Flash Fire by T.J. Klune

6

On a good day, Nick had to push himself to focus. It wasn’t as bad as it used to be, and he had hope he’d eventually become one of those lucky adults whose symptoms of attention-deficit hyperactivity disorder lessened with age. But he wasn’t kidding himself in thinking he’d ever be free of it: a kid with ADHD became a teenager with ADHD who turned into an adult with ADHD. That was his lot in life. It sucked, but it wasn’t a death sentence. He’d been on Concentra long enough now that it had evened out, and his mind was clearer and sharper than it’d been in a long time. He dutifully took his pills as instructed, knowing they were meant to help him, even if the source of the pills was now something he questioned.

And yet, no matter what it came down to, no matter how old he got or if he was finally on the right meds, his brain was wired differently. And though the bad days were few and far between, he still had them. Those days were when his thoughts were a jumbled knot in his head, and no matter how much he tugged on individual strands, it only made the knot tighter. Those days were when he felt like he was vibrating out of his skin, unable to sit still for any length of time. He fidgeted. He tapped his foot. He rapped his fingers against his thighs and the top of his desk. He clicked his pen again and again. It wasn’t quite spiraling, not like when he had panic attacks and he couldn’t breathe.

But it still sucked, especially on this particular Monday morning in February. He knew he was escalating, the battery that was his brain overloaded by a power surge. He tried to stop it, tried to calm himself by doing what he’d been taught: clearing his mind to the best of his ability, picking one thing to focus on, and breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth.

It didn’t work.

All he could think about was the invasion of his privacy—Rebecca Firestone using an intimate moment against him, like she had any right.

“She can kiss my ass,” Nick muttered as he scribbled circles in his notebook. “She’s lucky I don’t have powers and just bam. Pow!”

It was about this time that he became aware of his surroundings to discover that he was in the middle of second period (American Lit) and the teacher (a frizzy lady named Mrs. Werner) and his classmates were staring at him, some already whispering.

Nick blinked. Second period? What the hell had happened in first? Oh man, he hoped there hadn’t been a pop quiz. He’d boffed it for sure if there was. And it’d be exactly like Hanson to give a trig pop quiz first thing on a Monday morning. He slumped lower in his chair, smiling widely to let Mrs. Werner know he was here and ready to listen to her drone on and on about allegory and blah, blah, blah.

It must have worked, because she resumed and everyone turned back toward the front of the class.

A moment later, he was lost in his thoughts again, picking through the knot in his head, tugging, tugging, tugging on the loose strands, trying to find one that would pull free. It was all Dad and Seth and Burke, Burke, Burke, which caused a low wave of anger to wash over him. The lights in the room buzzed loudly. In the corner, one shorted out completely with a low pop. No one paid it any mind. They were in a public school, after all. Things broke all the time.

We need to put on a united front before Seth gets here,” he announced as soon as he sat down at their lunch table. The cafeteria was loud today, since most students were indoors, given how cold it was outside. The flurries were supposed to switch to full-on snow at some point, but so far, it was holding off. It didn’t help that a group of the most popular kids in school were hanging banners for an event he’d totally spaced on. The biggest banner read: CENTENNIAL HIGH PROM COMING SOON! A NIGHT TO REMEMBER!

This was the first year they’d get to go, given that it was only for juniors and seniors. Gibby could’ve gone last year with Jazz, but they’d ended up watching terrible monster movies with Nick and Seth instead. Gibby hadn’t seemed to mind at all, but when Jazz had asked her to the prom this year, she’d rolled her eyes, all while fighting a smile. She wasn’t fooling anyone.

Nick hadn’t asked Seth yet, nor had Seth asked him. Cosmo had taught him he should never assume, so he needed to plan the biggest, most elaborate promposal ever, making every other promposal look like crap.

They looked at him quizzically, Gibby arching an eyebrow and Jazz giving Nick a little wave. He set his backpack on the table next to him, digging around until he found the brown paper bag that held his lunch: a smashed sandwich, pulverized chips, and a bruised banana. The feast of kings.

