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

3. Chapter Two

Warnings: Course language,slash, ban puns, OCness

A/N: For those wondering how you get the couple Chris/Kyle, here's the most logical answer. The scene where Christophe dies is a parallel to Les Miserables, specifically "A Little Fall of Rain" (the song), Eponine's death in the play or book, which happens to be a confession of love. Subconsciously the people that have seen/read the play just make it so, not because of the "hold me" line, but the whole entire scene. Then there are just the rabid fangirls that can put anyone together if determined enough.

Besides that, the "OCness" mentioned in the warning is Christophe's family, which we get into quite a bit. Of course I'm not taking credit for their existence, I just slapped them in there because I need them.

This chapter isn't based on the "I Go Back" lyrics, instead it's an interlude with a compilation, the most recognizable being the X-mas night scene, which goes to "Georgia Rain" by Trisha Yearwood.

Thanks to my reviewers as always, each time I see a review that says "update now!" it gets me going. Maybe not a lot, but a little xD. I'll try to update quicker next time. And just 'cause, rdavymac, Noémie is a raging body of estrogen, she certainly hasn't hit Menopause yet. Or maybe it's the genes.

Okay, this is not the end oo; It won't end until I say "The End", just so you know (there's at least two chapters left not counting this one, three if I interlude again). Ahem…enjoy? nn;

Halloween fell on a Thursday that year and they all planned to go out and trick-or-treating for Time's sake. Everyone except Christophe, that is. The Tuesday before the 'holiday' during the dodge ball war in Physical Education he'd passed out, scaring Kyle senseless. When he'd come-to the French boy was in the clinic with a frightened looking Jew next to him, whom he'd pushed passed without explanation and locked himself in the bathroom to be sick. After the nausea had passed he'd been sent home with a 103 degree Fahrenheit temperature and pounding headache, with the wise words, "Get some rest, dear."

Wednesday he wasn't in school, giving Kenny some twisted reason to feel Kyle up. Through the day the blonde was either groping, pinching, touching, or tackling him in glee, making the Jew very glad Stan had agreed to take him home. Although sympathetic with Kenny, Kyle hadn't hesitated to punch him in the nose when the blonde's hands had trailed around his waist to rest quite uncomfortably on his crotch.

Thursday Christophe had turned up, but wasn't allowed to drive. Noémie had driven him to school in her silver Honda Civic, completely ruining any sort of reputation he had by the endearing words she called to him as he hurriedly sprinted away from her. Of course throughout the day his mind wandered blank, resulting in a need to concentrate to understand what he was being taught. However in English he finally got a chance to doze off, as Ms. Arzillo took Halloween to read from a book of Poe, dropping all other lesson plans. Kyle found himself whipping out his cell phone and taking a picture of the sickly brunette, who proceeded to nibble on his thumb and drool across the fake wooden desk. When the bell had rung and he'd been prodded awake, his face was slathered in slobber, and the wrist of his sweater sopped with germs. After school he felt the need to leave as soon as possible, forgetting pleasantries. His mother took the opportunity to wave viciously at Kyle a he left with Stan to get ready for the big night.

Trick-or-treating in a group, they'd decided to go as one. It had taken weeks of research to find the perfect group to cosplay, and several more to get the costuming right. They'd finally decided to go in The Rocky Horror Picture Show gear, Damien as Dr. Frank-N-Furter, Stan as Brad, Wendy as Janet, Pip as Riff Raff, Kyle as Magenta, Butters as Columbia, Timmy as Dr. Everett Von Scott, Kenny as Rocky, and Cartman as Eddie. Kyle had hissed as he got a glimpse of what he looked like in the hall mirror of Stan's house; it wasn't the make-up, or even the French-maid outfit that got him. It was the fact his best friend had gone through the painstaking cycle of picking out his ringlets, to create the ungodly Jew-fro he'd spent years flattening.

He had no reason to complain as he stepped into a living room full of decked out coslayers, gaze settling on Damien. The anti-Christ didn't seem too please to be sitting on the edge of the couch in a corset, shiny panties, silver-heeled pumps and fishnets, sporting a fro of his own. As Kyle walked into the room Damien glanced to him, black eyes alight with flames as he choked out the words:

"Now that all of you mortals are here, let us go in the hunt of candy."

Their plan was simple; they'd trick-or-treat at the wealthier twin neighborhoods of Wintrea and Trinity before circling back to their own. After all, what kid wouldn't go to the houses that gave out full sized candy bars, and sodas?

During their candy raids of youngsters they came across and didn't like, "haunted house" viewings, and tricks played on classmates they passed, the group broke into song and dance several times. The one that caught attention more than the others was Damien's rendition of "Sweet Transvestite", where he got out in the street and started to strut while singing. Unimpressed Cartman had thrown a lollipop at his ankles, causing the anti-Christ to stumble, nose meeting the pavement painfully. In a fit of rage Eric had been punished by being chased by Hell's most furious Gulons, being called off only when he had shouted a hurried apology and handed over a quarter of his candy.

They also passed Ike and his friend, Spencer, several times throughout the evening. Ike was done up in a Freddy Koger get-up, while his friend walked around as a giant condom. If the Canadian seemed at all embarrassed by the glow-in-the-dark Trojan label walking beside him, he didn't show it.

As they approached a beige house, Kenny stopped, Kyle at his side. "Dude, we can't go there."

Cartman huffed, turning to glare at they both, hands on his hips. "And why the Hell not? I heard they're giving out Tooty Gooey bars, Chocolate Cherry Chunks, and Chewy Yum Yums."

The paled blonde sighed irritably. "That's Christophe's house."

"So? Jew-boy gets to see his boyfriend then, and we get candy. I don't see the problem here."

"Cartman damnit—" A hand on his elbow kept Kenny from farther arguing. Kyle pushed passed the others to take up post in the front as he rang the doorbell, the others shouting behind him. Noémie's face appeared in the doorway, smiling.

"Oh, 'ow adorable! 'ere, let me get—Kyle, is zat you?"

"Yes, Mrs. DeLorne," he said sheepishly at the questioning look, feeling his cheeks flush; he had on more makeup than she did, and felt quite stupid at that fact.

"Are you 'ere as part of ze trick-or-treating group, or to visit Christophe?"

"Both, actually, but I don't need any more candy."

"'e's up in 'is room, just knock before you go in incase 'e is asleep," she said, stepping out of the way so he could enter and began to pass out the candy. Stan's voice stopped him before he got too far, smug.

"Hey, want us to wait outside for you?"

Kyle turned to eye his best friend, whom watched him slyly over the top of a set of silver-framed glasses. Dressed in underclothes he didn't seem "dorky" like Brad, rather like an underwear model or stud in a Playgirl. "Nah, you guys go on without me, I'll call you for a place to meet at." Receiving a nod and wink he trotted up the stairs, careful in his heels and tapped on Christophe's door three times.

"Et's unlocked," came the congested voice of the French boy, his accent somehow thicker than normal. A brow raised in utter amusement Kyle opened the door and heeled it closed. He looked paler than he had earlier that day as he lay on his stomach, nestled in blankets with a book between is hands, but Kyle blamed it on the dim lighting. He finished the page and set the piece of literature down before looking up at Kyle, and when he did, his mouth fell open. The redhead muffled a laugh behind his hand at catching Christophe off guard.

"You can close your mouth now," he said, giggling, and crossed the room in a few hip-swinging movements to sit on the edge of the bed. The flu-ridden one turned over and sat up, bewilderment still written on his face.

"'as anyone told you, you make a very 'ot girl?" Kyle growled and went to hit Christophe, only to have his wrist caught and pulled close, inches away. His scarlet coloured lips scowled.

"I swear if you kiss me, I'm kicking you where it counts. I might have had my flu shot, but I don't want to take the chance."

Christophe rolled his eyes and moved an inch closer. "Oh no, I'm breathing on you! You might get the flu, or 'erpes, or even ze AIDs! 'ow 'orrible, truly terrible." Before the distance could be closed, he found a square packet against his lips, Kyle holding it quite firmly placed. Taking it from his mouth Christophe looked it over in amusement; a cherry flavoured condom. "Don't tell me during ze three days I've been gone you 'ave become a sex-crazed maniac."

"Oh yes, Christophe, take me now, have your way with me!" Kyle snorted, rolling his eyes as the condom was thrown at him, becoming implanted in his hair. As he worked to get it unstuck he said, "Nah, one of Ike's horny little friends was walking around as a giant sexual-awareness condom and passed them out to everyone that seemed to be getting any. He gave a cherry one to me, knowing how much I love cherries."

"Oh? I didn't know zat, I'll 'ave to make a mental note."

Kyle balked, green eyes narrowing. "You're kidding? You've never tasted the cherry lip-balm?"

"Well, yes, I 'ave but lip-balm isn't ze only zing to take into consideration you know," Christophe said defensively, before starting into a coughing fit. Looking disgruntled he asked, "You don't 'appen to 'ave any cigarettes, do you? Zat is my favourite favour."

Kyle whacked him in the leg, cringing. "Gross, dude, you know how much I hate those things."

"Zat's why you asked for one at ze dance, yes?"

He sighed, watching the blankets. "I really wish you'd quit smoking, it's such a disgusting habit."

"Yes, well, it takes the edge off and you already know about my line of work," they said in unison, startling Christophe. Was he really that predictable? Kyle just stared at him with determination.

"There's other ways to take the edge off of things, video games, cold showers, baths, going out into the middle of no where, you don't have to slowly kill yourself. Smoking isn't any better than those wrist slashing whiny emo kids that think they have problems—oh no, you have to go to school and do homework, that's a reason to kill yourself."

Christophe snorted, the action making him regret it as mucus caught in his throat. He fell into another coughing fit that was relieved only when he crossed to the window and spit the sickness out. Kyle fake-gagged behind his back.

"You know, if you weren't dressed up as one of ze leaders from Transalvania, I might take you a bit more seriously." A growl issued behind him, making the French boy smile to himself as he watched children trick-or-treating, and saw the figure of a skipping condom. "You really want me to quit?"

"Yes, Christophe, you know I'd prefer not to live several decades older than you because you're too stubborn to quit and continue giving your lungs Hell."

Turning he faced his sparring partner, precariously placed on his knees, sitting on the four inch heels, hands resting idly on his thighs, looking more like a whore waiting for her payment than a defensive Jew putting up an argument. Of course he wasn't going to mention this to Kyle, even as he licked his scarlet coloured lips in habit of thoughtfulness.

"I'll try but I'm not guaranteeing any positive results, since I am humbly addicted to ze zings."

Kyle gave a nod and grinned, doing a little finger dance of victory. As Christophe eyed him in amusement the redhead blushed in embarrassment and pointed sheepishly to the computer. "May I?"

"'ave at et," he replied, returning to the bed and getting cozy as Kyle skipped to the computer. As he dropped down AIM and brought up Doom II Christophe caught sight of white lace around his boyfriend's thigh and arched a brow, realizing what it was.

"Why are you wearing a garter?"

Kyle didn't even look down from his game as he killed off Imps and Demons. "Wendy said it was a nice touch, and she's a girl so I decided, hey, why not listen to her? Why?"

"Zey are part of a wedding tradition, cher, where zey are zrown to ze men, like a bouquet to ze women."

"Is that so?" Kyle said absently, switching guns from a shotgun to the rocket launcher. He stuck his tongue out in thought, circling a corner with caution before hitting the "ctrl" key rapidly.

Watching the redhead take out a group of Cacodemons, Christophe chuckled. "You know when I went to your 'ouse zat one day wiz Kenneth, we 'ad glorious sex on your bed."

"Really? That's nice."

