Chapter 1
Harley spun his pen around on his desk. It was another boring day at school, but at least it was a Tuesday and he could skip art class at the end of the day. The art teacher never took attendance. He could leave early and spend the rest of his birthday hanging out with Peter. So he waited until he could finally leave, and it felt like months even though it was really only a couple of hours. Then the apocalypse came from the lunch announcements. Something about a basketball game next Friday that Harley would skip, and then the birthdays for the week. That was odd because they were usually announced on Friday.
Emily Thomas turns eleven this Thursday! Congratulations, Emily. And a special announcement for Harley Keener, turning fifteen today! Here's the song that you requested, Harley.
What the hell? He hadn't requested a song. He looked around the room and immediately locked eyes with EJ snickering with his friends. Jesus Christ. Harley shrunk down into his seat and tried to avoid the gaze of the teacher, staring directly at him. Then a fucking parody country song came on, and burning alive in hell would be preferable to the suffering he was being forced to endure.
He felt his face start to burn so he tugged his hood over his head. Of course EJ would screw over his birthday. He hadn't wanted anything special, but he couldn't even get a peaceful day. The song was mercifully short and ended quickly but the rest of the day was impossibly long. It took all of Harley's strength to avoid breaking down crying in front of everyone. He didn't care that EJ hated him, he was used to people hating him, but something about it made Harley want to rip his own skin off and use it as a scarf to hide his face.
The bell ringing made him jump, but he took the opportunity and scraped his things together before tossing them in his backpack and heading for the side doors. He half expected EJ to be waiting outside to fight him, but the parking lot stayed empty as he grabs his bike and pedals away.
His mom always worked late Tuesdays and Abby was still in school, so Harley had the house to himself. He leaned his bike against the side of the house before unlocking the back door. The house is silent, and every step he takes makes the floor creak loudly. He takes the stairs two at a time, and throws his backpack onto his bed before crouching down and fishing around with his arm. He's trying to find the box that he put there almost two weeks ago.
It's not for him, although he isn't sure if his mother remembered or even cared to buy him a birthday present. It's for Peter. An old shoebox he taped newspaper around to make it look more put together. It takes him a while to grab hold of it from under his bed, he must have shoved it further back than he remembered. He sits back on his heels, holding the box out in front of him. It doesn't look very good. The newspaper is coming away from the box in some places, and newspaper doesn't look the best in the first place. He grabs a sharpie and hurriedly scribbles out 'Happy Birthday, Pete' on the lid of the box. It's slightly off center, but good enough.
He sits there on the floor for a few minutes, turning the box over in his hands and trying to dispel his nerves. He knows that Peter will like it. He just doesn't know how much.
Leaving his room was easy. Walking to the garage was easy. Unlocking the door and getting in was easy. Actually giving Peter the gift was hard.
Harley held the box behind his back and whistles. He doesn't really know how to properly whistle, but he can make a small chirp that sounds sort of like the chirps Peter makes. The first time he had done it, Peter had been so excited he had run around in a circle. He hears a response, two small chirps, before Peter drops from the nest he's built on the ceiling. The roof is covered in webs, and every so often Harley will remove them all so Peter has something to work at while he's in school.
"You're back early." Harley shifts to lean on the doorframe.
"I skipped art." Peter tilts his head to the side and squints at Harley.
"I thought you loved art." He nods slowly.
"Yeah, but today's special."
"Why is it special?"
"It's our birthday today." Harley moves from the doorframe and sets the box on the desk in the corner as he speaks.
"Ours?" Harley feels his heart flutter inside his ribcage.
"Yeah. Ours." He turns to face Peter. He's holding his hands in front of his chest and rocking back and forth, trying to figure out what he means.
"But I don't know when my birthday is." Harley nods.
"Right, so now it's today. On my birthday." Peter laughs and Harley lets out the breath that he's been holding. Peter's okay with sharing a birthday.
"We're birthday buddies." Peter smiles at him, a crooked smile with his gums showing, and on anyone else that smile would be ugly. But on Peter's face, it's beautiful.
"Birthday buddies." Harley smiles back. Talking with Peter makes him forget how miserable he is at school. Peter uses his webs to grab the box and Harley tries and fails to snatch it back.
"What's with the box?" Peter holds it above his head and shakes it. He jumps to grab it, but he can't reach and ends up just jumping up and down a few times. He steps back and crosses his arms.
"It was a surprise. But now I guess it's just a box." Peter laughs again, a soft sound that makes Harley smile without thinking.
"Open it." Peter's brows furrow.
"Me?" Harley laughs.
"No, I want the invisible man in the corner to open it." He shakes his head.
"It's your birthday present." Peter freezes and looks at Harley.
"You got me a birthday present?" The way he says it, quietly like he doesn't really believe that the other boy would do it, makes Harley's heart drop. He pulls Peter into a tight hug, trying to squeeze out all of the bad memories that Peter never talks about.
"Yeah." Harley traces patterns onto Peter's back as he speaks, trying to tell him something that he doesn't understand himself. He slowly pulls away.
"Now open it, I wanna see your reaction." He tugs at the hem of his shirt as he watches Peter open the box. He had put a variety of things in there, just to make sure that he got something Peter would like.
"It's not a bomb, is it?" Harley laughs and Peter pulls the lid off the box. He dumps everything onto the floor and sits down, poking around. Harley sits down across from him, watching his face for a reaction. Peter lifts up a mini snickers bar.
"What's this?"
"Chocolate." Harley reaches for it as he answers, trying to unwrap it for Peter. He snatches the bar away from Harley's hand.
"I know how to open these things." Harley snorts.
"Yeah, cause you stole my hersheys." Peter unwraps the bar easily, immediately taking a bite then almost spitting it out.
"Does it taste bad?" Harley thought he got a good one. It wasn't even expired like most of the stuff at the 7-11.
"It's a fucking cookie!" Peter chokes down the bite and laughs, spewing crumbs all over.
"Ew, gross! Of course it's a cookie Peter!"
"It looks like chocolate though. Why did they put a cookie inside..." Harley laughs and Peter scowls at him, throwing the wrapper at him.
"Do you like it?" Harley tenses, waiting for a response. He doesn't want to overstep. Peter looks up at him and smiles, and Harley has to stop his heart from breaking out of his chest as he smiles back.
"Yeah." Peter moves up to pull him into a hug, and even though Harley doesn't like hugs and Peter is covered in snickers crumbs, he doesn't move away. They stay like that for a while, just holding each other. Harley doesn't mind it. Eventually Peter uses his grip on Harley to throw him to the floor, and they start wrestling. Harley didn't have any close friends growing up, but he imagines this is the kind of thing he would have done with them. Punch each other and roll around on the ground. Eventually they tire themselves out and lay on the concrete floor, staring up at the ceiling.
"I didn't get you a present." The way he says it, like he really does regret not thinking of it, makes Harley sad.
"That's okay. I don't need one." He reaches for his hand, twining his pinky around Peter's. Peter moves his hand overtop of Harley's and holds it gently. They fall asleep like that on the cold floor, and neither talk about it the next day.