A/N: okay, there's even more feel-good fluff here, but also a bit of drama. I guess writing fluff just makes me happy right now. Some more non-fluff will hit in the future but I guess right now, fluff is where it's at for me. So kill me.

Also, I kind of like a slower buildup.

I actually love this chapter. I love "learning" things about my characters as I write them. I know my version of Kenny is far from the usual fanfic version of Kenny, but I just …see him as liking girls (sorry Butters!) (I love reading a good K2 or Bunny fic but am not good at writing it) (yet). I wanted to challenge myself to see other sides of the older versions of the SP kids.

Again, I don't own SP or any of the bands or songs mentioned.

I loathe Tuesdays. Mondays, at least, bring the promise of a new week and carry a lingering charge from the weekend. Wednesdays are a perch from which you can see Thursday, which is the official start to the weekend since there are no classes on Fridays. But Tuesday? Tuesday is nothing, a pointless wasteland of classes and errands and chores, and few (if any) redeeming qualities.

This Tuesday is particularly painful. Still in "party mode" after Butters' birthday outing, Wendy and I stretched out the dregs of the weekend in Denver, shopping and spending Sunday night in a cheap-ish motel with two bottles of sparkling wine. Monday's hangover was punctuated with knocks on our door and voices calling "Housekeeping!" We didn't roll out of bed until Cartman sent a string of texts, wondering why Wendy didn't show up for Biology. She almost didn't care that she had missed a class; Cartman's apparent concern rendered her giddy and we rushed to get home so that she could meet him.

Spending the rest of Monday afternoon and evening in bed only made things worse. I woke up this morning with that disconnected, depressed, slept-too-long feeling. I took my time getting dressed and applying make-up, and scooted into history a full seven minutes late. A mousy kid with thick glasses leaned over and passed me a handout; on it were instructions for our midterm paper. I barely glanced at it before shoving it in my folder and putting my head on the table "to rest my eyes."

"Miss Kinloch?" A brusque voice falls on my ears and startles me into awareness. "Care to join us?" Shit.

"Sorry," I mumble, opening my textbook. I spend the rest of class looking down at the book and flickering in and out of sleep, letting my hair fall forward to conceal my closed eyes. When the sound of backpacks zipping and chairs scooting alerts me to the end of class, I feel as if I have been sitting in the chair for hours. I rub my eyes and open my folder to finally look at the midterm assignment: read 1776 and choose one of the following topics…ugh. I shove everything into my bag, place a huge pair of retro headphones over my messy pigtails, and half-stumble out of the room to the sound of Milo Aukerman singing to me that he's "been there all along."

The daunting task of reading 400 pages of tedious drivel about American history sits heavily on my shoulders as I make my way to the vending machine. Only Red Bull will get me through my next class. The hallway is deserted; this is the third time in a row that Dr. Mauer has kept us late, oblivious to the hands on the clock forming a 90-degree angle signaling that it is, indeed, 9:00. Exhaustion is running through my veins; I briefly consider ditching statistics and cocooning myself in a pile of blankets on my bed. Two days of classes is nothing; people get the flu and miss a few days all the time. Either way, I have my heart set on a caffeine and sugar fix, so I trod down the stairs to the first floor, planning a detour to the vending room.

As I turn the corner into to the vending room, I screech to a halt, literally leaving black streaks on the floor with my shoes. A familiar form is standing next to the snack machine. Taking a step back to conceal myself with the wall, I inhale deeply to calm the tingling in my limbs as adrenaline floods my body. Fatigue retreats, replaced by a strange and pleasant nervous excitement. I place my hands on the wall and slowly crane my neck to peer through the doorway. Kenny is in profile, slightly pouting as he bounces on his toes, hands in pockets. He doesn't see or hear me; a telltale white cord connects an iPod in his pocket to a set of earbuds that play him a personal soundtrack and block out all other sound. His eyebrows knit together for a moment, then relax as his eyes light up as if he has thought of an idea. He shrugs his backpack off his shoulders and unzips a pocket, pulling pens and scraps of paper out as he rummages through the contents. I watch intently as he continues his frantic search in another pocket, heaving a sigh of disgust. Kenny lets his head drop; his shoulders droop in a gesture of defeat. I frown, confused, wondering if I should intervene. I take a deep breath and step into the room as Kenny stands. I can see his reflection in the glass that separates him from rows of junk food; his expression changes from sadness to anger as he hits the surface with the palm of his hand. Our reflections blur for a moment as the machine shakes, and when they still, I see Kenny's eyes widen as he notices me. He turns quickly, tugging with one hand the cord to his earbuds, taking a breath and parting his lips to speak. I beat him to the chance.

