Chapter 1: Sitting With The Goths
Mike was sat on Pete's lap, his face pressed into his shoulder in an attempt to block out the smokey smell of the goth's cigarettes. He and his friends were, again, complaining about all the conformists. The vamp leader had always been pretty sick of hearing it, but had decided he needed to put up with it once they had gotten together. He still didn't really understand what was bad about it. What was so conformist about what the Clyde kid was wearing? It seemed okay enough to him.
“We should burn down this nazi conformist school.”
Mike raised his eyebrows slightly, always sort of surprised at the littlest goth's violence. Firkle could easily stab someone with a weapon, and the vamp could barely muster the sight of blood. Which he was always embarrassed by, trying to be a vampire and everything.
“They would only rebuild it like the hot topic. There's no point.”
Mike peeked slightly above Pete to look at Henrietta. He didn't appreciate the constant reminders of how much they hate him. He had enough nightmares for that. But even the nightmares weren't as bad as Michael. He turned to the curly haired goth, tensing up. He was smirking at him again. Nobody noticed this time, either. Mike didn't think they ever would.
“Mike, are you ok?” Pete must have felt him stiffen. There were enough times to practice it. He looked in the direction his vamp was staring. “It's just Michael, calm down. He's my best friend. He won't hurt you.”
Michael's face was back in his usual dull expression, hiding the look he had been giving Mike.
“Ok…” He sighed. It was too late for his boyfriend's promises. Michael had already hurt him, way before Pete would even look in his direction without being annoyed. Back when his vampire trend was growing quickly and his favourite store had opened up in the mall. He shuddered, not wanting to remember any of it, and burrowed back into the red haired goth's shoulder. It felt safe in there. It always felt safe with his Pete. If only he had known that back then.
Mike was sitting in his room, getting ready for bed. He had just finished brushing his teeth and was putting his clunky plastic fangs back in. He always wore them, even when he slept. He took being a vampire more seriously than he should have, but the girls thought it was cute and it got him a lot of attention. Especially attention from his crush. The vamp leader paused before grabbing a brush, smiling at the thought of him. He ran it through his hair, too caught up in his fantasizing to hear the window slide quietly open.
Lunch was over. All four goths, not giving a fuck about school, stayed behind it to smoke and complain. As much as Mike would have loved to stay with them (at least, loved to stay with Pete), he had to get to class and keep his straight As and attendance up. Mike always had perfect attendance, other than a few interruptions here and there. None that were his fault, though. Only things like appointments, sicknesses, and being mailed to another state.
The vamp stuffed his hands in his pockets. He wished he hadn't accepted their apology for that. He could still barely clear his head just walking to class.
Classes that involved a lot of thinking, so most of them, were dropping and Mike knew it. He was scared to get his next report card, but he didn't think about it too much. Most of the time he was just thinking about how to protect himself, even though he was sure he was a little pussy. It was what he was told.
He checked his phone; four minutes until class. He had enough time to regain himself. Opening the door to the boy’s bathroom, he realized he had made a big mistake. He would have calmed himself better trying to disarm a time bomb. But there was no escaping it now. The vamp stepped onto the cold tile floor, closing the door behind him. “H-hey…”
The tall figure stood near the window, shadowed in the dark. He watched the oblivious Mike hum and brush his long, poser hair.
He wondered what he should do first. Just take him? He checked the time on his phone; there was still an hour and a half he had to do this. Lots of time for a little fun.
Chapter 2: Moik
Lots of people like this wow
“Hi.” The heavy smell of smoke drifted around the bathroom.
Mike shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Michael I don't have time for this, I-”
“Scared, poser?” Michael stood up straight from his position against the wall and strolled towards him.
Mike retreated to the other side of the bathroom to get away and let out a timid squeak in place of words. Michael glanced at him through flitted eyelids before locking the door.
“You shouldn't be. I'm Pete's best friend. I wouldn't hurt you.” The tall goth repeated his best friend's words in the most mocking tone he could manage in the monotone way he was speaking. He knew emotionless monotone scared Mike more.
Mike jumped in surprise at the raspy voice and whipped his head around, face bright red at the sight of his crush. “M-Michael? What are you doing here?”
The tall goth took a long drag of his cigarette before responding. “Errands.” He glanced around the smaller boy’s room. Full of conformist Twilight posters and s hit he didn't have time to make fun of.
“And I'll be needing your help with one of them.”
“I just need to get to class, Michael…” The vamp shrunk back as Michael strolled casually towards him. “You know I can't be late again…”
“Then let's make this quick, hmm?” The taller boy pushed him up against the wall and fondled his stupid sparkly belt.
Mike looked close to tears when they heard a loud thudding on the door.
“HellOOOOO?” Eric Cartman's stupid voice called out. “I need to take a shit!”
Michael grunted and shoved Mike down on his back. “Conformist fatass.” He kicked the vamp in one of his contact-coloured eyes and walked painfully slowly to the door, opening it and letting Cartman fall on his face.
