Archive of Our Own

Harry feels it before opening his eyes -- a hangover.

Luckily last night's drunken state didn't impede his ability to get home. He's in his own bed, so that's one positive thing in this whole situation. He remembers the first part of the evening: drinks with a few of his less dull co-workers, then staying at the bar once they left (they had families to take care of). There was a lot of whisky involved.

Harry shifts his head too quick to the side as he cricks his neck, so that a sharp pounding sensation starts behind his eyes. He sighs. There's no one to blame but himself, as usual.

A doughy smell wafts into the room, probably pancakes. The thought of food makes Harry want to gag right now, but it doesn't happen because he's wondering who the chef is in his kitchen.

Peter. It could only be Peter.

Barely anybody else spends time at his place. It's not that his acquaintances don't want to come, it's that he rarely ever invites them. Few deserve to be that close to Harry, to see the indulgent collection of shoes in the foyer closet, to question the alcohol and real food ratio in his fridge, or to see the pictures he hangs on the walls (none of his family, let alone his father -- they're all generic landscapes of the ocean). Hardly anyone in his life, he feels, is entitled to know those details about him.

Peter got his pass long ago and it never expired. As childhood friends, Peter was allowed over sometimes, although almost always, Harry went over to Peter's place in Forest Hills.

Harry pulls the blankets up to his chin and closes his eyes once more, wanting to sleep off his hangover. His thoughts focus on what must be going on in his kitchen. Peter's probably hovering over the stove, praying that his concoction won't burn. Or he might be more relaxed about it -- checking it every so often as he's reading a textbook.

The fact that he's there makes Harry happy. It always does. It's not just the fact that he lives alone in a place that's too big for him -- it's because it's Peter.

As Harry tries to fall asleep again, his mind tries to piece together the previous evening. More memories come to him -- he remembers Heather, one of Oscorp's security guards, sitting across from him. This was probably at the main entrance; Harry knows they were somewhere with lots of space around them.

He also remembers looking down at a street, watching a car roll down a block and turn right. Where that was, he wasn't sure of. Orange though -- orange lights.

After a while, Harry realizes he's not going to be asleep again, and the dryness of his mouth annoys him, demanding water. He drags himself out of his bed and trudges into the bathroom. He has enough energy to wash his face, drink half a glass of water, and brush his teeth. It makes him feel significantly better and capable of sustaining conversation.

He doesn't manage to get all the way down the hall before Peter chirps out a "Morning, Harry!" from the kitchen.

Harry finds that his second theory was right -- Peter's sitting on the table, a pencil in hand, scribbling on a few sheets of paper with a bunch of numbers and lines on it. The stove's off and a pile of six pancakes are on the counter. His cooking session appears to be done.

"You had just enough ingredients for pancakes, luckily. No more milk though," Peter says. "Have some."

"Thanks, uh... maybe later," Harry says, very aware of how delicate his stomach is.

"I figured," Peter says with a small smile. "So... how are you feeling?"

"Not great," Harry says, but chuckles at himself, at his own irresponsibility. "What was I up to last night?"

Peter's eyebrows pitch upward. "Well, you managed to get home. Thanks to Spider-Man."

"Good one," Harry says. He'd laugh wholeheartedly if he wasn't ill.

"You think I'm kidding, but I'm not. Spider-Man. He really brought you over to Oscorp. That's what the security guard said, anyway. Don't know why she'd lie about that," Peter says.

"No way," Harry says.

"That's honestly what she told me," Peter says.

Harry's only halfway to being convinced. He tries to reel the memories in. At some point in the night he was standing right up against a rail... On a fire escape?

"How'd that happen then?"

"I don't know because the security guard doesn't know."

"Her name's Heather."

"Heather. Yeah, so she told me that Spider-Man dropped you off at Oscorp's main entrance and knocked on the door," Peter begins. "You were really drunk -- he must have seen you doing something dangerous, and decided to bring you home. Then Heather called me from your phone. This was at like, one in the morning, I think? You must have told her to call me. Anyway, I came because I needed to make sure you wouldn't choke on your own puke."

Harry stands in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed. "I don't know if I should be embarrassed by this or amazed that it happened."

"Maybe a bit of both?"

"Probably," Harry says, and sits down on the chair across from Peter. "Man, I was so hammered. Got carried away."

"So what happened? Do you remember?" Peter asks.

Taking in what Peter said had happened, Harry digs deeper into his memory for any more hints. Oscorp's entrance...

"I... I kinda remember looking at the floor and thinking it was way too bright, and... someone had their arm around me, practically dragging me somewhere."

"That was probably me. I got you into the elevator and got you in here," Peter says. "Anything else?"

Harry's mind goes back to the fire escape and the street he looked down on. Doing that unearths the details all at once. The reason he was there reaches the surface first, and he realizes it wouldn't be easy to explain to Peter.

"I can't remember much else," Harry says, shrugging.

Peter nods slowly. "Right... Okay. Well," he says. "Later you will."

"Now I can say that Spider-Man saved me. You gotta admit that's pretty cool," Harry says.

"Yeah. Doesn't happen to a lot of people," Peter says brightly, and because he's Peter, he's genuine about it, genuinely happy Harry gets to have an amazing story to tell other people.

