Archive of Our Own

Michael’s pretty sure they’re the only ones left.

They’re sitting in their usual spot in the corner of the nonfiction section, adjacent to a row of fake potted plants and an obnoxious cardboard cutout of a teenager mid-shift. There’s informative pamphlets about “your second puberty” at the bottom of the stand, which for a short time Michael had taken upon himself to fold paper airplanes out of and aim them at his best friend’s forehead. But after a few too many bullseyes, said paper airplanes were confiscated by said best friend and tossed into the nearby trash can, never to see the light of day again.

Boo. Jeremy’s no fun anymore.

Now Michael’s resorted to leaning back in his chair, trying to balance his pencil on the bridge of his nose for the fifth time. Jeremy’s sweater is haphazardly thrown over his lap (“It’s too cold in here for you!” “Dude, I can handle central air,") sleeves dragging on the carpet as the back legs of his chair wobble back and forth. The textbook in front of him’s been untouched for hours. It’s turned to some biology diagrams Michael needs memorized for tomorrow’s test, but he already had it down before the bell even rang. He never really needs to study so he doesn’t. Michael just comes to the library because Jeremy always needs help carrying all his damn books.

There’s a sudden tug on his hoodie sleeve, nearly making Michael lose his balance. He manages to catch himself on the table edge, but the pencil is a lost cause. It rolls underneath their feet, lost to the public library forever. Pushing one side of his headphones off his ear, Michael pouts.

“What gives? I was just getting the hang of it too.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes. “Found it,” he whispers, lifting the open book in his hands and shaking it a bit for emphasis. It’s just one of many books scattered on the table. There’s more piled next to Jeremy’s feet, and at least three mixed in with Michael’s school work. Michael can barely recognize any of the covers, let alone some of the languages printed on the spines. He’s pretty sure Jeremy can’t either, but that doesn’t stop him from trying. Jeremy motions for him to come closer and Michael obliges. Scooting his chair towards him, Michael rests his chin on Jeremy’s shoulder as he starts thumbing through the pages. Michael sticks his tongue out, sniffing. The book smells like earth and woodsmoke. Old. He’s not sure if he likes it.

Jeremy doesn’t even look up from the book, just reaches over with his right hand and baps Michael’s tongue back into his mouth. Michael growls, just barely, the sound low in his throat. After nine years, his dragon brain has started to lose its patience with Jeremy’s bullshit.

“Don't lick the book, dude.”

“I will eat you.”

“I thought your taste was more of the igneous kind?” Jeremy mumbles, the ghost of a smile on his lips. His finger trails down a passage, searching.

“Fuck offfff,” Michael mutters, almost burying his face in the crook of Jeremy’s neck, but it’s the first time in months he’s directly acknowledged that side of Michael and so he can’t really be all that mad. If the smolder in his chest is any indicator, every part of him is a little overjoyed.

(Jeremy’s never been good with different. He doesn’t really know how to handle being different. So he reads. He reads and reads and reads. Being human is good and being human is great, Jeremy says, but there’s something in his voice that wasn’t there before. Michael agrees every time.

Jeremy keeps reading.)

“Okay, okay, here it is.” Jeremy sets the book on top of the other opened ones in front of him, then slides it to the left a little so Michael can look along with him. He starts reading, steady and quiet. “The full moon has various connections to supernatural and magical lore. It would take many moons - ha - to account for and properly explain its role in each phenomena it partakes in. This section will simply go into detail on one of the most recognizable. That of lycanthropy.” Jeremy turns his head to look at Michael, eyes bright. Michael feels the blood under his skin simmer, simmer, cool. He grins back, barely.

Right. Jeremy’s into werewolves lately.

(Michael thinks about the book in his room, buried beneath dirty laundry and denial. It’s still sticky-noted in careful child print, but Jeremy put it away one day and never picked it back up.)

“Why are you so into werewolves now, anyway?” Michael asks, and he hopes to God his tone comes across as tired. He adds the yawn as an afterthought. Jeremy catches the glint of his teeth (human, still human,) from the corner of his eye. He pats Michael’s knee, almost awkwardly. Jeremy’s made up of awkward nowadays. It sucks.

“It’s our first Wolf Moon, sleepyhead,” Jeremy states, glancing between Michael and the page between them. He points to the first depiction of wolves descending upon a village. “I know this is asking a lot out of your boring ass, but aren’t you just a little bit excited?”

