Based on the PS4 Spider-Man game before the events of the game actually transpired. This is the day before Harry leaves for his "trip to Europe."

This is an established relationship. They've been dating for a little over two years, MJ is Peter's ex, but they're all still friends.

I love Parksborn very much, and I can't wait to see Harry in the Insomniac "Spider-Man" sequel. I'm going to savor every interaction.

In the meantime, enjoy this!

Harry wakes up too soon.

He knows this the moment he opens his eyes, and he quickly shuts them again. If no one saw it, then it didn't happen right? If he relaxed enough, sleep would take him again and he wouldn't have to deal with today just yet.

But the sun is filtering through the semi-transparent blinds, and while it's not blinding it fills the room with muted light that infiltrates his eyelids with the subtlety of a secret spy.

No, his brain whines. Not yet. I'm not ready.

He thought he'd have a little more time. But like a string softly tugging on his subconscious, he rises out of his lethargy until he is just lying in bed with his eyes closed, not even bothering to pretend.

No, he thinks stubbornly, and turns over so it's easier to ignore the disgustingly cheerful sun. If his alarm clock didn't go off yet, that means he isn't obligated to get up, which means it's his sworn duty to savor these precious few minutes of freedom. He doesn't actually know how much time he has left, or what time it is at all, but if he's awake that means his alarm isn't far off.

Despite how much he wishes he could freeze this moment, there's no avoiding today. And as much as his heart pangs at the thought, he can't outrun time. Staring at the sleeping man swaddled in blankets next to him, Harry wishes he could.

Peter hasn't stirred yet, but he has the tendency to sleep like a brick. Like a man who'll never get the chance to sleep again, and not even a full marching band could wake him once he entered his brain-induced coma.

But he looks peaceful. His messy brown hair is in tangles against the pillows, and his mouth is barely parted as he breathes softly. The blankets are twisted around his middle, with a leg sticking out the bottom end, and his chest and arms poking out the top. Harry's eyes travel up the bare expanse of Peter's skin, lingering on the faded marks on his chest, shoulders, and neck. The hickies Harry left last night were already almost gone. Dammit . He put a lot of work into those.

Why did Peter have to heal from his love bites so quickly? Harry would be impressed if it didn't irk him.

With an annoyed huff, he sank back against the pillow, scowling at Peter's throat. Until his eyes roamed back to that soft, peaceful face and he couldn't hold onto his irritation. It's moments like this that Harry treasures, after all, when Peter is standing still long enough for him to get a good look.

There wasn't a thing he wouldn't do for Peter, but hell the guy never stopped moving. He was always late for something, or making plans, or running off last-minute, even though the restaurant won't hold their table forever and they're going to miss their reservation if he doesn't stay put right now . Harry was going to glue his butt to a chair one of these days.

Which is why seeing him like this, relaxed and in one place, is a treat.

It makes his heartache even worse.

But at least it's an opportunity to commit that face to memory. Graft every line, strand of hair, and twitch in his brain, because it was going to be a while before he saw it again. He wanted to stitch Peter into a book that he could read every day. A movie he could watch over and over again. A jacket Harry could wrap around his shoulders and take him everywhere he went.

But he'd settle for this.

He's been trying to cram a lot of memories into his brain as of late. The evening sun as it sets in the horizon. The twinkle of the city at night. The sound of rain pattering on the windows. The falling leaves in Central Park as temperatures dropped. The taste of genuine New York pizza. The sound of Peter's laugh. The warmth of his arms when he held Harry.

Last night had been a goldmine of memories that he was going to keep locked in his brain, for his viewing pleasure only. Things like the taste of sweat on Peter's skin. The sounds he made when you hit the right spot. The way he panted Harry's name when he was close. The touch of his hands as they roamed Harry's back. The way he pressed his lips against Harrys'. Against his neck, and his collarbone, and his chest, and his –

Harry closed his eyes with a sigh. His only wish was that he could've been more receptive. He wished he kissed Peter more. Rolled his hips a little slower. Took his time and mapped out every inch of Peter's body. They'd spent the entire day together, visiting old haunts, favorite diners, watching horror movies that neither of them had the time to see in theaters. Enjoying each other's company for the sake of enjoying each other's company, not just as boyfriends but as companions.

Peter muttered something in his sleep and Harry smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes, but his hand twitched and trembled the moment it was lifted. His smile faded and he dropped his hand back by his side, looking over his shoulder anxiously in case someone might've seen. And then felt ridiculous for it.

