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Peter Parker cannot keep secrets.
Like, seriously. He can’t do it. It’s an impossibility that he’s long-since given up trying to master.
The whole ‘secret identity’ thing doesn’t count, either, because he caved within weeks and spilled everything to Gwen. He’s fairly certain that Aunt May already knows, despite him actually saying the words aloud, because, again, he is just hopeless at hiding things from the people he’s close to. He might not have told her, ‘hey, by the way, at night I dress in spandex and swing around the city fighting crime’ but the late nights, the mysterious bruises, and the suddenly amazing reflexes (despite being dubbed the clumsiest kid in his year growing up) probably speak for themselves.
As for Harry? Well…
It’s a few weeks after they first reunited, after their beach stroll and almost serious heart-to-heart, and Harry is finally calling him out on his unwavering defence over Spider-Man. Lounging on the plush leather couch in Harry’s ridiculously large quarters (honestly, Peter swears this small section of the Osborn mansion is bigger than his entire house), his feet kicked up to rest comfortably on Peter’s lap as his head rolls back against the arm of the couch, Harry speaks up to the ceiling, “What’s with you and this spider guy anyway? Do you know him?”
Peter chokes on his water, hastily wiping away the mess on his chin, and attempts to shoot Harry a sheepish grin. “Nah, I just…y’know? I think what he’s doing is pretty cool, is all.”
“Mhmm.” Harry flickers his gaze down to meet Peter’s and, even though Peter tries with every fibre of his being to keep his expression neutral, he must let something slip on his face because Harry smirks. A wolfish sort of smirk that makes Peter resonate with the victims of the fox (or, at least, they think it’s a fox) that roams his neighbourhood at night. “So you’re not New York’s beloved bugboy?”
Peter swallows. “No?”
Harry doesn’t even bother to break eye contact, reaching over to grab the previously abandoned TV remote before launching it. But not forwards, towards Peter, like he’d expected. No. Harry throws it behind himself, directly towards a framed picture of Harry and his mother. And Peter knows how much Harry treasures that photo, despite its sun-damage and the tear in the corner, or the way it’s all crumpled behind the glass frame from when Harry used to carry it around in his pockets not long after his mom passed. It’s just about one of the only pictures he has left of her, certainly the only one where they both look so happy and carefree.
Harry loves that picture.
Peter doesn’t even have time to consider his options; the remote already hurdling towards the frame at frightening speed. His hand shoots up, a web darting out to catch the remote mere milliseconds before the photograph is ruined and pulling it back into his grip. His heart is racing, either from the mild panic or the realisation of what he’s just done, he’s not sure. It’s probably a combination of both.
He carefully places the remote back onto the coffee table, well out of Harry’s reach, taking his time because if Peter’s great at anything it’s avoiding serious discussions. He doesn’t want to look up and see Harry face. Doesn’t want to know what he’ll find there.
Until Harry makes an unmistakably smug sound, snapping Peter out of his own thoughts. A heel digs gently into his thigh and Peter has no choice but to lift his gaze, his eyes meeting cerulean blue ones and his heart fluttering for a completely different reason this time.
Harry’s smiling at him, a ridiculously pleased expression that kind of makes Peter want to punch him.
Instead, he throws that anger into his words, snapping out an “Are you fucking stupid?” before he can think better of it.
Harry shrugs. “I’ll have you know I was top in my class.”
“Yeah, right.” Peter scoffs, gesturing wildly to the fortunately untouched photograph, “What did you think you were doing?!”
“Proving a point.” Harry states, matter-of-factly. He pushes himself up, then, head tilting to the side with an annoyingly cocky grin dancing over his lips. “I was right, wasn’t I?”
“That’s-” Peter blinks, distracted by the pink of Harry’s tongue as it darts out to wet his incurably chapped lips, “That’s…not the point.”
Harry lifts a knowing brow, not missing Peter’s wandering thoughts, and Peter is sure he’s not hallucinating when Harry’s eyes drop down to Peter’s own lips. Multiple times. “Is it not?” Harry asks, so casually, as if the air around them hasn’t suddenly gotten a lot heavier. He shrugs, going to move off of the couch, “That’s a shame. I could’ve gotten so many bragging points.”
