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Rainbow Road, even if it’s just a track in Mario Kart, is like gambling all on its own.
Playing it, it’s just chance. You’re either chosen to be the player who falls off at every turn and fork, or you’re chosen to be the winner. Experience does not save you, Blue Shells do not save you, and the podium is reduced to the flip of a coin. Fate, and only fate, decides.
So really, it’s the worst map to take a bet on if you have a history of winning. The reason why Michael bet on himself to win Rainbow Road is a mystery in itself. He’s great at this game, competitive like most carnelians, and attentive of Fake Item Boxes and Banana Skins, but he’s never been able to master Rainbow Road.
Other maps, Michael knows just how to kiss every apex and right when to throw Green Shells. If there’s not a cup of water dumped on his head— because God knows, if there’s one way to piss Michael Mell off, that’s how it's done— or he’s not blinded by Jeremy’s wings, he’ll win every track with ease, even Bowser’s Castle and Wario’s Gold Mine.
Michael’s even complained before that he thinks Rainbow Road is “literally just a lottery”, but after losing their last Special Cup tournament because of one accidental slide off the map, apparently he’s changed his mind, apparently he’s been practicing on his own, apparently he’s made himself a match that Jeremy’s supposed to fear.
And apparently, that’s all true. Rainbow Road is actually not up to luck.
Okay, Michael is a very competitive gem, and Jeremy knows that. He’s known that for however long he’s known Michael. It’s just his nature. Jeremy also knows that Michael doesn’t tolerate cheating, but, and hear him out, he also knows that Michael loves rubbing things in Jeremy’s face.
Look, a thousand of “I told you so”’s and smug glances later, his cockiness kind of gets annoying. Not annoying in the “I want to smash your face in” way, but the “I just want to prove you wrong one time” way.
It’s frustrating, sometimes, how much he likes to be right, and how he ends up being right, most of the time. A stroke of good luck was not going to save Jeremy, he had to take matters into his own hands.
So, reasonably, he did what any other right-minded person would, and he cheated.
Gaming sessions between them, especially Mario Kart, weren’t exactly intense or serious. Sure it’s Michael’s nature to be competitive at video-games, but he could still put his arrogance aside to joke around.
He doesn’t like losing, it’s practically in his biology, down to the very scientific molecular composition that made up the cells in his body, but he won’t throw temper-tantrums if he does. It’s not his top priority to win everything, just… something he cared about.
Still, did Jeremy mention that he does not like losing?
“Jeremy I swear to God, stop trying to break my controller!” he snarled, tendrils of steam swirling around in the air, coming from his drenched hands. “For the last time, water damage does not fall under warranty.”
Tch. Excuses excuses. Still, Jeremy can’t afford to buy Michael a new Wii remote, so he stopped drying to drown his controller, and instead, encapsulated Michael’s face with a puddle of water.
Michael’s protests are muffed by the liquid, but judging by the wind current that suddenly thrashes Jeremy against the wall, Michael isn’t enjoying himself.
It’s okay, he can’t drown, he’s a gem. He just, can’t see, and that’s Jeremy’s objective here. He knows what buttons he’s pressing, Michael doesn’t. His kart, spray-painted orange for Princess Daisy, skirts off the track with a screeching sound.
“Sorry Michael, what was that? Couldn’t hear you.” Jeremy mocks, his back was aching, but his character was flourishing. Birdo is having the time of her damn life, her happy whirs music to Jeremy’s ears as he drives past the finish line, Michael surprisingly still somewhat in tow.
But it’s still a victory for Jeremy, and a loss for Michael, regardless if his skill kept him in a close second, regardless if Jeremy cheated to win.
The moment Jeremy releases Michael from his blurry H2O prison is the moment he slams the toy wheel against the carpet floor— probably breaking it in the process— and turns over to his saboteur in all his scrunched-nose glory.
Oh boy. Jeremy thinks, but he’s frozen, bracing himself for hurricane-like winds to send his body flying out the window. Would not be the first time, actually, but that’s not saying much, considering that they’ve been doing this for years.
Other than the little hiatus. But he’s better now. They’re better now.
Here’s the thing about their weekend hang-outs and gaming sessions, they’re the only time where Jeremy is actually allowed to escape, to be free.
Sure, there are better, more productive things he could be doing. There’s other people he could be hanging out with, people he doesn’t talk to nearly as much, people he could be catching up with. He could be spending time studying or training or catching up on much needed sleep, but he’d rather be here.