"You're not listening to me."

"Huh? Oh, yeah, that'd be great." The brunette muffled a laugh as Kyle maneuvered the character across a narrow wall, surrounded by poison. "Come on, you can do it," he said to himself and gave a frustrated cry as an Imp threw a fireball at him, knocking the character into the poison. "Damnit! Damnit, damnit, and damnit again for good measure!"

"You take zat game too seriously." Kyle turned, sticking his tongue out in response. "Seriously, you're going to be ze next Columbine."

"Nah, I don't know anything about guns," Kyle lied with a smile. Christophe just shook his head and sat up.

"Close your eyes and 'old out your 'ands."

"What?"

"Trust me."

He nodded and closed his eyes, nervously holding out his hands. He had no idea what the devious brunette had in plan, so was startled when weight fell into his hands. Instinctually they closed around the object; a gun. Eyes still closed one hand wrapped around the grip, the other tracing over the finer details of the barrel and firemode switch.

"Give me details, Broflovski."

"Glock 19, semi compact mode, select fire model, nine millimeters." He looked up at Christophe, finding both a baffled and proud expression. Reaching out he handed it back. "Didn't think you much of a Glock fan, the grips are too wide and they have one helluva recoil. I always pictured a Taurus, like the PT 100, or Beretta Cougar, F model."

Christophe let out an impressed whistle as he returned the gun to the closet. "Kenneth wasn't kidding when 'e said you knew a zing or two about guns."

Kyle blushed, watching the floor intently. "Yeah, it's a secret hobby of mine. The thrill of looking down a barrel, not knowing whose going to get the first shot off just does me in. And I guess you were kind of the inspiration, back in the war and stuff."

"I can die 'appily now, knowing I've turned someone into a gun nut," the French boy said, swooning. Kyle rolled his eyes but smiled and turned back to the computer as the AIM message tone played across the speakers.

"Prick of a Thorne says you need to call him."

Christophe grunted. "Tell Gregory to fuck 'imself." Kyle relayed the message to the blonde Brit, laughing at the name it was typed under.

"Disastrous DeLorne? What kind of screen name is that?"

"A 'ighly stupid one, yes? I tried to tell Gregory zat when 'e made et, but non, don't listen to ze person zat 'as to use et. But et's not like yours is any better, 'broflovstar'."

Kyle rolled his eyes, hiding the blush creeping up his cheeks. It had been his childhood screen name, one everyone had if they needed to contact him; changing it would throw everyone off, including himself. Hearing the AIM tone again he read what Gregory had to say.

"Oh, but I'd prefer to engage in sexual activities with you! Our last rendezvous was splendid, wasn't it Christophe? Too bad you have that little Jew clinging to you; how do you manage? It must be disgustingly annoying having him around. And you don't even love him, God! You are a patient man."

He read it once, and over again before the message took hold. Calmly he replied, "You can shove that cocky, high-maintenance attitude in your ass for all I care, prick." Standing he grabbed a Sharpie from the desk and sauntered to the door.

"Where are you going, cher?"

"The bathroom, I think I got lipstick on my teeth," he replied idly, lying through his teeth.

"Come 'ere, let me see."

Hand resting on the doorknob he paused, before smiling cruelly to himself, throat constricting. "No, I don't trust you."

Christophe looked up as the redhead walked out, mildly surprised. He'd trusted him moment before, what had caused the change? And his voice, it'd hitch a pitch as he said it. Stumbling to the computer he read the short conversation, growling. Fingers swift over the keys he wrote, "I fucking hate your existence, Gregory, the faggot God is more merciful and useful than you are."

"Oh, don't tell me he fell for all of that! And here I thought I was doing good bringing trick-or-treating to you."

His eyes narrowed at that; leave it to Gregory to know who he was talking to, and set up some devious joke. "He walked out, you bastard."

"Then go after him, Christophe, unless you really don't love him?" He stared at the screen before jumping up and hurried to the door, yanking it open. However it didn't budge, succeeding in only making the French boy's anger rise. Bracing himself he tried again, though the stubborn door still refused to open.

"Damnit God, you scrotum licking cock sucker, why must you always take away ze nice zings in my life? Gyah!" He kicked the door, hard enough to pop lose the bottom edge from the skeleton. "Why did you create Gregory? Out of ze millions of selections, you 'ad to make 'im ze juvenile covert operator! Couldn't you 'ave at least given 'im common sense?" Sighing he limped to the window, watching the unmistakable figure of Kyle walk toward the group of Rocky Horror cosplayers. Returning to the computer he slumped down.

"I hate you."

"What did he say?"

"Let's see, nothing? He kind of jammed the door or something so it won't open."

"How pleasant."

"Shut up."

"Seriously, that's not a very good relationship if he trust what I said a lot more than you."

"It's not a trust issue. You just happened to hit every weak spot, dance upon the thinnest ice, and say the perfect things in such a simple sentence. Maybe next time you can be considerate and keep your mouth shut, yes?"

"And when was I not 'considerate'?"

"Maybe when I wasn't appreciative of your actions?"

"Oh, I'm sorry but I'm not the one that is emotionally insecure. Suck up your pride, DeLorne, and any doubts you might have and just be spontaneous, show him that you love him. If you do, of course. So you're afraid to be outwardly expressive, so what? He can most likely help you with that, do what your Mother, Father, and cousin have been trying to do."

He glared at the screen, cursing Gregory for knowing his weakness, his flaw. Shaking his head he clicked the block button, satisfied, and shut down the dreaded machinery. Turning toward the door to figure out what to do about it, he balked. Noémie stood leaning against the wall, a blank expression on her face, holding a Sharpie between two fingers like a cigarette.

"'ow long 'ave you been zere, Muzza?"

"Since you began to bang on ze keyboard, darling," she replied, tossing the marker at him. "It was jammed in ze doorframe."

"So zat is why it wouldn't open," he said, catching it and placing it back next to the mouse. Seeing that Noémie had no intention of leaving he cocked his head, sighing. "Is zere somezing else you want?"

She nodded, running a hand through her dark hair and sat on the edge of her son's bed. "Did you 'ave a fight wiz Kyle? 'e left seeming razer upset, alzough 'e 'id et well." Sunday after the dance they had a discussion on his relationship with Kyle, Noémie admitting she knew he was homosexual years before, but had denied it. The conversation had easily switched to his father, and instead of the usually yelling about the issue, it'd been thought ridden and deep.

"No, not a fight, Gregory played a razer cruel trick."

Another nod. "You've got to call 'im, love."

He looked at her like she was crazy. "Muzza, I don't want to actually get in a fight."

"Zen don't." Knowing he was going to argue Noémie held up a hand, silencing him. "You're going to school tomorrow, 'ow do you except to avoid 'im? Ze fact is you can't. I know you are sick and everyzing, but zis 'olding back isn't like you, love." A slender finger pointed at his chest, where otherwise the baldric would rest, in habit. "Do not let ze ramblings in your 'ead decide your fate, because et is your choice, not 'eaven's. Speak wiz your heart, we all know you can, Christophe. Or at least zink about et." She left without another word.

He slumped forward, elbows on his knees, propped upward and sighed. "Why can't anyone just, I don't know, cater to me when I'm sick instead of pulling zis crap? Mon Dieu." Spinning in the chair he grabbed his phone and hit speed dial, waiting. On the third ring he exhaled angrily and began to flip the phone closed, an exhausted, and equally angry voice stopping him.

"What do you want?" Tense silence hung over the line, Christophe smiling as he imagined Kyle to have pulled the Samsung from his ear to stare at it queerly. "I'm hanging up."

He took a breath; what the Hell did he have to lose? "Cherí, I love you." However, Christophe wasn't that bold. Before Kyle could respond he closed the phone, tossing it across the room in a hurry.

How was that for spontaneous?

---

Noémie drove him to school that morning with the wise words, "Be safe". Instead of heading to the west wing commons like usual, he sauntered to his first period, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. Several of the students there early that he passed gave him a sympathetic look, be it from already hearing the "news", or because he looked like absolute shit he couldn't fathom. As he turned down the hall of his class he stopped dead, finding Kyle outside of the door. It surprised him that the thing he noticed first wasn't the way those green eyes flicked to him in disdain, or the angry posture, but the absolute straightness of his red hair, the way the two black streaks brought out the slight colour of his cheeks.

'Et must 'ave been very frizzy after washing et,' he thought to himself as Kyle stalked over and shoved him rather roughly into a few lockers, and commenced to explain Gregory had been the one to call him up and explain the joke, and it wasn't right. The brunette hadn't paid the feisty red head much attention until he was jabbed in the forehead with the word, "Well?" To cover himself he had just leaned down and kissed Kyle briefly before cocking a brow in question and putting on the best amused expression he could. The Jew had just scowled before wiping at his mouth, ensuring that if he got sick there would be Hell to pay. And they went about their day like nothing had happened the previous night.

It took until Wednesday the following week for Christophe to recover completely. Instead of being sluggish and blunt he was rather peppy and engaged in conversations, usually lightning any situation. On Thursday Wendy broke up with Stan, reason being he was too possessive and she'd never get the chance to do what she wanted with him holding her down. He fell into depression for two days, worrying them all he'd go Goth again. The following Monday Wendy had walked up and slapped him for being such a dependant jerk, and immediately they were back together again. Christophe, whom had never been through one of their infamous breakups before was confused on all levels, until Cartman had explained the "hippy ways". Shaking his head Christophe had sworn to his name he wouldn't become some crack-pot hippy going on-and-off with Kyle.

And he kept that promise well.

---

Thanksgiving rolled around amazingly swift, with school to attend and relationships to keep sturdy. Since her son had started to date, Sheila became lenient on Kyle's curfew, and let him sleep away on school nights, if and only if his homework had been completed in school. This gave him new vigor and worked extra hard on his schoolwork, his grades bumping up a few points and making Sheila extremely happy. The change in his grades also gave Sheila new incentive to accept Christophe.

It was the first morning of the four-day Thanksgiving break, and the said French boy was already up, in the kitchen wolfing down a splendid breakfast his mother had made. His cooking couldn't compare to Noémie's, and this simple meal proved it. As he forked the food into his mouth she entered the kitchen, his cell in her hand. At the sight of him eating she made a sound of disgust.

"Christophe! What 'ave I told you about in'aling food? You're going to choke, use your manners!"

He gulped half a glass of milk, holding up a finger as he swallowed, his other hand motioning the food to go faster. Finally when he could speak he asked, "Why do you 'ave my phone?"

"Oh, yes!" she said, yes widening as she rushed it over to him. "Kyle, 'e called."

Raising a brow he took the phone from his mother, hearing the distinctive laughter from the other end. He hadn't expected the redhead to call at all during break, since the Jew had things to do to get ready for Thanksgiving. As the laughter continued, and didn't seem to end he sighed. "Kyle, take a breath before you pass out."

The sound of inhaling came before a short fit of giggles. "Aw, did Chrissy-Wissy get in trouble for acting like a vacuum cleaner?"

"If you ever call me zat again, I won't 'esitate to smack you over ze 'ead with my shovel," he growled, cringing at the sickeningly cute nickname. It took all his patience to deal with "'tophe", "Chrissy-Wissy" was out of the question.

"You know you love it, Chriss—"

He flipped the phone close, hanging up on Kyle and crossed his arms in defiance. A second later the phone rang and he answered with, "I told you not to fucking call me zat."

"Okay, okay, I get it, you aren't lovable and cute, you're a tough, brute he-man," Kyle said in a tone that made it seem like he'd be rolling his eyes. "Anyway, I've got to go to Denver airport to pick up someone, wanna come with?"

