Chapter 9: "You were just a kid."

"And then, when I suggested that Trent should get therapy because revenge definitely won't fix any of his issues, he completely blew up on me—yelling and grabbing me and stuff. I swear, he was this close to beating my ass," Kenny said, holding his hand up; his thumb and index finger almost touching each other. "But then he did a complete 180 and apologized, blaming his actions on sleep deprivation and stuff. And I tried to calm down, I really did. But my heart's still racing, dude, and I can't stop shaking," his voice trembled a small bit as he spoke.

In Kenny's defense, it had not even been half an hour since he had called Eric back, even though it certainly felt like a lot more time had passed. After Eric had told him about the new deadline, he was not sure what he had expected. He certainly knew what he hadn't expected. He never expected Kenny to hang up on him immediately after hearing the news. He never expected himself to go barreling through the streets just so he could find Kenny at work. And he most certainly never expected the wide array of emotions he was lucky enough to witness Kenny display.

In the span of around 10 minutes, Eric was cried to, yelled at, punched, kicked, called every insult under the sun, used as a handkerchief for snot and tears, and generally blamed for the whole mess he had gotten Kenny into—all perfectly reasonable actions given the circumstances.

And now, here they were, sitting in the small breakroom at Top Pot. Kenny was sitting right in front of the vanity that leaned against one of the white walls of the room, looking at his reflection, reapplying concealer to the bruise on his face after he had smudged it earlier. Right behind him stood Eric, gently untangling his hair with a random brush he had found.

"Well, duh, of course, you can't just calm down after that," Eric responded, sounding slightly angry. "Wasn't that the exact same bullshit Rick used to do too? I mean, yeah, Rick never stopped himself mid outburst or apologized, but it's still pretty much the same."

Kenny sniffled and laughed a little. "It's some serious déjà vu, dude. You're not even the first person to mention Rick. Bebe's told Trent about him, and then he started talking to me about him. He offered to beat him up for me."

That was not particularly surprising; Trent would find out sooner or later. After all, everyone was always willing to gossip about Rick, even if it meant spilling some intimate info about Kenny in the process. Still, the thought amused him slightly.

"Hm, Trent really thinks he's invincible. Beat Rick up, my ass," Eric said, trying to untangle a weird knot in Kenny's hair. He didn't doubt Trent's ability to beat Rick in a fight, but he knew better than to bring that up with Kenny.

He could see their jarring reflections in the vanity. Kenny looked almost entirely presentable, safe for the half-covered bruise and the few pieces of evidence that he had been crying. On the other hand, Eric looked like he had just rolled out of bed, which was likely because he had, in fact, just rolled out of bed mere minutes ago. His hair was a mess, and he was only wearing his boxers, his mom's much too small dressing gown, which he couldn't even close around his midsection, and some pig themed slippers he had sworn he would never show to anyone. Yet there he was, fixing Kenny up as if he was in any position to do that.

Kenny chuckled, wincing when he dabbed a bit too hard on his bruise. "He's totally still high off beating up all those sixth-graders back in the day. And now he thinks he's all powerful. I mean, yeah, he could probably beat Rick, but come on."

"Well, you declined his offer, right?"

"Yeah, obviously," Kenny almost sounded offended to be asked. "I didn't want to look like a hypocrite. Also, Rick would totally kill him in retaliation."

"And how did he react?" Eric asked. Finally, after several seconds of aggressive brushing, he had untangled that stupid knot. "Did he get mad?"

Kenny shrugged, carefully inspecting his reflection in the vanity mirror. "Nope. He just started talking about how I'm inconveniencing you guys by having you drive me to and from school and stuff. I had to straight up beg him to not confront Rick. But he eventually promised to lay off."

Eric put the brush away and sat down next to Kenny. "That's wild, dude. You had to beg him?" He sounded so very dumbfounded. "He must really wanna fight Rick." What a shame, it could have been awesome if Rick and Trent took each other out.

Kenny leaned forward, studying his reflection, ensuring that the dark mark was properly covered. Then he answered, "It was really weird. Like, Trent seemed genuinely pissed."

Eric raised an eyebrow. "Pissed? Like, at you or at Rick?"

Kenny leaned back, still studying his reflection but now focusing more on his overall appearance. "Pissed at Rick, I think. Like he seemed really angry about what he'd done to me."

Eric scoffed, loudly. He couldn't help it. It was a knee-jerk reaction he had every time he sensed a certain level of audacity. "Ugh, mixed signals much!" he said, "First, he half-punches you in the face and threatens to-" He stopped himself from speaking his next word, fearing that it might become too real if he did say it. "Anyway, and now he's on some knight in shining armor bullshit. The hell is his deal?!"

Kenny turned his head to Eric, seemingly also trying to make the whole thing less real, and spoke. "Dude, it gets weirder. He grew a fucking conscience or something and started asking if he reminds me of Rick. Of course, he does, but I was not about to tell him that! And he seemed almost ashamed? I dunno, it was hard to tell."

Eric listened intently, trying to make sense of the situation. "What the fuck," were the only coherent words he could think to say.

"Exactly," Kenny said, turning back towards the mirror, studying his eyes and cheeks to make sure there were no signs of crying. "Then, he told me to leave. And, as if he was trying to be even more confusing, a fat ass crow landed on the table and gave him a gift."

Eric laughed a little. Well, he didn't laugh; he just exhaled out of his nose. "What kind of person receives gifts from crows?" he said, a confused smile on his face. Maybe there was something symbolic to it. Or maybe Trent had decided to dabble in witchcraft. "Why is he even here anyway? To harass you?"

"No. No, he's not here to harass me." Kenny sighed, running a hand through his now knot-free hair. "He's here to meet with his assigned freshman. She's probably here now," he paused, letting his eyes drift off somewhere. "Trent gave me a bad feeling about her. Like, I know who she is."

"I can go check if you want," Eric offered. He was quite indifferent to whoever Trent's freshman might be, but right now he just wanted to help Kenny feel better. "And in the meantime, I can scold his ass for breaking the 10 feet rule."

"You will?" Kenny said, giving him the sweetest puppy eyes, he could possibly muster up. "And you'll report back if I should be worried?" He was trying so hard to be persuasive, as if Eric hadn't literally just offered to check.

Eric nodded, giving Kenny a thumbs-up and walking toward the breakroom's exit. But right as his hand reached the doorknob, he stopped and turned back to Kenny. "Stan said that he heard your conversation with Clyde last night. He's definitely onto us; he totally cockblocked Trent. And, like you said, that snitch texted Tweek about it. So, that's gonna be a problem."

He fidgeted with his feet, kicking his pig slippers around a bit. Then he continued talking. "Stan was being super fucking weird too. Like, on the way home, he totally started freaking out about a bad omen, and he started ranting about how we do matter in the grand scheme of the universe and stuff. He said that, in reality, there is no grand scheme because the universe can't be that big if its whole reflection can be captured in Stark's Pond's reflection. Getting punched in the face made him super fucking philosophical, dude. Either that or he's just trying to justify anything we might have to do."

Kenny did not respond; instead, he stood up and started straightening out his uniform. His hands were still visibly shaking. The lack of response was easy to interpret, it was a silent request to leave. Still, Eric felt the need to say one last thing, a reassurance of sorts. "Uhm, listen, Kenny, I promise, this new deadline thing isn't gonna be a big deal. We just have to hurry a bit. Like, operation 'Kyle's notebook' is gonna go into effect tomorrow. And... and we've obviously scratched the whole lifeguard plan since it was way too long term. Instead, we'll just make sure Craig and Trent spend a lot of time together. We've also scratched the whole Team Sabotage and Team Cupid thing; that shit was stupid." He paused for a moment, taking a second to catch his breath.

He, Stan, and Kyle had also talked about using the upcoming kickboxing tournament they had just learned about in the scheme, but he had a lingering feeling that Kenny would be strongly against it, so he didn't mention it.

Instead, he continued his update. "And we'll also make sure Trent is not gonna do anything illegal. In fact, as we speak, Kyle and Stan are picking all of those black flowers around Stark's Pond, and we'll get rid of them together." He paused; Kenny probably didn't know about what those roses could do. But he did not have time to explain it, not when Kenny so obviously wanted him to just leave. "I just... I need you to know that I... we won't let him do anything to you, okay?"

Kenny turned his attention away from the vanity mirror and looked at Eric. His lilac eyes were so very easy to read. At least they were to Eric; he had taken one of those eyes once. He had even looked through them. And today, they were calling him a liar. "Okay. Thank you," Kenny said and smiled sweetly. He was such a bad actor.

