One Reason

Michael was seventeen when he died. Jeremy was seventeen too, and more than anything he wanted to do the same. 

A few months ago, Michael had been told that the pain he’d been feeling in his chest and along his arm was breast cancer, and despite the best efforts of everyone involved, he passed away. There was nothing they could do. That’s what everyone told Jeremy anyway, but standing here at the funeral of his best friend who had so much to live for, who had even more of a reason and a right to live than Jeremy did, Jeremy didn’t believe them. There had to have been something someone missed. Michael couldn’t be gone. But Jeremy had seen the body himself, he’d been there the day before he’d died.

He was staring at the headstone of his best friend who was now gone years before his time.

"In times like these, we have no words. We have only each other. Today, we are here to pass the mourning of Michael Orville Mell, son of Abigail and Elizabeth Mell. Scripture tells us sorrow not, for we do not walk alone," drawled on the man doing the service. It felt so impersonal. This man knew nothing of Michael. His sorrow sounded so fake. Michael's death wasn't fake. The pain in his chest, the headstone, Michael's moms and their heartbreaking cries said that much.

Jeremy wasn’t crying. He’d lost all his tears the day he said goodbye. Michael had squeezed his hand so tightly and made him promise to try and move on, and then when Jeremy came back a few hours later, the room had been empty. 

Instead, Jeremy just stared at the coffin. It was so... dull. So un-Michael like. The wood was too sleek and the decorations too minimalistic. Michael was a splash of color in an otherwise dreary world. He was joy and music and energy and passion, not sleek black wood and gold details. He wasn’t ordinary in the slightest. 

Michael just couldn’t be dead.

No matter how much he didn't want it to be true, Michael's casket was being lowered into his grave. Condolences were given to Michael's moms for their loss. Those empty words did nothing. The only thing that would help is if Michael popped out of that casket and played it off like one of those extreme YouTuber pranks he always hated. That would be the only time Jeremy would excuse Michael for doing something like this.

Why wouldn't he just pop out already?

“Hey, kiddo. Marsh and I are gonna go talk to Abby and Liz. You wanna come with us?” his dad offered, his voice soft. What could his dad say that hadn’t already been said? Hollow words and condolences. That’s all his dad ever gave, and his brother wasn’t much better. 

Jeremy was pretty much alone anyway, so what was the harm in letting them go off? It’s not like they’d notice if he left anyway.

Jeremy shrugged, just staring at the coffin and willing Michael to just... appear already. Everything would be fine if Michael would just appear and say this was all just a hoax. Jeremy wasn’t sure he could cope without him. Scratch that, he knew he wouldn’t cope without his Player One.

You can’t complete a multiplayer campaign when you’re down one player after the first level.

When his family left to comfort Michael's moms, Jeremy looked around the graveyard. Surely there had to be something nearby that he could- Yes, he saw it in the distance. Perfect.

He got up and walked over to the-

"Woah woah, wait a minute." As Jeremy walked away, a figure took his place. "That's all you folks need to see of him for now. We'll catch up with that one later after his big move."

This... wasn’t supposed to happen.

“Yes it was, sweetcheeks. You knew I’d be stepping in the moment I got a chance.” The figure, a man resembling Keanu Reeves, leaned against Michael’s headstone carelessly. “Now, I’m sure you guys are wondering: how can this have a Boyf Friends tag if one half is already dead? And the fandom’s favorite to boot! Well, stick around and you might just find out.” The figure, who could only be Squip, reclined even further. “Of course, it’s a bold choice if I do say so myself, even if it’s a major departure from the source material and the musical based on it. I mean, at least we still have absentee mothers, am I right?”

After a moment, Squip rolled his eyes and waved off the audience (yes, all of you). "Wow, you guys are a snoozefest. Yeah, you got a boat load of pain at first, but you all are masochists because you choose to read this sort of stuff in the first place. Despite all of the warnings, all of those tags, you still choose to read because you either hope for a happy ending or want to feel something through the pain."

Squip raised a brow, looking right at the audience. "Did I get that right, Your Name Here? Eh, who cares. I certainly don't!" The figure suddenly held onto his temple. "Ow, okay, I get it, hun. You two can knock it off and let me run the show. You don't have enough control over me here."

There was a pause before Squip grinned. "I thought so." For good measure, he gave a very unhappy bird. "Oh, you're even having the bird mourn? That's a bit much, but whatever."

He went to take a step but tripped over, falling into the still open grave with a dull thud.

“Wow, rude much? Remember, this is my story and I hold all the cards. Don’t you two freaks forget it.” Squip grumbled as he climbed out of the grave and peered down. “Eh, not my best moment. That’s still to come. Speaking of-“ With a wave of his hands, the graveyard melted away and he settled into a comfortable loveseat by a roaring fire. “Time to orchestrate a little death. And don’t worry about the nerd with the acne. He’s not dead. Yet.”

Squip's head perked up when the front door opened. "Brookie? I'm home."

"Perfect timing. Oh, it's as if I planned this." Squip grinned innocently, batting his eyelashes before watching as the girl- no, woman who walked in hung a messenger bag on a wall hook.

"This is Christine Lohst. She is one of the two ladies that'll die today so they can help me. I've been watching these married ladies for a while-god, was it boring-but I've finally been able to work my demonic magic to have everything lined up. Oh, this'll be so good."

