- Pete -

He's probably the closest to Stan of all the goths, even if Stan doesn't really go to Benny's anymore. There was..., something in them that drew them together. A sort of, familiarity. As if they could unconsciously sense the darkness in each other. He didn't have..., deep conversations, or anything with him, but if he wasn't with the rest of his friends, he was with Stan.
He felt he could be honest around him, and Stan never offered any judgements, he would just drink and listen, or they would play video games together. Pete could ramble about his feelings to him, and while Stan never really offered advice either, he did suggest perhaps he could see a therapist to help sort out his feelings. Stan said it helped, before he took another drink straight from his bottle of Jack Daniels.

He thought about it, but as of yet, he still had yet to make that call.
Pete sat alone in his room, the room dark and quiet, except for the sound of the fan gently whirring, making his room gorgeously cold, just the way he liked it. As with so many of the others, since the news of her death broke, Pete's memories swam up, memories of Wendy. He had thought her like all the other Britney and Justins, just another lame conformist.

He and the rest of the goths sat in their typical spot, smoking and having coffee before school began. The only one missing was Firckle, as he was grades behind them, and was in middle school still. The three talked little, just the usual, bitching about being up so early to learn more conformist garbage.
Pete was somewhat quieter than usual though, only grunting and nodding in agreement, focused on the white snow that covered just about everything. He absently took a drag from his cigarette, letting the smoke slowly filter from his mouth rather than a direct exhale.

All too soon, it was time for them to get to their first class. The teen stood and stretched, grabbing and slinging his backpack on before trudging after Michael and Henrietta into the building.
It was just any other day, boring, annoying, that sort of thing. He sat behind none other than Wendy Testaburger in History. Boredly watching she and Kyle Broflovski competing to answer the questions first. He wasn't paying any attention, just staring blankly at her dark hair, mind elsewhere entirely when suddenly, he realized she was facing him and looking at him expectantly.

He almost jumped, but asked, "Ugh, what?"

If she was annoyed, she didn't show it, instead she repeated what she had said, "We have to work together for this worksheet, do you want the evens or odds?"

He glanced down at the sheet before him, before replying, "Odds I guess."

Satisfied, she turned back around and began working on her set. He knew the answers to the questions, flipping through his haphazard notes, he scrawled messily the answers and waited for her to turn back around.
Finally she did, turning her entire desk as most students had already done to work better with their paired person.
They went over the sheet together then, she double checked some of his answers but he knew/didn't care if hers were right.

She was staring at him again.
"What?" he snapped, grey eyes meeting grey eyes.

"Are you okay?" she had asked the question quietly, without judgement, no trace of pity or anything on her face.

He felt it start and he hurriedly stood and asked the teacher for a bathroom pass, rushing there to the boys room as tears welled and soon fell from his eyes, no doubt his eyeliner would smear if he rubbed his eyes. Thankfully, he was alone in the bathroom, given it was the middle-end of class. His face was flushed and while his eyeliner was currently fine, it would definitely smear and make him look like a racoon if he rubbed his eyes like he desperately wanted to, to rid the evidence.

He gripped the cool metal of the sink, taking deep breaths, his thoughts screaming, 'whywhywhywhyWHY', the question being, why had her simple question evoked such a reaction from him? On a level, he knew though, how could he not? His friends hadn't noticed, but she had. He heard the door to the bathroom be pushed open and he hurriedly grabbed a paper towel and shoved his face into it, giving the impression he was drying it.

"Pete?" it was her, come to look for him, for some unknown reason.

"You shouldn't be in here," he said thickly, turning so his back was to her, actually using the paper towel now to scrub the tear tracks away.

"You're not alone, you know." Was all she said, he didn't turn, but didn't hear her leave for what felt like many long minutes, but then he heard her turn and exit the bathroom.

He gathered himself and went back to class, when he returned Wendy's desk was turned the right way and she didn't try to talk to him any more that day.

He had thought endlessly about that day, he didn't tell the other goths about it, but he did, eventually, tell Stan. When they were kids. Back then, Stan had laughed and said she was a bleeding heart, always championing some cause.
He asked him if he remembered that day, when they were adults, and he replied that he had. It was after her death, that he had asked. Stan said, that maybe, that was the first sign that none of them ever saw. He was torn by guilt, but if he was guilty then so were the others, he couldn't have been the only one to see that side of her. At least, he wanted to believe that. He didn't know if he could stomach the fact that maybe, maybe he was the only one that had been spoken to like that. He wanted to believe it was highly unlikely, but guilt and doubt are powerful.

He was going to the first meeting tonight. They were meeting at Tweek Bros. He was nervous. Though he had interacted with the group chat, he didn't really know any of them aside from Stan. He was incredibly self-conscious anyway, but a host of new people? Where they might talk about serious, emotional things? He was terrified to go. But he went, dressed simply in his black long sleeved button up shirt and black jeans that he tightened with an equally black belt. He stuffed his feet into his purple shoes and grabbed his black hoodie, shrugging it on as he left the house for Tweek Bros.

Still fighting nerves as he got there, he wandered to the back where he could see Stan sitting with his trademark poofball hat. There was no room next to Stan however, but another guy, who could be a goth in his own right, moved and allowed Pete to sit next to him. Anxiously, Pete sat with them, his fingers tapping.

The guy beside him, Butters, he finally remembered from the picture in the group chat, engaged him in conversation. He offered to get everyone a coffee, to help alleviate the unease and because he just felt more comfortable when he had coffee.

All too soon, it was time to go to Butters', he was walking there with the taller goth-dressed man and Stan. He fidgeted anxiously as they piled out of the booth and Butters led the way.