Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dude, your back is like a fuckin’ dinosaur’s,” Kenny murmured, putting his beer down to run his fingers along it. He started from the base of his neck, trailing down. Craig tensed at the ice-cold touch. 

“What does that even mean?” He whispered without meaning to. Kenny had gone as far as he could with Craig’s shirt in the way. After a second, he pulled them back up and continued southward on his spine on top of his clothes. Craig could still feel the tingling on his neck.

“Your back bones stick out,” he said, voice lowering to match Craig’s, “forgot which dinosaur has it. But you’re, like, a distant descendant of it.”

Craig thought for a second. “You mean a fucking stegosaurus?” 

“Yeah. That.” Kenny was at the base of his spine at that point. Craig forced his eyes forward and his face blank.

“Yours are more obvious,” he pointed out. Kenny’s bones stuck out along many places in his body. His knuckles, both clenched and flat, made miniature hills, and his joints had valleys and mesas where most people’s were smooth, unrevealing of the structure underneath. “By your logic, does that mean you’re like five percent stegosaurus while I’m only three percent?”

“Guess so.” Kenny finally scooted back to his own personal space. He grabbed his can again and took another drink. Craig couldn’t help himself from staring, and they ended up sharing a look that lasted a little too long. 

To dispel the tension, Kenny shot a quick grin and made a dinosaur claw with his right hand, the other still clutching the beer. “Rawr.”

“There was no enthusiasm in that, you’re a shit dinosaur.” Craig motioned for him to share the drink. He did so, and Craig couldn’t help but notice those deep blue eyes watching him down the rest of it too.

“That’s rich coming from you of all people,” Kenny eventually said, seeming to have snapped back to reality. He didn’t seem upset that Craig finished the beer.

“Whatever. Actually, I’m pretty sure stegosauruses don’t even have claws.”

“My little paleontologist,” Kenny cooed. It was times like that when Craig wished he were better at reading people, because he couldn’t tell if he was flirting or not.

“Ah, Jesus, are you wearing normal clothes?” Craig said, cringing as he waded into the pool. They were in Tolkien’s backyard, and had barely managed to even pull the cover off of the pool, not quite sure which way it was to be rolled. He nearly jumped back onto the patio; the water was freezing.

“Don’t have a swimsuit, hon,” Kenny shrugged. “Not that I would’ve brought it anyways. I didn’t even know this guy had a pool.” They were staying over for his birthday sleepover. No one even called him out for having a slumber party, which was deemed uncool to the middle schoolers, because everyone knew Tolkien’s house was the sweetest out of everyone’s in South Park. Even Craig, who had been friends with him for ages, was sure he hadn’t seen everything.

He gave a simple “oh” in response. Kenny suddenly dunked his head underwater. He emerged a few seconds later with a heave, accidentally splashing Craig a little in the process.

“It’s cold as a witch’s fucking tit,” he called out louder than he had to. “C’mon, try it.”

“No thanks,” Craig said gingerly. He slowly wiped the water that Kenny got on his face, arms hugging his chest. “And quiet down, someone’ll hear us.”

“Nuh-uh, they’re on the second floor.” The two had snuck out to explore, maybe to make out a little, and ended up outside. It would be difficult to see but the house had motion-activated outdoor lighting. The wall and poolside lights beamed artificially bright, as long as they kept moving.

“Well you can be pretty damn loud for someone who’s usually muffled.” At that point in their lives, when Kenny had swapped his signature mouth-blocking parka for a black face mask with some band’s logo stitched on, he was either doing it to keep up his reputation or was going through a phase.

“Whatever.” He swam to the deeper part, apparently wanting to see how far down the water went. “Woah, c’mere, this is fucking crazy.”

“What?” Craig walked a little further, having to stand on the tips of his toes to keep his head above water. 

“I can’t just say it, it’s so weird,” Kenny said, eyes wide at something below him. He was treading to stay afloat, so it was safe to say that the pool went pretty deep. “Just swim over.”

