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1. Schedule quality time to spend with your friends.
“You know you don’t have to—uh, wait for me, right?”
Harry, who’d previously been tossing a tennis ball in the air while lounging on his leather chair, sits up as if Peter’s staticky words has forcibly straightened his back. He lets out a cough.
“I know,” Harry says, pretending he wasn’t completely zoinked out of his mind for the past thirty minutes. “It’s just—I, um, left the comms line on as a precaution. You never know when crime will strike, right?”
“...Right.”
“Besides,” Harry rubs the back of his sweaty neck, “the white noise helps me…focus.”
Peter laughs. Even though the audio’s muffled, wind cutting into his voice and all, warmth still manages to come through, somehow.
“Yeah? Focus on what?”
Harry’s eyes dart between his monitors—one displaying Peter’s suit camera as he soars through the streets of New York, the other a collection of tabs that proudly showcase his spiraling thoughts. They all have one thing in common.
WikiHow.
Though it’s not like he’s about to tell Spider-Man that.
“Research,” Harry blurts.
Even Reddit would be less humiliating. But well, sometimes when worse comes to serve, you have to resort to last-ditch efforts. And when WikiHow consistently showed up, who was Harry to defy the Google gods their stake in the matter?
“Research?” Peter echos, and he sounds interested. “That’s cool. About what?”
The headline, What It Means To Be a Good Friend & How To Be a Better one, burns in the corner of his eye. No matter who’d be pulling this article up, it’d be embarrassing, but the fact that Harry Osborn—heir to the multi-billionaire company Oscorp, social media influencer with millions of heart-eyed followers—has intensively read this…
…That, uh, says a lot about him. And not in a good way.
It’s not like Harry doesn’t know how to be a good friend. In fact, most of WikiHow’s tips were common sense. 11 Traits of a Good Friend had been a sub-section in which Harry had to scoff every so often. Respectful? Yeah, no kidding. Regardless, I don’t think I’d want to call Petey a slur or something any time soon.
Truth is, Harry hasn’t had a friend—like, a real one—in a long time. And maybe it’s preposterous, or whatever SAT word his tutors have tried to spoon feed him, to take the precaution and ensure he’s not doing it wrong after years of isolation, but Harry’s always been known to be a little desperate.
His father would agree, anyway.
“Uh,” Harry hesitantly begins, realizing he’s been silent longer than what would be considered socially acceptable.
He quickly closes out of all his WikiHow tabs only to be met with his computer’s backdrop. Harry never pays attention to the desktop backgrounds—it changes every hour or so to some “pretty” stock photo his dad deems worthy enough. Cycles through the Northern lights, rainforests and waterfalls, zoomed-in snapshots of flowers, even tall city buildings that slice through the starry sky, stuff like that.
Honestly, they’re all boring. Especially the last one, considering they live in New York, and it seems like an exact replica of their view outside Oscorp except maybe without all the constellations.
…And whose fault is it, exactly? That the stars have faded away into an inky abyss?
Harry shakes his head and focuses on the task on hand. That is, staring straight into his computer’s new backdrop and stammering out the first thing that comes to mind.
“Tigers! I was researching tigers!” He winces. “I—well, ‘cause I’m really into them right now. They’re, y’know,” Harry clicks his tongue, “...cool…cats.”
The pixelated orange feline, streaked with black, on his monitor looks back at him unimpressed. Harry tries to not feel threatened by a computer backdrop.
“Oh,” Peter says, and Harry can imagine him blinking back in surprise. “Didn’t know you were a cat person.”
He shrugs. “Let’s just say there’s more to Harry Osborn than meets the eye.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
Harry leans back into his chair, a small smile already spreading across his face. “...In a good way or bad way?”
Peter scoffs in his ear. “Good, of course. I mean, I don’t—I didn’t even know you were a huge deal until Nico freaking Minoru was blabbering about your follower count.”
“Nico?” The name sounds familiar. “Oh, is that the girl you showed me earlier? Your best friend?”
“Yeah,” Peter sheepishly says. “I think you guys would get along. You know, once she gets over your dad and well, once she gets over you too—”
“Me? What did I do?”
Silence.
“Hm. I wasn’t supposed to say that.”
”…Peter.”
An audible gulp. “…Hi, Harry.”
“You never told me your best friend didn’t like me.”
“Man, I wish I could answer but this—goldfish needs some help getting down the street.”
Harry glances over at the monitor. Peter appears to now be in line at a grocery store buying snacks. Why in his Spider-Man suit, he’ll never know.
“Did I say goldfish?” Peter chuckles, nervous. “I mean—grandma. A grandma that suspiciously…looks like…a goldfish.”
Beep, beep! You know, it awfully sounds like Peter’s checking out at a cash register right now. Someone’s customer service voice lingers in the background.
“I didn’t realize you had something against grandmas, Peter. Talk about rude.”
“Fine,” he groans. “Okay, the thing is Nico doesn’t—not like you. I mean, she follows your Instagram. That has to say something, right?”
