As the doorbell rang, Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. This was Peter. They wanted to meet to watch the NBA game together – at least that's what Peter believed.
“Bernard, would you send Peter to the living room, please?”, Harry called for his butler. “Then you can leave for today.”
“Alright, sir”, the old butler called back and Harry heard the front door open.
“Hello, Bernard”, Peter said and Harry could already hear him smile.
“The young sir is waiting for you in the living room. It was nice to meet you again, Peter."
Then the door fell shut and footsteps approached the living room. Harry’s finger clutched the dagger in his hand and swallowed hard. Was this really the right thing to do? Wasn’t there any other way?
But a look in the mirror wiped away his doubts. “Avenge me”, Norman Osborn demanded. “Make me proud, son. Make him pay for what he did to me.”
“But he’s my other half”, Harry quietly encountered. “Peter’s my home.”
“You’re weak”, his father spat, dismissively clicking his tongue. The disgust in his tone was clearly audible. “Did I raise a weakling?”
Harry shook his head. “No.”
The footsteps were coming closer. They were almost there. Harry hid the dagger behind his back as the door opened and Peter walked in.
A smile was visible on Peter’s face and it lit up his blue eyes, making them sparkle. “Hey, how are you? Still no memories?”
“No ...” Harry paused and let out a sigh. “It’s so strange not knowing who you are.”
“I’m so sorry, Harry”, Peter told him and pain flashed in his eyes.
The pity in Peter’s voice sent a cold shiver down Harry’s spine. God, how much he hated being pitied, how much he hated Peter’s acting and that he still kept going with his mask and his scaffold of lies to make himself believe that everything was fine between them. But how could the bond between them be fine when Peter was the reason Harry’s father was dead?
Peter approached him and carefully pulled him into a hug. For a moment, Harry returned the hug with his left hand that didn’t hold the dagger. He even closed his eyes, enjoying the touch of their bodies. For a moment, Harry could pretend everything he wasn’t about to do the worst thing in his life.
Harry grimaced in pain and pulled away. He didn’t want to do this but he had to. Then he stabbed the dagger into Peter’s abdomen.
Peter stared at the blade in his abdomen. Then he slowly lifted his head, meeting Harry’s gaze.
Why?
Peter didn’t say it but his wide eyes and the open mouth said more than words ever could.
Harry clenched his jaw and pulled out the bloody dagger.
Peter groaned and sank to his knees, pressing his hands onto the stab wound. “You remember.”
“I do”, Harry confirmed and took Peter’s hands so he couldn’t stop the bleeding. His grip on Peter’s wrists was firm but not so hard that it hurt.
Tears started streaming down Peter’s face and his body was shaken by sobs, making him cry even harder. “I didn’t kill your father, Harry. I should’ve told you the truth.”
“You don’t have to lie to yourself anymore, Pete.” Harry placed a soft kiss on Peter’s forehead. “You get the punishment you deserve.”
Peter shook his head and tried to pull away from Harry’s grip. “What have you become? I don’t know you anymore.”
“Myself”, Harry simply said and approached Peter, holding him in his arms and brushing the brown hair off Peter’s face. The skin was already cold and sweaty. “It’s okay. I always knew you’d die in my arms.”
“Did I mean anything to you?”, Peter whispered and as he looked up at Harry, his gaze was unfocused.
“You meant the world to me, Pete.”
“I don’t wanna ... die.” Peter coughed and blood dripped from his lips. He weakly reached out for Harry’s hand and Harry squeezed it. “Will it ... hurt?”
“No”, Harry promised him calmly. “It will be quick. You won’t notice it.”
Peter’s fingers were cold as ice and his eyes became blurry. “I’m ... sorry, Harry.”
“Me too.” And he meant it. “Don’t talk so much. It must be painful.”
Peter weakly nodded. “Can you ... kiss ... me?”
How could Harry deny the last wish of a dying man? Especially when a last kiss with the person he loved was what he craved as well.
Harry leaned forward and closed his eyes. His soft warm lips touched Peter’s cold lips. But Peter didn’t return the kiss. He had already stopped breathing.
“I love you.”
When Harry pulled away and gently closed Peter’s eyes, the tears finally streamed down his face. Peter was dead. A glance at his hands covered in blood made him feel sick. Harry had killed the person he loved the most, the person who had been there for him whenever he needed a shoulder to lean on.
He turned around and faced the mirror. A smile lit up Norman Osborn’s strict face. “You really did it. Maybe you’re not as weak as I thought.”
A sob shook Harry’s body.
“Don’t cry, Harry. I’m proud of you, son.”
There it was – the words Harry wanted to hear from his father for so long.
But at what cost?