No trigger warnings for this chapter, you guys. Think of this as the slow build to utter insanity, all things considered. xD Anyway, ENJOY! 3
"I've heard this place is supposed to have amazing guacamole," Kenny said as they all settled themselves in the large booth, Stan slipping Molly into a highchair at the edge of the table. She looked at him with confusion and slight irritation, a pucker of the lips and a scrunched up nose; Kyle had to bite back a laugh at her burgeoning petulance. Doubtless she was going to end up being as contrary as her mother, rather than easygoing like her father; only time would tell.
Kyle looked around at the restaurant, trying to get used to the loud music and the bustle of being surrounded by so many people. It was strange, unsettling almost, being out with his friends like this, having become accustomed to quiet and solitude; the solitary nature of his home and his job. Once upon a time this wouldn't have been a big deal, but now it bordered on being overwhelming, and Kyle could feel the vague stirrings of anxiety building up in his chest; he ignored them though.
I'm going to be normal, he thought resolutely. I'm going to sit here like a normal person and make small talk and have fun. Regardless of what's waiting for me at home. Nothing's going to ruin this for me.
They'd all decided to try a new Mexican place in the middle of town, all of them piling into Stan's Sonata and making the trek over; Molly tucked safely into her car seat. When they'd stepped outside of the gallery Kyle had tried to covertly look around the parking lot, wanting to see if Kenny's truck was there; slow terror waking up in his mind at the prospect of Craig seeing and recognizing it as the same vehicle that had dropped him off awhile ago.
"I rode over with Stan, Kyle," Kenny had said, watching Kyle with shaded blue eyes. "There's no way I'd let Molly ride around in that rusting deathtrap."
Kyle had been disturbed by Kenny's growing uncanny ability to pick up on his anxieties and inner-workings, but he'd played it off.
"I was just checking to make sure my lights weren't on. I don't need my car dying on me again." He'd laughed a little, ignoring Kenny's cocked eyebrow. "But you're right, dude; you totally need a new truck. Just saying."
"Here, babe," Stan said, handing Molly a freshly made bottle; the toddler snatching it up and beginning to drink greedily.
"Ugh, don't tell me we're watching your kid drink Wendy's -" Kenny broke off, gesturing at his chest; a look of disgust on his face.
Stan rolled his eyes, reaching out and taking a complimentary chip and dipping it in some salsa.
"Lighten up, dude. In the first place, breast milk isn't a big deal, and the second place, Molly drinks formula."
"That honestly surprises me," Kyle interjected, leaning forward and taking his own chip. "I know how...picky Wendy can be, I would've assumed she wanted to, you know, feed Molly with her -" he too broke off, gesturing at his chest and blushing hotly.
Stan laughed, covering his face with his hand; shaking his head a little.
"You two are such a trip," he said, covering his mouth as he chewed. "How can you be so shy about something so natural and basic? Babies eat, women feed them with their breasts; Wendy just chose not to after doing some research. She has nothing against breast milk and neither do I, we just decided it wasn't what we wanted to do; end of story."
"I'm sorry, Stan, it's just weird to think about Wendy, your wife, having boobs, okay?" Kenny asked, tucking into the chips as well. "Now, if she was Scarlett Johansson, boy let me tell you; that chick has got the hottest -"
Stan cleared his throat abruptly, cocking an eyebrow as he gestured to Molly, who was gazing at Kenny over her bottle.
"Cool it, man. Don't objectify women in front of my daughter."
Kenny snorted, leaning his head back.
"I'm not objectifying women, Stan. There's nothing wrong with admiring their...," he trailed off, thinking, "assets. That's it. Assets."
"You're never gonna change, are you?" Stan laughed, glancing at Kyle with a conspiratorial expression. "Dude's been a pervert since we were five; I guess I was expecting too much."
"Oh, leave him alone, Stan," Kyle smiled, bumping Kenny a little as he grabbed another chip; the flavors of salt and lemon water resting on his tongue. "Kenny's just responding to the call of the wild...his need to sow his wild oats."
"I'd prefer he keep his oats in one place," Stan replied, giving Kenny a pointed look before laughing again.
"That's not for you to say," Kenny replied flippantly before smiling and picking up his menu, studying it. "What are you guys thinking here? I'm kind of in the mood for chimichangas and a Corona."
"God, I haven't had a Corona in forever," Kyle said, studying his own menu. Craig had all but outlawed what he considered "low-brow" alcoholic beverages from their household, so Kyle had had to get used to upscale spirits: rare German ice wines, cognac, brandy, wine. He didn't care for any of it but it was important to Craig, so he'd just bit the bullet and went with it. Suddenly he wanted a cheap beer more than anything in the world.
"I'm having the burrito blanco," Stan said, throwing his menu down. "With Coke. Can't drink on baby watch, of course." Reaching out, he tousled Molly's dark hair.
"I should probably refrain, too," Kyle murmured, running a hand through his own curls. "It wouldn't do to go back to work tipsy. You know?"
Stan waved his hand, dismissing Kyle's words.
"I already talked to Wendy, Kyle. She said you can drink if you want. In fact, you can just go home after we're done here; she'll even pay you for the rest of the day."
Kyle's eyes widened and his heartbeat picked up its rhythm even though he couldn't have said why; vague annoyance working its way through his brain.
"Well, if you guys already made the decision for me," he replied, dropping his focus back to his menu and studying the spirits.
Out of the corner of his eye Kyle noticed Stan and Kenny exchanging a glance, immediately putting him on edge; it was very similar to the one they'd shared back at the gallery, almost like they were conspiring or something.
"We weren't making a decision for you, Kyle," Stan said, carefully. "It's just an option, okay? If you'd like to drink, drink...you'll be paid either way."
"I really don't feel like being paid for work I didn't do," Kyle said, hating his snobby tone of voice but not being able to dial it back. All at once he felt like he needed to be on his guard and he didn't know how to switch it off. It didn't help that he was having a very difficult time choosing something to eat; Craig always decided for him. He threw his menu down, frustration washing over him.
"I don't know what I want."
Stillness settled over the table before Kenny reached out, gently flipping the menu open and pointing to something.
"Fajitas," he said, his nail clean and short; making Kyle bite his lip just to notice such a small, unimportant detail. "You love steak fajitas, don't you? Why don't you have that?"
"Sure, that's fine," Kyle said, crossing his arms and not wanting to convey how thankful he was that the decision had been made for him. Not that Craig would've made a suggestion like that; if anything, he never would've looked twice at this restaurant, completely passing it by for something "nicer."
