Chapter Text
Saturday evening arrived with that particular weekend energy—the kind where time moved a little slower and the weight of the week finally started to lift. Harley had spent most of the afternoon in his room, alternating between reading through technical specifications and staring out at the Manhattan skyline, when FRIDAY's voice interrupted his solitude.
“Mr. Keener, the Stark family has requested your presence for dinner. Mr. Stark specifically mentioned that attendance is ‘strongly encouraged’ and that missing family dinner results in what he calls ‘kitchen exile.’”
Harley raised an eyebrow. “Kitchen exile?”
“You’re relegated to making your own meals with whatever’s left in the fridge,” FRIDAY explained with her characteristic dry wit. “Last week's victim survived on energy drinks and leftover Chinese takeout. It was… tragic to observe.”
Despite himself, Harley grinned. “Thanks for the warning, FRIDAY. I'll be right down.”
The dining room was a far cry from the sterile efficiency of the lab spaces. Warm lighting cast everything in a golden glow, and the table was set with an almost aggressively casual spread—pizza boxes from what appeared to be three different restaurants, garlic bread that smelled homemade, a salad that looked suspiciously healthy, and cookies that were still warm enough to fog up their container.
Tony was already sprawled in his chair like he'd been there for hours, a slice of pepperoni pizza dangling from one hand while he gestured animatedly with the other. Pepper sat across from him with the kind of serene patience that suggested years of practice managing controlled chaos. Morgan bounced in her chair like she'd been powered by pure excitement and possibly too much sugar.
“Harley!” Morgan squealed the moment he appeared, launching herself from her chair to wrap him in a hug that nearly knocked him backward. “You made it! Dad said you might chicken out and hide in your room instead.”
“I said no such thing,” Tony protested, though his grin suggested otherwise. “I merely mentioned that some people find our charming family dynamics… overwhelming.”
“Your charming family dynamics involve debates about whether aliens would prefer pizza or tacos,” Pepper observed dryly, passing Harley a plate. “Last week’s discussion got so heated that Morgan drew up a presentation.”
“With charts,” Morgan added proudly. “I used different colors and everything. Very professional.”
Harley accepted the plate, feeling that familiar mix of amusement and bewilderment that seemed to define every interaction with the Starks. “And what was the verdict?”
“Pizza for diplomatic meetings, tacos for casual encounters,” Morgan said with the seriousness of someone delivering a UN resolution. “Though FRIDAY suggested nachos as a compromise option.”
“I stand by that recommendation,” FRIDAY's voice chimed in from the ceiling speakers. “Nachos are mathematically optimized for sharing, which reduces the likelihood of interplanetary conflict.”
Harley found himself grinning as he settled into the chair they’d obviously saved for him. “Good to know we've got our alien relations strategy sorted out.”
Tony pointed at him with a piece of garlic bread. “See? I knew I liked this kid. Now, before we get too comfortable eating food that's actually edible, we need to discuss tonight's entertainment.”
“Movie night!” Morgan announced, practically vibrating with excitement. “We do it every Saturday we can, but once a month minimum, no exceptions.”
“The sacred tradition,” Pepper added with fond exasperation. “It’s our way of hitting pause on the madness outside. You'll understand once you experience the full Stark family movie experience. Complete with blanket forts, excessive snacks, and Tony's running commentary on whatever scientific inaccuracies happen to appear on screen.”
“Hey, someone has to maintain standards,” Tony defended. “You can't just let Hollywood spread lies about physics. It's irresponsible.”
FRIDAY's voice carried a hint of amusement. “Last movie night, Mr. Stark paused the film seventeen times to explain why the spaceship's engine configuration was ‘an affront to basic thermodynamics.’”
“It was!” Tony protested. “The heat exchange alone would have—”
“And that’s exactly why we instituted the three-pause rule,” Pepper interrupted smoothly. “Democracy has spoken.”
Harley watched this exchange with growing fascination. The easy banter, the way they all seemed to know each other’s rhythms, the casual way they included him in their chaos—it was so different from what he was used to that he wasn’t entirely sure how to process it.