With Michael. Who is one of two, maybe three people on all of Earth that know— other than the government, who have to know— his secret.
What he is, outside a very human appearance.
Because Jeremy is a gem, too. A lapis lazuli, if we’re being specific. At school, he hides it— wears a scarf or cardigan that his gem can barely peak out of— because at school, people will judge him, people might reduce him to this danger to society and keep their distance from him.
There, nobody knows except Michael and he lives in fear that someone else might find out. He’s already caused enough trouble, he’s already gotten enough attention out of the SQUIP ordeal, he needs to lay low until people stop talking about what happened, until he’s not in the spotlight anymore.
But here? In Michael’s basement? He doesn’t have to worry about that, because here, and nowhere else, everything is okay. He can laugh here, he has room to laugh here, to breathe here, and he can use his powers here, which after going days at a time without using them, is like uncorking a shaken champagne bottle, finally getting to listen to that sweet Pop! and taste the fizzy foam.
Here is where home really is, where Jeremy doesn’t have to worry about anything except maybe getting a virus from pirating a cult-classic movie, whether or not the local 7-Eleven has repaired their Slushee machine yet, and what to do if Miniclip is down for maintenance.
Cartoons and video-games, eating, sleeping, drinking and love, they’re human pleasures. Little indulgences of native life that gems don’t really need or have any biological desire to sought after, but here they were.
In Michael’s basement, smoking pot, getting drunk, staying up way too late as if it mattered, watching vintage animes and binging out on cheap sweets.
They can more than survive without any of it. They’d just be like, half as happy. So they do this at least once a week to keep up morale, because damn, life can get hard.
It’s a safe space, the epitome of unhealthy living somehow made for an unlikely refuge.
Time spent here, with Michael, isn’t like any other. He knows it’s a weird thing to take solace in, but really, it’s... nice. It’s comforting and soothing, gratifying and refreshing, and Jeremy can’t say that about maybe anything else on the planet.
Outside their little bubble— gem pun intended— everything is moot. Upcoming tests or suspicious friends, the threat of popular kids or how eventually, he’ll have to decide whether or not he wants to reveal to the world what he really is, can just be shirked off, even if it’s just for a couple hours.
Jeremy just, never knew how much this meant to him before. He really wishes he’d realized sooner, because hell, he hurt so many people for no good reason. He never knew what he was taking for granted until it just suddenly wasn’t there anymore.
So even when Michael shakes off the water like he’s a dog, and lunges over to pounce on Jeremy, he feels some unbidden warmth in his heart. Something innate and intimate, telling him that he wants to say here forever, swept away from the dangers and stresses of life.
God, he missed this so much, missed Michael so much, he never wants to not have this again. It’s so easy to get lost here, and he loves that.
(It’s a weird feeling he sort of wants to hate, but can’t, for some reason. It’s something he craves, actually, inviting and homely. It’s a twinge in his pounding heart he likes to ignore, because ignoring it sounds easier than thinking about what it might mean.)
But Jeremy’s thrown out of his head by his spasming body. His legs were squirming, back arching, and he could hear himself giggling.
Michael’s fake punches and light jabs have apparently proved ineffective. He’s resorted to tickling instead. A respectful tactic, if your name isn’t Jeremy Heere.
“Ah! Michael!” he yelps, mid-wheeze. Jeremy knows his legs were already trying to kick up, but he realizes that Michael’s already planned ahead. Their legs are coiled together, pressed against the floor with Michael’s ankles curling over his, effectively pinning him place.
There’s mirth in Michael’s eyes, so unbearably fond and affectionate. That slight glint of anger was so foreign now, long gone. It happened a million years ago, and since then, has been renovated and replaced with a smile so wide it probably hurts.
It’s times like these that Jeremy can really forget everything. Michael’s house could’ve been on fire, the Earth could’ve been hurling towards an impending doom, but Jeremy wouldn’t care.
A gut feeling tells Jeremy that he doesn’t want to, and probably shouldn't, pee from laughter, so he follows his instinct and he decides to fight back.
Lapis lazuli’s aren’t prone to strategize or plan ahead, and they’re not really tactical or cunning, but Jeremy knows Michael well enough to know his blindspots, and where he’s most ticklish.
So yeah. It’s fucking game time.
He decidedly doesn’t crane his head down to look— and it’s better if he doesn’t anyways, just for the element of surprise— so finds the hem of Michael’s sweater blindly, then reaches up to his waist, knowing that’s where his fingers will do the most damage.