Trash, he would've said, rolling his eyes.
"And a Corona, right? Is that what you'd like, Kyle?" Kenny asked, closing the menu slowly and stacking it on top of his own. "Don't you like it with lime?"
"I love it with lime," Kyle said, softly; lifting his lemon-laced water and taking a careful sip. For a moment he studied Molly, who was still preoccupied with her bottle; blue eyes drooping slightly. "Stan, she's so pretty. You're so lucky."
Stan glanced at his daughter with obvious adoration, eyes softening and his face taking on an expression that Kyle had never seen before; almost like he was seeing his most vulnerable, tender side. He smiled just to see it, reaching out and smoothing some of the baby's hair from her face.
"I never could've seen myself as a father, honestly," Stan said, taking another chip and crunching on it; chewing thoughtfully. "But once she was born I don't know, it's like everything changed overnight."
"Everything did change overnight," Kyle replied, taking another sip of water. "I mean, it had to. All of a sudden it wasn't just you and Wendy anymore...suddenly you were responsible for another life. It's staggering, you know? But you guys are doing a great job."
"Hey, thanks," Stan said, grinning. "I always worry about that, actually; am I screwing her up? What am I doing wrong? But to hear someone say I'm doing okay, it really helps, honestly."
"Well, it's the truth, and it's obvious you adore her to the moon and back," Kyle said, looking up when the server approached their table. Glancing around, he suddenly felt uneasy; not wanting to go first and actually order for himself. He hadn't done that in ages and he was finding his anxiety spiking out of nowhere. Kyle looked at Kenny, arching a brow.
"You go first, since you're the guest of honor here."
"If you say so," Kenny replied, handing the menus to the server. "Chicken chimichanga and a Corona, please."
"Rice or refried beans?" The server asked, not bothering to write anything down; this only elevated Kyle's stress levels. What if the guy made a mistake?
"Both," Kenny grinned, patting his belly. "I'm super hungry today."
The server nodded his head and looked at Stan, waiting. Without missing a beat he ordered as well, asking for lemon to go with his Coke. He raised his eyebrows at Kyle.
"Your turn."
Kyle immediately blushed, knowing all eyes were on him and he was expected to perform like a normal human being. Frustration mixed in with his discomfort and he inwardly chastised himself; why the fuck was this so hard? It was almost like he didn't know how to exist without Craig pulling his strings or just speaking for him entirely.
"Uh, I'd like," he stammered, gripping the edge of the table. The wounds on his back throbbed and he could feel his mouth going dry; sweat collecting on his brow.
Just open your mouth and talk, dammit! Everyone's waiting for you; you're making a fool of yourself! If Craig were here, he'd -
Which only led to more anxiety. Kyle knew his husband didn't even want him to be there. He should've just gone to lunch with him, or actively refused the invitation to appease him. Why did he -
"He'd like the steak fajitas," Kenny suddenly spoke up, voice gentle and lacking any sort of irritation. "Oh, and a Corona with lime wedges on the side." He patted Kyle's hand. "Is that okay, dude?"
Kyle nodded his head slowly, dying of humiliation and shame on the inside while secretly adoring Kenny for being so intuitive.
"I'll need to see your ID, sir," the server said, only reinforcing his growing discomfort. Kyle cleared his throat as he awkwardly fished his wallet out of his pocket; an expensive gift from Craig from last Hanukkah. They always celebrated both Christmas and Hanukkah because Craig wanted to support Kyle's heritage; his cultural background. It was really very sweet, right? Holding up his ID, Kyle studied the table as he waited.
"Okay, looks good," the server said, nodding his head and smiling. "Let me get your order in, and I'll be right back with those drinks."
Kyle began to pout as soon as he was gone.
"Why didn't he card you?" He asked, turning to Kenny with a look of mild irritation.
Kenny buffed his nails on his hoodie, appearing very pleased with himself.
"It must be all this rugged manliness," he bragged. "Naturally, I look very mature for my age."
"Goddammit, I'm fucking 29 years old. You wouldn't think I'd get carded every time I buy alcohol at a restaurant." Kyle stuffed his wallet back in his pocket, feeling supremely annoyed and agitated; his anxiety still rushing through his blood. Why couldn't he just fucking be normal, and why did he have to look like a kid?
"Dude, take it as a compliment and move on," Stan said, taking Molly's empty bottle from her, wiping some residual formula from the corner of her mouth. "You always fixate on shit like this. Who cares?"
"I don't think there's anything wrong with caring about how the world perceives you," Kenny spoke up, reaching out and grabbing another chip.
Kyle placed a hand on Kenny's arm and leaned toward him a little, elated that he actually understood.
"See," he said, narrowing his eyes at Stan. "He gets it. Thank you, Kenneth."
"Anytime, Broflovski," Kenny smirked, cramming the chip in his mouth.
Stan shrugged slightly when Kyle lifted his eyebrows in question. He hadn't been referred to by his old surname in years.
"Kenny," he replied, clearing his throat carefully. "You know I took Craig's last name, right?"
Kenny was silent for a moment, masticating. Finally he swallowed, took a sip of water, set his glass down, then looked at Kyle.
"And?"
Kyle stared at him as several seconds elapsed, not really sure how to respond. He was also slightly taken aback by Kenny's somewhat aggressive tone.
"I mean, is that a problem?"
"Of course not," Kenny replied. "But it's not like the person you were before just disappears once you take another person's name, right? On some level you're still Kyle Broflovski, aren't you?"
"Well, sure. But -"
"Even though Tucker's doing a hell of a job trying to make you forget about the person you used to be. He thinks he's so fucking smart," Kenny muttered, leaning back when the server returned with their drinks. Once he was gone, Kenny clutched at his Corona and took a long sip; smacking his lips.
"That hits every spot right there."
Kyle hadn't touched his drink though, nor had he touched the lime wedges. Stan was quietly squeezing a lemon into his coke while rattling a set of toy keys in Molly's face; she was not entertained, opting to stare with wide eyes at Kenny instead.
"Kenny, are you going to explain what you're talking about?" Kyle asked quietly. The music playing overhead seemed to amplify in that moment, the lights becoming slightly brighter; Kyle picked up his Corona with a shaking hand, willing himself to keep it together.
Kenny waved his hand, leaning back and taking another long drink. He rolled his eyes and tried to adopt his casual winning grin, but Kyle wasn't buying it.
"Sorry, don't listen to me. I shouldn't have said that."
"You're right," Kyle agreed, voice still subdued. "But I'd still like to know what you mean because you clearly don't like my husband. Am I right?"
