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Jeremy sat awkwardly on the edge of Michael’s bed, stuck uncomfortably in the middle ground between settling onto it and leaning against it. He wanted desperately to shake his leg - a nervous habit he’d picked up in middle school - but his Squip had squashed that particular quirk out of him. Or maybe Jeremy should say he’d zapped it out of him. Hah.
Instead of visibly fidgeting, Jeremy was tapping his toes inside his ratty black Converse. It had been a while since he’d worn them, since his Squip had called them “a disgusting, pitiful excuse for shoes that looked just as pathetic as Jeremy acted” and nearly had him throw them away. Apparently, it hadn’t been worth the effort of taking over Jeremy’s body and forcing him to, though, because he’d allowed Jeremy to stuff them in the back of his closet with a sneer.
In any case, Jeremy was glad to have them back. There was a familiar kind of comfort in the feeling of the soles, a grounding embrace in the dirty laces and faded canvas. He couldn’t help but notice the way they dug into the backs of his ankles at this angle, reminding him that he hadn’t worn them in longer than he’d realized. Reminded him that he hadn’t been himself in longer than he’d realized. He tried to squash down the thoughts and instead watched the laces jiggle slightly as he fidgeted, the only indication that he was moving at all.
His arms were half folded, settled lamely in his lap. Each of Jeremy’s hands were clasping the other wrist, hidden under his cardigan sleeves - yet another thing he hadn’t been able to wear in months. Under the blue fabric, his knuckles were pulled taut. His fingernails dug into the soft flesh of his arms, the only thing he could do to stop himself from fidgeting with his hair or his sleeves or the blanket he was sitting on.
Even his toe tapping and the pressure of his fingers biting into his skin did little to combat the anxiety and discomfort that had settled in Jeremy’s gut as soon as he’d stepped out of his dad’s car in Michael’s driveway. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to laugh or cry at the utter wrongness of the entire situation; he’d never been anxious like this before. Not here, the only place he felt comfortable in his own skin. Not with Michael, who brought out the best in him and supported him through anything.
It used to be like that, anyways, before Jeremy had fucked everything up.
Now, he was stuck hovering on the edge of Michael’s bed, drowning in a monsoon of his own guilt and anxiety and fighting every one of his instincts that screamed for him to leave - and then there was Michael.
Michael, who was always alive and moving, standing as still as Jeremy had ever seen him. Michael leaning against his desk, shoulders tense. He had his hood pulled up, eyes trained on the ground. His hands were stuffed firmly in his pockets. He looked like he was bracing for impact.
Jeremy hated that it was his fault.
He knew that Michael was waiting for him to break the silence, but it was like all of his words had vanished. He’d been the one to text Michael earlier, saying he needed to see him, to explain.
Of course, they’d already worked through the basics of what had happened - mostly at the hospital, the last few days Jeremy was there - but that hadn’t really been talking. It had been stifled, a cold, bare bones explanation of the things that had happened in the other’s absence. Michael had stood by the window of the hospital room, his red hoodie a sharp contrast with the white walls. Jeremy felt that it had gone about as well as could be expected: Michael was angry. Angry and hurt, and Jeremy couldn’t blame him for wanting space. They hadn’t seen each other since then.
Now that they were in the same room again, Jeremy wished he’d never sent that text. He knew he had to fix things with Michael, but he didn’t know how. He had no idea where to start, and Michael wasn’t doing him any favors. His tongue felt like lead in his mouth, his throat thick with nervousness.
“Michael,” Jeremy attempted. It came out more like a choked gargle than a name. He cleared this throat awkwardly and tried again.
“M...Michael?” The first syllable clung to his lips, a hesitant hum in the tense silence. His voice was quiet, nervous, but he managed to get the word out.
Michael didn’t look up, and Jeremy felt his palms start to sweat. His stomach felt like it was in knots, or like he’d eaten a rock and it was now trying to pull him down into the earth through his gut.
After an incredibly tense pause, Michael looked up. Jeremy was immediately cut by the expression on his face: there wasn’t one. He was completely blank, something Jeremy had never experienced from Michael before all this had happened.
“I—“ Jeremy struggled to think of how to begin. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, trying to fill the heavy silence.
Jeremy knew as soon as it was out that it was the wrong thing to say. Michael’s carefully constructed mask of indifference splintered to reveal a split second of anger, and then settled into a kind of exhausted disdain.
“I know, Jeremy. You’re sorry. You already told me that,” he said, letting out a sigh. “If that’s all you’ve got, you shouldn’t have bothered coming over.”
Jeremy’s shoulder’s tensed - that one hurt. He took a shaky breath, willing away the prickly feeling in the back of his eyes that meant he was going to start crying.
The feeling had become familiar; it was one he’d experienced daily since he woke up in the hospital. Practically every time he was alone, there was a very real threat of tears when he remembered what he’d done. He’d yet to think about the look on Michael’s face when he’d called him a loser at the Halloween party without breaking down completely.
