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Aunt May helped him tie his tie.
Some of the worst days of Peter’s life always began with that same gesture. His parents' funeral, Uncle Ben’s funeral, his Homecoming, and now this, Mr. Stark’s funeral.
It didn’t feel real. Peter couldn’t quite process the fact that he was gone. He seemed much larger than life, and like he couldn’t ever actually be gone.
Peter knew one thing: he was fucking sick of funerals.
They drove out to a cabin in the middle of nowhere, while Peter pressed his face against the window of the car and watched the fields of green pass by, all fading into one big patch of grass in his mind. Not much held meaning to him these days. He glanced over at May, and noticed, fascinated, that her dress left the words on her collarbone exposed. It was a rarity when they weren’t covered up, as that was usually May’s default after Ben had passed.
A lump formed in Peter’s throat as he read the swirly black ink over, and over, and over again. The words were ingrained in his mind forever, as well as the story of their first meeting.
Her words read, “Do you need help with that?” and Uncle Ben’s had mirrored her reply, “Do I look helpless to you?” They had laughed about their first interaction, eyes crinkling and clearly full of an insurmountable amount of love. Ben had offered to help her load her groceries in her car and the rest had been history. Then Ben had died, and it all became history in a different, much more painful way.
Peter thought about his own words, something he rarely let himself do ever since they showed up on his back when he was fourteen. He had gotten them the same week he had gotten bit by the spider, because one life-altering event in a week apparently hadn’t been enough. They read proudly, “I really wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
His words cut something deep in Peter. He couldn’t help but assume he must meet his soulmate after some sort of tragedy, and with how things had been going, Peter wasn’t even surprised. It seemed he was fated to suffer one tragedy after another. After Tony’s death, he didn’t see the point. What was the point of fighting for everything when it all just led you to the same place - under the dirt.
Peter really hated funerals.
He just wanted to get this one over with.
-
Peter went through most of the funeral feeling numb. He barely processed what anybody said. Any other time he would be overwhelmed by the amount of legends and superheroes he was in the presence of. It didn’t mean anything though, because the one he really wanted to see wouldn’t be around anymore, and that...stung. He was quiet, but did his best to be polite and pay attention. The only thing that grounded him was May’s hand on his shoulder through most of it.
When things started winding down, May broke away to go help Pepper with the food they were setting out for everyone. Peter couldn’t imagine eating, not with the way his stomach had sunk somewhere to his knees, and his throat was as dry as sandpaper. He waved her off, and insisted that he’d be fine, even though he wasn’t sure that he would be. A few minutes alone shouldn’t break him.
There were a lot of people around. A lot of people that Peter had dreamed about talking to, and having conversations with, but he couldn’t bring himself to go up to any of them and start a conversation, like everything was fine. They were all Tony’s friends, but some of their betrayals still didn’t sit right with him. Instead, he wandered off to check out the lake, hoping to avoid any people that he could.
There was a lot of grass and trees around the lake and a lot of open space. It was almost like you could walk forever before you would reach something else. Peter was used to forced proximity - not this. He ambled around a clearing, and brought his hand down to tangle with some weeds. It felt good to feel it in his hand. It reminded him that he was real, and that he was still alive. The sun beating down on his face and catching in his eyes also worked. Although, it felt wrong for such a beautiful sunny day to be the one for a funeral. It should be overcast and raining, like in all the movies.
He was about halfway through the clearing when he caught sight of a figure off in the distance. There was a large hill that led to a dock on the edge of the lake, a little bit away from the house. Peter edged closer, walking through the grass until he was only a few feet away from the figure. He didn’t know if it was his place to say anything. He didn’t know who the person was, or what they were doing. Peter didn’t want to intrude on someone grieving or wanting to be alone. He did his best to be silent so as to not disturb the person.
Peter focused on all the details he could get of the person while their back was turned.