“I get death threats from my followers if they don’t like my sponsorships.” Harry rolls his eyes. “No, that doesn’t mean a thing.”
“Death threats? Wow, May was right. Social media really will kill you.”
“Dude, you’re deflecting.”
“Sorry, sorry! All I’m trying to say is once Nico gets to know you, she’ll wonder why she was ever so grumpy in the first place.”
“Well, I don’t want to intrude or anything. I mean, you guys seem,” Harry hesitates, “really close.”
“Ew, come on.”
“What?”
“Nico’s like a sister to me.”
“Jeez, sorry for implying you guys were dating,” Harry snorts. “I didn’t realize you’d be so disgusted at the idea. Maybe Nico deserves a better best friend.”
“She’d say the same thing,” Peter retorts. “But worse ‘cause she can get seriously mean, even about me, and I’m supposedly her ‘favorite’ person.”
Harry laughs. “Listen, all I was trying to say is I don’t want to get in between you guys.”
“You won’t.”
“You sound strikingly sure about that.”
He doesn’t miss how soft Peter’s voice becomes. “Cut me some slack, Har. Is it that awful of me to want the two coolest people in my life to meet up? I don’t think so.”
Harry has a response already on the tip of his tongue. I’m flattered you think I’m cool. But somehow, and without warning, the words fade away. It’s not his fault, though, really.
As soon as the nickname Har, weighed down by static and the warmth of Peter’s voice, enters his ears, suddenly nothing else matters.
His throat tightens, and that funny punchline he’d been brewing up is swallowed down, down, down. “...Did you just call me Har?”
Harry’s gaze flickers back to the monitor, where Peter seemingly stiffens while grabbing his grocery bags. “Sorry, that was a complete accident, slip of the tongue—”
He waves him off. It’s a bad habit, considering Peter can’t even see the little flick of his hand through an earpiece. “No, s’okay, I just—didn’t expect it. No one’s ever called me Har before. It’s either Harry or Harry Osborn or that spoiled brat, y’know?”
A pause. “Do you want me to…keep calling you Har? I dunno, I think it—it fits you.”
“...Sure. Why not?”
Fondness accidentally leaks through his tone. Which is a weird reaction to have, especially mixed with how fluttery and light his chest feels, but Harry brushes it off.
It’s been a while since he’s had a friend, and a good friend at that. That’s all.
2. Ask open-ended questions and listen actively to their answers.
Okay, is it really a sleepover if your dad mandated it on the grounds of it being ‘work’? Probably not. However, when two teenagers have decidedly ignored said father’s instructions in order to lounge on their sleeping bags and talk about seemingly everything in the universe, it’s hard not to think otherwise.
Across from Harry, only inches away, is a drowsy Peter Parker. He seems so peaceful, stretched atop his sleeping bag, blinking blearily in the dim light of Harry’s bedroom. Reminds him an awful lot of a tiger, ironically enough, the way he yawns so wide his eyes scrunch up.
Harry can’t find it in himself to look away.
“You’re looking at me weird,” Peter complains.
“Am not.”
Peter pokes at Harry’s face, which may or may not currently contain an amused grin. At the touch, it widens. “Yeah, right. I look like a dork right now, don’t I?”
“It’s not everyday you see someone decked out in a full set of Captain America pajamas.”
Even within the darkness, Harry still manages a glimpse at the embarrassed flush over Peter’s features. “If I’d known May would’ve switched out my clothes, I never would’ve let her help me pack. I feel like an idiot.”
“Don’t,” Harry laughs. “Honestly, now I’m starting to wish I had my own set too.”
Peter sheepishly smiles at that. “I’m sure you could pull it off.”
“D’you think my social media manager will mind if my next post is a photoshoot of us in Captain America pajamas? It’s fine, right?”
“I’m sure she’ll approve of our patriotism,” Peter hums. “Besides, Captain America is super popular right now, especially with like, girls, and I can’t really blame them.”
Something doesn’t click in his head. “Wait, why with girls in particular?”
“Uh, because he’s hot?” Peter nervously offers. “I mean, everyone’s celebrity crush is Captain America nowadays.”
Without thinking, Harry jokes, “Everyone’s? Really? Even yours?”
Peter’s shoulders tense up, and it’s only a matter of time before his face turns bright red. “I’m—um, well I don’t—I’m not saying that—like, it isn’t—”
“Dude,” Harry begins, putting his hand atop his friend’s shoulder. At his attempt at a comforting squeeze, Peter relaxes ever so slightly; it isn’t enough to remove his wholeheartedly flustered expression. “No judgement, remember?”
“Yeah,” Peter replies, a little breathless. “No judgement.”
“Go for it, Pete. Sing me a love ballad about how beautiful Captain America’s pecs are.”
That was probably the wrong move, and quite frankly a little evil, because Peter nearly chokes on his own spit. Wide-eyed, he stammers out, “Harry, what the hell?”
“Sorry, this is a safe space. Continue.”
