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Peter just wants coffee. It’s really not that much to ask.
His extracurricular activities hadn’t left him enough time to sleep before class and he had known he couldn’t get away with another absence so soon. Sure, that doesn’t always stop him, but his “job” is a bit unpredictable.
He’s yawning the entire time he waits in line and ruffles a hand through his hair as if it’ll help wake him up. It might instead make him look even more disheveled, but Peter is not coherent enough to so much as consider this. He’s mostly glad the whole you’re-dating-Harry-Osborn thing has died down enough now that no one really stares anymore.
If Peter’s brain was currently functioning, he might find it hilarious that it’s been a while since that picture of him and Harry in the tabloids, but they’ve probably all seen a picture of him in the paper just this morning. If everyone around him knew that, they would definitely be staring again.
“Hello?” someone asks, through the fog. “Are you going to order something?”
Peter snaps back to reality from the realm of near-unconsciousness. “Oh. Yeah. Um.” His eyes sweep over the menu although he had only intended a coffee. His stomach grumbles, however, and he points to one of the pastries in the display case. “That thing.” He isn’t one hundred percent certain what it is, but...it looks good. And it’s a pastry. What could go wrong?
“Anything else?”
Peter blinks a few times, mouth hanging open stupidly as the guy stares at him, waiting. He shakes his head, then clucks his tongue. “I mean, yeah. Coffee. Large coffee, please.” He smiles and it’s awkward, but the guy has stopped looking at him anyway.
Setting the coffee and pastry on the counter, the cashier tells him, “That’s going to be five-twenty.”
Peter’s eyes widen, but he nods. “Yeah. Of-- of course. Money. Right.” He searches his pocket, then his backpack, giving the guy apologetic looks as he does. When he finally finds his wallet--the people behind him have been grumbling for a while--he realizes there’s only a single dollar bill in it. And no card. He freezes.
The cashier raises an expectant eyebrow.
“So…” Peter starts, then pulls himself out of line. “Never mind.” He laughs nervously and shuffles off, to some rather disparaging words from the other customers.
Peter still needs coffee. Desperately. And, actually, yeah, food. He can’t really remember the last time he ate but it was definitely before he fought off Kraven the goddamn hunter the night before and that had been the start of his adventure.
Peter knows he can make it to Harry’s and back before his next class if he webs his way there.
He’s just a little shaky about the idea of webbing himself there in his current state. He’s just a little...shaky. In general.
But it’s Harry’s and the coffeemaker he bought for Harry. Reliable. Coffee. And maybe Harry bought food yesterday because Peter certainly didn’t. (And he knows he must have more money than this dollar. Somewhere. Probably in the bedroom he so often shares with Harry.)
So he risks it.
Peter is very lucky that his spider sense keeps him alert or he would be one very smushed spider at this point.
When he climbs--stumbles, crashes, falls--through the window, he finds Harry on the couch, the paper in one hand and coffee cup in the other.
“Yessss,” Peter breathes and literally crawls across the floor, stealing the mug from Harry’s hand.
“What the fuck, Peter?” Harry asks, but he doesn’t sound too cut up about it.
Peter vaguely remembers he was supposed to call Harry and tell him he survived after not showing up all night. He should probably call Aunt May, too.
Later, he thinks.
“Coffee,” is all he actually says, and downs the cup. His nose wrinkles slightly. “Gross.”
Harry whacks his head with the paper. It’s easy enough to do, considering Peter is sprawled on the floor. “Good to see you, too,” Harry says, sarcasm dripping from every word.
Peter inhales slowly, letting the immediacy of the coffee lend a placebo effect until the caffeine actually kicks in. “Hi. I needed coffee.”
“Aren’t there a thousand other places for you to get coffee?” Harry asks. “That aren’t here and aren’t mine?” He steals his cup back from Peter’s hands and wanders into the kitchen.
“Food?” Peter calls to him, ignoring Harry’s question and instead focusing on his boyfriend’s new location.
Harry glares, but tosses him a bagel.
It’s not sliced or toasted or anything, but Peter still groans as he sticks it into his mouth.
Harry comes back with two cups of coffee though, one filled with sugar. “I’m sure there’s coffee at your school, Peter.”
Peter is too busy chewing to respond, drowning his bagel in coffee so that he can swallow it all down quicker. “No money,” he finally says, although it comes out garbled.
Harry sighs and pulls a card from his wallet. “Take it,” he says.
Peter looks at Harry, then the card. “What?” he manages.
“I don’t know if you realize this, but I have money.”
“Har… I can’t… I can’t take your money.” It’s a bit hypocritical considering how many things Harry pays for, but it’s the principle of the thing. It’s one thing to accept gifts and another entirely to accept a shiny black credit card.
Harry huffs and walks towards the open window. “Fine. I’ll just...toss it outside then. Let someone else spend all...my...money.” He speaks slowly, emphasizing each word, and then he’s dangling the card over the streets of New York City.
“Harry, come on,” Peter says, like Harry’s being ridiculous--which he is--but he watches as Harry slips the card further and further out of his fingers, until it’s barely in his grasp at all.
Harry turns to look at Peter. “I’m not kidding. If you don’t take it, I will drop it.”
Peter scrabbles up off the floor and over to Harry. “Fine, okay?” he says. “Fine, I’ll take it.”
Harry’s smile is knowing as he hands the plastic over.
Taking the card, Peter’s expression is pleading. He isn’t even looking at the thing. “But I’m not going to use it.”
Harry glares. “Peter Parker, you will use the card.”
Peter wants to deny it again, but then he remembers how broke he is. “Fine,” he says again. “But only, like, in an emergency.”
“Buy lunch, on me,” Harry orders. Then adds, knowing Peter, “Promise.”
Peter bites his lip and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay. Just today though, alright?”
Harry rolls his eyes. “Don’t you have class?”
Peter’s eyes widen and he downs the rest of his own coffee and Harry’s disgustingly black coffee--for safe measure. “Yeah. Fuck.” He makes a face. “Thank you.” Because it’s what he should say. He knows that. It leaves him hesitating anyway.
“Go,” Harry insists, but grabs Peter by his shirt and tugs him down for a hard kiss before he’s pushing him out the window.
Peter feels dazed for a second before that thing in his head screams at him to not fall.
It’s only hours later, grabbing lunch per Harry’s request, that he really looks at the card.
It has his name on it.