Welcome to the Viva la Vida, Viva la Día experience. Please keep hands and feet in the ride at all times. All passengers who have had past issues with homosexuality, cross-dressing, implied masochism, child abuse, and underage, or has contracted Hater's Syndrome, should make their way to the exit located at the top left of the screen. The staff of Viva la Vida disclaims all rights to South Park, MacBeth, Janet Evanovich's work, and any other obscure references we haven't caught. Please enjoy the ride. ***Note: YES THIS STYLE
Viva la Vida: Viva la Día
It all started with that goddamn ruler.
It was just an average, ordinary, everyday ninth grade Spanish class. Then Ms. Perdue just had to give Kyle a ruler.
It was old, wooden, and worn. The numbers were faded and unintelligible, and all the corners were worn smooth. It probably would have snapped by now if not for the sheer, still-sharp metal core that stuck out for ease in drawing straight lines.
Kenny, armed also with a ruler, slapped Kyle across the thigh, making him yelp and blush, fingers caressing the injured skin as he pouted at the bigger blond. Eric, as he was prone to do, melted and immediately started demanding Kenny apologize. Stan just sighed at his mentally-underprivileged friends, taking Kyle's brief upset as the perfect opportunity to actually touch the redhead, skimming his digits across his thigh in comfort and pressing his forehead into Kyle's shoulder.
Kyle would see nothing wrong with it, after all. They were a very physical group. They all had affectionate habits; Stan bumped his head against either their shoulder or the side of their head (depending on their height), Kenny feathered his fingers over his friends' lower backs and shoulders, Eric was a hugger when provoked, and Kyle kissed them on the shoulder, a habit he claims stems from too much time spent with Stan's mother.
It wasn't uncommon or even odd for cliques to do this at South Park High. Tweek and Craig practically cuddled, and Butters would molest anybody who'd stay still long enough for him to. Wendy and Bebe actually kissed each other on the lips every morning in greeting.
They were just... A very physically affectionate group of kids.
Stan figured if he kept the redhead busy, the other two couldn't flirt and charm him. It pissed him off, honestly; neither were good enough for Kyle.
Kyle smiled at him, absently beginning to tap his ruler against his thigh. Having already caught up with where they were supposed to be, the other three had nothing to do but watch him; Ms. Perdue tolerated no talking in class.
His his long curls, silky and graceful, fell around his shoulders and cascaded down his back. He had a bad habit of letting it dry tucked behind his ears, so the right side curved perfectly to cover up his eye but reveal most of his cheek. It annoyed Stan to no end, that hair in his face, obscuring a single emerald iris and cheekbone, splattered over with freckles, and he often pushed it out of the way. He decided not to, though, not just then. Kyle's eyes were distant, staring past them all to the floor a few feet from the teacher's desk, and he seemed dazed. Stan knew he'd startle if he touched him.
Not to long after the tapping of the ruler against his thigh began, it became harsher. The ruler was twisted to the side so that the metal dug into his skin at every turn, and smack down with an intensity that made Eric grimace. And soon it was violent, but the boys were frozen. The audible snap against his fragile skin echoed in the back of their heads and made them flinch, but they made no move to stop him.
But then blood began to show through the light-blue denim. Not a lot. He probably wasn't bleeding much. But he was bleeding in two, three places, and Kenny, for one, knew that a bleeding inner thigh was a hurting sonuvabitch. And he tapped (if you could call it that) on, unaffected.
Stan was first to react. He had a thing about blood; if it was his, he might make a comment on the color, but if it was somebody else's, he'd freak. If it was Kyle's, he would be vulnerable to a full-blown panic attack.
The raven snatched the blond's wrist in mid-air. Kyle jerked, fingers spazzing, dropping the ruler onto his bleeding thigh. He blinked, looking down at his the hidden injury and mumbled incoherently, "Dude... Umh... Blood?"
A moment later, blush rising to his pale cheeks, the redhead glanced between them anxiously. Kenny's shock, Eric's concern, Stan's anger and worry, it all made him feel bad.
He stood abruptly and hissed when the denim rubbed across his no-doubt raw skin. Blinking in shock and stumbling slightly, Kyle called to the elderly Spanish teacher, "I need... Blood sugar levels... Headache... Sick... Jesus Christ, look, I'm bleeding, let me leave." he insisted when the teacher didn't immediately buy his mixed-ailment story. She couldn't argue with the growing red stains, could she?
His eyes were dilated, his breathing unsteady, almost hyperventilating, and his fingers were trembling. Unintelligible sounds escaped his throat and Stan's eyes widened. He stood suddenly, calling out as grabbed the redhead's wrist, "Fuck, teach, he's having a panic attack!"
OoO
Walking into her office, the nurse blinked. It was a common sight, yes, but it still made her uneasy. The infamously and perpetually infirm redhead, who seemed to vary from incoherent to dazed to pained to passed out to ill in her presence, was talking himself through a basic panic-attack self-speech.