Snorting, Kenny rubbed his hand through his hair and glanced away; eyes traveling up the aisle and away from Kyle's searching gaze.
"Seriously, Kyle? Don't put me on the spot like this."
Kyle cocked a brow, some of his old fire leaking back into his brain; putting snap in his retort.
"Oh, but it's okay for you to put me on the spot? It's okay for you to say rude shit but you don't have to explain your reasoning? Nice, dude; really nice."
Kenny finally looked back at him, sharp, blue eyes narrowing slightly.
"Look, it was one lousy comment, dude. Stop getting so bent out of shape."
"No, it wasn't just one comment, Kenny. You've made multiple comments, little jabs, about Craig, and I'd like to know why. What's your problem, huh?"
Kenny looked at Stan, his face incredulous. It was almost like he couldn't make any sense out of what Kyle was saying.
"Is he for real?" He asked, gesturing at Kyle.
"Kenny," Stan replied, taking a drink of his coke like he wanted any excuse to look away. When he was finished, he finally looked Kyle full in the eyes and his expression was almost pained; overwhelmingly apologetic. "Go easy on him, okay? We're supposed to be trying to help, not -"
"Whoa, wait," Kyle interjected, holding up the hand not clasped around the beer bottle. "What the hell are you talking about, Stan? Who are you helping?"
Kenny and Stan exchanged yet another furtive glance, infuriating Kyle beyond measure. He placed his bottle down with a thunk.
"You guys are seriously pissing me off right now. If you don't -"
"How's everything over here?" The server said, appearing out of nowhere; hands rubbing together as he took in the state of their drinks. "Did you guys need more chips? It won't be too long before your food's ready but I can definitely top you off."
"Sure, fine. Yeah, more chips," Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Molly watched as the server gathered up the basket and walked away, she looked back at Kyle with a solemn look; almost appearing sleepy.
"Well?" Kyle asked. "Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?"
"God, I really didn't want to get into this heavy shit so quickly," Kenny said, rubbing his face; his Corona already halfway gone.
"Okay, enough of the casual swearing, you guys," Stan chimed in, gesturing to Molly. "Little pitchers have big ears. Got it?"
"What is this, little house on the fu-," Kenny broke off, covering his mouth. "I mean, sure, right. I'll watch my language, daddy."
The sound of the word 'daddy' passing through Kenny's lips made Kyle suck in a breath which promptly went down the wrong pipe; he began to hack violently.
"Dude! Drink some beer!" Kenny said, rubbing his back; causing Kyle to cringe away. He didn't want Kenny to feel his sutures through his shirt.
Hurriedly, he reached out and grabbed his beer, taking a long swig. Finally, the coughing fit subsided and he just stared at his friends, feeling equal parts anger, fear, and that horrible sensation of being cornered; how he loathed it.
"I'm fine," he choked, ingesting a fair amount of beer pretty quickly. "I just want to know why you two are ganging up on me."
"What? No, dude!" Kenny said, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder; it took everything in him not to move away. "We aren't ganging up on you, we just want to make sure you're okay."
"I've told you before that I'm okay, Kenny. Wasn't that enough for you?"
"Frankly, no, it wasn't," Kenny said, his tone flippant. "And you're right, Kyle. I don't like Craig. I never have, but I especially don't like him now."
"I-I don't understand," Kyle replied, placing the bottle down again and then going about lining up his napkin and utensils along the edge of the table; making sure everything was in a nice, neat row. "Craig's always been really good to me. You both know that." He glanced at Stan, silently pleading for him to intervene; Stan just watched him with a resolute, passive expression, blue eyes soft with what had to be pity.
"You both literally just saw him come to my work just so he could buy something for me," Kyle said, almost laughing now. "He made a special trip even though he's usually super busy with patients, just for me; just so he could make me happy." He shook his head. "But you don't like him? I seriously don't get your line of reasoning."
"So he bought you something, big deal," Kenny replied, finishing his beer and setting it aside softly. He clasped his hands together and brought them up, resting them against his mouth. "It's easy to buy someone something, but what else does he do for you?"
Kyle could only sit there for a moment, blindsided by Kenny's question but also taken aback that an answer didn't immediately jump to his mind that didn't have some negative connotation. He scrambled trying to think of something to defend Craig, and by extension, himself.
"He takes care of me, looks out for me," he said, unable to look either of them in the face. Glancing at Molly, he noticed that she'd fallen asleep slumped over in her highchair; her long eyelashes laying prettily against her smooth skin. "He wants to know everything about me...like I'm the most interesting thing in the world to him."
"There's the operative word, 'thing,'" Kenny muttered, rolling his eyes. "He treats you like you're an ornament or something; almost like you're a trophy wi-"
"Don't you fucking say that!" Kyle seethed, shifting in the booth so he was facing Kenny directly; mind awash with fury. He'd been called a trophy wife by Craig's colleagues in the past but damned if he was going to let Kenny fucking McCormick refer to him by that term. "You don't even know what you're talking about! You haven't seen me in years; you don't know anything!"
"You're right, I haven't," Kenny replied, turning and also seeming to become angry in his own right. He pointed at Stan. "But, you've seen Stan ever since you got married to Tucker, and you work with his wife; people notice more than you realize, Kyle. God, like I said before, none of us are blind!"
"It's true, Kyle," Stan murmured, finally speaking up. "We're best friends and I know when something is wrong or off with you. You've been working at the gallery for almost three years at this point and the things that make me worry just keep piling up." He started tapping his fingers, listing things off. "You've missed so many days, and then when you come back you seem so detached and gone, almost like you aren't really there at all." He shifted uncomfortably, looking away for a moment before taking a deep breath and staring directly in Kyle's face.
"And we've seen the marks, the bruises...the way you seem to be in so much pain sometimes like you can barely stand it." He studied Kyle, his frown deepening and the sorrowful look in his eyes only intensifying. "Like, right now? I can see the bruises on your face. They're faint, but they're there; you can't fool us."
"I'm not trying to fool anyone," Kyle muttered, crossing his arms and sitting back; openly fuming even as he wanted to crumble and beg for help. More than anything he wanted to open his mouth and usher in his own deliverance, but he just couldn't; where would he even start? Besides, Craig was his husband, the person he loved; there was no way he could sell him out like this. God, why couldn't people understand? Why did outsiders insist on prying?
"Not to mention the fact that I basically never get to see you anymore," Stan added, raw bitterness appearing in his voice; shredding Kyle's heart. "The only way I can see you is if I come to the gallery, and that's if you're actually at work that day. I can't just call you up and ask if you want to go do something, no, you have to -"
"Get permission," Kenny finished for him, shaking his head.
