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Peter first saw him exiting a bodega with a sack of ice cream hanging from his elbow and a phone trapped against his ear. There wasn’t anything particularly memorable about him. He was attractive, sure, but lots of people are and Peter’s never been particularly swayed by golden locks and sweet baby blues anyway. He thinks the reason he remembers him is because he held the door for the woman with the stroller and aimed one of those bright easy smiles that people reserve for babies at the stroller’s occupant.
Or maybe it’s because he stepped out of the doorway and said into his phone, “Yes, Bee,” in a long-suffering but good-natured tone, “I’ve got the goods for your girls’ night and you don’t have to worry about your big brother cramping your style. I’m going out.”
From his perch atop the billboard high above, he idly watched him merge into pedestrian traffic, part of his mind admiring the way his t-shirt pulled across broad shoulders while the other part wondered if he shouldn’t do the same—go out, that is. He hadn’t been doing anything but work and patrol lately. He needed to unwind and besides, it had been long enough since the breakup that it wouldn’t hurt too badly to be around other couples.
He tapped out a quick message into the group chat and before he made it more than three blocks he received his replies.
Ned
Hell yeah lets goooo
MJ
Finally
Gwen
Dibs on picking the venue
Flash
I’ll meet you at yours with clothes. I will NOT be seen with you if you look like you slept in a dumpster again.
Ned
PRE-GAMING AT OUR PLACE
MJ
Wear reasonable shoes Gwen. I’m tired of holding them for you.
Gwen
No <3
He tucked away his phone as the chat dissolved into bickering and fired a web at an adjacent building. If he didn’t shower off the sewage stink before Flash got to his and Ned’s place he’d have to hear about it all night.
~*~
Bass pulses through his chest as he weaves through the modest crowd to get to their table in the back, an improbable number of glasses balanced between his sticky fingers.
“First round!” he calls as he arrives and sets the drinks on the table.
His friends cheer and snatch up their drink of choice. Gwen and Ned squabble over the pina colada with the purple sword spearing a cherry and orange slice while MJ and Flash clink their glasses.
He slides into the booth and Flash budges over to make space. “That’s all my money so it’s up to you guys to keep me in supply the rest of the night.”
The cheers turn to boos. So fickle.
“Why don’t you put those doe eyes to work and get someone else to buy you drinks?” Flash complains. He knows that by ‘you guys’ he means primarily him. Out of all of them, Flash is the only one with a steady disposable income.
He glances over the crowd without any real interest. It’s another dive bar and another local band that Gwen knows playing something incomprehensible. Judging by the size of the crowd and the quality of the bar, it’s not one of the more popular bands. He’s lost track of most of the names so he’s not sure if it’s one he likes or not but so far they seem decent.
“I just want to hang out with you guys tonight,” he says. “I don’t want anything complicated.”
His friends exchange a glance that he pretends not to notice. Yes, it’s been months since he’s done anything like this, anything fun, but it’s not because he’s heartbroken. He’s busy. There’s a difference. Never mind that he got dumped because he’s always busy and ‘it feels like you’re always making stuff up so you don’t have to spend time with me’.
“I just want to have fun,” he says, meeting their eyes.
“Alright,” MJ says. She’s always understood him better than most and knows when he’s full of shit and when he’s only half-full of it. She throws back the last of her drink then nudges Gwen with her elbow. “Next round is on me. Come help me carry.”
Gwen grumbles about wanting to taste her drink but dutifully slips out of the booth and follows, taking her glass with her. He watches them go, towering over the crowd—MJ with her natural height and Gwen in six-inch heels.
~*~
Light and loose, the music swirls around him as Flash shoves another shot into his hand then takes Gwen’s hand and spins her around with a laugh. He tosses it back and lets everything go fuzzy and soft as he sways to the beat. Ned and MJ are dancing across from him, Ned fully into the music, jumping and enthusiastically getting into it while MJ bobs with a soft smile, her attention only on Gwen as she laughs with Flash and they dance and dance and dance.
Someone bumps into him from behind and he barely remembers to stumble. That’s the other problem with going out. Not only does it cost a small fortune and require near-constant monitoring to maintain a buzz in spite of his enhanced metabolism, when he is well and truly drunk it’s hard to remember to act human—to allow people to move him, to use a gentle grip, to—
He turns to see who bumped him and loses his train of thought.
It’s him. The guy from earlier who smiled at the baby, now looking down at him with hazy eyes and sweat soaking his roots and turning them dark.
“Sorry!” Baby-man shouts over the music and the crowd.
“Hi,” his mouth says in the absence of rational thought.
