#febufluff 2020

And then the elevator doors slide open and the boy disappears before Harley has the chance to say anything of importance.

Another day at the office, he supposes.

He watches the boy disappear down the hallway as the elevator doors close between them.

“I’ll never see him again,” Harley says to the empty elevator as it lurches up again. His words echo in the metal box. “Love is dead.”

* “Love’s not dead,” he blurts before he can stop himself.

The boy is across the floor, talking brightly to Harley’s boss.

“What?” Michelle says, looking over the separator between their desks.

But Harley’s too busy trying not to drool over the boy. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, talking animatedly to Harley’s boss with wide eyes and a bright smile, messy hair bouncing around his face.

Michelle’s smirking at him. “Someone got a little crush?”

“Do you see him? He looks like a god.”

“And you’re making a fool of yourself over a guy you just met.”

Harley frowns, checking his watch. “Actually, it’s been like four hours since I met him.”

The boy turns, telling some dramatic story to the boss. But their eyes meet from across the floor.

He sends Harley a shy smile, a gentle blush touching his cheeks, and he lifts a hand to wave.

Harley waves back, trying not to seem painfully overeager.

“I didn’t take you for the romantic type, Keener,” Michelle points out, still leaning over their separator. “Didn’t think you believed in love at first sight and all that crap.”

“I’ve always been the romantic type, I’ve just never found the right guy.”

“And you think, after knowing this guy for literally four hours, and having one conversation with him, that he’s the one?”

Harley lets out a pitiful sigh, dropping his head to his desk, out of sight from the boy.

“Okay, obviously I don’t know that. I don’t even know his name. All I know is that he’s really pretty, MJ. Like, really, pretty. Can you blame me?”

Michelle rolls her eyes, obviously not happy with that kind of answer, but she’s a pessimist, she doesn’t believe in Love to Harley’s knowledge. Which seems crazy to Harley who believes in everything from love to love at first sight to the idea of soulmates.

And then the boy is walking over to them, a bounce in his step. He’s still grinning, bright eyes locking onto Harley’s.

“Hiya!” he starts, face lit up like a kid’s on Christmas. “Led Zeppelin, right?”

“Harley, actually,” he replies, trying his best to wipe his sweaty hands as discreetly as he can on his jeans before holding one out to the boy. “And your name?”

The boy grins. “Peter. It’s nice to meet you, Harley.”

“It’s nice to meet you too, darlin’,” he says, southern accent thickening with his nerves.

“I love your shirt.”

And then Peter’s withdrawing his hand and dipping his head in a goodbye. He’s gone before Harley can get another word out.

“You’ve lost your mind, haven’t you, Keener? You really think this is love at first sight,” Michelle says, shaking her head in disappointment. But then she smiles, just a little bit. “I’m happy for you.”

“I’m never going to see him again,” Harley says again. It’s probably overdramatic, a response only someone lovesick would say and it makes Michelle laugh. “Love is dead.”

Michelle laughs again and hits him lightly over the head. “You literally just proved he worked in this building, he talks to your boss, and he deliberately spoke to you. Love’s not dead just yet.”

* And she was right.

At their meeting later that day where Pepper’s employees, including Harley and Michelle, met up with the people working for Tony Stark. Apparently, that meant Peter.

Peter who skipped into the room, grinning from ear to ear, hair bouncing around his pale freckled face, and sending a tiny wave in Harley’s direction.

“This is my personal assistant, Peter Parker,” Tony introduces flippantly. He sits tiredly at the head of the table, but Peter doesn’t sit at all. “Could you get us all some coffee, Mister Parker.”

Somehow, the boy who Harley’s deemed as the love of his life, doesn’t seem bothered at all by this. He just heads around the table taking everyone’s order as the meeting commences.

“Told you love wasn’t dead,” Michelle says, elbowing Harley in the side before she quickly turns to Pepper and gives a piece of the idea she’s been planning for the company.

Peter disappears out of the room to get their coffee orders together, sending one final shy smile over his shoulder at Harley before he goes.

Harley can’t focus, to say the least. He doesn’t participate much in the meeting, nodding along when people stare at him for far too long, and occasionally murmuring agreements with whatever Michelle says.

“Mister Keener,” Pepper says and Michelle kicks him under the table. “I expect you have some ideas about this?”

Harley freezes up, he has no idea what they were even talking about let alone if he’s supposed to agree or disagree. He’s about to try to get out of this by going to the bathroom or something, when Peter walks in carrying their drinks.

