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Blue skies in, grey skies out. Jeremy repeated the phrase like a mantra, like saying those words over and over again could somehow make his unsteady breathing come easier, like they were a lifeline. He tried again. Blue skies in, grey skies out, in time with his breathing. He felt Michael’s hand land softly on his back, rubbing soothing circles. Heard Michael’s soft voice coaching him, telling him to breathe, saying “Blue skies in, grey skies out.”
Jeremy’s shuddering lungs finally evened out into peaceful breaths, tears still silently falling. Neither he or Michael said a word, the only sounds filling the deserted bathroom being Jeremy’s occasional sniffles. Michael wordlessly waits it out with him, handing him a tissue and never leaving his side. Eventually, Jeremy is alright again. They head out into the hallway, hands clasped together, and go back to their class.
“So hey, dude, what was earlier today about?” Michael’s hazy voice came through the phone. Jeremy’s breath audibly hitched before returning to normal, and he tried to think of the words to say.
“I mean - it’s just - I, uh, these kids - uhm, these kids in my class, they were just…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say, unsure of how to say it.
“It’s all good buddy, if it’s too hard we don’t have to talk about it.” His voice was soft yet powerful, comforting in a way only Michael could be.
“I - uh, I’d… Yeah. Thanks.” Jeremy was glad Michael understood, glad he didn’t have to explain.
“No problem. Blue skies in, grey skies out, right?” He didn’t give Jeremy a chance to respond. “What’d you play after school?” Yeah, Jeremy was really glad. Really, really glad.
Before he knows it, he’s sitting in the school’s cafeteria, pushing today’s slop round and round his tray, meekly bringing a forkful to his nose and sniffing at it before putting it back down and deciding he’d prefer not to. His lunch table was rather lonely before everyone else got there, and even then a lot of the time he ended up waiting until Michael arrived then making some lame excuse as to why the two had to leave.
The conversations around him seem to build, making him realise that oh, there are other people who’re sitting at this table right now. He stays zoned out of conversation, only picking up tidbits.
“Christine, just ‘cos you’ve got a thing for broken musical theatre boys doesn’t mean everyone does.”
“Oh bite me Brooke, Connor Murphy deserved better.”
He completely zones out.
A hand lands softly on his back, alerting him to the fact he might be wanted in conversation now. A blur of red-hoodie-white-headphones-colourful-patches sits down next to him, and he fully comes back to reality.
“Michael, where were you? We were starting to think you wouldn’t show up.” Brooke said, pouting slightly. “We missed you oh-so-terribly.”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, my hoodie got caught in my locker, then my headphones got themselves involved in the mess, and I had to stand there for ten minutes trying to untangle myself. It was really rather,” he pauses, bringing a hand to his forehead dramatically, “traumatic.” The table erupts with laughter at Michael’s antics, and Jeremy can’t do much more than crack a smile. He leans into Michael’s ear, and whispers,
“Hey, can we talk in private?”
Michael nods subtly enough that nobody else notices, but just enough so Jeremy knows he heard. The rest of them go back to their conversations, leaving the two to slip away as they please.
Michael leads the way to the third floor’s janitorial closet, a place so seldom visited by anyone except the boys that only they even know it exists. The faculty forgot about the broom shed long ago, as shown by the dust and cobwebs that cover Jeremy’s face as soon as he’s inside. He coughs into his elbow as they make their way past stray spiders and dust bunnies. The space is small and cramped, forcing them to press up against one another. Or at least that’s what Jeremy tells himself.
“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Michael whispers, their environment absorbing any unnecessary noise. Jeremy ponders his phrasing for a moment.
“I just, I just wanted to thank you - away from all the, all the hustle and bustle and - and people. You, you really helped me on Friday, and the way - the way you didn’t make me talk about, uh, about it afterwards? That - that was really good of you.” Jeremy fumbles with his words, hoping he makes some semblance of sense, before Michael lets out a breathy laugh.
“Jere, there’s no need to apologise. I just did what I thought was best, I’m just glad it helped buddy.” Michael smiles sincerely, giving Jeremy a moment before speaking again. “All it is, is blue skies in, grey skies out, yeah?”
