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Another cut. Another slide of the blade against your skin. You wince at the sharp sting, you almost pull your hand away but you keep it there, not for the pain but for the scar that it makes. You like the after sting, you suppose. Hurts, but not that much, like some sort of lingering buzz.
You sigh, leaning your head back against the wall next to your bed with your lips curled to a small smile.
And the thing is— nothing even happened today. Nothing set you off, nothing bad happened... nothing. The day was just like any other.
Nothing was out of the ordinary. Not when you got home to silence (that's normal. It's either silence or yelling), not when you kicked your feet up on your bed, not when you sifted under your pillow for your beloved blade, the lights weren't off, you weren't even having a breakdown, no tears were running down your face, no monologuing, no dramatic recount of all your wrong doings to the world and reasoning with yourself that this was a way to condone for your sin of being alive, nothing. It was just you, your blade, and the bed.
You were clean for a while, you'd say. Stopped cold turkey. No one knew a thing, no one heard about it for years. Not even your bestfriend. Anyone that asked about the scars were met with blatant denial.
"What scars? Those aren't scars. What are you talking about?"
What a liar you were. But it was better to make them believe it never happened than to learn about their existence and the implications it made. Despite never caring about the habit, you found yourself ashamed of the picture it painted.
And now here you were, back at it again. You weren't sure why you turned back to cutting, maybe it was the sting of the blade, maybe it was the scars that you liked to feel and look at, or maybe it was the feeling of control. That you made those, that only you knew about them.
The thought made your smile grow, a giddy feeling bubbling up your throat. Your secret. No one else knew about it. That was the thrill. Having to hide it, going through the day with people smiling your way, not knowing what you were hiding.
God, if Cartman saw you right now, he'd totally call you emo. Probably accuse Stan of infecting you or whatever.
You scoff at the thought yet it brings an easy smile to your lips. Thinking of how you look, smiling and laughing while holding a blade to your skin like a lunatic, it wasn't the prettiest picture.
Your friends. The thought of them makes your smile fall. Kenny. Your bestfriend. It was hard hiding things from him, he's weirdly perceptive for a C+ student. You had to be extra careful with your steps, go the extra mile to hide the scars, or to keep a pep in your step. It was extremely hard to even find time to cut yourself at school, he picked up the fact that something was wrong, and legit didn't leave you alone for a while. Not until you stopped and calmed down with the apparently suspicious behavior did he silently back off.
Maybe there were healthier secrets to keep, but you couldn't keep your mouth shut to save your life. This? The risk? The secret? It was all yours. Intimately yours. Only you knew where your scars were. Only you knew what you were doing to yourself.
You almost blew it a couple of times, but thanks to the fact the scars are never deep, they weren't too noticable, and would fade easily much to your chagrin. It's a double-edged blade.
You didn't quite like the pain, but you liked looking at the scars. Didn't care for what it meant that you were self harming, or the fact you were keeping a blade to hurt yourself, it's not like you really felt like anything was seriously wrong. You simply enjoyed the risk, the planning ahead, how in control you felt. It was more like an adventure than a problem, just like the ones you used to go on with your friends, wacky, action-packed, weirdly sexual, sometimes ending up with someone flashing you...
A soft sigh leaves your lips as you run your hand across the scars, the small grooves littered on your skin was pleasing to the touch.
You turn back to your blade, squinting. Maybe a couple more wouldn't hurt.
Grabbing the blade and pushing it against your jagged skin, you hold your breath for the temporary sting, watching the metal slice through just the skin. The pain makes you wince and your heart spike, but it made your head quiet for a bit.
You let out a satisfied huff and lean back after a few swipes, staring hard at your scars, you can't help the soft breath that leaves you. The sick feeling in your throat is quickly overpowered by the delight at the sight of your own scars.
When you're about to pull the blade away and hide it, taking your sweet time admiring the grooves—
The door swings open, with you facing it, the blade still pressed to your skin. You're hunched over on your bed and you freeze.
"What the fuck."
