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- Watermelon
Peter rummaged through the fridge, trying to find something to satisfy his hunger, only found Harley’s leftovers from his previous party. Cold meat lover’s pizza, a half finished chocolate cake, and… watermelon?
Peter shrugged and grabbed the box of pizza and a couple slices of watermelon and settled at the kitchen counter.
After an innocent bite into the watermelon, he grimaced in disgust as the juices hit his taste buds.
“Harley! What the fuck is this?!”
The blonde teen groaned. “Hello? Obviously hungover. Much appreciated if you wouldn’t fucking scream this early.”
“It’s noon,” Peter said, unamused.
“It’s Saturday,” he retorted back.
“What did you do to this watermelon?” he asked, his throat still burning.
“Vodka, sweetcheeks. Ever heard of it? Oh wait. Of course you haven’t because you don’t know what fun is.” He chugged a glass of lukewarm water, and popped an Advil.
“How did you even put vodka in a watermelon?”
“Watermelon… plus vodka… equals vodka watermelon,” he mocked.
“Not an answer.”
“There’s Google for a reason. Maybe you should try it.” He took a piece of pizza from the box in front of Peter. “Thank you very much.”
Peter rolled his eyes, and closed the box. “You can have the rest of this watermelon. I’m going to my room.”
“Have fun with that.”
2. Coffee
“Didn’t think you were the Starbucks type.”
Harley looked at his Starbucks cup and back at his Physics desk partner. “Yeah, I just love their pumpkin spiced lattes.”
“Those aren’t even in season,” Peter stated.
“I needed a kick today. I have a presentation next block.”
Peter’s eyes widened. “Is that…”
“Irish coffee. Yes.”
“You’re crazy,” Peter said, going back to his worksheet.
“No, I’m innovative,” he responded cockily.
Peter scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that.”
3. Homecoming Punch
Harley’s hair was gelled back, a white button down, red tie, and black slacks on. However, those black slacks wouldn’t be on for long, as his tongue was entangled with a random ginger’s in the custodial closet. He ran his fingers through the freckled teen’s hair and tugged slightly, the shorter boy moaning in his mouth.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Harley said huskily.
“I could say the same about you,” he responded, unbuttoning Harley’s shirt.
“Hey hey hey. I brought a little something, and I’m gonna share it with just you.” He grabbed his red solo cup of punch and pulled out his wallet. “This wallet? Actually a flask.” He poured liquor into it. “Enjoy,” he said as he handed him the drink.
The ginger smirked, and downed the cup, and connected his lips to Harley’s. Just when he thought things were going to go further, the door opened, a frazzled Peter behind it reaching into his bag, his shirt unbuttoned.
“This one’s taken,” Harley said sarcastically.
Peter gaped at them and shoved his red… red something… back into his backpack. “Sorry.”
4. Hot Chocolate
Spider-Man squatted on the roof of his apartment, surveying the area around him. “Karen, got anything for me tonight?”
“It’s a quiet night tonight, Peter. The police are diligent and are handling any and all threats at the moment.”
“Any way I can assist?” he asked.
“None require your assistance,” she responded.
He sighed, and sat on the edge, his feet dangling over the side. He tried to hone in on the conversation below him when he suddenly felt another presence on the roof. Swiftly, he turned around and held his arm up, ready to shoot a web, but retracted as he saw Harley.
He held his arms up in defense as best he could with the two mugs in his hands. “Sorry, sorry. I saw you up here and it’s a pretty chilly night considering its only September, but I figured, I don’t know, that you might want some hot chocolate?”
Peter smiled, if only just a moment. “Thanks.” He met him halfway and grabbed the mug, not getting to feel the warmth of the ceramic through his suit. “Could you uh…” he twirled his finger.
“Oh! Right.” He turned around. “You mind if I sit down?”
He shook his head. “Go right ahead. I was going to anyways.”
They sat and leaned their backs against each other. Peter cautiously pulled his mask up just his lips mouth was out and took a sip of the warm treat. However, as it hit his tongue, he spit it out all over the cement.
“Too hot?” Harley asked.
“No. What is in that? It’s disgusting.” His eyes widened. “No offense.”
“Sorry. That must be mine. I like whiskey in it.” He traded mugs with him. “I’m guessing you’re not much of a drinker then?”
Peter, not wanting to reveal too much, responded, “my body burns through the alcohol at hyper speeds so even if I wanted to enjoy it, I couldn’t. It’s just the bitter taste with no reward.”
“That sucks,” Harley said simply.
“Yeah. I guess. Even if I could, I wouldn’t want to drink anyway. I see the way it affects people. I uh I mean in the streets. Drunk people make a lot of mistakes and do a lot of stupid shit.”
“Yeah. They do,” Harley said guiltily.
“Thanks for the hot chocolate, Harley. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
5. Jello
“Why do we have so much jello?” Peter asked.
“I have a party tonight,” Harley responded, as if that was a reasonable answer.
“And?”
“Jello shots. Duh.” Harley continued to dump the packages of powder into the big mixing bowl.
“What the hell are jello shots?”
“Well,” he poured his last pack of jello, “you take the jello,” he poured the hot water in, “and then mix the water until it’s all dissolved,” he poured vodka and cold water in, “and then you add the booze, put them in condiment cups and tada, jello shots.”
“You just know the proportions for it?” he asked, staring as he mixed.
“I make them a lot.”
- Garbage Can
“What did you say was in this?”
“Redbull, gin, vodka, rum, peach Schnapps, and triple sec.”
Harley grinned charismatically down at the girl who was obviously flirting with him. It was her party, a big house owned by rich Midtown parents. She wore a tight glittery black dress that accentuated her large breasts due to it’s obviously too small of size.
“Sounds good,” he said, mostly to make her happy.
“I’ll get you a cup.”
Maybe it was a trick his mind was playing on him, but he could’ve sworn that at the bottom of the white plastic, there was a little white pill. It was quickly covered up by the orange liquid. He stared at the drink warily.
“Well, go on. Have a taste.” She may have been trying to sound flirty but there was an edge of urgency in her tone.
“Did you say there was peach Schnapps in this?” he asked.
She nodded eagerly. “Yup. Lots.”
“Oh.” He feigned a cringe. “I’m actually allergic to peaches. Sorry.”
She was obviously disappointed and frustrated. “Oh. That’s okay. We have other drinks...”
“It was nice talking to you.” And with that, he disappeared into the crowd.