Chapter Text
3…
2…
1…
And go.
“What is up, guys?” Mike said way louder than necessary, instantly hating the sound of his own voice. Somewhere else in the flat, somebody was definitely considering homicide. “It’s Sea of Wheeler here, and today we’re gonna figure out if these editors are complete assholes or if they're maybe just misu-”
He stopped dead.
A long blink.
“…Did I just say editors?” Mike stared at himself in the camera preview like it had personally betrayed him. Then he dropped his forehead against the desk with a dull thunk. “Jesus Christ.”
The little red recording light kept blinking.
After a second, he sat back up, dragged both hands down his face, and reset the smile like he was pulling a mask back into place.
“Okay. Starting over. What’s up, you guys? It’s Sea of Wheeler here, and today we are looking at Redditors and their problems and deciding whether they need family therapy or prison tim-”
His bedroom door flew open.
Mike physically recoiled, groaning at the intrusion. He would need to restart again now, “Dude, knock!”
Lucas stood there squinting against the ring lights and blue ambient lights like a Victorian miner seeing the light of day for the first time. His blanket was draped around his shoulders like a makeshift cape, his hair flattened on one side from sleep.
“You do not get to be annoyed right now,” Lucas warned, his voice low and dangerous as he pointed his finger at Mike. His voice was wrecked with exhaustion. “It is three in the morning.”
Mike glanced at the clock in the corner of his monitor.
3:07 AM.
That was a problem. That was a few too many hours passed the filming curfew Dustin and Lucas set.
Mike took a deep, steadying breath before launching into his rambling tirade of an explanation, “Okay, so technically-”
“And Max is trying to sleep.” Lucas told him, as if that fixed everything.
Mike muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” Lucas asked, narrowing his eyes at Mike from the doorway as a sort of half asleep threat.
“Nothing.” Was Mike's one worded, high pitched response which definitely did not make him look ten times more guilty.
Lucas folded his arms. “No, if you're going to complain about my girlfriend, you're going to say it with your chest.”
Mike rolled his eyes so hard it hurt. “I said I don’t get why she’s so tired all the time when all she does is get hammered on camera and call it content.”
Lucas looked seconds away from strangling him with his own headset cable.“She has an actual filming schedule which includes an important video tomorrow.”
Mike scoffed, scrunching his nose up at the absurdity of the suggestion of the She-Devol having important work. “I have a filming schedule tomorrow too. Do you see me whining?”
Lucas’ eyebrows almost disappeared in his hair line. He was so judgey. “You make videos reacting to Reddit stories.”
“And? That still takes work.” Mike responded with an offended scowl, crossing his own arms tightly in front of his chest.
Lucas stared at him.
Mike pointed defensively at his setup. “I have to find posts, record, edit, make thumbnails, deal with sponsors, and trick twelve-year-olds into thinking they are insulting me by calling me unc in the comments for engagement while maintaining my older audience. That’s labor.”
“At three AM?” Lucas asked, hanging his head low. A familiar feeling of shame climbed up Mike's back, he felt like he was being scolded by a parent for getting a bad grade.
Mike took a second, trying to gather up some semblance of an argument, “I’m productive at night!” He finally exclaimed with a well you can't blame me shrug.
“You’re loud at night.” Lucas corrected without a moment's hesitation. Disappointed parent through and through.
Mike opened his mouth again to come back with some remark.
Lucas pointed at him immediately. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” Mike continued, pacing in front of the door now which, in turn, made Lucas drop his head into his hands. “If your girlfriend hates me this much, maybe she shouldn’t basically live here.”
“She doesn’t hate you.” Lucas groaned, a belief he has probably repeated about a million times by the point.
Mike stopped right in front of him, raising his eyebrows as he reminded Lucas: “She called me a ‘lanky migraine’ yesterday.”
“You told her she laughs like a lawnmower trying to start.” Lucas responded dryly, as if he was expecting an argument. Oh ye of little faith. An argument? From Michael Wheeler? Never… he was a totally easy going soul who completely thrived on things not going his way and people who insulted him for no reason.
“Because she does.” He replied simply, carrying on with his pacing. Wall to closet and back.
Lucas pressed his hands into his eyes for a second like he was fighting for his life internally.
