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chapter five
SCOLDING OF A LIFETIME
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"MR. STARK, I JUST really don't want her to die—"
"She's not going to die, kid. Okay, remember what I told you? Deep breathing exercises? Try those. Just tell me if I need to call an ambulance. That's your job."
Lena's first coherent thought is, Fuck. Her skull is pounding so badly it feels like she may be in the process of getting it pounded with a hammer. As she slowly regains her senses, she also makes note of the fact that she's soaked to the bone and freezing. Her wet hair is plastered to the sides of her face and neck. The autumnal air is cold, which doesn't help her case in the slightest because her entire body is tensed from it.
"Hang on, Mr. Stark," Peter's voice reverberates through the thicket of fog in her brain. "I think she's waking up."
Lena winces as pain shoots to her skull when she tries to blink open her eyes. Slowly but surely, her eyelids peel open to reveal blurry images above her. One of them solidifies into the figure of Peter kneeling over her, mask off, hair dripping water onto her arm, and pale face scrunched in worry. The other is the unmistakable Iron Man.
She gives a violent jolt at the realization of who Peter had been talking to: Mr. Stark. Tony Stark. The genius, billionaire, superhero, and Avenger—
"Woah, kid," Tony's voice warns her from behind the mask as her hand flies to her pounding head. He hovers a few feet away from them, small jets coming from his feet and allowing him to float in mid-air. "Stand down."
Lena's startled eyes flicker to Peter for answers. He appears just as confused as she does, though probably about the fact that she is the one who'd been fighting alongside him and not because Tony Stark is here. Jesus, he actually does know—
"How are you feeling?" Peter asks through chattering teeth.
"Like absolute shit," Lena replies, her own jaw clenched from the cold. It has to be close to ten or eleven in the evening, and the cool breeze from the nearby lake isn't doing anything to improve the temperature. "But I'll survive."
Peter does not look pleased with her lack of detail of her symptoms.
"Okay, now that we're all lucid," Tony begins, "why don't one of you tell me what the hell you two were thinking?"
Great. It's Lena's first time meeting an Avenger and she's already getting yelled at. What a great first impression she's made.
"I told you— there were bad guys, so we tried to stop them," Peter explains, fidgeting a bit and glancing down at Lena as she sluggishly pushes herself to rest on her elbows. They're in a park in the suburbs; how long she's been out, she has no idea. The black sky above looks no different than it had before she'd lost consciousness.
"Yeah, and got dropped in a lake," Tony quips back. His tone sounds extremely parental, like she and Peter are children who need to be put in time out. She can't help but feel like she's being made to feel beneath this highly influential man. Just judging by his tone, she can tell that he is absolutely not pleased with the outcome of this scenario.
"How did you even find us?" Peter asks as a means to change the subject from the fact that they did, in fact, get dropped in a lake. "Did you put a tracker in my suit?"
"I put everything in your suit," the older man replies nonchalantly. "Including this heater."
Instantly, Peter's suit begins to billow steam, the warmth such a drastic change that she can feel it even from where she half-lays beside him. She feels a twinge of jealousy at his satisfied sigh. Noticing this, he slightly hesitates before scooping Lena up and wrapping his arms around her, sharing the heat. Her sore back digs into a jungle gym that they seem to be leaning against. But her freezing skin is extremely thankful for the improvement, and she feels her body begin to release its tension.
"A lake," Tony repeats more angrily as if his point hadn't gotten delivered the first time. "Your little friend could have gotten seriously hurt."
"Yeah, I know—"
"Little?"
"—but the guy with the wings is obviously the source of the weapons!" Peter finishes, one of his arms lifting to exaggerate his point. Cold immediately replaces the warmth previously enveloping her left side. "We gotta take him down!"
"Take him down, now, huh?" Tony echoes almost mockingly, as if the idea is laughable. It twists Lena's insides. "There are people who handle this sort of thing."
"The Avengers?" Peter asks almost excitedly.
"No, no, no," the man replies. "This is a little below their pay grade."
"Anyway, Mr. Stark, you didn't have to come all the way out here. We had that, and Havoc's fine. Mostly."
Havoc. So he hadn't revealed her identity to Tony. Lena feels a surge of gratitude for that; being on Tony Stark's radar is terrifying enough as it is. She doesn't need her alias to be known to him yet, either.
Tony pauses. "Oh, I'm not... here."
