Jeremy Heere Owns My Heart

Warning : none I know of

Disclaimer : I do not own Jared or any characters from Dear Evan Hansen. I don’t own you either.

Word Count : 1639

Author’s Notes : Summaries are difficult for me, but here it is. Have a glorious day. Also, please let me know if any warnings apply.

Pacing around your room, you can feel the fire rushing through your veins. Fuming, the entirety of your face heats up. Your feet glide over the floor of your room as you make furious rounds. Eyes heavy from lack of sleep, you look over at your phone. Turning it on, you realize that the time is 11:23 at night. You glare out the window and up at the glistening moon. You were supposed to be asleep 23 minutes ago, but here you are: angry as all hell.

Very few things were able to teeter your sunny disposition, but when something did, it ripped open a hellmouth of animosity inside of you. What Evan Hansen did to you and everyone around you made you want to punch a hole through your bedroom door, but your raging feet never let you near the door for too long. You’re not the only one that Evan screwed over with his incessant lies, and you know in your heart that your local angry crier isn’t getting any sleep tonight either. He’ll make his sleep deprivation into a sex joke tomorrow, but you care about Jared Kleinman way too much to leave him alone tonight. His best friend just abandoned him. You really just want to pace and brood by yourself tonight, but you know that he needs you.

Stalling your pacing for a moment, you strut through the darkness to the familiar glow of your phone. Your eyes squint as you unlock it and navigate toward your messages. You text Jared Kleinman.

“u up?” The message sends with loud blip, and you sigh at the sight of the received message. He’s up. Staring out into the bright light of your phone, you anxiously await his text back.

“course I am I’m fucking pissed I can’t sleep like this” Your heart drops at his reply. The way that Evan manipulated you with dragging you into his lies about Conner and then abandoning you made you want to body slam a door, but the fact that he upset Jared Kleinman, one of the most faithful friends you know, made you want to body slam actual Evan Hansen. To call you livid would be an understatement.

“anything I can do to help?” You respond in hopes that you could calm him down. If you couldn’t soothe the anger inside yourself, you could at least try to help him.

“come over and talk I really need a good friend right now like I had no idea that my former friend was apparently born in the year of the snake” You’d laugh at Jared’s dumb jokes if your mind wasn’t already muddled with concern for him.

“omw” You’re out of your house at record pace and neglect to pick up anything, save your phone. You and Jared happen to be next door neighbors, and it’s a blessing that you both take advantage of as much as you can. The chilling asphalt presses against your bare feet as you take long stride toward next door. You already know that the doors of the Kleinman residence remain unlocked for the majority of nights, so you push the door open with ease. The inside of the house is dark and deafeningly quiet. The only noise you can detect is the muffled sniffles of your friend. Your hands feel around for a light switch in the darkness before it dawns on you that you should try to be as stealthy as possible. You’re not sure how the Kleinmans will react to you breaking in at 12 at night to be with their son.

You click your phone’s power button and let the radial light from your phone guide you to the stairs. You walk up, giving your absolute best effort to not go tumbling up the stairs. It sounds strange, but you’ve fallen up the Kleinman stairs more times than the average person should. The dimly lit stairs are right next to Jared’s bedroom, so you ungracefully crane your neck as you near the top of the stairwell. To your surprise, the door is ajar and the room is void of Jared. Light sniffles still echo through the halls and draw your attention to a pale door. It’s the bathroom, you think, and the door is closed.

Slowly stalking up to the door, you debate whether to knock or not. If he’s crying behind the door, he may not come out on his own.

Your knuckles lightly press to the wood, and you cringe at the sound despite it being relatively quiet. “Jared, it’s (Y/N). I’m here, bud.” Your voice is low and soft, despite how angry you still are.

“Come in.” You hear Jared croak from behind the door. Without a glint of hesitation, you grip the doorknob and swing the door open.

