A/N: A big thing of this story for me is connectivity between characters, and, honestly, I hope you feel the same way. I'm not sure where things stand relationship-wise between anyone at the moment. I think I just need some fresh air cause damn do I feel polluted. So lets all kick back and take a juice break, okay? Okay.
Enjoy.
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"Stan, look at the camera!"
"You sound like my dad, Kenny, fuck off."
"Kinneh's just excited about holding this advancement in technolojay, Stan. Don't hate on the redneck for being foreign to an object worth more than two dollars."
"Shut up, Cartman! Anyway, Stan, c'mon, stop playing and look at the camera for a sec."
Stan looks at the camera. He raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed before unpausing Rock Band 2 and continuing his game. Cartman's on vocals and he's doing strikingly. I try to concentrate on my drumming.
"Hey Stan. Stan! STAN!"
"Kenny shut the fuck up we're five starring this bitch and you're supposed to be taping it for YouTube!"
"Bun you guys, I'm gonna pack a bowl and ya'll better be sharing when you're done your stupid fucking game."
Kenny sits down on the couch and pulls out his kit, which is a beaten-up Hello Kitty pencil case that I'm guessing he stole. He packs some weed into his little pipe and starts to smoke. Cartman glares at him a bit before tilting his head back. "MAAAAAHM! MAHHHHM, TURN ON THE FAN KENNY'S SMOKIN' POT IN THE BASEMENT AGGIN!"
A "yes, honey" echos from upstairs. The game ends.
"Dammit Kenny were you even recording us?"
"Weed comes before games, Stan."
"And your shit poor family wonders why you're so damn broke!" Cartman throws the gaming mic at the couch and then flops down as Kenny passes him the pipe. I sit and stare awkwardly before switching to a solo round, feeling a lot like a background character. Kenny glances up and then peers at the other two before kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "Hey, Kyle. Come smoke a bowl."
"I don't do drugs, Kenny."
Ken deadpans me and then stands up and plucks me off of my stool, dragging me to the couch and tossing me down onto it. I stare up at him and he thrusts the pipe at me. "Kyle, please. Weed is not a drug. It's a religion."
"And my religion is Jewish, not weed. Sorry."
"Aw Kahl stop bein' a bad Jew and take the goddamn pipe from Kinneh since he's givin' you free weed."
"Shut up, Cartman!"
Stan lounges back, exhaling smoke into my face. I start to tear up from the burn. Kenny shakes his head and nudges the mouth of the pipe to my lips, prying them apart as I look up at him unimpressed.
"Kenny, I said no."
Kenny sighs and then sits down beside me, lighting himself a hit instead. "One day I'll hook you and you'll see the world in a much more looser way and you'll feel way better about yourself."
"And one day you'll get mono from kissing people through your pipe."
"And then he'll come back to life you stupid Jew faggot."
"Fuck off Cartman, I just don't think it's right, okay?"
Stan pauses. "Kenny, is that still on?"
All four of us glance at the camera. Kenny blankfaces as he leans in and laughs while Stan descends his face into his palm and I can hear myself laughing as I sling an arm around him with Cartman taking another long drag.
"I told you you'd see the light one day."
I glance at Kenny as he speaks with the camera paused on Kenny's fourteen year old hand extended to the camera. I dig my hand into our chip bag and give him a meaningful glance as he pulls out another tape from our box, glancing it over. "This one has no label. Reminds me of that one movie. We should watch it. Then in seven days I'll die from the creepy girl in the well if I don't die before then."
I frown, knowing exactly the film in which he's referring. "But then I'll die, too, and you'll have to wake up to my body with my face all fucked up and melted, dude."
"Yeah, I guess that would be kind of a downer. Well, then we'll do what they did in the sequel and you can pass it on to Cartman."
"Who're you gonna pass it on to, though?" I take another chip from the bag. He tilts his head and then shrugs.
"Maybe I can pass it on to Cartman, too. Then he'll double die." He pauses and then breaks into some kind of maniacal laughter that causes me to stare a bit with my chip half way to my face. He takes a few heavy inhales before he catches his breath and leans back on my couch, kicking his feet up on my coffee table similar to the fashion he had in Cartman's basement in the video only five minutes earlier, and I get a strange sense of nostalgia as I lean my head in my palm and smile a bit. Kenny pauses as he flips the tape in his palms, and then looks at me seriously.
