Author's note: Hey there everyone. This is my first fanfic ever so please give me honest opinions in your reviews. I welcome all kinds—flames or compliments, they, believe it or not, both make me feel like my work is worth reading. Anyways, this chapter was set to be longer, but I instead cut it short so that I could have more in chapter 2. Besides, I've been dying to get this thing up here. I've kind of been debating on whether or not I want to have any sexuality going between the two men in this fic, so just leave me your thoughts in your reviews. Thanks. Well, I hope you enjoy.

Dear Mr. Osborn,

We may have not met personally, but through the media I believe we've grown to know one another slightly. As you know, I am the former fiancé of the lovely Mary Jane Watson, and I've come to see that ever since she left me on our wedding day, I can't get her out of my head. Let's face it—I'm still madly in love with her, yet don't want this to be so. I understand that you and Mary Jane had past relationships, and I was going to ask you if you and I could meet up somewhere so that we could discuss how you got over such heartache. Perhaps you could give me some advice as to how I can get over Mary Jane. Please, Mr. Osborn, I beg of you, phone me as soon as you receive this letter. I'm in terrible need of advice, and I think it'd be better if we talk in person.

Thanks,

Captain John Jameson

Harry Osborn, after reading the letter, set it on the end table to the right of the chair that he was seated in. He honestly didn't know what to think about it (of course, he hardly ever thought whenever he was drunk). For one, he was slightly disgusted that Jameson still hadn't gotten over Mary Jane, especially with him being the man of great masculinity and bravado that he was. But then, he had to put himself in his position.

Harry knew how hard it had been to get over MJ when they were dating awhile back, and putting himself in John's situation—having her, a woman he loved, walk out on him on their wedding day—he could partly understand the emotional pain that he was explaining. Then Harry began to think about why John would call to him. Sure, he and MJ had gone through a lot, but why didn't he go to the one man that went through an almost identical situation—Peter Parker? The answer came to him quickly.

Harry knew just as well as John did that Parker was with MJ at this very second. Who knows what kind of sins they were lavishing upon one another, on this romantic, Saturday evening? Jameson might have fainted of crucial heartache and jealousy if the thought that was in Harry's head was in his.

Suddenly Harry began to think also about John's jealousy. In the long run, it could benefit them both. He began to hatch a scheme so simple yet so awesome that its greatness couldn't even wait a week for it to be unleashed. Rummaging through his pocket, the intoxicated being grabbed his cellular phone and brought it to his face. Pressing its tiny buttons and searching through the phone's contacts, he found the tiny text reading "J. Jameson" and pressed the "send" button. He then brought the phone to his ear and waited as it rang.

The melody of John Jameson's cell phone rang loud and long as the silence of his apartment was interrupted. John was already in bed, sound asleep, when he was rudely awakened. Falling out of bed, John stumbled to his feet and jogged in his under shorts to the living room where the ring was coming from. He must've forgotten to take it out of his coat pocket when he had come in earlier that night. Digging into the pocket of his jacket on the coat rack, he pulled out the flashing, vibrating object and flipped it open.

"Hello?" John had a hint of exhaustion in his voice.

"Jameson—it's Harry. I called about your letter?" John knew he was drunk.

"Harry? Haven't you any idea what time it is?" asked John, scratching his head and placing himself on the couch of his abode.

"Uh, no I haven't. I just got home and saw your letter on my desk."

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"No! What makes you say that?"

"Well, I kind of just guessed since you called at, what? Midnight?" John replied, "And plus, you don't talk as slow when you're sober."

"OK, so I had a few shots, but that's not the point. The point is, where do you want to meet up tomorrow so can, uh, 'talk'?" said Harry.

"I don't really care where we meet up, just as long as we do. You don't know how long I've had her in my head—I'm going to go insane if I don't get help."

"Well, maybe this is a situation that a professional should deal with." Harry replied, seeing that this could be far out of his hands. Then, remembering his plan, quickly added, "But I'll see if I can help out any first."

"Yeah, that'd be great," John answered. "Besides, I don't want to go spending my cash on some guy who'll only tell me to 'get over it'. It's just not that simple, y'know?"

"Uh, I guess so."

John chuckled. "Yeah, you're definitely drunk. But furthermore, how's about we meet up tomorrow for lunch? Where would you like to eat?"

"Let's go to 'Sky-View Terrace'."

