Eric frowned as he once again read through the text from his mom. Her birthday was coming up soon, and he desperately wanted to celebrate it properly. It had been so, so long since he had last been present at her birthday. Okay, that was an exaggeration. He wasn't around last year, but one year was one too many.
He had asked what she wanted, hoping she would ask for a book or something. He was right too. She wanted a book, but it was some fancy-ass, antique book about herbs and plants. Her birthday was exactly one week from now, so it wasn't like he had much time to find it.
"So, what's she want?" Kenny asked from the passenger seat. Eric was driving him home. Usually, Kyle would drive him, but today Eric was doing it. His eyes landed on his phone again just to make sure he was reading it right, which caused him to receive a small reprimand from Kenny, "Dude, don't fucking text and drive. Are you trying to kill me?"
Eric sighed and put his phone down, focusing on the road ahead. "Sorry, sorry. It's just that my mom wants this weird ass antique book about plants. And I dunno where I'm supposed to get that."
He was absolutely going to get it though. He had to make sure he got it. The road twisted in a turn and Eric's car followed.
"Maybe you can find it in that one antique shop," Kenny suggested, "It's really close to my house. And it's, like, right across the street from Top Pot."
Eric knew exactly what antique shop Kenny was talking about, a cute little thing run by an elderly lady named Ms. Corvus. He had followed the goth losers down there from time to time, just to see if they had other hobbies than smoking. While he admired Ms. Corvus' tenacity, she was still very old and the shop was rarely, if ever, open. Still, it was nice to be fully aware of its placement; right across the street from Top Pot, aka the new name for Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse.
"That place is always closed," He muttered more to himself than to Kenny. "It doesn't even have regular opening times."
"It does now." Kenny said, "She's hired this new guy down there, and he mans the shop when she can't. He's pretty hot."
Eric raised an eyebrow, and his face broke into a big smile. "Damn, Kenny! A single man for two months and now you're already on the lookout!" He leaned a hand over and shook Kenny's shoulder. "Good for you, man! Fuck Rick anyway, he doesn't deserve to live rent-free in your head."
Rick was Kenny's ex if that wasn't obvious. Eric hated his guts more than he had ever hated anyone before, yet somehow, Rick managed to be one of the few people in the world who had Eric fearing the repercussions of his actions.
Kenny smiled, and unsurely but eventually spoke in a defensive tone. "I'm not on the lookout already!" He said, smiling a little. "I'm just stating a fact and the fact is, that new guy is really hot. Objectively."
The car pulled up in front of Kenny's house, and Eric shifted the gear into park. "Well, then, good for him. I guess I'll check the place out. Can I leave the car here while I go look? "
Kenny grinned. "Sure. And who knows, maybe you'll get a side serving of eye candy while you're at it."
They both exited the car, though Eric found himself slightly confused when Kenny didn't make a move to the house. Instead, he looked at the car window with a conflicted expression on his face. Eric had an inkling feeling he knew what it was about.
"Should I walk you to the door?" He asked, trying to make himself not sound too annoyed at the inconvenience.
Kenny looked up at him and then down. "I mean…" He mumbled, "if you don't mind."
Eric nodded, walking over to Kenny's side of the car. "Of course, I don't mind." But he did mind. He minded so damn much, he wanted to hit something.
This was all Rick's fault. The uncertainty, the fear. It was such a small thing, ten measly feet from the car to the house, and the fact that Kenny had to think twice before walking that far on his own was enough to really piss Eric off.
At the front door, he said his goodbyes and left for that antique shop, leaving his car in the McCormicks' driveway. Even if he didn't know what in the world his mother could find so compelling about a book about plants, he sure as shit would get her that book. There was no question about it.
The town was rather quiet today, not a single life littered the street. He supposed that was reasonable. After all, not many people go out on a random Thursday. Even still, through its giant glass wall front, Eric could see that Top Pot was filled with teens and pre-teens, who had probably just gotten off from school and were relaxing with some coffee and cake.
Just as Kenny said, right across the street, was a small boutique with a sign in front of it that read 'Corvus Antiques'.
As Eric approached the place, he noticed the charming yet slightly weathered appearance of the shop. The paint on the door was chipping, but there was a certain nostalgic charm to it. He pushed the door open quietly, not announcing his entry.
The interior was filled with an eclectic mix of vintage furniture, old trinkets, and, of course, a myriad of antique books. The smell of aged paper and dust wafted through the air. Sitting at the counter, he saw a young man, presumably the new guy Kenny thought was hot.
