Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I cannot stop the way in which the moon tugs at my heart,

the way it sings to me in two sweet words, "come here".

In those moments my fears vanish, fade away to a distant memory.

I go to the moon. I bathe in its light—sprout claws and fur and fangs, tip back my head and return its song.

Underneath its glow, I am finally me.

When the moon recedes, waning back down to a mere sliver of itself, so do I

fur turns to wool, fangs to teeth, claws to hooves

I go back into hiding. I go back to fear.

I deny the wolf entirely, afraid to be met with mobs—

angry villagers waving torches and crosses, renouncing the wolf in the name of their god

for he is the shepherd and wolves may harm the sheep.

As the moon swells, my wolf starts singing again

It becomes restless—biting and clawing through flesh

crying out for the moon as it tears me open from inside

howling wildly as it breaks free.

No matter how hard I’ve tried, I cannot make it go away.

The wolf growls back at me that it’s here to stay.

One day I will make peace with it, not yet but one day

I’ll leave the flock and find a place where the moon is always full.

A place where wolves go to shed their sheepskin and unapologetically flaunt fur and fangs,

I will dare the mobs to find me, to confront me, and I will snap my jaws back in their faces.

One day I will be brave. I will not hide. I will not live for anyone else.

I will be me.

But today I am no more than a frightened werewolf, cowering behind the skeletons in my closet

and you are no more than a moon that is hidden behind clouds.

—A lost poem, written by Scott Malkinson

Chapter Text

"And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think just they'd understand." -Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls

Scott lies awake, once again unable to quiet the flurry of scattered thoughts racing around his mind, zipping every which way and bouncing off the inside of his skull like a pin ball machine. He tries to focus on the quiet noises around him—Davíd's rhythmic snoring, the soft pitter-patter of rain outside the window, the occasional chirp of the fire alarm in the hall announcing that it could use a new set of batteries—anything to latch onto rather than the fleeting moment that had occurred hours before, raising his heart rate and replaying in his head in a constant loop, rendering him incapable of relaxation.

“Hey Scott?”

The voice that drifts towards his ears is barely more than a whisper, soft and low, tentative as if its speaker is concerned about waking the others.

Scott replies in a low hum, letting his head loll over to the side. There, his green eyes meet brown, studying the familiar almond shape and the small birth mark beneath one that looks vaguely like a heart. He feels one corner of his mouth pull upwards slightly.

"Yeah, Kev?" he whispers back.

"I can't sleep."

Scott can't help but wonder if he's thinking about it too—if Kevin feels the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, face flushing, chest vibrating with some butterfly-like sensation that triggers this nauseating feeling in the back of his throat.

Somewhere distantly he hears the whirring of a chainsaw followed by a chorus of high-pitched screeches. Scott would've guessed the rain had kept people inside this Halloween. Small trunk-or-treating events have all but replaced the door to door adventure that Scott remembers participating in anyway, and regardless it's going on eleven o'clock at night.

Probably not some guy popping out of the bushes to scare little kids then. Maybe it's some nearby house-party getting a bit out of hand.

"Me neither," he admits swallowing a bit of spit to counteract the overwhelming sensation of his throat drying up. Even so, Kevin's stare sends a rush of warmth and tingling all throughout his body.

His eyes flick momentarily down towards his friend's lips where he sees the corner of one twitch upwards.

"You're looking at me funny," Kevin whispers.

Scott goes still, alarm bells ringing in his head. Fuck- he's doing it again. He's staring too long, he's making things weird. Desperately trying to backtrack he finds himself blurting out, "Yeah well, maybe you're just funny looking."

He tenses up as soon as the words leave his mouth, eyes flying wide open as he realizes what a stupid thing he'd said. What in the world had possessed him to say it? Out of all the words that he could've chosen, he just had to go and basically call Kevin ugly to his face. He's such an idiot.

Just as he's about to open his mouth and apologize, his friend's puzzled expression gives way into a quiet snort of laughter, kept contained behind one of Kevin's hands.

"Seriously?" he asks, still holding back giggles. "You're such a dork."

Scott lets out a small pfft sound and rolls his eyes as if his friend's assessment of his behavior is entirely unfair. Really he's just fighting back the burning sensation on his cheeks, trying to maintain the illusion of being casual. God- nothing's ever casual when it comes to Kevin anymore but he'll just wrap all those traitorous little thoughts and feelings up into a package with a neat little bow and file them away in the back of his mind.

His mind which now at its forefront drifts again to that dark living room lit only by the TV, to the sensation of Kevin's shoulders going rigid beside him at each jump scare, to the fraction of a moment in which he'd grabbed Scott's hand, giving it a squeeze as if to reassure himself in some way.

Fuck- he really shouldn't be thinking of that, and he definitely shouldn't be entertaining the idea that Kevin might be thinking of it too.

"At least I didn't show up dressed as Spock. Now that's dorky," he teases, sticking out his tongue slightly.

Kevin rolls his eyes right back at him.

"Please," he starts, clearly unimpressed. "Like your Bill Cypher costume was any cooler. Gravity Falls hasn't been cool in years, it's practically ancient."

"And Star Trek isn't?" Scott hisses back. "It came out sixty fucking years ago."

"Only fifty-nine actually," Kevin replies, giving him a cheeky grin. "Still totally fresh."

"How is that still fresh but Gravity Falls is practically ancient?" Scott argues, wrinkling up his nose in disgust.

On Kevin's other side, Baahir stirs for a moment and Scott finds himself holding his breath, afraid that they'd woken him. However, he relaxes a second later when his friend merely rolls over and goes still again.

Crisis averted.

Not that waking Baahir would actually be a crisis, Scott just feels an inclination to keep his conversation with Kevin hidden—just between the two of them—which is totally stupid because it isn't as if their discussion is in any way scandalous.

At least he doesn't think it's scandalous. His internal monologue maybe, but not the words that are actually coming out his mouth.

Still, the thought of any of them waking up and invading this moment rubs him the wrong way.

"It just is," Kevin replies like a petulant child. "Because I said so."

Scott sees the smug grin curl up across Kevin's face and scoffs. "Whatever, I guess you have the right to your opinion, even if it's totally wrong."

This isn't the first time they've argued over their interests before—in fact his and Kevin's friendship had really only begun after they'd found themselves sitting across from each other in those hard uncomfortable chairs in Mr Mackey's office, directly after a pretty heated argument about which one of Ben 10's alien personas was the coolest.

Scott had always been a fan of Heat Blast, however Kevin had complained that fire powers were "so overdone" and made the bold—and entirely incorrect—claim that Grey Matter was by far the coolest alien Ben could transform into. Scott might have been able to see where he was coming from if Kevin had been hyping up XLR8 or Diamondhead, maybe even Wild Mutt, but Grey Matter? Seriously?

At the time, Scott had felt the need to inform Kevin that he himself, a puny little third grader who couldn't even do a single push up on his own, could easily crush Grey Matter like a bug and never even notice because of how tiny and weak he was. To say that Kevin hadn't appreciated that comentary would be an understatement.

As a matter of fact, he'd appreciated it so little that Kevin had felt it entirely necessary to shove him off the top of the jungle gym, sending him careening down into the rubber mulch below them. Scott had seen red then, whipped around and yanked Kevin down by the ankle, in turn causing him to knock out a tooth on one of the metal bars on his way to the ground.

