Michael
"So is he your boyfriend now or…?" Jeremy asks as Michael and Julio round a corner right into him.
He just wants to go home and not think about Jeremy or how absolutely stupid it is that Jeremy is asking if Julio is his boyfriend when all Michael has ever wanted is Jeremy.
"No, just his best friend," Julio replies smoothly while Michael splutters. He's grateful for the support. "Though I wouldn't say no."
Michael's eyes shoot to Julio. I thought he said he was straight. Julio shrugs and winks, and Michael- to his own horror- blushes.
"I'm his best friend!" Jeremy exclaims, his voice high and very hurt. Michael winces, feeling torn.
Julio scoffs in disbelief. "You're his best friend? Where have you been? How come you've never been introduced?"
Jeremy drops his eyes and stares down the empty hallway as if searching it for an excuse. "Yeah- well, I… it's just…" he licks his lips nervously.
Michael feels like a guilty bystander, so he steps between them- Jeremy wide-eyed and defensive, Julio boiling with indignation on Michael's behalf. "Hey, hey. Jeremy Heere, my… um." He shoots a glance at Jeremy, but Jeremy's busy glaring at Julio, and Michael can't catch his eye. "This is Julio, who's… uh-"
This isn't going well.
"Hi," Jeremy says through gritted teeth. "Nice to meet you."
Julio crosses his arms. "I'd say the same, but you're the reason Michael's been miserable for weeks, so…"
Michael flinches as Jeremy gives him a panicked look. Seriously? As if you didn't know. "Guys…" He shakes his head at Julio. "Be decent."
Julio uncrosses his arms immediately, slinging one arm around Michael. "Okay, okay. Hey, see you around, yeah?" He waves to Jeremy, who glares after them.
As soon as they're out of earshot, Michael turns to Julio and Julio pulls his arm back. "What was that?" he asks suspiciously.
Julio shrugs. "Nothing like a good bit of jealousy to get the ball rolling, right?"
For the first time in a while, Michael smiles for real.
Jeremy
When Jeremy rounded that corner and saw Michael, he very nearly died. The full force of- well- Michael hit him hard- the somewhat curly, somewhat messy hair, the glasses, his skin shining like rich, creamy coffee, his eyes a deep, clear brown, the bow of his lips shooting an arrow straight into Jeremy's heart.
But that other boy was with him, and to Jeremy's horror, this boy wasn't hideous by any stretch of the imagination.
Now, glaring after the two, he couldn't ignore the twist in his gut or the wild confliction dancing through him, tearing through like a hurricane and leaving devastation behind.
He's a fucking bitch, part of his mind screeches, but the other part continues to point out that he made Michael smile. Smile. But then that, too, is a bad thing because as great as it is that Michael is happy, Jeremy wants to be part of it.
"Why the face? If looks could kill, that boy would be lying on the ground right now." Christine's cheery voice comes from behind Jeremy, tinted with worry.
"I think we should break up," Jeremy blurts out. "Fuck, I mean-"
For some reason, Christine is beaming. "I agree, I agree, I agree! Oh Jeremy, yes!" Jeremy freezes, dumbfounded, as Christine hugs him around the waist. "I've been meaning to, you know…" She ducks her head. "But I couldn't- I just- I'm shy you know, but I actually like-"
"Jenna," Jeremy finishes, the beginnings of a smile messing with his glare.
"Yes, well," Christine ducks her head again, her cheeks rosy red. "And you like Michael, anyone can see that."
Jeremy splutters, his heart plummeting. His body goes cold. "Everyone?" he squeaks, his voice cracking.
"Except for Michael," Christine amends, and Jeremy breathes out a sigh of relief.
"Christine," he begins as Christine starts to walk away, "I don't know what to do." He watches helplessly as the figures in the distance wave goodbye to each other, feeling the coming of their own secret handshake like a ticking time bomb.
Christine looks back at him. "Don't ignore him, for one."
Jeremy licks his lips, feeling his breath coming short. "That's not- I don't think I do like him, I-"
"Oh my god, you totally do."
"No I- I think- I don't know what to do, I think I love him!"
Christine's eyes widen, but she takes it in stride, seemingly oblivious to the way Jeremy trembles with the words. "Not just a heavy crush."
"No," Jeremy groans miserably.
Christine smiles. "Well I'm here if you need anything," she says, wiggling her phone. Then she gives Jeremy another one of her pointed looks. "I wish you the best of luck on talking to him."
"Talk to him," Christine insists, pushing Jeremy down the hallway insistently. "Talk, talk, talk."
Eight days of not talking, except for the one run-in in the hallway with Michael and… Julio. Julio, that fucking idiot who probably is hugging Michael goodbye- unless they're going home together- fuck.
Jeremy braces his feet against the floor, petulantly resisting every step. "I don't want to talk to Michael."
"Scaredy-cat," Christine scoffs with a terrible air of superiority.
Jeremy shakes his head wildly. "No- I just- I don't know what to say, I-"
"Michael, I'm in love with you. Dearest, darling Michael, will you go out with me. Michael, my love, I'm truly and deeply sorry for being absolutely stupid for a whole week." Christine chatters on.
Jeremy curses, trying to pull his arm out of Christine's shockingly strong grip and failing miserably. "Eight days," he corrects before he can stop himself.
Christine sighs, sounding pleased. "Yes, well, you would be counting, wouldn't you? Look- we're at his locker in a minute, use that time to think of something."
