Work Text:
Sent another deposit over. Should be about 20mil.
His fingers hovered over the keyboard thoughtfully. After a moment of thought, they sprung to life and added belatedly:
Also, found a new asset to invest in. Should consider running a pump and dump on it. Good money.
Satisfied by that, he leant back in his seat. He didn’t expect an immediate reply— Kenny was, as always, pretty punctual with his replies, but it was the middle of the day and he often had something more important to attend to. Of all the things to do in the world, he didn’t take the opportunity to sit on his phone all day and talk to his shut-in investor. Couldn’t really blame him for that. If he had the choice, Butters wouldn’t be doing it either. Anyway. All of this to say, even though it was wholly unrealistic— he still hoped for a reply.
His seat creaked underneath him.
It was old and worn. He thought constantly about trying to get it replaced— he spent most of his time in it at the computer, and now edging into his mid twenties, his back was suffering as a result. Which felt… frankly, embarrassing.
But, hey. No one to be embarrassed in front of, anyway.
Not like he could get it up into his room. Food had come pretty regularly for a few years. He’d been allowed to roam the house after all— at least for a little bit, before being banished entirely to his room with very little warning one particular afternoon. After that, meals had been brought up to him and the only time the door opened was to exchange plates. And then the food had stopped coming entirely one day. The house had grown silent. He’d gotten very creative after that. Mostly ordering food, and bringing it up through the window. It had all felt starkly childish, even after he’d long grown too old to be sneaking around like this, but he’d had no other choice. They’d simply stopped feeding him.
And the logistics of trying to get a chair up through the window seemed like a nightmare. One that his parents would certainly notice, he had a hunch. Which was a damn shame, because at this point he could afford whatever chair he wanted.
A soft ping at his computer. He sat up instantly.
What’s the name?
A reply from Kenny.
Curiously, Butters squinted down at the screen. That… didn’t seem right. He normally had a class at this hour. And, if he didn’t, he usually didn’t wake up until late. He’d gotten into that habit— far be it for Butters to try and break it for him, he still got up at the crack of dawn, even when he had nowhere to go. After a moment of careful consideration, he scooted his seat closer and began to type.
What’re you doing awake? Don’t you got a class to teach?
He hit enter, and then a few things happened in very quick succession. First, the press of the enter key was met with an immediate and muffled pinging noise— and he sat up, and squinted, because it didn’t normally work like that. He normally only got a ping for an incoming message.
And then there was a soft cussing noise.
And then the doorknob rattled.
And Butters was across the room in an instant. Not— towards the door, mind you, but away. Towards the window. It opened, but it was a long drop. Still he was always prepared to make that drop if he needed to. If his father ever opened the door, mostly, because it had been… god, what? Two years? Three years? He didn’t really want to know what was on the other side, because it was never going to be good. And so he’d prepped for the day that the door opened, because it was only ever going to be under poor circumstances, and so now he was up on the bed and prying at the window and—
Oh. The door was open.
He sat, flinched, against the glass of the window for a long moment. Waiting for… something. Probably someone to yell at him. But no yell ever came, and he tentatively pried his eyes open, and peered at the door. Oh, god. He was shaking.
“… Ken?”
The pictures don’t do him justice.
And there’s a lot of pictures. Not that Kenny sent them to him, no— those were usually just selfies, but Butters had grown a habit of googling Kenny in his free time and it pulled up a hell of a lot of pictures that his students had taken. Or press images. Red carpet walks. And— and he did it to everyone, too, not just Kenny! He wasn’t obsessed like that, certainly, but Kenny often did pull up the best photos. The occasional one of Kyle at the school, little more than a blurry work headshot on the staff website. Nothing ever of Stan.
But now Kenny was here.
In his house, in his bedroom. None of which computed. He was taller, but not too tall that he edged over Butters, and his hair was long… god, was it ever long. But not in a way that was particularly scruffy or unnerving, it was well-kept and he didn’t even stink of weed though he often joked that he did.
And he was smiling, despite it all, which certainly doesn’t make sense because—
“ Kenny ,” Butters’ voice escaped as a low hiss, thick with panic, as his eyes darted back towards the open doorframe. Not yet filled with another presence, he at least felt enough at leisure to speak. “You know you aren’t supposed to be here.”
Kenny’s smile faltered.
Just briefly, and just barely perceptible. But Butters still saw it.
