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Craig has no idea what nostalgic bullshit from his youth possessed Mr. Mackey into deciding to stage Les Misérables for the drama club’s annual show, but despite his protests, Monday afternoon finds him crammed into the South Park High auditorium along with what is probably half the school, Wendy handing him a song list that’s thicker than a concrete slab and bearing the title of a character whose name he can’t even remember, let alone pronounce.
“Who the fuck is Grantaire?” Craig intones, not really expecting an answer. Which is just as well, because everyone around him is surveying their own scripts with the same confused looks on their features, brows creasing as they try to place their personas.
“Who fucking knows, man?” Clyde answers back distractedly, still focused on trying to sound his own role’s name out. “Is it Koo-fer-ac? Co-ou-fer-ac? What the fuck is this?”
“Hey, fellas.” Butters interrupts their conversation, and he walks over and settles down near Craig. He inches away from him in response. “Which parts did you guys get?” The pages he’s holding have Joly scrawled in black marker on the front one.
“Butters!” Clyde exclaims gratefully, his face lighting up. “You’re pretentious, tell me how to pronounce this,” he orders, shoving the block of text at Butters’ chest.
“I’m surprised you know the meaning of ‘pretentious,’” Craig drawls, and Clyde punches him playfully on the shoulder in retaliation.
Butters squints at the name in front of him, his forehead scrunched up and his lips pursed tightly together. It’s the face he makes when he’s concentrating really hard on something, and Craig thinks it makes him look dumber than he already does.
“Well, gee, Clyde,” he begins apologetically, “I’m not too sure about this now.”
Clyde groans and yanks the sheaf of paper back towards him. “Ugh, you’re useless,” he moans, and Craig has to stifle a laugh at the flash of annoyance that crosses over Butters’ appearance.
“Hey, dude.” A familiar voice comes from his right side, and when Craig turns his head, Tweek is sitting next to him, his own script balanced on top of his folded legs. “Do you remember who this is supposed to be?” he asks, pointing to the Combeferre that’s neatly printed above the title of the play.
Craig shakes his head, but before he can say more, Clyde jumps in. “Oh, yeah!” he says, poking Craig’s arm in excitement. “Didn’t you guys watch the movie when it came out? Why don’t you tell me how to say this?” he demands, his eyebrow raised expectantly.
At his words, Craig clears his throat and Tweek immediately flushes about fifty shades of red. While it’s true that the two of them had made an attempt to go see the movie back when it first premiered, the nearly empty theater coupled with their seats at the back meant that Craig had quickly lost interest in the proceedings onscreen when he found Tweek sucking his dick instead. Even if his life depended on it, Craig knows he wouldn’t be able to recall a single thing about the story.
“Okay, ew,” Clyde declares once the implications of their twin stares of embarrassment settles in. “Forget I asked,” he adds with a disturbed grimace.
“What?” Butters leans forward eagerly, glancing from Tweek to Craig and back. “What’d you do?”
“Nothing you wanna know, I’m sure,” another voice cuts in, and before Craig can place it, Kenny McCormick is kneeling in front of him, reaching for Clyde’s lines. “It’s Coor-fey-rac,” he tells Clyde, then he looks over at Tweek and adds, “And you’re my right-hand man.” His gaze lands on Craig and the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth is unbelievably smug. “I don’t think you want to know what part you’ll be playing.”
Craig’s jaw clicks, and he glowers at Kenny, feeling the muscles in his back tense slightly. McCormick and his stupid friends have always gotten under his skin, but something about Kenny really seems to set him on edge.
“Because I’m sure your role is so important,” he deadpans, glancing down at the name written on Kenny’s script. “Who the fuck is Enjolras supposed to be?”
From the amused tilt to Kenny’s lips, Craig has a feeling he pronounced that one wrong. “Why don’t you watch the movie and find out for yourself?” he suggests, and before Craig can retort, the sound of microphone feedback echoes throughout the room.
“Thank you all for coming today,” Mr. Mackey starts, talking to the crowd of bored students clustered around him. “Wendy will just be giving a few announcements, and then I’ll let you go, mmkay?”
“Thanks, Mr. Mackey.” Wendy takes the microphone in her hand and makes to address the rest of the cast. From the other side of the room, Craig notices Stan Marsh give his girlfriend an encouraging thumbs-up. What a pussy. “Hey, guys. Thanks so much for your interest in this year’s production,” she says earnestly, like she hadn’t actually forced Craig to show up on the pain of death. Contrary to popular belief, Craig does value his life. “With that said,” Wendy continues, consulting a piece of paper taped to the wall, “the show is in a month and a half, so we’ll be having rehearsals everyday except Fridays. Mondays will be solely for the ensemble, so if you’re playing a part with a name, then you don’t need to show up.”
“Ha! Sucks to be you, fuckers,” Cartman jeers amidst the chorus of disgruntled groans coming from most of the kids seated around the stage.
