2days to go




Not to be completely cheesie but my bf is ridiculously cute and i am ridicukously lucky to have him fcuk

For the very sweet @orderly-opaline!! 

{From Michael Mell Is Mine} can u get a ride with rich or someone 2day? I’m not going in bc I’m sick

Jeremy stares hard at the text as if he can tear apart each word with his narrow gaze. While he knows Michael is familiar with text lingo thanks to multiple group chats, the latter rarely, if ever, uses it because he feels he’s more of a classic soul.

So, the shortened words are an instant trigger to Jeremy, and his thumb hovers over the “call” button as a tiny bolt of fear sparks at his heart. Michael isn’t the one who gets sick; that’s Jeremy’s job. In the time since they’ve known each other, Jeremy can count all of the times Michael has been sick on one hand. The boy is surprisingly healthy considering his poor eating and sleeping habits whereas Jeremy has lost track of the number of times he’s been laid up in bed fighting off some illness.

Instead of calling, Jeremy locks his phone and slips it into his pants pocket before dropping his backpack onto the floor. School can wait; Michael can’t.


The second Michael opens his front door, he’s already trying to push it back closed, but Jeremy stops it with a foot against the door frame.

“No, Jeremy.” Michael says in between chesty coughs. “You will get sick. Just go to school.”

Jeremy has to place both hands on the door as added force to keep it from closing in his face. “No, let me in.” He tries, voice holding an air of confidence that’s only faltering under a steady hint of worry.


“Michael Alexander Mell, you better open this damn door and let me in.”

There’s a long beat of silence that’s only filled with the worrying crackle coating each of Michael’s rasping breaths, but finally, Michael caves and opens the door wide enough for Jeremy to slip in.

“Bed,” Jeremy orders almost instantly, and Michael doesn’t even bother arguing because he doesn’t see the point when Jeremy shifts into “Ultimate Boyfriend” mode.

So, Michael just shuffles as if on autopilot as Jeremy guides him to the bedroom with a steady hand on his back. When he flops down on his bed with a low groan that causes a minor coughing fit, Jeremy is quick to lean forward and press a cool palm to his heated forehead.

“Have you taken your temperature?” Jeremy asks as he flips his hand and slides the backs of his fingers gently down to Michael’s cheek. There’s an evident trace of fever from the heat clinging to Michael’s skin, and a pit of worry settles deep within Jeremy’s stomach.

“No,” Michael manages in between grating coughs. “I don’t need to check to know I’m running a fever.” As if to emphasize his point, a sudden wave of chills seeps in through his glistening skin and settles deep within his bones until he’s shivering and tugging at his blanket.

Jeremy frowns deeply at this, and his forehead creases in concern. He helps get Michael tucked in before he drops down onto the edge of the bed with a sigh. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Michael slips one hand free to lace his fingers with Jeremy’s. “I’m not dying. It’s just a bad cold.”

“Still,” Jeremy presses as he brings Michael’s hand to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss across cold skin. “I’m going to take care of you so we can get this getting better process going.”

“You will get sick,” Michael says, tone flat and leaving no room for argument.

Jeremy knows this, but he could care less. Instead, he drops Michael’s hand and slips out of the room in search of a thermometer and medicine.


The following morning, Jeremy jerks awake from his phone ringing beside his ear. The loud tone bleeds into his head, mixing with the dull throb in an uncomfortable manner, and he grabs it and swipes to answer without checking who the hell would call this early in the morning.

“Hello?” He asks, voice cracking until he’s succumbing to a series of weak coughs slipping past his lips.

“I knew it.”

Jeremy shoots into a sitting position at the accusing tone. “Michael!?”

“You’re sick.”

A statement, and only that. But, Jeremy is going to argue because he’s not. He’s fine. “I’m-” he starts, only to be cut off by a series of sharp, frame-shaking sneezes.

“You were saying?”

“I might be a little sick,” Jeremy admits, voice small and soft in the midst of sudden defeat.

“I’m on my way.”