Chapter Text
Time seems to fly for Jeremy these days.
Classes suddenly seemed shorter, the weather felt colder...
There was such a noticeable shift in the air he didn't even realize until now. It made him feel blind, like a subject who didn't know he was being tested on.
And just like that, there had already been three months since he arrived. He didn't know how, or when, but the time period of his stance at the afton household had decreased as fast as it came.
The worst part was that he didn't really knew what triggered it.
Maybe his own ability for self adjustment (tough it couldn't be, he wasn't really good at that), or his resilience (his therapist would beg to disagree).
Whatever it was, he was glad it meant he was getting closer to getting over with this.
Michael's antics didn't disappear; but they didn't seemed to get worse, either. He had loosed that spark, that characteristic insufferable wit of his when it came to finding new ways to torture the blonde.
He could even admit he missed it.
Something changed in the brunette, too. He could feel it. He just couldn't quite get his finger on it.
Maybe neither could he.
Even then, he didn't care. Michael's confusion with himself meant peace for Jeremy and vice versa, that was just the ordinary way of things.
Tough this was the first time he'd analyzed what that really meant.
He really shouldn't be thinking about his right now.
As the teacher drew the cuadratic formula on the chalkboard, (he couldn't quite remember his name, come to think of it. He'd never been good with names. Except for Michael's. He'd got that one damn right.) he snapped himself back to reality.
He really had ought to get rid of these thoughts.
It felt colder these days.
November struck, and Michael felt it's aggressive and cold breeze struck and scold over him with all its might. Still, he'd never been so cold, and he didn't knew why.
He leaned off the brick wall, its spiky texture adapting to Mike's bare skin, soon to leave some pretty nasty marks. Still, he didn't seem to care.
It felt exactly like those cheesy rom-coms, he thought. The ones uncle Henry would ball his eyes out midway, when the protagonist realized how much she conveniently loved the weird sensible guy over the rich handsome model who would improve her family's genes.
Inhale, exhale.
It sucked to be alone.
No, why would it? When his only company were pretentious assholes he dares call friends? The exact same idiots who left him to receive Jeremy's punches firsthand?
Inhale, exhale.
He had always been better alone, anyways.
The cold demotivated him. It took away his desire for evil. Lately the house had been much quieter thanks to that. He hated quiet.
He looked and looked for reasons, for excuses of his sudden behavior. Found nothing. Not even in the darkest pit of his mind.
Inhale, exhale.
Maybe it was Jeremy.
He coughed. Coughed hard. Hard enough the cheerleaders on the other side of the field all broke their perfect choreography in order to see who was bleeding out and wondering why they couldn't die in silence.
So that came out of nowhere.
Think, what was there to think? He thought to himself. What did that dirtbag blonde had to bring to his conversation with his mind? Why him of all people?
Maybe because Jeremy was new. Well, relatively new. The first different thing that had happened in his shit ass town since Freddy's banned his phone number from the establishment.
Really? That was it? No, there had to be something else.
He despised him. Jeremy was everything he could never be. A good student, a good brother. Hell, maybe even better at pissing him off than any of his own tactics.
Why was he even thinking of any of this in the first place? Why couldn't Jeremy just disappear and fade into existence?
No, that wouldn't be good for him, would it?
And suddenly, while Michael found himself lost in this hurricane of thoughts, his cigarette slipped just in the right angle to burn his finger.
"Shit!" He yelled, his finger cowering alongside with his will of keeping up with this conversation.
Then, a group of nerdy kids passed in front of him, clearly exalted by his megaphonic abilities, having the fucking nerve to judge behind their gazes.
"The fuck are you looking at?" Michael stormed, visibly indignated as if eyes alone could insult his fragile ego. They ran, shivering in fear.
He checked in his pocket for a spare cig in exchange for the last treacherous one that was now crushed beneath his sneaker. The box was empty.
What he'd done to deserve this?
He stood up and headed to the nearest store, and he'd make sure this time, he got two boxes instead of one, just in case.
Things weren't looking bright for Suzie.
And that was a generous way of putting it, actually.
Ever since she and Liz agreed to the bet, Suzie had rapidly recognized that this was no common romance, nor an easy one.
She made it her personal task to examine the boys. To see their interactions, their deep hidden feelings awaiting to flourish properly, leaking in every insult they threw at each other. And although it was highly immature, she did her best not to scold them.
That and, Michael wasn't someone particularly willing to listen to advices. Or to anything else, for that matter.
Back to her master plan, fuelled by her eagerness to obtain Lizzie's pony collection, she got down to business, spying the boys to get a more clear picture on things they like, things they'd wish for.
With Jeremy it was easy. She knew a lot about him. Like, for example, that he loved showing off his teeth at random strangers on the street once he got his braces removed. Common people would find this weird (She did at the time; she was just a baby and the only thing she remembers was crying her eyeballs out when he did it to her) but a person like Michael could never.
Thanks to her detective abilities (sneaking in Mike's room with Lizzie's help) she found out all sorts of boobytraps and malicious objects all with the same objective of pissing people off.
