Authors Note: This posting two chapters a weeks instead of putting it all up at once is actually very helpful. Hopefully, this way I will have enough time to write further chapters and can keep posting on Monday and one Thrusday until it's complete. :)


Chapter 2- Kyle Smile:

I like to hang around the curb outside Whistlin' Pete's Pizza every now and again, just like I'm doing this evening. Everyone knows I'm too poor for proper meals, so when they come out with their full belly's and extra slice of pizza or two and see me sitting all alone, hungry at dinner time, they'll usually give me their leftovers. But, that's only on the nights I'm lucky. Sometimes all I get is the pleasure of the warm aroma wafting out from the inside ovens. It makes me hate everyone who has the fortune to actually sit inside and eat it. They don't know how lucky they are, slurping their root beers and tossing out the unwanted crust that I would have gladly eaten. Wasteful bastards.

Sitting here has saved a lot of nights of going to bed on an empty stomach, though. Something I've learned contributes to nightmares, contrary to what "they" say about eating before you go to bed. Sleeping on a full stomach helps you actually sleep. Trying to sleep on an empty stomach makes you restless. If anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise, just say that Kenny McCormick thinks they're a lying sack of shit that needs to spend a week without food before opening their pie holes, because no one should honestly be that Goddamn, fucking stupid.

Then again, that's just me talking. Kenny McKormick; dirty little bastard. Ghetto grown, pocket picker. Twisted fuck. No wonder Butters parents don't want him hanging out with me anymore. I'm surprised Kyle's mother allows it. After all, wouldn't it be easy for the piece of shit, welfare boy to corrupt that delectable little Jew?

Of course it would. It's easier to pin their own children's bad behavior on the kid with no money. So, that's it, lets completely over look the fact that Stan fucks him during school hours, that Cartman picks on him mercilessly, and we'll all blame Kenny, because it's more logical. Beautiful. Just fucking beautiful.

I'm getting angrier by the second. My fingers are twisted in the fabric of my orange hood, white and numb from the pressure as I clutch and release, messing up the already disheveled hair beneath. And for once in my life I hate it; I hate my parka, I hate my blonde hair with all its tangles and dirt, I hate Kyle and his mom, I hate Whistling Pete and his goddamn pizza and all the wasteful, crust throw awayer, root beer drinking bastards, and I hate myself for hating everything. But most importantly, I hate Butters.

I hate him so goddamn much for leaving me alone and never even telling me why. I like to think we had gotten kind of close. Maybe never Stan and Kyle close (even before their fuck-a-thon began) but still close. I trusted that kid with everything. I never told him all my secrets, but he told me all of his. He told me all his feelings. And I sort of liked that. I felt like I belonged, like he saw us as equals even though we're obviously not. I always felt a tug at my heart when I looked at him, because even though I had friends and he really didn't, we were still both so alone.

And now, he just ditches me. He could have told me what happened. He could have had someone else tell me. He didn't have to leave me in the dark. He knows I hate Alone. More than anyone, he knows that. Maybe I'd be hurt if I knew how to hurt. But I only know how to be angered. Because I'm Kenny. Kenny's poor so Kenny can't hurt. That's their theory. Maybe I believe it, too.

I rub at my eyes, hating the burning sensation they have. I slide my cold, dry fingers upward until they slip beneath my hood and push it off my head to land softly on my shoulders. I don't care at the moment about that as my fingers work their way through the cornflower tresses on my scalp, massaging in slow, circular movements.

There's a presence to my right, and I turn my head to look when I feel someone sit beside me. Kyle's the misfortunate bastard that had the bad sense to bother me. His elbows are resting on his knees, his chin in his palms. He looks thoughtful, almost as if he didn't even see me there.

Christ. Don't tell me I've died again and just don't know it.

"Kenny," He speaks on a sigh, and I can't help but release a breath of pure relief. Death is just a little more than I can deal with right now, thank you very much.

"I'm, um, I… I'm really sorry."

I blink at him, surprised by this. He's usually so firm in what he believes. Whatever reasons he had for being so harsh earlier in the day had to have been justified somehow. At least in his eyes. I guess that's a trait he picked up from his mother. Not exactly something I'd be proud of if I were him, and I don't think he is, either. At least he's able to recognize that he's not always right. I'll give him points for that.

I'm looking at him now, staring. His expression is so considerate, and it makes me want to slap him. Not that I'm annoyed with him, only the emotions that come so easily. I wish he would say something else. A few minutes go by that I don't respond to him in any way. Because I'm like that. I've never talked much before, and I still don't. What's the point? I'm Kenny. I'm here to listen, not to talk.

"Stan's important to me." His voice breaks through the silence, clear and clean. "Not that you aren't," He's quick to add this last part. I don't know why. He's never reassured me about anything before. I've always known that Stan was more important to him than I was, it's always been obvious. "You know what's going on between us."

I nod, still not offering any verbal conversation. I wonder why they never get annoyed with that, but they don't. That pizza's smelling better by the second. My stomach's growling, but I say nothing about that, either.

