingers nervously twitching on the counter. 

“He’s on a distress call, honey,” your mom reported back, her eyes flicking over bits of information on the pages in front of her. 

“Then, I would like to propose a deal,” you clasped your hands together, relieved at the calm expression on her face. “If I get all my chores done right now, is it alright if I go out with a friend for coffee? It’s for our research project.”

A warm smile spreads on her face, which makes you feel a little better as the question hangs in the air. 

“Well, if you had opened with it being for school, you could have done your chores later,” she starts, a satisfied gleam in her eye. “But since you’re offering, sure. Deal.”

You groaned as you walked over to the dishwasher, a little too loudly to be age appropriate, but you suppose you walked right into this. Amateur move. Always ask, then work out contingencies. You were desperately hoping real estate wasn’t your cover when you graduated, you already sucked at their strategy. 

After you’re done putting away the dishes, you get onto the rest of your chores. Cleaning the bathroom, watering the plants, and tidying your room as needed. 

You decided bringing a hoodie would be a good idea, since the fly would get a little cold in just a white tee and shorts, tugging a red zip up from your closet. You fluff your hair a million more times before putting on more perfume, for absolutely no reason in particular. You contemplate brushing your teeth and putting on makeup but you refrain from it. Didn’t have time.

You trekked down the stairs, and as you’re tying your laces, your mom comes to see you off. 

“Who’s your partner, honey?” 

“Warren. He’s in my hero chemistry class,” you tell her quickly, trying to sound as unassuming as possible. Lots of people could be named Warren, who also go to Sky High, who are also sophomores. It doesn’t have to be the one person your dad hates at that school. 

She’s quiet for a second, then says she hopes you have a good time. You beg she hasn’t figured it out. 

It’s a short flight to downtown, one that you were mostly just making sure nothing flew out of your backpack. You try to land as inconspicuously as possible, refreshing your hair and checking your skin for bugs and dirt in a window, walking to Horizon Line happy. 

You spot Warren already sitting inside when you pull the door open. He’s already on a different book, it’s not as weathered as his copy of East of Eden he’s been carrying around. He also changed into a Smiths shirt before coming here. You were impressed with his taste, he had a Linkin Park shirt on the day before. 

You smile as you set your stuff down across from him, your heart skipping as he smiles right back at you. 

“What did you get?” you ask, fully prepared to judge what he ordered. “Chai latte,” he happily told you, glancing at the order counter to see if his drink was ready. It wasn’t. 

You say he has good taste, going up to order your drink while he was waiting. Horizon Line was known for making their own syrups in house, you couldn’t get enough of their white chocolate one, so that’s what you shamelessly ordered for the millionth time. You also got two chocolate macaroons, to share of course. 

You stand by the counter waiting for your drinks, glancing at Warren as he keeps reading. You noticed the title of the book in his hands, unable to stop the happiness that spreads in your chest as you look away. 

He was reading Little Women. Your favorite book.

You try not to enjoy the barista calling your name out with Warren’s, thanking him and taking everything with you, leaving a couple dollars in their tip jar. 

“What did you get?” Warren pressed, thanking you as you handed him his cup. 

“White mocha latte,” you told him, sitting down and presenting the two macaroons to him as well. “And these.”

Warren thanks you as he takes his treat, putting a pencil in his book and setting it aside on the table, your eyes darting to it for a moment. Trying to seem like you haven’t noticed it until now. 

“Good pick.” 

“Yeah, you reminded me about it the other day and I started reading it that night,” he grinned, taking a sip of his latte, “I hadn’t picked it up in a while.” 

Don’t think about that too much, you told yourself. Don’t think about what Magenta will have to say about Warren reading your favorite book because of you.

You tell him about how your mom first got it for you for your tenth birthday, since reaching double digits was, in your words, basically adulthood. Little Women seemed like the perfect reading material. You watched as Warren shamelessly warmed up his mug on the table, a rumbling boil rising out of his chai for a few seconds before he took a sip, seemingly satisfied with the temperature. You thought it was cute. 

Warren mentioned that his mom was much the same, that she was thrilled when he decided to take up reading on top of all his other hobbies, most of which she hated. It was a lot quieter than playing his drums and guitar, a lot cleaner than spray painting the garage walls, and a lot safer than dirt biking. 

You had to remain as poised as possible as you listened. All of that information made your crush infinitely worse. 

Your childhood sounded very boring in comparison. You told him about how you used to play soccer, with Will, of course, and eventually got all of your neighborhood friends to join. You got your powers pretty quickly and a lot of your time was either learning how to use them properly or showing off at Zach’s demand. You didn’t mind.

“You’ve known those guys for a while then, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” you replied, a nostalgic grin forming on your face. “Layla moved in when we were all in 1st grade, but Zach didn’t move in until we were 11 or so.” 

“You’ve stayed in the same house your whole life?” Warren asked, in a little disbelief.

“Yeah. Is that weird?”

“Maybe just to me,” he shrugged. “We moved around a lot because of my dad. We ended up staying here when he got put in solitary.” 

“You and your mom?” You couldn’t help the saddened shift in your voice, though you tried. 

“Yeah, she retired when I was born. She became a financial advisor for superheroes instead.” 

You didn’t want to bum down the conversation too much so you tried to keep the conversation away from his dad’s jail time. He seemed to enjoy talking about his mom, so you asked about her. 

Warren described her as the more “responsible” parent, since his dad encouraged him to do literally anything he wanted to. 

Red streaks in your hair? Of course. His mom nearly lost her shit due to the dye staining just about everything, making Warren’s shower look like a murder scene.