The bathroom is cramped, but it does manage to stuff a toilet, bathtub, and a pair of sinks into the cozy zone. Looking around, you notice that Jared isn’t sitting on the floor or the by the sinks where you would expect. Instead, you see his reddened face peeking over the rim of the dry bathtub that’s pressed against the furthest wall from the door. The bath drapes are pushed to the side, leaving Jared in full view. His phone is on the floor and is open to your text conversation. Jared’s hair sticks up in unholy angles, and he sits there sans glasses. You assume that it’s due to his rancor-derived weeping. His back is pressed against a pillow that he has put into the tub, and he has another pillow wrapped up in his arms, squeezing tightly. You feel a pout cross your face.

“Why’re you in the bathtub, man?” You coo, pressing forward and sitting on the tile floor outside of the tub, facing Jared’s teary-eyed gaze. His eyes glaze over you as the corners of his lips curl up, and you can’t help but smile.

Sighing, he finally gets around to answering your question, “My 'friend' screwed me over. He straight up just left! He dragged me in and then left me! How… how could he?” Pain drips from his words as his head dips to rest on his knees, which are curled up to his chest.

“He’s a selfish jerk, Jared. That’s how.” You spat bitterly, running your fingers through his hair. He seems to accept the comforting touch, as his head lifts slightly to press against your hand. Looking up at you, his eyes widen and his breathing slows and settles.

“Am I really that pathetic of a friend that he cut me out as soon as he moved up the social ladder? Am I really that exhausting to be around? He used me and then left me. Maybe it’s what I deserved.” His head falls to press into his pillow as he mumbles the last few words. Still, he’s loud enough for you to hear. Your heart falters at his words, and you feel your fists clench in pure rage. How dare Evan Hansen make the most amazing boy you’ve ever met feel like this.

“That’s it,” you announce as calmly as you can, “move over.”

“M-move over?” Jared arches an eyebrow at you.

“Yes.” You place both your arms into the tub as you start climbing in next to Jared, forcing him to either move over and make room for you or let you lay directly on top of him. Scooching over as much as he can, he lets you squeeze your body between his and the wall of the tub. The heat of his body makes your skin glow, and you find yourself resting your head on his chest sheerly due to the spacing restraints.

Now, with both you and Jared lying in his water-less bathtub cuddled achingly close to each other, you feel his muscles relax.

“Jared,” you begin, “You’re an amazing friend. Did you see what Evan did? He’s being an idiot. You didn’t deserve that. It’s his fault: not yours. Trust me; he’s just too blind to see that you are the best thing that has ever happened to him. He left you, but it’s his loss. You’re the most valuable person anyone could ever meet, Jared.”

You glance up just enough to see his eyes glisten with joy. It alarms you that he has to be reminded how wonderful he is, since it’s quite obvious to you, but you’re happy to give him the reminders that he needs.

“Thanks, (Y/N).” His cheeks redden, and his arms snake around your waist. You discard the pillow that Jared previously had in his arms to give you two more room in already tiny tub.

“My pleasure, Jare. You okay?” You inquire, nuzzling your head up and into the crook of his neck.

Taking a deep breath, he replies, “I’m better now. We should get some sleep now that we’re not angrily weeping.”

“Actually,” you correct snarkily, “you’re the angry crier here, buddy. I’m totally chill.”

“Totally chill? You’re still practically seething.” Jared chuckles as you bask in the calming vibrations of his chest.

“Alright, I’m mad, but I’m a lot less mad around you. You calm enough to sleep? It’s like 12 am, and Hansen isn’t worth this.” Murmuring the last sentence into his neck, you finally realize the heaviness in your eyelids. Your lead lids begin to fall like autumn leaves as you focus on Jared’s steady pulse. Taking in how slow the thumping is and Jared’s uncharacteristic silence, you soon realize that Jared is already asleep.

Warning : drug mentions

Disclaimer : I do not own Michael or any characters from Be More Chill. I don’t own you either.

Word Count : 1701

Author’s Notes : It's written in second person because that's my Comfort Zone™. Also, thanks to everyone for waiting so patiently for this. It means a lot to me.

