Are you shy?

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After Peter had finished venting, he heard an engine behind him. Turning around, he saw a yellow Volkswagen Beetle parked not far away. When it noticed Peter looking over, it transformed into a towering yellow-and-black figure and began curiously prodding the unconscious body on the ground with one finger.

“Careful. Don’t poke holes in him,” Peter warned, muttering, “Ordinary humans are very fragile.”

He thought long and hard about how Red Robin had learned that Harry was looking for him. At last, he remembered Tim mentioning that he was a Red Robin fan. Tim must have told Red Robin, who had uncovered some secrets about the Osborn Group and come to warn Peter.

But was it really that easy for Tim to get in touch with Red Robin? Peter did not follow celebrities, but even he knew that meeting one’s idol was extremely difficult—unless the fan had spent a great deal of money.

Did Tim have money? Yes.

Could it be that Tim and Red Robin had an unusual relationship...?

Peter hurriedly slammed the brakes on his train of thought and smacked his forehead. It was wrong—terribly wrong—to make such assumptions about his family and colleagues!

Bumblebee watched Peter’s expression change repeatedly as he kept smacking himself in the head. Deciding that Peter might need a good smack, he extended one finger and pushed Peter in the chest. Peter staggered backward and landed hard on the ground.

“Bumblebee!” Peter shouted angrily.

After giving a creaky, mechanical laugh, Bumblebee transformed back into a Camaro and opened the door for Peter.

Peter returned to the manor relatively early that day and entered through the front door in full view of everyone.

As usual, the manor was empty. Peter made his way to the kitchen to find something to eat. He had just pulled out a box of cereal when he caught the faintest scent of blood.

Peter turned around and was startled by Jason, who had appeared behind him without making a sound.

“When did you get here?” Peter asked in surprise. The moment the words left his mouth, he realized they made him sound as though he were the master of the house. He hurriedly corrected himself. “I mean, how come you haven’t been back for several days... Um, how long are you staying this time...?”

Why did everything he said sound worse and worse?

Jason raised one eyebrow, his expression growing increasingly strange. Gritting his teeth, Peter abandoned every other possible explanation.

“Welcome back!”

Jason’s expression softened. He pulled out a chair and sat down. “I’ve been staying at my own place lately.”

“Have you eaten?” Peter asked, casually making Jason a bowl of cereal and milk. “Want to eat together?”

“You’re eating that?” Jason asked helplessly.

He stood up, intending to fry a couple of steaks, but the movement tugged at his wound, and he immediately hissed.

The smell of blood grew stronger. Peter’s sharp gaze fixed on Jason’s waist.

“You’re hurt?”

“It’s nothing serious.” Jason released the hand covering his wound and headed toward the refrigerator, but Peter stopped him.

“Let me see,” Peter said stubbornly. “You can’t just leave a wound untreated.”

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The two stood locked in a stalemate for a while, their brown eyes confronting each other. The concern in Peter’s gaze was unmistakable, and Jason could only lift the hem of his shirt.

“It’s just a scratch. Nothing serious.”

He had treated it briefly himself, wrapping a bandage around his lean waist. But because the wound had not been stitched, blood was still seeping through, leaving a red stain on the dressing.

“You call this nothing?” Peter exclaimed. “I have a first-aid kit in my bedroom. Wait here. I’ll take care of it!”

He started toward the stairs, then turned back after two steps.

“Don’t run away! I’ll be angry if you do!”

The childish threat left Jason torn between amusement and exasperation, so he sat down at his leisure and waited for Peter to return.

The truth was, he had not come back to the manor because of his wound. He had come back because of Peter.

During the three days he had spent tracking Clayface, Jason had paid little attention to what was happening in the Batcave. Only after returning did he check his messages and discover that Tim had sent him a note telling him to keep an eye on several clubs within his territory. If he saw Peter, he was to pay attention to what Peter was doing inside and find a way to bring him out. He must not go astray.

Jason: ...?

Unaware that the misunderstanding had already been resolved, Jason’s imagination immediately ran wild, conjuring several scenes of Peter visiting disreputable establishments.

He promptly instructed his people to watch for Peter Parker’s face. If Peter tried to enter any of the clubs, they were to throw him out. Jason then dealt with a few other matters, organized his deductions concerning Clayface’s whereabouts, and magnanimously sent a copy to the Batcomputer so the intelligence could be shared.

After being injured on patrol that night, he went to Gotham University to see whether the little bookworm had been bullied in his absence.

He had never truly believed that Peter was visiting clubs. He had assumed it had to be a misunderstanding.

