Michael's normal routine pretty much consisted of wake up, eat breakfast, talk with Jeremy, go to school, dick around with Jeremy, come home, go to Jeremy's house, play video games with Jeremy, and then go home (sometimes followed by texting Jeremy), and go to sleep. He'd wake up in the morning and do it all over again, and, quite honestly, he wasn't the slightest bit unhappy about his life. He had a good home, the world's best moms, friends, and Jeremy. At the end of the day, what more did a guy need?

"I am not chugging a gallon of milk, Michael." Jeremy hadn't been his usual self all night, snapping at Michael over every little thing.

Michael sighed, popping the cap off a fresh gallon. "Oh, come on. Whoever pukes first loses."

"It's going to be you because I'm not doing it."

"Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, where is your sense of adventure?" he wheedled, throwing a friendly arm around his friend's shoulders.

"It died, Mike. It died on the same day that we bought that evil tic-tac."

"Okay, okay, fine. When did you become such a party pooper? God."

Jeremy frowned, shrugging off Michael's arm. "If you don't like it, go hang out with Rich or Jake or something."

Michael snorted. "Oh, no. Sic me on Rich and Jake. Someone doesn't like me anymore." Even as he said it, though, he knew they weren't even talking about the milk or Rich and Jake. "Jer, dude, what's wrong with you?"

"Nothing." It was petulant and dismissive.

Michael packed up his stuff, swung his backpack back around his shoulders, and huffed. "Alright, be like this, whatever. You don't want me around, that's fine. Don't be such a bitch about it, though, dude. Just say it, okay?"

"Michael, it's just—" Jeremy reached forward to stop him from leaving, but Michael pulled away from him quickly.

"I don't want to be around you either, okay? Maybe it'd be better if I didn't inflict myself on you for awhile." He slammed the Heere's front door behind him, stopping when he heard a thump behind him. He thought about turning around but, instead, he muttered a curse and ran next door to his house. Michael would call him in the morning, just like they always did after a fight, and they'd work it out. They always did; they'd never had made it as far as they have if they didn't.

He dodged his two moms' many questions before he threw himself on his bed, still dressed, and fell asleep right there on top of his covers.

He woke up early the next morning, shivering in his pitch black bedroom. That right away was strange; he and Jeremy always kept their blinds open on that side of their rooms so they could see if the other one was awake yet.

He dragged himself over to his computer, shoving his glasses onto his face, and signed on through tired eyes, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He brought his messages client up, yawning as it loaded all his settings, and frowned.

None of the names on his list were right. Where was Jenna? The worst of all was he couldn't find Jeremy at the top. He scrolled through the various names on there, way more than he would have expected. He tried typing Jeremy's name into the chat window but his call was denied.

Michael's heart sank. Jeremy never denied his call, not even when they had been pissed with one another the night before. He numbly went through his routine, startling himself when he discovered he had spent five whole minutes thinking in front of the mirror with toothpaste running down his chin.

It had just been a stupid argument, over something they didn't even know what they were fighting about, and now Jeremy was stonewalling him. He loitered over his breakfast, pushing eggs around desolately, until one of his moms, Joyce, pulled the plate out from under his fork. "You going to tell me what's wrong? You never sit still this long."

"Jeremy won't talk to me." He threw the fork down and leaned back in his chair. "We had a fight last night and, I don't even think we were actually fighting over milk, you know? He was just, he was mad at me and I got mad at him pushing me out like that, and—" He ran his fingers through his hair tiredly. "I don't know."

"Sweetheart," Joyce said. "Who's Jeremy?"

"Mom," Michael started. "That's real funny, but don't, okay?"

"Mike, I'm not kidding." Her eyebrows were low on her forehead, as if in confusion. "I know you have a lot of friends, but I've never met a Jeremy before."

"A lot of friends? Mom, I've only got seven friends."

There was a long pause before Joyce put her hand on his forehead. "Did you hit your head in your sleep last night?"

"Whatever, mom, I'm just going to go next door and—"

"Why?"

"I'm going to make Jeremy talk to me."

"By annoying the Nelsons?" she asked slowly, as if Michael really had obtained an unfortunate head injury in the night.

"No, the Heeres. Jeremy Heere. That's his name. They've lived next door to us for twelve years. I was raised with Jeremy."

