WdfEmileewtf.
I don't know man, this just sprawled out across my page; damn fingers!!
Hell of Love
How do you expect me to be drowned in happiness when the love of my life is in love with another? It seems impossible for me to be in love; because I've always told myself that love was a completely boring and ridiculous thing to go through. Of course, my best friends - Kenny and Damien - had their loves of their own.
But then there was him. His name is Kyle Broflovski; a complete and utter angel. Somebody who will save you, even if they've only known you for the space of twenty minutes. His face is paper pale and his hair is blood red, but his personality is beyond that of an angel - something more pure and perfect.
There is no love on his part - for me at least. He's completely oblivious to my feelings, but his boyfriend on the other hand understands them completely, disliking the whole idea of me even stepping foot near Kyle when he's alone. I suppose, Stanley Marsh is quite the possessive type - I would be too, with an 'ass like that' - as they say.
"Christophe!"
With the call of my name, I spin on my heel and turn to face the runner bounding toward me. I grunt as arms wrap around my torso and a head presses against my neck, familiar locks brushing against my chin and making me want to sneeze. "Kenny, you idiot, get off of me," I growl.
Kenny smiles up at me and lets go, locking his arm around Butters' waist as the small boy walks shyly over, knuckles brushing against the other. I glance down at this habit he has and shake my head, chewing on the dry cigarette between my lips.
"How are things?" Kenny hints with a wink of his right eye. I glare at him and shrug my shoulders simply, glancing down at my attire compared to theirs. They're in suits - seeing as it's Sunday, they were probably forced into Church - I am instead wearing a black vest and a pair of baggy black jeans, army boots and my shovel is around my back.
I tell Kenny quite a lot of things, but this is the one thing he figured out on his own; with a warning that I shouldn't fuck with Stan. I merely scoffed to him and told him I didn't plan to - he keeps his eye on me anyway.
"Fine, Kenny," I tell him, "'Ow are zings wiz you?" I ask, nodding to both of them and especially the blonde attatched to the side. Butters realises my hint is to him and he glances down to the floor, shifting his feet and blushing to himself. Kenny beams harder, making me sigh - who could possibly be that happy?
"Bloody beautiful." He informs me with a nudge on Butters' hip.
I roll my eyes. "'Ave you seen Damien or Pip today?" I ask him, scratching my cheek and digging for the lighter in my pocket. Grasping it, I pull it out and flip it open, flicking it on and allowing it to burn my cigarette as I inhale it in.
Butters' pipes up finally with a gentle and quiet: "I've seen them."
I look down at him with a smile and bring my cigarette between my fingers and taking it away from my mouth, exhaling a long line of smoke away from the two in front of me. "Where abouts?" I ask. So many questions today.
Just as Butters opens his little mouth, a loud screech is heard - that one of a child - and suddenly a flash of red and black rushes around me, knocking me slightly and finally, hands grip onto my waist, a pale face looking around with a grin.
"Kyle!" I turn my head to see Stan coming up, a furious look on his face when he sees me, but it softens when Kyle jumps and runs behind Butters and Kenny. I shake my head and turn to Kenny who looks at me with comforting eyes.
Piting bastard.
Kyle runs forward and allows himself to get caught into Stan's arms. I roll my eyes and turn away, hand in my pocket as I let the other hold the cigarette I'm busying myself upon. I turn to Kenny and inform him - with a nod of my head - that I'm leaving.
Because I hate being the only one who doesn't understand happiness.
Stepping on my heel I head to the woods where I can dig myself a hole and relax - an odd way of relaxation but it takes my mind away from the things I don't wish to think about. Plus I already have a hole in the woods that I would like to expand.
The woods are only a while away so I reach there quickly, not really expecting somebody else to be there, by my hole. "Can I 'elp you, sir?" I ask, stepping forward and allowing my eyes to widen as the person turns.
"Oh, hello Christophe," Gregory. The annoying, most sensible yet rebelish and beautiful man of my life. Really and truly he is. He smiles at me, beaming pearly whites and tucking his black gloves into brown trousers. "Long time no see," He says.
I blink - a lot.
"Gregory?" I mutter. Still shocking.
His smile widens slightly and he steps toward me. Out of habit I step back, curse at myself and then step toward him. "Why are you 'ere, Gregory?" I ask him.
He grins. "Your accent never left then, I see.." He tells me.
I scoff.
"Neither 'as yours," I retort. He nods slightly, running his fingers through perfect hair.
"I know," He mutters in his beautiful accent, "I suppose keeping myself occupied in England keeps that kind of affect on you, Mole. How's life?" He asks.
I snort. "You tell me," He shakes his head - obviously amused.
