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The living room of Johnny’s apartment was in a state of controlled chaos, drifting further toward pure anarchy with every passing hour and every empty bottle.
Playing cards from a poker game no one had finished were scattered across the rug, lying next to several greasy pizza boxes.
Peter was sprawled out on the plush sofa, feeling a pleasant warmth spreading through his limbs.
The alcohol had caused his spider-sense, usually taut as a piano wire, to merely hum lazily in the background. Beside him, Felicia toyed with her silver hair, casting teasing glances at Kurt over her hand of cards, while Bobby and Harry tried to establish rules for spin-the-bottle that everyone was blatantly ignoring.
"I’m telling you guys, it’s a matter of genetics," Johnny slurred, swinging his legs over the arm of his chair.
"Stark has that thing. That glow. That aura. Look, Parker, you’re great, really. You’re a genius, you punch aliens in the face and all that, but you’ll never beat Tony at being that guy.
He’s an icon. You’re just... well, you."
Peter arched an eyebrow, feeling that sudden surge of pride that always surfaced after his third drink.
"Oh yeah? And what exactly can’t I beat him at? Science? You know I corrected his last set of calculations on molecular stability, right?" Peter asked, his voice rising in volume.
Johnny laughed and set his glass down.
"It’s not about science, web-head. It’s about being... absolutely untouchable in the eyes of the world. It’s about being a symbol. Stark’s been at the top of everything for years.
I’ll bet you whatever you want that you can’t dethrone him in a category people actually care about. You don't have that celebrity instinct."
Peter felt his cheeks flush. It was a hit to a sensitive spot.
"A bet?" Peter challenged, snapping upright so quickly the world tilted for a moment.
"Oh boy, here we go," Harry muttered, smirking as he refilled his drink. "Peter, drop it, he’s just baiting you."
"No, no, let him speak!" Johnny jumped on the topic, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Since you’re so confident... If you win, if you prove you’re better at something than Tony Stark himself—and officially humiliate him publicly—I’ll go to the middle of Manhattan,
light up like a Christmas tree, and write in the sky in giant letters that Peter Parker is a god and I am a nobody. A public apology and recognition of your superiority."
"And if he loses?" Felicia asked, her eyes narrowing with amusement.
"If you lose, Parker... you go on a date with me. A real, fancy date where you have to put up with my company all evening without complaining," Johnny declared proudly.
Peter snorted, fueled by a sudden rush of liquid courage.
"Deal. I accept."
"But what are you going to beat him at?" Bobby asked, peeking out from behind a bottle. "Building a suit?"
Peter grabbed his phone from the coffee table. He swiped across the screen, squinting to sharpen his focus on his Instagram feed, where a photo of Tony at some gala had just flashed by.
"Nothing technical," Peter murmured, feeling the alcohol whisper the most absurd ideas to him. "He thinks he’s the most attractive, most desirable guy on the planet. The media loves him. Well, watch this."
Before anyone could stop him, Peter stood up, ran a hand through his slightly tousled brown hair, and looked into the mirror hanging over the fireplace.
He looked... good. He was wearing a simple shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his physique, sculpted by years of swinging from rooftops, was clearly defined under the fabric.
"What are you doing?" Kurt asked, tilting his head.
"I'm posting photos," Peter replied with a determination worthy of a much better cause. "If he can be the 'Sexiest Man Alive' according to all those rankings, then so can I.
Let's see who the internet likes more."
For the next half hour, cheered on by the loud encouragement and laughter of his friends, Peter staged a photoshoot. Felicia adjusted the lighting, while Johnny suggested the most "model-like" poses.
Peter posted photo after photo—some professional-looking, others "accidental," where he looked like a model who had just stepped off a runway, even though he was actually just a slightly tipsy kid from Queens.
Then came another round of drinks, and the night turned into a blur of laughter and stories.
A few months later, Peter Parker was sitting in the lab at Avengers Tower, completely absorbed in repairing one of his web-shooters. He had forgotten all about that night.