"I'm okay. I'm in the nurse's office at school. Stan in holding my hand, Kenny is here, too, touching my shoulders. I'm okay. Eric will kill anybody who comes too close, so I must be just fine. I am physically, mentally, and emotionally stable. I'm safe." and so on, in a muttered tone laced with hysteria. Surrounding the redhead were three boys who put people in here more than they were there themselves; Eric, the boy who didn't know his own strength; Stanley, the boy who was constantly beating kids up for picking on girls and Kyle; and Kenneth, who seemed to be the designated escort for anybody who gets injured in his grade. All three were glaring at her in a way that screamed, "Fix him!"
So she calmed him down, crooned a memorized lecture about an elevator in his ear, and gradually, he relaxed, slumping against the Stanley boy and falling into the desired trance-like state. She could feel the boys' eyes on her, perhaps noting the words so that they could repeat them if necessary.
"... Is he broken?" Kenny asked after a silent moment. Stan snorted. "No, he's just... Got an over-active imagination. He worked himself up to a panic attack. You've seen him do it before; remember the Algebra End of Course Exam in seventh grade? Or the ACT? Heck, Ike's ACT? He does it in every-day situations, too. Thats why I try to take up his free time; so he doesn't have enough time to think for too long. Think day-dreams... But, like, nightmares. Day-mares."
Kenny nodded slowly. "So... His daydream went bad, and he forgot he just was thinkin'?" Eric snorted, but Stan nodded solemnly. "Exactly. Do you know how many times he's called me in the middle of the night, so I can talk him down from insane theories about... Intruders, monsters, ghosts. Demons in the dark, hiding under his bed... He's like a terrified little kid, but he can't really help it, either."
"So..." Eric trailed off. "So, the filthy Jew is Tweek without the coffee addiction, twitchiness, and gnome phobia?"
"Yeah. I think he fell asleep. I dunno what it is about those... Speeches, but they put him right to sleep." The nurse smiled.
"That's what they were written for; calming people. I think he's probably like this because of lack of sleep anyway. See these bruises under his eyes? Poor thing looks like a kicked kitten with insomnia." Peering closer, the shadows under his eyes, the ones they'd become so used to, were much darker than his every-day late-night reading shadows.
"Oh!" Kenny exclaimed, pointing to the small dried blood stains. "Could you check this for us? He cut hisself with the ruler, but we think it was a accident, ma'am."
"Sure. You guys scurry out of here, back to class. If he isn't where he usually is at the end of the day, come wake him up and take him home." the nurse made shooing gestures towards the door, and, reluctantly, the quartet minus one left.
Kyle, laid down on the psychologist-style therapy bed/chair, curled in on himself with a sigh. The nurse knelt, pushing him gently onto his back and clinically going about getting his pants out of the way, unbuttoning them and pushing them down to his knees, remembering at the last second to lock the door.
Pushing the soft material of his boxers out of the way, she grimaced, taking in the red-raw skin and shallow cuts. One in particular, along his inner thigh, was still slowly oozing crimson life-liquid. With a sigh, Nurse Penny attacked the wounds with a disinfecting cloth, armed with Neosporin and band-aids.
...
He was being shaken, and he moaned in discontent, eyes cracking open to settle on a blurry figure he'd recognize anywhere. "Stan... M'tired. Lemme sleep."
The raven laughed, and suddenly he was in the air. Kyle shrieked, clinging to his best friend and glaring at him. Stan was carrying him bridal-style, arms hooked under his shoulders and under his knees. He seemed to have no problem with the extra weight, more or less ignoring him, even when the redhead's hands curled into his shirt.
"God!" Kyle huffed exasperatedly. Stan glanced down at him with feigned disinterest. "Yes, my child?"
Kyle snorted. "You're going to hell for that."
Stan grinned, bouncing him slightly and making him shriek. "I know. Feeling better?"
"Yeah. Aren't I heavy, Stan?" he questioned, squirming, big green eyes focused on his best friend. The raven grinned easily, pressing the exit door open with his back and turning so they could fit through. He shook his head. "Honestly, Ky? No."
The redhead pouted, punching him half-heartedly in the chest. "Perhaps I should rephrase my question. Will you please put me down?"
Stan smirked, loving the blush that covered his cheeks as they finally made it to the school parking lot, where thirty or so kids were lounging around, waiting for bus 2. Leaning against the wall in their usual place, absently wondering where the other half of their group was, Stan smirked snidely, "Maybe I should rephrase my answer. I'm not putting you down, Sicky."
Kyle groaned at the much-hated nickname in distaste. 'Sicky' is what Stan's (unimaginative) nickname for Kyle when he was out of commission; sick, injured, infirm, ect. "I'm fine, really! I was just tired!" he insisted as Eric and Kenny walked up, side by side, with similar expressions of confusion on their faces.
"Ga-ay." Kenny accused, leaning against the wall that intersected with Stan's, ruffling the redhead's silky curls with a grin.
"Er-ic!" Kyle whined, tossing his head back to look at the brunette upside-down, "Stan won't put me down! Tell him to stop it!"
