Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Don’t ever let love define you,” Kendra Keener whispers her words into the dark. Her cigarette hangs off of her lips, fresh tears falling over long ago dried ones. “It hurts, Harley. You give yourself to someone, give them too much control over you…and they destroy you.”

“I’ll make sure I find someone who does love me,” Harley insists. “I’ll make sure there’s no question about it.”

“Keep dreamin’, honey bun.” Kendra flicks her cigarette. “It’s never going to happen. There’s nothing good about love.”

“But…don’t you love me and Abby?”

Kendra turns away. “There’s nothing good about love.”

Harley looks at the box in his hand now. He’s had it for a year, in the back of his drawer and in his backpack and under the loose floorboard in the tiny pantry. The ring belonged to Ben and had been modified with diamonds from May’s old wedding band. Harley is proud of the work, hopeful that Peter will like it. Since it’s been finished, however, he realizes that he isn’t sure when to bring it out. Every time he thinks he’s going to, his mother’s voice filters through his mind.

There’s nothing good about love.

He knows it’s a lie. He’s known it since Peter walked into Tony’s lab with a sweet smile and twitchy hands, thanking him for his help with the snap. It sparked something in Harley, something he carried for a year until his summer staying with the Starks.

Harley wants Peter like he’s wanted nothing before.

But now, looking him in the eyes and thinking, I could kiss him and he would let me, Harley knows that isn’t what he wants. He’s going to make Peter want him too, for longer than one night. He’s going to play the long game; understand Peter, let Peter understand him, tease him and show him what he can have for as long as he wants it. He’s known this kid for one day and he’s so far gone.

So, he looks back towards the skyline and doesn’t think about how full Peter’s lips are, and what exactly he could do with them.

He spent so much time thinking about Peter, working on protecting himself from the possibility of hurt. He flirted with the other boy, got to know him, made sure they were friends first. But, looking back now, he wonders if they were ever really friends. Harley met Peter, wanted him, and then pursued him. Not that it was terribly difficult—they were impossibly drawn to each other.

He flips the box shut again, turning to tuck it in his suitcase. “Hey, sweetheart, you ready to go?”

“Almost!” Peter calls back from the bathroom. “I messed up my mascara.”

Harley chuckles and falls back on the bed, looking at their ceiling fan. Spring break in Hawaii with their friends should be the perfect place, right? Gorgeous hikes, beaches, and cityscape views. There’s hardly a more romantic place where one could get engaged. He’s going to do it then. It doesn’t matter that they’re kids, right? It matters that they love each other. Because they do. Harley knows it.

Peter steps out of the bathroom, his new look finished. “What do you think? I look ridiculous, don’t I? Shit, I’m going to go change—

“Peter, baby,” Harley says, rising quickly to his feet with a dry mouth and a racing heart. “No. You look so good. I don’t even…fuck.”

He isn’t lying; Peter looks amazing. His make up is flawless, the contouring used to define his jaw, making it look even stronger than it already does. There’s a glowing look to him, one that pairs well with his embarrassed flush and the arch of his plucked and shaped brows. The mascara he’s wearing makes his lashes look longer and thicker, the light eyeliner adding to the shape of his eyes. He’s wearing a black see-through shirt, jeans, and heeled boots.

He’s breathtaking.

“What time does our flight leave?” Harley rasps.

Peter giggles, glancing down at his watch. “In two hours. Because of traffic, we need to leave now. I don’t want to make us even later.”

“You’re a Stark. They’ll fucking wait.”

“You look so good, Peter,” Harley breathes, pulling Peter into an alcove filled with flowers. There are twinkle lights all around, giving a warm glow to match the humid New York night. “It’s killing me.”

“Me?” Peter scoffs. He slides his hands into Harley’s open jacket. “You look like sex in a suit, Harley, my brain short circuited when I saw you.”