You turn your head up at the voice, eyes widening as your heart sunk to your feet at the sight of your bestfriend standing right infront the threshold of your room, his eyes wide, lips slightly parted.
Great. The one person you didn't want to see you like this. Or well, one of the people you didn't want to see you like this.
Your hands move before your mind registers it. His eyes zeroing on the sight of your scars as you shoved the cutter under your pillow to hide everything last minute.
But he's already across the room before you can turn back, hand clutching your wrist you had under the pillow. "Oh no. No you do not get to hide- whatever- what is- you—"
His face twists, eyebrows furrowed and nose scrunching. His eyes dart from your face to your scars, and suddenly the muscle in his jaw jumps again.
"What the fuck, man? What- what is this? How long have you been- you-"
He stammers, you remain silent, mouth agape with no words coming out. His lips purse before his calloused hand just barely loosens its grip as your pulse jumps beneath his gloved fingertips.
He turns his head up to you, blue eyes darkened like a cloudy storm. "Why? What- what were you—..."
You don't say anything back for a while, you can't. Your throat dries as you stare up at him with eyes wide like a child who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar, frozen in place like a deer at headlights.
You find yourself after a while of silence, before he can open his mouth and ask. You pull your hand away, clutching it to your chest as your heart hammered through its cage. You can't find it in you to look him in the eye. Not like this.
But you can feel it then, his eyes are back on your scars, you feel more open than the wounds on your skin. The exposed feeling of his sudden presence was like the cold wind pressing against your open flesh. He scans the battlefield, finding it ridden with faded lines and darker skin beneath the layer of fresh scars, memories of the last war you've faced with yourself.
His gaze bears heavier on you than the feeling of the blade against your skin moments ago. Your heart jumps in a way that thrill could never imitate, threatening to sink you to the bottom of its depths with how you can barely even breathe.
Then his face shifts at the darker lines, old and faded. Something in his eyes glimmers with clarity, and his face falls just ever so slightly before he turns his attention back to you. The weight of his stare almost folding you. "You..."
"It's nothing!" The words leave your mouth before you can register it. All of the excuses, all of the reasons, all of the backup plans you made to save your own skin suddenly flee from you like a frightened deer.
You have your eyes downcast but blown wide, the sting of your slashes barely present compared to the blood rushing through your body that was beginning to shake. "This isn't- I have- I was just— just being dumb- you know!" You try to laugh it off, the sound is as brittle as your confidence while you pull the fabric of your clothes over the red lines. And when you glance up at him, you know you said wrong.
His eyes narrow, lip pulling at the corner to a distressed frown. "No! I don't know! Tell me, what am I seeing exactly. What does this look like?" He leans close to your bed, one knee on the edge of your mattress, you feel your heart in your throat as his hand moves to uncover your scars.
You flinch at the touch, he doesn't waver. He pulls your clothes back, the sensation of his gloved hand against the grooves of your scars unnerve you more than you usually felt with your own hands. He on the other hand is unbothered by your exposed state. He feels an unfortunate sense of relief to know you never went too deep.
"I'm not- this isn't... I mean- I was just, yknow. Testing it, the blade, and this-uh, isn't, cutting. I wasn't- I wouldn't." Fuck, fuck what the fuck is that excuse? You feel yourself shrink as your smile twitches. You push the fabric down stubbornly, and your poor bestfriend just looks one more word away from blowing up on you.
"Dude." He deadpanned, staring straight into your eyes incredulously even when you refused to do the same. "I literally just walked into you fucking cutting yourself." His hand tightens around the hem of your clothes.
The way you pale is almost comical, but it isn't at the moment. Like, damn, were you? He didn't have to clock you like that, the weight of his words suddenly seemed to feel rather serious. You open your mouth, but he beats you to the punch aswell. "How long has this been going on? And don't bullshit me, I can see the old shit here too."
Oh. Oh great. Yeah. Great. So he's smart. Right. You forgot. He's not... gaslight-able. Not that you'd ever dream of lying to your best friend, but-
"Kenny-" You start, trying to pull away again to cover the scars.
