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Its Gone

Chapter Text

Paperjam was unconscious.

 

He felt almost dead.

But he wasn't dead.

 

Even in his unconscious state, he managed to get himself off the ground. Paperjam, now was limped and weak. He started to crawl his drained body on the rooftop of the Empire State Building, completely unaware of his surroundings.

He then all of a sudden tripped, and now was completely aware with the sudden jolt of pain. Now a scar with blood on his chin, but he did not fucking care.

He lifted his head, and with his finally adjusted sight. He saw four items. All of the items belonged to Fresh. His lover.

His Phone, His Glasses, His Hat, and His Jacket.

Paperjam slowly crawled over to the items, and looked over each one. For some reason, the jacket was wet and salty. While the rest were dry.

He made a face of confusion, as he turned his head to look around.

And then he saw it.

 

There was Blood on the ground, a Execution knife lied upon the dry red stain. He was surprised.

 

"No.. no, no no.."

He sprinted up, not caring whatever hurt, and leaped to the knife.

 

"Please Fresh.."

"Why did you leave me..?"

 

".. Why..?"

 

He looked from the top ceiling all the way to the ground.

And there lied his corpse, being sent to a hospital.

Chapter Text

On the first Friday of Fresh's Senior Year, only three topics were discussed at lunch: Ms. Harrison's plus size miniskirt and fishnet stockings, the sheer number of freshman skanks, and the enormous beach party Underswap Papyrus was going to throw that night. Over his tray of healthy and inedible lunch, Fresh declared their intentions too. Which meant, of course, that everyone else was going too.

 

'Everyone' were the others sitting at the three tables reserved for Meriden High School's elite: The Petty, the vain, the jocks, the idiots, the beautiful, the accepted and admired sluts. In particular, his statement was directed at Underlust, who would immediately text Fell--who, due to a scheduling conflict resulting from an overload of AP classes, had a different lunch hour-- with the plans.

Fresh, Lust, Fell. That was the way things were, and no one questioned it anymore.

After school, Fresh drove home with the radio blasting. He was more lenient on the gas pedal than usual, because she knew he would return to an empty house. Because of living alone. But, It didn't matter. There was always a empty house, and forever.

Once he pulled into the garage. He sat for a while. In the garage blaring rap that he could barely understand. He wished that he asked Lust or Fell to come over after school so he could clear off the silence. But he didn't, and he told himself that regret was stupid and he pulled his keys form the ignition. The silence hit him personally

In his life, before.. Fresh had flirted with a number of dangerous things.. Drugs, bulimia, the pervert stoner who worked at RadioShack. Bulimia was the one that stuck. He had broken the habit for awhile. He started puking Blood for a bit, which frightened him, because he didn't want to die. Not then, but he was going to be grinding in a swimsuit tonight. and he wanted to be happy. He wanted to be bright and laughing and thin.

He Brushed his teeth with all the blood staining them, but the taste was still there, so he went down to the basement and dug through his enormous wine cabinet and swiped a skinny bottle of.. actually, he wasn't really sure what it was, because the words weren't in English, but it was alcoholic and smelled like berries, and the label was pretty--and uncorked it on the way back upstairs. He drank it in bursts, quick head thrown shots, as he went to his room and opened his closet to consider his collection of swimshorts.

He found the swimshorts he bought from Rue 21 a couple months ago. As he caught his stupid whore pedophilic neighbor standing on his lawn, staring at him.

He flipped her off and closed the curtains.

 

"My god," Lust said as she slid into the passenger seat. "Are you drunk already?"

"Of course" Fresh said, he caught a corner of the mailbox as he backed wildly out of Lust's driveway. Later he would find the scratch on the Mercedes, but he didn't care right now. There was something.. almost romantic about being young, tipsy, and having somewhere to go on a Friday night. He handed the berry alcohol stuff to Lust. Lust unstopped the bottle and tilted it back, and though Fresh knew that Lust kept her lips tightly closed, he said nothing.

It was easier to ignore it. Fresh had her occasional trips to the bathroom after dinner, Lust had ziplock bags of illegal substances hidden around her room, and they had an unspoken contract to act as though their own secrets were still, in fact, secret.

