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"I think I've got a complex or something."
Of all the things that have come out of Donnie's mouth at 1 AM, that statement was probably the most logical. Well, no, that wasn't right. He was a smart guy, a really smart guy, Peter just couldn't follow his ideas most of the time. So maybe this wasn't the most logical thing he's said, but it's probably the most expected. "A complex?"
"A complex," He repeated, turning his head to look towards Peter. There it was, that deep eyed look that made the car feel way too stuffy. They weren't even smoking up this time around. Even so, Peter rolled down his window to let in some fresh air, to get rid of the heat staining the sides of his neck and ears. "I mean I know I probably have a complex, but now I have... a serious complex."
"Like an Oedipus complex? Because man I get that MILFs can be hot but-"
"Fuck, no!" He laughed, shaking out his head. Donnie's laugh hit the walls of Peter's car with a rush. "No, no that's disgusting. I do not want to bang my mom."
"What a relief."
"Yeah yeah, don't get jealous."
Peter had absolutely no time to mull over that last sentence before Donnie cut in once again.
"I think I need to feel important." Huh, okay then.
"Well I... do you think you're not important?"
"Sometimes I feel like the most important person in the world," He hummed, letting the seat recline backwards. It might be cool if the car had a sunroof, but Peter didn't really see the appeal in watching a tan stretch of fabric. He seemed interested none the less, a wide hand settled on his chest. "Then I wake up."
Peter wished that he knew how to respond to him. He wished that he could ignore that weird curl of something warm under his ribs that made him want to lean forward, that made him want to put this hand on Donnie's face and lean in. He wished that Donnie's eyes weren't so blue. He wished that he had some actual advice instead of a weird backlog of trauma that wasn't even trauma, right? Because if it was he'd be in therapy and doing something besides getting high with his friends after school and trying to see who could go the longest without getting caught by administration behind the bleachers, right? Peter wished-
"I think you're pretty important," He found himself saying instead, eyes darting to the window. That didn't stop Peter from feeling the weight of Donnie's stare on the back of his head. Shit. Why didn't they bring the pot again? "I mean, that's what everyone says, right? That everyone's important?"
"A lot of people are filled with bull shit."
"Oh." Great job, man. Really, you're a natural at this comforting business.
"You're not. I don't think you are, at least. So thanks."
If that could be counted as a compliment, Peter didn't really know. But he let himself recline in his own seat, letting the bland roof take up his vision. The tan and the soft grey of Donnie's shirt next to him, white hands and black hair. The smell of that weird, girly vanilla body wash that he probably shared with his sisters. The sound of his voice that would probably speak up in a few minutes with that drowsy deep lilt that shouldn't be allowed.
Peter knew that he was getting all sorts of lost in his mom's own car. Freaking out about this was Morning Peter's problem, though. For tonight he'd just lay with Donnie Darko and pray that he didn't have a girl back home.