A Tale [SOUTH PARK OC X MICHAEL]

Chapter Thirteen: Counseling and Bad Behavior

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When the anger management therapist sat up in his chair as if he finally had something important to say, Michael knew today would suck.

"Everyone, listen up." He said, looking around the room. "Today, we have someone new joining us. I'd like you all to welcome Morris!"

The door behind him creaked open and in he walked, hands dug into the pockets of his ugly, puffy jacket. His brown eyes darted around the room, most notably landing on Michael for a long time before his gaze disappeared off into nowhere.

"Say hello, Morris!" The counselor coaxed.

The best he could do was a quiet "Hey," before tucking his head down and slinking over to his seat, plopping down with a cool rush of air. The seat was fucking right next to Michael's, which had the goth seething with the familiarity.

As the lesson proceeded, though, he realized that Morris wasn't going to be as much of a nuisance as he expected- namely because he didn't talk whatsoever. Even when prompted, he didn't participate once like he occasionally does in class- he merely sat there and fiddled with his zipper. Whenever someone called his name, he'd look down and avoid their gaze until they decided to talk to someone else. How long was he supposed to be here?

This was rather weird for Michael, as he was used to school Morris. It made the guy pitifully lame.

After class, Michael was standing at the bus stop, waiting for the never-bus to bring him back to his conformist shithole of a house, when out of the corner of his eye he saw Morris approach on a skateboard. This was a new sight for the goth, as he had never seen his poser classmate out of school before.

His eyes narrowed, wondering what the little weirdo was doing here, and he took a drag of his cigarette to keep his annoyance at bay.

Unfortunately, that just caused him more problems.

Morris locked eyes with him, slowing to a stop just infront of the stop. Micheal looked away, not wanting conversation.

"Uh..." Came his strangely choked voice. "You do know that there's no bus, right?"

He scoffed. "Of course I do. Can't I sit here for a smoke?"

"Right," He seemed to settle for that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Michael could see that he wasn't moving on, just looking at him. He didn't like it. Why was he so comfortable with making eye contact all of a sudden?

Micheal responded simply by looking over to Morris and blowing out another puff of smoke in his direction. He heard him sigh, and he could just barely see a feint facial expression as Morris turned and pushed off down the barren street. He just... gave up.

Wow, what a loser. Wasn't he supposed to have anger problems? Why'd he just submit to his smoking like that? This definitely wasn't the intervener that Michael saw.

Well, whatever, he wasn't his problem. Once Morris dissapeared completely from view, he got up, flicked the cigarette off to who knows where and stepped on it, ignoring the dissatisfied taste in his mouth.

It wasn't until three weeks later that he became his problem.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Michael challenged, crossing his arms.

"I just want you to make friends with them! You've seen them during the sessions, they won't talk!" The therapist defended, wiping his glasses off on the bottom of his sweater as if he didn't just saddle the goth with a bullshit assignment.

"Why me?" Michael asked exasperatedly.

"Because you two are close in age, and they already sit right by you! You probably even go to the same school, it says in your files that you're both from South Park."