Harley shakes his head and leans in. Kissing Peter is better than swinging through Manhattan, sitting on the Brooklyn bridge, eating the most delicious food, or spending time with Tony Stark. The boy in his arms, lips moving against his in a leisurely kiss, makes Harley feel so fucking incredible. They’re just kids, but surely, surely, this is true love. The comfort, the sense of wanting to stay forever, the way his mind can only focus on Peter.

Its almost too much.

Its not enough.

“Late,” MJ calls in a bored voice, not looking up from her book. “Can’t you two keep your hands off—holy fuck, Parker. Nevermind.”

Peter ducks his head against the attention. “Its okay?”

“It’s fantastic,” Betty gushes. “Is that the contour pallet we got the other day?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “You guys don’t think its weird?”

“No,” Ned grins. “You look rad, dude.”

Harley makes a face as he settles into a seat across from Betty, pulling Peter to snuggle into his side. “I told you, darlin’, you look incredible.”

“And you’re completely forgiven for the lateness,” MJ’s girlfriend, Kira, says decidedly. “Although I am really excited to leave now.”

“Right,” Peter nods. “Happy said we’ll be taking off in a minute.”

Harley curls so his head rests on Peter’s chest, sighing contentedly when the other boy starts running his fingers through blonde curls. There’s an ease to their interactions that Harley never thought possible in a relationship. They’ve only been together a few years, and yet they’re in sync with one another. He doesn’t understand how they couldn’t be meant for each other.

As Peter brushes his lips across Harley’s temple in an impossibly tender way, Harley realizes he feels taken care of by his boyfriend. The fear his mother planted in his brain—give yourself to someone and they destroy you—no longer applies to the fear of Peter destroying him. No, he’s worried he’s going to destroy Peter.

It starts in his second year of MIT, when Peter moves there for summer classes. They’ve moved in to their own apartment, and Harley feels to signs approaching. Somehow they’re as gradual as they are blindsiding.

Harley’s appetite goes first. He stops eating breakfast in favor of looking over notes, tinkering at his workshop table, or sleeping in. Peter will offer to make an extra bagel or omelet, and he’ll smile and say he isn’t hungry. Peter doesn’t think much of it until he starts pushing his dinner around the plate but not putting much in his mouth.

“Too much garlic?” Peter asks hesitantly one night.

Harley chuckles and shakes his head. “Nah, I’m just not very hungry. Wanna strip study with bio-chem notes?”

The next thing to go is Harley’s ability to sleep. Peter tries often to wake him up, but he’ll simply roll into his boyfriend’s side with a yawn. “I didn’t sleep well last night. I don’t think I can sit through a lecture this morning. I’ll get notes from my study group.”

“Okay.” Peter says, worry laced in his tone. “I’ll pick up pizza for dinner tonight. I love you.”

“I love you.” Harley kisses him and rolls away.

When Peter comes back that night, Harley is already in bed. He leaves dinner on the counter and pads over to the mattress, sliding in next to his boyfriend. “Trying to turn in early?”

“Mhmm,” Harley hums. He winds around Peter, who is once again distracted by want and the need to satisfy Harley. Everything falls away as they share a kiss, and Harley prays that Peter doesn’t notice this is the third time this has happened in as many days.

When Harley’s libido goes, the thought of pretending exhausts him too much, and he lets things go.

Their kisses are still tender, but few and far in between. Peter will trail his fingertips across Harley’s hip and no goosebumps will appear. They’ll kiss for ten minutes, and Harley barely lifts a hand to hold his boyfriend close before saying goodnight and rolling over. There’s no eagerness, no desire, just…existing while Peter is there. Harley starts skipping so many classes he has to meet with the Dean. He eats so little. His workbench gathers dust, his tools unused and his books mostly unopened. There aren’t late Saturdays of video games or weekdays spent in parks. Harley stops engaging in the life around him.