The guy does a double-take and seems to actually see him this time, gaze sharpening as it rakes him from head to toe leaving goosebumps in its wake. Then he smiles, wide and bright like he doesn’t know or doesn’t care that his front teeth are a little too big or that blatantly wearing his interest on his face is outside of the social norm. “Wanna dance?”
“I—,”
He turns to look over his shoulder only to find MJ beside him plucking his empty shot glass from his fingertips while Ned flashes him a double thumbs up over her shoulder.
“You said you wanted to have fun,” she says in his ear, “so go have fun.” She plants a hand between his shoulder blades and shoves.
He nearly crashes into Baby-man’s chest but large firm hands catch him by the waist. Heat soaks into his skin and the scent of him washes over him—some kind of soapy deodorant mixed with a lingering engine oil smell that’s nearly overpowered by sweat and alcohol.
“You okay?” Baby-man asks, breath hot on his ear.
Chest warm and head buzzing pleasantly he smiles up at him and says, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s dance.”
Baby-man smiles again and keeps his hands on his waist as he guides him further into the crowd, eyes only on him.
“We did it!” Ned crows behind him. “Next round on me!”
The others cheer and Baby-man glances up at them, a smile still curling his lips. He leans in close to say, “I like your friends.”
“Me too.” They sway together, not really on beat but moving with the crowd, lost in the ebb and flow as his world shrinks down to two. Who needs alcohol when you can have this?
“I’m Harley.”
“Peter.”
“How drunk are you?”
He huffs a laugh. “Getting more sober by the second.” Damn his metabolism.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“After this song?” he asks, looking up at him through his eyelashes.
“You know they’ve been playing the same riffs on repeat for the past twenty minutes, right?” Harley asks with an amused grin as he drinks him in, eyes searching his face and growing brighter by the second.
“Whaaat?” he says playfully.
Harley laughs and pulls him in by the waist until their body heat intermingles and his heart races. Surely, this close Harley can feel it, but if he can he keeps it to himself.
~*~
“All I’m saying is if you take away the prejudice it’s an easy choice. If they consider only the numbers it makes perfect logical—,”
“All I’m saying is you should eat these fries before they get cold.” Harley nudges the barely touched plate closer to him.
He scowls at the interruption and crams some in his mouth to placate him. “Why’re you trying so hard to sober me up?” he demands. Aren’t guys at bars supposed to do the opposite? Shouldn’t he be buying him shots and trying to get in his pants? Then again, you’re not supposed to talk politics with someone you’ve just met and here he is ranting about the city’s treatment of the homeless population while Harley watches him with his cheek on his fist and a contented curl to his lips as he plies him with french fries and water.
“Because I can’t kiss you if you’re drunk.”
He chokes.
Harley sits up straight and passes him the water. “I’m sorry. Did I read this wrong? I thought—?”
“No,” he coughs. He sucks down some water. It clears the potato from his esophagus and the last of his buzz from his brain, leaving him startlingly sober. “No, you didn’t, uh— I just— I’m an idiot and I don’t know if I— I gotta, uh, bathroom.”
He departs with a smile that’s more grimace and gratefully ducks into the bathroom.
What is wrong with him? He likes Harley. He’s sweet. It’s nice having his undivided attention and those bright eyes on him and only him. He’s smart. He’s funny. He lets him ramble and doesn’t seem to mind when his rambles turn into rants. So why did panic hit him like a brick wall after a miss-fired web? He’s perfe—
His stomach plummets to his toes.
Oh
no. He’s perfect.
He finishes his business but doesn’t bother with the ancient hand dryer. Instead, he wipes his hands on his thighs and sneaks out to find his friends. Without the buzz of alcohol, the bar scene is intolerably loud. Too many people. Too much noise. Too much stink. Yeah, it’s time to go.
He spots MJ first, a pair of shimmering heels dangling from her fingertips but Gwen nowhere in sight.
“MJ, I screwed up,” he blurts. He resists the urge to look over his shoulder at the bar.
She narrows her eyes. “How drunk are you?”
“Zero percent drunk. I’m engaging the Diamond protocol.”
She sighs and knuckles her forehead. “Which one is that again?”
“Diamond. Like Mariana and the Diamonds? How to be a Heartbreaker? No? Nothing?”
MJ fixes a world-weary expression on him and lifts an unimpressed eyebrow.
He groans. “Where’s Ned? I need Ned.”
“You rang?” Ned throws an arm around his shoulders. “How’s it going with tall, blond, and—,”
“Diamond protocol.”
“Oh shit.” Ned’s arm slips as he turns to look at the bar. “That guy you’ve been flirting with all night?”
