Chapter Text
Bradley swung his bag from his shoulder onto the pavement of their new driveway, leaning back over the car seat to grab his pillow and blanket. The car ride had been over a full day in length, and he was grateful to be standing on two legs, stretching his arms up as he took in what little sunlight there was to feel in stunning South Park, Colorado.
“Bradley.” His father called for him, lugging two giant suitcases with him up to the front door, digging in his pocket for the keys to the house.
“Coming, father.” Bradley hurriedly grabbed his things from the pavement and rushed to meet his dad, taking one of the suitcases and with difficulty getting it into the living room of the house.
“I’ll go get your mother and the rest of the bags. Don’t touch anything.” His dad closed the door behind him as he went to get the rest of their things, Bradley setting down his bag and looking around as he nervously bit at his thumbnail. He’d kept the habit from when he was younger, unfortunately, and most of his nails were already bitten to the quick more than half the time. Within a moment his dad returned, placing the suitcases with a loud thunk as his wife shut the door, locking it and tapping one manicured nail on the knob three times before turning towards her son.
“Bradley, be a dear and get your mother a glass of water.” She sighed. Bradley nodded, darting to the kitchen to fill his water bottle for her. “The furniture isn’t here yet, Lord help me.”
“They’ll be here soon.” His father placed a hand on her back. “Sit on the suitcases for now.”
Bradley returned with the bottle, his mother taking it and sitting on one of the pieces of luggage strewn around the empty living room.
“The room at the end of the upstairs hall is yours.” His dad gestured towards the stairs, keeping a firm hand on his mother’s shoulder.
“Thank you.” Bradley responded quietly, taking the only patterned suitcase of the bunch and the bag he’d already taken in with him and making his way up the stairs and to the last room in the hall, not expecting much as he opened the door. Unfurnished, the room echoed his footsteps and the gentle clack of the suitcase being put down, and the filtered sunlight through the bare window lit it up so it looked abandoned, the paint chips on the wall casting long shadows.
He ran his fingers over the dents in the far wall, noting that he’d have to ask his dad to prep it before they repainted. It must have been a kid’s room before, because no adult would let their walls get into this condition, and this thought was confirmed when he reached the corner near the window. There were messily drawn stick figures lining the bottom trim on the wall, and Bradley crouched, smiling as he traced them carefully with his fingers. Maybe he wasn’t that desperate to get the walls painted.
“Well, hello there!” He heard a vaguely familiar lilting voice coming from the cracked window, and he stood up, walking over to peek at whoever was speaking. He placed his hands on the windowsill, pushing up to stand on his toes and craning his neck for a view of the front door.
It was a boy his age, with blonde hair in a mess on top of his head. He couldn’t see the face clearly, but he was sure he recognized the way the boy spoke, and the way he stood and waved at Bradley’s father tugged at some far memory in his brain.
The boy’s head suddenly turned straight towards Bradley, his eyes wide with curiosity. At the sight of the strikingly large scar running from above the boy’s left eyebrow to his cheekbone, Bradley immediately remembered where he knew him from.
The window suddenly slammed shut, Bradley’s full weight pressed onto the sill, and he slipped downwards, yelping as his feet went out from under him and he hit the floorboards. He heard a laugh from the boy out in the yard, and he brushed himself off quickly before throwing the door open and sprinting down the stairs, a slight shy smile making its way onto his face as he squeezed beside his dad in the doorway.
“Bradley!” Butters greeted him, smiling with delight.
“Butters?!” Bradley asked, wringing the bottom of his shirt in his hands. “You live here?”
“Right next door!” Butters gestured to his right. “In fact, I was jus’ talking to your dad about it!”
“He was.” Bradley’s dad confirmed, annoyance hardening his voice.
“I’ll talk with him, father.” Bradley spoke to his dad, who nodded and turned back to tend to his wife.
“I thought I recognized him. An’ you, Bradley, I saw you in the window!” Butters bounced on his feet. How he had remained so optimistic since Camp, Bradley had no clue. He’d kept Butters in mind, for a while in fact, but he still never had much hope in him, even when he’d had his graduation ceremony from the therapy. He’d remained nervous, he’d remained terrified, and he’d remained confused, though he really had tried his best to learn from his dad and all the other priests at the camp.
“Yeah, I slipped.” Bradley bit at his nails again, looking at his feet.
“You okay?” Butters cocked his head to the left, his brow furrowing with concern. Bradley’s stomach swirled, but he did his best to ignore it.
“Yes.” Bradley responded, muffled slightly by the fingers on his lips.
“I’m glad.” Butters brightened, concern fading. “Well, I’d best be back to my place, my dad’ll get awful mad if I’m not home soon enough. Don’t want to get grounded, heh.”
“Okay.” Bradley felt the urge to ask him to come in, the urge to talk with him for longer, but he’d learned urges only led to sin. He had to resist. “Well…” It was still resisting if it was delayed, right? “Would you maybe… want to hang out? Sometime?” Bradley glanced around.
“Yeah, I’d love that, Bradley!” Butter’s scar crinkled as he smiled wider. “I’ll be right next door, anytime you want! I don’t do much else out.”
“Okay.” A trace amount of excitement leaked into Bradley’s tone of voice. “I’ll see you, Butters.”
“See ya, Bradley!” Butters turned on his heel, waving energetically as he returned to his own house next door. Bradley watched him go, inhaling sharply as he bit his nail down too far and blood hit his tongue. He closed the front door and went to his room, sitting on the wooden floor and opening his suitcase to search for a bandage.
His hand brushed blue fabric, and instead of a bandage, he pulled the shirt from his suitcase, laying it flat next to him and smoothing it out with his hands as he read the well-worn text on the front. ‘Camp New Grace’.
He wondered if Butters still had his shirt. He wondered if Butters had tried to get better, too, if his attempts had worked any better than Bradley’s, if instead he hadn’t tried and he was still the same old Butters that made his heart speed up when he laid awake at night in his bunk at camp. As desperately as Bradley tried not to think about boys that way, it never worked, and his feelings only got more intense and more scary, but since Butters left he focused on that, he focused on the sadness and forced himself to not feel anything, and the priests ate it up and graduated him with high honors. He wondered if Butters had thought about him the same amount, the same butterflies making stomachs churn and the same daydreams turning faces pink.
He hoped he had.