As much as he wanted to, Jeremy knew he couldn’t cry. Michael was mad at him, sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still a good person - if Jeremy started crying, Michael would try to comfort him. It would derail the situation, since everything would become about Jeremy’s feelings instead of Michael’s like Jeremy intended. Michael deserved to be angry and hurt if that was what he was feeling, not to have to shove that down and take care of Jeremy again.
With that in mind, Jeremy forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath. He pressed the heels of his palms against his closed eyelids and willed himself to calm down.
After a minute of measured breathing, Jeremy felt pretty sure he’d circumvented the impending breakdown. He dragged his hands away from eyes and down his face, curling them around the back of his neck. He fiddled with his hair, then remembered he was trying not to fidget and hurried to put his hands back in his lap. He tapped his toes inside of his shoes again instead, trying to maintain the fragile calm he’d created.
“I...I know that’s not enough,” Jeremy mumbled, breaking the silence. “But I really am sorry. And I know it doesn’t make up for what I did to you, or to Christine, or to - to anyone.” His voice tapered off at the end of the phrase as he recalled all the disasters he’d caused.
“You’re right. It doesn’t make up for it, Jeremy, so why are you saying it again? I already know you’re sorry. You already said it, several times.”
Michael turned himself towards Jeremy directly finally, looking at him head on. His eyes were angry, and even though Jeremy had expected it, he still flinched.
Jeremy swallowed thickly, trying to figure out what to do. He hadn’t really thought through what he was going to say, and all the emotions he wanted to make clear to Michael were a swirling mess inside him that he couldn’t begin to disentangle.
“Um. Yeah.”
Jeremy winced at his own incompetence, half expecting a shock for such a socially unacceptable response. He tensed his shoulders and straightened his spine out of habit before he realized he didn’t have to - his Squip was gone.
“I sometimes forget it’s gone,” Jeremy blurted, unsure where else to start.
Michael blinked at him, stone faced, but the anger seemed to have simmered down a bit, so Jeremy kept talking.
“It’s kinda funny, right? It’s not like it went quietly, how could I forget that whole thing? ” He let out a weak laugh. “Like, just now? I was expecting to get shocked for...for making a dumb comment...” The anger was back in Michael’s eyes, so he let his fake smile drop slowly as his voice trailed off.
“I still can’t fucking believe it did that to you,” Michael said, running a hand angrily through his hair. “What kind of bullshit - how was that supposed to work?”
Jeremy shifted his weight uncomfortably, tugging on the sleeves of his cardigan. He had faint scars along his wrists and his spine from how many times the Squip had shocked him. Michael didn’t know - at least, Jeremy didn’t think he did, and now wasn’t the time.
“So, um. I don’t know if you actually want an answer to that, but I’m just gonna tell you anyways.” Jeremy took a breath and stared over Michael’s shoulder so he didn’t have to look at his face. “When I did things that - that it didn’t like, like if I was hunched over, or if I messed up and said something lame, or if I tried to, um,” Jeremy felt his face heat up. He made the executive decision that this whole thing was painful enough without him discussing his porn habits, so he changed course. “Pretty much if I did anything that wasn’t cool or whatever, it would just kinda...shock me? You’d be surprised how good your posture gets when the alternative is burning pain,” Jeremy mumbled, half trying to crack a joke to ease the tension in the air.
It fell flat, sounding sad even to himself. He knew it was fucked up that the Squip had done that to him. Maybe it was more fucked up that he still felt like he deserved it - for the stupid things he’d been doing, for the things he’d caused. Even now, there was that part of him that still felt like he should to suffer for what he’d done, more than he already was as he struggled to explain himself to Michael.
Michael was still angry, but there was sadness in his eyes, too.
“God, Jer,” he mumbled. “I know you told me that - that it hurt you, but it really fucking hurt you. All the time, right?”
Jeremy swallowed uncomfortably.
“Um. Yeah, I guess. Mostly.” It was still hard for him to talk about, remembering the searing pain and the condescending tsk-ing that would accompany it when Jeremy screwed something up. “Well - not all the time,” he amended, trying to keep his breathing calm. “Only when, like, I fucked up. And with me, that was often, but it wasn’t always hurting me. Just...just when it had to.”
Jeremy let his head drop in shame, avoiding Michael’s gaze.
The room was silent for a few moments, just the quiet sound of Jeremy and Michael breathing echoing against the walls of Michael’s bedroom. Jeremy was feeling more and more nervous by the second, growing les sure why he’d even bothered to show up. He hadn’t said anything yet that was news to Michael, certainly not anything that would help at all to make Michael understand the crushing weight that had driven him to —
“—get it, then?”
Jeremy looked at Michael, startled out of his anxious thoughts. He blinked slowly, face warming with the realization that he’d accidentally tuned Michael out.
