Chapter Text
“So you do,” Ken whispered/shouted across the table, “you have a penis? For real?”
Ryland turned a shade red, “Shut up! God, do you have to be so loud all of the time?”
Ken licked the syrup off of his fingers leaving equal amounts of slobber behind. He didn’t answer, but was obviously waiting for one with the way he would pretend to look out the window and then give him a devious side eye.
“Ugh,” he groaned, “So what? You don’t?”
“I so too have one!”
“It’s the 21st century, who cares if I do and you don’t.”
“I have,” the man gestured to his lower half, “like, all of the genitals.”
Ryland gave him a squared look over his glasses, “Then, what’s underneath the penis?”
Ken squirmed, anxious and furrowed his eyebrows. Ryland intentionally made his look a little overly silly to hopefully make Ken understand he wasn’t serious and more so messing with him. Even so, Ken shoved a pile of mushy, spit out french toast in his mouth to stall his answer.
The so-called Penis Haver lifted an eyebrow in response.
“Um,” he swallowed hard, “my.. my vagina?”
Ryland’s hand flew to cover his mouth before he blew out chunks of waffle. “No shit, you really don't got nothing going on down there,” he breathed through his next chuckle, “the vagina..”
“There’s more!? That was a trick answer!” Ken whined and pouted and huffed.
Something curious about Ken was that he was not unlike a sheltered kid. Dazzled by the idea of a ‘real man’ and the ‘real world’. From questions about genitals and the mountains, horses compared to the rest of the animal kingdom, he asked them all. He had all the curiosity and why’s in the entire world.
Ken pushed half chewed breakfast around on his plating still moping, “Can I at least see yours?” He gave puppy eyes.
“Can you just eat your food?” Ryland never hung around children, but he is sure they would be much more behaved than whatever was going on with Ken.
He thinks researchers would get a real kick outta this guy. No childhood to develop from, no role model to base his behavior on, no human experiences, unable to truly get the concept of on-coming traffic. Ken went where he wanted to go and that meant the entire trip from the crash spot to the restaurant Ryland had to learn to keep his hand outstretched and ready to pull.
Ryland was supposed to use this time to think, ponder what his next move should be. If he was going to hand Ken over to the proper authorities or if he thought this was a suitable situation to get himself involved in. Human connection was all intricacies and delicate matters, but Ken was no human, not like him, not like Colt. He was new and this was something Ryland knew he could fix.
An obnoxious Mmmmn! cut through his dialogue.
A few sickening, wet smacks later Ken spoke up. “That was divine! What was this fan-tastic dish?”
“French toast, scrambled eggs, hash-browns?”
Ken swallowed a hard lump down his throat and his gut settled with some unease. He should really tell Ken to start chewing his food thoroughly. Watching him pick at the different foods on his plate with an unsteady hand, letting the utensil slip a few times before full on fisting that sucker. Still working out the basics, Ryland let him be messy for a little while longer to hopefully learn via observation.
“Where did you come from? You must be a long way from home.” Ryland didn’t buy most of his story just purely because of the absurd nature of it all.
“Barbieland,” the man shook his head with closed eyes, “Man, you really don’t listen.”
Ryland felt a twig snap under pressure in his head.
“It was almost Kendom Land, but the Barbies won the vote so the Kens were overturned and overthrown. We Kens were beaching off because—well Ken stole my long-term, long-distance, low-commitment casual girlfriend, and then Ken stole his, it was really all of the Barbies playing with our heart strings to get us to beach each other off, but we made them Brewski Beer us so I guess we deserved it, ya’know?”
No, he doesn't know how that is, but he can imagine the weird turmoil one can be under when forcing girls to.. Brewski Beer him and then manipulated to… beach his bro’s off in order to lose an election?
“Okay.. and what did you see in your yoga visions? Specifically.”
“Well, I saw you in this huge group of people and you were, I dunno, kinda a lot.” He took his shirt off to rub at his sticky face and the random spills of orange juice that hadn't made its free fall into his mouth.
“What does that mean? Ken, you gotta give me something to work with.”
“Uh well,” he messed with the dirty shirt, “you were mad, like really mad, maybe sad because you were sorta cryin’? Which I do too! Totally a healthy thing to do. If, if you were wondering.”
For all the shit Ken had put him through during the hour and so that they have known each other, he felt an uneasy guilt blanket over him. Ken was anxious, a little skittish. He guesses that really the extent of what Ken has seen of his person so far, besides the hour they’ve spent together. That Ryland was mean, and scary, and vicious.
The next part Ryland felt was a self-conceited twitch of his eye. He didn’t even do anything to Ken yet and here he was, pressed against the booth like he would he lashed at. Really, he should be the one tearing up and choking up from fear, what does Ken have to fear? Ken is fine.