He was right though. This new guy was quite the looker: blond, blue-eyed, sharp jawline. With how muscular he was, he looked like he should be a receptionist at the gym, not a cashier at some old lady's antique shop. However, as easy on the eyes as this blond guy was, Eric's eyes landed on something else, right in front of him.
A tall, broad man in a police uniform was talking to the new guy, leaning over the counter and holding aggressive eye contact. Eric recognized the officer immediately: brown hair, green eyes, bulging muscles, and big hands that could and would crush someone's skull if he got the chance. Rick.
Eric's heart skipped a beat as he saw Rick in the antique shop, and he instinctively took a step back, trying to blend into the shelves of old books. He cursed under his breath, realizing that his plan to casually browse for the antique botanical book just got a lot more complicated.
The tension in the air was palpable, and Eric couldn't help but eavesdrop on their conversation.
"Listen, man, unless you can get me a better job, I'm staying." A deep voice said. It was evidently not Rick given that Eric didn't recognize it. "So, I suggest you either work on your inferiority issues or get over it."
Eric continued to listen, his heart pounding in his chest. The blond cashier seemed to hold his ground, facing Rick with a level of confidence that surprised Eric. The atmosphere in the antique shop crackled with tension, and Eric debated whether he should intervene or stay hidden.
He quietly found a place where he could see the unfolding scene without being spotted, right next to a very unsure-looking pile of books and other antiques.
Rick's expression darkened, and he leaned in closer, his intimidating presence palpable. "You think you're better than me just because you got this little gig in a run-down antique shop? You're nothing."
"Whatever you say, sweet cheeks," The cashier retorted, his voice holding a mocking edge. "Besides, it's not my fault Ms. C thinks I'm 'a darling, bright, young man'. I'll bet it took you years to get her to talk to you."
Rick leaned in closer, grabbing the cashier's collar and causing him to jolt in surprise. "You better watch your tone, 'less you wanna end up like Pond Boy." He hissed.
"Who the fuck is that?" The blond asked, his voice wavered but only for a moment.
"Oh, no one," Rick released his death grip and stood back up fully. "Just a little bitch who drowned in Stark's Pond last year."
Eric had heard about Pond Boy before. The whole case had been really strange. A strong, young man named Max Kentwood, who was a known elite swimmer, was found dead in the docile waters of Stark's Pond. His autopsy showed that he was entirely sober. He was 20 years old back then. Just a year older than Rick was back then.
"Oh," The blond said, a little out of breath. The mention of Max Kentwood caused Eric to think that this cashier guy really looked a lot like Max. Earily so. "You know, I always thought being threatened with death would be more… eh, what's the word? Scary?"
Every time that blond opened his mouth, it became increasingly clear to Eric that he was faking. Putting on a show. Bravado. At that moment, Eric knew he had to leave, quickly. There was no way he would witness a murder. Those were not the plans he had set out for his Thursday afternoon.
However, right as he turned, his hand merely touched the pile of books and other antique junk next to him, and it plummeted to the ground in a cacophony of clattering. His breath caught in his throat, and he considered running for it. Terrible idea. Rick would definitely catch him. In some last-ditch moment of desperation, Eric decided to pray.
Please, dear Jesus! Let me survive with my face intact! Please send an angel or drop a nuke or something! If you let me live, I'll start running track or something, turn my life around!
The sudden noise drew the attention of both the blond cashier and Rick. Their eyes turned sharply towards Eric, who felt like a deer caught in headlights. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as the three of them locked eyes.
Eric could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he awkwardly picked up a fallen antique vase, pretending that he was just a clumsy customer. The tension in the air was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
The blond cashier raised an eyebrow at Eric, a hint of amusement in his eyes as if he found the situation more amusing than threatening. On the other hand, Rick's expression shifted from anger to a predatory grin. It sent shivers down Eric's spine.
"Well, would you look at that…" He said, turning to the blond and asking, "You recognize this guy?" His grin widened when the blond shook his head. "Well, then, I'll happily introduce you two." In a mere second, he was behind Eric, with his hands on his shoulders, pushing in front of the counter.
In hindsight, it made sense that Rick would find a sick sense of enjoyment in introducing the two. After all, Kenny had told him about the whole situation a few years ago.
"Eric Cartman…" Rick started. Eric didn't miss the way the blonde's face twisted at the mention of his name. A look of shock and fury overtook his features, and he looked like he could kill someone. "Meet Trent Boyett!"
Dear Jesus,
Fuck you!
Of Course! Who else would go head-to-head with RICK!?
Trent Boyett, a name Eric hadn't heard in years but one that still sent shivers down his spine, was now standing in front of him. The last time Eric had seen Trent was back in elementary school, and it hadn't ended well. Memories of that fateful day flooded back, and Eric could feel the weight of it all settling on his shoulders.
