A/N: Okay, still a slow start IMO but some action starts to happen here.
Yes, this is going to be part fluffy love story involving my OC (partly because I just can't change any of the SP girls enough to "fit" what happens in this story, because I already know the very end) so if you don't like that, there's a nice little button at the upper left of your screen called a "back button." Use it. This is NOT, however, "my OC meets Kenny and they fall in love and live happily ever after blah blah blah." There will be enough fluff to keep those of you who like it happy, but it won't be all fluff. I will warn you when the stuff will start to get twisted, so you can turn away at that point…but it will get twisted.
I'm no stranger to writing fiction, but writing fanfiction with an OC is a new experiment. I'm challenging myself to keep her as much a "normal" person as possible…but this is South Park, so too normal is out. It's a fun challenge; we'll see how it goes.
This is headed in a completely different direction than I had in mind when I started. I have pretty much this whole thing written already, and I'm actually pretty happy with it…I just have to edit the thing, which for me takes more time than writing. Please say hi if you actually read this…it would make my day.
Also, thanks to scarlettshazam – it's because of you that I worked to update so quickly.
Apologies for the long-ass A/N
Disclaimer: South Park isn't mine. OC and fictional places and this story are mine. Songs and song quotes are not mine and belong to their respective owners.
Also, if anyone can tell me where the story title came from (Absence Suits You Best) I'll love you forever. And give you a surprise…maybe a one-shot with your OC paired with any canon character you choose, at some point in the future...
The sun slides slowly behind the mountains, leaving an orange glow on the snow-capped tops. I pull my hands back into my sleeves, hooking my thumbs into the holes I created in my cuffs. It's cold here, too cold for late August. Adjusting my earbuds, I maximize the volume on my iPhone and look around.
The campus is gorgeous, incorporating entire wooded areas with the stately brick buildings, sculptures, and fountains characteristic of universities. The developers decided not to cut down an entire forest for the sake of easy navigation, and the result is a unique blend of beauty, grace, and mystery. Turning in a slow circle, I take in my surroundings while Kevin Griffin sings about singing at the stars. For a moment, I'm lost in reverie. I'm lucky to be here. I'm happy to be here. A glance at the clock tower that marks the exact center of the campus brings me back to the task at hand. I need a caffeine fix before I go to the dance.
It takes me a minute to calibrate my sense of direction; I'm still in a bit of a dreamy state. I look left, then right, and realize I should be heading in the opposite direction. Finally moving toward the convenience store, I replay the last two hours in my mind.
Stan is frantically rifling through a mountain of stuff on his bed, tossing things on to his desk, his chair, under his bed. I'm lounging on a beanbag chair on Kyle's side of the room while Kyle watches the scene with an amused half-smirk on his face. He turns to me.
"You're not gonna wear that to the dance, are you, Ren?" I look up from the graphic novel I've been half-reading. I look down at my yoga pants and flip-flops and realize that I look like I plan to stay glued to this beanbag all night. I haven't even started getting ready, and Stan and Kyle are nearly ready to go.
"Noooooo," I drawl. "I'm just going to be fashionably late. You guys can go ahead without me and I'll meet you there." Our exchange is punctuated by Stan's voice, now coming from inside the closet.
"What am I gonna do?" he moans. He sticks his head out the closet door. "This is weak, dude. My hat is just gone."
"Wash your hair, dude, like normal people do. Covering it with your hat doesn't make it any less gross." Kyle says this through a frown that is supposed to convey annoyance. Stan gives Kyle the finger and returns to his bed to root through the pile there. Kyle rearranges his features into a shit-eating grin, and our hands meet in a silent high-five.
"I just had it! I only took it off to change my shirt, and now it's like, gone. Remember Tweek and his goddamn underpants gnomes? Maybe those little fuckers moved on to hats."
I offer my two cents. "Stan, you know, I hope it's not on your bed. it's bad luck to ever put a hat on a bed." Kyle shoots me a look; I return it with a shrug. My brother used to always freak out if I accidentally threw a hat on my bed.
"That's just a superstition, Ren." Kyle rolls his eyes in my direction. "On second thought, you're right." He turns to Stan. "It's bad luck to pile any articles of clothing on your bed. Bad luck, meaning 'makes you look like a slob.' " He turns back to me. "Stan has a bit of a hoarding problem."
