Work Text:
The morning the audition results are posted, Michael drags Jeremy by the wrist to the bulletin board outside the auditorium and doesn’t let go while Jeremy reads the cast list. Moral support and all that.
“Holy shit,” Jeremy blurts, his eyes wide and shining at the sight of his name at the very top.
“Told you so.” Michael squeezes Jeremy’s wrist. He’s warm with pride at the flush in Jeremy’s cheeks, the delighted upturn of his mouth. “You’re gonna be great.”
Jeremy’s eyes go impossibly wider, practically starry-eyed. “Christine is Edna.”
Michael’s chest goes tight at those words. “That’s great, buddy! Who knows, maybe you can upgrade from a stage couple to a real couple.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Jeremy says, always the cynic. But there’s a soft, hopeful glint in his eyes that Michael can’t bear to see.
He lets go of Jeremy’s wrist. Looks away.
-
There’s a lot of things Michael won’t tell Jeremy. Starting from I lost your X-Men comic book but you forgot about it so I’m taking that secret to the grave to I think pineapple pizza is dumb to I'm so in love with you that I can barely breathe sometimes.
When Jeremy pouts at him he doesn't say it should be illegal for you to use that against me.
When Jeremy says he thinks Michael would be a great techie for the show he doesn't say it'll kill me to watch you and her fall in love over and over until it happens for real.
When Jeremy leaves for the read-through, he doesn’t say I’ll get over it, I promise. I promise.
-
Jake Dillinger gestures for Michael to sit opposite of him. “Didn’t take you as a chess guy, Mell.”
Michael shrugs. “Dabbled in it a few years back, but never got serious about it.”
It’s a half-truth. He had a short-lived, intense chess phase back when he was fourteen years old, months of poring over Youtube videos and playing it online, but as he did with most passions, he had grown bored and moved on. But he needs the excuse now, something to justify why he can’t work for the school play, and chess club seemed like the least amount of effort.
“And you came back after all this time." Jake cocks his head, the smile on his lips razor sharp, like he sees right through Michael. “You needed a distraction?”
Michael thinks of Jeremy, his eyes bright with stars, the dreamy sigh he always exhales after Christine’s name. He pretends the memories don’t feel like knives in his chest, slicing him open. “Yeah. I do.”
“Okay,” Jake says as easy as breathing, rolling his wheelchair closer to the desk, motioning at the board between them. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
-
Jeremy throws himself into Michael’s Cruiser with his face as red as a stoplight and blurts, “I’m gonna kiss her.”
Michael freezes, his hands clenching around the wheel. “What?”
“We have a kiss scene, and Mr. Reyes says we’re gonna do it for real, and oh my god, I’m gonna kiss Christine, holy shit.”
His chest feels like it's caving in, ribcage collapsing into the ruins of where his heart used to be. "That's." He forces his mouth to curve up, pretends the joy is real when he turns to meet Jeremy's eyes. "That's great, buddy."
Jeremy grins, giddy and delighted, and Michael is helpless but to think, I'll get over it, I promise.
I promise.
-
"Jeremy!" Christine skids to a stop next to their lunch table. "I was thinking we could run lines together after rehearsal, today?" Her fingers drum against the table’s surface in a staccato rhythm, her enthusiasm barely contained within her. "Mr. Reyes wants us off-book so soon, which I think is fantastic and gives us more time to develop blocking and everything, but it's a lot of lines, you know? So I think I could use the help, and we have a lot of scenes together, so, if you're free, we can do that? What do you think?"
Jeremy goes a peculiar shade of pink. "I, um.” He chokes out a few more incoherent sounds. “Er.”
"He means yes," Michael cuts in as he claps a hand to Jeremy's back, smacking some coherency back into him.
"Yes, I'd love to," Jeremy babbles, nodding wildly.
Christine smiles like the sun, bright and warm. "Great! I gotta run now. I'll see you at rehearsal! I hope you like Dunkin Donuts!"
Jeremy smiles back, incandescent, his spine straightening. A sunflower opening up to the sunshine. "Yeah, see you."
Christine waves at Jeremy and then Michael, who waves back. She grins at him, like she's genuinely pleased at the gesture, and bounces away, humming under her breath.
He thinks he could grow to like her, once he buries his bleeding heart six feet under. Once he learns to breathe again around this knot in his chest.
-
“You’ve got a knack for this," Jake comments as Michael moves his bishop three squares diagonally, capturing Jake's knight.
It's their second game of the day, and Michael is determined to even the score with this round. He's managed to corner Jake's queen, and he's four moves from checkmate. "Thanks."
