I Go Back

by Vcorrigan

A very familiar French boy has returned, turning Kyle's world upside down. What will ensue from Christophe's return? Pairing ChristopheKyle COMPLETE

2. Chapter One

Warnings: Language, Donnie Darko reffs, slash, English spellings, FWS (fictional writer syndrome)

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or settings, Matt and Trey take credit for their existence, Comedy Central has the rights and stuff. Nor can I take credit for the lyrics, those are Kenny Chesney's. Oh, don't own any movies/bands/teams/etc. Can't say Alice is mine, either, she just represents every snotty bitch in the history of existence. Basically the only thing I own is the Impala mentioned-the Pimp Mobile is mine.

A/N: OMG update :D Sorry it's so late, I don't really have a good excuse, but I've been writing my butt off for two days to finish the chapter. But it's long, hope that covers my ass. I got a major case of FWS in this chapter, so I'd like to say that what happened with Christophe's Dad was me bullshitting, and I made up his Mum's name. Along with the Alice story, that was thrown in for fun.

Toward the end there's a major scene that's just French, having Christophe and his Mum going at it. When you get there you will know; I suggest having another window open down at the glossary so you know what's going on xD

To go along with that thought, my French betas are on vacation and I don't want to call long distance. So the French is handicapped, sorry I butchered a language. I speak it fairly well, but doing a conversation I'm not having (and my teacher isn't there to ride my ass about being correct), I suck. Sorry again.

I think it's proper to mention the timing so it's not confusing. The last chapter started on October 11th, that Saturday was October 12th. Stan's birthday is conveniently on the following Saturday, October 19th. The homecoming football match is the 25th, the dance the 26th. Alright, now that's out of the way.

I have fanart, links in the profile. And I did pics for the twinday outfits, also found in my profile.

Thanks to the reviewers, you guys make me feel special, even the flamers that find it fitting to flood my hotmail account with easily discernable facts like they're gay. You guys really amuse me :3

Me-ladie-you do use 'tophe, don't you? -slaps self- Sorry, there was no intention of stepping into your domain there, long story short I've thought Christophe's name was 'tophe until I recently rewatched BLU and found out I've been making a jackass of myself for several years.

As for Qtie's question about Kenny having a crush on Kyle, maybe a small one. We'll see where that goes, but it was more me attempting to satisfy everyone's personal pairing. Still got a few to through in P:

---

"I go back to a two toned short bed Chevy
Driving my first love out to the levvy
Living life with no sense of time
And I go back to the feel of a fifty yard line
A blanket, a girl, some raspberry wine
Wishing time would stop right in its tracks
Every time I hear that song, I go back"

-"I Go Back," Kenny Chesney

The following week of school wasn't uncomfortable in the least. Monday came with glances between Kyle and Christophe from the senior class, and even a few individuals were gutsy enough to ask if "they were an item". If this was done in the presence of Wendy, she'd smile pleasantly and smack the person across the face with her pre-calculus book before wrapping an arm around Kyle's waist and leading him away.

Christophe was also in his gym class, along with almost every other student from Mr. Garrison's old class. After being introduced they started dodgeball, a favourite game of the coach, who stood by the bleachers grinning gleefully as his students were pegged out. The round quickly dwindled down to the new French student against Stan, whom both vengefully played for the win. However, by the time the coach blew the whistle, all the boys had accomplished was being drenched in sweat and pushing themselves to nearly passing out from fatigue.

Tuesday was uneventful for the most part. Wendy was gone from school, much to Stan's worry. Without her around, Eric cheerfully made jokes and comments about Christophe and Kyle throughout the day. Lunch, however, was the worst. It was an accepted fact Christophe ate with them now, disappearing about ten minutes before lunch ended to go smoke outside. Cartman had nagged at them the entire lunch period without gaining so much as a look from the French boy, until he had hit thin ice. "You know, I'm not surprised you're a flaming queer, Christopher," Eric had begun, adding emphasis on the Americanized variant of 'Christophe'. "I mean, only a gay little Frenchy would sing as he died in some faggy Jew's arms, then come back and kiss his ass."

In response Christophe had socked Eric in the mouth, sending the larger boy backwards onto the cafeteria floor, lip bleeding and puffy, and walked away through the stunned silence. Kyle had found him outside, and when asked what was wrong, Christophe had replied with a quote from Donnie Darko in French, "Quelques personnes sont justes soutenues avec la tragédie dans leur sang."

Wednesday Christophe hadn't turned up at lunch, giving Cartman some twisted satisfaction. Kyle didn't bother to search him out this time, instead remained quiet, Hell bent on not letting the fat boy get on his nerves. Toward the end of lunch Stan had excused himself to talk to Bebe about his girlfriend's absence, and Eric had just smiled as he took the opportunity to question Kyle.

"So where were you Saturday, Jew, fucking around with your French boy-toy?"

Kyle had forced himself to smile back, baring teeth in more of a snarl than anything.

"And if I was?"

"Oh, I already knew you were. You see, my fine Jewish friend, I went over to your house and that bitch you call a mother told me you were gone with a kid named Christophe."

The two had stared at each other from across the table until the bell rung. When it did Kyle had stepped in front of Cartman's way, said in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Roshambo," and kicked him in the groin before running off to fifth period, feeling accomplished.

Thursday Wendy had returned, looking rather green around the edges and exhausted. She only spoke if spoken to, and otherwise seemed distant from the world. In English they were to present their arguments on a specific debate topic and sway the class to their side. Wendy was partnered with Bebe in a debate about abortion, against Pip and Damien. In the final rebuttal Wendy had burst into tears and run out of the class, leaving her fellow peers in hushed astonishment. As Bebe went to find her best friend, the most commonly accepted rumour started was that Wendy had been gone from school to have an abortion on her and Stan's child. She had returned ten minutes later, eyes red and puffy but in control of her emotions and finished the debate before going home. Bebe had sheepishly explained to the class Wendy was having a rough "time of the month" and the topic of debate had gotten the best of her. The issue was dropped there.

Friday Wendy was gone, but Kenny returned from being out with the flu. Friday was also the day Kyle had been convinced to join powder puff.

Lunch had started out with the normal insults being flung back and forth, jokes, and guy talk since there was no "black haired hippie" to offend. It wasn't until after they had finished eating Kenny asked:

"So, Kyle, have you tried out for powder puff yet?"

Kyle had looked at his blonde friend queerly. "Usually Stan is the one begging me, what's up Kenny? Still sick?"

The accused had laughed, blue eyes glittering. "Nah, I'm over the flu, but come on, live a little! It's your senior year, make a big mark on the schools history. Anyway, don't you want to walk down the halls and have freshmen looking at you in wonder, saying 'hey look, it's the hot redhead powder puff cheerleader'?"

"Not really, I wouldn't feel to proud of myself being recognized as a cheerleader."

"Jew-boy, damnit, everyone else at this table is in for powder puff!" Cartman growled, receiving a look from Christophe. "Well except your little boyfriend, but even Butters is doing it! You're going to be even lamer if you don't."

"Like you care, fatass," Kyle had snorted, shaking his auburn curls from his face. "I mean, dude, we've already established I have no rhythm, can't lift heavy things for my life, so what would I be?"

"Our flyer," Kenny had said, looking up with determination on his face. "You're small, you're the lightest person that could try out, you're perfect for the job."

Kyle shook his head frantically, "Oh no, I don't trust you guys to catch me. We'll be off beat and you guys will be doing something different in the routine and I'd fall to my death."

"If I am zere, you shall not fall to your death," Christophe spoke up, squeezing Kyle's knee mischievously.

Before he could reply Stan jumped in. "Dude, just do it, it'll be fun, and you can't pull the embarrassment card since we'll all be in a cheerleading uniform."

Being nudged in the side Christophe spoke his part of the ploy. "Oh, doesn't zat sound interesting? If you do not do et for zem, mon cher, do et so I can see your pretty little self in a skirt."

"I don't want to be seen in a skirt, though!" he had pouted. "I'm already feminine enough, put me in a skirt and I'll end up turning into something like Gay B or Mr. Garrison when I'm older."

In response Christophe had just said, "Fine, suit yourself," and shoved him off of his chair and onto the floor. Kyle had glared, stood and loomed over the French boy, hands curled into fist. Christophe had just looked up at him from under his bangs, looking coy and somehow innocent while saying, "I love you." Even knowing it was lighthearted and jokingly said, Kyle had stopped dead and a flush crept up his cheeks. Hiding it he had grudgingly agreed to join powder puff.

The after school practice was more of a team meeting than anything. Sizes were taken by a seamstress so uniforms could be made that fit, and each person was informed of his position. They were given practice dates and times (everyday after school, Saturday and Sunday noon till four), and were separated into two different squads. The head captain was Kenny, much to Kyle's surprise and delight, and the vice-captain was Cartman. After a brutal prep-talk they were released to freedom, Kyle finding his French toy waiting in the parking lot to take them out to dinner and the arcade. He hardly noticed he stayed out passed his curfew of ten by five hours, obliviously happy playing Dance Dance Revolution into the wee hours of the morning.

It wasn't until the next morning he noticed.

---

Groaning Kyle woke to his mother pounding on his door before inviting herself into his room and threw open the curtains. Mumbling obscenities he rolled over, scowling at his clock. The bright green letters that read nine 'o four seemed to mock him for getting to bed around four in the morning.

"Wake up, Booby, you've got a long day ahead of you," Sheila said with a bright smile from the doorway, arms crossed as her son buried his face into the pillows.

"I wanna sleep for a few more hours," he whined, curling into a ball as if it would make his mother disappear.

"A few more hours? You've got to be at your powder puff practice in three hours, you don't have time to sleep anymore, and you absolutely cannot skip it," she said firmly. Upon hearing of his joining the cheer squad for the home coming game, she'd become ecstatic that her son had found something to do after school, even if it was for only a week.

"Just another hour than, Mom?" he asked, yawning.

"No, sir! It isn't my fault you decided to come home late," Sheila started, making Kyle cringe. He knew what was coming next, the accusations, twenty-questions. "Which reminds me, when did you get in, and I know it was sometime after one so you better not lie to me, mister. And where were you?"

Kyle sighed, sitting up in his bed, knowing he wouldn't be allowed any more sleep. Running a hand through his curls he looked up at his mom. "I was with Christophe, and got in sometime around three."

"With him, or at his house?"

"If I was at his house, wouldn't I be with him?"

"Don't be catty with me, Kyle Broflovski!" Sheila said, one hand on her hip, a finger pointed at him like a disobedient dog.

"Sorry Mom. Seriously, though, we were at his house watching a movie. It was pretty late when it ended, but it was left on a cliffhanger so I had to watch the sequel. I would have called, but I didn't want to wake anyone up," he lied, smiling apologetically.

"Well what movie was so important you had to stay up so late?"

The first sequel movie he thought of was The Lion King, but knew if he spouted that his mother would catch the lie.

"Uh, Ocean's Eleven."

Sheila just looked at him, eyes narrowing to a hard stare before she exhaled, throwing her hands up in defeat.

"Okay, Booby, I believe you, but you've got to get up now, none of this 'mercy on me, Mom' stuff. Go to practice early, go see Stanley before his party, or why don't you go get his gift?"

"Can I go to Christophe's?"

"But you spent almost all night with him!" Kyle blushed furiously, pulling his blanket up to his eyes to conceal it. Sheila gave him a look before sighing. "Fine, fine, do whatever you want, as long as you take Ike to his friends house."

"So I get to drive too?"

"Yes, now get ready."

As Sheila left his room, Kyle hopped out of bed and did a victory jig before digging into his dresser for something to wear. Kenny had advised the team to wear something lightweight, but bring a jacket just in case. He changed into deep green swish pants, and a black long-sleeve pinstripe shirt before jumping up and down, deeming the clothing indeed satisfyingly lightweight. Looking through his shoes he grimaced at the lightest pair, black Converse. Kyle disliked them for several reasons 1) abuse of the arch of a foot, 2) they did little to keep snow from the foot, and 3) they rubbed blisters on the heel.

"Oh well," he muttered, grabbing them. "It'll just be for a day." He began to slip them on, than thinking better of it taped his heels, and then put them on. Standing he grabbed his usual orange coat before walking out of his room, not bothering with taming his bushy hair, to be assaulted by Ike.

"Kiley, come on!" Ike said, grabbing his brother's arm and desperately trying to drag him to the stairs. It didn't take much for Kyle to shake him off.

"Whoa, dude, hold on."

"But I wanna go already!"

"I want to brush my teeth, jeez, hold on," Kyle growled, rolling his eyes as Ike tugged at his shirt.

"But—"

"Kick the baby," he said, grinning wickedly, taking Ike by the shoulders and getting in the position that he was frightened of. The Canadian's eyes widened as he squirmed from Kyle's grasp and ran down the stairs, squealing:

"Don't kick the baby!"

Laughing the redhead made his way to the bathroom, and upon looking into the mirror noticed the dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. Sighing he scrubbed at his teeth, tasting blood as the bristles cut into gum. He ignored Ike's mewling from the top of the stairs as he spit out pink foam, his bottom lip burning in the place that had rubbed raw from being habitually bitten. He barely had time to rinse his mouth before Ike grabbed his arm and pulled him from the bathroom.

"Come on!"

"Maybe I wanted to swish, Ike," Kyle said as his brother jumped on his back, producing an "omph".

"You can only last five seconds before you start to tear up, so I know that's a lie," the Canadian said happily as he was transported to the ground floor.

"Bye Mom, we're leaving," Kyle shouted as Ike grabbed the keys and opened the door, still being carried.

"Have fun you two," Sheila replied as Ike closed the door, and finally was dropped. Kyle snatched the keys away from his younger brother and slipped into his mother's red Nissan Altima, cheering silently to himself. He'd only been allowed to drive his mother's car a total of five times since he had gotten his license a year and a half ago, so being able to drive it without argument was surprising.

Ike jumped in as Kyle turned the ignition and buckled up. It was only a matter of minutes before they were on the road, driving in the direction of Ike's friend's house. Steering with one hand Kyle popped in a Taking Back Sunday CD, cranked the bass, treble, and volume up, much to the Canadian's joy.

At the first stop they came to Kyle dialed Christophe's number, and told the French boy he'd be there in about fifteen minutes. Christophe had replied simply, "drive safely" before hanging up, ensuring them both Kyle wouldn't be distracted and kill himself. It wasn't until Kyle was about to turn off onto the residential road that Ike's friend lived on that his brother spoke up.

"I'm not supposed to be there until around eleven-thirtyish."

