Kyle's Birthday Story
"No…" Kyle put down his toothbrush and stared in the mirror. "It couldn't be…" he whispered, filled with a petrifying sense of dread. It was familiar, somehow; like something dormant within him was on the sudden aggressive rise.
His hands moved of their own accord, pulling open the top sink drawer and rifling purposefully through its contents until he found a pair of scissors and product – lots and lots of product – forcing him to realize what this was. Panic froze his mind, but not his body, as his hands spread everything out on the counter and steadily reached up to remove his hat.
Then he picked up the scissors.
"N-No!" Kyle pleaded, but it was too late. He'd been in this position before, and there was no stopping what he'd already begun.
Why was this happening? Why now? There hadn't been anyone like that in South Park for years! Was it- was it because he just turned seventeen? Why didn't anyone tell him he was going to grow up Jersey?!
And yet he could only watch, standing powerless over his own actions as he went to work. It happened in phases: scissors, product, tweezers, brush, product, clippers, file, lip balm, product, product, product. The more items he pulled out of the drawers, the less of them he remembered anyone in his family actually owning. It didn't stop him from using them all.
When he was done there he rushed to his bedroom, not stopping until he was standing in front of the dressed where, still at the mercy of himself, he started pulling out drawers. Then he was changing.
He was changing completely.
"Aaaahhh!" Kyle screamed out when he finally had the control to do so, lurching down with his hands on his knees and breathing heavily. As he panted, he caught glimpses of motion in front of him; a pair of legs that seemed foreign, but mimicked his own movements.
He didn't want to do it, he really didn't, but he had to know. So, with a hard swallow, he stood up to face the mirror and the horrible monster he had become. And found himself staring.
This androgynous creature was not from Jersey.
Okay, first off- he didn't even know he had tight green skinny jeans, but here he was, wearing them like a second layer of skin. With it he had a blindingly shimmery orange shirt, sleeves rolled up and buttons just undone enough to reveal and equally thin and form-fitting white tank top beneath, wrapped tightly around his slender chest.
That was just his clothing, and moving on from the mystery of where that whole ensemble came from only caused him more grief. Namely in his full, rose pink lips against fair and flawless skin, and his hair, fiery yet soft as it shone from the sunlight cascading through the window, accenting his naturally styled coral curls.
And still it wasn't the worst of it. Through the mirror Kyle looked into his own eyes, endless emerald orbs that contained seas upon seas of beauty in their wide innocence. They were like two viridian suns that drew the world into their magnanimous orbits of endless jade, with vast verdant depths that could only be described as the color of growing foliage, between yellow and blue in the spectrum. And beautiful.
Kyle clutched his messenger bag tightly for comfort, which backfired horribly, because it should have been a backpack.
"Bubala I heard you yelling, is everything all right?"
"Mom!" Kyle exclaimed, spinning around as she opened the door.
His mother gave him a bemused look. "Now Kyle, I know it's your special day and you're certainly allowed to dress how you like, but are you really going to school like that?"
"No! …I don't know! I was just in the bathroom, and then I change my hair and came in here and-"
"Dear, calm down! I know how to fix this," she said with a little laugh and a smile.
"You do?" Kyle asked, genuine tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, he was so relieved.
"Of course! You just sit tight," she promised, leaving his doorway. A few moments later she returned, holding the hat he'd discarded on the bathroom floor and brushing it off.
Kyle opened his mouth to question this, but then she was fitting it over his hair and straightening it out on his head. "There you are, young man! I know it's fun to try out new looks, but let's try to keep your ears warm, okay?"
"Huh?" he sounded, mouth hanging open still, not nearly large enough to swallow all of his confusion. "Mom, wait! Don't I look different to you?"
His mother looked him over critically, then smiled wide. "Well of course. You look seventeen! Oh, my little boy keeps growing up so fast," she said proudly. "Come down for breakfast soon! We made you your favorite."
He was too speechless to stop her from leaving.
Kyle turned back to the mirror. He didn't think the addition of a hat would miraculously fix his newfound problem, but he hadn't imagined that it would make it worse. The emerald ushanka completely failed to hide his new hair; instead it became a mere iconic accessory, accenting the gentle strands of red as they attractively framed his delicate face, and making it all the more clear that this thing he was staring at really was supposed to be him. His face burned at the insult. It translated to a pink blush that tinged his cheeks.
He tried to fix this whole thing, starting with frantic attempts to conceal his hair, but for every lock he tucked in, another peeked out. More frustration followed when he tried to change clothes, but found that his entire wardrobe had become a veritable sanctum of metrosexuality.
Then his mother called him down for breakfast a second time, and shit, he couldn't really go to school like this, could he?
Unless somehow, he could? Neither his dad nor Ike reacted to his appearance at all. Kyle didn't really know how to feel about that. Fortunate, maybe, because so far no one seemed to think he looked as ridiculous as he felt, but at the same time, how was no one seeing this?
All morning he went on the autopilot of his routine, too busy trying to make sense of this to pay active attention to his surroundings until a hand touched his arm and he was literally snapped out of it by-
"Stan?" Kyle raised his arms guardedly in a gut reaction to hide his new look, but he dropped them when it quickly became clear that he shouldn't bother. "No way. It got you too?"