"Stop it." he deadpanned, making no real attempt to help. "You okay, Jew?"
"Yes! For god's sake, I'm fine!" he insisted. A beep sounded from the road. "Look! There's the bus! Let's go, put me down."
Reluctantly, Stan did as he was told, following his best friend and marveling that he enjoyed holding him so much when he was only trying to keep Ken and Cartman away. Right? Right.
...
"Love's bliss and Loveless. Go ahead, mutter. Notice me notice. Don't stutter; It's unbecoming."
Stan blinked, breaking from his staring to look down at the redhead. Hands stuffed in his pockets, head lowered; he's angry. At what?
"Come again?"
"Jeez, Stan, I wrote that poem a year ago and it's been taped to your wall for nine months. You'd think you'd have it memorized by now." he rolled his eyes. Stan grinned uncertainly.
"Maybe I don't remember it because I don't get it." Stan responded lowly, eyes reverting to their previous location. He remembered the poem, now. 'Stop Staring'.
"Basically, I'm telling you to stop being an ignorant ass." Stan blinked again, glancing at angry little Kyle.
"What'd I do?"
"They're gay, Stan, not street performers! Stop staring!"
Oh.
The couple glanced over at Kyle's outburst, and one of them glared at Stan. The other smiled, waved at them both, and grabbed her girlfriend's hand, whispering something in her ear and leading her away. Kyle shot a warning glance at the raven, taking off down the sidewalk. "You know how I feel about homophobia."
Stan winced. "The same way you feel about sexism, racism, and religion... ism."
"And how do I feel about those things?" Kyle prompted, falling back into step with his best friend and grasping the taller boy's sleeve. Stan sighed, reciting, "'Hatred based on anything other than what someone is doing at the moment is wasted hatred.' That's why you don't hate Cartman."
"Very good."
"Mr. Brofovski, will I be getting an A this semester?" he teased, poking Kyle in the side and making him gasp, giggling.
"Yes! Yes! Just stop it!"
At that moment, Kyle jumped, eyes widening slightly, and shoved his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a well-loved cellphone and looking over a text briefly. He snorted. Stan sent him a questioning look.
"Eric just asked me out."
"Again?"
"Yeah."
Kyle stared at the keyboard contemplatively. Stan groaned. "You aren't considering it, are you?"
Kyle paused at the childishly-jealous, almost possessive edge to his voice. He pressed his lips against Stan's shoulder, a silent reminder that he wouldn't abandon him or something stupid like that and muttered somewhat defensively, "Maybe if he realizes that I'm too smart to prank and not going to put out, he'll forget about it."
Stan's lips twisted into a small smile. "Today feels weird, like everything is about to change."
Kyle immediately began to respond, telling Stan how silly such a thought was, but, after just a moment, he replied quietly, "I feel like... Secrets are being discovered, unusual actions are being taken, and... Like I really need to be kicking Kenny's ass."
Stan snorted in amusement. "Me too, actually. Who's watching Ike tonight?"
Kyle paused. "Uh... Said blond, of course!" He got out his phone and texted someone, preceding a moment later to call their perverse little friend.
OoO
~smack, smack, smack~
Butters twitched.
~smack, smack, smack~
His long, slender fingers tightened minutely on the pages of MacBeth.
~smack, smack, smack~
He could feel his sanity crumbling.
~smack, smack, smack~
His head snapped up, glaring, infuriated, at the large brunette sitting across from him.
~smack, smack-
"Jesus motherfucking Christ, Eric! Chew with your goddamn mouth closed!"
Eric stared at him, completely shocked. Butters did not cuss. Ever. The nervous blond crumpled in on himself, glancing around the silent library with a guilty expression and telling himself sternly, "Now, Leopold, that wasn't very nice at all. You're grounded, mister."
An ashamed blush spreading across his cheeks, Butters returned to MacBeth.
Guiltily, Eric stuck his wad of gum under the table, standing and kneeling beside the studying blond. Ghosting fingers across his arms and shoulders, Eric mumbled "S'okay, Butters. That's just fine. You aren't in trouble. Okay? Everyone gets mad."
Butters felt his eyes sting. "I'm not allowed to talk to you, Eric. I'm grounded."
With a long sigh, Eric stood. "You're grounded for an hour, how about that? I'll come back around then and walk you home, okay, Butters?"
After a moment of hesitation, Butters nodded. Eric pressed his lips to the motionless blond's forehead, watching a blush spread across his cheeks with a pleased smile. He walked out of the library, getting out a cellphone and sending a text to his favorite little redhead.
He grinned, stretching. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and...
'Fine, Eric. I'll humor you.'
Yes! He had a date tonight. Bitch-yes! A small scowl made it's way to his lips, however, when he realized Kyle still thought he was teasing.
Ah, well. That'd change.
OoO
Bored. Bored. Bored.
I wonder if Karen is busy.
Oh, yeah. Date.
That Grayson kid seems nice. In the TAG program, training to be a marine... Every parent's dream for their precious princess.
... My precious princess.
