Chapter Text
Michael woke up around 7:16 on Friday, which was only slightly earlier than the 7:30 deadline he had committed to this week. He also woke up to his ringtone getting blasted by his bedside table, rather than his alarm. He shifted on his bedsheets, groaned when he moved into the aim of a ray of ruthless sunlight shining through his blinds.
He flopped around on his back, rubbed at his eyes, ringtone still on full blast, What Time Is It from High School Musical assaulting his groggy senses.
Ugh.
He'd have to change it back to the school year one in just a few days, and for a week it wouldn't even be to teach a class.
He sighed, reached over to fumble blindly after his glasses, finally rolling over to check the caller once he'd gotten them on, squinting at the too bright screen. Oh, ‘course it was him.
Michael huffed, picked up the call as he rolled back over.
“Hey.”
“Yooo, Mikey! Did I wake you up?” The familiar voice called, sounding disgustingly fresh for the time it was.
“Actually, yeah, you did.”
“Aw come on dude, schools right around the corner! You gotta start waking up sooner,” Rich tutted, and even though Michael couldn't see him, he knew he was shaking his head disapprovingly. Michael snorted.
“I am - My alarms set for, like…” He briefly pulled the phone away from his ear to check the time, “ten minutes from now.”
“Oh. Well, still, can't be running late for the start of the year!”
Michael smiled, ran a hand through his hair. “Says you.”
“‘ Scuse me? Are you trying to imply I don't have a perfect record?”
“Yeah, actually.”
“Well, you'd be right, but that's not gonna stop me from keeping yours clean! Aren't i just the best friend for that?”
Michael laughed, rolled onto his side again to push himself up to sit, stretching. “The bestest.”
“Mmh- wait, holy shit - dude - was that - did you just stretch? Was that your back popping?”
“Yeah,” Michael hummed, feeling satisfied from the cracking of his joints.
“Dude? Get a new mattress? See a chiropractor? What the hell?”
Michael snorted as he stood up, shuffled to the bathroom. “Rich, I'm 32, it happens that my back pops sometimes. We can't all be workout maniacs like you.”
“Would do you some good, though,” Rich snarked. Michael rolled his eyes.
“Let me be fat in peace.”
“Hey, I'm not saying you can't be fat - I'm just saying it would do your body, soul and mind good if you'd go on jogs with me once in a while. You can be fat and healthy, live the best of both worlds.”
Michael whined. “It's moving , though.”
“I knooow, Mikey,” Rich whined back, “and your bones would love you for it!”
“Ugh. I wish I could just drink milk to appease them.”
“Fate is a cruel mistress. Pretty sure lactose free milk still gives you calcium, though - and that your bones need more than just milk to be happy.”
“Rich, Rich,” Michael shushed him as he put the man on speaker, reached for his toothbrush, “give me until, like, thanksgiving break to worry about health. Need to get in the zone first.”
“You say that every year, though.”
“And I mean it every year.”
“Mikeeey!” Rich huffed, making Michael laugh while he got his toothbrush ready, got to cleaning. ”At least start going out more, then. Please. You need some social interaction that isn't a bunch of third graders this year.”
“I go out!” Michael protested around the plastic.
“When I say go out, I don't mean being the one weird adult guy at the local arcade. I mean going out.”
“The arcade is way more entertaining, though,” Michael countered. Sighed. “I just - I don't see the point. I'm not any fun to go out with-”
“Let me stop you right there - you too are fun! And I'm not gonna let you sit around and wallow in your depression, dude. That's what friends are for. Gotta keep you extra in check now with the dark months about to roll in and kick your serotonin receptors in the nuts and choke out all your vitamin D - you remembering to take those supplements, by the way?”
Michael spit in the sink, laughed a little. “Yeah. I am.”
“Hell yeah. Mental health Michael Mell strikes again.”
Michael snorted in-between washing out his mouth, put his toothbrush back in the holder. “Mental health Michael Mell is like - he's doing the bare minimum, he just sits around on his couch all day and opens up a window and either eats bread or orders takeout for dinner.”
“So… He's you? You admit you're being unhealthy?”
Michael blinked. “That's- I- Rich! How dare you trap me in my own dumb metaphors!”
Rich laughed. “C’mooon Mikey, please! This local bars holding a trivia event tonight, we could go as a teacher trio and whoop everybody's asses.”