Gibby had a basket filled with french fries, something Nick longed for but didn’t dare. Ever since Seth had revealed his muscles, Nick had paid closer attention to what he ate. Seth assured him time and time again that he’d like Nick no matter what shape or size he was, and while that filled Nick with so much joy he’d thought he’d burst, Seth also had at least three abs whereas Nick had none.

Jazz had what looked to be pineapple chicken over shredded cabbage. He briefly wondered if her parents loved her before shaking his head. Bigger things to focus on.

“Still on that, huh?” Gibby asked. “Thinking about it all morning?”

“Of course I have,” Nick hissed as he leaned forward. He looked around suspiciously. No one seemed to be trying to listen in, but that didn’t mean they weren’t either. “Who does Rebecca Firestone think she is? No one, that’s who. And that bullshit about an anonymous source? Lie. All lies. She’s obviously stalking me, and I’m going to get her so fired.”

“Why is she stalking you?” Jazz asked, daintily wiping her mouth with a cloth napkin. “And can’t you say that Seth was cosplaying or something?”

Nick stared at her. “Cosplaying? In January? It’s not even Extraordinaries Con season! You know that doesn’t happen until October.”

“So? My parents go to parties all the time that I’m not supposed to know about where they’re in costumes.” She smiled. “They call them ‘Eyes Wide Shut’ parties, whatever that means.”

“What do they do there?” Gibby asked.

Jazz shrugged. “I don’t know. Probably talk about market shares and yachts. I think it’s like a slumber party for adults.”

“I don’t get rich people,” Nick lamented. “Like, why would you—no, you know what? Focus. Stalking.”

Gibby looked troubled. She reached over and took Nick’s jittery hand in her own, squeezing tightly. “You need to be careful. All of us do, but especially you and Seth. Even if it wasn’t Firestone who took the picture, she’s not going to let this go.”

“Oh, I know,” Nick said. “Like a dog with a bone, that one.” He sighed. “You know what? That’s mean, even if it’s Rebecca Firestone. She’s a woman who’s worked hard to get where she’s at in a male-dominated industry that—What the hell am I saying? Screw her!”

Gibby and Jazz exchanged a glance. “I think you’re allowed this one,” Gibby said.

“Damn right I am,” Nick said, pulling his hand back to open his lunch. “You know what? I should’ve seen this coming. They have to be working together. It’s the only thing that makes sense. After Burke kidnapped me over the weekend and—”

“What?” Gibby asked sharply.

Nick blanched. Crap. He hadn’t meant to say that. Rebecca Firestone had thrown him off his game. “Uh, I was speaking … metaphorically?”

“Nick,” Gibby growled.

He shook his head. “Forget I said anything. We have bigger things to worry about. Seth—”

“—is coming up to the table, looking like he’s about to go into battle,” Jazz said. Then she raised her voice, a sunny smile on her face as she said, “Hi, Seth! We weren’t talking about you at all! Come, sit, sit!”

“Good one, babe,” Gibby said. “That was believable.”

“I can hear you,” Seth muttered as he sat next to Nick. He glanced cautiously at him, and Nick grinned rather maniacally in response. “Hi.”

“Hello, boyfriend of mine,” Nick said, and because he could, he leaned forward and kissed Seth right on the mouth. He hoped a homophobe had been watching and was now filled with so much heterosexual rage, they were choking on it. When he pulled back, Seth’s glasses were slightly askew and his cheeks were pink, but he didn’t look around as if embarrassed. Instead, he leaned forward and kissed Nick again. It was one of the things Nick loved most about him, seeing as how it was about damn time queer people were able to claim public displays of affection for their own without being worried about being harassed for it.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Seth said, bumping his shoulder against Nick’s. “I almost don’t want to ask why.”

“But—” Nick said.