The Iron Man mask pops open to reveal a hollow inside. Nothing but gaping metal looks back at them, meaning the entire time Tony has been talking to them... he hasn't actually been talking to them. Even Lena feels the sting, but it's worse when she feels Peter's body deflate in disappointment.
"Thank God this place has Wi-Fi or you two would be toast right now," Tony's voice says from the intercom in his suit. Which, now that she thinks about it, does sound low-quality, as if he's speaking from very far away. "Thank Ganesh while you're at it. Cheers." Then, addressing them again, he continues, "Look, forget the flying vulture guy, please."
"Why?" Peter fires back angrily, sounding very much like a little kid.
"Why?" Tony demands, sounding very much like an exasperated parent. "Because I said so!"
Lena twitches her lips in a rueful grin as his voice mutters indistinctly, presumably to someone nearby him. She can't believe he's asking them to stay away. He hasn't seen the threat, he doesn't know what the hell they're dealing with. He has no idea that they have enough alien technology to wipe out the entire state if they wanted to. And who knows when backup could come?
"Just stay close to the ground," he orders. "Build up your game helping little people, like that lady that bought you the churro."
Lena curiously tilts her aching head toward Peter. "A lady bought you a churro?"
Even in the sparse lighting, she thinks she catches him blush. His lips press in a thin line that's either from embarrassment or pride that Tony somehow knew about it. "Yeah."
"Lucky," she teases as she slowly faces forward again. "Nobody ever buys me anything."
"Can't you just be a friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man?" Tony questions, oblivious to their side conversation. "A Havoc who helps old people cross the street?"
"But I'm ready for more than that now," Peter argues. "And her powers are useful for way better things than helping old people cross the street all the time— though there's nothing wrong with walking old people—"
The Iron Man mask snaps closed. "Kids, that's a no."
"Mr. Stark, with all due respect, sir, you don't even know me," Lena points out in a confused tone, nearly tripping over her words and not forgetting her manners in the midst of speaking to such an influential man. It doesn't help that her voice is seriously weak from recently passing out. Every word feels like a fresh wave of pain to her head.
"I know enough to know that you're way over your head— both of you are."
"That is not what you thought when I took on Captain America," Peter points out exasperatedly.
Lena turns to him again, more than slightly bewildered this time. "You fought Captain America?"
Peter clears his throat. "I-It's a long story."
"Trust me, kid," Tony replies with a sigh, "if Cap wanted to lay you out, he would've. Listen to me: if you come across these weapons again, call Happy."
The faint sound of an engine revving sounds through the microphone, causing Lena's eyebrows to furrow.
"Are you driving?" Peter questions incredulously.
"You know, it's never too early to start thinking about college. I got some pull at MIT. End call."
"That's it?" Lena asks sharply, then immediately regrets it once her headache bites her back and she gives a squeak of pain.
"No— I don't need to go to coll—" Peter rambles as he reaches out toward the suit as if he could make Tony call back.
"Mr. Stark is no longer connected," a female's robotic voice interrupts him. Then, just like that, the automaton turns and blasts off into the sky without another word.
It's silent for a moment as the two teenagers comprehend what had just happened. Lena's body begins to shiver again as the heater in Peter's suit turns off. As if fully realizing that he still has his arms wrapped around her, Peter clears his throat and blushes profusely.
"C-Can you stand?" he asks while suddenly avoiding her gaze. The confident Spider-Man persona is gone, replaced with his usual amount of social awkwardness. It doesn't help that he's probably regretting half-flirting with her when their superhuman aliases first met.
In response, Lena grits her teeth and applies weight to her feet, but the ache that spreads to them causes her to slump back down and bang her spine against the metal play area they're leaning against. A cry bursts from her lips at the agony.
"Okay." Peter hooks an arm under hers and moves as if to put one on her waist, then balks and falters. "Um..."
She finds it admirable that he's asking for consent. "Just do it."
Immediately, his strength hauls her to her feet more quickly than she can comprehend. She gasps as her head swims so intensely that her vision becomes blurry for a few seconds. At the same height as him, their faces are awkwardly close when she stumbles into his chest. A strand of his still-damp hair brushes against her cheek.
A curse falls from her mouth. Her body is totally out of it, not even allowing her to stand on her own. It feels as if her blood has been replaced with lead. Everything is heavy, dragging her to the ground, where she wants to lay down and sleep.
As she starts to fall toward the grass again, Peter tightens his grip on her waist and straightens her back up. "No. No. We're not doing that. Stay standing."