Luckily it had only been a baby tooth and since then they had learned to be far more civil.

"Asshole," Kevin mutters, though there's no venom behind it. Shockingly enough, the words almost sound sweet coming out of his mouth, slipping from his tongue in the same manner that Scott would expect to hear a kinder word, like honey, or babe.

A strange look crosses Kevin's face and Scott freezes, chills racing up his spine as he reaches out towards his face. Kevin's thumb finds cheek, lightly trailing from the top of it down to his jaw.

Scott's heart thumps wildly in his chest, and though the action is over just as quickly as it starts—so quickly that he in fact might have only imagined it—moments later he still feels the phantom sensation of Kevin's touch lingering on his cheek.

The intense look he finds blazing in those brown eyes seems to say, 'I know what you're feeling and I feel it too,' though Scott's sure it's only wishful thinking on his part. After all, Kevin has Red. They've been together nearly three years at this point, and as far as Scott can tell they seem to genuinely love each other, which is just as well because Scott should have never entertained the thought anyway.

He makes a note to himself to tuck it away in the back of his mind when he gets a chance, hopefully never visiting it again.

No, not never. It isn't as though he feels the need to destroy the thought entirely, more so to tuck it away for safe keeping. He'll graduate in June and then he'll have a tiny bit more freedom, a lot more if he somehow manages to get the hell out of South Park, though his chances of pulling that off are regrettably quite slim.

His dad has his mind made up that Scott should go to a Catholic university and has openly voiced his refusal to help him pay for anything else. There's no use in arguing it—once Clark Malkinson has his mind made up about something he's about as easy to sway as a concrete pole, which is to say that it's a nearly goddamn impossible feat. Scott doesn't think the work compromise is even in his father's vocabulary.

“What do you think you’ll do for college?” he asks, breaking the silence that has settled between them. They haven't discussed it yet, but the terrifying thought hits him that he could find himself stuck in this dead-end town while Kevin leaves South Park and never looks back. “Have you applied out of state, or are you planning on staying in Colorado?”

Scott hopes for the latter, knowing he isn't anywhere near smart enough to get a full ride (or even a half ride for that matter) anywhere. It would take some pretty hefty scholarships for him to be able to afford to pursue higher education without his parent's help, scholarships he has no chance of winning.

Colleges will invest all of their money in super geniuses like Ike Broflovski who despite being five years younger is somehow in, not one, but three of Scott's classes. Or maybe they'd go for a total Type A overachiever like Wendy Testaburger who, as far as he can tell, effortlessly manages to juggle debate club, cheerleading, viola lessons, volleyball, yearbook, and serving as the school's student body president all while maintaining nearly flawless grades.

How could he ever compete with people like that when he's just Scott Malkinson, some kid from a shitty podunk town who has diabetes and a lisp that years of speech therapy have done little in the way of correcting? He isn't in consideration for valedictorian nor does he have an array of impressive extra-curricular activities to put on his resume.

He isn't even good at any sports like Clyde, who despite being about as intelligent as a box of bricks, will likely recieve several offers of football scholarships only for him to waste his time chugging beers and sleeping around while somehow sliding by with essays written by Chat GPT.

Maybe if Scott had climbed a mountain or beaten cancer or something he'd be able to write a kick-ass essay about it, but he doubts any admissions staff would want to see him bitch about how his dad never listens to him, or the fact that his mom has an annoying habit of getting wine-drunk all throughout the week, or how his favorite cousin killed himself when they were kids and nothing has felt the same since. These are hardly problems he's done anything to overcome, just sad realities about his life that he wishes weren't true.

“I kinda just applied everywhere, you know, casting a wide net and all," Kevin murmurs back, shifting so that he has one elbow on his pillow, propping up his head in his hand. "You?”

"I think I'll just stay local," Scott replies, disappointment seeping in as he realizes his fears of Kevin leaving him behind very well may happen after all. "Dad's sort of been being a prick about it, so I'll probably just do Community College, maybe pick up a trade."

"You're already pretty good at carpentry," Kevin muses. "You should pursue that further. Those set pieces you made for Little Shop were immaculate."

“I mean I didn't exactly build them all on my own. Kenny helped a lot,” Scott replies dismissively, a warm feeling rising up the back of his neck. A strange mix of pride and embarrassment swirl around inside his chest fighting for dominance. It feels good to know that Kevin admires his handiwork, yet the compliment almost feels too good to accept, like he doesn't really deserve his praise.

Kevin reaches out again, taking Scott's hand in his and lightly tracing his thumb along the back of it.

“Yeah but he stapled through his own finger twice and narrowly avoided giving himself a TBI with the nail gun,” Kevin replies, letting out a soft snort of amusement as he does so. His fingers tighten around Scott’s, giving his hand a meaningful squeeze, his eyes once again fixed on Scott's with maddening intensity. “If I ever make it in the film industry, I know who I’m calling for set design, and spoiler alert, it’s not Kenny.”

“There are plenty of big names in the industry you could get on your team,” Scott says, once again brushing the compliment off.

“Yeah, I know, but I want you.”

Beside them Baahir stirs once again and Kevin drops Scott's hand as if it had burned him, quickly retracting his back to his own side. They sit there a few moments, wide-eyed and frozen like a pair of deer in headlights before Baahir finally settles.

"We should go to bed," Kevin whispers. "If I get a call home saying I fell asleep in class my dad will probably never let me out on a school night ever again."

And just like that the moment's gone. Kevin rolls over onto his other side and leaves Scott wide awake, collecting up the thoughts he can't yet touch and shoving them all into the secret box at the back of his mind, praying silently that they don't find their way back out.

Scott feels like some sort of shift had occurred overnight, almost as though he'd started sleep-walking and somehow stumbled straight into the Twilight Zone.

He notices it the moment he and his friends file, one after the other, onto the bus. There's a palpable tension in the air that come in the way of fragmented bits of gossip spoken in hushed whispers.

Something happened last night, something that the whole school seems to be aware of. That is, everyone at school except for Scott and his friends. It hurts, but at this point he's gotten used to being a bit out of the loop.

The tension only becomes more noticeable when they arrive at the school. Now unrestricted by the confines of the bus, students mill about freely, flitting between groups as they continue their hushed conversations. Scott sees some students pointing at phone screens, others watching with hands clasped over their mouths in shock.

"Do you think they found out something about Miss Choksondik?" He asks Kevin as they leave separate from Francis and Davíd on their way towards the English wing. The homely woman has gone missing a couple weeks ago only for her mutilated remains to be found in a ditch a few days later.

Officially her death had been reported as an animal attack of some kind, but perhaps they'd found new evidence to suggest it had actually been a murder. That would cause a ruckus for sure.

"Maybe," Kevin replies, his voice tinged with uncertainty as he pushes his square-framed glasses further up his nose. "Probably just party gossip, but I'll ask Red and Esther what they know and get back to you at lunch."

"Alright yeah," Scott agrees, offering up a small wave and an awkward smile as he ducks into his first period. "See you then!"

At the front of the classroom Miss Conduct (aka Miss Choksondik's temporary replacement) is sitting behind her desk, lightly tapping a pen against the side of bulbous head as she flips through a messy stack of papers.