Blast heavy metal music? Obviously. Although his mom went on and on about damaging his ears and the material not being appropriate, neither Warren or his dad cared. Barron actually recommended albums at the end of each letter he sent home. 

Tattoos at fourteen? Go right ahead. Apparently, during one of Barron’s home visits, Warren managed to sneak to a tattoo shop with him, and his mom was mortified when he came back. 

You were glad that, through all the heinous shit that his family had to go through, they were still happy. 

Eventually the family topic got turned to you, and after getting over the basic stuff that everyone knew, due to your parents’ fame, Warren mentioned he had a stupid question. 

“Do you and Will have telepathy?” 

“No, and I think that’s a good thing,” you clarified, much to his dismay. “I wouldn’t want to be sharing airways with a teenage boy right now.” 

“Fair,” he concurred. “You don’t feel each other’s pain either?”

“No, sadly we’re just twins, nothing super about it,” you added, biting the inside of your cheek as you thought about the last couple weeks. Still guilty. “Well, actually I wish it was more super. I really hope the ‘late bloomer’ stuff is true, I hate that his powers haven’t shown up yet.”

“Yeah, that sucks.” Despite his predisposed hatred, Warren seemed to be actually sorry for Will. You wondered if that kindness would ever be reciprocated. 

“I can’t imagine how it feels to be a complete outsider at that school...”

“It’s not the greatest experience in the world,” Warren revealed, making your heart clench. 

“Why do people treat you like that?” 

“Like I’m terrifying?” You nodded as he asked, making him shrug and look at the table. “It’s just par for the course when you have powers in the Pyrokinesis vein. That and everyone already knew who my dad was when I got to Sky High, so I just got…angry and learned to enjoy being feared. I even encouraged it for a while.”

He barely laughed, but you could tell it was more out of pain than anything else. 

“What changed?”

Warren was at a loss for words, which didn’t happen very often.

He couldn’t outright say the real reason. 

He couldn’t say that he saw someone genuine when he met you, that you waving at him and smiling was as unexpected for him as it was appreciated. 

He couldn’t say that he truly despised that you were yet another person who looked at him with fear, that he could feel your hesitancy to be his partner and how relieved he was when you were nice to him anyway. 

He couldn’t say that it’s been years since he’s had a real friend, that he couldn’t remember the last time someone asked him to hangout, and how he was looking forward to this all day. 

He couldn’t say that something in his heart tugged when you stood up for him, that you thought enough of him to stop someone from talking badly about him. 

And he couldn’t say that he’s never wanted to hate someone more in his life, and that you were too kind, and smart, and funny, and beautiful, and everything perfect for him to be physically able to. 

“I…didn’t like the feeling anymore,” he told you quietly, his jaw tensing. “But, what can you do when you’re the villain’s kid?”

“Make friends with his greatest adversary’s, I guess,” you offered, a small, sad smile on your face. 

He smiled back, which you’re thankful for. Something in you warmed when you got Warren to do that. 

You happily moved the conversation onto something less depressing, deciding to trade music tastes instead. He gave you his top ten, you gave him yours, and you had to pull your lips into a line to refrain from breaking out into a dopey grin from the fact that your favorite bands overlapped a bit; Radiohead and Nirvana. The former being his all time favorite, and the latter having been your favorite since you were a kid. 

Though, as you talked music, a band that the other despised slipped through the cracks.

Warren loved the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and you could not stand them. He was offended, truly, when you said they made the most boring music you’ve ever heard, saying, quote“that is the biggest lie I have ever heard in my entire life.” In fact, to change your opinion, he gave you two songs that he guaranteed you were going to like just to make you eat those words - Scar Tissue and Otherside. 

On the contrary, you have adored Weezer since you first heard the Blue album, as did Will. Warren groaned at the mention of them and said “that is the least surprising information ever.” You called him rude and said you’d only listen to his songs if he endured some of yours. He begrudgingly agreed, not appreciating that you were almost certain he’d like“Undone - The Sweater Song” and “The World Has Turned And Left Me Here” because every angsty, broody guy loved them. 

Talking always came easy to the two of you, which made you happy. Made him happy, too.

In the middle of Warren explaining why Californication actually isn’t the most boring album of all time, your phone chimed in your backpack. As you looked down at the message on your screen, your heart dropped.

Mom: Come home now.

You kneed your lip with your teeth, nervous as to why your mom was texting you with that tone. 

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, uh…” you looked up at him, watching him finish off his drink, realizing how much time has truly passed. You didn’t even get your research folders out of your bag, all you’ve done is talk about nothing pertaining to chemistry. Stupid. “I need to go home. I’m sorry we didn’t get anything done, I promise I can look into some stuff tonight.”

“Don’t worry,” Warren’s calm demeanor reassures you. “I’ll pull my weight too.”

“I’ll make sure to shut up next time,” you half joke, trying not to seem awkward as you gather your things.

“I enjoyed talking,” Warren says earnestly, taking your empty cup with him as he drops his off at the counter. “Do you need a ride?”

You quickly accept his offer, frantically texting your mom that you’d be home soon, pushing your chair in with your foot. 

Warren takes you to his very fitting blacked out Jeep Wrangler, complete with tint that was probably illegal, and burn marks on his steering wheel, which you gave him shit for. People can’t drive, as he says. You couldn’t deny that. 

Your stomach churned as Warren drove you home, your mind wracking through whatever your parents were mad at you for. Did your mom mention that Warren was your partner? Was your dad pissed? Was he gonna threaten Medulla for making you partners in the first place? Warren parked in your driveway before you could nail down the reason. 

