summary:
________________________________________________________

Peter blinked. "Yeah, um... It's- it's crazy out there. Got chased by a dog around the block. Thrice."

Harry didn't seem convinced, but was too tired to argue anyhow. His eyes wandered to the Hot Pocket, steaming on the white ceramic plate.

Then his eyes went to Peter's shirt, and they widened.

"Are you bleeding?"

(Note this is Sam raimi's spider man characters, like Toney for example)

____________________________________________________________

Peter was stumbling into the window of his apartment, nearly hitting the floor as he attempted to make a smooth landing. He was hungry and thirsty and exhausted and there was a cut in his side that gushed blood at the slightest movement.

He'd escaped a scrape with a petty thief after he prevented him robbing some young woman. Unluckily enough, the aforementioned petty thief was armed, and managed to get Peter in the side.

He sighed heavily and squinted around the bedroom of his apartment. It was dim. His roommate, Harry, was most likely sleeping.

He threw on a shirt, sweater, and sweatpants, hoping the shirt would be enough to hide the cut, and made his way downstairs.

He dug in the freezer for some kind of sustenance, his hand eventually landing on the plastic wrapper of a Hot Pocket.

Wonderful.

He popped it in the microwave and waited patiently, watching it spin. He was salivating a little, which might've been overdramatic. But he'd had a long night.

He was so distracted watching the plate in the microwave spin round and round that he forgot his roommate was sleeping, letting the microwave go off.

It emitted a loud, high pitched beeping noise that had woken up Peter on many occasions. He was sure Harry wouldn't appreciate the uncalled for alarm clock, either.

He cursed and fumbled to stop the beeping, opening the microwave and grabbing the plate with the Hot Pocket on it. It was hot enough it made his palms sting, and he quickly put the plate on the counter with a loud clatter.

He sighed and put his hands against the cool material of his sweatpants.

But it was too late.

"Peter?"

Peter turned to see his roommate staring at him from the hall, looking drowsy. He yawned and rubbed his eyes on the sleeve of his sleep shirt.

"You're home late," he said softly.

Peter blinked. "Yeah, um... It's- it's crazy out there. Got chased by a dog around the block. Thrice."

Harry didn't seem convinced, but was too tired to argue anyhow. His eyes wandered to the Hot Pocket, steaming on the white ceramic plate.

Then his eyes went to Peter's shirt, and they widened.

"Are you bleeding?"

Peter glanced down to find he was, in fact, bleeding. He'd had too much trust in this shirt.

He blew it off with a dismissive hand motion. "Pssshh. It's nothing."

But five minutes later, when he was perched on Harry's bed, he was getting a lecture about just how much it was something.

"How did that happen, anyway?" Harry asked, his voice taking a gentler tone. Like a teacher scolding a student, but trying to be polite.

Peter blinked.

"The dog."

"The dog?"

Peter nodded. "The... the dog. It- it jumped on me."

Harry sighed deeply. "Well, that's... I think someone should check on that dog, then."

His hands went to the hem of Peter's shirt. Peter grabbed his wrist on instinct.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. "Peter, you're bleeding."

Peter's lips parted to say something.

In his daze of exhaustion and hunger, he'd completely forgotten to take off his suit before putting on clothes. It was habitual to keep it on.

"I- I don't..."

Harry dropped his hand away from Peter's body. "If you don't want me to," he said quietly.

The blood stain on his shirt was only growing. Peter could sense the worry and tension in Harry's body, his stiff movements, and it made his stomach twist.

"It's fine," he eventually breathed. "Just..."

He grabbed Harry's wrist as it went for his shirt again.

"Don't... let this change how you see me."

Harry huffed out a laugh and quirked his brow. "Okay," he said, sounding amused. Then Peter hesitantly let go of his wrist and Harry lifted his shirt.

He didn't even seem to notice the red and blue material of Peter's suit at first — he was too focused on looking for the source of the bleeding. But then his eyes widened as his hands lifted Peter's shirt further.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"You're..." He looked up at Peter in bewilderment. "Is this..."

He trailed off. "Why didn't you tell me?" he eventually asked, quiet.

Peter blinked.

"I don't know," he answered. "Because... it's kind of like, you know. An anonymous vigilante... thing?"

Harry seemed more upset about the fact that Peter had never revealed his identity to him rather than the fact that he was Spider-Man.

"Well, you could've told me," he huffed, then pulled Peter's sweater off his shoulders.

Peter got the feeling he was being lectured again. He looked askance and sighed. "Sorry."

He was silenced when Harry put one hand on his waist, the other holding his shirt above his chest. His cheeks flushed slightly at the sensation.

"It's fine." Harry narrowed his eyes, finding the cut in Peter's side. "You're bleeding a lot. I'll go get the first aid kit, okay?"

He dropped Peter's shirt and pulled away, leaving Peter alone on his bed, a little shellshocked.

Harry came back with the first aid kid and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He gave Peter a look of concern.

"Was this really from a dog?" he asked as he sat back down.

Peter fully took his shirt off and tossed it on the floor, leaving him in sweatpants.

He shook his head silently.

Harry poked Peter's side, tapping a finger to his chest. Peter looked up curiously.

"Can you take this off, please?"

He meant Peter's suit.

His cheeks tinted pink and he nodded. How was the idea of being bare-chested in front of his best friend more stress-inducing than telling him about his deepest secret?

A minute later, Peter was half-dressed on Harry's bed, only wearing sweatpants.

Harry poured hydrogen peroxide onto a cotton ball and pressed it to the cut. His touch was caring, and it was almost enough to make Peter forget how much this stung.

"What happened?"

Peter's eyes wandered to the floor. "Petty thief," he said softly.

Harry sighed heavily, then looked up. "At least we don't have to test you for rabies?" he suggested. That got a soft laugh out of Peter, but the noise turned into a hiss as Harry continued to clean the cut.

"You have to be more careful," he mumbled as he unrolled a roll of gauze. Peter had some retort about how that wasn't possible sitting on the tip of his tongue, but he didn't feel like arguing.

He just nodded and murmured an apology as Harry pressed a bandage over the cut and wrapped it up.

He gave Peter's side a pat, his hand lingering on his waist.

Their eyes met.

In the dim light, Harry's eyes looked dark. Peter couldn't tell where his pupil ended and his iris began. It was oddly alluring, in a way, and it made him keep his gaze locked on his for that much longer.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked softly.

Peter nodded. "Are you?"

Harry laughed. "I'm not the one running around getting stabbed," he stated. He dropped his hand from Peter's waist. Peter missed the contact.

"Are you hungry? Your food's still in the kitchen." Harry turned his body halfway.

Peter's eyes widened slightly as he remembered: his Hot Pocket.

He blinked and nodded. "Yes, thank you," he murmured. Harry smiled and got up, leaving the room and coming back a minute later with Peter's plate.

Peter scarfed it down like he'd never had food before, while Harry watched in morbid curiosity.

"Is it good?" Harry eventually asked, holding back a chuckle. Peter was a little surprised at how casual he was being. But he appreciated it, definitely.

It was almost like he hadn't just found out his best friend was Spider-Man.

Peter sighed. All this for a Hot Pocket. 

As he bit down on the slightly cold pizza roll, all he could think about was how much this ended up being worth it. 

The End. 

____________________________________________________________

Word count: 1313