"What? You're kidding?" Not receiving a response Kyle sighed, driving up another half-a-mile to turn off to Christophe's neighborhood. "I am going to kill you one of these days for being a scheming little heathen, Ike, I swear I will."

Kyle pulled his car up on the curb of Christophe's peach coloured house, finding it easier than trying to back up and not take out the mailbox. Shutting the engine off he tucked the keys into is pants pocket, got out and walked up to the door, ringing the doorbell without waiting for Ike. Christophe answered, leaning down to kiss Kyle in greeting until he saw the black-haired Canadian. Quirking a brow he invited them in, closing the door with the heel of his boot.

"You brought your bruzza?"

Ike glared at him but didn't speak. Kyle whacked his brother in the side, hands on his hips, ignoring Christophe. "Don't be a jackass, Ike, or I'll take you home." He jumped as Christophe wrapped an arm around his waist, chin resting on his shoulder.

"Now why is your bruzza 'ere, mon cher?"

"He tricked me into think I was dropping him off at his friends house before I came here, though I don't know why he wanted to come," Kyle replied, blushing as Ike just stared at the two of them quizzically.

"I wanted to see you two," Ike finally admitted, feeling slightly awkward at viewing his brother being embraced by another male.

"Oh, so you're a little voyeur," Christophe commented absently, taking Kyle by the hand and leading him into the living room. Ike followed like a puppy, and settled in a chair opposite of the couple. "Well now, with your bruzza 'ere it certainly limits the zings we could be doing."

"Just ignore me," Ike said, inspecting his fingernails for uneven edges with false interest, anything to keep from seeing the couple.

"Zat is quite 'ard when you are trying your utter damndest to ignore us, but end up looking anyway, petit connard." Ike glanced up, eyes narrowed. If looks could kill, Christophe would have been dead ten times over. "What did you call me?"

"Zat doesn't matter," he replied nonchalantly, uncurling himself from the couch and stalking toward Ike, reminding both Broflovski brothers of a cat on the prowl. He slid behind the chair Ike occupied, a finger entwining in the child's hair, tugging. "Come, let us see what I've got to entertain you in my room." Ike bolted up as his hair was tugged harder, giving a yelp and went to slap Christophe, but found his wrist caught in the action. Before he could recoil from the French boy's touch he was being drug off toward the stairs and up them.

From over his shoulder Christophe called down to Kyle. "Eat, cher, if you came 'ere directly you must be 'ungry." Of course Ike couldn't tell if his brother took up Christophe's offer, because he was ushered into the mercenary's room and found the door shut behind them. He watched the brunette wearily, backed up to the bed and sat on the edge.

Christophe leaned against the closed door, watching his unofficial boyfriend's brother cheerfully. The Canadian seemed uncertain of being alone with him, nervous under Christophe's inquisition, and miffed about the whole situation.

"Now zat we are away from Kyle, why exactly did you lie to come 'ere, little one?"

Ike gave him a dirty look, but seeing Christophe unfazed he merely sighed. "I really did want to see you two, you know, to see if you guys clicked or whatever."

"Go on."

"Look, I just don't want to see Kiley dicked around by some French jerk, got it?" Ike growled. "I just wanted to make sure that you weren't really some self-absorbed prick that couldn't care less about Kiley, and trod all over him."

"You are very aware zat I am a male, yes?"

"Duh," Ike replied, rolling his eyes in a dramatic fashion. "So?"

"Most…'omosexual relations are frowned upon."

Ike fell back into the black sheets of Christophe's bed, exhaling heavily. "Yeah, well, he's gonna need some support in this deal, if you guys to take it somewhere, and I can tell with how happy and puppyish Kiley is it's going somewhere."

"'e 'as 'is friends for moral support."

"I meant family support, douche. Mom will fucking castrate you both when she finds out, and Dad won't care because he's accepting like that. But real support he won't have, so I'm just being the good brother here."

"What do you feel about zis?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Don't give me zat crap," Christophe snapped. Ike sat up on his elbows, looking the fierce French boy over. "If you are going to support Kyle in 'is decision, zen you 'ad better actually want to, not just for some 'family support' sheet, got it?"

Lips curved into a smile, making Christophe scowl. What he didn't know was that simple defense showed some sort of liking to Kyle.

"I can't say I'm completely for it, but I have no problem with it. I mean, Kiley is happy, genuinely happy, and I haven't seen him like that since he was in tenth grade. And you, well, I can't really judge you since I don't know you. But from what I've seen, you don't have any bad intentions."

Christophe smirked. "None zat a little boy should zink anyway."

Ike grimaced, grabbed a pillow and threw it at the brunette, who caught it easily. "Ew, sick dude!"

"Yes, well," he mumbled, tossing the pillow back and opening his closet. "What kind of video games do you like?" Ike gave a short list including Super Mario, any first-person shooter games, racing games, Simpson Hit and Run, and the infamous Halo series. While he shorted through his belongs for the gaming console and games Christophe asked, "Why 'asn't Kyle been 'appy for two years?"

"In tenth grade he went out with this girl named Alice, a really pretty blonde chick. They were inseparable, worse than Stan and Wendy. Kyle was totally head-over-heels in love with her, then one day she just dumped him for no reason," Ike said, fluffing his hair. "Or at least he never told us why. He was miserable for two days, then just perked up and tried hiding it all, did a pretty good job too. But for a good year he wasn't the same, I mean he acted the same but there were the subtle things that made Kyle Kyle that weren't there, like his blushing habit."

"Ah, so I'm not ze only one to notice his rabid blushing," Christophe said as he pulled a Game Cube from the corner of his closet, along with a small stack of games. "Come, let's go find Kyle."

---

Leaning against Christophe's shoulder Kyle kicked his feet up onto the arm of the couch as he watched a pixelized Italian riding a dog-like lizard jump platforms, avoiding "game over" drops into oblivion. He still wondered why crappy-graphics and a simple plot of "kill the turtles, eat the mushrooms, don't touch the spikes" was still as popular as it was, but realized that Mario and Pacman were just a few of life's simple pleasures.

However, with nimble fingers playing with his ringlets and Christophe's body heat radiating at his back, it didn't take long for Kyle to become disinterested in his brother's game.

"So are you coming to Stan's party tonight?" he finally asked, bouncing the toes of his shoes together in a Dorothy fashion.

"I wasn't planning on et."

Kyle tilted his head to look at Christophe, and managed to get his hair unintentionally yanked. "Why not?"

He unwrapped red curls from his fingers before petting it back as flat as it was. "Une, I do not know Stan very well, deux I am suppose to go see Gregory later this afternoon, and trois I don't want to distract you from your best friend's party."

"Distract, what do you mean 'distract'? You totally cannot distract me," Kyle scowled, swinging his legs over the couch properly and sat up to glare meaningfully at Christophe, who just grinned coyly.

"I zink I can."

"Prove it."

Christophe lifted a finger and tsked, shaking it. "Non, non, not when you can toughen your resolve." Kyle huffed, crossing his arms with a pout, but only managed to get his cheeks pinched, causing him to blush. He shoved Christophe, beginning an all-out tussle, ending only when they were on the carpeted floor, along with half of the pillows from the couch scattered about them.

"Fine, if you're not going to the party at least help me brainstorm for gift ideas," Kyle said with a sigh, looking up at the brunette from his lap.

"I already told you, cherí, I don't know Stan zat well." Noticing the redhead about to remark on that, Christophe placed his forefinger to his lips. "But you 'ave got to remember et is 'is eighteenth birzday, and come zis time next year you might not see each other ever again, not to be dis'eartening. Ze only zing I can zink of is a goof gift, and zen somezing zat 'e can use in ze future, or somezing 'e's always wanted. Or maybe somezing to really get 'im zinking, remembering."

Kyle had let out a low whistle at that. "Damn, are all of you Frenchy's so smart?"

Before Christophe could answer Ike had informed them both they needed to leave. Before they could say their proper goodbyes, the Canadian had drug Kyle out of the house, and they were on the road to his friend's house. In the two minute drive there Eric had called to inform Kyle that practice was cancelled for 'personal reasons", although Kenny could be heard quite clearly giggling in the background to reruns of Terrence and Phillip.

That didn't bother him though, because it gave him more time with Christophe. They sat playing Super Mario and MarioCart for the remainder of the day, breaking from their vegetative state in front of the television for food and bathroom breaks only. By the time Kyle had to leave to pick up a present for Stan and go home to get ready, it was six 'o clock.

The whole drive home Kyle had been grinning like a fool, only the thought of Christophe blowing Gregory off for a day with him running through his mind. And it was then it dawned on him there was a lot more than just physical attraction between them.

---

Pulling up to South Park's only banquet hall, the Capok Tree, Kyle couldn't help but feel impressed. The Marsh's had rented it out for Stan's party, so he could do whatever he wanted without their house being in risk of danger. They'd planned a small get together with his parent's and older sister until around ten when they'd leave and the real party would begin. For admission into this second party you either had to bring Stan a gift of some kind (cash preferred), or an alcoholic beverage.

Kyle got out of his mom's car and locked it out of habit before strolling up to the two story white building. Pushing open the large oak double doors he looked around, laughing at the sight. The usual white globe lights that circled the ground floor and second floor wrap around balcony were flashing red and blue to the bass of the music playing, the Gorrilaz. Ivy wrapped columns that kept the wrap balcony from collapsing were now equipped with active strobe lights. From the banister of the said balcony and grand staircase leading to the second floor were replicas of icicle Christmas lights, except where the bulbs would be were tiny capsules of glowstick-like fluids. Directly across the room Randy and Sharon Marsh fiddled with refreshments packed tightly on tables stretched out across the whole wall.

"Heya turd, how've you been?"

Kyle startled, turning to look at San's older sister, Shelly. She no longer sported headgear, or even braces, and resembled the typical college student. Since last he had seen her two years prior her hair had gone from below the shoulders, wavy, and highlighted to her natural red-tinted brown, just above the shoulders and neatly layered. Even with the low cut, baggy long-sleeved shirt and flared jeans her womanly figure was easily recognizable.

"Pretty good, what about you, Shelly?"

"Minus college, my stupid roommates, stupid work, and stupid boyfriend? Smashing," she replied, grinning and reaching a hand out. Kyle flinched, instinct telling him he was about to be punched. Seeing his response she laughed, smacking him lightly with the back of her fingers before touching his hair. "I thought you straightened it."

He grinned as well, remembering the year and a half he had invested in several straighteners. "Became too much of a hassle, and once I washed my hair and it got curly again, it was all frizz."

"Could have told you that, turd," she said with a chuckle, tousling his hair. "The other turd is upstairs having hair problems of his own, why don't you go help him?"

"'kay." He handed the gift he had bought to Shelly and trotted up the stairs, wandering to the bathroom to find Stan rinsing the front of his hair out at the sink, not watching the mirror. Smiling Kyle took the opportunity, placing his hands over his friend's eyes and leaned again him, imitating Wendy's high-pitched voice. "Snookylumpkins, guess who."

"As wonderful an imitation, Kyle, there are two round things missing from your chest that would otherwise be rubbing up against me right now."

Laughing the redhead pulled away, grabbed a fluffy hand towel from the rack and tossed it at Stan's head. He rubbed his hair to mere dampness and sighed, running his hands through it. Stan looked at his reflection, grimaced, and shook his head, hair spiking in his usual messy manner. Kyle smiled; tons of the guys at school would die to know how Stan did his hair, and it was as simple as wetting it and shaking it out.

"Stanley, get your ass down here, your other little friends have arrived!" Sharon shouted, and the boys laughed.

"But Mom my hair—"

"If you turds don't come down here right now, I'll come up there are rip your balls off with my bare hands!" Shelly yelled, playing her role. They giggled, linking arms and walked down the stairs in a wedding-like custom. Kenny snorted, grinning as Cartman just rolled his eyes.

"You guys are so totally gay."

"And that's why he's dating me, right Eric?" Wendy asked from behind the fat boy. Stan gave a little 'whoop' and jumped the remaining five stairs to the ground, running over to Wendy and spinning her some while she laughed. In the process he unbalance Kyle, pitching him forward, where he would have met the marble floor rather intimately had an arm not grabbed him around the waist. Looking up he saw Eric, and sputtered in shock. Eric, Eric Cartman had saved himself from a possible broken nose. Even Kenny seemed shocked.

"Whoa, dude, you care!" the blonde yelled gleefully, punching Eric in the arm

"No, I just don't want Jew-boy here breaking his damn face and then the party being called off 'cause he's too much of a pussy to fall down a set of stupid stairs and come out unharmed."

Kyle sighed, standing on his own. Even if they were mutual friends, Cartman only did things to benefit himself. He was the win-win situation; you could be married to him—and may the Gods help you if you are—and there would be no gallant rescuing if his skin was in danger. You just had to except that with Cartman to get along with him, which was most likely why Kenny was such good friends with him.

He looked around, finally noticing the handicapped Senior Marsh wasn't around. They'd all given up on him dying after he ate a salad made of Nightshade and only had symptoms that the doctors had been reminded of Viagra.

"Hey dude, where's grandpa?" Kyle asked as Kenny continued to give Cartman Hell.

"Oh, yeah, he didn't want to be around a bunch of 'lively sonsuvabitches' so he stayed home. Plus he didn't want to be reminded of the fact he's lived for an extra ten years with the whole family together and shit," Stan answered, arms around Wendy's waist.

"Makes sense."

"Ay! When are you going to open your presents, hippie? I want fucking cake," Eric whined. They all rolled their eyes, but agreed that now was better than ever. Shelly piled the presents on the stairs where they all reclined, including Sharon and Randy. Eric handed the birthday boy a gifted wrapped in blue shiny paper. "Here, mine first!"

Stan eyed it wearily, but Cartman made no hint that it would blow up on him. Shrugging he unwrapped it to find a plain white box. Curiously he lifted the lid, and there was coal.

"Damnit fatass, it's not Christmas!"

Eric broke into laughter as if it was the most hilarious thing ever. After three minutes without breathing Shelly smacked him.

"Give him the real gift, turd."

Grudgingly Eric handed over a box of the same size wrapped in the same paper. Stan unwrapped it as well and lifted the lid. On top was a card that he ripped open, and two slips of paper fell out; tickets. Examining them he looked at Eric questioningly.

"They're tickets to my old theme park, retard."

"I don't have to take you, do I?"

"Fuck no! If I had wanted to go I wouldn't have kept the damn tickets, okay? Take Wendy, or Kyle, Hell take Mr. Hanky if you want."

