Chapter Text
When Craig Tucker slams Stan into a locker violently, Kenny doesn’t really think about it; he just instinctively lunges forward, wanting to stop the impending fight (that Stan will lose despite his athletic shape, he’s sure of it). He doesn’t really do much; he puts a hand on Craig’s arm, feeling the taut muscles underneath his palm, and tries to pull him away from Stan, to no avail. For all his good intentions, Kenny doesn’t even reach five feet seven and these two are all hard muscles. Craig doesn’t even seem to realize the blond is gripping his arm, trying to pull him away; it doesn’t make him budge.
Really, it all happened so fast: one minute Kenny was walking with his three friends down the hall of South Park High, the next Stan was talking shit about Clyde and his inability to throw a ball correctly on their last game — which, according to his friend, is the reason why they lost against North Park — and Craig was attacking him for it, being the impulsive asshole that he is. Kyle and Cartman didn’t even get the time to understand what was happening (and, by the look on his face, Kenny guesses that Stan still hasn’t) that the blond was already moving. Even though Kenny isn’t even half as intimidating and strong as his friends, he’s usually the quickest to react when they need help.
“What the fuck is your problem, Marsh?” Craig yells, his frowning face only inches away from Stan’s. To emphasize his point, he shoves Stan once more, making the back of his head hit the locker with a painful bang. Kenny notices that the strong grip on Stan’s collar is beginning to strangle him and he pulls the dark haired boy’s arm harder, but the latter doesn’t even notice.
Fortunately, the principal — Mr. Crawford — chooses this moment to intervene; having been warned by one of the hall monitors, Kenny guesses.
“Boys!” he yells, “Boys, break it up!”
Craig doesn’t immediately let Stan go. He continues to glare menacingly at the dark haired boy for a moment before clicking his tongue in annoyance and releasing his hold. As Stan starts to cough, rubbing his neck, Craig averts his eyes and refuses to look at the principal. When he (finally) notices Kenny’s hand on his arm, he abruptly jerks it, pushing the blond’s touch away.
They both take a step back, putting some space between themselves and Stan, and Mr. Crawford just takes one glance at Stan’s teary-eyed, reddening face before deciding that he won’t punish South Park High’s golden quarterback; not after he led his team to victory last season. He turns to Craig and Kenny instead.
“Congratulations,” he says apathetically, “You two just won two weeks of detention, starting today.”
Before Kenny can open his mouth to protest — although he has a feeling it won’t help his case — Stan beats him to it.
“What?” he exclaims between two coughs with a raspy voice, “That’s unfair, Kenny didn’t even do anything!”
“If he really hadn’t, I wouldn’t have found him in the middle of a fight,” is the principal’s sharp answer. “Now go to class before I change my mind about you and give you detention, too.”
Stan is about to open his mouth and protest but one pointed look from the blond dissuades his friend from trying to defend him. Kenny didn’t try (‘try’ being the keyword) to pull Craig away from him so he could get in trouble with the principal in the end. Meanwhile, Craig just stands there, looking tense, boring his icy eyes into the locker next to Stan’s head. If he thinks the situation is unfair to Kenny, too, he doesn’t say anything about it. Not that Kenny had expected the tall, dark haired boy to stand up for him.
With one dark look to Craig, Stan turns around and joins Kenny, who stays silent; but it isn’t uncharacteristic of him not to say anything. Hood on, the orange collar covering his neck and his chin, it’s not like people actually expect him to speak most of the time. As they return to Kyle and Cartman — who haven’t moved from their previous spot — the blond absently listens to Mr. Crawford as he turns his anger to the only person that stayed behind.
“And Tucker?” the middle-aged man says, obviously annoyed, “Why is it that every time I hear about a fight, I just know that you’re going to be involved? You’d better watch your conduct from now on, boy; if detentions aren’t enough to discipline you, I might be tempted to make radical decisions. It’s up to you.”
“Can you believe him? That asshole, he saw that Kenny was literally just standing there! Why did he punish him?”
They are in the cafeteria now, eating lunch, and Kyle is positively fuming. Kenny nibbles his food in silence, wide blue eyes fixed on his friend. He’s always found Kyle pretty intimidating when angry.
“Maybe he doesn’t like me,” he says, shrugging. It’s not like he really cares. Detention doesn’t bother him that much; it’s not like he has anything interesting to do at home, anyway. If the teacher supervising them is cool, he’ll use the time to take a nap or read a book. “He’s always giving me shit for pulling my hood up in school. Maybe he’s just having a bad day.”
“Still,” Kyle continues, “He shouldn’t—”
“Hey,” Cartman cuts him off, shoving a spoonful of food into his mouth and not bothering to chew and swallow before talking. “It’s his fault for intervening.” Turning to the blond, he continues with a mocking glint in his eyes; “You should mind your own business, Kenny. It’s not like you’re really helpful, anyway. You could’ve hurt yourself trying to stop Tucker,” he adds with a snort.
“Yeah, well, at least he tried to help,” Stan says, participating in the conversation for the first time since they sat down. His dark eyebrows are furrowed. “Thanks for your support when I was being assaulted by the rabid Doberman, asshole.”
“Hey!” Cartman protests, “I wasn’t alone! Right, Kyle?” he says with an aggressive tone, flicking his different colored eyes in the redhead’s direction. “If justice is so important to you, you could've just said something instead of staying behind like a pussy.”
“What? Don’t act like I’m the asshole, here — Craig is.”
“Of course Tucker’s an asshole,” Cartman retorts, “Doesn’t mean you can’t be one, too.”
“You’re both assholes,” Kenny decides to say, growing tired of their never-ending bickering. “You both stood behind when Stan was being slammed into a locker and I was being punished for nothing. You’re both assholes and Tucker’s an even bigger asshole; now that we’ve established that, can you please shut the fuck up and talk about something else?”
While Stan snickers, a wide smile on his face — and Kenny’s heart flutters, pleased to have made his dark haired friend laugh — Kyle leans back into his seat, calming down. Clearing his throat, he murmurs:
“Sorry, Kenny.”
