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Chapter 9

In the morning, Spider-Man is gone. Having spent the night on the couch, Harry all but rushes into his bedroom the next morning with a pair of painkillers and a glass of water in hand, only to see the bed woefully empty. A quick survey of the room reveals no evidence that Spider-Man had ever been there, with even his trash emptied of any bloody rags.

A shot of disappointment hits Harry right in the gut and he forced himself to sit down, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. He shouldn't be feeling this way. He shouldn't be feeling empty. What had he expected, really? For Spider-Man to stay, to join him for breakfast, to go with him to meet M.J. later? Really?

It was just ridiculous.

But the loneliness creeping at the back of his mind won't be ignored.

He can't believe it. Of all the people to fawn over, why did it have to be Spider-Man? He was perhaps the most inappropriate person to start a relationship with in the entirety of Manhattan. For starters, Spider-Man was always wearing a mask and had a terrible (amazing) habit masquerading as a vigilante. Hell, what would Norman say if he found Harry was dating a wannabe hero in latex? Oh, and what if Spider-Man's luck ran out one day and he never returned? Where would that leave Harry? Waiting aimlessly for some dead boy rotting in some back alley? Hell no.

Then there was the fact that he has no idea who Spider-Man is, or what he looks like. A growing sense of maturity meant that he no longer felt so shallow about appearances, so Spider-Man's actual appearance didn't bother him, so much as the anonymity and mystery did. He did not like liars. He had run into too many of them. Such was the fate of the famous.

Not to mention that the entire situation was just bizarre. It was like he was in a sickening Hallmark movie, not even given the dignity of a cinematic release, forever stuck on a streaming service, or worse, straight to DVD.

He must be lightheaded from sleeping on the couch. That must be it. Because it didn't make any damned sense for him to be… familiar with Spider-Man. None at all.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spots a flash of white under the bobble-head, which is standing slightly askew. He lifts up the toy, only to see a note written in very messy handwriting.

Harry,

Words can't express Thank you. I can't tell you There's no way to tell you how grateful I am to have you by my side.

Yours,

Spidey

Heat flooded his cheeks and Harry forced himself to look away from the note. Oh no.

It was official. He was screwed.

With a disgusted frown, Harry threw aside the violent pink dress-shirt that M.J. had saw fit to add to his 'try' pile. As if. He was brave and willing to wear such a colour, but the shirt itself was so sinfully disgusting, (it wasn't even ironically ugly, it was just straight up hideous) that he could never do it to himself.

"What happened to your sense of fashion?" Harry called through the stall door as he tried a mustard dress-shirt on instead.

M.J. sounded affronted, "What do you mean?"

With not even a second glance at the price tag, Harry threw the pink shirt over the door. There was no way that he would ever wear something so horrendous, much less to his father's gala that he hadn't stopped nagging him about for the last two months. No, Harry was quite determined to look presentable, thank you very much.

"…it's kind of cute!" M.J. said after a beat of silence.

"No, that – that's a crime against fashion."

The mustard shirt looked fine, but Harry didn't love it. That was usually a good indicator as any that he would probably wear it once, and then never see it again (likely stuffed at the back of his closet to live out the rest of its sorry days).

He takes it off, slightly disappointed, before picking up the next shirt off the hangar. He pulls it on over his head and buttons it up, a slow smile spreading across his face as he takes in the way it drapes off his frame. Oh. This might be the one.

"Okay, how about this one?"

Harry stepped out from the stall, waiting for M.J.'s opinion. It was a midnight blue shirt, made from a material that wasn't too thin, or too thick, and perfectly soft against his skin. It was comfortable, but Harry needed it to look good too. He thought it made his eyes 'pop' (whatever the heck that meant), but he knew M.J.'s opinion would seal the deal.

M.J. looked him up and down, nodding, "That looks so, so good. Get it. Even if you don't wear it at the gala, just get it."

"Really?"

"Yep!" M.J. said clapping her hands together triumphantly, "And go try these suits on with it. We're gonna make you look so hot."

In the end, Harry ends up buying three new dress-shirts and a nice new suit that happens to go perfectly with the blue shirt. Not to be outdone, M.J. also buys herself a new blouse and a jumpsuit too.

Lewis looked between the two of them, looking at the armful of bags. But to his credit, he maintained his professional disposition.

They visit four more stores before they tire of trying on clothes and collapse at the nearest coffee shop. Trying on clothes was exhausting. Every article that looked awful meant either a stab at the self-esteem or just straight-up disgust, whereas every great one meant the starting of a vigorous internal debate of price versus looking good. Of course, M.J. and Harry were experts, but even they got sick of shopping after a few hours.

Sipping at an iced-tea, Harry gets lost in his own thoughts, and is only shaken away by M.J.'s iron like grip on his arm.

Mary-Jane narrowed her eyes, "You're glowing."

"Sorry?"

"You're glowing, Harry. Who is it?"

"I don't know what you mean." Harry said, looking anywhere but at his friend.

Mary-Jane squealed and squeezed his hands in her own, "Awwww, you're glowing! C'mon, you have to tell me who it is. I need to know who's enchanted that icy heart of yours."