"Fuck off, Kyle." Stan abandons his search to cross the room and playfully pin Kyle to the wall he is leaning against, making a show of drawing his fist back but letting us know he's joking through the huge smile on his face. Kyle blushes almost imperceptibly and flicks his eyes toward me; I hastily look back down to the copy of "Bunny Drop" in my lap. "Hey, why is my hat in your backpack?" Stan's voice is almost a shout, breaking the awkward moment. I look back up. Kyle's face is slowly reddening with the attempt to control his impending laughter. He makes the mistake of glancing at me, and we break into a full giggle. Stan narrows his eyes at me, then turns his head to Kyle. "Fine. I'll be in the shower if you need me."
The redhead and I lose it after Stan slams the door. I set the book aside and laugh into my hands. When I finally catch my breath, I look up and see Kyle trying to do the same, and we both break down again.
"That idea was epic, Ren," Kyle manages to get out through the laughter. "You should have seen his face before you got here."
"I had no idea he'd get so upset! I almost feel bad." Kyle reaches out and puts his hand on my shoulder. The prank of hiding Stan's hat has somehow sealed our friendship.
"I think you'll fit right in here." The words thrill me much more than they should.
A far-off movement in my peripheral vision interrupts the memory. I stop, hitting the pause button to silence Alison Foley, surveying the darkening trees that surround me. Maybe this shortcut wasn't the best idea. Then again, maybe I imagined it; the movement is gone now. Still, I close my eyes to listen, remembering what my brother told me: if you train yourself to dull your other senses, you can hear anything, even drown out background noise. My thoughts of Malcolm are shattered by the distant snap of a twig and a ragged exclamation.
I relax, rather than strain, to hear more. "Ahh! N-nhg. The sun sets in the west, so if the main road is east…" The voice is high-pitched, taut, and gravelly; the odd combination somehow tugs at my heart. "Oh, Jesus!" Whoever it is sounds lost and terrified.
Before I can think twice, I move toward the voice. The thought of its owner in distress is suddenly the saddest thing in the world to me, and honestly, I thought I'd be to Main Street by now, so I'm a little lost too.
I come to a small clearing, really just a circle of trees with a bare spot in the center. Sitting pressed against the trunk of a huge Ponderosa is a slight boy with spiky, unkempt, yellow-blonde hair. His wrinkled shirt is buttoned unevenly, and his big brown eyes are filled with tears that threaten to spill if he blinks.
"Hey," I start softly. "Are you okay?" I move closer, forcing myself to step slowly so that I don't scare the boy.
He shrinks away from me, sputtering. "Ahh! Did they-ngh-send you? They know where I am! Gaah!" His words fail and fall into gibberish; his eyes twitch as one shoulder spasms.
I shake my head in disbelief. "I'm a student here, and I heard you…I'm actually a little lost too, so I was hoping you and I could find our way out of here so I can get to the silly dance thing, and you can…" I trail off as I realize that my speech isn't making the boy any less anxious. I try to make my voice smooth and comforting, but if his reaction is any indication, I'm failing miserably. I sit down where I am, ignoring the pine needles poking my butt through my skirt. I watch cautiously as the boy reaches into a backpack by his side and opens it; my heart slows a bit when I see that the heavy silver thing he pulls out is just a thermos. I watch curiously as he takes a sip and follows it with a deep breath.
"My name's Tweek. I w-was trying to find my phone. It wasn't in my pocket so I must have dropped it and –oh, God!- it started to get dark. I -ngh- I'm pretty scared of the dark." He leans his head on the bark and squeezes his eyes closed. "I feel so stupid! How can I get lost in my own town? College is just too much pressure!"
I decide the boy is adorable, tics and all. "Okay, Tweek. My name is Ren, and I'll help you find your phone. Then we will get out of here. What's your phone number?"
I dial the digits and wait for the sound of a ringer. I laugh when I hear it; it's an old Morrissey song. Tweek looks hurt for a moment, but smiles when he realizes I'm laughing with mirth, not in ridicule. I tell him I'm a big Smiths fan, too. The missing phone, of course, is in the front pocket of his backpack, under a stack of coffeehouse napkins.
"W-what an idiot! Ngh!"
"Come on, Tweek. I 'lose' my keys all the time and find them minutes later-in my hand. Admit it, it's pretty funny." I watch as his furrowed brow relaxes a bit and the beginning of a smile teases his lips. "Oh my gosh! I can't believe I didn't think of this!" He jumps a bit at my exclamation; I have to remember not to do that again. "My phone has a GPS—the satellite can show us where we are on a map and then we'll be un-lost!"
Upon seeing that we are about 100 yards from Main Street, we both laugh.
-XXX-
"Do you live on campus, then?" I ask. Tweek and I are leaving the convenience store, me with a huge Red Bull and him with a fresh coffee.
