boyf riends one - shots!

overthinking

why not vent in my comfort character michael mell? B)

( implied angst, tw  )

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player 1: dudes and dudette's, we should all meet up at the mall like,, rn

was what michael mell sent to the entire 'squip squad group-chat' an hour ago, receiving no response on his end. his knee timidly bounced up and down beneath his desk as he attempted to focus on the homework in front of him rather than making himself believe that everyone hates him & thinks he's annoying.

michael thinks of himself as a burden to his friends, honestly.

an annoying presence who constantly spams texts and ends up making every conversation awkward. michael mell, who constantly ticks everyone off. maybe the text sounds weird??— maybe it looks too desperate. michael, with quick fingers, reaches over to edit the text;

player 1: hey!! does anybody wanna meet up at the mall?

he shuts his phone off immediately, placing it beside him on his wooden desk as he flicks his pencil back and forth between his middle & index finger— something michael often did when he was wound up or anxious. out of pure curiosity, his eyes hesitantly peak over at the phone screen, disappointed to see yet again no notifications. 

god, michael, pull yourself together! stop checking every five seconds. they're probably all busy.. maybe hanging out without you.. as a whole—
no! they wouldn't do that..

would they?

michael swallows thickly, feeling his body grow hot with anxiety. every second that went by; it was slowly building up more and more until he spilt over the edge and everything ends in a panic attack, which he hopes is not the outcome. michael ends up grabbing at his phone once again, sweaty digits moving to edit the previous message. 

player 1: hey, anyone up for pinkberry?

no, michael doesn't even like frozen yogurt that much. 

player 1: anybody wanna hang out for a bit?

still too desperate.

player 1: mall anyone?

well, that's just plain pathetic. 

(1) Deleted chat from player 1.

michael tosses his phone back onto his desk and feels his chest start to actually burn; filling up with what felt like hot lava, spreading over his whole body and all the way to his fingertips, reaching his eyes. hot spurs of tears had begun to form at the corner's of his deep, brown eyes; shucking off his glasses to wipe them with the back of his wrist, pathetically letting out a small whimper.

you're getting worked up over nothing, for fucks sake michael. this is probably why they left you on delivered, not wanting to hang out with the oh-so-pitied michael mell and his sensitive ass. 

tear droplets stained michael's biology homework, the boy hurled over in his seat as his back hitched every time he sniffled or let a sob emit from the back of his throat. now he's crying, warm cheeks being over-flooded with a wave of wet tears. michael no longer questions why jeremy would choose better, cooler friends over him. they're not as sensitive as poor michael mell, who sobs over not getting a response back to a text. 

what a fucking loser. 

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super short (':