#copper standard

Set directly after this Wordcount: ~480

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“It was Alex, wasn’t it?”

Gwyn’s question is a bit unexpected, interrupting the silence they’ve fallen into while AC/DC plays out of the background. They’re lying side by side on top of Tommy’s sheets, just staring at the ceiling while they come back to level after the afternoon’s revelations. 

“What was?”

“He made you realize that you’re, y’know…” she trails off, but the implication is clear. 

“Is it that obvious?” Tommy asks, resigned.

“Only because I know what to look for, with the power of hindsight.”

He sighs. “Do you remember the day Flash threw that peach at you?” he asks, realizing a moment too late how mean that sounds. “I mean— of course you do, but like, after that part.”

Gwyn laughs at him. “You mean when he called Flash out on his shit and decided to give up any semblance of social status to sit with us? No, it doesn’t ring a bell, actually.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Anyway, that’s what made me realize, I guess. I liked that it wasn’t really about me, that he just wanted to do the right thing, y’know?”

He feels Gwyn shrug. “I guess.”

“I just—” He makes a noise somewhere between a frustrated groan and embarrassed whine. “He looked so fucking happy to be there, and I’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly in my life.”

“Ugh, I can’t believe you fell for a jock,” she teases. “I don’t think we can be friends anymore.”

“Oh yeah? And who was your lesbian awakening then? You’re friends with me, so your taste in women can’t be that good,” he retorts, sitting up to look at her.

“MJ,” she answers easily, like her answer requires no justification, which is pretty much the truth.

“I stand corrected. Fair enough.” He flops back down onto the mattress. 

“I think I always kinda knew,” Gwyn says after a pause. “Other girls would get excited about holding hands with boys on the playground or go on and on about the newest heartthrob actor, and I just kinda went along with it.”

“I thought people were exaggerating,” Tommy replies. “Like it was some big inside joke or something. It took me a long time to realize I was thinking about Alex the way people talk about their crushes. I guess now I know why I liked watching Christopher Reeves run around in tights so much.”

“Speaking of tights, are we gonna talk about the other thing?”

“If we must.”

Gwyn rolls over, propping herself on her elbow so she can look down at him. “So Spider-Punk, huh? How’d that happen.”

Tommy shrugs. “I mean, I didn’t want to be a superhero, if that’s what you’re asking. But it’s a long, absolute bummer of a story.”

Continued from here Wordcount: ~900 CW: internalized homophobia, references to period-typical homophobia, slurs used for self-identification

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Tommy wipes his palms on his pant legs for the fourth time in as many minutes, gritting his teeth in frustration. Why is this so hard? Either she'll take it well, or she won't, but not knowing is worse, and he's never going to know anything if he just keeps sitting here without saying it.

"Gwyn, there's something I need to tell you," he says. He can't look at her, though, so he stares at his shoes instead. The sole is starting to come loose, but he can't afford a new pair.

"Of course, babe. You can tell me anything."

Tommy doesn't wince at the endearment, too used to Gwyn's casual affection, but it chafes at him, somewhere deep below the surface.

"I'm not who you think I am. I've been lying to you, to my Uncle, to everyone, and I'm tired. I can't keep hiding from you, Gwyn. You're my best friend," he says, hating how his voice is getting tight, or how he keeps babbling instead of getting to the fucking point.

"Tommy..." she says gently, mattress sinking when she sits down next to him. "It's okay. I already know."

...what?

CW: internalized homophobia Wordcount: 436 Continued from here

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And then Tommy just can't stop replaying it in his head. As soon as things start to settle and lunch comes to a close, his brain rewinds everything again and again. Through most of math and history, through the subway ride home and through patrol. He’s still thinking about it, hours later as he lies awake, staring at the ceiling. He can’t stop. 

He can’t stop thinking about the stormy look in Alex’s green eyes or the hard set of his jaw as he’d glared at his teammates. He can’t stop thinking about the way Alex had relaxed under Gwyn’s friendly ribbing or how his smile had softened as he’d gotten to know the others. He can’t stop thinking about how warm Alex had been, pressed against his side, or how happy he’d looked to be there.

It all feels… profound, somehow, the way that Alex occupies so much space in Tommy’s head and how those thoughts make his chest feel warm. It feels important in a way that’s equally as confusing as it is undeniable. Simultaneously a threat and a comfort.

Tommy replays it again. The hard line of Alex’s shoulders as he’d stormed away from his “friends.” The way those same shoulders had slouched in relief under Tommy’s hand. The heat of his leg against Tommy’s, even through two layers of denim. How he’d glanced over at Tommy and smiled in a way that seemed to say so much without a sound, but most importantly, ‘thank you.’

Thank you for taking a chance on me. Thank you for being patient. Thank you for offering me a place here. Thank you for seeing me.

Tommy thinks about that smile most of all, replays those few seconds in his head until the image is seared into his eyelids. Alex has a dimple in his left cheek, when he smiles like that, like he’s actually happy and not just pretending. Tommy’s seen that dimple more in the past few months than in all the years they’d spent trying to hate one another.

