A/N: Hey, a new chapter! Yay! And it's a long one... I don't have much to say, so good day!

WARNING: Rated T for Swearing and LIGHT homosexuality, just to be sure.

Enjoy!

CHAPTER 02

THE HARSH LIFE OF A GROCERY PACKER

6th of August

"Gee, you have way more shit than I do."

"You have a couch."

"That doesn't change anything."

Jeremy couldn't help but chuckle at Michael's hopelessness in front of all the boxes that had to be unpacked.

They spent all morning opening boxes on the second floor, and after a quick lunch, it was Jeremy's flat's turn. They conversed a bit at first, but the boredom of the task slowly pushed them in a comfortable silence. As he stacked old glasses his mother gave him in the cupboard, Jerry took the time to really realize the turn his life had taken. He was now at a point where he couldn't just fool around anymore; he'd have to work more at the restaurant if he wanted to pay the bills... also, college would eat away most of his time. There went his entire social life, he guessed...

A bit disappointed that he couldn't mess around anymore like he used to, he forced the nervousness to the back of his brain to be forgotten for a while and breathed deeply. The new scent of home. With the windows wide opened, all he could really smell was summer air, pollen, and maybe a bit of wood. Not bad. Not bad at all, if he considered the rustling of leaves, the silence on the street and the almost aggressive metal hitting metal as Michael put some order in the utensil drawer.

A smile crept to Jeremy's face without his consent. "What did they do to you?"

"Huh?" asked the chocolate haired as he snapped out of it. "Oh, sorry mate, I was just... thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself," he chuckled without turning around.

"Piss off," grunted Mickey, but he couldn't hide the playful smirk on his voice either.

"What are thinking about?"

"N-not much... Only that I... don't feel like working tonight; it's boring as hell."

"The harsh life of a grocery packer... it brings tears to my eyes! Do you know where I left the tissues?"

Apparently he knew, because Jeremy felt the box hit the back of his head, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to force a laugh to escape his pale lips. The tissues fell on the floor with a soft thud, but he didn't bother to pick it up. He finally looked over his shoulder at his friend, but he was already back to his work. Deciding he had enough of the kitchen for a while, Jerry stepped to his bed where a big, flat box rested. The blond haired opened it, ready to find a spot in his flat for his most precious thing he owned; a keyboard. And he knew exactly where he'd put it. Right next to his bed.

"I didn't think you'd really bring that old keyboard in here," noted Michael.

"'Course I would; it's still working."

That, and because there was no way he could actually convince his parents to let him keep the big piano at home, even if he was the only one who still played it from time to time. So he settled for the keyboard he got for his thirteenth birthday. It didn't sound half as good... but it did the job.

When Jeremy took a step back to observe the keyboard and the small black bench next to his bed, he nodded in approval before noticing how his best friend wouldn't turn his grey eyes away from the instrument either.

"...What?"

"Uh... Well, I don't remember actually seeing you playing."

"I don't play with people around," he confessed.

The blond haired left it at that and went back to the counter, this time putting away the small amount of mismatched plates and bowls left in the box. At that pace, they'd be done in less and half an hour... which was satisfying, to say the least.

The weird feeling in his stomach wouldn't go away though.

A quick look at Michael proved his instincts weren't wrong. He was still staring at the piano, completely still.

"Mickey," he called him.

The young male jumped out of his skin and turned to him with wide, mostly surprised eyes. Jeremy waited a bit, taking in his expression and extending the suspense.

"If you want to mess around my keyboard, you're allowed to."

A kid on Christmas.

Michael didn't really walk to the piano; he rushed to it as if it would disappear before he could reach it. The grey eyed male sat on the small black bench and softly ran his fingers across the keys without touching them, almost afraid to break anything. Beside the ON button, he had no idea what the rest was for, so he simply pressed one key, and then another, and another. By the sound of it, he was trying to play a song he had heard before, but he kept getting half the keys wrong. Jeremy chuckled, unable to hold it in.

"Are you laughing at my abilities?"

"No," replied Jeremy, "you would need abilities for me to laugh at them."

Half insulted, the young male turned on the piano bench and scoffed. "Well if you're so good, show me how to play!"