Smiling Stan read the card aloud in Cartman's voice, "Hippie-Lover, have a happy fucking birthday, and you'd better keep that coal damn you! Never know when you need to burn. The coolest fucking friend you have, Cartman." Tucking the card and tickets back into the box Stan looked on, finding a picture framed of the four boys from the end of the summer, and a box of Slim-Jims, his favourite snack. "Thanks dude."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

Next was Kenny's gift, consisting of three parts. He got Stan the new Straylight Run CD, a Gorillaz poster, and a box of condoms. At seeing the last part, Wendy had slapped Kenny, to which she received the comment, "Oh, you like it rough, huh?" This time when he was slapped, it was hard enough to hurt. Chuckling Stan thanked Kenny, pulling him into a one-armed hug.

"Here Stan, mine next," Wendy said with a smile, handing a gold shiny present over. He unwrapped it grinning as he looked onto a football signed by all the players of his favourite team. Instead of voicing his thanks Stan kissed her, and found that a silver ring appeared on his finger. He raised a brow reading the inscription of "StanxWendy Always".

"Dude, I thought I was supposed to give this to you."

"It's not an engagement ring, silly, it's a promise ring!" Wendy giggled, showing hers off. The raven-haired boy mumbled something along the lines of "I knew that" and kissed her again. Sharon and Randy went next.

"Stanley, we know you wanted you car back for your birthday, but we all know it wasn't exactly fixable," Sharon started.

"Yeah, I was the one on Vicodin for three weeks, Mom."

"Yes, well, instead of your old car we thought we'd get you that Sunfire you've been eyeing. Officer Barbrady happily dropped all charges, so we can go and get a new license made tomorrow, okay Stan?" Randy finished for his wife, handing over a set of keys.

Stan was literally bouncing up and down. "Is it that disgusting electric blue colour I love?"

"Yep."

Stan squealed, hugging his parents. "Oh my God, thank you so much!"

"No problem, son. And your sister's gift came with the car."

He pulled back, looking up at his smirking sister before she explained. "Interior completely redone, sound system customized for the ass you love in bass, fuzzy dice, plugs for the speed you turds seem to think you need, would've gone nitro if you didn't make it a habit of hitting things."

"Damn Shelly, you outdid yourself."

"You're welcome," she replied and poked Kyle. "Your turn."

He sighed and shared a knowing glance with Wendy. She smiled devilishly, waiting. Unknowingly he slipped a hundred dollar bill into his left hand as his right went to Stan's shoulder. Leaning in he kissed his best friend, lips curving into a smile as his left hand went to Stan's waist belt and tucked the bill there. When he pulled away his grin widened at the look on Stan's face, and the reactions finally came

"Oh dear." Sharon.

"I knew they were gay." Randy.

"Right in front of Wendy, you've got balls Broflovski." Kenny.

"Aw, goddamnit Jew-boy." Eric.

"Turds will be turds." Shelly.

"Didn't think you had it in you." Wendy.

"Whoa, dude, you didn't have to do that just to give me a hundred bucks," Stan finally said. Kyle laughed.

"Yeah I did, Wendy put up a bet against me." He glanced to the innocent looking Wendy, who hid her smile behind her hand. He handed Stan the rest of the gift, wrapped in a milky white paper. "Anyway, here." Opening it Stan stared at a lava lamp, blue.

"Sweet, I've always wanted one of these things." Kyle gave a small nod and handed him two other things, a book of some sort and a card. Flipping the book open he surfed through pictures of the two of them since preschool. They hadn't changed much, besides growing, sense of style, and hair length. Stan stopped on a picture of them in seventh grade, white spots decorating his jet-black hair. Shelly had gotten pissed and threw a cup of bleach at him. Where the chemical had touched, his hair had been turned snow white, and until it all grew out he had been reduced to wearing his hat again. He flipped until he got to a picture of them at the beginning of tenth grade, Kyle's hair straight with long layers, only enough to hint at a length change. Flipping some more he glanced briefly at an end of the eleventh grade photo where Kyle's hair was its naturally curly self with a lot more frizz, and then to the last picture of their current selves. Setting it in the pile of gifts he looked at the card and put it, unopened, in the pile as well; it was tradition.

They all broke group to eat cake, in which Eric sung his custom edition of Happy Birthday (Happy Birthday to you, you kissed the damn Jew, you're going to Hell, Happy Birthday to you). Afterwards they lounged around, talking about old memories past based around an issue on each of them; when Cartman was the fattest fuck ever, Kenny still wore his hood and died every few days, Stan projectile-vomited around his girlfriend, Wendy was attracted to Eric, and Kyle was a little less gay than he was now.

It was at nine they decided to open the doors to the party goers, and a little passed ten everyone was either drunk, high, or tripping. Kyle found himself the only one in the masses that wasn't sipping some type of liquor, puffing on a blunt, or enjoying LSD laced candies. He looked through the crowds for his friends; Kenny was positively smashed, and currently making out with brunette against the stairs, Stan and Wendy were nowhere to be found (rumour had it they were doing it upstairs), and Cartman was the tipsy DJ. Shelly was somewhere among the throngs of people, and the redhead had even spotted Kenny's dirt bag brother, Kevin, dancing and drinking life away.

Sighing Kyle pushed his way outside, and was thankful for the fact he parked on the edge of the road where he couldn't be blocked in. Thinking about his choices he got in and pulled off. He couldn't go home, his mother would wonder why he was back so early, and he couldn't go to any of his friends' houses since they were all back at the party. He turned on the CD player and sung softly with the Taking Back Sunday disc. After a twenty-minute drive he found himself out of his car, sitting on the hood, in front of Christophe's house.

'Why am I here? He's probably busy or asleep or something,' he thought to himself, but dialed the French boy's phone number from his cell anyway. The heavily accented voice of the Mole answered, sickening polite like anyone answering a phone.

"Allo?"

"Heya 'tophe."

"Cher? I 'ear no party in ze background, is somezing ze matter?"

"I've been captured by some unrelenting force that is currently holding me hostage," Kyle replied, knowing well that even if it was a joke Christophe would answer seriously.

"Where are you?"

"Out front." A click of the receiver being hung up and Christophe's front door opening was the only reply. He looked up in time to see something black fly at his head, and instinctually caught the object: a blanket. Christophe strode toward him, hands on his hips in a scolding manner.

"You are supposed to be at a party with your friends, not camping outside of my 'ouse."

"It's like a huge frap party now, and they're all shit-faced," Kyle said in defense, finding that he felt like he was talking to his mother. "Anyway, I like being with you."

Christophe snorted. "Obviously, I 'aven't gotten to be away from you more zan twelve or so 'ours in two days."

"Well if you'd like me to leave—" Kyle was cut off by a real 'shut the fuck up' kiss that ended with him and the newly acquired blanket being drug toward Christophe's Impala.

"Non, I am razer glad zat you find my company a sort of reprieve, and zerefore we're going somewhere a bit more charming zan my front yard."

Kyle scoffed as he found himself snuggling into the leather seat of the Impala with the blanket wrapped around him. "You know I could have drove, right?"

"I did see your car, yes," Christophe agreed, accelerating. "But I didn't want to end up killed because my presence is so much of a distraction."

"I already told you, you don't distract me," he replied with a slight pout. "Anyway, I'm distracting you right now."

"No you are not, see my eyes? Zey are still on ze road, et is called 'multi tasking'. Most mercenaries know 'ow to do et quite well."

Kyle coughed, hiding his laughter. "You dig holes and break into houses, that doesn't take multi tasking."

"Maybe not, but on ze side if I've got a personal vengeance I'll do some assassination jobs." Kyle gaped, long enough that Christophe reached over and tapped his chin. Embarrassed he closed his mouth, but couldn't help but feel a bit shocked. "Come now, you can't say zat you 'ave never killed." Kyle thought about it, and found that the driver was correct, he had. Chinese mobsters, his old preschool teacher, and Trent Boyet when the blonde had gotten out of juvenile hall in ninth grade were a few classic examples. "Or at least people zat 'ave died because of you."

"Oh, well, that takes it to the hundreds," Kyle said with a sigh. "And hey, that puts you on my list of people that I've unintentionally killed."

"So et does." Christophe came to a stop and shifted to 'park'. He got out and grabbed another blanket from the back seat before laying it across the huge hood of the car. "Coming, cherí?"

Kyle got out and crawled onto the hood with Christophe. By the time they got situated they were both wrapped in one blanket, Kyle comfortably curled against the brunette, an arm around him and Christophe's hand playing in his hair casually. They sat like that for several long minutes, watching the dark waters of Terryall Creek swirl around patches of ice and rock before the redhead spoke.

"I think there's more to us than we're both willing to admit. I mean, people that are just physically attracted to each other would be feeling each other up, not happily content in the middle of fucking nowhere watching a creek and stars."

"If you would like to be felt up, please do not 'esitate to ask," Christophe replied, being hit in the stomach. He tugged at Kyle's curls, showing his annoyance at the physical contact. "What do you propose zen?"

"We make this official."

"You mean be un copains?" He received a small nod. "As in, we can interact with public displays of affection?" Again a nod. "Are you sure? You do realize sheet will 'it ze fan with zis?" A nod, accompanied by a sound of annoyance. Christophe tugged a chain from under Kyle's coat around his neck, bringing it into full view. On the end of the necklace was a silver ring. "Zan I shall agree once you explain to me what zis is."

Kyle jerked away, staring at him accusingly as the necklace dangled between them, suspended from Christophe's finger. Reaching around he unclasped it, letting it fall into the brunette's hand. Christophe examined it, running a fingertip across the inscription of the ring: Kyle & Alice, Forever and Always.

"Tell me about 'er, mon cher."

Kyle pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them as he watched the stars twinkle in the heavens. "Well, I loved her, I still haven't figured out why I did, be it for something she had or just out of desperation. She was a blonde bitch that acted sly and like one of the guys, but she was devious and had it in for me the whole time we were dating. And I'm not joking, the day she broke up with me was my damn birthday. She'd smiled that coy, impish smile of hers and said, 'Kyle, this has been the absolute worst six months of my life. You didn't really think a gorgeous, smart, popular girl like me really wanted a geeky little Jewish boy like yourself, did you? I mean, get a grip, I'd rather go out with Cartman than you.' I just stood there, reeling from what she said and asked her why. She'd replied, 'I was bet to do it, duh. The bet was to go out with you for six months and dump you on your birthday, for five hundred bucks. But, you know, you aren't worth five hundred, you're not even worth a hundred.' And she gave me back the ring you're holding and just walked away. When I went back to school two days later, she had the nerve to walk up to Kenny at lunch and ask him out right in front of me."

Taking a breath he rested his chin on his knees, tears pricking at his eyes. "Until Christmas the following year I was so self confident of everything I did, and her words just haunted me. Eventually I was convinced that I wasn't worth a penny, and she won. Kenny ended up dragging me fighting from that slump though, but sometimes I find myself wondering if she was right."

Christophe wrapped his arms around the redhead, pulling him close, resting his forehead in the auburn curls. "Mon cher, ne parlent pas de cette mode, et ne me donnez pas qui regard triste. Ne soyez pas découragé, elle était une pétasse. Elle n'a pas su vous merveilleux êtes."

"Christophe, I can't understand you," Kyle mumbled, blushing at the sudden embrace.

"Zat is ze point."

"So you agree with her," he replied angrily, trying to pull away, but found the French boy's grip tightened.

"Cherí, you can be so silly sometimes. How can you expect me to agree with 'er when you mean ze world to me? And don't be difficult and argue, if you didn't mean somezing, zen I never would 'ave risked my life for your stupid cause during La Resistence, showed you ze cliff, or even brought you out 'ere."

"Dude, you were attracted to me back in forth grade? Sick, get off." Kyle managed to pull away, slipping off of the hood at the same time and glanced at Christophe. "You've at least had girlfriends, right?"

"Well, yes, but none last more zan a week or so. Ze last was ze longest, nearly a month, but she tried to kill me because I bought a bottle of Ameretto and didn't share. She was a crazy fucking beetch," he said sliding off of the Impala as well. Kyle took his hand as they watched the swirling waters of Terryall Creek wash across the levvy.

"You've got to be kidding."

"Non, non see?" Christophe lifted the edge of his shirt, showing off an impressive glossy scar slashing across his stomach. "Ze lunatic came at me with zis six inch knife, reminded me of some maniac yeti."

"How the Hell did you meet her?"

"Ah, well I met Elisabeth zrough ze lead mercenary in Florida on a mission. We needed someone zat could negotiate under cover, tap cell phone signals, and hack network passwords. It would've been much easier if ze leader 'ad done it 'erself, but she 'ad this view of 'pull ze trigger before cocking ze gun'."

"Oh, is that like covert specialist talk for acting without thinking?"

Christophe scoffed. "No, silly, et means she was trigger 'appy and would razer go in guns firing zen talk 'er way to ze 'eart without a death."

"Floridians are fucking nuts," Kyle muttered, shuddering at the thought of choosing to live in a swampy, hurricane-ridden place.

"Well yes, but zat Alice was pretty fucking nuts for willingly giving you up," the Mole responded languidly, gaining a small smile. Kyle pulled his hand from Christophe's and walked to the frozen bank, pulling the forgotten necklace from his pocket.

"You know, I think it's finally time to stop trying to salvage any goodness from my relationship with Alice. That was probably my worst mistake, but it at least taught me not to trust bottled-blondes," he said with a hiccuped laugh. Fingers curling around the chain and ring he chucked it into the water, satisfied only when it was heard hitting the surface and disappearing under it. "Later Alice." Turning back to Christophe he placed hands delicately on the brunette's shoulders before kissing him tenderly.

"Sorry for laying all of that emo crap on you," Kyle said, growing hot in the face as Christophe kissed his forehead.

"Non, cher, ze mere fact you feel trusting enough to—" he was stopped by another kiss, bewildering Christophe. When Kyle pulled back this time he gave a closed lip smiled that was all too secretive for the French boy's taste.

"What 'ave you got up your sleeve, Kyle?"

"J'taime Christophe," Kyle said softly, looking up at him from under his bangs. A hand slid to Christophe's chest before poking him. "And you're it." The Mole watched, entirely entertained as the redhead ran off down the bank of Terryall Creek, before bounding off after him. After all, everyone needs a five-second head start.

