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“You know, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t at least a little bit tired,” Peter mumbles, slumping against the locker next to Harry’s.
“Yeah, you and the entire planet’s population, Pete,” Harry says, giving Peter an unimpressed sideways glance as he closes up his locker. “You better look more alive tonight.”
“I will,” Peter says, stumbling into the hallway alongside his best friend. They had been planning this little get together for weeks now, because it was the first time everyone in their group was actually free to hang out. It was a rare occurrence, and they all planned to take full advantage of it.
“Hey, Osborn!” Sam shouts from the other side of the courtyard as he runs towards them. “So are we still on for tonight?” he asks, swinging an arm around both Peter and Harry.
“Yes, Alexander,” Harry responds, shoving Sam’s arm off his shoulder and running a hand through his perfectly styled hair. “Just show up at 8 o’clock, and try not to mess up anything in my house or I will end you.”
“Haha, later losers,” Sam laughs, running off to go bug Luke and Danny.
“Why are we friends with him again?” Harry sighs, slipping into the open car door.
“I don’t know. He kind of just invited himself to stay, and never had the decency to leave,” Peter replies, sliding in right alongside Harry. It didn’t make much sense to go back to his house in Queens, just to have to catch the subway to Manhattan in a few hours, so Harry suggested they just head over to the mansion now.
“Right,” Harry smirks, slipping his sunglasses onto his face and pulling out his cell phone to scroll through one of the many social networking sites he frequents. “If my face is going to be plastered everywhere, I might as well see to it that it looks good,” Harry had told Peter one day when he asked him why he kept up with all the society blogs if he always complained about them.
They do absolutely nothing until 8 o’clock, and then one of Harry’s butlers enters into the living room to let Harry know that he had two young ladies waiting at the door.
“Send them on up,” Harry says, waving a dismissive hand and heaving himself up off the couch.
“Boys,” Gwen says flippantly, as she places a few plastic bags down on the end table.
“What’s that?” Harry inquires, walking towards the bags with the corner store logo stamped all over it. He has a look of disgust on his face, and Peter rolls his eyes because sometimes his best friend can be such a brat. Well, most of the time.
“It’s some food, Harry,” Gwen says, taking out a bag of chips and leveling Harry with a ‘you’re an idiot’ look. “I refuse to pass the night with nothing but alcohol sloshing around in my stomach.”
“Seriously, we don’t want a repeat of Vomit Fest 2011, where you couldn’t stop whining about the fact that we all puked on your imported carpet,” MJ quips as she waltzes into the living room with her own bags.
“Hey, Parker! Help me with this would you,” Sam says out of breath, dragging an ice chest containing a 24-pack of beer into the room. Peter ducks down to grab one side of the chest, and it feels like his back is going to give out. God, he feels old sometimes. Luke, Danny, and Ava file in next carrying their own bottles of alcohol, much lighter than what Sam decided to barrel through with.
“Well, we certainly won’t be wanting for liquor,” Ava says, snatching up a magazine from the coffee table and plopping down on one of Harry’s incredibly comfortable couches.
“Good thing I’m about to double our selection,” Harry says, eyeing the bottles lining the coffee table and reaching into the liquor cabinet to retrieve his own. They don’t even bat their eyelashes at that. They’re all used to it. Harry’s always said that there’s two things Osborns have a lot of—money and booze.
They start off the night watching a movie. They don’t let Sam choose, because last time he did that they lost an hour and a half of their lives watching Troll 2. They all lobbed objects at his head when the credits started to roll.
The bottles were being passed between the eight of them freely now. Whenever it came round to Peter, he just moved it along without taking a sip. He was still nursing his first beer, and truthfully that would probably be the only drink he had. He and Gwen weren’t big drinkers. They much preferred watching their friends drink so they could laugh along with and at their antics.
“You know what this night needs?” Sam asks, rather loudly in Peter’s opinion, around 11 o’clock. “A good, old-fashioned game of truth or dare.”
“Yes!” MJ replies, dragging out each syllable, trying and failing to cross her legs from her sitting position on the floor.
“If we must, children,” Ava says, hauling herself down to the floor with what appeared to be a lot of effort. “God, Osborn, what are these couches made out of?”
They all situate themselves in a circle on the floor, some with more difficulty than others. “So, who’s first?” Luke asks, placing his beer bottle next to him.
“I’ll go!” Sam exclaims, throwing himself into the middle of the circle for absolutely no reason at all. “So, Gwendolyn,” Sam says mockingly, turning his best charming smile on Gwen. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth,” Gwen replies, smoothing down her blouse.
“Is Ian Sutter as bad of a kisser as he looks?”
“Sam, phrase the question correctly.”
“Fine,” Sam huffs, propping himself up on his forearms. “Is it true that Ian Sutter is as bad of a kisser as he looks?”
“Yes,” Gwen smiles, taking a swig from her own bottle. “Why do you want to know anyway?”
“Because,” Sam says dramatically, “Katie has a huge crush on him, and I have a huge crush on her, so if I give her proven testimony that the guy sucks at kissing she’ll have to back off, right? Right?” Gwen doesn’t dignify that with a response.
They play for about forty-five minutes, going around the circle, and most of them choose dares, of course, and they all consist of doing things around the mansion. Harry threatens everyone outlandishly that they better not break his shit or else.
“Harry,” Gwen says excitedly, drumming her polished fingernails on her chin. “Truth or dare?”
“Dare,” he says, picking up his glass from beside his thigh.
“Okay,” Gwen replies, and she really does look freakishly happy. “I dare you to kiss Peter.”
“What?” Harry sputters, spilling some of his whiskey from the top of his glass. Peter rolls his eyes.
“Oh, really original, Gwen,” Peter says, cocking up his eyebrow.
