Work Text:
It started in sixth grade.
"...is that a boy or a girl?" she heard a child say as she walked past.
"May I take your order, sir?" spilled from the waiter's mouth.
"Here's your change, boys," said the lady in the ice-cream truck.
She felt a bit brighter every time it happened, like a few little clouds had cleared away from her sky. It was stupid, and she thought it must be because she found it funny, but she never corrected them.
"Mom," she shouted, running to tug at her mother's arm. "I got called a boy again!"
Mrs. Heere's expression dropped. "Oh, Rachel, honey," she said, stroking her child's hair. "I'm sorry. That happened to me as a kid, too. It's okay, darling. Soon everyone will see you as a beautiful woman."
Later, she asked "Michael, do I look like a boy?" and he'd laugh.
"Nah, Rachel, don't worry about it. Not from any angle!"
"Oh," she said. "Okay."
They didn't understand, Rachel thought, confused. She wasn't...sad about it. It was just funny, right?
"Psst! Hey, Rachel!"
"What?" She snapped her DS closed. Wait, had she saved? Damn it!
"Don't be mad, I have a question." The girl leaned forward into her space and grabbed her by the shoulders. "So is it true?"
"...what?" Rachel repeated. The girl would be kinda cute, maybe, if she wasn't acting so weird.
"You know," the girl hissed. (What was her name? Beth? Bella?) "About your crush on Michael, obviously!"
Her what now? She blinked, figured she wasn't in some weird alternate universe where she liked Michael, what, and opened her mouth to respond.
"I don't have a crush on Michael."
"You have to! He's your friend, right? And he's a boy, and you're a girl!"
"But I don't," she said, and continued to say over and over to everyone who asked.
In seventh grade, the trend continued, if less often. She felt herself grow awkwardly into puberty, crying over bra shopping and feeling wrong, wrong, wrong. All teenagers felt like that, her mom told her.
One day she and Michael stopped at 7/11 after school. That was normal. Michael fidgeting and acting weird (weird for him, at least - Rachel would be the first one to admit that Michael was the weirdest person ever, and they were best friends) all day was definitely not normal.
After acquiring slushies—blue raspberry for her, cherry for him, obviously—they stood outside in silence. Not the comfortable kind of we-don't-need-to-talk-now silence, the awkward I-have-something-to-say-but-I-don't-wanna silence.
"Rachel. There's, uh, a thing. That I maybe need to tell you."
Oh, god, here we go.
"...maybe?" Rachel winced. That was probably a bad, no-good thing to say in this situation. But what if it was really bad, what if Michael was moving or what if he didn't want to be her friend anymore—
"I don't know! I should probably tell you, I guess? It's just a thing friends are supposed to know!"
Rachel told her brain to shut up.
"O-okay, Michael."
He bit his lip and stared hard at the ground. A soft jumble of words (sounds?) made its way out of his mouth.
"Michael, I can't hear you."
"I'm gay." He flinched away after saying it, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“Huh,” she said. "That's fine."
Michael looked like he'd been shot. "Fine? What does that mean?!"
Her eyes widened. "I didn't mean it in a bad way! I just, uh. Don't know what to say?"
"It is okay with you, right?"
Rachel grinned at him, and it might have looked sorta dorky, but who cared?
"Of course it is. You're my favourite person no matter what, stupid."
"Don't call me that," he grumbled, but she could hear the relieved tears in his voice.
The slushies were mostly liquid when they got back to them. They still tasted good.
It was eighth grade when the sixth grade prophecy, as she'd begun calling it in her head, came true.
Rachel liked Michael.
"He's gay," she'd whisper frantically into her pillowcase. "He doesn't like girls!" She ignored the tiny lurch in her stomach at the word 'girl'. It'd been doing that a lot, lately. She blamed indigestion or—something.
It didn't hurt any less when Michael started dating a boy, though. Not for long (are eighth grade relationships ever long?) but enough that she had to paste on an uncomfortable smile whenever he'd chatter on about his boyfriend.
It was dumb. She was a homophobe, probably. Even though she thought she liked girls and boys.
Except...she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd want to be Michael's boyfriend, not his girlfriend.
And that, she decided, was even dumber.
In ninth grade, he figured out that he wasn't Rachel. Or a girl at all. He was Jeremy, he’d determined. He pretended his interest in boy’s clothes was because they were more comfortable (which they were, but not because of the fabric). The short hair was ‘cause it’s more convenient, dad, please? He routinely cleared his internet history, filled with searches for binders and testosterone.