"The Heeres moved away years ago, before you were born. I don't think they had any children either. How would you even know them?"

Michael felt itchy all of a sudden, like his skin was too tight, and he quickly shrugged on his coat (he couldn't find his red hoodie anywhere!) and backpack. He ran out the door and towards the school.

Jeremy had loved Michael's mothers all his life. They had babysat him since the day Jeremy became Michael's friend. None of this was right. He tore through the doors, sliding up to his locker, and quickly spinning the lock.

All of his pictures and decorations were different. He couldn't find Jeremy's face in any of them, where once he'd been in them all; a constant presence at Michael's shoulder. He dug through his papers but he couldn't find anything that was Jeremy's. There were no notes passed in class, no stupid drawings down in the margins of his textbooks; nothing. He slammed it shut and banged his head against the unforgiving metal. A few other kids were filtering into the hallway, but Michael took no notice of them until a hand landed on his shoulder. He had expected it to be Jeremy.

Instead, he found "Christine!"

"Mike," she said with a smile.

Michael frowned. "You are way too happy to see me."

"Why shouldn't I be? Listen, Madeline—"

"Whoa, whoa, Madeline?" He stopped dead in his tracks. "Madeline's still around?"

Christine frowned. "And why shouldn't she be? She's been here since kindergarten."

Michael stood there, gaping at the shorter girl. "But… what? I thought she moved away a month ago?"

Christine furrowed her eyebrows, frowning. "No… well, anyways, Madeline just—"

"Chris, I'm sorry, I've got to—" he pulled himself away from her. "I just, I got to—" He walked quickly down the hall, receiving slaps on the back from various kids, greetings from people who wouldn't have spoken to him in a thousand years before… whatever just happened to him happened.

He swallowed quickly and ducked into the boy's bathroom. He locked himself in the largest stall at the end and sunk to the floor, throwing his backpack down beside him. It was all wrong. His head fell into his hands, tears pricking at the back of his eyes, and he bit his lip to keep them at bay. After a moment of rubbing his eyes from behind his glasses furiously, trying to banish the emptiness he suddenly felt, he tore into his backpack and pulled out his phone. Maybe Google could help?

He sat there for hours, ignoring the shuffle of feet in and out of the bathroom and the ringing of the school bells. He read about whatever he could find on old, abandoned forums on reddit, hell, even going back to where he found his first bout of information on the SQUIP, but he never found anything about waking up in a world that was all wrong. He read everything he could find, meeting the bitter taste of disappointment that nothing was going to help him that he'd become so acquainted with last October.

He threw his phone at the stall, feeling childish when it hit the tile at his feet. The bathroom was thankfully empty when he emerged, his phone tucked back in his pocket.

He walked quickly through the halls, hoping to avoid the teachers. He walked the rest of the way home, only stopping long enough to unlock the door.

Michael raced to his moms' bookshelf, pulling out a yellowed paged address book, flipping through it as he sat on a spot on the floor for what seemed like hours before he found what he was looking for.

"They live one town over," he whispered to himself. Maybe… maybe… Michael barely allowed hope to fill him. "He might be there."

Michael got up, getting his car's keys and getting into his car, quickly putting his car into drive.

He parked down the street, sitting still with the car's ignition turned off. He could see the house, and the lights were shining brightly through the window. He'd been sitting there for several minutes before he gathered enough courage to do what he was about to do. He took a deep breath and bet it all on Jeremy still being home.

He knocked on the front door, stomach tied in knots. Jeremy opened it, looking exactly like Michael had remembered him, even if he had only been away from him for a day instead of a lifetime.

"Hello?"

Michael opened his mouth and realized he had no idea what to say. Jeremy raised an eyebrow at him and Michael cleared his throat.

"Hi."

"Yeah, uhm, we're not buying anything today. Thanks," Jeremy said, averting his eyes as he made to close the door. Michael quickly stuck his hand out, making a noise in the back of his throat.

"No, wait, um. I'm Michael and I, uh—I lost my best friend. And I was just—I realized something. I realized that, we weren't ever fighting about the stupid stuff we thought we were, that we were saying things without actually saying any of them.