"What would you do if you knew you were gonna die in seven days?"
I stare at him for a long time before I lean back a bit to think as he stuffs his face with chips, likely the first and last thing he'll eat all day. I'll just buy him dinner. I hate it when he doesn't eat right, and he's starting to lose the pounds he was gaining from the lunches he was getting before winter break.
"Kenny, I honestly don't know. Probably try to find a cure."
"There's no cure in a theoretical question, Kyle, stop being so commonsensical."
I give him a look, wondering myself if that's even a phrase before shrugging and toying with an off stitch in my jeans. "Probably hang out with you. Try to make better amends with Stan. Write a will. Try to spend time with Ike... you know. Sensible things. There's nothing huge that I could do I think that would make my life more worth it than my family and friends, I think."
Kenny nods. "You know what I'd do?"
I blink, wondering if this was a trick question, before simply shaking my head. "No. What would you do, Kenny?"
"I would nail every girl in school."
He folds his arms behind his head as I stare and gawk. "Haven't you already?"
He tilts his head a moment before shaking his head. "No. There is quite a sum, actually. I think I've only had sex with like..." He counts on his fingers and it strikes me as very cute in that moment. "Like, eighteen people at our school. Out of all four grades, and not just girls."
I fold my arms over my knees, stealing the unlabelled tape from his lap and staring at it. "That's a lot of people."
"To someone who's had sex with one person, yes, Kyle, that would be a lot of people." He smirks at me and I give him a dirty look before sitting up and walking back to the old-as-hell VCR that has eaten most of Ike's old Disney tapes over the years by mistake and eject 'Rock Band Videos', sticking this one in instead. I press play and then sink back beside Kenny. He huddles against me with high expectations of a horror film. Instead a ten year old me pops up on the screen with my crooked green ushanka slapped on my head.
Kenny pops up behind me and then looks in closer, blinking with a huge blue eye into the lens before picking it up again and looking back at me, still beside him. We stare at eachother a moment and then glance over our shoulder at Stan, who's puking over the side of his bed into the trash bin. I walk over to Stan and then sit on the bed beside him as Kenny looks things over. His lips move but the film is silent as he glances over his shoulder. I glance up and mouth back wordlessly. Stan looks up and then holds his head, picking up a package of Warheads off of his bedside table and staring at it like it was Satan itself at his palm. Kenny takes the hard candies and then sits on the floor beside the trash can, dumping the singular packaged treats onto the floor and licking his lips.
I root him on as Stan makes another face, looking green. Kenny starts unwrapping and tossing Warheads into his mouth like a champ. I continue to cheer him on as he starts to gag and choke from the sourness but he keeps going. Abruptly he starts to choke and I visibly panic, beating him on the back as he heaves into the garbage can, spluttering Warheads everywhere while Stan rolls over on his side with laughter from his bed.
Kenny sits up again, looking dazed and pale. I look at him with worry and shake his shoulder. He stares at me and we converse briefly, his focus seeming to be wiping his tongue off with Stan's bed sheets. Stan notices and smacks his hand away. I shout something at Stan. He yells back. A moment later the three of us are rolling across the floor throwing kicks and punches. There's a sudden whirl and spiral and then static before the camera views our situation from it's side on the carpeted floor. Kenny's ankle is tangled in the wire of Stan's lamp and Stan unplugs it from the wall before we untie him as he lays holding his head from it's brief impact with what appears to be Stan's bedside table. He moves to slide his ankle out of the wire as I stand up and move the lamp to the floor and start to wander the room. Kenny looks up and speaks to me.
"Kyle what're you doing?"
"I'm death proofing Stan's room so you don't die."
Kenny tears his eyes away from the screen as we dub in the exact words we're saying on screen. I look back at him and grin a bit as I watch myself arrange books so that they lay flat and even go so far as to take Stan's crucifix off the wall and stick it in his drawer. I start to laugh slowly and a moment later Kenny's joining me. We probably look so stupid and I'm so glad that my folks aren't home. Kenny looks thoughtful after our laughter wavers and we watch me take my round filling my mouth with Warheads and spittling onto Stan's floor in disgust.
"One time we should video tape ourselves watching videos. And then videotape ourselves watching those videos of us watching that video. And then just keep going. And then when someone watches that tape, their head will be so spun."