Cartman shoves more food down his throat and stays silent.
“I’m sorry, too,” Stan says then, fixing his piercing — but so kind — blue eyes into the blond. Stan’s eyes are several darker shades than his own; if Kenny’s eye color tends to look like ice, Stan’s eyes remind him of the deep sea during a storm. They’re sadder, in a way. The blond focuses on that — the color of Stan’s eyes — while the dark haired boy bores them into him. He doesn’t allow himself to think about the jet-black hair sticking out of Stan’s red and blue beanie — how nice it would feel to take it off and run his hands in it. Stan’s hair looks so soft, it always has. One could say it’s due a trim, with the way some strands fall over his eyes, but Kenny finds it just perfect that way. “You didn’t deserve detention.”
Kenny bows his head, tries to hide his face behind his own blond hair falling over his eyes and the hood of his orange parka. There’s warmth in his cheeks and he doesn’t want anyone to see. He hates himself for even feeling this way; but when it comes to Stan, there’s just no use.
“It’s okay, Stan,” he manages to say, “You would’ve got in trouble, too.”
Stan shrugs, and the blond can see that his friend is still upset. Even though he knows there is nothing he could have done, he feels bad; because that’s just who Stan is. Sweet, caring. Kenny knows that his dark haired friend would have reacted the same way if it’d been anyone else — actually, that he would’ve done more if it’d been Kyle or Wendy instead of the blond — still, he can’t help the soft smile on his lips and the warm feeling spreading in his chest.
“Do you think Craig’s going to get expelled?”
Kenny raises his head at that, attention piqued. He looks at Kyle, who seems pensive.
“I hope so,” Cartman says and they all ignore him; not because they disapprove, just because they’re used to ignore Cartman. After all, it’s not like any of them is really fond of Craig; and if Kenny were to guess, he’d say that he’s the only one in his group of friends who doesn’t actively hate him. Well, perhaps Kyle doesn’t, either, although it’s pretty hard to guess with him. He could dislike Craig just because Stan does.
“Maybe not now,” Stan says, “But if he gets in trouble again, he just might.”
Deep in thought, Kenny nods slowly. Unconsciously, his eyes roam the cafeteria until they stop on a familiar-looking blue Peruvian hat. Craig is sitting there, occasionally stealing food from Clyde’s tray who’s sitting in front of him, when the brown haired boy isn’t looking. He’s scrolling on his phone, sometimes speaking up to take part in the conversation, rarely looking up from the device. Not that Kenny usually watches him from afar, but from what he knows, the dark haired boy looks exactly like he does on a normal day. He doesn’t seem distraught, nor upset. He looks like he couldn’t give a shit about anything; the way he usually does. Kenny guesses that Craig wasn’t intimidated by the principal’s threats earlier.
While he continues to stare at the dark haired boy absentmindedly — never worrying about getting caught, because why would Craig notice him? Kenny goes unnoticed wherever he goes; and with the hood pulled over his head, he’s pretty much invisible — he wonders what would happen if Craig were to be expelled. The dark haired boy’s friends would be sad, the blond guesses. He knows that a lot of girls would be disappointed, too (despite his heart of stone and total indifference, Tucker is pretty popular among the people who are weak to the tall, dark and handsome type of guys. The good looks must help. Actually, now that Kenny thinks about it, the total lack of care might help even more).
On a personal level, Craig getting expelled wouldn’t impact him. Although he guesses that losing the most good-looking, second most problematic kid at their school would be a shame.
(Nobody can beat Cartman in the problematic area).
While his friends gather their trays and begin to stand up, Kenny wonders if anything bad or interesting will happen later that day, when he’s in a classroom with Craig for detention.
When Kenny arrives in the detention room, he isn’t surprised to find it empty. Craig will probably come in late, like he always does in class. If they’re lucky, there won’t be other kids with them in detention, too (or unlucky — the blond isn’t sure). Mr. Mackey is there, standing behind the desk.
“Alright, Kenny, find a seat, m’kay?”
The blond nods and hides his smile behind his collar, muffling his snicker. He instinctively walks to the back of the class and pulls the chair next to the window, very far from the board. The blond flops into the chair and puts his backpack on top of his desk, not bothering to either open it or zip down his parka. Sensitive to the cold, it has never bothered him to keep the garment on during class despite the heaters being on.
Mr. Mackey is scribbling on the board, one hand behind his back, and Kenny manages to read Reflect on what you did. It’s definitely going to be one of those nap slash read a book kind of detention, then.
“I’m going to get sheets of paper, now, m’kay? If somebody comes in, tell them to find a seat,” the counselor says and Kenny nods absentmindedly while promising himself to never do such a thing. The tall, balding man doesn’t linger and leaves on his quest to find paper, which the blond knows is useless. He’s certainly not going to write down anything and he’d bet his hand that Craig won’t, either. Though the dark haired boy actually has something to reflect on, Kenny doesn’t; the only thing he could think about is the reason why he didn’t hesitate even a second before jumping to Stan's aid, and he definitely won’t go down that road.
Maybe a couple of minutes after Mr. Mackey left, Craig comes in. Kenny watches him, but the tall, dark haired boy doesn’t stare at anything but the seat he’s decided to take; hands inside his pockets, his backpack slung over one shoulder, he walks toward the back of the classroom, just like the blond had earlier. The Peruvian hat Craig often wears is now around his neck, resting there for some reason, revealing his jet black hair which Kenny finds disturbingly distracting. Craig’s hair, in opposition to Stan’s, is cut short on the sides and longer on top, carelessly swept away from his tanned forehead even though some strands fall over his eyebrows. From afar, the blond can still see the small cut on the right one, splitting his eyebrow in two near the extremity. The origin of the mysterious scar has always remained unknown. When Kenny realizes he’s staring, he blinks and averts his eyes, hoping his tall classmate hasn’t noticed.
