A Fairly Emo Reboot

"Hayden!" He shouted, wanting to talk to him. He wanted to see if Hayden would be of any use, in order to help him clear his thoughts.

Hayden floated down through the rafters, looking even more pissed than normal.

"Tell your retard sister to stop using the TV," he snapped. "I want to watch Jersey Shore, but that broad won't stop going on about her stupid tea parties. Tea parties! Those're for faggots and queers and communists."

"Sit." He replied, shrugging off the face he wore for Claude's amusement. He also grabbed his eye patch from his pocket so he could stop his eye from aching.

"I'll let you watch Jersey Shore in a few minutes, but I want to talk about Claude. Did you even get a look at him?"

"Of course!" he replied, waving his hand in a way that was decidedly not macho. "He was a faggot--looked like a socialist punk, too. Did you see those fucking earrings? What a poof."

He slid into the armchair farthest from Frederich and reached into his pocket out of habit.

"...Fucking Marilyn Monroe's tits. Are we out of cigs again?"

"Of course I saw what he looked like." He replied simply. "I'd like for him to work with us, but he might be difficult to handle. He appears to be convinced I'm in the closet, for some strange reason."

He shrugged slightly.

"I want you to talk to Claude for me, then I'll buy you some more."

Hayden glared at him suspiciously, leaning back in his seat.

"Me? Why the hell do I have to do it--what're you planning, Fred-o?" He slicked his hair back with his hand, one of his many nervous tics.

"You're more similar to him than I am. Besides, this is a job only you can do." He said blatantly. "I want you to tell him that you're absolutely convinced I'm actually gay."

"Haha, I never figured you for a faggot, Fre--wait a fucking second. Similar? How the fucking commie hell am I similar to that anarchist punk? He's a faggot. He's a proud faggot. Probably hates America and apple pie, would prefer giant ass-fucking Soviets. We're complete opposites!"

Hayden grew blue in the face with his shouted, so angered was he. No one called him a faggot. No one. Particularly not that bitch Monroe, but that was another matter.

"I thought it was obvious." He replied, completely unperturbed by Hayden's temper tantrum. "You're both gay. Claude is somewhat less subtle about it, though not by much."

Hayden dashed at Frederich, phasing through him unimpressively. He shouted a long, mangled stream of cusswords.

"--All on top of motherfucking Marilyn Monroe's cold, lifeless, plastic tits!! I ought to fucking wring your neck, you little communist dick-sucking piece of shit--no one calls Hayden J. Quigley a fucking creampuff, you brownie stuffer! Fucking no one!!"

Enraged, Hayden made a mess of the furniture, knocking over chairs and games and knocking picture frames off the wall.

"I NEED A FUCKING CIGARETTE!"

"You're out." Frederich replied, as if they were having a pleasant conversation. "I was going to buy more, but you wrecked my house. Now I'm not buying you any."

He glared at Frederich; his normally perfectly slicked back hair was in disarray.

"I should fucking kill you--take your fucking comment back, you cock-sucking pink maggot, or I will fucking strangle an apology out of you!"

"No, I don't think I should lie." He replied bluntly. "I lie enough as it is."

Hayden punched Frederich, and his fist phased through his face. He growled in frustration.

Grabbing a picture frame off of the wall, he hurled it at Frederich's head.

"Fucking fine, you ungrateful little shit!" he screamed.

Frederich barely managed to avoid getting hit smack in the face.

"What am I supposed to be ungrateful for? I think you're just in denial."

"GET OUT, IF YOU WON'T TAKE IT BACK!" he screamed, throwing another picture. "JUST GET OUT!" He picked up the X-Box, disconnecting it from the TV.

"I'm sorry." He said, the instant the X-Box was brought into the picture. "Forgive me."

He set it down less than gently on the table, crossing his arms and scowling.

"You had better fucking mean it, kiddo. I am not happy."

"Of course I mean it." He replied, obviously not meaning. "Anyway, go talk to Claude."

"Fucking fine," he said, smoothing back his hair. "I'll be back."

-x-

Hayden returned a few hours later, closely followed by Claude. Claude sat on Frederich's couch in his revealing sweater, glancing around the wreckage that was the living room.

"What happened here?" he asked, giving Frederich a confused look.

"Faith threw a tantrum." He replied, laughing. "She does that sometimes, no big deal. Anyway, we on for bein' partners or what?"

"I thought you never wanted to talk to me again," he said, shrugging. "Hayden said you were gay, but I'm not sure if I believe him--if you are, you should give me a kiss. On the lips. Then I'll become your partner."

Frederich feigned disgust, and reluctance, as he moved over to Claude.

"...I fucking hate you." He grumbled, leaning in to kiss him. Very, very slowly.

He wrapped his arms around Frederic's neck, pulling him close. He opened his mouth slightly; he had been waiting for this for a long time. Frederich smelled quite pleasant, he noted. It wasn't as familiar as he'd hoped, but it was a pleasant scent, nonetheless. It was a scent he could get used to.

However, the more he touched Frederich the more he became conscious of a kind of empty cold emanating from his body. No, not his body--his body was warm and soft, like any human's. The cold came from beyond it, from his very core; it enveloped them both, as though trying to drag Claude in. With a small shock he realized it was Frederich's aura.

He didn't pull away. As much as he had been enjoying it at first, his body was now frozen with apprehension.

Frederich pulled away, wiping his mouth as if disgusted.

But something was wrong. Claude was acting stranger than before. He hoped he hadn't screwed things up.