Eric knew he was telling the truth. But could his confirmation of his future actions really count as the truth if he was unsure whether he could keep it true? Breaking a promise was the same as lying, he knew as much. But was being unable to fulfill a promise the same as breaking it?

As Eric left the room, the weight of the situation settled heavily on his shoulders. He couldn't shake off the sense of uncertainty and doubt that gnawed at him. His newfound, self-appointed obligation to protect his friends had become increasingly self-evident. As was the doubt that he would be able to fulfill it. The note Kyle never meant to give him had been both a wake-up call and, frankly, insulting, but it served to heighten the obviousness of this moral duty.

Ugh, he sounded so pretentious.

As he made his way toward the bookshelf and the courtyard by extension, he couldn't help but feel slightly overwhelmed by what he had gotten himself and his friends into. It was one thing to have a crush on someone and try to win their affection, but it was an entirely different matter when it involved manipulation, deception, and possibly illegal activities.

He reached the door to the courtyard and inhaled deeply. He was not afraid of Trent. He refused to be. He did not even need to confront Trent; he just had to look outside, confirm that Kenny did not know the freshman, and then leave. Scolding Trent for breaking the 10 feet rule was not necessary, considering he likely didn't mean to do it this time. Though, it would probably be a good idea to scold him anyway, to make sure he didn't break it again.

As he fully opened the door, he was greeted by the warm summer sun and the big tree filtering through its rays. He really liked this courtyard; it always smelled like summer. He looked around, scanning the area to see where Trent and his freshman were. The adorable courtyard was mostly empty, safe for one corner in the shade of a tree where a young man sat, leaning against it with his eyes closed and smoking a cigarette. Trent. Alone. No freshman in sight.

She had evidently been there at one point, as the chair on the opposite side of Trent's table had been pulled out, and a used coffee mug stood, waiting for her return. How annoying, this meant that he would have to wait for her to come back.

Walking up to Trent and putting on a big smile, he feigned surprise. "No way, Trent! You're here too? What a crazy coincidence! Mind if I join?"

He had startled Trent out of his little sleep-deprived trance. As Trent stared him down, his usually angry eyes lacked a certain edge that had been there before. He gestured toward the empty chair.

"As long as you don't start singing," he said, taking a drag from his cigarette and watching the ribbons of smoke dance around him with half-lid eyes. "It's funny; you always show up when I make Kenny uncomfortable. And judging from your outfit, I'd say you rolled out of bed and immediately ran here. Did Jesus tell you to come stop me again?" His voice was sarcastic, but it lacked a sense of mockery.

"No, not this time. I came because I wanted to talk to Kenny," Eric said, as he sat down in the chair across from Trent. Judgmental eyes bore through him, and he was suddenly feeling very insecure about his look. "He relayed your little conversation for me." He had told him literally everything. Every possible little detail had been included. "Where's your freshman?"

The utter definition of docility, this Trent was an entirely different person from who he was yesterday or the day before that or even a mere hour ago. It gave Eric a strange, yet very familiar feeling, like he could break him down if he used just the right words or asked just the right questions. Maybe he could get every little piece of information he desired.

"She's on the phone with her boss. She'll be back eventually," Trent answered in a monotone voice, keeping his eyes closed as he leaned against the tree. "Is it possible to switch freshmen? Because if Kenny wants me to, I will."

Eric leaned back in his chair, observing Trent with suspicion. "Why?" He inquired, struggling to hide the skepticism in his voice.

Trent scoffed a bit. "You're too pessimistic. I do nice things sometimes."

Eric smiled a little; an uncertain half-smile. "Well, maybe it would help if I knew who she was."

"You'll know when she gets back," Trent said, curtly. "In the meantime, would you rather go mute or be addicted to softcore porn for the rest of your life?"

Eric blinked and just kind of stared. "What?" He asked, but then he realized this was probably just Trent's stupid, socially stunted way of starting a conversation. "How addicted are we talking?"

"Like, can't watch normal porn anymore and can't form meaningful relationships addicted."

"Shit." Eric concluded. "I'll have to go addicted, though. I talk too much to go mute. Anyway, imagine this: you're in a life or death situation with your crush whose leg is broken. Do you save yourself or do you help your crush too?"

"Save myself." Trent's eyes—cold, blue, and secretive—and maintained eye contact with Eric. "But I guess you never really know. What's your most preferred way to die? And you can't pick old age."

"What the fuck kind of question is that?" Eric asked.

"It's an icebreaker, dickhead," Trent smirked, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. He shrugged casually. "It's an interesting question. Everyone has thought about their own mortality at some point. I think it says a lot about their personalities. So, what's your answer?"

Eric furrowed his brow, still caught off guard by the unexpected topic. He hesitated for a moment, considering his response. "I guess... if I had to choose, I'd say jumping into the lions' enclosure at the zoo. You know, something really, really dumb that makes people question how we're the apex species. Or maybe I would want to be crucified?" He finally replied, his voice tinged with a touch of confusion that made it sound more like a question. "So, what does that say about my personality?"

Trent chuckled lightly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Two answers, huh? That's a first. Let's see, jumping into a lions' enclosure means a dramatic and attention-seeking personality. And being crucified hints at a fascination with religion. Both of your answers show a tendency to be self-centered. The lion one shows a complete lack of consideration for any onlookers, and being crucified shows that you're willing to indirectly compare yourself to Jesus Christ." Trent took a drag from his cigarette and dumped some ashes into the nearby ashtray. "Hm, I guess that analysis was pretty biased against you."

"Kyle says those same things all the time," Eric chuckled, with a mix of nervousness and amusement, intrigued by Trent's analysis. "That was pretty spot on, actually. And what about you? What's your preferred way to meet your maker?"

Trent's expression remained unchanged as he thought for a moment, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Well, I think the most fitting way to go would be to drown. Preferably in the ocean," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "I don't really wanna go down fighting. Seemes fitting." He smiled as he continued, with a much more upbeat voice. "I don't think I could analyze myself though; I'd probably be even more biased than I was with you."

Trent was right, though; that death sounded very fitting for him. In a way, death was the ultimate form of reluctant surrender. It made perfect sense that Trent would only want to submit to something greater and mightier than himself, something as powerful and all-consuming as the ocean. Of course, he would also only want to submit when no one was around to witness it. It hinted at an inflated ego—the thought that only the mighty ocean could be capable enough for Trent to surrender to it. Eric could imagine him sinking into its depths, becoming one of the many lives lost in its passive vastness.

Although, that was only Eric's analysis, it might be a bit biased as well.

"It's kind of ironic, actually. I've never even seen the ocean, not in real life at least. I'm way more likely to drown in a pool or something." Trent reached his hand up to take a new drag from his cigarette, inadvertently showing Eric a concerning sight; every finger on his hand wore a Band-Aid, some wore one, others had upwards of three. "Anyway," Trent said, "ask away, but try not to copy me this time."

Eric's gaze flickered to Trent's bandaged fingers, a somberness creeping into his expression. He couldn't help but worry that he knew exactly what had caused those injuries. He could only hope that he was wrong. Nonetheless, he nodded and cleared his throat, trying to gather his thoughts for the next question.

"Uh, what's your favorite color?" he eventually asked. It was such a plain and nonintrusive question, an attempt to butter Trent up before he started crossing boundaries.

Trent raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow at the question, seemingly unimpressed by its simplicity. He took another drag from his cigarette and blew out a cloud of smoke before responding. "Favorite color, huh? That's a boring question," he remarked with a hint of amusement. "Oh, well, it's purple. Like your left eye." He leaned back in his chair, seemingly uninterested in elaborating.

"Well, why purple?" Eric asked. "It's definitely not the most popular color."

"It's the opposite of green," Trent said, a small hint of disdain registering in his voice. "And I fucking hate green, everything green and every shade of green. I hate it so fucking much. I hate the fucking coffee sets here, and the plants, and the workers' uniforms. Tweek has a serious obsession with that goddamn color."

Even though Trent never mentioned it, he surely also hated green eyes. But it was not entirely clear which he hated first; the eyes or the people with the eyes. Perhaps his distaste for green was because of him. He made a mental note to keep Kyle and Trent away from each other. Funnily, Kyle was the only one who had yet to be punched by Trent.

"W-well, shit. That's an interesting way to pick a favorite color," Eric said, taken aback by the general thought process. "Most people just think about aesthetics."

Somehow, it didn't surprise him that Trent's appreciation of one thing would merely stem from a deep hatred of its opposite. It was hard to imagine anything - or anyone - laying beneath his all-conquering contempt. It was like the Trent that could have been had been swallowed by it, leaving a vessel fueled by animosity.