With the hangover still banging at his brain, Harry's not the most engaging company. There's an unexpected kind of peacefulness in the penthouse though -- the television is on in the next room and it has deep, steady narration that hums through the walls of the kitchen. Peter's low-key too, just scribbling down notes. The most movement he makes is when he rubs his chin in thought.

If this was two years ago, Harry wouldn't have been so calm. A few months after his return to New York, Harry was desperate for Peter. Having his friend see the way he was last night would've been a cataclysm for him. In a way, Harry was lucky that he never had the guts to ask Peter out and that his feelings faded because he could show the rawer parts of him without thinking it could ruin his romantic appeal.

Even so, Harry's not as open as he could be with his best friend. Nobody wants to be regarded as an utter mess. Unfortunately, that might be what Harry is occasionally, and why Spider-Man came to him last night.

***

Not long after their talk, Peter makes his way out. Harry didn't say much to him, seeing as he retreated to the living room couch for a more comfortable recovery process.

Harry has decided he's pretty embarrassed that Spider-Man saved his stupidly intoxicated self. He wasn't in danger like Peter theorized. What it really was, was a mix-up.

He wasn't planning on ending his life on that fire escape. He knows how it must have looked to an outsider when he was leaning right over the railing, the length of him pivoting on the top bar like a see-saw a couple times. If he lost his balance, he would've fallen five storeys. Sure, those were the clean-cut facts.

It’s also a fact that he wasn’t in a great mood in that moment. He’s an unqualified 22-year-old CEO who has never had a family to go home to. He’s got a couple unavoidable complexes and when he’s sober, it’s a constant drone he can ignore completely on his best days. Sometimes when he’s drunk, it’s a scream.

It didn’t force him to fall – he knew that wasn’t the way to shut it up. What it did do, was make him wonder what silence was, and he wanted to get as close to it as he could.

He leaned over. The whiskey convinced him he was practically a gymnast who wouldn’t slip off. He peered down at the street and felt his centre of balance displace so he was on the brink of losing control and gravity taking him. He did it one more time, thinking to himself, “this is kind of what it’d feel like.” The noise became distant for one second. That’s all he needed.

He was going to pull himself back, then he couldn't – Spider-Man’s web did it for him. A sticky mass of it got him by the shoulders and pulled him upwards. He didn’t know was happening at first, but he did once he looked up and saw the hero on the roof, peering back at him. Even through his mask, Harry could sense his worry. He felt more isolated than ever before. Nobody, not this stranger and not even his best friend, knew why he was on that railing.

The day after, folded up on that couch, Harry feels less of that. As embarrassingly misconstrued as the situation was, he feels like he’s been marked because Spider-Man knows him now. He’s distinct because for a moment, Harry’s life intertwined with the city’s hero.

***

It happens again. Harry saved by Spider-Man and for real this time.

It’s a few weeks after his misadventure on the fire escape, and it’s supposed to be a normal morning that consists of signing paperwork, telling Felicia to book him a flight to Japan for a business trip, and a meeting with the crustiest of crusty men about Anima-Tech’s latest project.

He takes the elevator down to the main floor. The cart stops at the third level for a tall, gangly guy who’s undoubtedly a student at Empire State University. There are a lot of them around, doing internships. Peter’s one of them, which is why Harry takes a glimpse beyond the elevator doors before they slide closed. As he expects, Harry doesn’t see him anywhere.

They'll meet up for lunch anyway. Harry hasn't told him details about that night yet, and luckily, Peter doesn't bring it up. He sort of wishes Peter would, though Harry knows himself by now. He'd shoo the subject away, act like it would be a waste of time to discuss it, being so insignificant.

Despite this omission, it's still Peter who knows the most about Harry. They've spent a few nights on the couch, talking about their daddy issues. Harry occasionally vents about work too. There was a limit though, such a thing as getting too deep and seeing only fragile bones, and Harry can't stand that. So he stopped talking about his problems so much. He needs to be seen as at least partially well-adjusted.

Which is his aim in the meeting room he enters.

Felicia is already in her spot, notepad and pen ready to go. Harry’s babysitter is there as usual – Gayle Byrnes, the COO who admittedly knows more about running Oscorp than anyone else at the company, including Harry. They sit beside each other, Harry always doing so with some reluctance. It’s not terribly personal – everyone thinks Harry should be ousted from his top position. The big positive about Byrnes is that she’s not the type who frames people, unlike Donald Menken. What a court case that was.

Once everyone is in place and the agenda is passed out, the meeting starts.

“So Harry, you’ve read the reports,” Alistair Smythe says. “The arachno-droids are ready for trials. They’ve been deemed as safe, and all we need is clearance from you and the ethics board.”

“Stephen’s gone over it with me,” Harry says, turning to the head of the ethics division. “And we decided you’re good to go.”

“Great,” Alistair says.

“Signatures…” Byrnes mutters.

“Oh yeah – paperwork,” Harry says. “I’ve got that signed.”

“Do you… do you have it with you for me to sign too?” Alistair says.

Harry doesn’t. He didn’t think of it at all.

“Yes, he does. I have it,” Felicia says and slips a folder across the table. Harry’s relieved, and for once, isn’t belittled. Felicia does things on the sly for him to save him some dignity. Byrnes wouldn’t give out such kindness; it’s not worth it for her.

