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Peter’s feet hit the roof, one of the shingles on it peeling off in the process. That’s the fourth piece he’s accidentally done that to, and on the same roof no less. His neighbour isn’t going to be happy, but he can’t do anything about it -- this roof is the prime landing spot for him. He could descend onto the street without being seen and casually enter the front door of his home like he just came back from a study session at the library.
What he’s really been doing is far from studying. For the past few nights, he’s been searching for the man who shot his uncle. Police scanner in hand, webshooters around his wrists, and a makeshift red mask over his face, he’s been on the lookout for most of the evening. Next, he’ll get to some actual studying, then he’ll work on a proper suit for himself.
He’s about to lower himself onto the driveway, then has to stop himself when he senses movement down below. He ducks, but he’s high up enough that the person has no clue he’s there.
It’s a young man in a black sweater who’s on the street. Interestingly enough, he’s approaching the house… The evening hasn’t gone on too long for his features to be obscured entirely…
Harry Osborn? Peter thinks.
It’s him. It’s been seven years since he’s seen him, and he might be taller, his face slimmer, and his hair shorter, but Peter can see that it has to be him, his childhood friend, and, well, he’ll admit it now -- his first love.
Harry steps onto the sidewalk, then just stays there. Frowning, he studies the house for a while. He ambles forward, reaches the first step of the front patio, shrugs, and decidedly turns right around. Peter stays on the roof, hoping Harry will change his mind and head back to his house. He must have heard of Uncle Ben’s death. He must have been there to offer his condolences. But why did he suddenly decide not to?
Peter’s tempted to sneak up behind Harry and greet him, but knowing Harry doesn’t want to see him gives him second thoughts.
Instead, Peter follows him.
***
Harry’s not staying at his father’s home, strangely enough. His cab stops at Le Chateau Marseilles, a sparkly hotel in Manhattan. Knowing how grisly rich Norman Osborn is, he has a hunch where Harry’s room would be. No need for spidey sense to determine that.
Just as Peter thought, a yellow light on the top floor flickers on. From where he’s perched -- the Bank of America office building across the way -- he can see Harry throw himself onto the four-poster bed inside. A couple shirts are crumpled beside him, and what looks like a pair of tickets. Peter looks to the other buildings in the skyline, feeling weird about observing Harry for longer than he has to. He knows where he is, and that’s all the info he needs.
Now he’s considering his next move. He really wants to see Harry, so how can he make that happen without it being completely inexplicable? He can’t just show up at the door when Harry believes Peter has no idea he’s in town, let alone at this specific hotel.
For all the thought he puts into this, he doesn’t put nearly as much into what he does next: Mask on, wrists out, he swings over to the top floor, and deliberately bashes into the window, settling onto the balcony right after. Peter makes a show of stumbling. “Ooof!” he says.
As he hoped, Harry snaps upright and peers through the windows in alarm. In need of an excuse to wait for Harry to come onto the balcony but not wanting to look like he’s waiting, Peter dusts his hoodie off and stretches. Luckily, Harry has the cool to approach.
“Haha, whoops! Still getting the hang of this whole swinging thing! Cirque de Soleil would be really disappointed in me right now.”
“You’re – you’re that vigilante guy everyone’s been talking about.” His voice is entirely different from when they were kids. Being at the end of his teenage years, that was to be expected, yet it doesn’t make it any less jarring for Peter. Harry was a man now, able to do everything himself. It’ll take some adjusting to... which will be easy. Now that Harry’s up close, Peter can see how handsome he’s become. Peter’s breath goes shallow.
“Yep, the vigilante guy. That’s me,” he replies.
Harry’s dumbfounded. “How do you do it? Swing between buildings and all that?”
“It’s all very secret.”
“Ah, figures…”
“So, uh… Sooo…” And here’s what Peter failed to plan for. What excuse can he have for staying here to talk with Harry? And how can he steer the conversation so he can convince him to go visit him in Forest Hills?