Jake grins, mischievous. "But you've still got a way to go." He moves his rook from the corner of the board to capture Michael's bishop, putting it in prime position to check Michael's king. "I can't believe you fell for that. Hook, line, and sinker."
"I'm gonna destroy you," Michael deadpans. It's checkmate in two moves, no matter how he looks at it. Damn.
"Not in this game." Jake brutally stamps out Michael's efforts to save his king and pins him down with a pawn. "Probably not today."
It feels like Michael's losing wherever he goes, these days. "Fuck you. Rematch, now."
-
Jeremy curls up on the beanbag chair next to Michael's and says, "I've never kissed anybody before."
Michael feels his heart skip a beat at that. He lets go of his Nintendo controller. "Yeah, well. We all knew that already, buddy."
"But I'm gonna kiss Christine," Jeremy whines. "In front of everybody. What if I mess up? What if I suck so bad Christine decides she never wants to kiss me again?"
Her fucking loss, Michael doesn't say. "I'm pretty sure it's impossible to suck that bad for a stage kiss." And then, because he can't help himself: "Can't really suck anything when there's no tongue involved."
"Michael!" Jeremy yelps, a red blush crawling up his neck, and Michael’s heart seizes in his chest with how goddamn unfair it is, that he’s been aching to kiss this boy for so long and yet a stranger will get the privilege just for a stupid play. How is it any fair, when it’s Michael’s basement that Jeremy comes to every Friday and Michael’s beanbag he’s laying in and Michael’s car he rides in every other day and yet, and yet, and yet.
“Just get her to practice with you.” The words scrape their way out his throat, and he has to look away to push the rest out. “Just the two of you. Sounds like an opportunity, don’t you think?”
Jeremy makes a frustrated noise. “Yeah, but it’ll still be my first time, and I don’t think—maybe I should practice before I ask her to practice with me.”
“You do realize that sentence is super dumb, right?” Michael turns back to Jeremy before he can stop himself. “Kissing your own hand or your pillow isn’t practice, dummy.”
“Obviously,” Jeremy says, staring at Michael. “Hey, you kissed someone before.”
Michael cringes at the memory. “One time. On a dare. When I was thirteen. And it sucked.”
“But you have experience,” Jeremy says, because apparently one shitty, brief press of a mouth to another Cheeto-stained mouth qualifies as experience. “You could help me practice.”
Michael feels the bottom of his stomach drop out. “What.”
“I mean, you know, as a bro helping out another bro.” Jeremy goes a little pink, as if he realizes exactly what he’s asking for. “Is that too weird?”
It’s a terrible idea. The worst kind of idea, and he should say no. He has to say no. He won’t survive this otherwise.
But he’s been aching to kiss this boy for so long, and a stranger will get the privilege just for a stupid play, and he wants so much he can barely breathe some days.
“Never mind,” Jeremy says. “This was a stupid—“
“Yeah, let’s do it.”
Jeremy looks at him, surprised. “Wait, uh. Seriously?”
“It’s just a kiss,” Michael says, like his entire heart isn’t a single breath away from shattering apart in Jeremy Heere’s oblivious hands. “It’s not a big deal.”
A sliver of pink tongue pokes out, licking red, bitten lips. “I. Right. What’s some kissing between best friends.”
Michael’s heartbeat is going ninety miles per hour and he doesn’t know how he manages to sound so calm when he says, “Okay, you ready?”
“Right now?” Jeremy splutters.
“Might as well get it over with.” Now that he’s decided to do this, he’s impatient. Terrified that Jeremy will take it back and never give Michael this chance ever again. “Sit up properly, dumbass.”
Jeremy scrambles to straighten up in his seat, his cheeks steadily reddening. “Uh, shouldn’t I brush my teeth?”
“Shut up,” Michael orders, and Jeremy clams up, eyes wide. “You want to be a good kisser for Christine?” It hurts to say those words. Hurts more to see Jeremy nod frantically at his question. “Then do as I tell you.”
“Okay,” Jeremy says, and the breathless way he exhales the word makes Michael want to ruin him. To unravel Jeremy and reconstruct him so that he doesn’t know how to want anybody aside from Michael.
He strangles the idea and crushes it. Buries it six feet under. “First off: relax.”
Jeremy raises an eyebrow at him, a sarcastic gesture of really?
“It’s just me.” Michael moves to straddle Jeremy’s lap, his knees digging into the beanbag, settling his weight on Jeremy’s thighs, careful to keep some space so that they’re not pressed together. As if Michael could ever keep a safe distance now. “We’re in my basement.” He lowers his voice, gentles it so that the tension bleeds out of Jeremy’s shoulders. “You’ve been here a million times. I’ve been your best friend for twelve years. There’s nothing for you to be nervous about.”