Scott is one of the first to make it into the classroom and she offers him a curt nod as he makes his way to his desk.

"But why would they fight?" Scott hears behind him. He slides into his seat just as Tammy Nelson and Kelly Pinkerton-Tinfurter enter the classroom, deep in conversation. Kelly's expression seems to read of disbelief as she fidgets with the end of her her pale green and yellow scarf. "Aren't they best friends?"

"That's what I thought," Tammy replies with a shrug. "But trust me, I was right there in front of them. It was totally brutal."

So its some fight that has everyone so in a tizzy—nothing but dumb party drama. That's a relief. Whatever bear or mountain lion that killed Miss Choksondik has probably moved on by now and is unlikely to strike again. There are no psychotic murderers stalking through the woods of South Park trolling around for their next victim. Scott should feel relieved by this, however he still can't seem to shake the sense that something is very wrong.

Students continue pouring into the classroom, all-the-while he tries to ignore the prickling in the back of his mind, though it persists all the way until the ring of the final bell.

Just as Miss Conduct has left her seat and started walking towards the door on spindly limbs, Craig Tucker slips inside and shoots one particularly gossipy group a death glare before plopping into the seat beside Scott.

Judging by that scathing look, his split and puffy bottom lip, and the purple bruise that has blossomed on the bridge of his nose and across his cheek lightly framing his left eye, Scott can only assume that he had been an active participant in last night's brawl.

Miss Conduct mentions something about needing a late slip next time to which Craig responds only with a single raised finger. Lucky for him, she seems to be blind as a bat even through the ridiculously thick lenses of her round glasses. She doesn't even seem to notice the rude gesture.

Out of the corner of his eye Scott catches Jason White turns around in his seat, resting his elbows on Craig's desk as he asks, "Do you have any idea where Clyde is? Cartman said he didn't go home after the party last night."

"No clue. He could be dead for all I care," Craig replies, solidifying in Scott's mind that it had been the two of them fighting.

Obviously he's curious, but Scott avoids prodding for answers. Though he sometimes lets Craig copy his homework, they aren't exactly friends. On top of that, in general Craig strikes Scott as a very private person. He doubts his classmate would appreciate him poking his nose into his business.

Luckily, at lunch Kevin comes with information as promised. Scott had managed to piece a lot of it together himself, but Kevin has some details he hadn't known, for example the motive.

Apparently Esther had been at the party, a fact that doesn't surprise Scott in the slightest. While Kevin's world has always been one of Star Trek and anime conventions, his sister's consists of cheerleading and school dance committees. She blends in with the popular crowd effortlessly, flitting between groups as though it's easy, so of course she'd be in the know.

"Ez says Clyde was being kinda erm…" Kevin pauses, cringing and rubbing the back of his neck as he searches for the right way to explain. Finally he settles on one, "aggressive," emphasizing it as if he doesn't mean the sort of aggression that comes with puffed out chests and shit-talking.

The translation that Scott comes up with: Clyde was hitting on Tweek and he wasn't taking no for an answer.

"That tracks with what I heard from Butters," Baahir nods in agreement. "Tweek seemed pretty worked up about Clyde getting all up in his face and grabbing him."

"Wait, is that why he has bruises on his wrist?" asks Francis.

"I guess," Kevin replies cautiously.

On the surface level the story makes sense. Even though they split up a few years ago, Tweek and Craig are still pretty close. Their breakup was totally amicable and they still hang out in all the same circles that they used to, so Scott can easily imagine Craig still being a bit protective over him. They care for each other, though not in a romantic sense anymore. Tweek is very much still a part of Craig's life.

If someone was really being so aggressive as to leave bruises on him, Craig would definitely feel inclined to step in. He's gotten in plenty of fights over less, though not so much since middle school, but Scott imagines that if pushed hard enough he could still be persuaded to respond with fists.

The thing that doesn't make sense to him is Clyde.

Sure, Scott's heard stories about Clyde Donovan getting hopelessly wasted at parties, and sure he's a huge flirt. The whole school knows that much, however, usually the story is about him getting so trashed he breaks down and begs Bebe to take him back, or that one time he'd flirted with the female cop who came to shut down Lola Paxton's sweet-sixteen birthday rager.

Tweek is an interesting choice.

"I didn't know Clyde was into guys," he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Scott doesn't miss the way Kevin noticeably stiffens a bit at that statement, one eye irritably twitching, and lips slightly parted if he was fighting back the urge to say something.

"Yeah, I definitely wouldn't have pegged him as queer," Baahir agrees and Francis adds, "me neither."

"Is there something wrong with that?" Kevin asks, finally finding his words. The question is short and to the point, and ends with his lips pressed together in a thin line.

The rest of the group exchanges a series of uncomfortable glances while Francis simply rolls his eyes.

"Self control maybe," he points out.

"Yeah, no hate on the average gay and all, but regardless of gender that kind of persistence is a problem," adds Davíd a little more eloquently. "My cousin Sofia had to get a restraining order against some guy she goes to school with because he wouldn't take no for an answer."

Kevin's eyes shift to Scott like he needs to hear it from him too, so he shrugs back and mumbles. "I don't really care if he's gay. It's just surprising, that's all."

Kevin lets out a long breath, shoulders relaxing as he does so. Something starts to wriggle around in the box in the back of Scott's mind, threatening to burst out. He has to focus hard, willing the inner version of himself to sit on the lid just to keep it contained.

"Seriously Kev, I get that Red just came out as bi and all, but you don't have to be such a white knight about it. None of us are gonna harass your girlfriend," Francis mutters before taking a bite of his PB&J.

"I'm not being a white knight," Kevin immediately argues back, the response, nothing. Scott's fairly certain that if they hadn't been having this conversation in the center of a noisy high school cafeteria he might have actually heard a chorus of crickets chirping in the background.

"Oh whatever, fuck off," Kevin grumbles as he seems to come to the same realization.

Scott finds himself wanting to say something, though he isn't quite sure what. Maybe he's feeling compelled to rush to his defense, or to console him. Whatever it is, the proper words don’t reveal themselves to him.

"No offense dude, but," Baahir starts. Scott swears he can hear a bit of hesitation in his voice as if Baahir is afraid that if he says something Kevin might hop the table and strangle him. "You kind of have been jumping down everyone's throats about it lately. You've got to know none of us would harass your girlfriend about that, right?"

Kevin scoffs.

"Of course I know you wouldn't harass her, but maybe I just don't want to hang out with people who hold on to bigoted opinions, whether it's in their own head or not."

Now it's Francis' turn to scoff, rolling his eyes at Kevin's pointed glare. Tension hangs heavily between them, enough that Scott feels uncomfortable even being a bystander.

"So what do you want us to do Kev? Hold hands and skip down the hall waving pride flags? Perform an interpretive dance about how homophobia is wrong? What'll prove our allyship to you and get you to act freakin' normal about it?"

For a moment Kevin looks taken aback, too stunned to even respond. Then Scott's heart drops in his chest as he sees his friend's expression turn sour.

"Oh just fucking forget about it," he grumbles, grabbing his lunch tray and standing up. "I just remembered I promised Dougie I'd help him with his math homework."

Scott swallows hard, ignoring the tugging sensation he feels in his chest as Kevin makes his escape.

