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No one actually understood soulmarks. Some people– internet crackpots, scam artists, and egotistical scientists, mostly– acted like they understood how they worked. But Harley was confident that they were just pretending.
Soulmarks were deceptively simple. Since the beginning of time, people had been born with their true love’s first and last name scrawled on the inside of their left wrists. When they introduced themselves for the first time to you, the bold, black ink of the tattoo would shift to a shimmery, metallic gray. And the minute your soulmate died, the letters faded into scratchy white scars, forever etched into your skin.
That’s how it was supposed to work, anyway. But real life was never that simple.
Some people had multiple names. Some had none. Some even went their whole lives without ever meeting their soulmate. Some didn't even live in the same time period.
And Harley? Harley Keener had a different problem altogether: his soulmark was gray, without him ever meeting this ‘Peter Parker’ guy.
And maybe the even weirder part was that it hadn't always been gray. He had pictures of himself from years before with a clearly displayed black soulmark. He had diary entries from his preteen self writing about what it would be like when he finally met his soulmate.
But he didn't remember meeting Peter Parker. Even the name, his soulmate’s name, the name he’d spent his whole life staring at and dreaming about, felt foreign to him, like that morning was the very first time he’d ever seen it. But that couldn't be right. Could it?
Harley wanted to assume it was just another quirk of life. One last fuck-you from the Universe. But he couldn't help but wonder how the hell would he forget meeting his soulmate?
It took him all of two weeks before he snapped and started looking. He started with the infallible Google, typing ‘Peter Parker’ into the search engine.
…and nothing came up. Damn, he was so sure he’d been onto something. He knew it was a little taboo to google your soulmate before you met them, and maybe it was a big of a long shot for Harley to find him this way anyway, but really? Peter Parker didn’t have any social media accounts or school newspaper articles about him?
How did Harley even meet this guy the first time around?
And just like that, an idea sprang to mind– his camera roll. If he could just figure out the when, he could figure out the how and who. And then, maybe he could find Peter Parker, and apologize for forgetting him, and take him out for churros or something.
His favorite pictures had always been printed out and strung up on a string around the garage-turned-lab. He’d started taking them as a little kid, after his father died, just in case. And now, he was flipping through every picture he had, searching for any pictures with his wrist left bare.
Him and Tony, the first time they'd met– black.
He and Abbi, her first day of high school-- black.
Him and Tony, that summer he’d interned at Stark Industries– black.
Him and MJ and Ned and– wait. Who the fuck was that?
He ripped the photo off the string, pulling it close to his face as if looking for signs it was a fake. He remembered taking that photo. He’d met MJ and Ned through the Stark Internship, he was pretty sure. The exact memory of their meeting was a little hazy, but he knew he’d spent time with them at the Tower, and they were both smart as hell.
Ned had entered a robotics competition, and he’d wanted Harley’s help. Maybe that’s the reason they met. No, that didn’t sound quite right. Maybe someone introduced them? It was on the tip of his tongue…
He remembered the competition, though. He remembered winning, laughing into May’s camera with Ned’s arm slung around his shoulder.
But he definitely didn’t remember a fourth person being there.
Yet there he was, clear as day. Fluffy brown hair, soft brown eyes, and a bright smile that sparked something in Harley’s stomach. He found himself smiling fondly, tracing the slope of Photo Guy's face on instinct.
Wait, what?
Who was this guy? Why was he making Harley feel so weird ?
He pulled his gaze away from Photo Guy, instead glimpsing at his wrist. The hem of his sweatshirt had just ridden up slightly on the skin of his wrist and you could just see the first couple letters.
Harley’s breath caught in his throat. The first couple gray letters.
Was Photo Guy his soulmate?
He scrambled for his phone, pulling out his chat with MJ and Ned. Fingers trembling and heart pounding, he snapped a picture of the photo and sent it.
TEN I SEE
Do you guys know him? Is he a classmate of yours or something?
MJ
No, he doesn't look familiar
THE NEDTH STAR
He was probably running against us in the competition or something. The judges eat sportsmanship with a spoon, they love it when contestants take pictures together.
MJ
He’s probably from New York. He didn’t go to Midtown, though.
Disappointment soured in Harley’s stomach, stronger than he’d thought it would be. Okay, so maybe it was just some random guy. Maybe Harley was just desperate for this cute nerd to be his soulmate. He was just jumping to conclusions.
He set down his phone, energy fizzled out. Suddenly the prospect of finding his soulmate didn't seem so enticing anymore. His eyes swept over the rest of his pictures again. Another picture from that summer confirmed his soulmate mark was gray. He was grinning outside Stark Industries, wearing a Midtown High Sweatshirt that was just slightly too small for him and the next photo–
Emotion welled in Harley’s throat. The next series of photos were from Tony's funeral. He resisted the urge to just look away.
And it’s a good thing he didn’t. Because he wasn't by himself in that photo.