Craig scowled, glancing down at the tiled blue floor then at his boyfriend. He gave himself a second or two to grumble before dunking himself into the water. Craig almost pulled back with a yelp, feeling as though he’d plunged into the arctic itself. Just fucking do it, he gritted to himself, and luckily, he was there quicker than he thought.

“What is it?” He gasped, leaning against the pool edge. The freezing air outside offered no relief, and Craig finally understood why Tolkien never wanted to go in the pool.

“Nothing. I just wanted you to stop being a pussy and get under the water.” 

“I’m never gonna get used to how fucking loud it is in the city,” Craig said, watching the dozens of cars pass them by. Bright white and red flashed across their faces and linked hands. “The loudest thing in South Park was the high school cafeteria.”

“I know, right?” Kenny pulled him closer to stop him from accidentally running into someone on the sidewalk. He knew it was far too late for two wimpy teens fresh out of high school to be wandering home. They had lost track of time while exploring the new and exciting city nightlife, and there was no way in hell they were about to pay for a cab.

A few honks and a fire truck siren tearing through the air interrupted their conversation for a minute or two. Kenny had to stop himself from asking the nearest person what was happening—although that would be typical in a tight-knit town, there was absolutely no way he’d get an answer from a place where a single block seemed to house the entire population of South Park. 

Craig interjected his thoughts. “I think that dude’s following us.”

“Who?” He swiveled around.

“That guy behind us, with a brown jacket and sweats.” He was speaking out of the corner of his mouth, and jaw was tense. Kenny caught sight of the person in question. He didn’t seem all that suspicious, but Craig wasn’t one to be paranoid, so he trusted him.

“What the hell do we do?” Craig pressed rigidly, almost whispering. His hand grasped Kenny’s tighter. “Do you think we could beat him up? He could have a knife, but it’s two to one.”

“Dude, no.” He spared their follower one last glance after they crossed the street. The man was still there, and their eyes met for a brief second. Although it was too dark to see anything for sure, Kenny could feel his gaze. A surge of panic rose in him.

Calm down, he instructed himself, and squeezed Craig’s hand back. “Listen, sometimes shit like this would happen back at the shitty side of town in South Park. We just gotta get to, like, a McDonalds or something.” 

“Shouldn’t we call the police?”

“Do it discreetly.” Back at their hometown, the police would have done next to nothing if they even arrived, so Kenny typically didn’t even bother. But it was probably a good idea to. 

“Babe. Babe get off of that thing.” Craig’s nagging disrupted his concentration. Kenny’s foot missed the right arrow and he cussed through his heavy breaths. “I’m serious, you’re gonna waste all our tokens on DDR.”

“Fuck you, you started this,” he managed to wheeze out. Kenny had no clue how long he’d been playing, but he just knew he couldn’t stop anytime soon.

“I didn’t start shit. You took it as a competition.” When they spotted the Dance Dance Revolution machine Craig recalled a song that he’d practiced, or rather, Clyde had made him play on repeat in middle school using his DDR pads at home. He had gotten a near perfect score and had claimed that Kenny couldn’t beat him.

“Yeah, you rubbing your score in my face totally wasn’t going to make me want to prove you wrong.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Craig said boredly, “just get off now. I got you something.”

Kenny felt energy roll away from him with his beads of sweat as he kept up the conversation. “Shut up, the song’s only halfway done.”

He was quiet for a second before slowly saying with the same pleading voice, “Kenny…”

His foot slipped again. “Fuck! You just want attention.” Kenny tried to sound angry, but he knew his words came out exhausted and a smidge dotingly. 

“Yeah. It’s a date. I want all of your attention.”

“Just wait until the song is over, babe.” Kenny was glad Craig finally listened. He felt him lean against the bar silently. Kenny was a little self-conscious of his hot, sweaty arms for a moment before he was swept back into the game. 

The last few notes played and a B was displayed on the screen. Kenny let himself collapse, his legs feeling like jell-o and his body on fire. Craig’s score listed under the name FUKU in first taunted him. He nearly reached into his pocket for another token when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Let’s just get something at the food court. You’ll probably want to drink something, right?”

