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By 19:34, Johnny had already checked the theater entrance thirteen times.
Not that he was counting. Because he would never waste time doing something like that.
He briefly scanned the crowd.
Only for a second, really.
For the fourteenth time.
...Okay, he was counting.
But could you even blame him?
There were only so many ways a person could pretend they weren't waiting for someone before they started looking deeply pathetic.
And he was rapidly running out of options.
Johnny tried leaning against the wall. He tried scrolling through his phone. He even tried going inside and then back outside like maybe that would somehow magically summon Peter Parker into existence.
Nada.
Zilch.
Not even a suspiciously familiar red-and-blue blur.
Just more people filtering beneath the theater marquee, the smell of buttered popcorn drifting through the warm evening air, and the increasingly uncomfortable awareness that he'd arrived at 19:20 for a movie that actually started at 20:10...
...after telling Peter it started at 18:00.
Which had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time.
Strategic, even.
Because Peter had this very pesky habit of never showing up on time, and Johnny had officially reached the point of desperation.
And desperate times called for desperate measures.
Only now, he was beginning to wonder if he'd overshot so hard he'd somehow looped all the way back around into insanity.
The steadily ticking clock wasn't helping.
Neither was the teenager who did a double take as he walked past, eyes going comically wide.
"Oh my God," the kid blurted—no, squealed, really. "You're the Human Torch!"
Johnny flashed him a grin automatically. It was pure instinct. Give him even the smallest scrap of admiration and he'd happily run with it.
"In the flesh."
The kid yelped.
Unfortunately, that same yelp attracted everyone else.
One selfie became two.
Then three.
Then five.
Then Johnny found himself trapped for the next several minutes in a whirlpool of photos, autographs, and one extremely enthusiastic child explaining the plot of a video game he'd never even heard of.
Normally, he didn't mind.
Hell, he usually loved it.
Tonight, though...
Tonight he was supposed to take it easy.
Have one date where he wasn't being swarmed by fans like a porch light attracting moths.
By the time the crowd finally dispersed, the clock read 19:48.
There was still no Peter.
And the stupid thing was...
Johnny knew better than to take it personally.
Because that was the thing.
Peter wasn't late because he'd forgotten.
Peter wasn't late because he didn't care.
God, if anything, Peter cared too much.
Peter was late because somewhere in New York there was always a mugging about to happen. A collapsing building full of people. An old lady who needed help crossing the street.
Another alien invasion, because apparently Earth couldn't go five minutes without one. A runaway bus hanging halfway off a bridge. Or some guy with robot arms trying to get revenge over something Peter had probably forgotten years ago.
Johnny knew that.
Hell, everybody knew that.
Getting stood up by Peter Parker was practically a rite of passage.
Just ask MJ.
Betty.
Or pretty much every other ex he'd ever had.
So Johnny wasn't angry.
Well...
Not anymore.
It was just—
He rubbed the back of his neck, glaring down at his phone.
It was different now.
Back when they'd just been friends, Peter missing plans was just... Peter being Peter. Annoying, sure, but whatever. Johnny would roast him, Peter would apologize, and life would move on.
Like it always did.
But this?
This was dating.
This was Johnny showing up two hours early because he wanted one stupid, normal night with his boyfriend, and every minute Peter failed to appear let something ugly creep a little further into his head.
Little doubts.
Whether Peter actually wanted this relationship to work.
Whether Johnny was always going to come second to the next emergency.
Whether this was the universe playing one long joke at his expense.
Whether Peter had forgotten and figured a text wasn't necessary.
Whether he'd realized he couldn't make it and just... hadn't known how to say so after they'd been planning this for days.
Johnny's hands clenched.
He knew every single one of those thoughts was ridiculous.
His own overactive bird brain making problems where there weren't any.
Peter had once left a gala halfway through because a building caught fire, then came back with smoke in his hair, blood on his sleeve, and looking absolutely devastated that he'd missed dessert.
Peter cared so much it practically leaked out of him.
