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Rich hated clean rooms. Untouched by a speck of dust and not a single furniture out of order. The Squip is a meticulous master. For so long, Rich’s room in his own house had never quite felt like home. Of course, that place had not felt like home for a good while now.
The Squip had always maintained that being clean was a must. Even though it might seem uncool. Rich didn’t invite people to his house anyway. His room is the Squip’s domain.
It is where Rich is most susceptible to damned whispers. To barely disguised insults to his being. To the slow and arduous process of erasing who he is so the Squip can paint him in with its own colors. He hated the spotless surfaces of his own room, the uncluttered floor and organized shelf.
Even before the Squip, before the popularity and the yearning for something more. Something that would rid him of his emptiness, of his loneliness. Even before then, Rich hadn’t liked meticulous cleaning.
All of that immaculate arrangement always felt lifeless to him. Blank and unfeeling. Indifferent and soulless.
He much preferred his mess. Now that his mind is his own again. It’s too quiet without hissed retorts and scalding comments but he’d take the quiet over living the life of an unfeeling cruel puppet any day.
He liked his room better these days. He liked seeing the tumblers from two days ago when Michael and Jeremy visited that they forgot on Rich’s desk. He liked the heap of his own hoodie on the bed from yesterday when he and Chris went out for their morning walks.
If he sat beside it on the bed and angled his head right, he would be able to smell his friend’s perfume mixing with morning dew.
He liked the homeliness of his mess. The way his space feels finally like his own. His shoes are stained green from the freshly cut grass of the Lohst Household yard. Him and Jeremy had gone there to talk to Brooke.
Jeremy had felt bad at the way the Squip made him treat Brooke and Rich had wanted to apologize. For what, he didn’t know.
Perhaps for lying about who he was. Brooke had met them at the door and stared them both down. Rich felt small.
He hadn’t felt that in front of his peers since the Squip. He was starting to feel it more after it fried.
He watched Jeremy stutter out an apology that no one would have understood. Maybe except Michael. He watched the annoyance and the derision creep up Brooke’s face. He gets that. Brooke hasn’t been treated right by almost everyone around her.
It makes Rich angry anyway. The words the Squip almost allowed Chloe to rape Jeremy bubbling in his throat. He wants to whip them out and throw them at Brooke but it isn’t his story to tell.
Jeremy doesn’t want anyone to know and Rich had spent so long having his boundaries ravaged and doing the same to others in turn that he doesn’t think he could bring himself to take this from Jeremy.
Maybe it wasn’t fair to Chloe either. Jeremy had told him how drunk Chloe had been. Rich didn’t think that was a good excuse but then again, Rich didn’t think he had the right to judge anyone for their shitty decisions under influence.
When Jeremy finished, Rich only nodded to Brooke. He doesn’t know what else to do. He took Jeremy’s elbow and guided him away, not wanting to hear the words that came after Brooke’s heavy sigh. That was a bad day for Jeremy.
The blankets he used when he slept over are still folded neatly under his desk. He can’t bring himself to hide one of the evidence he has for the way both of them cope. So differently yet so similar.
Jeremy had told him that night, so late they could see the beginnings of early dawn on the purple sky. He told Rich he doesn’t want to go against every one of the Squip’s advice because that’s just giving it more control. Rich had understood that.
“I just like messes. They’re like…proof that I’m here. That this is my space.” Jeremy stared at him like he’d said something big and life altering. “Clean rooms are lifeless and soulless, man. I’m a trash goblin. I like my clutter.”
“That’s…I never thought of it like that.”
Days later when he’s cleaning up the excess memories and clutter from his room, Christine comes knocking on his door. He likes their reminders but he has to clear these old ones out to let new memories paint his place. Besides, so much memory compressed into one space is getting to be too much for Rich.
She offered to help and while Rich has his own way of doing things, if he could convince anyone of his ways, it would be Chris.
He’s putting away Jeremy’s blanket and marveling at how it still smells faintly of his perfume and of Michael’s when he saw Christine take his hoodie off his bed and slowly walk to his clothes basket.
“Wait! That’s—that’s not…it’s not dirty yet.” He says. Christine looks up and he knows she’s seen him wear the hoodie thrice this week now on their morning works. She lifts it up to her nose and Rich knows she can smell her own perfume and the morning dew mixed. He knows she can smell the sweat.
He holds his breath and releases it when she shrugs. “Want me to put it behind your door? On the hooks?” Relief floods him and he’s never been more thankful for the wonder that is Christine Canigula.
He nods and goes back to blankets that smell like both Jeremy and Michael despite only being used by one of them. He wonders if it’s because they spend so much time together they start smelling like each other or if all of Jeremy’s things just naturally smell like Michael.