“What?” Jeremy asked dumbly, the word barely squeaking out.
Michael rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into his front pocket with a huff.
“Oh, great, so we’re back to tuning me out again. Fantastic.”
Jeremy must’ve looked stricken, because Michael quickly backtracked.
“I mean - fuck, Jer, sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped about that, I know that you—“ he stopped, taking in a sharp inhale. He seemed to measure his next words carefully. “You weren’t completely in control.”
The ensuing pause was awkward as Michael tried to rein in his hurt anger. Jeremy wished he could stop being such a burden that even then, Michael was weighing his words based at least somewhat on Jeremy’s feelings.
“I just don’t get it, Jeremy,” Michael mumbled finally. The anger was still there, burning in the background of Michael’s words. “Why the fuck did you do it? I know, I know, you wanted to be popular or date Christine or whatever, but why? Why wasn’t I enough? Why weren’t you enough?” Michael’s eyes were glassy with what might’ve been tears, but it was hard to tell, as Jeremy’s own eyes were beginning to well up.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He knew that his whole reason for demanding to see Michael had been to explain this very thing, but now that he was there, there were no words left. None that he could say out loud, anyways. Nothing at all.
Luckily - or unluckily, judging by the anger in Michael’s eyes - Michael wasn’t done.
“It seems like all it fucking did was hurt you, and screw things up, and ruin things for like, pretty much everyone. And yeah, I know that wasn’t your plan, but that’s what happened, isn’t it? I know you got hurt too,” he added, voice sharp, “god, believe me, I know. I cant stop fucking thinking about what kind of hell you’ve been going through for the past few months, because Jesus, Jer! Shocking you? Telling you that you make it want to die? Taking over your body?” Michael was practically shaking with rage.
“I just don’t get why. It sounds like this, this fucking bullshit techno-asshole was just hurting you, and hurting everyone around you, and just fucking everything up, so why would you keep it for so long? I know you weren’t so blind that you couldn’t see what it was doing to you and to m— to everyone else, too. I know you’re not stupid Jeremy, because we were best friends for twelve years!”
Jeremy sucked in a sharp breath, eyes prickling. He knew Michael had been about to the say that the Squip, that Jeremy, had been hurting him, but he’d defected at the last second. Jeremy hadn’t missed the look on his face though, or the suffocating past tense in the declaration of their friendship.
He wanted to say something, anything, to get Michael to understand, but he could hardly keep his breathing steady, let alone speak. He’d given up on maintaining the appearance of staying still - his Squip would’ve been so disappointed, he thought bitterly - and was shaking his leg frantically. He scratched at his left wrist, trying not to cry, wanting to anyway. This wasn’t supposed to be about him, no fucking crying Jeremy I swear, this is supposed to be about Michael, keep it together, don’t fucking cry—
“And you got the information from Rich, of all people! Like, how could you look at him and go, ‘Oh yeah, I’ll have what he’s having’? In case you forgot, Jeremy, he made our lives miserable. Remember that time he dumped your lunch on you and we hid in the bathroom the rest of the period, and I gave you my headphones because he pushed you so far that I was afraid you were gonna break? But of course, let’s just fucking trust the guy who sent you into bathroom panic attacks more than once,” Michael spat, cheeks flushed.
The mention of Rich led Jeremy to think about the halloween party. Michael hadn’t told him exactly what had happened after Jeremy had left, but he knew Michael well enough that he couldn’t imagine “bathroom panic attack” wasn’t too far off. He winced at the thought.
“So really, Jeremy, why? Why did you trust Rich, and not me? Why was he, and all his stupid friends, and making out with Christine, or whatever you wanted from her - why was that more important to you than twelve years of our fucking lives? Than being yourself? Than literally everything else in your life that you let that thing screw up? I’m sorry for what you went though, man,” he added, trying not to sound like he wasn’t hurting on Jeremy’s behalf, “because god, a lot of this - this anger, it’s at that bastard.” Michael tapped the side of his own head with one finger, grimacing.
“I just don’t fucking understand why you pushed me away. I tried to help you, and by the Halloween party, you must’ve known there was something wrong. I don’t get why you wouldn’t listen to me, or why you would block me out, or why you even got it in the first place—“
“Because I hated myself, okay?”
Jeremy was surprised to find that the words had come from him, even more surprised that he’d practically screamed them. They were still echoing in his ears, clinging to his skin. Michael seemed equally as shocked at Jeremy’s outburst and he stopped talking, just stared at Jeremy with pursed lips.
Jeremy hated the sound of his ragged breathing in the silence, but he knew he had to take this chance to speak. Otherwise, he might never get the words out, because yeah, Michael had the right to be pissed, but all that anger - it made it so, so hard for Jeremy to even find the words to begin.
He licked his lips, forcing himself to speak anyways.
“I did it because I hated myself, alright? I know you know that - that I did, or do, or whatever, but you didn’t really know. You couldn’t have done anything, even if you had really known, but you didn’t.”
