He loves the laughter that shakes the room. The hum of conversation drifting into pleasant territories. With at least one of them leaning on the other, shaking too much to stand still. He loves it especially when one of them leans on him. Trembling arms curling around him, and warmth circling them as the laughter tumbles from their lips. He eventually pushes them off, playfully nudging them away. With a smile that’s sometimes hidden behind a mask. Or shoving them with mocking offence, if the joke’s at his expense. (If buckethead made the joke, then it certainly is.)
He loves when Harry and Mj swing their arms around him. Squeezing his shoulder softly as they listen to him ramble about the latest Stark tech. Butting in to remind him about class, or dragging him away for lunch.
He loves it when Luke joins him for patrol, always insisting to stay a little while longer. Even when dawn is arriving in gold and midnight black, stretching over rooftops like a lazy cat. They always race back, changing on top of his rooftop. Throwing clothes in between battle strategies, and villains, or sometimes just school and friends. Laughing quietly as they both tint in orange and red. Just as the sun rises and alarm rings, and they hop on to bed. Pretending to be asleep. They don’t go every night, but he loves it when they do.
He loves it when Ava’s buries her face in a book. Muttering formulas under her breath, each morning. As Sam slides her a cup of coffee and plate filled with too good food. It’s always a game of reaching the answer before her. Calling them out like their obvious, before she can figure it out. He loves her annoyed scowl and furrowed eyebrows, like she’s considering whipping out her claws at him. And the feeling of elation when he wins the game. But he also loves the “AHA!” She gives, when he can’t reach the answer as fast. Breaking her composure with a wide smile and a pointed finger. When she stands too quickly and the chair goes creaking back.
He loves it when Danny, mutters a new line of wisdom. (And he loves it better when it’s not directed at him.) His face calm and serene and devoid of stress lines, that follow most people his age. Eyes twinkling in soft light, when he’s said something that has everyone baffeled. And sometimes, Peter wonders if Danny finds their confusion amusing.
He loves when Sam forgets to use a filter, starting a banter that’s not really made to hurt. It doesn’t matter where they are, jumping from a rooftop or in a class where the teacher is too strict. And it doesn’t matter if what they’re saying makes little to no sense to the others. He loves it when Sam loses with crossed arms and a playful shove- that’s not always so playful. And he love it less when he does. The bright grin on Sam’s face like he’s won the lottery is the worst to bare.
He loves it when he drops by Harry’s with buttered popcorn, sweet soda, and some of the worst movies piled up on his hand. He loves it when they’re hollering at the TV guessing the plot far too quickly. And making faces when the costumes are just too obvious. Throwing popcorn and spilling soda on expensive couches. Peter‘s stopped feeling guilty for that. Sometimes they do it well into the night. Falling asleep on each other, with blankets thrown over. And shoving each other to get more space to stretch their growing limbs. They always wake up with the weirdest hairstyles. Laughing at each other if they’re too ridiculous.
He loves it when Mj explains the latest news in terrifying detail. And when she breaks down a person’s character within a millisecond of meeting them. She’s always right. He’s grateful to whatever deity exists that she hasn’t discovered his other life. (Or maybe she has. Honestly, he doesn’t know.) But he loves it especially better when she shows up at his door, newspaper at hand at screaming about how Daily Bulge is twisting the narrative.
He hates it when the occasional girl, or sometimes guy comes around. Requesting for his number, or a date, or a joke that implies just a little bit more. And he has to refuse. Sometimes explain, with his gut sinking to the floor and his fingers playing with the thread of his shirt. Sometimes they leave, understanding with a quiet ‘Sorry’. But disappointed. Others sharply turn away muttering that he should have just said that he isn’t interested instead of making things up. And they are still better than the ones who yell and call him a freak.
He hates that part of it. Especially when they come around valentines. He’s seen some come more than once, somehow hoping that he feels different now. And those are even worse.
But he loves his friends and family. And for him that’s enough.