“Nothing, just my first kiss,” Jeremy mutters, but the tense set of his jaw is relaxing, his shoulders sagging, and Michael feels a small, vindictive thrill flutter inside his chest at the fact that even if he can’t have Jeremy’s heart, he’ll have this.
“Relax,” Michael repeats softly, cupping Jeremy’s cheek with one hand, stroking a high cheekbone with his thumb. His heart stumbles in his chest at the way Jeremy’s eyelids flutter shut as Michael leans in close. He carves this moment into his memory: the scent of Jeremy’s shampoo, the trembling of Jeremy’s eyelashes, the pout of Jeremy’s lips. “I’ve got you.”
He leans in the rest of the way and presses his mouth to Jeremy’s.
There’s no fireworks, no music playing in his head, nothing but the sound of their breathing and Michael’s heart pounding against his ribcage, the warmth of lips against his own. It's just a kiss.
He pulls away and drops his hand from Jeremy’s face, bittersweet disappointment blooming in his chest, and Jeremy’s eyes blink open.
“Is it always like that?” Jeremy asks.
Michael huffs an empty laugh. “I don’t think I’m enough an expert to know.”
“Hmm.” And then, miraculously, Jeremy tilts his head and asks, “Can we try again?”
It’s a testament to how fucking doomed Michael is that he doesn’t question it. That he doesn’t say anything at all and simply leans back in, sliding his lips against Jeremy’s. This time, he curls a hand around the back of Jeremy’s neck and tilts his head just so, eliciting a pleased sound from Jeremy that makes something hot and greedy spark in his belly. Makes him press into the kiss harder, squeezing Jeremy's nape and savoring the sweet, low whine that hitches halfway in Jeremy's throat.
He pulls away a mere inch away this time, close enough to feel Jeremy's breath against his skin. “Again?”
“Yeah.” Jeremy sounds dazed, breathless. “Okay.”
He's barely done speaking when Michael’s kissing him again, stealing the words from his mouth, his hand sliding up from the back of Jeremy's neck into his hair. All his insides turn to molten metal, liquid and scorching, when he realizes Jeremy's clutching the front of his hoodie with both hands, fingers curled tight into red fabric. The greed crackles up his spine, urging him to lean his weight forward, to topple Jeremy backwards onto the beanbag and devour him here and now.
It takes every ounce of his sanity to pull back. "You think you're getting it?"
"I," Jeremy starts, then they both startle at the voice of Michael's mom calling them upstairs for dinner. "Shit."
The sight of Jeremy's long fingers releasing Michael's hoodie makes his chest feel oddly hollow. "We should go," Michael says, trying to uproot himself from where his heart has decided to make its home. He resists the pull to Jeremy's mouth and forces himself to stand up. "C'mon, slowpoke."
Jeremy blinks at Michael's outstretched hand, like he's never seen it before, then takes it, his touch electric against Michael's skin.
Michael ignores the spark in his fingertips. Ignores the tingling of his lips. Breathes in, then pulls Jeremy up.
-
In the darkness, huddled under the bedcovers, Michael traces the outline of his lower lip with a fingertip, remembering the warmth, the electric contact, the way Jeremy whined against his mouth.
It's not enough, but it has to be.
-
Except, the next day, Michael’s spinning circles in Jeremy's wheelie chair as he helps Jeremy run through his lines, pretending his breath didn't hitch at the script's directions saying Fred and Edna kiss.
And Jeremy says, "Hey, can we practice this?"
Michael lurches mid-spin, nearly falling out of the chair. "What?"
"Well, you did all the work yesterday." Jeremy cocks his head a little to the side, eyes bright, the way he always does when he's convinced his outlandish idea is a good one and he's hopeful for Michael to agree with him. "Which was cool—thanks, by the way—but I wanna figure out how to—um, take the lead?"
"You," Michael says very slowly, "want to kiss me. Instead of me kissing you."
Jeremy nods. "Yeah! I mean, we don't have to, but you were good at it and you could just tell me if I'm doing stuff wrong? I don't wanna fuck up and accidentally drool on her.” He makes a face at the thought. "Or just make it super obvious that I'm a loser with no game."
Michael swallows down any pathetic declarations about how he'd be fine with Jeremy accidentally drooling on him and clears his throat, forcing humor into his voice. "Yeah, okay, so I'm helping you level up, huh? Teach you how to get that high score in the whole mouth melding business." He's babbling, throwing words together randomly in the hopes of disguising his nerves as lighthearted humor. "Maybe I should make score placards to hold up."
