Work Text:
As per usual, Peter Parker was having a rough morning.
After returning from a summer spent in Iyezbeckestan incorporating eco-efficient power sources in newly-built mud brick homes, he had come to the horrific realization that all of his perishables had gone bad. Should he have realized that they would go bad while he was gone? Yes, probably. However, hindsight was 20/20, and he definitely did not have 20/20 vision.
So, there he was, first day home, and greeted with the horrible smell of rotten eggs, curdled almond milk (he didn’t even know almond milk could curdle), and so much mold (God, he hated mold), realizing that if he needed to go on a grocery run.
So, he threw on a pair of sweatpants that bunched together at the top from how tight he had to tie it to fit his thin hips and a random t-shirt that he wouldn’t notice was a Hannah Montana in concert t-shirt until he was already three blocks away from his dingy apartment.
Trudging through the aisles, throwing in whatever suited his fancy into his grocery wagon, he froze in the cereal aisle. At the sound of the opening chords to a song that was seared into the forefront of his mind for the last three months, Peter covered his face with his thin hands and groaned loudly.
“That granola givin’ you some trouble?”
Peter looked up, face flushed. “No, uh, just hate this song.”
The stranger, and oh God, the most handsome stranger he had ever met, Great Job Peter, raised an eyebrow. “Any reason why?”
“I’ve spent the entire summer listening to this garbage because my partner played it everyday while we worked,” Peter explained.
“Partner?” Handsome Stranger questioned, smirk fading.
“Construction partner. I’ve been abroad working on building houses in the third world parts of Iyezbeckestan.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Great cause. You must be a real philanthropist.”
“Well, they’re lucky I’m such a philanthropist, because I almost lost my goddamn mind listening to the sad attempt for music that is Peachy Keen,” Peter spat out the name with disgust.
“What don’t you like about it?” Handsome Stranger asked.
“Peachy Keen have single-handedly caused the death of melody itself. I mean, have you heard their sorry excuse of mumble rap? Mumble rap does not belong in a country song! The lead guy, ugh, his voice is wasted on the absolute trash they produce! You know, their old stuff actually had character. Lyrics that meant something other than vapid lovey-dovey nonsense and truck, beer, and ass. They had meaning and commentary on the harsh realities of the world and substance. It was actually some of the few modern country I’d bare to listen to. But now, they’re just corporate hacks, selling out for the big bucks, and I guess it’s working for them because I hear their stupid, dumbass, terrible, earworm songs everywhere I go!”
“Would you like to get a coffee?”
Peter blinked. “What?”
“Coffee. Doesn’t have to be today. Can be today if you’d like.” He grinned suavely.
Peter blinked again. “I, uh, yes. That would be great.” He paused. “God, I don’t even know your name, and I just completely word vomited at you in the middle of a Harris Teeter.”
“Harley,” Handsome St- Harley said, holding out his hand to shake.
“Peter,” he responded, shaking his hand.
“So, Peter, can I get your number so we can set up that coffee?” Harley handed him his phone, open to his contact.
Peter smiled, typing in his number. “Coffee.”
Harley nodded. “Coffee.” He grabbed a pack of Made Good granola. “I’ll text you.”
“I’ll be waiting!” Peter said, cringing at his choice of words. “I mean, not waiting. I’ll probably be doing things. Because I’m busy with… things. Because I have things. To do.”
Harley just chuckled. “Well, when you’re not busy doing things, make sure to shoot me a text back.”
“Will do!” Peter squeaked.
Harley tipped his baseball cap and headed down the aisle.
Peter was floating on cloud nine for the rest of his grocery run, a little skip in his step as he grabbed his frozen veggies and canned soups.
Pulling his grocery wagon behind him with both hands because of his weak, frail arms that had not been used for any heavy lifting in the last three months, he felt a buzz in his pocket.
Taking a break in the middle of the street, wheezing only slightly and taking a moment to use his rescue inhaler, he pulled out his phone which was cracked and basically falling apart.
(Maybe)Harley: Hey, Peter! It’s Harley from the grocery store.
Peter grinned.
peter parker: hey harley! if you’re not up to anything tomorrow afternoon, i’d love to grab coffee with you then. there’s a great cafe on 87th that I’ve been dying to have since I’ve been gone.
Harley: Sounds great! Does noon work for you?
peter parker: sounds perfect
Harley: Books and Beans?
peter parker: that’s the one!
Harley: Can’t wait :)
It was only when Peter had gotten home and unloaded all his groceries did he realize how horrible he really looked.
With dark circles under his tired eyes, his hair was overgrown into a long, shaggy mop of brown curls and hadn’t been brushed after his long shower from the night before, his Hannah Montana in concert t-shirt (good going on that one Peter) had a streak of toothpaste dribble running down the front, and he was wearing mismatching socks with slides, and they also happened to be two different My Little Pony socks.
How he got even a chance with Harley, he had no clue.
Changing into a pair of (only slight stained) jeans and a science pun t-shirt, he headed out from his apartment and went to get a well-needed haircut.