“Mike,” he said slowly, “I am begging you to go to sleep. Or go outside. Or get a girlfriend. Or literally experience one human emotion that isn’t agitation.”
Mike stopped again. “You know I can’t sleep early.”
“That sounds like a you problem.” Lucas exclaimed, his patience finally wearing thin.
“You’re being very anti-artist slash my creative process right now.” Mike told him matter of factly, scrunching his mouth slightly in a look of mock disgust.
Lucas stared at him before blankly saying: “You are a fully grown man with a Reddit account.”
Mike gasped softly. “Wow. I am only twenty one. And yet you think so little of me.” He tutted, shaking his head as he turned dramatically away from Lucas, waiting for the next reply.
The soft whir of Mike’s PC fans filled the gap.
Finally, Lucas desperately sighed. “Please.”
And annoyingly, that actually worked. Mike groaned dramatically before reaching for thr camera's power button. “Fine. Whatever. Asshole.”
“Thank you.”
Mike shut off the recording software, then the lights. The room immediately dropped into darkness apart from the blue mood lights around his room.
Lucas nodded once, victorious, then shuffled back down the hallway toward his room.
Towards Bitch Face.
Who was probably awake right now, yapping about him and what an awful person he was. As per fucking usual.
Mike flopped backward onto his bed with a long sigh, one arm over his face.
Objectively, Lucas was right. His sleep schedule was horrible. Borderline medically fascinating, honestly. And yeah, maybe filming commentary videos at three in the morning while screaming about probably fake internet drama wasn’t ideal roommate behavior.
But it was easier to accept when Lucas was doing it for him. Not for She-Hulk.
Max, who technically lived in California but somehow spent more time in their flat than the actual paying tenants. Max, who insulted him recreationally and actively told her fans to cancel him for wildly untrue things just because she was bored. Max, who had once eaten his leftover takeout and then denied it while holding the container and scraping out the rice.
Genuinely evil behavior.
Mike turned onto his side, glaring at the wall like the bitch was hidden inside it.
He would rather die than admit Lucas had a point and that he’d complied because Max needed sleep. Absolutely not. Never happening. He would never willingly do anything to help that heathen.
Which was why it felt particularly cruel when, what could not have been more than twelve seconds later, someone started violently shaking him awake.
Mike groaned instantly, face buried deeper into his pillow. Every muscle in his body felt heavy and wrong. Mornings were evil. Scientifically, spiritually, morally, undeniably evil. Everybody who lived with him knew this, which meant whoever was waking him up right now had a death wish.
“What the fuck…” he mumbled hoarsely, words muffled by fabric as he blindly flailed all of his limbs outward in self defense.
“Asshole!” a female voice yelped as his knee connected with something solid.
A second later, a pillow slammed into the side of his head with all the force of accumulated resentment.
Mike froze.
Female.
His eyes stayed shut as dread washed over him.
Oh fuck that.
“No, don’t take me yet, Satan,” he groaned dramatically, throwing an arm over his face. “I’m still young. I still have so much life left to live.”
“Are you done, Seinfeld?” Max asked flatly. Even half asleep, Mike could hear the boredom dripping off every syllable. He could picture her perfectly without even opening his eyes: arms crossed, hip cocked to one side, looking at him like he was something sticky and gross she’d stepped in.
“No,” he muttered with a lazy grin pulling at his mouth. “Go away.”
The pillow hit him again. Harder this time.
Mike finally cracked one eye open with the exhausted reluctance of a man being resurrected against his will. At first all he could make out was blurry light and the vague shape of someone standing over him. Then his vision focused enough to reveal a halo of messy auburn curls and a deeply unimpressed stare aimed directly at his soul.
“There it is,” he sighed, squinting up at her. “Too early for your cursed ginger-ness.”
“Again,” Max replied with a long-suffering exhale, shifting her weight onto one leg, “Asshole.”
Somewhere out in the hallway, Lucas burst into laughter. Traitor.
Mike narrowed his eyes at the doorway before looking back at her. Max followed his glance for half a second, rolling her eyes affectionately toward the sound before focusing on Mike again.
“I was gonna offer you a holiday,” she said casually.
Mike blinked at her. Then blinked again. It was too early for this shit, “A what?”
