A Nice Person MxM (Staten Krown)

7

1 year ago.

"Beautiful day, Syn..."

"Hey, weirdo. How's it hanging?" he asks me.

Syn walked into the common area. Most of the adults were on the other side of this place but nobody really stopped Syn. It was easier to just let him go where he wanted to go then try to stop him and have the wrath of Syn Clinton befall you. On that day he seemed rather even-tempered. I'm pretty sure it's because Nurse Rebecca let him have an extra tapioca pudding. I guess all you had to do to get Syn not to raise hell about all the dysfunctional agenda of our social construct was give him extra pudding. Extra tapioca pudding, especially, would buy you a few hours.

"I'm in love, Syn," I told him.

"Let me guess. Gem, the young intern kid?"

"Yeah, we talk all the time and guess who he told me he's related to. He's related to the Monroe brothers."

"Who?"
I'll never forget that. I'm painting when he walks in. I'm painting a portrait of the Monroe brothers. My art is the best. Syn told me once it looked like cow shit but I knew he was joking. That was just the type of person Syn was. I knew he really liked my art. All the colors merged in together. It was the best.

"The Youtube stars. The Monroe Brothers. Gem has their posters up. He told me those are his long lost brothers. They've been writing him. He doesn't want to see them though. Doesn't want anything to do with them. It's a shame."

"Oh, the teen heartthrobs."

"I'm going to convince him to meet with them. Then Gem is going to take me out of here. And we're going to be in love. They'll be at our wedding. It'll be a special on their Youtube channel."

"Oh is that right?"

"Yeah. You can come to the wedding?"

Syn grasps at his chest, "Honest?"

"Sure. You're my best friend."

"Oh well look at that," Syn states, "I get to be your imaginary best friend, at your imaginary wedding to a boy who wouldn't even give you the time of day in your wildest imagination. I feel like I just added some more years to my life. You know that? No honest. I feel like I've arrived. I feel like I've made it. I'm giving you Coming to America, white dress, waving to the crowd, with African beats in the background. Bitch, you just made my day."

"Thank you. I try."

He looks at me. That's when he crosses his arms.

"You are one delusional bitch. You know that Coy?" he asks me, "He's a kid."

"I'm a kid."

"Bitch you're 23. No one is believing your shit, Coy. At least I'm not. I'm not your friend. Actually, the truth is I don't even like you. I see past all that shit because I actually pay attention. I got one eye on you —at all times, because bitches like you will make bitches like me get charged with aggravated assault. I already got too many charges from the fire—don't ask."

"I thought you were my friend. I didn't know you hated me," I state, "I never did anything to you."

"I don't hate you. I'm just not particularly excited about your existence."

"I don't need you. I have Gem."

"That boy doesn't want to fuck you. He's fucking that big booty intern with the long hair. Andrea, was it? He doesn't want your ass."

"He's not fucking Andrea. They are just friends."

"He's fucking Andrea," Syn tells me, "Don't be stupid. You are in a mental institution. Gem thinks you're crazy. Truthfully I don't think you are crazy. I think you're a special brand of evil power bottom wrapped in a pretty rainbow package, but the problem here is well, you're not that pretty. Guys like him...don't fall for guys like us. We don't fit in their social construct. We aren't handsome, we aren't rich, we aren't in shape and we damn sure aren't that nice. You know the nice guy that I'm talking about. The guy that all the girls love because he's just the perfect specimen. Guys like the Monroe brothers. That ain't us."