Standing next to him, no, leaning into him, just as blotchy-faced and teary-eyed was Photo Guy again. Why the hell was he at Tony’s funeral?
Harley would've remembered him there. There was no way some random guy from a high school robotics competition would be taking photos with Harley at the funeral for a billionaire Avenger who died saving the world.
Unless he wasn’t a random guy. Unless he really was Harley’s soulmate.
So now Harley had a name he didn't know on his wrist and photos of a guy he doesn't remember. Jesus fucking Christ. Harley Keener met his soulmate and completely forgot him.
Who the fuck does that?
Well, he sighed, the only thing to do now was find Peter Parker again.
He picked up his phone, hearing the familiar ring.
"Hey, Pepper, is that offer to stay in New York still on the table?"
Harley had always been fascinated by New York. He was willing to trade musty trucks and dirty back roads for bustling crowds and dazzling skyscrapers any day.
Stark Industries was gleaming in the sunlight, and he couldn't help but smile as he entered the building, feeling a rush of energy. It was nice to be back, even if he was only staying for a little while.
Resisting the urge to go to the labs, he headed towards the elevator and went up to the CEO's office. If Photo Guy was at Ned's competition and Tony's funeral, Harley's best guess was that he was an intern. In fact, that's probably how he and Photo Guy met.
The elevator doors opened with a cheery ding, and Harley made a beeline for Pepper’s office door, his feet carrying him on autopilot as he plodded across the familiar carpet. Slipping through the open office door, he grinned at Pepper with his best pleading, help-me-please smile.
“Do you have access to the employee database?”
Pepper’s motherly smile faded into a more serious expression. "Harley, is everything okay?"
"Yeah, of course, it's just–" He stopped, floundering for the right words. "I think I found my soulmate? I think he worked here last summer, maybe as an intern?”
Pepper's face melted into a soft expression "On, honey, that's fantastic. What's his name?"
He met his soulmate and didn’t tell Pepper? That was…odd. He’d never been as close with Pepper as he was with Tony, but they’d always had a good relationship, especially after the funeral.
But he supposed Pepper forgetting his soulmate wasn’t any weirder than him forgetting his own soulmate.
“Peter. Peter Parker.”
Pepper turned her attention to her computer, fingers clacking on the keyboard, but there was a definite frown on her face. "I'm sorry, but I don't think we ever hired someone named– oh. Huh.”
"What?" Harley asked, trying to read her facial expressions.
Was Peter here? Had Harley wasted his time by coming here? He really hoped not. He didn’t have any other leads to go on.
"We do have him on the employee list," Pepper said.
Despite the confusion in her tone, Harley felt a wave of giddy relief wash over him. He was going to meet his soulmate.
"He's technically still hired," Pepper continued, squinting at her computer "He's assigned to the Avengers Lab. But I don’t recognize him.”
Pepper knew everyone at Stark Industries. So if she didn’t know a high school intern working on the company’s most secret projects, then something was wrong. Something worse than Harley just having a particularly shitty memory.
Part of him was relieved that it probably wasn’t his fault he forgot his soulmate, but he was mostly just dreading ever meeting whatever– or even whoever, he thought, feeling sick– could’ve done this to his Peter.
"Can I see a picture of him?"
Pepper spun her monitor around, and Harley only had to glimpse at the photo to recognize it. Peter Parker, Harley's soulmate, was Photo Guy. And, somehow, he’d been forgotten by everyone, not just Harley.
So what happened to Peter Parker? And, more importantly, how was Harley supposed to find him?
The Avengers Labs were so empty that it was almost creepy. Harley had plenty of memories of him and Tory working on Spiderman and Iron Man suits– was Peter there, too? The harder Harley tried to remember, the foggier the memories seemed.
Bright, industrial lights lit up tables of well-used tools and messy, detailed schematics. The familiar, comforting scent of oil and metal hung in the air. Harley glanced around the worktables, searching for anything that felt out-of-place. It all looked how he remembered it, but could he even really trust his memories?
Pushing that incredibly unsettling thought out of his mind, he opened the doors to a storage closet and dug through the labeled bins. It was just normal workshop stuff– tools, scrap metal, blueprints. No mysterious missing soulmate in sight. Not even a note in probably really pretty handwriting explaining what happened.
He logged into the computer, ready to start digging through files just for any mention of Peter Parker, when an unfamiliar voice jolted him out of his thoughts.
"Hello, Harley Keener."
He jumped at the sound. It was definitely an AI, but it wasn’t FRIDAY, or JARVIS.
"Hello?" Harley asked.
This was beginning to feel more and more like the cold open of a police procedural. He could almost imagine Spencer Reid finding his body slumped over a table in three days' time, citing statistics about OSHA violations or something.
Harley cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn't quiver. "Who are you?"
"My name is Karen.”
‘Karen the AI’ sounded vaguely familiar, at the very least. Wasn't that Spiderman's AI? Yes, he remembered Tony talking about it once.
