The early morning light slowly bleeds through the blinds, causing Kenny to stir from his sleep. Four years in Denver, and his bedroom is still relatively bare, a bed, dresser, desk, nightstands and not much else. His head is pounding from the night before, and the pain behind his eyes feels sharper than an ice pick. He turns slightly, and lets his arm leave the warmth of the blankets to fumble around on the nightstand for the mega bottle of Ibuprofen, purchased specifically for hangovers just like these.
Nothing. He bumps into the lamp, and manages to spill last nights beer all over the dingy carpet. It'll stain, but he's in too much pain to care right now; that's future Kenny's problem. Current Kenny's problem is locating the bottle of painkillers.
His other problem is not waking his sleeping house guest. Truthfully, he doesn't remember a damn thing about the night before, but the mess of dark hair, broad shoulders, and long limbs confirms his first assumption is correct; Craig Tucker. His breathing deep and slow, still peacefully unconscious despite the mornings disruptions; although Kenny has no doubts that Craig's wake up will be equally as unpleasant. Looking past his shoulders, he spots the bottle of Ibuprofen on the other nightstand next to Craig's silver Casio (vintage if his memory serves him right), and his drink from last night. Fuck.
Gingerly sitting up, the light sensitivity hits him quick and his eyes shut tight. A wave of nausea takes over and Kenny knows he's going to be fighting for his life all day. He slowly moves to grab the bottle. Every move deliberate and gentle. On one hand, the slower he moves the less his body aches, and the less his the ice pick drives further into his skull. On the other hand, he doesn't want to disturb Craig. It's once in a blue moon that he stays the night, and Kenny wants to take full advantage of every extra minute he gets.
Settling back into his pillow, Kenny swallows the pills dry, and tries not to heave. Thank God it's Saturday, and he doesn't have a thing to do today other than lay in front of the couch and nurse his hangover from hell…he should probably give Karen a call too.
Craig groans and rolls in his sleep to face Kenny's direction. His brow furrowed and eyes darting behind closed eyelids; evidently still dreaming. Kenny can't help but wonder if he's ever appeared in one of Craig's dreams, not in a romantic way necessarily, but the same way anyone you spend a decent amount of time with does. Maybe they've stolen a car, kidnapped the president, and then flown back to Kenny's apartment to go make baked alaska; or any other ridiculous situation that only makes sense in dream logic. Kenny smiles and stifles a small chuckle at the idea, it's a funny thought, and truthfully his friends have put him in more improbable scenarios whilst wide awake.
Craig murmurs an incoherent word in his sleep, and Kenny's attention is back on his bedmate. In Kenny's own dreams, he can reach over, gently rustle him awake, plant a soft kiss on his lips, and Craig will smile when Kenny is the first thing he sees. They'll spend the day in bed, switching between watching whatever shitty movie is on TV, and napping, curled up next to each other. Sex is involved too, but he already has that with Craig. These days It's the comfort and company that Kenny craves. In reality he's lucky if Craig will even stay for coffee.
It's pathetic that he's so hung up on someone who couldn't give less of a fuck about him, but Craig hasn't given a fuck about any real romantic prospects since Tweek broke up with him. Kenny would have to be delusional to think that their drunken hookups could change that. They get wasted, they fuck, and 9 times out of 10 Craig Ubers home.
However, Kenny's life has always been more than slightly……surreal, so he'll continue to hold out hope that one of these days Tucker drops the facade, kisses him passionately, declares that he has been pining just as hard his whole life, and they'll be on the first flight to Vegas for an Elvis officiated wedding. It couldn't be more farfetched than what happened in Peru…right?
Craig's eyes finally open, and he immediately lets out a loud pain fueled groan, and buries his head under the pillow
Kenny can barely make out a muffled "Dude I'm so fucking hungover"
"And a good morning to you too, Sweetheart! Here I was thinking we would head to the farmers market, or maybe a brisk morning jog" Kenny quips; A vulgar hand gesture he gets in return.
"Just shut up and pass the Ibuprofen" Craig mumbles
Kenny finds it half hazardly thrown on the sheets from where he was too tired to place it back on the nightstand earlier, handing it to Craig, who grunts in thanks.
Craig takes his head out from under the pillow, props himself on his side, and chases the three little pills with last nights melted vodka soda next to the bed; laying back down immediately after.
"Do you remember any of last night?" Craig asks
"Nada…too bad, I bet it was fun by the state that we're in"
"I could sleep all day" Craig says, letting out a yawn
A lump forms in Kenny's throat, and his chest gets that tight feeling he's used to around Craig. It's a shot in the dark, but Kenny's not one to waste an opportunity.
"Yeah man, you're more than welcome to hang out here if you want. I've got Gatorade and we can order IHOP or something."
Craig sits up and rubs the back of his neck, "Nah, I've really got to get going soon. I think Tricia is supposed to come over."
Kenny knows she's not. Her school is a three hour drive away, and Craig wouldn't want her to see him in this kind of shape anyway.
Craig stumbles out of bed, puts on his boxers and searches for his jeans. Kenny doesn't even try to hide that his attention is on Craigs shirtless torso
"God damnit" Craig says "My shirts covered in booze and cum" The formerly white shirt gets tossed to the ground in frustration and slight disgust.
Kenny laughs "You sloppy bitch, who uses their only shirt for a cum rag?"
Craig shoots him a glare "I'm taking one of yours."
Kenny pushes the lump in his throat down again, the idea of Craig wearing his shirt all day, covering himself in the mix of Kenny's distinct scent and his cheap cologne, is enough to make his heart start racing.
"Y-yeah man, they're in the second drawer"
Craig roots around until he grabs a grey one with the words "UNCLE FUCKER" on it.
"Seriously, Kenny? Terrance and Philip? Dude you're 24"
Kenny shrugs "It was a funny bit"
Craig finally settles on a plain black tee-shirt and brushes his hair out with his fingers. Kenny finally gets out of bed.
"Figured I'd walk you to the door like a gentleman" Kenny says with a wink.
Craig rolls his eyes, and grabs his coat, walking from the bedroom to the living room with Kenny trailing behind.
When Craig reaches the door, he turns around and looks at Kenny
"Thanks for letting me crash, I'll text you soon"
Kenny debates on going in for a goodbye kiss, his heart aching for one more touch. Instead he gives a smile, "Anytime- you know you're always welcome to stay if you want"
Craig nods, pursing his lips, and ducks out the door, covering his hair with his old blue chullo, and dips out into the flurries to walk to his black Infinity.
Kenny watches him leave, locks the door, and stretches out onto the sectional. Maybe next blue moon he'll stay.