The words tumbled out of Jeremy’s mouth unbidden, tasting bitter and sad on his tongue.
“I just — you’ve never been like me. You’ve always been cooler than me - no, don’t argue with me, Michael!” Michael looked mildly sick, his face pale. Jeremy ignored it.
“Even if you weren’t cooler, you didn’t care. You did what you wanted and what you felt like doing and people made fun of you but you didn’t care! I never got how you could live like that. I tried,” Jeremy added, laughing hysterically. “I tried so fucking hard to be like you, to not care, but look where we ended up.”
Michael looked sad, profoundly so. Jeremy hated the feeling of being looked at like that, so he forced his mouth closed. He held back the swelling wave of words that were threatening to tumble out, filling the room with even more of his self-pitying bullshit.
“I...” Michael seemed at a loss, not sure how to respond to Jeremy’s outburst. His anger seemed to have dwindled, simmering down under the weight of something softer, more pained. “I knew - I mean, I always knew you had a hard time with stuff like that, but I didn’t know that it—“
“I wanted to kill myself.”
There it was, out in the open. As soon as he said it, Jeremy felt sick. He wished he could take it back, wished he could rewind, but there was no taking back the way Michael’s eyes widened, the way his lips parted, the pain in his pale face.
Before he could say anything, Jeremy kept talking.
“I wanted to die. Not just like, ‘oh ha ha I want to die,’ but really, seriously, I wanted it to - to be over.” Jeremy felt his throat growing thick, tears forming in his eyes. He swallowed heavily, forcing the words out. “I just hated myself, Michael, so fucking much. I felt shitty all the time, like there was something wrong with me. Like everything was wrong with me.”
He could see that Michael was still processing, and he forced himself to continue before his friend could say anything.
“It wasn’t just the Squip that made me feel that way. It - it only played into things I already thought, every day, all the time.” Jeremy took a shuddering breath. “I felt broken, like I was somehow less than worthless, like I was just - just a fucking waste of space.”
He couldn’t help the tears that began to trickle down his face, or the way that his entire body was starting to shake. Jeremy was trying hard not to start hyperventilating, choking on each breath like a man drowning on land.
He could see Michael’s face finally register what Jeremy was saying, and the pain in it pierced Jeremy to his core. Michael stepped towards Jeremy and reached out a hand, lips parting as if to say something, but Jeremy flinched away.
“N-no. No. I need to – I need to get through this, Michael. Please.” His voice broke on the last word, dissolving into a strangled breath that shook his tense shoulders.
“O–okay.” Michael’s voice was barely a whisper from where he’d stopped, frozen mid stride. Jeremy could see the tears in his eyes more clearly and couldn’t help the surge of disgust he felt at himself for making this all about him, like he always did.
“It wasn’t new,” Jeremy said, managing to force his breathing back into something that resembled a normal pattern. “It had been - I had been - I’d wanted -“ he let out a strangled noise, unable to get the words out.
“For years,” he finally choked out.
“For years,” he repeated. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the pressure of his fingernails digging into his arm, where they’d migrated at some point during his confession. After a brief moment of focusing himself, he forced himself to open his eyes and keep talking.
“I think it - it started in middle school. I started feeling like, like I had no potential. Like I wasn’t worth anything, like I didn’t matter. It wasn’t until sophomore year that - that I really started to think about - that I started to want to —“ Jeremy broke down into shaking sobs again, jamming the heels of his hands against his eyelids. He could hardly breathe, but it felt like he’d opened some kind of floodgate, and there was no stopping the words now.
After a few minutes of gut-wrenching sobs, Jeremy pulled his hands away from his eyes. He looked up and saw Michael, who looked like he’d been punched in the gut. He was crying too, slow, fat tears dripping down his cheeks. Jeremy could feel the emotions rolling off of him in waves, could feel that his hands wanted to reach out and comfort Jeremy, but he couldn’t let that happen. Not yet. He wasn’t done.
“I was - things were really bad, Michael. I was just empty, all the time, like all I could feel was - was hatred, for myself, and this horrible fucking sadness that didn’t even feel like sadness, that just grew and grew until I didn’t just want to die, I felt like I was already dying.” Jeremy took a shuddering breath, willing himself not to break down again.
“Things we’re getting really, really bad. I should’ve been so scared, but - I just didn’t care. I couldn’t find a single fucking reason to care about myself, or what might happen to me, if I kept doing what I was doing - if I went too far —“ he stopped abruptly, forcing his eyes to the ground.
“Were you ... were you hurting yourself?”
Michael’s voice was scratchy from tears, a ghost of the angry boom it had been earlier.
Jeremy couldn’t look at him, only pulled at the seam of his jeans, eyes trained on the floor.
“I just - I didn’t care anymore,” he whispered. Judging from the sharp intake of breath he heard from Michael, he figured that had been enough of an answer.
