Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

sadness in the eyes of youth, long crushed beneath the weight of expectation placed by ones who held a life too high in regard. feelings of regret and loneliness and resentment bubbling beneath the surface of a carefully positioned mask, showing only the utmost devotion to the expectations of those depending on youth.

do you hear the cries of the abandoned? the deep, mourning weeps of a time long lost to the life left behind in the wake of honey thick promises, soothing and rich and full of lies.

live in it, enrich your poor soul, drench yourself in the sweet poison of those who expect things beyond your capacity. watch as the mask crumbles from its perch and the sorrowful eyes of the lost become found full of vigor.

you leave a trail of clothes behind as your weight falls dead on to the bed haphazardly raised on an old, rickety metal frame — the kind that leaves scars littering your shins from how many times you’ve run into the sharp edge of the frame, too big to hold the old futon you’ve lugged across the country for the umpteenth time.

despite the lethargy seeped deep into your bones, sleep evades even your restless form, curled in on itself as a last measure of protection from the stillness creeping into the air around you, permeating a faint, yet assuredly sterile and untouched, redolence of childhood memories, sweeping your tired eyes into a hazy fog of repressed turbulence.

sorrowful weeps echo from around you, tears staining the naked mattress slumped into a pitiful attempt of a sofa, halfway down to the floor riddled with the garments of a previous version of yourself, the hot and salty tears flooding your eyes washing away the old and harboring the new, a cocoon of despair warping and twisting your malleable form into something different, something unknown, begging to be explored for what it will become and understood for what it is.

a new life starts tonight, where you spend it alone and exposed and afraid of the endless possibilities of the haunting past catching up to the unprecedented future.

Chapter Text

forts of cardboard and scattered trinkets dotted the room surrounding you, in the midst of unpacking and purging the life you lived before. nothing is as cathartic as exposing the skeletons of who you are and deciding what may stay past the sentimental relations, opting to toss whatever held something dark behind its long-forgotten purpose and joy. why keep what no longer makes you happy?

no good to wallow in desperation for what once was, rather deciding to create something new from the unexplored situation you have found yourself in. across the country, far from those you knew or cared for, exposed to the world once more after three long, unbearable years of isolation. for what purpose more than acclaimed safety, than perhaps punishment for repressed behaviors, locked away from the people charging your life.

your charges, caretakers, guardians — they carried you wherever they pleased, dragging you along by the collar like an unwilling dog, forced to go where they made you — even into the deepest pits of loneliness and despair, never admitting to their role in your isolation.

seventeen, unexposed to those your age for what felt like eons, and nervous to be paraded around like a newborn lamb on shaking legs, barely able to stand for yourself, let alone those expecting what they claim to be great things from you. busy as ever, bare bones laid before your eyes, the skeleton of a room to be abandoned as soon as possible, to be filled with new memories of the surrounding city.

clothes laid in the small bathroom connected to your room, part of the fraction you brought with you, leaving the rest to new hands in old secondhand shops and acquaintances met by chance who happened to be similar in size. barren to the cold air of the room, you step carefully into the spray of near-boiling water, an old white curtain made of thick plastic, molded and tattered at the edges, the only thing keeping you and the chill outside apart.

“you look like shit,” you mutter to no one but yourself, staring blankly at the hazy reflection of yourself in the fogged mirror.

eyes still sore from the emotions of the early morn, hair dripping rhythmically on to the cold tile beneath your feet, skin itching and sensitive from the much-too-hot shower and sticky from the lotion you force yourself to wear, despite the ever-present sensation of feeling every inch of your flesh rubbed raw from scrubbing away the dead cells clinging to your body.

grimacing from the feeling of cloth sticking to your damp skin, you drape a towel over your shoulders, keen on not getting your shirt wet. tightness enveloped your chest as you let out a shaking breath, bearing the unbearable, and step out of the still foggy room, out into the cold morning air in a box-riddled hallway.

doors shut tight a sign to walk quietly, knowing your parents still sleep past the time you are already about to leave, even on the first day in years that you’re to be let out into the world again. it comes as no surprise.

a bag set by the door the night prior and a phone with a small amount of cash stored in the case in your pocket is all you take as you tie the final knot in your boots and open the front door to the freezing mountain air. your breath forms into puffy clouds as you sigh mournfully, locking the door behind you and shoving the key in a side pocket of the backpack slung over your shoulder.

the fur lining your collar is the only relief that the irritated skin of your cheeks feels against the biting cold, shoving your hands deep into the pockets of the coat you “borrowed” from someone you will now never see again.

shoes crunching in the snow covering the cemented sidewalks, clinging to the faded leather as you take one step after the other, all in the attempt to keep yourself from running from what you are so close to finally obtaining. a chance at freedom nips at your nose, blurry eyes watch as you come closer and closer to what lays before you — a moment of true autonomy granted to you, and here you turn your nose at it, not taking the chance of abandoning something new.

a sign stands high at the end of the road, marking the territory you have to cross into — you take the final step.

