Actions

Work Header

Rating:
Archive Warning:
Categories:
Fandom:
Relationships:
Characters:
Additional Tags:
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:
2022-08-01
Completed:
2022-11-22
Words:
3,416
Chapters:
2/2
Comments:
41
Kudos:
127
Bookmarks:
11
Hits:
914

what's wrong with me (tell me i'm right for you)

Summary:

To make up for his general terribleness, Jeremy needed to wake up at 6:00:00 AM to be a Productive Person. Maybe if he could stick to his planned sleep schedule, he would be fixed; he’d finally have an excuse to lie about being worth something.

 

Jeremy is recovering just fine after the SQUIP. In fact, he's got his entire life together! If you just ignore that he's skipped showering for the past three days, last brushed his teeth five days ago, or only drank one cup of water yesterday, that is. Maybe if he gets better at this, everything about him would be less terrible.

Notes:

make sure to check the tags!! some heavy general self hate here :')

fic and chapter titles from ...well, better than the alternative by will wood

tysm aeonicis for listening to me ramble on about this fic and being an encouraging, amazing friend in general <3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: and when we find out what's wrong with me,

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Jeremy shot up in bed, a shock ghosting across his back. 

It was still dark outside.

5:58:00 AM. He had two more minutes, a hundred and twenty more seconds before he needed to get out of bed.

He slowly sank back down. The SQUIP’s not there, after all! It can’t tell him what to do! Loudest one is mine. Loudest one is mine.

He was so tired his whole body was weighed down with exhaustion.

A hundred and ten more seconds.

A hundred seconds… and five… 

Ninety-three… 

 

The bed was soft, and Jeremy could feel the insides of his eyelids, the tips of his lashes, being illuminated by the soft sunshine spilling through the cracks of his curtains.

Shit.

8:24:56 AM.

Fuck.

He jumped out of bed, suddenly unable to breathe. He missed the first two hours and almost twenty five minutes of the day, was eight thousand six hundred ninety five - no, ninety eight - precious seconds late.

Jeremy let out a soft whimper out involuntarily, chest heaving. 

Right. He’d go wash his face, and recite his list of everything wrong with him, and make his bed, and maybe do something for breakfast but he wasn’t hungry, he just kind of wanted to throw up and curl up and sob, but it’s fine because his dad didn’t get up until around 11:17:34 AM - at least that was what the SQUIP had measured a mean of, and the SQUIP was always right- no it was always wrong, wrong, wrong but the only thing really wrong was Jeremy and everything about him was so terrible and he wanted to die, wrong wrong wrong and nothing right because he woke up eight thousand six hundred ninety five seconds late.

Jeremy stumbled into the bathroom, absentmindedly flicking the light on and squinting at the mirror. 

Shit. He looked awful. Not a surprise, really, because everything about him made him want to die, but his dark circles looked worse than ever because he lost track of time and accidentally slept at 10:56:41 PM instead of the 9:30:00 PM he had been trying to stick to.

Look at Jeremy Heere, everyone would sneer. He doesn’t have his life together at all, does he?

Or- or worse - fuck , he’d stuttered internally and he braced himself for a shock that never came but left him shaking anyways - nobody would even care because Jeremy Heere was a loser who didn’t have his life together and everyone expected that, expected that to be true for forever and the SQUIP really did work a miracle but now it was gone, gone, gone, gone forever but sometimes Jeremy wished it would come back and then he wished even harder that he was dead so he wouldn’t ever wish that.

Jeremy looked at the sink, at the tap of cold water and the soap.

He should wash his face. He really should, because it’d make him feel better after and his acne was getting worse by the day and he’s supposed to wash his face twice a day, in the mornings and the nights, but the water was going to be so cold and it just seemed too much effort to reach out and lather his hands with soap and hold his breath as he splashed water on his face. 

It’s okay. He’d wash it later, after he brushed his teeth, which he also couldn’t do now because he should brush his teeth after breakfast because it was probably useless to brush teeth just to get food in it. 

It’s fine. He’d do those later, and shower too because he accidentally skipped showering for the past three days and he felt and looked disgusting because everything about him was so terrible and made him want to die.

Loudest one is mine.

Jeremy left the bathroom.

 

In the kitchen, he busied himself with pouring a cup of water.

He needed to hydrate, because that’s what people with their lives together do, and because it cleared up his skin and the acne was already bad enough as it was without considering how little he washed it. Jeremy was a functioning human being who remembered to drink water!

He only drank the morning’s cup yesterday, because he left it on his desk but laid on his bed the whole day. But that’s okay! Jeremy would do it better today and not be a mess anymore, though the day was already ruined because he woke up late and he didn’t wash his face and everything about him was terrible.