Now, Kenny can only listen as he guesses that Craig goes for the other seat in a far corner; the one next to the wall, since he already took the one under the window. The tall, dark haired boy starts to pull a chair; extremely slowly and loudly, letting it screech on the floor all the way. Kenny is pretty sure he’s doing it on purpose and it grits on his nerves. What’s his problem?
“Can you stop?” he snaps, turning around on his seat to face the other boy who, indeed, is already staring back at him. Craig doesn’t say anything and just makes more noise instead; until finally he sits down. Kenny rolls his eyes.
The blond is about to turn around when, never breaking eye contact, Craig asks him out of the blue;
“Why are you even here?”
Kenny arches an eyebrow, taken aback by the other boy’s nerve.
“Excuse me? Did you conveniently forget what happened this morning? I’m here because you have anger issues and you lashed out at Stan over nothing.”
“Fuck you,” Craig frowns, “That’s not what I meant. You shouldn’t be here because you did nothing wrong.”
Kenny calms down upon hearing this, but he keeps his eyebrows furrowed. He guesses Craig is right; but why does the other boy even care?
“Yeah, well, unlike you apparently, I don’t skip detention when I think I don’t deserve it. It’ll only lead to more trouble and I just want to get it over with.”
Craig stares at him in silence for a second before rolling his eyes.
“Whatever,” he says, turning to face ahead, his hand going to his pocket to pull out his phone. “I just think it’s unfair. Marsh should’ve got detention, not you.” He starts to type away on his phone, obviously done with the conversation; yet, when the blond turns away, he hears him add quietly: “And I didn’t lash out at him over nothing. He talked shit about Clyde. Wouldn’t you step in if I talked behind Stan’s back? You sure didn’t hesitate earlier. Not that it made a difference.”
Kenny rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to answer.
Seriously, fuck that guy.
Imitating Craig by pulling his cheap, cracked phone out of his pocket, he sees that his friends have messaged him on their group chat.
Stan: u okay in there K?
Kyle: Yeah, has T-rex arrived yet?
Confused, the blond quickly sends a text.
Kenny: T-rex?
Kyle: Yeah, Tuckerosaurus rex
Kyle: The most dangerous, coldblooded bastard lurking in South Park High 🦖
Kenny snickers quietly behind his hand. Risking a glance over his shoulder, he looks at Craig and sees that the other boy is deeply focused on what’s on his screen, a slight frown on his face. But a frown on Craig’s face is nothing out of the ordinary and Kenny can really see the similarities with the deadly dinosaur.
Kenny: lol
Kenny: ur such a nerd
Kenny: yea he’s here and he hasn’t chopped my head off if you were worrying about that
Kenny: still being a dick tho
Stan: sorry u have to endure detention with him Kenny
Stan: wanna come over after?
Stan: we’re playing Smash with Kyle
Already in a better mood, Kenny starts typing his answer. As he does, another text appears below Stan’s.
Cartman: wat the hell dudes
Cartman: y was i not invited
Stan: cuz we hate you?
Kenny: don’t worry Stan :)
Kenny: and yea totally, i’m in
Kenny: especially if fatass isn’t invited lol
Cartman: fuck u kenny
Cartman: i hope u choke
Kenny: been there, done that
Mr. Mackey chooses this moment to return to the classroom, a pile of papers tucked under his arm. Discreetly, Kenny conceals his phone inside the sleeve of his orange parka, just as the man spots Tucker slowly rocking back and forth on his chair, using his phone without a care in the world. His usual who-gives-a-fuck attitude that never fails to get him in trouble with the teachers.
“Craig, please put that away, m’kay.”
The dark haired boy takes the time to type something on his phone before placing it, screen facing up, on his desk. He doesn’t put it inside his backpack (which is pathetically lying on the floor, at his feet), and Mr. Mackey doesn’t ask him to, knowing it would be pointless.
“I’m going to give you something to write on, and you’ll answer the question I’ve written on the board, m’kay? I want you both to really think about it and do it seriously. There is no right or wrong answer, m’kay. It’s about your point of view of the incident, why you reacted the way you did, and what you learned from it. It’s about expressing why you regret your actions and why you are sorry.”
Kenny rolls his eyes. He puts his chin on his palm and stares at the man through half-lidded eyes as he walks toward them. He’s about to yawn when a movement in his peripheral vision piques his attention. Tucker lazily raises his hand, staring expectantly at Mr. Mackey with those deathly cold eyes of his. It seems to take the man by surprise, as he stops walking and hesitates. Kenny is surprised, too.
“Um, yes, Craig? M’kay.”
“And what if you don’t regret your actions and don’t feel sorry at all?”
Under his collar, a playful smile spreads on Kenny’s lips. Mr. Mackey, though, doesn’t look amused. Craig’s face is still blank.
“Well, I guess that’s one of the reasons why you find yourself in detention now, Craig, m’kay,” the counselor replies, then adds in a lower tone: “Again.”
Thinking that he has every right to, Kenny impulsively raises his hand as well. It gets the attention of both Mr. Mackey and Tucker, but the blond decides to ignore the latter.
“And what if you didn’t do anything to deserve detention and have literally nothing to reflect on?” he asks innocently, trying to keep the cheekiness out of his voice.
Out of the corner of his eye, Kenny swears he can see Craig smirking. Probably just a trick of the light.
“Well, I guess that if you’re here, Kenny, it’s because you did something to deserve detention, m’kay.”
“Actually no, he really didn’t.”
This time, the blond properly turns his head toward the dark haired boy, his lips parting slightly in surprise. Craig Tucker backing him up isn’t something he would have expected. Ever.
“Oh,” Mr. Mackey says pointlessly and Kenny almost feels bad for him, because the balding man really can’t do much about anything and he isn’t even a pain most of the time. “Either way, I think it’s a good exercise, m’kay.”
Kenny sighs. At least, hopefully, they won’t have anything to do tomorrow. It’s not like Mr. Mackey can ask them to reflect on their actions every day. For two weeks. The blond sighs again. When the man hands him a sheet of paper, he just stares at it, wondering what to do with it.