“AY!” He whipped his head around to threaten the tall goth, but he had already disappeared. Instead, there was a flash of black and green as Mike sprinted five minutes late to class.
“Y-you… you want my help?” He stared at the boy on the opposite end of the room, clinging to his hair brush in astonishment. “I can't even remember the last time you spoke to me…”
“Probably never.” Michael leaned against a poster clad wall like he had all the time in the world and took another drag of his cigarette. He made a point to slowly look Mike up and down, if only to make him seem like he didn't give a shit. The poser’s blush amused him. “Why would I ever talk to a conformist like you?”
“Well, that's kind of what I was wondering, per se.” Pausing, he started to work the brush through his soft hair again. “That and why you're in my bedroom.”
Michael rolled his eyes. He hated idiots like this. “You'll find out soon enough, won't you?” He straightened himself up and rested his cane in place against the wall, tossing the still lit cigarette out the window. “You'll find out when I'm ready, Makowski.”
Mike sat in his desk, not listening to a word the teacher was saying. He tried to excuse himself for it today, though, and slung his mess of hair over his eye. He couldn't see out of it at the moment, anyway.
“Mike? Are you paying attention to the lesson?” The vamp jumped a little at his name, dropping his contact on the desk.
“I, um… I am now.” He inwardly slapped himself. Way to sound like a dumbass, champ.
“Could you come see me after the notes?”
The vamp did all he could not to roll his eyes, he could only roll one if he wanted to anyway, and just nodded quietly. He hated it when she asked him so sympathetically, like she thought something was wrong with him. Not that it would be necessarily wrong to think that.
He spaced out for most of the notes, snapping himself out of it a few times to jot down one or two things that wouldn't make sense later on their own. Once they reached the last sentences, he immediately went up to the “office”, just ready to get this over with. He'd only have to get through one more period after this one, then he would finally be back at Pete's trailer.
“Mike, are things all okay at home? I've noticed a-”
The teacher kept talking, of course, but Mike didn't have to listen to it any further. He'd had this speech from all his teachers at least twice now. He always assumed ‘How are things at home?’ was really their way of asking if his parents punched him in the face or something, which was not at all what happened. So it simply wasn't worth listening to for the tenth time.
Mike was starting to get over the shock of his long-time crush sneaking in, the feeling being replaced with mild irritation. “You'd think you wouldn't climb through my window in the dark until you were ready to tell me whatever it is you're here for.” He turned his back to his intruder to look in his mirror, still fixing up his hair for bed. It always had to look perfect, after all. “And you could have told me at school instead. Or maybe during the day. Creepy goth, sneaking around at night.”
Michael only chuckled, it seemed mostly to himself. Mike glanced behind his green and black hair in the mirror and saw Michael stepping towards him.
“Mike, this is exactly what I'm talking about!” Mike jolted awake with a scream. He didn't even realize he'd fallen asleep.
“I think you need to go down to the counselor’s office again.” His teacher sighed and got up from her desk. She really must be getting sick of this.
Not wanting to irritate her anymore, she was his favourite teacher this year, the vamp stood up quietly and walked out of the classroom, quickly ducking into the bathroom on his way.
Very carefully making sure nobody else was in there this time, he pulled his hair from his face and frowned a bit. His eye was completely purple and swollen again. He'd have to wear his glasses for a while.
Sighing, Mike grabbed his makeup from his backpack and started trying to fix himself up. Pete would definitely wonder why the hell his eye was the colour of Henrietta's lipstick, and he didn't have the energy to come up with some lame excuse right now. He barely had enough to make his eye look halfway decent; just giving up and throwing his hair back over the side of his face as he trudged down to the counselor.
Is this years late? Yes. Did I write it two years ago and then just let it sit around until now? You bet!
He was late. Again. Pete grunted and flipped his greasy hair out of his face irritably, lighting a cigarette. He didn't bother calling, the kid would just stress over it more. The goth took a long drag of his cigarette and sighed. He'd be there any minute now, anyway. Probably half asleep with his makeup looking like shit, but he'd be there.
“Pete! Pete, wait, I'm sorry!” His boyfriend came running up to Henrietta's mom's car, panting like a lung collapsed. “Sorry… I'm… late…” He leaned against the coffee shop's wall to catch his breath.
Pete raised an eyebrow. He didn't even realize Mike had been late. He was only just getting there himself. So much for an “I don't give a shit” entrance.
“Fucking poser. You do this to Pete again and you'll really know what sorry feels like.” Henrietta spat, looking somewhat amused.
Pete rolled his eyes. She was just trying to scare the poor dumbass. “You can make fun of my boyfriend all you want, but leave me out of it.” He slammed the door just hard enough to get the point across and waited until she was out of sight to lazily look at Mike. There were tears pricking at his eyes while the rest of him was visibly shaking. Pete took a drag of his cigarette and stomped it out. The fuck was his problem?
