There isn't a single version of reality where Peter is a functional human being, and that's just a fact. Yeah, he was just that extra (really, weren't the freaky spider powers enough?) but you don't have to call him out on it, jeez, thanks Harry except wasn't that kind of Harry's job? To call Peter out on his horseshit?
This Peter doesn't have any of the hesitation or cluelessness that the one Harry knows possesses. If he finds Harry's awestruck expression unusual, he doesn't comment on it - and maybe he doesn't. Find it unusual, that is. Maybe Harry will always look at him that way, maybe he'll always feel so unbelievably lucky, will always look at Peter like he's a man seeing the sun for the first time. Harry's touch is welcome; Peter's back arches into his fingertips, a light shiver rippling up his spine.
Peter has always been all or nothing, and Harry has always had his friendship, his love, but this, his whole heart? To know, or even think that Peter could be capable of this...
And could he? After everything that had happened? Or...is this what he would have been like Before?
The feeling persists, fills the room and the energy between them, and Peter's smiling, suddenly, like maybe he can feel it too and maybe he can.... Everything's perfect, because of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? If Peter smirks to himself, the kind of expression that really has no business being on Peter Parker's face, well. Harry's already too excited and rushing past him to see it.
"That's cheating!" Peter laughs and stumbles after him, sliding into the wall as he gives chase. The hall opens up into a wide kitchen and living room, only separated by the breakfast bar. Which is currently covered in used bowls and a thin layer of flour. Peter may have been exaggerating the damage for comedic effect, but there's no doubt that they definitely left it in a state.
Especially considering the handprint, on the fridge. Like...somebody may have been pressed up against the counter, before they hastily made their way towards the bedroom.
The place looks homey, though. There's a few paintings on the walls, in the living room, a collection of knick-knacks that seem like exactly the type of thing Peter would bring home - from May, or Goodwill. Like the Snoopy cookie jar, or the kitchsy conch shell, over on the mantle. Papers pile messily on coffee table - clearly Peter's, because there's an office just off the main room that belongs to Harry.
"See? What did I tell you?" Peter pretends to give a long-suffering sigh, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he leans against the wall. "Disaster, Mr. Osborn! What do you have to say for yourself?"
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except wasn't that kind of Harry's job? To call Peter out on his horseshit?This Peter doesn't have any of the hesitation or cluelessness that the one Harry knows possesses. If he finds Harry's awestruck expression unusual, he doesn't comment on it - and maybe he doesn't. Find it unusual, that is. Maybe Harry will always look at him that way, maybe he'll always feel so unbelievably lucky, will always look at Peter like he's a man seeing the sun for the first time. Harry's touch is welcome; Peter's back arches into his fingertips, a light shiver rippling up his spine.
Peter has always been all or nothing, and Harry has always had his friendship, his love, but this, his whole heart? To know, or even think that Peter could be capable of this...
And could he? After everything that had happened? Or...is this what he would have been like Before?
The feeling persists, fills the room and the energy between them, and Peter's smiling, suddenly, like maybe he can feel it too
and maybe he can.... Everything's perfect, because of course it is. Why wouldn't it be? If Peter smirks to himself, the kind of expression that really has no business being on Peter Parker's face, well. Harry's already too excited and rushing past him to see it."That's cheating!" Peter laughs and stumbles after him, sliding into the wall as he gives chase. The hall opens up into a wide kitchen and living room, only separated by the breakfast bar. Which is currently covered in used bowls and a thin layer of flour. Peter may have been exaggerating the damage for comedic effect, but there's no doubt that they definitely left it in a state.
Especially considering the handprint, on the fridge. Like...somebody may have been pressed up against the counter, before they hastily made their way towards the bedroom.
The place looks homey, though. There's a few paintings on the walls, in the living room, a collection of knick-knacks that seem like exactly the type of thing Peter would bring home - from May, or Goodwill. Like the Snoopy cookie jar, or the kitchsy conch shell, over on the mantle. Papers pile messily on coffee table - clearly Peter's, because there's an office just off the main room that belongs to Harry.
"See? What did I tell you?" Peter pretends to give a long-suffering sigh, crossing his arms over his bare chest as he leans against the wall. "Disaster, Mr. Osborn! What do you have to say for yourself?"