showers
Peter groaned, covering his face with his pillow as the bright sunlight streamed out of his windows.
“Peter, Boss wants you to know that Potato Gun arrived last night and would like to see you,” Friday said.
“Mmhmm,” Peter mumbled, not even opening his eyes before falling back asleep, snuggling into the warmth of the covers.
“Peter?” Harley Keener poked his head in his boyfriend’s room, chuckling as he saw the younger teen asleep. Harley walked in and sat on the bed, shaking Peter slightly. “C’mon, babe, get up.”
Peter moaned and shook his head.
“C’mon, Steve made pancakes,” Harley tried, knowing that the promise of pancakes would usually get the vigilante out of bed. But not this time, it seemed. “Babe, please? I miss you,” Harley said, though it wasn’t his best. “Oh, I see how it is. I fly all the way here from Tennessee and don’t even get a hello!” the blond humphed, face falling when Peter barely moved.
Rolling his eyes, Harley tried his last resort. “Fine, suit yourself. I’m going to take a shower. I wanted you to join me, but I guess I’ll have to take it by myself . . .”
Peter jumped out of bed immediately with a bad case of bed head, hurriedly grabbing Harley’s wrist. “No, no! I’m up!”
Harely chuckled. “I thought that would do it.”
Peter’s mouth fell open. “You little shit . . .”
“Now, c’mon, we gotta hurry if we want pancakes.”
Peter hummed and pecked Harley’s cheek. “First, shower.”
“Alright, alright.”