South Park Oneshots

Drip, Drip, Drip (Michael x Pete)

Drip, drip, drip goes the rain outside. Falling from the sky and coating the trees and windows, the cars windshields, and even the street and roads. It makes everything another shade or two darker.

The entire town of South Park is being covered in a gray blanket of clouds, and it causes everyone to shelter inside their homes. There's barely anyone on the streets at the moment- only stray cats and dogs and the occasional car, but everyone is sheltered in their homes to prevent getting soaked by the heavy rain flow.

Right now, Michael is laying propped up in his bed, watching 'Edward Scissorhands' on his small, black and white tv. The entire room is nearly black, the occasional lamp light shining and the tv giving off minimal light. There isn't much to give off, and Michael like it that way for sure. The light always hurts his eyes immensely, so he always tries to avoid it. Most of the time, his lamp isn't even on, nor the little tv, but today was a special day, he supposes.

A special circumstance.

Black and red hair rested just under his nose. Everytime he inhaled he could smell the fresh fragrance of vanilla and strawberries, a slight hint of coffee that stings at his nose. Pete would never admit to using such a scent for his hair products, claiming it was too "conformist" for his taste, but Michael knows his boyfriend well.

Yes, Pete hangs around with his friends, the goth kids, but he doesn't enjoy a few things that are under the conformist category. Including his silly vanilla-strawberry scented shampoo.

It's nearly quiet in the house- Michael's parents are out for the day, probably doing some happy adult shit like drinking wine at someone's house.

The ashtray that lay on the gray side table next to the bed has a few cigarette buds from both Pete and Michael. It's a horrible habit that they developed a few years prior, being exposed to it often as a child can really fuck you over once you get older.

Oh well, guess they can fuck up their lungs together. Their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, the whole shabang.

The black/red haired boy is laying, his head on the talker's chest. This is the calmest he's ever felt, to be entirely honest. He usually feels some sort of dread in some type of way, and he assumes usually it's anxiety kicking in, but he tries not really to care too much about it. Its really the least of his concerns in most situations.

He can feel Michael breathing. It's slow and quiet, his chest rising and falling steadily. A gentle thumping of a heart beat is bouncing around in the canal of his ear, and it calms him. It helps him remember that sometimes things are real, and that they aren't fake like his brain tells him they are.

Pete tends to suffer with horrible derealization. He feels as if nothing around him is real. As if anything he does in a day is fake. It's all a dream, almost. It certainly isn't something that he wants to deal with, yet he's stuck with it.

There are nights where he can't handle it, where he's stuck crying because his vision is fuzzy and he can't understand the world around him. There are nights where he will call up his boyfriend to help him through this, because life is scary.

He tries not to dwell on it too much though. Right now, he wants to focus on the slight warmth radiating from under him.

Pete can't ever remember the last time he felt so close to someone. Probably never, now that he thinks about it. Thelman himself was never the type to go out searching for something with someone, it just didn't seem like him. I mean, he was supposed to be one of the goth kids, someone who thought the world was fucking shit and hated it. Hate humanity.

Yet here he was, in love with his best friend.

He pulls his hand from where it rested against Michael's thighs, laying it gently over the other's stomach instead. He could feel the slightly jagged rib cage near his arm, and it felt almost abnormal.

Pete himself had a little bit of fat on his gut, but nothing too much. He wasn't insecure about it, he thought it gave him some character. Micheal enjoyed it too, he's made that part very clear.

Becoming lost in his thoughts, he hadn't realized the movie had ended. Michael was trying to get his attention at first, trying to get him to get off so he could change the movie, but whenever Pete didn't respond, he simply assumed that he had fallen asleep.

Which was fine by him, by all means, let the kid sleep.

A gentle hand cards through the mess of black and red hair that Pete has atop his head, and a sigh floats out into the air. The room smells like smoke and coffee, Michael notes in his head.

Pairs of eyes are slowly closing as the movie credits come to an end, leaving them with a blank, quiet staticy screen. The rain outside is still pounding on the roof, hard as ever, but that's fine by the two goth boys. It's a gentle sound that helps their now heavy eyelids stay closed.

Drip, drip, drip goes the rain outside. Two sleepy boys bask in the quiet, sleeping away soundly.