#bending over it to ‘look at his homework’ right in front of Jimmy’s face (and Jimmy is so distracted he lets him go though

[zappedbyzabka]

[ciderapples]

Joyce & Hopper. Bleachers & Camels. A bitchfest, and a little weird love.

Movie night is Wednesday.

Wednesday gets the honor because Wednesday sucks: because he has to do the weekend paperwork that he’d put off Monday and Tuesday but can’t leave for Thursday because the guy from state comes to pick it up. And Wednesday is Flo’s day off, and the Markey girl that fills in for her is just a little in love with him and just barely not a child. All day long it’s ‘oh, Sheriff Hopper,’ and mooney stares through the window of his office door and more hot coffee refills than he can reasonably consume.

He’d can her if Big Pam Markey, PTA president, didn’t scare the shit out of him.

Big Pam Markey scares the shit out of him.

Shoulder pads the size of hubcaps: he should be scared.

By the time Hop drops little Pam off at home (really not the purview of the police department, as he’s told Big Pam never, not once, and he’s never going to) and hits the IGA for beer and defrostables, it’s almost seven. He’s got the energy to operate anything that requires three fingers or fewer: a microwave. A bottle opener. A VCR.

He takes the truck quicker than he should down the driveway. It pitches like a ship through the washouts and ruts, waggling his spine like a rope, gravel patches vibrating up through his thighs and out through his ears. It shakes the stress out of him, leaving him with pure, distilled mental fatigue and the bodily constitution of wilted celery. El never seems to notice his composure: as soon as his keys turn in the door, she comes at him with such-and-such permission slips he has to sign and look-at-this-test-I-got-a-hundred-on and somebody’s birthday party is tomorrow and we need a present right now and it has to be cool.

His hand feels like a gigantic paw on her little head, sinking into the kelp forest of her curls, slightly green from her recent attempt to go blonde. He keeps her at elbow’s length so he can get around her into the kitchen — beer to the fridge, first things first — then pulls out a chair at the table. There’s a pen already there.

“This one is to go to the mayor’s office,” she says, kneeing up onto the opposing chair and splaying across the table to fingerpoint to the empty line.

“Mayor’s office?” he mutters. “That’s a field trip, now?”

El rolls her eyes.

“You know I can take you to the mayor’s office whenever you want.” He signs: a wiggly line with nothing particularly Hoppery about it. He’s gotta change that before she starts forging things just because she thinks she can get away with it.

“Um, no thanks,” she says. She slips the sheet away and slaps another one down. “This is because Amy Waltrine has strep.”

He adjusts the paper to get a better position to try a new signature.

“But she doesn’t really have strep,” El says, as he thinks about what to change. “She has the clap. So, don’t worry about it.”

Hop’s pen hovers in the air. So many things wrong with the words that just flew nonchalantly out of his daughter’s mouth. “She has the what?” he says, squinting incredulously. El senses, just now, that this is one of those things she didn’t quite put in the right box.

“The…clap?”

“Who told you that?”

“Amy Waltrine?”

“She just — you kids talk about that stuff?”

El shrugs.

Hop shakes his head. He doesn’t understand the world anymore. Since when was gonorrhea some perverted badge of honor? Back in the day you felt some healthy shame and kept your mouth shut about it and never went into the backseat with Mary Kelly again.

Kids.

“Well, look,” he said, finally touching pen to page again. “You remember that conversation we had? About boy-girl stuff?” He glances up to make sure El’s blushing bright red. Yeah, she remembers.

“Daaaaad,” she says. “I’m not…doing it.”

“That’s right you’re not,” he says. He scrawls his name, tosses the pen down and lets her take the sheet. Dammit— he forgot to try the new signature. “And if you are…”

“They’re in the kitchen drawer.”

He stares her down across the table. If she can’t say the word to him, no way is it going to roll off her tongue with little Jimmy Johnson. “What are in the kitchen drawer?”

“Ugh,” she protests, but she levels the stare back at him. “Condoms.”

Hop sighs again, deep and huffy, like he can wipe his brain clean. “Go put that stuff away. You’ve got a movie to pick.”

