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Prompt #3
“I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?”
Peter stared and Harry fidgeted, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and shoes scuffing at the ground. It wasn’t easy telling your best friend you like them romantically - especially when that friend was the smartest dumbass that ever existed. Harry should have expected it, he supposed. Peter was always horribly obtuse when it came to anything remotely involving emotions over science. He had laughed and nudged at Harry’s shoulder with a gentle, “I like you too, man. You’re my best friend.” Something like embarrassment had crashed into Harry then - a slap in the face that left his cheek red and stung like static cling to his skin.
It had been a risk but Gwen had nudged him to take it and reassured him that even if Peter didn’t like him the same way it didn’t mean that they would suddenly stop being friends. Peter was too nice for that and Harry much too codependent.
Still the fact that Peter hadn’t answered yet was driving him insane and Harry had the distinct urge to escape to the bathroom and crawl out the window. Instead, he sat with the wood of his chair creaking under the force of his fists and tried to beg Peter with his eyes for an answer. Anything. Harry would take anything but the stone silence that was currently enveloped around the two of them.
“Nevermind,” His laugh felt like a choke on the way out of his mouth. “Forget it, Pete, it’s not important.”
Only it felt important.
His heart was beating so fast in his chest that Harry felt like he had been running a marathon just moments before and he regretted more than anything even opening his mouth to talk. Why had he let Gwen talk him into this? Of course someone like Peter Parker didn’t like him back. Why would he? Peter was… Peter was smart and attractive and when he smiled everyone around him felt the automatic need to do the same. He was strong and kind and had the biggest heart Harry had ever known.
And Harry was… well he was problematic. Harry was one more bad day away from falling apart. He was brash and cold and cruel most of the time and his hard edges could tear the skin off someone as soft as Peter.
But god did Harry love him.
It wasn’t even a falling in love process - Harry had simply always loved Peter. Harry loved Green Day, fuzzy socks, and Peter Parker. He had loved Peter before he knew Peter - he was three and Peter had saved him on the playground from falling flat on his face and he was five and Peter had slapped a kiss over his skinned knee and he was seven and Peter had given him a hug around his shoulders when Harry had fallen off his bike and broken his elbow.
Love was funny and weird and itchy under his skin. Harry had only ever loved three people in his life - Peter, his mother, and he thought, perhaps, that he loved his father. His mother had never turned away his love and Peter had always been quick to say it back every other time Harry had said it. Only he had never said it like this… never stumbled over the way I’m in love with you tore out of his throat and set his skin on fire. He was sure his cheeks matched his hair and he was sure, any other time, Peter would have laughed and poked the flaming cheeks until a smile tore across them instead of the frown Harry was now sporting. He turned to leave - run away somewhere and escape from something only Peter’s hand wrapped itself like concrete around his wrist and pulled him to a stop.
He didn’t say anything but instead kept staring. Harry didn’t understand what he was looking at - what he was seeing - but Peter’s eyes were searching through his face as though the freckles on his nose held an answer to whatever question he had. His brown eyes were the one bit of truth Harry had ever been offered but now they held a question in them that Harry had never seen. They had grown so much through the years - taller and bigger and damaged and spackled over messily into the almost twenty year olds they were today. Peter had been through so much heartbreak and pain and still his face showed no signs of ever suffering. Harry had been through much less but somehow every inch of it shined on his face.
Peter searched and searched and Harry didn’t understand why he was looking at him like he was an equation he couldn’t figure out. He ran the pink tip of his tongue over his bottom lip and tried to pull himself back again (he would run away, Harry always ran away it was just who he was - he wasn’t brave like Peter was and he never had been) but Peter leaned forward before he could get very far.
Peter’s lips were chapped yet soft and his fingers squeezed almost painfully against Harry’s wrist. His other hand kept him firmly in place by the back of his neck and kissing Peter was something that Harry had only ever done once before. They had been twelve and awkward and wanted to know what the fuss was about when it came to kissing and Peter hadn’t been impressed while Harry had slept with butterflies for the next eight years and compared every kiss he had ever had to the way one with his best friend felt. Peter kissed like he did everything - with a single mind and a problem solving attitude.
He kissed and the butterflies became a stampede that trampled over the beat of Harry’s heart and he had to shut his eyes because looking at Peter felt too much like examining a work of art. Peter pressed closer with a sudden long breath inwards and Harry didn’t want to touch because what if he did and Peter tore himself away? What would Harry be then except an experiment that went nowhere with a ruined lifelong friendship shattered at his feet?
Peter knew him though, guided his hand to his hip and then let go once Harry had fisted his fingers into the fabric there. Peter was good at this - was good at moving his lips just so and licking his way into Harry’s mouth and leaving him utterly breathless without any words. He was good at tilting Harry’s head so that he could deepen the kiss and weaving long fingers through his hair to hold him in place. He was good at anything he put his mind to and Harry would be jealous if he wasn’t so desperate for it.
Kissing Peter felt like a gasp of air after holding your breath underwater long enough that your lungs screamed and when he pulled back it was audible. Harry didn’t want to open his eyes so he kept them closed - he didn’t want to let go, so he kept his hand tight in Peter’s shirt. Their foreheads pressed together, pulses beat in time and he could feel Peter’s eyes on his face. “Hey.” Peter nudged his nose against Harry’s hard enough that he finally blinked at Peter’s face - at where his head was blocking out the sun and eyes bearing into Harry’s like he could claim his soul with a single look.
“Hi.” Harry said the word softly because it seemed Peter was waiting for an answer.
He smiled and it lit up his face. “I said , I like you too.”
He had. “But…”
It was quicker, the peck that Peter dropped onto his mouth that time but it still managed to steal his words. “Harry. How could I not ?”
He could list how but he didn’t think Peter would appreciate it. “You’re sure?”
“Positive.”