Work Text:
There is a language, little known
Lovers claim it as their own
...
“I think I’m going to get into gardening.”
Kenny overhears Kyle speak while he’s sweeping the floors at City Wok, pushing discarded shrimp tails into the dustpan. It’s nearly 10:00 pm, closing time, but Kyle, Stan, and Cartman are still sitting at a table. They still haven’t asked for the check. Kenny doesn’t mind, but his boss probably does; he can see Lu Kim peeking out from behind the counter, shooting them death glares.
“Gardening?” Stan repeats. He drags a piece of chicken along the sauce on his plate, popping it into his mouth. He sucks the sauce off his fingers, and Kenny imagines Kyle wrinkling his nose. “Huh. I mean, that’s cool.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Kyle asks defensively. Cartman tries to catch Kenny’s eye to order another plate of shrimp, and he ignores him; he’ll never recover from the chewing out Lu Kim will give him if he accepts it.
“Probably ‘cause gardening is gay as fuck, Kyle. And Stan, being gay as fuck, knows that.” Cartman says, like he knows this for absolute fact. “And you’re already gay enough. If you do this, you’ll reach peak gay.”
“You’re the gayest person I’ve ever met, Cartman,” Stan says, and Cartman makes a wounded noise. He looks over at Kyle. “It is cool. I mean it. I just didn’t expect you to garden. You’ve never mentioned it before.”
Cartman waves his hand around, and Kenny ignores him again. “What kind of fucking service is this?” he shouts. “Kenny, get over here!”
Kenny trudges to the table, holding his broom like a weapon. “You’re not getting any more shrimp. Who the fuck eats shrimp at 10 pm, anyway?”
“Fatasses,” Kyle says under his breath. Stan snickers, then clears his throat.
“Can we have the check?” He asks politely, and Kenny sneaks a look towards the counter as he heads to the register. He returns with the check, and sets it on the table; Cartman shoves more food in his mouth at once than Kenny ever thought possible, cleaning his plate.
Stan signs, and all three of them set down money. Cartman digs his out of his pocket, and puts it down with a meaty fist; it looks sweaty, and Kenny dreads having to pick it up. Kyle writes down the tip, looking up at Kenny. He’s the best tipper Kenny ever has, but that’s not the only reason he likes when he stops by.
“For the record,” Kenny says, when Stan’s gone to use the bathroom and Cartman’s asking Lu Kim for a take-out-box. “I think it’s a great idea. Gardening, I mean.”
Kyle smiles up at him. His teeth are extraordinarily white, and his lips are extraordinarily pink.
“Thanks,” Kyle says, and he hands Kenny the check, standing up from the table. Stan and Cartman have wandered back over, Cartman mercifully take-out-box free; Kenny doesn’t want to witness (or listen to) him scraping all the sauce off his plate with a fork. Stan and Cartman head towards the door, sort-of bickering and sort-of talking; Kyle lingers for an extra moment. “See you at school tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay,” Kenny says. He watches him walk out the door, his fingers tight around the check.
He continues his sweeping.
…
Two weeks later, Kenny finds a flower in his locker, tucked between the pages of his loaned copy of The Catcher in the Rye.
Kenny doesn’t know much about flowers, but he identifies it as a tulip, soft yellow petals curving up to a singular point in the center. Its petals are a little squished, but it’s fresh-looking otherwise; Kenny wonders where it came from. A secret admirer? How did they get it into his book?
He considers the members of his Literature class as he walks to lunch. Bebe, maybe? With yellow symbolizing blonde hair? He knows she likes flowers, and Wendy’s in his class; she could have slipped it between the pages without him noticing. He sits at his lunch table, lost in thought. Kyle looks at him; he’s early, as always.
“What are you thinking about?” Kyle asks, his lunchbox unzipped and laid out over the table. He’s got a little plastic container of mac and cheese, a bowl of cantaloupe and honeydew sealed with cellophane, and a latke, with a dollop of vanilla cream. Kenny envies his lunches.
“Nothing,” Kenny says. Kyle’s unlikely to make fun of him, but he won’t risk it, especially when he can see Cartman heading to the table with his lunch tray. Kyle looks at him for a long moment, and Kenny interrupts him before he can pry further. “You get that from your garden?” he points a finger at Kyle’s bowl of fruit.
“What?” Kyle glances down at his bowl, his eyebrows knitting together. He looks up at Kenny, like he’s a doofus. “No. It’s only been two weeks. Fruit doesn’t grow that fast.”
“Oh,” Kenny says. He knew that. “Well. I bet the fruit you grow is going to be way better.”
Kyle laughs. “You haven’t even tasted this. It’s not that bad. My mom got it from Whole Foods.” He pokes his fork into a piece of honeydew, and lifts it up to Kenny’s lips; Kenny opens his mouth, and Kyle pops the piece of fruit in. Kenny chews thoughtfully.
