Sorry it took me so long to update! I just moved back to college so it's been a little hectic.

Chapter 7: Where The Wind Blows

Even his own lover wasn't exempt from the curse.

God is cruel. Kenny's thoughts were sinking in his head, heavy and black, as he stomped up to his apartment. Maybe there is no God. He mused the idea, mulling it over his brain like he was tasting wine. In the end, he just shrugged and opened his door (naturally it was unlocked), shaking the snow off his shoulders.

Inside, the lights were off, but the open curtains allowed blaring streetlights from across the way to filter into the one-roomed apartment. Kenny could just make out the clock on the left wall- 4:50 a.m. The two thin hands on the broken face of the old clock formed a mocking grin.

He looked away from the clock and kicked off his boots, then his orange parka, and left them on the moth-eaten couch. There was already plenty of clothing tossed on the couch, and around the apartment in general. Mostly plain shirts with missing buttons and pants with holes in the knees, but also women's clothing and wigs. Dressing up as characters named 'Princess' and 'Marjorine' was a favorite pastime of Kenny and Butters.

He slunk to the bedroom, creaking the door open as quietly as possible and padded inside. There, the thin frame of Butters lay under a pile of blankets. Kenny cracked a smile and moved to the side of the bed, lifting up the blankets and crawling underneath.

Butters' warm breath drew slowly in and out, as steady as a heartbeat. When Kenny shifted his position so that he was lying on his side, the movement woke Butters, who rubbed his eyes and let out a small groan.

"You're back," Butters spoke quietly, but a slight smile graced his lips.

Suddenly, Kenny couldn't hold it back anymore. He swooped forward, grabbed Butters' face, and landed a passionate kiss. Butters instantly reciprocated, giving himself over to Kenny's greed. They were two mouths moving together like old dance partners, each predicting the other's movements in the gentle passion of a long romance.

They parted, breathing heavy through the dark.

"Have you been working all night?" Butters asked, moving in closer to Kenny's chest.

Kenny's smile vanished. "No," he broke his gaze away and glared at his hands. "No, I had, uh, an accident, again. Remember my thing with dying?"

Butters slammed his eyebrows and let out a small 'oh'.

"Gee, I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

"I just wish I could remember," Butters was whispering, clutching his hands tightly in one another.

Kenny exhaled harshly through his nose, then grabbed both of Butters' hands and brought them up to his mouth, chastely kissing each finger and knuckle as though his hands were the most precious thing on Earth.

"I love you," Kenny purred. "Now go back to sleep."

"I love you, too."

Butters closed his eyes again, Kenny's arms wrapped around him. Soon, he was lost to the sweet perfume of dreams.

However, Kenny lay awake, staring at the blank ceiling. He didn't move a muscle or make a sound, but somewhere deep inside the lowest pits of his stomach, a strange feeling was swirling like the heavy winds before a tornado. A feeling so unfamiliar, so unpleasant and eerie, tightening in his chest. Why…

Then, the emotion gripped him. Intangible claws digging at the insides of his throat, and he knew what it was.

Fear.

Thankfully for Tweek, the bar they went to had a quiet atmosphere. Groups of friends and lovers were huddled together at tables and at the bar, chatting amongst themselves over the smooth, jazzy music.

Tweek was seated in between Clyde and Craig at a booth, feeling jittery and out of place. He was slouched over a hot cup of Irish coffee, the sweetened whiskey dancing over his tense nerves and fogging his head, and the harsh coffee riling up his muscles and boosting his energy. The drink was both a depressant and an antidepressant, calming and exciting, opposites working against each other beautifully.

Along with Clyde and Craig, there were other people with them. Another officer named Barbrady, who had a kind of goofy innocence about him that was hard to dislike, and some guy named Kevin Stoley. They had had some reservations about Tweek when they first saw him. Just who was this wild looking, bruised man who couldn't even button up his shirt properly? However, all the men quickly took to him and welcomed him warmly.

All except Craig, who didn't smile or even pretend to be friendly. He was just puffing on a cigarette, adding laconic questions or statements to the conversation every now and again. Intimidated by him, Tweek found himself inching away in his seat, more towards Clyde.

"Hey Tweek," Clyde said, maybe a little too loudly because Tweek jumped up in his seat, letting out a small yelp. Clyde ignored it and continued. "Tell us how Cartman gave you that bruise."

Barbrady and Stoley eagerly nodded, and Craig ever so slightly arched an eyebrow, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray.

Oh God, Oh Jesus. Tweek twitched and looked around at everybody's faces with eyes shot open, the same thing that happened right before the curtains drew open on stage and he'd be exposed to the whole theatre. Get in character, Tweek. It's showtime.

"Well," he began, making his voice shaky enough to be believable. "I was out, just running some errands, when I saw your chief."

Okay, good start. What's next? Make up something dark and twisted, like on those bad radio soap operas? No, better to keep it simple. Easier to remember.

"So, I guess it must've been a boring day or something, 'cuz he came up to me and started asking me for my ID and stuff. I don't know why, I don't even have a car."

Where are you going with this? He scanned over the watching faces, each one intent, wide with curiosity but also a kind of deep knowing. Their eyes were flipping back and forth between a hawk like gaze fixed on Tweek, and glancing down at clenched fists in staunch refusal to look. Tweek began running his hands through his hair.

"I-I gave him my ID, it's no big deal. Then, he said that he needed to take me down to the station for questioning. Of course, I asked why and he wouldn't give me a reason, so I said no. Well, h-he didn't like that."

Tweek took a pause to twitch in his seat, acting as himself.