He'd make promise after promise, then spend the next week beating himself up because he thought he wasn't good enough.
Johnny loved that particular brand of idiocy of his.
Really, he did.
But feelings were stupid.
Relationships were apparently even stupider.
And if Peter showed up bruised again—clothes torn, smile stretched so painfully fake it practically cracked—Johnny was going to feel like the world's biggest asshole for thinking any of this.
Like always.
Stupid.
Dumb.
So painfully good Peter—
"Johnny!"
A familiar voice cut cleanly through his near-attempt to set his phone on fire through sheer force of will.
Johnny looked up so fast it almost gave him whiplash.
Peter was sprinting toward him down the sidewalk, backpack bouncing against one shoulder, hair a mess, breathing hard enough that he'd either run the whole way here or committed several traffic violations with his web-shooters.
Relief hit Johnny so hard it was honestly embarrassing.
Even his heartbeat seemed to remember how to function.
Peter skidded to a stop in front of him, bent over with his hands braced on his knees.
"I'm sorry," he blurted immediately, voice almost hoarse. "I know, I know, I tried to leave early, but there was this guy robbing a convenience store, and then this old lady almost got hit by a bike, and I couldn't just let her—"
Johnny just...
Stared.
A smile slowly tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Peter kept going, words tripping over each other.
"—and then I missed the bus, and then there was another thing with a pigeon, which sounds fake now that I'm saying it out loud, but—"
Johnny calmly pulled out his phone.
Tilted it toward him.
20:10.
Peter blinked.
"...What?"
Johnny's heart did a stupid little dance.
His confusion really shouldn't have been this adorable.
"The movie starts in ten minutes."
Silence.
Actual, honest-to-God silence.
Peter's mouth opened.
Closed.
Johnny could practically hear the gears in his brain grinding as he recalculated the entire evening.
"I..."
"Yeah," Johnny said, crossing his arms with entirely too much satisfaction. "You're early."
Peter stared at him like he'd just discovered a new law of physics.
"...You told me six."
Johnny shrugged.
"Did I?"
"You did."
"Huh."
"...Johnny."
"The movie's about to begin, you dipshit."
He grinned.
"C'mon."
Before Peter's brain could finish rebooting, Johnny grabbed his wrist and dragged him inside.
The theater was dim, cool, and—thank every cosmic force willing to listen—empty enough that nobody bothered them beyond a few curious whispers.
Johnny had planned ahead.
Tickets bought online.
Middle seats.
Good view.
And food.
A sensible amount for himself.
An absolutely unreasonable amount for Peter.
The guy burned calories by existing. Johnny wasn't taking any chances.
Peter noticed immediately.
"...Why are there two popcorns?"
"One's mine."
"And the rest?"
Johnny looked at him like he was a particularly slow student.
"You eat like a raccoon that just discovered an all-you-can-eat buffet."
Peter looked genuinely touched by that.
Which was probably concerning.
Johnny decided not to examine it too closely.
The lights dimmed.
The movie began.
Ten minutes in, Peter was still visibly buffering.
His eyes were on the screen, sure, but Johnny would bet good money he couldn't tell anyone what had happened so far.
Johnny, meanwhile, finally let himself relax.
He leaned over, rested his head on Peter's shoulder, and happily stole from his own popcorn.
A grin spread across his face so wide his cheeks actually started to hurt.
It worked.
Holy shit.
It actually worked.
Peter was here.
Not swinging out of the theater halfway through.
Not calling to apologize.
Not showing up during the credits looking like he'd lost a fight with Manhattan itself.
He was just...
Here.
Beside him.
Watching a movie.
Johnny hadn't actually been convinced his calculations would be enough. This was still Peter Parker: king of lateness, human disaster zone, and unwilling magnet for every catastrophe within a ten-mile radius.
And yet...
Success.
For one dangerously hopeful second, Johnny wondered if he was dreaming.
Then shook his head.
Nope.
Not thinking that.