Okay, now he was really getting ticked. The fucker had been late to every date since the second, but it was never more than 20 minutes. Pete had been standing in front of this shitty “cafe” for an hour now. If he stayed around any longer, he'd look desperate, or like he cared if Mike showed up. The truth was that, yes, he did care, he just didn't want it to look like he cared. He dropped his fourth cigarette and stomped it out. That would be conformist.
He was about to call it quits and send a few somewhat angry but still uncaring texts when Mike trudged into the parking lot. He looked even shittier than he expected - his hair was matted, to the point where the green ends were attached to his head, either the bags under his eyes or his half-assed eyeliner made him look like a raccoon, his glasses were so fogged up he probably couldn't see three inches in front of his face. He was an absolute mess. But what really caught his attention was the giant black eye that was being poorly covered up with poser makeup.
“What the hell happened to you?”
He must have come off as angry, as per usual, because Mike just ducked his head and mumbled something about walking into a pole. A damn pole doesn't make a giant fist sized bruise cover half your face. But that remark only made him look more uncomfortable, so he silently stomped out his newly-lit cigarette and turned to go in, looking irritated as possible.
When he turned back to tell Mike how pissed off he wasn't, though, all he was greeted by were sobs coming from outside. He poked his head out the door (in a grumpy way, not a cute way, of course), and there was his dumbass boyfriend, sobbing while tears and eyeliner streaked down his face.
“Mike?” Pete somewhat patiently waited for his boyfriend to quiet down and lit yet another cigarette as he stepped back outside. “You have any more lame excuses? Or are you gonna tell me what actually happened?” He leaned against the chipping paint of the brick wall behind him, the bored look on his face fully intended.
Mike's excuses started spilling out faster than the returning tears. His pussy ass got in a fight, he dropped his phone on his face, it's just fucked up makeup. He even expected the goth to believe that he'd taken up boxing as a hobby. It was all stupid, but Pete let him keep going until he'd run out before taking a long drag from his cigarette.
“I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me what actually happened now. You're an awful liar, and it's not even entertaining anymore.” He let his tone soften this time. Not so much that he sounded all lovey dovey, but enough to shut up Mike's crying for a few minutes. He'd call it “comforting”, or something conformist like that.
It didn't really work this time, though. He just took off his glasses and wiped them dry, mumbling nonsense.
“Fine.” Mike jumped a little at his boyfriend's gruff tone and lifted his head to him.
Pete rolled his eyes. “Let's just go in and get this over with, okay?” He turned on his heel and went in, not making sure Mike followed this time. Fortunately for their date, he did.
“Um, Pete…” Mike ran his hands through his hair, apparently only realizing how shitty he looked after the waitress had glanced at him funny. “I'm sorry. Really sorry. You don't deserve any of…” He hesitated. “Any of this.”
“Any of what? ” Pete tapped his black-painted fingernails on the table. Of course, he already knew exactly what Mike was talking about. How he was always late, and looked like shit, and spaced the hell out. And in all honesty, he didn't give a shit. But this was the first he'd spoken since they ordered their food, so he was going to at least make a little more effort than his boyfriend was at a conversation.
“You know…” Mike took a now unmatted section of his hair and pushed it over his bruised up eye. “Any of my… shit. I'm not a very good boyfriend.”
Pete let out a little snort. “Well, you try too hard, and you slip up sometimes, but you're not awful . Not in my opinion, anyway.” Pete pulled out a cigarette and started chewing on the end. He didn't light it, though. Getting kicked out again wouldn't have helped anything.
Mike, to say the least, looked like he disagreed. “What do you mean ‘sometimes’? I slip up every time I try to do anything! Didn't Michael ever tell you that?”
“Michael told me you were good at sucking dick. And that it was the only thing your fangs are good for. That's about it.”
Mike immediately spit his fangs onto the table. He blushed in embarrassment when he realized what he'd done.
“Mike, I don't know what that was about, but you can't spit teeth onto tables in public. What is wrong with you?” Pete sort of whispered it, because every asshole there was staring like a nosy bunch of conformists.
Tears sprung at Mike's eyes again. “I don't want to talk about it, okay? I don't want to talk about Michael, or dicks, or me…” He started bawling for what seemed like the hundredth time today. “I don't want to talk about anything! Just leave me alone!” He ran out crying, leaving his stupid fangs and Pete behind. A few people shot Pete glares, thinking it was his fault that his boyfriend was insane. But he didn't care very much, he'd dealt with this before. As he loosely wrapped the clunky ass fangs in a napkin and stuffed them in his pocket, all he felt was mildly irritated. Especially since he didn't even wait for the food before running off this time. Pete still waited for it, though; he wasn't chasing his boyfriend all over town this time. And as he ate, saving Mike's for the next time he'd see him, Pete thought about what he had said.
It didn't matter how many times he told him Michael didn't care, Mike still flipped out whenever the guy was mentioned. The goth took another bite, shaking his head. Exes must make you pretty fucking crazy.