“But,” Seth said, “I feel like I have to ask in case it means you’re going to do something that could end in the destruction of public property.”

“That’s only happened a few times!”

Seth snorted. “Oh, my bad. Only a few times.”

And because Gibby was evil, she said, “Yeah, Nick was just telling us how he’d been kidnapped by Simon Burke.”

Seth turned slowly to look at Nick, who decided that his lunch needed his immediate attention. The sandwich was salvageable. The chips, not so much. Maybe if he poured the remains onto the sandwich? Was that gross? Probably. Whatever. And that still left the banana, which Nick knew was his father messing with him, given the way he’d once given Nick the safe-sex talk involving a banana, a condom, and lube. Nick still hadn’t recovered. He didn’t think he ever would.

“Nick.”

He groaned and wondered why no one else was as easily distracted as him. “It wasn’t that big of a deal. And I wouldn’t call it kidnapping,” he added, shooting a withering glance at Gibby.

“You used that exact word,” Jazz reminded him.

“Semantics,” Nick muttered. “Okay, fine. Yes, Simon Burke made me get into his limo against my will, and yes, he made vague threats without them actually being threats—which, if you think about it, is a really impressive talent to have.”

“Nick,” Seth said through gritted teeth. “Every detail. Now. Leave nothing out.”

“Ooh,” Jazz said. “I got chills. Seth, don’t move. Hold on.” She held up her phone and took a picture. “Okay, there—I wanted to capture this moment for posterity. Nick, you may continue.”

Nick didn’t like the expression on Seth’s face. It was cold and angry, and someone wearing a cravat should never look that way. “Hey, Seth?”

Seth stared at him.

And because Nick was nothing if not a gentleman (and a big fan of romantic callbacks), he said, “You make my heart so full, I think I’ll die.”

Manipulative? Maybe, but oh-so-worth-it, because the smile Seth gave him was Nick’s favorite. It was slow to bloom, the corners of his mouth tugging upward, a hint of teeth between his lips, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. Nick didn’t know what to do with himself that didn’t involve potentially being arrested for public indecency.

“Ditto,” Seth said quietly.

“Aw,” Gibby said, “now I know what a diabetic coma feels like. Nick, get on with it. We only have twenty minutes.”

Quickly, he told them about his jaunt with Simon Burke. They stayed quiet as he talked in a rushed, low voice, Gibby scowling, Jazz’s eyes widening, and Seth looking more and more perturbed. He finished by saying, “And Dad didn’t want me to say anything. I think he was embarrassed by all of it, so don’t tell him you know.” His voice cracked, but he powered through it. “It’s important to me.”

“Sure, Nicky,” Jazz said, sounding shaken. “We won’t say anything.”

“The pills,” Seth said suddenly. “Your Concentra. Did you look into it?”

Nick nodded. “The label on the bottle doesn’t say anything about Burke Pharmaceuticals, but I was able to track the medicine back to them. He wasn’t lying. His company developed Concentra. Dad says he’d have nothing to do with the pills, so he doesn’t think there’s any reason for me to stop taking them.” He looked away. He didn’t like to talk about being medicated. “They … help.”

“I know they do,” Seth said quietly.

Nick sighed. “I think if they were the same kind Burke gave Owen, we’d know it by now.” He swiveled in his chair, raising his hand toward the prom banner. “Explosive Destruction!”

The cafeteria quieted as everyone turned to stare at them.

Nick glared right back. “Eavesdropping is rude. This has nothing to do with you. Return to your silly, inconsequential lives.” He turned toward the table once more. “See? Normal, like always.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gibby mumbled.

“It’s weird, though,” Jazz said, spearing a piece of chicken. “Burke comes out of nowhere, and then a couple of days later, Rebecca Firestone shows up in front of our school?”

A thought struck Nick—one he should’ve had sooner. “Oh, crap. Can she use the footage she took today? I need to tell my dad before he sees it on TV and grounds me forever, even though I was the victim.” He typed a text: Daddio, no cause for panic, but RF showed up b4 school asking questions re: our fire friend. Don’t know what she wanted but can she use footage of me without ur permission?