Clutching her forms, El slides back into her seat and looks at him apprehensively.

“What?” he asks. He leans back in his chair until the vertebrae crack. El makes a face: gross. Hop grins behind his scruffy beard. “What?” he repeats.

She looks hesitantly toward the door, just as he realizes she’s not in her traditional movie night attire. No boy band t-shirt. No little cartoon pajama pants. No floofy slippers.

“You got plans?” he asks.

She looks at him with loosely feigned remorse, but she’s hovering on the edge of the kitchen chair with anticipation, glancing again toward the door.

“On movie night?” Hop presses. Does he sound pathetic? He wants to sound funny, but she’s never missed a movie night. It’s their night: he suffers through some unbearable kid flick and they plow through bags of microwave popcorn and he gets to sit next to her on the couch and pretend she’s still his little girl. Movie night.

But suddenly, El looks genuinely apologetic, and Hop snaps himself out of it.

“Alright, then,” he says. He puts his hands on the table top, letting the smooth formica slip under his fingers. “Whose door’ll I have to break down if you’re late?”

El’s face breaks into sunrise. She leaps from the chair, quick as a bird, and pecks him on the cheek. The things he trades. “Movies. Max and everybody.”

'Everybody' includes Mike, he's sure, but he doesn’t have to press it. “Remember,” he prompts, and she knows the drill.

“Home by nine, or call. Say please and thank you. Don’t break the law, unless I can get away with it.”

“That last part was a joke,” he says, but he likes it, and he likes that she’s kept it. There’re too many rules in the world to begin with; let her bend a few.

El disappears down the hall in a flurry of dry-leaf footsteps, and Hopper is left alone in a suddenly-silent kitchen. He’s got three videos on top of the TV, all tailored toward the mercurial preferences of a teenager, and an extra TV dinner to kill.

Salisbury steak and Sixteen Candles.

What a night

*

Twenty-five minutes of Long Duk Dong and mushy peas are about all Hop can take.

He shoves the unfinished plastic tray to the other side of the couch and pauses the video. For a long moment, he stares into the tape squiggles, trying to figure out why he feels like a potato about to explode in the microwave.

One missed movie night is…nothing. There’s plenty worse going on around town: the little assholes that huff paint behind the Ace, or the punks he has to run off the record store every other night with their weird hair and racoony eye junk. It’s not like she’s shoplifting girl crap from the drugstore, or getting busted out on Boner Boulevard in some kid’s beater.

But it’s not just a missed movie night.

It’s all these little things that’ve started creeping up on him, one at a time until he can’t shut the door on them anymore.

She doesn’t sit next to him on the couch anymore, for one. Sometime over the summer she’d claimed the opposite armrest, and the first few times she’d had a reason (a hot mug of something to balance, a school notebook with homework to finish) but now she never does.

And she doesn’t do bedtime anymore, either. Used to be he’d come in and sit down and she’d roll toward him, pretending to be sucked into the giant vortex his two-hundred-fifty pounds made in her mattress. They’d shoot the shit about this shitty kid and that cool kid and some field trip coming up and what did she want for Christmas and should they get a puppy, and then he’d kiss the top of her head and make a mess of her hair and close the door behind him when he left. But lately he goes to check on her and the door’s already shut, some weird music going on, and she yells, ‘night, dad’ and he stands there like an idiot in the dark, wondering what the hell changed.

He’s too old for this shit.

Heaving himself up off the couch, he marches to the kitchen, grabs the phone off the wall and punches a number.

“Code red, Joyce,” he says, when she picks up. “Code red.”

*

The first thing that Joyce says is—

—no, the first thing Joyce says, after ‘light me, Hop,’ is:

“Is this about Amy Waltrine?”

Hop is knee-deep in a drag on his Camel and he almost chokes it out. “The clap kid?” he says, finally, on the exhale.

Joyce makes a face. "Hop."

“No, it’s not about the clap kid.” He shakes his head in his own cloud. He manages to contain himself for a few seconds before the indignation bristles through. “I don’t get it; I really don’t. How’re they even doing that at this age? We were, like, sixteen!”

“Seventeen,” Joyce says.