You thank him and tell him you’ll see him tomorrow, which he quietly says back too, your heart sinking to your feet as you walk up to your front door. Inside, Will was studying with your friends in the living room, and everything seemed fine. You give your friends shy waves as you went to ask Will where your parents were. 

“Sanctum.” 

Fuck. 

Only important talks happened in the sanctum. You were so screwed. 

Going down there was the most grating thing you could be doing right then, your hands shaking as you rode down the comically long fire poles. 

You found your dad leaned against the pool table, head in his hand, and your mom with her arms crossed over her chest. You didn’t feel any better. 

Your hands formed into fists as they both looked at you, nerves eating you alive as you waited for them to say something. You were absolutely not going to implicate yourself here, they had to do the talking. 

“Hi, honey,” your mom whispered, coming over to hug you tight. 

You were instantly confused. 

Your dad even got up and ran a hand over your back, as if something horrible happened to you and they were trying to be as comforting as possible. What the hell…

Your confusion must have shown on your face, your mom pulling away and holding your cheek. 

“Why did you lie about Will’s powers, baby?”

Oh.

Oh. 

SHIT. 

You caved. 

You told them that you’ve known all summer and had been trying to help him through it, but after a while with no success, he begged you to keep it a secret with him. They were devastated, the whole parents lecture about how you guys should have come to them about this was inevitable. They reassured you that everything will be ok, and that they loved you both no matter what. You hoped this was the same speech Will got. 

Eventually, your parents cut you loose, needing to discuss this further by themselves. You happily took the out. 

You joined everyone in the living room, which was no longer study time by the time you got back upstairs. Zach was trying to move the hangout to your backyard, convinced that he could communicate with the lightning bugs outside and desperately needing to try it out. Layla was skeptical, but curious, and was willing to confirm if he got anything through to them. 

Warren texted you once you were all content in the grass. 

Warren: Everything alright? You: yeah, my parents found out will is in sidekick classes  Warren: I’m sure that didn’t go over well  You: i think they’re just shocked, will seems to feel better about it  Warren: That’s good 

Magenta tried peeking over your shoulder, which you dodged immediately. 

You: I enjoyed getting coffee :D we should go again sometime  Warren: Sure, their chai is great You: sweet :)

“Not a crush, she says,” Mag muttered, earning her a swift shove to the shoulder and promptly being chased as she stole your phone. 

Zach managed to get it back for you, holding it over Magenta’s head with a smug grin on his face. 

You ended the night with a viewing of “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off”, using the projector Will demanded for Christmas a few years ago. 

You didn’t talk to Warren again until the next morning, writing on the back of your outline paper. Medulla probably wouldn’t care.  

“Miss Stronghold.” 

You were only a few steps into the classroom, trying your best to dart in without being noticed. As if this being your first full day of school, with older kids, wasn’t enough to stress you out, now you were late. 

You stopped in your tracks, turning over your shoulder and meeting eyes with Mr. Medula, your ever intimidating new science teacher. You chewed on the inside of your cheek as everyone started staring at you. 

“You’re late,” he said flatly.

“I’m sorry, I tried to help Will find his first class-” you rambled, cringing as he cuts you off.

“Letting the big brother weigh you down already?” Medulla sighed, picking up a clipboard in front of him. “I would have thought higher than that for a student of your stature.” 

You clenched your jaw, hating Will more than you thought was possible. 

You were already not meeting expectations on the second day, because of him. You were just trying to be a nice sister and help him find his first class, keeping your composure whenever he would give you attitude, reminding yourself that he’s going through a lot and needed your help, and yet he was the one who got to be on time.  

You forced yourself to hold in your anger until you could take it out on him. Perhaps a punch to the face would make you feel better. If only some.

“You can have a seat next to…” Medulla trailed off, his eyes darting around the page before finding an empty seat. “Mr. Peace.” 

Medulla pointed you to walk towards the back of the room, setting his attendance clipboard down on the counter and turning back to his presentation. Your stomach sank as you took in the white board behind him, the fact that it was already almost full and you were only a few minutes late making you doubt your ability to succeed in this class even more.

“Yesterday was the ‘free day’ for seats, sophomores get to skip out on Power Placement so you’re a day behind,” he continued, so casually ruining your hope even further. “And do not make being late a habit, or I will have you moved to the freshman class.”

You nodded as you walked to the back of the room, trying to be as quiet as possible as you sat down, fumbling around in your bag for a notebook and pen. 

You let out a long breath as he continued the stifling amount of notes on the board, cringing at your handwriting as you messily scribbled down what you could. As you scanned the mountain of sentences, your eyes caught the highlighted bullet point about the partner experiment Medulla had planned, your leg starting to bob against your stool to try and ease the nerves creeping up on you. Signing up for advanced classes wouldn't leave you bored, but you didn’t think you’d be this intimidated being surrounded by older kids. To add insult to injury, you’re partnered with a guy that might already hate you. 

“I thought you guys were twins.”

Your pen jumps off the page when Warren whispers that to you, a sheepish blush burning your ears as you turn, doubting if you should be looking at him in the first place. His eyes were still locked on the board, his pen sitting idly for new information to jot down.

“Uh,” you start, groaning under your breath as your pen rips through the page, hating how your nerves felt like a live wire. “Yeah, we are. Will is 10 minutes older.”

Your shoulders lose a little height when Medulla starts erasing his work, slowly laying your pen down in defeat as he just keeps going over the entire board, turning around like it was nothing. Warren nods and aimlessly plays with the metal spiral of his notebook, grabbing your attention and making you contemplate asking if you could copy them down. He, somehow, got every single word, everything that you missed. Though, you couldn’t gauge his opinion of you, so it felt weird asking him for a favor.

