Chapter Text
As a child, Harry believed in all sorts of things; Santa Claus and fairies that would replace his fallen teeth with gold coins or chocolate, and heart eyes. A strange, rumoured phenomenon where if you love someone enough, hearts will appear in your eyes, replacing your pupils and revealing that you had met them.
Your soulmate, the person you were destined to spend the rest of your life with. Children and adults alike both dreaded and anticipated the fateful day they would awake with hearts in their eyes, and the puzzle pieces representing their life would all fall into place, creating the perfect picture.
Harry too awaited the day, but like how he caught his father's assistant hiding newly wrapped presents under the Christmas day on Christmas eve night, and how he connected the dots after a different assistant forgot to place a coin under his pillow, he gave up.
More specifically, he grew up, learnt that the world is more than sunshine and rainbows. Fairytales are created to shield children from the real world, allowing them to indulge in harmless fantasy up until a certain age, when they're forced to confront reality.
Harry had his confrontation much earlier than most.
Soulmates did not exist; destiny was not laid out for you, you had to make it yourself. Unless you were Harry Osborn, whose future had been decided since birth. At a suitable age, he would take on his father's company; Oscorp, and continue on his legacy — whether he wanted to or not. But due to knowing he didn't have a choice at such a young age, he never thought to question it.
Love, and friendship is something you have to work for. It takes time and effort, especially for someone like him, the boy who wore a heavy crown. It seemed so easy for everyone else, but they steered clear of him; as if from first glance, they just knew.
It made him second-guess everything; what did they see that he couldn't? Like a dark aura manifested around him, and everyone could see it except him.
Well, except him and Peter Parker. The one boy who paid no mind to the Osborn name, or the large sums of money and everything Harry could ever want — or, almost everything. Peter broke through the bubble encasing Harry with ease, and such an adoring smile.
That day, Harry second-guessed destiny. Maybe some things were predetermined. A single puzzle piece fell into place.
And things from then onwards were a rollercoaster of emotion. Moments he'll cherish forever in a small cafè sitting across from each other, and arguments he wishes he could forget; spitting words laced with venom, and Peter's pained expression is permanently ingrained in his mind.
But everything is fine. Now, at least, after… discovering Peter's secret identity and working through it. More pieces have fallen into place since he met the others; Miles, Gwen and Anya, the three becoming close friends to him. But not as close as Peter, never that close.
Everyone has at least one forever friend; someone they'll keep for the rest of their lives, and that person for Harry is Peter. They'll grow old together, always keeping in touch and reconnecting after every fight; no matter what they say to each other. Because Peter is the closest thing to a soulmate he'll ever get, a red string connecting their souls, and pulling them back together whenever they stray too far apart.
Though, he assumed soulmates could be strictly platonic.
Apparently not.
The hearts replacing his pupils say otherwise. His toothbrush clatters to the floor and he staggers back, slipping on the mat and landing on his back. It had to be a trick of the light or his imagination, he only woke up a few minutes okay so everything is hazy and not quite right.
Yet, as he scrambles back to his feet and leans over the sink, staring at his reflection — nothing has changed. He viciously scrubs at the mirror with his sleeve, rubs his eyes, and gets as close as possible to see if they really are hearts.
Low and behold, two perfectly shaped hearts stare back at him mockingly. His heart sinks to the bottom of his chest, along with the rest of his body, dropping him to the floor.
This has to be a dream. But it isn't, he knows it isn't — because he's had countless dreams and nightmares before, especially as of late. This is real, he's fallen in love.
And it's no question as to who. God, he wishes it was — or that it was anyone else, because that'd make things so much simpler. Alas, he hasn't met anyone new in a while, and despite having a handful of friends, there's only one person it could be.
Peter Parker, his best friend, who's pining over a girl.
"Fuck," Harry curses under his breath, tucking his knees to his chest and lightly hitting the side of his head. Out of everyone, it had to be the person he's closest to, who already has someone else on their mind.
How hilarious would it be, if he met up with Peter, and saw hearts in his eyes as well — for someone else. Even without them, his feelings are blatantly obvious, whereas Harry's has been underwraps this entire time, hidden from everyone including himself. They chose the perfect time to unravel themselves and bloom like a poisonous flower.
"Dammit!" He shouts, kicking the bathroom mat. Miles, Anya and Gwen are gonna annoy the hell out of him; they won't stop until they get what they want — answers. Which Harry will imprison behind clenched teeth and sealed lips, refusing to reveal a single detail.
