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jeremy had wanted to go camping for as long as he could remember. the word itself had always held some power, this certain sense of awe attached to it that made his heart race just a bit. longing, but with a hint of something bitter - jealousy? jeremy never quite understood it - although he never took the time to really try , falling back onto the tried and true method of just ignoring the things he didn’t understand. or didn’t want to understand, or face, or address, or even think about, especially not when it’s late at night. yes, jeremy’s most favourite and most frequently used coping mechanism: ignoring the problem till it goes away.
anyway. camping. it’s michael, of course. (it’s always michael, isn’t it? jeremy wouldn’t know. ignoring, remember?) since the boy was six years old, his parents had taken him on all kinds of trips. just regular old camping, to start. then canoe trips. then canoe-camping trips. it was soon discovered that michael was really into this whole outdoors thing - and why wouldn’t he be? the apple really doesn’t fall far from the tree. so came the longer trips. week-long excursions, hiking or paddling or even climbing to different sites every night. flying across the world just to sleep on the ground. the mell family, outdoorsy? understatement of the century.
and so came the stories. grand retellings of the most recent excursions, mountains and lakes and rivers all poured into the small, dank basement of one jeremy heere. he couldn’t do anything but sit there in amazement, making sure his jaw doesn’t unhinge and fall off completely with each new story that michael tells him.
it was hard, at first, to reconcile the fact that the michael that sat by jeremy’s side in the basement each day after school, playing video games for hours - his michael - was the same person that lived in those stories. was his best friend really that adventurous?
jeremy remembers the summer after grade seven where he’d been obsessed with developing a video game based off of michael’s travels. some kind of survival sim, with lots of different worlds and levels and skills and tools and all different kinds of scenarios depending on what decisions you made and - he had a lot of time to himself when michael went on those trips, okay? without michael, jeremy’s summer weekends were painfully uneventful.
fast forward a couple of years. the two had just graduated from high school, and jeremy was determined to make this summer the one he would finally get to experience the magic of camping firsthand. even now, jeremy’s having a hard time deciphering the exact ingredients to his strange fascination with camping. because really, that’s what it is. it’s fucking strange.
he has a couple of theories. the mells really started getting into the whole camping thing as a family when michael and jeremy were in the fifth grade - when jeremy’s mom left. hearing about happy shiny funtimes with a close-knit family just as his was beginning to unravel? there’s sure to be some subconscious pining/jealousy/yearning/wishing there. also, the fact that jeremy is, well, remarkably unremarkable when it comes to having any skills whatsoever, probably plays a part. there’s really something romantic about the idea of being able to actually do things. speaking of pining and romance. two words that have begun to describe jeremy’s feelings toward michael a lot more accurately over the past year or so. or maybe years, plural. again. jeremy wouldn’t know. ignoring!
whatever concoction of repressed feelings and leftover traumas that makes jeremy so inclined to to piss in a bush and not shower for a few days, it’s a poison that he thrusts upon michael one day during a particularly pathetic (on jeremy’s part, anyway) round of smash.
“i wanna go camping,” he blurts out just as link is booting jigglypuff off the edge of the arena.
“hah! take that, you pink little - wait, what?” michael cuts off his own celebration, pausing the battle mid-death. he turns to jeremy, eyelashes fluttering against his glasses as he blinks accusingly, as if jeremy just told him he wanted to burn all their video games or something equally as treacherous.
“i uh, i wanna go camping,” he states, suddenly self-conscious. he fiddles with the joystick on his gamecube controller (classic navy blue for him, obnoxious orange-yellow for michael). he’s never voiced his actual want to go camping before, only his borderline obsession with the concept of it. a casual daydream vs actually taking action sort of thing. he opens his mouth to backtrack, to say it’s a stupid idea and that michael should just nevermind but then something jeremy really is not expecting happens.
“sure,” michael says simply. “about time we go camping together.” there’s this soft sort of smile growing on michael’s face now, like this is what he’s been waiting for all these years, and if it sends jeremy’s heart racing into his throat then that’s nobody’s business but his own.
