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Jeremy paused the game, frowning, and turned to fully face Michael.
"Wh-whad'you m-mean, 'relationships'?"
Michael didn't move except to nervously toy with the controller in his hands.
"I-I mean. It's not like it's..."
"Y-you mean m-me and Ch-Chrissy? W-we're not ev-ven t-together anymore!"
"Well... Not exactly..." Michael mumbled, rubbing his fingers against the callous on his thumb from years of playing the guitar. It had been softening a bit lately; he'd have to do some research later to figure out if—
"W-what, then?"
"Well, uh... Like... I'm the only one of us who wasn't SQUIPed... So, like..." Stalling and procrastinating, Mell. Quit beating around the bush and maybe he'll give you a straight answer.
"So what, y-you're j-jealous?!" Jeremy's voice cracked as it rose to an incredulous pitch. He rose to his feet, arms curled up defensively. "B-c-cause th-the rest of us w-were brought t-together b-by the S-SQUIP, and y-you weren't?!"
"Nonono, that's not—"
"I th-thought w-we'd moved on f-from that, w-why—"
Michael stood, feeling unjustly attacked. His shoulders instinctively hunched, keeping him on even ground with Jeremy's height.
"We have, or I thought we had, but there's obviously still something up your ass about it—"
"S-so it's m-my fault?! N-not l-like I h-haven't already d-done enough—"
"No way, that's not what I was trying to say, I'm just—"
"Th-then w-what are you t-trying to s-say?! Y-you've been acting s-so f-fucking w-weird lately!!"
"Well jeez, I'm sorry I can't get over all the emotional scars you gave me fast enough for you! We all know you're the center of everyone's universe already!"
"W-what is your f-fucking p-problem?!?"
"YOU ARE MY FUCKING PROBLEM!!!"
They stood facing each other, controllers long since tossed to the floor. Jeremy's face was twisted in a snarl of shock and anger, his fists were balled at his sides, and he had taken one step forward. Michael's arms were outstretched in an infuriated gesticulation, and he had stood up to his full height, giving him a height advantage of a good inch and a half. His face showed indignant rage, except for his eyes, which were wide and expressed hurt.
"W-what the h-hell is that s-supposed t-to mean."
"You—! You know what—!? FINE! I'll fucking tell you the one secret I ever kept from you! It's not like I even hid it that well! It almost makes me think you knew and you were just intentionally antagonizing me—which, by the way, if that's the case, fuck you, Jeremiah Heere!! Go burn in hell, for all I fucking care! But, hey, if you're somehow blind enough not to have noticed, then congratu-fucking-lations! You did such a bad job at being my friend that I have to spell it out for you: I LOVE YOU. Yeah, remember when I came out? And you never wondered how I knew?! It was you, it was always you, and never anyone else, and I've never wanted anything more than to just keep you safe and happy and—!! I just—!! Hshfudh!!" With what seemed like a verbal keyboard smash, Michael dove for the stairs.
Jeremy listened to the thumpthumpthumpthumpthump of his friend barreling up the steps at full tilt. He listened to the clattering shrieks of the ancient doorknob in the door at the top of the stairs as it was forced open faster than it could handle. (Jeremy knew just as well as Michael did that if you pulled up as you twisted it, it worked fine. But, he guessed, Michael wasn't thinking straight at the moment.) He listened to the front door swing open, then slam shut. He listened to the achingly familiar sounds of Michael's PT Cruiser; the door's k-thuk when it opened and fwunk when it closed, the engine's slight sputters showing its age before the roar of successful ignition, the crackle of tires turning on pebble-strewn asphalt as the car swung out of the Mells' driveway, the abrupt increase in volume of a complaining engine as it sped away...
Jeremy felt oddly empty. It seemed to him that your lifelong best friend confessing his love to you should spark some sort of emotion, but... Perhaps it was just that his brain didn't know how to feel about it, so opted for radio silence.
He sat in the slowly failing light, the window near the ceiling growing darker and darker with each passing minute. Michael, in all likelihood, had gone to 7/11 and then to the park, where he would currently be sitting on a swing, sucking on the straw of his slushie and brooding, Linkin Park and MCR and Green Day blasting in his headphones. A part of Jeremy's brain wanted to make a stupid joke about Michael sulking about his infinite gayness, but the rest of his brain was still in too much of an upset to pay it much heed.
After some time had passed—he didn't have any sense of how much—Jeremy slowly rose to his feet, feeling numb. Dreamlike, he trudged up the stairs, feet and heart leaden. He quietly opened the front door and exited the house, closing it behind him. He couldn't think, but some part of his brain knew that he was closing that door for the last time.
He walked away down the sidewalk, completely unaware of the tears dripping steadily from his face.
.•∴✬•✩•✬∴•.
Michael sat, right arm wrapped around the chain of the swing he sat on, the toes of his shoes scuffing the rotting woodchips of the playground. He slurped his slushie, hoping brain freeze would give him at least some release from what he'd just done.
He found himself whispering to no one, wishing someone who mattered was there.
"Oh, god, Jeremy... Oh, I'm so, so sorry, Jeremy... What have I done... What've I done... Oh, god, no, no... He's gonna go home and overthink it, and he's gonna think this twisted mess I've got myself into is somehow his fault... Oh, hell... Oh my god, I can't believe I let that slip! What an idiot..."
His grip on the chain tightened until the links were pinching his skin and beads of blood formed, then melded together and trickled down his arm.
He closed his eyes. He wasn't seeing the rotting woodchips below him anyways. His mind was too busy swirling around his mistake.