“It’s not our first wolf rodeo, cowboy,” Michael grumbles. His soul swishes its tail back and forth, knocking against his ribs. There’s saltwater in his lungs but he resists the urge to cough.

“Okay, yeah,” Jeremy gives him that. “But it’s the first one where our classmates will be, you know, participating and shit.”

“Oh, yes, can’t wait for Richard Goranski to go full awoo and beat the shit out of me.” Michael says ‘me’ but they both know he means ‘you.’ Michael’s pretty much ignored (avoided?) because no one wants to mess with the kid with the dormant dragon blood. Dragon boy’s best friend, though? Apparently fair game. And after the suspensions and busted noses finally started stacking up against his academic record, Michael had to be careful on how he… took care of things. Unfortunately for both of them, Michael’s bark just isn’t as bad as his bite.

“Rich doesn’t beat anyone up,” Jeremy retorts, but it’s half-hearted at best. “And he was an early shifter, remember? He turned at Jake Dillinger’s Halloween party apparently last year.”

“I don’t remember, mostly ‘cause we weren’t invited.”

Jeremy shakes his head and turns his attention back to the book, reading aloud. Michael’s eyelashes start to flutter, because when do they not whenever Jeremy talks like that, but he’s gotten better at his selective narcolepsy. He stays awake most of the time, which is better than most of their classmates. Jeremy isn’t really… allowed to read aloud in class anymore. Michael vaguely recalls the lab incident. He shudders.

(“I can’t believe I’m so boring that I put people to sleep.”

“You knocked him the fuck out, Jer, is what you did.”)

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

He doesn’t argue, but Michael feels Jeremy’s shoulder shift under his chin. The sweater finds itself back over Michael’s legs. Jeremy’s hand reappears on the table and turns the page.

None of the information in the book is particularly news to Michael, and especially not to Jeremy. Werewolves shift during every full moon, blah, blah, blah, the species has one of the latest shift rates starting at age fourteen, blah, blah, blah, new shifters usually turn during the Wolf Moon, blah, blah, blah. Why read about stuff you already know? He doesn’t get it.

“Why don’t you ask about me anymore?” The question comes out before Michael can stop it.

“What do you mean?”

Fuck. “You know. About dragon me. It misses you.”

Jeremy laughs, breathy and light. “Aren’t you the same thing?”

Michael frowned. “No. Kinda? Not yet, at least. We’re… roommates.”

“Pft, okay.” The look on Jeremy’s face confirms that he doesn’t know what Michael means and that’s okay. Michael doesn’t really know how to explain it either. “Remember how you gave that big speech a few years ago? About how I shouldn’t treat you differently because you’re magic and I’m,” Jeremy pauses, just barely, “not.”

“Well, yeah, but I dunno, you can treat me, like, a little differently. Or whatever.”

“Oh. Are you jealous of Werewolf McWerewolf?” Jeremy asks. He’s teasing but there’s a note of sincerity in his voice that makes Michael feel way too warm under the collar. His soul coils around his heart, squeezes tight with warning. Pull back, pull back.

(Michael is no longer seven years old, so he’s learned sometimes he should do as he’s told.)

“No way, man. Why would I be jealous of some puppy when I’m a fucking sea cat?"

Jeremy hums, thinking. “True.” He turns the page. “I’ve always liked cats more than dogs anyway.”

Michael says nothing.

(He’s also learned that doing what he’s told is completely and utterly pointless.)

Jeremy spends the next hour or so reading, sometimes out loud, sometimes just under his breath. If he finds something particularly interesting he turns his head and mumbles it into Michael’s hair. It’s not often, Jeremy knows that Michael isn’t really into werewolves for whatever reason, but he appreciates his company nonetheless.

Michael’s never really mentioned it to Jeremy, he’s never seen a reason to, but there is one story he kind of likes. He had overheard it once, a long time ago, on the way home. Michael doesn’t really remember what him and Nanay had been doing before, but it had been just them and two others on the bus. An old woman and a child. Maybe her granddaughter.

(”There’s a story among the stories, about the first wolf cursed with a man’s heart.”)

“Hey.”

Michael blinks.

“Library’s closing. We gotta go.” Jeremy’s voice is in his ear, hushed. Michael slowly pries himself off Jeremy and sits up, ignoring the heartstrings that pull taut whenever he strays too far. He rolls his shoulders back, making a face as he works out the kinks in his back. Jeremy’s standing now, putting on his sweater. He shoves the book into his backpack for temporary safekeeping and gathers the rest into his arms. The two make eye contact and Jeremy jerks his head towards the table.