She found it distasteful, but she then cheered at discovering a thing both her brother and Mike could agree on. She might have cheered too loud though, since when she was in the middle of it, Mike had come and kicked her out for locking him in Evan's closet.
Now with that out of the way, she finally could start forming plans to get them closer and win another older brother once and for all.
She started with multiple methods. Brilliant in her mind, they fell flat once executed.
Like leaving chocolates in a heart shaped box in Jeremy's school locker on what the elegant TV man called "the hottest day of summer".
Days after, when she asked her brother if anything particularly good happened in his week, he only complained about Mike ruining all his final exam notes by pouring chocolate onto his notebooks.
Or when she wrote a love letter to Mike with Jeremy's handwriting by tracing it from and old notebook of his, and then heard him talking about how "a weirdo left a prehistorical satanic curse" on his seat.
Whatever that meant, it couldn't be good.
Nevertheless, after every mistake, every misunderstanding and every broken prop, she'd cheered herself up by the obvious lack of her brother's comfort.
But lately she wasn't feeling exactly optimistic. She was feeling all the opposite. And Lizzie's tease didn't help her situation.
By all she had been doing, she was just pushing them further and further apart from each other. There had to be something else she could do.
Frustrated in her room, she heard what appeared to be Mr. Bubbles' scratching on her door. She stood up her pink carpet and turned the doorknob, letting the fluffy golden retriever in.
She immediately rushed to hug him, and the dog shared the feeling, almost embracing the girl too (if that was even possible.)
Brushing her fingertips was the animal's soft sun kissed hair. Hugging Bubbles was by far the most recomforting feeling she knew.
She then noticed why he was here in the first place. A small lily remained trapped in his snout, as he passively shoved it in her face.
That was it.
Flowers.
Who didn't like flowers? A big, old, fancy and scandalous bouquet that held the perfect mixture between color and odor.
"Bubbles, you did it!" The dog didn't quite understand the child's happiness at first, but he didn't mind. Actually, that single lily was the product of the destruction he had caused in her mother's garden.
"You're a genius." Giving him a quick but hard hug, the kid stood up and didn't even care to shake off the dirt plastered in her dress, she was already out her room and off the house.
Bubbles remained confused, but nevertheless, he left the lily in the now dirt-stained carpet.
A quick pop followed Mike's unhesitant finger, taking off the beer's lid.
He'd stolen it from the only convenience store that he wasn't banned from, which, for his disgrace, was pretty fucking remote and out of town.
Come to think of it, he was much definitely banned from that one now. Great.
He sat down on the sidewalk of his sorrows, and took a big chug out of his misery; watching the cars rapidly disperse in the fog at the end of the road as soon as they arrived, much probably confusing him for a homeless alcoholic (definition which, wasn't really far from reality.)
Taking off his nail polish with his finger, another dense train of thought followed. Of course it did, because lately his mind's favorite hobbie was using his own thoughts against him.
And by thoughts he meant Jeremy. Because all he could suddenly think when everything was too quiet to shut up his messed up brain was the blonde.
Fuck, he's supposed to drink to forget this kind of bullshit. Was he drunk yet?
From the moment he'd wake up, he'd had the sudden unwanted urge to check on the boy.
Think about what he's had for breakfast (if he even eats, he's as slim as a wooden table). Think about what class he's absolutely nailing the shit out of the teacher (because he's just that kind of nerd).
Think about just how much that little girl adored his big brother, how his life was much much better than anything Mike could ever strive for.
God, not this again.
He took another chug out of the bottle. How long was this going to take?
Jeremy probably has big plans to graduate. Big dreams and a stupidly prestigious school he's probably always admired since he was little.
A promising future, a loving family.
Those are just assumptions, Mike thought. Because, yes, he wasn't as dumb as he appeared and he could use big boy words like 'assumptions.'
Quickly, he came to notice that, he didn't really now a lot about him.
He knew he was a big nerd, (he'd stolen his report card multiple times) and that he loved his sister and that was beyond obvious; But, aside from that, and from every little detail he's catched himself noticing in hopes of definitely spiting him, he knew nothing about Jeremy.
Not about what he did when he wasn't in the house, or when he wasn't in school. Or about his friends (If he even had any) (Yes he did); or about what kind of music he listens to, nor if his relationship with his family was just as fucked up as his own.
Michael took off his chin a little drip of the liquid that threatened to stain his clothes.
Maybe he secretly wished it was like that. At least then, they'd have something in common. At least then, he'd feel a little less miserable about his messed up life.
He'd been trying. Messing with Jeremy was easy. To his luck, the blonde was actually very reactive.
But also, he's learned to evade.
To ignore, to dodge. And nobody fucking dares to do that with him and expects to get away with it.
He stood up and walked along the sidewalk. Michael needed to get a rest from himself, and jumping into the upcoming traffic wasn't on the table (at least, not yet.)
Arriving home, he noticed the bottle still in his hand. And since he didn't even bothered to hide it this time, he just threw it on his house's dumpster, feeling the headache anticipating before him when his mom realizes and scolds him for the fiftieth time this week.
Whatever. That's a problem for future Mike.
He struggled with the door for a few moments. The lock was already as old as it could get, and his drunken, shitty vision wasn't helping.