Ryland huffs something hot and dangerous out, “And what the hell does that have to do with you?”
He winced at how cold and bitter the words felt against his tongue. He looks down at his fingers, exhales to regroup, and goes to open his mouth to solemnly apologize but it whittles out in a smooth understanding. What does Ken know? Not enough, but also knows to let Ryland be bigger. Ken squeezes himself down so impossibly small, he doesn't flinch, does not bare his teeth in response, but lets Ryland take a hold of the leash.
He doesn’t apologize, but he nods for Ken to speak next.
Ken moves to stack jellies to distract himself from the stilted air, “I get angrier now. Barbie had thoughts of cellulite and.. death? It started her whole venture into this world and when I followed her I felt my body be somewhere else. Be with you, I guess.
My chest started to hurt at times, Barbie told me it was normal to miss a friend when they are away, and I should learn to let her go. I didn’t miss her, well I did but I felt different. I started to yell and have a short temper with the Kens and Barbies, eventually was sent to Weird Barbie for my weird mood swings and she told me to find you since something ties us together.
So I came here and I sat on a bench.”
“And found me?”
“I sat on a bench, and then I found you,” Ken smiled something warm, “and I know that it is very very lonely to be you. In my vision my heart was in yours so I sorta feel some things you feel too.”
Ryland didn’t know if he even wanted to know but he hummed out for Ken to continue.
“I feel like a failure, like everything was for nothing.”
It was Ryland’s turn to squash himself into the booth, back up until there's about a mile in between their bodies. All the air was sucked up, suffocating him because Ken was just so honest and it felt like he was dying in that.
“Oh! Weird Barbie gave me this self help book too if you wanted-”
“Give me that.”
Ken easily handed it over with a little embarrassed tilt to his head like his figurative ears pressed against his head, “I can't read it anyway.”
Ryland pawed at the heavily decorated book, it was too shimmery and bedazzled to have been a real published book. More so, it looked like a personal diary for a 9 year old. It smelled like craft glue, and Ken’s distinct flowery, sea-salt scent that perpetually followed him.
It was the undeniable truth that it was exceptionally lonely being him.
He flipped through the pages, words passing by in a hurry.
He has been for awhile now.
The first written page was a bunch of nonsense, the handwriting looked exactly like his as a child.
Ryland was convinced that Ken was telling the truth because even if it was all batshit insane Ken still knew something not even Colt knew.
“It’s just a stupid list.”
Ken perked up, “What does it say!?”
“Hydrogen, helium, lithium, beryllium, boron, carbon, nitrogen, oxygen.. It lists all of the elements off of the periodic table.” Ryland thumbed the pen indents deliberately.
“Ohh, I think I know what Ox-y-gen is.”
“What is it?”
“The animal, the big fluffy animal? I saw it in a book.”
Ryland closed the book and rubbed his forehead. Sighing into the action he fondly raised the corner of his lips into a smile.
For the first time in years, Ryland wasn’t as alone as he felt. When the waitress came, he didn’t feel the usual disconnect he felt before. Maybe it was because Ken was soaking up all of the attention, all the eyes were off of Ryland and his mistakes. All watching Ken make more and more and more mistakes but still continue on. Maybe it was because Ken understood him on a grand level. He was not alone anymore.
Ken harassed the waitress with his soggy shirt, shoving it in her face while she tried to get out words.
“Sir– Sir! Are you done with that? No, I don’t have a new shirt for you.”
“I’m so sorry,” Ryland gave Ken a pointed glare, “He isn’t from around here.”
Ken ignored the glare, “Do you have some money? I need new clothes for this rockin’ bod.”
Ryland threw a jelly at his head before he could flex. “Take it, he’s done with his food and–” he clenched his teeth together, “I have money you loser.”
“Wha! Loser!?” he squawked.
“Stop, let’s go get you new clothes.”
They both got up after the waitress scampered away, Ken still huffing about the loser comment, whispering things under his breath. “You should..”
“What did you say?”
“You should get yourself some new clothes too! You look so.. Yuck!!” And he skated out of the building dramatically.
Ryland took some deep breaths. Colt might not be able to see the body warm at this rate.
-
Ryland walked, navigating his phone to find the nearest Walmart that will hopefully let him bring a shirtless Ken inside. If not then he’d have better luck either tying him to a pole or finding a different place to shop, Ken was no way in hell leaving his sight and getting lost.
Not with the way he was acting now,
“You look so hard, rock on man,” Ken shouted a passing comment to a rather dangerous looking man.
