He sat on the rooftop across the street, grateful for the shadow of the night masking him. He knew this block well; it was one of the few he’d consistently approached from the ground, one of the few doorways he’d taken regularly, one of the few doormen he’d had to brave. But he knew it from up here, too. He’d sat and watched before, protecting, guarding, making sure everything was alright. The owner of the apartment across the way, however, had never known he was there. They’d never known who he was.
Peter had followed him across the city today, staying just out of sight, stopping to perform a few Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man duties along the way. It wasn’t stalking, it was just... watching. Monitoring. Keeping an eye on the friendship he’d released into the crowds and noises of New York City. A thread he’d cut but couldn’t release; a habit he couldn’t kick.
If Harry could come to May for advice, Peter could keep tabs on him. He needed to make sure he’d made the right choice. He needed to make sure Harry was alright. (Even if he’d been wrong, there was nothing he could do about it now. They’d said their piece; they’d made their beds.) He just needed to know.
He had supernaturally good senses to start, and the suit enhanced his vision after dark--he couldn’t quite tell what was going on inside Harry’s window, but he could see the silhouette of a figure. Someone was inside, just out of reach. He wanted to get closer. He wanted to know; he needed to see. Quickly, quietly, he swung himself across the street, landing in a crouch on Harry’s fire escape. He willed the iron to be quiet under his feet and his shadow not to loom too long--why did Miles get the cool invisibility? Except--oh no. It creaked beneath him, and someone was coming. The window was opening. He pinned himself to the wall, scrambling up, trying to get above and out of sight just in time, but his breathing was ragged and his heart pounding and his grip clumsy, and he stumbled, moments too late, still stranded in plain view.
He clung there, saying nothing, praying Harry wouldn’t see him, preparing to make eye contact with another life he’d tried to pare from his own. There was no reasonable explanation for this; he just needed to know.
