South Park © Matt & Trey.
This was going to be part of a chapter fic I just started writing, but I decided to make it a oneshot instead since things went in a completely different direction~ Anyway, enjoy!
"Jesus Christ, McCormick," Craig snorts as he walks into Kenny's bedroom, "Put some fuckin' clothes on once in a while, will yah?"
"I'm wearing shorts," the blond says defensively, gesturing to his boxers. "Besides, it isn't like you give a shit."
Craig rolls his eyes, flopping onto the mattress next to his friend. Kenny stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, leaning against his pillow. "Tired?" Craig asks.
"Mm," he mumbles. "What did you need?"
"Who says I need anything?" Craig challenges.
"Me," Kenny states surely. "I say that because I know you. If you didn't need something then you wouldn't be here."
"I'm out," Craig admits, his voice soft and tired and altogether miserable.
"Sucks to be you," Kenny snorts, feigning a lack of sympathy. "I guess I'll be partying by myself tonight."
"Share with me."
"I'm almost out, too."
"So?" Craig shrugs. "We can still share the last bit."
Kenny shakes his head vehemently. "No, go get your own. Don't be a cheap bastard."
"I'm broke," Craig states flatly.
"Well, so am I!"
"You're the one being a cheap bastard," he murmurs and Kenny snorts back a laugh. "Go downstairs and ask your parents," he continues to urge. "They know you do it… it's no big secret."
Kenny wrinkles his nose at the suggestion of it. "They wouldn't give drugs to their own fuckin' kid. They're shitty, but not that shitty."
"Just steal some, then," Craig says simply.
"They would notice."
"Then go suck more dick," he snaps maliciously, growing impatient. "Fat old men like you more than any other whore around here."
"No." Kenny shudders, trying to ignore Craig's bitter tongue. "You know I fucking hate doing shit like that."
"Then how about we quit instead?" he suggests, licking his chapped lips.
"Quit?" Kenny questions softly.
"Yeah… let's quit tomorrow," the brunet says, as if it's something that can be done easily. "No more for either of us."
Kenny chuckles, because he knows better than that. It's not that simple. It's never that simple. This is a fever they can't escape and it's never-ending. Nonetheless, he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he just says, "Okay."
It's just them now. Everyone else is at university, off living marvelous lives. However, sometimes they still call to make sure Craig and Kenny are both alive and kicking. Childhood memories always leave Kenny feeling particularly bitter.
"Hey…" he starts in an offhanded murmur. "Why don't you ever cry?"
"Because it doesn't solve anything," Craig snorts. It is something he prides himself on. He is cold with a heart of stone.
"But it can make you feel better," Kenny says. "I cry all the damn time."
"I know," Craig is laughing now.
"Fuck you," Kenny mutters, though he means, "fuck me."
And Craig does, because he never minds getting his hands a little dirty.
"So, here's to toxic habits," Kenny snorts hours later when he watches Craig stick the syringe in his arm.
"You talk too much," the black haired male mumbles. "You need to shut the hell up and enjoy the feeling."
Kenny leans backwards onto his mattress and shuts his eyes. It's a killer, sure, but it feels damn good.
"Hey," Craig says.
"Mm?"
"Can I fuck you?" he asks.
"Again?"
"Yeah. I don't wanna just sit around here and watch you enjoy yourself."
"Okay."
These experiences are never romantic, but that's okay. Craig isn't a romantic guy, and neither is Kenny. The thought of romance is a turn off for the both of them.
Kenny lifts his hip, allowing Craig to remove his boxers again. "Why don't you ever take off your clothing?" he asks, playing with himself as Craig unbuttons his jeans.
"Because I'm fuckin' ugly," he states, like it's common knowledge.
"Tsk," the blond clicks his tongue. "No, you're not… you're not ugly at all."
"Whatever," he shrugs, lubing up before plowing in. Kenny lies there limply, zoning in and out. "God, at least try to look alive," Craig grunts. "You make me feel like I'm fucking a stiff."
Kenny just laughs.
"I'm still out…" Craig mumbles the following day, looking even more exhausted and the possibility of quitting is entirely forgotten.
"Yeah, so?" Kenny shrugs. "I am, too."
"What should we do?"
"I don't know."
"Just let someone fuck you," Craig suggests once again. "It's not a big deal."
