Proof That Harley Keener Has A Heart

Chapter Two

A few more people arrived that evening, but they had hotels and didn't stick around. For that, Harley was glad. He'd smoked way more than usual, and he was starting to stink. He didn't want to meet the Avengers smelling like the back alley behind a 7/11. The combination of regular cigarettes and blunts was not doing him any favors.

"I'M SHOWERING!" He shouted down the hallway, which was met with a chorus of "Lock the door!" and "Don't use all the hot water!"

Of course, if only he knew where the bathroom was.

Most of the doors were locked. He couldn't exactly remember where Peter had said the bathroom was, probably because of the weed he had just smoked before leaving his room.

He was not doing well.

After a good ten minutes of trying doors and attempting to kickstart his memory, he found the bathroom. Stumbling inside, he tossed his clothes and towel on the floor, turned on the water, and pulled out his phone, blasting a random classic rock playlist as loud as he could. It made him feel a little bit better, to escape in the music.

He stripped off his clothes, grimacing at the incredibly obvious weed/cigarette smell. He tossed them on the floor next to his fresh change of clothes and stepped into the shower.

The water was scalding, exactly where he wanted it. The burning water cascading down his skin made him feel numb, he barely felt it. Numb was better, numb was safe. If he couldn't feel external pain, he wouldn't be able to feel his grief. The alcohol and weed could only do so much and he felt ashamed of his insatiable need to get absolutely blasted at Tony Stark's house attending his fucking funeral.

He'd do it anyway, he knew it. He just had to hide it from everyone else.

Harley filled his palm with a ridiculous amount of shampoo and ran it through his hair, gripping the soapy strands so hard it was almost painful. He ran his nails over his scalp, indifferent to how much it hurt. Soapy water fell down his body like a really depressing waterfall.

He was going to stay in the shower for as long as possible. Fuck, he was gonna use all the hot water and no one could tell him different.

As he rinsed the shampoo from his hair and started on the body wash, the door creaked open. Harley could barely hear it over his music, but he heard the door slam. He froze, more annoyed than nervous. He was having a moment; he didn't want to be disturbed.

Harley peeked out the corner of the shower curtain and his heart dropped to his toes. Peter fucking Parker stood at the sink, staring into the mirror with a stone-cold expression on his face. He was shirtless (of course he was) and his hair was a mess.

Harley really did not want him to be in there while he showered. He stepped back from the curtain. No, no, no I do NOT want him in here.

The deep dark part of his brain, the part responsible for all his questionable decisions began to taunt him. You know you want him here. This is almost a fantasy for you, which is ridiculous considering you just met the guy.

Get out of the shower and grab your towel. You know you want to. You want him to see you.

Harley grimaced, anxiety pooling in his stomach. He knew he could be done with his shower; he had washed his hair and body. He also knew that he'd be naked in front of a guy he barely knew if he went for his towel while Peter was still there. He peeked out of the curtain again, trying to ignore the incredible back muscles of the boy in front of him.