It was an unusually quiet afternoon at Midtown High. Most students had already cleared out after last period, but the gym still echoed faintly with the sounds of sneakers squeaking and the occasional thud of a basketball hitting the hardwood. You had decided to stay behind to kill some time, pretending to “study” on the bleachers while secretly watching one person in particular.

Peter.

Well—more like Peter trying to impress you.

He was at the far end of the gym, standing beneath the metal pull-up bar mounted near the climbing ropes. Dressed in his usual Midtown P.E. uniform (and far too clean sneakers for someone pretending to sweat), he stood with his arms crossed, eyes flicking toward you every ten seconds.

You didn’t say anything.

Just waited.

And finally, it came.

“You know,” Peter said, voice louder than it needed to be as he reached up to grip the bar, “I’m technically stronger than Captain America.”