"Swap's riding with Outer, so you don't need to pick her up," said Lust, handing the bottle back.

Liz snorted. The car swerved as she took a swig, and she laughed as Lust yelped. "She's riding on Outer, you mean."

"That too." Lust paused for a moment to tighten his seatbelt and then said, quieter, "I can't believe she didn't break up with him."

Fresh said nothing. Swap, of course, was covered by the contract too, and this fell under the list of things Fresh didn't want to talk about, things she especially didn't want to talk about tonight.

Stupid, she thought. Four words, four for Outer to convince her: But I love you. And of course they worked, because Kennie would do anything for love.

Stupid, stupid Kennie.

But now Lust was quiet too, remembering that when it came to staying with cheating boyfriends, Fresh had very little to preach about.

Fresh pressed down on the gas pedal, then took a hairpin turn that threw a screaming Lust into the door, because tonight, they were unbreakable.

They arrived at the party nearly an hour late, and by then the bonfire was huge and the crowd could be heard from ten blocks away. People were already leaving, because a party of this size, with this much beer, would surely draw as many police officers as a donut buffet. Underswap Papyrus was an idiot to throw such a party on a public beach, but Fresh didn't care. She took another swig as she got out of the car to make sure she didn't.

Smoke was everywhere, a haze of bonfire and marijuana. There were strobe lights and colored spotlights, and it seemed as though the sky had descended and turned them all to hazy stars. The music made Liz's brain tremble. It was only a matter of time before everyone scattered, but it

didn't matter. Not tonight.

Fresh glanced at Lust, who was observing the entire thing with an expression that could almost be called disdainful. People called Lust stuck-up because she was quiet and rich and chic and had the posture of a ballerina and was something of a killjoy at parties. Julia was destined for a world of charity balls and pearls. She was a little too smart, a little too graceful, a little too conscientious for this hammered crowd.

And sometimes it made Fresh jealous, but tonight was not one of those nights. Tonight, she looked over at Julia and had to fight down the urge to hug her, because Julia wasuncomfortable and beautiful and hers.

"C'mon, killjoy," Fresh said cheerfully. Julia followed after a moment, and the lights swallowed them together.

"Fresh!" Fresh almost fell over as Kennie bowled into her. The bottle flew out of her hand and spilled all over Julia.

"Dammit." Julia sighed, looking down at her soaked cover-up. Kennie giggled and licked a drop off her shoulder,ducking away as Julia slapped at her head.

"Get off, lesbo," said Julia, but she was laughing too.

"It's good," Kennie said, picking up the bottle off the sand. She squinted at it. "Oh, my god. I'm not that drunk already, am I? Why can't I read this?"

"Because it's not in English, stupid," said Liz, and Kennie laughed and threw back the rest of the wine. Her hair tumbled down her back, then fanned away as she tossedthe bottle at Liz.

"Come on!" Kennie said, grabbing their hands and dragging them into the smoke. The heat was unbelievable; it made Liz's throat itch, and she lifted the bottle again, butit was empty. She dropped it into the sand.

"Careful," she shouted to Julia over the noise. "Don't get too close to the fire! That much alcohol on you—"

"Bitch," Julia called back, shrugging off her soaked clothes. "God, I smell like—"

"Like a Russian!" Fresh hollered. She slung an arm around Julia. "Like you're sexy!" She didn't know exactly what she was saying anymore, but who cared? She didn't. She also didn't care about whatever Kennie was babbling about—either Kellie Jensen's outrageous flab or Kyle Jordan's outrageous abs—or about the s'mores and beer that she was trying to pull them toward, so Liz broke away and let the crowd surround her.

Jake Derrick, Fresh's official on-again-off-again, was out of state for the weekend at some football camp, most likely hooking up with whichever cheerleader had the biggest boobs, but she didn't care. She grabbed the nearest boy by the belt and he took her hips. It was too smoky and he was too tall for her to make out much of his face, and she didn't try very hard to get a good look. She wasn't here to make memories. She was here for the flashing lights and the sweat and the smoke and the feel of someone else's skin against hers. They were interchangeable, these boys. They didn't matter. They didn't matter at all.