As he’s passing the orders out, he looks to Pepper bashfully.

“As much as I’d hate to disagree with all of you, I heard parts of your ideas and I’m not so sure it’s a good idea,” he murmurs. “There’s only so much the public can handle with things changing. I’m all for the ideas of renewable energy and even for making the intent of the company different, but…”

“But?” Harley finds himself saying.

Peter offers a shy smile in his direction. “But I think, unfortunately, the public would turn away from changing the face and name of the company. The world knows this as Stark Industries, as Tony Stark’s. If we started using Miss Potts as the face, people might think differently. We need all the positive publicity we can get.”

Michelle looks boredly annoyed that her idea was shot down. “She’s the CEO.”

Passing the final coffee across to Harley with a little smile, he turns to MJ, face falling. “I know, trust me, I know. And Miss Potts does so much for the company already, and she deserves the recognition, but we can’t lose the publicity we can get with Mister Stark’s face on the front.”

Harley’s about to take a sip of his coffee before he spots the number scrawled on the side. Along with the boy’s name and a heart.

He swears his heart explodes.

“That’s a fair point, Mister Parker,” Tony murmurs thoughtfully. “How else can we get the positive publicity we need.”

“A gala? An event of some sort,” Harley speaks up. “We could make Miss Potts the face of the event and start the traction of her getting the publicity she deserves. We could have some sort of dance and charity donation or something. Invite all the big names.”

Harley spaces out before he hears an answer, eyes locked onto Peter’s face as he lights up in a grin, nodding at Harley like he hung the stars.

“That’s brilliant!”

And that’s all he hears, echoing in his head, for the rest of the meeting.

* Days pass in a blur. He can’t stop thinking about Peter.

He kept the coffee cup with Peter’s number scrawled on the side but he’s yet to use it, he doesn’t have the courage to call him yet.

Instead, he fumbles through his days in a blur, trying his best not to make it too obvious how preoccupied he is. All of his thoughts are just Peter.

Peter’s freckles, Peter’s smile, Peter’s hand in his, Peter’s quiet that’s brilliant like a broken record in his head, Peter’s bright Led Zeppelin!, Peter, Peter, Peter, Peter.

“It’s the event tonight.”

Harley looks up from his dinner, his little sister staring at him across the table.

“Yeah? So?”

His sister shrugs, softly innocent eyes looking at him with confusion. “So? Ask Peter to go with you. That way you’ll know how he thinks about you. It’s been, what, a week and a half since he gave you his number? He probably thinks you hate him.”

Harley goes to defend himself, but comes up empty handed. “That’s… A fair point…”

“Course it is. I’m not a genius for nothing,” she says, shrugging like it’s no big deal.

“The only reason you’re smart is because I taught you.”

His sister throws the coffee cup at him in retaliation. “Call him. Now.”

And so he does. If only to make his sister happy.

“Hello?”

And god, Harley could’ve melted into the floor.

“Hi. It’s, uh, it’s Harley. Keener. From work,” he stammers, running a hand through his hair.

“Led Zeppelin,” Peter says. “Event planner extraordinaire.”

Harley smiles, feeling punch-drunk on just Peter’s voice. “It’s about that, actually. About the event. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me. It’s tonight. Black Tie. You know, um, romantic styles.”

His sister covers her mouth to try to hold back her laughter, he knows he sounds stupid, struggling to ask a boy out when he’s twenty-four and resorting to vague Brooklyn Nine-Nine references. Peter’s different, though, and Harley doesn’t want to mess it up.

“Sounds wonderful.” Peter laughs softly. “Pick me up at six?”

Harley holds back all teenage squeals that threaten to escape him. “Sounds good, yeah. I’ll, um, I’ll see you then.”

Peter laughs again. “See you then, Keener.”

*

Peter looks like a god. He’s wearing a baby pink suit with a white button up and a black tie, black shoes to match. His hair is messier than ever, bouncing around his smiling face, eyes bright with excitement.

He chatters the whole way to the event, talking about everything and anything.

By the time they get there, Harley feels like he still doesn’t know the boy sitting next to him.

He knows Peter lives by himself in an apartment near Stark Industries. He knows Peter likes dogs more than cats. He knows Peter’s favourite color is yellow and that he loves it when it rains. He knows Peter used to have asthma and feels like he missed out on the whole experience of high school sports.