He felt tears rolling off of his chin, dripping onto his jeans. He watched them soak into the fabric, little pools of darkness getting swallowed up by the fibers. He tried not to think too hard about what lay underneath - the rippled, discolored skin, bumpy lines of white and red that would never, ever go away.
Jeremy forced himself to look up, staring at the space to the left of Michael. He couldn’t look at him while he said this, not this part. He couldn’t deal with the disgust, or the pity, or whatever else might show up on Michael’s face.
“I was almost gonna do it.”
He felt sick just saying it, and not just in the way he knew he was sick for even considering taking his own life. The words dragged like lead over his tongue, but he forced them out.
“You wanted to know why - why I took it, why I stayed with it. That’s why. I was - I was really, seriously almost going to fucking kill myself, and then Rich told me about a way to get out of it, to stop being me for even just one fucking second—“ Jeremy let out a garbled sound, something between a sob and hysterical laughter. “Well. I guess you know the rest, huh?”
Michael looked stricken and pained, more than Jeremy had ever seen before - more than all the times they’d been harassed at school and when Michael broke his ankle jumping off the swings and the when he’d watched Jeremy break down over his mom leaving combined.
Jeremy waited for Michael to say something - anything - as he fought to keep his breathing steady. He could feel his body shaking, could see the tremors in his hands, but felt disconnected from it. Like he was watching someone else’s life get ripped to shreds all over again. Like it was someone else’s best friend struggling to find the words to say through his tears.
“Jeremy —“
Michael’s voice was thick with emotion. It should’ve hurt Jeremy to hear, but he felt numb. The world was out of focus, like he was existing through a layer of thick, warm syrup.
“I’m so - I’m so sorry.”
That one did hurt, though. Jeremy looked up at Michael, the pain in his voice breaking through whatever disconnect Jeremy had been experiencing. His mind suddenly slammed back into first gear, compensating for his momentary dissociation with a flood of thoughts and feelings all at once.
He felt disgusted with himself and guilty for making Michael feel like he needed to apologize and embarrassed because god, could he please pull himself together? He could taste the panic in the back of his throat, could feel the palpable guilt in his gut. He’d never intended to tell Michael that - to tell anyone that, and yet there they were.
Stupid, stupid, stupid Jeremy, why did you even say that? Why do you have to make everything about you? Worthless. Piece of shit. You shouldn’t have told Michael, you should’ve just done it, he’d be better off witho—
“Jeremy?”
Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and tried to slow his breathing down. He couldn’t stop the shaking, but the fear - the pain - in Michael’s voice when he’d said Jeremy’s name was enough to make him try. His breaths ripped in and out of his lungs like hurricanes, blood rushing in his ears as he struggled to rein in his thoughts. The kind of overlapping, chaotic refrains he was hearing were nothing new, but he still hadn’t learned how exactly to weather them.
“Jeremy?” Michael asked again, his voice scratchy and tight.
“Yeah?” The word was swallowed up by a coughing gasp as another half-sob managed to tear through Jeremy’s body. He forced himself to take a deep breath - hold it, don’t choke - and tried again
“Yeah?”
He lifted his head slightly and opened his eyes. It was hard to look at Michael and see his own pain reflected back at him. He had an overwhelming surge of selfishness, of guilt, but he tried to stifle it. He couldn’t fall apart, not completely. Not while Michael was there, watching him like he was afraid Jeremy might break into a thousand pieces right in front of his eyes.
“Are you - are you okay?” Jeremy asked, voice cracking. He couldn’t help the uneven, raspy tone any more than he could help the tears still clinging to his eyelashes, but he’d rather cry and break down and deal with a hundred awful, negative voices in his head than have to watch Michael hurting - again - because of him.
Michael let out a garbled laugh and took a haphazard step towards the bed.
“Am I - am I okay? Really Jeremy?” He laughed again, a few stray tears rolling down his cheeks. “You just said that - that — and you wanna know if I’m okay?”
Jeremy could tell he was barely holding it together; his voice was too high pitched, his breathing too unsteady. He could feel the cold weight of guilt in his gut for making Michael feel this way, and he hated it. He could feel his own tedious control unraveling, the shaking in his body growing stronger —
And then Michael was in front of him, his arms holding Jeremy tight, his face awkwardly smushed into Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy took another half sob, half gasp for breath and blinked, the moisture making his lashes stick together. He brought his arms up and situated them awkwardly around Michael, who’d dropped into a half lean against the bed.
It was strange to hug him - they’d hugged briefly at the hospital, but it had been distanced. Rich had hugged him the same way when he’d been released, and they had none of the history that he and Michael had.
This was different though, and Jeremy could help but melt into it. He curled his hands in Michael’s hoodie, holding him tight. He could feel Michael shaking with silent emotion, just like he knew Michael could probably feel his own anxious shaking.