“I— Stop that!” He grabs his sleeve and drags him back around to face him. “I haven’t been flirting.”
Ned and MJ exchange a look. “You had your feet on his barstool and were doing that thing where you bump your knee against his. And you fed him a fry. Not to mention—,”
“Okay! Maybe I was flirting a little but I gotta— I can’t— I need to go and I need you to make sure he doesn’t see me.”
Ned sighs. “Are you sure?”
“I’m lost,” MJ says. “What’s the big deal?”
“It’s Diamond protocol,” Ned says slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with that guy and you know Peter. He's gonna screw it up somehow and end up heartbroken.”
“He’s perfect,” Peter adds miserably. “I have to get out of here before I do something idiotic like fall in love with him.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” MJ mutters under her breath. “You’re both idiots. Ned, go get Flash and Gwen. I’ll distract Mr. Perfect and then meet you outside. Do not ditch me.”
“Two blocks west,” Peter says. “That’s specified in the protocol.”
MJ rolls her eyes. “Whatever. For the record, I think this is dumb and you’re dumb.”
“I know this and I love you.”
She walks away shaking her head.
“Ned, you don’t think I’m dumb, right?”
“Oh no, Peter you’ve always been dumb. A genius, but also very very dumb. This makes perfect sense though.”
“Thanks. I love you, man.”
Ned puts a heavy hand on his shoulder and looks into his eyes as he says, “I know.” He squeezes his shoulder then moves past him to carry out his part of the protocol.
Peter watches him go. “So cool,” he mutters fondly then stealthily makes his way to the front and slips out the door and into the night.
~*~
Peter pops the lid off his coffee and breathes it in deep. Around him the late morning crowd shuffles about, made thin by the pouring rain rattling atop taxis and the heads of everyone on foot rushing for cover.
It’s been three weeks since that night at the bar and he can’t shake the feeling that he missed out on something incredible because he was afraid. He doesn’t like thinking of himself as a coward. It’s antithetical to everything he’s built since that night when Uncle Ben bled out under his hands. Never again would he choose not to act. Never again would he take the easy route over the right one. Never again would he stand by and watch.
And yet…
Spider-Man doesn’t mix well with long-term relationships. He can’t tell just anyone about his secret alter ego and that secret leads to an unfair amount of sneaking around, lying, excuses, and last-minute cancellations which obviously become suspicious over time. Besides, no one wants a partner like that.
Relationships are hard and his life is complicated enough without adding another person into the mix—especially one he has to hide from.
It would have been so convenient had things worked out between him and MJ since she’s known since junior year but no. They met Gwen at ESU and he wasn’t selfish enough to stand in the way of the instant connection her and MJ had. Especially not when the word he uses to describe his relationship with MJ is ‘convenient’. She and Gwen have been dancing around each other for years now. The stakes in the betting pool have grown to exceed material possessions and he really doesn’t want to be responsible for Flash’s dry cleaning for an entire month so they’d better get together soon. Poor Ned has been out of the running since graduation.
“You’re moping again,” MJ says, taking the seat across from him. She sets her coffee on the table and then pulls her wet hair back into a low ponytail.
“Am not. What happened to your umbrella? You’re soaked.”
“Gwen needed it more than I did,” she says as she wipes her forehead with a rain-darkened denim sleeve. “She has that interview in midtown and didn’t want to show up looking like a drowned rat. Don’t change the subject. What are you going to do about Mr. Perfect?”
“Uh, nothing?” He swirls his lid on the table with his finger and impatiently blows on his drink. “It’s not like I got his number and New York is a big place.”
MJ lifts her eyebrows and holds eye contact with him as she takes a long, slow drink of her coffee. She lowers the cup and says, “I got his number.”
He fumbles the lid and it slings across the table, disappearing under a booth. “You what? When?”
“When I was explaining to him why you were bailing on him and that you’re an idiot.”
“MJ! Why would you do that?”
Mortifying. Absolutely mortifying.
“Why wouldn’t I do that? You like him and he couldn’t take his eyes off of you all night. Give him a fair chance and see what comes of it.”
“I dunno,” he says, tapping his fingers in a halting rhythm against the side of his cup. “I— Well, you know why I’m hesitant about relationships. It’s all so complicated and I hate lying and—,”
“Peter, you’re misunderstanding what this meeting is about,” MJ interrupts.
He stills his fingers. “Meeting?”
She takes another long drink and then says, “He’ll be here any minute. I’m going to head out and you guys are going to talk and figure out where to go from here.”