He'd jinx it.
Beside him, Peter shifted ever so slightly.
"...You lied about the time," he whispered eventually.
Johnny didn't even glance away from the screen.
"Yeah."
No shame.
None whatsoever.
They'd both gotten what they'd wanted.
As far as Johnny was concerned, he deserved a medal—not a lecture.
Peter made a tiny, disbelieving sound.
Then, after a long moment, his shoulder finally relaxed beneath Johnny's weight.
Like he'd decided to stop fighting it.
Like he was settling into this, too.
Johnny smiled a little wider.
Mission accomplished.
Halfway through the movie, Peter had already finished his drink, eaten all his snacks, stolen some of Johnny's popcorn...
...and was now making a bold attempt on Johnny's candy.
Johnny slapped his hand away without lifting his head from Peter's shoulder.
"You have your own."
"Those are gone."
"Sounds like a personal failure."
"You brought exactly enough for this to happen."
Johnny smiled slowly.
"...Maybe."
He admitted to nothing.
Peter went quiet after that.
Not movie-focused quiet.
Thinking quiet.
Johnny knew the difference. He'd spent years learning Peter's expressions, cataloguing them without even realizing he was doing it.
"You planned all this?" Peter asked softly.
There it was.
The question underneath the joke.
Johnny shrugged one shoulder as carefully as he could without dislodging himself. He wasn't giving up Peter's warmth voluntarily.
"...Kinda wanted an actual date this time."
The words were out before he could stop them.
Peter frowned.
Not confused.
Guilty.
Johnny immediately wanted to shove the sentence back into his mouth.
That hadn't been the plan.
The plan had been to make Peter laugh, not make him feel guilty.
Not after he'd tried so hard to make tonight work.
Peter's gaze drifted back toward the screen, unfocused.
Johnny could almost see him replaying every dinner they'd had to cancel.
Every movie Johnny had watched half by himself.
Every time Peter had shown up apologizing before he'd even sat down.
"...Oh."
It was barely more than a breath.
But it carried enough understanding to make Johnny's stomach flip.
Before Johnny could scramble for a joke or insist it wasn't a big deal, Peter quietly reached over and threaded their fingers together.
Johnny froze.
"...Oh," Peter repeated, softer this time.
Johnny suddenly became extremely invested in whatever was happening on-screen.
Because if he looked at Peter right now...
He might actually combust.
The movie ended.
Without interruptions.
No emergencies.
No running.
No phone calls.
No one crashing through the ceiling.
Honestly, it felt borderline miraculous.
As the credits rolled, Peter leaned closer.
Johnny met him halfway almost automatically.
Instinct.
Finally—
"Oh my God!"
Johnny closed his eyes.
Of course.
"You guys, that's the Human Torch!"
For one glorious evening the universe had almost forgotten they existed.
Apparently that had been too much to ask.
Johnny sighed toward the ceiling.
Peter's muffled groan beside him was somehow even more tragic.
Within seconds, people were crowding around them.
Photos.
Autographs.
Questions shouted over one another.
Someone wanted to know what moisturizer Johnny used.
Someone else wanted to know if the Fantastic Four really lived in the Baxter Building.
One teenager loudly asked who his date was.
Johnny laughed helplessly as a pen was shoved into his hand.
Beside him, Peter snorted into his shoulder.
Not quite laughing.
Close enough.
Johnny shot him an offended look.
"Oh, now you're laughing?"
"You looked so confident."
"I was confident."
"Mm-hm."
A teenager held up a phone for a selfie.
Johnny leaned in automatically, smiled, and looked back just in time to catch Peter watching him.
Not amused.
Not exasperated.
Just...
Fond.
Like he'd finally seen everything Johnny had quietly done to make tonight happen.
Johnny wanted to kiss him so badly it physically hurt.
Instead he pointed at him over someone's shoulder.
"You still owe me that kiss, bug-boy."
Peter's smile softened into something warm enough to rival Johnny's flames.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"I think I do."