After a moment of just holding each other, Jeremy felt Michael mumble something against his shoulder.
“What?” His voice was barely a whisper, but Michael heard him.
He pulled away and sat down on the bed next to Jeremy, pushing the heels of his hoodie-covered hands against his eyes. After a shuddering breath, he repeated himself.
“I said, I’m sorry.”
Jeremy felt like his heart was going to explode. He was still shaking a little, still breathing a bit too shallow, too fast. He could barely handle the sincerity in Michael’s voice, but he tried to get out a garbled reply anyways.
“What? No—“
“Jeremy, I’m serious,” Michael admonished, pivoting towards Jeremy. “I should’ve - I should’ve known. I should’ve done something. But instead I just acted like it was fine, even when I knew you were hurting, because I didn’t wanna pry. I didn’t wanna — but you needed me, and I didn’t do anything.”
His voice was raw and unsteady, and Jeremy couldn’t help the little sobs that bubbled up from his gut.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Jeremy mumbled. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said again. “I felt - I felt like you’d be better off without me. And at first that meant - that meant—“ Jeremy closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. “You know. But then, with the Squip, it was blocking you out.” Jeremy took another breath, trying not to let the anxiety in his gut silence his words.
“And it’s not like I ever told you that things were - that things were so bad. I didn’t even care enough to try to tell you. Like, not about you, but about myself. I just...let it fester, until it ki— it almost killed me.”
They stared at each other for a quiet moment, equally teary eyed.
“It was selfish,” Jeremy said finally, swallowing thickly. “I was selfish. No,” Jeremy asserted, holding up a hand to indicate that Michael should wait.
“I know you, Michael, and I know you’re gonna try to tell me that it’s okay, or that I’m not selfish, even though it’s not okay, and I am selfish, because that’s what you always do when I’m hurting.” He sniffed, his nose runny from all the crying. Trying to keep his voice even, he continued.
“I was - I am,” Jeremy corrected himself, “selfish. I know that what I did - to you, to my dad, to everyone - with the Squip...it was fucked up. I hurt a lot of people, and—“ Jeremy stopped, sucking in a deep breath. He could feel the pressure behind his nose that meant he was about to cry again. He blinked slowly, willing himself to hold it together. After a beat of silence, he tried again.
“I hate myself for what I did. I hated it while I was doing it, too - God, you have no fucking idea how much it hurt every time I remembered you and the look on your face when I blocked you out. Hurt literally, too,” he added, almost laughing. “The Squip - it didn’t like me thinking about you. Guess it knew you would find a way to shut it down, or talk me out of becoming such a techno-powered mega-douche,” Jeremy said bitterly. “I couldn’t even see you most of the time. When I thought about you, it - that was another one of the things it tried to shock out of me.”
Jeremy felt Michael stiffen next to him at the mention of the Squip’s abuse of Jeremy, but he kept going.
“I just - I hated hurting you. And I hated hurting my dad, and Brooke - and oh god, Christine, I was such a fucking creep to her!” Jeremy’s could feel himself losing his grip on his emotions. His voice was getting more breathless, his pulse less and less steady, the pressure behind his nose growing. Thinking about everything that he’d done wasn’t something he knew how to cope with, but he couldn’t seem to stop the words from pouring out of his mouth.
“—and I didn’t fucking help Rich when he needed someone, and Jake lost his fucking house and we all could’ve died at the party, and there was the whole thing with Chloe where I couldn’t move and I can’t - I can’t even think about that, not right now, it’s just — fuck!”
The last word was a broken, breathless sort of exclamation, as Jeremy realized he’d started crying again at some point during his rambling. He jammed the heels of his hands against his wet eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He hated that he was crying again, because this wasn’t supposed to be about him being sad, it was supposed to be an apology, an explanation, but he couldn’t help it. He scraped his fingernails down his forehead as he balled his hands into fists against his eyes, more angry at his own inability to control his emotions than anything.
“I hated it so fucking much. Hurting all of you and acting like such an asshole, and getting fucked shocked for it - I hated it. Just,” he paused, swallowing thickly as angry tears continued to slide down his cheeks. His voice was barely a scratchy whisper when he finally spoke again.
“Just never more than I hated myself. I’m - I’m so sorry, Michael.”
He felt deflated then, like all the air had suddenly left his body. It was, in essence, what he’d needed to do. He’d felt like he had to account for his actions to Michael, to justify all the pain he’d cause - no, not justify it, but give some kind of explanation. He knew there would never be enough words to make up for what he’d done, knew it now more than ever. He still felt disgustingly guilty and selfish and a hundred other emotions that sat in his gut like a stone, that dripped down his face and covered the heels of his hands, but at least he’d done what he could to explain.
Now that he’d said it, he didn’t feel any better. He sat with his eyes squeezed closed, hands pressed against them, shoulders shaking with silent tears. He felt like he should be running out of tears after all of the crying, but there seemed to be no end in sight.