(”When the earth was still new and the stars were first beaded into the sky, man and beast existed side by side. They lived in peace, sharing the day and the night. The sun watched over man and the moon watched over beast, for they themselves were children of the earth. This is how it was for a long time.”)

Michael sighs dramatically and swings his backpack over his shoulder. Grabbing the other pile of books, the two head to the counter. The librarian looks at them over her glasses, unimpressed. She purses her lips and continues tapping away on the keyboard. Michael and Jeremy were famous for spending hours in the library and equally infamous for destroying it in their wake. They take turns dropping the books into the return slot, then Michael falls behind to let Jeremy check out his book.

(“The moon cared for all its animals equally, but there was one wolf that it loved most of all. Each night, just as the sun would set, they would meet on the horizon. Together, they would share their songs and all was well.”)

“Ready?”

Michael looks up from his phone and nods. He turns on his heel as Jeremy walks past him, their shoulders bumping together as they walk out the automated doors. Michael turns up the brightness on his phone as they step outside. Their breath immediately comes out in puffs, freezing the moment it touches the January air. When did it get so dark outside?

("But the sun soon found out, and grew very angry. For it, too, was in love with the moon, and could never seem to catch it in the sky. So the sun cursed the wolf, turning him into a child of the day.")

“Check this out,” Michael says, tilting his screen towards Jeremy. “They’re calling an early curfew. Looks like the puppies are already out to play tonight.”

(“Trapped in the body of man, the wolf attempted each night to see his moon. But his eyes were weak, and his nose could no longer catch its scent. No matter how hard he tried, he could not find the horizon. And so the moon cried, for it missed its love, and the wolf cried, for he missed his moon.”)

“Aw, man,” Jeremy groans, gripping his backpack straps. “We’re, like, a mile away from my house. There’s no way we’re gonna make it in time.”

“Dude, I don’t think we’re gonna get arrested if we get home a little late. Can fourteen-year-olds even go to jail? Hey, do you think they’d put us in the same cell? God, I hope so.”

Jeremy turns to him, eyes wide. “I don’t care about any of that! I don’t want to die.” Michael stares at Jeremy’s face for a moment, just to be totally sure that he heard what he just heard. Once his brain verifies what his ears heard, that, yes, Jeremy did in fact just say that, Michael breaks down. Jeremy watches in horror as his best friend nearly collapses on the sidewalk, struggling to breath between each burst of laughter. “It-it’s not funny!” Jeremy squeaks, voice cracking on the last syllable. Puberty can be a bitch, even if you only get one.

“D-dude,” Michael gasps, clutching his stomach. “What kind, kinda bullshit are you -- you reading in there?” Jeremy huffs, cheeks red under the streetlights. He grabs Michael’s wrist, pulling him ahead. Michael stumbles forward, catching himself on Jeremy’s arm.

(“But one day, something strange happened. The sun suddenly grew dark. All of man gathered outside, frightened. Where the sun once shone was a black shadow. Then, the wolf heard a familiar voice. ‘If you can hear me,’ the voice said, ‘come when I am whole. I will guide your way. If you sing your song, I can save you from your curse.’”)

“We gotta keep going,” Jeremy mutters.

“What, do you think the big, bad wolf is gonna gobble you up, Grandma?”

“Ha, ha. Fuck off.”

Michael laughs. “Seriously, man. There’s nothing to worry about.” He frees his wrist from Jeremy’s grip and slings his arm around his shoulder. “The newbies go out with their parents, learn all the tricks. They won’t harm a fly.” Michael may have a weird, unexplained grudge towards werewolves, but he doesn’t like the idea of them being labelled straight up feral. Seems unfair. Sure, inexperienced shifters are prone to being more… out of control, but it’s usually nothing like the movies. From what he’s been able to pick up in class, it’s all a matter of the person’s emotional state. The more balanced you are in your human life, the easier the shift. The better the control. There hasn’t been records of an unprovoked werewolf attack around here in, well, decades.

If you get attacked by a werewolf, you were probably asking for it.