“Hi sweetheart!” the blonde lady called from the kitchen. “How was work? Did the kids give you any trouble today or are they learning their lines?” She appeared in the kitchen entrance, grinning and letting her wife settle in.

“That’s the wifey, Brooke Lohst. Almost a husband, but she came out in time to order her own dress for the wedding at the very least,” Squip noted with some amusement. “She looked gorgeous, apparently. Huh, maybe it would have been nice to get her into it again before she died today. Then at least she’d have some half decent clothes to spend all eternity in.”

Christine huffed before smiling up at her wife. "They're doing great. The kids this year are so much better than they were last year. I think the seniors were just a rotten bunch, honestly." She went over and hugged Brooke. "How was your day?"

Brooke hugged her tightly before peppering her face with kisses. “Amazing. I made some more progress on the book, got an article done, and I just baked you fresh cookies. They’ll be ready to eat in a second, they’re just cooling.” 

Squip sighed dreamily. “They’re sickening, aren’t they? They’re the perfect marks to get roped into helping me out.”

Christine smiled before pressing a kiss to Brooke's nose. "They sound and smell great, Brookie. I'm just going to take out the script and review some notes I made on some performances of kids today. Is that alright?"

“Of course.” Brooke nodded with a grin. “You want some chocolate milk with your cookies and notes?”

"Oh, yes please!" The two quickly kissed each other before they split off. Christine dug her big binder out of her bag before plopping next to Squip.

"Don't worry, she can't see me. Well, they'll both be able to see me soon once they're dead." Squip stood and walked right over Christine before standing by the staircase. "I'm just going to sit here and blend into the background until these lovebirds kick the can."

As the couple got semi settled, Squip shrugged a little. “It’s not like I could speed up time. Like some people can, that is.” Squip didn’t get a reply to his comment, but he knew he was striking a nerve so mission accomplished.

Before he could celebrate, Brooke wobbled into the living room carrying a tray with half cooled cookies and two glasses of chocolate milk.

"Got your cookies and milk," Brooke almost sung as she passed Squip, who did seem to vanish for now. "I hope you like them. I followed a recipe in that cookbook your papa gave us."

“Aww, with the vanilla and cinnamon?” Brooke nodded. “Gah! You’re too sweet Brookie Cookie!” Christine hugged her wife as soon as they were she had set the tray down on the coffee table. “Thank you so much sweet pea.” A gentle, loving kiss was placed on Brooke’s cheek.

“Of course, hun.” Brooke took Christine’s cheeks in her hands before kissing her forehead. “You deserve nothing but the best.”

“Good thing I’ve got you then,” Christine cooed, nuzzling against Brooke with a happy sigh. “Because you’re  perfect.”

Brooke smiled as she held Christine close then, arms wrapping around her wife. “You’re so sweet. I love you, Chrissy.”

“I love you too, Brookie.” Christine hummed, practically melting in her arms. 

“Ugh, this is gonna take forever. Let’s... speed things up a bit.” A familiar tune started up from out of nowhere on the radio. Elvis Presley, I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You. 

Christine gasped in delight. “Honey, it’s our wedding song!”

Brooke looked around, brows furrowed in confusion. “Yeah, but where is it coming from?”

Christine looked around. “The radio, look.” She pointed to the very old radio. “Maybe the wires are looser than we thought. It is really old, after all.”

"I guess so. Maybe we need to get rid of it soon." Despite that, Brooke shifted to hold Christine's hands as she stood up. "Wanna recreate our wedding dance?"

“You know I wouldn’t care if you did.” Christine giggled, resting her head on Brooke’s shoulder. “I love you, Brookie. Meeting you was the best thing to ever happen to me.”

"I'm glad that Chloe took me to see your show back at uni," Brooke said as they slowly waltzed their way to the center of the room.

“It’s been ten years.” Christine hummed. “I was actually wanting to ask you... Do you wanna try... starting a family? Not too seriously yet, just... one day?” she asked shyly. There was a soft groaning from the floorboards, but they’d been doing that for years, so she ignored it.

Brooke looked down at Christine with wide eyes before she inevitably smiled. "Yeah, I'd like that. If we have a daughter, can we name her after Chloe?"

“Yeah, I’d really love that.” Christine nodded. She sighed happily. “Dad always said that I’d have a son first though, but our daughter would be called Chloe for sure.”

That got a laugh out of Brooke, somewhat muffling the groans and moans of the floorboards. "A son first? Where did he even get that idea from?"

“I don’t know, some superstition from when he was growing up.” Christine chuckled. “But he always said that children will always surprise us, so he might have just been blowing steam out his butt.” She turned her head to look up at her wife. “I’m so excited to spend the rest of my life with you.” She leaned up, kissing Brooke sweetly as the last chords of the song ended.

Brooke returned the kiss, smiling into it as she held Christine close.

Just as the two pulled apart, the floor's groanings couldn't be ignored. The two started to look around them before the floorboards caved in. Brooke and Christine couldn't help the screams they let out as they fell into the now-present floor under them, though the screams were quickly cut off by a very unpleasant noise.

Then there was only silence.

"See, the tags weren't kidding. This is a story about death!"