“Yeah, really,” Harry follows, wiping the amber liquid from his chin. “What, are we in 6th grade?”
“Clock’s ticking boys,” Gwen says, leaning back on her hands and crossing her ankles in front of her. She has a knowing look on her face that Peter doesn’t appreciate and is entirely confused by. She doesn’t know anything that they don’t know. Does she?
“Come on, Osborn, just kiss him,” Sam pleads, throwing his arms out. “I have a great dare for Danny. Let’s keep this moving.”
“Fine,” Harry huffs, angling his body towards Peter’s. “You ready?” Harry asks Peter, and he looks kind of concerned.
“Yeah, come on,” Peter mumbles, motioning for Harry to come closer.
“Okay,” he responds, climbing into Peter’s lap, and what the hell? And yeah, they’ve agreed to go through with Gwen’s dare, but Peter thought it would just be a quick peck on the mouth. No big deal. What the hell was Harry climbing into his lap for?
“Ready?” Harry asks again, hooking his arms around Peter’s neck, and Peter nods. Harry licks his lips, and Peter follows suit, then Harry leans in. Peter feels a tentative brush of lips, and he realizes that he doesn’t really know what to do with his hands. He has them clenched up into fists by his own thighs, but he reflexively wants to put them on Harry’s hips. Maybe this was a bad idea.
Harry tilts his head to one side and presses in closer. Peter feels Harry’s warm breath fluttering across his cheek every time he breathes out, and going on instinct, Peter places his right hand on Harry’s waist. Peter thinks that they’ve definitely completed the dare, but then he feels Harry delve his tongue into his mouth, and Peter lets out a startled noise from the back of his throat. Harry scratches along the nape of Peter’s neck, brushes his thumb gently across Peter’s jaw, and then he finally leans back. Harry’s lips are a bit red and wet, his cheeks are flushed, and confusion is swimming through his eyes. Peter can only imagine what he looks like.
Harry clears his throat and climbs off Peter’s lap. Once he’s back in his sitting position he chugs down whatever whiskey is left in his glass and grabs for the bottle to fill it up again. “There,” Harry spits in Gwen’s direction. “Happy?”
“Very,” Gwen smirks, but she’s looking over at Peter now, and he determinedly tries to avoid her gaze.
----------
They continue playing the game for a few more hours, and it’s amazing how many questions and dares Sam has up his sleeve. Harry and Peter aren’t really into it anymore though, but no one says anything. Gwen is the only one who seems to notice, but she sits there looking smug and satisfied.
At about 2 o’clock, they all pass out on strewn out blankets and pillows around the living room, but Peter can’t sleep much. He tosses and turns until the sun comes up, and he slips out of the room before anyone wakes up. He hops on the first subway to Queens, marches to his bathroom to take a shower as soon as he enters his house, and throws himself on his bed.
He passes the weekend fielding calls from MJ and Gwen, and ignores the obnoxious texts Sam sends him. He holes himself up in his bedroom, wraps himself up in his blankets, and listens to music through his headphones until his ears hurt. He’s doing the angsty teenager cliché proud right now.
Peter doesn’t know why the kiss is bothering him so much, but he can’t stop thinking about it. He can’t stop thinking about the way Harry’s lips felt against his own, or how his hands felt against his neck. He shouldn’t be thinking about wanting to kiss him again because Harry is his best friend, and they don’t do that. He has half a mind to call Gwen back just so he can yell at her about coming up with such a stupid fucking dare.
He slams a pillow over his head, followed by his comforter for good measure, and he wakes two hours later to the sound of Aunt May pounding on his door and telling him that he better go down to the kitchen for dinner or she was going to drag him down there herself. Peter didn’t doubt she would do it too.
When Monday morning rolls around, Peter seriously contemplates not going at all, but he doesn’t want to make things weirder than they already are. His sudden unexplained absence will send up plenty of red flags due to the fact that Peter is a stickler for attendance. So, he won’t skip school, but he can dodge his friends if he really sets his mind to it.
He sneaks into the hallway to grab his books for first period, and he’s acting like he’s a covert operative rather than a grouchy high school student bemoaning the fact that it’s the start of another school week.
“Hey,” Peter hears a voice say behind him when he shuts the door of his locker closed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Hey, Harry,” Peter mumbles awkwardly, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head and kicking his feet around. “Umm, good weekend?” Peter asks in lieu of having anything else to say.
“Yeah,” Harry murmurs, maneuvering around Peter to get to his own locker. “We missed you on Saturday morning. Where did you run off to?”
“Oh, ya know,” Peter says, scratching the nonexistent stubble on his jaw. “I just thought I would get a head on the morning rush.” The excuse is lame, and by the look Harry gives him, he thinks so too.
“Okay, well, see you in history?” Harry asks, but he’s averting his eyes.
“Yup,” Peter mumbles as he turns to leave. He is not looking forward to lunch. Because in class he can at least use the excuse that he’s trying to listen and pay attention to the lecture and that’s the reason for his silence, but once he gets around the group he can’t get away with that. Peter’s just hoping the buffer of extra people around them will make things less awkward.
As the weeks go on, Peter and Harry learn how to be around each other again without having to watch what they say or do. They were both doing it, but neither of them ever brought it up. Gradually, they end up putting the kibosh on the weird dance they were doing with each other, much to the relief of their friends who expressed both nonverbal (Ava) and verbal (Sam) disapproval of their behavior.
Peter still thought about the kiss, and he thought about doing it again more times than he would care to admit to himself, but he was resigned to the fact that it would just be a one time thing that happened between them. Something that they would be able to laugh about in the future, chalking it up to a drunken adventure.
Harry still flirted with every girl at their school, and when Peter caught him making out with one by the science building during study hall, he couldn’t even find it within himself to be annoyed. Harry had only ever showed interest in the female of the species, and Peter understood that.