“Did you want something?” Harry says, confused.
“I just – I – I wanted to…” Peter says. “Um, mind if I sit out here and admire the view?”
“The view of the Bank of America building?”
“Yeah. I, uh… I love the sight of capitalism in the evenings. Really inspiring.”
“Seriously, why are you here?”
Peter’s shoulders tighten together in all the awkwardness of the moment, then fortunately, a better reason comes to him. “This is a good spot to patrol from.”
“Yeah, go ahead, I guess,” Harry says, checking him up and down. “Want company?”
“Sure, that’d be nice,” Peter says, relieved he won’t have to use anymore of his poor social skills to wrap Harry into a conversation with him. “So what’s your name?”
“Harry. What about yours?”
“Oh, I can’t –“
“Can’t tell. I get it. Just thought I’d ask anyway.”
Peter scoots up onto the balcony’s metal railing. It’s basically just a heavy rod. If it weren’t for his new powers, sitting on it wouldn’t be safe at all. The way Harry’s eyes flicker down to his hands and lap, Peter can tell being on the rail is making him nervous and confused.
“What are you?” Harry asks, leaning forward against the railing.
“According to the police, I’m an anarchist.”
“Arachnid anarchist. Maybe that should be your name.”
“I’d like something simpler.”
“Spider-Man, maybe?”
“Maybe. We’ll see if it catches on.”
“I know the editor-in-chief of The Daily Bugle. I’ll put a word in,” Harry says with a smirk. Peter can’t tell if he’s serious about or not, but that’s not what he’s concerned about at the moment.
“I have a theory about how you got those weird powers of yours,” Harry says.
“Yeah?”
“Something to do with Oscorp. They’re at the forefront of cross-species genetics research right now.”
“And I’m their hidden project or something?”
“Oscorp’s a shady cooperation.”
“And how would you know that?”
“I’m Norman Osborn’s son.”
Had Peter not known the nature of Harry’s relationship with his father, he wouldn’t have picked up on the slight tightness in Harry’s voice. It tells him that things haven’t improved between them. It also explains why Harry’s staying at a hotel. “Oh,” Peter says. “Sound theory. That’s all I’ll say.”
“You’re pretty young. You sound it. I thought you’d be older.”
“Hmm,” Peter says blankly. It’s time to get a firmer hold on their discussion. “So why are you at a hotel? Do you live outside New York or something?”
“I don’t live anywhere right now. I’ve been travelling since I graduated last summer.”
“So what are you in New York for?”
Harry kicks the bottom rod, sending a light vibration into Peter’s hands. Harry though, goes still. “Someone I knew passed away. I’m here to give condolences to the family.”
“I’m sorry to hear that… Were you close to him?”
“Not exactly. It was his nephew that I was close with. We were best friends.”
“Were best friends?”
“I moved away. Lost touch. You know how it is.”
“Well, he must have been happy to see you.”
“Yeah… yeah.. well… It didn’t really…” Harry begins to say. He cringes a little, then says, “Nevermind.”
“What is it?”
“Ah, it’s pretty personal.”
Peter’s hands squeeze the rail harder, like it’d wring out a confession from Harry. “You seem to wanna talk about it. I’m all ears.”
“I don’t know you…” The words aren’t rude, but they’re firm.
“That’s the best thing. It’s easier to talk to someone who has no expectations of who you are.”
Harry peers into Peter’s face, deliberating on it. Peter feels safe within the mask he’s wearing and doesn’t avoid his gaze. His friend’s expression softens, and he starts to explain.
“I didn’t end up visiting him. I, um… felt too weird about it. It’s been a long time since I last saw him, and the reason we lost touch was all because of me. He’d send letters and e-mails and stuff, and I wouldn’t reply. What if he gets pissed with me if I show up, you know?”
Now it was on Peter to right the situation. With confidence, he replies, “I don’t think he’d be pissed. He’s going through a rough time. I’ve been there too -- you wanna see familiar faces. You wanna know people care about you. It’s not a time to be maintain grudges.”
