Chapter Text
Brooke Lohst was, for lack of better words, not doing well.
She was notoriously lousy at keeping track of her periods, so she hadn't even noticed she'd missed it at first. What she had noticed was how sore her boobs felt, how tired she was, and how often she needed to pee. She'd actually feared she might have diabetes—she knew one of the symptoms was frequent urination—but then, once she finally clued in to the fact she'd missed two of her periods now, she feared something completely different (but equally life-changing).
There was a light knock on the bathroom door.
“How're you doing in there, Brooke?”
God, how could she answer that honestly? She was sitting on the damp tile floor, hugging her knees, with her nose running (but it had been doing that before she even started crying—another symptom, she'd discovered after a quick google). She opened her mouth to answer and involuntarily let out a sob instead.
“Shit, are you crying?” She only wept harder at the question. “I'm coming in, okay?”
Michael Mell cautiously opened the door to the grimy 7Eleven bathroom. It had a faulty lock—initially, he'd been standing guard so that no one would walk in on her. He tentatively sat next to her, and grimaced when his butt hit the floor.
“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, gently.
She shook her head, hiccupping violently. Michael snaked his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. If he noticed the test in her hands, he didn't comment on it. He sat with her quietly until she was able to breathe normally again.
She was glad he was here. Not only was he an expert in the field of crying in bathrooms, he was also one of her best friends. Well, their entire squad were her best friends, but Michael in particular. They just kind of clicked. He was kind to her, valued her opinion, and always made time for her; she found him funny, supported his endeavours, and talked with him every chance she got. It was nice. Brooke hoped that wouldn't change now.
She tilted the test his way. His eyebrows shot upwards. It would look comical if it were any other situation.
“Oh, shit.” He looked at her and added, quieter, “Was it Jeremy?”
She nodded, rubbing her face into the sleeve of her sweater. “Couldn't be anyone else.”
Michael tenderly tugged her closer to him and she rested her head on his shoulder. She was out of tears; she felt numb. Neither of them spoke for several minutes.
“I'm pregnant.” She let the words settle in the air. It was out in the world now—it was real. She buried her head in her hands. “Oh my god.”
“You're pregnant,” Michael agreed. “You don't have to be, though. Not if you don't want to be.”
“That's the scariest part,” she whispered, glancing up at him with glossy eyes. “I don't think I want to not be.”
“Okay. That's okay. It's up to you, Brooke,” he said, gingerly. “It's your body—it's your baby. If you want to keep it, you can. If you don't, you don't have to. But, you don't need to decide right this moment, you know.”
“Okay.” She let out a long exhale, releasing the tension in her chest. “Okay. Let's just—let's get shitty food and go.”
“All right,” Michael said. He got to his feet and reached down to help her up. His expression turned dramatically stern as he added, “But, I'll have you know, 7Eleven food is food of the gods.”
And Brooke couldn't help but let out a laugh at that.