To be honest, after waking up the next day with a massive hangover, his only wish was to delete the posts,
but when he saw they already had thousands of likes, he simply tossed his phone into a corner and went back to saving people.
Suddenly, his phone began to vibrate so intensely it nearly fell off the table. Peter sighed and answered without looking at the number.
"Hello?"
"Parker! Get outside! Now!" Harry’s voice on the other end was on the verge of both hysteria and delight. "He’s doing it! He’s actually doing it!"
"Who’s doing what? Harry, I’m working..."
"Get to the balcony, Peter!" Harry yelled and hung up.
Disoriented, Peter set down his soldering iron and walked to the massive window in the lab. He looked up at the New York City skyline and froze.
In the cloudless blue sky, right above the Empire State Building, something was burning. A trail of fire was tracing giant letters visible from every corner of the city. Peter squinted, trying to read the message:
I AM SORRY, PETER PARKER. YOU ARE THE BEST. I AM A NOBODY.
"What on earth..." Peter whispered, and then it all came rushing back. The bet. The night at Johnny’s. The alcohol. The photos.
He frantically pulled out his phone and went online. The headlines of every portal were screaming the same thing. A photo of Peter—the one Felicia had taken in the dim light, where he looked particularly brooding and attractive—was on the front page of People magazine.
"THE KING DETHRONED: PETER PARKER NAMED SEXIEST MAN ALIVE. TONY STARK DROPS TO SECOND PLACE AFTER FIVE YEARS OF DOMINANCE!"
Peter felt the blood drain from his face.
"Oh no. Oh no, no, no..."
"Well, well, Parker. I have to admit, that was impressive."
Peter jumped and spun around. Tony Stark was standing in the doorway of the lab.
He was leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, wearing an expression Peter couldn't quite decipher.
It was a mix of amusement, disbelief, and something that looked like pride tempered with a hint of irritation.
"Tony! I... I can explain," Peter stammered, waving his hands toward the window where Johnny was just finishing a giant fiery exclamation point.
Tony walked slowly toward the table, picking up a tablet displaying the ranking.
"'Sexiest Man Alive,' huh?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "For five years, nobody could touch me.
I thought I’d be on that podium until I went completely grey. And here we go. My protégé, a kid who not long ago was carrying a Hello Kitty backpack, suddenly becomes a masculine icon."
"It was a bet!" Peter blurted out, feeling like he was about to die of embarrassment. "Johnny said I’d never be able to be... you know, like you. That I didn't have that thing. We were a little... tipsy.
We were playing games... and I just wanted to prove him wrong. I didn't think people would actually start sharing it!"
Tony started to laugh. It wasn't a mean laugh, but a genuine, loud chuckle that made Peter feel even more confused.
"Kid, you really are something else," Stark managed to say, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
"I tried to teach you everything: physics, strategy, combat... and you just go on the internet, post a few photos, and destroy my playboy reputation in one night."
"I'm sorry," Peter groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Now Johnny’s going to want... well, I won, so he has to apologize, but this is so embarrassing. Everyone is looking at it!"
Tony walked over and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Enjoy the moment, Parker. You’re officially hotter than Iron Man. Though I have to tell you... that photo in the black shirt? Even Pepper said you have 'potential'."
Peter looked at him in horror.
"Even Pepper?"
"Even her," Tony grinned. "Now come on. Since you’re the sexiest man in the world, it’s only right that you don’t order takeout pizza for once. You’re going to a proper lunch.
My treat. After all, I have to be seen with the new king to bask in your reflected glory."
Peter sighed heavily, but he couldn't help a small smile. He looked out the window one more time at the fading message in the sky.
Johnny Storm was doing a loop-de-loop around the tower, waving enthusiastically.
"I am never drinking with Johnny again," Peter muttered, following Tony toward the elevator.
"Yeah, yeah, sure," Tony laughed. "But admit it... beating me tastes pretty good, doesn't it?"
Peter just rolled his eyes, though deep down, he knew that night at Johnny’s—despite the shame—was one of the best decisions of his life.
Even if the whole world was now staring at his face on every magazine cover.