HAPPY NEW YEAR

Vincent's motorcycle rumbled to a stop outside the convenience store, neon lights casting a hazy glow over the empty street. Through the glass doors, he spotted Peter inside, hands shoved in his pockets, shifting impatiently.

This Peter was different from the one shown in the movies. Years of dealing with Vincent's troublemaking had forced him to get stronger; together, they'd brawled with countless school gangs since childhood. Peter had no choice but to toughen up, and now he looked like a bulkier, tougher version of himself, a taller, grittier Tom Holland.

It was quite weird, even to Vincent.

Leaning back on his 360cc Bullet, Vincent let a smirk tug at his lips as Peter finally spotted him. Peter rolled his eyes in mock annoyance, shoving the door open with a faint grin.

"Bastard, what took you so long? Were you watering roses, waiting for them to grow, and then plucking them?" Peter barked, nearly kicking Vincent in the shin, though Vincent dodged it with lightning speed.

"Whoa, dude! Chill," Vincent shot back. "It's an hour till New Year's, alright? And no, still couldn't find any damn roses. Besides, I got a lot to tell you. But tonight, you're driving this thing, I'm not in the mood."

Without a word, Vincent slid back, making room for Peter to take the rider's seat. Peter didn't argue. As soon as he gripped the handles, the bike's silencer rumbled louder, and within seconds, they tore through the night, streets blurring as they sped toward home, leaving the empty streets far behind.

In his previous life, Vincent had read the Marvel comics and watched the movies, always hating Peter Parker's character. To him, Peter was just a weak, "good-for-nothing" type, a pathetic Mary Sue that never appealed to him. But here, in this life, actually knowing Peter shattered that idea. He realized he'd been wrong.

Peter was kind, maybe the only one who'd become his friend when Vincent was at his lowest, while everyone else had avoided him like he carried the plague. After all, Vincent had been dealt a rough hand.

He'd lost his parents at birth, and a series of strange accidents throughout school had only made people keep their distance.

But Peter stayed, showing him a friendship Vincent hadn't expected. That bond had grown over the years, and maybe that was why Peter was the only one who knew Vincent's secret, his powers.

As they sped down the empty streets, Vincent recounted everything that had happened that day. Peter's frown deepened with each word, annoyed but unsurprised, his reckless friend had endangered his life again. Since childhood, Vincent had always been fearless.

He'd stood his ground even against school bullies like Flash and Harry. The second-generation brats, with their influential parents, hadn't fazed him; he'd once broken their hands without hesitation.

And let's not forget the infamous time he'd punched a bear to death.

"You know," Peter said, "you could avoid half your problems if you toned down that mouth and dialed back the attitude. They could take you down easily with just your voice and fingerprints."

Vincent scoffed from the back seat, lounging as if he hadn't a care in the world. "And who's gonna take me down? Do they not fear Mount Tai?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder, confused. "What the hell is Mount Tai?"

Vincent rolled his eyes. "You don't know your noob muscle guy."

Peter blinked, still unsure, but not bothering to ask further. "Anyway, how heavy was that guy? You said you could lift him with your mind."

Vincent grinned. "Three tons! Even my bike's heavier than that red-skinned beast."

"This bike's not even 100 kg,  I know you're lying." Peter said.

"Who's lying"

"You"

"You doubt me, Parker? I could lift this whole damn street if I felt like it."

Peter snorted. "Sure, go ahead."

"Well, not today, but you don't know, Peter, you're lucky to be hanging with me. Most people would've crumbled under the weight of my genius."

Vincent smirked, watching the city lights blur by as they sped down the road.

Peter gave him a deadpan look.

"Is that what you call it? Genius?"

Hearing Peter's words, Vincent felt a flicker of frustration. There was a time when teasing Peter had been effortless, but now the roles had shifted. Still, he couldn't help but shout back,

"Wait until you get superpowers too. Then we'll see how much you're laughing, haha."

Peter scoffed. "Guys like me live normal lives, Vincent, and they die normal, too. I'm not some kind freak like you."

Vincent smirked. "We'll see about that."

When you're spending time with friends, it flies. Neither Vincent nor Peter realized how quickly they'd gotten close to home. Peter, tired of the slow pace, sped up and turned onto a quieter stretch of road. He pulled into a narrow alley, the engine dying down as they came to a stop.

They parked next to a wall covered in graffiti. Peter pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, no hesitation in the move.

It wasn't their first time smoking here, so they didn't need to say much. They'd already had a stash tucked away for moments like this. It was one of those things Vincent liked, the calm, the simplicity.

But then, as he glanced over at Peter, the future Spider-Man, once the goody two-shoes kid, Vincent felt a flash of nostalgia. He was the one who had introduced Peter to this shit, and now here they were, both in the thick of things.

"Peter, how's it going with Mary? You said she was into you." Vincent asked, taking a drag.

Peter shrugged, tapping the ash off his cigarette. "It's not like that. We're just friends."

Vincent rolled his eyes. "Sure, whatever you say."

They smoked in silence for a while, the graffiti wall glowing faintly in the dim streetlight. After the sixth cigarette, Vincent broke the silence.

"Peter, I'm not addicted, right? Earlier, Gwen was bitching at me, saying I'm gonna die sooner than everyone else. She said I'm the worst person alive."

Peter scoffed, blowing out a cloud of smoke. "Gwen's an idiot. Six packets a day doesn't make you an addict. Plus, you're not exactly 'normal human,' are you?"

Vincent smirked. "Thought so. I'm a man of principle. We both are, really. The world just doesn't get us."

Peter grinned. "Absolutely."

They let the smoke settle between them, bullshitting about anything and everything, before finally pulling onto 22 Ingram Street. The house stood there, an old American-style place, cozy in a way that didn't try too hard, but felt like home to them.