Kenny leans back, licking his lips free of salt and tossing the empty chip bag into the bin by the couch. I tilt my head and then shrug, reaching for my Diet Pepsi and taking a drink. I pause as I notice Kenny watching from the corner of my eye and glance at him, then at my bottle, and offer it out. He shakes his head and I shrug.
"Kyle, just put it down."
I glance at him again to ask for a meaning but we're pressing lips instead. I slide mine apart, self-conscious and self-aware of the fact that I probably taste like carbonation but he tastes like potato chips so I guess we're even. Setting my bottle down behind me as I pull him by the front of his wifebeater, he throws his arms around my waist and drag's me closer, and this is when I pull away.
"Kenny what the fuck are you doing?"
"I'm giving us a show for next time. I think that in every video, the mood should increase a little more. Like, it starts with us kissing. Then next time, maybe I can strip. And then in the next one you can take your clothes off, too, and then in the next one-"
"Kenny, we're not making a porno. I'm sorry."
"Kyle Broflovski: Ruiner of Dreams. Actually, you could make a great book out of that title, Kyle. It should be the title of your biography."
I roll my eyes and stand up, clicking off the VCR and ejecting the tape, tossing it back into the box. I stand there staring into the collection a moment before sitting back down on the couch and staring at Kenny. He looks back at me before glancing around, like someone being looked at by a stranger in a crowd wondering if they're looking at someone else. He peers back at me a moment later from under his dishevelled blond bangs and I muss them up a bit before pulling him into a hug. He accepts it and hugs me back, rubbing my back uncertainly before turning to talk into my neck.
"What're you thinking?"
I tilt my head a little, unwilling to break our embrace just yet. There's no one here to shoot any gay comments, and it doesn't matter to me anyway. I'll hug Kenny as long as I damn well feel like.
"What would you really do if you were gonna die for the last time in a week?"
He falls quiet, seeming pensive. For a moment I wonder if he's fallen asleep, but his arms descend around my waist again and he snuggles against me a bit. I glance into his blond mop a moment before leaning my cheek on his head. Maybe he's just not going to answer at all. He seems to like doing that to me.
"This, I think. Just this."
I shut my eyes and hug him tighter. He returns the squeeze and we finally break apart, falling to the opposite ends of the couch with our feet mixing in the middle. We stare at eachother for a long time.
"Questions, back and forth." He nods at me as he speaks. This game never gets old. It doesn't matter how long you've been friends with someone, there's always something else you'll want to know. "You go first."
I tilt my head before folding my hands behind my head. "Why don't you date people?"
"'Cause I think it's unfair. I die like, every day. It's just unreasonable for someone to have to live with someone who dies a lot." He digs around in his pockets before retrieving a cigarette and pressing it between his lips, even though he doesn't dare light it in my livingroom. "If you had to sleep with one girl because you HAD to or you'd like, die or something, who would it be?"
I blink a bit awkwardly at that question, and he laughs around his cigarette at what I assume to be my expression. "I don't know. One without an STD. If you could kill one person, who would it be?"
"Oh shit, only one? That's gonna take some time."
"Well if you have a list, go ahead."
Kenny pulls out the numbering his fingers again and I allow myself to smile this time. "My dad, old guys in general, I guess. I hate 'em. Bono. Britney Spears, the Goth Kids-"
"Kenny what the fuck. You have to explain these people, that is the most random fucking list you've ever given me."
He sighs a bit and backtracks. "My dad should be obvious. Old guys are gross. Bono is a scammer - notice how he only does charity work for U2 right before they release an album? And Britney Spears and the Goth Kids I just kind of want to put out of their misery. I also might kill Cartman, whether to put him out of his misery or to put me out of mine I'm not sure. I dunno, the list just kind of accumulates. I'd need a day to make you a full one."
I frown. "You hate more people than I thought you did."
He shrugs and then stares me down. I shift uncomfortably before I realize he's thinking about his question and relax a bit, reclining against the couch arm once more. "If I was gonna die for good in seven days, what would you do?"
I stare at him for a long time, before glancing down at my knees. My memories backtrack to when he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. I smile a bit faintly but it's unhappy. His own curious expression drops as I laugh nervously through a tear and shake my head, glancing around my house and wondering if life would be worth living without the few friends I have, or had. I dwell on this thought and it's only further upsetting. I'm not usually this weak but maybe it's just the topic of conversation.
I lift my head and wipe my loose tears hastily as he stares on uncertainly, but not in a judgmental way.
"This, I think. Just this."