“Yes,” he said simply, still out of breath and mostly grateful that Craig didn’t rub his loss in his face. “Help me up.”

Craig pulled him to his feet, one hand behind his back. Kenny tried to peek behind him. “What’re you hiding?”

“I told you I got you something, didn’t I? Won it at one of the claw machine things.”

“Great. So you’re just beating me in everything today,” Kenny grumbled. He tried to sound humoring, but deep down, he was the slightest bit salty.

“Who cares, you get a sick Dollar Tree toy. Now close your eyes.”

Kenny obliged and held his hands out. Something soft and light dropped into them. He blinked, then nearly threw the thing away from him. “What the fuck? ” It was a puppet, one that looked exactly like Mr. Hat to be specific. 

“I knew you’d love it.” Craig was snickering behind his hand. Hearing his rare laughter nearly made having to touch Mr. Hat’s doppelganger worth it. Nearly.

“Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you.” He stomped on the puppet, kicked it for good measure, and shot Craig a glare.

“Will paying for whatever you want at the food court make up for that?” He asked after a pause, still grinning.

Kenny almost hugged him, before he remembered he was supposed to be mad. “Eh. Maybe.” 

“I didn’t know you were a Girl Scout.” The familiar voice got Kenny to snap his head up from his phone.

“I’m not. Just here for my sister.” He put a hand on Karen’s shoulder to emphasize his point. Craig nodded courteously at her. Kenny smiled, remembering when they had just started dating and Craig wouldn’t even spare her a glance. 

“Aren’t they supposed to have an adult look after them?” Craig asked, turning his attention back to him.

“I’m eighteen,” Kenny defended himself, “and besides, I’m always at their booths.” Considering Girl Scout cookie booths were incredibly boring if you weren’t the one actually selling things, Kenny wasn’t sure why he promised himself to make it to every single one.

“I forgot. You act a lot younger.” He smiled and tried to lean over the booth, but was stopped by a chorus of “eww”s and his own younger sister pushing him back.

“Are you going to take me home or not?” Tricia demanded, “that’s why you’re here, not to flirt with your boyfriend.”

Kenny noted, a little proudly, that Craig looked embarrassed. “Yeah, okay. See you, babe.”

“I’ll call you when we finish,” Kenny said, waving them goodbye, “maybe we can all go to dinner or something.”

He honestly deserved a “best boyfriend in the world” award for making Craig smile again after all that teasing.

The doorbell echoed out loudly. Craig, who was at home with his little sister, naturally waited for her to answer it. When it rang a second time, he tore off his headphones with a grumble and went down the stairs himself. 

“Hi,” a rushed voice greeted him. He opened the door a little further to see that it was Kenny. A mix of confusion and pleasant surprise rose inside of him; he straightened his back up.

“Sorry to have to do this but do you have, uh, like, some body spray I can use?” His voice was sheepish and apologetic. “I’m on my way to a date.”

The question took him aback. “No, go ask Kyle,” Craig said. For one, it was an inappropriate question to ask, considering they were barely friends, and for another, he was a little bit hurt that Kenny, his crush since sixth grade health class, was going out with someone else.

“Oh, c’mon, yours was the closest and I already ask for so much from him.” Kenny looked as though he might get on his knees to beg at any second. “Please, this is a first date and I really like him, but he’s sort of a neat freak, and our water shut off so I couldn’t shower—”

“Fine, fine, just stay there.” In Craig’s opinion, Kenny didn’t smell particularly bad, but he supposed it would be good to touch up.

He ran back upstairs, grabbed the first bottle he saw, and made his way back down. “Here. I almost never use it but knock yourself out.” 

“Okay, thanks,” Kenny muttered, hands shaking. It must’ve been the nerves from the date. 

“Good luck,” Craig said as Kenny sprayed himself and returned the bottle. He tried not to sound bitter.

“Yeah, thanks.” Kenny scanned his face. It was only for a second but he did it so intently that Craig had to look away. “Uh, see you later.”

They were deskmates in third period chemistry class. “See you.” 