Predictably, it’s a critical hit. Michael breaks out in laughter, keeling over on the floor weakly, letting the lazuli take stead and dive onto him.
With the shift in balance, the two of them roll off Jeremy’s beanbag and crash onto the floor. It’s a battle that neither of them are really winning, nor that neither of them really care to win. They’re both giggling, toppling over each other like a tumbleweed around Michael’s basement.
First Jeremy’s on top, then Michael pushes his shoulders down, and he’s on the floor again. Repeat.
Michael’s on his haunches, trying to strangle the circulation out of his arms by twisting them around Jeremy’s back, but Jeremy bucks his knees into the carpet, his feet kicking lightly into Michael’s stomach with just the right enough force that his grip on Jeremy’s wrists loosens.
It’d almost sound like a fight if they weren’t both giggling, if their movements weren’t so sporadic and messy, if Jeremy’s heart wasn’t thumping loudly in his warm ears, if this wasn’t over him cheating at Rainbow Road to win a stupid, twenty-dollar bet.
See, this is what he means. Things don’t have to be serious here. Nothing’s life or death. There’s no tough decisions to make, and he can just, laugh.
Jeremy doesn’t know how he never saw that before. Maybe he just didn’t feel it, because he was too deep in his head. Always worrying, always scared, always hurt, always thinking that he’s not good enough.
He gave these nights up, he gave Michael up, just so he could be someone he wasn’t. Jeremy wanted his life to be more than just this, but now, this is all he could ever ask for. This is perfect.
The SQUIP is the biggest mistake Jeremy’s made to date, and that’s saying a lot.
Jeremy didn’t remember when time froze on them. He didn’t remember when Michael stopped moving, when they started staring into each other’s eyes, when the room went quiet, or when he started blushing.
They weren’t wrestling anymore. Any and all laughter has died out, and he’s just realizing it now. They were just stuck, in this position, with Jeremy toppled over Michael, his arms the only thing holding him up from disaster.
But it feels so intimate, the quiet. So delicate and fragile and unnerving that Jeremy simply doesn’t want to change it. Jeremy doesn’t want to change anything here.
He sees, for a split second, the happy red glow under Michael’s sweatshirt before it turns bright white, encompassing his vision.
He notices that, for the first time, it’s not just Michael’s gem glowing. He feels this weird tingly sensation on his nape, and it’s something primal, how he just knows, even though he can’t see it.
It’s blinding. Jeremy wonders, for a split-second, how bright it actually is. If the light flares out of the basement window, if it’s visible from in-between the panels in the wooden flooring upstairs.
But it fades. The light goes as quick as it came, unwavering, and confident.
And the first thing Jeremy sees is an empty basement.
The first thing Jeremy thinks is that Michael is gone. That he’s disappeared, in a snap, just like that.
Then panic floods into his body, blood rushes straight to his head because oh, God, God, God, where did he go? He was just here.
His body flings against the couch— it’s heavier than he remembers— and he manages to scramble onto the chesterfield to study the basement: its patterned burgundy carpet, the tattered pair of beanbags, the vibrant posters and flags and its low swinging string-lights and threadbare walls.
It’s all the same, except for one thing. It’s Michael’s basement, without Michael. The only time that ever happened was when Michael went upstairs to use the bathroom or to get sweets from the kitchen pantry.
“Michael?” Jeremy hears himself ask. It’s shaky and unnerved, but it’s not his voice that comes out. It’s not Michael’s, either.
“Jeremy? he says, it’s Jeremy again, but Jeremy doesn’t remember saying it. The pitch then is lower, too—
He looks down, they look down, to see four arms and a hodgepodge of mismatched clothes. It’s Jeremy’s denim jeans, but with enough baggy pockets to be called cargo jeans. Michael’s hoodie is tighter, the colour is faded, longer, violet, and it’s decorated in new patches.
Did we…
Fuse?
Their suspicions are confirmed by how their voice comes out polyphonic and two-toned. They fused.
They fused.
But the thing is, they’ve never been able to fuse before. They’ve tried, so many times. Jeremy couldn’t count the number of times they’ve awkwardly danced in Jeremy’s bedroom or bound themselves together, sometimes with a rope, trying to fuse.
Their first attempt was in the sixth grade, it’s been five years; at some point in between they just accepted that they couldn’t. That fusion was just a trick they’d never be able to master.
And here they are.
