Work Text:
Jeremy Heere was going to vomit all over the Middleborough high school stage, and everyone was going to laugh at him. He was going to be laughed offstage and be hated by everyone and everything and he was going to want to die. Well, more than he already did.
He stood in the wings, with his stupid Puck costume, watching Brooke Lohst flub her lines. He knew that if he was there, flubbing his lines as badly as her, he’d be made fun of for ages. Brooke was the kind of person who could make a million mistakes and then be loved by everyone. He was the class outcast. Sure, he had Michael, but Michael was… growing away from him.
Had Michael even come to this play?
He shoved that thought out of his head. Michael could do whatever the hell he wanted with his life. He didn’t need Jeremy dragging him down. Jeremy was fully aware that Michael Mell was going places. He was eccentric, not strange, he could get away with being open and weird and not care.
And here Jeremy was, trying his best to not hyperventilate in the backstage that smelled like musty curtains and body odor, all for a stupid high school play.
Jake Dillinger sat there, on his phone backstage. That wasn’t allowed. Jeremy wasn’t about to critique him, because he was Jake fucking Dillinger.
Jeremy was convinced he was surrounded by fake people, sometimes. Jake was too nice and too perfect. His only flaw seemed to be inability to talk correctly to people, which was seen as funny rather than awkward, because he was 6’2 and had pretty eyes and smiled at everyone like they were the only person in the universe. Brooke was all blonde hair and wide brown eyes and soft freckles and bubblegum. Chloe Valentine was the epitome of Regina George, if she was worse at making fun of people, and Rich was-
Well. Rich was different. But he was still cool and accepted and a little bit of a dick, in a way Jeremy could never let himself be.
Jeremy nearly jumped a foot in the air when he felt a hand on his arm.
He looked down to see Jake looking at him with furrowed brows. "You good, man?"
No. No, he wasn't good. He'd been pretending for months to be someone he wasn't. He was at a boiling point and he was going to lose his mind at any moment.
Rich has taken pity on him. Found him in the bathroom and said some bullshit about how Jeremy was better off without Michael and how he should do what he wanted. And he'd gotten dragged into friend hangouts with the popular kids, and he'd been doing the play, and things were supposed to be good.
Except everything wasn't good.
He'd thought that being friends with these people and pretending to be cool and being close to Christine Canigula would make all this bullshit go away. But god, no, he just wanted to die. He hated every part of himself, more than he'd hated himself before Rich had fucking pitied him. He wanted to go out and take himself out in the middle of that stage to send some sort of message that all he was good for was a dramatic scene.
Jeremy realized he was just staring at Jake, who pulled his hand back, looking confused. "Okay." Jake said slowly, clearly not sure what to do when confronted with a Jeremy who looked like he was going to either throw up or cry or punch something.
Jeremy felt even more sick.
That wasn't helped when he heard his cue, stumbling out to the stage. He had a line. He had to have a line. He wasn't there for no reason. Everyone on stage was looking at him, staring at him, there was an audience. He was going to die right there and then.
The zombie makeup looked like it was melting under the lights onstage. It was suffocating, horrifying, the way his friends- no, they weren't his friends, he couldn't do this. He wasn't friends with them. He was an outsider. And now he was staring at the others onstage, standing still, trying to calm his breathing.
It was the last day before Thanksgiving break, and there was supposed to be a play, and Jeremy Heere was having a panic attack onstage.
Everything felt far away, and loud, and Jeremy just wanted to disappear, but his feet felt rooted. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't do anything. He tried, but all that came out was a sort of strangled noise, and it echoed over the speakers.
There was shuffling in the crowd, so loud it hurt his ears. But he couldn't hear the words that Christine was saying, trying to save his flubbed lines. She was saving his ass, she was so close to him, he could just say his fucking lines, what were his fucking lines?
A hand grabbed his arm and dragged him back into the wings. The hand was warm and made his skin crawl, and he nearly hit Jake in the face.
"Woah, dude, what's up with you?" Jake didn't mean it in that way. He knew he didn't. Jake was just a little abrasive, he didn't think Jeremy was a useless nerd. Right? Maybe he did.
"I-" He started, before his breath stopped working. Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
"Do you need- uh. Water. Playbook." Jake had never learned the word for script, and for some reason that infuriated Jeremy right now.