It was almost midnight when they pulled into Peter's driveway, the house lights casting a soft glow on the quiet street. Vincent cut the engine, and they both climbed off the bike. As they walked up to the front door, Peter hesitated.

"You think Aunt May's gonna kill me?" he asked, throwing Vincent a worried glance.

Vincent chuckled. "I don't know, man. She's always been cool about everything. But hey, she's your aunt, so you'd know better than me."

Before Peter could respond, the door swung open. Aunt May stood there, arms crossed, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Peter Parker!" she scolded, her voice echoing in the stillness. "Do you know what time it is? It's 11:36! You were supposed to be home hours ago."

Peter opened his mouth, probably to try some excuse, but Aunt May didn't give him the chance.

"And you," she added, turning her gaze to Vincent. "I swear, you're the reason my nephew's gotten so reckless. He never used to act like this until you started teaching him all your strange ways."

Vincent was about to defend himself but got caught off guard, momentarily distracted by Aunt May herself—she was every bit as pretty as she looked in the movies, and with that fierce, protective energy she always had. He managed to think of answer, but before he could speak, Aunt May cut him off with a raised hand.

"I don't want to hear it," she sighed, her voice stern but softened by a note of concern. "You two have been trouble since you were kids. And now look at him, staying out late, acting invincible. And Vincent, you were the one who said you'd bring him home safe, from  that 'job' he's doing."

Peter ran a hand over the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable. "Aunt May, I'm fine. Really."

Aunt May's expression softened, but she didn't let him off the hook entirely. "I'm glad you're fine, Peter. But I still worry about you."

Meanwhile, Vincent watched the back-and-forth with a smirk that faded as he realized he was definitely taking the blame for this. Just as he thought of slipping away, Aunt May's voice stopped him.

"Vincent," she said, her expression softening even more. "Since you're here, why don't you stay for dinner? I made roasted duck…"

Vincent's mood lifted immediately. Cooking this late wasn't high on his list of things he could manage, and Aunt May's cooking? A chance he'd take any day.

"Do you have chicken and maybe some beer?" he asked with a grin.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You're both minors. You'll get tea." Ignoring his request, she stepped aside to let them both in.

The house was warm, filled with the smell of something delicious, roasted duck, soup, maybe even a freshly baked cake. As Vincent walked inside, he felt a surprising warmth settle over him, like he was home, though it wasn't his.

On the other hand.

Aunt May knew Vincent wasn't a bad kid, he'd always looked out for Peter, and, in his own way, for her too.

She cared for him almost as much as she did for her nephew, recognizing that Vincent was as stubbornly independent as he was strong.

Despite his tendency to brush off her concern and scolding, she saw past the tough exterior he put on. She could see friendship, respect, the protectiveness, and the hidden kindness he didn't often show the world.

Knowing they'd be out late tonight, May had stayed up cooking so they could have a warm meal when they got back. It was, after all, December 31st, the end of another year, and she wanted them to close it with a sense of home.

She'd even prepared a few small gifts, just to remind them that someone was always looking out for them, no matter how wild or fearless they felt.

When the boys walked inside, she watched them with a gentle smile, hiding the warmth in her eyes behind a touch of sternness.

Inside, they sat down at the dining table, where Aunt May had set up a modest but heartfelt New Year's celebration. A small cake sat at the center, candles flickering softly, casting a warm glow over the room.

She'd put thought into every detail,festive napkins, a few sparkling decorations, even a small banner she'd hung up earlier that read Happy New Year!

As midnight neared, Aunt May lit the candles, her eyes soft with affection.

"Happy New Year, boys. I'm glad we're all together tonight."

Peter lifted his glass with a smile.

"Happy New Year, Aunt May. Here's to another one."

Vincent grinned, raising his glass too, and with a playful glint, added,

"Happy New Year, Aunt May. May God keep your beauty and health as flourishing as ever."

"Aunt May rolled her eyes, a hint of a smile on her lips

"Oh, Vincent, You hopeless sweet kid."

Vincent laughed. "Just calling it as I see it."

They shared a meal in comfortable silence, the warmth of the moment unspoken but present.

After they'd eaten, Aunt May brought out two small, wrapped gifts. She handed one to each of them, her face softening.

"Don't make a big deal out of it," she said, a little embarrassed. "Just something to start the new year right."

Vincent tore the paper off his, finding a leather wallet inside. He looked up, genuinely touched.

"Thanks, Aunt May. This… actually really means a lot."

Peter opened his own package, finding a small journal with his initials engraved on it. He nodded, a faint smile breaking through.

"Thanks, Aunt May."

Vincent looked at the smiling faces of Aunt May and Peter, feeling a rare sense of happiness. But then, his smile faltered. The warmth of the moment was quickly replaced by a pang of bittersweet memory.

He thought of Cadra Franklin, his guardian and godmother, the woman who used to do this for him every year, gifting him simple but meaningful things, sharing moments like this.

He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away as Peter spoke again, snapping him back to the present.

"Hey, dude, you good? You've been staring at that plate like you're trying to solve world peace. It's New Year's, not some deep philosophical moment,"

"I was just lost in thought for a while"

Vincent nodded, joining in the quiet celebration, though part of him couldn't shake the feeling that this fleeting moment of peace wouldn't last.

For now, it was maybe the only time he could truly be carefree, the only time he could feel like just a boy, without the burden of being a parentless kid with no one to fall back on.

Tomorrow, it would be back to school, work, the usual grind.

But what he didn't know, as he sat there, trying to enjoy the evening, was that the mess he'd made with the Abomination would soon echo through higher command and power-hungry organizations, all of whom had their own plans for a new world order.

The ripple of his actions was just beginning to spread.