Yeah, he's cool with me.
... I wonder of Kevin is busy.
Oh, yeah. Date.
~Vanessa scares the shit out of me.~
But, hey... Kevin finally found a Dom.
Good for him.
How come I don't have a date?
Bitches be lovin' me.
Booored.
Kenny startled as his phone went off, alerting him to an incoming call. Sexting by Blood on the Dance Floor played loudly and the blond smirked, snatching up the ancient device and greeting, "Yo."
"Sup, Kenny?"
"Bored. You?"
"I've got a... A date? A date with Eric. I'm not very happy about it, but, Uh... Y'know."
Kenny sighed, feeling jealousy well in his chest. "You need a chaperone? Make sure little Ginger comes out cherry intact?"
"N-no, Kenny. No. Actually... My parents are out for a business thing... And, I can't exactly leave Ike by himself..."
Kenny grinned at the thought of the sweet little genius. "Don't get to talk to lil' Ikey much. Baby-sitter?"
"Yeah. Fifty bucks for you to keep him company and put him down? I don't know where we're going, so I don't know when we'll get home..."
Kenny grinned. "Sure thing. What time?"
"Erm... I think it was... Six? So be here BEFORE six, Ken. Remember, he's ten. No sex, no booze, no boobs... Ten year old stuff."
Kenny waved him off, despite the fact that Kyle couldn't see him. "You got it."
"And he isn't some bar slut. Touch him and die."
Kenny chuckled, leaning back and thinking that he could have a shower before it was time to go. "Like I'd hit a ten year old. Specially Ike. He'd probably cry and make me feel like an asshole. Hit my chest and call me a bad man..." Kenny trailed off, imagining such a thing with horrified grimace. Kyle scoffed. "Dude, it kinda sounds like you're having a rape fantasy over there. Quit it."
"Yeah, yeah..."
"No, Stan, you don't need to kick his ass. Yes, I'm sure! Just... You know. He's got that infatuation with you... I caught him wearing the parka you left over here the other day. He really is adorable."
Kenny tilted his head to the side. Messy black hair, big chocolate eyes, rumpled clothes on a tiny frame... "He's the kinda kid you wanna take care of."
"Homework should be easy, he's in fifth grade... Don't let him have sugar after seven, in bed by nine... Make sure he brushes his teeth and hair, he may ask you for help... No leaving the house, emergency numbers on the fridge. If you're nice, he'll cook for you. Otherwise, he'll feed himself. Help yourself to anything in the house, you're like my brother... Stop it, Stan!"
"Got it."
"Okay, see you in a couple hours."
"Six?"
"Six. Stanley Marsh, stop that!"
OoO
"Stupid. Dammit, Leopold. Why are you so fucking stupid? How the fuck do you fail gym, Leopold? Huh? Are you trying to piss me off?"
"N-no, dad. I just... I'm not athletic. I can't do push-ups or touch my toes... Like the oth-other boys can." Butters stammered, eyes trained on his fists, anxiously bumping together. Mr. Stotch practically snarled.
"You can't do anything right, Leopold."
Butters stopped flinching at those words a long time ago. "I'll try harder, dad."
That's when the man smiled. A sad, loving, but thoroughly disappointed smile. "I know you will. You're meant to be perfect."
"Yessir."
"So go study."
"Yessir." Butters started up the stairs, but his father drawled leisurely,
"You're grounded."
"Of course."
OoO
Kenny hadn't been expecting that.
Ike had opened the door, looked him in the eye with those soul-searching brown irises. That look was so past his age that Kenny was left frozen. Something passed between them in that heart-stopping moment before Ike cut it short with a bat of his long dark eyelashes. His head tilted to the side and he reached up on his tippy-toes to brush the pads of his fingers against the raw skin around his eye.
"Kenny." he greeted neutrally as he fell back on the balls of his feet. Kenny smiled hesitantly at him, suddenly feeling inferior. "Ike." he replied with an incline of his head. 'Ten year old stuff' my ass.
"Who punched you?" there was a passion, a will to wrong injustice in his eyes. Just like his older brother. Kenny smiled in full again, pushing past the little boy and shutting the door, muttering all the while, "My dad. Is it already showing?"
Ike nodded, grasping his hand and dragging the blond into the living room, where he was sat down and told firmly not to move. The Canadian took off, presumably to retrieve either Kyle or some sort of medicine. He wasn't sure what for, though; he hadn't noticed any cuts, but he had exactly looked, either. Kyle chose this moment to walk in, grimace in place, wearing semi-nice clothes. "Jeez, Ken. What happened to your eye?"
Kenny shrugged lazily, reclining comfortably. "Dad. M'I bleedin'?"
"A little. It's just a scratch." Kyle stepped closer, leaning over closely to examine the bruise. Kenny felt his stomach flutter and swallowed harshly.
"So, let me get this straight. You're gay for Stan while making out with Kenny five minutes before you leave on a date with Eric. Are you sure you're straight?"