“Blue skies in, grey skies out.” Jeremy repeats, more to himself than to Michael. The bell rings.
“I’ve gotta scram to bio, but you’ve got a free, right?” Jeremy nods. “Alright, I’ll leave you here. Text me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy responds, and Michael slips out. “Blue skies in, grey skies out.” He says it again, liking the way his mouth forms around the words. Blue skies in, grey skies out. He smiles, heading off to do some studying.
Jeremy plops his bag down next to Michael’s desk chair, making himself comfortable on the desk. Michael suppresses a chuckle, moving from the doorway to sit comfortably on the two-person beanbag. The basement smells of weed, brownies, mildew, and mountain dew, and Jeremy breathes it in. He loves it, it reminds him of all the fun times they’ve shared there. Giving up his spot on the desk, he makes his way to Michael and the beanbag, already seeing the way he slouches once he’s comfortable. He sits down next to him, the beanbag now accommodating the two people it was meant for. Jeremy wiggles around for a moment, getting comfortable and making Michael laugh. Jeremy pouts.
“Stop laughing at me, Micah…” He says, turning to face him, the pout still plastered across his face. Michael smiles, some of the laugh left to linger in his gaze.
“Hey, I don’t make the rules, Jer. If you do something cute or funny, I gotta laugh. Just the way it is.” Michael leans back further into the seat, adjusting himself to face Jeremy more than the TV’s blank screen. His glasses slip down his face, and Jeremy reaches forward to push them back up. Michael hums in thanks.
“Feel like playing Apocalypse Of The Damned?” Michael asks. Jeremy nods, and the once-blank TV comes to life at the touch of a button, playing the familiar 8bit music the boys had grown to love.
“Level Nine; The Cafetorium!” Jeremy excitedly wiggles in the chair again, turning towards the front instead of Michael. Michael laughs and hands him his controller, and Jeremy fiddles with the joystick. It won’t do anything yet, because Michael is always Player1, always the one to start the games. The pointer still flickers on ‘LOAD GAME’, and he turns to Michael again. He’s staring at Jeremy and smiling subtly.
“What, uh, why are you looking at me like that?” Jeremy asks, hiding his reddening face behind his cardigan-sleeve covered hands. Michael looks away and smiles to himself.
“No reason.” He says, and then so quietly Jeremy almost misses it, “Just you’ve got brownie crumbs all over your face.”
“Hey!” Jeremy ferociously wipes at his face, stifles a chuckle and pushes Michael off the beanbag. “You’re a meanie.”
“Yeah,” Michael admits through his laughter, “But I’m the best person you know, Jere.”
“Damn right, Micah.” The game screen changes, and they lose themselves in the game together, and all Jeremy thinks is how good this is right now. And it’s really good.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Please, Micah, Micah please pick up.” Jeremy’s strained voice sounds pathetic, even to himself. He hears the desperation fighting its way through his tear-coated voice and cringes, but all he needs is to talk to Michael. Needs it more than he needs air.
The phone rings out.
He looks at the time shown by his phone. It’s 2:49am, of course Michael isn’t awake. He curls himself into a ball, his phone discarded on the pillow, right next to his head. His uneasy breathing turned more into shuddering gasps through thickly falling tears. His hands went to cover his ears, the silence so deafening and unbearable. Tiny splatters of rain against his window and the rumble of thunder in the distance do little to comfort him, and he curls on top of himself, wishing for nothing more than to calm down.
Just, blue skies in, grey skies out, fuck, Jeremy, it’s not that fucking hard, just, fucking, blue skies in, grey skies -
His phone’s ringtone erupted into the quiet storm of his room, and he flinched back from what would normally have been his favourite song. Bracing himself, he turned to his phone.
It was Michael. Michael had called him back.
He scrambled to pick up the phone, answering as quickly as he could, barely being able to force words out of his scratchy throat.
“Michael?” His voice barely above a whisper, he hoped Michael had heard. The crackling breath on the other end of the line went straight to Jeremy’s heart, and he couldn’t help the bubbling sob that clawed its way up and out of his dry throat.
“Jeremy? Please, Jeremy, breathe, okay? Blue skies in, grey skies out. That’s all you have to do, just breathe and remember blue skies in, grey skies out.” The grogginess Michael had been feeling suddenly left him, his only remaining concern being Jeremy.
