When Peter found him, Harley was standing in front of the fire place a pile of papers in his hands. Harley didn’t look up when he entered, but the way his body tensed told Peter that he knew. Harley knew everything.
“You know,” His voice was soft. Kind. Misleading. Because the most honest part of Harley was always his hands and they were clinching papers to his fist, “Ned once told me I was just like Hamilton.”
A chill ran down Peter’s back.
“He said,” Harley still wasn’t looking at him, “He said that I was someone who worked like I was running out of time, and he joked that I needed to not make the same mistakes he did. But I wasn’t Hamilton, was I?”
He finally glanced at him, eyes brimmed with angry tears, “You were.”
“No,” He held a gentle hand up, “You don’t get to talk. You genuinely don’t.”
“You wrote me letters when you were in the Avengers Training camp. Remember?”
Peter could only nod, and Harley went on, "You- you had this funny way of convincing me you loved me just by writing out your feelings. But I’m rereading them.“
“And,” He glanced back at the paper, “Even though you said you were mine- even though you said we were each others, that was a lie. You weren’t mine.”
“You’re paranoid,” Harley looked back up again, “In all of these writings your so paranoid that someone would find out that you were spider-man, that you were marrying the Stark heir, blah blah blah. I didn’t realize how much you liked to talk about yourself.”
“Don’t be,” Harley smiled, that soft little smile that he saved for Peter, and for a second he thought it would be all right. But the most honest part of Harley had always been his hands, and Peter should have realized that as he threw the pages into the flames, “Because I’m burning them. You want to have an affair? Fine. But don’t ever fucking think about coming back to me.”
And Harley walked out of the room, all pride and all hurt and Peter grabbed his wrist, “Harley, princess, please-”
“Do you know what Flash said when you asked me out?”
“He said, ‘be careful. Parker likes to take and take and take’,” Harley looked at him, “And do you know what he said when he found out that you’d been fucking Black Cat? He said, ‘Jesus fuck Harley, you married Icarus. He finally flew too close to the sun.’”
He pulled his arm away, looking away again, “I’m leaving you.”
“No, Peter,” Harley looked at him, and saw hatred, “You Cheated. I’m leaving.”
“You know what else?” He took a breath and let out a breathy chuckle, “No one gets to know about this. No one needs to know that you broke my heart. No one gets to know how I reacted. That’ll just stay between you and me because guess what?”
Peter didn’t respond, and Harley pulled him close and kissed his cheek, gentle and kind, “I hate you.”
And Harley walked out of his life.