He shook his head, tilting his chin up slightly with his eyes on the ceiling like he was looking for salvation. “You know I would if it was just moral support, but wow, do I not want to be held responsible for the nose-dive that could take for some unfortunate sucker in the future.” Even though he’d put on an exasperated tone, the slight smile on his face was shamelessly fond.
With every easy quip exchanged between the two, Harry was realising how he hadn’t actually been close to a conversation like this since… since the last time he talked to Peter, probably. Communication had been strictly through techonology when it came to his friends, and most of those chats were short and uncomfortably stilted. The rest were between him and professors or business partners, neither of which responded well to humor. Not that he had been inspired to test that theory. So logically, he should be rusty, but – God knows it was easier to fall back into this pattern with Pete than speak anything that had actually been on his mind since they last talked.
The original excitement that had given him a convenient kick of confidence now seemed to wane back into the less convenient nervous, under-lying energy. Which, with Peter’s next response, was anything but helpful. Where he’d been grinning in amusement moments before, the end of the statement made something lurch in his gut… except this time, it wasn’t a bad feeling. You’ve got me now. Was it that easy? An indescribable amount of hope soared through him, fighting desperately through the doubt that had festered so thoroughly. He was tired to the bone, and there was little he could do from turning a completely defenseless gaze to Peter. “I can’t wait,” he murmured.
His conscious caught up too late with the display of vulnerability, and all he could do was put in a valiant effort at smoothing that glimpse of a mess over. He blinked, lightly cleared his throat, readjusted the strap over his shoulder – hell, he knew anyone, and Peter especially, could see straight through him. But what was he supposed to do? Dive directly into that wound they had both covered up for so long, right off the bat? He hadn’t even meant to poke at it. Not consciously, anyway. While it physically hurt not to reach out for his best friend at this point, Harry knew that was another way to so much easier open that taboo can of worms.
He should say something, follow up the slip with something to ease its intention. The attempt would be practically meaningless, though. It was out there, and both of them already knew exactly what he’d meant. His solace was that Peter hadn’t seemed dishonest, either. Who was he kidding? He’d grown up with him; there wasn’t one deceiving bone in that body. Harry’s gaze fell to the ground, reminiscing, an affectionate smile on his lips. They were so close. He could have him back.
That hope rose again when he looked back up at Pete’s response, fumbling and eager and so familiar, and there was nothing stopping the reciprocating grin. “Well, good,” he wasn’t often at a loss for words, but the sudden intense spark of joy had him reeling just a little. “That– that’s great. I figure it won’t hurt if we put off the school stuff just… just for a little while.” Not too much, anyway, he added mentally. His eyes idly tracked Pete’s hand, basking in that old gesture. Sometimes – most times – Harry suspected Peter encouraged that messy excuse of a hairstyle. That, or he’d simply given up at, like, age six.
They’d arrived at the end of the hallway by now, and Harry pushed open one of the double doors for them while he listened. He ignored how the effort made his chemically beaten muscles ache. His place. Harry realised he hadn’t actually been there. More like ‘vaguely aware that he’d moved out at all’, a pang of guilt supplied helpfully. At the moment, with this fragile and slowly mending thread between them, it felt like too much for comfort. But he also knew that if he had to keep up appearances for the public’s sake, he wouldn’t be standing tall for much longer. Just Peter was… or used to be… a comfortably lower standard.
“Here’s a wild idea – pick up pizza on the way?” He peered at the other with an easy smile and raised brow. “Call it morbid curiosity, but now you’ve got me wondering what state a room of yours is without May the Mighty around to save the day.” He’d have worried about intruding if Peter’s first instinct hadn’t been inviting him. Glancing up against the merciless summer sun, Harry wrinkled his nose lightly to the nearly palpable humidity they’d come to wade through. In reality, he wasn’t hungry, but the fact that he hadn’t been so for days luckily spoke louder than his treacherous state of mind. Besides, that was the last thing that was gonna stop him today.
A laugh bubbled at the back of his throat, short and surprised – a helpless sound, when Harry caught him off guard. Again, he thought, somewhat dizzy. Because that had been the sum of their conversation thus far; Peter silently scoured through a number of awful scenarios that would bring this to an end, and Harry brought exactly none of them to a reality. No, it wasn’t awful at all. It was...something. Too much, but not in a bad way; at least, not yet. The teasing was nice. Hell, the teasing was great, and so so achingly familiar. As long as it meant Harry could keep smiling, Peter would try to make it last. So he lifted a hand to rest over his heart, eyes wider in feigned hurt.