“We have to talk about the issue of money now,” Alistair says. “We’ll need to build at least three separate arachno-droids for experimentation, to know how well they can work together. That’ll cost about 2.1 million, not including other expenses like the facilities we’ll have to use, or the staff it’ll take.”

Harry’s got this – he’s actually good with money and knows where Oscorp’s been putting it.

“2.1 million can be done, I think, but it depends on what facility you choose. If you can keep the experiments here, that’d be the best thing, obviously,” Harry says.

“That might be tricky, but I’ve looked into it, and NASA’s got –"

The door behind Harry opens. Everyone looks over his head to see who it is.

“Mark, what are you doing here?” Alistair says.

Harry turns around and sees Mark Raxton, a former employee at Oscorp who worked on the arachno-droid project with Alistair. He's the co-inventor of the special alloy the droids are coated with. Two weeks ago, he was fired and is now facing charges for trying to sell the substance.

“Justice, Alistair. It’s that simple,” Raxton says.

Nobody says anything back to him because he does something unbelievable – his whole body, including his clothes, hardens and becomes smooth and gleams like gold -- the exact qualities of the arachno-droid alloy. The stuff coats the tips of his hair, then goes right down to his shoes. Even for Oscorp, this is a surreal sight.

"Don't worry," Raxton says to the room, his voice sounding like it's echoing through a tin can. "I'm only here for Alistair."

"Are you here to kill me?" Alistair says. Harry thinks it's a ridiculous questions to ask -- clearly this is what Raxton has come to do -- but he guesses it must be different when you're the one being sought after.

Raxton nods.

"Mark, come on. We'll - we'll do something about this. I-if it's money you want, I'll give you plenty of it," Alistair says.

"Too late," Raxton says.

While this happens, Harry presses the panic button underneath the table. If the security department are doing their job right, they’ll bring the heavy-duty personnel in.

Raxton cuts to the chase, literally. He lunges for Alistair, knocking Byrnes into Harry, toppling them out of their seats. If it’s painful, Harry’s too filled with adrenaline to feel it. He recognizes that the force of the push was mighty though – him and Byrnes were like dominoes.

Harry gets himself up right away, the yells of his employees filling his ears. Alistair bolts out of the room from the door at the opposite end of the room. Raxton follows after him, and if having a coating a metal wasn’t threatening enough, his skin is now burning. Short flames swell from his limbs.

Everyone left in the room has it in mind that they’ll get out of there like Alistair did. Harry goes along with them, and looks down the corridor – Raxton and Alistair are still in sight. Harry surprises himself – he breaks from the crowd and jogs toward them, intending to do something better than running away. Raxton’s not after him anyway, enabling him to sneak around.

“Harry!” he hears Felicia shout. He ignores her and scans his surroundings – doors, decorative plants, and benches. Not the most practical objects to attack a superpowered man with.

Alistair turns down another hall, disappearing from Harry’s view. At the end of that hall, Harry knows, is an emergency exit.

Footsteps get louder behind Harry, and then two security people, one being Heather, pass him.

They take their guns out and point them at Raxton. They don’t shoot, however, because there are too many Oscorp employees and other visitors scurrying along the walls of the hallway.

Raxton slips into the adjoining hall that Alistair went down. This is the moment Harry decides to find safety – if Alistair has made it through the emergency door, then Raxton will launch himself back to the main hall, and he doesn’t want to be in his way.

He runs towards the main lobby of Oscorp. Up ahead, he sees Byrnes and another security guard.

“I’m on it!” the guard says and crosses the corridor to a small metal box attached to the wall. He types in a code and it opens.

“What’s that about?” Harry asks Byrnes.

Suddenly, the sprinklers in the ceiling turn on.

“That,” Byrnes says, pointing upward.

Raxton bellows in frustration.

“And that,” Byrnes adds proudly.

Harry glances back down the hall, and sees Raxton is there. The flames on him are turning into steam. If he weren’t on edge, he’d laugh. In fact, Byrnes does.

In another fit of rage, Raxton tears down the hall. He grabs a chair and chucks it to the side – whether he intended it or not, it hits a man and knocks him out instantly.

Harry and Byrnes immediately make a break for it. They pass their closest and safest exit before he can remember it exists (the slippery wet floor distracts them). They don’t double back. The next exit is in the lobby.

Harry hears a couple smashes behind him. He keeps looking behind him to see that nothing is being thrown at him, and it’s slowing him down. Raxton’s getting closer. Meanwhile, Byrnes is further ahead. 
  
There’s another thump, and Harry looks back once more. Raxton has picked up a large rock from a minereology display. He flings it right at Harry. 
  
Harry ducks. The rock lands so close that the water it lands in splashes onto his knees. 
  
Raxton huffs. Harry scrambles back up, and in a few frantic steps, he’s in the lobby. 
  
The lobby is in the shape of a rectangle, and the ceiling is about ten stories up. There are exits to the street on opposites sides of it. At the north doors, a SWAT team is squeezing through the panicked crowd of employees in front of it. 
  
It only makes Harry slightly relieved. Raxton is mere feet away from him, so he's depending on his legs. 
  
Nobody’s going to fire their guns until he’s out of the way, which makes him turn sharply to the side. Ten paces later, he hears gunfire. He covers his ears instinctively.
  