He hesitated a second, although the annoyed look on his friend's face was enough to convince him. He quickly put away the remaining bowls in the cupboard and walked behind Michael, who refused to surrender the seat. Leaning above his friend's shoulder, he pushed the keys and a slower, simpler version of the song Michael was trying to play resonated in the small flat. A quick look should have confirmed if his friend had understood and remembered the melody, but he wasn't even looking at the hand on the piano; he was looking at him. Jeremy sighed.

"Dude, you wanna learn or watch me play? Because I'm not playing, so don't bother."

"Oh... n-no! No, show me again..."

Jeremy played again, just as slowly as before, and this time Michael was watching his hand intensively, trying as hard as he could to remember the order. The pianist let his hand fall back to his side and took a step back to let his trainee give it a try. Mickey softly touched the keys, determination and concentration clear on his features...

And he messed the melody even more than before.

'Embarrassed' was a soft word, considering how red his face was when he turned to Jeremy. "No, wait, let me try again!" And he did, but now it was barely recognisable. He was about to give a third try, but the pianist behind him decided to end his misery.

"Don't move," he ordered him. Jeremy aligned his long, bony fingers to Michael's strong ones, his palm flat on the back of the other's hand.

"Um..."

Trying his best to stay focused, Jeremy guided the chocolate-haired male's hand through the song. The way he made Michael's hand hit the keys was awkward and off-beat, but his hand, or rather their hands, never slipped. The last note sweetly echoed on the walls before letting silence settle once more.

The pianist turned to his trainee, hoping to see satisfaction on his face, or anything close to it, but what he found was a dark blush that grew as far as his ears and his neck. He was confused at first, but when he noticed his friend's gaze on their joined hands, embarrassment also settled in his stomach.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he snatched his hand away and shoved it in his jeans pocket.

Without saying a word, he walked back to the counter and opened another box, oddly disappointed that they was so little left to put away. Michael joined him a few seconds later, still blushing.

"Great," thought Jeremy, "now it's awkward as hell..."

Truth to be told, he had no idea why they were both so embarrassed by something as ridiculously unimportant, but that didn't make the silence any more bearable.

Maybe if he could find his radio somewhere in the remaining boxes... that would surely drown the silence.

9th of August

If there was one thing Terry was good at, it was hosting parties. He was always there to stop fights before they happened, there was more than enough food for everyone, and alcohol certainly wasn't a problem. But maybe what really made him a good host was that he always invited the 'right people' for the night to go well (and by 'right people', he meant social butterflies and a couple of outcast who would surely enjoy the occasion to have actual conversations.) And since it was the last party he would ever host, considering it was his last week living at his parent's house, he gave his all to make it a night to remember.

Jeremy and Michael considered knocking, but decided otherwise when they realized no one would hear them over the blasting music. When they opened the door, they half expected to see a bunch of people dancing a bit too closely in the kitchen and drinking games... but everyone grew older apparently. Around the table were sitting about 11 of their friends playing cards while drinking coffee (not that the cups were free of alcohol, of course.) A few were just standing around and talking, but judging by the sounds coming from the living room, there was a Mario Kart competition on Terry's old console.

"About time you two showed up!" smiled Alexis from against the fridge, a coffee in hands.

"Sorry, my fault," apologized Jeremy, "I was working 'till 5 and I needed a shower."

"Aw, and little Mickey just had to wait for you," she teased them, "how adorable!"

Michael frowned (not that it hid his blush,) walked to the fridge, shoved Alexis and grabbed a beer. A second later he was in the living room demanding to have his turn in the competition, out of Jeremy's sight. Alexis completely ignored the chocolate haired and turned to Jeremy with a bottle in her hands.

"Vodka?"

"Are you serious? You know how quickly I get drunk, and I'm still working tomorrow, I don't need a hangover."

She stared at him for a second before fetching some orange juice in the fridge. She mixed the two liquids in a glass and handed it to Jerry. He hesitated a second before guessing he should be fine with that.

"Hey, Jerry!" a guy he knew from school called him from the table, "you wanna play with us?"

He eyed the cards for less than a second and joined them immediately.