"Whatever, I didn't have to ask for permission to go out to lunch with you the other day, Kenny," Kyle scoffed, small tremors beginning to build up in his body. He felt like a skittish, terrified animal; backed into a corner.
"Yeah, but you were still a wreck." Kenny glanced at Stan. "We were out for barely an hour and then he freaked out, completely terrified."
"I'm not surprised," Stan replied, wiping his mouth with his hand. "Wendy told me he's almost had a full-fledged panic attack in the past if he doesn't leave work at a certain time. Apparently, Kyle has a curfew."
"I'm surprised that psychotic asshole hasn't just put a tracking device on him," Kenny sneered.
"Will you two please stop talking about me like I'm not even fucking here?!" Kyle finally exclaimed, "I'm not a goddamn child! I can speak for myself!"
It was after this outburst that their food finally arrived, the server appearing with a tray full of dishes. Kyle clammed up and watched as he laid out their plates, the way the steam from the fragrant food curled upward and disappeared. Crossing his arms, he could vaguely hear the server tell them to enjoy and then walk away, his thoughts a jumble as he frantically tried to alternate between devising an escape and trying to salvage the remainder of this outing. Silence lay over the table like a weighted mantle as everyone muddled through their own thoughts, Kenny finally biting the bullet and attempting to make peace.
"You're right, Kyle. We shouldn't talk about you like you aren't here; that was fucked up."
"He's right, dude. We didn't mean anything by it, we're just worried; you have to understand," Stan added, flicking his eyes to Molly briefly; she was still fast asleep.
"I guess I can understand you two being worried about me," Kyle said, softly. "You're just looking out for me, and I appreciate that, but I don't need it. I also think it's kind of screwed up that you invited me out under false pretenses. What is this, an intervention or something?"
Kenny snorted.
"Really? False pretenses? Dude, we wanted to see you, first and foremost, but we also knew that a come to Jesus talk was necessary too; especially now."
Kyle just stared at him, raising an eyebrow.
"You want to have a come to Jesus talk with a Jew. For real?"
"Quit being an ass, Kyle," Stan interjected, sounding tired. "You know what he meant."
"No, I don't! I have no fucking clue what he means! What are we even talking about right now?!"
Turning, Kenny put his hands on Kyle's shoulders, ignoring him when he flinched; green eyes wide with fear and such a tired wariness that sometimes Kyle couldn't even fathom how he kept going. Shaking him lightly, Kenny stared into his face with so much concern and sincerity it almost made Kyle want to cry.
"He hurts you, Kyle," Kenny said, his voice hitching a little. "He controls you. He intimidates you. He's changed you so much that I can't even recognize you anymore; can you?"
Staring into the honest, kind blue eyes proved to be too much for Kyle, and he angrily shook Kenny off.
"I'm not going to listen to this; any of this. It's all bullshit based on assumptions and conjecture. You have absolutely no proof to support anything you're saying. If anything, I have nothing but proof supporting the fact that Craig treats me well: a beautiful home, my own art studio, a fucking rose garden, Hamilton tickets for next month in Denver -"
"I'm pretty sure you could give us all the proof we need by just taking your shirt off," Kenny murmured, effectively sealing Kyle's lips and rendering him unable to respond for a moment. Silently, he clutched at his face, covering it. Against his will, hot, angry tears started to pour out of his eyes.
"Why?" He whispered, hating his weakness and the immobilizing frustration and hopelessness that superseded everything else. "Why are you asking me this now? I've been married to Craig for five years. Why here, why today?"
Kenny looked at Stan, nodding his head a little, almost like he was silently handing over the reins for a moment.
"I know that Kenny made you aware that I've been giving him updates on you for years, ever since you married Craig," he started, tucking some hair behind his ear; the golden overhead lights becoming captured in its blue-black richness. "We've both been trying to think of a way to broach this subject with you, but we could never think of a way. Besides, it'd just be out word against Craig's, right?"
"We needed proof, and we knew you weren't going to give it to us, right?" Kenny asked, jumping back in.
Kyle just stared at them stone-faced, unwilling to be of any help whatsoever; still waiting for them to get to the point.
"Anyway, I travel for my job a lot but you already knew that," Kenny continued, rubbing the back of his neck. "It was during one of my business trips that I got into contact with someone I hadn't seen in ages. This dude had seriously just fallen off the grid and I could never figure out why."
"So?" Kyle asked, thoroughly done with this conversation. He reached out and took a hold of his fork, spearing a piece of steak.
Kenny shot him a look but went on anyway, clearly trying to keep his temper in check.
"I was honestly surprised the guy responded to me when I put a shout out on Facebook that I was in the area. I usually do that wherever I go, and more often than not there's someone close enough to go out and get drinks with. I never would've figured this guy ended up in -"
"Kenny, just get to the point. Tell Kyle who you saw and what you talked about," Stan interjected gently.
"Fine, fine," Kenny replied. Flagging down the server, he ordered another Corona. "I need to fortify myself for this," he added, grinning at Kyle who just rolled his eyes.
"I can't believe you, Stan," Kyle said, throwing Stan a withering look. "Setting me up like this. If you had something to say, you could've done it in private. You didn't need to turn this into some stupid spectacle."
"Right, like you ever have private time anymore," Stan replied, digging into his burrito. "Like I said, the only time I get to see you is when you're at work, and I'm pretty sure you didn't want to have this conversation there."
"I don't want to have this conversation at all!"
"You don't say?" Kenny asked, accepting a fresh bottle of Corona from the server with a friendly nod. He took a long drink, watching Kyle the whole time. "Face it, Kyle; this is happening. It's for your own good."
Out of all the things Kenny could've said in that moment, that was probably the absolute worst one: for your own good. Kyle immediately went on the defensive, even more so than before; his claws coming out and his walls going up. Craig had a habit of telling him what was for his own good regularly, and he wasn't about to accept it from anyone else.
"For my own good," he repeated, almost like he was in a trance; an angry, disbelieving trance. Who the fuck did he think he was? Kyle cleared his throat, sitting back and picking up his own Corona. He took a languid sip.
"What would you even know about what's for my own good, Kenny? Really. I mean, I haven't seen you in years, we haven't even talked either, and suddenly, just out of the clear blue sky you've suddenly decided you have a say in how I run my life? That's pretty fucking presumptuous, don't you think?"
"Hey, I'm your friend even if we don't see each other all the time," Kenny said, clearly becoming defensive as well. "And who's trying to tell you how to run your life? I'm just trying to help!"
