He finds her in the library.
(He always does, lately.)
Michelle's curled up with a book in a corner, hair clipped away from her face in a rare show of care (or perhaps, it's a lack of care that brings her to do it), knees tucked against her chest, face weary but caught up in the book.
"Hey," Peter sits down and next to her and smiles as brightly as he can manage with the concern thrumming in his chest. "We've, uh, been worried."
She snaps her head up, stares at him for a moment, eyes bright and dazed and reorienting herself back to earth, away from the world of whatever it is that she's reading, and then she gets that baffled look that she does when she doesn't get something and is trying to figure it out like the modern Holmes that she is. "Why? What in your dork kingdom got messed up this time?"
It's a pale attempt at what she usually is like, trying to insult but the words just sort of coming out tired. (She's been really tired, lately, and it worries Peter a lot.)
"Um," Peter swallows, wondering how to say this eloquently, (then he remembers that he's Peter Parker, and this eloquence that they speak of is not a program that's in his hardware, instead having been replaced by the older and generally more useless model known as stuttering and saying everything in the worst way possible). "You."
And Michelle stares at him, long and hard, and her eyes are dark and stormy and intense but at the same time there's still that kind of weariness lurking at the edges that Peter can't quite identify but finds that he doesn't like.
"Sorry, loser, but I'm not part of your kingdom."
"Okay." Peter lets out a small laugh, because he would usually, maybe, it's just that she's been weird lately and it lacks her usual... Michelle-ness. "Then we're all loyal subjects of your kingdom, and as your loyal subjects, we've been worried."
She hums and flips a page, and for a moment she seems so normal, but then Peter remembers that Michelle takes drama, and according to the people who've been trying to get her to join the club, she's pretty fantastic.
"There's nothing to worry about." She says.
Peter makes a face, one where he tries to look disbelieving and stern but sort of just ends up looking concerned and giving her the puppy dog eyes. "Michelle," He says, and there's a lot in that one word, one that makes her peek up at him from her book again, face tired and weary but still trying to shove him away.
"I'm an introvert," She claims, "So I just want to be alone."
"This is different." Peter insists.
"I'm an expert in psychology." Michelle rebuttals, which is actually true (she took a few introductory college courses online last year for fun), but doesn't make much of a difference.
"Then you should know that something's wrong." Peter raises an eyebrow, and really hopes that Michelle doesn't kill him for being so forward.
She, in all of her benevolent dictatorship, doesn't kill him. She does say, "Bug off." though, in a very irritated voice, which he takes as an 'or else my benevolence isn't going to last you very long'.
"Please, Michelle." Peter sighs, and she stares at him, long and hard, before she slams her book shut and stands up, scowling at him.
"Bug off, Peter." She snaps, harsh and cold and definitely not Michelle, because the girl in front of him is angry and burning and tired and sick of something (maybe everything, maybe nothing, he doesn't know, and he almost doesn't want to find out, but...).
"I can't, Michelle." He replies, standing up and staring at her, nose to nose, which doesn't quite work that well, because she's taller than him and twice as intimidating.
She stares at him, glares at him, and then blows a strand of hair away that's dropped from the clip. "Why?" She growls, and it's a question but it just comes out more like a threat, in the same tone in which someone would say, I'll gut you.
"Because we're friends," And they sort of are, Peter thinks, maybe, but he's not sure and that's the best answer he's got, so, well, he's kind of bluffing at this point.
And Michelle just kind of deflates at that, closing her eyes and breathing and sort of squinting at him, before she finally grounds out, low and irate, "I have depression."
And well. Isn't that just a giant bomb.