Beautiful To Me (Boyf Riends AU)

Chapter 10: No Matter What

Ah, my home...

TW: Drugs?

(Jeremy's PoV{Finally— sorry guys})

I followed them. Is that weird?

I followed them into the auditorium, but stayed behind when they went into the costume room. I heard Christine's voice, then Michael's. That pattern continued, and though I couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, the argument seemed to escalate.

I sat next to the door, leaning up against the wall, listening to them scream unintelligibly at each other. Sighing, I rested my head on the wall and waited.

A few minutes later, The screaming stopped, and all I could hear was Christine's calm voice. I also heard a faint noise, almost like someone was crying. 

Still, I waited.

Suddenly the door burst open and Christine stormed out, slamming it behind her. She looked like she had been crying.

"What's wrong, Christine?" I asked her.

She looked at me, surprised that I was there, before muttering a "nothing" and walking away. "You deal with him!" she called angrily over her shoulder.

The crying noise didn't stop.

I stood up, opening the door quietly.

In the corner of the small, crowded room sat Michael, curled up in a ball and sobbing quietly to himself. I pushed a clothing rack aside and stepped toward him.

He must have heard me, because let let out a long, quiet sigh. "What do you want now, Christine?" he mumbled. "Back to tell me you know everything about me again?" He looked up.

He looked surprised that the person standing near him wasn't Christine.

"Hey," I said, sitting next to him. "What's wrong?"

He looked down at the ground, biting his lip. "I don't want to talk about it," he muttered, stretching his legs out and putting his hands in his lap.

"Please," I said, grabbing his hand. He blushed but I ignored it. "Tell me."

He didn't look up, just mumbled something I couldn't make out.

"Sorry," I said. "What?"

He looked up at me, tears streaming down his face. 

"What happens when your own mama doesn't love you anymore?" he whispered sadly, interlacing his fingers with mine and squeezing.

"Oh," I said quietly.

He started to cry harder. I wrapped my arms around him, comforting him. He returned the gesture, sobbing into my shirt and holding on tight.

"Michael," I said, "your mother does love you. I'm sure of it," I promised.

"How would you know?" he said quietly, not in a rude way, just a sad one. "She left me."

"I just do," I told him. "Your mother loves you no matter what. She always will."

He sat up, wiping his nose and eyes. "I'm sorry I bothered you," he said, sniffling. He pushed his glasses up and pulled a blunt out of his pocket. "So much for not smoking," he said bitterly to himself.

I snatched it out of his hands.

"What the fuck," he said. "I'm tired of crying. I'd rather be high than this wreck."

"Suck it up," I told him, sticking out my tongue. "It's bad for you."

"That was my last one," he whined, giggling as he tried to take it back. I moved it out of his reach, standing up.