This is a request I took that got too long! I'm sorry about no update on Let It Lie, I've been stuck on it for a while. Have some crenny to tide you over.
Track: "Where the Falls Begin" by Mae
January 19th is the closest Kenny has to an exact date. It's the date that is scribbled on the top of a French assignment, only relevant because there's a tiny drawing of himself slumped over a poorly drawn desk, a tiny heart floating above his head. Though nothing in the drawing implies it or suggests it, Kenny knows that little heart is for Craig, who sits diagonally from him, who runs his hands through his hair while he does oral quizzes, who makes Kenny's chest ache with summertime emotions whenever he looks at him.
January 19th is in the middle of winter. Kenny hates winter. Each year, at the changing of the leaves, Kenny sinks into a numb sort of depression, the kind that blocks out even sadness and reduces all emotions to background buzzing, murmurs of disdain and twinges of affection. He's used to these wayside mentions of emotions; they are his winter emotions. But the ache of longing; that is a summer emotion.
January 28th
They're in the same gym class. Gym class is an ideal class to have somebody to look at in; the way people move when they are caught up in competition and the heat of a game is beautiful in a haphazard sort of way. Craig is not an athlete, but his body moves in a lovely way that makes it look like all his limbs are held together telepathically; they move like they are all in sync. Kenny's body often bumps into itself, like maybe there's a faulty connection between his mind and his legs and arms.
The coach makes them partners and Kenny, in his six foot four glory, finds himself playing one-on-one with Craig and losing badly.
"Are you trying to make this easy for me, McCormick?" Craig teases, throwing the ball over Kenny's head and making an effortless basket. He has good form.
"You don't know how much I hate this game," Kenny mumbles, retrieving the ball.
"Yeah? I'll bet it's so hard for you. You don't even have to jump to get a basket. All you have to do is kinda put it there," Craig says, gesturing vaguely to the hoop.
"No, asshole. I fucking hate this game." He throws the ball to Craig and doesn't even try to play defence. Craig bricks a shot and lopes after the ball as it rolls away.
It's not fair. He's hardly even sweating and he's doing five times better than Kenny is.
They play some half-assed basketball and end up just playing Horse, which Kenny is moderately better at. Craig's favourite part of the game is the transformation from being a ho to a whore and then to whores. It used to be Kenny's favourite part too, but in his winter-sad state all he feels is a vague sense that the humour is immature. When the whistle to get changed finally goes, Craig's at H-O-R-S and Kenny's at H-O-R-S-S-S because he's lied about what letter he's on several times. Winning the game doesn't seem worth it, but there is still a part of him that doesn't want to lose.
In the change room, Kenny finds a corner and changes as quickly as he can, scanning the room as usual. Tweek has a new patch of acne on his back. Stan has new bruises from football on his thighs. Clyde has a scar he's never noticed before across his shoulder. Kyle's hair is greasy.
And Craig's goddamned beautiful.
He lets his eyes linger for a little too long, and just as he's about to look away, Craig meets his stare and sort of smiles. The ache of longing comes strong into his stomach, likely the strongest emotion he's felt since September. It feels horribly out of place. Colour flushes to his cheeks and he busies himself with dressing. Craig looks down again and buckles his belt. After another minute or so he leaves the change room, backpack slung casually over his shoulder, and Kenny feels like he can breathe again. He folds his clothes and tucks them away, waving at Stan and Kyle idly as he exits.
Craig's waiting by the entrance of the change room.
"You wanna come for a smoke with me?" he asks before Kenny can get a word in edgewise.
"I — uh, sure," Kenny says.
Craig smiles and leads him down the halls, past vandalized lockers and outside into the still, freezing air. There's hardly a breath of wind. The air is cold and still and sinks into his clothing like it's reaching long fingers towards him and unzipping, unbuttoning, leaving him bare and naked. Craig zips his hoodie right to his chin and leads Kenny to a corner of the school that is frequented by vagrants in the night and not really anyone else during the day. He pulls a pink lighter from his jeans pocket and a cigarette from his hoodie pocket.
"Don't hassle me about the lighter, it's for breast cancer," he says, placing the stick between his lips, talking around it while flicking his lighter. It lights, and he breathes smoke in and blows it out through his nose for a few seconds. "It's fucking cold! Jesus," he says. He looks Kenny up and down and asks, "You gonna smoke?"