Peter wasn’t sure what to do with the time on his hands. After graduating from NYU, the construction abroad was his only thing on his to-do list. He knew that job finding wouldn’t be hopeless considering his summer and in-school internships that gave him a lengthy and impressive resume, but he still wasn’t set on what he wanted to do.
So, to fill the rest of his day, he scrolled through indeed.com, submitting as many job applications as he could while listening to the same Queen Greatest Hits album that he had listened to on the plane ride back to the US. By the time it was only 7PM, the jet lag was settling in and he was ready to crash for the night.
Bleary eyed and exhausted, he read over his texts with Harley one more time before drifting into a blissful sleep.
As per usual, Peter woke up slowly. However, the leisure of his morning routine was sharply interrupted as he caught sight of the time.
“Shit. I’m gonna be late!”
After brushing his teeth and hair at the same time, he threw on a pair of jeans (clean ones this time) and a plaid button up, and didn’t bother with breakfast. His bulky glasses were smudged, but he didn’t have time to wipe them, so he cleaned them with his shirt which just made them end up getting a thin layer of blurry instead of getting rid of the smudge and it was really just another inconvenience for his morning.
Popping a Lactaid, pocketing his inhaler, wallet, phone, and keys, and triple checking himself in the mirror, he rushed out of the door.
By the time he was at the little cafe, he had to do his rescue inhaler twice from all the running he was doing, and he had to stand outside just to catch his breath. When he looked through the window, he locked eyes with Harley who sat at a table, waving with a friendly smile.
Heaving through labored breaths, he waved back, and entered.
“Sorry I’m late. I just got back yesterday, and I’m still not used to the Eastern Standard Time,” Peter said.
“Don’t worry about it. I just got here,” Harley reassured. “You look great.”
Peter laughed awkwardly. “Yeah, yesterday definitely wasn’t my best. I was basically fresh off the plane, in desperate need of food.”
“You got a haircut,” Harley pointed out.
Peter instinctively ran a nervous hand through his curls. “Yeah. It was three months of growth.”
“So, the construction project, was that like a mission or…?”
“Just volunteer work. I had wanted to do my part for a while but my Aunt was pretty adamant that I not travel until after I got out of grad school.”
“So what did you do?” Harley asked.
“Definitely not the building,” Peter said with a chuckle. “I installed the solar panels and connected the electricity.”
“Oh, wow. I didn’t realize they had that.”
“It’s the most efficient reusable energy source, especially in somewhere as sunny as Iyezbeckestan.”
“Well, I hope not everything was as hair-pullingly infuriating as you described so passionately yesterday.”
Peter flushed. “To install the solar panels, you need one person to run the wires from the inside and one person on the outside, and the guy working with me would handle the outside. But, he would never take his phone outside because he said that it would ‘overheat,’ so he would blast it from his portable speaker from the inside so he could hear it on the roof, which meant I spent hours just listening to his music on full volume.”
“Oh God,” Harley said, laughing lightly.
“And his playlist was absolutely horrendous. It was Peachy Keener’s “Peanut Butter Whiskey” and “Broken Oak” albums, and a terrible mix of RaeLynn, Pistol Annies, Jason Aldean and for some reason, a lot of screamo. You don’t know whiplash until you hear the boring acoustic guitar play off Peachy Keen’s “Summer ‘09” followed by the death screech of Immaculate Conception.”
Harley snorted. “Speaking of which, I wore somethin’ for the occasion.”
Peter eyes drifted down. “You did not.”
“Oh yes, I did.”
Peter’s eyes were glued to the magenta blocky letters reading Peachy Keen. “Why do you own that? Don’t tell me I lamented my utter hatred of your favorite band or something.”
Harley shook his head. “It was a gift.”
“Some gift,” Peter scoffed.
“At least it’s comfortable! They may have shitty music but at least they’ve got good merch.”
“Ah, so you don’t like them either,” Peter stated. “I haven’t yet heard your views yet.”
“Their new music doesn’t compare to their old music at all,” Harley said slowly.
“Yes! Exactly! It’s like it’s not even written by the same people. Their old music clearly had running themes. When they talked about heartbreak, it focused on abandonment and holding onto the past and moving on. When they talked about happiness, it was about the plastic kind of happiness, overshadowed by the balance of privilege and struggle. When they sang about coming from the bottom, they never bragged about getting to the top. It was about sticking to their roots and having identity. Even their songs about family, they were earnest and genuine and real. It wasn’t the shitty, bland talk of always in it together and having each other’s back.”
“You really get it,” Harley said softly.
“Like I said, it was the few modern country I could actually listen to,” Peter said with a shrug. “You wanna order?”
Harley’s demeanor shifted. “Right. What’s good?”
“Well, they’ve got a dairy free strawberry cheesecake that’s to die for that I always get.”
“You dairy free or just a picky eater?” Harley questioned.
“Lactose intolerant through and through. But I can deal. Have been all my life.”
“I’ve got fruit allergies, so I get it.”
“Fruit allergies?” Peter asked, curious.
“Deathly allergic to blueberries. Full anaphylactic shock, hives and throat closing fun stuff. Then there’s pitted fruits like peaches, cherries, and nectarines. They make my mouth tingly. Then of course, there’s my apple allergy, which has been evolving the older I get. I used to just be able to eat them with the tingly tongue, but then it started making me sick. Don’t even taste the same anymore. Think it’s my body’s way of rejecting them.”