"Huh?" Stan asked. He didn't appear to see anything amiss about his casually handsome physique, his muscle-accentuating clothing, his outstandingly built and toned muscles in the first place, his perfect tan-but-not-too-tan skin, his handsomely messy jet noir hair, or his inviting and handsome blue eyes, the details of which Kyle deliberately ignored because he already fell into that particular abyss when he was looking into his own. "What do you mean, got me?"
"I, uh." Kyle struggled to form his question. "You really don't see anything different about me?" he asked. "About us?"
Stan frowned and looked away. "Dude, Kyle… we've talked about this," he said, torturedly. "I'm not gay."
"You're- I'm sorry, what?"
"I'm not," Stan said again. "But you're still my super best friend, and nothing will ever change that, okay?"
"What?"
Stan looked at him strangely. "Are you okay, dude?"
"…Honestly?"
"Okay, bad question. How could you be," he realized with a sigh. "Can we just… not let this ruin your birthday?" he asked hopefully.
Kyle wondered if it was too early to think it was too late for that. "I guess I can try."
Stan's attitude brightened. "Awesome," he said, taking the opportunity to grab his hand, like that was a normal thing that normally happened, and lead him out to his car.
When he was let go, Kyle stared at his tainted hand in the passenger seat. "School's going to be weird, isn't it?"
"About that." Stan looked over his shoulder as he backed out of the driveway, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Then he started driving off in the opposite direction of the high school. "We're skipping."
"Skipping?" Not that Kyle was against the idea, but, "won't there be consequences?"
"Nah."
No further explanation was provided. Not all that eager to face school like this anyway, Kyle figured he could let this one go. Especially when they reached their real destination instead.
"An arcade?" Kyle actually smiled a little.
"Not bad, right?" Stan smiled back. "Happy birthday, dude."
Kyle looked around cautiously as they walked inside, but nobody regarded him oddly at all. That, coupled with the fact that skipping school to mess around and play games all day at an arcade did sound like actual fun, so… yeah, he could handle this. If no one was acknowledging his new look, he'd try not to either. At least not right this minute.
That was the thought anyway. It lasted until he saw Eric Cartman.
Only- only it couldn't be him, no fucking way.
Everything about him looked – Jesus – soft. From the smoothness of his skin, to the gentle caramel hair that fell fetchingly over his ambiguously colored eyes, which themselves drifted in deep, pensive thought as he had yet to notice their arrival.
Considering what happened to Kyle and Stan, Cartman shouldn't have been such a surprise – and it wouldn't have been, if not for the fact that he wasn't fat, not at all. He was in fact completely, utterly, impossibly, buff.
And that pretty much did it, really. Kyle saw red. "What the hell?!" he shouted out, drawing some fleeting attention that he didn't give two shits about as he stormed over, furious.
Cartman snapped out of his humanizing reverie when he noticed Kyle, and made sure to narrow his eyes. "Ugh, finally. What took you so long, too busy sucking Stan's dick or something?" he questioned, like he was oddly invested in the answer. Kyle didn't waver though; as soon as he was close enough, he seized Cartman's collar.
"You!" he yelled in his face, "it's you, isn't it? It's always you! You have something to do with this!"
"Do with what?!" Cartman demanded as he jerked himself away, more easily than he'd ever been able to before.
It was off-putting, but either way, Kyle still had his anger. "Like you don't fucking know! I look like I got a metro Queer Eye makeover and you get this?" He grabbed his arm and lifted it up, if only to jab an accusing finger into his massive bicep. "Explain this!"
Cartman's lips parted in the start of a gasp, before he recovered with an insufferably confident smirk. "Well well well, Kahl. You just can't keep your hands off me, can you?" His eyes shone with delight as they roamed him up and down. "Interesting."
Kyle pulled away with a scowl. "This isn't funny! I'm serious, you fat asshole!"
"Fat-free asshole."
"Fat. Asshole!" Kyle stressed. "What did you fucking do!" He clenched his fist tightly, not so much bracing himself for further ridicule from Cartman as he was preparing to punch him in the face for it.
Surprisingly, the ridicule never came. What he got instead was something akin to sympathy – real, genuine sympathy. "Kyle, I don't know what you're talking about," Cartman said in earnest. "Is something really wrong?"
Kyle released his fist – and most of his anger along with it – simply to stare. Something… something was really wrong. Holy shit.
"…Not that I care!" Cartman snapped out in haste. "Pfah, I'm just here to skip skewl, Kyel. It's not like I actually care about what you think's going on, or about you, or anything."
"Then stop looking at him like that."
Stan had caught up, but there was something off about him. Not just his looks – that was still painfully obvious – but his attitude. The usually chill mediator was fixing a cold, scornful glare on Cartman.
A scorn the muscular boy returned. "I will when you do," he challenged.
Stan's eye twitched. "It's not like that."
"Then this," Cartman said, putting his hand on Kyle's arm but keeping his eyes on Stan, "shouldn't bother you, now should it?"
