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Michael hates him in the exact same way he hates Ray.
No note. No warning. A missing car and an empty apartment. It’s two years ago all over again, and Michael can’t help but wonder if it’s his fault; if he’s the problem. Once is just shit luck, but twice means Michael’s just made to be left behind.
He made a mistake with Ray. That much he knows. He didn’t chase, didn’t see the need to when he was so fucking sure he’d come back. Blind faith; blind hope - all it got him was heartbreak and an after-thought message from Barbara saying that Ray’s new girlfriend is, “Super amazing, Michael. You need to meet her!”
So yeah, this time, Michael does everything he can. He calls his mobile; disconnected. He calls his burner phone; abandoned. He asks Gavin to track him; gone. He sends out a message to everyone in Los Santos and prays for something back.
Find Rimmy Tim, and bring him back alive.
&&&
It’s three days after, when Jack asks, “Maybe he got himself into trouble?” As if Jeremy’s a cat stuck up a tree.
“And he left to protect us?” Gavin adds, and Michael desperately hopes that he doesn’t crack a molar from the way he’s clenching his jaw so fucking hard.
Trevor leans across the kitchen table. His top suit-shirt is unbuttoned, building up that frazzled and slightly scuffled look. “It’s possible,” he hums and Michael’s pushing himself out of his chair before he realises it. The legs scrape against the hardwood floor—a sound not unlike nails down a chalkboard—and four sets of eyes snap to him.
Afterwards, he’ll regret not just keeping his mouth shut. But in the moment, the words tumble out before he can stop them.
“You’re all fucking idiots if you think he cared about us for even one damn second.”
&&&
His old apartment smells like Ray.
It’s why he sleeps at the penthouse. It’s why he still pays its rent. It’s why he hasn’t set foot in the place in about a year.
The last time he was there, he wasn’t alone. Now, the thought just makes him feel sick.
“You sure I should be here, Michael?”
“You don’t have to stay.”
“But you want me too…?”
Jeremy looks so much smaller than normal, hovering uncertainly just outside the doorway. Michael stares back at him, wishing he could tell what was going on inside his head.
“You’re not his replacement, you know,” he mutters, just in case, and Jeremy rears back as if he’s been hit. “You smell nothing like him, for one.”
“Oh…”
His old apartment smells like Ray. The penthouse smells like Jeremy. Michael just can’t seem to catch a fucking break.
&&&
Five days after, it’s obvious that Geoff picks the short straw, mainly because he shoulders his way into Michael’s room at 5 pm. His suit jacket is off, and the top three buttons of his shirt are popped, but he’s still everything that Michael looks up too.
“You’re taking this the hardest, aren’t you Michael.”
“And what, you’re not?” he hisses back, tucking his legs back up and under his blankets. If Geoff thought to look hard enough, he’d see Jeremy’s stupid purple and orange doona peaking out; but either he doesn’t see it, or he lets Michael have this one because he doesn’t comment.
“We are, Michael. Of course, we are… but it’s just—I’ve seen you like this before—”
“Shut up,” he growls. The air around them crackles and Geoff levels him with a look full of pity. “Get the fuck out of my room, Geoff.”
He does, but not without hitting him where it hurts the most. “He’s coming back. We’ll get him back, Michael. It’ll be different this time,” and Michael hates the hope that blossoms in his chest.
&&&
Michael’s smart enough to know that it won’t work, but the pathetic side of him? Well, it’s desperate enough to demand that he still tries. So he puts in the number. He hits call.
It rings.
It rings.
It rings.
Someone picks up.
There’s a moment where he’s stuck in limbo. Sat outside on the pier, head tipped back to face the sun with his phone clutched between his fingers. He pretends it’s both of them, or that it’s neither of them, waiting for him to speak first. Schrodinger’s phone call.
“Where are you?” he asks, because he’s desperate and tired, and so fucking alone. He’s still got Gavin and the others—but they were both something so different, something else and Michael misses them so fucking desperately.
No one answers, but Michael can hear the steady sound of breathing on the other side.
“Are you safe?” he whispers, because he’d throw himself into the damn ocean right now if it meant Jeremy would come back. If it meant Ray would call him. If it meant he wouldn’t have to keep losing the people he loves.
There’s no answer again, and something inside him snaps a little bit. He clenches his hands into fists by his sides, pressing them down against the old wooden pier.
“Did I do something wrong?” he pleads, because once is just shit luck, but twice means there’s something wrong with him, there’s something wrong with him, there's something fucking wrong with him—
“No,” Jeremy whispers and Michael slumps back, feeling his head collide with the hard floor at the same time the line goes dead.
&&&
Seven days after, Michael wonders how he managed to survive the first time.
