𝙋𝘼𝙏𝘾𝙃𝙒𝙍𝙆 !

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—ANONS ☕️

The apartment was quiet when you retreated into the small, lonely place. Slipping inside and locking the door behind you, you sighed, stripping your mask off and combing your hand through your hair.

It was early in the morning, and another sleepless night had turned into running around the city, avoiding public sight, and looking into the information your intel broker gave you. One turned out to be right, and you'd slipped into a poor man's store before they could even arrive, and you stopped the crime before it even happened.

You slumped onto the couch with a groan. Moral dilemma aside, you ruled it as attempt and shifted to your back and stared at the empty ceiling of the quiet apartment.

Vigilante work didn't pay, of course it didn't. And no matter how much that superhero dispatching company offered you, you weren't planning to join their roster any time soon. Though they did begin pitching in the idea of taking in ex-villains and criminals to reform them. Maybe you could consider that as a last resort.

But for now, your day job as a kindergarten teacher was enough to let you keep your shitty apartment and have food in the fridge. A small, sad apartment, but it was better than nothing.

Fishing your phone out from the pockets of your suit, you raised it to your face, sticking it to your palms to ensure it wouldn't drop right on your nose. The clock glared at your face, another sleepless night for an early work morning.

Five fifty-three. No point going to bed now.

٠ ࣪─────⭑

Flambae sat back on the couch, remote in his hands. Job hunting with his record was difficult. Sudden bursts of flame from mild inconveniences, his straightforward nature and considerably rude remarks, and his criminal record of, very notably, arson. Recruiters would no doubt be hesitant to even consider him.

He had botched about five interviews for the past few months. Some of his attempts to apply weren't even accepted at all.

Flambae tried not to linger on the thought, hoping to pass his day without getting irritated again. He switched the channels in search of something that could drown the noise in his head, before pausing at a familiar sight in the news outlet.

Vigilante hero, publicly known as 'The Spider'.

It made his lips twitch. A downward curve that could be compared to a sneer. He'd heard of 'The Spider' once or twice before in passing news reports. He didn't recognize you the night he encountered you, but he sure did now. A man who didn't work for the government, an unlicensed hero. No face, no name, just a title that the people decided.

In some way, you, too, were a criminal.

The news they were discussing wasn't about the night he tried to burn a warehouse down. That one had its own screentime yesterday, a short tidbit that focused less about his insignificant, failed crime and more about your sighting. But this one was about a breaking and entering that you stopped far too early in the morning, before the sun had even risen. Heroes from the Superhero Dispatch Network arrived long after you had left, after a call from an old man saying he found he offenders tied up in his untouched store.

He lingered in that channel for a while, staring at the only coherent picture the media had of you. A capture of your face through a broken window, half covered by your mask. It was shot from a distance, which made the quality drop significantly. Though he still recognized you, the man he met a few nights ago.

Reaching for his phone from the table, the screen partially cracked, he opened it and tapped into the search function. Typing in "the spider", he pinched his nose in distaste when he was met with studies about arachnids, a few shows and movies and even books of the same name, before correcting it to "spider vigilante" and finally ending up on an article about you.

You and your record of illegal heroic deeds. Your track record of catching quiet crime and undergrown activities covered in news articles that the police tried to keep hush hush. They couldn't let you take credit, after all. You were wanted in their eyes, too.

There was one that listed your known abilities. A dry list of two things—silk production, the very thing spiders were known for, and your webbed weapons. Daggers made from your silk that unravelled overtime.

Flambae's fingers twitched unconsciously. And he thought back to the package delivered at his doorstep just two nights ago. It was undoubtedly the package you had mentioned finding, but he wondered if you knew the package was for the man you had tried to capture that night. And he wondered if you still would have given it to him if you did know.

That thought latched onto his head like the stupid silk that wouldn't scrub off his shirt. It dug deep in his senses and now he was sure he wouldn't be able to get rid of you even if he tried. And he wasn't sure why. He should be thankful you brought the package to him, grateful that it didn't get lost or dropped at sea or something.

He should be thankful you didn't know him.

Flambae closed his phone and changed the channel. He didn't need another crisis today.

