Bittersweet Love

by bitterending

Kyle stood in the overgrown field, watching crows swoop by the old broken down farmhouse, cawing loudly. He smiled as he remembered how much he used to hate visiting his grandfather’s farm over the summer. “That certainly changed, didn’t it?”

Warnings: Kyle/Christophe paring. Kinna a vague sex scene cause I wrote it last night when I didn't feel like going into too much detail. Besides, she's sorta vague in the song, so ha. Anyway, enough yammering. On with the story.

Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me.
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Kyle stood in the overgrown field, watching crows swoop by the old broken down farmhouse, cawing loudly. He smiled as he remembered how much he used to hate visiting his grandfather's farm over the summer. "That certainly changed, didn't it?" He said to the wind, drawing his arms tightly around his body as it picked up harshly, as if to answer him. He walked up to the farmhouse and stroked the front door lovingly, feeling years of dirt and dust come off from his touch and fall to the floor.

With a sigh he turned away and walked dreamily down to the nearby river, watching it ripple lightly in the wind. "That was one hell of a summer." Kyle whispered to himself, pulling the worn tortoise shell pocketknife from his pocket and holding it tightly in his hand. It was cracked and dirty with age, and the once pearly white blades were turning a soft shade of gray. Kyle looked up at the river again and sighed before sitting down heavily on a tree trunk. He smiled when he saw a grimy dark blue lighter wedged in between a winding root.

"I knew it." He told the lighter proudly before letting out a heaving sigh. His mood seemed to have swung dramatically. "Sometimes I wish I could go back." He whispered, looking up at the sky.

---

"But ma...I'd rather stay here with Stan and...well, I guess Cartman, but—" His mother tutted and waved her hand dismissively in his face.

"I don't want to hear it, Kyle. You've been visiting your granddad's farm every summer since you were four." Kyle made a face. Had it really been that long?

"Exactly. Don't you think he's tired of me by now? ...I know I'm tired of him." He added as an afterthought. His mother's head snapped around to look at him.

"What-what-what? What was that?"

Kyle swallowed. "N-nothing. I didn't say anything." Sheila looked at him through squinted eyes surrounded by crow's feet, as if she was making sure he was still her son. Sheila Broflovski may have aged since Kyle was eight, but she still carried the same 'intimidating tyrant' atmosphere that Kyle had always been afraid of. He felt himself shrinking under her truth-seeking stare even nine years later.

Finally, she blinked. "Mmm...right. Well, say goodbye to your friends and get in the car. I'm sick of waiting for your father, so I'm just going to drop you off by myself. I hope he isn't expecting me to make him dinner now." She added bitterly, grabbing her keys and jamming them violently in her purse. Kyle groaned and walked out the door to greet his friends with the unhappy news.

"Dude! Why doesn't she let you have a life? I mean, You're at Sweet Seventeen!"

"That's 'Sweet Sixteen', Cartman."

"Yeah, dude. And only girls celebrate that."

"Besides, Kyle's turning eighteen in the fall. Don't you pay attention?"

Cartman shook his head at Stan. "Yeah, whatever. But that's not the point. Kyle, you should stand up to your mother." Kyle smiled at a memory from years ago.

"Even the last time I did that she didn't listen...Not until Satan threatened to take over the world for the next few millenniums..."

Stan groaned and patted Kyle supportively on the back. "Well then, I guess we'll go, cause I doubt Satan's gonna help you out this time." Kyle waved moodily as his friends left him standing alone on the porch.

"I'll be back in September, guys..." He called reassuringly. Stan nodded understandingly, but Cartman made a face. Kyle suspected he was calling his mom a bitch again. He'd never really grown out of that.
"Ready to go, Kyle sweetie?" Kyle looked up at his mother and nodded reluctantly.

"Yeah, sure." With a sigh, he traipsed through the deep grass to the car. His mother was already complaining.

"Gerald was supposed to mow the grass this morning..." Kyle didn't remind her that it was his week to mow and climbed into the passenger seat. Kyle had asked if he could just borrow the car and drive himself to his grandfather's house, but Sheila refused. "You'll be there for three months, Kyle! What are we supposed to do for three months with one car?" He supposed she had a point, but wished she didn't. Being driven somewhere by his mother seemed so embarrassing.

"So what are you planning to do at your granddad's, sweetie?" Kyle shrugged. "Sit around...avoid conversation...help out around the farm I guess..." Sheila nodded. "That's good." Kyle figured she'd pretended to only hear the last one. He sighed heavily and looked out the window. Stan was waiting for him at the end of the road, waving. Kyle grinned. He guessed Cartman had thought it was too hot and went home, but he liked it better this way anyway. Cartman would probably flip off his mother.

The rest of the three-hour ride was relatively quiet; the dead, uncomfortable silence broken only when Sheila turned on the radio to her favorite oldies station, leaving out any straggling possibility for conversation. The cool tunes started to flow through the car and out Sheila's open window. Kyle sighed and leaned back in his seat, allowing the music and his mother's slightly off-key singing along lead him to a dreamless sleep.

"Kyle, sweetie, wake up. We're here." Kyle opened his eyes and looked out the window. A freshly painted farmhouse stood in the center of a three-acre lot, neatly combed and tended with a happy, pumpkin-headed scarecrow standing near the cornfield. Kyle groaned.

"He's not here, ma. Let's come back next year." Sheila glowered at her son before shoving him out the door.

"Okay, sweetie," She shouted off-handedly, shoving his luggage in his hands, "Remember to be polite and offer to help with the farm—" Kyle frowned. He already said he would. "—And don't ask for too much. Cook your own meals...daddy never was much of a chef..." She muttered the last sentence to herself before looking back at her son and smiling. "I love you, honey. Emergency numbers are in the little pocket in the black suitcase, our number is on there in case you forget it—"

"Ma! I get it!" Kyle hissed, looking around to make sure no one was watching this humiliating display. Sheila pursed her lips.

"Well fine. If you know everything, why didn't you pack your own suitcases?"

Kyle put a hand to his forehead. "Ma...I did."

Sheila looked thoroughly disgruntled. "Well I see you don't need me anymore. Why don't you just stay here for the rest of your life?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Ma..." He sighed exasperatedly, but Mrs. Broflovski had already pulled the door shut and drove away. Kyle made a mental note to call her later and try to apologize.
"Well, well, well...You're certainly a mother's boy, yes?" Kyle froze. He knew someone was watching.

"N-no." He answered without turning around. "No, she just likes to think I'm still eight or something..." He leaned over to reposition the luggage in his arms so that it was easier to carry, but dropped it instead.
"Well, why don't you tell her not to?" Kyle clenched his teeth.

