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Chandelier lights reflected off the marble-tiled floor of Jay Gatsby’s mansion.
Maybe it was the way the young Osborn was raised, but he always hated the look of new-money mansions. It seemed too fake to him like they hadn’t exactly worked to earn their place in a higher position in the economy. Regardless, the young man continued to roam around sipping on champagne and trying to ignore the little voice in his head nitpicking on every interior detail.
Though Harry was on speaking terms with Gatsby, nobody ever came across the man at his own parties. So, this time, Harry dragged along his best friend Peter Parker.
Peter wasn’t very rich, but Harry’s love made him feel the part. Recently, however, there was a wedge in their relationship. Harry couldn’t pinpoint the cause, but he knew it had something to do with Peter’s new job. He was stretched thin, working into late hours of the night. He felt as if the two rarely saw each other anymore.
The two men used to have a very close friendship. They knew each other in high school but didn’t formally meet until college. That night was ingrained in both of their minds. Harry was a lightweight and almost passed out in the street, but miraculously, Peter helped him find his way home. From that point on, the two were almost inseparable. Peter dragged Harry through the streets of New York City, and Harry dragged Peter to the penthouse parties of Central Park Plaza.
That was before, though. Now it seemed like Harry couldn’t even get Peter to go on a walk with him without begging and pleading. He had other friends, but they felt like nothing more than acquaintances. He understood Peter’s situation. How couldn’t he? Peter needed to work and needed this money, not everyone was a trust fund baby such as himself. And Peter was extremely prideful, refusing any sort of financial help Harry had offered him. It hurt the hopeless romantic, of course. When he saw Peter nowadays, he was faced with an adult man. Peter was no longer the nerdy boy he’d laid eyes on 5 years ago and filled himself out generously. Harry missed those thick-rimmed glasses the other man used to wear, despite how much he had made fun of Peter for them.
They reminded him of high school. Of a small awkward figure called Peter Parker. The school's science genius who'd always walk the hallways hunched, who'd never fight back, who'd always wear a goofy smile despite what was happening or being said to him. Who'd always try his best, who'd desperately try to fit in - but would fail eventually, being just too different. Sometimes he would remind Harry of a small, defenseless animal - afraid, looking for shelter. It made Harry want to take him in and care for him forever. Sometimes he played with the thought of hiring men to kidnap Peter to his mansion. He would keep him there, protecting him from the world. The gazes, the stupid laughter, the teasing. Keep him for himself. Make him his entirely.
But he couldn’t, and that was a fact that Harry had come to terms with a long time ago. He was well aware of the decade-long crush Parker had on Mary Jane, and would rather die than get in between the chance of his best friend finding happiness of his own. Was he miserable? Of course, he was. Was Peter living freely and happily? Absolutely.
Who was Harry to deny his love freedom?
He’d continue to put his heart through hell and back just to avoid becoming an obsessive and overbearing best friend. But his generosity can only go so far. He missed Peter. His heart yearned for the man. They had been estranged for the past couple of months, and rarely kept in touch regularly.
But tonight would be different. Finally, he had kidnapped Peter from whatever nightime gig the man seemed so invested in and brought him to a house party. This would bring the two back together, right?
Oh, he couldn’t have been more wrong.
If Harry could cut through the tension between the two with a knife, he’d be able to serve it to everyone in this house. They had been at this party for the past two hours, and barely any conversation was made between the two of them. Harry kept grabbing food and drinks, offering them to Peter but to no avail. It felt like he was interacting with a ghost.
Peter seemed extremely distracted. Not just distracted though, he seemed more distant than anything. Every time Harry had tried to spark up a conversation, Peter only responded in short sentences or a curt nod. He couldn’t take it anymore.
Harry leaned in close to Peter, his lips grazing the ear of the other. The party was loud, yes, but not loud enough to justify why he felt the need to do that.
“Are you upset with me?”
It was an innocent question, really. Peter could’ve answered with a single yes or no, and Harry would’ve accepted it without asking for further explanation. He would’ve accepted anything from Peter, so long as it was a verbal response this time. Instead, Harry was rewarded with a nervous shake of the head. There was a beat of silence between the two. His blood boiled.
Scoffing, Harry just walked away, mumbling something about getting another glass of champagne under his breath. He shoved his way through the crowd, heartbeat ringing through his ears and tears welling up in his eyes. It was a stupid thing to be upset over, honestly. He knew this. But he couldn’t help but react negatively. Harry cared about Peter too much to not react. He already had to deal with the fact they barely talked anymore, and now was dealing with silent treatment for someone he considered to be the closest person to him in his life.