"Yeah, I guess. It's just that I have class soon and I should probably get back," he says absently, looking out at the barren track field. Piles of two-week-old snow sit randomly on the brown grass. The sky is clouded over and marbled with varying greys. The landscape feels permanently dark, like the sun has finally met its old age and retired.
"I hate this weather," Kenny says, putting his backpack on the ground and searching for a cigarette hiding inside. "Everything's so dead and empty. How can't you feel dead and empty?"
Craig seems surprised at the somberness of the topic. "Looks like you're in the wrong place, man. Move out to the west coast."
"I want to. It just looks like I'm gonna be stuck in this goddamned town forever." He finds a pack of cigarettes and extracts one, lighting it up and dragging deep on it. "It's just that whenever it gets cold I feel like I'm sleepwalking. I can't help it."
"Isn't that a thing, like seasonal something disorder?"
"Mm. It's called SAD."
Craig smirks behind his cigarette. "Do you feel sad?"
Kenny knows it's a joke, a pun, but he answers truthfully anyway. "I don't feel anything."
Craig nods, and takes one last long drag on the cigarette. He drops it on the ground and grinds it into the pavement with his heel, even though it's only half-smoked.
"You'll find something to feel," he says. He turns to leave and reaches a hand out to let it trail on Kenny's arm, feather touch skimming his sweater sleeve and tracing along his hand, leaving as Craig walks away. "See you," he says, turning a corner and disappearing.
Kenny blinks and removes the cigarette from his mouth. The smoke leaks out the tip and fades away, but the longing in his stomach pulls hard, a fist over his organs yanking with might and determination. He keeps feeling those fingers on his sleeve and his skin and he thinks about that until the bell for next class rings and snaps him out of his daydream.
February 6th
Lola sends Kenny a text during History a couple weeks later.
Hey? I know we don't really talk but could you meet me after class so I can ask you something?
He sighs a little when he sees that, because he knows she's going to ask him out. Lola's a nice girl, always dressed in pretty, hipster-y clothes, long brown hair put messily into a fishtail braid, constantly talking in her quiet girl voice.
He finds her in the cafeteria, peeling an orange and waiting for next class, and probably, for him.
"Hey!" she says.
"Hey."
"Ah, well, my friends kind of talked me into this, but," she takes a breath, "do you want to maybe go out? With me?"
He feels nothing. It's not like Craig, where just looking at him stirs up something. She's fucking asking him to date her and he can't even feel bad for her.
"Wow, that's — that's really, um, brave of you to actually ask," he says, hoping he sounds empathetic, "but I like somebody else. I'm sorry."
"No no no! That's okay, I mean — I was hoping you'd say yes, but it's okay! I'm sorry, I had — no idea, I'm sorry. I just — yeah. Sorry," she stammers, clearly trying to recite a speech she had planned for this occasion but failing miserably.
"No, how would you know? It's okay. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, I just thought—"
"No no, it's fine. I'll see you later," he says, starting to walk away, trying to make an escape.
"Okay. See you later," she says, hastily peeling the last of her orange and also running away.
He heaves a sigh and goes to his locker. She probably thought he was really sorry. But all he was thinking of was what he might say if Craig was the one asking.
February 14th
Bebe has a party to break up the monotony of the school year, to break up the long period between winter break and spring break. It's kind of a Valentine's Day thing, but mostly just an excuse for a bunch of teenagers to get wasted and make out. She hosts it at her parent's cabin up at the ski hill, a fifteen minute drive from town. Kenny hitches a ride with Stan and Kyle and Cartman, who was not invited but going anyway. Like the dorks they are, they sing along to an old Nickelback CD that they've listened to since they were kids. Normally Kenny has a good growl for singing Never Again, but it's snowing and all he feels like doing is sleeping.
They drag him out of the car and more or less throw him into the middle of the party, already in full swing and plagued with drunken teenagers. Within minutes, Cartman's playing beer pong, Stan's disappeared entirely, and Kyle's talking homework with Token as they pass a joint back and forth. Kenny looks at the beer somebody shoved into his hand and decides he's better off sober, as everybody else seems to want to get wasted and they still need a driver. Technically, with only his L, he can't drive without a certified driver, but South Park isn't much for cracking down on underage drivers. He wanders around the party for a few minutes, stopping briefly to watch a girl he doesn't know wiggling her body to the heavy beat of some Top 40 song. She's hot as hell, her hips swinging, swaying, beckoning, but it doesn't stir him up the way it should. He moves on before she notices him watching.
