South Park Elementary became South Park Middle School then South Park High School, where the boys currently lived their obnoxious lives, filing through the crowded halls that looked like they did seven years ago, minus the taller lockers. And of course, they weren't the exact same little boys that picked their noses and laughed at fart jokes. Okay, I take it back, they still laughed at fart jokes but much less than before, especially when pretty girls, or boys, were around. Now that they were in High School, they could expand on their own talents rather than follow the motions of their regulated class system. Kyle pursued his academic dreams and placed into every AP or College Credit course the school had to offer, which wasn't an astonishing number so he settled for online classes as well. Cartman followed in his footsteps; not for his own benefit but purely to continue harassing that self-righteous Jew he loved to hate. Kenny skipped most of his classes to roam the halls because he either had other plans with temporary lovers in the bathroom stalls or deals on cigarettes to catch. He picked up the habit when his brother offered him a cigarette in the school yard during his freshman year. Though it was the worst thing he'd ever tasted next to strawberry cream toaster pastries, he decided it was the 'cool' thing to do. Then there was Stan who was pressured by his dad to join the football team, so he did it without high expectations. Little did he know that he would be the star of the team by his sophomore year and have to wear sunglasses in the grocery store to avoid his middle-aged fans. Though usually it was just his dad, Randy.
There was one class that the boys shared during their sophomore year: English in room 2B. It was on the second floor next to the stairwell and Kenny's locker, which meant he couldn't skip this class unless he disappeared before the other boys arrived. Not that he'd want to, it was the class he enjoyed because he sat in the back of the room in a row with Stan on his right, Cartman on his left and Kyle on the end. He could rest his chin on his hand and doze through the lecture, trusting that his friends would wake him up and whisper the answers when the teacher called on him. They were the reason that his English class had the highest grade.
Kenny didn't fall asleep on this raining April morning though, even if he had been running on two hours of sleep after a long night on the town. They turned in their homework and he glanced, with a quick flick of the eye, at his friend Stan. His eyes returned to his stained homework sheet, cheeks flushed from a sudden wave of heat that burst through him as his heart pounded against his chest. Kenny had his fair share of crushes on his peers but his hands never shook this bad and he never sweat. If it was anyone else, he could have entered a conversation like a smooth jazz player entered a saxophone solo. But this was Stan, his best friend, the one who stayed by him while he was kicked when he was down. He couldn't just slip his number on a napkin beneath his lunch tray, he already had his number! If he confessed like his his gut told him to do, then Stan would surely reject him to save face as the town's pride and joy, he guaranteed it. Besides, there was a rumor about him and Kyle floating through the school as it was and if that held any truth then that would first, explain why he and Wendy broke up for the fourth time that year, and second...it would devastate him. That thought twisted his stomach in knots as he sat, trembling in his chair while he gripped his pencil.
"Dude, you okay?" Stan asked when he heard the pencil crack from the pressure.
Seeing Stan's look of concern settled his nerves, reminding him that he shouldn't worry this much about his confession. Why?
Because he had a plan.
Kenny hid behind his locker door long after school had let out and the seasonal practices started. The inside of his locker had photos of his target with strings tacked between them. Each photo was taken, unknown by the model within their frames, from afar as though he were tracking the character like a detective, or an obsessive
fan. The suspects name was taped to the locker, written in black sharpie on a yellow sticky note.
'Tool Shed'
The character had a white t-shirt, tinted hardwear glasses from Lowes, jeans and a belt with tools clipped on it. Complicated as the tools were he knew how to use them, and not in the way Kenny was thinking as he gazed at the photos longingly. Kenny licked his dry lips and crossed his arms while he inspected the rooftop which stood as the background in most of his photos. That must be where they're keeping him, Kenny thought.
Which means that's where I'll be.