"Hey," I smile. "I don't know which one of you started the fight, but judging by your expression, the machine is kicking your ass." Okay, that was…I don't know what that was. I hope I sounded flirtatious, as intended, and not like a moronic female version of Cartman.

Kenny closes his eyes and smirks. I inwardly sigh with relief; I think he got the joke.

"I forgot to eat breakfast, and I was eyeing the Snacky Cakes here," he says with a quick gesture to the machine, "but I guess I also forgot my…" he trails off as he takes a breath, running a hand through his hair. It stops at the back of his head and stays there as he looks at the ground and lets out a shuddering sigh. I take a chance.

"Well, I could give you some change, but…come on." I step closer; nudge him so we are both gazing into the machine. "Cheesy Poofs? Chippers? Choco-Pillows? Chocolate Salty Balls?" My voice increases in speed and pitch as I recite the increasingly ridiculous names. Kenny snorts with what I guess is laughter, but there is an undercurrent I can't quite decode. I move my eyes to look at him, and think now or never. Turning to face him completely, I wrap my fingers around his forearm and try to put on a conspiratorial face.

"There is only one answer to this dilemma, but it means you have to trust me. Are you willing to leave campus to escape the siren song of evil junk food with ill-thought-out names? " Where is this coming from? I'm actually quite impressed with myself.

"You'd skip a class to save me from the succubus known as Snacky Cakes?" I smile; he's playing along.

"Who said I had a class?" I ask."Come on, my car is somewhere in the residence hall parking lot. Our first challenge is finding it."

-XXX-

My bare legs are freezing as I unlock the passenger side of the Saab and throw my bag into the space behind the seat. I hold the door as I look at Kenny and gesture to the seat. He hesitates and looks from me to the car.

"This…is your car?"

"No, this is a precision machine based on aerospace technology. What did you expect, one of…these?" I ask, pointing out rows and rows of SUVs and sports cars boasting swirly monogram stickers and Greek letters.

I'm rewarded with a full-on grin, this time displaying painfully adorable overcrowded bottom teeth. I bite my lip as I try to shake away thoughts of my obsession with his imperfect teeth. He catches me staring and self-consciously clamps a hand over his mouth, but doesn't stop smiling. I turn away, heading toward the driver's side. Busted. Damn it.

I connect my iPod to the stereo and hand it to Kenny. "Here, I like everything on this, so whatever you want to listen to is good." He chooses an old Against Me! album. It seems like he has forgotten all about my little staring faux pas.

"Where are we going?" he asks me, watching as I shift the car into fifth gear and accelerate.

"Just trust me," I reply with a smile, wishing I were brave enough to reach over and brush the hair from his eyes. The air is heavy with possibility and I don't quite trust myself to do much more than focus on the road. "If you aren't absolutely thrilled, I will hand you the keys and we will go anywhere else you want," I promise as Kenny settles back into the cracked leather seat.

Even though the day is cold, I open the sunroof and turn the heater to full blast. I'm preoccupied with the giddiness that comes with spending time around someone new, high on the feeling of excitement and torn between wanting to savor the newness and wanting to just know him already. I'm maneuvering the Saab around an icy corner when a gust of wind blows a few stray strands of my hair toward my face. They become stuck in my lip gloss, and before I can reach up to free them, Kenny's hand is there, sweeping them out of the way. It is not so much the unexpected touch, but the fact that he is just sitting there watching me, that reignites the flush of my cheeks. I say a silent prayer of thanks that our destination is in sight.

"IHOP?" Kenny's eyes light up as he moves to sit straighter and look out the window. "You're taking me to IHOP?" I'm barely have the car parked and the brake set when he leans across the console and pulls me into a quick, awkward hug. Before I can process this, he is out of the car, bouncing rapidly on his toes and looking through the restaurant's windows. Suddenly, Tuesday doesn't suck so much anymore.

-XXX-

Once Kenny has demolished not only his stack of pancakes but also three-quarters of my French toast and an entire pitcher of orange juice, he becomes talkative and even more animated. I build a tower with creamer cups and knock it down with my coffee stirrer as he gestures wildly, telling me stories about growing up in South Park. When he stops to take a breath, I cut in.

"Can I ask you something?" I don't really wait for permission. "When was the last time you ate something besides Snacky Cakes?" I wrinkle my nose and smile to let him know I'm half-kidding, but he puts his chin in his hand and props his elbow on the table, assuming a façade of deep thought.