He knows so many random facts, but the boy beside him is a mystery.

Peter takes his hand and pulls him up the steps to the event. And god, Harley could’ve died right then and there and he’d be okay with it. Peter, under the golden lights, looks incredible.

“You look beautiful,” Harley can’t help himself from saying. He’s smiling dopily, he knows that much, but he doesn’t care. All he cares about is Peter’s brightening face under the golden lights and the way his small hand tightens in Harley’s.  

“You do too,” Peter replies.

Harley doesn’t not believe him, but there’s no way he can even compare to the way Peter looks, pulling him towards the bar, breathtaking and practically glowing with excitement.

Peter talks to people, smiling brilliantly at all of them, and constantly making both Pepper and Tony look better in subtle ways. Everyone’s eyes seem to be glued to them as they make their way through the sea of rich people, dressed in black suits.

Harley’s white suit and Peter’s pink one stand out against the otherwise dreary background. Harley can understand the eyes on them.

“You two clean up well.”

Tony’s leaning against the bar, drink in hand. Pepper’s next to him, flipping through her cue cards for her presentation later.

Something like pride shines in both their eyes. Their two best employees together at the event.

They order drinks and soon enough, Peter’s dragging Harley out to the unoccupied dance floor.

“People are staring,” Harley tries to argue, swallowing thickly. It’s true but it doesn’t seem to bother Peter.

“Let them!” Peter says, smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He spins himself and reaches a hand out for Harley to take.

Harley grabs Peter’s hand and holds on tight.

* Feet aching and shoulders cramping from hours spent on the dance floor with Peter fucking Parker who seems to be good at everything he does, Harley finally finds himself sitting down, drink in hand.

Peter had disappeared off to the bathroom, pressing a kiss to Harley’s cheek before leaving.

“Told you love’s not dead, didn’t I?” Michelle says, sitting next to Harley and taking one of the strawberries on the skewer in his drink. “Now, what do you say?”

“You’re always right and I should trust your judgement?” Harley guesses, offering a genuinely grateful smile.

Michelle smirks, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yep. I know I’m the last person to be offering relationship advice, but seriously, Keener, if it’s real, don’t let it go.”

“Thanks, MJ, you’re the best, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s nice to hear it, though,” she teases, standing and taking another strawberry from him. “Your prince is on his way back. Don’t fuck it up.”

She’s gone just as Peter arrives, taking the spot she’d just been sitting.

“This was a really fun night, Led Zeppelin, thank you for taking me out,” Peter says, smiling bashfully, flipping from the confident man that had dragged him out to the dance floor hours earlier.

“Yeah, of course.” Harley swallows thickly, trying to summon any sort of confidence. “You wanna, um, do this again sometime?”

Peter’s face lights up, eyes sparkling in the golden lights, dimples showing in his freckled cheeks.

“Definitely,” he murmurs, suddenly looking shy. “But how about we tone down the craziness for a little while? No more dance marathons until my feet heal.”

Harley laughs, taking Peter’s hand and pulling him up. “Let’s get out of here, darlin’, I need to sleep for like a million years.”

Boldly, the boy turns to him, bambi-brown eyes sparkling, and he leans up, almost too short to reach Harley, and presses their mouths together.

Harley’s free hand moves up to cup Peter’s cheek, thumb running over his cheekbone, leaning down to make it easier for their mouths to fit together.

When Peter pulls away eventually, smiling shyly, he looks beyond happy. “You wanna come back to my place? I’ve got a popcorn machine and the Star Wars movies on disk.”

Harley responds by pulling Peter in for another kiss.

Love’s not dead, that’s for sure.

He knows it’s only been their first date, but there’s something special there. And MJ’s right, if it’s real, Harley’s not going to let it go. And this, whatever this is, between him and Peter, it’s real and special.

Harley barks out a few rough coughs. “Can you not HEAR the phlegmy evil that plagues my lungs?”

“So you’re sick. You weren’t sick at school today.”

“Not showing it, anyway.”

“Why didn’t you stay home if you felt bad?”

“Didn’t hit me until 6th period.”

“Sounds like a you problem.”

Harley groans again and lets his phone fall on the bed. “You’re no fun.”

“Yeah, I’m a real stickler.”

“Oh my god. Maybe it’d be better to be alone than to deal with your rancid cheese.”

“Oh yeah, Tony and Pepper are gone this weekend, huh?”