Your body weight shifts as you rock on your feet. It's been a solid minute since you arrived and knocked on the door of Michael Mell’s home, and you were beginning to be overcome with petty anxieties. Maybe this was a joke. Maybe he doesn't actually want to see you.

“(Y/N)!” the door swings open to reveal the beaming ray of sunshine that is Michael Mell. His grin is wide, and his eyes shining behind the frames of his glasses. Happiness radiates off him and infects you. His red-jacket clad arms press the door wider as he steps out of the doorway, inviting you in. Gleaming, you giddy slip past and into the house.

The inside of the house is arranged nicely and very neatly. It definitely doesn't remind you of Michael, but he doesn't spend most time outside of the basement anyways. The basement is his real terrain.

“So, what's up, Mell?” Peering over your shoulder, you watch Michael’s gorgeous brown eyes widen slightly.

“Well, I just wanted to see you! I've got video games and stuff in the basement.” Walking past you, his arm lightly grazes yours. Running his fingers over your forearm, he intertwined his hand into yours and begins to lead you toward a door which you presume leads to the basement. You pray that he doesn't notice the perky goosebumps littering your skin. You understand completely that he's a touchy-feely person, but you doubted that it was to the extent of holding your hand to lead you 10 feet. Nevertheless, you'd be lying if you said that you didn't enjoy the warmth of his hand wrapped within yours.

Approaching the goose egg grey door, Michael uses his free hand to open it. Behind the door is mostly darkness, making you shiver. He muffles a laugh as he walks in first, you trailing closely behind him due to your intertwined hands.

“How is the great zombie slayer, (Y/N), going to help me pass level nine if they're scared of the dark?” Raising his eyebrow at you, you playfully slap his chest. He was definitely annoying sometimes, but you enjoyed your time around him.

“Oh, shut up, Mell!” Reaching the bottom of the creaking, wooden stairway, Michael’s free hand glides over a light switch and illuminates the room with a bright glow. Scattered around the carpeted area are posters from old science fiction films. Collectible figurines of muscular men line the walls, and two beanbag chairs rest in the middle of the carpet in front of his tv and gaming consoles set-up. “What game are we playing anyways?”

Michael releases your hand as he strides over to the center of the room. He turns the tv on and waits as the overly-bloody graphics of a video game title screen appears. “Apocalypse of the Damned!” Michael replies, enthusiasm bursting from his lungs.

“Really? What happened? Is Jeremy busy or something?” You're not unhappy with his choice; you're actually a masterful player of AotD. You just can't help stopping the racing thoughts of why he didn't ask Jeremy. Jeremy Heere is usually Michael’s go-to player 1, and you catch yourself just wondering why he chose you. You didn't want your insecurities to blind you to the fact that Michael valued your company, but it did.

“What? No! I wanted to hang out with you. Not sure what Jeremy's doing today.” Looking at the way his eyebrows furrow, you feel concern in his words. He knows what it feels like to like friends more than they like you, and he never wanted to make you feel like a second choice.

“Oh, cool.” Shrugging, you plop into one of the beanbag chairs with a loud thud accompanying your descent.

Michael walks toward the other chair bearing controllers. “So, can you help me with this level of Apocalypse of the Damned? I can't get off level 9.” He inquires with a false pout of helplessness. You can't deny that the doe-eyes Michael sitting next to you is very cute.

“Sure thing!” You reply, warming up to being here and alone with Michael. You can tell that he feels your resolve as well by the way he relaxes the muscles in his arms that he didn't know were strained as he spoke to you, hoping to make you smile. It worked.

“Weed?” He asks quite politely despite what he's asking about. Clicking through the game’s menu, he opens a previous save file.

“No, thanks, Mell. It’s illegal, and it'll be more efficient if I'm not high when I kick your ass, anyways.” You are aware of the drug laws in your state, and you know that underage smoking isn't legal, but you'd be lying if you said that legality and morality were your main reasons for turning him down. Level 9 was blowing-up-the-Death-Star level difficult, and you need to have your wits about you.

“Ah, alright,” Michael takes a moment to fully process your statement, “Wait. Kick my ass? It's a co-op game!” Dramatically waving his arms, he rejects the strange notion.