"What's your favorite color then?" Trent asked.

"Red, because it's pretty and I like it," Eric answered, almost curtly. "Well, well, well, now it's my turn to ask again." He leaned forward in his chair, smiling. "Are you practicing witchcraft?"

Trent's eyebrows furrowed slightly in confusion, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he composed himself. He chuckled softly and shook his head. "It absolutely is not your turn, but I'll entertain it. No, I'm not practicing witchcraft. Why do you ask?" His tone was light as if he found the notion amusing.

Eric leaned back in his chair and cocked an eyebrow. "A little bird told me that he saw a crow give you a gift, and I just can't imagine anyone receiving gifts from crows without any witchcraft being involved."

As he spoke, he faintly registered some new customers entering the courtyard and seating themselves at a nice table with ample sunlight to bathe in. It was a trio of young men, sporting very obvious hangovers. Strange, he felt like recognized them.

"Hmm, I didn't know Kenny saw that. Here," Trent put his cigarette out in the ashtray, then his fingers dove into the pocket of his jacket, fishing out a beautiful necklace with a butterfly pendant. He reached over and handed the necklace to Eric. "There's this old lady, Ms. Corvus, who lives in the same building as me. When I first moved in, she showed up in front of my door and told me that she's a fortune teller, and that I should feed the crows outside our building because she's gotten too old to do it." He shrugged.

Eric examined the necklace in his hand, admiring its intricate design and the delicate craftsmanship. He could vaguely make out a word engraved on the back of the pendant, but he didn't get the chance to read it before Trent took it back. "So, you feed crows because some little old lady asked you to? That's… nice of you," Eric sounded a bit unsure.

"She made a good sales pitch, okay?" Trent responded, much too defensively, considering that he had just received a compliment. "She said that the crows would bring me guidance and protection, which is stupid, of course. How are they even gonna do that? They're crows! I just wanted to see if she was bullshitting or not. Besides, it's not like it's inconveniencing me." He crossed his arms. "Also, everyone is nice to her because they wanna get into her will."

"Do you wanna get into her will?" Eric asked.

Trent looked surprised and a bit offended at the question. "I dunno. Maybe." Something told him Trent had absolutely no intention of tricking some sweet old lady's grandchildren out of their inheritance. "It could be cool, I guess." He never even considered it.

"Whatever, man," Eric replied. He could feel it; he was already getting bored of the crows. "You know, butterflies symbolize growth. Maybe the crows were telling you to change something about yourself or that you already are changing."

"No, the crows saw a shiny thing, and thought I wanted it." Trent said, dryly. "Alright, my turn. Whose bathrobe did you steal before coming here?"

Eric scoffed at the question. "It's not a bathrobe; it's a dressing gown, and it belongs to my dearest mother," he said, dramatically placing one hand over his chest and the other hand on his forehead. From the corner of his eye, he could see Trent leaning forward, drinking some coffee from his mug. "Anyway, my turn. What's juvie like?"

Trent was clearly not ready for that question, as he immediately choked on his coffee, coughing uncontrollably. The sheer force of the coughing sent Trent gasping and heaving for air, trying to stop the scene he was causing. In a mesmerizing twist of fate, Trent lost his grip on the coffee mug, and it plummeted toward the merciless cobblestone. The dark brew splattered up the big tree and on the ground, seeping in between the cobblestones. The resilient little mug somehow survived the fall and was quickly back in Trent's hand.

The courtyard's other occupants started turning their heads, curious about the scene. Panicking, Eric reached out over the small table to pat Trent on the back, hoping to make him shut up. "Hey, hey, dude, people are looking," he said in a hushed tone. To put it bluntly, he was not the slightest bit concerned; he knew Trent would have an adverse reaction to that question. But he needed to push the boundaries a bit if he wanted to get to what he really wanted to know. "Are you okay?" He wanted to ask about him. He wanted to know what kind of person Trent Boyett was afraid of.

Trent nodded, still coughing and wheezing, tears having formed in his eyes. Once the fit finally subsided, he took a deep breath and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice came out hoarse and strained.

"Holy fuck," Trent managed to say, his words punctuated by coughs. "Are trying to kill me? Jesus Christ, that caught me off guard." Still attempting to clear his throat, Trent wiped the mug of any dirt that might have gotten on it and poured some new coffee into it.

Eric watched him with detached curiosity. There was a sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that a mere question could garner that response. Trent seemed much more vulnerable than he ever had before. This conversation was going to be very fun.

"Don't take the Lord's name in vain, Trent. Who knows, I might be forced to perform another musical. Maybe this time it could be Jesus Christ Superstar," he teased with a smirk, almost laughing when he saw Trent cringe at the thought. "What, you don't like that?"

"Fuck no," Trent barked; his entire demeanor still lacked bite. "If you fucking start singing, I'll beat your ass."

Eric smiled. This was perfect. "Well, then. You better start answering my question: what's juvie like?" Eric had already spent some time in juvenile hall. He knew exactly what it was like, and he knew that he personally had done everything he could to avoid going back there. But he asked anyway.

Trent sighed and leaned back in his chair; his previous vulnerability was replaced by a guarded expression. He stared off into the distance for a moment before responding. "It sucked ass. It was really fucking boring all the time and everyone was super fucking mean and backstabby. And the adults were worst."

Eric listened intently; his curiosity piqued by Trent's admittedly vague response. He leaned forward, absorbing every word, eager to delve deeper into the topic.

"You just sound pessimistic. What did the adults even do that was that bad?" Eric said, almost rolling his eyes. It wasn't like he didn't believe Trent; in fact, everything Trent said corresponded perfectly with Eric's own experiences in juvenile hall. He simply wanted to push him a bit.

Trent's guarded expression hardened as he responded to Eric's question. "Of course, not everything in there was bad. But I wouldn't call myself pessimistic."

This time, Eric did actually roll his eyes. "You didn't answer my question. What did the adults do that was that bad?" he asked, making sure to sound just a little bit annoyed. He obviously was not annoyed, but he wanted Trent to think he was.

Trent's jaw tightened, a flicker of anger crossing his face. He took a deep breath before replying, his voice laced with bitterness. "They were supposed to help us and fucking rehabilitate us. But instead, they treated us like wild animals, who couldn't be trusted with shit. Every little thing was met with so much skepticism that kids broke down crying over runny noses and stomach aches." He paused for a moment; his gaze intense. "We even had this weird-ass epidemic where kids would start having seizures, or at least something similar, and the adults refused to help or even believe us. They didn't give a single shit."

Eric wanted more details, so he found inspiration in every feminist Twitter debate he had ever had. He mustered up his most annoying tone of voice and decided to strawman him: "Not all the adults. There must've been some exceptions." He tried to sound as condescending as possible.

Trent's eyes narrowed at Eric's comment. He leaned forward, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ahh yes, how could I forget those? The exceptions! Those who seemed nice at first but turned out to be even fucking worse than all the others!"

Eric smirked. The Trent from last night was back in full swing, like an angry dog, growling in warning. "Oh yeah? What could those 'exceptions' possibly have done? Can you even come up with one example? " Eric said.

Then, as if Eric had never provoked him, the old Trent disappeared once more, replaced by a poker face so good that Eric would have believed it if it weren't for Trent's trembling hands rummaging around his pockets for a cigarette. "Why are you trying to provoke me?"

Eric leaned back in his chair, with a very wide and obvious smirk playing on his lips. "I'm not trying to provoke anyone, I'm just say Kenny was too polite to say out loud." It was half true. Of course, Kenny never mentioned any of those questions to him, but he must have thought about them, at one point. Eric took a moment to relish in Trent's reaction.

He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. It seemed that his probing questions were successfully unraveling something beneath Trent's guarded exterior. He leaned forward again, meeting the other's gaze with an intrigued expression, beckoning him to tell more.

Trent stared back at Eric, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and something else, something weak. He took a deep breath, seemingly collecting himself before he spoke again.

"Fine," Trent began, his tone a bit softer now, yet entirely monotone. "There was only one 'exception'. He was one of the younger guards, in his early twenties, maybe, I dunno, he was green. He really fucking liked me for some reason. He always complimented my looks and stuff, it was so nasty. He was obsessed with comparing to famous art pieces." He cringed a bit. His busy fingers finally found the much-needed cigarette and lit it. "I kinda hung on his every word for a long time. How could I not? He was the only adult in years who gave me any sort of positive attention. And I wasn't about to just give it up. Besides, it's not like I knew better; I was only 10 when he was hired."