Fuck, is this good or bad? Does this mean anything? What changed? Why are they able to do this now?
They don’t know what to call themselves, or what they are. Voltron? It’s a good question, and Jeremy would think more on it if he wasn’t absolutely flooded by this feeling inside.
“Holy fuck.” they say, awed, trying to muster up off the couch. Standing, moving, looks like a baby deer walking for the first time. It’s absolutely pathetic, considering both of them have been doing it their entire lives, but cut them some slack, the combined weight and height is definitely something to get used to.
It’s a learning process. Of course, they’re not learning the process of how to walk, it’s mostly how to stay balanced.
Somehow, it’s easier than Jeremy expected, he thought it was a game of arguing with yourself over where to put your foot from what he’s seen from other fusions online, but honestly, it’s a fluid motion and hardly requires much thought unless they’re about to fall.
Which they did, a lot. Stumbling is a problem, and it doesn’t help that Jeremy panicks his arms but Michael doesn’t, causing him to hit themselves multiple times.
God, what pronouns do they use now? Him? Them? It’s two people, technically, but they’ve combined into one person, so are they plural or not?
Jeremy hopes that these questions would wear away with time. It’s hard not to get trapped in his head, and he doesn’t have Michael there to hold or talk to.
I’m right here. Michael says, or thinks. It’s Michael’s voice, not their voice, that rings in his head— but holy shit, more importantly, can they telepathically communicate now? I’m just as confused as you are.
Jeremy sucks in a breath, and wonders if the flush he’s feeling is visible on both their faces, well, their one face. He’s got so many questions, but he knows Michael won’t know the answer to most of them.
“Have you ever?” he starts, he feels alone and uncertain, but he knows Michael is here. Still, he wants the conversation, the proof that he’s not riding solo. “Y’know, fused before.”
“Only with other carnelians,” the same, but slightly different voice answers. “But like, twice max.”
They’re both nervous, not nervous enough where they were unstable— other than their footing— and on the brink of unfusing, but still, considerably nervous.
But… this feels great, so great that Jeremy doesn’t want to unfuse, or, at least not yet.
It’s such a weird feeling, fusion. So interesting and complex and just… wow. It’s like he knows what it’s like to be Michael, it’s like he knows what it’s like to be something more, too, like there’s something between them holding them together and he can feel that.
He isn’t sure what it is, but maybe with time, that’ll be answered, too. It’s some sort of connection that binds them bone-deep, maybe even further than that.
They’re a new creation now, and of course there’s a lot of questions. It’s like their senses were suddenly heightened, dialled up, making them hyperaware of all touch, scents, sights, sounds. It’s a lot of intake, and it’s likely due to the rush of absolutely cocaine-like adrenaline pumping through their probably purple blood.
Yeah. It probably is purple, because red plus blue, but Jeremy isn’t about to cut open one of their hands to find out. He could if he really wanted to, because he’s so giddy that he could honestly scream, but for now, he’ll take his own word for it.
Point is: for someone who’s lived a life with no breathers from anxiety about the future, repercussions don’t seem to matter to him anymore. he feels confident and a little scared but so, so, so happy that any of his regular “voices of reason” just go ignored.
“Is this what it’s like to be you?” he says, awed, and like always, there’s something about the tone that makes his words sound more like Jeremy than it does Michael.
Or maybe they just know who’s speaking instinctively, and there is no real difference in tone. Whatever the case, it’s easy to tell between when Jeremy’s speaking, and when Michael is.
“Is this what it’s like to be you?” Michael asks back, tone incredulous.
Then, there’s a beat. A slightly anxious, maybe even tense beat where Jeremy sucks in a breath and feels a small rift in their connection. He didn’t know what to say to that.
“I didn’t mean that in like a bad w—“
“I know. It’s okay.”
They ignore the brief pause like it never happened, and stumble over to the full body mirror, which, they’re taller than now. Cue some awkward shuffling back until their entire body was scaled into frame.
“We’re um. Tall.” Jeremy says, sheepishly, and they are. They’re about a foot away from hitting the ceiling, actually.
He scoffs. “Duh.”
On their face, there’s Michael’s mole, some of Jeremy’s freckles, a nose that isn’t that pointy but isn’t flat, and two pairs of different coloured eyes. It turns out, with fusion, even accessories double in size, and now Michael’s glasses took up the space to compensate for the four eyes.
Haha. Four eyes.