“Yeah,” you agree, tilting your head, “but I'll still get at least double your kills.” Laughing, you let your rising competitive nature settle in.

“Oh, really now?” Smirking, you narrows your eyes at him. How dare he question your ability to dominate.

“Yep!” You chime. “Especially if you're trying to slaughter zombies while high.” Skimming through the character selection page, you settle on a rugged survivor that appears to be the spitting image of Abraham Lincoln.

“Fine then! No weed for either of us, then.” Michael selects his custom character before starting the level, a little disappointed that he’d have to give up drugs for the competition.

“Alright,” you chirp.

The level begins with a cutscene of two characters (one of them looking eerily presidential) bursting through the doors of the digital cafetorium. Dirt and blood cover the walls, and the only light entering the school is from the large windows at either side, where the moonlight falls in. The light being filtered through the grime of the towering windows makes the room barely visible. Your and Michael's characters press forward through the empty space, and you both prepare yourself for the chaos that you both know is coming next.

The windows on all sides shatter, leaving bright moonlight to envelope the room. Zombies come flooding in from all sides with loud crashes accompanying them. A yelp escapes you, even though you've already beaten this game twice and you know what will happen. Michael laughs delightfully at your expression of fear, but doesn't let his eyes leave the screen.

“Oh shut up, Mell!” You playfully kick his chair, making him jump. Both of you seem very on edge from the onslaught of zombies, but you are both laughing nonetheless.

Moving through the level efficiently, it finally dawns on Michael how actually skilled at this game you are. Practically choking on your inflated ego, you burst out laughing over the loud sound effects, “Catch up, buddy! Or am I going to have to drag your ass out of the cafetorium?”

“Oh you would love that, wouldn't you?” Michael sneers.

You almost pause the game in confusion, but you resist. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know!” Exasperatedly, Michael kills a few more zombies before deciding that he has had it with your dramatic lead in kills. His leg slides over until it subtly bumps your hands, making you drop the controller. Scrambling to pick it back up before your avatar takes too much damage, you hear Michael giggle.

You crawl back into your chair right as Michael decides to take his foot and poke at your side. Your body tensing up, you can't help but shut your eyes and laugh. You fight him off with your own legs, but he knows now how absurdly ticklish you are, and you know that will certainly be your doom.

He leans closer to you, using one of his hands to dance across your side. Laughing uncontrollably, you drop your controller. Much more interested in the melodic array of notes that is your glorious laughter, Michael abandons his own controller and pounces on you, hoping to make you laugh more.

Curling up, you can't do anything but giggle as Michael looms over you and finds your most sensitive places. “Michael!” You scream out through fits of giggles.

“Yes?” Michael is laughing profusely himself, mostly due to the pure contagiousness of your laughter.

“Get off me, dork!” Tears welling up in your eyes, your body sinks more into your bean bag chair with the weight of Michael on top of you.

“Fine, fine.” He submits, falling back to sit on the carpeted floor. His black hair is sticking up in all directions, and his jacketed chest breathes heavily. A goofy smile mirroring yours adorns his face, and you can't help but smile wider at the sight of the very cute boy behind his now crooked glasses.

“We lost the level because of you.” You jokingly scold him, looking at the fictitiously bloody screen with the text “GAME OVER” across it.

“I'm sorry about that, but look!” Michael animatedly gestures to your kill counts displayed on the screen. To your dismay, Michael had ended but besting you by two kills. Jaw agape, you slide down your chair. You are good, but you underestimated Michael's apparently skilled abilities.

“Nice job, Mells.” You congratulate in a monotone voice, dragging the words to make your statement as sarcastic as possible.

“Thank you very much!” Michael beams, very proud of himself.

“Thanks for inviting me over though, seriously.” Petty competition or not, you’re having a very nice time with Michael. You were sceptical of the meeting before, since you usually seldom hang out with friends, and Michael seldom hangs out with anyone save Jeremy. Nevertheless, you wouldn't trade this day for anything. Having this much fun with a friend seemed like such a foreign concept, but here it is. Here is a great friend sat in front of you with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face because of you. He's happy. You're happy.

