Michael Mell doesn't cry.
Instead, he will sit on his bed staring at nothing but the wall for hours on end. Sometimes, if he's feeling up to it, he'll go to his basement and get high. Alone.
His parents are never home, but he's used to it. Always on a "business trip" or a "relaxation vacation". He knows how to take care of himself; he's been making mac and cheese and hot chocolate since he was seven years old. He can do the laundry and wash the dishes. He can most definitely figure out some way to avoid the bills that come in the mail seemingly every day. Sure, sometimes he gets sad that he doesn't really have the model parental figures that almost everyone else at school has. Key word: almost.
Michael sighed and sat up. He had been laying in his bed all day this Saturday. It was currently 4:00, and he hadn't moved since last night.
Michael doesn't sleep, either.
One might think that getting stoned so frequently would eventually cause the body to naturally fall asleep more often, but not in the Michael's case.
Sometimes he thought about school, sometimes about his nearly nonexistent parents, and sometimes about a particularly nasty comment that one of his classmates would sneer at him when he passed by in the hall. He subconsciously traced his finger around the gay pride patch he had recently added to his beloved red hoodie. Unfortunately, nothing good had come from wearing it proudly, if subtly, on his sleeve. Usually it was just typical high school name-calling, but there were a couple of "incidents" that involved a broken nose and a need for new glasses.
But every time without fail, his mind wandered to one boy. Jeremy Heere. His best friend ever since they first went to school. His partner in crime. His Player 1. His cr-
Wait.
Ever since they went to the mall together, Jeremy had been acting differently. Like he was purposely avoiding him all the fucking time. Michael didn't know what he did for his only friend to straight up abandon him. Until one day at school.
"What's up with you? You've been acting shady ever since-"
It clicked in his brain. The SQUIP.
"It worked, didn't it? Jeremy, that's amazing! We gotta test it out, we gotta celebrate! We should… get stoned in my basement!"
Michael had never worn such a plastic smile in his life. He knew that one day Jeremy would be way out his league. Hell, he was already avoiding him like the plague.
That had been a horrible day in the Mell household. In the morning, his dad had stormed out and stated that he'd be taking a "break" from the family. His mom had fled shortly after, probably to drink herself half to death in some bar. Michael was forced to pick up the broken glass that they had left behind. There was no way he got to school on time. The only highlight of the entire week had been seeing Jeremy for the first time in a while. And then, while he was at his worst, but didn't outwardly show it, Jeremy had ditched him. Again. For the social hierarchy of their school.
Michael was brought back to reality by the notification of a text on his phone.
JereBear: hey dude can u come over
Mikeyyyy: sure i'll be there in 10
Michael sighed again and set his phone back down on his nightstand. Did he really want to see his supposed best friend after what had happened? He knew that he had already forgiven Jeremy, simply because he understood that Jeremy would never do that to him purely out of his own will. Rationally, he knew that Jeremy wasn't intentionally ignoring him: the SQUIP was a professional manipulator. Michael's train of thought automatically went to the night of The Party.
"Get out of my way, loser."
Michael was speechless. Of all people, Jeremy knew that word wasn't allowed to be used in their years of friendship. Michael stepped out of the way and kept his gaze down.
No, not here.
He wasn't going to cry in front of his best friend.
Michael scoffed. Some friend he was.
Immediately after spending the better part of an hour sitting on the floor of the bathroom, Michael drove home after deciding that the two beers he drank weren't enough to impair him with all of the sobering events that had transpired.
Slamming the door, Michael entered the house after looking for his parents' cars. No one was home. Typical.
Michael replayed the events of the party over and over in his mind. And over.
In a (justified) outburst of anger he threw an empty bottle that his mom had left on the counter across the kitchen. The shattering of glass snapped him out of his anger, however, and only served to amplify his regret and despair.
Michael didn't sleep that night, instead choosing to stare at his ceiling and thinking about what he did to deserve this.
Michael packed a small bag and filled it to the top with video games and sweatpants and extra shirts. He had a feeling this was going to be one of those days that Jeremy didn't want to be alone for awhile. These feelings were just something that the two had developed over time. They always knew when the other wasn't feeling well, or when they were upset. Unless they got SQUIP-ed.
But that was all behind them now, Michael assumed. After he had brought the Mountain Dew Red and literally saved the entire school, they had silently agreed that everything would go back to normal.