Medulla starts gesturing to the supplies you’d all need to go get. It wasn’t something too difficult, so you lean over to Warren to continue your conversation.

“My mom says I took all the brains in the womb and Will was left with looks,” you mumble, a twinge of playfulness in your tone. Although you acknowledge that the whole joke is a little insulting.

“Clearly,” Warren mutters, not even paying you a side glance. 

You blink, leaning away from him and staring at the table, trying not to let what Warren had said upset you. Perhaps he wasn’t looking to be friends. That was something you had to be okay with, regardless of how you felt about it now. You watch him lean closer through your peripherals, hoping he wasn’t going to say you were annoying or to stop talking to him. 

“I meant that in the way that your brother is stupid, not that you’re ugly,” he whispers, his voice a little quieter. 

You nod awkwardly, mumbling thanks and going back to attempting to listen to Medulla finish up. When he gave you all the ok, you went to grab the worksheets he was handing out. Warren ignited the Bunsen burner with his hands, making you smirk as you walked back. It reminded you of Patrick Verona, when he lit his cigarette with one. And it was then you clocked the slight resemblance between the two of them. You force yourself to push those thoughts to the back of your mind, to keep yourself from growing that romantic association. Can’t have that.

Medulla was really relaxed when it came to using your powers in his class. What he was teaching you were skills you’d use to create weapons and other things to benefit your hero careers, and if your powers could help, why not use them? Plus, he knew when he sent stuff home, you all were going to use your powers anyway, so there was no use trying to fight it. 

You wanted to try your best to stay on Warren’s good side as you guys did the experiment for the day. It was the first stage of teaching your class how to make a shrink ray, which you were pretty excited about. Warren seemed to hoard the ingredients as he set them down, silently assigning you to take down data and results when he started setting up the test tubes in front of him. You swallowed your complaints, sitting down and watching him work, not in the mood to debate someone on fairness.

Medulla loved talking about his days at Sky High while his students worked. When his teacher let them shrink their partner, and reverse it when they were hopefully successful. He trailed off when explaining that sometimes the rays would malfunction, smiling when he referred to a bowl of apples you were going to use as your “victims” the following week. 

You focused on making your handwriting legible for Warren to copy later, unfortunately becoming bored when the results you were getting weren’t very exciting. Though, you don’t know what you were expecting from an introduction to rays and their fluid, Medulla was making you create the various bases that later get turned into the ray solution, so not much was going to happen. 

“You might not want to do that,” Medulla whispers to Warren, a mischievous smirk on his face. You look up from your data sheet, seeing Warren holding the Bromine dropper over one of your solutions, your eyebrows furrowing. “You know what’s gonna happen when you do that?”

Warren just shakes his head, his hand stiff as Medulla stares at him, waiting for Warren to figure out why he was doing something wrong.

“I suppose nothing horrible will happen if you were to combine it with the solution, why don’t you humor me?”

Warren doesn’t move for a second or two, like he was waiting for Medulla to laugh it off as a joke, squeezing the pipette when Medulla doesn’t falter. 

It was then your eyes caught the label of the bottle in Warren’s other hand. 

He was holding Petroleum, which was exactly what Medulla warned not to grab. 

The experiment you were doing required Bromine, which is another brown liquid in the same cabinet, and Warren must not have been paying enough attention.

The mixture was going to explode, not very big but it would probably scare the shit out of Warren.

You locked your eyes onto the liquid as it fell, clenching your jaw while holding it in place as best as you could. Manipulating the gravity of liquid is extremely hard, since it’s constantly moving, but you tried your best. 

Medulla sighs when the Petroleum droplet stops mid air, shaking his head as he grabs a petri dish from the counter. 

“Seems you have a pretty sharp partner, Mr. Peace,” Medulla looks up at you, a proud smile on his face. He gestures for Warren to stand back, taking the goggles out of his lab coat pocket and holding them to his eyes, his smile forming into a confident smirk. “If you would?”

You cock an eyebrow at Medulla’s antics, shaking your head and rolling your eyes as you let go of the droplet. 

A foot tall cloud explodes out of your beaker, sending a stifling ripple of sound through the room. Everyone flinches, slowly turning to you and Warren as the cloud settles. You found it funny how Medulla didn’t move a muscle, sliding his goggles into his coat again and gently taking the bottle and pipette out of Warren’s hand.

“Let’s be a little more careful next time, yes? You were supposed to grab Bromine, not Petroleum. Go figure, seems like something you’d do,” Medulla shot him a wry smile, which Warren weakly returned, seeming a tad embarrassed. “And thank Miss Stronghold for keeping your hair intact. You might have left looking like me if she didn’t foil my plans.”

A couple of chuckles rippled through the room as Medulla rubbed his bald head, Warren visibly relaxing when Medulla patted his shoulder, reassuring him he was only joking. 

Shuffling filters from the room next door. Medulla groans as he pushes the classroom door open, shouting over his shoulder about having to check on the hero-support students he had just scared half to death.

While he was gone, Warren silently took down all the results, leaving you to aimlessly pick at your nails. You couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that Warren’s sudden shift in demeanor had something to do with you. 

Had you embarrassed him? Did he not want your help? You thought you were just being nice, but maybe not. You tried to quiet the thoughts, but they kept gnawing at you with uncertainty.

