1This is a speedrent entry. The prompt was that someone is called something bad that they never had been called before.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT

First-Timer

By Donna

It's pretty simple that you don't mess with someone like that of Tom Collins. Personality-wise, he is the equivalent of a kitten, but his body is more like that of a tiger. He's tall, muscular, and could, if he wanted to, kill you. Let's be honest. He could, could being the key word, strangle you and kill you. But, because Collins is simply not that kind of person, he wouldn't do it.

Sure, he was African-American, and admittedly unsure of his sexuality, but after surrounding himself with the likes of Mark Cohen, Roger Davis, and their friends and lovers, he didn't see any issues in it. No one noticed or cared that Collins didn't go out with girls, and didn't really look at people romantically. He'd much rather tinker with electronics, or read a used copy of The Hobbit for the hundredth time. As far as his friends were concerned, he was happy and they should be happy for him.

Then Collins did fall in love. With someone that no one expected him to meet.

Enter Angel Dumott-Schunard. Visually, he was the opposite of Collins. Slim build, rather small in height, and was much better at running when he put his mind to it. But he was also experienced in abuse by peers and outsiders that just didn't see eye-to-eye with him. In his almost twenty years of existence he was used to the name-calling that ranged from just "Girl-Boy" to "Faggot." As far as he was concerned, it was a part of him. They were right. He was a boy, dressing like a girl. Hence, girl-boy. He was gay. He wasn't denying it. There was no reason why he should be ashamed of the lifestyle he freely accepted. So he proudly held his head up high and allowed the girl part of him take over at times and just be happy. Be Angel.

Collins, once taken out of his computer bubble, wasn't sure what was going to happen. Whether it was holding Angel, kissing Angel, or any form of contact with Angel, he was nervous. He couldn't be treated roughly like Roger or Mark, because, as far as Collins was concerned, Angel was his lover, a queen. Royalty. To Collins, Angel was something that the world was simply missing out on.

The world, on the other hand, did not agree. Public outings were difficult for the couple from the start. In the dead of winter, homeless people's eyes would turn to slits at the sight of them. This is supposed to be hard times. People shouldn't be in love. Of any kind.

The abuse that came with loving Angel came early. About a day after they officially proclaimed their love came the beginning of the abuse, and Collins first experience being meshed with the "gay community."

It was the day after Christmas. Decorations were hanging yet and the songs of Santa Clause and snowfall were still playing. They were still aching a little from their party the night before. Dancing on tables, singing, laughing, and drinking... it was almost too much for them. But they refused to miss out on the world happening before them, their arms wrapped around each other, trying to share the cozy leather jacket that Angel insisted on buying. They laughed and talked, big grins on their faces like the elaborate ribbons on the displays still up. They had only known each other for forty-eight hours, but it felt so right to trust each other.

They continued to walk, one step at a time, clunk, slip, clunk, slip, Angel's heels unable to be silenced.

They walked to the park, snow on the ground. Some people were there as well, taking in the images of a New York Winter.

Then, it happened.

"Faggots!" a man with a worn, grey, hat screamed, shaking his fist. "Get the hell outta here! My kids are watching!"

At first, Collins didn't even think it was them being referred to. He looked At Angel and realized that it was indeed them. Angel's smile flipped into a frown and in an act of desperation, attempted to hide behind Collins. Collins held Angel close and began to think to himself, "Wait... we're not... oh." And he remembered. They were "the gay couple." They weren't "normal." And they did equate to "faggots."

Collins saw the man still staring them down and he had to think for a moment. "What could he do about it? Did he ignore it? Did he fight back? Maybe if the guy came back..."

"You heard me! Get outta here!"

Angel whispered, "Collins... come on... let's go..."

"No," Collins said, looking up at the man. "Hey! We're not make-believe, you know! You can't make us go away!"

The man growled. Collins knew that if he didn't have kids with him, he would have attacked both him and Angel and he'd have to fight back. But he didn't. The man disappeared, his eyes still as hot as coals against them.

"A-are you okay?" Angel asked.

"Yeah... are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm used to it... you're... you're not."

"Nope."

Angel hugged him, and smiled again. "Good job for a first-timer."

END