Rick, still grinning like a predator, seemed to be reveling in the discomfort of the situation. "Small world, huh?" he said, his grip tightening on Eric's shoulders.
Trent's eyes bore into Eric's, a mixture of anger and resentment burning in them. "Cartman," he spat out the name and the way he said it sent a chill down Eric's spine. "The fuck're you doing here?"
In an attempt to diffuse the tension, Eric managed to stammer out, "Hey, Trent. Long time no see." For a moment, he considered whether to try and lie his way out of this situation. "I, uh, I'm here to pick up a book. For my mom."
Trent's expression remained stern, his eyes narrowing at Eric's attempt at casual conversation. "What book?" he spoke the words like they burned his tongue. Was this his attempt at customer service?
"Uh," Eric hated how much his voice shook, as he took his phone out and reread the text. "Botanical Wonders by an unknown author."
Trent's gaze remained fixed on Eric; his expression unreadable. The tension in the room escalated, and Rick, ever the instigator, leaned against the counter with a sly grin on his face.
Trent himself leaned down, fetched something from beneath the cash register, and threw it on the counter. A beautiful, old book with a painted black rose as the cover art. "30 bucks" Trent said, his voice still harsh.
If anything, Eric was extremely confused now. It was obvious that Trent simply wanted him out of the shop as fast as possible, but that didn't make much sense to him. Why not just confront him? Or beat him up? His eyes landed on Rick, leaning against the counter, a smirk on his face, and a police uniform on his body. Oh, right, that was probably why. Of course, Trent wouldn't be caught dead beating someone up in front of a cop. Kind of ironic. If Trent really did start beating him up, Rick would just join in.
Eric quickly fumbled to get the 30 dollars out of his wallet as fast as possible. Until, naturally, his escape attempt was interrupted by Rick's awful fucking voice. "Alright, boys, I don't wanna intrude on your little catch-up, so I'll take my leave. Bye." And just like that, he took off.
Never in his life had Eric thought Rick's presence would keep the situation relatively safe, but he was somehow proved wrong today. As Rick left, Eric scrambled to find his cash, but every time it was in his hand, it seemed to slip out.
"Jesus, just lemme do it!" Trent hissed, grabbing the wallet from Eric's hand and taking some money out of it. He showed the money to Eric as if to make sure he knew he wasn't being robbed. 30 dollars exactly. "Now, get out."
Eric slowly took the book off the counter. Trent hopefully wasn't stupid enough to kill him when there was a cop in here mere moments ago. So, Eric could probably make it out for now.
"I-I," Eric began, "I kinda need my wallet back."
Trent smirked and reached his hand out to 'give' him the wallet. "Here, take it."
Eric gulped and cautiously reached out, his hand trembling slightly. It was so close, just a few inches from his fingers. Two inches, one inch. His fingers brushed against the wallet, leathery and cold, but only for a second before Trent's free hand wrapped itself around his wrist and yanked him closer. With a painful thud, Eric was slung over the counter, almost crossing the one border between himself and Trent, whose grip on his wrist continued to tighten, cutting off blood flow and probably leaving some bruises.
"Who the fuck was that guy?!" Trent hissed, his tone low and threatening. "D'you send a fucking cop here just to harass me? What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Eric winced in pain as Trent twisted his arm around his back. He was seriously, royally fucked. "I- I didn't send him, I swea- Ah, fuck!" His arm was twisted again. It hadn't even occurred to him that Trent wouldn't know who Rick was. Anyone who knew anything about Rick would know he would never do favors for Eric.
Trent's eyes narrowed; his anger palpable. The pain in Eric's wrist was becoming unbearable, and he struggled to find the right words to defuse the situation.
His struggle was for naught, however, as Trent decided to give his two cents. "You seriously expect me to believe that an actual fucking cop came in here, acting like a jealous toddler?!"
"U-uhm," Eric began, "Well if I sent him, why would he just leave like that?! And why would he introduce us when we clearly didn't recognize each other?" He could feel Trent's grip release slightly with every word he spoke, "Jesus, I didn't even know you were back in town!" And just like that, Trent let go.
He released Eric's wrist abruptly, causing him to stumble back. The sudden freedom left Eric wheezing and rubbing his wrist. Trent took a step back, eyeing Eric with a mixture of suspicion and disdain.
"Listen here, fatass," Trent growled, leaning down, grabbing Eric's collar, and yanking him up so they could have eye contact. "You show up here again, and I'll fucking kill you. I won't get locked up this time. I don't even wanna see your fat fucking face around…" Trent's words trailed off, as his eyes landed on something behind Eric. Something that changed his composure entirely.