It’s another snap decision, something Peter will mentally curse himself out for later when he’s no longer pre-occupied by everything else: nerves over being found out; anger over being tricked like he was; pure, unbridled annoyance that has always come hand-in-hand with Harry’s cocky, know-it-all attitude; dirty blond hair that’s hanging over gorgeous blue eyes and that Peter really, really wants to run his hands through-
Distracted by everything Harry, really.
Before either of them realise what’s happening, Harry is being spun around – barely even stood up yet and stumbling over his feet because of that fact – and flung into Peter, collapsing against his chest with a soft oof. Harry barely has time to glance down and spy the webbing attached to his wrist before lips are pressed to his, Peter swallowing any resulting surprise (or outrage, knowing Harry) as he swipes his tongue along the seam of Harry’s mouth, smiling into the kiss when he hears a muffled whine so sweet it has his chest constricting painfully. Harry’s making fists in the front of his sweater, which is fine because Peter’s doing far worse to Harry’s carefully styled hair, and everything else becomes background noise as he relishes in the moment.
He hadn’t even realised that this was something he wanted to do. But now, Peter can’t imagine a world in which he didn’t kiss Harry.
Because what sort of world would that be?
“Are you going to be making a habit out of this?” Harry whispers, voice intoxicatingly hoarse, against Peter’s lips.
Peter chuckles, blinking his eyes open long enough to commit Harry’s blissful smile to memory. “Shut up.” he groans, his own smile remaining undiminished as he pulls Harry back in for another kiss.
So, yeah, Peter can’t keep secrets. Clearly.
And now he has another secret to keep.
Great.
~
“What about burgers?” Gwen asks, leaning over the railing to look down at the river below. “I feel like we haven’t spent much time together lately. You can catch me up on all of your crazy, late night adventures.” She shoots Peter a wide smile at that last part, making him feel all warm inside like always – only more from a familiarity, a comfort, rather than an attraction.
And he would. He wants to. Because she’s right; they haven’t spoken in a few days and it’s been even longer since they’ve actually met up and had a real conversation, but Peter already has plans.
He says as much, kicking at a loose pebble and watching with satisfaction as it drops off of the bridge.
Gwen lets out a playful laugh, nudging her shoulder against his since he won’t meet her eyes. “Hot date?”
Peter bites his lip, forcibly trying to push down the blush that he can feel creeping across his cheeks. He and Harry haven’t been together for long and they’d both agreed that, at least for now, it’d be best to keep things under wraps. What with Peter already trying to keep under the press’ radar to avoid any connections between himself and Spider-Man being drawn, and Harry getting his fair share of news coverage already? Peter really doesn’t need the extra attention.
So he keeps his mouth shut.
It’s a fruitless effort, though, because Gwen knows him too well at this point. His silence probably speaks louder than any denial.
“Oh my God!” she squeals, sounding entirely too happy about the whole concept, considering past circumstances. “You do! You’re dating somebody.” she states, and Peter swallows thickly. “Who is it?”
Peter shakes his head. “Nobody. I-I mean…I’m dating anybody.” he takes a steadying breath, risking a glance up, and finds exactly what he feared. Gwen absolutely does not believe him.
“Do I know them?” Gwen pushes, and Peter seriously regrets confiding in her when he figured out he might not be entirely straight. He also hates how his face is apparently very readable (he might need to take some acting classes to stop this from happening), since Gwen takes one look at him and smirks. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Peter lets out a long-suffering groan, dropping his head onto the railing and seriously considering the merits of just throwing himself off of this bridge right now.
“I, uh-” he sighs, trying to think the best way to phrase this. “We’re not-”
Gwen pats his back, sidling up a little closer when a brisk wind rushes past them. “Hey, as long as you’re happy.”
And Peter can’t help but smile at that because he is happy. He knows he probably looks like a total dork, especially if Gwen’s answering coo is anything to go by, but he can’t find the strength within him to pretend that he isn’t anything but happy with Harry.
“God, you’re disgusting.” Gwen eventually teases, shoving his shoulder a little more forcibly this time and Peter laughs, gripping the railing to keep himself upright. “I guess I’ll go have burgers alone.” she sighs dramatically, but Peter knows that she isn’t actually bothered by it. Knowing Gwen, she’ll probably treat herself to one of her favourite doughnuts too and then go home and binge-watch reruns of Friends.