"Y-yes. I do. Living with my parents was just…too much pressure!" I reach up to squeeze his shoulder and let him continue. "I'm, ah, I'm like this because I have ADHD… and I've been a caffeine addict since I can remember. My family owns a coffeehouse. They think coffee is the answer to everything. Ngh-why am I telling you this? N-nobody –agh- cares."I notice that he seems twitchier when he seems unsure of himself. He buries a hand in his blonde hair and pulls. I gently grasp his wrist and lower his hand, taking it in both of mine.
"I care." He manages a half-smile in my direction. I turn an idea over and over in my mind. "Listen….I promised my friends I would meet them at the dance thing. Would you like to go?"
"Gah, I'm a-actually meeting my best friend there. Oh God, I'm so late!" Tweek tries to free his hand from my grip so he can tug on his hair again, but I hold fast.
"Well, let's go."
-XXX-
Something that barely passes as dance music spills out the doors of the athletic building as students pour out to smoke cigarettes or just enjoy the night air. I adjust my sweater to make sure the v-neck is still covering my bra and quicken my pace. I think I'm actually excited about this dance, as cheesy as it sounds. I look up at Tweek, shake off the last bit of apprehension and follow him through the gymnasium doors.
I widen my eyes in shock as I scan the booming room. There must be 300 students packed in the space, more than I even dared to expect. The DJ is spinning true house music, not the top-40 crap you get from most for-hire DJs. The sensation of someone staring makes me turn my head, and I spot a tall boy in a blue hat directing a death stare in my direction. He expressionlessly flips me the bird; I cock my head and bring my hand to my chest, in a "me?" gesture. Tweek leans down and gives me a quick half-hug.
"Th-that's –agh- Craig! I gotta go!" He starts to walk away quickly, but turns around and jerkily strides back to me. "I forgot-agh! Thank you!" He manages a genuine smile before turning back toward his friend, who is still staring. Tweek doesn't even seem to notice the other boy's strange reaction to me. I decide to shrug it off, but it's still…odd.
I don't have any better ideas, so I start to walk around the perimeter of the gym. About halfway through my excursion, I spot a familiar mass of red curls and pull out my phone. "Look behind you," I text. Seconds later, Kyle turns and smiles, waving me over.
"Ren! You are late. Whad'ja do, get losht? Are you okaaay?" Stan is slurring his words ever so slightly, indicating the existence of a spiked punch bowl somewhere in the vicinity.
"I'm fine. I actually did get a little lost, if you must know. But that is a story I'll save for another time. It sounds like I need to catch up." Stan looks unsurprised at my excuse as he takes my hand and leads me toward a table at one end of the room. Kyle, in sock feet, approaches me at a running slide, bobbing his head to the music. In his hands is a red plastic cup full of pink liquid.
"Here you go, Ren. It's called Well Water. It has…all sorts of cool shit in it." I take a sip and make a face. "Drink it, Ren. After a few sips you won't taste it anyway." Kyle's green eyes glint with mischief. I give him a quick hug and gulp down more of the drink, which tastes like it is 80% liquor. I slowly turn to give the room a once-over, and see Butters, Cartman, and Wendy standing nearby. Butters is watching as the other two argue heatedly. The music is too loud for me to hear them, but it looks like Wendy leans in a little further with each accusation, her elegant finger threatening to poke the thick boy's chest. My observation is interrupted by a busty girl with frosted hair; she bumps into me, and I just barely save my drink from spilling down her cleavage.
"Oooooh, sweetie, I am so sorry. I think I had one too many of those already!" I start to tell her it's okay, but she keeps talking. "My name is Lexus, what's yours?" She looks me up and down and squeals, still not giving me a chance to speak. "You're hot, do you want a job? I work at Raisins, and I make sooooo many tips!"
Something clicks in my brain. "Wait, Lexus that lives in room 378?" Her eyes widen. "I'm Ren…I think we're roommates."
"Oh my gosh, I'm soooooo glad you came, I was soooooo bored! It's good to finally meet you! Listen, I usually stay with my bouncer, I mean my boyfriend, so I won't be home a lot, I hope that's okay!"
I open my mouth to answer, but she has already grabbed the arm of a passing boy. I hear her flirting as they walk away. "I'm sooooo glad to see you, I need another drink soooo bad…" Her voice fades away, leaving me more than a little perplexed.
"Renata, hi!" I turn to the slightly-accented voice. "I-I'm Butters! You do remember me, don'tcha?"
"Of course I remember you! How could I forget?" His cheerfulness is contagious. Butters' cheeks flush as he looks to the ground and fidgets, bumping his fists together and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He looks up at me again with excitement in his eyes; he reminds me of a kid on his birthday.