“Sixteen; seventeen…this kid’s, what, thirteen?”

“Fifteen, almost sixteen” Joyce says. “Two years older than Will.”

Hopper sulks and passes the cigarette. “Still. She got it in her throat.”

“Hop.” Joyce slaps him on the shoulder. She sips when she smokes, making choo-choo puffs that sail past Hopper’s face in the dark. When she’s done, she dances the cigarette back in front of his face, and he tries to take it but she doesn’t let him. He can’t miss the look she gives him. “There but for the grace of prophylactics went I,” she reminds him. “And you.”

He sighs and rolls his whole head. She lets go.

“Just don’t say anything to Shelly, okay,” she says. “She’s mortified.”

Hopper nods in agreement — though why he would ever mention that to Shelly in the first place is beyond him — and takes a slower, gentler puff. He’s starting to calm down. Actually, he’d calmed down a bunch on the way over: Lynyrd Skynyrd on a dark road really wrings the shittiness out of him. Lynyrd Skynyrd, and being ten minutes and a football field away from sharing a Camel with Joyce Byers and bitching about their kids.

Solidarity, man.

“So who was the other kid?” Hop asks. He tries to do it surreptitiously but Joyce knows him way too well.

“What are you going to do, lock him up?”

“Maybe.”

“El’s smart,” Joyce says, smiling out over the field. The whole thing’s dark except for the red playclock, which somehow never shuts off. The white lines are fresh, glowing in the moon.

“Yeah, she is.” Hop’s attention, too, settles on the red clock. Eight thirty-two. He’s too fucking tired for eight thirty-two.

They both go quiet.

“Thanks for coming out,” he says after a while. Even after just the one smoke, his voice is back in the gravelly gutter where it used to sit when he was sucking down two packs a day. “I’m still quitting,” he says. “Sometimes you just need a goddamn cigarette.”

Joyce agrees in silence.

“What happens to these kids, huh?” he asks. The words are as soft and faint as his breath. He turns his head to her, beard rustling over the fleecy ruff of his coat. Her face is neutral, receptive. It encourages him. “It’s all, movie night and chasin’ ‘em down the hall and ‘daddy, do my hair’ and then, boom, she’s going out at night and some kid’s got the clap.”

Joyce gives his arm a little wiggle. “It’s not that bad,” she says.

“Hey, I’m not saying a kid can’t have freedom,” he says. “Just-”

“Just what?”

He holds his breath like it helps him think. “Well, you kept yours right,” he says. “How’d you do it?”

Her mouth quirks. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know,” he says. “You’ve got two…” He doesn’t want to say it, but there’s no other way to put it. At least, not that he’s clever enough to come up with. “Two fine, upstanding momma’s boys.” He puts his hands out between them to forestall her open-mouthed offense. “Look, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing; that’s what I want. I mean, those kids miss you when you go to take a piss.”

“That’s disgusting.”

He shrugs, shoulders and eyebrows hitching up together. “You like it.”

“I like my boys,” she says.

“And they like you.”

Joyce presses her lips together and leans deeper into Hop’s shoulder, close to feeling his arm through the eight layers of coat and flannel. “El loves you, Hop. She’s not going anywhere. But she’s gotta have something else going on.”

Hop snorts. Joyce sees it from below — the billow of air over his shiny, iced beard — and it reminds her of a billy goat. Put some horns on him; he’s got the whole stubborn rest of it covered.

“A girl can’t live on Schlitz and Bob Seeger alone,” she says. He head butts her. Just gently…but the goat thing stands.

“Worked pretty well for you,” he mutters gruffly. He stubs the cigarette out on the silver slat and drops it through the gap, condemned to the no-man’s-land under the bleachers.

“I was a little weird,” she says.

“A little,” he corroborates.

She leans in to shoulder-check him but he sees her coming. His big arm catches her at her zenith and mashes her deep into all that coat fluff. Some of it, she can tell from the warmth, is Hopper fluff. Both are very cozy to be smashed against, but Hop still, after twenty years, doesn’t know his own strength. Joyce’s peeping sound is how she communicates that he’s got her ribcage in a vice.

“Sorry,” he says, but he only loosens up a little.

