The Intimacy of Orange and Green.
Fuck me it's been a year or two, hasn't it? Welp, I've clattered back to the South Park fandom and, naturally, back into K2 so I decided to attempt a multi-chap. If anyone's interested in this going further, do tell. It's nice to know someone would read it. Well, read, review, and I hope you enjoy.
Three years. He had been missing for three years. No one had ever been missing for decades since the town was so small and everyone knew each other, but no had heard from, or seen the red-head. Even three years later, they were still hunting, on the verge to giving up.
No one ever goes missing in South Park.
"Iz z'at eet, Kyle?" Christophe's low voice growled, sitting on the sofa in a trashed apartment with a small plate of beans-on-toast. "And 'ow do you expect me to keep going on something like zees?"
"I-I had to keep some food, Christophe." Kyle stammered, "We're running low and you don't trust me out on my own-"
"Shut up you leetlle beetch!" He snapped, throwing the plate of hot food at Kyle, which thankfully smashed against the wall just beside him. The boy stiffened, watching Christophe with a horrified expression. If that had smashed against him...
The Semite began to daze, thinking of what scars the plate and hot food would have left on him before he was snapped back to reality. "I vant somefing beeg, Kyle. I don't want. Somefing. Small. Do you understand me?" He barked. Kyle gave a slow nod as he forced himself to step into the tiny kitchen.
He began to scavenge around for food; three eggs, three pieces of toast, and some pancake mix big enough for five pancakes. Perfect. He quickly cooked everything, throwing the toast into the toaster, cracking the eggs, and making up his fluffy pancakes.
He bit his lip in concentration, knowing he needed to make his breakfast tasty enough. Maybe if he got full, Kyle could get the scraps. He hated having two meals a day - and sometimes that didn't even happen, which made him more skinnier and even more pale than he hoped. He was amazed that, no matter how bruised he was, how bloody or beat he was; he was still alive.
Surely he would have died by now, but no, he's kept strong. He grabbed the plate and the cleanest fork he could find and carefully walked over to Christophe, handing him the plate. He watched as the mercenary began to scrutinize the food, looking to see if there was a bit of mold or if it was burned, even only slightly. "You 'ave done well, Kyle." He decided with a nod, tucking in. He didn't save him a thing, which only made the Jew frown, but he daren't speak up about it. God forbid he stood up for himself. It only made the nights worse.
Christophe checked his pager that clung onto the waist-band of his trousers, frowning. "Kyle, I 'ave to go to Russia for a month. I expect the usual as I am away." He nodded briefly, briskly walking up to Kyle and tangling his fingers into the others hair. He tugged, listening to him yelp, before slamming his lips against his; a farewell kiss.
Kyle watched as Christophe walked out the front door. He listened to the familiar click of the lock. He was, once again, alone. The room was bathed in darkness, not having payed the electricity bill. Christophe deemed it a waste of time, only using what they could - like lighters. Lighter-cases were littered around everywhere, including empty petrol bottles. He carefully stood over those before looking into the mirror that was cracked in the mirror.
He stared at himself, he obviously hadn't been getting much sleep, crying away the nights and managing an hours rest. His green eyes were dull compared to the vibrant orbs they once were. His hair was a greasy and he was just a mess. Kyle pressed his hands against the mirror with a saddened smile. He looked completely pathetic..
He needed out.
Kyle would watch his captor from the stairs. He knew every hidden secret of the house - especially where he kept the spare key. He hesitated and walked into the porch, stuffing his hand into the small hall on the wooden wall until he found the worn key. He gripped it tightly, staring at the handle in contempt. Should he or shouldn't he? He quickly jammed the key into the hole and turned, listening to the click. He threw the key onto the ground, grabbed his jacket and threw it on, and ran.
He ran to where ever he deemed was safer than here. He didn't know when Delorne was coming back and he didn't care, he just had to leave. His mind wandered to Stan but he decided he would flip out. Cartman was a dick and Kenny...
Well he was already at the house. He swallowed, eyeing the broken home with a nervous gaze. Could he face his ex? Could he tell him the truth? He bit back tears and knocked on the door. He waited, awkwardly fiddling with the flaps on the Ushanka. God, he couldn't do this. He wanted to cover as much bruises as possible, but it didn't help with the fact he couldn't stop crying or shaking.
The door swung open and he was faced with an eighteen year old Kenny. Three years. Three long years. "... Kyle..?" Kenny's eyes widened, watching as the shortest nodded. He took a step back and slammed the door in his face, screaming obscenities at him.
"K-Kenny! Please! I can explain!" Kyle whimpered. It was quiet for a few minutes before the door swung open. "Get in." He hissed bitterly, grabbing his arm tight and forcing him into his room. He either ignored Kyle's pleas of letting him go or he simply didn't hear.
"Explain then." Kyle began to look around, struggling for words. How can he say, 'I was forced to leave you to live with Christophe who abused me emotionally, physically, sexually, and even psychologically.' How do people just say that? He still loved the blonde, he loved him so much but he was afraid. He had hurt him, so Kenny could hurt him back.
"I-It's.. I..." He pursed his lips, looking down. It was only then he realised that he couldn' speak anymore. "I-I can't.." He choked, hiding his face. His body lurched forward, sobs shaking his sickly form. All Kenny could do was watch, a satisfied smirk on his face, but inside, he wanted to hold him and cry with him.
He had to stay mad, he had too.
"I-I'm so sorry, Kenny!" He wailed, curling into himself on his bed. "I-I didn't want.. b-but he.. a-and.."
"Shut up," Kenny sighed, rubbing his temples. "Sit straight and stop crying." He was confused when Kyle followed the order, rubbing his tired eyes with the faded-orange jacket. He bit his lip, as if he sewed them together. He did it to keep himself getting hurt.
That's when it clicked in Kenny's mind.