Disclaimer: South Park and all characters in it are copyright Matt Stone and Trey Parker, not me.

A/N:

If I can get 4 reviews for this chapter, that would be so awesome. Currently I have 1 for chapter 1, 2 for chapter 2, and 3 for chapter 3.

It may just be me being silly. It also may just be the NyQuil talking.

If there are any grammatical or spelling errors, please let me know. I wrote this while being sick with a head cold and on NyQuil, so there may be errors.

Food for thought:

Sometimes, what we think of ourselves and what others think of us matches. Sometimes, it's quite different. People may think we are a certain way, and act a certain way, while we think quite differently about ourselves. If we're able to think the way others think about us, we might be able to understand their actions, and be able to foresee other actions. The problem comes when we aren't able to know how others think about us. What's worse is when the way someone thinks about us becomes the only way they can think of us, and it becomes so unshakeable that faced with evidence against it, they will still maintain that their view of us is the correct one.

Thank you to:

Hot Monkey Brain

Lilzenium

Wishmaster Kami


Title: Pink

Author: Zoshi the Confused
Rating: Ranging, mostly PG-PG13

Category: South Park

Genre: Angst/eventual tragedy

May contain: Shounen-Ai/Boy Love, Violence, Adult Situations, Swearing


I laughed and shook my head, slamming the car's door closed. I'd barely gotten a foot out of the car, and Kenny and Kyle were already tearing off down the sidewalk towards the school. I felt a little bad for them, even if it was kind of hilarious. Their first period teacher was an ass, and getting to class even right at the bell was liable to get you a tardy slip, or sometimes a detention. I watched them nearly run into each other as they took the corner, their cursing still audible as far away as we were.

"Losers," Cartman snickered, hefting his bag's strap onto his shoulder and heading down the sidewalk after them at a more leisurely pace. He nodded once as he passed me. "Later Stan."

"Later dude," I replied, tossing my own bag onto my shoulder. My first period was psychology, and thankfully our teacher wasn't as anal about punctuality as most of the teachers in the school. Sticking my hands in my pockets, I headed on down the sidewalk opposite the direction the others had taken; the side entrance would be open, and it was closer to my classroom. Besides, that gave me just that little bit of time more to spend outside in what was probably one of the last nice fall days before winter hit us.

"Stan? Aren't you going to be late?"

I stopped at the sound of the voice, about to turn around to look, but a hand to my back pushed me forward, hard, and I started walking again.

"Wendy? Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I asked, turning to see the black haired girl fall in step next to me. She raised an eyebrow, but gave me a grin.

"I have an excuse," She waved a small slip of paper in her hand. "What about you?"

"I have psychology," I answered with a wry grin. Wendy laughed, tucking the slip of paper into her coat pocket.

"Lucky you, then," She shook her head, "I really wanted psychology this semester, I've heard good things about Ms. Wick."

"Lola." I corrected her, and she shot me a puzzled look. "We're to call her Lola in class. She says it helps build connections and understanding between people if they allow each other to call themselves by their first names."

"Well isn't that interesting…" Wendy said, eyes narrowing slightly as she thought. "That would make sense, in some… strange sort of way. I thought psychologists had to maintain some distance…"

"Yes, but apparently Lola doesn't think a psychology teacher has to as well," I shrugged, walking up to the side doors. Grabbing the handle, I opened them with a flourish, grinning at the black haired girl. "After you, Madame."

"Why, merci, Monsieur," Wendy gave a half curtsy, then hopped inside with a giggle. I followed her, giving her a grin as we separated in the hallway.

A few doors down, and I was at my destination. Just as I'd expected, only about two-thirds of the class was present. I walked by the desk, smiling a welcome at Lola, who grinned at me before going back to flipping through the pages of a paperback book. There was a tissue box standing on the corner of the desk, only instead of being filled with tissues, it was full of little slips of paper with different things printed on them. Some had old adages; some were just little snippets that were supposed to be uplifting or something. Whatever the case, we were supposed to take one, look it over or not, whatever we chose to do with it, and give it to another person. During class we would go over a certain part of psychology, and we'd touch on some mental illness or other, and our homework would be to write a reaction to what was written on the slip of paper, acting as if we were affected by the illness we'd talked about. It was interesting, to say the least, and sometimes we'd get called on in class to read our response out loud.