He made his way into a large, unoccupied bathroom and locked it behind himself. Harry turned and faced the mirror directly in front of him. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind in a matter of seconds, but they all focused on one thing. Peter. God, what was he supposed to do? Harry felt helpless and weak against a man who had no idea of the influence he had over his life. It was embarrassing, really. Here he was, panicking over the fact his friend was giving him short responses while that man was probably still out in the party standing awkwardly in the corner.
Harry was only snapped out of his internal monologues when he heard the sound of screams from outside the bathroom. Confused, he swung the door open and ran outside to see what was going on.
Amid the great hall, in which Gatsby’s party took place stood a boy, one looking no older than 15 years old. Harry was confused at why people were surrounding this young boy with terrified faces, before noticing the air becoming increasingly warmer the closer he got. Just then, there was a large flash of light, and a ring of fire surrounded the boy. Harry’s jaw dropped.
“Oh you have to be kidding me,” he groaned.
Villains were nothing uncommon anymore, they hadn’t been for at least 80 years at this point. That much wasn’t a surprise to him. What was a surprise was the fact one would appear in the middle of a boring rich person's party. Seriously, what was the point?
Harry immediately booked it away from the scene, similar to many who ran away to seek shelter. His neck snapped around as he kept his eyes peeled in search of Peter. The man wasn’t where he had last left him, and his heart dropped. Was Peter hurt? Did the villain already get to him first?
Oh my god. Please god, no. Anyone but Peter, please-
His thoughts were cut off with a voice everyone in New York City knew by heart now. Harry’s eyes followed the flash of red and blue that swung into the great hall, a chuckle echoing around the room. He deadpanned. This night seriously could not get any worse.
“Dude, seriously? I thought this was supposed to be a gala, not a barbeque!”
Spider-Man hung upside down, facing the newfound villain only 10 feet away. Harry’s jaw dropped slightly as his eyes now focused on the hero almost directly in front of him. He dropped down to his knees and hid behind a grand piano that stood idly in the same room. To his knowledge, Gatsby wasn’t even an avid piano player. Must be a decorative piece. Rich people, am I right?
“Spider-Man,” hummed the young villain. “I knew you’d appear, but I didn’t think it’d happen so quickly.”
The villain took a step towards Spider-Man, a strong menacing look on his face. Flames followed behind his every step, which looked badass in Harry’s opinion, but he remained silent. Spider-Man hopped down from his string of web and put his hands out, innocently shrugging. Though he was wearing a mask, it could barely contain the smug grin he wore under it.
“What can I say? Spider-Man never sleeps,” he replied with an auditory smirk. “You should be asleep though, looks way past your bedtime kiddo. Why are you here anyways?”
The villain’s jaw tightened at this comment, visibly becoming more pissed by the second.
“Don’t call me that,” he grimaced. “My name is Ponyboy, and I’m here to shut down this stupid party.”
There was a beat of silence before Ponyboy continued.
“You rich people are always throwing these lavish parties while people like me and my brothers are struggling to make ends meet everyday.” Ponyboy looked around at the terrified bystanders, the flames becoming larger and his voice raising. “Do any of you feel any guilt? You’re all here enjoying champagne and small sandwiches while the rest of us are dying on the streets. Do you not feel bad?”
Spider-Man took another step towards Ponyboy, his eyes remaining alert as the flames burned brighter. This kid looked dangerous, and Harry’s heart began to beat faster with each passing second. The villain and hero were way too close to him right now, and even if he attempted to run away or sneak off, he risked the chance of getting hurt. So, reluctantly, he remained slumped down behind the piano, covering his mouth so no sound escaped his lips.
“Ponyboy, I get it, I really do,” reasoned Spider-Man. “But waltzing in here and burning shit doesn’t prove any point you’re trying to make. Just calm down and leave these people alone so we can have a conversation.”
That was the wrong response, apparently.
“Calm down?”
The fire surrounding Ponyboy began to spread and ignite anything flammable within 20 feet of him.
“Are you seriously asking me to calm down, Spider-Man?”
Spider-Man groaned and began to attempt to put the new fires out with his webs before they spread even more, but the damage was already taking place and happening at a rapid rate.
“Yes, I am!” He yelled. “What you’re doing is insane behavior, and I’m trying to resolve this like a normal person so nobody gets hurt.”
Ponyboy let out an angry yell and began to set everything he laid his eyes on in flames.