They breathe together (Joyce, shallowly).

Look at the stars.

They stay motionless enough that their warmth hangs around them, and the punishment of fresh cold discourages even the slightest shift. Joyce lights another cigarette and smokes it like a statue, hand stuck up by her mouth. When it’s mostly done she tosses it down with all the other illegal, irresponsible, little-forest-animal-poisoning litter.

She feels Hopper’s chin double up against the top of her head when he looks down at her, and she looks up expecting a sarcastic scolding but gets a totally different Hopper.

A little more open around the eyes.

A little more pink in the cheeks.

A little less symmetrical in the smile.

She knew that look twenty years ago, and it hasn’t changed at all.

He’s gonna ask.

“Joyce,” he says, staring not at her, but at the stars.

“Yeah, Hop.”

They’ve been circling this, not like a drain but like a hunt. Every night drive, every smoke-out behind the high school, every midnight fried egg at the diner, they’ve come closer and closer to some center, like the North Pole, and Hop’s got this flag to plant. At this point, he’s so used to carrying it he doesn’t realize how heavy it’s become. His shoulders bend under it: all the time, but especially here, and now.

Joyce’s body is pulled suddenly, gracelessly, by an unscripted jerk of his arm.

“Sorry to get you out here on a school night,” he says. “I know you’ve got…stuff.”

He gets up, bleacher creaking, and offers her a hand.

The flag stays where it is, tied to his back.

His loss makes her cold, but his hand is still warm to the touch.

“We’ve all got stuff,” she says. “You know I’m here for ya.” She says ‘ya’ instead of ‘you’ so he won’t get scared. For a terrifying bearlike human being, it’s surprisingly easy to get his tail between his legs: sometimes just the barest hint of sincerity’ll do it. Then, of course, there are times he surprises her.

Though he doesn’t often do it this way:

“I love you, Joyce.”

Lightning.

It’s like she’s opened her coat, and shirt, and everything — all the way down — and let winter pour in. Just, ice, through every inch of her body.

Hop just sighs, eyebrows furrowing so deep they hide his eyes. “No, no,” he says, and Joyce realizes her face must be stuck in some terrible expression: it gets away from her sometimes. Hopper grips her shoulders, facing him, corralling her. “Here, it’s—” he sighs again “—it’s this whole thing with El. And with-”

His head dips. Hands loosen. Joyce puts hers up around his wrists and squeezes.

“With Sara, we always said we weren’t going to let it happen, you know?” He keeps looking at the ground. “We weren’t going to let her get too cool for us.” He laughs, but not really. “The world wasn’t gonna get her. She was going to stay our little girl.”

Joyce squeezes harder. Hop squeezes back.

“Growing up shouldn’t mean you can’t hug your dad or smile or actually like anything. But these kids hit high school and ‘love’ means ‘fuck’ and I think that — I think it’s fucked up. I think it fucks kids up. And I’m not letting some bozos convince my daughter that you have to turn into one of those record store punks on your thirteenth birthday.”

He stops talking. Out of breath, maybe.

Joyce is still frozen in place. She dares lift her eyes, and he’s looking right back at her. His gaze sticks like glue.

A few moments into his silence, she says: “What does that have to do with-”

“Everything,” he says. “I’m getting the word out. I’m gonna use it.”

She blinks.

“So, I love you,” he says. “And you love me. And we should fucking say it.”

She blinks again.

“Look: it means something that I call you,” he says. “And it means something that you come. It doesn’t have to mean more than that, but let’s call it what it is.”

She’s voiceless.

He’s impatient.

“You don’t have to get all weird about it. The whole idea is that you don’t get all weird about it.”

She nods. “I get it,” she says, a little raspy, and forces a smile.

“Come on,” he says, half joking. “Don’t tell me the cool kids got to you, too.”

Joyce doesn’t know how to explain to him what’s happening to her at this second, as he looks at her and she’s appearing to stay exactly the same. A fuse has been replaced somewhere, something she’d burned out so long ago and gone without for so long she’d forgotten it was ever there. Circuit completed. And what she feels, is a bewildering combination of fear and fearlessness.

