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It was a result of something so small.
They were supposed to be studying. Sun shone down on Peter's hair, hair that only slightly fell over his arm as his head lay on his desk. Peter was asleep, his back rising and falling rhythmically.
Harry had always felt a natural gravitation towards Peter. Many scratched their heads at the two; unsure as to why Harry wanted to protect Peter specifically, why he preferred to spend time with him rather than the plenty other classmates who'd give him a better reputation to be around. But Harry knew Peter was real, and despite being completely socially unaware at times, he was enjoyable to spend time with.
Harry knew that his feelings on the matter far outweighed Peter's. Peter was fairly content with being alone at times, and Harry liked to tell himself that he was, too, but in reality, he needed Peter more than he believed Peter needed him. Peter was incredibly intelligent and decently self-sufficient when it came to social need. Harry desperately longed for it, but his argument that this need was only for Peter could be justified. He became quick to realize that he'd possibly fallen in love with Peter, something he was not qualified to feel.
Needing had already deemed him inferior; loving would render him useless. Useless, as his father would say, a synonym for an insufficient man.
Harry had already gotten enough shit for 'loving' Mary Jane, even if that wasn't exactly what had happened. He didn't know how his father would react if he knew how he really loved, and that the object of his affections was another man.
Harry would spend many nights staring up at the ceiling or at his reflection in the mirror, disgusted with himself. There was a burning guilt deep in his gut that he wasn't ready to deal with. He'd force his feelings down and tell himself he'd address them later. Going directly against his father's wishes and his moral code was something that chipped further away at his rationality every single day.
No matter what Peter had done to him, Harry was inferior. He'd never be worthy of Peter's love. To Harry, Peter was above anyone else. While that was far from untrue, he'd find himself doing all he could to win that unattainable love.
Peter slipped further and further away after Harry's father died. To disrespect his dead father's wishes was unforgivable, and to desperately cling to a friendship that had faded away so long ago, a friendship the other party had so clearly moved on from, forgotten without another thought, only contributed to his lack of worth. He was supposed to be resilient; he was a man, after all. And that was all his father asked him to be.
And with unresolved feelings, he only lashed out in anger, something reminiscent of the man he tried so hard not to become. In a drunken stupor, he could only remember the feeling of his hand against Peter's cheek, something he wished was just a tender gesture, but in reality was an act of violence he'd never thought he'd commit.
Harry didn't like himself. He never did, and he surely didn't like who he was becoming. Peter was in his right to distance himself, to claw away from him and move on with his life, but Harry couldn't accept that. Blame, he had to blame him for something. Justify his hatred. His hatred for himself was something he let bleed into how he treated Peter, and he justified it with blame.
Peter never needed Harry like Harry needed him.
Harry so desperately yearned to be something to Peter.
He often spent nights drunk and thinking, which was never a good combination. He knew there had to be a turning point that explained where he went wrong in life, but he wished it could be handed to him on a silver platter, because even in retrospect, it would help him tremendously. He argued he didn't deserve a future. He'd failed at every chance he was given. His poor father; all he wanted was a son who could exceed his expectations. He couldn't do that, not once before he died, and he was sure he wasn't ever going to, even in his honor. He couldn't fulfill Mary Jane's needs, nor Peter's, either.
Peter had given Harry a justification to hate. Peter had killed his father. Harry never got the chance to prove himself; Peter took that away, and then ripped himself from Harry's longing grip when he needed him most. So Harry hated him. It was a relief of sorts, because now every act of violence was justified, just as his father's acts of violence against him were, in his mind, because he failed him.
Harry had done so much for Peter. He loved him when he was sure no one else did, until someone did, and he protected him when the world was against him. And now Peter stood and laughed in his face, beating him senseless, all over her.
Mary Jane—Harry was jealous of her. He wanted so badly for Peter to think of him how he thought of her. He never understood, anyway. If anyone should have just been a temporary void to fill, it should have been Mary Jane, not Harry. He'd been there for him, and she hadn't. But he couldn't hate Mary Jane. After all, how fair was it, really, to judge someone for a crime you've also committed? Peter was lovable. Peter was incredible.
He swallowed thickly as Peter so effortlessly insulted him, so effortlessly attempted to kill him. His throat burned as he wondered yet again where he went wrong. He couldn't let go of his desires for Peter even as he spat in his face.
Burnt and scarred. His face was disfigured and almost completely unrecognizable now. Peter had so carelessly thrown the bomb back towards him. Perhaps everything was his fault, he thought, because he'd thrown the bomb first, only for it to come soaring back towards him in the worst way. He'd grown feelings for someone who he'd never get to hold. He disappointed not only his father, but himself, within the realm of his own actions and feelings.
Blame was all he needed.
He stood over the balcony's edge. It was like seeing an old friend. He'd memorized the intricate architectural patterns along the side of the penthouse by now.
Blame was all he had.
Whenever he was up here, he'd think of Peter. When he was younger, he'd picture Peter all alone, mercilessly bullied by their high school peers. Now, he thought only of the sigh of relief and the content on his face when he hears that Harry has finally done it—Harry has finally given up.
There was no one left to blame
Only himself.