Peter sighs, almost an endeared twinkle to his eyes. “I’m not saying I have a crush on Captain America or anything. He’s not my type. But also, if we happened to be the same age and he happened to shoot his shot my way, I wouldn’t…necessarily be…opposed to the idea?”
Harry’s eyebrows furrow. “I think that is the textbook definition of a celebrity crush.”
Peter groans. “I should’ve asked for some validation instead of a safe space, Jesus Christ. I mean, I know you’re straight and everything, but you can still agree he’s like, conventionally attractive, Har.”
He swallows. “I don’t—Peter, I don’t know if I’m straight.”
A beat.
“Wait, what?”
“I don’t know if I’m gay either,” Harry hurriedly continues. “Honestly, I’m not even sure I understand what having a crush even feels like. The whole thing kinda confuses me.”
“Really?” Peter raises his eyebrows. “Well, it’s a good thing I used to be a tutor, then.”
He blinks. “Buddy, what in the world does that mean?”
“I’ll educate you on everything crush-related,” Peter elaborates. “I’m an expert.”
“An expert? I’m curious what credentials make you say that.”
“Well, I’ve kind of been into the same girl for the past three years. Does that count?”
Disappointment quickly seeps into his chest, though he’s not sure what for.
“Yeah,” Harry quietly says. “Yeah, I think that counts.”
3. Build trust by showing up for your friends and following through.
On the drive to the movie theater, Peter falls asleep in the passenger seat.
Which isn’t ideal, considering Harry can’t stop glancing over at him, and at this rate he’s either, at best, going to run a red light or, at worse, crash into a semi-truck.
Listen, it’s just—it’s hard to focus, okay?
Not that Harry would call him a “disturbance” by any means, but still. There’s something so distracting about how Peter has leaned his head against the window, tousled hair aglow from city lights. Dark brown eyelashes droop as though dipped in honey. It’s an uncomfortable position, shoulder lodged between his seatbelt and car door, and the way his neck is tilted is bound to cause at least a bit of an ache.
Yet Peter appears more relaxed than he has…ever, really. Having that realization only furthers the confusion that’s been sitting in Harry’s stomach since their sleepover.
Being Peter’s friend is fun. He hasn’t had this much excitement in his life for a long, long time—yeah, traveling and modeling is cool and all, but it’s nothing compared to the satisfaction that bubbles in his chest whenever Peter laughs at a joke he makes.
Harry’s taken back to the second time Peter made him spiral on the internet. How To Know If You’re Gay: A WikiHow article is quite the cringe-inducing memory, to say the least. Nonetheless, there were…some note-worthy suggestions.
“Take a closer look at who you’ve crushed on in the past. A crush is typically a strong experience of romantic attraction for another person—when you have a crush on someone, you typically want to date them and take your relationship to a new, romantic level.”
See, the problem is—Harry isn’t in the mood to ruin whatever he and Peter have right now. This friendship is nice. And dating, a romantic relationship? Even if Peter felt the same way back, it all sounds needlessly complicated. He isn’t about to lose the only friend he’s had in years, that’s for sure.
But Peter’s different from your past friends, a voice in his head says.
And, yeah. Harry’s never liked someone as much as Peter. One might even go as far to imply that there’s some sort of infatuation involved, because seriously, what’s even up with him nowadays? Harry feels like a lovey-dovey schoolgirl with the way he’s checking his reflection in the rearview window, with the way he’s hanging on to every word of Peter’s, even the way he’s ever so desperate to keep the attention on himself.
…Harry’s never been good at that. Peter’s all ears anyway.
Then, there’s this other thing.
At first glimpse of the article, a flush so easily creeped up on his face. Pay attention to who arouses you? Examine your fantasies? No thanks. He’s good.
Even if Harry’s not in the mood to take this crush theory that far, though, he can at least admit one thing—Peter is objectively adorable. Maybe Captain America’s “conventionally attractive” and all, but he surely can’t compete with how Peter’s smile, sheepish and small, lights up any room. Plus, he’s got this—charm to him. An awkward charm. Maybe that’s hypocritical to say because Harry’s also awkward (in his defense he’s home-schooled and Peter’s gone through the trenches of public school) but honestly?
Harry feels tethered to that awkward charm.
That doesn’t mean he has a crush on Peter. Just goes to show how ah, strong his friend-feelings are. Because friend-feelings is a word we should introduce into the English lexicon, obviously.
As Harry pulls into the parking lot, a cute teenage boy slowly shifts awake beside him. Not that he notices or anything, because come on. To be concentrated on Peter’s every movement, how he sits up and frantically wipes his chin free of drool, could only be explained by the behavior of a crushee.
And for the record, his friend-feelings about Peter are solely platonic. Hence, friend.
“How long was I asleep for?” Peter asks, voice hoarse.
Harry’s grip on the wheel tightens. “Uh, not long. Made it just in time, actually.”
“Okay,” he says, a little relieved. “Okay, cool.”
Harry tugs on the shift lever, and just like that, the car’s parked. Neither seem particularly inclined to leave, but he supposes Peter is only semi-conscious.