“Like that’s so awful.” he laughs, and Gwen matches his smile. It’s at this moment that Peter’s phone chimes in with an incoming message and Peter doesn’t think twice about pulling it out of his pocket to read it. Not even with Gwen spying over his shoulder. Seeing that it’s a message from Harry, Peter struggles to bite back a smile.
‘Bring coffee with you?’
Peter almost forgets about the name he’s set Harry’s contact under, until Gwen lets out a much-too-amused laugh. “Bear?” she asks incredulously, and that damning heat returns to Peter’s cheeks.
Ignoring her laughter, Peter types out a quick, ‘You literally have a coffee maker.’
He glares at Gwen before she can say anything else, watching his phone as he waits for a response. Harry’s reply is immediate: ‘Yeah but Joe’s is better. I’ll make it worth your while ;)’
And now Peter wishes he had pushed Gwen further away because, really, he should’ve known Harry would say something dumb like that. His face is undoubtedly beet-red by now and he groans, squeezing his eyes shut and wishing the ground would just swallow him whole to get him away from this whole situation. Because, honestly, what’s worse than your ex-girlfriend reading your current boyfriend’s flirty text messages?
At least Gwen seems to be taking it well, although they did already agree that their relationship would never work and that being friends is better for both of them.
‘Fine. Anything for you, sweetcheeks.’ he replies, using the pet name that he knows winds Harry up because it’s the worst he can do right now. Gwen giggles into his jacket.
‘Knew there was a reason I kept you around.’ Harry sends back before Peter pockets his phone again, turning to face Gwen once more and raising an eyebrow her way when she continues to laugh.
She shrugs, unapologetic. “Looks like you’ve got coffee to get, loverboy.”
“I hate you.” he mutters, not at all meaning it.
Gwen sends him a blinding smile, leaning in to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Yeah, yeah, love you too. Have fun!” As she begins to walk away, she swivels on her heels and shouts out a teasing, “But not too much fun!” that has Peter ducking his face into the upturned collar of his jacket when a few passers-by turn to look his way.
Why does everyone he loves hate him?
~
“Mr. Osborn?”
“Shi- Ow!” Peter hisses, glaring at the edge of the desk as if it’s to blame for him hitting his head in his haste to stand up. The dreadful sound of heels click, click, clicking down the hallway leading to Harry’s office is the only reason he doesn’t actually waste any more time feeling sorry for himself, slipping away from the desk and rubbing absently at his head.
Harry, because he’s a smug bastard who defies all the laws of reason, lounges back in his chair and watches Peter with a predatory grin. As if someone isn’t quite literally seconds away from bursting into the office.
“Where’s my jacket?” Peter whisper-shouts at his boyfriend, spinning in frantic circles as he tries to remember where he threw the damn thing when he’d first walked in here, when Harry had decided that noon on a Wednesday was a perfectly acceptable time to jump his bones.
Harry shrugs, waving his hand towards the couch across the room (because he’s Harry Osborn and of course he got a fancy leather couch for his office). “Take mine.”
“I-” Peter swivels to shoot his boyfriend an incredulous look but it doesn’t have the desired effect; Harry just flashes him a coy smile in return. “I can’t wear your jacket to class.”
“Why not?”
Peter flails his arms in the air. “Uh, for starters, I left in a completely different jacket-”
“Nobody’s paying that much attention to what you wear, Pete.”
“They might be!” Peter crosses his arms over his chest defensively. Harry chuckles darkly, leaning forward in his chair and resting his elbows on his desk.
“I’m gonna need names.” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a dangerous smirk. “I’m afraid Harry Osborn doesn’t share.”
Peter rolls his eyes, but that doesn’t stop him from flushing red either way because (as annoying as Harry can be) there’s something oddly sweet about seeing his boyfriend acting possessive. Joke or not - and, knowing Harry, it’s probably more truth than lie.
“Peter,” Harry sighs, face softening into something unbearably fond, “just take the damn jacket.”
“But what’ll you wear?” Peter asks, even as he picks up said jacket, observing it carefully. It’s Harry’s most beloved jacket, an oversized leather one that he’s owned longer than anything else (except, maybe, those ridiculously hot sunglasses of his).
“I’m sure I’ll find a way to survive,” Harry drawls in that low tone of his, voice dripping sarcasm. Peter scowls, but slips his arms into the jacket regardless. It’s soft, which he didn’t expect, and Peter turns to bury his nose in the collar discreetly, smiling at the lingering smell of Harry.
