Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The whole building smelled like dust, sweat, and way too much Axe body spray. Everyone was running around, yelling, trying to get stuff done. End-of-term chaos. End-of-year madness. People were bouncing between rooms, shouting over each other about what belonged to who, saying rushed goodbyes in hallways or under open windows. Some had already left. Some were still in survival mode.

Some guy two floors down was blasting music so loud the whole dorm could hear it. Someone else knocked over a towering pile of boxes waiting for a courier. The air buzzed with that weird, jumpy summer energy-like everything was about to end and explode at the same time.

But Harley didn’t feel it.

His room already looked like it had been gutted. Most of his stuff was packed, taped up, and shoved out into the hallway-books, clothes, posters, all of it. What was left were just the essentials, scattered across his bare mattress, waiting for him to figure out how the hell to cram them into the single bag he planned to carry with him.

A notebook, his laptop, a hoodie, two mismatched Converse, a phone charger that sparked like it wanted to catch fire, some jeans, a couple of shirts, underwear, and a bunch of random junk-just enough to last maybe two, three days before the rest of his stuff got to where he was going.

Gene was lying on his stomach on the other side of the room, flipping through a random magazine he’d found while packing. He looked bored, like he was just killing time until he got the text saying his mom was outside and it was time to go. But Harley had known Gene long enough, after years of sharing a room, to know that was just his thing. Acting like he didn’t care. Total BS.

“You sure you don’t want the poster?” Gene asked without looking up.

“You licked the back of it so it’d stick to the wall,” Harley said. “So yeah… licked it, claimed it, whatever. It’s yours.”

Gene laughed and flipped another page in the magazine.

No one said anything for a while. Somewhere a few rooms down, someone was yelling about missing headphones. Someone else ran through the hallway in flip-flops, the slap-slap echo weirdly dramatic.

Eventually, Gene rolled onto his back and dropped the magazine onto his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, but Harley could tell he was building up to something.

“So… if my mom actually pulls off getting those Les Mis tickets,” Gene started, “and somehow convinces my dad to leave D.C. for, like, one single day, and we really do end up in New York… I’ll find the building. I’ll chuck rocks at a window or yell up to one that just feels like it has your vibe.”

“ You’ll freak out the interns,” Harley muttered, finally stuffing the last thing into his bag. The zipper was being stubborn, but he was more stubborn.

“Good,” Gene said without missing a beat. “I hate interns.”

“You’d actually come?” Harley asked, tugging the zipper shut like he was winning some kind of quiet war.

“Duh,” Gene said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You really think I’m gonna let you vanish into Billionaire World without at least checking you’re still alive?”

Harley gave a crooked smile, about to say something, when a knock interrupted him. It was quick and offbeat, the kind of knock that wasn’t waiting for an answer.

“Yo,” Cam, from down the hall, called out, already halfway into the room, pushing someone else aside in the hallway. “So it’s for real? You’re actually leaving today?”

“Yup,” Harley said, standing up from the floor.

Cam must’ve taken that as a full invitation, because he stepped all the way in without bothering to shut the door behind him. Eli and Aaron followed close behind-his teammates from the swim team, looking like they’d already mentally checked out of school.

They had summer all over them-messy laces, sunglasses perched on their heads, and streaks of dust from packing smeared on their arms. Eli somehow had some on his nose, too.

“So I guess this is it, Stark,” Aaron said with that crooked grin of his. “Big city, robots, fame, fortune. Whatever else comes with your name.”

Harley shook his hand, but Aaron pulled him into one of those quick, one-armed bro-hugs before he could say anything. Then he was gone, just like that.

“You’ve got, what, three weeks max before some malfunctioning Roomba drags you into a tech void?” Eli said, raising both hands like he was washing his hands of him.

“I’m really gonna miss your constant faith in me,” Harley said flatly.

“Check in on the group chat once in a while,” Cam added, slinging an arm over Eli’s shoulders. “Drop a message now and then. If you go all tower-hermit on us, I’m posting your fifth-grade bowl cut pics.”

“Do that,” Harley shot back, “and I might accidentally leak your seventh-grade love notes to Selena. Remember those? With the song lyrics?”

Cam winced like he’d just taken psychic damage. “Low blow, Stark.”

They stood around for a while longer, trading lazy jokes and making stupid bets no one would ever remember.

Cam left first, giving Harley a salute as he backed out the door. Eli followed not long after-someone was yelling his name from somewhere down the hall. Everyone had something left to do: packing, parents waiting, last flights to catch.

And then it was just Harley and Gene again.

And the quiet that followed felt heavier than before. Not uncomfortable-just real. The kind of quiet that knows what it means.

“You good?” Gene asked, getting up and nudging his beat-up Air Jordan against the backpack that had been shoved under the chair.

“Sure,” Harley said, walking over to the desk and looking out the window toward the courtyard. Two girls were wrapped around each other in a hug like the world might split in half when they let go. One of them turned toward the parking lot. The other headed back toward the girls’ dorm, wiping at her face.

Gene gave him a quick pat on the shoulder.

“I’ll give you guys a minute,” he said, glancing toward the door. Harley frowned and turned just in time to see Jamie standing in the doorway, not quite inside, not quite out.

Neither of them moved at first. They just waited until Gene was gone.

“I was supposed to be the one leaving before you,” Jamie finally said. “Didn’t think saying goodbye to you would feel this weird.”

Harley actually smiled. He hadn’t either.

“But it does,” he shrugged. He knew exactly what Jamie meant. Jamie had been his first roommate. The first person who showed him how to sneak food from the cafeteria and how to keep a homesick panic attack quiet enough not to wake anyone. He’d been eleven. Harley had been eight, lost, and scared. Jamie had helped anyway. Harley was supposed to be the one sending Jamie off when he graduated next year. But now it was Harley leaving. And not coming back.

Jamie handed him a piece of notebook paper, ripped unevenly and folded so many times it was practically soft.

“ I wrote down all the cheat codes. For Civilization and, you know… real life. Not sure they work, though.”

“Thanks,” Harley said, not opening it yet. He just turned it over a few times in his hand.

Jamie hesitated.

“You gonna miss this place?”

Harley thought about lying. But he didn’t.

“Yeah.”

“I hope I see you again someday. Even if it’s just bumping into each other on the street,” Jamie said, with a smile that didn’t quite land.

“You’ll be the first person I call if I ever get arrested,” Harley promised.

Jamie nodded and headed for the door, but paused in the frame. He braced one hand against it, then turned back over his shoulder.

“Hey, Junior?”

“Yeah?”

“No one’s gonna be able to replace you,” Jamie said-and then he was gone before Harley could answer.

He looked down at the crumpled paper in his hand. It was exactly what Jamie said it was-cheat codes for Civ, half of them misspelled, all of them things Harley already knew. But at the bottom, scrawled in smaller, messier handwriting, was something else:

You were the best part of this place. Don’t let anyone make you think you were just passing through.

Harley swallowed hard but folded the paper carefully-like it was something breakable-and slipped it into the pocket of his jeans. It was time to go. He slung his bag over his shoulder and looked around the room that had been more of a home than anything else he’d ever had. Closing the door behind him felt weirdly surreal. Honestly, the whole walk through campus felt that way. Like a lucid dream, or one of those weird déjà vu moments, or maybe just some brain glitch he didn’t have a name for.

The grass was aggressively green. The sky was aggressively bright. Someone was throwing a frisbee. Someone else was laughing way too loud. The wheels of some suitcase clicked against the pavement like a metronome.

“Gonna miss your music, Stark!” someone yelled.

Harley made some vague head-tilt gesture back.

“Who’s gonna break into the vending machines now?” someone else asked, patting his back. Harley barely recognized the guy.

“Take care, man.”

He hunched his shoulders and readjusted the strap of his bag. It was a six-minute walk from his dorm to East Hall. Three, if you jogged. He didn’t jog.

He didn’t knock, either. She hated that. Said it made her feel like some kind of landlady. Her door was already propped open anyway, held by a beat-up Adidas.

Olivia was sitting cross-legged on her bed, folding her shirts into impossibly tiny squares. Her phone was facedown on the pillow next to her. She didn’t look up, but she definitely knew it was him.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“Had to fight my way through the fan club,” he answered, dropping his bag by her desk.

She smiled, but only for a second. Harley liked her smile. She was really pretty when she smiled.

“You leaving now?”

“Yeah.”

“Happy picking you up?”

“He’s probably already circled the lot three times, threatened the parking guy, and cussed me out under his breath for taking too long.”

Olivia kept folding. She was wearing his hoodie. He didn’t mention it. She didn’t either. He didn’t know what to say, so he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, like he was just passing through. Like he wasn’t actually staying.

“So,” she said, still not looking at him, “you stopping by to ghost me in person, or just here for some poetic closure?”

“Ghosting sounds kind of harsh.”

“Mhm.”

Harley rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head.

“I just… I don’t want this to be weird.”

“It’s already weird,” she said, finally meeting his eyes.

“I know.”

They were quiet for a second. Then she stood up and walked over to him. She had to tilt her chin up to look at his face, and Harley knew she was reading him like a book.

“You don’t have to do the whole lone wolf thing,” she said gently.

“I suck at goodbyes,” he admitted, his brow creasing as he looked down at her.

“No kidding.”

She stepped closer and rested her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her automatically. He didn’t even know what this was. It’s not like they were serious. They held hands in dark movie theaters, sometimes snuck into each other’s rooms just to fall asleep listening to the other breathe. They stargazed. They kissed after school dances. But they weren’t a couple. Not officially.

“I don’t think we should keep… you know… this going,” he said eventually. “I’m leaving. I have no clue what my life’s about to look like. And it wouldn’t be fair to-”

“Harley.”

“What?”

“I get it.”

He looked down. Their eyes met. She didn’t look mad. Just a little sad.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” she said, shrugging. “You’re allowed to not know what you’re doing. You’re even allowed to bail on me, if that’s what makes it easier for you.”

“ I’m not bailing,” he muttered.

“You kind of are.”

He had to look away. Because yeah. He kind of was.

“I just don’t want this to be harder than it has to be. For you,” he added.

Olivia stood on her toes and touched his face. She kissed his cheek, then his mouth. Soft. Final.

“I’m gonna be okay,” she said. “But if you ever need anything-anything-Stark you’ll call me. Got it?”

“Got it,” Harley repeated.

Olivia smiled, wrapped herself tighter in his hoodie, and went back to folding clothes.

“You should go before I start crying,” she added, her voice sounding like she was already halfway there.

So Harley grabbed his bag and headed for the door.

“Thanks,” he said, not even sure if she heard him.

He didn’t head straight to the parking lot after leaving Olivia’s. Instead, he stopped at the edge of the courtyard, turning his face up toward the sun. Just trying to soak in a little more of it - the air, the light, the whole damn atmosphere of the place. Memorizing every corner, every face he might never see again.

One of the main school buildings was right across from him. The windows were tall and narrow, topped with weirdly fancy arches that were chipped in random places and filled with pigeon nests or God-knows-what. The second one from the left on the third floor was open. The English classroom. Harley knew that window. He knew that classroom. He knew who was usually inside.

He didn’t think it through. He just moved.

The hallways were quiet in that unnatural way that made his footsteps in his squeaky sneakers sound way louder than they should. No voices, no laughter, no chaos. Just him and the faint buzz of fluorescent lights.

The door to the classroom was open too, breeze filtering in enough to rustle a few loose papers.
Mr. Carson was leaning against the desk, sleeves rolled up, sorting through what looked like the last batch of essays they’d turned in. There were two coffee mugs nearby, both crusty and clearly not washed in several days.

He looked up, saw Harley, and smiled - like he’d known he’d show up.

“Kinda figured you might swing by to say goodbye,” he said, cheerful as always.

“Almost didn’t.”

“But here you are.”

Mr. Carson didn’t hug him or do anything dumb like that. Instead, he tilted his head toward the desk by the window - Harley’s desk. The one where he’d spent a hundred sleepy afternoons pretending he wasn’t enjoying the class.

Harley sat down. Looked around the room. The whiteboard still had a quote from Catch-22 scrawled half-erased in the corner. A beat-up copy of Beowulf was face-down on the windowsill. Some sad, mangled pen had been jammed into the radiator and left there. Everything looked the same. Like nothing had changed. Like this wasn’t the last time Harley would ever sit here.

“You ready?” Mr. Carson asked.

“Apparently.”

They sat in a silence that wasn’t really uncomfortable, just heavy. Familiar.

“I keep thinking I forgot something,” Harley muttered, slouching a little. “Like, I’ll get in the car and suddenly realize I left my spine in the dining hall or my phone under my bed or that essay I wrote in fifth grade stuffed behind my dresser.”

Mr. Carson laughed, moving around to lean on the front of the desk.

“If it’s the essay, send it to me. I’d love to read it.”

“No promises,” Harley said with a small grin.

“You did good here,” Carson said, softer now.

“I barely did anything.”

“You did when it mattered. You showed up. Even when you didn’t want to. That counts.”

Outside the window, a gust of wind sent the trees swaying. Somewhere across the lawn, a girl shouted from a car window - Call me! - like it was the most important thing in the world. Harley didn’t look away from the window.

“I know it’s scary,” Mr. Carson went on, voice low. “And weird. And probably not at all how you pictured it.”

“It’s just a move,” Harley said, still watching the courtyard, rubbing his palms together. “That’s all.”

“Sure,” Mr. Carson agreed. “Just a move.”

Another silence. This one crept in slower, crawled under his collar.

Then Mr. Carson pushed off the desk and crossed the room. Harley didn’t turn until something thumped gently on the desk in front of him.

A copy of The Haunting of Hill House - old, beat up, clearly read a hundred times. The first book they’d really talked about. The first time Harley had actually gotten excited about class. Symbolism, metaphors, weirdness - all the stuff he used to roll his eyes at suddenly felt worth thinking about.

“For you,” Mr. Carson said. “Keep it. Or don’t. But, y’know… if you ever feel like a haunted house yourself, give me a call, alright?”

Harley blinked a few times before he managed a nod.

“Yeah. I will.” It came out too fast. He stood up too fast, too. Stuffed the book into his already-overstuffed bag and rolled his shoulders back like that’d help. “I should go. Before Happy leaves me behind and I have to walk to New York.”

“He’d never leave you,” Mr. Carson said, smiling.

“No. Probably not.”

Harley turned without saying a word and headed back the way he’d come. The sun had started to dip, just enough to make the courtyard look older, weirder. Shadows stretched out across the stone like fingers, grabbing at things.

He was halfway down the stone steps that led to the maintenance shed. From there, it was just a short walk along the gravel path to the old, lopsided oak tree - the one that looked like a stiff breeze could knock it over, but somehow survived every thunderstorm - and then he’d be at the parent-and-guest parking lot.

He couldn’t see any familiar cars from where he stood, but Happy was probably parked somewhere shady, planning the fastest possible escape from the campus - or yelling at some rich kid who didn’t know how to drive their unnecessarily expensive car.

"Hey! Stark!"

Harley turned instinctively. Gene was sprinting toward him, cutting diagonally across the perfectly manicured lawn. He looked winded, like he’d already made it halfway to his parents’ car before remembering something. His backpack hung off one shoulder, sunglasses slipping off his head, both hands occupied.

“I was gonna let you leave all chill and casual,” Gene panted, hands on his hips, “but then I remembered I’m actually a good person and a halfway decent friend, so…”

He held something out. Harley took the paper bag from his hand, frowning.

“What’s this supposed to be?”

“Contraband. Gummies. Off Ms. Hayworth’s desk,” Gene said proudly.

“She’s gonna haunt you,” Harley muttered, smirking.

“She already does,” Gene shrugged.

They stood there awkwardly for a second, both trying not to be weird about it. But then Gene pulled him into a hug. A real one. No dumb shoulder taps or one-arm pats. Tight and real. And even though Harley didn’t move at first, he let himself lean into it.

“You’re gonna hate New York,” Gene said into his shoulder. “Too many taxis. Too many people wearing sunglasses indoors. Too many people dressed all in black like it’s their whole personality.”

“I’ll survive.”

“Hope so.”

They let go before either of them could get teary. But Harley kept a hand on Gene’s shoulder for a beat longer.

“Take care of this place, yeah?”

“I’ll keep your legend alive,” Gene said, flashing a mock-serious look. “Stark the Menace. Patron Saint of Broken Fire Alarms and Unauthorized Rooftop Access.”

“Sounds about right.”

Gene gave him one last crooked grin and turned to jog back the way he came. His parents were probably waiting at one of the side gates.

Harley sighed and spun around - only to nearly walk face-first into Mr. Halvorsen.

The dorm supervisor. The guy who’d written him up a hundred times, confiscated half his stuff, and once made him repaint a wall for reasons Harley still didn’t fully understand. He had a clipboard under one arm and a can of Diet Coke in the other.

“Stark. I’ve gotta admit, I’m shocked you’re leaving before I had the chance to expel you,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna miss me,” Harley grinned.

“Like I’d miss a clogged toilet,” Halvorsen muttered - but he switched the Coke to his other hand and held one out. Harley shook it, quick and solid.

“Wherever you end up,” Halvorsen said, a little hesitant for once, “I hope it’s something. A beginning. Or… at least not an ending.”

Harley had to blink a few times.

“Thanks. That… uh…”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, Stark,” Halvorsen cut in, already walking off like none of that had happened.

Harley straightened up a little. Maybe where he was going could be something.
Maybe it didn’t have to be an ending.

The black Audi was parked in the fifth row. Polished, expensive-looking, and just classy enough to blend in with the school’s whole legacy and expectations vibe. The moment Harley saw it, something inside him twisted - part relief, part sheer anxiety.

Happy was already out of the car before Harley even got close. He met him halfway, took the duffel bag without asking, and pulled him into one of his usual hugs - short, solid, no-nonsense. Although… maybe they both held on a second or two longer than normal. Not that either of them would admit it.

Happy’s face looked the same as always. Not smiling, not scowling. Just… Happy. But his eyes flicked over Harley like he was checking: everything still in one piece? Ready to go?

“You got everything?” he asked.

“Yup. Room’s officially empty and depressing,” Harley replied, trailing him toward the car.

“Bet it always was.”

“You wound me,” Harley snorted.

They got in. The engine purred to life like it knew it was supposed to behave.

It wasn’t until they were on the main road that Harley let his head rest against the window. He watched the school vanish slowly in the rearview mirror, one familiar building at a time.

“So,” Happy started. “Still terrible at Spanish?”

“Worse, actually,” Harley grinned.

“Impressive. That’s a real gift.”

“And you?” Harley shot back, still watching the scenery shrink behind them. “Still pretending you’re not emotionally invested in a kid you only see like, once a year?”

“I miss the pre-sarcasm version of you,” Happy sighed.

“There never was one.”

They slipped into an easy rhythm. All the way to the airport and through the short private flight, they talked. About school, classes, the fencing tournament Harley bailed on, Gene’s brief and confusing obsession with lacrosse, and a lot more than anyone needed to say about Downton Abbey. Harley made fun of himself freely, laughed a lot, rolled his eyes way too dramatically whenever Happy brought up disciplinary complaints from dorm staff.

But somewhere over New Haven, the jokes started tasting a little stale.

Silence stretched out - not uncomfortable, but definitely noticeable.

“So... how’s he doing?” Harley finally asked.

Happy didn’t need to ask who he was.

“Better. Some days are still rough. But overall, he’s doing okay. Focused.”

“And Pep?”

“She’s… she’s doing good too,” Happy said, fiddling with the cap of his ginger ale.

“I saw the house on TV. The new one.”

“Mhm.”

“Looks expensive.”

“Because it is.”

Harley turned the empty Sprite can in his hands, stalling a bit.

“How’re you doing?”

Happy looked surprised. Caught off guard, almost.

“Me?” He shrugged. “I’m good. Don’t worry about me.”

“I came to see you in the hospital, you know,” Harley said, trying not to make it sound like some big dramatic revelation - even if it kind of felt like one in his head. “Back when you got hurt.”

“Yeah?” Happy’s brow furrowed.

“Yeah. Ditched school, booked the cheapest flight I could find. The kind that smells like cleaning spray and bad decisions.”

Happy didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded once.

“Thanks for showing up,” he said quietly. “Even if I was out cold.”

“Wasn’t sure they’d let me in.”

“They probably shouldn’t have.”

“But they did,” Harley grinned.

Silence again, but softer this time. Harley looked around the jet, a little restless. Then, more cautiously:

“So… this whole move. That was… Dad’s idea?”

Happy shifted slightly in his seat. Barely a movement, but Harley clocked it immediately.

“I mean, I get that Pepper probably pushed for it too,” Harley added quickly, trying to sound casual. “But… was it his idea? Even a little bit?”

Happy exhaled. Loudly. Scratched his cheek. Didn’t meet Harley’s eyes.

“It was… a group decision.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Like… joint effort.”

“Of course.”

“Kid-” Happy finally looked at him, but Harley just raised a hand.

“It’s fine. I get it. I was just wondering.”

He turned back toward the window, watching the clouds drift by like they might have answers in them. He could feel Happy looking at him, but didn’t look back. Not yet.

He didn’t need more answers right now. Not all at once.

The landing and the ride into Manhattan were almost completely silent.

Harley stared out the window, watching the skyline grow taller, closer, heavier. His heart was pounding like he was about to take a final exam for a class he forgot he was enrolled in.

Of course Happy noticed. But maybe because of the awkwardness from earlier, he didn’t say anything for a long time.

“You okay?” he asked eventually. Not pushy. Just… there. Harley appreciated that.

He shrugged, eyes still locked on the spot where the buildings met the sky.

“Yeah. I guess. I mean… maybe. Maybe we could stop by the office or something first? Pick up Pepper? Or I dunno. Take a detour. Get coffee?”

“You want coffee?” Happy raised an eyebrow.

“Nah. Just stalling.”

“All the offices are in the Tower. Pepper’s at home,” Happy said with a crooked smile.

“Home?” Harley snapped his head toward him. “You mean the apartment?”

“Mhm. Whole top floor. That’s the new normal,” Happy said gently.

“ What about Rhodey?” Harley asked, hesitating.

“He’s there too. Said he wasn’t about to miss your grand return,” Happy added with a small wave of his hand.

Harley blew out a breath, cheeks puffing. His stomach was one big, tangled knot of nerves.

And when the Tower finally came into view-it got worse.

It didn’t even look real. Like something out of a movie. All glass and steel, absurdly tall, shining in the sun like it had no business belonging to people. It didn’t look like a place someone lived in. It looked like a monument.

By the time they pulled into the private parking garage, Harley felt like he’d swallowed his own tongue. They took a private elevator up. Happy punched in some code, scanned something else, pressed his finger on a different sensor. Harley kept his eyes forward the whole time.

The elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Everything smelled like lemons and money.

“There he is!” Rhodey’s voice sliced clean through the polished silence the moment Harley stepped into the hallway. “Look at you! What were they feeding you up there? Magic beans?”

Harley laughed-awkwardly, maybe-but the tension started to peel off his shoulders.

Pepper appeared a second later, arms already open. Harley didn’t even think-he just hugged her tight, tighter than he meant to. But she was warm and real.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Harley wanted to say something back, but Rhodey threw an arm around his shoulders and started steering him into whatever part of the floor counted as the living room.

“Good thing you showed up. We were way overdue for some quality hang time,” Rhodey said.

They talked for a bit. Pepper asked about the flight. Rhodey made fun of his hair. Harley tried not to keep mental tabs on every unfamiliar piece of furniture or every squeak of his sneakers on the floor. Everything was too big. Too clean. Too quiet.

Then the elevator dinged again.

All the conversation stopped.

All eyes turned toward the hallway.

Tony walked out from around the corner, tablet in one hand, eyebrows already raised. But the moment he saw Harley, he froze.

“Harley?” His voice was quiet. Confused. “I mean-hey! I… didn’t-wasn’t expecting you yet.”

Harley felt whatever smile he had completely slide off his face. He wasn’t even sure what he’d expected-maybe a grin. A hug. Something. But not this. Not surprise.

“Hey,” he said, voice small and dry.

“Yeah,” Tony blinked, gave him a thumbs-up, then turned away.

Something sharp twisted in Harley’s chest. But he straightened up, forced himself to smile at Pepper, and didn’t listen too hard to the sound of the elevator leaving.

It didn’t matter.

It wasn’t like he’d just been reminded what it felt like to be wanted by everyone… except the one person who should’ve led the charge.

Chapter Text

By the time his third day in New York rolled around, Harley had figured out that if he pressed the right combination fast enough in the west-most elevator, he could get it to stop at a maintenance floor that no one else seemed to use.

Not that he did anything special there-he just stood by the window sometimes, eating a candy bar and listening to the hum of dozens of people moving above and below him. Trying to feel if the building had a soul or something.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something his.

Stark Tower-or Avengers Tower, or whatever it was calling itself now-had ninety-three floors. Harley hadn’t explored all of them yet, but he planned to.

The sixteenth floor, for example, had a koi pond. A real one. With actual fish. And floor thirty-two had a vending machine that didn’t need coins to give you snacks. That one was officially his favorite.

His own floor-the penthouse-was full of sleek design choices and open space. Gorgeous, obviously. Everything in there was new, deliberate, overly modern. It felt a little like being inside a luxury catalog. Like someone had hired a very expensive interior designer to stage a lifestyle, not a home.

Harley’s room was at the end of the hallway, right across from the master bedroom that Tony and Pepper shared. It was already fully furnished when he got there-white, chrome, and kind of cold.

It had its own bathroom, which smelled exactly like the one in Malibu. Same detergent. Same everything.

Harley hadn’t picked this room. And honestly, it didn’t really feel like his.

It was the kind of room a rich person might assume a teenager would want-futuristic, minimalist, and totally impersonal.

It was exactly the kind of place you gave to someone you didn’t really know-but hoped would stay.

But Harley did have his stuff.

Years of collecting, rearranging, holding onto things that meant something. His boxes arrived on the second day. It wasn’t enough to fill the brushed-metal shelves that looked like they belonged in a spaceship, or to cram the soft-close drawers in the dresser, or to take up more than a few corners of the walls.

The room was easily twice the size of his old dorm room-and that one, he’d always had to share.

It didn’t really resemble his bedroom back in Malibu either, except maybe for the size of the windows.

That old room had been painted blue and was packed with junk, souvenirs, half-dead plants, and surfboards he hadn’t touched since he was twelve. It had been decorated for a younger version of himself-the one who thought he and his dad were going to eat tacos every Friday forever.

By day four, Harley had started decorating in random bursts of energy, somewhere between wandering the tower’s upper floors and zoning out while staring at the city skyline, trying to decide if he liked it or if it was just too much.

Pepper had left him a neat little pile of stuff on his desk-pushpins, wall hooks, painter’s tape, and some swatches of wall color. On top was a sticky note that read: Go wild. Within reason.

Harley had rolled his eyes at it, but he’d smiled too.

So he started putting things up.

The Body Snatcher poster-corners a little bent-and The Wasp Woman, in near-perfect condition. He and Gene had swiped both from the old cinema in the town near their school. The place ran classic horror movies every Thursday and didn’t lock up very well.

There was the fencing tournament banner that someone had accidentally mailed to the dorm instead of the main school building, and since Harley was on the team, he figured it was fair game.

A Godzilla print he found while sneaking around during a lockdown drill.

A terrible-quality Iron Giant promo he’d traded for two Pokémon cards in fifth grade.

And an unreasonably expensive photo print of Queen Elizabeth from the 1950s that, for reasons he couldn’t really explain, just… spoke to him.

He filled the shelf with books-yellowed and battered-most of them gifts, prizes, or just stuff people had left behind in his dorm over the years.

But The Haunting of Hill House went on the desk. Just in case. In case he ever felt like looking at it.

He found a spot for the paper rhinoceros too. It didn’t look anything like a real rhino, but Harley had made it a few months back and felt weirdly attached to it. Along with it came a bunch of random junk, plus his dented school thermos that didn’t actually keep anything warm and which he had no reason to use anymore-but kept anyway.

The photos took the longest.

He covered the strip of wall between the two giant windows with blurry shots from movie nights, group hangouts, half-legal escapades pulled off by creatively unsupervised boys. Most of them were dumb or grainy or both, but they made the place feel less like a museum.

The one he liked most was of Pepper. She was wearing this stunning dress and had an even more stunning smile, and Harley-tucked up against her side-had a look on his face like his shoes were way too tight.

Back at school, that photo had always gone above his desk. Every year.

It was a little harder to find a place for the photo strip he’d taken with Olivia during the holidays, but eventually he tucked it into the edge of the mirror.

One picture stayed face-down in a drawer until day six.

At first, he hadn’t even meant to bring it with him. He’d planned to leave it behind, forget it existed. And when he realized it had made the trip, he figured there was no way he’d actually hang it.

He was maybe seven when it was taken-probably the last summer before everything started to fall apart.

He was sitting on a sun-bleached bench, feet not even touching the ground. Tony had an arm slung across the backrest behind him, sunglasses pushed into his hair, ice cream cone in hand. He looked like someone nothing could touch.

Behind them, laughing at something off-camera, was Obie. One hand on Harley’s shoulder. One on Tony’s.

Harley stared at that one for a long time.

Then he took a breath and pinned it up with the rest.

Tony saw the photo on day eight.

He’d been walking past Harley’s room, slowed down when he noticed the door open, and leaned in. Harley didn’t comment. It was Tony’s house.

But his eyes went straight to the Malibu picture. He walked over and just stood there, staring at it for a solid few minutes. Harley stared at him back, just as still.

“Obie was good to you,” Tony said eventually, his voice low and strange-like he was tired, or like something inside him was pulling tight. “Really good.”

Harley didn’t answer. But his chest tightened.

He had loved Obie. Trusted him. For years, Obie was the one grown-up Harley felt like he could actually talk to. The one who showed up. Who picked him up from school, who reminded Tony about his birthday, who clapped at school plays when Tony sent an assistant instead.

And then, apparently, he’d tried to kill Tony.

Harley wanted to rip the photo off the wall. But he didn’t.

“I’m not saying take it down,” Tony said, straightening up a little too fast, throwing Harley a look he couldn’t totally read. “It’s your room. I just… get it. If it’s weird. It’s weird for me too.”

Harley didn’t know what he was supposed to do with that. And before he could figure it out, Tony was already gone.

Left the air a little messier than it had been.

By day ten, Tony flew out to Dubai. Something about licensing. Something something PR. Something something fire to put out.

Harley didn’t ask.

He just watched from his spot on the couch as Tony stepped into the elevator-one hand on his suitcase, the other still glued to his phone.

It looked like every other time Tony disappeared. When Harley was five. Or seven. Or twelve. Always movement, blur, noise.

But Harley wasn’t seven anymore.

Seven-year-old Harley probably would’ve cried. Clung to his dad’s leg. Gotten bribed with ice cream or a trip to the beach or some overpriced toy.

Fifteen-year-old Harley was old enough to know Tony had surgery a few months ago to remove the damn shrapnel from his chest. That he could’ve died. Again.

Pepper didn’t talk about it, but Harley noticed how worried she was. How sometimes, mid-sentence, she’d just go quiet, or rub her thumb into her palm-the thing she did only when she was really anxious.

He noticed. So he didn’t add to it. Didn’t ask how Tony was feeling. Or if he should even be flying.

She didn’t need that. She deserved peace.

And Harley… Harley had kind of made his peace with the fact that with Tony, you had to never be too surprised when he left, and never get too hopeful when he came back.

Still, that night, Harley rode the elevator up and down for a long time.

Just to feel something move.

On day eleven, Happy took him on the Staten Island Ferry. Supposedly because Harley had once mentioned he’d never been, but more likely to keep his mind off Tony.

It was grossly humid, the water smelled awful, and the benches were weirdly sticky.

But Harley kind of liked it anyway.

It was normal. No holograms, no upgrades, no AI giving snarky commentary. Just a boat. A ferry. Full of overheated people and stale snack food.

They sat on the upper deck, eating fries that were somehow both soggy and way too salty, watching other passengers go by.

“Better, right?” Happy asked eventually, leaning over the railing. “This city makes a little more sense with wind in your hair.”

By day thirteen, Harley had started showing up in Pepper’s office after lunch.

It smelled like expensive perfume and coffee and something that was just… her.

He never knocked. He never had. It was exactly like when he was ten and used to sit on the couch in her office doing summer math packets while she worked late.

“Need something?” she asked the first time, giving him that warm, familiar smile.

“Naaah,” he said, plopping into the seat across from her and pulling out his phone to reply to something in the group chat. “This floor has the best snacks.”

She hummed quietly and went back to her work.

She didn’t mention that this floor didn’t actually have any vending machines. Or a kitchen.

And he didn’t mention that she was the closest thing he had to a mom.

Technically, though, he did say it.

On day fourteen, in the evening, Pepper was making popcorn while Harley sprawled across the kitchen island waiting for her to finish.

“Thanks, you know,” he said, tilting his head to look at her.

“For what?” she asked, turning toward him with a curious smile.

“For being with him,” he said, holding her gaze.

She froze mid-motion.

“I mean-with Tony. I’m glad it’s you.”

He didn’t say the rest. That it was good it wasn’t someone fake or plastic. That it wasn’t someone who disappeared when Tony did.

He never called her Mom. That word felt too big, too late, too weird in his mouth.

But honestly, he couldn’t really remember life before her. Not in any real way.

“Of course. Always,” she said, like she understood all of it.

And when she ruffled his hair a moment later, he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

On day fifteen, Tony sent him a photo of a camel with the caption has your energy.

Harley didn’t reply.

But he saved the picture anyway.

On day seventeen, the stuff Harley had ordered one random night while doom-scrolling through obscure shopping sites finally showed up.

So now he had a new rug, a chair that absolutely didn’t match anything else in the room, and three cacti lined up on the windowsill that he named Philip, Charles, and William-even though he fully accepted they were doomed.

He also had a basketball hoop that wouldn’t have fit in any room smaller than this one, but lucky for him, this was the Tower.

By day eighteen, Harley had officially run out of things to do.

He’d rearranged his bed at least three times. Hung up the medals he swore he never would-the ones from elementary school tournaments that barely counted. For a while, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling or playing FIFA even though he didn’t actually care about soccer.

With nothing left to do, he circled back to the first thing he’d started with: exploring.

Except by the time he finished wandering around floor forty-eight-which turned out to be an actual maze of nothing interesting-he decided walking around definitely wasn’t his thing.

So he pulled out the skateboard he’d shoved under the bed back on day nine, when he’d first opened the box labeled IMPORTANT.

Same board he’d technically gotten for his thirteenth birthday. It showed up two weeks late. No card. But it had the Stark Industries logo printed on the underside, like that was supposed to explain everything.

It was from Tony, so Harley had made a personal vow to ride it until the wheels literally fell off. Which, to be fair, almost happened that one time he went full speed over the uneven bricks near the school auditorium.

Not that he was good at it or anything.

Even if someone offered him millions, he still wouldn’t be able to land a proper kickflip. He’d proved that on the school trip to Geneva back in November when he tried one, split his eyebrow open, and chipped the tail of the board.

But he could ollie over pretty much anything.

Curbs, door thresholds, caution-wet-floor signs, even the little fountain on floor thirty-seven.

Didn’t matter what it was-if it stood still long enough, Harley could ollie over it.

By day twenty-one, Harley had been caught by security five separate times.

And each time had its own flavor.

The first time, he got kicked out. Literally.

It was on the eighty-ninth floor-some kind of logistics zone, full of crates, drones, conveyor belts, and mechanical arms. It looked basically abandoned, way more sci-fi than any of the other floors he’d seen so far, and honestly kind of perfect for skating.

He’d just managed to hop over one of the conveyor belts, letting his board roll underneath, and had barely tried to slide down the metal edge of what he decided was an extremely ugly bench, when two dudes materialized out of nowhere.

They had radios, jackets with SI printed on the back, and expressions that screamed we hate teenagers.

“Hey! Hey!”

Harley froze mid-move and let himself coast backward on the board, eyebrows raised.

“You’re not authorized to be here!” one of them yelled.

“Sorry, I was just-” Harley started, lifting a hand, trying to explain.

But he didn’t get the chance.

Next thing he knew, he was physically herded into the elevator. His hoodie got yanked halfway up his back, one of his shoes came untied, and they tossed his board in after him like it was a crime scene weapon. One of them punched the LOBBY button with unnecessary force.

Harley felt like a supervillain.

“Next time, it’s NYPD, you little punk,” one of the guys said as the doors started to close.

“I live here, jackass,” Harley muttered under his breath as he hit the STOP button and got off one floor down.

He didn’t dare take the elevator back up, though. Just in case.

He took the stairs for the next five floors.

The second time, he ran for it.

And he wasn’t even doing anything remotely illegal. He was just wandering around the lower floors, hoping to find that weird zen garden Pepper had mentioned offhand one morning-and maybe a cool spot to take a photo to send to his friends.

But then some door opened somewhere and someone called out:
“Excuse me, who are you here with?”

“Oh, I’m just-” Harley shot his best smile at the guy heading his way.

Didn’t help.

A few seconds later, a completely different dude was coming toward him-this one had a radio and a bulletproof vest with the SI logo on it. Apparently the lower floors had fancier security.

So Harley did the only logical thing. He bolted.

Full-on sprint through a carpeted hallway, down some stairs that felt way more public than the emergency ones he usually used. He tore through a chill zone meant for engineers, and a utility corridor that smelled like printer ink and wires. Knocked over a trash can somewhere along the way. But he lost them.

Somewhere near the cafeteria on the twenty-fifth floor, he managed to duck behind a massive rolling cart stacked with even more massive cooking pots. He stayed there until it felt safe.

When he ran into Happy a few hours later and the guy asked what he’d been up to that afternoon, Harley just shrugged and said he’d found a vending machine that sold expired grape soda. Then silently begged JARVIS not to rat him out.

The third time was when things got actually serious.

Harley’s original plan had just been to ride the elevators. For fun.

But when the elevator stopped by itself on the forty-first floor, it felt like an invitation. Music still blaring in his headphones, he stepped out.

The floor was full of weird corners and pointless ramps-two stairs down just to be followed by three up. Classic Stark Tower nonsense.

Harley had just gone for a landing off one of those random drops when someone tackled him like they were playing in the goddamn Super Bowl.

He hit the floor hard, board flying off somewhere, his shoulder crunching painfully against the tile.

“Hey, what the-! Get OFF!”

Nobody listened.

Someone twisted his arms behind his back, someone else grabbed his board. The next ten minutes were a whirlwind of being dragged into some kind of security office and getting exactly zero sympathy.

“Harley Stark,” he said for maybe the eighth time when they kept asking who he was and what the hell he was doing there.

Cue another eye roll.

“Right. And I’m Pepper Potts.”

“No, like, seriously.”

“No ID. No adult supervision. No anything. And don’t you dare say Stark again.”

They were maybe two seconds away from calling the actual cops when Happy finally walked in, radiating the specific kind of energy reserved for exhausted uncles.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, staring directly at Harley. “Can you please find a hobby that doesn’t give me gray hair?”

Harley just grinned.

They gave him his board back. Finally. One of the guards even said sorry.

And the fact that Happy ended up taking him to that zen garden Harley had been trying to find earlier-and handed him a bag of chips while muttering something about how Harley was gonna send him to an early grave before his dad did-only made the whole thing better.

The fourth and fifth times both happened on the same day.

Honestly, they were starting to feel like part of the routine-Harley went somewhere he wasn’t supposed to, jumped over something a little too fragile-looking, someone yelled something about a possible intruder. And like clockwork, Happy showed up within ten minutes, frowning and holding something decent to eat.

By the fifth time, he even gave Harley a ride on one of those little transport carts, the kind they usually use for crates and equipment. Harley stuck his hand out like he was surfing through the air.

But that fifth time also came with a warning.

“You’re stressing out my mid-level staff,” Happy complained. “I’m gonna have to start printing you a guest badge every morning.”

“I’ll behave,” Harley promised with his best innocent smile-making a mental note to limit his boarding to the penthouse, the roof, the garage, and the outdoor areas. Not like there were many floors left anyway. At that point, he’d pretty much officially hit all 93 of them. The rest of the Tower’s nooks and crannies? He could explore those more... discreetly.

Luckily, on day twenty-two, Rhodey dropped by. Still in uniform, coming from who-knows-where, and holding two tickets to a Yankees vs. Mets game like some kind of angel.

“You’ve grown again,” he said as a hello.

“You’ve been saying that since I was nine,” Harley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, and you keep growing. Stop doing that and I’ll stop saying it.”

“And you keep getting older,” Harley shot back-pretty sure he heard Pepper laugh at that, even though she was mid-phone call in the next room.

Harley didn’t even like baseball that much. But he knew the stadium would be loud, and Rhodey was the kind of guy who’d definitely buy him a hot dog and let him ramble about stupid stuff.

They barely watched the game. Mostly, they roasted the players and made fun of the people in the stands.

“You know,” Rhodey said at one point, “you could visit me on base sometime.”

“They let civilians in?”

“Being unauthorized hasn’t stopped you so far, from what Happy tells me.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

Harley even pretended to root for the Mets just to mess with him-Rhodey was a die-hard Yankees fan.

In retaliation, Rhodey bought him one of those giant foam fingers, the kind that made Harley cringe on sight.

“This thing is disgusting,” Harley declared.

But he kept it on the whole game. And the entire ride back.

On the twenty-fourth day, Tony came back. Loudly, of course-like always. In his style. Full of energy, the kind that usually showed up a few minutes before he did. Full of chaos too, the kind that probably made the interns flinch.

Harley was sprawled out in that ridiculously out-of-place armchair in his room, texting Gene about how Olivia probably had a new boyfriend, judging by her Instagram posts.

He heard the elevator arrive, the doors sliding open. Then Pepper’s voice-too quiet to make out the words, but just loud enough to hear how soft it was. Happy-soft.

"I missed you. Did you miss me?" Tony’s voice was definitely louder. “Come on, tell me you missed me.”

Some kind of mumbling answered him. Harley dropped his phone onto his chest and listened more closely.

“…island. Not clear.”

He sat up just as Tony’s shadow appeared in the doorway. He looked pretty much the same. Which wasn’t exactly a good thing. He had dark circles under his eyes and might’ve actually been skinnier than before, if that was even possible.

"Hey, kid!" Tony said casually, leaning in the doorway. "You eaten today?"

"Yeah," Harley lied.

"Cool," Tony said, stepping into the room, eyeing random stuff and avoiding the clothes scattered on the floor. “You changed things around.”

“You were gone a while.”

“I was gone on business,” Tony said, putting weird emphasis on business. “Is that poster crooked or is it just me?”

Harley looked at the poster Tony was pointing at. It was definitely crooked.

“It’s straight,” he said. “Mostly.”

“Cool. Cool. I brought you something.”

Harley frowned deeper, watching closely as Tony reached into a suitcase he’d dropped in the doorway and pulled out a miniature gold camel. It looked kinda deflated, dusty, and very obviously from some tourist-trap market.