“I’ll see you later?” Harry tries.
Peter blinks. “Wait, do you—do you want to come with us?”
Um.
“...Sorry, what?”
Peter looks away. For a split second, Harry swears his cheeks were tinted the slightest bit pink. “I mean, I—I don’t know. I guess it was kind of a stupid idea.”
Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s not stupid, I just—”
“What?”
“I didn’t think you’d…want me around.”
Peter’s eyes widen. “What? Of course not. I wasn’t kidding when I said I want the two coolest people in my life to meet.”
Harry rolls his eyes, though an amused smirk betrays his true intentions. “Well, I’m glad you think I’m cool. Not sure this friendship would’ve worked otherwise.”
“It’s not like I’m in the minority,” Peter laughs. “Even my teachers think you’re cool.”
“Not for the same reasons you do, I hope?” He snorts. “It’d be kind of a bummer to know you’re only using me for like, my Osborn privileges or something.”
It’s supposed to come out as a joke, but insecurity renders it as absolutely genuine. Harry’s never been good at lying, anyway. He only knows how to be himself. A shame, really.
“Har.”
He glances back at Peter, only to be met with gentle brown eyes. It’s not scientifically possible at all, but the romance novels were right. Swear to God, his breath is quite literally taken away.
“Sorry,” Harry manages. “That was a bad joke.”
Peter reaches forward, hand on Harry’s forearm. He squeezes, and it’s supposed to be a comforting gesture, yet all Harry can think about is his heart pounding in his ribcage.
“You’re more than an Osborn,” Peter says, adamant. “You’re—you’re smart, and first and foremost way nicer than I thought you were going to be, and also like, funny, when you’re not completely fixated on brain rot humor like the rest of our generation—”
Harry is grinning like a fool. If he were to really have his way, he’d spend the rest of the night here, listening to Peter’s compliments as though they were angels sent from the heavens. Unfortunately, there’s a movie to catch.
“—Hey,” he tries.
But Peter rambles on. “Anyway, if you do the math—being smart, and nice, and funny, would totally equal coolness, or at least that’s how I’d define those variables—”
God, he’s a dork. “Peter.”
A nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on a tangent. The point is, I’d love—I mean, I’d really like it if you were…there.”
He pretends to think about it. “Is the movie good?”
“No,” Peter immediately answers. “It’s going to be absolutely terrible. But hey, it’s the least I can do to thank you for driving me here.”
It was my pleasure, Harry almost says.
“Sounds fun, then. I’m in.”
As Peter smiles, his eyes squint ever so slightly, to the point where they’re almost closed. He’s far too reminiscent of a cat, mellowed from a long day of basking in the sun. One might even go as far as to say like a tiger—unable to purr, yet still expressing their happiness in the form of gentle eyes.
…At the thought, Harry swallows.
After getting out of the car, the walk to the movie theater seems cold, annoying. But when their shoulders accidentally knock into each other, and it brings out a small laugh from Peter, all Harry can feel is warmth washing over him.
And if he intentionally nudges Peter back—a foolish attempt to feel such giddiness all over again—that’s nobody else’s business but his.
4. Communicate openly and honestly with your friends.
It doesn’t take a genius to notice how today clearly isn’t in favor of Peter Parker.
Harry only waits a minute or two in the car before Peter’s stumbling out of his apartment building, strong winds and heavy rain only serving to be another thorn at his side. It’s hard not to be at least a little sympathetic, the reflection of a disheveled teenage boy, even through the wet, foggy haze of his rearview mirror, ever so prevalent.
Peter enters the car with apologies already spilling out of his mouth. “Sorry. I—I shouldn’t have called. If you just—want to head back home, that’s okay with me. Sorry.”
He probably shouldn’t stare. In his defense, Peter looks miserable. Eyebrows scrunched together; dark circles beneath tired, tired eyes; pursed lips. The rain certainly didn’t help either, hair tousled around like the few seconds he’d been outside had involved a hurricane of some kind.
Harry offers a small smile. “Why did you call?”
A voice-mail, consisting of a few words. Hey, Harry. Can you pick me up? Things are—um, things are bad right now. I think I just need to see a friendly face. Maybe.
Peter bites his cheek, turning away. “I don’t know,” he breathes. “I…wanted to get out of the house? Well—apartment technically, but you get what I mean.”
“Okay. I can help with that.”
“I don’t—I don’t want to be an inconvenience, though.”
“Trust me, Pete.” Harry’s already turning back onto the road, the apartment building shrinking into the distance. “You aren’t.”
Then they’re driving off, no destination in mind.
Silence overtakes their conversation for a moment, save for Harry drumming his fingers on the wheel and Peter sighing every so often.
It’s like he said earlier—miserable.
“Hey,” Harry eventually says. “What did you mean? When you said things were bad?”
He sneaks a glance of Peter helplessly shrugging. In the shadows of his car, the poor guy looks as though he’s bathed in darkness. Streaks of black. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I still wanna hear about it.”