Morgan, still bouncing in her seat, piped up, “But Peter’s coming, right?”
“Of course,” Tony said, his expression shifting to something warmer. “Wouldn't be the same without the kid. He's got strong opinions about movie snacks and an alarming tendency to quote entire scenes from memory.”
“He does voices too,” Morgan added conspiratorially. “He's really good at the funny ones.”
Perfect. The kid’s a walking entertainment system, Harley's internal voice was laced with sarcasm. Let me guess—everyone thinks he’s hilarious.
Pepper nodded. “Unfortunately, Happy can't make it tonight—some security situation downtown that requires his personal attention.”
Morgan's face fell dramatically. “That means no blanket fort architect tonight. A tragic loss for everyone involved.”
“Save the dramatics for the movie, kiddo,” Tony said, dodging a playfully thrown napkin from Pepper.
“As always,” Pepper added with the casual tone of someone stating an obvious fact, “Peter will be staying over.”
Harley's attention sharpened, that familiar knot of annoyance tightening in his chest. “Staying over?”
Of course he's staying over. Probably has his own key too.
“His room’s just across the hall from yours,” Tony said casually, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a seventeen-year-old intern to have a permanent room in a billionaire’s private residence. “Hope you don't mind having a neighbor. Kid’s pretty quiet, usually.”
The closed door across from his suddenly made a lot more sense. Harley had assumed it was just another guest room, but apparently Peter Parker had his own permanent space in Stark Tower. Another piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit the picture of a normal intern.
His own room. In Stark Tower.
“That's… convenient,” he said neutrally, fighting to keep the irritation out of his voice.
“Very,” Tony agreed. “Fair warning though—kid’s got a tendency to tinker at odd hours.”
Harley's brain immediately went sideways. Wait, what kind of ‘tinkering at odd hours’? he thought, fighting to keep his face neutral. Sure, he was a teenager too, so he understood what went on at weird hours, but Tony wouldn't just casually mention—especially not in front of Morgan—
“If you hear weird mechanical noises at two in the morning, that's just Peter being Peter,” Tony continued, completely oblivious to Harley's internal panic.
Oh thank god, actual tinkering, Harley thought, relief flooding through him. Get your head out of the gutter, Keener.
FRIDAY's voice joined the conversation with perfect timing. “I should note that ‘weird mechanical noises’ is a significant understatement. Last month’s project sounded like a mechanical dance-off was taking place in his room.”
Even his tinkering gets special commentary from FRIDAY, Harley thought bitterly. Does this kid do anything that doesn't get praised?
“It was a gyroscopic stabilizer!” Tony protested.
“At three in the morning,” Pepper added pointedly.
“Innovation doesn't keep regular hours,” Tony replied with the kind of logic that only made sense if you were Tony Stark.
FRIDAY chimed in again, “Mr. Parker’s proximity to the lab levels has reduced his commute-related tardiness by approximately thirty-seven percent. Though I should note that his punctuality remains statistically questionable.”
Tony snorted. “Kid could be late to his own funeral. But he makes up for it with enthusiasm and an alarming willingness to test things that should probably stay theoretical.”
Of course his flaws are endearing, Harley thought, that familiar spike of jealousy coursing through him. Perfect Peter Parker, whose worst trait is being too enthusiastic about science.
The conversation flowed around him as they finished dinner, touching on everything from Morgan’s latest engineering projects (“I’m making a robot that can braid hair, but it keeps getting tangled!”) to Pepper's ongoing battle with Tony's tendency to promise impossible deadlines (“The laws of physics are not merely suggestions, Tony”).
But through it all, Harley couldn’t shake his awareness of that closed door across the hall, or the growing certainty that Peter Parker’s place in this family was far more secure than his own would ever be.
FRIDAY contributed periodic commentary, offering everything from menu suggestions to gentle reminders about previous family dinner disasters. (“Perhaps we should avoid the flambé incident of last month?”)
As dinner wound down, Pepper glanced at her watch. “Movie starts in an hour. That gives everyone time to get properly comfortable.”
