Songs were something that could get caught in Harley's head easily, but conversations never stayed. They were too fleeting, too quick, and he was too spontaneous for them to ever even make sense, much less be remembered.
When he and Peter started dating, he tried desperately to hoard every word, to keep every cadence in his mind, because one thing he could remember were the lessons he learned and one he could never forget was that everyone left. He didn't want Peter to leave but that wasn't something he could control, so at the very least, he could make the memories stay.
And then Peter started leaving and leaving and leaving and coming back and leaving and every time he did, he would always remember another lesson he learned too young, the lesson that you have to leave before you get left.
It's like a song, that one cynical dance of words playing in his mind over and over, a background track to an argument he should've seen coming.
What the fuck are you doing to yourself? Can't you stop? For me?
It's not that easy.
You don't have to do everything you can do just because you can! Take a goddamn break, won't you?
I can't take a goddamn break, Jesus. Do you even hear yourself?
I don't think I'm asking for too much here. Oh, but he was, he was, he was.
You have to leave before you get left.
No, of course you don't.
What's that supposed to mean?
Nothing. Nothing. Leave. Have to leave.
Nothing.
You said it.
So?
Gotta mean something. And then he's not entirely to blame. Peter knows Harley only drops words when he's emotional. Harley knows that Peter saw that and yet. And yet.
Maybe it's not me that's the problem here.
Yeah? Yeah, maybe it's not. Maybe you should've left when you had the chance.
You know that's not what I mean.
Softer, softer, like sorry but it's too late now. Should've left when he had the chance. Have to leave.
Harley picks up his keys, unthinking, but the crash of them hitting each other doesn't stop his fresh memories.
You said it.
Stop saying that.
Why?
Just say sorry. Let this go and leave, Peter. Because sometimes people say things they don't mean.
Leave, leave, before– He can't finish. Before.
Before you swung 'round like the whole fuckin' world depends on you, you weren't all high and mighty on your horse. Just 'cause I ain't a hero don't mean I can't understand when you need a fuckin' break.
You don't even understand what you're asking me, Harley. Dangerous, dangerous, why is he still talking, why was he still talking? Why hadn't he left?
I ain't even hearin' a single argument from you, just 'you don't understand' this, 'you don't understand' that, like I'm stupid.
We're not arguing.
Really? Could've fooled me.
We're just talking, Harley. We're just—
We ain't just talkin', for fucks' sake! If we were just talkin', you'd be listening!
I am!
You're not.
The revving of his engine stops his mind for a second, for a second, the scramble of his thoughts on pulling out, turning, easing the accelerator, easing his car forward, backward, away.
I don't see you listening to me, either.
You a kindergartner or something? Echoing my words back to me like they mean something different?
God, Harley, I'm just saying.
That I'm not listenin' to you. But you're not listenin' to me, either, are you? Peter had scoffed then, but now Harley blinks hard, pleading with the winter sun to dry his eyes.
Well if we ain't listenin' to each other, then what are we doing here?
Peter had hesitated, at least. What? What do you—what do you mean?
Leave. You've been dying to anyway.
Leave, leaving. These roads are familiar, if old. Gravel like gravity he hadn't felt in a while.
Harley...
Why do you have qualms now? His words were normal now, then, clean and crisp. Go. Save the fucking world again.
Harley, that's not—
Fucking God! Just leave! Get out!
He had. Ducked through a window, face hidden, not looking back. Was it easier? To abandon when you needed something else? To run away with the guise of running towards?
Well.
If anyone had been watching Harley's car, they would've seen it grow smaller and smaller against the light of the horizon, sinking into the ground as distance grew. They would've been frozen, wanting to catch it and feeling like it was too late. They would've been cursing their legs for not moving, their arms for not reaching, their mind for not thinking of the consequences.
If anyone had been watching Harley's car, they would've seen it disappear silently into the sunset, beautiful and tragic. They would've wanted to run to it, begging and desperate and broken.
If anyone had been watching Harley's car, they would've been struck by how entirely alone it looked.
But of course, no one was.
Of course.