"Well, Renata…y-you wouldn't wanna maybe dance with me, wouldja?"
Aww. "Yeah, let's dance, Butters. And please…call me Ren, okay?"
"Okay, Ren!" I take the blonde by the hand and lead him closer to the giant speakers at the back of the gym. He is only about an inch taller than I am in my 5" platforms, and small but well-built. His striped polo shirt is fitted, his dark jeans loose. The DJ makes a smooth transition to a faster beat, and Butters starts to move. I stand still for a moment, in awe. The boy can dance. He is oblivious to the stares of a few girls and guys standing over by the wall. Sweet and innocent on the outside, sex machine on the dance floor. Who knew?
"Butters! God damn it!" I hear Cartman's grating whine over the beat. "Where did you put it, you little homo?" Cartman approaches us in a stalking manner, using his weight to shove people aside.
"P-put what?" The blonde stops dancing and looks up at the larger boy.
"I asked you nicely to hold my backpack," Cartman continues venomously, "but I see you are out here being a fairy and not watching my stuff!"
"W-well Eric, if ah, I knew w-what you meant, I'd sure help you out, but I just really don't know what you mean."
"Butters. Black bag, two straps that go on your shoulders? Zipper entry? Holds my things?" Cartman speaks impatiently with frustration; his tone one usually reserved for utter condescension. " My important things, which you seem to give not a shit about?"
"Hold on now, leave him the hell alone!" I interject, stepping between them. I didn't come here to see a fight, much less an unfair one. I'm barely finished speaking when Butters, now behind me, puts his mouth close to my ear and shouts over the music, "Aw, it's okay, Ren, th-that's just how Eric is."
I narrow my eyes at the husky boy. There's no excuse for treating someone like crap, especially someone as sweet as Butters. From the corner of my eye, I see Wendy approach Cartman, a black backpack on her shoulder. She offers it to him as if it is a dead animal, dangling it from her extended fingers.
"Here, asshole, you gave Pip your backpack. Apologize to Butters." She crosses her arms and shifts her weight to one foot, staring at Cartman with a look that is equal parts exasperation and patience.
"What? No!" His pudgy hand snatches the bag from Wendy's grip. "Why would I apologize to the little fudgepacker?" Wendy breathes a slow and expectant sigh, still giving Cartman a heavy look. For a full five seconds, he says nothing. "Give it up, Wendy, you can't save all the minorities and homos in the world." Wendy throws up her hands and shakes her head before she turns to me with a wicked smile. "Hippie ho," Cartman adds, a little less loudly. She offers him her middle finger over her shoulder without looking back, and to me, whispers "We stole that bottle of vodka out of your bag, too, bastard." She produces a bottle from under her sweater and presses it into my hands. I slip it into my bag, ridiculously overjoyed by the camaraderie. I turn to watch her retreat and reflect the smile she offers when she looks back to me. I like Wendy; it seems like she doesn't take shit from anyone. I start to turn back to my dance buddy, but instead nearly run into Cartman. He looks down his nose at me, glaring. He'd actually be attractive without the permanent sneer, but from what I've seen, that won't happen any time soon.
"What are you, Butters' hag now?" he asks mockingly. I glare right back.
"Something like that," I say, and trade my glare for a fake, syrupy-sweet smile, just to annoy him. When I turn to walk away, I hear him mutter something under his breath, but don't care enough to go back and ask him to repeat himself.
Over behind a table stacked with energy drinks, Kyle and Stan are seated with their backs to the wall, so close that their shoulders are touching. I approach the table, catching Stan's eye. He nudges Kyle, and they both watch as I make an exaggerated show of slipping the bottle from my bag and pouring a generous amount into each of three cups. After topping each one off with Red Bull, I head over to the guys, presenting my offering like a sacred gift. I join them on the floor, facing them both so we are sitting in a sort of triangle, and sip my drink.
"Ren, settle an argument for us," Kyle pleads. I look at him expectantly. "Stan wants to…wants to…he wants to…" his speech is broken by laughter. "He wants to…TP…Officer Barbrady's house!" Through my tipsiness I realize that Kyle is pretty toasted; from what little I know of him, he would be trying to talk Stan out of this prank, not encouraging him with laughter.
"Come on, dude, the guy's an old douche an' all he does anymore is set up speed traps. My insurance went up thirty bucks a month because he wrote me a ticket." Through the rant, I can tell that Stan has sobered up quite a bit since we last spoke. Interesting, considering that Kyle is now definitely under the influence. "You know what I think, Kyle? I think Ren's just as much a prankster as I am, and I bet she'll help." He shoots me an anticipative look and I nod and giggle, wondering how he has me pegged already.