“Aw, Harry. That stings.” His mouth pulled further into a smile, more relieved than anything. He tried to keep the eagerness from his tone, and failed instantly. Maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind that so much. “What d’you mean, ‘unfortunate sucker’? My advice can’t be that bad. Its decent, like, seven-ish times out of ten. That’s a safe number by IMDB standards.”
When Harry looked up – looked away, Peter couldn’t bring himself to do the same. He spared a brief thought for anyone or anything he might bump into, but it had all more or less faded into the background. Instead, he let his gaze linger on Harry. He looked...different. Older, maybe? Tired, he thought with a pang of guilt. Peter’s pulse tripped over itself, eyebrows drawing closer when concern fought for purchase on his face. He wanted so badly to ask after him. When was the last time he had slept? Was he even on speaking terms with his pillow? But...that ventured away from the gentle atmosphere they had built a conversation in. No, that wasn’t as safe, so he worried his bottom lip between his teeth instead.
Was that selfish? God, it certainly felt like it. But he wanted to keep things from crumbling for as long as he feasibly could, and a shift in topic felt too much like a one way ticket to the gritty, guilt-ridden conversation they both kept skirting around. Yeah, avoiding it was selfish, but right now, there wasn’t a bone in his body that argued against it. He wanted to be here, with Harry, and feel a little less like the world didn’t want to crush him for a moment. Let them have this, please.
Then Harry spoke again, finally looking back at him, and oh godohgod – he grinned, and Peter wasn’t sure if he wanted to smile or cry. He settled for the former, a slow, lopsided grin pulling at his mouth. It was almost impossible not to reach out for his friend, then. They were close enough for a hug, without a doubt, but it still felt like he would have to reach across a chasm to touch him. So he resisted the urge, again, and hated himself just as much as before. Maybe more, but for a beat, the smile on Harry’s face overshadowed the stab of guilt.
“Sure – yeah, yeah of course.” Quick to agree and thrilled with the small victory that didn’t really feel small by any means, Peter nodded. “That test is weeks out, right? We’ve got time. Besides,” He flourished a hand in the general direction of the city. “There’s always time for pizza. That’s a rule, somewhere – I’m eighty percent sure.”
Back to rambling, again, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Peter’s stomach felt like it might be trying to float out of his rib cage. He felt happy – a tentative, nervous sort of flutter that pulled his gut his five different directions. Still, an encroaching sense of dread was still settled right beside it, and Peter didn’t even know how to begin balancing those feelings. It was all raw, ready to twist and curl and tug his composure down in the blink of an eye. Fragile, he thought among the mess of nerves; it was all so fragile. But maybe, they could find a way to keep it from breaking. Years of living in each other’s pockets had taught him that, maybe, if anyone could do that, it would be them.
Harry’s proposition drew him out of his head again, and his eyes lit up. “Hey,” Peter clicked his tongue, biting back another laugh. “Whatever you’re imagining – its not that bad. Probably.” And really, he struggled to remember how bad it actually was. Which, okay, felt admittedly like a red flag. In his defense, schoolwork and Spider-Man left approximately no time for tidying up, but at least he could safely guess that it wasn’t a total disaster. “But, on the off-chance that it could use a little work, I’m gonna casually beg you not to tell May? Even though I’m sure she knows these things, we need to play it safe. I’m not willing to let good ol’ Jameson outlive me. Not a chance.”
A couple of students hurried past them and Peter drifted out of their way, and in turn a little closer to Harry. He told himself it wasn’t on purpose, but when he finally gave in and bumped their shoulders together, gentle and a little playful, that was no accident. It should have felt more pathetic, how aware he was of the small press of limbs, but god, he wasn’t anything but grateful. “Alright, pizza to go, it is. I’m close to campus, so we can swing by the place just down the road.” Was his voice unsteady? He coughed lightly, eyes flickering to the space in front of him, then automatically back to Harry. He couldn’t help it – after a year, he almost needed to keep checking, to make sure that his friend wasn’t some sort of sleep-addled daydream.
“Oh.” Belatedly, he remembered the only current decorative feature of his small apartment, and pushed a somewhat-nervous laugh past his lips. “And – uh, there are pictures? On the walls. Like, everywhere. Just so that you...know. So you’ve, uh, been warned, I guess? This has been a psa?”