"Peter, I just want to take a nap," she tells him in an almost whine. Her head feels all floaty.
He takes one look at her drooping eyelids and begins walking while carrying half of her weight. He mutters to himself as she stumbles along with him, things like, "Are you supposed to make someone with a concussion walk?" "Holy God, what am I gonna do if she passes out?" and, "Will May kill me if I bring a girl home?"
Most of this is nothing but gibberish to Lena. She doesn't know what he's talking about half of the time, but lets him mutter to himself anyway. Her feet clumsily trip over themselves in an attempt to keep up with him.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey," Peter says when she begins to drop again. He straightens her out once more, his grip tightening so he carries even more of her weight. One of her arms is slung over his shoulders while the other droops lazily at her side.
She's extremely grateful that the suburbs are empty tonight. If a civilian were to see her, unmasked and without her wig, being carried by Spider-Man, the internet would break. And she really isn't in the mood to be bombarded by people who want to take a picture with her.
Peter gasps; it takes her a moment to realize why. There, lying in the grass, is a piece of the alien tech that had presumably fallen out of the van. It looks like it had broken off of something larger. Amongst a tangle of wires lies a purple, glowing orb.
While Peter is preoccupied with gaping at the artifact, Lena slips out of his grasp and crumples to the ground.
"Oh my God." He quickly heaves her back up and is about to scoop her fully into his arms when his phone starts blaring that ridiculous yodeling song. Fishing it out of his back pocket — his suit must be waterproof, because there is no way it would have survived that swim in the lake — he quickly presses the button to accept the call from Ned. "Hey, man, what's up? Listen, I'm going to stop by—"
"Actually, I was calling to say maybe you shouldn't come," Ned replies somberly. "Listen to this."
He must have turned his phone closer to where Flash is acting as the DJ, because the bully's unmistakable voice shouts into a microphone, "WHEN I SAY PENIS, YOU SAY PARKER. PENIS!"
"PARKER!"
"PENIS!"
"PARKER!"
"Sorry, Peter," Ned continues as Flash's taunts fade into the background. The amount of sadness in his tone makes Lena's heart sink. "I guess we're still losers. I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow in school," Peter sighs before hanging up. He shoves his cell into his pocket again and hikes Lena up farther to get a better grip on her. "Alright— I guess that saves us an extra trip. I was going to go back for my stuff, but Ned can take it home."
Lena mumbles incoherently in response.
"Great. Well, uh, I'm taking you back to my place since you're freezing and you need warm clothes. Possibly medical attention, too." He places a hand on her upper back and pointedly avoids her gaze. "Um, I'm gonna need to carry you, so—"
Lena jumps up, understanding what he means immediately, and wraps her legs around his middle. Her arms cling onto him for dear life already. She shivers, his suit dry compared to her still-damp one that seeps coldness into her skin. Her teeth chatter against his shoulder.
"Here," Peter says, somehow managing to activate the heater function and causing warmth to spread throughout Lena. A relieved sigh falls from her mouth and causes Peter to chuckle. "Glad I could help. Okay, let's go."
Just before he takes off, he reaches down and snatches the piece of alien tech off of the grass.
-♕-
Lena doesn't remember much of the route they take to his apartment. She acknowledges whistling wind biting into her, causing her to instinctively cling tighter onto a very warm Peter until she's faintly aware she could be causing damage. Her head spins from all of the wild movements. She can't complain, though, because they reach their destination in record time.
Soon, they're crawling through his open bedroom window (well, more like Peter awkwardly climbs in with Lena still clinging to him desperately). Peter swiftly but gently sets her on the bottom bunk of his bed. Then, he lightly tip-toes toward his bedroom door and presses it shut without a sound. Something tells her he's had to do it many times and has perfected the art of doing it silently.
"Okay," he begins in a half-whisper, scrambling forward to take all of the pillows he has and assemble them against the wall of his bottom bunk so Lena can sit against them. She feels like a rag doll— helpless to the point where she falls over if unsupported. "Well, my Aunt May's sweatpants might fit you, but they'd be short. And— here. Uh."
She watches him rumble through the drawers of his dresser and takes the time to assess the rest of his room. It's about the same size as hers — so, fairly small — and sparsely decorated. There's an NYU banner hung on the gray wall to her left, a set of stuffed black shelves above his desk, and a worn-out swivel chair. It's very boyish.
Peter slams his drawer shut and hands her an oversized Midtown Tech crewneck. The royal blue material is soft to the touch when she accepts it, clearly well-worn and very loved. She considers heading to the school store one day and buying one for herself.
