A small lil meremy fic. I’m sorry if some of the translations aren’t perfect, I take French (like I headcanon Jeremy does) but I love the idea of bi/trilingual Michael and it was too cute of an idea to not write down.
Estoy enamorado de usted- I’m in love with you
Le amo- I love you
Je t'aime- I love you
“And… there. You are officially dateable.”
Jeremy frowned. “But will anybody want to date me in this? Who even listens to Eminem anymore?”
The squip brushed his question off. “It doesn’t matter. I know that if you wear this shirt, things will turn out well for you and Christine.”
Jeremy rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, about that. I want you to… change goals.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want Christine anymore!” Jeremy blurted.
The squip frowned. “Okay. Who, then? Brooke? Chloe? Jenna? I can get you with anybody, Jeremy. My power is infinite.”
“I… I want Michael.”
“Well, that’s not a big deal.” The squip said, half to himself. “It would be easier to date a person who you already had a pre-existing emotional connection with, although the length of the friendship might hinder-”
“I don’t want your help.”
“What? What do you mean you don’t want my help?” The squip sputtered. “We’re talking about setting you up with your best friend, this isn’t a walk in the park.”
“I want it to be… you know, natural.” Jeremy protested. “A relationship based on love and trust, not manipulation and Eminem t-shirts.”
The squip gagged. “Ew.”
Jeremy sighed. “Whatever. Here he comes. I’m going to try and do something.”
“¡Hola!” Michael called across the cafeteria. “¡Estoy enamorado de usted!”
“I told you, Michael, I take Fren- le he amado desde el octavo grado.”
Michael flushed crimson. “What did I just say?” Jeremy hissed to the squip. “He doesn’t look happy.”
“I told him that you’ve loved him since eighth grade. In Spanish. You’re welcome.”
“WHAT?” Jeremy squealed. “How did you know that?”
“You… you do?” Michael mumbled, his face beet red along with Jeremy’s. “I’ve said that like, every day. Why tell me now? Also, don’t you have a C- in French? Did you learn Spanish just to tell me that?”
“Um- no. I uh… looked it up. How to say that.”
Michael ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, thanks, Jeremy. Uh… I don’t know what to do with this information now that-”
Jeremy cut him off with a swift kiss. Michael melted into his touch, grabbing at Jeremy’s cardigan needily; like he had been wanting to do this for years. Which he probably had.
Somebody in the cafeteria wolf-whistled. Jeremy could hear the click of a camera. He didn’t care.
Some teacher came over and pulled the two away from each other, sternly reminding them of Middle Boroughs rules about PDA.
Michael looked at Jeremy, his face still burning. “Le amo.”
Is anyone even truly a person at 5:30 in the morning? You’re quite certain that you aren’t and that no matter how many times you punch that alarm clock and throw yourself into the shower, you never will be. Still, by 6:04, you’re dashing down the hallway, badly contained cup of coffee in one hand, purse in the other, makeup half assed simply so you feel human, and the most comfortable pair of flats you own on (the correct!) feet just to make it to the elevator so you won’t have to clamber down the stairs again. You’ve just managed to get all the things in your hands straight when the doors whoosh gently open.