You were a work of art
The two of them started getting closer; texting outside of lab formalities, talking about their interests and hobbies, breaking a bit of tension he didn’t even realize was there. It was nice, in a way, to have another person in on his secret, someone who wasn’t one of his guardians or his over enthusiastic best friend. He was pretty sure Michelle also knew, but they certainly didn’t talk about it, and they certainly didn’t spend time in the same workspace, debating over his suit's design and how to better modify it without the classic Stark bells and whistles. They were fast friends, and Peter sort of felt like something in his chest was softening. Something he didn’t acknowledge, but had made its home right in his esophagus, and made everything seem a little more daunting. It was smaller, now, quieter, and every time he made Harley snort with laughter over his desk, it went silent.
Harley invited him to a movie at one point, and Peter readily accepted. It was only after a growing, gnawing weight in his stomach made him feel nauseous that he considered maybe mulling over the decision a little. He liked Harley, and he especially liked spending time with Harley. Was it the change of scenery? Peter tried to imagine the event, counting to ten and trying to figure out where it would end up on his scale. He pictured the movie they would see, the snacks they would buy, the whispers they would share during the opening credits. His stomach felt weird, and his hands felt sweaty. Maybe his scale was broken.
He approached his council at lunch, learning his lesson and making sure to tell Ned before Michelle got to him. He described his dilemma, and then stared at his food, wondering if he should start comparing himself to his yogurt cup or his bag of carrots.
“And you…don’t want to go?” Ned asked, trying to place whatever it was he was reading off of him. Like a psychic. Like a freaky, well-meaning and soft-hearted psychic.
MJ, who was listening from the end of the table, lowered her book to send him a raised eyebrow. “You know, I can always stage an accident—”
“I want to go!” Peter interrupted, shooting her a look and holding himself tightly, imagining how many bruises he would have after a trip down a flight of stairs. Or maybe she’d cooked up another way to injure him over the past few weeks. He did not want to ask. “I like hanging out with him, he’s really cool, and I have a ton of fun, but I’m like…” He waved a hand around a few times, as if swatting at air would somehow make him better at articulating himself.
“Nervous?” Ned offered, and he nodded. “Oh, you’re just nervous about going? You’re not going to go on a long spiel about how much you don’t want to go?”
Peter opened his mouth, then closed it, then thought to be offended. “I still could, if you’d prefer?” He took in a big breath, but Ned just covered his mouth, laughing.
“Nobody wants that, Pete,” He said, and Michelle nodded in agreement from the end of the table. “I’m happy! I’m…relieved! This is progress!”
“Progress?” Peter muttered to himself, feeling a little dazed.
Ned just continued like he hadn’t heard. “You’re excited about this! And you’re not just excited, you’re, like, jittery excited! This is so great, I’ve got to meet this dude.”
Peter somehow doubted that introducing Ned to Harley would be a good idea on any level; the two would be too compatible, and then he’d have double the amount of people who would poke fun at him but from a place of caring . He was pretty sure Michelle did it because she liked drawing distress and she wasn’t against making her own chaos. May did it because she was evil and loved plotting against him.
“I’ll pencil it in,” He said, and Ned beamed. Peter fiddled with the seal on the bag of his carrots, and tried to reassure himself that he was just nervous. Jittery excited. He wanted to go.
“I feel like I’m watching my son make his first friend in kindergarten,” Ned described, idly, bouncing a little in his seat.
“You’re my first friend,” Peter reminded him, feeling mildly irritated. He couldn’t really get mad at the other boy, but it got under his skin to be compared to a five year old, he could admit.
Ned didn’t lose his grin, but he did settle. “Sorry,” He explained, “It’s just really nice to see you excited again.”
And Peter thought about that for a long time. Again. Was he really so different from before that it took him longer to get excited? That he didn’t show his excitement the same anymore? Again. He mulled it over, prodding at the sentence with every ounce of scrutiny he could spare, lapping at the sincerity in which Ned had said it, running over the way his chest had twinged. He felt guilty—a very familiar friend—but for nothing that was truly his fault. He was different, now. He was growing. Was that bad? Was he bad?
He smiled at his friend, making sure his eyes crinkled so it looked genuine. “I am excited. So excited, in fact, I think I might go on a long spiel about how excited I am.”
Ned and Michelle groaned and unison, and Peter felt guilty, but not specifically for that reason. Those were just the roles they fit into, and Peter would know, he had been seriously considering their schools theater department. He picked at his food, and Michelle speculated on what kind of accident she would stage to get him out of seeing a movie with a friend, and Ned bounced up and down in his seat as he opened his milk carton. He imagined how Harley would fit into the equation. It wasn’t difficult to picture, he realized, and the something that had been tugging at his chest got a little quieter.