Malcom Turner || Pretty Pumpkin

Malcom shifted awkwardly on the couch that sat in the middle of the empty Kappa O Kappa common room. His shoulders hunched forward as he dipped his hand into a small bag of chips. They had gutted the place—mostly, in preparation for the big Halloween party Dom had planned for the night. It was supposed to start soon.

Keyword: supposed to.

Malcom's eyes flicked over to Devon, who was pacing a fucking hole in the floor. Poor thing looked like he was in the process of losing his ever-loving mind. He was running around like one of the chickens back home when his Pa cut its head off. And Malcom definitely understood it—half the boys were gone, and they didn't have shit ready. Not when Mr. Party Planner himself was still nowhere to be seen, with all the decorations sitting pretty in his car trunk.

"The fuck is that prick at?!" Devon grunted as he scrubbed his hand over his face in frustration. "I've been texting punk ass all fucking night, and he's not answering shit. This is HIS party!" His eyes met Malcom's, and Malcom quickly sat up straighter, suddenly very interested in the state of his bitten nails. Devon was the last person anyone wanted to fuck with when he was in a pissy mood.

Well, unless you were Hasan.

"Dunno, abi." Hasan hummed lazily, taking a quick glance over to his anxiously pacing stepbrother before going back down to his phone. He cackled at whatever dumbass TikTok video he must have been watching now, too zoned out to notice how quickly Devon's head jerked towards him in barely constrained anger to have the good fucking sense to shut his mouth now. "Probably off makin' out with his 'precious bunbun'. You know how Dom gets when he's all lovey-dovey, abi!" Hasan grinned. His eyes finally drifted over to Devon with a cheeky-ass grin that was seconds from getting slapped the fuck off, with the way he puckered them up and shimmed his shoulders to make exaggerated smooching noises.

Malcom himself couldn't help but give a giggle. Glancing back and forth between the two, he joked lightly. "Aw hell, yer gonna get us all killed talkin' 'bout Dom like that." Malcom leaned further back on the couch, shoving down another mouthful of BBQ Lays. Chip dusted lips puckered back up towards Hasan, playful as both boys cackled over each other. "Y'all know how he gets when ya mess with his 'babéeé~'."

Devon, however, was not so easily amused.

"You to think this some kinda fucking joke?" Devon scoffed, one hand already set on his hips as he stared both the dumbasses down. The other was jerking around in the air, unsure how else to release all... hell, he's not even sure what, other than it's two fucking much, and both of these assholes definitely weren't making it any better. "We are up here tryna throw a fucking party and half our DAMN CREW'S M.I.A.! Hasan, ain't you sweatin' where the hell Rafael is?! Motherfucker is always doin' something—Who knows what kind of shit he's getting into? And he can't read for shit!"

Hasan's cheek pressed against the table he was lying against before he sat up, legs kicking over the edge of it as he gave a lazy shrug. His hand rubbed against the back of his neck as he glanced away for a moment. Why the hell does he gotta get scolded? It ain't like he's Raffie's keeper. "Abiii, sakin ol... He'll show up. Rafael never misses a party!"

Malcom hummed in agreement. "Yessir. An' Blaise'll be hauled along behind him..." The words were barely finished leaving Malcom’s lips as his eyes caught sight of a candy bar hurling through the air. He followed it as it arched over his head, straight towards the table Hasan was still sitting on an—

THWACK!

"ACK!"

Malcom gave a low whistle as he watched Hasan roll off the table, legs up in the air to grab both his head and the Hershey bar back. Damn, better Hasan than him. Say whatever you want about Devon, but the man had a helluva arm. "FUCK! I'm surrounded by fucking dumbasses... okay. Okay, fuck all that. I'll go find those fuckers. Devon rubbed at the knot growing between his eyes before pointing towards Hasan. "Hasan, you hold it down—" Devon started, then stopped. What the hell was he thinking? Hell fucking no. He rather trusts the country himbo over the man he's seen shove Legos up his nose.

At 16.

"Fuck that. You coming with me to find those dumbasses. Get your coat on." Devon grunted as he stormed over and snatched Hasan up by the collar of his shirt. Hasan let out a yelp even as the shit-eating grin stayed on his face. His hands reach up to grab Devon's as he stumbles forwards. His complaints were ignored. Just huffed and puffed in mock annoyance as he grabbed his coat, shoving it on himself quickly as Devon waved him and turned back towards Malcom. "And you... You're in charge of the party while we're gone. Keep shit under control, and get some decor stat, yeah? Use my card."