It was a cool power, Harry seriously couldn’t help but acknowledge that fact. With a mere look, anything wooden was set on fire. Ponyboy was a stupid name though. If you’re going to become a villain, at least pick a cool name right?
While Harry was lost in thought thinking about the incredibly mundane argument between Spider-Man and Ponyboy, he failed to realize that the piano he was sitting behind started to feel incredibly warm. It wasn’t until he felt it hit his back that he jumped forward with a yelp, and realized it was engulfed in flames. Not only that, almost the entire hall was now on fire. Everyone had evacuated already, leaving him, Spider-Man, and Ponyboy were the only people in the room.
Well fuck my life.
Apparently, the little sound he made before wasn’t so little and grabbed the attention of the pyromantic villain, and he was now being approached. He felt like a deer in headlights and stood up scurrying backwards as he tried to look around for escape routes.
“Let me guess,” grumbled Ponyboy, “You’re just another rich boy living off daddy’s money, living your best life in this stupid mansion party. I’m right aren’t I?”
Harry’s eyes laid on the silhouette behind Ponyboy attempting to put all the fires out with spider webs. The way the hero moved was silly and familiar, and he cracked a small grin before his eyes focused back on the villain in front of him. His eyes widened as he realized that Ponyboy was now 5 feet away from him, his hand raised and eyes burning with hatred. The young man froze in panic, realizing that no matter what he tried to do, he was about to be incredibly hurt.
Or so he thought.
In a split second, a web shot out and grabbed his hand, yanking him out of the way before Ponyboy lit the area he was originally in on fire. Harry blinked a few times, realizing he was now 20 feet across the room and had his back pressed against the chest of the hero who pulled him around the way. He craned his neck back, meeting the masked man face to face. He swallowed.
“I-”
“Keep that thought. Let me handle this other dude first,” Spider-Man replied, pointing at the villain stomping towards them once again.
Spider-Man swung away, threading between the burning debris that filled the room now. He continued to shoot webs at the fires that continued to appear, before shooting some more at the bottom of Ponyboy’s feet which incinerated almost immediately on impact. The villain stopped for a second, barking out a laugh at how weak Spider-Man’s attempt to stop him was.
“You couldn’t possibly think shooting a few webs could stop me, right?”
Spider-Man stood a few feet away from him, crossing his arms and remaining still. He pointed his index finger toward the ceiling.
“Of course not. But it distracted you from that, right?”
The large chandelier that had hung high on the ceiling before was now crashing down on Ponyboy, glass shattering all around the room. Though the impact was harsh, it wasn’t enough to actually hurt the boy, but instead acted as a cage, holding him in. Ponyboy grabbed the metal encapsulating him and attempted to melt it, but to no avail. It had all happened so quickly, that Harry’s jaw remained on the ground as he continued to watch as he hid once again from afar.
Spider-Man took a couple of steps towards Ponyboy, patting the metal between the two.
“Fun science fact, aluminium doesn’t burn,” the hero said with a small chuckle. “You’d think rich people would have chandeliers made out of brass or something, huh?”
Police officers and firefighters rushed in as soon as the hero finished his snarky remark, and cleared out the area. Harry was ushered out to where the rest of the party guests had been escorted to. It looked like everyone was being checked for any injuries, and being asked questions about the specifics of the attack. Harry paid no mind to the EMT workers checking him for burns and continued to look around for Peter.
After a couple of minutes of mindless wandering, his eyes locked on the messy brown hair he knew and loved through the crowd. He pushed his way through, grabbing Peter by the arm as soon as he was close enough. He looked up at the other man, eyebrows furrowed and tears threatening to spill. He let out a deep breath before speaking up.
“Do you have any idea how worried I was? Where did you go?” Harry asked, his voice feigning harshness but eyes remaining truthfully gentle.
Peter looked down at the younger man, frowning softly before cupping his face. Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck rise at this new physical contact but welcomed it with open arms and he leaned further into the touch. He closed his eyes slowly, biting back a smile.
“Harry I’m… I’m so sorry. You walked off during the party and some random guy appeared and I…,” Peter hesitated for a moment. “Spider-Man took me and a few other out as soon as it happened. I tried looking for you out of here, but I found out you were stuck inside there. I’m so sorry.”
Harry opened his eyes once again and looked up at Peter for a split second before pulling him into a hug. It wasn’t a common occurrence for them to be so touchy-feely, especially with how distant they had been from each other for the past couple of months. Still, when he felt arms wrap around his shoulders, he let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t even known he’d been holding in. He broke the hug after a few seconds, pushing away and meeting Peter’s gaze once again.
