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“The great and mighty Spider-Man,” Harry Osborn’s voice was a rasp, nearly inaudible as he whispered into the turbulent night, “Can’t even stop his best friend’s life from going up in flames…”
Spider-Man himself—all five-feet-eight-inches of him—didn’t feel great or mighty; Peter Parker felt scared. His heart beat wildly and incessantly in his chest as he stood behind his best friend in the world and stared at the smoldering Manhattan skyline. Oscorp Tower was crumbling. Out of the corner of his eye Peter saw Harry flinch as a huge chunk of the flickering OSCORP sign fell over a hundred stories and crashed to the concrete, joining a huge pile of smoking rubble. The resounding BANG was almost swallowed by the screams and sirens that echoed through the highrises and avenues of New York City, but it ultimately reached the pair of boys where they watched atop a rooftop blocks and blocks away.
Peter’s gaze kept making its way to the black hair just a couple of feet in front of him, drawn away from the calamity in the distance. The vigilante still wasn’t convinced that those rigid shoulders and that straight spine wouldn’t disappear. His green eyes found Harry over and over, like he was magnetized.
Too close. That had been too close .
And Peter was well acquainted with ‘too close’, being a superhero and all—Spider-Man constantly webbed away from danger at the absolute last second, barely dodging bullets and punches and sometimes even pavement—but he’d never experienced terror like he had as that fatal timer ticked down right next to Harry’s face. The brunet relived the panic again and again; he saw the blinking 8… 7… 6… , felt Harry’s warm body against his own, Harry’s trembling and then his struggling, the familiar stickiness of a web in his fingers, Harry slipping, Harry screaming and yelling, the sound of blood rushing in his ears as he held his friend tighter than he ever had before…
“I could’ve done it.”
Harry’s whisper shook Peter from his echoing head, but the reminder of the Osborn heir’s safety did nothing to ease the dryness in Peter’s throat or the shake in his hands.
“Harry…”
“ I could’ve done it ,” Harry forced out, body angled to the horizon, “ Why did you stop me ?”
Before the shorter boy uttered another word, Harry’s nose was a centimeter from Peter’s own and his finger was digging into the brunet’s chest.
“I COULD’VE SAVED THE BUILDING, THE COMPANY—EVERYTHING,” he spat, “YOU HAD NO RIGHT!”
Peter’s soles bit into gravel as Harry nearly bowled him over with his ferocity, but the vigilante didn’t falter. His bloodied and bruised hand caught Harry’s wrist—not to push the accusatory finger away but just to touch, to make sure that his best friend was solid, real, alive . The smaller boy held on and didn’t let go, even as Harry’s arm went slack in his grip, his fight gone as quickly as it had come. Their linked limbs hung between them for a couple quiet, peaceful moments, before Harry pulled away to once again face his shattered legacy.
The black-haired boy’s broad chest seemed to shrink in on itself, the reflection of the faraway fire painting his blue irises orange and yellow and smoky gray. Helicopters flew over the scene and a stray spotlight occasionally swung in the direction of the pair, glinting bright white in Harry’s eyes.
“I should’ve done it,” Harry wrapped his arms around his torso and rocked back and forth, just the tiniest bit, as he let out a breathy chuckle, “What’s my father going to think?”
His eyes began to leak in earnest, the sheen of his tears glimmering like the twinkling stars that never shone in Manhattan. Peter reached out on instinct, resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder; he didn’t quite know who was more comforted by the gesture, himself or his aching friend. It was then that Harry sank to the pebbled roof, as if dragged by heavy limbs and a heavier heart. The brunet followed him down and squatted in front of the fallen Osborn, squeezing Harry’s shoulders.
“Hey, hey…” Peter coaxed, faced with the top of Harry’s head, “You’re both alive, Har. You’re both safe. You’re going to be ok, and so will your father.”
“ Don’t ,” Harry choked out, finally looking up at Peter. His nose was running and his eyes were streaming, but his voice was hard, “Don’t Spider-Man me. I don’t need Spider-Man, I’ve never needed Spider-Man. I just need Peter.”
“I- I’m right here. Peter,” he attempted a small smile, “ and Spider-Man. But still your Pete, always.”
“ My Pete…”
Peter shifted his weight a bit, trying his hardest to maintain eye contact. He cleared his throat and said “Yep.”
“My Peter Parker, my best friend…” Harry let the silence stretch. “Who wouldn’t tell me the truth.”
“Har-“
“ No , Peter. I’m sick of being lied to,” blue-gray bore into Spider-Man, no longer clouded. Harry’s resolve had dried his tears, “We’ve been friends since before I can remember. I would do anything for you. And I have never lied to you on purpose, or- or about something this huge. There were so many clues, it should’ve been obvious… But all you did was trick me, over and over. I feel-“ he hiccuped, “I feel so stupid , Pete.”
“You don’t understand, Harry-“
“Well of course I don’t understand , I’ve only known for two fucking hours!” the black-haired boy launched to his feet, escaping Peter’s touch and stalking away, “Jesus, Peter, maybe if you had given me a chance , or tried to explain or tell me or let me help you, I could understand.”
Peter guffawed and stomped after the taller boy, “Let you help me? This isn’t a school project, Har, this- this is life and death! I’m a vigilante—the law isn’t even on my side! Everything I do is dangerous!”
Harry whipped around, “So you know that it’s dangerous?! That you could die any day and leave me—and- and May and Gwen and Miles—not knowing what had happened?”