"What, you think just because you sent me some photos and took me to lunch a couple times we're suddenly super close again?"
"Case in point, the photos," Kenny replied, an edge creeping into his voice. "That fucker even needs to control those. I don't believe for one second he was buying that picture for you just to be nice."
"'I'm not taking a handout,'" Stan chimed in, mimicking Craig's nasally way of speaking. "Dude, I can't stand the way he talks to Wendy. She's nicer than I am because I would've knocked his ass out already."
"Then why haven't you?" Kyle snapped, quickly reaching the end of his rope.
"Because we're playing nice for your sake!" Stan replied, his voice rising. "We've been playing nice for years, but enough is enough!"
"Molly likes him," Kyle mumbled, beginning to detach; his typical defense mechanisms coming into play. He didn't want to be here right now, he didn't want to listen to any of this. Perversely, he would've preferred to be at home dealing with Craig's temper than sitting here having to answer for it.
"Molly's a baby, she doesn't know any better," Stan said, glancing at his daughter who continued to snooze. "My first instinct when Craig offered to hold her was to snatch her up, but once again, I was playing nice."
"Well, aren't you a goddamn saint?" Kyle asked, rolling his eyes. He pushed his plate away, his appetite completely obliterated. "I like how you can even twist a nice gesture into something negative," he added, glancing at Kenny. "Craig bought the picture for me because I told him it was my favorite. He was trying to make me happy."
"Fine, maybe I'm wrong about that," Kenny conceded. "But I know I'm not wrong about everything else."
"Whatever," Kyle replied, beginning to become even more detached, and when that happened he had a tendency to become reasonably petty. "Are you sure you're not just being pissy because I wouldn't let you kiss me the other day?"
"Wait, hold up. What?" Stan asked, eyes widening; he stared at Kenny.
Kenny blushed a bright crimson while pulling at his collar; Kyle smirked. Good, let him be on his guard now; see how he likes it.
"That's beside the point," Kenny finally said, unable to meet Kyle's eyes directly now. "And you know it."
"There is no point," Kyle replied, completely shutting down now. "To any of this. Can we get the check, please? I'm ready to go."
"Why don't you try telling Tweek that then," Kenny said, reaching out and taking a hold of Kyle's arm. "Because he seemed to think your situation is pretty fucking important."
Kyle turned to Kenny, open mouthed and completely at a loss for words. Hearing Tweek's name in any capacity was always startling, immediate apprehension cropping up in his brain. Craig never said it, and when Kyle even acted like he was going to mention his ex's name his husband immediately became enraged.
"W-when did you see him?" Kyle asked, softly; his voice just a ghost at this point, much like Tweek.
"A couple weeks ago, right before I decided to come back here," Kenny replied, running a hand through his hair. "He lives really far away, Kyle, but I'm not going to tell you where because he made me promise. He doesn't really want anyone to know where he is, that's why I was so surprised he was willing to meet up in the first place."
"What did he say?" Kyle turned, eyes watchful and timid; unbridled curiosity and growing fear fighting for dominance in his brain.
"Well, I told him you were married to Tucker now, and you would've thought that an A-bomb went off in the bar." Kenny glanced at Stan, who was also deeply engrossed in what he was saying. "I guess you aren't friends with him on Facebook or anything -"
"I'm not on Facebook anymore," Kyle supplied, voice still quiet and tense. "Neither is Craig."
"Tweek's on like self-imposed lockdown, it seems," Kenny continued, toying with his fork. "I don't know if he's kept in contact with anyone else, he didn't really give me the details. He's also made his Facebook really hard to find. The only reason I'm friends with him is because he sent me a request awhile back; I guess he thought I could keep my mouth shut? I don't know."
"That'll be the day," Kyle said, looking away innocently.
"Hey, knock off the attitude already, okay? I don't have to put up with your crap just because -" Kenny stopped and clamped his mouth shut.
"Just because what?" Kyle asked, staring at him; daring him to just unload all of the venom he had stored away. Kenny just shook his head.
"Kyle, do you know why Craig and Tweek aren't together anymore? Did he ever tell you?"
"We don't really talk about that," Kyle said, carefully. "But he made it sound like he broke up with Tweek because he did something bad. I don't know any of the details."
"Figures he'd skew it to make Tweek look like the bad guy," Stan spoke up. "Everyone else is always at fault, aren't they? Never Craig."
"Dude, Craig didn't break up with Tweek," Kenny said, giving Kyle a pointed look. "So just forget about that. Tweek dumped Craig, but before he had a chance to leave, Craig, well..." he looked down, biting his bottom lip.
"What? What did he do?" Kyle asked, beginning to shift toward the end of the booth. Suddenly the room was becoming kind of hazy, the air becoming denser and too warm.
"Kyle, Craig hurt him. Bad," Kenny said, looking up with sad eyes; they almost appeared wet. "And it wasn't the first time. That's why Tweek finally had enough and was getting ready to leave. Craig caught him, though."
Nausea crawled up Kyle's throat at Kenny's words, almost like he had the ability to step back from his life momentarily and see it for what it was. To know that Craig had acted this way before, and with another person he supposedly loved, was too much for Kyle to bear. He clamped a hand to his mouth.
"I need to get out of here," he croaked out, starting to rise. He gripped at the table. "I think I'm going to be sick."
"Whoa, hold on," Stan said, standing as well. "Just let me get the check and get Molly together, okay? Then we can -"
"No, I can't hold it," Kyle said, backing away while frantically looking for the restroom. Finally he saw the sign for the men's room back and in the corner of the room; wordlessly, he turned and ran toward it. He knew that he was going to vomit any moment, the culmination of his nerves and hearing about Tweek finally pushing him over the edge. Slamming into the bathroom, he sprinted for the first stall and barely made it before he was emptying the contents of his stomach in the toilet; terrible heaves wracking his entire body.
"Kyle?" Kenny's voice broke across the white silence of the bathroom, but Kyle couldn't even lift his head to regard him; moaning softly as he continued to dry heave. He barely had anything in his stomach to begin with, so it wasn't too long before he started bringing up burning bile.
All at once, Kenny found Kyle and stood beside him, brushing his hair off of his forehead and murmuring nonsensical words of reassurance and encouragement; this small gesture of kindness simultaneously breaking Kyle's heart and filling him with fragile hope.
"It's going to be okay, Kyle," he said, softly. "I'm sorry I had to bring any of this up, but we want to help you if we can. If you'll let us."