Kyle blushed, backing away from the injured blond and muttering spitefully, "I wasn't making out with him, I'm not gay for Stan, and I'm only going with Eric so he'll leave me alone about it."
Ike sighed with a fond smile tugging at his lips as the doorbell rang. "There's your date, and since dad isn't here, I'm seeing you off." Kyle whacked him across the back of the head, but the ten year old set the box he was holding down and remained firmly at his older brother's side.
"... And you better have my brother home by ten-thirty, young man." Kenny heard from the hall, and covered up a snort, even as jealousy rose in his chest. Ike should be saying that to him, dammit. Kyle was his.
Little did he know that not to long after that night, Kyle would be saying those same words to him.
OoO
Eric blinked bemusedly down at a stern looking little Ike. Slowly, his eyes trailed from the little Canadian (who was glaring disapprovingly) up to the beautiful redhead standing beside him. Ike was rambling almost incoherently (gesturing firmly between Kyle, himself, and the brunette) about things like boundaries, death threats, and rules, but Eric payed him little mind, deciding instead to focus on the ginger's smile.
"... And you better have my brother home by ten-thirty, young man." Ike finally finished. Eric rolled his eyes and his lips parted to flame the child's demands, only to catch the nearly imperceptible shake of the daywalker just in time to change it to a stiff, "Yes, sir." and an indulgent grin. Kyle nodded approvingly, allowing his eyes to close as he smile widely and bent down to kiss Ike on the temple. The Canadian stayed firm and stern for effect as Kyle shrugged on his coat and pressed past his baby brother into the crisp night air. "Have fun, Ky."
Kyle grimaced. "I'll try."
"But not too much fun!" the door shut and Kyle made a face. "My brother's a little perv. ... I blame Kenny."
Eric snickered beside him as they began their leisurely stroll towards town. "I would too. How are you, dirty Jew?"
Kyle rolled his eyes a little. "I'm just great. I was reading up on it the other day... Did you know that Jewish women in Concentration Camps were raped almost routinely and, if they got pregnant, their baby was almost always murdered in front of their eyes moments after birth?"
Eric made a face. "Gross. I would never defile myself with the fluids of a filthy Jew!"
Kyle paused, staring at his friend with a completely uncomprehending expression, jaw working to find an intelligible response. "You... But... Me... Why..? How..? If you want... The fuck is this?"
Eric smirked at the long-time inside joke. "The fuck is that?"
"The fuck are you?"
"The fuck are you doing?"
"Your mom."
Eric clapped slowly at that. "Good one, for such a monotonously minded daywalker."
Kyle puffed out his chest a little in mock pride, chuckling easily. "The fuck are we going?"
Eric glanced shyly at him, crossing his arms over his chest and murmured hesitantly, "My favorite author is friends with the librarian... She's doing a book signing as a favor."
Kyle grinned at him. "So you do know me. Who is she?"
Eric laughed slightly. "Jeez, she's brilliant. Her main series is about Stephanie Plum, a bounty hunter surviving on luck and the goodwill of Ranger and a cop named Morelli. The book signing we're going to is for the first book of her new series, Wicked Appetite. I haven't read it yet, but it contains one of my favorite reoccurring characters and my favorite minor character, Diesel and Carl. God, I love that weird little monkey."
Kyle laughed a little in surprise. "What's her genre?"
"The Plum series is, like, Crime/Comedy, and this one is a Supernatural Romantic Comedy."
Kyle shot the larger boy a confused look. "Didn't peg you for the romantic type." Eric smiled with tiniest of blushes. "I wasn't until Ms. Janet. But, jeez, she writes it so well I can't even decide between Cupcake and Babe." At Kyle absolutely ludicrous stare, he explained, "Ranger calls her babe, Morelli calls her cupcake. I think Diesel has a nickname for her, too, but I can't think if what it is right now. Anyway, this new book is about Diesel, Elizabeth Tucker, and the SALIGIA Stones."
Kyle frowned in concentration. "SALIGIA... Superbia, Acedia, Luxuria, Ira, Gula, Invidia, Avaritia. Right?"
Eric shook his head in exasperation. "No, you stupid Jew. Pride, Gluttony, Envy, Lust, Wrath, Greed, and Sleepy."
OoO
There were maybe twenty people crowded around a table, blocking it from their view. All of them held a copy of a hardback book with the words Janet Evanovich Wicked Appetite in in black, gothic font against a swirling red background.
Eric was practically bouncing in his excitement as he grabbed two copies of the book from a nearby stand, tossing one to Kyle as he neared the crowd. Kyle, book pressed against his chest, grasped the hem of the taller boy's jacket, following him as Eric carefully pressed through the crowd until he was right in front of an grinning older lady with curly brown hair that made Kyle smile.
She looked Eric up and down sharply, a broad smile breaking across her features. "Would this be my favorite fan, by any chance?"
Eric nodded and she stood, leaning across the table to wrap Eric in a friendly hug. "Eric! How are you? I actually sent you an email earlier today, asking if you'd be here. Did you respond? I haven't checked. Are you excited about the book?"
