Chapter Text
After their disastrous first kiss, Peter had pinned all of his hopes on New Jersey.
It sounds crazy now, he gets that, he really does. But it made complete sense at the time.
Of course Mr. Stark still saw him as a kid, he’d reasoned. Mr. Stark wasn’t like that. He was a good guy. An upstanding citizen. Iron Man. He’d broken up the Avengers for the law — of course he wouldn’t make a move while Peter was still underage.
But Peter wouldn’t be underage in New Jersey.
If he could just get Mr. Stark there — to the promised land across the water, where the law wouldn’t stand in their way — then Mr. Stark would see him. See him, and love him, and give society’s stupid rules the middle finger. It wouldn’t matter what the New Jersey state website said about taking minors across state lines, because it would be different for them.
Peter had been so sure.
So, after Pepper moved out, he focused all his energy on convincing Mr. Stark to move states. Or, at the very least, to take him for a visit.
He spent months begging for tours of Rutgers and Princeton, tickets to AC/DC’s reunion tour at the Meadowlands, and trips to niche tech exhibits at Newark museums. He shamelessly asked for takeout from local Jersey institutions and tried moving their lab sessions to an SI warehouse in Hoboken. Heck, he even started sending Mr. Stark real estate listings.
His constant barrage of hints finally culminated with Mr. Stark pulling him aside, and saying, “Listen to me very carefully, kid. I don’t know if this is a prank or some weird new obsession of yours and, frankly, I don’t give a damn. But understand the only way I’ll ever step foot in New Jersey is if it’s attacked by Chitauri. Maybe not even then. The suit hovers just fine, and I have a reputation to maintain.”
So, yeah. That had gone nowhere.
It was just him being obsessive again. Stupid. Delusional.
As always.
Still, sitting in MJ’s borrowed truck with all his worldly possessions crammed into the trunk and nowhere to go, the teenage dream comes back to him.
Clear and vivid, and so much more real than what actually happened.
He sees Mr. Stark saying he’s in love — not in some ugly house in Massachusetts, but in New Jersey. Pictures him uprooting his life because Peter is worth it. They are worth it. Because he never wants to let Peter go. Making the ultimate romantic gesture. The kind only an idiot teenager could make up.
“You’re not a kid, Peter,” Mr. Stark would’ve said. “You’re it for me.”
Peter pulls the car into drive and heads for the Holland tunnel.
———
Mr. Stark was right. Jersey is kinda shit.
Even though he can see New York from the roof of his terrible, overpriced studio, it feels like he’s in a different world altogether. The accents are off, the signs are weird, and it doesn’t even stink the right way.
Mr. Stark would have hated it here. With every day that passes, Peter’s teenage dream fades a little more.
Peter hates it and is glad.
———
His nights are busy as Spider-Man, but his days stretch out. Empty and aimless. He spends his mornings scrolling through the latest pap photos of Mr. Stark, but that only takes so long. Then come the endless hours of waiting for darkness. Re-running chemical tests on the street-drugs that go nowhere, and trying not to think.
One day, Peter wanders through a half-abandoned Jersey strip mall, directionless, silently hoping for a sign.
He gets one. Literally.
A handwritten notice in a cracked window reads, “Help Wanted: Salon Assistant (Waxing Services). No professional experience or license required. Full training provided. — Esquire Male Grooming.”
Peter wants to laugh.
They hire him on the spot.
———
Peter hates his job and it’s perfect.
Jeremiah pays him next to nothing and seems far too eager to trust Peter with clients after playing him the fifteen-minute “training” video that came with a fill-in-the-blanks certificate. Peter imagines how much worse it would have been if, somehow, he had ended up at this salon for his first time.
But in a strange way, it’s also a return to normality. The smell of hot wax and the smooth feel of strips between his fingers add routine to his life. Peter hasn’t missed waxing — seeing the hair around his dick again was one of the few things in his life that was better now — but it’s nice, feeling useful again. This is something he’s good at.
The only difference is the junk it’s going on.
He watches as twinks, and bears, and unassuming office drones strip, spread their legs and try not to cry. Some pretend he’s not there. Some make awkward small talk.
A lot of them get boners.
And as he works around their ingrown hairs, infections and rashes, for the first time, he’s grateful for his healing. It caused him plenty of problems, but never these problems. These gross, painful, terrible problems.