Malcom gawked as Devon fished his credit card out of his wallet and tossed it on the coffee table in front of him before snatching Hasan back up to leave. Malcom stood quickly, his chips falling to the floor as he quickly tried to meet them at the door before they could get too far. "What?! Me! But ya just said, all I was s’posed to do was keep my peepers onna snacks—" The door slammed in front of his face right as he reached it. The brothers' bickering was muffled as they rushed towards Devon's car.

"Shit."

Malcom had no fucking clue how to plan a damn party. Much less a Halloween one. He ran a hand through his hair as he looked back at the room. Where to even start? Decoration had always been Dominique's (and his black card) 'thing,' as far as he knew. "Come on, Malcom, think now. What's sum Halloween like? Oh, trunk-or-treating’—that might work! Jus' keep it indoors, I reckon... Maybe start a cake walk and fetch us some pumpkin—PUMPKINS!"

Malcom hurried back to the common room and damn near dove for his phone. Tossing himself back onto the soft, plush couch with a soft 'oof,' Malcom rolled over to lounge on his side. His tongue was sticking out slightly as he scrolled through his contacts to find the one that will always have his back. The phone rings, just twice before he could hear the gruff voice of his father and the sweet hums of his mother cooking up something for supper ring through the receiver. "Hey Pa, ma! How yall doing? Look... I gotta might big favor to ask yall. See, we’s throwin' a Halloween bash down here at the frat, and I wanna make it real special fer the boys. Think yall can rustle up a truckload of spare pumpkins from the farm here?"

Biting down on his lips, Malcom waited anxiously for an answer. And finally... "Really? Hehe, yer the best dad. Lemme get on off the phone now. Fixin' to head out inna few, but I'll be here when you is." He grinned, sitting back up slightly as he checked the time. "k'ya, love ya too! This gonna be so sick!"

---

'Sick,' however, Malcom learned a few hours later, wasn't the proper word for it. At least not to Devon, who described it more as 'nauseating' and 'trifling as hell' when he and Hasan had finally returned.

"Fucking hell, none of these city folk know how to have a good time 'round here." He huffed under his breath, cheeks still hot in embarrassment and slight shame as he wiped the pumpkin guts off his shirt with the back of his hand. Back home they knew how to have some fun. Hayrides, movie fires—scary stories shared around a bonfire. How the hell was he supposed to know that a Halloween party was the regular shit, just with fake cobwebs and sexy-ass costumes? "Trunk-or-treatin' was way more fun back home... Guess I still ain't gettin' this college thang.."

Malcom rubbed at the back of his neck, instantly regretting it as he felt the cold seeds stick to his neck. Okay, so maybeee he did go a little overboard. He could see that now as he looked over the state he left the dorm common room in. Hundreds of pumpkins crowded the floor and narrow hallways. Shoddily built Halloween activity booths blocked off the kitchen, and slow, staticky Halloween music played out sadly from the plastic mouth of a witch speaker tied to the roof by a string.

Sitting down the pumpkin with the thirteen others he had already carved, Malcom gave a tired sigh as he leaned back against the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Devon and Hasan couldn't find the other boys, and to say that Devon was pissed was an understatement. And when he walked in, Malcom was shoving, jamming an armfulof apples in a barrel with an excited grin. Devon was fucking livid. He didn't even know Devon knew that many fucking curse words, lighting Malcom's ass six ways to Sunday until the big lug started blubbering like he was gonna start, and Devon quickly softened up to forgive him.

Barely. His punishment was still harsh as hell, leaving Malcom to stay in the frat with his 'hick ass party' as they quickly left to make a few calls for a new place to hold the party at. They set the messages out that the party was now at some fancy-schmancy lake house, leaving the frat address just in case some drugged-up brat wanted to carve pumpkins with him for God knows why.

But no one came. At all. Malcom took a quick look at his phone: November 1st. Halloween was officially over, and he spent the whole thing alone like a freakin' loser other than the few times Devon popped in to make sure he was still doing good. "Damn. Whatta waste of pumpkins, sorry, Pa.. Guess I can make a couple pies for the boys. Make up for my fuck-up..."

Malcom jumped in surprise as he heard the door jerk open, and he quickly scrambled to his feet. Nearly slipping on pumpkin guts before he managed to right himself, flashing whoever it was a charming grin in hopes of getting them to stay. "Well I’ll be... hey there, darling! I, uh, don't know if ya jus' ain’t got the message, but the party ain't here no more. Sorry, doll." He said, head tilted down slightly to look at them through his lashes before he waved toward the pumpkins. "But-but! Since yer hear anyways, how bout a lil pumpkin carving, eh? Hell, I'll even make you the best damn pie you ever did taste, if you stick around for a spell, puddin!"