But he won't allow it. Fuck that noise. He grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you in place to look him in the eye as his typically dopey face locks on you head on, leering over you with his half-standing position.
"No. No you don't look away now." He hisses at you, eyes narrowing as you shrink into your shoulders. "How. Long."
You lick your lips, eyes darting to the side before pushing yourself to look back to his face as he squeezed your shoulders, beating down any better attempt at lying that your panic will let you come up with. Stupid him and his stupid tactics. "It hasn't been that long- I just- I stopped, and I just- I wasn't planning on starting again I just- what you saw was- it really doesn't matter-"
He shakes his head slowly, squeezing your shoulders again to pause your stuttering ramble. "Don't fuck with me, man."
Your lips fall to a quiver, your breath hitches treacherously as you desperately turn your head to the side only for him to bring his hands up to your face, making you almost jerk away from the gloved hands.
Oh god. Being caught was more nerve-wracking than you thought. What was he gonna think of you now? Seeing what you did to yourself, how pathetic it must seem. You couldn't even cut deep, so clearly you weren't doing it right.
Seeing the tears welling in your eyes makes his heart clench. Damn it. He didn't mean to make you cry, but fuck he's freaking out. Walking into your bestfriend cutting wasn't exactly on his Bingo card for the year.
He didn't get why, everyone's life here in Southpark was ass in some shape or form, and usually that shape and form for you guys is your big boned asshole of a friend.
But for you? He'd do his best to understand. He wants to know, and he wants to help.
His grip on your cheeks is gentle, despite his stormy expression. "Hey, tell me what's up. What's going on in that head of yours. Let me in." He coaxed gently, rubbing circles on your cheeks as a few tears spill.
You turn your head to the side, rubbing hastily at your eyes and biting into your lip to keep yourself from crying more. Great, now you're crying infront of your bestfriend. Awesome.
Why were you even doing this shit? Not like your life was incredibly bad. Sure you had shitty parents, but so did half the people in this town. If anything, Kenny has it way worse, and he doesn't cut. Sure he uses other self destructive habits but... they're... cooler. Not some lame ass emo bullshit.
When your silence remains stubborn, he takes a long breath in before sitting at your side, watching you whip your head to the opposite direction, still scrubbing your eyes with now shaking hands.
His gaze softens, something twists in his gut seeing you like this. It feels like a part of his heart is being torn seeing you so unguarded. He doesn't speak for another moment, despite the questions on his tongue, he knew that you didn't need an interrogation right now.
Kenny unzips his parka, it's a bit stained — he hadn't had the opportunity to wash it yet — and has small patched up holes around it, but he wrapped it over you regardless.
Yes, you had a blanket right on the bed. Yes, there was ultimately no need for it, but for some reason, the weight of his parka, the fluffy hood on your head, and the familiar smell of cigarettes and whatever stench could've gotten on it was exactly what you needed. It reminded you of him, in quiet moments alone, laughs shared, promises, the nights you escaped your home lives together, your partner in crime, and his presence didn't feel so pressing anymore.
You clench your arms, digging nails into its skin silently as a hiccup leaves your lips.
"...I'm sorry." The words come out weaker than you intended, his brow arches at the apology.
He inches close, not enough to touch but enough for the bed to dip under his weight noticeably. "For what?" He hums out almost like it didn't matter, like he wasn't holding you by the shoulders earlier.
You shrug, inching your head to glance at him through the furry hood of his parka. "This. For having to... see this." You gesture vaguely to yourself and to your reddened skin. You didn't want your bestfriend thinking any less of you.
You can't look at his face, anxiety gnawing at your gut as you imagine what he looks like right now. Was there that frustrated scrunch of his nose? Or the way his hands are clenched like he's holding back? Would his brows be furrowed in confusion, wondering why the hell you'd need to cut yourself? Was his lips curled to that dissatisfied frown it would twitch to even when he tried to remain neutral over something he found disgusting? Or would his eyes be soft with pity-
You shake your head at the last one. It's not pity. Never pity with him. Kenny is the king of getting pity and sympathy. Hates every inch of it. Hates how people look at him and his family like a charity case or some sort of sad story in the town.