(“And so the wolf waited until his moon was full in the sky. Under its moonlight, he was finally able to reach the horizon. The wolf began to sing his most beautiful song of all, a song of heartbreak and loss. Suddenly, the moon vanished from the sky and appeared in front of him. Taking his hand, the moon freed him from his binds, allowing the wolf to take his true, beastly form.”)

“If you say so,” Jeremy says, and Michael feels an arm slip underneath his backpack and wrap around his waist. Before he can even stammer out the question, Jeremy answers him. “‘m cold,” he mumbles, looking straight ahead. His ears are red. Figures. Jeremy’s never been good at remembering his winter shit. “Aren’t you?”

It’d probably be weird to say he was freezing until Jeremy’s touch burned straight through his hoodie to his skin, jump-starting the rumble in his chest. So Michael lets himself have this one moment and says nothing at all.

They turn left.

(“‘I cannot change your heart,’ the moon said, ‘for the part of you that is man has learned to love me as well. But teach your children to love and trust, and teach your children to sing as well. If their hearts and songs reach my heavens, I may grant them the power that you possess as well. Then, forever, we can share the day and night together.’”)

A silence falls between Michael and Jeremy, but it’s comfortable. Michael can feel the water in his chest slowly turn to slush, cracking and crystallizing the longer he’s outside. The grumbling in the back of his head is getting a little louder too. Annoyed. He tries not to think about either one of them, tries to focus on other things. Warmer things. Things that aren’t Jeremy.

God, Jeremy.

They’re nearly home, but there’s still the forest to walk around. Usually, they’d just cut through and take one of the paths straight to Jeremy’s neighborhood, but tonight was definitely a no-go. Who knew how many werewolves were prowling about, taking pictures of baby’s first fresh kill. They walk past the gate, a sign hung on the iron bars.

Michael catches Jeremy roll his eyes as they pass it. Technically, Jeremy could go in if he was accompanied by Michael. There were rules regarding magic class types, rules Michael didn’t really get nor care to understand. He’d have to ask that witch in his History class -- what was her name again? -- for a definite answer. But, as far as Michael understood, a human could go kick it with some wolves if a dragon was with him. Well, a dragon post-manifestation.

(“And so the wolf taught his children and children’s children to sing the song of the moon. And if the song was true, the wolf would receive the gift of shifting from a child of the earth, free to change form at will until its last breath. And all was well for the wolf and the moon again.”)

Jeremy suddenly stops.

“Do you hear that?”

Michael frowns. “Hear what?”

Jeremy is silent for a moment, then his eyes widen. “There! There it was again.”

“Okay, buddy, I think the cold’s finally getting to your head. We need to get home.” Michael tries to pull Jeremy along with him, but it’s like his shoes are frozen to the ground.

“Don’t you hear it?” Jeremy looks at Michael. His eyes are wide, unfocused. Michael swears he can see the stars reflected in them, but that’s probably just him thinking some gay shit. Have his eyes always been this blue?

(Michael likes that story because he kind of knows what it’s like. To love something and have it be taken away from you. To love something you can’t have. To love something you can’t find. He’s not sure who he relates to more in the story.

The moon. The sun. The wolf.

But he knows how his own story goes. How the stories go. So he promises to never say a word.

Never step into that village.

Never look up at the stars.

He may not ever have him, but maybe he’ll be able to stick around this time.)

Okay, yeah. Gay shit.

“Dude, I, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Michael tries listening. There’s the wind and there’s the faint howls of the wolves (because has he mentioned that it’s time to go home?) but the night is silent otherwise.

“We need to go.” Jeremy’s voice is steady but there’s something off about it. Michael nods because, yes, that’s what he’s been trying to say for a while and --

Where is he going?

Jeremy turns around and heads straight for the iron gate.

“Jeremy? The fuck, don’t go in there!”

Michael watches as Jeremy just hops over the fence like he has upper body strength and no idea what tonight is. Michael is now the one frozen in place, looking around frantically. What’s he supposed to do? Should he call someone? Should he get the police? Should he go after him? Michael looks from his shaking hands back to the gate. Except he can’t see the gate anymore. It’s too dark. Michael looks up.

The moon is gone.

Michael stares at the empty sky. No clouds.

He swallows hard.

Di…

Did he do that?

No.

No, Michael thinks. He would know if he ate the moon.

He didn’t eat the moon.

Right?

He looks back up.

Oh, God. He ate the moon.

“JEREMY!”

