Electric Avenue [g.way x gn!reader]

CHAPTER 3: the day after the revolution

"It sounds unlikely, I know, but tomorrow,
You will wake up to find that your whole life has changed."

-

Waking up the next morning, you had to take a few long moments to ensure that last night hadn't been a dream. You looked around your bedroom, squinting at the light coming through the crack in the blinds, before you fumbled for your flip phone clumsily, turning over in bed to lay on your stomach.

There it was. A new number, in your logs, under the name "Mikey".

It had happened very simply, very cordially; Geoff, you and Mikey, (though mostly Geoff to be honest), talked for most of the night, about music, video games, or comics, until the drinking started to get heavy, and you excused yourself. But before you could escape, Geoff suggested you and Mikey exchange contact details — and you had just given a dumb nod, while Mikey had shrugged in modest agreement. He'd seemed to warm up to you a little more over the course of your conversation, since you'd had a few bits of dialogue about Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which honestly you didn't have much knowledge of, but you'd listened diligently as Mikey had gone on a tangent about a particular comic run of theirs.

Holy fuck. You'd met someone, talked to them, and got their fucking number.

You scrambled out of bed, still in your pyjamas, and tumbled out of your room, eager to tell someone of your achievement; you almost barrelled into Naya, who was coming down the hallway with a cup of tea, and an expression that spoke of a blazing, alcohol-induced headache. Her eyes almost popped out of her skull at the sight of you, normally so quiet and unmoved, bouncing off the walls gleefully.

"Are you on acid?" she asked plainly, in disbelief.

In response, you shoved your phone in her face triumphantly, "I got someone's number yesterday!"

Her reaction was incredibly gratifying; her jaw dropped, before her mouth twisted into a grin. "No way. Dude! That's amazing, you haven't gotten someone's number in—" she paused, before admitting, "—actually, I've never seen you get anyone's number before, so this is — woah! Congratulations!"

"I know," you said proudly, smiling down at your phone screen.

"Who was it? I mean, I met a ton of people last night," Naya rubbed the back of her neck, moving towards the kitchen, and you followed, still pulsing gleefully, "so I don't know if I'd recognise him... could you describe him?"

"Uh," you paused, as she popped open a pack of ibuprofen, presumably for her hangover. "His name's Mikey. Big glasses, blond hair... he's kind of built like a twig. He's in a band... 'My Chemical Romance'. Geoff produced their first album."

"Ah, yeah," Naya nodded in recognition, as she swallowed a pill, "yeah, I remember him. I don't remember who he came with, but I remember that they both stank pretty bad."

"They did?" you raised your eyebrow in thought. You hadn't noticed any stench hanging around Mikey, but that might've been due to the fact that the living room had already been overtaken by cigarette smoke, and a few hints of weed, by the time you'd met him.

"Yeah, god, especially the guy he came with," your roommate took a sip of her tea, glancing over to the sink with a weary sigh, at the image of all the dirty glasses from last night, "he was rank. Genuinely, I remember looking at him, and I thought he was just some guy Geoff had dragged off the street or something. But he did look good," she added on casually.

"... uh huh," you squinted at her, wondering if she was referring to that — uh, well, y'know, that guy. The pretty one that you'd seen from across the room and had a sexuality crisis over.