Work Text:
Michael
Boyf_
Michael blinks, actually reaching out to touch the screen. Boyf_. It’s a weird username, a short username…
A coincidence?
It could be.
It could absolutely be a coincidence. In fact, what are the odds of it not being a coincidence? In a gaming tournament that spans the whole country?
But it doesn’t feel like a coincidence. Michael’s heart skitters in his chest, his fingers suddenly sweaty around the mouse. Even the dash, indicating it’s only half of a word… as if the other half of the word is somewhere out there, written in thick, non-washable sharpie on someone’s backpack.
Or something.
Someone is saying Ready, Set, Go, along with the words flashing on the screen, but Michael is frozen.
And there he is, this video-game girl, curvy as fuck in this super-tight suit and pointing a gun straight at Michael’s chest, Boyf_ hovering right over her head in white letters.
Boom.
Dead.
“What the hell?” Michael’s team leader hollers in his ear. “The hell was that, Marsh?”
The others are yelling at him too, a guy they call Ro, and a girl they call Lee—” Why’d you freeze,” and “fuck you, Marsh.”
Michael’s screen name is Marshmello. It feels like something that belongs to him, but it is subtle enough that Jeremy won’t recognize it, if they ever end up playing together. Or against each other.
Not that Michael’s ever really thought about that.
“Just, uh… just keep playing. You can still make it.” They only became a team to win this tournament, and Michael should be thinking about how they’ll compensate for the loss of his player this game; if they’ll make it to the next round—but all he can think of is how Jeremy used to choose those girl characters, the ones that would probably be hot if Michael liked girls.
Just—the chances! What are the chances, right?
“Fuck! Are you going to tell us why you froze?”
“Nah,” Michael watches what he can see beyond the You Died sign. Watches Boyf_ dart in and out of the screen, the way he hides behind buildings longer than he needs to, the way he ducks instinctively every time he gets shot at instead of dodging or running or firing back. That kid, he thinks. That kid fights like Jeremy. It has been nearly a year since he’s talked to Jeremy at all, let alone played with him, but Jeremy has had reflexes like that for years. “Let me get back to you on that one.”
Boyf_ gets shot in the chest—he stands, indecisive for too long, and reacts too late. A very Jeremy move.
“Sorry.” Michael flicks through the participants. “Gotta go.”
He types out a message. What’s your discord?
Jeremy
@ Marshmello 
Boyf_
is this marshmello?
Marshmello
Yea
Boyf_
hi
Marshmello
heyyo
Jeremy knows he’s typing and typing. And deleting it. He should be able to come up with something to say—it isn’t as if this guy’s asked for his discord looking for anything profound. He should, like, make conversation. But he’s never been good at that, really. And with the SQUIP gone, it’s like he had this bank of How-Tos in his brain, and now it’s just gone, the ghost of it lingering at the back of his mind, like if he just dug a little deeper, he’d still find some sort of instruction on how to make friends and shit.
He sits back in his twisty chair, looking around at the walls of his bedroom as if the SQUIP might have left advice there—but the walls are bare. Completely bare. The SQUIP made him take down all his “nerdy” posters. (Which Jeremy still qualifies as “geeky” but how can he argue with a supercomputer?) And even though it’s been almost a year… well, he hasn’t thought of much to put up there, really.
He taps the space bar listlessly with his thumbs, and then deletes until all the spaces are gone.
He’s coming up empty.
And who’s he kidding, this Marshmello isn’t looking for a friend, he’s just saying hi. As people do.
But, like, not usually to tournament opponents who just killed them.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
who do u think is gonna win?
Marshmello
H8 to say it but prolly not my team
we r not that gr8
if u tell them i said that i shall murder u with 0 regrets
Jeremy considers this. This is a joke, and he should respond accordingly—only, he’s not quite sure how to do that. If he plays along (what’s said in dms stays in dms) and it looks like he’s trying too hard, that’s not a very good first impression to make. On the other hand, if he doesn’t play along (why would I do that?) he’s going to look like an idiot who doesn’t really know how to have fun.
On the other other hand, the longer he thinks about this, the more he already looks like an idiot because he hasn’t responded.
He considers for a moment—which is probably a moment too long, really.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
haha don’t worry
won't tell
Jeremy adds a zipped lips emoji at the end.
And then he kind of regrets it after sending. What if this guy is one of those guys who’s weirdly against emojis? Very into emoticons? But it has been sent, and it’ll look even weirder if he edits the message only to take back an emoji. Like. Who does that?
So he just sits there and waits to see what Marshmello says back. Marshmello’s quiet for a moment, and while Jeremy knew it would look lame and awkward if he didn’t know how to respond earlier, when Marshmello does it, it’s suspenseful and kind of cool, like Marshmello’s got a bunch of things on his mind and Jeremy’s just some dude he doesn’t have too much time for.
So not cool.
But kind of. Like. Cool.
And the least cool thing to do here would be to keep messaging this guy that hasn’t responded yet, but what can Jeremy do? Leave it? And then what? It isn’t like he left something for Marshmello to really respond to there, anyway. He should give something for Marshmello to bounce off of, right? That’s what the SQUIP would’ve told him to do, before.
No, no, the SQUIP would probably have told him to shut up, log off, and make his status invisible so people thought he was too cool for them.
Or maybe the SQUIP would have already had him log off—in fact, the SQUIP would probably not even have let him join this video game tournament—
@ Marshmello
Marshmello
we got our answer :p
ur team WON bro
Respond, respond, respond… Jeremy waffles. Crowing in victory? Sympathy?
He never did understand the reasoning behind what the SQUIP told him to do, so he can always imagine the SQUIP arguing every side, until suddenly it’s just Jeremy arguing every side, just like he used to.
And, like, sure, he’s supposed to be himself or whatever, but what kind of question is what would Jeremy do? Jeremy is Jeremy. Whatever Jeremy does is definitely what Jeremy would do because that’s what Jeremy did.
Your brain is a place, dude, he can hear Michael say in his mind. I mean, what the fuck goes on in there?
Jeremy bites the inside of his cheek hard and pushes Michael out of his mind. Even the memory of his voice stirs something inside of Jeremy’s chest, a rattle-y, empty feeling.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
damn sorry
Marshmello
no srsly ‘grats
didnt i just say our team sux
Boyf_
damn sorry
but like I'm a terrible player too
I always die
Texting three times in a row is probably against the SQUIP’s rules, Jeremy can’t remember. But he feels like it would be. Whoops.
@ Marshmello
Marshmello
gl bro
lmk how it goes
srry can i call you bro
ur pronouns my man. my woman. my person
wut r they
or dont tell thats totally fine
Well, if Jeremy just broke the SQUIP’s three-message rule, Marshmello has just turned the SQUIP over in its grave—it’s screaming in agony from supercomputer hell. The idea makes Jeremy smile.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
he/him bro is fine
u?