---

Sunday was spent with Kenny, figuring a good outfit to shove his little French boyfriend into for twin day. Kenny, however, came with a plan. The idea focused around a playboy getup, complete with a fuzzy tail and wrist cuffs. However when Christophe had come over later that day to see what they had come up with, he'd simply glared and threaten to throw them both out the window if they ever suggest he wear girls lingerie in public. Kenny made a few adjustments but kept the relative idea, until Christophe was as satisfied with the product as he could be. They'd both left, Kenny keeping his twin day outfit with Cartman undisclosed.

What Sheila didn't realize was that by taking the French boy in, she was helping her son's relationship along. Monday began homecoming week, with the ever-popular pajama day. The two had rolled out of bed together, grabbed a jacket, and went to school as-was. This was how everyone seemed to come, groggy from waking up five minutes before leaving for school, clothing tussled from sleep, except the girls that seemed to have actually brushed out their hair. The only people to came to school neat and proper were the Populars, who were too self-conscious to notice they were the only ones that didn't fit in. Among this crowd was Alice, daring to come in a shirt Kyle had given her when they had dated, and rubbing salt on open wounds even more by walking up to both him and Christophe.

"Hey there, Christophe, do you like the shirt?" Her blue eyes, rimmed in eyeliner and coated in eye shadow glanced to Kyle. "Kyle gave it to me."

"Oh, yes, so much so I'd like to 'ave it. May I?" he had asked with a sleepy smile that warned of danger from miles away.

"Oh, I can't it, means oh so much to me," Alice replied sweetly with a melting smile she was famous for.

"Really? But you don't love 'im, never 'ave if I'm not mistaken. So why not let someone zat does love 'im 'ave et?"

Alice's eyes had widened, before narrowing in glee and turning to Kyle unmercifully. "I knew it, I knew you were a dirty, gay little Jew. The whole time you've been a disgusting, homosexual assrammer, haven't you? I knew-"

Alice's head whipped to the side as she was cracked across the face, hard enough to stumble into a few nearby lockers. Everyone had hushed to shocked silence, seeing Wendy standing where Alice had been, hand outstretched and red from the force of impact. "Don't you dare talk about Kyle that way, you sleezy little bitch."

Made-up eyes tearing up, Alice had turned hatefully to the Testaburger girl. "What do you care, Wendy? You've got a good guy, popular, straight. Why stand up for this gaywad?"

"Why, let's see. Maybe it has to do with Kyle being my friend, and I'm not going to stand by idly while a two-timing whore belittles him for cleanliness, who he loves, and his faith. And I feel sorry for you, I really do. I'm compassionate, and if you didn't notice, Christophe wasn't taking to kindly to your insults either, and I'm sure his hit could have broken your neck."

Alice finally took the time to study Christophe, noticing how completely still and calm he looked, the usual smug smile gone, dark eyes missing the typical glitter. The only true outward sign that he was angry were the curled fist, knuckles white, blood seeping from the palms of his hands where nails had dug into them. Turning from the gawking crowd she had fled, both in disgust and fear. As the congestion of the hall died Cartman had appeared, patting Kyle on the shoulder and putting in his two-cents.

"Jew-boy, you've got an awesome sense of girls by their looks, but damn, you're fucked on personality. Stick with dudes unless you want to be dicked around."

Tuesday was the day: twin day. Only the seniors took it absolutely seriously, almost as a life-and-death matter. If you were part of the graduating class and didn't dress up, you were considered a shame to the school, as well as if you dressed with an underclassmen. Even the Goth kids, who usually thought homecoming week was too conformist joined along, although everyone thought it had something to do with they'd get their asses kicked otherwise. So when the new couple made their way to the place they usually met up before homeroom, Kyle was shocked to see one of these Goth kids.

"Hey, what the Hell are you doing in our—Holy shit, dude! Stan?"

The raven-haired boy turned, smirking at them. He was dressed in a grey-green long sleeve shirt with bright green buckle flaps attached to the sleeves. The pants were typical Goth edition, black and baggy, with long green straps attached to the front two belt loops. However, the grey eye make-up that set Stan's icy-blue eyes off, and scarlet lipstick was what had the redhead sputtering for words.

"Cat got your tongue, Kyle? Or would it be, bunny?"

Kyle looked up at his boyfriend rather than down at himself, as they were both dressed the exact same way. The outfit consisted of a black Playboy shirt thrown on over a white long sleeve shirt, slate grey pants that zipped at the bottom, producing a flap of black cloth that widened the leg, black bondage straps trimmed in white lace that crossed in the back, a one ringed leather collar, fluffy bunny tail, and a bunny ear headband. Kenny had rightfully named his creation "punky playboy bunnies".

"At least I'm not wearing make up," Kyle said, laughing as Stan's coloured lips pursed. Before he could say anything Wendy appeared, sporting a similar outfit to Stan's except the top was lowcut, pants were replaced with a long skirt frilled at the edge, and hooker boots climbed her calves.

"Hi guys," she said, giggling. "Nice bunny ears."

"Where is Kenny and fatass?" Stan asked, looking around the commons, spotting several other 'twins'. Tweek and Craig walked around in silver-heeled pumps, looking like they had stepped out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show; Pip and Damien looked like part of the mob, except more along the lines of mob-gone-sex-fetish; Bebe and Butters strutted around in something out of Chicago, but the two wanted weren't anywhere to be seen.

"They're probably skipping until the voting begins," Kyle said, rolling his eyes. Since the principle, Mrs. Teti, had seen the active support of every senior class, voting had begun on the best costumes, held during homeroom. There was no need to show off the outfits, as everyone knew each other in a class just under a hundred in size. After the votes had been counted, eight of the pairs would be chosen and paraded in the gym in front of their classmates for one winner to be picked. The final winners received plastic crowns, a carnation, and ten-dollar certificate for the school lunch.

As the bell rang this process began, and Kyle found himself comfortably sitting with his body against Christophe, circles being idly rubbed on the backside of his hand, in the bleachers of the gym. Stan and Wendy sat quite the same to their right, while Eric and Kenny had yet to be found. On the gym floor was Mrs. Teti pace, a microphone in her hand.

"Hello children! The graduating class, huh?" A collective mumble of 'fuck off' answered the cheery principle.

"Well as you know today is twin day! You guys sure do take it seriously, don't you?" Another grumble among the crowd. "Well why don't we just get down to announcing the finalist? If you're called come on down here and make a line!"

"Your school is weird," Christophe whispered to Kyle, rolling his eyes at the whole ordeal.

"You're accent is weird, so shush." The Mole huffed, but remained quiet.

The pairs were announced in the order of Stan and Wendy, Bebe and Butters, Alice and Porsche (wearing school girl outfits), Tweek and Craig, Christophe and Kyle, Damien and Pip, Kelly and Red (medieval wenches), and finally Cartman and Kenny. At the last announcement everyone balked.

"How the hell did they get finalist, no one has seen them!" Craig said defensively as Mrs. Teti looked around for the two.

"Well, perhaps we have a misunderstanding…"

"No misunderstanding!" Kenny's smug voice came over the speakers. "We're just about ready." Before anyone could question it, the lights went out, most of the girls screaming as dark set in the gym.

"What the fuck?" Kyle asked, crossing his arms and looking around blindly.

"Sorry, babe, but your cute little butt is going to have to move for me," Kenny's voice whispered against his neck, startling him enough to jump and hit the boy in the dark. "Damnit, Kyle, I'm not going to rape you."

"You'd better not," Christophe growled from somewhere to the right. Kyle felt his shoulders being grabbed as he was guided somewhere. He grumbled something, inducing a rich laugh from his boyfriend, who was the one guiding him. "You'll love what zey 'ave planned, don't worry, cher."

The lights came back sections at a time, from the basketball hoops to the center of the gym. As the ability to see returned, cheerleading music began to blare, and finally when the last lights came on the two 'missing' finalist stood in the Cows uniforms, pompoms on the ground. Kyle found himself staring at the two in short pleated skirts and leggings, mouth open.

On the gym floor Kenny flashed a smile as the music built up with a dimmed synth rift. They both bent down in unison and took hold of their pompoms, standing slowly with the music, eyes on the ground, rears moving up first. As the music became louder they straightened, until it burst over the speakers and the two snapped upright.

"We're the South Park Cows, we'll make you proud, if you don't vote for us, than you can suck our balls!"

The routine seemed relatively simple, the usual bum-waving, four-step deal most cheerleading teams tried to sell. Of course the boys added gender-friendly moves such as the infamous air-hump and male grinding. It was about that time Kenny yelled, "Freestyle!"

"Kyle is a Jew, his Mom is a bitch."

The blonde put his pompoms to his mouth in mock shock. "Oh no!"

"I'm sure if you asked her she'd let you lick her cl—"

"Censored!"

"His boyfriend is French, meaning he's a dick."

"Oh really?"

"Fuck with him and he'll just shout…"

As if on cue Christophe yelled, "Sheet!" startling everyone around him. The 'cheerleaders' gave him an appreciative nod before turning to each other, Kenny's back now to the crowd. The music climaxed as Kenny sprinted toward Eric, who now was bent with his hands cupped toward the ground. The crowd's breath stopped completely as the blonde stepped onto Eric's hands, was lifted, and jumped simultaneously, doing a triple back-flip and landing facing the crowd, pompoms waving overhead. Cheers erupted as the music blared to a stop, and it was made quite clear who had won the competition.

At lunch the two strutted to the table, hips swaying, crowns shimmer on their heads. Kenny flashed them all a smile before stepping behind Kyle and wrapping his arms around his neck. "Why stay with Frenchy-poo now that there's a winner among us?"

The redhead batted him off, scowling. "There's always been a winner. Stan's the lead quarter back and pitcher, Wendy is the captain and start for the volley ball team, Cartman well, he's a loser—"

"Shut up you fucking Jew!"

"—I'm Valedictorian, and Christophe has access somewhere you don't."

Stan snorted, water spewing in a fine line from his nose. Wendy scooted away from her boyfriend, squinting in disgust, triggering Eric and Kyle's eye-rolling reflex. One would think after almost four years of constantly being vomited on, a little water wouldn't gross the girl out.

"You'd better be saying he's gotten into your pants, and then I'll have to ask, what's he got that I don't?" Kenny questioned, circling the table to sit with Cartman.

"I think it's what he hasn't got," Wendy said from the corner, smiling devilishly. Seeing the blonde's confusion Cartman sighed and answered.

"That was an STD crack, my friend."

"Aw, that's just mean," Kenny pouted, stuffing a Snaky Cake into his mouth, bought with the winning money from the competition.

"Yeah, slapping Alice really made me a bitch," Wendy agreed, glowing.

"Old girl besides the point, when did you two learn to cheerlead?" Kyle asked, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Saturday and Sunday, dude, that's why we called off practice this weekend. And as a team, we'll be better," Eric assured, determination shining in his brown eyes. "And don't start bitchin', Jew, we will be better, we've got more than two days to practice."

"Speaking of practice—"

Kenny looked up, staring at Kyle sternly. "Yes, you've got to come to practice, at least for the first part. We've got to see who can hold you without threatening to drop you on your head, since we all know Cartman is too much of a dick to."

Damien was the obvious choice, they found out that afternoon. Although puny looking, with Satan's blood running through his veins he was strong enough to lift just about anything without difficulty, as they tested this with Eric. Luckily in the air Kyle had learned to not fidget or off balance them both, or they'd find themselves pleasantly hitting the blue cheer pads, hard. On the third attempt of this the redhead stuck his arms out to the sides to keep proper equilibrium and made it quite clear if the Hellspawn looked up his skirt in the actual routine he'd be painfully castrated. Damien had just muttered a few unintelligible words as one of the basketball hoops went up in flames and said wistfully, "Please do try, infidel."

Kyle was released from practice several hours before it ended, much to the other boys' anger. However as Christophe marched into the gym, slapped a leash on the Jew, and drug him out sputtering curses, no one was willing to argue. It wasn't until Kyle was seething in the front seat of the Impala he decided to speak.

"What the Hell do you think you're doing?"

"Driving?"

"I mean walking in there and dragging me out on this!" he said harshly, waving around the leash. He got a scoff as a reply.

"You were taking too long."

Kyle kicked the dashboard, growling. "You're going to have to stop that, it's the second time you've used that excuse."

"Et's not an excuse, cher, you were really taking entirely too long."

The redhead kicked the dash again, this time with his heel, making a loud 'crack' against the plastic. "Fine, but when we get home we're doing homework, no arguments."

"What about studying? Can we do some of zat?"

"Studying is homework."

"Ze teachers 'ave a good taste in what zey assign us zen," the French voice purred as they turned right onto Lido Avenue. Without looking he knew the curled fist was heading toward his steering arm, and instinctually grabbed the tiny wrist. "Non, non, hitting the driver isn't safe, cherí."

Kyle yanked his wrist away, glaring daggers. "Your driving isn't very safe."

"I'm a perfectly safe driver, same goes to my motorcycling skills."

"You've got a motorcycle?"

"Why yes I do, zough I 'aven't ridden et because I doubt you'd feel 'safe' on et."

"Of course I would!" he replied vigilantly before realizing his mistake. "I mean wouldn't, wouldn't! With an 'en, apostrophe, tee'! Negative form, negative!" Christophe slammed on the brakes, sending Kyle whipping forward into the seatbelt before shifting to park. "What the Hell was that for?"

"Talking too much," the Mole replied dryly before getting out of the Impala. "And we're home."

"Ah." Kyle followed suit, grabbing his things and walking to the door where Christophe waited. He unlocked the door and ushered the brunette in before closing it and bolt locking it. "We're home! Is anyone here?" Silence followed them up the stairs, furrowing Kyle's brow in confusion. Usually Ike would be home, along with his mother. "Wonder where everyone is."

Christophe kicked off his shoes in the corner before falling back onto Kyle's bed. "Wasn't your muzza going to take Ike to ze mall? To get a new coat or somezing?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess you're right," Kyle replied absently, taking out his AP government book and flipping to the chapter page before setting at his desk. After ten minutes of furiously reading and taking notes on the main points of the Plessy vs. Ferguson case he turned to Christophe, who sat watching the popcorned ceiling with mild interest. "Are you not going to do your work?"

"I'll do et before class, or during class."

"You'll fail doing that!"

"I'm in all AP courses anyway, I've got my 'igh school credits under my belt. Zat besides ze point, I won't fail, ze material is too easy and I already know et."

"How?"

"I'm French, we are intellectual geniuses," the Mole responded sheepishly, sitting up on his elbows to return Kyle's stare. "Anyway, I like studying."

"You're terrible," Kyle said with a sigh, rolling his eyes and standing. He crawled onto the bed, straddling Christophe's thigh, knowing that if he didn't get what he wanted, the brunette would reduce him to begging. And of course being the French bastard he is, Christophe would deny Kyle what was originally wanted, frustrating them both in some fit of twisted amusement.

