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He heard it from Brooke.
It was a normal day. Michael woke up, got dressed and made breakfast for himself and his roommates.
The smell of bacon and eggs must’ve reached Brooke’s room because she stumbled out looking half dead. She slumped into the chair across from him, yawned and started piling up food on her plate.
“Late night?” he’d asked and laughed. She just sent him a half assed glare, huffed and started eating.
He also went back to his food, the both of them eating in silence.
When Brooke was finished she turned to him, smiling for the first time that day. Her positive attitude returning.
This was an everyday occurrence. She looked about ready to murder a guy until she’d ate and then she was Brooke again, instead of the half zombie half animal she’d been before.
But this day her smile had been strained and eyes tight. His heart rate picked up.
“Are you okay, Micha?” she’d asked, all soft and concerned. She took his hand and rubbed his knuckles comfortingly.
He felt his eye brows knit together as he took in her question. He looked at their hands as he asked, “why wouldn’t I be okay?”
Her grip loosened momentarily and when he looked into her eyes he saw the shock and ‘oh shit’ clear as day.
Brooke got a hold of herself pretty quickly. She smiled sheepishly. “I thought Rich had told you.”
“Told me what?” Michael’s voice was slightly hoarse, and he knew it wasn’t because of the early hour.
Brooke glanced away and bit her lip. He pulled his hands away, wiping them unconsciously on his thighs.
She took a deep breath and met his eyes again, smiling sympathetically. His stomach dropped. He doesn’t get that look very often but when he does nothing good is to come. Last time, Rich had burnt his last picture of his grandpa.
“So, you know that party Rich went to on Friday?” Her voice was slow, pensive, like she didn’t really know we’re to start or if she even should at all.
Michael nodded. Rich had been screaming for about two weeks about how he’s finally going to be meeting Jake again after almost six months of only texting. Of course he knew.
“Well,” she continued. “Jeremy was there.” She glanced at him uncertainly.
Sadness and anger washed over Michael at the mention of him. Michael’s former best friend. His partner. His person. The guy who had completely dumped him like trash in pursuit of ‘cooler’ friends.
But the bitter feelings that always came with memories of Jeremy had faded over time. Not enough to ruin him anymore. So he frowns.
His friends knows that Michael is… well, not over him but that the wound has scabbed over, and that without a lot of prodding it won’t bust open. The mere mention of his name surely isn’t enough anymore.
“And?” he says, feeling slightly annoyed that they both thought he wouldn’t be able to handle that.
But she looks down at her empty plate, hair falling in front of her eyes as she shakes her head slightly. A nervous tic of hers, which she does whenever she needs to think straight.
There’s more. The realization hits him and his heart beats faster once more.
“He… well, he kind of, um. He got a tattoo to… cover up yours?”
It feels like a punch to the gut. His arm tingles unpleasantly where his own Pac-Man tattoo resides. The one he and Jeremy got so they could match. A clear sign that they were each other’s.
Michael had been Jeremy’s for so long. Even now that they haven’t seen each other in years he’s still been Jeremy’s. The only consolation he’d had when he realized that Jeremy had left for good was the tattoo. The link they would always have, inked deep into their flesh. A bond, never to be broken.
But Jeremy had broken it. Just like he had everything else.
Jeremy had gotten rid of his tattoo, their bond. He had stopped talking to Michael, decided to leave him in the first place. And yet it was Michael who had held on so tight for so long.
It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. Because even when Jeremy had made it clear that Michael means nothing to him anymore he had hoped beyond hope that he’d been lying.
That Jeremy was just as scared as he was. Scared to take the leap and reach out.
Jeremy had probably never wanted that, though. And that feels like a punch to the face.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he’s aware that his face is wet, he’s aware that Brooke has moved from her place at the table and put her arms around him in a futile attempt at comforting him.
He lets out a cry and even to himself it sounds heartbreaking. Heartbroken.
He doesn’t remember much after that.
——
Jeremy laughed, cheeks tinted pink as he walked next to Michael. He was beautiful. Michael had always known this, of course, but right now it hit him harder than ever.
His best friend is so damn beautiful.
He tells him as much, because he wants Jeremy to know. Because Jeremy has always had a problem with himself and Michael wants him to be able to see what he sees.
Jeremy just laughs again, trying to brush it off, like he always does. Michael lets him. At least he knows now.
They come to a stop in front of the tiny store. Shoulders bumping causally, even though it sets Michael’s whole being on fire.
“You ready?” Michael asks, grinning cockily at his best friend.
“You bet,” Jeremy responds, with the same smile mirrored on his face.
Michael holds out a hand, smile never wavering. Jeremy takes it and swings their arms in the space between them.
They walk in through the door together, walking straight up to the counter, where a middle aged guy with a beard stands.
Michael handles the talking, explaining why they are there. The beard guy points them to a few waiting chairs in the corner of the store.
The tattoo artists come get them one by one. Jeremy first. Michael squeezes his hand and gives him a thumbs up as he walks away.
They had come up with the idea years ago. They had been ten, lying next to each other in Jeremy’s bed. They were sleepy and rubbed theirs eyes every few seconds. Still they were determined to talk for just a little while longer.
Jeremy had come up with the concept: “it’s like a best friend necklace, but-but forever!” he had exclaimed like it was the best idea ever. Michael had thought it was.
Their last best friends necklaces had only lasted for a month. Of course he’d get tattooed with Jeremy.
The design had come later. When Pac-Man had become their favorite game in the arcade. Michael had turned to Jeremy, eyes shining as he’d suggested it.