“Okay.” Peter exhales, shaky. “I feel like I’m messing everything up. I know I am.”
Harry frowns, and it takes so much restraint to keep his eyes on the road. “Dude, I severely doubt you’re messing everything up. That’s a lot to mess up.”
A wet laugh rings in the air.
“Yeah, I guess. But everyone—” Peter inhales, sharp. “—they’re miserable around me.” His laugh is hollow. “I’m trying, really trying. It’s just…I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Peter’s voice wavers ever so slightly.
“For starters, I’m flaky, which Nico hates, and I can’t even blame her. Plus, I’m a terrible liar—that’s already been established—and now May’s starting to grow suspicious of what I even do in my free-time. Even Pearl’s upset, too.” Harry vaguely recognizes her name as the upperclassman girl Peter was—well, still is obsessed with. “And it’s not like I can swing by with my Spider-Man suit to save her from like, depression.”
Peter’s hands curl into fists in his lap as he continues. “Something serious is going on. But I can’t just ask Pearl personal questions about her boyfriend like that, and I know it’s—crummy of me to even admit this, but I…I also want a break. I really, really want a break. From everything.”
The last part—a quiet, raw confession—comes out so guilt-ridden.
“Peter,” Harry softly says. “No one would blame you for wanting a break.”
In the corner of his vision, Harry notices him discreetly rub his eyes with the sleeves of a hand-me-down hoodie. “But I’m supposed to be one of the good guys,” Peter sniffles. “I want to do good. I mean—that’s what Ben was all about.” This name in particular is unfamiliar to Harry. He doesn’t push. “Taking a break would…”
“Would delay an inevitable crashout,” Harry finishes. “Burnt out is a real thing, and it affects everyone, even high school vigilantes. God, even my dad doesn’t know the concept of a work-life balance. He’s never home, I swear.”
Peter swallows. “I just feel bad. What if I’m not out there and someone—”
“—Counterpoint. What if you are out there and you pass out from exhaustion? If you don’t take a break, you might get yourself killed.” At Peter’s unconvinced expression, he adds, “Pigeons are very vicious creatures, you know. I’ve heard they enjoy like, pecking people’s eyes out, and I’m not sure if your Spidey mask would save you if you’re unconscious.”
That, at least, brings out a small chuckle. “If I had to go out by an animal—which I’d rather not but if I had to—I’m not sure I’d want to die via pigeon.”
“See!” Harry exclaims. “That’s exactly why you should take a break.”
The traffic light turns red, and it isn’t long before the car slowly comes to a halt. Without meaning to, he flicks the turn signal on. Maybe there is a destination in mind, just—subconscious, that’s all.
Harry turns to face him. He doesn’t miss the relieved smile lighting up Peter’s face.
“Thanks, Har. I needed that.”
“‘Course. That’s what I’m here for,” he instantly replies. “You know, I’ve always wondered whether I should become a wellness influencer. Free therapy for all my followers instead of vacation selfies. What d’you think?”
“I know nothing about social media,” Peter reminds. “Maybe take that suggestion up with Nico, she seems to be an expert.” He pauses. “Wait, speaking of—Nico!” His eyes light up, as though an idea—a brilliant one—has popped into mind. Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if a light bulb suddenly appeared above his head.
“Uh, what about Nico?” he asks right as he turns into a parking lot.
Hold on, a parking lot? Where even is he—oh, okay.
Oddly enough, they find themselves in the parking lot behind Rockford T. Bales High School’s football field. Not sure what exactly compelled him, but they’re here now.
“We can kill two birds with one stone!” Peter says excitedly, as though that even makes a lick of sense without context.
As soon as the car is parked, Peter’s already pushing the door out and beelining for the outside world.
The rain, now reduced to a light shower, doesn’t seem to bother him.
“Let’s hang out soon,” Peter decidedly says. “You, me, Nico. We can do another movie night, it’ll be fun. An actual break. And she won’t give you the stink eye this time.”
“…Alright.”
Much to Harry’s dismay, he follows Peter out, and tries not to cringe at any raindrops that happen to cling onto his wool sweater. Hopefully, the damage isn’t too bad.
Though, anything is worth seeing Peter with that big ol’ grin radiating his face.
Peter spins around once or twice in the rain, rendering Harry’s mouth completely useless from how unadulteratedly adorable the little action is, before retreating to the bleachers for shelter, which Harry is ever so grateful for.
“What made you drive here?” Peter asks once they’ve both huddled under metal seats. Even though there’s plenty of room, mere inches separate them.
Harry’s so distracted by the water droplets against Peter’s long, fluttery eyelashes that his response is a second delayed. “Oh, uh—I don’t actually know. Felt right, maybe.”
Peter nods, glancing back at the football field. “Fair.” A beat. “Do you—like being home-schooled? I mean, I’m sure like, traveling to Greece every other week is great and all, but…”
He laughs at the pure absurdity. “You’re making my life sound a lot better than it really is.”
“You get what I mean,” Peter retorts, smiling anyway.