"Dude, you know I can't live with something like that! TPing is mean; you can't get that shit down for days, and if it rains, well, you're fucked. If we get caught…double fucked. " Apparently, drunken Kyle is still the voice of reason. He turns his whole body to face Stan. "Why don't you just-"
Stan interrupts Kyle by leaning in and kissing him directly on the mouth. Kyle's eyes widen, then close, before he pushes Stan away. He looks at his knees as a blush burns his cheeks. Seconds that feel like hours pass, and Kyle heaves himself from the floor, flinging away the hand that Stan reaches up toward him as he stalks off. Stan turns to me, shrugs, and gets up to follow Kyle.
I giggle to myself, amused by the spectacle I just witnessed. The vodka buzz has joined the caffeine jolt of the Red Bull, but somehow, I'm tired. I weigh my options, but none sound appealing. The night has been a blast and I don't want to press my luck. With that, I decide now is as good a time as ever to head home.
The dance floor is still crowded; I have to push my way through throngs of sweaty bodies to get to the door. I feel a draft and finally have the exit in sight when I hear Butters' endearingly accented voice shout over the music, "G'night, Ren!" I turn to find him in the crowd and instead run smack into someone wearing what looks like a ratty old red hoodie. His hood is up, covering his head, and all I can see are two wide blue eyes and a glimpse of golden blonde hair. He looks down at me and bounces on his toes a bit as he excitedly says…something. I raise my eyebrows and shake my head.
"I can't hear you," I say through an amused smile, momentarily forgetting my mission to get home. A rush of bravery overcomes me and I reach up and pull the boy's hood back from his head. His eyes widen into a pleasantly startled stare. They are an ashy blue, light at the center and darker around the rims. He makes no move to brush away the lock of hair that falls forward, obscuring part of his face. When he offers me a grin, I can barely catch my breath. He has a small gap between his front teeth, not in a messed-up-teeth sort of way, but in a sexy, boy-next-door sort of way. An excited jolt travels from my chest to other parts of my anatomy, and I start to feel a bit dizzy. "Care to repeat yourself?" I manage, albeit haltingly. He says nothing, choosing instead to cock his head and look me up and down. There is only one way to describe this: he is undressing me with his eyes.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, bringing me back to Earth. I look down to check the caller ID, frowning at the unfamiliar number. Why didn't I just ignore it? A hand comes down on my shoulder, and I look up, meeting the blonde boy's blue eyes.
He looks pointedly at vibrating phone in my hand. "Um…see you later, I guess?" I can't decide if it is a question or a statement. I'm too distracted by his voice, a sound that is equal parts angelic and gritty, as if he has seen it all but let none of it sully his worldview. A sound that makes every hair on my body stand on end. Before I can answer with more than a dumb nod, he has replaced his hood and is moving across the room toward the beverages. I stand on my tiptoes, but only see the back of his head as he is engulfed by the crowd.
-XXX-
The temperature outside has plummeted since I entered the dense heat of the gym. I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt to stave off the breeze. It's okay; the chill provides a needed sense of sobriety. I decide I'm still not ready to go home; I want to just sit alone and go over the night in my head. I spot a sturdy-looking tree, the only non-evergreen in the courtyard, kick off my ridiculous heels, and begin to climb.
Branches high above the ground are some of my favorite places. Malcolm taught me everything I could ever want to know about climbing trees. Trees are a great place to hide, or just be alone; most of the time, nobody thinks to look up.
Everything up here is peaceful, and I let my mind go blank. The thick walls muffle the ongoing beat of the music; it creates a modern lullaby as I straddle a large branch, my back against the trunk. I hear the sound swell as the heavy door to the gym opens, and ebb as it falls closed.
I'm not sure why I look down, but I nearly fall out of the tree when I do. Leaving the gym is hoodie boy. He is alone, shuffling slowly with his hands in his pockets and his head down. I begin to climb down, watching his back as he recedes into the dark. When I reach a branch about 9 feet off the ground, I grab it with both hands and swing down, landing in a crouch. Pulling my skirt down and brushing the twigs from my leggings, I stand and greedily inhale.
"Hey!" I shout with all my lung power, willing him to turn and look at me as he continues to walk away. When he looks over his shoulder, I yell, "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"
His answer is an angelic smile which sets my heart racing as he turns to face me completely and walks a few steps backwards, hand raised in a wave.
A/N: Yes, I know I took liberties with some of the colors of the clothing here, but seriously, it's like 10 years later…these kids aren't still wearing their clothes from 4th grade.