"I beg to differ, cher, you're terrible for letting yourself be pressured."

"But you, but I, but—"

To silence any complaints Christophe leaned upwards, stopping Kyle's vexatious chatter with his mouth. An annoyed sound was the response, as most of their kisses were the infamous "shut the Hell up, Kyle" ones. Placing his hands on the French boy's shoulders Kyle pushed him back onto the bed with a sigh.

"I do talk too much, don't I?"

"Just a little bit."

Kyle leaned back, making sure the older boy couldn't interrupt him. "You know it's sad that all of our kisses except two have been 'shut up Kyle' ones."

"Well, we probably would 'ave more not-shut-up-Kyle ones if you would keep your mouth closed and occupied with me, yes?"

"I hate you so much."

Having forgotten his reason to hold the Mole down, Kyle's grip loosened, allowing Christophe to sit up and press their lips together. The Jew didn't object, although his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as his boyfriend drew away, breath hot on his face.

"You 'ate me so much zat you let me do zat," Christophe said cockily, falling comfortably back into the pillows, satisfied by the blush that intensified.

"Bastard," Kyle replied lightly, mouth curving to show the insult had no meaning. He leaned over Christophe, hands going to either side of the brunette's head to support his weight as Kyle kissed him. It was gentle, unsure, as if the redhead thought something horrible would happen if he expressed more. Christophe smiled at the action, until he realized that Kyle thought he'd push him away. Scoffing mentally he licked his partner's lips, tasting cherry lip balm as his hands skillfully unbuckled the Jew's leather collar. Blindly he tossed it across the room before carefully pushing Kyle upward. Seeing the hurt in those emerald eyes Christophe sighed, but smiled all the same; how could Kyle even think he'd reject him? Leaning upward he tugged softly on the redhead's hair, encouraging him to tilt slightly. As Kyle complied the French boy's lips met the pulse of his neck, tongue flicking across the skin. He shuddered at the contact, breath escaping in a hiss.

"Christophe, wha—what're you doing?"

"Zat should be obvious," he muttered against Kyle.

"No, no, off!" the Jew said harshly, shoving the bewildered brunette back into the pillows. "I hate people touching my neck, it's creepy."

"So zat is why you always wear zat scarf." Receiving a nod he rolled is eyes, pushing back into a sitting position, and caught Kyle's hands before he was shoved back down. "Non, be nice, and let me give you a real reason to wear zat scarf."

An intake of breath was the only response as Christophe's mouth once again came in contact with his neck. However, this time teeth were used under the suction of the Mole's lips, causing a soft moan to trickle from Kyle's throat. After an excruciating thirty seconds Christophe drew away, looking at his handy work with a smug grin before his blushing Jew clamped a hand over the tender skin.

"Don't tell me I have a hickey."

"Don't be dumb, of course you do. I say et will be gone in, oh, three to four days."

Kyle gaped. "But it'll show in the cheerleading uniform!"

"Et's not like you'll be ze only one, silly," Christophe smirked. "Or if you're so very nervous about et, zen use some of zat foundation stuff girls use."

"I'll deal, I'm not wearing makeup." With a mischievous grin Kyle grabbed the foreign boy's wrist, shoving him roughly back onto the bed, hands pinned above his head. Stunned Christophe could do nothing at the fierce display as he was met with a vicious kiss. The door of the bedroom swung open, and that's how Sheila found them.

"I'm back boys—Oh my God!"

Kyle shot upward, face both aflame and horrorstricken as he whipped around, falling from the bed in the process. His mother looked just as shocked and scarlet, except this wasn't from embarrassment. She pointed a threatening finger that shook in Christophe's direction, who scrambled into a sitting position, amazingly calm although his eyes were a tad bit wider than normal and darted around the red faced woman constantly.

"I knew you were going to be a bad influence as soon as you said you were from the war! But I never thought you'd go to such extremes as to corrupt my son's fragile mind and molest him!"

A knot twisting in his stomach, Kyle queasily got his feet under him, shaking his head. "No, Mom that's wrong—"

"Shut up!" Sheila screamed, turning to face her son. Usual dark eyes had lit with some determined fire, making them seem more amber and clear; demonic was the word Kyle would use in the situation.

"But Mom—"

She stalked toward him, kicking the leather collar earlier discarded out of the path, the pudgy finger of submission seeming much like a gun. "Kyle Broflovski, if you ever want to see your sixteenth birthday you will keep your mouth closed, you hear me mister?"

Raising his hands in a feeble attempt of defense Kyle was amazed to find them severely quavering in fear. "Mom, please, listen—"

"NO!" she spat venomously, taking that one step over the edge. Kyle fell hard onto his backside, head snapped to one side where Sheila's hand print was flaring on his pale skin, making Wendy's outburst at Alice seem weak. Tears were soon visibly flowing down his face, voice lost at the hit. Noticing Christophe leap up and edge toward the Jewish boy, Sheila turned slowly with hate in her eyes.

"Get out of my house, I never want to see you near my son again!" Christophe froze at the words, but made no motion toward the door. "I said GET OUT!"

Looking apologetically at his boyfriend Christophe made his retreat, determined not to look back. He passed a terrified Ike at the top of the stairs as he left, fist curling and unfurling. Only when the sound of the Impala pulling out of the drive and down the black sounded did Sheila finally speak.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

Her son remained quiet, still on the floor, blurred eyes hidden by his bangs. The whole scenario seemed unreal, as if in a medicated state, not quite out of it but damn near. However the stinging pain on the left side of his face told otherwise; this was no dream, no twisted delusion. At the realization his nails bit into carpet, bruising the nail beds. "You're a bitch," a mumbled hoarsely through his constricted throat.

"Wh—wh—WHAT?"

"You're a self centered bitch that never learns, nor listens to a goddamned thing I have to say. So you know what? I quit. Get the fuck out of my room."

"Kyle Broflov—"

He glanced up, murder fresh in his own eyes. Of course, that didn't stop Sheila.

"You will talk to me, Kyle!"

He just smiled coldly, standing, and mustered the strength to do something he should have done years before; shove his mother out of the doorway forcefully and lock it before her while replying:

"Like Hell I will."

Ignoring her shouts and threats he fell face first into his pillows, screaming himself to release the anger. Once his throat was successfully sore Kyle fell into a fit of silent tears before the unearthly dream-like state wore off and the pure shock of it all had him asleep.

A room away Ike had also locked himself away, both in fear of his mother's boiling rage, and brother's wrath.

---

The next morning the French boy drove somberly to school, the radio playing softly to distract his mind of Kyle's absence in the passenger seat. He'd gone straight home and gorged himself in a conversation with Gregory, something he rarely did willingly. Keeping himself focused on possible jobs and enemies from his old school kept him distant from the new life at South Park High. His phone had flared to a LCD blue-screened life several times, the third he'd idly popped the battery pack from it. The Mole wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone vocally, too tired and even confused to mask the exhaustion his voice would give. The four hours of sleep he'd gotten had been fitful enough that at five in the morning he'd gotten up, cursing sleep.

He pulled into his normal parking spot, noticing Stan's new Pontiac two spots over. Taking a breath he grabbed his things from the back seat and went to find his new 'friends'. Luckily the night before he hadn't taken his bag inside of Kyle's house, or in his haste to leave he would have forgotten it there, like several of his belongings.

The boys and Wendy were in their normal spot in the commons of the West wing, Kyle missing. Upon spotting the brunette Stan waved a hand in greeting, but his brows furrowed noticing the Jew not with him. Seeing Marsh's confusion they all turned to Christophe, realizing why it was.

"Hey, where's Kyle?" Wendy asked before Cartman could throw out an insult.

"I 'ad to leave early to take care of business, 'e didn't want to wake up at zat time, so 'e said 'e would ride ze bus. 'e did not, I clearly see," Christophe responded casually, using the lie he had concocted on the drive to school.

"That's weird, he doesn't skip school unless something is really wrong, and his mother would kill him," Stan said, lips pursing.

"I guess I'll just go back to 'is 'ouse," the French one replied, disappointed that Kyle hadn't shown up. Then again, why did he expect him to after his mother's outburst? Turning away he started back toward the student parking lot, only to be stopped by a strong grip on his arm.

"I wanna go with you," Kenny said sternly.

"Kenny, you can't skip school, you're parents will flip out! Remember what happened last time you skipped?" Cartman asked with a snicker, showing his intentions weren't for the best. The blonde did remember, well. They'd all (minus Kyle, who was replaced by Bebe) skipped and went to the arcade to hang around, before hitting up the tavern. However, Stuart McCormick was there as well, and each of them were busted. Kenny had been grounded for three months, and to get the punishment through that alcohol wasn't what it was cut out to be, he'd been forced to drink a six-pack of beer. Unknown to Stuart, his son had thoroughly enjoyed the experience, except the tremendous hangover the next morning.

"Well I'm not going to a bar, fatass, now am I?" Kenny replied, rolling his eyes and dragging Christophe in the direction of the parking lot.

"You know, Kenneth, I think—"

"Shut your mouth, Frenchy," Kenny snapped as the stepped out into the frigid cold. "You're taking me along in this crusade, no questions."

Christophe exhaled deeply, leading them to his car. As they left campus toward Kyle's house he flipped the heater on, noticing the shivering blonde bouncing next to him. Silence continued as he lit up a cigarette, driving with one hand, and was relieved to not be bickered at, instead he found himself handing over a cancer stick to the passenger.

"So why are you tagging along?"

Taking a drag from the cigarette Kenny glanced at him knowingly. "Because you were totally lying back there, and you look like absolutely shit."

"Thanks."

"No prob, so what happened between you two?"

Letting the question hang between them he pulled into his garage, confusing the blonde. He got out, motioning kenny to do the same, who startled as a helmet was thrown at his head.

"What the Hell?"

"We aren't taking ze car," Christophe responded, pointing to a Harley-Davidson Night Train, pearl black. Walking to it Kenny let out an impressed whistle, knowing just by looks it had been customized to fit the Mole's needs. Running a hand over the drag-style handles he grinned.

"I've always wanted one of these things, I hear they're real chick magnets."

"Oh, zey are," Christophe replied nonchalantly, swinging a leg over the bike. Kenny just gave him an amused look.

"How would you know? You take it for your own team."

The French boy considered his answer. He could easily deny that by stating the girls he'd been with, but he knew better; they'd just been ticks on the hormonal rage of a male teenager, nothing more than that. So he settled with shrugging, and giving the other a coy look. "Oh, you've found me out, now I must kill you."

Kenny shook his head at the joke and settled on the bike behind Christophe, helmet still in his hands when he noticed the brunette didn't have one. He smiled; the brunette was either confident in his abilities to not get himself killed, or was suicidal. "So why aren't we taking the Pimp Mobile, again?"

"I can bet zat I own ze only '74 Impala wiz a Chameleon paint job, and considering zat Kyle's muzza 'as probably got ze neighborhood on a watch for et, et's not a good idea to drive ze zing."

He processed that comment before gasping in a dramatic fashion. "Oh my God, she caught you two, didn't she?" Noticing Christophe turn the ignition, Kenny quickly strapped the only thing on that could save him from instant death, waiting for the answer. It came by the driver revving the engine to warm it up and hitting the garage door opener, before peeling out onto the icy road.

Christophe felt his eyes begin to water and burn by the winds but shrugged it off, having been use to it. The blonde's grip tightened around his waist, hands trailing suspiciously low as he took a corner sharply. He sighed inwardly, wishing the one that was pressed in a fine line against him—and of course was still sliding his hands lower—was his redhead.

'Why am I so…committed? Et's not like I've known ze boy forever and 'ave right to stealing 'im away. Oh, sheet, Muzza is going to fucking kill me when she finds out.'

He slowed as he turned onto Kyle's street, looking to make sure there was no sign of the Broflovski parents before pulling into the drive. Kenny immediately threw off his helmet and got off, a little wobbly.

"Oh, dude, that was sweet."

Christophe smirked as he followed the blonde around back, counting off the windows to Kyle's. Kenny trotted over to a flowerpot filled with white stones before assaulting the window with them. Cringing, the brunette stepped away, expecting the glass to shatter at any moment. After the eleventh rock Kenny gave up with a frustrated sigh.

"Damnit, either he's dead, in the bathroom, or not up there."

"Only one way to find out," Christophe said, walking toward the sliding glass door before being yanked away and toward the back door to the garage. "What are you doing, Kenneth?"

Kenny fiddled with the handle, shushing the Mole before slipping a blank plastic card into the groove of the lock. It unlocked with a click and he opened it, yet found the door gave only three inches before a chain lock stopped it. Looking around he grabbed a piece of limber from a pile and jammed the door so it wouldn't close.

"Why don't we just go in zrough ze garage?" Christophe asked, amused as Kenny stepped up onto the handle of the door and lifted himself up onto the top of the steel door. It didn't take long before the blonde was successfully on top of the garage, looking down at him over the edge of the roof.

"The door leading inside is dead bolted, I've tried it before. Anyway, it's more fun this way."

With a heaved sigh Christophe followed the lead Kenny had set, amazed the door handle didn't slip as he climbed on it. He was on the roof in no time, following the shorter boy across of it toward the window. Kenny stretched across the distance, not seeming to be worried that he could fall as he pushed the window open. He also didn't seem to mind that he was breaking-and-entering as he hoisted himself through the window and shoved the drapes aside. Again, Christophe followed, and felt a tinge of disappointment at not seeing Kyle.

However several items from the desk that had been neat before had been knocked off of it and into a mess on the floor. He glanced into the corner, noticing his things were still untouched. With a sigh he lay back on the bed, watching the ceiling like he had since Sheila had forced him to stay with them out of worry.

"Well, he's positively not here."

"No sheet."

"So, want to tell me what the bitch walked in on?" Kenny asked, making himself at home on Kyle's computer. As he waited for an answer he brought up Internet Explorer and scrolled through Kyle's favourites until he hit the redhead's Live Journal.

"Us, obviously."

"Were you two, like, fucking or something?" Was the next question as the blonde read through the latest entry, one that had been written the night before, or rather one that morning.

"No," Christophe snapped and took a breath. "We both still 'ad on clothing when she came in."

"So you guys were just kissing and stuff?"

"Yes."

Kenny continued to read through the orange font, expression remaining somber. "And what did Sheila do?"

"She just started yelling and she 'it Kyle."

Whipping around he stared at Christophe, brows arched. "You're kidding! She loves Kyle to death, she'd never hit him."

