GAME OVER: a Be More Chill fic

Level 22

(A/N: Trigger warning for mentions of abuse.)

Today was going to be a good day.

It was Sunday, one of the first days of winter break, and Michael had just rung the doorbell -- finally, thought Jeremy. He was fifteen minutes late, and hadn't been answering his phone, so naturally Jeremy was relieved to hear him arrive at last.

He rushed down the stairs in his Squip-approved outfit (light wash jeans and a pale pink sweater), smoothing down his hair hurriedly. He swung open the door, kissed Michael in greeting, and the two of them set off for the mall.

"We're running late," said Michael, slamming the car door behind him. "I'm sorry, this old thing wouldn't start right away..."

"It's okay," Jeremy reassured him. "They won't be mad or anything, they're our friends. Here, I'll text Rich."

"Thanks," Michael sighed, clicking on the radio. "My phone died like an hour ago."

Jeremy sent the message while Michael began to sing along to whatever pop song was playing through the speakers. Jeremy noticed he got a few words in the chorus completely wrong, which led to a heated argument between the boys that ended with Jeremy searching up the lyrics on his phone only to discover that neither of them were right anyway.

As they turned into the parking lot, Jeremy got a text back from Rich.

"He said, 'not a problem, dude'," read Jeremy.

"Brooo... that's in iambic pentameter," Michael replied, awestruck. "'Not a problem, dude.'" He repeated this several more times, matching up to the beat of the song.

Jeremy laughed a little concernedly. "Are you high?"

"No!" Michael protested, then paused. "...Maybe a little. Or maybe I'm just weird. You'll never know."

Jeremy tightened his seatbelt. "You, uh... you really shouldn't drive high," he muttered.

The Squip piped up from the backseat. "He's not high, dumbass."

"Jer, I was joking -- I promise." Michael took one hand off the wheel and used it to hold Jeremy's. "I would never do that, especially with you in the car."

"Oh," Jeremy sighed in relief. He felt kind of stupid for thinking Michael would put him in danger like that. He glanced at the backseat. What's the probability of this date going smoothly?

"Whatcha lookin' for?" Michael cut in, noticing Jeremy's attention to the back of the car.

"Just double checking for zombies," Jeremy joked.

Michael was silent. He pulled the car into a parking spot and shut it off, blank-faced. He didn't unlock the door.

"Uh... Michael? Are we gonna go in?"

"Do you still have the Squip?" His voice was as cold and flat as stone.

Jeremy froze, heart racing, and choked out, "What?"

"You heard me." Michael's stare was piercing as he punched out every word. "Did you get rid of it or not?"

"I..." He tried to answer, but the Squip was telling him to deny, deny, deny, and his phone started ringing and ringing, and Michael was staring at him so angry and hurt and tearful and he couldn't think and --

"No."

The pause that followed lasted a thousand years.

"No?" Michael repeated. He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "No. You didn't get rid of it."