“Micah I - I tried and, and I just, I just can’t I can’t breathe I can’t -” His own hiccups interrupted his speech, his lungs working overtime trying to get air from the outside world to his body.
“Shh, you’re going to be alright Jere. Can you tell me five things you can see right now?” Jeremy sat up straighter, wiping his bleary eyes to get a better view of his dark room. He switched on his bedside table’s lamp, flinching slightly as his eyes adjusted.
“There’s - there’s my blue cardigan hanging on the back of my door, uh, my - my…” His eyes started sweeping the room and he named the first objects he noticed. “My school bag sitting on the floor, the pac-man poster you got me on the wall…” He trailed off again, looking toward his window. “The big oak tree, and the lightning.” He felt his heart rate slow slightly, his anxious mind still looking for things to do, said thing taking the form of assaulting the inside of his cheek with his teeth.
“Okay, good, you’re doing really well, Jere. Can you tell me four things you can touch right now?” Michael’s voice stayed calm and steady, and Jeremy took another shaky breath. He focused, closing his eyes and dragging his hand across the blanket laid over his bedspread.
“The quilt on my bed, the t-shirt I’m wearing…” He reached up to his face, and trailed his hand along to his hair. “My hair, and…” His toes wiggled in their socks. “The blue fuzzy socks I have.” He took another breath, focusing on it harder. Blue skies in, grey skies out.
“That’s progress, that’s good progress, now can you tell me three things you hear?” He closes his eyes again, ignoring everything but his hearing. He latches on to two sounds.
“My breathing, the - the rain hitting the window, and…” He listened harder. “The thunder in the distance.”
“Jeremy I’m so proud of you, you’re doing everything I ask and I know it’s not easy. Can you name two things you can smell in your room?” Jeremy answers almost instantly.
“Deodorant and old books.”
“Good!” Michael says gently, reassuring Jeremy that yeah, he really is doing okay right now. “And what’s one thing you can taste?”
Jeremy pauses, running his tongue over the wounds in his mouth.
“Uh, blood… I was - I was chewing on the inside of my cheek… I - I swear I didn’t mean to.” The volume of his voice went from quiet to no more than a whisper, and amazingly Michael caught all of it.
“That’s okay, if it’s fact you can’t change it. Are you feeling better now? Even slightly?” Michael asks, no pressure evident in his voice.
“Y-yeah. Thanks, Micah.” Jeremy really hopes tomorrow is a better day.
“Of course. I’m here for you any time, Jere. You be alright to sleep?” Michael tries to say through a yawn.
“Mmhm. You - you should too.” Michael hums in agreement to that.
“I think I’ll take you up on that. Talk tomorrow at school.” The phone call ends, and all Jeremy thinks is how he’s glad. Really, really glad.
Blue skies in, grey skies out, he thinks, getting comfortable in his bed. Just blue skies in, grey skies out.
“C-C’mon, go, go!” Jeremy yells, urging Michael to follow his lead on the game.
“Almost there, almost almost almost there!” Michael yells back, the pressure building up in his voice. Both characters fade into the black screen as the “VICTORY!” text gets stamped over the TV’s display.
They both whoop and holler in unison, the completion of a level once thought impossible now more satisfying than ever. Jeremy goes to hug Michael. Michael kisses him. He doesn’t know what’s happening until Michael’s pressing into him further, harder, he’s breathless and the room starts to get too bright, too loud, too heavy, too much, too much.
“Too much,” He says into Michael’s mouth, pulling away so fast that he loses balance and falls onto the ground. He stays there for a moment, righting himself back into the beanbag and swallowing harshly.
There’s a pause, something unanswered and heavy lingering in the air. The silence grows and builds, almost having its own foreboding presence in the room. Jeremy takes a shaky breath, trying to form a response.
“Michael, what was that?” Jeremy asks quietly, almost no emotion in his voice.
“Jeremy, I - uh, I’m sorry, if you want we can just… forget about it?” Michael doesn’t look up the entire time.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. Next level?” He responds.
“Yeah. That sounds good.” Michael clicks onto the next level, and leaves Jeremy wondering what the fuck just happened.