“It’s pretty flavorless,” Kenny says. “4/10. I’ve had better.”
“No, you haven’t.” Kyle smiles at him, widely.
“No, I haven’t.” Kenny agrees. Then Cartman sits down, and they stop talking.
Kenny brings The Catcher in the Rye home for once, and he almost considers doing his homework while he has the chance. Instead, he opens it up, and takes the tulip out; he pushes his fingers between the petals, trying to puff them back out. Once he’s done, he lays it out on his dresser, wishing he had a vase for it.
He looks up what yellow tulips mean, feeling like he’s missing something. Happiness, cheerfulness, and hope, one website says. Unrequited love, another explains.
“There’s sunshine in your smile.” A third says.
Kenny decides he’ll ask Bebe out tomorrow.
…
Bebe looks absolutely delighted when Kenny approaches her in the hallway, and he feels like he’s done something right.
He doesn’t have feelings for Bebe, not really, but he likes her just fine; she’s sociable, witty, and very beautiful. She hooks elbows with him and drags him down the hallway, presenting him to Wendy like a trophy; she gasps, clasps her hands together, and runs off to tell Stan. Bebe tells him the whole school will know by lunchtime, and it does; Kenny gets more female attention that day than he has for the past three years.
He manages to slip away halfway from Bebe’s celebrity tour halfway through lunch, and everyone at the table stares at him when he sits down. Kyle speaks first.
“You’re dating Bebe?” Kyle asks.
Kenny nods, oddly ashamed. He has no reason to be.
“I like her,” he says. Kyle nods, slowly. Kenny is confused, then annoyed; he wonders if he knows about the flowers, and thinks Kenny’s desperate for responding to them. He opens his mouth to say something, but Kyle’s already looking away.
Stan smacks him on the back. “Congrats, dude,” he says, smiling. If he can sense the tension, he doesn’t say anything about it. “I always thought she liked you.”
Kenny doesn’t find the yellow hyacinth in his empty lunchbox until seventh period. He touches one of the tiny flowers, and imagines what he’s going to find when he looks this one up; probably gratefulness or joy or love, just like the previous one. He looks over at Bebe, three seats away, and mouths thank you.
Bebe looks at him, raising a thick eyebrow. For what?
Kenny holds up the flower, and she looks at it with utter bemusement, which makes no sense. She gifted it to him; she should know it better than anybody. He looks down at the flower, looks back up at her, and she’s already mouthing something else.
We’ll talk later.
Then the teacher steps between them, looking Kenny right in the eye, and they don’t get the chance to talk later; Bebe files out of the room, and Kenny gets detention for disrupting class.
He sneaks his phone under his desk while the teacher grades papers, and he looks up the meaning of a yellow hyacinth. He finds only one meaning, no matter how far he scrolls; jealousy.
He shuts off his phone.
…
“How’s the garden doing?” Kenny asks, across Sheila’s dining room table.
His parents are gone tonight, and he doesn’t know where they are. Kevin’s holding down what little they have to hold down, and Karen’s at Tricia’s for a sleepover; when Kenny left the house, looking for something to do, his feet took him here. All he had to do was wipe his feet on the welcome mat to join them for dinner.
Kyle looks up, cheese stuck to the corner of his mouth. Tonight’s dinner is pizza, homemade; Kenny arrived just in time to help them pull it out of the oven. “It’s good,” he says. “I actually picked the basil on the pizzas myself. We’re using it for all sorts of things.”
Kenny bites into a slice of pizza, making sure to catch a basil leaf. He doesn’t taste much of a difference, but he trusts Kyle. “It’s delicious.” he says. “Seriously, Kyle. This is great.”
Kyle beams at him, and Sheila looks over. “You should bring some home!” she suggests, and Kenny grabs his last slice of pizza before Sheila takes his plate. “It’s so versatile. I bet your parents could find a use for it.”
Kenny doesn’t think so. They don’t eat homemade pizza, or pasta, or pesto, but he won’t reject a gift from the Broflovskis; he won’t reject a gift from Kyle, who’s standing up from the table. “I’ll go pick some,” he declares, and he rushes off before Kenny can thank him.
“I can go help,” Kenny offers, looking up at Sheila, and her lips crease in a frown. She reaches down, ruffling his hair; the feeling is unfamiliar. And good.
“Kyle’s very protective of his garden,” she explains, after a moment of hesitation. Her voice is gentle. “But maybe he’ll let you see it one day.”
Kenny wonders if Kyle thinks he’s going to trample it, squishing his herbs under his worn sneakers, and he tries not to feel hurt. He wonders if Stan’s seen it; if Cartman’s seen it. Surely not; if anyone would destroy his garden, it would be him.