“No problem, jelly bean! It's my pleasure, actually.”

Warning : arguments, drug mentions, underage drinking

Disclaimer : I do not own Jeremy, or any characters from Be More Chill. I don’t own you either.

Word Count : 2566

Author’s Notes : This is based more on the book than the play, since I haven’t gotten around to actually seeing it. It’s also written from Jeremy’s point of view, as it’s based on the novel. Also, I don’t condone underage drinking or drug use, but it’s canon in the book, so it felt right to include it.

Standing up against the wall of the Halloween dance, I watch Christine grind on Jake in her costume. Next to me, Rich, dressed as a giant weed leaf, drones on a little more about the squip. Hopefully, it’ll make me cooler. I can research it later, but right now, I’m at a party.

“Jere-bear?” I cringe at the juvenile nickname. There’s only one person in the world that calls me that, and that’s one too many.

“(Y/N)! Yeah?” I turn over to see a giant bird. Well, it’s not a bird literally, but my view of their face is obstructed by a plague doctors mask with a black beak that juts out a couple of inches from their face, and it makes them look like a crow or a raven of some sort. I’m not sure if that’s what they’re going for, because the rest of their costume doesn’t scream traditional plague doctor. Their entire form is draped over with a dark cloak. I catch myself wishing that they were wearing less.

“So, the Humiliation Sheets…” Their speech is muffled slightly through the mask, and their eyes are hidden behind the goggles of it. I hate that. They could have their eyes anywhere right now, and I’d never know. Not that they’d see much, as it’s rather dark in the party room. My own mask is still down, but I can rarely keep my anonymity around (Y/N). We’ve been friends since middle school, and they know me way too well.

Of course. The sheets that I mark all my daily humiliating events on. It hasn’t even been a day since my secret got out, and news has already spread from the popular kids to my unpopular friend. “That’s not why you came over here, right?” I know them, and this isn’t why they want to talk.

“Come dance with me.” They avoid the question completely. I glance onto the dance floor at all of my peers moving around in the overly obnoxious flashing lights. I’m not a good dancer by any means, but (Y/N) tilts their bird head at me and I can’t reject them when all they want to do is dance.

It’s not just dancing, of course. They want privacy in a crowded place, and the only way to keep our conversation quiet while still talking over the music is to get close. I take their hand and we make our way to the edge of the dance floor with them leading the way. Their hands gravitate toward my neck and wrap around me. I’m a little confused. All the other couples are grinding or convulsing in one way or another, and these songs don’t seem like slow dance jams, but (Y/N) was the one that wanted to dance, so I’ll sway if they really want me to.

I let my hands land on their hips. “You were listening, right? To my conversation with Rich about the squip?” I don’t see a point in swaying out here for nothing, so I get right to figuring out what they actually want to say to me.

“Not on purpose, but I heard everything.” They assure me in a chipper voice. Their posture is much too good, and they’re as stiff as I am (which is very stiff).

“You don’t like the idea of me being liked.” I lift my mask up and wear it on my head rather than my face. They do the same, and now their beak is sticking up in the air like a horn.

“You’re already liked, Jeremy,” They spin me a little and I feel the passion fill the room. They hate it when I get down on myself. “I don’t like the idea of you selling everything that makes you you for a couple of nights with pretty girls.”

“It’s not just that! I need help, (Y/N). All I ever wanted was to make it through school. And Christine. So, if this thing can make me cooler, I’ll take it.” My voice is rising now, but I doubt anyone can hear anything over the music. The lights are low, and (Y/N) and I are rather close. We’re a lot closer than we were just a couple of minutes ago. I don’t think that they notice, but I do. It’s actually better, I think. I don’t have to actually yell to yell at them.