Harry heads for the southern doors. They’re not exactly close by – the hallway Harry came from is much nearer to the northern doors, however, he’d have to pass Raxton if he went that way. 
  
The sprinklers are on in the lobby too, and the type of flooring it has is particularly slippery when wet – Harry loses his footing. He checks where Raxton is and sees he’s no longer running, or even looking in Harry’s direction – he’s standing defiantly in front of the SWAT team. Their bullets don’t penetrate his skin at all.

The gravity of the situation hits him -- no floor of Oscorp is safe... And that means Peter isn't. Nobody from the fifth level has probably made it down yet. A new surge of panic petrifies Harry -- he doesn't know what to do -- get out of the building himself and hope Peter gets out, or go and find him?

The SWAT team unleashes another torrent of bullets. It doesn't do more than irritate Raxton like a pinch would. 

Then from somewhere high up, a lean blue and red figure soars toward Raxton...

Landing right on his shoulders.

Harry should be running, but he has to see what Spider-Man's doing. The hero blasts some of his webbing across Raxton's face. Like he imagines Byrnes would, he laughs at Raxton's struggle to peel it off. It's an unbelievable sound amongst all the terror in the building.

Raxton manages to shake Spider-Man off of him. Spider-Man lands gracefully on the floor with a flip. 

"I'm not a psychologist, but I think you've got some anger issues you gotta work on," Spider-Man says.

"Stay out of this!" Raxton says. A new cloud of steam floats off of him.

"What are you trying to do? Make Oscorp into the world's biggest sauna?"

Raxton's a no-nonsense guy. He takes a run at Spider-Man. Spider-Man all too easily shoots a web into the air and catches a hanging light, using it to propel himself upward. On his way up, he kicks Raxton's head.

Done with spectating, Harry heads for the south doors. He sees Byrnes is there, watching the scene.

Harry runs by one of the gigantic partitions in the middle of the lobby. There are four of them, each perpendicular to each other to create a square, but none of their edges connect. They're thin, long, and tall, and pitched at particular angles for an artistic, modern effect.

Maybe they'll look even more artistic with the various dents Raxton and Spider-Man are making on them. Harry hears them banging away within the confines of the square like it's a boxing ring.

Before Harry gets passed the partition he's nearest to, there are creaking and snapping noises. He looks at the partition and sees that it's falling in his direction.

In the only split second he can afford, he panics, then his brain somehow zeroes in on the reception counter and knows that's his sole chance of not getting crushed. It's placed only a few feet from the partition. The partition will hit it, and if Harry's lucky, that'll be it. The counter might not buckle under the weight.

Harry dives toward the it, and presses himself right against it. There's no open space underneath for him to crawl into, the counter is essentially just a block.

There's a bang made by the partition right above his head. Pieces of the countertop crumble and tumble onto him. The pain that the crash inflicted on his ears is the only discomfort he experiences -- the counter didn't budge.

It's not completely dark underneath the partition -- there's light coming in a couple yards away. Harry starts to crawl his way over.

Then Spider-Man appears at the opening.

"Hey there, Mr. Osborn! You’re a fish and I'm the fisherman!" he exclaims.

Webs attach themselves to Harry's arms and he's pulled out swiftly. The moment his whole body makes it out, there's a massive crunch, and the counters underneath collapse.

When Harry stands up, he sees Raxton on the partition, charging at Spider-Man. Strands of Spider-Man's webbing hang off of him. Before Harry can witness Spider-Man's next move, he runs for the exit once more.

People continue to crowd around it. Harry reaches them and feels vulnerable all over again, now that he has to stop and that he's at the edge of the mass.

"Spider-Man might not be able to take him down," a woman says from beside Harry. He turns his head toward her and sees it's Felicia.

"Why not?"

"Mark's webbing eventually burns it off," she says. "He needs to knock him out or something. Crush him."

Felicia's looking around the place. Harry does too, and sees the other three partitions are still standing. If one got knocked over onto Raxton, it might stop him. He surveys the room more, and spots a more practical tool --

"The fire hose! In the emergency cabinet!" Harry says. He and Felicia rush towards it. They get it open with little struggle. Felicia pulls out the hose, foot by foot. Harry takes the nozzle and walks toward the centre of the room.

Spider-Man is swinging through the air. Harry waves to get his attention. Soon enough, Spider-Man spots him, and he sets the nozzle on the soaked floor. He goes back to the crowd, Felicia not far behind.

Spider-Man wins. He uses the hose to tie Raxton up, the heat of his body unable to affect the material of it. When he hands the golden-sheated Raxton over to the SWAT team, he says, "And the Oscar goes to...!" As he heads out, he stops by Harry and says, "Thank you, Mr. Osborn. This is why I need you around."

Harry nods, not knowing how else to react, and to be honest, too flustered by new feelings of affection for him.

***

"It was crazy. I don't think I've ever run that fast in my entire life," Harry says to Peter.

They're in his office, standing around his desk, and it's about two hours after the attack. Raxton's been taken away to Ravencroft, and the initial bustle of journalists have thinned out, now that one of Oscorp's representatives detailed what happened. Harry's cleaned up, now in a warm sweater instead of a cold wet suit.