Chapter Text

BECKY: 

The feeling, it was like those nature documentaries with the calming British narrators that would describe ferocious wild cats: tigers, pumas, cheetahs, whatever, as they stalked their prey. They would creep up silently, watching the antelope drink from a pond, then pounce. 

“Are you scared of what’s gonna happen at the end of this year?” Kenny asked while shoveling Doritos into his mouth, trying to seem nonchalant. They were chilling on the couch at the Tuckers’ house, staying up far too late.

“What’s that gonna be? Graduation?” Craig said, not taking his eyes off the game.

“I mean, yeah, but like after that.”

Gunshots from the video game filled the silence that fell between them. 

Finally, Craig said, “Well, Kenny. We already decided that we’re parting ways. I don’t know what else there is to talk about. If things end up working out, then great. If not, then… I dunno. It was nice knowing you.” 

“Yeah,” Kenny replied despondently. He didn’t know why Craig didn’t feel the same sense of dread he did, or at least sentimentality about the time they spent together, slowly ticking away… did he simply not care? Good for him, he supposed. But also fuck him. 

“Shit.” Craig tossed the controller over to him as a new match started, having lost. “Useless fuckin’ teammates.” 

“You’re the useless one.” Kenny picked it up, fumbling idly with the greasy controller while he waited for another match to begin. He tried not to think about the future.

Craig stretched, yawning. “Whatever. Think this might be the last round for the night.” They agreed on that a few rounds ago, but this time it seemed to be the truth.

And it was. After another defeat, Kenny turned off the T.V. with a grumble, and they climbed up to Craig’s room, stumbling over the stairs in the dark. The snacks were forgotten in the living room to grow stale by morning. 

“C’mon,” Craig said with another yawn, pulling himself and Kenny into bed. He smiled and welcomed the embrace. The weight and scent of the comforter, even if it was grimy, with bits of unidentifiable debris poking at him, only added to the solace.

Then, a quiet, sleepy kiss on the cheek. “‘Night, Ken.”

“Good night.” He returned the gesture. 

Echte Liebe: 

“Considering my dad’s right there,” Craig hissed, grabbing Clyde roughly to get his point across, “and he pays your sorry ass, maybe you should shut the fuck up.” 

“Goddamn,” he whispered back, shaking himself off. Clyde’s eyes darted to the man in the corner, head buried in a magazine and cigarette in hand. The sunlight was starting to wane, and combined with the fact that it was filtered through the grimy workshop windows, it must’ve been hard to read. However, the Tuckers were lucky to get newspapers from all across the nation, his dad constantly reminded him, and they should make use of it.

In any case, Mr. Tucker didn’t notice their miniscule dispute. Clyde grunted as he pointed this out. “Not the biggest deal. You’re acting like I asked how your mom is doing. I just fucking asked if we could get off a couple minutes early.” 

“‘A couple minutes?’ We still have forty-five on the clock.” Craig pointedly chose to ignore the other thing Clyde said. He sat down with finality, wiping his hands off on his trousers. It left a black smear, adding to the smatters of dark on tan pants. 

“Whatever. Not like anyone’s gonna come in here anyway. Rounds are over.” Clyde had a point. It would be fine if they walked out, and still probably would’ve been okay if they left an hour ago. No more trains were coming through the depot, so their only job would be small repairs from town. However, them leaving the shop wasn’t what was grinding Craig’s gears. He didn’t want to be sitting behind the counter (or rather, table), doing nothing for another however-long either.

“I’ll pay for your drinks,” Clyde said, as if that made up for it. He leaned on the table languidly, refusing to sit in the stool next to Craig. “Just don’t get completely wasted.” 

“I don’t want to go in town,” he mumbled back, “and you know that. We can hang out here.” 

“The only damn thing to do here is clean and read,” Clyde retorted, “what do you even hate so much about the city anyway?”

Craig lifted his head up to peer at his dad again. He hadn’t looked up, but had apparently lit a candle to better read the newspaper. It was from somewhere in Hamburg. Clyde called the village that they lived by a city, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. Mr. Tucker liked reading newspapers from actual, bustling cities. 