As soon as he's out of earshot, Francis turns back towards their table.

"So we're all in agreement that that was a totally bullshit excuse, right?"

Scott merely shrugs back, now seemingly incapable of speech as a thousand thoughts swirl around his head. There's something going on with Kevin recently, something that feels dangerously close to the skeletons in his own closet. Evidently the others haven't found themselves in such a state.

"Kevin helping anyone with math? Absolutely," Baahir confirms.

"If anything, Dougie's helping him," Davíd adds. "Being super embarrassed about getting tutored by a sophomore might explain the stick he's had up his ass recently though."

"Scott, you need to talk some sense into him, man."

Scott sucks in a sharp breath as those words leave Francis' mouth, causing him to inhale a couple drops of his juice and turning him into a coughing, spluttering mess.

"Me?" He manages between coughs as Baahir rubs a firm palm into his back, attempting to help him regulate his breathing. "Why?"

"Because, I don't know if you noticed but, he respects you waaay more than the rest of us." The way Francis says it paired with the way Davíd and Baahir nod along in agreement seems to suggest Kevin's supposed favoritism should've been obvious. The thought of it causes a rush of heat to crawl up the back of his neck as his toes curl uncomfortably.

He's always been close with Kevin, ever since that fight on the playground all those years ago, yet the mere acknowledgment of that fact leaves him feeling as though he'd been caught doing something he shouldn't have.

"I can try," he concedes, lowering his eyes and fixating them intently on his Ziploc bag of baby carrots. "I'm not sure he'll listen, but I'll bring it up."

"My man," Francis responds happily, leaning over the table so he can give Scott's shoulder a firm shake.

The conversation then shifts away from Kevin then back to gossip they'd overheard from Bebe's Halloween party. Evidently Craig and Clyde's fight, while being the main event, hadn't been the only one to spark gossip.

Scott loosely listens as Francis recounts how Nelly supposedly had watched Sally Turner throw a dink in Kenny's face after hearing about how, behind her back, he had been sleeping with, not only three or four other girls, but her twin brother as well.

"Damn, Tommy too," Davíd marvels. "Maybe Clyde should've tried his luck with Kenny instead of trying to get in Tweek's pants."

"Yeah well maybe Clyde didn't wanna pick up a disease," Francis replies, rolling his eyes.

Kenny's sexuality, Scott also hadn't been aware of, though it surprises him far less. Still, the topic of conversation causes his insides to twist uncomfortably. Could his friends see how uncomfortable it made him? If they thought about it long enough would they uncover the secret he hadn't yet fully admitted to himself?

Silently, Scott starts mapping out escape plans in his head. They're currently only about twenty minutes into an hour long lunch period. The school had opted instead of several small lunch rotations for one large meal period smack dab in the middle of the school day. That way some of the clubs could meet during school hours, as well as giving students plenty of time to meet up with their teachers and receive extra help.

Besides building sets for the drama company, Scott isn't really a part of any clubs and that's something he does on his own more than anything that would require regularly meeting up with his peers so it's unlikely his friends would actually accept that excuse.

Kevin already went the tutoring route, so it isn't like Scott could believably claim that excuse either. Maybe he could fake some sort of stomach bug.

Luckily, he doesn't have to.

As if sent as a sign from God himself, a familiar head of red hair passes by behind Francis. Even though the hair is significantly shorter than before and full of black and blonde streaks that remind Scott of his grandma's cat, he'd recognize its owner anywhere.

"Sophie!" He blurts out, shooting up and out of his seat. "Hey I've been meaning to talk to you."

He shuffles around the table, barely catching the look that Francis gives Davíd. Even without him saying anything, Davíd seems to understand, responding with an eye roll and a shake of his head.

Scott almost worries that they'd seen through his desperate escape and worse that they've connected the dots and realized what made him so uncomfortable in first place, but then Francis playfully calls out "make sure you wrap it up," and Scott realizes that his friends have grossly misinterpreted the situation.

He shoots a glare back in their direction to which Francis replies by smirking and wiggling his eyebrows.

After rolling his own eyes and letting out an annoyed huff of air, Scott turns back towards Sophie who has paused to look back at him with a tight smile. They haven't talked much as of lately, not since she broke up with him in eighth grade.

"Hey Scott," she says, her voice tinged with discomfort as her gray-blue eyes shift between him and his friends. "Need something?"

Scott looks back at them as well, rolling his eyes as he notices the three of them still staring.

"Sorry about them, I uh… I promise it's not that," he says, fairly certain that Sophie had heard Francis' comment about wrapping it up.

"Yeah I know," she replies stiffly, fiddling with one of her bracelets for a moment. "What's up? I'm on my way to the art room so…"

"Got it, I'll walk with you."

Sophie doesn't seem to be thrilled by this suggestion, though she doesn't vocalize her concerns. Instead she merely shrugs and says, "sure," before heading off in that direction.

"Sorry for bothering you," Scott starts. "I know we're not really on good terms anymore, I just had an art question I thought you could help with."

"Yeah?" Sophie asks, tilting her head. Scott takes that as a good sign, she at least seems curious about what he has to say now, not totally dismissive anymore.

"I saw you've been getting into glass blowing and I was just wondering about where you get the glass from. Is it colored already or do you have to dye it yourself somehow? Is it like just shards of stained glass that you melt together or is it one big brick?"

She seems puzzled for a moment, pausing to choose her words carefully.

"It's a special kind of glass made just for blowing, usually it comes in a sort of tube shape, but not always. Why?"

"Oh," Scott frowns. "I'm trying to work out some designs for the Doubt set pieces and I had the idea to make a stained glass window and attach it to one of the wall pieces, but I didn't really know where to get the glass for it. I don't think tube shaped glass will work though."

"No not the blowing glass," Sophie agrees, "But Miss Streibel has like a whole Home Depot bucket of colored glass chips in the art closet. They actually do a stained glass unit in 2D level three."

"They do? Do you think she'd let me borrow some?"

"Maybe," Sophie shrugs.

They don't talk the rest of the way to the art room. Sophie had been kind enough to answer his questions but it was obvious that she didn't really want to be talking to him. He's aware of the fact that he must've been a frustrating boyfriend, though there isn't really much he could've done to fix it.

Francis had found out from Nelly that Sophie had been bothered by the lack of initiative he took in the physical aspect of their relationship. Scott had been perfectly content with hand holding and the same kind of chaste little pecks that made kissing Sophie feel no different than kissing his Grandma. Anything more than that was uncomfortable, however Sophie evidently hadn't seen it the same way.

Last he'd heard Sophie started going out with Pete sometime at the end of last year, but her moving on hasn't quite seemed to ease the tension between them.

The art room is quiet yet full of activity. A couple of girls sit at one table working on drawings while sharing a set of wired headphones, some douchey vamp kid is working on a pottery wheel, and Kenny and Butters are off in one corner sculpting something that looks vaguely phallic. One boy with shaggy hair, clad head to toe in black, looks up from his sketchbook, his heavily lined eyes immediately zeroing in on Scott.

"What's with the poser?" He asks flatly.

"Oh hush," Sophie replies, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him in for a quick kiss on the cheek. "He had a question for Miss Streibel."

"Yeah whatever," Pete mutters as he returns to his drawing.

