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Sometimes, Michael wonders if the universe made his boyfriend an asshole on purpose. You know, just for fun. Just to not give him a break.
Right now, he resents everyone for being right, and he resents himself for being wrong. Again. Doubting Jake’s ability to truly break hearts was probably one of the worst decisions Michael’s ever made. But to be fair, his overthinking is usually just overthinking—so Michael tends to tune it out when he sees something he wants. He battles out the uncertainty with statements that don’t ring true.
Those are just rumors. No, not really. They weren’t supposed to be taken lightly.
He’s not really like that, is he? There’s a reason why he built up that kind of reputation.
Maybe this time, it’ll be different. Nothing is different just because you’re not a cis girl, Michael. Why did he think he was the exception? Why was he so sure things would work knowing his luck when it comes to love?
Sure, it was full of great things when they started dating. Michael was so happy for a while, when he was just getting to really know Jake, when he was nice and caring and slightly less insensitive; a pretty face with what seemed to be a kind heart.
But there’s a point where you start to see all the ugly sides of someone. They’re less willing to fake their kindness now that they know you like this, more upfront about the fact that sometimes they just don’t care. And what that leads to is arguments in parking lots, breakdowns over one-sided dependency—Jake doesn’t want him as much as Michael needs him. Isn’t that so stupid?
It’s a constant cycle; so constant that he can predict which stage is next. Yet he’s stubborn as all hell, and refuses to leave, because things could get better. He could get better. Of course, it isn’t promised. Promises don’t exist with Jake.
But Michael is loyal to no end, because of course he is. He’ll continue to love Jake until his very last breath, if he really has to.
Even if it hurts him this badly.
Unfortunately, nothing goes away as soon as he leaves the place where the exchange happened. Jake’s most recent stinging words are still leaving their traces. Michael doesn’t even remember how things escalated this time, or what the fight was even about; just the anxiety and the fear and wanting his mom, needing to be held but unable to ask for it from who’s supposed to give it to him.
So he’s seeking comfort from other sources. It would be better for him anyway. Michael’s finally given into the urge to be comforted by his best and closest friend, letting himself completely unravel as soon as Jeremy’s bedroom door closes. The familiar, light-blue-walled room acts as a safe haven. It’s somewhere Michael can finally fully be himself and vulnerable around someone he loves, who doesn’t hurt him on purpose.
They haven’t cuddled in months, for what seemed to be good reasons. But since Michael’s been denied physical touch lately, it’s the best method of comfort for this situation. Jeremy’s got his arms around him, and Michael’s pulled partially into his lap for maximum closeness. It makes Michael feel slightly less disgusting, and it’s so much easier to hide his face in Jeremy’s chest this way so he won’t see how ugly he gets when he cries. (It isn’t like he hasn’t seen it before, but it’s still embarrassing.)
Each time Michael wipes his wet face with his sleeves, more tears follow. It’s so frustrating, he cries even more, trembling as shaky sobs rack his body, face burning up and eyes stinging.
This whole thing is kind of mortifying, but Jeremy doesn’t say anything. His silence is somehow comforting. Just his presence helps. He holds Michael tight and close like how his mom used to during his childhood meltdowns, stroking his hair while Michael gets his shirt all soggy.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk about it, you can,” he had first told Michael when he came over teary-eyed, soft spoken. He doesn’t deserve it, truly. He’d hate to burden Jeremy any more than he has.
But with his judgment clouded like this, mind so foggy he can’t even think properly, a few words topple out anyway.
“I just… he makes me so fucking sad, Jeremy.” Michael sniffles loudly, his pathetic voice muffled by the other’s shirt. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“You don’t deserve any of this, Mikey.”
Michael nearly cries harder at that, because he’s right. Fingers in his hair, chin atop his head; breathe.
“I wanna let go so bad,” he confesses. “But, fuck. I kinda need him.”
“You need to take care of yourself,” Jeremy counters.
Michael tries to laugh, but it’s much too watery to be considered anything other than a sob. “I need you to stop being so right.”
For a moment, he pulls away to get fresh air. Jeremy’s giving him that same sad look, the look he always tries to hide when Michael’s ranting about his boy problems, but fails at doing so. His hands have dropped from his head to his upper back, tracing the same part of his spine like the action is engraved in his mind. Up and down.
Upon realization, a loud gasp gets caught in Michael’s throat, only to be partially expelled; fuck, Jeremy’s shirt is quite literally soaked with his tears. “ Shit, dude, I’m s—”
“No,” says Jeremy quickly, immediately shutting Michael up. “No, don’t apologize, okay? It’ll dry. I’m just worried about you right now.”
“Okay.” Michael nearly whispers; he eases into his best friend’s touch, Jeremy’s skinny fingers carding through his hair again and guiding his head to lay on his chest once more. His voice wobbles with every word to follow, more tears welling up in his eyes; “Okay, thank you.”
“What are friends for?” Jeremy responds, holding him close.
Though his voice is familiar and kind, it’s impossible to disregard just how hollow Jeremy sounds. Michael wonders temporarily if he’s just saying that; god, how he wishes he could read his mind—but he can’t.
So he settles for listening to his heartbeat instead, his wet, tear-stained face buried in his chest. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. He’s here. He’s here because he wants to be.
Right now, and probably for the rest of forever, that’s all Michael needs.