Jeremy should probably eat breakfast now, except he wasn’t hungry and it was only about three hours away from lunchtime so he’d best just skip breakfast so he can manage to eat lunch at the proper time of 12:00:00 PM, not to be confused with 12:00:00 AM, which he was never awake at anymore because he was a person who had his life together.

Then he paused, because he didn’t eat much for dinner last night, too, or lunch, so he probably really needed to eat breakfast, but he wasn’t hungry, but he was disgustingly thin and his limbs looked like sickly sticks so he should really really eat but it would be so much easier if he didn’t have to spend half an hour shoving food down his throat and forcing himself to swallow. 

So Jeremy left the kitchen. His cup of water was forgotten.

 

He went back into his room, then made his bed. Smoothing down the covers and making neat corners and tucking in the edges of the blanket made Jeremy feel less of a failure, less of a pathetic mess and more like a proper human being who had his life together because he did and he was recovering just fine without the SQUIP. 

Oh, he’d forgotten to brush his teeth. 

But he hadn’t eaten yet, so maybe he should brush it after he ate lunch.

But he needed to wash his face because his face was disgusting and ugly and washing it would maybe make him look or feel better, but the distance between his room and the bathroom door, a few feet, seemed to stretch out as he looked at it. 

Jeremy could do it! He was pretending to be a person with his life together!

No he wasn’t. He was a fucking mess, and everything about him was terrible and made him want to die, and he messed up his neatly made bed by collapsing back onto it, and he was too fucking tired for mental exclamation marks.

And he didn’t shower yet. He smelled horrible, Jeremy knew, because he sweated almost constantly and he was so disgusting and terrible and he blinked hard so he wouldn’t cry.

“Everything about me is so terrible,” he murmured to himself as he stared up at the ceiling, at the scarred remains of the plastic stars the SQUIP had made him tear down. 

 

Michael had bought them for him when Jeremy first got into everything space-related in seventh grade, and Jeremy used to smile dopily at them every night, grateful for such an amazing best friend. He used to sometimes wonder if kissing Michael underneath them would be like their own geeky version of romantic movie scenes.

The stars were gone now, because chill people don’t have loser glow-in-the-dark stars. 

Whatever. He wished he still had his stupid loser glow-in-the-dark stars.

 

“Everything about me makes me wanna die.” 

(Now you’ve got it.)

Fuck. 

Loudest one is mine, loudest one is mine, loudest one is mine- 

Jeremy fumbled, managing to push himself up and grab his phone and airpods that the SQUIP probably committed fraud for or something. Maybe the SQUIP managed to steal Eminem’s money when it killed him, Jeremy thought wildly.

After a few moments of frantic searching, Jeremy settled on the [1 HOUR]: Apocalypse of the Damned Original Theme, letting the familiar 8-bit tune fill up his brain. The video wasn’t actually one hour but one hour and three seconds long, which annoyed Jeremy because he liked how 1:00:00 looked; it was the same satisfaction that getting up at 6:00:00 and sleeping at 9:30:00 and eating three (3!) meals a day gave him. 

But it was okay, because the music reminded him of Michael and Michael made everything better.

 

His throat ached. Oh, Jeremy thought. He’d forgotten his water.

 

He laid on his bed for a bit, despairing, then glanced over at his phone. Almost involuntarily, Jeremy opened his contacts and clicked open his texts with “Player 1”.

!!!!!!! will wood’s new album’s out, he typed.

It was 9:37:14 AM, and Michael was definitely still asleep because Michael woke up in the afternoon during the weekends. 

Sometimes Jeremy wanted to do that, too - stay up until around three in the morning laughing quietly on call with Michael.

He couldn’t, really. Because he was Jeremy and a waste of space and to make up for his general terribleness he needed to wake up at 6:00:00 AM to be a productive member of society to somewhat redeem himself. Maybe if he could stick to his planned sleep schedule and sleep eight hours and thirty minutes he would be fixed and he wouldn’t want to die anymore, because he’d finally have an excuse to lie about being worth something.

Michael didn’t need to wake up at 6:00:00 AM to be worth something. Michael was worth everything . Michael made things better just by existing; his smile and laughter and puns and slushies and music and his everything was all that was right and warm and good in the world. 

Player 1: lol gm bdudy

Player 1: yeha that album is Da Bomb

Player 1: hey r u iokjmay

Player 1: *okay

Jeremy turned the volume up even louder, ignoring that he was so selfish and so annoying, really, couldn’t he just let Michael rest, didn’t he ruin Michael’s life enough already, he should be grateful that Michael doesn’t hate him, Jeremy wouldn’t mind because he hated himself too, how dare he wake Michael up and Michael was so wonderful and amazing and Jeremy didn’t deserve him because everything about him was so so terrible and he makes everyone want to die. 