Standing he walked to the sink and washed his dishes. "I don't zink I should now, you've insulted my pride."

"It's what you get for being disgusting when you eat," he answered with a laugh. "Come on, it'll get you out of the house, I know you don't see much sunlight outside of school."

"I like my 'ouse perfectly fine, thanks."

"If you stay 'ere wiz me, darling, you're going to be cleaning and doing chores," Noémie said from across the kitchen as she arranged a vase of flowers. Christophe groaned, caught in a deadlock.

"I guess you're coming, then, huh?" Kyle questioned.

"When will you be 'ere?"

"About ten minutes, see ya then."

Wiping off his hands he crossed to the table and dropped his phone there. Noémie looked up to him and frowned, eyeing his untamed hair like she always did.

"Go do somezing about zat 'air of yours, and brush your teeth."

He grunted in acknowledgement and trotted up stairs to do as he was told, pausing at the top to inspect his image in the full-length mirror set against the end of the hall. His hair was disorderly, he had to admit, but it looked like it always did; why did his mother make such commotion over it? Running a hand through it he flattened the unruly locks the best he could before pulling at his shirt; he'd have to change into something thicker. Sighing he brushed his teeth until the foam was a satisfying shade of pink and changed into a deep blue sweater, one of the only ones his cousin, Arianne, had sent him that wasn't bright and cheery. It was about that time his mother shouted up to him that Kyle has arrived. Without responding he pulled on his boots, tying them roughly and vaulted down the stairs.

"Heya, ready to go?" Kyle asked, raising a hand in greeting from the depths of a bright green hoodie. He nodded, grabbing the redhead by the wrist and escorted him out. Noémie stood on the edge of the porch as they walked out to the red Nissan.

"'ave fun, boys. Kiss kiss!"

Christophe waved off her goodbye and found himself uncomfortably in the passenger seat with Kyle trying to take out his mailbox. After careful backing up straight, and a sheepish wave to the startled Mrs. DeLorne, they were off to Denver. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket as Kyle fidgeted with the sound system.

"You said you were going to quit," Kyle said with a frown, eyeing the pack. Christophe mentally cursed himself for forgetting.

"I did?"

"You know, I'd appreciate you just say 'I want my lungs to be an unhealthy shade of black, Kyle, so fuck off' instead of lying about it."

The brunette sighed, leaning his elbow against the window. "I would prefer my lungs not be an un'ealthy shade of black, but et is 'ard fighting an addiction, cher."

"Let me see those." Annoyed Kyle snatched the pack from his lap, rolled down the window and threw it out. Christophe gawked as it was crushed by the vehicle behind them.

"Do you know 'ow much those cost?"

"More then trust, apparently," Kyle snapped. Had he not been in a car, Christophe might have smacked the redhead silly. Instead he settled by taking Kyle's balled up fist between his hands.

"Why are you so huffy, love? You 'ave been since 'alloween."

"I don't know, could it be that you totally violated the faith between us? Yeah, that's it."

"But I said—'

"I know what you said, but I don't believe it!" Kyle snarled, surprising Christophe. "I'm always the one trying to smooth things over and saying 'I love you' on a regular basis, because I do! But you always just seem like an untouchable object, or a place that cannot be broken into. It's frustrating, Christophe."

"Et's frustrating?" he replied in disbelief. "You're frustrating! 'ow could you not believe et—" seeing Kyle's hurt eyes he added "—zat I love you? All ze zings I've show you, and only you? What about after ze dance? What was zat?"

A faint smile played over Kyle's lips as he remembered what happened after Homecoming. Instead of going to one of the many after-parties, the whole senior class decided to play manhunt at two in the morning, in their finest. Craig was It first, and they had played for the first few rounds until they got lost in the forest, and spent all night just talking as they wandered around, trying to find anything that looked familiar. As dawn broke they found themselves on the cliff they'd shared their first kiss, cuddled against each other, watching in awe as the sky came alive. Both of their mothers had been agitated they stayed out all night, but otherwise hadn't fussed.

"It was…wonderful," he finally admitted, smiling. "I feel like such a chick, dude, with these mood swings." Keeping his mouth shut from getting into any trouble, Christophe had just sat back, smiling himself.

"So who are we picking up at ze airport?"

"Oh, my cousin. Try to be nice to him, alright? As annoying as he is—and although I've tried shipping him off to Argentina—be nice." Taking his nod for an answer Kyle grabbed his CD case as they came to a red light. "Wanna listen to anything in particular?"

"Your car, your choice."

They rode the remainder of the way in silence, Yellowcard playing. Several times Kyle was caught humming along, and once singing to "Only One". Christophe found himself biting his knuckles to keep from bursting into laughter at the driver's heartfelt rendition of the song.

They parked on the forth level of the east wing in the spot Sheila had reserved. Making a few mental notes of the cars they were around they headed off to the east wing gate to wait. Christophe watched the flow of people, mentally calling their weaknesses and possible talents, so absorbed in it that he didn't notice a high pitched voice say, "I'm baaack! How have you been, cousin Kiley?"

He looked down at the boy, an inch or so taller than Kyle, with darker curls and thick-lensed glasses. Over a polo shirt he was wrapped in a coat edged with faux fur, and wore a scarf secured around his neck. Snow boots poked out from under ants that were a little two short, and in one hand he carried a suitcase with stickers from around the world. He glanced at Kyle, seeing the forced smile.

"I'm fine, how was your trip?" the redhead asked, reaching to take the suitcase from his cousin.

"Oh it was terrible! The airports are just so congested and the conditions are so unsanitary! So how has your family been? What about Ike, he should be about nine now, right? How is he?" cousin Kyle asked as they slowly made their way back to the parking area.

"They are fine, perfectly well. Ike's just great, annoying, snoopy, smarter than any nine-year-old I've ever known, but good," Kyle replied, adding false cheer to his voice. Cousin Kyle looked up to Christophe, finally noticing him.

"Kiley, who's your friend?"

"Oh, right! Kyle, meet Christophe, 'tophe, likewise," Kyle said absently, searching for the car. Why couldn't they have parked next to a Hummer?

"Christophe, eh? It's very nice to meet you, if your name French? It sounds French. You know it deprives from late Greek, meaning 'bearing Christ'."

"I'm sure he knows that, Kyle."

Cousin Kyle huffed as the redhead threw his suitcase into the back of the Nissan after finally finding it. "Why are you so snappy, Kiley? You've never been like this before with your other heathen friends. I'm just trying to start conversation, really now!"

As Kyle dangled the keys in his hands Christophe took them with a serious look, gaining a glare. "You're aggravated, and I don't particularly want to die today, cher," he explained as he slipped behind the wheel. Cousin Kyle got into the passenger seat and buckled up as he began the long process of leaving the airport parking lot.

"So how did you two meet?" Cousin Kyle asked finally, looking over his shoulder at Kyle in the backseat.

"The war Mom started," he replied absently, playing with the drawstring of his hood.

"Of course I died, and zen came back to life, and met 'im again at school a little over a month ago," Christophe added, turning onto Peña Boulevard.

"And we became a great couple," he replied, watching the buildings pass before realizing his mistake and said hurriedly, "of friends! Isn't that right 'to—Christophe?"

"Mmyeah."

The darker haired Jew looked between them with a brow cocked, but ignored the faltering tension. "So Kiley, I noticed you streaked your hair. How'd your parents react to that?"

Kyle groaned at the reminder. Once Sheila had gotten him alone the first time she'd seen it, she exploded, wanting to know what would make him defile something as 'holy and pure as the traditional Jewish red hair'. He'd tried to defend himself, but ended up in an argument that ended with the Broflovski woman trying to wash the dye out of his hair. Unfortunately, being permanent it stayed strong, and she threatened to chop it all off. She'd only given in when Gerald had passed his damp son and mentioned how 'cool and hip' it was.

"Not well."

"Oh, yes, I can imagine. I also noticed you don't wear that retched ski cap anymore, finally outgrow it?"

Grunting, he shook his head, and answered with a sickeningly sweet voice. "No, but someone decided it'd be fun to see what would happen if it met a chainsaw."

"How terrible!" The cousin looked glanced at Christophe as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "I guess that was you?"

"Guilty, and I'll 'ave you know, cher, it was a blast."

He gaped, glaring at the rear view mirror where Christophe was watching him with a smug smile. Growling Kyle whacked him in the shoulder and was tsked.

"What 'ave I told you about 'itting ze driver?"

"Yeah, Kiley, its not very safe!" cousin Kyle admitted with an indignant huff.

From there they engaged in idle chatter, speaking of what they'd all been through over the years. As they drove through North Park cousin Kyle cranked up the radio, and the two cousins began to sing along to what was playing. Christophe found himself constantly biting at his cheek to keep from laughing—the Jewish really had no grasp of tone, or at least the dark-haired cousin didn't. Half a CD later Christophe pulled up in front of his house and switched over to park before getting out.

"This, this isn't Kiley's house, where are we? I distinctly remember jade green paint, not peach," cousin Kyle said, squinting at the house. Kyle got out as well and leaned against the open door of the driver's side as he answered his cousin.

"This is Christophe's place, can't very well expect him to drive us home with my car, can you?"

"Well, I guess not. But hurry up, it's cold with the door open! I think I should have worn another jacket."

Kyle rolled his eyes as he turned from his cousin, receiving a smile from Christophe. "Thanks for coming along, and not killing the car while driving. Mom would be pissed if anything happened since you're not on insurance."

"I told you, I drive very well," the French boy replied in a scolding manner. Leaning down he kissed Kyle lightly, completely satisfied with the blush that crept over his face, and amused he could still strike that reaction. "'ave a good Thanksgiving, both of you. Et was a pleasure to meet you, Kyle."

Cousin Kyle looked up at that. "Oh, yes, it was a pleasure! I hope to see you again before I leave, Christophe. Have a good Thanksgiving yourself, if you celebrate that is."

Kyle gave his boyfriend a questioning look, receiving a smile in answer. "I was born in France, love, why would I celebrate zanksgiving? None of my family came over as ze pilgrims, zey stayed 'umbly in France."

As the redhead got into the car he shook his head and slapped himself. "I didn't think of that. Have a good break, and tell your Mom 'hi' for me, 'kay?"

He stepped away from the car and walked back to the front porch and gave a peace sign salute as Kyle switched to drive and pulled away.

The rest of the day was dedicated to listening to stories of cousin Kyle's life, and faking cheer and goodwill. Who really cared about the colonization of Monarch butterflies, and their mating habits, anyway? It was after a long discussion of the spices in dinner that Kyle got a break from his cousin, and fell onto his bed with a sigh of relief. However, it didn't last long as cousin Kyle walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, watching the distraught redhead. Exhaling in exasperation he sat up on his elbows to glare at the other.

"Yes?"

The darker coloured of the two fidgeted. "Well I saw you kiss that boy earlier and I was wondering if it's some French tradition I've never heard of, or friends with benefits?"

Kyle blinked, clearly amused by the question. He knew what friends with benefits were, as Kenny had offered early in middle school for some bizarre reason, but the Jew had declined without a thought, not knowing the extent of STDs his friend could have. "Neither, he's my, well, boyfriend."

"So you're gay?"

"Yeah, I guess so," he replied a bit sheepishly, fluffing his hair. "If it bothers you, I'm sure Ike would let you room with him, or I could."

"No, no, no, it doesn't bother me at all. I mean homosexuality is becoming more of an accepted thing in society, and we're raised on tolerance. Who am I to belittle you if someone of the same sex makes you happy? You're family, Kiley, I'm not going to walk out on you now because of that," his cousin snapped, hurriedly, as if not defending his position in the matter would see the world into the Apocalypse.