So, when Lizzy Geller asks him to go to the movies with her on Friday night, he thinks nothing of saying yes. Any guy would say yes if she asked. She’s beautiful, smart, and funny, and Peter’s just in shock that she would show any interest in dating him.
“So, you said yes?” Gwen asks as she waits for Peter to put away his books after school.
“Of course I did,” Peter responds, giving her a ‘what the fuck’ look, because why wouldn’t he?
“And you really want to?” Gwen inquires, tilting her head to the side in what Peter is guessing is a thoughtful manner.
“Yes,” Peter sighs, swinging his backpack on and yanking down his t-shirt.
“What’s going on?” Harry laughs as he comes up beside them, taking in Peter’s frustrated face.
“Peter’s got a date tonight,” Gwen supplies, biting her lip and looking between the two boys.
“Seriously,” Harry says, crossing his arms and cocking his eyebrow up. Something about his tone is rubbing Peter the wrong way.
“Yeah, seriously,” Peter snaps, turning his glare on his best friend. “Is that hard to believe?”
“No, no,” Harry says, waving a dismissive hand. “So, who’s the lucky lady?”
“Lizzy Geller,” Peter replies, and he really doesn’t appreciate this interrogation he’s been unknowingly dragged into.
“Seriously?” Harry says again, running a hand through his hair roughly.
“Yes!” Peter exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air, causing both Harry and Gwen to flinch away from his flailing limbs. “Regardless of what you may think, people on this planet are interested in me, and contrary to what you believe, I do get asked out on dates from time to time. This school’s social life doesn’t revolve around your orbit, Osborn.”
Peter tugs on his backpack straps, hiking up the bag a little higher on his back, and he pivots away from his two so-called friends. He didn’t understand what the problem was. Yes, he hadn’t had a date in a while, and yes, his last real girlfriend was two years ago, but that didn’t mean that him going on a date should be cause for a breaking news broadcast.
Despite his agitated state, Peter calms down considerably by the time he has to meet Lizzy. They end up having a great time. She’s sweet and funny, and she compliments Peter on his photos that have appeared in the Daily Bugle. At the end of the night, he walks her home and she gives him a goodnight kiss. She blushes shyly, stutters out a goodnight, and Peter has a small smile on his face the entire way home.
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“So, Parker!” Sam shouts as he plops down on his chair at their table, his cafeteria tray clattering on the linoleum. Ava looks up from her book long enough to send a sneer in his direction. “How was the date on Friday? I mean, Lizzy Geller, dude. Well done.”
“It was fun,” Peter replies, shoving some chopped up pineapple into his mouth.
“Fun is good,” Sam continues. “Did you get any lip action?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows in a perfect imitation of every douchebag in high school movies.
“Sam,” Peter sighs, shoveling more chopped fruit into his mouth. Hopefully, Sam would get the hint that he didn’t feel like answering his questions.
“Come on, Peter, I’m not asking for details. Just a simple yes or no.”
“Yes, okay,” Peter says, putting his plastic spoon down on his tray. He shoots Harry, what he hopes is a discreet glance, and it looks like he’s pouting. God, Peter thinks, did Harry really hate when the attention wasn’t on him 24/7?
They continue through lunch making small talk, and Danny and Luke engage in some philosophical debate that has Gwen and MJ jumping in with their own points, when Harry interrupts them. He hadn’t even spoken loudly, but all their eyes are on him now because he hasn’t spoken a word all throughout lunch. A first for Harry Osborn.
“Why don’t we double tonight, Pete?” Harry asks, flicking his bangs off his face.
“Um, what?” Peter responds confused, because he is.
“Yeah. Heather and I wanted to go try that new restaurant that opened on 60th, so why don’t you and Lizzy join us? It’ll be fun,” Harry says with the tone of someone plotting a murder rather than a friendly outing. Peter looks over at Gwen, and her eyes have doubled in size. Her mouth is hanging open slightly, and she keeps sending glances over at MJ and Ava.
“Uh, sure,” Peter says, dragging the palm of his hand against his neck and rolling it around on his shoulders.
“Great,” Harry responds with that tone again, and he’s starting to resemble a Disney villain with the way he’s rubbing his hands together. “I’ll go tell Heather. We’ll meet there at 8.” With that last statement, he’s off, leaving everyone in varying states of amazement and amusement.
So, there he is, standing outside a restaurant whose name he can’t pronounce, and wearing his best jeans and a button-down shirt. Lizzy looks beautiful as always in a simple, black dress, and when she starts talking about a funny thing that happened in English, Peter grabs her hand. She smiles up at him shyly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, and Peter sends her a smile in return.
“Oh look,” Lizzy says, directing her gaze behind Peter’s back. “Harry and Heather are here.”
When Peter turns around, he sees Harry take Heather’s hand and send a smug grin his way. Peter rolls his eyes and shakes his head. This was going to be just great. If he could get through the evening without strangling Harry, he would count it as a success.
Once they’re all seated, Harry orders some appetizers for the table that neither of them have ever heard of. He just shoos the waiter away, and wraps an arm around the back of Heather’s chair.
“So, Lizzy,” Harry starts, scooting in towards her. “What exactly is it about our Peter that you’ve been so charmed by?”
“Harry!” Peter shouts, sending him an incredulous look. What the hell was he doing?
“It’s okay, Peter,” Lizzy says calmly, smoothing a hand down his arm. “Truth be told, I wanted to ask him out for a while, I just finally worked up the nerve to,” she says, shooting Peter a smile that has him grinning in return. “He’s intelligent and kind and funny, and,” she continues, knocking their shoulders together playfully, “he’s not that bad looking.”
