Peter Maximoff/Quicksilver is in his friend’s bedroom. They’re both on the bed surrounded by empty candy wrappers and crumpled up chip bags while Billy Joel plays on the radio, completely stoned out of their minds. They stare up at the ceiling with red, glassy eyes, occasionally murmuring some nonsense or giggling while they smoke their joints.

“Shiiit, dude.” Peter mumbles randomly, catching his friend’s attention. The speedster has a dopey smile on his face.