The fear feels familiar. She’s no stranger to fear: everything she’s ever gotten for herself has made her afraid in return. Her beautiful, fragile kids; Her beautiful, shameless husband; Her weird, shattered reputation. It’s all mixed up into a wet, cold, ash that’s frozen like cement around her life. But she hasn’t felt fearless in a long, long time, and she doesn’t know why now, except that it’s in some way because Hopper loves her and Hopper is good.

Good in a way that’s beyond morality. Beyond reason. The kind of good he is, is elemental. She can smell it in the back of her head.

She’s been waiting for years, maybe since high school, for this declaration of love to come floating up out of him, like a body from a swamp. She realizes now that she’s been dreading it. More fear. Fear that love would mean fuck, maybe: like he’d said. And that the last little pure thing she’d been able to keep from the cement would be buried and gone.

But this is not a burial.

This is a force of nature, six-foot-four and heavy, unstoppable, coming out of the woods to stand in front of her and kneel.

It feels like the opposite of fear; it feels powerful, and she feels taller, and stronger, and when she looks up at him she takes his gaze straight. The way he looks back at her says she can get whatever she asks for.

He licks his lips.

He’s not afraid of her, either.

[paisleywraith]

Curses, curses. Chapter 12

Now that Kyle’s curse has been broken, he intends to find a way to break Kenny’s. No matter that the guy has been dealing with it for years. However long it takes, whatever he encounters, Kyle is determined to stop the universe from trying to boot Kenny off the face of the planet. Even if he has to face it head-on.

“I’m so done with you two.” Poor, pitiful Stan sighed, resting his chin on his hand. 

           “Why Stan,” Kenny eyes glittered. “That’s not very supportive of you.”

           Stan gave him a long-suffering look.

           “Get off me, you idiot,” Kyle told the blond without infliction. “I can’t see the textbook.”

           Kenny tsked his tongue, but obediently slid off his lap to sit next to him. Kyle leaned over the thick volume, tapping his fingers against the pages.

           “Buddhist Reincarnation?” Stan read upside down. “What class is that for?”

           “More of a project,” Kyle murmured in reply. “And it’s not what I’m looking for.”

           With that, he stood, slamming the book shut and returning to the shelf where he’d gotten it. Kenny watched him, a soft fondness on his face that Stan felt embarrassed to be witnessing.

           “I’m really, really glad for you two,” He mentioned, both hands supporting his chin now. “And I have the feeling you’re trying to bother me on purpose.”

           Kenny grinned. “Why would I do that?”

           “Because you’re an asshole.”

           “Point.”

           Kyle came back empty-handed, plopping down on the chair with an air of frustration. Both Stan and Kenny looked over at him.

           “What?” Kyle asked. Stan shook his head. He looked over at Kenny. “Are you taking a break or what?”

           “You know,” Kenny said, sighing as he went back to his homework. “Sometimes dating you has its downfalls.”

           “Mmhm,” Kyle said, taking out his phone to make himself a reminder list. “Stan’s working.”

           “Stan is ogling us, babe.”

           “Kenny, ew.” Stan picked up an eraser to toss at him. Kenny picked it up and whipped it back with much more force. Stan ducked.

           A pencil case was thrown at Kenny and bounced off his shoulder. Kyle glared, giving them both a look that wasn’t near as powerful as it ought to be, considering he looked about two seconds away from cracking up.

           “Knock it off,” He said, green eyes flickering. Stan was grinning and Kenny was smothering giggles. “I don’t want to get kicked out of my own workplace.”

           “Wouldn’t want to make it a third time, huh?” Kenny asked.

           “What?” Stan questioned.

           “Shut up Kenny.” Kyle was blushing, going back to bending over his phone.

           It was bizarre how easy it had been to fall back into this. As a trio. Stan looked up to smile and paused at Kenny.

           The boy was staring off at something now, and both Kyle and Stan immediately and obviously looked over their shoulders.

           Craig and Tweek were walking towards the front desk, Tweek speaking to Kyle’s coworker and handing a book back. The tall brunet was checking his phone, looking very disinterested. Until he looked up, and saw three boys staring at them.