“Micah!” Jeremy calls out, waving to him from across the road. Michael acknowledges him with a nod in his direction matched with a ‘sup’, taking his headphones off and stopping for a moment. Jeremy makes sure there are no cars coming before crossing the road. He bounds his way over, wrapping his arms around Michael as he does the same in turn.
“Micah, how are you?” Jeremy asks, slipping his fingers into Michael’s hand. Michael cringes and almost flinches away before answering flatly.
“I’m fine, just… not in the best headspace right now. Sorry, can I just, yep cool.” Michael takes his hand from Jeremy’s. “Like I said, not in a great headspace. Kinda wanna be alone right now, is that chill?”
Michael doesn’t wait for a response. His headphones are back on and he’s speedwalking off, away from Jeremy. He’s gone and Jeremy’s left wondering, again, what the fuck just happened.
They sit in a tense silence waiting for the next level to load, three menacing dots fading onto and off screen for nothing more than to taunt them. Michael sighed, the sound hanging in the empty air of the quiet basement. A quick glance to his phone tells Jeremy that it’s already 8:30, and he needs to be home in half an hour to make curfew. Michael knows this, looking over at Jeremy’s phone to see what he’s doing.
“It’s - it’s getting kinda late and the console’s taking a while, did you wanna just give it a miss today?” Michael asks, a hand running through his hair.
“Yeah, sure. See you at school, Micah.” Jeremy states, pulling himself up and out of his chair, which was notably separate from Michael’s. A huff of air and a few steps later, his head is spinning because he’s out on the street instead of at Michael’s and he’s still trying to work out what the fuck is happening.
He sits alone at the crowded table, once again pushing the slop round and round his tray and never bringing it to his mouth. Pulling out his phone, Jeremy sends Michael a message.
to: player1
micah where u @ my dude
The message takes a while to send, courtesy of the entire school being in an almost-deadzone. Waiting for the little circle to stop taunting him, he stares at his screen, stares at the photo of Michael and he as kids. Little-Michael has one pudgy arm thrown around Little-Jeremy, both with the brightest toothy grins plastered across their chubby faces. Even now Jeremy smiles, and he gets a text back.
from: player1
hey jere can you meet me at the normal closet? i’ll be there in 2
Jeremy stands up and puts his phone away, announcing his departure under his breath for anyone who cares to listen. The conversation at the table fades out of hearing range, and he makes his way out of the dining hall to the third level’s abandoned janitorial closet.
He knocks on the door, using a secret code he and Michael made up long ago. The door opens to Michael on the other side, and he pulls Jeremy into the cramped space. He throws his arms around Michael, breathing in his hoodie and sighing. Michael doesn’t return in like, and confused, Jeremy pulls away. Michael’s stoic expression doesn’t change as he starts to speak.
“Jere, you can’t keep playing with my feelings like this.” Michael never meets Jeremy’s gaze, but if he did he’d see the face of a hurt, upset, confused boy. His dry tongue slides over his rough lips, and still Michael doesn’t spare him a glance.
“What do you mean?” Jeremy’s voice is barely above a whisper, and it floats around in the air, unanswered - to Jeremy at least.
“Oh fuck’s sake, Jeremy, you can’t be so oblivious.” Jeremy flinches back, having never heard Michael sound like this before. “God, you know I like you more than you like me, you know it’s unfair to use that to your advantage. You know all that, and still you call me in the dead of night? Still, you give me all these nicknames - Micah, player one, ‘Beats’ boy - knowing what it’ll do to my heart? You don’t care, you just can’t care, can you?” Michael’s question hangs in the air, Jeremy’s heart racing and eyes watering. He struggles to find the words to say to his Micah, his player one, his ‘Beats’ boy. Nothing he could say would be enough. Michael huffs, and turns to leave. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
Jeremy’s shaking hand reaches for Michael’s arm, but he’s too late. It’s too late. There’s nothing Jeremy can do but fall to the floor and cry, repeating words once sweet turned sour.
“Blue skies - fuck, blue skies in -” He cuts himself off with a sob, curling into a ball on the floor. The bell to go to class rings but he doesn’t leave, just stays there as the bustle of the school comes to life again right outside the door. Everyone is just one push of a door away, and yet Jeremy has never felt so alone in his life.