While she was with Boy Number Four, Liz's phone vibrated in her pocket. She pulled it out to see a text from Julia, saying that she and Jem Hayden, her potentially gay boyfriend, were leaving to check out some indie bookstore. She hadn't seen Kennie for a while, but no doubt she was grinding with Kyle somewhere in the mob.

Doesn't matter. There was too much marijuana in the air, and it was making Liz dizzy. Nothing mattered, not even the way Boy Number Four kept trying to kiss her. Why should it matter? Tomorrow she would wake up and this party would be a haze of lights. She wouldn't remember any of it. So she finally turned her face and let Boy Number Four press his pot-flavored lips to hers, and he wasn't bad.

They hadn't been on the beach for long—half an hour, maybe, and Liz knew this because she had grinded with seven boys so far, one for each song—when they heard the sirens over the music, and then, of course, it was over. As the crowd scattered and someone desperately tried to bury the last keg in the sand, Liz ran. Secretly, she loved when parties were busted. The night wasn't complete without a climax. The sirens, the swirl of red and blue lights—now that was a climax.

So, with a rush of adrenaline, Liz ran, slipping in and out of the crowd. Maybe, in a distant part of her mind, she remembered the games we played together when we were little, pretending to be spies and heroes, always escaping, always invincible.

He jumped into her car and shoved the keys into the ignition, and backed out of the sand so quickly that she nearly flattened a police officer. She heard him shouting for her to stop, but she didn't listen, and he didn't chase her. Her heart was racing and she was laughing, and she rolleddown the windows as she zoomed away so that the night could rush into her car and surround her.

Liz briefly considered going home, but she missed the turn and it was too late to swerve, so she kept going. She pressed down on the gas and soon found herself on the interstate, takingan exit she hadn't taken in a decade. She drove along the beach until the trees grew taller and the night grew darker, and she turned in to the entrance of the state park. She parked messily by the ranger station, right next to the sign that said PARK CLOSED. VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED.

She laughed to herself, thinking of seventh grade, when she, Kennie, and Julia had taken over a janitor's closet and claimed it for themselves. They had made signs like that, VIOLATORS WILL BE PROSECUTED. Or at least, she and Julia had. Kennie's had read PROSECUTORS WILL BE VIOLATED. After thoroughly teasing her for the mistake, they had made that their new motto.

Liz turned off the car and was surprised by the silence. It always surprised her, somehow. She grabbed her iPod and turned it on, breaking the night wide open with shouting and drums, something angry—and then she changed the song, because she was alone, and she didn't have to listen to what other people liked when she was alone.

She forgot, sometimes, that she could make her own choices.

Liz walked into the trees, knowing that she was probably being an idiot and she should at least turn on her flashlight app, but not caring, not caring about anything at all. She hadn't been here since they moved, but her feet still seemed to know the way. She wasn't entirely sure why she'd come at all, now that she thought about it, but that didn't stop her. Liz was beginning to realize that she was drunker than she wanted to admit—enough to be wobbly and careless, and content with being stupid.

She walked in time to some indie singer, who called her beautiful and stronger, stronger, stronger. Fresh liked hearing it. She tried to remember the last time she'd heard something like that in real life, and she couldn't. People didn't talk like that anymore, did they?

Fresh walked for so long that she was almost entirely certain that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere in the dark, that a bear would be along momentarily to maul her to pieces, eat her left hand, and leave her to bleed to death on the grass just off the trail where no one would find her until she was nothing but a skeleton, which they would ultimately hang up in the science room so that the human anatomy and physiology classes could study her—when, suddenly the trees ended and she saw the tower.

It wasn't as tall as she remembered.

When she was younger, her father would bring her here on the first Wednesday of each month. Her father didn't work on Wednesdays and she didn't have preschool on Wednesdays. Wednesdays were important to them, Wednesdays were theirs. They came to make wishes on whatever was around—dandelions in the summer, red and falling leaves in autumn, snowflakes in the winter, sunshine in the spring. Sure, she had been a short four-year-old, but now, staring up at the tower that had once seemed to reach heaven, she finally began to understand how much had changed.

Still, she climbed it. The stairs were steep and creaking. She didn't run up like she used to, because there was no one to race her.

