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“I said leaven not lemon!”
“Who the fuck says leaven in the middle of a battle ?!”
“Who the fuck has lemons in the middle of battle?!”
“Okay, good point.”
Spider-Man groans as he now has to avoid being pummeled by enchanted anthropomorhic lemons. “Iron Lad, on your six o’clock!”
“Just say behind! Why do you assume I know how to read clocks?!” Iron Lad shouts, whipping around and blasting one of the vicious lemon monsters.
“So, did you piss off the sorcerer of the week or was that me?” Spider-Man asks, flipping over a lemon monster and bursting it in an explosion of lemon juice with a powered punch.
“Hope you don’t got any papercuts!” Iron Lad says.
“Better watch out or your joints may get rusted.” Spider-Man dodges another lemon monster. “Yeah, I don’t recall any sorcerer pissing off this week. You?”
“Might’ve cut in line when I was getting gyros.” Iron Lad blasts the lemon monster behind Spider-Man.
Spider-Man gasps over-exaggeratedly. “How dare you!”
“In my defense, I thought she was looking at the menu!”
“Enough!” the sorceress bellows. The lemon monsters all still. “You heroes think the world revolves around you. It’s wretched, your arrogance and superiority complex.”
“I wouldn’t say I’m superior,” Iron Lad says. “I’m sufficient at best.”
“I think you’re great, sweetie,” Spider-Man says.
“Thanks honey-biscuit-baby,” Iron Lad replies.
The sorceress roars, enraged. “You have no regard for anyone but you, you, you! You are so wrapped up in being protagonists of your own lives that you don’t consider the supporting cast.” She smirks. “Well, how would you like to be the main characters of a different story?”
Before they can respond, they are being engulfed in a bright red light.
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Harley is shaken out of dreamland by the incessant blare of his alarm clock.
Harley’s brows furrow in confusion as he looks around. “Who said that?”
Harley hears the pitter of tiny footsteps storm down the hall. An angry fist pounds at his bedroom door.
Harley jumps as a series of aggressive knocks sound through from the door.
“Harley! Open up!”
Harley peels himself out of bed and heads to the door with a roll of the eyes.
Harley stares at the ceiling to the disembodied voice. “Uh, no the fuck I don’t?”
Harley peels himself out of bed and heads to the door with a roll of the eyes.
He… peels himself out of bed and heads to the door with… an unnatural and awkward roll of the eyes?
Harley opens the door with a groan and look of unamusment and annoyence.
He… opens the door and smiles sheepishly and confused.
“Finally!” Abby exclaims.
“Uh, hi?” Harley says slowly.
“Give. Me. Back. My. Diary.”
Abby glares daggers into Harlye’s soul.
Did they just misspell my name? Somehow? While speaking?
Harley takes in Abby’s expression and… yeah. She is glaring daggers into his soul.
Harley denies her accusation.
“What?” he whispers.
“I know you took it, you slob stoner prick, so give it back.”
Jesus. That was uncalled for.
“I don’t have your diary,” Harley says.
Abby huffs with disbelief.
“I am going to get it back,” she says haughtily. “I swear, if you did anything to it—”
“I didn’t!” Harley says, raising his hands up in surrender.
Abby narrows her eyes.
“If you did anything to it, I will make sure Mum knows all about you sneaking out to go to Chandeler’s party,” Abby threatens.
‘Mum? We’re from Tennessee.’
He realizes he has a role to play, so he plays it. “It didn’t do anything so you won’t have to tell her anything.”
Abby glares at him until she finally hesitently backs down.
“Be ready in fifteen. You are not going to make me late again.”
“No promises,” Harley says, trying to sound blasé.
Abby scoffs.
“Whatever.”
She turns around and slams the door behind her.
Harley stares at the door silently, jaw slack with speechless bewilderment. “Okay,” he says. “Okay!” He bobs his head, letting the interaction sink in. “Okay. That… okay.”
He looks up at the ceiling. “Did you have to make Abby such a brat? I love Abby!”
Harley shakes his head at the door and goes to get dressed.
“No. I’m not doing that. What… why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”
Harley shakes his head at the door and goes to get dressed.
“I’m not going to play your little games! You’re not going to get away with this!”