“How cool can the squid make you if it lets Rich dress like that?” They lean their head over to Rich, who is still against the wall scoping out the Hot Girls. He’s been with every one of them, and he’s painted head to toe in green. I get what they’re saying. He’s dressed as a giant weed leaf with arms and legs (even more ridiculous than what I’m donning at the moment) and he still is considered cool because of his squip. (Y/N) means to deter me, but honestly, I just want it even more. I’ll talk to Rich again soon.

“It’s squip, (Y/N).” I correct them. I try not to do it in a mean way, since I am the one who mistook the word for “quick” not just ten minutes ago.

“That’s even dumber.” They chuckle slightly, their grip on my shoulders stiffening. They lean into me and I instinctively wrap my arms tighter around their waist. Even though we’ve known each other since 6th grade, their laugh seems different every time I hear it. It sounds new. I wish I could hear it more. Is that normal? I don’t have many friends. Are these normal friend-thoughts?

“Have you been drinking, Jere?” Their voice breaks me from my thoughts. I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes because I know what they’ll say when I tell them the truth, and I can’t lie to them.

“Scotch. A little bit.” I glance at the wooden panels on the dimly lit floor. Various colors of lights dance across the floor. I feel a sudden aching in my chest.

“Aw hell, Jeremy.” They say under their breath. It’s a lot nicer than what I thought was coming my way, but I still snap at them.

“Why are you always such a buzzkill?” I whisper-yell. Not quite sure how people do that, but it’s possible. I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth. Their eyes widen at my tone, and I think I need to add another section to my Humiliation Sheets.

Saying something I shouldn’t have. Being mean to a friend. Mistreating others.

I can’t decide a category. Of course, I could put it under a Mortification Event.

“Sue me,” There’s the snarky (Y/N) I expected. “I care about my neurological development. Y'know that illegal drugs are illegal to minors for a reason, right? Your brain doesn’t stop developing until age 24, so please take care of yourself.” The end of their speech is so soft and quiet that I can barely hear. If I wasn’t so focused on their slightly parted lips, which are mildly pink due to them ingesting a copious amount of punch, I may not have been able to make out what they told me.

I never give them enough credit for caring about me as much as they do.

Still, they’re annoying as hell. It’s not their job to lecture me when all I did was sip from Rich’s flask. “Maybe you should get a squip,” I press. “You’d sure be more fun to hang around.” That’s probably a lie. They know all the social rules, they just maintain the opinion that the rules are all stupid. The squip would only tell them what they already know, and they would seldom ever listen.

“Maybe I should. Maybe I’ll listen to it and bully great guys who’ll write it down on Humiliation Sheets. Are you really considering this, Jeremy? You could lose yourself. What if you become the people that you hate?” They have a point. Rich bullied me because his squip told him soon. What if I landed on someone’s Humiliation Sheets?

That’s a risk I’ll take.

“I just want to be cool, (Y/N). You wouldn’t understand. You’re smart and gorgeous and you could get anyone in the school, if you really wanted to!” All true. The reason that they’ve stuck around with me for 5 years now still alludes me.

“I don’t want to lose you! I know that you don’t think you’re cool, but you’re just about the best person I know, so why can’t you just get your eyes off Christine for a second to realize that there are actually good people that love you, just as you are!” Their eyes are puffy and lined with tears that they try to blink away, and I’m quite sure that my entire face is red. Luckily for me, it’s dark. Unluckily for them, the lights reflect off their teary eyes and make them glow rather brightly. If they weren’t red and full of tears that I caused, I’d think that they were pretty. Vibrant as always.

“Don’t hold me back just because you know that you’d be so goddamn lonely at the bottom of the social food chain if I had a better life!” I can’t seem to stop. I dig my hole deeper and deeper. I’m hurting them, and I don’t stop. They’re caring, and I don’t quite know how to deal, so I push them away. My arms loosen around their waist. Their arms tighten around my neck.

They look down at my chest. I’d be self conscious, but they’ve been my friend for years now and I doubt that they’re still at flight risk. A sigh escapes them, and I watch their eyes flash back up to me before landing on our shoes. Our feet move with the blaring rhythm of the music. “So, you’re really going through with this?” They inquire in a low voice.

