They bounce onto the subway and Peter pays for the two of them, promising Michelle that she can pay for the next outing if she insists.
She does.
"There's an art festival a few blocks from here," Peter explains, a bright grin lighting his eyes as he moves his arms wildly to try to get his meaning across. "And I know that you like art, so I thought that maybe you'd like to..."
"I'd love to," Michelle grins at him and hangs on tight to the pole in the middle of their ride. "You know, I had a booth at an art festival once."
Peter blinks owlishly at her, "Seriously? That's amazing, Michelle! Whoa! Did you sell stuff?"
She laughs a bit at his excitement and nods her head. "I sold a piece for a hundred bucks. Pretty good money."
Peter looks so incredibly impressed that she has to shove him a bit to get him back to earth. He shakes himself a bit, then smiles brightly at her. "Would you do it again?" He asks, and she thinks about it for a while, before crinkling her nose and shaking her head.
"You have to sit for hours," She sighs, tipping her head back and closing her eyes. "And you can't read, because people are constantly asking you questions and stuff so you keep getting interrupted."
"Hm," Peter hums thoughtfully, and she can tell by the look on his face that he's thinking about it, so she nudges him again.
"Whatever you're thinking about, stop." She rolls her eyes at him and he grins back, unrepentant.
"Nothing!" He says innocently, holding up his hands, but Michelle can still catch that crooked little lift to the corner of his mouth that he gets when he thinks he's getting away with lying (he so isn't) and the way that his eyes sparkle is enough of a sign that he's teasing her. "I'm thinking about nothing!"
"Yeah, right," Michelle snorts and pokes Peter on the forehead. "That big brain of your's never stops working, you dork."
Peter laughs at her, and she laughs at him, both of them light and free and somehow right.
It's an insane feeling that makes Michelle feel very strange, but it's there, nonetheless.
More than there, she likes it a lot, and she'd much prefer it to the nights she's spent crying and breaking down.
(She wonders, a bit awed, if this is what mentally healthy people get to feel.)