His choking breaths were the only noise in the silent basement, the occasional sob breaking the quiet. Jeremy felt totally gutted, empty, exhausted, barely weathering the breakdown his body was going through. Amid the chaos of his shaking tears, he felt a weight settled over his shoulder, a tight grip on his arm.
Jeremy allowed himself to be pulled closer to Michael, leaning into his shoulder. He found his hands falling into his lap as he turned and buried his face into Michael’s shoulder, crying somehow more at the fact that even after everything, Michael was still trying to be kind to him.
He could hear Michael breathing, the rise and fall of his chest broken up by occasional shaking. It was comforting; so was the way that Michael was rubbing Jeremy’s arm, silently assuring him that he was there, even after everything that had happened.
Eventually, Jeremy stopped crying. He leaned into Michael for a moment longer, enjoying the safety of leaning against him, then straightened up and lifted his head. His face was a mess, he was sure, but he uselessly tried to wipe away some of the snot and tears that had accumulated. He ran one hand through his hair, breathing in long, slow breaths to avoid panicking again.
Michael’s arm was still laying against his back, his hand still resting on Jeremy’s arm. Jeremy felt a sudden rush of gratitude, more than he could ever say. Even though he’d hurt Michael, more than any of the words he’d spent the past hour saying could ever make up for, Michael was still there. He had still listened to him, tried to understand, held him while he cried.
Jeremy couldn’t help the broken, tearful laugh that bubbled up from his gut. Michael turned to look at him then, eyes questioning, and Jeremy almost laughed again at the softness in them.
“God, you’re just so good, Michael. D’you even realize that?” He ran a hand through his hair, sniffing up the snot that was threatening to start dripping down his face. “I - I fucked up everything. I hurt you, and yelled at you, and ignored you, and you just — you’re still fucking here. I don’t know why, and I know I don’t deserve it, but just—“ he let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to start crying again, but he was exhausted; the possibility of more tears seemed pretty touch and go.
“Jeremy - hey,” Michael said, gently squeezing Jeremy’s arm. “Look at me.”
After another long exhale, Jeremy opened his eyes and turned to look at Michael.
“Of course I’m here. You’re my—“ Michael paused for a moment, pursing his lips slightly.
“You matter to me, man. Of course I’m gonna listen to you. I’m still angry at you, yeah, but I’m not just gonna let you like, fall apart and not do anything. At least, not again,” he amended, looking at the floor.
“I don’t - I don’t hate you, Jeremy,” Michael said, looking back up at Jeremy. The rawness in his eyes and his voice almost made Jeremy tear up again, but instead he just stared back at Michael.
“I thought I did, for a while there.” Michael was looking at the floor again, and Jeremy felt a pang in his chest at what he said. He’d tortured himself with the thought of Michael hating him, even before the Squip, but thinking it was nothing to hearing Michael talk about it. Of course he’d expected it, and the fact that Michael was saying he didn’t hate him was really more than he deserved, but it still left him feeling hollow.
Michael was still talking as he looked at the floor. “I was so fucking angry, and so hurt, I just - I thought I hated you, but I was wrong. Like, the day of the play, I thought I was okay with just letting you go, and do whatever the fuck that thing wanted from you. That I was just gonna sit around and pretend like you weren’t destroying yourself and like I didn’t care, but I think - I think even if your dad hadn’t showed up, I wouldn’t have been able to just—“ Michael paused to let out a quick sigh before continuing. “—just sit and watch you disappear more and more into your head and that whole fake shit that I knew wasn’t you. Like, I still cared, even when I was as hurt and as pissed at you as I was then. I still didn’t hate you, even when I felt like I should.” He let out a strangled half laugh. “Actually, I don’t think I know how to hate you.”
“That makes one of us,” Jeremy mumbled, scratching at the now raw skin on his wrist. He stared blankly at the pink skin, scraping his nails back and forth like a robot. Michael’s followed the motion with concerned eyes, seeing the little flecks of blood on the skin Jeremy was anxiously gouging at.
Michael reached out and grabbed Jeremy’s wrist, gently pulling his hand away. Jeremy stared at his stinging wrist still, eyes unfocused, so Michael gently tugged the sleeve of his cardigan back down over the raw skin.
“Jeremy, come on man,” Michael murmured, moving his hand so it was holding Jeremy’s instead of grabbing his wrist. “You’re okay.”
Jeremy blinked, looking down at the hand Michael was holding. It was grounding, pulling him out of his self deprecating thoughts and back to the present, where there were still things to talk about.
“Right. Yeah,” he breathed, shaking his head slightly. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, Jeremy,” Michael replied, and Jeremy could tell he meant it.
There was silence then, and Jeremy couldn’t help the pit in his stomach. He felt empty and exhausted, all the crying having worn him out. He was grateful for the comforting warmth of Michael’s hand in his own though, and he focused on just breathing - in, out. in, out - until Michael finally broke the quiet.
