newyorknative | Why can I when everybody fakes it?

Peter sees the news in the coffee shop and half an hour later, he's at Harry's door.

He's not sure why he came - well, he knows why, obviously - but he could have called. He could have...well, he could have done lots of things. But he'd hopped on a train, took the line all the way up through Midtown because...because it was Harry. The years apart hadn't lessened their friendship at all, and it isn't until Peter's standing in the foyer that he even entertains the possibility that Harry might not want to see him.

He's been busy, Peter tells himself, of course that's why he didn't call. Peter thinks about the unsent text messages sitting in his drafts from the months after Uncle Ben died, and yeah - he's not offended Harry didn't say anything.

If anything, that should be enough to convince Peter that Harry might want to see him, even if he hasn't said as much.

So that's how Peter finds himself waiting in the foyer, definitively out of place in the Osborn mansion riches (the foyer is bigger than his entire house, he thinks), kicking one converse idly against the doorjamb, trying not to be nervous of the fact that he's about to see his best friend for the first time in - jeez, he doesn't even know how many years.

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Harry’s been back in New York for less time than he can count on one hand and in those few days he’d found out his dad knew he’d get sick and never said anything.

Watched his dad die.

Become CEO of Oscorp and inherited the legacy, the drama and the billions that came with it.

And that he was going to die. Slowly, painfully, horrifically.

And maybe he should have message Peter but on top of all of that, he’d been thrust into work and was currently sitting in a meeting full of old assholes like his father and trying to find his footing while proving his worth. Thank god for Felicia.

The interruption to tell him he had a guest was both welcome and terrifying. He hadn’t seen his best friend since he was eleven and here he was and Harry wasn’t ready.

But he needed out of this board room. So with one final command, he stood and left, taking his time in getting to the boy in his foyer.

“Peter Parker.” The words are barely out of his mouth when it hits him.

Alpha.

Peter's head snaps up before Harry fully finishes saying his name, because holy shit. He'd known Harry had presented as an Omega, but he hadn't really been in a room with him since - hadn't scented him, he hadn't known, really. Hadn't known that Harry's scent was the single most mouth-watering thing he'd ever smelled on the planet.

Hadn't known the simple fact that, well. That was his mate.

"Harry," Peter's voice comes out a little more choked than he intended, and he's already at the base of the steps before he realizes he hadn't made a conscious decision to move. His teeth almost ache, the desire to claim washing over him like a riptide; inescapable. But he stops, at the foot of the stairs (because Parker willpower is nothing to be trifled with), and looks up at Harry with wide eyes. If he thought he was nervous before, hell, he's a right wreck now. "H-hi."

Even with everything that's going on in Harry's head right now -and, honestly, it's a mess in a way it hasn't been since he was 12 and the first signs that he was an omega made themselves known and then he'd been shafted off Europe and away from his only real friend- he knows what the tingle up his spine means.

Peter Parker is, to no one's surprise, his mate. His alpha.

His breath catches and he reaches out to brace himself against the railing of the stairs.

"Hi." And, Jesus, does his voice have to be this breathy right now?

To no one's surprise, maybe, except Peter's. It seems so obvious, of course, but he'd just never thought...and Harry had left so quickly, after he'd presented, Peter had never had the chance to say goodbye in person...

Then again, he is that dumb. Smart though he may be, in some things, he is very much still a total idiot.

Peter takes the steps as slowly as he can bear, struggling to keep from sprinting. From getting as close to Harry as possible in as little time as possible - maybe with a little super speed behind it. But he doesn't, just anxiously climbs towards him, strung out smile stretching over his lips.

"I wasn't - I just came to - " Peter has to clear his throat to orient himself, hands fluttering nervously. "...I came to see you. How you were doing. But you - I think we're - you smell that, right?"

Harry sways towards Peter before catching himself and forcing himself back into his usual perfect posture. Peter's scent is strong and fills the foyer and Harry knows his scent is shifting to match; he hasn't bothered with suppressants since he finished school and there's no point masking his scent now that his dad's dead.

"Yeah. Yeah, Peter. I smell it too." It means something, Harry knows, but now isn't a good time to dwell. "I'm... I'm okay. I'm in a meeting."

"Mates. We're mates."

Peter says the word aloud, because somehow it doesn't feel quite real, even as Harry tells him that he smells it too. The years of things unsaid swell between them, stopping him from closing the distance, even with their scents thickening unmistakably. Harry...Harry's in a meeting, and Peter's bothering him, isn't he? He'd thought, probably, that Harry might not even want to see him but he...he had to try.

And they're mates. Holy shit.

"Right, yeah, a meeting." Peter teeters on the step, but doesn't fall, balance impeccable. That's as good a 'dude get out of here' as he needs to hear, despite how reluctant he is to leave. "Yeah, of course. You're - busy, obviously. I just - uh, I wanted to say. Sorry. About your dad. I'm really sorry, Har."

They're mates and Harry has no idea what to do with this information. Yesterday he found out he was dying and today he finds out his best friend is the man he's supposed to be with. It's too much and he's supposed to be in a meeting but all he wants to do is spend time with Peter and forget his reality for a moment.

"Hey. Y'know, I could really go for something to eat? Got any ideas?" It's something. It's a start. It's all Harry can offer right now.

It's more than Peter expected, and that much is clear in the way Peter perks up, shy smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. He shifts closer, subconsciously, and it takes all of his willpower to keep his hands in his pockets, not reaching out towards Harry. Peter ducks his head, scuffing his converse against the step.

"I might know of a few places," Peter glances up at Harry, jerking his head towards the door. "Would you like to...? Is this a good time?"

Why can I when everybody fakes it?

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