6/29 Edit: Changed description, added to the second half for better character development, changed rating to T, formatting.
7/2 Edit: Thanks for nearly 50 views! I'm currently working on another Be More Chill fic, so stay tuned. This one will be much happier and highlight the friendship between Jeremy and Michael (or maybe a bit more?).
"Get out of my way. Loser."
Each word still feels like a blow to Michael's chest, even minutes later, as he sits curled-up on the bathroom floor at Jake Dillinger's Halloween party. Michael almost wishes he had been punched, or slapped, or spat on, or anything that would keep his heart from feeling as if it had been put through a pasta extruding machine. At least a blow to the face would grant him some sort of justifiable anger to keep him from feeling like a fucking sack. At least then any insults would only be implied. At least then he wouldn't know them to be true.
The faucet a few feet away from Michael continues its unceasing dripping. The echoes crash around him. The sound is nearly deafening, but he can barely make out the voice of a drunk girl begging to be let in from the other side of the door. Michael had been invisible for nearly his entire life, but he could never seem to disappear when it mattered. Michael struggles for breath, barely managing to choke out an answer.
"No, you can't come in!"
With a sigh, the teenager stands up and resolves to make himself look more presentable. It's hopeless. His face is flushed and already streaked with tears. Just the sight of his face is enough to cause his eyes to flood with embarrassment. Choking back his despair, he returns to his spot on the floor, desperately searching for anything to keep him from crying more than he already has. The bathroom is suspiciously empty. There's not a single shampoo bottle or hand-soap container or floss package he can read to distract himself from- well- himself. Fuck, at this point, he would even settle for a tampon box. Frantically rubbing his eyes with one hand to stop them from overflowing, he picks at the grout on the floor with his other.
It isn't enough.
Jeremy is still out there. Probably laughing to himself and making out with some girl he doesn't even care about. He'll probably get wasted and spend the rest of the night living it up with the rest of the popular people, as if Michael hadn't meant anything to him. He couldn't even blame the SQUIP for this one, Jeremy had told him to his face that-
Michael buries his face in his knees. Jeremy meant that their time together meant nothing to him. Life isn't a two player game anymore, but was it ever? Was Jeremy this prepared to abandon him all along? He could probably find someone just like him, only someone smarter, or kinder, or cooler, or overall better than him without a second thought. And Michael would fade away into nothingness. Jeremy would advance to the next level, and he would be stuck hiding from the zombies.
Shit.
The teen isn't sure if it's the stuffiness of the bathroom or the three low-quality beers he drank, but he's starting to feel lightheaded. The warmth in his throat that had come from drinking quickly morphs into a scorching heat, and his breath comes in short gasps. Michael hurriedly flicks on the bathroom's fan, and then drags himself over to the bathtub, feeling unsteady. Weed would've been a much better choice, perhaps, but Michael doesn't remember ever reacting this negatively to a few watered-down beers.
He takes a few shaky breaths, choking back a sob. If he just holds out for a few more minutes, then he can probably walk out of the party like nothing ever happened. It's a long shot, but it could work. The tears? They're not from crying, they're from- weed! Or- or something in Michael's eye! The piece of shit bathroom doesn't have any towels to dry himself off with, unfortunately. Maybe if he-
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Michael seizes up at the sound. How long has he been in here? It can't have been that long, yet it somehow feels like it's been an eternity. Or longer. He can't tell. The teenager rests his head on his knees and tugs on his hair, trying to formulate a plan. He can't stay here much longe-
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
If he doesn't hurry up, someone's bound to start shouting at him to get out, and they'll see he's been crying, and they'd probably laugh or throw him out to drive home alone in his goddamned PT Cruiser like a laughingstock with nobody to go to-
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Or Jeremy would see him and do something worse- say something worse, that he's pathetic, or useless, or he deserves to die and what's worse is he'd be completely and utterly correct in every sense of the word because Michael did NOTHING to stop the SQUIP from taking over Jeremy's life and only suggested getting stoned in his goddamned basement like a goddamned loser he deserves so much WORSE than a simple optic nerve blocking-
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
And now he's all alone, alone, alone, and all he'll EVER be is alone he doesn't even deserve to know someone like Jeremy he should just throw himself in a dumpster while he's still ahead Jeremy would've been much better off if they had never even met then Jeremy could've been happy for once in his li-
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
MICHAEL CAN'T BREATHE he can't breathe every breath is an odyssey and he's going to be found and his head is so full of pressure it could explode he CANNOT DO THIS he CANNOT let someone see him in this state oh GOD if anyone sees him he would have a heart attack or go crazy or die or-
BANG. BANG. BANG. BANG.