She was more wobbly than ever by the time she got to the top, but she told herself that it was the adrenaline and the height making her sway. When she threw her head back, she could see the sky bending away from her, and it seemed closer than usual. As though if she tried, she could

snag a star on her fingernail, but she didn't move.

It hurt, hurt to hold still, so she leaned against the railing with the metal pushing against her lungs, and she closed her eyes.

"Well, hello, darling with the ocean eyes,

How many secrets keep us apart?

A sea of poems, a field of sighs,

Can I cross and return to the start?"

Liz turned off the music. Breathed, and looked up again to face the silence, but it wasn't there. Not the kind she was running from. It was quiet, deeply so, but it was the kind of quiet that lived and moved and changed, filled to the brim with crickets and wings and the sounds of late summer.

Later, she lay on her back, staring at the curving sky and the stars, swallowed by the darkness so that she felt very small indeed. She wondered what was between the stars, if it was dead and empty space, or something else. That's why there are so many constellations, she thought, remembering the ones from her fourth-grade science class—Leo, Cassiopeia, Orion. Maybe everyone just wanted to connect those pinpricks of brightness and ignore the mysteries in between.

Once upon a time, Liz was happy to TP a house with Julia and Kennie, to be invited to the best parties. Once upon a time, it made her happy to look down the social tower and see everyone below her. Once upon a time, it made happy her to stand here and see the entire sky above her.

And tonight—tonight, that was what she wished for. She wished to be happy, and fell asleep with an entire sky above her

Chapter Text

[ FLASHBACK ]

 

After Fresh puked, he went down to the basement with a marker and sat on the couch.

The couch—an old brown thing, stained with memories and orange juice instead of hangovers and wine. Monica had stored it down here after he bought the white couch, and when Fresh put his face in the fabric, it smelled of dust. No one came down here much. This couch was one of the last pieces of furniture from their old house, from that other life, when Fresh had a father who would never leave and a mother who didn't have any grief to bury in her work.

When she had me.

He rolled up his sleeve and wrote his three rules across her arm, so he wouldn't forget. He underlined them, and added: HERE LIES SANS ANCHUBOTZ.

 

 

SNAPSHOT: HIDING

The house is white with blue shutters, and there is something indefinably cozy about it. To the side, Fresh is behind a bush, his hands pushing the leaves apart. We have played at least a thousand games of hide-and-seek here. Fresh counts to a hundred and then searches everywhere, as though he can't hear me giggling, as though I ever hide anywhere except behind the brown couch.

Soon Fresh will begin to grow up. The older he gets, the less interested he will be in searching, the more easily distracted he will be by television and snacks and stories, the less he will care if I am ever found.

One day, he will count, and I will hide behind the brown couch.

She will forget to seek.

Chapter Text

[ FLASHBACK ]

 

 

He gripped the steering wheel and wondered if Ink had known.

That Fresh had been there.

That he had watched his feet dangle.

He couldn't have. If he had, he would have said something. After all, they had been alone. Ink could have insulted Fresh all he liked—he would have, if he had known Fresh was there, surely he would have. He could have said the most awful thing in the world, and LFresh wished that she had. Because then she could die believing that humans were inherently crappy creatures, and maybe her conscience would be a little lighter on this particular drive.

But part of Fresh wondered if Ink had already learned what it had taken Fresh sixteen years to figure out (and even then, only by ripping off the Gandhi quote he'd come across in her history textbook): that taking an eye for an eye left the whole world blind.

Objects at rest. Standing and watching, watching and standing.

How do you gather the force to push an object into motion?

Was it a riddle? A test question? It didn't matter. He knew the answer.

He drove faster.

Chapter Text

resh walked into the school.

 He felt that there was nothing new about it.  It was just the same thing, sitting in a crowded room with poor air conditioning.  Moody teenagers were ready to punch anyone, and leave blood.  People who you thought were all bright in elementary school were now goths, saying they wanted to 'blend in'.  People acclaiming that they have all these weird mental sicknesses to look "cool".

 In his opinion, which he does have a mental illness, mental illnesses are terrible. If you can avoid them in life.  Do it.  Its sorrowful to feel bad about yourself.  They may think that mental illnesses are the new fraud but, honestly they just suck.