“Don’t say that, don’t tell other men that they look hard while you look like..” he didn’t want to talk about this with Ken right now, “Just don’t say that, just stop talking to people, I’m begging you.”
“What? Why? Everyone loves looking fierce and ready to take on the day! Did you not see his shark shorts?”
“I did see them, they were pretty cool, but please. I don’t wanna watch you get beat up.”
Ken shrunk into himself.
Good, maybe he is starting to understand that Ryland isn’t here to punish and torture but rather steering him clear of the wrong path. God, why does he sound so old.
“Like a beach off?” he gulped, “You think they know how to do… flips and stuff?” But Ken never learns.
“Why would they–? Nevermind, just stop, I’m scared for you.”
-
As it stands, he should’ve put a price of how much Ken could actually buy. The Walmart was busy but it was the only place that Ryland figured they would let Ken in shirtless (only if he put on a shirt before they counted to 10). Also if he took off the roller blades and put on some shoes before someone who got paid more than the greeters noticed. Ken walked around shoeless without problem.
Ken had a lot of questions about Rylands personal wardrobe. Mostly the colors, but Ryland led him to the graphic tee’s to give Ken some real options.
On the way, Ken would pause them and ask if ‘is the blue more like this? Or like this?’ and ‘knitted or crocheted?’ Which he didn’t know how to answer besides a ‘maybe’ hand gesture and various amounts of hums.
Finally, they made it to the heart of the men’s section, spinning around to show off some of his personal shirts he found a blank spotted line in the shape of Ken. That shoeless, owner-less bastard, gone with the wind. Ryland immediately put his hands together and called for his lost Ken.
A worry gnawed at his chest, not for Ken per-say, but for the everyday citizens of Walmart. He told him to put a handle on it, but alas he knew that wasn’t enough. Ken had only spoken to a good handful of people in his possession, but it always ended in disaster or was turning down that road before he yanked at the chain.
The women’s section was where he heard two hums, one clearly lagging behind and unsure what the next note will be. A tall tell sign of Ken.
Ryland ran over, careful of the trailing chaos of clothes scattered on the ground.
“Ken,” he leaned on a rack, “What did I tell you about sticking close? You never liste– oh.”
Ken was in a light, pink sweater cropped near his belly button but only because it was far too small for him. He had an armful of clothes in his arms and draped over his shoulders. At his side was an old lady dressed happily chirping away with her whistle tunes.
She turned around and threw her arms open, “You must be his brother! Very modern he is.”
“I’m so sorry for him, ma’am, was he too much of a bother? Ken has issues running off, took my eyes off him for one second.”
Her hand raised, and like a well trained dog, Ken leaned over so she could pat the top of his head. Ryland resisted the urge to roll his eyes, “He was just asking how this sweater looked on him, doesn’t he look darling?”
Ryland could think of several words that described how Ken looked in the small ass sweater and none of them were nice or appropriate. Though, it seemed like she could read the words right off his face because she spun around and huffed. Turning her attention back to Ken who was already distracted by a rack of clothes.
“You young people are so open with things like this these days, you should be nicer to your brother,” she started to pick more things off the racks and dropped them onto Ken who didn’t even struggle with the piled on weight.
He didn’t like where this conversation was going, “Open with.. things like what?”
She patted Ken's arms, “Being gay.”
“What–?” “I’m gay?”
Ken almost dropped the clothes in favor of this new topic, “Is that true, Ry?”
“Don’t call me that,” he groaned, “I don’t know? Are you?”
The lady rubbed Ken’s shoulder already off the topic she started, “Well, regardless, try these little numbers on. I gotta head back to the ol’ ball and chain, I loved your company, young man.” She paid no attention to Ryland and walked away with only warm feelings towards Ken.
And just like that, Ken and Ryland were alone with each other again, only the pile of clothes in his arms were the remnants of the old lady of the past.
He began to shuffle towards the fitting rooms, walking with his head on a swivel careful not to lose the man again. Ken asked more questions on the way, more and more and never ending things that Ken had wanted to know. ‘Why can I not wear this?’ and the replies, ‘It’s a bra.’
Ken almost irritatingly knew some things but not all the way. Barbies wore this and that, some Kens did too, but there was nothing amiss from it. Ryland had to agree, there was nothing wrong with it, he just.. was intolerant.
Something nasty settled in his stomach. Who was he to tell Ken what to wear and what not to wear? This realization came fashionably too late as Ken was already stomping off with a hurt whine at the back of his throat about Ryland being bossy and controlling . Ryland was being an asshole, he was such a jackass.
With a sudden spin Ken asked, “Can you watch my fashion show?”