Chapter Text

“fresh meat” was the first thing you heard muttered as you stood silently beside the bus sign. a large, smug looking boy was the first to appear beside you, side-eyeing you skeptically, yet with a glint of something near malicious you were all too familiar with in his eyes. his eyes were not the same, you noted.

the next words you heard consisted of an array of muffled excitement and multiple usages of the nickname “fatass” by multple voices as you were bombarded with neon hunters’ orange.

someone grabbed onto your shoulders and in a mere moment, something inside of you snapped. coming out of your insomnious daze, your fingers are reflexively quick to yank back the hand of whoever had touched you and lock their arm behind their body. more orange. muffled yelling. skin touching it’s wrong it’s wrong it’s disgusting–

“don’t fucking touch me,” you seethe, pupils blown wide in wild fear, slowly processing what you were doing. you push the figure in orange forward, dropping their weight into the snow below. you feel eyes staring at you, you want to yell, you want to cry, you want to disappear.

you prepare for rejection, for ridicule, for being told you’re overreacting, but nothing comes to you. no, instead the blame is put on the figure lying in the snow, groaning and rubbing their shoulder.

“dude, you can’t just fuckin’ grab people out of nowhere,” another voice, this one coming from the figure crouched over the orange one. you watch as the figure in the bomber jacket peers up at you, curiosity painting his expression.

“i’m so sorry he startled you,” another, beside you. flaming red hair, long and lucious and curled, pale skin, another one carefully hovering around you. the smug one who stared at you earlier cackles at the orange figure on the ground. all men, you count, at least as far as your now hazy mind can figure.

“you’re new, right?” bomber jacket asks you. you nod. he smiles. “i’m stan. sorry about kenny, he’s too stupid for his own good.”

he stands from his crouching position, hoisting the orange one, kenny, by the shoulder as he does. stan points to the boy with flaming hair.

“that’s kyle.” he gestures to the last one, “and that’s cartman. he’s also an asshole.”

you hear gawking protests from cartman, refuted by the others and repeating that it’s true over and over again. kyle is the first to tear his attention away from the petty argument to speak with you again.

“again, i’m really sorry about that, …?” he tilts his head slightly, as though prompting you to say something.

you guess correctly. “[YN].”

“[YN]. it’s good to meet you.” kyle smiles at you. odd. something inside you blooms, an unfamiliar feeling expanding in your chest. reciprocal kindness, you remember faintly, something you experienced some time ago, before everything went to shit for you. “you’re new here, right?”

you nod.

“do you need someone to show you around?” a simple offer, offered in the least simple way possible.

do you need help? yes. could you figure it out yourself? most likely. did you want to accept? you don’t know. questions run through, a checklist, something instinctual, checking eyes, body, the quirk of lips, twitching of eyebrows and fingers, what did he want with you? what did he expect in return? why did he want to help you?

you nod again. kyle is still smiling.

you agreed to be shown around. you come to the conclusion that it’s better than being paraded around by any of the school faculty. the group of boys from the bus stop hover around kyle, and by extension, you. it’s… odd. they accept you willingly — well, except for cartman — they ask you questions; where you’re from, what classes you signed up for, your hobbies, your favorite color.

around, the bare minimum you could take, (you couldn’t answer this without falling silent halfway through), yellow.

as though you are young children, they act like you’ve been there for years. it feels welcome. it feels wrong. it’s familiar and comforting, you feel accepted. petty squabbles and playful arguments occur after every sentence spoken, something so casual and natural it’s as though it’s a primal reaction wired between the group surrounding you.

even with the faces familiar to everyone else around you, you received gawking stares and curious glances from every student that passed by you. you understood it well enough, being the “new kid” always leaves an impression, and now, you have to watch everything you do. one slip up can coin you as the clumsy dumbass with his head in the clouds that just transferred here, how awful that they have to be stuck around you .

things only grow worse when the group disperses for separate classes, and you cling to the last member to share a schedule with you.

cartman — or rather, eric — you learned, was who you stuck with, despite every annoyed huff he let out as you stumbled through the halls behind him.