٠ ࣪─────⭑

Standing outside the school building, looking for his niece, Flambae had his arms crossed sitting on the bench. He often picked up his sister's daughter for her, seeing how busy she was. And her classes often ended before her shift did. He loved his niece to death, so he took up the responsibility to pick her up ever since he began living at her place.

A grin found its way to his face when she saw her, five years old and full of energy, bouncing towards him with a friend by her side. She told him about her day, about her favourite teacher who let her draw when she couldn't sleep during naptime, and talked and talked. An endearing habit that most children her age had.

Then her eyes fell onto something behind her uncle. Eyes lighting up, she yelled out excitedly before hurrying over to someone. When Flambae turned around, he paused.

Too similar. He couldn't tell with images the media had, all cut or low quality and pixelated, but he could tell from his memory. Still fresh with something bitter when you stood in front of him.

Greeting the young girl with a gentle pat on the head, you smiled down at her. And when she told you her uncle had come to pick her up, you looked up and met his eyes. Of course you would recognize him quickly. The only thing he used to cover his face was a hood, and he made the mistake of making a flame that let him be visible in the darkness.

You tilted your head slowly. "…Your sleeves are burning, sir."

He clenched his fist and snuffed them out, forcing a smile. "My bad."

You looked down at the young girl. "Hey, why don't you play a bit at the slides? I want to talk to your uncle for a bit."

Eager and blissfully unaware, she ran off to the waiting area of the school, a playground for the kids. You looked back up, finding the man from before already looking back at you.

You stepped closer calmly. "Afternoon."

Crossing his arms and making sure there was no other kid in earshot, Flambae shot you a look. "Cut the bullshit. I recognize you."

"I feared you would." You sighed. "I wasn't as careful with covering my face as much as I usually was."

"Now what? You gonna take me to prison, lock me up?" He narrowed his eyes at you, a defensive feeling bubbling in his chest. There was camera footage, after all. Even when most of his face was covered, he had a record for arson and they would surely believe it if you said it was him.

"What? God, no." You shook your head like ridding the thought from your head. "I don't work with the cops. I just catch criminals and let the cops deal with it after. Take it as a… fair trade. You have my identity, I don't put you in prison."

Then, you looked at his niece, so young and full of vibrance. She's mentioned her uncle a few times, a family member she deeply cared about and often relied on when her mother was busy. "It seems like there's people who need you, anyways."

Flambae followed your gaze and bit his tongue. Then he looked back at you. "What, we're treating this like some kind of truce?"

"I doubt we'll be seeing much of each other, anyways." You shrugged reached your hand out. "Maybe unless you're actively looking for me in the school. Or causing trouble outside work hours."

Looking down at your hand, the same feeling from before boiled in Flambae's chest. Stronger and angrier. But he kept the peace for now, he didn't want to cause trouble, not when his niece was still within sight, and not when there were other people close by.

He took your hand firmly. Palms warm like a warning, barely a flame. "Fine."

"Great. Nice knowing you." You tried to take your hand back, but he held it still with an odd look in his eyes. "Hello?"

"…That package you mentioned you found," he started before he could think, and then he couldn't stop himself. "Did you know it was mine?"

That fact surprised you. After you had tracked the location and the name of the receiver, you were quick to drop it off the doorstep of the house. "Really? Hope it didn't dent much."

"It was a toy for my niece," he grumbled, finally pulling his hand away as soon as he realized how awkward you two probably looked. "Thanks."

"That stuffed spider she brought with her? Cute." You chuckled at the thought of it. You had read her a children's book about spiders once and she told you they didn't feel scary to her. And now she loved the little things.

"No worries. Glad it got back to her." Taking a step back, you waved him goodbye, waving at his niece, too, when she began yelling goodbye's, too.

Flambae stood there, watching as you retreated back into the school building, out of sight. He felt his niece grab onto his hand, still full of energy, but he stuck to the ugly feeling bubbling in his chest. Something strange he couldn't recognize, didn't want to recognize.

You had his name, you technically had his address now. He had your face, he could probably check the school records for your name, but if he went to the police and tried to turned you in, they probably wouldn't believe him. You had all the opportunities to be able to send him behind bars, or at least leave him where the cops or the heroes could get him. But you let him walk off without even a warning.

You were too nice to someone like him.

He looked down at his niece. That stuffed spider still in her hands. She looked up at him, grinning with a missing tooth.

