Word Count: 1304
A/n: Just rlly inexcusably cheesy. Like this is not okay. I am persONALLY ashamed by the amount of fluff.
You huffed, crossing and uncrossing your legs again as you leaned back in the tiny, uncomfortable chair. Three things you hated the most were doctors, strange drills, and people poking and prodding you and dentistry combined all of those things into one extremely-sanitized, linoleum-floored, overly-expensive hell. Even just sitting in the waiting room was making you feel sick.
How long did it even take to remove wisdom teeth? When Peter, your best friend, had asked you to drive him to the dentist for his appointment, you thought it would be a simple half hour affair but it had been an hour and a half now and he still wasn’t out. You supposed it was because he had waited so long to take them out, but still, it wasn’t that difficult was it?
“Excuse me, Miss?”
You started as a stout man walked towards you, his blue nurse’s scrubs swishing as he walked briskly towards you.
“You are here with Mr. Maximoff, correct?”
“Yeah, is he alright?” You frowned, were there complications? That would be bad, right?
“Yes he’s fine, don’t worry. Dr. Carlyle just thought that, because it’s taking so long you might want an update.”
“Oh, okay.” You breathed out in relief.
“Peter has all but one wisdom tooth out. His body fought the anesthesia in the beginning, more than any patient I’ve ever seen. His metabolism must be extremely high. Anyways, we upped the dosage which did the trick. He should be out in around ten minutes, but because of the high dosage, he might act a little more out of it than our other patients.”
“Alright, thank you.”
You sat back down, fiddling with your fingers. At least nothing bad happened, he was alright. But then again, there was no telling what Peter might do on all those drugs.
It was another fifteen minutes before Peter came out, a nurse pushing him on a wheelchair with slight difficulty as Peter’s head lolled against the back of the chair, an absent smile glazed across his face.
“Y/n… Is that you?” The silver-haired boy slurred as he craned his neck to see you from where his head was positioned.
“Yes, Peter, it’s me.”
“Aw.” Peter chuckled. “Yes.” He did a small fist pump as you thanked the nurse, taking Peter from him.
“Yes that you’re here. I thought that bald-guy was gonna take me to his home.” He stuttered, jerking a thumb at the nurse. “But now I’m gonna go home with you.”
You smiled, thanking the people at the desk before promptly leaving, letting out a breath of a relief as the door shut behind you.
“So,” You began pushing Peter towards your car, drumming your fingers on the chair’s handles. “How do you feel?”
“Feeling scared.” He held the armrests tighter. “You’re going too fast!”
“What?” You slowed your walk to a crawl.
“Slow down, you’re gonna kill me, woman!” Peter leaned back in the seat, his knuckles white with the strain of gripping the armrests. This was going to be a long day.
After much struggle and more sweat than you’d like to admit, you had successfully made it to the car. Peter sat in the passenger’s seat, looking out the window, his eyes glazed over slightly.
“Yeah, Peter?” You drummed your fingers on the steering wheel, turning into the driveway of the mansion.
“Do you think cars have feelings?”
“Like, do cars have-” He waved his hands, wiggling his fingers slightly. “Feelings?”
“No!” He raised a finger to your mouth. “Shh. Shhhhhhhhhhhh.”
“Cause, uh, I was thinking like, you know when it’s really hot and you turn on the air conditioning so that you don’t die of heat stroke?” He feigned fainting, collapsing against the window and throwing his feet up on the dashboard. “Do you think it hurts the car? I always felt bad, what if it was too much for the car? What if we’re overworking the car, pushing past its limit?”
He was shouting now, accentuating each word with a punch to the car door.
“Peter, cars are designed to work that hard.” You pulled the car into the garage, the engine growling to a halt “Ok, we’re home!”
Peter jumped, leaning across you and fumbling with the lock a couple of times before pressing it down, sighing in relief.
“Ha, now I’ve got you trapped and you have to talk with me!”
“Well, after thinking about if cars can feel I thought what if other things have feelings? Like clothes and stuff.”
You hummed, reaching down and leaning your chair back, pulling your legs into cross beneath you.
“I know you have that t-shirt, that red, button down with all the crazy flowers?” A piece of gauze fell out of his mouth and onto the car seat. “That super ugly one?” He shoved a finger in his mouth, struggling to put the gauze back into place.
“Yeah? My cousin gave it to me.” You chewed your bottom lip. “I’ve only worn it once, to that disco party Jubilee threw last year.”
“Ok, ok, but, do you ever think that maybe, maybe it just…” Peter tipped his head back, blinking away tears. “I mean you never wear it! It just wastes away in the back of your closet, watching as all the other clothes get worn, maybe it just wants to be loved?”
“Peter, I-” You bit back a laugh. “Are you crying?”
“Yeah.” Peter whimpered sniffling softly. “Just a little.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching for the door handle once more.
Peter launched himself forward, into your lap, his body now sprawled across you.
“Okay, okay!” You held your hands up in surrender. “What is it?”
He looked up at you, his brown eyes the color of amber and coffee as he peered through his thick eyelashes. It was moments like these that always threw you off guard. Times when he looked so effortlessly beautiful, especially when it wasn’t expected.
How could he look so good while so unbelievably doped up? The way his feathery platinum locks fell like silk around his shoulders was almost exquisite. And his whole “I-haven’t-slept-in-two-years” look complimented him even when, based on all scientific reasoning, it shouldn’t.
You drank in the way his lips formed so perfectly around your name.
Gently, as if he were expensive china, you ran your fingers through his hair, each strand shimmering as the light from outside poured in and washed itself over Peter’s face.
“I know I’m probably gonna regret it in the morning but I’m gonna say it anyways, okay?”
You grinned, tracing your index finger down the side of his face and along his jaw.
“Okay.” You breathed out in a barely audible whisper.
“You make me feel good, like really good. You make the bad days easier and… and there’s been a lot of those lately.” He licked his lips, his cinnamon eyes glued to yours the entire time.
“And whenever I hear something funny, I always look around to see if you think it’s funny too, even when you’re not there. And at night, when I’m cold or alone, I always reach out, expecting you to be there for some reason. When you’re happy, it makes me happy. And when you cried watching that Harry Potter movie the other night, even though I wasn’t watching the movie, seeing you cry, it felt like my heart was breaking.”
You breathed in slowly, scanning his face for any emotion, any sign to tell you where this was going.
“And I can’t help but think the same thing every time I see you.” He smiled reaching up and grasping a strand of hair between his fingers, twisting it slowly.
“I love her.”