“Listen, Jeremy. It’s not - it’s not gonna be like it was, okay? Not right away, or maybe not ever.”
Jeremy sucked in a sharp breath. He didn’t know what to say - he hadn’t been expecting he and Michael to just magically be okay again, but it was still hard to hear. He was glad Michael was still holding his hand, because the urge to go back to scratching his wrist was back in full force. He started to shake his leg again instead, training his eyes on the floor.
“Because like, yeah Jeremy, I’m still hurt. I’m still mad.” Michael let out a short huff, trying to refocus. “So of course we need to work on stuff, and talk about things, because what you did was shitty, and it really, really hurt. And I wanna work through this, like, to try to rebuild trust or whatever, but we can’t go back to how things were.”
Jeremy didn’t say anything, so Michael pressed on.
“But maybe that’s not a bad thing,” he added pointedly, clearly trying to bring Jeremy back down to earth. “Like, obviously things didn’t work before. I didn’t - I didn’t do anything when you needed me, and you felt like you had to let a goddamn supercomputer make you into someone totally new, and we both acted like idiots, so maybe, this time we can do better?“ Michael squeezed Jeremy’s hand, letting his voice trail off.
After another moment of staring at the floor, Jeremy turned to look at Michael. He was worrying his lower lip, eyes earnest as he looked back at Jeremy.
“Why?”
Michael blinked slowly.
“Why what?”
“Why do you still want me after everything?” Jeremy asked, his voice scratchy. “After everything I did, all of the ways that I hurt you - even just after today, after, how I couldn’t even make a real apology like you deserve without crying and making it all about me and my problems, and I got snot all over your hoodie, and I just — why?” He searched Michael’s face, the familiar weight of self loathing settling in his gut. He didn’t deserve Michael, not his forgiveness or his effort or his care, and he didn’t know if it was worse to say so or to just accept it.
“Why do you still care after all of the shitty, selfish things I did? Michael, how do you know that I won’t - that I won’t just hurt you again?” Jeremy hated the sound of his voice shaking. He was afraid of what Michael might say, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking the questions that had bothering him since Michael agreed to even him come over and talk.
Michael opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. Jeremy watched something chase across his face - a flash of an emotion that he couldn’t identify, something soft and warm and running deep below the surface - but it was gone as soon as it appeared.
“I just know, okay?” Michael tightened his grip on Jeremy’s hand, locking eyes with him. “You’re not a bad person, Jeremy. I know you probably think you are, but you can’t always trust the voices in you head, even when they’re not coming from an evil computer in your brain, okay? You are not a bad person,” he repeated, stressing each word.
“How can you know?” Jeremy whispered, the familiar pressure of tears building behind his eyes again. “I don’t even - I don’t even know that I won’t fuck things up again, why would you even wanna stay anywhere near me, how can you possibly—?”
Jeremy stopped suddenly, trying to calm himself down. His breathing had gotten faster, more desperate, but he tried to settle back into a normal rhythm, forcing himself to breath deeply.
Michael hummed softly, rubbing his thumb back and forth a few times over Jeremy’s knuckles.
“I guess I just have to believe that you’ve learned,” he said finally. “I just - I can’t help it, I wanna believe in you. I want us to make it through this, y’know? I know you can get through this, like maybe you can see someone who can help you deal with everything that - that I didn’t help you with before. And I just know that you’re still a good person, and you’re still the same dork who went see Weird Al with me and who used to be afraid of sleeping without any lights on and who made me snort milk out of my nose in seventh grade because you did a stupid accent, and I’m not ready to just give up on all of that, y’know?”
Jeremy sniffed, his eyes filling with tears. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve someone like Michael, but he couldn’t feel anything besides grateful for it. He didn’t think he would’ve be so kind if he were in Michael’s position, but that was kind of the whole deal, anyways, wasn’t it? That he’d never been as kind as Michael - not to himself, not to anyone?
“Besides,” Michael added, gently bumping his shoulder into Jeremy’s, “someone has to stick around to make you sure you don’t eat any more computers. And that you get rid of the weird clothes you were wearing - like, uh, Eminem? Hell no,” Michael said, tsking.
Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh at that. He could see Michael smile out of the corner of his eye, and Jeremy knew that he was trying to lighten the mood, to begin to bridge the gap between them in the best way he knew how.
It meant the world to Jeremy; he wanted to be deserving of Michael’s effort, of the faith that he had in Jeremy. Even if it wouldn’t be easy - which Jeremy knew it wouldn’t - he wanted to be better. To work through things, and fix himself, and make up to Michael all the pain that he put him through, as much as he could.
Because even if it felt a little bit forced, hearing Michael’s stupid joke, seeing his smile - it felt right to Jeremy. It felt like hope, for being better, for learning, for growing. It felt like a second chance.
It felt like home, and Jeremy was so grateful for it.