Marshmello
he/him as welllll
and gay as fuuuuuuuuck
Jeremy bites back another smile. Why does that make him smile? He’s interacting successfully with a human being—a gay human man, who has asked him his pronouns and seems genuinely non-salty about being defeated by Jeremy’s team. He seems like a keeper.
Then again, it’s not really up to Jeremy whether to keep him or not. It wasn’t like he was going to shoo this guy out of his DMs or anything. It’s more about whether or not Marshmello will stick around.
Jeremy finds himself hoping he will.
Boyf_: bi, myself
His fingers hover over the send button. Bi, myself. Why is it even a big deal whether or not he comes out to this rando on the internet? It’s not like you can do a google search for Jeremy and his sexuality will help you get any closer. It’s not like he knows this person in real life or anything. Literally, what could possibly be the consequences of coming out to this… Marshmello guy?
Jeremy rubs his pinky nervously over the return key, which is already sort of warm and slick and gross because he always gets nervous when he’s playing games and/or talking to people, where he could embarrass himself, and so his hands get kind of sweaty.
What could be the problem, right? And anyway, he kind of wants to come out to this guy, although he’s not really sure why. He likes Marshmello’s vibes, weirdly enough. Like, this guy came out to him first, and everything—and he just seems like… cool… and fun…
He reminds you of someone, Jeremy’s brain mutters, and Jeremy swallows that thought down.
He hits enter.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
bi, myself
He hit enter.
He hit it.
He just told some random person on the internet his sexuality. So completely unwarranted—what in the world possessed him to do that? He feels kind of brave and tingly for it.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
I don’t know why I just told you that
I’m literally only out to my best friend
and only bc he’s gay as hell and really loud about it
so I feel safer about it or whatever
yk?
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
There’s a long moment. A very long moment. Jeremy starts tapping his finger on the enter bar, even though there’s nothing more he can think of sending, and then he starts feeling like an idiot for just sitting there, waiting for the guy he just met to reply. He probably read the room totally wrong—they were being friendly and funny, and Jeremy had to go all weepy drunk in chat.
Clicking over to the group chat he has with his team, he showers them with praise and takes his own with no small amount of triumph—they did win, after all, and they are moving on!—but he keeps checking for the little dot-dot-dots by the icon of a half-melted marshmallow in his DMs.
And he keeps checking.
And he keeps checking.
He checks to make sure discord notifications are on, even though… yeah, they are, and they always have been. He checks his ringer to make sure that’s on, even though… yeah, it is, and it always has been. He checks ringer volume, and checks his home screen, as if maybe his phone just forgot to make a noise.
But no response.
Not before dinner (frozen meals from Trader Joe’s—his dad is… well, his dad is working on it, and that’s enough for now).
Not after dinner (he’s getting weird looks from his dad now, and pointed questions about whether he’s found a friend on that game-thing of his? There’s very carefully no mention of Michael).
None before bed, even though Jeremy plays video games on his phone until the battery dies, and is always hoping for a notification to pop up on his screen, even if it’ll make him lose the level. Again.
In the end, he’s not even looking for the message when he does get it. He sticks his charger into his phone and wanders off to have breakfast (lunch? It’s nearly noon, but it’s his first meal), thinking vaguely about the tournament schedule. It’s the middle of summer, so it’s not like anything is going to get in the way of getting there on time, except maybe sleeping or forgetting.
He should’ve been working this summer. He was going to. Michael and him—they’d agreed. Before college, they’d work somewhere together during the summer, and they’d mess around and make some money and spend it on video games and obscure soda lines and an extravagantly lazy lifestyle of junk food and weed.
But then—well. Then everything happened. And afterward, Jeremy couldn’t stand the way Michael looked at him: wounded, unhappy, unsure. If there was one thing in the world Michael never was, it was unsure. He knew what he wanted and he knew who he was.
And when Jeremy realized it was him making Michael question it all, he knew he had to get out of there. To leave. He couldn’t stand another moment of that.
Bu-dup.
He hears it as he’s shuffling over to the fridge with a bowl full of dry cereal.
Probably nothing.
He’s, in, like, an unmentionable number of gaming servers, plus the group DM for his tournament team.
But it could also be Marshmello. There is absolutely a chance.
He goes over to his bed—his dad doesn’t care about Jeremy having food in bed, and Jeremy certainly doesn’t care; it’s not like he’s taking anyone to his room, at all, ever—and checks his phone.
@ Marshmello
Marshmello
yea i no
nice to have someone to relate to
Boyf_
yeah
and like for me someone braver than I am to pave the way
I'm a coward haha
It happens again. The thing where Marshmello goes silent for what feels like ages, but is actually less than 12 hours. Not that, like, Jeremy’s counting the hours or anything.
Like… like Marshmello definitely has to sleep, so it makes sense that he disappears for hours on end, really. But it always feels like they’re in the middle of a conversation and then suddenly Marshmello’s gone, leaving Jeremy to wonder if it’s something he said.
As if Marshmello was scared off by Jeremy… being too sobby and emotional?
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
bro what timezone r u in?
no answer is also fine
just wondering if we keep missing each others daylight hours or something
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
But Marshmello never actually answers that question.
Marshmello does end up coming back every time, though. And after a month of a friendship like this—Jeremy does think he can call it a friendship, since they message each other going on a dozen times a day now, with the most random shit—he stops worrying that Marshmello has gotten tired of him every time he disappears.
Marshmello will come back.
He learns this like he learned how to ride a bike, or how to make Michael smile. With practice and patience, until finally he understands it on an instinctual level: Marshmello will always come back.
Bu-dup!
@ Marshmello
Marshmello
good luck GOOD LUCK GOOD LUCK my MAN my GUY my DUDE ur RAD as HELL go fucking BATSHIT
on the QUARTERS wooo WOOOOOO
Jeremy grins at his phone, rubbing his finger against the off button nervously as the game hums quietly on his computer, already open. It’s this soft, flute-y music, a tune he’s heard so often these past month that he could never hear it again and that would be too soon.
But weirdly, he needs the music on. It kind of sets the mood.
The quarters.
The quarter finals.
His team is so shit, he absolutely has no idea how they got here.
Rad, he thinks, you’re rad.
And he almost feels like it’s Michael cheering him on—not that Marshmello isn’t enough. Marshmello is 100% enough. It’s just sometimes Marshmello feels so much like Michael that—
Here he is again, thinking about Michael.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
Thanks man
Marshmello
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Boyf_
I’m serious thanks for cheering me on
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
dont get all srs on me now mister
u have a GAME to WIN
Beep…
The countdown to the beginning of the game starts. Jeremy, feeling weird about leaving Marshmello hanging, reacts with a quick heart emoji and focuses his attention on his game screen, shifting his headphones one last time, even though they’re already exactly the way he likes them.