H̸̡͈͎̍a̷̧̞̰̥͌̀r̸̤̽̋̀͗ḷ̵̨͙̲͙͑͋̕e̷̫̍́y̴̳͍͈̖̒͘ ̶̗͠ͅs̴̖̰̺̓̂h̶͖͚̫͒̓̍a̷̩̠̍̅k̴̛͍͓̮̏̆̇͝ę̷̯̤̫̄͌̈̓̃s̶͙̒ ̷͎̆̊ḫ̵̥́̉̿̅̈́i̵̲͈̼͐̏s̸̹̻̪͔͕͗͗̆͆̒ ̷̢̙͕̬̈́̔̈́͊h̸̡̬̭̱̊͐͝ę̷̡͔̰͒̿ͅa̷͍͖͋͠͠d̶͚͈͛͊͐͘͜ͅ ̶͍̒ä̸͚̖̗́̄̆͝t̷̫̲̒̋̓ͅ ̷̟͇̦̗̞̏t̶̪̹̲̖̾h̶̰̲̑̅e̴͊͊͒̀͝ͅ ̵̧̭̝͇̆̾̂͗d̷͈̬͕̾͂͝o̸̺̗͌̆͐͠͝o̶̝̳̩͍̽̔͛̅r̸͕͇̘̭͆̓̀ ̶̭͛̈́̓̉̈́ḁ̴̧͉͎͑͐̈́̎̉n̶̳̣̮̍d̷̗̓̌͠ ̸̛̞͋̃͂͋g̶̰̪̞̈́́͐ọ̶͘e̴̟͕̘͈̾͂̇̕͜s̵̯̳̝̅̀̆͝ ̴̖͓͖͇͙͛̒ṫ̴̡̯̜̺͛̐͌o̶̺̩̣͎͚̍̓͒ ̷̡͓̻̽͒̊g̶͙͙͒̋̀ę̴̩̳̤̼͐̔̋́t̷͓̭̦̰̮͂̎̽̚ ̷̤̲͎̩̘̏̄̓d̷̩͙̙̦̽͗͗͋͒ͅr̴̨̻̟̲̮̊͝ẹ̵̛͙̜͎̟͋̋͒s̴̪̦̮̪̜̐͂̇̊̉s̸̰͂̃̚͜ë̷̢̥͙́̃͘d̴̺̖̐.̸̭̤̪̈́̇́͋
The room rattles, the ground beneath him rumbling until he nearly trips.
“Okay! Fine!” Harley yells. He heads to his closet and freezes. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Peter rises from his coffin, his room illuminated by warm torchlight.
Peter looks up. “Uh, what?”
Peter rises from his coffin.
“Am I in a coffin right now?” Peter asks aloud.
Peter rises from his coffin.
“Alright, alright, I get it.” Peter pulls himself up from the coffin, tastefully lined with red silk. “Am I… in a cave right now?”
The All Mother approaches his room, opening the giant double doors with her vampiric magic.
“Woah, woah wait. Back up. Uh, what?!”
The doors slam open and in enters his Aunt May in an ornate red and black gown.
“Good morning, my son,” May says, her words crisp and tinged with an unfamiliar proper accent.
“Good morning… uh, All Mother,” Peter says, words stilted and unsure.
She grins, showing off a pair of slightly bloody fangs, which falls into an unpleased expression. “You missed morning feeding.”
Peter’s eyes go wide, and it is then he notices the pair of fangs resting in his mouth.
Peter bows his head and apologizes.
Peter scrunches his brows in confusion.
Peter bows his head and apologizes.
Peter lowers his head in what he hopes to be a bow. “My dearest apologies… All Mother, ma’am. Will you… grace me with… feeding despite my wrongdoings?”
The All Mother purses her lips.
“I suppose I can overlook it this once,” she says slowly.
Peter lowers his head further. “Thank you, my… liege.”
She gives him an odd look before tilting her nose up. “Do get dressed for school.”
And with that, she exits.
May walks back into the hall and with a wave of her hand, the doors slam shut behind her.
“Huh,” Peter says. “That’s… hm.”
Peter trudges to his closet, getting ready for another dreadful day surrounded by brainless, idiotic humans.
“Uh, rude?” Peter huffs in frustration. “Where am I?”
Peter trudges to his closet, in his hidden enchanted underground lair, and gets ready.
“That gave me… so many questions and not nearly enough answers.”
Peter trudges to his closet and gets ready.