His back was facing Peter, and he was in a black suit. It looked to be a little tight though, and pinched around his shoulders. It was probably old, which was the only conclusion that Peter could come to that made sense. The man- well, boy, really, Peter realized with startling clarity- had messy blonde hair that was swept up in a tangle around his head. Peter didn’t have any idea who he was, but he had recognized him from the eulogy. He hadn’t spoken, but he had stood off to the side of everybody else.
Peter had taken notice of him because while everyone had split off into their little groups, this guy had stood off all alone. He hadn’t brought anybody. Peter didn’t know why that made him so sad.
Before he could stop himself he cleared his throat and said, “You’re not going to jump, right?”
The boy tensed, and Peter wondered for a brief horrifying moment if he had overstepped but the boy just jerked his head around to look at him.
He had blue eyes.
It was one of the first things Peter noticed about him. His eyes weren’t a crystal blue, or cold, instead, they were a deep ocean blue that had Peter reeled in. He was handsome, Peter realized as well. Before Peter had a chance to say anything else the boy let out a disbelieving laugh.
“I really wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”
Peter’s world lurched to a standstill right after those words fell from the boy’s mouth. His words, he amended. He was sure his jaw was probably slack as he desperately tried to process what was going on in front of him. The boy was still staring at him, though, he didn’t know what to say.
“You-” Peter started, but abruptly cut himself off.
The boy’s face turned into a wonderful grin, one that made Peter’s knees weak as he took it in. The boy could probably lead him anywhere with that grin and he would follow.
“Me.” The boy confirmed, and hastily rolled up the sleeve of his suit to reveal a forearm decked out in inky black words. “God, the number of bridges-” He began, then stopped, letting out another glorious laugh. “I’ve been hanging out at every bridge I could find ever since these words showed up and you ask me if I’m going to jump at a damn lake, I-”
He seemed to take in the fact that Peter was in his own gobsmacked little world. He stood up and smiled at Peter then, this one was softer, sweeter, and lost a little of his bravado. “I’m Harley.”
At the admission of a name Peter’s brain finally kicked into gear and he took a step forward so he was closer to Harley, but there was still some space between them. “Peter,” he supplied shyly. Then, he let out a crazed manic laugh of his own. “Every time something bad happened I thought you might be around the corner. All I could think about this morning was how many more bad things was I going to have to live through but you-” He faltered. “You’re here. Wow.”
“I’m here,” Harley said, closing the distance between them just that extra inch.
“You’re tall,” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself, as he took in the fact he had to crane his neck up just to look at him.
“I think you’re short,” Harley tossed back easily. Peter didn’t stand a chance because before he could be offended Harley was laughing again - and it sounded like Central Park in the summertime, dipped honey, and like a symphony made just for Peter, and he was going to be able to hear it for the rest of his life.
Peter should have felt embarrassed, but all he felt was relief when he wrapped his arms around Harley and exhaled against his chest. “You’re here.”
-
To be fair, the alcohol had been Harley’s idea.
They had made their way back from the lake and into the house, somehow sneaking past everyone else, who were all crowded around the various food tables. They found an empty spare bedroom in the back of the house that seemed as good of a place as any to talk.
Harley had asked how Peter knew Tony, and well...things had gotten pretty heavy after that.
It had been Harley’s idea to break into the liquor cabinet he’d seen in one of the second deserted living rooms, although, Peter hadn’t protested much when he came back brandishing a bottle and a crooked grin.
“We’re terrible,” Peter muttered under his breath, but still rolled his eyes and took the first drink when Harley offered it to him.
Harley flopped down onto the bed next to him. “Well, what’s the old man gonna do, ground us?”
Peter’s expression soured, and he handed the bottle back to Harley. “Your turn.”
Harley took his own sip and winced considerably less than Peter.
“There’s something I have to tell you,” Peter realized suddenly, his mind moving a mile a minute.
Harley took another swig from the bottle and handed it over to Peter. “Okay, shoot.”
