Chapter Text
"You know, Cartman, you may be stoked now…"
Today, three years ago, Kyle disappeared without a single trace. There were no hints, clues, or anything to give them a lead. He sort of vanished, and Eric thought it was the luckiest day of his life at the time.
On the first day, he brushed it off. It was normal for students to be gone for a day, most likely skipping to hang out with friends or sleep in. Eric didn't care much. It wasn't of his concern since there were always more days to come where he could rip on Kyle, and he'd do it just for the sake of doing it.
He did, however, throw a party to celebrate Kyle's absence. At the moment, he thought it was pretty awesome. Just at the moment.
The second day rolled along, and Eric grew a little irritated. Whatever, Kyle was just probably sick. He'd simply rip on him double-time for being gone so long. Jews were sneaky, so of course he'd be gone for two days without any notice. That's the only reason. It's obvious.
Another silent day passed by, and his reasoning stayed the same. Yet, to his misfortune, he was begrudgingly worried about Kyle's whereabouts. That day, he stomped home, dragging his feet at the doorsteps. His mother was at the door, and she had this unreadable look on her face. She looked… remorseful for some "dumb" reason he was unaware of. Eric told her to fuck off and walked up to his room, feeling agitated. He huffed and threw his backpack onto the floor, falling onto his bed.
It took him four days to check his phone and scroll through his contacts. He body stood still, fingers pausing under the J section.
Jewrat
Eric decided not to text him. He should be happy that Kyle’s gone, that Kyle’s basically disappeared. He shouldn’t have any thoughts of worry or consideration.
He opens the conversation, and their last messages were them talking about their favorite flower. He knows it was laughable and really faggy. But it was a nice change in pace, not that he was willing to admit.
Eric sharply inhaled and shut off his phone. He waited for the next morning, and a stream of anxiety finally worked its way into his system that day.
Goddamn Jew. Where the hell are you?
It was the fifth day since Kyle last showed his face at school, two days short of a week. Eric walked through the halls, and worried faces spread across every corner of the building. He was confused and finally went out of his way to get information. It was annoying that no one was willing to be straightforward and break the news. They looked scared—stupid scared. Why were they scared?
They were all cowards.
Five days was how long it took to ask about Kyle's last known location. Five days earlier, he should have asked then.
Stan and Kenny came up to him. They asked him about where he'd been. Eric said he stopped showing up to lunch because Kyle wasn't there for him to annoy. Their gaze fell to the floor, and Eric wanted to strangle an answer out of them. Why was everyone skipping around the answer, for god's sake?
Kenny opened his mouth and asked him if he knew. What was he supposed to know? What the fuck was up with them?
Stan told him what no one else could. Kyle was gone—gone as in no one could contact him since five days ago, the day he threw that stupid fucking party.
It shattered him. Tore his heart. Why the fuck did he care? He didn't. Not for Kyle. Not ever.
"...but I bet you're gonna find that without Kyle around to rip on,"
On the sixth day, he walked downstairs. His mother was on the phone that very peculiar morning. Her eyes were especially sullen when she glanced up at him.
That morning was peculiar because, on his way to school, he walked by a lamppost, one with a missing child poster. He tore that dumb paper right off, unable to face the truth. Stupid ginger going around putting his stupid face on papers.
It irked him badly. Real, real bad. At school, he didn't talk to anyone. Butters was being annoying again for the fifth time, trying to cheer him up. He didn't need cheering up, as he figured at the time. Because Butters was definitely wrong; he wasn't sad. Perhaps he should have let his walls down just a bit.
One week. Eric sat on his bed, disoriented. He couldn't tell how long he stared at the black screen of his phone that day. He couldn't remember how often he kept going back to the texts between him and Kyle. Stupid Kyle. Kyle, who up and disappeared without considering his feelings, Kyle and the dumb fucking flowers he decided to talk about that day.
So what if he cried a little that same day? It's a distant memory, but it hurts enough to remember. He threw his phone across his room that night, slightly cracking the screen. He cursed at himself. He didn't want to lose those messages.
"...your life is hollow and empty."
-☆-
Stan was right; he nailed it on the head from the very beginning. Even if his words were referring to Kyle moving to New Jersey at the time, Stan was more than right about his life without Kyle.
And now, here he is, in front of an unfamiliar grave. It has an array of flowers adorned on it, but they are withering away, losing their beauty. Eric wants to spit on the grave, dig up the empty coffin below, and vandalize it as one last "fuck you", but he doesn't do that. Instead, he stands there like a coward, chewing on his lower lip as he holds onto a handmade bouquet with shaky hands.
Just today, he worked up the courage to come here, because for once in his life, he cares about someone or something that isn't Mr. Kitty or the strays that occasionally wander around the neighborhood.
Eric doesn't want to feel sorry, guilty, or dismal. He wants to feel at peace, yet Kyle is gone, maybe keeping the clouds above a little bit of company. Not that he knows, but since Kyle has been missing since forever with no known evidence to reference, the case went cold, the police ruling him deceased thereafter.