“I got it! I’m getting ready!” Peter shouts at the ceiling.
As he goes to the wooden wardrobe and is pleasantly surprised to see clothes he’d usually wear.
As he’s pulling on the blue sweater over his button-up, he freezes.
“I’m gonna have to drink blood, aren’t I?”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Harley — dressed in his black leather jacket, graphic tee, ripped skinny jeans, and Doc Martens — jogs down the stairs, greeting his mother with a simple grunt.
Harley heads down the stairs with a brisk pace and smiles at his mother. “Mornin’.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “Someone’s in a good mood.” She frowns. “Please don’t tell me there’s a girl up in your room right now.”
Harley, a rainbow encrusted homosexual, snorts at the thought. “Not that I know of.”
“Harley,” she says exasperatedly, the tone making every muscle in his body tense. She sighs. “You don’t have time for breakfast, so you better eat something on your way to school.”
“Protein bar’s good with me,” Harley says. He heads to the pantry and grabs one off of the shelf.
“Can’t believe your kidneys haven’t shut down from eating those all the time,” Abby retorts. “Eat some fruit for once.”
He looks at her with confusion. “I would if I wasn’t allergic to all common fruits in America?”
“Drama queen,” Abby mutters.
Harley scoffs and shoots a biting remark back.
You really like scoffing, huh?
He does scoff. “Says the girl who writes in a diary like she’s the main character of a Jane Austen novel.”
“Mom!” Abby exclaims. “Are you going to let him talk to me like that?”
“Harley,” his mother reprimands, “be nice to your sister.”
Harley begrudgingly apolgozies.
Harley lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re not,” Abby says under her breath.
“Do you want a ride to school or not?” Harley asks, shaking his keys.
She crosses her arms over her chest. “Fine. But you better not make us crash and die.”
“I’ll try my best,” Harley says dryly.
As they head to the garage, Harley looks for his purple pickup but is met with a white minivan and a motorcycle.
“Are we going or what?” Abby asks.
Harley gulps. He eyes the motorocycle nervously.
He’s driven a motorcycle. He has. But definitely not recently and not on New York roads.
“Before my hairs turn grey would be nice,” Abby says impatiently.
Harley nods, a lump in his throat growing larger. He climbs onto the motorcycle. “Well, we better get going.”
Harley starts the motorcycle and smoothly gets on the road.
“Oh, yeah, just set the expectations real high, huh?” he mumbles to himself.
The motorcycle hums beneath him and he grips the steering handles a little too hard. Abby gets on behind him and wraps her arms around his back. He can almost pretend that this is his Abby and not the cheap imitation. He scowls beneath his boring black helmet and manages to back out of the garage with no issues.
Harley speeds down the street.
“Nope. Not doing that. I value the speed limits,” he mutters under his breath. “Hold on tight.”
Harley smiles as he weaves his way through the bustling streets.
His heart is going fuckin’ insane is what’s happening. The only reason he’s not having a goddamn panic attack right there is because he’s got a junior mint as a passenger and he’d rather get stabbed in the spleen than let any version of his little sister get hurt, even one that clearly hates his guts.
Harley and Abby arrive at the school, barely making it in time.
“I’m not even close to the school how—”
Suddenly, they’re teleported to the parking lot of Midtown High.
Abby is hopping off of the seat and smoothing out her helmet hair. “I have choir rehearsal tonight, so don’t wait up for me.”
Harley, still disoriented, manages to nod. “Yeah, got it.”
Abby jogs to the door and Harley is left still swaying dizzily.
“Welp,” Harley says, “let’s hope my schedule’s the same.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Blood should not taste this good.
Peter is really worried he’s gonna pick up some very strange and dangerous kinks from this universe because seriously, why does blood taste so good?
It didn’t taste this good before. He would know. He’s had plenty of busted lips.
So there’s something seriously altered with his taste buds in this strange universe because it tastes suspiciously like the way a quick dip in the pool on a hot summer’s day mixed with the way the word “arpeggio” feels rolling off your tongue feels.
It also kinda tastes like candied bacon.
“Remember,” May tells him, “get home early tonight. It’s a full moon.”
“I will,” Peter replies.
May nods to him and heads down the corridor.
Peter teleports to school.
Peter’s head snaps up. “Say what now?”
Peter teleports to school.
“I don’t know how to teleport!” Peter hisses.