“Five,” his team is chanting. “Four!”
Their leader is still spewing advice: “Keep your fucking calm! No hesitation, Boyf!”
“Three!”
“More hesitation to you, Naraq!”
“Two!”
“Oh shut up, dude—”
“One!”
The other team is pretty good—they don’t seem to be particularly good individually, but they must’ve been playing together for a while, because they work together like a charm. Jeremy’s team only formed for this tournament, really, and they’re all screaming in each others’ ears—Watch it, Boyf! Keep going—run for the end you fucking—fuck!
Up! Up! Down! Down! Left! Right!
They’re alright. But they certainly don’t know how to work off of each other.
Not like Jeremy used to be able to do with Michael. Hot damn could they work a level. Not that they were particularly good, but they didn’t need to yell. A word or two was enough.
They knew each other.
Jeremy catches one of the other guys in the chest, sending him crashing into a building.
“Hell yeah!” someone yells in his ear.
That hit definitely would’ve killed a real man. In a Marvel movie, the guy would’ve at least taken a couple seconds to stand up, looking dramatically stunned—all I could do this all day.
But this is a video game, and his opponent takes a ton of damage, but bounces up in the blink of an eye.
Michael would’ve had him covered.
Instead, Jeremy’s running for his virtual life, leaping across rooftops as this woman in a body suit, whose body mass is half attributed to her boobs, as if he weighs as much as a helium balloon.
Michael would be laughing at his character.
But like it’s fine, or whatever. They’re fine. They’re playing fine!
They’re winning, even.
Someone hollers in his ear, something about having a big dick. Jeremy assumes this means the guy just killed someone, which is good. It’s all good! It’s a video game he enjoys with a team he… he doesn’t not enjoy, in the quarterfinals of a tournament!
It is not the time to be thinking about Michael.
“There’s just one guy! Two of us! Let’s goooooo!”
“Quit screaming,” Jeremy mutters under his breath, hoping belatedly that if his mike picked that up, it only picked up a low murmur. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
He runs himself around the building, and they corner the last guy, who pulls bombs and takes shots and tries to jump, but they still end up winning.
Jeremy’s very happy they won and all. If Michael were here, he’d be freaking out.
But he just won!
Now is not the time to really think about Michael either.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
so guess who won
Marshmello
who
Boyf_
guess!!
Marshmello
u u u u u u u u u
Boyf_
I I I I I I I
Marshmello
hellllllllll yesssssssssss YOU GO
Jeremy feels his face, already flushed from the adrenaline of the game and the win, heat up even more. He grins again, his fingers rushing to type out the next message—he’s glad he’s on a computer, or he’d be about to drop his phone, his hands are so sweaty and shaky.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
I do go
TO THE SEMIS
Marshmello
hell yesss hell yesss
u guys must be pretty good, no?
Jeremy thinks again of what he’d felt when they were fighting just a couple minutes ago—that weird, nihilistic feeling that he didn’t know anyone he was playing with, and that they were people behind computer screens he’d never meet, and gamers behind usernames he might never see again, and, like, they didn’t fight extraordinarily well together or anything. It was like a group project, except less painful. But it was still, like, they didn’t socialize, or converse, or learn each other. They just got their jobs done, but the jobs were more fun. And voluntary.
He was not going to type that. Marshmello would probably not even bother to parse through a paragraph like that.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
we're alright
I mean I guess we're good since we got this far
like by definition
Marshmello
gotta agree with u there
Boyf_
but like I'm not feeling them yk?
Marshmello
???
Boyf_
idk like we don’t fight like a team
Marshmello
practice makes the perfect!
Boyf_
huh and if we’re just not the four to make the perfect
Marshmello
the perfect is a hard to a get
should NOT be me of all ppl to say it but sometimes u gotta settle
sometimes theres literally no one out there who fits with u perfect
Something about that makes Jeremy’s chest tighten. It’s not that he’s never heard anyone say something like that before—he’s sure heard far more pessimistic things—but it just seems… not like something Marshmello would say. Not like something Marshmello would feel. Should feel.
Marshmello, Jeremy finds himself thinking rather vehemently, should not have to settle, should not have to feel like he has to settle, should have someone who fits into him like a puzzle piece, who makes him utterly and completely happy and satisfied. Not that, like, that ever happens to anybody in real life.
But Marshmello would deserve something like that.
@ Marshmello
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
on that optimistic note
Marshmello
srry lol am high
is a celebration smoke!
for ur win!
i sound so bitter lmao srry
Jeremy taps the space bar, and then delete, and then space and then delete… he wants to ask who hurt Marshmello, but not really in a joking way. He wants, he realizes with a sinking feeling in his chest, to get to know Marshmello, more than this personality he already knows.
But how would he even, like… go about asking?
Instead, he erases the spaces again.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
had a best friend not that long ago who was the perfect
As they say
I mean lowkey we kinda sucked at the actual game but we knew each other hella well
So like we knew how to use each other yk?
now its like I can’t find anyone else like him
Marshmello
damn what happened w ur friend
not that u gotta tell me
just wondrin
The guy texts like a total clown. Michael used to…
Anyway. It doesn’t bear thinking about Michael. Jeremy already does enough of that in his dreams. And lying awake in bed. And also during the day. Especially on school days, when he’d catch sight of Michael’s black hair, curls all rumpled under his chunky headphones, in the halls and think of how Michael definitely saw him and that last year, Michael would’ve waved.
It’s a relief it’s summer.
Although, actually, summer provides more hours of the day to think about Michael.
Case in point.
Anyway.
Anyway.
So.
Marshmello! The new friend. A welcome distraction. And, genuinely, truly, Jeremy’s best friend right now, he’s sure. How sad is it that his best friend is a guy he’s never even met in person, who doesn’t even know his real name, and who could, for all he knows, totally be lying about being the same age as Jeremy?
In any case, Marshmello is enjoyable and funny and they chat all the time now, so it isn’t as if his best friend is someone he only talks to once every couple days; digital or not, they’ve got something real.
The SQUIP would be able to search the system and find out in a flash if this guy was telling the truth about his age and everything.
“Fuck it,” Jeremy mutters. He’s about to start thinking about the SQUIP, and then he’ll start thinking about Michael again.
God.
Michael.
Anyway. Anyway!
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
kinda fucked him over tbh
like best friends fuck each other over all the time yk?
but this kid never
Marshmello
not 1nce?