Ray leaves in Spring and it’s sometime around Autumn when it finally sinks in. He’s not coming back. Ray’s not coming back tomorrow, today or in three weeks time. Ray’s gone, and so are all the promises he made.
“You want to get married one day?”
“No.”
“... Not even if it was to me?”
Ray glances at him over the top of his DS and his eyes look pitch black without the screen illuminating them. Michael does his best to hold a straight face because laughing would give Ray the opportunity to take his words as a joke and he doesn’t want that.
“If we’re not dead by the time we’re thirty, then sure.”
“Sounds like a good plan to me.”
It would be funny, something that he could look back on and joke about with Gavin or even Jack, if it weren’t for the ring he’d purchased, buried in the back of his closet once upon a time ago.
&&&
In a way, Michael hates Gavin too.
It wouldn’t be hard to add him to the list—the godforsaken list of damaged people that Michael loves—but then again, ignorance is bliss and Michael would rather just keep pretending.
At least this way, when Gavin shows up to the penthouse covered in lipstick marks and that goddamn lovestruck smile on his face, he can pretend it doesn’t hurt. When Gavin asks him if he wants to get bevs, only for Lindsay and Meg to be there when he shows up, Michael can pretend he’s not jealous.
Because Gavin was almost a mistake; he was almost a mistake in the same way Ray was. The same was Jeremy currently is. A habit he can’t seem to break, falling for someone who doesn’t have the emotional capacity to love him back.
It his own brand of torture, one more effective than anything Alfredo could ever think to dream up.
&&&
Two weeks after, Michael gives up.
It’s three am when he crawls under Jeremy’s empty bed sheets, pulling them up and around him—suffocating himself in Jeremy’s scent. It’s three am when he shoves his face into Jeremy’s purple pillow, letting his tears turn the colours more black than purple. It’s three am when Michael loses all hope that Jeremy will ever come back.
It’s like losing a part of himself. A perfect 5”4 hole. Open, raw and destroying him from the inside out.
But.
But.
It hurts so much more this time.
Why does it hurt so much more this time?
Ray’s hurt. Ray’s still fucking hurts. His best friend left him. His best friend up and fucking left him, with no warning, two days after Michael took a bullet to his shoulder. There was nothing, no explanation, no apology. It was just Michael, a few empty promises and a cheap kiss that didn’t mean as much as he thought it fucking did.
But Jeremy’s? Jeremy’s fucking kills. Jeremy’s tears him apart. There was something there; he was so sure of it. It was an almost. An almost lover, and almost boyfriend. A person Michael thought he could trust. A person Michael told everything. From the reason why he keeps his old apartment, to the fucking ring he brought six weeks after Ray made that promise. He was almost everything he needed, but then he fucking left.
So Michael gives up. Jeremy’s not coming back. Ray’s not coming back.
Maybe he’s just built to be left behind.
&&&
He gets a text message from a burner phone. Gavin tracks it for him and he learns very little, but it’s enough. Purchased in Austin, Texas; paid for in cash.
Can we meet?
Impulse makes him want to text back ‘no’, but he doesn’t. He just stares at it, as the rest of his crew stare at him. No one dares to interrupt the silence that’s settled around them, but Michael wishes they would. The kitchen’s never been so eerily silent before and it makes him uneasy.
Geoff puts a hand over his hand; Michael manages not to flinch. “You don’t have to go. We can send someone else if it- if it’s too much.”
“It might not be him…” Trevor mutters and Michael can hear how much it hurts him to say that. He knows they’re all hurting too. Being apart of the crew means being apart of a family, so Jeremy leaving hits deep in all of them.
He stares back down at the phone. There’s a slightly visible tremble to his hands that he doesn’t bother trying to hide. “I gotta try,” he whispers and Geoff slowly pulls his hand back, “doesn’t matter how small the odds are, I gotta see if it’s him.”
Where?
&&&
His apartment, ironically enough, sits on Innocence Boulevard. It’s a four-story building, with one dodgy fire escape and a back alleyway that Michael absolutely hates.
It’s the last place he broke something, his fist after punching the fucking brick wall. It’s where he and Ray kissed for the first time. It’s where he had to explain to Jeremy that his place in the crew? it wasn’t merely temporary. Bad things happen in that alleyway, which is exactly why he sits on the front steps of his building and waits for Jeremy, an ambush, whoever’s coming to meet him there.
At five to three, Michael stands. There’s a slight tremor to his whole being, but it makes itself known the most in his legs. They shake, and it’s enough to force him to lean against the wall.
At five past three, a car pulls up at the curb. Michael knows that car. He’s ran heists in that car. He’s joy ridden in that car. He’s crashed that godforsaken fucking car before. He’s the reason why the back bumper is black and not orange. He’s the reason it has a stain on the back seat.