“Babe?” Peter says one morning in December. Harley isn’t sleeping, or crying, or doing anything; he’s just holding a pillow and watching snow fall outside their window. “You haven’t studied much for finals. You need to do well to help balance your attendance grades.”

“I’m fine,” Harley replies. “I’m just going to wing it. I don’t really need to study.”

Harley knows this isn’t like him. There’s part of his brain crying out, yelling at him to tell Peter whats happening, warn him and get help, but fear grips his heart and its easier to pretend he’s not broken and bleeding on the inside.

“Are you sure?” Peter asks. “You could come to the library with this group I joined—

“I said I’m fine, Peter. I was going to turn in soon anyways.”

“Harley, you should get out some. If you don’t want to study, we could always do a little Christmas shopping?”

Harley doesn’t roll over. “Yeah, maybe. Have fun.”

He hears Peter shut the door.

“Harls?”

Harley snaps awake. “Hmm?”

“We’re here,” Peter says lightly, stroking Harley’s hair back. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harley wipes at his eyes. “Damn. How long was I out?”

“Over half of the flight,” Betty squeezes his hand. “Everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says. When Peter and Betty both narrow their eyes, he sighs. “The medicine is making me a little bit sleepy, that’s all.”

“The doctor said we’re coming up on when he should be adjusting better,” Peter says as he stands.

“And if he doesn’t?” Ned frowns.

“Then I stop it and we try something else,” Harley shrugs. “But it’s been happening for so long that my brain doesn’t work the right way, so the medication is necessary. At least for now.”

“I take insulin for my diabetes,” Kira says, voice gentle. “That’s okay.”

Betty is silent, but Harley knows they’ve been taking the same thing. They give him a small smile of encouragement. “Alright. Well, who else is ready to head to the house?”

Harley wakes up to the sound of the door bursting open. He jerks up, blearily rubbing at his eyes. The lights flicker on, and he barely has time to take in the sight of Pepper’s furious eyes and Tony’s panic before he follows their line of sight and—

“Peter!” he cries, scrambling out of the sheets. “Oh my god, Karen, what happened?”

“Peter was hit with a bullet. He was unable to retrieve it because of how it struck the spinal nerves every time he moved his arms to attempt it. When he tried to wake up Harley, he was not heard and promptly passed out because of it. I’ve alerted Mr. Stark.”

“How did you not hear him?” Pepper hisses. Bruce rushes into the room behind them, a medical bag in his hands.

“I didn’t, I didn’t hear,” Harley chokes on his own words. “I’ve been sleeping more.”

Tony’s gaze jerks up to meet his. “Kid. It started happening again?”

Tears sting Harley’s eyes.

“Why didn’t you call? Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t he?”

Bruce works quietly and carefully to extract the bullet from Peter’s back. “It didn’t hurt anything big, but his powers need to heal the wound and the bruising on his spine. I’ve got some blood and Peter-proofed medication, but I want to get him in the bed first.”

Harley sits on his heels, useless as Peter is cleaned up before he’s carried to bed by Tony. Pepper tucks her son under the covers with shaky hands and a twitch of pain at her lips. There’s something nasty eating at Harley, a sort of horror and guilt at whats happening. Peter is hurt because of him. Because he ignored what was happening. And when Peter is hurt, Pepper and Tony hurt. That also hurts Peter. There’s an ugly cycle, and Harley is at the center of it.

While the others tends to Peter, Harley realizes that he’s sitting in a pool of his boyfriend's blood. His hands are red. The wood is stained.

My fault, he thinks brokenly, hurrying to get a trash bag and towels. He works silently on mopping up the blood.

My fault.

My fault.

My fault.

“God, look at this,” Peter breathes. He drops his duffel by the dresser and gazes at the floor to ceiling windows in the room. The beach is spread out before them, nothing to see but the way the sky blazes orange and gold, bleeding into the blue of the water and green of the vegetation around them. Peter, standing against it, is casts in the glow.