Clearly it did. "That would never actually work, you know. But this?" Stan grabbed Kyle's other arm. "This could."
"Because he's your best friend?" Cartman sneered, pulling Kyle closer to him. "Hey Stan, hey. You want to know the big secret about that, Stan? It's boring."
"Because he's my super best friend," Stan emphasized, yanking him back his way, "and compared to what, worst enemies? Oh yeah, because that works."
"Whatever you say, pussy," Cartman said as Kyle was tugged back.
"Asshole." And forth.
"Alcoholic!" And back.
"Sadist!" And forth.
"Will you STOP IT!" Kyle finally shouted out, stunning them both into remembering he was there and letting go before they had the chance to rip his twiggy little arms off. "What the fuck are you even fighting about?!"
"N-Nothing, Kahl!" Cartman covered up. "Right Stan?"
"I'm not gay," Stan said quickly.
Cartman shot him a harsh look before he cleared his throat and turned back to Kyle. "I'm seriously, we were just getting into the competitive spirit for all these games I'm about to kick his ass at."
"Yeah, ha, ahaha," Stan added.
"Great, you guys do that. I'm going to get something to drink."
With that Kyle wheeled around and left them behind, checked over his shoulder after a little bit to make sure they weren't looking, and ran past the vending machines and out the front doors because fuck it; he was out.
Everything was jacked up, and the farther he got from the scene at the arcade, the angrier he got about it. His picked up his pace on the town sidewalks, sprinting out his growing rage. All he wanted was a decent birthday – it didn't even have to be good, just decent – and instead he gets this? What the fuck?
"What the fuck!" Kyle repeated in a yell, detouring through a worn down path between buildings so he could kick his frustration out on the garbage cans and alley walls. Once it was out of his system he took a deep, calming breath, and decided it was probably best for now to just go home. He could figure this all out at home.
And he would have gotten right to it, if not for the three generic thugs that appeared right at what was suddenly his only exit.
"Well aren't you sweet?" one of them taunted.
God, really? Kyle wasn't in the mood. "Dude I only have like ten dollars. If you really want it then fine, but otherwise I'm just going to keep walking," he said shortly as he started past them.
"You think this a mugging?" another thug asked.
"Well if you're not muggers then what are you?"
"Rapists. Duh."
Kyle froze, paled, and backed up considerably as they advanced. "Um, you- you guys know I'm a guy, right?" he asked.
They all stopped.
"Excuse you?"
"Wow. You know that's sexist, right?"
"God. Stereotype reinforcers like you are the reason people don't speak up, you know."
"It's really fucking sad."
"Shit like this going on all the time, and you feel the need to make a comment like that."
"Check your fucking privilege."
"Now where were we?"
An arm reached out and grabbed Kyle's jacket, yanking him forward. He would have surely been raped, if not for one of the thugs falling suddenly forward from a blow to the back of his head, landing on his face and revealing a dark and gritty cloaked figure behind him.
Another thug gasped. "Mysterion!"
"You know me," the hero replied in a gravelly voice. "Good."
He cracked his knuckles and proceeded to hand the nameless thugs their asses in an action sequence nobody cared about as much as the aftermath, sending them fleeing for their lives, or probably just to the next story where they're slated for an appearance.
When it was all over and done, the masked hero turned to Kyle. "Are you all right?" he asked, voice turning tender with concern as the brilliant blue eyes behind the mask glistened beautifully. "You must be traumatized."
"No, sexual assault doesn't faze me. But I am really confused still, so thanks Kenny," he said gratefully. "I have no idea what the fuck is happening any-"
"Wait, hold on. You know who I am?" he asked seriously.
"Of course I do?"
"Shit." Kenny pulled back his hood and removed his mask, and woah. Kyle should have figured they'd get Kenny too, but damn, did they ever get Kenny. His azure eyes had been dangerously captivating behind the mask, but free of it their beauty was only enhanced, working in visual harmony with the rest of his angelic lips, face, hair; everything. When Kyle saw himself in the mirror this morning he'd been certain he had the worst of it. Now? Now he wasn't so sure.
Kenny removed his gloves, and ran a hand through his flawless golden sun-like locks. "Sorry, sometimes I can never fucking tell if it's an AU or not. Just give me a sec to revert to our usual thing here," he went on distractedly.
"A- what?" Kyle asked as Kenny walked away, disappearing around a corner that wasn't there before to reemerge a second later with a complete wardrobe change. Now he too had fashionably tight jeans, and a stylish orange jacket with a hood reminiscent of his parka, though it was drawn back as to not deprive anyone of his magnificent dialogue and voice along with it.
"Seriously Kenny, what?" Kyle tried again. "That stuff you were saying – is it too much to hope that you know what the hell is happening here?" he had to ask.
"What do you mean?"
"Ugh. Okay, this? For starters, just look at me."
"Can do."
"This isn't normal. Dude I was just at the arcade with the guys, and everything's totally fucked up. Cartman isn't fat, Stan isn't gay- not that he ever- damnit now I'm fucking doing it too!" He threw his arms up in a fury. "Kenny for the love of- just, be normal. Please. Can you please be normal?"
