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In a word, Peter is tired. He’d spent the day jumping from job to job, and then passed the night fighting petty criminals. Each time he had started to make his way home, something new would catch his attention, and it's not like he could ignore it. No, he'd learned his lesson on that long ago.
Peter was so tired, but he needed to keep going, he knew. The people needed Spider-Man, and he had a responsibility.
Still, sometimes he wished he could rest for more than 3 hours a night.
Not to mention, Mary Jane had broken up with him only a couple days prior. Maybe it was lucky he was almost too tired to think about it.
He pushes open the door to his dingy little apartment. It's dark, and he jumps when he spots a figure sitting on his bed.
“MJ finally dumped you, huh?”
Peter pauses in the doorway, wary to see the man sitting on his bed. The last time he had a proper conversation with Harry was…ages ago. The lights are all off, but the moonlight highlights Harry's features well enough to make him out.
“Harry…” The words come out mumbled, unsure. Always so unsure.
Harry huffs out a laugh, but it's completely humorless. Slowly walking into the small room, Peter assesses the situation. Surely, if Harry was here to fight, he would've already made a move, right? Or maybe he wanted to drag it out, wanted Peter to trust him. As he gets closer, he can smell the stench of alcohol on Harry, but he doesn't seem drunk. Maybe tipsy at best.
“Are you alright?” Peter asks quietly. “Are you hurt?”
“Am I hurt? Is that really what you want to ask, Peter?” Harry glares at him, barely visible in the poor lighting. Peter frowns.
“Yes. Or… No. I guess not. I guess— what are you doing here, Harry?”
It made no sense. Last time he'd seen his friend, they'd tried to kill each other. As far as Peter knew, Harry still blamed him for everything, and there was nothing he could do to change it.
So… why was Harry here?
Harry's reaction didn't answer any questions. He rubbed a hand down his face tiredly, and then hung his head.
“I was sitting in my father's office,” Harry begins quietly, and Peter flinches a little at the mention of Norman. Harry ignores this, or maybe he doesn't notice. “I was sitting in his office,” he repeats, “And thinking. About… you.”
“Ah…”
“It's so stupid,” Harry says, laughing another one of those laughs that really aren't funny at all. He looks up, and his eyes shine in the moonlight, eyebrows furrowed. “I miss you.”
And of all the things that Harry could have said, Peter thinks this is the most surprising.
Peter's heart rate picks up, pounding in his chest, and suddenly this moment feels important. Like this could… what? Fix things?
Part of him wants to be skeptical, to protect his heart from any more pain. Lord knows Harry has caused enough of that. But, the other part of him can't help but hope.
Peter knows if he opens his mouth, there's a 70% chance he'll ruin things yet again. This moment is too fragile. So, instead of saying anything, he sits on the bed next to Harry.
Time passes just like that, side by side. Harry's shoulders slump after a couple of minutes, and he pushes his side into Peter's.
Peter is reeling.
“Where are you working, nowadays?” Harry mumbles quietly.
It takes Peter a moment to gather his thoughts, too scrambled from physical contact that doesn't make him ache. “Huh? Oh… here and there.” He fiddles with his fingers nervously. “I keep getting fired.”
Harry huffs out a laugh that sounds a bit more genuine. “Typical. You've always been flakey at best, huh?”
Peter sighs. “Not easy when you keep having to leave all the time.” He risks a glance up at the subtle mention of his hobbies, and he can see that Harry picked up on it too.
“Right,” Harry says quietly. His eyes have hardened, like he suddenly remembered their situation. Peter can't help but think, told you so, to the part of him that ever dared to hope things could go back to normal.
But Harry surprises him yet again.
“Is that why Mary Jane broke up with you?” Harry asks not completely lacking cruelty, but the fact that they're still talking at all must be some sort of miracle.
“I guess so,” Peter answers cautiously.
Harry laughs. “Oh, bullshit. You were a terrible boyfriend, weren't you?”
And now Peter can tell Harry does have some intention of hurting him tonight. Still, he can take it. Anything to finally talk again.
“Maybe. Not worse than you,” he jabs back. Maybe this is just how they talk now, exchanging mean words because they forgot how to play nice.
Harry smiles. “No, probably not.”
Silence takes over again, but eventually Peter clears his throat. “For the record…”
Harry looks at him like he’s really truly listening, and Peter’s breath catches.
“...I missed you too,” he finishes after a moment. The words come out in a whisper, and that small, insecure part of him that always worried about what Harry thought writhes. He must sound pathetic.
But the reality was, Harry never thought Peter was pathetic. Not when he was getting picked on, or beat up. Not when he couldn’t get himself through a single coherent interaction with Mary Jane. Never. And it didn’t look like he thought Peter was pathetic now, either.
If anything, Harry looks relieved.
“Things are different now,” Harry says after a moment.
“I know.”
“You killed my father.”
“Harry, I—”
“Peter, you killed my father.”
Peter shuts his mouth, knowing it’s not going to end in anything other than a fight if he doesn’t. Harry has made up his mind about what happened, and he’s not going to change it until he decides he wants to. That’s just how Harry is.
“Which is why I don’t get it.” Harry leans back, laying down on the bed in a casual manner that doesn’t match the conversation at all. “I don’t get why I can’t just hate you.”
Peter swallows, unsure of what to say. The way it’s been worded almost makes him want to convince Harry to hate him, like it’s his duty or something. He bites his tongue before he can.
Instead of saying anything, he lays down as well. The bed is small, and there’s barely any space between them, but they’re not looking at each other. Maybe it makes the closeness more bearable.