He gapes at her. When he tries to speak all that comes out is a long, high squeak. He takes a drink of his coffee and it’s hot. Too hot. Throat searing, he chokes, “Why would you do that? I— What am I supposed to say? How do I even— I don’t know—,” He looks down at his coffee in horror. “Why did you let me order caffeine?!”
“Just tell him as much of the truth as you can. You have a demanding job. Sometimes it calls you away last minute. Sometimes you get hurt on the job.”
“No. Absolutely not. I heal too fast. He’ll notice and then—,”
“Then you figure out how much to say,” she snaps.
“He’s going to have questions that I can’t answer! What— What am I supposed to tell him my job is?”
She shrugs. “Don’t. Tell him you can’t talk about it. Who knows, maybe he’ll find that sexy and mysterious.”
“I— Sexy and mysterious doesn’t work for long-term relationships! He’s going to want answers eventually!”
MJ smirks, eyes bright like she caught him in a trap. “So you admit you want a long-term relationship with him.”
He flushes. “I mean, I thought about it, but—,”
“No buts. All you have to do is see where this goes. If you guys hit it off and someday you think you want to take it to the next level then maybe you can tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“Everything.”
“Wha— No! I can’t—,”
“Peter,” MJ leans forward and takes his hand. Only then does he realize how tightly he’s clenching his fists. She looks into his eyes and, serious now, says, “I know you. You want a partner. Someday a spouse. If that’s ever going to happen you need to open yourself up to the idea of sharing your secret with someone. Someone you love and trust.”
“But I… I already did,” he says, staring into her eyes. “You and Ned. Gwen.”
The corner of MJ’s mouth twitches. “You can say Flash.”
He pulls a face. “Trust, sure, I guess, but love?”
She laughs, a quiet snicker as she pulls away.
He chews his bottom lip and hugs his coffee between his palms. “What if someday I tell someone… What if I tell them everything and they leave?”
“Then we’ll deal with that together, but until then you need to quit agonizing over what-ifs and just try. Maybe it won’t work out, but maybe it will. You won’t know until you give it a shot.”
The bell over the door chimes and the air in the cafe changes, growing dense with possibility. Peter doesn’t need to look to know Harley just walked in. It takes concentrated effort to refrain from crushing his paper cup in his fist as he turns wild eyes onto MJ.
“What do I do?” he whispers.
“First, relax,” she says, tapping a finger against his white knuckles. “Then apologize for running out on him and tell him about that time you, Gwen, and Flash got locked in the drunk tank.”
“What? No!” he hisses. “I don’t want him to think I’m an idiot!”
She smirks and raises her eyebrows and… Yeah… Okay, fair.
“I don’t want him to know I’m an idiot,” he corrects.
“You owe him something for being such a tool and I don’t see flowers or chocolates so dirt is all you have left to give.” She pushes back her chair and picks up her coffee. “Time’s up. Don’t choke this time, bug boy.”
“You know spiders aren’t bugs,” he hisses.
She lifts her coffee in a salute and fades back into the rain with a satisfied smirk as a body slips into her vacated seat.
Slowly, with a feeling of impending doom, he turns and meets the expectant blue eyes across the table from him. A mop of shaggy, dirty-blond hair hangs over his forehead, clean and fluffy now, rather than dark with sweat. He’s wearing a soft gray henley under a weathered but clean flannel spotted with rain. He looks good. Better than he remembers somehow. Warm and comfortable and safe.
Suddenly he wants to be back in his good graces. He wants to coax that amused twinkle back into his eyes. He wants a second chance.
He clears his throat and unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth.
“I take it this wasn’t your idea,” Harley says lowly before he can get the words out. He glances at the door like he regrets coming.
“No!” Peter exclaims. “I mean,” He backtracks as Harley swings his stare back to meet his eyes, pinning him in place like a— ugh —like a bug. “I mean, no, it wasn’t but I didn’t realize— MJ didn’t tell me—,” He slaps a hand over his face and pushes his coffee across the table. “You should take this. If I drink any more my heart is going to explode.”
His lips quirk but he doesn’t look amused. “Is this supposed to be a peace offering?”
“No.” He sighs. “The peace offering is going to be much worse.”
“Yeah?” he asks and damn him for being even more attractive when he’s lit up with curiosity.
“Yeah,” he says miserably. “So it started, as most terrible things do, with an impromptu trip to Coney Island.”
“Hold on, your peace offering is a story?”
“Blackmail, Harley,” he corrects. “I’m offering you blackmail. No strings attached. Do with it as you will.”
Harley sits back in his chair and cups Peter’s abandoned coffee between both hands, eyes sparkling with humor. “You have my attention.”