He wonders if he can have something like that. Maybe if he sticks around them long enough, he too will start smelling like them. Rich thinks he would like that.
A solid evidence of his belongingness in a group.
Christine pulls him out of his reverie when she speaks again.
“I’m gonna leave Jake’s hoodie on your bed.” She said softly.
Jeremy must have told her how he felt about cleaning. They seem to be an extension of each other these days. Rich didn’t know if they were dating or just really good friends. He didn’t think he’d know the difference either way.
The space is getting too barren, he’s glad he has Christine here to fill the space of tucked away memories.
“I—yeah, thanks, Chris.” He said and he sat beside the hoodie on the bed. If he tilts his head just so, he can smell Jake’s new perfume, his old one lost in the fire. If he tilts his head just so, he can smell the faint scent of forest.
Jake talked to him for the first time in months and his first suggestion is to hike in the forest. Rich had never really hiked in the woods before but he’s all for trying new things these days. Maybe older Rich will have a thing for hiking. Rich didn’t know Jake liked forest hiking.
Current Rich doesn’t have much feelings on hiking. It felt good to breathe in the scent of nature. The smell of wet soil where the morning dew is trapped by fallen leaves—petrichor, he remembers Jake telling him.
It had been mostly silent and Rich was mostly content to keep it like so. Early mornings are often time for his thoughts to run and to churn. He gets introspective. Without a supercomputer in his brain, he gets the space to think about the pretty warm light of the sun filtering through leaves and branches of trees.
He has free space to occupy his brain with thoughts of Jake, being closer to him than he’s been for months. Jake who doesn’t know who he is and Jake who he doesn’t know.
Hell, he didn’t even know who he was. No matter how he wants.
“I’ll leave my tumbler here,” Christine said after some time. She held up a colorful water bottle that is brimming with stickers from various musicals and shows and other things that Christine enjoys.
“I’ll take Michael and Jer’s with me, I can give them back.” He doesn’t contemplate the type of water bottle his friends would have but he thinks this is exactly what he expected Christine’s water bottle would look like.
He nodded, “Okay.” He wondered if he has enough of a personality to have his friends expect a specific tumbler from him. For now he thinks he can content himself with just having friends he knew enough to not be surprised by incredibly specific collection of stickers,
Christine smiled and stood. “I’m glad you and Jake are talking again. I hope you guys get to know each other well this time.” He stood with her and fell into the arms she offered.
“Thank you.” he said into her shoulder. It’s foreign on his tongue. He didn’t say it enough. He didn’t have much reason to. And it’s too charged.
Too heavy for someone who helped him clean up a room that was slowly overwhelming him.
She smiled like she understood and Rich believes that she does.
“Give it back to me next week, ‘kay?”
He saw her to the door and thanked the stars him and his brother had put his dad through therapy and he’s nothing like he used to anymore. The house, now free from its drunken ruler, is a lot messier without the heavy list of chores to keep it in order.
Christine passed through the halls safely.
“Be safe on your way back.” Another sentence that sat foreign on his tongue. He learned it from Michael. He always says it when Rich is leaving. It always felt like a blessing to Rich. like his will would keep Rich safe. Perhaps his well wishes could keep Christine safe too.
“I will,” she said, smiling so brightly you’d think Rich had said something profound. She leaned in and kissed his cheek and waved to him as she walked away. He waved back and stared until her figure turned and disappeared from sight.
When he closed the door, he contemplated the house again. Beer cans are nowhere to be found. There are mugs from earlier when he and his brother sat in front of the tv to watch morning cartoons with hot chocolate. On the couch is his father’s coat, from three days ago when it was too cold to go outside without one.
It feels less like an empty hell and more like something that could be called home. Maybe. If the years treat all three of them well. This year was a year of cleansing for them. Rich only hopes it will continue on.
He loathes cleaning but he hates suffocating in his own memories even more. He likes having space to breathe. Space to think. Space for himself. Whoever he is now. So he took the mugs from the coffee table.
He took them to the sink and he could wash them but the sink wass empty and it grated at Rich to see bare silver sink so he laid the mugs down and looked through the fridge for something to cook. The fridge is not empty, over the last few years it never really had been.
It was always brimming with beer cans and takeout leftovers from too long. Now though, instead of moldy Chinese takeout boxes and slices of pizza, there are actual groceries. He took a blank post-it note from the counter and wrote “thank you for doing the grocery” and put it on the door of the fridge.
It was Jeremy’s idea to leave post-it notes. He said it worked really well with his dad and while Rich’s dad is avoiding the two of them and Rich is giving him the same wide berth, he still wanted his dad to know that Rich can see that he’s trying.