He just didn’t see the appeal that the two saw. The cramped, garbage-filled streets hid horrible memories and terrifying discoveries. The towering factories and congested housing were like a prison that blocked out any rays of sunlight. Instead of the methodical choruses of train whistles, the city was a constant cacophony.  

“We’re going to the bar the second we get off,” Clyde said with finality, pulling Craig away from his thoughts, “you’re stuck here all day every day. Don’t you feel cursed by the fact that you have to live in this place?” He gestured around the workshop, supposedly to prove his point, except that Clyde didn’t have one; sure, it was tight quarters, but it worked out just fine.

“One day you’re gonna wish you had your own place,” he continued. Ironic, because Clyde had his fair share of housemates. “No more being woken up by trains at midnight, no more living with coal dust and oil all over your pants.” Clyde brushed off the stained spot on Craig’s trousers.

“If I didn’t work here, I’d work at a factory. ‘S all the same.” 

“Not really. Don’t you wanna get out of this place?” He shifted his gaze to the window next to their desk. Past the large stretch of gravel and train tracks was a serene, emerald field. Beyond that, probably some other manufacturing town just like theirs, or maybe a mining town, and some more tracks spider webbing out of the depot. But who knew? 

Craig shrugged. With a sigh, Clyde sat himself down at last. The rest of the time on their shift was spent staring idly at the clock, twirling pencils and staring Mr. Tucker down. He was grateful his father didn’t have them lug supply bags away; after a long day of shoveling coal, lubricating machinery and making repairs, the last thing he wanted to do was carry bags and boxes of who-knows-what. 

Of course, that meant someone else was doing it— not that that was necessarily his problem. 

“Time to go,” Clyde said with a start. He’d been staring the clock on the wall down, tracing its second hand until it hit 12, meaning it was, regretfully, 7 o’clock. He pried Craig off his stool, giving a quick nod to Mr. Tucker as he excused them. 

Clyde continued to drag him out, only letting go when they were outside. As they balanced on opposite sides of the train tracks, trying to stay upright in the slippery metal in the dark, Craig tried to quell his mind.

His heart always betrayed him as the snow globe-sized roofs from the view of the window workshop grew taller and taller as he got closer and closer to town. His insides seemed to squeeze in with the suffocating closeness of the buildings. Craig sneaked a look at Clyde as he stumbled off the tracks. Clyde never showed any sign of fear or distress from entering the city; not so much as a brow furrow. 

So Craig always tried to mimic that nonchalant air back. Even if he felt like he couldn’t take another step closer, he always did. It helped to stare at his shoes as he walked, so he did that, allowing Clyde to steer him around. He grimaced as he bumped into people and signs and things he didn’t lift his head up to see. 

“We’re here,” Clyde said. There was the telltale creaking of a door opening, then the overwhelming stench of alcohol and sweat. 

“Fuck you,” was all Craig could think to reply. Clyde tsked, he thought (it was hard to tell with the racket in the bar), and after some more maneuvering, they were sitting at a table. 

They were seated far back, because all the tables up front were already taken. It was even more stifling there, next to the fireplace, piano, endless sea of other tables, and, notably, no windows. 

Clyde said something about getting drinks, and a cup appeared in his hand a few minutes later. Craig looked up to meet his eyes and ignored the prickling in the back of his neck. 

“Ya think he takes requests?” Clyde jabbed his thumb to the guy playing the piano. The song he was playing was almost inaudible due to the racket of the bar, but from the notes he did make out, the song seemed complex and thoughtful.

“Do you even know any songs?” Craig took a tight-lipped sip. 

He shrugged, took a gulp of beer, and then nearly spat it out. Craig raised an eyebrow at his behavior. Clyde merely shook his head and pointed at the door.

The tavern door was open, and a man, attended by two men following behind and a well-to-do looking woman, was peering around, nose wrinkled. Everything about him screamed aristocrat, from his clean, kempt hair, to a similarly spotless suit. Likewise for the woman, who, upon second glance, seemed a bit young, around his and Clyde’s age; maybe younger. 