“Strawberries okay, though? Don’t want this cheesecake to cause a reaction,” Peter said.
He smiles. “Strawberries are just fine.”
“Anything else?”
“Coffee’d be nice,” Harley said.
“Comin’ right up.”
When Peter returned to the table with the treat and two mugs of coffee, Harley was staring at his phone with a frown.
“Everything okay?” Peter asked.
Harley looked up, visibly relaxing. “Just work. My boss wants me to come in during my off day because he isn’t happy with the result of my last months of work.”
“That sucks,” Peter said.
“Yeah. It does.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “But, let’s not talk about work. Anythin’ but work.”
“Well, what do you do when you’re not at work?” Peter asked.
Harley stopped. “I don’t really… do anything outside of work.”
Peter frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I guess, I… I don’t really do anything else.” He scrunched his eyebrows, looking afar. “Huh. I’ve never… I’ve never thought about it. It’s just… it’s how it is.”
“I’m guessing you don’t really do this kind of thing, then,” Peter said.
“What do you mean?” Harley asked.
“This. Going on dates. You don’t usually drop the existential epiphany on the first date,” Peter said.
Harley flushed. “Yeah, I… I haven’t really gone on a date in a while.”
“You don’t say,” Peter teased.
“I don’t really know why I… it’s just, I,” he took a breath, “it’s been a while since I’ve met someone who is so…” He stopped. “People I meet through work always have this preconceived notion when they meet me and expect a lot from me, but you… don’t. You’re just,” he bit his lip, stumbling to find the words, “it was just nice to talk to someone who is as genuine and honest as you.”
“I would say I was an embarrassing amount of honest,” Peter stated.
“I think it was a refreshing amount of honest,” Harley said with a smile.
“It’s okay that you haven’t done this in a while. I haven’t either,” Peter said. “Maybe we can figure this out together.”
Harley grinned. “Maybe we can.” He took a bite of his cheesecake and moaned obscenely. “Holy fuck this is good.”
“I told you!”
“So,” Harley said, licking at the gooey strawberry sauce off his fork. “You just graduated?”
“Yeah! Double major in biomedical and chemical engineering,” Peter said. “Summa cum laude.”
“So you want to be a scientist,” Harley said.
“I… don’t really know. I mean, in theory, yeah. I want to be a scientist. But I just… want to make sure that I’m doing something good. Make change.” He set his fork down. “I have all these big ideas. All these ways that I know I can help the less fortunate with more accessible and cost efficient medical treatments, and I just… I have to start small and build my way up to get there. So I’m in this occupational limbo where I just need to get my foot in the door.”
“Is it hard? Finding a job in that field?” Harley asked.
“It won’t be for me. And I don’t mean to sound like… like how I’m clearly sounding right now. I just, I took a lot of internship opportunities in high school and uni to bulk up my resume, so I know that I’ve definitely got the experience. At this point, it’s more about finding the fit for me rather than the job in general.”
“I really envy you,” Harley said. “You’re just so confident. And you know what you want. I… don’t really know what I want anymore. At least, with my job.”
“How so?” Peter asked.
“I’m kinda stuck in a dead end job right now. I’m stuck in a contract that’s trapped me in a loop of doing somethin’ I hate, and I… I used to love my job. I used to wake up in the morning excited to go to work and I was doing it with my little sister, and we were… we were so young and naive, and we got sucked into something we didn’t understand. We were too young to understand what we were signing up for, and suddenly we’re corporate hacks doing what the la… what the company wants us doing.”
“You’ll find your way out. Contracts end. New doors open. You keep moving on. And I know it sucks to suffer through something that makes you unhappy, but you gotta find the good in what you’ve got. Find ways to put a piece of yourself in whatever you’re doing because no matter how much you have to change to fit their mold, you can’t lose sight of yourself.”
“I…” Harley’s phone buzzed. “Sorry. It’s work again.” He put the phone to his ear, demeanor completely shifting, voice rough and firm. “Keener. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yes. Yes, I understand. Yes, now is fine. Yes, I can make it. Will the driver… yes. I’ll be back in ten. Bye.” As he hung up, he softened, eyes guilty. “I’m sorry, I…”
“Don’t worry about it. This was nice. We should do it again.”
“Really? You’d like to?” he asked, voice high and hopeful.
“Really. I hope whatever you have to do is… just take care of yourself, alright? Make sure you don’t let yourself get too wrapped up in everything.”
He smiled softly. “Thank you, Peter. Really.” He placed a bill on the table. “I’ll call you, alright?”
“Alright,” Peter said.
“I…” he stood up, unsure of whatever to do. “Bye. This was really great.” He kissed him on the cheek gently, hand lingering on his shoulder before he rushed out of the cafe.
Peter, cheeks warm, grinned.
“Wait, he left a hundred dollar bill?!”
It was a couple days of radio silence from Harley, not that Peter was trying so hard to reach out to him with his job hunting and back to back interviews, until he had just gotten off the phone with the R&D recruiter at Stark Industries offering him his dream job, and he got a second phone call following right after.