“A trip,” Max corrected, tilting her head like she was already annoyed he’d made her clarify. “To Europe.”
Mike pushed himself up onto his elbows slowly, suspicion settling over him immediately. Max offering to take him somewhere felt less like kindness and more like the opening of some truly terrible true crime podcast where the hosts say unalived and sell merch of his face.
Truly horrifying.
“How long?” he asked carefully, beginning the interrogation but not wanting to sound like too willing of a victim.
“Twenty four…” she started. Mike’s stomach dropped. Twenty four days? Probably not. Twenty four weeks? He’d rather get hit by a bus. “…hours,” Max finished.
Mike stared at her in silence.
“What.” It wasn’t even phrased like a question. Just a blank, horrified statement.
“Maybe slightly more,” she added with a shrug that suggested time itself was merely a suggestion to her. “Depending on flights.”
Behind her, the flat had descended into chaos.
Mike could hear Dustin loudly swearing somewhere down the hall, cupboard doors slamming shut, Lucas saying something about passports in the kitchen. It sounded less like trip preparation and more like an evacuation drill.
“Where?” Mike asked slowly, sitting up properly now as he truly considered the logistics. He did need a change of scenery.
“Europe,” Max repeated, drawing out both syllables like he was a child or stupid.
“No, yeah, I got that part,” he snapped at the blatant disrespect, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He may be a YouTuber but he wasn’t stupid, unlike some people. “Europe’s a continent, Maxine.”
“Munich,” she replied. “Germany.”
Mike frowned at her. “Why?”
Max looked genuinely confused by the question. “For a drinking video,” she said, like that explained literally everything. “Duh.”
Mike sighed, realising that there wasn’t a clear escape in sight for him. “When?”
“Right now.” She told him. Mike stared at her again. There was something deeply haunting about the fact she looked completely serious.
His eyes were wide in shock, “You’re joking.”
“I’m literally holding your passport.” She told him, waving it up. How didn't he notice? And how the fuck did that little witch get a hold of it?
"What the hell, man?” He exclaimed, reaching up to try and swipe it back. Max took a big step away, keeping his passport hostage.
“You left it in the kitchen drawer,” she said with a shrug. “Which is insane behavior, by the way. Now are you coming?”
“You went through my stuff?” Mike practically screeched.
"You leave your stuff everywhere. It’s less ‘going through’ and more ‘oh look at what I've found, Mike's passport’.” She replied with a shit eating smile.
Mike opened his mouth to argue, then stopped because honestly she had a point there. Only slightly, though. Morally she was still wrong.
“I was supposed to meet up with some London Creators,” Max explained, absentmindedly flipping his passport between her hands, “But they bailed last minute, so now I’m taking Lucas, Dustin, my roommates from California, and you. Assuming you wake the fuck up.”
Mike narrowed his eyes at her. “Do you expect me to get drunk?”
“Yes,” Max answered immediately.
“No.” He responded, getting back into bed and pulling the duvet over him. Maybe he could get back to sleep and this could all just have been a bad, bad, horrific, terrible nightmare.
“You are contractually obligated to consume dangerous amounts of alcohol if you agree to this.” She said dryly, as if this was clear. As if it was the done thing. Knowing her, she probably added it into the fine print of release forms.
“I’m not going then.” Mike simply replied, pulling the duvet over his head to block out any more of her bullshit.
“I’m paying for everything.” Max desperately added. Clearly she needed him more than her stubborn ego was willing to admit.
But… paying for everything?
Mike paused.
A beat passed.
Suddenly an expensive cocktail sounded like an amazing idea.
“I’m in.” He told her with a nod, automatically sitting up and getting to work, scooping a hoodie and his headphones into his rucksack.
Max snorted so suddenly she almost laughed, catching herself at the last second.
“Figured,” she said, tossing his passport directly onto his chest. Mike caught it instinctively, glaring up at her while she stepped backward toward the door. “We leave for the airport in half an hour,” she told him, already turning away. “Try not to look like a cretin.”
“Bitch!” He called back out to her. Immediately, she spun around, her eyes alight with something that looked taunting.
“Be nice, or I'll invoice you everything.” She warned with a maniacal grin before striding off to Lucas. Great, this was now going to be held over him until the end of time.
This trip better be worth it.