“sure,” jeremy parrots, 1) immediately wishing he didn’t sound so dumb, 2) immediately wishing he didn’t wish he didn’t sound so dumb because this is michael, and he can just be himself around michael, right? and 3) forcing his eyes back to the screen so he can watch himself get obliterated as a cartoon character rather than feel his actual self get obliterated from the radiation that must be coming from michael’s sunshine smile.
not that he thinks michael is the sun or anything like that.
it’s two days later, and jeremy is sitting in a canoe wondering if sunscreen is actually just a scam created for like, capitalism or something. because there are two suns beaming their death rays into him right now: the sun; (it’s really just called that, it doesn’t have a cool name like arcturus or vega or even bootes, which jeremy thinks is very lame, just so you know) and michael, who is currently sitting three metres behind him, paddling them through the open water.
jeremy is pretty sure he can feel the skin on his back starting to flake even through his tank. additionally, his hands are starting to blister and his shoulders are aching already. jeremy had actually kept up with his workout after the squip had been shut down, because he kind of liked having muscles. but apparently, muscles didn’t do shit to aid the arduous task of paddling. michael chattered along through their ride, seemingly impervious to any kind of fatigue.
“-and so then i was like, ‘holy shit, why don’t i just drive two hours to this arcade and go and beat the high score myself?’” michael laughs, and jeremy knows he’s shaking his head to go along with the sound. “man, i wish you could’ve been there. fucking sharon. ” he spits the name more than he says it. jeremy sighs slightly, recalling the week he’d been invited (read: forced) to go visit with his mom in florida - fucking florida ! - just a couple of weeks prior. he’d missed a lot, apparently.
“so you - wait, you drove all the way out to this shitty old arcade just so you could beat someone’s high score on defender?” jeremy stops paddling, turning around in his seat. “that’s awesome!”
“jeremy!” michael scolds, arcade games forgotten, glaring down the canoe. “gunwales! hands! no!” he nods towards jeremy’s hands, clutching the sides of the now-rocking boat.
“shit, sorry!” jeremy yells, lifting his arms up into the air. the safe zone, as michael had called it. hands on the gunwales, and we tip, heere. if we tip i might have to drown you.
michael rolls his eyes, but his frown melts into a smile anyway. jeremy totally doesn’t melt along with it. “and keep paddling,” michael sighs, then sighs again, deeply, as if wondering just what in the hell he’d gotten himself into by agreeing to bring jeremy along for this.
jeremy can’t blame him. when they’d first gotten in the boat, it had taken a good three minutes for michael to explain why jeremy couldn’t sit facing michael while they paddled (it wasn’t his fault that his dad had never taken him canoeing before!) look, jer, he’d started, patting jeremy’s knee in that weird dad-like way, i know you get distracted when there’s like, noise and shit, but you gotta keep facing front even if we’re talking. i know it’s weird. you can do it.
jeremy wonders if that brand of patience will last the whole trip. michael’s always had this special kind of tolerance for jeremy, even when he has to shut the rest of the world out with his headphones more often than not. he never seemed to tire of jeremy - or at least if he did, he didn’t show it. jeremy wonders if this will be the final crack in the dam. god knows he’d already left enough cracks in his best friend with the whole squip incident. they’d had more than a few discussions about it after the fact, and worked through a lot of resulting turmoil. inthe end, michael was insistent that everything jeremy had done (everything the squip had done, if we’re using michael’s exact words here) was forgiven, but jeremy couldn’t help but feel that it was an act. like he was just waiting for michael to call it and pack it in, to leave jeremy for good. not like he didn’t deserve it - he truly did. but michael stayed, and he stays, present tense.
a comfortable silence settles over them, the soft splashing of paddles in water and animals chirping in the distance the only sounds accompanying what now feels like an olympian effort on jeremy’s part to not let his arms turn into noodles. he’s starting to have a seriously hard time believing that people, including michael, do this for fun.
after they make it to the campsite, michael enlists jeremy with the task of gathering sticks for the fire, but first gives him a lesson on tent-pitching. (oh, the bitter irony of that .) walking him through each step, michael ensures that jeremy understands exactly how to set it up perfectly. then, without a word he takes it down and walks over to a log, taking a seat.