“do you have to fuckin’ follow me so close?” he snaps, giving you the same malicious side-eyed glance as he did at the bus stop. “fuck, you’re like a stupid sheep.”

he rolls his eyes as you say nothing, instead claiming the seat furthest away from him in the classroom. it’s better than staying near… that. you didn’t need it. you didn’t need to put up with that.

… right?

Chapter Text

“you’re the new kid, right?” you peer upwards to the voice right above you, met with a faded red letterman right against your desk and a smiling brunet looking down at you.

you nod, giving an affirmative hum.

“y’know, you’re not half bad lookin’.” his grin grows wider, leaning down by placing a hand on the desk you had claimed and barely hovering above eye level with your near-shaking frame.

“wh–”

“mind if i get your number?” he winks, “promise i’m a nice guy, if you want, i can show you around. maybe help you get a feel for the area.”

before you can shudder and cringe away, the boy in front of you is pulled away roughly, making him let out a pathetic sounding whine.

“honestly, clyde, she hasn’t even been here a day and you’re already trying to make a pass,” a girl’s voice, belonging to someone with long, silky black hair. she scoffs at the brunet, clyde, and turns to you.

“sorry about him,” she smiles, offering you a hand. you don’t take it. she doesn’t react besides pulling it back. “us girls gotta stick together against pervs like him, right? i’m wendy.”

“i’m not a girl.”

be polite, be straight to the point. she, wendy, stares bewilderedly at you for a moment before smiling gently. “sorry, i didn’t mean any offense. what’s your name?”

part of you is thankful she didn’t put on any theatrics regarding the deadpanned statement you gave her, grateful that no one else heard her besides yourself and clyde. he’s not paying attention anyway, moping and grumbling incoherently about the girl stopping him from borderline harassing you, not that you weren’t used to that sort of attention.

“[YN]. my name is [YN].”

“ah, that’s right! i thought i saw your name on the files in the office,” she exclaims, a playful grin spreading across her lips. “honestly, it’s been so long since we’ve gotten a new person here, it was getting kinda boring with all the same people.”

why had she seen your files? what was she doing in a position where she was able to so easily access your information? did she know everything about you? there could be no chance of it, you decide, knowing you had withheld more than you probably should have from the school, only giving the bare minimum knowledge of your background to the counselor and principal over letter and hovering over the shoulder of your father as he spoke to them over video.

you hesitantly nod, preparing a question posed at the tip of your tongue, once again interrupted by a loud sound resounding through the school. you instinctively cover your ears to muffle the noise coming through the loudspeakers, signaling the start of classes.

wendy says nothing about your reaction, watching as you pull your hands away as the noise stops and offers you a gentle smile once again. “it was great meeting you, [YN], i hope we get to talk more later.”

you hoped not.

you decide kyle is too nice to you. he escorts you alongside stan and kenny to the cafeteria, or as you know it, the worst place you can remember from attending school. worse than the classrooms or gym or buses, no, they had nothing on the nightmare of noise and smells and sights that this room held against you.

stan is the first to see you’re uncomfortable. something of a mutual understanding, he thinks, as he manages to convince the others to eat outside of the cafeteria, just for your comfort.

you don’t like that he did that. you don’t understand why he did that.

“i get it man,” he says through a mouthful of food, to which kyle quietly berates him for the grossness of his actions. “it can get way too overstimulating in there. sometimes i can’t even handle it.”

he smiles boyishly at you, and something clicks. he’s like you. you smile back, although sheepishly.

“yer’ awful quiet, y’know?” kenny pokes your arm, making your hairs stand on end and your posture to stiffen, clenching you jaw as your breathing slows to calm yourself. it’s a playful gesture, he meant no harm, you’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine.

“i don’t like talking much,” you mumble, glancing away from the boy in the parka.

“why’s that?”

you glower at him, glaring at his arm on the green plastic coating the metal picnic table. “you ask too many questions.” you spit. he only laughs, muffled by the hood he seems to refuse to take off, even to eat, simply maneuvering the food between the gap of his neckline and mouth.

it’s uncomfortable to watch someone else eat. you tear your eyes away from the three boys — eric had decided that you were all “pussy ass crybabies” for not wanting to eat inside — and examined the snowy terrain surrounding the building. the emergency exit you had come through to reach the outdoor seating area — which was obviously very much so malfunctioning since no alarm had gone off nor was it locked — was situated in between two dumpsters, now populated by a small group of differently sub-genred gothic teens. two trad, an edwardian, a southern, (surprisingly) a cabaret — two heavy fem presenting, two masc, one pseudo-androgyne.

the heavy, comforting scent of marlboro reds hung thick in the air wafting around the area, very obviously coming from the cigarette clutched between the ringed fingers of the victorian styled boy lounging casually across the steps to the emergency door. an intricately detailed cane lay beside his figure, separating him and the youngest looking one of the group.

you could feel the tension of the air be cut with the sharpest of glares you had received so far, eyes meeting with the charcoal painted ones of the edwardian dressed boy. a dangerous glint flashed within them, his brows furrowing as you quickly turn your attention once again to whatever the group sitting beside you was discussing.

