ｃｈｉｌｌ - Boyf Riends One Shots

Mental Heartbeat

The angsty Micheal In The Bathroom one shot. Every one shot book has one. They just do. So here's my one

Also I completely rewrote this because I hated hated h a t e d the original version but I actually really like this one
•••

Today is wonderful for Micheal. Wonderful. Fantastic. Incredible. In fact, everything is going fucking amazing tonight.
And wanna know why?
Let me enlighten you.

First: his best friend has been acting super fucking weird for the past while

Second: when he tried help his friend by going to a social setting, he got called a fucking loser

Third: Jeremy fucking abandoned him.

Fourth: It finally hit him; Micheal Mell is a loser. Just look at him. He's curled up on the cold bathroom floor at the biggest most exclusive party of the fall.

Fifth: He could stay right here or disappear, and nobody would even notice at all

Hot tears streak bitterly down his face. Each shake and sob digs the pain deeper into his heart. His chest is collapsing with every shaky breath. And for some reason, he thinks that crying there will make him feel better.

His shaking hands check his phone. What for do you ask?
Anything. Maybe he's hoping for a text from Jeremy, saying that he's sorry or he loves him or something. Any sort of indication that their friendship has hope.
But, of course, there's nothing.
Micheal laughs dryly, the strangled sound getting caught in his throat.

But his pity party is interrupted by screams. Not screams of excitement or laughter, or even drunk girls trying to sing Whitney. No these are screams of fear.
He slowly gets to his feet, looking to the door between himself and chaos. It's screams. Definitely screams.

He splashes water on his red face, knowinghe has no need to wait for the tears to dry. He grabs the silver handle but it burns his hand. He yelps, leaping back. His hand pounds and scars.
It's hot! The handle is hot! Why is it hot?

Fire. The handle is on fire. The house is in fucking fire.
THIS IS WHY I STAY AT HOME IN BED.

Micheals breathing quickens. Panic smashes into him like a wrecking ball. His brain manages to form a coherent thought: get out of the bathroom.

He snaps his head around the room, spotting a window above the toilet. It's not huge, but he should be able to squeeze through. He stands on the closed toilet, grabbing the tiny window handle. His knuckles turn white as he tries to open it. Shit. It won't budge.

He's going to have to smash it open. Smoke has started to infiltrate the bathroom, stabbing Micheal's lungs with each breath. He needs to find something that'll open the window.

Shampoo? Not strong enough.
Bar of soap? Too slippery to hold.

But the search is ended when the room becomes too smokey to see. Micheal coughs through the black cloud, his eyes watering.   The room starts to swirl. Everything is hot, like the flames are on him.

This is what it feels like to die. This is it. This is the end.

He has to go down fighting. He can't let his death be as weak as his life. But his body gives up on him. Micheal hits the ceramic floor.

•••

Heartbeat monitors are loud. They fill Micheals head. It's all he dreams about anymore. Smoke, screaming, strong arms and the steady beat of heart monitors.