"Ay! Where are my cheesy poofs? Butters! BUTTERS!"
"Coming, Eric!" My blond came out of the kitchen and handed the junk food I'd been craving for a while with a smile unlike any another could muster.
I looked down at the food, grinning like- well, a fat kid. "It's about time." As I began to pile the food into my mouth I felt his eyes bring into me- as though he were looking for praise or approval. I glanced up, and stopped stuffing my face for a moment to look over his. After a minute, however, I had to counter a blush creeping over me by firmly stating, "Don't be such a fag, Butters," and returning to my snack.
"Yes, of course, s-sorry, Eric." He looked so disheartened that I nearly attempted to take back my previous statement- nearly. However, he only sat down silently next to me and seemed to get lost in his own thoughts and the television. I took this time to consider why I was so food of the little Melvin.
The first thing that had attracted me to him was the way he eventually allowed his bright, golden hair to fall into his eyes when we hit middle school. I thought it added an air of mystery to him. He tells me now that it was just an experiment to see how he would look without the funky haircut he used to wear, but I was never so sure. I always believed he started to grow his hair in an attempt to hide his face- whether it was because he thought he was ugly, or because he thought he was "no good" I'll never know. It was just a feeling that had always nagged at me though.
Another thing was the strength within him no one else seemed to notice- in truth, I had only stumbled upon it by mistake. When we had gone to some stupid camp-like thing to learn about South Park's past, or whatever the hell we were for there for, and Garrison made us Super Best Fag Buddies or something. Anyway, to make a long and embarrassing story short, I had to spend an entire day with my future boyfriend because I could never pry my hand away from his vise-like grip.
When I had finally worked up the nerve to ask Butters out (which came out sounding more like an irritated demand to join me at the movie by the end of the exchange), my mom was so excited that I was growing up, she couldn't stop crying for three hours straight- seriously. He nervously, yet happily for the most part it seemed, agreed, and we've been hanging out and making out ever since.
The Jew is still trying to figure out my scheme, and why I would choose "poor Butters of all people." He's even convinced Stan Marsh and Kenny McCormick that I have some sadistic goal in mind for when this is all over. The y just can't wrap their heads around the fact that I might already be happy the way things are. They can't comprehend that, for once, I don't have an ulterior motive. That being said, I also haven't treated him too differently from before we were dating- aside from a few inconsistent situations and circumstances. But I simply don't know how to I don't know how to open my heart and be vulnerable to someone else- even when that person holds the key to said heart, cheesy as that sounds it's time.
Perhaps if I'd learned a little sooner, if I had taken a chance for him, he wouldn't have taken his own chances with hearts.
