The air around you seemed to vibrate: the booming, nearly overwhelming sound of music disrupting the air waves, combining with the energy of the bodies bouncing around in sync with the rhythm to create this thick, pulsating entity trapped within the walls of the house; one that you had never imagined yourself actually enjoying. While you weren't out on the make-shift dance floor with the majority of your peers, you could appreciate the sight of excitable bodies moving together, laughing, smiling; loving; absorbing the enthusiasm and the infectious energy from afar with your friend Michelle.
You had been to a house party or two over the course of your senior year. Most of them had been a little more reserved than this one was turning out to be. Perhaps it was the location; the new kid, Harry, who had only just started school at Midtown a few months previous, was the son of a wealthy businessman. From what you had learned from Harry, his father was rarely around; leaving him to his own devices within the expansive home in the suburbs. It was a beautiful home, full of expensive furnishings, marbled, heavily embellished bathrooms and wide, far-stretching windows that looked out onto the city skyline; bright lights twinkling, paying homage to the stars.
You sensed that hours earlier, before the empty spaces in the home had quite literally taken to life, it was a lonely, vacuous space. You felt bad for Harry, his predicament always reminding you of Peter. Harry made up for his father's shortcomings as a parent with cars, clothes, parties, and popularity.
You liked Harry despite his tendency to speak from his ass.
You were glad Peter had his aunt.
It had actually been Harry who had managed to convince you to come. He'd convinced Michelle, Ned, and Peter to tag along as well. It had gone something like this:
Ned and Peter had declared not again.
Harry declared the four of you wet blankets.
You'd declared him a jerk.
You'd then all declared to his retreating form that maybe he was right.
Despite that, you were glad to be standing in the kitchen, comfortably propped against the marble surface of the island, shoulder to shoulder with Michelle, nursing a soda, tapping a foot along to the beat. Michelle leaned further into you, a few of her curls settling on your shoulder, her voice loud as she spoke into your ear, "You know, this actually isn't so terrible."
You laughed at her, eyebrows rising as you looked at your friend, taking in the half-smirk on her full lips. "Truly, I'm shocked." She made to tuck her loose hair behind her ear, her shoulders shrugging, her clothing catching on yours, disturbing the fabric of the flannel you wore.
"Yeah, well, I have to be present sometime," You nodded, giving her another smile, "feminine mystique can't be a full time job."
"I'm having fun, too."
Your eyes scanned the room again, coming to rest on the counter, your eyes meeting with your own in the impossibly shiny surface. You noted that your cheeks were flush, most likely due to the heat radiating from all of the bodies in motion in such close quarters. Your hair fell nicely around your face. Your lips were plump and reddened from having been chewing on them as you'd looked out at the people around you, from searching for the face your eyes always pulled towards as if by some unseen gravitational force.
Michelle nudged you then, her head inclined towards the opposite end of the room.
You were grateful for Michelle. She knew who had you caught. Who had had you caught for a couple of years now. The two of you never spoke of it. Her secret smile always there to meet you when you came to, when your eyes lingered a little too long, when his touch left you blushing.
She knew you were too afraid to say it out loud. Too afraid of making those thoughts real, as if speaking those feelings aloud, even if only to yourself or to Michelle, would make them more tangible, give them power, and purpose. Set them into motion; you were afraid of which direction they would take.
She knew how to encourage without words.
She also knew what you didn't.
You tore your eyes away from the dark surface of the marble and followed her line of sight, body coming to attention. You watched as two familiar figures pushed their way through the crowd gathered around the front door. Watched as both boys stopped to take in the scene, as one leaned in closely to the other, a nervous expression on his soft, dark features; lips moving. Watched as the other lent a patient smile and moved to put a hand on a tense shoulder; a set of thin, pink lips in motion as he gave his friend a comforting squeeze. Watched as the bigger of the two relaxed, his posture shifting, softening; bangs of his glossy, black hair bobbing as he nodded his head at his wavy haired companion.
You smiled when they looked in your direction, two pairs of glittering brown eyes lighting up; heart pulsing as rapidly as your fluttering eardrums when those lips widened into a brilliant smile, a full set of white teeth on display.
