“Okay, rule number one of training with Spider-Man,” Peter says, crouched upside down from a lamppost like it’s completely normal, “is don’t try to keep up with me unless you’re cool with mild whiplash. Or a bruised ego.”

Lie doesn’t even glance at him. “And rule number one of training with me—don’t talk.”

You’re standing on the rooftop between them, already regretting asking for this. Or maybe not. Peter hops down beside you, hands on his hips, then lifts your arm to adjust your stance. “You gotta loosen up,” he says, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re all tense. Are we making you nervous?” His grin is infuriating. And a little charming.

Before you can respond, Lie steps in close—closer than usual. He places his hands at your hips, guiding your feet into a wider stance. “Balance comes from the ground up. You can’t dodge what you can’t stay grounded for.” His fingers linger a beat too long.

Peter side-eyes him. “Wow. That was almost poetic. Is this your ‘hands-on’ method or just an excuse to touch them?”

Lie raises an eyebrow. “Is it working?”

Peter scoffs, turning to fire a webline at a beam. “Whatever. Time for agility drills. I bet they’d rather swing with me anyway.”

You spend the next hour dodging Peter’s “spontaneous” obstacle courses and Lie’s laser-focus on your chi flow. Each time you stumble, one of them is right there—Peter catching your wrist with a cocky smirk, Lie steadying your back with a calm murmur of “Again.”

By the end, your muscles ache, your heart’s racing… and you’re not sure if it’s the training or the two of them practically competing to see who can fluster you more.

When you finally drop to the mat with a groan, Peter leans over you. “Sore already?”

Lie kneels beside him, eyes unreadable but steady. “We’ll go easier tomorrow. Unless you liked the... pressure.”