"Oh Kyle, of course," Kenny said with an understanding smile. "Leave it to me." He put both of his hands on Kyle's chest.
"…Kenny."
"Yes, Kyle?" he asked mildly, thumbs spiraling in on his nipples as they perked deceitfully against his tight clothing.
"You're touching me."
"So I am."
"Want to explain why?" he asks, patience running thin.
"You said you wanted normal, right?" Kenny replied cheerfully. "Well, that, and…" His voice deepened to a low, sultry purr. "Forget Stan or Cartman. You should date me."
"Stan wants to date me?" Kyle asked absurdly.
"Always has, even if he might not know it," Kenny said, still rubbing away.
"Cartman wants to date me?!"
"It's like you're not paying attention at all."
"Will you stop that?!" Kyle said as he finally shoved Kenny away, crossing his arms very tightly over his chest after.
"All right, all right," Kenny laughed, raising his hands. "What can I say? I can't help myself around you either."
"Then you'd better start working on it," Stan said coldly.
Damnit. Kyle thought he'd left them behind at the arcade.
"Seriously, not fucking kewl Kinny," Cartman snarled.
"He's not interested."
"Well I guess you'd know, huh Stan?" Kenny asked through a pleasantly malicious smile.
Stan balked defensively. "Well- just, tell him Kyle!"
"I'm not interested," Kyle said.
"HA!" Cartman whooped.
"In any of you!" Kyle spat out. "Holy shit, I'm not gay!" He heard Stan start to agree, but went on. "Where did you even get the idea that I- no, you know what? I don't even want to know! I'm going home, I'm figuring out how to end this, and if I see any single one of you, so help me!"
"…You're going home?" Stan asked. He shared guilty looks with the other two. "Uh."
"What!"
Stan rubbed the back of his neck. "We might have gotten some of the guys to help us set up a surprise party for you later. You know, at your house."
Kyle closed his eyes. Breathe in, breathe out. "And what did my parents have to say about that?"
"They're out of town for the weekend, remember?"
He didn't. "Okay. A party, then. Thanks for letting me know. I'm not going."
"You guys I told you it was a dumb idea," Cartman said with a sidelong glance at Kenny and Stan.
"What? But you have to go!" Stan exclaimed.
"Come on," Kenny also tried. "It'll be fun!"
"Do I have to say it again? No!" Kyle declared, livid. "There is absolutely no way I'm going to this thing, and that's final!"
By the time they arrived, the party was in full swing.
"OH COME ON!"
His living room was crowded, mostly with people that he knew. They were dancing, laughing, playing games, hanging out; Kyle didn't trust it for a second. He had to get out of here.
"Glad you changed your mind, dude," Stan smiled.
"You know if you're still not into this, I know a place we could go…" Kenny said in his ear.
"I'm going to get some food, want me to grab us anything Kahl?" Cartman asked hopefully.
Holy shit, did he have to get out of here. "Yes," he said to Cartman, "yes, do that. Guys I'm just going to get a breath of fresh air – alone – but I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere. Riiight back."
Kyle didn't wait for their responses before he started weaving through people as tactfully as he could manage, from the living room to beyond the kitchen and the back door. The party had extended to the yard, but it was less packed, and honestly the fresh air did help. Not that he planned to stick around here to enjoy it, because again – getting out of here.
"Hey Kyle, d'ya have a second?"
Kyle tried not to scowl as Butters approached him, Tweek in tow. He also tried not to bat an eye at how cute, sweet, and adorable both blondes looked, but their big unearthly precious eyes reeled him in. Damnit.
"You guys, it's really not a good time," he still managed to say.
"Please!" Tweek pleaded.
Butters shuffled meekly. "We just wanted to-"
"What, date?" Kyle guessed cynically. "Why? Why are you all doing this to me?"
"To you?" Tweek asked incredulously. "Ngh! We're the ones waiting on you!"
"Excuse me?"
"W-well I wasn't gonna bring it up like that," Butters said meekly, "but gee Kyle it would really help us a lot if you figured it out already. We don't get all the options, y'know? It's like gym class! You gotta go first, and then it's our turn. Only it usually takes you forever as hell, so we were just sorta hopin' you could speed it up a little, is all."
"…Okay, so I still have no idea what you want from me."
"GAH! Just kiss Stan already!" Tweek shrieked.
"Stan?" Butters frowned over at Tweek. "I was gonna say Eric!"
"What? Gah, nngh! Whatever! I don't even care who it is, just be with someone already! God, this is way too much suspense! I didn't sign up for this! I just want you to be happy!" Tweek burst into tears.
Butters shrugged. "I just want some hot gay action, do you know what I am saying?"
"Really?" Kyle asked, because goddamnit, really?! "You want them? Have them! No please, be my fucking guest! I'm done here!" Kyle said, taking an abrupt leave before he had to hear anything more of it.
He didn't get very far before Wendy stepped in front of him.