P̴̨̬̺̳̊̐̇̇̚ě̵̛̙̀͒̒̈́t̶͕̽ḙ̵̛͚͈̲̆̄͌͒͌r̸͍̪̼͝ ̷͖̲̯̒̍̏̆ẗ̴͉̬́̾̾͘͝e̴͙͙͎̙͝ĺ̸̞̙̼̤̔è̵̛̥͗̔̾p̴͖͇̱͎̾̇̋͗̋͜͝o̸̝͓̜͐̌̎r̴̦̟̃̏̊̈̿͝t̴̨͉̻̗̩̐s̸̟̖͙̯͖̰̒̎̚͝͝ ̶̧̨̰͕̕t̴̩͑͜o̵͚̫͉̭͛͗͝ ̶̫̻̔̈s̵̞̬͎̭̦̿̾̓͊͐c̷̰̮͖̀͑h̸̩̦̯͝ö̵͚͇͔̼͇̺͑ō̸͓l̴̡̰͖̆̈́̏͛͝ͅ.̶̛̱̀̈̾͌
The ground shakes.
Peter, panicked, stammers. “How am I—”
And suddenly Peter is standing in a bathroom stall.
“Please be the men’s, please be the men’s—” He steps out and sees urinals. “Yay, men’s!”
He heads out of the bathroom, relieved to see he’s still at Midtown.
He goes to turn when he collides with a towering body.
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Harley is rushing to his English class. He doesn’t want to play to the Narrator’s demands that he be late for class.
Distracted, he searches for his schedule, realizing that the fine details of his life are likely as affected as the major ones.
And suddenly he’s tumbling on the ground, falling full body on top of a much smaller form.
“Shit! Sorry!” Harley exclaims.
“It’s f—”
As their eyes meet, their hearts skip a beat.
“Peter?!”
“Harley?!”
Peter is about to say something, but he stops, glaring at the ceiling. “I am not saying that.”
Harley’s eyes go wide. “You can hear it too?”
Peter sighs in relief. “Yes. I can.”
Harley pulls Peter up. “What the hell is this?”
“I don’t know,” Peter whispers. “But… but I think we need to play along.”
“What?” Harley questions, taken aback.
“I think the only way we’re going to get out of this one is if we follow the script,” Peter says.
“What if we don’t like the script?”
Peter swallows thickly. “I don’t know.”
The two share a grim look.
Harley smirks, brushing the hair from Peter’s eyes. “How’d you like to get out of here?”
Harley reluctantly follows the direction. Peter’s face flushes a bright red as his fingers brush his curls back. “How’d you like to get out of here?”
Peter gives him a confused look before pausing, most likely hearing from his Narrator.
“Like… skip school?”
Harley convinces Peter to skip school with him.
“C’mon, darlin’. You, me, takin’ the day to explore New York. I’ll even get you something good to eat,” Harley says flirtaciously.
“Don’t think I’ll be doing much eating,” Peter says.
Harley raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
Peter looks around at the crowded halls. He goes to whisper in his ear. “Not here.” He gives Harley a meek smile and starts playing his part. “I’m not so sure…”
“Live a little, Parker.” He leans in, his lips ghosting over Peter’s. “Lemme show you how to live.”
Peter gulps and gives a small nod.
Harley pulls away and grins. “Let’s get outta here before we get caught.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
“A motorcycle, huh?”
Harley groans. “Yeah. Not my choice. The things I’d do to have my baby here…”
Peter rolls his eyes fondly. “You and your car.”
“She’s a beaut! Don’t go talkin’ bad on her name when she ain’t here.”
Peter shakes his head with a smile. “Fine, fine. I won’t.” He bats his eyes exaggeratedly, twisting his body in an unnatural pose that shows off his form. “So, what hijinks and shenanigans are we getting up to?”
Harley laughs. “Uh, not getting any directions. I think… we get to choose for ourselves.”
Peter grins. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand and hit the city.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Harley is trying very hard to not fixate on the feeling of Peter pressed up against his back, his arms wrapped around his waist and his head leaning on his shoulder blade.
“I’m surprised I’m not like disintegrating,” Peter murmurs against the fabric of his leather jacket.
Harley stills slightly. “What’d’ya mean?”
“Oh, I’m a vampire.”
Harley nearly swerves into oncoming traffic. “You’re what?!”