Boyf_
nope he was unreal
Marshmello
nah he must have
Boyf_
by my side through everything man
but then i kinda ditched him for like this girl
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
chicks before dicks! haha
A laugh escapes Jeremy, surprising him. He feels like an idiot, sitting criss-cross on his bed with a half-eaten bowl of cereal abandoned on his bed, laughing at some stranger’s texts. He should not be making dry cereal in bed a habit, but he always ends up on his phone in the morning when he’s eating. Sue him, this guy is funny, and Jeremy’s having fun.
Michael would like this guy.
Michael would love this guy.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
that's what girls say dude
it literally means friends before romantic conquests
Marshmello
romantic conquests
Boyf_
shut up
I was trying to find a word for like
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
trying to date someone
friends before people you are trying to date
Marshmello
thats v gender neutral of you v cool
Jeremy bites the inside of his cheek. There isn’t a question there to answer, nor anything that exactly prompts a response, but he wants to keep talking. He wants to keep Marhsmello online. What is he supposed to say next?
Boyf_: thank you?
He deletes the question mark.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
thank you. And so the guy’s not very hot on me
Oh, god. Why did he write it like that? That sounds so gay. He could’ve just said we’re not on good terms, or the guy doesn’t like me or something.
Not very hot on me.
Who even says that?
@ Marshmello
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
he ever tell u that
or is u just making assuming
Boyf_
do you wanna try that sentence again?
Marshmello
i like that sentence the way it is thx
Boyf_
its pretty obvious he’s not my biggest fan
Marshmello
sounds like ur dodging the q
which must mean its an assuming
Boyf_
that’s an assuming
Marshmello
tell me i’m wrong
Boyf_
well then tell me why we haven’t talked in a year
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
did u try to reconnect after this fuck up of urs
self proclaimed fuck up i still suspect ur story of bias
i bet what u did wasn’t as bad as u think it is
anyway did u just fade out?
or like what happened
Jeremy swallows. Why does he even feel like talking about this with Marshmello? His dad asked for weeks, until he finally gave up, because Jeremy never felt like talking. Christine still messages him in excited bursts every now and again, asking how it’s going with Michael.
The answer is always the same: it’s not.
The gays, the school’s legacy couples—Chloe and Brook, Rich and Jake—have been peppering him with questions now and again too. Chloe in her I could get my minions to lock you in a closet together way. Brooke in her just sit next to him and bat your eyelashes way. Rich in his just go—and like—just ask him the fuck out, man way, and Jake in his just fucking suck him off or send him a dick pic way.
They’re very encouraging.
They help not at all.
But this Marshmello… makes Jeremy want to talk about it.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
so I kinda ghosted him first
ditched him ignored him and etc etc
that was a whole Thing but also the Thing ended
when it ended I wanted to be friends again
and also other stuff
Jeremy rubs the return key with his pinkie. At this rate, he’ll rub off the “return” entirely.
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
and also other stuff
very gay stuff
which I never told him so actually that’s irrelevant
when it ended I wanted to be friends again
and also other stuff
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Michael
Okay, so maybe he didn’t make the best decisions. Obviously, this is Jeremy. Obviously, the best friend, who he apparently had feelings for, is Michael.
In fact, maybe he made the worst decision of his life! And he should probably forget he ever read that, because clearly, Jeremy didn’t want him to know.
But what in the world is he supposed to do now?
He’s never going to actually forget. He couldn’t if he wanted to—those words will probably be burned into his brain for the rest of his life.
But he can’t let Jeremy keep talking. That would be beyond unforgivable, and his conscience wouldn’t let him—even if he is a little curious.
Okay, a lot curious.
Jeremy had feelings for him?
The same Jeremy that wouldn’t look him in the eye after the SQUIP? The same Jeremy that wouldn’t even look in his direction for longer than a few seconds, after the SQUIP?
The same Jeremy who ghosted him and never stopped ghosting him for almost a year and counting three weeks after the SQUIP?
If Jeremy had feelings for him, he sure had a funny way of showing it.
So Michael does what he always does when he isn’t sure what to say to Jeremy—he goes silent.
Jeremy hasn’t seemed to mind before; he’s always happy to have Marshmello back when Marshmello comes back, and internet friendships are just sometimes like that—on, off, on off, not like IRL friendships, where you see each other every day and chat face to face and feel the warmth of their body when they sling their arm around your shoulder, etc. etc..
Michael can usually come up with some sort of response that steers them carefully away from the topic of—well, of himself—in the time he doesn’t respond.
He doesn’t know why he asked what happened, after months of carefully avoiding the topic of himself. It just felt wrong, so he didn’t do it. He shouldn’t have done it.
And yeah, maybe he didn’t want to know.
But now he’s here, and Jeremy’s answer is nothing like what he expected.
Jeremy’s answer doesn’t even make any sense.
He thinks about it when he’s picking at his dinner.
He thinks about it when he’s lying in bed, curled around his phone, rereading his conversation with Boyf_.
It doesn’t make any sense, but it’s right there, and now—whether or not he understands what the hell is going on—he needs to do something. He could:
One: ghost Jeremy. Completely. Even if that was weird, Jeremy wouldn’t be able to do anything or find anything out; it’s on the internet, for fuck’s sake, mutuals go dead silent for no reason all the time.
Two: sidestep the subject. Of course, that’s not really… possible… since there’s no other thread of the conversation to pick up, but Michael could just change the subject entirely. Pretend they never talked about Jeremy’s gay feelings for his best friend.
Three:
Three…
Three: he could come clean.
He should come clean. That would be the right thing to do.
It would also be fucking terrifying and insane, and deeply painful for probably both of them, but definitely at least Michael—which he deserves! But like, yikes.
@ Boyf_
Boyf_
and also other stuff
very gay stuff
which I never told him so actually that’s irrelevant
when it ended I wanted to be friends again
and also other stuff
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Just hit enter. Just hit enter.
Michael reaches out and holds down the delete key. He watches the letters disappear in backwards order.
I think I should tell you
I think I should
I think
I…
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
I WISH YOU THE BEST OF LUCK ON YOUR SEMI FINALS
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
if u didn’t want me to get all gay sob story on u u could’ve just said lol
it’s fine it’s fine idk why I told you
Okay, well… that happened. Absolute failure to change subject—even though semi-finals are literally today! It was absolutely relevant… or at least made sense to have sent… Michael tried. You can’t say Michael didn’t try.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
y did u tell me?
Boyf_
I literally just said idk
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
I guess u kinda remind me of him
but like no homo my heart is taken
Michael’s heart drops. It is the summer after all—if Jeremy had gotten a boyfriend or a girlfriend while they were in school, he probably would’ve heard about it, so it hadn’t even occurred to Michael that Jeremy might’ve found someone and he didn’t know.
But it’s summer.
Who would he hear it from?
He literally has no friends.
Except for Jeremy, who doesn’t even know he’s Michael.
