I Stare at the Stars and Think of You -JereMike

Aftermath

'Shit, shit shit shit' Jeremy's whole body trembled as he stared up at Mike Schmidt. THE Mike Schmidt! His mind raced, pulling up information reguarding the big, burly wrestler from throughout the year. Well....there wasn't actually all that much. What there was was only a thought. "i'm going to die'
The red punch on Mike's white suit was beginning to stain, and the man fixed piercing blue eyes on an emerald green pair, causing the smaller to squeal and shrink away.
"i-I'm so s-sorry! I d-didn't m-mean to, I s-swear!" he was afraid to even get near him.
At first, the man looked as if he actually might get mad at the younger, but then took a deep breath.
"it's fine. It's just punch. It's not even my own suit."
Jeremy blinked, confused. He thought for sure that maybe Mike was actually going to hit him now. Looking down at Mike's hand, however, he realized that he was actually on his way to being hit.
"i-I'm really sorry... C-can I maybe make i-it up t-to you in s-some way?"
Everyone's eyes were on him, he felt them. So many pairs. The people who were chasing him from before were snorting and giggling, wondering how the 'fag' was going to die. Two of them even whispered that maybe Mike would grab him by his throat and stick a pencil in his eye, seems as how one of the many bad habits of Jeremy's was to carry a pencil everywhere. Hell, right now, he could even tell that a green pencil was in the loop of his belt. He swallowed harshly, mind flashing back to the present. He was very aware of sweat dripping down his neck, eyes still wide and staring.
Mike sighed, looking at the younger person. Usually, he'd be pounding this kids face in with his fist, blood everywhere and people, teachers, pulling him off. But...he wasn't. And he didn't know why, and it was pissing him off. He gritted his teeth. There was no way he was getting to his house on his own, let alone go home. He'd sworn to his stupid drunk of a dad that he wouldn't be coming back to the hellhole even if his life depended on it.
Internally, he grimaced. Externally, he was speaking.
"Can you drive?"
Blue met Green, and the younger nodded.
"y-yes, i c-can."
So far so good.
"Do you have your own place?"
"n-not yet....b-but my p-parents are g-going to l-leave the house t-to me soon..."
Mike's eyes narrowed.
"would you mind if I stayed there for a while?"
The teen tilted his head; his body had long since stopped it's trembling, instead, relaxing to stare at the 19-year-old.
"u-um, sure, i-if it m-means i g-get to live."
Without his control, Mike's corners of his lips twitched upward, staring at the shy-yet-blunt kid.
"So you know my reputation then?"
Jeremy's eyes lit up like it would on Christmas day, all caution and caring about the others who watched on in mild amusement and amazement well past and put out of his mind.
"O-of course i d-do! Y-you've w-won so many a-awards and so m-much respect for the school!"
"alright, kid, quit your yappin." Mike chewed on a toothpick he had grabbed from a tiny sandwhich which was being served. "You really gonna let me stay at your place, then?"
"Of c-course... i r-really hadn't m-meant to ruin y-your suit..."
"It's not a problem. Now let's go. I need a shower, and maybe a rest from all these ninnies. "
Jeremy's shoulders were roughly grabbed, the wrestler steering him to the parking lot. The shiny cars were all vacant, aside from a few which rocked back and fourth
Of course. People fucking up their lives by fucking eachother. Girl gets pregnant, boy gets blamed. Either way, they both loose. Dumbasses.
Mike pulled himself from his thoughts, the younger heading to a smallish car, which was white and had paint peeling off in parts.
"Your car is shit."
"y-yeah...i k-know."
Mike raised a brow at how easily the kid brushed off his words, not caring in the least that he had just insulted him. He bit the toothpick harder, getting into the car and putting on a seatbelt. He may be tough as shit, but he'd still be weak as shit if the driver suddenly decided to have a little chat with a tree that would turn very deadly very soon.
Jer gripped the steering wheel, putting the silent car in reverse and heading onto the highway. Signs flashed by, signs Mike hardly cared to read.
"s-soo" the wimp was trying to start a conversation.
"Why do you talk like that?"
"l-like what?" he didn't take his eyes off the road, but his hands tightened on the wheel,making Mike study him suspitiously.
"you know. The stutter. The meekness. I call bullshit if you say you were born with it."
"y-you're rather bl-blunt, aren't y-you."
"you must really not know me then."
"y-yeah y=yeah....w-well... a-all i know is th-that some k-kids did something t-to me in e-eighth or f-fifth g-grade, and i've b-been talking like this since."
"Why were you at the prom? You didn't have a date, apparently, so what was the point?"
"y-you dind' thave a d-date either." Jer pointed out, feeling that Mike's questions were getting a bit personal, feeling a bit uncomfortable.
"Touche, but I asked you. Now tell me."
Jer sighed, turning into a less-lit area, his house getting closer and closer, to which he was thankful for.
"w-well, it was p-prom; m-might as well go,, r-right?"
Mike leaned back in his seat, his beanie covering his face as he looked at Jeremy through some of the fabric.
"But things didn't turn out too good, huh?"
A small sigh, which for some reason got Mike's heart racing (hey, who knew he still had that thing?). "no, n-no it didn't."
Just as Mike was about to question Jeremy once more, Jer pulled into the drive way of his house and hopped out of the car as if something had burned him.
Mike followed soon after, and watched Jer as he unlocked the door, allowing Mike in first.
"h-help yourself to the f-fridge, i g-guess."
Mike did exactly that. He was starving, and the food from the prom didn't help anything; except for make his hunger grow. So he dug through the shelves of the cold, white appliance and looked around, eventually finding something to eat and beginning to warm it up.
Jere shifted from foot to foot, and looked at Mike. "y-you can sh-shower if you want; th-then you can sleep on the c-couch..."
Mike nodded, stating he heard. Quickly, Jere left.
His eyes were wide as he walked into his room and gasped for breath. Mike Schmidt. Mike Fucking Schmidt was in his house, not killing him. But eating his food. Sleeping over.
He smiled,sighing and slumping onto his bed, exhausted.