(Ever since he can remember, there’s been a pull in his chest, branching off two ways. One towards the sky. One towards the sea. Then he turned five years old and Jeremy Heere became the third. Each time he heads one way, the ache from the others grows. It’s constant, like the thump of his heartbeat and the growling in his chest. Still, he picks the same every time.)

Michael runs after Jeremy.

(Later that night, Michael will notice something strange. He’ll think back to that moment under the moonless sky and he’ll furrow his eyebrows and think long and hard. There’s always three pulls. Three separate pulls. But now he just remembers two. One to the sea. One to the forest.

Weird, he’ll think.

He’ll forget about it by next week.)

Michael climbs over the fence, careful not to get his headphone cord tangled in the iron bars. He jumps off to the other side, wincing as the textbooks in his backpack slam into his back. Looking around, Michael tries to find any sign of Jeremy. Of anything, really.

The forest is still.

It worries him.

Taking a deep breath, Michael heads in. He decides to stay on the path; Jeremy seemed freaked but maybe he had the common sense to do the same. Michael twists the bracelets around his wrist hard, flinching at each leaf rustling overhead. He’s not used to this, getting worked up over silence. Usually it’s the opposite, but Michael almost thinks he’d prefer drums right about now. He feels a kick to his lungs.

God. He said almost.

Michael reaches one of the landmark signs. He hesitates at the fork in the road.

“Jeremy?” Michael winces at how loud his voice sounds. “C-c’mon, man, this isn’t funny. We should be home watching Animal Planet right now, not living Animal Planet.” He turns around, staring at the endless expanse of trees. “But instead, it’s past curfew, we’re in the woods, it’s the Full Wolf Moon, you ran off and I’m pretty sure I ate the fucking moon! I don’t even know how I did that! I don’t think the wolves are going to be happy about that. So, uh, if you could ple--”

Michael freezes. He hears a rustle behind him.

Oh, God, he’s gonna die. He was wrong about the wolves and he’s gonna die and he never even got to--

“Michael.”

Michael yelps as something grabs his arm. He flails around, putting his entire family and ancient bloodline to shame as the source of his heart attack turns out to be Jeremy Heere.

“Du-dude, what the hell?” Michael breathes, clutching his chest. Jeremy’s just looking at him, head tilted to the side. His eyes are still bright, littered with stars.

“Have you found it yet?”

Michael groans, more upset than angry. “Found what, Jer? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The song.” He says it like it's obvious.

“What, what song?”

“We have to find it, Michael.” Jeremy’s staring into his eyes, a calmness in his voice that Michael doesn’t recognize. Like… still waters. He wants to dive into it. Never come back up.

A wolf howls in the distance.

Jeremy runs off.

Learning from his last mistake, Michael wordlessly stumbles after him, his legs barely keeping up as they run into the trees. There’s still snow and ice on the ground and his sneakers slip every other step, throwing off Michael’s balance. He manages to follow Jeremy for a few more seconds before he finally trips, crashing to the forest floor. For a moment, the spots in Michael’s vision clear up enough to see Jeremy disappear into the night. Groaning, Michael pulls himself up. His head hurts. His chest hurts worse. The voice in his head is loud, almost frantic.

Don’t stop.

Michael gets up. He keeps going.

He’s limping a bit, but his pain endurance is high and it doesn’t hurt in the same way the rest of his body does. He just needs to find Jeremy. He needs to find him and get the hell out of here.

Up ahead, Michael hears someone shout, followed by a loud growl. Something in his chest snaps and Michael’s sprinting towards the sound. His brain is on autopilot, both voices chanting the same thing. He can barely hear it over the sound of blood boiling in his ears.

Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy.

Michael reaches the clearing. His breath stops.

Standing in the middle of the clearing is Jeremy, arm stretched out in front of him.

Out towards the werewolf.

It’s small, smaller than the ones Michael’s seen in his textbooks. But it’s wrong.

All wrong.

Its lip is curled, showing rows of sharp, yellow teeth. It creeps forward, back arched. Its dark fur is burnt off in some places, legs and snout covered in long, pink scars. Michael vaguely recalls the phenomena of werewolves. Their wolf form was supposed to show the shifter’s true self. Their true soul. Whoever this was, they were… a burn victim? Or something? Michael can’t think of anyone in town who matches that description. The dark red streak of fur going across its skull, though…

The beast snarls, saliva dripping down its gums, and Michael snaps back to attention.

This werewolf was going for the kill, and Jeremy had asked for it. Oh, God, he had asked for it.

