[Pete]
It was past midnight. Pete was wandering the mostly empty streets of downtown South Park, camera in one hand, he hadn't taken many photos.
He was wandering aimlessly, earbuds louder than strictly necessary, but not so loud that he couldn't hear the sound of the crickets and occasional owl. He didn't expect trouble, but it was South Park.
Eventually, he came to a stop and lifted his camera, leaning back, he pointed the camera up, fiddling with the settings until the moon was clear, he snapped one, then more fiddling and the moon was blurry but the stars and purple sky were clear as crystal, he snapped another. He lowered the camera and continued his slow walk, he had too many of the moon and stars, but those were his favorite subjects.
He continued his slow walk, eventually wandering into the road, after checking that there were no headlights in the distance. He crouched and aimed his camera just ahead of him, angled towards the road, he snapped a shot and then returned to the sidewalk. Still, no particular destination in mind.
As with most walks in South Park, he found himself at Stark's Pond. It was deserted of course. He stood at the water's edge, just gazing out for a few moments before he raised his camera again, snapping a photo of the pond, moon, and stars. He crouched, and took another, this one angled more towards the sky, with the pond in the foreground.
He laid on his back, head inches from the edge of the pond, pointing the camera up at the sky, a perfect shot of the stars, the moon just barely in the edge of the photo. He rolled over into a sitting position, taking one of the sole bench that overlooked the water.
Finally, he stood and began the walk back to the house he shared with the others, except for Stan, who lived by himself.
He and the other goths had gone in on a house together, splitting everything four ways. They even had a large, finished basement. He worked nights, as did Firkle, while Michael commonly worked second unless he got lucky and got a third shift at the gas station he worked at. Henrietta had a day shift job, she worked with Butters and Bebe, splitting her time between whoever needed her skills. Firkle, like himself, worked stocking shelves. It wasn't exciting, but nothing in South Park was.
The house was silent when Pete let himself in.
Quietly, he closed and relocked the door. He wandered to the kitchen by memory, all the lights off. He turned his music down and used the flashlight on his phone to make sure he wouldn't trip on anything. He retrieved a Dr. Pepper from the fridge and then retreated to his room.
Once seated at his desk, he quietly opened his soda and plugged his camera into his laptop.
He transferred the photos from the camera to his laptop before scrolling through them, making a few copies of each, before choosing the copies and adding filters and light edits.
A while later he was staring at the edited version of the first picture he had taken. He had put a purple filter over it, it looked ethereal. Strange to think that the entire world saw the same moon. The moon and the stars were indifferent to them. Just like most people were indifferent to those things.
He made another copy of the image and fiddled with it, usually, Bebe would edit the words over his pictures, but he'd found a free program to work with that had plenty of options.
Atop the moon, in white, gothic styled lettering, he angled the word "indifferent" diagonally, shifting the word down just beneath the curve so the edge of the word was at the edge of the photo. He scheduled the photo to post later that day, signed as usual by his tag.
He made another copy of the one of the road, stylized in monochrome, atop it he wrote horizontally, 'The same road, but different paths'. Also in gothic script and in a deep red this time, he scheduled that one to post the following day.
He tossed his empty soda can in the trash can beneath his desk before pushing away from the desk for now, his laptop still opened to the various photos and their edits. He wandered down the hall to the bathroom, leaving his bedroom door cracked. He washed his hands and scrubbed them through his red and black hair, the usual fringe falling into his eyes. He regarded himself in the mirror a moment, gray eyes tired, he turned away quickly though and wandered back to his room, stopping short upon seeing Michael standing in the doorway to his room.
"Hey," he said softly, so as not to wake anyone.
Michael turned around, looking sheepish, as if he'd been caught doing something. "Hey man, you're up late."
"You know this is my usual schedule," Pete scoffed, he winced internally, that had come out harsher than he intended.
If Michael was upset with Pete's tone, he didn't show it, instead he neutrally asked, "What're you up to?"
"Just working on some stuff," Pete mumbled, unsure why he wasn't sharing his work with Bebe and the others.
Sure, as kids they had judged the emo kids, but they were adults now, Henrietta even worked as a social worker.
Michael didn't press, he never did, instead he ran a hand through his curly pompadour and smiled tiredly at his friend, "Cool. You know you can always talk to us, right?"
Did they know?
His face colored and he looked away.
Michael stood there a moment longer before waving, and saying, "Well I'm gonna go have a shower and go to bed. We're trying to find a day we all have off, so we can spend a night at Benny's. Ask Stan for me will you? Since you two are on the same shifts, figure you're more likely to get a response."
Pete returned to his room, shutting the door softly, Michael's footsteps receding.
Why wasn't he sharing this with his friends? Stan was his best friend, sure, but the others had been there before him. Nothing would have a chance of getting better if he wasn't honest with his friends, with all of his friends. He slumped in his chair, scrubbing his hands through his hair before exhaling and sitting back in the chair, gazing at the ceiling.
He should talk to them. They had a right to know. As alone as they all were, he still had his friends. All of them.
Grabbing his phone from his desk, he sent Stan a text before going back to edit the other photos.
He sent the edits and the unedited ones he particularly liked to the group chat, so others could edit them and they would eventually get posted.
He gazed at nothing, sitting in his chair, waiting for a response from Stan but also just existing.
His friends..., he wasn't as alone as it seemed. Even if..., even if he was alone, his friends were there. Wendy may have noticed..., and he blew her off, but the others who had also been affected..., his other friends..., he couldn't be afraid to reach out to them. As much as he wanted to die, and some days, that was just out of sight..., he didn't want to leave his friends like Wendy had left him and the others.
Tears came unbidden, he let them fall, still staring off at nothing in particular.
His phone buzzed and he groped for it, finally finding it and bringing the too bright screen up to his face, eyes slowly focusing on the illuminated screen. He read Stan's text and sent a reply, also sending one to the goth group chat, proposing a day based off his and Stan's days, who knew, maybe it would be a good day for them all and they could have a much needed night together. Maybe they could all have real conversations. Not that they didn't normally, but real, emotionally charged ones. He'd never been that level of honest with any of them except Stan. But they were his best friends. He owed them honesty.
He sighed and sent Stan another text, asking if he wanted to sit in an Xbox party and play something, together or separately, he didn't care. He left his phone on his desk as he went to grab another soda. Michael had gone to bed, the house was quiet, and it was too early in the morning for Henrietta to be awake. Firkle must have been in his room or maybe he was out with Fillmore or Ike. He idly wondered if Firkle had finally admitted his feelings to Ike, but shrugged away the thought, it wasn't his business.
Returning to his room, he snatched his phone from the desk and turned off his laptop, finding his controller where he'd left it, he turned it and the tv on, settling on his bed to play something.
As the console booted up, he read his text from Stan, which was short, saying he would be on in a few minutes, he had to untangle his earbuds. Pete started a party and looked for a game to sit on. Maybe Skyrim.
Soon, Stan joined the party and they chatted and played separate games for a few hours before Pete told his friend good night. He set the xbox to Hulu and laid back. He found his charging cord and plugged his phone in before rolling over and closing his eyes. He felt..., okay.