Jeremy lit up too. Hugging him and laughing because: “that’s genius Michael!”
A woman covered fully with tattoos came into the room and called out his name. He got up, warmth filling his chest.
No matter how much it hurts, it’s going to be worth it, he’d thought. Because at least I’ll be connected with him forever.
——
It hurt like hell. He knew it would.
Jeremy had been close enough for Michael to hear him squeak and whimper as he got tattooed. He was done after Michael even it he’d started before him.
But when Jeremy came out he had held out his arm, covered in plastic, and grinned so wide his cheeks must’ve hurt.
“Nice tattoo,” Michael had said dryly. Jeremy tried to snort but it came out giddily as he and Michael left the corner store.
“Thanks, you too.” And it was obvious he’d tried to sound teasing, joking. Instead pure happiness seeped through his mouth in the form of a breath.
Michael glanced at him. Jeremy wasn’t looking at him but he hadn’t stopped smiling. His eyes were shining and his cheeks were rosy, but not because he was embarrassed. He was happy. Michael wanted to keep him happy.
In that moment he decided that there was nothing he wouldn’t do to keep that boy happy.
——
Jeremy was laying in his bed staring up at his ceiling.
He felt empty. Sort of. He didn’t really feel empty as much as there just wasn’t anything there anymore.
He goes through the every day motions because he has to. He gets up at the beginning of every day, takes his bike to college, takes his bike home, does his homework and cocoons himself in his bed.
He lives alone, off campus, so no one is there to bother him. To nag him about how the dishes are piling up, and how the laundry is doing the same thing.
There is no one there to know if he stares at his ceiling for hours on end, not knowing when he started or when he’s going to stop.
Some nights he can’t sleep so he just lays there, memorizing the shapes above. He stares and stares, gets lost in the darkness, until his alarm blares, shaking him to his core.
He’s always cold now a days. It’s almost summer and Jeremy still wears the same four hoodies he’s worn all year on repeat.
Jeremy forces his body to cooperate as he sits up on the edge of his bed. He hasn’t washed the sheets in… way too long. To think of it he hasn’t washed himself in way too long.
Jeremy shrugs to himself, that’s a problem for another time.
His stomach growls at him, unnecessarily aggressive if he does say so himself. He sighs. He should make food. He forgot yesterday.
Still, just the thought of food makes his insides churn. He grimaces. His mouth tastes vaguely of blood.
However he is still hungry. His bones feel heavy as he drags himself out of bed and into his kitchen.
He gets a store bought pizza from the freezer, putting it in the oven while trying not to look too hard at it. He might change his mind and go back to bed if he gets anymore nauseous.
He leans all of his weight on the counter staring blankly at the fake marble adorning it.
He’s tired. Really, really tired. He’s either sleeping two hours all week or all week and he doesn’t know what to do.
He might be broken. He thinks as pictures of the wounds on his calf blinks before his eyes.
His heart is pounding. He knows it is. And he should be grateful. Not everyone gets that.
But even though his heart is beating and his lungs are full with air and his eyes are blinking, he can’t feel it. He doesn’t feel anything anymore and it’s too frustrating.
He wants to be sad again. He wishes he was sad. Sure it felt awful at the time, like the worst thing that would ever happen to him.
But he knows that to be wrong now. Because he would trade anything to feel again.
He wishes he was propped up in his bed screaming, because crying didn’t feel like enough.
He wishes his eyes were sore and puffy and that his throat hurt.
He wishes he hadn’t let Michael go.
He realized it was too late a year ago.
The first month was filled with quiet sniffles and a lot of ice cream. The next, stalking his social media.
The third month it had hit him for real. He’d seen a post from Michael, it was his birthday and he’d posted a picture of him, Brooke and Rich. The title said: u guys are the best friends (and roomies) a guy could ask for. U r the worst bakers ever though.
Jeremy couldn’t speak for a week after that night, his throat worn and hurting.
After the fourth month everything is kind of fuzzy. He can’t remember anything other than the fact that he had welcomed the numbness, liking the break. He hadn’t wanted it to hurt anymore.
After two months of nothing but routine he’d gotten a little restless. He was staring at the tattoo everyday. And his life had changed so much since his teen years.
He didn’t really have anyone anymore and even if he did they would only be an echo of what Michael was to him.
He wanted to go back and never get that fucking squip but he couldn’t and so the tattoo was just a painful reminder of all that’s been lost. There was an ache in his chest at all times, right under the numbness, showing just enough to make everything hurt.
It’s a weird experience; hurting at all times while not being able to feel anything. Like his mind was split in half.
He didn’t have a plan when he went into the nearest tattoo place and asked for a tattoo to cover the yellow.
He was barely listening as they gave idea after idea about what he could get. He had ended up getting a skyscraper up his arm. Blue and grey mixing dully on his forearm.
Looking at it made him think of all the tall buildings around his area. How easy it would be to get to the rooftop of most of them. How pretty the view must be. How peaceful it would be. The wind would hit his face and he would feel okay as the ground came closer, closer…
An unpleasant smell pushes him out of his mind and for a second he’s grateful. That is until he realizes that the smell is coming from his oven.
The rushes over to turn it of and open the stove. Dark ash fills his kitchen but at least it hadn’t caught fire yet so… lucky him?
He sighs as he leaves the stove open, getting a glass of water instead. The pizza is ruined and he doesn’t want to cook anything more complicated.
He goes back to his room.
He’ll just eat tomorrow.