“You brought me a camel?” Harley asked, turning the figure over in his hands.

“A gold camel. Classic. Exotic. Culturally questionable. But it’s got personality.”

“Uh… thanks, I guess.”

“You’re welcome, kid,” Tony said, clapping his hands onto Harley’s shoulders. He gave them a quick squeeze, drummed his fingers in some rhythm only he seemed to know, and then headed for the door.

“Hey,” Tony said suddenly, turning around with an expression Harley couldn’t quite read. “If you’re gonna ride your board indoors again, please, please stay out of the AI calibration rooms. You nearly ran over a prototype eyeball.”

“When was I even in that kind of room?” Harley frowned, genuinely unable to remember anything that looked remotely like an eyeball.

“Just…” Tony gave him a tired smile. “Don’t make me sew a GPS tracker into your hoodie.”

And without waiting for a reply, he left. Leaning back in his seat, Harley could just see Tony heading to his room. Good. Maybe he planned on sleeping. Getting some rest.

Pepper came into view a moment later. And Harley would’ve had to be blind not to see how her face lit up at the sight of the camel in his hands.

“He missed you,” she said, and walked into the room Tony had just disappeared into.

On the twenty-sixth day, that weird limbo Harley had been living in-sharing a roof with his dad but barely talking to him-either ended, shifted, or... something.

It was late morning. Quiet and calm. Pepper had been at the office for hours. Harley was halfway through a bowl of way-too-sweet cereal, sitting at the kitchen island. Some jazz was playing in the background. JARVIS liked to play that kind of crap. Harley wasn’t a fan, but it wasn’t annoying enough to ask for something else. He tapped his heel against the stool in time with the music, not really thinking about it.

Tony showed up without any fanfare. No explosions. Just barefoot, hair a mess, wearing a washed-out MIT shirt that was probably older than Harley, blinking like he hadn’t quite finished booting up. He mumbled a greeting and Harley mumbled something back, fully expecting him to disappear again.

But he didn’t.

He made himself coffee, sat down across from Harley, and started scrolling through what looked like emails on his phone. He looked tired-but not bone-deep tired. Not destroyed. Just like a normal guy who hadn’t slept great.

Harley had no idea what to do with that. It was weird. But not bad-weird. Just… weird.

His phone buzzed. Reflexively, he grabbed it and read the message.

We’re coming Friday. Mom wore him down. Les Mis. Get ready,

Harley smiled. His shoulders relaxed without him even realizing.

“Some girl?” Tony asked over the rim of his phone.

“You always think it’s a girl,” Harley rolled his eyes, but there wasn’t any bite to it.

“Optimism,” Tony said, taking another sip of coffee. “Or pattern recognition.”

“It’s Gene,” Harley replied, not bothering to react to the rest.

“Gene…” Tony tilted his head like he was digging through mental file folders. “Is that the one with the weird vocabulary and even weirder shoes?”

Harley squinted at him.

“You saw him once. When you came to get me to sign the papers to make Pepper CEO. That time you thought you were dying. Again.”

“Right,” Tony said, like he was genuinely turning that memory over in his head. “That was a funny time.”

“Mhm,” Harley snorted before he could stop himself. It wasn’t a funny time. “Super funny for me too.”

“Was he the one with braces?” Tony asked. Harley looked up from the reply he was typing to Gene.

“Yuuuup,” Harley said, still not totally sure what was going on. “He’s flying in Friday.”

“Do we need to pick him up from the airport?” Tony asked immediately. Like, zero hesitation.

“Nah, his mom’s definitely got it all planned. They’re staying at some Carlyle or whatever, and I’m sure they’ve got a whole fleet of drivers,” Harley explained, setting down his phone and actually looking at his dad.

“Mm, fancy,” Tony said. “Anyway, if you want, I can have JARVIS clear my weekend. We could hang out. You could, like, officially introduce us.”

Harley felt like his heart might’ve straight-up left his chest. Not only had Tony remembered something about his life-he was offering to make time for it.

“I’ll let you know, okay?” Harley said, and yeah, his eyes were definitely shinier than they should’ve been.

“Cool,” Tony nodded, grabbing his coffee and tablet and heading for the elevator.

Chapter Text

By Friday, Harley was practically bouncing off the walls.

He tried not to be. He told himself it was just dinner. Just Gene. Just Gene’s parents. Who he liked. A lot.

He honestly didn’t know what had him so keyed up. Maybe it was that he hadn’t seen Gene in a month. Maybe it was that Gene was coming back to their school in the fall, to their room, and Harley… wasn’t. Or maybe it was because this was going to be the first time his dad and Pepper were really meeting them. Not in passing. Not in some weird hallway moment. But like, sitting down. At a table. Eating.

And his dad had promised he’d be there. Harley knew better than to trust those promises-but this one had sounded real. He hoped it was real.

He couldn’t sit still the entire day. At some point he rearranged all the books in the living room-first by genre, then by color, because it looked neater that way. He changed his shirt like three times just to make sure he looked decent. By noon he’d checked the time eight times and asked JARVIS for the coordinates of the plane four times, even though Gene wasn’t supposed to land until three, and dinner was at six.

By the time Pepper came back from the office, Harley had already set the table and swapped out the silverware twice.

“You okay?” she asked gently, with a little amused smile.

“Sure. Just… I don’t know,” he said, shrugging, hands stuffed in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. “I’ve got a weird feeling this is gonna be a disaster.”

“Sweetheart,” she said, coming over and brushing his hair off his forehead, “they know you. You’ve spent a dozen weekends with them, Christmas break… They love you. Molly would probably say you look handsome even if you showed up in a trash bag.”

“I just don’t want it to be weird,” he muttered, staring at the floor.

“And I’m just saying, you don’t have to impress anyone. Be yourself,” she said like that was a simple fix to everything.

“I’m still nervous.”

“I’ll be there too, remember?” Pepper reminded him, giving him a quick one-armed hug that smelled like her perfume and the city.

And that did help. A little.

Maybe.

Gene and his parents, of course, arrived exactly on time.

Harley had been waiting by the elevator the second JARVIS announced their guests were on their way up, and when the doors opened and he saw Gene in a polo shirt, one of the ones he hated but wore anyway because his mom liked how he looked in them, he had to physically stop himself from grinning like an idiot.

“Harley!” Gene’s mom said warmly. “You’ve gotten so handsome!”

He really tried to ignore Pepper’s look from behind him, the one burning into the back of his neck that basically screamed told you so.

“And you’re almost taller than me now,” Mr. Williams added, offering him a firm, very grown-up handshake.

“Mrs. Williams, Mr. Williams,” Harley greeted politely, but slipped past them quickly to wrap Gene in a hug. “Gene!”

Tony showed up late, but only by seven minutes, which, by his standards, was pretty much early. He was wearing some nice sweater that looked almost ironed, and dress shoes, which, compared to the stuff he usually wandered around the house in, might as well have been black-tie attire.

He walked in holding a bottle of wine as some kind of peace offering, with a look on his face that said something like hey, I promised, and here I am.

“Good evening,” he greeted them, looking slightly awkward but still with that natural charm Harley half admired and half found infuriating. “Apologies, I got caught up in the lab.”

He didn’t shake hands, that wasn’t his style, but he nodded respectfully to each of the guests.

“Senator Williams…”

“Gene’s fine,” Mr. Williams interrupted easily.

“Gene, Molly. And you must be the other Gene,” Tony said as he sat at the head of the table, grinning at the teenager.

“Yeah,” Gene replied, polite. “That’s me. The smaller one.”

“Not so samll anymore,” Tony muttered, giving him a quick once-over. “Last time I saw you, you were what, eleven? Now you’re basically a grown man.”

Harley blinked and glanced around. That was… nice. Weirdly nice. He felt a little off-balance, like the first time the older guys at school handed him a joint and he wasn’t sure whether to act cool or run.

“I’m glad you’re visiting-even if it’s just in passing,” Tony went on, voice loud and cheerful as Pepper started bringing out food. “Pepper tells me you’re the reason Harley hasn’t fully turned into me yet, so thanks for your service.”

Molly laughed-really laughed, full and genuine-and the senator smiled like a man who’d seen way weirder things in his day.

Harley threw his dad a bewildered look, then shrugged in Gene’s direction like I have no idea either, man.

Dinner was actually really good. Surprisingly good. And kind of… nice?

Pepper-because obviously-had organized the whole thing. She ordered food from that fancy Italian place around the corner, the one with prices so ridiculous Harley honestly had no idea how they were still in business. There was some kind of pasta with roasted vegetables and a dessert with more chocolate than should legally be allowed.

The conversation flowed, too. They talked briefly about the weather in New York and politics-though not for long-and much more about music. Gene even told a few stories from school that had everyone laughing. Pepper mostly steered the conversation, but Tony didn’t interrupt or hijack anything. He was… normal. Normal in a way Harley hadn’t realized he missed until now.

And Harley actually relaxed. He let himself enjoy the night.

Gene was still Gene. His parents still clearly adored him, just like Pepper had promised. And Tony had shown up. That had to count for something.

“So, sweetheart,” Mrs. Williams said at one point, turning to him with genuine interest. “Do you know what you’ll be doing in the fall? Any thoughts on school?”

Harley opened his mouth. He was about to say that not really. That he couldn’t picture himself at any school that wasn’t their school. That he figured he’d try something in the city, since Tony clearly wanted him close. That he was planning to talk it over with Pepper soon.

But before he could get a single word out-

“He’s all set,” Tony cut in, smiling like it was great news. “Midtown Tech. Excellent program. Strong focus on STEM. Great networking potential. Close enough to home. We’ve got a whole plan.”

Harley froze, fork halfway to his mouth.

Gene’s smile faltered. Mrs. Williams blinked, just one blink too many. And Mr. Williams tilted his head ever so slightly, like he’d just picked up a weird scent in the room.

Harley could feel all three of them looking at him.

“Oh,” Molly said finally, still watching him, not Tony. “That’s… wonderful.”

“Mhm,” Harley said flatly, finally shoving the bite of pasta into his mouth. “So wonderful.”

“Genius in the making,” Tony added, resting a hand casually on the back of Harley’s chair like he hadn’t just detonated a conversational grenade. “He’s not thrilled about chemistry, but that’s just because he hasn’t had the right teachers. Give him a little time.”

Pepper coughed into her napkin.

Harley took a long sip of water. Then another. And kind of wished it was wine like the grown-ups were drinking.

Dinner went on.

The conversation kept flowing easily enough, but Harley knew-he knew-they were checking on him now. Like every so often someone’s eyes would flick his way, just to see if he’d gotten up and bolted.

So he smiled. Warmly. He laughed at the right parts. Joined in when it made sense. He did the thing. But it felt like everyone at the table, except Tony, had noticed that Harley wasn’t exactly glowing anymore.

And he really felt it later when Mrs. Williams hugged him just a little too tightly before they left, and Mr. Williams made a casual offer about joining them for some sightseeing the next day. Gene just patted him on the back.

And Harley stood there, smiling, wondering when exactly the night had stopped feeling so good.

Harley smiled when Pepper told him to sleep well and not stay up too late. He even nodded to his dad in passing as they disappeared down the hallway to their bedroom.

But instead of heading to bed, he dragged one of the chairs out onto the landing pad. the one that was probably meant for helicopters or Iron Man suits or whatever, and pulled his hoodie up over his head. He sat down and looked out over the flickering lights of the city below.

A message popped up on his phone.

Gene: That was… subtle.

Harley: Yeah. Didn’t think I’d find out like that.

Gene: Kinda sucked. But my mom’s completely in love with you.

Harley: I’m kinda in love with her too.

Gene: 10 a.m. tomorrow? In front of the Ritz?

Harley just sent him a thumbs-up. And on his way back to his room, hoodie still up, phone still warm in his hand, he felt a little better.

He didn’t get much sleep that night. Not in the nightmares or tossing-and-turning kind of way, more like waking up from what barely counted as a nap and just… staring at the ceiling.
The room felt suffocating, even though it was still way too big.

Pepper must’ve left around six-he heard the familiar rhythm of her heels followed by the elevator doors. Tony either never came out of his room or had slipped out to the lab while Harley was actually asleep. Either way, it worked out. He didn’t have to focus on dodging them.

Twenty minutes later, he was already walking through the swanky lobby of the Ritz. He was halfway to the front desk-ready to ask someone to let the Williams family know he was there when Senator Williams came down the stairs with a bright smile and a promise they’d be heading out any second.

A few moments after that, they were stepping into the MET. Harley had never been. Museums weren’t really his thing. He’d been to a few on school trips, sure, but it wasn’t how he usually chose to spend his own time.

But the building looked impressive from the outside in a way that felt different from the Tower. More permanent, maybe. Harley liked that.
Inside, it was even better.

It was quiet, even though there were a lot of people moving through the space. Quiet and interesting. Full of stuff that had no real reason to exist in the same place but somehow worked. It smelled like wet stone and floor polish and sweaty tourists. The ceilings were high, but not in a show-offy kind of way.

They started with the Impressionists.

Gene kept trying to mimic the facial expressions from the portraits and came up with a ranking system based on how much he’d want each person in a group project. Harley joined in, obviously. They both agreed they’d absolutely want to work with the woman sitting naked on a chair.

That’s when Gene’s mom gently placed a hand on each of their shoulders and asked them-very diplomatically-to maybe dial it down a little. Not mad, just... seasoned. Like she was used to teenage boy nonsense.

Harley gave her his biggest, most innocent smile.

Gene, in an uncharacteristic show of respect, dropped the game after that but only to switch tactics. He started reading all the plaques in the arms and armor exhibit in a terrible British accent.

Turns out, for a lawyer, Gene’s mom had a weirdly deep knowledge of swords and spears and whatever else counts as ancient murder tools.

Gene rolled his eyes every time she casually dropped another historical fact like it was no big deal but he and Harley still listened to every word.

Mr. Williams had to step away for a few minutes to take some important call while they were in the Temple of Dendur, but he came back shortly after, apologizing and dramatically silencing his phone like he was sealing it in a vault.

Harley was genuinely having a good time.

Toward the end of the trip, they wandered into the modern art wing. They were all standing in front of a painting that looked… well, no one really knew what it was supposed to be. Mr. Williams had his arm around his wife’s waist, explaining what he thought the painting meant. Something about the human soul, or maybe a really sick cow.

Gene and Harley were trying hard not to laugh. That huge blue blotch couldn’t possibly be both a metaphor for the depths of human existence and a deformed farm animal. But Mr. Williams seemed pretty committed to both ideas.

“You have such a beautiful family,” an older woman said as she passed, clearly one of those people who loved inserting themselves into strangers’ lives. Apparently she’d been eavesdropping.

“Oh, thank you very much,” Mr. Williams said, smiling, totally unbothered.

Harley glanced at him sharply. Just to check, just to make sure Mr. Williams hadn’t forgotten he was standing right there.

He hadn’t. Didn’t even blink.

But he also didn’t correct her. Didn’t say anything like Oh, he’s just a friend of my son’s. Didn’t laugh awkwardly or dodge the comment. Just let the moment be what it was.

And Harley… felt warm. Right in the chest, like someone had lit a small fire under his ribs.

It wasn’t real, not really. But it wasn’t fake either. It was better than a weird silence or being left out. It was just... kind.

For a moment, Harley let himself lean into the daydream. He imagined going back with them to their Ritz-Carlton suite, Gene’s mom asking if he was hungry, Mr. Williams insisting he put on a nicer shirt for the theater, one someone had packed for him without asking. Maybe there were old photo albums. Embarrassing preschool stories. Inside jokes. A team. A family.

But the moment passed. Of course it did.

He and his dad rarely went out together. At first, he’d been too young for Tony’s kind of fun. Then it became about keeping his identity quiet. Then came the kidnapping attempt, and Tony freaked out. After that, boarding school. And then just more distance, like a slow fade to static.

So no one ever told them they were a beautiful family. At least barely anyone knew what the mysterious son of Tony Stark even looked like.

Not that people would ever say they looked alike.

Rhodey once said they had the same smile.

Happy said they had the same chin.

Pepper mentioned the shape of their ears, maybe.

But Harley didn’t see it. He and Tony were opposites. Fire and water.

Tony had brown eyes-Harley’s were blue.

Tony had dark hair-Harley was blond.

Tony had his iconic haircut and goatee-Harley changed his hair every month and couldn’t grow a single decent facial hair if his life depended on it.

People said he looked like Tony’s mom. His grandmother.
But outside of maybe both having slightly upturned noses, Harley didn’t buy it.

He thought he looked like his own mom.

The woman he barely remembered.

Just a scent. And a green dress with little white flowers.

Still. He was glad Mr. Williams hadn’t corrected that lady.

It didn’t make things real. But it made them nice.

When Gene’s mom started ushering them toward the exit, Harley gave the family a dramatic little bow, tossed out a few jokes about how the Senator was definitely going to cry during the show, and wished them a great evening before peeling off and heading home-apartment-tower-whatever.

He decided to walk.

Hands jammed deep into his pockets, fingers digging harder the longer he walked.
He wasn’t really sure why that stupid little comment had made him feel so good.
Or why it also made him feel like crap.

The apartment was quiet.

Too quiet.

Harley frowned and glanced at the clock. Almost 7 p.m. Pepper was rarely out this late unless something major was going on. But she clearly wasn’t home. The playlist she always put on when she was winding down for the evening wasn’t echoing off the sleek walls, and the kitchen was dark except for the soft under-cabinet lights she always had JARVIS leave on, just in case someone wants a midnight snack.

There was a soft clink from down the hallway.

Harley turned his head.

The door to the master bedroom was cracked open.

There were sounds coming from inside

Definitely Tony-ish sounds.

Harley sighed.

He wasn’t sure if he felt like talking.

Everything about today left him feeling kind of… weird.

He drifted toward the fridge, mostly on autopilot.

And that’s when he saw a small purple sticky note stuck near the top corner.

Harls,
There’s lemon chicken on the middle shelf. Please heat it up. Don’t eat cold meat.
Love, xP

The x was new.

It made Harley smile, stupid and small.

Sure enough, the chicken was right there where she said it would be.

He opened the container, let the lemony scent hit him, and his stomach turned.

He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Why hadn’t he corrected that woman? The one at the museum.

Why hadn’t he said, Oh no, I’m not their kid.

Why had he just let it slide like he didn’t already have a dad who lived in the tallest tower in Manhattan?

Like he didn’t have a dad with a suit that could blow a hole through the moon?
Like he didn’t have a sorta-stepmom who ran a multi-billion-dollar company and still somehow made him lemon chicken for dinner?

He had a dad.

He had Pepper.

He had a room with a whole wall of windows and a bathroom that looked like it belonged in a spa.

He had an AI that constantly asked if he needed anything.

He had all of that.

And he still didn’t say no.

Harley shut the fridge and glanced back down the hallway.

He’d spent the morning rotting in his room, deliberately waiting until Pepper left for work so he wouldn’t accidentally run into her. And she still left him dinner. And a note.

Why was he even mad?

It wasn’t like he wanted to go to boarding school back then but in the end, it kind of became home. The best thing that had ever happened to him, honestly. So maybe Midtown had a shot too.

Yeah, sure, it sucked that no one asked him first. But maybe that was better.

Harley nodded a little to himself.

He should stop being such a child about it.

A faint clink came from the bedroom again.

Harley let out a long sigh and, without thinking much, started down the hallway.
He knocked lightly, then pushed the door open before getting an answer.

The room was flooded with that golden kind of light you only get at sunset.
It spilled in through the wide, uncovered windows, stretching warm shadows across the carpet.

Harley’s eyes flicked to the view.

Different from the one in his room. No Empire State Building, but he could make out the dusky shape of Central Park instead.

The TV was on. Muted.

Jaws.

Somewhere still near the beginning, probably just after the shark took out that kid on the raft.

Tony was sitting on the lounge bench or ottoman, or whatever Pepper always called that thing at the foot of the bed.

He had his legs propped up on the coffee table, a tablet balanced on one knee. Looked like he was tinkering with some design schematics or circuit layouts.

And beside his foot, on the table, was a glass.
Nearly full.

Amber liquid catching the light in a way that was honestly kind of beautiful.

But it wasn’t tea.

Wasn’t soda.

It was something you sipped.

Something you poured slow.

Something you drank while pretending not to remember how bad things could get.

Harley stared at it and stopped in the doorway, trying not to scowl.

But Tony must’ve caught the look anyway.

Of course he did.

“One,” Tony said calmly. Not defensive. Just… explaining. “Just one.”

Harley nodded.

Didn’t say anything.

His throat felt tight, and he didn’t know why.

It’s not like Tony was drunk.

He wasn’t slurring, wasn’t wobbling, wasn’t being loud or laughing too hard.

He was just sitting there.

Working. Watching a movie.

No party.

No music.

Just Tony and a single glass of whiskey.

But Harley remembered what just one looked like ten years ago.

When just one turned into just five or just ten.

When Pepper would get mad in that quiet, clipped way because she wasn’t anyone yet, not really, not enough to make Tony listen.

When Obie would gently steer Tony out of a room.

When Tony, smelling like a bottle of rubbing alcohol, would fall asleep halfway through a bedtime story he never finished.

When strange women would say good morning to Harley on their way out, wearing yesterday’s clothes and laughing weirdly.

He remembered being seven and reading those headlines.

TONY STARK ACCUSED OF STATUTORY RAPE.

TONY STARK ESCAPES DUI CHARGES.

He remembered having to look up what statutory rape even meant.
Remembered the way Happy clenched his jaw when Harley asked.

He remembered the party yacht.

That awful birthday video from Vegas with someone’s thong on Tony’s head
and how he’d seen it secondhand, in a hallway at school, being passed around by guys laughing way too loud.

He remembered Rhodey telling him that he and Tony had stopped talking for a while after one too many benders.

“Really. Just one,” Tony said again.

And as he did, he pushed the glass further down the table, set the tablet aside, and swung his feet to the floor like he was trying to seem more approachable.

“Not throwing a Stark Expo in here, I promise.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Harley mumbled as he dropped onto the far end of the couch, eyes fixed on the people freaking out about a man-eating shark.

“But you wanted to,” Tony shrugged, shifting to face him a little. “You have a good day?”

“Mhm,” Harley muttered. “We went to a gallery. Lots of paintings. Lots of… stuff. The Williamses are leaving the day after tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony asked.

“Yeah. And uh…” Harley scratched the back of his neck, still not looking at him just watching the sheriff pull his kid out of the water. “Remember when you said, like, if I wanted… maybe you’d have time this weekend?”

“I remember,” Tony said slowly. He didn’t look surprised. But he didn’t look completely comfortable either.

“So… I was thinking maybe tomorrow? If you don’t have plans. Or you’re not… you know.”

“Done,” Tony cut in.

“Wait, really?” Harley blinked at him, lips parted like he didn’t totally trust what he’d just heard.

“What do you want? Guided tour? Suit demo? Quick lecture on repulsor tech?” Tony leaned back casually like he did this sort of thing all the time.

“I mean, honestly, it’d be kinda cool if Gene could see a real suit. Like, the real thing. If that’s okay.”

He didn’t say it, but just hanging out, just being around, would’ve been cool too.

Tony grinned wide. Not the smirky, photo-op grin from magazines. A real one. Warmer.

“I’ll show him everything. Lab. Garage. Coffee machine, if he’s into that.”

“He’s… weirdly into coffee machines,” Harley said, narrowing his eyes like he was double-checking that Tony hadn’t somehow read his mind.

“Well then, that’s what’ll bond us.”

“Thanks,” Harley said after a moment, looking right at him and holding his gaze for a few long seconds.

“Anytime, kid. Always,” Tony said, nodding.

And something warm spilled into Harley’s chest, this weird, unfamiliar kind of hope. Tony meant it. He meant to keep that promise.

Maybe this whole New York thing wasn’t the stupidest idea after all.

Harley smiled again, just a little, and stood to head for the door.
He already knew how Jaws ended anyway.

“Hey, about Midtown,” he said, pausing in the doorway. “Maybe it’s not the worst idea. In the world. Maybe.”

Tony looked vaguely stunned. “Should I get that printed on a bumper sticker?”

“Don’t push it,” Harley said with an eye-roll. “Night, Dad.”

Gene showed up early the next day. Like, really early.
And for Gene, that basically meant sunrise.

“Dude. This place is absurd,” he announced instead of saying hello, walking straight into Harley’s room without knocking.

“You were here two nights ago,” Harley muttered, sitting up in bed and rubbing his face. “Calm down.”

“Yeah, and I still can’t get over the fact this building has weird zen gardens and a freaking glass piano. I’ve been in fancy places, man, but none of them had whatever that is in the hallway.”

“It’s not a hallway, it’s a mezzanine,” Harley corrected automatically, because Pepper had some weird obsession with making sure people got that right.

Gene blinked at him. “You got real proper real fast.”
Then he turned from the window, stepped onto Harley’s skateboard lying on the floor, and started gently rocking back and forth on it like it was a balance board.

“You don’t have like, I don’t know, staff or something?”

“JARVIS is my staff.”

Gene nodded solemnly. “Yeah, that’s... a little terrifying.”

“Should be,” Harley replied, chucking a PS4 controller at him. “Come on. I’m about to destroy you.”

“Oh, don’t get cocky,” Gene laughed, still on the board. “I had a pre-game smoothie. I’m totally locked in.”

Harley rolled his eyes and plopped onto the floor, leaning against the bed and firing up NBA 2K14. Thankfully, this time Gene didn’t insist on endlessly customizing the players’ outfits, so they actually got to play like normal people.

They yelled at each other, they cracked up laughing. They kept changing the rules-from best of five to best of nine-because neither of them could accept losing.

Their fingers got covered in chip crumbs, and Harley had to run to the kitchen twice to grab more snacks from the stash Pepper had left out for them.

“Hey, that’s cheating-” Gene started, but then went for a full-on lunge at Harley and totally underestimated his own momentum.

The skateboard shot out from under him, he hit the floor with a loud thud, and the controller snapped clean in two.

“You absolute idiot,” Harley groaned, half-laughing, half-mortified.

“I think I have a concussion,” Gene croaked dramatically, flopping onto his back. “Tell Pepper her evil hardwood floors murdered me.”

“She’d probably just send your dad a fruit basket.”

They both cracked up, and Harley, just for a second, really, really didn’t want Gene to go back to D.C. Or school. Not without him.

“Nervous about Midtown?” Gene asked, still lying on the floor, looking at Harley sideways like he could read his thoughts.

“A little,” Harley admitted with a shrug.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Gene said. “You’re cool. Or at least, like, rich.”

“Wow,” Harley grinned, stretching out next to him. “That really boosts my self-esteem.”

“I am a very supportive friend.”

For a while, they just lay there next to each other, watching the light shift on the ceiling.

“Wanna go see if Tony’s free?” Harley asked eventually.

“You think he actually is?” Gene replied, turning his head toward him.

“He said he would be. Promised. Yesterday,” Harley said.

Gene didn’t comment on that. But the look he gave Harley, yeah, that was familiar. Not pitying, not sad exactly. Just familiar. Like he’d seen this play out before.

“Yeah, sure,” Gene said, sitting up.

Harley dragged Gene through every place he could think of, because JARVIS had his stupid protocol that made Tony’s location a confidential matter. He wasn’t passed out in his bedroom, wasn’t tinkering in the lab, wasn’t in the garage, and wasn’t lurking on the rooftop. Happy said he hadn’t seen him in a couple days. So Harley went for the last resort.

Pepper was pacing her office, gesturing like mad, talking on the phone with her brows drawn tight. But the moment she saw them, she smiled and reached a hand out toward them.

“Need something, boys?” she asked, muting her call.

“Nah, nothing,” Harley said, trying to sound chill. “We’re just looking for my dad.”

Pepper tilted her head and rubbed her thumb into her palm, and Harley felt a sting behind his eyes. She was stressed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” her voice turned soft. “Tony had to leave super early this morning. Around five. Steve sent a message. Avengers stuff.”

Harley smiled, barely, and tried to even out his breathing even though it didn’t feel like he could actually breathe at all. He didn’t even know why he was surprised.

“He said he…” Pepper looked unsure now. “I know you guys had plans. I thought he’d called you.”

“It’s fine, Pep,” Harley cut in, brushing it off and already walking toward the door, pushing past Gene, who was leaning against the wall trying to be invisible. “Whatever. We’re going out.”

Gene didn’t say anything until they were back in the elevator.

“Same old Tony?”

“Yeah. Fuck it,” Harley laughed. “We’ll go do something else.”

“Lead the way, Mr. Stark,” Gene said with a mock bow as the elevator doors opened into the lobby. Harley didn’t have it in him to tell him not to call him that.

“Hey, your dad still paying off that AmEx?” Gene asked when they were sitting in a Starbucks basically right next to the Tower, sipping some truly awful frappuccinos. Harley pulled his wallet from his pocket and slid out the black card with Stark embossed in silver.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” Gene whistled.

“You asked,” Harley shrugged.

“So let’s use it.”

They didn’t. Not really, anyway.

They didn’t have a plan. They just started walking. Toward the city center, into the swarm of tourists, blending into the mass of people.

Harley dared Gene to slap the hood of every cab parked along the curb waiting for fares. Gene went at it like he was playing a busted xylophone. One of the drivers yelled something after them in Spanish that Harley didn’t understand even a little. They ran like hell anyway, because that red face didn’t seem like a good sign.

They wandered around Times Square for a while, where the pavement felt stickier, the lights flashed like they were glitching out, and everything smelled like fryer grease and old sugar. Some guy tried to pickpocket them, but he was clearly new at it because they clocked him immediately.

They bought funnel cake from a cart that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Bush administration. It was both burnt and soggy. They ate it anyway. Gene got powdered sugar all over his shirt.

Around four, they ended up on some pedestrian bridge nobody seemed to use, even though there were people all around. It was gross. The puddle in the middle was probably pee.

They stood at the railing counting how many cars of a certain color passed underneath. Gene spat on one and landed it right on the roof.

“Two points for the windshield?” Harley added. “Three if it’s a Tesla?”

Gene nailed the windshield of a brand-new silver Tesla S.

“Compliments of Tony Stark!”

Harley got a black Escalade and a Rolls Royce, but Gene still won. Even if Harley refused to count that one hit on the blue Subaru.

They rode the subway for a bit. Even though they could easily buy tickets, they jumped the turnstiles anyway. Harley nearly snapped his leg doing it, but no one seemed to care. They rode all the way out to the Brooklyn Bridge, switching cars every few stops, trying to stand without holding onto anything, which ended with Harley getting this gross, sticky, weirdly black smudge on his back from hitting the wall, and Gene smacking his face on one of the poles so hard he was convinced he’d have a bruise tomorrow.

They didn’t even go look at the bridge up close. Just stared at it from a distance and headed back.

Dinner was bacon-wrapped hotdogs that looked bad, smelled worse, and tasted like they were cursed.

Harley threw up five minutes after finishing his.

Gene laughed so hard he almost threw up too.

Around nine, they tried racing a bus. Not like… racing racing, just keeping up with it. Pushing through crowds, dodging newsstands and carts. Harley wanted to puke again, and Gene ripped a hole in his jeans tripping on a lamppost. Some woman cursed them out, and some guy cheered like they were running a marathon. They actually made it to the next crosswalk before the bus.

Eventually they ended up sprawled out on the grass in Madison Square Park, staring up at the sky through the holes in the trees. Harley could still taste the hotdog in the back of his throat.

“My dad wants me to head back,” Gene said finally, looking at his phone.

“Is he pissed?”

“Nah,” Gene smiled. “We’ve got an early flight tomorrow, and I haven’t packed yet.”

“Tell him I said hey, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Hey, Gene?”

“Yeah?”

“You think these are the kind of days people remember when they’re like… thirty?” Harley asked, kinda hoping the answer was no.

“Mhm, probably” Gene nodded, getting to his feet and offering a hand to pull Harley up. “Text me if you ever need something.”

“Always.”

When Harley stepped into the penthouse, it was as dark as it could possibly be in a building that was basically made of glass. What he didn’t expect was Pepper, still in the exact same clothes she’d been wearing the last time he saw her, sitting in the corner of the couch.

“Didn’t think you’d still be up,” he said, trying to sound casual, like he hadn’t been counting on her being asleep when he got back.

“I’ve been trying to call you for the last two hours,” Pepper said, getting up slowly.

“Don’t start,” he muttered, rolling his eyes harder than he meant to. Even he didn’t like the way it came out.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, peeking into the fridge and finally just grabbing a bottle of water. “Seriously, we have nothing to eat?”

“Where were you?” she repeated, calm, stepping up to the kitchen island.

“I was with Gene,” he shrugged, twisting the cap off the bottle a little too aggressively. “I said we were gonna find something to do.”

“You didn’t say you’d be out until two in the morning.”

Harley licked his teeth and looked away.

“Didn’t realize I had to ask your permission.”

“That’s not what this is about,” she said, still calm. “I was worried. I didn’t know where you were.”

“You always know where I am,” he muttered, slamming the bottle down hard enough that water splashed out. “What, you think I don’t know there’s a tracker in my phone? Or, I don’t know…my spine?”

Pepper didn’t deny it. Which just made Harley shake his head.

“I was worried.”

“Yeah?” he said, feeling that spark light up in his chest. “’Cause it kinda sounds like you’re pissed I didn’t come home on time like a good little kid when Tony ghosts and reappears like Houdini and no one bats an eye.”

“That’s different,” Pepper’s expression sharpened.

“Oh yeah? Why? Because he’s a genius? Because he almost died saving the world? Because he’s an adult? Because he’s got a rocket-powered tin can?” Harley could feel his breath shortening. He was too tired for this.

“Harle-”

“You know what? Forget it,” he said, shaking his head and heading down the hallway. “I’m taking a shower.”

“Did you drink?” she asked softly.

That stopped him in his tracks. He turned back slowly, eyebrows raised, mouth half open.

“What?”

“You just… look like something happened.”

“Because I went out once and had a good time?” he snapped. “Because I laughed and did something stupid? Or is it just that you didn’t know if I was gonna end up on the news?”

“I just care,” Pepper said, not moving.

“Maybe you should’ve been worried when I was eight and crying for weeks because I wanted to go home. Or when I had a panic attack after finding out on CNN that my dad got kidnapped. Or when some kid showed me footage in the hallway of my dad crashing an F1 car in Monaco!” Harley’s voice was loud now. If they’d had neighbors, he was sure they’d be awake.

“I just want you to be safe.”

“I didn’t ask to be part of this circus!” he exploded. “I didn’t ask to be the kid of some guy who knocked up my mom and forgot about it! Who couldn’t show up to one damn parent-teacher night but managed to build like fifteen suits of armor in the meantime.”

“I know it’s not fair,” Pepper said gently.

“Nothing is fair!” Harley threw up his arms. “Tony acts like a selfish jackass and everyone calls it ‘being quirky.’ He disappears for a week, builds killer robots, crashes through roofs-and people applaud him.”

“I’m not-”

“I’m not stupid,” Harley cut her off. “I know you’re just waiting for me to turn into him. You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t notice how tense you get when I shut down or stop talking or don’t answer my phone? Like those are some early warning signs or something.”

“That’s not what I think,” her voice shook a little.

“Then what is it?” he snapped. “You literally just asked me if I’d been drinking. But maybe it’d be easier if I was like him. Everybody loves Tony, right? Even if he shows up for five seconds and vanishes again. Avengers business, wormholes, exploding Malibu. Whatever. Take your pick.”

“I know you’re angry,” she said softly, stepping a little closer. “I know you want a fight. But I’m not going to yell at you, Harley. I’m not going to punish you for hurting, even though I know that’s what you’re trying to get. Because it’d be easier than this.”

“Oh, right, because you’re so fucking perfect,” Harley barked, really losing it now. “Your whole life is just cleaning up his mess. Assistant, CEO, therapist, and now also a sex partner. Maybe you can add ‘caretaker of someone else’s kid’ to your damn résumé too.”

That hit. Pepper looked like he’d slapped her. And Harley smiled at that, even though something twisted in his chest.

“Oh, and while we’re at it,” he added, quieter now, but sharp as ever, “shoutout to the brilliant little committee who decided I should live here now. Guess they’re still going strong. Don’t worry. I’ll be a great little Stark heir at Midtown. I’ll take Advanced Physics, smile for the press, grow up into a genius nobody ever asked if he wanted this.”

“We just wanted to do what was best for you.”

Harley looked at her, at the crease near her mouth, her glassy eyes, how her thumb rubbed her palm, the way her nostrils were trembling. For a second, he wanted to hug her. Apologize. He almost did.

But he needed to be cruel. He needed to prove that she didn’t really care either.

“Wow. That’s a reach,” he laughed bitterly. “I’ve been raising myself for years.”

He threw her one last crooked smile and headed toward his room.

“Tell your boyfriend thanks for nothing!” he shouted, slamming the door behind him hard enough to shake the walls.

He didn’t really sleep that night.

A couple times he drifted off, maybe, but it was the kind of sleep that didn’t fix anything. The kind that left his heart pounding harder, his back sweaty. His stomach had been tied in a knot all night, and not because of the hot dog he’d eaten earlier. His eyes stung from staring too long at the flickering lights outside his window. The room was silent. So silent it made everything feel worse, heavier than it probably was.

He was still in the same clothes from the day before, curled under a single blanket, his face buried in the crook of his arm. He hadn’t even bothered to plug in his phone-he wasn’t sure where he’d thrown it. The sky outside had gone a pale gray-pink. It looked like it was going to be a nice day. But everything still seemed cold, even if it technically wasn’t.

The knock on the door was soft, like whoever was knocking didn’t want to risk waking him.

“Harley? Can I come in?”

Her voice was a whisper-gentle, warm.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t bring himself to. But the door creaked open anyway. Slowly. Carefully.

Pepper stepped in, already dressed for work; skirt suit, hair pinned back neatly, light makeup. But her face looked tired. Not angry, just worn out. She walked barefoot, like she didn’t want her heels to make noise in case he was asleep.

Harley sat up, preparing for a lecture. One he definitely deserved.

But Pepper just gave him a small, soft smile and sat in his desk chair. Like she wasn’t sure if it was okay to come closer. Her gaze was calm, patient.

“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Harley said quietly. His voice was rough and dry. “Last night.”

“I know,” Pepper said, shaking her head gently.

“I just... I didn’t want it to come out like that. I was so mad. But not at you. Not really,” he said, rubbing his eyes a little harder than necessary. “I was mad at him. But I-I took it out on you.”

“I know,” she said again. “And it’s okay.”

“You don’t have to say that.”

“Maybe not,” she replied with a soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “But it’s still true.”

Harley stared down at his hands, ran his tongue along the back of his teeth.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I…I was just... so pissed, and you were there. Like always. And maybe that’s kind of the problem?”

Pepper didn’t answer, but Harley could feel her eyes on him, waiting.

“I mean, like… You’re the one holding all of this together, right? Making sure he functions. Making sure this-” Harley gestured vaguely at the room, the tower, the whole damn mess “-doesn’t fall apart. And I think sometimes I forget that you’re not actually…invincible.”

That made her smile. Smaller this time. But it was real.

“Well,” she said, “don’t let word of that get out.”

“I didn’t sleep,” he said after a beat of silence, looking her in the eyes. He didn’t know why he told her that, but maybe it was just to show her that he really cared about what he said last night.

“I didn’t think you would.”

“I just…” he swallowed hard. “You looked sad. And I really didn’t want you to be sad.”

“I wasn’t sad because of you,” she said gently. “I was sad for you. Because you had to feel that way, go through all of it.”

“I don’t wanna be, like… some kind of burden,” Harley said quickly, his voice tight, throat closing.

“You’re not.”

“It’s just… you already have a full-time job keeping him from blowing himself up, and now I’m-”

“Hey.” She cut him off-not sharp, but firm. “You are not a job. And you’re not something I have to survive. You’re someone I love.”

Harley didn’t say anything. Just pressed his palms into his eyes so hard he saw stars.

“Do you want me to sit with you for a bit?” she asked, already making her way over to the bed.

He nodded and shifted to make room, and she sat down beside him. He leaned his head on her shoulder and curled into her side, the way he hadn’t let himself do in years.

“Can we… not tell him?” he asked after a long stretch of quiet.

“Tony?”

“Yeah. Just… don’t tell him about the yelling.”

“I won’t,” she promised, brushing the hair off his forehead.

“He’ll either turn it into some big lesson, or he’ll freak out that he’s becoming his own dad. And I don’t want either of those things.”

“Got it.”

They sat in silence again. Harley’s eyes were closed. Her arm was wrapped around him.

“I’ve gotta go to work,” she said eventually. He nodded.

“You’ll come back later?” he asked, not looking up.

“Of course I will.”

“And… maybe we could get Thai or something?”

“You’re reading my mind,” she said with a warm smile, kissing the top of his head.

She stood slowly, gave his arm one last squeeze.

“I’m sorry again,” Harley mumbled just as she was almost out the door.

“I know,” she said, smiling as she closed it gently behind her. “Get some sleep.”

And Harley actually could.

Chapter Text

Harley was technically grounded.

Pepper hadn’t given him a long speech or anything - just told him she appreciated the apology, but actions had consequences. That she wasn’t punishing him for showing emotions, but for how he did it - and, mostly, for disappearing into New York for half the night without so much as a text.

Since Gene was out of town and Harley didn’t really have anyone else to hang out with in the city, the grounding wasn’t social - it was digital. No console, no TV, and a strict limit on phone and computer usage: one hour a day, tops.

Harley had a feeling Pepper already regretted it.

Mostly because he’d taken to showing up at her office more often than usual, just to prove their relationship was fine - that she wasn’t still mad. He didn’t say that, obviously. But he figured she knew. Or at least suspected.

That day, he’d been hanging around for hours.

Partly because Happy had warned him, in no uncertain terms, that if anyone in the building so much as mentioned skaters again - even if it wasn’t Harley - he’d lose his skateboard permanently. So Harley was laying low. Pepper’s office was neutral territory.

She was typing furiously, the way people did when they were trying to finish three things at once and couldn’t focus on any of them. Her eyes kept darting between two monitors and a notebook full of notes and tabs and stress.

Harley was draped across the couch she kept in the corner - one half of his face mashed into a throw pillow, one arm stretched toward the floor, and both legs thrown up over the backrest like gravity didn’t apply.

He sighed. Loudly.

Pepper didn’t look up, but she did roll her shoulders and shift in her seat, then went right back to typing.

Harley sighed again. Louder.

“You do realize increasing the volume of your sighs doesn’t actually make time move faster,” she said, distracted.

“Are you sure?” he mumbled into the pillow. “It might.”

“Still doesn’t.”

She clicked something with her brow furrowed like the software had just personally insulted her.

Harley groaned and rolled dramatically onto his back, making sure to add an extra grunt for flair.

“I think my cactus might be dead,” he announced solemnly.

“The new one?” Pepper asked, barely flicking her eyes away from the screen.

“No, one of the originals,” he sighed again, this time for the cactus. “It was part of the founding trio.”

“So that’s what - the third this month?”