Kyle steps inside, a small glass jar in his hands. It’s filled about halfway up with fresh, soft-looking basil; Kenny wants to stick his fingers inside, but he doesn’t. He takes it, and holds it carefully, like he can prove he’s deserving of seeing where it came from.
“Tell me if you need any recipes!” Sheila calls once Kenny’s said his goodbyes, and he gives her a thumbs up as he slips out the door. He won’t ask, but he likes that he can.
He walks home, jar in hand, and he doesn’t notice the car until it’s too late.
...
Kenny wakes up the next day with a throbbing headache.
He lays there for a full hour, his first period class coming and going, before finally sitting up. The jar of basil is gone, shattered on the road somewhere, and he’s more upset about that than he is about his death. He considers going looking, but knows it would be futile.
By the time Kenny gets out of bed and dresses himself, he’s missed two full classes. He packs a nachos lunchable, a rare delicacy, and leaves the house.
He nearly steps on a flower.
He stumbles back immediately, afraid of ruining it, and carefully leans down to pick it up. It’s a large flower, loaded with tiny white petals, accented with yellow. He puts the description into google, and identifies it as a white chrysanthemum; he puts that into google, and searches for its meaning. The clock on his phone ticks.
A symbol of loyalty and devoted love, Google says. Reserved for sympathy and remembrance.
News of his death must have traveled fast. He imagines his admirer hearing about his death, or worse, finding his trampled body, and feels sick. He won’t leave the chrysanthemum here; he won’t let someone else crush it, like he very nearly did. He discards two notebooks to make room for the flower.
He arrives at school, and it's already lunchtime. He’s last to the table. He puts his lunchbox down, and Kyle stands up; he starts to say something, and Kyle collides with him, his arms squeezing tightly around him.
“Oof,” he says, the breath stolen from his lungs. It doesn’t come back when Kyle steps away. “What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know,” Kyle says, but he’s grinning. “I’m just weirdly happy to see you today. I don’t get it either.”
Kenny laughs, and so does Kyle. He wants to apologize for the lost jar, but thinks better of it. Kyle looks at him when he sits down, and Kenny thinks his eyes look much greener than usual. As green as fresh basil.
After lunch, he finds Bebe in the hallway, and she greets him quickly and casually. Just like normal. After Kyle, it feels like a letdown. He imagines himself asking Kyle what to do when he feels unappreciated, and he imagines him telling him to break up with her.
So he does.
…
Bebe looks a little bummed, but not heartbroken.
“That’s okay,” she says. “You know, I was kind of expecting it. You’ve been weird recently.”
“Weird?” Kenny asks. He doesn’t feel weird. Bebe tilts her head at him, her curls falling from behind her ears; breaking up with her hasn’t gotten rid of his urge to tug them.
“Yeah. Weird. Kind of like you’re in love.” Bebe grins at him. “And you’re obviously not in love with me. So I knew you were going to dump me. It was just a matter of time.”
“I’m not in love with anyone.” Kenny says, defensively. Bebe giggles, high-pitched and musical.
“You totally are.” Bebe’s smile widens, and Kenny feels like a bug under a magnifying glass. He wonders if they’ve talked about this in the Pleases and Sparkles club. He wonders if this is how Tweek and Craig felt so long ago. “And I think I know who.”
“Who?” Kenny asks, quicker than he should, and Bebe laughs again.
“That would ruin the surprise!” she looks at him, her eyes glittering with mischief. “And I have ten bucks on you not figuring it out for another week. Maybe I’ll tell you then.”
“Girls are the worst,” Kenny says. Bebe giggles and kisses him on the cheek. She bounds down the hallway, and Kenny slips into the bathroom; if he doesn’t hide, he’ll get swarmed by girls looking for his side of the story.
He finds Kyle there, washing his hands in the sink.
“Macking in the hallways?” Kyle asks. “Classy.”
“What?” Kenny turns towards the mirror, and sees the kiss mark on his cheek. He rubs at it, and it smears. Kyle rolls his eyes, shuts off his faucet, and approaches him, a wet paper towel in his hand. “No, actually,” he says. “That was a goodbye kiss. Believe it or not.”
Kyle raises his eyebrows at him; they’re as red as his hair, which Kenny’s always liked. “A goodbye kiss? Did you two break up?”
“She dumped me,” Kenny says. He shuts his eyes as Kyle starts wiping at the lipstick mark, flinching against the wetness. He knows what Kyle’s about to ask, and he answers it for him. “Says I’m into someone else.”
“Well, obviously,” Kyle says. He throws the paper towel away and retrieves another one; Kenny’s eyes are still closed, but he can hear the ripping noise. “You’re into every girl here.”
