Love Every Minute of It

Whil-o-whisp

Fandom: Goths, South Park RedGothxCurlyGoth

Word Count: 416

A/n: I'm sorry... I can't write Nickalus nearly as well as I write Red. I'm sorry...

tomorrow Comes Today.


God damnit if he flicks that fucking hair one more fucking time I'm gonna do something drastic. I'm nervous. That's all. No need to go slasher film on Red's hair. Gorgeous hair. I don't ever remember him having plain hair, always half dyed and feathered. I haven't known him long I guess. Five years out of his seventeen possible. Not even a third.

What was a third of seventeen? Lucas would probably know. He knew a lot.

God damn fucking shit. There he goes again, flipping that fringe, eyes scanning the page and lips half open, cigarette half way there. He seemed enthralled. That was a good sign. He was interested in the words splayed out on the black page.

I only bought black paper nowadays. It was as close to a fad as I got. I still had my black notebook, but it's been full for years. Seemingly a millennia. He started to turn towards his coffee, half cold, half full, all black. His eyes, locked on the page, finally pulled away, taking a sip of the bitter black liquid. "Well?" Red looked up, surprised.

"'S good." He slurred, taking a drag off the cigarette. That was Red for 'I'm still reading'. Bull fucking shit, he read slow. What was he, five? Fuck this is painful. I hate waiting for this. This place stinks of old people, bad coffee and cigarettes. The second two don't bother me as much as the first one. Red was being slow on purpose, I'm sure of it. Finally Red pushed the stack of paper back over to me, leaning back to exhale smoke towards the ventilation ducts.

I waited and he nearly smiled, snorting. "I love it. They'll love it. Stop worrying. Gawd." He scoffed, voice still too deep and nasally, and still with a touch of valley, and growing husky with cigarettes, and still quite beautiful. "You're biased." I pointed out and he shrugged, not denying it. "And yet you keep asking." I do indeed. Even if he's biased, he always tells the truth.

"Asshole." I mutter, leaning forward and pushing his cigarette to the side before he can blow the smoke away. Red's not surprised. I'm not surprised, but still, its nice to actually attempt the Barbie love they talk about. It's not perfect. It's not lovely. It's not nice. It's Gothic. Its cigarettes. It's vodka on special occasions. It's sometimes painful. It's us.

And we love every minute of it.


A/n: Review, even if I really REALLy think this sucks. but whatever