Jeremy was terrified of anyone finding out. His mom had already kicked up such a fuss about him cutting his hair, he couldn't imagine what she'd say to. Well. This. Or he could, but he didn't want to.
Nobody could know.
But when he came into school with his newly short hair, and Michael ruffled it fondly ("Cool haircut, dude!") he thought maybe, just maybe, he'd make an exception.
Jeremy was never good at lying to his player one.
TO: p1 <3
can i come over
i need to talk to u
FROM: p1 <3
ofc
anything for my fave :P
TO: p1 <3
put the tongue back or i'm not coming
FROM: p1 <3
wow rude
>:P
He snorted into his palm at the response. Michael was always making stupid jokes.
And he's stupidly cute, said a goddamn traitorous voice in his head. Jeremy shoved his head into his pillow and took a moment to shriek in a mixture of anxiety and embarrassment at his own thoughts. Now that was pathetic.
I can do this. I can do this.
Fuck, no I can’t.
FROM: p1 <3
hey
u r coming tho, yea?
His hands shook as he typed. I have to do it.
TO: p1 <3
yeah.
“Dad,” he shouted. “I’m gonna head over to Michael’s place!” He didn’t bother waiting for a response. Jeremy threw on his cardigan, took a breath, and ran down the stairs and onto the street before he could change his mind.
Which lead him to where he currently stood, frozen outside Michael’s door. The fall wind bit at his fingers as he attempted to work up the courage to knock. Legend says if Michael wasn’t such an impatient soul, he’d be standing there to this day.
“She said she’d be over soon, nanay, maybe she got held up or something—whoa, Rach, are you okay?”
Jeremy wheezed on the pavement, staring up at Michael from the wonderful vantage point of the cold, hard ground. “I mean,” he managed. “You scared the hell out of me, but I’m fine. Totally fine. Peachy, even.”
Michael threw his hands into the air. “Well, forgive me if I didn’t expect you to be standing right outside the door, okay?!” He gave Jeremy a sidelong glance. “And peachy is right, white kid.”
“I can’t help being pale!”
Michael shook his head mournfully. “The only Asian you are is cauc-Asian.”
Jeremy glared up at him, standing and brushing himself off. “Anyway, are you gonna invite me in or keep being a terrible host?”
“I’m not your host, it isn’t my house—”
“Don’t be rude, anak!” rang out from inside not-Michael’s-house.
Jeremy pointed behind Michael. “But it’s your mom’s house, and she wants you to be nice to me.”
“Alright, fine, get in. We’ll be in the basement, nanay!”
“Have fun, Mikey!” Michael’s mom said. (She had a name, Jeremy swore, but calling your friend’s parents by their names was weird.) “And it’s nice to see you, Rachel.”
He smiled awkwardly. “You too, Mrs. Mell…” Jeremy turned to Michael, who was now eagerly pulling him away from his mother. He waited, biding his time till they’d made their way to the beanbag chairs in the basement, and finally cackled “Mikey.”
Michael shoved him. “Shut up, you nerd.”
Jeremy gasped. “Nerd? I am a geek—"
“Seriously, shut up, didn’t you have something to talk to me about?”
Jeremy shut up.
Michael’s teasing expression fell immediately. He reached out to touch Jeremy’s shoulder, frowning when he jerked away.
“Rachel?” Michael said.
“That isn’t my n-name,” Jeremy blurted. “I mean, wait, fuck, that was a t-terrible way to start—” He felt tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, and covered his face in horror. “No, this isn’t going how I wanted it to at a-all, I’m s-so sorry—”
Michael looked more than a little panicked at his extreme reaction. “It’s really okay! Please, please don’t be upset, I promise you can tell me anything.” He reached out to pat Jeremy, then drew back. “Can I touch you?”
Jeremy shook his head. “I n-need,” he paused to take a (hopefully) fortifying breath. “I need to tell you this right now, or I’m gonna chicken out.”
Michael stared at him uncertainly. “You know,” he started. “You don’t need to say it if you don’t want to.”
Jeremy heaved in another breath, releasing it in a sob. I love how thoughtful you are. “No,” he said, gazing up at Michael, his best friend since forever, his player one, his favourite person. “You—you don’t get it. I really, really do.”