“I don’t think that’s what she meant,” Kenny peeks an eye open, and sees Kyle wetting the towel, a concentrated expression on his face. He closes it again before he turns back around, though he doesn’t know what he’s hiding from. “She said I was in love with someone else.”
Kyle is silent for a long moment.
“Wow. That’s intense,” he says, and Kenny nods. “Is she right?”
“I don’t know,” Kenny admits. “I didn’t think she was. But the more I think about it…”
“Maybe she is,” Kyle finishes his sentence for him. He throws away the towel, and doesn’t reach for another one; Kenny assumes he’s done, and opens his eyes. He checks the mirror, and touches the damp spot where the mark used to be. “Well. I hope you figure it out soon.”
Kyle knows when to pry and when not to, and Kenny’s always appreciated that about him. “Thanks.” he says. Kyle nods at him, and squeezes his shoulder; Kenny notices that his nails are meticulously clean. He finds himself smiling about it.
He opens his locker up at the end of the day and finds a flower, vibrantly blue.
Cornflower, also known as the Bachelor’s Button, symbolizes protection, healing, and single blessedness.
If the flower fades quickly, it can be taken as a sign that a man’s love is not returned.
When Kenny gets home, he fills a glass up with water, and places the cornflower inside. He puts the glass on the nightstand next to his bed.
He dreams of waking up next to a perfectly white flower, and wakes up in a cold sweat.
…
“Is Kyle here today?”
The lunch bell has rung, and the minute hand has ticked five times, and Kyle still isn’t sitting, or even in the cafeteria at all. Kenny would know; he showed up a few minutes early, and went through the lunch line twice to make sure he hadn’t missed him.
Stan shakes his head, and Kenny’s suddenly worried.
“He’s not sick or anything,” Stan clarifies, once he sees the look on his face. “He’s just working. Something about the morning being the best time for harvesting. He’ll probably show up later.”
“It’s not like him to miss school,” Kenny says, and feels stupid when Stan looks at him. If Stan’s not worried, he doesn’t have a reason to be.
“He’s probably having a great time in his gay little flower garden,” Cartman says, and then he says something else, but Kenny doesn’t hear any of it.
His gay little flower garden.
His flower garden.
“Cartman,” Stan says, and Kenny barely sees the look exchanged between them. “You fucking idiot. Kyle told you not to say that!”
“Jesus! Sorry! Honest mistake!” Cartman avoids Stan’s eyes. Stan avoids Kenny’s eyes. Kenny tries to look both of them in the eyes.
“His flower garden?” Kenny finally says. “Like… he grows flowers there? Not fruits?”
“No,” Cartman says. “Totally different kind of flower garden. What the fuck do you think?”
“I need to go,” Kenny says, abruptly, and he stands up. Stan looks up at him.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Stan says, after a short pause. He sounds like Kyle, but everyone sounds like Kyle right now; Kenny needs to see him.
“Impossible,” Cartman says, and Stan punches him in the shoulder, hard. Stan starts to say something else, but Kenny’s already gone.
…
Kenny arrives at the Broflovski residence with a red rose.
It’s not hand-grown, or tenderly cared for from seed to flower, but it’s something. If his secret admirer is Kyle - which he has to be, there’s no other option - he probably won’t care. Kenny imagines the symbolism matters more to him.
He holds the flower tightly in one hand; he’s heard about the notorious thorns on roses, but he doesn’t get pricked at all.
Love, passion, and romance. The red rose has been used to represent these things for centuries.
He rings the doorbell, and hears footsteps coming from inside.
“I’ll answer it!” Kyle’s voice is muffled through the door, and Kenny’s utterly relieved that he’s home; he imagines himself having to explain this to Sheila, Kyle out on a shopping trip for more seeds. He thinks about what she said to him, and decides that she already knows.
Kyle opens the door, and stops. He looks down at the rose. Kenny’s hands are shaking.
“I got you something,” Kenny says. He holds up the rose. He has no reason to be nervous, but he is. He’s more nervous than he can ever remember being. He pushes the rose into Kyle’s hand, sure that he’ll drop it if he has to hold it for a second longer.
Kyle takes it from him, and he finally smiles. Relief floods through Kenny.
“I can’t believe it took you this long,” Kyle says.
“Neither can I,” Kenny admits, and Kyle laughs. He has the best laugh Kenny’s ever heard.
“I’ll make fun of you for that later,” Kyle says. “But right now, come here.”
Kenny steps forward, and Kyle’s hand stretches up to rest on the back of his neck. He pulls him downwards, and maybe Kenny’s just a little slow today, because he doesn’t realize he’s trying to kiss him until it’s actually happening, and Kyle’s soft lips are pushing Kenny’s open. And nothing has ever felt more right.
…
For love divine and sunny hours
In the language of the flowers.