It turns out that Miss Streibel is more than willing to supply Scott with the materials for his project. Apparently she saw the paper-mâché Audrey puppet he'd made for last semester's show and had found his work to be "inspired." She'd sent him on his way not only with her approval of that particular project, but a promise that if he had any other ideas he needed help with, she would gladly accommodate.

He'd almost managed to forget all the day's drama until at the end of lunch he steps out of the art room and sees Sheriff Yates escorting Craig Tucker down the hall.

Chapter Text

“I'm sensing eyes upon my neck, because what I am is incorrect... I was raised in Christianity but I fear that Jesus hatеd me.” -Void, by Black Polish

Clyde Donovan has officially been reported missing.

About twenty minutes after Sheriff Yates had finished questioning Craig, it had already been posted to Eavesdropper. Scott's never really been one for petty gossip, but he did find himself finally downloading the app after this revelation. He's worried about Clyde and desperate for any sort of update on the situation, however, the posts about actual news seem to come few and far between, usually ending up drowned in the cesspool of teenage drama that typically inhabits the app.

Everytime he opens it up he finds himself face to face with increasingly ridiculous headlines:

Is Mr Adler flirting with his female students??

Jenny Simmons seen leaving Planned Parenthood. Abortion or STD?

The chicken nuggets in the cafeteria are really made of pigeon meat??

Scott deletes it again within a couple of days.

Speaking of gossip, Francis and Davíd have been up his ass about Sophie lately, pestering him about whether or not he still has a crush on her, does he find her hotter now that she's gone a bit goth, and is he plotting some scheme to break up her and Pete. He repeatedly assures them that the answer is no on all accounts: he is not crushing on Sophie, feels neutral on her new look, and is happy for her and Pete even if he finds her new boyfriend a tad bit insufferable.

"Come on," Francis prods him with his elbow as Scott slips his cream colored gym shirt over his head. "You've been single so long I was concerned you'd decided to join a monastery and swear yourself to celibacy for all eternity."

"Hilarious," Scott responds dryly. He unhooks the chain of his cross necklace and shoves it into his locker alongside his sweater, the light crash of metal on metal ringing out through the air as he closes it, hooking his lock back into place with a satisfying click.

"You sure you're not still into Sophie? 'Cause Nelly and her are real close and I bet we could set it up for you." Francis continues chattering on as they exit the locker room, stepping out into the gymnasium.

A few other guys are starting to gather in the center, chatting casually as they stretch out their legs. One pair is engaged in what appears to be a very heated water bottle flipping competition.

If Scott hates one thing about school it would be PC Principal's insistence on the importance of regular exercise—though the county only requires one gym credit during the entirety of high school in order to graduate, their school specifically had made it mandatory for students to take a PE class every year. There are about a thousand things Scott would rather do with his time than have to throw on a pair of puke-green colored gym shorts with South Park Cows written across his ass and be pelted with balls for nearly an hour, but here he is anyway.

Recently Coach Miles has started separating out the boys from the girls. He hates actually having to teach, so class is always dodgeball, excluding the rare occasions in which he can't even be bothered to coach them through that much and has them shoot hoops freely while he plays Angry Birds on his phone.

Some of the more athletically inclined guys, namely Stan and Clyde, have been known to go too hard at each other. And then there's Tweek who's a hazard on his own front, often going into what Scott and Francis jokingly refer to as "the Avatar State" where he completely loses himself in the game and starts indiscriminately launching balls at the faces of his classmates as if his life depends on it. It had only taken a few girls with bloody noses and one heated argument with Heidi Turner's father for the coach to start offering alternate activities for the female students in his class.

Judging by the bucket full of beanbags Scott sees across the gym, he's guessing that the girls will be attempting to juggle today.

"I'm sure," Scott replies, his gaze shifting towards the bleachers. Like usual, Pete is there still clad in his typical gloomy attire—a Bahaus hoodie and black skinny jeans tucked into those ridiculous purple boots he always seems to be wearing. Scott is pretty sure he must've calculated the exact minimum amount of days he'd have to participate in order to pass, because he's only seen Pete dressed out a total of five times all year, if he even bothers to show up.

For the life of him, he doesn't really understand what Sophie sees in a guy like that, but she seems happy now. She deserves that.

"I just had some art questions for her. We're totally over each other, besides," he adds, keeping his voice low. "Even if I did want to take you up on that, I'd be slightly worried about Pete's freaky little friend breaking into my room and stabbing me in my sleep as like, an act of vengeance or something."

He shudders slightly at the thought of it as Francis lets out a surprised laugh.

"That's a fair point. The kid might actually be haunted," he admits. "But…"

Scott groans preemptively, already guessing where Francis is likely headed with this.

"If not Sophie, you've got to have someone you have your eye on."

There it is, exactly what Scott had been hoping to avoid. There are no girls that he's interested in, but as pushy as Francis is he's not likely to accept that as fact, and regardless, to even admit that might draw him one step closer towards the very conclusion he's been trying desperately to steer his own mind away from.

Luckily the bell rings only seconds after the words leave Francis' mouth, effectively giving Scott some extra time to consider his answer.

Coach Miles calls for silence as he takes attendance his voice radiating boredom as he rattles off name after name.

Then, when it's all over, he dismisses the girls to the other side of the gym and starts splitting the boys into two teams for—surprise surprise—dodgeball.

Again.

This lesson plan is really getting old.

Especially since Coach put him and Francis on the same team, leaving Scott's friend totally free to continue pestering him throughout the game, which he does.

"Why don't you save your energy on Baahir?" Scott grumbles, narrowly evading a ball that comes so close to his head he actually hears the wind whistling by his ear. "He's never even had a girlfriend."

"That's different," Francis replies, grunting out a quiet "aww fuck," as Tweek hurls a ball directly into the center of his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

Coach Miles blows his whistle and motions towards the sidelines for Francis to sit down.

Less than thirty seconds later he's already blowing it again as Stan nails Scott in the hip.

"How the fuck is it different with Baahir?" he asks as he plops down next to Francis on the bleachers.

"Cultural reasons. He's not allowed to date unless he has serious intentions of making a lifelong commitment, like religiously."

Scott scoffs.

"You know, that's not like exclusive to Muslims. Catholics have a lot of the same rules about dating."

Infuriatingly enough, Francis doesn't seem to be particularly moved by this statement. Instead he just shrugs back at him, leaving Scott with the feeling that they'd definitely be discussing this again in the not too distant future.

Out on the playing field Tweek lets out a guttural scream and the whistle blows once again.

"At this point this game feels like child endangerment," Scott mutters, grimacing as he watches Tommy Turner get up off the floor and spit out a tooth into his palm.

Seemingly from out of thin air, Kenny appears between them, looping an arm around each of their shoulders.

"Awww c'mon, it ain't too bad missing a few teeth," he says, opening his mouth into a wide grin that shows off his own collection of empty space where teeth should be.

"Besides," he goes on. "Tommy's tough, he can take it. He's survived way worse than that after all."

Those rumors he'd heard over the past few days about Kenny's relationship with Tommy find their way to the forefront of Scott's mind.

"What, you give him Chlamydia?" he asks flatly, shrugging off Kenny's arm.

