South Park © Matt & Trey.

More Kyman. I dig this pairing, but I write too much of it LOL.

Kyle's POV


Today is the same as yesterday. Nothing changes. Ever. Sometimes people get to a point where they feel nothing at all and it's worse than feeling like shit all the time. I feel like that's where I am right now. A boring job amidst a boring life. A constant and repetitive cycle that's ultimately never-ending.

I wake up, I take a shower with soap and strawberry scented shampoo, I put on a casual suit and I get ready to start the day. It's quiet in my little apartment because it's just me living here. I don't mind that. The silence doesn't bother me like it used to. I've gotten used to it. I don't like loud sounds because loud noises usually mean something bad happened. I'm no fan of tragedy.

Is this the way people feel before they commit suicide? I hope not. I don't really want to die. Maybe I just need something to live for. I guess I'm just in a slump.

"You're late," my boss says as I stroll into the office.

I wave him off, because I know he doesn't give a shit whether I'm late or not, just as long as I show up. He said that to me once a while back. I think he's fond of me. Stan also works here. Our offices are side by side but we don't talk. I've gotten used to that, too.

A co-worker greets me upon my arrival. "So, this is your last day?" he asks and Stan refuses to even spare me a glance. Like always, I pretend it doesn't bother me.

"Then vacation," I force a smile. In all honesty, I'm not looking forward to my time off. I insisted I didn't need a break, but the boss thought otherwise.

"Everyone needs a break, Broflovski," he had said. "Even people like you." People like me? I'm not sure what he meant by that. Workaholics, maybe. I do like working. I'm not sure what to do with myself when I'm at home. I just pace like some sort of lifeless zombie. I avoid my parents like the plague and Ike tries to drag me back home, but I always refuse and hide away in my apartment like some sort of social pariah.

So, what will I do? I'm not sure yet. Maybe I'll go somewhere. It might be nice to get away from South Park for once in my damn life. I don't want to die without seeing a little more of the world.

Maybe I'll go to Hawaii. Kenny always spoke about Hawaii. He liked it. He said it was warm. Relaxing. It sounds nice, right? The last part is what's convincing me. I think I need to learn how to relax. At least, that's what my therapist says.

And don't get me wrong, I'm not crazy. I'm not sick. I'm not sad, or any of that. Therapy is just something I never stepped away from.

We all had to see therapists after the accident. It's because we were there when it happened. We were young, and I don't think we fully understood what we were seeing. I felt like I was in a movie when we were standing on that bridge. A particularly tragic one, at that. It was cold and it was quiet and it was dark, then it wasn't. It was like the world turned upside down. Suddenly I felt too hot and it was loud and there were bright lights, which I eventually learned were sirens.

Cartman was the one who called 911. I think I was in shock. I just stood there in disbelief, slowly realizing that we weren't in a movie and this was real life. Real life has consequences, and that day those consequences ended in someone dying.

That memory still sits heavy on my shoulders, and there's always a little voice asking me, "What would you have done different?" It makes me want to laugh and cry. God, I would have done everything differently. Then maybe we all would have walked away. Alive.

But hey, it wasn't my fault. It wasn't really anyone's fault. It was just something that happened. It was just an accident. Accidents happen. People die.

I remember my grades went down and I remember that my parents didn't scold me for it. I found that funny.

Sometimes I still think I don't understand what happened that night… but I'm done crying about it. Crying doesn't bring the dead back, and it certainly didn't fix things. Now I just feel numb.


After work, I go to the grocery store. When I get home, I make supper. Nothing fancy. I call Ike. I tell him I'm going to Hawaii and he's surprised.

"You're going alone?" he asks.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I want to travel before I die."

"But, Kyle, you're only twenty-six. That's so young. There's plenty of time for travel."

"You don't know that," I say. "I could die tomorrow. I could die next week. I could die next month."

"Jesus Christ. Don't be so morbid."

"I'm sure there are lots of people who put things off because they think there will be plenty of time for them to experience the world, too. But then they die."

"Kyle…" he murmurs awkwardly. He knows exactly what I'm referring to.

I let out a breath. "It's fine, Ike. I want to do this."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Carpe diem," he says.

"That's exactly what I'm doing," I reply. Once I hang up, I buy my ticket online. Tomorrow morning, I'll be out of here.

I've thought about doing this before, but I haven't been able to bring myself to do it until now. Funny, I always imagined doing this with Stan. I guess that isn't going to happen. Part of me knew it wouldn't, but still, it would have been nice. If I'm going to be honest with myself, I'll admit that I miss him. He was my best friend, after all.


I spend most of the night packing and Ike drives me to the airport after I squeeze in a few hours of sleep. I tell him it's fine, but he insists on waiting with me.

"I can't believe you're doing this," he chuckles in disbelief.

"Me neither," I admit.

"It's so unlike you," he says. "So impulsive and adventurous… What brought it on?"

"My boss said I needed a vacation, so he gave me a few weeks," I explain.