He opened the door again and stared at the groceries still in their plastic bags on the shelves until the choices overwhelmed him. He closed the door and realized his hands are shaking only when he’s already called ‘Riends’.
“Hey, man.” Michael said and it’s the most casual thing to say but he can’t hide the worry in his voice. Ah, Rich forgot to text before calling. That was rude, probably.
“Groceries. In bags. In the fridge.” Rich said and thought that might not make sense.
“Too many things?” Maybe it did make sense. Or maybe it’s just Michael’s impossible telepathic powers. “You don’t know how to organize or you don’t know what to eat?”
Rich opened the fridge again, just to check. “Yes.” He says, breathless.
“Me and Jer are on our way.” Rich nodded and then hung up. And then realized Michael wouldn’t have seen him nod. That was rude again. He didn’t like being rude.
It’s just that the fridge is too overwhelming and why the fuck did his dad not take them out of the plastic bag, at least? And why is the kitchen so goddamned clean? Did his brother stress clean again?
Rich didn’t realize he’s pulling out bowls from the cabinet until he had already placed three down on the counter. He left the cabinet door open. The squeak of the faucet is a little calming and it brought him back enough to realize he’d taken out three colorful mugs and filled them with water on the counter.
He let the water overflow out the dirty mugs on the sink and stared until he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, man.” Michael sounded worried. Rich could see his brows knot. “Why are all your cereals on the counter, bud?” Bud. That’s something Michael only calls Jeremy.
“S’too clean.” He didn’t even realize he’d taken them down. He looks at the kitchen and all the cabinet doors are open. The pans are on the stove but there is no fire. There’s nothing on the pans either. “'Think Jason stress cleaned the kitchen.”
“I’ll put the cereals away and Jeremy’s gonna get the cabinet door, okay? You take care of the pans on the stove.” Rich frowned. Did Michael not hear Rich say it’s too clean? “And then we’ll cook.”
Cook. Cook. Rch liked cooking.
He nodded and he let his body take over as he put pan after pan away. When he finished, he helped Jeremy close all the cabinet doors. He closed the last one after Michael stacked the bowls and put them away.
He tried not to flinch when the kitchen returned to its immaculate glory and calmed himself with the thought of cooking. Messy and a little sloppy. They could make soup. Rich likes soup. Or maybe MIchael could teach him another Filipino dish.
A soup dish, hopefully.
Michael opens the fridge and Rich tries not to flinch in remembrance of the overwhelming inside.
“You still do the notes?” Jeremy’s voice is soft beside him but Rich jumps anyway. Jeremy doesn’t laugh. Not like—Jeremy doesn’t laugh so he just nods.
“I—we don’t really…talk, so this is the only form of communication we have.” The notes always disappear after a while and are always replaced with a note with ‘thanks’ or ‘sorry’ in shaky handwriting.
He never told anyone what that box in his closet contained. The writing is barely legible because years of alcohol abuse do shit to your nerves but Rich treasures them. Even if he felt silly. His therapist would probably think it’s a good thing.
His friends definitely would.
“That’s valid. Me and my dad still have a hard time talking. So I keep leaving him notes. I think he keeps them in his office.” Rich wondered if his dad kept his notes or Jacob’s. “I keep his notes in a box on my desk.” he blushed and put a hand on his neck. “That’s probably childish but I like it. I like having proof that he cares.”
This time, he did realize he’s crying. He just can’t fucking tell you why. Maybe it’s ‘cause Jeremy literally took the words from his mind. Maybe that’s how he felt too. Maybe that’s why he kept the notes.
Jeremy held him and Michael walked back to give him a squeeze before going back into organizing the damn fridge. He wondered if he should be ashamed for asking his friends to help him organize his groceries.
“I have mine in my closet. In a shoe box.” He said through hiccups and Jeremy made a soft sound and held him tighter.
Micahel joined them when he’s done with the fridge and they hugged for as long as Rich cried. Rich probably should be embarrassed.
The Squip was fixated on embarrassment and shame and what would people say, Richard?
Rich decided he’s not going to be embarrassed for liking hugs and for asking for help. Michael would tell him it’s nothing to be embarrassed about and Jeremy would probably agree. He usually does.
“I found macaroni, butter and milk in your fridge,” Michael said when his tears stopped. “Chicken and cabbage too and there’s probably carrots. I think I found some salami in there too.” he squeezed Rich and opened the fridge. “We’re gonna make sopas.”
Jeremy lit up beside him. “Soup?” He asked, eyes bright.
Michael mirrored his smile. “Hell yeah! We’re gonna soup up this clean kitchen. It’s gonna be fuckin’ messy.”
