Play Crack the Sky
A South Park Fanfiction by DizzyAlice

Chapter Four: Calm Me and Let Me Taste the Salt You Breathed While You Were Underneath

A/N: Mmh, normally I wouldn't update this quickly, but I finished this chapter and I liked it so I figured what the hell.
Not that I gave you guys a ton of time, but only one person reviewed last chapter (thank you Mila)... Are you guys still alive out there? D:

I've seen the ocean very few times in my life.

The most memorable of these times was when I was younger, my mom took my little brother and I to visit our cousin in Connecticut over summer break. They decided to take us to the beach one day.

We were on the Long Island Sound, so there weren't really waves, but the feeling of peace I got from the sand beneath my feet, the sun hot on my bare back, the cool water gently lapping at the shore, that stayed with me for a long time. At times I find myself yearning for ocean breeze and the taste of salt water.

I was standing on the shore then, my feet on the bare sand and the cold water flowing around my ankles. But it felt different, somehow. Ominous. The beach was devoid of people, the water was dark, and I could tell from the grey clouds billowing overhead that a storm was brewing.

I stood staring out to the horizon, to where the water continued on forever and ever until it dropped away, swallowed by the abyss of the sky. I could've stood there for minutes, hours, days, and it wouldn't have mattered. The world was dead and gone, buried under miles of ocean, and I was the sole survivor.

Not much of anything mattered anymore.

I was brought out of my reverie as a teen with inkblot-black hair and sunken eyes brushed past me. "Excuse me, sir," he mumbled as he moved by.

I stared after him as he slowly drifted further into the water. "Stan?" I asked softly.

He whirled on me, his face ashen and haunted. "Do you know me?" he pleaded, clawing desperately at the front of my shirt. "Do you know me, do you?"

I tried to answer but my throat was closed. I began coughing. After a short while of this I managed to choke up something. I spit a single white feather out into my hand.

When I looked back up Stan was far out in the water, where it came up to his chest. The wind picked up and it whispered Do you know me do you know me do you?

I dropped the feather I had coughed up. It fluttered away from me, landing afloat on the water. I ran out to where Stan was, screaming his name, but he had disappeared beneath the surface.

When I got to where he had been, I called his name one last time. And then looked down. What I saw made my breath catch in my chest.

Stan was staring up at me – but his eyes were blind. His mouth was open, ocean water flowing between his slightly parted lips. All the color had drained from his skin and his hair gently floated to form a black halo around his submersed head.

"Stan!"

It was dark. The only light came from the soft glow of the TV. I was sitting up on the couch, on Stan's couch, in Stan's living room. My hand shot out and wrapped around an ankle that wasn't my own.

Muffled groaning came from the other end of the couch, and then Stan sat up as well, rubbing his eyes. "Jesus, Ky, 'm righ' here. Wha's wrong?"

I just stared at him, my eyes wide, one hand covering my mouth. I just couldn't seem to get the image of him drowned in the ocean out of my head.

"Kyle…?"

"Sorry, it was just – just um, a bad dream, I guess," I managed, my voice shaking.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Just… Please don't leave me, Stan. I don't know what I would do without you."

He sighed. "Is that what this is about?" I bit my lip, brow furrowing. He reached out, curling one hand over my thigh, raising the other to pet my hair. "Ky. I'm not going anywhere. Okay? Calm down, everything's okay."

I nodded, and I stared into his eyes, and I trusted that what he was saying was true.

It had been a few weeks since the party, and there we were on the same couch where we had… I don't even know. Fooled around? Neither of us had mentioned that night since, and I was left wondering if Stan had been too drunk to remember. A large part f me thought what a relief it would be if this were the case, but I couldn't seem to silence this tiny hope that he remembered, and had been thinking about it as much as I had been.

This tiny hope was also making it harder and harder for me to convince myself that dating Stan was a bad idea, a very bad idea. But Stan and I were meant to be, we were like, like – soul mates or something. That sounds stupid, but how else was I supposed to rationalize that feeling I've always had for him, which is definitely more than strictly platonic, ever since I first saw him, when my four-year-old self didn't even really know what true love was?

What I had with Stan was the closest I might ever come to true love and I was an idiot if I was going to pass that up.

And all this despite the fact that he was a guy. But the thing was, Stan wasn't just some guy. He was Stan. He was my best friend, and he knew me better than I knew myself and he was staring at me with the deepest concern in his eyes.

And I wanted him.

All of him.

So I kissed him.

Well, it didn't happen just like that. I leaned in slow, gave him time to realize what I was doing and back away, but that's just the thing.

He didn't.

He let me gently press my lips to his. I tried to ignore the fact that his mouth tasted like salt and concentrate instead on the way our lips matched up perfectly.

He kissed me back softly and then we separated, his eyes sparkling and his mouth spread into the most beautiful smile.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered again. "I promise."

That time he leaned in and kissed me, and that time we didn't pull apart. Together we slowly fell back onto the couch, him on top, still attached at the mouth. The gentle, rhythmic ebb and flow of our kissing reminded me of the ocean – of a calm, sweet ocean that no one drowned themselves in. After a while our kisses died down and we just lay there, together, holding each other.

The contrast between that night and the night of the party was stunning. The gentleness and innocence of it all, the lack of alcohol blurring our minds and allowing us to act on our true desires. The knowledge that we had consciously chosen this path for our relationship, and we would both wake up in the morning remembering this feeling.

On that couch in his embrace, I felt safe. Warm. Loved. That was all I ever really needed. And with his arms wrapped around me, I allowed myself to drift off to a far more peaceful sleep.

The stormy ocean of my mind was finally at ease, and now I could rest.

A/N: Things other than the song "Play Crack the Sky" that inspired this chapter: The song "Self Conclusion" by the Spill Canvas, and the book I'm reading right now, The Butcher Boy by Patrick McCabe.
I really enjoy writing dream sequences because I just find dreams so fascinating. They're like, the innermost workings of the human mind, and we don't even consciously control them. Pretty cool stuff. My parents got me this huge dream interpretation book for Christmas, and I've actually been getting pretty good at interpreting my own dreams, but other peoples' are still hard ._. but it's fun to try :D
Dream sequences are also good for beating you guys over the head with symbolism, yaaay! xD
Anyways, review and I will love you forever~