Eric returned the embrace with a content expression. "Of course I'd be here! We've been penpals for, like, seven months! I can't wait to read the book! What's Lizzy like? How do the Stones work? Is Diesel still abso-freaking-lutely epic?"
"I can't tell you that! You have to read it first." Her eyes fell on the little redhead, who was clinging to Eric's jacket and looking uncomfortable. Her eyes lit up in excitement and she exclaimed, "You're Kyle! Oh, you're so adorable!" she grabbed the microphone and announced in a bubbly tone, "Fifteen minute break, please and thank you!"
As a couple employees made their way over to shuffle away the crowd, Ms. Evanovich led the way to a couple worn out chairs in a quiet corner of the library, next to the science fiction section. She bodily sat Kyle down, still quietly cooing over him and making his cheeks burn bright red, and patted Eric on the hand as she took her own seat.
"Eric, you really weren't exaggerating. He's cuter than Mary Alice! Look at those curls!" Eric bowed his head, cheeks coloring. "We're on a date." he supplied the woman quietly with a satisfied smile.
Stammeringly trying to change the subject, Kyle, in his typical fashion, bowed a little and smiled casually as Ms. Evanovich congratulated Eric. "N-nice to meet you, Ms. Evanovich. My name is Kyle Broflovski..."
Ms. Evanovich waved him off. "I know, dearie. You're Jewish, your favorite color is navy blue, your best friend is Stan, you're baby brother, Ike, is ten, adopted, and Canadian... I know that you blush when you're angry and cry when you're embarrassed. I know you always stand up for whatever you feel needs your support, I know you write poetry, I know you're favorite class is Science..." Kyle stared to Eric with wide eyes, cheeks pink and lips parted in surprise.
"I pay attention, Kahl." he murmured.
OoO
"Hold still, you big baby." Ike scolded, dabbing at the squirming blond's cut with his alcohol-soaked cotton ball. "Do you want me to stop so it can get infected?"
Kenny pouted, hands steadying the raven leaning over him with a steady pressure on his hips. "Yes! It stings!"
"Well, suck it up, redneck." Ike scoffed, giving one last gentle stroke that made the blond flinch. Taking out a little green bottle, the raven dabbed a little bit of a clear gel on his index finger. Kenny blinked uncomprehendingly. "... Is that anal lube?"
Ike flushed bright red and Kenny chuckled, a smooth, charming noise that had Ike blushing harder. "No! You filthy pervert!" Ike denied furiously, hitting his shoulder lightly and smearing the gel across the cut. Kenny tilted his head to the side, perplexed.
"Then what the fu-what the freak is it?"
Ike sighed, smoothing a bright-pink band-aid across a scowling Kenny's cheek with a small smile. "Didn't your mama ever put Neosporin on your cuts?"
Kenny's head tilted curiously, eying the bottle thoughtfully. "Yes." he replied at length, "When I was real little." Ike wobbled and Kenny tightened his hold on Ike's hips with a smile as Ike confessed, "Mama used to, but around three years back, when Auntie Kylie died, she kinda... Drifted off. Now Kyle does this for me." Demonstratively, he pressed his lips atop the bandage. Kenny grinned. "Thank yah. Never did hear 'bout an Auntie Kylie."
Ike twisted to sit beside Kenny, tucked under his arm, and muttered as he closed the first aid kit, "Kyle's namesake, actually. To be honest, from what I can tell, they have a lot in common. Kyle inherited her looks and fragile health."
"How is your bro?" Kenny asked, concerning leaking into his southern drawl. "He's skinnier'n me."
Ike's smile faded. Guilt prominent in his big brown eyes, he mumbled, "He's fine. Just not feeling too good."
Kenny, sensing a sensitive issue afoot, changed the subject. "Homework, Ike?"
Ike made a vague noise in the back of his throat. "It was to read a chapter of our English book and a lesson in our Science text, and I've already accomplished both."
Kenny groaned in exasperation. "What kinda ten year old uses 'accomplished' correctly in a sentence durin' casual convo?"
"What kind of fourteen year old says 'convo'?" Ike retorted with a roll of his chocolate orbs. Kenny smirked, hugging the raven to him with his free arm. "The normal kind."
Ike whined but curled to lay his head on the blond's lap, eyes fixating on the television, quietly announcing the news. Absently pushing his fingers through his smooth black locks, Kenny smiled. "You're a pretty cool kid, Ikey."
OoO
Kyle despises awkward silences. He shuffled his feet, staring at his doormat with a light blush on his cheeks and wringing his hands together, unwilling to meet Eric's steady gaze. Finally, still not looking at Eric, he tugged at the brunette's collar, making him bend down, and kisses him on the cheek. "Thanks." he murmured against Eric's skin, quickly withdrawing.
Blinking in shock, Eric stared at the door his redhead just bolted through, a light blush on his cheeks and a smile on his lips.
He already wanted to be near him again. Maybe he'd go crawl in Kyle's window tonight.