It’s about two in the morning the next time he checks the red numbers of his bedside table’s clock. Jeremy sits up, groaning, knowing the reason he hasn’t been able to sleep at all the past few days - or has it been a week? Two? Reaching for his phone to scroll through instagram, he tries to ignore what he knows is the root cause of his insomnia. He hasn’t spoken to Michael properly since they were in the janitor’s cupboard together, every message he sent was given a one word response, or worse yet, left on read. Every conversation he tried to strike up in class or in the hallways was almost immediately dismissed, either with Michael making a lame excuse like “Hey, sorry dude, I gotta go to my next class” or straight up ignoring Jeremy by putting his headphones on and blasting his Bob Marley, or 80s dance music, or game music Jeremy could only hope wasn’t from Apocalypse of The Damned. He rubs his eyes till he sees colours, figuring he has nothing to lose - Michael’s already gone. He blows out his cheeks like a pufferfish, asking himself is this really the best idea? He puts his phone down for a moment that turns into two, that turns into three, to five, to ten. Jeremy can feel a sadness eating away at the core of his heart, for despite all the people he has surrounding him he’s never been more isolated. Steeling himself, he opens his messages and starts typing the goddamn text already.
to: michael
micah, i know we haven’t talked in what, a week? more? but it’s like half past two in the morning, i’ve never felt lonelier, and if you haven’t blocked my number by now it’ll be a goddamn miracle, so please, for the love of god, let me know you’re alright. even if you don’t want to ever see me on this earth ever again, if you want me to evaporate, tell me that. because nothing you could say would be something i haven’t told myself, nothing you say would leave a bigger ache than this complete radio silence. you’re my closest friend, and yeah i know feelings make this more complicated, but even a complicated acquaintanceship, even just nodding at each other in the halls, even that would be better than this isolation. you’re my best friend, my micah, my player1, my beats boy. i don’t know what to do without you. please, come back to me. i love you.
He backspaces all the text.
This is becoming an unfortunate routine, he thinks, the grey, viscous sludge on his tray looking like something straight out of a horror movie, feels like it’s his thoughts on a platter. He makes a sound of disgust before pushing it away from him and perking up his ears to the three or so conversations around him.
“Rich, that’s totally cool! Of course we’ll call you Lava Boy!”
“Okay but Jenna has to be Shark Girl.”
“Whatever you say, Jakey D.”
“Nonononono, Chloe, you don’t understand. The song I use for my musical audition is so important! I choose the wrong character’s solo and I get stuck in a role I hate for months of my life - months, Chloe! Ugh, this is a nightmare.”
“Okay, you’re being melodramatic.”
“I’m a drama major, we’re defined by being melodramatic.”
Jeremy doesn’t feel like anything he could say would improve the conversations, so he leaves, making the excuse of heading toward a vending machine for something even slightly edible to nobody in particular, meeting only a wave of Christine’s hand in response. Instead, he takes a detour to the second level’s bathrooms, feeling an obsessive need to hide the fact that he’s sending a text to Michael. He snorts, thinking there’s nobody to even hide it from.
to: michael
listen, you owe me nothing but if you feel like talking then meet me at the usual spot in 5, yeah?
His finger stutters in its path to the send button, a million thoughts racing through his head. What if Michael hates you? What if he gets there only to cuss you out? What if he sends you into an anxiety attack like last time? What if what if what if? He shakes his head and inhales uncertainly. Any of that would be better than this silence. So he hits send and heads up three stories.
He stays there until the end of the school day, not even getting so much as a text back.
Jeremy eventually moves from the broom closet to just outside of the main school building’s entrance, which is where Christine finds him sobbing on the floor an hour later, after her audition for the musical.
“What the fuck is wrong with me, Christine? How could I have fucking fucked up so fucking badly? How could I -” The sob building from the pit of Jeremy’s stomach cuts him off, leaving his whole body quaking and Christine with nothing to do but rub his back in small, soothing circles.