“Forget all of this, we don’t need to talk about it. I’m too tired for it. But what was wrong with you during the party? You give me silent treatment for 2 hours, disappear from the scene, and come back apologizing. What’s going on with you, Peter?
Almost as if on cue, Peter’s entire demeanor changed.
Peter’s body stiffened and he averted eye contact. “It’s nothing important, just work. Stress and stuff, you know?”
An uncomfortable silence fell between them, Harry just staring at eyes that didn’t even dare to meet his own. After a few seconds of nothing, he began to laugh. It wasn’t out of humor or annoyance. It was a cold, empty laugh. Harry put up his hands in surrender before backing away.
“You know what? I give up,” he laughed. “You won’t talk to me, you don’t give me answers when I ask, and now you wont even look at me.”
Silence.
“Look at me, Peter.”
Nothing.
Harry let out a defeated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He continued to look at Peter, dissecting the man’s entire expression. It’s not like he looked like he had nothing to say, it was just that he had nothing to say to Harry. The younger man watched as Peter began to gnaw on his bottom lip in stress, his eye twitching slightly. Peter was stressed, it was visible. So why? Why won’t he say anything?
You know what? Fine.
“Good night, Peter.”
After Harry had left Gatsby’s party and gone home, he sort of spiraled. It’d been like this ever since the passing of his father. The slightest bit of stress in his life sets him into a frenzy and drives him to become a serial drinker in an instant. More often than not, the root of his issues lay in the problems with his relationship… friendship with Peter.
He has to remind himself of that, sometimes. They are nothing more than surface-level friends now. They used to have a deep connection, but that tie was long severed.
Harry sat in a chair on his porch, overlooking the city skyline. It was past midnight, probably 1 in the morning at this point. He should’ve been asleep as soon as he got home, but only tossed and turned for almost an hour. The air outside was crisp and cold, cooling down the anger that burned within his soul. He took another sip out of the glass in his hands before putting it down and leaning his head back in an attempt to finally catch up on the sleep he was losing by the second.
A couple of minutes passed with no sounds, not even the sound of a car honking, which was unusual for the city that never sleeps. As Harry began to drift off, a soft rustle woke him right up. His eyes shot open and were directed to the origin of the sound.
You’re joking.
A suited man was crouched on the railing of his porch, only a couple of feet away from him. Harry sat up, sputtering out a response before letting out an awkward laugh.
“I’m sorry, can I help you?”
Spider-Man let out a low chuckle before hopping down from the railing and standing on Harry’s porch, hand on hips. Harry stared in disbelief at the hero standing directly in front of him. Sure, he’d been physically closer to the man before, but Spider-Man was on his porch for god’s sake. At his house. In his private vicinity. Of course, he’d be shocked.
The masked man broke the silence.
“Nah, I don’t need your help for anything. I was just wondering how you were holding up after the whole… fire incident,” the hero replied as he spoke with his hands.
Harry let out a small laugh at how silly he looked. A full grown man, putting his life on the line every day, trying to mimic fire with his fingers as if he were a child.
“I’m doing fine, thank you. But can you tell me exactly why you’re here and how you found where I lived?”
Almost as if he’d been caught red-handed, Spider-Man put his hands up in defense and attempted to sputter out a response.
“I mean… you’re like… you’re Harry Osborn. You’re this rich and famous kid, everyone knows you, haha. One Google search and boom, your address is on there,” he spoke quickly before regaining his cool and just laughing. “Also, I’m Spider-Man. I know everything.”
Harry’s eyebrow quirked at this, a smirk spreading across his face. He’d never exactly been a fan of Spider-Man’s work before, but the man had quite literally saved his life a few hours prior. And his company exactly wasn’t unwelcome, per se. The hero had an aura to him, an inviting and familiar one. Harry opened it with welcome arms.
“Ah, of course,” he scoffed. “Well thank you for saving me earlier. I seriously have no clue what I would’ve done without you.”
A beat of silence.
“Hey, did you save anyone else before you saved me?”
Spider-Man stared back at Harry, his mask’s eyes shifting to wear a confused expression.
“You’ll need to be more specific, Osborn. I’ve saved hundreds of people before you.”
Harry let out an annoyed groan. God, did this hero have a little attitude? But as annoying as it was… it was also honestly kind of refreshing. He let out an annoyed chuckle before sitting up in his seat so he seemed more serious.
