"Should we use streamers, or are those too tacky?" Harry held up the old bundle of orange, yellow, and black streamers for MJ to judge. He was sitting cross-legged across from her, harboring an old box between is legs filled to the brim with colored paper. MJ sat opposite to him on the couch, legs also crossed, rummaging through her own box, but looked up to assess his question. She pinched her lips, tilting her head to the side as if to examine them from a new angle, and shrugged.

"I don't see why we can't use them," she said, going back to her box, "but what I don't understand is why you still have all these un-used plates," she withdrew a stack of plastic Halloween plates.

Harry snorted, "That was all Peter. You know how he gets. If something wasn't used you have to save it or else you're wasting."

"But you buy new ones every year."

"I know. That's what I said, but he doesn't listen. He's the one that packs them in the box, I can't stop him."

MJ tossed them back in the box with a snort, "Yeah, that sounds like him."

Harry scrounged through his box, pulling up roll after roll of streamers, before throwing his hands up and dumping the whole thing out on his feet. "I think I need to buy new ones. These ones are all torn," he held up a long strip of the thin crepe paper mottled with tears and holes.

Admittedly, he hadn't been too gentle when he took them all down last year. Kind of just yanked and pulled and stuffed them all in the box. But imagining the disgruntled look on Peter's face if he saw them now made him grin. He'd probably say they were still useable and absolutely forbid Harry to waste money buying new ones. That was the thing about Pete, sometimes he seemed to forget Harry was rich. And that he had a reputation to uphold. If he was hosting a party for the whole school, it had to be the best of the best. Which meant no torn streamers or old plates.

"We can head out to go buy new ones later," Harry said, sweeping over the mounds of old party decorations they were going through. He already figured that they would have to, but he wanted to go through the old boxes anyway, for Peter's sake. It was something they did every year, and while Peter insisted they re-use their old decorations, Harry always managed to convince him to buy new ones.

Besides, it was fun watching Peter get cross-eyed as their bill went up.

Harry picked up the streamers up dumped them back in their box, trying to ignore the pestering ache in his heart. Even talking about Peter hurt. He couldn't go an afternoon of party-planning without feeling the hollow interior of his chest bleed.

Things would be so much better if Peter was here party-planning with him and MJ. They always had a blast doing it, sometimes even more fun than the party itself. Somehow, even cleaning up later, Peter made it bearable. Which is weird, because he was also the reason Harry cleaned it up at all, and not the hired help.

But that's just how all the Parkers were. They saved money and cleaned up after themselves. Harry figured that was just how they've always done it. Sometimes he forgot his friends weren't rich, which might sound bad, but it was still the undeniable truth. After growing up knowing that he had money for anything he wanted, it was hard to lift that gold film up over his eyes and realize that it wasn't the same for everyone.

So he tried extremely hard not to rub is wealth in anyone's face. Yeah, sometimes he made passing jokes to Peter - like that he'll buy him a bus company so he wouldn't be late (which Harry could) - but it was all in good fun. Besides, it's not like Peter would ever accept it. None of the Parkers would. They liked earning things with their own hands and hard work, which could be extremely endearing as much as it could be irritating.

Harry couldn't count how many times Peter had a near panic attack when he bought him something expensive for his birthday. His birthday. Those shouldn't count! Just because the present was expensive, doesn't mean Harry was wasting money. He liked getting things like that for Peter, May, and MJ.

MJ never had a problem with it. So maybe it was just a Parker thing.

Harry chuckled softly to himself, feeling the ache alleviate a little. The Parkers were a good group of people, even if they wouldn't let him dote on them. He bundled the box up in his hands and headed toward the kitchen where he could dump them down the trash chute. Peter would be absolutely aghast, but it had to be done.

But just as he rounded a corner, Harry hit something solid and stumbled back, nearly dropping his cargo.

"Oh, sorry dad," he said once he was stable again. "Didn't see you there."

"Yes, yes, Harry," Norman brushed off, not even looking at him, with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. "No not you, I told you to get those news hounds off my back...No, I don't care...that's YOUR job, not mine..."

Harry rolled his eyes and skirted around his dad. Whoever was at the receiving end of his rage today, Harry pitied them.

"Oh, and Harry," Harry turned back to his dad, "I scheduled an appointment with Dr. Kafka. She'll be at that..." Norman paused, and put his phone from his mouth, clamping a hand over it just in case, "at that SHIELD school. It's at 1:00, don't be late."

Harry nearly tripped again, "But - but dad," he sputtered, walking after him. "I told you I didn't want to go. I -"

"Harry," Norman warned, "You are going and not another word about it. It's for your own good, and you will do it because I said so." With that, he turned briskly and walked over, before Harry even had the chance to argue.

