Work Text:
“He doesn’t love you. You know that, right?”
Sometimes the squip has nothing better to do than to annoy Jeremy. That’s what he tells himself, anyway.
It’s weak, so incredibly weak, but still there, strong enough to talk to him every now and again. It likes to taunt him like this, taking advantage of his sleeplessness.
Yeah, I know. Jeremy thinks back at it, still not tearing his gaze away from Michael’s sleeping figure across their shared bed. I don’t need you to remind me.
“It’s pathetic. You’re wasting your time on him, Jeremy,” it berates, paying no mind to the anger bubbling up inside him. “You should have kept me around. I could have helped you increase your productivity levels by approximately eighty percent—”
Loudest one is mine.
“—you’re a failure, you do realize that, right? Your major is still undecided, Jeremy. You’re a barista, out of all things, you still can’t attract a single member of any sex—”
“Loudest one is mine.”
“And you can’t even make Michael love you, out of all people. Your little mantra won’t help you, and you know it,” the squip retorts. “I’ll always be here.”
The timing couldn’t be worse. Jeremy catches a glimpse of the shock scars on his wrist, creeping up his arm like lightning—yet another reminder to not use cheat codes in real life. He can’t see it now, but he can still imagine the satisfied smirk on its holographic face, a memory that sends a shiver down his spine.
Defeated, Jeremy gets up from his bed. “You’re a bitch, you know that, right?”
“You never fail to remind me.”
Rolling his eyes, Jeremy walks over to the minifridge at the end of the bed, careful to step quietly to not wake him. Squatting down and squinting from the harsh light when he opens it, he pulls a bottle of Mountain Dew Red out of the fridge. He’s had enough of this for one night.
“Shut up,” he grumbles to the disembodied voice inside his head, unscrewing the tight cap, promptly downing a huge drink of the expired soda. With it goes his anger.
As always, it tastes awful. Jeremy cringes at the rank flavor on his tongue, so bitter and downright disgusting, and the texture from hell—a soda gone entirely flat. It’s a good thing that by now, his body’s learned to adjust to the Red, or at least not reject it. He’d totally take stomach issues over a bitter squip.
The bottle leaves his lips nearly as quickly as it met them. Silence, finally. Jeremy takes a deep breath.
“Ow,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut. “Shit, ow, owowowowow.”
However, his body still isn’t used to the headaches. The pain sears through his skull, leaving his head throbbing like it’s split open. He fumbles for the bottle of ibuprofen on top of the fridge, popping two pills and downing them with water (also from the fridge) to flush them down and rinse out the bitter, filmy aftertaste of the Red.
“Hey, bud, you good?”
Michael’s tired voice almost scares him. He nearly had peace and quiet for a moment there.
“Uh… yeah, I’m good.” Better now, actually, so he doesn’t have to deal with this alone.
“Floppy disk bothering you again?”
“Yeah,” Jeremy chuckles. “It’s fine, though. I took care of it.”
Michael pats the empty space next to him on the bed. “Hop up here, bub.”
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. Jeremy screws the lids back on his various bottles (god, he hadn’t even realized how many), storing them back where they belong. It’s hard to stumble over in the almost dark with a splitting headache, but luckily Jeremy makes it onto the mattress, quickly finding himself amongst cozy sheets.
“Sorry I woke you up.”
“No sorries,” Michael tells him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I needed to know if you were okay, anyway.”
Jeremy’s heart swells. It threatens to explode inside his chest. “You’re the best.”
“I know.”
As always, Michael’s boasting triggers a fit of giggles, wheezy and light, which triggers tired laughter from the instigator. This is always nice. Jeremy feels warm, and so so safe, especially when Michael slings an arm around him, pulling him closer to his chest. It’s the comfort he needed.
As the laughter dies off, the squip’s harsh words still momentarily linger. “He doesn’t love you.”
Maybe not in the same way, but Jeremy knows Michael definitely loves him. That’s why he’s still here despite everything, why he’s holding Jeremy in comfort until they both fall asleep, and why he’ll be there in the morning when he wakes up.
So who cares if it’s solely platonic? Jeremy has his best friend, and that’s all he really needs. That’s all he’ll ever need.
That’s something the squip can’t take away.