“Come here,” Harley whispers, dropping his own bag. “God, Peter, please…”

He turns, smiling at the sight of Harley and hurrying forward. They fall into each other, Harley’s hands twisting into Peter’s shirt and pulling them close so that their lips meet in a breathless kiss. Peter tastes like vanilla, which confuses him until he feels the slide of lip gloss and remembers the taste from before. It makes the skin of his lips tingle, the slide of their lips smoother, and his blood sing.

“Is this lip gloss supposed to tingle?” Harley murmurs as he pulls Peter to the bed by the belt loops. “Cause it does, it still tingles, even though you put it on, like, a day ago.”

“I refreshed it in the car, babe,” Peter says, kicking off his boots. “I want to try it everywhere else.”

Lips tingling and mind blurring, Harley’s helpless as he falls back onto the mattress and Peter climbs on top of him. Before they’d gotten on the plane, Harley had kissed Peter briefly before going down on him. Now, he’s getting the full experience as his boyfriend peppers wet kisses along his neck and towards his chest, leaving the sensation trailing down his body.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he moans. “You do this on purpose?”

“Maybe.” Peter kisses the space above Harley’s hipbone. He continues like this, peeling sweatpants away and pulling Harley’s t-shirt off until he’s left in his boxers. Peter is unbothered by how Harley’s medication affects his ability to get erections—he just lovingly spends his time running his fingertips in feather-light touches and biting marks into skin. Though Harley isn’t necessarily aroused by it, all the sensations relax his muscles. Worry fades away, affection seeps through his bones, and only Peter remains.

Harley leans over Peter and takes his boyfriend’s face in his hands. “Oh my god, Peter. I can’t—sweetheart, I am so sorry.”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m okay,” Peter promises. He looks pale, trying to force a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Harley moans. His forehead drops onto Peter’s shoulder. “It’s not fine at all, I could have been the reason you died because I couldn’t fucking wake up. Please forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

“Of course,” Peter promises him. Harley still feels too cold, too foggy, but Peter’s gentle soothing tries to break through the cracks. “I’m really okay, now. We’re okay.”

Peter pulls Harley into the bed, and two wind around each other.

“I need help.”

“I know, babe,” he whispers. “I love you, Harley, and I am sorry for not seeing it sooner. And for being in denial when I did. I could have gotten you help.”

“Please don’t blame yourself.” Harley feels like all the air is gone. MY fault, my fault, my fault. “Please, its not your fault.”

“And its not yours. Tony said this has happened before, twice. It’s not your fault, your brain just isn’t doing what its supposed to.”

“It’s not like I didn’t…lean into it. And you almost died because of it.”

“That isn’t on you.”

Harley burrows closer, as if sinking into Peter will make everything better. “I love you, Peter. I would have never been able to live with it if Karen hadn’t been there to save you. You don’t have to pretend it isn’t my fault, I understand if you’re angry and I can be packed before you come home—

“Harley, stop it.” Peter holds tighter. “I love you, more than anything, and i don’t want you to leave. It doesn’t make me want to leave. I’m here, we’re okay. It’s not your fault, and I don’t ever want to hear you say otherwise. Okay? Whatever happens, I want us clear on that. Are you hearing me?”

Harley nods.

“Okay,” Peter repeats. “I love you. We’ll figure it out.”

Dinner ends up being ribs on the beach that Kira grills to perfection. They eat that and drink beer while toasting to a week of no school and half a semester gone. Afterwards, Harley sits in the sand with Peter in his lap, his friends around him and roasting marshmallows on a bonfire. It’s all very cheesy, but Harley captures the moments in the back of his mind. He sometimes gets so wrapped up in Peter that he forgets there are other people who genuinely enjoy his company.

“I want to go swimming,” Betty suddenly pipes up. They pull at the hem of their t-shirt. “Like…right now.”

“How are you not exhausted?” Peter shakes his head. “Its, like, two in the morning in New York.”