Looking up from his paper, he glances at Tucker and sees that the dark haired boy is using his phone again, leaning against the wall with one of his long legs resting on top of the chair adjacent to his. He isn’t even trying to hide. Seeing as Mr. Mackey doesn’t comment on it, Kenny understands why.
He retrieves his own phone from his orange sleeve and turns it up. No new messages from his friends, and there are still thirty-five minutes left of detention. ‘Kill me now,’ he types on the group chat he shares with his friends and sends it. If Stan and Kyle are playing Smash Bros., they will be offline for a while. As for Cartman, Kenny doesn’t really care. He’s pretty sure the other boy doesn’t care, either.
Picking up a pen, the blond starts to doodle mindlessly on the sheet. Somewhere in the classroom, Mr. Mackey yawns. Kenny can hear the clock hung on the wall tick and it makes everything seem so much slower. After what feels like an eternity, the balding man finally clears his throat to get their attention.
“M’kay, that’s it for today. Please hand me your work before you leave—”
The second Mr. Mackey starts to speak, Tucker stands up, picking up his crushed, flat backpack from the floor at the same time, and just leaves, putting his sheet of paper on the counselor’s desk as he walks by. The man continues to talk, unfazed, though he’s frowning in Craig’s direction.
(But Tucker isn’t even paying attention).
“—I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to influence you, but if you played along and wrote something serious and genuine, I’ll cancel your second week of detention, m’kay?”
Kenny stares at his sheet of paper, on which he doodled cartoonish rodents, princesses and astronauts. Oh, well. For a second he thinks about shoving it inside his backpack, but Mr. Mackey probably won’t like that (though the blond is pretty sure he won’t like it either way), so he refrains. He stands up, slings his bag over his shoulders, picks up his ‘work’ and walks toward the front desk. When he reaches Mr. Mackey, he darts a glance at the paper that Tucker handed over a couple of minutes ago and he can’t repress his smile.
Sorry :(((
The rest of the sheet is blank. Well, Kenny guesses they’ll both be stuck in detention for two weeks.
“Dude, come on, pick another character for once.”
Kenny giggles stupidly as he picks Princess Peach again. He practically always wins, much to his friends’ frustration. He’s at Stan’s, with Kyle, the three of them playing, just like they’d planned to do after detention. They don’t know what Cartman is doing, and none of them cares.
Stan and Kyle are sitting next to each other on the couch, Kenny is sitting on the ground between them. He’s leaning his head against Stan’s knee; occasionally, the dark haired boy tousles his hair playfully. The blond doesn’t say it, but that’s the reason why he always sits on the floor.
After a few more rounds, the doorbell rings and Kyle pauses the game. Setting his controller on the coffee table, he stands up and rounds Kenny.
“It’s either pizza or Fatass,” he says indifferently. “If you hear murder, you’ll know which one it is.”
Kenny giggles, Stan scoffs. Kyle leaves the living-room and the blond pricks up his ears, kind of hoping it’ll be the latter.
“Hey, Kenny.”
Suddenly, there are fingers in his blond hair and Kenny almost jolts. Stan wraps his finger around a golden lock and tugs it softly, just to get his attention.
“Tucker didn’t make your life a living hell during detention, right?”
A long time ago, Kenny had tried to tear up the wings of the butterflies twirling in his stomach. He really, really tried. Right now, sitting on the floor with the back of his head resting against Stan’s knee, the other boy’s fingers absently tugging his locks, he tries his best to ignore them.
“No, he didn’t. We didn’t even interact much.”
Then, furrowing his blond eyebrows, Kenny recalls something.
“Actually, he stood up for me. He told Mr. Mackey I didn’t do anything to deserve detention.”
The fingers in his hair pause.
“Really?” Stan asks, puzzled.
Kenny nods. “Yup. Why are you asking, anyway?”
The blond would look up to meet Stan’s eyes, but he’s afraid that if he meets his gaze from this angle, it’ll do something irreparable to his heart; something that he won’t be able to stop from showing on his face.
“If he’s still mad at me — and, let’s face it, he’s always mad at me; whether he’s got a good reason to or not — I don’t want him to take it out on you, you know? So, if he starts being a jerk to you, let me know. Alright?” the fingers start to move again, and now Stan is actually stroking his blond hair. If he does it unconsciously or not, Kenny doesn’t know. After some thought, Stan adds, quieter; “I’ll fuck him up.”
There’s a sickeningly sweet, warm feeling spreading inside Kenny and he’s sure he can actually feel his heart melt. Pretending he isn’t feeling what he’s really feeling, the blond forces a playful smile on his lips.
“Let’s be honest, Stan; I’m confident in your fighting skills, but I still wouldn’t bet on you in a one-on-one with Tucker. Plus, he’s always looking for an excuse to properly fuck you up, so don’t give him one.”
Above him, Stan lets out a chuckle. He also tugs one of his golden locks a little bit harder, eliciting a yelp from Kenny. They hear footsteps and Kyle returns, holding three carton boxes in his arms.
“I’ve got two good news for you; I’ve got pizza, and I’m not a murderer.”
“If Cartman finds out we’re playing and eating pizza without him, I think you’re going to be murdered, dude,” Stan says matter-of-factly while the blond nods. Kyle just shakes his head, muttering something about Cartman being unable to hurt him.
“Wanna watch a movie while we eat?” the redhead suggests, glancing down at the blond sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Sure,” he replies, “Horror?”
Kenny discreetly glances at Stan, knowing he’s the most sensitive one. If the dark haired boy doesn’t want to watch a scary movie, he won’t insist. But Stan only shrugs, indifferent.
“Nothing too gory, unless you wanna see me puke,” he advises and that’s all it takes for Kyle to reach for the remote.
They collectively choose a film that focuses primarily on constant dread instead of meaningless violence, and if Kenny uses it as an excuse to clutch Stan’s leg and press it against his chest, oh well.