Francis lets out a surprised breath, seemingly struggling to stop himself from laughing. "Goddamn Scott, way to go straight for the jugular."

Kenny doesn't seem particularly offended though.

"Good one," he says, still grinning as he gives Scott a friendly slap on the back. "Seriously though I meant the time he almost sanded his face off in shop class." Then, with a wink he adds, "I make sure to keep my dick clean."

Scott rolls his eyes. "Good for you."

By that point the first game has ended and Coach Miles is waving for everyone to come back in. The second game goes about the same way, with Francis and Scott being the first ones out and them sitting around and watching for the remainder of the game—boring and predictable, just how Scott likes it.

That is until during one of his fits of madness, Tweek manages to launch a ball into the bleachers with about the same level of force as an oncoming semi-truck, nailing Scott directly between the eyes.

He doesn't feel it at first, the shock of it causing a delay in his nervous system's response, but when he stops to touch his face and pulls away a bloody hand it all begins to connect.

Scott feels like he's going to throw up.

"Aw fuck," he breathes out weakly, tears prickling at the edges of his eyes as he squeezes them shut and pitches forward.

The gym has gone quiet, or maybe it's still loud and Scott just can't hear it anymore through the cotton in his ears.

For a moment everything seems to be moving in slow motion, then there's a muffled voice beside him saying something he can't quite make out, followed by something soft and white being thrust at his face. Hands pinch around his nose and Scott gasps as a wave of pain ripples through his body.

"I know, I know. You're okay. We've just gotta stop that bleeding."

He's finally able understand what the shape in front of him is saying. Its voice is soft and reassuring, calming him ever so slightly. Scott blinks hard trying to clear his vision of the shapes dancing around in front of his face.

As the blurry person comes into focus, Scott feels his breath catch in his throat—he knows those high cheekbones and those warm brown eyes, those slightly freckled cheeks. Kevin.

No.

That's not right.

The heart shaped birthmark below his eye is missing. This face is a bit rounder, the features softer. It's not Kevin in front of him, it's Esther.

"You think you can walk?" she asks.

Scott replies in a weak nod, wincing as her hand shifts up against his injured nose.

"Alright good. How about you hold the cotton up against your nose? It'll probably be easier that way."

He does as he's told, pinching his nose together with one hand. Esther grabs his other arm and helps him to his feet. Somewhere distantly Scott hears what he thinks is Tweek's voice.

"Holy shit man, that's a whole lot of blood. Ngghh—do you think I broke it? What if he gets an infection and dies? Or it never stops bleeding and he totally runs out of blood? Or what if he has a concussion so bad that he can never function normally? I can't have that on my conscious! I’d never be able to live with myself!”

Now that the game has stalled he seems to be back to his usual nervous self—Avatar State officially broken.

Esther keeps a steady grip on him as she ushers Scott past the crowd of students that have lined up to gawk at him and out into the empty hallway.

"Jesus, I can't believe Coach Miles still makes you guys play that game. It's inhumane," she says, still gripping his arm.

Though his legs work just fine, the blood loss has left Scott feeling a bit dizzy and he's embarrassingly enough, leaning on her quite a bit. Esther doesn't seem to mind, whispering him soft reassurances the whole way to the nurse's office.

Somewhere in the back of his mind it occurs to Scott that Kevin had told him once that his sister had been interested in a career in the medical field, a pediatric nurse. Or maybe it was labor and delivery. It had something to do with kids, he's sure of it, but his thoughts are way too jumbled up to remember exactly.

"What's on my nose?" he asks instead, his words slightly slurred.

Esther hesitates.

"You're not like one of those guys who totally freaks out about menstrual products and acts like touching a wad of cotton could magically turn them gay, right?"

It might be a little late for that. The thought tickles at the back of his brain and inside Scott struggles to wrestle it away.

"So it's a pad?"

"Unrolled tampon, but same dif," she confirms with a light shrug.

"I'm not worried the cotton will turn me gay."

Your brother on the other hand…

He blinks hard to clear the thought from his head.

"Good,” Esther replies cheerfully, seemingly unaware of the obnoxious back and forth happening on the inside of his own skull. “Because fun fact, tampons were actually originally created for men to plug up bullet wounds on the battle field, but fragile masculinity did its thing and most horribly weak of them decided as soon as they became popular with women that any self respecting man would rather bleed out instead of be treated with some pussy-product."

Scott lets out a small snort of laughter, wincing as the air pushes through his nose.

"Fuuuck don't make me laugh," he groans, squeezing his eyes shut once again.

"Sorry," Esther replied with a light chuckle.

Afterwards, the conversation stills, though the silence is not unpleasant. There's no tension in the air caused by unsaid words begging to pass lips—there are just simply no words to say.

The inside of Nurse Gollum's office is painted pastel orange. Scott has always found it an odd choice, though in all fairness he'd always found the school nurse quite odd. Not for the obvious reason, the peculiar form at the side of her face, though he remembers the whispered rumors of his childhood that the school nurse was some kind of monster or a person Frankensteined together by some mad scientist. As his class had grown older and became more educated on her condition, the spectacular stories that had passed through the halls had become just that, stories.

Besides the fetal twin she had hanging off the side of her face, her bubblegum pink hair and sleeve full of tattoos also struck Scott as quite strange. Her style was a drastic contrast towards the typically more reserved fashion choices of South Park's teachers. She didn't blend in, nor did she seem to want to. There was some small part of that that Scott could see himself admiring.

As he and Esther step inside, Nurse Gollum looks up from the paperwork she'd been filling out on her desk. Tommy Turner is already seated in one of the chairs, biting down on a bloody cotton ball and holding a Ziplock bag containing his tooth.

"Let me guess, you're also coming from gym class," Nurse Gollum says, flicking her gaze up and down as she gives Scott a once over.

Scott nods and she lets out a tired sigh in response, lightly shaking her head.

"Coach sure does love to keep me busy."

She pushes herself back in her rolly chair and stands, heeled boots clicking against the floor as she walks over towards him.

"Thanks for getting him to my office," she tells Esther. "You can head back to class though, I've got it from here."

Esther nods giving Scott's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "See you later, alright?"

"Uh yeah… see you," he responds a bit awkwardly as he tries to remember the last time they'd even spoken without her treating him as if he was the most disgusting thing on the planet. As far as he knew, Scott has always just been Kevin's weird little friend and nothing more, maybe she'd never disliked him as much as he'd initially thought.

Nurse Gollum leads him back to one of the cots and motions for him to sit, pulling on a pair of gloves as he does just that.

She takes the bloody cotton from him, tossing it into the trash beside her and feels around the bridge of his nose with her thumb and forefinger.

Scott winces, gritting his teeth together to stop himself from cursing.

"I know, this can't be a pleasant feeling," she murmurs, still feeling her way around. "The good news is that it doesn't seem to be broken, just bruised. Give it a week or so and it should be all better."

She removes her hand from his face and unrolls a couple of paper towels for him, passing them in his direction.

"You know, it really seems like I always get way more injuries in my office around this time of the month," she comments with a lighthearted laugh. "It must be the full moon or something, brings out the crazy in everyone."

Scott isn't quite sure that's accurate, especially considering that most of the injuries in her office seem to be caused by one particular individual who seems kind of unhinged no matter what celestial occurrences are happening outside, but he keeps that opinion to himself.