This is why he couldn't stay any longer. It was getting harder to hide the symptoms. Muscle spasms, headaches; the tics, twitches, and pains. Peter was never the observational type, but he's a brilliant guy and it's only a matter of time before he notices something is wrong. Maybe he already suspects.

Harry isn't immune to the looks Peter gives him when he thinks Harry isn't paying attention. Concern etched between his eyebrows that Harry wants to smooth out, and a dip in his lips that he wants to lift back up.

Is it because he's afraid that Peter's going to pity him? Or is it because Peter knowing will only make his sickness feel that much more real?

But he deserves to know, he thinks. Peter's always been there for me, through thick and thin. Shouldn't he know about this too?

Deep down, Harry thinks he does. Peter should know about this and he should tell him. And MJ too. The two people who've been a constant in his life ever since he was a kid.

But there's something else. Something personal. Inheriting the same disease as his mother felt too close to his heart, as strange as that sounds. When she died, it was one of the hardest things he's had to go through. It's the kind of pain and heartache he didn't want to see reflected in Peter and MJ's eyes.

Besides, if he'd told Peter earlier, than yesterday wouldn't have been another date, or another afternoon of movies and fun. It would've been a goodbye. A real goodbye.

The chances of this treatment working were low enough as it is, and as much as Peter would try to keep himself in check, he wouldn't be able to hide his sorrow. His laugh wouldn't have been so warm, and his teasing more controlled. Hell, he probably would've bypassed sex all together, too afraid it would wipe Harry out. Which wasn't exactly wrong, he'd been a lot more tired than usual afterward, but that wasn't the point. He wanted their normalcy. He didn't want things to be different on his last night home.

They've only been together for a little over a year, and Harry treasured every day. He didn't want their record marred with tears, or hidden concern, or treating him like glass.

Still, the guilt pricks at him like a fine needle and Harry finds himself reconsidering. Better now than at his funeral, right?

Don't think like that, he scolded himself. Keep it positive. There's a chance the treatment will work, that's why we're doing this in the first place.

That's why he's lying.

He told Peter and MJ that he was going to Europe for health reasons, which wasn't a total lie, but it wasn't exactly true either. He wasn't actually going to Europe at all, in fact. It was a lie fabricated by his father. Peter would go with him to the airport to see him off, but Harry wouldn't be getting on a plane. He'd be jumping right into a different car and heading back to Oscorp to go into stasis.

His dad hadn't gone into detail about it, and if he did Harry didn't remember. But it was to keep him healthy and stable as the treatment was developed. He wasn't sure how long he was going to be there or how long this was going to take, which is why he lied about going to Europe. It gave him an excuse to go off the grid for a while without worrying MJ or Peter. They'd send him messages, and call him, but sometimes those don't reach him while traveling abroad, so it's not something they would be concerned about.

Still, was it better to let Peter in on the secret now? Just tell him that they don't need to go to the airport, all he needs to do is walk Harry down to the lab. What would Peter think? He'd probably be miffed that Harry didn't tell him sooner, for one. Shocked at the revelation that he was dying. Concerned that he was going into a medically induced coma for his own safety.

Harry snorted softly. Knowing Peter, he'd try to come by and visit him every day, and work on a cure in his spare time even if Norman hired the best scientists and medical professionals to do it. But Peter needed to focus on his work with Doctor Octavius – it's only been a few weeks since he got the job and he talks about it constantly. It's the kind of work his brain was made for and Harry would hate to take him away from that, unintentionally or not.

But still...

The words sit heavy on his tongue, eagerly waiting to make the leap out. It's just a few simple words, " I have Oshtoran Syndrome ," and POOF! The cats out of the bag. No more secrets.

Harry opens his mouth, if just to get the taste off his tongue, but before he can whisper them into empty air, he's interrupted by a shrill beeping, and he takes it as a sign from the universe. Turning over, he hit snooze on the alarm, but he wasn't fast enough.

Next to him, Peter stirred, grumbling and digging his face into the pillow, before blearily looking up. His hair is even more mussed and falling in all sorts of directions; he smiled sleepily, beaming at Harry like a doofus. Like Harry was the best thing to wake up to and it squishes his heart in a clamped fist.

"G'morning," he mumbles.

Harry smiled, sliding closer, "Good morning."

"How long have you been awake?"