Maybe he regretted talking to you. Maybe he already found you annoying, just like you had feared. Or, worst of all, maybe he actually hated you because of your dad, even though you wanted the opposite to be true. Maybe the fairytale ending where the Stronghold twins and Barron Battle’s son dance off into the sunset, the best of friends, wasn’t as possible as you were hoping. 

That only made you feel like a child more. 

As you mulled over these thoughts, you stole a glance at Warren. 

He appeared lost in his own world, his brows furrowed in concentration as he organized the results on his own paper.

Was he avoiding eye contact? Was he counting down the seconds before he could get away from you? The more you analyzed his behavior, the more convinced you became that you had somehow messed everything up already. 

“No one is harmed beyond repair, just some embarrassment and dust to sweep up,” Warren slides your paper across the counter and starts packing up, that mad scientist gleam burning in Medulla’s eyes as he walks back in. “Why don’t we wrap it up on a high note, hm? We’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

Medulla unlocks the fridge for you to store your solutions overnight, Warren running his hand through his hair as he puts your used dishes in the sink. 

You hoped he didn’t feel too embarrassed, it was a simple mistake, one that you probably would have made too if you hadn’t studied all summer. You grab a towel on your way back from putting your beaker in the fridge, taking the glass from his hand and drying it.

“You alright?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, uh,” he glances at you, handing you another beaker and looking back at his hands again, the glass unnaturally warm against your skin. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.”

You two finish cleaning the various dishes you dirtied, Warren leaving without another word, which didn’t give you a whole lot of confidence in him not hating you anymore. You hoped he didn’t think you were showing off or something. 

Your next class, Hero Etiquette, was good enough, though not nearly as eventful. You knew a few people from Power Placement, but you weren’t thrilled to be taught how to be prim and proper for the sake of the general public. It was annoying when your parent’s “Hero Etiquette” spilled over into their real life, your mom was better at turning it off than your dad. You doodled your way through it until it was time to head to the gym. 

The training rooms were on the second floor, where your Combat and Weapons class was. You were feeling a little less confident in this class than the two prior. 

You take a padlock from Boomer as you make your way into the locker room, shucking your bag off and taking out your gym clothes. 

You were a little annoyed that the school required you all to wear the same stuff, but you supposed they weren’t that ugly. It could always be worse. 

You put your hair up as you walked to what room you were supposed to be in, rolling your eyes at Boomer’s scribbled sign to “Leave your shoes at the door”. What the point of requiring your class to buy ugly white sneakers was, you’d never know. 

You put your phone in one of your shoes and walk over to where everyone is sitting, your eyes drifting to the guy sitting away from everyone else. Though, the red streaks in his hair became recognizable almost immediately.

Most of the people in this class were sophomores, with a few stray freshmen like yourself, so it seemed dramatic that they feared Warren still. 

You sat down, not too close to Warren but not too far either, hoping he didn’t get annoyed by your presence again. 

You all snapped to Boomer’s much too loud voice, the same ref-like uniform he had on during Power Placement. You wonder if he ever wore anything else.

“To the freshman who tested into this class, please don’t give me a reason to bump you back down to Fighting 101,” Boomer adjusts his hat, turning his clipboard to show you all the papers he was looking at. “I have predetermined your partners for this year, so I don’t wanna have any whiner babies. I took time to specifically match each and every one of you perfectly, so I don’t care if you don’t like it.”

He clears his throat, pointing to one of the painted fighting rings next to him.

“Peace,” Boomer looked up at him, the usual emotionless stare on Warren’s face as he got up and stood in his spot, arms crossed over his chest. 

You begged silently that he picked one of the other big guys to be his partner, you were already so nervous about your performance in this class, you didn’t need to be pummeled all year. 

“And…Stronghold. Front and center.”

You sigh under your breath, regrettably getting up and standing next to Warren, hoping that he wasn’t hating the idea of being your partner for the rest of the year in yet another class. 

“Now, does anyone know why I put these two together?” Boomer asks, a silent class the only response he got, drawing out a groan from him. “Really? No one?”

“Please don’t do the Bueller thing,” Warren says flatly.

A few people chuckled, including you. And you could have sworn you saw Warren’s lips turn up a fraction. Boomer just rolled his eyes. 

“Supervillains aren’t going to go easy on you just because you’re smaller than them,” Boomer starts, turning to put his clipboard down. “And some of them can be just as lethal without having to be bigger than you. Never underestimate your opponent.” 

Boomer clears his throat again, gesturing for you two to face each other. 

“This course is all about you guys learning how to fight without using your powers, you can’t always rely on them. You’ll learn how to apply your powers next year. Now, Peace: punch her.” Warren looks at him like he’s insane, earning an eye roll in return. “Not actually making contact, just making the move.”

Warren nods, gearing himself and throwing a punch toward your chest, your first instinct to take a step back. 

“Now, why did you do that?” Boomer asks, pointing to your back foot. 

“It gives me more time to learn about my opponent,” you respond sheepishly, begging that you weren’t wrong.

“Good. Peace, what did she learn?” Boomer continues, turning to Warren.

He thinks for a second, slowly lowering his fist, Boomer grabbing it and putting it right back where it was. The action makes Warren widen his eyes in annoyance. 

“That I’m right-handed,” he finally answers.

“Good. What else did you learn, Stronghold?”

“His wingspan is huge, and I could assume he has some sort of Pyro-type power,” you answer, Boomer’s face initially confused, as is Warren’s. “He has flame tattoos on his arms, it was just a guess.”

Both of them raise their eyebrows, Boomer thoroughly impressed which gives you an ounce of academic validation. 

“Well, you’re right, and little details like that are things you should all be looking for. She now has the upper hand because she might already know his power.”