Upstairs, there's a bedroom with pink walls and girly things on the desk, nail polish and perfume and make up. A TV with a Wii attached sits tidily in the corner. On the walls, drawings signed by Bebe cover the majority of the visible space. Her bed is huge and soft-looking. He digs around in the dresser drawers and finds a little red thong, which he hangs pointedly on the doorknob in hopes of not being bothered. There's a lock on the door, but he can't figure out how it works and so he gives up.
Bebe's sheets smell like fruity shampoo and laundry detergent. He curls into them, pulling the duvet over his head like it might shield him from the depth of the party and the thrum of music downstairs. The scent and colours of her room surround him and he falls asleep.
A sharp knock to the door wakes him. He sits up with a start, and for a second he just stares at the door. The knock comes again. He runs his hands through his hair and slides out of the bed. When he hits the ground, he doesn't feel like getting up.
"Yeah?" he calls.
"Kenny? That you?" He instantly recognizes the voice on the other side of the door as Craig's.
"Yeah. There's nobody here but me, you can come in."
Craig opens the door tentatively, glancing first at the bed and then at Kenny. "Were you sleeping?"
"Mm hmm," Kenny hums.
"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he says, backing out of the door. "Sorry."
"No, it's okay," Kenny says, waving away his apology.
"No, I'll go. Sorry. Go back to sleep." He stops for a moment to lock the door and leaves.
Kenny watches the door a little longer, wanting nothing but for Craig to come back. He's suddenly got this lovely fantasy going on of Craig petting his hair as he falls back to sleep, running his hands along Kenny's arms like he did when they smoked together, and then waking up to their bodies pressed close, kissing Craig's eyelids until they open, and—
"Shit," he moans, presses his face into his knees. He crawls back into the bed and buries himself in pillows and blanket and forces his breathing to be even until he falls back to sleep.
His sleep is dotted with snippets of dreams, all with Craig in them. Some are awkward figments of hand-holding, some uncomfortably sexual, some just simple kissing while the world dissolves around them. The seasons change with every dream, and some are in the heat and brightness of summer and some are locked in winter's cage. One takes place in the very room he's in, and for one second he thinks it might be real until it all fades away.
There is no refuge from the deluge of lovesickness even in his dreams. He wakes up feeling entirely hungover. It's only a relief when he finds his group downstairs and convinces them it's time to go home.
March 4th
Spring comes a little early this year. The sun finally breaks through the shield of clouds and the snow melts soon after. With the reoccurrence of sunny days, Kenny's mood lightens instantly. Feeling drenches through him, and everything around him feels suddenly vibrant and alive. Smiles come easier, and so does conversation. Human interaction feels satisfying and even needed. He greets his friends fondly at the bus stop now, instead of the usual half smile and silence.
He sees Lola on the way to French, and she spares him a smile and a wave as she goes by. Her hair is in its usual fishtail and her lips are a red that matches her ballet flats. She's pretty, really pretty. She's the girl he rejected a month ago. It seems impossible. If she had asked now, he probably would have gone on at least a couple dates with her.
But there is somebody else, isn't there?
He goes into his French class and sits in his normal desk, Wendy to his right and Clyde to his left. The seat in front of Clyde is still empty.
He taps Clyde and asks, "Craig here today?"
"Sure," Clyde says, turning to face him. "I dunno where he is, though. I saw him in English. Maybe he thought he had Gym instead. Or he might have gone out for a smoke. I dunno, should I text him?"
"Don't bother, Clyde," Kenny says. Clyde goes back to the doodle he's making that looks like a crude Superman.
Kenny talks idly with Wendy about the assignment they received last class. Minutes pass by and Craig is still absent. It's when the bell rings that he walks in, hair windblown and cheeks a little flushed, a coffee cup in his hands.
"Where the hell were you, man?" Clyde asks, leaning forward in his chair.
"I thought I could make it down to 7-Eleven before class and get a coffee. But I had to run there, and then run back, and I spilled half the coffee," he says, taking a sip. He starts digging books and binders out of his backpack until he has all of his French stuff piled more or less neatly on his desk.
Kenny feels an immense fondness for him, butterflies wrapped around the core of longing he's felt since the middle of January. Now, it aches less, but the desire to act upon all of his wants is overwhelming.
God, it'd be nice to have a boyfriend for the summer.
But he's getting ahead of himself. He resigns himself to just looking at Craig, taking in all the pretty curves and angles of his face. Of course he rejected Lola. How could he say yes when he's already so in love?