At lunch Esther actually makes good on her word of seeing him later, stopping by his usual table to check up on him.

"I'm glad it's not broken. Noses can kind of be tricky to heal,” she says.

Scott nods as though he has any idea at all of the healing process, and humors her as she sticks around for a couple extra minutes of small talk before politely excusing herself and rejoining her friends. Scott doesn't think much of the interaction, however Francis evidently sees things differently.

"Now I get why you didn't want to tell me who you're crushing on," he says, flashing Scott a devilish grin.

"Huh?" Scott replies, squeezing his eyes shut and opening them again as in an attempt to clear his head.

"Don't play dumb," Francis says which he finds incredibly irritating. Scott doesn't appreciate the insinuation that he's an idiot for being unable to follow his friend’s twisted pattern of thought. "I saw the way you were giving her goo goo eyes in gym. You're totally into her. Alas, the bro code totally forbids it."

A rush of heat crawls up the back of his neck as the realization hits him—Francis is talking about the split second in which he'd been delirious enough to mistake Esther for Kevin. Scott feels as though those traitorous thoughts at the back of his mind are scraping desperately at the top of their box, begging to be let out.

Still, he wrestles them all back into place, reinforcing the box with an extra layer of tape.

"See Daví, I told you. Look at how hard he's blushing," Francis says proudly, prodding the other boy with his elbow.

Davíd rolls his eyes and shoves a fist into his pocket, pulling out a wrinkled twenty dollar bill. “Okay fine, here’s your money.”

They were betting on it? Was it about Esther specifically or about whether or not he was crushing on any girl? Is that why Francis has been so persistent about it?

Baahir rests a hand on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I see why you wouldn't want to admit it," he says, turning over his shoulder to shoot a quick glance towards Kevin, who still seems to be avoiding their table since his argument with Francis.

For a moment Scott's heart lurches, afraid that his friend has managed to sneak through a crack in his guarded exterior and has seen everything he's worked so hard to keep contained, undetectable. However, as Baahir continues speaking it becomes evident that he too has misinterpreted the situation.

"With how angry he's been lately I wouldn't want to risk word getting back to him about that either. Don't worry, we'll keep your secret," he adds giving Scott a conspiratorial wink.

Ironically, if it really were Esther who occupied so many of his thoughts, Scott can't imagine he'd have any inclination to keep it a secret. Everything would be so much easier if he only had some hopeless crush on his best friend's sister.

Instead, on a daily basis he has to face the fear that everyone around him might see the chemical misfires in his brain and realize that he was somehow made incorrectly.

It isn't so much the rejection he fears, its the attempts at salvation. There are camps for boys like him, he knows this, but he hardly finds any comfort in that fact.

I think I'm and irreparably bad person… No matter what I do these feelings wont go away. They're eating me alive…

Scott squeezes his eyes shut, pushing Ryan's words out of his head. He won't end up like him. In just six months Scott will graduate, and then in July he'll be legally considered an adult—all he has to do is keep up the charade a little bit longer.

Why couldn't all these disruptive thoughts and feelings about Kevin have waited until then? Why did they have to choose now to hit him full force?

In any case, he figures it easier to play along with his friends' assumptions about Esther.

"Uh thanks…" he mumbles, nervously averting his gaze.

Still, he feels as though a pit is growing in his stomach as they excitedly talk about it. Scott has always disliked lying, yet at this point in his life dishonesty and survival feel entirely synonymous.

His discomfort stays with him, weighing heavily in his chest throughout the rest of the day, though when the final bell rings and he retreats to the performing arts hallway, Scott feels a bit of that tension start to fade away.

For him, working on the play sets is therapeutic. Instead of focusing on that terrible little box in the back of his mind Scott is able to lose himself in the repetitive actions of measuring and marking, sawing and sanding, his brain occupied by mathematic equations and considerations of color schemes rather than the likely unrequited crush that otherwise plagues his brain space.

When Scott is working on sets it's like everything else ceases to exist, so much so that he actually jumps when his concentration is broken by the sound of a voice behind him asking what he's up to.

Not just any voice, Kevin.

It's as if God himself (for if God truly exists, Scott is certain that he must hate him personally) had decided he'd gotten too comfortable and sent Scott the sole object of his misguided affection specifically in order to torment him.

Scott looks over his shoulder, the hairs on his neck standing on end when he realizes just how close Kevin is, leaning over his shoulder, invading his space.

"I.. um…" he stammers nervously, silently cursing himself for being so goddamn awkward. It's just Kevin. He's known him for ages. They're friends. So why does a simple conversation with him feel like he's standing in front of the whole school, giving a speech in his underwear?

"I'm working on the sets for Doubt. I'm building a wall piece and uh… see that circle in the middle? I'm planning on putting a little stained glass piece inside to really sell the whole Catholic school thing."

Kevin's head tilts curiously to the side. He hasn't backed up an inch, still standing unbearably close. Scott feels as though every inch of him is on fire as his mind drifts back to Halloween night—that moment on Francis' couch that had sparked this latest batch of unwanted feelings.

As if Kevin knows what he's thinking his hand drifts lightly towards Scott's cheekbone just as it had while they'd struggled to fall asleep.

"What happened to your face?" he asks, his voice as soft as his fingertips.

"Oh.. I uh…um… dodgeball accident. Not broken though. It uh- it looks much worse than it is.."

"You sure I don't need to beat anyone up on your behalf?" Kevin teases, dropping his hand from Scott's face and placing it on his shoulder instead.

Scott rolls his eyes. Though taller, Kevin is just as scrawny as he is, and awkward mess of long gangly limbs, and it isn't as though he has any martial arts training to compensate. Kevin could hardly beat anyone up more than he could.

"I'm sure," he replies with a slight shake of his head. "I don't think you'd enjoy matching me. It kinda hurt like a bitch."

Kevin lets out a light laugh, the sound of which sends Scott's heart into overdrive.

"Yeah I'd probably get my ass handed to me," he admits. "But hey, I'd still give it a try. You and me against the world, man. I really care about you."

I don't know if you noticed but, he respects you waaay more than the rest of us.

That's right, Scott thinks as Francis' words come back to him. He's supposed to talk to Kevin about his recent attitude.

"Yeah, I care about you too," he says tentatively, bracing himself for whatever aggression Kevin might throw at him once he breeches the subject of his recent behavior. "Is everything alright with you though? You seem really on edge lately."

Kevin lets out a long breath, finally making some distance between them as he leans back against the white-painted cinder block wall, gradually sliding down until he's seated on the floor with his knees tucked into his chest.

"I don't know, I just- I've been dealing with a lot lately," he says.

Kevin doesn't seem to be meeting him with the same aggression he'd had directed at Francis, so Scott takes that as a good sign.

"Your dad being a prick?" he asks sympathetically.

"When isn't he?" Kevin huffs out bitterly as he scowls at the wall across from him.

Scott lets out a light laugh, because yeah, that sounds familiar. His father is a lot similar to Kevin's in that regard.

"Yeah, stupid question I guess. Is he uh.. did he say something about Red? Is that what set you off?"

Kevin shakes his head.