“That’s not fair, I don’t have a choice . I’m Spider-Man, Harry, New York needs me-“
“WELL I NEED YOU, TOO,” Harry’s hands clenched at his sides and his voice shook, “and so does your aunt. Have you ever thought about that?”
Peter stilled, his chin slightly lifted as to meet Harry head-on. Harry let out an unsteady breath,
“I’m not mad at you for being Spider-Man, I- I know how much you care about people, I know how much you want to help them. That’s what you do,” he couldn’t help the way his lips turned up at that, “but I’m not a victim or a stranger or a cat in a fucking tree, I’m your best friend and I always will be… And I know for a fact that you need me just as much as I need you, so- so you should’ve told me. You can’t be there for everyone without someone there for you, and I swear I’ll always be your someone—as long as you let me. Please just… Let me.”
A chilly breeze danced through and around the two silent boys, creating a vacuum of time and space. Peter’s brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of words and memories and years and years gone by with the boy standing before him. The yellow light of the city danced over the plains of his scrunched face, and Harry watched as the shorter boy seemed to absorb the urban glow; Peter’s eyes brightened and his cheeks colored and a shy grin ghosted over his lips.
The brunet brought his hands up to hold Harry’s cheeks and Harry sucked in a breath, eyes widening. An eternity passed and nothing happened except Peter repeatedly glancing at Harry’s chapped lips; then, he squeezed Harry’s face and chuckled very softly at the boy’s unimpressed look. His breathy laugh, though, did nothing to conceal his embarrassment or dejection. He moved to let go of Harry, but there were suddenly warm, steadying hands covering his own and keeping them in place. Harry raised one eyebrow, eyes serious; it was the only nudge he would give Peter.
Peter swallowed and lifted himself up on his toes before he could change his mind, pressing his mouth to Harry’s for one second… Two… He pulled back an inch, only to see that Harry’s eyelids were shut and his lips slightly parted. So Peter did the only thing he could, and captured Harry in a real kiss. His fingers found their way to the nape of Harry’s neck and locked together, one of his thumbs rubbing unconsciously over the soft skin there. The off-duty vigilante felt like he was being pumped full of helium and was drifting far, far away—his chest was buoyant, his head was fuzzy, his ears were hot, his lips were tingly. Peter’s toes were in danger of lifting off the ground completely, and then his only anchor would be the places where he and Harry touched.
The feeling of hands on him almost made Peter jump; instead, a dopey smile found its way into the kiss as Harry’s fingertips traveled all over. One palm found its resting place at the small of Peter’s back, pressing to draw the brunet closer, while the other brushed over Peter’s shoulder blades and then over each vertebra through the thermal suit, one by one. Peter was left with a trail of blazing heat down his torso that was quick to spread as he was gathered into Harry’s arms and held tight.
Peter couldn’t help the shiver that traveled up his spine as his lips slid against Harry Osborn’s , who he hadn’t even known he’d wanted to kiss until they’d started kissing. There was no mastery to what they were doing, it was kind of just warm and wet—but it was exciting and it felt right and wow he wanted it to go on forever. Harry’s hand squeezed Peter’s waist and the smaller boy hummed, leaning back and rubbing his lips together. Yep—tingly.
Harry blinked back to life very slowly, a huge smile stretching over his features, and Peter was rendered breathless. It had been months since Harry had smiled like that. The night was transformed—the streetlights could have been fireflies, the honks and sirens a choir. Peter wanted to live every cliché; he’d been in love for years and had never even realized. He had some serious catching up to do and, if Harry’s slightly dazed look was anything to go by, there would be no complaints on the other end.
“I’m sorry,” Peter breathed into Harry’s mouth, heart still doing somersaults. The black-haired boy froze and blanched, making to pull away,
“For kissing me?”
“NO,” Peter gaped, “No, ohmygod, no . What? No . I’m sorry for not telling you about Spider-Man… About me.”
The smile returned, if a bit less toothy.
“I thought that I needed to be Spider-Man alone, that it was better for everyone that way… But you’re one of the most important people in my life, and keeping secrets isn’t fair. And, uh, neither is outright lying. So, I’m sorry. And you’re right, it was isolating,” Peter wet his lips, “ Very isolating.”
Letting go of his hurt was the easiest thing in the world when Peter Parker stood before him, all blushing skin and floppy hair and red lips, so Harry allowed himself to finally relax and drink in the view—of Peter Parker, not of his destroyed life still ablaze somewhere behind the radiant boy.
“I forgive you,” he accentuated the statement with a quick kiss, “Now can we get off this freezing roof and go to your house or something?”
The brunet seemed to buzz with energy, “Oh you’re gonna love this, it is so much better when you’re not fleeing from certain death!” Peter stepped to the edge of the roof where the wind was once again picking up, “C’mon!”
“How do I…?”
“Just, uh, grab onto me,” Peter cleared his throat and held out a hand, his windswept hair adding to the whole ‘rom-com protagonist’ look that he was undoubtedly going for.
The taller boy allowed himself to be led up to the ledge, and gingerly wrapped his arms around Peter’s neck.
“Is this ok?”
“Superstrength, Har,” the vigilante’s bravado didn’t completely disguise his nerves as he murmured, “I’ve got you.”
Harry didn’t know where to put his legs so Peter made the decision for him and grabbed him under the thighs, picking up the larger boy without a hitch. The sudden height was enough to convince Harry to wrap his legs around Peter just under the vigilante’s sternum; Peter didn’t even sway. Harry tried not to think about it too hard.
“Alright,” Peter breathed, “Hold on!”
He jumped.