Peter just nods. “Mhm. Trying not to think about it too much.”
“You— but— y—” Harley takes a breath. “Okay.”
“You know, it’s weird. I would’ve figured you’d be the vampire considering, well, you know.”
“You calling me a pasty undead bloodsucker, sweetheart?” Harley teases.
“No, I mean because your character is the bad boy. And I’m clearly the nerd. So… this is a very specific niche of the tropes.”
“Huh,” Harley says. “Well, I’m very glad you’re not disintegrating from the sun.”
Peter holds on tighter and Harley can feel his heart hammering in his chest from not just the motorcycle he’s driving.
“What do you think the plot is?” Peter asks.
“I… have a few guesses,” Harley says slowly.
“You know what I bet?” Peter says. “I bet that you’re a werewolf. There was total foreshadowing about how I shouldn’t stay out late tonight because it’s a full moon. So, we should stay out late. See if you turn. And then… maybe create a pact between the vampires and werewolves?” Peter pauses. “Yeah. That sounds right.”
Harley chuckles, a little dejected. “Right. Of course. That’s probably it.”
Not a cheesy romance between two people from two different worlds. Not the fulfillment of my wildest dreams. Not that any of them involved Peter being a vampire.
Well… not most of them.
“So, where are you taking me?” Peter asks, his smile evident in his tone.
“You’ll just have to see,” Harley replies.
Peter whines. “Harls!”
“Sorry, pumpkin, but you’re gonna just have to wait and see.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Peter smiles behind his helmet. He wishes he didn’t have to wear it, to be able to press his cheek against Harley’s back and be able to take in his scent of Old Spice and the new addition of smoky leather.
It turns out, Harley is taking him to the heart of shopping. Macy’s.
“I don’t have any cash,” Peter says.
“You don’t need any,” Harley says.
“You’re not suggesting—”
“Of course not!” Harley says quickly. “Just, why would we buy anything if this world will disappear once we find a way out? So… window shopping!” His shrugs, his arms swinging loosely by his sides.
“I could go for some window shopping,” Peter says, giving him a soft smile.
Peter’s heart swells as he sees Harley’s windswept golden hair shine under the bright beams of sunlight.
Peter’s mouth is dry as he really takes in the sight.
“You coming?” Harley asks, holding out his hand.
Peter takes Harley’s hand.
And he does. “Yeah. I’m coming.”
Harley squeezes his hand. “Well, let’s get to it.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
“So what exactly is the game?”
Harley thumbs through the sunglasses, trying on all of the different pairs and checking himself out in the mirror. “We pick outfits for each other. One serious one, like something we think the other will like. One joke one, something that makes no sense at all. And one challenge one, something that the other wouldn’t normally wear but you think they should.”
Peter nods. “I think I’ve got it.”
Harley turns to Peter in a pair of cat eye sunglasses. “Yes?”
Peter laughs. “Absolutely not.”
Harley pouts. “You don’t think I look good?”
“Oh, you look good. Just… not in those.” Peter’s cheeks flush when he realizes what he said.
Harley’s breath hitches. “U-uh, thanks.” He sniffs, going to place the sunglasses back. “We meet back in ten minutes. And, uh, try not to get kidnapped during those ten minutes.”
Peter gives him a pointed look. “I’ll try not to.”
Harley shoots him a cheeky grin. “See you in ten.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
The first outfit was easy to find. Harley found the softest, comfiest sweater he could find along with a pair of plush pajama pants.
The second was fun,
Harley scans the racks and an outfit on the mannequin catches his eye. It’s something he knows he would wear, but Peter would never dare try.
Harley finds himself pulled to a mannequin in the corner of the department.
A dark, blood red button-up beneath a black leather jacket.
Harley would be lying if he said he’s not salivating at just the thought of Peter in that.
Well, it’s technically the Narrator telling me to get it, so it’s okay, right?
Harley pushes away the gnaw of guilt twisting in his gut and heads back to meet with Peter.
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
“Nope. Nu-uh. I don’t like that look. What do you got in that pile?”
Peter just grins mischeviously. “You’ll just have to see.”
Harley narrows his eyes, unamused.
“I promise, there are not too many abominations to fashion in here,” Peter says.
“Oh, that’s very reassuring,” Harley says flatly.
“Trust me,” Peter says in a sing-song voice.
