Harley sits on the couch in his apartment. Well, he thinks it's his apartment, or maybe he shares it with Peter. The springs in the couch are old and weary, sinking down under his weight. It's how he feels now. Slouching and twisting his hands in the hem of his shirt, wondering if he should have brought flowers or something as a prerequisite to this conversation. A conversation that he had been praying to avoid as long as he could, thinking that if he could just ignore how he felt he wouldn't feel it anymore. But Peter won't stop showing up during his lunch break to talk, won't stop making him feel special again. Cared for in a way that he hasn't felt for a long time, if at all.
Loved. He feels loved. He feels loved in a way that he hasn't with his two previous boyfriends, both college flings without feelings. He feels like Peter cares for him more than for his body. It's a welcome change. So he waits for his boyfriend to come home from work, staring at the ratty carpet and pushing down his anxiety.
Is Peter his boyfriend? They've been on more dates than Harley can count, and they pretty much live together. Peter's said I love you for fuck's sake, but Harley can't stop worrying that Peter just wanted something casual. He doesn't want to be casual with Peter. Only four months together and he's already imagining what ring he would buy, where they would get married. But nervousness pools in the bottom of his stomach, because he doesn't know if Peter feels the same. If Peter can imagine a future with him as readily as Harley wants it to happen.
He looks down at the coffee table as the door opens, partly to steel his nerves and partly because if he looks at Peter right now, his cheeks and the tip of his nose pink from the cold, he'll decide that this conversation isn't worth risking their relationship. He would rather be insecure with Peter than secure without him.
It only takes Peter a few seconds to hang his coat up and take off his boots, but it feels like hours to Harley.
"Whatcha doing?" It takes all of Harley's self control to stay put as Peter sits down next to him. He feels like a scared deer, caught between the headlights of Peter's eyes and the safety of his bedroom. He takes a deep breath and fixes his gaze on the floor.
"I need to talk to you about something."
"Yeah? What is it?" Peter leans forward to pull Harley into a hug, but leans back to give him space while he speaks.
"It's nothing to do with you. I just-I've been thinking." Peter hums, and Harley can feel his eyes on him while he steadies his breathing.
"I love you." It's not the first time he's told Peter that. The first time was almost a month ago, when fall was ending and the air was getting cold. But now it holds more weight, has more history behind it.
"I love you too." Harley shakes his head slightly. He isn't getting the point.
"I want to be with you for the rest of my life." He doesn't look over at Peter, not wanting to shatter his confidence too soon. His hands shake and he tucks them between his knees.
"I'd like that." Peter says it softly, and Harley swears he can hear his heart breaking.
"You don't understand." Peter gently rests his hand on top of Harley's knee.
"I think I do." Harley shakes his head and closes his eyes to keep the tears from falling.
"I'm sorry." The words catch in his throat. Peter rubs his thumb back and forth on his, trying to soothe him. Harley shifts and hides his head in his hands.
"You don't have anything to be sorry for, Harls." The nickname almost makes Harley sob. He has everything to be sorry for, a lifetime of mistakes he can't correct.
"I'm not a woman." Peter's hand freezes. He takes a few seconds to reply.
"I didn't think you were?" He sounds confused, and it makes Harley want to grab his shoulders and shake until he understands.
"I can't be a woman. I can't-you can't show me around at your christmas office party. You can't bring me home to meet your parents. You can't. There are so many things I can't do, so many things, and god do I want to do them for you. I want to give you all of these things, be waiting at home to help you relax after a long day, give you children, but I-you deserve someone better. You deserve someone who can be enough. Someone you can hold hands with in public without being called slurs. I want to be that person, but Peter-Peter I can't." Once he starts talking, the words spill out. Everything he feels.
Peter grabs hold of his hand. "Harley, I don't care about all of that." Harley chokes back a sob.
"Yes you do." He moves away from Peter, tucking his hands into his sides. "Everyone does." Peter reaches out to hold him, but he leans away.
"That's what everyone always talks about, right? Settling down with someone and having kids and getting old. But we can't." Harley feels tears run down his face, but he can't bring himself to wipe them away. It takes everything in him to admit it. He can ignore it, and pretend it's not true, but at the end of the day it's all he can think about. He's not enough. Not enough for his family, not enough for Peter.
"So what?" Harley laughs, a quiet broken sound that fades into a sob.
"What do you mean? I can't be a woman. I can't be your wife, I can't have your children. I don't want you to-to wake up in the middle of the night forty years from now and realize that you'd be happier with someone else." Peter holds his face between his hands and moves it so Harley will look at him. He uses his thumbs to wipe away Harley's tears, and the simple act, wasting his time to take care of him, makes Harley's heart sink.
"I wouldn't be happier with someone else." Harley shakes his head. Maybe now, he's happiest with a man. But twenty years, maybe even just ten down the line and he'll realize that he made a mistake.
"You would." Harley could see it in the way that Peter hadn't brought him to meet his parents yet. He could feel it in the way that he took his hand, in the way that he tipped his chin upwards to kiss him. He could feel it in the way he would try to wrap Harley's hair around his fingers, but couldn't because it was too short. And it ate him alive. The guilt over keeping Peter to himself, when he could be happier with someone else. Someone who could take care of him in ways that Harley can't.
It's easy to compare yourself to someone who doesn't exist.