And yet Peter really had not been at school.

Half bewildered and half furious, Jason rode his motorcycle back to Wayne Manor, where he caught Peter.

But the moment he met Peter’s eyes, Jason once again felt that he looked far too innocent to have done anything wrong.

Should he question him directly? Would that make him seem too cold-hearted? Jason was still considering the matter.

Peter soon returned with the first-aid kit. The dining-room chairs were rather high, and bending over to treat Jason’s wound from another chair would have been uncomfortable. He was also worried about pulling the injury, so Peter simply knelt on the floor. He did not care in the slightest that he was half-kneeling beside Jason as he carefully untied the gauze around his waist.

The vicious wound made Peter draw a sharp breath. He could not stop himself from scolding Jason.

“You didn’t even go to a hospital with an injury like this? What were you thinking?”

Jason was distracted and only came back to himself when he heard the question. He answered casually, “I have a high pain threshold. It doesn’t hurt that much.”

“What do you think you are, Deadpool?” Peter muttered as he took a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the first-aid kit.

Jason sensed that things were about to go badly. “You’re actually going to use that?”

“If I don’t, do you want it to get infected?”

Peter poured the peroxide over the wound without mercy. Foam immediately bubbled up, and for a moment Jason could no longer tell whether it hurt more to be cut or to be disinfected. He gritted his teeth and clenched his fists, but did not make a sound.

Peter’s first-aid kit was small but fully equipped. It even contained topical anesthetic. After disinfecting the wound with hydrogen peroxide, he applied the anesthetic, then took out a needle and thread for stitching. He looked surprisingly professional.

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“Where did you learn all this?” Jason asked in surprise.

“There was a first-aid class in high school. I got a perfect score,” Peter replied with an explanation he had prepared long ago.

In reality, he had learned it after meeting Tony. Wanting to help the non-powered members of the Avengers, Peter had deliberately studied first aid and wound treatment. He had even practiced on an injured Tony, jabbing him until Tony grimaced and nearly blasted him with a repulsor.

What kind of high school taught first aid? Jason, who had only attended high school for one year, wondered.

The pain of being stitched did not mean much to him, especially with the anesthetic. He simply watched Peter’s nimble hands guide the needle and thread. The stitches were neat and even, far better than anything Jason could have done himself.

“So,” Jason asked tentatively, “how was studying in the library tonight?”

Peter’s hands paused slightly. Then he said as though nothing were amiss, “I wasn’t in the library tonight. I went to a friend’s father’s funeral. I wasn’t in a very good mood, so I went up into the mountains to watch the sunset. That’s why I came back late.”

At least Peter had not lied about being away from school while Jason was gone. Somewhat relieved, Jason then heard Peter ask, “What about your wound? Normally, something wouldn’t cut you there, and it shouldn’t be this serious.”

Jason answered smoothly, “I saw someone being attacked on the road and stepped in to help. I was injured while taking the criminal’s knife away.”

Whether it was an armed robbery in broad daylight or Jason playing the hero, either scenario was perfectly plausible in Gotham.

Neither of them said anything more. Each harbored his own suspicions, and for a while the only sounds in the room were the needle passing through flesh and Jason’s slightly heavy breathing.

After stitching came the ointment and a fresh bandage. Afraid that Peter might see the scars on his body and guess the truth, Jason lifted his shirt only a little. When Peter tried to raise it higher, Jason clung stubbornly to the fabric and refused to let go.

Peter could not help asking, “Are you shy?”

Jason replied, “With a body this good, letting you see it for free would be a terrible bargain.”

Peter stared at him. “I’m also stitching you up for free!”

Even so, Jason’s words made Peter involuntarily notice the line of his hips, his abdominal muscles, and the faintly visible muscles beneath his side ribs. Against his healthy, sun-kissed skin, they looked undeniably attractive.

Peter swallowed unconsciously. Realizing what he had done, he quickly lowered his head and finished wrapping Jason’s bandage. Compared with his neat stitches, the wrapping was an absolute mess.

As Peter wound the bandage around him, his fingers brushed Jason’s skin. The rough calluses on his fingertips brought a series of itches, along with an indescribable tingling sensation in Jason’s chest.

Jason suddenly felt an impulse to stroke the young man’s head. He quickly restrained himself and made a joke to lighten the atmosphere.

“Did you skip the part of the class about bandaging?”

Peter cleared his throat and glared up at him. “I should have stitched you up like a centipede.”

“My mistake, little hero,” Jason said with a smile.