The idea that he'd never do that to you puts your mind at some sort of ease. Enough for your tightly drawn shoulders to drop ever so slightly, even as you keep yourself hunched like you were making yourself as small as can be.
He stays still at your side, keeping his presence known but silent. Like always. A steadfast weight against your side. Despite the urge to pull you in, hold you tight, make those tears disappear.
God, you want to lean against him like you usually do. When the nights get bad and you can't drown out the yelling coming from outside your room. When bottles smash against walls in his home and he can't find it in him to act fine the next day.
You remember those moments. Days where you both couldn't keep up appearances. Where you just needed someone to be there with you, drown with you or hold you steady.
The parka wrapped around you simulated the feeling. The warmth of his arm pressed against yours, the weight of someone else's body on your own. When lines blurred from platonic cuddling and hands laced together to moments where your head laid too close or his hands tightened on your bare skin beneath your shirt like you were the only thing keeping him from drowning.
Another sniffle rips out of you, but this time you lean toward him, bumping your shoulders together quietly.
He says nothing, keeping quiet, staying by your side without a word. You never usually needed to speak during, a casual conversation here and there, and on rare occasions you'd talk about plans for the future like they were promises, or goodbyes.
But today, he keeps his mouth shut. Like his heart doesn't ache at the sight of you shrunken into yourself, shoulders shaking with held back tears. It hurts like hell seeing you like this and feeling like he can't do anything about it.
He sighs before slowly moving his arm over your shoulder. You tense for a moment, he pauses. Then you slowly relax, and he continues.
He moves you closer when you feel like the ground beneath you wasn't shaking any longer. Your head pressed against his chest, his hand cupping you by the back of your neck.
Two touch starved children finding sustenance in one another. What a surprise.
It's not unusual for you two to be close, touchy even. Kenny had a tendency to sling an arm over his friend, hover over their shoulder, lean his head on your own. A full on hug wasn't new, but it was always different for the two of you.
You hiccup against his chest, embarrassment gnawing at your heart as you clear your throat. "Thanks, man, I-I'm okay now-" You attempt to push away, like your body didn't ache for the warmth of another human against your own body, like you weren't melting in his embrace.
"Sure you are, but I'm not, so..." He huffs, looking right through you and squeezing you tighter. He wasn't going to let go. Not in a million fucking years... well, unless you didn't want a hug. You had your moments. Some days you avoid touch like it burns you, other days you cling onto it like you need its warmth to live.
You both sit there for a long while, doing nothing but holding eachother. Somewhere in between, you moved your arms from your chest to wrap around his waist, sniffling as you nuzzled into his neck. Hot tears slide down your cheeks unwillingly, finding their path down his own skin.
Eventually your tears run dry, now you're both sitting against the headboard of your bed, your knees drawn to your chest with him and his hands behind his head, looking up at your ceiling like he wasn't itching for answers.
"Well, that was embarrassing." You mumble, mostly to yourself. He snorts, hums a little in response too.
"Crying like a little bitch? Yeah, kinda is." He teases, glancing over at you still hunched into yourself. "Sorry."
You shake your head with a watery laugh. "No, no. I deserve that." You huff out while his lips fall to a frown.
He's tempted to say otherwise, or laugh with you, but he can't help as he stares at your face. Through the fur of his hood on your head, he can see the quiver of your lower lip, the wetness clinging to your lashes, the way your smile twitches from how flimsy it was. Maybe it wasn't time for jokes.
Instead, he leans back on his hands once more, burning holes into the ceiling rather than you. "Soo... why'd you do it?" He questioned.
His tone is deceptively casual, especially considering his earlier panic and interrogation. The question makes you suck in a harsh breath, only to exhale slowly and let your shoulders drop as you fidget with your shaking fingers.