“Jere, I don’t think there was anything you could have done better, or anything you can do now. You’ve given Michael space and time, maybe he’ll come back when he’s ready. You can’t push him any further than he wants to go, and I’m sure he’ll make good in his own time, and of his own accord.” Christine’s kind words do nothing to slow his sobs, and she’s powerless to do anything but watch as he brings himself into hysterics.
“I’m so fucking lonely without him, he was my best friend, my rock, and now he’s -” His uneasy breathing comes to a screeching halt before building back up into a crescendo, all the while sputtering and crying. Fucking crybaby, he thinks, and he doesn’t even have the strength to correct his thoughts. Without anyone to tell him otherwise, there’s nothing to correct.
It’s all Christine can do to rub small circles into his back, singing softly as he shakes, as his breathing stutters. Eventually he calms himself down. Christine offers a ride home, and he takes it. The drive feels too quiet without music, but any Jeremy would play would only be something Michael listened to, and Michael…
Jeremy pulls his thoughts away, instead forcing himself to count the streetlights as they drive past each one.
One, I made a mistake. The bulb of that one has burnt out, though the sky’s still light enough to not need them all the lights around it are on - every light except that one.
Two, Michael will never come back. The next lamppost has peeling paint, revealing the dry, weathered wood underneath.
Three, I’ve ruined my life. It’s at this thought that Jeremy’s sticky-taped heart falls to pieces again, feels his nose running and wipes furiously at his eyes. Christine notices, of course she does, and tells him to open the glove box.
“There are some tissues in there babe, take as many as you need.” He thanks her, and she puts on some soft classical music. The rest of the drive home is a comfortable quiet, punctured only by Jeremy’s occasional sniffles.
Christine’s car comes to a slow stop outside of Jeremy’s house, the music cutting off and leaving them in silence.
“Christine, I - thank you.” He says, voice cracking noticeably. She doesn’t say anything, just smiles at him and leans over the centre console to hug him for the longest moment Jeremy’s ever known. She smells like frangipanis and feels nice, but she’s just slightly too small for amazing hugs. The real problem is that she’s not Michael, Jeremy’s mind interjects, and he pushes away the thought by burying his head in her hair.
“Thank you.”
The time on his phone says 12:18 AM, and he should have been asleep an hour ago. Nevertheless, here he is, awake and staring at the cracking paint of his ceiling. He thinks about texting Michael, even knowing that Michael hasn’t spoken to him, or messaged him, or even really acknowledged him in the past two weeks - or were they up to three now? It didn’t really make a difference, he was still basically the only person that existed in his universe any more. For them, life had always been a two-player game, they’d always been at each other’s side to help them see it through, and now? He didn’t have his support any more, and he could guess that Michael didn’t have his. He was trying to fight double the issues he had been used to, and damn, this shit is hard.
Sighing, he writes out another message he’ll probably only delete, but this time to a different number.
to: dramatic kid
hey christine, i know it’s late and shit, but is it alright if i just spill my guts for a bit? this is o much a warning, after this sentence it’s an emotion dump… i guess i just kind miss micah, but what more can i do? i mean, he’ll either come back to me or he won’t, i have no control over that - over him. even still part of me thinks if he was going to he would’ve come back by now, and he hasn’t. idk how i’m gonna do this without him, he’s been there for me since we were little and it just kinda feels like i’m little all over again, like i felt before i met him. how lost and scared and alone i was, all that’s coming back. i miss him.
Before he can give it a second thought, he hits send and puts his phone down for the last time that night, and falls into a restless sleep.
When he gets to the regular lunch table with his tray of mush in hand, Christine’s already there, seemingly waiting for him. She seems riled up, her legs crossing and uncrossing, hands fidgeting with her dress’ hem, rolling up and down her blue denim jean jacket’s sleeves, messing with her necklace. She hasn’t noticed him yet, and Jeremy guesses it’s him she wants to talk to. I knew I shouldn’t have sent that text, it was a mistake - now things are probably gonna be weird for her and she’ll end up leaving me the same way Michael did, and I don’t even like her the way I like Michael and -
“Hey,” Christine interrupts his thought process, beckoning him over. He sits next to her, dropping his tray onto the table and saying some form of greeting back.
“Hey.”
