It all started with a text. Really, just one text. One tiny, minuscule text that Tony had sent him, probably not even realizing how much would change.
And now, Harley Keener stood there, stock still, as one (1) motherfucking Spiderman crawled through his best friend’s window.
Peter’s mask was already off, discarded on a stray textbook, and Harley’s brain was struggling to decide whether he should address the elephant (spider?) in the room or give way to the part of his mind that had never imagined a universe in which dorky, nerdy Peter Parker had the abdominal muscles of a Greek God.
Shrugging off the not-so-heterosexual thoughts about his most definitely heterosexual friend, he tried to return to the most important issue. Okay, so, possibilities: A) Peter was secretly a Spiderman cosplayer and had gotten locked out of his apartment, and some demented part of his pre-frontal cortex had decided that the best choice of action was to crawl through his window because that was a normal thing that all 17-year-old boys could do. B) Peter had wanted to play a prank on Harley and Ned was somewhere in the corner filming his reaction, which would be extremely embarrassing if he was because Harley was sure he looked like a gaping weasel right now, but still wouldn’t be as bad as possibility C: Peter Parker was Spiderman.
Unfortunately for what seemed to be his last remaining strand of sanity, possibility C was getting more and more convincing as Harley dragged his eyes away from his abs (God, his abs) and focused on his hand which was quite literally sticking to the ceiling, somehow supporting his entire body weight.
“Um…Hi?” Peter at least had the decency to look sheepish, the same expression he donned when having to explain to his professor that yes, he had in fact needed to use the bathroom for two class periods.
Harley was beginning to make quite a lot of realizations.
Taking a deep breath (and scanning the room for Ned in one last desperate hope that this was some stupid prank), he started what was possibly going to be the most grueling conversation in his life: “What the actual fuck, Peter?”
After Peter had explained the fact that, yes, obviously he had been bitten by a radioactive spider from god-knows-where, he had decided to become a vigilante/superhero and fight crime in Queens, Harley (perfectly understandably, if he says so himself) freaks the fuck out.
“Why are you so upset?” Peter raised an eyebrow. “At least I’m not like, a merc or something.”
“Oh my God! What do you not get? I live with Tony Stark! Tony, as in, the most nosy and protective person ever? The person who vetted MJ and Ned as soon as I told him about them? What could ever go wrong with my best friend having a secret identity he’s been trying to hide for the past three years?”
“So this is about Stark, then?” In contrast to Harley’s panic-soaked form, Peter was annoyingly nonchalant.
“Of course it is! Do you know what could happen if he found out?”
“We could politely ask him to not pull a Lois Lane on us? I mean, assuming he’s vetted me too, shouldn’t he already know?”
“If he did find out, he wouldn’t let me see you again! Especially with the amount of times Spiderman—you’ve been seen with Deadpool! Do you honestly think he would still let me hang out with you?”
“He can’t really make you stop hanging out with me, though, can he? You live with him, but it’s not like he’s your dad.”
And that was the kicker. “He might as well be!” Harley yelled, regretting it immediately after.
Peter's eyes widened. “Harley…”
“No.” Harley took a deep breath (he had been needing way too many of those recently) and tried to regain control of his emotions. “Off-topic. Point is, the only reason he hasn’t vetted you is because I never told him I was friends with you, and as soon as he sees me and you together he’s going to bombard me with questions about why, and then I’m going to tell him your name and he’s going to vet you and find out that guess what? My best friend is Spiderman. Who, according to the Daily Bugle, is a ‘Dangerous masked menace who haunts the streets of New York.’”
Peter had drawn closer, wrapping a hand loosely around his, which he now realized had been scratching at his arm so furiously that he really ought to have noticed it sooner. “Sorry.”
“Hey. It’s okay.” Peter wrapped his arms around Harley. “We’ll figure it out.”
Letting out a sigh, Harley returned his embrace. “Alright.”
“So how many people know about this?” Harley asked, maneuvering himself to sit down on Peter’s bed.
“I mean, Aunt May, obviously. And—I told Ned too, and oh! MJ found out as well. Pretty sure most of the AcaDec team is a little suspicious though.”
Groaning, Harley put his head in his hands. “Why are you like this, Pete?”
“Actually, my doctor says it’s because I was bitten by a—”
“Shut it.”
“Yes sir. Now, my most important friend who I care about very dearly, what the hell are you doing in my apartment at—” he checks his clock, “2 AM?”
“I uh, needed help with homework.”
“Homework?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“We go to a STEM school.”
“Yes?”
“You live with Tony Stark.”
“Yeah, but he doesn’t like bio and I forgot we had homework due tomorrow and you’re usually the only one still up at this hour. Plus, your lock is the closest to my house and therefore the easiest to pick.”
“I hate you.”
“I appreciate the sentiment. Now, biology time!”
Peter sighed and settled down.
At this point, it felt like ages since Harley had moved to New York. It was the summer before his junior year, and out of nowhere, Tony had shot him a text about an intern program he was doing. Naturally, Harley applied. And also naturally, Harley got the internship.
It was pretty prestigious, considering he got to be Tony Stark’s personal intern, staying by his side 24/7, but he doubted any other person who could’ve gotten it would’ve had the same treatment.
The main reason he was staying with Tony was the fact that his family was dirt poor and lived all the way in Tennessee, and because Harley wasn’t a psychopath, he chose not to make a two-hour extremely overpriced commute to Stark Tower every day.
Ergo, Tony said he could stay with him.
Harley hadn’t been expecting much, to be completely honest. But soon after Harley’s arrival, they had settled into a kind of routine.
He and Tony had had on-and-off contact throughout the years, with Tony becoming the closest thing Harley had to a dad. However, of course, when Harley came to the tower, the title of Dad leveled up into extreme-fucking-helicopter parent.
Now, that’s not to say that his care wasn’t kind of weirdly sweet, but it was odd to come home from his first day at Midtown High only to be interrogated on all of the new friends he had made. In full honesty, the only reason he hadn’t told Tony about Peter was because he didn’t want Tony to ruin his chances with the cute guy he met, but that was neither here nor there.
Harley and Peter didn’t actually get off to a great start. Harley, being the amazing person he is, saw possibly the only man in the world who could make eyebags look good, paired with some of the most beautiful thighs he had ever seen, and flirted with him.
Spoiler Alert: It was not well-received.
But later Harley had met a girl named MJ and she invited him (in her own weird, vaguely threatening way) to eat with her friends at lunch. What she hadn’t mentioned, of course, was the resident hottie was one of her besties, and the whole lunch was terribly awkward.
Eventually, though, he and Peter had manned up and pushed away their feelings in favor of science collaboration, completely platonic bro-best friends ever since. Mostly.
After what seemed like hours of trying to pack whatever the hell keratinocytes and chromophores were into his brain, they were both practically dead on their feet.
“If I don’t get sleep within the next ten minutes my body is going to physically explode and I will make sure to aim my spewing entrails at your face,” said Peter, fully done with Harley’s BS.
“Whatever.” Harley laid down on the bed and pulled up the covers. “I guess I’ll figure it out in the morning—Ouch!”
“Who said you could sleep here?” Peter glared at Harley who was still recovering from the hit.
“Well, considering that FRIDAY probably wouldn’t take it all that well if I snuck back at God-knows how many hours after midnight, it seemed like the obvious decision. Plus, your couch is too plebian for me.”
“I hope you die.”
“Love you too, baby.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Totally worth the pillow he got to the face.