He couldn't breathe. He couldn't fucking breathe. All it had taken was one look and now he was suffocating. It wasn't in that lovely, romantic way. It wasn't in a literal sense. He couldn't breathe because he was caving in on himself for what he'd done. Tears burned in his eyes, but they wouldn't fall. His hands were cold, but he could hardly feel it. After a shaky breath, he pulled himself down from the window sill, landing heavily on his bedroom floor. He yanked the mask from his head, throwing it across the room, a sob bubbling in his throat.
At the time, he'd convinced himself it had all been for Harry's own good. Telling Harry the truth would have crushed him had Peter told him so soon after his father's death. It was only now that he understood what it had cost him. It had cost him his best friend... He pressed his head back against the window sill as hard as he could before drawing forward and slamming himself back into place. He wished he'd felt a semblance of anything when he heard the dull impact. The way Harry had looked at him when he found out... the betrayal in his eyes... Peter didn't know how he was going to live with himself.
That wasn't exactly true. He knew exactly what was going to happen. He would have to go on with life, follow the mundane schedule that had become his life. He would go to his classes. He would get pictures for the Bugle and endure Jonah's ranting. He'd save people as Spider-Man. The only difference was that now, he'd have to learn how to do it all without breathing. He'd done it to himself, when it came down to it. If he had just... if he had just told Harry in the first place, if he had trusted Harry, maybe things could have been different. But they weren't. He'd betrayed Harry's trust when it came down to it. He'd lost one of the most important people in his life, but he already knew too well that it would mean nothing to the rest of the world.
Life would carry on, whether or not Peter wanted it to. New York wouldn't care if Peter Parker was missing someone he'd had for most of his life. Criminals wouldn't take a break if Spider-Man was having an off-day. The world wouldn't come to a calm just because Peter's was falling apart. He rubbed at his eyes, letting out a tired sigh. His little tantrum would have to wait. He got up slowly, going to retrieve his mask. He kicked at a pile of clothes on his way, pausing when he caught sight of something blue. It was a sweater... one Harry had gotten him for his birthday. Cable-knit and hideous, but undoubtedly Peter's style. He clenched his jaw, looking away. He loved that sweater, but right now, he couldn't stand to look at it. He kept his gaze away from that one particular spot, hoping to catch sight of his mask. His heart seemed to beat faster and faster, panic rising steadily when he realized he couldn't find it.
He stood there for a moment, closing his eyes. He couldn't do this... And yet... A loud scream pulled him from his despair, urging him to find the mask. He dug through piles, tossing aside thing after thing until finally, those familiar white eyes stared up at him. Part of him understood, hating what he'd done behind the mask. Who he was when it was on. For a moment, Peter found himself hating Spider-Man. For a moment, Peter could put himself in Harry's shoes. Still, he picked it up. His hands shook as he pulled it over his head, his hands still cold and shaking as he did. He moved stiffly, climbing back out of the window and down the alley. He raced towards the sound, his heart thrumming wildly in his ears as he swung from building to building.
It was a basic mugging, but he dealt with it quickly. He flipped over the mugger, webbing the man's hands together, "Hey! Haven't you ever heard not to take things that aren't yours?" He almost smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. He had the guy webbed to the nearest wall soon enough, getting the victim to safety and waiting for the police to show. Usually, he would have paid more attention, but tonight he was numb to it all. It had gone by in a blur.
The next few days followed in the same rhythm. He would wake up later than he meant to. He would be late to his classes. He would get some shots to sell to Jonah, the editor ranting about something he'd done as Spider-Man. Then, he would swing through the city. But there were still those moments when he forgot. The moments where he forgot about what he'd lost and would reach for the phone to tell Harry something funny that had happened. He would open his text messages, sometimes even getting half-way through a text before remembering that Harry had likely blocked him.
At first, it was hell. He felt himself sinking under the waves as he remembered that one of his primary lifelines had been pulled from his grasp. He would try to reach for it, but each time, water would crash over his head, the current only sending him further away. Icy waters would burn his eyes and fill his lungs. No matter how hard he seemed to fight it, he would be swept under time and time again. He was drowning and he knew it. The pressure in his chest was almost unbearable, and some days he just wanted to give up. But he never did.
Slowly, with time, he had learned how to rise above it, or, so he thought. He would tread the water, struggling to pull himself above the waves for so long that it was easier to believe he'd succeeded than face the harsh reality that he hadn't. It didn't take long for pretending to become second nature.
It still stung to hear about Harry and it still hurt when an unexpected memory came to mind... but he wasn't quite drowning anymore. He was surviving and he kept the water at bay. Or maybe, he was just learning how to live without breathing.