It was a mistake to come here- it was a mistake to ever start talking to Jeremy- Jeremy deserves so much better than he could ever provide- it was a mistake to bother trying for so long when all he's been is a hindrance on the lives of EVERYONE around him he means nothing to Jeremy and his life means nothing to anyone he can't stand feeling like such a mistake because EVERYTHING he does is just one big mistake his life is just a series of mistakes hes just nobody hes just worthless worthless worthless WORTHLESS-
SPLASH. SPLASH. SPLASH. SPLASH.
Michael throws some water on his face, taking deep breaths. At least he doesn't feel like he's going to die anymore. He wipes his face on his sleeve, gives himself one last look in the mirror, and walks over to the door to open it. Silence fills the room. Whoever was knocking must've left. Good. He didn't want to be bothered, anyways.
The teenager walks back over to the mirror, placing both hands on the counter and shifting his weight forwards.
Absolutely pathetic. Freaking out in a random bathroom over nothing.
Worthless. Losing a friend due to being too much of a loser.
Disgusting. Not a single redeeming feature to be seen.
Everything about Michael makes him want to die.
He backs away from the mirror.
"I should've stayed at home, watching cable porn." He almost laughs through his tears. He can't even take himself seriously. It's all just so pathetic. "Or wish I offed myself instead, wish I was never born!" His voice booms throughout the bathroom. Another stream of tears falls down his face. How much more of a loser could be possibly become? His own best friend was willing to give him up to-
"Michael? Michael! I- I know you're still in there!" A familiar voice rang from the other side of the bathroom door, punctuated by sharp blows to the door. Michael looks towards the source of the sound, but remains still.
"Look- I- I shouldn't have- I never thought…" The voice trails off, then resumes banging on the door. After a few more moments, the banging stops and is replaced by… some sort of clinking? Michael stands completely frozen, not sure what to think. It only takes another ten seconds before the bathroom door swings open.
"I never thought that would hurt you so much." Jeremy drops the coin he used to unlock the bathroom door (one with quite the shitty lock) and he rushes over to Michael, a deep look of concern on his face. He places both of his hands on Michael's shoulders. Michael tenses up for a second and stares down at him, not entirely sure whether to trust his ex-best friend or not.
Jeremy timidly glances back up at Michael, seeming almost embarrassed. "I shouldn't have been listening in, and I swear, it was only for a minute…" He pauses. "Maybe more than that." He hesitates again. Seeing Michael's face flushed red and streaked with tears is enough to send a wave of guilt through his entire body. Jeremy had never seen Michael looking so... shattered. Sure, he had seen him cry before, and yell; they'd been friends long enough that almost nothing was kepy hidden from the other, but this side of Michael seemed different.
Michael had never sounded so distressed the time his pottery project got ruined after fellow third grader Jeremy accidentally shoved it off the cooling rack while fucking around during art class. He never trembled as much when Jeremy accidentally dropped a cast-iron pot full of spaghetti on his foot at 3am one night in sixth grade. His face had never so much as shed a tear even after being pulled over for having weed in his car- twice, just in the first quarter of their junior year. His eyes had not once looked so hopeless, never had they faced a problem that reduced him to near-helplessness. The death of childhood pets and family members, the fear of failing difficult exams, the stress caused by teenage hormones, all things that would reduce Jeremy to tears didn't phase Michael in the slightest.
