𝐂𝐈𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ━ peter parker

x. "advocate for polyglots"

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ㅤㅤㅤ"YOU NEED MY help?" Peter leant against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, staring at Dick as though he'd come to preach about the end of the world. His pupils were blown, eyes wide, but whether it was through concern or if the boy was just anxious for him to leave, Dick couldn't tell. "Why?"

"Okay, uh, this is going to be a little hard to explain. And... Don't get me wrong, I know we're not friends or anything, and that I stole your shoes and you hardly know me - "

"You replaced them, though." Peter cut Dick off mid-way through his rambling. He gestured awkwardly to his feet, and lo-and-behold they were clad in shiny new converse, red and pristine. There was a scuff on the toe of one of them already, and Dick found it about as endearing as the Aquaman™ socks that rode up his ankles. Which is to say, very. "That was nice of you."

"Dude! I shouldn't have stolen them in the first place."

"Are you trying to apologise? Isn't that my thing?"

Dick sighed, scraping a hand through his hair. Peter had a lop-sided grin on his face, warm eyes glittering in the cheap yellow light. Dick wanted to wipe it from his face because it was entirely out of character for the Peter Parker he knew... but then, he didn't know Peter, did he?

That was the whole problem.

"Parker, just. Stop. This is important," Dick implored, and the desperation that leaked into his tone wasn't attractive in the slightest. He sounded like a child, pissed off because their parents weren't watching them perform some enlightening magic trick with Play-Doh.

It worked, though, just the same. Because the easy smile that came with being on his own turf began to diminish, and Peter straightened in his doorway. "What's wrong?"

Truly, Dick didn't know where to start.

He knew full-well how it looked, him turning up on Peter's doorstep with no warning - a doorstep that he had no reason to know, mind you. And coupled with the odd way their call had ended the night before, hounded by incessant reporters just as the conversation had been slipping into some vague semblance of normality... Dick would be hesitant to hear himself out, if he were Peter. But some people were just better than others, and judging from the other boy's stance and the way he was trying to decipher the scene before him? The teen wasn't liable to bring up the uncomfortable elephant in the room (hallway).

"Er, well," Dick drew in a quick breath, aiming to calm his jittering nerves but succeeding only in sounding hesitant. Which... well, he was. "Like I said, we're not friends, okay? I get that, and I get if you don't want anything to do with me because I've been an asshole like, every time we've met."

"Not every time."

Dick frowned, biting at his lower lip. He shook his head. "No, Peter. Every time. Don't make excuses for me, I do enough of that myself."

The high schooler's eyes softened, and his face twisted as he watched Dick from the safety of his threshold. "What about yesterday?"

"Phone calls don't count," Dick reasoned stupidly. Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Don't they?"

"No," came the reply, steadfast in its logic as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. Peter held his hands up in defeat, lips quirking in a small, sloping smile.

"Alright. Okay, sure. Phone calls don't count, you're not a great person, whatever you say."

Dick scowled. "Don't patronise me!"