Oh my gods, he’s rich.
So, yeah. Peter had a date with Harley. Today.
What the fuck was he going to wear?
After about an hour of trying on outfits and throwing a fit he seriously considered not going. Of course, Ned texted him, telling him that he has to go on this date. Peter knew he was right, he didn’t really want to lose what might be his only chance at getting to know Harley, and ditching him would probably be grounds for a cold shoulder.
But he did have Harley’s number. He could text him and ask him to postpone the date, if only to buy himself some time. That could easily come off the wrong way though, and would he really want the first text ever sent between the two of them to be a cancellation of plans?
No. He could do this.
He couldn’t do this.
How does he do this?
Peter needed help. Like, he really needed help. From someone who would be brutally honest and tell him what to do.
So he called MJ.
“What do you need?” came the harsh reply after a total of 3 unanswered calls. Hey, he was desperate.
“I’m supposed to go on a date in like 20 minutes but I don’t know what to wear!” he whined through the speaker, only pausing to take a breath. “I need your help because I know you’ll be honest with me.”
MJ was silent for about 2 seconds before she let out a sigh. “Parker, you’re a mess. I’ll be over in five.
Peter didn’t ask how she would get there that fast, but he figured it had something to do with Ned knowing that his best friend would need some assistance.
~~~~~
In those five minutes that he was waiting for his friend, Peter decided to try and calm himself down by fixing his web shooters.
Which, of course, did not work.
After the third attempt at fixing the damaged trigger that almost caused him to plummet 50 feet on his last patrol, there was finally a knock on the door. Rushing to open it, he saw MJ standing impatiently with a notebook in her hands.
Oh, right, he was having a crisis.
“Move,” she shoved past him and went straight to his bedroom. He didn’t bother hiding his web-shooters, since she already knew he was Spider-man, but he thought he probably should’ve tidied up his room a little. “Peter, you need to clean up if you plan on bringing him home with you.”
“For the record, I do not plan on having a sleepover on the first date.” Peter threw a shirt in the hamper and sat on his bed. “What do I do?”
She was sifting through his closet, before pulling out a shirt from the back of the wardrobe and finding a pair of pants that she deemed good enough. “Here.”
Peter looked at the shirt and found that it was the same top that he wore at Aunt May’s fundraiser last year. “Um, are you sure this is a good idea for a coffee date?”
“Yes. Now go change.”
Upon putting on the button up shirt, he remembered that yeah, he definitely gained some muscle. Leaving the top button unfastened, you could see way more skin than he usually allowed with his baggy clothes. “MJ! I don’t think this shirt fits me anymore!” He stepped out of the bathroom to show her.
MJ’s eyes went wide, and she stared at him a bit more. “Holy shit. If I was into dudes, I would totally go for you.”
Peter blushed bright pink. “So, yes or no? On the shirt.”
“Absolutely.”
~~~~~
Now he was sitting on the same bench that he was asked out on three days prior, wearing a dark red button up short-sleeved shirt, a dark blue jean jacket, and black pants. He was holding his phone like he was scrolling through instagram or something, but really he was just trying not to freak out and bail last minute by staring at a black screen.
About six minutes after the agreed upon time, he was considering texting Harley to ask if he was still coming.
“So,” a voice spoke next to him. “Come here often?”
Peter kept looking down, not wanting to deal with this at the moment. “I, uh, I have, like, a date? So, um, I’m not-” he flinched when the guy next to him laughed and grabbed his shoulder. He shot up out of the bench and looked at the creep. “Hey- oh my god, you scared me!”
Harley was still laughing from his spot on the bench, one hand holding his stomach and the other beckoning Peter to sit back down. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I thought you would at least recognize me.”
In all honesty, Peter would’ve probably recognized him in an instant if he wasn’t so focused on thinking his date might’ve ditched him. So, he voiced that to Harley.
“I’m only a few minutes late! Jesus, you’re just like Steve.” Harley stood up and reached his hand out to the shorter boy, smiling brightly. “Come on, let’s go.”
Peter took his hand - it was soft, but rough, and he never wanted to stop holding it - and let himself be led into the little vintage cafe that they decided on. They walked through the door and Harley led them straight to the counter, which is when the brunette realized he forgot his wallet.
“Oh my god- shit- sorry-” the taller boy stopped him from ruffling through his pockets by grabbing his hands softly. “I’m so sorry, Harley, I forgot my wallet. I can go home really quick to grab it-”
Harley let go of his right hand and squeezed his left. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.” he flashed his own thin wallet and Peter almost wanted to cry out of guilt, until he pulled out a thick, black, and probably extremely expensive card, and smirked. “Courtesy of my old man.”
Peter’s jaw would’ve been on the floor if the barista hadn’t come up and asked them for their order. “I- um, I’ll have a medium, vanilla cold brew with almond milk,” he was nudged in the side by Harley, who just nodded his head towards the glass case full of food. “And a, uh, apple cinnamon muffin?”
“And for you, sir?” The barista was writing down Peter’s order on a cup.
“I’ll have a medium americano, hot, with whole milk, and a blueberry scone.” Harley ordered, with more confidence than Peter could’ve ever imagined to have.
“Alright…that’ll be $13.10.” The barista was smiling, and Peter could write an essay about the different reactions on her face when his date handed her his credit card. “Holy shit.”
Harley chuckled a bit at her exclamation, while Peter just sympathized with it. Personally, he thought that using a black card to pay for 13 dollars worth of coffee was a bit extra, but he wasn’t going to complain. Instead, he just squeezed Harley’s hand to get his attention. “Hey, do you mind if I find a place for us to sit?”
The blonde smiled at him, and Peter almost melted. “Of course, I’ll be right there.”
Letting go of his hand - he really didn’t want to, but whatever - the teen made his way to a cute little booth in the front of the cafe, right by a window. After staring out of the window into the cloudy NYC streets, his felt Harley approach. He turned to greet the other boy, but immediately felt bad.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I should’ve helped grab the stuff.” He reached over to where Harley’s arms were overflowing with their orders, and tried to grab his stuff. Harley anticipated his move and quickly flipped around so Peter couldn’t reach him.
“Nuh uh, I got this.” He waited until Peter sat down to set the drinks on the table and serve the plates of treats. “You underestimate me.”
“I just thought I should help,” the shorter boy blushed and shrunk into his seat, sipping on his coffee. “I was worried you’d be mad.”
Harley scoffed at him, not unkindly. “Sweetheart, I know how to balance a few plates.”
Peter genuinely thought that was impressive, because he would’ve 100% dropped everything if he didn’t have ‘sticky fingers’, as Ned would say. Instead of boosting Harley’s ego, though, he decided to just roll his eyes and take a bite of his muffin.
What he didn’t notice right away was how the blonde was staring at him, until the teen put down his scone and looked directly into his eyes. “I gotta be honest, I have no clue what I’m supposed to say on a date. In Tennessee, the only goal was to woo the girls with beer and horses. But, y’know, that didn’t really work for me, being gay and all.”
Peter hummed. Truthfully, this is the only date he’d ever been on, unless you count MJ before she realized she was a lesbian. “Uh,” he thought back to when he first met Ned. “Why don’t we play 20 questions? I mean, if that’s not weird. That’s actually how I got to know my best friend when we first met.”
Harley’s eyes brightened at that, and Peter should’ve probably been nervous about what kind of questions he would ask, but he was too busy focusing on the way the taller boy cracked his knuckles and stretched his fingers. Oh my god, does he have a hand kink?
The blonde didn’t seem to notice, since he just leaned forward and, quite menacingly, might he add, said, “Let the games begin.”