Michael was always the calmer of the pair. While Jeremy commonly found himself worked up and stressed out, Michael would sit back and offer him one of a few of his favorite things. Discontinued sodas, foreign snack foods in the shape of cartoon characters, cartoons and video games that nobody had ever heard of; they never failed to put a smile on the shorter boy's face. There were also the unforgettable nights where Michael would do something completely stupid, like rolling a blunt using bible pages with Earthworm Jim shittily scrawled on them, or mixing as many sodas as he could find in a can and shotgunning it every time they lost a round of whatever videogame they were currently obsessed with. Was all of that for nothing? The late nights spent talking about wherever their minds would wander? The hundreds of hours spent collaborating to beat even the most difficult of video games? The times Michael was a shoulder to cry on, or Jeremy's constant attention towards anything his best friend showed interest in? Was every experience they shared just a way to pass the time before Jeremy could move onto bigger things?
"I definitely owe you an apology."
"You think?" Michael seems a lot calmer now, and his voice is hardly shaking anymore. "You treat me like I don't exist for weeks, blow me off when I try to help you-"
"I'm sorry." Jeremy wraps his arms around Michael, pulling him into a tight hug. "There's no excuse for what I've done. Look- we- I need to get this SQUIP out of my head. Like, immediately." The shorter boy has a look of determination on his face. "If I have to stay drunk for the next week, month, however long it takes, I'm willing to try it. Anything to keep him out of my mind. I'll rip him out with my bare hands if I have to!"
"Quite the heroic sacrifice." Michael mutters, mockingly. While Michael doesn't hug Jeremy back, he doesn't push him away, either. "Hey, we don't know if alcohol is the only substance that keeps your SQUIP quiet. If you're up for it, we could always try getting stoned in my basement."
"You can't imagine how much I missed you." Jeremy practically sighs with relief.
"Right. All the hours you spent ignoring and avoiding me really proved that." Michael sighs with discontentment.
Jeremy is silent for a moment. Michael isn't wrong in the slightest, but… While he was under the influence of the SQUIP, he felt, simply put, different. Like he could accomplish anything. Like he could become more than the loser he's always been. But in the moments after talking to Brooke or Jake or Christine, when he was alone, he always felt… empty. He was never sure that his actions really mattered if he wasn't the one deciding on which actions to take.
"I never wanted to make you feel like you were anything less than my favorite person. I guess I literally let everything get to my head." Jeremy takes a breath. "And I don't use that term lightly, either. I couldn't imagine having anyone else be my best friend." Jeremy stares up at Michael for a second, then takes a step back, takes the taller boy's glasses, and wipes them off on his shirt. All the beer, sweat, and tears made the lenses horribly smeared.
"After we get this thing out of my head, how about we spend the next week marathoning Apocalypse of the Damned? We could kick back, open a few cans of Pepsi Blue… Let things go back to how they should be." He hands the glasses back to Michael, who inspects them for a moment before putting them back on.
"You took the words right out of my mouth! And as for getting rid of the SQUIP, I think I may have a few ideas." Michael finally returns the hug, squeezing Jeremy so tightly he squeaks in surprise. Michael begins to giggle quietly, and Jeremy follows suit, eventually causing them both to burst into peals of laughter.
"You still up to be my player two?" Jeremy asks, ruffling Michael's hair.
"We still have to defeat the final boss, right?" Michael puts one arm around Jeremy and opens the door to the bathroom. "Neither of us could do it alone." For the first time in weeks, Michael actually feels content with himself. Happy, even. With Jeremy fighting on his team, he couldn't imagine a single thing that could stop them. Whether it be an army of killer zombies or malevolent SQUIPs, as long as they were together, they could take on the world.