The sopas is savory and creamy and comforting and making it wasn’t hard but with the three of them fucking around in the kitchen, it took them longer than it should. It was messy too, like Michael promised.
They put away the extra mess and left only the tiny spills of soup on the stove from when Michael used the ladle as mic when a particularly good song came up from their playlist. They left the ladle and the pot on the stove because they made too much for three people to finish.
They left the bowls on the sink but put away everything else. The kitchen is rid of its sterile scent and is covered instead with the scent of butter and chicken and something warm and creamy.
Michael made him keep the bone of the chicken after they cooked it. “That’s for broth making for lugaw.” he had said and really if getting a tupperware to keep the bones of the chicken in is all it takes to get these two to come over again, then he’d get it done.
Later that night when they were asleep on either side of him on the bed, Rich made his way to the kitchen to get a drink.
On the fridge door is a yellow post-it note with shaky handwriting, “thank you for the soup.”
"You smell like Christine." Jake is at his door. He doesn't know how to talk to Jake these days without the endless knowledge of sports and girls conquered. He hated that word.
The Squip had liked it though. These girls weren't adventures, they weren't obstacles to get through. It made Rich icky with his own skin when he remembers it.
He doesn't know what to say to what Jake just said so he opens the door and invites him wordlessly inside.
"Are you two dating?" Ah there it is. That certain lilt to Jake's voice. That needling, teasing voice. An unsaid congratulations on getting another one. Rich tries not to shiver in disgust. He knows it's just Jake trying to build rapport.
"Nah, man. I think she's dating Jeremy. We're just—" he cuts himself off. What he and Christine are is not anything that he can call "just".
She's one of his best friends. "She's my best friend." He says and he only realized what he said when Jake freezes halfway on the stairs.
Jake nodded and continued on but there was a line of tension on his shoulders that wasn't there before.
"So… you got a new best friend, huh?" Jake says once he's sat down on Rich's bed. Christine's water bottle is still on his desk and Michael's hoodie is draped over his headboard.
"...I got a lot of new best friends." Rich says after a moment of silence. He takes Jeremy's forgotten bag off the floor and onto his desk. He doesn't want to hurt Jake because he was someone important to Rich. Even if they didn't know each other truly. "I–I don't know you yet." His voice had gotten quiet.
An unspoken apology that Jake isn't his best friend anymore.
On his bed Jake lowers his eyes but Rich knows he understands. He is quiet and his only response is a slow nodding of his head.
I… I like hiking. In–in the forest. I like doing it in the…uh…morning. When no one is there yet." Jake says to his floor. If his skin was lighter, Rich thinks he might be seeing his friend blush.
A smile so fiercely soft stretches across Rich's face. He sits beside Jake on the bed and smiles brightly at him when he looks up.
"I don't know if I liked hiking or not yet. It was pretty though and the forest smelled nice." He said, nudging his shoulder with Jake's. "I don't like things being too clean. I like having the mess. It has more character."
Jake looks at him with surprise. Squipped Rich hated messes. Because the Squip hated messes.
Jake falls silent, contemplating his answer.
"I like chess more than basketball." Now it's Rich's turn to look in surprise. "I just didn't wanna get called gay."
Rich's heart aches for this boy. Jake is and has always been a sweet boy. Even when Rich was a terrible friend, he's readily forgiving. He wonders if it's because he doesn't want to lose anyone else in his life.
"Nothing wrong with being gay," Rich tries, gently. Tilting his head to try and get Jake to look at him. "I'm half-gay, kinda."
Jake's head whipped to look at him so fast Rich is worried for his neck. He's almost ready to look at the disgust in Jake's face but there isn't any. There's only surprise there. And awe, maybe.
"For real?" Jake says, whispers. Almost unbelieving. Like he's witnessing a miracle. Like he's seeing Rich in a newer, gayer light.
"For real, man. I'm bi." Rich grins wolfishly. He remembers how Michael had reacted when he came out. The congratulations, the pride in his voice, the joy.
Rich basks in the memory of it for a bit while Jake digests this new information.
"I think I might be—that, too." Jake says, his face a look of concentration. As if he's trying to pinpoint his sexuality in his head. "Michael's handsome as fuck, dude."
It's said so solemnly, so somberly. As if it was some great truth that it startles a laugh out of Rich. It startles a laugh out of Jake too.
"F-fucking—" gasp, "fucking right!" He says through gasping laughter. "M-michael is—" gasps again, "Michael is handsome as fuck!"
They both collapse into laughter. Falling over each other in their mirth.
"Jesus, I missed you." Rich says when laughter peters off. Jake smiles a glowing smile at him.
"Missed you too, bro."