"Just... I... I don't know." You shrug, only to feel the weight of his gaze on you. You don't even need to look at him to tell he's giving you a deadpanned expression.
You grumble, eyebrows scrunching together as you pick at the skin of your nails. "I don't. I really... just... just dunno... needed... control, or whatever." You sigh at your lacking explanation. Damn, all that philosophical talk to yourself suddenly seemed to disappear.
"Control, huh?" He murmured, glancing back at you and clenching his jaw as the sight of you with your blade pressed against your skin earlier resurfaces to his mind.
You nod slowly, unsure how to approach this subject. It was like stepping on a frozen pond, feeling the cracks growing beneath you. "...yeah."
The silence that falls between you two feels charged. Words are being left unsaid, questions being held back.
He'd say it's bull, say that it didn't make any sense but it's... you. Maybe he's biased, but nothing ever makes sense in Southpark anyway, so despite himself, he gets it.
He wants to be able to see it from your point of view and know why you do it because damn it he wants to be there for you through thick and thin. A few cuts isn't gonna change him being stuck to you like gum on your shoe.
He sighs. Running a hand through his blonde hair. "Okay, yeah. I get it." He settles, deciding that maybe this just wasn't something he can push. "Not the best way to go about it, but I get it."
You glance at him, eyeing the way his face pulls tight with tension. Concern. You clench your hands together, looking back down at your scars.
"...it was nice. Having this secret to myself." You suddenly admit. Your heart jumps at the words leaving your lips. Things you promised were meant for you and only you. "I liked the thrill. Having to keep it a secret. Something for me."
His head turns up to you, eyes narrowed not in suspicion but in confusion. "...secret?" He tries to act like that doesn't hurt. You keeping a secret from even him. He can't say anything when he himself has secrets he hides from you.
You nod quietly, squeezing your hands. "I felt like I was in control, over something about me. And everyone else didn't know, didn't need to know. It was... exhilarating." The way you breathe it out, the pleasure that it seemed to draw from you had his mind working to try to see reason in your words.
But it wasn't rational at all, none of it was. "I know there are better ways to have thrill. I don't know why I chose... this. I don't even like the hurt. I mean- the after sting feels nice." You shrug, glancing at your scars and rubbing a hand over the grooves.
"...and the sight of them. Felt like it proved something." You admitted softly, your face squeezing in discomfort at the vulnerability slipping from your lips.
You throw a glance his way, almost flinching as you realize he was staring straight at you. At your eyes. You avert your gaze quickly, ducking your head to hide in the hood of the parka.
But you couldn't stop yourself from speaking, now that the cat was out of the bag. "It felt amazing. Feeling the sting of the scars underneath while I was laughing at something you said. The feeling of hugging someone right after cutting and they just... didn't know."
You cringe, fidgeting with your hands. "I don't know why I like it. Fuck, maybe going around commando would've been fucking healthier- but I didn't. I just- it was nice, having something for myself, to-I... looked forward to doing it for the excitement of hiding it."
You let out a shaky sigh "...I really don't know why I... did something so stupid-" You hissed, moving your hand up to your hair to tug.
But then his hand grabs your wrist. The sudden contact makes you jump and turn to face him hesitantly.
His eyes are set on yours. But instead of anger, there's this weird... determination on his face? The glint in his blue eyes spelled something of a plan, one you weren't sure you'd like.
"So, basically, you've got this weird perverted thing about secrets." He summarizes, making your face scrunch as you look away.
"W-I wouldn't call it-" You stammer, as suddenly your cutting felt foolish. You couldn't deny, there was a perverse excitement in the secret. Something you craved without knowing.
But then he moves closer before you can finish your protest, your faces barely inches apart.
Woah. What the fuck.
"A secret. That's all you want, right?" He hummed thoughtfully, making your eyes narrow at him.
"Kenny, what are you planning?" You lean your head away slightly. Not like you didn't like feeling him so close, but he was your bestfriend. Sure you cuddled on bad nights, sure you guys admitted some pretty personal stuff to eachother, and maybe you've been on eachothers laps before but that was all... platonic. Even if lines eventually blurred some nights ago.