He will take this to his grave.
"Mister Osborn?" An assistant calls out, knocking on the door, the sound shooting through Harry's clutched head. "Classes begin soon. Are you still attending?" Ever since his father died and his assistants were passed down to him, privacy became a myth.
There's a pause. Skipping out on class won't matter too much, because he's already the new head of the company; grades are pointless. School in itself is pointless and often tiring, but he still attends to catch up with friends.
Without them, there's no point in showing up.
"I think I'll skip today," he answers monotonically. The assistant doesn't press further, stepping away from the door.
"Very well." And with that, they walk away, footsteps growing quiet until Harry's alone in his thoughts, tangled balls he can't begin to unwind. There are two ways to get rid of heart eyes; confess your love and enjoy your new relationship, or simply… wait for the feelings to fade away.
A bitter laugh escapes his throat. As if he could avoid anyone, especially Peter for that long. They'd be knocking on his door in a heartbeat, and he'll have to play it off as being sick and bedridden — but then they'll be by his bedside with hot bowls of pumpkin soup and asking him to describe his symptoms.
For once, he wishes they didn't care so much. But there's no other option, his friends won't be able to keep a secret; especially such a big one regarding Peter. He can't risk the news getting out, because one way or another, Peter will find out.
So, for now, he'll just have to lay low and… wait for it to pass.
As if it ever will.
Two hours later, his phone is blowing up with notifications; text messages from quite literally everyone, asking where he is and if he's alright. He simply stares at them, just turns his phone off and rolls over on his bed.
An hour afterwards, more messages come through; hasty questions expressing more concern than earlier. Reluctantly, Harry sits up and eyes his options, eventually going with Miles.
"I'm fine," he types out, "just feeling a little under the weather. It's nothing to worry about." After briefly hesitating, he presses send and doesn't bother to alert the others, for Miles will take care of that.
Dropping his phone, he lays back down and stares at the ceiling, but peace doesn't last long. Roughly half an hour later, loud dings ruin his hopes of falling asleep, and he groans. It takes five minutes for him to sit up and check the alerts, already aware of what they say.
Just as he suspected, they're all along the lines of; "Miles said you weren't feeling well. Is it bad?" And Peter asking if he wants him to come over.
Harry looks around himself, at the spacious area and king sized bed, ceiling way out of reach. Peter has never actually been to the mansion, mainly because he's never been invited. Whenever the two hang out, it's always been at his house or a third location.
This place is just… too much at times, especially after his father's passing. Despite the amount of assistants ready at his command, both in the mansion and the Oscorp building, it feels empty and hollow. Genuine conversations are rare, his assistants are paid to follow his instructions, not make small talk, and it's nothing but awkward.
Exactly why he favors school, in spite of the tests and paperwork which are easy, but keep piling up, eating away at his time. Everyday is just paperwork — signing documents and writing his name in black pen over, and over again until it doesn't look right anymore.
"It's alright," he types to Peter, "I'll be fine in a day or two. No need to worry, Pete, I'll be back to annoy you in no time." He presses send, mutes his phone and drapes his arm over his eyes, sighing.
One more day can't hurt, can it? People are typically sick for more than one day. A week is the max amount of time he can pull off, any longer will raise suspicions, and have Peter spider swinging to his bedroom window.
Though, if anyone were to see him in person, they'd believe he is sick. Because come next morning, his hair is a mess and his skin, specifically around the face, is unusually pale. Lips curving into a slight smile, he chuckles. Maybe he wished for it so hard, he actually became sick.
Like how people wish for these stupid hearts. They haven't gone away, of course they haven't. He's in the bathroom again, examining his reflection and every little, awful detail.
Would contacts help? He could have an assistant buy contacts without any questions, and it'd solve everything. Much better than hiding behind a pair of sunglasses, which would immediately raise eyebrows and earn him puzzled looks.
But while he might be able to disguise his eyes, could he get away with everything else? There's no way he'll be able to keep his cool after learning this. Not around his friends, and definitely not around Peter. Who, oblivious as he may be at times, can't possibly overlook such a stark change in attitude.
Christ, they've known each other since they were kids. Harry will freeze up and bite his tongue, and even if it tricks the others, Peter will sense it instantly — with his spidey sense or whatever. One way or another, he'll know.
Thus, for the second day in the world, when one of his assistants knocks on the door and asks, "Will you be skipping school again today, Mister Osborn?"