Maybe sometimes the words that mattered the most were the hardest to say, he thought. Or maybe he was just coming up with pretentious quotes to stave off his tears and anxiety.
“Michael,” Jeremy said. “I’m transgender. I’m a boy.”
Michael didn’t move. He didn’t speak. Jeremy held his breath.
“You’re a boy,” Michael repeated, finally. “What’s your name?”
Jeremy blinked. What kind of reaction was that? “...Jeremy.” he said.
A slow smile spread across Michael’s face. “Jeremy.” He offered his hand. “Hi, Jeremy. I’m Michael.” And, grinning ear to ear, tear tracks streaking his cheeks, Jeremy took the proffered hand and shook it firmly.
“Okay, Jeremy,” said Michael. “Can I hug you now?”
Jeremy nodded. He didn’t trust himself to speak anymore.
He might have cried into Michael’s shoulder a little (a lot), but neither of them cared.
Michael liked to consider himself a good friend. Good friends, Michael thought, were willing to hold their crying BFFs even when it got tears all over their hoodies.
“So,” Michael said, after things (Jeremy) had calmed down. He’d pushed their beanbags together, his arm a comfortable weight around Jeremy’s shoulder. “Have you told anyone else yet?”
“Not...yet.” Jeremy fiddled with his sweater sleeve. “I don’t really know how. Or if I even want to.” Michael squeezed closer to him.
“You know I love you no matter what, yeah?” Michael squished Jeremy’s cheeks together. “You’re my favowite pewson, Jer-bear!” Jeremy pouted up at him. “Okay, okay, put that mouth back,” Michael relented, moving his arm back to its spot on the other boy’s shoulder.
“You already have a nickname for me? Seriously, Mikey?” Jeremy’s eyes sparkled, despite the jab.
“You need to let that go. Jerry.”
“That one’s not even good.”
"Ha!" Michael pumped a fist into the air. “So you’re admitting the other one was good, right?”
“Lemme rephrase,” Jeremy deadpanned. “It was worse than ‘Jer-bear’. Which isn’t saying much.”
“Rude,” Michael said, sticking out his tongue. Jeremy laughed.
“Put it back, tongues belong in your mouth—”
“Nahhhh.” Michael stuck his tongue out further. “Ahhhhhh—ow, get off!"
“You deserve this,” Jeremy remarked from his spot on top of Michael. He put his palm over Michael’s mouth. “Good. Tongue in mouth, universe in order—ew!”
Michael wiggled his tongue at Jeremy, mocking his scandalized expression.
“You’re gross.”
“What, can’t handle some bodily fluids?”
“I’ll show you bodily fluids,” Jeremy mumbled.
“Really?” Michael raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Jeremiah, please do give me your ‘bodily fluids’!” Jeremy made an undignified squawking noise, diving to shove his hands over Michael’s mouth again.
“Stop,” he shrieked, face rapidly turning crimson. “Shut it, Mell!”
Michael snickered. “Wait, is your name even Jeremiah? Or just Jeremy?”
Jeremy got a contemplating-the-universe look on his face (it sounded majestic, but really was just a dazed and confused expression). “Uh. Jeremiah, I think. Connects more to my Hebrew roots, y’know? Like my...old name, kinda. Gotta be a true Jewish boy.”
“Guess so. It’s all up to you, though.” Michael shrugged. He snapped his fingers, looking up with a grin. “Oh, hey! I can call you Miah too, then.”
“You’re really into this whole nickname thing.”
“Your old name didn’t play nice with nicknames, okay? I’m having fun, Miah.” He nodded to himself. “Yeah, I like that one.” Jeremy fell silent, and Michael turned to see him smiling.
Jeremy was lit up by the light streaming in through the window, features softly illuminated, but the brightness of his expression outshone the sun. And yeah, fine, that sounded super cheesy, but it was true! It struck Michael how blissfully happy Jeremy looked, happier than he’d seen his best friend in a long time.
He wanted Jeremy to be that happy forever.
Coming out in the first year of high school probably sucked, in Michael’s opinion. And it didn’t make the subsequent years any easier on Jeremy. So far, grade ten was shaping up badly.
“Is Ms. Heere—”
“Mr. Heere,” Michael cut off the substitute teacher.
He glared icily at Michael, tapping his shitty little list with his pencil. “I’m quite sure this says Rachel Heere—”
“His name is Jeremy.”