"Glad you zink so, but I saw et, before being kicked out of course." He sat up, looking around Kenny's wild hair to the screen. "What were you reading?"

Kenny turned back to the screen. "Kyle's journal." Without having to look he know Christophe was edging toward the computer to read as well, so he hurriedly closed out, receiving a growl of annoyance.

"And why can't I read et?"

"I can't be the one to show you it," he replied, turning to look at the glowering brunette. "All I'll say is it's about last night."

"I was zere during ze event, so why can't I experience et in text?"

"It's more than the event, only about a paragraph was filling people in on that, the rest is just personal."

Christophe snorted, eyes narrowing at that. "You read et, et's not personal."

"He's got it set to private so only a select few people can read it."

"I'm 'is boyfriend, I zink I've got rights."

"Maybe so, but I'm not going to be the one that shows you this and pisses Kyle off. He might be bashful and shy, but he's violent when angry, and pretty good with guns."

He let out an aggravated sigh before reaching to the computer. Kenny watched like a hawk as he brought up Word and typed a swift note: Cher, don't tell me your mother is burying you somewhere. Call me? Hiding a smile Kenny added, Kenny was here, whooo! Where're your playboys, Broflovski? They've gotta be here somewhere.

"Let's go," Christophe said, climbing out the window. The blonde turned the monitor off and followed, smirking at the next comment. "Oh, and you're not getting ze helmet for depriving me."

---

Kyle showed up for powder puff practice after school. He'd planned on locking himself in his room and playing on his computer, but finding the note on his computer had changed his mind. He showed up seven minutes after the squad started warm ups, stalking into the gym, ignoring the thick silence and lack of movement from the other boys. Kenny had turned angrily to where they were all looking before sputtering.

"Kyle, what the fuck are you doing here?"

"What did Jew-boy do to his hair, you mean!"

A hand went instinctually to the auburn curls, which now had two black streaks in it, framing his face. He grinned sheepishly as he walked over to Kenny.

"It's dye, fatass, and I'm here because of practice. However, I'm going to have to leave a bit early," he said, giving the blonde captain a knowing look.

"Stan, you can get off early if you take Kyle home."

The quarterback, shaking off his initial shock, gave a nod. "Sure."

Practice went relatively well, and on the way back home Stan didn't ask questions of his absence from school. He got back home before his parents, and went straight to his room after grabbing a few snacks. Everything was perfect.

So why did he break down into tears?

---

After his homework was finished, dinner had been consumed, and he'd showered Ike made his way boldly to his parent's room. He passed Gerald in the living room, watching the evening news, and was stopped by a look.

"Don't you think you should give her some time, Ike? I mean, it's only been one day, I don't think—"

"Sorry, Dad, but your room isn't next to Kiley's, you don't have to hear him being all emo and sobbing, I do. Sure, you may have to sleep in the same bed as Mom, and that has got to be Hell at the moment, but seventeen year olds should not have to lock themselves up and cry all the time."

Gerald smiled and nodded. "Good luck then."

"If I'm not back in thirty minutes, I'm a goner.'

Ike walked up to his parent's door, took a deep breath, and tentatively pushed it open. Sheila sat stiffly, watching TV from the bed; she didn't even grace him with a glance.

"Mom—"

"I don't want to talk right now, Ike," she snapped, cutting him off.

"You can't run from this Mom, you're problem is under the same roof as you are."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

'Fine, play the defendant, play hard to get, but I ain't leaving this room until I get through to you,' Ike thought to himself as he walked farther into the room.

"I'm talking about Kiley, Mom, and Chr—"

"Don't you dare say it!"

He sighed. "You can't sit in here and seethe forever, pretending you didn't see what you did."

She turned to him, flipping the television off, eyes glowing dangerously in the dark. "And what was that, Ike?"

He met that gaze unscathed. "Kiley kissing a boy, Mom. What's the big deal, anyway?"

"I will not have my son going to Hell because of some child molester corrupting his morals!"

Ike laughed and was shot a look that could kill. "Mom, they're basically the same age! You've got to stop babying Kiley, he's going to be off to collage next year, are you going to tell him who he can and can't date then? Let him do what he wants, or when he gets the chance he'll be in Europe somewhere, distancing himself from you as much as possible. You don't want to be one of those hated parents because you sheltered him too much, do you?"

"Ike, you have no jurisdiction in the matter, you're the child here!"

"You can't live his life for him, or we'll get his door unlocked one day and we'll find some emo self-mutilating kid 'dying in a pit of despair'. I think you need to see something."

"I don't think so, hun."

He growled, turning, hands placed firmly on his hips. "It's his online journal, Mom. Maybe if you read what he's got to say about it all, you'll understand a bit better before you go and make him completely miserable."

Sheila narrowed her eyes but complied, following her younger son up the stairs and into his room. Much to his delight she said nothing about the mess and clutter as he brought up his brother's journal, and read the entry for the fifth time over his Mom's shoulder.

My face hurts, whether it be from the blow I received from unsettling circumstances, or crying I don't know. I'm too tired to hide the fact I have been crying, although I've slept; it's an emotional exhaustion that sleep just can't cure. Perhaps it's best if I brief you on the events.

I am together with Christophe, I won't bother trying to cover that up either; I'm quite transparent around such things. My mother has been keeping him here because his own mother is out of town, and she was worried. An afternoon when no one is home but two lovers, what would any couple do? Of course we misjudged the time, and Mom waltzed in at a rather intimate time. Let's just say he was thrown out, I was viciously yelled at, and I locked myself in my room.

That all happened around fiveish, it's now one in the morning, and I'm reeling. But the funny part is I feel so, well, hollow right now, almost as if it was all a bad dream. Except Christophe isn't snuggled on my bed, nipping at his thumb in his sleep; it's not something I imagined. Mom really did kick him out, she really did redirect my life.

She really did fuck up this time.

I know, it's silly that I've let myself become so attached in a few weeks, but I have. Maybe after the Alice incident I just became emotionally dependant, clinging to the first good thing that came to me. The first good thing to really lighten up my life, and make me humbly put her to rest, you know? But I have. Here comes the cliché! I genuinely love being in his company, just watching myself taking a beating in Mario Cart, playing around out in the middle of fucking no where, annoying him about his accent. It's all the cute little things he does, the nicknames, that smug smile when he knows he's got me won over in something, the way he's overly protective of his extremely chubby cat and sings to it habitually, and how he can quote from Donnie Darko at any given moment and it actually fits into the situation. Wow, that was a big run-on.

Does this mean I'm in love with him? I don't know if I should run for the hills at this new turnout to my sexuality, or embrace it wholeheartedly. I really wanted kids, damnit, but I suppose this could just be a phase. And is it sad that I really hope it's not "just a phase"? That I actually really wish this might go somewhere other than the toilet?

I've said j'taime to him before, but at the time it was a joke. If I happened to say it now, would it be? It's only been four days since I said it and I'm taking myself seriously now. Damnit.

Then I happen to wonder what he's thinking right now, if he's in the same turmoil I am. I've tied to call him, but he won't answer, either he's just rejecting everyone's calls, or he's angry with me. I seriously fucking hope not. If I wasn't in deep shit already, I'd go find out, but I'm sure Mom wouldn't be too happy. Which brings me to her. I'm not mad at her, or at least as much as I should be. I'm just…disappointed. That she loved Christophe, and then would do this. I can't say I was expecting her to be completely open with the idea, but I thought she'd be at least grudgingly willing to accept it. Guess I was wrong there, heh.

It hasn't even been half a day and I miss him. Oh, God, I hate teenage hormones, I'm crying again. But it's a good day, no one has died.

Fuck, that isn't even funny.

What do I have left? Stuff he left in his haste to get out of the line of fire, and a rather prominent love bite. Until I need to see sunshine again, that's enough.

She read it over again for the words to settle in, and a third time before it really hit home. Sitting back in Ike's computer chair she huffed, crossing her arms. "And how is this rubbish supposed to sway me?"

"You're so difficult Mom," Ike said with an aggravated look before clicking the comments button and scrolling down to one "sMARSH1913".

Dude, so that's why you weren't with Frenchy this morning, and were so quite on the way back from powder puff! Why didn't you tell me? Okay, okay, that's not helping any. I'm gonna say the same thing I've been saying for years: you can't let your Mom rule your life. I mean it's nice to have dependency on your parents sometimes, sure, but you've got to stand up to her if you feel so strongly about something. I mean, Christ, you're seventeen dude! Are you really just going to stand back while she takes this from you? Kyle, don't be stupid.

And as for the "does this mean I love him?" thing, let's just say you're hooked on him :3 And you shouldn't worry about what he thinks, dude, he's totally hooked on you, too. It's really unfortunate you don't see the way he watches you sometimes; oh, gag me for saying that. But really, when you fight with fatass and stuff your nose into your homework there's certainly pride there, and of course there's those moments that's so sickeningly cute that it starts the chain of "aw" reactions from nearby girls.

I think I'll stop now, but dude, don't give it up if you don't want to. Oh, call me! Or I'll kill you :D

"And what does Stan's comment have anything to do with this?"

"It means his friends are more accepting than his own family, Mom, and that Kiley has their support before ours. That's sad, it shouldn't be that way."

Sheila turned to face Ike, seeing a mass of determination. What got to her the most was he was doing everything in the defense of his older brother. "What do you propose I do then?"

"You don't have to accept it completely, but you can't be a raging bitch about. You've got to give Kiley his space to make his own decisions."

"And how exactly am I going to do this?"

Ike broke into a wicked smile, baffling Sheila. "Oh, I thought you'd never ask."

---

Christophe woke the next morning, now Thursday, grumbling as Mad World by Gary Jules played steadily from his phone. Half asleep he looked at the clock—5:45 am—and stumbled to his desk where the evil piece of technology was still ringing. Picking it up he answered with a yawn.

"This 'ad better be good or I'll fucking kill you." So much for pleasantries.

A boyish giggle on the other end confused him, and angered him more. "Morning Christophe, it's Ike."

"You have ten seconds to persuade me not to 'ang up on you."

"Oh! Well, we need you to come break into Kyle's room and get him out, you know, doing the Moley thing."

He leaned his hip against the desk, growling, "We?" The voice that answered startled him into awareness.

"Christophe, it's me, Mrs. Broflovski. I'd like you to entice my son from his room, as the Mole you see."

Ah, so that was it, he wouldn't be going as the boy she'd caught and thrown out, but as the hand-for-hire. He sighed, it figured she wouldn't welcome him back with a smile, but he couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment at that.

"When would you like me to come over?"

"Before school starts this morning would be nice, I want him to go today."

"Alright, I shall be zere right away."

"Thank you."

"Mm." He hung up, running a hand through his messy hair. How would Kyle react when he found out it wasn't Christophe coming to a gallant rescue, but the Mole? And would be know the difference?

The answer was simple: no.

As he got ready to leave, he smiled smugly; he'd go in as the Mole, but once that door was open, he wouldn't be the mercenary.

---

It was a quarter after six when he arrived and was ushered in by an agitated looking Sheila. Ike stood ready by his mother's side, as if he'd be the shield between the two. He chuckled at the thought as he bent down in front of Kyle's door and slipped a small, black leather zip book of lock tools from his pocket. Settling in on his heels he took a few of the tools from the set and began to fiddle with the lock.

"Kyle, you're going to school!" Sheila said firmly from behind him. Christophe hid a smile at the mumbled curses he heard behind the door.

"I don't have to leave for almost two hours, go away."

"Don't take that tone with me, mister! You will come out when I say."

"What tone? The one that says, 'hey, I'm sleeping, go the fuck somewhere else'?"

Sheila huffed diligently, a growl escaping her. "Kyle, don't make me come in there!"

"What're you going to do, saw off the door knob? Have at it."

The brunette pulled back from the door as the lock clicked and put away his tools quickly as Sheila pushed passed him and opened the door. Kyle rolled over in his bed, squinting at the sudden light that filled his room.

"What the Hell?" He sat up, rubbing his eyes before freezing. His mouth hung open as Christophe walked into the room, smiling slyly, a brow arched at his newly streaked hair. "Christophe? Wha—Mom? What's he dong here?"

"Hm? I don't see Christophe, this is someone I asked to kindly unlock your door for me, the Mole. I'm sure you've heard of him?"

Kyle swung out of bed, stalking to the smug bastard, glaring. "Don't tell me you're my Mom's tool, Christophe." Silence was the only answer. Snarling he lifted a hand and swung it at the French boy's face, only to have his arm knocked harder in the direction it as going, and his equilibrium set off. So he was pleasantly amazed when his face didn't meet the ground, instead was held upright by two strong arms around his waist.

"You're so cute when you get all huffy," Christophe muttered in a sing-song voice into his curls. He looked passed Kyle to Sheila and said, "Of course I'm not your muzza's tool, I came 'ere quite willingly for my own purposes."

"Mom, what do you have to say about this?" Kyle asked uncertainly as he placed his hands over Christophe's.

Noticing the action her lips pursed and she let out a frustrated breath. "You're not going to give up this silliness, are you?"

"No."

"Then what choice do I have? I don't want you to hate me for not accepting your choice, Booby, and I don't have much ground to tell you how to live and who to love. Though I'll tell you now I'm not pleased with this turnout."

Kyle smiled and broke away from Christophe, hugging Sheila. "Thanks Mom." She returned the embrace and ruffled his hair, eyeing the black streaks with distaste before leaving.

"Oh, and get ready, I wasn't joking when I said you're going to school."

"'kay." He waited until she was gone before bending down to Ike's eye level. "What did you do to get these results?"

"I presented my argument well, which makes me glad Dad's a lawyer," he replied with a smile. "And I showed her your journal entry so she could get a grip on how you were taking it."

Kyle grabbed his brother, giving him an exceptional noogie. "Damn, Ike, how can I thank you?"

"Lemme go, lemme go!"

The redhead released he distraught little Canadian with a laugh and watched his disappear into his room. Turning back to the pensive brunette he sauntered over, hands on his hips. "And you, why are you here?"

"Because I'm your boyfriend and missed you?"

"Lying gets you no where."

Christophe shook his head at that, tucking a stray strand of now black curls behind Kyle's ear as he rested his forehead against his lover's. "I do not lie, cher."

Kyle just rolled his eyes but went those few centimeters to capture Christophe's lips. This time along with closing the door, they locked it.

