Be More Chill Oneshots

It's useless anyway- Michael/Jeremy (Part 1)

Michael's p.o.v

Okay, let's just clear something up. I do not live in Jeremy's basement. I just have a couple of drawers or clothes, a fee posters and my phone charger, I've got a little camping bed and I spend 99% of my time here...

Dammit, I live in my boyfriend's basement, don't I?

So, anyway... Jeremy's upstairs at the moment. Says he's grabbing some more snacks because we ran out of tangy cheese Doritos. Depressing, I know. He's taking rather a long time about it, though. Not that it matters. I trust him. I to-o-o-o-o-o-o-otally trust him.

Gah! Fine! You got me! The while Squip thing really unnerved me, because the one person who I thought I could trust with everything suddenly seemed to hate me and wanted nothing to do with me, so I don't trust him- or anyone else, in fact- very much anymore.

Wow, I really need to see a therapist.

There's sudden movement on the stairs. I look up to see Jeremy with a large bowl of M&Ms (or Skittles, could be Skittles) in his hand, a bottle of Pepsi and a large packet of Doritos under his arm. We don't drink Mountain Dew anymore. He grins toothily at me, and I smile back at him, but it isn't really genuine. Somehow I don't feel like smiling today.

"You okay?" Jeremy asks as he sets the snacks down onto the table. I nod dumbly, focusing on the glowing screen. I'm resisting the urge to just put on my blissfully noise-cancelling headphones and lose myself in the world of emo music, but Jeremy and I are are almost at the end of Apocalypse of the Damned II and we can't stop now.

As I go to grab my controller, a sudden wave of pain crashes over the right side of my abdomen. I hiss, dropping the controller as I clamp my hand on my side. Jeremy is watching me in alarm.

"You're not okay," he says, sounding a little freaked.

"I. Am. Fine," I reply through gritted teeth, even though my side is still throbbing pretty badly. Jesus, that actually really hurts! Jeremy shakes his head. I glance at him, motioning to the controller, but he refuses to pick it up, moving towards me and resting the back of his hand on my forehead.

"You're a little warm," he states, moving hand down to rest on my cheek. I shrug him off, letting out a small groan of pain, although it's more like a yelp as a particularly vicious pain strikes my side.

"Okay, I'm not fine!" I yowl like a dying cat, doubling over and resting my forehead on my knees. Jeremy is on his knees as well, trying to make me look up as I let out a few wet, miserable burps that taste like rotten eggs whilst my stomach rolls.

"Hey, you're not ill, right?" he asks nervously.

Then I throw up in my lap.

Throwing up isn't a fun experience, is it? I mean, sure, sometimes you feel a little better afterwards, but the actual vomiting part isn't very enjoyable as a whole. Your throat burns, your eyes water, and in my case, horrible little chunks of stuff begins coming out of your nose. Ugh. Disgusting. Now my lap stinks, my teeth feel fuzzy and I've ruined my favourite pair of pants.

Oh, and my side still hurts.

Vomit dripping onto the floor and the couch, I lie down on my side, the one that isn't hurting, now sobbing softly to myself. Why me? Why does this always happen to me? Jeremy approaches with a bottle of water and a basin, along with a clean pair of pants. I change slowly, every tiny movement aggravating my abdomen and making me stop to groan and clutch at it.

"We're going to the hospital," Jeremy says after watching me grab my side for the twentieth time in the past half-hour. "My dad can drive."

Too ill to argue, I nod weakly, holding the basin shakily to my chest with both hands. My stomach still feels like a small fishing boat off the coast of Texas in tornado season. Jeremy gently puts on and laces my shoes for me, helping me climb the stairs and sitting me in the kitchen.

"DAD!" he shouts, disappearing into the upstairs of the house. "Ugh, Dad! Pants! I thought we talked about this!"

"Sorry, son," Mr Heere replies, sounding cheery. "What d'ya need?"

"I need you to get dressed and drive Michael and I to the ER," Jeremy says. I can almost feel Mr Heere stiffen. "Something's up with him, and it's not normal."

"O-okay," Mr Heere says, sounding spooked. There's some rustling, and the two of them appear in the doorway.

"Hey," Jeremy says softly, coming towards me. "How d'you feel?"

I shake my head.

"You don't look well, son," Mr Heere comments, grabbing his car keys. In response, I hang my head over the rim of the basin and dry-heave a little.

We rush out pretty quickly, Jeremy supporting me and helping me into the back of the car, letting me sit up partially leaning on him. Even so, as soon as he lets go, I sit ridgedly upwards, the basin clutched just under my chin. I don't want to ruin the upholstery. Mr Heere starts the car up and we shoot off far faster than the speed limit allows.

"Hey, just focus on me, okay?" Jeremy whispers, gently rubbing my arm. I don't move my head at all, just shift my eyes so I can see him in my peripheral vision. My glasses are splattered at the bottom with a little vomit, but I'm too scared to let go of the basin in case I throw up again to take them off.

"So what's going on, Michael?" Mr Heere asks as he swings the car round a very tight corner: beeping and cursing emits from the other vehicles.

"Pain," I reply, barely opening my mouth to say it. I groan when we hit a bump in the road and my side jolts.

"Don't worry, baby, we're nearly there," Jeremy soothes. I turn to him suddenly.

"I love you," I blurt. He stops. This is the first time I've ever said that to him. "I love you like Donald Trump loves his spray tans, and I'm telling you this now because I've figured out that I have appendicitis so my appendix is blowing up and I might die and I think I'm going to puke now."

And I do just that. Jeremy rubs my back comfortingly as Mr Heere beeps, swears and swerves around an annoying little Smart car.

"Dad, hurry up!" Jeremy hisses, sounding desperate.

"I'm doing 90 in a 40 zone, what more do you want?" Mr Heere exclaims. I glance upwards, one hand now clenched on my side and I bite my lip so hard a bead of blood appears. I spot the sign for Metuchun General and a small smile comes to my face. All of a sudden there are flashing red and blue lights behind us, and I hear the high-pitched wail of a siren. Now it's Mr Heere's turn to groan, because it's obviously the police. He doesn't pull over though, instead swinging into the hospital and skidding to a halt.

"Get out, boys, and get out quick," he says. Jeremy nods, but we don't have a chance before a police officer appears at the window.

"What the hell was that!?" the police officer asks as Mr Heere rolls the window down.

"Appendicitis," I groan from the back seat. The officer turns his head to look at me, clutching my abdomen whilst holding a half-full basin with one hand, and his mouth drops open.

"Oh my God, you need to get to the ER," he says, helping me out of the car. Jeremy follows quickly, hooking one of my arms under his shoulder and we rush/limo into the ER.

Every movement is like someone is stabbing my side with a spear, but I press on until we get to the reception, where I slump onto the desk, panting heavily as my stomach churns.

"H-how can I help you?" the receptionist says, sounding a little spooked that an adolescent boy is lying on her desk.

"Appendicitis," I spit out. The surface of the desk is cool and comforting. "Think it's perforated- gah!"

A particularly vicious bout of pain strikes and I cry out in pain before I can stop myself. Jeremy is by my side, asking me if I'm okay, but I'm dizzy and my vision tunnels. I faintly hear the lady say something into the tannoy.

The last thing I see is Jeremy's face before I feel myself falling backwards and the world goes black.

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Hope you enjoyed! Part 2 will be up soon!