#one up

Rain glazed the skyline of New York, turning every rooftop into a mirror of trembling light. A silver blur vaulted between gargoyles, landing with impossible grace atop a cathedral spire.

“Now that,” purred Black Cat, twirling a diamond between her fingers, “is what I call a successful evening.” A red-and-blue streak snapped into place behind her.

“You know,” said Spider-Man, crouched low, voice lighter than the storm beneath it, “most people just buy jewelry. It’s way less cardio.” Felicia didn’t turn. “And miss the thrill? Please. What would life be without a little danger?”

Lightning flashed. For a split second, they were statues—cat and spider, predator and equal.

Then she moved.

A whip of motion—her heel arcing toward his jaw. Peter barely tilted back in time, her kick slicing the rain where his face had been. He flipped, landing upside down on the cross above her.

“Still trying to knock my head off?” he quipped. “We’ve talked about this. I need that.” Felicia smiled, slow and sharp. “Oh, I’m counting on it.” She lunged again—faster this time. A blur. A problem.

Peter dodged, but not by much. Her claws scraped across his suit, sparks flickering in the storm light. And then—She slipped. Not a stumble. Not clumsy. Just… wrong. Her footing faltered on a surface that shouldn’t have betrayed her. Peter noticed.

“Your luck,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s glitching.” Felicia’s smile flickered. “Funny. I was about to say the same about yours.” She came again, relentless now—flips, spins, impossible angles. To anyone else, she’d be untouchable. But Peter wasn’t just dodging anymore. He was watching. Calculating. Learning. Another strike—he caught her wrist mid-swing. Not hard. Not yet. But enough.

Felicia froze, eyes widening just slightly. “Since when do you catch me?” Peter tilted his head, rain dripping from his mask like tears. His voice dropped—warmer, smoother. Almost amused. “You ever notice,” he said, “how I always pull my punches?” He let go. Gently. Too gently.

Felicia stepped back, wary now. “That’s your whole thing, isn’t it? Friendly neighborhood restraint?” Peter chuckled—low, rich, unfamiliar. “Yeah. About that.” She darted in again, aiming for his ribs—precise, deadly. This time, he didn’t dodge. He blocked. Clean. Effortless. The impact echoed like a gunshot across the rooftops.

Felicia recoiled, shaking out her hand. “Okay,” she said slowly, “that’s new.” Peter straightened to his full height. No crouch. No nervous energy. Just stillness. Confidence. Control. “See, Felicia,” he continued, pacing toward her like he had all the time in the world, “I’ve fought aliens, gods, guys with mechanical octopus arms—long story—and through all of it…”

He looked up. “And I’ve always been the one holding back.” Lightning cracked again—closer now. Felicia lunged, faster than ever, desperation threading through her precision. Peter moved—and vanished. She barely had time to turn before he was behind her, catching her mid-spin, pinning her arm with a grip that was firm, unyielding.

Not painful.

But absolute.

Her breath hitched. “Gotcha,” he murmured. No joke this time. No quip. Just quiet certainty. Felicia stilled in his hold, her voice softer now. “You’re serious.” “Terrifying, right?” he said lightly—but there was an edge beneath it. Something ancient. Something dangerous.

A beat passed.

Then, gently—so gently it was almost infuriating—he released her. She didn’t move right away. “Why?” she asked, turning to face him. “Why stop now?” Peter shrugged, that familiar humor creeping back—but tempered, refined. “Because,” he said, “if I don’t… I win too fast.”

A pause.

“And honestly?” he added, a faint grin in his voice, “where’s the fun in that?” Felicia laughed—breathless, exhilarated, just a little shaken. “There you are,” she said. “I was wondering when you’d show me that side.” Peter stepped closer, rain cascading off both of them, the city humming below. “Careful what you wish for,” he replied softly.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Then—like a spark catching fire—she bolted, leaping off the spire into the storm. Peter watched her go.

Waited.

Counted.