“Translation: pajamas are mandatory,” Tony declared, standing and stretching. “Anyone showing up in actual formal wear will be disqualified from snack privileges.”
“What constitutes formal wear?” Harley asked.
“Anything with buttons that require effort,” Morgan answered seriously. “Comfort is the primary requirement.”
“The child speaks wisdom,” FRIDAY observed. “I have extensive data supporting the correlation between comfortable attire and movie enjoyment.”
“What about jeans?”
“Acceptable, but barely,” Tony replied solemnly. “Sweatpants are preferred. Pajamas are ideal. Morgan once showed up in a full dinosaur onesie and won the night by unanimous decision.”
“It had pockets,” Morgan said proudly. “And a hood with spikes.”
“Pockets seal the deal every time,” FRIDAY observed. “I have added ‘pocket optimization’ to my list of important life skills.”
Back in his room, Harley found himself standing in front of his closet with an odd sense of indecision. He'd never been to a “family movie night” before—back home, entertainment had been whatever was playing on the old TV in the living room while his mom worked late and he tinkered with whatever project was currently consuming his attention.
He settled on comfortable sweatpants and an old t-shirt from his high school’s engineering club, then paused at the door. Almost without thinking, he reached for the lock, turning it with a soft click. It wasn’t that he expected anyone to wander into his room—the Starks had been nothing but respectful of his privacy—but old habits died hard. In a place where everything felt a little too perfect, having one space that was definitively his felt important.
He had just over forty minutes before the movie started, enough time to decompress from the social energy of dinner and prepare for whatever the evening would bring. The room across the hall was still quiet, though he could see light bleeding under the door. Peter hadn't arrived yet, or if he had, he was being unusually quiet about it.
Harley settled into the chair by the window and pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages from his mom and a few updates from friends back home. Everything seemed distant and small compared to the surreal reality of his current situation. A week ago, his biggest concern had been whether the local parts store would have the components he needed for his latest project. Now he was living in a tower in Manhattan, working with technology that most people could only dream of, and apparently about to watch movies with a family that had casually adopted him into their chaos.
His phone buzzed with a text from his mom: Hope you’re settling in okay, honey. House feels quiet without your projects taking over the kitchen table. Love you.
He typed back: Still adjusting. Tony’s family is… unique. Miss you too.
Her response came quickly: Good unique or concerning unique?
Good unique, he replied, and realized he actually meant it. They’re weird, but the right kind of weird.
Best kind there is. Don’t forget vegetables exist.
I'll try, he typed, grinning despite himself.
When his phone showed fifteen minutes until movie time, Harley locked it away and headed for the door. Time to discover what a Stark family movie night actually entailed.
The home theater was exactly what he'd expected from Tony Stark—a room that managed to be both cutting-edge and cozy, with leather recliners that probably cost more than most people's cars arranged in perfect viewing formation around a screen that dominated the far wall. The lighting was dimmed to just above romantic-restaurant levels, and the air smelled like fresh popcorn and something that might have been homemade cookies.
Peter was already there.The sight that greeted him made his irritation spike. The kid was curled up in one of the prime center seats—naturally—wearing what could only be described as the most oversized t-shirt in existence, a faded gray thing that hung off his frame like a tent, paired with pajama pants covered in tiny Iron Man suits.
Seriously? Harley's internal voice was sharp with annoyance. Iron Man pajamas? Could he possibly be more obvious about sucking up to Tony?
The contrast between the high-tech surroundings and Peter's aggressively comfortable attire should have been endearing, but instead it just emphasized how perfectly Peter fit into this world—how naturally he claimed the best seat, how completely at ease he looked in Tony's private space.
Harley paused just inside the doorway, watching Peter's complete ease in this space. The way he'd tucked his feet beneath him and settled in like he belonged here more than anywhere else added another irritating piece to the puzzle Harley was slowly assembling. Peter didn't just work here—he lived here, in every sense that mattered.
He slipped into a seat at the back, deliberately choosing distance. He was determined to go unnoticed—and determined not to let Peter's nerdy enthusiasm ruin what should be a perfectly good movie, even though something told him it probably would.