“Technically the fourth,” Harley said. “If you count the succulent that died the day I opened the box. Which is kind of on me, I guess. I thought the package was a blanket so I didn’t open it right away.”

Pepper gave him a long-suffering glance over the top of her screen. “Do you want another one?”

“I dunno,” Harley flopped one hand over his eyes. “Maybe I just wasn’t meant to care for living things.”

“You’re fifteen,” Pepper said, leaning back in her chair. “And it’s a cactus.”

“Exactly,” Harley pointed. “My frontal lobe isn’t even fully developed yet.”

Pepper just shook her head and turned back to her work.

Harley watched her a second longer, then rolled onto his side again, blowing his cheeks out and letting the air puff out of his mouth in slow, ridiculous bursts.

“You got any snacks?” he asked, a little more animated.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Second drawer,” she muttered. “There’s probably a granola bar.”

Harley slid off the couch like gravity had suddenly remembered him, dragging his feet and waving his arms dramatically as he made his way to her desk. The second drawer was a strange mix of things - folders, mints, backup charger, and…

“Ugh. Raisins?”

“You’re welcome,” Pepper said, deleting something aggressively.

Harley picked up the granola bar, turned it over in his hands a couple of times, then set it gently beside her laptop.

“A sacrifice,” he said solemnly. “In honor of your patience.”

“How generous,” she said dryly, not looking up.

Harley wandered back to the couch and flopped down again - this time curling up on his side, facing her. Watching her work.

He didn’t mind being here.

“Do you think Happy mentioned the skateboard thing to you?”

“I think Happy mentions a lot of things to me,” Pepper said without looking up.

“Okay, yeah, but like-was he mad-mad? Or was he more like... proud-mad?”

Pepper raised an eyebrow, as if weighing the phrase, but her eyes stayed on the screen.

“Is ‘proud-mad’ even a real thing?”

“Obviously,” Harley said, mildly offended. “It’s when someone thinks something was reckless, but also kinda awesome. But, y’know, they’re not supposed to say it out loud because they’re the adult.”

Pepper paused her typing for half a second, then nodded slowly, like the logic had somehow convinced her.

“In that case, yes. Probably proud-mad.”

Harley grinned, satisfied, and turned his attention to the sky outside the window, where a plane was crawling across the clouds.

“I think William’s still in my room,” he sighed.

“William?”

“The cactus. May he rest in peace,” Harley said solemnly.

Pepper made a noise - half a breath, half a laugh - like she was trying not to actually laugh. Harley took that as a win. Getting her to laugh when he wasn’t even really trying was better than getting her to laugh on purpose.

“Want me to send someone to take care of him?”

“What? No,” Harley said, scandalized. “I’ll give him a proper funeral. Someday. A real respectful one. Toilet flush and everything.”

“Touching,” she said dryly.

For a while, Harley let her work in peace.

She typed. He just… existed nearby. It was kind of nice. Kind of grounding. Good to know Pepper was still Pepper.

“It’s cold in here,” he said after a few minutes.

“You could always go outside, you know,” Pepper replied, still not looking away from her phone now.

“It’s hot and crowded out there,” he groaned.

“You just said you were cold,” she pointed out, rolling her eyes.

There was a beat of silence.

“There should be a blanket behind the chair,” she added finally, giving him a quick glance filled with mock pity.

“Too far,” Harley said without moving.

Pepper rolled her eyes again, but didn’t move either.

“You don’t wanna ditch your next meeting and, I don’t know, not work?” Harley yawned dramatically, curling into himself like he was his own human burrito.

“No,” she said. “But thanks for the offer.”

Harley grinned at her, warm and lopsided.

“Speaking of meetings,” Pepper said, stretching slightly in her chair and grabbing her phone. “I’ll be right back.”

She did not come back in five minutes. Or ten. Or fifteen. Which meant Harley was already mentally prepared for her to be gone for like, two hours. Statistically, that’s how it usually played out. Either she gave someone a swift pep talk, warning, or compliment and was back in a flash, or she ended up trapped in a meeting that lasted forever. There was no in-between.

Harley didn’t move from the couch. He did change positions, like, five different times. He found a pen someone had probably dropped under the couch six months ago, but that was about the extent of his productivity.

He briefly considered asking JARVIS to fake-alert Happy, like Hey, there's a situation in Pepper’s office just to get him to show up - but he didn’t have the guts. Not really. Especially since Happy was exactly the person he was sort of laying low from.

The door opened without warning. Not rudely or anything. Just… not like Pepper would’ve opened it.

Harley still didn’t sit up. People walked into Pepper’s office all the time. That one intern who always brought her green juice. That one assistant who always bowed to him too, which was weird. Random people whose world needed saving by Pepper Potts.

But the footsteps - those were different. Not heels, not dress shoes. Heavy, steady, confident. Not stompy, but not quiet either.

For a second, Harley thought maybe it was Rhodey. Rhodey did walk like that. But Rhodey would’ve said hi.

Harley turned just enough to see the door. And in walked a guy. Tall. Like, really tall. Perfect blonde hair. Broad shoulders. And that whole vibe - serious but somehow still warm. Like a guy who could either give you a hug or a lecture on civic responsibility, depending on the mood. He wore normal clothes. Like, really normal. Almost aggressively neutral. The kind of outfit that screamed I have no idea what I’m doing, so I chose the safest possible option.

Harley sank deeper into the couch cushions.

Captain freaking America.

Steve actual freaking Rogers.

Harley stared at him again, just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

So this was his first real Avenger encounter. And they were starting strong, apparently.

Well - not counting his dad. And Rhodey. If Rhodey counted. Which… maybe he didn’t?

“Oh,” the man said, stopping mid-step. He looked kind of thrown off. “Sorry. I’m… looking for Pepper Potts?”

Harley blinked, still mentally catching up to the fact that Captain America was standing in front of him.

“She stepped out for a bit. Want me to tell her you dropped by?” he said, not moving from his sprawl on the couch.

Steve hesitated.

“Are you… uh, even supposed to be in here?” he asked, gesturing vaguely around the office.

“Nope,” Harley replied, completely deadpan.

Steve blinked. Harley felt the corner of his mouth twitch upward.

“I mean,” Harley added, lacing his fingers behind his head, “not officially. But she hasn’t kicked me out yet, if that helps.”

Steve looked around like he expected someone to come explain the situation to him. Like there were rules and someone had forgotten to enforce them.

“Right. Okay. I’ll just… wait for her, then. I can wait,” he said, though he made no move toward any of the chairs.

“You can,” Harley said, rolling to his side, “but if it’s, like, some end-of-the-world business, you might wanna send a follow-up email or something.”

“I don’t think I need your advice,” Steve said slowly.

“Sure. But I don’t think you don’t need it,” Harley shot back.

Steve gave him a look. Harley grinned. Teasing Captain America was, shockingly, a pretty effective cure for extreme boredom.

“So… do you work here?” Steve asked, arms folding across his chest.

“God, no.”

“Intern?”

“Do I look like an intern?” Harley laughed.

“You look like someone who shouldn’t be in Pepper Potts’ office surrounded by classified materials,” Steve said, visibly tensing.

“Ohhh,” Harley sat up a little and looked around the room dramatically. “Is this a secret meeting? You got a badge or something? Maybe, like, a little SHIELD pin?”

Steve exhaled through his nose slowly, like he was trying to summon a monk’s patience from deep within his soul.

“Listen, kid-”

“Okay, no. Don’t call me ‘kid,’” Harley said, offended. “That is so condescending. Just because you’ve been alive since the dinosaur age doesn’t mean you get to dad everyone.”

Steve squinted at him.

“You’re… definitely someone’s problem.”

“Thank you,” Harley beamed. “I work on that.”

For a second, Harley could practically hear Pepper’s voice in his head saying Don’t poke the bear. But Pepper wasn’t here, was she?

“So, what’s it like being the hero of your coworkers’ parents?” he added, like he wasn’t asking for a death wish.

Steve didn’t answer. First, he glanced toward the hallway like he was praying someone-anyone-would come rescue him. Then he looked up, like he was consulting with God directly.

Then he gave up.

He walked over to the window and stared out at the skyline.

Harley didn’t move.

The silence that followed was… uncomfortably loaded. Harley was ninety-nine percent sure Cap was watching him through the reflection in the glass, or at least side-eyeing him hard.

Pepper walked into the office mid-sentence, tapping something on her phone while issuing instructions to someone just outside the door.

“Sorry about that,” she said, still moving. “I had to step out for a qua-”

She stopped short when she saw Steve. Her face lit up politely.

“Hey,” Steve straightened up like he’d just been summoned to attention. “Didn’t mean to intrude, I just- Who’s the kid?”

Harley shifted on the couch sitting and crossed one leg over the other. He caught Pepper’s eye for half a second and gave a subtle shake of his head. A quiet no.

Pepper’s nostrils flared slightly, and she rolled her eyes so subtly it was practically telepathic.

“A friend,” she said smoothly. “He hangs around sometimes.”

“You let random teenagers into your office?” Steve frowned.

“He’s not random.”

Harley beamed at him with his most charming, most intentionally annoying smile.

“Did you need something, Steve?” Pepper sat behind her desk, clearly refusing to pick up the glove Harley had thrown.

“Right,” Steve said, still looking at Harley for a beat before turning his full attention to Pepper. “Tony’s not coming back for a few days. Something came up. He wanted me to let you know he’s fine, just has to sort out some logistics.”

“ Of course. Thank you,” Pepper said, not missing a beat.

“He sent Captain America instead of, like, texting?” Harley nodded like he was impressed.  “Very on-brand.”

Pepper gave him a look. Harley had no idea what it meant, but it felt like a warning.

“Tony thinks Avenger-related updates should come from the top,” she explained, pointedly looking at Harley.

“Because phones are hard,” Harley added. “So advanced. Real cutting-edge stuff.”

“Does he always hang around like this?” Steve asked, glancing between them.

“You seem very stressed about my existence,” Harley said, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin in his hands. “You sure this isn’t some secret side mission? Save the mysterious boy from the CEO’s office?”

“I just wanted to know who you are?” Steve said, visibly off-balance again.

“Same,” Harley replied, pointing back and forth between them. “You and me both, buddy.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows and gave Harley a long, pointed look.

“Behave.”

“I am behaving,” Harley said, eyes going wide with mock innocence. “This is me on my best behavior. Ask literally anyone.”

Steve gave Pepper a look like he’d reached the end of his rope.

“Do you want me to call security?”

“He’s fine, Steve.”

“You sure?”

“Very sure.”

Harley flashed another grin and pointed lazily at Pepper.
“ She’s legally obligated to say that.”

“You’re pushing it,” Pepper said sing-song.

“And yet you adore me.”

Pepper didn’t answer, but her mouth twitched. Harley took it as an another win.

“Okay. I wasn’t trying to be rude,” Steve said, holding his hands up. “I just…”

“I’m a secret government experiment,” Harley offered cheerfully.

Steve’s expression didn’t change. Harley shrugged.

“Alright, fine. Cover story. Cloning. Time travel. Pick your flavor.”

“Seriously?” Steve turned to Pepper like a kid looking to the teacher for backup.

Pepper exhaled through her nose and finally looked Steve directly in the eye.

“He’s Tony’s son.”

Silence.

“I… Tony has a son?” Steve blinked like he was glitching.

Harley flashed his biggest grin yet and made jazz hands near his face like he was on a game show.

“Surprise!”

Steve looked like Harley had sprouted two heads or maybe five eyes.

“You don’t look-he doesn’t-Tony never mentioned…”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of his thing,” Harley said brightly. “Big on secrets. Huge fan of compartmentalizing.”

Steve still looked like he was trying to force-reboot his brain. Harley could almost see the gears turning and jamming.

“Wait. How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Steve opened his mouth. Closed it again.

“And how… I mean… for how long… you…?”

Harley leaned back and folded his hands like he was about to give a TED Talk.

“You know, most people usually start with ‘Nice to meet you’ or something.”

“Right,” Steve mumbled. “Sorry. I just… wow. You’re definitely a Stark.”

“Ugh, don’t say that,” Harley groaned. “People keep saying it like it’s a compliment.”

Pepper raised her eyebrows.

“Okay, some people,” Harley amended, rolling his eyes.

“And you… let him hang out in your office?” Steve asked Pepper, still trying to find his footing.

“He’s grounded,” Pepper said smoothly. “This is his version of sulking.”

“I’m not sulking,” Harley protested. “I’m dramatically embodying my two-TWO-week grounding.”

“You left without notice and didn’t respond,” she reminded him.

“It was, like, two hours!” Harley winced.

“Ten.”

Steve glanced between them again, completely lost.

“This is… normal?”

“Welcome to Stark Tower,” Harley said, grinning even wider.

“Mhm…” Steve murmured. “ Well. See you around, Stark. Pepper.”

Harley watched him as he nodded and left the room.

“He looked taller on the posters,” Harley said when the door clicked shut.

“I told you not to trust propaganda,” Pepper replied, already back to work.

Harley gave her a crooked smile and returned to doing absolutely nothing.

A few days later, Harley found a new pastime. Or really-Happy found one for him. He’d dug through some stuff someone left behind on-site and decided it was worth giving to Harley. Harley seriously doubted Happy even opened the thing. He probably just read the blurb on the back and remembered that Harley liked horror.
But House of Leaves wasn’t really a horror novel. Or, it was, but it also looked like someone had formatted it drunk in Word ‘97. Still, Harley was reading it like it owed him money.

He was sprawled across the couch in the living area, letting JARVIS play whatever "forest ambience" or "brown noise" or whatever the hell he called it. Harley was halfway through trying to decode why page 328 had maybe three words on it when the elevator dinged, announcing someone’s arrival. He didn’t move.

“You look like a bridge troll,” Rhodey said instead of hello. Harley peeked over the back of the couch with a scowl, watching him approach. “Except without the bridge. Or the riddles. You just look grumpy.”

“I feel like a bridge troll,” Harley muttered, dropping back into his original position.

“Perfect,” Rhodey said cheerfully, looking at him like he was a pile of laundry someone forgot to fold. “Let’s drag you into the sunlight before you turn to stone.”

Harley grimaced and rolled his eyes. Trolls did turn to stone in sunlight.

“No way,” he said, flipping a page dramatically, then having to flip it back immediately because he had no idea what just happened. “I’m grounded.”

“Nice try,” Rhodey said, dropping into the chair closest to the couch. “You’re grounded from electronics, not movement. I cleared this with Pepper myself. I’m authorized.”

“That smells like lies,” Harley muttered, pulling the book closer to his face.

“She told me to troll you out of here,” Rhodey explained.

“She said troll?”

“No, but it was the emotional undercurrent.”

Harley didn’t respond. He just groaned quietly and kept reading.

“Come on. Let’s just go check out Midtown High. Walk around. Maybe make fun of the guidance counselor’s posters.”

“Why would I wanna look at a school I’m not going to?” Harley grumbled behind the book.

“You are going.”

“That’s a bold assumption.”

“It’s not an assumption when Pepper’s been looking at brochures about after-school activities.”

Harley dropped the book onto his face and let one arm hang off the couch like he was mourning something deeply personal. Rhodey gave him a beat.

“Also, I’m getting you boba afterward. So stop acting like this is some Greek tragedy.”

“Bribery is a sign of weakness,” Harley mumbled into the book.

“Yeah, well. I’m weak for you, kid.”

Harley sighed and turned his head so the book slid off his face and hit the floor with a dull thud.

“You’re lucky I like boba,” he said, standing up.

“I’m lucky you like me,” Rhodey said smugly. “Admit it.”

“Never.”

Rhodey followed him toward the elevator.

“Fine, have it your way,” Rhodey said, “but you do know your name is saved in my phone as ‘favorite but rude nephew,’ right?”

Harley rolled his eyes. He was Rhodey’s only nephew.

“You ever even been there?” Harley asked while they waited for the elevator.

“Nope. Never set foot inside. But I’ve been to a few schools in my day,” Rhodey shrugged.

“So you’re dragging me on a tour of a school you don’t know?” Harley blinked at him.

“Exactly. It’s an adventure. For both of us.”

“It’s gonna be terrible.”

“Almost definitely. But the boba will be good,” Rhodey nodded, steering him into the elevator when it finally arrived.

“You’re the only person in this building who’s both annoying and tolerable,” Harley muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“That’s ‘cause I’m funny.”

Harley smirked slightly, then immediately turned his head away so Rhodey wouldn’t catch it. Judging by the smug look on Rhodey’s face, he’d caught it anyway.

“Also,” Rhodey added as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, “I made a playlist. Half decent music, half songs specifically chosen to make you extremely uncomfortable.”

“You’re the worst,” Harley groaned.

“Yup. And yet, here you are. In an elevator. With me.”

“Shut up.”

“Just making sure that’s on record,” Harley muttered as they pulled up outside a building way bigger than he’d pictured. Midtown School of Science and Technology blocked out like… half the sky. “You do realize dragging a teenager to a school in the middle of summer should probably count as psychological warfare?”

Rhodey didn’t even look at him, just walked straight to the guest log on the little table by the front doors.

“Only if it’s before noon,” he shrugged. “It’s 1:40. Geneva Convention doesn’t apply.”

Harley let his head flop back dramatically and dragged his feet toward the overly cheerful receptionist behind the front desk.

“Hi there! Visiting the school today?”

“Yep,” Rhodey said, nodding toward Harley. “Got ourselves a future sophomore here.”

She smiled at Rhodey first, then at Harley-and Harley immediately clocked the slight pause in her gaze, the flicker like something just clicked. Like someone had maybe given her a heads-up about someone, and she just now realized who.
So Harley gave her one of his good smiles.

“He’s the adult,” Harley said, jerking a thumb at Rhodey. “I’m just here for the AC and the drama.”

“You are the drama,” Rhodey muttered under his breath, still flashing the receptionist his polite grown-up face.

They didn’t have to wait long. A woman in her forties stepped out of one of the offices in the back-dressed in a blazer and shoes that were clearly trying to balance elegance and comfort, which only made them look weird and probably painful as hell.

“Colonel James Rhodes, right? I’m Millie Castillo, the director’s assistant,” she greeted them with a professional smile. “Glad you scheduled this visit.”

“No problem at all,” Rhodey said with a polite nod.

“And you must be Mr. Stark,” she added, giving Harley a look like she was waiting to see how he’d react.

Harley straightened a little and nodded once. He didn’t pretend she had the wrong guy, didn’t play dumb or act like she hadn’t just called him out directly. If she knew he was a Stark and was expecting a Stark, then fine-he could be a Stark.

“That’s me,” he confirmed, slipping into his go-to mode for dealing with strangers: relaxed shoulders, alert eyes, and a facial expression just this side of cocky. “Appreciate the tour.”

Ms. Castillo smiled politely-thankfully steering clear of the minefield that was asking about his dad.

“We’re happy to have you,” she said, gesturing down the hallway to get things started. “I’ll keep it short since it’s summer, but come fall, you’ll get the full Midtown experience.”

“You ever get a private tour when you picked your high school?” Harley asked quietly, glancing over at Rhodey.

“I went to the one closest to my house.”

“Yikes. Harsh.”

They started the tour, walking through sunlit halls. It was mostly quiet, aside from a couple of guys doing maintenance work-sanding floors here, repainting walls there-and a few kids from summer programs down at the end of the corridor.

Ms. Castillo pointed out classrooms, labs, and some student club posters that looked like they’d been taped up since spring-or maybe even the fall before.

Harley asked questions. Not many. Just one here, one there. Mostly to show that he did know some things. Which electives were open to sophomores? How many APs could he realistically stack? How big was the student council?

“I don’t have your full file yet,” Ms. Castillo said as they passed a wall of tutoring resources, “but I noticed you’ve studied advanced lit and physics. And you logged quite a few hours tutoring, correct?”

“Yeah,” Harley nodded. “Math and sciences, mostly. Some bio for the younger grades. Algebra. Sometimes English. Depends how desperate someone was. I like helping.”

Rhodey turned his head slightly, eyebrows climbing.

“You like helping?” he muttered.

“Is that really so hard to believe?” Harley replied with a barely-there shrug.

“You literally told Pepper once that tutoring was ‘academic babysitting for kids who peaked in middle school.’”

“I contain multitudes,” Harley mumbled.

Ms. Castillo laughed quietly and immediately seemed a little embarrassed, covering her mouth with one hand. Rhodey gave Harley a look like he was suddenly re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about him.

“Midtown’s one of the most competitive STEM-focused schools in the region,” Ms. Castillo went on after a moment. “You’ll be surrounded by high-achieving, curious students, and we encourage collaboration and pushing yourself academically. Besides tutoring, were you involved in anything else?”

“Did a bunch of independent stuff last year. Some comparative lit,” he said, trying to make it sound more interesting than it probably was. “Shakespeare and Marlowe, a little Plath. My advisor kinda let me wander. Also fenced for a bit, did swimming, and joined the debate club.”

“That’s quite impressive,” she said with a note of genuine approval in her voice.

Harley flashed a disarming smile and matched Rhodey’s pace. As they rounded a corner, a massive mural came into view, stretching across the stairwell wall and spilling onto part of the hallway. Rockets, explosions, chemical symbols. The great inventors. A collage of brilliant minds-Einstein, Turing, Curie, Tesla-and just slightly left of center, looming large: Howard Stark.

Harley stopped. His eyes locked on that familiar face buried deep in the scene, something in the expression just a little too close to his dad’s.

“That was part of an interdisciplinary art project a few years back,” Ms. Castillo explained, clearly noticing what had caught his attention. “The students picked inventors who inspired them.”

“Very original,” Harley said, tilting his head and squinting at it.

“Your… ahem-he showed up often. Bit of a local underdog story, I guess.”

“Local and generational trauma,” Harley offered, aiming for humor and missing the mark just enough to make it awkward.

Ms. Castillo gave him a small, polite nod, the kind you give when you’re not quite sure what to do with a comment but you want to move past it gracefully. She did. They saw the robotics lab, the student newspaper office. Harley even perked up at the radio booth. He’d spent some time hanging out in one back at his old school-not hosting shows or anything, just suggesting music for the DJs to use as filler. Mostly because Olivia had practically lived in that room.

The tour wrapped with a few thank-yous and a printed information packet Harley fully intended to forget in someone’s backseat. He shook Ms. Castillo’s hand again, politely, and forced a goodbye smile that sounded something like see you in September.

“So, Uncle Jimmy,” Harley said as they stepped outside, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck, turning his face toward the sun. “What’d you think?”

“Did you just-?” Rhodey tripped slightly on the stairs.

“It was contextual,” Harley grinned. “Deal with it.”

“What happened to the grumpy little troll I had to drag off the couch an hour ago?” Rhodey narrowed his eyes at him.

“He’s grounded,” Harley said matter-of-factly, already heading toward the car.

“You are you,” Rhodey replied.

“If everyone’s expecting a Stark,” Harley shrugged, “might as well give them a Stark. Boba?”

Rhodey sighed deeply as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Yeah, yeah. You’ve definitely earned one.”

The boba place was half pink neon, half industrial-strength air conditioning. A massive screen played what Harley was pretty sure were K-pop music videos, though he couldn’t swear to it. Rhodey was studying the laminated menu like it was an ancient manuscript written in code.

“So this is what you teens are into,” Rhodey muttered, squinting at a combo description like it might bite. “You can have pudding and jelly and beans in the same cup?”

“I didn’t ask for boba as a bribe,” Harley said, arms crossed on a slightly sticky table, glancing around with a mild grimace. “You picked this place.”

“I Googled ‘sugar-packed chaos teen-friendly hangouts’ and this had the fewest health code violations,” Rhodey explained.

“You’re trying way too hard, Uncle Jimmy.”

“Call me that again, and the only place I’m taking you next is the laundromat,” Rhodey said without even looking up.

“Sorry. Colonel Uncle Jimmy,” Harley snorted.

“Absolutely not.”

They both ordered mango. Rhodey went plain. Harley went for double boba-because if you’re doing something, you might as well commit, or at least that’s what his swim coach used to say.

“Back in my day, drinks didn’t fight you on the way down,” Rhodey said, stirring his like it might detonate.

“That’s because your day was full of grainy VHS tapes and state-owned milk,” Harley replied.

“Watch it,” Rhodey shot him a look. “Top Gun is a classic even now.”

“Sure it is, Uncle Jimmy.”

Rhodey sighed like a man regretting every decision that led to this exact moment. Harley loved it.

“So,” Rhodey said after a beat of silence, “what’d you think of the school?”

“It’s a school,” Harley said, taking a long sip to buy himself time. “A little sad, a little decent. Has labs. Whatever.”

“You didn’t hate it,” Rhodey noted, raising an eyebrow.

“‘A little decent’ is probably the most positive thing I’m emotionally capable of saying,” Harley offered, flashing a fake smile.

Rhodey raised that same eyebrow like he wasn’t letting it go. Harley rolled his eyes.

“They were nice,” he admitted, slouching over his cup, straw in his teeth. “Like... trying-not-to-scare-the-unicorn nice.”

“You’re some weird breed of unicorn.”

Harley didn’t respond. Just poked at the boba in his cup with intense focus. The silence stretched out. And that’s when he realized-it was a loaded silence. He looked up fast, eyes narrowing.

“You’re not about to, I don’t know, ambush me with some giant feelings talk, right?”

“You think I dragged you all the way to Queens just to stage an emotional trap?” Rhodey said calmly, sipping like his mango drink was punishment.

“Yes,” Harley said, squinting harder.

“Well, I didn’t.”

Harley didn’t move. Rhodey took another sip.

“But since we’re alrea-”

“Seriously?” Harley groaned, tipping back in his chair.

“Relax,” Rhodey said lightly. “I just wanted to ask what got you grounded.”

“Why do you care?” Harley lifted his head.

“Were you not trying to use it as an excuse to not hang out with me?” Rhodey asked.

“… Yeah.”

“I’m just curious,” Rhodey said, taking another sip. “Pepper wouldn’t tell me anything-said it wasn’t her place. But she did say you’ve been acting kinda weird, that she’s worried about you, and maybe it wouldn’t hurt for someone to check in. Man to man.”

“Oh my God, she actually said that?” Harley groaned, slumping in his seat.

“It’s dumb,” he muttered, jabbing at his boba with his straw. “We talked. I apologized. She grounded me. That’s it.”

“Yeah, it probably was dumb,” Rhodey agreed. “It usually is. I think she’s more worried about you than about whatever you did.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“I always look like this.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“My dad picked that school,” Harley said, folding his arms. “Didn’t ask. Just signed the forms and sent me off. I only found out because Gene’s parents brought it up in passing.”

Rhodey’s eyebrows pulled together-barely, but Harley definitely caught it. He glanced down at the floor for a second, then back at him. And Harley knew that look. That was disappointment. The kind someone tries really hard not to show.

“He said he’d stay. That we’d hang out, make plans, whatever. Said the usual stuff. And I believed him,” Harley said, spinning his cup slowly, watching the liquid shift. “Then Avenger stuff happened, I guess, and not even a full day later, he bailed. So I snapped. But not at him. Because, you know, he wasn’t there. I snapped at her. She was the one waiting for me after I’d wandered around the city for hours.”

Rhodey’s jaw did this subtle thing-like it clenched, but gently. His eyes shut for just a second too long. They sat in silence for a while.

“I was a jerk,” Harley said finally. “I said awful stuff. Stuff I didn’t even mean. She didn’t yell…”

He paused, frowning, his leg starting to bounce under the table.

“But I think she cried later.”

Rhodey gave a single, slow nod. Harley couldn’t read his expression. But maybe that was because he wasn’t looking directly at him.

“The next day I apologized. She hugged me. Said it was okay,” Harley said with a slight shrug. “Let me sleep in. That night she told me I was grounded. And everything kind of... went back to normal.”

“And you think maybe it shouldn’t have?” Rhodey asked after a pause.

“I don’t know. She didn’t show me how upset she really was. So now I don’t know if I’m supposed to keep showing her I’m sorry,” Harley said, dropping his head back. “She made it too easy.”

“Pepper’s not the type to hold that kind of thing over your head,” Rhodey said, a little more firmly. “But that doesn’t mean she isn’t holding it in if it helps her kid not feel worse.”

“I’m not-” Harley started, but Rhodey gave him a look sharp enough to shut him up immediately. He shifted in his seat and tried again.

“I just… I know I’m not really her kid. Or my dad’s priority,” Harley said, voice lower now. “And she already does a lot. And she’s not... obligated.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Rhodey said gently. “You feel like crap. You said things. You owned up to it. That already makes you better than most grown men I know.”

“Still doesn’t make me feel better,” Harley muttered, eyes staring blankly ahead.

“That’s how it goes sometimes,” Rhodey nodded. “But just for the record? The fact that you care means I’m proud of you. Even if you’re kind of a little punk sometimes.”

“Thanks, Uncle Jimmy,” Harley said, rolling his eyes, though a tiny smile tugged at his mouth.

“Please don’t make that a thing.”

Harley smiled wider and rested his cheek on his hand.

“So, you really picked this place just to earn some cool-uncle points?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It was this or the long walk along the river.”

“God, Uncle Jimmy…” Harley grinned around his straw. “You could’ve just given me the talk.”

“I could have,” Rhodey said, knocking his cup lightly against Harley’s. “But I figured boba would go down smoother.”

Harley didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop smiling either.

When Harley stepped into the apartment, he expected the echo-this weirdly hollow kind that he’d sort of started associating with home, whether he wanted to or not. Rhodey was a step behind him, still chuckling under his breath at the last joke Harley had thrown out.

But Harley felt it the second Rhodey’s posture shifted-then stopped entirely.

Tony was home.

He was on the couch, half-sitting, half-sprawled, wearing a shirt from some aggressively weird robotics startup, munching on what looked like chocolate-covered nuts. The TV flashed with a million colors a second. It was such a familiar image and yet so unexpected that Harley forgot to breathe for a full second.

“You’re home?” Harley asked, voice too flat to cover the surprise.

“You thought your old man got himself taken out? ” Tony glanced at him, flashing that smug, trademark smile. “You gotta stop assuming that. It’s doing terrible things to my self-esteem.”

Harley just stood there, taking it in.

He hadn’t even realized how ready he’d been to believe Tony had actually gotten himself killed. Or come back injured. Or not come back at all for another week.

Near his elbow, Rhodey tensed even more. Harley didn’t look at him-just shifted his weight so he could bump his arm lightly. Don’t. Don’t say anything. Don’t bring up what they’d talked about earlier. Let it go.

Tony didn’t notice. He grabbed the remote and patted the couch cushion next to him.

“I was gonna check out this supposedly terrible new sci-fi movie,” he said with a grin. “Inflatable aliens and everything. Figured I’d give it ten minutes. You in?”

Harley dragged his feet over and dropped into the seat beside his dad, very aware of Rhodey’s gaze practically burning a hole through the side of his head.

“I’m grounded from screens,” he muttered, trying to sit in a way that didn’t lean into Tony, but also didn’t scream I’m avoiding you. “Blanket ban.”

“Then consider you un-grounded,” Tony said with a casual wave of his hand.

Harley didn’t move. But he was almost certain Rhodey had just clenched his jaw again. Harley didn’t look over, his eyes were fixed on the barely-there cut above Tony’s eyebrow.

“That’s not how grounding works,” he said quietly.

“It is when I’m the dad.” Tony winked at him and ruffled his hair.

Harley didn’t react.

Tony acted like this was all normal. Like this was what they did. So Harley let himself lean back slightly, let Tony’s arm settle around his shoulders, and stared at the screen. At some point, Rhodey left, either giving them space or avoiding an aneurysm. Either way, Harley could feel his disapproval through the walls. Disapproval for pretending everything was fine.

“Rhodey took me to check out Midtown today,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah?” Tony turned his head toward him, blinking.

“Needed to scout it out,” Harley shrugged, letting himself sink a little deeper into the warm weight of Tony’s arm.

“Huh...” Tony tilted his head, sounding genuinely surprised. “Thought you’d wait till fall. Show up on day one like a king, make the school your bitch.”

Harley just shrugged again, eyes flicking back to the screen.

“You pick a locker yet?” Tony asked, too cheerfully. “You strike me as a bottom-row kind of guy. More chill. Keep expectations low.”

“Sure,” Harley said.

Tony shifted to get more comfortable, looking way too smug for someone who’d disappeared for nearly two weeks. Who hadn’t called. Not to him, anyway.

“I met Steve, by the way,” Harley added, watching the flickering images. “Earlier this week. He dropped by to see Pepper while I was there. Said I was definitely a Stark.”

“Told you. You’ve got the bone structure and the attitude,” Tony grinned.

He’d never actually said that.

Harley gave him a crooked smile but didn’t respond. He just let himself fall into that familiar chaos-Tony’s worn shirt sleeve brushing his neck, the warm weight of his hand dangling near Harley’s shoulder. He let it pull him in, like static. Let it crowd out the questions he wasn’t really expecting answers to anyway.

He knew he should say something. Push a little. Ask his dad why he hadn’t told him he was leaving. Why he stayed gone longer than the others. Why he was acting like they spent every other night watching movies together like this.

But he didn’t.

Because somewhere deep down, he knew if he did ask, Tony would either deflect with some dumb joke, or he’d go into overdrive-apologize too much, swear up and down he’d do better.

And then he wouldn’t.

And Harley would just end up taking it out on Pepper again.

So instead, he just breathed. Then again. And again. And even let himself smile a little.

Today had actually been kind of good. Maybe the evening could be, too.

Chapter Text

The rest of August kind of melted together into one long, blurry stretch.
Not the loud kind of blur, no chaos, no shouting, no explosions in the distance like the summers he half-remembered with his dad. That kind of blur was fast and wild and messy.
This was something else.

More like a paused game screen, stuck. Not broken, but definitely not moving.

Harley didn’t cause problems.

Or he tried not to. Which, most days, felt like the same thing.

He drifted through the days wrapped in this weird fog of intentional invisibility. Mostly he holed up in his room or found some random corner of the tower that wasn’t already occupied by an adult. The hour or two before lunch? Not bad. Late evenings? Better.
But the real sweet spot was between 3 and 5 a.m. Dead quiet, no one around. Just him and the glow of a screen.

He played a lot of games. Mostly mindless shooters, Call of Duty, Far Cry-stuff that didn’t ask for much brainpower. He played with Jamie and a couple of guys from school. Sometimes they stayed on party chat after, talking trash and switching games, or letting Gene convince them, for the hundredth time, that they could figure out NFL 2K if they just gave it one more shot.

Harley didn’t bring up New York.

They didn’t ask.

He ate, but mostly at weird hours, whenever the kitchen was empty.
He learned Pepper’s schedule, when she’d swing through for coffee or a granola bar. He knew where Happy hovered around dinner. So Harley timed things right. Ate like a raccoon: fast, silent, preferably unseen.

He was polite. Quiet. No trouble.

More or less part of the background now.

Furniture.

He answered texts. Just… not the ones from Rhodey.

Not that Rhodey was spamming him or anything.

Harley just figured he was disappointed. Not mad. Rhodey didn’t really do mad. But probably not thrilled that Harley hadn’t said anything to Tony when he had the chance. That he’d chickened out.

That he was pretending everything was fine.

That he was acting.

But guilt was hard to reach through all the static. Most days, Harley didn’t feel much of anything.
Though sometimes he stared at that last text from Rhodey for way too long, like it was going to change if he just looked hard enough.

Avoiding Happy had a more concrete reason.

He’d taken Harley’s skateboard, just like he said he would, and locked it up in some closet Harley couldn’t find if he had a week and a blueprint. Which he did have.
All because Harley accidentally skated through a hallway during a big fancy tour for some VIP guy checking out the new bionic arms. Harley might’ve clipped him a little. And the guy might’ve spilled espresso on his way-too-expensive shoes.
But the contract still got signed, so Harley really didn’t see what the big deal was.

Skateboarding had been his last real escape.

But whatever. He didn’t argue.

Happy took the board, muttered a bunch of stuff under his breath, and that was the end of it.

So Harley adjusted.

Tony was around.

Which was… weird. And honestly, kind of terrifying.

Some days, it even seemed like he was trying. Not in a forced, fake-smile kind of way, more like someone had nudged him and gone Hey, families are a thing you should maybe care about, and Tony had decided to give it a shot.

Harley was pretty sure that someone was either Pepper or Rhodey.

So now, Tony was experimenting with being a dad.

In these sudden, unpredictable bursts of energy, he’d show up asking what Harley was playing, even if the screen was just sitting on the game menu, or he’d bring in a box of weird tech and try to loop him into some half-finished gadget, like they were supposed to bond over coils and circuitry or whatever.

It wasn’t bad.

Actually, it was kind of nice.

But Harley couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t what he needed.
At least not right now.

Mostly, he just tried not to be around him.

Not because he was mad. Okay, maybe still a little. But because it was exhausting.
Tony didn’t operate on a normal schedule. He was like a raccoon too, but one that had chugged six espressos and stuck a fork in a socket. He popped in at random times, said weird things, did even weirder ones, and Harley never really knew if any of it meant something or if it was just… Tony being Tony.

Pepper was harder.

She was around a lot, like always. Asking why he’d stopped coming down for lunch, asking what time he was going to bed, what he’d eaten. Just… asking.
But usually, if she was home, Tony was with her. And Harley couldn’t explain why, but that felt off somehow.

Maybe it was because he couldn’t quite answer the question of what they were like when he wasn’t around.

Which, honestly, had been most of the time until now.
He’d always kind of pictured them like adult RAs in a dorm, keeping the chaos under control. Sure, he knew they were a couple, technically, but he’d never seen it.

Now he did.

All the time.

They finished each other’s sentences and moved through rooms like they were synced. Like they had this quiet rhythm going on that he wasn’t part of. And it wasn’t bad. They seemed… happy, together. Solid.

It just felt unfamiliar.

And Harley didn’t know where he was supposed to fit in.

Some nights, when all the lights were off and the only sound in the tower was some machine humming diagnostics a few floors down, Harley scrolled through old messages.
Sometimes Gene would send him dumb memes.
Sometimes they argued about game rules or whether House of Leaves was a brilliant book or complete trash, because Harley still hadn’t finished it.

When Pepper asked, he said he was savoring it, but the truth was it kind of overwhelmed him.

Some pages were upside down.

Some had holes punched through them.

One footnote went on forever, like it was trying to yank his brain out through his ear.

It made him think about the tower.

About hidden hallways and doors that used to open but didn’t anymore.
About things no one talked about.

Sometimes he’d sit by the window, just watching the city move around him.
And sometimes, he’d stare for hours at that ugly camel from his dad, sitting on his nightstand.

And the first day of school came way faster than Harley would’ve liked.

He didn’t feel ready.

Not for the building. Not for the people. Not for the part where he was supposed to be the new kid no one had ever seen before.

He was going to be the new kid.

And that just... wasn’t a thing that had ever really happened.
Or at least, not since he could remember. He barely recalled switching schools halfway through the year last time. He definitely didn’t remember what it felt like to walk into a classroom and have nobody know who he was or worse, know exactly who he was because they’d Googled his dad.

For the last seven years, he’d walked into the same building, seen the same people, talked to the same teachers. Everything was the same.

He hadn’t really slept. Not for real.

He got dressed before six. Not because he wanted to be early, but because lying in bed doing nothing had somehow started to feel worse.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood in front of the mirror trying to make his hoodie look... natural. He’d picked it because it was the most normal-looking thing he owned. But he knew that if anyone looked too closely at the tag they’d figure it out. That it was one of those hoodies. The kind that whispered money even if it didn’t scream it.

Honestly, everything he owned kind of did that.

Nice fabrics. Quiet logos. That was the problem, maybe.

He looked like someone trying not to look rich.

The hoodie, the shoes, the jeans,  technically normal.

Technically also more expensive than some people’s rent.

Even his beat-up Vans looked like a stylist had distressed them on purpose, even though it was just from skating them to death.

His hair stuck out in all directions, no matter how much water he wasted trying to fix it.
His eyes looked worse than usual.

The shadows under them made him look halfway haunted and halfway hungover.

Maybe he should’ve tried to sleep, instead of talking Gene into playing Mario Kart with him till two in the morning just for moral support.

Didn’t help that when he ran into his dad in the kitchen around midnight, Tony looked exactly the same.

Instead of matching friendship bracelets, they had matching eye bags.

When Harley finally dragged himself into the kitchen, he had to blink a few times.

Pepper was standing by the stove.

In heels.

Wearing a silky-looking blouse like she was about to host a shareholders’ meeting or deliver a keynote or something.

But no. She was flipping pancakes with one hand and scrolling through something on her phone with the other.

Propped up against the orange juice pitcher was a tablet blinking with what had to be a thousand calendar alerts.

Weird.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said with a smile when he walked in.
And Harley actually blinked again.

“You haven’t left yet?”

“It’s your first day,” she said with a shrug, pouring another scoop of batter onto the pan.

“I thought you had that ESG thing at, like, seven?” he mumbled, sliding onto a stool at the kitchen island.

“I did. I pushed it back forty minutes,” she replied like it was no big deal. But Harley knew it was a big deal.

“Zurich can wait,” she added. “Rough night?”

He shrugged.

Pepper raised one eyebrow, the way she always did when she already knew the answer but wanted him to say it anyway.

She slid a plate in front of him. Pancakes drizzled in chocolate. Strawberries-his favorite, even though she was allergic to them. Something aggressively healthy-looking in a smoothie glass.

Everything looked perfect. Too perfect.

It looked even better than perfect.

Harley’s stomach flipped.

He stared at the plate for a few seconds, picked up the fork, but didn’t actually bring it to his mouth.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “I’m just... not hungry.”

“Just a few bites,” she said gently, turning toward the espresso machine. “No pressure.”

Harley poked at the food a couple more times.

“Nervous?” she asked after a moment, leaning against the counter, her hands wrapped around her mug.

She wasn’t staring at him, exactly. Just watching. The way she did when she was trying to figure out how bad things actually were.

He didn’t answer right away. Rested his forehead on his fist and took a few slow breaths.

“It’s not that I- I just... I’ve never-”

He exhaled hard and closed his eyes.

“I’ve never been the new kid. I don’t wanna be the new kid.”

“You don’t have to be anything special,” Pepper said smoothly. “Just be yourself.”

Harley let out a dry little laugh and rolled his eyes.

Harley had just gotten a text from Happy, basically a polite get in the car already, when Tony stormed into the kitchen like a barefoot tornado. Hoodie with an oil stain on the shoulder, sweatpants that screamed not leaving the house today. He looked like someone had yanked him out of a very shallow and chaotic nap.

Harley stared at him. Tony stared back.

And for one dumb second, Harley thought, Huh. Okay. Yeah, we actually kind of look related.

“Well well well, look who’s up!” Tony announced, pouring himself some coffee. “First day of school! Big day! You feeling powerful? Terrified? Ready to destroy the cafeteria’s social hierarchy?”

Harley blinked and shot a confused glance at Pepper, hoping for some kind of translation.