He turns his eyes to me. "I stole a PBJ sandwich from Cartman's backpack last Friday, and Butters gave me an apple yesterday." I must look horrified, because he reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. Kenny's expression grows grave and his voice lowers an octave. "Tell me this. Have you ever even tried Snacky Cakes? They're like, the quintessential South Park junk food. They don't hold a candle to all this"-he gestures to the table with his free hand-"but they're so bad that they're good."

I get the sense that he is relieved at his success in directing the conversation away from himself, so I don't pry. We settle into an unexpectedly comfortable silence, but it is short-lived. My phone vibrates in my bag and I try to ignore it, but whoever it is calls again. And again. Kenny squeezes my hand, I assume to let me know it's okay to let go and see who is calling.

I dig through my bag and find my phone at the bottom. "It's Butters," I say quietly, and hit "ignore," feeling guilty about the slight. The caller ID screen minimizes and I notice that I have five text messages. All from Butters.

11:01 am

Ren, call me?

11:06 am

Are you okay? I know you aren't in class…

11:09 am

Ren, you need to come home.

11:11 am

I'm in the Grand Lounge with Eric. Come see us asap

11:17 am

Emergency. Srsly get home NOW

I extract a credit card from my wallet and hand it over to Kenny. "Can you go pay while I call him back? Something's wrong..." I look up and see that his blue eyes are clouded with concern. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, you didn't do anything wrong."

I hit "call" and wait for Butters to answer. When he does, he sounds absolutely stressed, which is not like Butters at all.

"Ren, I saw Eric…ounge with his laptop and he has a….o of you in your room taking all…off and he won't give it to me. He told me…all you and he would only…you about it!"

"Wait, Cartman has a what? Butters…did he hurt you? What is going on?"

I barely hear his "no"; my phone beeps three times, signaling that it has dropped the call. I get such shitty reception here. I punch out a quick "be there soon bad reception" and hit "send." Kenny has returned from paying and he helps me put on my jacket.

"What's wrong? Is Butters okay?" The concern in his voice placates me; whatever is going on, I now know I won't have to face it alone.

"I don't know. My phone died out. I'm just going to meet him; that's what he kept texting anyway: 'come home, meet me'."

Outside, the sun is high in the sky, battling the cold air and winning just enough to illuminate the top of my head with warmth. I unlock the passenger door and Kenny lets out a low laugh.

"What?"

"Is that like, reverse chivalry or something?"

I give him a playful shove. "No." I stick my tongue out at him. "It's just the lock on the driver's side doesn't work." I turn to walk to the other side of the car, but Kenny grabs my wrist and says, "wait" as he turns me back to face him. He pulls me in until our faces are only inches apart. I meet his gaze as he takes hold of my other hand.

"Thank you," he breathes, and gently presses his lips to mine. I close my eyes and lean into him, parting my lips as he moves his hands to either side of my face. He tastes like maple syrup and cinnamon. I wrap my arms around him and thread the fingers of my right hand in the hair at the back of his head, tugging lightly. He grazes my bottom lip with those teeth and that's when I have to break away, not because I want to, but because I'm dizzy with desire.

Kenny is quiet on the way home, but I can't help but notice his persistent smile and flushed cheeks. When I look over and make eye contact, he leans over and kisses me on the cheek. Nothing could possibly make this day anything less than perfect. Yeah, I love Tuesdays.

-XXX-

Kenny is still holding my hand when we arrive breathlessly at Blair Hall. I had to park about a half-mile from the building, and Butters' continuing texts pushed us to half-jog across campus to make it to our destination that much faster.

The Grand Lounge is depressingly dim compared to the full sun outside. The television is dormant for once, and the sofas and tables are nearly deserted. All the ambitious kids are in class while all the slackers are still in bed. Cartman and Butters occupy a round table in the corner, three chairs separating them so that they are almost facing one another. Cartman is perusing a huge Dell laptop; Butters alternates between checking out his nails and bumping his fists together nervously. Kenny lets out a soft "hey" and both boys jerk their heads up. I can't see what Cartman is viewing on the screen but he looks pleased with himself. Butters jumps up and starts stuttering as Cartman leans back, crosses his arms, and regards us with narrowed eyes. His stare flicks to our intertwined fingers, and I blush furiously.

"Ren, I-ah told Eric just to-just get rid of it, but h-he refused. I swear, I-I don't know how it happened." Butters looks nervous and a bit angry, as if he isn't sure if he wants to escape this scene or clock Cartman upside the head. I shoot Kenny a confused look and he shrugs. "I stayed 'til you got here, but I got a class now, if I d-don't go, my parents'll-"

"It's okay, Butters, go." I pat him awkwardly on the shoulder. He grabs his backpack and scurries up the stairs and out the door. That was weird. I notice that I'm still clutching Kenny's hand and lead him over towards Cartman. The chunky boy's eyes follow me full of excitement; it is juxtaposed with the vicious sneer on his lips.