"I'm glad I've never had a reason to run that fast," Peter says.

"Very true," Harry says. Peter told him that during the attack, he stayed put and the only worrying thing he experienced were the vibrations in the walls when the partition fell down.

"Anyway, now there's a sky-high pile of work I gotta do because of all the damages done to the lobby," Harry adds.

"Is there gonna be any of that complicated legal stuff? You know, with Raxton being an ex-employee and all... Lawsuits or whatever," Peter asks.

"I hope not. I'm sure Byrnes will bring something up in the meeting," Harry says, then throws his head back. "God, I just wanna go home and do nothing. Maybe go to the clinic to get my elbow checked out..."

"Did it get hurt when Spider-Man pulled you out?"

"Yeah, that's the only thing it could've been," Harry says. To see the damage done, he straightens his right arm and twists it as much as he can, which isn't very much. The pain isn't intolerable, but it's noticeable.

"Let me see..." Peter says. He comes around the corner of the desk. Harry puts his arm out, and Peter holds his wrist to keep it horizontal. He rests his other hand on Harry's bicep.

Harry would hardly be conscious of these kinds of touches if it was someone who wasn't Peter. He can't help it -- a little wave of excitement passes through him on behalf of the lovesick Harry from two years ago, especially since Peter's looking so concerned for him as he checks out his elbow. It's rare for anyone to care this much about him.

"Well, there's a bruise," Peter concludes, and lets his arm go.

"It hurts when I straighten my arm out too," Harry says. "I took a painkiller an hour ago. That's probably all I need."

"I think you should go to the clinic anyway, so when the doctor asks you what happened, you can say, 'Well, Spider-Man saved me from getting crushed and then I helped him defeat an evil villain.'"

"I really should," Harry says, chuckling.

Harry stretches his arm a couple times, testing the limits of what it can do in its injured state. Peter crosses his arms, and looks out the office windows.

"What kind of guy do you think Spider-Man is? In his life as a normal person, I mean," Peter asks.

Harry shrugs. "Someone nice. That's all I've got."

"What do you think he's into?"

"Anything I'd come up with would be a wild guess," Harry says. "Scrapbooking? Breakdancing?"

"Okay then. What do you hope he's like?" Peter asks. "Like, do you hope he's volunteering at homeless shelters and stuff like that? Being as awesome as he is when he's Spider-Man?"

"I'd actually be pretty frustrated if he were that goddamn noble, so no," Harry replies. "I don't know what I hope for... I wouldn't mind if he was a total deadbeat, honestly. It's good enough that he's putting himself in danger for people. Right?"

Peter nods. "Good way to look at it."

"Must be hard for him to have a normal life. Probably only his mom and dad know who he is. Maybe they don't know at all."

Peter bows his head and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "I don't think he's told anyone," he says. "I think he feels pretty lonely sometimes."

"Wow, you're like, genuinely worried for him," Harry says, slightly amused.

"I'm just thinking it through, trying to relate, and I think it it's gotta be rough, doing what he does," Peter says.

"Yeah. You're probably not far off," Harry says. He suddenly feels more of a need to talk to Spider-Man, make a connection with him, if what Peter's saying is true.

***

For a third time, Harry and Spider-Man meet.

Harry's on his laptop, sitting on an armchair in his living room. It's the early evening and his Thai food just came in. He hears a knock at the window, which jump-starts his heart. He finds Spider-Man sticking to the glass, peering at him through the big white eyes of his mask.

Harry goes over and slides the window open.

"I've been checking up on everyone since the attack. Have you been okay, Mr. Osborn?"

Harry's probably spent too much time away from New York and too much time being part of high society to find the accent Spider-Man has as anything less than hokey. It's so very New York, the New York of the movies when the cab driver yells at the main character to get out of the way. That's how Spider-Man really speaks though. So that's one thing Harry knows -- Spider-Man was definitely brought up in New York.

"Yeah, totally fine," Harry says.

"And your employees?"

"They're fine too. There were a couple of them with serious injuries, but as far as I've heard, they'll be all right."

"Good to hear," Spider-Man says, nodding.

"It's nice of you to check up," Harry says. "Thank you."

"No problem," Spider-Man says, then uses his arms to push away from the window, ready to leave. But it's rather slow. "Well..."

Harry picks up on his reluctance, that he wants to stay. Harry's utterly willing to oblige him; he's wanted to talk with Spider-Man since Raxton's attack, and it's perfect that Spider-Man wants to talk with him too. Harry invites him in, and when Spider-Man touches down on the floor, nerves of excitement close around him. Just a little bit of anxiety does too -- he's a confident guy, but you'd have to be a arrogant prick to be completely easygoing with this kind of stuff.

"Do you want a drink?"

Spider-Man shakes his head.

Harry gestures for him to sit down. On his armchair, Harry sets himself on the edge of the cushion. Spider-Man takes the blue couch beside him. He's mismatched with his surroundings -- the penthouse is too noiseless, still, and mundane for a superhero to blend into.

Harry gets to his first question: "How'd you know where I live?"

"Resources," Spider-Man replies.

"You don't work for a secret government organization, do you?"

Spider-Man shakes his head again. Because of the mask, Harry doesn't know if he's grinning at his little joke or not.

"I've always wondered... Have you got a normal life when you're not in that suit?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Those are all the details I'm gonna get, isn't it?"