He pulls you in by a now gloveless hand to the cheek. You can feel the calloused skin of his palm, it's warmer than you expect, and you almost melt into its tingling touch once more.
Your eyes meet and he's not letting you look away any time soon. "You want a secret. Right?" He repeats his question. You feel an odd sense of foreboding.
"...I mean, I guess. I dunno." You grumble, shrugging your shoulders. Your focus wasn't entirely on his words, not when your lips were inches apart.
He nods once. Determination shining in his eyes as his lip twitches to a smirk. "Alright. Gimme your blade."
Your eyes go wide, concern immediately flashing on your face as you jerk back slightly.
Kenny rolls his eyes with a small scoff. "Relaaax, I'm not gonna use it on myself. Just gotta make sure you're not gonna use it again either."
The reassurance makes your shoulders ease — but also makes your heart clench.
Give up your blade? Give up... your secret..?
You stay silent for a long moment. You weren't exactly attached to the habit, but at the same time it felt like some sort of safety net.
He suddenly squeezes your cheek gently, bringing your attention back to him rather than your "what if"s. "Hey. It's gonna be fine. Trust me."
His soft words, full of conviction, it makes you almost believe how easy it is to let go of your dirty secret.
Your eyes flicker with hesitation, glancing over at your pillow next to you with an anxious twitch of your finger. You didn't want to just... let it go. But there's that weird curiosity on what he's gonna do with it too.
...What the hell, why not. You stopped once, you can stop again. You can always get a new one anyway.
You sigh softly, slowly sliding your hand beneath your pillow, digging around until you find your blade and slowly pull it out, looking up at your bestfriend before hesitating.
He doesn't say anything. Doesn't reach for it, only looks you in the eye and nods firmly. Like he trusted you completely.
Then, you surrender your blade.
It almost makes you sad, watching him pocket it like it was nothing. But he doesn't say anything. He kisses you on the forehead — which was new — before bringing you in for a hug. His head rests on your shoulder, your arms slide to wrap around his waist on instinct.
"Thank you for trusting me, man." He mumbled against your neck. Goosebumps rise on your skin at the heat of his breath, the closeness of his body, but you just nod your head wordlessly.
And then he's gone. Leaves through your window instead while he's still zipping his parka up.
You get to sleep normally that night. Despite your bestfriend now knowing your secret, the cuts on your skin, the blade, the reason. It almost feels like an ordinary night.
When you get ready for school the next day in a thankfully empty home, nothings out of the ordinary. Not when you put on your sweater and coat, not when you pull your hat on.
Hell, when you meet the four of them at the bus stop, nothings changed.
Your heart hammered on the way to the bus stop, worried of how Kenny would look at you right after, that maybe he thought of you differently. But when he saw you while Kyle and Cartman were seconds away from strangling eachother, he just... waved and pat you on the shoulder with a muffled good morning.
Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, glancing at him even as you aided Stan in pulling a winning Kyle away from a breathless and teary eyed Cartman.
When the bus arrived, you hesitate to sit next to him, unsure of what conversation would follow. Clutching the straps of your bag as you glance at your friends—but Kenny doesn't even give you a chance to hesitate as he pulls your wrist, bringing you straight to the seat next to him.
Kenny gives nothing away, eyes squinting to a smile beneath his parka at your perplexed expression.
He had been thinking since last night. Fiddling with your blade in his pocket, the weight of it and the things it had done to you whispering in his head.
He thought back to your recent behavior. How you'd shift in your clothes, rub your hand over the fabric with an absent smile. The way you'd disappear to the bathroom and come back with your hand stuffed in your pocket. There was something so familiar about it, so familiar that made his suspicions arise, the reason he came to your house unannounced yesterday and thank fuck he did.
And it makes him rather sick to realize why it was so familiar. The shifty behavior, the odd smile and spaced out look, the hand rubbing at the clothes. You were exactly like this before. Years ago. Younger. He had been suspicious then too, but never found out.