Looking at Trent's face, studying it, Eric could definitely see what that guard had been talking about. He obviously put a great deal of effort into maintaining his appearance. He could probably become a model if he wanted to. Of course, Trent would work hard on the only thing he was ever praised for.

"Oh no! Some adult gave you hyperbolic compliments! How will you ever recover?!" Eric retorted mockingly, his smirk widening. He took a small pause, letting the words sink in before continuing, "Seriously though, is that it? You're all worked up over a few flattering words?"

"No, I…" Trent's voice wavered for a moment before he composed himself. "I didn't actually begin disliking him until he started touching me a lot, like playing with my hair and rubbing my shoulders and stuff." Trent took a deep drag from his cigarette, leaning against the tree behind him. "The fucking loser even gave me flowers on Valentine's Day. Every single year. For three years."

Before Eric could think of something to say, Trent continued, "You know, my upstairs neighbor is a mom. She has two daughters—they're fucking loud. They're super cute, though. Anyway, that's not the point. I talked to the oldest one yesterday. She's 10, apparently. And she's so… little. I dunno how to explain, but I don't think I could do or say anything like what he did to me to her. Does that make sense? Like, there's nothing wrong with her." His voice cracked, and he started coughing again.

Eric struggled to tell whether he was actually coughing, considering that he had just inhaled a bunch of coffee a few minutes prior, or if he was simply trying to mask his voice crack. The coughing could, of course, also be attributed to all those cigarettes catching up to him. However, something in his gut told him Trent simply didn't want to finish that thought, not out loud, not to Eric.

What a shame. Trent's thoughts were quite interesting. But it seemed he had never quite considered that the difference lay between him and the guard, not him and the neighbor's daughter. After all, you don't make someone mistreat you; they simply do that of their own volition.

With that in mind, Eric chose to say the exact opposite. "Well, you were obviously too inviting for your own good. But, still, I thought you said the 'exceptions' were worse than the others. Like, yeah, okay, so he had a little crush on you. I just don't see how he could be worse than the other adults."

Trent took a drag from his cigarette, as his eyes wandered over the courtyard. They were completely detached, like he was somewhere else entirely. "I wasn't finished," he responded, with a slight bite to his voice. "He would give his favorite inmates weird pet names. And he'd only call us by our actual names if he was really pissed off. And we all just went along with it because, let's be honest, no one wanted to lose the sliver of positive attention they were finally receiving."

Eric listened intently, his curiosity growing with every word. He spoke, urging Trent to continue. "What was your pet name?" he asked, his voice filled with intrigue.

Trent took another drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled slowly. "'Dog' and it was the stupidest shit I had ever heard in my entire life. Who the fuck calls people dog? Sometimes he switched things up, like 'Cujo' or 'puppy'." he said, rolling his eyes at the thought. Eric found Trent very impressive; he could hardly fathom how he could sit and talk about this as if he were merely gossiping.

Eric nodded. The guard was right; in many ways, Trent did resemble a dog, a ferocious, angry dog. A Cujo. "Yeah, that's... confusing," he lied. "What happened after that? Did he continue with the pet names?"

"Yup," Trent said, turning his face to look at Eric. "He really liked that stupid analogy too. He told me lots of times that, if I ever got in a fight, I should just, and I quote, 'use my canines and rip them to shreds.' What the fuck kind of guard gives juvenile inmates fighting advice anyway?"

Eric raised an eyebrow at Trent's account, his curiosity now mixed with confusion. "That's really weird, dude," he remarked. This whole thing felt really strange; was this what sympathy feels like? Nah, probably not. "While I totally get that he was a giant creep, I still can't see how he was worse than all the other guards."

"I was getting to that part," Trent said, slightly irritated. "I mentioned it before, but at one point, we had this seizure epidemic. It was around a year after that guard had been hired, and he was the only adult who seemed to believe us. He decided that we should alert him every time someone started seizing, and then he'd 'accompany them through it,' which just meant that he would lock himself in with the seizing inmate, so they were all alone together."

He paused, taking a drag from his cigarette before extinguishing it into the ashtray. As he exhaled the smoke, it seemed far too shaky. Then he continued speaking. "But I noticed a pattern. These 'seizures' only seemed to happen when he was present, and they only happened to his favorite inmates, myself included. So, I had my suspicions. And they were pretty much confirmed when he... went away two years later, and all the 'seizures' went away too."

Eric's eyes widened, his voice filled with shock and disbelief. "W-what're you implying?" he stammered, his mind struggling to process the gravity of Trent's revelation.

Trent took a deep breath, his eyes locked with Eric's as he responded, his voice low and filled with bitterness. "I'm implying that those seizures were fake, dumbass! God! You are so stupid!"

"You just sound crazy! How would he even do that?" Eric asked, though Trent didn't sound crazy at all. Eric simply didn't like where this conversation was headed. He should have just kept his mouth shut. He should have stopped, should have called it a day as soon as Trent became uncomfortable.

Trent still held eye contact with him. "That's the thing, I thought I was just crazy. But I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy at all! You see, I learned something very interesting last night." He started smiling widely, showing his teeth. "Remember when I said he gave me flowers on Valentine's Day? I'll bet you can guess what kind of flowers they were. Come on, guess!"

Eric tried to actively shrink into his chair, hopefully he could melt into the ground. The naivety of thinking his own juvie experience had been bad struck him like a bag of bricks, as he shuddered, thinking about all the things that guard could do behind closed doors.

"Were they… black roses?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Trent started laughing; an angry, furious laugh. "The whole time, every single year he handed me the evidence! The sadistic fuck would give me his weapon!" He started hitting the table with his hand. The Band-Aids on his fingers were suddenly very hard to ignore. "He was taunting me! The whole time, he was letting me know what he was doing, and I was too stupid to realize! He probably got off on it too, that piece of shit!" He continued to laugh, though his voice dropped to a whisper. "I was stupid, so stupid!"

Trent was still laughing and smiling as he hissed the words out. He would have seemed incredibly happy had it not been for the words coming out of his mouth. Eric briefly wondered, if this was the same as what he did last night when they learned about the Reginae Adiutor. He stopped hitting the table and moved his bandaged hand up to his face, covering it in his hands. He was still laughing, but it was muffled now. "He even had the damn rose tattooed on his fucking arm, and I never thought to question it!"

Eric froze up at the mention of a tattoo. He had only just realized it; they were talking about him—the guy Kenny mentioned, Craig's look-alike. The guy Trent hated so much that he was willing to drop everything on a whim, just for one night of pretending to take revenge on him. Some pathetic proxy revenge. Some semblance of control. This whole time, he had been pushing just so they could talk about him, and he didn't even realize that they already were.

"Hey, hey, no," Eric started. He could barely contain himself. He really wanted to go for a run. "No, you're not stupid. You were just a kid."

One fraction of a moment. That was all it took before Trent had composed himself completely, stitched himself back together, and erased every single piece of evidence of the last few minutes. He must have done that so many times before. Truly, a master at play.

He turned his cold, bitter eyes back to Eric and spoke. "I hate him." It was so, so quiet; barely even a whisper. "I hate him so goddam much."

Eric scooted his chair away a bit. Not for a single second did he doubt that Trent could turn almost anyone into mush against his scarred knuckles. He couldn't help but feel slightly impressed by the thought; it could be fun to see Trent in action, as long as the person on the receiving end was someone he disliked.

Trent's fingers found his last remaining cigarette and calmly, almost calculatedly, started smoking it. "Isn't that impressive?" he said. "I hate him even more than I hate you. That's quite an achievement."

With a voice that trembled slightly, he couldn't quite tell why, Eric asked, "I, uh, you… you're not gonna do anything like that to Craig, right?"

Trent's eyes flickered with a mix of emotions, his gaze piercing into Eric's. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling around his face as he exhaled. For a moment, the courtyard seemed to grow eerily silent, as if time itself held its breath.

Finally, Trent's voice cut through the heavy air, laced with an unsettling calmness. "I dunno if you noticed, but last night when Craig and I talked, he asked for permission to touch my arm," he said, his words carrying a sense of surprise, like this was some groundbreakingly new experience for him. "He didn't just grab me, he asked first and waited until I said yes." The embers of his cigarette glowed when he took a drag from it. "The guard would never have done that. So, I guess they're not interchangeable."

Thank God for Craig having basic manners. Eric mentally wiped some sweat off his forehead. What a relief. They weren't going to be the catalysts for the brutal murder of one of his classmates.