"…Do you want ice cream?" Flambae asked her.

"Yeah!"

—PATCHWRK !

This side of the city was always quieter at night. Closer to the pier, far from the busy streets where night life was prominent. Unassuming warehouses that can store at least a dozen of those large crates with plenty of probably unimportant items. Items that could more or less be categorized into, in its simplest form, fire starters.

It was the one thing in Flambae's head as he snuck inside the gate, unguarded by employees who were probably paid too little. He would have felt a little more guilty towards them if he wasn't as angry as he was at the moment, flames singing his fingers as he recalled the very petty reason he was there in the first place.

The shipping company he had entrusted with his life and soul lost his package. One that contained a very important gift to his very important niece.

So, reasonably, he came to burn down their warehouse. Maybe after double checking the logbooks to see if it was just thrown around somewhere and forgotten.

Peeking out from behind a wall, his eyes narrowed on security employees sitting in their posts. One was asleep, the others close to. Easily slipping into the shadows, he walked past them, careful not to make a sound, and entered the open building. Flambae tilted his head to look up at the stacked cargo, his eyes twitching. Impatience was already filling his system, so he decided to do the second best thing—the first being burning everything on sight—and look for the documents.

After so much searching and cursing at himself for deciding to be logical for once, he finally found the room where all important documents were kept. A small office tucked to the side, the door unlocked. Mentally adding the room to his to-burn list, he stepped inside.

And immediately, he walked right into a web.

"Oh—what the fuck?" Pulling away, Flambae tried to wring the thing away from his face and especially his hair with a deep scowl, but they insistently stuck to the sleeves of his jacket. With a low growl, he set his palms ablaze to try and burn them off. Most detached to him, while a stubborn line melted onto his shirt. He grumbled to himself, stepping further into the room. "Great. Now it looks like someone busted on me."

Shrugging it off for the meantime, deciding there were more important things, he dug around the place until he finally found one of the logbooks. And when he peeked inside, at illegible writing, he decided that he had been patient for too long and fire was the best and only solution to his problems.

Before he could set it ablaze, however, something dripped onto his hand from above. Like the little silk threads that he had melted, sticking stubbornly onto him. "Fuck, that's disgusting!"

"My bad."

Flambae froze at the sound of another voice. Instantly, he took a step back and raised his head, meeting face to no-face with a man whose face was half hidden, perched on the wall just above him. Now taking a defensive stance, he flicked the silk away from his hand and fire grazed his palms. "Who the fuck are you?"

Carefully, you hopped down from the wall and landed on the soft part of your shoes, muffling the sound entirely. Standing up and dusting yourself off, you gave a small, polite wave. "Hello."

"Who the fuck are you?" Flambae repeated, hissing the words out, the flame in his hands burning brighter now.

"Okay, geez. Calm down." Raising your hands in surrender, you kept a safe distance between you and the man before you. "I was just in the area trying to return a package I picked up when I felt someone walk into my web. Thought it was an employee I could talk to but I see I'm mistaken."

Flambae narrowed his eyes dangerously, examining the man in front of him. There wasn't much to tell except the silk, which had definitely been part of your power. Most of your features were covered by a mask, and a cloak completely hid your torso. But if the webs were any giveaway, then he could probably assume you were some kind of arachnid or something related.

"Yeah, and you're not going to stop me from burning this place down, spider bitch."

You kept your calm and assessed the situation. It was obvious this guy was angry, really angry, and you felt like words weren't something that would go through him at the moment. Eyes fiery, both literal and not. But if you could get out of a situation without starting a fight, you would rather do so. "Alright, sir, let's just calm down. We don't need to—"

There were flames charging towards you before you could finish, and you ducked down just before they could catch your hair. You cursed lightly, ensuring your little carrier was unburnt, then chasing after the man, barely able to catch up. Fire wrapped arond his shoes, spreading to everything flammable it touched while also providing him a considerable speed boost. And to add to that, he was throwing balls of fire behind him, aiming at both you and at the cargo.

Fighting between catching the man and protecting the warehouse, you skidded to a stop as soon as you made your choice, turning your back just as Flambae managed his escape. You rushed to the fire extinguisher, mentally thanking whichever employee was competent enough to keep check if they were filled, before aiming them at the fires and putting them out before any major damage could be done.