“I think so.” They already know that I’m set on this. They just don’t want to believe it, but they’re not me.

“It’s your choice. I’ll just miss you.” Geez. I wish I could remind them that I’m not dying, but I can’t conceive a way to tell them without coming off like an even bigger jerk than I am. I bet a squip could tell me a proper thing to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” That’s an okay start, “You know that we’ll still be friends, right?”

“Right,” They give me a half-hearted smile. I wish they would smile more. It looks so good on them. It looks like what you’d expect when opening up a lifestyle magazine to a page about happy teens doing happy things, except this is real. (Y/N) is that kind of unedited beautiful. “You’re not getting with Christine tonight. She’s all over Jake.” They tilt their head and motion to Christine. With me swaying with (Y/N), I forgot the actual reason I came here.

“Thanks for reminding me.” I deadpan. I mean it as a half joke, and I’m relieved to see them giggle and glance up at me. Their shoulders bounce up and down; I love when shoulders do that. I feel like if your jokes are good enough to move a person’s mouth and lungs, that’s good, but to move a person’s body because they like you that much is even better. They get what I mean.

“Let me finish,” They smirk at me and relax a bit as they lean closer to me. “You’re not getting with Christine, so I don’t see that there’d be anything wrong with getting with someone else tonight. Kids at our school have done much worse. Do you see an issue with getting with someone else?” One of their eyebrows rises.

“Not particularly. Why do you ask?” Now it’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. I feel like I look like an idiot. If it were a conversation with anyone else, I’d be putting a lot more limitations on my expressions. Just as we spin, I step into a green spotlight and scrunch my face at the sudden change.

“You look cute, Jeremy.” Only (Y/N) doesn’t say that. A part of me wishes that they did.

“Do me a favor, Jeremy,” is how their next sentence actually begins, “Because you’re such a great friend.” They add quickly. Their eyes flicker around uncomfortably.

I lean closer to their face, my voice laced with concern, “What is it?”

“Kiss me. Just for tonight, can I be with you?” They won’t look me in the eyes, and their legs are a bit more shaky than before. Their eyes are glued on our shuffling shoes.

It takes me what feels like a full minute to process their request. (Y/N) wants me. I remove a hand from their waist and lift their chin up as gently as I can. Looking into their eyes, I don’t see anything wrong with kissing them. Actually, it feels as if it’s the only thing right.

They’re so nice, and hell they’re so cute.

I lean in somewhat slowly, partially afraid that they’ll pull away and laugh at me for thinking that they were serious. Inhaling sharply, I ghost my lips over theirs, and feeling the slight tinge of contact makes my entire face feel numb. It feels as if my entire face was dipped into bubbles. Don’t know why I know that feeling so well, but it’s a gentle and electrical feeling. It’s foreign and really nice.

They press their mouth to mine, and I feel the warmth of them radiate through my spine. Their lips are soft and taste of the punch. They’re moving on mine in a way that I’m too nervous to reciprocate, so I stay relatively stagnant for the first few seconds. I still can’t believe that this is happening. I know they feel my apprehension, because they begin to shy away from me, pulling back slightly.

I panic. I don’t want this kiss to end.

I grasp desperately at their ebony fabric until their torso is pressed against mine and my mouth is moving feverishly atop theirs. I need them to know that I want this. They seem to relax, letting themselves melt into me. My eyes flicker open for just a moment. I want to see them.

Pulling away, I let my tongue graze their bottom lip. It was probably awkward, but I don’t care at this point. It was nice. I blush and place my mask back over my face as a gentle reminder to myself that I can’t do it again, as much as I want to.

It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, but I’m so glad that it did.

“Jeremy?” Their mask is also on at this point, and I’m faced with the leathery beak of a plague doctor instead of the pretty face of my good friend.

“Yes?” I sound almost sad.

“Get that squip, if you want. But I want you to know: you’re doing pretty good without it. You’re a good person without it.” They give me that pitiful “thanks for being a friend” kind of shoulder pat, and then all I can do is watch their cloaks swing over the dance floor as they walk away and fade into the crowd of the party.