come a little closer, then you'll see
“We need to get out of the tower. You wanna see real New York, the sequel?” Peter hangs in Harley’s doorway. His eyes still flick to the flag behind the bed. Neither of them mention it, but it’s always there.
“I’ve been awaiting this sequel.” Harley rolls off his bed, pulling on his tattered shoes. “What’s the destination?”
“Outside.”
Peter, once again, drags Harley through the subway, actually taking his hand at one point and pulling him away from a cool mural. It makes Harley think his skin has turned into copper, carrying the electric current between their palms. The actual train isn’t crowded. Peter collapses into a seat, waving Harley to do the same.
Of course, he does. Peter slouches momentarily before pushing himself back up into actually sitting.
“I take the train every morning to get to school. It’s always busy. You must be some kind of lucky charm.”
“Or it’s near ten on a Tuesday night.”
“Eh, trust me, doesn’t make much of a difference here. Do you know just how many people there are in New York City?” Peter looks over at him. “8.8 million. 8.8 million.”
“Do you know how many people are in Rose Hill? 2,338.” Harley copies Peter’s tone, earning him a joking slap on his shoulder. “I mean, really 2,337 because I’m not there right now.”
“You’re the worst.”
“Thanks, Darlin’. Means the world, honest.”
Peter makes a face. Harley pulls a horribly sarcastic smile. They continue like this, words having no value spare them being said, until they almost miss their stop from laughing. Harley just feels - light. Like he could float down the street, not walk. But, his feet hit the ground. Lord, the soles of these shoes are paper-thin.
“Okay, okay, in all honesty, I’m terrified of moths. They’re - the devil. Worse than the devil, actually.” Peter looks off briefly, as if he knows the guy personally.
“In Tennessee, we have moths the size of dinner plates. You gotta live in peace with them or accept them as your natural overlords.”
“See, now that doesn’t help!” Peter squeaks.
“You’d hate Rose Hill,” Harley lets his smile fall slightly, “though I think everyone in their right mind does.”
“You think I’m in my right mind?” Peter laughs before a beat of silence. “Do you really hate your town that much?”
“I mean, I don’t know. Rose Hill is an easy pill to swallow, a damn hard one to spit back out.” Harley shrugs, shoulder brushing against Peter’s.
“And you said you’re gonna move here?”
“Yeah, with my sister. It’s - complicated.”
“I’m always a shoulder if you need one, Cowboy.” Harley grins, face towards the sidewalk, but he’s certain his face must be glowing.
“Hey, you too, Darlin’. I’ve been talking about myself too long. What’s going on in your life?”
Peter sighs, short and aspirated, like a burner going out on the stove. It’s in this light that his face glistens, round cheekbone painted with a diluted purple watercolor bruise. It’s faded, but still there. “Y’know, life. There’s kind of an ever-present stress. I think I’ve gone past regular anxiousness into this haze of persistent worry, but it’s still a haze? It’s just there.”
“Amen. It’s like living in a fog.”
Peter makes a little huff of agreeance. “I think part of it is the city.”
“What do you mean? About the city, I mean?” Harley can certainly understand the kind of stress Peter is talking about, but not living in New York.
“Well, I love this city. I love Queens. But it’s also chock full of all the things that my aunt calls risky activity. This is my city and it’s falling between my fingers.”
Harley is taken aback for a moment. All that poetry Peter reads is paying off, evidently. Lord, he’s just beautiful. He’s the only person who would have put his feelings like that, right now, right there. He looks more bruise now. Harley’s not sure it’s just in his mind.
“I know exactly what you mean. In a different way, I think, but… yeah. Exactly that. Exactly that,” he repeats under his breath, still reeling from it. Peter nods and looks up at the sky full of concrete and flickering street lights, cheeks sucked in hollow.
“Can I show you something?” Peter asks. Harley’s heart jumps in a way not previously known to humans.
“Of course.”
This is how they end up on a rooftop in Queens, laying on their backs, staring at the near-invisible city stars. Harley thinks this is what Jesus meant, talking about salvation. The concrete is cool on the back of his neck. His hair splays outwards, a reminder that he still needs to trim it. Peter, next to him, looks about as happy as he’s ever seen him, bruises and all. His nose has a little bump in it that catches the moonlight. And he looks fascinated in the sky, the stars, the world around them.
“This is what I do when I get overwhelmed with it all.” Peter folds his hands under his head, disappearing into his fluffy hair.
Harley looks up at the night sky. “It’s a good choice. If you’re ever down south, you should see the stars there. Those are real beauties.”
“What are the stars like in Tennessee?”
“Bright. Like eyes, in a way, looking down, but not in a judging way. It’s… it’s the best thing there, seeing the stars, without streetlights or skyscrapers.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it? It reminds me that the world goes on. All those stars. You know, in order to make a star, a nebulous has to collapse first.” Peter trails off thoughtfully. “What do you see up there?”
Harley inhales, long and slow, trying to breathe in the moment. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Hell, I even went to church a few days ago, expecting to... I don't know. I think there’s some sort of heaven up there, some collection of souls, but I don’t think you have to die to find heaven. It’s everywhere. All around us.”
Peter makes a little hum. “Harley, I think you’re amazing.”
Harley’s now certain he must be glowing, like actually glowing. He wants to fold up into a ball of pure elation, wants that feeling of a teenage crush tattooed on his palms so he leaves it everywhere he touches, the sacred electricity of youth, wants to call Cassie and gush while kicking his feet like those girls do in the movies.
“You too, Peter,” is what he says instead, though he thinks it means the same thing.