"You sound just like my friend Cart—" He spun around and his voice caught in his throat.
"Cartman, yes? I remember him. Fowl-mouthed little American boy, even with that shocker device."

Kyle blinked. Somehow, he found his voice. "Va-V- Chip." He stuttered. The boy in front of him shrugged his shoulders.

"Ah, V- Chip. Whatever it was, it didn't help him much." The boy lit a cigarette and placed it between his lips. He offered the box of Camels to Kyle, who shook his head, feeling dazed.

"You don't remember me?" The boy asked. It was rather hard to understand him because of his thick French accent, and the cigarette in his mouth wasn't making anything easier.

Kyle nodded. "I...I don't have too many people die in my arms." He replied sarcastically. The Mole grinned at him.

"So you do. You're probably wondering what I'm doing here now."

"No." Kyle answered, but then added, "Well, here, at my granddad's farm, yeah. But...I know why you're alive. My friend Kenny made the wish."

The Mole blinked. "Kenny? I'm not sure I remember him..."

Kyle shook his head. "You wouldn't. He...well, it's complicated."

The Mole didn't seem to be interested in anything complicated. He nodded and took a particularly long drag of his cigarette. "You said you were wondering why I was on your grandfather's farm." He stated after a moment. Kyle nodded. "My mother said a few weeks back that if I cursed God one more time, she spend my college funds on a new house." Kyle frowned; wondering what this had to do with his grandfather.

"And?" He asked confusedly.

The mole grinned at him. "Three bedroom, two bath, nice hardwood floors. I can't say I blame her." Kyle nodded, still not understanding why he was here. "Anyway," The Mole continued, "I have to get through college some way, right? Nice house or not." Kyle nodded slowly, beginning to get it, but not wanting to interrupt him. "Your grandfather pays me for taking care of the crops. I'm actually doing pretty well, don't you think?"

Kyle looked past the Mole to the carefully groomed fields. "Yeah..." He answered distantly, shocked that such a grungy person could do such an orderly job.

"I hope you don't mind that I stay here while you're supposed to be visiting him—" the Mole added warily.

Kyle shook his head. "No! Really, I'm relieved. I thought I was going to be all alone here...well, alone with my granddad..."

The Mole nodded and took another slow drag. "Need help with those?" The Mole pointed down at Kyle's legs. Kyle's eyes widened.

"What?" He asked hurriedly.

The Mole laughed, "Luggage, Broflovski. You're suitcases."

Kyle felt his cheeks redden. "Oh...er...sure."

The Mole giggled to himself and hoisted the large brown suitcase on his shoulder, leaving the small black one to Kyle. Kyle looked down at it, feeling self-conscious of his lack of muscle before following the dark haired boy into the farmhouse. The Mole had dropped Kyle's suitcase on a squashy twin bed and was now rummaging in his own things, which were sitting on the bed opposite.
"Did I forget to mention that we have to share a room?" The Mole asked, seeing Kyle's confused expression.

Kyle shrugged. "Oh, erm, I don't mind, just took me by surprise. After all, this house seems huge from the outside...last year he had tons of extra rooms."

The Mole shrugged, digging around until he pulled out a spare box of cigarettes and a dark blue lighter. "Filled with junk. You know old people...always using spare bedrooms to store things instead of the attic." Kyle nodded. He had a point. He couldn't picture his granddad climbing a set of stairs, much less an attic ladder.

"You don't mind if I smoke in here, do you?" He asked, motioning to the unlit cigarette in his mouth and the lighter in his hand, "I mean, your grandfather already said he didn't mind—as long as it wasn't in his room..."

Kyle shrugged. "Cartman smokes...Kenny used to steal his mom's Lucky Strikes. I'm used to it." Taking this as an acceptance, the Mole struck the lighter and started it up, puffing rings out the window. "It'll kill you, you know."

The Mole shrugged. "I've already died once."

"Hey, Mole..."

"Christophe."

"What?"

"My name's Christophe. I haven't been called Mole since I was twelve."

Kyle nodded. "Christophe...what's it like?"

Christophe looked at him. "What is what like? Smoking?"

Kyle shuffled his foot before answering, "Death." Christophe shrugged, tapping his cigarette out the window. Kyle watched the ash drop to the ground below. Kyle was about to repeat, thinking he hadn't heard when his answer came.

"I'm not going to spoil the surprise."

Kyle made a face. "Gee...that's considerate."

Christophe shrugged, putting the cigarette back in his mouth. "Maybe it is. Besides, it might be different for you; you're Jewish, aren't you?" Kyle frowned. "I hardly think death would be any—" Christophe's finger was suddenly against Kyle's lips, forcing him to shut them.

"Now, now. Who's been through it?" Kyle's eyes looked from Christophe's finger to Christophe himself. He pointed. Christophe nodded. "Right. Don't be such a smartass." Kyle narrowed his eyes, but Christophe seemed to think it was funny. "You're grandfather left for chicken feed about two minutes before you pulled up." He muttered as if Kyle had asked where he was, "You wanna get outta here?"

Kyle looked at him strangely. "That sounds disturbingly like a pick up line."

Christophe shrugged. "Maybe it is. Is that a no?" Kyle was shocked by his response. "Er...no, not really. Go where?"

Christophe shrugged again. "I dunno. We'll figure that out when we get to that point." He crawled out the window and started to stalk through the rows of cucumbers to a dirty old mustang. Kyle followed, slightly stunned.

"Is that your car?" Kyle asked, pointing. Christophe looked at him. "No. It's your grandfather's."

Kyle looked from the car to Christophe. "But you said-"

Christophe rolled his eyes. "I'm kidding, Broflovski. Could you really see your grandfather in this?"

Kyle shrugged, feeling his face turning red again. "I can hardly picture him in a car at all. He always reminded me of the horse-ridding type." Kyle answered truthfully.

Christophe laughed. "You think he's that old, do you?" Kyle nodded. Christophe smiled and stepped into his car. "C'mon." He instructed, digging keys out of the back pocket of his jeans and revving it up. Kyle did as he was told, feeling his heart beating nervously. He'd never done anything without adult permission since La Resistance. It was kind of invigorating to go through it all again. In one swift moment, Christophe put it in gear and they were zipping down the dirt road. Kyle gripped the seat and looked out the window, watching the trees turn into a blur. Kyle shut his eyes. Looking out the window was a bad idea.

"Where are we going?" Kyle asked, feeling his heart pressing against his ribcage. Christophe shrugged one shoulder.

"I was going to pick up some Camels. Do you mind?" Kyle shook his head.

"No, but won't we run into my granddad at the store?" Christophe shook his head.

"No, we're going to the grocery store. You grandfather's gone three towns south to the nearest feed store." Kyle nodded, feeling slightly relieved. Christophe pulled up in front of an old-fashioned brick grocery store labeled 'Peterson's Grocery.' It looked as if it were untouched by time, suddenly gone from the 1940's to the year 2010.