And he’s never been happier to see that stupid fucking car.
At least… he was, up until the moment two bodies climb out of it and Michael’s heart stops beating.
&&&
Jeremy makes the first move.
He approaches the steps slowly, like he’s approaching a wild animal ready to run, and Michael doesn’t blame him. Especially since he’s got one hand on the door handle and the other out in front of him, trying to tell the world to stop.
“Just… give it ten minutes?” he whispers, coming to a stop on the bottom step. Michael stares at him. It’s only been two and a half weeks since he saw him last, but God, it’s felt like years. He looks the same, but somehow entirely different and Michael realises it's because of the look in his eyes.
Fear, apprehension, insecurity and a little bit of guilt. It’s like he’s just joined the crew all over again and Michael hates it. He opens his mouth, ready to say something, but the words die on his tongue. It doesn't help that Jeremy’s already stepping back, making room for Ray, who's stuck hovering awkwardly by the car.
Neither of them make a move. It's a stalemate. Both of them not quite sure where they stand with the other.
“You flew all the way out here with me, Ray,” Jeremy mutters in the end, cutting through the tension in a way only he could, “and I know you didn’t do it just to stand on the sidewalk the whole time.”
Ray turns his gaze to Jeremy.
“Maybe not,” he mutters, “but it would be a hell of a lot more easier if I did.”
&&&
The second the door swings shut behind Ray, Michael’s moving towards the kitchen. He doesn’t care if Ray follows. He doesn’t care if he turns around and walks right back out onto the street. All Michael cares about is dousing the fire that’s ignited inside him with alcohol. It’ll make things worse, he knows, but he can’t fucking find it in himself to care.
He pours himself a glass of whiskey and downs it in one swallow. Ray makes a face. Michael pours himself another.
“So Jeremy left, to go get you,” he hisses, sipping it this time. The alcohol does a good job of masking Ray’s scent; both the one that lingers in his apartment and the entirely different one that belongs to him now.
“He told me that you needed—you needed me.”
“He lied. You can leave. Sorry for wasting your time.”
“Michael.”
Something catches inside him, and the burning in his veins turns into a full-blown forest fire. “You don’t get to ‘Michael’ me,” he hisses, spinning around to meet Ray head on, “you left. You fucking left. No note! No reason! You left me all alone and I—” his voice cracks. Ray looks guilty, for what Michael guesses must be the first time in his entire life.
“I didn’t think you’d take it this hard...”
He sets the glass down just a little bit too hard, and the sound resonates through the room. Sharp and obnoxious, just like the anger inside of him. His face feels hot, and it’s either the anger or the alcohol that’s staining his cheeks red.
“Don’t lie to me. You knew exactly what would happen, how I’d feel.” He leans his hip against the counter. “You aren’t stupid Ray, but you are selfish and cruel. I always pretended you weren’t, but we both know who you are and what you’re capable of.”
It only takes a second for Ray’s posture to change and Michael watches him snap upright. He picks at the fabric of the couch lazily, from where he’s balanced on the arm precariously. “We were killing each other—”
“Try again.”
Ray sighs. “Okay. You were killing me. You expected so much from me Michael. You wanted so much. You wanted a happy family, you wanted a boyfriend and a husband and the whole shebang. I couldn’t give you that and I knew you wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
“You think I would have forced you to be with me?” he asks, frowning slightly. The anger drains out of him slowly, and then all that’s left is that all too familiar hollow feeling.
“No, not in the way you’re thinking,” he mutters, looking up at Michael, “you wouldn’t have made me be with you, but you would have made me stay with you, Michael. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stay—I couldn’t—”
“Yeah. I can see that now.”
&&&
He tells Ray to send Jeremy up and in after him and pointedly ignores the look that flashes in his eyes. He waits for him on the couch at first, but the nerves get to him and he ends up pacing around the apartment. When the door opens, he’s halfway to pouring himself another glass of whiskey, just to do something with his fucking hands.
Jeremy hovers in the doorway again and deja vu washes over him. He stops. Jeremy licks his lips. Neither of them move.
“You—” he tries, but the words fail and Michael has to look away to keep himself from crying. He sucks in a deep breath, staring at the tattered wallpaper while he pretends he’s alight.
“You left—”
“I—I was coming back!” Jeremy interjects and Michael holds up a hand.
“You left… to go find Ray… for me?” he finishes. Jeremy slowly nods and Michael takes one step forward. “Why?”
“You brought a ring for him, Michael. You’re in love with him. I was just trying—I wanted—” he looks away, gazing dropping to the floor like he’s waiting to be scolded. Michael swallows around the lump in his throat.
“You could have told me…”
“And what?” Jeremy replies, shrugging slightly, “leave you disappointed when I inevitably failed? Have you tell me not to stick my damn nose in places where it doesn’t fucking belong? I didn't know if—” he stops. Michael takes another step forward. It’s a year ago all over again, but this time Michael’s more prepared.