Fear washes over Jeremy's entire body. He can see the red sweater he wants to bury his face in, the metal door of the open locker that obscures the face he was the unerring desire to pepper with kisses.
"Christine," he tries desperately, "I don't want to talk to Michael, oka-"
The metal door of the locker snaps shut crisply, revealing a gorgeously flushed Michael who narrows his eyes at Jeremy. "Okay," Michael says. "Then don't."
Michael
Michael knew something was up the minute Jake sauntered up and struck up a conversation about the weather, of all things. He'd been having his normal, miserable day of staring at Jeremy.
And then the day got worse because Jake kept talking and talking and Micheal just wanted to leave.
And then Jake let slip that Jeremy had to authorize the optic nerve blocking- fuck Michael nearly started crying. Jeremy had chosen to do that.
And then Jake just left. Stranding Michael just like-
"I don't want to talk to Michael, oka-"
Michael slammed the locker door shut, the rollercoaster halting to a stop- the whole damn world halting to a stop as beautiful, awkward, blue-eyed, taken, messy haired, wide-eyed, cruel Jeremy stumbled gracelessly towards him.
"Okay," Michael seethes bitterly, "then don't."
He can't take it anymore, he can't. The ups and downs. The plummets and the agonizing climbs, only to be dropped mercilessly down again in a rollercoaster so fast and brutal that he has to close his eyes against the world because reality might rip tears from his eyes.
Every time he takes his heart up, and it's nearly ripped from him when he goes back down. And some day it will be. He's never given up before, but he is now.
Before Michael can leave, though, Jeremy's pale, thin hand darts out and snags the red sleeve of Michael's sweater, and despite himself, Michael freezes.
"No, wait." That voice. Thin and smooth like flawless glass, the cracks sparkling like crystals. "I do- I mean, I- lets talk, okay?"
Warily, Michael does, trying to construct some kind of wall around his heart. It's a pretty shit wall, mostly because he's never built one before. He's never had to.
Jeremy shifts as if searching for a clue of a helpful face, but it's just them now. "I think we should talk about- well- about the SQUIPs," he says the last word meekly, as one might say you-know-who. "The important stuff, or something. So we can… so we can…" Michael can tell Jeremy's looking for a more considerate way to say move on.
"Heal from it," he suggests evenly, feeling like an overshot commercial for therapy. "Move past it."
"Yeah," Jeremy agrees quickly, "yeah, that."
Michael feels the rollercoaster slowly begin its climb, the slow movement that builds your anticipation. "Okay," he agrees cautiously, "What do we talk about?"
Jeremy draws back, his eyebrows drawn together in a frustratingly hopeless expression. "Fuck, I don't know, I didn't volunteer to talk to you."
"You said you wanted to," Michael points out, equally hopeless. The cars falter and the rollercoaster reaches the point where you cannot help but believe it's nothing but your own will that keeps it inching upwards- a second of not wanting will have it shooting back down.
Jeremy's expression twists, so wildly conflicted that Michael can't get a read simply because there's too much going on. "It's not- I'm just bad at talking."
"Not to me." Michael can't help thinking, at least not before. "Jake says you blocked me. Your SQUIP. But you authorized it."
Jeremy takes another step back, as if inching away from a man with a knife. "Maybe not the important stuff, maybe just the normal stuff until we're ready."
And the rollercoaster shoots down, top speed, wind rushing and Michael blinks back tears.
"We already tried that," he argues, "It just fucked with my head." And my heart.
Jeremy crosses his arms defensively. Not a man with a knife, just an overeager ex-best friend he doesn't actually want to talk to.
Michael has taken way too many steps forward.
"Figure out what the fuck you want from me, Jeremy," he growls. Maybe he needs to take a step back. His throat closes over the tears, but he manages to finish. "Talk to me when you know what that is."
The problem with rollercoasters, you see, is while you yearn for the thrill and the joy of soaring through the air, you inevitably end up at the bottom again.
Jeremy
He's lost count of how many chances he's blown.
Every lunch he could have eaten with Michael, every day he spends ignoring Michael, the day he ran into Michael in the hall, the day he turned on Optic Nerve Blocking, the day he yelled at Michael for his desperate attempts at normal, the day Michael told him to take the SQUIP out, the day he got the SQUIP…
How many days ignoring the way his heart tightened when Michael walked into the room? How many nights trying to tell himself the black hair in his dreams was Christine?
How many trips, around, around… twists, and turns, and ultimately the bottom again.
He can't count how many times he's walked away from Michael, but his heart twists anyway when he sees the back of Michael's red sweatshirt. The boy in his dreams, the boy of his dreams walks away for the very first time.
"Fuck," Jeremy yells as soon as the doors close behind Michael. "Jeremy, you fucking moron!"
The worst part is that he knows it's his fault, utterly and completely.
He wants to run after Michael and beg him for a do-over. He wants to grab Michael's wrist and spin him into a kiss, a mindblowing, I-can't-even-tell-you-how-much-I-want-you kiss, he wants to pull off the sweatshirt and hold the shorter boy in his arms, he wants to open that hand and look at it knowing whatever it is, Michael trusts him enough to show him.
He wants he wants he wants he wants. He knows what he wants from Michael, but he's too cowardly to say it. Too afraid to reach out and take the hand that's being offered.
Too hopelessly terrified to step off the rollercoaster and enter the real world until the beautiful boy has left the amusement park all together.