He was about to set his phone down when it immediately started vibrating. Nick sighed. “Such a drama queen, I swear to god.” He connected the call. “Hey, pops. How’s your day going?”

“She what?” Dad snarled.

Nick had the best dad, no contest. “She was asking about me and Pyro Storm. She had a photo of me and Seth and kept saying I knew more than I was saying. Said NCPD was covering for me, which is pretty much bullshit.”

“Language,” Dad said. “She recorded you?”

“She did, but then Jazz threatened to stab the cameraman with her heels, and that was pretty much that.”

Jazz preened as Dad groaned. “Kid, I’m not even going to touch that one. Jazz is terrifying when she needs to be. And no, she can’t use footage of you without the permission of a guard—parent.” Weird. Dad’s voice caught on the word guardian. “And if she tries, we’re going to sue the hell out of her, Action News, and anyone else I can think of.”

“I respect that and you,” Nick said seriously. “Thanks, Dad.”

“You let me know if you see her again,” Dad said. “If anything, I’ll get a restraining order filed against her. She’s pushing her luck as it is.”

“Will do. Lunch is almost over, so I gotta go. See you tonight?”

“Tonight,” Dad said, already sounding distracted. “Love you.”

“Love you t—and you’re already gone.” He set his phone down on the table. “Dad’s on it. Whatever Rebecca Firestone and Simon Burke are cooking up, they won’t get far. He’ll make sure of it.”

“It could be a coincidence,” Seth said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “We need to proceed carefully, just in case it’s not. Nicky, if something ever seems off about your meds, you need to let us know. We can’t take any chances, not with Burke.”

“I will,” Nick said.

“How did he know you take Concentra at all?” Gibby asked.

That gave Nick pause. “I don’t know. That’s gotta be a HIPAA violation. Maybe they have a list of everyone who takes the pills the company makes. And that’s some kind of Orwellian nightmare I don’t even want to consider.”

“I’ll look into it,” Seth said. “Dig around, see what I can find. But as much as I hate to say it, we have other things that need our attention.” He dug his phone out of his pocket and began to type. When he found what he was looking for, he set the phone on the table in front of Nick. “Explain.”

Nick looked down. The screen displayed the official Pyro Storm website, complete with shifting flames that rose off the letters, the smoke curling into little hearts. Nick was proud of it. He admired his handiwork until he realized everyone was waiting on him. Showtime. “Now, I know what you’re thinking.”

“I really doubt that,” Gibby said.

Nick ignored her. “It’s a central hub for all things Pyro Storm. Want to know what Nova City’s premier hero is up to? Want to find the links to Pyro Storm’s favorite eateries? Need to find links to all of Pyro Storm’s social media? Well, have I got good news for you! There’s even a FAQ section where the most important questions are answered, like what is Pyro Storm’s favorite kind of dog, and can Pyro Storm shoot fire out of his junk? Huskies, and no. No, he cannot.” He frowned. “That last one is courtesy of my father, which I won’t ever forgive him for.”

Gibby’s eyes bulged. “He asked what?”

“So,” Jazz said, “I really want to know why you thought that was necessary for your FAQ section, but I can see you’re on a roll, so we’ll come back to that. Because what.”

“We’re not here to talk about it!” Nick said loudly as Seth groaned into his hands. “We’re here to talk about how I’ve launched the new branding initiative for our favorite superhero. Everyone will now finally be able to support Pyro Storm and all his hard work by buying officially licensed merch, with twenty-five percent of the proceeds going to Pyro Storm, fifteen percent for the three of us, fifteen percent to the artist, and the remainder going to a queer nonprofit, because Pyro Storm is giving and kind.”

Gibby grabbed Seth’s phone and pulled it across the table so she and Jazz could look at it. She scrolled down the page. Nick waited for feedback.