“Yeah.” Harley rolls onto his side and props the phone up against a pillow.

“But, like, you’re not alone at the Tower, right?”

“I mean, security is here, but hell if I’m getting any of them to go get me food.”

“Door Dash and Grub Hub exist.”

“Yeah, but they’re overpriced.”

“You live with a billionaire, Harley.”

“Mama raised a Frugal Hoosier.”

Peter sighs.

“So I’m guessing all of this is because you want me to come over?”

“Maybe.”

Peter looks at his phone. “I’m leaving for patrol soon. I’ll come over after?”

“Fine. Leave me to wither alone.” Harley grumbles into his comforter.

“You’re fine. It’ll pass soon. Time to go help the helpless. Adios!”

“Bye.”

Peter clicks off of the call and clicks open his Spider suit unit. He does feel a little guilty for leaving Harley all alone when he’s not feeling well, but he seems fine enough to Peter, if not a little glassy-eyed and flushed. He supposes he can make it up to his friend by bringing something by that night, and resolves to do so as he swings out his window and into the night.

-------

It’s 9:03PM when Peter latches onto the outside of the Tower, feeling a little guilty for leaving his patrol early but proud at how much he got done in a few hours.

Peter crawls up to Harley’s window and taps on the glass, frowning when a few moments pass without movement or a reply. “Harley?” Peter knocks again. “Hey, Karen? Can you patch me through to FRIDAY?”

“Sure. Connecting Peter Parker to Female Replacement Intelligent Digital Assistant Youth.”

“Hello, Peter.”

“Hey, FRI. Where’s Harley?”

“Just a moment. Harley Keener is in the west lavatory on the top floor. He seems to be in distress.”

“Does Tony know?”

“He insisted that I did not tell Boss, and the request does not violate known protocols.”

“That’s hard to believe.” Peter has crawled to Harley’s bathroom window by now and knocks lightly on the window pane. “Hey, Harls?”

There’s a muffled grunt and shuffling like socked feet on tile before the window slides open. “Don’t call me that. Too close to what I just did.”

Harley moves aside for Peter to climb through the window. The healthy teen looks his friend up and down. “Aw, man.”

“I know. I look incredible for a guy who just puked his guts out, right?”

“Not exactly.” Peter cringes at how pale Harley’s face is, sweat beading on his forehead and eyes red-rimmed and glassy. “How long you been at it?”

“On and off for the last 3 hours or so. It’s really just been dry heaving lately. Sucks ass.”

“I can imagine. Do you know if anyone else is sick?”

“Ned and MJ are fine. I’m thinking food poisoning, honestly.”

“For real?” Peter quirks a brow and lays a hand over Harley’s forehead; it’s sweaty but not warm. “Tony buys pretty high quality food.”

“I brought some leftover Panda Express from like...”

Peter swallows. “I don’t wanna know.”

“I don’t want to think about it, honestly.” Harley swallows thickly. 

“You good?”

“I dunno. It’s always a surpri-” Harley coughs and trips back to the toilet. 

Peter grimaces in sympathy before following carefully behind him; he comes up behind Harley. “I’m here. Whatever you need.” He sits behind Harley and places a hand on his back. 

Harley finishes dry heaving and leans heavily against the toilet as Peter lightly rubs his back. 

“You wanna get out of here?”

“Hasn’t been long enough yet.”

“I’m gonna go change out of this. Be right back.” Peter slips out of the bathroom and quickly heads toward the guest room reserved for him. “Hey, FRI?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“Can you order some stuff for me?”

“Sure.”

Peter pulls out a t-shirt and sweatpants, quickly slipping into the clothes. “Does Target deliver around here?”

“With the SmartPhone Application.”

“That works. Let security know?”

“Alerting Harold Hogan, as well as Gregory Stevens, presently at the security desk.”

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Of course, Peter. What would you like to order?”

Peter leaves his room and crosses to Harley’s.

“Saltines if we don’t have them.” Peter rummages around in Harley’s drawers for something more comfortable than his sweat-soaked jeans and hoodie while listing off the sick day (or night, now) necessities. “Schweppes Ginger Ale. Plain wheat bread, none of the ones with flakes or nuts or anything. Applesauce. Tums. PeptoBismol, tablets and liquid stuff. And a whole case of water bottles.”

“Got it.”

“Thanks, FRI. Let me know when it’ll be here.”

“Absolutely.”