"Not very long," he said, brushing Peter's hair aside to place a kiss on his forehead. "Just thought I'd take a moment to mourn this mess of a mop on your head before I go. It's a travesty. I can still leave you some of that conditioner I was telling you about."

Peter snorted, snuggling up closer to him like a human koala, "That stuff costs more than I do."

"Consider it a gift."

Another snort buried in Harry's clavicle, "I'm going to sell it online and pay off my student debt."

"Maybe I can give some to MJ and she can convince you to do something about all," Harry gestured to his head, "this."

"Oh shush, you like my hair."

"No, I don't," he lied, running his fingers through said hair, catching all those lovely knots and tangles as he went, "Look at this, it's like a bear trap."

Peter grumbled nonsensically, a response that would only make sense to a sleep-addled brain, and Harry smiled, sliding an arm around his waist. The other man happily put his head on Harry's chest, dozing contently.

He was taller than Peter, but Peter was thicker than him. Stockier. He had more muscle on his bones, and more broadness in his shoulders. Harry, on the other hand, was all long limbs and thin stature. Where Peter was a sturdy oak, he was a willow tree. It didn't help that he's been getting gaunter lately. Eating has become a struggle and it's getting harder to remember tasks for basic health, like brushing his teeth, and seeing sunlight.

Peter's commented on it a few times, so it's only a matter of time before he confronts him about it.

Harry supposes he'll just have to distract him.

He places another kiss on top of Peter's hair, and Peter responds by placing a sleepy one against Harry's chest and curling his arms around him. But Peter doesn't stop there and continues his string of lazy kisses until he'd traveled up Harry's neck and arrived at his face. At this position he has to crane his neck, and he looks a little more awake as he plants a victorious kiss to Harry's lips like he found a treasure chest at the end of a map.

"Good morning," he mumbles, voice now a pleasant rumble that makes Harry's groin stir.

"You already said that."

"Good morning again."

Harry hums, getting lost in Peter's lips for a few minutes and letting all his previous worries melt into Peter's natural warmth. He slid his hands up and down Peter's back, appreciating the rise of and fall of his muscles, and all the sensitive grooves that made the other man jump. They're interrupted when the snooze button finally catches up to them and Peter breaks apart to reach over and turn it off for good.

"I guess today's the day," he said, sadly looking down at him. "We should probably get up."

Get up so Harry can come back. Leave just so he can be put into a coma. All he wants to do is lay in bed with Peter forever, and never get up. The feeling overwhelms him, like an undulating wave washing onto a beach, and he wraps his arms around Peter's neck before he can go.

"Why the rush? Don't tell me you're that eager to get rid of me."

"Ha, in your dreams, Osborn," Peter said, and then smiled cheekily, "You're the one who's always complaining about me never being on time. Don't tell me I've rubbed off on you already."

Harry's eyes gleamed, "I think you rubbed off on me plenty last night."

The sound Peter made in his throat makes Harry laugh. At the beginning of their relationship he would've never said something so bold. Coming to terms with his sexuality had been hard, especially with his dad looming over his shoulder. Dating Peter was like putting himself back in high school. He was a stuttering, blushing mess as he tried to figure out this new playing field. He'd gotten good at pretending to like women, to his dad at least, so exploring a relationship - both romantic and sexual - with Peter was an interesting new area.

He's relaxed more, especially in light of his new condition. It's amazing what a life-threatening disease can do to someone's confidence. Or their self-control at least. What was the point in being so concerned about what someone might say if he's going to die anyway?

He frowned, the subject of his earlier thoughts coming back.

"Hey," Peter said, leaning down, braced on his very impressive forearms so he wouldn't crush the man under him. Harry would've enjoyed the way his muscles bulged if Peter didn't take his chin in his hand. "You'll be back before you know it, Har. I know you probably won't get them, but I'll call you every day."

"You won't remember," Harry said, turning over Peter's hand to kiss his knuckles.

Peter huffed, rolling his eyes, " Come on , I'm trying to be romantic here."

"Take your time, it's not like I have anywhere to be."

More grumbling on Peter's part, but he's smiling, "Well, I'm going to try calling every day. I'll keep you posted on the family of pigeons nesting on my roof."

"Mr. and Mrs. Ruffles?"

"And their soon-to-be hatchling."

"I'm going to want pictures," Harry warned, "And a video when the egg hatches."

"Consider it done."