“It is, is it? Care to explain why Jeremy isn’t listed, then?
“You’re supposed to be teaching us, can’t you understand something as simple as a name change?” Michael felt his anxiety bubbling in his chest, oh god, everyone was looking at him, but this was for Jeremy, he needed to be there for him—
The man’s lips thinned into a dangerous line. “To the office, Mr. Mell.”
He pushed out of his seat and the chair clattered to the floor. Ow, bad noise. As he was walking out, he noticed the teacher glare pointedly at his pride patch, muttering “I should have known, it’s one of those. ”
Michael felt cold, even under his hoodie, and hoped Jeremy would be okay for the rest of the period.
"Michael!"
Michael whipped around, gaze landing on Jeremy..running? Since when did he run anywhere? If he was gonna try that out, the school hallway was clearly not the best spot to practice. No running in the halls, Jeremiah. Shame on you.
Jeremy bent over, panting heavily and grabbing at his chest. “I am never doing that again. Moving fast is overrated. Sonic was wrong.”
Alright, never mind. Clearly that was a one-time thing.
“Okay, Jer, buddy, clearly you were either dying to see me—”
That earned him a flat look.
“—orrrr you have something important to say, so what’s goin’ on, pal?”
“Pal,” Jeremy repeated. “I can’t believe my best friend says the word pal, in the year of our lord—”
“Make that ex-pal.”
“What the hell is an ex-pal?”
“Exactly what it sounds like. What were you gonna say?”
“Oh yeah, sorry.” Jeremy straightened up, looking sheepish. “I was about to tell you that you shouldn’t have done that.”
“Done what?” Really? Jeremy was getting critical again?
“No!” Jeremy waved his hands about frantically in some deranged negative gesture. He tried his best, Michael thought, mentally patting his pal on the back. “I meant you shouldn’t have gotten in trouble for me. It’s not worth it.”
Michael stared at him in bemusement. “Dude, of course it’s worth it.”
Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the ground. “It’s not, okay? I know it makes you uncomfortable to do that kinda stuff, so just don’t.”
Michael let out a disbelieving laugh. This is what he got for helping a friend out? “Miah,” he said. “I’m not gonna let my dumb anxiety get in the way of helping you.”
“Michael, maybe I don’t want your help!”
“Why not, would you rather just let people call you Ms. Heere?"
“N-no, but I want them to stop saying I need my ‘boyfriend’ to protect me!” Jeremy shouted, hands balled into fists and face flushed pink. He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes darting about for listeners. Michael stood stock-still with wide eyes.
“Wh—but—I just wanna be there for you! I’m not your boyfriend, that’s ridiculous!”
Jeremy’s face contorted. “Yeah,” he said, voice entrenched in bitterness. “It is, isn’t it?” He threw his bag over his shoulder, turning away. “I gotta go.”
Michael felt his heart drop. Jeremy knew he was only trying to help him, right? “Hey,” Michael said. “Are you mad at me? Because I didn’t—”
“‘m not,” Jeremy responded, stilted and too quick. He glanced back at Michael, flashing a weak smile. “Promise. I’m not mad at...you.”
“Okay,” Michael said quietly. “See you later.”
They were hanging out in Michael’s basement after school. The beanbags had once again been pushed together to form a large abortive chair (Michael swore he’d make his nanay invest in a couch one day) that Jeremy was currently stealing.
“Jeremyyy,” Michael whined, sitting sadly on the floor. “There’s enough room for both of us, dude, why’re you like this?”
“Mrmff,” came from somewhere squished within the beanbags. Jeremy could be in the abyss, for all Michael knew.
“I’m about to come sit on you, Miah.”
“Ghhh—argh!” Jeremy flailed his arms wildly, struggling under Michael’s weight. “Fine! I’ll move over, please get off of me.” Michael moved to the side, satisfied, as Jeremy untangled himself from his beanbag-haven.
“Here, c’mon.” Jeremy patted the spot next to him.
“Heere," Michael whispered.
“Did you say what I think you did?”
“Noooo.”
Jeremy snorted and shoved Michael’s arm. “Don’t believe you.” He cringed and grabbed at his chest. “Ouch. My binder’s kinda killing me.” Michael sat down, opened his mouth, then closed it.
“You can take it off,” Michael said. He hesitated, and continued. “I don’t mind. Uh, don’t if you aren’t comfortable with that, though!” Smooth, Mell.