“No? Nothing?” Tony continued, totally unfazed. “Okay, sure, cool. So here’s my pitch. How about a ride from your wildly famous father? I roll up in the Lambo five minutes after the bell, windows down, AC/DC blaring. Full throttle dad experience.”

“Tony…” Pepper sighed into her coffee cup.

“Please don’t,” Harley muttered, actually flinching a little.

“Don’t, like, the Lambo, or don’t me?” Tony tilted his head.

Harley’s fingers tightened on the fork he hadn’t even used.

“I’m good,” Harley said finally. “Happy’s taking me. I’m sticking with that.”

“I’m serious, H,” Tony said, too casually and Harley winced again. H. When was the last time his dad called him that?

“It’ll be epic. Sunglasses. Ice cream after. Peak suburban dad energy.”

“Dad…”

Tony’s face froze for a split second. But then he was back at it, shifting gears.

“Okay, okay. No dramatics. Totally fine,” he said, pausing mid-sentence like he was reworking his strategy. “I could go subtle. Background dad energy. Just present, you know?”

Pepper shot him a look but didn’t say anything.

“Come on, it’s the first day. There’s only one of those,” Tony added, quieter this time.

“Exactly,” Harley said, giving him a tight, fake smile.

Tony looked like he was trying to figure out if that was a jab. It probably was.

“I just want things to be normal today, alright?” Harley said, sitting up straighter.

Tony made a noise like the word physically pained him at the cellular level, but he didn’t argue.

“Alright. Normal it is,” he said, leaning against the counter next to Pepper. They looked weird standing side by side like that, like different species trying to co-parent.

Harley narrowed his eyes, but grabbed his backpack anyway.

“Text me when you get there?” Pepper asked, stepping closer to adjust his hood like he was nine again. “And at lunch, if you remember?”

“I’ll try.”

“Try really hard.”

At the elevator, Harley paused and looked back over his shoulder. Pepper was still standing there, watching him with quiet worry, like she wanted to fix something that wasn’t broken yet.

Tony had his phone out and was pretending to read something, his brow furrowed like maybe he had actually wanted to drop Harley off. Maybe just to make a point. Or maybe to prove he could still be the dad Harley used to think he was before everything got complicated.

“Have a good day,” Tony said eventually, looking up with a crooked little smile. “If anyone gives you crap, tell them you’ve got lawyers on speed dial. And don’t hit anyone. Unless they really deserve it.”

“Thanks… I guess,” Harley muttered, stepping into the elevator and letting his shoulders drop as the doors slid shut.

Harley’s first week of school went way better than he expected.
Like way better.

Suspiciously better.

No one shoved him into a locker.

No one grilled him about where he came from or who he even was.

Honestly, no one seemed all that interested in the fact that he’d just kind of… appeared.

Some kids acted like he’d been there forever.

A few even squinted at him, clearly trying to summon up a memory that didn’t exist. Some group project, maybe gym class.

One guy in physics swore they’d taken biology together last year.

Harley didn’t correct him.

Another asked if they’d been in the same Spanish group last semester.

Harley just nodded.

Sure. Why not.

It was easier to let them write their own version of him.

He didn’t really get friends, but he wasn’t exactly looking for any either.

The fact that no one was making his life miserable was enough.

Still, people seemed to kinda like him.

That quiet, sarcastic kid who pulled his weight in group work.

The one who always had a charger.

The one who clearly wasn’t trying to be the center of anything, which, apparently, earned him some quiet fans.

People talked to him.

Laughed at his dry jokes.

Asked him for help with math.

A junior from English gave him half a Pop-Tart on Wednesday.

So he wasn’t invisible.

Just sort of… orbiting gently outside the main crowd.

He usually had lunch outside.

Well, sat outside during lunch, anyway.

Most days he didn’t even eat anything.

There was something kinda nice about fresh air, earbuds in, hood up, watching pigeons fight over scraps of bread like it was a gladiator arena.

Sometimes, though, people asked. Of course they did.

They’d lean on the wall nearby or sit next to him after some class that had done roll call or grouped people by last name.

“Wait, Stark? Like Tony Stark Stark?”

And Harley would smile, roll his eyes, and say something dumb.

“Total coincidence. Distant cousin on my step-uncle’s mother’s dog’s side. Tragically, no McLaren for me.”

People always laughed.

Not awkwardly either. Actually laughed.

They figured he was joking.

Or that it was some random family connection so distant it didn’t really count.
Either way, they dropped it.

No one connected the dots.

Not yet.

And honestly? That was perfect.

He didn’t want to explain.

Didn’t want to talk about towers or last names.

But…yeah. It started small. Quiet. Just whispers in the hallway, a look held too long in the library. That weird kind of focused attention that didn’t have to mean anything. But Harley, of course, knew better than to assume it meant nothing.

At first, it was mostly just talk.

A couple of girls standing outside his Spanish classroom.

“Wait, no, seriously. Stark had a kid. And he’d be our age now, right? There was that article years ago?”

“Yeah, but I thought it was, like, adoption or something?”

“No, swear to God. My dad says they sent him to some super-private, super-secure school out of state. Something-something media blackout.”

A few guys in the bathroom line.

“C’mon, think about it. No one remembers seeing him here before. And now he’s suddenly in all our classes?”

“And he’s not even trying to flex. That’s the sketchy part.”

No one said his name out loud. But Harley heard it anyway.

Still, he pretended not to notice. Shrugged a little deeper into his hoodie. Kept his smile easy and his jokes fast. Played it cool.

But the air was shifting, getting heavier, more electric. Like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for something big to drop.

It finally did on  one Thursday.

He was in chemistry, half-listening to the teacher ramble about covalent bonds, when he noticed it, the way the class got weirdly quiet and then weirdly not quiet. People elbowing each other, glancing his way, pretending not to point. His phone buzzed once. Then again.

He waited until class ended.

Then ducked into an alcove by the lockers, back against the cold wall, and checked his messages. Gene had sent a link.

The headline made his stomach twist.

“Stark Legacy Continues: Tony Stark’s Son Enrolls at Midtown Tech.”

Below it, there was a slightly blurry photo of Harley walking next to Happy in front of the Stark Industries building. Backpack slung over one shoulder. Head tilted down. He was clearly listening to whatever Happy was saying.

Harley’s heart was pounding before he even read a word.

“An anonymous Midtown student reached out earlier this week, claiming they identified a new classmate via the school’s online database and a chance sighting outside the Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower. The source suggests Stark’s son-previously kept out of the public eye for privacy and safety reasons-may be stepping into the spotlight with his transfer to Midtown Tech for his sophomore year.

‘He seems like a chill guy,’ the student added. ‘But come on. It’s kinda obvious if you’re paying attention.’”

Harley’s throat tightened.

He should’ve known the silence wouldn’t last. That someone would figure it out eventually.

But maybe the worst part, the part that really got him, was that it was actually a good photo.

He looked… fine. Almost cool.

He looked like a Stark.

Chapter Text

The shift was immediate.

One day he was just some kid who liked sitting by the window and knew too much about circuits.
The next, he was Stark’s kid. And everyone knew it.

No more quiet questions about his last name. No more half-smiles or playful guesses.
Now it was full-blown panic mode.

Photographers hanging out near the school entrance.

Tumblr posts. A hundred fake-expert takes on Twitter.

The world caught up fast to the fact that Harley Stark was, in fact, Tony Stark’s actual son.

The day after the article dropped, he walked into school and some girl squealed when she saw him, like she'd just spotted a member of One Direction in the hallway.
Some other kid tried to hug him.

Harley had never seen the guy in his life.

Another slapped him on the back and called him Starky, like they’d been bros since kindergarten.

Students hovered near him like vultures.

He didn’t even make it to his locker before five totally random people asked for a selfie.

“I usually don’t pose before coffee,” he told them, cool and casual like his skin wasn’t crawling the entire time. He didn’t even drink coffee.

People wanted to know what his dad was like in private.

Whether Thor ever came over for dinner.

Whether his mom had approved of Tony’s whole... thing.

Harley smiled. Shrugged.

Pretended not to notice how the walls felt like they were inching closer.

Sometimes he leaned into the fake friendliness.

Other times he defaulted to straight-up sarcasm.

It mostly depended on the second-to-second mood swing.

He told people the vending machines in the tower were the best part.
That the fire drills were way more exciting than the Avengers.
That superheroes were just like any of his dad’s other coworkers. Boring.

And he wasn’t trying to be funny. Or cool. Or even likeable.

He just wanted to be left alone.

But it was easier to roll his eyes and raise an eyebrow and offer a lopsided smirk than it was to explain that every new question made it a little harder to breathe.
That each headline and photo made his stomach turn.

That he hadn’t exactly asked for any of this.

By third period, some girl was begging to try on his hoodie.

Asked if it was custom.

If Tony had ever worn it.

Someone posted a video of him yawning with the caption: Crushed by the weight of extreme wealth.

It had seven thousand views in under an hour.

None of this was how he wanted it to go

People started sitting with him without asking.

Some guy he’d literally never spoken to decided they were going to be gym partners in P.E., and kept calling him Lil’ Tony like it was their inside joke from way back.
Two seniors cornered him after physics, trying to convince him to sneak them onto the Avengers floors just for fun.

Even the teachers-who, up until a week ago, had clearly been following the pretend-you-don’t-know-he’s-a-Stark protocol, suddenly started making comments like, “Well, you are your father’s son.”

Harley smiled at all of it.

He smiled so much his cheeks ached.

Because if he stopped smiling, people would start asking how he was doing.

God. They’d ask if he was overwhelmed, or pressured, or if everything was okay.

And then it’d turn into A Thing.

Conversations. Drama.

Probably some think-piece about how fame didn’t sit well with Tony Stark’s secret son.

So he laughed when people around him laughed.

Made sure to give just the right amount of Stark™. The kind that was fun and charming but not too fake.

He tossed sarcastic comments over his shoulder on the stairs. Looked smug for no reason.

His socials weren’t any better.

He’d had maybe a hundred followers before. Suddenly, it was in the thousands.

People were flooding his DMs.

Commenting on the few posts he did have.

Asking if he was rich rich or just normal rich.

If his mom was a one-night stand or someone trying to cash in.

If he’d ever met Black Widow.

If saying the word armor out loud would summon an Iron Man suit.

Someone made a fake account pretending to be him.

Someone else made a fan page filled with edits of him and Tony set to Game of Thrones music.

During lunch, he had to change seats three times just to get away from people trying to add him on Snap.

Even when he finally found a quiet corner at the far end of campus, someone still yelled at him across the courtyard.

“Hey, Harley! How much is your face worth?”

“More than your whole life, buddy!” he shouted back, like it was a joke and not the best he could do to shut it down.

Someone laughed like he was being hilarious.

He just pulled his hoodie deeper over his head and pretended he didn’t feel like his insides were being ripped out, thread by thread.

If that’s what they wanted, he could give it to them.

Stark’s kid.

Cocky. Sharp. Rich.

Fast with a comeback, faster with a smirk.

Untouchable, apparently.

He leaned back in math class like he owned the place.

Answered questions before the teacher even finished asking them.

Quoted movies he hadn’t seen but figured it sounded like something Tony might say.

Called some senior champ just to watch the guy blink in confusion.

Smiled straight at the cameras that were always, not subtly, pointed his way.

Winked at girls.

And when Happy gave him his skateboard back, confiscated weeks ago, now handed over like some kind of sorry-for-your-life-being-ruined present, Harley made sure to ride it like everyone was watching.

But the truth was, he could barely breathe.

Like someone had laced up his ribs too tight.

Like every version of him was being tugged apart at the seams.

He didn’t want to be someone’s trivia question or fun fact.

He hated that nobody asked him anything normal.

What music he liked.

What classes he hated.

What he did when he wasn’t busy pretending to be someone he wasn’t.

But the worst part?

The absolute worst?

Was how everyone acted like this was all fine.

Like this was normal.

Even with his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping his phone.

Even with his voice shaking a little when he laught.

Even when he was pretty sure he pulled something in his jaw trying not to flinch when someone asked if it was true that his dad hadn’t even raised him until now.

But Pepper noticed.

Of course she did.

It’s not like Harley expected her not to.

He saw how many views those videos had.

Some of them were in the trending tab.

One had a horrible autotuned remix of him saying “ask my lawyer” and hit half a million views before he even gave up checking.

So yeah.

If random strangers were seeing it with no problem, Pepper definitely did too.

The moment he walked into the kitchen after school, Harley knew something was up.
Pepper was sitting at the table. The table they almost never used. Her blazer was draped over the back of the chair, her phone face-down, hands wrapped around a mug of tea. She didn’t look like she was in a rush.

“You’re home early,” he said, tossing his backpack into the corner and heading straight for the fridge. “Everything okay? Or did the market crash again?”

Pepper gave him a small smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. The usual little crinkles at the corners weren’t there. Harley grabbed a bottle of water he didn’t actually want and unscrewed the cap slowly.

“Tony’s working late at the office today,” she said, watching him twist the lid. “So I thought maybe I’d be home before sunset for once. Catch you before you disappear into your room.”

“Cool,” Harley muttered, eyeing the bottle like it might help him disappear too. “So... is this an intervention?”

“I saw a few videos,” Pepper said softly.

Harley closed his eyes for a second and took a sip. Bought himself a little time.

“What videos?”

“A few,” she said carefully, like she was picking her words out of a pile. “One of them, there’s this boy who runs up to you out of nowhere, throws his arm around your neck, and snaps a selfie like you’re some kind of theme park mascot.”

“Yeah. Then he posted it with the caption me and Iron Lad. Real creative.”

Harley exhaled sharply through his nose and tried not to think about how bad his hands had shaken after that. How fast the guy’s arm had come out of nowhere. How his pulse didn’t settle for half an hour.

Pepper didn’t smile.

“I saw another one,” she went on. “At the entrance. A group of girls blocking your way, laughing and asking if you’re still a virgin. They thought it was funny, but…”

“It was a joke,” Harley said quickly, shifting the water bottle to his other hand. His throat felt tight.

“You didn’t laugh.”

Harley didn’t answer.

“And then there’s that one in the cafeteria,” Pepper added quietly, “where a girl just sits on your lap, and someone shouts something about claiming Stark like it’s a seat on the bus.”

“Oh my god,” Harley groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “That was, like, two seconds. It was a stupid bit. They weren’t even-We’re not-It was just dumb.”

“Dumb and invasive,” Pepper said, a little more firmly now. “And you looked…”
She paused, and he could see her searching for the right phrase. When she spoke again, her voice had softened. “You didn’t look okay.”

Harley looked up at her, then down again at his bottle.

There were more videos. He knew that. He’d seen them. One where someone yanked on his backpack so hard he almost lost his footing on the stairs, yelling it was for a meme. One where some guy slapped him on the cheek like they were lifelong buddies, captioned with Stark in his natural habitat. One where he pulled his arm out of a girl’s grip and the comments lit up with what a stiff, spoiled brat, ungrateful little shit.

“I’m not trying to turn this into something it’s not,” he said finally, voice low. “If I freak out every time some kid points a phone at me, then that’s just... my whole life now.”

Pepper was still watching him, and Harley had to resist the urge to shift his weight, to move, to fidget.

“There’s also that one where you’re just sitting outside,” Pepper said, slower this time. “Hood up, headphones in. You’re not doing anything. Just sitting there. But someone’s filming you from across the field. You weren’t doing anything wrong.
But you looked…”

She paused, and her expression softened in a way that made Harley’s stomach twist.

“You looked really small.”

Harley let out a short, dry laugh.

“Guess I’m just not built for fame,” he shrugged.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re fine,” she said gently, tilting her head.

“I’m not pretending,” he replied in that same voice he used at school, flat, a little too laid-back to sound real. “It is what it is.”

Of course she didn’t buy it. He could tell from every inch of her face. But she didn’t push.

He took another sip of water and leaned against the counter like his legs weren’t made of string. Like he wasn’t terrified there might be another video out there. Something worse. Like pretending to be someone else all the time didn’t wear him down a little more every day.

“It’s just the internet,” he said, smiling too wide to mean it.

Pepper gave him the eyebrow. Tthat quiet, unimpressed kind of look. She didn’t say anything, just nodded. And Harley felt both grateful and guilty. At the same time.

Weirdly, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

At least partially.

Most of the kids at school had started to chill out. The first wave of hype had passed. The one that was loud and awful and too hot, full of selfies and invasive questions and jokes that made his skin crawl.

He wasn’t brand-new anymore. Not on that scale.

People still stared. Still whispered. Still slapped his hand in the hall or invited him to parties like they’d ever actually talked.

But the worst of it?

It had eased up.

At least… at school.

Outside of school, things were getting worse.

It started with one or two photographers by the gate. Then a few more, with those ridiculously long lenses, snapping photos through car windows. Then came the vans. Press badges. Lights. Boom mics. Some guy from some garbage gossip outlet asked what shampoo he used-like that was a normal question to ask a fifteen-year-old boy.

And then came the day he couldn’t even make it to the car.

The moment Harley pushed open the school doors, he walked straight into the hum of a crowd. Not students. Not parents. Adults. Grown-ass people. More of them than ever before.

They were nearly at the front steps. No space. Just bodies.

He didn’t even make it to the curb.

“Harley, look this way!”

“Give us a smile, Stark!”

“Harley! Just a second. One question!”

“Is it true-”

“What do you say about-”

“Harley!”

“Can we get a comment-”

“TMZ wants to know-”

Harley couldn’t move. There were microphones in his face. Someone’s face way too close to his. Someone else squatting in front of him, snapping pictures from below. A woman with a yellow mic screamed louder than the rest and stepped directly in front of him like she had the right.

And someone touched him.

Not bumped. Not brushed past.

Touched.
A full hand on his back, guiding him somewhere he didn’t want to go.

He jerked away, trying to break contact. A flash went off and he knew he looked panicked in that one. The crowd closed in tighter.

The air was too hot. The noise was too much. His vision went fuzzy around the edges.

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs were pulling in too fast, too shallow.

He couldn’t manage it.

His hands locked around his backpack straps as he turned in place, eyes scanning wildly.
People shouting like they knew him.

Asking about Tony. Asking about Pepper.

Asking about him like he belonged to the public.

“Hey!”
Happy’s voice cracked through the chaos like a whip. A second later, his arm clamped down around Harley’s shoulder. Solid, grounding.

“Back up!” Happy barked at someone. “He’s a kid. Back off!”

He didn’t hesitate. He practically dragged Harley to the car. One arm up like a shield, the other never leaving Harley’s shoulder. Harley could feel how badly his hands were shaking.

The moment the car door opened, Harley threw himself inside and scrambled across the backseat like it might be safer on the far side. The door slammed behind him. He still couldn’t breathe right. His chest was burning. His throat hurt. He wanted to cry.

Happy got in the front and locked all the doors with a solid click. He mumbled something, maybe into the comms, maybe to himself.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly, which was somehow worse than if he’d yelled. “You okay?”

Harley didn’t answer.

Happy adjusted the rearview mirror so they could see each other. Harley met his eyes for a split second, just long enough to see that specific kind of worry there, but couldn’t speak. His throat was full. Too full.

Happy glanced at him once, then again, then a third time. Then flicked the turn signal like this was just a normal drive home.

But Harley couldn’t hear anything but the buzzing in his ears. His heart was beating somewhere way too high in his chest, like it was trying to escape.

He looked out the window, but the world outside was just motion.
No focus. No shape.

“Okay,” Happy said after a moment, clearly trying to slice through the brittle silence. “That was insane.”

Harley didn’t reply. Couldn’t. His mouth felt full of dust. His brain was wrapped in static.

“I mean,” Happy kept going, like maybe filling the space would help, “how many were there? Twenty? Thirty? I thought they couldn’t legally get that close to a school. That can’t be legal.”

Harley said nothing. He was afraid if he opened his mouth, something would snap.

“When your dad outed himself as Iron Man? Same kind of chaos,” Happy muttered. “People are nuts. No boundaries. None.”

Harley blinked slowly. His vision still hadn’t cleared.

He’d just wanted to make it to the car.

Just that. That’s all.

Happy must’ve noticed the shift, how Harley was starting to spiral again.

“Wanna take the long way home?” he asked, softer now.

Harley shook his head. It made his stomach turn.

“Stop for dumplings? That place on 58th-”

“No,” Harley rasped, barely louder than a whisper.

“No dumplings. Got it.” Happy sighed, but not annoyed. More like worried and out of ideas.

Harley wrapped his arms around himself. Every nerve in his body was twitching like it couldn’t figure out what to do.

He hated that this happened.

Hated that people had seen.

That there’d be articles and screenshots and a thousand close-ups of his wide, terrified eyes. That people thought they could just touch him. Ask him whatever they wanted.

“I saw one of them put a hand on you,” Happy said quietly, like he’d been reading Harley’s mind. “I should’ve gotten there faster. That’s on me.”

Harley didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to say anything. Putting it into words might make it all more real somehow.

So he stared down at his feet, which were bouncing nervously against the car floor.

“You don’t have to talk, okay?” Happy said eventually. “But we’re gonna figure this out.”

Harley nodded, just barely.

Not because he believed it.

But because he didn’t want Happy looking at him like that through the mirror.

Happy insisted on walking him all the way upstairs, which was completely unnecessary and just straight-up humiliating. But Harley didn’t have the energy to argue. Not after everything that had just happened.

He walked into the apartment with his backpack slung over one shoulder and his hands buried deep in his sleeves. Of course Tony was there. The one time Harley had actually hoped his dad wouldn’t be home, there he was, sitting in the kitchen wearing a Metallica T-shirt and sunglasses pushed up on his head like he’d just come back from some casual errand. He was drinking something so aggressively neon orange it looked radioactive.

“Oh hey,” Tony called, yawning dramatically. “I was gonna order Chinese. You want anything?”

Harley didn’t smile. Didn’t nod. He just dropped his backpack in the corner with a dull thud and yanked his hood up over his head. He felt cold. Not even physically, really. Just… cold.

Tony squinted at him, frowning a little, maybe at Harley, maybe at Happy, who was still standing in the doorway with his arms crossed like he was guarding a vault.

“What?” Tony asked, nudging his weird glowing drink. “Did this smoothie offend you personally or something?”

Harley didn’t answer. Just shoved his hands deeper into his pockets.

“There were media people waiting outside his school,” Happy said, his voice quiet but solid, like a door slamming shut. And Harley could tell he was furious.

“A lot of them,” he added. “A full crowd. I had to physically pull him into the car.”

“They… what?” Tony straightened up, and Harley saw something shift behind his eyes. His face went tight. Darker. He looked like one of those posters from back when Stark Industries still made weapons.

“They swarmed him,” Happy said, and Harley could feel the man’s gaze on the back of his head. “Shoving cameras in his face, shouting questions about his mom, pushing him, grabbing him. He was barely holding it together.”

“I’m fine,” Harley said, sharp and low.

He wasn’t fine. He could still feel that phantom hand on his back, like it had left a mark. Still tasted that sour panic in the back of his throat. But he didn’t want to stand here while the grown-ups talked about him. He didn’t want them looking at him like that.

Tony stepped away from the counter and tilted his head, really looking at him now. Something shifted in his face, barely anything, some muscle twitch or a shadow under his eye, but it was enough to make Harley want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Jesus…” Tony muttered, his jaw tightening as he stared. “They touched you?”

Harley didn’t answer. Just dug his fingers into his thighs through his pockets.

“Why the hell wasn’t anyone with him?” Tony barked, turning on Happy. “That-someone should’ve been-”

“I was with him,” Happy snapped. “I did my job. But it was a shitshow, Tony. And it’s going to get worse. You know that.”

Harley shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m going to my room,” he mumbled.

He just wanted to lie down for like… eighteen hours. Or maybe disappear entirely. Sleep through the rest of the week. The month.

Tony opened his mouth like he was about to say something. Maybe argue, maybe suggest some ridiculous high-tech solution involving decoy cars and flying drones and auto-piloted limos. Maybe even try to offer comfort. But Harley didn’t give him the chance. He was already halfway down the hallway.

He could feel both of them watching him, but mostly Tony. And Tony didn’t say anything. Didn’t yell after him. Didn’t try to stop him. He just watched, like he had no idea what to say. And somehow, that was worse.

Harley closed the bedroom door behind him. Tight. Not because of noise. He didn’t care about the noise. He just didn’t want to hear whatever came next. The angry pacing, the attempts to fix a situation that couldn’t be fixed, the desperate search for a solution to a shit show.

He collapsed onto his bed and finally let his breathing shake a little. Just a bit. Just enough to feel it.

He was exhausted. And wired. And cold.

Honestly, he wished no one had ever come up with the idea that he should be closer to family. He’d been fine at his old school. Everyone there was rich, famous, or both. Everyone had known him forever. The press wasn’t even allowed past the gates.

Sometime around midnight, he heard the door to his room creak open.
He didn’t move.

He stayed lying on his side, facing the wall, eyes shut, breath slow and steady like he was out cold.

Even though he wasn’t. Not even close.

He knew it was Pepper. Her footsteps had a different rhythm than Tony’s. Lighter, more even. She breathed quieter, too. And she smelled like some herbal tea she made sometimes before bed.

She didn’t say anything, even though she probably knew he was faking. She didn’t come closer either. Just stood there for a minute, checking on him. Then she quietly pulled the door shut and left.

Harley was pretty sure Tony had told her everything. She had to be worried. She was always worried about something.

In the morning, Harley shuffled into the kitchen, dragging a shirt over his head, hair still damp from a half-awake shower. Something in his chest told him today was about to be even worse than yesterday.

Tony was already in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Fully dressed. Like, fully dressed. Suit, tie, cufflinks, shoes polished enough to catch the ceiling in the reflection.

“Uh, hey?” Harley blinked, pausing mid-step toward the elevator.

“Hey,” Tony said casually, flipping a set of keys from hand to hand like he’d practiced how casual he wanted to look.

“Change of plans. I’m taking you in today.”

“What? Why?” Harley blinked again, frowning.

“Thought it might be good to show my face. Just this once.” Tony shrugged, way too deliberately for it to be spontaneous.

Harley looked at him for a second. Saw how tense his shoulders were. Like he’d rehearsed this entire bit before Harley was even awake.

“You mean because of the cameras,” Harley said flatly, trying to ignore how just saying it made his pulse pick up.

“Just one day,” Tony replied, jaw tightening slightly. He didn’t deny it.
“Figured it couldn’t hurt to remind people there are some perks to the name. It’ll go quick.”

Harley wanted to argue. He almost told him he didn’t need some damn escort, didn’t want any extra attention, that this was bullshit.

But then he caught something else-something tired in Tony’s eyes. And not his usual tired. A different kind. More like Pepper’s.

“Fine,” Harley muttered. “Let’s just go.”

He didn’t say anything on the ride over. Tony didn’t either.
But weirdly, Harley didn’t feel like jumping out of the car.

He could maybe get used to rides like this.

Tony pulled up just far enough from the curb to be seen, and Harley barely had time to blink before the door swung shut and Tony was out. Like stepping out of a luxury car in front of a crowd was his default habitat.

Harley didn’t even move. He just sat there in the passenger seat, backpack in his lap, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. Watching.

The moment the cameras caught sight of Tony, it was like sharks catching blood in the water. A dozen voices went up at once-shouting questions, angling phones, flashing lights.

Tony smiled. That specific Tony Stark smile. The one Harley had seen in about a thousand headlines. The one that made people forget he was also the guy who occasionally passed out in the workshop with three percent battery left in his chest.

“Hey, hi, good morning,” Tony called, lifting a hand in a lazy little wave. “Let’s keep it chill, alright? No pushing. No stepping on each other’s feet. I know, I know, amazing suit, thanks for noticing. It’s Tom Ford. I’ll do a spin if someone brings me a croissant.”

The reporters laughed. Like actual, real laughter. Harley blinked. They always laughed. He wasn’t sure if they thought Tony was funny or if they just knew better than to not play along.

“I get it, I do,” Tony kept going, stepping forward like he was about to host a TED Talk. “You guys have a job, and hey, who am I to get between hard-working folks and their deadlines? I can pose. You want a little chin tilt? Power stance? I can give you billionaire with a touch of insomnia. Let’s get your shot.”

From the safety of the car, Harley let out a quiet breath through his nose. Jesus. The guy was made of confidence. Like, printed from it. And for a second, Harley thought that was it-quick photos, shake some hands, flash a grin, maybe say something flirty and vaguely inappropriate, and then he would give him some sign to take advantage of their distraction.

But then Tony straightened.

And the temperature changed.

Harley felt it in his chest. Just a little.

“Now,” Tony said, voice still smooth but quieter. “Let’s talk real quick. Just us grown-ups.”

Some of the reporters hesitated. The cameras didn’t lower, but a couple arms wavered. One of the camera guys shifted his weight like he suddenly realized he might be in the wrong place.

Tony took another step forward.

“You do not take photos of my kid.”

Oh.

Oh.

Harley froze, back pressed against the seat. Something flickered in his chest. Maybe a little bit of panic. Maybe something else. Something tighter. Older.

“You do not follow him, or wait outside his school, or ask his friends questions. You don’t post blurry screenshots like you're doing deep-dive exposés on a fifteen-year-old child.”

Tony’s voice was still calm. Too calm. Harley didn’t even realize he was holding his breath.

“And if you think I won’t bury every single one of you in lawsuits, you’re out of your goddamn minds.”

Someone tried to cut in. Tony raised a hand, and it was like slamming a wall between them.

“I have lawyers. Whole floors of them. I have AI that writes lawsuits in under thirty seconds. I will sue you, your publisher, your editor, your intern, and your dog. I will personally make sure that every ad deal, brand sponsor, and whisper of credibility you have vanishes off the face of the Earth if a single clip of my son lands online again.”

Harley swallowed. Hard.

He wasn’t scared of Tony. Not exactly. But there was something deeply unnerving about watching him do this. Like watching a storm go quiet right before it hits.

“And if I see one more teenage asshole post a video of him at school with a ‘#StarkSpawn’ caption, I will find their parents. And we will have a very, very grown-up conversation about privacy and consequences.”

Total silence.

Not a shutter click. Not a question.

Harley sat completely still. His heart was doing something complicated. Something between stunned and… a little touched. Okay, yeah. A little. Maybe.

Tony adjusted his suit cuffs.

“Great,” he said brightly. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Then he turned, smoothed the front of his jacket, and strolled back toward the car like he’d just picked up a bottle of wine from the store.

The door opened. He slid into the driver’s seat like nothing happened.

“You’re good,” Tony said casually, hands on the wheel. “They’ll move.”

Harley stared at him, stunned into silence for a beat.

“Holy shit.”

Tony didn’t look at him. Just smirked.

“Alright, go to school before you’re late,” Tony said, waving his hands in that shooing motion like Harley was a pigeon on the balcony.

Harley grinned, an actual grin, and stepped out of the car.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and ducked his head, even though he could feel Tony still watching him.

His chest was buzzing a little. After that whole nuclear-level move Tony had pulled. Like standing up for him was just… expected.

Weird.
Nice.
Weird.

But now he was bracing for the after part. The whispers. The Twitter clips. Something like Tony Stark saves his bastard son from the press trending by lunch.

He was so caught up spiraling about it, he didn’t even see the guy standing a few steps ahead until he crashed into him full-force.

“Holy shit-” Harley gasped, already preparing for the full high school experience, including being shoved into a locker.

“Watch it,” the guy muttered, turning around. Then he paused, giving Harley a once-over like he was trying to place him. “Oh. It’s you.”

“...Sorry?” Harley blinked, waiting for the whole ‘you’re Stark’s kid’ speech.

“We’re in Spanish together,” the guy said, like that explained it. He didn’t sound thrilled. “You suck at Spanish, by the way.”

“...Thanks?”

“Tyler Corbyn,” the guy said, sticking out a hand like this was just how he made friends.

“Harley,” he replied, shaking it, half convinced this was a setup.

“Oh, I know,” Tyler raised an eyebrow. “Pretty sure everyone does.”

Harley opened his mouth to say something, but someone yelled from behind the school gate.

“Yo, holy shit! Was that Tony Stark who dropped you off?!”

“Go hang yourself on a USB cable, Cody!” Tyler shouted back without looking, flipping the guy off over his shoulder.

“Anyway, your Spanish sucks,” Tyler added, giving Harley a light shove as they started walking toward the school doors.

“You said that,” Harley muttered, frowning.

“Just putting it out there. If we ever get stuck with a group project, I’m not letting you drag me down.” Tyler shrugged, glancing at him. “And about the media stuff... it’s seriously messed up. They’re freaking out way too hard. Totally fucked.”

“Yeah,” Harley mumbled, shooting a glance back at the car where Tony was still sitting, still watching him. “Not exactly how I pictured this going.”

“Figured,” Tyler said. “You didn’t look like you were loving the attention. More like... you accidentally got locked in a zoo. Or like a red carpet right before a colonoscopy.”

“Honestly? Kinda felt like that,” Harley muttered with a half-cough.

They walked in silence for a beat.

“Anyway,” Tyler said casually, pushing open the front doors. “If you ever need like... a buffer, or someone to make fun of you for being too nerdy, or quiz you before a test, or whatever-I usually eat lunch by the vending machines. And, y’know, Spanish class.”

Harley glanced at him, trying not to smile. Tyler had that vibe like he didn’t care about anything, but also wasn’t the type to go out of his way to make anyone’s life worse.

“Cool,” Harley said quietly, adjusting his backpack. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Yep,” Tyler replied, heading off with a half-wave, half-salute. “Whatever.”

Harley watched him go for a second.

Then he tugged at his shirt, straightened his shoulders, and tried not to feel too hopeful.

But maybe it was already too late for that.

Chapter Text

Harley really didn’t want to let himself think it meant anything. That their conversation in the hallway, that casual suggestion to hang out, was more than just a fluke in the universe. He wasn’t counting on making a friend. Especially not one as grumpy, unimpressed, and emotionally expressive as a sidewalk.

He didn’t expect Tyler Corbyn to stick around.

But he did.

Like a shadow with a sarcasm problem, always lingering just long enough to throw out some dry comment or walk half a step slower so Harley could keep up.

They didn’t have many classes together. Just Spanish, which Harley still totally sucked at, not that Tyler was much better. Not that it stopped him from bringing it up like Harley was single-handedly holding back their entire class. But somehow, Tyler was everywhere. In the halls. Outside classrooms. Waiting near the pool when Harley was signing up for the swim team, even though Harley was pretty sure Tyler considered physical effort a personal offense.

“What are you even doing here?” Harley asked, caught between suspicion and end-of-day fatigue.

“I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Tyler replied in a tone so flat it somehow wasn’t reassuring. “Just came to make sure you didn’t spontaneously combust from chlorine exposure.”

And weirdly… that was kind of nice.

It was all pretty low-key. Maybe even sneaky. Harley didn’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere along the line, Tyler just started being there. A normal, expected part of the day.

Lunch by the vending machines became routine. Their routine. Sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, swapping whatever snacks they had, downing overly sweet drinks, and eating overpriced chips that were mostly air. Some days they talked a lot. Some days barely at all. Sometimes Tyler made fun of Harley’s terrible drawings from shop class. Sometimes he asked for help with physics. One time they argued about music for twenty straight minutes. Another time, they talked about that Filipino kid who let them copy his Spanish homework.

Tyler didn’t ask hard questions. And Harley didn’t have to work so hard to talk to him.

Then Jason showed up.

There wasn’t much of an explanation. Tyler rarely offered any. One day he just dropped into their usual spot, eyes slightly more alive than usual, like he was halfway through an inside joke with himself.

“Yo,” he said. “My dude Jason’s about to join us. Try not to be weird.”

Before Harley could even process that, a guy flopped down on his other side like a controlled demolition.

“This him?” Jason asked, eyeing Harley. “Damn. I thought you’d be more... intimidating.”

“Uh... thanks?” Harley blinked.

“No offense,” Jason said, already unwrapping his sandwich. “You’ve got, like, resting trauma face.”

“He does,” Tyler added, deadpan, as he opened a bag of gummy bears.

Harley looked from one to the other.

“Kidding. Kind of,” Jason grinned. “I’m Jason. Tyler says you’re tolerable.”

“That’s... high praise coming from him,” Harley said, raising an eyebrow at Tyler.

“Not really,” Tyler muttered, chewing.

“What is this? What’s happening?” Harley finally asked, because they were acting like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“You guys are friends now too,” Tyler said plainly. “I guess.”

And apparently... that was that.

No grand introductions. No long backstory. No trust falls or icebreakers. Just... this.

Jason Ionello was… a lot.

Loud. Always moving, like he was late for something only he knew about. No filter, zero impulse control, and a mouth that ran way ahead of his brain. It was like he ran on nuclear-powered ADHD. He laughed at his own jokes, talked to himself when no one was talking back, and once handed Harley half of a tuna sandwich that was way too warm, swearing he definitely hadn’t taken a bite. He had.

Jason handed out snacks like it was his job. Chips, candy bars, off-brand cookies. He didn’t care that Harley was, in his words, famous, mysterious, and emotionally stunted. He cared that Harley could fix his calculator and knew all the words to My Band by D12.

Jason was absolutely weird. But also? Weirdly solid.

He treated Harley like just another guy Tyler dragged into their orbit. No questions. No awe. No big deal.

And somewhere near the end of October, Harley realized he actually looked forward to lunch. Looked forward to Tyler’s dry commentary about Spanish class and the way he nudged Harley when he started to nod off. Looked forward to Jason’s dumb jokes and chaotic nicknames like Tin Kid, which Harley had explicitly forbidden him from saying in public.

It didn’t magically fix everything. But it helped. A lot.

People at school still whispered, still stared, still tried to sneak photos like he wouldn’t notice. But most of them seemed just scared enough of Tony Stark to keep their distance. Like they really believed his dad might sue their entire bloodline if they stepped out of line.

And Jason and Tyler definitely helped enforce that vibe.

“Smile, Iron Baby!” some kid once said, crouching in front of them and snapping a photo while they were eating lunch on the floor.

Harley didn’t even have time to react before Jason jumped up, yanked the phone out of the guy’s hands, and, with terrifying accuracy, yeeted it straight into the trash can across the hall.

“What the hell?!” the guy yelled.

“Oops,” Jason said, not sounding even a little bit sorry. “Slipped. Try that again and I’ll bite you.”

“You should probably leave before he slips again,” Tyler added, not even looking up from his math homework. “Or before he gives you rabies.”

The kid walked off. Fast. And Harley just grinned.

They were a weird trio. Tyler was quiet, deadpan, kind of allergic to people.  Jason was chaos with the attention span of a goldfish. And Harley… Harley still flinched sometimes when people moved too fast near him. Still wore headphones even when he wasn’t listening to anything. Still texted Gene just to feel like he had one foot in something familiar.

But what he had with Tyler and Jason? It was weird. It was loud. It was his. And honestly, it was the best thing he had going at that school.

He even texted Gene, just so someone could bear witness.

Harley: so these two idiots keep sitting with me and one threatened to bite a guy and the other kind of bullies me into drinking water

Gene: that’s called friendship, dumbass

congrats

Harley smiled at that. Just a little.

Life was… honestly, pretty decent.

Especially after Jason watched, like, three Tony Hawk clips and decided Harley had to teach him how to skateboard.

Harley figured he’d show him how to get from point A to B without dying, maybe teach him one or two tricks he actually knew. But somehow it turned into an entire afternoon.

Tyler bailed on his Model UN meeting. Not that Harley believed he was really involved in anything like that to begin with. Jason skipped his German tutor, yeah, apparently Jason was taking German, and Harley had to text Happy that he’d get home on his own. Later.

Jason was currently eating pavement for the fourth time.

“You’re not even trying,” Harley said, half-laughing, half-concerned as Jason writhed on the sidewalk, clutching his leg like he’d been shot in a war.

“I am trying!” Jason whined, letting go of his leg and flopping onto his back like a dead fish. “Your board just hates me. I think it sensed my energy and decided to destroy me.”

“It’s a piece of wood on wheels,” Harley said, stepping over him to pick up the skateboard. “It doesn’t have opinions.”

“Then explain why it keeps attacking me.”

“It’s not attacking you,” Tyler chimed in from where he was sitting on the steps nearby, sipping an energy drink and holding a book he was very obviously not reading. “You’re just built like a newborn giraffe.”

“Giraffes are majestic,” Jason shot back, flipping Tyler off from the concrete.

“Not when they’re face-planting every three seconds.”

Harley stifled a laugh and sat next to Tyler, board under his arm, while Jason stayed sprawled out with dramatic refusal to get up.

“Hey!” someone called out, and Harley instinctively looked over.

Some guy was heading toward them, but he was still too far away to make out clearly.

“Oh god, Flash…” Tyler sighed, already sounding disgusted.

Harley scanned the mental yearbook in his head. Flash. Eugene.

His jaw clenched. A few weeks ago, that same kid had asked him in the hallway if his dad had ever killed civilians, like, accidentally.

“Yo!” Jason brightened instantly, sitting up.

“You’re friends with him?” Harley asked, raising an eyebrow as Flash approached. Pricey but ugly shoes. Jacket with a loud logo. Vibes off.

“Yeah,” Jason shrugged. “We’ve had classes together since, like, pre-K. Our dads golf sometimes.”

“That explains so much,” Tyler muttered, actually flipping a page in his book.

Flash made it over in a few seconds and dapped Jason up like it was muscle memory.

“You’re still alive,” Flash said.

“Barely,” Jason grinned, taking Flash’s hand and letting him pull him up without even asking. “Harley’s trying to kill me. Slowly. With sports.”

Harley just shrugged when Flash glanced his way.

But Flash didn’t say anything. No snide comment. No callback to their only real interaction. Maybe he didn’t remember. Maybe he thought it was normal.

“Didn’t know you guys were hanging out,” Flash said to Jason. “Weird group.”

“Mhm.” Jason raised a brow. “Some people have… layers.”

“Apparently,” Flash rolled his eyes. “Anyway. Cindy’s doing something on Friday. Nothing crazy. Music, beer, some people. You coming?”

Harley frowned slightly. He waited for some backhanded line about how having Stark around would boost the party’s status or whatever. But Flash was still looking at Jason.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Jason said immediately. “Gotta impress her somehow.”

“She’s already obsessed with you,” Flash said, exasperated. “Don’t forget to bring your little freak squad.”

He nodded toward them like they came as a package deal.

“You want us there?” Tyler asked, eyebrow raised.

“Why not?” Flash sighed. “You’re weird, Harley’s mysterious, and Jason’s funny. And if he gets drunk, free entertainment.”

“Tell Cindy I said hi,” Jason grinned like it was some kind of win. “And that I’ll wear my best shirt.”

“You have one shirt,” Tyler muttered.

“And it is my best shirt,” Jason said proudly.

“You guys in?” Flash asked, throwing Harley a glance.

And yeah, Harley still thought Flash was kind of a jerk. Not the most trustworthy guy. But it was obvious Jason was going either way, and Tyler had that look like he was secretly interested but too cool to say it first.

And honestly? It felt good to get invited to a party, not because of his last name, but just because he happened to be in the right place, with the right people.