“Hello?” Peter answered.
“Peter! Hey, it’s Harley. Sorry I didn’t get back to you sooner. Things just got swamped with the work on revisions. But , I was hoping we could get together for dinner soon? I know this fantastic rooftop all-American grill that is absolutely mouth-watering.”
“Sounds great. When were you thinking?” Peter asked.
“When are you free?”
“Well, if you’re not doing anything tonight, seven would be fine?”
“Seven it is. See you there.”
So, at six forty-five, Peter, threw on his usual outfit of jeans and checked button up, and headed to Ambidance.
“Uh, table for Keener?” Peter said, unsure.
“Right this way,” the hostess guided him through the crowded tables, and led him to a secluded table in the corner. “Someone will be with you shortly.”
“This place is really nice,” Peter said. His eyes went wide as they caught sight of Harley who wore a button up, vest, and dress pants. His hair was gelled back and his lips and cheeks were rosy. “Well, now I feel underdressed.”
Harley shook his head. “No, trust me, I’m overdressed. I just came here from work.”
“Ah,” Peter said with a nod, taking a seat. “You look really nice.”
“Oh, thank you. The dress code is definitely a little stiff.”
“That’s one thing I can look forward to about a lab job. I can wear whatever I want.” He lit up. “Which reminds me. I’ve got good news.”
Harley leaned in. “Oh. Please do tell.”
“I got the Stark Industries job!”
Harley’s jaw dropped. “ Stark Industries ? That’s insane!”
“Well, seven years of previous reputable job experience helped a lot.”
“That’s really amazing. I’m so happy for you.”
“So, that means I’ve got something to celebrate about, so the food here better be celebration worthy.”
“Oh, it’s celebration worthy and more. You’re not gonna even believe their bread. It’s phenomenal.”
Peter grabbed the fluffy cube.
“Dip it in the oil and balsamic.”
Peter raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told, taking a tentative bite. “Oh my God.”
“I know. ”
“How is this bread so… oh my God . That’s so good,” Peter moaned. “Okay, what do you recommend?”
“Their New England style lobster roll is good. Good pizzas and burgers too.” Harley studied his face. “And they’ve got good chicken tenders.”
Peter relaxed.
“You’re a chicken tenders kind of guy?” Harley asked.
“I get it every restaurant I go to. That and a shirley temple. It’s how I can gauge if I’ll come back,” Peter said.
“You’ll have to tell me your thoughts then. Let me know if Amidance is worthy of Peter Parker, restaurant connoisseur.”
He chuckled. “I must warn you, my reviews can be very scathing.”
“Then I hope they can measure up.”
They both laughed, quietly sipping at their water as they enjoyed the cool summer breeze and soft sounds of music playing on the stereo.
They both groaned as a familiar strum of guitar played.
“I swear, they’re haunting us. Something I did in a past life must’ve been real bad for me to be punished like this,” Peter whined.
“How do you know it’s not somethin’ in you current life?” Harley questioned.
“I’ll have you know that I am a saint ,” Peter said, holding his hand to his chest with a scoff. “Wait, wait. Listen.”
“Summer sunshine settling strong, holdin’ on to you all night long, the sounds you make are the only song that I wanna hear. Rain is rattling and rippling rough, girl I know you know your stuff…”
“‘Girl I know you know your stuff?’” Peter repeated. “Like, the lyrics before were almost good. Like I was actually getting into it, and then “girl I know you know your stuff’ comes in and it’s like, really? That’s the only rhyme you can think of? Not tough? Fluff? Puff?”
“The original line was “but I know you would call my bluff, when I tell you that it’s enough if you don’t disappear,” Harley said.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “How do you even know that?”
“Interview on the country radio station I listen to,” Harley said with a shrug.
“See, I don’t see how they couldn’t keep that line in. It is so much better than ‘girl I know you know your stuff.’ Like, it has substance. It has nuance. It has implications to the depth of their relationship.”
“The label thought that the new lyric would reach more people,” Harley said, jaw tense.
“Well the label was wrong. If anything, it reaches me less , but who am I to say anything?” He scanned the menu. “Oh! We’ve gotta get this peanut butter thing later. Peanut butter ice cream with chocolate chunks served with chocolate sauce? Yes please.”
Harley smiled, his rigid shoulders relaxing. “Yeah. I’ve never gotten to get it with my sister ‘cause she’s allergic.”
“You two work together, right?”
Harley froze. “Huh?”
“You mentioned the other day that you two work together. Right?”
“Oh, right. Yeah, we do. Neither of us went to college because we got into the… industry through familial ties.”
“Nepotism is always helpful,” Peter said.
He chuckled dryly. “You could say that. So, we’ve been doin’ in for a while. I was eighteen when we got the job, and she was fourteen. We were just… we were so young. We didn’t get it. We didn’t know how it would all…” He stopped. “But, yeah. Been in the job for six years, and I just… I know I’ve got nothin’ else goin’ for me but what I’m doin’ so I’m just… it’s what I do. And it’s what I’ll do. And I’m lucky. I’m really damn lucky to get to do what I do, but I’m not… happy? I guess. I’m not happy anymore.”
