that's me in the corner
"He what?"
Thank God most people in homeroom were pretty loud before class started. Phillip was surprised at his own outburst, almost clamping a hand over his mouth, but what he was hearing sounded… frankly unbelievable. It made about as much sense to Terrance as it did to Phillip, judging from his confused face. No wonder Phillip hadn't heard from his best friend last night.
"I'm telling you – Eric cornered me in front of my house, asked me who I was –" Terrance glanced around before lowering his voice, not that it was necessary. " – who I was gay for –"
"What."
"Yeah, he's woefully unaware of how being gay works, which is unsurprising… well he asked me that, and then managed to manipulate me into coming out to him, and then asked me why I look at him during biology."
"…what the fuck?" Phillip said. No matter how many times Terrance repeated the story, it just seemed so weird. Phillip had the benefit of seeing Eric Cartman in action as a child, and the kid was a complete sociopath. There was that time that he killed his own stuffed animals in a schizophrenic rage without knowing what his other personality was even doing. Or the time he got Sarah Jessica Parker killed. Or the time he managed to master Fire-Bending, something that no one had ever figured out or wanted to even delve further into. There was some sort of plan in place, and Phillip, frankly, was worried.
Terrance nodded. "I tried to go over there last night to just… kind of yell at him, but it… didn't quite work."
"What'd he do?"
"He wasn't home."
"Oh."
"Yeah." Terrance pulled on his dark red sweater, glancing around awkwardly. Bebe was definitely being much louder in talking to Red and Wendy than he was about his life crisis, but Phillip supposed he felt the need to be secretive. It must be hard, he reasoned, being closeted for years and then all of a sudden, you were out to two people without really intending to be out. Phillip put a hand on Terrance's, smiling at him.
"Look. If he tries anything, I will kick his ass," Phillip informed Terrance. "I'll kick it so hard that he'll have a bootprint on it, and it'll scar over, and whatever poor unfortunate prostitute he ends up marrying will always be like, 'what's up with that boot on your ass?' and he'll be all 'shut up bitch' but in reality he will rue it." Terrance stared at him blankly. "I'm working on my English, too."
"That was a fucking run-on sentence. Try harder," Terrance joked. He smirked, glancing at his hand beneath Phillip's, his face suddenly sinking. Phillip blinked.
"What's wrong?"
"…what if he tells people? What if he is trying to…?"
"I will still kick his ass," Phillip informed Terrance. "If he ever hurts you, he's going down."
"He's way bigger than you, Phillip. He'd probably kill you."
"Then I will die knowing that he'll get life in prison for it."
Terrance shook his head, smirking and laughing slightly, turning his hand over to give Phillip's a tight squeeze. Phillip felt a smile grow on his face. He was glad that he could be around for Terrance. Sometimes it seemed like there were weights on him that he would never understand, but at least he was helping, in his ignorance.
"I'm definitely going to yell at him today," Terrance told Phillip, "and I will inform you if you need to get out your boots."
Phillip nodded, smiling back at him. "You better, guy."
.
Stan Marsh knew that he shouldn't be doing this. He knew that people always began to ask questions about him and his state of mind whenever he visited the foursome that held court behind the 7-11 a block from the high school, but damn it, they gave the best advice, albeit backhandedly and with plenty of sneering. They were smart, the Goth kids. Even though everyone, from Kyle to his lovely girlfriend Wendy to his teachers and counselors, disapproved of it, Stan couldn't go to anyone else.
That was the biggest problem people observed when they heard Stan Marsh was talking to the Goths, Stan supposed. They didn't understand that the Goth kids were incredibly intelligent, and had insight that no one else at the school could possibly have. Those were the perks of being an outsider. But people worried about Stan entering that world, for whatever reason. As if you could only stay in one place, stay static, because even a minor flirtation with someone different could lead to your entire outlook on life being irreversibly damaged. Right. Stan knew Wendy would get on him again for this, possibly even get into another fight with him, and that none of his super best friends would even remotely understand. As far as this particular issue was concerned, Stan's attempts to clue Kenny in to his worries were useless, and Stan wasn't going to go to Kyle. Kyle was already infuriated about it. And besides… Stan was worried about something slightly different from Kyle.
