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“So, tonight, right? You’ll come over tonight?” Peter pushed his glasses further up his nose. He fixed his backpack strap over his shoulder, his sweaty palms making the fabric uncomfortable and moist. He practically hovered behind Harry who grabbed a textbook from his locker and stuffed it inside his leather satchel.
“Peter, for the third time, of course.” He said. “Dad is on a business trip and Ben doesn’t care where I go as long as I let him know beforehand. I still can’t understand why Dad thinks I need a babysitter. I’m fifteen.” Harry muttered, shutting his locker, “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Yeah, okay… okay cool.” Peter nodded. He let out a breath and glanced nervously at the midtown Science High School posters plastered across the hallway walls. There was a homecoming game coming up, not that Peter cared much about it. The only issues it stemmed were the rise of the overly irritating football team coming into class with their jerseys, the downright dull spirit days, and… the homecoming dance. Peter had been dateless for well, ever since, but maybe after tonight… maybe he would have…
They walked down the hallway bypassing the other students. Harry fixed his beanie over his head, a few puffs of his blonde curls peeking out. “You okay, Peter?” He asked. One of his eyes was blue, the other was bright green. Harry abhorred his heterochromia. Peter loved it.
“I’m good. Totally good. Just… zombies, you know? So… excited to watch the zombies tonight.” And also admit something. Admit something Peter had been keeping in for about one year now. They had known each other since they were six, but Peter didn’t realize he liked Harry until they started high school. That’s also how Peter knew he was… gay? Bi? Pan? He… he wasn’t sure. Girls were pretty, but Harry was… Harry. When he was around him, things were… different. He wished he had the words to articulate it. He wished he could describe it, but he was unable to.
Harry tossed him a smile, “Okay.” He said as they exited the school. They stood on the steps near the entrance, “Well, I am very excited.”
How unbelievable! If Peter didn’t know any better, he was absolutely certain Harry was doing this on purpose. But did Harry know how he felt? Did he feel the same way? Was he even… “Seven… okay? I’ll see you at seven.”
Harry nodded, “Seven.”
They went their separate ways, a swarm of dread and excitement overcoming Peter’s insides. He went home wishing to slug each step, but at the same time sprint until he couldn’t breathe. Would everything change tonight? Or would nothing? Would he lose his best friend? Or, would he gain a lover? He’d been through this agony for months. Was it better to speak or to die? Speak . Even May and Ben told him it was better to speak. He was going to speak.
He came home. A small, light green painted home in the suburbs of Queens. In the cozy living room, he saw May and Ben at the dining room table. Ben’s glasses sat at the tip of his nose as he read the paper. May’s graying hair sat in a low bun as she clipped coupons in a pair of pink slippers.
“Hey!” Peter chimed happily.
“ Hm . What is this one up to? Nothing good I suspect.” Ben set his paper down. Peter went over to hug him. He hugged May after, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. He stared at the both of him with a smile stretched across his cheeks, he was nearly rocking while nodding. “He’s coming over tonight…” Peter said. “I’m… going to ask him…”
“Oh, ” Ben and May both said at the same time.
“Yeah…” Peter swallowed, “I… I have to tell him… I have to…”
May stood, and with her aged hands, she gently fixed the collar of Peter’s shirt. She held his cheeks and laid a warm kiss on his forehead, “I’m so proud of you. You know that.” They hugged each other, and May cradled the back of Peter’s head. Ben stood too. He did the same thing.
“Your Aunt and I can go out tonight.” He said, “We will keep the house empty for you.”
Peter expressed his thanks before getting ready upstairs. With a slight frown, he stared at the innards of his closet. He had to find something nice to wear, but not too nice so Harry wouldn’t get too suspicious. The only type of formal clothes that Peter had was when they would go to the synagogue only a few blocks away. No, that was too formal. He decided to keep the clothes he had on. He sighed, what would Harry be wearing? Did it matter? Everything he wore looked amazing. Granted, being the son of a billionaire, it was expected.
Peter then hopped on his old computer and did the lamest thing ever. He searched for first-date ideas. But it gets worse. For a Scorpio male. He was hunched over his computer, reading over every word very diligently:
17) A Food Walk
Scorpios are fond of food and enjoy trying new things. You can take them out on a food walk for a fun date idea.
Peter reflected on that. He guessed Harry liked food. Now, Peter only had about twelve dollars tucked away in his dresser and couldn’t drive, so they’d have to stay put tonight. They would have a zombie movie to keep them company and maybe he’d make him something nice. Yeah… yeah… he could do that. Given the fact that he has never really cooked anything other than simple things, he was sure he could whip something up that Harry would like. He went back to his closet. He changed his shirt to a simple black sweater. There. That’s better. Afterward, he remained inside his head and allowed himself to think through this carefully. What would he say? How would he say it? He was in front of his mirror. “I… I really like you.” He said. He shook his head, “I really really like you and you make me really happy… as in… more than a friend.” He told it to himself as he stared at his own reflection. He felt extremely stupid. This lasted for hours.