“So, about that text you sent me…” Christine’s words induce a deep breath from Jeremy, shaky on the exhale. He swallows audibly, preparing himself for a verbal attack from the closest person he had to a friend.
“Jeremy, I really think you should talk to him. If you want me to, I can be there while you do, as emotional support. We can set up a speaking circle, where everyone gets a say and we don’t talk over one another. We can do that, and I’ll set it up for you.” The verbal slaughter he expected never came, replaced instead by these kind words she’d chosen.
“I’ve - uh, I’ve tried to talk to Michael but, he, he never responds? Or uh, says anything back? So I - I guess I just…” His voice trailed off, the last two words hanging off a ledge in his mind but refusing to fall into reality. Gave up.
The words stay unspoken yet hang in the air, almost a commanding presence in and of themselves. Words play in the empty space between Jeremy and Christine, rushing around his head and swirling into expressions of emotion too deep to comprehend. She leans into him, one arm around his shoulder as his hands begin to shake and watches the way his knees blur with the swell of angersadnesshurt in the pit of his stomach. Christine looks up and gasps, the sound echoing through Jeremy’s head.
He looks up and sees Michael standing across from him, headphones around his neck and hands still on them. The sharp, unsteady breath enough to bring him back to his senses. Jeremy stands up and walks away. The distant, pounding sounds of Christine and Michael calling his name pierce through the cloud around his head, but he keeps walking. He has to ignore them, because if he doesn’t he’ll have a real breakdown in the middle of Middleborough High School’s cafeteria.
He doesn’t stop walking until he gets home, and even then he holes himself in his room and plays his music loud so both he and his father can pretend he’s not breaking down.
Jeremy wakes up to his phone buzzing incessantly on his night stand, lighting up the room with the bright blue light of the ‘Incoming Call’ screen. The call rings out, leaving him to groan at his state of consciousness. Reaching for his phone he checks the time and unlocks it, reading ‘2:48am’ at the top of his screen.
I could’ve had four more hours of sleep, he grumbles to himself, opening his phone log to see who was even calling him at this time of night.
The screen takes a moment to load, mocking him in its lack of speed. He rubs his eyes lazily, yawning and stretching in his bed. His phone has finally loaded, displaying the caller ID of “Michael”.
“What the fuck?” He murmurs under his breath, now wide awake in the reality that someone he hasn’t spoken to in weeks, maybe a month, just called him at nearly three in the morning.
Scrambling for his senses, his heart rate sets into overdrive keeping pace with the thoughts racing through his mind so fast he can’t possibly keep track of them. His phone starts buzzing and ringing in his hand, Michael calling him again. He takes a steadying breath, letting his eyes flutter closed and answers.
“Hello?” His voice is dry and raspy from lack of use, though I suppose that hides the fact that it’s shaky, he thinks cynically. He fumbles for a second, putting the call into speaker so he can watch the seconds tick by on the call’s length.
“Jeremy Heere, I fucking miss you so much, I -” Michael hiccups, his voice just as hoarse as Jeremy’s. The tears bleeding into Michael’s words lodge like an arrow in Jeremy’s chest, the chilling loneliness and icy desperation he’d been feeling now seemingly reciprocated from the boy who’d broken both the hearts that now ached to be together again.
The silence drills into Jeremy’s mind, broken only by the sullen sobs coming from the other end of the line.
“Michael, where are you right now?” He asks softly, sparing a glance for the taunting clock on his bedside showing that it’s now 2:52am.
“The bridge, the one near the school. The really, really high one.” Michael whispers back, the implications obvious though neither of them spoke it. Jeremy slides his feet into some shoes, urgently shrugging on his cardigan and taking his phone of speaker. His breath stutters and catches in his throat, forming echoes of ghosts of words he can’t muster.
“Please step back from the edge, Micah.” Jeremy whimpers quietly, the panic rising in his chest. There’s a beat or two of complete silence, and then Michael says “Okay.”
“Micah, I’m going to hang up now so I can drive to the bridge. I’ll be there in ten minutes, but please call me back if you want or need to. I’ll pick up the call.” He hears rustling of wind from the other end of the line, and another simple “Okay.”
