>For the first time in what feels like a very long time, you are assailed by corny ghost moans and anything-but-bone-shaking thunder
>And the cherry on top?
>Squealing bat sound effects that sound like they got ripped from 1960s Scooby-Doo reruns on TV
>As the sliding door opens, and all these sounds strike you in one aural gut-punch, you breathe deeply and squeeze your eyes shut
>You're home, back in your memories
>You're a little kid again, trying to find a costume that will draw the least amount of attention because you didn't know, back then, that you had a crippling fear of judgement
>Mike shrugs past you, aiming to get this over with as soon as possible, tossing you out of the nostalgia
>Jenna is close behind him, but the glow of joy in her eyes is enough to tell you that she's plenty excited to be here, and not out stealing things from a liquor store, like Mike had initially suggested
>Sam bounces from clothing rack to clothing rack, grabbing packages and pre-made costumes, turning them over in his tiny hands like they were precious gems
>From a firefighter to a skeleton to an anime character… he seems immensely pleased by all of it
>It's like he's been dosed with rocket fuel. You've never seen him so reckless and excited
>And as you dig through a bin of shitty plastic props and discount costumes, you can't help but smile
>You feel like you're doing the right thing
>You're sorting aside discount costumes (mostly just wigs with gum in them) when you hear Sam beside you, breathing hard from exhaustion in little wheezes
>You straighten your back and look down
>The bunny has no less than 10 separate costume pieces stacked high, burdening his already thin arms
>"A-A-Anon," he stutters, nearly out of breath. “I-I-I want to t-t-t-try these on."
>… It's not like he needs your permission
>Oh
>Wow
>He's probably been clothes shopping once or twice in his life
>Jesus Christ that's surreal
>You take clothes shopping for granted every time you go
>Does he…
>Need instructions?
“Go find the changing room," you tell him, as you pick a package of cheap 'priest vestments' from the refuse of the discount bin
>He throws you a confused glance at the mention of the word 'changing room'
>"W-W-What is that?"
>You're not sure if this is irritating or adorable
“It's a room where you get naked and try on the costumes," you say, trying to dismiss him so you can find your other co-conspirators
>When you got into the store you all fanned out in alternate directions
>Except Sam, who clung to you like he was glued to your hip
>He really likes hanging around you, you tell yourself
>Or he's getting really touchy
>One of the two
>Sam looks unsure of his instructions
>You groan internally and point a lazy finger towards a hanging sign that says 'changing rooms'
>Sam fixes you with a 'I'm sorry' look, and then bounds off in the direction of the changing rooms, jockeying his stack of costumes
>What the hell does he even need those for?
>The designs he came up with for himself — 'Samurai Outlaw' — couldn't be simpler: a hoodie, some baggy pants, a bandana, and a baseball bat
>Whatever
>Let the kid have his fun
>You smile at the thought of Sam getting to finally enjoy what you've taken for granted for years
>You hold the costume you picked — a priest's robes — up to the light
>It's fairly standard — there's a picture of a rhino wearing them, and despite the rhino's size, the long, flowing, cheap cut of cloth hangs off his arms and around his waist in huge swaths
>They're primarily an off yellow, sickly like vomit, with a definite gold stripe running down the center of the piece with two lines branching towards your shoulder, like a 'Y' with a spike down its center
>They match Sam's drawing for you
>The kid has talent, that much is true
>But the costume is a scant reflection of Sam's vision
>In fact, like all Halloween costumes, it's cheaply made, and the cut is a bit large
>You'll have to go try it on
>As you make your way to changing rooms, you pass by Alex
>He smirks and pulls the brim of a fedora lower, having tossed his signature yellow beanie aside
>His whole body is clad in cheap cloth that's been textured to look like a striped suit
>But you know? The cut is tapered in at the sides and shoulder, so from a distance, he really does look like some kind of 20s-30s gangster
>The fedora tho, invokes your inner elitist again
>Too much time on the internet
>"Nyyeeh sheeee," he says in the worst accent you've ever heard
>The utterance of those words causes something physical to seize up inside you
“Listen, Alex, comrade… Never say that again like that, okay?"
>He nods in agreement
>"Save my charisma for Friday. Gotcha." He winks at you
“That's not what I meant, but aright. Save it for Friday."
>"Was it good?" He asks, already having decided for himself it was Oscar-worthy
>You agree with him, in the way that a parent agrees with their child when they say they're going to grow up to be 'The President of the Moon'
“Don't change a thing, Alexi."
>He fires dual finger guns back at you, and you almost wish they were real so you can be spared an encore performance
>You can feel a shiver still running up your spine as you pace off towards the changing rooms
>If only you were dead
>There's only two available changing rooms
>Hmmm
>You try the one on the left and get a metal rattle as the lock catches
“Sorry," you say, face going flush with blood
>You probably just scared the piss out of someone who is stark naked in there, trying on a slutty 'nerd' costume or something
>But the response you get back is as empty as your wallet is about to be
>There's sadly no dividers for your voice to carry over
>The sound isolation must be insane
>These are just closed-in rooms with mirrors pasted onto walls and signs that say 'changing room' glued on the windowless doors
>Classy
>Alright, Sam must be in the one on the left, you reason
>Meaning you've got the one on the right to try
>You find it's not locked, and you hear no voices of protest as you crack open the door
>Good!
>You twist the nob and slip inside, snapping off the endless chime of cheap Halloween sound effects as the door shuts with a meaty *thunk*
>A distinct, girlish falsetto shrieks behind you
>You don't even think about the consequences of what you do next, because your body moves autonomously
>You don't consider how turning around changes your life almost completely in less than a fraction of a second
>So much can happen in the resonate space between heartbeats
>A car wrapping around a tree, impaling the driver who held his eyes down at his wheel for one pulse too many
>A baby's first, catching lungfuls of air, and the exhaustive sigh of the mother who was told her son would be a stillborn
>The small gap between the barrel of a gun and the temple is one heartbeat across
>This is one of those moments
>You turn around and behold Sam Garlen, who has one bulbous leg down the throat of a pirate costume's trousers, and is standing, otherwise, stark naked, all of his clothes scattered around him in a pile
>"A-A-A-Anon!?" He shrieks, voice rising and rising in pitch
>But his words bounce off your useless eardrums
>Your eyes sweep over him, up and down, focusing on absolutely everything all at the same time, soaking in the near-flatness of his chest, the slenderness of his shoulders, but also the play of the overhead light on his body, like he was the lone actor in a very bright spotlight, directing your eyes downward
>And downward
>Past the pink of his nipples, the meager puff of his breasts, the slender and exposed bones of his ribs (still mysteriously bruised)
>Down the tuck of his midsection, pinched inward…
>…Which only emphasizes the girlish bow of his hips…
>…To the pink slit of his sex, begging for a gentle hand to spread it like a flower that only blossoms in the fall
>And then you look up at him, feeling drugged, completely senseless, like your head was a balloon floating away from the stalk of your neck
>And then you open your mouth
>And you say the DUMBEST fucking thing anyone could possibly say in a situation like this
“Dude, where's your dick?"
Art for the scene:
https://www.sofurry.com/view/1719662
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