He can’t help himself.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
oh ur taken? damn
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
noooooo lmao who would date me lmaooooooo
the kid I literally just told u about? my ex best friend?
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
How did this just happen?
Shit.
How was Michael supposed to know that why did you tell me would get him here? It was a normal question, to which the answer was already obviously that Jeremy didn’t know, and then they were supposed to laugh it on and move to talking about the semi-finals.
“What the hell, Jeremy,” Michael says out loud. “What the actual fuck.”
Jeremy’s heart is taken.
By Michael.
@ Boyf_
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
when’s ur semis?
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
in like 20 min
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
gl dude
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
thanks
Michael rolls over on his bed, closing discord and tossing his phone onto his pillow. “Fuck,” he tells the ceiling. “Fuck.”
He needs a break from discord—a lifelong break from discord, or he’ll end up doing something even more stupid than what he’s already done. Although, come to think of it, he can’t think of one thing worse than what he’s already done, so… so maybe the only direction to go is up?
Certainly, he’s hit the bedrock.
But he keeps thinking he’s done his worst and then it gets even worse. So maybe not?
“I cannot deal with this,” Michael says to the ceiling. “I need to get stoned.”
He slips on his sweatshirt, because it’s colder in the basement, and he’s not about to freeze his balls off—although that would be a pretty good distraction—and lights up a joint.
He turns off discord notifications and scrolls through social media high. He shitposts about how much he misses his moms when they’re on one of their trips, but how at least he gets to smoke without worrying about them nagging at him, and weirdly, they have notes. He takes a shower high. It’s a weird experience.
The house is empty, and he’s scrolled through Twitter and made some people mad, he’s scrolled through Instagram and liked some stupid pictures of painted toes and one trans boy’s new haircut that made him tear up, and Jeremy’s probably off somewhere playing his semifinals game—or has it been longer than that? Maybe he’s finished his semifinals game.
He probably shouldn’t open discord.
But like… he has to say congratulations if they won!
Michael has kind of a lot of notifications waiting for him, actually.
@ Boyf_
Boyf_
SO GUESS WHO WON
Michael laughs. He asks that after every game! It’s kind of cool how they have a tradition like that. It’s like they’re best friends again! Except they used to have kind of a lot more traditions.
@ Boyf_
Boyf_
lol ur not online but when u r I bet u’ll guess so I’ll just tell u
me, obviouslu
*obviously
I’M GOING TO FINALS DUDE
*obviously
like how the fuck did we get here?
is it weird that I’m hella nervous
like finals is literally a whole week away why am I nervous
but we’re like not that good of a team
we literally do not fight like a team we fight like a bunch of people who never met
we have never met but that’s not the point
sorry u don’t like it when I get all emotional on u
but like is it weird to think that video games are funner with friends like it’s about the video game not the
people but like it’s also about the people
lol sorry when did u turn into my diary lmao sorry
Michael sighs. He can feel himself frowning—clearly, he misjudged the time that passed, and Jeremy actually won the semifinals kind of a while ago. He should probably go to the kitchen to get some water and bring down his high, but he doesn’t want to leave Jeremy hanging any longer than he already has—poor Jeremy! Jeremy’s really been sending him all this stuff and Michael has been high and talking to his phone and laughing at dog trick fails.
He shouldn’t have turned off discord notifications.
Why did he do that?
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
no dont b srry
ur like a philosophcaler
u have intereseing thoughts
Michael wanders over to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, gulping it down quickly; he wants to see what Jeremy’s sending. It’s cold—water always kind of throws him for a loop when he’s high, but it helps him come down faster. He doesn’t really want to be messaging Jeremy high if he can help it.
He has a feeling it probably won’t go well.
Although it seems to be going fine for now, and his high will come down soon anyway, so… so there’s no harm in just going with it.
@ Boyf_
Boyf_
yeah and that’s super cool
like I love being ur friend don’t get me wrong
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
lol ignore me I’m just all “my life is sad and I have no friends” just bc everything is online
Boyf_
well like what r the chances that we’ve met irl?
there’s like a tiny chance we ran into each other once in our lives or something since we’re in the same time
zone ig
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
yeah 100% haha
Marshmello
I think we should talk yk?
like face to face
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
do u wanna video call?
Ooh, a video call. That would be fun. God. Jeremy hasn’t looked at Michael in forever. He was always looking away, like it physically hurt to look at Michael or something. What Michael wouldn’t do for, like, five minutes where Jeremy didn’t avoid looking at him like the plague.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
ooh g8 idea g8 idea
but maybe not rn am so high
Boyf_
lmao go drink some water I’ll be here when u get back
Aw. That was very sweet of Jeremy to say. I’ll be here when you get back.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
gotchu
bye bye for now
He closes discord and dutifully chugs his water. He should probably be sober for the video call. He should definitely be sober for the video call.
He’s back in his bed, waiting impatiently for his high to drain away when he hears the door front door open.
“Michael?”
“We’re home!”
His moms are home already?
He checks the time—seven.
He definitely misjudged the passage of time. What else is new?
“You’re helping me with these groceries, aren’t you, my favorite son?”
“Your only son!” he calls back, but he dutifully gets up. He’ll get back to Jeremy after he finishes putting the groceries away.
@ Boyf_
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
fuck
fuck fuck
i was really fucking high when i sent those
Boyf_
yeah in retrospect I think I can tell
Marshmello
no i mean FUCK
Boyf_
why? are u going for sober?
Marshmello
no
but u know
that video call…………
Boyf_
oh ouch lol
I gotchu
I guess it’s kind of weird to video call some random person on the internet
Some random person on the internet.
Some random person on the internet.
Michael swallows. It was a really terrible idea to text Jeremy when he was high—when has he ever had a good idea when he was high, really—but maybe high-Michael has given him a blessing in disguise. A push in the right direction. Some internet articles—probably written by junkies, but like, who cares—even say that when you’re high, you’re the most honest, genuine, and true version of yourself. Like, in some ways that’s true, right?
And it’s not really a surprise.
Deep down, Michael knows he’s always wanted to do this, ever since he sent that first message to Boyf_. He knows that at some point, it would have come to this—that sooner or later, he’d do this. All roads lead to here and all that.
Marshmello: I think I should tell you something
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
I think I should tell you something
Boyf_
are u sure ur not high now?
this sounds very serious haha
Marshmello
definitely not high
I haven’t smoked anything in like 24 hours
kinda flipped when I saw what I texted u last time I got high so we r not doing that again
Boyf_
rlly? Lol u were kind of funny when u were high it wasn’t a big deal
Marshmello
it kind of was
Boyf_
okayyyy
Marshmello: I’m Michael
Michael holds down the delete key. No… no. That’s not the kind of bomb you just drop on somebody in text—not only because it’s an asshole thing to do, but also… also Michael’s really fucking sorry. He really shouldn’t have done that.