What did he need?
He needed a brain that didn't hate him. A friend that didn't think he was a loser. A real person to talk to and be with. A way out. He'd wanted a way out, that's all he'd wanted. He was running out of options.
Christine made her exit. She said something to Jake- Jeremy felt like he was underwater. He was hearing the words, but nothing was clicking. It was horrible. He was ruining this play, the only thing Christine cared about.
Jake said something back, and then Christine was in his place, whispering to him. She guided him out of the wings into the hallway, talking to him. He didn’t know what to respond with, what she was saying, what to do.
“-call someone? Your mom or your dad, or-”
Jeremy fumbled for his phone. He wasn’t supposed to have it in his play costume, but he was thankful he did. He handed it to Christine, not even caring about anything. He slid down the wall, head between his knees. “M-Michael. Call Michael.” His voice shook. The words sounded like they were too loud.
Christine nodded, before heading off in her ridiculous, tattered looking Shakespearean dress, talking into Jeremy’s phone. Jeremy felt like being sick. She was talking on his phone to his best friend and it looked so fucking stupid in her hand, with the alien phone case.
Jeremy tried to ground himself. It was fine. He was fine. Nothing was the matter, so he should just calm down. This was all normal.
He’d heard rumors about a few weeks ago, with Rich at a party. He’d had a major freak out and nearly wrapped his car around a tree, if Jenna was to be believed. There was a whole hashtag about him being cared about. He wondered what would’ve happened if he’d done that. Would anyone care? He’d miss the play, but Reyes would step in for him. Probably. Maybe. God.
He felt pathetic.
He felt even more pathetic when the hallway doors opened and Michael was there.
They hadn’t talked in ages. He’d freaked out on Michael those same few weeks ago, telling him about how he was so much better without him. Things he hadn’t meant at that moment. Or maybe he had.
And yet here he was, standing there, and he was there for him, and that made Jeremy’s lungs work even less.
“Whoa, hey dude. Deep breaths.” Michael said, crouching in front of him. Christine hovered nearby. “I- got this.” Michael looked up at her, and they seemed to silently talk to each other, like they’d known each other for years. Christine nodded, disappearing backstage again.
“It’s okay. You know, the play’s kinda shit anyways.”
What? How the hell was that relevant? He felt even more confused now. “I- wh-what?” He managed, looking at Michael. His hands shook, digging into his forearms. “I don’t- what?”
“I- oh, god. Okay. Fuck. Christine said something about stage fright. I thought- is that not what this is?”
Was it? Jeremy hesitated, shook his head, then nodded, then shook his head again. “I- sorry.”
“Don’t say that until you mean it. I’m not- we’ll talk later. When you’re not flipping out.”
“I’m not-”
“You are. Just-” Michael raked a hand through his hair. “I’m still mad at you, but it’s really hard when you’re all-” He gestured at Jeremy. “What’s been up with you, man?”
What was up with him?
He was more anxious than ever. His mother had called him about her new fancy shiny family. He was lying to himself and to all the kids around him. He couldn’t perform in front of his crush and the others probably thought he was useless.
And he very deeply wanted to die.
“You’ve been- acting weird. And ignoring me. And you look like you’re going to vomit all over yourself. You- I’m worried, Jere.”
And now Jeremy was fucking crying. He was crying, all snotty and red faced and shaking, and Michael looked so confused, which made him cry harder. He buried his face in his hands.
“Your- your dad’s worried too. You’ve been- you’ve been acting weird at home. And you’re- isolating yourself. And doing things you don’t normally do. We’re worried you’re going to do something- bad.”
Jeremy felt a hand around his shoulder. When was the last time they’d hugged? He didn’t know.
Jeremy felt something pushed into his hands, and he barely even thought anything through until he was uncapping the bottle and drinking it.
The carbonation made him cough, a little, but it was better than nothing. Mountain Dew? Code Red? What? He looked at the bottle, then at Michael.
“Sorry. Uh, only thing I had to drink.”
Jeremy sniffled. “Did- did you sneak your own Mountain Dew into the play?” He said, his voice quaking a little, even as he let out a hoarse wheeze.