You would think that they would have dropped their superhero game after the franchise debacle, but they were in fact, just reaching their prime. Yes, they still split and regrouped often over pointless debates as any large group of passionate heroes did. Last week, for instance, Mysterion had walked from their Freedom Pals headquarters with half of the group behind him when he thought that DC comics was far better than Marvel. Mysterion didn't regret his decision, for the most part. The thing that still ate at his conscience was leaving Tool Shed behind with Human Kite, a Marvel fan. Tool Shed was devoted to his red-headed companion. Too devoted,
Kenny thought spitefully.
It was probably nothing, he tried to remind himself as his fists hardened at his side. That was an excuse. There was something there and he hated it because it stood like a brick wall between he and Stan, a brick wall built by envy. If Stan had been anyone else he could have easily scaled the wall with his words but instead he bit his tongue. He had to wait for the right moment and he decided that moment would be tonight.
Kenny shut his locker and went home to wait for the night to arrive.
Mysterion took to the rooftops which he had mapped out after countless nights on patrol. He jumped from one building to the next, keeping a sharp eye out for his target. Then, he approached the line.
The two sides of their "Marvel vs. DC" debate had been marked by a divide in the center of town. Mysterion would have to travel by shadow to find Tool Shed if he wanted to avoid the security cameras placed by team Marvel.
He jumped through the sky, his cape fluttering behind him as he landed in the shadow of a building's air conditioner. He scurried along the rim of the roof ledge to the stairwell door. Luckily, he had a basic outline in his head of Tool Shed's post, so he followed his mental map of the area until he reached the roof from the pictures. He stood tall against the backdrop of the night, casting a long shadow that ended beside Tool Shed's feet. He forgot about the cameras but seeing as he wasn't an immediate threat, he wouldn't have to worry about Tool Shed's allies interrupting this meeting.
Tool Shed had already been out here half the night, and other than the occasional irritating check-in from Human Kite, it had been a relatively quiet. He stood at his post, fiddling with his power drill which glimmered in the moonlight. There was nothing better to do.
At least, until a familiar shadow fell at his feet.
He tucked away the drill with a frown and refused to face the shadow's keeper.
"You're out of your jurisdiction, Mysterion," he stated with a menacing tone to which Mysterion froze. He had to choose his words carefully.
"We need to talk," Mysterion stepped forward and his face came into the moonlight.
"About Tahiti."
That gave Tool Shed a reason to turn around. He crosses his arms, eyes searching the darkened figure before him.
"We don't talk about Tahiti, you know that. You're on team Marvel's turf, you'd better clear out before there's trouble."
"You remember it too," Mysterion spoke slowly, his words softer than his presence. It was his attempt to cushion the tension he'd created.
"That night on the beach after Human Kite got sick from the heat and had to stay in the Coon's Super Awesome Deluxe Tent Suite."
Mysterion's cape flapped open in the wind as he walked forward, exposing his chest emblem to the silver light.
"After we found Super Craig and Wonder Tweek drunk on seawater, lying on the shore together and the other Freedom Pals were either sleeping or camped around the dying fire."
"Mysterion, I'm not warning you again," Tool Shed commanded with an air of authority they were both surprised to hear.
"Go home."
Mysterion's heart weakened. He swallowed as he struggled to maintain his character under the desperation that carved at his mind. This was about more than their unspoken mission in Tahiti. His train of thought fell apart and it showed in his hesitant, glowing eyes. His stoic presence began to crumble and he was mentally scrambling to pick up the pieces.
"We both know it has to be addressed Tool Shed," he finally said, voice wavering in uncertainty.
"No, it doesn't," Tool shed warned him with a flash of his irritated eyes. His chest swelled as he felt Mysterion shrink beneath him. He wasn't going to back down while under strict order to keep this part of town clear of those DC lovers.
He didn't account for Mysterion to rise with confidence and continue.
"You like Kyle don't you," he asked. The blunt question struck Tool Shed like pin needles. He stumbled back as Mysterion stepped near. His face was blistering with heat against the cold night air.