Peter blinked, unsure of how to respond.
“And here I am, bringin’ the mood down again with more existential epiphanies.” He laughed humorlessly. “I’m really not good at this.”
“It’s okay. It’s different, but a good kind of different. I’m learning a lot about you,” Peter tried to reassure him. “What is it exactly that you do?”
Harley paled, swallowing hard.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Peter said quickly.
Harley leaned back, letting out a breath of relief. “It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just… it’s complicated.”
“And you don’t want to complicate things just yet.”
“Right,” he said.
“Then, tell me about your sister.”
He smiled softly. “She’s the best. You’d think spending every hour of the day with your sibling would drive you crazy, but we never… it’s not like that. We’ve got a four year difference which is just big enough that we never had enough in common to really fight, but also enough in common that we were always close, mostly because I was a bit of a second parent to her growin’ up. Our dad, he, uh, he left when Abby was real young, so I had to pick up the slack.”
“I’m sorry,” Peter said.
He shook his head. “Don’t matter much now. I’m a better man now without him.” He took a long breath. “When we started workin’ together, Abby and me, it was always a fair partnership. We had an open communication, and though we bickered a lot, we both took each other’s visions into consideration and became masters at compromise. It was important we did because even though she was only fourteen when we had started, she had great, big ideas. But I also had to intervene and focus on the logistics of it all.”
“So is she the more creative one?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Harley said. “I’d like to think we’ve both got a good balance of creativity and business. We’ve had to, startin’ small. It wasn’t until a year in did we catch the attention of a real company. They were really good for us. Gave us a lot of freedom to do what we wanted to, supported us, pushed us into the public eye. But then… they fell through. Big scandals, lots of stolen money, and we had to find somewhere else to go, and it just happened to be who we’re stuck with now.”
“With the chokehold contract,” Peter finished.
“And that would be it." He sighed. " We might not be that happy where we are, but we’re still damn grateful for what we’ve got. And no matter what, we’ve got each other. We’re a little stuck together doin’ what we do anywho. And it’s good to know that I’ve got someone to go through it all with me and knowin’ that she’s got someone with her too.”
“It must be really strange. Doing something for so long. I mean, you started when you were an adult, but she’s been doing it for almost half her life. Is that hard?”
“It can be,” he said with a nod. “But she doesn’t really know any different. If that’s for the better, I don’t know. But sometimes I wish that maybe she could’ve gotten a more normal life. We love what we do, but it must be… it’s hard in the business we’re in. Got so many eyes in on our lives, and it’s hard.”
“I shouldn’t look you up, then?” Peter asked, a genuine question.
“If you do then I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to back away. But I… it’s been nice. Just talkin’ with you. Knowin’ that you don’t care who I am.”
“I shouldn’t be worried, should I?”
“I don’t know,” Harley said honestly.
“I won’t,” Peter said. “Promise.” He crossed an X on his chest. “You will tell me, though, right?”
“I will. I’m just… not ready for this to be over just yet.”
“It doesn’t have to be when you do.”
“You don’t know that,” Harley muttered lowly.
“Hey. Hey. I really like you. And if it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t. But don’t go making something set in stone and dooming it before it even gets the chance.”
Harley went to refute when the waiter approached their table.
“Hey, y’all. What can I get for you today?”
After another week of flirty texting, meme sharing, and late night calls, the two finally got together for a third date.
Peter, hands deep in his pockets, stared at the door with confusion. “Barnes and Noble?”
“Just trust me. It’s gonna be fun.” He took his hand and led him into the bookstore, stopping in the romance section. “So, here are the rules. You have one minute to skim the summaries on these trashy romance novels. Whoever finds the one that makes the other laugh the hardest wins the round. The loser then has to flip to a random page and read an excerpt.”
Peter grinned. “Let’s do it.”
“Ready. Set. Go!”
Peter scurried to the shelves, rapidly reading until he found the perfect one, smirking to himself.
“And time!” Harley announced.
“You wanna go first?” Peter asked.
“Confident, I see,” Harley said. He sighed. “Well you should, because mine is not great.” He cleared his throat. “ Wealthy businessman, Conrad Connors, has his life flipped upside down when he meets small town butcher, Brianna Boswell. Will this meat-cute leave his heart chopped? M-E-A-T by the way.”
Peter snorted. “Okay. Good contender. It is now my turn.” He held out the book dramatically. “Coriander Crescent-Moon was the last human on an Earth left sunken into the seas. While the others had adapted to survive in these rough waters, she has held onto her humanly features. When she meets octoperson, Derk Dresimane, she learns the true meaning of love, in his loving, eight tentacled, embrace.”
Harley burst out into laughter. “Octoperson? How does that work?”
“Who fuckin’ knows. But I won! You gotta read.”
Harley held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Fair is fair.” He flipped to a random page. “‘ Coriander’s mouth watered as she caught sight of Derk’s massive, throbbing, suction covered’...” Harley choked. “I can’t read this!”
“No, please continue,” Peter said with a giggle.