Jeremy makes a face. "Okay, 'mouth melding' is officially the worst description I've heard of kissing—and no," he says when Michael opens his mouth, "that's not a challenge. Don't start listing worse examples." He fidgets with the hem of his shirt and ducks his head a little, peering up at Michael through his lashes with cautious hope. "So...you'll help me?"
It's like watching an oncoming trainwreck in slow-motion. Like the moment when Jake moves a bishop into a position that Michael didn't see coming and now he can read all the upcoming moves, the impending defeat. Michael knows he's cornered and done for, his death warrant signed and sealed the moment Jeremy looked up with that look in eyes. "Yeah, of course."
He stands up, makes his way to the bed, where Jeremy's sitting cross-legged on the covers. Every step feels like the ticking down of a clock. Five moves to checkmate.
Four.
"So." He settles down so they're sitting face to face, inches apart. "Make your move, buddy."
Jeremy chews on his lower lip, his gaze darting down to Michael's mouth then back up to Michael's eyes. "Don't make fun of me if I'm bad." He exhales shakily, then leans in. Closes his eyes.
Three.
The angle is all wrong; it's awkward and there's a stiff tension coiling through Jeremy that Michael can feel through the press of their lips. But it's warm and soft and electric all the same.
Two.
Too late, too soon, Jeremy pulls away, eyes fluttering open. "Er, that was, uh."
"That," Michael says, hoping Jeremy doesn't catch onto how hoarse he sounds, "was a C minus."
Jeremy scrunches his nose. "Seriously?"
"At least it wasn't an F." Michael pauses to take a breath, hating the way surrender tastes on his tongue. "Try again."
Jeremy pouts, then nods. Leans in.
One.
-
(He dreams of open mouths and skin sliding against skin and a breathless voice gasping into his ear. He dreams of sweet sugar words on his tongue that go down like broken glass. He dreams of half-lidded bright blue eyes that only look skyward, never meeting his gaze.)
-
"You're gonna be late to chess club." Jeremy checks his phone, lighting up the dark space of the supply closet. "I should go, too. Christine likes to warm up before rehearsal starts."
It's jarring to hear Christine's name in this enclosed space with the warmth of Jeremy's mouth still fresh on his lips. Michael feels the warmth leeching away and forces himself to take a step backwards, his back pressing against the wall. "Yeah. Sure. Uh, you might wanna leave first and I'll go in a bit. In case anybody sees."
"Oh, uh, okay." Jeremy flashes a sheepish grin as the light of his phone screen dies out. "You're the one who's running late, though, so I could—“
"Nah," Michael interrupts. "Don't miss out on your thespian bonding time, dude. Go do your warm up with her."
Jeremy snorts in amusement. "Thanks." A warm hand finds its way to Michael's face, cupping his cheek in split-second warning before a warm mouth delivers an off-balance peck to Michael's. "Good?"
Michael doesn't let his voice crack. "A solid B."
"Aw man, not even a B plus?" Jeremy's tone is lighthearted as he pushes the supply closet's door open. "See you tomorrow."
"See ya."
The door closes and Michael finally lets the back of his head thunk against the closet wall, adjusting his jeans and taking a deep breath to calm the fuck down.
Ever since Jeremy decided he's going to become valedictorian of kissing people’s brains out, they've been stealing moments like these, hidden away from the rest of the world, Jeremy's mouth warm and wet as it slides against his. A few secret minutes of bliss. It’s like now that the dam’s been broken, that hurdle of a first kiss cleared, Jeremy’s decided there aren’t any more obstacles in this shitty metaphorical race and has deemed Michael’s mouth a safe free-for-all marathon option.
Opportunities are rare; Jeremy's been spending more and more time with Christine, and his rehearsal schedule is growing increasingly demanding. Soon enough, Jeremy's new kissing partner will be the girl who makes him go starry-eyed, and then Michael might not have Jeremy at all.
Rationally, he knows that's not true. Jeremy will still be his best friend. He'll still have Friday nights playing games together and Saturday morning slushie runs and incessant daily texting about memes and Youtube video links. Christine will be an addition to their life, not a subtraction.
But there's that ticking clock in the back of his head, counting down to game over, and he can't stop stealing these kisses as he waits for the inevitable end.
"I'll get over it," he mumbles into the dark. The words ring empty, like a promise made to be broken.
-
Michael scowls at the board, where Jake is winning again. "Literally any move I make is going to only screw me over."
Jake grins. "Wanna forfeit?”
“Hell no.” He moves his bishop to a defensive position with grim determination. He’s going to play it out to the bitter end. Who knows, maybe Jake will fuck up and Michael might survive this. “I just might surprise you, Dillinger.”
“Maybe next time,” Jake says, then captures Michael’s queen with ruthless efficiency.
Michael scowls down at the board. He’s definitely facing checkmate in four moves now. “I hate you.”