Alcohol was a funny thing, wasn't it?

Michael had never really bothered with scientific explanations as to why the liquid brought so much warmth inside him; why it made everything around him this hilarious; why he simply felt relaxed when drinking it. He never bothered with explanations, and he probably never would.

After a couple of rounds of racing with the guys (and after losing each times) he retreated to the backyard, where someone had started a fire at the exact same spot he and his gang were on prom night. He joined the small group around the fire. Whether he knew them or not wasn't a problem, he liked company. Mickey found an empty camp chair precisely where he sat last time, then claimed it.

The rest of the evening passed quickly as he sipped his beer, looking at the stars and the smoke.

Okay...

How exactly did he end up there? Somehow it was all a blur.

Not that Jeremy was drunk. If anything, he was probably the only one in the whole damn house who could still walk straight, but it had happened so fast his mind hadn't really understood what was going on before it was too late.

And now he was second place in Mario Kart.

He remembered Terrence and David grabbing him and forcing him down the couch, and maybe something about Michael disappearing a while ago, but really, it wasn't that important anymore. The only thing that mattered was how he was going to do everything he could to beat David; his honor depended on it.

"Give up Jerry," David warned him, "You can't win against me!"

One of his turtle shell crashed David's kart.

"What, you dragged me here just so you could crush me and show everyone you superiority?"

"Exactly."

"Well fuck off, I'm gonna destroy you!"

The audience around them quickly chose side while the two other players just laughed it off. Competition usually wasn't Jeremy's forte, but when challenged this bluntly, he just had to give his all. They were just so close to the finish line, and he was so close behind David, maybe, just maybe, he could win, and shove it in his adversary's face. He curled his toes and gripped the controller until the tip of his finger turned white... So close...

"Hey, Jeeeerry!"

Two arms wrapped around his shoulder from behind and held him a bit too tightly for his taste.

"What the...!"

They also made him loose his focus. Jeremy ended up in fourth place...

Damn it.

David made a little victory dance in front of the TV, almost stepping on the console, but the looser wasn't watching. The blond haired slowly turned his head to drunken laughter right next to his ear, locking eyes with the owner of the arms around his neck.

"Mickey... What are you doing?"

"You loooost!"

"Thank you for pointing out the obvious, asshole."

"'re you angry a' me? 'Cause I didn't do anythin'..." giggled Michael. Giggled. Biggest sign of excessive drinking.

Lacking a watch, he grabbed his drunk friend's left arm and checked the time. 1:13 in the morning. Damn... Exactly how many cards games did he play before? More importantly, how many beers did Michael drink?

Ah, whatever.

"Okay buddy, it's time to go now," he announced as he tried to maneuver his way around the couch with Michael still latched on him. A quick wave at Terrence was enough for the host to get the message, who only responded with a 'see you guys' before returning to the game for a hundredth round. He dragged Michael to the kitchen, where Alexis was still playing cards, a game of pretzel poker.

"Oh, you found him?" she asked.

"No, he found me. We're leaving."

"Hm... need help?"

Before he could accept it, the girl laid her cards on the table (she was losing anyway) and got up to help Michael put on his old shoes, Jerry keeping his steady the whole time. She also helped the sober one with his own sneakers and opened the door for them.

"If I feel generous enough, I'll drop at your flat tomorrow with some painkiller. Good night!" And she closed the door with a soft click.

...Well.

The cool air of the night and its silence, contrasting with the never-ending noises and voices of the party, suddenly felt very relaxing. Jeremy took a deep breath... then remembered the drunkard heavily hanging on his shoulder. He mumbled and giggled and mumbled some more in a loop he didn't get tired of.

This was going to be a long walk.

"Can you walk?" asked Jeremy.

"I can do better then tha'! I can dance!" Michael yelled with a grin up to his ears before falling back in his giggling-mumbling routine.

A terribly long walk.

Walking up the stairs to Mickey's flat shouldn't have been such a pain in the ass, but then again, nothing seemed easy with God knows how much alcohol the chocolate haired had swallowed. Jeremy had to practically keep his hand glued to his friend's mouth to muffle his voice, and with his other had to drag his sorry butt all the way to his floor.

