The rain falls in drenching sheets, the torrent thrumming harshly against the sodden country roads. The crystalline droplets trace a melancholy trail across the slightly tinted glass, seemingly a reflection of the inner turmoil of Kyle Broflovski.
It had been half an hour since they had driven into the vast green expanse of the countryside, the picturesque rolling hills had looked like the screensaver of an old windows PC until the heavens had opened; yet now as his father's once-pristine BMW wades through mud and filth he finds himself yearning for the grey cement streets and towering structures of steel and glass he had grown accustomed to.
The car shudders and lurches over the treacherously flooding dirt roads, causing his mother to yelp.
"This place is even further away than it sounded…" States Ike, his nervous voice addressing no-one in particular as he gazes intently out the window, as if he expected some form of escape to majestically materialize in front of him. He fiddles absentmindedly at the cuffs of his dress shirt.
"You're damn right, were in the middle of bloody nowhere." The redhead mutters, unafraid to voice his discontent. Unlike his younger adopted brother, he had no qualms about angering his parents. Not after this.
Kyle feels his mother's gaze harden, no longer needing to see his mother's face to notice her frustration. She'd shout at him, most likely, for the usage of expletives but such an action would be futile now. When looked at in this light, maybe there is some benefit to this whole situation. At least his overbearing mother couldn't pester him after she discarded him in this mud-infused hellhole.
He pulls his iPod from his pocket, tuning out the thrashing of the rain and the uneasy silence of the car with songs he used to love – tunes that once filled him with joy that make him feel almost numb now, filled with the same empty feeling that he always does when he is reminded of Stan.
It had been almost a year since they'd met, that bittersweet moment forever stained on the parchment of his memory in indelible ink. It had been the beginning of March, and the air had become slightly crisper as the heavy dregs of moisture form the February storms had faded, leaving the new spring air feeling strangely hopeful. The raven-haired boy had entered his life as quickly as he had left it. His unannounced arrival had taken the whole school by surprise, the relatively small-scale private establishment rarely had new students and never any that had arrived so unexpectedly. He had stood before the class - tie slightly lopsided and his glossy hair attractively tousled – and spoke in a slightly hoarse voice. "Marsh," he had declared, leaning so that his strong figure rested on the bookcase behind him. He was charming in an effortless, laid back way – a long-awaited break from the narcissistic, try-hards that seemed to be in abundance in this dead-end excuse of a school. It's something that he would never openly admit, but Kyle was immediately compelled by the suave, seemingly disinterested stranger that towered before him.
It was a week before he had spoken to Kyle, and by that time his polite intrigue had grown into some odd combination of fascination and attraction, his boredom at the simplistic school work long forgotten since his blossoming preoccupation with the mysterious younger man. Stan had approached Kyle one afternoon, after being advised by his fellow pupils to partner with him for their science project (After his arrival at the schools some years ago, it had become a one-sided joke to have Kyle as a partner on a joint project, as they were well aware that he valued his grades enough to do all the work once they had refused to co-operate).
"Wow, you're really bloody tall!" Kyle had blurted out in the most unsophisticated manner he deemed possible, and promptly threw his hands to his lips as if the action could undo his unceremonious greeting. Stan was not offended at this outburst, quite to the contrary – he had laughed until he was gasping for air, chuckling involuntarily at the mercy of his amusement.
From that first laugh a strange bond had formed, strong yet pliable. What was at first a meagre friendship had silently and relentlessly morphed into something foreign and thrilling, an unfathomable attraction.
The same connection that – in his affluence and eagerness – left him broken once severed.
…
Ike's hesitant fingers stir Kyle from his haze, nervously anticipating a dose of the hostility that emanates from the elder boy. In response. He runs his fingers roughly through his unkempt, flame-red curls and dislodges his earpiece reluctantly, as if his uncertainty could somehow deter the imminent situation.
"Were almost there," mutters Ike, who is aware at how obvious this remark is yet still feels compelled to break the silence. "You should probably put your tie back on, dude."
Surely enough, as he battles a futile war with the silk at his neck and glares at the thinning trees, a large sign emerges from the foliage. The metallic letters gleam in the meagre trails of sunlight that fight through the dense clouds overhead, the unnecessarily opulent school crest boasts the same dreary grey of the awful uniform.
The ornate gates are coated in worn golden paint, peeling and beginning to rust, but it doesn't have the prison-like feel I had envisioned – no observation towers or heavy metal chains. Almost as if the students stay here willingly.
"Are you sure this is the front gate? I was expecting a little more 'Arbeit Macht Frei', perhaps some armed fascists to gun down escapees…"
"KYLE!" Sheila bellows, "Do NOT belittle our people!"
"I was just saying-"
"Please," interjects his father, a rare but welcome interruption. "I know this change is hard for you but we've spent a lot of money so you can come here, Kyle. We care about you and your future. After everything that happened recently we feel this is the best option for you. For the BOTH of you."
Kyle grumbles in defeat, drawing in his knees so that his overly polished shoes rest precariously on the edge of the leather seat. As always, their father was the single voice of reason. Gerald had been understanding, even offering Kyle support through the last two months.
His mother, however, was a different story. Ever since she realized Kyle would never marry a nice Jewish woman and raise a traditional family she had become increasingly distant and argumentative. During the recent affairs she was distressed, although this was less compassion for Kyle's situation and emotions but rather disgust at the concept of him harbouring romantic feelings toward another man. Kyle likes to believe this change of situation was entirely his father's idea, and is slightly reassured by the claims that this decision was made in his best interests. Despite what he feels compelled to believe, he cannot shake the feeling that his mother was so accepting of the plan because he would ultimately have to leave the household. What seems hardest to comprehend, however, is why his parents would feel the need to send him to an all-male boarding school. Kyle is still unsure whether this is an awful idea, and doesn't quite wish to find out by experience.
What he thinks is the end might just be the new beginning he so desperately needs, however...
Even if this salvation comes in an unexpected form.
AN: thank you so much for reading! I hope to update every week at least, but this is my first multi-chapter fic so I'm not sure how realistic that goal is. I have a general Idea of the storyline but I'm open to suggestions, so if there's a pairing or interaction you'd like to see I'd love to add it in.
Please give feedback, Your support inspires me, and every review I get literally makes my day (yes, I am indeed that sad) so please share your thoughts!
If there is a Kyman fic you'd like to see written please PM me! I love to hear peoples ideas and if I have the time I'll write one for you.
- NocturnalLament