“I hope that’s what he’d think…”
“Yeah, he would. I really think he would,” Peter says. He places his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “So go see him.”
Harry nods half-heartedly, and his whole frame seems to shrink down.
“You… don’t seem that set on it. You’re like --” Peter slouches the way Harry is, maybe with some exaggeration because he’s a dork who wants to make his friend laugh a little.
It works. Harry grins, saying, “That’s your great impression of me? That?”
“Hey, be easy on me. I’m wearing a mask. It was a pretty decent impression for being facially impaired.”
“Facially impaired…” Harry mutters. “Kinda sounds like something my friend would say, actually.”
“He has a great vocabulary then,” Peter remarks. “So are you gonna do it? Go to his place, I mean?”
“I’m not totally sure. There’s, like, one more --”
Someone knocks at the door. Harry clenches his jaw as he walks across the room. He doesn’t go and open the door up right away. He looks into the peephole. Cursing under his breath, he rushes over to the balcony doorway.
“Mr. Osborn? Your father’s here to see you,” a young woman’s muffled, wavering voice says from the other side of the door.
“Hey, willing to do me a favour?” Harry asks Peter.
“What?”
Harry points downward to the road. “Get me out of here.”
Instantly, Peter agrees.
Back inside the room, Harry drags out his suitcase from the closet and starts stuffing his clothes in it. Peter helps by closing up his laptop and packing it up in its leather case. He also grabs his passport. The page it’s opened on before he takes it has a stamp from France on it.
A few more knocks come from the door. “Mr. Osborn? I’m so sorry to wake you… Your father’s here,” the young woman’s voice says. “He’s pretty sick right now, so please be quick… He needs to sit.”
Harry shoves the last of his things into the suitcase, and marches onto the balcony, the bags under his eyes looking especially heavy.
“Harry,” a new voice says. Even after all these years, Peter recognizes it as Norman Osborn’s. “I know you’re in there. Answer the damn door!” A wet cough erupts from Norman.
Harry seats himself on the railing. He’s shaking, but determined. Peter gets onto the railing too, wrapping an arm around Harry’s middle. He’d be pretty excited about their proximity if they weren’t in a panic.
“Okay, I’m gonna just let us drop straight down, as slow as I can. Ready?”
“Just go. I’d skydive without a parachute if it meant getting away from my father.”
Peter tightens his grip on him, and with his other hand, webs the top bar of the rail. They descend smoothly and steadily, and Peter drops him onto the sidewalk. Passerbys are staring at them, but Harry doesn’t care. He’s searching for a cab.
Peter slings back up the building, gets the suitcase, and comes back down within a minute. “You don’t need to take a cab. I can take you wherever you wanna go,” Peter says to Harry.
“I’m fine with traditional transportation.”
“I’m free.”
“I’m a millionaire.”
“Are you going to your friend’s place?”
“It’s too late in the day.”
“It’s not that late.”
Harry shrugs him off and goes back to waving at cabs.
“Then where are you gonna go?”
“I don’t know yet. I don’t know,” Harry says crossly.
Peter’s a little hurt by his tone, but remains determined to keep him around. He can’t give him any space right now, not when there’s a cab heading toward them, about to take Harry away for god knows how long. “What about the gravesite?” Peter asks.
***
Courtesy of Peter’s webbing, they find a safe storage spot for Harry’s things, which is on the roof of Oscorp’s Space Museum where it isn’t likely anyone would go. As Peter lowers them by the graveyard gates, he says, “I can go with you.”
“I don’t need you to.”
“I don’t mind. New York will survive without my heroics for a little while.”
Harry’s eyes narrow in suspicion. “Look, this is getting kinda weird…”
Peter’s mortified. “Oh, you’re – you’re right. Oh man, I’m sorry. I was just trying to help, and that’s the kind of thing I do. I wasn’t thinking, I totally wasn’t thinking.”