"I just want to go home," Kyle whispered, wiping his mouth. Shaking, he reached up and flushed the toilet; the remnants of his scant lunch and breakfast washing away in the swirl. "Please, just let me go home for now."
Through a herculean effort, Kyle somehow found the strength to drive himself home from the gallery, his nausea and fatigue still plaguing him relentlessly; Kenny and Stan all but forbidding him to go home to Craig, not after the discussion they'd had at the restaurant.
"I'm a grown man, you guys," Kyle said quietly, his hand resting on the top of his car for support. "If I want to go home, I'll go home. You can't stop me."
"Please, just think about it, okay?" Kenny pleaded with him while Stan hung back, holding a groggy Molly in his arms. "If you need a place to stay you can crash with me; for as long as you want! Just don't," he stopped, biting a trembling lower lip. After a moment, he found his composure. "You don't have to go back to a person that hurts you, Kyle. You have options. You don't have to do this just because it's what you're used to."
"I'm sorry about what happened to Tweek, I really am," Kyle replied, tiredly. "But that doesn't mean what happened to him is happening to me. You guys don't have the first clue about my relationship with Craig. It's all speculation."
"But the bruises, the wounds...all the time you've missed from work," Stan said, walking forward to stand beside Kenny. "Kyle, we can't just look the other way."
"Then I don't know what to tell you, because you're wrong." Kyle clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. Even he couldn't make sense of his behavior, but the deep-seated desire to protect Craig was paramount in his mind, because in a way it was almost like he was trying to protect himself as well. His entire world could implode if outsiders got involved, and he just didn't feel like he had the strength to withstand everything being uprooted. Even though his growing rage was serving to fortify him, sustain him, he just wasn't ready to take this step; it was asking too much right now. No, it was better to hide, and hide well.
"Fine, then we'll just go to your house and have a talk with Tucker ourselves," Kenny announced, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his keys. "He can't fucking write us off if we go to his house, can he?"
"No, he could just call the cops, though," Kyle said, holding onto the car for dear life; every emotion converging on him at once. For a moment he almost thought he was going to pass out, but he took long breaths, trying to steady himself. "Which he would, saying you were trespassing or whatever. Or harassing him."
"Right, we're the ones harassing him," Kenny sneered. "Meanwhile he's using his own husband as a punching bag."
"Kenny, stop," Stan said, putting his hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Rolling up on Craig's house and making a scene isn't going to help anyone, especially Kyle."
"But you just said we can't look the other way! Stan, fucking grow a backbone here, please!"
"I have a backbone, but I also don't want to do anything that'll make Kyle's situation worse," Stan snapped, Molly's head drooping onto his shoulder. "Fucking think clearly, Kenny. Don't let your emotions get in the way here."
"What the fuck ever, Dr. Phil," Kenny said, running his hands through his hair, making it stand wildly on end. "You saw the look on Tucker's face today. If we let Kyle go home that motherfucker is going to do something. I promise you."
"Kyle, please reconsider what you're doing," Stan said, glancing at Kyle. "Please. You have places you can go, and plenty of people who want to help you."
Kyle opened the car door and threw his bag across the seat, where it landed on the floor of the passenger side.
"That's great, Stan, and I really appreciate your concern, but I don't need help. Period." He glanced at Kenny, softening slightly. "Thanks, man; I mean it. Give me some space for awhile and when I'm ready, we can get together again. How long are you going to be in town?"
"For as long as I need to be," Kenny replied, deflating noticeably as he stuffed his keys back in his pocket. "Kyle, come on. You aren't being -"
"I have to go," Kyle cut him off, climbing into his car and shutting the door. Starting it, he rolled the window down. "Thanks for lunch, you guys. It was really nice getting together."
Kenny ran toward the car, taking a hold of the window so Kyle couldn't drive off.
"Listen, Kyle. Don't do this, don't be like this. We just want to make sure you're okay."
"I'm fine," Kyle snapped, putting the car in reverse. "I'm not talking about this anymore. Now let go of my car so I can go home and be sick in my own fucking bathroom!"
"Fine, but you aren't leaving without my phone number," Kenny said, reaching into his pockets. He pulled out a little piece of scrap paper and glanced at Kyle, cocking an eyebrow. "You got a pen?"
"Sure, why not?" Kyle sighed, reaching over and grabbing a pen from his bag. Reluctantly, he poked it out the window where Kenny took it, hurriedly scribbling down his number. He handed both articles back to Kyle, looking at him expectantly.
"I expect you to call me as soon as you need help. Understand?"
"Of course. It's not like I have a say in any of this anyway," Kyle replied, his tone becoming caustic. "Can I please go home so I can throw up in peace now? Or did you have some more demands to make? I swear, dude, you're just as bossy as Craig."
"I'm nothing like him!" Kenny all but yelled, making Kyle cringe against his seat. "I'll never be like him! That guy's a fucking monster!"
"Well, that's your opinion," Kyle replied, glancing behind Kenny to see that his shouting woke Molly up. She was looking around, bleary eyed and confused. Kyle smiled tenderly and waved. "Bye bye, melancholy Molly," he called, his voice garnering the baby's attention. "I'll see you soon, okay? I promise." He waved to Stan as well. "Later, man. It was nice seeing you."
"Right, yeah," Stan sighed, hugging Molly close and appearing so sad Kyle couldn't stand looking at him.
"Hit me up in a few days, Kenny," Kyle said. "I need some time to myself so I can think. Is that okay?"
"I guess it's going to have to be," Kenny replied, stepping back; blue eyes still wild.
Waving once more, Kyle started driving toward the exit, stopping momentarily with his hands clenched on the wheel; his mind awash with indecision.
Maybe I could just tell them a little bit of what's going on, he mused. That wouldn't be a big deal, would it?
Sudden thoughts of the basement and Craig's cold fury sprang to mind, coupled with those tender late-night moments where his husband held him close while they lay in bed, whispering of love and devotion. Kyle shook his head, completely at a loss as to how he should proceed, only knowing that he desperately wanted to be alone for awhile. After what felt like an eternity, he finally turned out of the lot and headed toward home, his friends growing smaller and smaller in his rear view mirror.
Stepping into the hushed and still house, Kyle had never felt more alone than he did in that moment. It was at times like this, when he was forced to come face to face with his own solitude, that he regarded the giant house as almost a living thing, swallowing him whole as soon as he passed over the threshold. It was with eternal gratitude for the powers that be that Kyle also noticed the absence of Craig's car in the circular drive, so at the very least he was able to catch his breath before having to face yet another interrogation. Setting his bag on the counter, he pulled out his diary and readied himself to write, laying the book aside on the kitchen table; a fountain pen sitting on its cover.