"That was what you wanted to know, right?" Trent asked, still marvelously composed. "You wanted to know about him. The guy I'm oh so afraid of. So, you kept pushing me." He took a moment's pause, to look at Eric, letting his cold eyes drill through Eric's soul. "Well? Did you have fun? Did you learn anything useful?"

No, he didn't learn anything useful. He had maybe learned some of Trent's triggers, but even then, he wasn't exactly sure. Even then, it probably wasn't useful.

Despite the sunlight raining down on them, the courtyard felt unusually cold. He had forced his way into dangerous territory, dredging up painful memories and emotions for the sake of his own curiosity and the pleasure of making Trent uncomfortable. And he had been idiotic enough to think Trent wouldn't catch on. And now he had been caught red-handed.

"I, uh," his voice trembled a little bit. He could feel his legs start to tremble as well. His heart pounded in his chest, his legs shook, his forehead shone with sweat. His entire body was communicating one clear, unmistakable message: Run. Run! "I was just curious! I didn't realize I was pushing you," he tried to sound remorseful and innocent. "I'm really sorry about that."

The apology came out stammered and unconvincing, causing Eric to briefly wonder when his deceptive skills had become so rusty. Oh right, he hadn't used them much since juvie.

"Fine, I guess I'll consider it payback for making Kenny talk about Rick," Trent said, looking completely serene on the other side of the table, as if this 'payback' never even happened in the first place. His Band-Aid-covered fingers held onto his precious cancer stick like a lifeline as he spoke again. "About that, do you think I could beat him up? Rick, I mean."

Eric's mind reeled at Trent's sudden shift in topic, trying to process the abrupt change in conversation. Did he just get away with making Trent angry? He hesitated for a moment, attempting to gauge Trent's mood and motives but ultimately decided it was best to just follow along.

"Well, Rick is a pretty big guy. Like bigger than you and me, and he's basically all muscle," Eric replied cautiously. "But I'm pretty sure you could turn him into a John Doe if you wanted to." Okay, that was only half true. He was pretty sure Trent could win in a fight against Rick, but it would by no means be easy.

Eric's response seemed to please Trent though, as a faint smirk appeared on his lips. "Yeah, I bet," he said with great confidence. "He's two years older than us, right?"

"Yep," Eric said, curious to know where Trent was going with this new subject.

The tension in the courtyard seemed to have shifted from an impending storm of emotions to an odd camaraderie of sorts. Eric internally praised Jesus for that.

"Was he one of the sixth graders you paid to beat me up back in the day?" Trent asked. It sounded much too casual, like he hadn't just referenced Eric's past attempt to get him assaulted.

"No, no, Rick wasn't one of them," Eric quickly clarified, "He only moved to town around a year later. But he's become pretty good friends with the guy you gave a Texas Chili Bowl to. Actually, he's pretty good friends with all of them."

As Trent took a drag from his cigarette, he nodded in acknowledgment. "Ahh yes, the Texas Chili Bowl. Good times," there was a strange touch of nostalgia in his voice. "It would've been kinda ironic, though, if he was one of them."

Eric furrowed his brow slightly and asked, "What do you mean ironic?"

Trent leaned back in his chair, releasing a puff of smoke into the air. "It's ironic because I've offered to beat him up for you guys, or at least for Kenny. It would almost be like the reversed version of what happened back then."

Eric smiled a little. "It gets even more ironic, actually," he started. "Back when he was still dating Kenny, he'd try to act all macho and talk about how he'd totally protect him from you if you ever came back. He's also totally had a hate-boner for you ever since he heard about what you did to his friends. And now you're here, offering to beat him up on Kenny's behalf." He honestly was not entirely sure he was telling the truth. He had heard that from Kenny. Eric himself wasn't in town back when Kenny and Rick dated. He was serving time in juvie. "Heh, it's almost like you guys are fated to beat each other up. You haven't even met yet, and you've both already offered." Wait, oops, slip of the tongue. Trent and Rick had met.

Trent's expression shifted slightly at Eric's observation. He took another drag from his cigarette, looking away as if lost in thought. The sunlight caught the smoke as it swirled around him, creating an ephemeral haze that seemed to mirror the ambiguity of the situation.

"Looks like I have a lot of things in common with Rick," Trent finally admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness.

"Yeah, you guys are pretty alike," Eric began cautiously. For once, Trent was easy to read; he did not want to be like Rick and it clearly showed. "But, you know, you haven't even done anything close to what Rick's done."

Trent's eyes flickered back to him, intrigued. He took another drag of his cigarette and spoke. "Kenny said that too. Too bad. I don't know what Rick's done."

Eric paused, unsure if he should divulge more information. But then he remembered that he had pushed Trent to share some of his own vulnerabilities, so maybe it was only fair for him to talk a little too.

"Well, Rick's done a lot of things," he started. "He tried setting Kyle's parents' house on fire a few months ago, almost hit Stan with his car last week, and also regularly gets drunk and tries to assault Tweek." He leaned back, unsure if he should share more. There was more, much, much more. He had, after all, specifically omitted the things Rick had done to Kenny. "He's fucking insane, dude."

"You're afraid of him?" Trent asked, sounding incredibly smug.

"The motherfucker broke into my house, trying to kill me. Yes, I'm afraid of him," Eric said. He was not ashamed about it; he was simply stating a fact. "Rick's the kind of guy you mess with once and then he becomes your fucking stalker. You go low, he goes low-er. Why else would I stop myself from taking all kinds of revenge? In fact, I'm more afraid of him than I am of you. That's quite an achievement."

Okay, there was some lie to that. The vast, vast majority of the reason why Eric never ruined Rick was his fear of going back to juvenile hall or, now that he was 18, adult prison. He would not do well in actual prison; he barely lived through juvie.

Trent looked very taken aback by that revelation. "Wait, wait, hold the fuck up. He broke into your house?!"

Eric crossed his arms, getting mad just thinking about that memory. "Well, no, he tried to break into my house, but he didn't succeed. Because my mom had bought some new locks and stuff." Eric let his eyes wander for a few seconds. They landed on the trio of hungover men at the other table. They were completely silent, trying to listen in on his and Trent's conversation. How long had they been doing that?

Eric continued talking, but quieter now. "And Kyle was being a giant dick about it. He joked that Rick had huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf, but still couldn't break into the little piggy's home." He sneered a bit. It was by no means a bad insult, but it had simply been way too soon. "Besides, breaking into my house was obviously not the worst thing. Did you just not listen when I said that he tried to barbecue Kyle's entire family?"

Trent's eyes narrowed, and he took another contemplative drag from his cigarette. "Is that why Kenny begged me not to fight Rick?" he asked, his voice quieter than before. He was probably just trying to match Eric's volume.

"Yeah, probably," Eric said. "I know you never got the chance to witness it. But Kenny's got this stupid idea that he has to protect everyone all the time. That apparently extends to you. Congratulations." He huffed the last word with much sarcasm and slight frustration. He could barely believe his own ears. It would have been so awesome if Rick and Trent ripped each other apart.

"He thinks he's protecting me?" Trent asked, his face adorned with a small, flattered smile. "Cute."

"Probably," Eric said. "And he's totally right too. If you fight Rick, he will come after you, guns out. And, yes, he does have a gun; one of those police service revolvers with 12 bullets in them. And the police won't try to stop him, since he's a cop-in-training. Oh, and also his big brother was a cop here too last year. But he moved to Denver. Still, he pulled a lot of strings for him."

He studied Trent's face, looking for any possible indication that his bloodlust was deterred. But Trent seemed even more eager to fight him. He almost looked like an excited puppy, salivating and wagging its tail, barely able to contain itself. He took one last drag from his beloved cancer stick before dumping it into the ashtray. "What does he look like?"

Eric smiled, completely amazed. Trent was either stupid, fearless, or suicidal, and Eric was honestly struggling to figure out which it was. "He's a massive, buff dude, with brown hair and green eyes. You've met him before, actually. He was the guy who introduced us in Corvus Antiques." he said. He paused, taking a moment to admire Trent. If Eric's face looked as nice as Trent's, he would have avoided fights like the plague. Though, for Trent, his face seemed more like a testament to his fighting skills. This was going to be awesome. "Do you know what's gonna happen on Friday?"

Trent's face fell a bit. "The party was moved to Friday...?" So, he didn't know.

"That's not the only thing this Friday," Eric said, insinuating for Trent to at least use his head a bit. He should know; he was one of the school's kickboxers, after all.

"Uh, practice is canceled for some reason," Trent said. He looked like he was really straining to think of anything happening on Friday.