It wasn’t until the sun started setting that he went back downstairs. He had been unaware of how much time had already passed. Seven would be here soon. He pulled out his phone, his somewhat pressing pessimism made him feel as if Harry would cancel. He hasn’t. May and Ben were dressed in casual, but still somewhat formal dinner attire. Ben clipped May’s necklace around her neck as he’d done many times within their forty years of marriage. He kissed her on the cheek.
Peter cleared his throat. “Thought I would see you two out. You both look great, by the way.”
May called him an absolute sweetheart, and Ben lightheartedly mentioned that he should save the flattery for someone else. They departed, promising not to be out too late, and Peter promised not to burn the house down. Peter stood in the kitchen and sighed. He opened the fridge and the pantry. Alright, this couldn’t be that hard. He grabbed the small chicken from the freezer and read the instructions. He was supposed to bake it for two to three hours at four hundred degrees. He checked the time. He didn’t even have an hour to spare. He swallowed, unwrapping the chicken and placing it on a tray. He shoved it into the oven and placed it at the highest temperature, hoping for the best. At the pantry, he decided on something simple. Pasta and pasta sauce. Easy. He brought the small pot of water to a boil and the long strands of pasta stuck out.
He was in the living room, his heart racing as he glanced at the time. Why are you so nervous? Stop being so nervous! I t took him a bit longer than expected to find the movie they were to watch on the TV. He did not watch TV often, so every time he learned how to use the remote, he eventually forgot how to. He started cleaning his glasses with the fabric of his shirt. Oh god, had they been filthy all day? Maybe he should go upstairs and get his glasses cleaner and - maybe he should brush his hair! He had to go brush his hair! Then he would have to - WHAT IS THAT BURNING SMELL?
He went back to the kitchen and saw that all the water from the pot of pasta had evaporated. The bottom of the pot was absolutely black. His first instinct was to take the pot to the sink and put water inside of it. The water then, too, turned black as some of the beige strands still poked out from the sides. He sighed, staring at his depressed reflection in the water. Oh well, at least he still had the chicken. They had some challah bread around, he was sure. Maybe they could make some chicken sandwiches. Peter opened the oven and nearly cried.
The sides of the chicken were still tinted pink while the top was scorched black. The smoke made his eyes burn as he began to cough violently. He grabbed a few of the oven mitts, took the tray out of the oven, and set it on the stove. This possibly couldn’t get any-
BEEP
BEEP
BEEP
“Oh no… oh no no no… ” He pulled a chair to the kitchen and stood on it. He waved the oven mitts in front of the smoke detector. He glanced at the clock and saw that it was a few minutes after seven. “Oh no… oh no no no…” In his fright, he lost his balance and slipped. Upon falling, he knocked the glass can of pasta sauce on the ground. It burst, glass shards spilling on the kitchen floor. The red sauce splattered, staining the drawers, the oven, the dishwasher, and Peter’s face. He was thankful he was not hurt by it. The doorbell rang. Harry was here.
Peter rushed to his feet, minding the glass. He tried to wipe off the sauce from his face, but all he ended up doing was smearing it further across his chin. There were clumps of it in his hair and he was certain he could feel some of it sliding down his chest. It was all over his sweater and his pants, leaving him smelling faintly of tomatoes and garlic. His glasses weren’t any better. Peter rushed to his window and peered out, however upon realizing he couldn't see due to the stains on his glasses, he took them off. He squinted through the blinds.
There he is.
Harry was admiring the flowers. He still had on his black beanie from before and he wore a long black coat. He fixed some of his hair from his face. Harry eventually made eye contact with Peter watching him from the window. He flinched but then started to laugh. Peter was glad one of them was laughing. In fact, he wanted to cry. Hesitantly, he opened the door. “Hey… Harry…”
“Jesus Peter…” Harry examined the pasta stains and sweat covering Peter’s body, “What… what happened?”
“I… It’s a long story.”
When Harry entered the foyer, he saw the kitchen and the mess that laid bare in front of his eyes. He covered his mouth, covering his slight laughter. “You tried to cook… for me?”
“Yeah, didn’t… work out too well…”
“You could’ve just ordered some pizza. That would’ve been perfect.”
“Hopefully it’s not too late to order one.”
“Never too late for pizza.” Harry grinned, “I’ve got a fifty on me. That should be enough.”
“No, I’ll cover it.”
“It’s the least I could do.”
Peter nodded, still disappointed. Harry nudged his shoulder, “You gotta go shower or something. I’ll clean up in the kitchen.”
Peter shook his head, guiding Harry to the dining room table. He ushered him to sit, “No no no no… no I’ll clean up-”
“Peter Parker.” Harry said, plucking out a piece of tomato from his hair, “Go shower. You smell like garlic.”
“Oh.”
Harry tossed him that smile again and the green and blue of his eyes had Peter drowning. Peter couldn’t argue. He was falling under Harry’s spell, damn near sure he was doing it on purpose. “I’ll be back, okay? Just… just don’t go anywhere.”