“Is that—” Gibby said, squinting down at the screen. “You really made a Twitter account.”

“And we already have over two hundred followers,” Nick said excitedly.

“No,” Seth moaned, rocking back and forth. “No, no, no.”

Nick pulled out his own phone, opening Twitter before he shoved it at Seth. “See?”

“‘Hello,’” Seth read as Nick mouthed along silently. “‘This is Pyro Storm. Villains, run in fear! It’s time to burn.’” He looked up at Nick. “It’s time to burn? Isn’t that in your fic? You called it a—”

“—catchphrase,” Nick said promptly. “The more Pyro Storm says it, the better the chance it’ll catch on. I workshopped it, and that was the best one. Which means I’ll need you to say it as often as possible.”

“Workshopped it with who?” Seth asked.

“Myself in my room.” Duh.

“And what’s this all for?” Jazz asked. “Why does Pyro Storm need this?”

“Ah! I’m so glad you asked. Thank you, Jazz. The reason is simple: Seth deserves to be compensated for his time. He’s done years of service for the people of Nova City; it’s time he’s appreciated for everything he’s done. I was also thinking about a dedicated YouTube channel where we could get Pyro Storm to attach a GoPro camera to his helmet and take people on a virtual tour of Nova City, but that’s still in the planning stages. And, as his brand manager, I’ll make it my mission to—”

“Brand manager?” Seth growled, and Nick did not swoon at the Pyro Storm in his voice. “I don’t need a brand manager.”

“You do,” Nick said. “You just don’t know it yet. Trust me, okay? I won’t let anything bad get tweeted at you or about you. I’ve already got a new hashtag in mind to help promote fairness and equality. Ready? Hashtag #WWPSD—What Would Pyro Storm Do. Get it? It’s like you’re Jesus, but you can light things on fire, when he only did stuff with fish and wine or whatever.”

“That’s blasphemy,” Seth reminded him.

Nick waved dismissively. “He’ll forgive me. I have a feeling he likes gay people, so. And look! I haven’t even told you about the Instagram account, which Jazz will oversee, since she’s artistic AF.”

“I am,” Jazz said. “It’s one of my gifts.”

“It is,” Nick agreed. “And since we all seem to be on the same page with this, I’ll—”

“We’re not,” Seth said.

“We’re … not?” Nick looked at his phone, then back at Seth. “Is something wrong? I can go through it again, if you want.”

Seth shook his head. “I don’t need you to do that, Nick. What I want you to do is listen to me.”

“I am,” Nick assured him. “I always—”

“You don’t,” Seth retorted. Nick tried to hide his flinch, but he wasn’t sure how successful he was. “You guys don’t get what it’s like. You think it’s all fun and heroics and saving the day. It’s not. It’s barely even that. I’m tired all the time, my back hurts, my grades are slipping. All I want to do some days is stay in bed and not move for as long as possible. You could never understand what I’m going through because you all get to be normal, whether you want to be or not.”

That stung. It didn’t feel like it was supposed to be a dig at him, but there it was all the same.

Seth’s voice hardened as he continued. “Do you know what I would give to be like you? To be able to go one day without worrying if someone is going to get hurt on my watch?” He snatched his phone back from Gibby. “I’d give anything to only care about shit like this.”

“That’s not fair,” Jazz said. “Because we do know what it’s like to worry. We worry about you getting hurt every time you suit up.”

Seth shook his head. “It’s not the same. I’m just one person you care about. But I have to worry about thousands of people I don’t even know.” His hands curled into fists, and Nick thought the temperature at their table rose a few degrees. “I know you’re trying to help, Nick, but this isn’t it.”