"And you decided to fly all the way to Hawaii?" he deadpans.

"Yes."

"Any particular reason you chose Hawaii?"

"Kenny liked it," I say vaguely.

"Oh," Ike nods, understanding. "Maybe you can look at this as a journey of self-discovery. Maybe you'll find yourself."

Probably not. "Maybe."

We sit in silence for a long time until I hear an unfamiliar voice call –

"Broflovski!"

Ike and I both scan the crowd of people. "Who's that?" he asks, pointing to a tall and sturdy looking brunet male walking towards us with a big grin.

"I have no idea," I mumble, even though I do. I just don't want to believe it. Fuck. What a surprise.

"Don't pretend you don't remember me," the man smirk, before adding, "Jew."

"Eric Cartman," I murmur, hiding my complete and utter shock. "How nice to see you."

"Yeah, how many years has it been?" he asks me.

"Eight," I tell him.

"Shit…" he deadpans. "That long, huh?"

"Yes, that long," I state. "You're not so fat anymore…"

"You're still short…" he pauses, glancing at Ike, "Unlike your little brother. Damn, kid. How tall are you?"

"A little over six feet," Ike says.

"Christ. You play sports?" Cartman asks him.

Ike nods. "Hockey."

"How stereotypical of you," Cartman snorts and Ike simply rolls his eyes. "You also like maple syrup?"

"Actually, yes."

"Do you think the beaver is a noble animal?" he asks.

Ike gives Cartman a dry look, choosing not to answer the last question.

"Ike," I start. "You don't need to wait with me. I'll be fine."

"You sure?" he checks and I simply nod. "All right," he says, giving me a bear hug and clapping me on the back. "Come back in one piece, okay?"

"I'll try," I chuckle.

"Nice seeing you, Cartman," he says, though I doubt he means it.

"You too," Cartman waves. I doubt he means it either. "So, Jew, where you heading?"

"Kauai."

"Are you fuckin' serious?" he laughs. "Me, too."

"Are you joking?" I ask, straight-faced and severely unimpressed.

"No, I'm seriously," he says.

"You're seriously?" I repeat him.

"Yeah." He doesn't quite catch my taunt.

"Great," I say sarcastically.

"So, looks like we'll be flying together," he smirks, sensing my displeasure. "What's your seat number?" I show him my plane ticket and his smirk widens. "Looks like we'll also be sitting together."

"Can't wait," I bite out. This is all too strange for words.

"Don't be so sour," he says, tossing an arm around me. "Think about it, soon you'll be relaxing on a nice beach with all kinds of hot chicks looking to party it up."

"I'm fuckin' gay," I deadpan.

He pauses before breaking out into laughter. "It's been a while, so I guess I missed the memo… Though, I'm not even surprised," he says, slapping me on the shoulder. "Man, this is too funny."

"What is?" I ask.

"Seeing you here like this. Man, maybe we'll see Butters there. I hear he moved to Kauai when we were ten."

"So that's where he went…" I mumble. "Did you stay on contact with him?"

"No," he snorts. "I haven't seen him since he moved. I wonder if he's changed at all or if he's still the same damn pussy he's always been."

"Hm."

"Christ. Too bad Stan isn't here. Then the surviving circle would be complete," he says insensitively.

"I work with him," I add, choosing to ignore his second statement.

"Really? What's that homo up to these days?"

"He's not the homo. I am," I say dryly. "But Stan… He's married. He has a few kids, too."

"For real?" Cartman asks.

"Yes."

"Damn… Time sure flew," Cartman shakes his head. "Let me guess, he married Wendy?"

"Of course."

"Those two damn hippies deserve each other," he grimaces. "You guys still licking each other's assholes, or was the friendship never rekindled?"

"What?" I raise an eyebrow.

"You know what I mean… Are you guys super best pals 'n shit?"

"No… Not at all," I admit to him. "We really grew apart and it stayed that way."

Cartman nods. "I guess that happens. We all grew apart."

"Yeah…"

"How about you?" he asks. "You married yet? Buckled down with a nice guy?"

"No," I say. "Relationships never last. No one wants to deal with all my emotional baggage."

"Emotional baggage?"

"Watching a best friend die really fucks you up."

"Hm…" Cartman muses before checking his watch. "We'll be boarding soon."

"I know," I sigh, feeling anxious and desperately trying not to show it.


By the time we are on the plane, I'm nearly sweating and cursing myself for getting the window seat. The flight attendant gives me her best Pan Am smile when the plane starts shaking. "It's just turbulence," she offers, not that it's at all comforting.

"I know," I say weakly.

"First time flying?" she asks.

"No," I murmur, holding onto the armrest for dear life. I've been in an airplane before, but not in a very long time.

"He's not a fan of heights," Cartman adds. It's weird that he remembers a thing like that.

I just squeeze my eyes shut, take a deep breath and wait.

Hawaii, here I come… Or, should I say we?