Enraptured - Musical One-Shots

BMC - Stolen sweater 1/2

Musical(s): Be More Chill
Ship(s): Boyf Riends (romantic)
Point of view: Jeremy Heere, first
Category: Angst
Trigger warnings: Crying. Mentions of fire. Please tell me if I missed anything.
Word count: 491
Character count: 2,588
Note: Wow, this many chapters tets updated this quickly? I wonder how long I'll keep it going for. Right now I'm cycling through a few ideas and plans I already had, but it might have to slow down later. Unless I get requests, in which case I'll probably update a lot.
This is a two-part story, which means that it will be continued in another chapter. I have a plan for the next part and would love to write it now, but I don't want to make the chapter too long. Enjoy part one!

Happy reading!

Sincerely,
Val (she/her pronouns)
__________

I curled tighter around the bunched-up red fabric, hot tears still rushing down my face as I lay on the floor in the corner of my room. My mouth was dry and my hair was tousled for all the time I had spent locked in my room, crying... over a sweater.

Not any sweater, though. It wasn't mine, but it was without a doubt my favourite article of clothing. I took it all the time, I wasn't even kidding. Every single time I went over, I took it. And the owner of the sweater seemed to be fine. He even told me a few times that he liked it. But this time... I think I took this a step too far. He probably won't forgive me for this. Who would?

Michael... it was his hoodie. The one he always wore. Crimson, covered in patches. Covered in memories. Like the weak spot on one of the arms from the time it was burnt at a campfire. Or the way the colour is faded in some parts from the tears. Or the patches themselves, each representing something different. Some part of Michael or his memories. I love this sweater more than anything. I love Michael more than anything.

Yet this time might be the last time I get to have this sweater. Michael... he left for Cuba. For how long? I don't remember anymore. It could've been days or months since he left, I've lost track of time. It's easy to lose track when you do the same thing every day - regret your life choices.

So Michael's off in Cuba with his mothers on vacation while I'm here with one of his favourite possessions, miles away from him and unable to contact him due to the lack of service where he is. Unable to plead, unable to apologize.

It's really over, isn't it? This is the last time I'm ever going to mess something up. He'll leave me. He could throw it all out the window because I did this. I wouldn't even be able to form a debate against that, it's what I deserve.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

I heard the rapid sound of footsteps on wooden stairs. But there was nobody in our house except my dad, and he walked much slower than that. Those footsteps... God, I recognized them. I'd recognize them anywhere. I'd recognize them in my grave.

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

I hiccuped on my tears as the footsteps continued. Could it really be who I thought it was?

Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

It had to be. I clenched the red hoodie tighter in my narrow limbs, tears picking up again. It's all over now, I thought to myself.

The door blasted open, making me flinch. A figure dressed in dark clothing rushed in, hurrying over to me. I could barely see through the haze of my tears, but I didn't need to see them to know who it was. Michael. He was back.

__________
Note: How did you like part one? Part two will pick up right where this has left off.

Happy reading!

Sincerely,
Val (she/her pronouns)