Title: Broken Windows

Author: Aria Delanc

Summary: Kyle's dead.

Rating: T

Pairings: KennyKyle

Disclaimer: NURHURHUR.

Notes: I'm totally just ripping Neil Gaiman off now and being repeptitive about Kyle killing Kenny. But I love that shit and I can't help it. :(

Also, some things aren't as serious as I wanted them to be. The title, for example is a default.

I fucking love psychozombieKyle.

Kenny didn't need the habit of staying up all night. If he was going to be fucking cursed to be immortal, he'd rather spend it sleeping. He lies down on his bed at night and stares at the ceiling for a few seconds, and next thing he knows, the sun is blinding him through the window. His face is nearly hollowed out and his eyes never look at anything anymore. His family won't even bother anymore.

It's only been three days. Three days. They buried him yesterday, Kenny thinks vaguely, as all his thoughts are as of late.

Sometimes, he'll chuckle. It not real, he's thinking, no—this is just some stupid, fucked-up dream. Kyle's at home, sleeping. If he were there, Kenny would count his breaths and feel them against his chest. He would feel his body's comforting warmth underneath the blanket. He would tuck away stray strands of hair. He would kiss him as gently as possible, so he wouldn't wake. Kyle needed to rest. He'd been feeling sick lately—his diabetes was acting up. Kyle was just resting. Then Kenny laughs because that's all it is. None of this shit is real. He continues to laugh even after his throat is raw. He continues to laugh even when not a sound comes out.

Kenny's face is always wet. He was sorry. He was so sorry. He was sorry he'd stared at Bebe's ass that one time she ripped her skirt. He was sorry he ignored some those calls. He was sorry he pretended he didn't mean to. He was sorry he didn't call back. He was sorry he would lie. He was sorry he was a violent drunk. He was sorry he was a drunk. He was sorry he wasn't there every time he cried. He was sorry for every time he made him anything other than absolutely happy. He was sorry he always died. He was sorry he couldn't save him.

There was no door on the room. Kenny didn't hear him come in. He only felt the mattress dip slightly to the minimal weight. He didn't know how he knew. He didn't know why he wasn't freaking out. He just didn't know. Kenny sat up. It was still dark. Something changed.

"You weren't at the funeral," he said sadly. There was nothing stiff about how he sat. He sat with his legs together, hands on his lap. He still wore the white burial outfit.

"I'm sorry," Kenny replied quietly. He hadn't looked up.

Kyle tucked some of his hair behind his ear. "I miss you." He smelled like earth and rotten fruit. Kenny recalled Kyle explaining to him Jewish burial rituals. They didn't embalm the corpses. He was clawing at the mattress with skeletal hands. Kenny could see the dried blood and mud under his nails. He couldn't tell what shade his skin was in the dim light.

Kenny took the hand in his, eyes still cast downwards. "I miss you too." He was so cold. He rubbed the back of his hand comfortingly. "What are you doing here, Kyle?"

"I needed to see you," Kyle said, and Kenny noticed how his voice was only a whisper. Kyle's index finger found itself under Kenny's chin. "Don't you want to see me, Kenny?"

The blonde let head raise. He blinked for a few seconds. Kyle was… dead. His probably-greyish skin seemed stretched out over bones. He could imagine if the boy moved he would hear the creak of the dry joints. But when Kyle leaned towards him, it was as fluid as when he was alive, if not more so. His lips were cracked. His eyes and hair lacked their brilliance. Kenny felt his heart sink farther down his stomach. He was expecting it to fall out his ass soon.

Kyle listless eyes searched Kenny's. Frantically. Desperately.

Kenny wondered how such disinterested eyes could look so panicked.

Kyle heaved a breath.

Kenny wondered what would happen to the air.

"You don't love me anymore."

"I love you."

"You look at me like that, and you hate me." If he could, Kyle would be crying, Kenny thought.

"Kyle, I love you."

The redhead's grip on Kenny's hand tightened. "Kenny, I want to stay."

Kenny pulled him closer and hugged him to his chest. "You can stay forever."

"With you?" His voice changed. It was cracking.

"With me," Kenny assured.

"You promise?"

"Yes," Kenny said plainly.

Kyle looked up at him, his lips curling into unnatural. "I love you, Kenny," the smile only stretched further, "I love you so much, Ken," it was tearing through his cheeks; "you won't ever leave me, right, Ken?" He'd torn all the muscle and his jaw slacked. Half his facial bones were exposed; there wasn't any blood. He felt the boy's arms extend around his torso.

Kenny pulled him to his chest once again and held his head with both hands, clenching his hair. "Never, Kyle. I'd never leave you."

Kenny barely heard Kyle say, "good." The arms were tightening he could feel his ribs snapping under his skin and piercing him inside and outside. He could feel his breaths stop and the wetness of all the blood. He could feel every bit of pain. He gazed up, a small smile on his lips. Kyle smiled down at him. He was alive again. He was glowing again. His face was whole—slightly flushed--and his features were lustrous and he was shining.

"I love you, Kenny."

Kenny opened his mouth to reply, but only blood spurted and dripped out.

You fucking love psychozombieKyle too.

Rawrgh. This was going to have gay zombie sex but I got all chicken-shitty and backed out. :(

Please review.