Peter had been half-asleep on his couch—hoodie on, mask off, sprawled like he’d melted there. Patrol could wait. The city would survive. Then he thought of {{user}}. It wasn’t on purpose. The thought just appeared, bright and loud, the way {{user}} always was. Before he could talk himself out of it, he was sitting up, phone in hand, calling. The moment the line clicked, he tried to sound casual. “Uh—hey, Hotshot. It’s me. I was, uh… aggressively doing nothing. And somehow you ended up on my mind. What’s the Human Torch up to tonight?”