"You sure you want White Trash Loverboy here to join us?"

"Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Kenny." I slightly emphasize his name, already on the defensive. An unidentified feeling starts to tickle my mind, I feel like I'm supposed to remember something but have no idea what it is. The feeling dissipates as I give my head a slight shake. Eric frees a crossed arm to swing it wide, gesturing to the chairs next to him.

"Well, then, by all means…"

We skirt the table, still hand-in-hand. Declining to sit, I lean forward to rest my free hand on the table next to the laptop while Kenny stands directly behind me. Cartman snakes a stubby finger to the keyboard and stabs the spacebar, killing the screensaver. I squint slightly, trying to decipher the moving picture in front of me. A female figure moves in a lamp-lit room, pulling a sweater over her head and letting her skirt drop to the floor. The weird tickle I felt earlier explodes like a bomb and sweat springs out of my pores. I'm watching myself. I'm watching myself, on Cartman's computer screen, change into pajamas. The pajamas I wore to watch movies in Butters' room the night after his birthday party.

The night of Butters' birthday party. Cartman lets the me on the screen turn around and give us a full view of her lacy bra before hitting the space bar again, freezing the image in place. He crosses his arms again and turns to me.

"It seems that we have here a situation." It comes out slowly; he is savoring this. I wait. The words he isn't saying explain everything I need to know. If he has video of me changing after Butters' birthday party, he has video of what I did before I left the room that night. My shock morphs into anger as he stares at me in silence. Kenny speaks first.

"You crossed a line, dude. You make me fucking sick." The eerie calm in his voice tells me that he is beyond angry, but this is between Cartman and I. Kenny only knows part of the story.

"How the hell did you even get something like that, you disgusting pig?" I finally let go of Kenny's hand to grab the larger boy by the shirt. I feel Kenny step back as if to give me space. I stare Cartman in the eye for a moment, then feel my eyes widen with realization. "Nanny cam," I breathe out. The words ooze with disgust. "The pink bear…oh my God, did Butters-?"

"Aww, don't get your thong in a twist," he lewdly drawls. Thong. That asshole, how many times has he watched me undress? "Butters had nothing to do with this. I gave that sparkly pink wireless-webcam teddy bear to your airheaded little roommate with her tip the last time I ate at Raisins, thinking I'd get lucky and see her titties. Looks like I got more than I bargained for. I think I have what you could call the upper hand."

No, fatass, we are on equal ground. We were both spying on others. I say nothing. He's right. I'm the one who could lose friends here; Stan and Kyle would never forgive me for being a peeping Tom, but people expect this kind of thing from Cartman. I glance over my shoulder at Kenny, he is leaning back in a chair, arms crossed, hood obscuring all but his eyes. Right now, they nothing more than narrow slits directed at the other boy's face. I turn back to my nemesis.

"What do you want, Cartman?"

He feigns innocence. "Blackmail? Me? No…"

"Cut the shit and just tell me." I'm tempted to bash the computer over his head, but I control myself.

"Find a way to get the bear into Wendy's room."

"No fucking way, not going to happen. Try again, lardass."

He has the audacity to look hurt at this. "Fine," he says. "Well, there is one thing…" He reaches a chubby hand into his backpack and extracts a page torn from a catalog. I flick my eyes over it for a millisecond.

"Done." Shock registers on his face. He has no idea how easily he just let me off the hook. "Yes. Fine. Done. The iPad is yours. We'll go tomorrow. My classes end at 12:30. You have my number." I straighten to my full height and look down at Cartman; his face is stuck in an expression of dumb surprise and disbelief. "But Wendy and Kenny go, too. I'm not driving to Denver and back with just you." I turn on my heel and stalk away. I can hear Kenny scramble out of the chair to follow closely behind.

"Whoa, wait, did you just agree to buy Cartman a fucking iPad?" At least that's what I think he says, I turn with more of a glare than I intend to and motion for Kenny to take his damn hood down. He laughs at my attempt at a mean face, and I can't help but dissolve into giggles. "Are you gonna be…okay…with that?" This time he speaks clearly. I nod and grab his hand.

"I'm going to be just fine. Now, let's go. We have a bear to kill." I breathe a sigh of relief, thinking that as long as Cartman keeps his fat mouth shut, I'll offer to buy him every damn iPad accessory in the store.