He wishes he found out sooner. He wishes you had told him.
But now he knows. And he knows why you did it. He gets it, really. The need for control. Or how self destruction can feel safer than letting yourself be destroyed by the hands of others. And he gets it, he really does. Now he's going to make sure you don't even think about going back to cutting as some secret... he just hopes this works.
Through out the day, you found yourself... confused. Nothings been entirely off, all things considered. It was easy to stop.
You just couldn't get your mind off of Kenny, the way he leaned in close last night, the glint in his eye. How he told you to trust him. What was that about? Was it just because of the blade?
Walking down the hall, eyebrows furrowed and head running in circles about your bestfriend as you get to your next class, you barely notice him walking right next to you.
It's only when he grabs you by the arm to quickly pull you into the boys bathroom that you realize he had even been there in the first place.
"Wh- Kenny??" You yelp as he pulled you through the somewhat clean restroom, the stench of piss was unavoidable. He glances back at you, shushing you silently with a wink as he crammed both of you into the last stall.
Your face scrunches as you look up in confusion. Was there something he wanted to say?
He unzips his parka just enough to uncover his mouth, pulling off his hood to grin at your glare.
Kenny leans in close and your breath hitches, the sound makes his lips break out to a wolfish grin. You try to make distance but he's got you against the wall. "Alright, what the fuc-" You barely finish your question when his lips meet your neck, tugging down at the hem of your sweater to kiss at the skin of your neck.
You squeak in shock, eyes widening and mouth opening as you push him by his shoulders. "Dude what the fuck?!" You hiss out with wide eyes, heat rushing to your face as the feeling of his lips burn into your skin.
He gives you a small squint in apology, staring into your eyes as his hand moves from the wall to your waist to pull you close enough that his lip brushes your ear. "Do you trust me?"
"Bitch- ofcourse I do but what the fuck-" You can't deny the way your heart jumped at the touch, how you find yourself fighting the urge to melt into his touch. Still, kissing your neck is fucking new. Grabbing and smacking ass as a joke, sure, making kissy noises to mock Cartman while he tells you to stop fucking infront of him, yeah. But this was definitely new.
He presses his lips to the back of your ear, making you gasp. "Then just tell me if you wanna stop." Your bestfriend murmurs against your ear, his lips sliding down your skin back to your neck.
You can't help but tilt your head up to give him more room to kiss. The sensation of his lips felt like flame running down your cold body. "Kenny, seriously what the f-fuck?" You stutter as he suddenly nips at your skin.
"Shh." He hushes once more, making your eye twitch. Unfortunately, you're enjoying this. Much more than you thought. Confusion fills you mostly but then you hear the bathroom door open and your heart jumps.
Your hands clench at his shoulders as your stomach sours with nerves. "Holy shit, dude, seriously, what the fuck? Stop, there's people -outside-" You keep your voice low, hissing against him as you feel his smug lips smile against your skin with every quiver of your voice.
He drags his tongue across your neck, earning a barely stifled whimper while boys chat loudly outside the stalls. "I guess you'll just have to be quiet, then." He mused softly, pressing another kiss to your neck.
Your eyebrows screw together. Baffled by him suddenly jumping your fucking bones. It's not like you hated it. You guys had very... weird... boundaries as bestfriends... but isn't he being crazy?! Fucking slobbering your neck while people are right outside the stall, if you make any loud noise anyone can hear you!!
"Kenny, I swear to fucking god-" You grit out through shaky breaths, eyes squeezing shut as noises threaten to bubble up your throat.
Your pulse jumps, the sudden risk of being caught makes your legs weak and your stomach clench with...
Excitement?
Oh shit.
Your eyes widen in mortified realization that you were finding the risk... exciting, thighs clenching momentarily as he suckles hickeys down your collar, his gloved hands sliding beneath your layers onto bare skin.
You shiver and almost whimper as you throw your head back against the wall, heat pools in your gut at both the touch and thrill.