Kenny is leaning against a locker, crushing his bag between the metal and his back, not that he really cares. The bell has rung a couple of minutes ago and he should probably head to the detention room right now, but he doesn’t want to leave before saying goodbye to his friends.
(Well. One friend in particular. It’s not a coincidence he’s leaning against Stan’s locker).
Pulling his cheap phone with a broken screen out of his pocket, he checks the time. He’s not in a hurry; Mr. Mackey is often late as well. Eventually, while Kenny is staring up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the wall while rhythmically tapping his foot on the ground, someone stops next to him and he whips his head toward the newcomer.
It’s Kyle.
“Kenny? Aren’t you supposed to be in detention right now?”
“Uh, yeah. I was just waiting for, uh…”
“Stan?” Kyle guesses and Kenny mentally scolds himself for unnecessarily making things awkward.
“Yeah. Right. Stan.”
A look of sympathy crosses Kyle’s green eyes and the blond bites the inside of his cheek.
“Well, Stan is… He’s over there.”
Following his gaze, Kenny looks over his shoulder and immediately regrets it. Immediately regrets waiting here, because he was clearly leaning against the wrong locker. Indeed, Stan is over there; next to Wendy’s locker, who is currently trying to put books inside her backpack. Trying, because she has to keep swatting Stan’s hand away who visibly can’t stop himself from occasionally tugging her long, shiny jet-black hair, the way he did to Kenny the day before, when they were talking. There is a broad and bright smile on Stan’s face, his perfectly white, straight teeth on full display. They exchange a look, full smiles and glinting eyes, and Kenny almost stops to breathe because Wendy is just so radiant and Stan is so handsome.
Oh. So, they got back together. Of course. They always do.
The dark haired boy’s left hand never leaves Wendy’s waist. Together, they make a pretty picture. A perfect picture. Kenny tries to swallow the lump in his throat. He realizes Kyle is still there, probably observing him, so he clears his throat and puts on a neutral mask. It’s easy, when he’s wearing his parka and has his hood on.
“Oh. Right,” he says, turning to Kyle. His redheaded friend is tall; if Kenny bows his head slightly, with his hood on, Kyle won’t even see his face. “Silly me, huh. Hadn’t even seen him. Well, I’d better get going, then. Thanks, Kyle, see you tomorrow, dude.”
“Hey, Kenny, you’re al—”
Feeling like an asshole, Kenny walks away and doesn’t let Kyle finish. He passes Stan and Wendy who, thank God, don’t see him (the last thing he needs is the beautiful, dark haired girl to notice him and to try striking up a conversation. She’s just so nice and kind and it would hurt too much). Before he knows it, he’s walking into detention room and automatically heading to the seat under the window in the back of the class that he took the day before, only to stop in his tracks when said chair appears in his field of vision.
Tucker is here. Sitting on his chair.
Kenny slowly looks up and into Craig’s yellow eyes who — Kenny’s heart misses a beat — is already staring at him, the corner of his lips lifted up in that subtly arrogant way of his.
“Something wrong, Freckles?” the dark haired boy asks him with a faked, innocent tone, his voice as deep and smooth as it always is.
Ignoring the nickname, Kenny doesn’t let the other boy intimidate him. “That’s my seat,” he states with an even, though apathetic voice.
Puerile, Craig shrugs.
“Don’t see your name on it.”
There’s still this knowing, superior smirk on his lips and it’s starting to get on Kenny’s nerves.
“You know I was sitting there yesterday.”
“That was yesterday,” Craig points out, “Today, it’s me. But hey, don’t come in late tomorrow, and maybe you’ll have your seat back.”
And the bastard gives him a wink.
Rolling his eyes, Kenny relents. “Whatever.” As he turns around and walks to the opposite seat — the one Tucker had taken the previous day — he adds, lower: “Asshole.”
When the blond sits down (throwing his bag somewhere at his feet), he pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts up the Coonstagram app, not because there is something he needs to do, but because he’s bored and if he doesn’t distract his mind, negative thoughts will start polluting it. However, it spectacularly fails when the exact thing he was trying to avoid assaults his eyes the second his page is refreshed.
There is a recent selfie of Stan and Wendy, (sitting on a bench at Stark’s Pond, if Kenny guesses correctly; he’s pretty sure it’s the same spot where he and his three friends hang out often), posted by the latter, in which the girl is beaming at the camera, doe-eyed, and Stan is kissing her temple. His beanie is oddly tilted, jet-black hair sticking out of it, as if Wendy had been running her hand through it before the picture was taken.
Kenny’s eyes fall to the caption.
‘We always find a way to return to each other.’
Looking at the date, the blond realizes the photo has been posted yesterday. So, when he and Stan talked in the latter’s living-room, while Kyle was busy with getting them pizza; when Stan played with his hair and stroked it absentmindedly, when he told the blond he wouldn’t hesitate picking a fight with Tucker if the other boy was mean to him… He was already back with her.
Kenny suddenly turns off his phone and throws it on his desk as if it burned him. He shouldn’t be so upset. What did he expect in the first place? It’s nothing new. In fact, it’s a whole pattern. Kenny just let his hopes up and it clouded his judgement. He should know better by now.
Though he thinks he has the right to feel upset that Stan didn’t say anything about it last night. With a pang, the blond suddenly realizes that Kyle must have known. He’s Stan’s best friend. They tell each other everything.
So, Kenny was the only one kept in the dark, then.
He sighs.
He’s been having feelings for Stan for years now. He knows it’s one-sided, of course. He can’t possibly compete with Wendy and he’ll never measure up to Kyle. He’s long since accepted that he’ll always be in the background and he made himself believe that it was okay. That he’s fine with it, even though the thought makes it hard to breathe sometimes, when he finds himself waking up in the middle of the night, clutching his heart, with tears in his eyes.
Usually, he finds that he can’t go back to sleep after that. And then he just lies there, making inventory of all his past regrets — most of them involving his dark haired friend.
It’s whatever.
