Butters Stotch was not a smoker, and has never dared to do so. But the taste of tobacco left on his tongue after his boyfriend kissed him and the smell of cigarettes on his clothes after he's hugged him tightly was enough for anyone to think otherwise.
Kenny McCormick, on the other hand, had not just smoked. He was a smoker. Butters could tell the difference on just how Kenny's tatted fingers calmly ran through his messy mullet as he took a slow, long drag of a newly lit cigarette and how the same bony hand had become frightened and fidgety, searching through pants and jacket pockets, not wanting to believe he was out. Sometimes, Butters would have to remind Kenny that smoking wasn't allowed in the house, while the two laid together in his bed after waking up or before going to sleep or in between a movie marathon. Kenny never forgot, he just didn't want to remember. So, he'd excuse himself and sit on the window seal and blow gray ribbons out in the cold air.
The younger boy's parents said smoking could kill. He wondered if that's why Kenny died every other day.
Trudging through snow one early morning on his way to school, Butters smelt the too familiar scent coming from the school yard. The smell of tobacco was mixing with the smell of the half eaten strawberry pop tart he didn't get to finish before he left home. He noticed after coming steps closer, two of the goth kids were passing a cigarette from hand to hand. He wiped his hands clean of crumbs from his breakfast pastry before stepping any closer. "Hiya, fellas."
The taller one raised his eyebrow, and the red-headed one mirrored his action. "What's up, conformist?" The taller one asked, more of out of confusion than as a greeting. Butters started rubbing and clacking his knuckles together, an old habit he hasn't been able to break.
"C-can, can you guys spare a cigarette?"
The two looked at each other for what felt like minutes, before glancing back at Butters. The red-head shrugged, jutting the cardboard box towards him. Butters pulled out a cigarette, slightly amazed at how light it was, like a piece of chalk made of paper, and thanked the two before going inside.
After school, Kenny usually drivers Butters home in his dad's old pick up truck and Butters sits in the middle with his feet on either side of the transmission hump even though there was enough room for him to scoot over, or holds his hand while the two trudge through snow to butter's front door step. But, that didn't happen today. Kenny waited outside in the school yard, his hands shoved in his pockets and his lankly legs shaking and shivering through old, ratty jeans. He was sure Butters might have already left without him. But when Butters skipped up to Kenny, he sighed with relief. But quickly became concerned again when the first thing he said wasn't 'I missed you' or ask how his day was.
"I got you a cigarette." Butters smiled happily, pulling it out of his back pocket before handing it to him.
Kenny couldn't help but laugh. he knew Butters meant well. Actually, he thought it was pretty cute. It wasn't cliché, like flowers or love notes. Butters personally knew he'd like it.
he kissed his temple and smiled, as he rarely did. his front two teeth were chipped, the one next to them was fake, and there was another that was completely missing. Butters was happy he was the cause of that smile. "Do you want to share it with me, buttercup?"
If Kenny was willing to share a cigarette with him, knowing how much they made him happy, Kenny must really like Butters. so he agreed.
They sat on a bench and their knees brushed together under a white tree, the only warmth between them was their body heat and the lighter Kenny just switched - the one Kenny let butters cover with hello kitty stickers. He's seen Ken smoke all the time, so he wasn't too unsure of himself as he held it between his thumb and forefingers and brought it to his thin lips. Hot, burning smoke replaced his air supply and instead of the fancy smoke rings Kenny has blown into Butter's mouth once while kissing, the smoke came out in a wheezing cough.
"You're a lot better than me at this, Ken." Butters clanked his knuckles together.
"I was blowing smoke rings on the first try, babe." It's like he read his mind. Kenny wipes some ash from his other half's shirt and takes the cancerstick from his lips.
Butters' parents would probably ground him as soon as he comes home, for being late. And extra longer, for his clothes and breathe reeking of tobacco. But as he watched Kenny in front of falling snow, ribbons of gray floating from his lips, he wasn't upset at all. He's seeing the love of his life, as if lit by the lighter recently used. And just like the smoke and scent of cigarettes, it will linger.