Jeremy's eyes fluttered open. The first thing he realized was that he wasn't on the floor; he was on something much softer and warmer. The second thing he realized was that Michael wasn't there.

He sat up, ready to frantically search the room. But no, he was there, right beside him on the other beanbag chair.

"Gooood morning," Michael smirked.

Jeremy blinked away the sleep in his eyes as his friend came slowly into focus. He'd tossed his hoodie somewhere beside him, and was leaning back on the chair in just his jeans and the chest binder Jeremy had gotten him last Christmas. He set aside the math homework he was busying himself with and adjusted his glasses.

"Wait -- what time is it?" Jeremy demanded.

"Like, nine-thirty."

"At night?" He jumped up and was about to run upstairs to look for his shoes, but Michael grabbed his arm. "My dad's gonna kill me, I have to go home, we have school tomorrow -- "

"Hey, chill, bro. You've got literally nothing to worry about, okay?" He tugged on Jeremy's arm to get him to sit back down.

Jeremy obliged. He didn't know how Michael had taken care of everything, but somehow he believed him.

Michael passed him a Sprite as Jeremy calmed himself. "Your dad called earlier. I told him you were sick, like puking and stuff, and didn't wanna walk home. So he was like, 'why not just drive him home?' And I was like, 'would you want Jeremy ralphing all up in your car?' And so long story short, he called us both in sick and you're staying here tonight. Oh, and I ordered a pizza."

Jeremy raised his eyebrows, impressed. Michael was right, he really had nothing to worry about -- not his dad, or homework, or seeing Christine at school. Even dinner was figured out. "Damn," he muttered, and cracked open the soda. "You've done this before, huh?"

"Yeah, you know I call in sick all the time. Not as much since you bought me this" -- he gestured at his chest with a grin -- "but still. My dad probably thinks I've got -- well, uh, you know. Something." Michael still smiled, but the rest of his face darkened. Jeremy knew why, but didn't bring it up. He knew Michael hated talking about what happened to his mother; it hurt too much. Jeremy could understand that, at least.

"Yeah. Well, hopefully my dad believes that I've got something, or we're both in deep shit."

"I think you should talk to Christine," Michael interrupted.

Jeremy was taken aback. "Wait, what?"

"Sorry, I don't wanna be a dick, I just... I think you should leave it on better terms than -- than that, you know?"

Jeremy nodded slowly. "Yeah, no, I know what you mean. I should text her. No, call her. No, it's kinda late." He looked at Michael pleadingly. "Help?"

The doorbell startled Jeremy from his frenzy.

"Text her, but like, ask when you can call her," Michael reasoned, snatching a crumpled tee shirt from the floor and throwing it on.

Jeremy grabbed his phone from its place on top of the TV. "See, Michael, this is why you're the smart one."

"That makes you the pretty one?" Michael laughed. He hurried up the stairs as the pizza guy rang the bell a second time.

Jeremy shouted after him, "And you wonder why I keep calling you gay!" He sent Christine a quick "Call me?" and followed Michael up to the living room.

"Y-yeah, hi," he was saying. "Ten? Ten dollars. Okay, uh, here's... that... and uh, here's a tip. Uh, thank you." He closed the door, leaned back against it, and sank to the floor melodramatically as Jeremy reached the top of the stairs. "That was exhausting. I just lost ten years of my life."

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He put one earbud back in (he must have removed it while answering the door) and took a deep breath as Jeremy dropped down next to him and opened the pizza box.

"Well, I'm -- " The Super Mario theme cut him off before he could say "starving". He groaned and looked at the screen, which flashed "Christine" and a little heart, before answering on the second ring.

"Christine?"

"Hey... are you okay?" She sounded genuine, at least.

"Yeah." He held a finger to his lips to keep Michael quiet and switched the phone to speaker, setting it on the floor gently. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Christine hesitated. "Okay, shoot."

Jeremy sighed quietly. A million things to say buzzed through his head, and he was prepared for an entire impromptu speech to pour straight from his heart into the receiver, but when he opened his mouth, all that he could choke out was "I'm sorry."

And then, Christine said the thing Jeremy least expected. "It's okay."

He blinked in surprise. "R-really?"

"Really. I forgive you."

"I just... I was..." He collected his thoughts. "I overreacted. You're not the bad guy here, Christine. You didn't do anything wrong. You're just trying to figure yourself out, like -- like you said, and that's great! I hope you do figure it out. I-I'll help, if you want, if I can. Because -- I'm sorry, I'm really really sorry, and I don't want to lose you. As a friend. Christine... I love you."

"Jeremy -- !" Michael cut in.

"Platonically! Platonically. I love you, as a friend." He punched Michael in the arm, hard.

"Was that Michael?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, he's yelling for me. The... the pizza's here. Anyway, what was I -- "

"Jeremy, stop."

"What?" He went pale.

"Stop apologizing!" she giggled. "You don't have to be sorry -- I dumped you, you're allowed to get mad. Listen to me, Jeremy: I'm not upset with you."

"Oh! Oh. Okay, so are we -- are we cool?"

He could hear the smile in her reply. "Yes. We're definitely cool."

"Great! Great, I'll see you Tuesday then?" He was grateful they didn't have any classes the next day; his absence would seem less suspicious and more like bad timing in the hall. 

"Yes! Definitely. We're friends?"

"Absolutely! Okay, uh... seeya!" Jeremy was overjoyed.

"Bye! Oh -- and Jeremy?" She dropped her voice to a more serious tone.

"Hmm?"

"...I love you too. Platonically!" Click.

Michael let out a cheer and went for a high five, but Jeremy was already tackling him to the floor in a crushing hug. He gasped in surprise. Hearing Jeremy's giddy giggles, however, he let himself be overcome by the contagious laughter. The boys lay there together in relieved hysterics until Jeremy pulled back a bit, worried that he was overstepping his no-homo boundaries. Michael looked up at him from the floor. He smiled almost drowsily. Jeremy didn't know why, but he had the overwhelming impulse to lean down and kiss his best friend. He blushed. Maybe it's just the heat of the moment, he hoped. Emotions on high.

Disconcerted, Jeremy rolled off of Michael and lay next to him. He changed the subject more for his own benefit than Michael's. "Okay, now I really am starving."

They brought their dinner down to the basement, Michael joking and laughing like always, but Jeremy a bit more distracted than usual. Terrified thoughts fluttered around his head.

Am I gay? The question rang through his skull. I can't be gay. I like (liked?) Christine. But what if I like Michael? But I can't like Michael. He's my best friend, and he's straight. I'm straight. Think of what my dad would say. He'd probably kick me out if I was -- if I am gay. But am I?

He looked over at Michael, who was passionately explaining the difference between the Koopa and the Bowsers. Michael was leaning forward in his seat, eyebrows set, nodding his head occasionally, the way he always did when he got particularly into a conversation. But Jeremy noticed it with more clarity this time. He smiled. Even if he was gay, he figured he could handle it, as long as he had his Player 1.