Spider-Man nods.

"So there could be a realtor out there or somebody with an equally unexciting job, and after work, he crawls up buildings and fights crime."

"Something like that."

"Does your family know?"

Spider-Man shakes his head.

"What about friends?"

Spider-Man shakes his head once more.

"Must be tough," Harry says, genuinely sympathetic but also glad to get a better sense of Spider-Man's life. He's eager to tell Peter, then remembers he shouldn't, which is a bit painful. He doesn't like keeping things from him.

Since he's been asking a lot of questions, he falls silent, waiting for his guest to initiate more conversation. Spider-Man, instead, squeezes his hands together, filling in the time.

"Were you born with spider powers?" Harry asks.

Spider-Man shrugs, which really means he needs to keep it secret and can't tell anyone.

"You know, all this secrecy makes conversation tricky. Fair enough though," Harry says.

"I can tell you about other things," Spider-Man is quick to add. "Things like, I don't know, my favourite movies. My favourite books."

Harry smirks. "Not that I don't care about that stuff, but your life as Spider-Man is obviously a little more intriguing."

"I guess that's true..."

"What's your favourite movie then, Spidey?" Harry says, not entirely seriously.

Spider-Man leans back on the couch, gazing up at the ceiling in thought. "Psycho," he states.

"I went to see that in theatres. Me and my friend Peter laughed at the climax when the twist came. It was good otherwise," Harry says. "You like horror movies then?"

"Sure. Yeah."

"Too bad it's mostly bad ones that come out now. They're running out of ways to scare us."

"It's hard to beat Hitchcock."

"I trust your opinion," Harry says.

He realizes he's thirsty, so his hands automatically go for the decanter on the coffee table. With Spider-Man there, a witness to the mess he was in weeks ago, he pulls back. He doesn't want to seem too enthusiastic about alcohol. That whole night has been at the back of his mind since Spider-Man came into his apartment -- the guy thinks he's incredibly delicate. In need of help. That's why he's here, and Harry doesn't want that perception of him.

“So what are your hobbies? Does Spider-Man crochet in his spare time?” Harry asks playfully.

“Crochet is cool. Crochet is for everyone,” Spider-Man insists. “Anyway, I wanna talk about you now.”

“I’m really boring compared to you.”

“You aren’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

Spider-Man doesn’t react. He gestures to Harry, telling him to go on and talk about himself.

“Okay, here I go,” Harry says. “I’m Harry Osborn. I’m twenty-two years old... I… I like… I don’t know. I work, then go home every day to watch stupid online videos. I suck at cooking so I order in most of the time and… And I like exploring new cities. I’m going to Amsterdam six months from now.”

“Really cool," Spider-Man says. “Are you going to Amsterdam for fun or for work?”

“For work, but I’m trying to make it fun," Harry answers. "I’ll be going with a few uptight co-workers, so I was thinking of inviting my friend Peter. The one I saw Psycho with.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I think he’s got a break from school then," Harry says. "Should work out. I kinda wanna bring him too, because he’s never been off the continent. He can’t afford it, I think.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“It’s easy to be nice when you’ve got a lot of disposable income.”

Conversation takes a lull. Fortunately, it's not uncomfortable, maybe because Spider-Man takes a look around the room, and Harry expects him to remark on it. Harry's got something else on his mind though, that he wants to get to first:

“I’m wondering…" he says. "Are you friends with other people other than me? I mean, as Spider-Man?”

“No.”

Harry's stomach does a flip. “Then why me?”

For the millionth time, Spider-Man shrugs.

“You must have a reason why," Harry says, takes a breath, then decides to hit the nail on the head by asking, "Is it because you think I tried to kill myself?”

Spider-Man shifts on the couch, knocks his ankles together awkwardly. “It’s partly that, yeah, but—"

“Hold on, I need to clear that up,” Harry says. “I wasn’t about to jump. I was emotional and drunk, and that makes you do dumb things. I don’t know how else to explain it. This might be over-sharing now, but there’s a lot of pressure on me. It gets to me sometimes. And I feel like an asshole for saying it, since I’ve literally got a few billion dollars in my bank account... But none of that made me wanna jump that night.”

Harry looks unflinchingly at Spider-Man to get his earnestness across. Because of the mask, he has no idea how Spider-Man's taking this. Words for a longer explanation line up in his brain, and then Spider-Man simple utters, “I believe you.”

“Good," Harry says, relieved. “Anyway, I’m doing all right lately. No big deal.”

“Seeing you almost fall isn’t the only reason why I’m here, just so you know," Spider-Man states. “I think you’re a cool guy. I like talking with you."

Spider-Man says it almost bashfully -- his shoulders tighten, and his voice gets quieter. Maybe what Peter said was right, that Spider-Man's lonely. Or what Harry would prefer -- that he's attracted to him.

"We'll visit each other more then?"

Spider-Man nods.

"Cool," Harry says. "We should meet somewhere else next time. I've got a place in mind... On the roof of 422 Nathaniel Drive."

"Sure," Spider-Man says.

"Friday at 8 o'clock, how about that?"

"Okay."

"I - I better go now," Spider-Man says. "I'll see you."

"Wait," Harry says. "Once I know you well enough, would you tell me who you are?"