He answers yes, and buries himself in business related work, attending a conference and arranging deals that will change the trajectory of Oscorp for the better. Or so he hopes… Right? Because what is he without this hollow building and destiny laid out before him, a gorgeous velvet red carpet right at his feet.
This company needs him.
Or does he need it? Clinging onto the tiniest shred of his father's legacy, and his own. Sometimes, he wishes he could go back. Back to the simpler days, where he could laugh with Peter at their favorite cafe, while his father handled the majority of responsibilities.
But his father is dead, and all he left behind is a heavy weight on Harry's shoulders. One that he carries on purpose, and will continue to do so for however long it takes, because it will pay off in the end. He knows it will.
It has to.
Some point in the early afternoon, he falls asleep and wakes up to a missed video call from Peter. There's one new message from him, "Hope you feel better soon."
They've spent time apart before, haven't they? And Peter's acting like this is the first time.
On second thought, Harry hasn't been sick in years, and neither has Peter. After school or on weekends, they would meet up somewhere else so much that it became expected of them. Often with no purpose at all, just to spend time together and chat their worries away.
Frankly, the last time they distanced themselves was… after Peter revealed himself as Spiderman. It had repercussions at the time, with Harry not knowing how to react, and it ended messily.
Aside from that, they're practically connected at the hip. Which makes all of this so much worse. Harry had to fall for his best friend, the one who's had his back the whole time. Ever since they were kids, they promised to remain friends for the rest of their lives.
And he has to go and ruin it with a stupid crush.
Groaning, he covers his face with his hands and hides under the covers. Distracting himself with company work could help, there's always something to do, even after he's spent the whole day doing every possible task — there's always more required of him. A bottomless pit.
Dragging his hands down his face, he picks up his phone and decides to spend his free time researching. Googling "heart eyes", he meticulously goes over every result until his eyes burn and his bedroom has gone dark, the sunlight dimming.
There are mixed results. Forums of people asking whether it's actually real, and fake-sounding romantic or funny stories surrounding people who had the rare phenomenon. Most end with people gushing over how dreamy it would be to be in the person's shoes, having a confirmation that they were indeed, in love.
Harry scoffs at it. Oh, what he'd do to trade places with them, and place this burden on their shoulders. But he holds back ranting in the comments, informing them that no, it really isn't that great. It's quite awful and fear inducing, actually.
But maybe that's just him. Other people get their happy ending; sappy descriptions of people's parents' experience, and how everything worked out perfect for them — like a fairytale. People who were just made to be together, while he's trapped in a Shakespearean tragedy.
Nothing worthwhile comes out of his extensive googling, just questions, strangers daydreaming and storytelling that earn an eye roll. He turns off his phone, takes a deep breath, and buries himself in files and business meetings for the rest of the day.
Come tomorrow, he's sent an assistant to buy eye contacts. Usually they're clear, but to hide the hearts, he specifically requested fake ones in the same colour, close enough to the real deal that nobody will bat an eye. The assistant got to work immediately, claiming to know a place, and returned an hour later with a small black box.
To Harry's amazement, they were perfect. Gawking at his reflection, not a trace of the hearts remained, and he couldn't find a single mistake. Nobody will know.
It's recommended to wear them from eight to twelve hours a day, and considering school lasts for six; he's in the clear. Unless somebody insists on hanging out afterwards. That can still work out, he just needs to limit the time — twelve hours should be plenty. If not, he can push it to fourteen, but his assistant recommends no longer than that.
It's the third day, and an assistant drives him to school. Everyone stares as the sleek black car pulls up in front of the high school, and Harry hesitates to step outside. But he forces himself to do so, before he has to hear his assistant ask if he's really sure about this, and reassuring him that they can return to the mansion.
But if he's stuck jumping between Oscorp headquarters and that damn place for one more day without a second of proper interaction, he'll go crazy. He unintentionally slams the car door behind him, and takes a deep breath.
"Hey, Harry!" Peter calls out, and Harry chokes on his own air, coughing into his fist.
Never did he think Peter would be the death of him, let alone in such an embarrassing way. God, do heart eyes have side effects? Because seeing Peter didn't used to make his heart race so much, causing the blood to rush to his face.
Yeah, it's the heart eyes.
Jerking his head at the assistant, they drive off just as Peter runs over, hugging Harry without warning. It's over in the blink of an eye, Peter has pulled away and rests a hand on his shoulder, flashing that familiar smile he missed so much.
"How are you feeling?"
Absolutely terrible, and all because of him.
"Good! Much better than yesterday." The rest of the gang; Miles, Gwen and Anya trail behind, waving. He waves back, straining a smile that hopefully looks natural.