Kyle blinked. Country towns were weird. Christophe parked the car. "Wanna come in? I might be a while..." Kyle nodded and stepped out of the mustang. Christophe led the way through the glass doors, opening them to hear a soft ding echo through the almost empty shop. Kyle watched him waltz over to the case of cigarettes near the registers before turning around and looking walking down the isles. It wasn't long before he found himself stopped at the coolers, looking in at the different things to drink.

"You want something?" Christophe had already bought his pack of cigarettes and was puffing contently on one.

Kyle looked around. "Not really...Can you smoke in here?" Christophe shrugged.

"I am." He answered, as if the fact that he was doing so allowed him the privilege.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I'm not too thirsty. Let's go. Unless—did you want to pick up anything else?"

Christophe looked over at a shelf away from the coolers, where rows of wine were stacked with their labels facing out. Christophe smiled. "Ever try strawberry wine?"

Kyle couldn't help but think of the song at that question. "No." He answered, "I'm not legal."

Christophe picked it up and walked back over to the cashier. "C'mon." He ordered, placing the wine bottle on the counter and flashing his ID before pulling out the money to pay. He took the grocery bag and headed back out to his car.

Kyle had to jog to keep up. "You're 21?" He asked curiously.

Christophe snickered. "Turned eighteen last month." He let Kyle have a closer look at the ID. It was false. "All they need to see is a lamented card with your picture and some words by it. As long as you pay cash for everything, they never get a close enough look to notice it's not real.

Kyle pretended like he saw logic in this charade. "You have a point." He muttered, feeling guilty. Christophe took his wallet from the Jewish boy's hands.

"Hey, I did it. Not you."

---

Within a few minutes, Christophe had stowed the wine in the backseat and they were barreling down the unpaved road again. Kyle was feeling nervous. There were cars on it now. Christophe sped up and changed lanes, narrowly missing an eighteen-wheeler. Kyle felt his heart stop in his chest.

"Dude! Be careful!" He heard Christophe laugh beside him.

"What did I tell you about my views on being careful?" Kyle remembered distinctly the first time he'd told him to 'be careful'. His reaction wasn't exactly what you'd call normal.

"Did she really do that?" He asked, making it sound as if he'd changed the subject. Christophe looked over at him, and Kyle felt a lurch of fear by the fact that he wasn't watching the road.

"Who's she? Do what?" Kyle frowned. He was going to have to be more specific when he spoke.

"Did your mother really stab you in the heart with a clothes hanger while you were still in the womb?" Christophe shrugged; looking oddly relaxed for such a question.

"Yes. She says she was unwinding it to get something out from under the bed and it poked through her stomach." Christophe laughed grimly to himself, making it obvious that what his mother had told him was a lie. "She thought she killed me, but after a check up, the doctor said I was fine."

Boy was he ever wrong. Kyle thought to himself, "You have a lot of near-death experiences, don't you?" He asked aloud. Christophe nodded in an off-hand way, as if they were talking about how sunny it was outside.

"I suppose three is more than most people."

Kyle counted. He only remembered two. "Three?" He asked tentatively, thinking that sooner or later, Christophe's laid-back attitude toward this conversation would falter. Christophe frowned slightly, making Kyle believe he'd finally hit the soft spot, but he continued anyway.

"When I told my first and only girlfriend that I was gay, she went at me with a knife. She said that I broke her heart, so she was gonna take mine. Good thing her friend came by and called an ambulance. ...and an insane asylum. But while we were speeding off to Hell's Pass, I had one of those 'near-death experiences' you seem so keen about."

Kyle blinked. The only word he'd heard in that whole statement was 'gay'. Christophe turned to see his friend's reaction and laughed. "Yes, I'm gay. Kind of a shocker, huh?" Kyle swallowed. "That sounds disturbingly like a pick up line." "Maybe it is..." Christophe turned back to the road. "Oh, don't you look at me like that. It's not like you aren't."

Kyle was shaken out of his memory world. "What? I'm not—" But Christophe was shaking his head. "You don't think I remember, do you? How you would constantly look at Stan during La Resistance. You had a crush on him."

Kyle blushed. "I did not—" But Christophe was interrupting him again.

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?"

Kyle's face turned redder. "No...but that doesn't mean—" Before he could finish, Christophe had cut him off again.

"Do you ever think about girls?" Kyle shrugged, getting angry. Was going to be allowed to finish one goddamn sentence?

"Not...not really...I mean—" Christophe nodded, acting as if he were Dr. Phil. He took the cigarette out of his mouth and let it hang between his two fingers, resting lazily over the steering wheel. "D'you think more about Stan than you think you should?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "I do not have a crush on Stan!"

Christophe was grinning. "Me thinks the sir doth protests too much."

Kyle's face felt as if it was on fire. "I don't—" He was about to say, but stopped. Christophe had parked the car and was waiting for him to finish.

"You don't what?" He asked coyly.

Kyle felt it a duty to stand up for himself. "You sound just like Cartman. He always calls me a Jewish fag. Just because I've never kissed—" Christophe didn't seem to want him to finish. He pressed his lips against Kyle's in a strong kiss.

Kyle went rigid, which didn't seem to stop Christophe. The smoky flavor of his lips lingered on Kyle's mouth as he pulled back and grinned. "You're blushing." Kyle's eyes widened.

"Well...yeah-you..." He felt his voice box malfunctioning in his throat. Christophe laughed.

"Honestly, now. Don't be so uptight. Live a little. I mean I know how your mother hates it, but—" Kyle glared.

"I don't always do what my mother wants."

Christophe shrugged. "Hmm." He muttered disbelievingly.

Kyle crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't. I can't help it if she doesn't listen to me until I do what she says. If you wanna see a mama's boy, my brother Ike—"

Christophe seemed more interested in that topic than Kyle would have thought. "You have a brother?"

Kyle nodded. "He's almost ten now. He was adopted from Canada."

Christophe nodded. "After the war?"

Kyle shook his head. "No...before."

Christophe made a face. "But wasn't your mother one of the MAC members?"

Kyle rolled his eyes. What an understatement. "Yeah...you can say that." Christophe looked confused.

"Then why did she-"

Kyle shrugged. "I think she forgot. Really though, I think she just likes to be important. She wants to rule the world or something, so..." Kyle shrugged again, "...yeah."

Christophe blinked before saying, "Americans are weird."

Kyle laughed. "Yeah. I guess so."

Christophe suddenly yelped. His cigarette had burned to nothing. He angrily swept the ash off of the dashboard and out the window before lighting another one. "You sure you don't want one?" He asked, brandishing the box at Kyle.