"Then, things kinda escalated. He started yelling at me, saying I wouldn't respect his, uh, authoritah, and I tried backing down but he just kept going at it. When I told him to calm down, that's when he hit me and know I got this shiner. He just left after that, without saying anything."

He offered a sheepish smile to finish off his story, mouth tilting to the left in a charmingly crooked way. The table was silent. Oh God, he thought, They don't believe me. They know I'm a lying liar and they hate me.

Finally, Clyde let out a long, low whistle, raising his head to meet Tweek's frenzied eyes.

"Jeez, I'm sorry," his voice was soft, apologetic.

Tweek just shrugged and let his chest relax as the other men voiced their agreement. They bought it like it was on sale. The cops then turned towards other topics of conversation, sharing stories of small time crooks and druggies they encountered on the job, and Tweek was left hunched in his chair, not paying attention to what was being said.

He tried to make his story believable, making sure to add in that Cartman was, above all things, bored. Being bored and holding power was not a good combination, and all cops got bored on the job. Now, one of two things could happen; either the cops would reject Tweek for knowing their shameful hobby, or pretend that they never harassed innocent civilians and be extra kind to him as a way of coping with their guilt.

Thankfully, it was the second one, as Tweek soon found out. The cops, except Craig, smiled gently at him, and asked him various questions when they wanted to include him in their conversation. Just normal small talk questions though, like what his job was (there was insulting laughter when he said 'actor', a true sign of friendship between males), and if he had a girlfriend or not. He answered politely enough, though he had trouble carrying on a discussion.

Then it struck him. Out of absolutely nowhere, panic bubbled in his stomach and crawled up like a slimy lizard to his throat. Tweek swallowed over and over again to push it down, his heart rate increasing with each drop of spit forcing itself through his esophagus. His shoulders were tensed like a soldier's, muscles in his chest held rigid and tight in an impenetrable wall.

Tweek sucked in a haggard breath as he stood up out of his seat, arms shaking. He grinned at the other men, a little too hard, and his eyes were shooting out of his face.

"Uh, excuse me for a second," he mumbled, twitching his head into his shoulder.

He ran to the one-person bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him. There, in the blinding white tiles and porcelain, everything poured out of the broken dam of himself. He fell to the floor with his back to the door, gasping harder than a drowning man, tears sliding down his red face. His vision was blurry, black at the edges, and electric shudders raked his back.

I'm dying, I'm dying, I'm dying…

Suddenly, there was a harsh knock at the door that he felt reverberate through his bones.

"J-just a minute," he choked out, crooking himself up and resting his elbows on the sink. There was a mirror above the sink, so Tweek could see his pale reflection, his silvery tears, his dark shadows, and his twisted eyes.

To his surprise, the door opened anyway. Before he could say anything, Tweek saw the imposing figure of Craig casually leaning against the doorframe. Neither man said anything as Craig walked in calmer than the eye of a hurricane, and shut the door behind them.

Tweek was breathing hard through his mouth, his lungs not filling up all the way. Craig took out a carton of cigarettes.

"Want a smoke?" His voice was neutral.

Tweek nodded and took a cigarette while Craig produced a lighter. He grabbed Tweek's shaking hand that held the cigarette and lit it for him. The small flame danced before Tweek's eyes, and the slight heat brought him back into his body. Taking an eager drag, he let the smoke flow into his chest and out again through his parted lips.

"Breathe slowly," Craig said, quiet and placid, as he lit his own cigarette.

Tweek finished his smoke in about three minutes, putting the butt out in the sink and tossing it into the trash can. His heart was still throbbing, but his tears had dried. Craig was still enjoying his, but in between puffs he was talking without any aim.

"I used to work at a mental institution, and there was this guy that kinda reminds me of you. He was really nervous and sad, and he had this thing where he would randomly shout swears and shit like that. Sometimes he got all panicky like this."

Tweek leaned against the wall and studied Craig's face. It was mostly stony, his glacier eyes staring at the wall, though the muscles of his jaw were tensed ever so slightly, hardly noticeable, yet held everything.

"You really liked him," Tweek said.

Craig glanced at him and nodded. "I like you, too," he added under his breath.

Tweek snorted and smiled, brows raised in disbelief. "Yeah, it really shows."

Craig couldn't help but let the corners of his mouth raise in some sort of almost smile. He then gestured to Tweek's bruise.

"Did that really happen between you and Cartman?"

"Yeah."

"I don't believe you."

Tweek wasn't sure whether he should've felt offended or relieved.

"Why not?" he growled.

Craig shrugged. "Just a feeling. I mean, sure your story sounded realistic. And I know Cartman, and that definitely could've happened, but I don't believe you."

Tweek pursed his lips and started twitching his eyes and shaking his leg as Craig lumbered towards him, his cigarette almost finished.

"And that makes me wonder- why would you lie about that?"

Their eyes met, ice to electricity, and neither man said anything as Tweek shivered beneath his gaze.

They stood like that until Craig finished his cigarette a good thirty seconds later, finally breaking eye contact. Tweek let his posture relax a bit as he grabbed at his hair, blonde waves disrupted and ruffled.

Craig took out a little notepad and pencil, the kind he used to write tickets. He scribbled something on a small sheet of paper, ripped it out, and handed it to Tweek. It read: Tuesday, 11:50 pm, alley next to the station.

Tweek scrunched his brows and glanced questioningly at Craig.

"Meet me there. Don't tell anyone."

With that, Craig turned away and marched out of the bathroom. Tweek was left slouching against the sink, gripping the crinkled paper like the world depended on it.

Thanks for reading, remember that smoking kills, and please leave a review!