Harry hums. “Yeah, I do.” He looks down, fidgets with his hands. “Okay, being home-schooled is—fine. Like, no complaints at all. But I really am not immune to the propaganda of coming-of-age high school movies. They get to me every single time.”
Peter lets out a light chuckle. “If it helps, the movies are all wrong. I haven’t even had my first kiss yet, which I know is lame—”
He quickly cuts him off. “—It’s not lame. I haven’t either.”
That, for some reason, takes Peter completely aback. “Seriously?”
“What? Of course I’m serious!” Harry’s not sure why his cheeks feel like they’re burning. “Peter, not only am I home-schooled but I go on trips all the time. Where could I possibly go to kiss someone?”
“I dunno. I’m sure there’s a cute girl who’d love to go on a date with you in Paris. Or, sorry—” Peter stutters. “Or boy.”
“Or boy,” Harry repeats, feeling like his insides are about to explode.
For a long, tedious moment, it is silent.
“I get what you mean, though,” Peter finally says. “About the coming-of-age movie propaganda. I’ve dreamt about kissing Pearl under these bleachers, only to wake up thinking—no, gross. I’d rather not have my first kiss while worrying about gum falling from the sky.”
Harry winces. “Please don’t remind me.”
“Sorry.”
Harry looks back at him. A smile falls over Peter’s face when their eyes meet, and he finds it just as easy to return a quick curve of the mouth back.
“You’re right, though,” Harry says. “Having your first kiss under the bleachers sounds awful.”
Peter’s smile doesn’t quite fade away, but there is something undecipherable about the expression he wears. Then, to add even more confusion, Peter’s eyes flick down—somewhere under his nose, or maybe the chin—for a split second.
It happens so fast Harry thinks he imagined the whole thing.
“Right,” Peter manages, a little choked. “Awful.”
They sit like that for a long while, watching the rain slowly dissipate into thin air, as if it had never been there in the first place.
Both of them know that’s not true, though.
Afterwards, Harry drops Peter back at his apartment. The entire drive home he tries not to think about what could’ve happened if he’d just been a little braver, if the distance went from mere inches to nothing, if he weren’t so afraid of losing his best friend.
It’s kind of sad, to know that Peter’s his best friend but Harry isn’t his.
Maybe best friend is the wrong term. Partners is more accurate, but even thinking about that only nauseates him further. It’s like the butterflies in his stomach have wings made of knives, Jesus Christ. They stab at his sides as though having a crush isn’t already the most tortuous activity he’s ever been involved in. For example:
Later, when Harry gets home, he commits the most humiliating crime of all time.
Otherwise known as searching up How To Kiss on WikiHow.
5. Forgive your friends and accept them for who they are.
Ever since Harry’s gotten his driver’s license, the passenger seat has been foreign territory to him. Though, he supposes the entirety of today has been foreign territory—figuring out the logistics of a VHS player, unwillingly participating in a car race, et cetera. It only makes sense he sits back for once, allowing someone else to take the reins, especially when in the presence of none other than Nico Minoru.
She’s kind of insane. He finds that actually wins some bonus points on her behalf.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Of course I am!” Nico exclaims, vaguely gesturing with her free hand. Listen, it’s great that she’s more relaxed and all (her grip on the wheel had been so tight it should’ve broken off right then and there) but not when she’s now using her composure against him. “I thought you said her car was tacky.”
Harry groans. “Well, yeah! No kidding, that’s sort of—kinda—oh, a universal truth. She was clearly overcompensating for something.”
“Most cars are overcompensation,” Nico retorts. “What you’re driving right now? Probably worth more than I am, vital organs included.”
“What you’re driving right now, not me,” Harry corrects, a reminder to which Nico cringes at. “And me owning a mildly fancy vehicle is way different than plastering flames across my car and racing high schoolers who have much better things to do with their time.”
“Fine, fine. It’s a teensie-bit different, whatever. All I’m saying is investing your money into showy cars brands come off as a little insecure. That’s it.”
“And I’m saying it’s not insecure of me to like showy car brands when they’ve got great reputations! I mean, who wouldn’t want reliable transportation?”
“If you really want reliable, you should look into family vans.”
“Ha-ha. I think a sixteen-year-old boy—who’s supposed to be this trendsetter or whatever—driving some used family van would be the tackiest of them all. None of my followers would be impressed, that’s for sure.”
“See! That’s what I’m telling you. People buy these fancy shmancy cars to seem cool. It’s literally their only purpose—except for actually driving, which they can only do for like, five years at most before decaying.”
“Fine, fine.” Harry relents, throwing his hands up in the air. “You’re right. I am actually super-duper insecure and cope via overpriced cars. Sue me.”
“I wish,” Nico mutters under her breath.
“You might want to take that wish back, because you’ve forgotten a key point.” He grins, leaning closer—elbow against the arm of his car seat. “It worked.”
Nico glances over at him, eyebrows furrowed. “...What worked?”
“My car! I saw you eyeing it earlier,” Harry huffs. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”
“Jeez, thanks.”
