Work Text:
Harry should be used to Peter getting home late by now.
The worst quirk of having his boyfriend be a masked superhero was that Harry never knew when Peter would be home, or if he would ever be home at all. Harry tried not to let that bother him, but sometimes it scared the hell out of him, and tonight was one of those times.
The possibility that Peter may never return home was high, and Harry knew that. But pushing that realization into the back of his mind was easier said than done. At work, it was easy to not worry about Peter and his whereabouts. When Harry was drowning in paperwork and meetings, he was focused on his job, and seldom did he agonize that Peter wasn't alright. But now it was midnight, and Harry was vulnerable to the unknown.
Plus, Peter often gave Harry a call when he was heading home. Peter tried to contact Harry as much as possible, knowing that Harry was impotent to the idea that Peter was always in danger.
So Harry waited up and watched the hands of the clock tick with every second that passed. He tried to distract himself, but eventually, Harry always ended up checking the news station or leaving messages on Peter's cell.
When the clock chimed midnight, Harry sighed and decided to retire to bed. If Harry were to stay up any longer, he would only worry himself to the point where he was sick to his stomach, or worse, he'd fall back into his old habits of alcoholism.
Harry's legs felt like gelatin as he got up from the couch and moved slowly up to his and Peter's shared bedroom. Harry didn't bother turning the light on, using the illumination from the lit hallway to maneuver himself around the room.
The bed was left unmade from the night before, and the room was a complete mess. Harry hadn't been in their room since he had left for work this morning, and when he was still present, it looked halfway decent. But now, a pair of dirty pajama pants laid on the floor (Peter's) and a t shirt was laying halfway off the rustled blankets (also Peter's). The closet doors were open, and the only thing that seemed to be missing was the Spider-Man suit that had its own special hanging spot on the inside of the closet door. Other than that, everything seemed to be in place, and Harry was convinced that he was just seeing things worse than they actually were.
Harry sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. He glanced over at the dark t shirt that belonged to Peter, and without a second thought, he held it in his own hands. The cotton fabric felt comforting in Harry's fatigued hands, and it sat as a reminder that Peter still wasn't home. Harry sat and held on to the shirt for a while, and even kept it in his grasp when he lay down on the bed. The bed sheets were cold from being exposed and unused, but Peter's shirt somehow felt warm to Harry.
As Harry started to drift off to sleep, he inhaled Peter's scent of strawberry shampoo and expensive cologne from the shirt and pretended Peter was right there with him.
Seconds before Harry slipped into a slumber, Peter slid through their bedroom window, right on cue.
Harry jumped out of bed so fast he thought he was going to get whiplash. When his eyes refocused to the room, Peter stood tall in the light of the moon. Peter was filthy: his Spider-Man suit was caked in a layer of dirt, and a large scrape rested on his jaw. Peter looked disheveled and unlike himself.
Harry didn't care that Peter was home late, he was worried about him.
"Are you alright, Pete? You look like you went through hell and back." Harry commented, practically gliding over to Peter to make sure he was alright.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Peter confirmed, and Harry felt like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, "It's been a rough night, sorry I didn't call or anything but it was...rough."
"Don't apologize," Harry said, pulling Peter into a tight embrace, "You can tell me what happened while I clean you up, alright?"
Peter nodded and followed Harry into the bathroom. As Peter sat on the counter top and let Harry properly clean and bandage the scrape, he told the extravagant story of what happened. Harry listened to every word he said, and was thankful that Peter had lived to tell another one of these stories.
fin.