There's a long pause. "I really don't know. Maybe."

The answer disappoints him, he can't deny it. He frowns a little for Spider-Man to see, but nods at the same time. "Okay, well... I guess that's how it has to be. See you, Spidey," Harry says.

Harry looks down, and then he feels Spider-Man's hand brush his hair back, arching it over his ear. The doubts he had about Spider-Man's intent goes away with that one gesture. The touch was too intimate to be mistaken for anything else.

Spider-Man heads to the window. He jumps into the air, and with the rush Harry feels, it's like Spider-Man has made Harry jump to.

***

It's a little complicated and all kinds of bizarre to have a superhero as a potential boyfriend. Harry's not sure if Spider-Man has thought this through, considering the major barrier of Harry not being able to know his real identity. Maybe this means he'll take off that mask soon.

He doesn't know how this is going to work otherwise, and to be honest, Harry's not that willing to compromise. It's kind of a downer thinking that, sure. Harry's hopeful though, that Spider-Man will change his mind.

The day before he's supposed to meet Spider-Man, he has lunch with Peter. Harry wants to blurt out all that's been happening with him and Spider-Man. He doesn't -- it seems a given that he shouldn't tell anybody that he's been hanging out with Spider-Man, because he's read those books and watched those movies -- the friends and families of heroes are hostages at some point.

It takes a lot of willpower too because Peter asks him about it -- "Been saved by Spider-Man lately?" Even though it's a joke, it's hard to resist saying, "No, but we've been talking and he's totally into me."

He does his best to keep level-headed about it. He'll see where it goes, and if it turns out the relationship is just too tricky, he'll bow out.

Harry waits on the rooftop of 422 Nathaniel Drive with this in mind. Right on time, Spider-Man shows up, crawling up from the side of the building.

They say hello, and right away, Spider-Man looks around, and asks, “So what is this place?”

“This is the old Oscorp building. The first place my dad started running research," Harry explains. "Oscorp still owns part of it. Mostly used for storage now. It's not a glamourous building but I've always liked the view."

At the mention of it, they both turn toward the west, where the best view of the sunset is.

"I found out about this place when I was nine, maybe? I followed my dad around on a work day, and he wasn't paying any attention to me so I went wherever I wanted. Seeing New York from this high up makes me like living here again."

"Why didn't you like it before?"

"Well..." Harry begins. "Because it was where my father lived. To be honest, he kinda ruined it for me. I'll leave it at that before this turns into a therapy session."

"You can keep going if you want to..."

"It's fine. I complain about him enough," Harry says. "What about you? Do you get along with your family?"

Spider-Man nods.

"And that's all you're gonna say about them, right?" Harry says, eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Yep."

Harry gestures for them to move forward. The rooftop is totally flat, except for the thick brick ledges, so thick that it's not nerve-wracking to sit on top of them, which is what he and Spider-Man do. Harry's feeling bold, so he sits closer to Spider-Man than he normally would with someone else. He lets their shoulders touch.

"I've got an idea of what you're family is like. Wanna hear?" Harry says.

"Sure."

"You've got a mom who's a politician. All about changing the world and making it better. She's a busy woman but she makes time for you. And your dad -- he's a professor. Super smart and told you about the realities of the world when you were a kid."

"Hmm."

"You've got a little brother too. Smart like your dad, loves sports. You get along with him more now than you did when you were a kid," Harry adds brightly. "Am I right at all?"

"Maybe."

"I think you must have a great family," Harry says with more intensity in his tone. "To be the person you are. Trust me, I would quit being a hero on the first day. My father didn't raise me to value anything other than the profit a business makes."

"I wanna give up too, sometimes."

"Really?"

"I'm still human even though I've got superpowers," Spider-Man says. Leaning forward, he looks onto the street where dozens of people are walking. "I've got a lot of responsibility."

"Oh, I know what that's like..." Harry says. He nudges his elbow into Spider-Man's arm.

"And limitations," Spider-Man says. "But it'll help if you're around. That's... that's if you wanna listen."

"I do, I really do," Harry says.

This is such a perfect moment because it naturally calls for it -- a light touch across Spider-Man's back, one of assurance. Spider-Man doesn't pull away from it at all, and that's the other perfect thing about it. Harry wonders how far he can take this.

Spider-Man doesn't go on about his troubles. They instead talk about things like Harry's job and his days at boarding school. Spider-Man has the better stories -- he tells him how he defeated the Lizard, what his webshooters are made out of.

Even though Spider-Man's stories are mostly about being Spider-Man, Harry's pulled towards him, and he almost hates it. Almost hates it because he won't know the basic things about Spider-Man like his age or where he grew up, or what he looks like.

The sun goes down completely, and New York City is just an array of bright lights. Their legs have gotten tired, so Harry sits on the ledge, feet dangling above the floor of the roof while Spider-Man stands in front of him, shuffling his feet occasionally or swinging his arms. By this time, Harry still hasn't figured Spider-Man out very much. Yet, it doesn't matter -- Harry's fondness for Spider-Man is for him as a hero.

"I can't believe I get to talk to you. Know you a little," Harry says.

"Same here. Can't believe I get to know Harry Osborn."

Harry laughs. "It's not that great."