Michael panics, still hidden behind the tree. He knows coming out will probably piss off the werewolf. Michael has a few tricks up his sleeve, but he hasn’t ever shifted. He’s basically human. He can’t fight a werewolf. But Michael ALSO knows if he does nothing, Jeremy is puppy chow. Shit. Shit, he’s bad at fast decisions. Michael bites his lip, staring at his best friend.

He… he doesn’t even look worried.

Jeremy stands perfectly still as the beast creeps closer. The two of them are lit under moonlight Michael can’t place. (He ate the moon, right? What the hell happened to the moon? Why won’t anyone ever tell him what’s going on?) He can barely see the slits of the werewolf’s eyes as it readies to pounce. Michael’s muscles tense up. His chest stirs, ready to take over.

But Michael hears a voice on the wind and something inside him immediately aches.

Come home.

The beast seems to hear it too.

Its ears flick down, then back up.

Come home.

It takes every ounce of Michael’s strength not to walk into the clearing. His fingernails dig into the tree bark. His soul coils around his lungs, snakes up his throat. It thrashes, begs, whines, growls. It wants out and Michael wants nothing more than to give it what it wants.

What he wants.

Come home.

The beast slowly steps towards Jeremy. Fur bristled. Teeth bared.

Its cheek brushes against the palm of Jeremy’s hand.

Come home.

It closes its eyes.

And under the brilliance of the moonlight, Rich comes back to them.

(The moon shines outside the bedroom window.

“Did you hear his song too?” Jeremy asks. He’s shoving spoonfuls of Jell-O into his mouth. Strawberry. He points the spoon at Michael, swallowing. “It was about his dad.”

Jeremy pauses, thinking.

“It was nice.”)

Michael stands back a bit, lets Rich and Jeremy finish their conversation. He knows the three of them are all supposed to be friends now, but it’s weird. Michael sips his slushie.

He’s not sure if he likes it. But he’s getting there.

Jeremy waves goodbye to Rich, then turns around and heads back over to Michael.

“Thanks to us, Rich is, like, the youngest free shifter in town. Probably the state.”

“Us? Dude, dragging our asses into the forest last month was all you, Child of Earth.” Michael wiggles the fingers of his free hand. Jeremy rolls his eyes.

“You know that’s just a fancy way of saying “thing that lives on Earth,” right? I'm pretty sure the "moon" or whatever could've chose anyone; I just happened to be closer to the gate. I’m nothing special.” Michael throws his arm around Jeremy’s shoulder, pulling him in. He shoves his slushie straw to Jeremy’s lips, who obliges and takes a sip. He hums. “Watermelon? That’s a new one.”

“What can I say? I’m trying new things. And if I ever hear you say you’re not special again, I’m gonna have to kick your ass.”

Jeremy grins, the tips of his ears turning pink. “Like hell, you would.”

Michael pretends to think about it. “Okay, maybe I wouldn’t. But still. You were pretty badass out there. I would’ve been impressed if I wasn’t so pissed off and scared.”

“Sorry. I dunno what came over me. It’s all pretty hazy, to be honest.”

“Does it matter? We’re friends with Shorty McWerewolf now. Sounds like high school won’t be completely shitty now.” Michael squeezes his shoulder. “Think about all the parties we can bail on now.”

Jeremy laughs. “Yeah, you’re right. All the werewolves keep following me around and giving me these little gifts. Nothing, like, romantic or anything. Rich says it’s just a “wolf thing." Maybe they think I’m gonna help them master shifting too. Have you noticed that?”

Michael has.

“Not at all. That’s crazy, dude.”

Okay, so maybe Michael knows why he has a weird, unexplained grudge against werewolves. Maybe the ancient thrumming in his veins simmers when he thinks about the moon in the sky and the dozens, hundreds, thousands of love songs it receives each night. It’s dumb, he knows.

But maybe Michael can learn to accept that he’s not the only one to fall in love with the moon.

Maybe Michael can learn to accept that one day he might have to choose.

And maybe, just maybe, one day he can learn to accept that Rich is actually a pretty okay guy.

Maybe.

“Ready to go?”

Michael looks up from his thoughts. Jeremy’s still under his arm, smiling at him.

“Totally.” Michael grins back.

Michael’s in love with the moon and the sea, but his favorite thing to be in love with?

It’s definitely Jeremy.

Michael would pick him every time.