This is the compelling invitation that Harry had received, Peter waiting like an eager labrador by the time his shift wrapped up, brooking no bailing. There is an anxious attentiveness to it, too -- Peter might not outright accuse his friend of drinking a lot out of, to be honest, worry his friend would close down on him about it, or maybe he's wrong and doesn't know what he's talking about. But he doesn't want him to do it some more, today, if that's just what he does in the quiet of his own room.
And Peter has stuff he wants to talk about. And he wants to go somewhere cool.
And Engineering is freaking awesome. Not all of it is accessible without nanites, "maybe I should get a job here," he says, as he leads the way up metal staircase, but there is an impressive amount that is. It's huge, bigger than the West Side of Manhattan, the kind of space to think and breathe that someone like Peter craves.
They halt at a railing. There's a severe drop beneath them, fading into bleak oblivion, and Peter with his lack of vertigo leans against it, until he's facing gravity straight down. He remembers to touch fingertips to an arm of his glasses, so they don't fall off his face somehow.
engineering. harry osborn.
This is the compelling invitation that Harry had received, Peter waiting like an eager labrador by the time his shift wrapped up, brooking no bailing. There is an anxious attentiveness to it, too -- Peter might not outright accuse his friend of drinking a lot out of, to be honest, worry his friend would close down on him about it, or maybe he's wrong and doesn't know what he's talking about. But he doesn't want him to do it some more, today, if that's just what he does in the quiet of his own room.
And Peter has stuff he wants to talk about. And he wants to go somewhere cool.
And Engineering is freaking awesome. Not all of it is accessible without nanites, "maybe I should get a job here," he says, as he leads the way up metal staircase, but there is an impressive amount that is. It's huge, bigger than the West Side of Manhattan, the kind of space to think and breathe that someone like Peter craves.
They halt at a railing. There's a severe drop beneath them, fading into bleak oblivion, and Peter with his lack of vertigo leans against it, until he's facing gravity straight down. He remembers to touch fingertips to an arm of his glasses, so they don't fall off his face somehow.