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“I’m going to need you to calm down.”
“Ya fucking right.”
“I’m serious, Harley. Way the fuck down.”
“Peter-”
“Way. The fuck. Down.”
The moon was orange. A big, bright, orange ball of celestial matter shining out over the city.
Coppery goo, smeared and sticky in a pool in front of them. Quickly congealing and assuming its place with the unpleasant stench of hot piss, and overfilled waste bins. A summer night in New York City.
The men were in a stalemate. A labyrinth of selective hearing. Obsession over right and wrong in circumstance that should have only been described as complicated.
“You’re tracking it all over the place, Harley. Stop it.” Peter was losing his patience, watching his partner pace back and forth.
Boots scraping pavement, not at all concerned by the blood he was smearing. A thick and sticky red coating his soles. And a shaky hand combing through blond curls.
“This is so fucking idiotic. You are so fucking infuriating, Pete. Infuriating.”
“I would be very careful about the next words to come out of your mouth Harley.”
They stare at each other.
Another stalemate.
Harley squints at the man in front of him.
Peter squints back.
“Oh my god Peter. Shut the fuck up.”
Peter throws his hands in the air, becoming hysterical, now.
“I didn’t even say anything, Dude, oh my god.”
“First of all, don’t fucking call me dude, especially not tonight. And Second of, I can feel it. You’re judging me. Your silence is so fucking loud, half the fucking state can probably hear it.”
“Stop dragging the blood everywhere, Harley.”
Harley finally stops to look down. The red has now traveled up the toe of his boots.
“FUCK.”
“We’ll clean it out when we get home. Just sit down, please.” Peter was starting to get a headache.
“FUCK.”
“If you keep yelling, someone is going to call the cops on us.”
“I swear to god Peter–”
If you would just take a–”
“If you tell me to take one more fucking breath tonight, I swear to–”
“Breath. It would help regulate your heart a little-”
“Unbelievable. UN. FUCKING. BELIEVABLE…”
Harley scrapes the bottoms of his shoes on some dry pavement before walking away; finding fresh ground to pace on.
The moon grows a little brighter.
Peter stays quiet.
The air around them is electric. Buzzing with adrenalin, rage. Fear. Sounds of cars driving by and people laughing a street over.
They really should be getting home.
The bus is late.
Peter sighs not for the first or last time tonight, and sinks a little deeper into the bench. Eyes never leaving Harley. Tracking his movements. Anticipating when his next burst of frustration was going to bubble.
It came faster than he expected.
“You say you don’t need protection and then you do this bullshit.”
“You know damn well I don’t need protecting, Harley. Find a better excuse."
“Actually, I don’t know that! Everyday you prove to me that you have no self preservation skills.”
“That’s not fair, Harley.”
“I don’t understand how you can be HIM, and then let this bullshit happen when you are Peter. Fucking Masocist.”
“Harley.”
“No. Peter, I don’t think you understand. I can’t deal with this anymore.”
Peter’s ears perked.
“You mean you can’t deal with me anymore?” Peter stands now, slowly stalking over to Harley. Clinging onto whatever composure he has left at this point.
“No. I mean, I can’t deal with the heartbreak anymore.”
They stare at each other as yellow headlights come and go.”
“That was our bus–”
“Come on, Peter. Talk to me. Fight, say literally anything.”
“What the fuck do you want me to say here, Harley. You just told me that you can’t deal with me anymore. Like actually, tell me what you want me to say to that. Because it’s fucked.”
“You go out there everyday to fight, and strain, and bleed for a city that you refuse to take up space in. Are you suicidal Peter? Are you trying to fucking kill yourself?”
Peter slaps him. Straight across the cheek.
It was a knee jerk reaction. Not hard enough to leave even the smallest sting. But the damage was done. Peter hit him.
“So you do have it in you to fight back.” Harley turns away.
“I’m sorry–”
“Don’t, Peter.”
“Harley…”
“I love you more than you will ever understand. You are my everything Peter. My entire world. And I understand that I can’t be yours, when you have the actual world to take care of. But Peter Parker is supposed to be mine. The world can have HIM, but I’m supposed to have Peter Parker”
“I am yours.”
“No, you’re not. You’re too busy letting creepy men crowd you at bars, and letting muggers creep up behind you despite hearing them 3 miles out. Tell me Peter, if I wasn’t here tonight, would you have let that guy shoot you.”
“I don’t know, Harley.”
“And that is what breaks my heart. I am tired of you trying to throw your life away, like it doesn’t matter to me.”
“I am so sorry that my life is an inconvenience for you, Harley.”
“Oh my fucking God…”
“When I am in these clothes, when I am a civilian, then I’m a civilian. That's it. I don’t get to use my senses when I am Peter.”
“Why does your version of civilian have to mean you lose every ounce of street smarts that you have? Why does it mean that you become an idiot? Why do I have to worry about losing you?
“You are being selfish.”
“No! Don’t you dare call me selfish. I would do ANYTHING for you. Anything. Don’t you ever call me selfish.”
“Okay, so what is it that you want to do Harley? Do you want to break up? Is that it? Because I can’t keep having this argument with you.”
“Too fucking bad, Peter. Because, until you get it through your puny fucking brain of yours that your life is the most important thing to me, I will fight tooth and nail with you. I will not give up on you Peter.”
“Harley…”
“I said I will not give up on you.”
“...ok.”
“And fuck you.”
“Fuck you too, Harley.”