GAME OVER: a Be More Chill fic

Level 4

Jeremy's eyes fluttered open. The first thing he realized was that he wasn't on the floor; he was on something much softer and warmer. The second thing he realized was that Michael wasn't there.

He sat up, ready to frantically search the room. But no, he was there, right beside him on the other beanbag chair.

"Gooood morning," Michael smirked.

Jeremy blinked away the sleep in his eyes as his friend came slowly into focus. He'd tossed his hoodie somewhere beside him, and was leaning back on the chair in just his jeans and the chest binder Jeremy had gotten him last Christmas. He set aside the math homework he was busying himself with and adjusted his glasses.

"Wait -- what time is it?" Jeremy demanded.

"Like, nine-thirty."

"At night?" He jumped up and was about to run upstairs to look for his shoes, but Michael grabbed his arm. "My dad's gonna kill me, I have to go home, we have school tomorrow -- "

"Hey, chill, bro. You've got literally nothing to worry about, okay?" He tugged on Jeremy's arm to get him to sit back down.

Jeremy obliged. He didn't know how Michael had taken care of everything, but somehow he believed him.

Michael passed him a Sprite as Jeremy calmed himself. "Your dad called earlier. I told him you were sick, like puking and stuff, and didn't wanna walk home. So he was like, 'why not just drive him home?' And I was like, 'would you want Jeremy ralphing all up in your car?' And so long story short, he called us both in sick and you're staying here tonight. Oh, and I ordered a pizza."

Jeremy raised his eyebrows, impressed. Michael was right, he really had nothing to worry about -- not his dad, or homework, or seeing Christine at school. Even dinner was figured out. "Damn," he muttered, and cracked open the soda. "You've done this before, huh?"

"Yeah, you know I call in sick all the time. Not as much since you bought me this" -- he gestured at his chest with a grin -- "but still. My dad probably thinks I've got -- well, uh, you know. Something." Michael still smiled, but the rest of his face darkened. Jeremy knew why, but didn't bring it up. He knew Michael hated talking about what happened to his mother; it hurt too much. Jeremy could understand that, at least.

"Yeah. Well, hopefully my dad believes that I've got something, or we're both in deep shit."

"I think you should talk to Christine," Michael interrupted.

Jeremy was taken aback. "Wait, what?"

"Sorry, I don't wanna be a dick, I just... I think you should leave it on better terms than -- than that, you know?"

Jeremy nodded slowly. "Yeah, no, I know what you mean. I should text her. No, call her. No, it's kinda late." He looked at Michael pleadingly. "Help?"

The doorbell startled Jeremy from his frenzy.

"Text her, but like, ask when you can call her," Michael reasoned, snatching a crumpled tee shirt from the floor and throwing it on.

Jeremy grabbed his phone from its place on top of the TV. "See, Michael, this is why you're the smart one."

"That makes you the pretty one?" Michael laughed. He hurried up the stairs as the pizza guy rang the bell a second time.

Jeremy shouted after him, "And you wonder why I keep calling you gay!" He sent Christine a quick "Call me?" and followed Michael up to the living room.