And there’s no genuine way to express that in letters, in words, not without a human element. There’s nothing more insincere than “I’m sorry” over discord messages. Like. Like there is some emotion in emojis, maybe? But Jeremy deserves a real apology. One to his face, one where Michael doesn’t get to pretend Jeremy’s just behind some screen somewhere, disconnected from Michael, feeling vaguely sad.
Jeremy deserves to see Michael’s remorse.
And Michael… Michael doesn’t deserve to get to ignore Jeremy’s pain.
@ Boyf_
• • • Marshmello is typing...
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Boyf_
are u deliberately trying to be mysterious?
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
I think we should meet up irl
like I want to tell you something but I think it would be kind of shitty to tell you not in person
Boyf_
did someone steal ur phone or something?
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Boyf_
ur being kind of weird
For fuck’s sake.
Logically, it does not make any sense to meet someone who you’ve never even seen before in real life—that’s how people get murdered—and Michael knows that. But… god. Can they just do this already? Can they just get the screaming and the crying done with?
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
No one stole my phone oh my god
Boyf_
ur typing different too
Marshmello
bc I’m not trying to be FUNNY
this isn’t funny this is not a conversation that should be had lik dis
Boyf_
OooOooh a very Solemn and Important Matter
Marshmello
jfc Jeremy I’m serious
shit
Please don’t be scared I’m not a stalker
Michael groans and rubs his eyes, knocking his glasses askew. What the fuck, Mell? What the fuck. He sits there and stares at the screen for a while, but the dot dot dot never appears.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
I know that’s what a stalker would say but I’m not a stalker I promise
otherwise I would’ve known if you had a girlfriend or a boyfriend right?
I mean I think
I don’t know how stalkers work
bc I’m not one
Nothing. Admittedly, not a very good defense. But how does one prove they’re not a stalker online without revealing their identity? There’s pretty much no way, right?
Maybe Jeremy just needs time to digest this—admittedly very large and probably rather scary—new development in Boyf_ and Marshmello’s… friendship. Or whatever it happens to be now.
Train wreck.
Yes, that’s the word.
Listen, he ends up typing at midnight, because that’s not creepy at all, just meet me at the park down the street from your house, okay? Which makes it even less creepy.
He should probably not send it. It couldn’t possibly make Jeremy want to meet him more. Probably, it would make Jeremy want to meet him 100% less.
But Michael’s got nothing else. He just has to push forward, and hope… hope Jeremy is an idiot. Or something.
Michael stares at the message, sitting there in his little textbox for a minute, watching the little line blink, blink, blink.
And then he hits the blue arrow.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
Listen just meet me at the park down the street from your house, okay?
Sent 12:04 AM.
12:04.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
but not rn obv
tomorrow at noon? Unless ur busy
Boyf_
I’d be so stupid to actually listen to you
how the hell did you know my name
and more importantly how do you know where I live
and what happened to not texting lik dis
Marshmello
Oops my bad
literally all your questions would be answered if you just met me
I’m really not trying to be a creep I just want to do this in person
Boyf_
Noon. Park. I will have my finger hovering over 911 so
don’t like hurt me or whatever
Michael laughs despite himself.
@ Boyf_
Marshmello
I won’t like hurt you or whatever
not physically anyway
Boyf_
oh yeah I’m sure ur just gonna tear me apart in my soul
• • • Marshmello is typing...
Marshmello
I’d be kinda offended if I didn’t not gonna lie
Michael can kind of imagine it—Jeremy finding out that it’s been him the whole time and just… kind of blinking. Going uh—hi. Uh… okay. So it’s you. Wow. Cool. And just walking off, again, just like he always had after the SQUIP, as if Michael was simply not part of Jeremy’s life anymore.
And now he isn’t.
Except that he is.
But only online.
@ Boyf_
Boyf_
emotionally sadistic
Marshmello
me? never
• • • Boyf_ is typing...
Boyf_
this is a conversation. I am having. With my stalker
Marshmello
I am not ur stalker
swear on my mothers grave
Boyf_
oh shit
wait
I can’t tell if ur kidding about ur mom being dead?
Marshmello
kidding
Boyf_
Okay
Marshmello
hey listen this is fun
and also very weird because im pretty sure u trust me 0%
but regardless maybe we should go to sleep
Boyf_
u have literally never told us to go to sleep early before
we’ve stayed up to like 4 am texting
Marshmello
sweet of you to keep a catalog of our late night conversations
Boyf_
just wondering what’s up now
Marshmello
I for one have to sleep if I want to wake up by noon :/
Boyf_
point made
goodnight stalker
Marshmello
goodnight
Michael doesn’t sleep well. He tries! He knows he probably wants to be well-slept when he goes to meet Jeremy, for a more stable mood, for a better-functioning brain, and yeah, okay, so he doesn’t look like shit when Jeremy sees him for the first time in months.
But wanting very much to fall asleep is never good for falling asleep—there’s nothing quite like feeling something strongly that keeps someone awake. So instead of sleeping, Michael stares up at the ceiling some more—he probably has the part above his pillow memorized by now—and thinks about what’s going to happen in the morning. Considering how to break to your ex-best friend that you’re their best friend on the internet who they thought they didn’t know IRL, and that you knew who they were the whole time, after they confessed in internet anonymity that they were in love with you is the kind of thing that tends to make people a little nervous.
In the end, he still comes up empty.
Against his better judgement—perhaps the move he was always going to go with in the end, the move he always does go with in the end (Jeremy always hated this)—he decides thinking about it isn’t getting him anywhere. It sure isn’t giving him any good ideas; it’s just giving him more anxiety about it, until soon he won’t be able to tell right from left.
So he’ll… he’ll just wing it.
At least then, it will be genuine.
Jeremy
@ Marshmello
Boyf_
u there?
Marshmello
yea u?
Boyf_
I don’t see anyone?
There’s no one at the park when Jeremy gets there, five minutes before noon, heading for the tree he and Michael used to hang out near whenever they’d come to get stoned or talk shit or get clear air to get sober.
…No, Jeremy’s wrong.
There is someone there, behind the tree, although he can’t make them out. It’s a bright day—classically summer, all clear blue skies and heavy sunshine, but the light doesn’t penetrate the oak tree’s thick leaves, so whoever’s by the tree is cast in shadow. The shape of their clothing makes it look like they might be wearing a sweatshirt, but who the hell would wear a sweatshirt in this weather? Jeremy has on jeans and a T-shirt, and he feels like he’s going to sweat straight through them.
There’s nothing like getting a message from someone you thought was a discord mutual to find out they know where you live and what your name is and they want to meet you in a park, and then showing up to find one single person hiding in the shadows.