Grabbing a piece of folded paper out of the box, I started towards my seat, wondering whether to open it up or not. Sometimes the things written on the papers were pretty interesting; I had some of the more interesting and thought provoking ones written into my planner. Really, they were the only things I wrote into my planner. I stopped in front of a desk that was still empty and stood the paper on top so that it was a free standing triangle. Leaving it behind, I headed on back towards my desk in the second to last row. A lot of people liked to switch desks each class, but us second-to-last-row-ers liked sitting just where we were; at least it seemed that way. I nodded to the curly-haired goth sitting next to me, and although he seemed pretty intent on his book, he nodded back in a quite friendly manner. Other than Red, he was the only goth who would give me any sort of attention that wasn't disgust, although I could never figure out why. Dropping my bag on the floor next to my desk, I sat down and began to lean over to open my bag. A folded piece of paper on top of my desk caught my eye, and I stopped, puzzled. Usually I didn't get one until most of the class was present; some sort of stigma prevented people from giving a jock something in secret. I never understood what the hell that was all about, but after a few years I'd managed to get used to it. And now this.

Intrigued, I picked the paper up and unfolded it, reading it thoughtfully. Now, there were ways about going about things, but this assignment was pretty straightforward: take a paper, give a paper. There was nothing in it about writing anything on the paper you were giving. Apparently, however, the person who had given me my paper didn't see that as enough of a reason not to write something on the paper. The first line was typed, and stated quite simply, as most of the statements on these papers did, "You are a perceptive person." Underneath that, someone had written in "That's why I don't understand you sometimes." I frowned, confused. I couldn't recognize the handwriting, although that might not have been saying much since I couldn't recognize my own handwriting half the time. I looked out of the corner of my eye to my left, where a brown haired girl was digging through her bag. Susie wasn't exactly a person I spent a lot of time with, definitely not enough time to give her the idea that I was a perceptive person. Actually, if it wasn't for this class, I'd have no idea who she was, at all.

I looked back at the paper, biting my lip thoughtfully. Perceptive. Was I? Was I in tune with people enough to know when something was happening, or to know what they were thinking? Sometimes…

I looked out of the corner of my eye to my right. The curly haired goth had a book open in front of him, and from the black pages and black and white illustrations, it was most likely not our psychology book. He was the only other person in the room, currently, who I could say I'd spent any amount of time talking to. At the moment he was staring ahead of himself with such pointed disinterest that I could probably have pinned the paper on him, except… he almost always had the look on his face in this class.

I looked back at the paper in my hand thoughtfully.

Who couldn't understand me sometimes?

And, hell, what was I missing?

****

I had been heading to lunch, but the only vending machine with Pibb Xtra in it was down by the library. Usually I'd ignore the urge, skip the giant detour I'd have to make, and just choke down a Dr. Pepper to try and get over it, but today there was just no go. Dr. Pepper just wouldn't do it, no soda would. It had to be Pibb.

Cutting out of the busy cafeteria hallway, I took a few corners and climbed the stairs to the library hallway. Heading down the deserted library corridor, whistling quietly to myself, I grinned. I was looking forward to getting to the vending machine, even though it took me an extra ten minutes to get to lunch. Ten extra minutes, which, of course, meant I'd be getting the left over pizza; but even left over pizza tastes better when you have a good drink, so I was fully willing to commit such a sacrifice.

"Dammit, Kyle, what the fuck did I tell you?"

I could have missed it, and probably would have, if it hadn't been for Kyle's name, and the fact that, although low and hissed, that voice was just too damn familiar. I frowned, stopped right before a junction in the hallway, wondering if I was hearing things.

"Shut up, all right? I know what the hell I'm—"

"You don't know shit, you know that—"

"Stop cutting me the fuck off!"

"I would if you'd just start listening to me you ass—"

"If you had a fucking idea about what you were talking about, maybe I would—"

The voices had been getting louder, so I wasn't too surprised to see Kyle round the corner, looking harried, his hands in his pants pockets. Kenny turned the corner right behind him, looking about ready to snap something back at him, but they both stopped suddenly, staring at me. I raised an eyebrow, but both of them suddenly looked like they were wishing they were somewhere else.

"Uh, hey guys," I managed a grin, trying to pretend I hadn't just heard what I had. It was obvious they hadn't wanted anyone to overhear. Kyle gave me a pained grin, scuffing his boot against the floor slightly. Kenny recovered more easily, shooting me a bright grin and leaning an elbow on Kyle's shoulder. The redhead looked a little annoyed at the gesture, but he didn't move, resigned himself to almost-but-not-quite glaring at a spot on the wall.

"Hey dude! What're you doing here, trying to get in some study time?" Kenny smirked, "I dunno, seems a little odd for Mr. Jock to be spending lunch in the library…"

"Shut up, I'm here for the Pibb," I replied, taking a few steps forward and nodding towards the machine at the end of the hall.