Footsteps approach the room, along with a shadow that increasingly builds along the crack under the door. A woman's voice calls out, "Peter?"
With lightning speed, Peter yanks on a pair of sweatpants along with a hoodie from off of his floor. He barely has time to rip the mask off and toss it into his closet before the door opens.
The woman on the other side is startlingly young in appearance, maybe actually in her mid-forties, with straight, chestnut-colored hair down to her hips and a petite frame. Her confused hazel eyes sweep over Peter, who's trying (and failing) to act casual, before widening as they land on Lena.
She must be Aunt May.
"Peter," she repeats with her voice harder this time. Yep, definitely the aunt.
"May, this is Lena Santos," Peter quickly introduces with a gesture toward his aunt. "Lena, this is May. She's, uh, a friend from school. Decathlon team? Robotics? We were at the party and she fell into the pool. She can't swim, so I kinda... got her... out?"
May's face breaks into a smile at his made-up story, which, if Lena must admit, is impressive and very believable. She can tell how much this woman adores her nephew. It shines in her eyes as well as her entire being.
"I must not have heard you come in," she says dismissively, waving a dainty hand toward the rest of the apartment. "You know I watch the TV so loud." Her eyebrows furrow upon catching sight of Lena again. "Sweetheart, you're shivering. And so pale."
"She also may have a concussion," Peter hastily adds.
May squeaks in alarm. "Peter! Why didn't you take her home, then?"
The boy's face burns red as he stammers, his words running a mile a minute, "I just — I thought — Maybe — I don't know."
"Sorry to interrupt," Lena speaks up, voice slightly sluggish. "But do you happen to have a pair of sweatpants I can borrow?"
She'd slipped Peter's crewneck on just before May had entered, so now it appears like she's wearing some very tight black pants. It's a good thing the clothing is so baggy on her— it prevents the inside from getting wet from her suit.
"Oh!" May exclaims, appearing almost guilty that she hadn't thought of it sooner. "Of course. I'll be right back."
She turns and nearly sprints to where Lena thinks might be her own bedroom. Peter huffs a sigh of relief, adjusting the hoodie so none of the red material underneath is visible. His hair is slightly drier now and definitely much better off than hers. The thick strands are going to take forever to return to normal. They're already starting to stick together in awkward clumps.
Moments later, May returns and helps Lena stand. Luckily, the teenager doesn't completely fall on the shorter woman and makes it to the small bathroom without wiping out.
"Are you okay to dress yourself?" May questions with concern in her tone. "Do you need help, or...?"
"No, thank you," Lena politely declines, already half inside the room. "I'll be fine."
She shuts the door and immediately removes the crewneck before it can get any damper than it already is. Her jumpsuit sticks to her like a second layer, so peeling it off is both a difficult task and extremely satisfying. She tosses it to the tile floor and shimmies into the borrowed sweatpants. Peter had been right— they fit around her waist, but the bottoms are an inch above her ankles. Then, she tugs on a pair of warm socks and the crewneck. It smells like Peter— which is mostly to say it smells like the cologne he wears. It's nice.
Lena stands there for a moment, hugging her arms close to her as the gooseflesh peppering her skin vanishes. Heat sinks into her body like bliss. If her hair and undergarments were dry, she would be perfectly fine.
As she bends down to pick up her discarded clothing, her head swims once more. A hand flies to her temple while she stands back up. She really hopes she doesn't have a very serious concussion; she hasn't thrown up yet, which is a fairly good sign. She'd hate to miss school tomorrow.
Lena bundles her suit into a tight ball and hugs it close to her in case May happens to be hovering outside of the door. But she isn't, and the girl doesn't find her waiting anywhere nearby.
The only person around is Peter. He waits anxiously in his room, bouncing a rubber ball against a blank spot on his wall as he waits for her return. He must have changed as well. She can't detect any hint of the suit under his clothing, even as he shifts and the hoodie rises up to reveal a flicker of his abdomen.
She's relieved to know that he's keeping just as many secrets as she is.
"Hey," she greets, leaning against his doorframe for support.
Peter gives a start. He jumps to catch the ball, his jaw dropping slightly in surprise before he turns to her. The toy falls out of his hand and bounces harmlessly to the wooden floor.
"Oh, hey," he greets with a timid smile. "I see the clothes fit." His eyes drop down to where her ankles are showing. "Mostly. Here's a bag for your suit."
