definitely not spider-man

[on a napkin from the cafeteria, in rushed, cramped writing, slipped into the hood of Peter’s sweatshirt during English: Monday]

[scribbled on the back of a page of used graph paper, stuck onto Dean's seat in math class: Tuesday]

✉ (same age, younger!dean/older!peter)

[on a crumpled sheet of notebook paper, covered in scribbles and cross-outs, slipped through the crack in Dean’s locker: Monday]

Harry’s smirk is dangerously close to a genuine smile as he tightens his grip on Peter’s arm and leans just a bit more into him. Always. God, that word sounds fantastic in the context. He can’t help himself; he leans his head against Peter’s arm, just enjoying the sensation of physical closeness.

"Ah, right." Peter grins. "Good thing you're rich, isn't it."

That’s easy for you to say gets stuck in his throat, knowing that he can’t snap at Peter right now. He doesn’t have the strength. So instead of arguing, he collapses into Peter’s touch, arms desperately winding around the taller boy’s torso, his head cradled in the space between Peter’s neck and shoulder.

Peter's brows furrow. He never wants Harry to feel like this again--but he doesn't know what he can do to prevent that. Maybe it was all just in the past, and Harry won't... But Peter has personal experience with this, of course, and he knows intimately how easy it is to relapse...

Harry accepts the arm that is offered to him, dragging himself to his feet, brushing the grass off of his absurdly expensive pants (and who gives a fuck, there’s always more where they came from). As he stands, he contemplates Peter’s offer. On the one hand, work: continuing to clean up the mess of a business he’d been left, dealing with the board members, playing the part of the put-together CEO and having to hide how utterly inept he felt at it all… On the other hand Aunt May’s— even the thought of Peter’s house feels more like home than anything he’d experienced in years. He smiles to himself as he watches the sun sink behind the distant skyscrapers.

"Always," Peter replies, trying for sarcasm and missing his mark, hitting just past painfully sincere. "I always want to be around you." No, no snark there at all, just truth. He ducks his head and looks anywhere but right at Harry, hoping to hide the light blush on his cheeks.

Harry leaned in to Peter just a bit more, resting his head against him, a small genuine smile slowly taking the place of the forced one. For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself a luxury he was normally adamant in denying: imagining a future. A future in which he and the two people he loved most in the world had the time for roadtrips, full of off-key singing, showtunes blaring from the radio, cheesy polaroid snapshots. A future in which he was healthy, and Peter was emotionally available, and Gwen realized that her true worth did not lie solely in what she could provide for others. A future with the three of them living together in England, far from all they were facing now. A future…

Peter-- well, Peter surreptitiously sniffed Harry's hair, but he wasn't about to admit he did it (even to himself), so he pretended he was straightening the strands to be a little less messy. With his nose.