---

Friday came quickly, flourishing South Park High in a fit of green and white. Spirit day was the most rambunctious of Homecoming week, where every class was shortened to fit an almost two-hour long pep rally in at the end of the day, along with Spirit Games. The only one from the group in the bleachers during the pep rally was Kyle; Cartman and Kenny had been asked to perform with the normal cheerleading squad, Wendy and Bebe were part of the volley ball team, and Stan pranced out with the football team. But that didn't bother the redhead, he got bonding time with Christophe, even if it was among the whole school.

Home coming court was announced, and it wasn't a surprise whom made it for their class. Like always Stan and Wendy were announced first, than the girls of homecoming (Alice, Porche, Bebe, Red) and finally the boys (Craig, Kenny, Token, "agent" Tucker).

The senior class managed to win the Spirit Games, holding the title for the first class to win four years in a row. As a reward for winning, they were permitted to leave school half an hour early, but the powder puff squad stayed for extra practice for the game that night.

An hour before the game started the boys all met in the locker room for a meeting. They crowded into an area as the captain and co-captain paced before them.

"Alright girls, our job is to both look and amuse the audience, right?" Kenny asked which he as replied with a "Hell yes". "Well, when guys go out to watch cheerleading they want nice, clean girls shoving off their asses, right? Cartman, bring the first task."

Eric disappeared into the coaches' office before returning with two boxes. He pulled out the contents, silencing the cheerleaders by shock. In his hands he held Venus razors and foaming gel. "No one wants to see us out in skirts with fluffy legs, and we've all got to match. You retards might have noticed Kenny and I shaved for the twin day routine, so you have to as well."

"Before we do that though, there's a second task we've all got to do. Looking around at some of your fellow cheerleaders, you might notice some have hickeys." At the mention of it Kyle blushed, but wasn't the only one. "If we're looking alike, and some have hickeys, we all need them. So find yourself a someone that's willing to help you out if you don't already come equip with a love bite, and I'm always willing." Kenny winked at the last remark. "Now grab yourself a razor and shave away, or you'll get the hot wax treatment."

As they all regrouped to grudgingly follow the captain's orders Kenny walked over to a cringing Kyle, whom hid in the corner.

"Come on, Broflovski, you don't want to be the only fuzzy one of us, do you?

He glared at the grinning blonde. "I want to keep my leg hair, thanks."

"Do you really?" He received a nod. "Cartman, get over here! We've got a fighter."

Eric wandered over, muttering obscenities under his breath and grabbed the redhead as he tried to dart off. Clyde and Tweek grabbed the struggling Jew's legs as Kenny led them into the office, and proceeded to duck tape him to a rolly chair like a hostage, after removing his pants of course. All the time he screamed, attracting a few amused looks as the boys shaving outside wandered in for bandaids.

"Kenny, oh my God, don't you dare put that stuff on me!" Kyle shrieked at seeing a tub of Nair. The captain just grinned impishly while he edged closer. "Kenny, I'll pay you, anything you want! I like my fluffy Jew legs, I really do! Please, Kenny, have mercy!"

Kenny seemed immune to the pleading as he applied some of the hot wax, grin spreading, resembling the Cheshire Cat. "All I can tell you, Kyle, is that the girls have a running bet on you screaming, as they all assumed since you were the only one really left in the dark about this shaving thing, that you'd struggle in the matter. So try not to and help me win." It was then he slapped a piece of Nair wax paper on the goo and yanked.

Kyle bit his tongue as tears pricked at his eyes. Five minutes into it, and one calf down, he screamed every curse he knew at the blonde in English and Hebrew.

How did girls do it?

---

The stadium lights blared on as the South Park Cows entered, followed by the powder puff team and mascot. The cheerleaders rushed passed the girl football players to the track, facing the bleachers as they began their opening act. Kyle took a breath, listening as the words of the chant fell off of his tongue, although he wasn't paying attention to them, but rather getting the dance steps right.

"Come on crowd get ready, 'cause we have just begun! To prove to you once again, why we are number one! Green is our—" Kenny was lifted into the air by Eric and shouted:

"—strength!"

"And gold is our—" Kyle was lifted above Damien, ankles secured by the anti-Christ and yelled:

"Power!"

"White is our spirit!" At this line the two flyers were thrown upward to aid their jump as they did several spinning back flips, before landing parallel to the ground by the spotters. They quickly got back onto their feet and in line to finish.

"G—Get on your feet, let's hear it! Yell 'green—go!'" The squad pointed their pompoms at the bleachers.

"Green, go!"

"Gold—fight!" the cheerleaders said, again pointing at the crowd.

"Gold, fight!"

"White—win!"

"White, win!"

"Put it all together you get 'go fight win'!"

"Go fight win!" the crowd shouted in unison before breaking into applause.

The North Park Cows then entered the stadium, and the opposing side erupted into cheers as their cheerleaders put on a show.

"Are you ready, ready for the best? North Park number one, oh yeah nothing less! Going to the top," here three of their own flyers were lifted. "We can't be stopped. Let's go girls! Yell 'blue'!"

"Blue!" As the crowd yelled one flyer did a spinning jump.

"Yell 'gold'!"

"Gold!" Another, this one was less elaborate than the last.

"Yell 'white'!"

"White!" The last flyer was the captain, and did a rather impressive jump.

"North Park cows, oh yeah, let's fight! Can you feel it? What! Feel the heat, blue, gold, and white; how sweet! With spirit and spark, we steal the show! We're North Park Cows! Kiss kiss, gotta go." Cheers shook the visitor bleachers as the girls went out onto the field and got into position.

As promised Kyle as dismissed as the "special weapon", but told to stay close incase they needed him. With a nod he slipped through the gate and up into the bleachers where he was congratulating for a "good job not killing himself" and found Christophe in the top corner by himself. He sat down on the edge of a blanket the French boy provided, glad that he'd been smart enough to bring it, and wrapped up in a thick coat Christophe handed him.

"I see you shaved," he said with a quirky smile, running a hand across Kyle's pale, and sore thigh. "And everyone out zere 'as love a love bite, so Kenneth followed my suggestion." Snorting in amusement at the still shivering cheerleader he slung an arm around his shoulder, pulling the blanket around them both, causing Kyle to blush.

"Aren't my parents here?"

Christophe shrugged. "And if zey are? I do not care, do you?" His reply was a swift kiss, causing a few glances from people sitting lower down, but overall there was no argument.

"Hm, I guess since Mr. Garrison and Mr. Slave got together again, the town is rather accepting," Kyle muttered as the brunette waved a canteen in front of his face. "What's in that?"

"Raspberry wine."

"You're so naughty, 'tophe!"

"Maybe a little," was the reply as Christophe opened it. "You know you want to try it."

Kyle recoiled, swatting at it. "Not really, alcohol is disgusting, and I doubt Damien would appreciate me puking all over him."

Christophe snorted, shaking his head. "You wouldn't even vomit drinking a whole bottle, there's not that much kick to et, and I'd like you to know et taste perfectly fine, now try."

Grabbing the canteen he took a swig, amazed at the taste. Instead of being bitter and disgusting like the things Kenny gorged himself with, it reminded him of fruit juice, or maybe a Capri Sun.

"Hey, it's not bad."

"Told you."

Kyle contently sipped on the wine, watching the girls tackle each other, and in a few cases saw hair being pulled and skin scratched by nails. The powder puff squad danced around below, shaking their rear ends to remain warm. Surprisingly Tweek was the booty-dancing king, and several members of the audience were shouting at him to "shake his love maker". It was about that time Kyle dropped his head onto Christophe's shoulder, feeling a bit tingly around the edges.

"You're going to homecoming with me, right?"

Christophe was glad the redhead couldn't see his expression, one of pleasant mirth, tinged with regret. "I cannot go, cher, my muzza is returning tomorrow, which is why I'm not staying ze night, remember?"

"So?"

"She would not be pleased seeing me taking a male to ze dance."

Kyle shot up then, eyes narrowing at his companion. Christophe forced himself not to smile at the clouded look in those green eyes, pupils beginning to dilate already. "But we got through to my Mom! Christophe, please…"

'Aw, ze alcohol really gives 'im a kitten look, but 'earing my name means I'm in deep sheet.'

"My muzza is worse zen yours is, she candy-coats everyzing and kisses God's ass, I don't…Kyle, are you crying?" He balked as rivulets began to pour from his boyfriend's eyes. 'Whoopie, 'e's an emotional drunk.'

Kyle buried his face into Christophe's shoulder, not noticing the North Park cheer directed at them (G-A-Y, South park ain't got no alibi, they gay, look look, they gay.) "I don't want to go through what we did at the beginning of the week again, I really don't, please don't do this."

The French boy laughed into his hand at Kyle's actions, it sounded so much like breakup, something from a cheesy soap opera. He made a mental note to never allow the Jew to consume alcohol again. However, even knowing he was being hypocritical by not wanting to tell his mother, he knew her best and what she'd do. Kyle finally sat up and pawed at his eyes.

"I'll be with you, 'tophe, it won't be bad."

If only he could believe his little under-the-influence redhead. But he knew it'd be fruitless to argue with him and sighed. She'd find out anyway, right? "Alright, cher, I shall pick you up and you can meet my muzza."

"Yay.' He fell back against him, this time closing his eyes and snoozing. Kenny had wandered over at the winning touch down to convince Kyle to do the final routine, but seeing his condition had just laughed and done the stunt himself. The Broflovski's made their way to them as the girls squealed in glee at the win on the field to take the eldest son home. At the sight Ike had broke into a wide grin, and even Sheila found herself cracking a small smile, making Christophe warm. He carried the redhead out to Sheila's Nissan, not even waking as he was placed in the backseat, falling onto Ike's lap. Christophe didn't dare explain Kyle's unconscious state, afraid he might just get run over. He waved them off before leaving himself, to recreate the spotless shrine that his house had been before his mother had left.

---

A little after two Saturday afternoon Noémie arrived back from France and stepped into her house shouting in her usual custom, "Christophe, I am home Christophe! Where are you?"

"In ze living room, Muzza," he answered dryly a room away. "Arrange yourself, I 'ave somezing I want to talk to you about."

Noémie frowned slightly at his lack of courtesy, but was use to it; lack America tradition! She did as he said and drug her things upstairs to unpack, dumping the dirty laundry into the washer and starting a load. Walking back down stairs she checked the dust amount on the banister, finding it clean and polished, along with making sure the collectable angel sculptures decorating the house were as well kept. With a nod of approval she went to confront Christophe. At the sight of his mother he flipped the television off and stood, kissing her on the left cheek, right, and left again; silly French traditions! She looked him over, satisfied of his appearance except the increasingly dark circles under his eyes and spiky mess of his hair. Frowning she reached up and attempted to flatten it down, receiving a growl from her son.

"Muzza, stop zat!" Christophe said with a scowl, swatting her hands away. "I like my 'air as et is."

"But et is so messy, love! Don't you ever comb et?"

"Do my fingers count?" he asked sheepishly, being tsked at by the question. They both settled onto the couch, Noémie crossing her ankles and sitting upright, lips pursing at her son's slumped posture. "So 'ow was ze trip? Is Aunt Isabelle and Arianne alright?" The one he wanted to ask about he knew better; his father was someone that did not exist in their household.

"Oh, zey are very well! Your cousin was quite upset zat you did not visit as well, and became very moody about et. And your aunt thought et unfortunate zat you stayed behind as well, but sent for you a bottle of Clos de Vougeot."

Christophe nodded appreciatively; Aunt Isabelle lived in the town of Vougeot, which was conveniently placed in the Burgundy section of wine industries. Clos de Vougeot happened to be one of the best red wines produced in the area. "And what did Arianne decide to send e zis time?"

"A razer beautiful sweater."

"Et's orange, isn't et?" Taking the smile as a 'yes' he scowled. "I 'ate zat colour, 'asn't she figured zat out yet? I'll just give et to Kyle."

Noémie tilted her head in question. "Kyle, is 'e someone you met in school?" A nod. "'ow darling! Speaking of school, 'oe 'as et been? Not too 'ard, easy? No one is making fun of your accent, right? Should we 'ome school you again?"

"No, no, most people find et charming, and no. You said I needed to work on my social skills, right? Public schooling does et perfectly." He gained a tittering laugh at that. "Oh, and I shall be gone tonight."

"Oh? Why?"

"I am going to ze 'omecoming dance, Muzza." She made a small 'o' mouth, a hand placed delicately to her lips.

"You 'ave a date?" A slight nod, as if uncertain. "Wonderful! I get to meet 'er, correct? I do 'ope I get to."

Christophe leaned forward, placing elbows on his knees and ran a hand through his hair in that position. "Zat is what I wish to talk about."

"Don't be silly! I am completely accepting of zis, razer overjoyed actually."

"But Muzza—"

"Non, non, I don't want to 'ear anyzing about et. When will you be leaving, and getting back?"

He sighed, so much for getting through to her before hand. "Ze dance is at nine, but I'm leaving to pick up my date at six-thirty. Zen we'll come back 'ere and finish getting ready, zen go out to dinner wiz ze ozers. And I don't know when we'll be back, before dawn presumably."

"Well zen go get ready! Hâte, hâte, you've only got four hours."

"Muzza—"

She grabbed his hand, shushing him and inspected his nails with a frown. "Et'll take hours to get zese even and shined, plus your 'air! La hâte, disparaissé!"

Christophe forced himself toward the bathroom, biting his tongue to keep from saying something that would get him into trouble. She'd been home for a little over thirty minutes, and he already wished she'd fly back to France.

---

Christophe picked up his date at six-thirty exactly, and was met by quite a sight. Red curls looked especially luminous, the ringlets loosened to create more of a wave than a mass of frizz. Kyle wasn't particularly formal, in beige slacks, a black turtleneck sweater, and black blazer, but then again it was a semi-formal. As he hopped into the Impala the driver swore he saw a hint of silver eye shadow, and had to smile.

"What the Hell happened to your hair, 'tophe?"

He reached a manicured hand up to it while glancing at the side mirror. His mother had taken an hour testing styles, poking and pulling, trimming, lathering the spikes with a rainbow of hair products. After all of her work Noémie settled with fingering moose into it and combing it forward with quick strokes of her hands to get a feathered look, and styled his messy bangs to one side. Christophe detested it, and promised to fluff it to the normal look as soon as they left for dinner.

As he drove, Christophe ran over the plan. Kyle could tell his usual sober boyfriend was on the nervous side by the way he gnawed on the filter of his cigarette and continuously was touching his hair, but he could understand why. Unlike with his mother, whom had been forced to acknowledge them, Christophe was about to walk in and willingly admit it. 'Takes real balls to do that,' he thought with a smile, watching the snowy roads pass by.