“My friend, Peter. He’s like… 5’10”-ish with brown hair? Nerdy looking and had on a dark blue suit.”
The hero seemed to take in a sharp inhale. Harry’s brow quirked at this before being distracted by a short laugh and nod by Spider-Man.
“Yeah, I know who you’re talking about. I brought him out with a couple of other people before the flames got really bad. You were the only idiot who actually stayed inside for that mess,” he took a step forward and leaned against the porch railing. “And nerdy? I’d say he’s pretty attractive, conventionally speaking of course.”
Harry’s jaw dropped and all he did was stare before sputtering out a response.
“I know you did not seriously just call my friend attractive. God, he’d probably have an aneurysm if he heard you said that. The man’s obsessed with you.”
“How so?”
“He works for the Daily Bugle part-time and is always taking pictures of you,” Harry sighed. “Nobody has any clue how he does it, it’s almost like he stalks you or something.”
Spider-Man barked out a laugh at his reply, and Harry could only sit there and smile. He sounded like Peter, in full honesty. He knew it was hopeless to see his friend as a superhero, but love and whisky have driven him to his point. God, how pathetic. So hopelessly in love with his friend that he saw him in everything beautiful.
“Your friend sounds like he’s got good taste,” Spider-Man leered. “Only the best like heroes.”
“I guess. He can be really annoying sometimes.”
“How so?”
Harry thought for a second, wondering if he should even say anything at all. He was intoxicated on the porch of his penthouse with New York’s Wonderboy. Why should Spider-Man even care what he has to say? But then again, why would he ask if he didn’t care? Harry washed down his curiosity with another sip from his glass before speaking once again.
“He’s just acting like an idiot right now, the whole emo silent treatment stuff.”
A couple of seconds of silence followed, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. It’s not like he was expecting the masked man to say anything to that, it just felt good to get off his chest. Spider-Man was the one to break the silence.
“Do you have any idea why he’s acting like that?”
“No idea. He says it’s because of his job, and I want to believe him, but that can’t be all. And if it was all, why couldn’t he just tell me about it? I feel like he’s hiding something.”
Spider-Man said nothing to this. Instead, he walked closer to Harry and sat down in the chair next to him. Harry let out a scoff at this, surprised the hero was acting so casual around him, but let the man be near him without comment or complaint. Spider-Man slouched before propping his chin up on his hand and looking at Harry.
“If he is hiding something, what do you think it is?”
Harry thought for a moment before shrugging.
“I seriously have no idea, Spidey,” he said with a teasing tone. “Maybe a girlfriend or something, but I don’t see why he’d feel the need to hide something like that from me. Maybe he’s just tired of me.”
“That’s not true,” Spider-Man quickly replied.
The two stared at each other intensely, as if they were trying to decipher what the other thought. Harry’s brows furrowed as he tried to make sense of what his blue and red knight could’ve possibly meant by that but to no avail. Honestly, it could mean nothing. He was dumbfounded, and the hero’s lack of expression didn’t make it any more helpful.
“What I mean is, that can’t be true. He went to that party with you, right? He obviously cares enough to make an attempt to be with you, maybe it’s something he needs to keep a secret.”
“Maybe, but that’s no excuse. I tell him practically everything. I don’t see how he can’t trust me enough to confide in me when he’s stressed. It’s just…” Harry sighed. “It hurts a lot.”
Spider-Man stared at Harry, frowning behind his mask.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, nothing you or I could do about it.”
“I wish I could, though.”
Harry only laughed, leaning his head to the side as he looked up to meet Spider-Man’s masked eyes.
“I’ll never understand how you could want something like that. It’s like being a 24/7 on-call nurse, but even worse.”
Spider-Man laughed once again.
“God, don’t even get me started Osborn.”
If you had asked Harry Osborn if he ever saw himself talking to Spider-Man at his house for 2 hours, he would’ve never believed you. If you had told Harry Osborn that he’d spill intricate details about his life to a masked stranger, he would’ve called you insane. If you had whispered to Harry Osborn that chatting it up with Spider-Man all night would reignite a passion he’d lost with Peter, he’d ask you to lower your voice so others couldn’t hear you.
It was about 3 in the morning at this point, and Harry had never felt so alive. He sobered up sometime in the past hour but noticed that the flame burning inside him had yet to go out. He was laughing, smiling, and joking. He was overwhelmed with joy he hadn’t felt in months, and it brought him peace of mind to know he still had it in him.