Once everything was extinguished, you sighed in relief, taking a moment to catch your breath then returning to the warehouse's office, deciding to search for the owner of the package yourself. The delivery staff were going to have an absolute field day once they found the foam on their cargo, the extinguisher empty, and after watching the security feed.

You picked up the logbook the man from before dropped on the ground in panic. Taking the package out of your carrier, you compared the details to the shipment logs before finding one that matched, marked as missing. Noting down the address, you headed out of the building before anyone could catch you there.

٠ ࣪─────⭑

As soon as Flambae was out of the warehouse, he didn't look back. He ran around and tried to lose the man he thought was chasing after him, laughing to himself as soon as he jumped out of the gate and saw no one behind him.

He retreated to a nearby building, he climbed the fire escape to the rooftop, getting a good view of the pier, just to see the fruits of his labour. Waiting for the fire to grow in size and consume the building.

Only to realize moments later that there was no fire, and you had probably managed to snuff it out. And that only made him angrier.

"Fuck!" Kicking a vent by his side, he stomped down the fire escape and back down to the alley he ran into, bringing his hood up his head and shoving his hands into his pockets. Walking through the streets, smoke angrily seeping from between his teeth, he paced around trying to find another solution in his head. Money wasn't the issue, he could probably find a way to get back without borrowing. It was the fact that the gift was a limited item, and he had barely managed to snag the last stock.

Yelling into a different alleyway, he kicked a trashbin down before stomping back to his temporary home, his sister's place. His steps slowed and lightened to something almost like disappointment directed at himself, before they completely stopped just outside the door.

"What?"

On the welcome mat was a package. There was a silk-like substance sticking a note onto the box. 'To mister Chad. Found your package, safe and sound! The shipping company probably dropped it on the way to the storehouses, I found it on the ground while scouting the area. Have a great day!'

After a few moments of just staring at the box, he carefully peeled the plastic off and took a peek at the contents. Beady eyes stared up at him, a smile so stupid it was partially infectious. A plushie of a character from a show his niece had been obsessing over for the past months.

He took the thing out of the box, staring at it with narrowed eyes. Round body, eight limbs. The sight of it made Flambae's eyes twitch, just momentarily, as he remembered the encounter from earlier.

"…I hate spiders."

—PATCHWRK !

٠ ࣪⭑ First Meeting — Kill It With Fire

He got caught in some weird ass web but he'd just melt it right off. It stuck to his skin, stubborn and nasty. A foreshadowing, maybe a metaphor, but he was just here to burn shit.

٠ ࣪⭑ First Meeting — Don't Know You

That single, good deed left a mark on him. He just wasn't sure if it was a pleasant thing, or spiteful feeling. One thing he was sure of, however, was that he didn't like not knowing.

٠ ࣪⭑ ...

...

—PATCHWRK !

Fire kissed his fingers, a power blessed for a man as destructive as him. Hooded, physique covered—he didn't quite have his suit made yet—he stalked in the alleyways and slid in between buildings, location pinned in his head. An old building, basically abandoned. The things inside it were calling to him, piles and piles of documents made for burning.

Flambae stood outside the building, the corner of his lips twitching up to a smirk as he clenched his fist, sleeves pulled back to his arm to prevent them from burning off. Adjusting his hood, he stepped closer, ready to burn the door off its hinges and set the place ablaze.

"Hey."

Upon the entry of an unfamiliar voice, Flambae stopped. Not quite threatened yet, but wary. He looked to the side, to the gate left ajar, and spotted a man leaning against it. Casual, half his face covered by a mask, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes closed.

How did he miss the guy?

"Tch." Flambae straightened his posture and glared sharply. "Who the hell are you?"

You opened your eyes, lifting your gaze from the ground, and met his. "Oh. Nobody. Just here to set a warning."

Pushing yourself off the gate, you walked towards him. Steps light and quiet, he couldn't even hear anything. Which, for a man with your build walking on a cobble path, was odd. "So, actually, I'm supposed to be watching over this place until the guy who owns it comes back and takes the shit inside. I know him personally by the way, he said he'll come back by next week with the guys to pick it up. So if you don't mind—"

Flambae scoffed, eyes twitching. Who the hell were you and why were you suddenly here? The last time he checked out the place, there weren't any weird people claiming to be an abandoned building's guardian. "You fucking talk to much, you know that? The fuck do you want?"