 Sitting all his crap in his locker, he looks over down the hall to see a jock punching a little boy.  Meh, He learned to grow out of caring a couple years ago.

 Still, he carried around his binder in his hands, and had a little leather backpack swung over one shoulder.  This little backpack stored basic stuff, like pencils and erasers and a small lined paper book.  People question why he has that backpack with him everywhere he goes.  Detentions, After School Activities, And Dances and stuff like that.  What they didn't know about it that the backpack stored his medications and flasks.  The only thing he is surprised about with his leather bookbag is the fact that he's never been caught taking medications during class. ( Mostly during the teachers very, very boring lectures about the war of 1812.  Even some of the smart kids fall asleep.  And that's something when they're smart. ) 

 Oh, the Flask?  It's mainly used when he wants to forget school info.  He actually remembers in the 6th grade drinking an entire bottle of tequila before learning about  sexual reproduction.  You should of seen the other kids faces when they walked out of class.  While he was in gay fanboy land.

 Hey, whoever said it's not okay to be gay.  You're just evil.

 

 Fresh wanted to stay away from everyone, so he picked a seat pretty far in the back.  Once he realized all the cool kids were gonna sit in the middle area or the front, (Which, if you're gonna break school rules often, it's a very stupid place to sit.)  After everyone was in the class, but the teacher still wasn't in the class.  Everyone just started goofing around like first graders on steroids.  Absolutely chaotic.  People were throwing paper airplanes.  Though he didn't really pay attention to that, what he was paying attention to was the drawings of his last year classmate.  He was sooo cute, he was gay too.. According to gossip from Outertale.  He really doesn't just look gay though.  He looks like a goofy guy who would kiss a guy once and still call him a friend.  Also call him a 'bread-slice'..  Comparing to him..

 He was about as straight as a circle.  He was so gay there was no hope to become straight again.  Like if you were to bend a pipe cleaner into a circle and try to make it into a perfect line again. You just simply can't.

 

 Oh, if only his thoughts could be put in action with the little 8th grader like him.. He would kiss him all over, and slowly give him bites of live hickeys his neck.. Moving his hands down his body so swiftly.  Like a paintbrush on the canvas that he draws on ever Thursday Afternoon in Afterschool art class.  Then, when he's finally under his control, he'd pull down his clothing that covered his very virginity and proceeded to touch his--

 

"Good Morning Class!"

 

 He shot up form his daze, with a crooked smile and drool staining his desk.  He zipped around to find a Kleenex and wiped it off.  No trash bins around.. He just shoved it in his backpack.  Then he just sat in his desk (and for once, with good posture and not slouching) With his hands connected and his elbows raising them up.

 

 Now, What on gods green earth could he possibly get the possibility of fucking a son of ink!   But.. he just couldn't help it..  It was just.. so tiny.. so vulnerable..

 

"Fresh, Are You here?" The kid in front of him shyly tapped his shoulder until he shot up.. Then pointed at the teacher shakily.  When Fresh looked up.. He looked at his teacher--- Daaaamn. That teacher.. Was carrying an ass.....

..an assful of books.

 

 At least 5 textbooks plummeted on his desk, making a big booming a sound that hurt his ears.  He was pissed but didn't say anything..

 He really didn't want to be here.  So he pulled out a ripped out page from his old 6th grade journal.  It was really precious to him...

 

 The boy he fancied about wrote the words on the paper.  It was special to him.  And in loopy handwriting, he blushed while looking at it.

 

 I like you. xxx-xxxx-xxxx <3

Paperjam.

Chapter Text

A hand escaped from the camera, as there then revealed a crying face of a black, splotchy skeleton. Tears of agony covered as  the skeleton was bearing a red, school-like jacket. With the letters 'PJ' Printed on one side each of the zipper.

The skeleton inhaled, as his face was stained with tears. He crossed his arms on the desk that recorded his face.

 

"I.. I don't know what happened."

 

The skeleton has to inhale once more, tears was escaping from his eyes again. 

 

"He.. left me... he.."

 

The black skeleton had to lay his head and cry on the surface of the desk, this went on for about five minutes.  Then, he lifted his head. he looked like hell.  He didn't care though, he just had his eyes covered in tears.