A loud knock on the door jolts him back to reality, and the problem at hand, and Peter curses again as he realises he’s still missing his sneakers. Next time, he’s demanding they go to Harry’s place. Or the rooftop.
Anywhere would be better than here, where anybody could walk in on them at any given moment.
“Who is it?” Harry calls out, and Peter is only thankful that everyone knows by now not to enter the young billionaire’s office unless given direct permission.
“Felicia, sir.” a woman’s voice replies and Peter recognises her as Harry’s assistant. Smart woman – Peter knows that Harry initially only promoted her to piss off the lawyers trying to overthrow him but he was the first to admit that she’s remarkably good at her job. She also knows how to handle a grumpy, caffeine deprived Harry, which is enough for Peter to like her.
Even so, he doesn’t particularly need her walking in to find him half-dressed.
“Give us a moment.” Harry tells her, and then he makes some sort of hissing sound that has Peter turning back to face him, glad for his quick reflexes when a sneaker comes flying straight at his face.
“You dick.” he grumbles, catching it with ease and sending a glare at the older boy. He spies his other sneaker just behind Harry’s chair and moves to go grab it, slipping his socked foot into the one he’s already holding and ignoring Harry’s laugh at how he hops across the room.
“So graceful,” Harry sighs wistfully, leaning back in his chair to watch him as he bends to grab his runaway shoe. “If only the press could see you now.”
“They wouldn’t care because I’m just some nameless nerd.”
“Some nameless nerd that’s leaving Harry Osborn’s office in the middle of the day with definite sex hair.” Harry says with a pointed look and then reaches out to run his hands through Peter’s hair, ruffling it up in a way that Peter isn’t sure actually helps him.
“Would you- Just-” Peter groans, slapping Harry’s hand away and earning a pout in return. With a roll of his eyes, and probably a disgustingly sweet smile on his face, Peter leans down to cover the pout with a gentle kiss, melting only a little bit when he feels Harry sigh peacefully against his lips.
He only pulls away when he feels a hand push at his chest, blinking his eyes back open to see Harry smirking up at him. “Aren’t you gonna be late?”
Peter rolls his eyes, again. “Shut up.” he mutters, dropping one last kiss to Harry’s lips before finally pulling himself away.
As he does so, Harry turns back towards the door and calls out, “You can come in now, Felicia.” sparing Peter a smug look when he stumbles backwards over the leg of the desk.
The door is already opening as Peter struggles to shove his sneaker on, barely bothering to tie his laces properly because he might be Spider-Man but hopping around on one foot is a lot easier said than done. “I hate you.” he complains under his breath, hearing Harry’s light chuckle in response.
“Love you too, bugboy.” Harry whispers, his smile covered behind his hand, just as Felicia finally walks in.
“I’ve got today’s reports. Oh-” Felicia stops in the doorway, noticing Peter’s presence, and Peter runs a hand through his hair as he tries to regain his balance. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you had…company.” Her eyes travel down to Peter’s lips, then over towards Harry sitting at his desk (looking immaculate as ever – even though Peter is well aware that his fly is still undone).
Peter grins, ducking his head sheepishly, and lets out a nervous laugh. “I was just leaving,” he says, pointing at the slowly closing door behind her.
She hesitates, chewing her lip as she gives them both a calculating look, but she eventually takes a step to the side and offers Peter a warm smile. “Always nice to see you, Mr Parker.” she says, and Peter can tell she isn’t just saying that to keep up appearances. It makes him smile, a small amount of his panic easing.
“Please,” he says, squeezing her shoulder as he passes her by, “it’s Peter.”
She holds his gaze for a moment, raising a perfectly sculpted brow, before nodding. And Peter feels his grin spreading, if only because he might have actually got out of this situation unscathed, until her eyes flicker down and widen in surprise.
And…oh no. How quickly can Peter run out of here?
“Nice jacket.”
Not quick enough, apparently.
Peter chokes on his next breath, almost tripping over his own two feet as he manoeuvres his way around her. “Mhmm, yeah it’s uh- Jacket. Yeah.” He walks backwards out of the office, managing to embarrass himself even further by aiming finger guns Felicia’s way (much to her delight, if the way she’s trying hard not to laugh is anything to go by), and then swiftly spins to the right. Escape is in sight!