           It was probably as close to surprised Craig looked on a normal day. He flipped them off, looking almost alarmed, and Kenny waved. Stan and Kyle awkwardly followed suit. Craig definitely looked concerned with the attention now.

           Tweek was done and looking between the boys. He waved awkwardly and grabbed Craig by the arm, pulling him towards the exit with rolled eyes and a blush.  

           “I never see them anymore,” Kenny commented. “Have they been hiding out with each other the past year or something?”

           “They hang with Clyde and Token still,” Stan noted. “And Jimmy. A lot. But no, I don’t talk to them a whole lot.”

           “We should all have some kind of get-together before we graduate,” Said Kyle, rather unexpectedly. Stan raised his eyebrows and Kenny smiled.

           “That could be fun,” He leaned back against his chair. “I kinda miss just hanging out with everyone as one big group, yanno?”

           Stan made a noise of agreement. For a while, it had been him, Wendy, Wendy’s friends, and Kenny, sometimes Kyle. The redhead had nearly taken himself out of everyone’s friend list, but ever since he and Kenny started dating last month, he’d seen a surprising change. Kyle talked to more people, dropped his tutoring and actually spent time with him. Like he had his friend back. He kept meaning to awkwardly ask Kenny if he had anything to do with that, but in the end he thought it might be best to just let it go. Just enjoy having him back.

           He needed an escape from these thoughts, they were making him feel mushy.

           “I gotta check out a laptop,” He told the duo, standing.

           Kyle nodded and Kenny kicked back in his chair.

           “Stop trying to be all PDA around Stan,” Kyle mentioned once the brunet was out of hearing range, though he was suppressing a grin as he looked up. “You’re going to scare him away.”

           “Did you see how he was acting when he and Wendy got together the latest time?” Kenny asked, raising his eyebrows.

           Kyle rolled his eyes, his smile finally breaking free. “I do.”

           “Then you know it’s only fair,” Kenny reveled in the laugh he got from Kyle. His grin softened, and he kicked Kyle’s sneaker affectionately. “Besides. I alone have the rights to flirt up my hot, redhead boyfriend. I gotta flaunt it somehow.”

           Kyle snorted, badly-concealing his smile. Sometimes Kenny worried that if he truly did choose a career as a lawyer, he had a terrible time keeping a straight face.

           Not that he minded. All the secret smiles and blushes were honestly kind of adorable.

           “You’re ridiculous,” Kyle dismissed in a way that meant he was really pleased. He reached over, however, brushing back Kenny’s hair out of his eyes. He reveled in the privilege, liking how Kenny just smiled, crookedly. Like it was normal.

           “You need a haircut,” Kyle noted fondly, and immediately regretted bringing up the topic of hair. Thankfully, Kenny was gracious.

           “I’ll get around to it.” He sighed, not looking bothered.

           “Mm.” Kyle hummed quietly. He lovingly carded his fingers through his hair one more time. “You go to work at four, right?”

           “Yup.” Kenny wrinkled his nose in disappointment when Kyle pulled his hand back.

           “You should probably leave soon,” Kyle showed him the time on his smartwatch. “Want me to drive you?”

           “Nah, I like the walk,” Kenny stretched.

           “Want me to pick you up after?”

           Kenny paused in the middle of his stretching, raising his eyebrows. “Whatcha have planned, babe?” He scooted his chair over with a loud squeak. “That might change my answer.”

           Kyle swatted him. “I just don’t like you walking around at night by yourself.”

           “Don’t you worry about me,” Kenny fluffed Kyle’s hair and stood. “I’ll call you if I need you to, how about that?”

           Kyle pursed his lips, and grabbed Kenny’s shirt to haul him down for a kiss. He had been surprised to find he actually had 0 qualms with being public with affection. In a way, he felt it was probably selfish. He liked the idea that he could kiss Kenny, whenever he felt like it. Just him.

Kenny laughed against his lips, cupping his cheek to get a better angle. He, of course, hadn’t any problems with Kyle liking to kiss in front of people.

           “Text me when you’re home,” Kyle told him, feeling terribly domestic and very conflicted on how to feel about that. Tone it down, Broflovski.