“Sure,” Harley said. “Why not.”

“Sweet. Starts at eight. Jason knows where,” Flash said, already walking off. Then he turned back over his shoulder. “And bring some snacks. Cindy’s mom said if we raid her pantry again she’s gonna start murdering people.”

He vanished as fast as he’d appeared, texting someone before he even crossed the street.

“God, I hate that guy,” Tyler muttered.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, flopping back down beside them. Not bitter, just resigned. “I’m stuck with him. He’s like my emotional herpes. But if it helps, I think he’s evolving. Like an extremely ugly Pokémon.”

“That sentence made zero sense,” Harley said, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, wait,” Jason snapped his fingers and turned fully toward Harley. “Totally random, but do you think you could get your mom to sign something for mine? Like… a napkin? A photo? A sticky note?”

“My… mom?” Harley frowned, not quite following.

“For real. She’s obsessed with that whole Pepper Potts girlboss thing,” Jason explained, and Harley felt this weird wave of relief that he didn’t have to explain anything heavy. That Jason meant Pepper, not his mom. “She has, like, a whole Pinterest board, and I think she straight-up stole one of her monologues for a work presentation once.”

Tyler groaned and smacked the back of Jason’s head. Not hard, but enough.

“Dude, boundaries.”

Harley shook his head, trying not to laugh.

“What? It’s for my mom!” Jason protested, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m asking nicely!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Harley chuckled.

That night, Harley came home grinning. Like, really grinning. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized it until he caught his reflection in the elevator doors. It wasn’t the polite smile he sometimes wore, or the tight one he used when someone said something awkward and he didn’t want to make it a thing. It was wide and stupid and real.

The whole ride up, he tried to tone it down a little, but it was kinda impossible. His jacket still smelled like wind, his hair was a mess, and there was a grass stain on his jeans from when Jason tackled him trying not to smash his face on the curb. But even when he wasn’t full-on smiling, his shoulders weren’t all hunched up and he wasn’t dragging his feet. Honestly, he was like one step away from humming that dumb song some guy on the subway had been blasting.

“Someone’s in a good mood!” Pepper called from the living room before Harley even had the chance to hang up his jacket.

“Okay, that’s creepy,” Harley muttered. “You didn’t even see me yet.”

“I can feel it,” she said, shifting on the couch so she could look at him. “It’s like the sun walked into the building.”

Harley, trying very hard to pretend he hadn’t heard that, walked over to the fruit bowl and stared at the pears like one of them might hold the answer to how to act normal. Pepper and Tony were on the couch, drinking wine and watching some rom-com. Harley tried not to think too hard about the wine. Pepper knew what she was doing. He also really tried not to think about whatever kind of night usually followed evenings that started like this. Blegh.

“So, something good happen?” Pepper asked, leaning more into Tony.

“I guess? Kinda,” Harley shrugged, trying to squash down that warm feeling in his chest. The one that said life in New York maybe, maybe, didn’t suck.

“Guess? Kinda?” Tony asked, sounding personally offended. “You walk in here like you just broke out of prison and found a twenty-dollar bill on the sidewalk.”

Harley frowned, and Pepper mirrored it without missing a beat, which for some reason made him smile again.

“I’m allowed to have a good day, y’know?” Harley said, rolling his eyes and stepping away from the fruit like it had failed him. He opened the fridge, mostly to avoid eye contact.

“Was that in the agreement?” Tony turned to Pepper. “Did we approve good days?”

Harley closed the fridge with a crooked grin. Another day, that kind of joke probably would’ve triggered a whole existential crisis, but today? Not even close.

“You can have as many good days as you want,” Pepper said, shooting him a warm smile and elbowing Tony in the ribs.

Harley smiled back, almost against his will. It still all felt weird. Living here. With them. Full time. Not as a guest, not a visit. Just… a kid who came home from school every day.

For a second, he wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He leaned on the counter. Then pushed off it. Then clapped his hands together like that would somehow help. Then leaned back on the counter again. He was trying to figure out exactly how chill he wanted to sound.

“So, hey, uh…” he said finally, breaking the silence he was definitely way too aware of. “There’s this thing on Friday. Like, a party…”

“A party?” Pepper perked up immediately, and Harley had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“Define party,” Tony added at the same time, sounding equally intrigued. Harley genuinely didn’t know what to do with that.

“Nothing crazy,” Harley said quickly, thinking about how Tony’s definition of party was probably totally warped. “Just some people. At this girl’s house. A guy from school, Flash, he invited me. He’s kind of an idiot, but it sounds like it might actually be fun.”

Harley tried to keep it casual. This wasn’t the first time he was being invited out somewhere. Back at his old school, there were parties every weekend. People hung out all the time, sneaking out, blasting music, watching dumb movies, doing dumb stuff. And Harley had gotten used to that. He’d also gotten used to not having to ask anyone for permission to do any of it. The worst he'd had to deal with was begging a teacher for forgiveness after getting caught. He definitely didn’t have to run it by Tony, who probably couldn’t even name what grade his own kid was in.

“Flash,” Tony repeated, tilting his head like he had access to a mental database of every person in New York and was flipping through files. “That’s not the alias of some drug dealer, is it?”

“No,” Harley snorted. “His real name’s Eugene.”

Tony looked like he’d just bitten into a bar of soap. Pepper, sitting behind him, seemed to catch the face he made because she laughed. Probably at Tony, not Harley.

“So yeah,” Harley added, still figuring out how exactly you’re supposed to pitch a party to your weird half-absent genius billionaire father. “My friends, Tyler and Jason, they’re going too, so I figured maybe I could tag along for a bit.”

“Friends? As in plural?”Tony repeated, raising his eyebrows like that was a plot twist. Harley clenched his jaw. It shouldn’t bug him. But seriously, he used to have a bunch of friends. New York just… wasn’t hitting the same.

“Yeah,” he said flatly. “Shocking.”

“That’s great!” Pepper said brightly, and Harley could feel his face heat up. Why were they acting like this was such a big deal?

“It’s not like we’re getting married or anything,” he muttered.

Tony opened his mouth, Harley could already sense a wildly inappropriate joke incoming, but Pepper elbowed him in the ribs hard enough that Harley heard him grunt.

“Tyler and Jason, those are the kids you eat lunch with?” Pepper asked. “One of them’s the kid your dad saw you bump into?”

“Yeah. They’re cool,” Harley said. “One’s an idiot in a funny way. The other’s a menace in a funny way.”

“Solid character judgment,” Tony grinned. “You sure you wanna go?”

“What? Yeah, of course,” Harley blinked at him, then at Pepper. “Unless you think I shouldn’t or whatever?”

“It’s great that you’re settling in,” Pepper said before Tony could get another word in. “Making friends. I hope you have a good time.”

“Fine by me,” Tony said, far less enthusiastic. “But if anyone offers you jungle juice, say no.”

“I’m fifteen,” Harley said with a blank look. Was his dad seriously giving him party advice now? “It’s not like I’ve never been to a party before.”

“Technically I have no idea what you’ve been doing,” Tony mumbled, and Harley had a golden opportunity to say something cutting. Like, Wow, whose fault is that? or Maybe call your kid sometime. But he bit his tongue. Today had been a good day.

“Just let us know when you’re heading out,” Pepper smiled, warm and easy. “And if you need a ri-”

“I’ll figure something out,” Harley cut in quickly. He wasn’t trying to turn this into a full family expedition.

There was a beat of silence, and Harley shifted his weight awkwardly.

“And, uh,” he said, doing his best impression of not caring at all, “totally unrelated, but would you mind signing something?”

“A form?” Pepper asked, suddenly giving him her full attention.

“No... more like, uh, an autograph.”

“You selling autographs at school now?” Tony asked, clearly amused. And maybe a little offended. He probably wanted to give one too.

“Oh. Jason’s mom is, apparently, like, a huge fan,” Harley muttered, scratching at the back of his neck. “I told him I’d ask...”

“Tell her I’m honored,” Pepper said without missing a beat.

“I’m not telling her anything,” Harley groaned. “This is already weird.”

“Sticky note or the full deluxe signed photo?” she teased, and Harley closed his eyes.

“Whatever. Anything.” He was already walking toward his room. He’d reached his family quota for the night.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Tony called after him.

“That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,” Harley shot back without turning around.

“And for the love of God, don’t bring home anyone named Destiny or Blaze!” Tony added.

Harley smirked despite himself when he heard Tony let out a pained grunt. No doubt Pepper had elbowed him again.

“He seems excited,” Tony said, his voice just barely carrying.

“Let him be,” Pepper answered warmly.

And when Harley closed his bedroom door behind him, he didn’t bother hiding his smile.

 The Friday night party turned out better than Harley expected. Actually, it was kind of perfect.

It wasn’t anything wild. Just enough people to make the place feel alive. The walls vibrated with bass-heavy music blasting from someone’s phone over Bluetooth, too loud for conversation, and glitchy every time a notification popped up. The lights were off. Red plastic cups littered every surface, filled with questionable mixes. Neon snacks were dumped in mismatched bowls. Someone was setting up a beer pong table. It was messy and loud and familiar. It felt like something good.

Jason disappeared almost instantly. Something about fate, Cindy, and divine intervention. He called himself a vessel or whatever. Every now and then he reappeared, jittery with chaotic energy, asking Harley to back him up in a dumb argument with Cindy about whether or not he had soulful eyes, or just checking if she’d noticed he was gone. Then he’d vanish again.

Tyler stuck around a bit longer. They said hi to people they half-recognized, commented on the music, watched some painful attempts at dancing. A few people gave Harley that blink of recognition. Some surprised, some curious. No one was weird about it. Actually, everyone was…normal. Chill.

It seemed like Harley had managed to claw his way back into being Harley Stark. Quiet, maybe, but funny enough to keep around. A decent hang. Probably helped that Tony had put the fear of God into a few people.

Eventually Tyler got roped into an arm-wrestling contest in the corner. Some intense showdown between the track team and the volleyball guys. Or maybe they were hockey players. Whatever. Harley didn’t stop him. He didn’t need babysitter.

He drifted through the house on his own. Talked to a couple people he’d seen around school. Ended up playing beer pong with a girl who had blue glitter all over her collarbones and way too much confidence. She shoved a solo cup in his hand before he could say anything. He barely drank, just enough to blend in, but kept the cup the whole night. He knew how it worked. If he didn’t at least pretend to drink, by Monday everyone would be saying Stark’s kid thought he was too good for the party.

He danced a little. Got dragged into some chaotic game in the backyard that made zero sense and absolutely had to happen in the freezing cold. At one point he found himself in the kitchen, leaning against the counter while some junior with spiked-up gel hair lectured him about consumerism and how billionaires were killing the planet-as if he wasn’t literally talking to a billionaire’s son, in a house full of Wallmart snacks.

Eventually, Harley ended up on the couch next to a girl with red streaks in her braids and half-worn glitter around her eyes. She didn’t seem like she went to their school. Maybe she used to. Maybe she had a cousin there. Harley didn’t ask. They didn’t talk much. Which made it kind of nice.

After a while, she turned to him and said, “Are you really a Stark?”

He gave her the fakest smile he had and shrugged.

“Don’t move,” she said.

Then she reached into her bra and pulled out a broken lipstick. Grabbed his arm.

“You ever worn war paint?”

“…What?”

“Trust me, Starklet.”

He blinked, and she pushed up his sleeve. The lipstick was half-dead-more brown than red, but she still managed to draw a surprisingly solid Iron Man helmet on his arm. It smudged a little around the edges but looked cool anyway.

“There. No one’s gonna mess with you now,” she said. “Or they’ll have to answer to your robo-dad.”

“That’s… exactly how it works,” Harley said, grinning despite himself.

She leaned back, pleased with her work, and started ranting about how much she hated her art teacher.

Harley didn’t really follow what she was saying. But he didn’t mind.

It felt… normal. And that was enough.

Harley was right in the middle of explaining to Mia’s brother, or maybe her friend, he wasn’t totally sure, but her name was Mia, how skateboarding and surfing were kind of the same but also completely different. And he had authority to say that, because Malibu had basically been home for the first half of his life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

He pulled it out instinctively and squinted at the screen like the noise of the party somehow made it harder to see clearly.

Colonel JR

Harley frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. That was unexpected. Rhodey almost never called. He usually just texted. And even that had stopped lately, probably because Harley hadn’t been answering. Or maybe because Rhodey had been off somewhere in a country where U.S. soldiers technically weren’t supposed to be, doing something classified and probably terrifying.

“Hey, sorry, I gotta take this,” he mumbled, slipping off the couch and pulling his arm away from the girl, Mia, who was now deep in conversation with someone else anyway. He headed toward the back door.

“Hey,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear and finding the closest thing to quiet the backyard had to offer. “Long time.”

“Glad you picked up,” Rhodey’s voice was low and steady, but something about it was off. “I just got back online, first time in a while. And you know what I saw? Your face. Everywhere.”

“Oh, that,” Harley rolled his eyes, even though Rhodey couldn’t see it. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” Rhodey’s voice sharpened a bit. “You looked, on those videos, you looked exhausted. Like five seconds from bursting into flames.”

“It’s nothing serious,” Harley said quickly, brushing it off.

“Oh, it’s serious,” Rhodey said flatly. “You’re fifteen and have zero privacy.”

Harley didn’t know what to say to that.

“…Are you at a party right now?” Rhodey asked after a pause. “I swear I just heard Shake It Off in the background, so don’t even try lying. Are you drinking? Is this really a good idea with everything going on?”

“It’s just a small get-together,” Harley said fast. “Just a few people. It’s chill.”

For a second, Harley braced himself for The Talk. He could feel it coming. The one about drinking, about sex, about making responsible choices. Classic adult stuff.

But Rhodey surprised him.

“I just don’t want you turning into what people expect you to be instead of who you actually are,” he said quietly. “You good?”

Harley glanced at the half-smeared drawing still clinging to his forearm and listened to the echo of voices, music, laughter around him.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m actually really good. It was brutal there for a bit. Scary. Overwhelming. But now… it’s better. Way better.”

“And you’re still drinking at a party,” Rhodey said skeptically.

“Yeah, with friends,” Harley said, half grinning. “My friends. Who like me. And I like them. I’m not freaking out anymore. I’m not falling apart. Dad handled everything.”

There was a long pause.

“Tony handled everything?” Rhodey said, clearly dubious.

“Right?” Harley let out a short laugh. “I’m just as shocked as you.”

Rhodey made a sound like he’d just choked on something.

“You’re telling me Tony Stark saw you needed help and just... helped? Like, no chaos? No breakdowns? Just handled it?”

“He threatened lawsuits, career ruin, and borderline murder,” Harley said like it wasn’t something he’d been mentally replaying all the time. “Made a whole show of it. And now the reporters aren’t even coming near the school. High school’s just high school again.”

“Huh. I don’t know if I’m proud or deeply concerned,” Rhodey muttered, mostly to himself. Then louder: “And you’re really okay?”

“Yeah. I think so. Honestly. It’s weird, but the good kind of weird,” Harley said, meaning it.

“Alright,” Rhodey exhaled. “Just…be careful, alright? Don’t drink anything that’s not sealed. Don’t go upstairs with random people. No dumb decisions, got it?”

“My dad already gave me that talk,” Harley joked.

“…Huh.” Rhodey paused. “You and your dad are really good right now?”

“I think so?” Harley said slowly. “It’s not amazing. But I think he’s trying. Like… actually trying. In his own Tony Stark way.”

“Keep your phone on,” Rhodey said. “And if anything goes sideways again, I don’t care what time it is or where I am. You call me. Doesn’t matter if you think I’m mad. I’m never mad at you. Got it?”

Harley laughed under his breath.

“Got it,” he said. “I’ll behave. Thanks for calling.”

“You’re my kid too, Harls,” Rhodey said. “Have fun. Just not too much.”

“Later, Uncle Jimmy!” Harley said and hung up before Rhodey could respond.

The party started slowing down sometime after two. The music drifted from chaotic bass to someone’s sleepy acoustic covers playlist. Some people had left. Some had passed out on couches. A few were cleaning up for some reason. The whole house smelled like sugar and sweat.

Harley escaped back outside and sat on the back steps. He just needed a little fresh air. The lipstick drawing on his arm was still holding up strong.

Out of nowhere, Jason flopped dramatically across his back, holding a piece of pepperoni stick in his mouth like it was a cigarette.

“Guess who has a date with Cindy next week,” Jason whispered like it was a state secret.

“Swear to God, if it’s not you, I’m throwing myself into those bushes,” Harley replied.

“It’s me,” Jason beamed, waggling his eyebrows like he thought it was seductive. “She said I’m awful, but also magnetic. Which, let’s be honest, is basically love.”

Before Harley could respond, Tyler showed up beside them. Hood up. Solo cup still mostly full. He looked like he regretted every social decision that brought him here.

“There you are,” Tyler said. “I’ve been looking for you for like twenty minutes and was this close to pretending I came here alone so I could leave without being responsible for either of you.”

“Coward,” Jason sniffed, handing him the last of his pepperoni stick. “We’re a trio. You can’t just ditch us, you jerk.”

“You ditched us first,” Tyler said, but he sat down on the steps with them anyway.

They sat for a moment in silence, letting the cool fall air settle over them, their ears ringing faintly from the party noise.

“You good?” Tyler asked eventually, glancing at Harley.

“Shockingly, yeah,” Harley said, smiling.

Jason collapsed across all their knees with a dramatic sigh.

“In movies, this is usually the part where the main characters get arrested or kidnapped,” he said.

“No one would pay ransom for you,” Tyler said, flicking Jason on the cheek.

“I’m delightful,” Jason mumbled.

They decided to split a cab, the three of them crammed into the backseat like tired kids after a field trip. Loud. Chaotic. Funny.

Jason kept trying to convince the driver to swing by for fries. Tyler kept threatening to toss him out the window if he didn’t stop talking. Harley sat between them, head tipped back against the seat, watching the city lights flicker by outside the window.

His legs ached, there was a pizza grease stain on his shirt that felt permanent, and his phone was at 3% battery, but all things considered, he felt okay.
Better than okay.

By the time they dropped Jason off, then Tyler, the sky was starting to tint pink at the edges, like it wasn’t sure if it wanted to be morning yet.

When the cab pulled up to the Tower, the driver raised an eyebrow like, really, kid?, but Harley just smiled, paid with a tip, and slipped out into the quiet.

He wasn’t expecting anyone to be up. Which is why he flinched when he nearly walked straight into someone in the dim hallway.

“Jesus-” he muttered, pulling his hands up halfway.

Tony stood there with a coffee mug in hand, blinking at him. His eyes were shadowed, face tired in that way that meant he either hadn’t slept, or hadn’t tried to. He wore one of his cooler Black Sabbath shirts, soft and a little too big, and some old sweatpants. Looked like he’d been up all night in the lab again.

“Oh,” Harley said, catching his breath and smoothing his hair back with one hand. “Hey.”

“You’re back,” Tony said, one eyebrow lifting. His voice was quiet, his smile barely there as he sipped his coffee.

“I mean… technically I never left,” Harley said, slipping into the easy sarcasm like muscle memory. “I just temporarily relocated to a place with worse lighting and more pizza.”

Tony didn’t laugh. But he didn’t frown either. Just… looked at him. That kind of soft, weirdly alert way Tony sometimes got when his brain was moving faster than his mouth.

“It was nice,” Harley added after a beat, rolling his shoulders. “Normal. Played a little beer pong. Didn’t lose any major organs or, like, dignity.”

“That’s always a win,” Tony said, still watching him.

His gaze drifted briefly lingering on Harley’s forearm, where a smudge of lipstick peeked out from under his sleeve.

Tony didn’t say anything about it, but he looked at it just a second too long. Like it meant something.

“You have fun?” he asked, voice low, almost casual.

“Yeah. I really did.” Harley nodded.

Tony’s mouth twitched. Half smile, half something else. He nodded too, like that was the answer he’d needed. Maybe all he’d needed.

For a second, Harley wasn’t sure if they were still talking or not. Then he gave a little wave that wasn’t really a wave and turned toward his room.

“Night.”

“Morning,” Tony called after him, heading off in the opposite direction.

Harley didn’t look back, but he smiled to himself. Just a little.

Chapter Text

Harley was hunched over his desk, and technically he should have been doing his Spanish homework. But he’d given up after the third time he’d had to erase the same sentence, because honestly, he had no idea whether it was puedo, podido, or pude. Pretty sure they were all the same word somehow, just bent out of shape by whatever cursed tense Spanish wanted to use today.

Instead, his new mission was to fix a busted speaker. One he didn’t need. One he had zero plans of using. One he’d brought back broken from school purely out of spite.

Still better than Spanish.

Someone knocked on his door. Judging by the sound, it was Tony.

“Yeah?” Harley called, leaning back in his chair.

Tony stuck his head in first, then stepped fully into the room. No coffee in hand, no phone, no distractions, just Tony, in his full awkward-dad glory. Hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie like he was trying to win a bet about being casual. He looked like someone had dared him to have a heart-to-heart and he was already regretting it.

“Hey. You got a sec?” Tony asked, voice extra casual. His eyes flicked down to the mess of wires and circuits Harley had yanked out of the speaker and spread over his open notebook, then back up to Harley’s face.

“Uh... yeah,” Harley said, glancing at his desk like he needed permission from the chaos.

“So…just a heads-up,” Tony said, stepping further in, looking deeply uncomfortable in his own skin. “I’m gonna have to pop out of town for a few days. Nothing major.”

Harley blinked. “You okay?”

“Work stuff,” Tony added, like that explained it. “Avengers stuff.”

Ah. That tone. The one that vaguely implied the world might be ending but it wasn’t your problem.

“Right,” Harley nodded slowly.

“And… I’m telling you this-” Tony continued, weirdly defensive all of a sudden, talking a little too fast, “-because I figured it’s better than just disappearing like last time.”

Harley looked at him for a moment, not sure how to respond.

“Did Pepper tell you I freaked out?” he asked, half-smirking.

“No. I mean, not exactly,” Tony said, mildly offended. “But she might’ve… mentioned. Suggested.” He scratched the side of his neck, exactly the way Harley did when he was nervous. “Strongly.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” Harley rolled his eyes. Not at Pepper. You couldn’t really be mad at Pepper. Maybe a little. Okay, a tiny bit.

They sat in silence for a moment. Harley still slouched in his chair, Tony finally sinking onto the edge of the bed like standing was physically painful.

“Look,” Tony said, exhaling a bit as he sat, “I’m not great at the whole… sharing information, being a responsible adult thing. But you live here now. So you should know when I’m gone.”

“Yeah. Makes sense,” Harley nodded again, quieter this time.

More silence. Tony looked at the gutted speaker on the desk.

“You rewinding the crossover?” he asked, gesturing toward the tangle of wire and copper coils.

“Uh... yeah,” Harley said, giving him a surprised glance.

“Not the worst soldering I’ve ever seen,” Tony commented, tilting his head.

“...Was that supposed to be a compliment?” Harley frowned.

“I said not the worst,” Tony said seriously.

They both laughed a little. The air got easier after that.

“How’s school?” Tony asked, maybe riding the wave of one successful interaction.

“Terrible.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Spanish.”

Tony groaned and let his head drop.

“Never took Spanish,” he said, and Harley raised an eyebrow. Just because Tony never took Spanish didn’t mean he wouldn’t still somehow ace it. “You’re on your own with that one, kid.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Harley muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

Tony looked mildly caught off guard by that, like the word landed a little differently than he expected.

“Anyway,” he said, standing up and giving Harley a light pat on the shoulder, “I’ll be back in a few days. Happy’ll be around. You’ve got Pep. And JARVIS is always watching.”

“Creepy, but sure,” Harley muttered.

Tony gave him a look that was probably meant to be meaningful but ended up somewhere between dry and awkward.

“You’ll be okay.”

“Yeah,” Harley nodded, watching him. “You too.”

Tony left.

Harley sat there for a minute, just staring at the door like he was trying to figure out what had just happened. He had no idea what exactly Pepper had said to make Tony actually tell him something for once, to actually loop him in.

But… whatever it was, it was working.

And Harley told himself everything was fine. That he wasn’t worried. That he wasn’t spiraling. There was no reason to spiral. He couldn’t be worried, because being worried would mean something was wrong, and everything was not wrong.

Mostly. Sort of.

Tony had told him. Looked him in the eye and said he was leaving. That had to count for something. That was what Harley had asked for. What he’d argued for. Honesty. Transparency. Not being kept in the dark like some dumb kid. And that meant something. It really did.

Just apparently not to his nervous system.

Knowing Tony wasn’t out partying or trying to convince a government to buy a self-flying hot tub or something should’ve helped. But the fact that he was god knows where, probably on the other side of the planet or in space or at the bottom of the ocean or wherever the hell Avengers missions dragged them, was sitting squarely on Harley’s chest.

He’d eaten breakfast like normal. Brushed his teeth. Wished Pepper a good day. Even made a crappy joke to Happy on the way to school.

Then he spent the whole school day vibrating like he was the one hooked up to the arc reactor. He wasn’t trying to be annoying, but he couldn’t stop talking. Or thinking. Or twitching. He buzzed like a live wire.

His skin felt too tight, like it was about to split, and his thoughts kept leaking out sideways.

By third period he’d already snapped two pencils drumming them on the edge of his desk. In fourth, he was trying so hard not to think that he didn’t hear Mr. Dell calling his name. And by fifth-physics, which Harley actually liked-he completely overshot it.

He was halfway through solving the assigned problems before Mrs. Warren finished explaining the instructions.

“Stark,” she said, eyeing his bouncing knee. “Would you mind solving problem one on the board?”

Harley stood up without hesitation, grabbed the marker, and tossed his thumb over the cap.

“Would I mind?” he said, raising a brow. “Never.”

He heard a few classmates roll their eyes. Almost literally heard it.

He scribbled down the solution fast and clean and, yeah, totally correct. Then he turned around and held his hands up like ta-da.

“You’re rounding wrong,” Mrs. Warren said flatly. “We agreed on three significant figures back in September.”

“Ugh, fine,” Harley groaned and dramatically wiped the board. He adjusted two numbers and erased one. “Still right.”

“That’s not the point.”

“The point is I was right.”

A few kids snorted. Mrs. Warren gave him a long look, mouth tight.

“Back to your seat.”

Harley gave a little theatrical bow, the kind that said I know I’m the smartest person in the room. And somewhere in the back of his head, he knew he wasn’t trying to be that guy. The guy who acted like a jerk because he was falling apart. But he was that guy anyway.

Because his dad was off doing something dangerous. Probably reckless. And Harley had to pretend he was totally cool with that.

He dropped back into his seat, jaw clenched, arms crossed. Not spiraling.

Mrs. Warren started explaining problem two. Harley raised his hand.

“You know, there’s actually a cleaner way to solve that if you rearrange the continuity equations a bit.”

“I’m aware,” Mrs. Warren said patiently. “But we’re following the method in your textbook, which will help with more generalized problems.”

“I get that,” Harley said, rocking his chair a little. “But isn’t that like… wasting time on horse-and-buggy math when you’ve got a hovercar in the garage? Not that I have a hovercar. But, like. Metaphorically. Sort of like if-”

“Stark.”

“Right. Sorry,” Harley muttered.

He managed to stay quiet for maybe five seconds. Maybe.

“I mean, seriously, though, I could show you the cleaner version. It’s way more efficient and honestly just prettier.”

“Stark.”

“Warren,” Harley said, grinning and leaning forward like he was making some great pitch. “Come on. You don’t want to raise a generation of theoretical physicists who take the easy way out, right?”

That one got a decent laugh from the room.

“Do you want three days of detention, or four?” she said dryly.

The laughter died instantly. Harley shut his mouth with a click.

“Wait, really?” he said after a beat. “I get punished for being right? For raising the academic bar?”

“For being disruptive. Constantly. And for refusing to let this class function like a classroom,” Mrs. Warren replied, underlining the correct answer on the board. “Room B12. Three afternoons.”

“Wow,” Harley muttered, rolling his eyes. “Cool. Love censorship.”

“If you keep flapping your mouth, I’ll make it four.”

He slouched down in his chair, grinning like it didn’t bother him. Like it was all part of some genius plan. It wasn’t. But playing it off like it was, like he meant to end up in detention, that was easier than just admitting he was freaking out.

Not that detention was new. He’d practically lived in detention back at his old school. But that was before.

Now he was sweating like a rat and couldn’t breathe right because Tony still hadn’t texted. Still hadn’t called. Everything about it sucked. Physics made sense. Everything else didn’t.

So yeah, he defaulted to Stark mode.

Loud. Confident. Smarter than everyone else. Harley had spent years pretending that wasn’t his defense mechanism. Pretending he wasn’t just like his dad. But even when the slip for detention landed on his desk, he smiled like it was just another win. Because being a Stark was easier than being scared.

But detention still sucked.

Three days in Room B12 with a bunch of kids who didn’t give a crap about school or had made enough bad choices to end up there. Not that Harley lumped himself in with them.

He tried to keep his head down. Tried to stay busy. Because if he let himself slow down, let the silence creep in, his brain would start throwing images at him. Stuff like: Dad bleeding out, Dad dying somewhere far away, Dad not coming back.

On day one, he actually tried doing some chem homework and listening to music. But apparently electronics weren’t allowed in detention. His headphones got confiscated after fifteen minutes, and trying to focus on acid-base reactions barely kept his brain from spiraling.

So by the second day, he came in prepared.

Though, honestly? By the second day, he’d already started settling into it all a bit more. Falling into that classic mental shutdown he always had whenever something was going on with his dad.

He’d brought a copy of Frankenstein, one that had been soaked through at least three times, but in the end didn’t even open it. Instead, he bounced between math problems, an article about Soviet engineering disasters, probably fifteen texts from Jason asking how his rotting in detention was going, and trying to translate a Spanish paragraph that definitely hated him personally.

“Do you ever turn it off?” said a voice from his right.

“What?” Harley didn’t look up.

“Your brain,” the voice clarified. “Do you have a setting that isn’t complete overload?”

Harley turned his head. A girl in a black hoodie, her notebook barely holding itself together, and a face like she was constantly daring the world to test her

“Is this…like…your idea of small talk?” he asked, twirling his pencil between his fingers.

“I’m bored,” she said, flopping halfway over the back of her chair. “You seem funny. In a weird, nerd-ragey kind of way.”

“I’m Harley,” he muttered, trying to ignore the way she looked at him.

“Don’t worry. I know who you are,” she replied. “I’m Michelle. MJ, if you’re lazy.”

“Right,” Harley said with a dry smile. “Because of my last name?”

“No,” MJ said. “Because you’re obviously doing that thing where you pretend not to care that you’re here, but it’s painfully clear you do care.”

“Okay,” Harley sat up straighter. “Wow. Just, okay. You figured that out from me not wanting to chat during detention?”

“That, and the fact that you’re doing three types of assignments while muttering to yourself about thermodynamic loops,” she said, not missing a beat. “Very subtle.”

“You a teenage psychologist or something?” Harley squinted at her.

“Oh, no,” she said, clearly amused. “Just good at people-watching.”

“That’s concerning.”

“Thank you.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“You put on a good show,” she said eventually, going back to doodling in her notebook. “That whole arrogant-genius thing. It’s cute.”

“...Is that a compliment?” Harley asked, thrown off.

“Observation,” she shrugged.

Harley didn’t know what to say, so he just went back to whatever math mess he was in the middle of. MJ seemed to focus on her sketching for real this time.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re okay, by the way,” she said out of nowhere.

“I’ve had worse weeks,” Harley said, honestly trying to focus on factoring quadratics.

But the next day, she sat beside him again and gave him a donut. And also showed him a terrible caricature she’d drawn of him with the word “NERD” scribbled above his head in lightning bolts.

And honestly? Harley kind of wished there’d been a fourth day of detention. Not that either of them would’ve said it. But when she smacked him in the arm on their way out, he pretty much understood she’d been just as glad they’d sat together.

By Monday, Harley felt better. Not great, but better.

Mondays were loud, chaotic, and full of Jason trying to convince Tyler to help him skip gym.

Harley was poking at his lunch, half-listening to their nonsense, his knee bouncing like it had a mind of its own. He hadn’t really stopped moving since last week. Didn’t want to.

“I’m telling you,” Jason said around a mouthful of carrot sticks, “if you hit me hard enough in the knee with one of those PVC pipes from shop class, I could totally use that.”

“That’s not how fake injuries work,” Tyler replied, deadpan.

“Not with that attitude,” Jason muttered.

Harley rolled his eyes and looked around the cafeteria. MJ was sitting at her usual spot. Alone. Reading. A bruised apple sitting next to her elbow.

Harley stood up before he even thought about it. Something tugged in his chest.

“No. No. Absolutely not. You traitor-” Jason said, clutching his heart.

“You simp,” added Tyler, following his gaze.

Jason looked around like he was only just realizing Harley was actually leaving.

“Oh my God,” he gasped. “You’re going to sit with MJ. You’re leaving us for your goth girlfriend?”

“She’s not my-” Harley cut himself off, already regretting reacting at all. “I just-”

“Tell her we said hi,” Jason stage-whispered. “Ask her if she’d ever consider a four-way.”

“Dude,” Tyler elbowed him.

“I meant lunch. Jesus Christ.”

Harley ignored them and kept walking.

“We had a bond!” Jason shouted after him, and Harley could feel his ears go red.

“Hey,” he said, standing by her table, waiting a beat for her to look up. “Is this seat taken?”

MJ raised an eyebrow, amused.

“You survived the weekend,” she said, nodding him in. “Congrats. I thought spontaneous combustion was on the table.”

“It was a real possibility,” Harley replied, resting his chin on his forearms.

They sat in silence for a while. Harley kind of regretted not bringing his tray with him.

“They’re staring at you,” MJ said eventually.

“I know,” Harley sighed, tilting his head to look at her. “Sorry about that.”

“Not your dork friends,” she clarified, nodding toward the other end of the cafeteria where the swim team sat. “Your jock buddies.”

“Yeah... that checks out,” he said. “I’ve made peace with my fate.”

“They’re gonna ask if I’ve marked my territory,” MJ said completely flat.

“Jesus Christ,” Harley groaned, burying his face in his arms.

“Relax,” she said, clearly entertained. “Honestly, I’m flattered.”

“Do you always sit alone?” he asked after a pause.

“I always sit somewhere quiet,” she said, giving him a look.

“This is a cafeteria,” he pointed out.

“I live in a state of constant compromise,” she sighed.

Harley laughed quietly. MJ nudged him with her elbow and gestured toward the windows.

“See those two?”

Harley looked. Two boys were sitting at the far table. One way too skinny and practically vibrating, the other shorter and talking with his whole body.

“Peter Parker and Ned Leeds,” MJ said. “Biggest weirdos on Earth. Absolute chaos. Very interesting.”

“I think I’ve got Spanish with them,” Harley said slowly. “Leeds lets me copy homework sometimes. Parker talks to the teacher like they’re best friends.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “That’s kinda their brand. Nerds. But like... sincere ones. I’m sort of rooting for them.”

“You,” Harley smirked. “Rooting for people?”

“Shut up,” she said flatly. So Harley shut up.

“You ever skipped before?” she asked casually.

“Class?” Harley blinked.

“No, a moral obligation,” she rolled her eyes. “Yes, class.”

“I mean... I used to,” he said, a little unsure. “At my old school.”

“Well, you’re not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy,” she murmured. “It’s a beautiful afternoon. Seems like a waste.”

“You’re saying we should skip fifth and sixth period?” Harley clarified.

“You’re radiating unhinged energy,” MJ said. “You clearly need a break before your brain eats itself.”

“Are you volunteering to babysit me?”

“I find you interesting,” she said, turning to him.

“You’re weird,” Harley said, then stood up and grabbed his backpack. “Let’s ditch.”

“That’s the spirit,” MJ grinned, standing too.

“Use protection,” Jason called as they walked past, and Harley fully expected Tyler to hit him, but instead Tyler just grinned.

“He’s in love!” Jason added a second later.

Harley didn’t look back. MJ tossed him her apple, bruised, barely touched, but it was still a nice gesture.

The air outside was sharp. One of those afternoons where everything smelled like roasted nuts and summer rotting in the gutter.

At first, they didn’t talk much. Just walked-nowhere in particular, pushing into the wind that kept picking up. The city buzzed: taxis honked, dogs barked, steam rose from vents and manholes like ghosts.

“So,” Harley said eventually. “This is what you do when you skip school? Wander around aimlessly?”

“You don’t like walking?” she raised an eyebrow.

“I just assumed ditching class would involve more illegal stuff. Minor offenses. Maybe a little petty theft,” he shrugged.

“Give us time,” she grinned, pulling him across the street and flipping off the driver who honked at them. Harley shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“No idea,” she tossed back. “But I kinda assumed the billionaire’s kid would have some secret hideout. Weird lighting. Suspiciously good Wi-Fi.”

“Funny,” he said flatly.

“Am I wrong?”

“No,” Harley muttered. “I mean… yeah, no, I don’t have a hideout.”

Eventually they ended up in this tiny used bookstore crammed between a smoothie bar and a dry cleaner. It smelled like ink and what Harley would’ve called mildew, but MJ immediately dubbed it the scent of secrets. He considered buying a worn-out sci-fi collection just because the cover had a cowboy robot on it. MJ flipped through at least six super questionable poetry books, all while narrating her thoughts on the music playing in the background.

Then they wandered around Central Park for a while. Harley tossed a few coins into a fountain but didn’t make any wishes. MJ gave a dramatic play-by-play of a squirrel fight like it was a Shakespearean tragedy. They sat on a bench for a bit. It felt a little like when Harley used to roam around with Gene, but calmer. Less like he was on the edge of something.

“So what’s your deal?” MJ asked eventually.

“You already psychoanalyzed me,” Harley shrugged.

“You said yes to hanging out today,” she replied. “Which means some part of you wants to talk to someone.”

They were quiet for a beat.

“I’m not used to it,” he mumbled.

“To talking to people?” she frowned.

“To being… here. And it being like this,” he explained.

“That’s pretty concerning,” MJ said softly.

Harley laughed under his breath.

“Whole life in a dorm,” he said. “Chaos, independence, people who knew me, you know? No adults, no dad, just…like living on another planet. And now it’s New York…”

“You’ll survive,” she said, patting his knee.

They walked some more. Back alleys, weird little bridges, watching the city shift from its afternoon rush into that glowing hour right before dinner. Harley bought food from a truck, two knishes and a Coke to share. MJ stole the whole soda, but Harley didn’t really mind.

By the time he walked her to the subway, the sun was basically gone and the air smelled like smoke and pretzels from a cart somewhere nearby.

“That was fun,” MJ said, like she hadn’t just convinced him to cut class.

“Yeah,” Harley leaned against a pillar. “Unexpected. But fun.”

“So,” she said, glancing at him sideways. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe I’ll sit with you,” she shrugged. “At lunch. If your gremlins don’t bite.”

“They bark,” Harley grinned. “But they don’t bite.”

“Noted,” she said with a straight face.

She waved at him from the train window. Harley actually smiled.

And kept smiling most of the way home.

By the time Harley got back to the apartment, it was well past six. His shoes were soaked,  he'd stepped in a puddle right before walking in, and he was pretty sure he smelled like the city. He hung his jacket by the elevator and headed toward the kitchen.

“Hey,” he said, walking up to Pepper, who was doing something salad-related. “I’m back.”

“Hey, sweetheart!” she smiled over her shoulder. “How was school?”

“You ever have one of those days where it feels like the universe has officially stopped producing the exact food you’re craving?” he asked, collapsing onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.

Pepper just gave him a look.

“You know,” he added with a shrug and a small smile. “Same old. Bio test was brutal, but it’s bio. Oh, and we had a lockdown drill or active shooter practice or something for half an hour. But Jason convinced a freshman that putting a math textbook on his head would work like a helmet, so honestly? Win.”

“That’s it?” she asked, turning toward him with one of those raised-eyebrow looks, part curious, part suspicious.

“Uh… yeah,” he said, flashing a harmless smile. “Why?”

“You remember I’m flying out to San Francisco tomorrow?” she asked gently. “Two nights?”

“Yeah,” Harley said quickly, though he frowned. “You told me.”

“Just wanted to check,” she said, still soft. “Make sure you're okay with that.”

Harley leaned forward and yawned. “Yeah. Totally. I’ll be fine.”

“Also,” Pepper said, tilting her head. “The school called.”

Harley froze.

“They asked if everything’s okay at home,” she went on calmly. “Apparently you were missing for half the day… and last week you had three days of detention.”

“They actually called?” he asked, wincing.

“They actually called,” she confirmed.

There was a moment of silence where Harley stared very intently at the pattern in the countertop.

“So, maybe today was a little less normal than advertised,” he said carefully. “But I’m fine. It’s nothing. I was just… distracted.”

“Because your dad left?”

Harley glanced at her from under his lashes. Then just nodded.

Pepper leaned on the counter so they were almost forehead to forehead.

“Honestly, sweetheart,” she said with a sigh, “I’m not sure I should go. I don’t like the idea of leaving you here alone if you’re having a hard time.”

Harley sat up straight and backed off instinctively, folding his arms.

“I’m not having a hard time,” he said defensively, then sighed. “Okay, I mean, sure, maybe today was a little weird. And yeah, last week I kind of mouthed off in physics. But it’s not like I’m falling apart.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow again.

“I know,” he said, a little more frustrated. “I know it’s not ideal. But it’s not like I’m doing heroin under a bridge or, I don’t know, joining a gang. I just…”

He puffed out his cheeks, then let the air out.

“I met someone,” he added quickly. “A friend. A girl.”

“A girl?” Pepper looked genuinely surprised.

“She’s great,” Harley said, warming up to the subject. “Kinda weird, but like… smart weird. We talk. She sees through me, which is new, but kind of cool.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time together?” Pepper asked, her tone less serious now.

“Not a lot, just… enough? We ditched school today, that’s it. And nothing shady or sketchy stuff. We just wandered around, hung out. It was kinda… grounding, I guess.”

“Grounding?” she echoed gently.

“Yeah,” he nodded, smiling a little. “It’s not like it was with Olivia, but I think she gets it. That whole thing people say where it’s okay not to be okay.”

Pepper’s expression softened even more, and Harley could tell she filed the name Olivia away for later interrogation.

“I’m flying out tomorrow night,” she said. “So we’ll still have time in the morning. I can push the flight if I need to. But Harley, if anything feels even a little off, I want you to call me. Or Happy. Or Rhodey. Or Tony, wherever the hell he is.”

“Got it,” Harley nodded quickly.

“And no more cutting class.”

“I swear,” he said solemnly, like he was making some kind of sacred vow.

Pepper shook her head, but her smile was way more relaxed now.

“You’re impossible.”

“Apparently I get that from my dad,” Harley shot back breezily, and Pepper actually laughed.

When Harley got home the next day, the apartment was quiet.
Not normal quiet, off. Still in a way that made the walls feel too wide, too clean.
The lights were off. The suitcase that had been sitting by the elevator that morning was gone.

