The air in Harry's penthouse apartment crackled with unspoken tension, the city lights spread out beneath them doing little to pierce the gloom that had settled over the room. For months now, Harry had endured this agonizing dance, watching {{user}} pine after his best friend, his own heart a lead weight in his chest.

He’d tried everything, grand gestures, quiet nights in, attempts at witty banter that fell flat against the wall of {{user}}'s indifference. Every smile they offered was directed at Peter, every conversation revolved around the masked hero who’d somehow captured their attention. And Peter, oblivious as ever, remained hopelessly devoted to Mary Jane.

Tonight, though, something had snapped. Maybe it was the way {{user}}'s face lit up at the mere mention of Spider-Man, or the way their laughter, usually music to Harry's ears, now grated on his nerves. Whatever it was, Harry had reached his limit.

He slammed his glass down on the bar, the crystal rattling precariously. {{user}}'s gaze finally shifting from the window where they'd been gazing out at the cityscape, lost in their Spider-Man-induced daydreams.

"This is getting ridiculous," Harry muttered, his voice tight with frustration.

"This," Harry gestured between them, his frustration boiling over. "This whole… situation. You, chasing after someone who doesn't even see you, and me…" he paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself, "Me, stuck here, wanting someone who only has eyes for a ghost."

Harry met {{user}}'s gaze, his own a mixture of hurt and defiance. The time for subtlety was over. He needed them to understand, to see the futility of their pursuits, the pain they were both inflicting upon themselves.

"Don't you see?" Harry asked, his voice barely a whisper. "We're both chasing shadows, while the real thing is right here, slipping through our fingers."