Tony Stark was slumped in his chair, half-focused on a holographic schematic, a cold coffee forgotten by his elbow.

The hallway outside Peter's room was dim. Tony stopped just outside the door, his hand hovering over the handle.

He could hear voices. Low. Peter's laugh, then a second voice—unfamiliar, easy, too comfortable.

Tony pushed the door open.

The lamp on Peter's desk was on, casting warm light over the cluttered room. On the bed, Peter was tangled with someone—a figure half beneath him, their hand fisted in Peter's shirt, Peter's mechanical spider web from that dumb game he played with Ned scattered across the floor.

Tony cleared his throat, loud and deliberate.