"Icy heart?" Harry felt slightly offended.

"Now come on. You've been avoiding dating for months." M.J. said, raising a well-manicured eyebrow at him; "Now who is it? It's not someone from our group is it… not Miles? Ned?"

Harry pulled a face, "No. They're great but no."

Suddenly, M.J. gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth in shock, "Oh my god, it's Flash, isn't it?"

"No! Oh my god!"

Then a beautifully evil smile crossed her face, "Oh, I know who it is-"

Harry's breath escaped his lungs and he felt a cold sweat forming at the back of his neck. Oh god. She'd figured it out. How embarrassing. Of course, it would be Harry who fell in love with the superhero. No, he couldn't be normal and go for Miles, or even Flash. No, it had to be goddamn Spider-Man. He would never hear the end of it.

"- I can't believe Peter finally made his move!" Mary-Jane cheered, pumping her fist into the air.

All the panic flooding Harry's body was rapidly replaced by confusion. Wait, what? What?

"I knew he could do it! I kept telling him – go tell Harry how you feel! And he'd be like, 'oh, no M.J. I could never do that'. And just. I KNEW IT."

"Uhh, it's not Peter."

There was an awkward beat of silence before M.J. all but deflated into her seat, her chinks pink with embarrassment. What one earth? Why the heck was M.J. so invested in his friendship with Peter? Was that normal? Sure, Harry was invested in Gwen and M.J.'s relationship working out, but why was she invested in him and Peter?!

"Forget I said anything." M.J. said quickly, waving her hand; "I was just being silly. Hahaha."

"Yeah, okay." Harry said, despite the fact that this brain was now buzzing a mile a minute. What the heck was she talking about? Peter and he had always been close, but that didn't mean anything. Hell, they hadn't spoken properly in over a year (and no, that pitiful coffee date did not count). What did she know that he didn't? Friendship circles just drove him crazy sometimes. There were always secrets here and there.

"So, who is it?" M.J. said, trying again.

"What?"

"C'mon, Harry. I only ever see you this radiant when someone's caught your eye!"

"Gee, thanks."

"You know what I mean!"

"It's nobody," Harry said, stalwartly looking at the condensation on the side of his glass.

"Harry."

"I mean it. I'm just being silly, and it'll pass like it always does. Like that hot guy who sat next to me in my Introduction to Business Practices lecture last semester."

M.J. looked crushed, and took his hand tightly in her own, "Awwww, Har. That's not true. It could be different this time."

"Thanks." Harry muttered, clasping her hand like a lifeline; "Let's not talk about me anymore. You still haven't told me how your date with Gwen went last night. Tell me everything."

"Everything?"

Harry's cheeks turned red, "Forget it. Nope. Nope. Nope."

"Too late! I'm gonna tell you everything!" M.J. sang.

On Monday, Norman forces him back to Oscorp, citing his need to "learn the ropes" and "do something with your life for goodness-sakes". All of which goes down just as fine as usual (which is to say, Harry curses out Norman very colourfully in his head but keeps such thoughts to himself).

Thankfully, there's less board-meetings this time and Harry is even allowed to tour through the labs and assist Drs Connors and Smythe with their work. Unfortunately, that means the other interns are also hanging around, which means Alistair isn't fair behind. There's something about his presence that sets Harry on edge.

Still, maintaining a sense of professionalism, Harry goes about his work, completing menial tasks around the labs while Alistair dogs his heels with a seemingly bottomless pit of questions, which Harry tries his best to answer.

"So… are you going to the gala on Saturday?"

"Sorry?"

"The gala." Alistair asked again, playing with his hands; "Are you going? Maybe we could hang out or whatever. Chill out. Shoot the breeze. Yeah."

Harry blinked as Alistair stumbled over his words, face turning as red as his hair. Weird. That is, both Alistair and his question. Of course, Harry was going to be at the gala – his father was hosting it (a fact which everyone in Manhattan knew, judging by the giant banners hanging from every available lamp-post and on the side of every bus).

"Uh, yeah. I'll be there. I guess I'll see you there?"

"Really? I mean – yeah. Yeah. No big deal. I'll see you there."

Already immersed in the documents that Connors had handed him, Harry didn't reply.

When the clock hits one, Dr Connors sets all the interns free and Harry all but sprints out of the laboratory, all too eager to escape Alistair's prying questions and wandering fingers. He ducks out onto the balcony a few floors up, which he had quickly figured out years ago was almost always empty. It was one of his favourite spots, namely because Connors kept a few harmless plants specimens lined along the balcony, and, considering the view, it was a pretty amazing spot to do homework. Most importantly, however, Alistair wasn't likely to find him here.

For a moment, he simply looks out over the city. The air is somewhat fresher all the way up here, yet he can still hear the unending chatter of the city below – sirens blaring, people rushing this way and that, and the occasional bird-song.

"Hey, Harry."

