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When Harley had said that he needed help, this was not what Peter imagined.
Like, Peter was picturing a really tight jar. Or something heavy. Or, you know, not this.
‘This’ being standing watch for Tony while Harley dumped a gallon-sized container of glitter onto every surface imaginable.
And Peter meant every surface.
“Harley, why?”
The blonde didn’t look up from where he was carefully sprinkling glitter into the shower head.
“Because, Peter.” He held his pointer finger up in the air like he was informing him of something very intelligent. “Science.”
Peter squinted at his back.
“How is that science?”
Harley turned around, eyes already scouring the room for another possible location to glitterize.
“We’re conducting an experiment on the different materials glitter can stick to. Obviously.”
He shot Peter a grin that he probably thought made him look innocent.
Peter thought it made him look the kind of not-innocent that he would be seeing in his dreams later, but that wasn’t actually something he was willing to share with the class.
“What’s the hypothesis, then?”
Harley spun around in a circle, arms wide, “accidentally” getting some glitter on the carpet.
“Everything.” He pinched some of the colorful sparkles into the bed, a faux-methodical look on his face. “Oh, well, won’t you look at that. It appears we’re correct.”
He threw a cocky smirk over his shoulder.
Peter’s face was not heating up.
Definitely.
(Peter wasn’t a very good liar.)
“What branch of science does glitter fall under, anyway?” Peter asked as he carefully stepped around the different piles of glitter that now permanently resided in the carpet.
Harley followed him, cheerfully dumping the last of his bucket behind him.
“Glitterology. Or glitterium. Haven’t decided yet.”
Peter snorted, and watched Harley shut the door with a flourish.
“Please tell me you trademarked that name.” At Harley’s bark of laughter, he added, “For science, I mean.”
“Ah, yes, with all of my money just laying around, I put in a trademark for the name ‘glitterium’.” Harley drawled, a lazy sort of glee etched on his face.
Peter shrugged, because honestly? Harley trademarking a word like ‘glitterium’ for kicks seemed pretty on brand.
“Bro, you just dumped a gallon of glitter all over Tony’s bedroom out of spite. You’re telling me you draw the line at swiping a credit card?”
Harley shoved the now-empty glitter container to the bottom of the trashcan, and leaned over the sink, slathering a generous amount of soap on his hands.
“A), I dumped glitter all over his bedroom because he was being an asshole, and he deserved it. B), Pepper would kill me dead if I took a credit card, and we both know it. C), you’re literally Spider Boy, dude. Aren’t you supposed to be, like, telling me not to turn to a life of crime?”
Peter watched Harley’s nose scrunch as he tried to get the tiny sparkles off of his hands in vain.
It might be a little concerning how cute Peter thought his nose scrunch was.
(Peter wasn’t that concerned.)
“Probably. But also- be gay, do crime.”
Harley laughed again, glancing at him with a flash of a smile.
“Amen to that, Petey-Pie.”
He shut the water off, sighing at his still-glittery hands.
“Welp. That ain’t coming off.”
Peter snickered, and raised an eyebrow at Harley’s petulant pout.
“Oh, don’t even. You brought this on yourself, Harls.”
Harley’s jaw dropped, and he looked around with a ‘who-me-never’ expression.
“Wha- no!” Peter gave him a look, and he shrugged, dropping back into an easy grin. “If Pepper asks, I was convinced by your pretty face into putting glitter everywhere.”
Figures.
“So I’m the alibi, accomplice, and fall guy?” Harley nodded. “Gee, you sure know how to make a guy feel loved, Keener.”
Harley’s grin dropped slightly.
“Aw, don’t be like that.”
Peter shook his head, and threw the hand towel at his friend lightly.
Okay, kind of lightly.
“Don’t be an ass then.”
Harley threw the towel back, slinging his arm over Peter’s shoulders.
“C’mon, you know I’m kidding.” He pulled Peter closer, and Peter pretended to not notice how he immediately melted into it. “We’ll just blame the dog.”
He sighed exasperatedly.
“Harley, there’s no dog.”
Harley smirked again.
“Yep. It’s genius.”
Peter sighed again, more fond this time. Harley stopped abruptly, and whirled to face Peter, hands still latched on to his shirt.
Their noses were maybe three inches apart, Peter’s brain helpfully informed him .
(It was two and a half, but who’s counting?)
(It was Peter. Peter’s counting.)
“Look, I won’t pin it on you, okay? I’ll take all the fall.” He held up his pinkie in between their faces. “Pinkie promise.”
Peter stared at him, and he could have sworn that he saw Harley’s eyes rest on his mouth for a split-second.
He wouldn’t swear it, though, because Peter wasn’t an idiot.
He raised his finger, too, and they locked together, establishing an oath of the most esteemed regard.
“Pinkie promise.” He whispered back.
Harley grinned, bright and unabashed.
Peter thought he was going to pass out.
“Cool.” He whispered in the same low voice.
He stepped back, and kicked open the door to his room.
“Nice doing business with you, Parker.”
Peter nodded automatically, brain reminding him half a second too late to respond.
“Oh. Yeah. For sure.”
Harley snickered, but his smile was more fond than mocking, and Peter’s insides felt gooey and warm.
(He was, like, 87.4% sure he had a stupid look on his face.)
“Later, then.”
The door closed, and Peter stood there, blinking at it for a moment.
“Bye.” He whispered.
He walked back to his own room, nearly running into two different walls on the way as he mentally relived the last two hours.
It’s fine.
He was fine.
(Peter was not, in fact, fine.)
~ one hour later ~
“Keener!”
Peter jolted, nearly falling off of his bed in surprise. On the other side of the penthouse, there was a yelled, “It was the dog! I swear!”, followed by the sounds of a scream, rapid footsteps, and “Oh, you’d better run, you brat!”
Peter laughed so hard he cried.
(And later, when Harley resurfaced to inform him that he was still alive and well and not dead at the hands of Iron Man, Peter ended up crying again, this time in response to the very bad, incredibly shitty, absolutely perfect chemistry pun t-shirts Harley had found on Etsy for him.)
(They were covered in glitter.)
(Peter thought they were the best things ever.)
~ fin ~