Driven by some kind of morbid curiosity, he decides to pick up his phone to read the comments. Knowing people’s reactions won’t change anything, but Kenny just feels like torturing himself a bit more today. Fighting the urge to stare at the picture some more, he quickly scrolls down to get it out of his peripheral vision and starts to read the comments instead, recognizing the usernames with the most likes.
@baebe: ur so gorgeous Wends! Love u always, queen <3
Kenny wonders if Bebe, too, is crushed whenever Wendy runs back to Stan. If she is, she sure does a better job than Kenny hiding her bitterness. Either way, the blond thinks it’s pretty funny — and full of meaning — that she complimented Wendy and said nothing about Stan.
@clyde_minivan: again??????
@Tolkien_Black: Happy for you two :)
@~.redrose.~: omg. goal couple
@JimmyValmer™: Breakups were invented for a reason, guys. Now might be the time you check your expiry date.
Kenny doesn’t double tap Jimmy’s comment — knows better than to do such a reckless thing — but he strongly agrees. It isn’t something he would ever tell Stan, either. Anyway, he’s pretty sure Stan hears it often enough from Kyle.
Scrolling through posts, Kenny suddenly realizes that, though he often sees pictures or comments from Clyde, Tolkien, Jimmy and Tweek, he never sees any from Craig. If he has an account, he’s completely anonymous. Discreetly, he looks up from his phone and glances at the other boy who, for some reason, has left his seat in order to rummage through the drawer against the wall, where supplies and board games are stored. When Mr. Mackey is the one supervising detention, Kenny knows he allows students to play — at least when they don’t have work to do, like Reflect On What They Did.
Now that Kenny thinks about it, Mr. Mackey hasn’t arrived, yet. Just as he turns his head to glance at the door, a deep voice startles him.
“Hey. Kenny.”
For a second, Kenny actually wonders if Tucker is really talking to him; which is utterly stupid, because not only are they completely alone, the boy just said his name. Turning around on his seat, the blond shoots the taller boy a bewildered look. Craig is just standing there, one hand still inside the drawer, staring back at him expectantly, face blank.
“Damn,” he blurts out and, because he’s an idiot and can’t stop himself in time, adds: “I’m surprised you even know my name.”
Craig cocks an eyebrow and Kenny immediately feels a hundred times smaller than he already is.
“Why wouldn’t I know your name? We’ve known each other since we were kids. You and all your asshole friends.”
Going pink and feeling embarrassed, Kenny stutters. “Yeah, I know but, like, I mean, it’s not like we ever really talked. And, uh, I’m less noticeable than my friends.”
“I hate your friends,” the tall, dark haired boy easily admits. “But I never hated you. That makes you more noticeable to me.”
Stunned, Kenny finds himself speechless.
(If his heart stumbles inside his chest, he ignores it).
“Oh,” he lets out stupidly when the silence begins to stretch uncomfortably. Craig doesn’t seem to care. Of course he doesn’t.
Unfazed, Craig pulls out a small, rectangular box out of the drawer he’d been rummaging through and raises it to show the blond.
“Wanna play?” he asks and, once again, Kenny has a hard time believing he’s being spoken to. Dumbfounded, the blond’s eyes drift to the red carton box Craig is holding and he reads the title Uno.
“Oh, sure,” he says without thinking about it and it’s only when Craig shuts the drawer and returns to his seat under the window, glancing at him impatiently, that it really hits Kenny. They’re going to share a desk. Sit next to each other.
With a thumping heart and clammy hands, the blond stands up, picks his bag up from the floor and drags his body to Craig’s desk. It feels surreal. Right now, Tucker should be royally ignoring him, should be making him feel like his existence isn’t even acknowledged. Not this; not suggesting they play a card game like they are friends, or something.
But Kenny guesses he’s overthinking again. Craig is just bored. And, as the dark haired boy basically said, he’s not as bad as his friends. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.
‘I never hated you’ echoes inside his head and Kenny swats the thought away before something foolish and inexplicable can happen; like blushing.
The blond pulls the chair next to Craig and places it so that they face each other, with the desk between them, while the dark haired boy shuffles the deck. He deals the cards in silence and Kenny wipes his clammy palms on his black, ripped jeans. Nervousness is making his temperature rise, but he doesn’t want to take his parka off. Nor his hood.
Craig places the deck in front of them and returns the first card. A yellow 6.
“You start,” the dark haired boy just says.
Kenny stares down at his hand. Apart from a skip card, nothing worth getting excited about. He puts a blue 6 on top of the discard pile. Craig immediately plays a blue draw two.
“Already going for the kill, huh?”
“Always,” is Craig’s honest answer.
Kenny draws two cards. It’s shit.
Craig plays another draw two.
“Damn it, Tucker.”
At least, this time, Kenny draws a wild draw four. When it’s his turn again, he plays it with a small, satisfied smile. Which falls the second Craig puts down a wild draw four as well. “Blue,” he says and his voice wavers slightly with sass.
“This is so unfair.”
Craig is barely containing his smirk and Kenny gives him a look before drawing eight cards. There are too many cards in his hands now that he can’t even hold them properly, meanwhile the idiot in front of him only has three cards left. (His hand is still shitty, by the way).
“I love this game,” Craig states and, had they been friends, Kenny would have smacked his shoulder.
They play a few rounds where nothing significant happens until the dark haired boy places a blue 6 on top of a green 9. Kenny stares at Craig, unimpressed. The other boy pretends he’s counting his cards, voluntarily avoiding his eyes.
“Hello?” the blond calls, “You can’t do that.”
Unfazed (and unashamed), Craig raises his eyes from his hands and locks eyes with the blond to give him the worst excuse Kenny’s ever heard — which says a lot, considering he’s known Eric Cartman since they were three years old.
“Yes, I can play a 6 over a 9, because it’s like, reverse, you know. It reverses the game order, too. So, now, it’s your turn to play.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Tucker.” Narrowing his eyes at the other boy, he adds: “Plus, it was going to be my turn either way, dumbass.”
Now, Craig is visibly fighting a small, playful smile and Kenny is trying his hardest to maintain his best unimpressed look.