“ I’m skipping forward.” His eyes scanned the page. “‘Her hands, slick with the goopy remnants of his tentacle slime’ wait what the fuck ?!”
Peter doubled over in laughter, the storegoers eyeing him with judgement.
“On second thought, I’m done with this game. Let’s get food.”
“Where were you thinking?” Peter asked.
“How do you feel about Vietnamese?”
The hole-in-the-wall restaurant was a cacophony of different scents and low rumble of chatter.
Once again, they sat in a secluded corner, a back room hidden from the rest of the restaurant.
“This place is close to the, uh, office. So we would stop by here for pho before we’d get to work since it’s so easy on the throat.”
“Is that what you recommend?” Peter asked.
“Pho’s great. It's warm and comforting and just turns all the tension in your body into jelly. I usually get the chicken, but they've also got shrimp and beef. It's got fresh vegetables and the best rice noddles and the broth is just to die for."
“That sounds great," Peter said.
As Harley asked for their order, throwing in some spring rolls and drinks, Peter gawked at him.
“You speak Vietnamese?” he questioned as the waiter walked away.
He chuckled. “Oh, no, I don’t.”
“Then what was that?” Peter asked.
“I’m just good with pronunciations. I got the basics of IPA in theory. Uh, that's the international phonetic alphabet. Just mean that I know how to pronounce words in different languages, even if I don’t know what it means.”
“Wow. And you learned that…?”
“High school music theory.”
Peter eyebrows shot up. “You’re a musician?”
“You could say that,” Harley said vaguely.
“Is that why you don’t talk about your work? Because you do music?”
“Yeah,” Harley said, drawing it out long. “It’s complicated.”
Peter nodded again. “Well, speaking of complicated. You wouldn’t believe the chemical engima that we’ve been trying to decipher at work.”
The next week, Peter had invited Harley over to his little apartment for authentic Italian pizza and a brutal Super Mario tournament.
Peter had been concerned that it was too juvenile, but Harley’s eyes lit up at the proposal, and spent the evening sipping Peter’s cheap beer and laughing so hard he was coughing.
They played a vicious best of five match, with Peter winning 5:4, and the two reclined on the couch, eating ice cream out of the tub together.
“You know, every date we’ve had has been great, but this was somethin’ else,” Harley said.
“If I’d known you were so low maintenance, I would’ve never bothered with actual human interaction in restaurants.”
Harley chortled. “Yeah, this is nice. We should do it again.” He laid his head on the cushion of the couch, smiling at the brunette. “You’re so beautiful.”
Peter’s cheeks warmed. “Stop it.”
“You are! You’re the most beautiful guy I’ve ever seen.” He gnawed on his lip. “And I was hopin’ that you’d be mine.”
Peter froze. “What do you mean?”
“Peter, would you be my boyfriend? Officially?”
Peter smiled wide. “Yes. Yes I will.”
Harley placed his and Peter’s tubs of ice cream on the coffee table. When he returned to the couch, he placed a cold hand to Peter’s cheek, rubbing his cheekbone lightly with his thumb. “Is this…”
Peter nodded, leaning into his hold.
Harley tentatively leaned in, chilled, chapped lips against Peter’s.
Peter’s eyes fluttered shut, a low hum escaping his lips as he started to move into Harley’s lips. He slipped his fingers through his hair as Harley slid his fingers up the back of his shirt, running his fingers up and down his bony spine.
Peter climbed onto his lap, straddling his hips, grinding down on top of him.
Harley moaned, moving to trail kisses down his neck.
“Harley,” he gasped, grabbing a fistful of hair.
Harley clearly liked that, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin with more fervor.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, the ringtone making him go rigid and groan unhappily. “I’m so sorry, but I have to take this.” He pulled out his phone, Peter still sitting atop him. “Keener. You want me to what? Now? It’s… yes, I know. Yes, I understand. Yes, now is fine. I’ll be there. Yes, I will be there. Right. Yes, I u… I understand. Bye.” He looked to Peter, that guilty look that Peter knew he’d have to get used to.
“You have to go,” Peter stated.
“Yeah, I do.” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll get used to it.”
“You shouldn’t have to get used to it,” Harley said.
“Well, it’s part of you, so I will.” He kissed him softly. “We’ll do this again, alright? We will.”
“You’re amazing.”
“I know. I am.”
Harley swatted his arm. “I’ll text you when I get home. Let you know I made it back safe.”
Harley and Peter fell into a routine. Date nights on Fridays, sometimes at restaurants or movies or strolls through the city. Sometimes at Peter’s place, and now more often than not at Peter’s place now that they have finally progressed to kissing and fantastic sex.
They called at the end of their days, Peter venting vaguely about his work as much as he could with the NDAs on his projects and Harley venting vaguely about his work that he still didn’t want to share with Peter.
But, one thing that was a constant was how the two were being haunted by Peachy Keen.
Every cafe and diner and theatre and ice skating rink played at least one of their songs, and they bonded over their vehement hatred to their music.
Peter learned a lot about Harley when they talked about Peachy Keen.
Harley had strong opinions on bland chord progressions and underutilization of the singers' ranges in the minuscule note variation in the melodies. He knew a lot about production and songwriting and performance. He had even stronger opinions on their upcoming album, one that he spoke of very personally despite the fact that it hadn’t come out yet.