“I’m feeling like a late night swim,” they insist. “Come on, guys. You know you want to.”

“I’m not getting in the ocean when I can’t see the sharks,” MJ says plainly. “But I’ll pay you fifty bucks to do it.”

Betty arches their eyebrows and stands. They give their hips a little shake as they pull down their shorts, making Ned color, and Kira and Harley give a hoot. They strip off their shirt as well, kicking some sand towards MJ before running off towards the water.

Kira stands. “I can’t let Betty go by themselves. Looks like I’m off. Babe?”

“I am perfectly content to see you just strip.”

“Suit yourself.”

“Let’s all go,” Ned beams. “Come on, guys. First night in Hawaii! Night swimming in the ocean and then drying off by the bonfire. This is spring break!”

“We have a pool,” Peter sighs, but stands up anyways, reaching for his shirt. Harley watches the movement fondly. “Harls? You coming?”

“If you’re asking, I feel like you know the answer.”

Peter bites his lip and bends over to remove his shorts, making Harley’s brain short circuit. His boyfriend’s ass is illegally perfect, much like the rest of him, and it somehow looks more enticing covered in his boxer briefs than it does bare.

Well, that’s a lie. But almost.

“Come on, baby, please,” Kira pouts. She nudges MJ with her toes. “I’ll protect you from the sharks, I swear.”

Harley loses the rest of the conversation as Peter leans down to pull him into a standing position. “If you don’t get a move on, Keener, I’m going to go without you.”

“Well,” Harley chuckles. “We can’t have that.”

Harley starts taking steps.

Once the fall semester starts back up and Peter goes back to New York, he promises to attend therapy at a clinic around the corner. He spends an hour and a half speaking with the therapist about whatever goes on in his brain, about starting medicine, and about practical ways to move forward. A lot of stuff Harley has long tried to forget gets unpacked, and the sessions sometimes leave him completely wiped. He goes home, and spends the entire evening watching Brooklyn-Nine-Nine reruns and eating cheeseburgers. Sometimes Peter facetimes so they can watch together.

Harley never talks much on those evenings.

Peter never pushes.

Harley loves him for it.

His course list drops down to that of the average twelve-hour student. He retakes the courses he didn’t do well in lover the summer, sometimes still struggling with completing his homework and focusing in classes. To help with it, Harley gets a tutor who assigns him a recorder so that he doesn’t miss anything. Taking a majority of labs turns out to be helpful, as he is forced to physically do more to pass. It engages his mind and his body. This provides a sort of stepping-stone to working out again.

Sometimes it feels like so much.

He’s just.

He’s tired.

No.

He’s fucking exhausted.

Every day is a goddamn chore. It’s more energy than he feels that he has to pull himself from bed. Some days, he’s able to make it in the shower and clean himself. Sometimes, on mornings like this, he manages to get his teeth brushed, his jeans pulled on, and his shoes tied. He’s been awake for half an hour and he’s thinking he can’t do anything but get back in bed.

You’re tired, he thinks. Just go to sleep. It’s okay.

And he could. He knows he could sleep all day, maybe roll over and fall asleep again into the night. He’s exhausted. It’s hard to continue, and he isn’t sure he can keep going. He has to. But he can’t.

“Hey, baby,” Peter says from the kitchen one weekend he's visiting. He’s holding two peanut butter smoothies and a banana. “I made your favorite.”

“Yeah,” Harley answers tightly. “I can smell the peanut butter.”

Peter tilts his head. “Harls?”

Harley feels his lip tremble and shakes his head.

“Oh,” Peter sighs. He puts down the smoothies and pushes up the sleeves of his shirt. “Oh, Harley.”

Harley sucks in a breath. “I’m trying. I’m trying, but the past three days have been bad, and I-I-I can’t, honey, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Peter asks in a whisper, raking his fingers through Harley’s hair. “What can’t you do?”