Kyle blinked from the case to Christophe's expression. "They give you cancer."

Christophe shrugged. "Gotta die somehow." Kyle raised an eyebrow, upset that his logic actually made a sort of distorted sense.

"Well, yeah but..." Kyle paused, and then sighed before admitting, "I've never tried it."

Christophe nodded and closed the box. He took the cigarette from his mouth and blew smoke out his open window. "Shotgunning is best for first-timers." He said quietly.

"Shotgunning?" Kyle looked uncertainly at the seat he was sitting in, making Christophe laugh. "No...here, I'll show you. Promise not to go insane on me?" Kyle nodded slowly, wondering what he was going to do. Christophe took a deep drag from the cigarette in his fingers and leaned into Kyle again.

This time Kyle relaxed, feeling Christophe's tongue slowly part his lips and pushing the cool smoke into his mouth. Kyle inhaled softly, feeling the smoke billow around in his mouth. Christophe pulled away, allowing Kyle to exhale the smoke in a sloppy cloud.

"How was that?" Christophe asked calmly, putting the cigarette back to his lips. Kyle didn't say anything. He was afraid to admit that he liked it. "Erm...It—it was..." Christophe chuckled.

"Don't be such a virgin, Broflovski."

Kyle huffed. It wasn't a virgin he was so afraid of being. "It was..." He tried to think of an adjective, but nothing came to mind. "I'm at a loss for words." He admitted.

Christophe smiled. "Wanna try again?" Kyle nodded.

"Granddad, I'm here!" There was no answer. The old man was sitting practically comatose in front of the television, staring as the brightly- coloured Wheel of Fortune spun around on the screen. Christophe held up a finger and disappeared into the kitchen. Kyle suspected that he was putting the wine in the refrigerator. Kyle walked past his grandfather alone. He heard the octogenarian grunt impatiently as he walked by the TV. Kyle rolled his eyes.

He was surrounded by reminders of his fat-assed friend. Kyle was putting his things away as Christophe appeared in the doorway. "Hello." Christophe said airily, as if he'd been accustomed to the sight of the other boy for years.

Kyle looked over and smiled in response before turning back to hanging his coats in his closet. "Must you do that now?" Christophe asked exasperatedly.

Kyle shrugged. "I take after my mother. I like things done soon as possible." Christophe sighed, lighting a new cigarette.

"'Knew from the beginning you were a mother's boy." Kyle tensed, wheeling around to face the French boy lying on the other bed.

"I am not!" Christophe blew a perfect smoke ring at him, especially aimed to frame the redhead's face as if he were a picture on the wall.

He grinned smugly. "Mother's boy."

Kyle stuck out his tongue before turning back around and organizing his things. Christophe sniggered. "You must get paid for this comeback thing. You're obviously a professional." Kyle didn't turn around and continued putting away his clothes.

"Oh, shut up." Christophe laughed.

"See what I mean? Very experienced, you are." Kyle shoved his jeans angrily in his chest of drawers and twisted around again.

"Why don't you quit talking like a broken Yoda doll and be helpful, huh?"

Christophe took the cigarette from his lips and paused in mock thought. "Hmm...no, I don't think so. Not after that Yoda comment."

Kyle groaned. "You're hopeless."

The first night in a different house was always strange to Kyle. Sure, he'd been here many times before, but every year it felt like new—especially now, with someone snoring lightly in an additional bed that wasn't there the last time he'd visited. He hadn't been in the house most of the day, and now he was expected to sleep here. How typical.

He looked over at Christophe, sleeping soundly with his face turned to Kyle so he could see the boy gently sucking at his thumb. Kyle couldn't help but smile at that sight. Christophe had always seemed so adult, even when they were children. But now there he was, literally sleeping like a baby.

Before he could stop himself, Kyle got out of his bed and crossed over to Christophe, softly tugging his thumb out of his mouth. Christophe stirred, but didn't replace it. Nor, to Kyle's relief, did he wake. He'd have a hell of a time explaining that one. Kyle remembered reading somewhere that people who sucked their thumb in their sleep often had past traumas that they refused to deal with.

Kyle didn't doubt that was the case with 'the Mole' but it didn't stop him from wondering what the trauma might have been. It would be rude to ask him such a thing when he was conscious, Kyle knew that, but curiosity was already beginning to nibble at his stomach. He thought over the possibilities. It could have been one of his near death experiences they had discussed earlier, and there was a good chance that it was, except for the fact that Christophe seemed almost bored with the subject of them.

He watched him sleep for a moment, mulling over the memories of the shocking kiss he'd given him—and then the shotgun, not even an hour later. The fact that he liked it enough to allow Christophe to do it twice was tickling the back of his brain. His mother would kill him if she found out what he did today. She'd always wanted him to marry 'a nice Jewish girl' so that they could have 'nice Jewish baby boys' and they would also marry 'nice Jewish girls' and so on. So much for that.

Kyle guessed there was still hope in Ike. He made a note to thank the small Canadian. "Thank God I'm not an only child." He whispered to himself. Realizing he said it aloud, he clapped a hand over his mouth and looked at Christophe's slumbering figure. He didn't seem to have heard him. After a moment, he relaxed, automatically reaching out and softly stroking the other boy's hair. "Goddamn." He said, making sure it was quieter than when he'd spoken before, "Not even a full day with you and you've turned me into a fag."

He laughed to himself and tiptoed back to his bed, curling under the warm duvet. Kyle felt about ten silent minutes pass before he heard the faint sound of Christophe sucking his thumb again.

Kyle had gotten up around seven to see Christophe still asleep, his thumb stayed resting idly between his lips. He got up and moved to take it out again, but decided against it. It was actually kind of cute. Instead, he picked up the phone that was sitting on the nightstand between them and dialed his home phone number. He'd forgotten to call his mother to apologize for yesterday. The phone rang twice before there was the click of someone taking the receiver out of the cradle. "Hello?"

"Hi, ma." Kyle said timidly, "I called to say sorry. You know, for yesterday." His mother seemed pleased.

"Yes, I remember. Thank you for not being too proud to apologize." Kyle rolled his eyes. She was allowed to try and take over Canada for an R-rated movie, but he couldn't tell his mother he could pack his own luggage without having to apologize.

"You're welcome, ma." He said detachedly, hearing Ike squealing in the background.

"Well, how's it been there so far?" Kyle swallowed. He'd been afraid of that question.

"Eh," He answered vaguely, "Fine. Granddad's hired a kid I know to help out in the farm, so he and I have been getting along." His mother suddenly seemed interested. He knew she would be.

"You say you know him?" Kyle took a breath.