“okay, now do it yourself.”
jeremy blinks. “i, uh. what?” he stammers, clutching the now-limp fabric in his hands, rubbing it in his fingers.
there’s a smug smirk resting on michael’s lips as he gestures toward the heap of supplies. jeremy absolutely doesn’t think about how much he’d like to kiss that smirk right off michael’s face. he groans exorbitantly, sinking down to pick up the poles as michael chuckles like golden honey pouring over him.
“you’re the worst,” jeremy calls back, smiling to himself and very deliberately not looking back.
he does a pretty good job with the tent. next is the firewood, which michael again takes his time ensuring jeremy knows all about. jeremy’s not sure why he does this, seeing as he’s purposefully doubling the time spent preparing their campsite. jeremy distinctly recalls michael explaining how the set-up is the worst part: tedious and time-consuming. apparently, the best part of a canoe trip in particular was the swimming. paddle in the hot sun all day, reward yourself with a swim in a cool lake. that jeremy can understand. there’s still a thin layer of sweat clinging to him, and nothing seems more appealing at that moment than running and diving headfirst into the lake. not that collecting sticks (the drier the better) and bark (white birch - see, he’s learning things) isn’t fun. it shouldn’t be, really, ‘cause after all it’s just sticks and bark, but again, it’s michael. ( it’s always michael , jeremy definitely doesn’t think for the second time that day.) jeremy is quickly discovering that he’s content to do anything if it’s accompanied by his best friend’s excitedly passionate rambling, even if it’s about fucking sticks and fucking bark. jeremy’s ready to become an arborist at this point.
it doesn’t take long to collect the appropriate amount of firewood. michael peels off his tank, sighing in a way that should absolutely be illegal, especially when he’s shirtless and jeremy’s right there. it’s not like he hasn’t seen michael shirtless before, in fact, he’s probably seen michael shirtless more times than best friends should usually see each other shirtless, but that still doesn’t change the fact that jeremy can’t tear his eyes away from the soft, tanned skin, dark hairs travelling down, down, down-
“jeremy? are you coming?” michael’s voice has more doubt in it than jeremy would like. he rips his eyes off of michael’s stomach and lets them settle on a tree off behind michael’s shoulder. safe zone. “jeremy?” michael repeats, a touch concerned.
“yeah!” jeremy accidentally shouts, letting his gaze finally meet michael’s. definitely the danger zone. mental canoe tipping! “i, uh, haha,” he stammers through a laugh, cringing as he pulls his own shirt over his head.
“oh, holy shit,” michael says lowly, and jeremy’s pretty sure he might throw up because of that voice. “dude, did you put on any sunscreen?” michael says a second later, eyeing jeremy’s arms.
“what? oh, fuck. ” jeremy’s arms are red. “i even reapplied!” he whines, hugging his arms self-consciously. he starts chewing on his lip involuntarily. he’d reapplied!
“hey, you’ll be fine,” michael says then, just a bit softer than normal. “let’s go swim.”
jeremy follows, no longer clutching at his burns but still biting the skin off his lips. michael sloshes into the water, paying no mind to the temperature, wading in until he’s up to his knees before flopping onto his stomach. he swims further out into the lake, the dark water covering all but his head, a big smile plastered onto his face.
jeremy lets his toes inch up to the shoreline, and flinches back immediately. “that’s fucking freezing!” he yells, louder than intended. how was michael fully submersed in that right now? how was he still alive? if he wasn’t sure before, he was sure now: michael definitely had superpowers. another facet of this weird super-michael camping hero.
weird super-michael camping hero yells back, “it’s fine once you get in! c’mon, jer! don’t leave me all alone out here! what if i get attacked by a shark?”