OoO
"Hey." Kenny whispered to the redhead he could see watching the pair from the doorway to the living room. "Hey." Kyle whispered back, approaching them quietly to run his fingers through his slumbering baby brother's hair and giggled a little at the pink band aid adorning the blond's cheek.
"So damn cute." Kenny commented, staring contentedly down at the the child in his lap. Kyle nodded in agreement, leaning down as though to pick Ike up, only to be stopped by Kenny's quiet laughter. "Ginge, you couldn't pick this child up if you tried." Grinning at Kyle's sweet pout, he stood with the little Canadian in his arms, rocking him gently as he led the way up to Ike's room.
Kyle pulled back the sheets and Kenny set him down carefully, helping Kyle tuck him in and pressing his lips to Ike's head in a maternal fashion. Kyle tossed him a confused glance and copied him, stroking his baby brother's cheek lovingly for a moment before standing.
As Kenny watched, Kyle tensed, a weak whimper escaping his throat. Following the redhead's gaze, Kenny laid eyes on Mrs. Broflovski, who was fixated on her eldest son with an expression torn between loving and insane. Kenny thought she could see something shiny clutched in her hand.
"Get out of here, Kenny." Kyle whispered, pressing his lips to the blond's shoulder and walking over to his mother obediently.
"But-"
"Everything's fine, Kenneth. Leave."
Kenny winced, obediently pressing past the pair to make his way out of the house. Kenneth means Kyle's serious.
But he couldn't help the shudder that rippled up his spine at the way Sheila's hand clasped over Kyle's thin shoulder.
OoO
~Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. Tap.~
Butters' eyes slit open, and he sat up silently, glancing towards the window. Frightened blue eyes met his gaze and he stood, rubbing his eyes carefully and yawning. The glass was cool under his finger tips, and Butters braced himself for the icy breeze that washed over him and made him tremble as he pulled the window open, stepping aside to let a trembling Tweek clamber in with a soft "Gah."
His left cheek was marred by a darkening bruise that made Butters' throat close and his eyes sting as he pulled the boy close, arms wrapping around his waist as he swayed the jerky blond.
As his more violent shivers subsided and his cold skin warmed, Butters led him over to the bed and sat him down, whispering into his hair promises of an ice pack and a hot mug of coffee.
Butters was sure to be quiet as he padded through his house, glancing blearily at the clock on the living room wall to check the time. Ten-thirty. Not bad at all.
The young blond froze as he entered the kitchen, eyes on his father, who was pouring over a file with a mug of coffee dangling from his finger tips. Mr. Stotch's calculating blue eyes rose to meet his son's.
"Why're you up, Leopold? Are you okay?"
"Tweek." Butters responded quietly. "He had a panic attack and fell and freaked out, so he came here."
Mr. Stotch nodded slowly. "Friends take effort." he reminded his son for the millionth time as he riffled through the freezer for an ice pack, withdrawing the blue pouch after a brief search.
"I'm making an effort." Butters reminded his father soothingly as he wrapped the ice pack in a kitchen towel and poured his best friend a mug of coffee, expertly adding two spoonfuls of sugar and a dab of honey and stirring gently, watching the dark liquid swirl. Mr. Stotch's arm wrapped around his much smaller son's shoulders and murmured gruffly, "I only want what's best for you."
"Of course, dad. I know."
Back in his room, watching Tweek sip at his coffee and quietly "Gah!" at every noise outside, a smile tugged at Butters' lips. Friends take effort. Butters had more friends than his father thought; he even had a group of four like Stan and Kyle and Kenny and Eric. He had Craig and Tweek and Eric, and Clyde and Token as well. Butters would do anything to keep his friends. Anything.
OoO
Eric was frozen.
No, this couldn't possibly be correct.
His mind was playing tricks on him.
Jesus Christ, no.
He stared for nearly an hour, watching Kyle's mother work him over so lovingly, that insane glint in her eye. And he sat there obediently, eyes darting again and again to the photos set on his dresser. A vast mixture of people together, smiling, laughing, talking. One in particular seemed to catch his attention, one of Ike wrapped in Kenny's arms, both asleep. These photos were accompanied by a frightening, sharp-looking butcher knife. Kyle stared on passively.
It seemed like he watched for hours. Finally, with a sigh, Kyle looked at the clock. He smiled at his mother, suggesting something in rapid Hebrew. She seemed distraught, but left, grabbing the butcher knife of the dresser as she went.
His eyes were totally blank for a second, then he looked at the window, obviously contemplating something, and froze. He blinked, shook his head, but the image remained. Eric. Eric Cartman. Watching. He knew.
He started hyperventilating. He stumbled over to the window and shoved it open, gasping, "Help. Jesus Christ, I can't breathe!" and collapsing into a sobbing mess.
OoO
"C-calm down. I've got you, Kahl, it's okay." Eric stammered, staring in shock at the boy-yes, definitely Kyle-sobbing into his chest, chanting something like a mantra. After a moment, Eric thought he could make it out.
"I won't tell anybody, Kahl. I swear." the brunette reassured him, panicking slightly himself. He was shaking, shoulders trembling, the hands gripping the brunette's shirt shaking dramatically.
