Let's Start A Riot

Pissy Goth Bitch

Y/n walked downstairs, mildly annoyed they had to end their conversation with Bella. They opened the door. "What do you want?" they grumbled.
"Wow, you could at least say hello."
Hoo, boy. The smug smirk in Michael's tone really pissed Y/n off. They snapped, "Listen, man, what do you want? I don't want to talk to you or any of your stupid emo friends!"
"First of all, it's goth not emo. Second of all, can't I just talk to you?"
Michael's voice was deep and smooth, it would have been comforting to Y/n if they weren't so unbelievably angry. They were annoyed Michael had come to their house in the middle of the night to bother them, so they grumbled something and slammed the door in Michael's face.

-

Michael.

Just Michael. No need for a last name. No, no. No, stop it! Stop trying to find out his last name! That name isn't part of him, it's just Michael! 
Anyway, Michael. He was known for his pure, unadulterated rage and snippy way of talking. He had grown manipulative and abusive to people around him, pushing everyone away, including his best friends. Michael was always alone. Alone smoking cigarettes, alone drinking coffee, alone causing harm to small animals, alone drinking, alone all around self-destructing. But then Y/n arrived.
Y/n had been around for a year or two when Michael finally noticed them. They hated him the entire time, which made Michael mad. He liked them, and he wanted them. He wanted everything about them. No, not personality wise. Absolutely not personality wise, he hated their personality. What he wanted was their physical body. He wanted to kill them, and take them apart. 

He wanted them to stop running their useless mouth. 

Forever.

-

Michael was pissed. Mostly because the door had hit him in the face, and his nose was bleeding. He swiped his wrist over his nose, sopping up some of the blood. The cold Colorado air was going to freeze the blood onto his face, so he had maybe twenty minutes to get it off before it froze. Well, time to go talk to that British kid nobody liked. He would help, probably.

Michael's Doc Martens crunched in the snow, and his cane was tucked into the crook of his right arm. He acted like the cane was still optional, but it really wasn't. He had broken one of his legs in half, and it caused some permanent damage. He could walk fine, yeah, but his legs would start to shake after a while, and he would fall. He would fall hard. He had fallen more than once, hitting his head and likely altering his brain chemistry a bit too. Michael's mind began to wander over to his classmates. Particularly, Gregory.
They hated each other more than words could humanly say. They were just too different to really get along well. But Michael had to admit they had some similarities. 
Gregory and Michael were both fairly charismatic, though Gregory lured people in with his beautiful voice and Michael through intimidation. 
Gregory and Michael were both in drama, though Gregory was the leader and Michael lurked.
And neither of them took losing well. 
Gregory would completely throw a tantrum like a toddler. He was given everything and couldn't handle rejection well. Michael, on the other hand, had a lack of positive attention as a young child, so once he fixated on something, he would not let it go. He would chase it to the ends of the very earth to keep from losing it.

Michael blew a piece of curly black hair from his light brown eyes. He rapped his knuckles on the door. The house he was outside of was painted an olive green, and the brown paint on the front door was peeling. There weren't any cars in the driveway, the windows were filthy and slightly yellowed. It looked like nobody lived there. But Michael knew he was there.
"Oh, hello Michael, dear old chap!"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Can I come in?"
"Why, of course you can! Dear me, what happened?"
Michael knocked the snow off of his boots, then walked into Pip's house. It was dark, and felt welcoming, but foreboding at the same time. It always felt like someone just died.

The wallpaper was a soft cream color, with a rose pattern. There were framed photos, but every single one of them was turned around, so that the back of the frame was visible. There was one photo left visible, and it was a photo of Pip with a buck-toothed, strawberry blonde haired boy, both were laughing. They were sitting by a water fountain outside of a large house, and a girl with blonde hair was clearly walking out of frame.
Mirrors were either broken, turned around, or had the glass taken out. There was some simple furniture, such as an old wooden rocking chair in a room with an old radio. In another room, there was a dining table, and six chairs. Five of those six chairs were completely untouched, only Pip ever sat there. Several rooms were locked, and only Pip had the keys. There were several clocks (a total of seventeen) and all of them were set to different, random times. Only one of them was correct, and Michael still had no idea which it was. 

Pip apparently had left in the minutes Michael had thought to himself. He came back with a damp washcloth, and said, "Goodness, Michael, you need to be more careful."
"Yeah, Phillip, I know."
Pip gently wiped off the blood. Michael hissed in pain, but Pip covered his mouth with his hand. Michael bit Pip's hand, breaking the skin. Blood dripped onto Michael's white shirt, and Pip sighed softly. He wasn't mad, it sounded like a content, almost euphoric sigh. That made Michael feel weird and uncomfortable. Pip noticed and shook his head, though a smile still ghosted at his lips. "Ah, sorry Michael. Would you like to stay for dinner?"
Michael shook his head. "No, thank you though."
Pip nodded. "Alright. Be more careful next time though, okay?"
"Yeah, sure."

-

Phillip Pirrip.

He was sweet, and kind. He was the punching bag of South Park. But not anymore.
Oh no.
Pip's behavior had grown more and more erratic as he got older. His aunt and uncle died when he turned eleven, he got word that Mr. Joe had died when he was barely twelve, Estella had arrived in South Park when he was thirteen, and he started to become more and more weird. His weird behavior started with locking his aunt and uncle's bedroom, locking his uncle's study, and never letting anybody go into the basement for any reason. He couldn't handle looking at the  photos hung up on the walls, so he either destroyed them or hid them from view. It was just strange behaviors with objects at first. Then he started to do things to himself that were concerning.
He stopped eating for random periods of time. He acted exactly the same, chipper and kind! But he had passed out in public more than once. Whenever he got hurt, or beat up, he would smile dreamily as he laid there, bleeding and bruised. He allowed himself to spend time around Estella, despite knowing how much it would ruin him even further. He let himself be abused over and over and over again, barely batting an eye at it every time.
Y/n didn't treat him well at all. It made Pip lightheaded with love. He couldn't help it, he was a hopeless romantic. He grew clingy with them, but they kept shoving him away. That made Pip upset, so he decided that if he couldn't always be around Y/n, he had to settle for second best. 
Pip was a baker. He loved baking things. So he made Y/n various baked goods. Y/n had absolutely no idea what "extra" things Pip put in. Those things were pieces of Pip's hair, his skin, his blood, his spit. The thrill of being caught is what really made Pip want to keep doing it.

Maybe a little bit of empathy would have kept it from happening.

-

"So, kiddo, how was your day?"
Y/n and their father sat at the dinner table. Their father had brought pizza home for dinner. Y/n wasn't exactly sure how to palatably put "I've been harassed by a Mormon, two different goths, and a British guy, all within six hours of each other". They chose to just say it as it was.
Their father gawked for a moment. "What?"
Y/n sighed and took a bite of their food. "I got bothered by Gary in the hallway today, Pete was being annoying in the hall as well, Michael came to the house, and Gregory was being a condescending ass in gym."
"Do you want me to talk to the principal?"
Y/n considered it, then shook their head. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
Their father smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly. "Okay, monkey. Let me know if you want me to do something, okay?"
Y/n smiled right back. "Okay, Dad."