Her dress looked like most, but although it had a modest look, it was clearly not cheap. The fabric was different from the worn, reused type most common in their village, in a way that he couldn’t quite pinpoint, but didn’t quite care about either. 

Clyde, however, seemed to think differently. He seemed to be taking her in, his eyes catching on details that Craig didn’t see. Or maybe he misplaced his judgment, and Clyde was really interested in one of the accompaniments to the two. 

His initial assumption seemed to be correct. Clyde stood, (stupidly, he thought) as the nobility entered the tavern. The party stopped at the bartender, their out of place presence silencing the place just enough to barely hear their conversation. 

“I need a drink. Get me whatever the nicest drink in this jerkwater town is so we can leave,” the man said, miraculously finding a place to sit a few tables away from him and Clyde. Craig was so occupied with their status, and the fact that they sat down, that he didn’t have the time to stop Clyde, who was already making his way over to them. 

“Junker,” he acknowledged, pulling out an honorific without a name to put it to, “and fair lady.” 

“What do you want?” The girl said, probably impatiently. Craig would’ve kept taking mechanical sips of his drink and staring at one of the cracking beams on the wall of the tavern had he not been entertained by the idea of watching another one of Clyde’s failing acquisitions for love. No one cared for a poor man. 

“I just wanted to introduce myself. Clyde Donovan.” He made a quick bow. “At your service, m’lady.” Craig choked a little.

“Get away from my daughter,” the man scowled, “she will not associate with anyone in this…” he trailed off, gesturing around as if to prove his point.

There was a gap of silence, or maybe inaudible talking. Clyde had his back turned to Craig so he couldn’t see what was going on either. Focus lost, Craig was suddenly aware of the faint piano, which, instead of some nameless song in the background, had been reduced to two notes being played over and over again.

He glanced back at the pianist. He found he was being watched with intense curiosity, so much so that apparently the pianist had forgotten he had a job to do. It took a good minute for him to right himself, give an apologetic smile and go back to playing, eyes still darting over to Craig every couple of seconds. 

Craig knew this because he kept his gaze on the pianist for a bit longer than necessary. They seemed around the same age, which was interesting, as most young adults spent most of their time in a factory or some similar job, and wouldn’t have the time or money to learn to play an instrument. The thought of him being wealthy crossed his mind, but that seemed unlikely due to his disheveled appearance. 

A sudden thud steered his attention away from him. Clyde had sat himself down loudly, and, by the grin on his face, proudly. “So she’ll be writing to me.”

“Huh?”

“Gave her my address,” he informed, motioning back towards the girl, “when her dad went up to go complain about something or some shit she told me she secretly thought I was funny. Wanted to write to me.”

“Huh?” Craig repeated, as if Clyde had started speaking another language.

“Seriously, how’d you even miss that? What were you doing?”

“Uh, good for you,” Craig said, talking over him, “that’s great. I’m, uh, I’m very surprised that worked.” He took a drink.

“Persistence, my friend, and one day you’ll score a beauty like her.” Clyde watched as the party got up to leave, giving a little wave. The girl smiled, but was quickly ushered away. He sighed, tracing the rim of his drink. “Look at that gorgeous blond hair… those eyes… her name is Bella, by the way.” 

“Mhm,” he said, disinterested. A new song had started up, an upbeat one that got him tapping his toes absentmindedly. 

“She said that I can call her ‘Bebe’ though. Isn’t that adorable?” 

“Sure is.” How much would a pianist make in a night playing at a bar?

“I can’t believe she took a liking to a guy like me…”

“Same here.” 

“Hey!” Clyde punched his arm, and Craig snapped out of whatever stupor he had been in.

“Oh,” he muttered, not quite sure what he had said to offend him, “uh, sorry. I think we should head back now.”

“Fine,” Clyde sighed, “tonight has been a success already anyway.” He stood up and pulled Craig by the arm to lead them away. Craig never looked back, but he knew the pianist’s eyes were following him out the door.