"You're on the right track," Eric said. "Are you sure you don't know what's happening?" Trent just nodded. The confusion was so very evident on his face. Eric sighed and groaned. "Do not under any circumstances let Kenny hear about this plan. But there's a kickboxing tournament this Friday. It's open for everyone in town, and Rick always participates and always wins. If you want to fight Rick, you could do it at that tournament. Not only do you get to beat him up, but you'll also embarrass him, and he probably won't retaliate since it's just a kickboxing match anyway."

He could see the gears turning in Trent's head, like he was genuinely considering the idea. Then, suddenly, the excitement dissipated, and he glared at Eric with a suspicious look. "Are you trying to get me killed? How can you be sure he won't just hunt me down afterwards?"

"Well, Tweek always beats him in that tournament. And he hasn't come after him," Eric said, raising his hands defensively. He was technically telling the truth; Rick had yet to actually hurt Tweek, though he did still regularly try to fight him.

"But you said Rick always wins the tournament," Trent said with a slightly condescending tone. "Your little story doesn't add up."

"W-well, that's because there's this dumb tradition," Eric started. He wasn't lying, but Trent was seriously frying his nerves. "You see, Tweek is 'the champion,' and every year, the winner fights the champion to see who will be the next year's champion. So, the tournament pretty much always ends with Tweek and Rick fighting. And then Tweek wins, I guess. He's been the champion for a few years now."

"So, if I win against Rick and then win the tournament, I have to fight Tweek for the champion title?" Trent asked, trying to make sense of Eric's admittedly flawed explanation.

"Yep," Eric said. "And not just that. There's another tradition." The town had way too many stupid traditions in Eric's opinion. "If you beat the champion, you get to 'make a wish.' It's essentially just a favor that the defeated champion has to do for the new champion. It can be anything, as long as the other is able to make it happen. Like borrowing a car or eating at Top Pot for free."

He could see the wheels in Trent's mind turning again. The prospect of becoming the champion seemed to appeal to him, and perhaps the idea of taking on both Rick and Tweek fueled his spirit even more.

At least, that is what Eric thought as he continued talking. "That second tradition is actually pretty useful to us because once you beat Tweek and get to 'make a wish,' you can say that you and Craig should..." He didn't finish his sentence, choosing to let Trent finish the puzzle on his own. "That way we… well, you can kill two birds with one stone."

"That seems like a pretty unreliable plan," Trent said. "It hinges on the assumption that I could somehow beat Tweek, after already being worn out from fighting Rick and probably a bunch of other skilled fighters. That's probably how Tweek's stayed the champion for so long. Of course, no one's beaten him; they're all too exhausted."

Eric leaned back, his mind racing for alternative ideas. "Okay, how about this then? We stick to the old plan, which admittedly is still a work in progress, but keep the tournament in mind as a plan B. Just in case, we start thinking that Craig doesn't actually wanna… you know. But you should sign up no matter what. It's not like you have anything to lose from fighting Tweek."

"Okay, sure," Trent said, ending the conversation.

As they sat in silence, the tension in the courtyard seemed to have eased, replaced by a strange sense of understanding between them. Eric couldn't help but feel a mix of relief and excitement that Trent seemed open to the idea of facing Rick, even if he was aware of the risks involved. It almost felt wrong. Like he had manipulated Trent into fighting their battles. But then again, he had simply taken Trent's offer. And Trent himself had technically given informed consent to any possible consequences involved.

In a way, he was about to sic Trent on Rick. Like a brutal, ruthless dog, or an obedient, oversized puppy. The duality of man. How nice.

Eventually, Trent broke the silence. "Why didn't you bring up the tournament earlier? It seems like you hadn't even thought of it before."

"That's because I, and the rest of the gang, care so little about kickboxing that we didn't even know the town had an annual tournament until…" He checked his watch. "7 hours ago, when Craig mentioned it. Kenny's the only one who doesn't know about the tournament. And that is even more reason not to tell him because he will try to stop you, and you will cave in."

"I won't cave in," Trent protested.

Eric rolled his eyes. "Sure, you won't, mister 'I'll switch freshmen if Kenny wants me to'."

Trent smiled and rolled his eyes too. "Okay, you got me there. But you don't know who my freshman is."

"You specifically avoided telling me who she is."

"Well, you're gonna find out," Trent said and pointed to somewhere behind Eric. "Look, she's coming right now."

As Eric turned to look, he immediately recognized the girl he saw; her brown hair, patched-up clothing, doe eyes, much too short stature, and generally malnourished look.

Quickly, he turned back to Trent and whispered, making sure she couldn't hear him. "Why the fuck didn't you say your freshman was Karen McCormick!?"

Trent just smirked, though it came across as more playful than smug or mocking. "I thought it would be funny. And like I said, if Kenny asks real nicely, I'll get a new freshman. No sweat," he said, once again matching Eric's volume.

Before Eric could even find the proper words to respond, Trent had pulled out his best, slightly mocking impression of Kenny. "'Oh, Trent, please switch to a new freshman. I don't like having you near my precious, sweet little baby sister. 'Cause you're mean and scary and-'" Trent cut himself off, looking weirdly surprised at his own words. Then he groaned and turned his attention back to Eric and spoke. "Okay, I'll switch. You don't need to tell Kenny to ask."

"What the fuck?" Eric was entirely baffled. Maybe Trent just had many different personalities? Nah, that didn't sound right. Trent was most certainly just trying to keep him on his toes, and it was working. Maybe he was just sleep-deprived. Trent couldn't possibly be immune to the erratic behavior of the sleep-deprived. Yeah, that was probably it. "See, that's what I meant when I said you'd cave. Kenny never even asked, and he's already convinced you to switch freshman."

Karen had almost made it to the table and called out to them. "Hey, I'm really sorry it took so long; my boss is a total dick," she said, before her eyes landed on Eric. "Cartman, what're you doing here…?"

Eric quickly stood up. "Leaving." He had gotten as much out of the conversation as humanly possible, and now he genuinely needed to leave and report back to Kenny.

As he fumbled to get out of the chair without stepping on his mom's dressing gown, he heard Karen say something to him. "Nice outfit, Cartman; a too-small bathrobe and pig slippers. Very chic."

"Thanks, babes. But it's a dressing gown. Have some culture," he responded. "You're even worse than Trent."

He then dramatically turned around and booked it, only to stop once he reached the courtyard's exit. He still had something to tell Trent. So, he turned back and powerwalked towards Trent and Karen. He tried to seem at least a little intimidating, but judging from their reactions, he failed to do so.

"Trent, uh," he started. "I, uhm… don't you dare break the 10 feet rule again. If you do, I'll… I'll…" He didn't know what to say. He wanted to intimidate Trent a bit, but that seemed really hard, knowing that Trent wasn't even afraid of Rick.

"You'll what?" Trent said, looking at him. He almost seemed excited to see what Eric had in store.

"I'll… I'll find out where you live, and I'll chew your toes off while you sleep?" he said, but it sounded way sillier than he meant for it to. Looking at Trent's face, he did not seem the slightest bit intimidated. "Uhhh… and then I'll perform the entirety of Phantom of The Opera. It's 2 hours long." Now that seemed to work, the amused look on Trent's face immediately fell.

"Don't you dare," Trent said, but much like Cartman, he failed to seem intimidating.

"Don't you dare," Eric responded before slowly backing away, while holding eye contact with Trent. He reached the door, opened it, and right before he went through, he yelled across the small courtyard. "And purple isn't the opposite of green! It's magenta! And, yes, there is a difference!" He could see Trent waving him goodbye, the Band-Aids still very visible, even from a distance. Then he left and slammed the door behind him.

He gracelessly speedwalked through the café, looking for Kenny, and eventually found him near the open kitchen, angrily talking to Tweek and Craig, who was also wearing the Top Pot uniform. As he got closer, he couldn't help but notice something he had never quite thought about before. In terms of physical appearance, Craig and Kenny were practically polar opposites. He realized that, in a way, Kenny was the purple to Craig's green. Only their uniforms matched.

"Everything is great!" Kenny whisper-yelled with a very exasperated tone. "I am not stressed!"

"You're literally shaking," Craig responded with his usual deadpan. His comment seemed to strike a nerve as Kenny immediately crossed his arms, hiding his hands in the process. They were still trembling.

"Tweek's always shaking!" Kenny retorted. "And you never send him home!"

"Tweek's the boss, he can send himself home," Craig rolled his eyes. "And I'm not the one sending you home. Tweek is." He said, turning to Tweek. "Tell him, honey."

"Kenny, it was not a question. I'm telling you to leave," Tweek said. "You've had a rough morning, it's normal to be stressed out about that. Besides, I've already called Craig in to take over for you."