Boomer has you and Warren go through a few more moves and a takedown he wanted to teach for class, impressed with how accustomed both of you were. He lets you guys have a break while he assigns the rest of the class, you and Warren taking turns at the water fountain.

“What’s your power then?” he asks, wiping his mouth with his thumb.

You look up from picking at your nails, a little surprised he was asking. 

“Gravitational Kinesis,” you respond, a small smile forming on your face when Warren tilts his head, confused. “It’s not terribly common, it skips around generations.” 

“So you can control gravity, with…everything?” he asks, leaning on the wall next to you.

“Pretty much. It gets harder depending on what else I’m trying to manipulate.” 

You clench your teeth when someone throws their partner on the floor a little harder than normal, their partner’s body sending a chilling thud through the room. You hoped Warren would be a little gentler than that. 

“Stopping a drop of liquid wasn’t too bad,” you continued, looking up at him. “But, if I tried to lift you? I could get hurt, get a migraine."

“Why?” he asks, seeming genuinely curious.

“I’m manipulating the object’s weight and the weight of the gravity that pulls on it, which is very heavy,” you explained, deciding to leave out what happens when you push your powers too much. It was ugly, and you knew it freaked people out. “If I don’t want my body to give out every time I use my power, I have to get a lot stronger before I graduate.”

The two of you both cringe as the same kid throws his partner on the ground way too hard, Boomer quickly scolding him about being at least a little gentle, turning to the two of you. 

“PEACE! STRONGHOLD! Break time’s over!” 

You and Warren begrudgingly stand off the wall and walk back over to the ring you were assigned. Boomer instructs you all to work on the take-down technique he had shown, insisting that you all shouldn’t throw your partner onto the ground as hard as you could, going to put some music on while you all spread out. 

“If you feel confident and want to practice it in context, you can do LIGHT sparring,” Boomer shoots the kid from earlier a look, turning up some classic ‘80s rock and moving to help some students who were struggling. 

You and Warren practiced the takedown technique for a few minutes. He was strong enough to catch you before you hit the ground, and you were grateful for his extra effort. You apologized each time you couldn't reciprocate the favor, but he reassured you it was fine. The small smile on his face when he would stand up was the only thing reassuring you that he was telling the truth.

Rolling out your shoulders, you felt a mix of satisfaction and anxiety. The successful takedowns were encouraging, but now it was time to actually try and fight him. 

The anticipation churned in your stomach, and you couldn't shake the nerves that whispered doubt in your mind. Each step felt like a countdown, and the doubts grew louder with every passing second. 

You took a deep breath, attempting to drown out the negativity and focus on the techniques you'd practiced. You were in this class for a reason, you tested into it. You tried to reassure yourself as best as you could but it fell on deaf ears in your mind.

"Alright," you said, tucking some hair behind your ear as you mentally prepared for the upcoming spar. You shifted into the fighting stance your mom had taught you, trying to flip through fighting strategy like you were cramming for a test. "Do you wanna go first?"

Warren nodded, assuming a similar stance and taking a few deep breaths. You tried to mimic his calm composure, but your own breaths came out shaky, your anxiety betraying you. He stared at you for a moment, something flickering in his eyes. The same thing that shifted in the lunch room. An emotion you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

He relaxed, stretching out his right hand. 

"I’m not gonna hit you, I swear," he reassures you. 

Sighing, you shook hands with him, attempting to summon confidence as you both returned to your stances.

"I'm sorry," you babbled, nerves rushing to the surface. "You're the second person I've ever sparred with, and you're A LOT taller and A LOT stronger than me, and I'm just a little nervous-" 

Your words cut off as you instinctively ducked, narrowly avoiding a kick to the head. Moving backward, you tried to retaliate with a roundhouse kick, Warren catching your foot mid-air. 

"Dude?!"

He smirked, effortlessly pushing your leg back and sending you onto the mat. The fighting instinct finally kicked you in the ass as you huffed in frustration.

He didn’t go easy on you. There were a lot of moments where you got red in the face trying to keep up with him. Your mind was running a thousand miles a minute, trying to flash through fighting strategy you should have memorized sooner.

Warren almost took you down, but luckily you wormed out of it, haphazardly slipping out of his arms and barely pushing yourself off the mat. You hated that you were already sweating and Warren seemed like he was just warming up. Your mom must have been letting you win all this time. 

Every time you tried to get an advantage on Warren, he found a way to counter it perfectly, and it pissed you off so much. Even if you had entirely no faith in yourself whatsoever, you were competitive. And you wanted to win, badly. 

Warren got you locked up in the take down again, teetering on pushing you. Something in your bones held your body stiff, huffing as you did your best to think of a way out of this horrible situation. 

With your heart pounding in your ears, you fumbled around for Warren’s foot with your own. After successfully finding it, you locked your ankle behind his, pulling your lips into a line as you ducked out of Warren’s hold. 

He still didn’t let go of your arms, but you didn’t need them anyway. You wrapped as much of your leg around his, taking in a breath before using all the strength you could to sweep Warren’s leg out from under him. He stumbled, his grip loosening enough for you to grab his shoulders, happily taking him down to the mat instead. 

Warren looked up at you, slightly winded as his back hit the ground harder than you intended. There was a mixture of surprise and respect in his eyes. 

You stood over him for a second, your arms tangled with his, making you awkwardly let go and kneel next to him. 

You were still trying to catch your breath, feeling a little bashful from how out of shape you felt. Your mom didn’t fight as quick as Warren did, you weren’t used to having to think that hard that fast. 

