Harley hadn’t ever seen anyone move with as much grace as the curly brown haired boy on the dance floor, the music was something he didn’t one hundred percent recognize; this whole house wasn’t something he’d ever seen in Rose Hill. There was definitely no one like the boy who was moving, almost as if he was a puppet to music playing off someone’s speaker someone where, Harley was moving forward in a near haze to get closer to the boy.
There was just something about the way he moved, the way his neck looked when he tilted his head back, his eyes closed, eyelashes so long they almost touched his cheek. Just looking at him was making Harley’s heartache, he was painstakingly beautiful; something sculpted straight from the renaissance era.
He moved in time to the boy when he reached him, being near him was enough to make his body feels lighter, and he was able to fall in with his movements easily. The boy’s plump pink lips were curling upwards into a smile, and he opened his eyes to reveal warm chocolate orbs glittering up at him.
Harley knew the second he walked into this party that he was going to fall helplessly in love with someone, it was the vibe of it. The fairy lights strung around each room, the polaroids that were plastered to the walls and the music which made his soul feel like it wanted to cry and dance at the same time. It was the place to fall in love with someone. To the tempo of an indie song he hadn’t ever heard of before, in a house he wasn’t really sure who it belonged to, at a party he wasn’t really sure how he had gotten here in the first place. The boy slipped his arms around Harley’s waist, pulling their bodies closer together; his eyes looking up at Harley, daring him to take the next step.
He didn’t, because despite being ready to fall in desperate love that night, he also was desperate for a sweet story, and in Harley’s world nothing good comes of kissing the pretty boy while you’re dancing; you have to get them away from the atmosphere, away from the protective bubble that parties seem to create. They push people out of themselves, and even though this boy was the most beautiful that Harley had ever seen and his looks alone were enough to make Harley fall head over heels; he needed this kiss to be more. To be more than just a one time story of how he went to a party, saw a beautiful boy in a house he could fall in love in, kissed him and they danced away from each other.
Harley does take the boy’s hand though, pulling him through the clouds of smoke and out of the house, the boy is quiet and not protesting so Harley takes that as a good sign. When they’re out on the lawn, Harley can see him a little better. He’s still beautiful, god above is he still beautiful; but he can also see the things he was too distracted to see. The boy’s shirt, which has a science pun on it that Harley is definitely too intoxicated to understand at the moment, there’s makeup around the boy’s eyes too. A sweaty mess of purples,pinks and blues, glitter all across his face; his grin is a little lopsided, and his nose, though cute is a little crooked.
“Hi,” Harley says to the boy dumbly, he only grins wider.
“Hey there princess,” Harley feels like he could melt right there, and his silly idea of a story that means something dwindling just because he wants to kiss this boy so badly.
“I’m Harley,” he offers his hand, he’s not drunk, he’d drank sure, but not enough to actually be drunk, maybe buzzed. There’s no reason for him to be so stuck in his skin and so, odd at the same time; the boy must definitely be drunk and maybe Harley is just feeling that, pulling it off the boy.
“I know, we have Political Science together, but you’ve always got your nose in a book. I’m Peter,” he does take Harley’s hand and Harley is too distracted kicking himself for not realizing that someone this cute, this beautiful, that this force of nature had been so close to him for so long and he was so focused on-
Peter’s lips on his are soft, everything about Peter, which looked like all harsh angles and marble, is soft, Harley melts into him. His ideas of a story are gone, and all he can feel is Peter here, the moonlight and early morning fog on their skin.
He supposes, in a distracted sort of way, as him and Peter stumble backwards, fingers pulling at each other, hair and clothes, that this IS a story with some meaning. That he’ll always remember the way that Peter smells (like vanilla and vodka) and the way he tastes (like apples and cinnamon). That the way Peter feels against him, warm and soft, needy and cautious, is something that will always be etched in his brain.
When they pull apart and Peter’s lips are kiss swollen and his makeup is even more messed up than it was before, he knows in his over dramatic little heart that he’s in love and he’s never going to forget this night, because, as Peter grins up at him and interlocks his fingers between Harley’s. He knows this story isn’t one that started and then immediately finished, it’s one that he’s invested in, that will play out long and sweetly.
He leans down to kiss Peter just lightly, quickly, a middle school peck if there ever was one, but Peter still blushes.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Harley asks, though he already knows the answer, Peter was shaking his head the second Harley opened his mouth, but still it makes him smile when Peter answers.
“Princess, I thought you’d never ask,”