Pepper had left.

There was a note on the kitchen counter, weighed down with a coffee mug.
Call me if anything comes up. I’ll be back Thursday. Love you xP.

He stared at it for a second too long, like it might suddenly say something else.
It didn’t.

The apartment felt… emptier. Like now that he knew no one else was there, it all just echoed louder.

He ate the noodles she’d left him in the fridge, half-watched something on TV, opened and closed a bunch of apps, then gave up and went to bed.
Just quiet.

Sometime after two a.m., a sound woke him.

A soft click. Sharp. Inside. Not the elevator, not the wind. Inside.

He shot up, heart hammering in his throat.

His eyes tried to focus through the dark, brain already spiraling. Someone was in the apartment.
A thief? A stalker? Something worse?

“JARVIS?” he whispered.

“Yes, Harley?” The AI’s voice was smooth and calm like always.

“Is someone in here?”

“Yes,” JARVIS answered. Then a pause. “One of the registered residents.”

“…What?” Harley blinked into the dark.

His stomach did a weird flip.

What the hell?

Tony was home?

Harley tossed the blanket off and crept barefoot toward the sound. Down the internal staircase, past the hallway, and to the private workshop.

The door was open just a crack, enough to see inside.

Tony was there.

Sitting on a bench. Shirt off. Shoulders hunched. Breathing hard through his nose, like every breath scraped its way out.

His right side was crusted with dried blood, a nasty gash winding around his upper arm. He was cleaning it one-handed, the other digging through the med kit. His fingers shook.

Harley stood frozen.

Tony looked like hell. Pale. Exhausted. Hands trembling. Scattered bruises and cuts on his skin. But Harley couldn’t stop staring at his chest, at the place where the arc reactor used to be.

There was a scar now. Not a clean one. Not healed.

It was jagged, uneven. The skin pulled and raised, like something had been ripped out and the body just never figured out how to recover.

Harley’s throat went dry. His eyes burned.

He knew the reactor was gone. Tony had told him. Vaguely, half-explaining it with the kind of tone that said don’t ask more.

But seeing it…

That scar said more than Tony ever had.

His dad had died once.

And now it looked like he’d barely made it back again.

Harley stepped back slowly, careful not to make a sound.
His gut twisted with guilt and something heavier he couldn’t name.

He slipped back into his room, shut the door quietly, and slid down to the floor, back pressed against the wood.

He wrapped his arms around his knees and stared at nothing.

He didn’t know what to do with what he’d just seen.

He didn’t want to see it. He wasn’t supposed to.

His thoughts buzzed like static.

For the past few years, he’d been stuck somewhere between pissed off and worn out. Mad that Tony disappeared. Mad that he came back. Mad that he kept Harley in the dark. Mad that he said weird half-truths. He wanted Tony to try, but also to protect him. But also not lie. But also not scare him.

Tony had acted like an asshole sometimes.

And all this time, Harley had just been…

Angry.

And Tony had been…

Bleeding.

Carrying scars.

Coming home in the middle of the night like he didn’t want anyone to see him fall apart.

Harley’s stomach twisted again. He looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep the room from spinning.

He didn’t want to see his dad like that. Wrecked. Breaking down alone.

It made him feel small.

How the hell had he been acting like a kid, mad that Tony wasn’t some perfect dad - when the guy looked like someone had ripped out his heart and stitched him back together with rusted wire?

He hugged his knees tighter and rested his forehead on them.

He told himself he wasn’t going to cry.

And he hated himself for even wanting to.

Because he had no right.

When Harley dragged himself out of his room in the morning, the apartment smelled like coffee and something sweet. All the lights were on.

He rubbed his face and shuffled into the kitchen, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair doing its best impression of a small natural disaster. His brain was barely online.

Tony was by the stove.

Wearing a Metalica T-shirt, holding a whisk in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other.

A bandage peeked out from under his sleeve. His wrist looked swollen. He looked like he did this every day.

“Well look who survived another global crisis and remembered how to use a stove,” Tony said, flipping a pancake with way too much energy for seven in the morning. He set the whisk down with a flourish. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”

Harley blinked. Not just from the brightness.

The last time Tony had made him pancakes, he was maybe ten.

And now here he was…smiling. Like nothing had happened.

Harley stood in the doorway a second too long. Maybe stared a beat too much. He hadn’t expected to see him there.

Making breakfast. Cracking jokes.

Not after how he looked last night.

Not after the blood. The bruises. The scar.

But now Tony had his armor on.

The other armor. The one where he acted like everything was fine.

Harley cleared his throat and sat at the kitchen island.

“I made pancakes,” Tony announced unnecessarily, sliding two onto a plate and putting it in front of him. “Might be slightly inconsistent, but that’s on brand.”

“Thanks,” Harley muttered, stiffly. He dropped his backpack on the floor. “You didn’t have to.”

“I’m testing out this thing called being a tolerable roommate,” Tony said, pouring more batter into the pan. “Early results are mixed. You sleep okay?”

“Yeah. Fine,” Harley said.

Tony glanced over his shoulder. “You’re acting weird.”

“Thanks…” Harley tensed up. “You, uh… you got in late.”

“Yeah.” Tony’s voice was casual, but his shoulders tightened. “Had to make a pit stop. Cracked a rib. Vacation souvenirs. Didn’t wanna wake you.”

“You didn’t,” Harley lied.

Tony raised an eyebrow but didn’t press.

“You’re suspiciously… polite,” he noted. “We’ve been in the same room for three  minutes and you haven’t rolled your eyes once. Are you dying?”

“No, I just…” Harley shook his head. “You cooked. I’m being grateful. Shut up.”

Tony chuckled. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine.”

Tony turned off the stove and leaned on the counter, looking down at him.

“Listen,” he said, quieter now. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to count on. I’m not exactly winning any Father of the Year awards, or month. Or, like, ever. But I’m trying, okay?”

Harley looked up cautiously. He didn’t answer. Didn’t trust his voice.
All he could think about was the bandages. The scar.

He suddenly felt too hot in his sweater.

“My old man never told me anything,” Tony said with a crooked half-smile. “Ever. But I’m trying to break the cycle, you know? The whole expectations without explanations thing. I figured if I talk to you instead of ignoring you, I’m not turning into him.”

Harley blinked hard and looked down. The pancake blurred in front of him.

“You’re not him,” Harley said quietly.

Tony let out a dry laugh, a little surprised. “Huh. Well. Breaking cycles is harder than it looks.” He tapped his fingers against the counter. “But I really am trying. If that counts for anything.”

“It counts for a lot,” Harley said, swallowing thickly.

“Good.” Tony held his gaze a moment longer.

They sat in silence. Not awkward, exactly. But not easy, either.

Eventually, Tony turned back to the stove. “Alright. Go make your teachers’ lives harder.”

Harley stood and grabbed his bag.

“And no more detentions, smartass,” Tony added as Harley reached the elevator.

“I’ll try!” Harley called back, trying not to think about how weirdly normal that sounded. “See you later!”

Chapter Text

Thanksgiving was coming up fast, and Harley had no idea how to feel about it or what the hell he was supposed to do with himself. Which, honestly, was frustrating. Because he knew Thanksgiving was a thing. It came every year. It wasn’t a surprise.

He was trying not to panic.

But the closer it got, the tighter something twisted in his chest.

Pepper had asked him at least three times what he wanted for dinner. Tony had been double-checking the date practically once a day, like Harley might forget or like he was proving he really would be home this time.

Harley smiled, nodded, went back to whatever he was doing.

This was going to be their first real Thanksgiving together since he was…what, eight? No, seven. And then, he’d been a scrawny little kid. The Malibu house had paper turkeys in the windows, JARVIS had streamed Planes, Trains and Automobiles, and Harley had passed out on Tony’s chest like it was no big deal.

But a lot had changed since then.

Thanksgiving had turned into just another Thursday.

Pepper usually stopped by the weekend before. Sometimes with Happy, sometimes solo. Rhodey and Obie would swing through around the same time, usually with snacks or movies they never finished and little gifts in their jacket pockets. One year, Happy brought him a pie. Probably when Harley had that sprained wrist.

Gene’s parents invited him more than once. He always said no. Said he’d stay in the dorms. Said he didn’t mind.

He liked listening to teachers trying to make kids feel better about being left behind.

Tony never came. Not once.

There was always a reason. Press stuff, board meetings, overseas trips, or some save-the-world mission. Harley always shrugged, said it didn’t bother him. And most of the time, it didn’t. Or he pretended well enough that it didn’t.

But now they lived together.

This year, they were supposed to be a family.

Just the three of them. Pepper, Tony, and Harley.

His dad would probably sit at the head of the table, throwing out jokes. There’d be candles. A turkey. Happy and Rhodey were dropping by later for dessert or maybe a drink. Nothing huge. No guest list, no matching napkins. Still, it felt kind of official.

And Harley had no idea what to do with that.

He tried not to overthink it. Tried to make sure everything was just right.

He kept quiet about the holiday at school. Didn’t say a word to Jason or Tyler. Not even MJ. Even though they definitely noticed something was off. He was fidgety, clicking his pen too much, tripping over jokes at lunch, walking too fast between classes. Spending more time in the pool than his coach asked him to.

MJ gave him a look like she knew, but he didn’t explain.

He didn’t know how to talk about it without sounding stupid.

Didn’t know how to describe that weird hollow-sick feeling that sat behind his ribs.

All he knew was that he wanted it to go okay.

He didn’t want to screw it up.

He wanted to be good. Helpful. Chill. Wanted to belong.

So he was extra careful.

More focused.

Trying not to slide back into his usual raccoon-goblin self.

He said please and thank you more than usual. Didn’t roll his eyes when Tony made corny jokes. Helped clean the kitchen. Even offered to run to the store for last-minute groceries-despite having no clue what a butternut squash looked like in the wild.

Pepper gave him a too-knowing smile, but she didn’t ask if he was okay, so that was technically a win.

Harley skipped the whole holiday greetings thing.

Just shot Gene a quick text.

Harley: Happy Turkey Day! Tell your folks thanks again. Hope everything goes smooth this year.

Gene: Mom says you’re still invited. Bring cranberry sauce and some of that Harley charm.

Harley laughed.

There was a year he almost said yes.

And after spending spring break with them, he kind of regretted not going.
But next year? He still turned them down.

Maybe some part of him was still clinging to the idea that Tony might show up.

But now he had shown up.

Now Harley was in New York. In the penthouse. With a dad who, for better or worse, had made him pancakes last week and was supposed to carve a turkey tomorrow.

And Harley didn’t know what that meant.

He just knew he really didn’t want to ruin it.

So when MJ asked if he wanted to hang out Wednesday night, he said he was busy.
Dodged Jason’s plan to go people-watch at JFK.

Left Tyler on read.

He was scared that if he spent too much time with them, he’d let something slip. Something soft and cracked and real, like how much it mattered that Tony was actually here.

Thanksgiving morning was suspiciously quiet.

Pepper had been in the kitchen since sunrise, humming something Harley definitely recognized but couldn’t name. Tony was knocked out on the couch, either asleep or pretending, probably recharging for the evening or catching up after another sleepless night.

There wasn’t much left to do. The apartment smelled like cinnamon and roasted vegetables.

Harley didn’t want to get in the way.

Which left him alone with his thoughts.

Statistically, not ideal.

Without really deciding to, he ended up staring at a contact in his phone.
One he thought he’d only ever use if things went really sideways.
And even then, probably not.

Carson (do not pick up)

The phone rang.

And then it rang again.

“Stark,” came Mr. Carson’s voice. Dry and just a little concerned, though it was half-covered with an attempt at sounding amused. “To what do I owe this honor? Don’t tell me you finally read The Tempest and just had to share your insights?”

“I read it like three years ago,” Harley snorted.

“You skimmed it. Barely. Don’t lie to me,” Carson replied. “You called Prospero a weird cross between Batman and Merlin.”

“And I stand by that take,” Harley said without missing a beat.

“God help me,” Carson muttered. Then, a little more gently, “Happy Thanksgiving, kid. Big day. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Harley said way too quickly. “Just figured I’d check in. See how you’re doing.”

Carson let the silence sit for a second.

“Right,” he said at last. “Because you’re known for your spontaneous check-ins.”

Harley stifled a laugh and glanced out the window. New York was gray, cold, and already familiar.

“I just wanted to say hey,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Mhm,” Carson replied calmly. “And that has nothing to do with you spending your first Thanksgiving with your dad since… what, Obama’s first term?”

“Oh no, Bush still had a year left when it last happened,” Harley shot back dryly.

“Ah. Right.”

“It’s weird, but I’m not like, freaking out,” Harley added, trying to sound chill.

“Of course not.”

“I don’t know,” he admitted eventually. “Last year I ate mashed potatoes out of a cardboard container and told Jamie about a fight I had with Olivia. Now I live here. And everyone’s acting like this is normal. Like we’re some big happy family…”

“You’re not great with normal,” Carson said easily.

“I can do normal,” Harley argued.

“You can fake normal. You’d ace it if it were a test. But that’s not the same thing,” Carson replied gently, but firmly. “So now you’re sitting there pretending everything’s fine because it’s easier than asking yourself what you actually want from all this.”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to feel,” Harley admitted. “I’m not mad. I mean, yeah...but also I kind of just feel empty? And I keep thinking I’m gonna say something dumb or act weird and blow it all up before dessert. I don’t wanna mess this up. But I also don’t wanna expect anything. I don’t want it to be awkward.”

“Kid, you are awkward,” Carson said. “And that’s your charm. Trust me, if anyone makes it weird, it’ll be your dad. You don’t have enough firepower to ruin a Stark family holiday. That probably takes precedent.”

Harley let out a quiet laugh-but then his smile faded, guilt creeping in.

“I feel like I’m supposed to feel something else. Like I should hate him more. Or be more excited. Or... something. But mostly it just feels like I don’t know the rules. Or which version of myself I’m supposed to be today.”

“Kid,” Carson said, even softer, “you don’t have to know. And you don’t have to turn today into some big symbolic event. You don’t need to prove anything. Just... be there. You’re allowed to feel weird and happy and unsure and all of it at the same time.”

“Thanks,” Harley said quietly, eyes drifting shut for a second.

“I’ve seen you write essays on books you never opened using only your charm and half-baked secondhand summaries. You can handle a turkey.”

“That’s so not the same and you know it,” Harley muttered.

“No,” Carson agreed. “But you know what is the same? You get scared, and then you start performing. You put up this buffer of charm and sarcasm so no one sees the soft parts. You’ve done it since the day you walked into my classroom. Probably before that.”

He paused, then added, “Sometimes you don’t have to perform. Or win the room. Sometimes it’s enough just to show up.”

Harley didn’t answer right away. The silence started stretching.

“Don’t tell anyone I called you on Thanksgiving and got all emotionally vulnerable.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Stark,” Carson laughed. “Always here if you need. Now go. Be weird. Eat too much. Have fun. It’s gonna be fine. It always is, eventually.”

Harley ended the call and sat there a second, just breathing. It’s not like he suddenly felt fixed, but... he did feel a little better.

Dinner itself was completely different than he’d imagined-and somehow exactly like he remembered it could be. The apartment looked like a page out of a lifestyle magazine. Mason jars with candles, mismatched mugs, colorful napkins. Nothing fancy. No catering, no showboating.

When Harley wandered into the kitchen at the agreed time, Pepper was deep in prep mode, wearing an oversized sweater and laughing as Tony refused to move out of her way, complaining that cranberry sauce shouldn’t hold the shape of the can.

“Tony,” Pepper warned as he stole another roasted carrot off the tray, kissing her cheek at the same time. She didn’t seem mad, though.

“Mhm,” Tony mumbled, now sticking a finger into the stuffing and licking it with exaggerated flair. “Just making sure nothing’s poisonous. Head of the household duties.”

Harley smiled quietly to himself.

“Touch that stuffing again,” Pepper warned, brandishing a fork, “and you won’t live to see the turkey.”

“This is that warm holiday spirit everyone keeps raving about?” Tony winked at Harley, who smiled again but didn’t answer-just shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned against the doorway.

It wasn’t that their dynamic bothered him. Over the past few months, he’d gotten used to seeing them as a real couple, not some abstract idea, and he’d adjusted to the rhythm they had together. But watching them now, circling each other in their kitchen, joking, bumping elbows, stealing kisses while setting the table in their home... Harley felt both a little more like an outsider and a little more... warm inside.

“Sweet or dry cider, honey?” Pepper asked, holding up two bottles. “ Or are you planning to sneak some wine from the decanter and pretend we didn’t notice half a glass missing?”

Harley rolled his eyes. “Dry,” he said. “I’ll skip the wine.”

“What a grown man,” Tony declared, looping an arm around Pepper from behind and absolutely getting in her way. “Dry cider, shirt with buttons…”

For a second, Harley thought Tony was about to say something else. But he just sighed and went back to bugging Pepper.

“Smells amazing,” Harley said finally, deciding to act like a semi-normal person. “Are we eating?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony replied, giving him a mock-serious look. “Unless you wanna say grace or something-in which case, I can try to pretend I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, no, I’ll pass,” Harley mumbled, sliding into what had unofficially become his usual seat-though calling it usual felt weird, since they almost never used the actual table.

Still, tonight, they did.

The first few minutes were a little quiet. But then things eased up.

Harley complimented everything. Twice. Tony told some ridiculous story about how he’d tried to deep-fry a turkey during college and nearly burned down half of MIT. Pepper rolled her eyes so hard Harley actually laughed out loud. And somewhere between the gravy and the second round of mashed potatoes, Harley realized something strange:

He felt safe.

The way Pepper and Tony looked at each other too long, or held hands without even noticing, was… steadying. Like gravity. Like something solid in a world that mostly spun too fast.

After everyone had gone back for seconds, Harley started clearing the plates without being asked. He helped pack up the leftovers, put things away, wiped down the counter.

“You good, sweetheart?” Pepper asked softly, bumping her hip into his while they stood at the counter.

“You’ve been pretty quiet tonight.”

“I was eating,” Harley said, rolling his eyes. “And trying to be helpful.”

Pepper gave him one of her long, knowing looks. The kind that said I know that’s a lie, but I’ll let it slide. Then she reached up, gave the back of his neck a gentle squeeze, and kissed him on the temple.

“Happy and Rhodey should be here in about twenty minutes,” Tony called out, walking into the kitchen and hopping up onto the island like it was perfectly normal. “Fair warning, Happy’s bringing a pie he’s been bragging about like he baked it himself…”

“We’ll act appropriately impressed,” Pepper said, leaning her forehead against Harley’s head for a second.

“Speak for yourself,” Harley said, stepping away from her dramatically.

And Tony let out a soft laugh, the kind with actual crinkles around his eyes, the kind that sparkled a little. Real.

By the time Rhodey and Happy showed up, the kitchen was basically spotless and Harley was so full and sleepy he didn’t want to move.

“Smells like someone actually cooked in here,” Rhodey called out with a grin, setting a six-pack of Pepsi Twist on the counter along with something that might’ve been a pecan pie.

“The turkey turned out pretty good this year,” Pepper smiled, hugging one guest, then the other.

“Probably because Tony didn’t help,” Happy muttered, and Harley grinned.

“Excuse me,” Tony mumbled, taking the pumpkin pie from Happy and eyeing it suspiciously. “If I do cook, JARVIS handles all the calculations and logistics.”

“And yet you nearly knocked the turkey off the table trying to show off with the carving knife,” Harley added, giving Tony a fake-apologetic look while setting out dessert plates on the coffee table. He was one bite away from food coma.

“Okay, mutiny,” Tony said, pointing dramatically. “The three of you? Out of the will.”

Harley smiled and passed Pepper the wine glass she’d left on the table just as she sank down beside Tony on the couch.

She took it with a grateful little nod.

The evening was honestly pretty great.

Harley had claimed a spot on the couch early on and hadn’t moved since. He didn’t talk much, just sat back and let everything happen around him. Happy was ranking pies. His own, the one Rhodey brought, and whatever Pepper had made. The lights were dim, the TV was playing The Addams Family on low volume, and Rhodey and Tony were off in a corner swapping updates like middle school gossipers. Pepper kept giving them that look whenever their ideas got too ridiculous gently steering them away from chaos before it fully formed.

At some point, Tony got it into his head that trying to inhale an entire turkey sandwich was a fun post-dessert challenge, and somehow that led to Harley asking for one, too.

A decision he regretted approximately four bites later.

He was a breath away from dying of overstuffing. It wasn’t even eight yet, and he felt like he could pass out mid-sentence.

He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, trying to breathe easier.

Tony had ended up sitting right next to him. Pepper and Rhodey had gotten into some Serious Adult Conversation. Taxes. Geopolitics. Retirement accounts. Who knows.

Anyway, Tony had moved over to pester Happy about whether he’d bribed some poor bakery kid into making that suspiciously perfect pumpkin pie and just slapped his name on it. Harley half-listened to the movie with one ear and let the rest of the noise drift in like background static.

“-off. Quieter lately,” Rhodey said. Harley caught the tail end of it. “He doing okay?”

They didn’t say his name, but honestly, they might as well have lit it up in neon over his head.

Harley didn’t open his eyes. Just sharpened his focus.

“He’s been kind of like that ever since...” Pepper replied, her voice just as quiet. “Well. Since he and Tony started really trying. I think it’s just... a lot for him.”

“That why he got detention?” Rhodey asked-louder than Harley expected. And okay, what was with everyone knowing everything so fast?

“That, and apparently he couldn’t keep his mouth shut in physics,” Pepper said with a dry little laugh.

The background noise shifted. Happy and Tony had gone quiet. Harley could feel Tony staring at him now, like an invisible flashlight aimed at his forehead. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know all the attention had suddenly swung his way.

“So what’s this Happy told me about some girl?” Rhodey asked, and Harley had to physically stop himself from groaning.

“MJ,” Pepper said, definitely amused now. They were talking louder-probably encouraged by Harley’s lack of reaction. “He met her in detention. Very on-brand.”

“Obviously,” Rhodey chuckled.

“Moody, mouthy, mysterious girlfriend, sneaking into parties without adult supervision…” Happy added from across the room, like he’d been waiting for the right moment to jump in.

“Multitasking king,” said Tony over Harley’s head, and there was a warmth in it that hit somewhere behind Harley’s ribs. “ Chip off the old block.”

“You know I can hear you guys, right?” Harley said finally, cracking one eye open.

Sure enough, every single one of them was looking straight at him.

“You were sleeping,” Tony said, like Harley had violated some unspoken agreement.

“I was lying down with my eyes closed. Not the same.”

Pepper gave him a long look, like she was trying to figure out how long he’d been listening-or how much he’d heard. In response, Harley reached over and snatched the last bit of pie off Tony’s plate and popped it in his mouth like a challenge.

“What?” he said, mouth full, when Tony raised his eyebrows at him. “You weren’t gonna eat it.”

Pepper snorted and turned back to Rhodey, who luckily moved on to a different topic. Happy ruffled Harley’s hair -unprovoked, rude- on his way to the kitchen, probably in search of something else to graze on.

“You’re a rude little punk,” Tony said with a dramatic pout, bumping Harley’s shoulder and stretching out beside him in perfect imitation.

Harley turned his head and looked at his profile.

“Everyone says I get it from my dad,” he said, but this time it didn’t come out bitter. No edge. Just a quiet fact.

Tony’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile.

“Sir,” JARVIS said, polite as ever. “Captain Rogers is currently in the elevator. Shall I send him up?”

The entire room stiffened. Like, sitcom-level frozen in place. Heads mid-turn, snacks halfway to mouths. Pepper glanced at Tony. Rhodey raised his eyebrows. Harley blinked, looking at his dad. Tony had the expression of someone who’d just remembered a really unfortunate dream, and the slow realization started crawling across his face.

“He appears to be carrying pie,” JARVIS added helpfully.

“Oh. Right. That,” Tony muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and taking a sip of wine. “That might be on me.”

“That?” Pepper asked, her voice just slightly too calm. “You invited him?”

“Well, I may have kind of... issued an open invitation. A while ago. In passing,” Tony said, shrugging and looking like he regretted every decision that had ever led him to this moment. Which wasn’t a common occurrence. “Said something like, drop by whenever. You know. Since we’re coworkers now. It was, like, one of those performative social contracts-”

“And you forgot to mention that?” Harley asked, sitting up on one elbow, grinning. “Cool. Maybe next time I’ll invite Beyoncé.”

“It wasn’t real,” Tony muttered, scowling at him. “It’s like when you say ‘we should hang out sometime’ and both people know it’s never gonna happen.”

“Well, it’s happening,” Rhodey said, laughing under his breath.

“You’re fine with this?” Tony asked Pepper, turning to her like he was looking for a lifeline. “I can have JARVIS sabotage the elevator. We’ll say we ran out of turkey. Or fake a gas leak.”

“It’s fine,” Pepper said with her smooth, diplomatic smile-the kind that meant she did have an opinion, but she had the situation under control. “He’s a guest.”

“Sure,” Tony muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “A guest.”

The elevator dinged. Everyone immediately tried to look natural, which obviously made things worse. The air was heavy-not exactly tense, but definitely full. Like everyone was braced, just a little.

“So this the part where we all pretend we’re not collectively losing our shit?” Harley whispered to Happy.

“Don’t curse in front of the Captain,” Happy said, snorting. Which wasn't exactly a denial. Tony muttered something under his breath that definitely didn’t belong in a Thanksgiving special.

And then the elevator doors opened, and there he was: Steve Rogers, in all his glory. Wearing a ridiculously fitted sweater, holding a pie from some artisanal bakery that probably had a three-month waitlist. He looked... hesitant. Like someone not quite used to being the embodiment of national symbolism at casual get-togethers.

“Good evening,” Steve said as he stepped in. Pepper was already there, shaking his hand and taking the pie from him.

“Happy Thanksgiving. I hope I’m not too late.”

“Oh no,” Tony said, standing up a little too quickly. “We were just... being thankful. You’re just in time for round three of dessert, where we all pretend we can still eat.”

There was a quick shuffle of slightly awkward hellos.

“We saved you a spot,” Harley offered, pointing to the space next to him-Tony’s former seat. “Didn’t know we were doing that, but hey, turns out we did.”

Steve smiled and sat down. “Thanks. It’s good to see you again.”

“Oh, can we pretend this is the first time?” Harley grinned. “Last time I was like seventy percent boredom and thirty percent bad attitude.”

“You weren’t that bad,” Steve said, all polite and diplomatic.

Rhodey snorted like he definitely knew Harley had been that bad. Pepper just shook her head, amused.

After that, Harley tried to keep it a little lower-key. Mostly. He laughed at jokes, nodded at stories, and pretended not to notice Pepper shooting him those subtle mom-glances-the ones she also aimed at Tony, like she was babysitting them both equally.

Steve sat perfectly upright, participating in conversation like he’d done this a thousand times before. But there was something in the way he held himself, like he didn’t want to take up more space than he was allowed.

Happy and Rhodey drifted into some deep dive about weapons contracts. Why, Harley couldn’t imagine. Pepper was topping off drinks, keeping things moving, playing hostess like it was a skillset she had patented. Tony laughed a little late at jokes and talked a little less than usual.

And Harley noticed, quietly, subtly, that Tony was trying. That kind of trying people did when they didn’t want it to look like trying. Like how he didn’t stare at Steve too long, but also wasn’t not staring.

So Harley just watched out of the corner of his eye, pie on his plate, pretending not to notice anything at all.

“So,” Steve said at one point, turning toward him. “Harley, right? You into robotics?”

“Not really,” Harley said, straightening up a little without meaning to. “I mean, sometimes. My room’s a fire hazard, but not because of inventions.”

“Oh, so not exactly like your dad,” Steve said with a weird kind of smile. “Any clubs? Teams?”

“Just swim team right now,” Harley replied. “And I tutor sometimes. Y’know, when I’m not in trouble with the teachers.”

“Really?” Steve actually looked surprised. Happy shot Harley a quick look that definitely said please don’t give the guy a heart attack.

“Mostly backstroke,” Harley added with a shrug.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, raising his hands like he needed a do-over.“Swimming’s a solid sport. I just didn’t expect it. You kind of strike me as the catapult-building type during lunch breaks. Most kids with your background don’t really invest in anything outside a lab.”

He gestured vaguely around them, and Harley wasn’t sure if he meant the tech, the apartment, or the family.

“You think I’m raising a whole litter of lab rats?” Tony laughed, but it was short and automatic.

“No,” Steve said quickly but Harley wasn’t totally buying it. “I didn’t mean that. I just think it’s good…being well-rounded. Y’know, considering…”

And Harley was pretty sure considering meant Tony. Everything Tony had done and everything he hadn’t.

“I put effort into literally everything except the lab,” Harley said with a crooked smile. Pepper laughed, Rhodey made an amused noise, and even Happy smirked.

The conversation moved on. School, music, weird trivia facts. Steve asked a lot of questions. The kind of questions that sounded like he’d read a parenting guide from 1954. But Harley didn’t really mind. It was kind of fascinating, watching Steve try to fit him into the mental puzzle labeled Tony Stark’s life. Like figuring out what kind of creature Harley was and how exactly he’d ended up here.

But Harley kept watching his dad. Tony wasn’t acting wildly different, but he was... off. Still had the quick comebacks, still smiled, but it was all a little too TV commercial. He hadn’t touched the wine Pepper poured for him. He let other people steer the conversation. And Harley noticed, because he was watching too closely, probably, how Tony glanced sideways at Steve, how his jaw tensed just before he plastered that signature Stark grin back on.

It reminded Harley of someone pressing on a bruise and pretending it didn’t hurt.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Maybe Harley was too tuned in. Or maybe Tony was just that good at faking it.

So Harley nodded in the right spots, smiled when needed, gave Tony space to breathe. Because he’d seen the scars, the flinches when no one was looking. And Harley really didn’t feel like pushing tonight.

Then it came completely out of nowhere.

“You know,” Steve said, smiling in that friendly Captain America way, like he was saying something sweet and wholesome. “You’re lucky, Harley. You should be grateful Tony’s giving fatherhood a real shot.”

Harley blinked, trying to sort through his thoughts fast enough not to react. And he definitely didn’t look at Tony, even though he felt his dad’s eyes on him. Not warning, more like… pleading. It lasted half a second. Then Tony smiled. Tony Stark’s signature smile, easy and perfect.

Pepper and Rhodey laughed at something Happy said across the room. Harley smiled too, but not like Tony. His was lighter. Easier. Harmless.

“Yeah,” Harley said evenly. Light, but flat. And he knew Tony had clenched his jaw again. “Real lucky.”

Conversation moved on again. To jokes, to exaggerated hand gestures, to pretending they weren’t all way too full to move. Harley let himself relax back into it, maybe even cracked a couple jokes. But his gaze kept flicking to Tony, making sure nothing had shifted too far out of his usual weird baseline, making sure he wasn’t slipping deeper into whatever fog that comment had stirred up.

And Tony noticed. Of course he noticed. He shot Harley a look that said, What? Why are you staring at me? Harley just shrugged, but stayed seated where he could watch his dad from the corner of his eye.

Just in case.

Eventually, people started heading out. Rhodey was half-asleep in an armchair. Happy complained about the traffic, which was probably hell on Thanksgiving night. Steve was thanking Pepper near the kitchen.

Tony was packing up some leftover pie, probably for Happy, and Harley got up the second Steve turned toward the elevator.

“I’ll walk you down,” Harley said, hands in his pockets.

“No need,” Steve said politely.

“Yeah, it’s a long way down,” Harley replied with a shrug. “Consider it a Stark hospitality thing.”

Steve gave a half-smile and gestured toward the elevator. “Lead the way.”

They rode in silence for a bit. The sound of machinery humming, air moving through the shaft. Steve stood like a statue, hands behind his back, posture perfect. Harley slouched with his hands still buried in his pockets, watching Steve from under his bangs.

Around the 65th floor, he finally spoke.

“For someone who says a lot of nice things,” Harley said, lifting his head and locking eyes with Steve, “you’re really good at saying the not-so-nice ones.”

“I didn’t mean to-” Steve started, looking caught off guard.

“Look,” Harley cut in, calm but firm. “You don’t have to pretend to like him. I’m not asking you to like him. But you showed up here, smiled the whole time, and somehow still made him feel like crap without even raising your voice.”

“I wasn’t trying to-” Steve tried again, lifting his hands. Harley leaned his shoulder harder into the wall and tilted his head slightly.

“My dad’s not perfect. God, believe me, I know. I probably know better than anyone. He screws up. A lot. In impressive, fireworks-level ways. But you don’t get to come into his home, eat his food, and act like he’s still the same guy he was two decades ago.”

Steve shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“It wasn’t personal,” he said eventually.

Harley gave him a crooked little smile.

“Yeah. It never is with you, is it?” he said, a little too quickly. “You're just that moral mountaintop, looking down and deciding who’s worth what.”

They were already at the twentieth floor. The elevator, fast as ever.

“Do you ever consider,” Harley asked, voice calm but clipped, “that maybe he knows he screwes up?”

Steve didn’t answer. Just looked away. Typical.

“I’m just saying,” Harley said, quieter now, like it mattered more, “if you really wanna be part of his life or whatever, maybe try getting off your high horse. We’re not your little war to win. Judging him…us…isn’t going to win you anything.”

The elevator dinged. Doors slid open. A few employees working the holiday shift glanced over-probably used to seeing Harley by now, but definitely not used to seeing Captain America riding the elevator.

Steve stepped out, paused for a beat or two, then turned around, holding the door with his foot.

“You really love him,” he said, like it honestly surprised him.

Harley furrowed his brow. Love was… complicated. Tangled. Full of sharp edges and half-buried stuff.

“He’s my dad,” he said with a shrug. No hesitation. That much was easy. That much was solid.

“He’s lucky to have you,” Steve added with a small nod.

“Have a good night,” Harley said, letting the smallest smile slip through. “And happy Thanksgiving, Captain.”

“You too, Harley. Thanks for the company.”

“Don’t mention it.” Harley pressed the button for his floor.

They didn’t shake hands. Steve gave him one last polite smile before heading toward the twinkling lights of New York.

“Fuck you, you sanctimonious asshole,” Harley said under his breath as the doors slid shut again.

Chapter Text

Harley was out cold. Like, possibly legally dead levels of asleep. Face smushed into the pillow, blanket kicked to the floor sometime around 4 a.m. His body was still trying to process all the Thanksgiving carbs, radiating enough heat to fry an egg.

His phone buzzed once.

Then twice.

Then a third time.

With a groan, Harley rolled over and fumbled blindly for it, answering without opening his eyes.
“What?” he croaked.

“Good morning to you too, sunshine,” Jason chirped on the other end, way too chipper for the morning after a national food coma.

“Why are you like this?” Harley rasped.

“Just checking in. Making sure you survived your big Stark Family Thanksgiving™. Did you? Are you alive?”

Harley cracked one eye open and squinted at the ceiling.
“Barely,” he muttered. “Very bonding experience. Ate, like, eight forms of carbs, emotionally babysat a few grown adults, and maybe permanently torched any chance of friendship with Captain America.”

“So... a solid holiday,” Jason laughed. Then paused. “Wait. You had Captain America at dinner?”

“Mhm,” Harley grunted. “I was the worst version of myself.”

“I’m honestly proud,” Jason said without missing a beat. “Anyway, totally unrelated, but how would you feel about being my emotional support friend?”

Harley groaned. “What are you talking about?”

“Liz Allan’s party, dude,” Jason said, like it was obvious. Harley could practically hear the smirk. “Post-holiday blowout. Everyone and their dog’s going.”

“Oh my God,” Harley sighed. “So that’s why you called. You don’t care about Steve ‘Liberty Boy’ Rogers. You just need a wingman.”

“I need cover,” Jason corrected. “My parents are being all ‘it’s the holiday weekend, time with family, blah blah someone might call the cops.’ But they’ll let me go if I go with someone responsible.”

“And you picked me?” Harley blinked up at the ceiling. “You remember Hapgood literally threatened to suspend me last week?”

“My parents think you’re charming and polite. Whatever it is you do, it works.”

“I’m your golden ticket?”

“Basically. Oh! And also, MJ’s probably gonna be there,” Jason added like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a tactical nuke.

“Oh?” Harley sat up before he even realized he was doing it. “And that wasn’t your opening pitch?”

“I like building suspense.”

“You’re shameless.”

“I’m resourceful.”

“Jesus…” Harley rubbed his face. “Fine. I’ll ask Pepper. But I’m not promising anything. If she says no, I’m not staging a Mission Impossible window escape. I’m still digesting stuffing.”

“You’re the best.”

“I’m really, really not.” Click.

Harley shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing at his eyes, feet dragging, hair a disaster, t-shirt wrinkled like it had been in a fight with the dryer and lost. Pepper was already there, of course. Not in full CEO mode, but still at the main table reading through some kind of paperwork, because of course she was.

“Morning,” she smiled at him, soft and warm. “You’re up early.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Harley mumbled, heading to the counter and pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Morning.”

He drank in silence for a moment, watching her work.

“So… there’s this thing tonight,” he said eventually, trying to sound casual, eyes locked firmly on the juice in his hand. “Just a thing.”

“A thing?” Pepper looked up, tilting her head.

“A party,” he clarified. “Nothing huge. Just something at Liz Allan’s.”

“And it’s tonight?” she asked, pushing the papers aside and giving him a look he could feel without even turning his head. Serious.

“It’s Friday,” he said with a hopeful smile. “Classic party night.”

“It’s the Friday after Thanksgiving, Harley,” she said with a quiet edge. Harley finally looked at her.

“Yeah,” he said, taking another sip. “And?”

“I thought the plan for the weekend was to spend time together,” she said, tired more than mad. “To rest. Together.”

“I didn’t know we had a plan,” Harley shrugged. “I mean, I live here. We’re spending time together. We literally sat next to each other eating turkey, like, twelve hours ago.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, face closing off a little. Harley didn’t like that look.

“Oh, come on, Pep,” he groaned, full-body eyeroll. “It’s just a couple hours. Jason’s parents will only let him go if I go too. So technically I’m helping a friend.”

“Harley,” she said, sharper now. “Last week, school was chaos. You were in trouble more than once. And now you want to go out with a group of kids I don’t even know?”

Harley clenched his jaw and shook his head.

“Because I am one of those kids,” he snapped. “What do you want me to do? Annoy Happy with my skateboard again?”

Pepper exhaled through her nose.

“I’m not trying to be mean or unfair,” she said, locking eyes with him. “But this is the first calm holiday we’ve had in years. Maybe ever.”

Harley’s jaw tightened.

“Since you moved in, you’ve been climbing the walls,” she continued, clearly trying to keep her voice even. “Maybe you should just… stay in. Watch a movie. Be a kid in your own home for five minutes.”

“I always climb the walls,” Harley bit back. “You and Dad say you want me to be normal, but you treat me like I’m about to break in half.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Kind of like grounding me from a social life for no reason,” he shot back.

“You’re not grounded,” Pepper said calmly. “I just want you to think about why, every time things start to calm down, you push to be anywhere but here.”

Harley opened his mouth. Closed it. Took another long sip of juice.

Tony walked into the room looking like he had no idea a fight had just happened or that it was still happening, really. His hair was sticking out in all directions, his T-shirt was wrinkled, and his pants looked suspiciously like yesterday’s. He blinked at them, rubbed his face like there was absolutely nothing in the world that required urgency.

“What’s with the noise level?” he asked, voice scratchy from sleep. “Sounds like the Senate’s in session down the hall.”

“Your girlfriend is currently destroying my social life,” Harley said, still looking at Pepper instead of him.

Pepper shot him a look that was very much not amused.

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry,” Harley said, still staring at her. “Miss Potts.”

“What’s going on?” Tony asked, his eyes ping-ponging between the two of them.

“Jason invited Harley to a party,” Pepper said, exhaling through her nose. “Tonight. I told him I’d rather he stayed home. It’s a holiday weekend, and we hardly ever get to spend time together.”

“Just a party?” Tony asked, leaning against the kitchen island. “School thing?”

“Liz Allan’s,” Harley said quickly. “Jason’s going. Tyler’s at his grandma’s in Connecticut. He asked me to come.”

“Sounds pretty harmless,” Tony said, glancing at Pepper. “Just like your last night out.”

“I said no,” Pepper cut in. Tony paused and looked at her.

“But why?” he asked. Harley smiled a little into his glass.

“Because it’s the Friday after Thanksgiving,” Pepper said, standing up from her seat. “And I wanted him home this weekend. Maybe I’m old-fashioned, but getting drunk with classmates doesn’t exactly scream 'holiday spirit' to me.”

“He’s fifteen, not five,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s a party, not Coachella. Let the kid go.”

“You’re completely undermining me right now.”

“I’m not trying to. Just calling it like I see it,” Tony replied, voice lower now. Harley risked a glance at them and caught the way Pepper looked at Tony. Like he’d slapped her. Maybe worse. Harley saw the way she pressed her tongue to the inside of her cheek, swallowed like she didn’t want to lose it in front of him. She was pissed. But not at him...at Tony.

“I did worse stuff at fifteen,” Tony added casually, apparently missing every warning signal on Pepper’s face.

“No one was supervising you when you were fifteen,” she said, and something flickered behind Tony’s eyes. Harley didn’t miss that, either.

“And it’s not even about that,” Pepper started, but-

“It kinda is,” Harley muttered.

Tony sighed. Pepper’s jaw twitched.

“He’s asking permission, not forgiveness,” Tony said. “Let him go.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Harley said, with a grin that was too fake to be funny, and Tony gave him a look like he couldn’t tell if Harley was serious or being a brat. “Nice to know someone gets that I’m not trying to join a cult.”

Pepper didn’t answer. She crossed her arms and just looked at Tony. And Harley…Harley suddenly felt awful.

This was Pepper. The one who always picked up the phone. Who showed up at school. Who was actually trying to make this whole messed-up little family thing work. Who always forgave him, always told him she loved him.

And Tony just walked in, made a decision, threw around his Big Important Dad energy, and she had to swallow her own authority like it meant nothing. And Harley let him.

“Anyway,” Harley mumbled, backing toward his room with his phone already in hand, “I’ll text Jason. Let him know the king has spoken.”

It sounded terrible. Like choosing sides. And for a second he hesitated in the doorway. The air felt thick enough to choke on. And even though he’d basically gotten what he wanted, it didn’t feel good. Not even a little.

Still, he turned back over his shoulder with a grin like nothing was wrong and called out-

“Thanks again, Dad!”

And the guilt followed him all the way down the hallway.

Harley spent the rest of the day avoiding all shared spaces. No living room, no kitchen, no wandering the hallway. It wasn’t a conscious plan, but every time he heard footsteps down the corridor, something twisted in his gut, because, obviously, the whole mess was his fault. All because he wanted to go to a party. He stayed in his room with his headphones on and his door shut, pretending like he wasn’t even there.

There hadn’t been any yelling. No door slamming. But the silence hanging over the penthouse was thick and sticky, like a film you couldn’t wash off.