-XXX-

I open my door and step in, kicking off my shoes in the process. Kenny is still standing in the doorway, hands in his hoodie pocket, staring at the floor. I guess it is a little awkward for us to be hanging out in my room alone on the first day we actually interact for more than forty-five seconds. I didn't even think about it. If I didn't know better, I would think he was suddenly shy.

"What's wrong?" Ugh, stupid. Stupidest question ever. "Do you have to-"

Kenny looks up at me and takes his hands from his pocket to wrap them around my upper arms. "Listen, I've had a lot of…I used to…" he sighs and shakes his head, apparently unable to finish his thought. "I just don't want this to be the only time we ever hang out like this, and if we go in there…" As he lets yet another sentence die young, I force myself to keep a straight face; it's pretty darn cute. I think back to what Wendy said in the bathroom at Bennigan's.

"I wouldn't let you off the hook so easily." Thankfully, this makes him smile. I pull him in and close the door. He makes himself right at home on the tiny bed.

"Ugh, this is horrible, I mean, it's practically worse than my bed at home!" While he bounces on the bed, laughing at the awful squeaking sound it makes, I busy myself with finding the pink bear among the menagerie of plushies on Lexus's desk.

"There you are, you little pink bastard." I turn to Kenny, who is now sitting in my desk chair, apparently renouncing his quest to find comfort on the crappy bed. He is scanning the titles on the shelf above the desk, running a finger along the spines as his lips move silently. His eyes drop to my computer; he lets out an amused noise at the sticky notes that line the edge of the screen. I grant the bear a temporary clemency and shove him under my bed, double-checking that his "eyes" are facing the wall. When I look up, Kenny is peering down at the space between the desk and the wall. He reaches down and retrieves the juice-carton periscope, turning to me as a perplexed frown settles onto his features.

"Ren, what the hell is…oh my God." I can't help it this time; all the tears I held in the whole time I dealt with Cartman now threaten to spill, and I'm rendered motionless, stuck to the floor. I use all my strength to keep my eyes on Kenny, on the floor in front of me, anywhere but up, but they dumbly betray me and swivel to the hole in the corner. "Oh my God!" Kenny repeats, and jumps up from the chair. I close my eyes and brace myself for a scolding or even a physical assault, but when nothing comes I open my eyes and see Kenny standing on the desk, contraption in hand. He doesn't need the stack of books to put him level with the hole. After a moment of studying the taped-together juice cartons and the hole next to the ceiling, he figures it out and takes a look.

I wring my hands for lack of anything else to do. Oh, God, I am so fucked up. I'll have to leave, I can go to college anywhere, I can leave tonight, I'll just-

Kenny's voice interrupts my escape plan. "Holy shit, that's Kyle's bed! Oh, wow, I have never seen anything like this before!" He sounds…excited rather than angry, or disgusted, or even disappointed. He jumps off the desk and abandons the periscope next to a pencil holder before crossing the room and putting his hands on my shoulders. I'm so scared that my eyelids tremble and I can't keep them open, but he regards me at arms' length and smiles, this time not hiding it at all. Confused, I try to return the grin but only manage to bare my teeth in a cringe. Today's theme seems to be "busted," and it keeps getting worse.

"You were watching Stan and Kyle." He speaks matter-of-factly but punctuates it with a saucy, sexy expression. I raise an eyebrow. "That's actually kind of…hot, I mean…I really…where did you-"

He is stumbling over words again so I interrupt him. "You aren't pissed and disgusted that I was spying on your best friends? On my friends?"

"Are you kidding?" His smile gets bigger. "I think you and I more alike than you know." I watch as Kenny's smile melts into a look of comprehension. "Oh my God, Cartman's fucking bear saw you spying. That's why you're letting him get away with this. That fucking asshole, I should break his legs." I start to tell him it's okay, I can deal with Cartman, when an unfamiliar ringer sounds. Kenny looks startled for a moment before reaching into his pocket. He looks at the caller ID; his face falls a little bit as he looks back to me. "It's my mom. I have to pick her up. Only one truck, you know..." He pockets the phone and returns his full attention to me, reaching out to brush my bangs out of my eyes. I stand completely still as he brings his lips to my forehead and gathers me into an embrace. We stand like that for a moment, until his phone rings again and he sighs, breaking the hug. He speaks as he reaches for my door.

"I'll see you soon. Really soon, I hope." Kenny affords me one last enthralling smile before he ducks out the door.

I'm left speechless and wanting, yet oddly satisfied with this particular Tuesday.