Just ignore him, Harley told himself, settling into his chair. He's not worth the headspace.
But even as he tried to focus on the massive screen, he couldn't quite shake his awareness of Peter's presence, or the nagging irritation that seemed to follow every reminder of just how perfectly the golden boy fit into this impossible life.
Peter arrived first, claiming his usual spot on the massive sectional sofa and pulling his legs up under him. The oversized gray t-shirt that had once belonged to someone twice his size hung loose around his frame, paired with his Iron Man pajama pants—a gift from Morgan last Christmas, and despite the obvious joke, they'd become his go-to comfort wear for movie nights. The home theater wrapped around him like a familiar embrace—all leather and ambient lighting and the faint smell of whatever gourmet popcorn FRIDAY had programmed the machines to make.
This was his favorite part of staying over at the Tower. Movie nights were sacred Stark family tradition, and Peter had been lucky enough to be included for over a year now. It still felt surreal sometimes.
Tonight, though, there was a new dynamic in the room. Harley slipped in a few minutes later, moving with that particular brand of casual indifference he'd perfected. He surveyed the room briefly before settling into one of the back chairs, as far from the main seating area as he could manage while still technically participating, looking perfectly at ease but somehow alert, like he was cataloging every detail. Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being studied, measured against some invisible standard. He offered a friendly wave, but Harley had just nodded slightly before turning his attention to his phone. Fair enough. Not everyone was a hugger.
Tony bounded in with his characteristic energy, arms full of blankets and what appeared to be enough snacks to feed a small army. “Alright, people! Movie night is officially in session. Pepper's getting Morgan settled, and I've got enough sugar-based fuel to keep us conscious through whatever epic adventure we're about to embark on.”
He dumped everything onto the coffee table with theatrical flair, then turned to survey his domain. “But first—and this is important—we need to discuss tonight's selection. Since we've got a newcomer in our midst…” Tony’s eyes found Harley, who looked up from his phone with a slightly wary expression. “I'm instituting emergency democracy. Harley gets to pick.”
Peter felt a flutter of curiosity. This was new—usually Tony just pulled something from his extensive collection of “films that don't completely insult my intelligence,” which ranged from classic sci-fi to action movies with at least semi-plausible physics.
“Oh,” Harley said, clearly not expecting this responsibility. “I don't really—”
“Nope, no backing out now,” Tony interrupted, settling into his preferred recliner. “House rules. First-time guests get selection privileges. It's like diplomatic immunity, but with more popcorn.”
FRIDAY's voice filled the space with perfect timing. “Good evening, everyone. I should mention that Mr. Stark's movie collection has been organized by genre, decade, and what he calls ‘probability of causing existential crisis.’ I can provide recommendations based on current mood analysis if needed.”
Just then, Pepper entered with Morgan, who was wearing what appeared to be a full astronaut-themed pajama set, complete with NASA patches and glow-in-the-dark planets.
“Hey, Peter,” Pepper said warmly, settling Morgan onto her lap. “How's everything going? Busy week?”
Peter returned the smile. “Hi, Mrs. Stark. Yeah, it's been pretty hectic, but in a good way.”
“Pepper, Peter,” Pepper corrected with a playful eye roll.
“Honey, I stopped reminding him a long time ago,” Tony said, gesturing toward Peter with his coffee mug. “He doesn't do ‘Tony’ either. It's been, what, three thousand times now, Pete? Are you starting to call Morgan ‘Miss Stark’ too?”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Peter chuckled, but Morgan was already bouncing with renewed energy.
“Ooh, ooh! Since Harley gets to pick, can we guess what he likes?” Morgan asked, eyes bright with mischief. “I bet he likes Harry Potter!”
“Morgan...” Pepper started, but Morgan was already on a roll.
“And I bet his favorite character is Voldemort!” she announced with the kind of confidence only a six-year-old could muster.
There was a beat of silence. Harley’s eyebrows shot up, clearly not expecting to be psychoanalyzed by someone wearing rocket ship pajamas.
“Excuse me?” he said, half-amused and half-confused.
