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In the months after the Squip, Jeremy watches movies in Michael’s basement almost every weekend. It's a way of being together. Michael’s premonition that the Squip might make Jeremy ill-suited for video games has turned out to be true, not because Jeremy thinks himself too cool for them, but because he can't make it more than a few levels without blanking out, and it's unsettling when he does. He's not been up for talking much either. Sometimes Jeremy can't understand why Michael bothers at all. He's got to be bored out of his skull. Even so, Michael keeps inviting Jeremy over for these movie sessions. And even so, Michael reminds Jeremy that he doesn't have to talk. He doesn't make a big deal about how Jeremy forces himself to be sort of okay with other people at school, and crashes most when it's just the two of them. Maybe it's because with Michael Jeremy has permission to give in to it all, that Michael borderline rewards Jeremy for being a mess, if hugs and a steadying presence count as a reward. (And in what universe do they? They shouldn't. They really, really shouldn't.)Years ago, when Jeremy had whooping cough, Michael let him come over every day to take naps on his bathroom floor, where he could breathe in shower steam to ease the spasms in his lungs, without his mom telling him it was all an act to make her feel guilty. Michael held Jeremy each time, and they never once spoke about the arrangement, nor did they ever officially close it. The beanbag they'd used as a bed stayed there for weeks after Jeremy was well enough to not need it, right up until it started to grow mold, and was thrown away by Michael’s moms. Months ago, not quite twelve of them, Jeremy’s mom took him camping in upstate New York, and it hadn’t been all bad, just weird. It'd been her way of saying goodbye. Michael’s already been filled in on just about everything that went down on that trip, except that Jeremy’d fallen asleep in his tent each night pretending that Michael was wrapped around him, the way he'd been when Jeremy was sick. These days, Jeremy’s more physically healthy than he's ever been in his life. He can do sit-ups and push-ups, and he’s got a few muscles or whatever, so he doesn't look like this gross sub-human limp noodle creature, or whatever it was he looked like before. His Squip (whatever remains of it) reminds him that any attractiveness he gained over the course of his adventure is fading fast, but he's still at least seven percent better looking that he was when it all started, and the foundation to regain his hard won physiology upgrade is still there, if he’d put some work into it. Being fitter has improved his asthma to some degree, and…”Cough,” the Squip orders. Jeremy shakes his head, not so much to refuse as to clear it. The Squip wants him to what now? ”You want Michael’s attention, so cough. Fake an asthma attack, and you’ll have it in spades. Of course, it won't make you feel any better. You’re an emotional black hole.” Jeremy sucks in a breath, and exhales it slowly. There's a treacherous tickle in the back of his throat, but he refuses, absolutely refuses. It's one thing to want Michael, but it's another thing to manipulate and use him. He'd give just about anything for his inhaler though, which is stupid, because fake asthma attacks don't require real medicine, and he's very clearly decided not to fake anything anyway, so what's the deal with this? “Jer? Jeremy, hey…” Jeremy rubs at his eyes. Michael’s hand fall on his shoulder.“Hey, just slow down,” Michael soothes. “In and out.” As Michael coaches Jeremy through his breathing, it becomes clear that what's happening is not asthma, but another kind of attack. He's not wheezing in the least, just rushing like he's running a marathon, and his heart is pounding, and he's sweating, because he always does. The distinction isn't all that important. Michael’s hand is in Jeremy’s hair, and he's goodness personified, he's fixing the problem, which was probably what was going to happen either way. ”Well done,” the Squip gloats.