“– but can ya’ really blame him for bein’ interested?.”

“blame who for what?” you catch the tail end of whatever kenny had mumbled through the fabric covering his mouth, all eyes falling to you. you regretted speaking, wanting to shrink away into nothing just from the inquisitive looks in each of their eyes. eyes. their eyes. almond, steely, oceanic. something about their eyes was so perplexing, so captivating, they made you feel so small .

stan was the first to talk. “some of the other guys heard you were hanging around us, wanted to meet you.” he rubbed the back of his neck and bit the inside of his cheek. you took mental note of the nervous tics, eyeing kyle’s fingers drumming against the cover of the book he had brought with him to the break. kenny made no such nervous gesture, instead still staring straight at you, almost through you, could he see everything? could he see the little pieces of you that you kept hidden deep behind your eyes, every little detail of the sharp, jagged edges of what lied beneath the surface of the facade you wore so well?

he was just looking at you. that was it. that was all it was. you cocked your head slightly, raising a brow to the three. “is there a reason you’re all nervous?”

“no way!” stan exclaimed, loudly in fact. it startled you, you could see kyle jump slightly from the corner of your eye. “it’s just–”

“– th’ other guys always get wayyyy too hyped when someone new moves in. happened last time with douchebag, happenin’ with you,” kenny props his head in his hand, resting his elbow on the picnic table, his eyes still burning their gaze into your figure. his hood is down. you can see his face. “not shocked, ‘yer cute so it was gonna happen sooner ‘r later.”

he shrugs, pursing his lips and sighing. “mannn, i thought calling first dibs at the bus stop would work, but naw. fuckin’ clyde’s gotta try and be a sneaky bastard n’ get ‘yer number.”

“i didn’t give it to him,” you admit quietly, kicking some of the snow under the table with the tip of your boot. “he was really pushy. made me uncomfortable.”

“yeah, that sounds like clyde,” kyle sighs, still tapping his fingers rhythmically against his book. the bassy thunk -ing sounds are soothing to your ears, almost able to feel them bounce around in your chest.

"he's always fast to the punch with anyone he thinks 's cute," kenny grumbles. "stupid bloodsuckin' ass thinks he can call dibs when i already did.."

“have you known him for a long time?” an answer you’ve wanted since speaking with wendy, phrased to sound more innocent than you were expecting, curious. always so curious. always so manipulative, trying so hard to get what you want. it worked.

“oh, yeah, we’ve all known each other since at least preschool."

“‘cept douchebag, he moved here when we were like, ten or something? dunno, it was a while ago,” stan adds quickly. what sort of people refer to another person as “douchebag” so casually? was it just a silly nickname? most likely, no true disdain could be discerned from their tones.

they kept talking. you fell silent.

you could still feel someone’s eyes on you.

Chapter Text

you were a special case. whilst the others dispersed after the lunch period ended, leaving you with shallow goodbyes and promises of finding you again after school, you stood alone in the halls of a building full, yet empty. you would not see them again until tomorrow, you were going to leave this place as soon as you could. which would be soon, if not for the sound of a lighter flicking in the men’s restroom nearby.

a sound you wished you did not know by heart, but the past indulgences of the adults in your life left it festering in the back of your mind, engraved into your brain with its metallic scrape and fast actioned spark. you almost want to laugh, it barely being noon and already finding someone who had run off to go smoke in the bathrooms, even more so when there was obviously so little effort to hide that fact.

you hesitate for only a moment, unnoticeable to anyone but yourself, turning the corner into the restroom and spying the culprit of the extremely noticeable sound and smell of cigarettes. your eyes land on those of a rather lanky looking boy, leaning carelessly against the door of one of the two stalls in the room, not bothering to even look at you as you approach the stall he wasn’t blocking.

“wouldn’t go in that one if i were you.” he interrupts your reaching for the handle of the door on an exaggerated blow. you watch as his eyes dart between your hand and the wall in front of him before he pushes himself off the stall he had been loitering against. “cartman used it before lunch ended. probably shouldn’t put yourself through that.”

he nods his head over to the one beside you. “this one.”

you silently thank him with a downwards nod, about to lock the stall door when you hear footsteps approaching the restroom the two of you reside in. they aren’t happy footsteps, no, these aren’t a student either. too harsh of a tap against the linoleum tiles paving the halls to be any kind of sneaker, too hard of a step to belong to someone dropping by just to take a piss.