"There you are," she screeched nastily, her ugly bitch face scrunching up. "You know Stan's my boyfriend, right?" She didn't give Kyle a chance to respond before she started stomping forward, forcing him incessantly back to avoid collision. "Stay the hell away from him, Kyle. I don't want you hanging out with him, talking to him, even looking at him anymore, do I make myself fucking clear?" Her eyes raged with womanly evil as she cornered him against his own house. "If I so much as see you and him in the same building after tonight I'm going to rip your fucking-"
"Hey, what's going on out here?"
"Stan!" Wendy exclaimed with delight as he stepped outside, leaving Kyle to go wrap her arms around Stan and press their bodies together.
"Oh, uh, hey Wendy," Stan said with disinterest before he looked guiltily over at Kyle.
"I missed you!" Wendy giggled, all smiles but for the sneer she shot Kyle's way to make sure he was watching. Then she put her hand on Stan's cheek to turn him back towards her and kiss him all over his mouth.
Kyle didn't care about that, but he did need a second to recover from the horror that was Wendy. Holy shit, his heart was pounding. That whole thing tripped him up so much that when he turned to get away from it he ended up tripping literally.
And Kenny was right there, catching him. "In trouble again, I see," he said, looking a little too happy about it as his hand roamed to Kyle's ass. "How about I help get you out of it? Maybe into something a little more comfortable."
"Dude!" Kyle tore himself away and fled to the most immediate exit, which at this point was unfortunately the door leading back inside to his kitchen.
It treated him to the sight of Token Black and Clyde Donovan making out against the counter.
"Unf, yeah babe, gimmie some of that chocolate I love so much," Clyde moaned against him.
"Mmm, my vanilla is just delicious after a good topping," Token murmured breathily back.
Kyle felt like bleach.
In the next room, it was Bebe. "Heeeey Kyle," she greeted, clearly tipsy if not totally drunk, with her tits nearly falling out of her slutty top. "You're so hot. Wanna make out?"
He stared at her. "Yes."
"Oh, you don't," Bebe frowned. "That's too bad…"
"…I said yes!"
"Whoever he is, he's lucky." Bebe winked, kissed him on the cheek, then swaggered off. "Heeeey, wanna make out?" he heard her ask someone else.
"Augh," Kyle uttered as he continued to storm in the general direction of his front door, but came to an abrupt stop when Cartman stepped right in front of it and forcefully dropped two paper plates full of generic party snacks straight on the carpet.
He looked angry. "I saw you just now, with Bebe!" he accused. "But let me guess, it wasn't what it looked like, is that it?"
"Apparently fucking not!" Kyle yelled before he turned around and charged the stairs.
"Don't you walk away from me Kahl! If you think this is going to stop me from having secret feelings about you you're wrong! Kahl! KAHL!"
Kyle wasn't paying attention. "You think I can't sneak out of my own house? I can sneak out of my own house," he was saying instead, directing it to whatever force was apparently adamant about making his day a living hell. "Watch me! Unless you've got more bullshit?" he asked, glaring upward as he made it to the door to his room. "Come on!" he demanded, jerking it open and going inside, "make my fucking day!"
But the sarcasm of his outburst didn't seem to translate, because as soon as Kyle was inside, he heard the door close behind him. Close, and lock.
"…Oh no."
"Oh, yes."
Kyle braced himself, then turned around.
The only thing recognizable here was the identifying blue chullo hat, but even that Kyle didn't notice at first. He was too distracted by the rest of him, slender hips jutting out as he held the door shut, his remarkably tall body adorned with slim jeans hanging low and tight against his pale skin and nothing else. Unless you counted the black leather harness strapped across his chest. The coil of rope he held was also a point of concern.
"Hey," Craig drawled seductively.
Kyle stared. "Please don't tell me you want us to date."
The raven smirked. "Among other things. But don't worry." He pulled a length of rope between his hands and threw it over Kyle, using it to pull him flush against his chiseled chest. "You want them too."
"And if I don't?" Kyle asked tensely as the rope dug against his back.
"I'll convince you, I'm not worried." Craig closed his eyes and leaned in.
"Wait!" Kyle panicked. "Wow, look at that- you just did! Let's talk about it?"
Craig paused just before reaching his lips to let out a low chuckle. "Knew it."
"Yeah, you sure did!" Kyle said in frantic relief. "But this really isn't doing it for me, so how about we, uh, do a little more foreplay?"
"What did you have in mind?"
"Um." Kyle looked at just how much unused rope Craig still had. "Tie this to the end of the bed, maybe?"
Craig finally released him. "Kinky," he said with shameless approval before he went to the bed and started tying the rope around one of the posts.
Kyle followed at more than an arm's length away. "Jesus fucking Christ," he muttered under his breath.
"What was that?"
"I said, that looks fucking nice."
"Oh. Thanks," Craig said, testing his knot a couple of times before he turned expectantly to Kyle. "Your turn."
"Here, let me," Kyle said, stealing the rest of the rope from Craig. Then he held on tight, ran to his window, threw it open, and jumped.
"Hey!" Craig shouted from inside the room still, but Kyle didn't let it impede him as he loosened his grip on the rope just enough to safely scale down the side of his house until his feet hit the grass.
"HA!" he couldn't help but whoop out in victory. "TAKE THAT, ASSHOLE!"