Tommy replays that moment again, but this time is different. This time he imagines curling a hand in Alex’s letterman and pressing his lips against that dimple, against the corner of that smile. He imagines tilting his head just a bit more and pressing his lips against Alex’s. 

Suddenly, Tommy’s eyes are burning, his throat closing up even as his breaths come faster and faster. Everything slots into place with the terrifying finality of a funeral toll.

No. No, please! Not this! Not me!

Previous

Word count: ~870

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“Did you really hate it? Hanging out with those boys?” Tommy finally asks after the silence has dragged on for a few seconds too long.

Alex makes a bitter, laugh-adjacent noise. “Absolutely. I still hate it. They’re all so shallow and self-obsessed. They couldn’t have a meaningful conversation if their lives depended on it and they’re only happy if other people are miserable. It’s so—” He waves his hands around, searching for the right word. “—draining.”

“Then why do you still hang around them?”

“I can’t just leave. You don’t know what my dad is like. Besides, even if I could, where would that leave me? It’s not exactly an improvement if I end up completely alone, is it?”

“You could always come hang out with me, again.” The words are out of his mouth before he can think about them, but when he does, he realizes they’re true.

“What?” Alex’s voice is small with disbelief as he looks Tommy in the eyes for the first time since the alley. He looks strangely… fragile, and Tommy doesn’t know how to feel about that.

“Look, I sorta owe you one,” Tommy says, gesturing to his bandaged wounds, “and you’re maybe not as big of an asshole as I thought. So, if you wanted to try being friends again, I guess we could give it a shot.”

For a few seconds, Alex does nothing but stare, before abruptly standing and walking out of the bathroom without a word. Tommy’s face burns, humiliation and outrage making his head spin as grapples for what to do. Apparently he was fucking wrong about Alex, which is just his goddamn luck, honestly. How could he be so fucking stupid!? Of course—

His spiraling anger comes to a screeching halt as Alex steps briskly back into the room, thrusting something into Tommy’s face. It’s a t-shirt and a bag of peas of all things.

“Here. For your face and your…” Alex gestures vaguely in Tommy’s direction, staring resolutely at the floor. “...modesty,” he explains. His voice is tight and his eyes redder than when he left the room, and Tommy’s anger fizzles out as quickly as it came.

He doesn’t say anything as he puts the peas against the worst of the swelling, but he does raise a pointed eyebrow when he realizes the shirt is a Yankees’ jersey, the number “31” stamped on the back and the bottom edge curling where the hem was haphazardly cut off. He wonders if Alex actually even likes baseball, or if it’s just another thing his dad pushed him into. He doesn’t try and pull the shirt over his head just yet.

“I’d like to be your friend again, too,” Alex says slowly, like he’s still sorting through his thoughts as he puts them into words. “But I’m not like you, Tommy. I can’t just change everything about my life overnight, even if I want to.”

Tommy just looks at him.

“And I know that’s not fair, especially after everything you went through, after everything I let them put you through,” he rushes to amend, “I guess you were right. I am a coward. I’m sorry…”

Tommy wishes he could be angry, but hearing his own words echoed back with that self-deprecating tone just makes him feel… sad.

“Fine,” Tommy sighs. “If you’re not ready, then we can keep it between us, for now. I won’t wait forever for you to grow a spine.”

Alex nods quickly, eyes suspiciously glassy. “Of course. Yeah, I pro—”

“Don’t,” Tommy interrupts. He’s had enough empty promises for a lifetime, and as much as he wants to believe Alex will keep his word, he really can’t handle another disappointment.

“Sorry,” Alex mutters.

A few seconds pass in tense silence before Tommy awkwardly clears his throat, slowly getting to his feet and pulling Alex’s shirt over his head. Thankfully his vest was spared, but his costume is a lost cause. He’ll have to stitch a new one.

“I should get home before my uncle starts to worry,” he says.

“Yeah, probably,” Alex says, standing aside so that Tommy can get out the door.  He trails behind as Tommy makes for the fire escape. “Are you sure you should swing in your condition?”

Tommy snorts, pulling on his mask. “Absolutely not. I’ll be taking the subway as soon as I’m ground level. And I’m taking your peas with me,” he says, stuffing the frozen veggies in his pocket to free his other hand.

Tommy’s halfway out the window when Alex stops him, a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, Tommy?”

“Yeah?”

“I missed you.” He says it with so much sincerity that Tommy is suddenly very glad he’s wearing a mask. ‘I missed you too,’ he wants to say. The words are right there, climbing up his throat and sitting behind his teeth, but he swallows them back down. There’s only so much vulnerability he can handle in one night.

“When you’re ready, there’s a spot at the freaks’ table with your name on it,” he says instead.

Alex nods. “I’ll keep that in mind. And, uh, if you ever need patched up again, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Alex.”

Continued from here

Word count: ~420 (lmao)