Sometimes, he wants to shake them. Especially the ones who come back, even after he’s sent them to the free clinic to drain abscesses and get antibiotics. Especially the ones who’ve barely started healing, but want to start all over again.
Don’t you see how insane this is? he wants to say. How irrational you’re being? You don’t have superpowers that let you get away with being this stupid.
He doesn’t say that, of course. Who’s he to judge?
Instead, he keeps his tone gentle and empathetic as he tells them, “I know, this part’s the worst,” and “It’ll be over soon,” and “It looks great, I promise — it’s okay”.
He’s always been an excellent liar.
This time, his lies get him five-star reviews.
———
The dorm room application lands in his inbox and, after an hour of staring at it, Peter hits delete.
I don’t want Spider-Man coming back to the city to be linked to the start of classes, he tells himself. I’ll just take one semester off. A quick break. Besides, I’ve got too many regulars now. Jerry wouldn’t have time to train someone new.
Peter’s gotten better at telling the truth to others. It’s himself he struggles with.
———
Peter recognizes his client’s footsteps before they knock. He throws open the door.
“Dude, what the hell?” he says, glaring at the guy.
It’s Ned.
“I have a coupon,” his friend says, then shoves past him into the dingy setup.
Ned looks around, curious. He picks up one of the cloth strips and pokes a finger into the wax heater, like an idiot. He winces, rubbing his hand on his jeans.
“I’d’ve thought the chair would have stirrups,” he says, nodding at the crappy massage table. “Wouldn’t that make it easier?”
“For what? I’m not sticking anything up anybody.”
“Yeah, nah.” Ned gives him a side eye. “Cause that’d be crazy, right?”
He braces himself against the table, crinkling the paper. His heartbeat kicks up. Thump. Thump. Thump.
“So, how does this work?” he says, anxiety dragging up the pitch of his voice. “Do I just take out my junk?”
Peter flinches at the thought. He can’t even touch it.
“Cut it out, man. What are you doing here?”
“I told you. I have a coupon.”
“Dude—”
“No, ‘dude’ you,” Ned interrupts. He starts to unzip his pants, which—
This isn't happening.
Peter snatches Ned's wrist, pinning it to the table. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Something stupid. Isn’t that obvious?” Ned says, voice shaky but determined. He’s nervous, so nervous, and yet—
Here he is.
“Where you go, I go,” Ned continues. “So if you’re going to be Spider-Man by night, salon worker by day — then fine. Get ready, ‘cause I’m doing it with you. So bend me over or whatever. I need first-hand data about this crazy new gig of yours.”
“What, like, this job’s not good enough? Like I’m too good for—”
“Don't even try that with me, man. You’re not here for the tips.”
“I’m—” Peter stops himself, swallowing the lie. It’s hard. So hard. “I–I need this job.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You don’t understand. I need—”
“You need to punish yourself,” Ned says bluntly. “No one else did, so you decided it was on you. ‘Cause why talk about it when you could just sit here, in this weird ass purgatory, and wallow in self-pity.” He huffs. “Nah. I think I understand plenty.”
Peter flinches. Ned’s angry. He’s sick of Peter. He’s—
Just like Mr. Stark. You ruin all relationships, boy, don’t you know that by now? So selfish. So full of yourself. Always the main fucking character. Life isn’t about you. It never was. You—
Ned nudges him, edging him back into reality. Peter’s eyes are wet, for some reason. He blinks furiously.
“Hey, it’s okay.” Whatever anger was in Ned’s voice is gone now. “I’m annoyed, but I’m not going anywhere. That’s my whole point. If you want to quit school and do this crazy thing, then fine. I’ll keep telling you it’s crazy, but I won’t stop being your best friend. I’m here for you. Always. You’re going to have to get used to me being a regular.”
Peter rocks back, unsure what to say. Ned tilts his head, watching him carefully. His lips twitch.
“And like, any chance you do friends and family discounts? 'Cause I've only got the one coupon.”
Peter lets out a shocked burst of laughter. Wet and desperate. It feels like relief. He’s not convinced he deserves it but, for the first time in months, he might actually want it.
Ned grins, contagious. “Or, ya know, maybe not? Maybe we could build that new LEGO set instead? Or do literally anything else? I think you've served your time.”
———
Peter gives the salon two weeks' notice.
He's a liar, not a flake.