What was he doing? Talking as if he were really going on a vacation. He wasn't even leaving the state, for crying out loud. The words pile in Harry's throat again, suddenly desiring to tell Peter everything. To explain why his hands were shaking all the time and why he looks so pale. Why he's been angrier, and agitated, and exhausted. Why he has trouble sleeping.

"Peter," he says, but when those brown eyes look at him, the words wither and die. They're so carefree and happy. So unstressed and relaxed. Peter barely looks like that anymore, and Harry savored the fact that he always looks that way around him. A part of him is smug at the fact, actually.

Maybe he's just deflecting or justifying his lying, Harry didn't know, and he doesn't want to dig any deeper to find out. This is a secret he'll keep buried until he returns.

If he returns.

Shaking the thought away, Harry smiled coyly, "How about you send me off on a good note?"

Peter arched an eyebrow, "Was last night not good enough for you?"

"I did all the work."

"You said you wanted to."

Harry snickers, grabbing Peter by the back of his head and pulling him into a deep kiss, "I did want to," he mumbles against his lips, "I loved making you feel good. I'd do it all over again."

Peter hummed, pressing his forehead against Harry's, "Is it my turn to make you feel good, then?"

"I think it's only fair I get a going away gift."

"My company is your going away gift," Peter griped, but he's a bit too busy flipping through the blankets, looking for the bottle of lube they'd tossed around last night, to put any heat into it.

Eagerly, Harry scooted up and reached into the nightstand for a condom, and Peter resurfaced with the lube victoriously a moment later. He squeezes Harry's thighs, smiling radiantly, "Now, where were we?"

"Right over here," Harry said, curling his hands around Peter's neck and pulling him down.

And for a moment he can forget about his sickness and the dread coiling in his stomach. He doesn't have to think about how much he's going to miss New York, or MJ and Peter. As Peter stretches him open and peppers his skin with kisses and bites, Harry memorizes every hitch, every ache, every spike of pleasure, and burns it into his memory. His hands tremble, so he digs them into Peter's shoulders as he eases himself inside, and they groan together as Peter bottoms out.

His body is already exhausted, but Peter takes his time. He isn't fast or rough, it's slow and easy, as if he was savoring every minute too. It pulls at Harry's insides and he buries his fingers in Peter's hair, tugging softly.

"I love you," he whispers, eyes squeezing shut and back arching when Peter hits that sweet spot. " Ah - I love you s-so much. Nng – fuck !"

"Love you too," Peter whispers back, groaning as Harry softly pushes back into him. "Can't wait for you to come home."

The laugh comes out of Harry's chest like a popping bubble, "But I'm not even gone yet."

"So? I miss you already. Don't want you to leave at all. Want you to stay here with me, I-" Peter's breathing hitches, which is a sign he's getting close. Harry's hand sneaks between their bodies to grasp at his weeping cock, but Peter bats his hand away and takes the task on himself, stroking Harry in time with his thrusts.

Harry's breathing picks up and he moans, holding onto Peter like he were a lifeboat in the middle of an ocean. Neither of them last very long after that, and Peter, ever the gentleman, makes sure Harry cums first before following in suit.

For a minute, they lay intertwined on the bed, catching their breath and riding out that post-orgasmic bliss. But as much as Harry wants to stay in that moment forever, time is not on his side. His phone buzzes; a second alarm in case he lost track of time.

Peter sighed, wrapping his arms around Harry's stomach and buried his head between his shoulder blades, "That's our cue to get up, right?"

"Yeah."

"Do you really have to go? Can't you walk around Central Park for your health?"

Harry smiled wryly, "If only it were that simple."

"Then what if I went with you?"

Harry's smile turns sad and he's glad Peter doesn't see it, "We both know you can't. You have a job here, Peter. And Aunt May. You don't need to be trapezing around with me all over the world."

Peter is silent for a beat, "Well...maybe not right now. But one day..."

Harry turned his head, "One day?"

"Yeah," Peter brushes a few strands of hair out of Harry's eyes, "One day, when I get all my shit together, we should go trapezing around the world. You can introduce me to an entirely new line of food and I can be eternally grateful."

The image of Peter exploring the sights of the globe with him, hand in hand, grabs Harry by the throat and won't let go. He wishes for it desperately. So desperately he has to blink a few times to clear his eyes. "I know a really good restaurant in Tokyo," he says.

"Then let's go there."