“fuck.”

you grab the boy still loitering in front of you and drag him inside the stall with you, quick to snag the cigarette from between his fingers, pushing the burning tip into the sleeve of your jacket — it’s not the first time you’ve burned out cigarettes on your clothes, you knew it wouldn’t be the last — and shoving him on to the toilet seat, motioning sporadically for him to cross his legs to hide from whoever was coming in.

“craig, i know you’re in here young man.” it’s mr. mackey, most likely looking for the boy sitting behind you as you internally panic, questioning why the hell you cared about hiding this guy in the first place. “when i find you craig, it’s detention for another week, do you understand?”

you clench your jaw. a nasty habit, your mother told you a long time ago, but it’s never stopped you. your teeth always hurt anyways, what’s a little more pain on top? the soreness of the bone was nothing compared to the throbbing pain associated with wanting to tear your teeth right out of their place in your gums. it hurts. it always does. you’re not there right now, no, you’re hiding out in the bathroom when you should be halfway home by now, listening as the footsteps grow closer and closer.

“i can see your feet in the stall, tucker. come out, now.”

shit. he’s right in front of the door now, the handle jiggles just slightly and you’re panicking. gods above, you’re so stupid for trying to help some guy skip out from punishment for smoking in the goddamn bathroom.

“i-it’s just me, mr. mackey,” you choke out, clenching your eyes shut tight. you try to slow your breathing as you hear the door stop rattling, shoulders dropping with relief when you peek an eye open to see the scuffed leather shoes step back from the stall.

“oh, uh–” you hear him stop from behind the thin material of the door, “sorry about that, [LN]. i thought you were someone trying to skip detention.”

“it’s–” you glance back to the boy, craig , still sitting silently on the toilet seat, staring at the floor beneath your feet. your voice wavers slightly, noticeable only to yourself — what you thought at least, as craig’s eyes flicker to your back, watching your body quaver with uncertainty.

“it’s alright, mr. mackey. i’ll let you know if i see anyone.”

his footsteps recede from the room, another apology mumbled faintly along with them, the stall that you and the other boy reside in now feeling abhorrently claustrophobic. the plastic green walls scribbled on by years worth of permanent markers and etched into by dull pocket blades closing in on you as you peer back to the lanky teen now standing right behind you. close, he’s close, he’s too close.

your body moves on its own, pushing the door open and stumbling away from the towering figure looming overhead. his brows are furrowed, he’s angry, he looks down to you with an undistinguishable expression — you feel your hands trembling against the cold tile floor beneath you, god knows when these floors were last cleaned, but right now you want nothing more than to sink into the ground and not exist within this man’s sight.

he reaches down, right in front of you, his hand roughly above your torso. his eyes are less angry, expression still blank and unreadable, but softer.

you don’t take his hand.

he shoves it back into the pocket of his sweatshirt. “thanks,” he mumbles, watching intensely you scramble up from the floor without his help, rushing over to the sink to wash your hands from the filth of the ground you walk on. he follows, hovering close enough to hear your mumbling proclamations of your actions being nothing but instinct, not directed towards him — far away enough to not crowd your form, hunching over the sink and scrubbing your skin viciously under the water, using far more soap than most other people would consider normal.

you can feel his eyes on you, studying you, not much different than what you do to others when meeting. you can’t judge him. you understand this. you know this behavior, you can see it out of the corner of your eye as you both watch each other intently, what will the next move be?

“why did you help me.” and “i’m sorry.”

the two of you stare at one another, questions and statements made in a split second decision overlapping in awkward tension.

“craig, right?” you break it first, eyes downcast to the scuffed porcelain sink, hands wavering with an unidentifiable feeling of near dismay. you want to hear him speak again. something in it, something about his voice, it was familiar, soothing.

“yeah.” he makes small gestures with his hands, not directed towards you, but rather to satiate his own need for regulation, something to distract him from the strange feeling creeping up his spine. “you’re the new kid, right? everyone’s talking about you.”

“that’s not very comforting,” you mumble idly, preening just slightly at the silent huff of laughter that comes from the boy nearby. “why..” you hesitate. “why was mr. mackey looking for you?”

you can see his eyes drift from the corner of your own, downcast to the linoleum beneath your feet, you know this behavior. you exhibit it often, timid and afraid and avoiding an answer. you don’t like it. neither does he.

