Work Text:
At eleven in the morning on Christmas eve’s eve, Peter was sitting at a little booth tucked away in the back corner of the Starbucks across from his school, the only one in the store with two sockets, with his laptop open and various papers spread across the table. It was the third time this week he’d come in even though it was only Tuesday. Every half- hour or so he would subtly make eyes at the espresso machine as if one more shot would speed up his research process. The barista working the till sent him a concerned look every time he caught Peter’s eye.
Realistically, drinking three venti caramel mocha lattes in one day couldn’t be good for a person, but Peter did have an enhanced metabolism that he hadn’t yet tested the limits of so really, he deliberated on his way to the counter, this was all for science.
The barista (Harley as his name tag said) looked him up and down and asked, “The usual?” which was only a little bit worrying seeing as Peter hadn’t ever been to this Starbucks until yesterday. He nodded absentmindedly, and shoved a random note from his pocket into the guy’s hand.
“Keep th’ change” he mumbled, and made his way to the end of the bar to wait for his drink. The barista looked up at him incredulously as he walked away.
“You sure about that? This is a fifty,” he asked a few minutes later as he handed Peter his drink. Peter blushed and nodded quickly before rushing back to his booth and downing a third of his coffee in one sip. He would never usually carry anything bigger than a ten; Tony had developed a habit of shoving random notes in the pockets of clothes Peter left at the tower. It was thoughtful but kind of strange.
Ten minutes before closing, Harley slid into the booth across from Peter, and pushed a cup towards him. Lost in his caffeine induced work-focused headspace, Peter mumbled, “S’not mine” and kept his eyes glued to his laptop. Harley chuckled, and pushed the drink close enough that Peter looked up.
“Peter, right? On the house, tall hot chocolate. No more coffee because we have a policy that I just made up that says we can’t kill our customers.” He smiled as Peter made grabby hands at the cup, hesitating for a second before taking a sip.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay?” He asked nervously. Tony had once told him that the ‘Cardinal Rule of Life’ was to never accept a drink from a stranger, and that that rule became even more important if the stranger was eerily good looking- which, this blonde haired, blue-eyed, brobdingnagian barista seemed to be. Granted, Tony had probably meant his statement under different circumstances, but one could never be too careful.
“Are you kidding?” Harley asked, “If Starbucks kept tabs you’d be paid off for the week. Or I guess if this pattern continues, the next two days,” he smiled softly. “Drink. You look like you need something to cheer you up.”
Peter hummed appreciatively and took a sip of the drink. It was sickly sweet, with plenty of vanilla and whipped cream- just the way he liked it, once he got past the lack of bitter coffee flavour that he had come to expect hidden under all the sugary bells and whistles. He pushed his laptop closed and sunk down into the cushioned seat, the magic chocolate elixir clutched to his chest between sips, warming his whole body just right.
Harley sat there and watched until Peter placed the cup back on the table with a flourish, and reached for a napkin to wipe his mouth.
“Good?”
“Mmm..mh” Peter made a sound of appreciation.
“Now what do I have to do to get you into bed?”
And… there it was. He knew it was too good to be true; no one had ever bought him a drink without an ulterior motive apart from Mrs. Rosvita across the hall, and Peter was definitely not getting Mrs. Rosvita vibes from this guy.
“What’d you put in the coffee?” He asked. Realistically with his enhanced metabolism and healing, nothing slipped in his drink could actually affect him if the person didn’t know he was Spider-Man.
Harley furrowed his eyebrows and stammered, “Uh, not coffee? That much caffeine can’t be safe for one person. It’s cocoa powder, milk, vanilla and whipped cream, nothing that’s not in your usual order. I just meant, you allergic to sleep or somethin’?”
Peter slumped back and rolled his shoulders to release the tension. Clearly sleep was something he needed, as apparently he had forgotten both social etiquette and how to speak.
“Paper. Two actually. Electrodynamics and molecular biology but that one’s nearly done. ‘M dying,” Peter said, suddenly remembering how to make conversation like a normal person. The pretty barista just smiled back at him.
“Senior I take it?” He asked and Peter nodded.
“It’s real mean of them to give you papers over Christmas, but my school wasn’t so much better. We didn’t have all that fancy stuff though, no, they saved that stuff for college. I’m four months into a civil and mechanical engineering degree and I feel-“
Harley’s back shot up straight and his eyes blew wide open. Peter watched as he appeared to go through the five stages of grief in less than thirty seconds before blurting out,
“Harley! Harley. My name’s Harley, and my Ma would absolutely have my head if she knew I’d started a conversation without introducing myself first. Please don’t tell her- No, that’s stupid, Why would you tell her? When would you tell her? Dear Lord, I’m so glad we’re closing, I need my bed,” He pointed a finger at Peter, although due to their very very close proximity his finger waggled about an inch from Peter’s eyeball. “You need bed too.”
And in his delirious state, Peter looked the greek godlike hunk stuttering in front of him straight in the eyes, and said, with a completely straight face, no fear of God nor Man in a fleeting fit of sheer, sleep deprivation-induced confidence,
“At least buy me dinner first.”
He could feel Ned high-fiving him all the way from Manhattan, that line was so smooth. Harley scrunched his nose in laughter and grabbed Peter’s cup and a pen to scribble down his number.
“Out you get, I have to close up. Tomorrow at eight?” Harley asked nervously.
Peter smiled at him and nodded, pulling his papers together and shoving them in his backpack. He would have to get home first, and then he would text Harley about their date. And maybe Harley would tell him about his engineering course, and Peter could talk about his internship and STEM school, and they could text all night until they both fell asleep, each other the last thing on their minds. But home first.
This was definitely not how Peter had expected his evening to end, but somehow he was okay with it.The paper could take a backseat right now, because Peter had places to be and a life to live.