“It’s allowed, I swear.”
“You’re trying to cheat. Do you really think I’m that gullible?”
“What?” Craig pretends being offended and, to his credit, he almost looks innocent. Almost. “No, this was an actual rule in my old school.”
“Fuck you, we’ve always been in the same school!” Kenny raises his voice but he’s also laughing, now, and he just has to be in some kind of fucked-up, alternate universe because how the hell is he not only getting along with Craig Tucker, but laughing with him, too?
“Damn it,” Craig relents, picking up his blue 6 card reluctantly, “It worked on Butters.”
“Then Butters is a fool,” Kenny snickers, picturing his poor friend buying Craig’s ridiculous crap, “And so are you. Even Cartman gives me better excuses.”
“Yeah, well, I wasn’t really trying. Trust me, Freckles, if I really try, I can make you believe anything.”
The dark haired boy gives him his most charming grin and a wink, and for a second Kenny is distracted by the cute dimple that appears in the other boy’s tanned cheek.
“I highly doubt that,” Kenny mumbles and hurries to avert his eyes because his heart is picking up pace and suddenly his palms are feeling clammy again. He wipes his hands on his jeans and, because Craig catches him doing it, feels the need to justify himself: “It’s hot in here.”
“Not really,” the dark haired boy shrugs, “But you’re dressed like you’re going to spend the next five hours in the snow, so.” As if only realizing that Kenny is indeed dressed for extreme weather, he raises his head to eye the blond up and down, slowly, suspiciously narrowing his eyes in the process. “Why are you always wearing your stupid parka, anyway? Ever since we were kids, I’ve never seen you without it. It’s like you were born with it or something.”
Not feeling like telling the honest truth — why would he, anyway? It’s Craig — he shrugs and states facts that are indeed true but far from the complete truth.
“I like it. It’s warm, comfortable. Orange is a great color.”
I put the hood on, pull on the strings and see the world through small lens. People tend to notice me less and it’s like I disappear. He keeps that part to himself. He doesn’t think Craig would understand, anyway. Not when Tucker moves around confidently — arrogantly so — wherever he goes, as if he owns the whole world.
“You look like a trash bag when you put the hood on and hide inside. An orange trash bag.”
“Why thank you, how nice of you. You always know what to say to make people feel good about themselves, I appreciate that.”
“I’m just saying,” Craig tries to justify himself, “You’d look better with the thing off.”
Raising his blond eyebrows, Kenny gives a pointed look to the blue Peruvian hat that covers the other boy’s head, kind of surprised he even put it on. Craig rarely seems to wear it nowadays; it’s often just perched on his shoulders, as useless as a deflated balloon.
“It’s bold of you to say that, because I could say the same about your hat. A pompon, seriously? Are you eight?”
Craig shrugs, indifferent. He raises his hand and, before Kenny realizes what he’s about to do, it’s too late; feeling like he’s witnessing a car crash, the blond wants to tear his eyes away but finds that he physically can’t. In one motion, Tucker takes the hat off and takes the time to run his hand through his jet-black hair, as if to flatten it, though the effort is made pointless when he ruffles it immediately afterward. A few strands fall over his tanned forehead. He raises his amber eyes and suddenly he’s staring directly into Kenny’s eyes and finally the blond looks away, unable to hold the contact; especially when they’re so close. He’s determined to stare at his own cards instead, because Tucker’s haircut, his eyes, his everything, is ten times more distracting than his already pretty distracting dimple. Damn it, what’s wrong with him? Tucker’s ridiculously, unfairly good looks and dangerous charm used to leave him pretty indifferent, but that was before they ended up in such close proximity. Before the blond found himself on the receiving end of his cheeky grins instead of his pure apathy.
Jesus. And it’s only the second day.
He plays his card, willing his heart to stop beating so goddamn fast. He hopes his face isn’t pink. Seeing as Craig isn’t commenting on it, he thinks he’s good. They play a few more rounds, until Craig is finally down to one card (Kenny is still struggling to hold his ridiculous amount); but he forgets to say The Word, so the blond kindly reminds him:
“You didn’t say Uno, dumbass.”
Realizing his mistake, Craig sighs.
“This game sucks.”
“You were the one that wanted to play.”
(He doesn’t mention Craig’s previous claim of loving the game).
“Not really, I was just bored. Thought playing would be better than doing nothing, but I was wrong.”
“Jeez,” the blond says with a jaded voice, “Happy to spend time with you, too.”
“We should spice up the game,” Craig suggests, visibly serious, and the blond gives him a look.
“Spice up the game with what?” he asks, sarcastic, “The alcohol that we don’t have?”
Tucker opens his mouth — to make a snide remark, no doubt — but right at this moment, someone walks into the room and Kenny almost widens his eyes when he looks over his shoulder and sees Mr. Mackey.
He’d totally forgotten they were in detention.
“I see you’re here despite my lateness, that’s good, m’kay,” he tells them the second he spots them in the back of the class, as if ‘lateness’ wasn’t a terrible understatement. Detention is almost over. “But I’m still really disappointed in you two, m’kay? I expected you to at least put minimal efforts into your work, but you just didn’t take it seriously at all.”
Kenny blinks, the time to understand what their counselor is talking about. It comes back to him in a flash; Reflect on what you did. He barely suppresses a snicker. However, his self-satisfied grin instantly falls when a warm breath and a deep voice whisper in his ear.
“What did you write?” Craig asks him in a low voice and oh. There are chills running down Kenny’s spine. “Did you just hand in a blank copy?”
The blond swallows and wills himself to get his composure back because Craig isn’t really whispering directly into his ear, he just leaned in closer and lowered his voice; and still, even if he had, Kenny shouldn’t feel so… bothered. Still, because he isn’t suicidal, he doesn’t turn his head to look at Craig.
(If he turned his head right now would their faces be inches away would their noses touch would—)
“Nah, I doodled stuff.”