To put it frankly, Tweek looked like a massive hypocrite. Sure, Kenny was shaking a bit, but at least he had bothered to shave, comb through his hair, and make sure his uniform was clean. All things Tweek clearly had found useless, judging from his appearance.

Eric eventually made it to the trio and stood next to Kenny. None of the three acknowledged him.

Kenny's frustration was evident in his tone as he asked, "So, you're punishing me for having had a rough morning? I didn't even do anything wrong."

Tweek groaned and ran a hand through his disheveled hair. He hissed a bit as he said, "It's not a fucking punishment, Kenny! I'm giving you time off. It's a gift!" Tweek started getting more aggressive as he spoke. "You should be fucking grateful that I'm giving it to you! You know, there are lots of people who work all day, every day, and never fucking get the chance to take time off! I have gone out of my way to wake my boyfriend up, on his ONE FUCKING DAY OFF, so he could come cover for you! And here you are, calling it a punishment! Try being a little more appreciative!"

Tweek stopped, but only because Craig had placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and pulled him back. "Babe, calm down. There's no need to yell." He was still very calm and monotone, but there was an undeniable anger in his voice.

As Eric observed the exchange, it dawned on him that he had never taken the time to even understand the hierarchical structure at Top Pot. He knew Tweek was the café's owner, making him Craig and Kenny's boss. So, Craig was technically dating his boss. Scandalous. Was that misconduct?

"Wow," Eric began in a very exaggerated tone and gently elbowed Kenny. "You really touched a nerve there, huh?"

It was actually quite impressive. It seemed Tweek's little outburst had folded Kenny like origami. "Right. Sorry. Thank you. I'll… I'll go change," Kenny said, with a very small voice, before he made haste toward the breakroom.

As Kenny hurriedly disappeared into the breakroom to change out of his uniform, Tweek let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair once more. Craig, ever the calm and collected one, turned his attention to Eric.

"Nice boxers," he said, letting his sardonic eyes wander over Eric. "It's good to see you're comfortable in your body, but I don't recall consenting to seeing you shirtless."

Eric let out the driest laugh he could muster up. "You misunderstand, I'm not shirtless. I'm wearing a dressing gown." He did a little twirl so Craig could get a good look at his outfit. "But dearest Craig, I thought you'd like seeing me here." He pouted a bit, putting on his saddest little puppy eyes.

Craig smiled a bit and rolled his eyes. "You know what? Yeah, I'm glad you're here. You can walk Kenny home." He smacked Eric's shoulder a bit. "You should probably go check on him."

Oh, how sweet; Craig was trying to be sly about making Eric leave. He knew exactly why that was; Craig needed to be alone with Tweek so he could scold him for that over-the-top outburst. He could even see Tweek brace himself.

"Sure, I'll do that right now," Eric said, smiling and leaving. "Have fun."

As Eric made his way to the breakroom, he found Kenny moving with all the grace and tact of an upset, overcaffeinated teenager, trying to get his normal clothes back on as fast as possible. His hands were trembling even worse than before, and he seemed visibly distressed. Eric stood by the door, not intruding but waiting for Kenny to finish.

"Hey dude," he said, trying to sound at least a little soft. "What happened? Why'd they send you home? That 'stressed out' bullshit was really vague."

As Kenny finished buttoning up his shirt and tried to steady his trembling hands, he let out a frustrated sigh. "I spilled some coffee on a customer, and he started yelling at and insulting me," he began, his voice shaking a bit. "And I kinda broke down crying. So, now Tweek thinks I'm 'stressed' and that I need time off to 'relax.' Kind of ironic for him to start yelling at me, though."

Now it actually kind of made sense. Kenny had worked here since the days of Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse, and this was almost certainly the first time he had started crying over a customer. He was probably just overwhelmed by all the stuff that had been going on lately. Eric would be too if he were in Kenny's shoes. Still, Tweek did not know about any of that and must have thought it was only about the customer.

Kenny continued talking, getting more and more upset by the second. "I start crying once, and now that motherfucker is gonna cut down on my hours! He can't just do that! I need those fucking hours!"

Eric had no idea what to say. He wanted to tell Kenny to calm down or to look at the bright side. But neither of those things seemed appropriate. After all, Kenny's concerns were very valid; he really needed those hours.

"If it helps anything, I know Craig is scolding him like crazy out there," Eric eventually said. "He got so pissed when Tweek started yelling. Did you notice that?"

Kenny ended up not saying anything. He just fumbled around, looking for his parka. Eric's phone buzzed in his pocket, and he quickly took it out to check the text he had received. It was from Kyle, and it read, "Hey, Stan and I have picked all the black roses. Where should we take them?"

Eric frowned a bit. Judging from the collection of Band-Aids around Trent's fingers, it might be too late. Nevertheless, he wrote back, "Meet me outside Kenny's house. We'll see you there." Kenny's parents kept a trashcan near the house that they often made fires in. They could burn the flowers there.

Maybe, if they were lucky, Trent had yet to actually pick those flowers. Maybe he had gotten himself into a sleep-deprived rage and punched a wall. Maybe his smile after learning about the Reginae Adiutor was the same kind of emotional breakdown thing that he had experienced while talking to Eric; smiling and laughing about his own trauma.

Abruptly, Eric was jolted from his reverie as a sharp knock resounded on the door, swiftly followed by the soft creak of its hinges. With a sense of anticipation, he turned his gaze towards the entrance, only to find Craig leaning casually against the open doorframe.

His face was entirely emotionless as he spoke. "Tweek says he's sorry for yelling at you. He didn't mean to; he's just a little overwhelmed."

Kenny finished zipping his parka and looked at Craig with a very unimpressed look. "If he's so overwhelmed, why isn't he the one going home?" He turned away from Craig to fold his uniform.

Craig sighed and spoke. "Because he's dumb and overestimates his own abilities. And now he's taken on even more work because Stan got that concussion and asked Tweek to cover for him. You know, Stan works a shitload, like shifts every evening and several shifts on Saturdays." How cute, Craig was trying to defend his boyfriend. "And he's a bit worried too because Rick's threatened to do something to make sure Tweek can't fight in the tournament."

So, Eric was right; Tweek was a hypocrite.

Craig continued explaining, or backtracking, or whatever he was doing. "Look, I'm not trying to excuse his yelling. I'm just trying to explain it. He was just trying to help you."

Kenny, with his now neat and folded uniform in hand, turned back to Craig and spoke. "I appreciate the concern, but it's not needed because I am not stressed." His frustration was evident in his voice. "And even if I was, being sent home wouldn't help because losing hours would only make everything worse. You know my dad lost his job again, right?"

Craig's expression softened, and he nodded understandingly. "I get it. I'll make sure you don't get your hours cut, and that you'll get paid for the rest of this shift."

"Can you even do that?" Eric asked.

"Sure," Craig said, still entirely monotone. "I'm the one in charge of making the work schedules, after all."

No. No. Shit. This was bad. Why was Craig being so detrimentally nice today? Eric could see it on Kenny's face. As he thanked Craig, behind the veil of relief and gratitude, there was an undeniable look of guilt. That stupid, annoying, self-sacrificing little asshole, Kenny, was feeling guilty for their plan, because Craig was being nice to him for once. Thank Jesus, Craig was autistic; otherwise, he would have totally caught that.

"Hey, hey, Craig," Eric said, trying to divert the conversation. "Remember when you set Karen's hair on fire? Wasn't that hilarious?"

Craig side-eyed him. He knew he had hit a sore spot, since Craig had apologized for that incident at least 20 times even though it had been accidental. To Eric's surprise, Craig flat-out ignored him and turned his attention back to Kenny.

"There's a meteor shower tonight. Some of us are gonna go see it at Stark's Pond," he said. "You guys should come and bring anyone you want. It'll help you relax."

Eric scoffed a bit internally. As if staying up late on a school night would help anyone. Although, it would be a great opportunity, since Tweek would likely be busy covering Stan's shift. Considering this, Eric decided to speak again. "That's a great idea, Craig. You know, Trent is actually here too, in the courtyard. You should invite him too; I'm sure he'd love to come." He smiled, thankful that Craig probably wouldn't pick up on the subtle deviousness in his voice.

Craig seemed to consider the suggestion for a moment before nodding in agreement. "Sure, I'll go ask him," he replied casually. "The more the merrier." Then he left with a "See you tonight, 11 pm." And off he was.

With Craig now finally gone and Kenny in a much better mood than before, they left the café, heading toward Kenny's house. Eric absolutely hated walking Kenny home. Not that he would ever tell him that. But there was simply something about the thought that Rick could show up at any time that really scared him. He had no idea how Tweek managed to do it so often. Of course, there was a pretty big difference between Tweek and himself, though.