He ignores the snarky comment. “Maybe I’m not the insecure one, Nico. Maybe I’m just…finding a common thread between the people and I. It’s a great conversation starter as we’ve already established. Cool cars are, strangely enough, cool.”
She rolls her eyes. “Thanks for stating the obvious. Although, you did raise a good point earlier,” Nico says. “If you’re not the insecure one, maybe your dad is.”
Before he can even process that, Nico roughly turns a corner.
Harry has to hold on for dear life. “Why are you coming for my dad all of a sudden?”
Then they’re safe, back in a straight line. Though it wouldn’t be long before they eventually reached Nico’s neighborhood which, in return, would offer suburban turns and twists galore.
“He’s the guy who bought it,” Nico easily answers. “And it’s better to think that the heads of mass corporations like Norman Osborn can get insecure. Humanizes them. That way, people can’t start madly worshiping billionaires like that amount of wealth isn’t at least a little ethically compromised in of itself.” She shrugs, a little hunch of the shoulders. “Honestly, I’m surprised I’m even talking to you without dying inside, Osborn.”
“Wow, appreciate it. Color me flattered, even.”
“It wasn’t hard.” Nico offers a small smile. “Turns out you’re not your father, Harry.”
He probably shouldn’t frown at that, given the context, but in his defense, a thought comes up. And then another. And then five are imploding, because somehow, an itty-bitty sentence like that is firing all sorts of neurons in his head right now.
Harry knows that. Of course he knows he isn’t his father.
It’s a nice reminder, though. Humanizes them, Nico says, and maybe it’s not just billionaires that people haphazardly look up to, caution thrown out into the wind—maybe it’s also fathers. Harry knows this too, of course. He’s seen the hate flood his comment sections, Norman dragged into the dirt for his wealth, policies, pollution.
He thinks about the stars, and what little remains of them in the cities.
And he’s disagreed with his father on several matters; granted, most of which he has lost, but still. Maybe Harry should do his own thing sometimes.
An idea pops into his head. Harry successfully buries it; at least for this current moment.
“Nico.”
“Hm?”
It’s a little off-topic, but curiosity continues his chokehold on him anyway, no matter how awkward Harry’s mannerisms come off. “Are you sure there’s no one you’d want to impress with something like a Porsche? I could help you out.”
He takes notice of how a pink flush blossoms on her cheeks. “If I wanted to impress a girl, I don’t think my preferred option would be taking hand-outs from Harry Osborn.”
Harry snickers. “Alright, fair. Who’s the lucky girl?”
“No one you’d know of,” Nico retorts.
“Try me.”
She hesitates before letting out a long, languid sigh. “Her name’s—Pearl. She, um, goes to school with me and Pete. Used to be his babysitter, funny story.”
Babysitter, huh? He tucks that information into the backburner for later. “Well, she sounds cute. I hope things work out with the two of you.”
Nico grimaces. “Yeah, I hope so, too.” She shakes it off before changing the subject. “What about you, Mr. Gazillion Dollars? Anyone you’ve caught your eye on?”
It’s probably a bad idea if he goes on blabbering about her best friend.
“Not sure you want to know. You’re incredibly mad at him right now, for starters,” Harry says like an idiot.
Her eyes widen. He’s almost a little too grateful for how close they are to her house. At least this conversation—which is heading towards quite some humiliating territory—will be cut short. Maybe once they’ve arrived, they’ll switch back to the important matters at hand. You know, forgiveness, acceptance. The rekindling of the Peter and Nico bestie duo, or whatever they call themselves.
But for now?
“Oh my god. You have a crush on Peter Parker.”
A few days ago, Harry would’ve denied it. The idea of a crush would’ve been caged in the back of his mind as though it were a dangerous, wild creature. Ones with retractable claws, bared teeth, stripes sharp enough to cut through bars.
But with all his extensive research on WikiHow, and more personal experiences piling up, of course, the difference between platonic and romantic feelings have been increasingly clear. And it’s become much harder to run away from the truth.
So, he does the next best thing; that is, finally accepting this ridiculous crush he has on Peter. Harry kind of hates the way he shrinks in place when he says the next few words:
“...Guilty as charged.”
6. Don’t fall in love with your friend. That, to me, seems like the textbook definition of being a good friend. Do you hear me, Harry Osborn? Let’s not complicate good friendships with silly teenage boy feelings, okay?
…Okay.
Fun fact: this step has not officially been published in any WikiHow articles. It’s actually come straight from Harry’s wrinkled brain. Out of survival instinct, really.
Problem is, following this instilled rule has been a lot more difficult than it should be.
He thought admitting the feelings to himself would be the worse part, but nope. Despite all these years, Harry still manages to surprise himself with his absolute and unintentional tomfoolery.
That is, obsessing over conceptual designs about a superhero suit.