Craig scoffs next to him and it sends another shiver down his neck, making the hair there rise. Get it together, he scolds himself. Near the board, Mr. Mackey keeps talking but Kenny doesn’t even know what he’s talking about anymore, hasn’t really been listening in the first place, especially now that he’s so conscious of the proximity with the dark haired boy behind him.
“—So, because you didn’t prove you regretted your actions, I won’t reward you by cutting your detention short. Too bad for you, m’kay.”
Kenny blinks again. For the first time, he regrets not doing Mr. Mackey’s stupid essay. The balding man is nice and pretty easy to fool; if the blond had half-assed his answer with a few ‘I learned something’ here and there, he would have gotten one of his two weeks of detention canceled. Which means, less time with Tucker.
Forty minutes ago, he wouldn’t have cared either way. Now, he’s starting to think being around the tall, dark haired boy is getting dangerous.
“Alright, you’re now free to spend your time however you please, as long as you stay quiet and don’t cause trouble. And no phone, Craig, m’kay?” in his peripheral vision, Kenny sees Craig raising his palm, as if showing Mr. Mackey that he isn’t using his phone, and the blond notices that Craig’s hand is down to one card again. He discreetly looks down and notes that the card on top of the discard pile isn’t the one he played before they were interrupted by their counselor. The bastard cheated again and did so even though he’s going to win either way. “I see you two are friends, so I won’t ask you to occupy different desks,” Mr. Mackey finishes and the blond scoffs humorlessly, because if he knows why they ended up in detention, then he should also know that they are clearly not friends. Also, it would be pointless to ask them to move now when there are only five minutes of detention left. Kenny thinks Mr. Mackey could even let them go earlier, to make up for his ‘lateness,’ as he called it.
“So, we’re just— not punished,” Craig summarizes only for him to hear and, yeah, that’s pretty much it. “What’s the point in keeping us?”
Kenny shrugs, still eyeing their counselor who is now sitting behind the front desk, glancing at the sheets of paper he’s brought with him.
“At least be glad Mr. Mackey is the one supervising us. It would’ve been atrocious otherwise.”
Craig scoffs and, because he senses him leaning back into his chair and away from him, Kenny returns to his previous position, facing the dark haired boy.
“What’s so funny?”
“You said ‘atrocious’. Broflovski’s rubbing off on you, uh?”
“Shut up,” the blond rolls his eyes, “Atrocious isn’t a pretentious word, it’s just that you only know how to use foul language and have the vocabulary of a fourth-grader.”
Disbelieving, Craig cocks his eyebrows. Kenny’s eyes instinctively dart to the little scar on his left one before he catches himself.
“Ex-cuse us, Your Majesty McCordick.”
“See?”
“Whatever,” Craig pouts but Kenny can see the way the corner of his lips twitch in amusement.
Suddenly remembering that he hasn’t thought of his friends once when he would normally be flooding them with messages, Kenny wonders what Stan would say if he could see them right now. How he would feel, to see him goof around with his archenemy.
When the answer comes naturally in his mind, he bows his head in shame. I hope Stan wouldn’t like it, is what he thinks. He hopes — so desperately it’s almost suffocating — that Stan would be jealous.
“M’kay, that’s it for today,” Mr. Mackey says at last and Kenny doesn’t need to be told twice. He helps Craig gather the cards and in a second the tall, dark haired boy is standing up and on his way.
Though, as he slings his light backpack over one shoulder, he looks over at Kenny.
“See you around, Freckles,” he says, face blank, then turns around and walks away.
An acknowledgement before leaving? The implication that they would be seeing each other soon — as in acknowledging each other’s presence again in the future? Now, if Kenny had been told that the day Craig Tucker did that to him would arrive, he would have laughed.
Kind of mesmerized by Craig’s impressive speed whenever it’s time to leave school, the blond stands up and picks up his bag, nodding toward Mr. Mackey as he exits the classroom and heads to the entrance hall. As he exits school ground and begins his daily walk home, he pulls his phone out of his pocket (which he hasn’t done once since he lurked on Wendy’s Coonstragram page earlier) and opens his friends’ group chat.
He skims through the messages (basically, Cartman and Stan are begging Kyle to share his notes. Again. Kenny might do it later, too). At some point, though, his friends start talking to him and he slows down to read the texts.
Kyle: Btw, how’s detention Kenny?
Stan: yeah, is everything good?
Stan: if not, i’m on my way
Stan: just say the word
It was sent twenty minutes ago.
Kenny reads Stan’s messages multiple times, his heart warming. Stan telling him he wouldn’t hesitate to go back to school to make good on his promise about confronting Tucker if the need arose is doing things to Kenny’s belly that causes a giggle to leave his lips.
Feeling childish, excitement bubbling up in his stomach, Kenny decides to answer something that he knows won’t please his friends. He doesn’t want all of his friends to be displeased, though.
Just Stan.
Kenny: no need, Stan, but thx!
Kenny: Craig is really nice :)
It’s petty, maybe. Small revenge for unconsciously breaking his heart time and time again.
Craig hasn’t been insufferable, hasn’t been horrible to him, sure; now, if Kenny were perfectly honest, he wouldn’t call him nice either. It’s Craig Tucker they’re talking about. Craig’s not nice. He’s an asshole. Maybe less toward him, but still, he’s a jerk.
The replies are immediate.
Kyle: Really?
Kyle: Well, I mean, that’s good
Kyle: Just surprising
Stan: wat???????
Stan: what do you mean, ‘nice’??
Stan: is he holding you at gunpoint?
Stan: no way i read that right
Kenny: lol no he’s not holding me at gunpoint
Kenny: Idk he’s just nice
Kenny: We played Uno the whole time
Stan: oh
Stan: good i guess
Cartman: dramaaaaaaaaa
Kyle: Shut up Cartman
Kenny keeps glancing down at his screen as he walks but Stan doesn’t say anything after that. The blond almost feels bad. But then he remembers Stan and Wendy’s selfie, how the dark haired boy didn’t let him know they were back together, and decides that he isn’t.