"That's…great, Kyle."

"Please, don't allow my presence affect you're relationship! Go out with him, make fun, do couple-y things!"

Blushing Kyle balked at his cousin's newfound friendliness. "I appreciate your concern, but I can live without him for a few days." 'Although I didn't do so hot when he had the flu, but that was all worry, right? Right.'

"Just letting you know," cousin Kyle said gallantly before yawning. The redhead glanced to his bedside clock; ten thirty seven. Shuffling to the closet he rummaged through it, knocking a few old stuffed toys and board games out of his way as he grabbed an extra comforter and pillow. Kicking the closet door shut he grabbed his phone and plopped down on the floor, setting the tone down in case anyone called. The one on the bed watched him. "You know you can sleep up here."

Kyle looked up at him, smiling in disbelief. "Sorry cous', nothing against you or anything, but there's only a select few dudes I'd sleep with; Christophe for obvious reasons, Ike, and Stan because he's my best friend and he refuses to let me sleep on the couch or floor. Oh, I guess Jay Gordon, but he's the hottest person ever."

As cousin Kyle took off his glasses and set them beside the clock, he snuggled into the blankets as if he'd freeze to death. "Hotter than Christophe?"

Before answering Kyle crawled under his blanket, turning onto his side to look up at his cousin. "Oh yeah, I won't even deny it, Jay is just drop dead gorgeous. But on a realistic level, a level I can compare with, 'tophe takes the cake, with Stan and Kenny in hot pursue."

They talked for an hour about the hotness of Jay Gordon and Christophe, finally coming to the conclusion Kyle was indeed gay. It was obvious to cousin Kyle the way that Christophe was spoken there was undeniable love. The way Kyle coloured with a tedious smile while remembering some fine detail of the French boy, the way he huffed in something akin to rage at the talk about his smoking habit, and the way he seemed to cherish the thought of him in a longing manner. By the time Kyle had fallen into a blissful sleep he was muttering sweet nothings into his pillow, wrapped around a body that wasn't there.

Cousin Kyle smiled as he felt the lull of sleep; he'd have to tell the other of this.

---

Thanksgiving morning they all got up early to the smell of turkey cooking in the oven, and commenced to watch the Macy's Day Parade. Kyle mused to himself that it got the incredible ratings it did; if you've seen one Parade, you've seen them all. Of course he realized it was tradition more than actually enjoying watching a fifty-foot Garfield weave through the buildings of downtown Manhattan. Before the Parade ended dinner was done and they were saying prayers, before digging into the huge mounds of food. By noon the boys had collapsed onto the couch and floor in front of the television, moaning about their insides imploding. Thirty minutes after some of the food was slowly beginning the digestion process—and much joking had been made by Gerald—they were snarling curses and playing Super Mario Kart.

Ike pounded on the "X" key, sending a strike of lightning down on cousin Kyle's car with a howl of glee.

"Oh jeez! The control vibrated in my hands! Oh, oh God!"

Tongue between his teeth in concentration, Kyle zipped passed his brother's car, throwing a mushroom at the Canadian as he did, but missed. Cutting a corner too tight the car spun and fell into oblivion, giving Ike the winning edge. With a yelp he jumped up, doing his usual victory dance, in which much air humping ensued. Whacking his brother in the leg, Kyle lay back onto the carpet with a sigh.

"You two suck at video games," Ike whined, plopping down as their cousin started a solo practice round.

"Maybe if you didn't spend all your time playing the game someone could beat you, you little snot," Kyle replied, "omphing" as Ike pounced on him. The black haired boy stared at him quizzically.

"What about your friends? They're good."

"They have their own Thanksgiving to attend, stupid."

"What, what about Christophe? He said he wasn't celebrating," cousin Kyle piped up, hitting a wall and sending the controller into vibrate mode.

"He's probably doing something with his mother."

As Sheila passed she stopped, eyes lighting in delight. "Oh good then, we can invite them both over! I haven't talked to Noémie in a while. Where's your phone, Booby? I'll call using that."

"On the counter," he said tartly. Did no one want to ask if he wanted them over? Christophe was his boyfriend after all. Ike, seeing the thought cross his face, sat back on his stomach in puzzlement.

"You wanna see Chris, right?"

Smiling at his concern Kyle sat up and shoved Ike off, before pinning him to the ground with a wicked look. "Of course I do, but not as much as I wanna kill you." Ike shouted and squealed as Kyle began to tickle him viciously. Sheila smiled at her sons before going upstairs to make the call, cousin Kyle not even noticing the violent lurching and giggling next to him. It lasted nearly ten minutes, tears streaming down the little one's face.

"Kiley, stop, stop it!" Ike yelled between fits of laughter. "Have mercy on me! Kiley, please!" Kyle hesitated at the plea, hands resting on his brother's stomach, the one place that got Ike every time, minus between the shoulder blades. With the falter Ike took advantage of the situation, pushing Kyle back onto the floor and straddled his hips, grinning evilly, reminding Kyle of the Cheshire Cat, or a demon. Brushing the red curls away from his neck, Ike ran his fingernails across the skin, feather light. Kyle cringed, gooseflesh marching across his body, shuddering at the contact. If there was one place on his body that made him completely unresponsive, it was his neck.

"Ike, stop it," Kyle hissed between clenched teeth as his brother traced around the Star of David he wore on a thin black cord, nails trailing over his collar.

"Or what?" the Canadian asked with a pleased smile. There were very few times he could get his brother into a submissive state, and enjoyed every minute of it, before being threatened within every inch of his life. It was a secret punishment for all of the "kick the baby" games, and Ike reveled.

"I zink I'll 'ave to drag you off of 'im, because 'e's mine."

Ike looked over his shoulder to see the French boy with his hands on his hips, a smug expression crawling over his face. Noémie stood to his left, waving, and cousin Kyle returned to his spot on the floor to play solo. With a sigh he got off of his brother, and was decked in the head as Kyle sat up, rubbing his hands across his neck in an attempt to rid the feeling of Ike's nails. Sheila appeared at the moment.

"Well hello there Noémie, Christophe! Would you two like anything to eat, or drink?" she asked, dragging Mrs. DeLorne off into the kitchen without an answer. Christophe circled behind the cousin as to not be rude and interrupt the game before settling beside the shuddering redhead. Ike grabbed several controllers and passed them around, waiting for cousin Kyle to finish his lap.

"Any idea why your muzza called for us to come over?" Christophe asked, fiddling with the cord, entwining it around his fingers in an intricate pattern. What was it about people winding things in their hands that seemed so mysterious, and sexy? A voice in Kyle's mind answered: 'Hand control, duh, it shows they're skilled and know it. All about confidence, baby.'

"No clue, she gets weird around Thanksgiving every year though, so no biggie," Kyle replied, cursing himself for flushing. What was it about Christophe that could make his face burn with just a simple look?

"Who cares, let's play!" Ike moaned as they selected their cars and players, the track a rainbow space one, which usually involved a lot of falling off the road. It was about the time Christophe took the lead by running Ike off the track that Sheila called:

"Boys, would you come here? We've got something to talk to you about!"

"Playing games, Mom!" Ike called back, punching the brunette in the arm without losing any speed.

"We meant Christophe and Kyle," Noémie said, voice raised but not too loud. Hitting a stored power boost Christophe sped passed Ike and took first with a grin before dragging Kyle up and into the kitchen where their mothers waited, sitting at the kitchen table. They sat down as well, looking between the two middle-aged women.

"What's this about?" Kyle asked, a little uneasy. He knew by the people present it was something to do with them, and didn't like that prospect. Mrs. DeLorne offered a smile, folding her hands neatly on the tabletop.

"My sister called me earlier zis morning, asking if I wanted to visit zis winter break, 'owever I cannot go," she started, watching as understanding broke over her son's features. "So I zought zat maybe you two would like to go. She is completely accepting of ze idea, and actually really likes et, so I talked to your muzza, Kyle."

"And of course since it's such a nice opportunity to learn about a new culture, I couldn't say no!" Sheila assured. "You two wouldn't have us around, either."

"But of course zere will be supervision, Isabelle will be ze 'ost, but et really is your choice of if you will stay zere ze w'ole time," Noémie added, watching Christophe for a reaction. It came when he ran a hand through his hair, in utter shock.

"You are suggesting I visit Papa?"

"'e is as much part of your life as I am, if you want to I cannot 'old you back."

He turned to face the silent Kyle, taking the Jew's hands between his own. Startled Kyle looked to him with a faint smile. "Would you consider et? Going to France wiz me?"

Kyle couldn't ignore the desperation and flare of joy he saw in those chocolate eyes. Was there any way to resist? "But I don't know French, which could very well hinder me."

"But I shall be zere, cher, so everyzing will be fine. Will you come, zen?"

"Mom?"

Sheila smiled. "It's fine, Booby, if you want to go then please do. You'll miss Hanukkah, but you'll be enjoying yourself!"

"How could I say no then?" Kyle asked with a giggle as Christophe squeezed his hands in a death grip. Noémie, though, mentioned the one thing that could crack her son's cheerful demeanor: Arianne.

---

The month passed like a second, midterm week dragging. With midterms the schedule was different, the day being split into two exam sessions, and two study periods, with one lunch between. All classes except electives held exams, usually meaning everyone was bubbling in answers on a Scantron. By the last day before winter break, conveniently on a Wednesday, the whole school was in a riot, skipping out into the cold snow, and starting a huge snow ball fight. The only one leaving South Park to visit family in their group, other than Kyle and Christophe, was Cartman. For two weeks he bitched and moaned about how he'd be up Cincinnati with "tree hugging, hippy sonsabitches", until he realized the city was home of Skyline Chili. From then on out he gloated, until Damien had had enough and set him on fire, that is.

Early Thursday morning, before dawn had even broke, they were driven half-asleep to the airport and ushered off in their flight direction. Squinting and out of it Kyle managed to get the edge of his pants stuck in the escalator, causing a technical difficulty, and hassling by the security guards. When they'd finally got the sniffling boy unstuck they had to hurry to get on the plane without missing it.

On it, Kyle was pleasantly awake, clutching the armrest, knuckles white, chewing on his bottom lip absently as the flight attendants went over basic procedure. He'd refused to sit next to the window, threatening to get off and stay home instead of flying to France. Now Christophe leaned over his companion, uncurling Kyle's hands from the plastic, almost painfully.

"Cher, nothing will happen, calm down."

Turning accusingly wide eyes to him, Kyle glared, although it seemed more like a plea of safety more than anything. "You know, I appreciate you trying to be all nice and lovey and say that when the plane goes down we'll burn in a firey ball together, but that really, really doesn't help. I'd prefer not blowing up into millions of pieces for seagulls to eat."

"You've got to calm down, 'aving 'ysterics in air will not 'elp any," Christophe said softly, rubbing circles on the back of Kyle's hands. "What 'as you so frightened, anyway?"

"I just don't trust only having a thin sheet of metal between me and instant death. On a cliff, sure, that's fine, I'm still on solid ground. In an airplane? No, just no." The plane took off, gaining a squeal from Kyle as he shut his eyes tightly and clung to Christophe's right arm, with no intention of letting go. As the piece of machinery leveled out, a fligth attendant shuffled over, giving them a concerned look.

"Is everything alright, sirs?"

"'e's just a little…spooked," the brunette offered.

"Ah! Well, my suggestion is to listen to some music, tune everything out, sleep. If you don't realize you're not on ground, there isn't anything to be afraid of." With a small smile she wandered off to help other passengers.

"Per'aps you should listen to 'er, love," Christophe said, trying to move his fingers, but it was useless with a numb arm.