“Do you hate me?” Harry asks with genuine curiosity in his voice.
“Never,” Peter answers seriously.
Harry hums, turning his face toward him. Peter keeps looking at the ceiling.
“Why don't you?”
Finally, Peter turns his head, and he gasps quietly when he realizes just how close they are. He can feel Harry’s breath on his face, but he doesn’t move away. He can’t.
“You’re my best friend,” Peter answers quietly. His eyes flicker over Harry’s face, watching for his reaction in the dark nervously. Would Harry be angry?
But Harry doesn’t look angry.
Harry sighs, and his eyes go somewhere lower than Peter’s eyes. And… oh. Peter suddenly feels very, very confused.
“Harry?”
Harry sits up, breaking the moment. “I can’t stand you,” he groans. He rubs his hands down his face again, like exhaustion is threatening to take him over. After a moment, he stands and stretches. “Do you have anything to drink?”
Peter struggles to do anything other than sit up and shake his head. Harry sighs.
“Water it is, then.”
Peter watches with a feeling he can only describe as astonishment as Harry makes his way over to the sink through the darkness and pours himself some tap water. Did he hallucinate that look? Maybe the exhaustion was finally taking its toll, after all.
The air feels tense, or maybe that’s just Peter. He’s not sure what to say, but he needs to say something.
“What about you?” he chokes out at last. “What have you been up to?”
Harry shoots him a glance as he swallows down his water. Setting the glass down, he leans against the sink. “Same old,” he answers, which isn’t an answer at all.
“Right.”
“Peter,” Harry says firmly, changing the conversation topic abruptly. Maybe the alcohol has taken away any tact, or maybe he just doesn’t care to have any. “Tell me how it happened.”
Peter doesn't need to ask what he means. Still, after so long of refusing to hear Peter out, why ask now?
“Harry, do you actually want to know?”
“I already know who he was. Just— tell me,” Harry demands.
Peter takes a breath, and weighs out the options. Harry already knows the truth about who his father was, what he was. Maybe… they really could mend things between them.
He hesitates. “Your father, he went crazy because of the Green Goblin—” he starts, before being cut off by Harry.
“Bullshit.”
“He did,” Peter insists, though not harshly.
“My father was always crazy,” Harry says angrily. “No serum did that to him.”
Peter stays quiet for a moment, thinking of what to say. Harry uses the silence to make his way back to the bed, sitting beside him once again. With the way he’s facing him, Peter can barely make out his face, just the general outline of him is visible. Still, Harry is undeniably here, and Peter is struck again by how odd this is.
He clears his throat. “Your father was crazy,” Peter amends. “The Goblin made it worse.” He pauses for a moment to see if Harry will have any objections. When none come, he continues.
“He killed people, and put you and Mary Jane in danger. Later, when he found out who I was—” Harry sucks in a sharp breath, but Peter keeps going, however cruel it may be. Harry needs to hear this. “He came for those I loved. Aunt May, Mary Jane.”
“Pete,” Harry mumbles, and Peter wishes he could see his friend’s face. “How did he die?”
“We were fighting,” Peter says quietly. “I was losing— until I wasn’t. I had him cornered, and he revealed who he was to me. He tried to convince me that I had… saved him. It was a distraction. He called the glider to him, hoping to kill me with it, but I felt it coming. I moved out of the way, and it impaled him instead.”
Harry lets out a ragged breath. “No…”
Peter doesn’t say anything else, waiting for Harry to make the next move. This moment is delicate, he knows, but it feels like Harry is finally listening to what he’s said. After a few minutes, Harry speaks up again.
“Why,” Harry says roughly, before clearing his throat. He turns his face away from Peter. “Why didn’t you tell me who he was?”
Peter sighs. “He…asked me not to. Harry, he didn’t want you to know what he’d become.” Peter reaches a hand out on instinct, placing it on his friend’s shoulder. “He loved you.”
Harry lets out a choked laugh. “You’re so naive, Peter.”
And Peter can’t explain why, but it stings. Harry has tried to kill him, cursed his name, declared him his enemy, and yet that small jab hurts just the same. Still, he stays firm, keeping his hand on Harry’s shoulder.
“Harry, what do you need?”
Harry turns to look at him, and Peter can just barely make out the shine in his eyes, likely from tears that have already been shed. Harry leans closer, and it feels like all the air has been stolen from the room.
“Harry…”
“I was so upset, when I learned who you were,” Harry says quietly, and Peter can feel every word with how close they are. “I was so…hurt.”
Peter’s heart sinks. “I never meant to hurt you.”
Harry sighs, leaning closer still. “You did.”
And suddenly, they were kissing. It was gentle, which almost surprises Peter more than the fact that they were kissing in the first place. It felt like giving in.
After a moment, Harry pulls away, slowly like it takes real effort. “You love her, right?”
And just like before, Peter doesn’t need to ask who he’s talking about.
“It’s over,” Peter says in lieu of an answer. How can he describe how he feels about the girl of his dreams to the boy he’s loved for years?
Luckily, Harry seems to accept this.
“Do…you love her?” Peter asks, then immediately feels like he should never have said anything at all.
But Harry just reaches up, threading his fingers through Peter’s hair. “I don’t know if I ever did.”
They sit like that for a while, and Peter's eyes start to feel heavy. When Harry notices, he smiles and pulls them so they're laying down, tangled in one another.
“I'm staying here tonight, Pete.”
Peter says nothing, instead he just closes his eyes, burying his face in Harry's shoulder.
He can't help but to think that nothing has ever sounded so nice.