“there are sharks !?!?”
michael only erupts into laughter which tells jeremy that no, there are no sharks. he takes a step forward, letting the water cover his ankles.
“that’s it!” michael encourages, floating about ten metres out.
jeremy sighs sharply and wades forward slowly. the things i do for you, michael, he thinks. each step brings another shiver racking through his body, but he keeps going anyway. the water’s just past his knees when jeremy commits himself to a death by hypothermia and flings his body to the water, landing stomach first with a cold, hard, slap.
“holy shit! holy motherfucking shit, michael! michael!” jeremy lets out a string of curses, convulsing as he paddle-seizes his way through the water toward a laughing michael.
“stop, you’re gonna give me a cramp,” michael begs, creating ripples around him as he continues to laugh at jeremy’s pain.
jeremy tries to focus on the sound of that rather than the icicles growing inside of him. he doggy-paddles closer to his friend until they’re a couple of feet apart. (leaving room for jesus, safety, and jeremy’s goddamned sanity.)
after they swim, the two boys towel off quickly and michael gets started on building a fire. jeremy isn’t even surprised anymore when he gets it going in less than ten minutes, pot of macaroni and cheese (the one with the shells, their favourite, of course) cooking over it. jeremy can feel his stomach eating itself from the inside out at this point, so he’s more than content to sit in silence with michael as they both devour their meal. jeremy can feel michael’s eyes on him, stealing glances, but jeremy refuses to meet his gaze, keeping his eyes trained intently on the fire instead.
overall, the whole camping thing was pretty cool. maybe not quite living up to the ten-year obsession jeremy had developed with the idea of that, but he’s starting to think (not think) that part of that came from the fact that it was michael . anyway, not thinking about it, jeremy decides to think instead about bears.
“hey, are we gonna get eaten by any bears?” he asks as he swallows his last bite of macaroni, breaking the long silence.
michael considers, unfazed. “yeah, probably.”
“cool.”
more problems arise when the boys decide to call it a night and go to sleep. jeremy is admittedly exhausted after a full day of paddling, swimming, and just existing in a space without air conditioning. he gladly crawls into the tent after michael, eyes drooping already. this is where a very large problem arrives, smacking jeremy square in the face.
“dude, where’s your sleeping bag?” michael asks.
oh. “uh,” jeremy says, searching the floor of the tent. did he bring one? did michael even tell him to bring one? shit, fuck, shit-
“ jeereemmmyy,” michael whines, a hint of laughter in his voice. he collapses onto his back, clutching his own sleeping bag - the only one present, clearly - as he lets out a giggle that jeremy doesn’t think is adorable. not one bit. “you’re hopeless,” michael mutters fondly - fondly? jeremy might explode - and begins to unpack his sleeping bag. “we can share.”
and here’s the thing. it’s not like they haven’t shared a bed before, right? in fact, they’d shared more often than not when it came to their sleepovers. it was definitely not weird, but the thing. the thing is, jeremy’s ignoring now, and ignoring means not thinking about snuggling with your best friend in the middle of the woods and it most surely means not wishing said snuggling wasn’t platonic, and it sure as fucking hell means not thinking about how he’s gonna have a boner in the morning and how maybe michael could help him out with-
“earth to jeremy? you there?” michael says suddenly, waving his hand in front of jeremy’s face. jeremy blinks over at him, wishing a bear could come eat him right at that moment. michael’s glasses are smudged, fingerprints illuminated by the light of his flashlight lying on the ground. his lips are parted just slightly, bigger and pinker than jeremy remembers. (not that he spends a lot of time looking at michael’s lips, no he’s really good at ignoring that)
“yeah,” jeremy lets out weakly, eyes now trained to the ground. he’s screwed. he’s honest to god screwed.