"Kyle?"
Kyle froze for a moment, then looked to the back of his yard to see Kenny, Cartman, and Stan right there.
…Shit. "Stay back, I'm warning you!"
They didn't.
"Kyle, wait!"
"C'mon, Kyle,"
"Kaaaahl!"
Kyle took an unsteady step back, which right away turned into several more when Craig too dropped down in front of him.
"Broflovski."
Shit!
Kyle fled to the front of his yard as fast as he could. It was thankfully clear. Not for long if the yells still behind him were anything to go by, but no way in hell was he sticking around.
But yet again, the plan didn't quite work out. It was cut off by another obstacle just as he reached the sidewalk, in the form of a motorcycle turning sharply onto his block and braking to an audible stop beside him on the road. The rider wore a dark green shirt beneath a worn jacket and cargo pants, with heavy black boots, fingerless riding gloves, and a helmet that obscured his face.
"Get on."
Kyle glanced behind him, despairing at how quickly the others were catching up. Then he looked back at the biker to consider what choices he had.
"Fuck that," he went with. "You think I don't have enough to deal with? You have no idea! Nobody here does! You're just going to be like everyone else, everyone who wants to- and who the fuck are you, anyway? No, no forget it!" Kyle snapped, picking back up to his run. "I don't even care! I have to-!"
The bike revved and screeched to another halt as it stopped on the sidewalk this time, dead in front of him.
"You are Kyle Broflovski, and right now you are stuck in a place where everyone important eez pretty, everyone pretty eez gay, and everyone gay wants you madly, in one way or anozzer. And me?" He removed his helmet and held it out to Kyle, staring at him intently with dark, sunken eyes. "You know me."
Kyle's eyes widened. He did. "Mole?"
"Christophe will do," he said shortly. "I 'ave grown up."
"But how?" Kyle asked as he took the helmet and clutched it tightly. "I watched you die."
"Oui, and I will watch you do worse if you do not get on."
Kyle's breath caught in his throat as he once again heard the voices behind him, pleading him to stay, to talk, to do things he had no interest in on a normal day much less this one, so he put the helmet on and climbed over the bike, as fast as he could. "Go!"
"'old on tight!"
Kyle clutched Christophe around his stomach, closing his eyes tightly as the engine growled and they made their escape.
Escape.
Finally.
Kyle didn't know where they were going, but anywhere was comforting compared to the alternative. The mercenary kept driving them past neighborhoods he knew, all the way to the ones he didn't.
Then he swerved the bike to a harsh stop. "Sheet!"
"What? Why did we stop?" Kyle asked, but Christophe's head was turned, so he shifted to lean out on the other side of him to follow his line of sight.
SOUTH PARK
The wooden sign wasn't hard to spot, and Kyle's throat got drier the longer he stared. "But we just… we… we can't leave?"
Christophe scowled and lifted his foot from the pavement, turning them around to leave South Park from this side now, but it only wrapped around to the same set of houses they'd just left. He turned around once more, and again, there was the sign.
"We cannot," Christophe confirmed sourly.
"What do we do now?"
"How ze fuck should I know?" Christophe asked stressfully. "I need time. Give me a place zey will not look for us, and I will zee what I can do."
Kyle thought about it. He honestly didn't know where he would have gone if Christophe hadn't shown up, but now that he had a minute to take it under consideration… "Yeah, yeah I think I know a place."
Christophe nodded and leaned forward. "Where to?" he asked, but Kyle was already stepping off the bike.
"We'd have to walk," he explained, offering him back the now removed helmet.
Christophe grunted, grabbed it, and pulled over to the side of the road. "Just as well," he said, leaving everything but the keys to follow Kyle as he led the way.
"So," Kyle said, looking over at him carefully as they stepped from the road to the grass, "you know what's happening here."
"Not as much as you might 'ope," he replied, pulling out a cigarette from a pack in his front pocket, "but enough to know zat eet eez better you don't."
"Oh no dude, you don't just get to swoop in, say what you need to get me to come with you, and then not tell me anything else!" Kyle argued. "After the day I've been having-"
"Be zankful I swooped in at all!" Christophe lashed back. "You think you are ze only one subjected 'ere? I could 'ave stayed out of zis one, none would be ze wiser. Instead I come here; I put myself on ze fucking radar. You 'ave no idea what I risk just being in your vague proximity, but go on! Complain to me more about your bad day."
"It's my birthday, I think that gives me a fucking pass!"
There was a pause. "Eet eez your birthday?"
"Yes," Kyle said, exasperated. "At least, it was supposed to be."
After another moment of silence, Christophe offered him his cigarette.
Kyle gave it a humorless laugh. "No, but thanks."
With a shrug he moved it back to his lips, lighting it up for a slow burn. "Joyeux anniversaire."
"Yeah, yeah." He sighed. "Christophe, if I'm so dangerous to be around, why did you come? Why try and help me at all?"
"Eet eez what I do." Christophe closed his eyes and pulled his hand away from his mouth to breathe out smoke. "J'espère que personne ne se traduit cette," he murmured slowly.
"Sorry?" Kyle looked over with a frown. "What does that mean?"