Harry nods. “Well, thanks for the ride. And the talk. You’re a good guy.”
“No problem... Umm... Can I ask you one more thing?” Peter says with trepidation. Harry stands quietly, waiting for the question. “You started talking about some other reason for not visiting your friend. What was it?”
Both uncomfortable, they’re looking at their own feet. It’s an intimate topic in an intimate place. The noiselessness of the graveyard makes them more aware of each other, and the rest of their surroundings are so… important. Old lives all around. Uncle Ben. It’d be hard to feel anything other than heavy here.
Harry sighs, then states, “If I see him, I’ll miss him all over again. I’ll wanna stay here in New York for him.”
“What’s so bad about staying?”
“I can’t stand it here. It’s… it’s not something I wanna talk about, to be honest. There’s a lot to it, and the key thing is, is that my friend is the one good thing about this place. I was kinda…”
“Kinda… Kinda what?”
Harry winces and chuckles to himself at the same time. “Kinda really into him,” he admits. “That’s why it’ll be so hard… And I don’t trust myself enough to pull away. I’m the kind of guy who knows what’s good for him, but does what’s bad anyway.”
Peter’s finding it hard to sort out his thoughts. What does he do with this new information? And does it matter anymore? “I bet he’d like seeing you though,” he says.
“I have no idea,” Harry says, sighing again. “He can’t come with me either, when I head out. He’ll wanna take care of his aunt, and he still has to graduate… And I’m not sure if he’s into Brazil ‘cause that’s where I’m going.”
Antsy, Peter tugs at the neck of his mask. “Wanna know what I think?”
“Go ahead.”
“I think you should go visit him. It’ll make him happy. Do it for him, if you care about him as much as you say.”
Harry purses his lips together. “You’re right.”
Victory. Peter’s heart starts to race and he has to force himself to be still and not leap in triumph. But then Harry’s expression goes empty…
“There’s another reason I can’t go though,” Harry says.
“What’s that?”
“My father knows I’m here now, which is something I didn’t want. I don’t have any more time. I gotta book a flight out of here before he tracks me down. I really don’t wanna see him, if you can’t already tell,” Harry explains. “Anyway… thanks for listening to me and my stupid problems.”
Without a solution, Peter’s at a loss for words. He’s totally put out once Harry turns away and presses his hand on the gate. A small mercy comes as he turns in Peter’s direction once more and says, “Good luck with your crimefighting. I’m sure the chief of police will come around after --”
Peter slams into him with a hug, not caring if Harry finds it bizarre and off-putting. His best friend, the person who at one point meant everything to him, was going away. Peter at least deserves this one hug.
Harry smells like evergreen, and wow, he’s small. Peter has to bend his neck quite a bit in order to rest his chin on his shoulder. As though money could buy someone height, Peter didn’t ever think he’d be taller one.
These are only momentary thoughts. What he’s noticing most is how much he still loves Harry and how much he wants him to stay. Uncle Ben dropped out of his life because of his own arrogance and stupidity, so now that someone could come back in, he wants their comfort with a terrible desperation. Here it was, at least for a few seconds, coming from Harry, his arms against his back and chest against his own. Peter’s probably getting more out of this than him. He’s incredibly thankful for the mask, because he doesn’t need to stifle his tears.
“Come back sometime soon and go see him,” Peter whispers.
“We’ll see…” Harry says.
Peter lets him go, only because he feels Harry’s arms slacken. His scent fades away, replaced by the smell of moss and lavender. “Take care, Harry,” Peter mutters.
Harry smiles. “Later, Spider-Man.”
Peter waits for Harry to walk down the path before going through the gates himself. From behind a tree, he watches Harry kneel down at his uncle’s grave. He folds his hands on his lap and reflects. Eventually, he fixes up the flowers and wreaths on the mound.
This night might not have turned out how he wanted, Peter thinks, but it’s good enough. He’ll let Harry leave. Eventually, he had to come back, and that’s when they could be in each other’s lives again.