“you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you say. he looks back at you, not to your eyes, you notice, but to your neck. he’s taller than you, understandably, he must be able to avoid direct contact with that advantage.

he steps closer. subtle, but closer, you notice the shift in his foot and tilt in his head, wondering, pondering, curiosity burning in his eyes.

“wanna skip out with me?”

you don’t have much of a choice.

Chapter Text

led around like a dog on a leash, eyes darting around the natural landscape in an attempt to catalog it in your mind for later, you trail quietly behind craig. the whole town is full of odd shortcuts and pathing, allowing the two of you to cut behind the school (after climbing through a window on the second floor and dropping down from the roof) and past the church, walking along the forested areas outside of the city.

“it loops back around,” craig tells you, to which you question the validity of due purely to the natural laws of physics.

and yet, lo and behold, the two of you emerge from the woods near a large storage facility, and just past it and a few scattered and forgettable shops, appears a modern looking coffee shop.

craig stops in front of it, causing you to run into him for a split second before jumping back, face burning and hands stuffed into the pockets of your coat, nuzzling your face into the fur of the collar in a weak attempt to hide your embarrassment. craig makes no move to comment on your lack of attention, instead opting to shove a hand into the pocket of his jeans and prop open the door to the coffee shop, motioning for you to walk in with his head.

you comply deftly, shuffling in with foggy breath and a deep sigh as the warm, fragrant smell of freshly roasted beans and drip-brew envelops your senses. the whole place was comforting in a sick sense, reminding you of someone you used to know, always smelling of coffee and cigarettes. you mindlessly ran a finger over one of the patches on your jacket, solemn memories eating away at the back of your mind from just the feeling of the fabric touching your skin.

“ack! welcome to tweak bros.! what can i-” a frantic and raspy voice rung out without warning, followed by the slamming shut of a door behind the counter. you flinched at the noise, quickly ducking behind craig and hiding behind his broad stature.

“-oh, it’s just you, craig…” the high-strung voice sighs out with relief, a swift moment of silence ruined within seconds by a shrill yelp. “craig?! aw, jesus fuck, man! you’re skipping again?!”

you peek out from behind craig, noticing his shoulders shaking like he was holding back a laugh at the expense of the person behind the counter. said person looked to be around both your ages, messy ash-blond hair sticking out in every direction and almond eyes near bulging out from his persistent freak-out at craig’s presence in the cafe.

“dammit, dude! if mackey finds out you came here to skip, my ass is busted too! arrgh!!” the blond boy shrieks, tugging at his hair and breathing heavily.

“chill out, tweek,” craig responds in an eerily calm way to the other boy’s panicked state, a lax smile on his face. “besides, i got company this time. we can just blame them.”

you furrow your brows and scoff, stepping out from behind him and releasing a swift slap on his arm, scowling at the tall boy.

“you jackass,” you seethe, glaring at him. you hear a sharp gasp, turning your head to look over to tweek, eyes widening at the blond as the two of you make oddly prolonged eye-contact, considering your natural aversion to it.

“you’re…” he mutters as the two of you stare, slack-jawed and wide-eyed, which did not go unnoticed to the black haired boy beside you, nor to the other pairs of eyes you could feel burning into your skin.

tweek shakes his head violently, eyes screwed shut while he did so. he lets out a heavy sigh that slowly turned to an exasperated groan, shooting a menacing glare at craig and huffing loudly, turning his attention back towards you–this time without the strange intensity.

“you’re the new kid, right?” his voice is raspy as he speaks. you can see him tugging on the end of his apron, which covered up a faded green flannel and knitted cardigan. his hands were littered with scars, most looking like burns — made sense, if he worked at a coffee shop. “my name is tweek.. you?”

you feel something bloom inside of you as his eyes dart between the counter and the space behind your head — he wasn’t looking at you. your chest swelled with appreciation, a kindling of familiarity washing over your tense nerves as you smiled softly to the boy. you realized it as you stepped closer to the counter, glancing over his disposition, his posture, his pretty face. he was just like you.

“i’m [YN]. you work here?” you ask gently, thrumming your fingers on the counter with a soft rhythm, ignoring the confused stare of craig behind you.

part of your mind was screaming at you, refusing to allow you to be so kind, so gentle, so open, especially to someone you just met — another part of your brain, the part that sensed kinship in the boy, you cradled gently, and against your conditioned judgment, allowed it to reach out to another, if only for this moment to be.

“y-yeah, i do..” he cleared his throat, a rosy color rising to his freckled cheeks. oh, such sweet freckles, you noticed, like constellations dotting his skin. 

you could feel someone standing behind you, tilting your head back to see craig comfortably tucking you between himself and the counter. he raises a brow at you, to which you mirror the expression with perplexion. “what?”

he was too close, your mind screamed at you with discontentment. this is what happens when you seem comfortable. this is what happens when you allow yourself to be kind. this is what happens when you try to be gentle. bite back.

