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bold · 7 years

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Boy on the Bike

Read it on AO3!

Summary: Jeremy thinks he might be going crazy. That might be okay, though, because Boy on the Bike must be crazier. Crazy enough to get off his bike, wheel it up the driveway of Jeremy’s mom’s house, rest it against the house, walk over to Jeremy, and take a seat on the steps next to him.

“Why are-- What’re you--”

“You were sad. I’d feel bad if I just left you like that.”

(Or: Jeremy Heere, after having a very terrible day, meets Michael Mell, who inexplicably makes him forget there's any bad in the world at all.)

Notes: i had WAY to much fun writing this first chapter... these boys..... theyre gonna fall in love just u wait. this fic is prolly just gonna be jeremy and michael exploring smth neither of them have ever experienced before: ...............friendship (and eventually romance but shh theyre babies theyre just learning). idk how long this is gonna be but im excited for it

anyway i hope u enjoy this ride

Jeremy Heere is having a Pretty Shitty Day.

The morning began with a freshman spilling coffee in Jeremy’s lap on the bus. That should’ve been a warning sign, now that he thinks about it, that it was going to be a Pretty Shitty Day. Between second and third period, Rich Goranski shoved Jeremy into a locker and asked if he’d pissed himself. At lunch, Jeremy accidentally threw his math homework in the trash with the remnants of his lunch and had to go to class empty-handed. He mixed two chemicals incorrectly in Chemistry and the class had to move to a different lab so the room could be cleansed of toxins. At the end of the day, Christine Canigula bumped into him in the hallway and instead of apologizing, Jeremy gaped at her for three seconds before she walked away, probably creeped out of her mind.

After such a shitty day, Jeremy walked home from school and dug fruitlessly through his backpack for fifteen minutes before coming to the conclusion that he left his key in his room. He’s locked out. Of course, the one time he forgets his key is one of the rare instances in which he stays with his mom for the weekend, and that’s already terrible enough in and of itself. Reluctantly, he pulls out his phone (of course he forgot to charge it the night before, so it’s only at 21%) and sends his mom a text to inform her that he’s locked out.

He’s not expecting an answer, though.

It takes a lot for Jeremy to classify a day as a Pretty Shitty Day, because most of his days are spent uncomfortable and awkward as it is. Sometimes, though, things just stack up until he’s teetering on the brink of a panic attack before first period even ends, and that’s when the day earns the Pretty Shitty Day title.

It’s a stupid thing for him to cry over. Jeremy had been locked out of the house before, but now it feels like such a punch in the face. He has a terrible day and he can’t even go hole up in his room for the remainder of it. He feels even more like a loser than he thought was humanly possible as he sits on the front steps of his mom’s house and sniffles into the sleeve of his cardigan.

At the very least, he can take comfort in the fact that the only people who live in his mom’s neighborhood are old, deaf people. There’s no one around to watch him weep to himself like a fucking idiot.

That is, until Jeremy notices someone.

What looks to be a red speck bikes around the corner onto the street Jeremy’s mom lives on. The street is long and vacant, and the speck is rapidly becoming more identifiable. Jeremy doesn’t mean to stare, but he watches nonetheless as the person on the bike becomes a boy with black hair and a big, red hoodie. He’s not sitting on the bike, but rather riding it while standing, like some kind of dangerous hooligan. Jeremy’s eyes linger for a moment too long and the boy on the bike notices him.

Jeremy ducks his head, hiding his face in his knees in hopes that the boy will just keep going and not spare Jeremy’s creepiness another thought. He holds his breath and waits five, six, seven, eight seconds and just when he thinks the biker is gone, he hears a voice: “Hey.”

Jeremy whips his head up and, lo and behold, the boy on the bike is standing in the middle of the street, still straddling his bike, and looking at Jeremy very attentively. Jeremy blinks at him, jaw slack, and Boy on the Bike must take this as an invitation to continue: “Are you okay?”

Is he okay? No. Of course he’s not okay. He’s just had a Pretty Shitty Day, he’s exhausted, he’s sad, and he’s been swallowing a panic attack for the past seven hours. Is he gonna tell all that to some strange teenage boy he’s never spoken to before? Of course not.

“I’m fine,” Jeremy finally says, in spite of how puffy his eyes must look and how evident his trembling hands are.

Boy on the Bike doesn’t bite. “No, you’re not. You’re crying.”

Jeremy brings a hand to his cheek and finds that he really is still crying. He hadn’t even noticed. “I guess I am,” he says, mostly to himself, but Boy on the Bike hears him nonetheless.

“Are you okay?” Boy on the Bike asks again, and Jeremy doesn’t know what the fuck comes over him, but he answers:

“No. N-No, I’m not.”

Jeremy thinks he might be going crazy. That might be okay, though, because Boy on the Bike must be crazier. Crazy enough to get off his bike, wheel it up the driveway of Jeremy’s mom’s house, rest it against the house, walk over to Jeremy, and take a seat on the steps next to him.

“Why are-- What’re you--”

“You were sad. I’d feel bad if I just left you like that.”

Jeremy blinks at him and then, incredulously, bursts into a fit of giggles. Boy on the Bike looks at him, puzzled, and Jeremy wants nothing more than to stop laughing, but he can’t. “I’m sorry--” he gasps. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-- I’m not laughing at you, I promise--”

Boy on the Bike gives him a confused smile and waits for Jeremy’s giggles to die out. “You good, dude?”

“I’m…” Jeremy coughs into his sleeve and squares Boy on the Bike with a look. “I’m J-Jeremy… dude.”