“Today,” he hisses. “I can’t do today. I’m so tired, Peter, I can’t do it. Everyone wants me to be better and I want to be better, but I’m just…I’m not. I'm not strong enough. I cant.”

Peter’s arms encircle Harley. They sink to the ground in the living room of the tiny apartment, Peter shushing Harley as sobs claw their way out of his chest. “I know, baby, I’m so sorry this is happening. It’s okay. I’ve got you, and you are strong enough.”

Harley shakes his head again. His throat is raw, it aches with the force of everything he’s decided not to feel over the last couple days. The compulsion to sleep, the fakeness of his smiles…the desire to just stop hearing his mind roll over on itself. It’s all finding its way into the open and it hurts.

“You are,” Peter argues, holding tighter. “Fuck, Harley, I promise you are. It doesn’t feel like it, and that’s okay right now. Its okay to be tired, it doesn’t mean you’re weak. You’re just fighting a battle all day, every day, and on bad days. If you’re tired, it means you’re putting the effort in. And you can stop, for today. Let me fight for you instead, alright?”

“H-How?” Harley asks, nails digging into Peter’s skin. “How can you do it, how, I can’t—”

“I don’t know.” Peter’s voice is honest and a little broken. “I don’t know, but I will figure it out, goddamn it. You and I, we’re gonna get through this. It isn’t just your fight. I’ll take it too.”

“You can’t.”

“Fuck if I can’t. Its our fight. You and me against your demons, yeah?”

Harley doesn’t feel…better, exactly, but he does feel something. A solid footing in Peter’s embrace, as if the ground is back under him. He’s still sick, he’s still tired, but he isn’t…falling. He’s got Peter. The smell of Peter’s cologne, the feel of his sweater, the sound of his heartbeat. It’s there. It’s his rock. It’s his stability, for now. He doesn’t have his own, so he twists his hands tighter into Peter’s shirt and holds on.

It’s our fight. You and me against your demons, yeah?

Yeah, Harley thinks. You and me.

And that’s when he knows. If not for himself, then for Peter, he needs to start that stupid medication.

Their second day is spent pretty lazily. Everyone is tired from the late night before, so Harley cooks a massive breakfast with Betty’s help, and they eat from that practically all day. There are movies, naps, sunbathing, and a little bit of swimming, sprinkled throughout the day. At one point, Harley reads with his feet in Peter’s lap while his boyfriend plays video games. Harley knows this environment should relax him.

But it doesn’t. Because he’s on the most beautiful island in the world, with the most beautiful boy in the world, and he wants to propose. He can’t, though, because every time he reaches for the ring or opens his mouth, he hears it.

Nothing good comes from love.

He knows that Peter is about as tired as him. Lots of people talk about how its not easy to be depressed, the toll it takes on your soul and body. Enough people don’t talk about the significant others, though. The slack they pick up, the love they give even when its not being returned how they need, the sacrifices they make to help their partner. Is Harley being selfish? Is he too unhealthy to be in a relationship with Peter, who he depends on too much?

He’s in the middle of feeling this on their last night in Hawaii. He has spent all week panicking, feeling like he’s going to pull the ring out and propose ay every beautiful moment. Whether they’re backpacking through the jungle, walking on the beach at night, dancing in a club, or eating tacos from a truck on a crowded beach…Harley turns to Peter and feels the overwhelming desire to say “Be with me forever, I promise I’ll spend it being good enough for you…or at least trying.”

But then he thinks about it. He remembers his mother’s words. He remembers Peter almost bleeding out because Harley couldn’t be bothered to wake up and get him help. He remembers the look of horror on Pepper’s face and the pain in Abby’s voice as she asked if he was okay.

Can he do it? Can he be selfish enough to keep Peter forever?

In the middle of this worry, he gets a text from Phil. Hey kid. I was praying for you and your friends on vacation and got a weird feeling in my stomach. Everything okay?