“what?” he returns the question without hesitation, placing a hand on the counter just a few inches away from yours. his gaze moves to tweek, watching the two of you with confusion—something tugged at his chest at the sight of you sandwiched between craig and the counter, to which he cleared his throat to gather your attentions.

you smack craig’s hand away and slam your heel on his foot without care, not paying mind to the loud curse he let out when you did so. thank whatever feeling that morning had told you to wear your steel-toed boots. “sorry. uhm, tweek. i- uh- coffee. what would you recommend?”

tweek’s eyes light up at the question, beginning to prattle off about his favorite coffee roasts and what he deemed easiest to make for customers, however backpedaling quickly and scrambling to tell you that he wouldn’t just recommend a drink because it was simple to make. you could see the panic in just his body language alone, once more ignoring the shrieking wails of your insecurities to try to coax the boy to calmness.

“it’s alright, tweek. i’ll just take whatever is your favorite, okay?” you smile so gently at him, he feels like he would melt into a puddle if it weren’t for the heavy gaze of craig just behind you to keep him steady.

before you can pull whatever cash you had stored in your phone case out, tweek frantically motions for your attention. “p-please! it’s on me! just, uh- consider it a welcoming… gift…? y-yeah! that’s it.”

you could see the redness rising to his pale cheeks, eyes wide for a moment before falling into a tender expression, giving him yet another gracious smile and affirmative hum. he scrambles to send you to the end of the counter, craig trailing behind you as you made your way over.

“you two seem to be getting along well,” he chides, leaning back against the edge of the countertop. part of you wants to chastise him for how unhygienic that was, but you were far too concerned at his words to do so. “tweek usually doesn’t act so well in front of strangers. wonder why it’s different with you…”

you shrug, readying a response, yet something glints in the corner of your eyes, distracting you from whatever words had just died on the tip of your tongue. charcoal eyes met your own, and you could feel the world shrink in on you.

you were being watched.

Chapter Text

“who the hell are they?” you can feel your body tremble as whatever words leaving craig’s mouth slip past your consciousness. voice hushed to a low whisper, ducking behind the tall dark-haired boy to avoid the stare of the strangers in the corner of the cafe, you don’t even notice as your hand reaches out instinctually to grasp at craig’s hoodie sleeve.

the space was closing in around you, pupils dilated and breathing slightly erratic, your body felt like it was floating on nothing as you tried desperately to tether yourself to the here, the now, the real world, fingers tight around the soft fabric adorning craig’s frame — the only lifeline in a moment of fear, mind shrinking and wailing for you to lash out, to scream, to run away from the piercing, dangerous eyes watching your every movement.

craig was no stranger to the behavior pattern, allowing you to hold on to his sleeve as you unraveled, only after a few moments passing a sinister glare in the direction you refused to look in and realizing the source of your distraught.

“shit, those assholes? don’t worry, they won’t do anything,” he places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, as though assessing if you were truly well enough for him to even think about making such a gesture. he can feel the muscles beneath his palm stiffen, yet relax as he awkwardly pats his hand on your shoulder in a less-than-comforting manner that just so happened to be uncomfortable enough to make you chuckle under your breath.

you smile weakly up at craig, staying ducked behind him to avoid the incessant gaze of the darkly-dressed teenagers in the corner. had they followed you two, or was it just coincidence that you happened to end up in the same place at the same time.

“all done!” a raspy voice called out. you had never been more thankful for a cup of coffee, tweek setting down the steaming paper cup with a contented smile and a shine in his almond eyes. “i- uh, i hope you like it, [YN]!”

he stuttered out your name with such a sweet cadence, it almost could distract you that he was loud enough for the people you didn’t want knowing your name now knew it. you wanted to curse tweek for his loud manner of speaking, but you couldn’t bring yourself to be mean to him. not now, at least.

“thank you, tweek,” you force a smile, ignoring with all your might the burning gazes on your back. “i’ll see you around, okay?”

the chiming of the door signaled your exit, tweek seemingly disappointed with your leaving, and subsequently, craig’s following departure.

how odd it was, for craig to take a kindling to someone so quickly. why did he care about leaving with you? what could he gain from it? tweek was very obviously no better, shooting a glare at his friends stalking the corner of the cafe.

“nice going, michael,” he gripes, ignoring the rolling of eyes from the group of goths, returning to the back room of the shop to resume his duties.

craig walked you all the way home, much to your chagrin. even more to your dismay was the invitation inside offered by your guardians, which led to you learning that craig was just as awkward about turning down insistent demands from those with even the slightest authority over him.