"Yeah. You do too, I think." Why the hell did I say that? Kyle cursed himself, scowling at the floor. Of course, Mrs. Broflovski responded to this. "Do I really? Who is it?" Kyle racked his brain. Who would she not care enough for to bring it up in conversations at the PTA?

"Er..." Maybe if he just left it as 'Christophe' she wouldn't recognize the name and he could hang up the phone. "Christophe." He answered, proud of himself for such quick thinking. His mother seemed to be searching her memory.

"Hmm...Christophe. Is he the little blonde boy from England?"

Kyle shook his head. "No, that's Pip." He took a breath before finishing, "Well, I guess you don't know him. My mistake. I have to go make breakfast now, okay, ma? I'll talk to you later." Mrs. Broflovski seemed disappointed that she had to stop guessing, but proud enough of her son's responsibility to let it go.

"Well, alright. Goodbye, sweetie." There was the sound of a click before Kyle could even say his own goodbye.

"Mother's boy..." Christophe sang sleepily, sitting up in his bed and kicking the sheets off of him. Kyle noticed him discretely wiping his thumb off on his PJs. Kyle opened his mouth to defend himself, but sighed.

"Forget it. Fine. I'm a mama's boy. Happy?" Christophe stopped searching his closet floor for clean clothes and looked up at him.

"No. You gave into peer pressure too easy. You know you're not a mother's boy, then stand up for yourself." Kyle smacked his forehead.

"There's just no pleasing you, is there?" Christophe grinned wickedly, earning a shove from Kyle. "You're sick, dude."

"People usually just say that when they're own imaginations go to wild." He raised his eyebrows at Kyle, who threatened to push him again. Christophe threw a sock at him to keep him at bay. Kyle froze when it hit him in the face.

"Y-you haven't worn that, have you?" Christophe shrugged.

"I dunno." He mumbled, turning back to his closet and looking at the clothes scattered about his side of the floor. "I might have." Kyle wondered how anyone could live without separating their clean clothes from their dirty ones. Even Kenny had hangers and a hamper. He refused to say anything about it, avoiding being called a 'mother's boy' again.

"What do you want to do?" Kyle was shocked when he realized the question was directed at him, but then felt stupid. Who else could he possibly be talking to? Kyle shrugged.

"I dunno. What is there to do?" Christophe sighed in thought, ripping off his shirt and putting a different one on. Kyle doubted it was any cleaner than the one he'd just thrown in the corner.

"Did you bring swim trunks?" He asked, getting on his hands and knees and digging around to look for his own. Kyle thought to himself.

"Yeah. Why? Is there a pool around here?"

Christophe laughed. "Pool? I guess you could say that."

---

"You want me to swim in a lake?" Kyle sputtered when they reached the spot Christophe had driven them to. Christophe shrugged and jumped in, splashing Kyle with the frigid water.

"It's a river, Broflovski. Damn, and I thought you were the smart one."

Kyle frowned. "I...Well, It's an awfully wide river."

Christophe tutted. "That's no excuse." He said jokingly, shaking the water from his thick brown hair.

Kyle held his arms out to shield himself from receiving an icy shower. "Hey, watch it!" Christophe laughed loudly and splashed him, making Kyle stumble angrily.
"Come on, Broflovski. What are you afraid of?"

Kyle narrowed his eyes. "Diseased water." Christophe rolled his eyes.

"You watch too many horror movies." Kyle continued as if the other boy hadn't spoken.

"Not to mention creatures. Like fish—could you imagine one of those filthy things swimming by your leg?" Kyle shuddered. "Plus, I could slip on a rock or something...And then sewage. I don't think this town—" Christophe was suddenly standing, dripping wet, in front of him. "Live a little, eh?" He whispered in his ear before taking his wrist roughly in his hand and pulling him forward.

Both boys crashed loudly into the water, and landed, Kyle sprawled on top of Christophe, in a shallow pool. Kyle was going to shout at him, but realized how badly that must have hurt the back of Christophe's head. "Goddamn, are you alright?"

Christophe laughed in a raspy, smoker's laugh. "Peachy." He answered flatly, propping himself up on his elbows and giving his friend a soft kiss on the lips. Kyle felt his face burn.

"Good." He answered when Christophe broke the kiss. Without warning, he punched him on the shoulder. "Don't do that again."

Christophe made a face. "You act like a woman."

Kyle glared at him. "No I don't!" Christophe grabbed Kyle's shoulders and flipped him over his head, crashing on top of him before letting go.

"You do." He said breathlessly. When he'd filled his lungs, he shrilled in a high-pitched voice that was obviously supposed to be Kyle, "Could you imagine one of those things swimming by your leg? EEEEWWWW."

Kyle fumed. "I didn't say 'Ew.'" He hissed flatly.

Christophe pointed a finger at his nose. "No, but you shivered like a schoolgirl." Kyle made a face. For once, he didn't have a good excuse.

After the boys had gotten used to the icy cold temperature and Kyle had finally been coaxed, they were swimming in the deeper side of the river, splashing at each other and laughing as if they had all day. Christophe suddenly dunked underwater, swimming silently behind Kyle, who was currently searching the calm water's surface for his figure. Christophe surfaced, as silent as a cat, and crept quickly over to Kyle without making a sound. "Christo-HOLY SHIT!" Christophe had wrapped his arms roughly around Kyle's body and pulled him underwater.

When the two broke the surface, Kyle sputtered like an angry cat before turning on Christophe. "I said not to do that!" Christophe grinned.

"Which is exactly why I did it."

Kyle scowled. "You're an evil boy."

Christophe's grin just widened. "Yeah? And?" Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but his voice remained caught in his throat. In order to avoid another comment about his lack of comeback ability, Kyle lunged, crashing headfirst into Christophe and sending them both back underwater.

About an hour later, Kyle glanced at the horizon. "Christophe!" He called, "It's getting late. We should probably get going." Christophe looked up at the sky to see it tinged with oranges and pinks. He nodded.

"All right. C'mon." The boys crawled over the rocks before reaching the spot where they'd left their shoes and shirts.

"Did you bring a towel?" Kyle asked, turning to Christophe, who had already started pulling his shirt over his wet chest.

"No." He answered shortly, taking his pack of Camels out of the safe dryness of his shoe and pulling one out with his teeth. He lit it with the lighter he'd stored cleverly in his other shoe before pocketing them both and stepping through his boots.

Kyle's face portrayed more of a terrified look than a disappointed one. "Seriously? But I'm all...wet." Christophe laughed.

"Are you really?"

Kyle felt his cheeks grow hot. "You know what I mean by that! I'm soaked to the bone with sewer water—"

Christophe rolled his eyes. "Oh no don't start that again." Kyle grumbled silently to himself, grabbing his shirt and trying in vain to dry himself with it before sliding his shoes over his feet.

