Title: Times Change
Pairing: Kyle/Christophe
Disclaimer: I do not own South Park nor the characters. The story is mine though.
I don't know how it started but I'm clear on how it all ended. The way we began was spontaneous; a beautiful delusion. The first time he kissed me was the spur of the moment. I knew him well enough that it didn't mean anything. Just a simple peck on the lips before he turned and lazily walked away. The second time was because he wanted to. He walked up to me, pulled me real close and placed a long, deep, breathless kiss upon me. The kind of kiss that left you wanting more. The third kiss is where we began our crazy affair. Months of tempting, touching, and flirting drove him mad with desire. He finally manned up and took me on a date. That kiss, that kiss was something special. I don't think I would ever feel that sensation again; a once in a lifetime kiss.
The way we were was something most people wish they had. A love that others craved. For a year we were one, lost in each other, finding one another. People always commented that we had it all. The bad boy who barely went to school, who smoked, and rode a Harley, even though he was just eighteen years old. And me, the straight A student who constantly worried and planned every detail of my life. Although, I never counted on him being part of the equation. He was never part of the plan, he rooted himself to the plan like a weed.
Six months later we fought like dogs, always at each other's throats. Nothing we did went right, the words we spoke tangled in a hot mess leaving us both frazzled and unsure. We started of simple and turned into an ugly creature that wanted blood. I was left crying every time we fought, trying to decipher where we went wrong. It was the one thing we danced around and never spoke of. That we were both very different people.
He's the kind of guy that just existed, who had no worries, no family, nothing to tie him down. Just the kind of foul mouthed guy that everyone could feel comfortable with. A Frenchman who had the habit of disappearing for days on end without a slight explanation as to why. A man with no boundaries. I was a sixteen year old who had an over baring mother, a father who never listened, and a little brother who never understood. Loved learning new things and always was the mother hen to all my childhood friends. It wasn't just the fact that we were different, it was that we were too young. We loved to hard and too fast for either of us to realize.
The last time I saw him we argued. An argument that was heated, ugly, and dangerous. Even to this day I don't remember what it was about. All that I know is that it left me on the ground with a bruised cheek and a stricken look that filtered through his chocolate brown eyes. He vanished after that. A love too strong and dramatic for high school. A love that would never last. It's been five years since then. I graduated high school and went to a four year college which I also graduated from. Was hired by a major business firm in the accounting department, a job that I could do with my eyes closed.
A sigh escaped between my lips as a looked out the window of my apartment. A whiskey in my left hand, a cigarette in the other. I never used to smoke, not sure why I started. I dragged the rest of the cigarette before putting it out in the ash tray on the table next to me. I sighed yet again and ran my right hand through my short red hair. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose I looked around my apartment. It was spacious and larger than one man needed. The living room had a T.V, a couch, two chairs, a few scattered book cases, and a few tables. One of which was placed neatly next to me with an ashtray, coaster, and a plant that sat on the oak surface.
I directed my attention to the flickering lights outside my apartment window. I got lucky with my apartment which was four blocks from my office and has a nice view of the city. Clear nights like this were rare but always worth the extra moment to enjoy. A rap on the door caught my attention as I looked in the direction of said sound. I lifted my left hand, still holding my whiskey, to read the watch on my wrist which read 10:58pm. Three more raps made me down my warm whiskey, place the empty glass on the coaster, and briskly walk to the front door. I straitened my suit before answering the door. What greeted me was a man dressed in a black suite, unruly dark brown hair, and chocolate brown eyes that held mischief. A smirk graced his features as he leaned against the door frame. A gesture that made my heart flutter.
"Kyle. Mon Cheri." the man purred, "Long time no zee."
The Frenchman leaned forward, captured my lips with his, and brought back that something special. Nothing is ever the end.
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