 

"I.. I don't know what I did wrong.. All I did was.. care for him.. and supported him through his abuse.  Mental abuse...  I.. did I do something wrong..? What.. what did I do to..?"

 

His voice cracked with every word.

 

"He just.. did that.. I thought I had.. fixed him.. ya' know?"

 

He inhaled deeply, he had a tiny smirk on his face.  You could hear an Ice Cream truck outside. Except, it was a corrupted music box playing.  Oddly fitting to the tape.

 

The black skeleton stood up, and turned around to a closet. One time did he turn around to the tape.

 

"This.. you're making me do this fresh."

 

The lights were off, so you couldn't see exactly what was in his hand, except for the tiny desk light. The black skeleton had grabbed a hook. Handing a hammer, the skeleton proceeded to put the clip into the ceiling. Banging noises echoed throughout the room.

 

There was a small laughter.

 

"Now.. where did I put that rope?"

 

His voice was dark, and corrupted.  Near broken, but corrupted was just more fitting.  There was shuffling around in the desk, then the stranger stood up and held the rope in his hands, as then he went back to the hair he had propped and tied the rope into a certain knot.

Then, the skeleton stood on the chair, slipping his head through the loop.

 

The skeleton inhaled, as he looked down.  He had tears dripping to the floor. Then he turned his head to the camera, and he had a smile.  He sobbed for a little bit

 

"Fresh.. I love you too much for.. for you to just.. leave me like that.."

"So, now I have to leave everyone else, so I can see you.."

 

The dark skeleton inhaled, before looking at the camera one more time that he would be alive.

 

"I'm coming, baby."

 

The dark skeleton kicked away the chair, and his head dangled, he had lost all life, and he dangled there.

 

He just dangled there, for hours. The tape was still running throughout all the time.

 

And the ice cream truck stayed there and played its distorted music for hours, too.

 

 

There was a voice calling 'Paperjam, are you in your room!'

The door opened, to reveal a shocked and wide-eyed rainbow skeleton. He ran towards the dead skeleton.

 

"NonoNONO! Paperjam! WhyWHY!?"

 

The rainbow skeleton stuttered, he was having a panic attack, ti seemed.  They were sobbing.

 

"ERROR!"

There was the pounding of the stairs, just like the headache going on inside.

Another skeleton walked in with a fairly same facial expression. They walked towards the stranger skeleton.

 

"YOU IDIOT! WHY'D YOU HAVE TO DO THIS!"

 

The skeleton was angry, and they both were surrounded the dead body sobbing and screaming or whispering curses and questions before the tape stopped, because the battery life had ended.

 

Just like Paperjam's.

Chapter Text

Paperjam had arrived in the bar after a very stressful math state test. He knew that they said 'Get good rest' and blah blah blah, but Error was binge watching Scream Queens, so he didn't really want to deal with commentary of that.

He walked it, the pulsing lights of hundreds of Juniors and Seniors with an occasional freshman was sprinkled along the club. He was commonly known, and he felt a wave of other students come his way to greet him. Some of them were sober, others were drunk. It was just how the bar flowed.

Once he told everyone he was thirsty, we went to the bar area to get a Margarita.  Paperjam was a very talkative person, and he found that BurgerPants was beside him, so he was immediately shooting up a conversation.

the conversation wen ton until the barista managed to get to him, Paperjam held up a finger to BP, signaling to stop talking for a second. He ordered his usual Pink Lemonade Margarita. He was conversing before his eye lied on this one guy.

And he froze.

 

This guy. He had light pale skin, but his hair was dark purple, with shades the spelled 'Yolo'.  He had hoop lip piercing.  Tagged along with a shirt that was black and said 'Send Nudes', and a sheer black plaid over shirt. He had boyish booty shorts on, and black converse that went to the knee.

And.. that's exactly how Paperjam liked his boys.

 

Burgerpants had left, so he tapped the strangers shoulder, to be greeted by a slippery, somewhat high, but very sexy voice giving a 'What?' at him. Paperjam flushed before continuing.

"Ey, you're looking mighty fine, babe~" Paperjam winked an eye at him, it took some effect as the stranger flushed purple.  He looked at him. "Why're ya hittin on me?"

