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His name was Tavros. He wore a metaphorical mask. With a painted on smile and a happy glaze over his honey gold eyes, he would look, well, happy to any random stranger. They wouldn't know of the constant bullying or his own insecurities or the dark cloud that seemed to hang over his head every day and every night. They wouldn't be aware of those lingering, cruel memories that haunted his dreams. He hid his sadness well, burying it well beyond any normal person's sight. They wouldn't know how he hated how he couldn't walk like any normal person, how he was imprisoned in this handicapped body, confined to wheelchair. They wouldn't know he dreamed of flying, of being free.
If you asked anyone who did know him, they'd probably say he was very joyful and happy, considering the circumstances. That he had enough optimism for the whole world and was very child-like and innocent.
Perhaps he could have been, but that's just what he allowed them to think. That he was happy because he didn't want them to worry. He would feel selfish otherwise; maybe before they hadn't believed him, asking time and time again if he was really alright. But he would just nod and slap on a naïve grin on his face and they would leave him alone.
He really hated pity. He hated the looks they gave him of sympathy. It made him feel weaker than he already was. He knew he was weak, he knew he was sensitive and a mistake. An accident, he was one big accident. His tormentors would rather die than let him forget.
His was an actor. Inside, he was depressed and sad. Deep inside, he would not smile. He had lost hope for a happily ever after a long time ago. He felt he was useless and worthless, just something people would use and throw away. Though his friends would try and convince him otherwise, but he knew that they were lying. They probably were just trying to make him feel better. He wasn't good for anything.
Maybe, someone would say, he needed… what was that again?
Oh yes, perhaps someone would say he needed a miracle.
And sometimes miracles come in strange, clown faced packages.
...
The first time Tavros saw the tall, strange, boy was when he was sitting, slumped over in the old leather seats of his dad's car, staring distantly out the dusty window and watching the rain drops race down the glass. His finger traced crude drawing on the foggy window, Tavros knew his dad hated it when he did that because it left an imprint, but he liked to do it anyways. Besides, his dad had been taking a long time, much longer than needed to go and get some milk from the grocery store. He on the other hand had decided to stay in the car, because he didn't want to get stared at again. It always happened and he hated it.
While Tavros was gazing out the window, his amber eyes wandered towards an alleyway between the grocery store and a hair salon. And then he saw him standing there, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway. The other man had long messy dark hair that went down past his chin and curtained his eyes, long sagging dark purple polka-dot pajama pants and was being swallowed up in a dark black shirt that seemed two sizes too big for his thin lanky frame. Clown makeup masked his face, painted ghost white except for the dark circles around his eyes and lips. Tavros could see some of the other boy's eyes, which had adopted a distant expression and seemed a blue violet color. His lips were curled into a lackadaisical smile, and Tavros decided he was probably the oddest person you had ever seen in his life.
But… also the most interesting.
The boy took a long drag of his cigarette, smoke snaking into the crisp autumn air. The boy sluggishly turned his head, leaning it against the wall. His mouth gaped open a little, not seeming totally here. But then he caught sight of Tavros staring, and his mouth stretched into a catlike grin, eyes suddenly becoming alert, the violet color deepening. He stared at Tavros with a strange look in his eye. Tavros blushed, his face burning from being caught. He took note that it wasn't like the other stares he received, the pitiful or judgmental stares. It was a kinder stare. They kind of just stayed that way for some minutes, just staring; until the man adopted the distant expression again and gave a wink.
Tavros's face reddened even more; and he turned away shyly. He could still feel the other man's gaze burning in the back of his head. He ran a hand through his messy chocolate brown Mohawk. He sighed and rested his head on his hands.
The door opened and slammed shut, awakening his from his thoughts. His dad sighed, a sad look in his eye. But this was usual for his dad. He never seemed to look happy to Tavros. Turning towards his son, he sent a tired smile and revved the engine.
Tavros risked a last glance at the stranger, to see him staring right back.
...
His motherfucking name was Gamzee. He hid behind a real mask. Clown makeup that had grown into a second skin, he felt vulnerable without it. He hid behind a dopey smile and lidded, distant eyes. Behind his odd honks and too often laughs; he acted happy, careless. He even hid from himself.