“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” Jake’s smile grows wider when Michael makes another stubborn, futile move. “You know, there’s a word for this.”
“For what?”
“A chess term for when you know any move you make is just gonna make things worse. Usually it means you’re gonna be checkmated, so you can either choose to forfeit or play it out to the end.” Jake makes his move. “It’s called zugzwang.”
“Doesn’t sound like English,” Michael says, moving his pawn in a last ditch attempt to defend the king.
Jake hums and captures the pawn. “I think it’s German.”
One move to checkmate. There’s no escaping it, and even still, Michael can’t help but follow through to the doomed conclusion.
“Zugzwang, huh.” Michael tests the word out on his tongue. It’s fitting, how it sounds sharp and unforgiving in his mouth. He makes his last move. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
-
He sees Jeremy in the hallways and in class and at lunch but there’s not enough time and too many eyes. There’s rehearsal and chess club and Christine, and there’s maybe a few scant minutes where Michael follows Jeremy into a bathroom stall or a secluded corner. It has to be enough, it has to be, but all of Michael’s promises are breaking apart in his hands.
“B minus,” Michael says against Jeremy’s mouth. They’re sitting on the couch in Michael’s basement for their usual Friday hangout, sides pressed together, and he feels drunk off of lazy kissing and Jeremy’s body warmth. There’s something intoxicating about being able to have Jeremy alone, unhurried, no other obligations to drag him away.
“C’mon, man.” Jeremy makes a face. “What’s it gonna take for you to actually give me an A? Or even a B plus?”
“I don’t know,” Michael lies. “I mean, at this point I’m not really any more experienced than you are. I’m just saying how good it feels.”
Jeremy raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not just being too strict?”
That’s exactly it, but Michael is a lying liar who isn’t strong enough to tell Jeremy that he’s not ready to let him graduate from the Michael Mell School of Kissing, so instead he raises his own eyebrow in his best bluff. “Dude, maybe you should be creative.”
“How the fuck would I,” Jeremy begins, then stops, cocking his head slightly to the side.
Somewhere in the back of Michael’s head, an alarm begins to clang. “Jer?”
“I’m gonna try something,” Jeremy mutters, his breath hot against Michael’s skin as he leans in. His fingertips trace the line of Michael’s jaw with a featherlight touch, until his hand is cupping Michael’s jaw so he can pull him in for a slow kiss.
Michael lets Jeremy tilt his head just right for their lips to slide against each other, his eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the scent of lavender. He swallows a soft noise when Jeremy presses in closer, his thumb rubbing a small circles over Michael’s cheekbone, bumping against the rim of his glasses. Michael melts into the touch, the alarm in his head quieting as he relaxes into the kiss, and that’s when Jeremy’s tongue licks across the seam of his lips.
Caught off-guard, Michael’s lips part on a small gasp, his breath hitching in his chest, and Jeremy takes the opportunity to lick into Michael’s open mouth. Jeremy’s tongue explores the newfound territory by tracing the row of Michael’s bottom teeth and licking at the ceiling of Michael’s mouth, and every movement makes a shudder run down Michael’s spine. He has to swallow down a moan when his tongue meets Jeremy’s, the slide of the two muscles so warm and wet that it feels filthy.
By the time Jeremy pulls away, his lips are bruised and spit-slick. “How about that?”
Breathless, Michael stares at him, the taste of Jeremy still on his tongue. He wants to laugh and cry and scream all at once.
“B plus,” he finally says in a voice that shakes only the slightest bit, and he feels something in his chest fracture at the way Jeremy’s eyes light up at that.
“I think I can upgrade to an A minus,” Jeremy says, smiling.
There’s no getting over this, over Jeremy. There’s no way to come back from learning the taste of this boy’s smile and letting those long fingers reach into Michael’s chest to carve his heart out. It was stupid to think that Michael could keep any promises, stupid to think they wouldn’t all break apart just like his heart in Jeremy Heere’s oblivious hands. He’s been checkmated and defeated, no matter what move he makes.
And as always, he’s seeing it through to the bitter end.
“Then prove it,” Michael says, his voice hoarse, and he closes his eyes when Jeremy leans in.
-
He wonders where it went wrong. Like a post-mortem of a chess game, he replays every step, every move. Wonders if the outcome would’ve been any different if he’d said no the second time. If he’d never said yes the first time. If he’d stopped Jeremy from auditioning. Or maybe this would’ve happened no matter what. His heart in tatters, losing Jeremy inch by inch.
If he had to pinpoint where it all went wrong, he’d choose the moment he'd felt the solid weight of Jeremy leaning against his side and looked sideways to see eyes moon-bright with mirth, bitten lips curving into a wicked smile, and his heart had stumbled for the very first time.
