"Anything. Don't start anything." Peter warned, though he couldn't help his own smile, reciprocating Harry's. How could he help but smile when Harry's looking at him like that? He never gets tired of it, honestly, though Peter's hard-pressed to say anything about it. He's still Peter, in this weird reality Harry's been dropped into. "You know what look! Don't play dumb. Doesn't suit you."

Oh, it's correct. Cough. Peter just laughed warmly, rubbing his hand back over his neck. "Why don't you shut me up, hm?"

"No, never," Peter laughed and gave Harry a funny look, shifting his weight against the wall. "You're family now, you doofus. And if I have to suffer through the meatloaf, I sure as hell am gonna take you down with me." Peter's still a dick, all in all. "Maybe after breakfast, if you're not too much of an ass. Like I said, I have things to do today, Osborn, and so do you!"

"I take a lot of pictures, so I know that...you don't usually like your own work, you know? You see all the little imperfections that nobody else sees. It's a little off-center, or too underexposed, whatever - and it ruins it a little for you. It's good but it's not the best. That one's my favorite, yeah, because you took it, but because it's your favorite. You don't even see all of the little, usually imaginary imperfections we create in our own work." Peter kissed Harry's neck, working his lips up towards Harry's ear. "You love me so much, it doesn't matter. That's why it's my favorite."

"You've never seen you the way I do," Peter hummed, nuzzling his head against Harry's hand. He's not even jokingly protesting the warm digits, in fact, he's eagerly accepting it.