You were beside him in a blink, and Flambae hated how he felt his body shiver, beginning from where you popped up. "I just wanna talk. Keep this place preferably not burning."

His glare sharpened, fire in his eyes. "How the fuck do you know about my powers?"

"Now, now. That's not the right thing to ask." You faced him, calm and composed. Even with a smile he couldn't quite see, but the way your eyes crinkled just short of dangerously made Flambae grit his mouth. "You have to be more careful, Flambae."

A threat burned against his throat, fingers alight before it extinguished uncommanded. And you were inches away, pulling him to your level with eyes narrowed. "You can walk off unharmed. Or you can try to burn my pants off and fuck with me, but I won't be as charming about it."

"Charming?" He spat the words out, forcing intimidation down. No way he was feeling threatened by some creep who hid in shadows and had silent steps. "Please. I've met straight men more charming than you."

"Ouch. Okay, stings." Sighing dramatically, you pulled back. "Your choice."

٠ ࣪─────⭑

The moment Flambae entered the SDN building that morning, he instantly felt a pair of eyes on him. A shiver crept up his spine—why did it feel familiar?

But when he looked around and found nothing, he shrugged it off and continued towards wherever the Z Team usually went to meet up before work started. They were as chatty as ever, waiting for the shift to begin and for Robert to eventually begin sending them out. Even Waterboy was there, slowly becoming comfortable with everyone.

"Hey! Did you hear?" Prism asked when he approached and sat beside her.

Leaning back on the arm rest, Flambae narrowed his eyes instantly. "Heard what?"

"We have—there's a hero—someone is—" Waterboy stuttered over his words. Probably more so than usual, sounding almost excited.

"A hero's visiting the SDN, apparently," Malevola said for Waterboy, giving him a thumbs up when he nodded in thanks. "One of those heroes who's not super into the media. Apparently the only picture they've gotten from him is the left side of his face, but he wears a mask nose down so they only have, like, a quarter of his face."

Something like familiarity itched in Flambae's head. Though he couldn't pinpoint what it meant and why. "Huh. Is that why Waterboy's more wet today?"

"I'm not—It's—" Waterboy sighed, giving in. He brightened up, at least, when Prism reassured him it was just a joke.

"Right, no big deal, I'm sure," Flambae said sarcastically, and instantly felt something prick at his spine. His brows furrowed at the odd sensation, and the door opened as someone entered. He would have assumed it was Robert if the team didn't go silent, assessing the newcomer, and if Waterboy hadn't squealed like how he had met Phenomaman for the first time.

"Hello," a voice greeted. And it was so vividly familiar it made Flambae's hair stand on its end like it was set ablaze. That voice.

His head whipped around, and there he found you. You, he clearly remembered. Meeting just a few days before he burnt the building that Robert cut his fingers off in. You who served him his ass on a silver platter with that annoying smile under that stupid mask. And god, he found the way you did it so hot that you were permanently etched in his memories and he couldn't go on a date properly without wondering if he'd somehow stumble upon you.

He took a sharp breath in, trying to regulate whatever was burning inside him. He was a hero now, he reminded himself, and considered how he might have been in the wrong for trying to burn off a building with so much paperwork.

And then you spoke again. Directly at him now. "Oh, hey. Fire guy. Flambae, was it?"

"Woah, man. You pissin' off heroes left and right?" Prism asked him, nudging his side. "First it was Mecha Man, now you've got an underground hero at your ass too?"

He hissed at her to shut up, the flames that once sparked from his knuckles creeping up to his cheeks in a steady warmth and made his face red. "At least I've faced actual heroes."

"Wow, you consider me an actual hero?" You beamed, eyes crinkling at the corners. Different from the way before, now making you look harmless almost. "How sweet. I knew you were reasonable."

"Are you kidding—joking?" Waterboy piped up, hands held close to his chest. "You're like—you are an actual hero! You're so—you're super c-cool… awesome."

You tilted your head, eyeing him with an odd look that made him shrink back. "Oh, cool. Wearing swimwear, sometimes stutters. You're the kid I'm mentoring?"

"M-mentoring!" Waterboy could pass out anytime soon. "Wow! M-me, seriously? Really?"