“I have 911 right here,” Jeremy tells the tree, hoping this is the guy and he’s not making a complete idiot out of himself. Marshmello did say he was here, and there’s no one else around. “Just so you know.”
The dude comes out from behind the tree. “You’re gonna call the cops on me?” says Michael. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, just like Jeremy thought—his red one with the patches, the one that smells like Michael and like weed and is probably the softest thing Jeremy’s ever touched. “Fuck the police though, dude. C’mon, not the cops.”
Jeremy doesn’t move. He doesn’t think he can. His feet are rooted to the thin, dry grass and his limbs are frozen as if the SQUIP has just decided to take over. He wonders vaguely what sort of expression he’s making—blank-faced shock? Horror? Confusion?
“You’re eating…” he says stupidly, pointing. “You’re eating marshmallows.”
Michael holds up the bag, as if to say cheers! and takes another one out of the bag before tipping it Jeremy’s way. “I thought it would be kind of funny. And also help you identify me. And they’re good. Marshmallow?”
“They’re disgusting raw,” Jeremy says reflexively, wrinkling his nose, his heart hiccuping in his chest. This is a conversation Michael and Jeremy have had before—as if he needs any more confirmation this is Michael.
Which—it obviously is. He’s got the same black-rimmed nerd glasses, the same head-phone rumpled black hair, the same gay pride patch and scuffed discount shoes.
And the expression on his face—that’s familiar, too. Very familiar. That unsure look, the one that means Michael’s holding back, the one Jeremy couldn’t stand so much he ran away because he knew that look was there because of him.
“No marshmallow?” Michael’s mouth—previously frowning—twitches just a little, and it sends this stupid thrill through Jeremy. Michael turns the plastic bag back to himself to take another.
“No, I’ll have one,” Jeremy says. Just like he always does. That gets him a real smile, a whole one for just a second. It makes his breath stop in his throat.
Michael tips the bag back his way, and Jeremy takes a marshmallow, trying to ignore the way his hand shakes just a little.
“You…” he starts, trying to be mad. He should be mad! He should be furious! He should be turning on his heel and storming out of here! Why… why isn’t he turning on his heel and storming out of here? Why does the thought of walking away freeze something in him? “It’s you.”
He still can’t look at Michael—his brown eyes, the pout of his lips, the heartbreaking expression on his face. He can hear Michael, though, settling beside him against the trunk of the tree, swallowing.
“Jeremy.”
Jeremy suppresses the urge to draw in a breath. He hasn’t heard Michael say his name in a long time, and for him to say it like that…
Beside him, Michael lets out a breath. “Jeremy, Christ, will you look at me?”
Jeremy glances out of the corner of his eye—Michael’s facing him head-on—and then quickly away again. “You’re a dick,” he says, staring straight ahead.
There’s a shuffling, and then Michael’s right in front of him, three inches shorter, just as he’s always been. Face to face.
His—fuck—his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders. Warm, steady, firm. Jeremy’s T-shirt is either too thin or not thin enough.
“I know,” Michael says, staring into Jeremy’s eyes as if he’s trying to read Jeremy’s fucking soul, “I know, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Jeremy.”
And words are just words, but Michael’s voice is wavering, and his hands are clutching Jeremy’s shoulders like a lifeline, and there’s a deep furrow between his brows and a wet shine to his eyes. He means it. God, he means it.
“I shouldn’t have done that. I know I shouldn’t have done that. And I knew I shouldn’t have done it.” Michael swallows again. His sleeves are pushed to his elbows, and the brown skin of his forearms looks smooth and soft. His eyes are big and brown and a little bit blurry through the thick lenses of his glasses. “I… you can be mad at me. You can hate me all you want, alright? I just wanted to… to say sorry in person, I guess. You should have that.”
Michael licks his lip, a nervous gesture that used to—and apparently still does—drive Jeremy crazy, and Jeremy remembers: “You—Fuck. I told you that I love you.”
Michael’s mouth falls half-open. From this distance, Jeremy can see the pink of his tongue, the white of his teeth. He makes a weak noise in his throat, his grip on Jeremy going slack.
Jeremy takes that opportunity to shove Michael off, walking a couple steps away from Michael and the tree. “What the fuck, Michael.”
Michael’s mouth closes slowly. “I didn’t…” he starts quietly, his arms falling to his sides.
“Don’t talk to me,” Jeremy forces out, his breath coming fast. “You’re a piece of shit, Michael.”
He expects Michael to finish with something like I didn’t mean to, but Michael finishes, “I didn’t… know you loved me.”
“I told Marshello—!”
“You said—” Michael turns and closes the distance between them again, once again standing right in front of Jeremy. The guy can’t take a hint. “You said you only… like, you were a little gay for me, or whatever. I mean, you never said you loved me.”
“A little gay for you?” Jeremy’s voice is getting progressively higher and higher. “A little gay for you? Are you kidding?”
Michael’s eyebrows draw together again. “How could I have known—you never acted like you—”
“You never wanted me around.”
Michael falls silent, staring at Jeremy much too sharply for Jeremy’s liking. “Bullshit,” he says quietly.
Jeremy clenches his fists and takes a step backward, his back hitting the tree, wishing he could make Michael stop looking at him like that—like he thinks he understands Jeremy better than Jeremy understands himself. “After the SQUIP, you were always so uncomfortable around me.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit? I wanted to be friends again, okay? You clearly didn’t.”
“Bullshit.” Michael steps forward. “I wanted to be friends with you, and you wouldn’t even look at me. You wouldn’t talk to me, you wouldn’t tell me why you wouldn’t talk to me, you would avoid me…” Michael’s voice cracks. “It’s like you were optic nerve blocking me by yourself. Without the SQUIP.”
Jeremy tries to take a step back, but he’s already up against the tree. He swallows and stares—God, anywhere but Michael—at the road, at the grass, at the spot right over Michael’s shoulder.
It’s… true.
Well, it’s true on paper, anyway. He did avoid talking to Michael. And looking at Michael.
And thinking about Michael.
It didn’t stop him from feeling for Michael.
Fuck, Michael. He’s standing close to Jeremy, close enough to put his hands on Jeremy’s shoulders again, if he wanted to, and Jeremy can see his soft curls, his lips—
He looks quickly away again.
“I’m not the one who walked away from us to get the SQUIP,” Michael continues, his voice low, “And I’m not the one who walked away from us after it, either—goddammit Jeremy, look at me!”
Jeremy’s heart stutters, and he glances back at Michael long enough for Michael to draw a breath before looking away. Again.
He can hear the shake in Michael’s voice. “Please.”
Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, steeling himself—it’s just looking; it’s not the end of the world. When he opens his eyes, he focuses them on Michael.