“Hmm,” is all Harry says while he opens up his over-sized menu. Lizzy might think the inquiry is over, but Peter knows better. He knows Harry, and he has that patent Osborn twinkle in his eye that Peter hates sometimes.
Things go pretty smoothly once the appetizers arrive. The girls start talking about a class they share, and Peter is content to sit back and listen. Every so often, Lizzy will kiss him on the cheek when she compliments him, or she’ll grab his hand on the table, and Peter can’t help but return the gestures. She brings out this smiling idiot in him that he never knew he had.
“So,” Harry says mid-way through their entrée, and Peter sets his fork down, bracing himself for the onslaught. “Have you been to Peter’s house yet?” he asks Lizzy, slicing through his vegetables.
“Um, no,” Lizzy responds with a spoonful of potatoes halfway to her mouth.
“Well,” Harry snorts and takes a sip of his water. “Whenever you do go, you should ask Peter to show you his stuffed animal collection. I’m pretty sure he still has one or two on his bed.”
“Harry,” Peter hisses, narrowing his eyes to meet Harry’s own. He just shrugs his shoulders and looks back towards Lizzy.
“Hah, it’s okay, Peter,” Lizzy laughs, running her hand down his arm once more. “I still have all my Barbie dolls when I was kid stuffed in my closet. I couldn’t part with them.”
“Yeah,” Harry smirks, drumming his fingers on the linen tablecloth. “But, when was the last time you bought a Barbie? Peter went to Build-a-Bear just two months ago.”
Lizzy shoots Peter a concerned look, and she’s clearly communicating to Peter that she thought he and Harry were best friends, so what was up with the trip down humiliation road?
“Oh, and did Peter ever tell you about the time in fourth grade when Flash Thompson jumped out of the janitor’s closet, and he scared Peter so bad that he ended up peeing his pants right there in the hallway?”
“That’s it!” Peter exclaims, scooting his chair back roughly and catching the attention of some nosy patrons. “Excuse us, ladies.” He goes over to Harry, hauls him up by his tie, and manhandles him out the door to the small alley by the side of the restaurant.
“What. the. fuck. are. you. doing?” Peter seethes, punctuating each word by shoving Harry against the brick wall.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry says with a bored expression as if he didn’t have his very angry, very red-faced best friend yelling at him.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Osborn,” Peter says, grabbing Harry’s lapels and shoving him again. “Why are you being such a fucking asshole?”
“God, I was just messing around,” Harry replies, rolling his eyes in the process. “It’s clear she’s over the moon for your ass,” he snaps, shoving Peter off of him, “so it doesn’t matter what I say.”
“So, you were just doing it in good fun?”
“Yeah.”
“Well,” Peter huffs, rubbing a hand down his face roughly. “Looks like we both have a very different idea of fun. Add that to the list of things we don’t agree on.”
“Yeah,” Harry snorts, straightening out his suit jacket and dusting off his slacks. “I’m beginning to think you and I don’t agree on anything.”
Harry storms away, and Lizzy comes striding around the corner with her purse in her hand. She offers to pay for her and Peter’s share, but Harry waves her off and tells her he’ll take care of it.
“Are you alright?” Lizzy asks, winding an arm around Peter’s waist as they start walking towards the subway.
“Yup,” Peter says, putting his arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t look like she believes him.
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Harry Osborn can fall on a pile of broken glass for all Peter cares, and that’s exactly what he tells Gwen when she asks him why they’re both giving each other the cold shoulder. Not only did Harry succeed in humiliating him during their double date from hell, but he succeeded in scaring Lizzy off.
She had come to school the next day and told Peter that they needed to talk. Never a good sign. So, she sat with him under the big oak tree in the courtyard during lunch, and told him that they should just be friends. She assured him that it was nothing Harry had said, when Peter apologized for his ex-best friend’s behavior, but she just thought Peter needed to take some time to figure stuff out. When he asked her what he needed to figure out, she just told him that he would realize it soon enough. Fucking great.
Peter didn’t even want to look at Harry, and if it wasn’t towards the end of the school year, Peter would have asked to transfer out of the three classes they shared together. At lunch, he would wander off to the library to read or play with his phone when the librarian wasn’t looking, sneaking bites of a granola bar, also when the librarian wasn’t looking.
The weeks passed like this, and Peter couldn’t remember the last time he and Harry hadn’t talked for this long, because they had never not talked for this long. The most they had ever gone without talking was a week when they were 12-years-old after having an argument about whether or not Inception was a groundbreaking movie or just pretentious.
“Here you go,” Gwen says, sliding a bag of chips over to Peter as she sits down in the study cubicle next to his. “You can’t live off of granola bars anymore. My stomach is growling just looking at you.”
“Thanks,” Peter replies, trying and failing not to make any noise as he opens up the bag. “I thought it was Ava’s turn today.”
“Yea it was,” Gwen says, snatching a chip away from Peter’s hand. “But, she’s home sick today so I volunteered to take her place.”
Peter was beginning to feel like he just went through a divorce, and his lunchtime was turning into his visitation times with his kids. When it became clear to their friends that Harry and Peter did not want to be within fifty feet of each other if they could help it, they decided that they didn’t want to take sides, but that they wouldn’t completely abandon Peter either. So, they would each rotate the daily shift in coming to sit with Peter in the library instead of joining everyone else in the cafeteria.
“So, are you gonna talk to Harry yet?”
“Nope,” Peter responds, popping the ‘p’ at the end and flipping the pages of the book he’s not really reading.
“Ugh, come on, Peter,” Gwen huffs, placing her hand on Peter’s wrist to halt his movements. “It’s been more than three weeks. This is getting ridiculous.”
“When he’s ready to come apologize to me for being such a fucking asshole,” Peter continues, shaking off her hand, “then I’ll talk to him. Until then, this is how it’s going to be.”