"For you, maybe," Kenny hisses. "I'm the one who has to let a disgusting pig touch me just so you can have your goddamn fix for free. I'd like to see you do the things I do for a change."
"Oh, really?"
A pause. "No… I'm lying," he relents. "I don't want to share you."
"I don't mind sharing you," Craig admits.
"I know," Kenny frowns at the utter cruelty of the situation. "I hate you sometimes."
"No, you don't," Craig says knowingly.
Kenny chuckles, albeit sadly. It's true enough, and that's why he does the things he does. He wants Craig to be happy and to be happy, he needs his fix. He gets bad when he doesn't get his fix. "I'M IN FUCKING PAIN!" he'll scream, looking like he might start crying at any second, but he never does. He'll say those words as if Kenny is to blame. He'll claw at his dark hair and scratch lines down his pale face and Kenny will feel the need to make it okay.
So he always relents with a sigh –
"Fine."
Kenny is never careful around people with rough hands and a rough touch. One night later, he returns home tired and angry, whipping out his cellphone and shooting Craig a message –
Come over, prick.
And Craig does. Moments later, he arrives looking paler than usual and a little clammy. "Did you get it?" Craig asks as soon as he steps foot in Kenny's room. "Say you did…"
Kenny laughs, partially out of disbelief, and partially because he doesn't want to start bawling. "I love how that's the first fucking thing you ask after what I just went through for you!" he shouts accusingly. Craig makes a face, but doesn't say anything. "Here!" the blond screams, throwing a baggy at Craig. "Here's your fucking drugs!"
"How'd you get them this time?" he asks, catching it before it hits him.
"How do you think?" Kenny spits, pushing past him. "Don't play dumb, asshole!"
Craig doesn't look guilty. He simply says, "Oh."
"You go enjoy yourself," Kenny growls. "I'm going to shower."
"You don't want any?"
"Later," he murmurs, leaving his bedroom.
It is quiet in the bathroom and all Kenny can hear is the soft padding of his feet on the tiles. His parents are likely unconscious, his sister is likely gone to a friend's house, and Kevin is likely in his own room doing the same thing Craig is busy doing. Drugs, drugs, and more drugs. What a life. What a fucking sad existence.
Kenny turns the taps on and gets inside the shower. The water is ice cold, but he doesn't mind. His skin begins to numb, but he still doesn't mind. He is slowly beginning to realize how wrong all of this is. Quitting would be better, but in ways, this is the easy option. This is the quick fix. He slowly sinks to the floor and buries his head between his legs before letting out a soft sob.
It hurts.
It hurts…
Everything hurts.
He isn't sure how long he's sitting there, but Craig finds him and turns the water off. He drags Kenny out of the shower, and scolds him. "Why the fuck do you do this shit?" he asks, audibly and visibly irritated.
"Fuck off," Kenny says, trying to sound angry, or annoyed at least, but the crack in his hoarse voice gives it all away.
Craig helps dry him off like one would a child and they both walk into Kenny's bedroom. "Here," he mumbles, handing him a change of clothing before flopping back onto the mattress. Kenny puts on the sweatpants and sweatshirt that's a size too big, his movements almost mechanical as he does so. Craig knows him by now, and knows he likes to cover up after bad nights. "You're so fucked up," he says as he watches.
"It's your fault!" Kenny glares before settling next to the dark haired male.
"No, it's not," Craig insists. "You have free will. You don't need to do the things I ask you to." But the only reason he says that is because he knows that no matter what, Kenny will always do what he asks. It's hard to say no to the person you love.
"I hate you," Kenny bites out in a wet voice before beginning to cry – angry and tired of this constant state of self-hatred.
Craig rolls his eyes, allowing Kenny to curl into him. He's still high and it's the only time he tolerates Kenny's constant need for affection.
When he stops crying, they'll shoot more and everything will be fine again.
They walk outside the following afternoon and Kenny finds himself squinting. The sun feels like a drill going off in his fucking brain. "Christ," he hisses, shielding his eyes from the light.
"You need to leave the flop house more during the day and not just at night," Craig says.
An endearing nickname for the McCormick residence. It's sad and true, but Kenny just laughs it off. "Probably."
They fall backwards onto the snow as the sun starts to dim and lay there still as stones – looking almost like two corpses.
"Tomorrow… let's quit tomorrow…" Craig mumbles, shutting his eyes.
Kenny smiles bitterly, looking up at the darkening sky. "Sure, Craig."
Fin.