His ears kind of hurt from how loud the music was, but that was okay because maybe he deserved to hurt. 

Player 1: no wauit hella dumb quesdtion my badd okayu uh

Player 1: wahts ur favoirite lyrcis

 

They did this often; when his mom had left for good during the summer and Michael was in the Philippines visiting his relatives in an area with no reception, Jeremy stayed at home for weeks on end. When Michael finally came back, Jeremy was excited - he’d felt drained without any social interaction, the loneliness driving him crazy. 

He was excited until Michael walked in and Jeremy opened his mouth to speak only to have a panic attack. 

It was frustrating. Jeremy never functioned well alone, and he spent those summer weeks randomly bursting into tears because he was just too fucking lonely, and then he had Michael back only to feel his heart jump in his throat every time he was expected to speak. He could barely even muster up the energy to text, overwhelmed by the panic of is this the right thing to say, am I reacting right, is this boring.

Instead of directly talking, they sent each other things like memes and cute puppy compilations and - their favorite - lyrics they liked. It was easy, because all Jeremy had to do was to screenshot or copy and then send, and it made him feel less alone.

 

Player 2:  I swear I'm really trying / Get it together, know and do better / It just don't come natural to me to think that you'd want me for me

Player 2: I swear I will die trying / I'm still in the process, but I'm making progress / I promise I honestly wanna prove improvement's possible / I swear I'm so fucking sorry / I'm not a good person, I'm barely a person at all / But someday I'll be perfect, and I'll make up for it all

Player 1: do yhou need me to come voer

Player 2: no don’t come!

Player 2: please

Player 2: sorry i’m sorry

Player 1: gnalry cya in ten minssss

 

Shit.

Notes:

by request of my best friend, yes jeremy will get his hug i swear

sorry for the cliffhanger (ish)!! michael and jeremy cuddling and general comfort time next chapter!

Chapter 2: could you tell me how i'm right for you?

Summary:

Michael was coming over, and Jeremy really really needed to get up and do something to seem a little less terrible before Michael got here.

Notes:

sorry for the wait!! this is finally complete :)

i wrote some parts of this today and some parts of this months ago the day after i posted the first chapter; i wonder if it's clear :0

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Michael was coming over. Michael was coming over, and Jeremy was a mess - at least, more obviously a mess than he usually looked.

Fuck. He should probably at least brush his teeth, right? And shower too, because he hadn’t for way too long and he was so sweaty and smelled terrible and Michael was going to take one look at him and walk right out and then he’d lose Michael again and it’d be all Jeremy’s fault again because it always is.

Jeremy really really needed to get up and do something to seem a little less terrible before Michael got here.

He really should. The longer he stayed curled up on his bed, the less time he had.

So he’ll get up… any time now.

Now?

Jeremy just needed to get up. Getting up is easy, so why can’t he right now? Fuck. He was so useless. Can’t even fucking get out of bed.

The front door opened.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sup, bud?” Michael hollered.

Jeremy stared despairingly at the wall. Oh, there was a crack in the paint there that he’d never noticed before. Cool. 

Michael must’ve eventually reached the room; a few beats later Jeremy felt the mattress sink down and a familiar, warm presence settled at his side. 

Jeremy couldn’t help but relax at Michael’s presence, at the sense of comfort, the rightness that Michael’s very existence brought. He closed his eyes slowly and savored the sound of Michael’s breaths, letting his heart slow and match Michael’s. This was nice and not terrible at all, not so terrible like Jeremy is.

Jeremy felt safe like this, almost not terrible at all, felt like nothing bad could ever reach him, not when Michael was close and there and wonderful, so incredibly wonderful Jeremy wondered how Michael possibly put up with him of all people. 

“Hey, buddy,” Michael murmured, finally breaking their little bubble. “What’s going on?”

Jeremy wasn’t sure where to start. 

How he woke up late like a stupid toddler without any control over when it fell asleep? How he had barely eaten and even if he was hungry he probably couldn’t summon up enough energy to care and make something to eat? 

He probably didn’t need to explain the shower thing. It was probably obvious. Fuck.

God, how could Michael even stand to be this close to him?

“Haven’t-” Jeremy’s throat hurt. Probably from all that sobbing he did. “Haven’t done anything since I got home Friday.”

Where to go, anyways, if he did? Nobody wanted to hang out with a loser like him, really, and he turned down any offers he got out of pity. Everything about him makes people want to die, and he didn’t want more people to die. Fuck, he killed Eminem. 

“You’ll probably feel better if you go outside for a bit,” coaxed Michael.

Jeremy shook his head wordlessly, looking at anywhere but Michael’s earnest, worried face. Jeez, if well-known recluse “fresh air? what’s that?” Michael was telling him to leave his house, there probably really was something wrong. 