You extended a hand to help Warren up as you stood, a smile playing on your lips. He took it after a second, chuckling when you required your other hand and some struggling to get him off the ground. You couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment and pride. Maybe you were cut out for this after all.

Boomer gives you two a small applause, letting you leave the gym early since you picked up the lesson so fast. 

As you bent down, the soreness and hunger you worked up in the last half hour or so caught up with you. You opted to sit down for a moment, debating if putting on your gym shoes was even worth it, knowing you’d switch to your Chucks the second you got to the locker room. 

Balancing your elbows on your knees, you took deep breaths while checking your phone, smiling at the text your mom sent wishing you a good day. 

Warren seemingly had the same thought as you, picking up his shoes and going to leave, grabbing his attention when you offered him a fist bump. He bumps your fist gently, pushing the door open with his shoulder and letting it slam behind him. You tried to not look too deep into that as you stood up. 

It was most likely he wasn’t annoyed with you or something, but he was such a hard person to read, you hoped he didn’t grow to dislike you in a few minutes. 

The gym door swung shut behind you, the echo of sparring and ‘80s rock still lingering in the air as you walked towards the locker room. 

You stuff your uniform into your bag, in a pocket you wouldn’t open until you were home for obvious reasons. You were thankful you sized up, pulling off a tight, sweaty, light blue shirt every day would be a nightmare. 

You weren’t sure if you smelled that bad or if you were just too focused on it. Just to make sure you didn’t reek for the rest of the day, you rinsed off in the shower, tying your hair above your head. 

You were half dressed when the rest of the girls in your class started filing in. You hop a little bit as you pull on your black shorts, glad that your blue striped shirt reached down far enough. Your dad would have had a fucking fit if you got dress coded. Tying your maroon Chucks was more difficult than you’d like to admit, but once they were on, you grabbed your backpack and headed to your next class.

You pull out your schedule from your pocket, scanning the hall looking for your room. You take a long swig from your water bottle to try and curb your hunger, but your mind was elsewhere. 

Warren seemed nice. 

At least, a lot nicer than people let on. And he was smart.

You wondered what else people didn’t care to mention about him.

You also seemingly forgot what class you were looking for again. 140, Villain Training, right. 

You chug a little bit more of your water, happy that some of the lingering hunger went away, ducking into the correct room. There were posters on the door that said “Do it scared!” and “Don’t stop ‘til you’re proud!” You found them incredibly endearing. 

You hadn’t heard of your teacher before, he must have been young. 

As if on cue, a kind laugh sounded from the hallway, a man walking in after saying he’d talk to “Allen” later. Mr. Allen taught Secret Identities, something for juniors and seniors. 

After five minutes or so, the class was full, the buzz of conversation filling the classroom as you all waited for the second bell.

Mr. Keldron gave you all a warm welcome, turning on his projector to show a poster of a superhero you were unfamiliar with. He explained that it was actually him, a few years ago, “The Kaldron”. He admitted that the name he picked was corny, but that he didn’t see any other sensible option. He lifted each pant leg up, showing off state of the art bionic legs underneath, clarifying that they went all the way up to his hips. A freak accident, mission went bad. Mr. Keldron decided to become a teacher instead, and added that he assumed he wouldn’t lose half of his body teaching freshmen about supervillains. There were a few scattered laughs, which he happily encouraged. 

You gave listening during class your best effort, but you were finding it hard to focus. And, against your better judgement, your thoughts slipped back to Warren. 

He didn’t really live up to his reputation. Or, at least, he acted differently around you.

He enjoyed himself when you two were sparring, and he seemed to excel in combat, even if he was the one who ended up on the mat. You could only fear what he would be like fighting with a power like his.

You tried not to race out of the classroom when the bell rang, but your hunger betrayed you. 

Weaving through the sea of people bustling through the hallway, you were relieved to take a break when you finally found the lunch room. Though the school was built in a giant square, it was still confusing at times.

You grab one of the supposed “hero sandwiches” that the cafeteria ladies fussed about. It actually looked pretty appetizing, making you a little sad for the people on the hero support route. 

Hiking your bag over your shoulder, you added a few other items, settling for chocolate milk since the orange juice had run out, before turning to look for your friends.

Meandering through the lunchroom, a large frame looming over a book caught your eye as you scanned the room for Will or Layla. The entire table he was sitting at was empty, which intrigued you. 

A few girls from your Villain Training class went to sit down there, but when they saw who was sitting on the opposite side, they quickly changed their minds and walked away. 

The guy took a bite of his apple, the flame tattoos rolling down his arms making it all click.

Surprisingly, you didn’t immediately recognize Warren. 

He had his hair up in a bun, showing off the red streaks gladly. He was wearing a baggy band t-shirt, you gathered it was The Cure from the tour dates on the back, dates from when he wasn’t even born, jealous. Those leather bracelets you liked so much were on his wrists, along with fingerless leather gloves, which he must have ditched them for gym. 

He looked considerably different than he did earlier, and you found it funny how much of his identity hinged on the leather jacket draped over his backpack. 

You took note of the book he was reading, adjusting your bag higher on your shoulder. 

“Hi,” you greeted him, his face showing a twinge of surprise as he looked up at you. Hoping not to bother him, you continued. “I-uh…I love East of Eden.”

He looks down at his book as if he forgot what was in his hands, meeting your gaze after a moment.

“Me too,” he mumbled, his voice a little smaller than normal.

A barely there burst of excitement motivates you further, very happy that he wasn’t shutting this down.

“I don’t think I’ve read anything better,” you remarked, your smile growing as you notice how old the edition he had was.

“There’s better,” he quips.