Oh.
He's in love.
He's played around the words in his head. But now they come on face-first, and there's no skirting around them.
He's so in love with Craig.
March 22nd
Kenny turns seventeen as of 6:21 in the morning. His friends pounce on him at the bus stop and shower him with plans, how they're going to go over to Stan's after school and drink and play video games and eat cake and a million other things. They all have gifts for him, but they're saving them for after school. It all makes him laugh, because they seem even more excited about it than he does.
He has Gym first block. Not his desired way to start the day, but not the worst. At least he gets to look at Craig all class.
Craig sides up to him as he's walking into the gym. "Hey, happy birthday," he says, bumping his shoulder.
Kenny grins at him and says, "Yeah! Thanks, man."
"You wanna skip this class? It's no big deal, they're doing a health presentation."
"Like, sex ed?" Kenny asks, raising his eyebrows.
"I guess. Token just said 'health presentation'," Craig says, shrugging.
"Then yeah, why not?" Kenny says.
"Oh, good. Let's go," Craig says, turning from the gym and heading for the nearest exit. Kenny trots after him, happy to be with him and happy to be out of Gym first thing on his birthday.
They wander out onto the field. It's sunny today, with a warm breeze running through the air. Kenny shrugs off his hoodie and lies down on the grass, feeling content. Craig sits cross-legged next to him, and Kenny notices he's chewing something.
"Do you have gum? Can I have some?" Kenny asks, rolling on his back and smiling in a hopefully charming and gum-winning manner.
Craig laughs. "This is Nicorette, dude. My mom found out I'd been smoking and she bought me some. I guess it's a good reason to quit. Tastes like shit," he says.
"So just don't chew it," Kenny says.
"I tried going without, but it was bad. So I'm just cutting down slowly. I thought you smoke? Or smoked?"
"Not much. I can't really afford cigs, man," Kenny says.
"Oh. I had a friend who'd get them for me," Craig says. Kenny nods, not really that interested. Kevin would get Kenny's, most of the time. He closes his eyes and just enjoys the sun on his face. His freckles are going to come out again soon enough. They tend to fade over the winter.
He hears shuffling beside him, and opens his eyes lazily to see Craig lying down halfway, still propped up on his elbows. He smiles languidly, and Craig's lips twitch in response.
It's frustrating. He's right there and Kenny's right here and both have the opportunity to make this something special but neither is trying. He wonders if Craig thinks the light on Kenny's face is pretty, like he thinks the light on Craig's face is. It's hitting his cheekbones just right and it makes him just want to run his fingers down the skin there, to touch it without fear of repercussion.
He sits upright a little and kisses Craig briefly on the lips, pulling back quickly. His emotions are in overdrive, desiring and longing and fulfilled and quite in awe of his own courage. His chest twists and flutters and hurts like hell all at once.
Craig looks surprised and confused for the most part, which instantly sends a nauseous bolt down Kenny's throat. He thinks of Lola, her scattered speech as she tried her best to recover from a plan gone wrong. He wonders if the look on his face looks like hers did.
Craig spits his gum on the ground next to him, and leans forward. His lips meet Kenny's and they move easily against each other, small noises exchanged, hands floating awkwardly and unsure where to go. Craig breaks off from his mouth and sits on his knees. He catches Kenny's lips again and kisses him earnestly, hands sliding into his hair. Kenny sighs and wraps his arms around Craig's torso. He tastes like cinnamon and something else, something chemically, no doubt from the gum. It barely matters at all.
They move apart after what feels like a long time.
"God," Craig says, running his hands through Kenny's hair, smoothing it down, "I've been wanting to do that forever."
"Me too," Kenny says, dipping his head and pressing a kiss to Craig's neck.
"I thought you didn't like me like that. Back in January, I thought I scared you off somehow. When I pulled you out to smoke together, remember?"
"I remember," Kenny says.
"I thought maybe you thought I was too bold, or something like that. But I kept seeing you looking at me, I thought—"
"It's okay! I like you. I like you a lot," Kenny says, meeting his eyes. "But you never made a move or anything and I never even saw you looking at me."
"You didn't? I was always looking at you," Craig says. He pecks Kenny on the lips. Kenny leans into it, but the kiss is short and Craig breaks away quickly. "Because I think you're really beautiful."
This pulls the redness to Kenny's cheeks. He kisses Craig before he can notice, and Craig kisses him back immediately, wrapping his arms around his neck like he has no plans to let go. Kenny likes that thought; that the boy wrapped around his shoulder doesn't want to let go. He doesn't want to let go either.