The thing was, nothing could ever be normal again.
Michael knocked on the door, now unsure whether he was invited or not. Jeremy, when they were 10, had given Michael the key to his house in case he needed some place to get away from the screaming.
"M-Michael?"
"What's up, my man?"
Jeremy stepped out of the doorway to let Michael in.
"Nothing r-really, just wanted t-to see you again."
Michael studied Jeremy's face carefully. Oh, shit. His stutter had gotten worse. That certainly was a bad sign. Thanks to the many times in the past that he had comforted and consoled his friend, he considered himself a master at heading Jeremy's emotions. His face was now a mix of sorrow, anxiety, and earnesty. There was also something new: a strange flicker of self-hatred.
Michael knew all about that one.
Why can't they just stop drinking? Did I do something to make them angry? What if I left? Would that make things better? What if I can't help? What if the only way to help is to disappear? Would they just stop if I was never born in the first place?
Michael's thoughts at God-knows-what-time at night were constantly a swirl of self-doubt and beratement.
Jesus Christ, now Jeremy's doing it too.
Without thinking, Michael pulled Jeremy into a hug. Both boys held on tight, afraid to let go of what was in front of them.
Pulling away, Jeremy blushed and led Michael to his room. The small TV with the XBox was already set up. There was also an obnoxious pile of blankets and pillows on the floor.
"M-Michael?"
"Yeah, my dude?"
"Can we talk? I-I feel like w-we haven't really talked about what h-happened," Jeremy started, looking anxious as ever.
"Of course," responded Michael, who was already situated on the floor, surrounded by all the pink fluffiness he could find.
"I just n-need to apologize," he started. "I know I never really did, and that's not okay, and I was so awful to you, and-"
"Jere. You know I'm always gonna be there for you. No matter what. Look. I was pissed off that you sorta left me for some 'cooler' people, but we both know what really matters here. You got rid of that God damned SQUIP. You came back for me," Michael interrupted.
Immediately as the words left his mouth, Michael started to notice the tears that welled in his eyes. Oh, shit. This hadn't happened in years. The last time had cried in front of Jeremy had been the time Jeremy had found him behind the school with a broken, bloody nose and a horrible word carved on the inside of his forearm. He still had the scars to prove it.
"But, uh, I'm going to make some hot chocolate and then we're gonna really get talking!" Michael bolted into the kitchen and started preparing the two mugs. He couldn't cry. He couldn't everything he had learned be for nothing. Over the years, it was drilled into him that vulnerability was considered weakness. This was why he never cried; especially in front of his best friend.
Jeremy had other plans. After Michael had left he knew something was up.
"Michael, what the hell is going on?"
Michael almost dropped the mugs. At least Jeremy's stutter wasn't present anymore.
"Come sit down, ya nerd," Jeremy smiled softly.
Michael reluctantly trailed behind him back into his room.
"Michael, you know I won't judge you, whatever happens," Jeremy said, worry in his blue eyes.
"No, that's okay, man, I promise."
"Stop lying, you know I've figured you out way too long ago for you to get away with that shit," Jeremy pressed.
"Seriously, I can't tell you."
{About that incredibly huge crush that I've had on you since you hugged me and played Apocalypse of the Damned after my mom threw me out of the house.}
Jeremy took a risk and reached over to take Michael's hands into his.
"Michael. You can tell me anything."
"No, I can't tell you, because it would ruin everything."
"It can't ruin anything. I don't even deserve you, I-I couldn't even comprehend how you would mess something up after you saved my ass."
"Don't deserve me?" Michael said, taken aback.
"What are you talking about, no one could love me after what I did to everyone, let alone you."
Jeremy said it so casually that Michael almost believed that he was making a joke about the stupid Pepe meme.
"JEREMY HEERE I HAVE LOVED YOU THIS ENTIRE TIME AND YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO TELL ME THAT YOU DON'T DESERVE ME YOU FUCKING IDIOT!"
The silence that followed was so thick you could cut it with a knife.
Jeremy didn't say anything.
And then Jeremy leaned in and pressed his lips to Michael's in a chaste, sweet kiss.
Then the dam finally broke. Michael thought he would never stop crying. The salty tears flowed freely down his face and blurred his vision.
Jeremy pulled Michael into his lap, holding him tightly while he cried into his sweatshirt.
Michael Mell doesn't cry.
Until he was finally happy enough to do so.