-
“I almost had you.” Michael rolls his shoulders as they reset the board. He’s on a roll today, and trying out speed chess has evened the playing field between him and Jake quite a bit. Jake is prone to more mistakes and half-assed strategies when he’s on a drastic time limit, and it’s giving Michael a significant advantage that he’d normally never have. “Okay, rematch.”
“How are you better at speed chess than I am?” Jake looks amused, though there’s a tic of frustration in the twitch of his eye.
Michael shrugs, a sly grin tugging at his mouth. “Guess all that gaming taught me to think fast.”
“You know what, I’d believe that.”
“Fuck yeah, Apocalypse of the Damned was actually educational for my brain.” Michael takes a deep breath, then hits the chess clock and makes the first move.
It’s exhilarating to have something to focus completely on, his brain turning as fast as it can as he tries to devise strategies and counterstrategies as fast as he can in response to Jake’s every move. Speed chess allows no space for overthinking, and Michael’s always worked best when improvising.
When the game is whittled down to not enough time and no more moves, Michael leans back in his seat and sighs. “I think that’s a stalemate.”
Jake hums in agreement, looking both impressed and chagrined. “Yeah, you nearly had me on that one.”
A familiar voice says, “That was really cool.”
A garbled noise catches in Michael’s throat as he whips around to see Jeremy standing next to his seat, his backpack slung over one shoulder. “Jeremy? What happened to rehearsal?”
“Mr. Reyes cancelled it because he ran out of Hot Pockets.” Jeremy shuffles his feet, looking unsure of himself. “Uh, well, Mrs. Callahan said I could watch you guys, but if I’m being a bother—”
“Nah, you can stay if you want,” Jake says, offering a fist. “Unless Michael’s too much of a wuss to play in front of a spectator.”
Jeremy blinks for a moment, puzzled, before he catches on and gives Jake a fist bump. “Oh, okay.” He gives Michael a hopeful glance. “Can I?”
He hesitates, his sense of self-preservation wanting to put as much distance between them warring against his wretched hunger for Jeremy's presence. As always, the latter wins over the former. “Yeah, sure.” Michael gestures at a chair that Jeremy can drag to their desk, and he gives Jake an unimpressed look. “And this wuss is going to fucking beat you.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jake says, grinning.
“Fuck off.” Michael sticks his tongue out at Jake as he resets the board, then turns back to Jeremy. “You want me to explain the rules?”
Jeremy settles back in his seat and shakes his head. “It’s fine. I just wanna watch.”
It won’t really make much sense without knowing any of the rules, but Michael figures Jeremy can google the basics on his phone if he’s curious. “Right, okay.”
Michael turns back to the board and takes a moment to breathe, shutting everything out. The magnetic pull to Jeremy's body warmth, the ache in his chest, the clock almost down to zero. He pushes all of it away until his world is black and white, nothing but the chess board and his opponent, a sanctuary where not even his breaking heart can distract him.
-
On the drive home, Jeremy says, “You know, considering that you're usually the one busting my ass when we're playing games, it's refreshing to see you lose.”
Michael groans. “Dude, cut me some slack here. Jake’s been playing for three years and I’m still kinda in noob territory.”
“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Just refreshing.” Jeremy’s voice is soft and teasing, and Michael represses the irrational urge to take a left and drive the long route back to Jeremy’s house. “I haven’t seen you that focused in a long time.”
“I think I focus when we’re gaming?”
“Yeah, duh.” He can practically hear Jeremy rolling his eyes. “But I’m not exactly paying attention to how focused you are when I have to look at the screen, you know. Besides, it’s a different kind of focus.”
Michael thinks that one over. “Is it?”
“Like, remember how you said last time I ‘get into the zone’ when I’m memorizing lines?” Jeremy snaps his fingers. “You were totally in the zone.”
“I guess,” Michael says, dragging out the second word in skepticism.
“Speaking of,” Jeremy says slowly. In the distance, the Heere house comes into view, and a sinking sensation takes hold in Michael’s stomach. “We’ve been rehearsing without it til now, but in a couple days, Christine and I are gonna be, um. Kissing for real.”
Michael grips the steering wheel tighter and keeps his eyes ahead of him. Keeps his tone even and light-hearted. “Huh. Well, congrats, buddy.”
“Yeah, well.” Jeremy expels a raspy, nervous laugh. “Let’s hope all that practice pays off.”
For a crippling, soul-wrenching moment, Michael hates him with every fragment of his broken heart. Hates Jeremy for being so goddamn stupid, for not knowing that friends don’t do this, for not realizing that he’s shattered Michael open and that he’ll never be put together the same again.
