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Sometimes, it’s just too much for Jeremy.
It’s not always bad. It’s easy, when they’re doing their thing, because it’s almost always hurried and rough and purely physical, and it allows Jeremy to stop thinking most of the time. He doesn’t have to worry about whether it’s real or not, doesn’t have to feel the sting of his unrequited feelings. It’s simple, when they’re tangled together in a closet or the backseat of Michael’s car (or, one memorable time, skipping class in the teacher’s lounge), to forget everything and lose himself in Michael.
Other times, though, it’s not so simple. When Michael smiles at him from across the lunch table, the corners of his eyes crinkling, Jeremy feels something deep inside him ache—a hurt that keeps on growing. Every time Michael bumps their shoulders together, every time he grabs Jeremy’s hand, it’s worse, and maintaining his composure becomes more difficult by the day.
They’re backstage before rehearsal one day, catching a moment together before anybody else arrives. Michael’s got his hands on Jeremy’s hips, sucking his lower lip into his mouth, and Jeremy’s clutching his elbows, pulling him closer. Michael licks into Jeremy’s mouth, and Jeremy whimpers.
Then, though, Michael draws back a little, slowing the movement of their mouths. His hands find Jeremy’s, lacing their fingers together tightly, and he breaks the kiss.
Jeremy looks up at him, a question on his lips, but Michael’s looking at him with a puzzling expression, affection and something almost like sadness in the depths of his eyes. It takes Jeremy by surprise—takes his breath away—and the words die on his tongue, his heart jumping into his throat.
Michael leans in and presses a soft, fleeting kiss to the tip of Jeremy’s nose. Then he kisses Jeremy’s forehead, lips lingering there this time, and Jeremy feels tears prick at his eyes. Inexplicably, something close to anger flushes his cheeks, his stomach clenching. He knows it’s irrational to be angry at Michael for this; after all, Michael has no idea. But it fucking hurts, and honestly, it’s easier to be pissed—it makes him able to ignore the pain.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Jeremy reaches up and tilts Michael’s chin down. Their mouths meet again, messy and hot, and it distracts Jeremy long enough for him to swallow back the tears.
Later, when Jeremy is curled up on the backstage couch with Michael’s arms around him, dozing after rehearsal, the memory returns. Michael’s soft lips, burning a brand against his forehead. The look he’d had in his eyes just before, almost regretful—almost pitying.
It makes him feel sick. The weight of his feelings for Michael, this secret, feels crushing at times, especially right now. Jeremy is being suffocated by the force of his feelings, and all he can do is hold on to Michael and pray he won’t be swept away.