Before settling down, he changed into a pair of baggy sweats and one of Craig's old t-shirts, dropping his vomit-flecked work clothes into the hamper. He waited a moment, deciding whether or not he needed to use the bathroom again, but his stomach thankfully stayed in one place, so he swished some Listerine in his mouth to rid it of the terrible aftertaste of his own illness. Once he felt reasonably pulled together, he traveled back to the kitchen where he stared at his diary for a moment, attempting to put his thoughts in order so he could sit down to write, to rid himself of so much poison.
If I don't hurry I'll never finish before Craig comes home, he thought, toying with the pen; tapping it on the table. But I have so much to say. Where the fuck can I even start?
Kyle had the acute feeling that too much had been dropped on him at once, and now he was merely floundering in the aftermath. For so long he thought he'd been doing the perfect job of covering up his reality from the outside world, but in less than a day, an hour, really, he'd been made aware of the fact that his nightmare was on display for all to see; he hadn't fooled anyone. Unless he counted himself, of course; he was probably the biggest fool in this entire situation.
Sighing, he pushed away from the table and dropped the pen, heavy and plated with gold and platinum; yet another gift from his husband. Vaguely, he wondered if Craig bought outlandish, expensive gifts for Tweek as well, and whether or not he bought them before or after manhandling him.
No. Just because Tweek made a claim like that, doesn't mean it's true. Maybe he cheated on Craig and he got caught, so he's just trying to make up excuses so he doesn't look like the bad guy.
But on the underside of these thoughts lay something decidedly sinister, almost like if you were to flip the ideas over they'd be coated in fresh blood. The idea made the bile rise once again in Kyle's throat, and he frantically tried to clear his head. That didn't stop his gaze from drifting away toward the basement door, waiting so pristine and innocently; the white paint flawless in the face of the golden sunshine flooding the room; the morning's rainfall having abated. Perhaps there were other basements out there, long ago rooms also built by his husband for a very specific purpose; muted, sterile confines that only knew the screams of its captives. Maybe he wasn't the only one who had suffered in a room like that, perhaps there was someone else out there who could understand his misery. Why did this thought make him feel so terribly lost?
"Because no one should suffer like that," he said, his voice almost breaking apart in the monumental silence of the empty house. "Not the way I have."
Standing, Kyle flipped the diary open and tucked Kenny's number inside, closing it slowly. He doubted he'd ever use it, only really using his phone to stay in contact with Craig or listen to music. Kyle never did anything too involved with it, knowing that his husband was just going to go behind him and check his history anyway. He'd made the mistake of clearing his history once and naturally it hadn't ended well once Craig caught wind of it. Tucking the diary back into the secret pocket of his bag, Kyle put it back on the counter in its customary place; not really having the desire to write in that moment. No, he almost felt like he needed to wander mindlessly.
Almost without really realizing what he was doing, Kyle walked over to the basement door and placed a hand on its cool wood, gazing up at it almost like he'd never seen it before; almost like he'd forgotten what lay on the other side. He'd never once gone down there without being forced by Craig, usually dragged against his will, but there were other times he'd gone willingly; almost like he was a prisoner being led to their planned execution. When he was home alone he avoided even passing by the door when he could, so actually opening it up and going down the stairs was almost unheard of, so why was the draw suddenly there?
Slowly, he placed his hand on the doorknob and waited for a moment, closing his eyes; envisioning what he was contemplating walking into: cool whiteness and sterile silver, the faint scent of old bloodshed coupled with cleaner. He shuddered, but he opened the door anyway, opening his eyes and gazing down the flight of stairs. Tentatively, he reached out a foot and placed it on the top step, almost feeling like something would grab him any moment; an unearthly hand reaching up from under the stairs and dragging him to hell. Taking a deep breath, he fought through his mounting hysteria and stepped down completely, exhaling heavily as he contemplated his descent.
Against his will, the little poem used in times of punishment rang through his head, and he focused on these words as he slowly went down the steps:
Your heart is a dish,
Fill it with joy
And it will quench sorrow.
Fill it with sorrow
And it will drown joy.
Over and over he chanted the poem in his brain, until finally he'd made it to the basement proper, and he was surrounded by the clinical horrors used when Craig was caught up in his sadistic glory; the restraints waiting on the wall where Kyle was strapped in so he couldn't move. He was standing in the place where he was stripped of his clothing usually, and then Craig would lead him over and -
Unbidden, the tears he'd started to cry at the restaurant came back, and Kyle knelt down and pressed his face to his knees, beginning to sob.
What did he do to you, Tweek? Did he do the same things to you that he's doing to me? Was he just practicing on you so he'd know what he was doing in the future? Were you the first? Am I the last?
"Why didn't I let them help me?" Kyle sobbed, raising his head so he could become lost in the sterile glow of the overhead fluorescent lighting. "Why couldn't I just open my mouth and tell them the truth? What's wrong with me?"
Looking down, Kyle noticed a small mark, and getting down on his hands and knees, he inspected it.
"Blood. My blood," he murmured, passing a finger over the small red blot. "I guess even Craig can miss things on occasion."
Laying on the cold floor, Kyle curled himself up into a ball as he continued to cry, his hand resting on the tiny speck of blood; his mind spiraling as he drifted. He wondered how old the bloodstain was, he wondered where Tweek was, he wondered what Kenny and Stan were doing as he had a breakdown on his basement floor; surrounded by instruments whose sole purpose were to break him down and bend him to his husband's will. A familiar thought came to him and he wondered for the millionth time: why? Just why? Why did it have to be like this?
"I just need to learn to behave," Kyle murmured, beginning to lapse into a warm weariness that wasn't altogether unpleasant; the aftermath of being extremely upset. "As long as I do what Craig tells me to, I'll be okay for the most part."
Cold terror broke through Kyle, though; interrupting his fatigue. He still had to deal with Craig when he came home that night. No doubt he was going to be displeased about Kyle going out to lunch. Naturally he'd assume that Kyle had no intention of telling him he'd hung out with Stan and Kenny; no, he'd had to catch him in the act.
"I guess I'll just have to take my medicine, won't I?" Kyle asked, beginning to giggle; the sounds erupting from his mouth almost against his will. He pressed a fist against his lips, continuing to laugh. All at once, a sound overhead broke into his nearly hysterical laughter, and he lapsed into wide-eyed silence.