"So, who was Trent's freshman?" Kenny asked, breaking Eric out of his thoughts.

He sounded so chipper, Eric almost felt bad for ruining the mood when he quietly spoke. "It's Karen."

Poor Kenny really could not catch a single break today. "What?" Though a bit muffled by his hood, his single-word response was quite easy to hear. Of course, he would want to keep Karen as far away from Trent as he could.

"But everything's fine, since he immediately agreed to find someone to switch with," Eric quickly said, trying to keep the good mood going. "It was pretty weird actually. Like, he did an impression of you, asking him to switch, and I guess he convinced himself to do it…?" Eric was not entirely sure what had even happened. Trent was confusing to say the least.

As they walked, Kenny looked perplexed by Eric's explanation. "He did an impression of me? Was it good?"

"Yeah. Really fucking good. So good that I would have thought it was actually you if I wasn't literally looking at Trent talking."

"Wow." Kenny said. He smiled a bit, clearly thinking about it, then immediately replaced that smile with a more skeptical look. "Did you two switch then?"

"…no. He just said he'd switch. I don't think he lied; I don't see anything he could gain from it." Eric said, hesitantly. "I guess, you can ask him tonight. If he comes to Stark's Pond."

Kenny pulled his eyes from Eric and placed them on the pavement in front of him as they walked. "I guess." He said.

They continued walking in silence. The only sounds were the scuffing of their shoes, sliding across the pavement, as well as the noise of the vehicles running by. Every car sent a chill down his spine, as he wondered if Rick was driving it.

Like a beacon of hope on the horizon, the outline of Kenny's house was formed in the distance, in all its run-down, filthy, ghetto-akin glory. They sped up slightly, quickly getting close enough to see two figures waiting on the front lawn. For a mere second, a small moment of paranoia, Eric thought it was Rick and one of his stupid lackey-friends, ready to end them for good. But, no, the two figures were just Stan and Kyle.

Kyle had sat down on his jacket on the McCormicks' dirty, cigarette bud-ridden lawn, holding his hand on Stan's calf and resting his head against his leg, as though he were about to fall asleep at any moment. Naturally, Eric could not expect anything else. After all, Kyle had texted him at 3 am, only one hour after they had left to go home, telling him that he would go pick all of the black roses. He had surely not slept a minute all night. And he had now spent more than 5 hours picking all those flowers, which hopefully meant that he did a thorough job.

Standing in front of Kyle was Stan, carrying 3 large trash bags. He swayed slightly from where he stood. He couldn't possibly have slept much either.

As they got closer, Stan and Kyle became clearer, and it was evident that they were both physically and mentally exhausted. Stan's eyes were bloodshot, and he had dark circles under them, while Kyle looked like he could collapse at any moment. The two were so obviously not used to pulling all-nighters; Trent had not slept at all either, but he had seemed a lot more alive than the two of them.

Upon even further inspection, Eric could also see that Kyle's hand, the one slumped in his lap, was completely covered in dirty bandages and bloody gauze. Had he seriously picked the flowers by hand?

Finally, Stan's tired eyes noticed them, and he lazily waved his arm in greeting. "Hey guys, we've got good news and not good news. Which do you wanna hear first?" He gave a weak smile.

At this point, Eric and Kenny had reached them, both of them looking concerned for their friends. Kenny spoke first, "Fuck me, dude. I don't think I can handle hearing any more bad news right now."

Stan nodded, a small sympathetic smile appearing on his face. "Well, we picked all of the black roses around Stark's Pond. There's literally not a single one left. If Trent, or anyone for that matter, tries to find them now, they'll just waste their time."

Kenny's face twisted into a look of confusion as he looked at Stan. "Good job…?" Right, he still didn't know about the flowers. "What's the bad news?"

The small smile on Stan's face faded, and he broke eye contact, while scratching the back of his neck as he spoke. "Well, we don't know if it's bad news yet, but last night, there were around five of those flowers around the bench." Stan looked down at Kyle, who was still leaning against his leg. "But when Kyle and I looked, there weren't any around that bench. Trent might have already been there."

Eric did not know what face he was making, but it could not have been pleasant because the second Stan's eyes fell on him, he immediately spoke up again, raising his hands defensively. "But! We don't know if it was actually Trent who took them. It could have easily been Henrietta or someone else. It doesn't have to be Trent!"

Kyle looked up from where he had been studying Stan's muddy shoes. He matched Stan's unsure but hopeful expression.

Eric had been stupid. Naïve and stupid and gullible and every other synonym. How could he possibly have brought himself to hope that Trent didn't have any nefarious ideas? Why did he even think for a second that Trent's sadistic smile after learning about the Reginae Adiutor, was anything like his emotional breakdown while talking about the guard?

Eric did not even think before he spoke. "Trent was at Top Pot earlier, and his hand was completely covered in Band-Aids." He gestured to Kyle's bandaged hand, just to make sure they caught on to what he was implying.

As they stood there, the weight of the situation settled upon them like a thick fog. No one said a thing. The silence, filled with unsaid accusations and reproach, lay heavily upon them. They all blamed Eric. It was all his idea, after all. Stan had warned him, told him their plan was unethical. But he didn't listen. And, now, they had reached the point of no return.

He could see it on Stan's face; the realization that he had been right about his stupid ethics and his stupid omen. Stan's legs shifted, and he looked like he was about to start pacing around, but he stopped because Kyle was still leaning against him.

He spoke up again, still clinging to his little idea. "W-well, maybe he just punched a wall?" He was still sporting an uncertain half-smile. "M-maybe that bad omen is just about something involving Trent. Maybe it's not even gonna be his fault."

At least Stan was trying to be optimistic, which was certainly more than Eric and Kyle were doing. And Kenny just looked incredibly confused when he asked, "Uhm… what's wrong with Trent having those flowers?"

"Nothing." Kyle said. It was the first thing he had uttered this whole time. He grabbed onto Stan like a pole or something, hoisting himself up to his feet. "Because he's not gonna have them for very long. I'll get them back before the day's even over." Kyle had no business sounding so confident. Not with the way he was swaying back and forth, clinging to Stan, so he didn't keel over. Did he forget who the concussed one was?

Stan, still trying to be optimistic, responded gently. "Kyle, we don't even know if he has those flowers."

"Yes, we do." Kyle said. He was paler than usual, and he swayed a bit, causing Stan to grab his shoulders. "Of course, we know he was the one who took them. All the signs point to him."

"Well, how're you gonna get them back?" Eric asked. He highly doubted Kyle's ability to do anything right now, let alone get something back from Trent.

"Bebe's told me his address," Kyle said, smiling in Eric's general direction, but not looking at him. Stan was still holding onto his shoulders. "I'll go to his apartment, look through everything, then leave." He sounded so smug, like he genuinely thought that was a good idea.

"That's an awful idea!" Eric responded. "You're gonna break into his apartment?! Dude, do you wanna die?!"

"Whatever, fatass, wouldn't you love for me to die?" Ouch, that stung. Kyle shook his head. "Whatever, I'm gonna go there when he's home and get him to let me in."

Oh. It actually made quite a bit of sense now. This whole time, Kyle was just stupid and overconfident.

"Dude," Stan interjected, sounding much gentler than Eric. "You can't seriously think he'll just let you overhaul his place and not ask questions. And, I repeat, we don't know if he even has those flowers or not. You're not thinking straight, how much blood did you lose?"

Kyle didn't get a chance to respond before Eric exclaimed, "Motherfucker! You picked those things without gloves or anything?!"

"I got impatient, okay?!" Kyle said. "It was dark and scary, and I wanted to leave."

As the group stood there, the gravity of the situation began to sink in even more. Kyle's impulsive actions and determination to confront Trent without a solid plan worried everyone. Stan, Kenny, and Eric all looked at each other, concern etched on their faces.

Eventually, Kenny spoke up. "So, no one is going to tell me why we don't want Trent to have those flowers?"

As the tension in the air lingered, Eric took a deep breath and began telling Kenny everything about the Reginae Adiutor. Once he ran out of info about the flowers, he told them about the guard, Trent's hatred for green, and every little, minute detail that he considered relevant. Eventually, he ran out of info to dump, the only thing he had yet to tell was that Trent was signing up for the kickboxing tournament. He would later tell Stan and Kyle about that privately, while Kenny couldn't hear.

Unfortunately, it seemed Kenny's question had distracted everyone from Kyle's awful plan before they had even had the chance to deter him.