Chapter Text
Michael and Jeremy moved away from their small town immediately after graduation. It wasn’t the greatest place to begin with, and the whole ordeal when they were juniors really just sealed the deal. They had talked about what they were going to do, discussed it with the rest of the SQUIP squad, but all it really came down to was Jeremy and Michael wedged into a PT Cruiser along with all the clothes and games they could fit, and enough Mountain Dew Red to last them a few months. Bob Marley streamed out the windows as they drove off, captured beautifully on Rich’s snapchat story where he’s also somehow managed to scrawl “JUST MARRIED” over the back of the trunk in what, as Michael found out when they parked for a pit stop, was in fact white house paint.
Now, the PT Cruiser is out under the flickering streetlights, in constant risk of parking tickets because their shitty apartment doesn’t even have parking, a couple of Red bottles in the trunk and the side-mirror barely hanging on with duct-tape after they got side-swiped a few too many times in the busy New York traffic. The white paint has mostly come off, now just reading “J ST M R ED”.
So, yeah, they live in New York which, despite how terrible their flat is, is still stupidly expensive. Michael works two jobs full time, finishing up his shifts at the Soda Factory, a ridiculously hipster café in Soho with exposed beams and aesthetically polished concrete floors, just in time to race over to Game Over, a retro gaming themed bar that he bartends at most nights.
The first couple of months were rough to say the least. He’s tired most of the time and the wounds (both physical and psychological) from the SQUIP dilemma were still fresh and raw. Jeremy also barely slept, he woke up screaming almost every night, scratching at the electrical scars around his wrists until they’re red and raw, but he jumps out of bed at 7am every day, still worried about being shocked for slothfulness.
It’s part of the reason they got rid of the second bed in their flat. Most of the reason was that the second bed didn’t even have a mattress in it when they moved in, and was just a metal and wood frame taking up almost half of their floor space.
The other reason was the nightmares, on both of their parts. After the whole junior year thing, they learnt right away that physical contact helped Jeremy’s nightmares and even just holding onto Jeremy’s hand could help ground Michael during a panic attack.
The third reason, the one that Michael had never voiced, will never voice, is that being near Jeremy helped. A lot. For everything. Staring at his eyelashes twitching as he fell asleep helped to plug up some of the hollowness he still felt inside. It didn’t help his crush on his best friend, but no way in hell was Michael Mell, Jeremy’s favouwit pewson and owner of some deep-seat abandonment issues, ever going to bring that up. No way in fucking hell. So he lays in silence most nights, making sure Jeremy’s fully asleep before he himself passes out to grab a couple of hours of rest before he yanks himself out of bed to start the whole sordid work day all over again.
Growing out of their teens hadn’t really changed Jeremy and Michael all that much. They still got stoned together, although now in their shitty roach-motel apartment with the broken fire alarm, they were still losers, and they were still each other’s favourite people. Michael was still a pining idiot, and Jeremy was still truly awful at lying. That inability to lie (and it’s root cause of social anxiety) had been an issue in the past, from flat out telling his dad the first time he got high to being completely unable to lie during SQUIP squad Truth or Dare in college. Which is why Michael, on the train between the café and the bar, wasn’t very surprised by the absolute flurry of messages he received when he turned his phone back on.
[4:15 pm] heereortheere: uhhh
[4:15 pm] heereortheere: uhhHHHHHHHHH
[4:16 pm] heereortheere: HH H
[4:17 pm] heereortheere: michael i may have screwed up a tiny bit
[4:17 pm] heereortheere: and by a tiny bit i mean a lot of a bit
[4:17 pm] heereortheere: i know you’re at the soda factory right now i hope i got to u before ur break but i need u to message me back asap
[4:50 pm] heereortheere: i assume that the fact u haven’t messaged me back is because u have ur phone off like the good employee u are (i’m proud of ur work ethic buddy) but for the love of god message me asap
[5:30 pm] heereortheere: hey asno butas
[5:55 pm] heereortheere: i’m sorry that was mean but I am strESSD
[6:00 pm] heereortheere: if ur ignoring me on purpose like that one time i will be so mad and i will not cook dinner tonight but seriously please respond
[6:00 pm] heereortheere: are u dead?????? michael???? dude did u die??? i hope not but u may well die with shock at how badly i fucked up
[6:15 pm] heavenormell: i told you i had to pick up an extra hour at the café today, i’m not dead you nerd. hahahah asno butas seriously?
[6:15 pm] heavenormell: that’s not even vaguely right, do you even pick up any actual swears from me or does it go in one ear and out the other
[6:15 pm] heereortheere: i said i fucked up and ur biggest worry is my inability to swear in tagalog???
[6:15 pm] heavenormell: did you fuck up as bad as when you vored a depression computer? probably not, so yeah i’ll focus on your shit swearing
[6:16 pm] heereortheere: also hey i’m a geek and you know that but that’s not our biggest problem because i really did fuck up this time
[6:17 pm] heavenormell: how?
[6:17 pm] heavenormell: as in, both how bad and how did you screw up
[6:17 pm] heereortheere: i got the role in that musical audition
[6:17 pm] heavenormell: CONGRATS!!!! *party popper emoji* i told you you could do it
[6:18 pm] heereortheere: because they think i’m gay married to u
[6:18 pm] heavenormell: what
[6:18 pm] heavenormell: 3 big questions. 1. why do they think we are married. 2. why is that what got you the part 3. why. do. they. think. we. are. married.
[6:18 pm] heavenormell: (also it’s same sex marriage and you know that you hetero)
[6:19 pm] heavenormell: actually, 4th question. why was this so urgent? just lie? it’s not like i’ll ever meet your broadway producers??? why not wait until i’m home???
[6:19 pm] heereortheere: answers in no real order because im too stressed for order are: i can’t lie for shit, we need rings and a backstory, it’s something to do with the role itself and I’m really sorry about this but they will be meeting you. tomorrow. we’re having lunch in soho.
[6:20 pm] heavenormell: okay wHAT