“Other way, Pete!” Harry’s voice calls out, and Peter considers the downside of smashing his head into the wall.
“Right. Yep. Thanks.” he mutters, plastering on a fake smile and doing a one-eighty turn, skipping passed the door before anything even more mortifying can happen.
The minute he’s inside the closest elevator, he lets out a long-suffering groan, burying his heated face into his hands. He can never show his face here again. Ever.
He absolutely hates secrets.
As he finally escapes the building, the brisk air cooling his cheeks, his phone pings and he glances down to check the new message, ‘You look good in my clothes.’
‘She knows, doesn’t she?’ he types back, not bothering to entertain Harry’s blatant flirting. They’ll come back to that later.
‘Just get her a double choc muffin. She’ll forget all about it.’
~
“Are you fucking serious?!” Harry demands, slamming today’s copy of the Daily Bugle onto the table and jabbing an accusing finger at the front page. As if his point wasn’t obvious enough. Peter glances down, wondering what’s pissed him off this time, and falters the moment his eyes catch on today’s biggest story – or, at least, big enough to cover the entire page. He chokes on his surprise, milk sloshing over the rim of his spoon. “An insect bite?”
The worst part is Peter doesn’t even need to read the caption (or the article inside) to know exactly what it says. This same picture had been considered news yesterday because, apparently, Harry Osborn perusing the aisles of a local market with a very obvious hickey blooming along his pale throat is more interesting than a dozen other things that happened in the city that same day. There was, obviously, countless headlines questioning who the young billionaires ‘fling’ was.
Peter wonders what the press would’ve thought if they found out that Harry was in the market gathering ingredients for a homemade casserole. One that was, surprisingly, delicious.
Aunt May will be glad to hear that.
But, yeah, Harry’s hickey had become the presses new fixation and, as Harry’s closest friend, Peter had unfortunately been subjected to a day of avoiding the nosey journalists. Which had been going swell, until one of them collared him in between classes, shoving a recorder in his face and asking him pointless questions a mile a minute. Peter vaguely remembers blurting out some half-assed excuse, although he’s fairly certain he said it was a mosquito bite.
Insect works just as well.
“Peter,” Harry snaps, warning Peter that if he doesn’t give him an answer he deems acceptably within the next few seconds there’ll be dire consequences. He even shoves the front page back into Peter’s face for good measure.
Peter takes a moment to note how, this time, the picture has an enhanced version of Harry’s throat, circling the hickey for everyone and their damn dog to see. As stupid as the whole thing seems, Peter isn’t ashamed to admit that he feels a slight twinge of pride; knowing that the entire city is now well aware that Harry is taken.
Harry opinion of the whole situation differs.
Swallowing down his spoonful of cereal, Peter feigns innocence as he blinks up at his boyfriend – noticing the small furrow of his brows and wondering, idly, if it’s even legal to look so cute whilst most definitely plotting murder. “What did you want me to say?” he shrugs, ducking in time to miss the swat aimed for his head.
“I-” Harry throws his arms up with an exasperated sigh, “I don’t know! Anything! Hell, you could’ve run with their deluded idea about me hooking up with my assistant,” because – Peter checks – yeah, the press has yet again jumped to conclusions; throwing in a picture of Felicia as she leaves the Osborn mansion, smiling down at an overpriced muffin basket. Little do they know, the basket was from Peter. One double chocolate chip muffin simply would not do. “But an insect bite? I don’t know if you’re genius or just plain stupid.”
Peter shrugs, accidentally flicking milk across the table with the gesture, and offers Harry what he hopes is his most charming smile. “Genius. Obviously.” He drops the spoon back into his bowl, reaching out to point at the black and white image of Harry’s hickey (which he knows for a fact is still very much present, although barely visible, carefully tucked away beneath Harry’s cashmere scarf). “They can’t prove that it’s anything more than that. Besides,” he smirks, catching Harry’s sea blue eyes, “it’s not technically a lie.”
He knows the moment Harry’s resolve begins to crumble, watches as the hard lines of his face melt into something softer, a fondness crinkling in the corners of his eyes as he shakes his head at Peter. “An insect bite.” he repeats, if only to get his head around it. Peter grins, wide and unashamed. “You’re ridiculous.”