“c’mon,” michael says softly, softer than jeremy could have ever imagined michael’s voice being. he looks up to see a look of concern painted on his friend’s face. jeremy swallows down his feelings and crawls into the sleeping bag with michael, plastering his very best normal jeremy smile onto his face. not like that’s even up to the normal standards of, well, normal, but whatever. jeremy’s trying. and ignoring! and pressed up against michael, their sides plastered together.
a couple of minutes pass by in silence before michael suddenly turns on his side to face jeremy, huffing out a sigh. “jeremy,” he says, and that’s when jeremy knows it’s over.
“you’ve been acting really weird these past couple of weeks. i’ve noticed. i don’t know what’s wrong, or if i can help, but i want to. i really, really want to.” he pauses, sighing. he takes one of jeremy’s hands and squeezes it softly. “i - i don’t know if it’s something that happened with your mom, or if it’s the squip, or - i know everything’s gonna change at the end of this summer and i know you’re probably scared - hell, i’m scared - but whatever it is, jeremy. we’ll figure it out, just like we always do, okay? i just-” he cuts himself off, frustrated. “i hate seeing you like this. spacing out for minutes then acting like nothing happened. you seem so uncomfortable all the time now, and i don’t know how to help you and i just - i just want to help, jeremy..” he sounds broken. jeremy broke his best friend.
jeremy tries to form a response. “it’s not… it’s-” he chokes on the words. “it’s not that,” he finishes after a long beat, and he can feel the dam beginning to break inside of him.
“what is it?” michael breathes into jeremy, voice a mixture of sadness and relief and fear all at once. he’s always so many things at once, jeremy thinks. michael reaches up to wipe a tear from jeremy’s cheek, one he didn’t even realize was there. “you can tell me,” michael says, the smallest inkling of hope in his voice that jeremy is almost positive he’s hallucinating.
it’s then that the water rushes in, knocking jeremy off his feet. all the years of friendship, of unconditional love. the sleepovers, the video games, the drives to school, the slushies. the nights stargazing. the laughter and the crying and the stupid fights and the real fights and every fucking thing in between. all of it hits jeremy like a tsunami wave, washing away any chance of success at ignorance. ever.
it comes out as a whisper, barely audible. “i think i’m in love with you.”
“oh.”
“ oh ?”
heart stopped. game over. oh??? jeremy makes a vague choking sound, somewhere between dying and sobbing.
and then, of all things, michael starts laughing. like real, genuine laughter, bubbling right up and out of him like this was fucking comedy central.
a full, entire minute after jeremy’s declared himself brain dead, (and heart dead, and everything dead) michael stops laughing. “you fucking idiot,” he says, which is even more confusing, because what the fuck? but then his hands are sliding down to hold jeremy’s jaw and then their lips are pressed together and - oh.
oh.
it’s not the most graceful thing. there’s a rock digging into jeremy’s hip, and michael’s knees are slotted weirdly between his own. they both smell like sweat and smoke and michael tastes definitely more than a little bit like lakewater, and their noses are pressed up against each other painfully. michael’s glasses are in the way, too, but it’s still the best kiss jeremy’s ever participated in.
which he remembers promptly to do, after a second of holy fucking shit frozen shock. his hands tangle into michael’s hair, pulling him impossibly closer. but then it’s over in less than a second, and jeremy has to physically restrain himself from whining as michael pulls away, breathless.
“if you haven’t noticed,” michael says, smiling, breaths warm and heavy on jeremy’s lips, “i’ve been in love with you for years, jeremy.” another giggle erupts from his lips and jeremy quickly kisses him again, wanting to trap that sound inside of him forever.
“i haven’t,” jeremy responds, almost laughing himself. everything sort of falls into place in that moment, like a three-second slideshow of the past thirteen years of his life flashing before his eyes with the word ‘DUH’ written in big red letters. of course. jeremy feels the entire universe inside of him.
michael sighs happily, lips ghosting over the corner of jeremy’s mouth. “yeah, i see that now.”
“i can see everything now,” jeremy realizes/says, joy bursting from within him. with that michael pulls him closer, arms holding to jeremy strong and tight.
he could get used to this whole camping thing.