“Think about it,” Morgan continued, completely undeterred. “You've got that whole ‘dark and mysterious’ thing going on. Plus you don't like talking to people, just like Voldemort doesn't like saying people's names. And you're really smart but kinda scary—”
“Morgan,” Tony interrupted, trying not to laugh. “Maybe we shouldn't compare our houseguest to a magical terrorist.”
“But it makes sense!” Morgan protested. “And Harley's got that brooding thing down perfect. Very Slytherin energy.”
Peter looked completely lost. “Wait, what? Why are we—how did we get to Harry Potter?”
Nobody explained. Tony and Morgan exchanged one of their loaded glances while Pepper tried to hide a smile behind her hand. Harley just stared at Morgan like she'd just announced his deepest, darkest secrets to the room.
“What's our current mood looking like, FRIDAY?” Pepper asked, clearly trying to steer the conversation back on track.
“A fascinating mixture of anticipation, mild anxiety, sugar-induced excitement, and what appears to be confusion regarding fictional character analysis,” FRIDAY replied smoothly. “With underlying notes of ‘please don't let this be weird’ from multiple participants.”
“That's… surprisingly accurate,” Peter said, still looking bewildered. “But seriously, what's the Voldemort thing about?”
Morgan just grinned. “You'll figure it out eventually.”
Tony clapped his hands before Peter could ask more questions. “Right! Back to the movie selection. Harley, you're looking slightly overwhelmed by both the options and my daughter's psychological profiling. What kind of stuff do you usually watch?”
Harley was still processing being compared to a dark wizard. “Not picky,” he said finally, which wasn't exactly an answer.
“See?” Morgan whispered loudly to Tony. “Mysterious! Very Voldemort-y.”
“Morgan,” Pepper warned, but she was fighting a smile.
“FRIDAY, pull up the interface,” Tony said. “Let's see what speaks to our resident Dark Lord—I mean, our guest.”
Peter threw his hands up in exasperation. “Can someone please explain the Harry Potter thing?”
“No,” Tony, Morgan, and, surprisingly Pepper all said in unison.
The wall screen lit up with a sleek menu system that would have made Netflix weep with envy. Movies sorted themselves into neat categories while a secondary display showed ratings, technical specs, and what appeared to be Tony's personal commentary on each film.
Peter watched as Harley's eyes scanned the options, noting the slight softening around his eyes when certain titles caught his attention. There was a brief pause on the sci-fi section, longer consideration of something in the action category.
“That one,” Harley said finally, pointing to a title that made Peter's face light up.
“Back to the Future,” Tony read approvingly. “Classic choice. Excellent time-travel logic, questionable fashion, and enough scientific impossibilities to keep me entertained. FRIDAY, you approve?”
“It meets all criteria for successful family movie night,” FRIDAY confirmed. “Appropriate humor levels, minimal graphic violence, and sufficient plot complexity to prevent boredom without inducing confusion.”
“Plus,” Morgan added, adjusting her astronaut helmet, “the car is really cool.”
“DeLorean,” Peter said automatically. “DMC-12, actually. Stainless steel body, gull-wing doors, rear-mounted engine—”
“And here we go,” Tony muttered fondly. “Kid can't help himself.”
Peter felt his cheeks heat up slightly. “Sorry, I just—it's a really interesting car. Mechanically speaking.”
“Don't apologize for enthusiasm, Parker,” Tony said, dimming the lights as the opening credits began. “Though maybe save the automotive lecture for intermission.”
“Thought it might keep the director’s commentary to a minimum, but-” Harley muttered, his words barely audible but clearly meant for the room.
Peter's smile faltered for just a second before bouncing back with determined optimism. Fair enough. He did have a tendency to… overanalyze things during movies.
FRIDAY’s voice chimed in smoothly. “Shall I monitor for excessive commentary tonight, or are we trusting everyone to self-regulate?”
“Oh, definitely monitor,” Pepper said with a pointed look at both Tony and Peter. “Some of us like to actually watch the movies we're supposedly watching.”
“It was educational!” Tony protested. “How else are they going to understand why the flux capacitor is actually scientifically impossible?”