Peter hands her a tote bag that must be one from his aunt's closet. Lena doesn't figure that he would have one with a dazzling letter M embezzled on it in gold sequins. She dumps her clothes inside and attempts to take the bag, only for Peter to hold it in his own hands.
"You're barely standing up," he points out. "I can carry it."
Lena flashes him a tired, thankful grin.
From somewhere else in the apartment, May's voice speaks and gradually gets louder the closer she walks. "I made some hot drinks for the two of you."
She walks in with a pastel mug in each hand. Both are filled nearly to the brim with steaming hot cocoa, the mere sight making Lena's mouth water. She gratefully accepts the baby blue one and barely stops herself from taking a large gulp. Her tastebuds would have singed off.
"Thank you, May," Lena says gratefully, then immediately regrets it. Should she address her as Miss Parker? Miss May? But the woman doesn't seem bothered at all with the informality and smiles in response.
The two Parker's help to situate Lena in Peter's swivel desk chair so she doesn't have to stand. Normally, the urge to excessively spin around is nearly too much to resist whenever she sits in one of these, but now she knows that she'll likely be sick before she can even turn a full 360 degrees. She sits painstakingly still instead. Not having the energy to move is a completely foreign concept to her.
"When we're done, can you drive us back to Lena's place?" Peter asks after taking a sip of the cocoa. Chocolate lines his upper lip until he wipes it with the back of his sleeve.
"Of course," May agrees, then faces the girl. "It's late, hon. Your parents might start worrying about you."
A thought hits Lena so suddenly that she jolts and spills a bit of her beverage over the side of the mug. "Oh my God."
"What?" May and Peter both ask in perfect sync, twin expressions of worry on their faces.
"My friend— I forgot to tell him I left."
God, Graham must be pacing the floor by now, eyes on the clock. She doesn't even know what time it is. What if he's still at that party and is waiting for her to return? Guilt creeps up on her like a gnarled hand crawling up her spine. Without her, he may not be enjoying himself at Liz's. Worrying is what he's best at. She should have thought to call him sooner.
"I'll call him," Peter says, fishing his phone out of nowhere. She can't help but admit she's surprised at his offer. "What's his number?"
Lena recites it by heart and waits anxiously as Peter brings his phone to his ear. May leaves to turn off the television in the sitting room, and soon the apartment is nearly silent. She can hear the dial tone even from where she sits.
"Graham?" Peter asks. Lena's heart gives a relieved jump at the fact he'd actually picked up. "It's Peter. Parker. Um, I just wanted to let you know that Lena is... with me, and she's — she's safe, so, yeah. I'm taking her home. Yeah, I'll tell her. Cool, thanks. Bye."
Lena gazes at him expectantly, wondering what Graham wanted Peter to tell her. It seems to take an agonizingly long time for him to finally report, "He says he was worried sick. He was just about to leave the party."
Lena sighs and buries her face into the now-empty mug in her hand. She doesn't deserve Graham.
"We have a lot of catching up to do," she says, blowing air out of her mouth so her cheeks puff out. "You, Ned, Graham, and I have to have some sort of superhero-and-human-sidekick intervention."
Peter nods in agreement just as May calls them from the kitchen. "Peter, Lena, are you ready to go?"
"Yeah!" Peter yells in reply. He crosses his room to take the mug from Lena's hands and sets it on his cluttered desk along with his own cup. Then, offering an arm again, he leads her out of his bedroom with the sparkly tote bag in his other hand.
As it turns out, Lena only lives about fifteen minutes from Peter's apartment. The amount of time it takes to reach the complex seems minuscule due to the fact that there's barely any traffic this late at night. Shocker— usually, driving in Queens sucks, which is why Lena doesn't have her driver's license and prefers to walk or take the subway everywhere she needs to go.
"I'll walk her in," Peter offers as they pull up to the curb. He'd chosen to sit in the backseat with Lena instead of the front one beside May, and she finds it wholesome somehow that he'd wanted to keep her company. Or make sure she didn't pass out.
"Are you sure?" May questions, turning around in her seat to raise an eyebrow at her nephew. "I could help you—"
"No, May, really—" Peter starts to quickly interject, then appears guilty at the confused expression on her face at his harshness. He slows his speech and lets out a calming breath. "It's fine. I can handle it."
Together, they hobble up the front steps and head through the lobby, straight toward the rickety elevator that Lena absolutely hates. She always feels like it's going to get stuck while she's in it. Even though she's on the fifth floor, she usually takes the stairs whenever she possibly can.