You raise your eyebrows, your smile unwavering at his confidence. That was a strong take on Steinbeck’s magnum opus. 

“Like what?” you asked, interested to see what he could offer.

He’s quiet for a second, almost like he’s debating whether to share or not. 

“A Clockwork Orange is my favorite,” he replied, that information extremely fitting. 

“So that makes it the best?” you press, cocking your eyebrow at him. He shrugs, a small smile ghosting on his face. “By that logic, Little Women would be the best since it’s my favorite.” 

“That's still a great choice,” he falters, perhaps a little embarrassed about revealing he's read Little Women, but he goes on. “It’s just not A Clockwork Orange.”

“Oh, ok,” you tease, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

He fully smiles now, his eyes drifting to the fingers tapping on your arm. You look over your shoulder, finding Will standing there, urging you to hurry up. 

When you turned back to Warren, his smile was gone, and you were a little annoyed. 

Will was lucky he walked away, you would have blown up on him right then and there for being a nuisance.

Around you, the lunchtime bustle continued, students chattering and laughter filling the air. The clatter of trays and the distant hum of conversations merged into a backdrop of high school life.

“I’ve never read it,” you admitted, a little glum that Warren wasn’t smiling at you anymore. 

“You should,” he said, seeming to return to the emotionless state from before. “My dad read it to me when I was a kid.”

“That’s a bold choice.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles dryly, casting a glance in the direction of Will’s shrill voice yelling your name. “Did you inherit all the patience in the womb too?”

“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” you cringe, awkwardly scratching your neck, maneuvering out of the flow of students passing by, hoping Warren didn’t think this was bombing like you did. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Here,” Warren added, reaching into his bag, pulling out a white notebook covered in doodles and a few stickers on the front. “You can get it back to me tomorrow.”

You open it, the first couple pages filled with the notes you missed, and you notice more doodles on the inside cover that you had initially missed in class. Relief washes over you as you take it from his hands.

“You’re my hero, seriously,” you gush, his smile returning for a second, but it doesn’t last. “What classes do you have later? Maybe we’re close enough that I can get it back to you.”

“Uh, I have Hero Literature, Environmental Science, Pre-Calculus,” your face drops as he says that, and he chuckles. “I’m really good at math.”

“Clearly,” you exclaimed.

“Then I have Comic Painting two after that.”

“Yes!” you boasted, trying to contain your enthusiasm that someone else in this school had taken that class, hoping you didn’t come off too weird. “I’m taking the first course! Will told me it was dumb, but I thought it sounded cool.”

“The teacher is pretty chill, I really enjoyed it,” he replied.

“Cool,” you say with a grin, feeling the conversation flowing more naturally. “Well, I’ll give it back then. I really appreciate this.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll see you later,” you smiled, tucking his notebook under your arm.

“Later.”

You trudge over to where your friends were sitting, thumping Will upside the head as you sit down next to him, earning an outburst in return. 

“I was just making conversation, you didn’t have to ruin it!” you gripe at him, setting your bag on the ground.

“What did I even ruin?!” Will snaps back.

You roll your eyes, tucking Warren’s notebook under your lunch tray as you sit down.

“We don’t have to mindlessly hate each other because of our dads,” you snapped, unwrapping your sandwich, the superior quality catching the attention of your friends, who were quick to notice the jump in perks that came with being in the hero courses. “Warren’s actually pretty nice, if you ever spoke to him.”

Zach chuckles at Will, enjoying the banter, while Layla nods in agreement with your point, which you appreciate. 

“I don’t think he likes Will very much,” Magenta chuckles, taking a sip of her juice.

“I wonder why, Mag,” you replied, side eyeing Will as he glares at you.

Will shoves your shoulder, which you do back even harder, making Magenta regret she ever said anything as you two push and shove like kids, yelling a little too loud for the environment you were in. Layla steps in, breaking up the two of you and scolding you both to eat your lunch like responsible young adults, a familiar reminder, reminiscent of your mom's lectures. 

The rest of your day went by in a blur of classes and homework. You had a surprisingly pleasant time in Physics, finding the subject matter intriguing, even though you didn't have any idea what you were doing. Your Villain Origin class was a breeze, You took the boring introduction videos as an opportunity to catch up on your notes, and Comic Painting was something you were genuinely looking forward to. Magenta was taking Comic Painting also, you two chatted about the different art styles you loved, and you found out she’s a fellow Edward Scissorhands fan, which just made you like her even more. 

As the final bell rang, you told Magenta you’d meet her at the bus, taking out Warren’s notebook and throwing your bag over your shoulder. The prospect of returning Warren's notebook and seeing him again added a touch of happiness to your afternoon, though you didn’t give much thought as to why.

Entering the hallway, you spotted Warren already there, leaning up against a locker and the same spine broken, yellowed book in his hand. Leaning on a locker next to him, you handed him his notebook, appreciating the exchange of a small smile between you. 

"Thanks," he said, genuine gratitude in his eyes as he put his book under his arm.

"No problem. I enjoyed Comic Painting a lot," you told him gladly.

He nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Told you it's a cool class."

As you parted ways at one of the school exits, Warren surprised you by saying, "See you tomorrow, Stronghold."

You smiled. "Yeah, see you…Peace."

That nickname felt a little awkward coming out of your mouth, but it felt oddly fitting too, and it hinted at the potential for an interesting friendship between you two. 

As you left the school building, you couldn't help but feel optimistic about the days to come. You were determined to be friends with Warren, no matter how hard Will pushed that he still had this predetermined hatred for both of you. 

Well, maybe just hatred for Will, which you understood.