By late afternoon, when he finally emerged to grab something to eat, he was hoping the coast would be clear. Maybe Tony and Pepper had gone off to do their own separate things or were locked in some deep, serious discussion somewhere. But no, of course Tony was in the kitchen. Sitting at the island with a mug of coffee and what looked like the last of the stuffing.

“Yo,” Tony said, nodding at him.

“Hey,” Harley mumbled back, pulling some old takeout from the fridge. He couldn’t even look at the leftover turkey without getting mildly nauseous. He did his best not to look at Tony either. They’d definitely had a fight. A real one. And it was definitely his fault.

“You heading out soon?” Tony asked.

“Yeah,” Harley said, watching the container spin in the microwave. “Just grabbing something to eat first.”

Tony didn’t say anything after that. And Harley didn’t either. It wasn’t exactly cozy.

He didn’t linger. He took his food back to his room and ate it standing up. Didn’t even bother to sit down.

By the time the evening officially kicked off, Harley was dressed decent enough to pass for going out and was walking the last block to Liz’s house. Jason was already there, leaning on the fence with one hand in his jacket pocket and the other glued to his phone, looking impossibly bored.

“You been waiting long?” Harley asked, walking up and giving him a nod.

“Just got here,” Jason said, pocketing his phone. “You good?”

“I just hope this party’s worth it,” Harley muttered, shoving his hands deeper into his jeans.

“Pepper wasn’t thrilled?” Jason raised an eyebrow.

Harley exhaled, then laughed, rubbing his eyes.

“I’m almost positive she and Tony went to war over it. So yeah. And before that, I had it out with her too.” He shrugged.

“You?” Jason blinked. “Fighting with Pepper?”

“Not the first time,” Harley rolled his eyes. “Still sucks, though.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Jason chuckled, “I got the full responsibility and gratitude talk before I left. So you’re not alone.”

The bass was thudding loud enough to feel it from outside.

“Hope this isn’t a complete flop,” Harley said. “Let it be a good night.”

“Deal,” Jason grinned, and pushed the door open without knocking.

The party was already in full chaos mode when they walked in. People everywhere. Music pounding like it was trying to shake the drywall loose. LED lights flickering like they were fighting for attention. Some kind of visuals looped on the TV for ambiance. It was loud and messy and perfect.

Harley let the chaos swallow him. He was in a good mood or at least, he’d decided he was, and if he focused hard enough, it worked. Jason handed him a red cup without asking, and he took a big sip. Something sweet and definitely spiked. Whatever. That was the point, wasn’t it? For this night to be good.

Twenty minutes in, Harley was in the middle of a full-blown party spiral. He was dancing in the living room with a bunch of juniors he barely knew, shouting lyrics, laughing too loud, spinning around with random people. He stood on a table during a Pitbull remix. Some kids cheered him on. He grinned wider. Someone handed him a shot, and he took it like a champ. Everything buzzed a little, warm and soft around the edges.

Someone dragged him into a game that was apparently called flip cup, though for the life of him he couldn’t figure out how it worked. All he knew was he drank way too much too fast, and ended up slouched in a hallway with the lights off-apparently the designated chill zone.

Of course Flash was there. Of course.

Flash raised his cup in greeting. Harley just smiled. For a moment, it was even kind of fine.

“Didn’t know they let the science fair squad in,” Flash said eventually, nodding toward the snack table.

Harley looked over. Yep, those two kids MJ had once pointed out to him. Peter and Ned. Talking to Liz, he was pretty sure. Which was weird, since it was her house and he still wasn’t totally certain he’d recognize her in daylight.

“Big fancy party,” Harley said, riding the buzz. “And yet... you’re here.”

He flashed a sharp grin and peeled off before Flash could respond. Not that he seemed offended, probably thought it was all in good fun. Harley didn’t consider him a friend. They’d talked, like, three times.

He was still smiling when Jason reappeared from whatever was going down on the back patio.

“Heading to check out the basement with Cindy,” Jason said, wearing a grin that told Harley it had nothing to do with the basement. “You good?”

“Solid,” Harley said, lifting his cup.

Jason vanished into the crowd, and Harley dove back into the chaos.

And the party kept going. Someone lit a bonfire out back. Harley danced until he could feel his heartbeat in his teeth and his hair stuck to his forehead. He had no idea what song was playing. Didn’t matter.

Then he saw MJ.

She was leaning against the wall near the kitchen doorway, holding a cup in one hand, arms loosely crossed. Watching, but not judging. Or judging, but not showing it. She looked kind of amused. Maybe a little concerned. Their eyes met. Harley blinked, smiled, and started walking toward her. He adjusted his posture a bit, ran a hand through his hair like that would help anything, and leaned on the wall beside her.

“Didn’t think this was your scene,” he said, still a little out of breath. “Feels mildly illegal that you’re even at this party.”

“It's not my scene,” she replied, tilting her head. “I’m here for anthropological purposes.”

“Right.” Harley laughed, feeling the heat in his cheeks. “Studying teenage behavior in its wild, chaotic habitat?”

“Exactly.” She took a sip from her cup. “You look like you're thriving. Or like you ran a triathlon. On fire.”

“Yeah, not exactly thriving,” he said. “The lights are giving me a migraine and I’m ninety percent sure someone spiked my cup with cough syrup a few minutes ago… but hey. Good evening.”

“You sure this isn’t just an extremely stylish cry for help?” she asked, glancing around like she wasn’t convinced.

“Can’t it be both a good evening and a nervous breakdown?” Harley raised an eyebrow.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, laughing softly.

“And yet here you are, still talking to me,” he grinned, resting his head back against the wall.

“You’re a fascinating subject,” she rolled her eyes.

“Stick around and I’ll get worse,” he flashed a grin.

They ended up sticking together the whole night. Not on purpose. A t least, not like they planned it out or anything. But somehow, whenever Harley turned around after a shot with someone or ended up laughing and dancing in some corner of the room, MJ was never far. And whenever he lost sight of her, he found himself scanning the room for her. She wasn’t following him, but she didn’t seem surprised whenever he popped up again either. And with her, it always kind of felt like an invitation.

They talked, but it was that kind of conversation you have between loud music and way too many people. Half-shouted, half-mumbled. Sometimes stupid. Sometimes weirdly deep.

Harley was just finishing off something handed to him by a guy he thought was on the swim team with him when MJ reappeared.

“Impressive,” she said with a deadpan expression, watching from the edge of the patio. “Truly. Add that to your college application.”

She was holding a can of orange soda. Harley grinned and held out his hand. She passed him the can without a word. He took a long drink, trying to chase away the static buzzing in his vision.

“Only if you write me a recommendation letter,” he said, stepping beside her and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Sure,” she said, taking the can back. “Dear admissions board: this kid has the lung capacity of a kitten and the impulse control of a goldfish. Admit him immediately.”

“That’s weirdly sweet,” Harley grinned wide. His cheeks were burning now. Probably from the alcohol. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you actually like me.”

“You're definitely more interesting than Jason trying to freestyle battle Flash in the kitchen,” she said, head tilted like she was genuinely weighing the comparison.

“High praise,” Harley bowed dramatically.

“Low standards,” she corrected. “Also, I’m surprised you're still upright and not massively embarrassing yourself.”

“Give me time,” Harley said, dropping into a cross-legged sit on the ground. “The night is still young.”

“Bold of you to assume you haven’t already peaked,” she said, arching an eyebrow as she sat down across from him.

“Oh, I peaked at like eleven,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Been downhill ever since.”

“So this isn’t a regular thing for you?” she asked, yawning. “You’re overcompensating?”

Harley grinned.

“Overcompensating is my middle name. Well. Technically it’s Howard. Dad almost passed out when he found out, apparently. But you get the idea.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re wearing a trench coat in the middle of a party,” he shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“You wanna bail?” she asked suddenly, getting to her feet.

Harley didn’t ask where. He just took her hand and let her pull him up.
They headed inside, then upstairs. Found a room someone vaguely told them was Liz’s brother’s or something, with a wink. It was dark and quiet. The music from downstairs was muffled now, broken only by bursts of laughter and random shouting.

They sat on the floor, backs against the bed, knees lightly touching.

“You always sneak off from parties?” Harley asked, whispering. A normal voice felt too loud for this.

“I prefer watching people to being watched,” she shrugged.

“I like watching you,” Harley said, tilting his head to look at her.

MJ turned her head to him too.

“Has that line ever worked on anyone?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No idea,” he said, smiling, heart pounding. “You’re the first person I’ve tried it on.”

“Dangerous game,” she said, meeting his eyes.

“Only if I lose.”

He didn’t lean in but he felt like gravity was tilting, dragging him a little closer, like the world was off balance in her direction.

“You’re different when it’s just us,” she said quietly.

“So are you,” he replied.

“Is that bad?”

“No. I like this version of you,” he said, still smiling. “Usually you look at people like you want to kill them with your eyes.”

“Because I do,” she laughed. “Most people are annoying.”

“What about me?”

“You’re not most people,” she said, warm.

Harley blinked, stunned. The silence that followed was thicker somehow, heavier. Full of the things they weren’t saying. They were so close. Not on purpose. Probably. But close enough that if either of them moved even a little, something would happen. Harley’s heart pounded in his throat. He was staring at her mouth. He couldn’t think.

“Are you going to regret tonight?” she asked suddenly, and Harley had to take a breath before answering.

“No,” he said softly. “Tonight’s kind of perfect.”

MJ looked him in the eyes, then away, smiling.

“What about you?” he asked, still watching her.

“No,” she said, locking eyes with him again. “But that’s probably because I haven’t made any questionable decisions yet.”

“Oh,” Harley breathed, heartbeat stuttering. “Planning to?”

“Depends,” she said. “Are you planning to kiss me, or are you just gonna hover there all night?”

Harley’s brain short-circuited. For a second, he forgot how to breathe. How to move. But then…
then she leaned in, just a little.

And suddenly, everything made perfect sense.

“This just became my favorite party,” Harley said softly, leaning in.

Their lips met halfway.

It wasn’t dramatic. No fireworks. Just a little hesitant, a little slow like neither of them wanted to rush it. Her hand found the front of his hoodie, fingers curling in the fabric. Harley’s heart was beating so fast he was pretty sure it was about to punch a hole through his ribs.

Her lips were soft. Like, really soft.

One of MJ’s hands slid to the side of his neck, fingertips brushing the edge of his hair. Harley moved his hand to her waist, pulling her in just a little. They kissed deeper, with more certainty, and he started forgetting where they were entirely.

But then MJ gently pulled back, not far, just a few millimeters. Their foreheads stayed pressed together, their breaths mixing. Harley scanned her eyes, her lips still slightly parted.

“You’re drunk,” she whispered.

Harley smiled.

“Not wasted,” he said. But something flickered in her eyes. “Okay…I guess.”

“We should stop,” she said, resting both hands on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he said, swallowing hard but not moving his hand from her waist.

“I mean…I wanted to. I’m not pretending I didn’t. But if we go any further… I think we’ll do something dumb. And I don’t want to mess this up by being dumb.”

Harley let out a small, quiet laugh. More like an exhale.
“That’s a really convoluted way of rejecting me,” he said, adjusting how they were sitting.

“It’s not rejection,” she said, bumping her nose against his. “It’s… pressing pause.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” he nodded. “Pause.”

But neither of them moved.

She curled into his chest, and he wrapped both arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head. Her breath tickled his neck. Everything felt still. Quiet. Right, somehow.

Harley had no idea how long they sat there. Could’ve been five minutes, could’ve been an hour. MJ might’ve dozed off a little. He didn’t mind. The room spun gently, the way it does when the night’s been too long, and too good, and just a little too full of good things.

Her phone buzzed.

She shifted to reach it, leaning away to check the screen, and rolled her eyes.
“Mom,” she said into the phone, like gravity had just caught up with her. “I know… I know. I’m coming.”

She mouthed the word dramatic in Harley’s direction. He grinned.

“Yes, I have my coat. It’s fine. I’m on my way.”

When she hung up, she didn’t move right away. She leaned her forehead against his again and sighed.

“I gotta go,” she whispered.

“I’ll walk you,” he offered instinctively, straightening a little. “It’s late.”

MJ stood, stretching with exaggerated flair and a quiet laugh.
“That’s… weirdly charming. But no,” she said, brushing her hair back.

“No?” he blinked, a little surprised.

“You’re cute, Stark, but my mom doesn’t even like me talking to boys on the sidewalk. You think she’s gonna be chill about you showing up at our door at,” she glanced at her phone“1:27 a.m.?”

“But I’m great with parents,” Harley said, getting up with a lazy smile.

“Half an hour ago, you were on another planet when you kissed me,” she raised a brow. “And an hour ago, you were drunk off your ass.”

“Details,” Harley muttered, smirking.

“We might get there. Might,” she said, poking his chest with her finger. “If you don’t get yourself murdered on my driveway first.”

“Fair point,” he nodded like he was seriously weighing it. “I’ll let it go. Just this once.”

She smiled and headed for the door. But before she opened it, Harley caught her hand.

“Wait.”

She turned, no questions asked.

And he kissed her again. Slower this time. More certain. His thumb brushed her cheek, like he wanted to hold onto the moment a little longer.

When they pulled apart, she looked at him for a second too long.

“Goodnight, Stark.”

“Goodnight, Jones.”

She walked out without looking back.

And Harley just stood there for a second, catching his breath, still grinning like a total idiot.

He didn’t feel the party anymore. He went downstairs, but the music was too loud, the air too sticky, the lights too bright, and everything just felt… dumber now. The whole world had tilted toward MJ, and now that she was gone, he didn’t really feel like dancing or drinking. He wanted water. Maybe a bed. Maybe to hang onto that warm, fizzy feeling still sitting on his lips.

So he left.

The air outside hit him like ice, sobered him up fast.

It was a long walk home, but maybe he could make it back without smelling too much like booze. He pulled his hoodie tighter and started walking.

He hadn’t even made it to the end of the driveway when he heard voices.

Not drunk voices. Not laughing ones.

Too loud.

Too mean.

Harley looked up.

Of course it was Flash Thompson. Flash and a few of his basketball buddies, all of them wearing their varsity jackets like it was a personality trait, were clustered near the curb. And stuck in the middle of them, very clearly trying to get through and not succeeding, was Peter Parker. He looked scared, sure, but also just… done. Like totally drained.

Harley slowed down. For a second, he honestly considered just walking past. Flash liked him. They weren’t friends or anything, but Flash thought Harley was cool. Friend of a friend, whatever. Flash would’ve let him through, maybe even nodded at him. No big deal.

But Harley had seen this kind of crap before. Back behind the gym at his old school. In the hallways people avoided. He didn’t like bullies. And MJ rooted for Peter.

So Harley let out a long sigh, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, and tilted his head back like this was all one big inconvenience.

“Yo!” he called, all casual. “Is this some kind of team-building exercise? Can anyone join?”

“Stark!” Flash grinned at him. “What’s up, man?”

“Didn’t know losers traveled in packs,” one of Flash’s friends added. And Harley closed his eyes for a beat. This night was just getting weirder by the minute.

“And I didn’t know bullies still talked like they were in a cheesy movie,” Harley shot back, deadpan. One of the guys snorted. Flash didn’t laugh.

“We’re just messing around with Penis Parker,” Flash said. “It’s all good. Right, Parker?”

Peter didn’t answer. He looked like he wanted to vanish.

“Yeah, totally chill,” Harley said flatly. “Now how about you back off.”

Flash blinked. “Wait-what?”

“You heard me.” Harley stepped in front of Peter. “Back. Off.”

There was a beat of silence, and then things escalated fast.

Flash wasn’t the kind of guy who threw the first punch. But his buddies clearly didn’t have the same patience. One shoved Harley in the chest, another grabbed his sleeve. And everything started to blur around the edges. Harley moved quickly. He wasn’t great in a fight, but he’d been in a few. And Obie had once made him take a self-defense class “just in case, kid.”

The first real punch landed on his cheek. The next three didn’t. He got an elbow into someone’s ribs, kicked another guy in the knee, and threw someone else off balance. By the end of it, Harley had torn-up knuckles, a split lip, and he could already feel a black eye forming and a bruise building on his side. But Flash and his goons were backing off, grumbling and glaring like they were already plotting payback.

“That was... uh, that was-” Peter stammered.

Harley turned to him. The kid was staring like Harley had grown a second head.

“C’mon,” Harley muttered. “I’ll walk you home.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Peter said uncertainly as they started walking.

“Yeah,” Harley replied. “But I did anyway.”

They walked in silence for a bit. Harley’s hands were back in his pockets, jaw clenched. His lip throbbed every time he breathed in. It was all starting to feel very real now. His whole body hurt. Mostly from dealing with people.

Peter kept Harley’s pace, quietly steering them down the right streets. He had his arms crossed like he couldn’t decide if he was embarrassed or grateful. Probably both.

“You came with Ned, right?” Harley asked finally, not looking at him.

“Uh… yeah,” Peter said, sounding surprised Harley even knew Ned’s name. “He left around ten. Said he had to help his lola with something early in the morning.”

“Solid timing,” Harley muttered.

“Yeah, I guess.”

They walked a little more in silence.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” Peter said again, more carefully this time. “With Flash. You could’ve just walked past.”

“Could’ve,” Harley said with a shrug.

“But you didn’t.”

Harley sighed and ran a hand through his hair, wincing when the movement tugged at his ribs.

“Look,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Flash is a dick. And I hate guys like that. I’ve seen too many of them get away with that kind of crap.”

Peter didn’t say anything. He didn’t look entirely satisfied with that answer.

“And…” Harley glanced at him, quick and sideways. “MJ likes you.”

“Wait! What?” Peter stopped for a second.

“Don’t get too excited, Parker,” Harley kept walking. “I didn’t say she likes-likes you. Just that she thinks you’re decent. Which, honestly? Pretty high praise coming from her.”

Peter hurried to catch up. “Still... you could’ve let me deal with it.”

“And let you get wrecked?” Harley asked dryly. His head was pounding now.

By the time they reached Peter’s building, whatever was left of the adrenalinę, and the good vibes of the night, had completely worn off. His cheek was starting to swell, his hands stung, and he’d started limping a little, probably trying to ease the ache in his ribs. They climbed the last set of stairs in silence. Peter looked tense. Harley was just done.

“So... um... thanks,” Peter said again, gesturing vaguely toward the door and fumbling for his keys. “For, you know. All that…”

“Peter?”
The door opened before he could finish.

“Where the hell have y…”

Then she saw Harley. He’d already started bracing to make a run for it.

Her eyes widened. Then narrowed. Harley watched them flick to his cheek, to his busted lip, and finally lock onto his eyes.

“Oh my god. What happened to you?”

Peter froze. Harley blinked. Time to play this right. He straightened up, pulled a polite but charming smile, the kind that said yes, I’m a Stark,  just with a dash of trouble in the eyes.

“Good evening,” he said with a casual little wave. “Harley Stark. I’m a friend of Peter’s.”

“Stark?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately,” Harley said, glancing her over. Peter’s mom or older sister, aunt, maybe/  looked a bit like him, and at the same time, not at all. She didn’t have his uncertainty, that weird hover between fight and flight.

“What happened to your face?” she asked. “You look like you got into a bar fight.”

“Technically speaking, my face ran into someone’s fist. It was mutual,” he said lightly. “Just your typical Queens evening.”

She was not amused.

“You’re bleeding,” she said, stepping aside. “Get in here.”

“It’s really nothing,” Harley said, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “Looks worse than it is.”

“Inside. Now.”

“I really shouldn’t…”

The look she gave him shut his mouth. Peter winced like he knew this might spiral. He stepped inside. Harley followed, reluctantly.

“I’m fine, honestly,” Harley muttered. “Just... y’know. A little dramatic-looking.”

She gave him one last sharp look and disappeared into the bathroom.

“She’s insane,” Harley whispered to Peter.

“She’s... thorough,” Peter replied, clearly apologetic.

She returned with a small first-aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. Harley sat on a worn couch that looked like it’d seen some things. He didn’t quite know if he was allowed to touch anything. She knelt in front of him with enough maternal intensity to power a small nation.

“What happened?” she asked again, gently dabbing antiseptic on his lip and then his knuckles.

“Someone did something stupid,” Harley said. “And I did something dumber. Then it got a little punchy.”

“You look like things got more than a little punchy.”

“What can I say,” Harley shrugged like this was all just part of a normal Friday night. “I commit to the bit.”

“It wasn’t his fault, Aunt May,” Peter cut in, but she silenced him with a look.

“Are your parents home?” she asked, settling onto her heels.

“Well, my dad is... my dad,” Harley said, not meeting her eye. “So yeah, he’s probably somewhere in the building. Technically.”

“Does your dad know you’re out here getting into fights at house parties?”

“No,” Harley said firmly. “And I’d very much like to keep it that way.”

“Do your parents even know where you are?”

“...Kind of?” he tried.

She took a long breath and gave him that sharp, evaluating stare again.

“You shouldn’t walk home alone like this,” she said, already starting to repack the first-aid kit.

“I’m fine,” Harley said, rolling his eyes and pressing the frozen peas to his face.

“I don’t care,” she shot back. Even kneeling, she somehow towered over him.

“I’ll text someone to come get me,” Harley lied smoothly. “Seriously.”

“You should call your father,” she said, rising to her feet. “He should know.”

“What for? So he can sue them?” Harley asked, raising his brows. Peter coughed like he was trying not to laugh. His aunt shut that down with a single glance.

May exhaled again, clearly weighing her options. Harley could feel the exact ratio of teenage bravado to actual helplessness radiating off himself.

“Text someone,” she said finally. “I don’t want to read about you passing out in an alley somewhere.”

Peter looked like he wanted to apologize for everything that had ever happened in the history of time.

Harley let out a very dramatic sigh, pulled out his phone, scrolled through his contacts, and shot off a quick message to Jason saying he’d left the party and not to worry. Nothing to Tony. Nothing to Pepper. No way in hell.

“Done,” he said, tucking the phone away. “Messaged the driver. He’ll meet me out front. Plus, I’ve got, like, four AIs monitoring my vitals. If I drop, they’ll send a drone.”

She didn’t laugh. She gave him a long, hard look instead. That might’ve been the worst lie he’d told since getting to New York.

“Fine,” she said eventually, pointing a finger at him. “But if I see your face on the news tomorrow...”

“You won’t,” Harley promised, already rising before she could change her mind. “Thanks for the first aid.”

He gave her a little bow, winked at Peter, and slipped out the door like it was on fire behind him.

Outside, he let out a deep breath. His lip definitely hurt less now, and there was a chance he might dodge the black eye and just end up with a swollen cheek. His head ached, but that wasn’t what was bothering him.

Pepper was going to kill him when she found out.

And if Tony found out?

He was dead.

Completely and utterly dead.

Chapter Text

Harley woke up late.

His head was pounding, everything hurt, and he felt like he’d been hit by a freight train. Somewhere nearby, his phone was buzzing. The screen glowed with a frankly unholy number of notifications.

21 messages from Jason.

dude
DUDEEEE
bro. BRO. why did you leave without me???

where did you even go???

did you PUNCH Flash???

ppl are saying you decked someone

for PARKER???

r u DEAD???

WAIT
MJ???
did something happen

r u with HER

don’t mess this up

bro.
you kissed her and didn’t TELL ME???

YOU KISSED, RIGHT???

DUDE.

Harley groaned, didn’t bother reading the rest, and dropped the phone back onto the bed. He lay there, staring at the ceiling, not sure if he was actually alive enough to deal with reality. Probably not. But eventually, he peeled himself out of bed and stumbled to the bathroom.

The second the light flicked on, he flinched. Way too bright. Too loud. Everything was just… too much. He squinted at his reflection and made a face.

Yikes.

His lower lip was swollen, a gross scab forming in the middle. And that was after May Parker cleaned him up. His cheekbone was bruised, a little puffed up under one eye. Not a full-on black eye, thank god, but the bruise on his temple looked like it was thinking about creeping that way. He pulled up his shirt and winced again.

His ribs were a mess. Yellow, purple, green, all mixing like a crappy abstract painting.

“Awesome,” he muttered, pressing a fingertip lightly to the worst spot and flinching immediately. “Just fucking awesome.”

He splashed cold water on his face, avoiding the worst spots, hoping it might chase some of the fog out of his brain. Gripping the edge of the sink, he met his own eyes in the mirror.

Well. He’d really done it this time.

He needed a plan.

He also needed painkillers.

“JARVIS?” he called into the empty room.

“Yes, Harley?” the AI replied smoothly from somewhere in the ceiling.

“Where’s my dad?”

“Sir is currently on the premises,” JARVIS answered politely. “Exact location protected under privacy protocols.”

Harley rolled his eyes. Of course that dumb protocol still existed so Tony could disappear into thin air whenever he didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

“Mhm. What about Pep?”

“Ms. Potts is currently in the kitchen.”

Harley dropped his gaze from the mirror. There was no way he could hide this for long. Not unless he started wearing sunglasses and a scarf indoors. Pepper would clock that instantly. She always knew. She never missed things.

Tony might not notice, if he was distracted.

But Pepper?

“Shit.”

He could already hear her voice in his head. Calm. Quiet. Disappointed. That was the worst part. It always made his stomach twist like he’d swallowed something wrong.

He left the bathroom, pulled on a hoodie, yanked the hood up over his head, and collapsed into his desk chair. The computer blinked back at him like it was judging him. He had no plan. No excuse that sounded even remotely believable.

Maybe if he buried himself in a video game or a string of mindless YouTube videos, he could dodge explaining his face for the next 48 hours. Maybe he could just rot in his room through the entire weekend. No movement. No contact. Maybe by Monday, his bruises would look more like he walked into a door than got into a fight at a party.

He spun slowly in the chair, staring up at the ceiling. He was killing it at this whole well-adjusted teenager thing.

“Would you like me to inform Ms. Potts that you’ll be remaining in your room today?” JARVIS asked politely.

“Let’s hold off on that,” Harley said, scrubbing a hand down his face. “If I’m quiet enough, maybe she’ll forget I exist.”

“Unlikely, sir.”

“Yeah. Figured.”

Harley lost track of time after that. He played some games. Managed to catch Jamie for one round. But mostly just opened games, stared at the loading screen, then closed them again. He watched half of Mission: Impossible before realizing he hadn’t processed a single scene. Now he was just scrolling through the game menu on his console, hoodie still on, headphones hanging around his neck, carefully not looking at his reflection in the screen.

He still hadn’t answered Jason. Or MJ. Not that it mattered.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. If he just never left this room again, that’d be great. Honestly. Five stars. Would recommend.

The knock on the door was soft. More of a polite warning than an actual request.
Before Harley had time to say anything, or dive into bed and pretend to be asleep, the door creaked open.

"Harley?" Pepper's voice was light. Careful.

He didn’t turn around. She stepped into the room, glancing around. He could see her reflection in his dark monitor screen, faint and flickery like a ghost. She looked surprised not to find him in bed.

"Oh," she said, the surprise clear in her voice. "You’re awake."

"Yeah. Not asleep," he muttered, giving a lazy spin in his chair. Not enough to face her, just enough to show he wasn’t totally dead inside.

"I figured you’d still be out cold after the party," she said, smiling a little. "Thought I’d have to wake you up and bribe you with something delicious."

He didn’t answer. She hesitated in the doorway.

"I just wanted to see how the party went," she tried again, her voice that warm, practiced kind of gentle Pepper used when she was trying to come in sideways. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, it was fine," he said, shrugging as casually as he could.

She lingered a beat longer before stepping further in. He noticed she was barefoot. Guess she wasn’t planning on going out today. But she didn’t sit, didn’t come too close either. She just stood there with her arms loosely crossed, giving him space.

"So," she tried again. "Your dad and I were talking, and we thought maybe we could all go out tonight. Since you’ve been cooped up. Dinner at that new place on Madison, maybe swing by the Lincoln Center after? They’re doing Macbeth, remember? The foundation gave them that big grant. You like Shakespeare, right?"

Harley didn’t respond. Just clicked into Skyrim.

Pepper waited a moment.

"Harley?" she asked gently. "Do you want to go?"

"Nice idea," he said, breathing out through his nose. "But I’m kinda tired."

"Tired?" she repeated, a little too knowing. "Harley..."

He sighed. Regretted even opening his mouth.

"Can we not?"

"Can we not what?" she asked.

"Do the thing," he muttered. "The checking in thing. The making me feel bad thing. Can we just… not?"

The words hung there. Pepper didn’t get mad. But she got quiet in that specific Pepper way. Harley was almost sure she was rubbing her hand, the way she did when she was trying to stay calm.

She stepped in a little closer.

"If you’re still mad," she said softly, "that I didn’t want you going out last night, I get it."

He spun his chair just slightly again, enough to avoid looking at her.

"I’m not mad about the party," he said, sharper than he meant to.

"You haven’t come out all day," she said. "You didn’t talk to me last night after Tony gave you the okay. And now you won’t talk to me or even look at me."

He still didn’t turn.

"Can we at least talk?" she asked. The way she said it made something flicker inside him. Not because he wanted to, but because he knew exactly where this was heading. And she sounded… honestly hurt.

"Please?" she asked again, reaching out and touching his shoulder gently.

He flinched, just a bit. But it was enough for the hood of his sweatshirt to slip, revealing part of his face. Her eyes landed on his cheekbone, then his mouth.

She didn’t gasp. Didn’t freak out. But she froze for a second. Just one. Then that classic Pepper Potts calm kicked in. The one that came right before she managed a crisis.

"What happened?" she asked quietly.

Harley sighed, long and deep, wiping at his good eye. Didn’t answer.

"Harley." Her voice was firmer now, but still soft. Measured.

She crouched beside him slowly, like she didn’t want to startle him. Her eyes scanned his face more closely now. The hood kept slipping.

"Oh my god," she breathed. Her hands hovered near his face, like she wanted to touch him but wasn’t sure if she should. "Harley."

"It looks worse than it is," he mumbled, leaning back. The hood slipped all the way down.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"I didn’t start it," he said quietly, breath shaky.

"That’s not what I asked."

Harley turned slightly toward her, jaw clenched. He swallowed hard.

"I didn’t start it, Pep. But I didn’t exactly… back down either."

"Who did this to you?" she asked, eyes still scanning his face like she could undo it with a look.

"I handled it," he snapped, louder than he meant. He winced immediately and shut his eyes. "I handled it. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, okay?"

"You’re hurt. That is a big deal," she said, gently but firmly.

"I’ve been hurt before," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"That’s not the point," she replied. "And it doesn’t mean you have to hide it."

"I didn’t want you freaking out," he said, voice small. "Or… being mad."

"Why would I be mad?" she blinked.

"Because…" he mumbled, gripping the arms of his chair "we already fought. You were mad I even went. You and Dad fought about it. And if I came back like this..."

She lowered to sit on her heels. Harley recognized the look on her face. It was the same one she’d had when he snapped at her after Tony disappeared.

"Sweetheart… I wasn’t mad that you went. I’m not mad now. I’m worried. And the fact that you thought I’d care more about a fight than this." She motioned to his face with one hand, "That makes me sad, Harley."

He didn’t say anything.

"And I hate that you thought not telling me was some kind of protection. That you didn’t trust me enough to come to me for help," Pepper added, giving him a small, sad smile.

"I do trust you," he said quickly, voice low. "I just didn’t want you to look at me like I screwed up."

"I don’t look at you like that," she said, and Harley looked at her closely this time. Her eyes were soft, maybe a little wet. Her hand rested just barely on his arm.

"I’m gonna make some tea," she said, standing slowly and giving his shoulder a light squeeze. "If you want to join me, that’d be lovely. If not… I’ll be there anyway."

He didn’t answer. Just watched her head for the door.

"Please don’t shut me out, okay?" she said at the threshold. Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

Harley exhaled, like he’d been holding his breath for ten minutes straight.

“JARVIS?” Harley said, his voice scratchy and low. His chest felt too tight, like he’d been holding his breath for hours. “Let me know when Pepper’s not in the common area, yeah?”

“Miss Potts is currently in the home office,” JARVIS said at last, after what felt like forever. “She’s on a phone call.”

Harley didn’t even bother locking the door behind him when he all but bolted out of his room. He didn’t know where he was going. He just really didn’t want to be in that room anymore. He was about to hit the elevator button when he noticed the door to the private stairwell was cracked open. Without thinking, he headed that way.

He stopped in front of the workshop door, remembering how the last time he’d been there, he saw the mess that was his dad’s chest. These doors weren’t fully closed either. Something flickered with fake light inside. Sparks glinting off glass surfaces. The air smelled like metal and ozone, weirdly warm and familiar, buzzing faintly with the kind of electric charge that definitely wouldn’t pass any safety regulations.

His dad was hunched over a table at the far end of the room, goggles on, bobbing his head to a not-too-loud rock playlist and muttering to himself in that half-sarcastic, half-focused way he always did when he was deep in something. He was working on what looked like it used to be a drone.

Harley sighed and nudged the door open. The scent of grease hit him immediately, it hadn’t reached the hallway.

“You lost or something?” Tony asked, not looking up, still tightening something. “Kitchen’s upstairs.”

“Hilarious,” Harley muttered, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’m not interrupting anything, right?”

Tony pulled off his goggles and looked over at him. His eyes flicked over Harley’s face, his posture, the distance between them and then he just raised an eyebrow.

“Only my brilliance,” he said. “You here to mock it, or...?”

“Didn’t really feel like staying upstairs,” Harley shrugged.

“You were doing a pretty solid hermit impression all morning,” Tony said, sounding amused. “So? You just standing there for dramatic effect or you gonna actually sit?”

Harley frowned but shuffled over and dropped onto one of the metal stools. He spun it slightly, careful not to jab his ribs on the edge of the workbench. Tony didn’t say anything, just went back to whatever he was doing. Harley was grateful. For a moment he just sat there listening to the soft clink of tools and the faint hum of mechanical arms helping out.

“I, uh...” Harley finally said, tracing a finger along the edge of the table. “Are you and Pepper... okay?”

“Okay?” Tony said, not looking up.

“You’re not fighting more than usual or anything?” Harley asked, glancing at his dad from the corner of his eye.

“Us? Fighting?” Tony finally paused his tinkering and looked at him fully, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” Harley muttered, annoyed. Why couldn’t his dad just talk like a normal person?

“Our debates get... passionate,” Tony said, now facing him completely. “You’ve met us. Strong opinions, both of us.”

Harley shrugged.

“I just don’t want you two mad at each other because of me,” he said, leaning his head back. “I don’t want to be the reason you guys... I dunno. Have problems. She wanted me to stay. You backed me up. And now this.”

He gestured vaguely to his face. Tony smiled a little, but it faded quickly.

“We argued about how to handle raising a fifteen-year-old who thinks he’s smarter than both his parents,” Tony said. “That’s not the same as fighting because of you.”

“It’s not…” Harley started, then just sighed and shook his head. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter.”

“We’re not mad at you. Or each other,” Tony said, turning back to his work.

“You don’t look not mad,” Harley mumbled.

“This is just my face,” Tony replied flatly. “It’s on-brand.”

Harley snorted and shook his head.

“I didn’t start that fight,” he said quietly, not asking for permission.

“I know.”

“She told you?”

“Of course,” Tony said, wincing as a screw didn’t quite fit the way he wanted.

“She tells you everything, huh…” Harley muttered, leaning back. “It wasn’t that bad. I handled it.”

“Clearly,” Tony said dryly. “Nice shiner, by the way. I know a couple stylists I can call. Make it the fall trend.”

Harley huffed a tiny laugh in spite of himself.

“She freaked out though, huh?” he asked, reflexively holding the part Tony had been struggling with. Their hands brushed. Neither of them mentioned it.

“Yeah,” Tony said seriously. “She really did. Look, kid. When she sees you beat up and shut down, her brain immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario. That’s just what she does. She does the same thing with me.”

“So you’re not mad?” Harley asked again, just to be sure.

“Listen,” Tony sighed, like he was tired of repeating it. “Yeah, she’s worried. But you’re not in trouble. You didn’t do anything awful.”

“I got in a fight.”

“So did I. Like, every other day when I was your age. It’s probably a good thing you don’t do it more often.”

Silence settled between them again. It wasn’t awkward, just... unsure. Like neither of them quite knew what the other wanted from this moment.

“So,” Tony said finally, “seeing as you’re already here, I could actually use an extra pair of hands. This stabilizer’s overheating again. You gonna help or just sit there sulking?”

“I can help,” Harley said with a small, crooked smile.

He stood up, and something like muscle memory took over. After a few minutes of adjusting wires and nudging settings around, something familiar started settling in his chest. They didn’t say much. Occasionally, Tony muttered something about crap-quality parts or needing to reprogram the pathing. Harley nodded, or handed him a tool. It was meaningless stuff. No pressure. Easy. Just them.

Harley glanced around the table-at the scattered tools, the coffee mug full of screws. And he caught himself smiling. For a second, the whole workshop blurred into memory-sunlight instead of LEDs, open windows, salt in the air.

This. This used to be everything.

He remembered when he was small. Back when his whole world was just the Malibu house with his dad. He remembered sitting on stools just like this, his feet swinging off the edge because they didn’t reach the floor yet. Tony used to let him help, explaining electromagnetic fields and how jet engines worked like it was the most normal thing. Once, they built a drone almost exactly like this one, and it burned to a crisp on the driveway.

They used to spend entire afternoons in the garage building gadgets for a dog they never actually got. On weekends, or early mornings, if Tony managed to get up, they’d go surfing. Sometimes they’d play duets on the piano in the living room. Tony was good. Harley sucked. But it didn’t matter.

Those were the days and nights when it was just the two of them. When Harley still believed Tony Stark was the coolest person in the universe. When he thought his dad could do literally anything.

He didn’t let himself think about those days too often. Too many cracks in the memory. Too many things that changed. But sitting here, in the workshop, he let himself fall into that feeling for a bit. That maybe it wasn’t all as far away as he kept telling himself.

There wasn’t some big talk. No yelling. No guilt. They were just here. Together.

And Harley felt a spark.

When Harley heard footsteps on the stairs, which was weird, because he was pretty sure the workshop had been soundproofed, they’d already ditched the drone. Tony had declared it a piece of junk and moved on. Now they were fixing something, Harley wasn’t exactly sure what, in the glove of a new Iron Man suit. Which was also weird, considering Tony had promised Pepper he’d take a break from building new suits after the whole Christmas fireworks show with exploding armors.

The door opened, and Harley didn’t look up right away. It wasn’t like Pepper burst into the room, but her footsteps didn’t have that calm, relaxed rhythm either.

Two or three steps in, her footsteps stopped. That’s when Harley looked up.

She had one eyebrow raised, eyes flicking between him and Tony. And Harley realized she hadn’t expected to find them together. She’d probably thought Tony was down here alone, and that Harley was still holed up in his room avoiding her. But here he was. In a great mood. Sitting next to his dad.

For a couple of seconds, no one said anything. The only sound was AC/DC playing quietly in the background. Tony kept his eyes fixed on the piece he was convinced was causing the short-circuit. Pepper kept looking at them.

Something shifted in her expression. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, then paused and Harley saw something like relief wash over her face. The kind of soft expression people had when they looked at puppies. Or old photographs.

Maybe it was the bruises.

Maybe it was the fact that he was smiling.

Maybe it was that he was sitting next to Tony willingly.

Pepper looked happy. But also, kind of sad.

"I was looking for you," she said, eyes on Harley. And for some reason, that made him feel guilty. He didn’t even know why. Maybe because she was usually the one checking in on him. Not Tony. And yet he’d come down here. He’d gone to his dad. It felt, stupidly, silently, like picking a side.

“I, uh… I was just asking Dad about diagnostics…” Harley started, but Tony lifted a hand.

“We’re in the middle of surgery,” Tony said casually. “No disturbing the doctors.”

Harley smiled faintly, glancing at the glove. The smile tugged at the bruise on his cheek, stung a little. Pepper noticed, of course. Her gaze lingered too long, assessing. And Tony noticed her noticing.

“He’s fine,” Tony said. “No concussion, no internal bleeding. JARVIS ran a full scan.”

Harley turned to him, eyebrows raised. He almost asked when exactly that scan happened but decided not to start that argument.

“You two,” Pepper said finally, her voice somewhere between amused and… something else. Something he couldn’t place. “If you’re done playing with high-voltage toys, you should start getting ready. We’re leaving in an hour.”

“Leaving for what?” Tony asked, finally looking at her. Harley blinked, surprised too.

“Dinner,” Pepper said plainly. Her eyes landed on Harley. Not sharp, not smiling, just... watching. “I figured you assumed it was canceled. But it’s not.”

“What? Seriously?” Harley gestured vaguely at his face. “I’m not wearing makeup.”

Tony glanced at the bruises like he was actually seeing them for the first time like maybe they weren’t just a fashion statement.

“Nothing’s going to cover that up anyway,” Pepper said, stepping closer and brushing his hair back like she always did when she was trying to check his temperature or see if he was lying. Her tone wasn’t sharp or disappointed. But it wasn’t soft, either. More like she was deliberately choosing not to touch certain subjects. “We’ll skip the theater. Too many people, too many cameras, and none of us are really in the mood for being photographed. But dinner, just the three of us, is still on.”

“Cool,” Harley said quietly.

She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and smiled again, her eyes bouncing between the two of them.

“I’ll be upstairs,” she said, heading for the door. “Dress code is ‘I actually tried.’ That goes for both of you.”

Harley rolled his eyes. He knew how to dress for dinner.

Pepper paused in the doorway. She looked back one last time, and there was something in her expression that made Harley feel like she was taking a picture in her head. But even with all the warmth in her eyes, Harley couldn’t shake the feeling that moving closer to Tony meant moving further away from her-and he didn’t want that. He just didn’t know how to do both.

“One hour,” she said, and closed the door behind her.

Harley stared at the door for a second, then stood up.

“I guess I should go get ready,” he said to the room.

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Tony replied, not looking up from the glove. “Give me a few minutes.”

The restaurant had that kind of effortless shine. Warm lighting, gold accents everywhere. It was modern, with marble floors, and expensive in a low-key, quiet way. No velvet ropes or crystal chandeliers, but Harley was pretty sure the waitlist for a table was brutal. Pepper wouldn’t pick anything subpar.

Still, it didn’t exactly impress him. He’d been in places like this. A lot. School trips to Europe, Paris, Milan, where the teachers forgot how much wine kids weren’t supposed to drink at Michelin-starred restaurants. Spring break at the lake house. Those nights when boarding school boredom hit hard, and he and his friends would sneak out just to get turned away by snooty hostesses-until they pulled out their platinum or black cards, or started dropping the names of their parents. And then there were the spring break he spent with Gene’s family before the lake house days. He knew how to belong in a place like this. And he did. Effortlessly.

People noticed when they walked in. Not in a paparazzi way. Not like a celebrity just entered the room. More like a shift in atmosphere. A ripple. A few heads turned, some people glanced over their wine glasses. Someone nudged their date. It was quiet, but clear.

Harley didn’t blame them.