“...I would,” Jeremy said, shifting awkwardly. “But I don’t really have anything that hides, uh. Y’know. So.” He grimaced. “Wanna go back to Apocalypse?”
“Wait.” Michael beamed at his sudden idea. He tugged off his hoodie and thrust it at Jeremy. “Borrow this, I bet it’s thick enough.” Jeremy looked down at the hoodie, back up to Michael’s face, then down again.
“Are you sure? You pretty much never take that thing off.”
“Yeah.” Michael made a shooing motion at Jeremy. “Go put it on, we’ll game after.”
Jeremy took the hoodie, still seeming unsure. He made his way over to the bathroom, shut the door, and Michael allowed himself to zone out for a minute. Music was nice for that.
What music was not nice for was allowing Jeremy to sneak up on him. Michael jumped out of his skin when he felt someone touch his shoulder, overbalancing and promptly falling backwards.
Jeremy burst into a giggle fit of wheezy laughter. Michael lay on the floor, glasses askew, staring up at his best friend. It was at that moment he knew lending out his hoodie was a mistake (well, no—it was helping Jeremy, and helping Jeremy could never be a mistake. But it definitely wasn’t helping Michael right now).
It was big on Jeremy, which made it approximately fifty times cuter than it would be otherwise. The fact that he was laughing adorably was also a plus. Michael loved seeing him happy.
Oh.
Oh, no, he was not crushing on his straight best friend. That was peak gay stereotype. Michael was not a gay stereotype. No clichés here, no sir.
“Michael?” In the time that Michael had been crushed (ha, ha) by his world-shattering epiphany, Jeremy had stopped laughing. He looked concerned, and that was fair enough to Michael. Michael was concerned for himself.
“Yes. I’m fine. If you were wondering.” Michael sat up and searched desperately for a topic to switch to. “Hey, remember when I dated Simon for like a week?”
BAD CHOICE, screamed Michael’s mind. You made a MISTAKE!
“Uh, in eighth grade?” Jeremy snorted. “How could I forget? You’d never shut up about him.” Jeremy’s eyes narrowed. “Hold on. He was the guy everyone thought was crazy, wasn’t he?”
“He wasn’t crazy,” Michael protested. “We were middle schoolers. Middle schoolers think everything’s ‘crazy’.”
“He was weird, though.”
“...yeah. That’s fair.” Michael sighed. There was a reason his love life wasn't usually brought up. By him, at least.
Jeremy flopped down next to him. “How'd that come up?” Michael scrambled for a response other than ‘well, I was just thinking about boyfriends and hey you’d make a pretty good one, wanna date?’
A realization he’d had minutes ago was already ruining his life and/or threatening his friendships. There had to be some kind of record for that.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Crushes. I guess. Uh, do you like anyone?” Okay. That was fine, probably. Perfectly normal teenage small talk.
Jeremy’s eyes went comically wide and he emitted a tiny squeak. “ Uh. I d-don’t—” His face steadily went red. “I think I like Christine?” It came out as a question.
Michael’s brow furrowed. “Christine? Like, Canigula?”
“Yes,” Jeremy said. “Yeah. Her.”
“Oh.” Michael felt disappointment settle in the pit of his stomach and come on, he’d known this was going to happen. Gay clichés. Forever stuck pining. “That’s cool. Wanna talk about her?”
“Noooo!” Jeremy looked endearingly flustered, blushing and—
God. This was going to be a long day.
By the beginning of Jeremy’s junior year, he knew it was time to get over Michael. Michael, though he loved Jeremy as his best friend of twelve years, would clearly never reciprocate romantically. Jeremy would know. Michael...Michael was gay. He wouldn’t like someone who had Jeremy’s body.
Jeremy’s solution: Christine. She was cute, and kind, and if he was a real boy he’d like a girl, right? He pulled at his binder, gave up, and stuck a shirt over it. Needs more layers. Jeremy threw on his cardigan, and that looked okay.
Still. High school was shitty.
Until he heard about it. The SQUIP. It sounded way too good to be true, but...Rich was cool. What if the SQUIP could help Jeremy? What if it made him look like a real guy, a cool guy, someone with a deep voice and a girlfriend? Someone who was never called Ms. Heere, or Rachel?
It was worth the risk, he thought, heading to Payless with $600 in hand. It had to be.