There was something tangible in the air, something... miserable. It coated the city in thick layers, as if a giant painter hovered above the streets, splashing the buildings and people with a flick of his paintbrush. It was unavoidable, being soaked in the rain.

Kyle's teeth chattered, rattling his skull as he forced his way down the sidewalk. The cellophane liquid doubled as sharp daggers, sinking into his flesh despite his coat. The worse part, and no it wasn't how his clothes weighed a ton, was that he could've been safely home. Instead he was here, dragging himself to a bakery on his day off.

He cursed under his breath, trying to lower his face into the fabric of his collar. The rain had worsened considerably since this morning, its icy touch enough for Kyle to think the skin of his cheeks were peeling.

"All for some sweets," he spat, "when I find that lard ass I'll-" A car sped past, roughly hitting a puddle by the curb. The consequences of such had a wave being launched, effectively dousing the already frustrated young man.

"Fuck!" An old woman across the street from him glared, but he couldn't bring himself to pretend he fucking cared. He was a second from finding that bastard and wringing his neck; his clenched his fists, forcing deep breaths between the shudders that wracked his body.

The only thing that kept him going on was the memory of Token, it was still fresh in his mind. He'd hate for the other man to be disappointed in his failure, partially because Kyle couldn't help but be slightly attracted to him. Okay, he'd wanted to jump Token's bones in the kitchen. He shook his head, he had to stop doing that. Yearning for every guy he met, especially those off limits.

As handsome, intelligent, perfect as Token was, there was something unattainable that he possessed. Hell, he was only being nice to the new guy, nothing more. Kyle absently kicked at a pebble in his path, stuffing his numb hands into his pockets.

Brow furrowing, Kyle raised his head. The rain had his hair plastered to his forehead, curls dangling in his eyes. Past the russet strands, he squinted against the frigid shower. It was annoying how much that upset him, the thought of rejection. And it wasn't like he could be open about how he felt, not one of his kind. He sighed.

The only salvation for his problem was back at the club, entertaining 'suitors' at her leisure. He swallowed back the bitter taste of anger, quelling it with firm stomps. It had water spraying his pants, almost in retaliation, but he chose to ignore the sensation. It was the force that drove him to the destination written on the crumbled paper in his pocket, building near invisible with all of its antiquity and glass. If he hadn't been looking for Désir et indulgences, he'd miss it. The bakery gave off the impression that it happened often.

Not that it was easily forgotten, but that it was a staple monument that the citizens had gotten used to. Respected.

Everything about it was in the shape of rectangles, wood painted a relaxing shade of light green. French words were written on the glass in broad strokes of dark gold, some of which Kyle recognized, mostly in his mother's old recipe books. He tended to do that when he was younger, flip through the pages and hunger for the drawings of food. The air around the bakery smelt of crisp sweet bread, mouth watering.

Kyle paused before the door, casting a glance to the loaves resting in racks before the windows, all a delicious golden brown. He twist the doorknob, eagerly going inside.

The smell was heavy as soon as you stepped through that threshold, enough to cause one to momentarily close their eyes. You could drown in it; it was akin to home. It made Kyle crave his family, to lock that warmth in his chest - let it heat his body and soul. He opened his eyes.

There was two large counters with glass casing, inside were shelves of an array of pastries. From every cake you could think of, to a simple croissant, it was all here. In the corner a record played, mingling with the chatter in the back. Orders being barked, bowls being scraped, dough being rolled out, and constant shuffling.

"Can I help you?"

Kyle flinched at the face that suddenly popped into view. He inadvertently took a step back in shock, embarrassed as the man across from him casually stood up. The baker seemed around the same age, but it was hard to estimate how actually old he was. He shot Kyle a smile, one that immediately set him at ease.

"I'm, uh," he fumbled for the piece of paper, "picking up a delivery for the Garden of Eden…?"

"Oh that..." the baker glanced at the back before offering a sheepish grin, "there was some...delay.."

"Delay?" Kyle blankly repeated.

"Yeah," the baker wiped at the side of his nose, unaware that flour still coated his fingers. It was near impossible for Kyle not to look at the line left behind. "The cinnamon twists just came out of the oven, so they'll have to cool before we can glaze."

Kyle frowned, "How long?"

The other shrugged, "Fifteen minutes; but hey! I can give you something while you wait, a brownie?"

If matters couldn't be changed - he sighed as he approached the counter, "That sounds nice, are you usually this generous, Mr...?"

A chuckle was his response, "Stan Marsh, it's nice to meet you. I guess not, but Poilâne sure is thankful for the business."

"Kyle Broflovski." He leaned forward, hand outstretched. "Pa...oil…?"

"Mr. Poilâne," Stan chuckled, quickly exchanging a handshake. "Better known as my boss."

"Oh." Kyle glanced around. "Not that I want to offend, but do we really buy that often from you?"

Stan shook his head, still smiling. "Just the occasional dessert, it's more about the name behind the purchase than the money." Kyle opened his mouth, confused by that statement. "Now, how does that brownie sound?"

"I…" He gave up with a resigned sigh, "that'd be delightful."


Six minutes earlier

Smoke slithered from Kenny's mouth, curling around inside the air before slipping out the partially rolled down window. With a dismissive chuckle, he cast a sidelong glance onto the street. A drenched man shot a curse in his direction; Kenny absently inhaled from his cigarette, filling his body to the brim, until his lungs couldn't take it anymore. He coughed around his laughter, the face of the pissed man returning to haunt him.

He shook his head, amused said, "That poor sucker."