"So that's why you're here." Malevola said.

"Wait, wait—you're mentoring him?" Flambae gaped. "So, theoretically, how long will you be here?"

The question made you pause. You didn't really know how long, Blonde Blazer simply gave you a task, promising that you'd be kept out of the media, and you simply accepted it without much thought. "Dunno, actually. However long it takes me to."

Flambae cussed. He was not ready for this.

٠ ࣪─────⭑

One week in, and Flambae was already hating it. Whenever you weren't mentoring Waterboy on basic defence tactics, you were somehow always within his sight and Flambae found that it set his nerves on fire. And he hated that feeling, it made him want to punch you in the face. Specifically on your mouth. With his.

Flambae cussed, he couldn't be getting distracted again. His performance was already slipping, he didn't need a reason to rank lower.

Unless that meant getting to be mentored by you.

Unconsciously slowing down in the air, Flambae shook his head before jolting back to life and soaring back to the SDN building, dropping into the landing pad and dusting himself off, walking inside when he heard your laughter from the comms and he bit his tongue.

"Saw what you did out there," you spoke to him directly. Maybe to him, he was the only one in the Z Team who had been on a mission for the past thirty minutes, after all. Unless you were talking to Waterboy again but he hadn't been out, as far as Flambae knew.

But you said his name. "Great job, Flambae."

He would be riding the high of that praise for the next several weeks. Not even Robert could bring him down from this. Puffing his chest up and smirking, Flambae responded. "Yeah, no shit. I'm great, I know. Of course you'd notice."

He strided into the office, brushing off the looks the others gave him, and sneakily finding his way to the training room where you inevitably were. Standing by the side, a timer in your hands, ticking down the time as Waterboy sat cross legged on the ground trying to calm himself and keep himself dry.

Flambae lingered, hesitating. Why was he acting like some high school kid with a crush? He just so happened to head over to the training room, and he definitely did not have a crush on the same guy who beat his ass—in an attractive way—a few years back.

Luckily, you clicked the timer and smiled. And oh, how Flambae wished that was directed at him instead. "You lasted ten seconds longer this time. Great job."

"Really?" Waterboy looked up with a grin, and a drop slid down from his nose. "O-oh, sorry—my apolo… I'll-I'll get better."

"You're good, kid." You patted his head from his sitting position, not even minding that your hand was wet, and gestured to the door. "Go take a break. Come back in… twenty."

Waterboy nodded, leaving the room and heading for the break room, nearly shrieking when Flambae's presence startled him. "I-I didn't see—didn't notice you were there…"

"Uh huh," Flambae, half distracted, only brushed him off and entered the room, walking over towards you.

Head ducked into a clipboard, scribbling something down with nimble fingers, you looked up when you heard footsteps. Raising a brow at Flambae, you waved, tugging your mask down your face to breathe a little clearer. "Hey," you said without obstruction. "What's up?"

Crossing his arms, Flambae stared at you, trying to understand something. And when he didn't speak, you copied his pose and faced him.

"So," he started, finally. "You remember the first time we met?"

"Hm? Oh, yeah." Your eyes drifted up and his drifted to your lips, scarred on the bottom. "The guy who owned that place came back the day after, by the way. Emptied out the place, hired some company to tear the building down. I would have come looking for you to burn it down for free but I considered you might have felt embarrassed."

Flambae snorted. "Embarrassed? I never feel embarrassed."

"Uh huh. Where are you going with this?"

He was definitely feeling embarrassed right now. He wouldn't voice it though, biting his tongue as he mulled over the words again and again in his head. "When I said I found straight men more charming than you."

"Ouch. Still stings." You winced and he laughed. "Here to take that back?"

"Maybe." Flambae found pleasure in the brief moment of surprise and confusion that made its way to your face. "Got a problem?"

"Maybe," you copied, and found equal amounts of pleasure in the scowl that crossed his face. "But I'll let being potentially asked out in the middle of my work pass."

He looked around the training room. "What work? You sent Waterboy out in a break."

"Just because Waterboy is on break doesn't mean I am. I'm still writing notes for him." You raised the clipboard and Flambae rolled his eyes.

"Fine. You free tonight?"

"Sure. Time?"

"After work."

"Immediately?"

"No shit."