They don't notice a thing.
He claims to still be feeling a bit off, just to ensure Peter keeps his distance. But throughout the day, he has to keep reminding Peter, gently nudging or elbowing him when he gets too close. "Hey, I don't need you getting sick, Pete. Aunt May would kill me."
Faking a dry cough and slightly wheezy voice gets him through the day, earning some sympathetic looks and pats on the back. "It's nothing major, guys," he reassures with a slight smile, "seriously, you're acting like I'm on my deathbed."
He might as well be, with how easily his heart gives out at the smallest things. It's impossible to focus on school work, and though he blames it on lack of sleep and other factors, he can't dismiss how his eyes keep flickering to Peter. Even when Peter isn't in his class, his mind refuses to give him a break.
Shit, he's down bad. This was a mistake.
The bell snaps him out of his thoughts, signalling the start of lunch. Packing up his things, he exits the classroom with Miles, who complains about an upcoming test, but the words just phase through Harry.
"I envy you sometimes, dude," Miles sighs, "you don't have to worry about this kind of stuff."
Harry laughs. "Wanna trade places? You can run Oscorp for a day." There's too many rules to follow and etiquette to uphold that'd take an outsider months to learn, if they don't give up halfway through. He had it all memorized as a child.
Fighting back a yawn, he rubs his eye. Realizing his mistake too late, he's about to pull his hand away when a student sprints down the corridor and bumps his shoulder. "Sorry!" They call out, racing around the corner.
"Hey, you alright?" Miles asks, turning around to face Harry — he freezes.
On the floor lies a single eye contact. Harry bends down to pick it up, but it's too late. Slowly, he lifts his head and locks eyes with Miles; a horrible mistake.
Shit.
Miles' jaw drops. "You… you have heart eyes. Oh my god, Harry-"
Harry stands up and slaps a hand over his unconcealed eye. "You saw nothing," he sputters, body tensing up. At least it wasn't Peter, he tells himself in a wasted attempt to calm his accelerating heartbeat. "You won't tell a soul, Miles. Miles."
"Who-" Miles cuts himself off, gasping. "Oh my god. Oh my god."
Is it that obvious? Oh, he's totally screwed.
He needs to get to the closest bathroom, clean the contact and pretend this never happened. "Miles, I swear." He starts walking closer, and Miles backs away, hands up.
"Don't worry, dude! I won't tell anyone that you have a crush on-"
"Miles!"
They chase each other down the corridor, apologizing to teachers and students that they pass by. Weaving through the mass, they eventually come to a stop in the boys' bathroom when Harry runs out of breath. Miles checks every stall, which are thankfully empty, while Harry slides down against the wall, head buried in his hands.
"Does…" Miles hesitates, glancing at Harry. "Does, uh, anyone else know?"
Judging by the glare he receives, the answer is no. Pursing his lips, he looks away as Harry pushes himself to his feet and walks to the mirror. Taking out a small bottle of saline solution, he places a few drops on the contact and gently rubs both sides.
Did he not put it on properly? How is he meant to stay undercover when they fall out that easily?
There's no way this is going to last.
"Are you going to confess?"
He freezes. Exhaling a shaky breath, he carefully puts the contact back in. "Are you kidding? He likes someone else! A girl!" He leans in close to the mirror, checking that it's perfect. This can't happen again.
Sighing, he leans back and slicks his hair back. "This could ruin everything, so he can't find out. Got it, Miles?"
Frowning, Miles nods. "I got it! So what are you meant to do in the meantime?"
School isn't over yet, there's still more classes left. Then there's tomorrow, and Peter could pop up at any time, suggesting they hang out. Harry can only come up with so many excuses before he, or anyone else starts to catch on.
He shrugs and stares at the floor. Might as well start coming up with excuses now. "Just… wait it out, I guess."
Miles gapes at him, as if he's grown two heads. "That could take ages! Some people hold crushes for weeks, months, hell, even years-"
Years. This stupid crush that came out of nowhere could last years, he doesn't even want to consider that. It's like a parasite that has latched onto his heart, worsening and growing stronger as time goes by. "It won't last that long!" He unintentionally shouts, hands balled into fists.
He doesn't want to imagine a future where he and Peter aren't as close, where they've started drifting apart all because of him. No matter what, he can't let that happen. They've struck together through thick and thin, something so… stupid can't ruin everything.
"It can't. it won't."
He'll fix this. Somehow. He has to.