Michael snorted again, leaned back against the cold tile wall of his bathroom. Considered himself in the mirror, the dark smudges under his eyes. Maybe he did need to go out. “Trio? Who else would be joining?”
“Brooke! It's the perfect team.”
“If the quiz is for 3rd graders.”
“Come on, dude, give yourself more credit than that! You're trained up to high school level.”
“Yeah, I was - sorry, I was joking.”
“You know what my policy is on self depreciative jokes! Ain't allowed. This is a healthy coping only zone.”
Michael laughed, rubbed at his eyes under his glasses. “Augh. If I go tonight, will you stop pestering me about going jogging with you?”
“Absolutely not. You know me, Michael.”
Michael snorted. “Yeah, okay, should've seen that one coming.” He paused, sucked in a deep breath, let it out in a sigh. “Alright, I'll - I'll go with you.”
“Hell yeah!” Michael could hear the fist-pump in Richs voice, “I'll text you the address - meet up outside the joint at 10 PM?”
“Yeah, sounds fine,” Michael nodded.
“Sweet. Well, I'm gonna hang up now - and Michael?”
“Mmh?”
“Shower right now while you're already in the bathroom, or we both know it just won't happen today.”
Michael laughed, shook his head a little. “You know me too well, at this point. See you tonight, Rich.”
“Seeya!” Rich replied, promptly hung up.
Michael met his own eyes in the mirror.
Sighed.
He knew Rich was right - he knew he had to change, somehow. But he had no clue how to do it. Nothing felt right, but didn't really feel wrong either - everything just happened. It always got so abundantly clear during the breaks, where he couldn't distract himself with a bunch of lovable little 8-10 year old goofs.
After what felt like an eternity of his brain yelling at him to take off his shirt, his fingers finally listened - only to stop again once the tank top was off, go back to staring at himself in the mirror.
Drifted to his patch of chest hair down to his treasure trail, then stared at his ‘love handles’. He honestly didn't mind being fat. What he did mind was validation - if he was bad at remembering to eat for a couple of weeks, as an example, people would comment on it - ask him if he lost weight, tell him he looked good.
He didn't know when he started running on compliments. That was one of the only things he missed, about high school; how carefree he was.
Well - maybe carefree wasn't the right term. Careless would be the one, with some recklessness mixed in there, too. Teen Michael was a pioneer at the penis game - Adult Michael had a reputation to uphold, now. It felt like a burden and a curse, not being a loser anymore.
A notification ticked in on his phone.
richard “rich “dick”” goranski Today at 7:56 AM
@michael “hot stuff” mell showered yet?
michael “hot stuff” mell Today at 7:57 AM
said it before and ill say it again, YOU KNOW ME TOO WELL
“How about a jog Tuesday after the work day is over? I have a therapist appointment and the run from the school to there isn't that bad-”
“Rich,” Michael said, tone warning. Rich blinked, then held up his hands defensively.
“Hey, no! No no, I haven't forgotten you don't have the money for a therapist right now, I promise I'm only doing it for the health. Physical health. Mental health can wait, for now.”
Michael snorted.
Turns out, three elementary school teachers did actually kick ass at trivia events for a bunch of drunk people, winning the trio a basket of snacks and drinks on the house.
“The only therapy I can afford is this,” Michael sighed as he took a sip from his wine, made a face.
“Mmh,” Brooke tilted her head a little, disapprovingly. “That's not therapy, that's alcoholism.”
“You guys never appreciate my humor!”
“Because your humor is ridiculously straight for a gay guy - like, really, that one dude from high school - Jake? Jake Dillinger? His humor was less straight than yours. And he was the personification of straight,” Rich said.
Michael groan-laughed, buried his face in his hands, “oh my god , don't remind me of him. Jesus.”
“I always thought I had a crush on that guy,” Brooke hummed, “and I was jealous of my best friend for dating him - turns out, lesbianism! And I was jealous of him for dating her.
“She the same ‘best friend’ you practiced makin’ out with?” Rich inquired. Brooke tilted her coke at him knowingly, took a sip. Michael snorted, leaned back.
“How'd it take you until you were 25 to figure out that you're gay?”
“I don't know, ” Brooke said, exasperated. “I was an idiot teen.”
“We were all idiot teens,” Rich hummed, glanced to Michael. “Which one of us was it that found out first?”
“Me,” Michael said, no hesitation. “I found out freshman year. You did junior.”