"Are you joking? That place is always packed—especially with it being 'tourist season'."

"I'll make reservations."

"Yeah, sure," chuckled John. "I'll call you in the morning to remind you. Now, I gotta get back to bed."

"Yeah, I guess I should catch some winks as well. Talk to you later."

"Bye."

John hung up the phone and chuckled. It was nice to be able to laugh about something, especially with the internal pain he was dealing with practically every day. Even on days that he was terribly busy Mary Jane Watson seemed to fight her way to the brim of his thoughts. But now John had Harry, and he was confident that he would aid him in getting over his painful infatuation with his ex.

Feeling the drowsiness beginning to overcome him, John got up and walked back to his room. After crawling back into bed, he turned on his side to stare into the face of Mary Jane in photograph form at his bedside table. "It'll all be over soon," John reassured himself, coldly gazing into MJ's most innocent eyes, "and I'll finally be able to live again." Without any other word, John crushed the picture with a hard swing of his fist, only the sound of glass hitting the floor being heard. "I'll finally be able to live again."

Harry was awoken the next morning by the sun's bright ray's shining onto his face. Squinting as he opened his eyes, he saw the figure of the new maid, Isabella, opening the curtains. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You've already slept past ten, sir," Isabella said, her voice heavily accented, "and, according to that sticky note on that shot glass, you've got a lunch date."

"Jameson…that's right." Cursing as he stood up, Harry headed over to the maid and handed her a crisp twenty-dollar bill. "Thanks."

"Oh, I cannot accept this money." Isabella knew he was having a hangover, and it was rumored amongst the other maids that whenever Harry Osborn handed you free money, he'd accuse you of stealing it later. "Please, good sir, I don't want it."

"Fine then." Harry dropped the bill on the floor. "Vacuum it up later." Then he slowly exited the room and headed towards the bathroom. In a matter of minutes he was inside the shower, letting the soothing water consume his weary body. He began to think about his conversation with Jameson last night. Where had they decided to eat?

"Dammit!"

Remembering that they were to dine at "Sky-View Terrace", Harry flew out of the shower and ran towards the phone, wrapping a towel around his waist as he did so. Isabella cursed a few words in her native tongue as she saw Harry drip water all over the floor, knowing that she'd have to mop it up later on.

When Harry reached the phone, he took the phonebook next to it and hustled to find the restaurant's number. It was only ten forty-five; Harry thought surely that they'd still have open reservations. Harry quickly found the number and then pressed the digits into the phone. When they picked up, Harry made himself sound quite professional, as if he hadn't gulped down exactly 11 glasses of Tequila the night before:

"Hello, this is Sky-View Terrace; would you like to make a reservation?"

"Yes, please. This is Harry Osborn, president of Oscorp. I'd like to make a reservation for a party of two at exactly twelve o'clock."

"Exactly noon?" the voice on the phone seemed to be confused.

"You heard what I said. Now, I want the table to be near a window—my friend would like to see the city."

"Well, sir, we can't guarantee that—"

"I said I wanted a sky view. Do so or heads will roll."

"Uh, yes sir! N-now, what was the reservation under?"

"Osborn."

"Alright sir. We'll get that table reserved right away. See you at noon."

The two hung up, and then Harry proceeded to get himself dressed. Tossing on a pair of boxers and tugging on some of his cozy long black socks, Harry then got himself spiffed up in one of his trademark business suits.

By the time Harry had completed fixing his hair, brushing his teeth, and so on, it was nearly eleven, and he knew that the drive to the Terrace took about forty-five minutes. Thus, he grabbed his necktie and attempted to tie it on as he bolted out the door and into his limousine.

"Where to, Mr. Osborn?" asked the driver as he opened the door for Harry to enter.

"Sky-View Terrace," Replied Harry, climbing into the vehicle, "and step on it."

Soon the limo was on the highway headed towards the Terrace. The driver was focused on the road while Harry was concentrated on other things. What was he going to say to Jameson? According to their blurry conversation that the two had had the previous night, the situation wasn't as simple as Harry thought it would be. He'd have to give this guy some genuine love advice, something that he wasn't very experienced with. Pondering the thoughts of how he got over MJ, he wasn't too surprised that he recollected the thoughts of gulping down Bacardi and staring at her picture. But then Harry remembered his plan. He'd have to convince John that his pain was caused by someone else, not by just Mary Jane. And who was this 'someone'? It was Spiderman.