God.. that voice..

"Because.. you just.. are so sexy.. ya know." Paperjam laughed, he had been handed his Margarita. He took a sip.

The stranger stared at him, before opening a ahnd torwards him.

 

"The names Fresh.." Paperjam took the hand and shook it, before letting it go.

 

Paperjam put down his drink and grabbed a napkin. He pulled a pen from his pocket and proceeded to write the following note to him.

 

xxx-xxx-xxxx I like you <3

Paperjam 

 

He slid it over to him, and watched for a reaction.

 

'Lets have a mental pop quiz!' Paperjam thought. 'Is Paperjam Gay for Fresh?'

'oh, fucking hell yes' He thought.

 

I would fuck that.

Chapter Text

Palette was the schools cheerleader coach.

Of course, with his bouncy and constant happy and positive attitude.  And his loud vocals that you could hear far away, made him perfect for the job he was placed in.  He was a fairly nice cheerleader coach, much nicer than the old, mean cheerleader coach back in '98.  Palette had basically the opposites of the older instructor.

But, this coach was in love with the librarian, Goth.

Goth, was a very average librarian to all. He would never get mad at anyone though. He would just sit there at his desk, being chill, calming and tranquil without the need for drugs or alcohol.  It was almost like he smoked something to make himself calmer, people never knew.

Some of the jocks assumed it was "marawanna", they said it.   But when they finally confronted the librarian about this, he just corrected them, telling them they were saying it wrong.  And went back to reading. 

Without a doubt, since goth didn't answer the question, school authorities came by and gave him a drug test. It was negative. He felt his mouth tug into a smile, and he saw it.

But palette never knew his name.

Palette saw him when he came back from drug testing, yeah, they were always good friends throughout school, and they maybe liked eachother one time in first grade. But hey, they were seven. First grade is where everyone was finally being put in a real class, because Goth skipped kindergarten, of his smarts. He was the youngest in his class. But the most smartest.

Palette would remember Goth falling asleep in class, making straight A's, borsd, because he already knew ll the tests, answers, he was just bored In first grade.  But in second grade is where he actually had to kick up, wake the fuck up, and listen to the teacher.

Second grade was awesome, because when you got an A, you got candy. Goth always chose the root beer barrels. He liked root beer. 

 

But then, they finally got back in touch the day he came back form the blood test.

Palette swore he recognized that face, that beautiful face. But he didn't want to say anything because if it wasn't him, he'd probably break down.

But.. it just looked like him.. so simular. So palettem the same day, went over to the library while his long two hour break, to see if it really was him. He walked in the library, there were  a couple of jocks in the corner of his sight, hidden by bookshelves, making out.

He cringed at them, but didn't say anything before going on to his desk.

He went over to his desk, to see that the librarian had his head stuck in a book called 'Finding Audrey', fairly thin but also the fact it had tiny text. He leaned over to see it, not realizing the librarian  looked up at him and said to him.

".. Can I help you..?" A low, but high pitched voice invaded the quiet.

He didn't mind, it sounded beautiful.

Palette cleared his throat, before looking at him with a smile and started conversation.

"Hello! I'm palette, the cheers coach for Underground Area Highschool! And.. you just look like an old friend of mine, and I just want to ask you something.. your name.." He tried to make it as formal as possible.

The librarian giggled, before putting his book down, and looked at him smiling. "No need to be formal, but yes, lay it on me."

Palette sighed, before smiling back at him. "Okay.. is your name Goth Anttroxts? You look like-"

He stopped talking when The librarians eyes lit up.

"Palette..? Like, Palette Nito?" His mouth tugged into a smile.

"Yeah! It's me, we were friends in elementary school?" Palette went around his desk area in a quiet sprint, and hugged him tightly.

"Aweee, I missed you Palette! I wondered where you went! I thought you moved away without telling me!" Goth hugged back in happiness.

"I didn't move, I just had to go to a differvent school for a little bit.. that's all gothy." Palette let go of the librarian and looked at him. 

Before Goth got up and stood at his level.

"There were so many things I wanted to do.. but I couldn't.." He leaned closer to his face, and palette felt a warm feeling crawl up his chest.

Palette answered. "Wh.. what things..?"