God, he wished he was with Bebe, between her gams'. They went on forever, slender and pretty things. Kenny ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. Unfortunately work was calling; he clucked his tongue, grimacing at the road before him.

"This better be worth it," Kenny mumbled.

The shadowy silhouette of his Plymouth, as commonplace as an Italian in a Catholic church, glided down the curve of the road. Making its way from the 'artsy' district of town, to the shrouded block of warehouses.

Most he could tell were running, with thick plumes of smoke being pumped out of the slim chimneys that adorned the brick structures. The scent of such wafted into the Plymouth, dusty and acidic. Kenny cringed as he tapped his cigarette against the steering wheel, uncaring if ash landed on the floor near the brakes.

Here the colours seemed to wash away, going down the drains lining the streets. What was left behind were dull shades of grey, it provided only a terrible migraine. One that you couldn't easily ignore.

He turned onto a private company parking lot, slipping into one of the spots next to the workers. The entirety of such was half empty, after the war a lot of jobs were unfilled. Businesses like this textile factory weren't spared, a fact made worse by no one wanting to buy clothing. It was a crude thing to do, spending money 'lavishly' while others saved resources during the war effort. Even afterwards people were naturally cautious.

After parking, Kenny took a minute in the car, watching the stillness that floated around. Assured that he was in the clear, he rolled his window up before cutting the engine.

He stepped outside, letting his cigarette fall from his fingers and land onto the ground. Already it was turned into mush from the puddle, he ground what was left under his heel.

Mindful of his surroundings, he fished his pockets for another. Palming the metal case that held them, Kenny strolled from the parking lot and down the road, managing to get a cigarette in his mouth as he walked along to an eventual high gated fence. The weather was unforgiving, fighting the blonde with every step. Shoving the case into his coat pocket, he sought shelter in an alleyway. Against a stone wall, he shielded his mouth, cursing around the dangling cigarette.

"C'mon, fucking light!"

The flame on the match wavered, but Kenny was determined. With a sudden sigh of relief, he was taking a heavy drag. Back still to the wall, he peered past the corner, momentarily satisfied. Across from him was a brewery, he squinted, fat rain droplets escaped past the barrier of his clothing and travelled down his spine.


With a sigh Kyle set his glass of milk down, relishing the taste of chocolate that still lingered on his tongue. Something he'd almost forgotten, how delicious it was. To be honest, he felt slightly guilty about the whole thing, like he was somehow being selfish. When he told Stan he laughed, expression easy going.

He liked that about him, how calm and happy he acted, that the death and destruction from the war never happened. It was hard not to see it, what was lost in the faces of families. Kyle watched as the other man took a large gulp from his own glass, leaving behind a silly milk mustache. He forced a light chuckle, pretending everything was alright.

That was easy around Stan, he had a face that was simple and sweet. Pleasing enough that you could forget, lost in repetitively tracing the line of his jaw and attractiveness behind the slope of his nose. Even his hair reminded Kyle of youth, black hair parted in the common style, but still used only a little tonic to have an individualistic touch. The rest of his outfit was hard to imagine as regular clothing, a plain white shirt tucked into his slacks. The batter stained apron wrapped around his waist was folded in half, showing off the subtle strength in his silhouette. Such as his arms, strong from constantly carrying heavy boxes.

"Kyle, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he glanced away, "you got something on your upper lip…"

"Wha-" Stan's eyes went crossed eyed as he looked down. Finally realizing what Kyle meant, he wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. Kyle found himself smiling; Stan sent him a frown, obviously there wasn't any anger behind it.

"I'll be right back," Stan climbed up from his stool, "maybe they've finished glazing."

Kyle hummed, propping his head up with his elbow. Left alone, he wondered what everyone else was doing.

From Robert to Token and eventually Calypso, he welcomed the distraction they brought. His brow furrowed as his thoughts lingered on the entertainer, mind swimming with the image of her on stage. How she drank in the attention of everyone, glowing in the lights. He coughed into his fist, shifting awkwardly in his seated position by the counter.

It was maddening, how so effortlessly she managed to mess with his knowledge about himself. He knew he was gay for the longest time. Which made things even more confusing, with his obvious attraction to the brilliant brunette. Maybe it was a one person deal. Kyle softly cursed; his mother had always bothered him, saying how he would meet a beautiful woman and get married. Even now, she was certain it was about to happen. That just around the corner he'd run into the love of his life, a future Jewish wife.

He doubted Calypso was the soulmate she anticipated, especially with all of her… quirks. Kyle snorted, mind conjuring her bent over.

Moses… He rubbed at the side of his face, she was driving him crazy.

"Kyle" The sound had him jolting upright, just as surprised by his reaction as Stan. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm… I should go, you're pretty busy and all."

Stan frowned, glancing at the empty bakery. "Um, okay…? It was nice meeting you Kyle…" The words fell short, sinking as Kyle buttoned his coat. "Don't make yourself scarce, come back anytime. Delivery or not."

"I…" Kyle paused as he grabbed the brown paper bag held out to him, "I hope we meet again." They lapsed into silence as they shook hands, sharing a smile.


The rain eased into a drizzle, still retaining its coldness from earlier. Kyle walked down the road, alone despite the cars driving past or the couples that wandered around him. They shared umbrellas as they went by, conversations hushed amongst the rainfall.

Kyle cradled the package under his coat closer to his person, mindful of the contents getting squished. He sighed, footsteps heavy as he made his way towards the club. In the distance, the Garden of Eden's sign was bright against the grey of the world. The bitten apple as forbidden and tempting as ever.