"Alright, jeez. Bossy."

"Fuck you."

Flambae was, rightfully, down bad.

The sound of laughter filled the crisp air. Two reckless boys in an autumn afternoon, a pickup truck driving around browned leaves, crunching under the tires.

"Hurry up, loser!" A young Flambae—back when he was still Chad more than anything—yelled out to his friend. Sitting at the back of a truck his dad was driving, watching his friend chase and chase.

"Give me your hand, asshole!" And you, just as young as he was, laughed. Picking up your speed to match that of the car, hand stretching out. And Chad reached back, grasping onto your hand with a grin before masterfully pulling you up with him. And the two of you fell into a fit of stupid laughter.

"That was so stupid, my mother's going to kill me," you said in between uncaring heaves and a silly grin. "Oh my god, she was right. You're a bad influence."

"Nah, you're stuck with me." Chad nudged your shoulder and cackled, laying on his back to stare up at the sky while the car drove off to some field where people were setting up decorations and events and games for Halloween.

You laid behind him, arms crossed behind your head as you followed his line of sight. The falling leaves and the big blue sky. Just you and your companion.

"What do you wanna be when you grow up?" He asked out of the blue, uncharacteristically quiet. And you paused in thought, never quite thinking it through yet. You were young after all, ambitious and carefree.

"A hero would be cool," you whispered back, closing your eyes. "Like the new Mecha Man. He's so cool, he's got lasers and jets and bombs!"

"Hey, I've got fire powers!" He sat up and leaned on his elbows, shooting a weak glare at your way. But he couldn't stop the twitch his lips made upwards when you laughed, and he did too. "But… yeah. Maybe Mecha Man is cool. Or whatever."

٠ ࣪─────⭑

"Light this up for me, fire boy."

"Fire boy? C'mon, I'm sure you can do better than that shit."

Voices deeper, lives a bit harder, two friends sat on a high school rooftop, leaning onto the railings staring at the sky. You reached a cigarette towards Chad, to which he pinched the tip in between his pointer and his thumb and lit it up.

"Like you've got better names for yourself," you snorted, bringing the stick to your lips, inhaling, and blowing the smoke into the air.

"I was kinda thinking of Flambae," he said, letting the words slide off his tongue. Smooth, beautiful. "Yeah, that's right. Wha'd'ya think, eh? Flambae."

"Cute."

A pause, a scoff, an attempt at masking embarrassment for irritation. "Ex-fucking-scuse me? Cute? It's goddamn hot if anything. Because ya know, fire and shit. You couldn't make a name if your life depended on it."

Another drag, another blow. You tested the name on your mouth and Chad bit back a smirk. Or a grin. Or a smile or something that was too soft to be him.

"So, like… Flambae, who controls fire?"

"And the flame."

"And the flame, uh-huh."

"And my skin does not burn."

"And your skin does not burn, yep. I got the gist of it."

A pause, and the two of you shared a chuckle. He combed his hair back and looked up at the drifting clouds, the smoke from your cigarette blending in the air.

"This school is shit," you broke the silence with a sigh, finally acknowledging why the two of you were on the rooftop, him with burnt cuffs on his uniform sleeves and an anger far too strong for a teenage boy. "Detention for defending yourself from those assholes."

"Yeah, well you got detention for punching him on the nose." Chad eyed your bruised knuckles, still untended to. "Let me—fucking—at least clean that up."

"Looks kinda cool though, right?" You raised your dominant hand and grinned proudly. "Got to deck a homophobe. In a way, it was also defending myself, y'know?"

He laughed, crossing his arms. Those words settled warmly in his chest, like a reminder that the two of you were, in more ways than one, similar.

"…So, like, you wanna go burn shit in the old garbage dump? After you preferably get that shit dressed."

"Aw, so sweet. You care about me." You snorted, pressing the butt of the cigarette onto the railings, letting the fire completely die first, before discarding it onto the floor.

"Lead the way, Flambae."

٠ ࣪─────⭑

"So, what, your highschool sweetheart gave you the name?" Prism raised a brow, leaning back on the chair as she crossed her arms, throwing one leg over the other. "That's adorable."

Flambae glared at her, mirroring her pose from the other side of the table. "We weren't highschool sweethearts, we were just friends."