And then, around the same time that he was complaining about that new album, he had to go on a business trip.
“It’s gonna be about two weeks. I’ve gotta take care of some things in Los Angeles and Nashville, but I’ll be back in New York for the rest of the…” He stopped. “But I’m gonna be calling you every night to complain about everything, and I’m going to be staying with my sister, so you’ll finally get to meet her! At least, on FaceTime if she’ll let me.”
“Harley,” Peter said firmly, grabbing his hand.
He looked down. “Yes?”
“Don’t worry. It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”
He let out a breath. “What did I do to deserve you?”
“Buy me food and have washboard abs?” Peter said.
He gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I’ll be back before you even know it.”
“I’ll be here.”
“When I get back, I’m gonna make you my famous chicken and dumplings.”
“I can’t wait.” Peter kissed him again, but pulled away quickly. “You’ve gotta go, or you’ll miss your flight.”
Harley rested his head on Peter’s shoulder. “I don’t wanna go.”
“But you have to, and I don’t want to be the one facing your scary boss after he goes on a rampage searching for you.”
Harley snorted. “Alright. Fine.”
“Have a safe trip,” Peter said.
Six hours later, he got a selfie of Harley in his hotel room, view of LA in the background, smiling with a mug of tea.
peter <3: good flight?
princess: As good as a five and a half flight can be. Watched a ridiculous amount of crappy cooking shows. Can’t believe Donna’s Cheeto crusted duck didn’t win.
peter <3: get some rest. alright?
princess: You too.
The next day was uneventful. Normal day at the lab, takeout on his couch for dinner. He was pretty comfortable. However, at half past midnight he was abruptly woken up by his phone blowing up with messages.
Rubbing his eyes, he clicked the first one.
ned leeds: dude are you watching late talk?
peter parker: no, why?
ned leeds: [Video taken of his TV. Harley sits on the couch in a nice suit next to a blonde young woman in a form fitting dress. The host brings up a photo of Harley and Peter outside of their favorite cafe, Harley’s arm looped around Peter’s waist, the other hand on his cheek, obscuring his face from the camera. Peter is in a loose sweater with a scarf around his neck and his hair hidden in a beanie.
“So, Harley, this photo has been floating around. Your fans would love to know who the lucky person is?”
Harley shifts uncomfortably. “For the sake of their and my privacy, I would rather not put their name out.”
The audience oohs in curiosity.
“Surely you can give us a little nudge to the scoop, Harley. Everyone is wondering. They’re gonna find out sooner or later.” They click the picture and the screen switches to a picture that clearly shows Peter’s face, his cheeks and nose tinted pink with a lovesick grin as he looks up at Harley. “So, Harley, speculation can only get you far, but this young man definitely doesn’t look like just a friend. Does this mean that all your love songs about the mystery girl are actually about this mystery man?”
Harley’s eyes dart uncomfortably. “I-I, I mean I… it’s not… I don’t…”
“I think that our music is made to reach a wide audience, and we aren’t always writing about ourselves. The lyrics represent our experience through the feelings, but the stories we tell aren’t always ours.”
Video cuts off.]
Peter stared at his phone, heart hammering hard in his chest, unable to piece together what he had just seen.
With trembling thumbs, he went to Google and searched “Harley Keener.”
Harley Keener - Wikipedia
Harley David Keener (born August 6, 2001) is an American singer and songwriter. He is the co-lead singer and guitarist of Peachy Keen, a country music group that was formed in 2019, and is signed to Undefined Destinies Records.
Peter’s jaw dropped, his hand flying to his mouth as his eyes went wide.
He clicked into his messages, and saw a string of texts from Harley.
princess: Peter I’m so sorry
princess: I never meant for you to find out this way
princess: I didn’t want to keep this from you for so long
princess: I’m so sorry about all of this
princess: I’m sorry for lying to you. I hated doing it. I should’ve told you sooner
Peter stared at his screen, the words getting blurred and fuzzy.
He shut it off, switching it to silent, and stared at his ceiling sleeplessly until he had to get up for work.
Apparently, becoming a public figure, or at least, the partner of a public figure, meant that there were a crowd of photographers waiting at the stairwell of your apartment building that followed you your entire walk and subway ride to work.
Apparently, being outed publicly to the lead singer of one of the biggest modern country bands of the decade meant that your coworkers asked you very personal and inappropriate questions about your relationship while you’re trying to get coffee in the break room.
Apparently, people feel entitled to information that isn’t theirs to have, and pressure you into telling them things you don’t even know.
“Have you heard the new album?” “Is there a song written about you?” “How did you keep your relationship from the public for so long?”
It was all overwhelming, and for someone as overwhelmed with such realizations already as Peter, the onslaught of attention only made the bubbling hurt and anger towards Harley fizzle and fester.
It was a week of ignoring his texts and calls when the betrayal morphed into disbelief. Disbelief that he never pushed further to learn what Harley really did. Disbelief that he didn’t notice or figure it out himself. Disbelief that they would trash talk his band casually every chance they got. Disbelief that Harley, his Harley, could lie so easily to him for months.