“He’s never going to apologize,” Gwen sighs, slumping back in her chair. “You know how stubborn he is.”
“I know that,” Peter says. “That’s why whenever we fought before, I would always apologize first, even if I wasn’t the one who should have been apologizing in the first place, but I’m not doing it this time. He’s the one that fucked up, not me.”
“Have you stopped to consider why he acted the way he did, Peter? I mean really considered it?”
“Of course I have,” Peter replies, slamming his book closed and turning his frustrated gaze on Gwen. “He’s an asshole. It’s that simple.”
“Peter,” Gwen sighs again, shaking her head and giving him a look that’s half frustration-half pity. “No, it’s not.”
The bell ringing saves Peter from having to answer that ridiculous claim, and he rushes off to his next class, which is thankfully, Harry-free.
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Peter foregoes the library for the grassy fields of the small garden that’s planted on the side of the school. The weather is surprisingly nice today, and Peter could use the fresh air. The dust from the library books no one ever checks out was starting to make his allergies act up.
He’s skipping tracks on his phone and fiddling around with his earbuds when he feels a finger tap him on his shoulder. Peter looks up, squinting against the sunlight, and he sees Harry standing there, wringing his hands together.
“Can I sit?” Harry asks, motioning to the grass next to Peter. Peter considers him for a moment, and yanks one of his headphones out.
“Only if you say those two words first,” Peter snaps, extending his legs out and leaning back on his hands.
“Pete,” Harry grits out, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“It’s the only way.”
“Fine,” Harry huffs, smoothing down his shirt. “I’m sorry, okay?” It looks like it’s physically painful for Harry to let those words escape his lips.
“Hmm,” Peter hums, swaying his feet from side to side. “Yeah, I don’t believe you.”
“Peter!” Harry exclaims, throwing his hands out in frustration. “I really am sorry. Come on, man. You know how hard it is for me to apologize.”
Peter runs his gaze over the length of Harry’s body, and he starts to fidget under Peter’s scrutiny. On the one hand, Peter could ignore what Harry wants and go on ignoring the kid like it isn’t tearing him up inside. But, on the other hand, Peter really does miss him, which he will never admit to anyone but himself.
Peter moves his backpack aside in a peace offering, and Harry smirks a bit before sitting down. He knocks their shoulders together, and Peter huffs out a small laugh. He can feel the tension leaving his body, and it feels good.
They end up talking through lunch, and it’s a bit tentative at first and more than a little awkward, but they’re pretty much back to normal. “Do you want to hang out at my house after school?” Harry asks when the bell rings and Peter’s dusting off blades of grass on his backpack.
“Sure,” Peter smiles, and they walk side by side into the building.
They do go to Harry’s house after school, but they just leave their stuff there before dashing off to Central Park. After almost a month of not talking, it seems like that’s all they want to do. They buy popsicles from a vendor, and make their way towards the less busy trails.
“So, Pete,” Harry says, biting off a piece of colored ice. “How’s life?”
“Oh, you know,” Peter replies, kicking his heels on the gravel. “Not much new to report. Just school and studying, now that finals are coming up. I haven’t really gone out much after Lizzy dumped me.”
Harry stops walking after that comment, and he looks down and sighs. “I heard about that. I’m sorry.”
That had to be some kind of record. Three ‘sorry’s’ from Harry Osborn in one day. Alert the media! Peter should probably tell Harry that it’s not his fault, since Lizzy said it wasn’t, but Peter can’t help but to think that he is to blame somehow.
Peter pats his back once, and they continue walking, although now it’s a little bit tense. Well, might as well ask what’s really on his mind then, Peter thinks. “Hey, Harry,” Peter says, dumping his popsicle wrapper in the nearest trashcan.
“Yeah?”
“Why did you act that way at dinner? You never told me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did,” Harry huffs, pushing his bangs away from his eyes. “I told you I was just messing around.”
Peter sighs and starts walking a little faster. Harry is sticking to that stupid reasoning, and Peter would say something, but he doesn’t want to start another argument. They’re seemingly back on track again, and he doesn’t want to derail the train already. He’ll leave it alone for now, but one day he’ll get the truth out of him.
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Peter tries to make himself comfortable in the vinyl hospital chair for the hundredth time, but no position is working. He flops his long legs over the arm of the chair, and runs a hand down his face, before focusing his attention back on the sleeping figure on the bed.
Aunt May had woken Peter up at 1 o’clock in the morning the night before, clutching at her chest and swaying on her feet. At first, Peter was disoriented, and he scrambled around his room in search of his cell phone, when it was charging on the outlet next to his bed the entire time. He sat her down, and told her to breathe deeply while he called the ambulance.
The paramedics rushed her into the emergency room while Peter paced the length of the waiting area for almost two hours. The doctor had told him it wasn’t anything serious, and Peter let out a huge sigh of relief. Apparently, Aunt May was suffering symptoms of extreme exhaustion, so they wanted to keep her for a couple of nights to monitor her progress, but they suspected she would be just fine after a sufficient amount of rest.
At 6 a.m., Peter sends Gwen a text to let her know what’s happening. He kind of feels bad for sending her a text so early on a Saturday morning, but he knows she would want to know. He thinks about sending Harry a text, but things are still a little weird between them, so he decides against it. Gwen would let all their friends know anyway.
Peter and Aunt May share a lunch of barely edible hospital food, while they laugh along to a cooking show that has the chef yelling out all the instructions. Once she finishes, she starts dozing off again, so Peter moves the tray aside, and moves back to his place on the chair that is now embedded with his ass print.
Peter whips his head up when he hears the door squeak open, thinking it’s the nurse coming to check up on his aunt’s vitals, but he sees Harry pop his head in, carrying a rather large bouquet of flowers. They’re calla lilies—Aunt May’s favorite.