Instead of letting any of that slip past his clenched teeth, Michael pulls into the driveway. He takes a moment to stare at the closed garage door, the white porch, the half-shuttered window of Jeremy’s bedroom. He turns back to Jeremy and says, “Okay, let’s have your final exam, then.”
-
Jeremy’s hands are gentle as they frame his face, pressing Michael’s body against Jeremy’s closed bedroom door with the warm weight of his own, and Michael hates it. Hates the sweet sighs Jeremy exhales into his mouth, the slow curl of Jeremy’s tongue around his own. Hates the soothing scent of lavender and the wet, toe-curling sensation of Jeremy sucking on Michael’s lower lip. He hates how loving it feels when he’s being ripped to pieces on the inside, his ribcage splintering apart. He wants teeth, wants pain, wants to stop hurting from the electric spark of Jeremy’s touch.
“I think,” Michael says, taking Jeremy by the shoulders and gently pushing him away, “that you passed with flying colors.”
Jeremy smiles, bright and delighted, and Michael can’t help but steal one last kiss. He leans in, presses his lips to Jeremy’s brief and chaste. It tastes like a goodbye.
-
“You’re off your game today.” Jake captures Michael’s king within twenty moves for the third time of the day with a hefty sigh. “Bro, you wanna talk about it?”
“Nothing to talk about,” Michael grumbles. He starts to reset the board, but he knows, instinctively, that he’s going to lose the next match as well. And the one after. He’s not winning today. He’s not sure if he’ll ever win. “I’m just tired.”
Jake snorts. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.” He finishes resetting his own pieces and fiddles with the clock. “You know, he didn’t even look at the board.”
Michael doesn’t look up, putting his last pieces back in place. “Huh?”
“Jeremy wasn’t watching the board,” Jake says. “He was watching you the whole time.”
There’s a traitorous squeeze in his chest that Michael ignores. He keeps his eyes downcast, doesn’t think about it, because in the end, he doesn’t see a way to win, and he’s done wanting things that he cannot have. “Focus on the game, Dillinger.”
After a silence that feels judgmental, Jake sighs. “Fine. Your move, Mell.”
-
Looking faintly pink, Jeremy climbs into the passenger seat. “So…we practiced. Before we had to do it in rehearsal.”
There’s a dull throb in the cavity of Michael’s chest. “Yeah?”
“She said it was her first time,” Jeremy says, running a shaky hand through his hair as he laughs, disbelieving. “I don’t know what I was so nervous about. It was easy.” He rubs his thumb across his lower lip, contemplative. “It was different.”
“Look at you, my player two, playing it up!” Michael forces a laugh, smacking Jeremy’s shoulder before he turns the ignition, ignoring the awful twist in the pit of his stomach. “This calls for a celebration. Time to get slushies and then get stoned!”
“We do that all the time anyway,” Jeremy says, grinning, before the curve of his mouth softens. “But yeah, that sounds great.”
If Michael were a stronger person, he’d wheedle Jeremy for some more sordid retelling and tease the sappy look on his face, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Can’t bear to even imagine what it must have been like, for Jeremy to learn the taste of a mouth that isn’t Michael’s.
-
After the second time Jeremy reports back that the rehearsal kissing went well, Michael stops asking how it went.
After the fourth time, Jeremy stops telling him.
-
The day before opening night of June Moon, Michael challenges Jake to speed chess again.
“I mean, I’m not beating you in regular chess any time soon,” Michael says.
Jake raises an eyebrow. “I think you’re underselling yourself, dude.”
“Just let me have this.” It might be a cheap victory, relatively speaking, but Michael needs something to cling onto when he walks into the auditorium tomorrow. “Besides, you could get used to thinking on the fly.”
“I am very fly,” Jake jokes, and Michael can’t help but crack a genuine smile at that.
-
Michael sits in a sea of students and parents as he watches Jeremy with his hair slicked back in a tweed jacket that makes him look like the most scholarly scarecrow on the planet. He’s stupid and charming and he shines on the stage almost as much as Christine, who plays off of him to great effect. The two of them command the attention of everybody present, orbiting each other effortlessly, and even through the ache radiating through his bones, Michael can see how the two of them are perfect for each other.
When Jeremy dips Christine and kisses her, Michael doesn’t cry. He cheers, just like everybody else, and nobody else hears his voice break.
-
After the show, Michael lingers by the auditorium’s side door, waiting for Jeremy to finish talking to the gaggle of students and parents congratulating him at a job well done. Christine’s a couple feet away, gesticulating energetically to a few underclassmen, and she waves with a smile when she catches Michael’s eye, and he gives a small wave back.
