Take a Chill Pill - Assorted Be More Chill Stuff

White Roses

You know how people talk about butterflies in their stomach when they talk to someone they like? It's kinda gross when you think about it. Who'd want bugs flying around inside them?

Yeah, Jeremy would kind of prefer butterflies to this.

They were tickling his throat. He was practically choking on them. They were crawling up his windpipe and he couldn't do anything about it. Not with him around.

Fucking petals.

Google said it was fictional. Google was a damn liar. Still, if everyone thought it was fake, he couldn't even go get it removed. He really, really, hoped Google had also lied about it being deadly, otherwise... Yeah, he might have a funeral to go to pretty soon.

Hopefully Michael loved him enough to come see him lowered into his grave.

Why did his best friend have to be a fucking angel? Michael couldn't help that he loved him. It wasn't his fault. If anything, it was Jeremy's fault for being lovable, and yeah, Michael knew he wasn't the only one who thought so. Brooke and Chloe fought over him for awhile. Christine had dated him for a few months, too. Yeah, everyone loved Jeremy.

Why did Michael have to be the only one who loved him like this? Why did he have to be the only one Jeremy couldn't love back?

He rushed to the bathroom for the fifth time that night, leaving Jeremy behind with the paused round of Apocalypse of the Damned. White rose petals swirled in the pink-tinted toilet water as Michael retched as silently as he could. Jeremy was coughing furiously in the other room, his hacking ringing through the house. Michael didn't care. He was too busy fighting back tears and a new wave of floral vomit.

Damn, love hurts.

Worst of all, roses have thorns.

Fuck it. It might ruin their friendship, but Jeremy couldn't just pretend he wasn't in pain anymore. Besides, he might be dying soon anyway. He hated to be this cheesy, but hey, it was an excuse. It's not like he had any other plans for Valentine's Day.

The roses had full stems now. They pricked his throat as they came up. It made it really hard to flush them down the toilet. It made it really easy to make them into a bouquet. Just, you know, also really gross.

He greeted Jeremy at his locker on what was supposed to be just an ordinary Wednesday morning. There were like three couples making out around them, which kind of sucked. How was he supposed to focus on what he had to do (and on not throwing up again) when they were all sucking face? Especially when he wished he could be doing that with Jer instead?

Jeremy was all flustered. He was flushed and running a hand through his hair, reciting something to himself as if he was trying to rehearse a speech. Maybe he had a presentation later. He had swapped his normal blue sweater for a pink one in the hopes of being festive. Michael couldn't complain. His eyes were pretty and light and sparkly against the warm color, and it brought out his blush. A wave of nausea washed over Michael as his heart skipped. Right. Focus. Don't puke. He tapped Jeremy on the shoulder, making him jump and shout. He slammed his locker.

"Holy shit! Michael! Don't do that!" Michael chuckled and winked, before a tightness in his throat reminded him of the issue at hand. He coughed and looked away, leaning his shoulder up against the row of metal cabinets.

"'Sup, dude?"

"Nothing, you?" Jeremy was avoiding the question. There was always something up. Michael looked forward to his friend's rants about whatever was on his mind, which was usually about twenty things. Nothing meat something big. He let it slide. He had enough to worry about.

"Well, it's kind of a funny story, actually..."

"Yeah?" Jeremy leaned on the lockers facing him. Their noses were almost touching. Michael had to fight the urge to just kiss him right there. He also had to swallow a flowery burp.

"Yeah, um..." Michael pulled away and shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, wrapping his fingers around the cluster of flower stems he'd stuffed in there. "I kind of have a present for you?"

"Sweet, man. You didn't have to."

"Yeah, I know." Michael pulled the bouquet from his sweatshirt before he could talk himself out of it. "It's kind of really stupid, but..."

"You've gotta be kidding me." Michael winced. Jeremy was staring wide-eyed at the roses. They were falling apart, thanks to being stowed in Michael's pocket. They were also speckled in blood. Yeah, really gross, really stupid. Why had Michael decided to do this, again?

"Look, I can explain---" Jeremy wasn't even looking at him. He was furiously twirling the dial on his locker, before pulling out an identical bunch of wilting white roses, dotted with blood. He held them out to Michael, eyes fixed on the ground and a bright red tint sneaking up his neck. "What the fuck?"

"They, they're for you."

"You've been barfing flowers too?" Jeremy flinched.

"It's more coughing, really, but..." Michael pushed his hand down. He took a step closer to Jeremy, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

"You could've told me. It would have saved us both a Hell of a lot of trouble." Jeremy met his eyes, blushing even harder.

"I was trying to, but I, well, I had no clue how to. It just seemed too weird... Sorry..."

"Yeah, but I'm pretty sure this means we both know the answer to this next question." Michael adjusted his glasses. His face was growing warm. "Will you be my Valentine?"

Jeremy laughed, eyes sparkling. He shifted, biting his lip.

"You're a dork," he giggled, giving Michael a little shove.

"Answer the question." Michael was laughing now, too. For the first time in months, he wasn't nauseous. He'd almost forgotten what it was like. Both of the bouquets had been abandoned on the grimy carpet of the hallway.

"Fuck yes." Jeremy was grinning. Michael couldn't feel his face over how giddy he was, but his mouth was probably cracked with an identical smile. That is, until he pressed it up against Jeremy's and the world melted around them. Their fears crumbled to dust along with the white roses that could go to Hell for all Michael cared.

Michael was going to be the death of him. In the best possible way. He was a really good kisser, too. Happy Valentine's Day, indeed.