---

"Hey, Christophe? You awake?" There was a grunt in the bed beside Kyle. Kyle sat up. "Was that a yes or a no?" He asked, raising his volume a bit so that the boy could hear him.

"A no." Christophe answered flatly, turning and facing the wall.

Kyle frowned. "Oh don't be such an ass. Christophe grumbled something obscene into his pillow. Kyle stuck out his tongue. Christophe, thankfully, didn't see. "How can you sleep here? Aren't you freezing?" Christophe laughed.

"I'm from France, Broflovski." Kyle made a face.

"Yeah, well...I'm from South Park. Doesn't change the fact that this room is an ice cube."

Kyle watched Christophe's shadow sit up. "Well, wrap up in that damn blanket."

Kyle pouted. "It's itchy."

Christophe sighed and got out of bed. For a second, Kyle thought he was going to smack him over the head, but instead he pushed him to the edge of the bed and crawled in. "Don't complain so much." Christophe's voice whispered in his ear, "It's not attractive." Kyle felt his skin redden at the feel of Christophe wrapping his arms around his middle and curling into his back.

Kyle tried to find his voice. "C—Christophe...What are—" He tried to ask, but the French boy had already fallen asleep.

Kyle woke up to pearly sunlight streaming through the window. He looked up to read the clock on the mantle. 12:14pm. Kyle yelped. How had he slept so late? He tried to sit up, but something heavy was keeping him from it. He looked down at his stomach. Oh. Right. "Christophe...wake up. It's late." Christophe moaned and sat up, looking blearily at the clock on the nightstand.

"Shit." He grumbled sleepily, sitting up and getting out of the bed, allowing Kyle to do the same.

"Why'd you do that?" He asked after he'd changed into day clothes.

Christophe looked up. "Do what?" Kyle rolled his eyes. He'd told himself to be more specific.

"Why did you—" He stopped abruptly, realizing how bad it would sound. "Er...last night?" Christophe stuck a cigarette in his mouth but failed to light it.

"You said you were cold."

Kyle blinked. "Well, yeah. I say that to tons of people all the time but they never spoon me." Christophe shrugged.

"I'd always been different from other people."

Kyle stared. "You're so..." He started, struggling to think of an adjective that would give him justice.

Christophe tried to help him out. "Annoying? Weird? Genius? Charming? Sexy?" Kyle chuckled.

"The first and second one fit you awfully well." He said playfully, throwing his pillow at him. Christophe smirked.

Kyle walked into the living room to see his grandfather still parked in front of the television, watching endless commercials of paid programming. "Granddad..." Kyle said softly, taking the remote from the floor and pointing it at the TV. "You don't want to watch this. Why don't you change the channel?"

His grandfather snatched the remote from Kyle's hand and grunted. Kyle sighed. So much for bonding. He turned around to see Christophe watching him from the hallway. Kyle shrugged and signaled for him to follow him out the door.

About three hours later, Kyle and Christophe were sitting lazily on the sun porch, waiting for an idea to strike them as fun. "Small towns suck." Kyle said randomly, causing Christophe to jump.

"Yeah." He agreed, "They do." Kyle frowned.

"And I thought South Park was a pissant town. At least South Park had things to do." Christophe shrugged.

"Learn to want what you have." Kyle made a face.

"You sound like a greeting card." Christophe laughed.

"Are you really that bored?" Kyle nodded. "Well then, C'mon." Christophe got up and walked to his car. Kyle obediently followed. The boys walked down a faded pathway to the riverbank, Christophe cradling the bottle of strawberry wine in his arms as if it were his baby sister.

"We were here yesterday." He grumbled.

Christophe shook the wine bottle. "Not with this." Kyle frowned. He didn't see much of a difference.

"Why'd you drive us here so late?" Kyle asked, watching the sunset reflect on the water. Christophe shrugged and handed the unopened bottle to Kyle, digging in his pockets again. "What are you looking for?" Kyle asked, holding the bottle warily, as if it were a bomb about to go off in his hand.

"My...pocket knife." Christophe grumbled absentmindedly before grinning and pulling one out of a zipper pocket on his jeans and popping out the corkscrew.

Kyle leaned in and watched it glint in the waning sunlight as if it were a gem. The handle was made of polished tortoise shell, which looked to be absolutely flawless. The screw, along with the other additions to the knife, looked to be made of shimmering pearl, its perfect curves giving it a strange shadow on Christophe's hand. "A gift from...from my father. He meant the world to me." Christophe mumbled sadly. Kyle didn't think he wanted to talk about it, so he didn't ask.

After a moment of silence, Christophe stuck the screw into the cork of the bottle and pulled it out. "Well," He said loudly, "Enough reminiscing." He took the bottle and propped it up to his lips, taking a rich swig of it and handing it to Kyle. Kyle glanced at it and read the label. Christophe snickered. "Don't be such a pussy, Broflovski. It tastes like fruit juice. It won't hurt you."

Kyle closed his eyes and took a cautious sip. "Hey!" He grinned, pulling it away from his mouth; "This stuff is good." He took a full gulp and passed it back to Christophe, who followed suit. Two hours after the sun went down, the bottle lay half-empty and forgotten.

"Kyle..." Christophe murmured, successfully holding down his liquor. Kyle looked at him.

"You called my Kyle." He said absently. To his own surprise, he was able to talk without a slur. Christophe shrugged.

"Yeah." He didn't sound as interested by the fact as Kyle did. Kyle fell back onto the dusty riverbank and stared at the sky.

"What is it?" He asked sleepily.

Christophe shrugged. "I'm just hoping your grandfather doesn't mind us being gone for so long." Kyle shrugged.

"He doesn't even like when I visit anymore. I think he might be happy there isn't anyone to get in the way of Wheel of Fortune." He sat up and took the cigarette from Christophe's mouth, taking a lengthy drag and blowing a smoke ring at the stars.

"You got good at that awfully fast." Christophe pointed out, snatching back his cigarette and replacing it between his lips.

Kyle sighed and leaned his back against Christophe's shoulder. "I got a good teacher." Christophe grinned at him. Without warning, he dropped to the ground as Kyle had done before, causing Kyle to fall backward on his stomach. "Ow. Dude, what was that for?"

Christophe chuckled. "I want to be comfortable." Kyle shoved him and settled down beside him, looking for a star consolation or something to focus on.

"I never got the point of consolations," Kyle muttered aloud, "I always thought you can make anything out of the stars-not just a handful of random images. Look, there's a monkey." He pointed aimlessly in the sky to prove his point. Christophe sniggered.

"You know, you're right. They don't make sense, do they?"

Kyle shook his head. "And which one's the North Star, anyway? They say it's the biggest and brightest, but they all look relatively the same size and shade to me."

Christophe nodded. "I never found it either."

