Title: Now The Light, She Fades
Author: Donnie
Fandom: South Park
Setting: Various
Pairing: Christophe "The Mole"/Kyle Broflovski
Characters: Christophe "The Mole", Kyle Broflovski, Ike Broflovski
Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 773
Type of Work: Drabble
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Gore, Nightmares, Kyle remembers the War on Canada
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary: Kyle dreamt of him often. Sometimes Christophe didn't manage to get to Kyle in his nightmares.
AN: This was meant to be for the Fanfiction-Friends' Weekly Writing Prompt, but I didn't get it edited in time. xD So it's just a little ficlet on my thoughts for Kyle and Christophe. I hope you guys enjoy!
Now The Light, She Fades ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It wasn't uncommon for Kyle to wake up screaming in the middle of the night, shooting up in bed with dried tear tracks on his cheeks. Ike typically padded into his bedroom, opened and closed the door like a whisper, and crawled into bed with him. Petting his hair down, wiping at his sweaty forehead, the Canadian would coo and whisper soft promises and reminders to his brother until he laid back down.
Tonight was just different enough that Ike had to ask a question that had been on his tongue for years.
"Who's Christophe?" His voice was soft, rough with sleep, but his eyes were curious and wide. He tilted his neck to be able to see his brother's face, and watched his cheeks turn scarlet. A careful, measured sigh left Kyle as he tried his damnedest to calm himself down enough to talk about it.
"You were so young, you probably don't remember." Kyle began, "Most people don't. I don't even know if he does. But… That war that I talk about sometimes… The one Mom started? Christophe was trying to help us, he was a mercenary. I… He… Mom sicced guard dogs on him and he… He died in my arms. I've had nightmares about it ever since."
And, he didn't want to admit it, he had fallen for the man in his dreams, even if he didn't know him, now.
"...Do you know him, now?"
"No… I don't think he's in South Park. I haven't seen him again in person."
"We should find him. Maybe he has these dreams, too?"
"What, you think that if we got together and talked about it, it wouldn't be a problem anymore?"
"Maybe, yeah."
-
Christophe jerked out of bed and onto the floor as hard as he could possibly have fallen, pushing up on his hands with his hips pushed into the wood floor. He was sweaty, panting heavily, with eyes wide. He hated those dreams, so much he could have cut out any part of his brain on his own if it would help. God made him his bitch every damn night, and even the cigarette he shakily knocked out of the pack couldn't do much for him.
Sucking in the smoke like it might save him from the memory of gnashing teeth and ripping claws, his hand quaked as he pushed up onto his knees and gulped. It was too hard, suffering these dreams. Perhaps that cleared up his forced insomnia. If he could help it, he wouldn't sleep for days, if only to keep the nightmares at bay.
Rubbing a hand through his filthy hair, he carefully pushed himself up onto his feet and moved to his small, round dining table and flopped into the chair waiting for him. Opening his laptop, which took up the entirety of the ugly red and yellow tabletop, he sighed. Once again, the sight of a green hat and worried, emerald eyes were the only thing that could calm him.
It wasn't much to go on. His name was Kyle, and he was ginger, and kind, and smart. That didn't exactly make searching for him easy. Someone had dropped the name Broflovski, someone he worked with on occasion if he needed a little extra cash. It had piqued his interest, and as he put it into Google once more, he frowned. An intelligence database would probably do him more good, but a Facebook page that promised this would be the one caught his eye.
Clicking the link, he licked his lips, overwhelmed by the profile picture of a young man with fiery red hair, a few freckles on his shoulder, and a smile that could have made the sun give out with its brightness. Heart skipping a beat, his breath caught in his throat and the Frenchman gagged on the smoke in his lungs. How on Earth had he almost lost the image of this man in his mind? He only remembered his face in his dreams.
Five minutes. It only took five minutes for Christophe to make a Facebook page, become confused by all the bullshit it wanted, and send a friend request to Kyle. It pissed him off that he couldn't see very many of the redhead's pictures, but at least he had the profile one, obviously at the pool, to get him through the early hours of the morning.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ AN:
Prompt: History