Harley refuses to cry at the swell of affection, and sets his book to the side. “Sorry y’all, I gotta step out for a second. Gotta call Phil.”

“Everything okay?” Peter asks immediately, looking up from his game. There’s a crash, and Ned groaning with his head falling forward.

“Yeah,” Harley waves it off. “He probably wants to ask about the new equipment Tony got him for his birthday.”

Peter takes the answer and turns back to the TV. Harley steps out onto the veranda, sliding the door shut. He walks closer to the beach to try to counter Peter’s hearing with the waves and dials Phil’s number. The man picks up on the first ring. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess…I guess that I want to propose to Peter. I even made him a ring with a lot of sentimental value, but my mom always talked about how love destroyed people, and I feel like I’m going to do that to Peter. I mean, he already almost died. What if I don’t get better than where I am? I can’t have sex because of these stupid pills and every day is really hard and Peter deserves the entire fucking world, and I can’t give it to him because my brain doesn’t work like its supposed to. But there’s nobody else for me. I want him for the rest of my life, and—

“Whoa, whoa, son,” Phil cuts him, his low growl somehow soothing Harley. “You gotta breathe, kid, okay? We’ve talked about you getting too stuck in your own head and going too quickly.”

Harley lets out a rush of air and plops ungracefully down into the sand. “Okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Phil tells him. “Just…take a breath and listen, alright?”

"Alright."

“I’m not going to go in to why you need to let Peter make his own decisions,” Phil grumps. “We’ve been through that before, and I’ve said all I can on that.”

“Son, relationships are work. Relationships are about sacrifice and patience and priority. Should he be your entire world? No.”

“You say that because you believe God should be our priority.”

“That’s only partly true. Nobody should look at another human being like they’re perfect, or idolize them in anyway, because they’re going to fuck up at some point, and the fall out of that is worse when you don’t think it can happen. This boy cannot be your entire life, its just not healthy.”

Harley wants to roll his eyes.

“But like I said, relationships are about prioritizing the people you love. There ain’t nothing wrong with Peter taking time out of his busy schedule to focus on you. You’re his boyfriend, you’re more important than other people to him. My wife is my number one human being. My best friend, my go-to. I’d choose her over any of you fools in a heartbeat. That isn’t a bad thing. It’s all about balance, kid.”

Harley frowns. “I guess.”

“Also, its not your choice how he spends his time. If he wants to spend it on you, enjoy it. Share the moments you get.”

“Right,” Harley swallows the argument that swells in his head. “It’s Peter’s decision to love who and how he wants, and if its not negatively affecting me, I don’t get to make those decisions for him.”

“Awesome. Now. Let me be very clear about something, alright? You are not a drain on anyone. You are not sucking any life from Peter. Is it gonna be hard for him for a while? Absolutely. Relationships are fucking hard. But Peter has chosen you to be his person. Every time you guys are together, son, I can see the love. He adores you and he wants the world for you. You should want to make his life better, to love him well, but this is only a season of your life. This is not permanent. This is not forever.”

“How do you know that?” Harley croaks, shoulders shaking. “How do you know I won’t always be broken?”

“Oh, Harley,” Phil sighs like he can feel Harley’s pain. “Oh, I wish I could make you understand that you might be a little bit cracked for the rest of your life…and that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

Harley rubs at his eyes as a sob tears from his throat.

“Its really not a bad thing, kid, its human nature,” Phil tells him. “Broken people can be loved. Broken people can be in healthy relationships. This particular season, though, is just a bad one. But you’ll get out of it because you are remarkable. Ya hear me? Your strength and your heart are like nothing I have ever seen. Ain't nothin’ ever changing that. You will make it through this, Peter by your side. And maybe the day will come where you have to be there for him, where you are the support and the strength. But its not always gonna be fifty-fifty. Sometimes its twenty-five to seventy five, and sometimes it’s the other way around. It’s life, kid. And you gotta decide who you want to be the other part of that equation.”