"Oh, big help," he muttered sarcastically, but grudgingly agreed and pulled on his headphones, using Christophe's shoulder as a pillow. He was tired from waking up early, as much as sleeping in air freaked him out. Christophe smiled to himself as Kyle started to mutter in his sleep about the evils of microwaves, wishing the flight would never end.

---

Of course his views changed on that after arriving at the Charles de Gaulle airport nearly twelve hours later. Kyle clung to his heels like a lost puppy, not understanding what the service people were asking of him, which Christophe translated easily. It was a lot more aggravating then he had thought it would be, of course that could be the jet lag talking. Forty-five minutes after getting off the plane they were in a rental, heading to a hotel to crash before driving off to Vougeot. As soon as he stepped through the door Christophe fell into bed, instantly asleep, leaving Kyle to find another blanket to throw over him.

The morning after he was awake before the redhead, using it to his advantage; taking Kyle from Paris nearly asleep would keep him from being a proper tourist. About an hour from their destination he woke up to the cursing of the driver, about how he preferred "damn American stop lights more zen crappy sonuvabeetch traffic circles". Half passed noon he pulled up to a rot iron gate, which opened electronically with a few muttered French words. It was another few minutes before they circled a fountain standing outside of what appeared to be a small castle, ivy growing on the bricks in decoration. Surrounding the "house" were fields and wine vineyards.

As he slowly climbed out of the car Kyle was greeted by the sight of a woman in a long skirt, puffy coat, almost black hair tied back into an elaborate bun trot carefully down the stone stairs, watching for ice and snow Christophe walked around the car and kissed her on the cheek before being embraced.

"Bonjour Christophe, ça va?"

Unlatching himself from the woman's grip he offered a smile. "Je vais bien. Et vous?

"Trés, trés bien!" Looking passed the brunette she motioned to him, clapping her hands together in a gleeful manner. "And you, you must be Kyle! Mon souer 'as told me so much about you! Come, come, I wouldn't want you two to catch a cold so early in your visit!"

Still stunned that he would be staying in such a beautiful place, he let Christophe drag him away from the car without questioning it. After all, there was probably a valet or something that would take it somewhere safe, along with their bags.

Upon entering the house, Kyle was floored. It was absolutely spactacular, opening to a grand marble staircase leading up to the higher levels and more amazingly staircases. Everything looked decorated from the 1700's, almost untouchable (until he saw the actual "living quarters", soaked in technology). A statue of an angel sat perched precariously in a stained glass window, coloured rays decorating the floor in technicoloured rainbows.

A squeal from atop the stairs brought his attention for a girl about the age of Ike, dressed in a long black skirt trimmed with pale pink lace and white petticoats, a pink sweater embroidered with black, yellow, and white roses around the triangular wrist, and shined black dress shoes. Chocolate coloured curls fell around her face in the front, framing the creamy skin, giving an angelic beauty, while the rest cascaded down he back to her slim waist. As she ran down the stairs a silver locket flopped from around her neck, and Christophe gave a groan of displeasure.

"Cousin Christophe, you've come!" the accented voice yelled, the rolling purr making it particularly pretty. She skipped over, latching around his middle, no taller than four feet. Awkwardly he patted her head.

"Arianne, 'ow nice et is to see you alive and well."

She shied away, hands on her hips, honey-coloured eyes narrowing. "Did you expect me dead, Christophe?"

"Et'd be alright wiz me," he replied coyly, giving the malicious girl a smile. Isabelle didn't seem to notice the arguing as she wandered off cheerfully humming to herself, as if it happened at every encounter (and did). Kyle stood on the sidelines, unsure.

"Well maybe I should just zrow myself out ze window so your vacation can be 'appy, yes?"

"I'd gladly 'elp you in zose matters."

She stalked back to him, looking up scornfully from under straight bangs. "Would you? Well, I'll just 'ave to 'elp ze population of ze world, mm?" With a wicked smile she kneed him in the groin, stepping away as he stumbled and went down, hard. Looking him over once she grabbed Kyle's arm, a skip to her step as she dragged him away from his cursing boyfriend. Catching him struggling to go back and help she merely smiled. "Leave 'im to ze maids, zere is punishment in being rude 'ere."

And that was how Kyle met the she-Devil of their existence.

---

Isabelle kindly roomed them in the same quarters, with a joyous smile and the words, "Zis way my precious little Arianne won't be tempted to kill eizer of you". Now they rested on the four-postered king sized bed of crimson, the whole room done in a red theme. Although looking like something out of a medieval movie, the room had working electronics, like the television Christophe scrolled through, trying to find the satellite American channels, while Kyo's "Je Cours" played in the background.

After being given a rather thorough tour of the house, Kyle got his escape break as Arianne went to the restroom to freshen up. It'd taken some backtracking to find his way about, but at the "blue room" he'd found his way back to the ballroom, and eventually the grand staircase. A passing maid had pointed out where Isabelle was, who kindly offered to take him up to Christophe. He'd been locked into their quarters, as to keep from killing his cousin, but of course he'd gotten out from the window and was no where to be found. When dusk set he'd come back, looking worse for the wear and explained he'd been digging to relieve stress.

"Ten-zousand fucking channels and nozing to watch," he growled, throwing the remote down onto the sheets and turning to face Kyle. "So, what do you zink?"

Nestling down into the warm blankets he ran a hand through his hair. "Well, you're aunt seems relatively nice, if a little ditsy, and France really is very scenic and pretty. I love the house and country, but damn, your cousin is insane. I'm seriously beginning to think all of you French are a little crazy."

"Non, non, et's in my family's genes, from my muzza's side anyway. And I should 'ave warned you about Ari."

Giving a sympathetic smile he asked, "How's your crotch doing?"

Christophe grimaced. "Quite well, zanks. I've still got to get ze little beetch for zat."

"Does it occur every time you visit?"

"Usually," the brunette replied, resting his cheek on his hand, watching Kyle. "I mean I'm usually more prepared, and she waits until ze day before, so et's a little different, but I suppose she's stressed as well."

"Oh, why?"

Before that could be answered the child stalked in, stopping dead at the sight of them in the same bed, very close to each other. Changed into pajamas she seemed little less intimidating than in proper clothing. Narrowing her eyes she curled her hands into fist and asked pleasantly, "Why are you two in 'ere, togezer?"

"Didn't want to get murdered in my sleep," Christophe replied absently, running a hand down Kyle's arm, watching as her eyes followed the movement. "And it'd be quite rude to send Kyle 'ere back in pieces, so 'e is wiz me."

"Zat does not explain ze reason you are 'olding 'is 'and, Christophe," Arianne spat, walking like a lean cat about to pounce into the room, directing herself in Kyle's general direction. Instinctually he edged away as she got closer, curling into the brunette's side; big mistake. Coming to a halt she hissed. "Get away from my cousin."

"Arianne, shut up," Christophe said calmly, in the same deadly tone she used. Between the two Kyle was trapped in a feud of crazy-genetics.

Throwing her hands up she turned, pacing. "Oh, I get et! You came out 'ere to fuck away from your parents, is zat et? Well I won't allow et!" Christophe unwound himself from the blankets, successfully capturing the girl in an arm lock after getting kicked in the shin, and led her from the room screaming curses. Several minutes later she was shoved forcefully onto her bed, looking up to meet her cousin's lethal stare.

"I won't 'ave you being a snot nosed possessive beetch, do you understand me?"

"And I don't want you being gay, but zat doesn't seem very solvable, mm?"

"You've known, and besides, your muzza 'ad to 'ave told you, or you wouldn't 'ave taken Kyle out for hours to analyze 'im. What did you find out?"

Sheepishly she looked up and admitted, "'e's got a nice ass."

Chuckling he shook his head, extending a hand to Arianne. She stared at it, puzzled. "Truce?"

"Truce," she replied with a nod, taking it and was pulled into a stand. As they began back to where Kyle was left her lips twisted into a coy smile. "You two are very much different, and yet it works so well. I am 'appy for you, Christophe, alzough I'm not particularly fond of ze idea."

"You sound like 'is bruzza," Christophe said with a scowl, tussling her hair. "Come on, time to apologize." And with that she explained her dastardly ways to the befuddled redhead and exited to plan out their stay.

---

The next morning they were awoken to a wet tongue and neatly clipped nails pawing at them. It took gruff French cursing to shove the playful Shepherd's dog away, and a glare in the direction of the door where Arianne stood to send the wake-up call away. They'd rolled back to sleep, until the she-Devil returned with ice packs, placing them between their shoulder blades. At the contact Kyle howled, lashing out and kicked Christophe, waking them both. The girl had merely smiled and informed them to get ready, they were going out horseback riding.

The air a brisk cold, the redhead clutched at his coat as they walked toward the back stables. His stomach churned in anxiousness, as he chewed numbly on his bottom lip. He didn't like horses, or rather, didn't know how to guide one and therefore wasn't comfortable around them. Arianne had assured him it was simple hand gestures and a coaxing manner, but they'd practice with him before going out.

Several mares and stallions huddled in their separate stalls, fighting off the winter cold. Christophe let out a surprising whoop and sprinted to a mottled grey Carmague. The horse snuffed at his hand before stomping the ground in irritation.

"That's Charliquen Esempio, 'e's razer possessive of ze horse," Arianne said, noticing Kyle's bafflement. "We call 'im Demon, zough, when Christophe isn't 'ere."

"And I am, so shut your mouth," the brunette replied, throwing a glare in their direction. Stepping away from Charliquen he rubbed at a black stallion's nose. "I zink you should take Noir, cher, 'e's pretty gentle."

"I think I'd prefer not to touch the horsy, because I'll end up insulting eponine pride and I'd get myself killed."

Christophe smiled smugly with a nod and led his grey horse from the stable, not stopping to treat him with horse-apparel, although added a bit. Kyle followed, hesitant to go near the horse, but was forced as Charliquen trotted to him and stuck his nose in the red curls. Arianne burst out of the stables with a laugh on a pale horse, he later learned to be named Arachne, and cantered off into the surrounding fields. The French boy circled the horse to grin at Kyle. "Want 'elp up?"

"But I thought I wasn't—what about a saddle?"

Christophe snorted. "Charliquen doesn't like zem, we go bareback. Want 'elp?" Receiving a nod he cupped his hands and boosted Kyle up before seating himself behind the Jew. Arms around the smaller figure he grabbed onto he lead and kicked the horse into a fast run to catch up with his cousin.

Kyle found himself clutching the lead as well, leaning back into Christophe, his stomach flip-flopping at the gallop of the horse. His eyes watered as the dry air swept over his face, blowing his hair back away from his face. He had to admit, it was exhilarating to be rushed across the beautiful landscape outside of a vehicle. Arianne seemed to be enjoying herself as well, mass of dark curls a banner in the wind. So when the horses slowed to a brusque walk he couldn't help but feel something was stripped from him.

"So what do you boys 'ave planned?" Arianne asked as Arachne lurched closer, pulling her hair into a ribbon.

"We're staying 'ere for a few more days before going to see Papa," Christophe replied, is voice vibrating down Kyle's body, making him shudder. The brunette smiled to himself, resting his chin on top of his boyfriend's head.

"You're not going to let Kyle be a tourist? What kind of mean boy are you?" the girl asked, looking appalled. "You've got to let 'im use 'is God-given right of Americanism! You want to see ze Tour Eiffel, yes?"

Embarrassed Kyle merely nodded, face red from more than just the cold. Christophe snorted. "Fine, fine, since ze flight back is in ze middle of ze night we'll go to tour Paris zat day."