"Do you know anyone named Peter Parker?" Harley asked, tightroping the thin line between hope and discouragement. It was worth a try to ask, right?
"I haven't heard that name in a very long time," Karen intoned, and Harley could've sworn there was a hint of humor in her voice.
"Is that a yes?" Harley perked up, eyes searching the ceiling as if expecting Peter just to appear. "Do you know where he is? Please, I need to find him.”
Karen hesitated, and Harley found himself hanging on her silence with desperate anticipation.
"I'm sorry, Harley. I don't know who Peter Parker is.”
He couldn’t explain why, but there was a deep weight sitting in his stomach, like he’d just lost his only chance to reunite with his soulmate.
It was past dusk when Harley trudged back up to his room in the Tower, defeated. Besides Karen, there wasn't any trace that Peter Parker had ever been in Avengers Labs. Not even the janitors had seen him before.
He pulled open his bedroom door, sighing heavily, ready to collapse into his bed and blast Taylor Swift as he mourned his missing soulmate. But he stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes picked up a boldly colored, spandex - clad figure standing in the darkness of Harley's room.
"Harley Keener," Spiderman said, voice rough and gravelly in a way that made butterflies erupt in Harley's stomach. "I heard you were looking for Peter Parker.”
He opened his mouth, ready to say something well-crafted and elegant, to make a good impression on the superhero he’d never really spoken to before, but instead , the words just came rushing out like a ship tumbling down a waterfall.
"He's my soulmate and I've met him, I have pictures of him, but I don't even recognize his name and I've never seen him before and Jesus fucking Christ how much of a mess to you have to be to forget your fucking soulmate?"
"It's not your fault, Harls." Spiderman reached up, pulling off his mask."It's mine.”
Spiderman was Peter Parker. He was Harley's soulmate.
"Oh, that's good to know,” Harley swallowed, feeling faint.
Peter was hot . Also, what the hell was going on? How did everyone forget Peter but not Spiderman ?
Peter seemed to be quickly losing his superhero bravado, and Harley certainly didn’t blame him.
"We should talk," Peter said, his awkward tone of voice suddenly the most endearing thing Harley had ever heard.
"Yeah, we should. I know a great churro place around the corner; it’ll be my treat,” Harley offered, trying to smile through his shocked confusion, not sure if his heart was fluttering because of Peter or because of anticipation.
Peter was smiling like he was relieved, but he also looked like he was going to cry. Harley couldn't figure out what he said wrong.
"Yeah, you do.”
The churros were just slightly warm as Harley and Peter perched on the roof of a building, feet dangling in the chilly New York air.
Peter talked, and Harley listened. Peter talked about the radioactive spider, Germany, the Stark Internship. He talked about the day he told Tony his soulmate's name, only for Tony to reply with "I need to make a phone call”. He talked about the summer they spent together, how churros were their first date, the story behind their first kiss.
"You told me that you missed the stars in Tennessee,” Peter recalled, biting at his lip to keep from grinning. "And then you said that it was okay, because there were even prettier stars in my eyes."
And then Harley was grinning because Peter was, transfixed by the sight of him in the pale moonlight. He could feel himself slipping so easily into love with the sweet, smart, nerdy guy next to him. Maybe he forgot Peter's name and the time they spent together, but Harley didn't think he forgot how to love Peter, not really.
"I don't remember past me, but he had some good ideas," Harley said, delighting in the pink blush creeping up on Peter's cheeks at his words. He gently took Peter’s hand, and Peter smiled at him, and there was no doubt in Harley’s mind that they belonged together.
And after that, Peter's face grew more serious as he explained the Mysterio situation, and his name being plastered everywhere, and trying to fix it only to make everything worse. His grip on Harley’s hand tightened, and Harley squeezed back, trying to provide some semblance of comfort.
"But why didn't you come find me?" Harley asked. They were soulmates, after all. Did Peter not want Harley as badly as Harley craved finding him?
Peter shook his head. "I wanted to. I wanted Ned and MJ and you back. But– they promised they’d remember me. And when I showed up, they were looking at me with blank stares, and I–Harley, they didn’t know who I was. They didn’t remember any of the shit we’d been through.” He swallowed. "I didn't think I could take it, if you opened your door and stared at me blankly and asked me who I was.”
"Guess I just had to find you myself, then."
Peter smiled at him, bright and genuine, and Harley had never wanted to kiss someone more. He stared at their intertwined fingers, feeling lighter than he had in weeks.
"I know I forgot pretty much our entire relationship," Harley started, gazing back up at Peter, "But do you think we could start over?"
Peter nodded. "Yeah. I'd like that a lot."
"So in that case, can I kiss you, or do I need to give you a sappy pick-up line about stars first?"
Peter leaned in, and the kiss tasted like chocolate and sugar and the promise of a lifetime of happy, warm memories that Harley would never, ever let himself forget.