Instead of dreaming about a better ending, he acted it. Drugs were his escape; he pretended he wasn't who he really was- inside burned a deep hatred for everything that walked the planet, and a stabbing sadness that he wasn't ever going to be anything. He acted like he really was the happy-go-lucky motherfucker who replaced him under the influence of marijuana, because he liked not knowing anything, he liked being amazed by the stupidest things, he liked being the ignorant, stupid, rash person people thought he was. But in reality, he was a monster. He was a pest, an annoyance, obnoxious, he got in the way, he dragged people down, and he clung to them and didn't let them get back up. Like with Karkat, his "best friend". He was sure that he hated him secretly. It sure seemed like it, with his constant insults. In a stoned stupor he didn't care, but the words haunted him when he ran out of his stash.
Why was he even alive.
He needed a reason.
No-
He needed a miracle.
...
The cold waves lapped at his bare toes, despite the crisp temperatures all he wore was a thin hoodie and his long polka dot pajama pants. His clothes hung loose on his lanky frame, pale arms hosting goose bumps and the frustration and depression drawing his thin lips into a straight, apathetic line. The cold wrapped around him like a blanket as he sat stiffly on the craggy beach, staring blankly into the sky. The sun spilled warm, vibrant hues of oranges, yellows, reds and indigos into the calm waves, reflecting the sunset into the waters. Maybe on other days he would have thought it beautiful, maybe even miraculous. But today he kept staring into the distance, waiting, watching.
Waiting for something that wouldn't come, watching for something that would never be seen; this wasn't the first time he had done this. Sometimes he stayed out until his body ached from being in the same position pressed against the rough boulders sitting on the shore, frozen in place both literally and figuratively, desperate indigo eyes darting around the dark horizon, wondering why he hadn't come home. He would sit there until his short, angry neighbor slash reluctant best friend would run out onto the beach and drag him away, muttering obscenities and telling him how idiotic it was to wait in the cold, and especially out so late, with a genuine look of worry on his face. He would take him home and shove a hot drink in his hand and sit him in front of the fire place, and when the situation finally hit the sad boy, he would cry until his tears ran dry and his best friend would sigh and comfort him and tell him it would be alright. Those were the only time his friend really seemed to care about him. Sometimes he felt he was just an annoyance, like he was the gum stuck to everyone's shoe. Maybe even is dad's.
Maybe that's why he never came home.
He was a disappointment, everything you'd never want in a kid wrapped into a stupidly wrapped package. His dad was ashamed of him. When he left for work on that ferry, he sometimes didn't return. When he did, it was late at night when he though his son was asleep and not waiting in a pile of blankets, waiting to hear his dad come home. And he would leave early in the morning, before the sun had even come up, so he wouldn't have to face the disappointment he had made.
A tear slid down his slim face, he would never amount to anything.
Usually he drowned his sorrows in drugs, to pretend life was a wonderful thing full of miracles, faking euphoria to try and bury his problems, shrugging on a dopey smile and lidded, carless eyes to act as if he didn't have a care in the world. The façade fooled all but his reluctant best friend. They all thought of him some useless waste of space without feelings or a brain. But when he got sober, he grew tired and depressed, and at the most desperate cases, angry.
Incredibly angry.
Angry at the world, angry at his father, angry at his classmates, angry at his life, angry at himself; he would destroy anything in sight, going as far as hurting others until his angry best friend would calm him down and drag him away.
He didn't like being angry.
It just… happened.
His buried his face in his pale hands, clown makeup smearing onto his fingers. He was such a motherfucking fuck up.
His father wasn't coming home.
He would wait here on the wet sand until it went dark.
And nothing would have come from it.
Then, he remembered the boy.
He wasn't sure where the picture came from, of the adorable little motherfucker he had seen sitting in the shotgun seat of an old pickup truck, staring dreamily out the window with a tired smile on his tan face. With the large, amber moon eyes and the shaggy brown Mohawk. Whose face turned a nice shade of red when he was caught staring at yours truly. But Gamzee was used to the stares he got from strangers. Most were judgmental; disgusted even, when they took in his bedraggled appearance with his clown makeup and messy, wild curls that fell down his head, his stupid smile. But this boy had seemed, curious, for lack of a better term.
It almost made him smile.
Hrgh ;u; I don't even know if I got the characters right but I just needed to write this it's been dragging down on me for a while now… so I hope they aren't to OC and that you liked it.