With a subdued nod he agreed only if it went by with speedy precision—to which Ken would close the door and open it a few seconds later to be in a completely different outfit with a new set of accessories to match. Ryland had little to say about anything, he was starting to sound too prudish and old as the day went on. God, he needed to chill.
Ken didn’t seem to care though, happy with the hums and thumbs up.
The fashion show ended too soon for the amount of outfits thrown together, but Ken had chosen things that could be mashed and styled together. Ryland didn’t know either or so he just nodded along.
The other man had ended up in a light pink button up that was very much not buttoned up, and cute light washed shorts. He had said no to tasseled cowboy boots, the controversial bra and matching panty set, and many many other sorts of bits and bobs that were too much for a tired and wary Ryland. Ken disagreed but kept his whimpering to a minimum with a few things slipping into his pockets to ice the hurt.
They walked out of the Walmart sufficiently more exhausted than they went in. Ken had actually yawned from all the movement, closing his eyes for seconds too long, letting the grocery bags drag him down.
Ryland lived a decent walk away, though getting on public transportation with Ken was too much to put any effort into, so he dragged them through the mess of sidewalk. He might have to get something, someone, anything to get them, but Ken still needed that push of effort to tire out completely.
The man walked in a strange, wobbly line, brushing shoulders with Ryland one second and then trailing off into the grass the next. It was a cycle of wandering, staring, gazing out into the busy world that Ryland had grown tired of many years ago.
Wonder sparkled in Ken’s eyes, a new and fantastic world that was now seen through a clear lens. It was a striking curiosity, a need to touch and see, and feel everything this place had to offer. As he looked, he spoke about wanting to do this and that. Ryland listened with his own awe, maybe it was childish and silly, but he saw something real in Ken. Something he himself had been missing after all those years surrounded by logical snubs that couldn’t appreciate the imaginary possible.
He had lost that passion, or maybe it was that he got too passionate. Too snobby, arrogant, uptight a-hole. Lost sight in discovery and was in the constant dick measuring contest. He has not felt the subtle thrill in his heart that thumped thumped thumped and told him this was his love.
Ken talked about imaginary things, so real and true to him, but Ryland sounded like that too. He was creative, and bright, he made it so quickly because his eyes were wide and tail bushy. To prove to the world he could do it, he lost that silly gait and charisma for something professional and stiff collared.
Ryland missed it.
Ken tripped over a tree root but never stopped asking questions about trailing ants in a strange line going down the trunk and towards a rotten apple.
Ryland ached for it so badly.
So when the next inevitable question came, he answered it with as much grace as he could manage in his weary and vulnerable state.
“Why is there a dark cloud over there, so scary– I mean, obviously I’m not scared if you’re not,” Ken peaked over to look at Ryland, “but it’s cool if you are... Are you?” With obvious freight he soothed himself with a rub at his own arm, it broke Ryland’s heart.
Instead of replying to the last part, he answered to maybe ease Ken in the only way he knew how to.
“Do you see those white clouds? Right above us,” he pointed above them to keep Ken’s eyes away from the incoming gray flurries. “They are filled with little drops of water or ice crystals that float in our atmosphere and normally look just like those–”
“Why are they white? Are those ones sad or something?” Ken interrupted.
He took a deep breath, “Good question– but not really, they don’t feel things like you and I. What makes them white is a process called Mie scattering. Sunlight is actually all of the colors but our brains mixes those all together and makes it seem white.”
“So cool. So, like, everyday we see a rainbow?”
“Mmn vaguely, since sunlight contains the entire light spectrum I think we can say so!”
Ken took it in all bright eyed, tail wagging, his brain soaking up the rainbow bit perfectly. “They gray clouds then? Why are they like that?”
“For white clouds, Mie scattering scatters all light equally between the little droplets and crystals which are larger than the light's wavelengths, this makes the scattered light come out from the cloud so we see it as white.
When it comes to the darker clouds, they are filled with too much water, thick and ready to rain. If a cloud is thick, sunlight has to pass through even more droplets and ice crystals to get through, it leads to more scattering and absorption of light. Since most of the light doesn't make it to the bottom of the cloud, it appears darker to us down below.”
“And scarier?”
“And scarier, it should be a light shower so we have nothing to worry about. It will just make my glasses dirty and our clothes damp.”
Ken nodded slowly, letting the lesson bounce around in his head for a while. “We should get to Palace-Ryland soon then.”
“Palace-Ryland?”
“Well, Barbie had Barbie’s Dream House and when I lived there it was called Ken’s Mojo Dojo Casa House, you didn’t tell me its name so I chose one!”
He waved off Ken, “We don’t get fancy names like that here, but thanks. It sounds rather dignified and royal!”