With the speed Christophe was going, it didn't take long to get back to his house. Kyle was waved into position by the stairs before he said loudly, "Muzza, I'm back."

"Alright Christophe, I'm in ze kitchen." Kyle muffled a nervous laugh behind his hand at the familiar womanly voice.

"Well I am not, obviously, so some into ze living room," Christophe answered, tugging at his hair in anticipation. There was no way he was going to tell Noémie his date was male when she was near knives, he wasn't that crazy. She pranced out from the kitchen, wiping her damp hands uncharacteristically on her pants before lacing them behind her back. She met her son in the living room and leaned against the armrest of the couch, waiting.

"Well? I'd like to see 'er, love."

"Muzza, promise not to yell."

She gave him a queer look before nodding. "Je promets."

Christophe took a breath and exhaled as he went to get Kyle from his perch on the stairs. He gained a smile that said, "Don't worry, it'll all be alright" as he laced his fingers with the Jew's, more in an attempt to keep his hands from his hair more than anything. He returned the smile, a little uncertain, and walked back to confront his mother; what did he have to lose?

Noémie looked between them, brows furrowing, eyes becoming heated. "Christophe, tell me zis is a joke."

"No Muzza."

She stood, waving a hand back in the direction of the kitchen. "I zink we need to talk," she said a little strained.

"No, I'm not leaving 'ere."

"Nous parleons ici."

Christophe shook his head, clutching at Kyle's hand a little more tightly. "Don't do zis, Muzza."

"Ce qui? Vouz avez pensé j'accepterais ceci?" she asked, pacing, arms crossed.

"Non, je pas. Mais Kyle a pensé que vous, et j'ai voulu rendre il heureux," he replied evenly, though his eyes narrowed in the beginnings of anger.

"Vous êtes juste comme votre père, un bon pour rien pédé!"

"Je ne suis pas comme Papa! Je ne vous ai pas laissé quand j'ai eu la chance," he said, gritting his teeth, too caught up in his mother's ignorance to notice Kyle was staring at the ground, shaking. Not knowing French he was out of the loop, but he knew the conversation couldn't be good.

"Il n'importe pas!" Noémie said loudly, waving her hands for emphasis. "Vous datez toujours un garçon."

"Il a pris le risque, et est venu à vous. Si ce n'est pas louable, je ne said pasce qui est."

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "L'aimez-vous?"

"Il est peu un tôt à dire," he replied calmly, watching his mother continue her rapid pacing, alert in case she decided to get violent.

"Ne me fais pas avaler ça! L'aimez-vous?"

"Oui, Mamen."

"As-tu perdu l'espirit? Ah, je n'y crois pas!" Noémie moaned, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head.

"Mamen, arrêt. Vous n'en aidez pas. Il n'est parle pas français. Pouvez-vous, sil vous plait, penser à ce que je veux?"

She turned, studying the redheaded boy for the first time, realizing her mistake. He wasn't watching either of them, instead the ground, and was trembling. She sighed, releasing the tension and walked carefully to him, placing a hand under his chin and lifting. He startled, eyes a bit too wide as he found himself looking straight into Noémie's chocolate eyes. She noticed the glassy look to his own eyes, as if he was fighting some internal turmoil.

"I am sorry, little one, I should not 'ave done zat to you, et wasn't fair. Can you forgive me?"

Kyle stared at the sympathetic woman, shocked she was being so humble after the display. He nodded, voice lost. Christophe smiled, anxiety gone, thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand.

"Zank you, Muzza."

Noémie merely kissed his cheek and smiled. "I shouldn't compare you wiz your fazza, as annoying as you can be, you are much too nice to be 'im." He didn't respond to that, knowing his father had had his reasons to leave. His mother just continued to smile, although it was disheartened as she trotted off, returning a moment later with a camera. "I want pictures at least."

They took several photos, good quality ones and gag ones before engaging in a long, serious conversation about France and The Land Before Time movies. They came up with a new lot consisting of the little Triceratops Sarah becoming a slut and taking care of Littlefoot's Grandpa while in a coma, and eventually doing it with him. Littlefoot also became Sarah's husband, and she had a child that was Grandpa's. They also confirmed that Stegosauruses cannot possibly reproduce with the spikes running down their backs when the doorbell rang, and Christophe answer it. A moment later he called out from the front of the house, "Kyle, I need you to come 'ere for a second."

Kyle excused himself and went to see what the brunette wanted, to find Wendy on the front stoop bouncing up and down as if cold in a deep blue gown. He waved and smiled at Christophe's confusion. "Remember the whole idea of me kissing Stan for his birthday, and being bet by Wendy? Well, my prize was a prepaid spot in the limo with you."

"Pleasant," the French boy said, tousling his hair. "Muzza, we're leaving!"

"'ave fun you two!" Noémie called from the living room as they tramped out to the black limo and climbed in. The only two there besides the couple so far were Wendy and Bebe, the ladder dressed in a crimson dress, curls pulled up into an elaborate bun.

"So which one of you is the girl in the couple?" Bebe asked unexpectedly, causing Kyle to cough into his hand, choking. Christophe cleared his throat to keep from laughing and pointed to the redhead behind his back.

"Why are you asking?" Kyle finally managed to inquire after turning a fierce shade of scarlet from lack of oxygen.

"Because one of you needs to wear a corsage, duh!" The two girls giggled at Kyle's blank expression. "And I'm guessing it's going to be the one on bottom."

"And I'm guessing it's Kyle," Bebe added with a wink, the boy in question blushing furiously.

Christophe pulled a sapphire coloured carnation corsage from behind him and strapped it to Kyle's wrist. Luckily he ended up planning this touch with Wendy a day before, and savoured the darkening colour of Kyle's cheeks.

"Not fair, we were caught with me on top."

"Oh well, you're ze shorter one."

The girls broke into another fit of giggles as they picked up Stan, Cartman, Kenny, their dates, and Clyde. They ate at Denny's, much to the waiters' and few customer's amusement. The girl's threatened them all if anything got on their dresses, someone was going to die, and they believed it. The limo pulled up in front of the school ten minutes early, but they were admitted in the gym despite that fact, finding several couple already mingling with singles. They all split up, the girls skipping to the dark area of the gym to dance along with the techno music, the boys grumbling.

Kyle felt Christophe lean against him from behind before his breath as hot on his face. "And what do we do at 'omecoming again?"

"Dance, mingle, eat snacks, screw around, some couples choose to sneak out and get busy in the bathroom or outside."

"Very nice," Christophe whispered, making Kyle blush at the suggestion in his voice. "I zink I'm going to get some punch, want some?"

"Sure."

He unwound himself from the Jew and walked off to one of the only lightened areas, the refreshments. Kyle turned to find a place to sit and wait, to be met with the sight of Alice in a showy, gold dress stalking toward him, and he knew all Hell was about to break loose.

She stopped a few feet from him, her gang of girls forming a wall behind her. "So, where's your boyfriend, Kyle?"

"Around," he replied nervously, looking around for anyone he knew, only to find groups of underclassmen.

"Oh, so you two really are a couple? How peachy."

"What do you want, Alice?"

"What makes you think I want anything from you?" she asked, receiving snickers from the girls behind her.

"Let's see, you haven't talk to me since the 'breakup', and now suddenly are?"

"You are so naïve, Broflovski," Kenny said from behind him, startling the redhead. The blonde narrowed his eyes under his combed bangs, hands on his hips. "She wants Christophe, don't you Alice? I've seen the way you glare at them, and you've always sneered at Kyle, until Christophe came. You want Frenchy all for yourself, you jealous bitch."

"Shut the fuck up!"

"You know it's true, you're girls know it, every senior knows it, except Kyle here," Kenny replied, stepping up to Kyle's side and smirked. "And you can't accept the fact you were rejected by him for Kyle, the very boy you 'broke up' with."

"Shut. Up."

"Karma sucks, huh, babe?"

Alice flung herself at Kenny but was caught by Lexus and held back. Out of all of the girls, she was the most sensible, and actually knew what sympathy was. Christophe sauntered up at that moment, handing a plastic cup of punch to his boyfriend, raising a brow at the struggling blonde girl.

"Did I miss somezing?"

"Alice ganging up on Kyle," Kenny said, smiling gleefully at the foaming Popular.

"Oh, well zen, I guess ze best zing to do is walk away," he replied, draping an arm across the confused Kyle's shoulders and being lead in the opposite direction.

A howl erupted behind them. "I'll kill you Kyle Broflovski!"

"You'll 'ave to get through me first, beetch," Christophe called over his shoulder, flipping her off as they disappeared into the crowds to a corner of the pulled-out bleachers. Kyle drank his punch in a few gulps, wringing the cup angrily.

"She asked you out?"

Christophe nodded, watching Kyle's work on the cup. "Yes she did, before you told me about 'er. I declined though, obviously."

"Why? She's the top dog at this school."

"Zat does not mean she is a good person, or zat I would be attracted to 'er. Anyway, as I told you before 'and, I've been attracted to you since ze war."

"Yeah, I know," Kyle said, shuddering in disgust. "Hey, do you have your cigarettes with you?"

"Yes, why?"

"I'm a bit stressed right now, and heard they do wonders."

The brunette pulled the pack and lighter from his pocket, handing them to Kyle. He took one out and toyed with the lighter, hesitating to light up. "You have permission to shot-gun it if I end up trying to die."

"You know, I really didn't like zat ozer experience, I'm not sure I want you 'acking in my mouth anymore."

Kyle sighed at his boyfriend plucked the instruments of death from his hands and returned them to his pocket. "Damnit, I'm too chickenshit to smoke, and to stand up to Alice. I'm just a pussy."

"You are you."

"Why the Hell are you with me again?"

Christophe cocked his head, watching the boiling green eyes stare him down. Reaching out he touched Kyle's face with his knuckles softly, smiling genuinely. "Because I realized somezing when talking to my Muzza."

"What was she saying anyway?"

"Mostly just 'ow et is wrong and I'm acting like my Fazza, but 'e is a good man, despite Muzza's claims," he replied a little sadly, retracting his hand. Kyle's anger turned to puzzlement as he placed his corsaged hand on his thigh.

"Tell me about him."

"Zis seems utterly familiar, but instead of me spilling my thougths et was you, and instead of being in ze gym et was at Terryall Creek."

"Come on, I want to know."

"Fine, fine. Anyway, Fazza got Muzza pregnant and 'e ran off to 'is boyfriend , fearing commitment on such a grand level. So she tried an abortion, which was ze whole 'she stabbed my in ze 'eart with a close'anger' thing from ze war. Afterwards she was kept in ze 'ospital to be watched so she didn't do et again, and Fazza beetched 'er out about trying to get rid of zeir child. So she 'ad me, and 'ated 'im for leaving 'er for a guy. Zey're still 'appily togezer, Fazza and 'is boyfriend." He took a sip of his punch. "She's always been a bit paranoid zat I might turn out to be like 'im, you know, gay. And so et turns out I 'ave."

"But you've had girlfriends."

He shook his head, smiling at Kyle's childish innocence. "Et doesn't matter. Come on, let's dance." Kyle's eyes furrowed as he was dragged down the bleachers and onto the dance floor. The song changed to something slow, and Stan was seen with Wendy a few people over, swinging back and forth with the rhythm.

Kyle blushed as Christophe's hands went around his waist, pulling their bodies against each other, forehead rested against his own. He silently cursed himself for being Jewish and having no rhythm, but the brunette made it seem so easy. He smiled at how uncharacteristic it was.

"Why are you grinning, cher?"

"It strikes me as odd you can slow dance."

It was Christophe's turn to smile. "I'm French, et's just in my genes. I'll 'ave to take you to France so you can get a feel of what I'm talking about."

"I'd love that," he replied softly before something dawned on him. "Hey 'tophe, you never told me why you're with me."

His answer came in the form of Christophe capturing his lips in a kiss so tender and warming, he thought he was in some teeny-bopper movie. A few underclassmen glanced at them, but overall there was nothing said to them about it. Kyle knew why such a simple act could give him the jitters, and silently rejoiced at the reason as Christophe drew away, giving him a look that could melt, and he wished that moment would last forever.

It was love.

---

French-English glossary

Quelques personnes sont justes soutenues avec la tragédie dans leur sang—Some people are born with tragedy in their blood.

Cher—Dear

Cherí—Feminine form of "cher"; can also mean "sweetheart", which is how it's used in this context

Petit connard—Little fool

Une, deux, trois—One, two, three

Non, oui—No, yes

Un copains—iterally means "friends" (like mes amis), but used in slang form as "boyfriend"; don't use this in France to say "friends", though, go with "amis"

Mon cher, ne parlent pas de cette mode, et ne me donnez pas qui regard triste. Ne soyez pas découragé, elle était une pétasse. Elle n'a pas su vous merveilleux êtes—My dear, don't talk like that, and don't give me such a sad look. Don't be discouraged, she was a bitch. She didn't know how wonderful you are.

J'taime—I love you

Clos de Vougeot—Type of wine made in the Burgundy wine industries in Eastern France.

Hâte, hâte—Hurry hurry!

La hâte, disparaissé—Hurry, go!

Je promets—I promise

Nous parleons ici—We'll speak here

Ce qui? Vouz avez pensé j'accepterais ceci—Do what? Did you think I'd accept this?

Non, je pas. Mais Kyle a pensé que vous, et j'ai voulu rendre il heureux—No, I didn't. But Kyle thought you would, and I wanted to make him happy.

Vous êtes juste comme votre père, un bon pour rien pédé—You're just like your father, a good for nothing fag!

Je ne suis pas comme Papa! Je ne vous ai pas laissé quand j'ai eu la chance—I'm not like father! I didn't leave you when I had the chance.

Il n'importe pas, vous datez toujours un garçon—It doesn't matter, you're still dating a boy

Il a pris le risque, et est venu à vous. Si ce n'est pas louable, je ne said pasce qui est—He took the risk, and came to you. If that isn't commendable, I don't know what is

l'aimez-vous—Do you love him?

Il est peu un tôt à dire—It's a little early to say

Ne me fais pas avaler ça! L'aimez-vous?—Don't give me this shit! Do you love him?

Oui, Mamen—Yes, Mother

As-tu perdu l'espirit? Ah, je n'y crois pas—Have you lost your mind? Ah, I don't believe this!

Mamen, arrêt. Vous n'en aidez pas. Il n'est parle pas français. Pouvez-vous, sil vous plait, penser à ce que je veux—Mother, stop. You're not helping any. He doesn't speak French. Can you please think of what I want?