There was a longing fondness in Harry’s eyes, “Where would I go?”
・❥・
When Peter returned, Harry was seated at the dining room table. With his trench coat hanging behind his chair, he went through a photo album. The kitchen was absolutely spotless. “You were adorable,” Harry said, eyeing the photos with great detail. Peter saw the handful of photos Harry was looking at and frowned. Peter, about four or so, was in denim overalls with a yellow turtleneck underneath. He had a bowl haircut sitting by a campfire. His two front teeth were missing, but he was grinning so wide his eyes were shut.
“Please,” Peter said, shaking his head, “Let’s close that…”
“I love photo albums,” Harry said. His gaze was to the floor as he stood, “I don’t know… there’s just something about them. It’s like... having the past and all those memories and emotions right in front of you. Kinda… reliving the best parts of your life… if they’re happy pictures of course. Dad he… I don’t know what I looked like as a baby. We… don’t have any photo albums…” Harry looked up again, shaking his head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to kill the mood. Zombies?”
Peter nodded, still unsure of what to say, “Zombies.”
Eventually, the pizza arrived and they sat, not too close but not too far, as they watched their movie. There wasn’t anything spectacular about it. There was a child getting his intestines slurped out like spaghetti. The usual. Peter wasn’t really watching. Harry stared, unfazed.
“Are you okay, Peter? You… you look a bit sick.” He paused the television and turned on the lamp resting on the coffee table.
Peter swallowed, his chest and brain buzzing from where he sat. “Harry…” He began, “I need to tell you something,” His voice nearly broke, and there was a slight grief in his voice. Was he already in mourning?
“Of course. Always.” Harry scooted a bit closer, “What’s wrong? What is it?”
“I… I… I like you…”
“... you… like me?” Harry laughed, “I’d… I’d like to think so. You’re my best friend. I like you too.”
Was it better to speak or to die? Speak. It was better to speak. Speak! “... not in that way, Har.”
Harry’s eyebrows fell and all traces of humor in his features disappeared. “… you mean…”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Peter hung his head low. His damp brown strands stuck to his forehead, “You don’t… you don’t… have to say anything, but… I… just had to tell you.”
Harry slowly turned his head away. He took in a deep breath and his exhale was shaky. He shut his eyes for a long time, still, refusing to meet Peter’s face. “... I know…” He whispered. His voice was somewhat melancholy as he played with his hands in his lap, “I was hoping you would never tell me… but a piece of me was so happy that you did.”
“... you knew?”
“Yeah.”
“Did Gwen-”
“No.” Harry allowed himself to meet Peter’s eyes, “I just… I just knew.”
Harry leaned back on the couch. He sighed once more and rubbed his eyes. He was staring at the ceiling, “Do May and Ben know?”
Peter sat stiffly. His gaze followed Harry’s every movement, “Yeah. yeah, they know.”
“They're so supportive, I take it?”
“More so than I thought they would be…”
“...if… my dad found out… that I was… I think he would kill me. He’s… threatened before.”
“Oh. I… I… I’m…”
“You don't have to say anything.” Harry murmured, morose.
Peter, too, leaned into the couch. His shoulder was tucked into one of the cushions. His head was resting on his arm, “...what now?”
“…I don’t know.”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Peter put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “I never should’ve… I didn't want to dump this on you… I don't want to put you in danger…”
“I know. You're far too kind for that.”
“I am not kind.”
“Yes, you are.” Harry tucked some of his hair behind his ear and leaned in closer. His shoulder was, too, tucked into his couch cushion as he leaned on his side. “Could we…” He faltered, his cheeks turning red, “Just once?”
Peter couldn’t feel his lips. His back brain took control of his body, or, what was left that he could actually feel. He nodded, not even thinking about it. The impulse was strong, and not a single fiber in his body would allow him to say no. Harry pressed his lips into Peter’s. Ever so tenderly they were brought together. Peter was falling, being pulled deeper and deeper into Harry’s hold. He found his desire growing to heights unfathomable; It left him wanting more. There was a warmth inside of his brain. His heart was beating and the blood continued to flush under his skin. It was overwhelming and left him unable to catch his breath, but he loved it. He loved this. It was Harry. All of it was Harry.
Harry pulled his lips away and their foreheads touched. One of his hands was brought to Peter’s cheek. His thumb rubbed it softly nearly encountering every freckle speckled across under the large square glasses. “I’ve wanted to do this since like… we were fourteen,” Peter admitted. He too, held Harry's cheek, his world, in his hand.
“I’ve wanted to do this earlier than that.”
Together, they lied on the couch, intertwined in their own embraces. When Harry started to weep, Peter wiped his tears. “What’s wrong?” He asked. “What did I do?”
Glassy eyes peered up at Peter through the darkness, “I have a bad habit… of wishing for things I know I can’t have. I would give anything… to have this with you.”
It was later than expected when May and Ben came home. They saw the boys holding each other on the couch. Ben put a comforter over them, protecting them. May tucked them in as gently as possible.
They were safe.
For now, that is.