Kyle searched the sky for something else to complain about, but Christophe suddenly sat up and held his face over him, obstructing the view of the stars. His tobacco-strawberry breath was shallow and fast before he captured Kyle's lips in his. Kyle felt his smoky sweet tongue slipping past his lips and into his mouth. Kyle moaned groggily, insecurely beginning to kiss back. Christophe intensified the kiss, drawing Kyle closer and wrapping an arm around him. Kyle felt his hand creeping under his shirt tentatively, as if to allow Kyle to stop him at any moment. Kyle didn't take the opportunity.

Christophe felt Kyle's hand pulling weakly at his collar, trying to pull off his shirt. Christophe smiled against the kiss, guiding Kyle's hands to his chest underneath his shirt, stroking his fingers warmly. Kyle was the first one to break the kiss, much to Christophe's disappointment. There was a long silence. Kyle seemed to be searching for words. Christophe waited expectantly.

Finally, Kyle spoke. "I've never...I've never done this before." He said slowly, "Not...not even with a girl. This is..." He took a breath, "...Really weird."

Christophe smiled again. "Don't worry. I won't make you do anything you don't want." Kyle nodded, grabbing Christophe's collar and pulling him close.

Christophe felt Kyle's fingers creep down his shirt and hook in his belt loops. He snickered, giving the kiss a pleasurable tingle. It took Kyle a minute to realize Christophe had taken his own shirt off and was working on unbuttoning Kyle's jacket.

As he slid it off of his shoulders, Kyle felt a blast of cold air hit his chest, resulting in the prickle of goosebumps on his flesh. He wriggled out of it and rested his hands back on Christophe's waist. Christophe pulled away from the kiss to take a breath and stared longingly at Kyle's face. "You're a beautiful person, Kyle Broflovski." He said softly, brushing his hand on Kyle's crimson cheek.

Kyle bit his lip. "Christophe...back in La Resistance..."

Christophe nodded, "What about it?" Kyle shrugged; suddenly regretting he'd said anything. "Did...did you like me back then? I mean..."

Christophe laughed. "To be perfectly honest, yes, I did. I was quite jealous of Stan." Kyle sulked. "I don't—" Christophe pressed a finger to his lips again.

"At this point, does it make sense to deny it? You did. I saw it. You might have just thought it was something different at that age—but it was obvious. Why do you think Cartman was such an ass to you?"

"Because I'm Jewish."

Christophe shook his head. "You said he'd called you a fag."

Kyle shrugged. "A Jewish fag."

Christophe shook his head. "An old dog is still a dog. A Jewish fag is still a fag, yes?"

Kyle blinked at him. "So you're saying Cartman knew...but I didn't?"

Christophe nodded. "If it's any conciliation, it happens that way a lot." Kyle frowned in thought. He did find himself quite inseparable from Stan back then. Kyle shrugged.

"Well, I don't like him anymore." Christophe gave him a quick kiss. "I would hope not." He grinned, sticking his thumb suggestively in Kyle's jean waistband.

---

Kyle had never felt happier in his life. He turned his head to see Christophe smiling distractedly at Kyle's hat, which he'd taken off and set in the dirt. "Why do you wear this?" Christophe asked when he noticed Kyle looking at him.

Kyle shrugged. "When I was younger, I had a...I had really frizzy hair. After a while it just became a habit." Christophe looked up and ran his fingers through Kyle's locks. "Well, I never saw your hair back then—thanks to this little monster, but your hair's beautiful now." Kyle silently thanked the dark for hiding his scarlet face. He shrugged. "I don't really know why I wear it anymore. I just like it, I guess."

Christophe looked at it a moment and shrugged. "To each his own." He purred, kissing Kyle lovingly on the cheek before curling up to fall asleep. Kyle wondered to himself if it was a good idea to sleep here for the night, but didn't want to bring it up with Christophe. He figured his grandfather wouldn't even notice, so there was no point in worrying him. Wrapping his arm warmly over Christophe's torso, Kyle fell asleep.

Kyle awoke the next morning to a particularly loud bird chirp. He sat up, momentarily forgetting how purely naked he was and grabbing the nearest thing to cover his body with, which happened to be Christophe's shirt. But where was Christophe? For a second Kyle felt as if he'd left him overnight, but then he heard a cool voice behind him say, "They woke me up too." Feeling a wave of relief sweep over him, he turned to see Christophe sitting peacefully on a tree stump, wearing his pants and shoes with a cigarette in his mouth again.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Kyle heard himself ask, pulling Christophe's shirt protectively closer to him.

Christophe shrugged. "I can't help it. Besides, it's not like you don't do it to me." Kyle looked at the ground. Christophe was smiling.

"Yeah, you thought I was still asleep after you started talking to yourself, hmm? Sorry, Broflovski, but your voice is rather loud." Kyle blushed, but smiled.

After a moment, he realized, "Why aren't you wearing your shirt? Aren't you cold?" Christophe shook his head.

"We've been through this. France." He pointed to himself, then to Kyle. "You, on the other hand, started shivering a few minutes ago. You were using your jacket as a pillow, so...I mean, pants don't make a good blanket, do they?"

Kyle couldn't seem to argue with that logic, so instead he searched the ground for his clothes, jamming his hat over his red curls, trying to pad the headache he'd gotten as a reward for drinking. Christophe threw something at the back of his head. "These make it go away." He said when Kyle grabbed his head in pain. Kyle turned to see the pack of cigarettes.

"What do I have to lose?" He asked himself, pulling a long tar stick from the others and lighting it.

"That's the spirit." Christophe chortled from behind him. Kyle commented incoherently past the cigarette and threw the lighter back to him. Christophe caught it and set it down, not wanting to go through the effort of pocketing it.

"You'll lose it that way." Kyle warned, buttoning his jacket and throwing Christophe his shirt. "So be it," was Christophe's answer before he pulled his shirt over his head. "Why do you care about everything all the time?" He asked Kyle, blowing a small cloud above his head.

Kyle shrugged. "Well, it's obvious you won't." He said jokingly.

Christophe grinned complacently. "That's true. But really, Why?"

Kyle leaned over to tie his shoe. "I already told you. I'm like my mother. I can't help it. She raised me to care." Christophe shook his head.

"No. She tried to raise you to care. You don't have to do what she so-called 'raised' you to do."

Kyle stood up. "Yeah, but I guess I just want to." Christophe seemed more content with this answer and patted his shoulder.

"That's better. You're learning." Kyle felt proud of himself for the first time in a long time.

Snapping out of his daydream, he noticed Christophe had started to walk away. Kyle took off at a run to catch up with him, and without warning leapt onto his back and settled his arms around his neck. Surprisingly, Christophe caught him as if he'd been expecting him, wrapping arms around his legs and shifting his weight. "How do you do that?" Kyle asked, shocked at how quick the other boy had been.