"Damn right you will," his cousin growled as she slid from Arachne's back and skipped to a small stream, covered in spots by a thin veil of ice. Picking up a rock she tossed it into the swirly waters. "So when do you two except to get married?"

Kyle almost swallowed his tongue as Christophe dismounted, and lifted him down as well. He let himself be dragged toward the stream, and barely smiled as the girl was smacked in the head.

"You know ze States don't allow zat sort of sing, Ari."

"Move to Canada, or Spain. I really don't see what ze problem is wiz wearing a ring and 'aving ze surname changed." She knelt be the stream, poking a stick into it and drew circles. "Christophe Broflovski, non, zat doesn't sound pleasant. Kyle DeLorne? Now zat's got a ring to et."

"Why are we talking about this with a ten year old?" Kyle choked, getting a pebble thrown at him.

"I might be ten, but my uncle is also gay, so I 'ear a lot about et. Why do adults zink children can't handle et anyway?"

Christophe answered that question, casting a smile to his flustered lover. "Children 'ave not experienced 'love', and do not 'ave a fine grasp on zeir religion, which 'appens to be ze two main focus poitns on ze debate of 'omosexual relations, ezics and religion zat is. Zerefore children are not listened to, or spoken around, as we do not want to corrupt or confuse."

"Et's still stupid," Arianne scoffed, looking up at them, Christophe now wrapped securely around the shorter boy. Rolling her eyes she stood and returned to Arachne. "Let's get out of 'ere before you two feel ze need to 'ave sex."

The next three days passed relatively quickly, and by the time they left on the twenty-forth Kyle had become use to the excessive banter and fighting. Amazingly he'd also figured out how to navigate the house without becoming desperately lost. The night before they left a small party was thrown, in which the Jew got tanked, quicker than Arianne, and stumbled around the ballroom giggling at almost everything. He ended up passing out on the stairs, waking up with a hangover and large bruise above his eye. Out of some personal mirth the cousin rode her horse beside the car all the way to the front gate before letting out a howl, and really was deemed crazy.

The drive to Christophe's father's house in Dijon was a short one, putting them there before noon. As Kyle stepped out of the car he reveled the fact it was a normal sized house, but it soon faded as his lover carefully, almost deliberately stepped toward the front door, finger hovering over the button. Taking a breath he hit the bell and waited. A man answered, blonde hair well kept a tad bit long, dressed in a clean-cut manner. Blue eyes puzzled the two teens on the porch before breaking into a smile.

"Christophe, it's good to see you!" he said, voice remarkably British before swinging his gaze to Kyle. "What a cutie, you must be Kyle! Here, come inside, I'll get your things and take them up. Your father is in the office."

"Zank you, Mathieu," Christophe replied weakly, grabbing tightly to the redhead's hand before slipping passed the Brit and into the house. It was warm and welcoming, the smell of herbs heavy, especially from the kitchen area, decorated for Christmas the following day. He looked around at trinkets and pictures, one catching his eye, of a boy with spiky hair playing with a cat that remarkably looked like Christophe. 'Aw, he was a cute kid,' he thought before being yanked down a hall and into an office. Behind the desk sat another man, resembling the brunette teenager remarkably, although his hair was shorter cut and lighter. He looked up at their entrance, eyes widening and tearing up.

"Christophe? You actually came, come 'ere! Give your fazza a 'ug." The tension melting Christophe walked to his father and knelt down, hugging him. Kyle hid his smile behind his hand as Esther winked at him and tousled his son's hair. Scowling the brunette pulled away.

"Zat wasn't very nice."

"Introduce me to your friend, or I'll do et again."

Coyly he returned to Kyle, wrapping his arms around the blushing Jew's waist. "'e isn't my friend, Papa, 'e's my lover." The colour increased at the word 'lover'; what as he talking about, they hadn't had sex yet, or even got each other's pants off in that way!

"You're muzza didn't beetch?" Esther asked, turning away from his computer work and crossed his legs. Kyle ignored their chatter, too content by the feel of Christophe around him, his deep voice vibrating. Of course he felt dumb for ignoring them when he found Esther standing in front of him, watching curiously, amused. 'Oh yeah, like father like son.'

"I've been told you are Jewish, and I must apologize zat we celebrate Christmas, and will be 'aving a party tomorrow. Et is up to you if you wish to attend, if not I'll give you marks to treat yourself."

"No, it won't bother me at all," Kyle was with a fake smile, finally feeling the clutches of homesickness. Senior DeLorne seemed to notice and offered a warm smile before turning back to his son.

"Why don't you show 'im up to your room?"

Catching the hint Christophe gave a nod and directed the Jew upstairs to where they would be staying. He fell onto the bed, staring at his hands sadly, ignoring his concerned boyfriend until Christophe got on his knees at eye level and forced Kyle to look at him.

"What is wrong, love?"

"I've never missed Hanukkah before," he replied with a faint smile. Christophe leaned up, brushing their lips together and placed his cell in the Jew's hands.

"Zen call 'ome, cher, zere is no shame in zat. I'll be downstairs if you need me." With a look of sympathy he left, leaving Kyle to lay back and dial his home phone, wondering if he'd have to call internationally if the service was from the States. After five rings he went to hang up until a sleepy voice filled the receiver.

"Hello?"

Kyle's brows knit together, who would be sleeping at one in the afternoon? Then it hit him, South Park was at least ten hours behind them. "Sorry for waking you up, Ike."

"Kyle? Jesus Christ, what do you want? Can't you call back it like, five hours?"

"I said I'm sorry!"

"Eh. So, how's France?" the sluggish voice asked.

"Pretty, and cold," Kyle replied, and silence followed. He sighed, wanting to just listen to someone's voice, and with Ike that wasn't going to happen. "Go back to sleep, Ike."

"'kay."

Hanging up he dialed Stan's number and was greeted with an irritable grunt. When he tried to force him into alertness the dial tone filled his ear. Fine, if no one wanted to talk to him that was just perfect. Clicking the phone off he went downstairs to find the three males gathered in the living room, sipping hot tea. Plopping down beside Christophe he took a glass and handed the phone back with a mutter "thanks".

"So you two are like newly weds I hear," Mathieu said with a grin behind his cup, one hand on Mr. DeLorne's knee. "Simply irresistible!"

Leaning over on Christophe shoulder he whispered behind his cup, "We're not going to turn out like them, are we?"

Christophe did the same, but it seemed more natural. "Your'e ze girl in ze relationship, et's your call."

Mathieu pouted, turning to Esther. "I think Christophe is embarrassed by me!"

"As would I be," the Frenchman muttered, getting hit in the shoulder.

"You don't get your 'special' Christmas gift now!"

Christophe rolled his eyes as if it happened all the time, Kyle just stared with his mouth open. Catching his look Esther said, "Not in front of ze children, Mathieu."

The blonde snorted, waving it away as if it was ridiculous. "Esther, don't be such a silly, they're almost in college! I'm sure they know what sex is, and probably have engaged in it before."

Kyle coughed into his cup as tea spewed from his nose, making his eyes tear up; hot liquids are not supposed to be in the nasal cavities. The two men watched in amusement as Christophe grabbed several tissues and gave them to the Jew to squelch the continuous stream of tea as he was escorted tot eh bathroom to clean up. By the time they returned Kyle's face was bright red in embarrassment and he declined any more drinks. Mathieu though, picked up where he left off.

"Does that mean you two haven't made love?"

"I'm warning you, Mathieu, I do not want to know about my son's love life."

The blonde scoffed, eyeing his lover. "Liar, every parent wants to know!"

"One on one, yes, but speaking so opening like et is a study group? Non mon amor, I cannot let you do zat."

"Oh I don't see what's the big deal! They'll eventually have to accept their sexuality if they're going to be comfortable with it," Mathieu argued, receiving a long sigh from Esther. The two teens sat back, watching, Christophe staring hard at the Brit, Kyle noticing how lovely the carpet complimented the hardwood flooring.

"And zey will, togezer, alone."

To stop any further complaints Christophe said, "Fucking Christ, we 'aven't 'ad sex, alright? Now let's stop zis silliness."

"And why not?" Mathieu demanded, as if it was a sin to be a virgin at eighteen. With an angry breath Christophe stood and clapped his hands together, smoothing out the air.

"I'm out, coming cher?"

Kyle repeated the motion and followed the brunette out the front door, stopping long enough to throw on his jacket. Neither of the men followed, knowing Christophe would probably pull and gun and shoot at them until they were dead or retreated. Kyle had to jog to keep up with Christophe's pace, and was glad when two blocks from the house he slowed, allowing the Jew to return to walking. Another block in silence and Christophe stopped completely, pulling himself up onto terrace wall, helping Kyle up as well.

"Sorry, I should 'ave warned you about flamboyant Mathieu. 'e doesn't see anyzing wrong wiz sex-speak, I 'ope 'e didn't upset you any."

"Nah, he's was actually pretty cool when he wasn't talking about, well, us," Kyle admitted with a smile, running a hand through his hand, fingers tangling themselves in the black streaks framing his face. "Got me thinking is all."

"About?"

"Well we have been together for nearly three months and we haven't really done anything," he replied, flushing dangerously. Christophe just gave him a look and pulled up the edge of the Jew's bright blue sweater, pointing indignantly at a hickey placed above the hip.

"Zat is nozing?"

"I mean lower than belt level."

Smoothing the shirt back into place Christophe gave him a look. "Do you want to?"

"I, I don't know," Kyle confessed, leaning forward on his elbows. "I mean having sex with a chick is pretty scary, and you're conditioned to know exactly what to do since forth grade. As a dude you're completely in control of the situation, unless you're a real pussy or kinky son of a bitch, but with another dude it's different, and you aren't really taught to do it. Plus, I don't think my ass would really forgive me."

Christophe scratched at his head, chuckling at the last addition to that comment. "Well you know my fazza 'as been, well, doing et for at least twenty years, we could talk to 'im about et."

Kyle looked at him as if he was completely stupid. "Talk to a man I barely know about being boned by his son? Oh, yeah, that'd go over very well."

Grinning he decked Kyle in the head. "Per'aps, but 'e would try to 'elp."

"I think he was right when he said we had to figure it our for ourselves, or it wouldn't really be commitment, you know?"

"Mm, yeah."

Kyle looked up at him, brow cocked, head tilted. "You mean you're completely clueless, even though you've had girlfriends?"

'Why don't you just ask if I'm a virgin?' Christophe thought to himself, smiling; Kyle was too nice for his own good. "No, not completely. I don't zink anyone over ze ripe age of nine is 'completely clueless', just inexperienced. In zat case, zen yes."

"But dude, girlfriends!"

"And I told you from ze start, I'm gay. Why would I fuck a chick? And I 'aven't dated anozer guy, so—"

"I get it, I get it," Kyle said, waving his hands to stop that thought from going somewhere else.

"Same to you, I presume?"

He fell into thought at such a simple question. He'd unknowingly been voted as Bebe's boyfriend, crushed on Rebecca Cotswold , and loved the biggest bitch of South Park high (and in turn the most popular). He'd also formed a crush on his best friend, although looking back on it now it was more of a phase and questioning than anything, because he had been noticing how some of the boys he'd gone to school with blossomed into handsome young men. And then Christophe came along, stripping any chick-loving hormones from him. The answer was a slap in the face, but also a huge relief. Turning to Christophe he grinned.

"Yeah, yeah I'm gay."

"Splendid, want to go to ze pastry shoppe on zat stunning realization?"

Despite being a mild diabetic, he linked his arm with Christophe, deserving a treat. "Let's go, lover, they'd better have something with cherries or I'm just going to die."

