Be More Chill Oneshots

Who says we need a fancy dinner?- Michael/Jeremy

Michael sniffed feebly, grabbing another tissue from the box next to him as he pulled the fuzzy blanket closer around his shoulders. The TV was quietly blaring in the corner, the screen displaying the message LEVEL 9- YOU LOSE! Michael just felt utterly miserable. His nose was so blocked that he could now only just breathe through one nostril, he kept getting hot and cold shivers, and his ebony hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat.

The door creaked open and Michael lifted his heavy, red-rimmed eyes to the door to see Jeremy entering, carrying with him a steaming bowl of soup and a sympathetic smile. Michael weakly returned it.

"How do you feel?" Jeremy whispered, being careful of Michael's pounding head.

"Pretty crappy," Michael groaned, shuddering as violent coughs wracked his frame. Jeremy tried to to move closer, but stayed respectfully back when Michael held out his hand in a warning manner.

"I brought soup," the lanky boy said when Michael finally fell silent.

"Thank you," he replied wheezily, holding a hand out for the bowl. Jeremy passed it over, taking a seat on a beanbag 8 metres away from his boyfriend.

"Why can't I sit near you?" he whined, pouting as he picked up the controller.

"'Cause you'll get sick," Michael replied quietly, taking off his glasses and wiping the steam off them on his hoodie. The Apocalypse of the Damned music began to play. "Can you please turn that god-forsaken thing off?"

The TV went blank and the air was abruptly quiet.

Michael's nose wrinkled in disgust as he replaced his glasses, pushing the soup away from himself.

"You need to eat," Jeremy said, turning to face the sick teenager.

"Don't want to," Michael replied grumpily. "Not hungry."

"You'll feel better if you eat!"

"I'll eat later. I just wanna sleep."

Jeremy sighed heavily, watching as Michael turned to face the back of the couch, curled up in a tight ball cocooned in the blanket.

"So..." Jeremy said awkwardly, clearing his throat. "When are your parents getting back from Rome?"

"Dunno," came the muffled reply. "Probably never."

Jeremy sighed again, lying back on the beanbag. He wouldn't get anything out of Michael now.

"Jeremy?"

He looked up to see Michael twisted weirdly, so that his head was facing Jeremy but the rest of his body was still facing the couch.

"Yeah?" Jeremy mumbled.

"Sorry for ruining our anniversary."

Jeremy had almost forgotten. It had been 6 months today since the whole Squip incident, and when they had gotten together.

"It's okay," he said, sitting up to face Michael fully. "You're sick. You can't help that."

To Jeremy's surprise, Michael began to cry, big fat tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He rubbed at them furiously, trying to duck his head under the blanket, but Jeremy was at his side, cupping his face in his strong steady hands.

"You'll get sick," Michael choked out between coughs and sobs.

"I don't care," Jeremy replied, brushing away the tears. "Why are you crying?"

Michael wordlessly pulled a stub of a receipt out of his pocket along with 3 or 4 tissues. Jeremy took it off of him. He gasped when he saw the name of the most romantic restaurant in town. 

"You... you booked all of this?" Jeremy whispered, his voice hushed. Michael nodded almost shyly, his eyes glued to the floor.

"I wanted it to be perfect," he said lowly. Jeremy pulled him into a hug, letting him cry and cough and snot in his shoulder. Not like he cared. He loved Michael and would let him do anything.

"It is perfect," Jeremy replied, rubbing circles into Michael's back. "As long as I'm here with you."

Michael sat up, giggling a little.

"That's sooooooo cheesy, dude," he laughed. Jeremy gave him a small shove, fighting the urge to kiss him.

"You seem to be feeling better," he commented.

"I am!" Michael grinned, ruffling Jeremy's hair.

"Wanna play Apocalypse of the Damned?"

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It wasn't long until Michael fell asleep, curled up on the ancient couch with a blanket around him and his glasses still jammed on his face. (A/N LISTENING TO MICHAEL IN THE BATHROOM WHILST WRITING THIS DAMMIT I'M MAD AT JEREMY RIGHT NOW) Jeremy watched him with a small smile on his face, gently taking Michael's glasses off for him and putting them on the snack table. The recipet was still there, and Jeremy couldn't help but keep looking at it.

Then he had an idea.

Smirking, he grabbed his phone and the receipt and headed upstairs.

"Dad, you don't mind if Michael stays the night, do you?"

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"Mph... ugh... gaaaahhh..."

Michael blinked a couple of times before realising that the person making those awful groaning noises was himself. Sitting up groggily, he rubbed his eyes, surprised at how low the lights were. He didn't realise that Jeremy had adjustable lights... hang on... he didn't.

He turned his head to see that a small but fancy garden table was set up with a candle flickering in the middle, illuminating the singular red rose. Michael wiped his nose on his sleeve, getting up with some difficulty, the blanket still around his shoulders. Jeremy wasn't anywhere in sight.

All of a sudden, a waiter stepped out from the shadows, giving Michael the fright of his life. The teenager gave a high-pitched scream, holding his hands up in a karate chop position. The waiter stood calmly, his moustacheoed nose upturned in a snobbish manner.

"If you could please take a seat, sir," the waiter said, gesturing to the armchair. Michael sat down, confused. "Master Heere will be along soon."

Michael sat in quiet contemplation, fingering the napkin. It was green and emblazoned with little gaming controllers, the exact napkins from his and Jeremy's joint 7th birthday party.

"Hey, Mr Sexy," Jeremy's seductive voice came from the doorway. Well, at least Jeremy thought that it was seductive. Michael thought it made him sound weird. Not like his Jeremy at all.

"Hey," he sniffled, his voice nasal and congested. Jeremy came and sat opposite from him. Two other waiter came out with silver-domed dishes, placed them in front of the two boys and scurried hastily back to the shadows. Jeremy reached over and removed the dome with a flourish.

Underneath sat a tub of Ben and Jerry's and a spoon.

Michael began to wheeze-laugh, grinning at Jeremy over the table. Jeremy simply smiled back and said,

"Who says we need a fancy dinner?"

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Okay so the ending's kinda bad but it'll do. Hope you enjoyed! Anyone got any requests? I'm struggling for inspiration at the moment. Peace out, my dudes, and wish me luck for sports day tomorrow!