Christophe turned his head and grinned at him. "Sixth sense, I guess."

---

The months seemed to fly by too fast to see. Before Kyle knew it, September was outside his window. Kyle sat watching the birds flutter carelessly from tree to tree, twittering happily to each other. He sighed, pressing his hand against the glass, willing time to go backwards. There was a heavy thump on his bed as something was thrown on it. "What's wrong, Love?" Christophe laid his head on Kyle's back, trying to see what Kyle was looking at so sadly. Kyle was quiet for a moment.

"I'm leaving tomorrow." He said tearfully, propping his head up on his hands. Christophe frowned. For the first time since Kyle had known him, Christophe looked hurt.

"Really?" He said softly, playing longingly with a red curl that had slipped past the rim of Kyle's hat. Kyle nodded, not noticing Christophe tugging at his hair. Christophe shrugged, trying to regain his devil-may-care attitude.

"I'll go with you."

Kyle turned around. "You can't do that!"

Christophe frowned and looked away. "Why can't you just stay here? I heard your mother suggest it when you got here..." Kyle sighed.

"She was bluffing. She'd never let me—" Christophe had cut him off with a kiss that seemed to freeze the very hands of time.

When he broke away, he leaned in to Kyle's ear and whispered in a deep voice that gave Kyle a chill, "I love you." Kyle felt tears sting his eyes. As if to keep him there forever, Kyle flung his arms around Christophe's neck and buried his face into his shoulder.

"I don't want to leave. I don't want to, I just—if I don't—" Christophe's finger had one again found itself pressed against Kyle's lips.

"I know. You have to. It's alright." Christophe suddenly jumped off of the bed and walked to his own, which he now only used to keep his clothes and belongings. Sleeping in Kyle's bed was much more comfortable for the both of them.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked, sitting up abruptly. For a while it seemed as if Christophe had either ignored him or failed to hear his question. Finally, he turned around.

"I just...want you to have something." He said slowly. Kyle got off the bed and stood up. Christophe opened his hand. The tortoise shell pocketknife lay flat in his palm.

Kyle bit his lip. "You're giving me this?" Christophe nodded. "But your father—" Kyle shook his head, pushing Christophe's hand away.

"—Didn't mean as much to me as you do. Take it." Christophe pressed it into his hand. Kyle stared at it in awe.

"I..." He started, but then smiled. "Here..." He pulled his ski cap off of his head and set it gently over Christophe's unruly locks. Christophe smiled and pet back a few of Kyle's ringlets.

With so many miles between them, they were only able to keep in touch by letters. Kyle's mother figured that this 'Christophe' was nothing to get too worked up about and refused to let him call long distance. Sadly, Kyle's grandfather was also too thrifty to let 'the help' use the phone for out of town calls. However, they still thought of each other and wrote often, but after Christophe called from his own home to say he'd be moving back to France, it didn't take long for the two of them to drift apart.

Kyle often slept with the pocketknife placed under his pillow, and rarely left the house without it. Despite his often need for its uses, he hardly ever opened it. He felt that when he did, it became less of Christophe's and more of just his, like a simple wristwatch or a pair of sunglasses. He knew it was childish, but he kept the whole summer a secret to his friends.

He did finally admit his sexuality to Stan; Cartman having moved away and forgotten them two summers before, which Kyle was thankful for. Stan, though, didn't seem to mind like Kyle thought he would. He supported him as much as a normal friend would and even tried to set him up on a date or two later in life.

Kyle, however, was happy being single. He didn't take much interest in relationships, and was often worried that he should move on. Ten years later, he figured this was his way of moving on. He didn't pine over Christophe the way he'd done upon returning home for his eighteenth summer, but he didn't let go. And he knew he wouldn't ever get the chance. After all, it'd been that very summer that Christophe had asked him, "Why do you care about everything all the time?" Kyle wouldn't ever change his answer, looking back. "I guess I just want to."

Kyle looked away from the setting sun and watched a flock of birds settle in a tree. Kyle loosened the grip he had on the pocketknife and looked at the indent it left in his skin. Why did he even come back here? He knew it would be heart-breaking. Kyle hated dealing with faded memories. They always made it seem like the present was pointless. He was happy now, and he knew it. So why couldn't he believe it sitting here on this tree stump? "Jesus Christ." Kyle sighed, leaning back to stretch his arms and back out before standing back up.

He froze when his hand hit something big and warm. He turned around. "I'm sorry—I was just leaving...I didn't think anyone had bought this property yet. I—" He paused. The man he'd accidentally punched was staring at him blankly, a cigarette dangling loosely from his mouth.

"Er...sorry...I didn't mean to—wait..." Kyle stood up and faced the man to get a better look at him. He recognized that hat. It was his. "Holy mother of God." Kyle whispered breathlessly, reaching out and touching Christophe's face. Christophe grinned that familiar, egotistic grin.

"Hello, Love. Did you miss me?" Kyle opened his mouth but no words came out. Christophe seemed to find this amusing. "This is the second time this has happened in the three spaced times we've run into each other. Do you want to say something now?" Kyle shook his head. Christophe shrugged. "Suit yourself. I'll talk, then." Christophe paused and bent down, snatching up his lighter. "I had wondered where that went..." He muttered, pocketing it. He looked back at Kyle, who seemed to still be having trouble breathing.

"Want one?" He held out a box of Camels.

Kyle frowned, finally getting the ability to speak again, "It took me a year to get off those things."

Christophe chuckled. "Yeah, well it took me twenty-eight in counting. Is that a no?" Kyle stared at him for a minute, and then took one. Christophe handed him a bright green lighter he'd had in his pocket, looking quite pleased with him.

Kyle lit it and handed it back, still looking slightly angry. "You're one dirty habit to break." He sighed.

Christophe beamed at him. "Are you over the cravings?"

Kyle shoved him. "You haven't changed much, have you?"

"Yeah, well neither have you. I see you're still an absolute expert in the comeback department." Kyle took a long drag of his cigarette blowing a flawless smoke ring into the sky before turning around and looking at Christophe.

"Please excuse my being blunt, but may I ask what the fuck you're doing here?"

Christophe threw his cigarette on the ground and stomped on it before answering simply, "Looking for you." Kyle felt as if he heard him incorrectly. "Me? Why would you look for me here?"

Christophe raised an eyebrow. "Found you, didn't I?"

Kyle shrugged. "Yeah. I guess you did."

------
A/N: Well, the ending looked a lot better in my head, but then again, I was kinda picturing it as a Fight Clubby scene, with grungy clothes, hot guys and cigarettes. Plus it was four in the morning. XD