           Kenny, of course, took it in stride.

           “Sure,” He kissed him once more before standing and reaching for his backpack. “Don’t die of loneliness without me, sugar.”

           Kyle watched him go, smiling, as Kenny stopped by Stan chatting with another study table to say goodbye. Ruffling his hair as well. Goddamn cute. The whole idiot was so goddamn cute.

           It had been practically hours into Kyle kissing Kenny for the first time to agree that they were dating. Basically it consisted of kisses over tea and Kyle outright asking him if he’d be interested in dating exclusively. Kenny had absolutely no problem with this. Overall? It went well.

The only downfall was that they didn’t exactly get to see each other often. Their schedules meant the two didn’t get to spend a lot of time together, but Kyle dropped tutoring and changed his weekend hours at the library to match Kenny’s schedule. His hope was this upcoming week should change.

Some things in life were too important to let slip by. Giving up tutoring was a surprisingly easy choice.

           Blip!

           Kenny M: hey cutie need 2 ask something

           Kyle snorted. Not two minutes out the door. Weirdo.

           Kyle B: Ask, then.

           Kenny M: k more like can u do me a favor

           Kyle B: Of course.

           Kenny M: <3<3<3<3<3

           Kenny M: pick up karen from student news she texted me her ride is sick

           Kyle B: Yep. What time?

           Kenny M: 430 ty ilu ky <3<3

           Kyle snorted, trying to cover his smile with his hand in a casual movement. Tried to stop the happy thrills running over his arms and down his spine. This was ridiculous, he was being ridiculous.

           “He literally just left,” Stan’s voice was shaking with suppressed giggles. Kyle looked up, slowly. Glaring. Half-heartedly.

           “I’m being helpful, you ass,” Kyle looked around for another eraser. “I’m picking up Karen from her newspaper meeting.”

           The sappy look on Stan’s face was very uncomfortable.

           “Stop looking at me like that.”

           “This is so weird,” Stan was laughing now. “You two are so cute.”

           “Stoooop.”

           Stan’s smile only widened.

           “No wonder Craig and Tweek are pissed, they’ve been replaced as ‘cutest gay couple in South Park.’ They had a good run, I guess?”

           “Shut uuuuuuup.” Kyle was whining now and he didn’t even care. He didn’t even have his hat to pull over his head and hide. Kenny apparently really liked touching his hair (something he’d maybe kind of noticed) and like a weirdo, Kyle started not wearing it just in case he wanted to (not that he’d ever, ever, admit it) and just keeping up with cutting the curly mop he was cursed with.

           Speaking of curses.

           Kyle pointedly ignored Stan, blushing madly, bringing up his phone again.

           Reincarnation was not what he was looking for. Kenny didn’t come back different, just uninjured. Nothing else changed about him. It took him a damn month to figure that out.

           This was Kyle’s new obsession. Kenny didn’t like talking about it, but he always got this soft look when he saw Kyle researching. He’d gone over to Kyle’s house the other day, where Kyle had about five tabs open on immortality and reincarnation, and spent the rest of the day nuzzled up against him.

           Kyle was trying. If it took him years, he would figure this out.

           Kenny knew that. Without it being said, Kyle knew how much Kenny appreciated it. Just him trying. He only had to look at Kenny the other day, and notice the kind of smile. Almost indulgent, and very, very affectionate.

           Kenny didn’t expect him to figure it out.

           Kyle swore to himself that he would. Eventually.

           For now, though, he was going to chill with his best friend. The title could freely be given, considering Kenny was now his boyfriend. Kyle looked up once he felt he was no longer red, finding Stan frowning at his computer screen.

           Eh. Might as well see if he needed help.

              Kyle parked by the entrance closest to the newsroom fifteen minutes early. Karen was out of the doors at 4:30 exactly. She peered out, seeing Kyle’s car she hoisted up a bookbag and loped out through the snow and to the car.

           He gladly drove her home, hearing the screams from the elder McCormicks inside as he dropped her off. Karen didn’t seem to notice, saying goodbye and skipping out of the car like nothing was wrong.

           Somehow, Kyle doubted Karen was actually as carefree and sweet as she portrayed.