 Pepper and Tony looked kind of unreal. Pepper was wearing this deep bottle-green dress that moved like water and somehow made her hair shine more. Tony had on a navy suit, perfectly tailored, sharp as hell. They didn’t look like an inventor and a CEO. They looked like movie stars. Like it didn’t take any effort.

It made Harley feel weirdly proud. And also… slightly out of place. His own suit was high-end too, fit like it was made for him. Because it probably was. The open collar gave him a casual edge, and the bruises on his face made him look older than fifteen. Not necessarily in a good way. They got led to a private table toward the back of the room, away from most of the other guests, away from prying eyes. The staff didn’t make a fuss. Harley figured Pepper had made it clear when she booked that professionalism was non-negotiable.

He sat across from them. The leather seat was warm, the kind that gave just enough when you sank into it. He looked at the two of them. He didn’t think he’d ever done a proper dinner outing like this with Tony and Pepper. Not really. Not since they became Tony and Pepper. Back when he used to live with his dad full-time, Pepper had just been the terrifyingly competent assistant who was checking in on him because someone had to. She wasn’t part of the family. They weren’t a family. Not the three of them.

But now…

The menu was printed on heavy, expensive paper, bound in leather. Everything on it was some kind of weird Fusion. Harley recognized the ingredients, but the combinations were borderline unhinged. Tony launched into a conversation with the waiter about scotch, Pepper asked for the wine list and tucked her hair behind her ear while scanning it. She leaned in and said something to Tony, lightly touching his arm. He smiled, glanced at her. Even though Harley was pretty sure they’d been fighting like a day ago, their body language was just on. Like it had a rhythm.

And Harley felt that weird guilt again. Like he’d almost wrecked something by being here. Like no matter what he told himself, the moment Pepper tried to talk to him, he went and hid in the garage. Just like Tony always used to. And now they were trying-trying to spend real time with him, trying to unmess what was messed up and he kept slipping between them like water.

Still, sitting there, menus open, low conversation humming around them…it was… good. Maybe not easy, but good.

“You good?” Tony asked, looking at him over the top of his menu. And Harley felt a tiny jolt because it wasn’t Pepper asking. It was Tony. “Or is the menu in Spanish, by any chance?”

Harley blinked, pulling himself out of his head.

“I can’t decide if I wanna pretend I’m gonna eat a salad,” he said, shutting the menu and giving his dad a solemn look.

“Order whatever you want,” Pepper said, her smile soft and small, just at the corners of her mouth. “I promise I won’t comment on the nutritional value of your dinner.”

By the time their drinks arrived, Harley had managed to talk himself into relaxing. Or at least, pretending to relax. He wasn’t under interrogation. No one was analyzing his every move. They were just talking. About nothing. About everything. About small, harmless things. School. How he was relieved Midtown didn’t force him to keep taking Latin. How his new chemistry teacher hadn’t done anything to make him hate the subject less. It felt… normal. Safe. And that was weird, but not in a bad way.

At some point, Tony drifted into some half-made-up story about a prototype exploding in his face. Pepper kept correcting him, shaking her head like it was second nature. Harley didn’t say much. Just enough to not seem completely awkward. Enough to pass as part of the conversation, even if he felt like he was still waiting for the rhythm of Tony and Pepper’s back-and-forth to somehow catch him and pull him along too.

The food helped. Real food. Good food. Tony ordered steak. Rare, plain, no nonsense. Pepper went for something complicated involving sea bass. Harley picked a pasta dish with a name so long and so Italian he didn’t even bother trying to pronounce it. It looked decent, though.

And for a little while, Harley let himself just… be. Like they’d done this before. Like they did it all the time. Like it wasn’t weird to be here with them. And maybe it wasn’t. Pepper scrunched her nose when she laughed. And Tony grinned like he was just now remembering that being someone’s dad might actually be kind of fun.

“So,” Pepper said eventually, tipping her head against Tony’s shoulder as she looked at Harley. “Aside from yesterday’s Fight Club session… how was the party?”

Harley stared down at his plate and let out a sigh, just loud enough for her to hear.

“It was fine.”

“Fine as in good,” Tony asked, “or fine as in please don’t make me talk to you about this?”

Harley glanced up at him from under his lashes. Tony was leaned back, his arm draped casually around Pepper, eating the last bits off his plate like they had all the time in the world.

“I mean… both,” Harley said, stabbing at his pasta. “It’s nice right now. Don’t ruin it.”

They both laughed softly. Then they exchanged one of those quiet looks. The kind Harley hated because it meant they were silently agreeing to revisit the topic later. He pretended not to notice.

“You guys know the janitor at Midtown keeps a ferret in the mop closet?” Harley said suddenly, aiming for distraction.

Pepper blinked. “I’m sorry… what?”

“See? This is the kind of school intel I’m looking for,” Tony said, perking up.

So Harley told the story. And then another. And another. And, thankfully, they never circled back to anything heavy. Tony even let him sip the weird Japanese whiskey he was drinking, like he hadn’t just been  to a party with underage drinking. And Harley, weirdly, wasn’t even that bothered that his dad had a drink in his hand.

Pepper ordered dessert. And then something else, just because.

And Harley caught himself hoping they’d do this again. Just… go out like this. No lectures. No requests. No big pretending. Even though, really, Tony and Pepper only knew a version of him. One of the versions. The slightly mouthy, slightly problematic, slightly Stark-ish one. Not the kid who saved every photo Tony ever sent him. Who took screenshots of text messages in case they disappeared. Who had Pepper’s voicemail greeting saved in his phone just so he could hear her voice without actually calling.

But maybe he could get used to being this version of himself. The version who sat across from two people who were, whether he liked it or not, his parents. The version who watched them flirt without realizing they were flirting, who sat through dinners like this, even if he was terrified he’d disappoint them. Even if Tony still felt like a stranger half the time.

When the check came, no one rushed to leave. They stayed. Just… sat there. Stretching out the night without saying why. Pepper sipped her after-dinner coffee. God knows how she planned to sleep after that. And Tony was dragging his finger through patterns on a napkin like he was sketching some invention in his head.

Harley rested his head on one hand, just watching them, starting to feel a little sleepy himself.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Pepper asked eventually, glancing at him. “You’ve been quiet for five whole minutes. That’s basically a record.”

Harley frowned. Pepper knew damn well that he wasn’t talkative when he was actually trying to make a good impression. He only ran his mouth when he was bored, or when someone expected a Stark. Not when he cared. When he cared, or when he felt weird, he got polite.

Oh. Of course Pepper knew that. That’s why she was asking.

“Just thinking,” he said quietly, staring at her coffee cup. Then, without quite looking at either of them, “Can we… take a photo?”

“A photo?” Pepper looked genuinely surprised.

“You know,” Harley shrugged, cheeks burning a little. “For the archives. Or whatever.”

“Are you dying?” Tony leaned forward, peering at him like he was scanning for symptoms. “You want a picture? Of us? Together?”

“Tony,” Pepper said sharply, and Harley was pretty sure she would’ve jabbed him in the ribs if they weren’t in public. Then she smiled softly at Harley. “Ignore him. Of course we can.”

Harley stood up awkwardly, thinking he’d just grab a quick selfie from across the table, but Tony reached out and all but dragged him over between them.

Tony grunted like it was the greatest effort of his life, but Harley felt his dad’s arm settle across his shoulders.

Pepper took the photo. Then another. Then one more.

When she passed him her phone to approve them, Harley scrolled through: one normal. One slightly blurry where Tony was blinking. And the last one… on the last one, he and Tony weren’t even looking at the camera. They were both looking at Pepper.

Harley transferred all the photos to his own phone and slid back into his seat, zooming in, analyzing each shot like it was some kind of evidence. They were good. Actually good. And he looked… like he belonged. For a second, staring at that picture, he kind of got why Jason insisted on calling Pepper his mom, even when Tyler kept smacking him in the back of the head for it. He got why teachers, whenever Pepper visited him at boarding school, just assumed she was his mother. Why the press, before Tony threatened to sue them all into silence, speculated about the odds that he was her kid too, not just Tony’s.

And honestly… looking at the photo, Harley didn’t blame them.

He could almost believe that the little dimple in his left cheek came from her, not from the time he fell face-first down the entire staircase in Malibu. He could almost convince himself that the color of his hair was some impossible mix of Tony and Pepper’s, and that the freckles scattered across his nose came from her side. And sure, logically he knew none of that was true.

But it was a nice thought.

“You gonna post any of those?” Pepper asked after he’d been silent way too long, still staring down at his screen.

“Nah,” Harley said, locking his phone and glancing up at her. “Just gonna send ’em to someone.”

Tony immediately perked up like a bloodhound. “Someone important? Is this about the mystery girl? Did you actually get into that fight over a girl?”

“Dad,” Harley said flatly, tilting his head like please don’t.

Tony grinned. “So, it’s about a girl.”

“Is it MJ?” Pepper jumped in, suddenly way too interested, shooting Tony that half-excited, half-conspiratorial look. The kind that meant Tony was not getting reined in any time soon. “Your rebel without a cause?”

“Rebel…?” Harley blinked at her, caught completely off guard. “You don’t even know her.”

“I’d really like to though. I’d like to meet your friends sometime, you know?” Pepper said, seizing the moment like a pro. “Or even just one friend. Preferably MJ.”

Harley didn’t answer, but he smiled anyway. A little. Enough that she noticed.

The ride home was quiet after that. Calm. Tony was driving, which Harley hoped meant enough time had passed since that whiskey earlier. One hand on the wheel, the other resting on the center console, fingers laced loosely with Pepper’s. He was talking, telling one of his dumb stories, the kind that usually annoyed Harley. But Pepper just listened with that quiet smile of hers, like she already knew the punchline but still wanted to hear it from him anyway.

Harley sat in the back, head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. New York. The city that supposedly never slept. Whatever.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, dragging him out of his thoughts. For a second, he forgot he was pretending not to get messages all day. It was just the group chat from the boarding school guys. Someone had apparently flooded the bathroom on the second floor again. Harley snorted softly to himself, sent the best of the restaurant photos with a caption:

“Not me, clearly. Apparently I have adult role models now or something.”

Then he muted the chat, not waiting for whatever dumb replies they’d throw back.

He hesitated for a second, then tapped into his messages with MJ. Smiling slightly, he sent her all three photos.

Harley:
sorry for ghosting you all day. had to deal with them.

MJ:
forgiven. barely.

you cleaned up pretty good tho. even with that thing on your face.
i thought those rumors were BS. what happened?

Harley:
definitely not BS.

it kinda blew up after you left.

long story.

but i’m good. promise.

He was about to type something else when he heard it. The sound of his dad’s stupidly smug smile creeping into his voice, even before he said anything. Harley looked up. Tony was watching him through the rearview mirror instead of focusing on the road, and Harley was pretty sure Pepper was tracking him through the side mirror, too.

“So,” Pepper said, way too casual to actually be casual. “Is that a ‘nothing serious, I swear’ MJ?”

Harley didn’t answer. Just touched the cut on his lip with his tongue and shook his head.

“It’s a ‘yes’,” Tony grinned, like he’d cracked some secret code, and Harley honestly had no idea when exactly moving back in had leveled them up to this weird, teasing dynamic.

“Soft confirmation,” Pepper murmured, her smile flicking sideways toward Tony.

Harley blinked at them both, baffled. “What is wrong with you two?”

“Tell her we’re super chill and laid-back,” Tony said, still watching him through the mirror like this was some kind of strategy meeting. “We’re the cool parents.”

“I’m not gonna lie to her,” Harley shot back without thinking. And then winced, realizing how that sounded.

“Wow. Brutal,” Tony said, but the mock-hurt tone was immediately undercut by the quiet laugh Pepper let out.

“Okay, then tell her we’re rich and mysterious,” Tony said, undeterred.

“Oh my god…” Harley muttered, leaning back against the window, feeling that weird ache in his chest again. Not the bad kind. The other one. The kind that came when things were weirdly okay, and he didn’t know how to hold onto that without breaking it.

Chapter Text

Monday sucked. Not just in the it’s cold, wet, and foggy kind of way, but in the I really don’t want to show my face at school kind of way too. Harley had a feeling that his dad’s threats about not publishing his image were a little too weak to stop the teenage hunger for gossip-especially after that kind of party drama.

At least the weather gave him an excuse to wear the beanie Pepper had given him last Christmas  after seeing him skateboarding without a hat in freezing wind. It probably cost more than some of the other kids’ cars, but whatever.

What the weather didn’t give him was an excuse to wear sunglasses. He had them on anyway. He just hoped they didn’t look too obvious. Or too much like he was trying to hide a black eye.

He rarely wore sunglasses. Actually, he only had this one pair. They used to be Tony’s. Some old limited edition Maybachs.

Harley got them years ago, back when Tony vanished in Afghanistan and Harley had permission, for two whole weeks, to grieve like a proper wreck. No school. No expectations. Just mourning and floating. He was living with Obie during that time. It was Obie who handed him the glasses, dropping them into Harley’s small hands like some kind of sacred relic.

Obie said Tony used to say that with these sunglasses, he could see the world but the world couldn’t see him. That as long as he wore them, no one could tell what he was thinking. That he could be whoever he needed to be. For the press, for the board, for everyone. That even if he didn’t feel like a Stark, wearing them made him look like one. No one would know the difference.

At the time, Harley had believed that. Thought it meant something. Later, after he found out Obie had been the one who’d kidnapped Tony. After realizing the man who’d helped raise him had wanted Tony dead Harley wasn’t sure anymore. He didn’t know if those words had been real, or just another layer of manipulation.

Didn’t really matter now.

Today, Harley needed to be a Stark again. Or at least disappear into that version of himself.

Happy was already waiting, of course. Harley slid into the backseat and leaned his head against the headrest, shutting his eyes. The car smelled like good coffee, caramel, and maybe some lemon-scented hand sanitizer Happy had been overusing like it was holy water.

“You join a boy band,” Happy asked, glancing at him in the rearview mirror, “or did Tony finally convince you two to go full twinsies? I haven’t seen you wear those since-”

He cut himself off.

Harley smirked faintly.

Yeah. Happy had figured it out. Last time he saw Harley in these sunglasses was when Harley thought Tony was dead. They were kind of a crisis-only item.

“Ever get the feeling you’re just too good-looking for the harsh light of day?” Harley muttered, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “It’s bright.”

“It’s overcast,” Happy said, merging into traffic with the subtle aggression of someone who’s driven in New York for twenty years. “You hungover? You look like hell.”

“Good morning to you too, Happy,” Harley said, flashing a fake smile. “Such uplifting energy.”

“You were fine on Thursday,” Happy said, not smiling back. “What happened?”

“I’m just trying to unlock my mysterious, brooding side. Batman vibes,” Harley said dryly, then sighed and pushed the sunglasses up onto his head for a second. “I tripped.”

“Under a moving truck?” Happy asked, trying to get a better look at his face without rear-ending anyone.

“There was a party,” Harley admitted, rolling his eyes, even if Happy couldn’t see it. “I went. Things got… kinda messy. It was a long weekend.”

“What kind of party?” Happy asked, and Harley immediately wanted to jump out of the car.

“Just some girl’s house,” he said, too casual. “No big deal. Loud music. Bad decisions. Some light bloodshed.”

Happy didn’t laugh.Harley groaned and leaned his head back against the seat again.
“I’m fine, seriously. Pepper’s already freaking out enough for everyone. You don’t need to join the club.”

“Pepper’s freaking out?” Happy asked, suspicious. Harley shrugged.

Okay, Pepper didn’t really freak out the way normal people did. But still. She’d been pretty shaken. For Pepper.

“Did Tony see you yet?” Happy asked after a second. “You grounded for life?”

“No punishments. No consequences,” Harley said, still a little surprised by that himself. “Just one mandatory family dinner.”

“They let a fight slide?” Happy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t even pretend you didn’t start it. I can already see that’s where this is going.”

Harley shrugged again. He really didn’t feel like explaining. Not the weird tug-of-war in his chest, not the fact that Tony and Pepper seemed more upset at each other than at him, not the fear that all of this, the concern, the dinners, the attention, could disappear any second. Again.

“So how was your weekend?” Harley asked, giving Happy a tired half-smile.

“Don’t change the subject,” Happy said, dead serious.

“I’m not. I’m gracefully transitioning.”

“Are you worried because they’re worried?” Happy asked suddenly, quiet. And Harley, for one second, thought maybe Happy was wasting his life as a bodyguard.

“Do I get cooler if I say no?” Harley said after a pause.

“Nope.”

“Then yeah,” Harley admitted softly. “A little.”

Happy made a noise that Harley recognized as approval. That was enough, apparently.

They didn’t talk for the rest of the ride.

“Be good today,” Happy said eventually, pulling up to the school and twisting around in his seat to look at Harley properly.“No more fights.”

“I don’t like making promises I can’t keep,” Harley said with a lazy grin, grabbing his backpack. “But I’ll aim for not getting arrested.”

“Harley.”

“Fine,” Harley said, rolling his eyes as he opened the door. “I’ll try.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Happy called after him just before the door shut.

“Never better!” Harley shouted back, slamming the door and jamming his hands in his pockets.

Maybe he could run into MJ before lunch. Maybe he could not run into Flash at all.

He straightened his back and headed for the school building.

Harley knew the second he stepped inside the building that the rumors had officially grown teeth. And claws. And God knew what else. People were turning their heads, whispering, shoving each other for a better look. Phones were out again. Great. He tugged the beanie lower over his ears and squared his shoulders, pushing his chest out a little, like that could make him bulletproof.

“That’s him, right?”

“The fight with Flash...”

“No, seriously, he actually-”

“I heard he-”

“No way, he won-”

The whispers buzzed like static in his ears. Harley told himself he was used to it, but honestly, he hated it. Something crawled under his skin, coiling tight, like it wanted to punch its way out. Jason wasn’t at the door. Tyler wasn’t at the lockers. And his own locker suddenly felt like it had relocated to the far side of the building. The weird makeshift hallway of people watching him only stretched that walk out longer.

He opened his locker like nothing was wrong. Like he wasn’t hearing his heartbeat like a bassline in his ears. Like people weren’t still snapping pictures. People always talked after stuff like this. Even back at his old school, where he’d just been Harley, not Stark. And yet, here, even after months of playing it low-key, he was still shiny and new, and people didn’t quite know where to put him yet. Rich? Obviously. Cool? Maybe. Dangerous? Apparently, now, yeah.

Harley exhaled slowly and slammed his locker shut harder than necessary. Someone flinched. Someone else whispered something under their breath.

Fine. Whatever. He’d been prepping himself for this all weekend. Let them talk. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He hadn’t asked for a fight. He hadn’t started it. He’d just stood up for someone who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stand up for himself. Because Flash and his idiot friends were assholes. Because Parker hadn’t deserved that.

Something tightened in Harley’s chest for a second. Not fear. Not guilt, exactly. More like that off-balance feeling. The same feeling he got every time he remembered that he and Tony Stark were basically two strangers with matching DNA. The same feeling he got when he couldn’t figure out what Pepper was trying to tell him, like she was speaking some language he didn’t know.

He hitched his backpack higher on one shoulder and pulled off his sunglasses. He was a Stark. People were always going to have something to say. Hiding wasn’t going to fix it. Let them stare. He wasn’t going to flinch. Wasn’t going to shrink down and pretend to be smaller than he was. Screw that.

He stepped into class, scanned the faces, and let the corner of his mouth curl up. He was Harley Stark. He didn’t start the fight but he damn well finished it.

He was doing okay. The smirk stayed on, music loud in his headphones, chin held high. He let the bruises speak for themselves. By the end of second period, he’d almost managed to convince himself maybe people weren’t talking about him nonstop.

And then he saw Jason and Tyler leaning against his locker like they were waiting for him, both looking aggressively bored just to make a point.

“There he is! Our very own boxer!” Jason grinned and immediately threw his arms around Harley’s neck. His backpack was half-open, one shoe untied.

Harley shoved him off without much force and fist-bumped Tyler.

“Why didn’t you call me, man?” Jason demanded, loud as ever.

“Please,” Harley said, tugging off his headphones. “Don’t yell.”

“How many teeth did you lose?” Jason pressed, trying to peer into his mouth until Tyler had to physically pull him back. “Flash says like, three.”

“Zero,” Harley corrected flatly, tossing a textbook into his locker. “And it wasn’t even a real fight.”

“Mm-hm.” Tyler nodded, deadpan. “Sure. And the bruise the size of Ohio on your face is just for dramatic effect. I mean, I believe Flash exaggerated, but… did you win?”

“Are you two done?” Harley sighed, slamming his locker shut and leaning back against it. “I’m fine. I don’t need whatever this is. And if you think this bruise looks bad, you should see the other guy.”

“Oh, I did,” Tyler said with mock seriousness.

“Alright, alright, time for fact-checking!” Jason cut in, holding up a hand like he was moderating a debate. “Rumor number one: you fought Flash for MJ’s honor. True or false?”

“False,” Harley said, dry as sandpaper.

“Did you use any of Tony Stark’s tech to, like, boost your punches?” Jason asked, eyes gleaming. Tyler and Harley exchanged a look. “And if not MJ. Was it about Parker? Justice? Pride? Your sparkling reputation?”

“Yeah, I carry an Iron Man gauntlet in my back pocket just in case someone pisses me off,” Harley deadpanned, shooting Jason a bored look. “And yeah. It was about Parker.”

“Did you maybe consider telling them to piss off and just walking away? Y’know… instead of swinging?” Tyler asked, glancing at the clock.

“Sure,” Harley said, pushing off the locker and starting toward his next class. “But that wouldn’t really help my whole mysterious-Stark-heir aura, would it?”

“Honestly? Kind of a fan,” Jason grinned, slinging an arm across his shoulders. “Midtown could use the entertainment.”

“You’re an idiot,” Tyler said, and Harley smiled, agreeing silently.

“Yeah, well… nobody likes you guys as much as I do,” Jason declared, peeling off down another hallway. “See you at lunch! Don’t miss me too much.”

Harley rolled his eyes and lifted a hand in a lazy wave.

“So… you good?” Tyler asked, quieter now. “Grounded?”

“Been worse,” Harley shrugged after a second’s hesitation. “And, weirdly… no?”

“And you still complain about them,” Tyler said, but there wasn’t any bite to it.

“Guess they’re so out of practice with parenting they forgot how to do it,” Harley said with a casual shrug, like it didn’t matter. Tyler just smiled, not pushing it further.

“See you in Spanish,” he said, ducking into his English class.

Harley smiled, just a little, and kept walking.

Chemistry sucked. Obviously.

And just to make his life better, there’d been a quiz like the universe was actively gunning for him. He’d probably passed, barely, but still. By the time he stumbled out of the lab, he felt like putting his head through a wall.

Then MJ stepped out of the classroom across the hall.

Harley froze. For a second, he seriously considered turning around and walking the other way. He felt some weird kind of relief and tension hit him at the same time. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say to her, what he should say to her. Or how he was even supposed to feel.

Her eyes flicked over his face, his bruises, then met his eyes. She rolled hers.

“Hey,” he said, way too casually.

“Wow,” MJ said flatly. “Looks worse in person.”

“Thanks,” he replied, posing dramatically with his face in his palm like one of those weird fashion models.“Limited edition. New trend. Y’know how it is.”

“I see that.” She gave him another once-over. “Really leaning into the bad decisions at a party vibe... What was it? Three guys from the basketball team?”

“I’ll take that as concern,” he said, flashing her the smallest smile. “And, for the record, that was the only bad decision at that party. Just so you know.”

MJ smiled too, just a little, like maybe she approved. Harley had a quick, unhelpful thought that she probably assumed he’d been drunk enough to regret their kiss. That maybe the fight was some weird aftermath of that.

“Fair enough,” she said.

“Is this the part where you tell me I was an idiot?” Harley asked, mostly just to keep her talking.

“I feel like that’s implied,” she said, stepping a little closer and crossing her arms. “You punched some jock in Parker’s name.”

“Chivalrous idiot?” Harley said hopefully, jamming his hands in his pockets, glancing down at her. Where even were they? Were they pretending nothing happened and never speak of that kiss again? Or were they supposed to, like... hold hands now? Or something? “They would’ve flattened Parker.”

“Didn’t say it wasn’t hot,” MJ shrugged, turning away like it was nothing.

Harley’s brain short-circuited.

“Wait. What? MJ-?”

“I didn’t say anything,” she threw back over her shoulder. “Go to class, Stark.”

Harley jogged a few steps to catch up.

“You totally just said I’m hot,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, shoving him lightly. “You probably have a concussion. No one should trust anything you think right now.”

Harley grinned wider, walking backward to keep looking at her, even as he drifted toward his next class.

“Catch you around, Stark,” MJ said, raising an eyebrow as she turned the corner.

Harley was still grinning like an idiot, chivalrous idiot, when he turned too and nearly fell over when Jason hissed in his ear like some gremlin from nowhere.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Jason whispered, practically vibrating. “You kissed at that party. You totally kissed her.”

“Shut up,” Harley groaned, stumbling sideways.

“I knew it!” Jason looked like he might actually explode from excitement. “You kissed MJ and then got in a fight. Please tell me you didn’t, like, confess your love in the hallway just now?”

“I said, like, one sentence,” Harley sighed. “Also, what are you even doing here? Where’s Tyler? Why are you like this?”

“You had serious eye contact,” Jason said, bouncing slightly. “Like emotionally charged, movie-level eye contact. Are you sure you weren’t fighting for her?”

“I hate you,” Harley muttered. “Please. Stop. Talking.”

“I’ll never stop talking.” Jason nearly skipped ahead. “Don’t worry, I’ll tell Tyler everything in gym. Don’t stress.”

“I am stressed!” Harley called after him as Jason practically ran toward the sports wing.

And still, somehow, he couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot. Chivalrous idiot

By the time lunch finally rolled around, the cafeteria was pretty much the same chaos it always was. People yelling over each other, laughing, someone blasting a Spotify playlist no one had asked for. Harley scanned the room , tray balanced in one hand.

MJ’s usual table had a few girls he didn’t recognize, but MJ herself was noticeably missing. By the vending machines, there was no sign of Jason or Tyler either. But tucked into the corner by the windows, a little apart from the rest of the chaos, sat Parker and his buddy Ned, the one who talked with his hands just as much as his mouth.

Harley shifted his grip on his tray and headed straight for them. Parker saw him coming a few steps before he reached them, his eyes going cartoonishly wide like he couldn’t quite believe Harley was seriously walking over to sit with them. So Harley dropped his tray onto the table with a little too much flair and slid into one of the empty seats.

“Hey,” he said like this was just something he did now.

“Uh… oh. Hey?” Peter straightened up, clearly trying hard not to stare at the bruises. “Are you… Are you eating here today?”

“Apparently,” Harley said dryly, peeling the lid off a yogurt. “ Hope you guys aren’t gonna start advertising this table as, y’know, the official Stark Zone now. I hate power struggles before carbs.”

Ned made some kind of startled sound. Maybe a hiccup, maybe a laugh.

“No, no, sit! Totally sit! It’s… your table. I mean, our table. I mean-it’s public. It’s a public table,” Ned stammered, and Harley actually winced a little.

“Did you rehearse that in a mirror or was that raw improv?” Harley asked, raising an eyebrow but trying not to sound like a jerk.

“I panicked…” Ned admitted in a small voice. “And hey, those sunglasses you had this morning? Super cool.”

“Thanks,” Harley said. “They go great with head trauma.”

Peter looked down, face flushing as if he wanted to sink under the table and die. Ned, on the other hand, leaned forward like he’d forgotten he was panicking five seconds ago.

“Okay, but seriously,” Ned said, not bothering to lower his voice. “Peter told me everything. Not that I asked! But he was totally freaking out Friday night. And Saturday. And honestly Sunday, too-”

“I wasn’t freaking out,” Peter muttered, shooting Ned a betrayed look.

“You kinda were, man,” Ned shrugged. “You called me at, like, four in the morning asking if it’d be weird to text Harley, you were convinced he had a concussion and was gonna die in his sleep-”

“I didn’t say that!” Peter snapped, and Harley’s mouth twitched up on one side.

“You know it’s rude to talk about someone like they’re not here, right?”  Harley asked in his best bored voice.

“Sorry,” Peter said quickly, turning red in record time. “Are you okay, though? You look better than you did on... Friday?”

“Well, I’m not actively bleeding,” Harley said with a shrug. “So, progress.”

They sat in awkward silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry. I just…” Peter stared at his tray. “I feel like it’s all my fault.”

“You feel like it is?” Harley raised an eyebrow. “Generous. It was your fault.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter mumbled again, even redder now.

“Don’t apologize,” Harley sighed. “It was my choice in the end.”

Peter opened his mouth like he was about to launch into some heartfelt speech and Harley did not have the energy for that.

“So what else did Parker tell you?” he asked, tilting his head toward Ned. “The part where his aunt cornered me with a first-aid kit and all the motherly concern in the tri-state area?”

“Dude-” Peter flinched like he’d been burned.“You said you wouldn’t-”

“Relax,” Harley held up his hands. “I’m not mad. I’m clarifying.”

Ned looked like he couldn’t decide whether or not he was supposed to respond to that, so they lapsed into a weird, semi-tense silence for a couple minutes.

“I’m, uh… I’m a big fan of your dad,” Ned said eventually, and Harley blinked. He was almost used to people avoiding the subject of his dad altogether since he’d shown up at school. “ Peter too. It’s just…what’s it like? Y’know… having Tony Stark as your dad?”

Harley blinked again and slowly turned to look at Ned.

“What’s it like having your dad?” he asked, jaw tightening a little.

“Uh... I mean, I don’t-” Ned floundered. “Normal, I guess?”

All these flashes passed through Harley’s brain. Little moments carefully sectioned off from the Iron Man persona: Tony snoring on the couch, looking at Pepper with that rare quiet smile, carving a turkey, giving him that ridiculous gold camel. All the bedtime stories, the bike lessons, the good stuff from when he was still small enough to believe it would always be that way.

“Same,” Harley said, trying very hard not to think about interviews or team press conferences or arc reactors or blackout nights or long disappearances. His neck tensed.

“Sorry,” Ned said quickly. “I didn’t mean to be rude, I just-”

“It’s fine,” Harley cut him off, glancing at Peter, who was still tomato red and hadn’t touched his food. “Most of the time he’s just… my dad. I’m messing with you a little. Okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, ha, ha. Coolcoolcoolcoolcool,” Ned let out a breath like he’d been holding it the entire lunch period. “So cool.”

“I really want to thank you again,” Peter finally worked up the nerve to speak again.

“Your aunt nearly dragging me to the ER is thanks enough,” Harley interrupted, not unkindly.

“Yeah, well, she... she has a tendency to be intense,” Peter said, somehow even redder.

“Never eat anything she offers you,” Ned cut in, dead serious.

“Wait, seriously?” Harley raised an eyebrow, sensing a story.

“Please don’t tell him that…” Peter groaned, finally eating.

“So it’s official, we’ve lost him.” Jason’s voice came from over Harley’s shoulder before he even registered the guy approaching. For someone so absurdly loud, Jason had a real talent for appearing out of nowhere. “Stark sitting with the nerdiest nerds in the entire school. Someone take a picture. I wanna remember the exact moment everything went to hell.”

Harley looked up from his tray. Tyler dropped into the last empty seat at the table, giving a small nod like that counted as a proper greeting. Across from Harley, Parker and Ned froze like they’d been caught committing a crime.

“Hey guys,” Harley said dryly, automatically sliding a granola bar across the table to Jason. “Thanks for absolutely ruining my attempt at being the chill guy.”

“You punched Flash for Parker and now you’re sitting with Parker,” Jason said, already unwrapping the bar. “We had to make sure your brain wasn’t leaking out. Honestly, might write an article about it. Unless this is some kind of hostage situation? Are they forcing you to do chemistry? Blink twice.”

“That’s not wh-” Peter started, clearly overwhelmed by the sudden chaos around him.

“They’re just being clowns,” Harley cut in before Parker could work himself into a full panic.

“Maybe it’s an elaborate recruitment for Honor Society,” Jason said, turning to Tyler with mock seriousness. Tyler nodded solemnly.

“It’s a cult,” Tyler confirmed.

“I let you copy my Spanish homework!” Ned blurted, offended.

“You might want to dial it back,” Harley said, half-smirking. “I copy off Tyler, and I don’t really care who copies off me. So technically, your intellectual labor is powering the entire school.”

“Call it an act of solidarity, Leeds,” Tyler added. “Don’t ruin this for us.”

“Are they...?” Peter started, then trailed off, clearly having no idea what he even wanted to ask.

“They’re my friends,” Harley said, glancing at Parker and Ned, almost apologetic. He could feel how weird this must seem to them.

“Wait...aren’t you friends with Flash?” Ned asked suddenly, turning to Jason. And honestly? Harley kind of wanted to hear the answer to that too.

“I sit next to him in history and our parents have brunch sometimes.” Jason shrugged like that explained everything. “Doesn’t mean I’d take a punch for the guy.”

Harley actually blinked at that one, catching the subtle jab. Judging by Jason’s smug little smile, it was fully intentional.

“I didn’t take a punch for anyone,” Harley clarified. “I got into a fight because it was the right thing to do.”

“And because you’re dramatic,” Tyler added.

“That too,” Harley admitted, rolling his eyes.

“Pretty sure Flash won’t talk to me for at least a week now,” Jason sighed. “But I guess the Stark Family Drama Kid is more interesting anyway.”

“Glad to be the lesser evil,” Harley said flatly.

“Oh, by a mile,” Jason confirmed. “And just so you know. We only sat down to make sure your social life didn’t completely fall apart.”

“Wow. So heroic of you guys.”

“If you say that again, but like, deeper, I might pop a boner,” Jason said.

Tyler did the decent thing and smacked him in the back of the head.

“This is the weirdest lunch table I’ve ever sat at,” Peter muttered, and Harley mentally logged that Parker clearly hadn’t lived much yet if this ranked top ten.

“Pretty sure it’s the best,” Ned said brightly, not remotely bothered that Jason was stealing his carrots.

The intercom crackled just as Harley drained the last of his juice, eyes flicking toward the door, half-hoping, half-not, that MJ might show up after all.

“Harley Stark, please report to the principal’s office. Harley Stark, to the principal’s office.”

“Do you think t-” Peter started nervously.

“It’s about me,” Harley cut him off, standing up and slinging his backpack over one shoulder.

“Say hi to the feds for me!” Jason called after him, and Harley flipped him off without even turning around.

“Don’t get expelled!” Tyler added. “I can’t pass physics without you!”

Harley rolled his eyes. He wasn’t nervous. Maybe a little annoyed. Slightly curious. He slipped on his sunglasses as he walked out of the cafeteria and let a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth.

Principal Morita wasn’t one for pleasantries. When Harley walked in, he didn’t even look up right away, just finished scribbling something into a notebook and motioned silently to the chair across the desk. Harley looked around as he dropped into the seat. The office was neat. Clean. Organized. A sharp contrast to the junkyard aesthetic his last principal had going.

“Mr. Stark,” Morita finally greeted, closing his notebook and meeting Harley’s eyes.

“Principal Morita,” Harley replied smoothly, flashing the kind of polite smile that felt like a private joke. He crossed his legs and lounged a little deeper into the world’s most uncomfortable chair. “The pleasure’s all mine.”

“You’ve got a strange idea of ‘pleasure,’ Mr. Stark,” Morita said, brows furrowing.

“Occupational hazard,” Harley shrugged.

“Tough weekend?” Morita asked, nodding slightly at the bruise peeking out from under Harley’s glasses.

“Oh, I’m a very busy man on weekends,” Harley said sweetly. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“I’ve been made aware,” Morita said, fingers lacing together, “that there was… an incident. Off-campus. Involving several Midtown students. Several of whom showed up to school today looking banged up. Coming in with bruises like that isn’t helping your case.”

Harley sighed dramatically and looked up at the ceiling.

“Let’s save ourselves both some time,” he said, leaning forward. “Whatever rumors you’ve heard, that’s all they are. Rumors. And unless someone filed an actual complaint, I really don’t see how this is any of your business.”

“I’m not looking for an excuse to punish you,” Morita said calmly, refusing to take Harley’s bait. “I want to know what’s going on. Because this isn’t about whatever may or may not have happened off-campus. It’s about how your name, as a Midtown student, is impacting the school’s reputation.”

“Sounds like a you problem, sir,” Harley said, tilting his head slightly. He saw Morita’s jaw clench tighter for just a second.

“No, Mr. Stark,” Morita said, still calm but sharper now. “It’s an us problem. Because the people who write checks to keep this school running? They’re starting to ask questions. And parents will call.”

“People are calling about me?” Harley grinned. “Kinda flattering.”

“Harley.”

“Sir,” His grin widened, just to be difficult. “If my last name weren’t Stark, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation, would we?”

“We hold all our students to the same standard,” Morita said, eyes narrowing just slightly.

“Do you?” Harley pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead. “’Cause I’m not seeing Flash anywhere around here.”

“Let me guess,, Mr. Stark,” Morita leaned forward now, his voice lower, “you saw how your father handles people. Charm, quips, pretending to be too clever to care. And you thought you’d try it out?”

“Seems to be working,” Harley shrugged. “Though unlike my father, I’m technically a minor, so I’m not sure why we’re even having this conversation without a guardian present. And unless Midtown’s suddenly interested in monitoring its students’ private lives, which, by the way, sounds like a legal nightmare, I don’t see why I’m still sitting here.”

Morita’s lips tightened. Harley narrowed his eyes, satisfied.

“Optics, Mr. Stark,” he said finally, his tone stiffening. “We have optics to manage. It’s my job to ensure a safe environment for all our students. And whether you like it or not, anything you do, Tony Stark’s son, drags this school into the spotlight with you.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” Harley frowned.

“It’s just the truth,” Morita replied, leaning back in his chair.

“Well, here’s another truth,” Harley said, licking his lips. “No complaints were filed. No reports. And if we’re talking about the same hypothetical event, I’m pretty sure I didn’t start anything.”

“Whatever happened at that party,” Morita said after a beat, “I strongly suggest it doesn’t happen again.”

“I’m not here to embarrass Midtown, Principal,” Harley said, his voice quieter now, lower. “Believe it or not, I’d actually prefer no one paid attention to me at all. But if you’re pinning this on me just ‘cause someone’s mommy freaked over a bruise, then honestly, I expected better.”

“Let me be clear,” Morita said, standing now, looming slightly over Harley’s seat. “Maybe you think your name is a shield. Maybe it is. But it also raises expectations.  I’m not asking you not to get into another fight. I’m telling you that if I so much as hear a whisper next time, you’ll wish we were just having another one of these little chats.”

Harley’s heart skipped. That didn’t sound promising. Morita wasn’t done.

“Try keeping your head down for once, Mr. Stark. Life might be a little easier if you stopped acting like the world owes you something.”

Harley stood up, breathing harder than he wanted to. He pushed his glasses back down from his forehead. His eyes stung and a muscle in his cheek was twitching.

“Good to know,” he muttered, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and heading toward the door.

“And Harley,” Morita called after him. Harley stopped in the doorway. His voice was sharper now. “No more warnings.”

“Duly noted,” Harley said, nodding once. “And Principal? If anyone asks about the bruises, maybe I just fell down the stairs. God knows we’ve got plenty of them in the Tower.”

He flashed one last smile over his shoulder and closed the door behind him.

His heart was pounding way harder than he’d like to admit. He clenched his fists once he was out in the hallway. He didn’t have the energy for this. He really, truly didn’t. The meeting left him feeling like crap and today hadn’t even been that bad until now.

Friggin’ adults and their friggin’ concerns.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Harley checked the screen.

And he smiled.

"Uncle Jimmy," Harley said brightly. Rhodey was a good guy, even when Harley was kind of a dick to him.

"Good to hear your voice," Rhodey replied, warm but sounding just a little too cautious. "You got a minute?"

"Just got a talking-to from the principal about, quote, 'representing the school,'" Harley said, walking toward the sports wing.

"So… that’s a yes?" Rhodey asked after a beat.

"Sure," Harley said, rolling his eyes. "What’s up?"

"Just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re alright," Rhodey said gently.

"I’m fine," Harley replied. "Why?"

“Yeah? Just asking ‘cause I got a lovely little photo from Pepper. You, her, and Tony. All dressed up, looking sharp. Very classy," Rhodey said, and Harley felt his shoulders sink. He already knew where this was going. "Except you looked like someone had taken a crowbar to your face."

"Oh. That." Harley tried to keep it light.

"You wanna tell me what happened?"

"Not really," Harley said, a bit hesitant.

"Was it a one-time thing?" Rhodey asked after a pause. "Or is this something I should be worried about?"

"I said I’m fine, didn’t I?" Harley snapped, picking up his pace. "There was a party. There was a fight. That’s it. I won, by the way. Didn’t even get grounded, so maybe you should be calling Pepper and Dad to check if they're okay."

"You think just because you didn’t get punished, it wasn’t serious?" Rhodey asked. "Pepper thought maybe I should talk to you. She wants to know if you’re really okay."

Harley opened his mouth, then closed it again. He raked a hand through his hair and took in a sharp breath.

"I thought they trusted me, but I guess I was wrong," he said, voice cold. "And anyway, I have a dad now, apparently. Living with him. Day in, day out. Isn’t that enough? One grown man already gave me the lecture about behavior and expectations. You and I had our nice little bonding talk after the whole blow-up with Pepper, but I really don’t need everyone parenting me, okay?"

The silence on the other end was Rhodey trying very hard not to get pissed.

"I’m not lecturing you," Rhodey said carefully, steady but strained. "I’m just trying to talk. Check in. You know. Basic human decency."

"I said I’m fine," Harley repeated, eyes rolling hard enough to hurt. "Mission accomplished."

"You don’t have to be a smartass about it," Rhodey sighed.

"Pretty sure I do," Harley muttered, pushing open a door with his shoulder. His ribs ached. Perfect. “It’s genetic.”

"Tony and Pepper are your parents," Rhodey said, sounding like he was nearing the edge of his patience. “They’re supposed to worry. But other people are allowed to care too.”

“Yeah, super cool how nobody cared for, like, eight years,” Harley snapped. "So forgive me if I don’t know what to do with all this sudden concern. I gotta go. Swim practice. It’s probably gonna suck."

"Don’t hang up-" Rhodey started, clearly realizing what was coming, but Harley had already hit end and flicked on airplane mode for good measure.

He exhaled hard, not slowing down. Adults were exhausting. They could ruin literally anything.
But he had more pressing problems. Swim practice was probably gonna be hell, considering it already hurt to walk, so moving his arms through water sounded like an absolute nightmare.

Still, he could pretend everything was fine. He was good at that.

And maybe, maybe, if he timed it right, he’d catch MJ after practice. Decathlon team usually met around the same time. If he was lucky, maybe she’d let him walk her home. Unless Happy insisted they head straight back to the tower, which… yeah, was possible.

But honestly? That was kind of a nice thought. Something worth holding onto.