“i’m so happy our little girl is already making friends!” your mother chirped.

god, how you wanted to crawl into a hole and die there; nothing was worse than having the guy you bailed out of detention for smoking in the bathroom, sitting on the untouched couch your guardians had just purchased, hearing your mother blatantly call you a girl, despite his impression of you being a boy within the entirety of the two hours he knew you.

“she’s always been so gloomy and isolated,” your ‘mother’ continued, waving her hand dismissively as she spoke. “it’s nice for her to meet some people around her age for once!”

oh, how you wanted to scream — how you wished to grapple and rip into the shoulders of the woman across from you and shriek — how she refused to believe, to accept, to understand, that everything she spoke of was of her own fault; the decisions she made causing you to become the very creature she spoke of. how terribly you wanted to smack the condescending grin off of her face as she called you a woman, shattering your only hope of passing as anything but in this new town, where no one knew your name or face or story.

“so, craig was it? are you single?”

that was the tipping point for the both of you, it seemed — at the same time, both you and craig bolted up from the couch, fury written across your face and blazing embarrassment painted across his.

“we’re going upstairs, mom,” you seethe through your gritted teeth, fists clenched at your side as you held back the furious tears threatening to fall from your eyes. oh, that offended look in her gaze always made you feel so self-satisfied; ruining her plans of sabotaging your only hopes of connection so she could once more be in total control.

if only she knew how much you were holding back, for courtesy's sake and nothing more.

the sun had begun to set, not far too late in the evening for colorado in the early days of autumn, but soon enough that you knew the woman downstairs would have retreated to her own space to avoid the impending loneliness yet to take over the house.

the two of you, craig and yourself, had stayed cozied up in the bare skeleton of what was deemed your room, surrounded by towers of cardboard and shoddily put together furniture. barely lived in, barely alive, barely a home.

“i’m… sorry, that you had to see all that..” you mutter helplessly, pulling your knees in on yourself, curled in the corner of the rickety old futon the two of you had been sitting on in silence for more than just a few minutes.

“it’s alright.”

“no it’s not.” you retort as soon as the words leave his mouth, eyes burning with anger as you merely think of the events that had transpired. “i’m also sorry about… well, you probably could guess it now…”

“that you’re trans?” he hit the nail straight on the head, your wincing reaction all the confirmation he needed to know he was right. “it’s fine, dude. i don’t give a shit.”

how genuine he sounded, as though he knew from the very beginning. all things considered, he most likely did — too many inconsistencies existed within your personage, too many signs to point to that conclusion. of course, the biggest factor at play that you had not been acutely aware of — nor consciously knowing of — was the reflection of someone he cared deeply for within your eyes; how much you reminded him of someone he loved, who lived your scenario with familiarity.

“i don’t doubt that… it’s just…”  the sigh you let out was so heavy, so mournful. “if i wanted you to know, i would’ve prefered to tell you myself.”

it’s terribly odd, the sensation craig gets to comfort you; he didn’t even know you, yet here he was, sitting in your bedroom in a house that he had known to belong to another for his entire childhood, unwittingly confronting you about a subject you clearly didn’t want brought up for a long time — if at all.

apart from your wallowing in despair over the actions of one you had trusted long ago, you felt inexplicably content in craig’s presence — as though he were someone you had known for longer than you had lived, saccharine promises of souls intertwined, comfort radiating from the boy beside you. how strange, considering his outward demeanor and the fact that you had seen him flip off your mother as you trudged your way upstairs; yet your long set defenses had nearly all but crumbled as soon as he had not chastised you for “hiding” yourself.

and, oh, how peculiar you felt, this blooming sensation in your chest as you looked at the boy beside you, wondering why he had even bothered to stay despite your distance, despite your not even knowing one another.

you can’t but laugh at the absurdity of it all, catching the dark-haired boy’s attention. “what’s so funny?” he asks, a seemingly amused grin spreading across his face.

“you’re just…. you’re weird, man,” you sigh, folding your arms across your knees and gazing at him with an unfamiliar look in your eyes. “it’s… it’s nice. thank you.”

he didn’t question your thanks. as though he intrinsically knew what you meant, craig simply sat there, basking in the warmth of the smile you offered him.

he would’ve done so much longer, had there not been a pounding knock at your door, your mother yelling from the other side that you were needed. something about a dinner, or the neighbors, it didn’t matter to you in that moment.

all that mattered was that craig had accepted you; and you, for the first time in years, made the right choice of not pushing someone away.