skulls

001, LYCRA-MAN!

SKULLS / CHAPTER ONE
LYCRA-MAN!

———

SILAS MAINE DROPS HIS FEET off the edge of his high-rise block of flats as he finally exhales and pulls his mask off his head, staring down at the city below him.

It's been a long, long day, fraught with cats in trees and overdue biology homework that got pushed to the bottom of his to-do stack, despite his grade slipping and falling faster than a penguin on a ski slope.

Biology isn't really a priority at that moment in time, however; at that moment, Silas manages to catch sight of somebody running hastily and looking suspicious with a fairly expensive-looking bike.

He forces himself into action, jumping up from his vantage point over Queens so quickly he feels as though he's about to fall off the building, which would put a pretty speedy, messy end to his superhero career (although, to be honest, it might stop the bike thief, so there's that).

The wind tears into Silas' black leather jacket as he makes some clumsy attempt to pull his mask back over his face while also trying not to run into either a pedestrian or a traffic light, because it's pretty difficult to stop thieves while also suffering a mild concussion.

As Silas finally rounds the corner, he spots the bike thief again - and somebody else, dressed in red and blue Lycra with spindly black detail across his entire body.

"What the...?" He stares in increasing disbelief at the scene as Lycra-Man shoots some sort of sticky white fluid at the stunned burglar; he's thrown back against the closest wall, inciting numerous screams from passers-by who are nearly caught in the fray.

"Sorry! I'm sorry!" Lycra-Man's voice is oddly high-pitched - stress, overexertion maybe? - as he apologises to every single person in sight on the sidewalk, including people who have absolutely no idea what the hell is happening, why it is, or who this stranger in disturbingly tight-fitting material is.

Silas smirks to himself, just for a second - why does he have to be so sorry for everyone? He could have just saved their lives (or their bikes) so, if anything, they should be thanking him, or at least maybe not screaming like infants.

With a faint smile obscured by the mask, he begins to jog gently forwards in the direction of Lycra-Man, hoping he looks like an angsty teen and not an angsty teen trying too hard to seem angsty.

"Thanks, kid. I'll take it from here." His voice decides to crack directly in the middle of what is supposed to be a suave, confident sentence. Clearly flustered by this, Silas coughs and brushes his hair back as Lycra-Man stands up and laughs nervously.

"But this-this is what I do. I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man leans on the postbox to his left, before nearly having his arm removed by an angry cyclist.

"Oh, it's a spider?" Silas grins to himself as he shuffles a micro-inch closer to Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. "Thought you were just one of those creepy Lycra enthusiasts. You know, the middle-aged men who can't get a--"

"No, no! Stop talking!" The other boy presses his hands over his ears dramatically - Silas almost finds his discomfort funny, but then remembers that this is his new archenemy, and finds it even funnier.

"No, I just need it to fit. Aerodynamics and stuff." Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man shrugs. "Anyway, if I'm a middle-aged creep, why'd you call me 'kid'? Must mean you're the middle-aged creep."

One of the eyes on his suit (he even has a fancy suit, crap! Silas only has his leather jacket and repurposed beanie mask!) closes for a second in a sarcastic wink, and Silas sighs, deciding to cut his losses and head home to his dark, dreary bedroom and his parents who can't understand him at all.

"Right, well, bye Mr. Lycra-Man. Got to go home, eat food, maybe inject a little ink into my veins for poetic inspiration." Upon seeing the genuine concern on Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man's face, Silas quickly backtracks, laughing nervously as he slowly turns away. "That-That last one was a joke."

"Right." Somehow, he drags the word out to three times as many syllables as it actually requires.

Silas smiles awkwardly again, running in the opposite direction to his new least favorite person.

---

"Silas, sweetie, hello!" A voice calls from their small kitchen as Silas locks the door behind him and crouches to tickle his cat, Romelle, behind the ears.

"Hey, Mom." Silas rolls his eyes half-heartedly, before remembering that, in private, he doesn't have to keep up this façade of parental hatred.

He ducks around the doorframe to look at whatever his mother's doing, the scent of some sorts of exotic spices drifting from her saucepan and towards Silas.

As long as he can remember, it's only ever been him and his mother, since his father went missing when Silas was a child - a dynamic duo, as she always said. It was, and would always be, just them against the world, forever.

word count: 892!
this was just to sort of set it up??
i don't know if this flows well or
works, but i think it's alright!
thanks for reading!