Harry's childhood had been far from uncomplicated.
He was a six year old kid that had woken up, screaming himself awake from another nightmare. His small feet padding along the marble floors of his home, desperately searching for the only parent he had left. His father.
Once he finally laid eyes on the workaholic. His tears were still spread across his face as he begged for his father's attention, reassurance, anything he could come close showing any signs of love.
But Norman pushed Harry away, barking orders at him to go back to sleep, and to stop distracting him from his work.
But the young Osborn was scared of being so alone.
"Please, dad." His fragile voice begged.
Harry didn't notice how much a short temper his father had. Because in a blink of an eye, a grunt of rage escaped Norman's lips as a glass came flying towards Harry's head.
When the glass reached its destination, it shattered on Harry's forehead. Leaving a mess of blood and glass pieces that flew across his face and onto the ground.
The six year old didn't know that this exact moment, changed his future relationship with his father.
∞
The satisfaction Norman had when punishing his son, became a daily habit. Anytime he did something Norman didn't approve of. A punch or a slap came his way. Along with verbal and emotional trauma.
"P-Pl-Please D-Dad I-I'm S-Sorry." Harry begged. His body was curled up onto the living room floor. He was in a ball formation with his hands cradled defensively around his head.
His chest aching with each boot that came smashing into his ribcage.
"Take it like a man!" Norman's thunderous voice boomed.
Kick after kick seemed to be the cycle of Harry's life. Anytime he did something wrong.
The punishments seemed never ending.
Harry feared waking up the next morning and facing the same life of abuse again and again. He didn't want to open his eyes anymore. He just wanted to slowly fall asleep, drifting away into the essence of death.
Even at age ten, he knew that he could end it if he really wanted to. Old medication that his father used. It was so easy for him to reach it, it was so easy to choke down a hand full with a glass of water.
Sometimes when he lied awake at night, that cold comfort would sometimes put a smile on his face. But then it would quickly fade when he remembered how much a coward he was. He couldn't do it, he was too scared.
But he wanted to, so badly.
∞
His father had gotten physical, again. He had barely dodged a beer bottle that came flying towards him. Harry had a small victory that more glass wouldn't leave scars on his face, but the victory was short lived. His father came stomping towards him with hate embedded in his eyes. The bubbling anger that lied in his chest, radiated out of his body, leaving Harry paralyzed. The older man's hands clenched into a large fist that turned his knuckles white.
The closer Norman came, the smaller Harry felt as the large figure began to loom over him. Harry's breath became lighter and lighter. 'Please don't hurt me anymore.' He prayed.
Harry took minuscule steps backwards until he was pressed flat against a wall. He wished he could just sink in and disappear. Never, ever come back.
A massive throbbing slap sent shockwaves through Harry's body as he fell to the floor. His hand went to his cheek, over circulating with blood. His tongue went to the inside of his mouth, where blood began seeping out.
His insides felt like they were being punctured with blunt forces of pressure as Norman's foot came slamming into his abdomen.
If he lied on the floor, he knew that it wouldn't stop, he knew that he wouldn't stop.
So his legs and had a mind of their own. His body stumbled forward as he tried his best to lift himself up.
He had to leave.
He scrambled up towards his feet and towards his front door.
"Get back here, You-!"
Harry didn't hear what his father had to say, his legs were already out of his house, with the door shut behind him.
∞
Harry didn't know where his legs were taking him, but all he did was run. He ran far into the forest behind his house. The leaves left small cuts over his bare arms as the cold air was biting his cheeks. The air was thin, he was running out of breath.
He couldn't breathe.
The tears that grew inside him were stuck in his throat, causing it to radiate with an itching burning pain.
Clouded eyes blocked his vision as his left foot stumbled. His body thrashed onto a mess a sharp sticks, causing his body to shoot up in pain.
He tried to bite his bottom lips to keep his sobs from coming out, but he realized that he didn't need to.
He was deep into the woods.
He was finally alone.
He let out several gut wrenching broken sobs as he cried into his body. He shook violently as he couldn't keep his tears at bay. He wanted to die, he just wanted the pain of his everyday existence to end.
He didn't know how he could continue living this way. Bruises hiding under his long sleeve shirts, and the pillow that lied on his bed, filled up with silent tears.
He was,
"The unwanted child."
"The bastard."
"Disappointment."
Harry couldn't remember how long he was outside, all he knew was that when he cried himself to sleep, he had a burning desire, to close his eyes, and never open them again.
∞
Warm hands shook his shoulder, with such delicateness and compassion.
"Hey, are you okay?"
Cerulean eyes fluttered open. Seeing the figure startled Harry, he jumped back and scooted away. The other male in front of him, had small brown curls resting on his head and a pair of square classes on his face. He had both of his hands in front of his body, like he was approaching a wounded animal and tried to show that he meant no harm.
Harry stared wide-eyed. He couldn't say anything. He was embarrassed. Crying and falling asleep on the forest floor, and having someone he didn't know ask him if he was okay.. was something he wasn't used to.
He didn't remember that last time someone asked him if he was okay.
"I'm Peter.." The other male said, taking small steps forward. "Who are you?"
Harry was still speechless. His gazed locked upwards towards the compassionate figure. 'Why is he being so nice to me?' He didn't understand, No one was nice to him, he knew no one really cared about him.
"I'm-I'm sorry if I startled you..I have a tendency to do that... I didn't mean to.. I was just walking through the woods and I found you here.. I mean.. I wasn't looking around for you or anything I just saw you.. but I wasn't watching you or anything.. I was just.. umm.. oh crap sorry I'm rambling.."
The young boys awkwardness cracked a small smile on Harry's face.
Maybe he did care.
"I'm Harry... it's nice to meet you, Peter."
∞
For once in Harry's life. Things were finally going well. Wait, well was a major understatement.
Harry was amazing.
His first and only friend, Peter, treated him like he meant the world to him. The good night texts, and especially the good morning texts, The video chats that lasted for hours, and the days where they would spend an infinite amount of time at Peter's house. Just cuddling together, watching movies, or binge playing series of video games.
Even the days where Harry would need a type of escape. The days where his father would beat him until he "Became more of a man." Or, until Harry's bruised and bloodied body was on the verge of shutting down.
He would run over to the only escape he had.
Peter.
He would stay in his bed for hours, just crying into his chest. Begging for an explanation on why his father treated him like this. Like he was a worthless, useless pest that deserved no signs of affection.
All Peter did was listen, run his hands through Harry's hair and remind him that he would be okay. Everything would work itself out, and that he just had to be strong, just for a little while longer. The gentle kisses that were laid along Harry's numerous bruises, made him feel like eventually, everything would be alright.
∞
The late night cuddling happened more often. Before, it only occurred when Harry was upset with his father. But it transformed into a time when Harry just wanted to be held by Peter. And the small kisses laid on the bruises, found their way onto Harry's lips. Soft and delicate just like before.
Neither of them minded at all, not really.
It was relaxing.
For once in his life, all of Harry's sorrows seemed to fade away, just for a little while. He felt like he was actually appreciated by someone. His mother was dead, and his father absolutely loathed his guts, and he had no siblings to speak of.
Peter was the only person he had that he could call his.
Peter belonged to him.
And he belonged to Peter.