“Shut up, Heere. Their concessions sucked.” Michael huffed, before looking at him for a moment. “Look, we- have a lot to talk about, but- you look exhausted. We should get you home.”
“The play-”
“It’s almost done, anyways.” Michael may be lying, but Jeremy had no clue how long he’d been out of it. “C’mon. We can talk later.”
That didn’t inspire much confidence, but Jeremy got to his feet. Michael had to hold him up, which made him feel even worse. He was fine. He wasn’t dying, although he deeply wanted to. He’d shove that down, like he always did.
“Why’d you pick up?” Jeremy finally mumbled, out in the parking lot. A jean jacket had been tossed over his shoulders. When did Michael start wearing jean jackets? He wasn’t wearing his hoodie.
There was silence for a moment, while Michael unlocked his car. “Because no matter how much of an ass you’ve been, I still care about you. Against my better judgment.”
Jeremy was quiet, before he slid into the passenger seat. “You- you shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t- do this right now, Jeremy. Okay? I’m taking you home. We can talk about our friendship or lack thereof later.” He sounded bitter. That was fair. Jeremy had kind of left him in the lurch. He deserved this sort of shit. “But right now, you should talk. What the hell’s been up with you, man?”
Jeremy didn’t speak for a while. Ideas raced through his head. Talk to Michael. Tell him what the hell was going on in his fucked up brain. But he didn’t know how to say it right. Sorry I abandoned you and called you a loser and said I didn’t want to be friends anymore, I wanted to entirely start my life over because it was that or death. Whoopsie!
“My mom called.” He finally settled on. It wasn’t anywhere close to what he wanted to say, but it would work. “She- talked about how she was… with a new family. New guy. New kid.”
“Jesus Christ.” Michael muttered, but kept quiet, other than that.
The words came spilling out of him. “And she’s- she’s their full kid. She’s their full blood kid. And she’s ten. She- she had another fucking kid for eight years, Michael, and we didn’t know. Or I didn’t. And her husband’s some- real estate guy. And she kept bragging about it like- like I was a disappointment.”
“Does your dad know?”
Jeremy felt sick. “I- I dunno. Not- really? Maybe he does.” He hadn’t talked to his dad. They’d had a screaming match a few hours ago. “We- haven’t talked. He’s… I yelled at him. I don’t know why. I’ve just-”
His words stopped. How the hell was he supposed to say any of this?
“I’ve been an asshole.” He mumbled. “And I don’t- I don’t know why. It’s all been really- really bad. I can’t… I can’t keep living like this.”
“Jere-”
“No, I- I can’t. I can’t do this, Michael, I can’t be- I’m a terrible friend, and son, and person, and I just want to-”
“Jeremy.” The words stopped in his throat. He realized that there were harsh red curves on his arm from his own nails. “I… I get it. Okay? You’re not doing okay. But pushing away the people who- who care about you isn’t helping. Being a dick isn’t going to make you feel any better. Look. There’s people who care, and things you haven’t done. So you’re not giving up on us anytime soon, alright?”
They were in his driveway. The kitchen lights were on, and Jeremy had to take a deep breath. He wasn’t shaking as badly anymore, but the idea of facing his dad didn’t make him feel great.
“You need to sleep. Water, then sleep. Then we can talk in the morning. Or later. Just- you’re not doing okay. And I don’t know exactly why, but you didn’t- tell anyone anything. You just- changed. And freaked us all out. So… so I’ll give you this chance, but you have to take it. Call me if you need me.”
Jeremy stared at his front door. “I- okay.” He said, voice soft. “I’ll- do that.”
He wouldn’t. He made his way to the door, which was opened by his dad. He didn’t know what to do. His dad said something about the school, and a call, and Michael, and he didn’t get any of it. Finally, he had a glass of water, and a few pills of ibuprofen, and he was in his room.
He fell back on his bed, intending on just going the fuck to sleep and forgetting this all had happened. He felt a stabbing pain in his back and sat up.
A notebook, with a photorealistic dinosaur on the front. He’d been using it to take notes for the play. He flipped it open, staring at it. Then he picked up the pen.
Things he hadn’t done. There were things he still wanted to do.
He started writing, hand still shaky.
Bucket List
Number One: Sneak Out At Night.