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“That is not how you make guacamole,” Peter walked into the kitchen, staring incredulously at Harley.
Harley was sitting on the counter, defeated, surrounded by avocados and potato peelers. “Guacamole isn’t real,” he muttered. “Life is meaningless.”
“Harley,” Peter said carefully. “Do you know how to peel an avocado?”
“We don’t have this shit in the South!” Harley defended. “Avocados are some West Coast hipster bullshit.”
“We’re on the East Coast, though.”
“Thin ice, Parker.”
Peter chuckled. “You don’t have to get mean because you don’t understand them,” he teased. “Besides, I’m pretty sure avocados exist all over the country.”
“Not in Tennessee,” Harley said stubbornly. “We have standards.”
“How high can they be? You come from Tennessee.”
Harley glared at Peter. “Keep talking,” he warned. “I have a potato gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
“Would you like some help?” Peter asked politely, extending an olive branch. “I know how to make guacamole; May showed me once.”
“Fine,” conceded Harley. “But only because I’m hungry.”
Peter picked up an avocado, pointedly ignoring the potato peelers on the counter and grabbing a knife from the block. “You just cut them in half until you feel the pit, then twist,” he explained, showing the other boy the two neat halves.
“That looks gross,” Harley wrinkled his nose. “Now what?”
“Take the pit out,” Peter demonstrated with a tap of his knife and a twist of his wrist. “Then scoop the good bits out into a bowl.”
“Avocados are still bullshit,” Harley mainted, smiling sheepishly. “I’ll cut the onions if you do the other ones?”
“Do you know how to cut an onion?” Peter raised an eyebrow.
Harley flipped him off. “Of course I know how to cut an onion,” he grabbed one from the vegetable bowl and set it on the cutting board. He spun the knife in his hand in a move that Peter definitely didn’t find hot, not at all. “Shut up, Parker.”
“Just checking,” Peter chuckled, starting on the second avocado. “How many do I need to do, again?”
Harley counted in his head. “Three?”
“Three it is.”
They worked in companionable silence, putting their respective ingredients in a big bowl. When he finished the avocados, Peter chopped up the cilantro, while Harley handled the jalapeno pepper.
“Would your powers heal you if you got jalapeno juice in your eyes?” Harley asked curiously. “Just wondering.”
Peter gave him a look. “Keep wondering, Keener.”
Harley wiggled his fingers, holding a cut piece of pepper. “You sure? Not even for science?”
“That isn’t science and you know it.”
“Suit yourself,” he muttered, tossing the jalapenos in the bowl. “I think that’s everything.”
Peter shook his head. “You forgot lime juice,” he said, adding it quickly. “And salt . Salt is a little important, you know.”
“No one likes a know it all, Parker.”
“No one likes unsalted guac, Keener.”
Harley stuck his tongue out, but obediently handed Peter the salt shaker. “Now what?”
“DIdn’t you read the recipe?” Peter said idly, grabbing a fork.
“I read the ingredient list,” Harley admitted with a shrug. “I figured it wasn’t rocket science.”
“And yet…”
“Evidently, making guacamole is harder than actual rocket science,” he said cheerfully. “So what do we do now?”
“Mash it up,” Peter directed, showing Harley with his own fork. “It’s pretty easy, actually. I think you’re just dumb.”
“Hurtful,” Harley hip-checked him. “But I can’t say you’re wrong.”
Peter grinned. “I am always right.”
“Now, I didn’t say that ,” but Harley was smiling, too.
Peter was hyper aware of how close they were standing when he turned to look at the other boy and their noses almost brushed. Their sides were flush against each other, arms together as they mixed the bowl. His breath caught and he couldn’t stop himself from looking at Harley’s lips.
Harley leaned in slowly, pressing a soft kiss to Peter’s mouth. It was over as soon as it started, leaving behind the faint taste of avocados.
“Thanks for the help, Peter,” Harley whispered, stepping away and grabbing the bowl. He took a second to compose himself, but there was still a blush high on his cheeks. “Grab the chips when you join us.”
Peter watched him leave the kitchen, stunned into silence. After a long minute of catching his breath, he dashed out to follow Harley, chips in hand.