Wandering into the desolate area, Stan's blue drainpipe jeans and red flannel shirt stood out immediately compared to the area's other occupants. Four pairs of eyes drifted over to him, staring at him through wafting cigarette smoke, blowing in the icy wind around them. Stan stifled the urge to cough and waved at them. "Hey."
A heavy-set female with heavily lidded blue eyes and pale skin rolled her eyes at the greeting, sitting delicately with her legs folded underneath her and her black ruffled skirt flowing on the concrete around her. "What a conformist greeting, Raven."
"She's right, you know," a tinier teenager said. He was skinny as a twig, could probably give Terrance a run for his money, and accentuated it by wearing tight black drainpipe jeans and a fitted dark shirt. His hair fell into his face, accentuating how mature he looked, despite his voice still retaining a childish pitch. "Why not just sit down and complain about your simple problems as always?"
"Calm down, guys," another teen with red highlights in his hair admonished, lighting up another cigarette immediately after stamping one out with his Cuban heels. "Maybe he has a less simple problem for us."
The last goth kid, a tall boy with curly black hair tumbling into his eyes, said nothing, keeping his gray eyes trained on Stan as he continued to smoke. Stan put his hands in his pockets. Yep. They would give him good advice, but they sure as hell weren't going to do it willingly.
"I do have a problem," Stan admitted.
"I'm not shocked," the smallest goth said.
"Georgie," the lone female cautioned ominously. Georgie frowned visibly at her, licking his lips irritably, before turning back to Stan.
"It's got nothing to do with me, actually," Stan admitted, "but I'm wondering if I should get involved."
"What insignificant problem has the school-kids all atwitter?" the red-headed goth asked, his voice more even-keel than the other three who had spoken. Stan appreciated the lightness he took – compared to the other three, the red-head, Dylan, was much easier to deal with, and seemed genuinely concerned with Stan's well-being… if no one else's. The curly-haired goth glanced at Dylan quickly before taking another drag of his cigarette; all four of the goths were now staring at Stan as he sat down in front of them, on the cold concrete. A chill immediately rattled up Stan's spine, but he tried not to show it.
"Did you hear about Bebe Stevens' party?" Stan asked.
"Who?" the curly-haired goth asked, his voice rougher and lower than the others'.
"The blonde girl," Georgie reminded him with an audible note of disdain.
"With the tits," the woman helpfully offered.
"That's specific, thanks guys." The curly-haired goth rolled his eyes.
"Head cheerleader, Adam," Dylan said.
"…oh." He stamped out his cigarette. "She had a party, okay."
"Yeah," Stan agreed, taking the floor back as soon as he could. If he let the goths keep talking, they would probably get fixated on how conformist cheerleading, parties, and/or tits were. It didn't bother Stan too much, but he had a lot to get off of his chest, a lot of what the goths would call insignificant worries of someone brainwashed by the masses. The scent of smoke was starting to get to him a bit, though. Wasn't gonna lie. "And at that party, a friend of mine kissed another friend of mine."
"…and?" Georgie asked after Stan took an ill-advised thoughtful pause. "Haven't you kissed your girlfriend, Marsh?"
"I was trying to figure out what to say!" Stan protested, a bit miffed at the attack on his manhood.
"Ignore him," the woman said.
"Henrietta -!"
"You were saying, Marsh," Henrietta continued, ignoring Georgie's wide-eyed protestation. Georgie, in response, glared at Stan, eyeliner-rimmed eyes looking particularly fearsome. Stan swallowed a bit of fear before continuing.
"They're both guys," Stan said, ignoring Georgie's twitching frown, "but one of them's lied about being gay before, and the other guy… I just worry about him in general, he's kind of socially awkward. Great guy, but awkward as fuck." Stan sighed. "But now I'm starting to worry about the other guy, too. I mean, what if he wasn't lying and we just assumed he was because he's an ass?"
Georgie's eyes were practically slits. "…what are you even asking, Marsh?"