Peter took a deep breath, his hands shaking. He realized at that moment that he’d never actually told anyone before. Everyone who knew had found out in one way or another, and this, right here, was incredibly nerve-wracking. He opened his mouth anyway, summoning his bravery. “I’m-”
He cut himself off abruptly, and narrowed his eyes over at Harley. “Uh, do you...do you know who Spider-Man is?”
Harley’s brows furrowed, but Peter could see the gears turning in his head as he thought about it. “I don’t think so.”
Oh, Peter thought. Well, this might actually be a bit more difficult.
“Oh wait!” Harley said suddenly, snapping his fingers. “Are you talking ‘bout the red and blue fella from up in New York? ‘Cause he’s got a death wish.”
“He does what’s best for the community,” Peter replied hotly. “He doesn’t have a death wish.”
Harley looked unimpressed. “He wears tights, Peter, willingly. Something’s not all there mentally.”
Peter’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God,”
Harley raised a brow. “What, do you know him or something?”
“Harley,” Peter said like he was scolding a small child. “I’m Spider-Man.”
Peter waited for a reaction, but he didn’t get one.
“No way. There ain’t no way,” Harley said dismissively, with full confidence.
“What!” Peter exclaimed. “What do you mean no way! Yes, way!”
Harley shook his head. “I’ve seen footage, there ain’t no way that’s you shortstack, try again.”
“Shortstack!” Peter fumed. “I’ll have you know I could bench press your ass, what the fuck?”
-
“Huh,” Harley said thoughtfully after Peter had slapped on his webshooters and thrown a few webs at the wall. “I would’ve thought you’d be taller.”
If Peter wasn’t aware of how unfair his super strength would be, he would have resorted to violence.
-
They were a few more shots in when Peter’s stomach growled, loudly. He blushed, feeling the red creep up his face.
“You hungry?” Harley asked, and Peter shrugged, though, Harley was already sliding off the bed and standing up.
“I’m okay,” Peter said hurriedly, already sort of missing Harley’s warm presence at his side.
“Nah, we gotta get you some food, darlin’,” Harley insisted. “I’m hungry, and you probably gotta eat more with those powers of yours, right?” Peter shrugged again weakly, and Harley gave him a half-smile. “I’ll go get us some food, I’ll be back, alright?”
“Don’t get anything my aunt’s standing next to!” Peter hurriedly instructed him when he was almost out the door. “I don’t care what she says, don’t take any!”
Harley snickered. “Got it,” He saluted, before closing the door behind him.
Peter sat the alcohol bottle down carefully, and then flopped backwards onto the bed, his mind reeling.
-
Peter waited, and waited for Harley to get back. He was moments away from getting up to search for him, when the tall boy kicked open the door, balancing two comically overfilled plates with his hands, and two sodas tucked under his arm. Peter immediately launched himself up to help him.
“Jesus,” Peter muttered as he took both sodas and one of the plates, and sat them on the bed. “You got enough for an army. How did you get so much?”
“I told them I’m a growing boy,” Harley replied snarkily as he kicked the door closed. Peter had half the mind to ask him if he had something against door handles.
“Well, thank you,” Peter said sheepishly.
Harley shook his head. “Lemme tell you, your aunt is something else. I had to tell her I have an allergy to keep away from her casserole.”
Peter nodded solemnly. “You have an allergy now, for life. We’ll just have to go with it.”
Harley snickered, and dutifully handed over a plate. It seemed Harley knew to stay away from anything that his Aunt or Pepper brought, instead, going for all the greasy, processed diner food that Bucky and Sam had picked up on the way.
Peter dug into his plateful of mac and cheese like a dying man, and Harley sent him a wolfish grin.
They mainly ate in silence, so Peter took that time to properly take him in.
The fact that he was looking at his universe-deemed soulmate was surreal. It made sense, though.
