"I want you to move in, permanently."

The sentence nearly made Peter choke on his cereal because while he liked Happy and was grateful that he had been allowed to crash at the penthouse when he was injured, broke even on his bills and couldn't buy groceries or if he just wanted access to some internet that didn't run at a snail's pace, he wasn't sure that moving in was the correct step forward.

"Uh, no."

"Why not? You're here more than you're at your own place."

"Thanks for that, I just," he stopped to swallow the roughness in his throat from where the food had scratched his throat, "this current situation works, so why shouldn't we stick with it?"

He didn't let himself add the fact that those who took him in usually ended up dead because of Spider-Man.

"Just think about it. I'll accept whatever decision you make, but think it through."

Peter nodded with a mouthful of Fruit Loops even though he knew that he couldn't say yes. 'I can't let him get hurt too.'

…

Peter didn't go to Happy's penthouse for three days after the breakfast conversation and he knew that it was because he couldn't figure out a way to say the obvious.

'People who stick around either get hurt or worse.'

And despite the texts from Happy going from 'I'm ordering pizza tonight' to 'text me back soon' and the ones in between slowly getting more urgent and worried, he couldn't get his fingers to text back.

He was hoping he could avoid it forever, but he also knew that nothing ever worked out the way he wanted it to.

Sure enough, when day four was closing in on him, he found himself with his right arm over his rib cage whilst swinging one-handed to the penthouse as blood leaked down from his forehead into his left eye. He had tried to repair the wound in his chest with some webs as makeshift bandages, but no luck as blood quickly started to seep through them.

He only remembered that when he crawled into the window of the penthouse and sprawled out onto the floor, however, he hadn't returned any of Happy's calls or texts but his vision was dimming and he knew he couldn't keep himself awake any longer.

Peter winced as he breathed, his chest throbbing as he fumbled for his phone whilst trying to blink away the blood; he opened Happy's contact and managed to type something before succumbing to unconsciousness with one thought looming in his mind.

'Hopefully, he isn't angry.'

…

"Happy, I'm sor-shit!" Peter was cut off from his apology by searing pain as he wrapped his suit-clad fingers around the edge of the frayed, blood-stained towel he was currently laying on.

"Never text me 'I'm sorry' after going radio silent for four days ever again," Happy said, trying to hold back on his angry worry and putting extra emphasis on the word "never" as he pulled blood soaked webs away from the eighteen-year-old's chest, "it's like you're trying to give me a heart attack."

It wasn't until he managed to stop the bleeding with a few makeshift stitches and covered the wound with a gauze pad that Peter's breath slowed to much more normal levels.

"I didn't want to make you angry."

"God, Peter, I'm not-" Happy sighed with exasperation as he started cleaning the wound on Peter's forehead, having to hold onto his wrist to keep him from jolting from the sting, "You scared the shit out of me. I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at myself."

All he got in return was a raised eyebrow as he put the antiseptic-soaked gauze in the wastebasket with the rest of the medical waste and grabbed a large Band-Aid from the first aid kit that was on the floor next to him.

"I should have made sure that you knew that this was a safe place for you and all I did was push you away."

"Happy, I just…" Peter exhaled sharply as the Band-Aid was applied before continuing, "I can't endanger you. You're all I have left."

Happy couldn't stop himself from helping Peter from sitting up so he could wrap his arms around him; he wasn't much of a hugger before the Blip, but that whole series of events was enough to put life in perspective for everyone.

"You're moving in, because I need to know you're safe."

He expected Peter to protest, to pull out of the hug and swing out of the window and disappear from his life once again, but instead, the eighteen-year-old just gripped onto him tighter and whispered with a shaking voice.

"Thank you."