Chapter Text
Nothing kills the energy of a party like abandonment. The music had lost its upbeat urgency, the drunk girls had lost their humorous value, and the shitty booze had lost its pleasant burn.
Michael was too tired to pretend he was having fun. There was no reason to hide anymore, no one to save, or impress, not that there ever was, not really.
The numb in his head had stopped being pleasant about two drinks ago.
The hall to the front door was full of drunk teenagers trying to get into each others pants, and the bedrooms, closets, and other bathrooms were full of those who had succeeded. Not only was there no reason to stay hiding, but as of his timely exit from the one bathroom he had managed to horde, there really was physically nowhere for him to hide.
He was better off leaving all together.
And so, he wasted no time in edging around couples making out like the world was burning to ashes, and made his way to the front door to make his overdue escape.
The door handle gave way with next to no resistance, and suddenly, he was out. The suffocating stench of teen coping fell away in the crisp October night air, and all at once, he just was. In that moment, it felt as if the tether that held him to the ground had snapped, and he could float away with the help of a gentle breeze.
He took a shuddering breath, feeling his lips go numb in the cold. He left the sleeves of his sweater rolled up his arms, the air leaving pleasantly unpleasant pinpricks up and down his forearms. The front porch and yard was blissfully free of population, most of the partygoers having migrated inside and to the back.
Michael walked forward a few steps, and spotted the back of a familiar head of dirty blonde hair, slouched on the second to last step to the ground.
Rich. The man who had started it all. Michael had thought about what he would say to Rich almost as much as he had with Jeremy, because honestly, fuck him. Fuck him for convincing his best friend that he wasn’t good enough, fuck him for ruining the single real thing he had ever had, fuck him for convincing his boyfriend to throw this stupid party, fuck him.
He stared at the back of Rich’s head, and as quickly as his anger had bubbled, it faded away. Michael supposed he couldn’t even blame Rich for this, at this point. Jeremy had made it very clear that this was what he wanted, after all. The thought had bile rising in Michael’s throat, no doubt assisted by the beers.
Michael made his way down the steps, and Rich finally noted his presence, his shoulders tensing as he heard Michael descend. Michael stopped on the ground in front of Rich, and turned to face him.
Rich glued his eyes to the ground in front of Michael’s shoes, and folded in on himself even more, if possible. Michael was shaken. He had never seen Rich look so… small. Because he did. Without his loud confidence and stinging words, Rich finally looked his height.
“Where’s your date?”
The question ripped through the silence like a knife, and stung just as much. Michael found himself surprised by the fact that his voice hadn’t shaken when he spoke.
Rich froze, before laughing lightly until his throat caught and he rubbed his hands up and down his face silently.
“Having makeup sex with Chloe.” From what Michael had heard through the grapevine, Chloe and Jake had an on-again-off-again relationship, often interrupted with scandalous sexual exploits, but from what Michael could tell, Rich and Jake had seemed to be pretty serious for around three months.
“Oh. That sucks.” Michael shifted, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Yeah-- I mean, I don't know why, why I thought this time would be any different. It’s always--” Rich ran his hand through his hair, and bit his lip before continuing, “it's always been Chloe with him.” Michael thought back to his now-ex-best-friend-of-twelve-years , and nodded, understanding.
“I know how that feels.”
Rich looked up to meet his stare, eyes glassy and shining in the moonlight, red-rimmed and puffy, and Michael saw himself in them, felt Rich and felt for Rich more than he could ever remember feeling for anyone.
“You do?”
Michael met his stare before looking down at his feet, feeling confronted, “yeah, uh, sort of. Different, but, yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
There was a lapse in conversation, and Michael thought there really wasn’t much else to say, but as much as he hated to admit it, part of him felt somehow better talking to his highschool bully. The mere concept of the occurrence of the entire conversation was so absurd that it offered him a distinct sense of disconnect.
Michael stepped forward and sat on the step next to Rich, and they stared into the darkened suburbia of Jake’s neighborhood.
Rich let out another chuckle, and leaned back on the step behind him before exhaling sharply.
“Hurts like a motherfucker, doesn't it?”
Michael quietly noted his lisp, and carefully decided not to mention it.
“Sure does.”
There was another pause before Rich broke the silence.
“Hey, uh, don't take this the wrong way or anything, but I didn't thinking you were actually, like, invited to--” Rich paused, unsure, “the party.”
Michael rubbed the back of his neck and answered honestly.