"But it's more than sex, Kenny." He finishes. Finally he looks up into my eyes, and he smiles at me. But it isn't a "Kyle Smile". Bright and cheerful and always whole hearted. It's just a smile, wistful and broken. It makes my heart hurt.

"I'm so… in love- with him." He breaths this softly, not quite a whisper. It holds so much emotion that I can feel it, in my stomach, in my mind. His arms slide from his knee's and wrap around his waist. He inhales the cool air sharply and cranes his neck to look up at the softly darkening sky, just now becoming aglow with the first visible star.

"I don't expect," He swallows. "you to understand, exactly, how serious I am when I say that. How much that I… mean it."

He blinks, smiles again. It's not sorrowful at all like I had previously thought. It's different, somehow. His smile is different.

"Why'd you freak out about me knowing?" I blurt out. I never did have any regard for treading straight into something that's none of my damn business in the first place. If I want to know, I'm going to ask. Simple as that. "You're not one of those 'Oh my god! I'm gay and no one can ever find out or I'll kill myself!' people, are you?"

He squeezes his eyes closed and lets out a series of laughs. I laugh, too, though I'm really not sure what the hell's so funny.

"No, I'm not." He assures around dying laughter. Despite how happy he looks, how vibrant and alive and complete, there's also a hint of sadness. That piece of emotion begins to surface now as he plays with the fabric of his pants that covers his left knee. "It's not forever, dude." He stalls a minute, staring hard into nothingness. "Me and… and Stan, I mean."

I open my mouth to speak, but close it again upon closer inspection of his eyes. He swallows hard and blinks rapidly, telltale signs that whatever he wants to say isn't easy for him. I know that Kyle isn't perfect, but sometimes it's hard for someone like me to remember that, until I'm reminded by moments like these.

"That's why I was so…"

"Bitchy." I supply when he trails off. He snorts a short laugh and I smile at him, even though he still won't look at me. Why won't he look at me? He rarely ever sees my face exposed like this, he should be staring openly. Maybe I'm too hideous. Maybe he can't bear to look at me for fear of me seeing his face scrunch up in distaste.

"Yeah, bitchy." He echo's me. "Our time together is- it's limited. We only have right now, and I don't… want to share it. With anyone."

I'm trying to figure out what's so different about him as he turns his eyes back to me. They glisten like jewels and almost seem to flash their icy green with each blink he takes. I realize for the first time that Kyle is different. Not just his smile. Maybe he's crazy.

"Why can't it be forever?" I debate with honest curiosity. "If you're so in love with each other, why can't you stay together?"

He looks bewildered by this. "If my mom ever found out, she'd… God, she'd take down the entire United States government for it, and possibly Canada, too." He smiles sadly, then shakes his head leisurely and sighs again, letting the smile drop. "Me and Stan, we both know it's only temporary. We have a lot of feelings for each other, but some day we're going to have to grow up and get married," He pauses. "To women, have a family and… and settle for seeing each other once a week, when we get together on Saturdays to go fishing and drink beer and talk about how our wives are driving us crazy and our kids are spawns of Satan."

I chuckle at the mental image, and so does he. But he's quick to get serious again.

"It tears me apart to think about." He admits. "But, this… isn't a fairy tale. We can't tell our parents and everything will be okay, they would never… they wouldn't ever be okay with it. I know they wouldn't. Not… my mother. And we can't just run off somewhere together."

The bell on the door behind us chimes. Kyle lowers his eyes and tightens his arms around himself. I look back at the man pleadingly, but he doesn't even notice us. I notice Kyle glance at him out of the corner of his eye, almost defensively, and we both watch him until he rounds the first corner, me sniffing the lingering scent of the pizza he carried in his arms.

I ignore my loudly protesting stomach once again and look back at Kyle just in time to see him wipe his eyes with his wrists.

"Why can't you run away? It's suppose to be romantic and orgasmic and all that other yummy, delicious, boneifying crap." I promise him.

"It isn't reasonable." He attests, and for the second time I want to slap him. "You've got to keep it quiet, Kenny. We don't want it to end because our parents tear us apart. We want to… be able to let go and still be friends without them trying to stop that, and it isn't going to happen if it's a huge joke. I know I have to let go sometime, but I'm just… not ready. Not- not now."

I know this is hard for him to think about and even harder to talk about. I decide now that Kyle isn't crazy. Kyle really is in love.

"I promise, dude. I won't tell anyone."

He smiles at me, a "Kyle Smile" and settles his palm on my shoulder. "Thanks, Kenny." He stands and stretches the muscles in his arms and back by reaching them over his head and arching his spine back. My vision automatically falls to the front of his pants and suddenly I forget all about pizza and root bear, but Kyle's just taking notice.

"Hey," He says, and my eyes snap up to his, guilty and afraid he caught me sizing up his lower half. His thumb is pointed at the door of the pizza place. "Want some pizza? I'm starving."

Before I can even answer, he's half way through the door and turns to face me. "Come on, I'm buying."

He lets the door waft closed behind him. I'm on my feet and tracing his steps a moment later, thanking the lord I don't have to go to sleep on a near empty stomach tonight.


-BratChild3 (Lisha)