"Hell yeah! I totally forgot!" Kenny dropped his hands to his pockets, digging around for change. Kyle rolled his eyes; he didn't look so flustered anymore, but he hadn't taken his hands out of his pockets, and there was still this… well, poisoned air, I guess, around him.

"I'm going to go to the caf before everything's bought out," He muttered, starting down the hallway. He managed to give me a grin as he passed, although it didn't look like it came too easily.

"Kyle, get me some curly fries!" Kenny called after him, looking up from counting out dimes and nickels. "Dammit! Did you hear me?"

Kyle turned around only long enough to flip him the bird, and kept on going.

"I think he heard you," I said, smirking, and Kenny stuck his tongue out at me.

"Fuck off, Stan," The blonde snapped back, but he fell in step as we headed towards the vending machine. "Shit, hey, can I borrow a quarter?"

****

"You know, you're never around when someone wants to talk to you," I said, fixing my chin strap. Leaning against the side of the doorway, I looked down at Red where he sat on the floor, his back to the wall. He paused in his writing, tilted his head up to give me a strange look.

"What?" He looked slightly annoyed, an expression I was starting to know quite well since he seemed to wear it more and more often around me. He still had the hat, even though the day was overcast, and I had a hard time making eye contact.

"Like, all right, I'm just not going to play anymore, since –" I got cut off with a shove from behind, nearly fell over as my teammates started dashing out of the locker room. There wasn't much time before the game started; scratch that, there was no time. Cheers and screams were coming from down the hallway where it opened out onto the field, and my running back was waving both arms and screaming at me to hurry up. "You know, I figured, you'll just tell me when you feel like it, right? Like, I shouldn't be so nosey, or something…"

I tried to grin at Red, but he'd dipped his head just a little, and while I wouldn't have minded getting down and face to face with him, I now had more than one person screaming my name in the hallway. I grimaced, looking over at the three, no, now four guys that were trying to get me to hurry up.

"Look, I'll just catch you later, okay?" I told Red, but he still didn't respond, and while I wasn't sure what kind of sign that was, good or bad, I didn't have time to dwell on it. Jogging down the hallway, I got pulled out onto the field just in time to hear the announcer start calling our team's name.

**

The game went amazingly. Hell, the last two games had, ever since the Kougars handed us our asses. It wasn't enough to land us a spot in the finals, but dammit, it was better than dragging ourselves to the end. I kicked at a loose piece of turf and glanced up into the darkened sky. What the hell I had with sitting around after a game was over to see the sky go dark, I don't know, but it was fun, in some strange way. I just liked to see the way the colors changed, the way the sky went from blue, to dark blue, to some strange sort of indigo, most often streaked with orange-pink streaks of cloud, right before it struck deep purple, and finally, an almost black that never seemed dark enough.

I was alone. I hummed to myself as I walked towards the parking lot, eyes still focused up on the sky, but the notes seemed off. I tried to get myself to think of the game, and the plays, and how we'd managed to dominate the field, but it all kept slipping away from my grasp. I had dozens of different reasons in my head for why I was there, all by myself, in an empty lot heading towards an empty car, but they all felt hollow. They were lacking. Funny, I felt a little lacking in something myself.

My car; I opened the trunk and tossed my crap inside, slamming the lid closed. The thud reverberated around the lot, bouncing off the backs of the bleachers on one side and the gymnasium on the other. I walked slowly to the driver's seat, twirling my keys around on one finger. I was trying to find constellations, but all I could recognize was Orion's belt, and maybe his shoulders and hips if I squinted. I remembered the books always showing him with his club, but I could never find it myself. Pulling the door open, I dropped into the driver's seat, and found myself staring out the windshield for a few good minutes. I realized that if I was going to drive, I should probably close the door, and put my seatbelt on as well. After that it was only logical to put the key in the ignition and turn.

The engine turned over, caught, roared in the only way a V4 pretending to be a mean ol' V8 can. I let it idle for a little bit, listening to the comforting sounds of an engine running true and good. Turning my gaze to the glove box, I frowned. I reached out, opened it up and let the CD's spill out as I dug through them. Feeling particularly rebellious, I shoved All American Rejects into the CD slot and turned up the volume. It got me out of the lot fast, as I pushed the pedal to speed up along with the songs. The little Civic roared down the road towards home as I pumped the volume even louder.

I sang my way through "Dirty Little Secret" and "It Ends Tonight", and was just halfway through "Stab My Back" when I jabbed the eject button, rolled down my window, and whipped the CD as hard as I could through it. A minute of air roaring through the sudden silence in the car, and then I braked hard, nearly skidding, and pulled over to the side. Crossing my arms over the steering wheel, I dropped my forehead to them and tried to stop thinking.

Perceptive. That's me.