~home~
~home~
“Nothing here feels like home, crowded streets but I’m all alone.”
You shouldn’t have came here. You’re not even close to Flash like you are with Peter, but he’s never around anymore and it felt so good to be asked to go to a party. To be wanted. To be appreciated.
You didn’t argue when one of Flash’s friends slipped a plastic cup of some mixed drink into your hands and told you to drink up with a wink. It wasn’t even that strong, but the problem was you kept telling yourself that as you went for your second, third, and fourth cup.
Sliding against the wall next to the bathroom, you pull out your phone and dial Peter’s number, the buzz taking away some of the guilt for probably bothering your best friend even though you knew he’d be busy.
The phone rings once, maybe twice, then gets cut off to his voicemail. What else could you expect from him by now?
Peter sends you a text right away, saying exactly what you thought he’d say:
sry, Stark internship
That’s what it always is now, and you’re so incredibly proud and happy for him, that he’s finally getting the recognition he deserves for being a genius, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less when you spend your nights alone that you used to spend with your best friend.
Scrolling through your contacts, you analyze each name, questioning how much they really care about you to drop whatever they’re doing to pick you up. Your heart sinks in your chest when you realize that Peter’s your person, and no one else could fill that space no matter how much you wish they would.
But what about… Michelle?
No, you’re not even that close. It’s one of those awkward situations where you’re nothing more than acquaintances, but both close friends with the same guy. The only time you had a conversation longer than two or three words was the day you got her number in the first place.
Peter leaves his bedroom, going out to greet Aunt May as she walked through the front door to his apartment. You cringe when you notice that it’s just you and Michelle, sitting cross-legged on his mattress a few feet apart. When you came over unannounced, you didn’t think he’d have company since he’s … Peter Parker.
You bury your head in your phone, squinting your eyes and pretending to seem really focused on reading an imaginary message. It wasn’t that Michelle made you uncomfortable, she just seemed way too cool to ever want to be friends with you. She never spoke to you unless you spoke to her first, always kept her head in her sketches or behind the thick pages of a book.
“Here.” She breaks the awkward silence and leans across the bed to drop a piece of paper in your lap. You hold your breath as you pick up the paper and flip it around to examine the drawing. You can’t hold back a smile because you knew Michelle could draw--but not like this.
“I like to draw people in crisis,” she mutters, and your throat closes up at her words.
“But I’m not--” you begin, but she lifts her head back up and raises an eyebrow at you.
So she also thought this was awkward. Does that make it less or more weird? You drop your gaze back to the penciled drawing and release the tension built up in your shoulders, until you see some numbers scrawled in the upper right corner of the paper.
“What’s this for?” you lift up the paper so she can see and point to the corner with your fingertip. A blush momentarily spreads across her light-brown cheeks and she looks away from you so she can explain without having to witness your reaction.
“Jus’ my number,” Michelle mumbles, picking up the pencil and flipping to the next page. She goes back to ignoring you and leaving you more confused than before, and a few seconds later Peter walks back in with a smile.
You don’t know why, but you immediately shove the drawing underneath your legs to hide it from him. Peter would be thrilled to know you two were actually talking to each other, but part of you felt like the drawing with her number written boldly across it was something she wanted only you to have.
Your thumb wavers over the green call button; your inhibitions are down but you feel guilty about calling her. As soon as you’d gotten home from Peter’s that night, you put her number in your phone and typed out a text. A text you would rewrite a thousand times but never have the guts to send. Michelle had avoided you even more because of it and that only gave you more and more anxiety about never texting her.
Calling Michelle Jones…
Your heart races and you think that it’s not too late to hang up, but then she would notice a missed call, so you had to go through with it. The mix of alcohol and anxiety didn’t really go well and just made you feel nervous but unable to properly focus.
“Uh, hello, who is this?” she answers, hesitation in her tone. You should just hang up and not say anything, she wouldn’t even know who called.
“Heyyyy, it’s Y/N! I, um, yeah. Jus’ calling you cause you--I… don’t really know,” you slur your words together and cringe inwardly at the way they come out of your mouth. There’s a pause on the other line and you think she hung up on you until she cuts through the tension.
“Calling cause you’re drunk, you mean to say.”
You hide your face in the palm of your hand to cover up your blush, not sure why because she can’t see you over the phone but it feels like Michelle knows you so well even though you know nothing really about her.
“How--”
“I’m very observant,” she cuts you off, your turn to fall into silence. She makes it so hard to communicate, and you don’t get how she’s just another girl but makes you feel lost, disconnected, and tongue-tied.
“I’m sorry it’s just that Peter’s busy, like always, and I don’t want to be here anymore. I didn’t even really wanna come here in the first place and now I can’t drive home… I shouldn’t have called you, I’m gonna just hang up now,” you conclude, taking the phone off your ear to hit the end call button.
“Wait!” Michelle yells into the phone and your finger stops before pressing it. You lift the phone back up to your ear and wait for her to continue. “Just stay where you are, loser, I’m coming to pick you up, where are you?”
