Work Text:
“I haven’t seen a ladybug in a while, and I could really use one.”
Peter craned his neck up to Harry, who had successfully reached the top of the swingset. He was sitting on the bar, legs pumping to no avail given he was not on a swing itself.
“Harry, yuh shoe’s untied!”
Instead of bending over to tie his shoe, Harry kicked it off mid-swing. It fell into Peter’s lap. Peter hugged it to his stomach.
“Why a ladybug?”
Above him, Harry shrugged.
“I like ladybugs.” His voice was petulant and just this side of cross, like he expected Peter Parker of all people to understand. They were both quiet for a while, and Peter giggled when Harry’s other shoe bounced off his head.
“Ow!”
But it hadn’t really hurt.
From his seat on the swing, Peter could see across the whole soccer field to the trees beyond. Harry could probably see farther, could maybe make out the road all the way on the other side of the block.
Harry’s hair was mussed from where he’d dragged his hands through it and they’d rollicked on the playground for a while. Harry’s dad would chastise them both later, but Peter didn’t care.
“You can keep them, if you want.”
Peter looked down at the shoes he was still hugging close. They would be two sizes too big on him, but they’d last a hell of a lot longer than the bodega discount sneakers Uncle Ben scrounged up for him.
“What’ll you wear home?” Peter’s voice wavered in a way he didn’t like. The fragility of a child broke through, and he didn’t want to be a child any longer. He was starting middle school in just a few days, so as far as Peter was concerned it was time to put away childish things.
“What, you don’t like my socks, Parker?” Harry teased and waved both feet above him, showing off the little cartoon pizzas stitched into the fabric.
“They’re fine, but your dad’s not gonna like you going home in them.”
“He won’t notice.” Harry huffed, an edge to his voice.
Peter kicked his legs in and out on the swing, but he alternated them so he wouldn’t actually push very much. Harry let out a sigh.
Peter admitted, “I like ladybugs too,” And then abruptly, “I wish you weren’t leaving.”
Saying it out loud made his skin cold, and he remembered childish things again. Missing your best friend because he was going to another school was a childish thing.
“Me too.” Harry’s voice was rough and plagued by his own emotion.
“I’m not gonna have anyone to sit with at lunch,” Peter pouted. He didn’t say it to Harry, he just said it to the world around them, “And no one to play with after school. And I’m not gonna… you’re gonna be…”
Playing after school was a childish thing.
His throat closed up. Harry would be with other people like him: with money and spare shoes and health insurance and all those other things. At a boarding school, which as far as Peter could tell would be like a 24/7 sleepover.
“I think I’ll come back for Christmas.” Harry said, but there was something not true in his words. Something final to this evening on the playground on the swings.
“Yeah...”
Tears filled Peter’s eyes and the cold spread out to the tips of his fingers.
“Pete…” Harry’s voice was obscured with emotion, but he still didn’t move from up above.
“It’s not fair!” Peter whined, voice cracking sharply as he bent over and buried his face in his hands. Harry’s shoes smelled like new rubber and only faintly of sweat, and he hated that fact even more as the tears finally broke through his facade.
Tears were childish things.
“I didn’t say it was fair!” Harry snapped, voice crumpling alongside his friend. “But it’s what’s happening.”
“But why do you have to go away?” Peter cried, “You can just stay here. You could even live with us, you could — you could —“ he hiccuped and lost the edge of his voice.
Pale yellow twilight was falling across the playground, it made the equipment glitter gold against threads of sunlight. Peter screwed his eyes shut, his tears muddying the colors of the park into a wet, goopy mess.
Harry sounded strained when he spoke, “I have to go.”
Peter lifted his eyes, taking in his friend so high above him and in profile, washed out by yellow light, blonde hair sticking up and bottom lip jutting out.
“Right now?”
Harry shrugged and pointed to the parking lot. A black town car had pulled up and was idling, ready to steer Harry from Forest Hills. Maybe forever.
Peter buried his face in his hands again, weeping openly. They both listened to his free-flowing tears and short gasps for breath. The sun continued its careless descent all the while, as if mocking the boy in his grief by hiding behind tree branches, bringing on darkness and the end of the day with more haste.
Peter sniffled and tried to regain his composure, unsuccessful though he was.
Crying on the playground was a childish thing.
“Don’t cry, Pete. You’re gonna make me cry.”
“I can’t help it—!” Peter hiccuped, “I can’t… without you! I don’t even wanna try. I’m not gonna have any-any-anyone tuh talk to. Or anyone to play with or - or - or -“
“Peter.”
The car in the lot honked loudly. Harry swung around and over the swings, landing on his feet more smoothly than a ten-year-old perhaps ought to.
“Peter… before I go… I wanna tell you something.”
Harry fidgeted in his socks and neat slacks. Peter looked up at him, blinking past teary eyes.
A weight of expectation settled between them, one boy waiting for words from the other. The moment could have lasted a lifetime, in one of those ways that the world seems to slow down to give us the time to gather our courage.
“Well… I wanna show you something, actually.” Harry articulated each word carefully, stressing the syllables. Peter sniffled and rubbed his nose, anticipation settling in his gut. What could this be? This last thing his best friend wanted to impart to him?
Peter looked at Harry expectantly.
Harry took a moment’s pause to summon his courage. Then he stepped forward and grasped Peter’s face in both hands, leaning in close.
Peter didn’t stop him.
Because this was not a childish thing.