Michael looks wretched. If Jeremy had been paying attention, he would’ve noticed, earlier, the way Michael’s cheeks are wet and his eyes are red, his expression. “Look at me,” he says again.
I’m looking, Jeremy wants to say, and it hurts how much I love you.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I can’t say it enough. I mean it. I know what I did was wrong. But you iced me out, Jeremy. I wanted… I wanted so badly to be part of your life and you weren’t having it. I’m not trying to make excuses, and I’m not saying what I did was your fault.” Michael’s brow furrows even more, and he looks down. “It was my choice, not yours. I’m just saying maybe you should think about how you were willing to talk to a random stranger you met about everything, but you couldn’t talk to me.”
Jeremy watches Michael. It’s easier when Michael isn’t looking back at him.
“Why did you ice me out?” Michael asks.
“I thought you didn’t want to be around me.”
Michael’s eyebrows jump. “Bullshit,” he says. “No, you didn’t.”
Jeremy splutters. “Yes, I did!”
“Bullshit, Jeremy, bullshit, bullshit, bullshit!” Michael’s swiping at his eyes in angry, jerky movements. “I was pretty much getting on one knee for you, there’s no fucking way. Tell. Me. Why.”
“I don’t know!” Jeremy bursts out. Michael’s crying, and he can’t stand it. “I don’t know, I—every time I see you, every time I think of you, I think about how much I hurt you.”
He doesn’t know where that came from, but the moment it comes out of his mouth, he knows it’s true.
Michael’s silent for a long moment, taking him in. They look at each other—Jeremy’s probably gone all splotchy and red, and Michael’s tear-streaked face tugs at his heart. Eventually, Michael says, “So you couldn’t deal with me.”
“No,” Jeremy says immediately, “No. I couldn’t deal with—with me.”
Michael lets out a shaky breath, the kind you let out after you’re done crying. “Tell me you’re sorry.” His voice is scratchy, but there’s the tiniest hint of humor in it. “You’ll feel better.”
Jeremy looks Michael in the eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says with all his heart, “I’m really sorry.”
Michael holds his gaze. “It’s okay.”
And Michael is right. He can see that Michael believes him, that Michael means it, and the weight in his chest disappears, leaving him feeling breathless and light.
“Come here.” Jeremy opens his arms, gesturing Michael in. “Come on.”
Michael wraps his arms around Jeremy’s neck, pressing his face into Jeremy’s shoulder, his glasses digging into him. Jeremy doesn’t mind. Michael’s sweatshirt is just as soft as he remembers, and it still smells like Michael and weed. Jeremy closes his eyes tight and winds his arms around Michael’s waist, pulling him close. It feels like home.
“I am sorry.” Michael’s voice is muffled against Jeremy’s shoulder, but Jeremy can feel the vibrations of his voice against him, where Michael’s chest presses to his own. “But I got a hug out of it, so…”
A watery laugh escapes Jeremy, and he squeezes Michael tighter for a moment before letting him go. As soon as he steps back, he misses Michael’s warmth against him, even though it’s the middle of summer and everything is already too hot. “It was about time you did something shitty,” he says, fighting a small smile. “I had a couple of those coming.”
Michael looks up at him, his eyes searching Jeremy’s face, his lip caught nervously between his teeth. “Do we… are we cool? Are we still friends?”
Are we still friends? It sets Jeremy’s heart aching all over again. Are we still friends? “I don’t know,” he says slowly.
Michael’s expression turns pained again. “I literally, like, catfished you, dude. If you… if we’re not cool, that’s okay.” His mouth opens for a moment, and then he seems to rethink his words. “I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to be friends, but like. I get it.”
“No.” Jeremy shakes his head quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just…”
Even now, the urge to walk away from this, to look away from Michael and to go home and to go back to his gaming team he doesn’t know rises in him, making his heart beat faster, telling him go, go. He shoves that feeling down.
“It’s just that—what I said before. That still stands.” He looks at Michael. “I’m in love with you.”
Michael makes a sound like he’s being strangled, which doesn’t bode well for Jeremy, and then says, “Oh! Oh.” Which could mean absolutely anything. And then he laughs. “Come here.”
Jeremy’s standing just about as close as he can get. They’re probably toe-to-toe, he thinks—and then he stops thinking, because Michael’s hand—Michael’s hand!—has just slipped into his, fingers winding tight. Looking down, Jeremy runs his thumb over Michael’s hand, watching Michael’s fingers flex at the same time as he feels Michael’s hand squeezing his own, feeling the smoothness of the back of Michael’s hand and the warmth of his palm.
“Michael,” he manages to say, and then Michael’s hand is in his hair. His gaze flies to Michael’s face—close. Very close. It takes him a moment to realize Michael’s on his tip-toes, but in his defense, Michael’s making it very hard to think. Jeremy doesn’t think he’s breathing. He knows his heart is going crazy, but if it wants any oxygen to pump, it’s out of luck.
“Jeremy,” Michael’s mouth tugs up, a small smile. “Come on. Don’t leave me hanging.”
Jeremy leans in. “Of course not.”
Michael’s lips taste faintly of soda, and they send a jolt through Jeremy, a new sense of desperation awaking in him. His hand tightens around Michael, and his other arm loops around Michael’s waist again of its own accord, drawing them even closer. He can feel Michael’s heartbeat thumping against his own, can feel Michael laugh a little into their clumsy kiss.
Michael pulls back just far enough, just long enough to murmur, “Try again?” and then he’s letting Jeremy’s hand go to bring them both up to Jeremy’s head, pushing him back against the tree, pulling him down to Michael’s mouth.
Catching Michael’s lips again, lightly, tilting his head, Jeremy kisses Michael until he’s breathless, he kisses Michael until he’s positively dizzy, he kisses Michael until his lips feel puffy and Michael’s are pink.
Then he stops, taking in Michael’s dazed expression, his bright eyes, his helpless smile.
And he leans back in again.
@ Boyf_
Boyf_
SO GUESS WHO WON FINALS
_Riends
HOLY SHIT FR?
Boyf_
![Hamilton [We won! We won! We won! We won!] gif](https://media1.tenor.com/images/bfe430e4b7081642fbf7aebf4357df92/tenor.gif?itemid=19106505)
_Riends
CONGRATS CONGRATS CONGRATS CONGRATS
WE GOTTA CELEBRATE
WE GOTTA GET STONED IN MY BASEMENT
Boyf_
YES
I’ll be over in five
and now that the tournament’s over… remember what I said about video games being more fun with friends
_Riends
i think u said “funner”
and r u FRIENDZONING ME?
Boyf_
we were literally friends for years the friend zone doesn’t exist
I still love you
_Riends
music to my ears
Ily 2
I love the fuck out of u
Boyf_
...okay that’s not weird at all
there’s a 2 player tournament soon
Will u be my player one?