“Michael!” Jeremy struggles through the small crowd and arrives at Michael’s side, a tired, happy smile on his cleanly wiped face. His hair is still mostly stiff from the wax, but otherwise he looks like Michael’s Jeremy again.
Well, not that Jeremy is Michael’s now. Never was.
“Hey, you were amazing!” He delivers a fond punch to Jeremy’s bicep. “You fucking womanizer, you’ve got the potential to be a real Casanova, don’t you think?”
Jeremy rolls his eyes, but there’s a pleased curl to his mouth and a red tint to his cheeks as he shoves Michael’s shoulder, prodding him into walking towards the Cruiser parked a few feet away. “I don’t; I’m pretty useless at talking to girls unless I have a script to work off of. I mean, Christine is easier, but,” Jeremy takes a slow inhale, “that’s different.”
“She’s special, right?” There isn’t any bitterness in his tone, miraculously enough. If anything, there’s a shade of resignation, but Michael makes sure to keep his face turned away, focusing on unlocking the car.
“I mean, well.” Jeremy hisses something under his breath, then says, “Michael, I need to tell you something about me and Christine.”
He doesn’t want to hear it, but he stops walking. His heart is pounding in his ears, his hands a little clammy. He’s been ready for this. He’s seen this coming since weeks ago. He turns to face Jeremy, but his gaze falls to the ground, too scared to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “Should I be congratulating you?”
“What? About the show?” Jeremy asks, sounding confused.
Michael actually looks up in exasperation. “About becoming a couple, dumbass.”
Jeremy looks back at him, wide-eyed. “Wha—no, we’re not. Christine and I are friends and we both decided we like it that way.”
“Wait.” Michael can practically hear the fucking metaphorical record scratch. “What?”
“Christine’s a lesbian,” Jeremy says. “Ace lesbian, technically, but yeah.”
“Oh, uh.” Michael’s pretty sure this is the part where he consoles Jeremy about his unrequited crush, except…Jeremy doesn’t look crushed at all. “Sorry?”
“I mean, there’s that, but also—remember when I said it was easy? Kissing her,” Jeremy clarifies. “It wasn’t hard at all. It felt different from kissing you.”
Michael’s throat feels sore with all the hurt that he’s been swallowing down. “What,” he croaks, “and kissing me was that hard?”
Jeremy shakes his head and takes a step forward. “Kissing her didn’t make me feel anything.” He takes another step forward and Michael is frozen to the spot. “But when it’s you,” his voice drops lower, softer, as intimate as a tongue tracing Michael’s lower lip, “it drives me crazy.”
“Jeremiah Heere, if you’re fucking with me,” Michael starts, and he can’t say the rest.
“I’m such an idiot.” Jeremy laughs, stopping an inch away from Michael, his breath hot against Michael’s mouth. “Friends don’t do this.”
Michael lets his head drop forward just enough for his forehead to press against Jeremy’s. “But we do.”
“What if I want to be more than friends?” Jeremy curls his fingers into the front of Michael’s hoodie and his chest floods with warmth. “What if you’re the only one I want to kiss for real?” Jeremy asks, and Michael answers by pulling him in by the back of his neck.
-
“I can’t believe you actually bought me a bouquet.” Jeremy’s been flushed with pleasure about it ever since Michael presented it to him after the closing performance today, and he’s painstakingly arranging the whole thing in a vase, which makes the ridiculous cost of the thing completely worth it. “Even my dad didn’t get me anything.”
“Yeah, but he took us out to that steakhouse yesterday, so I think that’s his way of congratulating you.” Michael’s phone buzzes with an incoming message. “Jake says you were great, by the way.”
“I could hear all his reactions. It was actually kinda encouraging.” Satisfied with the floral arrangement on the windowsill, Jeremy pads over to the bed and sits against the headboard, resting his head against Michael’s shoulder. “Are you still playing the chess app?”
Michael shows Jeremy his phone screen, where he’s soundly beating the intermediate level AI. “Jake better watch his back.”
“You said you still haven’t beaten him, even in speed chess?”
“Not yet, but I think I’ll get there soon, at least for speed chess. Regular chess is gonna take a while, but who knows?” Michael presses a kiss to Jeremy’s temple. “Practice makes perfect.”
Jeremy peers up at him, an amused glint in his eyes. “Hey, speaking of practicing.”
Michael laughs. “Okay, wow, real smooth there, Jer.” He leans in and nips at Jeremy’s lower lip. “No practice runs from now, remember?”
“No practice runs,” Jeremy agrees, looping his arms around Michael’s neck. His eyes are full of stars and his mouth full of promises that are meant to be kept. “This is the real thing.”