Harley was handsome, not in an angular striking way, or dainty pixie way, but one that was classic. He was all long limbs and biting grins.
He was radiant.
Peter could easily look at him for the rest of his life.
“Whatcha’ thinkin’ ‘bout, darlin’?” Harley asked, golden and rakish, his voice dripping like honey over Peter.
Peter hid his smile and shrugged. “Where are you from?” He diverted.
“Tennessee,” Harley answered easily. “Well, Rosehill, technically,” He corrected, and punctuated it by stealing a chip off of Peter’s plate and taking a bite. “You?”
“Oh my God,” Peter admonished at the pure thievery. He pulled his plate closer to him, even though Harley could still meagerly reach it.
Their knees were touching and they didn’t have to be sitting so close together on the bed, yet they were, and Peter didn’t have the heart to be anywhere but tucked at Harley’s side.
“You have your own chips,” Peter playfully grumbled.
“Yeah, and I was nice. I gave you more cool ranch ones,” Harley told him.
Peter wrinkled his nose. “I like the nacho cheese ones better.” He eyed Harley’s plate, then stole a chip of his own.
Harley gestured to his plate in defeat, signaling that Peter could take whatever he wanted. Though Peter had only known him for barely an afternoon, he had a way of making Peter feel special, like a mirrorball, lit from within whenever Harley shined his light onto him.
“New York,” Peter answered softly, when he remembered that Harley had asked. “Queens, but, yeah, for me. You know, Spider-Man and all.”
“City boy,” Harley teased, however, there was a tightness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“There’s trains, and buses, and cars,” Peter was quick to say, desperately wanting Harley’s beaming light back.
“Can’t swing that far, I guess,” Harley conceded, with a twitch of his lips that caused Peter to stare entirely too long at his mouth.
When Peter met his eyes again the tightness was gone; and Harley’s gaze pinned him into place.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about, brown eyes?” Harley rasped, his voice low and silky, draping over Peter like a blanket.
Peter was pretty sure he was pink all the way down to his toes. He already had it in mind to look up Greyhound bus schedules as soon as he got home.
That could wait though, because Harley was present right in front of him: warm skin, twinkling sea-blue eyes, and Peter’s own personal rhapsody.
Harley had been put on this Earth for him, with him in kind, and if Peter didn’t kiss him soon he’d go into a frenzy.
Harley seemed to get the message because they both put their plates on the floor, to be forgotten, and nearly collided afterwards.
Harley managed to catch them the second before they crashed, leaving them a breath away.
“C’mere,” Harley whispered.
And well, Peter didn’t resist.
Harley and Peter kissed like they couldn’t get enough of the taste of each others’ mouths.
Harley was a fierce kisser, and it was immediately different than the few times he and MJ had fooled around.
An ache in Peter’s chest that had been ever-present faded away as he reached out for Harley. He was then pulled impossibly close, allowing for the kiss to deepen.
It was rapturous, sweet, and a little depraved, and Peter couldn’t believe that this was his.
Peter broke away, just enough to murmur into Harley’s mouth. “14 hours, no biggie.”
Harley groaned, and Peter huffed out a laugh.
“We’ll figure it out,” Harley promised.
Peter tucked himself into Harley’s neck properly - he liked it there.
-
“Well, fuck,” Harley said, after he’d held Peter for a little while. “Do you want to watch a movie or something?”
Peter yawned, “Yeah.”
That’s how they ended up curled together, watching the first Transformers movie on Harley’s phone, nearly every part of their bodies touching.
-
Pepper found them, later, sound asleep. She was pretty sure she couldn’t separate them even if she wanted to. She had assumed that perhaps they’d be fast friends, nonetheless, never predicted what she saw before her.
She got May, who collected the scene, and Peter’s vice grip around Harley’s word-littered forearm.
As soon as they were out of earshot of the boys, May barked out a laugh.
She leaned in close to conspire. “I think Peter just found his soulmate.”