“Flash’s house, but you don’t have to do this,” you try to convince her but it sounds so weak. It’s obvious to you and to her that you want her to come more than anything.
“Shut up, I’m on my way.”
“Okay,” you sigh, but she already hung up.
Shoving your phone loosely in your back pocket of your jeans, you start to step back into the party to make your way out to the front. You trip over your feet and bump shoulders with people, murmuring light apologies under your breath. A circle of people block the path to the door and you start to turn to find another way out, but it feels like you’re trapped in a giant pit of bodies. Your head starts to spin and you suck in another breath to keep tears from falling.
You just want to go home.
“Hey! Have another drink,” a voice interrupts your thoughts from behind you, and an arms slips around your waist, tugging you into them. You look up and see the same guy from earlier who gave you your first drink, a wide grin plastered on his face. He pushes back hair that fell in front of your face but you liked it better that way, and you take a step back from him. His lips turn down into a confused frown and he takes another step towards you to cancel out the one you took.
“I’m fine, thanks,” you shout up at him so he can hear and hopefully get the message. He quickly smiles back down at you again, pushing the cup towards your empty hands. In defense, you slip your fingers through the belt loops at the front of your jeans to avoid grabbing the drink. His cheeks tinge with red but he doesn’t give up on you yet.
“Why are you saying no? I brought you a drink, so say thank you and take it,” he snaps, patience running thin. You turn your head to both sides, looking again for a clear path out but there is none.
“I’m not thirsty.”
He lets out a sigh and tilts his head like he’s for some reason got the right to be annoyed with your right to make your own decisions. He raises the cup to your lips and starts to lean it so the liquid sloshes against your closed lips and you stumble back, causing the drink to spill all over the front of your shirt. His eyes light up as the material becomes more see-through and you need to get out of there, now.
“She said she’s not thirsty, loser.”
Michelle pushes through bodies, making her own path, and reaches out her hand for you to grab onto. You practically jump into your arms and have the urge to kiss h--
What? You mean hug her, you wouldn’t kiss her… would you?
“Let’s go,” you hiss into her ear, but she doesn’t budge, her hands clench into fists at her sides as she doesn’t tear her eyes away from the guy. You rub circles into her back and her shoulders droop a little, and you pull her from the party towards the door.
As you step outside and cool air sends your hair flying backward, you trip over the step and Michelle’s fingers dig into your hips to keep you standing straight up.
“Sure you can walk?” she smirks, the same-old sarcastic girl you remember her being. You push her away just a little but she comes right back, walking you to the car and opening the passenger-side door before you can do it. You look down to see her hand is still in yours and you snap it back to your side, feeling awkward about the gesture that seemed more romantic than friendly.
Michelle turns the key into the ignition and checks over to make sure you have your seat belt on, pieces of her curly hair drop from her ponytail and cover up the sides of her face. Minutes pass and the only sounds that fill the car are “turn left” and other miscellaneous directions from your mouth. At a stoplight, she drums her fingertips over the wheel and you can’t help but lunge over the seat to push back the free strands to get a better view of her warm-chocolatey colored eyes.
“Thanks for doing this,” you whisper, still inches from her face, from her lips. She shifts her eyes from the street to catch yours, and there’s a softness to her that you never really saw until now. Her eyelashes flutter as you lean in closer to break the space between your lips; it’s almost so soft and gentle that it feels like you’re just imagining all of it.
It’s all in your head--this can’t be real. But it is and you’re kissing Michelle-fucking-Jones and it’s like something you never knew you wanted until you have it.
A car honks from behind the car because the light switched to green seconds ago. Michelle can’t look away from you and you don’t want to look away from her either if you’re being honest. Several cars follow suit and blare their horns, some even swerving into the opposite lane to pass you up. She clears her throat and snaps her head back towards the road, slamming her foot down on the gas.
“Uh, my house is the second one on the left,” you mumble, and she doesn’t respond, only nods slowly. Michelle puts the car into park and takes her sweaty palms off the wheel to rub them against her thighs. You wait for her to something, your hand hovering over the door handle. After a few more seconds of silence pass, you bite your bottom trembling lip and pull down on the handle to step out. It’s her turn to lunge across the seat as she snatches your hand in hers.
“I know Peter’s being stupid and everything but, I don’t know… We could hang out more?” she shyly suggests, and you feel an overwhelming wave of relief crash over you. You squeeze tighter around her fingers and bob your head up and down, forgetting to play it cool.
“I’d love that, Michelle,” you confirm, heart jumping in your chest at the way she smiles back at your response.
“Call me MJ.”
You bend over to press your lips to the back of her hand, a giggle escaping your mouth as you drop her hand to the seat and wave goodbye and shut the car door. You watch her pull away and hug your arms around your chest as you gradually walk backwards to the front porch. When you reach the door you slowly push it open, thankful the people in your house were sure to be asleep as you creep up the stairs to your room. Collapsing on your bed, you pull your phone out again and press down on her contact, editing her name to MJ and you put a little pink heart beside it.
“Home. A place where I can go to take this off my shoulders, someone take me home.”