Harry jumped a foot in the air, before swivelling around. A spike of dread ran through him, until he realised that he was looking at Spider-Man and not at Alistair's leering face, or worse, Norman. To his annoyance, Spider-Man looked taller than ever, and his suit was still clinging to him in all the right places. Oh, no.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Sneak up on me!"

"Oh, uhhh, my bad?"

"Forget it," Harry said shaking his head, "What are you even doing here?"

Spider-Man rubbed his elbow, "Oh, uhhh, I'd thought I'd stop by. See how you're doing. That sort of thing."

"Shouldn't I be asking you that? Last time I saw you, you were bleeding out all over my room."

Spider-Man waved him off, "Just a few scratches. I'm fine, Har."

There was that nickname again.

"How did you know I was up here?" Harry said, fighting down a blush.

"Uhhh, lucky guess?"

Harry nodded, but did not believe it for a second. OSCORP had hundreds of balconies and floors, and the building itself was like a labyrinth. Still, he didn't think about it too much, at least not in that moment.

"Anyway, I got you a little something, so you should definitely follow me."

With a wry grin, Harry took Spider-Man's hand and let himself be led towards the far end of the balcony, only to stop quite suddenly less they both ruin the surprise laid out on the floor before them. It was a picnic blanket, laden with nibbles – cheeses, slices of meat, crackers, and a variety of other things.

Harry gaped.

"Ta da!" Spider-Man said with a dramatic flourish, urging Harry to sit beside him; "You took me under your wing, nestled me like a sick baby bird, let me bleed out on all your nice, expensive things, and I thought the least I can do is say thank you."

"Okay, but this is-"

Spider-Man pressed a silencing finger to Harry's lips, "Shhhh, nope! I'm going to stop you right there. Mister, you are going to enjoy all of this, guilt free, alright? 'cause you're the best, Har."

Needless to say, Harry took his time sampling every little thing that Spider-Man had brought for him. Somehow, everything was exactly how he liked it – the salami was face-melting levels of hot, the olives were pitted, there was even a bit of that blue-vein cheese from that one delicatessen near his old-high school (he had stopped by after school many times just to purchase some). It was surreal. Maybe Spider-Man had mind-reading powers? It was certainly a possibility.

"Time for dessert!" Spider-Man sang, before procuring a box from behind his back.

Harry opened it up and gaped at the contents, "Seriously?"

"I heard you like pancakes."

They weren't just any old pancakes, however. No, these were from Petra's Pancake Kitchen near Peter's house, which also happened to be Harry's all-time favourite destination for pancakes (he still went there sometimes, dragging Lewis across several blocks just to reach it). It was only the best pancake-kitchen of all time – which both Peter and Harry had readily agreed upon and had visited many times after school.

Harry raised an eyebrow, "Where did you hear that?"

"You told me." Spider-Man said quickly.

"I did?"

"Yep!"

After carefully dividing and devouring the pancakes between them, Harry very nearly collapsed on the picnic blanket. His stomach was full, the sky was blue, birds were singing, and an incredibly hot guy had just treated him to lunch. All in all, he was pretty content.

"You know, you never told me why that friend of yours is so lousy."

Harry looked over at Spider-Man, surprised, "I didn't think it was something you'd want to talk about."

"I'm all ears. Everyone needs to vent every now and again."

Harry took a deep breath, "Well, we're childhood friends, we've been joined at the hip from the cradle, really. We used to do everything together, we'd go to the same schools, if I signed up for an afterschool activity, so would Pete, if I started bringing gel-pens to school, so would he. And we'd share everything too – he brought one gel-pen and I had an entire case of them, but we would just share them. I liked having someone to share with."

A wave of what might have been fondness washed over him, before Harry quickly pushed it away completely. It hurt too much to think about.

"So, what happened?"

"We hit high school. He started acting all distant, he would take a LOT of sick-leave from school and I thought he might be in trouble or something, but he would never tell me about it. I wasn't sure if maybe he was being bullied, or if he'd just gotten messed up with some bad people, or hell, maybe even substances. But he wouldn't tell me. He just kept coming up with more and more excuses. And I put up with it. Then, in our senior year, I got sick of it. He ditched me for a new set of friends, he'd always run off with them. They were nice people, but I was never included. So, I cut ties with him completely."

"He sounds like an idiot. That friends of yours."

Upon hearing the harsh words, Harry's stomach turned. It felt wrong for anyone else to criticise Peter's actions. Spider-Man hadn't been there, hadn't seen everything. He didn't have the whole story, yet he was so quick to pass judgement.

Harry smiled awkwardly, "People grow apart. It's just hard, that's all."

"That's very mature of you."

"Not really. It took a while for me to think of it that way - I still get so angry sometimes." Harry let out a shuddery breath, trying to keep himself together. There it was – that tell-tale lump in his throat and wetness in his eyes as he kept himself from crying. Fuck.

Just as silence threatened to take them over, Spider-Man shifted over the blanket and wrapped an arm around Harry's shoulders. Harry was suddenly overcome by the smell of cheap soap, freshly cleaned clothes, and pancakes. It was lovely.

"We're not going to grow apart. I'm always going to be here for you, Harry."

More than anything, Harry wanted to believe him.

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