Barren Tundra:

It was minimalist, almost. cool, without the thrum of a fan or air conditioning. Dark, without the flick of a light switch, or the command of a bot. The grass beneath him was dewy without the spraying of vapor, the birds sang quiet songs without the entourage of drums and lyrics.

Kenny’s hand inched towards Craig’s. He was a little clammy but he tried not to think about it. 

“What’re we doing?” Craig asked softly, as their hands touched. It appeared he was asking about the stargazing.

“Just watching them, I guess.” The stars were quite faint, barely even there. There was a time, they learned, when light pollution had yet to exist, and the stars shone brilliantly. Or at least, one didn’t need to squint to make them out.

He thought for a second before adding, “how’s this fun?”

Kenny frowned. “I don’t really know.” He was, and he was sure Craig was as well, tempted to scrap the peaceful night and play music or start a movie, but they had made a promise.

“It’s like art,” Craig said faintly, “in an art museum. It’s really not fun to look around, and no one really goes much. But you appreciate it.”

“Yeah. It’s like that.”

Chapter Text

Comfortable:

He was quietly beckoned to sit next to Craig. Kenny accepted the invitation with a hesitance he hoped was hidden. As he settled onto the dark bed sheets and warm comforter, and Craig’s arm looped around his body, bringing him in, he instantly knew he made the right decision. 

Kenny could almost feel himself melting into Craig. He breathed him in, and when he exhaled, he exhaled the weight of all his burdens and worries. There were no freezing cold nights without heating, there were no neglectful parents to go home to, there were no agonizing deaths, and there were no empty stomachs without means to fill them. 

Slowly, he reached out to take Craig’s hand in his. He turned them over gently as he studied them before carefully clasping their hands together, rubbing his thumb along Craig’s. Although he’d barely been to Craig’s house before, and they hadn’t been seeing each other for very long, he had never felt so at ease. Their hands were both frigid, but neither seemed to care.

Inhale, and exhale. There was no longer a single doubt in his mind that Craig was a good thing, a great thing. Every snide remark and threat had been wrong and was irrelevant. How could there be anything wrong when he felt so safe? He leaned in closer, resting his head on Craig’s shoulder.

Kenny’s mind flashed briefly to the times they spent together in the past few weeks and confessions. It was almost incomprehensible that only around a month ago, Craig had awkwardly admitted his feelings when they were walking home from school, eyes trained to the ground. Since they were so close to his house, and he was paranoid that someone would hear, Kenny, embarrassed, shocked and mildly panicking, had said he would “think about it.” 

A soft kiss on the forehead momentarily floated him back to reality. With a small smile, he returned the favor, pressing light lips on Craig’s cheek and giving his hand a squeeze. 

It turned out he didn’t have to worry all too much. Quiet people who stayed under the radar, like the two of them, never roused that much attention, even in a tight-knit town like South Park. And neither of them felt the need to shout the news of their relationship from the rooftops. 

He felt like he could drift off into the most peaceful sleep of his life, but he didn’t want to miss any of this. What he was doing with Craig was unexplainably different from experiences with anyone else. Maybe because Craig had yet to make a serious sexual advancement towards him, or because in public, he acted more like Kenny’s friend than anything more. It was foreign compared to how Kenny approached relationships, and it made him consider what their future would look like. Would it change, and as they settled into a more comfortable place, Craig would be more open to something like that? Or would they eventually decide that their differences were too great and they couldn’t continue?

Craig sighed quietly, sounding tired. He pulled Kenny a little closer, and Kenny could hear his heart beating rhythmically and calmly, like ripples in a still pond. It only soothed him further. The only times Kenny really heard heartbeats were in high adrenaline moments, either on the cusp of death or when fear seized control over him. 

It was, oddly, so unremarkable that it became remarkable. While others might seek out danger or thrills, Kenny didn’t realize how much his bones ached from exhaustion until just then from having to be in so many dramatic moments.

He smiled softly as Craig leaned into him, whispering something unintelligible. It took a bit of repeating until he finally understood what he was saying— “how do you feel?”

“So, so comfortable.”