It was a bitter irony, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.
But then, the end of the press tour was coming, and Harley would be returning to New York, and Peter was starting to realize that as hurt as he was, he knew Harley. Knowing his day job didn’t change the fact that he was the same guy who spent his weekend holed up in Peter’s apartment while he got over a 24 hour bug, making him homemade chicken noodle soup and hot toddies and sat and watched Barbie and the Diamond Castle with him because the copy of Ocean’s 11 he borrowed from the library had the wrong DVD inside.
This was the guy who was a space heater that he clung to in bed for warmth, and who pressed gentle kisses to his hair while he nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck.
This was a guy who was a tickle monster and blew raspberries on his stomach just because he knew it made him laugh until his ribs hurt.
This was the guy who had so much love in his heart, whether it be for his sister or his mama or his music or Peter, he knew that he loved, and he loved hard.
And he knew that when he lied to him, it wasn’t because he didn’t love him enough.
It might’ve been because he loved him too much.
princess: I landed back in New York today. Just thought you’d want to know.
peter <3: can we talk? tomorrow at noon? the cafe from our first date?
princess: I’ll be there.
Peter entered the cafe, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater anxiously.
Harley sat at their table, flannel over a plain tee and dark jeans. He also wore a baseball cap and sunglasses.
Peter swallowed hard and took a seat across from him. “Hi,” he said softly, voice cracking slightly.
“Hi,” Harley replied, voice hesitant. “I—”
“Me first,” Peter said.
Harley clamped his mouth shut, nodding silently.
“I get why you didn’t tell me. I mean, I’m sure you don’t of mundane normalcy with the life you live, and I gave you that. It was an escape from your crazy life. But, at the same time, I just… did you think I would see you differently? Or treat you differently? Because after watching you slurp the saliva out of your retainers at 7AM after enduring your terrible morning breath, I don’t think I could ever see you as some fancy celebrity.”
Harley chuckled wetly.
“Know that I was mad, but I’m not mad anymore. Know that I still want answers, but I do want to know you,” he placed his hand on his, “ all of you. And know that I don’t want this to end, even if things have to change. Because I still love you, Harley Keener. I still love you, and this doesn’t change that.”
Harley sniffled. “I love you too.”
“So, start from the beginning. You were eighteen and Abby was fourteen?”
He nodded. “We had written our first demo album. Abby played the piano and I played the guitar. She wrote the lyrics and I wrote the melodies…”
FIVE YEARS LATER
Peter stood backstage at Peachy Keen’s “Renaissance” concert, Harley and Abby in full period pieces, Harley with his acoustic guitar and Abby owning the stage as she led vocals.
After their contract with Undefined Destinies Records finally ran out, they got a deal with Capitol Records. They got to go back to making the music they loved after being stuck in a double world tour with UDR.
Renaissance was their comeback, and resurgence to their roots. The album was their most successful by far, and launched their name into the mainstream more than ever.
It was the New York concert, and Harley made Peter promise that he would make it.
And why wouldn’t he?
Peter loved Harley’s music. Maybe not because he loved the music itself, but because Harley’s poured his heart and soul into them. Each song told a little piece of him, and he made sure to always put his all into every performance he gave.
They were at the end of the set list, and the final chords of “Hometown Heartache” rang through the hall.
“Hey, y’all. I’ve got somethin’ special for everyone tonight. This is a song that hasn’t be released yet.”
The audience went wild.
“I’d like to call someone out here. Peter, darlin’, will you come out here?”
Peter’s eyes went wide, his brow furrowing as he was ushered to the stage. “What’s going on?”
Harley smiled softly, and began strumming.
You’re my sun
You’re my heat
You’re the gravity keepin’ me on my feet
‘Til I’m tired
Cannot sleep
Bouncing in my head, you are the sheep
I count
On you
And the stupid things that you always do
Like make me smile
And make me laugh
Kiss me on the cheek and take photographs
But the stupid things that you always do
Are the reasons I love you
You’re my air
That I breathe
You’re the wind that’s blowin’ through the leaves
That fall
At our feet
While we’re hand in hand and stroll through the street
Make me take breaks
Keep me on track
Hold me close and make me relax
The little things that you always do
Are the reasons I love you
You’re the moon
Pulling waves
And shining over the stars
You’re mine
And I’m yours
And this world is ours
I’ll make you smile
I’ll make you laugh
Kiss you on the cheek and take photographs
Make you take breaks
And keep you on track
Hold you close and make you relax
The little things that you always do
I will do
For you
Because there’s a million reasons I love you
Harley set down his guitar, and walked to Peter. Digging in his pocket, he got on one knee.
“Peter, will you marry me?”
Peter, tears streaming down his face as he ugly cried. “Of course I will you overdramatic, overachieving asshole! You just had to do it in front of a crowd of 20,000 people, huh?”
“Go big or go home,” Harley said with a shrug.
Peter leapt into his arms, colliding his lips with his into a teary kiss. He pulled him into a tight hug, soaking his costume.
The crowd was cheering, but all he could hear was Harley’s heartbeat against his ear.