He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, he was dreaming that Jeremy had come to find him. That he slowly approached and sat on the swing beside Michael's. That he, too, was staring at the ground, not speaking, tears dripping from the tip of his nose.
Michael had ruined everything. He knew it. He didn't have any reason to think otherwise. He'd done the one thing he swore he'd never do, the one thing he knew he couldn't bear the consequences of. Because he knew that if he told Jeremy in simple terms how he felt, that Jeremy would run and never look back. That he would look at Michael in fear and disgust. That he would hate him. That he would abandon him again.
Michael closed his eyes again. He couldn't bear to see his dream, to see proof of how hopeless he was.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I did this. Just leave me be. Let me feel sorry for myself in peace."
There was no response. Michael opened his eyes again and looked over to Jeremy. Jeremy looked anxious and confused. Huh. Shouldn't Dream Jeremy get the message, being a figment of Michael's own mind?
Jeremy said something that Michael couldn't hear.
"I can't hear you..."
Jeremy's face twitched in what might have been a laugh, but looked more like a contorted, sneering grimace. He leaned over and tapped Michael's headphones. Oh. Right. He pulled them off. Jeremy quickly looked back to the ground, expression pained.
"You've got every right to hate me."
"W-w... What?!"
"I'm so sorry I was so... I was selfish enough to let that slip."
"It-it's not your..."
"But it is."
"B-but it's not!! I-I asked you!"
"I didn't have to answer," Michael said flatly. "I could've kept my trap shut, but no, I told. And now I can't take it back and everything's ruined. Just leave me alone to wake up and realize that you actually never want to talk to me again."
"...y-you're n-not dreaming, M-Michael." It sounded like something inside Jeremy had broken. Like Michael's words had snapped his heart in two. Michael watched Jeremy's right hand curl into a fist over his heart, like he was holding the broken half close to its match.
"I love you," Michael whispered. "In the end, that's all I can say for certain."
"Michael..." Jeremy began. "I r-really... I c-care ab-bout you. A l-lot. More t-than I c-care about anyone el-else in the world. Just..."
"...not in the same way."
"Yeah," Jeremy sighed.
"So... That's it? It's over?" He disguised a sob as a hiccupy cough.
"W-well... No... I j-just..." Jeremy furiously scrubbed at his eyes with the cuff of his cardigan. "'M s-sorry... It's just... I r-really, really, really l-like you, y'know?"
Michael sat, feeling unsympathetic, waiting for Jeremy to make his point and leave.
"I— I'm sorry..." The smaller boy mumbled again, choking on a sob. "I kn-know how m-much I hurt y-you, an-and th-this is prob'ly th-the last thing y-you wanna hear from m-me r-right n-now, but..." He coughed out another sob. "I-I almost feel like... It's w-worth a shot?"
Michael stared blankly.
"What is?"
Jeremy's chin wrinkled up and a fresh wave of tears flowed down his cheeks.
"D-d-d... D-d... D-d-dating," he whispered frailly, before covering his face with sweaterpawed hands.
Meanwhile, Michael had unconsciously stopped swinging, and was now gaping confusedly.
"You're... Shitting me, right?"
Jeremy frantically shook his head, keeping his hands pressed to his face. Michael was still for a moment before slowly speaking.
"I don't wanna make you..."
The pale face reappeared, blue eyes wide and glossy.
"N-no, no! I j-just mean... Th-thinking about it... I... M-more than a-anyone else, I... I t-trust you not t-to break my heart. So... So w-why not, right? T-take me out o-on a couple d-dates. Im-impress me. W-we'll p-probably b-be sp-spending our l-lives together anyways, so... S-so why not as-as-as—W-why n-not as a c-c-c-couple?!" He stumbled, red-faced, through the last few words. His tone was earnest, however.
"Are y... Are... Are you seriously... You're not... What're..." He couldn't decide how to properly frame his question, with his brain suddenly in Panicking-And-Confused-Running-In-Circles-At-A-Complete-Loss-For-What-To-Do Mode. He'd never been asked out by anyone, let alone Jeremy Heere.
"Y-yeah, I am. I... I c-can't g-g-guarantee anything, b-but... I d-don't see how it c-could hurt t-to try!"
Michael's brain suddenly fell silent, papers floating to the ground and shouting dying down. He felt oddly numb, yet at the same time more aware of his senses than he could ever remember being. He could feel the chill from his slushie in his left hand, and the crackling, dried blood on his right arm. The world looked like a photograph that someone had put into Photoshop and significantly dialed up the brightness, giving the night a greyish, filmy appearance. He tasted the cherry flavoring that had settled on his tongue. He heard the whispering of leaves above them, heard the rushing of cars on the highway a mile away. He was keenly aware of the musty, sweetly earthy scent of the suburban summer evening; the woodchips, the warm asphalt, the lilac trees across the street, the faint traces of city smog entwined with the fresh breeze from a nearby creek, whose chatter was like bright, bubbly giggling. His mind was filled with static.
He slowly relinquished the chain and outstretched his trembling hand to Jeremy. In an instant of clarity, he withdrew it slightly.
"C... Can I touch you...?" He whispered uncertainly.
Jeremy bit his lip and nodded, brows furrowed, and Michael extended his arm once more. Jeremy took the shaking, outstretched hand in both of his own.
"Y-yeah... I c-could..." Jeremy murmured, seemingly to himself. Michael looked up, the spell broken.
"What?" He breathed.
Jeremy, too, looked up. He apprehensively gave a nervous, crooked smile.
"I c-could think of a w-worse hell than holding your h-hand in p-public."