"Ou sait français," he replied quickly, opening his eyes and looking back at Kyle like he just realized he couldn't understand. "Je suis tellement désolé," he muttered to himself once more before clearing his throat. "Eet means I will protect you. For as long as I am able."
"That's… thank you," Kyle said, nothing but grateful knowing that he was no longer in this alone.
Christophe only nodded and took another drag.
"So do you have a plan?"
"Getting out of town was ze plan," Christophe said cynically. "And now I get to figure out a new way. Eef zere eez even a point. I vonder vat vould happen if ve vere to get out? Vould ve be again dragged back to zees sheet'ole, zees vilzy vucking 'ole in ze ground, as vee zo vrequently are?"
"Wait, so what are you saying?"
"You vould not vememver; none ohv zem do. Not effen moi zat ovten, but zees time? Vell vee vill zertainly vucking zee."
"Huh?"
"Ffffghgg csdlkfj gekjl."
"Okay dude I'm really going to need you to control that. I get it, you're French or something, but there has to be a better way."
"How about this, is something like this all right?" he questioned, speaking with a French accent.
"Ugh, no," Kyle shook his head. "Just, I don't know, go back to what you were doing in the first place? I was kind of getting used to it."
"Oui, I can do zat."
"Good. Better, anyway," Kyle said, thinking back to the problem at hand. "So this whole, I don't know, thing that's going on; do you have any idea how to end it?"
Christophe snorted. "Zat eez somezing you would not want to 'ear and I do not want to say. Just trust zat I am working on an alternative."
"You know, you've been doing a really good job at explaining almost nothing," Kyle said, frustrated.
"Okay, 'ow about zis: if we get out of 'ere, I will tell you whatever you like zat I know, and you 'ave my word on zat. But, in ze meantime? We focus on ze first part, and not bozzer ze mercenary for exposition. Fair?"
"Fair enough."
"Good. Now zat zat eez out of ze way, are we in ze clear yet?"
"Actually, yes," Kyle said, coming to a stop in front of a landmark bench by a pond of water. "We should be safe here, at least for a while. So what's our next move?" he prompted, but Christophe only looked around warily.
"…Somezing eez not right," he said. "Where deed you say we were?"
"I didn't, but we're at Stark's Pond," Kyle supplied to put him at ease.
In had the opposite effect. "Stark's Pond?" Christophe repeated, eyes flashing with recognition. "As in ze single most romantic place in South Park, Stark's Pond?!"
"You're kidding me, right?" Okay, Kyle had dealt with all kinds of pretty out there bullshit today, but this? "It's a fucking pond! How is that remotely romantic? The view is boring, so is the water, there's trash everywhere, I mean come on! Seriously dude if you take all of our town into consideration, out of all of the places, out of literally anywhere else you could go in South Park ohhhh I see it now; my bad."
"Kyle?"
Kyle's eyes widened with panic as he turned around to see Stan right there, hands shoved in his pockets.
"I thought I might find you here. I'm sorry for what happened, back at the party. I broke up with Wendy, she's a complete monster. Dude listen, I've been thinking…"
"Queek Kyle," Christophe said urgently, "avec moi!"
Kyle didn't need to be told twice before he was running after Christophe and away from Stan – a move that only brought him to the newly arrived Cartman.
"Sup, Jew," he said, somehow making it sound affectionate. "So, I talked to Bebe… there's a small chance that I might have overreacted." He admitted awkwardly.
Kyle glared. "No shi-"
"Non Kyle, do not engage!" Christophe said, grabbing his shoulder to pull him away from Cartman and get him running again.
Then Kyle tripped over a blade of grass, and fell precariously into Kenny's open arms.
"We have got to stop meeting like this," Kenny said under his breath in an alluring whisper, hands already starting to move.
"I agree!" Kyle said, grabbing Kenny's shoulders and shoving him back.
Christophe side-stepped and stuck his foot out to assist, sending Kenny sprawling gracelessly on his back. "Go!"
Once again Kyle spun around to find another viable escape, but Craig was there, standing in the way of the only one remaining. His middle finger was spinning a pair of handcuffs. His getup had not changed.
"Hello again."
Kyle backed up, but the others had moved in; recovered. Stan, Cartman, Kenny, and Craig were all around them now, like the vultures out of a nightmare.
"Voulez-vous," Christophe cursed, jerking what was left of his cigarette out of his mouth to throw it to the ground and stomp it out violently. "Baguette!"
"So what now?" Kyle asked in a small, fearful voice as they closed in.
"Now?" he heard Christophe say beside him, along with another distinct flick of his lighter. "Now you 'ave to choose. Bonne chance mon amie. I do not envy you."
"You can't be serious," Kyle said, feeling miserable as he looked at his options.
"Kyle… I love you," Stan confessed. "As in, I'm in love with you. Not like a friend or anything. I love you romantically."
"You don't say."
"I wanted to clarify; it might save us six chapters."
"So that whole thing about not being gay?"
"I'm not. Wait, no- I am. …Wait. I love you?" Stan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry dude, this is all new for me, but I know how I feel. Please tell me you feel the same way. Please…"
Kyle hesitated. Stan was his best friend, of that there was no doubt, but to be with him? With him with him?
