At that Spencer gives the college student his full attention, turning completely in his seat to face the stranger. 

“Actually, 7.6 million college students are estimated this year alone to be above the age of 25 so if I was here to attend this class in pursuit of a degree, then it would actually not be unusual despite my age.”

         Peter has no choice but to pause at that, brain whirring to process the precision and quickness of the man’s words. Despite the figures and statistics, one thing stood out to the redhead.

“Why do my age and being in this class relate at all?”

        “Aren’t you kind’a old to be in this class?”

         He tastes copper, like pennies and something salty. There’s gravel too all gritty on his tongue, likely from the punch he just took and the fall that pressed his cheek into the parking lot floor. The world sways and  Peter’s up and off the ground before he can think twice. Before he can process the zing of pain that flashes down his spine and right through his teeth. The redhead’s certain he’s more adrenaline than anything else at this point, nose aching and left knuckles bruising. 

          Peter knows he will lose this fight, might as well cut his losses and next time pick a target with less tattoos and muscle.

         In his left hand he holds the attacker’s wallet. In his right is an embedded shard of what was likely once a beer bottle. But the wallet, that was what mattered and with the finesse of a newborn calf Pan bolts like fire trails him. He runs, briefly hoping the stranger from the bar would assume cowardice, Peter’s stumbling more a theatric than genuine. His ego could take the blow if the wallet held more than twenty bucks. 

          As he turns a corner Pan slams face first into another body, falling back on his injured hand and the wallet skittering across the sidewalk. Right down a storm drain. He aims to scramble after it and misses, paying no heed to the body he’d just tackled.

“How I spend my therapy sessions is my own business. Are you taking any sort of action?”

He thought he was being SO sneaky, but Peter had seen him the moment he walked in. But perhaps that was because he was acutely aware of Pan at all times or maybe it was because the bright red hair made him almost impossible to miss. 

“Yo, Pan. Wrong Peter.” He says it casually, like it was an honest mistake but they both know it was anything but. He grins, almost wolfishly, leaning lazily against the counter. He caught him. He loves it when he manages to do that.

It’s a rare occurrence all things considering, Pan is one hell of a thief, but it does happen. Peter is one hell of a vigilante after all. He leans close, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

 “Gotcha.” He whispers.

      Peter’s pretty sure he has the situation under control, the prized drink in his hand and no cute brunet to be seen nearby to intervene. He’s buzzing with excitement and can’t wait to rub this in later because seriously it was just so easy. Peter indulges a victory sip––Which is exactly why Peter gets caught, the faultiness of his own arrogance betraying him once again. 

       Pan freezes when he hears Parker. Like a deer in headlights, body stiffening and surprise coloring his face. The kiss is soft, but electrifies the redhead. He wonders briefly if Parker could feel how his pulse jumped.

        “Just barely,” Peter scoffs, but the words come out softer like a whisper. He debates for a fraction of a second whether to take off and prolong his antics with a chase or to relinquish the drink. He chooses neither.

He fucked up, again. So what else was new?

He could feel in the air between them, the tension that lay hot and heavy pressing against his chest making it hard to breathe. The tall lanky blonde had never felt such a guilt as he did right now at this moment. He hadn’t meant to abandon Peter and without a word the entire time he was gone. Somehow leaving a measly little note now seemed WRONG on so many levels. Peter meant everything to Felix, but then again so did his art. If he ever wanted to get them out of this shit town it better mean a whole fucking lot. He almost lost his balance when Peter jerked him forward but he managed to catch himself, clumsily grasping a hold of Peter’s arms to steady himself as their eyes met. 

“I couldn’t call. My cell phone was stolen and well..” He paused, swallowing nervously. “I didn’t know it would have mattered all that much to you anyway.” Felix affections for Peter were deep, but it was unclear to him why Peter chose to stick around as long as he had. What did Felix have to offer him? He had nothing but a crummy apartment and barely enough money for food of which he spent mostly on Peter and did without himself. He saw this last minute opening as a chance, a chance to prove himself, that there was more to him that cracked ceilings and dirty walls. 

“Peter..I might have a chance at a scholarship to one of the best schools in New York. Can’t you understand how important this was for me? For us?” 

@secxnd–star

        Peter releases the blond’s shirt with disdain, hand dropping to his side. At least he had the satisfaction of making the other stumble, a feat in its own considering Felix was sturdy as they came. Like a switch, Pan takes a step back and composes himself, schooling the anger and pushing it aside. 

         “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. Not like I missed you anyways, always meddling in my brawls and shit,” Peter says with finality, his tone flat as if the emotion seeped from his bones and dissipated right into thin air. He could take his rage out on someone else later, work through it in the only way he knew how, repercussions be damned. His knuckles may protest, but at least Felix wouldn’t win, wouldn’t see how much his absence affected him. 

         “For us? How the hell am I going to move to New York?” He asks, eyes narrowing a fraction. The rage is suppressed, sure, but now confusion and uncertainty have taken it’s place. He’s never seen Felix’s artwork, perhaps it was his own fault for never asking to see it, but was Felix really that good? Would there even be room for Peter in such a world––An educated world nonetheless? 

“Tough. Choices.” Malfoy said through clenched teeth, obviously not amused anymore. A Wal-Mart receipt? The blonde blinked on that; was that just a name or an actual shop for… No, no. That would be ridiculous. Ignoring the most ‘interesting’ of choice prizes of them all, Malfoy snatched the paper out for Peter’s hand, turned it round this way and that, and scowled. “What is this list? Negative 0.20 sale - what does this mean?”

“Taco..bell..?” he mumbled under his breath glancing over towards him. “What is taco bell?”

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy decides to play along. “Pray tell. What prizes could you possibly offer?”