The Violet Hour (X-Men AU)

12: Intoxication

"You know, I can't believe I'm back here on my own accord," I said, running my fingers over the edge of Peter's ping pong table. Poppy had excused the both of us after the run-in with the men in the diner, claiming she'd explain to Queenie all that had happened. I had no idea if she really would tell Queenie the truth or get me fired, but that's how it was with Poppy and I didn't really have the time to care. "Where did the posters of sexy chicks on motorbikes go?" 

   Peter, who was behind me, ice to his cheek, let out a small chuckle. "You liked those?" 

    "Who doesn't?" I joked back, touching where the posters used to be and looking to where they were rolled up in a pile on the floor. The back of my hand pressed to my forehead, "Was it a bad breakup or can I still try being friends with you both? God, I hate being in the middle of these things."

    "We're on a break, I have a hunch that this other girl likes me so I had to say goodbye to... sexy motorbike chicks..." He spun in a circle and flopped down on his couch, arms resting on the top of it. 

   I turned, my arms folded over my chest. I suppose I was a little confused, "I thought you said you didn't want Poppy? It's been, what, an hour since you ripped her number and you've changed your mind?" 

  Peter looked confused as well, then he looked as if he came to some sort of conclusion. "Poppy, that's right." He put emphasis on the word 'right' and his arms retracted from the confident stance against the couch right to his sides, patting the cushions. "No- yeah- I changed my mind."

    "Isn't she a little old for you?" I dug into my bag for my regular clothing, stepping into his bathroom to change out of my waitress uniform. 

   Peter spoke loud enough to be heard in the washroom as I pulled on a long green skirt and light green tank top with a zipper a few inches down the front. Truthfully, this was much better than changing in the forest out of my cargo pants and t-shirt. "She can't be over 22, right? She doesn't look too old." 

    "She's 21 and-" I struggled to get the zipper of my tank top to stay up. Each time I tried, it just fell right back down, open. "She's a little straight-forward, sometimes a little rude, but otherwise manageable... Peter- do you have a safety pin?" 

    The shirt zipper wouldn't stay and I couldn't go out there with my stupid tits practically falling out of my shirt. Ah, the perks of late womanhood. Fucking hell. "Uh...." there was a whooshing noise and a light knock on the door. I gripped the top of my shirt and opened the door an inch. Peter stuck his hand in with a safety pin in hand before shutting the door and presumably zipping back to the couch. I couldn't help but smile. 

    Turns out, even with the pin at the top of the zipper, it managed to fall down. It took experimenting, but it didn't seem to budge when the pin was set in the middle of the zipper. So now my tits weren't falling out and hopefully, Peter wouldn't die from cleavage. With one last check of the pin and zipper, I shoved my uniform back into my bag and stepped out of his bathroom after at least five minutes of that ordeal. 

    "Vee, do you drink?" Peter was down by the small fridge against his far wall. "Alcohol, I mean."

  Back at the couch, I took a spot on the arm, my feet resting on the cushion. "Occasionally. I've never had enough to be drunk, though. Only a little fuzzy." I recalled the times my mother would pour me half a glass of wine and we'd talk about anything and everything. It only happened thrice in my lifetime, but she said it was a good way to get things open and not regret saying them. 

    He checked his watch, "How much time do you have here?" 

  "As long as I want, why?" I rested my elbows on my knees and propped myself up by the chin. "I worked all last week for Deborah who had a baby, I think Queenie may have found someone, so I won't need to work as much."