There was the sound of a door slamming and then footsteps, and then -
"Kyle? Kyle, where are you?" Craig's voice broke through the stillness, causing Kyle to sit up and stare up the stairs, the basement door still open and throwing sunlight into the gloom. After a moment, darkness blotted out the light and Craig was standing there, staring down at Kyle with raised eyebrows; complete surprise distorting his features.
"What are you doing down here?" He asked, slowly descending the staircase; a large box in his hands. "You told me you hate going into the basement by yourself."
I hate going in the basement even when I'm not alone. You know that.
"I-I thought I heard something down here," Kyle replied, trembling as he slowly got to his feet. "So I came to take a look, and then I started feeling sick so I just lay down for a moment." He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the spot of blood on the floor; too afraid to look at Craig directly. "I know, I'm weird."
Out of the corner of his eyes, Kyle saw Craig set the box down and come toward him. He openly tensed up, cringing away as his husband approached.
"Hey, calm down," Craig said, reaching up and cupping Kyle's face with his hands, forcing him to look up. "You were feeling sick? Are you okay? What's wrong?"
Kyle shook his head, leaning his cheek into Craig's cool hand and smiling.
"I'm okay now, promise. Don't worry."
"I always worry," Craig replied, staring at Kyle with his special brand of intensity; a surgeon's sharp eyes. "I can't help it, Kyle; I love you."
Kyle stared at him with wide, searching eyes, hardly expecting this turn of events. Where was the rage? Where was the violence? Hadn't he disobeyed?
"You aren't mad?" Kyle asked before really thinking about it. He slapped his hand over his mouth. "I-I'm sorry, just forget -"
"Why would I be mad?" Craig asked, appearing confused. He thought a moment, then smirked. "Oh, about you going out with your friends? It's okay, Kyle; I could tell you didn't really want to go. You were just being polite, right?"
Completely taken aback, Kyle found the wherewithal to nod his head slowly. He was lying, but if Craig wanted to believe that he could go along with it.
"Besides, that isn't even important right now, love," Craig chirped, pulling Kyle into a tight hug. "I have great news for you, for us."
"W-what? Tell me!" Kyle couldn't help but laugh, getting caught up in Craig's obvious joy.
Pulling away, Craig held Kyle at arms' length, beaming from ear to ear.
"I got a promotion, Kyle! Can you believe that? It means more money for us, more prestige!"
"Wow, really?" Kyle replied, gazing up at him with almost painful adoration; so very proud of his husband in that moment. Craig worked so hard, not just for himself, but for Kyle; for their future. Wrapping his arms around Craig's waist, Kyle pulled him close, sighing into his chest. "That's amazing, Craig. I'm so happy for you."
"I knew you would be," Craig said, kissing the top of Kyle's head. "You're so good to me, baby. Don't think I haven't noticed."
Kyle's heart almost burst with joy to hear his husband say those words, and for a moment he could almost forget where he was standing; the whips lining the walls and metal manacles on chains snaking from the walls. He could even forget about the needle passing over and over through his skin, burning like fire when he hadn't been numbed first. Kyle could forget all of it in that moment, so long as he could drink in instances like this; being enfolded in his husband's arms and sharing his triumphs.
"In fact, I got you a present to celebrate," Craig smiled, pulling away and going to pick up the large box. He brought it back and presented it to Kyle with a flourish. "Chocolates! Just don't eat too many and get fat on me, okay? I like you just the way you are," Craig said, handing the box to Kyle and sliding his hands under his shirt; his skilled fingers passing over Kyle's sutures.
"Have I ever told you I love seeing your back covered in sutures?" Craig murmured, kissing Kyle's temple. "I know it's bizarre but there's just something about seeing the black threads against your pale skin, it's almost beautiful to me. Sometimes I feel like you're a little bird I saved, except instead of fixing your wings I tore them off." Leaning back, he gazed into Kyle's face, his grey eyes warm with mirth. Kyle just smiled back, heartbeat picking up at Craig's bizarre admission even though he wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt; he'd meant it to be sweet, after all.
"It's just a shame that you aren't feeling well," Craig said, frowning suddenly. "I wanted to take you out to celebrate. Oh, and to go over party plans."
"Wait, what. Party? What?" Kyle asked, trying to keep a handle on everything Craig was throwing at him. "What are you talking about?"
Craig shrugged, his hands still straying over Kyle's sutures; making him shiver.
"I just think it's time we had a party, don't you? I mean, we've never had one ever since we moved in here, and now we actually have a good reason to celebrate. You can even invite Stan and Kenny; anyone you want. What do you think?"
Kyle was silent for a moment, still trying to wrap his head around what he was hearing. Never in a million years did he think this was the conversation he'd be having with Craig, at least not after what had happened at the gallery.
"A party? Us? Here?" Kyle asked, looking around with disbelieving eyes. Naturally, they'd have to lock the basement door if they were going to have strangers in the house.
"Sure. I have complete faith that you'd be able to make it perfect, just like everything else you do," Craig said, nuzzling Kyle close and dropping little kisses along his cheek. "Would you do it for me? Please?"
Now Kyle was really reeling. It wasn't often that Craig said please or asked him to do anything. Usually it was an order, a command, and Kyle didn't have any choice but to do what he was told. Having an option had become almost a completely foreign concept to him. Feeling suddenly uneasy, he nodded his head, but his muscles remained tensed and ready to go on the defensive if need be.
"Of course, Craig. I'll do anything I can to help. I just want to make you happy; you know that."
"Wonderful! Now that that's settled," Craig said, tucking one of Kyle's curls behind his ear. "Do you feel up for going out? We'll go anywhere you want."
Throwing caution to the wind, Kyle decided to test the limits of Craig's unusual good mood; clinging to him while answering slowly.
"Actually, I really don't feel like going anywhere," he admitted. "I've kind of had my fill of being social, you know? Lunch really wore me out. Is it okay if we order in or something?"
Craig lapsed into silence and Kyle immediately regretted testing him, but then -
"You know, that's actually a good idea. Let's get Indian food. Does that sound okay?"
"T-that's perfect, sure," Kyle replied, hardly believing his good luck. Hugging Craig, he'd almost fallen into a chasm of tranquility when he suddenly remembered something, and he pulled away; eyes searching Craig's face.
"The lighthouse picture," he said. "Where is it? Are we still going to hang it up?"
For a moment, a brief stillness passed over Craig's face, but it flitted away as quickly as it came; leaving nothing but animated warmth in its wake.
"Don't worry, baby," he said, beginning to lead Kyle toward the stairs. "We'll hang it up as soon as I've found the perfect spot; don't you worry."