“Do we even need these?” they say, and three of their arms reach up to take them off— two of which accidentally hit them in the forehead.
Turns out, they don’t. Apparently Jeremy’s vision makes up for Michael’s lack thereof. Still, Michael’s hands push them back onto their ears, probably out of habit.
“You should stop referring to us as we. I’m one person now, Jer.” he says.
“Right.” Jeremy says back, but it still feels so weird. Seriously, Michael just saying that sentence was confusing, and Jeremy had personal insight into his mind.
With his fingertips, he traces over Michael’s gem, over his heart, it’s where it always is, sure, but now it’s over Jeremy’s heart, too, and that’s really fucking weird.
We can unfuse, if you want—
— No… I’m okay. It’s really just um, you know.
Yeah. I know. Overwhelming.
Jeremy misses Michael’s hand in his own, the constant reminder that he’s not alone, so he takes his shaky pair of hands, and join them with his bigger, less nervous pair above.
They’re alone, but they’re alone together.
“Better?” Michael asks. He nods. They’re one person now, so really, they nod, but apparently they’re just a singular he now.
“Yeah, I’m not gonna lie to you, this is really fucking strange.” says Michael. “I don’t get it. Why are we able to fuse now?”
“Maybe we should ask your moms. They fuse a lot.” Jeremy shrugs, because he really doesn’t wanna think about it.
“No way dude, they might make assumptions.” Michael says— and before Jeremy can unpack that, pick it apart, before he can realize that them finally fusing might have a separate, deeper meaning— “And besides, that’s different. They’re both jaspers, we’re completely different gems. Plus, they’re not even home.”
Then Jeremy picked it apart. “What do you mean, assumptions? ”
There it is again, a rift. This time, it manifests itself into a split in their abdomen, glowing white, like when they first fused. It feels bad, the chasm, nervous and wobbly and uncertain and scared, like it shouldn’t be there. Michael is upset then, because it’s not Jeremy who’s causing it.
It’s a stinging feeling of discord that makes his glowing stomach turn.
“Assumptions. You know what I mean by that, Jeremy.”
He does, actually. He knows probably better than Michael himself does.
Jeremy lets go of his hands. He notices their heartbeat, fluttering a lot faster than he expected, he notices how hot their ears are and the somber tone in their voice, so he drops the subject.
“Right, yeah. Okay. So what do we do?” they say, getting back on track, although, is there even a track to get back on?
Because it’s hard to accept, fusion, it’s hard to say what’s the right thing to do, and what isn’t. It’s hard not to question who or what they are, how they got here, or why they’re suddenly able to do this, so offhandedly, so out of the blue.
And sure, Jeremy had his suspicions about why, but he’s felt that way for a long time, he's always just ignored it. Nothing changed there, so that’s not that the reason.
They were just here, wrestling over some stupid Mario Kart turnout, just laughing, having a good time, with nothing really special or crazy about tonight in particular; so really, what changed? How was tonight different than any other night they’ve had? And most importantly, why would it be?
Jeremy doesn’t want to think about it. Or at least, he shouldn’t, maybe alone, but not now, definitely not with Michael here, probably reading his every thought.
He feels oddly exposed. Vulnerable. Like his privacy has been invaded down to his very core of his being, down to the beliefs stowed deep in his mind. He realizes that there’s just so many ways that this can go wrong. There’s so many ways that he could just… think the wrong thing, or feel the wrong thing, and Michael would know it, wouldn’t he? He’d think it, he’d feel it, just as Jeremy would, and he can’t risk Michael finding out anymore than he’s probably already has.
He can’t risk Michael knowing more than what's good for him. Jeremy’s kept it buried from him— even from himself— for too long to just give up now.
I think you’re thinking about this too much. it’s Michael, trying to reassure him, failing to reassure him, because really, it just proved his point. Michael can and is listening to his thoughts.
It reminds him of the SQUIP, how it had complete access to his mind, how it read his every thought, knew his actions before he even made them, understood how he felt and how to turn his own emotions into blackmail to get him to do what it wanted.
It’s too dangerous— Jeremy learned at the ripe age of sixteen— to let anyone have this power, even Michael.
And right now, Michael is probably the worst person he could let into the dark corners of his mind. He knows a lot of Jeremy’s secrets, maybe even all of them, but one.
They’re shaking, shaking down to the bone, streams of light breaking through their skin head to toe. Jeremy’s hands are covering their face, while Michael’s hands gripped their legs, trying to ground themselves, maybe.