Harley continues to cry.

“That’s it, son,” Phil whispers. “Let it out. I’m here, okay? I’m always here.”

Harley isn’t sure how long he cries, but the past week of worry just flows out of his eyes and into Phil’s ears. His throat gets raw and his face itches from died tears mixing with wet ones, but his chest feels lighter by the end of it. Even when those sob subside, he doesn’t speak or hang up, and neither does Phil. He listens to the background noise of Phil tinkering in the garage for about twenty minutes before speaking again.

His voice is scratchy. “Why the hell are you in the garage in the middle of the night?”

“Technically, its very early morning.”

Harley snorts.

“But, uh, I was worried about you. Been worried about you all week.”

“How did you know?” Harley murmurs. He stares at the stars. “Does God give you supernatural feelings?”

“I don’t know,” Phil answers honestly. “I’m one of those people that thinks love connects us all on a spiritual level. And if that’s true, what kind of father doesn’t feel his son’s distress, even across oceans?”

“Damn it, Phil,” Harley says wetly. “I think I need to come home.”

“I’ll make up the guest room,” he says. “Abby basically lives here now, by the way.”

“She told me. She’s started calling Anna ‘Mama’ when we talk.”

“Well, Anna loves you kids.”

Harley twists his mouth before blurting out, “Would you come to my wedding even though I’m gay?”

“Harley,” Phil huffs, almost sounding annoyed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I love you no matter what? That I support you and adore Peter?”

“I know. I just keep wondering if one day its gonna be too much.”

"What, if you're gonna be too gay?"

"I mean. i guess?"

“No, kid. Cut that out. You’re stuck with me. Like a…like a fungus, my daddy used to say.”

There’s sound behind him, and he knows Peter has wondered outside. “I gotta go. I…I love you, Dad.”

Phil makes a surprised noise before clearing his throat gruffly. “Love you too, son. Come home and see us, okay? Whether or not he says yes.”

“Yes sir.”

When he hangs up, Peter is sitting next to him in the sand. The other boy looks so concerned, his brows are furrowed together as one. “I tried not to listen, and I didn’t hear any words, but…I could hear you crying, baby.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Harley sniffles. “I just…marry me.”

Peter blinks.

“Fuck. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Oh,” Peter squeaks. “I-I-I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Neither was I,” Harley flinches. “I love you, and I’ve been thinking about it, but I wanted it to go differently.”

“But you mean it?” Peter turns so he’s really facing Harley. “You want to marry me?”

Harley closes his eyes. He’s known Peter long enough that he can read the tone of voice. “But you don’t wanna marry me.”

“No,” Peter says immediately. “Look at me, baby, please.”

Harley opens his eyes and tilts his head. Peter’s gaze is firm, leaving no room for questions.

“I love you, Harley Keener. And you? You are it for me. For always. But I don’t think right now is the time to be considering marriage. We're young, we're impulsive. I want our focus to be on you being okay, being healthy. And us finishing school, especially because we're in different states. And then looking at marriage. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah,” Harley nods. “I completely get it, I promise. Whether its two days or two weeks or two years, I’ll wait for a yes. Just let me know. Because I’m ready for the rest of our life, Peter. I’m ready for you. Probably have been for awhile now. I love you, so much. Whenever you want.”

Peter makes a little whimpered sound, diving forward to press his lips to Harley’s. They collapse into the sand, twisting together and ignoring the water starting to lap at their feet. Harley can feel Peter’s affection the way he always can and finds that he truly means his words. He knows Peter loves him, and he knows he loves Peter. He’s asked.

And he’ll wait.

Whenever you want, sweetheart. I'm yours.

would it be okay if we just

vanished

f or a spell?

simply put in easy terms,

i am tired

and want to know something

other than all

this.

come with me,

wherever it is we end up,

and in the rhythms

between your body

and mine,

we can recharge

all that has been drained

-Tyler Knott Gregson-