Francine & Earl

Hate

(A/N This update was posted later than expected, but somehow it was really hard to write. The next should be coming soon!)

"Someone please put me out of my misery," Earl muttered to himself, sinking further into his seat as Mae watched the couple in front of them in a fixated way.

The movie night was a bust, and he honestly wondered why he expected anything else. The film was sub-par; basically a two-dimensional plotless flick that relied on jump scares more than actual horror. It seemed as if the audience was coming to the same conclusion, if the hushed conversations around him was any indication. Yet, despite the terrible movie, Mae was being worse. Her constant squeals at the couple in front of them made him cringe, and the hard repeated pokes in the shoulder with a wild gesture when the two men did something cute was grating.

At this moment, the larger man had lifted the other's hand up to brush his lips across their knuckles, and Earl knew that it was Mae's breaking point.

Before she could begin to have a fangirling-induced stroke, he shot out of his seat.

"I'm going to the restroom," he said quickly before making his escape, rushing down the stairs. He could finally get some peace.

* * *

Tucking his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, Earl exited the bathroom. He didn't know why he chose to wear these; they weren't meant for the eyes of the public. The once grey pants were now a light pink, which resulted in Earl realizing that red shirts and nearly white pants do not mix well in the wash. But, at this moment, he couldn't find it in him to care. People already thought he was a girl, why not dress the part?

Whistling under his breath, he glanced over the door of the female restroom, a confused look coming over his face. The man that he accidentally assaulted was exiting as well.

From the girls bathroom.

"Hey, man," Earl called, having a fleeting moment of bravery, mostly driven by his curiosity to find out why a guy was in the girls' room. The man looked up, eyes narrowed as if they recognized his voice.

"What?" they gritted out, and Earl would be lying if he said that it didn't scare him.

Clearing his throat, he held his head up high. He remembered reading in one of those self-empowerment books that Mae got him that showing confidence is key. Even when you feel like crapping your pants.

"Umm . . . ah . . . What were you . . . uh . . . doing in the girls rest . . . ah . . . room?" Earl stuttered out.

So much for confidence.

The man looked annoyed for a moment, before confusion came over his face as well.

"Well, you're a girl and you just came out of the men's room. Would you care to explain?" they said, then crossed their arms.

Earl tried not to notice the fresh scar that ran down the man's face, likely from his keys. All he could think about was tetanus, charges being filed, and a beat down.

"I'm a guy!" Earl finally exclaimed when he realized what the man said.

At this, they raised a brow.

"And I'm a girl. Problem solved," he said, and then turned to leave. But, he hesitated.

"Do I know you from somewhere?"

Earl began to panic, wishing he never said anything. He had never given much thought to how he would die, but it seemed as though he would be found in his ugly sweatpants near a movie theater's unsanitary bathroom.

Shaking his head quickly, Earl tried to stealthily sneak away. The man was still studying his face, and Earl turned to escape. It ended up badly when he stumbled over his own feet and onto the floor. At this point, Earl was done running. He stayed on the ground, almost laughing at the absurdity of these events. Stuff like this only happened in mediocre teen movies and cliché novels.

"Are you alright?"

Physically, yes. Mentally, no.

"Yeah," Earl said, cheeks burning. The man had moved closer, holding out his hand to lift Earl to his feet. Grudgingly taking it, he struggled to stand properly, only to feel intimidated by the guy's height.

"You're the girl that scratched me with your keys, aren't you?" The man said, and now, up close, Earl could see more feminine features. The person in front of him had long eyelashes that casted shadow on their high cheek bones, and the cupid's bow of their lips was defined even more by the frown tugging at the corners of their mouth. Now thinking about it, the man's voice did sound feminine; the naturally hoarse quality was just mistaken for a deeper tone.

"Yeah, but I'm a guy. Earl, to be exact."

"Francine."

It was silent for a moment as the two studied each other. 

Francine's arms were crossed while she looked at Earl. The guy was short, shorter than most guys she saw. But, then again, most guys she met were shorter than her anyway. His hair was long too, the strands tightened into a bun on top of his head. A few strays fell onto his forehead, but it suited him.

As she continued thinking about Earl, he was staring at her. 

In a way, Francine was beautiful. It wasn't a type of beauty all would notice or accept, but it was still there. Her features were just too sharp, almost too angular to be real.

"I have a question," Earl began, pausing as he thought over how to word what he would say next.

"What?" Francine asked, leaning against the wall near the bathrooms.

Jonathon would probably be wondering what happened to her in her supposedly short trek, but Earl interested her too much to walk away. It seemed as if he was used to the constant misunderstandings of his gender, and the treatment that came with it. No matter how understanding her best friend could be, he couldn't fathom the shame she felt when being tormented about her features and her gender.

"Do people mistake you for the opposite sex a lot?"

Francine nodded.

"Well, what would you think if I told you I have a plan to convince them otherwise?"