Harley’s feigned annoyance falls and he breaks into a smile. “Let’s have a fashion show.”
Peter adores his lounge outfit and Harley loves his.
“I feel like it should say something about us that these are the outfits we thought the other would like,” Peter says.
Harley chuckles. “There ain’t nothin’ wrong with being comfy.”
Peter cannot believe the second outfit Harley had picked for him.
Exiting the changing room in metallic purple and pink fringe coat over a black bodycon clubbing dress and silver pumps, Peter pouts in embarrassment.
His humiliation is quickly pushed aside when he sees Harley.
“Really?” Harley questions.
Peter snickers at Harley in his leopard booty shorts, glittery crop top, and knee high boots.
“Loving the look,” Peter says.
Harley takes in the sight of Peter and to his surprise, just stares silently.
“I look ridiculous, right?” Peter asks.
Harley gulps and stammers nonsense for a good five seconds before finally finding words. “You look like the stripper informant that the antihero protagonist meets in a seedy bar.”
Peter snorts. “Love that for me.”
“Ready for the grand finale?” Harley asks.
“Bring. It. On.”
Peter feels stiff in his last outfit. It’s not anything he would choose for himself, but well, that’s the point.
When he exits, he catches sight of Harley already out and suddenly his mouth is dry.
Harley is in a dark academia outfit: brown dress pants, a black turtleneck, and tweed grey jacket.
When he turns around, he freezes, eyes wide.
“I… don’t think I have the vibes to be a bad boy,” Peter says, shifting awkwardly.
“You look great,” Harley breathes. “Really.”
“You do too,” Peter says.
Harley’s cheeks tint slightly. “You think?”
“Yeah. You… yeah.”
Peter notices the collar of the coat is standing up.
“Here, let me get this,” Peter murmurs. He stands on his tip toes and adjusts the collar.
Harley sucks in a sharp breath and Peter realizes that his body is pressing against his, his nose nearly pressing into his neck.
Harley clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, this has been very fun. How’s some lunch sound?”
Peter steps away, chuckling nervously. “I could go for some burgers.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
“Is it bad that like… meat is making me really…” Harley trails off.
Peter pauses mid bite. “You alright?”
“I think you’re right about the… were-thing. Because this burger is hitting much harder than usual.”
“Yeah, well, it’s doing nothing for me,” Peter admits. “That sucks, right? I love burgers.”
“Well, as long as you’re not draining me for sustenance, then I’m good.”
Peter laughs. “Yeah. Don’t plan on doing that any time soon.” He pauses. “Actually, there’s something about you that makes drinking your blood be the last thing I want to do.”
“Were-genes,” Harley states.
“You can’t just add were to the beginning of everything.”
“I were-can and were-will.”
Peter flicks a french fry at Harley’s face. He catches it.
“You are insufferable.”
“You love me anyways.” Harley freezes, realizing the gravity of his words.
“Yeah,” Peter says softly.
Harley and Peter’s eyes meet and Harley feels his heart flutter.
And fuck, if his heart isn’t fluttering right now.
“So,” Harley says. “I’m pretty sure there’s a crappy movie about a vampire and werewolf in theatres. A little on the nose, but I think it's the perfect opportunity. Wanna go and make fun of it?”
Peter brightens. “Of course I do.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
The movie is terrible and it’s a great escape from whatever mess they’re dealing with.
Peter inches closer to Harley, his fingers grazing the back of his hand.
Peter looks up at the ceiling with a furrowed brow.
Peter’s fingers graze the back of Harley’s hand.
Peter hesitantly inches his fingers to Harley’s and brushes against his warm hand.
Harley, seemingly unthinkingly, takes his hand and laces their fingers together.
Peter’s face flushes with warmth.
It’s all so simple. So easy. Like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like it just makes sense.
He wishes it was that simple.
But Harley is Harley and Peter is… Peter.
And that’s okay. That’s how it is. They aren’t Harley and Peter they’re just… Harley and Peter.
Peter turns to glimpse at Harley, his face illuminated by the screen, a bright smile on his face. His head throws back into a laugh and Peter can’t help the way it makes his stomach twist and flip.
Harley’s laugh is too special to be described with words.
It’s the first bite of carbonation from a freshly opened soda. It’s the feeling of new sheets after a warm shower. It’s the swell of violins in the crescendo of an orchestra.