This is not one of those times. That's why she and Peter endure a slightly awkward trip in the slow-moving contraption, which seems to decrease its pace just to spite them.
Once they reach her apartment, Lena raps her knuckles on the wooden door. Her key is in the backpack that Graham currently has possession of. Her parents must be confused— they rarely have people who come knocking at her door. Especially not in the dead of night.
After a few moments, the door is whisked open to reveal Pa. His sleeves are rolled up and his arms covered in flour up to his elbows. The smell of bibingka, coconut rice cake, wafts into the hallway. They'd been stress baking.
"Lena Marie, where have you been?" he immediately demands, though she can tell he's more perplexed than angry. She's wearing clothes that clearly aren't hers, her hair is matted to her head, and she's leaning on a boy they've never met before. Pa's brown eyes flicker to Peter and begin to scrutinize him from head to toe in a way only a father can.
"It's a long story," Lena mumbles as Pa steps aside to let them into the apartment. She catches sight of Peter's eyes whizzing around the cozy space, taking in the brightly-colored kitchen counters that are covered in baking supplies and Lena's record player playing one of her Beatles records. She knew her parents had been stealing it when she wasn't home. "Hi, Ma."
Her mother seems to be in a similar state as her father, her dark skin spotted with flour and coconut shreddings. Her chestnut-brown hair is held out of her face in a low ponytail. She has a rivet between her eyebrows that Lena recognizes all too well. It's indeed stress baking.
Ma takes one look at Lena and begins interrogating her in rapid-fire Tagalog, some of which she's able to understand at such a fast pace and some of which flies completely over her head. She's able to come up with the conclusion that her parents think she's been drinking.
After enduring a nearly three-minute-long tirade without a single pause for breath, the kitchen falls silent. Lena keeps her voice steady and calm when she responds, "I haven't been drinking, I promise."
"Who is this?" Pa questions with a gesture toward Peter.
The poor boy looks terribly intimidated, brown eyes wide as saucers and jaw slightly dropped. However, he still has enough courage to hold out a hand for her father to shake. "I'm Peter, sir. Peter Parker. I'm in Robotics and on the Decathlon Team with Lena."
"Smart boy," Lena catches Ma mumble under her breath. Her daughter sends her a playful glare— she never brings boys over except for Graham, so of course they'd be all over the idea of a well-mannered and intelligent kid like Peter helping her.
"Look, I got pushed into a pool and Peter got me out," she explains in a slightly exasperated tone. "But I hit my head. I might have a concussion."
"I took her back to my apartment," Peter adds before her parents can freak out at the last bit. "My aunt and I gave her clothes to wear so she wouldn't catch hypothermia."
Pa's stern features soften— he'd done well by mentioning May. The fact that there was an adult involved in her supervision makes him all the more credible in her father's eyes. He'd probably thought that a fifteen-year-old boy had taken care of her himself if he hadn't mentioned his aunt.
Ma smiles, all traces of speculation having vanished at their convincing story. "Thank you, Peter. That was kind of you."
Peter's ears tinge pink. "It was no problem."
Pa takes Lena off of Peter's hands and sits her down on one of the blue kitchen chairs. Then, taking a bit of one of the finished desserts, he holds it out to the flustered teenage boy. "Do you want to try bibingka?"
"Coconut rice cake," Lena hastily informs him.
"Oh," Peter says, caught off-guard at the offer and the sudden change in the atmosphere, "s-sure. Thank you, Mr. San—"
"Rivera," Papa corrects with a polite smile. People make the mistake often enough that it has become an almost reflexive response.
Peter flushes even more and stuffs his face with the piece of cake to distract himself. Lena, Ma, and Pa all watch him intently to gauge his reaction. He chews and then swallows, his eyebrows furrowing deeply in thought.
"Wow," he finally says, then takes another bite and speaks through it. "This is really good."
Ma's smile grows. She catches Lena's eye and gives her a wink. Oh, God. Peter's polite, smart, and likes their food. She's never going to hear the end of this.
___
this chapter is 5.4k words and kind of all over the place, but hey, character development is essential. can we talk about how cute peter is when he's blushing and flustered (aka 90% of the time)?? the homeboy can't even touch lena's waist without bursting into flames
this chapter was filled with so much soft!lena gah i love her
2020 update: i was editing this chapter and i thought of this meme for lena
-kristyn