“Hey,” Peter mumbles, scrambling up from his chair and smoothing down his wrinkled pajama top. He didn’t really have time to change.
“Hey,” Harry says, placing the bouquet down on the small table by the side of the bed. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s okay,” Peter replies, running a hand through his hair, making it stand on edge more than it usually does. “Just as long as she gets enough rest, she’ll be fine.”
“That’s great,” Harry says, walking over to Peter’s side of the room, and pulling up his own chair.
“Yup,” Peter sighs, grabbing the control so he can switch off the television.
“So, how are you doing?” Harry implores, putting his forearms on his knees, clasping his hands together, and cocking his head to the side to look at Peter.
“I’m okay,” Peter murmurs, biting his lip. “I just feel a little guilty I guess. I mean, how could I not have noticed how exhausted she was?”
“Oh come on, Pete,” Harry says, tapping Peter’s wrist lightly with his finger. “If there’s one thing I know about the Parkers, is that you’re all stubborn. How could you not have believed her when she kept telling you she was fine?”
“I guess,” Peter concedes, but he’s still gonna take it on himself.
“Come on,” Harry says again, angling his chair closer to Peter so he’s fully facing him. “You know I’m right,” he finishes with a small smile.
“Okay,” Peter laughs, scratching at his chin. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” Harry says, looking at Peter like he was an idiot.
They talk for half an hour about nothing, and Peter finds himself laughing more than he has in the past month. He really did miss his best friend.
After a lull in the conversation, Harry blurts out, “I’m going to Europe.”
“What?” Peter asks, eyes a bit wide.
“For the summer,” Harry replies, looking down and twining his fingers together. “I’m gonna leave on the last day of school, and I won’t be back until the day before school starts again.”
“Oh,” Peter says. He doesn’t know why his first thought was that Harry was just going to ditch him for Europe and be gone forever. “That sounds like fun.”
“Yeah,” Harry whispers, looking up at Peter like he wants to say something more.
“Well, send me a postcard,” Peter jokes, and Harry lets out, what Peter thinks sounds like, a sad laugh. But, he could be hearing things.
“Yeah, well I better go,” Harry mumbles, standing up from his rickety chair and straightening out his clothes. “I just wanted to make sure you both were alright.”
“Thanks,” Peter smiles, getting up so he can walk Harry out. “See you on Monday,” he says while he opens up the door.
Right before Harry can walk out, he turns around and wraps Peter up in a hug. He buries his face in the expanse of Peter’s neck and inhales deeply, then he wraps his arms around Peter’s shoulders even tighter. Peter tenses for a second, but then he relaxes into the embrace, securing his arms around Harry’s waist, and pulling his body in closer. He noses at Harry’s temple, while Harry scratches lightly down his back, and then they let go.
Harry doesn’t say anything. He looks down at his shoes, cheeks a bit flushed, and looking more than a little flustered, before he takes off, leaving Peter confused again. Great.
----------
Peter thanks his lucky stars that it’s the last week of school, because he is seriously dead on his feet. After Aunt May was released from the hospital, he started watching her like a hawk, disregarding her vocal annoyance. “Honestly, Peter, I’m not an invalid,” she would tell him after the twentieth time he asked if her she needed anything.
He didn’t need to stash himself in the library during lunchtime anymore now that he and Harry were back on speaking terms, which he and his stomach were extremely grateful for, so that was also an added bonus, but things weren’t all that normal between the two yet.
Harry was acting a bit distant and cold, and Peter was too afraid of disrupting their shaky foundation, so he didn’t ask about it. Honestly, Peter didn’t know what Harry had to be upset about. He wasn’t the one that humiliated him in front of his date, so he was at a complete loss, just like he has been for the past couple of months. He would be hard pressed to remember a time when he didn’t know what was going on in Harry Osborn’s head, but recently he’s just felt out of sorts. Now, they seem to be best friends in name only.
“Get your head out of your ass,” Gwen says as she strolls into Peter’s house and makes herself comfortable on the couch.
“We really need to work on your greetings, Gwen,” Peter deadpans, shutting the door behind him and making his way over to the living room. “Also, what the hell are you talking about?”
“Harry,” she responds simply, crossing her ankles and folding her arms on her lap.
“Yeah, what about him?”
“You still don’t see it do you?” she asks with confused eyes, probably marveling at Peter’s cluelessness.
“See what?” Peter adds in a frustrated tone, throwing his arms out in front of him. He’s tired of people talking in circles around him, and looking at him like they know something he doesn’t. Something important.
“Ahh geez, I’m gonna have to spell this out for you aren’t I?” Gwen says, leaning forward and bracing her arms on either side of her. “Although, I guess that’s why I’m here.”
“Well, maybe if you stopped speaking in vague statements we’d get somewhere,” Peter snaps and he almost feels bad for doing so, but Gwen just rolls her eyes.
“Okay, have you thought any more about why Harry has been acting the way he’s been acting, especially on the double-date you two had?” she asks, leveling Peter with a pointed gaze.
“No,” Peter sighs, slumping back into the couch. “I’m not even mad about that anymore.”
“Okay,” Gwen replies, “but that wasn’t the question.”
“No, I haven’t thought about it.”
“Okay,” Gwen exhales, puffing out a breath that makes her bangs ruffle. She gets up and begins to pace in front of the coffee table, searching for something to say. Peter can see the gears in her mind working on overdrive. “Okay, so a different approach. Peter, if we’re gonna have this conversation, I need you to be completely honest with me. Can you do that?”
Peter nods, but doesn’t say anything more. Aside from Harry, Gwen’s his closest friend. He doesn’t see any reason to lie to her. Although, he feels like this is going to be a less than pleasant discussion, at least on his end.
“When I dared Harry to kiss you two months ago when we were playing truth or dare, how did it make you feel?”
