Authors notes: Sorry guys! I know it's been long but I had to deal with a few things, but I'm back!

'Set your alarm Kyle, your never going to get up if you don't.' The red head often had that problem if he stayed out to late. He blamed it on his parents mainly, drilling punctuality into his head. He blamed a lot of things on his parents, or at least that's what he told other people. It was a trend, teenagers that had weird, non-teenager like habits, blamed it on their parents. Everyone in South Park knew about Kyle's mom, so all he had to say was, 'Mom made me,' and he was off the hook. His annoying scene of responsibility, aggravating good grades, and basic geekish appearance, Kyle would probably get beat up if his Mother wasn't there for his excuses.

Speaking of his parents, they seemed to be asleep, thank god. The house was dark and quite, almost eerie. Kyle made his way to his room quickly, and shutting the door. He didn't even turn on the lights; instead he merely gave a grumble and walked to his bed, taking off his shirt and pants, changing into his boxers and some baggy t-shirt. The rustle of cloths soon stopped as Kyle lay in his bed, his eyes transfixed with the ceiling as the night's events caught up with him.

'God damn it' he wished he drank or something so he would wake up tomorrow and remember nothing. The whole night was a disaster and the memories that would start to plague him were unwelcome. But on the up side, he came to a few conclusions. First, he hated dances. Second, Stan was going to get punched for making him go to that stupid dance. Third, he was going to bug his dad until he could drive himself. Forth, walking was over rated. Fifth, he hated the French. No scratch that, he hated Christophe. A frown broke over his face. Stupid Christophe. Stupid Christophe. Stupid Christophe. It was none of his damn business if he was at the dance, it was none of his damn business if he didn't get a ride, and it was none of his damn business if he was still a virgin!

'It's not like I'm was the only one' he thought bitterly. 'I mean Cartman...' No Cartman had been bragging that he lost his for a while now, not that Kyle believed anything that he said, but the girl he had made it with didn't deny it either. 'Well... Kenny.' Oh what the hell was he thinking? Kenny was the first to loose his. He was pretty sure that Stan was still a virgin, but with the way him and Wendy suck face all the time, Kyle wasn't sure. "Oh hell."

Funking Christophe. Who the hell does he think he is? Kyle rolled over on his side, frustrated with himself. He wasn't sure what pissed him off more. The fact that the guy had actually asked those things and said those things, or that Kyle couldn't get him out of his mind.

The red head scowled at the thought. 'I can too get him out of my mind.' He argued with himself. It's not like he was special. He could think of a bunch of kids that smoked. He could think of even more kids that hadn't that shaggy brown hair. And millions of people hadn't brown eyes. Not many had brown eyes that could look so dark, soft and calm at the same time though, a contrast to 'The Mole's' character. None that he could picture that held such a nameless emotion that engulfed those eyes. Those soft, beautiful, brown...

Kyle's upper body shot up from the bed. What the hell was that! Beautiful! Did he just say...beautiful?

"Oh good god I did," his voice cracked. He didn't actually think Christophe's eyes were beautiful did he? Did he? Kyle let his weight fall on the bed again.

"Great! Now I'm Gay!" he yelled sarcastically.

"Kyle?" a voice called from the hall. "Are you ok?"

The blood ran from his face and he smacked himself.

"I'm fine Mom, just dreaming." 'Please believe that' he begged silently.

A pause. "Alright, night bubbi"

"Night"

Oh Christ that was close. He hated Christophe, with a passion.

Christophe slowed the car to a complete stop a block away from his house. His Mother would have a fit if she thought he snuck out of his room, so he simply began to park his car out of the sight of the house, even when he was home. It eliminated the problem, his mother couldn't tell. Getting out of the car, he lit another cigarette and took a long drag, his upper body leaning against the car. The dark haired boy turned his gaze to the clear night sky, his smoke clouding his line of site until it dissipated into the cold air. The name seemed to breathe into the smoke. "Kyle"

It had been such a long time since he had seen the red head. Kyle had changed little in the eight years they were apart. Christophe gave a small smile. He made it seem like he had a fascination with him. Truth be told, Christophe often thought about Kyle, not obsessively, he did have a life. But Kyle remained in the back of his mind, surfacing abruptly on nights when he felt especially lonely. It was Kyle's eyes that really stuck out. Bright, illuminated green, held the same innocence from youth. It was hard to find people with any innocence at all to day it seemed. Especially those that reeked with so much of it. Christophe wouldn't be surprised if Kyle got beat up at school. He then dismissed the idea. When a blush shows up that well on skin, then a bruise or a black eye would stay for weeks.

Christophe winced at the familiar warmth between his legs. Just the thought of Kyle blushing so profusely because of him, stirred his teenage hormones. He sucked in a breath, trying to calm himself, after all walking into the house with a hard on wouldn't go over very well with his mother, if she were still awake. Putting out his cigarette, he walked toward the house. Although Kyle's eyes still haunted him, something that slightly pissed him off. In his line of work distractions can get you killed.

A ghost smile ran across his face as he entered the house. Did he really see Kyle as a distraction? Not really, but if their path again, which he had a gut feeling they would, Kyle might be come more dangerous then a mere distraction. After all distractions could be ignored, brushed off, forgotten.

"How am I supposed to forget someone who has hunted me for eight years?" The only answer was small breeze, lifting the lingering smoke on his lips to the heavens.