“Hey,” Peter jumped in with a grin. “It's science fiction. The impossible stuff is what makes it fun. And my commentary is educational!”
“Your commentary is…” Tony paused, clearly searching for a diplomatic way to put it, “…comprehensive.”
FRIDAY’s voice filled the room with her characteristic dry humor, cutting through the family banter. “I should note that Mr. Parker has already violated the three-pause rule by discussing the scientific impossibility of time travel during the opening credits.”
“Hey!” Peter protested, laughing. “That was barely a comment!”
“Noted and logged in your file under ‘Chronic Movie Commentary,’” FRIDAY replied smoothly.
Tony grinned. “Kid can't help himself. It's like he's physically incapable of watching a movie without turning it into a physics lesson.”
As the familiar theme music swelled, Peter felt that comfortable movie-night feeling settle over him. This was his favorite kind of evening—surrounded by people he cared about, watching something that never got old, with enough snacks to power a small spacecraft.
He was hyperaware of Harley’s presence in the back of the room, but in a good way. Curious more than nervous. It was interesting to see what the new guy had chosen, and Back to the Future was a solid pick. Classic enough to appeal to Tony's particular brand of nostalgia, fun enough to keep Morgan engaged, and packed with enough science fiction concepts to fuel at least three different conversations.
“FRIDAY,” Tony said as Marty McFly appeared on screen, “standard movie-night protocols are in effect. Feel free to fact-check the science, but keep it subtle.”
“Understood, Mr. Stark. I shall limit my commentary to only the most egregious violations of physical law.”
Peter grinned, settling deeper into his seat. This was going to be fun.
The movie began properly, and Peter found himself in the weird position of being hyperaware of everything he wanted to say but trying not to actually say it. Every time the DeLorean appeared on screen, he had about fifteen different observations about the film's exploration of temporal mechanics, but Harley’s earlier comment kept echoing in his head.
Instead, he bit his tongue and tried to just watch. Which was harder than it sounded when your brain automatically catalogued every scientific impossibility. He shared glances with Tony during the particularly absurd moments, comfortable in the awareness that he was exactly where he belonged.
About twenty minutes in, when Doc Brown first appeared on screen, Peter couldn’t help himself. “I love how they never actually explain how he figured out time travel. Like, he just… hit his head and invented the flux capacitor.”
“Maybe he's just that good,” Morgan said loyally.
“Or maybe the script writers didn't want to spend three hours on temporal mechanics,” came Harley's voice from the back, dry as dust.
Peter turned slightly in his seat, surprised by the comment. It was the first thing Harley had said since the movie started. Not exactly a conversation starter, but at least Harley was engaging with the movie.
“Fair point,” Peter said, offering a grin. “Though I kind of love that they just expect you to accept ‘flux capacitor’ as an explanation. It's very confident nonsense.”
“The best kind,” Tony added. “Never apologize for your impossible science. Just say it with enough conviction that people stop asking questions.”
As the movie progressed, Peter found himself relaxing more and more. Harley made the occasional dry observation—mostly about the logistics of time travel or the improbability of certain plot points—but they were clever rather than mean-spirited. The kind of commentary that actually added to the experience rather than detracting from it.
When Marty accidentally prevented his parents' first meeting, Morgan gasped dramatically. “That's so scary! What if he disappears forever?”
“Well, theoretically,” Peter said, “if you change the past, you create a temporal paradox that could—”
“Nobody’s disappearing,” Pepper interrupted gently. “It's a movie, sweetheart. Happy endings are required.”
“Plus,” Harley added from his corner, “the whole premise assumes a linear timeline, which isn't actually how temporal mechanics would work.”
“Boys,” Tony said mildly, “save the theoretical physics for later. Some of us are trying to enjoy impossible science fiction here.”
“Sorry,” Peter muttered, slumping further into his corner of the couch.
Harley didn't respond, but Peter caught the slight satisfied curve of his mouth in the screen's glow.
The rest of the film progressed with a surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Morgan giggled at the physical comedy, Pepper made the occasional observation about the cinematography, and Tony provided his usual running commentary about everything from the budget to the costume choices. But Peter stayed largely quiet, content to just watch and listen.