Stan frowned at him. He and Georgie were probably on the worst terms, but Stan could never figure out why. It was like Georgie envied something about Stan, and was responding in the most petulant manner possible… but Stan figured he was reading too much into it. Georgie was probably the only one who legitimately hated him and thought his problems were stupid. The others might decry conformity and the traditional high school experience, but Stan gave them a connection to something they, maybe not as long ago as they pretended, wanted. Georgie, for whatever reason, didn't want that connection.
"It's dividing my friends, I can tell. Well… dividing them worse." Stan could see Adam light another cigarette from the corner of his eye. "And I think that maybe we've got it all wrong, that we should just… but if he is lying, then things could end very badly… but if he's not…" Stan trailed off. He couldn't quite verbalize the worry clawing at him – that no matter what course of action he took regarding whatever Eric was doing, it would end in disaster. Stan just didn't know how to handle Eric anymore. He feared the teen, loathed him… but liked him well enough, and wanted to believe that he really had been telling the truth about his sexuality. But Butters leaving their group shortly afterwards, the fact that it never got brought up again – that made him worry, too. The contradictions made him sick to his stomach with worry.
Henrietta, holding a long cigarette holder between her tapered fingers, frowned a bit. "You want to make the right decision but don't know what that is."
"Exactly."
"Sounds like you only know the liar," Henrietta noted.
"The other kid could be just as bad. It could be the exact opposite of what you say," Dylan offered. "Or they could both be secretly evil."
"Or they could not want any interference from some preppy poseur," Georgie offered in a low voice.
"That doesn't help," Stan admitted, pulling his arms around his legs.
Adam took the cigarette from his mouth, looking at Stan for a few seconds. "Look. Is there anything you can really do about the situation without causing more problems?"
Stan thought for a second. "…probably not."
"Then stay out of it. Most of your conformist problems would go away if you didn't feel the compulsion to stick your nose in things," Adam chided.
Stan knew that Adam had a point. Adam always had the point. It was like he had the world pegged, and just needed to sit there and listen to a problem spin its wheels for a bit before hitting on what would make everything better. It was why Stan liked visiting his house down the street, because the guy just knew things. Stan sat still for a second before nodding.
"…that sounds right," Stan noted.
"Of course it is," Georgie said with an irritable sigh. "Are you ever going to leave?"
Stan stood up, nodding to them, his own subtle thank-you, before heeding Georgie's words. Being shanked wasn't high on his priorities list.
.
Biology would've been the perfect time to psych out Eric, but Tweek had to go and have a major freak-out over getting blue dye on his shirt and then assume he would become a target for the underpants gnomes. Everyone's attention was successfully diverted, Wendy began to speak to him about how worried she was that Tweek wasn't getting psychiatric care, and that whole period became a bust. By now, Terrance was practically jittery. He didn't relish the task, and had a feeling that, for the momentary pleasure it would give him to freak Eric out, by week's end it would become an all-out war.
Terrance found himself in the library during free period, looking for an interesting book. He'd just finished a large book of interviews with comedians, and wanted something out of that vein. Inspecting the true crime section of the school library, his eyes trailed over lurid titles, a good number of which he'd already read. The librarian was beginning to suspect he was insane, but when you lived in South Park, the problems of real people in normal towns were almost soothing in comparison. His eyes fell onto a rather large book he hadn't read before, one about murder at the World's Fair some hundred-odd years ago.
"It's well-written."
Jesus. Just when he thought he'd get some peace and quiet, Eric had to – Eric? Terrance turned to look at him, hair falling in his face a bit.
"…yeah?" Terrance asked incredulously. Eric was shelving books in the unit behind him, talking to him through thin slivers of light between rows of novels. Terrance didn't realize he volunteered in the library, despite being here all the time.
"Better than the other one you read last week about the Manson killings."
…okay, that went beyond weird. "You know what books I check out?"
"Yeah." Eric was not being very helpful with his explanations, re-shelving 'Go Ask Alice' without much thought. "You're here all the time."
"I never see you here."
"You're unobservant outside of biology, apparently."