November 17th
The first snow of the year comes when Kenny's at Craig's house. They're upstairs, reading through a blog Craig found a day earlier, when Craig looks up and says, "Hey, look. Snow."
"No shit," Kenny says, getting off the bed where he had been sitting, Craig's laptop perched on his legs. He approaches the window with mild hesitation.
Craig steps over to him and watches his face fall. "You know," he starts, "It hasn't been so bad this year."
"My SAD?"
"Yeah. You've been better. Better than you were last year, anyway."
"You've been noticing?" Kenny asks, a little surprised.
"You were way worse this time last year, Kenny. You were a fucking zombie, but this year, you're better. More alive, I guess. You still smile," he says.
Kenny just stares at him. Craig sighs in exasperation and says, "Look, don't tell me you've been as depressed as you were. You're looking better."
"I haven't been! It's just that you made me realise that like, right now. It's been better and I really think you're to credit for it," Kenny says.
Craig looks at him and frowns. "It's in your head, Kenny, not mine. If you're getting better than it's you who's to credit, not me."
"But you're making me want to be better, so it's you."
"You're making yourself better because of my influence, but that doesn't mean it's my doing."
"Look, I want to fucking thank you, can you just take a romantic gesture for what it is? I'm getting better and if you weren't here than I probably wouldn't be. In fact, I'd probably be worse, because I'd be wallowing in misery from you rejecting me."
"Well, sorry," he says, a touch sarcastically. "Let me try again; I think it's sweet that you want to thank me for your improvement."
"That's better," Kenny says, nodding.
"Can we make out now?"
"Yes."
He kisses Craig, gently pushing him against the wall as he does, and with their lips pressed together, he thinks about how marvellous and curious it is that contact with one human being can turn an entire aspect of his being around. He's not sure he even liked Craig as a friend before last January. Now he means so much that it's almost a little scary.
"You know," he says, pecking Craig's lips one last time, "that's really the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
"That you're sweet?" Craig asks.
"No. That you can see I'm getting better. That you can see I have the will to change."
Craig grins. "I'm glad." He kisses Kenny and pulls him over to the bed, where they fall over one another and kiss with swollen lips, tongues greeting and sliding by each other until Craig's mom calls them down for dinner.
January 19th
Craig is pressed up against Kenny's side, breathing slow and deep in his sleep. The room is dark and except for wiggling lights that appear on the ceiling as wayward cars go by. Kenny breathes slow and deep as well, but he can't fall asleep. Tonight, rest eludes him.
He rolls onto his side to face Craig, whose face is smashed against his pillow in a somewhat unflattering — but equally endearing — manner. Kenny clears the hair from his eyes. Craig doesn't even twitch. He's the kind of kid that could sleep through a hurricane, and Kenny's touch is much lighter than a hurricane.
It's the middle of winter. The sky hasn't broken in a week and a half. The temperature hasn't been above freezing all week.
And Kenny — Kenny feels fine.
It's curious. Marvellous. And perhaps very brave.
There is so much behind it all; handing away a part of what makes up who he is, be it good or bad, for one person. It's a lot to lose. The thought that it took so little to make him change is unsettling. Was it ever really there, and would it have changed if Craig wasn't Craig?
Big questions and small answers.
He never did keep that little drawing, that lovesick Kenny slumped over his desk, mooning over the boy sitting one over and one up from him. It found its way into the recycling like the rest of last year's schoolwork. Kenny hasn't thought about it until today, when he saw the date.
It probably wasn't a disorder, ever. To call it SAD feels like an insult to all the people who actually suffer from it. They use light therapy, sitting in front of big bright lights for hours until the sadness is banished; Kenny uses boyfriend therapy, pressing his nose into Craig's neck until the sadness is banished. To say they are the same thing feels wrong. The simplicity of falling in love in the middle of winter wouldn't have shaken him up the way it did if it was the same.
But thank god it shook him up. Thank god for it all, thank god for Craig.
To say it like that sounds silly — stupidly silly. He scoots a little closer to Craig and kisses his forehead. His touch is much lighter than a hurricane, but Craig twitches. Kenny rests his head next to Craig's and closes his eyes. Rest may elude him but he doesn't elude rest, and as the minutes go by he falls slowly asleep, warm and content and not sparing a thought to the clouds outside.
In the morning, it might be sunny.