Peter is back at the bathroom now and taps lightly on the door before entering. Any other day, he would have laughed at the now-stripped Harley, sitting in only a white t-shirt and his boxers, but his friend looks miserable as he sits propped against the bathtub, breathing hard with his eyes scrunched closed and a hand around his abdomen.

“Almost empty?” Peter mutters and taps Harley’s foot with his. 

Harley cracks an eye and scrunches up his nose. “Maybe. Can’t tell if my stomach actually hurts or if being doubled over like this is habit now.”

“You wanna change clothes?”

“Why not.” 

Peter turns around as Harley pushes himself up and struggles to change into fresh boxers. 

“I’m covered.”

Peter turns back around and clenches his jaw at how exhausted Harley looks. “Here.” Peter unfolds the new t-shirt and kneels, laying it beside him before reaching out to pull up the sides of Harley’s soaked shirt. Normally, Harley would protest and bat Peter’s hands away or make a joke about Peter seducing him, but now Harley is pliable as he slowly raises his arms, allowing Peter to gently dress him. Peter cradles his feet as he slides the sweats on but allows Harley to finish the job. 

“Feel better?”

“A little.” Harley mumbles. “Damn jeans were chafing me from all the damn sweat.”

“I’m sorry, but at least you’re comfy now.”  

“This sucks ass.” 

Peter sits next to Harley, and the blond drops his head onto Peter’s shoulder. Peter wraps an arm around Harley’s shoulder, and the boy slumps heavily against him at the confirmed invitation. Harley lets out a deep sigh.

They sit like that for a little while, until Peter’s butt and legs start to tingle, and he’s wondering if Harley has dozed off.

“Peter?”

“Yes, FRI?”

“Your delivery items have arrived.” 

“Your what?” Harley mutters, hardly audible through his heavy lips.

“Thanks, FRI.”

“Mr. Stevens is bringing the items up.”

“Have him leave them in the kitchen, please.”

“Got it.”

“What’d you order?”

“Everything to make you feel better. You feel up to finding out?”

Harley considers for a moment before lifting his head slowly. He stares across the room for a moment before closing his eyes and nodding. 

Peter rises and holds his hands out for Harley to take; he easily pulls the boy to his feet but moves slowly to be conscientious of Harley’s state. 

The boy stands unsteadily for a moment before grabbing on to the vanity counter. “Guess I don’t quite have my sea legs yet.” Harley jokes dryly. 

“Here.” Peter turns around and gestures. “I can carry you.” 

“Geez, Parker, I’m not totally out of commission. What if I get motion sick or something?”

“I’ll be careful. Better to get it over with.”

Harley huffs before wrapping his arms around Peter’s neck; he lifts one leg which Peter easily takes and hoists up the other, settling against Peter’s back with a grunt.

“Where to?”

“Bedroom is closest.”

It’s a little awkward logistically because of the inches Harley has on Peter, but Peter manages his weight easily. Peter walks steadily into the living room, Harley’s hot, stale breath on his neck making him a little queasy, and stops before carefully depositing the boy on the bed. 

“FRIDAY?” Harley croaks out pitifully. “Fan.”

“Of course.”

Harley groans in relief and curls up on top of his covers. 

“I’ll be right back.”

Harley grunts in reply as Peter heads out into the kitchen and quickly returns with his spoils and a small stack of bowls and a cup. 

“Feel like eating anything?”

“Maybe in a little bit.” Harley’s voice is a whisper as he pries open an eye. “What you have?”

“Crackers, of course, Ginger Ale. Applesauce. Pepto and Tums if you need them. And lots of water.”

“You really are a mother hen, Parker.”

“Only for you, Keener.”

“Don’t tell Ned.”

“He knows nothing can outdo our sacred bromance.”

“We’re cutting it pretty close here.”

“What sounds edible?”

“Water and Tums for now. I’ll let you know about the other stuff.”

Peter helps Harley sit up to chew on a few of the antacid tablets and sip some water before he collapses again. 

“Scoot.” Peter nudges Harley, and the latter raises a brow. “I’m not going back home. I already texted May; I’m staying with you until Tony and Pepper get back tomorrow.” 

“Oh.” Harley pulls himself over and Peter settles against the bed’s headboard with his ankles crossed. Harley’s head is against his thigh, and he carefully rests his hand there. Harley doesn’t protest, so Peter slowly moves his fingers through Harley’s hair, like May does for him when he doesn’t feel well. 

