Peter was trying to enjoy himself. He really was.
This wasn’t the first party Ned and MJ had dragged him to, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last, but something about the night wasn’t sitting right in Peter’s stomach and he really just wanted to go home.
He didn’t even know the person who was hosting the party. Flash had invited everyone from the Decathlon Team and had briefly mentioned that his cousin was the one throwing it, but so far Peter had yet to run into either of them. He also assumed Flash’s cousin was a college student, because most of the kids here looked way too old to be high schoolers and many were drinking like their lives depended on it.
Peter carelessly sloshed whatever shitty drink MJ had pushed into his hands right as he felt his phone start to buzz. Trying not to spill the liquid all over his pants, he set the cup onto the ground next to his feet before reaching into his back pocket to grab the device.
‘Hope you’re having fun :))’ the simple text from Tony read, followed by a ‘But not to much fun ;))’ . Peter couldn’t help but smile at the unnecessary amount of emoji’s his dad always insisted on using, and typed back a quick ‘i am’ before pocketing his phone again.
Much like every other social gathering he had ever been too, Peter had somehow ended up outside, all alone, just taking in the peaceful tranquility of the night. He could still hear loud music pounding from inside the house along with the shouts of both teenagers and young adults alike, which was reason number one million why he didn’t want to go rejoin the party. At this point it was way too much for his enhanced hearing and he could already feel a headache starting to form in the back of his temples.
His spider-sense’s were completely out of whack, if not from the hazy atmosphere or the party than from all the alcohol he had consumed in such a short period of time. So when a masculine voice suddenly spoke from behind him, Peter nearly jumped out of his skin in shock.
“Ya know, this is usually how the person in the first ten minutes of a horror movie gets murdered.” The person said, and Peter quickly spun around to come face to face with a cute, blonde haired boy who was slowly walking towards him. An identical red cup to his own placed in his hand.
Despite the original scare the boy had given him, Peter couldn’t help but smile. “Correct me if I’m wrong.” He teased, focusing his attention back towards his drink. “But that sounds like something the killer of the movie would stay right before stabbing me.”
The boy let out a loud laugh, causing a few stray drops of liquid to fall out of his own cup. “Is this spot taken?” He asked, pointing right next to where Peter was currently sitting. And unsure how to respond he quickly nodded his head hoping to convey the very simple message of; no, it most certainly is not.
Smiling, the boy sat down at the step text to him and took another long sip from his cup. “So what brings you out here?” He asked while putting down his cup. “No offense, but people usually don’t come to parties to drink alone outside.”
Peter shrugged, unsure how to respond. “I guess the music and people were just a little too much for me.” He admitted, taking a swig of his own drink. “I’m not sure if you can tell but these types of events aren’t my usual forte. I try to stick to the more lowkey stuff.” He smirked.
The boy nodded his head as though he understood, and Peter couldn’t help but think that the alcohol must finally be starting to take effect. There wasn’t much light illuminating the front stoop of the suburban house, besides a few stray streets lamps here and there, and some quickly passing car headlights that sped down the road every once and awhile. But despite all that, he could clearly see every detail of the boy sat next to him. Every freckle, every curl, and even the playful glint in his eyes.
“My names Harley.” The boy introduced himself, holding out his hand for Peter to shake. Almost as if they were business men about to make a deal.
“Peter.” He replied, taking Harley’s calloused hand into his own.
And that’s when Peter decided that maybe this party wasn’t that awful after all. Later that night he would drag a wasted Ned home, and sit on the bathroom floor next to him as he puked up his guts while babbling on about some girl named Betty he had met at the party. But not even that would be able ruin his cheerful mood.
Because on the inside of his palm, written in sloppy handwriting, was Harley’s phone number. And by god, nothing in this world would be able to stop him from texting that handsome blonde back.