you're acting like you're dying
my motivation, inspiration, and overall creativity are at their lowest, so I'm sorry for whatever this is.
i've never gotten a splinter before, but I have (accidentally) stapled my finger to a sheet of paper, so I'm assuming that the experiences are, at least somewhat, similar?
note: the only experience I have with kissing is with guys, and I hated it so much, it was disgusting, so the kiss in this is pretty much Not Good (like it's good for Harley and Peter, but the description of the actual act is terrible).
Warnings: minor blood and injury (it's legit just a splinter).
Peter likes to think that he has a pretty strong set of instincts. Sure, the Spidey-sense is part of it, but thatâs for potentially dangerous situations. Peter is talking about everyday situations. You know. Regular, easy things that have close to no impact on his physical state of health.
Peterâs gut tells him what to do, and he does it, simple as that. (And maybe itâs a part of him worried that his âgutâ is really just his Spidey-sense at a more casual level, but no one has any proof and heâs never admitting to it.)
So when Harley stops him outside of school and asks him for help building the new bed frame they just got for Abby and Peterâs entire body screams at him to say no, he asks no questions. Doesnât even hesitate in his response.
(The response isn't a good one, mind you, but it was fast, so.)
âI, uh, canât,â he says lamely, knowing that Harley is seeing right through him but not caring because heâs too busy wondering why, exactly, he shouldnât help his friend out. What harm comes with building a bed frame?
Harley arches a brow, the wind whipping his hair around his face. âWhy not?â
âI⌠have stuff to do?â
And Peter shouldâve expected this. He really shouldâve expected this. Peter literally does the same thing every day, with little to no changes. He likes routines, okay, no one can judge him for it.
The problem, however, with following a specific routine is that everybody that knows Peter knows his routine. Which means that Harley knows that Peter has literally nothing to do except study for the Spanish test tomorrowâwhich means no patrolling, as per the terms with Aunt Mayâand even then he doesnât have to be at the apartment until five, to give him time to hang out with his friends. MJ and Ned both have plans, and Harley doesnât, so it's the logical conclusion to come to that Peter would be free to help out with something.
Despite knowing all of that, Peter searches his brain for an excuse but comes up empty. He lets out a heavy sighâheâs always sucked at lying, especially to the people he cares about. âWhat time do you want me to come over?â he asks, ignoring the way his heart flutters at Harleyâs answering grin.
âNow is fine,â he tells Peter, grabbing his arm and tugging him in the direction of the Keener apartment.
Peter is so going to regret this.
Peter, like always, is right. He is so freaking right. Heâs so right that left doesn't even exist.
He groans out in pain as he leans back against the wall, raising his left hand up to cover his eyes and leaving his injured hand down at his side.
âI knew it,â he mutters to himself, desperately trying to ignore the sharp pain shooting through his hand, starting at the pad of the ring finger on his right hand and traveling downwards. âI knew this was only going to end badly.â
âPeter, you're acting like youâre dying,â Harley says, and Peter knows, he knows, that heâs rolling his eyes. âCâmon, you big baby, let me see.â
âI am not a baby, Harley, it hurts, what do you want me to do!â
He hears Harley step closer so he moves his left hand away from his eyes. And then Harley is standing right in front of him, staring down at his right hand and studying it intently.
His eyes shift up to Peterâs. âIâm gonna try and fix it, okay?â he asks softly, glancing back down at Peterâs hand. "Try not to move too much."
Peter immediately lifts his right hand to cradle it against his chest, shielding it from Harley and trying to avoid messing it up even further. âNo,â he says hurriedly, shaking his head with his eyes wide. âItâs fine, Iâll deal with it. I am so good, you donât need to fix anything.â
Harley gives him a look that somehow conveys both worry and a youâre an idiot kind of vibeâitâs a look that Harley is very famous for, in Peterâs opinionâand takes a step forward. "Just, take a deep breath or something."
And then he touches Peter's injured finger, and Peter swears he dies.
"That hurts, Harls," Peter whines as his finger throbs. He shifts away from Harley. "Don't touch it."
"I'm gonna have to touch it if you wanna fix it," Harley protests, reaching for Peter's finger again.
"Harley, I will scream if you touch me."
"Oh, yeah? And who's gonna hear you, dumbass?"
"This is why that girl said you give off a creepy vibe, you know that, right?"
"Guess it's a good thing it's not girls I'm lookin' to impress, ain't it. Now give me your fucking finger."
"No," Peter hisses. "I'll just go to the hospital or something."
Harley stares for one second, and then two, and then three. And then he's reaching a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"Peter, why would you go to the hospital over a fucking splinter?"
"People do it all the time, okay, it's not weird."
"Yes it is!" Harley shouts throwing his arms up. His jaw sets. "Just let me take it out and we can move on with our lives."
"What if I want it in?" Peter asks desperately. He knows it's just a piece of wood in his finger, but it hurts, and he doesn't want Hardly to touch it. He's pretty sure his finger has already healed itself around the wood, so taking it out would probably hurt even more.
Harley sighs. Looks at Peter. Sighs again. "I don't know why Iâ" He cuts off with another sigh.
"Why you what?" Peter asks, eyebrows furrowing.
Harley meets his eyes, stares for a few seconds, and then shakes his head.
And then he's surging forward, closing most of the small amount of space between them and pressing his lips to Peter's.
Peter melts into the kiss, Abby's lavender walls fading away into the background and his arms moving to meet Harley's in the space between them. Harley's lips are a little chapped, but Peter is too wrapped up in the fact that Harley is kissing him to care. It's somehow both soft and heated at the same time, like Harley has waited for this moment for so long but wants to savor it now that it's finally happening. That's what it feels like for Peter, anyway.
His head snaps back at the sharp pain in his finger, banging against the wall. He opens his eyes to see Harley wincing, and he looks down at their hands. Harley is holding the small, thin piece of wood in his hand, and there's a drop of blood beginning to form on Peter's ring finger.
Peter thinks his heart would be sinking in disappointment if it weren't for the way Harley's staring at him.
"There," Harley says, voice low and gravely, his accent coming out the slightest bit more than he usually does. "'S all fixed up now."
Peter watches as Harley tosses the piece of wood off to the side, and he looks back up to Harley's face to see that his eyes never looked away.
Heart pounding, Peter asks, "Why'd you do that?"
Harley gives him the customary you're an idiot look. "You're an idiot," he says out loud. But then he's moving closer. "But I'd really like it if you were my idiot."
And, yeah. That sounds good to Peter.