Goth then, grabbed him by the waist, not caring for the other students watching, and closed the gap between their faces.

It lasted for enternety, before he looked at Palette.

 

"I loved you, but you ran away from me.." 

Chapter Text

So fresh decided to go home with Paperjam, no big deal.

It wasn't like Paperjams crazy swerving around the road didn't make him nervous.  They were both drunk, and Palette offered to get them an uber driver, but Paperjam said, quote on quote, 'he haz it under control.'.  Yea, they were going at least 60 miles an hour, blaring some cringy rap song on the radio with the windows down.

They were both laughing at their stupidity, as people walked outside to yell at the 'darned teenagers'.  Paperjam wasn't driving to his house tonight though, hell fucking no.  His parents would see him drunk and all hell would break loose.

So naturally, he had to go to a friends house.  Goths house.

 

Paperjam knew that Goth didn't need any warnings, especially with the loud music.  Then, once he would get inside, Goth would promise himself to only have one glass of wine, but then ends up asking for Paperjams Flask and then they would be drinking it up.

 

He promised to Goth that he wouldn't let anyone find out, or whatever.  He didn't do it often, but he did have his fair share of fun times with Paperjam, but usually when theres a guest he calms down a  bit.

But, when the car pulled up in Goths driveway, he stood outside with a smirk, serving the message of 'lets get this party started'.  But once he saw the drunk, Fresh crawl out the car, he blinked before looking at Paperjam with 'who is this??'

Paperjam muttered 'a close friend', a nod from goth before they both stepped inside, it was a nice house, it was fairly large, (perfect for parties.) For a librarian, he sure had the money for the house.  He never got told, nobody has, if it was inheritance from his parents or just the librarian job is well paying.

 

Paperjam settled on the couch with a  sigh, as Fresh sat awkwardly on the couch too, taking his shoes off. Freaked out about the fact he was at the Librarians house, before giving Paperjam a  look and he scooted to him and whispered to his ear 'Hes really a party animal, like you. he really likes to deny it though.'

Fresh snickered, while looking at Goth, as he started talking to Paperjam, apparently the newest Cheer Coach Coach, Palette was also coming over.  He faced Fresh and smiled. "You up for Wine and maybe a game of pool?" Fresh gave him a  unsure look, before glancing at Paperjam, he nodded, so he faced Goth again and quietly said 'yes'.

Goth opened up the cab net, as Paperjam got up and started discussing wines and which one he should choose out, as Fresh pulled out his tiny flask and took a whisk, along with the pills he needed to take for anxiety.  He still had the statement 'HERE LIES SANS ANTRIBOTZ' on his wrist.  And it upset him, he lanced over at the two, before getting up to hear.

"Maybe i should try California French 2003 Ver, it always had that perfect balance of grape I always liked." Goth exclaimed, as Paperjam snatched the bottle and popped it open, and took a  sip.  His face beamed up, and Fresh was by then standing next to him, so he handed it over to Fresh and asked "Do  you want some?"

Fresh sipped, and his eyes opened, as he screeched in happiness.

 

He wasn't sure what happened that night, but there was a blur, then a rush of energy, then excitement, then someone was on top of him, making him feel amazing.

Chapter Text

I apologize in advance for such the short chapter.  This is been in drafting for 2 months and I decided to go ahead and share it

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So, while we were drunk me and Fresh had sex.  It was okay.  But even for a,, 'jock' like me.  I needed a ego enough to search up on google; "How to be good at sex" right before.  He wasn't quite sure if he was alone, he had a blacked out memory of Goth filming him and Fresh enjoying themselves.

Damnit, he hopes Goth doesn't share that.

He was tilted upside-down on the couch, with his legs dangling off the side of the couch and in a  very weird position on his stomach, Fresh was behind him, burying his skull into Paperjams neck.  Humming in satisfaction as the presence of him, he moved his head-- which ached like hell, by the way --to the floor, where shot glasses littered the table, and on the pool table, the fucking pool table, was Goth talking to 'daddy'.  Aka his pretty sexy boyfriend, Palette.  But it was funny, the first time he met Palette, he thought he was a girl.  Which was rather hilarious

He forced himself up and looked around.

Damn.