Kenny stuffs his gloved hands deep into his pockets, sighing heavily and feeling the moisture accumulate against his mouth. He can sense disaster up and coming even if he isn't willing to voice his concerns. He starts to twist his fists, trying to force his hands still deeper, provide his wrists a little insulation from the cold, and realizes he's probably tearing his invitation to shreds. Shit.
He thinks back to this morning, to opening his locker and finding a folded piece of orange construction paper with 'You're Invited, Good Buddy!' on the front in perfect cursive. There were stars and Hello!Kitty stickers, too. He was pretty sure he hadn't looked that stunned or confused since six months ago when he broke his neck putting his boxers on and woke up back in his bed, just like old times.
Before that he hadn't died for almost two years.
When he and the guys met up before class, three out of four of them were holding sparkly construction paper invites and wearing near-identical faces of utter confusion.
"He can't be serious, right?" Kyle pushed his hipster glasses a little farther up his nose, tone of voice insisting that there was no way in hell their friend could've done this in anything but the spirit of extreme irony.
"Yeah, dude. I mean, it's Butters, but…" Stan waved his (blue) invite weakly across his face.
Of course Fatass cackled and immediately launched into a particularly heated diatribe about exactly how faggy and retarded Butters was for having a slumber party at sixteen, and for handmaking the invitations, and Kenny was kind of inclined to agree. Seriously, anyone over the age of eight using this much glitter on anything was kind of asking to be shut down.
But then Kenny realized something. (Dude, you didn't get one, did you?)
Cartman laughed again, that nasty cackle that always got under Kenny's skin. "Like I'd want one of those glittery tampons. You fags have fun getting fucked in the butt while watching My Little Pony."
"Fuck you, fat boy." Kyle's teeth were clenched, and there was an edge to his voice that was clear warning.
Stan stepped forward and put himself between Cartman and Kyle. Kenny rolled his eyes and popped Cartman on the back of the head with his open hand, hard.
"Ey! Fuck you, what the fuck, Kenny!"
Kenny'd walked away without bothering to waste breath, and now here he is, nearing the Stotch house and feeling more trepidation with every step. He sighs again and pulls out the invitation, opening it up to examine its perplexing guts.
~~~~~You're invited to the 17th Birthday of your good buddy, Butters Stotch, so you be a good buddy and come to his house tonight (Friday) for an extra-special birthday extravaganza! Party games, cake, and good times! 6 PM and sleepover optional!
And, in the corner, like a secret.
'Hope you'll come, Kenny.'
And then a little, tiny, fucking minuscule heart. What in the hell was Butters doing? They'd been the most casual of friends possible since elementary school, barely exchanging more than a head-nod in the halls.
He sighs again, getting more irritated with himself by the minute, and stuffs the invitation back into his pocket before trudging forward through the snow. Only two blocks left; hopefully he won't freeze to death before then.
Even though, given the circumstances, it might not be the worst thing to happen to him in the next four hours, Kenny's still hoping against his blood freezing in his veins. Again.
There's a serious storm picking up, and by the time he knocks on Butters's door he's shuddering even with his parka. He can't even be bothered to make his hands vulnerable to the cold so he knocks with his forehead and then slumps against the door, shaking miserably. He can't remember the last time he's been this fucking cold—the temperature must've dropped twenty degrees in as many goddamn minutes.
He doesn't even register the sound of the door handle being turned, and has no time to readjust his fucking balance. He falls into Butters completely, not even registering what's happened until their foreheads are pressed together, their bodies as close as Kenny's winter clothes'll allow, Butters's arms steadying him, snug around him while Kenny's remain buried in his pockets. Their noses touch and Butters's sweet smile brings an echoing one from Kenny instantly, though he can't quite say why. It's not like it matters, though, since no one can see it.
God, and Butters got cute too, when the fuck did that happen? Well, he'd always been 'cute', but…
A throat's cleared somewhere to his right and Kenny remembers himself, freaks out a little and stiffens, breaks away from the practically cuddly embrace. If Butters's parents see 'The Poor Kid' making googly eyes at their son it's right back to that freaky-ass Christian conversion therapy camp they sent him to when they were kids. Then, Kenny's pretty sure they don't want him in their cookie-cutter upper middle class house anyway, so he arranges his eyebrows as close to 'yes, motherfucker' as he'll ever get and winds up glaring a hole in Stan instead of Butters's uptight prick of a dad.
"Mmpfh?" Shit, if Kenny knew Stan was actually coming he could've hitched a ride, maybe kept a couple fingers.
"Dude, did you walk here? Are you out of your fucking mind, are you okay? It's supposed to be stupid cold tonight, get in here, what the fuck, Kenny." Stan's eyes are a little too soft for real anger, and Kenny's mouth moves into a smile of its own accord, just before a shiver melts his expression into a grimace.
(It's fucking cold outside. You could've text me that you were coming, asshole.)
Stan shrugs, lifts his hands like 'too late now' and 'I'm sorry' all in the same gesture, and then Kenny's being patted lightly forward. He'd say 'shoved' but the amount of force used wouldn't even be enough to knock over a gnome, let alone a 6'2'' teenage boy.
"We gotta get you outta this thing, Kenny, you're gonna freeze to death!" Butters sounds way too fucking cheerful delivering that information.
(How is taking my jacket off going to keep that from happening?)
Butters giggles, the boy actually fucking giggles, was he not notified that he turned seventeen today? "You don't know a lot about gettin' warm for being from Colorado, do ya, Kenny? Just trust me, I'll have ya snuggly in no time." Butters takes his hand, obviously leading him toward the couch, and the moment Kenny has a chance he looks back at Stan, big blue eyes begging for help as hard as he possibly can.
Stan just shrugs again, but he's distinctly smiling, the shit.
Butters turns him abruptly and Kenny's eyes widen, then squeeze almost closed as Butters's hand comes up. So he flinched, so fucking what.
"Hey, Kenny, you okay? You don't mind if I take it off, right?" Butters pets at the fur along his hood and Kenny sighs yet a-fucking-gain.
(I guess. Whatever.) He's just tired now, he doesn't give a shit anymore as long as he can sit down. His legs are getting ready to cramp.
Butters bites his bottom lip and Kenny feels a familiar flare-up in his pants, which is absolutely weird as fuck, but weirder things've happened in this living room, he's sure. "Here goes, then." Then Butters's tongue pokes out between his lips as he starts unzipping Kenny and Kenny can't help cracking up.
The sudden achey storm clouds in his chest are dissipating almost as soon as they've appeared and he almost wants to kiss Butters for chasing them away that quickly. The first unmuffled sound out of his mouth is a laugh, and Butters, always the innocent weirdo, laughs along with him instead of getting that he's the object of the joke.
Who's that nice? Who in the fucking world but Butters?