Seth was right. Part of Nick—the calm, rational part that he did have, no matter what anyone said to the contrary—knew this. But this part of Nick was still a tiny part of him, crying out in the dark, its voice almost completely buried by a swell of irrational anger. “You could talk to us about this,” he said. “You could try and tell us what you’re going through. You don’t have to cut us out of part of your life because you don’t think we’d get it. Maybe we won’t, but we’d at least try.” He glanced at Gibby and Jazz. “We’ve been here for years, Seth. Yeah, we’ve only known about what you can do for a few months, but we’ve had your back even before we knew what you could do. Why would you think you couldn’t talk to us or come to us for help if you needed it?”

“Or,” Gibby said, “we could give Seth the chance to work things out on his own. Some of us need that, Nick. Just because we don’t tell you everything doesn’t mean we don’t know we can come to you on our terms, when we’re ready.”

“But how’re we supposed to help if we don’t know what’s going on?” Jazz asked.

Nick looked at Seth, sure he was about to smile and say, Yeah, Nicky, I know. He didn’t. He glared at Nick, eyes ablaze.

“You could get hurt,” he said hotly. “Why don’t you ever seem to get that? Do you know how many times I’ve had to—” He grunted, looking away. “This isn’t a game.”

Nick bristled. “I know it’s not a game; I never thought it was. I’m trying to—”

Seth deflated, curling in on himself. If Nick didn’t already feel awful, this would have clinched it. “I know you’re trying, Nicky. I get that. But what about the real world? We can’t keep this up forever. I mean, we haven’t even asked how Gibby’s doing with her whole college thing, or how Jazz feels about it.”

“That’s between Gibby and me,” Jazz said as Gibby slumped lower on the bench. “And while I appreciate your concern, you don’t get to weaponize that against Nick to try and win an argument.”

Yep, apparently Nick could feel worse. He looked apologetically at Jazz and Gibby. “I’m sorry, I should’ve—”

The bell rang.

Nick startled, looking around to see everyone standing up from their tables. By the time he turned back, Seth was gone. Nick saw him disappearing into the crowd, shoulders stiff. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Not one of your best moves, Nicky,” Gibby said quietly.

Not what he needed to hear. He was hurt and more than a little angry, but he didn’t quite know at who. He thought it was mostly at himself. “Yeah, well, maybe if he trusted us as much as we trust him, we could’ve heard this already.”

“That’s not fair,” Jazz said, gathering up the remains of her lunch. “He has a point. We don’t know what it’s like for him.”

Nick lowered his forehead against the table. “I screwed up, huh?”

Gibby reached across the table and punched him lightly on the shoulder. “Remember what we talked about this morning? You gotta think things through, Nick. Not everything is easy, just because you want it to be. You say you want to be better; part of that is listening without overreacting. I know you can do it. Seth does, too, but you have to show him that. Don’t you think he’s earned that right?”

Nick didn’t see Seth for the rest of the day. They didn’t share any classes this semester, much to Dad’s relief and Nick’s dismay. They usually found each other in the halls between classes, a couple of minutes where they’d lean against their lockers and grin stupidly at each other.

But he couldn’t find Seth at all after lunch. And the more the afternoon wore on, the more annoyed Nick got, though it was mostly at himself. Sure, maybe he could’ve listened better, but couldn’t Seth see the good in what he was trying to do?

When the final bell rang, Nick was up and out of the classroom before most had even started putting their things away. He ran across the school, dodging students spilling out the doors, apologizing when he bumped into a guy and almost sent him sprawling. He managed to reach Seth’s last class (AP History) before the room had completely emptied, but Seth was nowhere in sight.

Cursing, he headed for the front doors. He stood at the top of the steps, looking around for that familiar mop of curls as a student hung another banner about prom above him. He was about to give up when he saw Seth out of the corner of his eye, trudging down the sidewalk, head bowed as flurries swirled around him.

“Go get your man,” Nick muttered to himself.

He hurried down the steps, jumping the last few and almost losing his footing on the slick concrete. Someone shouted his name, but he ignored them. He reached the sidewalk and turned right. Seth was halfway down the block, heading toward the metro stop.

He caught up to him a moment later, barely out of breath thanks to their workouts. They may not have given him muscles yet, but at least he could now run for a couple of minutes without feeling like he was dying. Small victories.