Spider-Man shrugs it off, and continues to talk about something else. "I've got an idea," he says.

"What?"

"Swing with me. I'll carry you."

"Oh god!" Harry says. "No way. It's scary and I'll probably throw up."

"You haven't eaten in like, an hour. You'll be okay."

"There's still, you know, juices in your stomach that'll come out. No swinging," Harry says.

"Come on," Spider-Man says and presses his hands onto the brick on each side of Harry.

"I said, I'll puke! No thanks."

Spider-Man stares him down as a playful way to persuade him, head tilted up slightly since Harry's elevated as he sits on the ledge. Harry doesn't break the gaze.

Harry's very aware of how close Spider-Man is to him right now -- the hands a few inches away from his hips, and if Spider-Man took one step, he'd be standing between Harry's knees. Harry's not going to miss out on this moment, he's not a passive person who'll wait for these things to happen, so he drapes his arms over Spider-Man's shoulders.

He's not confident enough to keep looking into Spider-Man's eyes though. He lowers his gaze.

His heart beats faster as Spider-Man steps deeper into his grasp, slides his hands along his waist, and presses his head on Harry's shoulder. They stay like that for a while.

Harry's never experienced this kind of chaste intimacy before. He likes it, after all, he can feel Spider-Man's warmth and hear his slow, steady breaths, but he'd like it more if this wasn't the only choice they had.

Spider-Man starts to rub Harry's back. At that point, Harry has to deal with it head-on: "Where's this going?" he asks in a whisper, still holding onto Spider-Man.

"I don't know..."

"I wanna know more about you... I like you a lot."

"I wish it was easy."

"How about..." Harry says, toying with an idea he had earlier in the week when he thought about this night. "How about describing what you look like? Saying something like you've got blonde hair and freckles isn't gonna be much of a giveaway, but good enough for me to put a face to you."

Spider-Man pulls back from Harry. "No... no."

"Why not?"

"I need my appearance to be a total secret."

Harry tries not to be disappointed. This is what happens with a superhero, what he's walked into knowingly. He's got one more idea though...

"This is gonna sound weird, but..." Harry says. "But what if you take off the mask, I close my eyes, and I touch your face?"

Spider-Man's mask and his stillness makes him virtually unreadable. Then he chuckles a little. "Well..." he says, stepping on a tiny gum wrapper on the rooftop's floor. "Well... okay."

Harry grins. "Right... so... Ready when you are."

Harry closes his eyes. He's suddenly very aware of how quiet it is up on the roof. The traffic noises are distant enough that he can hear the rustle of Spider-Man's hair against his mask as it peels off.

"Ready," Spider-Man says.

Deliberately, Harry extends his arm.

"Don't poke my eye out," Spider-Man says. "I need two of them to fight crime properly."

Harry then feels Spider-Man take his arm. He moves it forward, and with his free hand, holds Harry's fingers, lifts them up and straightens them. He lets them go when Harry reaches his face.

Spider-Man puts Harry's fingers at the corner of his jaw. From there, it's easy for Harry to guide himself along the slopes of his face. Harry traces his jawline -- Spider-Man's clean-shaven, it turns out. He's not sensory enough to figure out if he's got a chiselled chin, however.

Harry keeps going. He brushes his fingertips along an eyebrow, then a cheek. He's not very good at this -- the slant of Spider-Man's cheek doesn't give any vividness to his mental image of him. He's enjoying this though and gets goosebumps from the sheer closeness of this.

As gently as possible, he goes over Spider-Man's eyes next. He finds the bridge of his nose and when he gets to the tip, he knows it's round.

Then there's the mouth. It's possibly the most discernible feature -- Spider-Man's lips are full and soft.

Harry's taken in. He leaves his fingertips on Spider-Man's mouth and thumbs his bottom lip.

He feels Spider-Man lean in very slightly, the joints in his fingers bending against his mouth. It's enough of a signal for Harry. His hand guiding his lips to Spider-Man's, Harry kisses him.

Spider-Man puts a hand on Harry's hip, and the other goes to the small of Harry's back, and that's how Harry knows he's made a very good decision tonight. Spider-Man opens his mouth a little, deepening the kiss.

Harry tilts himself forward, getting closer to him. He puts both his hands in Spider-Man's soft, thick hair, and keeps kissing him, pulling back then going in again. Harry's whole body is charged, and he's making a mess of Spider-Man's hair.

Harry presses his lips to his neck. Spider-Man's breathing gets heavy, and it makes Harry kiss him harder there.

"Okay... okay..." Spider-Man mutters, and takes Harry's shoulders, pushing him just a little bit to know he should stop. "Keep your eyes closed, keep your eyes closed..." he reminds him.

Spider-Man keeps his hands on Harry's sides. They press their foreheads together. Harry goes in for a final kiss, a chaste peck.

"To be totally honest -- I don't know if that was a good idea or not," Spider-Man says.

"I don't know either, and I don't wanna think about that right now."

Harry slides his hands over Spider-Man's arms. They're warm, yet they shake. Harry doesn't know what that means exactly, only that it's probably good.

As Spider-Man puts his mask back on, Harry turns around and opens his eyes to the cityscape. He looks below, where a few taxis are parked and that's about it, other than the grey cement way down there.

He can't say any part of him wonders what it would be like to fall.