Figures. There was always something wrong with Jeremy. 

Everything about him was so terrible.

“If I died, do you think people would stop wanting to die too?”

“What?”

“Because everything about me makes people want to die,” Jeremy blinked up at Michael earnestly.

“Every- what?”

Michael still didn’t get it. 

Jeremy sighed and shifted a little, which made him realize that he was curled up and fuck his posture was so horrible right now, why does he slouch he’s going to get shocked for this stop slouching stop slouching stop stop stop. He twisted and stretched and tried to get his spine straight but it didn’t work and oh, he’s crying and oh, Michael’s still here, Jeremy’s so fucking embarrassing. 

“I-” he swallowed. “I woke up late today. At 8:24:56 AM. Which is like, fine for you really I don’t expect everyone to wake at 6 AM I just need to myself because then I can, uh, tally it to the board of why Jeremy actually is a proper human being and doesn’t suck? Then, then when the SQUIP comes and tells me all about how terrible I am I can pull up my tally of why I’m not that terrible except. Except there’s nothing on the board right now, because I didn’t wake up early and I didn’t sleep early last night either, and- fuck, I hate this but I last drank water yesterday morning?” 

Jeremy had screwed his eyes shut at some point. He didn’t want to see how Michael was looking at him.

“Because, uh, for some reason water is actually really hard to drink? You have to carry the cup to make sure it’s there but it’s even harder to refill, like how, uh, how food is really hard to eat too because I haven’t really eaten since- I can’t remember when, actually- and, and I haven’t showered for days?”

He let out an awkward laugh, a loud and piercing hah! because, like, what a joke. Jeremy was a joke except with no punchline so he was just that kind of joke everyone hated, that type where if you told it other people would have to smile politely and pretend it was so clever and funny when actually everyone hated it and it made them all want to die because it was so, so terrible.

“The longest I’ve gone without showering is actually, like, a week, I think, which is really bad and not good and- and I haven’t brushed my teeth for five days now so they’re probably all black and rotting inside my mouth, and I’m disgusting,” Jeremy sniffed.

“What?”

Jeremy exhaled sharply and looked up at Michael.

This was it, right? Michael would come to his senses, would realize that everything about Jeremy was all terrible and Michael had better leave because Jeremy made everyone want to die and Jeremy didn’t want Michael to die. Jeremy really didn’t want Michael to die. If Michael died then the world would be so sad and dull and not okay. 

“I- of course you’re not disgusting? What?”

Michael was probably just saying that so Jeremy would get the fuck away from him. 

Jeremy didn't really blame him; Jeremy would do the same if he were Michael. 

“Hey, no, look at me. You’re the best person I know. All that and a bag of chips. Probably the best person that’s ever existed, really, if you don’t count Bob Marley.” 

Jeremy wheezed out a weak, watery giggle at that.

“And, y’know! You’ll always be my- uh. My favorite person, and all that.” Michael did jazz hands. “No matter what, okay? Even if you, uh, woke up late or- didn’t shower, or anything, really.”

Jeremy nodded a little, knowing he’d burst into tears again if he tried to speak. 

Michael made a small, frustrated noise. Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

Jeremy was such a fuck up. He would apologize, really, say sorry, say sorry sorry sorry he keeps disappointing Michael, he keeps disappointing everyone, he’s sorry sorry sorry sorry-

He was suddenly gathered into a tight hug. 

 

Oh. This was nice. This was really, really nice, actually.

Michael rarely initiated contact. It would always be Jeremy clinging onto him, Jeremy tugging at his hoodie sleeves and pulling him by his hand but- but here Michael was, hugging him.

Jeremy paused for a moment, waiting for Michael to pull away. He didn’t.

Jeremy let out a small whine, burrowing closer now that Michael didn’t seem like he was letting go anytime soon. Good. He didn’t want Michael to leave, not really. 

 

He imagined that him and Michael were just left like this forever, just hugging and hugging for eternity as the world faded around them and the SQUIP crumbled into glitchy little pixels and the roof crumbled so the twinkling plastic glow-in-the-dark stars would shine on them. When they were alone like this, maybe it was okay that he didn’t wake up early.

Maybe he wasn’t disgusting or worthless. 

Maybe Jeremy could still be worthy of happiness, after all.

Notes:

AND IT'S DONE!! sorry if there wasn't enough comfort- i tried, but the boys just wanted to exist in silence with brains empty no thoughts

I hold this darling little fic very close to my heart; rather, I've put quite a sprinkle of my own heart in it as well :')

sending love to u all! <3

 

shoutout to my friend who bullied me about misspelling Eminem and told me "i have to say you cry about the weirdest thing ever"
he sucks /fond

Notes:

hello please comment i crave validation <3