"I don't know what you're talking about," He stuttered. He flinched when his heels hit the rooftop ledge. Mysterion had him pinned.
"You said it yourself on the beach," Mysterion reminded him. "In Tahiti, you sat with me and spilled everything."
He couldn't bare staring at his flustered friend, it only solidified the truth that he had been denying.
"I was drunk," Tool Shed grumbled to defend himself. His eyes falling to the floor as Mysterion left little room between them.
"What does that matter," Mysterion whispered in his ear as his hands gripped either side of the ledge around the other hero.
"You like him, don't you?"
"K-Kenny," Tool Shed muttered under a hesitant breath while his hand lingers above Mysterion's thin wrists. In a sudden motion, he grasped Mysterion's wrists, swept him from his feet and pinned him to the floor. Mysterion's hood fell from around his face and his hair popped from fabric like thick strings of gold. Sweat glistened on his forehead above his mask which was now crooked on his face. His blue eyes locked with Tool Shed's.
"Why do you want to know? What does it matter to you?" Tool Shed asked, his grip tightening on Mysterion's wrists. The pinned vigilante winced. He couldn't bring himself to answer.
"What do you really want?" Tool Shed's voice softened as he read into the flushed, stubborn expression on Mysterion's face. Neither one of them wanted to know the answer, or at least they didn't want to hear it aloud.
Tool Shed let him go once he realized there would be no retaliation. He sat back on his heels, still straddling Mysterion's legs. Mysterion turned his head to the side, tears filling his eyes.
Someone had to break the wall down.
Stan knew it had to be him.
"Take your mask off, Kenny," he commanded. Kenny held his breath; his freed arms remained at his sides. Stan grabbed his chin and forcefully turned his head to him.
"Look at me."
Kenny looked at him as his hand slid to the side of his face, thumb slipping under the mask to peel it off. He closed his eyes in protest but didn't move to stop him.
"You want to know if I like Kyle," Stan mumbled, "because you like me, don't you?"
He smirked and held Kenny's head in place with one hand. Kenny rested his cheek in that hand, the tears pooling into it as they fell from the corner of his eyes.
"Everyone knows you like him," Kenny said dejectedly. "It's why you broke up with Wendy again. She knows it too."
"Yeah, Kenny, I like Kyle."
It stung worse than he expected it to but even so, he stopped crying. He'd known it all along. He was upset at himself for his own feelings, the heart that he tried to tame when he saw Stan at his locker in the hall, the way his breath was caught in his throat when he watched him at every, single home football game of the season. Even now, his body ached for the attention that was normally satisfied with some no face in the school bathroom during class, but he wanted that face to be filled with the one person he couldn't have.
"But he's too busy with school Ken," Stan said, reeling in Kenny's scattered brain with his cool demeanor. How could anyone chose academics over that drunk smile, Kenny wondered.
"What does that have to do with us?" Kenny asked cautiously as Stan unbuckled the tool belt on his waist and tossed it aside.
"It means that nothing is standing between us, right here, right now."
Stan leaned forward as he spoke and Kenny could taste the alcohol on his breath. For a regular drunk, he could sure keep a steady conversation. Kenny regretted that it made him shiver with need.
"It's what you want isn't it?" He teased, lips tracing Kenny's outer ear.
"No," Kenny muttered, breathlessly. "Not like this."
"Then what do you want? Do you want me to tell you that I love you? I do, I love you Kenny."
Kenny loved and hated him at the same time. He fell victim to the emotional comfort of those words but he wanted to resist them. He wanted to pull away before he was lost in this fantasy.
"If you want me, Kenny McCormick, then let's do it. It will be our secret."
He whispered again as his lips traveled down Kenny's neck.
"You can have me all to yourself tonight."
Kenny wrapped his arms around Stan's broad shoulders and met his lips with a firm kiss. He would have to add that night to the growing list of secrets they sealed with drunken kisses and a memory.
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