Every so often, he'd glance over at Harley, trying to gauge his reaction to particular scenes. The guy was impossible to read—his expression barely changed, but Peter caught the occasional eyebrow twitch that suggested he was paying attention.
When Marty first fired up the DeLorean for the climactic time jump, Harley’s voice drifted from the back of the room: “Speeding tickets don't apply in time travel, apparently.”
It wasn't directed at anyone in particular, but Peter found himself fighting a grin.
As the credits rolled, FRIDAY's voice returned to fill the comfortable silence. “Movie successfully concluded without major interruption. Shall I queue up the next film in the series, or are we ready for evening protocols?”
“No sequels,” Tony said, stretching dramatically. “One existential crisis per night is my limit.”
Tony turned to Harley with approval. “Excellent choice, Keener. Classic never gets old.”
FRIDAY’s voice joined the post-movie analysis. “I should note that tonight's viewing featured significantly less scientific critique than usual. Mr. Stark, your restraint was admirable.”
“I'm evolving,” Tony replied solemnly. “Learning to appreciate impossible science for what it is—pure entertainment with occasional glimpses of actual cleverness.”
Peter stretched, feeling the pleasant tiredness that came after a good movie. “That never gets old. I mean, the time travel is completely impossible, but the character development is so good you don't really care.”
“You were admirably restrained as well,” Pepper said diplomatically to Peter.
Peter flushed slightly. “I wasn't that bad.”
As everyone began the familiar post-movie cleanup ritual—folding blankets, collecting empty bowls, and engaging in the traditional debate about whether the sequels were worth watching—Peter found himself stealing glances at Harley. The evening had gone better than he'd expected.
“Same time next week?” Tony asked, powering down the entertainment system.
“Definitely,” Peter said automatically.
Harley nodded. “Thanks for letting me pick. That was…” He paused, as if searching for the right word. “Fun.”
“High praise from our resident skeptic,” Tony said with a grin. “FRIDAY, make a note. Harley Keener officially approves of Stark family movie night.”
“Noted and filed under ‘Minor Miracles,’” FRIDAY replied. “Should I also record his specific commentary for future reference?”
“Please don't,” Harley said quickly, but Peter caught the hint of amusement in his voice.
Peter felt cautiously optimistic. Harley had not only engaged with the movie but tossed out a few dry, surprisingly funny remarks along the way. For once, he hadn't seemed utterly miserable, which was... well, a win.
Maybe they were more compatible than either had thought at first glance. Maybe the right movie, combined with enough physical and emotional distance, was exactly what they needed to keep things from getting complicated.
“Good night, everyone,” FRIDAY announced, her voice filling the room. “Sleep well, and remember—tomorrow holds new opportunities for both scientific discovery and a hint of controlled chaos.”
Peter grinned; if FRIDAY was right about the chaos, at least he now had someone who might actually appreciate the scientific part—even if that someone preferred delivering it in sharp, sarcastic bursts.
As the others headed off to their rooms, Harley stayed behind, scrolling absorbedly through his phone. Peter stole glances, trying to decipher if the tension he'd been carrying was real—or just a trick his brain was playing.
That, he decided, was definitely progress.
The silence stretched, thick enough to fill the space between them, until Peter cautiously broke it. “So... what did you think? Of the movie, I mean.”
Harley looked up from his phone, expression unreadable. “It's fine. Classic for a reason, I guess.”
“Yeah, it really holds up. The sequels aren't bad either, though the third one gets a bit—”
“Do you always do this?” Harley interrupted, lips tilting just enough to be sardonic.
Peter blinked, caught off guard. “Do what?”
“Fill every quiet moment with movie trivia and technical breakdowns.”
The words stung more than Peter expected, slicing a little too close to home.
“I— no, I don't—,” Peter began, then paused, realizing exactly what he'd been doing all along. “Sorry. I just get excited about this stuff.”
“Good night,” Harley said, voice low, already moving toward the door.
Peter stood there for a moment, the tentative optimism deflating like a punctured tire.
So much for progress.