He stood there for a solid minute, before clutching the box with new fervish and stomping into the kitchen. He thrust the garbage chute open and dumped the boxes content inside, before slamming it shut again.

This was so unfair! Harry didn't need to see Dr. Kafka again. He didn't want to. Why couldn't his dad just stay out of it and leave him alone, like he used to?

Almost instantly, Harry deflated. No. No, he didn't want that. He didn't want Norman to go back to ignoring him, and thinking of him as a disappointment.

But still, Harry was so...was so...angry. Dr. Kafka helped him, yes. But he wasn't in such a bad shape anymore. Sleep was...well, it wasn't coming any easier, but that could be fixed with time...he thinks. It's not like she could talk the nightmares away! Or - or make Harry stop jumping from shadows. It was all so...so...

Shoulder sagging, Harry grabbed the box with one hand and trudged back to the living room. MJ was still there, digging for treasure through their decoration boxes, but stopped once Harry slumped into the couch.

She didn't need to say anything, but Harry sees her peer into his line of vision.

"Ran into my dad," he mumbled. "Just had...a disagreement..."

She nodded, mouthing a small "oh," and disappeared from his view again. "So, what was it about this time?"

Harry's fingers curl into his pants and he wonders if MJ noticed that he stopped breathing. They were treading on a light subject now. He hasn't told anyone about his therapy sessions. MJ and Peter were his best friends, but, well, he just couldn't find the words to tell them. They were so strong all the time, and Harry...wasn't.

He couldn't hold a light to either of them Sometimes he wondered how he managed to get friends like them at all. Nothing seemed to knock them down, and then...there was Harry. Unable to go to school because he had a nightmare.

He's pathetic.

"Har?" MJ said, more concerned this time. "Are you okay?"

That's when Harry realized he was shaking. He swallowed the small block in his throat and shot her a wan smile. "Yeah," he squeaked, "I'm fine."

Oh, and there's that look. That look MJ gets whenever she knows that they're hiding something. Heaven knows how many times he's seen her give Peter that look when he blew them off.

"No, really, MJ," Harry jumps to his feet before she can interrogate him, "I'm - I'm fine. C'mon, let's get this cleaned and we can go shopping." He grabbed the closest box but halted when MJ's hand lands on his shoulder.

"Harry," her voice is excruciatingly soft. "You're not fine. What's wrong?"

Harry opened his mouth, but every single word he knew suddenly vanished. Scattering like a bunch of criminals under MJ's flashlight. He openly flounders for a few seconds before shaking his head.

"Okay," she conceded, "You don't have to tell me. It's okay. But Harry, please don't pretend you're okay. I know something's up, and if you don't want to tell me, that's fine, but don't pretend you're okay either."

He wants to claw his own voicebox out and replace it with a new better one. Cause a part of him does want to tell her. Gosh, he wants to tell her everything so he can at least get rid of this pressure on his chest, but every time he even thinks about it, an anvil falls from the ceiling and hits his head like in those cartoons he used to watch.

It must've shown on his face, or perhaps MJ was just some mystical divine being because she didn't pester him. Didn't try to pry his mouth open and force the words out. Instead, she pulled Harry into a hug and told him it was going to be okay. And he hugs back feverishly, unable to voice how much that means to him.

"Don't withdraw, Har," she says into his shoulder, "Don't tell me if you don't want to, but don't hide it away either. It's gonna hurt you. Believe me. It'll hurt you every time," there's an urgency in her voice that Harry's never heard before. A type of experienced lilt on her tongue that makes him think she knows what she was talking about, and he hugs her tighter. "Do what you need to do to take care of yourself," she continues, "it's okay to do that. Don't let the hurt keeping getting to you without putting up a fight."

Harry nodded mutely. They stay embraced for a few seconds more before they break. MJ looks him in the eye, smiles, and ruffles his hair, and returns her attention to the boxes.

After a minute or so of calming himself down, Harry joins her. They work in silence, but it's comfortable. Sometimes you don't need to fill the space with words. Just a trusting presence.

To be honest, Harry felt as though he could trust Dr. Kafka. She's helped him so much about the Venom incident, and the recent Anti-Venom incident. The thought of having to go to her again for a third incident was daunting, and somewhat embarrassing if he were being honest. But maybe MJ was right.

Maybe...he did need to take care of himself first.

He definitely couldn't help Peter when he was like this.

Silently, he made up his mind.

He was going to see Dr. Kafka again. Not because Stormin' Normin told him to. But because he needed to take care of himself, so in turn, he could take care of Peter when they found him.

WHOO! It's back! :D :D

I decided to update today cause its a special day!

My birthday! And I love writing fanfic, so what better way than to update one of my stories? RM is back baby!

That's all I have for today.

-OfficialUSMWriter out!