"I can't do this," he found himself saying, turning back to Christophe. "I'm not even gay! Not a word," he added bitingly to Stan, who indeed had to shut his mouth to keep from agreeing. "Isn't there another way to make it stop?"
"Non. Not even zat asshole God could stop zis now, not zat 'e would give a sheet. We are in ze reality of somezing much more tweested. You want out? Choose."
Kyle took a shaky breath and looked to his next option.
Cartman was side-eyeing Stan despondently before his eyes flashed to Kyle, lingering for a moment before they rolled uncaringly upward. "Whateva, Kahl! I didn't want you anyway. But if you want me, well I guess I can't blame you, I am super buff and kewl. And, I guess if you wanted to frottage and fuck and like, rim each other all the time, I could take pity on you and go with it, I mean just because it's your birthday and all. And, I suppose if after that you just wanted to go on dates, and laugh about dumb bets and maybe make a few more, and fall in love and get married on a beach, and raise our little quarter Jersey Erica-B together, and tell her bedtime stories before we lay down at the end of the night and just talk, well I guess I'd be stuck doing that too, mostly because of how bad I feel, because you're so into me. But whatever man."
"…You are really confusing," Kyle said, shaking his head. Yeah, he was just going to leave that one right there. He looked to the next.
"Now that's what I'm talking about." Kenny, cocky, horny, impossibly beautiful Kenny grinned back at him. "Why don't you do yourself a favor and skip all of that drama?" he suggested, waving a hand back at Cartman and Stan. "The fun's right here." To emphasize his point, Kenny lifted a closed hand to his mouth and pumped it back and forth a couple of times, simultaneously bulging his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He finished his lewd gesture with a finger gun and a wink.
"Ugh," Kyle groaned wearily. He'd leave that one there, too. That left Craig. "Dude, why are you even here."
"Variety, mostly."
"Charming."
"Since we're on the same page, how about I show you another reason?" Craig asked slyly.
"Ugh!" Kyle repeated, not just because of him but because of the four of them in general. Did he really have to choose? God, How could he? Wasn't there a way out of it?
Kyle shot Christophe a desperate look for the answer to that, or at the very least some kind of assurance, but then a new thought struck him. Opened his eyes, really.
"Are you an option?"
Christophe looked back at him for what felt like an eternity before he closed his eyes and put his cigarette between his lips, inhaling deeply before releasing a stringy cloud of grey smoke. "Oui."
"I see." Kyle found this strangely comforting. "In that case…"
Everyone looked at Kyle expectantly. He took a deep breath.
"I want all of you."
"…What?!" Stan was the first to exclaim.
Kenny tilted his head. "All of us?"
"Yes, you heard me," Kyle confirmed. "If everyone could just take turns- or even go two at a time, if you can?" he suggested, excited at the very idea. "I'm sure more than one can fit!"
"So that is how you like it," Cartman said with no small degree of entertainment.
"I could have told you that," Craig grinned. They shared a high five.
"I do," Kyle continued brightly, "I really, really do. Hey, does anyone want to fuck my face? That way we could even do three! Come on!" he said, beckoning everyone inward.
"Kyle," Christophe grabbed his wrist in caution, "are you sure about zis?"
"Absolutely." To prove his point, he ripped off all of his clothes. "Take me till I'm raw!"
So they did. Everyone fucked Kyle, and the dirty little Jew whore loved every filthy second of it.
Then he got every single STD and died.
The e-
"THAT FUCKING DOES IT!"
Everyone turned to look at Kyle as he stood up at his desk, red and pulsing with rage.
At the front of their fourth grade class, Eric Cartman lowered his paper. "Kyle, I believe we agreed that you wouldn't interru-"
"You keep your fucking twenty dollars!" Kyle spat. "What the fuck was that?!"
"Your birthday story, just like it says on the tin. On that note," Cartman turned to look at the rest of the class, "Questions? Comments? Reviews?"
"That was shit and you know it!"
"Woah, flame much Kyle? I mean I know you're a flamer anyway but try to control yourself, we're all friends here."
"ARGH! Mr. Garrison, will you do something about this please?!"
"I will," Mr. Garrison said. "B minus."
"WHAT?!"
Cartman nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that's fair."
Stan raised his hand. "You do know that I'm really not gay though, right?"
"Dude, what the hell?!" Kyle seethed.
"Look dude I know you were pretty spot on but I'm just saying, I don't like how my character was portrayed."
"Yeah," Wendy agreed sullenly.
"Are you fucking kidding me?" Kyle asked.
"I liked it."
Kyle rounded on Craig. "You are not helping!"
"No, he is!" Cartman said. "Kyle, Kyle shhhh. Craig, please go on."
"That's all I had."
"ENOUGH!" Kyle bellowed. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he demanded of Cartman, before turning his glare to the rest of the class. "With ALL of you?!"
Moments passed in silence as they all awkwardly looked at one another.
Cartman broke it. "Yes Butters?"
Butters put his hand down. "Are you going to update?"
-nd.