His strong finger released their grip on Eric's collar, and Eric, still recovering from the intensity of the encounter, followed Trent's gaze to see what had caught his attention.
A bell chimed, and someone entered the little shop.
Craig Tucker.
Quite literally the only person who wouldn't be able to pick up on the previous tension. He was too autistic for that. Craig strolled into the antique shop, a backpack slung over one shoulder and a casual demeanor that seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere.
Eric turned his attention back to Trent, whose composure was undone completely. He took note of the way his hands trembled and his voice shook ever so slightly as he asked, "Uh, can I help you?"
As Craig approached the counter, Eric couldn't help but notice the change in Trent's demeanor. The once imposing and aggressive figure seemed to shrink slightly, his eyes avoiding direct contact with Craig. Though, he still appeared to look at Craig a lot, as if to make sure he was really there. And then look at Eric, probably to make sure Eric was also seeing Craig.
It was a subtle shift, yet the stark contrast made it incredibly clear to Eric. It made him wonder if Trent was somehow afraid of Craig. It seemed highly unlikely. For one, he was Trent Boyett of all people. The asshole had just been threatened by Rick and mocked him for it. For two, Craig was the most docile guy Eric knew. He had once spent the better part of a day, trying to trap a fly in a glass, just so he could release it outside.
Whether it was real or not, Craig had given Eric a chance to escape. All he needed was his wallet back. His eyes scanned the area quickly and SHIT! It was in Trent's hand! It wasn't like he could leave without it; it held all his money and his cards.
"Yeah, you can help, actually," Craig said, seemingly unaware, or perhaps indifferent to, the tension in the shop. "I'm looking for some dark academia-esque paintings to hang up in Top Pot."
Now that he was closer, Eric could see that Craig's right arm was wrapped in a white bandage. He was injured.
Trent put on a very forced smile and nodded, "Mhm, yeah, you can find some over there. Take your pick."
Craig nodded and turned to look, but before he did his eyes landed on the book in Eric's hands. "Nice book, fatty. You gonna use it to make poison tea or something?"
Eric smiled, a crooked, unsure smile. "Only for you, Spaceboy." He made a little heart with his fingers. "Ay, what happened to your hand?" He asked, half-curious, half-wanting to keep Craig around so Trent didn't kill him.
Could this be it? Could Craig be the angel sent by Jesus? He was certain of it.
Craig's eyes sought out his bandage, "Tweek spilled some coffee on me. It shouldn't take long to heal; I just keep it covered 'cause it's ugly." He paused for a moment, then he put on a cheeky smile. "Wanna see?"
Spurred on by his need to keep Craig around, Eric replied, "Sure."
Craig walked a little closer and slowly undid the bandage on his arm. Beneath, was a red, painful-looking mess. There were thankfully no blisters, but the whole forearm appeared swollen and sore. Eric found himself very happy that hadn't happened to him.
Next to him, Trent somehow seemed to visibly relax. What kind of sadist finds comfort in other people's injuries? Creep. Though, somehow, his face turned a little red, and his hand shot up to scratch the back of his neck. It left the wallet unattended, allowing Eric to snatch it back.
"That's really cool, Autism Speaks," Eric said. Coming up with dumb nicknames for Craig was one of his favorite pastimes. "Anyway, I have to go. Smell ya later."
And he rushed out, as fast as he could. Once he was out of the shop, he ran. Ran and ran. In the meantime, he tried to process the situation: Trent didn't know Rick, but Rick already had some issues with him. Trent didn't know Craig, but he seemed weirdly afraid of him, but also not afraid at all, not after Craig showed his injured arm.
Maybe he was into him? Personally, Eric didn't avoid eye contact with people he was attracted to, but he knew some other people did, so maybe…? Also, to be honest, if Kenny had taught him anything, it was that the line between fear and attraction was surprisingly fine.
He ran, ran, ran, and only stopped once he was back to his car. Thank Jesus! That asshole deity must really want him to run track.
He almost collapsed at his car, heaving for air like the atmosphere might run out of it. "You okay?" He heard a familiar voice ask. Looking up, he saw Kenny coming towards him.
"I, no," Eric responded, he sounded like he was going to cry, and he probably was. He quickly opened the car door and threw the book in there. Then, he put his face in his hands. "Jesus, fuck, shit, he has such awful timing!" Right when they were dealing with Rick too. Horrendous timing.
"What, who?" Kenny asked, he was practically right in front of Eric now.
"Trent Boyett."