"Oh, Mole, what ever happened to the beautiful, strong and deviously gorgeously accented mercenary I raised? Where has my mercenary gone, Mole?" He asks me, eyes blinking in an innocent gesture. I shiver.
"My name isn't Mole anymore, Gregory - eet's Christophe; my real name - and Mole died ze day 'is muzza died.."
Gregory's gaze goes soft as he steps forward. I can smell him now, he smells of vanilla, and coffee. I shake my head as he steps forward again, standing directly in front of me. He brushes his hand against my dirtied cheek and smiles as I spit out my cigarette.
"Oh, 'Tophe.." He whispers, I shiver again and push his hand away - he only brings it back to rest there. "You're still sad?" He asks.
I shake my head, "Not sad, Gregory. Angry. At you, at 'er, at God. Fuck zis sheet, Gregory. Why ze 'ell are you even back 'ere!?" I growl. Gregory remains calm.
"I got a call." He explains softly. He doesn't continue, so I suspect he wants me to pry and get annoyed; he loves my anger - he told me so himself. Little shit.
"From 'o?" I ask.
He laughs slightly, shaking his head and dropping his hand, placing his hands on his hips and glancing softly at me. "From a Kenneth McCormick." He tells me. I glare at him.
"Are you kidding me?" I ask.
He shakes his head, "No, 'Tophe."
I sigh to myself. Kenny had never met Gregory, not even after the war where the three of us passed. I assume he didn't really take Gregory's presence in because it didn't necessarily matter to him at the time. He was back, so I suppose he just wanted to go back home.
"Sheet," I tell Gregory, cursing at the fact he's back; and the fact it's Kenny's fault.
Gregory raises an eyebrow, a small smile on his lips as he places one of his hands through his neat hair and drops it back to his side, the other still sitting on his hip, his leg beant. Such a womanly posture he holds. But it suits him somewhat.
..Just like it suits Kyle.
"Why did Kennez call you?" I ask him.
Gregory shrugs, "He just assured me that I should come back to South Park because a certain someone is prying in self-pity. What's happened, Christophe? Who'd you kill?" He asks. I laugh slightly and choke on the laughter - it's been a long time.
"Nobody," I tell him, still chuckling softly.
He shakes his head, but grins. "That's good then. But the thing is, after recieving said phone call from a complete stranger, I also recieved a phone call from somebody who likes to remain annonymous." He tells me. I growl at him, expecting him to tell me. His eyes flash in mystery. "Oh my, have I tickled a nerve?" He teases.
My glare darkens. "Gregory.." I warn.
"Kyle Broflovski." He tells me with a mere shrug. "Jewish boy. Small, nerdy. Yes, him." My glare softens slightly and obviously a sad look overcomes my face because Gregory smiles softly in reassurance. I look to my feet then back to Gregory. He's still there.
He came for me.
"What did 'e say?" I ask.
Gregory smirks. "Why?" He asks me. I sigh, running my fingers through my own, messed up and spiking hair as I roll my eyes stepping toward my hole and past Gregory, shovel ready to dig.
"Because eet's important?" I tell him. A question on my half.
Gregory sighs from behind me and places a seat by my hole, legs dangling. "He just asked who I was, and said various clichéd lines such as: He deserves someone, Gregory - how am I supposed to be that someone, when I have a someone?" Gregory spoke in an American impression.
I snort at the pitiful way he speaks but dig my shovel into the ground harsly. Gregory tuts.
"And you?" I ask.
He shrugs, "I merely said I'd be here," He tells me. I glance up at him and there's a smile on his face. He's proud to be here, and he came of his own choice - Gregory never was the easy to persuade type of course. He never was. Never. Not even now, I pressume.
"...Zanks," I mutter, pushing the dirt off of my shovel and away from the both of us. His smile grows as he shrugs pointlessly. "Where are you staying?" I ask.
Another silent shrug and smile.
"No where," He tells me, "I wasn't planning to stay."
"Where were you going after zis?" I ask.
Gregory laughs slightly, "France." He watches me with a testing expression, a softer smile dancing over his lips as he leans back slightly, avoiding the dirty on his skin. "How about you come with me?" He asks.
I stop shovelling and shake my head, "Impossible." I tell him.
He frowns, "How so?" He asks me.
I sigh, "My muzza is 'ere, I can't just up and leave."
Gregory steps into the hole, his eyes are sympathetic and I hate it. He places his hand on my thigh and stands in front of me with a dangerously soft gaze. "Move on." He tells me, "Move on with someone who can show you how.." He persuades.
I sigh and look back into his staring eyes.
A life with Gregory. No Kyle, no sadness and no impressing my mother from above. No fear of rejection, no fear of sadness. Just Gregory and I. His promises; and I.
"..Alright."