He ends the call and drives like hell through empty streets, gnawing absentmindedly on the inside of his cheek. His thoughts grow louder, with each passing moment another moment for his worries to build into an overwhelming crescendo. The car’s silent, save for the engine, the locked-off emptiness forcing his concerns to remain trapped in the metal vehicle with nowhere to go - almost as though it were a lifeboat in a raging black ocean, the only beacon of hope the knowledge that maybe he’ll find Michael in the tiniest lifeboat of people he knows.
Jeremy pulls to a stop on the scarcely used bridge and almost immediately throws himself out of the car, tripping over himself to get to Michael. He lands hard on the floor, his left arm taking most of the force. Something snaps in his wrist, making him sick to his stomach with dread, but it’s when he looks up to see Michael standing not even a metre from the edge that he loses it.
He retches, throat burning and eyes stinging and his mouth tastes foul. His gut clenches in the worst way, and when he finally stops and is able to look up again, he sees Michael’s stepped back - far - and is staring at him the same way a long-lost puppy would. His glasses have fogged up slightly and there are tear tracks on his face and neck, still gleaming under the dull street lamp's glow. He stands almost 15 metres from where Jeremy’s keeled over, the tension almost a physical wall built halfway between them to separate them.
Then Michael’s on his knees and he’s crying so hard that his body is almost convulsing to try and get air, and Jeremy’s heart breaks more with each sob because he knows there’s nothing he can do. Shaking, he rises into his unsteady legs and steps forwards slowly, but slow isn’t fast enough so he makes his body move faster until he’s on the ground sitting next to Michael, arms thrown hastily around his shoulders. Michael’s sobs don’t slow.
“Jeremy, I - fuck, I had no clue what I was doing, and I just - fuck…” He whimpers out, voice thick with tears and breaking on every word. Jeremy rubs small circles into his wrist, ignoring the writhing scars and scabs he sees on Michael’s arms. His own wrist is still burning and aching from the fall, it’s obvious that it’s swollen a little in the time since impact and yet Jeremy feels there are more pressing matters at hand.
“It’s okay Micah, just blue skies in, grey skies out. You’re okay, I’ve got you.” Jeremy whispers into Michael’s hair, and Michael just cries harder, clinging into Jeremy’s sleeve for reassurance that he’s there, that this is real, that he’s here.
Time passes without their knowledge or consent, and eventually the sun rises over New Jersey. Michael is the first to break the comfortable silence blanketing the overpass.
“Jeremy Heere, you’re amazing. You’re fantastic, you came to me, I mean you helped me after everything I did to you, and I think at some point I knew - and that’s why I fell for you. You’re my happiness, my sunshine, my blue skies, and without you all I have are grey skies, rainy days without fuzzy socks, and a dull life I wouldn’t want in a million years. I am so, so sorry that I did this to you - to us! I promise I’ll never try to get rid of you ever again, and if I do, punch me - deal?” Michael says quietly, a reluctance in his words - a hesitance to admit he loves Jeremy.
“Of course, Micah. Of course I came, and of course I’ll fucking punch you, you absolute shitlord.” Jeremy laughs through a heave of his chest, wiping his eyes gently as Michael reaches up and presses a chaste kiss to his temple. Jeremy shivered, rubbing his bony hands up and down his thin, sleeve-covered arms.
“Now how about we get home, yeah? It’s freezing out here.” Michael’s eyes, while still masked by tears, now held a glimmer Jeremy had missed, so so much.
They were back at school, Michael taking every opportunity to remind himself, Jeremy, and all their friends that the two piners were now officially an item. Their whole table wasted no time in their teasing remarks, never missing an opportunity to tell them that they were gross.
“Dude, I get you’re in love but ew!”
“C’mon guys, no sharing saliva at the dinner table.”
“Christine raised you better than this.”
“Aw, guys, I think they’re kinda cute…”
“Christine!”
“Well, they are.”
“Ugh, whatever, they still need to get a room, I don’t need the PDA show every day of my life.”
And so they did just that, they snuck off to the bathroom with whoops and hollers following them as they went, hands locked together.
“Jere, if I ever do anything you’re not okay with just tell me, yeah? And remember that I’ll always be here to remind you of blue skies in, grey skies out.”
“Yeah, yeah, now shut up and kiss me.”