---

Kyle woke up later than he'd planned on Christmas morning, grumbling as he sat up and the cold wrapped around him. Not gaining any French curses he glanced to his left to find the bed empty, and rather neat. How'd he miss someone getting out of bed and straightening it? Shaking it off he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked out the window to be greeted with sunlight and snow coated rooftops. Why didn't it snow in France at a reasonable hour when people could watch? A tap on the door sent those thoughts scattering.

"Kyle honey, are you awake?"

"Yeah."

Mathieu popped his head in, smiling in motherly affection. It was actually rather creepy, but what did you expect? "Christophe went off, but promised he'd be back in the afternoon. I'm making breakfast, is there anything you'd want to request?"

It was France, there had to be French cuisine, even if an Englishman was making it. "Crêpes?"

Mathieu seemed to startle at that, shocked that an American boy would ask for something French. "Okay, any sides? Eggs, toast, sausage?"

He made a disgusted noise at the mention of sausage. "Everything but the ladder is fine, I can't eat anything remotely pork."

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry for mentioning it! I forgot about the kosher rule," he said, hands on his hips like he was going to scold himself. Yep, Kyle had better not turn out like Mathieu, or he'd shoot himself. "Well I'll go start on that. If you'd like you can shower, you know where the bathroom is."

Without replying Kyle crawled out of bed and grabbed a change of cloths, his hairdryer, and personal items before trudging out to the bathroom. By then he'd gotten use to the shower and bathtub being in one room and the toilet in another. At first he thought the custom was a little weird, but after he thought about it, it made perfect sense. If someone really had to pee and another person was in the shower, they didn't have to wait.

Jumping in he sighed as the hot steam swirled around him and the hot water drenched his curls. He still had to get something to go along with his gift to Christophe for Christmas; even if he didn't celebrate he felt the need. Before leaving he'd given all of his other friend's their gifts, leaving one still unopened. However he had no idea what to get. Christophe was a gun-freak, had some obsessive behaviour with his shovel, loved Donnie Darko to no end, had a weird eighties music taste, but overall nothing jumped out to him. Sighing he shut the water off and dried himself before getting dressed; orange turtle neck with black bands on the arms, jeans, frog socks, studded belt, and usual Star of David necklace. After primping his hair, and finding it quite unresponsive to styling gels and mouse, he threw on a black and green knit toboggan Stan had gotten him for "Hanukkah" with another Star stitched in the front.

With a sigh he tramped down the stairs, nose leading him to the kitchen where food was set in the place deemed "his", along with a glass of tea. What was it with Europeans and tea? Esther sat at his spot, reading a paper in French, of course.

"Morning Kyle," he said absently, setting the paper down as Mathieu set a plate in front of him.

"Morning Mr. DeLorne," he said as he began to eat. No one seemed bothered by the lack of conversation, except Mathieu, but they pleasantly ignored his ranting, until they finished their meal. Esther looked at him with his head cocked, smacking the Brit in the stomach.

"So, Kyle, is zere anyzing you need to get done today?"

"Actually, I do need to go out and finish shopping for Christophe," he admitted, feeling horrible that he would also need a French-speaking escort.

"Oh, can I go?" Mathieu pleaded before anyone could say a thing. "You need someone to communicate for you, yes? Let me go, let me!"

Kyle looked over to Mr. DeLorne in question. The Frenchman gave him an amused look. "Don't ask me if you can take 'im out, if you zink you can deal wiz 'im, 'ave at et. If you'd prefer me to take you, zen zat is fine as well."

Not wanting to insult Mathieu, or bother Esther he just smiled. "I'd be glad to go with Mathieu."

"Oh goody! I'll finish cleaning up and you can, well I don't know, whatever you teenagers do. I shouldn't be long."

Kyle gave a nod as the blonde took his plate and began to clean it. He stayed put though, not knowing what else to do. Esther gave him a look of pity as Mathieu finished up and stole him away. In the car they drove around for a while, just chatting before the Brit asked, "Now what are you getting Christophe?"

"No idea."

Giving him a skeptical look he shrugged, knowing how hard it was to buy for the DeLorne boys. Eyes lighting up he asked, "Has he ever said you act like a certain animal?"

Hesitating to such an odd question he gave a nod. "A rabbit."

"Alright, you've got to trust me on this; I have the perfect idea."

---

As Christophe drove them out to only the Gods' know where, grey clouds building above, Kyle had to admit Mathieu's idea was brilliant. Upon returning home Christophe had grabbed a blanket and Kyle before they were off. Questioned of the strange behaviour he merely stated it'd be cruel enjoying a Christmas party when Kyle didn't celebrate, and he didn't want to be surrounded by a bunch of drunk, gay guys.

As the city lights disappeared behind them Kyle cocked his head in inquiry. "'tophe, where are we going?"

"Somewhere away from annoying Christmas sheet," he replied, turning the rental onto an old dirt road, surrounded by cotton fields covered in a light bed of snow. The trees lining the road were bare, minus the great pines, green poking out from under the snow. The clouds, still growing, seemed wicked, reflecting the setting sun and melting to crimson. Christophe stopped the car, motioning for Kyle to follow him out. Pulling his coat tighter he stepped onto the gravel, barely able to close the door before Christophe dragged him off in the direction of running water.

"Where are you taking me?" Kyle asked a little irritably, a low hanging branch nearly stealing his toboggan.

"Somewhere," was the reply, being lead carefully across steppingstones to a creek, half a moon reflecting. Fireflies danced in the air, giving everything a mystical feel that Kyle couldn't help but notice. And finally he stopped, pointing a black, gloved finger to a small grove, still fresh and blossoming. Kyle stared in awe.

"Zat is where I buried my first cat, she died on Christmas day, which is why it grows still in ze dead of winter," he explained, Kyle's hand tightening its grip.

"I'm sorry, Christophe," he said softly.

Snorting the brunette wrapped an arm around Kyle. "I'm fucking wiz you, I 'ave no idea why it's still green."

Narrowing his eyes the Jew pushed Christophe away in mock hate, the French boy slipping on the frozen ground, falling backwards. Instinctually a hand went out to grab the thing closest to right himself, being Kyle. Of course, like anyone attempting such a thing should know, Kyle was pulled down on top of him as thunder rolled across the heavens, and the clouds split, pouring rain on top of them.

Even as the redhead clambered off of the groaning Christophe, who had taken all of Kyle's weight on his stomach, he couldn't help but find the icy rain a tab bit sexy. It'd been something he had learned from every country music video he had ever seen, the wetter, the more romantic. As Christophe pulled himself up, catching his breath and shoving his soaking hair from his eyes, he seemed to notice it as well. Grabbing Kyle by the shoulders he licked his lips, indeed tasting cherry lip balm, before kissing him full. The Jew wrapped his arms around the brunette's neck as sheets of water pounded down onto them. Lightning streak across the sky, terrifyingly close as Christophe yanked the soaking toboggan from red curls.

"Although I love where this is going, I don't want to get electrocuted," Kyle said, drawing back and offering a hand to Christophe, pulling him up as well.

"Agreed."

They backtracked their way to the car at an all out run, laughing as blue light forked across the dark sky, lighting everything up remarkably. Climbing into the backseat of the car Kyle giggled, water streaming down his face.

"Oh that was just great," he said grinning. "I mean the timing, it was perfect!"

Christophe gave a nod, just as amused. "Ironic, yes? But now we can open gifts."

"I want to go first," the redhead said, pulling off his soaked coat and hung it over the front seat as if it'd help. Leaning down to the floorboard he grabbed Mathieu's idea and handed it over, wrapped in now wet green paper. Doing the same with his jacket Christophe took the offered gift, eyeing it as it squished in his hands. Carefully peeling the paper off he laughed as a stuffed rabbit fell into his wet hands, dressed as Kyle, two black spots dyed where the temples would be.

"Clever," Christophe said, tempted to hug it, but not wanting to get it wet. Before he could hand his gift over a small box fell out of the mass of rabbit. Setting the bunny up front where it wouldn't get wet he opened it as well, taking out an ID bracelet with "Mole" engraved in a flourish of curls on the front and "28:6:42:12" on the back. At spotting the numbers he laughed, leaning over and kissed Kyle in gratitude.

"You remembered ze world ending number," he said, having the Jew clip the bracelet onto him.

"Yeah, you've had me see Donnie Darko more times than I can remember."

Christophe grinned as he handed over a ribbon-wrapped box to Kyle. He opened it easily, squealing as he lifted out a green ski-cap that looked exactly like his old one, down to the chocolate stain on the left ear flap. Of course he knew better.

"Et's not your old one, of course, but I tried my best." A small jewelry shaped box was handed over this time. Kyle opened the lid, biting his lip as he pulled out a ring engraved "Mon Couer est a Vous" on the outer band, the inside with their names overlapped with linked hearts. He slipped it on, noticing that Christophe wore the match.

"Thank you so much," he said with a smile, finally noticing his clothes were still very wet and cold. "Damn rain, I'm freezing."

Christophe nodded, shivering as well. "Mm, yeah."

With a growl Kyle pulled off his sweater and threw it over the seat tot eh front, followed a second later by his pants and shoes. Leaning down he grabbed the blanket, still amazingly dry as the brunette followed suit and stripped down to his boxers. For the first time ever Kyle was glad he was small as they maneuvered to lay on the back seat, entwined. How did people ever do it in such a small space? Shrugging it off Kyle reached his newly ringed hand out, examining it.

"You know, I really, really love you," he finally said, ignoring the brunette's dripping hair on his shoulder.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sitting up on an elbow to look down at the Jew he smiled, tucking a stray curl away in the mess of wetness. "Well, I love you too, more so nearly naked in ze back of a rental."

Green eyes sparkling mischievously in the flashing dark he asked, "What're you thinking, 'tophe?"

"You know exactly what I'm zinking," was the reply as he leaned down and captured Kyle in a mind blowing kiss. He wasn't sure what was exactly mind blowing about it, perhaps the lack of oxygen, or the driven passion, but it was indeed great. Breaking the kiss Christophe just smiled lazily at Kyle expression before leaning down farther, licking along his neck. The redhead's breath escaped in a hiss as he tilted away from the French boy, one hand wrapped in the brunette tangles, the other tracing circles.

"You know I hate people touching my neck," he managed to say as his lover kissed down his throat.

"Yes, I know, but I absolutely love your reaction."

Kyle felt himself blush at that as Christophe moved over his collarbone, nibbling now. His hands played down the Jew's stomach, raising the hairs across his body at the gentle brushing. Pushing Christophe up he looked at him seriously as the blanket fell around them to create a sort of cave of warmth. His heart was beating at hummingbird rate, face remaining a vivid pink.

"Do you love me enough to hurt me if I asked?" Kyle asked finally, noticing Christophe's chocolate eyes waver in indecision. Realizing why the question was asked he gave a nod. "Then Christophe, hurt me."

---

Everything changed after that night. They were both a lot more open to each other, and everyone else for that matter. They were even more inseparable than Stan and Wendy, without the hour breakups that made that couple so cute. No one dared doubt they were together, nor did their parents even try to reject it; how could you possibly tear between two people that had shared something so tender? Of course no one knew what they had did on Christmas night except them, though Kenny had a sneaking suspicion, along with Mr. DeLorne and Mathieu.

The day after was spent sleeping off exhaustion from Christmas night and returning to warmth. The twenty-seventh they took deliberate caution to avoid each other, raising the suspicion among the adults, and making them both miserable. By the end of that day they realized it was stupid to pussyfoot around what had been done, and actually embraced it warmly. The rest of their vacation they hung around the house, went out to the opera house, and gorged themselves in French cuisine and wine. Kyle did get his day of fun in Paris, much to his delight, and then they were back home and in school for another five months.

