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“Listen, I know it sucks,” Harley said, resolutely looking straight ahead. “But I panicked, okay?”
Peter raised an eyebrow. “You panicked and told your mom we were dating?”
“Please go along with it?” Harley begged. “I literally cannot take it back. She made lasagna .”
“Well, if she made lasagna ...”
“You don’t understand,” said Harley seriously. “She only makes lasagna for very special occasions. Having special occasion lasagna while she stares at me with those disappointed eyes is not something I want to experience more than once, Parker.”
Peter tilted his head. “What did you do to experience it the first time?”
“I’ll tell you the story if you agree to fake date me for the next week,” Harley bargained.
“I’m going to regret this,” muttered Peter, sticking his hand out to shake. “But fine. Consider yourself my new boyfriend.”
Harley cheered. “Thanks, Peter,” he said, darting in for a hug. “You’re the best.”
“I know,” Peter grumbled, hugging back.
Now, Peter thought, he had to get through the week without revealing his massive crush on Harley. He could totally do it.
---
He could not do it.
Harley’s mother was a wonderful woman. So wonderful, in fact, that she shuffled both boys into the same bedroom with a conspiratorial wink and a time to come for dinner. And of course, Harley only had one twin bed (with Iron Man sheets; Peter was so going to tease Harley about them later).
“I can sleep on the floor,” Harley volunteered awkwardly. His accent had gotten thicker since arriving in Rose Hill, so it took Peter a moment to focus on the actual words being spoken.
“I’m not kicking you out of your own bed, Harley,” Peter shook his head. “I’ll take the floor.”
“You’re a guest,” argued Harley. “I legally can’t make you sleep on the floor. Southern hospitality and all that. My mom would shoot me.”
“We won’t both fit on the bed, though,” Peter said.
Harley raised an eyebrow. “Scared to cuddle with me, Parker?”
Peter restrained himself from saying absolutely terrified, in case you realize how much I like you in a non-platonic fashion , but only barely.
“You probably hog the blankets,” he muttered instead.
“So, it’s settled,” Harley winked. “We’ll share.”
“I hate you,” Peter said glumly, sitting down on the bed.
“I know,” Harley said, clapping his hands. “Now! We have a few hours until dinner. My mom thinks we’re making out in here, but if that doesn’t bother you, we can chill here for a bit. Or I can show you around Rose Hill.”
“Let’s go sightseeing,” Peter said quickly, praying that his blush wasn’t as visible as it felt.
Harley smirked. “I can show you the place where Mechanic blew shit up.”
“Your garage isn’t exactly sightseeing, Harley.”
“Shut up,” he rolled his eyes. “He blew up part of a restaurant during the Mandarin fiasco. And the water tower came down- not technically his fault, but he was there. I think there’s a plaque there commemorating it.”
“A plaque? ” Peter threw up his hands.
“Small towns are weird like that,” Harley shrugged. He grabbed Peter’s hand to drag him out of the room. “Come one, I’ll show you.”
Peter hoped that his soft noise of distress at the feel of Harley’s hand in his own went unnoticed by the other boy. Although, with his luck, he doubted it.
---
“So,” Harley’s mother said, dishing her special lasagna onto Peter’s plate and smiling warmly. “How did you two meet?”
“Well, we both intern at SI,” Peter explained, casting a look over at Harley. “And he, uh, blew me up. After that, we were pretty much inseparable.”
Mrs. Keener didn’t look phased to hear that her son almost blew someone up, but Harley looked embarrassed enough for both of them “He does that sometimes, yes,” she teased. “But at least something good came out of it. How long have you boys been together?”
Peter winced imperceptibly. Of all things to forget to come up with, Peter had no idea the duration of their fake relationship. “Um,” he stalled weakly.
“Three months,” Harley cut in.
“Really?” Mrs. Keener asked mildly. “You’ve been pining over him for so long, Harley, I would’ve thought it was longer.”
“ Mom! ” Harley hissed.
“What?” she said innocently. “You’re already dating. Surely you’ve been far sappier than me telling Peter that you’ve been gushing about his eyes for, hmm, five months?”
Peter’s brain wasn’t working right. Or he was dreaming. “Five months?” he squeaked. “Me?”
“Who else, silly?” Mrs. Keener laughed. Her eyes were twinkling where they were fixed on her son.
“Okay, Mom, enough,” Harley said, resigned. “How did you know?”
“You’re my son,” she raised an eyebrow. “Do you think I can’t tell when you’re lying to me?”
“I’m missing something,” Peter said dumbly. To be fair, his brain was still stuck on Harley has been pining for five months .
“My mother has seen through our well-thought-out fake relationship,” said Harley, scowling. “And is trying to jeopardize our friendship, apparently.”
Mrs. Keener clucked her tongue. “Hush up and eat your lasagna,” she ordered. “Now, I’m going to go to the other room and watch my soap operas with the volume very high. You two should have a conversation.”
Peter shoved a bite of lasagna in his mouth as she left the room. If he and Harley were going to sit in awkward silence, he could at least get food out of it.
“I’m sorry,” Harley said finally, breaking the silence. “Nothing has to change between us. I won’t make it weird, I promise.”
Peter swallowed nervously. “What if…” he trailed off. “What if I want you to make it weird?” He facepalmed. “I mean-”
“I know what you mean,” Harley was smiling, soft and tentative and hopeful. “Let me try something, then.”
He leaned in and Peter leaned to meet him. Their lips met somewhere in the middle, simple and sweet. Peter made a happy noise, melting into the kiss. It was everything he had hoped it would be and more.
Too soon, he had to pull away to breathe. “I think that was a success,” he said shyly. “You have full permission to make it weird.”
Harley’s smile was like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Good.”
“Finally!” Mrs. Keener called from the other room. “Took you two long enough.”
“
Mom
!”