"I woke up this morning completely empty and alone and I couldn't figure out why, but then I did. I missed him. I missed him playing video games and I missed him making my bed for me in the morning after our sleepovers. I missed him getting hugs from my moms and I missed his dad telling us stories from his youth, no matter how many times he'd told us those stories. And then I realized it was because, if there was anyone I wanted to fight about milk, or clothes, or how cold my toes were in the morning for the rest of my life, it was him. And I needed to say that out loud. Because I think I'd been saying it so much on the inside that everything went wrong out here. I'm not the same without him."

Jeremy didn't interrupt his speech. He stood there, one hand on the doorknob behind him and a curious look in his eyes the whole time. "Okay?"

"I'm sorry, but—I need him back. I need him to know all these things. Thanks for, you know, listening." Michael walked away quickly, his hands deep in his pockets to hide the way his hands were shaking.

"My name's Jeremy."

Michael stopped.

"And… I hope you get him back. It sounds like you love him a lot."

Michael smiled, because that was exactly the word he'd been too scared to use.

"Yeah," he agreed. "I do. I really do."

"See you around?" Jeremy called.

"Yeah," Michael said, closing his eyes and smiling sadly, "see you around."

Michael didn't remember coming home. His mothers were still bickering over what to eat for dinner. Michael snuck by them, intending to just go to bed and live through the next day without his best friend.

Up in his room, Michael opened the blinds. He looked across the yard at a the Nelsons' house. They had a home gym set up in what was Jeremy's room in his world, and the young Mrs. Nelson was watching some talk show while on the elliptical. He closed the blinds quickly, and laid down on his still made covers.

He felt exhausted, even though it was early, and he could hear his phone chirping on his night stand, probably Christine or someone, wondering where he was. He ignored them, preferring to wallow in his own grief.

He didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up to the blinding winter sun reflecting off the snow outside.

He could have sworn he'd closed them back last night. His phone was still ringing, and he wondered if people had been blowing it up all night long. He buried his face under his pillow for a second, preparing himself for another day without Jeremy.

His phone blissfully stopped ringing and Michael wondered if his moms would take pity on him and let him skip school today.

He heard one of his moms coming up the stairs and he drug himself up out of bed.

"I'm up, I'm up, can I just not go today?"

"Why, so you don't have to see me?"

Michael turned around, gaping.

"Jeremy?"

"Look, I know I was an asshole last night, but you can't just ignore my calls. You've never ignored my calls before, okay? That's not how we do things, Michael. Michael. Talk to me."

"What's your address?" Michael croaked.

"What? Mike, what are you—I live next door, idiot, what's your address?" Jeremy frowned, crossing his arms.

"I'm back," Michael whispered. "I'm back!"

Jeremy stared at his friend for a second.

"Okay, so, I'm going to go out into the hall and I'm going to come back? And when I come back, you are going to be normal. Okay?"

"No, wait," Michael lunged for Jeremy's arm. He caught him around the wrist and pulled him back. "Listen, I had—I had a nightmare last night. I dreamed that you and I—that we… that we had never met. And, in my dream, I was popular, but you lived in a whole other town and I… I found you." Michael kept his voice low and serious, brushing the pad of his thumb across the back of Jeremy's hand. Jeremy didn't move, didn't even take his piercing blue eyes off of Michael.

"And you didn't know me. So I told you. I told you that I missed you and even your dad. That I missed you messing up my room and spending the night even though we both know we're too old for it now, and that I needed you back. That we needed to be friends again." Michael licked his lips, feeling suddenly more nervous than he'd ever been in his whole life. "I told you I loved you."

Jeremy smiled—shy and nervous too—and leaned closer. "And what did I say?"

"You told me that you hoped I'd find you."

"And did you?" Michael was suddenly aware that Jeremy's hand was sliding into his own, fingers laced between his.

"I think," Michael sighed, eyes fluttering closed, "that that's up to you now."

Jeremy closed the distance, pressing his lips against Michael's gently. Michael wrapped his free hand in Jeremy's shirt, pulling his as close as he could, with the intention of never, ever letting him go. Jeremy licked at Michael's lips gently, tilting his head when he opened up to him.

When they broke apart, Jeremy rested his forehead against Michael's, letting their breath mingle between them, and their hands still tangled together.

"We weren't fighting about milk, were we?" Jeremy panted, rubbing his nose against Michael's cheek.

"I don't think we ever were," Michael chuckled.