“We can’t do this, I can’t do this.” Jeremy says, breathy, almost like he’s hyperventilating. He’s trying to to shake the panic off his almost spasmic hands, but he just can’t, the electricity just rebounds back into his body.
It’s a realization that dawned on him slowly, but now that it’s there, rattling around in his head, the first thing he thinks is that he needs to hide it, because Michael can’t know— he just, he can’t.
Jeremy can’t ignore how he feels anymore, not when they’re fused, so there’s one thing he has to do.
It’s like distantly, he can hear Michael’s protests, he knows he’s probably scrambling for the right thing to say, or the right thing to do to calm Jeremy down, but it doesn’t matter. It’s hard to hear him, anyways, when they’re literally the same person sharing the same mind.
That means Michael’s experiencing the same shock, the same sudden panic that Jeremy is, the same deafening, static hum.
There’s three words that get past the noise.
What’s wrong, Jeremy?
Michael’s voice rings in their ears, and it just, it sounds so much like the SQUIP. Maybe he’s hallucinating, maybe he’s jumping to conclusions or maybe just connecting the dots, but it had the same condescending, patronizing tone—
and even if he knew better, knew that this was different, Jeremy just can’t stand the resemblance anymore.
“Get out of my head.” he whispers, and it’s so, so desperate. It’s his own voice that says it— the same pitch, same lilt, edge, and accent as the normal Jeremy— but at the same time, it doesn’t sound like him at all. It’s quiet and soft and pleading for mercy.
Something so foreign, so unlike Jeremy, that their fusion tears in half, sending his body flailing across the room and Michael’s to the other side, his back slamming against the threadbare wall.
“Jeremy?” Michael croaks, and it’s such a relief to hear his voice again— outside his head, safely kept at bay, unfused, and away from all the bad things Jeremy thinks about— that, for a heavensent moment of respite, he doesn’t even realize how scared he is.
“I’m sorry.” Jeremy says, slowly, as he squares his shoulders, and sucks in a breath.
It’s hard to breathe. How is it so hard to just… breathe? He’s been doing the process of respiration all his life, but suddenly, it’s like some alien concept to him, it’s like he’s learning a foreign language or trying to sleep after taking adderall, it just isn’t happening.
“I… need to use the bathroom.” he lies, but he has to, it’s for a good reason. “Please, don’t worry about me. I just… I need to chill out.”
He doesn’t look back at Michael, doesn’t want to, and probably couldn’t if he tried. He doesn’t even hear the spluttering words jumbling out of Michael’s mouth as he stumbles out of the room as quickly as possible, leaving his questions about what went wrong in the dark.
Jeremy doesn’t even want to think about what went wrong, let alone try to stutter through some made-up explanation to Michael of all people. So many things went wrong, and he can’t talk about half of them with Michael.
It’s just hard to explain, why he’s so afraid of Michael right now, so afraid that he can barely think straight.
But a quick twisting motion between two fingers blindly locks the door behind his back, and with the tiny shuttering sound comes a little dosage of heavensent relief.
It’s not nearly enough to calm him down, it’s not chamomile tea in a tidy house or a night of video-games with his best friend (huh, how ironic is that?), but, it’ll have to do.
He still can’t get comfortable, and feels like a traitor in his own skin, but the bathroom is a small refuge from a suffocating basement.
Correction: It was Michael who was suffocating him, and sure he probably didn’t even know he was doing anything wrong— and really, he wasn’t, Jeremy just… couldn’t be near him— but point is, he’s safe now. Safe from anymore scrutiny.
From the portrait of himself in the mirror, Jeremy realizes that his two wings are out. Hunched over him defensively like a threatened hawk or a paranoid cat. He isn’t really sure when he summoned them or why, but as his back sinks to the floor, hands clutching violently at his pale elbows, the water snakes back into his gem, and they’re gone again.
It’s just too painfully clear: what was so different about tonight— after years of wasted attempts— what changed, why they’re able to fuse now. It’s all been right underneath his nose the whole time.
See, the SQUIP could read and feel everything he felt like poetry when they were fused, too, and that was fine, because, because well—
Jeremy didn’t have feelings for the SQUIP.
Michael is so much different, so much better than it, and, ironic as it is, the SQUIP made him realize just how much he missed these nights and their inside jokes and video-games and him.
Love, Jeremy thinks, angry tears pricking at his eyes as he slams his head against the door and comes to realize why tonight happened they way it did. I fucking love him.