CHEMICALS

hold me, i'm falling apart

"Parker, wake the fuck up, we'll be late!"

Peter heard Harry. He really did. His ears even heard a mouse from a block away. He just didn't care. Absolutely. So he closed his eyes again and ignored him.

He hoped Harry would eventually give up and go away. He was tired, depressed and exhausted.
A loud groan escaped from him, as heavy footsteps approached the door. A moment later, Harry was in front of him, a glass of water in his hands. He dragged the blanket down from Peter's chin and without any warning, splashed the water into his face.

Peter was so stunned, he couldn't even flinch. Or curse him. He was just blinking for a few seconds, mouth slightly open. Harry really fucking did this. Then, he sat up, forced his arms to move, wiping the wetness from his face.

"What the fuck, dude?" his voice wasn't even angry, he was almost whispering.

"I won't say it again. Get the fuck up." Harry glared at him.

"I said, I don't feel like going," whined Peter, while laying down on his bed. "Not in a mood for party."

"Well, sure as hell I wasn't asking for your opinion" Harry said lightly. "We are going."

"Harry–"

"You could use a booze, I'm tellin' ya, Parker. You look like shit."

"No shit." scoffed Peter, but slowly sat back up.

Now, that he thought about it, it could be a good thing. Suddenly, he was in a mood of getting drunk. He shot an annoyed gaze to the other boy, but got up and opened his window. The smoky air hit him in the face, but he still found it pleasant. Maybe New York was a dirty shithole, but it was his home.

And God knows, when was the last time, he opened his damn window. Or, when he breathed fresh air.
Oh, actually he knew. About five or six days? He wasn't sure though.

He got really depressed when Harry told him about MJ, and hadn't even got up from his bed. Of course, he wanted to call or text the girl, but... If she said that, Peter was pretty sure, he shouldn't bother her. So, he didn't.

He didn't even go to patrol. Didn't even remember if he ate something decent in those couple of days. His stomach growled at the thought.

"Be ready in ten." with that, Harry was gone from his room.

*

Peter felt awesome. Everything was awesome. The music, the people, the drinks, the smell. The party was awesome. He hadn't been at a party, like, for weeks now. Months maybe. He didn't know until this particular night, how much he'd missed this.

He couldn't really get drunk from a few shots, like his friends, but the alcohol eased down his enhanced senses just enough to feel a little bit tipsy. He absolutely loved this feeling.

Everything and everyone sounded funny, beautiful and glowing. God, it was so so fucking good. He was dancing with a blonde girl. Tiny crop top, big eyes, full lips, pretty legs.
Peter liked her.

MJ was non-existent that night.

He didn't even let himself to think about the girl, so he focused his attention on the blonde instead. They had a small talk, standing by the drinks about half an hour ago, but they quickly decided there was no need for small talk. Peter wanted to forget, and the girl–
Well, Peter didn't know what the girl wanted exactly, but they were pretty much on the same page anyway.

He lost Harry in the exact moment they stepped in the house, but he didn't mind. Like, at all. The other boy was just a constant reminder about–