It took him years of counseling and therapy to even step foot here, and now that he finally is here, he feels the effort he's put in slowly slip away from his fingertips, eventually from his grasp. This feels like a futile attempt to hold onto something that was never his. His friends were already "over" Kyle being missing, and he was left to trail behind. It affected him a lot deeper than anyone thought it would.
Eric was Kyle's arch-nemesis, and perhaps he still is. In a way, that makes their relationship a lot more intertwined than they were willing to acknowledge back then. So yeah, he guesses that it does make some sort of sense that he would be still lingering over Kyle's disappearance.
Nonetheless, Eric knows that no amount of time will earn Kyle’s forgiveness when he isn't here, talking to him face-to-face. Hell, if Kyle punched him, he would accept it without putting up a single fight. Maybe just one punch, actually. Despite Kyle’s outside appearance, his punches hurt like a bitch. The thought earns a sniff of laughter from him.
All that he can do now is to ask himself for forgiveness, if not the person who really deserves it, but that's entirely too difficult for him to ask of himself today. Perhaps in the future, the task won't feel as heavy. He knows can't take back every misdeed he's done, and he sure as hell can't take back that awful party he threw. It's a mistake that feels like a sin, and for every night that he lies awake, the guilty thoughts slip into the narrow cracks of his mind and eat away at him.
He breathes in the frigid air, which carries a distinct memory, reminding him of the day before Kyle disappeared. They got into a small fight that morning, and Kyle picked up a handful of snow, which he smoothed out until it was as hard as ice and threw it right at the center of Eric's face.
As usual, Eric threw a snowball back at Kyle, landing a hit on the shoulders. Of course, this series of snowballs led a to a small altercation between them, which isn’t anything out of the ordinary. They only stopped spitting insults at each other when Stan and Kenny complained for the fifth time to them about how they didn’t need to witness this kind of thing every morning at 7 am. A few hours passed and faint bruises appeared on the spots where the snowballs landed. It was a mildly inconvenient, so they both walked to the nurse's office during lunch to take care of the injuries they sustained, and Eric's nose began to bleed profusely while Kyle laughed beside him. Kyle called it “retribution for being an asshole”.
He touches his nose, a woeful smile on his face.
Right, that was three years ago, not today.
With a heavy sigh, Eric inches closer to the grave and wipes the snow off of it. He then traces his fingers along the lettering. "In loving memory of… Kyle Broflovski," he read aloud quietly to himself.
Those words sting a lot more than he expected. Tears prick at his eyes, and he messily wipes them away with one sleeve. He told himself he wouldn't cry today when he stepped out the door this morning, but could he really keep that promise?
The "death" of someone who he supposedly hated with every inch of himself forcefully snapped him out of his unrealistic ideas of the world bending at his every will. He realized that if the world was really at the tip of his fingers, then Kyle wouldn't have left him in his wake.
So, in a careful manner, Eric pulls out his graduation hat from the bag he's carrying, along with a Polaroid camera that Kyle bought him for his 14th birthday, unwillingly at that.
This is his closure; he'll do this and move on, hopefully never having to look back at the past with aching regret.
Eric never really cared about passing his classes or maintaining a high GPA, but a certain annoying Jew cared far too much by his standards. And this certain Jew would also rant at him when he wasn't complaining to Stan about his grades. It wasn’t something he thought he’d miss, but now that the conversations were gone, he felt a little indebted. Kyle wanted so desperately to graduate, to be valedictorian, but he disappeared. Eric knows it’s not his fault, but a part of him feels responsible. This alone was enough to convince him to pick himself up and graduate. It was a tedious and boring but worthwhile process, and he did it for this reason.
Eric places his graduation hat on the headstone, making sure to balance it so it doesn't tip over. He lays the bouquet on the ground and in front of the headstone to bring about a youthful impression.
The flowers assorted together are their favorites. Kyle said he didn't like roses because they were too cliché. He said, and Eric quotes, "I like daffodils because they represented unrequited love during the Victorian age, and I find that pretty bittersweet. Y'know, handing someone flowers out of love, but really, that love can't be reciprocated."
At the time, Eric thought Kyle was being all gross and sappy, but now he understands exactly what Kyle meant.
He, on the other hand, never thought about the options until it was brought up. Seriously, talking about girly things like flowers? How gay do you have to be? But since the topic was brought up, Eric quickly browsed the internet and chose black roses, representing vengeance, which he thought was totally awesome—not that flowers were awesome. Definitely not at the time, but Eric does think they're awfully awesome now. He even takes the time to buy and take care of his flowers at home, and most importantly, the daffodils.
They're pretty eye candy, a small remembrance of a certain person who favored them.
Ultimately, Eric bought the flowers they talked about, along with a few other arrangements of small, white flowers such as gypsophila and snapdragons. Since Kyle didn't specify the color, he chose the white daffodils. One color brings out the other, its best and worst attributes, and they’re also a timeless contrast only when brought together, sort of like how their unconventional friendship was.
The flowers were more expensive than he anticipated. But the act to find solace is a price worth more than paper that humans have given value to.