He was starting to think he was naïve. He wasn’t stupid, he knew he was a little sheltered by his nice family life and moderate popularity. Sometimes he felt a little sick, knowing he barely had to work for anything and Kenny was more or less supporting his family. That he and Karen were stuck in a place where their parents neglected their basic needs or wants, forced to pretty much be adults from a young age. Kenny tried to shelter her, but Kyle had his suspicions that Karen knew that as well.

What could he do? Nothing. Kyle trudged up to his room after a kiss from his mother and a half-assed hello from Ike. He came home to affection from his parents, his brother, to a nice home full of sure, arguments, but a lot of love, too.

Funny how you overlook a lot of shit as a kid.

He did not think Kenny would want to talk about any of this, for sure. For one, they haven’t discussed some other rather big things yet. Like fucking death and getting trapped on a single day. He hadn’t even told Kenny they’d kissed before, fuck damn it.

Secondly, Ken’s home life was something deemed taboo a loooooooong time ago. Even Boyfriend Rights didn’t have the right to prod into shit like that.

Goddamn it, now he was even sounding like Kenny.

The thought cheered him up significantly, enough that he cracked a smile, and Kyle flopped down on the bed to finish his leather-bound book open spine-up where he left off last night.

The nice thing was, if Kenny did need anyone he’d be around. Kyle, being a planner for the future, occasionally wondered for how long and if their futures would differ too much…he knew Kenny would never leave home until Karen could, and Kyle was planning on heading to the northeast for university. Cornell Law, preferably. He hadn’t divulged that to anyone yet, mostly because he was nervous.

In elementary, he was the Smart Kid. In high school, he was one of the smart kids. Not being top of his class anymore had hit him hard, going off to an Ivy was looking shaky. But he’d applied. And kept applying.

Even if he’d be paying student loans until he died.

Would Kenny even want to stick around a really, really long-distance relationship? This was stupid to think when they’d only been together a handful of weeks, sure, but…

Kyle shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Nope. They’d been together a month, they’d only been on like two dates, this was not something he was going to worry about yet. Not yet.

He’d zoned out. Kyle actually focused on the page for the first time. Shoot. He’d started flipping pages while he thought. He thumbed back through to where he left off, checking the time on his phone.

7:46 p.m.

Funny, he didn’t think he’d spent that long thinking about college applications and long-term relationships. His eyes flicked uneasily to the name of the day. Thursday.

Thursday. He grit his teeth. The damn day had been a source of anxiety for weeks. He cringed every time it came around. And it was stupid, but him zoning out and seeing the date sent his heart racing. So.

Kyle B: It’s Thursday. I lost track of time.

He got his reply within another seven minutes. The best part about Kenny was he immediately knew exactly what was going on.

Kenny M: its ok ky ur not in the loop

Kenny M: just thurs. happens cant skip it :)

Kyle took a breath. He wasn’t in the loop. It was just another day on the calendar. He squeezed his eyes shut.

The whole event was so surreal. He nearly killed himself over it due to the stress, Kenny actually had killed himself and that was still a major source of anxiety to him. Stan was clueless. He could be back in the loop again, what if he just didn’t remember this time?

Kenny M: ky ru ok

Kyle inhaled sharply. Shakily.

Kyle B: Yeah.

He hated how scared he got over this. It was terrifying and he still didn’t know why, or why it would change just because Kenny- because Kenny ended his life for him.

Kyle covered his eyes.

It could happen again, it could happen any second. And Kyle wasn’t going to let Kenny die again, no matter how or if he came back, so he didn’t know what he would do.

Maybe he would step out into traffic the next time. He clearly was easy to warp to insanity.

Kenny M: u sure?

Punctuation. He must really be concerned. Kyle grit his teeth.

Kyle B: Yes, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.

Kenny M: :)

Kyle laid back on the bed, book tucked beside him. He kept his eyes on the clock.

8:21

Don’t reset.

9:02

Nearly two hours went by. He should know by now, right?

9:10

No, he’d passed nine before. He could never remember where the time cutoff was, probably midnight if he were being logical, right?

9:16

Tap.

Kyle’s eyes widened.