"Who walked too close on the sidewalk and nudged each other's feet under the table." Prism gave him a look. "Been there, done that. Seen too much of it, too."

"Okay, fine, maybe there was something between us." Flambae scowled, finally admitting for over ten years that maybe, maybe, he did dream of kissing the stupid boy who always held a stupid smile in his stupid lips. Maybe more than once, he imagined leaning close to light the cigarette with his lips and burn the stupid smirk off his face. "Doesn't matter anyways. He moved away before the last year of college before I could even think of wanting to confess. Things got tough and we lost contact."

"So your name origin is a depressed romance story."

"It wasn't romance. It was—"

"—Wait, shit, what if I tell all my followers and—"

"—Don't you fucking dare—"

"—I'm sure it'll make its way to him and you two can reunite and stop being a depressed ass about it."

Flambae deadpanned. In hindsight, it was stupid, but he couldn't help the little tug in his chest.

"That's bullshit." He scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"You're bullshit," Prism retorted.

"You're both bullshit, what the hell are you doing?" Robert chimed in as he entered the break room, narrowing his eyes at them both. "We have an SDN recruiter coming from another state with a villain wanting to join the phoenix program. They're planning to slot him in the z-team, so please be on your best behaviour. Not… this."

"Yeah, yeah, sure. I call dibs on the rookie if he's cute."

"Ain't no way, bitch! Telling me about your dramatic backstory and then calling dibs on the first cute boy you see!"

٠ ࣪─────⭑

Statistically, it would have been about zero percent that this could happen. But Flambae always sucked at math, so he wasn't entirely sure.

Maybe it was closer to a point one percent.

"So, team, as you've already been notified, we have a new member. Treat him kindly, yeah? Go on, introduce yourself."

Flambae never considered himself lucky. But at this exact moment, it seemed like all his misfortune piled into nothing, and he landed right into lady luck's gentle hands.

And it felt like an autumn afternoon. Or a school rooftop in the evening. And it smelled like the back of an old trunk and cigarette smoke and burnt trash.

Flambae stood up abruptly, chair pushing back with a deafenong noise. Heads turned his way, but he only pointed at the man standing beside Robert. "You."

"Flambae, what are you—"

"Shut up, Robert."

He pushed past the other chairs and headed towards you, standing there like nothing mattered. Smiling like you weren't a wanted criminal from some other state, willingly letting yourself get caught and recruited by SDN to put into their phoenix program as soon as you saw him on the news.

"I found you," you said so softly, and Flambae froze. You were always the more openly sentimental between the both of you.

"I—y-you—" he stumbled over his words like obstacles to what he wanted to say. I missed you. I hate you. Why are you here? Why now?

You're as beautiful as the day I lost you.

But gritted his teeth and managed a scowl that didn't seem all that angry, grabbing the front of your shirt and bringing you close to his face. His hands threatened to burn, but you placed yours over his and they extinguished like embracing your familiar presence.

He spun a wheel in his head and forced out one of the many, many things that threatened to spill from his burning throat, extremely unprepared for the sudden reunion.

"…You still look like shit."

His grip loosened, and you chuckled. "Do I? You're the one in fireproof latex—is that latex?—and a six'o clock shadow."

"You used to say you were into that!"

"And I still am."

Neither of you were sure who pulled who in, but lips crashed and the boardroom was filled with shouts. Prism cheering on Flambae, a few confused woahs, and Robert mumbling about an ineffective HR policy.

He pulled away, just to whisper against your lips. Something soft and vulnerable just for you. "You are never leaving my sight ever again."

And he pulled you back in.

Maybe you could pardon the burns he left on your shirt.

—Flambae | Chad ٠ ࣪⭑ Me & You

Twice he'd told Prism about you. And you were stupid and smiling and you were luck in his hands.

٠ ࣪⭑ Fuck you! (in subtext, i wanna kiss you)

Did you enjoy being unseen in the sidelines and slipping into cracks to hide from sight? Did you enjoy slithering into the crevices and worming your way in his heart? (don't answer that)

٠ ࣪⭑ One Shot Series — Itsy Bitsy Spider

Somehow, they keep meeting. Him and that vigilante hero the news kept calling "The Spider". Flambae hated him, he really did, but hate was too simple of a description and whatever feeling that was in his chest wasn't as plain.