"You owe me one..."

Once they actually got to the drunkard's door, they just stood there motionless. It took the sober one a few seconds to realize Michael never intended to fetch his keys out of his pocket in the first place. He glared at him with all the energy he could muster and ordered him to unlock his goddamn door. And Michael, obviously, giggled and leaned a bit more heavily on Jeremy's shoulder.

"Fine," he growled.

The blond haired, guessing he could take his hand off the other's mouth for a minute, started checking Mickey's jacket: nothing. He checked his jeans pockets: still nothing. For a moment he was scared he would have to bring his asshole of a friend home, but looking a bit more closely at his face, and mostly hearing his chuckles, he just knew there was one place he hadn't checked.

Mickey was all smiles.

"Did you really...? Damn it, of course you did."

His back pockets. Because why not.

"Gee, I didn't know you wanted me to grope you that badly... You need a girlfriend, and soon."

Jeremy refused to realize what was going on as he shoved his free hand in the back pockets of Michael's jeans (he also refused to acknowledge the mumbling.) Just as he thought, the keys were there. He unlocked the door as quickly as humanly possible and pushed his friend until he fell on his bed, facing the mattress. The giggles turned into uncontrollable laughter.

"Do it again!" tiredly smiled the drunkard, turning to rest on his back with as much grace as a brick wall.

Jeremy sighed and threw the keys on the counter. "I hope you get the worst hangover of your life."

"Y'know... You're really m'best buddy... in the whoooole wide world!" Oh no, there was just no way. Michael could ramble all he wanted, but the blond haired wasn't going to bother listening. He would just make sure his friend would fall asleep without choking on his own vomit, and then he'd go to sleep. "No, m'serious! Like, I reaaaally like you n' all!"

Whatever. Jeremy took off his shoes first and threw them next to the small bed.

"We're like the best friends on earth..."

The socks came off next. He didn't react to the fact that they were disgustingly sweaty.

"No, even more than tha'... Like super friends."

Jeremy wondered if he should take off Mickey's belt too, but quickly decided to do so when he didn't find a reason not to. He'd better repay him someday...

"What do youuu think, super bud? I think- I think we're gonna be like that forever n' ever! 'Cause you know, I love you so much, I- I wouldn't let you, like... let you go! 'Cause we're best buds..."

Jeremy threw the belt on the couch.

"And like... you mean a lot to me..."

The blond haired rolled his eyes, knowing how his friend would never dare to say anything remotely close to his rambling if there had been an ounce of him still sober. Better force him to sleep before he could embarrass himself further. Jeremy kneeled on the bed next to Michael, ready to take off his jacket (sweaty armpits: how delightful,) and just when he was about to sit him up to make his task a bit easier, the drunken male rolled his head toward him.

A hand shot up and grabbed the back of his neck.

And forced Jeremy down.

He tried to regain his balance, but he fell so fast he got a bit disoriented. The pianist actually had to blink a couple of times before he realize what had happened. Then he had to blink some more to truly understand.

He when he did... well he didn't know what to do.

Michael was holding him down, kissing him.

...

It didn't make sense.

The drunkard's hand was strong on the back his neck and the smell of alcohol was overpowering, making Jeremy even more dizzy than he already was. What the hell... This couldn't be happening. His best friend was kissing him. Kissing him. Kissing him!

Was Michael so drunk he had forgotten they were both males?

As soon as the hand grew softer and weaker, the blond haired stood up and stepped away from the bed until he hit the couch, only to realize Michael had fallen asleep in the middle of the kiss. So that's how it was; he could just kiss him and then leave him to wonder what the fuck had just happened. Standing alone in the dark and silent flat, Jeremy found himself confused and awkward, but strangely not disgusted. Long after the kiss was over, he could still feel his friend's warm, bitter lips on his: he wiped his mouth with his shirt.

Unsure of what to do, Jeremy left Michael to sleep without helping him take off his jacket and walked upstairs to his own bed.

He didn't sleep well that night.

A/N: And that's it for chapter 2! Yes, action starts pretty quickly, doesn't it? Well, don't worry, it's not gonna be that simple.

Please leave a review, it always makes me happy! :)