They sit in silence for a moment. “Did you tell him?”

“Not yet.”

Harley groans. “Don’t.”

“Why’d you tell FRIDAY not to?”

“Didn’t want him to worry. You know he’s a worrier. Worse than you.” Harley sighs and looks up between Peter and his stomach. Peter nods and Harley scoots up, resting his head on Peter’s stomach, the latter’s hand still running ministrations through his hair.

“Wanna watch anything?” Peter whispers.

“Mmmm nothing I actually have to watch.” Harley replies, eyes closed lightly for sleep instead of clenched in pain. Finally, progress.

“Hmm....Disney?”

“Whatever.”

“Finding Nemo?”

“Depressing, but sure. Sadie loves it, so I’ve seen it 12,000 times.” Harley yawns through the hyperbolic estimation, and Peter gives a breathy snort. 

“Perfect. We love an orphan story.”

“His dad’s alive.”

“I meant me.”

Harley lightly nudges Peter’s leg.

“FRIDAY? TV on...My movies...Finding Nemo.” 

They make soft banter throughout the beginning of the movie, Harley’s voice getting quieter as his breaths get heavier, and soon he is dead weight against Peter, his arm having snaked around Peter’s waist to hold him like a beloved stuffed animal. 

Peter looks down at Harley’s face, now snuggled into his abdomen, and can’t help the grin on his lips. Harley finally looks at peace, if not hilarious, and Peter can’t resist reaching down for his phone. He jumps when Tony Stark’s contact jumps out at him in a FaceTime request, and quickly gropes around for Harley’s AirPods before popping them in, answering the call, and swiping to his settings. 

“Hey-hold on-okay.” Peter settles back in again, one hand holding his phone and the other on Harley’s back, and whispers, “Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, Squirt.”

“You don’t seem surprised to find me here.”

“We have Find My Friends or whatever set up, remember, kid? Part of the phone upgrade deal.”

“That whole thing was your idea. I told you I didn’t need a new phone.”

“Besides the point. What’s got you all whispery in the Tower?”

“Harley’s asleep.”

“Really? It’s barely past 10.”

“He’s sick.”

“Sick how? How sick? Why didn’t I know?”

“Food poisoning doesn’t align with any of the alert protocols. It’s technically not biologically sick, and it’s not true poisoning.”

“Shocking. No wonder FRIDAY’s been so quiet. That little shit would find a loophole unintentionally.” 

Peter rolls his eyes.

“So, how is he?”

“Asleep. Hurled his guts out earlier.”

Tony cringes in sympathy. “Nasty stuff. How’d he get it?”

“Leftover Panda, probably.”

“Dammit, kid. I told him that junk had gone off.”

“Yeah, well, it is Harley.” Peter angles the camera down, and Tony’s eyes turn down at the sides as he studies the slumbering Harley.

“He holding anything down?”

“He’s only had water and Tums. We’ll find out in the morning.”

“If you say so. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Pep and I will be back ASAP tomorrow.”

“Take your time. We’re all good here.”

Tony smiles. “I know. He’s in good hands.” Tony looks past his phone. “Gotta go, Spider-Kid. See you tomorrow.”

“See you. Bye, Mr. Stark.”

Peter sets the phone on the nightstand and slowly reaches down to grab a throw Harley had brought from Rose Hill, a Granny Square pattern his mom had crocheted for him as a gift. A small piece of Tennessee in the middle of the big city. Harley makes a low noise in his throat in protest of the movement, but sighs and holds tighter onto Peter when they settle in again, his nose buried in the front of Peter’s shirt. 

“Lights, please, FRIDAY.” The lights dim to a very dim glow, and Peter sighs. “Night, Harls.” Peter whispers with one last ministration over the boy’s back. 

“Night...” Harley’s words carry along the air, light and barely there. “Love you, Pete.”  

Peter blinks. Harley’s a great friend, loyal, hardworking, and will punch anyone’s teeth in with little need for reason, but affection is low on the list of Harley Keener characteristics. He’s not sure he heard correctly, so he carefully replies, “Love you, too, Harls.”

A ghost of a smile tugs on Harley’s lips and vanishes before Peter can blink, and Peter melts into a grin. Sick Harley is whiny, needy Harley, but also a loving Harley that Peter could get used to.

Peter closes his eyes and starts to doze, his hand still one Harley’s back when the pair wakes in the morning, stiff and sleepy but satisfied at making it through the night.