His emerald eyes were deadly serious. "'specially Ike. Or dad. Or, Christ, Stan!"
"Okay. Especially Stan, Ike, and your father."
He calmed somewhat, and, after a moment, seemed to realize he was sitting on Eric's lap. He slid off awkwardly, scurrying to put distance between them. There were mascara tears streaming down his face, making him seem very... Broken. His hair, apparently having been straightened, reached done to his shoulder blades in elegant waves. He tugged at a lock of it anxiously, not meeting his best friend's eyes. "I get it if you don't... Don't wanna hang around me anymore. I'm... Sorry... I just... I have to."
He kept his eyes trained on his trembling, long-white-glove-clad hands, grasping and tugging mindlessly on the delicate material of the pastel blue dress's skirt. He flinched when a hand met his shoulder, and turned tear-brightened eyes and black-tracked cheeks to Eric, who enveloped him in a gentle hug. He was warm, and Kyle relaxed, safe in his hold.
"Kahl... Why?"
That was really all he wanted to know. Why was the proud redhead letting his mother dress him up in a beautiful gown and heels and make-up?
"Mama always wanted a girl..." Kyle mumbled, "And it was me or Ike. I guess I'm prettier. And Kylie sounds better than Ikey."
After a moment, the redhead broke from the embrace, standing and turning his back on Eric. "Could you unzip me?" he asked in a small voice. The dress fell all the way to his ankles, and when the wind blew, the brunette could see that he was walking normally, flawlessly in three inch heels. Obediently gripping the hidden zipper, Eric inquired quietly, "How long has this been going on?"
He unzipped it a few inches, exposing the obscenely smooth, pale, unblemished skin it hid, and paused to hear the other's hesitant answer.
"Two... Wow, three years the day after Stan's birthday, March Twenty-third. Right around the corner. Jeez." Kyle shook his head in amazement, and Eric slid the zipper down a little, pausing. "So, since you were eleven? Uh... What are you wearing beneath this? So I have ample warning?"
Kyle moaned in distress. "Yeah, since I was eleven. A thong and a triple-A bra. If you laugh at me I swear to God, Jehovah, Moses, Buddha and Chuck Norris, I'll murder you." he warned. Eric bit his lip, pushing back unwanted thoughts and a snort trying to escape. He tugged it down to his lower back, where the zipper-line stopped, revealing a white bra strap and an expanse of pale skin, marked only by rare freckles, the bump of his spine, and the indents on either side of his lower back that really skinny people have.
"Turn around." Kyle demanded shyly. Eric did as he was told, promising himself he would respect Kyle's ragged remains of dignity and privacy. After a minute or two of shuffling, Kyle called the okay and he turned back to the little redhead (dressed in his clothes from earlier that day), who was anxiously hanging up the dainty, simple blue dress in his closet... Behind a false wall. At Eric's questioning glance, Kyle shrugged, replacing the thin plaster before the brunette could examine the other dresses and girl's clothing there. The flat-cupped white bra was hanging limply from his fingers, but, to Eric's mild disappointment, the thong seemed to have already found another home.
With a sigh, Kyle threw the undergarment into the trash can. At Eric's questioning glance, he muttered, "It's too big around. I've been losing weight." and stepped into the bathroom. Hearing the sink switch on, Eric figured he was washing away the smeared make-up and sighed.
He wasn't all that sure he wasn't having some sugar-induced nightmare.
Kyle re-entered the room, hair pulled back into the ponytail, face damp and clean, clothes baggy and every-day, and Eric could almost convince himself it hadn't happened. Maybe, if not for the red rim around his eyes, and the mildly-traumatized look on his face.
Hesitantly, he asked, "Do you... You know, wanna talk about it?"
Kyle let out a shaky laugh, popping the knuckle of his ring finger between his lips and biting. "Honestly, Eric... I want you to leave, and not mention this... Ever. If I start talking, it's all gonna pour out, and shit's gonna hit the fan. So... Go, and convince yourself it was a dream. Go to sleep."
Yes. A dream. That was the only explanation. "Oh... Kay. Okay. Goodnight?"
"Goodnight, Eric."
The brunette stared at him uncertainly for a moment. Kyle sighed, smiling convincingly, like he did for his mother, "You have to go to sleep, now. It's time to wake up soon. This is just a bad dream, so... Go."
Eric obeyed.
A/N: I'm ba-ack! This story was inspired by Kryptonite by Three Doors Down, Perfect by Simple Plan, The Joker by the Steve Miller Band, Face Down by the Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, but more than anything, Viva la Gloria by Green Day.
Little girl, little girl, Why are you crying? Inside your restless soul, your heart is dying. Little one, little one, Your soul is purging. Of love and razor blades, Your blood is surging.
Run away, From the river to the street, And find yourself with your face in the gutter. You're a stray for the salvation army. There is no place like home... When you got no place to go.
REVIEW, I BEG OF YOU GOOD PEOPLE!