Disclaimer: In honor of Butters' birthday (which, thank you BratChild2), is today, I wrote this. Happy birthday, Butters! We love you! (He's my favorite character now).

South Park is not mine nor ever will be.

Chapter Four: Butterflies

Butters balanced three books on his knee and cautiously propped open his locker to extract still more. The whole pile teetered precariously and the blond haired boy with it. The tomes weighed too much, but he obstinately refused to drop them. Pretending he had more homework than in actuality ensured his parents left him alone until he "finished". It also delved him into study so he forgot the kids playing outside his window and his terrible loneliness.

Straining for the history book in the depths of his blue locker, his knee slipped and he slammed hard against the bottom locker. Books clattered to the floor and he swore mildly (at least, his version of vulgarity). Sighing heavily, he knelt to retrieve them and sprang up, almost banging his head on the open door. A warm hand pressed on the back of his head and an arm encircled him.

"We don't have that much homework, you know," Kenny murmured, dragging befuddled Butters reluctantly away from his piles. The heat steamed off his cheeks, but he found himself strangely entranced by his embrace. His right hand buried in his hair and the other massaged circles on his back. Butters heard his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears and wondered if it was so loud, the other boy could hear as well.

"I-I wanted ta get ahead, you know," he replied vaguely, concentrating giddily on his hands. Half forgotten whispers that Kenny was a player and pervert surfaced again, but they were weak and ineffective. Even if he was everything they said, he'd never been treated so tenderly by another person. His breath came in short rasps.

"Are you sure it isn't because Kyle and Stan play touch football outside your house?" he replied, smirking, and one of his hands disappeared under Butters' shirt. Butterflies reverberated in his stomach and his mouth suddenly felt dry. Things were going uncomfortably too far. He pushed away and he cocked an eyebrow. The warm arms were gone and coldness replaced them.

"I-I don't wanna…I mean…if you w-wanna…" His courage failed him and he silently berated himself. Kenny was the first person in a good while to show him any sort of physical affection. What if he never touched him again because he thought he didn't like it? What if he was just playing with his head like Cartman did? What if…

"I'm going too fast?" he smirked, stroking his cheek. Heat lingered and his smirk broadened. Butters was too cute when he was indecisive and terrified of scaring someone off. Still, he had a point, regardless of his verbalization. Notorious hormones started his actions, but common sense would cease them. He didn't want to scare the poor boy off.

"Nuh-uh!" the other protested and winced when his fingers traced a bruise extending from his eye to his cheek. Fury narrowed his eyes to slits and he muttered a curse. Unconsciously, Butters cringed, innately believing the fury directed at him. His father often wore the same look.

"If they ever do this," Kenny growled, unable to mask his trembling fingers and blazing eyes, "run away. You shouldn't have to put up with their shit."

Butters flushed and dropped his gaze. An ant crawled across the cold linoleum floor and bypassed his sneakers. He followed its progress for a half minute and frowned, somewhat jealous. Ants didn't have to worry about anything except feet. Sure, everything was huge compared to them, but he knew that feeling. It vanished into a crack and disappeared, a feat he envied greatly. He'd always wondered what it was like to become one with a building and escape civilization.

Raising his gaze eyelevel with the beginning of the wall, Butters spoke to it instead of Kenny. Its white uniformity reminded him of the starkness of his room. Recently, his parents had decided posters were distracting and trashed them. He'd decided then that it was probably a good idea, but rolling the idea over in his head, he wondered if other kids had to put up with all this. Was everything they owned subject to scrutiny? Sure, his parents were just doing their job; he sometimes wished they'd do it a little less.

"But where am I supposed to go?" he protested and focused on a brownish stain halfway up. Idly, he mused whether it was mud, pudding, excrement, or leftover paint. Walls told a story if you were forlorn enough to decipher them. Since he spent a vast majority in solitude, he'd already ascribed histories to his walls and spoke of them endlessly to the only people who would listen- his parents. They told him he was being stupid and immediately shot him down.

"My house," he said and gently lifted his chin up with his index and middle finger. Ruefully, he reflected he'd love to flash one of those at his parents. Butters shuffled his feet and attempted to drop his gaze, but Kenny wouldn't let him. Annoyance flickered in his cerulean eyes now- was he upset at the thought of going to such a dump? Cartman often ripped on him thanks to his income level (the pot calling the kettle black, he reflected sourly). Was Butters too embarrassed to admit similar prejudice?