“Annoyed and kind of amused that you would come up with such an unoriginal dare,” Peter snorts.
“No, Peter,” Gwen sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose and looking at Peter like he was being deliberately difficult. “How did you feel when he kissed you?”
“I don’t know,” Peter responds, rubbing the back of his neck. He already doesn’t like where this conversation is headed. “Weird, I guess.”
“Good weird?”
“I don’t know!” Peter exclaims, slamming his head against the cushion behind him. “Not good or bad, just weird. I mean Harry was kissing me. It was weird.”
“When he finished kissing you, did you think about doing it again?” Gwen presses, narrowing her eyes.
“Yes,” Peter whispers and closes his eyes. He’s tried to avoid thinking about all this, because it was never going to happen between him and Harry, so what was the point of torturing himself with it?
“Okay. Okay, that’s good,” Gwen says with a small smile as if they were finally getting somewhere. “What about emotionally? How did you feel emotionally?”
“Gwen,” Peter exhales roughly, flopping back down on to the couch. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to get you to admit to me what you obviously won’t admit to yourself before it’s too late!” she shouts, running her hands through her hair, and she manages to pull a few strands out.
“And what is it that I won’t admit to myself?” he asks, cocking his eyebrow up.
“Come on, Peter,” she replies, putting her hands on her hips and chuckling lightly. “Don’t make me do all the heavy lifting.”
Peter sighs and buries his face in his hands, because he’s not stupid. He knows what she’s getting at, and she’s right in that he won’t admit it to himself just because he doesn’t see the point in it. Harry likes girls, and Peter is very obviously not one, so what does it matter?
He likes Harry. There, he thought it. And, it doesn’t come as some massive fucking revelation, because he’s known it since he kissed him, well, he’s known it before that, but he’s also resigned himself to the absolute nothingness that will come out of his unrequited crush.
“He’s never gonna feel the same way, Gwen,” Peter finally says, looking down at his lap as he twines his fingers together.
“Oh my god!” Gwen exclaims, throwing her head back in disbelief and frustration. “You are both so emotionally stunted, I want to puke. But, I thought you would be easier to work on than Harry, that’s why I sent MJ to do it.”
“What do you mean?” Peter asks, confused eyes snapping up to meet Gwen’s.
“Peter,” she whispers, sitting down next to him on the couch and taking his hand between both of hers. “We’ve known each other a long time right?” Peter nods and tangles his fingers with hers. “I know what you look like when you like someone, and that’s why I came up with that dare, because if not, you would be dragging your ass even more than you are now.”
“Yeah, but Gwen, he-”
She holds up her finger to stop Peter’s rambling, and then places a soft hand on his cheek. “But,” she says, leveling Peter with an intense gaze, “I never would have done it if I wasn’t sure he felt the same way about you. I wouldn’t do that to you.”
“You’re crazy,” Peter laughs sadly. He begins to drop his head, but Gwen catches his chin and refuses to let him do it.
“Think a little harder, Peter,” she says, getting up from the couch and gathering up her purse. “My work here is done.”
“Okay,” is all he says before he walks her out onto the porch.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Gwen says, snapping her fingers. “Don’t wait too long, because on my calculations, you have three days until Harry leaves for Europe, and you know how he is. Your door of opportunity might just shut.”
Gwen gives him a tight hug and a peck on the cheek, before telling him to call her when he gets his shit together. He lets out an exasperated laugh, and she sends him a small wave over her shoulder before she walks off.
----------
He holes himself up in his room, and does what Gwen asked of him. He thinks. He actually really thinks this time, instead of sidestepping anything he deemed too painful to deal with.
Harry had acted weird right after they kissed, then he acted like an asshole when Peter started dating Lizzy, and now he’s acting distant just a few days before he jets off to Europe for the summer. Was there truth to what Gwen had said? Did Harry like him too? The girl was weirdly, and sometimes scarily, intuitive.
At first Peter had thought Harry had acted like such a douchebag because for once he wasn’t the center of attention, or the only one out of the two of them who could get a date, but now Peter thinks it could have possibly been jealousy. Harry had sounded awfully bitter when he told Peter that no matter what he said, he wouldn’t be able to deter Lizzy from him.
Lizzy. She had broken it off with him, and told him that he needed to figure some stuff out. Had she known to? Had she been able to see what Peter couldn’t, or wouldn’t allow himself to see?
Peter clutches his head, and then he grabs a pillow and screams into it. He’s so fucking confused, and he feels like confusion is just becoming an inherent part of him now. He’s been feeling it too often lately. This is just messing with his head so much.
It goes against everything he’s ever known about Harry’s dating tendencies. It goes against everything he’s ever thought about them. They were best friends, and they were never going to have the possibility of turning it into something more.
He flops onto his bed with his arms spread wide, and he accidentally knocks over the framed picture of Uncle Ben he has on his nightstand. He picks up the frame, and he runs a finger over the glass. He would never forget the day the police knocked on their door and told him and Aunt May that Uncle Ben was dead. Aunt May fell to her knees, still clutching the open door and sobbing into her hands, and all Peter could think about was that the last time he had seen his uncle they were having a stupid argument. Those were the last words he ever got to say to him, and it tore him up inside. It always would.
From then on, he had sworn to himself that he would never not tell the people he loved that he loved them. He would never not tell the people he cared about that he cared about them. Maybe he should add never not telling the boy that he liked that he liked him.
Yes, he was a lot afraid of admitting his feelings to Harry, but every good thing in his life had started off a little scary. Maybe, this was just one more thing. And, he wasn’t completely sure that Harry returned his feelings. All he was going on was his best educated guess and Gwen’s words.