“Oh. Dude,” Kenny began— by god, his voice was so deep now— and he was probably going to say something important or maybe comforting, but he never quite got there.
It was far too much to hear a voice, a real voice, in-person. In front of him, connected to a body that he could touch and feel. And so Butters broke, almost instantly. Within the span of two words he’d launched himself from his seat and crossed the room in two long strides—
(And the room had always seemed so much bigger before. When he wasn’t looking, or perhaps when he’d always been looking, he’d grown into it.)
And snagged Kenny in his long arms, tight.
Embarrassingly, the contact was almost enough to make him weep.
Almost . He just barely held it in, though it was probably painfully obvious— his forehead pressed tight into the hard bone of Kenny’s shoulder, some sort of soft and pathetic noises escaped him. He had half a mind to let go; he was preparing himself for the sensation of being pushed away. But after a moment, after the shock wore off, thick arms wrapped around him and locked between his shoulder blades and held him in place. That, then, did him in. He broke down and wept right there.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have gone with a surprise,” He felt Kenny mutter— the vibrations of his voice connecting them at the sternum, and he laughed. And then Kenny laughed and it didn’t even hurt. He wasn’t being laughed at. That was all the difference. Belatedly, Kenny spoke again, and this time his voice was thin and tight: “I can’t… really breathe.”
“Oh, jeez,” Butters snuffled, and unlocked his hands. Sure enough, a rush of air escaped Kenny’s lungs, and Butters grimaced internally. He really might have killed Kenny, if he wasn’t careful. And, beyond that, he’d left a very gross and very snotty wet spot on the arm of Kenny’s shoulder. “S-sorry about that.”
Kenny wasn’t even looking. He was preoccupied.
“We gotta get this cut,” Kenny noted, pinching a lock of pale blonde hair between his thumb and his forefinger. He gave it an experimental tug, and then thought better of it: “Unless you… want to keep it?”
“No, no,” Butters was quick to reply, a tearful dismissal with a short laugh. “Long hair suits you better.”
“Thank fuck.”
And then all at once, he remembered.
“Wait.” His hands, still fisted in the back of Kenny’s shirt, tightened. With it came a bit of nails, and Kenny winced— “You gotta go. You gotta get out of here.”
“Dude,” Kenny spoke again. This time, it’s not nearly enough to calm him.
“My dad, seriously—“
“Butters, it’s not—“
“They’re gonna be so mad, they’re gonna—“
His voice had grown shrill. He knew that. It was embarrassing, truly, but the panic was creeping in.
“Butters!” A bark, if anything. It’s sharp and it’s just enough to shut him up, though he pulled back in Kenny’s arms— trembling, again, but a bit incredulous. Kenny’s never raised his voice before. But it’s momentary. The softness creeps back in, almost immediately. “Butters. Your parents, they aren’t—“
“ You don’t know that ,” Butters hissed. Panic, laden, between his teeth.
“No. Dude, they’re not coming back.”
At once, his grip went slack.
Not— not entirely so. But just enough that Kenny can breathe properly once again (constantly toeing the line between just barely avoiding choking him out, it would seem), and Butters sagged in his arms. The dead weight ought to have been enough to bring him to the ground, but Kenny held steady.
That was nice. He liked that sensation. Butters wanted to savor it for just a moment longer before he ruined it by speaking once again.
“You don’t know that,” He repeated, a bit softer this time. Almost as if he was trying to convince himself— and surely, that held true, because who else was he to convince? Kenny? The man who had just walked clean through his house? He wasn’t an idiot, but he still kept trying. “They could just be…”
His voice trailed off at that. Kenny let it hang in the silence for a long moment as he shifted; evidently, Butters had grown heavy enough that Kenny needed to move them both. Butters barely registered the feeling, frankly; only noticing when he felt himself being guided to his bed. The frame creaked in protest under their combined weight, and he caught a bit of a grimace twisting Kenny’s mouth. Well, sure. It was a child’s bed. It barely even fit Butters anymore.
And the silence stretched on. Not for long enough that it became uncomfortable, though Butters had a feeling that that would be long impossible with Kenny at his side. Nonetheless, he felt compelled to break it eventually— that moment came slowly, as he allowed himself with leisure of toying with the sleeve of Kenny’s shirt and calming himself. It was this brusque, ugly Hawaiian print, and Butters finally chuckled under his breath. Kenny must have really enjoyed that trip of theirs.