Rich blinked - “I thought you found out sophomore year?”
“Mh-mh,” Michael shook his head, “came out sophomore year.”
“Ah,” Rich nodded, leaned back. “That's literally all I remember from our first detention together. Bombarding you with questions about your gayness.”
Michael snorted. “Oh, I remember, too. Vividly. Specifically, you asking me if, when having sex, I was ‘the boy or the girl’, and if gay mens asses self-lubricated like vaginas.”
Rich groaned, hid his head in his hands, “oh my god- did I really ?”
“You sure did,” Michael laughed.
“Talk about internalized homophobia,” Brooke snorted, patted Rich on the back. “And doubled up with some nice misogyny, too. God, you were quite the package back then, huh?”
“I'm so glad I'm bi now,” Rich wheezed, face still hidden.
“Cheers to that,” Michael raised his glass, clinked it to Brooke’s (Rich didn't raise his head, though).
After setting her drink back down, Brooke gasped, gently - “oh! That reminds me, Isn't that reunion party supposed to be coming up soon?”
“Don't remind me,” Michael huffed, leaned back in his chair. “I don't even know if I'll go.”
“What!” Rich finally raised his head again, looked outraged, “don't you want to show everyone your glow up?”
Michael barked out a laugh. “What, now that I'm fatter and more depressed?”
“Dude,” Rich frowned, leaned over to grab his shoulder sincerely, “you're hot. If we weren't friends and I saw you in this bar I'd be hitting on you right now. Trust me, you're glowing like a star.”
Michael flicked his hand away, unable to hold a small smile back. “Thanks, I guess, but I think you're the only one that thinks that.”
“I don't know,” Brooke hummed, “for one, I agree - secondly, there's a dude that keeps checking you out a couple of tables back.”
Michael seized up, stared at her with wide eyes - “I - what? No, he's gotta be looking at you or Rich, I- why the hell didn't you say anything?”
“I've been trying! You two never shut up,” Brooke laughed, leaned her chin on her fist. “Angles impossible for him to be staring at Rich, also.”
Rich leaned over to her eagerly, “who is it?”
She pointed someone out, Rich whistled. “Michael's got himself a handsome beanstalk!”
“Oh my god,” Michael shrunk in his seat, shielded his face from anyone but Brooke and Rich with his hands. Rich laughed, nudged his shoulder.
“He's not looking now, take a peek - dusty blue sweater, near the entrance.”
Michael most of all wanted to punch Rich, but he did as told, snuck a quick glance over his shoulder, eyes searching for a beanstalk in a blue sweater - found him.
“Shit,” Michael muttered, quietly, cheeks heating up. They were sitting pretty far apart, so it was hard to really get a good look at his face, but so far… Michael definitely liked what he saw, from the curly, brown, slicked-back chin length hair to the defined nose and pale skin dotted with freckles.
He paused.
Squinted.
Something about him was - was eerily familiar.
The man suddenly looked back over, his blue eyes meeting Michael's dark brown -
Michael flinched, immediately looked forwards again, tensing up. “Shit. We need to leave. Right now.”
“What! No!” Rich put his hands on the table, scandalized, “go talk to him!”
“ Talk to a beautiful man? Are you out of your mind?” Michael hissed, shrunk further in his seat. “He's probably just - staring at me because I'm weird or something, I'm way below his level-”
“Please don't start again,” Brooke frowned, reached over to brush his hair back gently, “we really do mean it when we say you're good-looking.”
Michael made an unintelligible bundle of noises in the back of his throat. “Can we please leave? I don't - I can't handle this.”
Rich huffed, unhappily. “Alright,” he muttered, “sorry if I'm pushing too much.”
“No, it's - I just cannot deal,” Michael straightened up again to pull his coat off the back of his chair, shrugged it on and stood up. Then he froze. “Oh god. Wait. He's standing next to the door.”
Rich snorted, pulling on his own bomber jacket, “he sure is.”
“Oh god nevermind we can't leave.”
Brooke laughed gently, nudged at his shoulder. “Michael, come on, you can walk past him. We'll shield you!”
Michael stared at her.
“We're not taking the back door,” she insisted. He whined. She rolled her eyes, fixed her cap on her shaved head. “Let's get going.”
Michael had never been happier about being shorter than Brooke as when they walked past that handsome angel into the breezy night.