How nice of Eric to bring up that topic in the middle of a crowded library where all Terrance could do was whisper. What a jerk. Albeit a jerk whose efforts to put books on the top shelf were making his pants slide down… oh for fuck's sake, focus, Terrance. He went back to looking at his true crime novels…
…until he realized that he might be able to inflict more confusion this way. Eric Cartman was destroying his week, and Terrance wanted some sort of revenge for it, petty as that sounded. He hated getting walked all over, and though he would usually slink into the shadows, now was not one of those times. Eric could out him, or beat him, or whatever, but Terrance was going to go out in a blaze of… glory was the wrong word, but something like that.
"You want to know why I was staring at you?" Terrance asked as nonchalantly as possible.
"Why not," Eric responded, just as blasé. Terrance was pointedly not looking at him, pulling out a book on the crimes of FDLS prophet Warren Jeffs.
"Because you're hot."
Terrance continued getting his book like nothing was happening, but was aware of the crushing silence from behind him. A smile worked its way onto his face, glancing at the back cover of the new book as if it was the most thrilling thing he'd ever read in his life. In reality, he was just trying to imagine what the look on Eric's face was. Stunned, probably. Maybe he was red in the face. Flustered. Served the guy right. Probably confirm all of his stupid stereotypes – the gay kid likes all the straight guys, doesn't he? Point to Stoot.
"…are you seriously?" Eric finally said.
Terrance felt his smile grow wider and a little more wicked. "I'm seriously." Yes, the eventual book to the back of the head would be painful, but the tremble in Eric's voice was just so funny. God forbid anyone not female show an interest! Terrance was so close to bursting out laughing, imagining just how contorted in anger Eric's face would get – if only he had his video cam –
A pair of arms wrapped around Terrance's waist tightly, and a serious, harsh whisper began echoing in his ear. "You better not be joking right now, Stoot, I swear to fucking God."
Terrance's smile disappeared immediately. On one hand, Eric's arms were fairly sturdy, strong, warm. He wasn't trying to crush his ribcage or anything… he was just holding him. The thought brought a bit of a blush to Terrance's face. …but Eric could very easily crush him like this, if he got angrier. His aroused blush mingled with a terrified one.
"…I'm not," Terrance finally managed to say, getting through his surprise, his voice very quiet. "Your personality is vile, but you're attractive. Why are you -?"
"Well, you have the personality of a rock, but you're pretty," was Eric's snippy response.
Terrance didn't think it was possible to be more confused, but, evidently, it was. He finally glanced at Eric, who was just staring at him, leaning his head on the other teen's shoulder.
"…you call me slurs," Terrance responded, his voice trembling. Thankfully, he hadn't said anything particularly embarrassing, like 'Phillip's gonna kick your ass' or 'you smell really nice'.
"Well, you are a fag."
How nice of Eric to notice. Terrance was seriously beginning to question his safety, his hands sliding up to meet Eric's in an effort to pull them away.
"Like me," Eric finished.
The silence afterwards was deafening. Terrance glanced at him and couldn't help the strain of nervous, appalled laughter coming out of his mouth. It was a joke. Right? But Eric's face didn't suggest any kind of joking. Eric was just looking at him steadily, face blank. Unreadable.
Terrance couldn't take it anymore. He dropped his books onto one of the shelves, extricated himself from Eric's arms, and walked away as fast as he could, striding out of the library and running off to God knows where. He figured showing up to his last class would be pointless while he was in this mood.
So much for humiliating Eric. No one had gotten humiliated there. There was pre-library, and now there was post-library, and… and…
Eric was gay. That should've made everything clearer, Terrance realized as he ran down a staircase and past the administration building, into the parking lot, but… there was so much that didn't make sense. He thought that you were gay only when you liked a man? He didn't realize that fag was a slur? He thought Terrance was pretty? How could he be gay and act so completely homophobic and straight and do the things he was rumoured to do? Was this all just an act?
Terrance slid into his car and slammed his door closed harder than necessary. Moving to put his key in the ignition, he stopped, freezing for a second before leaning against the steering wheel and letting out a long, irritated growl. Getting beat up was something he could deal with. Indifference was something he could've dealt with, too.
Whatever this was, it was too much. Too, too much.
A/N: Sorry about the delays in posting chapters for this story! They just keep ballooning in size. –smirk- I'd like to thank my beta-reader, Lynx Traveller, for going over the past few chapters and really adding some substance to them, and I hope everyone is enjoying the story so far!