“You didn’t know what?” he asks, sucking in a breath and holding it. Jeremy shuffles on the spot, looking anywhere but him.
“I didn’t know if I was allowed—” he sneaks a glance a Michael—“no, I mean—I didn’t want to—Michael, you have to understand,” he pleads. He runs a hand over his head and Michael can see the red scratches he leaves behind in wake of his fingernails. “I just didn’t want to overstep any boundaries, and I know I should have asked, but—but you were just so—and I wanted to help! And—and—I’m so fucking sorry,” he babbles, his breath coming out in quick huffs.
“I messed this up, didn’t I?” he whispers like it’s a secret. Like it’s the end of the world. Like he’s just realised what he’s done. “I shouldn’t have tried to—I just wanted to—I thought it would work. Fucking hell, fuck, fuck!”
He makes the move to do it again, ready to drag his nails across the top of his head and Michael can tell it’s going to draw blood this time. He wants to stop him, wants to stop Jeremy from hurting himself.
So he does.
He reaches out and catches Jeremy’s wrists, holding them down gently. Jeremy instantly freezes, and whether it’s from the touch or the proximity, Michael doesn’t know.
“You’re not his replacement, you know,” he whispers and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut, face scrunching up. It’s a tell and one that screams to Michael that he’s hit Jeremy so close to home. “I know you think you are, and I’m honestly terrified that you still believe that if Ray comes back, we’ll get rid of you… but we won’t.”
“Michael…”
“Listen to me,” he pleads, squeezing Jeremy’s wrists and waiting for him to open his eyes first before continuing. “Yeah, I brought him a ring. And yeah, I was gonna ask him to marry me. But Jeremy, three days after I told you about it, I realised I didn’t need it anymore and I threw that fucking thing off the pier. Do you know why?” he asks. Jeremy stares back at him with wide eyes as he shakes his head, and Michael licks his lips slowly.
“Cause of you.”
“What? I—I don’t—”
“I—I know I loved him, and maybe I still do—” Jeremy flinches- “but not in the same anymore. He’s different and I'm different, and it doesn't matter how many times you bring him back for me, he’s still going to leave again. The thing is, yeah it hurt like hell when he left, but Jeremy, it felt so much fucking worse when you did.”
He lets the words sink in. He waits for Jeremy to react, but all he does is stare down at Michael’s hands, eyebrows furrowed. “I didn’t think you’d…” he mumbles, words trailing off.
“What?” he whispers back, “notice? Care? Of course, I care, Jeremy. Of course, I fucking care about you…”
He waits for a moment. Jeremy’s chest rises and falls in quick succession and Michael runs his hands up Jeremy’s arms, settling just below the elbow. “I don’t want to do this wrong again,” he continues, “I don’t want to make the same mistakes twice, so if I’m being too much or if I’m ‘killing you’ then please tell me—”
“You’re not,” Jeremy hisses, head instantly snapping up, “you couldn’t.”
He lets out a harsh breath. “You’re not his replacement,” he says again, and Jeremy sways on his feet, gravitating ever so slightly to Michael. “You smell nothing like him, for one.”
“And that's a good thing?” Jeremy asks, and the look on his face is so open and vulnerable that Michael feels his heart skip a beat.
“Yeah, it is,” he mumbles, and then he’s surging forward to kiss him and Jeremy happily meets him halfway.
&&&
Michael wakes up with a body lying along the length of his, and a face pressed into the crook of his neck.
He doesn’t dare move.
It’s much nicer just to enjoy the moment. The way Jeremy’s breath skitters across his skin. The way he can feel the other man’s heart beating steadily against his. There’s no worry that he’ll wake up to an empty room. There’s no threat of heartbreak when he’s got Jeremy right there, sapping his warmth from his body like the thief he is.
He lets his hand move slowly, tracing the length of Jeremy’s spine; following along all the bumps and dips. It’s only when he moves in to kiss the shell of Jeremy’s ear that he gets a reaction.
“Go back to sleep,” Jeremy slurs and Michael laughs softly.
“What time is it?” he questions, turning his gaze towards the window. Light seeps through the gaps in the curtains, but it’s not enough for Michael to believe it’s time to get up. Plus, even if it was, he wouldn’t dare disturb Jeremy. He waits for a reply, and when it doesn’t come, he slides his hand down Jeremy’s side to rest on his hip. The gentle lulling of Jeremy’s breathing makes him close his eyes, and it's hard not to give into Jeremy’s advice.
Before he completely goes under though, he presses his nose into Jeremy’s neck and breathes in.
He smells like apples and gunpowder. Michael loves it.