He hooked his arm through Seth’s, the chill of the winter air around them chased away by Seth’s body heat. He burned a little warmer than most, and usually didn’t mind being Nick’s personal space heater. He startled and looked over at Nick, glasses slightly askew.

“So,” Nick said, “I was thinking.”

“That usually ends in disaster,” Seth said, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Good sign.

“Usually,” Nick agreed. “But hear me out. Picture this: you. Me. Casa de Bell. Homework because we’re required to. But after that, we watch a bad movie with explosions and spies, and we’ll make fun of all the stupid decisions made on-screen while we eat popcorn. And then we’ll tell Dad we’re gonna go do more homework, but in actuality, we’ll be pre-fornicating.”

Seth’s nose wrinkled. “You really have a way with words.”

“It’s a gift,” Nick said. “And in the middle of all of that, I’ll find somewhere to stick in an awkward apology about how I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s really not,” Nick said. “I—hold on.” He pulled Seth into a shuttered storefront, the awning above them torn and hanging limply. Seth leaned against the wooden door, which creaked under his weight. Nick moved until he stood right in front of Seth, their knees bumping together. People moved behind them on the sidewalk and the sounds of busy traffic was irritating, but for a moment, Nick could pretend it was just the two of them. He studied Seth, cataloguing the tense set of his shoulders. “You told me you weren’t sure about wanting to be Pyro Storm, and I didn’t listen. I did what I always do and made it about me.” He laughed hollowly. “I made a stupid Twitter account without thinking about what you wanted.”

“That’s okay.” Seth took his hand, squeezing gently. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Nick’s. “I’m lucky to have you in my corner.”

Simple, but it was a string of words Nick had never heard directed at him before. It was humbling. “I’m trying to help. Pull my weight, you know? I can’t do what you can. I’m not as smart as Gibby or as aware as Jazz.” Certainly not something he’d ever expected to say, but they’d earned it. “I wanted to show you I could help.”

“You do,” Seth said, breath warm against Nick’s face. “Whatever happens, we’re going to do it together, okay?”

That sounded good to Nick. “Yeah. Okay.”

Seth grinned. “Show it to me again.”

Nick blinked. “What?”

“The Twitter account, you dork. Might as well get familiar with it, especially if you’re going to be posting as me and—” He stopped when his own phone beeped, a familiar chime that sent a chill down Nick’s spine.

Seth pulled out his phone and glanced down, eyes narrowed. He grunted and swiped the notification away before Nick could see it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said to Nick’s unasked question. He smiled again, though it wasn’t as bright. “It’s nothing important.”

Nick hesitated. He’d never known Seth to ignore the notifications. “You sure?”

“Yeah, Nicky. I’m sure. Let’s see what you did.”

He moved over until Nick had space to lean against the door with him, both huddling around his phone. They stayed there for a little while, the two of them, and by the time they left, Nick felt a bit better. Maybe he’d gone too far, but Seth was ready and waiting to help reel him back. He needed to figure out how to respond in kind. Seth needed someone to be his rock, and who better than Nick?

By the time they’d stepped back out onto the street, a new tweet had been sent—and by Pyro Storm himself, for the first time.

It read: Pyro Storm here with a message: the people of Nova City are under my watch, and I will do everything to protect them. It’s time to burn! #NoVillainsWelcome

And as they walked hand-in-hand toward Nick’s house, something unexpected occurred. Seth’s first tweet was quoted by a verified account. The profile picture of this account showed a woman standing with a microphone on the windswept streets of Nova City, her hair billowing around her head.

Rebecca Firestone’s own tweet read: Looking into if this is actually Pyro Storm. If it is, what does he mean by “everything”?? I promise my followers I’ll get to the bottom of this, one way or another! #OnlyTheTruthIsExtraordinary

By the end of the day, the Official Pyro Storm account had six thousand new followers.

And counting.