"I don't wanna burden you…" he murmured, gaze downcast. "I'm always bein' told that I'm botherin' people an'…"

To his surprise, Kenny burst out laughing. In the empty hallways, devoid of students thanks to the late hour, it echoed and Butters flinched. Until Kenny relaxed, grinning, the noise was like a slap in the face. Fervidly, his eyes darted back and forth as though seeking an escape. His traitorous feet rooted him to the spot.

"My parents won't even notice you're there!" he informed him gleefully and wrapped his arms around his waist possessively. Butters, nonplussed, stared blankly back. Eventually, though, the grin proved infectious and he grinned back, not quite certain what he commemorated. His hand returned to run through his hair and he tensed, then relaxed. Even if he wanted to be more than friends, at least he was someone. The ache in his chest diminished somewhat. He was wanted.

"Are-are you sure?" he replied, but Kenny didn't answer him aloud. Instead, he pressed his lips against his briefly and then ran his tongue along them. Butters jumped, startled.

"Positive." Beaming at him, he waved and skipped down the stairs; thankfully, no more detention until next week. It wasn't his fault- he just had an uncanny knack of getting caught. Still, his detention meant alone time and made him exuberant. He just hoped he had the courage to sneak out of his house and visit.

Butters, meanwhile, stared blankly ahead and pressed his fingers to his lips. Every inch of his body hummed and his lips buzzed pleasantly. Giddiness overtook him and he whooped. Fortunately, no one other than Kenny was in earshot. He had a place to go…someone who wanted him…adrenaline rushed through his veins. Though he wouldn't go so far as to say he was loved, he was desired.

"Yes!"

…

Kyle glared at Cartman and tuned out his stupid, pointless lecture. They sat in his bedroom, Cartman on the bed and Kyle about a foot away. Every time a phone rang, the Jewish boy started, silently praying it was Stan. He was wrong every time.

What would have happened if he blurted it out? His stomach clenched and he reminded himself steely that the consequences would be horrible. Stan would confront Cartman and Cartman would blurt to the world that he secretly harbored a crush on him. Kyle sighed, trying to work out a safe way to reveal his ploy. He fell deep in thought, his brow creased.

Cautiously, swallowing hard, Cartman edged closer and covered his hand with his own. Sensing no resistance, he edged closer still and closed the gap between them. Wetting his lips, he brushed them against his cheek. Kyle jumped to his feet, but, since one leg had been trapped, he fell over. Pins and needles rushed through and he gritted his teeth.

"What the hell is your problem?" Kyle snapped and rubbed his right leg. "It wasn't enough you had to pull that crap in school?"

"Well, maybe if you hadn't rushed to the bathroom to make out with your boyfriend, I wouldn't have to practice!" he retorted, but Kyle blinked. Behind the façade, he swore he saw hurt. He hadn't done this in front of anyone and he wasn't doing it to prove anything. He was coming onto him because he liked it. Kyle thought he might be sick again.

"You don't practice kissing people, fat ass!" he hissed and the phone rang. The two glanced at each other before making a mad dash for the receiver. There was a quick but furious fight culminating with Kyle's elbow in his stomach and a slap upside the head. Wounded, Cartman reluctantly acquiesced though he continued to gripe.

"Hello?" he murmured and cradled the cordless phone. Relief flooded him and he darted to the bathroom. Cartman banged angrily, but it was locked. Finally, a reprieve.

"Kyle?" he replied.

"Stan!" Kyle grinned despite himself. "Why are you calling here?"

"Why are you over Cartman's house?" Stan retorted and the happiness faded, replaced by a leaden feeling. He felt like a punctured balloon. Morose, he glared at the door and kicked it contemptuously. Maybe he should have let Cartman answer after all.

"You aren't allowed to talk to him! You know what'll happen if you tell your boyfriend!" Cartman growled and his beefy shoulder hammered the door. Kyle blinked and realized due to his girth, he might be able to force it open. It was too dangerous to say anything over the phone, not with him here, and the secret burned inside. The longer he kept this up, the greater the chance Cartman would come onto it. He didn't think he could stomach this.

"You know Stark's Pond?" he whispered urgently, well below the sounds of his pounding fist. Stan craned to hear, but he distinguished the words.

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course I know-"

"Meet me there in fifteen minutes."

Swallowing hard, praying the rotund boy had been preoccupied murdering the door, Kyle hung up.

…

I'd like to thank Anime Otie, Aseret Kitsune, Lilchicky2004, totalmisanthrope, and takeflight for reviewing. If you're reading and not reviewing, shame on you! Make a poor college girl happy!

Until we meet again…(and happy birthday, Butters).