sweet talk

hold my hand harder

chapter seven

"I'm just so... mad!"

"That's not very new, you know," Skips grumbled in reply, as he took a sip of his tea. Rigby had just settled on the floor in front of him. A small coffee table was between the two, and the sounds of white noise were beginning to derive from somewhere. It was quite peaceful, to say the least, but his stubborn, piercing anger still lingered in his chest.

What was he to say to that? He knew what his feelings were... but he didn't know if he should tell the other. A strong, fluttering feeling in his gut told him to do so.

"I just... Skips? I think I have something for Mordecai!" Rigby's blurted out, quite unexpectedly, and he waited for the other to exclaim something in surprise, before pestering him if it was true.

Because, damn, it was definitely true. And he couldn't believe he actually admitted it, and how he felt afterwards. Not surprised. It was confusing, to say the least. But Skips only sipped his tea again.

"And?"

"And? What do you mean, and? I'm attracted to my best friend, who has been my best friend since elementary! There's no 'and' to it." Rigby crossed his arms, narrowing his nightmare eyes. "Aren't you surprised at all? That I'm gay?"

Skips was quiet for a moment. Then he gazed at the ceiling, his eyes closed, muttering something that sounded like a small prayer. Then he opened his eyes again and looked at the raccoon, dull.

"I don't believe in labels, Rigby. Gay, sure, but what I believe--" he set down his mug on the table, and scooted closer, "--is that you can be attracted to anyone and anything. There's no label to it. You just like your best friend more than you thought you did. Don't say gay. Say, instead, being."

Rigby pondered this, his eyebrows raising in small surprise. What he got from this, Skips was an ally. No, he supported him. There's no label to it.

"But-- I thought being gay--" he stopped himself, and reworded it, "I thought liking someone of the same gender was wrong?"

"And why should it be?"

This left Rigby stuck. He didn't have an answer for that. Slowly, he drew himself back, and gazed at the floor. He realized, with a start, that his hands were shaking in the dim light of the room, and he curled them into fists. "I'm angry," he muttered again, "I saw him with Margaret... but I thought, why should I care? They just like each other--" The raccoon looked up.

"Then let me ask you this, Rigby. Are you angry at Mordecai, or yourself?" Skips asked. Again, his eyes were emotionless, and again, his voice was gruff.

There's no label to it.

All of these questions made Rigby more mad. He couldn't answer them, he couldn't. He was fighting a battle with himself, a battle with emotions and anger. And for some reason, these feelings were more prominent. It wasn't puberty-- it couldn't be, he was almost twenty-three and his birthday was in a month. But it felt strong and confusing as if it was puberty, changing faster than he wanted them to. Was he angry at himself?

Then he remembered his frustration, and knew the answer. His fingers dug into the palms of his hand, hard, and he was upset

"Myself. I don't know-- it's jealousy, Skips. But the anger is so much stronger, and so much..." his voice trailed away, and his eyes grew wide, a sudden pain of anger rushing through his head, his chest, his eyes... "I hate them both! They both betrayed me--" He stumbled over his words, and looked up. "It's unreal. It has to be a dream..."

Skips winced some, and a frown overcame his face. Slowly, he took his mug and brought it to his face.

"Woah, wait," Rigby said, firmly. He was on his feet now, arms crossed and exasperated, "I know that look. What crazy shit is happening?"