It's an aching need deep in his gut. An addiction that he doesn't even have a taste of yet, but he's already hooked. He wants to show Peter the entire world, every attraction and natural wonder that'll steal his breath away. Peter's been cooped up in New York all his life.. There was so much to see.

"I'd like that," Harry said.

Peter smiled, opened his mouth, and then his phone beeped. Harry wants to groan as Peter perks up and retrieves it from the floor where it had been thrown.

"Duty calls?"

Peter's expression is apologetic, but Harry isn't mad. He's the one keeping the secrets, after all.

"Sorry," Peter says anyway, holding up the phone hopelessly, "It's work. I only just started with Dr. Octavius, I don't want to be fired a few weeks after I got the job."

"It's fine," Harry said, stretching his arms over his head, "I should probably get going too."

"I'll take you to the airport," and then Peter is bouncing away with far too much energy. Harry doesn't know how he has so much stamina. The guy could go on and on and on, and then some . It was great in certain contexts, usually related to bed shenanigans, but it's absolutely exhausting to watch otherwise.

Sighing, Harry pulled himself out of bed. They share a shower, to save on water is Peter's excuse, (" Right, because I, the son of the mayor and a multi-million-dollar businessman, would need to be concerned about hot water. "). But it ends too soon, and in no time they're both dressed and heading down to the limo.

Harry checks his phone as they slide inside. He missed a call from his dad and considers calling him back, but ultimately goes with a text instead. He sends him a quick message that he's running late but Peter is taking him to the airport now.

Norman isn't one for texting, but today is probably a lot for him too. He's the one putting so much money into this treatment, putting so much of himself into it, Harry can excuse a few frustrated remarks.

Peter is a good friend

But you need to be here soon.

Right, a good friend. Harry's thought about coming clean to Norman about his dating preference, but while his dad can claim he's " for the people " and is here to make " all lives better ", Harry knows he wouldn't be thrilled that his son is batting for the same team. Besides, he doesn't want to bring Peter into their family drama. Not yet at least. Their relationship is in a good place, and if this sickness does get cured, then maybe he can come clean then. For now, he wants to keep all those sweet, wonderful moments to himself.

It's selfish, he knows, but just this once he's going to let himself be greedy.

They don't talk much on the ride to the airport, Peter just holds his hands and let's Harry rest his head on his shoulder, and that's enough. When they pull up, he helps Harry get his suitcase out, and then they're standing on the sidewalk, staring at the gates as people mill around them.

"I'll see you when you get back," Peter says, and gives him a peck on the cheek. A fleeting one. He knows how secretive their relationship needs to be, the media was a pack of piranhas, and the mayor's sons' boyfriend was the kind of fresh meat they'd love to go after.

But Harry's feeling reckless. As Peter pulls away, he grabs him by the collar and yanks him back down into a deeper, much more heated kiss that earns the stink eye from an old, cranky looking couple waiting for their cab.

"Wow, you're really gonna miss me, huh?" Peter squeaks.

"Don't tell anyone," Harry teased, "I can't have it ruining my image."

"Your secret is safe with me...for a price."

Harry laughed, "We can discuss prices when I get back."

"I look forward to it," Peter's hand lingers on his for a little longer, nice and warm and familiar, and then he lets it go. "Mind if I catch a ride back to the city?"

"Go ahead, Lily knows you. Don't try to annoy her too much."

"No promises."

And then he's back in the limo and riding away. Harry watches, and makes a show of grabbing his luggage and walking into the airport. But he doesn't go to any ticket stands, or terminals to wait. He walks to a gate on the opposite end of the airport where new arrivals will be bustling. As he goes, a few faces in the crowd pop out. The familiar faces of his bodyguard's as they fall into step behind him. They trail after him like a pair of lost puppies until he's back outside where a different, more inconspicuous car is waiting.

Taking a deep breath, he hands off his luggage and slides into the carriage. Someone's already inside waiting.

"It's about time," Norman said, barely looking up from the tablet occupying his attention. "Time is precious Harry, don't squander it."

"Yes, sir."

"Everything went according to plan?"

"Yeah, nobody knows I'm still in New York."

"None of your friends suspect anything?"

"No."

"Good. Then let's go."

The car pulls into traffic and they're back on their way to the city where Oscorp tower looms in the distance like a homing beacon. Harry's hand is trembling again and a spasming tic has taken root in his eye that he can't get under control. That happened now when he got stressed.

This is for the best , he tells himself, ignoring the dread coiling into his belly. This is for my own good.

It's best for everyone this way.