“Oh, yeah, I wasn't. Pretty stupid of me to come, actually, I don't know what I was expecting.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, whatever you were expecting, uh, what did you get?”
Michael exhaled shakily, “the formal ending of a twelve year friendship.”
“Oh,” Rich repeated.
“Yeah, the saga of Michael and Jeremy is no more.”
“Oh,” Rich turned to Michael, “shit.”
“Shit,” Michael echoed.
“That’s kind of my fault, isn’t it,” Rich said, quietly, and the still, cold October night carried on without them.
Michael stayed silent for a minute. It was Rich’s fault. Or at least, he thought it was. He wasn’t sure anymore. He wasn’t sure he could blame anyone at this point.
“He made it very clear what he wanted.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Rich looked down at his hands, while his jaw clenched and unclenched slowly. Michael’s eyes trained on him, watching as he blinked away obvious tears. Michael had a sudden realization, and snapped back to reality, “wait, don’t you have a squip?”
“Oh, yeah, I’m totally hammered,” Rich responded.
A pause.
“Okay, noted, but what does that have to do with anything?”
Rich ran his fingers through his hair, effectively mussing it up, “Oh, you didn’t know? Alcohol sort of, like, temporarily fucks it up.”
“Oh. That’s cool. How long do you think you’ve got?”
Rich laid back against the steps, looking up at the foggy night sky. “Probably ‘till morning,” he said, “it’s gonna be hell when it comes back, though.”
“Well,” Michael started, thinking back to the chats with his WoW guildmate, “what if it didn’t have to come back?”
Michael was unsure, to say the least. He had already been rejected when proposing an end to the awful fucking floppy disk, and wasn’t looking forward to another.
“Believe me, I’ve tried. The only thing that can actually shut it down is this fucking,” Rich gestured violently and let his hand fall to his face and dug his nails into his brow, “soda that got discontinued in the nineties.”
“Yeah, Mountain Dew Red, right?”
Rich jolted, and stared Michael down, shocked.
“How’d you know?”
Michael leaned back on the steps next to Rich, smiling, “you’ve got your skills, I’ve got mine.”
“Okay. Fair enough.” Rich laughed lightly.
The two of them stared up at the night sky, the fog lit up by the light of the moon. Rich was almost sure he could feel the moisture of the fog, even all the way down here.
Michael shifted, and rested his hands on his stomach nervously.
“So, this is gonna sound weird,” he said, “but I may or may not have a hookup at the mall.”
Rich was silent for a minute before responding, “like the squip?”
Michael considered this for a moment before responding.
“Less sinister and life destroying, but sort of I guess. They didn’t have any in stock last time I dropped by, but we could check in the morning?” He turned to Rich, “I mean, if you actually want it out.”
Rich’s eyes widened and released a choked sob before leaning forward and burying his face in his arms. His shoulders shook as he let out a shaky breath.
“Are you--” Michael said, concerned. He leaned forward and shakily placed a hand on Rich’s back, “--you okay, dude?”
Rich waved him off, laughing.
“Yeah man, I’m fine, just…” he let out another sob, “fuck, I’ve been trying to get my hands on some for so fucking long, I just… fuck. Thank you.”
Michael, simultaneously dumbfounded, mildly uncomfortable, and relieved, let out a soft laugh and opened his mouth to speak before thinking better of it and settling on just looking at Rich.
Once Rich had calmed down enough, they laid back against the steps once more.
“So,” Michael started, “we can’t exactly… uh, go to the mall just yet, ‘cause it’s like, the middle of the night and all, but I also kind of don’t want to go home.”
Rich nodded in agreement, “Me neither. I don’t really… want to go back in, though,” his eyes went glassy again, and he swallowed before continuing, “I don’t think I want to face Jake yet. Or… ever? Yeah, probably ever,” Michael tilted his head in acknowledgement, “ but, this is kinda where I was gonna stay for the night. Things are kinda rough at home right now, if you get me.”
“I get you.” Michael was not lying.
“And alternatively, my ride. He’s been my ride since, like, sophomore year. So, yeah.” Rich ended his thought.
“Well, I mean, I have a ride.” Michael remarked.
“You do?”
“I…” Michael somehow doubted Rich would consider his banged up PT cruiser as an acceptable ride, but it couldn’t hurt to try, he supposed. Or, at least, in a way, he had nothing left to lose, “yeah, I do. It’s parked around the corner. A slushy sound good?”
“I mean, fuck, yeah.”
Michael stood up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts. Rich looked up at him as Michael smiled weakly.
“You coming, man?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.”