The discussion of the last half of the year was prom, who was going with who, who was going in what limo, who was going to make court. Their group was pretty obvious to everyone; Kyle would go with Christophe, Stan with Wendy, Cartman with Bebe, and Kenny with Red. No one could figure out why Bebe dumped Butters for Eric, nor did they understand why Kenny had already chosen a date so early in the year, but they didn't bother to argue.

AP classes finally began to take a toll on everyone's hangout time as teachers piled on assignments, economics being the killer. No one ever passed the test in that class, as the teacher didn't teach what was on the test, and only occasionally could Craig get a copy of the answers to pass out to everyone. Even though Mr. Brady was a slave driver in AP bio, as long as you got good test scores and did in class work, homework was no big deal. Ms. Arzillo's class remained the easiest, as she incorporated her drama skills into the literature, not even bothering to give homework except the term projects.

Spring break was a relief, most of the seniors having planned a trip to the Californian coast to hit up the surf, though Stan, Kyle, and Cartman "mysterious caught the flu" and had to stay behind. It was also an excuse to keep Christophe away as they practiced their number for the spring talent show (Kenny included). It was something they'd been practicing for months, but were tightly squeezing into one week to get perfect and change a few details. It was a running bet from the beginning of the year between them and Craig's squad, who would win the talent show, now up to over five hundred bucks. They were going to win, as for told by Eric's dreams, because although "stupid Jew's have no rhythm, they have kick ass voices". It was a week after spring break they finally got to prove this fact.

---

The night of the talent show was a Thursday, giving the winners a day to gloat in public, something they all knew Mrs. Titi had planned, being fully aware of the bet. Backstage they were dressed as a punk band might be, ironically different from the song they'd be covering. Kyle pulled nervously on his hair, the streaks darker then ever, having been newly dyed the day before. Stan rested an arm on his shoulder, making sure not to touch the hair that had gone through nearly a bottle of mouse to keep it from frizzing. He smiled, grabbing Kyle's hand and stopping it from ruining the hard work put into it.

"Dude, chill out, you're gonna end up projectile-vomiting on the crowd if you keep this up."

Kyle grinned at the irony of that. "I'm nervous, dude, what if we suck? What if we're in five hundred?"

"That's the chance you take when you bet against someone, but you know fatass has a knack for knowing money," Stan said, kneeling down in front of him. "I think we actually have a chance."

"We'd better 'have a chance' or I'm screwed," Kenny said, prancing over in low cut, tight jeans that 'accentuated his ass', or so he claimed. "I really need the money."

"We have a chance, retards, or I wouldn't have agreed to do this," Eric said plainly as he walked over, seventies hair feathered outward.

"You may have a chance against Jimmy's jokes, but not us you buttpipes," Craig said with a laugh, Token, Tweek, and Terrence laughing along as if on cue.

"Oh please, come off of it, we've got Kyle singing," Stan said defensively.

"Yeah well we've got Token and he one the championships in forth grade, remember assrammers?"

"Oh God, stop fighting! It's just, it's too much!" Tweek said, twitching as he grabbed Craig's arm. "Keep it up and I'm out."

Everyone had come to accept they to be best friends after beating the crap out of each other in Shop class in third grade, and perhaps even a little more. It wasn't dedicated love worthy of promise-rings, but it was unnaturally close.

"Fine, Tweek, we'll just kill 'em on stage anyway," Craig said with a sigh. "Come on guys, let's get ready."

"God, Tweek and Craig are soo gay you guys," Eric said as the other group walked away, plopping down on the floor. None of them answered, as the announcements started and the first performers were called up. Three acts laters Craig's group set up their equipment and began a cover of "Helena" by My Chemical Romance. Cartman burst into laughter, pointing.

"Ha ha ha ha ha haah! They had to get a black guy to play a pasty pale Goth, ha ha ha ha ha haah!"

"Don't be such a racist bastard, fatass," Kyle hissed, hitting Eric in the stomach.

"He actually has a point, Kyle, it does seem kind of stupid. Hell, Craig would've made a better Gerald."

"But he'd got no singing talent, duh," Kenny said rolling his eyes as if it was obvious. "And even if he did, he wouldn't sing. He's known to be the top asshole, and assholes don't sing sweetly." It was amazing, really, how Craig-the-pussy had become Craig-don't-fuck-with-me-buttpipe.

After much gloating by the My Chem group, and three more acts, they were called up as the challenge group. The drapes dropped as they set their things up, Cartman on drums, Stan on acoustic guitar, Kenny on electric, Wendy and Red backing up with violin. Kyle grabbed the mic, nervously wringing it as he chewed his lower lip.

"You'll do great, dude," Stan said, checking the tuning on his guitar.

"You better do great, we've got five hundred riding on your voice, Jaw-boy!" Cartman growled, twirling the sticks between his fingers expertly. If the phonics monkey had taught him anything, it was playing drums. Kyle rolled his eyes, but didn't reply as butterflies erupted in his stomach.

"Now we'll be introducing our last act, the challengers to Craig's group featuring Kyle, Kenny, Stan, Cartman, with Red and Wendy backing them up, covering a song by Rascal Flatts called 'Some Say'. Hit it, boys!" Ms. Titi said and they began to play, the curtains drawing back and the lights dimmed to rest on Kyle. As the intro played he walked to the edge of the stage, taking a breath as he spotted Christophe in the front of the crowd, giving him a look.

"There's that staaar, the one they said we'd never reach. Just close your eyes, there's the missing moon, there's the Milky-Way, Heaven's straight ahead, we'll be there today," he switched the mic to his left hand, adding an arch gesture as the lights flashed several different colours. "Rainbows right and left, sunshine everywhere, if it couldn't be baby, how did we get here?"

The band members voices mingled with Kyle's, echoing. "(Some say) Some say, we'll never get it off the ground. (Some say) Some say, we'll never make it out of town. (Someday) That someday, we'll end up a world apaaaart!" Kyle stopped pacing, enjoying himself as he directed every world to Christophe. "(Some say) And some say, we're a bunch of crazy kids. (Some day) And some say, that's exactly what they did. And I say you got to go with your heeeeaaart, and baby look where we are."

As the transverse played he walked casually across the stage to the front and sat, kicking his legs on the edge. "There's that hoooome, the one they said we'd never share," shaking his head he pushed back his hair with a smile, eyes wandering over the crowd and spotting Ike a seat back from Christophe. "And just, clooooose your eyes." He got back on stage, walking slowly toward Eric, until the last line he turned and looked over his shoulder at the crowd. "There's the picket fence, there's our mailbox. Puppy on the porch and roses up the walk, shinny minivan, kids in every seat, someday we'll look back and say it wasn't just a dreeeeaaam!"

He walked to Stan as the chorus played again, seeming interest with the fine movements of his fingers across the strings. "(Some say) Some say, we'll never get it off the ground. (Some say) Some say, we'll never make it out of town. (Some day) That someday, we'll end up a world apaaaart! (Some say) And some say, we're a couple of crazy kids. (Some say) And some say, that's exactly what they did. And I say, you've got to go with your heeeeaaart, and baby look where we are."

As instruments cut in Kyle trotted to the edge of the stage, pointing to Christophe and motioning him up. He shook his head violently, but with a shove from Ike stumbled and was drug up to stand awkwardly in front of the watching crowd.

"(Some say) Some say, we'll never get it off the ground. (Some say) Some say, we'll never make it out of town. (Some day) That someday, we'll end up a world apaaaart! (Some say) And some say, we're a couple of crazy kids," he pointed to himself before jacking a thumb in Christophe's direction, grinning at his distraught look. "(Some say) And some say, that's exactly what they did. And I say, you've got to go with your heeeeaaart," he wrapped an arm around the brunette's waist before motioning with his mic at the crowd. "And baby look where we are."

They faded off, going back and forth between the band saying "Some say" and Kyle, adding a few "ooohs" in for kicks and a "some day". The light dimmed as the volume did until it was completely black, before switching on and signifying the end. Cheers erupted, their family members giving them a standing applause. As Kyle beamed at the crowd Christope leaned over muttering:

"I'll kill you for zis."

"I love you too."

Ms. Titi urged them backstage, Christophe being excused to return to the crowd as 'voting' was done. There Craig waited, smugly scuffing his boots on the ground. As he spotted Kyle he just laughed.

"So you did a gay-ass country song for your gay-ass lover, huh?"

"Damn right," Kyle said cheerfully, sliding down onto the floor and gratefully accepting a towel from Wendy to wipe the sweat away.

"Well you did a Goth song with a black singer, Craig, that's pretty retarded too. When have you ever seen a black Goth?" Cartman replied, pointing his drum sticks at Craig in a scolding manner.

"Wait, you guys have ripped on me for almost everything, now because I'm black? You guys are dicks," Token said, eyes narrowing, crossing his arms.

"God, don't be such a gaping vagina about it, it's true. In the history of forever there has never been a black Goth."

As they bantered back and forth, Kyle sighed, relieved it was over. Stan tousled his hair, not needing to take caution with it. "Dude, you were great!"

"Yeah Kyle, it was a really sweet choice," Red said with an offered smile.

"At first, I'll admit, I thought it was a stupid choice but damn! I was wrong, you portrayed it perfectly," Wendy added.

Returning from running off Craig's gang Cartman looked down at the redhead. "It was still pretty gay, but Jew-boy has one helluva voice, so it worked."

Stan's eyes widened in shock. "Was that Cartman praising Kyle? I don't believe it. Pinch me."

"Gladly," Eric said grinning, pinching him hard enough to leave a nasty bruise. As Stan was about to get revenge Ms. Titi called every contestant back onto the stage.

"Everyone gave it their best to create one awesome talent show," she began, smiling like always. "But I'm proud to announce the winners of the talent show, and a running bet between the boys is Kyle, Kenny, Stan, Cartman, Red, and Wendy!"

They all let out their joy in their own signature way, the girls squealing, Stan and Kyle high fiving each other, Kenny air humping before latching onto Cartman, who was laughing at an enraged Craig. The principle presented the readhead with a bouquet of roses, which he stared at oddly before handing it off tot eh girls to split. Surfing the crowd he spotted Christophe in the back shadows near the door, watching him. He raised two fingers before pointing outside and leaving the building. Kyle did as he was told, giving it two minutes to talk amongst his peers and congratulated before slipping away, not out of Stan's notice.

"Dude, where are you going, we're going out to discuss ways on spending the money!"

"I'll have to catch up on your tomorrow, sorry dudes," he said apologetically, being waved off as he went through the door he'd seen Christophe disappear from. Out in the wall way he looked around, puzzled as he found no trace of the French boy.

"I 'ad no idea you could sing so well," the accented sounded, startling Kyle enough to flinch, whipping around to face Christophe, who leaned against the far wall. With a sigh he stalked to him, receiving a broad smile. "I mean when you sing to ze radio you're good, but not like zat."

"I'm never performing either, 'tophe," he returned as if it was obvious. A hand lifted his chin before he was kissed deeply, leaving his mind spinning.

"Come wiz me, I can guarantee whatever you buy wiz ze 'prize' money won't be nearly as much fun as I 'ave planned."

And of course it wasn't, because nothing beats Karaoke.

---

French/English Glossary

Cher—Dear

Non—No

Mon Dieu—My god

Cherí—Sweetheart

Bonjour Christophe, ça va—Hello Christophe, how are you?

Je vais bien. Et vous?—I'm fine, and you?

Trés, trés bien—Very very good

Mon souer—My sister

Tour Eiffel—Eiffel Tower

Non mon amor—No my love

Mon Couer est a Vous—My heart is yours