He snickers against your neck, amused at how every noise pulls so easily from your lips. "Dude, you gotta be quieter than that. D'you wanna get caught or what?" He huffs as he slid his teeth against where your shoulder met your neck.
You slap a hand over your mouth, which he promptly pulls away into his hair instead, grinning against your skin.
This bastard.
This was crazy. Really crazy. He's trying to get you guys in trouble, isn't he? This is stupid, risky, and crazy as shit!
He continues marking up your neck, hands squeezing at the bare skin under your coat. You could only shiver and shudder, muffling your moans as you clench your hand into his hair and shoulder.
The conversation happening right outside of the stalls paused every other second. Each time your pulse jumped, worried that you had gasped a little too loud, or breathed a little too heavily. It was no help that your bestfriend knew the spots to make your knees weak.
Shoes scuffle against the floor before the door opens and shuts. Leaving the bathroom quiet once again, he takes a few more seconds to squeeze in a couple more hickeys and to touch you a little longer.
He pulls away, face flushed, eyes lidded and lips red. He licks at his mouth, looking into your eyes as you pant breathlessly.
And he doesn't even say a thing, just flashes you a smile, combs a hand through his hair while casually opening the stall.
You recover quickly enough to yank him by the back of his parka at the very least. "What the fuck was that?" You shake him by the shoulders as he laughs like he didn't almost get you guys a ticket to the guidance office where Mr. Mackey would have given you a stupidly awkward sex Ed talk or something.
"What? Don't tell me you didn't like it!" He teased as your face heated. You tsk, smacking him upside the head as he yelps, rubbing the back of his head with an exaggerated jut of his lower lip. "Owwie.."
"Seriously, man! What the hell? You just- what was that about?! Oh- fuck- look at what you did!" You yelp as you look into the mirror with a gasp, red and purple littered just beneath the collar of your coat.
He cackles as you turn your head slowly. "McCormick." You call out warningly, all while he straightens his posture, grinning from ear to ear with his hands raised in mock defense.
"Hey! Hey! No need to look so pissed, man! Just... yknow, left a few hickeys, so what?" He shrugs as you sputter wordlessly. Just a few, he says.
You groan, covering your face with your hands as you both walk out of the bathroom, already late for your classes. "This is gonna be a pain to hide..." You complain as he walks by your side with an easy stride.
"So? It's fiiinee.." He hummed out, giving you a dumb, toothy smile when you shoot him a glare.
But before you could threaten him, he snakes his hand around your waist, pulling you close in the nearly empty hallway to whisper into your ear. "It's our dirty little secret, yeah?"
Your eyebrows furrow, you shiver at the proximity but he pulls away completely before you can register what he said. He shoves his hands into the pockets with feigned casualness, eyes to the side as your brain slowly caught up.
The risk. The thrill. The excitement. The secrecy—
"Oh." You whisper, shoulders dropping as your eyes widened. Suddenly, you couldn't quite look at your bestfriend as he smirked to the side. Your face growing redder than earlier as you both walked side by side.
Sly bastard. Trying to figure out a new way to let you have your fill of secrecy without hurting yourself.
Oddly enough, you felt rather touched. Because ofcourse your bestfriend tries to help in the most Kenny way possible. The type of shit he pulls on the daily basis...
...Your own dirty little secret, huh?
Not just yours, not entirely.
And it didn't feel so bad... atleast you weren't cutting yourself anymore to feel that rush of excitement. More thrilling than being caught harming yourself, less damaging than the act of it too. It actually felt really good, aswell.
You lick your lips at the reminder, heart skipping a beat as you rubbed at the scars beneath your clothes before his hand suddenly takes yours, pulling it away from the war zone and into his palm.
What's the harm in a bit of horny fun?
Maybe... this wouldn't be so bad.
"Huh. Our secret." You mumble, mostly to yourself. But the words make his lips break out to a grin as he walks by your side.
A secret all for yourself...
And him, ofcourse.