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Jeremy wasn’t certain of a lot of things.
He didn’t quite understand why his palms seemed to clam up so much when he spoke to strangers or peers, even at the ripe age of twenty, but they did. He didn’t really get why his acne persisted on through every brand of face wash and zit ointment he tried, but it would. He didn’t know why his freckles seemed like they increased more and more in numbers every single passing year, but they certainly did. He never grasped why his mother was so adamant on leaving him and his father behind, despite how hard they fought tooth and nail to keep her around, but she did. And he couldn’t fathom why he had to be born into a bloodline of sorcerers, one of the most resented and feared clans of his generation, but he had been.
He wasn’t certain of many things in his life, and he hated it. He hated things just being the way they were, and with the way they were being undeserved, he hated having zero control over it.
But, there was one thing, one new constant in Jeremy’s life, that he was certain about.
He was sure he liked Michael.
He liked the way every single time his spectacled friend would kick his shoes off at the front of Jeremy’s small apartment on the edge of the city, the smell of thyme and sage would fill the room. Whether it’s a faint smell lightly dusting the air from his jacket’s residue of potion making from the other day, or the strong herbal scent that comes from conjuring up a new concoction right before his eyes, Michael always smelled like fresh, comforting woodruff and plants, and Jeremy liked it.
He liked the way Michael would stick around, even if Jeremy had class the next morning, or Michael had work, and they could just talk the night away. They would sit by his tall window, and just chat, about anything and everything. His mother, Michael’s grandmother’s most riveting stories from her childhood, Michael’s most riveting stories from his childhood, the difficulties of college and life, Jeremy and his father’s relationship, just anything and everything. He’ll swear the stars always look brighter on those nights, and maybe it’s just the potion Michael conjures up with that pungent herb he always is going on about, but Jeremy likes to think it’s simply because he’s with Michael.
He liked the way Michael always knew what to do or say. He somehow knew just what potions would help Jeremy overcome once impossible obstacles, or when the day was long and hard, and he would make them sit down for a much needed therapeutic video game session. Michael knew just how to make Jeremy laugh or smile, and he seemed to do that often, which was a great rarity amongst his other peers. He always was able to brighten up any situation, no matter how sad or scared or mad or uncomfortable Jeremy was. He took away any discomfort or fear, in the blink of an eye, with a simple phrase or by just being there.
He liked Michael, and he was certain of it.
“I like you, a lot.” Jeremy admits one day, in an instance of bravery. Hushed, soft, and private in his apartment. But confident.
“Wh-what--?” Michael stammers in response, just like the first day he learned Jeremy was a sorcerer. He was pulling a pot of soil out of his bag, but he rushed to the nearest desk to set it down before the ceramic slipped from his slightly shaking hands.
Jeremy just smiles up at him, and he feels so bright and warm. He’s certain, and he loves it.
He calms Michael down, and explains to him his statement. He explains how before Michael, he never had a friend he could confide in about his magic, or special tricks and family tales he had to keep to himself for so long now. He confesses that Michael is the embodiment of comfort, and Jeremy’s stutter is nearly non existent around him, which is a grand first for those outside of his family, and he’s just so certain and he loves it.
Michael’s now sitting beside him, with the pot of soil in his lap, and placing a lavender-colored potion bottle in Jeremy’s hands. He isn’t sure if Jeremy can hear how loud his heart is pounding, if he can feel the warmth ignite in his body when their knees touch beside each other on the bed, but he listens with a cautious look. He’s surprised with how much his hands are shaking, and so he gets Jeremy to pour the potion onto the pot of soil. Michael explains how this was a concoction he’s spent the past week mastering, and he made it as a gift to Jeremy.
They sit in a soft silence, with no light other than the bright moon shining through his window. The two watch as a plant slowly grows from the soil. A stem rises, followed by bud after bud, which all grow and grow until they blossom into beautiful bell shaped flowers. They’re a gentle lilac color, and Jeremy just sits, empty glass bottle in hand, in amazement as he admires the petals and soft bell shape. He looks up, as if to ask Michael ‘ why these flowers specifically? ’, and Michael had already parted his lips to explain.
“Th-they-- they’re campanulas, or bell flowers. It took a while to create a potion to make these specific seeds grow, because they’re very fragile and delicate, and take a lot of time to properly nurture. But… When you give them the time they deserve, they show you something really beautiful.”
Their eyes met, and they knew. It was silent, and the air was nothing but the refreshing smell of sage on Michael’s jacket, the subtle argan oil of Jeremy’s shampoo, the soft, meadowy scent of the flowers, and their heads resting against one another as they looked at the flowers together. Jeremy wasn’t certain of most things.
But liking Michael? He knew that better than anything else.