"Not about her directly, just about gay people in general. He's very don't ask don't tell about it, you know, the old I don't have a problem with the gays, I just don't want to have to know about the sick perverted things they do in private. It just kind of sucks to have to be around, like listening to that all the time. I’m so sick of living with him."

Scott understands that far too well. Most of his family seems to have a similar point of view when it comes to homosexuality—they treat it almost like it's a bad word. Scott had once overheard whispered rumors about the daughter of a family friend running off with some woman. His grandmother had spoken about what a shame it was, and how it had been such a waste of a sweet and beautiful young girl.

Then of course there was the matter of Ryan, the way no one in his family ever acknowledged what had happened to him except to say that it was a shame he'd gotten so sick all of a sudden.

"I get that," he mumbles quietly as he joins Kevin on the ground, their arms pressing together as he nervously fiddles with his hands in his lap. "Aunt Jen and Uncle Mike are still pretending Ryan had cancer. I don't think Jack and Chloe even know that it isn't true. They're just like too ashamed to acknowledge what really happened I guess."

"Shit," Kevin murmurs, one hand sliding down from its position around his own knees, instead resting on the top of Scott's thigh as he gives it a reassuring squeeze. "That's so fucked up."

"Yeah, so fucked."

They sit in silence for a moment before Kevin finally speaks up again.

"I know I'm being unreasonable, jumping at everyone for saying anything that could even possibly be misconstrued as homophobic, I just- I don't know," he sighs, leaning his head on his own knees. "I have been being a bit of a white knight I guess."

"You should come back to our lunch table," Scott tells him. He has the urge to place his hand over Kevin's, yet his body remains frozen in place. "The guys all miss you."

"Yeah?" Kevin asks, his mouth curling into a weak smile.

"Yeah. They do. I miss you too."

There's that look again, that same intense stare from Halloween night, that stare that makes Scott's skin prickle as he wonders if there's a possibility that Kevin his hiding the same secret as him.

The moment passes by all too quickly as Kevin gives his leg one last squeeze and pushes himself up to his feet.

"Well, I'd better get back to band. Mister Romero gave us a ten minute break like fifteen minutes ago, so I'm sure he's already pissed at me."

A mischievous grin crosses Scott’s face.

"Tell him you've been busy blowing up the bathroom,” he suggests. “That’ll make him feel awkward."

"Pffft. That's a good one, I might actually have to use it. See you, Scott!"

He watches as Kevin leaves, his gaze lingering even after he'd already slipped back inside of the band room.

Scott works for another few hours, long after the band kids had already been dismissed and headed home. Kevin had come back and offered him a ride, though he declined—their earlier conversation had left him pretty distracted and he hadn't actually accomplished as much as he'd hoped to that day.

When he finally decides to head home for the day the sun has already dipped below the horizon, and the temperature dropped several degrees.

The cool dry air is irritating to his sore nose and Scott can't help but twitch it uncomfortably several times throughout his walk, cursing himself for not taking Kevin up on his previous offer.

The set had seemed important earlier, but now that he's walking alone in the freezing cold his project feels much less pressing of a matter. The play isn't even until mid January.

The first few stars have begun to twinkle overhead, accompanied by a bright and full, or at least nearly full, moon, Scott's current main light source as the street lights on this road are few and far between. Even the ones that are around are usually either broken or too dim to do anything more than attract moths.

It's 'cause our piece of shit mayor doesn't give a damn about this town. She's only out to line her own pockets.

He isn't sure exactly how true that statement is or if his father just enjoys complaining. Being a high schooler, Scott doesn't really have a concept of how hard it would be to have to run a whole town. Perhaps she's trying her best, then again in the few occasions in which he'd met her, Mayor McDaniels hadn't seemed like a particularly caring person. Maybe his father is right.

Pulling his coat tightly around himself, Scott begins to walk as quickly as he can, ignoring the burn of cool air in his chest.

If only he had his own car. What had he even been thinking, being out this late? What, with Clyde still missing and Miss Choksondik dead—surely he must have lost all his common sense to have thought this a good idea.

This is beginning to feel like the start of a horror film and Scott, like the idiot he is, has put himself right in the prime position to be the first victim.

He wants to get home quickly, but is forced to slow his pace as the cold air bites at his lungs and the aching in his chest becomes too much to push through.

This is it, the moment in the movie that the murder or demon or otherwise horrible creature would show up to kill the poor stupid teen who'd been careless enough to find themself out in the open with nowhere to hide.

Logically, he knows the likelihood of him actually getting murdered out here is small—he's not in a horror movie, he's in the small mountain town that he's lived in all his life, where nothing ever happens.

Still, that same crushing feeling that something is horribly wrong hangs heavy in the air. If nothing ever happens in South Park then why hasn't Clyde turned up by now? It's been days and there's still no trace of him.

Then again the South Park Police Force is made up of some of the most incompetent buffoons ever to walk this earth, more interested in flashing their guns at minorities than actually solving a single of the case that hits their desks.

There's a howl in the distance. Maybe it's a coyote or perhaps it’s someone's dog begging to be let in. Maybe it's just the wind, or perhaps even his imagination.

Whatever the sound is, it sets Scott on edge. He starts to hurry again, finding himself hyper-aware of every minute sound that he makes whether it's the the fall of his footsteps against the pavement or the rhythmic bursts of air moving in and out of his lungs.

Snap!

Scott stills, his muscles going rigid. He can feel a scream rising in his throat, though it dies on its way to his mouth.

There's nothing behind you. There's nothing behind you. There's nothing behind you.

He repeats it to himself over and over again, as if the more he says it the more true it might become.

He's going to turn around and see a squirrel skittering across the pavement and feel silly, or maybe a deer that has wandered out of the woods, something he could easily scare away. Something entirely non-threatening.

Arrroooo

His thoughts are cut off by the howl, now much closer—too close. He hears it bright and clear as though it's coming from right behind him.

Alright, so he's going to have to chase off a coyote. If bad goes to worst he has his pocket knife on him, though he'd prefer not to get close enough to actually need it. The important thing is that he doesn't make himself look like prey, so no running, he has to stand his ground.

Three, two, one.

Scott whips around, nearly falling back when he finds himself face to face with a mess of thick russet brown fur and a pair of glowing round amber eyes. The creature is canine for sure, but far too large to be a coyote. It's closer to the size of a bear.

This is it.

This is how he dies.

Scott would've never in his wildest dreams been able to imagine that such a creature actually existed in South Park's woods, but now that he's a mere foot away from the creature, staring into those huge golden eyes, he's certain that this is the thing that had ripped Miss Choksondik to shreds.

It’s probably also the reason Clyde hasn't turned up yet.

The beast takes one lumbering step towards him and Scott's fingers curl around the knife in his pocket. He knows it'll do him no good- hell it probably wouldn't have even done him any good if the creature really had only been a coyote, but still he clings to it like a life-line.

He’s not making it out of this—the reality of it hits him like a brick.

Even if the act isn’t by his own hand, he’s moments away from ending up like Ryan all the same: dead, brushed to the side, never having been truly known in the first place.

He’ll simply cease to exist.

Panic rises in his chest, breath quickening, and pulse thundering in his ears. The edges of his vision start to go black, contracting down to a small pin prick of light in the center. The last thing he remembers is his knees buckling under his own weight, just as the last bit of light fades from his field of vision and everything goes black.