“How long have they been…?” The silence was filled softly and tentatively.
Kenny’s mouth set in a hard line. But he relented after a moment.
“Looks like maybe three years.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. M’sorry, dude.”
Kenny’s weight shifted, pulling him in a little closer. He cherished that feeling, too— and only realized, after a long moment, that the bed was shaking.
Tentatively, he squirmed from his spot and looked up. There, he was met with a surprising image: Kenny’s face was wet. Soaked, even— he wept pretty often as kids, but this was entirely different. The ruddiness of his face was only broken up by these big streams of tears. They gathered in his beard— he had a damn beard now, by the way— and left it laden down, and soggy. It stunned him for just a moment, and then Butters’ lips parted. Quick to try and speak, fix the problem, do anything. Kenny was just a bit faster.
“I wanted to come back sooner. I’m sorry.”
In his throat, Butters’ breath hitched. “Oh. Kenny, you don’t have to—“
He’d reached up. For… the beard, he supposed, or just to touch Kenny’s face and maybe make him feel a little better. His hand never quite got there; Kenny’s own darted up and caught his by the wrist, enveloping it swiftly and with ease. He buried his face into it anyway, ruddy cheek pressed against the smoothness of Butters’ palm, and Butters knew damn well there wasn’t anything he could say to make him feel better. He could still try, though.
“Well…” His voice was tentative. “You’re here now, aren’t you?”
And Kenny just sniffed at that. But at least he didn’t protest, so that seemed like it worked well enough.
Rather, he stayed there for a long moment: face buried into Butters’ hand. And Butters just let him. Who was he to try and take that away from him? Besides, the skin-to-skin contact was nice. It helped clear his mind, at least briefly, and one the silence had stretched on for an appropriate period of time, he saw fit to interrupt it with a tired question of his own.
“What’ll I do now?”
“You could leave your room.” Kenny replied quietly, his voice still muffled and his cheek still pressed to Butters’ palm.
He pondered that for a moment, tentatively turning it over in his mind. Perhaps it was the shock of it all, but that was somehow unappealing. “… I guess.”
Kenny pulled back, a bit abrupt. Butters tumbled with him— hard not to, when Kenny had such a tight grip on him. “What— you don’t want to?”
“No, no, I do!” Butters lied quickly, a bit desperate to try and resolve the sudden shock blossoming across Kenny’s face. “I just… don’t really know where I’d go.”
The world beyond his doorway was a vast expanse. It was one he used to live in; one he was accustomed to at some point, but he’d long since lost that ability. Now it just seemed daunting. A world of possibilities and most of them were probably bad. In his room, he was safe. Bored, yes. And placated. But safe, ultimately. His hands fisted in Kenny’s shirt once again.
“You could come with me.”
And Butters looked up sharply. “What?”
This time, Kenny did not stammer. He didn’t backpedal; his jaw was set hard with a sort of determination. One that was starkly reminiscent of their superhero phase, and one that Butters adored— if he could admit that to himself. “I mean, I have space. A lot of it. The house is really big. Nice, too. Tont of windows and a pool. You’d really like it. And it would be useful to have my financial advisor around— you know, in person. Help approve some of my projects.”
Butters jaw shifted. “Okay. Sure.”
“We could make a shit ton of money—“ Kenny began again, sharp and excited, as if he was still trying to pitch a sale. Butters’ answer hadn’t quite registered yet, and when it did, Kenny’s eyes went wide behind his glasses. “Oh. Wait, really?”
“Yeah.” Butters shifted once again. “I mean, why wouldn’t I? Not like I wanna stick around here anymore. Y’know. House full of… gay ass ghosts.”
It took a moment. Perhaps the shock was still doing a number on him. But when Kenny smiled— a proper, full smile, even though his beard was still soaked through with tears and his eyes were still a little glassy— it felt real. Something blossomed behind Butters’ breastbone; something to be dealt with at another time.
For now, he held on tighter, and Kenny was more than happy with that.
“Alright,” Kenny sat up, and brought Butters with him. “Pack whatever shit you want. Let’s get out of here.”
And Butters, in turn, waved one hand dismissively. “I don’t want any of this crap. I wanna spend some of that money for once. Let’s split.”
He already had the one thing he couldn’t replace, anyway.