That only causes Peter’s grin to spread, his cheeks physically hurting at this point, and he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Harry’s wrist. “You like ridiculous.” he teases, pulling gently until Harry’s face is hovering over his own.
Harry scrunches his nose up, looking downright adorable. “No,” he says, his nose brushing against Peter’s with each small shake of his head.
“No?” Peter’s voice is barely more than a whisper at this point and he’s aching to just lean up, close that small distance between them, but he holds back.
It’s worth it because Harry’s eyes glimmer, a warm smile creeping over his face, as he drops a quick kiss to the tip of Peter’s nose. “I just like you.”
Literal butterflies erupt in Peter’s chest, bursting through the cage of his stomach and wreaking havoc as they dart between his ribs. His breath catches in his throat and he has to swallow back any stupid, dumb sounds he might make in response.
Instead, he plasters an exaggerated smirk over his face. “Awe,” he coos, tilting his head back a tiny amount and letting his lips ghost over Harry’s, “I knew you were a total sap reall-” He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, a hand coming up to cup his face and pull him up to close that horrid distance between them both, lips on his in a kiss that’s equal parts loving and greedy. Peter moans unabashedly, his hold on Harry’s wrist tightening as he drags him down to settle in his lap, his cereal and the newspaper long forgotten at this point.
~
“I feel like I hardly see you anymore.” May sighs, patting Peter’s cheek as he glides by her to grab a glass of juice. That causes a pang of guilt deep in his chest because he knows it’s true; between classes and saving the city Peter’s free time is stretched pretty thin. That’s not to mention how he’s been spending more nights than not at Harry’s.
It’s not like he’s actually moved out. Even if a lot of his clothes now reside in Harry’s large walk-in closet.
“I know,” he offers her an apologetic smile, leaning into her side as she stirs the bolognaise simmering over the hob. “I’ve been busy is all.”
She casts him a sideways glance that says I know exactly what you get up to when you’re not home but smiles back anyway. “I just wish you’d give yourself some time to rest. You’re gonna wear yourself to the bone if you’re not careful.” She ruffles his hair lovingly, and Peter leans into the familiar touch. He doesn’t meet her eyes, though, because he knows if he does he’ll crack and spill everything to her.
Although, if he actually lets himself think about it for a second, there’s a fairly strong chance that she already knows his biggest secrets.
As if to prove his point entirely, she pulls away and pointedly doesn’t look at him when she adds, “You should invite Harry to dinner.” her tone far too casual to not mean more than it sounds.
Peter balks, taking a step back. “Wha- What do you mean?” When she just shakes her head in exasperation, he tries to sound a little less defensive. “Why would I do that?”
“Because there is far too much food here for the two of us to eat,” May replies, matter-of-factly, and she has a point but Peter is fairly certain that it’s not a good enough reason.
“Leftovers.” he says, pointing towards the fridge, “We always need leftovers.”
“There’s leftover meatloaf that’s been in there almost a week!”
Peter grimaces.
She smirks, as if she knows exactly how much Peter dislikes her meatloaf. Sometimes, he wonders if she only makes it to annoy him. Lovingly, of course.
“Invite him.” she repeats, reaching for the grated cheese. “I haven’t seen him in forever.”
“You saw him three weeks ago!” Peter groans, even though he already knows that he’s lost this argument.
“Passing by him in the park does not count, Peter Parker.” May tuts, turning to send him a stern look - raised eyebrow and everything. Peter sighs, rolling his eyes up to glare at the ceiling.
“I don’t understand why he needs to come to dinner, though.” he whines. He just knows he won’t be able to hide his feelings for Harry if he’s subjected to a small family dinner with him. His willpower is only so strong.
“Because,” May starts, aiming a wooden spoon his way, “I’ve had too many dinners on my own this past month and I would quite like to enjoy a nice, home-cooked meal with my nephew and his boyfriend. Is that really too much to ask?”
It takes a moment for her words to sink in but when they do Peter’s mouth drops open. “You-” he stammers, not even sure where to begin, and May rolls her eyes at him affectionately.
“Of course I know, Peter.” she offers him a reassuring smile that has his defences crumbling, the realisation that he finally doesn’t have to hide something this big (someone as important as Harry) from the woman that practically raised him.