It’s a sound Peter wants to hear for the rest of his life.
Harley glances at Peter and gives him a blinding smile. “What?”
Peter gives him a small smile. “Nothing.” His heart cracks a little, knowing what he can’t have. “Nothing at all.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
By the time they leave the theatre, it’s nearing supper time.
“Am I usually this hungry?” Harley asks.
“Not sure,” Peter says with a shrug. “Usually I’m the hungry one.”
“You mind if we grab a bite before we head to our final destination? I’ve got one last trick up my sleeve.”
Peter chuckles. “Alright. Fine. What are you thinking?”
“Hot dogs?”
“It’s not like I’ll be eating them,” Peter says.
“I hope we can get Randy’s Kitchen Sink Dog here.”
They can, and it’s as good as it always is. Maybe even better.
Meat is absolutely delectable in this universe. It’s making him almost ravenous and rabid which is frankly quite terrifying.
He pushes these animalistic urges deep inside of him and puts all of his focus on Peter who settles his jittery nerves.
“So, what is our final destination?” Peter asks, his arms swinging by his sides while he walks.
“Do you remember that lake you fell into during the robot panda fight?”
Peter snorts. “God, how could I forget?”
“There,” Harley says. “And we can watch the sunsets. Stargaze. All that.”
Peter smiles, his nose scrunching slightly. “I’d like that.”
Harley’s eyes linger on Peter’s lips.
His swallows, throat tight. “Me too.”
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
The two lie on soft grass, staring at the puffy clouds dancing in the auburn painted sky.
Peter rests his head on Harley.
Peter bites his lip and scoots closer, lying his head on Harley’s chest. His eyes flutter shut as he feels the steady rise and fall of his breaths.
Harley’s fingers intertwine into Peter’s hair, rubbing soft circles into his scalp.
“Peter?” Harley says softly.
“Yeah?” Peter replies, turning to look up at him.
“I’m scared.”
Peter tilts his head. “Why?”
“What if it hurts?” Harley whispers. “What if… what if I hurt you? What if this isn’t some happy ending story?”
Peter cups Harley’s cheek in his palm. “You’re gonna be okay?”
Harley squeezes his eyes shut. “But what if I’m not?”
“Harley,” Peter murmurs. “Look at me.”
Harley forces his eyes open.
“Maybe… maybe we’ve been thinking too hard about what the ending is supposed to be. Maybe we have to stop thinking about what it should be and just… make our own.”
“And how should we do that?” Harley asks.
Peter rubs his thumb on Harley’s cheekbone and leans in. “We follow our own script.” His lips ghost Harley’s. “Is this okay?”
Harley nods. “Yes.”
And then their lips meet.
It’s the blooming heat in your chest when you take a sip of hot chocolate. It’s the feeling of the full release of tension when you lay down in your bed after a long road trip. It’s elation and safety and pure bliss.
It’s Harley and his chapped lips, tentative and sweet.
It’s Harley and his calloused fingers that thread through Peter’s curls.
It’s Harley and his arm gripping Peter back, pulling him closer and closer until there’s nowhere else to go.
Peter pulls away, breathless and speechless. “Wow.”
And suddenly they’re being engulfed by red light once again.
UP-UP-UP-UP-UP-UP
Harley stirs into lucidity slowly. “Peter?” he croaks.
Tony squeezes his hand. “He’s okay. You’re okay.”
“Wha—”
“That witch put you into a magic induced coma.”
Harley deflates. So none of it was real.
“Why?” Harley asks.
“Said that she had to teach you a lesson,” Tony says with a frown. “Nonsense about two aching hearts needing to be mended. Being the antagonist to push the script forward. Protagonists too focused on the plot. And then… she disappeared.”
A spark of hope. “I need to see Peter.”
Tony pushes him back as he tries to sit up. “You need to rest.”
“No, I need to—”
“Harley?”
Peter stands at the door, anxious and unsure.
“I remember,” Harley says. “Do you?”
Peter’s face lights up and he rushes to his bedside and kisses him.
Harley smiles into the kiss, Peter real and solid beneath his touch.
Tony clears his throat. “Uh, I think I’m missing some crucial pieces of information.”
Harley and Peter share a look and just laugh.
“She said that we were two aching hearts needing to be mended,” Harley says. “That we needed to find our own plot.”
Peter kisses him again. “Guess we did.”