This isn’t a means of worshiping Spider-Man. This isn’t a means of rebelling against his father. This is a means of falling for a boy who has only known how to be good and is paying the price for it. This is a means of 11 Traits of A Good Friend and all the generosity and loyalty Harry has wrenched out of his entire being for the sake of a boy. This is a means of giving back—visiting Peter, bandaged and bruised; tucking away stray hair strands to look into the eyes of a hero; telling him that it’s going to be okay.
After all, Peter had saved him all that time ago. Literally, maybe, from sleazy thieves and cars going fifty miles-per-hour but also metaphorically, too. Again, Harry hasn’t had a real friend in a while. He can’t quite recall a moment after meeting Peter where he’d felt the hunger of loneliness truly gnaw at his chest.
He’s happier than he has been in a long, long time.
And maybe that’s because he’s hopelessly pining after Peter, but the truth is, before all these confusing feelings spiraled, he had been Harry’s friend first and foremost.
When it comes to Peter Parker, there really isn’t a difference between friend and crush. They’re intertwined, and honestly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
So, yeah.
Harry spends some time behind people’s backs creating a new Spider-Man suit. It only makes sense. Not only is Peter’s old suit in shambles anyway, but this is the design that he wanted from the beginning. The sleek black-and-white was cool and all, whatever, but it was his father’s idea of what a superhero should be. And he loves Dad, of course he does, but it’s become very telling that he isn’t perfect.
Norman Osborn should’ve done a lot of things. One of them being to let Peter Parker have the say in what Spider-Man should be. What he’d been wearing earlier didn’t match his vision whatsoever.
But this does. Red, blue, and black displayed with the most pride Harry could muster.
And if he lets a little flirtatious line slip out—“Go get ‘em, tiger”—well, then. He’s only human. Besides, it’s not like Harry’s the only guy with a big mouth.
Peter’s eyes dart between Harry and the suit as though the two will simply disappear out of thin air if he doesn’t keep his eye on them. It’s endearing how each second seems to widen his charming grin. It’s endearing to see Peter this happy.
“God, Harry,” he says, still shell-shocked. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“A thank you would be nice,” Harry offers.
Peter whips his head around, attention now solely on him. His stomach gets a little fluttery thinking about it. “A thank you isn’t enough.”
Then, he’s marching right up to Harry, only inches apart, before reaching forward and clutching his shoulders. A part of him wants to joke that he isn’t going anywhere, but the other part—the majority, actually—is stunned into silence at the tender touch.
Harry tenses up, but like a lifeline, a tether, Peter’s hands ground him—gently squeezing his shoulders until they regain composure. The way his finger brushes at his shoulder blade is kind of enough to almost make him faint.
He isn’t ready for what Peter blurts out next.
“I mean, I’m so grateful I could kiss you!”
And then Peter’s mouth remains slightly agape, like he hadn’t really thought that quite through, like the possibility of kissing Harry Osborn was…was…
Harry’s brain short-circuits, to say the least.
For a moment that seems to last an eternity, nobody says a word.
They stare at each other, and maybe it’s an attempt to search through each other’s eyes for some sort of explanation, or meaning to whatever tension washed over their conversation. Or it’s a way to avoid looking down at one another’s lips. Who knows?
Whatever the deal is, Harry says the first thing that comes to mind.
“You should take me to dinner first.”
The undecipherable expression on Peter wanes, and suddenly a surprised laugh breaks through. “I’m not sure I’ll have time with the whole Scorpion stuff going on right now.”
“Okay, then. Afterwards, when you’re done saving the world.”
“Afterwards,” Peter breathes out when letting go. “Cool. I’ll uh, see you later.”
There’s a moment in which he’s about to turn away—feet angled to the suit, neck craned, shoulders square—but it ends as soon as Harry even notices.
Peter freezes, and a look of contemplation falls upon him.
Peter reaches over, hands gracing his jawline, and he leans up ever so slightly on his tippy-toes. Before he’s even given the chance to ask Peter what he’s even doing, Harry is wholeheartedly answered with a peck to the lips.
It’s short. It’s actually egregiously short, considering the kiss only lasts about a second or so, but regardless—the satisfaction that bubbles in his chest is plentiful.
A quick spark of electricity shared between the two. A fleeting sense of warmth, not too far from a candle or match and its little flicker swaying in the wind. A little bit of everything all at once—something blossoming into his cheeks, a plethora of star clusters exploding in his mind, rain washing over his body enough for him to completely ease into the kiss.
And then it’s over. And then he’s looking at Peter with his lips slightly parted, taken aback by the pretty pink that’s flush across his friend’s features.
“That was a quick little preview,” Peter says, before instantly cringing. “I mean, sorry. Forget I said that. So dumb. I’m gonna—I should go now. Gotta uh, save New York, right?”
“Right,” Harry manages, and when did his throat get so hoarse?
“Talk more about this at dinner?” Peter asks hopefully.
He probably should do something. Grab Peter by the collar of his shirt and fiercely kiss him back until their noses clash against one another. Offer some reassurance before “battle.”
Harry can only muster a few words before Peter’s already out the door, hands gripping onto the new suit a little more harsher than realistically anyone should.
“Dinner it is.”