But still, Peter got up from his bed, changed into some decent clothing, and marched on over to the subway station. He was headed to Harry Osborn’s mansion, and he was going to tell him how he felt. He kept repeating those words in his head the entire ride over there, so he wouldn’t give into the urge to back out.
When the doorman lets him in, and Peter raises his fist to knock on Harry’s living room door, he has half a mind to high-tail it out of there before anyone else sees him, but then he thinks about Uncle Ben, and he makes himself knock. Each knock echoes in his ears, and he’s breathing so loudly, he’s sure the entire block can hear him.
“Pete,” Harry squeaks out with comically wide eyes after he opens the door.
“Hey,” Peter mumbles, shoving is hands in his pockets and kicking his feet on the rug. “Can I?” Peter asks, gesturing to the room in front of him.
“Oh yeah! Yeah, sorry,” Harry says, rushing over to the couch to remove the blanket that was messily bunched up on the cushions. “So, what’s up?”
“So, I heard you had a little visit from MJ?”
“Yup,” Harry murmurs, going a little red around the ears and scratching his neck.
“Yeah,” Peter laughs softly. “I had one from Gwen. Looks like we were ambushed.” Harry chuckles lightly at that. “I think we should talk.”
“Okay,” Harry says, refusing to look at Peter and making a beeline for the liquor cabinet.
Peter catches him around the waist, and Harry looks up at him with confused eyes. “Umm, I thought we could try this without liquor involved.” Peter might be able to use a little liquid courage right now, but no. He’s going to do this.
“So, you had a visit from Gwen,” Harry says, propping himself up on the back of the couch and crossing his arms. “What did she say?”
“I think you know,” Peter mumbles, leveling Harry with an intense glare.
“Yeah,” Harry whispers, directing his stare towards the floor and biting his lip. “And, what did you think about what she had to say?”
“I think she was right. About me anyway.” Peter steels himself for what’s coming next. He clenches his fists a few times, grits his teeth, and then lets out a long exhale. “Harry, I like you.” There, he said it. Out loud this time.
Harry keeps his gaze directed towards his feet, and runs a hand roughly over his mouth. The clock is starting to tick extra loudly, and Peter is getting nervous. Maybe he should have never said anything. “Umm, do you have anything to say to that? I just told you I liked you. As in, you know,” Peter mumbles, gesturing with his arms to convey something. “As in, more than a friend.”
Harry mumbles out a few words with his hand still rubbing incessantly over his mouth, and Peter can’t hear him even a little bit. “Uh, what?” Peter asks, stepping closer.
Harry mumbles again, and Peter wants to rip his fucking hand off. “You life blue through? Harry, what the fuck does that mean?”
“I like you too!” he exclaims, looking annoyed and just this side of crazed. Peter bursts out laughing, doubling over and putting his hands on his knees for support.
“Stop laughing at me, asshole,” Harry snaps, and Peter can see him tapping his foot impatiently.
“I’m not laughing at you,” Peter wheezes, clutching at his stomach. “I’m just laughing.” This whole situation is unbelievably bizarre, and Peter has never felt happier.
“Come here, stupid,” Peter says, gesturing for Harry to step closer. Harry only moves a few inches, so Peter winds his arm around his waist, and pulls him into his body. He leans down, and crashes his lips onto Harry’s, like he’s been wanting to do since the first time they kissed. Harry makes a choked noise in the back of his throat, but then he lifts his arm to circle around Peter’s neck, and he places his hands on the back of Peter’s head to press him closer. Peter delves his tongue inside, and Harry grips onto his hair tighter, probably surprised that Peter’s the one taking the lead, but then he just goes with it. When the need for air becomes a thing, Peter reluctantly pulls back, latching his teeth gently onto Harry’s bottom lip and dragging it out, before letting go.
“Jesus,” Harry sighs, out of breath and a little red in the face. He leans his head forward, so his forehead rests against Peter’s collarbone, and Peter hugs him closer.
“Yeah,” Peter laughs, nosing at Harry’s temple and running a hand down his back. “I just wish we hadn’t had this conversation right before you’re about to leave for Europe for three months.”
“Ugh, that’s true,” Harry mumbles, pressing a sloppy kiss on Peter’s neck and cuddling in closer. “Hey!” Harry suddenly exclaims, popping his head up like a dramatic chipmunk. “Come with me!” He’s smiling like he just had the world’s greatest idea.
“Hah,” Peter snorts, shaking his head. “And what money do you propose I use?”
“I’ll pay for you, dumbass,” Harry says like it should be obvious.
“Harry, you know I don’t like taking your money.”
“You’re not taking it, I’m offering,” Harry responds, moving his arms down to Peter’s waist and squeezing. “Can we not fight about your pride right now? You’ll ruin the moment.”
“What about Aunt May? She just got out of the hospital two weeks ago.”
“Peter,” Harry laughs, standing on his tiptoes to place a kiss on the bridge of Peter’s nose before settling back down. “I will chew off my left arm if she hasn’t told you to leave her alone about a hundred times.” Well, he had him there.
“Come on,” Harry pleads, looking up at Peter with a pout. “Come with me. Please?”
“I don’t know,” Peter says, rubbing at his chin. “Three months. You really think we can both make it that long without one of us committing murder?”
“Pfft,” Harry snorts, latching onto Peter’s shirt and dragging him over to the couch. “Please, Peter. Pretty please. Please. Please. Please,” Harry says, acting like a six-year-old rather than the sixteen-year-old he actually is. But then, who was Peter kidding? Harry was still a brat at 16.
“Fine,” Peter responds, rolling his eyes for good measure. “I’ll say yes, so I don’t have to hear anymore of your bitching.”
“Great,” Harry laughs, pushing Peter down to the couch so he ends up sprawled on his back. “Looks like we’re off to an excellent start.”
“It would appear so,” Peter whispers right before catching Harry’s lips with his.