Spider-Man hadn’t tried to leave his side once. His mask remained on and he didn’t share any details regarding his personal life, but Harry now knew how difficult it was to deal with web blockage and how shooting them exactly worked. He felt like he was getting a private interview with a hero, and didn’t complain once.
It was comfortable, relaxing even.
“Are you seriously telling me,” Harry interrupted himself with a yawn, “ That after living here your whole life, you still haven’t tried Gustavo’s?”
“Not all of us are rich like you, you nepo-baby. Outside of this whole superhero gimmick, I do just have a normal person office job.”
Harry’s jaw dropped teasingly as he feigned shock.
“No shit? You’re telling me you’re a normal person when you’re not wearing a skin-tight spider costume?”
“Yeah yeah, whatever. Donate some money to me if you care so much.”
The young Osborn yawned again before letting out another soft laugh. Spider-Man leaned in and poked the younger man on his cheek, his masked eyes remaining soft. The hero stood up off the chair he’d remained in for the past couple of hours and stretched his arms, shooting a web to the roof of the penthouse building.
“I think I should go. It’s late and you look like you’re about to pass out, Osborn.”
Harry let out a grumble of disagreement as he watched Spider-Man lift himself through the thin string of webbing he had previously placed. The unmasked man stood up and walked forward until he was only a foot away.
“Wait.”
Spider-Man stopped moving instantly.
“Stay?”
The hero’s hesitance was visible, even despite the small piece of fabric that protected his identity from the world. A few seconds passed, before he moved back down to Harry’s level, though this time he was completely upside down. Harry knew from their long conversations that Spider-Man only did this when he was getting tired as a means to get the blood rushing to his head to stay awake.
Harry smiled at this realization. He took another step forward and was now at eye level with Spider-Man, despite the different directions their bodies were in.
His hand ghosted over the hem of Spider-Man’s mask. He gnawed on his lip in anticipation, realizing that the hero in front of him made no attempt to run away or push his hand away. He swallowed softly before speaking once again, his voice barely above a whisper.
“You can stop me.”
A millennium of silence and anticipation passed between the two in a matter of 10 seconds. It felt as if both of them were testing the waters, in an attempt to see which of them were going to pull away first or run away first. When they realized neither was going to move, Harry’s index finger hooked under the hem of Spider-Man’s mask.
He could technically take it all off. Harry knew this. He could take off the flimsy piece of fabric that had kept the masked vigilante’s identity a secret from the world. He could know who was hiding under it. He could know who saved his life. He knew all of this.
But he didn’t.
Harry pulled down the mask just enough so that it barely showed the tip of Spider-Man’s nose. From what he could see upside down, the hero wasn’t ugly. Far from that. He had a strong jawline, and stubble covering what he could see. He was an adult obviously, but his facial features still seemed relatively young. Small tufts of brown hair peeked from the sides of the part of the mask he’d pulled off, and his lips were a soft shade of pink shining in the moonlight as if he’d just recently licked them. Harry’s eyes danced across the painting that seemed to materialize in front of him, taking in every single feature he could before time eventually started running again.
Harry continued to stare in silence and almost missed the feeling of Spider-Man’s hand cupping the back of his head. His throat went dry, and his eyes widened. He nervously swallowed, scared to make any move forward or backward in fear that he’d ruin everything.
Spider-Man pulled him in slowly to a soft kiss. Harry tensed for a split second when their lips made contact, but eventually relaxed and deepened it by placing his hands on both sides of the hero’s head and pulling him in closer. After a moment, Harry pulled away. His cheeks were dusted pink, and his eyes were glossy. He did nothing but stare for a while, saying nothing.
He opened his mouth a few times, attempting to say something, anything.
Nothing came out.
Spider-Man eventually got down from his web and stood face to face with Harry Osborn. The two did nothing but stare at each other for a couple of seconds, somewhat shocked that the other hadn’t chickened at out any point.
Almost as if moving on their own, Spider-Man and Harry found themselves kissing each other once again. It was like instinct at this point, not understanding what was bringing the other to do this. This kiss was unlike the other two and was driven by more desperation than curiosity. They’d kissed twice before, and knew how it felt. And liked it. One of Harry’s hands found their way to the top half of the mask once again, tearing it off completely and entangling his finger in a mess of hair. His eyes remained closed as they continued to kiss, but eventually stopped to take a breath.
Harry Osborn opened his eyes and felt his heart drop to the ground as he looked into Peter Parker’s glossed-over hazel ones. His mouth went dry, and all he could do was stare in disbelief.