And then suddenly, there was a broad chest blocking your view, an Oscorp logo set to a dark green background in the center of your field of vision.
"That wasn't very subtle," Harry's deep voice was full of humor. You stood to your full height then, eyebrows furrowing at his words. You couldn't see that Michelle was shaking her head at him, eyes full of warning.
"What do you mean?"
He laughed at you, glancing between you and your friend, shaking his head before saying, "Nothing, never mind." He looked away momentarily, his attention caught on a group playing a game in the corner of the living room, voices having reached a volume rivaling the music; he laughed again as a couple fell over the side of the couch that had been pushed aside earlier.
You hadn't noticed that he held two unopened cans of beer in his hands, condensation on their outsides making it difficult to read the labels, a few droplets finding their way onto the counter as they slid off of his fingers. A few strands of his hair fell into his eyes as he turned his head back in your direction, attention fully on you again. He thrust the cans out at you and Michelle.
"OK, wet blankets," his eyebrows moving up and down suggestively, "time to make you the lives of the party." Immediately, and in such perfect harmony it was almost funny, you and Michelle shook your heads at him.
"No, I don't think so." He sat the cans down when you didn't take them, droplets continuing their journey, pooling at their bases.
"Oh, come on, what is one beer going to hurt? Loosen up a little. I'll watch you." A cold, wet hand reached out and touched the skin of your forearm, fingers sliding under the rolled fabric of your sleeve.
To amend your previous thoughts: you liked regular Harry. Party Harry wasn't nice Harry. You much preferred every other version of Harry to that guy.
"No, Harry," you held up the can of soda you'd nearly finished, "this is just fine, thanks." He brought his hand back to cross over his chest with the other, laughing at you when your eyes worked to see around him.
They didn't make it around far enough to see that the boy they searched for was staring intently at the same set of shoulder's that were limiting your view.
"We said no, jerk. Why are you pressuring us?" Michelle spoke up, moving to stand next to you, her eyes leveling with his. Harry threw up his hands, the remaining droplets of water the crevices of his fingers held from the cans flinging into the air above his head, catching in the light, giving the illusion of a sloppy, misshapen halo around his pretty head.
"Alright, alright, just trying to give doe eyes over here a little liquid courage," he said as he walked off, a hand waving in dismissal. Michelle's hand found her forehead.
"What does that mean?" You asked his back, receiving no answer, you turned to Michelle, your voice laced with frustration, "Michelle, what does that mean?" She gave you a sheepish expression, her eyes telling you that she had an answer, her body language saying you don't really want to talk about it. You released a sigh then, taking a moment to send a wave of irritation in the direction of your insecurities, your self-consciousness, and lack of faith in heart. Your eyes wandered, searching for him, finding him propped against a wall, speaking animatedly, hands flying, to Ned and another boy you recognized from your Calculus class.
You admired the way the dimmed lights of the entryway shone down onto his cheekbones, at the way his own features cast shadows over the rest of his skin; eyelashes dark and long. He paused to lick his lips between words, that same light accenting the new wetness there, glowing as the shiny patch of lightened skin stretched with a smile.
Your stomach flipped in rebellion as a thought crossed your mind: It's just Peter.
You looked down at the beer Harry had left. You'd never put alcohol into your system.
"Liquid courage," you murmured, picking one up and inspecting the can, fingernail catching on the metal, releasing a hissing sound into the air as you popped the tab. Michelle looked on with wide eyes, hand covering her mouth as she hid a smile. You brought the can up to your lips.
"OK, we're really doing this," Michelle said, laughing in disbelief as she watched.
She knew this was a bad idea. She knew you knew it was a bad idea. She knew you knew she was going to get a kick out of this.
The unpleasant smell of the alcohol seeped into your nose, carbonation fizzing and popping, burning as the bitter fluid made its way down your throat. Swallowing, you made a face, not entirely liking the taste, but not fully disliking it either.
How much of this stuff did you have to drink before you would feel it?
You nodded your head as you quickly finished the first can. "Courage," you whispered.
You hadn't noticed the pause in conversation between the group of boys across the room as the one stopped to watch you, a funny, inquisitive brow ascending along with the can on course for your lips.