Desperate, he kicked the door open while giggles came out of his mouth at the thud the door moaned.
Then, the lights went on, and he could feel himself becoming blind by just that. His brain took a while, but not enough, to process and align what was happening. Fuck.
"What the fuck!?"
As soon as his eyes recovered their own functionality, only then could he could be able to confront his expecting witness directly.
His mother sat on the sofa, and her anger was as masked as anything this woman could ever mask, which, wasn't precisely subtle.
The other rooms remained dark. He'd losen motion of time. Again.
"Where the fuck were you, Terrance?" She asked, her arms crossed as firmly as ever. Her hand gripping a paper.
He still chose to ignore her, because, God knows where would he be right now if he hadn't been doing that his whole life.
"I dunno." Mike poured himself a glass of water. Dripping some of it on the counter, of course. "Out?"
"You're drunk, aren't you?"
He snorted, as if it wasn't obvious enough. As if he hadn't been doing this ever since he's had memory.
"No shit."
"I cannot believe it, Michael—" She stood up, her night gown matching her same distressed energy. Michael cut her off.
"Yeah yeah, whatever. Save the guilt tripping for when I'm conscious, please?" He faked a grin, the one he knew that pushed all her wrong buttons, and braced himself for the worst.
"Oh no, you're not. You're staying right here, little shit."
Evelyn grabbed his arm with the same stinging force she used to hit him when he was younger, practically burying her fingernails and dragging him into his parent's room.
You'd think with time he'd grow stronger. You'd think he'd grown smarter, but he never did none of those.
She shoved him off, pushing his weakened limbs to directly strike at the closet. He didn't resist. He sobbed his arm to quiet its pain.
"You're failing, Michael."
"Failing what, exactly?" A smug and desinterested tone coming out of his voice.
"All of your classes, actually." She shoved the papers at him, making sure she deposited all her anger in that single blow.
He forcedly took them, his unstable vision still not strong enough to decipher what it said. Mike just assumed it was his report card.
"You know I can't read this, right?" He spat out, returning his gaze to the enraged blurry picture of his mother before him.
"I don't know what I did to deserve this." God, here it comes. "I really don't, Michael."
Tears started coming out her green eyeballs, the silhouette of red in her gaze being the only detonator of her real feelings. She frenetically shoved a hand to blur the tears away.
He knew this trick. He knew it far too well. And he didn't even needed to be in his right senses to tell.
"Oh my god, mom." Irritation leaked through those words. He needed to protect himself from her stupid act.
"Is that all you have to say for yourself?" Her fists tightened. Mike couldn't tell. "All my life I've been trying to raise you like a decent man, and all I get is this?"
"You can't even pretend for your own father's sake!"
"Father doesn't give a shit." He murmured, avoiding her pitiful gaze.
For once, she had nothing to say. And Michael couldn't decide if it was either something good or something bad.
"I thought—" Evelyn sobbed. Mike could only wish this was all over. "I thought if I brought Jeremy here, you'd finally change."
Oh, so that's what this is all about.
"Oh, fuck Jeremy. I couldn't give less of a shit about him." Michael yelled, finally reacting and clearly ignorant of his own volume. "And I could give less of a shit about you—!"
A single deadly slap echoed in the entire house, leaving his ears tormented; the pain being accompanied by a loud ringing he couldn't quite get rid of.
His face remained petrified with a mixture of anger and fear, his hand slowly reaching out his now reddened cheek. The brunette's gaze was unable to meet its mother's.
"Ever since you were born you've been nothing but a disgrace to me, Michael." There it was. Her cold, harsh and cruel real self.
The only one Mike ever knew. The only one he's always known.
"You ruined my life."
His gaze remained lost. The ringing didn't help neither it stopped.
He just sat there. Quiet, drunk, and now completely humiliated despite not having an audience.
"Are you done yet?" He manage to blurt out, his voice barely a whisper, monotone as ever.
Just like that, Evelyn walked off the room, probably grining ear to ear at seeing her accomplishment. Though that was just the cartoonishly vision Mike had of her. He knew she wasn't that crazy. At least, not yet.
Then, her voice again:
"Go back to sleep, Jeremy." Indifferent.
Jeremy?
His vision suddenly cleared. Evelyn flew off the door. And all he could be met with at the other side now was the blonde. Staring at him.
This time, with a different expression that was his usual anger. Pity. It was pity.
Time seemed to stop, and the firm grip on his arm could only tighten.
The other boy hesitantly reached out, pity still printed all over his face. Mike's guts twisted in rage.
"Micheal, I—" The brunette cut him off before he could finish. He did not needed this. He did not needed him, out of all people.
"Don't." He slapped the helping hand Jeremy offered off his way.
"Don't you fucking dare." Dry, violent words came out before he could even think of them.
The blonde remained silent; his gaze lingering in compassion, clearly thrown off by the whole situation.
Mike hated it. He hated him. He didn't get to win his compassion nor his pity. He didn't want it either.
He escaped off the door leaving his sudden guest alone, not willing to look back at that sorrow filled face of the boy who'd rather die than help him.
And that didn't had to change. It wasn't going to.
Michael would make sure of that.