She lets out a soft sigh, dropping the spoon back into the pan and turning the heat down before she takes a step away from the oven. Peter’s grown a remarkable amount since he was a kid but that doesn’t stop her from placing her hands on his shoulders, grounding him, and forcing him to meet her eyes. There’s an openness to her expression, a warmth and acceptance that Peter wants to melt into.
“Peter, baby,” she strokes a thumb over his cheek, “you’ve been in love with that boy since before you could count to ten.” Which might be a slight exaggeration but Peter’s hardly in the frame of mind to be correcting her. “I just want you to be happy.”
His voice wobbles as he manages to tell her, “I am happy.”
She smiles, squeezing his shoulder. “I can see that.” With one last pat to his cheek, she pulls away from the embrace. “Invite him to dinner. He better like garlic bread.”
Peter smirks, already pulling his phone out. “Oh, trust me; I think he’d live on the stuff if he could.”
“Good.” May goes to grab three pasta dishes from the cupboard and Peter suddenly feels like his chest might actually explode with just how much he loves her. She really is the best aunt in the world.
‘You’re coming to dinner.’ he sends to Harry, hopping up onto the countertop and avoiding the spoon May throws his way because of it.
‘Oh, am I?’
Peter grins. ‘Yep. You better bring a big appetite.’
Harry shows up not even thirty minutes later, a bunch of fresh tulips in his hand that he passes to May with a peck to her cheek and a bright smile that puts the flowers to shame. When Harry leans his head on Peter’s shoulder as Peter wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist (whilst May places the tulips into a clean vase, gushing over how adorable they are together), he thanks whatever higher being might exist for how blessed he is.
~
Keeping secrets is stressful.
Peter already knew this. It’s why he hates them so vehemently.
But having two huge secrets weighing him down has slowly been eating him up from the inside. He wants to shout his love for Harry from the rooftops. He wants to rip his mask off on live television and shut every Spider-Man critic’s mouth when they realise that he’s barely of legal drinking age.
He can’t, though. Not yet, at least. And he hates it.
He and Harry have been dating for just over a year when Peter has a revelation. One of those huge ones that sort of smack you in the face with their brilliance. Peter quite literally backflips out of his seat, scaring Aunt May half to death in the process, as he connects the dots, a grin on his face so bright it’d put the sun to shame.
What if he found a way to reveal the two secrets without revealing anything whatsoever?
It takes a couple of days to work the logistics of it out – and, also, to make enough webbing to bring his plan to life – but eventually Peter is all set.
He doesn’t give Harry a heads up; he wants it to remain a surprise until the very last minute. And he knows that he’ll see because nothing like this would ever be kept quiet in New York. Word travels fast in the city. He just has to make sure he’s quick.
Waiting until just before the sun starts going down, as the sky is tinged a pale orange and the air still clutches onto the last remnants of the summer heat, Peter suits up and swings his way towards the Manhattan Bridge, mentally going over the pros and cons of what he’s about to do.
In all honesty, he can’t think of many cons.
He gets to work the moment he reaches the bridge, swinging from the height with ease and shooting webs at all the right angles (he’s practiced this, albeit in a smaller, more secluded location but it’s enough) and, even as he’s concentrating, he’s hyperaware of the many cars milling by. It’s peak time, everyone travelling home from work, and that’s another reason he chose this time. What better way to spread his message?
As predicted, a helicopter for one of the local news channels soon shows up, hovering at a far enough distance to not get in his way but still close enough to perfectly capture his masterpiece. He wonders, briefly, if Harry will be watching the news right now or if he’ll be stuck in another one of his boring meetings.
It doesn’t particularly matter. He’ll catch wind of what Peter’s doing sooner or later.
Finishing it takes longer than Peter had expected and, by the time he’s happy with it, the sun is almost dipping below the horizon, casting the city in a gentle glow that makes his surroundings look otherworldly. Light beams dance off of his webs, glistening beautifully, and Peter isn’t humble enough to not feel just a little bit proud of the finished product.
It’s simple enough. Two words.
Straight to the point.
But they stretch across the height of the side of the Manhattan Bridge, unmissable for miles, and Peter can already hear people’s gasps and sounds of amazement from the walkway below.
Two words.
A question that reveals everything and yet nothing all at once.
Two words.
Marry me?
Peter’s heart is maybe racing just a little bit too fast (and that’s taking the whole swinging from a huge bridge into account), as he perches on the top of one of the pillars and waits. And hopes, pleads even, that he hasn’t just ruined everything.