The evening before, he folded the bouquet and sorted and arranged the flowers accordingly by himself. It might not have been the best-looking bouquet out there, but he worked his ass off to make it. In the end, it looked prettier than he expected.
A frown tugs at Eric's lips, yet he remains adamant on accomplishing what he sought to achieve.
These are Kyle's flowers.
This is Kyle's graduation hat.
Turning on the camera, he finds an ideal angle and waits for when the sun shines through the clouds and onto the headstone, a tranquil yet ephemeral atmosphere that he hopes to capture even just once.
With a quick snap, the camera encapsulates a picturesque scenery. Golden rays sit upon the grave, and the flowers softly glowed beneath the sun's radiance. It seems almost as if an angel is standing there, guarding Kyle's grave and keeping it warm for days to come.
Something shatters inside of Eric, and a tear makes its way down against his will. He doesn't bother to wipe it this time, feeling bitter tears trailing his skin only to leave an acidic sensation behind. Be that as it may, his tears aren't the only things burning; his heart, too, burns with false hopes. He's too caught up, while the town changes every day. He's aware of this, and others may be, too.
Eric stuffs the camera back into his bag and studies the photo in his hand. Yet instead of looking at the photo for what it is, he can almost envision a perfectly clear picture of Kyle in a graduation gown. Eric thinks Kyle would be proudly holding the graduation paper with a stupidly wide grin on his face. He would have styled his hair so that his neat, red curls would spill from underneath the cap. And they would be there, too, making silly poses to reminisce about.
They, meaning he, Stan, and Kenny. But they weren't there. Kyle wasn't there. Everyone had their graduation except him. It should have been Kyle's high school graduation, not his.
"Stupid Jew was always worried about his grades. Fucking nerd."
Eric doesn't say the words with malice; he says them with familiarity. A large part of him misses Kyle beyond their daily banters and altercations, but a small part of him waits for a snide remark. He hopes somewhere, wherever it may be, that Kyle truly isn't gone and that he's just hopefully insulted him one last time in the past and forgotten about him. Eric thinks it's foolish. He thinks he's a pathetic loser who can't move on, wistfully awaiting a better day.
Not caring if he dirties his clothes, he sits in front of the headstone and doesn't say a word, even with his racing thoughts; he only stares in penitence.
Snowflakes drifting in the wind trap themselves on his clothes, and Eric sits there for what may have been an hour for all he could tell. Time ticks slowly, yet it feels like the years have passed quickly. The snowflakes melt into his coat, leaving specks of water along the fabric.
Today, the snow is light, just as it was the day before, three years ago.
Today, the sun is partially hidden behind clouds, bringing about a mildly cold day, just as it did the day before, three years ago.
Today, he catches himself smiling fondly, just as he did the day before, three years ago, when Kyle helped him clean his bloody nose because he said the nurse told him to. But Eric knows that the nurse hadn’t asked Kyle to do her any favors; he knows it was an act with intentions that were built off of feelings beyond simple pity.
Eric chortles, a small, doleful smile on his face. His figure is forlorn and the only one that remains in the cemetery.
The hour seems longer than the three years that have passed by. Sitting alone with his thoughts and memories makes him feel bittersweet.
Eric isn't ready to let go yet, and he's made peace with that. For however long his heart wants to drag this on, he's willing to accept it. He has all the time on his hands now that the person he’s built his world off of is in his reach once again, name etched onto the headstone.
When he first came to his senses for the first time after Kyle's disappearance, he found these feelings weren't normal in a sense that made him yearn. He realized all too late that perhaps Kyle meant more, and maybe that he does want more. To feel more. To be more to him. It was certain that Eric wanted something, something that is all but possible.
With a heavy heart, Eric stands up to dust the snow off his knees. He closes his eyes and takes in the moment for what it is.
"Kahl," he begins, opening his eyes. He clears his throat and laughs awkwardly at himself. Old habits die hard.
"Uh, Kyle, I mean. I really, really fucking hate you. For the last three horrible years, I've hated you so fucking much, so… if you're alive against all odds, please don't come back into my life. Don't make me feel false hope again. I'm sorry for being a dick."
Eric pauses, watching as the headstone stays planted in the ground, completely unresponsive. It never hurt to have a little hope, he told himself, but was it really all that painless?
"It was absolutely hilarious when you'd get your panties in a twist over the dumbest insults like you were gonna piss yourself or some shit..." his voice trails off.
"Fuck, sorry. That was pretty shitty of me to say. But, um, I miss when we used to do stupid shit together or just chill on the couch. I…" He takes a deep breath. "I hope you're happy. Seriously, I mean it."
Today, for the first time in three years, Eric's eyes glosses over with hope, though they are still somber.
From this point forward, he'll endeavor to accept Kyle as a part of his life, placing him in the past yet never forgetting him. For the years that remain, Kyle will find a home in his heart, residing there but never overtaking it.
Eric remains stagnant on this troubled day, but his chest feels a little lighter.
"Kyle, I love you. I'm sorry for not saying it sooner."