Now it’s Boy on the Bike’s turn to laugh, which he does, hard and unashamed. Surprisingly, though, Jeremy doesn’t feel like he’s being laughed at. It’s not the same sly, under-the-breath giggle people do when they’re talking about him behind his back. It’s not the same harsh, sarcastic laugh bullies do when they’re calling him names. Boy on the Bike has a beautiful, contagious laugh. Jeremy can’t stop looking at him and can’t stop himself from laughing, too.

“Sh-Shut up!” Jeremy squeaks through his own laughter. His voice cracks on the “up” and that only makes Boy on the Bike laugh even harder. “You’re mean! I thought you were here to make me feel better.”

Only he’s already made Jeremy feel better.

Boy on the Bike eventually sobers up enough to articulate himself. “Jeremy, huh?” he asks, and Jeremy nods. “Nice to meet you, Jeremy. I’m Michael.”

Jeremy smiles at him. Michael. “Nice to meet you, too, Michael.” Michael, Michael, Michael. It’s a good name. “Thanks for, uh, y’know… stopping to talk to me. That was really cool of you. I could’ve been, like, a serial killer or something.”

Michael pulls a face and Jeremy is quick to inform him that he is not, in fact, a serial killer. “I didn’t really peg you as the serial killer type. I don’t know how many serial killers can be found crying and locked out of their houses.”

“How’d you know I was locked out?”

“Well, Jer,” Michael says sagely, but Jeremy can only think about the nickname he’s already been given. “I don’t know about you, but whenever I’m down in the dumps, the only place I wanna cry is buried under a pile of blankets and my own sadness.”

Jeremy sighs longingly. “That’s exactly where I wanna be.”

Michael places a hand on Jeremy’s shoulder (it’s heavy and warm and comforting and Jeremy inexplicably wants to lean his whole body against Michael’s and find out if the rest of him feels that way, too) and gives it a few small rubs as he speaks, “You wanna tell me what’s wrong?”

“O-Oh,” Jeremy falters, momentarily incapable of forming words with his mouth. “I wouldn’t wanna bother you, Mi--”

“Dude, are you stupid?” Michael asks, with no malice. “I wouldn’t come sit with you if I didn’t wanna help you out, buddy. C’mon, lay it on me.”

Jeremy’s heart flips into his throat and he swallows hard before starting up on the tale of his Pretty Shitty Day. He tells Michael all about the coffee, Rich, his math homework, Chemistry class, and Christine. He tells Michael that he’s had a terrible day and he’s wanted to cry since seven in the morning and now he’s locked out of his mom’s house, which is so much worse than being at his dad’s because his mom doesn’t even care about him and--

“S-Sorry,” Jeremy says abruptly. Michael hasn’t stopped listening, nor has he moved his hand from Jeremy’s shoulder. “My mom’s, uh, a whole ‘nother can of worms.”

Michael nods and doesn’t press. “Next time, maybe.”

“Next time?” Jeremy asks, finding that his voice is suddenly too soft, too vulnerable.

“Next time.” He says it like a promise. He gives Jeremy a chance to steady his breathing before speaking again. “This is your mom’s house?”

“Mhm.”

“You don’t see her much, huh?”

Jeremy shakes his head.

“So you don’t live around here..?” Michael sounds almost disappointed.

“N-No, but I can give you my--” Jeremy catches himself. “Oh, my God, I was about to give you my home address. You’re, like, basically a stranger.” Michael doesn’t feel like a stranger, though. Michael feels like the closest thing he’s had to a friend in a long, long time.

“Oh!” Michael says, actually looking a little flustered at the notion. “No, I couldn’t ask for that--” He hesitates, looking down at his hands and fidgeting with his fingers before willing the words out of his mouth, “B-But I could, uh-- I could ask for your number-- Y’know, like, if you ever need to talk-- I just-- I mean, it’s totally cool if you don’t want to--”

Jeremy bumps his knee against Michael, who looks up at him sheepishly. “Gimme your phone, loser.”

Michael fumbles his hand around in the front pocket of his hoodie before fishing out his cell phone (a clunky old Android, which Jeremy makes note to make fun of him for in the future) and handing it over.

Jeremy punches his number in and Michael peers over his shoulder as he types in “Jeremy Heere.” “You gotta put in an emoji,” Michael says firmly.

Jeremy looks at him and raises an eyebrow. “How come?”

“All my contacts have emojis. Don’t mess with the flow, bro.”

Jeremy rolls his eyes, but scrolls through the emojis nonetheless. “Android emojis are ugly,” he comments absently, earning an offended shove from Michael. Eventually, Jeremy settles on the video game controller emoji. “There,” he says, satisfied with his decision as he hands the phone back over to Michael. “Happy?”

“Very much so,” Michael says, almost as if he doesn’t realize it, as he pockets his phone. Jeremy’s heart flutters. “Now I know that you’re not only a friendless geek, but you’re a friendless geek who spends all his time playing video games.”

That one hurt a little bit. Michael's so cool, Jeremy could tell. Michael probably has lots of friends at whatever school he goes to and probably won't even bother texting a loser like Jeremy. Jeremy must have wilted, because Michael rushes to reassure him that he was just kidding. “I have no room to talk. I do the same thing. I’m the resident friendless stoner at my school.”

Jeremy straightens up. “N-Not anymore!”

“What d’you--”

“You’re not friendless. Not anymore.”

Michael stares at him and Jeremy thinks he’s going to laugh again, but then he does something much better. Michael lunges forward and buries Jeremy in a hug and Jesus Jewish Christ, hugging Michael is so much better than how Jeremy imagined it’d be. He’s warm and soft all over, and when Jeremy noses against Michael’s shoulder, he smells like pine and laundry detergent.

“Thank you,” Michael breathes. Jeremy’s thinking the same thing. He decides maybe it was worth having a Pretty Shitty Day, if he got to meet Michael.

#boyf riends #bmc #be more chill #meremy hell #jeremy heere #michael mell #my writing #sincerelyme.txt

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