Jeremy

It's not fair.

The thought pops into existence in his mind from absolutely nowhere as Jeremy watches Michael through the window.

Michael doesn't care what people think; well, okay, Jeremy does. Michael can't be pissed at Jeremy for caring. Not fair.

Also, Michael doesn't hook up with random girls. This is uncalled for. Not fair.

Like, what kind of cat-costumed hoe makes out with a loser in the bathroom of someone else's house?

Michael's eyes are red and puffy, most likely because of what just happened between them in the bathroom, and Jeremy feels like shit for saying things already. Things like loser. Get out of my way, loser.

"Seriously," Chloe scoffs next to him, a beer in the hand that isn't on his shoulder, "Who has a window that's in the shower?"

"I- yeah, I know right?" Jeremy laughs weakly, wondering why he can't look away. Something about the way Michael's lips move.

"Jealous?" Chloe teases, and Jeremy starts. Why is she right? Because he knows she is, but now that he's identified this feeling as jealousy, he can't figure out what he's jealous over. "She's pretty hot." Says the girl who just made out with me.

But oddly enough, Jeremy's watching his best friend, not the girl. No she's not, he wants to scream, she's ugly and he's drunk anyways so it doesn't count!

And then it hits him like a flash: he's jealous of the girl. He likes Michael. He wants to kiss his best friend. What the hell?

But he just shattered everything between them. Get out of my way, loser. Michael probably hates him now.

"Let's go inside," Jeremy mutters and as the alcohol fades, the SQUIP turns back on, and Jeremy forgets all about Michael.

Rich

Rich fights his way through throngs of drunk, partying people, his hands shaking almost as much as his voice. "I need mountain dew red!"

At those words, his SQUIP shoots painful shocks down his spine.

Getting rid of me won't change the truth, seductive female voice purrs. God, Rich hates it.

No. No, he doesn't. He loves it. Totally. Completely. Loves. That. Girl's. Voice.

Yeah, who's he kidding. He likes Jake's voice way more.

I can block your bisexuality, the voice in his head adds, but I cannot change it.

"I know, I know, I know," Rich growls out loud, still moving towards the drinks table even though he knows he won't find the discontinued drink anywhere here. "Get the fuck out of my head."

The voice doesn't stop. You'll always be queer. It's never going to change, Rich. It'll always be this way.

The SQUIP makes a clicking noise and suddenly, punch in hand (definitely spiked- Rich tosses it), Rich stumbles, feeling as if a part of him, disappeared.

What way? I'm always going to be what? Rich knows what it means. The terrible ache for- something that he can't have (what was it again?) and the hate he feels for himself (why again?) that makes his wrists hideous with scars he draws with anything nearby.

Why stop there? He thinks suddenly, as the SQUIP says- again- a bunch of should-be convincing shit as to why he should spread the SQUIPS to more people. The SQUIP hasn't brought him any joy. If he stops it here, he can prevent an epidemic of teens trapped in their heads.

Plus, he'll put a permanent end to his own pain.

Rich grabs a bottle of alcohol- he doesn't one what kind- and shoves his way into the corner of the living room where he knows his best friend keeps his newspapers. He borrows someone's lighter.

Jake

This isn't working. This is not working.

Jake has always been a cool kid. Always. He has the swagger, the laid-back personality. He doesn't need a SQUIP for that- he needs it for Rich.

But the SQUIP told him his next move already: hang out with Canigula. Bring on the crazy party, invite Rich, get cozy… it's not working.

Rich has a tough shell. Half of it's himself and half of it's the SQUIP he's had for years, but Jake fell for SQUIPless Rich back in freshman year and he still hasn't gotten anywhere at all.

Wait. Shit. Jake sniffs the air. Is that smoke only from weed? He asks his SQUIP in thought, but he gets no response, because he's a little drunk. Only a little.

The screaming morphs from excited and rowdy to fearful, coming from the corner of Jake's living room where Rich went a minute ago. Not that he's watching or anything.

Jake is well aware that he's in no state of mind to be fighting fires, so he punches 9-1-1 in his phone and shoves into Canigula's hands, making a break from the door.

Canigula, sober, makes it to the lawn quickly, but Jake stops, a circle of fire in the corner flickering to reveal-

Cammo pants. Rich.

"God- oh fuck- fcukpleaseno-" Jake lunges back towards the fire, trying to remember how the hell to put one out. The fire between them is huge; there's no way he can just smother it. "Rich? Rich is that you?" Jake is screaming at the top of his lungs, much louder than the crackle of the fire, but Rich doesn't seem to hear him.

Jake dives into the blazing fire.

Rich is unresponsive as if he can't see Jake at all, but Jake grabs Rich anyway, pulling him and wishing track did more to help his upper body strength as he stumbles back out of the flames, a blank-faced Rich over his shoulders and clothes blazing fire.

He passes out somewhere on his way to the front door.

Michael

Michael is so glad it's a high school party; if it wasn't, he'd be scrambling for something to distract him, anything to think about that didn't have to do with the conversation Michael just had with the boy he loves.

It's a high school party, though, so he's stoned, zoned, should quit- "Hey is that weed? I want a hit!"

Soon the girl he shares a joint with turns the indirect kiss into a direct one.

Michael doesn't mind; he welcomes the distraction. He doesn't even mind they're kissing in a bathtub, for God's sake, until he realizes the smoke pouring through the space between the door and the floor isn't from their joint. His mind is hazy, he stands up, the world is wandering over his eyes and playing tag with reality.

Michael tries to open the door and screams- the door handle is burning hot. Like, hot hot, truly burning. There a dark brand beginning to form on his palm, the pain shooting sharply through his mind and lighting up the reasoning in his thoughts.

Quickly, he yanks the high girl to her feet, blonde ponytail swinging as she yanks off her tail and wraps it around the door handle, pulling the ends to open the door. This smart while high? Not a bad emergency make-out choice. Gay though he is, Michael respects the girl much more.

Together, they stumble out of the burning house.