It takes less than ten minutes for his phone to ring – at which point Peter has watched countless people take pictures of the webbed proposal and the news helicopter has circled the bridge six times – and he takes a deep breath as he pulls it out of his backpack and glances down at the contact name. It’s Harry, because of course it is.
As if sensing something important about to take place, the helicopter stops not far in front of him and hovers. Peter knows that he’s now being broadcasted live to devices across the entire city.
Letting out a long exhale, Peter answers the call.
“Pete?” Harry’s voice sounds breathless, unsure with a slight twinge of hopefulness that eases that tight worry worming its way through Peter’s chest. “Peter.”
“Harry,” Peter starts, and he has to stop again because suddenly his throat has closed up.
“Is this-” Harry lets out a shaky breath down the line and Peter can perfectly picture the hesitant expression on his face, the way his brows are probably pinched together as he chews at the inside of his cheek. Peter wants nothing more than to be there right now, to look him in the eyes and offer his heart out to this man – because there’s nobody else’s hands he’d trust his heart in – but he needs to do this first. “Are you for real? Are you being serious right now?”
“Deadly.” Peter says, trying his hardest to keep his voice steady. “Harry, I love you. And we might not be ready to let the whole world know about that just yet but it’s true. And, someday, if- if you’ll let me, I want to whole world to know exactly that. All of it.”
What he means is that, whilst they can’t reveal their relationship to everyone just yet (not so close to all the bad press Menken brought to Oscorp, not when Harry’s worked so hard to right the wrongs of his father’s company, and not whilst Peter is still taking his classes – but someday), he sure as hell can let the city know that their beloved hero is spoken for. Well and truly.
And maybe, just maybe, some people will manage to connect the dots.
Peter thinks he’ll probably be okay with that, once the time comes.
“You-” Harry laughs weakly, “You want to marry me? Me?”
“Yes you.” Peter says patiently. “So?”
“You dumb fucking idiot,” Harry says, and Peter feels the nerves rush out of him, a smile taking over his face. “Of course I’ll fucking marry you!” Peter’s up on his feet before he even realises it, letting out a triumphant whoop that has Harry chuckling down the line. He halts when Harry speaks again, tone only mildly threatening, “But, if you’re not back home within the next ten minutes I’m calling the wedding off.”
It’s good enough of a threat for Peter, and he knows Harry’s (mostly) joking, so he laughs brightly as he slings his backpack onto his shoulders. “Anything for you, my love.”
“Shut up.” Harry groans, but Peter can hear his smile from here. “I love you, you absolute dork.”
“Love you more!” Peter sings, hanging up before his boyfriend- his fiancé can argue back. Securing his phone in his bag, Peter takes one last glance at the words that just changed his life forever, feeling like his smile might actually be glued to his face at this point, before letting out a joyful shout at the top of his lungs as he backflips off of the side of the bridge.
“There you have it, folks.” the news reporter speaks into the camera, looking equal parts surprised and happy. “It appears our Spider-Man is now engaged. Sorry to all the broken hearts out there, but this hero is taken.” The replay of tonight’s footage cuts short as the screen returns to the news studio, continued speculation about Spider-Man’s identity and not-so-secret secret relationship fading into background noise as Harry cuddles up closer to Peter’s side, his head resting on Peter’s chest.
“Damn right he is,” Harry mutters sourly at the TV, laying his hand possessively over Peter’s heart, and Peter struggles to hold back his laughter.
Pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, Peter squeezes Harry’s waist. “You’re ridiculous. Do you know how jealous of you everyone is right now?”
“But nobody is actually jealous of me.” Harry points out, lifting his head to look at Peter and Peter rolls his eyes.
“They are in a way. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Harry shrugs, pursing his lips together, and Peter is unable to resist leaning in to cover that pout with his own lips, smirking as Harry melts into the kiss instantly. “I love you.” Peter mumbles in between light kisses and he can feel Harry’s responding smile, his hand fisting at his shirt to keep him close.
“Love you more.” Harry retorts with a playful wiggle of his eyebrows.
But Peter shakes his head petulantly, because now he has the best comeback. “But did you write it on a landmark for everyone to see?” When Harry glares at him, Peter laughs and tugs him back in for another kiss, mumbling, “I didn’t think so.”
He kind of deserves the punch he gets for that.