Deliberately ignoring him, Wendy presses on. “Wednesdays will be for the main cast, so if you’ve got a little star drawn in the corner, then congratulations!” The last few words of her statement are drowned out by the sounds of mumbles and shifting paper as people quickly flip through their scripts.
“This sucks,” Clyde grumbles, blowing out a frustrated sigh. “Wonder who got the lead,” he adds sadly, staring down at the blank paper in front of him, and Craig has to suppress an eye roll. Clyde isn’t the most technically perfect singer out there, but what he lacks in vocal finesse, he makes up for in enthusiasm. Which is basically the opposite of Craig’s situation.
Right on cue, Cartman’s obnoxious tone rings out once more. “Take that, Jew! Guess I’m the star of this play.”
“This story is about me, fatass,” Kyle counters, throwing Cartman the special look of hatred he seems to reserve only for him. “It’s the tale of a man’s attempt at redemption in the middle of…” This sets Kyle off on one of his impassioned rants, which Craig swiftly tunes out when his mind starts to glaze over.
“Shit,” Tweek hisses, breaking Craig out of his reverie. “Cartman and Kyle got the leads?” He tightens his grip on his script, his pupils widening in panic. “They’ll—they’ll kill each other onstage!”
“Might make this play more interesting,” Craig whispers back in an attempt to calm Tweek, who instantly cracks a grin in reply. From where he’s seated in front of them, Craig hears Kenny snort in amusement. “I wasn’t talking to you, McCormick,” he says hotly.
“My apologies, Tucker,” Kenny returns, his eyes twinkling as he turns to Craig. The cover page of his script is flipped outwards, and it’s only then that Craig notices the star drawn in Wendy’s signature purple pen at the leftmost corner.
“Seriously.” Craig cocks an eyebrow at him, his bored stare giving nothing away. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Like I said, Tucker,” Kenny replies as he pushes himself to his feet. Before he goes, he shoots Craig another superior smile. “Watch the movie and find out for yourself.” With that, he walks away towards where his friends are gathered at the opposite end of the auditorium.
“Fine,” Craig mutters under his breath. His hand clenches around the stack of papers on his lap as he stews in his own thoughts. “Maybe I will.”
—
Watching the movie, as it happens, is a bad idea from the start.
Craig discovers this fifteen minutes in when he starts to get a hard-on just listening to Hugh Jackman wail about forgiveness from his laptop screen. He can’t even look at Russell Crowe without thinking of the slick slide of Tweek’s lips. Yeah, basically, this isn’t going to work.
In all honesty, he has no idea why he’s even doing this aside from a vague desire to wipe the stupid, self-satisfied expression from McCormick’s face the next time he sees him. Which only annoys Craig even more, because where the fuck does Kenny get off? Craig had long ago decided that he wanted nothing to do with Marsh and his friends, so he shouldn’t even be talking to Kenny. He definitely shouldn’t be concerned about what he thinks.
But it’s also possible that he’s still doing this for Tweek, seeing as Craig only joined the club back when they were freshmen because Tweek was too scared to do it alone. Two years later, the two of them are just friends, being onstage has toned Tweek’s anxiety down considerably, and Craig is still the drama club’s most reluctant member after Wendy, the president, forbade him from leaving once she realized that he actually had talent.
Craig can be totally indifferent at the best of times, but he’s not completely heartless. That last one is something he doesn’t really advertise, but whatever. So when he wanders into the local bookstore and comes out of it carrying a paperback with the width of a small brick in his hand, he tells himself that this has everything to do with his ex-boyfriend and nothing to do with Kenny fucking McCormick.
—
“Fucking—that’s my eye, Cartman! Get that thing out of my face!”
Kyle’s yell rings out throughout the auditorium, startling Craig, who had been trudging through another ten pages of nothing but descriptions of silverware, back into reality. Even Clyde, who had been fast asleep with his head on Craig’s shoulder, jolts up in shock and surveys the room blearily before retuning to unconsciousness.
It’s day three of practice, and Craig has yet to make it onstage. He’d briefly scanned through his parts when he initially got them, and from what he gathered, his character only makes an appearance at the tail end of the first act. The added fact that no one else other than Valjean and the Bishop have been introduced within the first two hundred pages of the novel seems kind of ominous to him.
Mr. Mackey lets out a low, long-suffering sigh, then lifts his megaphone to speak. “Eric, it’s Kyle’s line now. Let’s try and finish at least one song today, mmkay?”
Even with practically everyone in the junior and senior classes being roped into the show, there still aren’t enough interested parties to make up a full cast. This means that Cartman, who is playing Inspector Javert, is also doing double duty as the Bishop. Craig is the only one who sees the complete and utter irony in having the child of Satan portray a man who willingly gives up riches to help a criminal.
The Javert thing, on the other hand, is kind of totally understandable. Cartman’s even weirdly obsessed with Kyle, the same way Javert is fixated on Valjean.
“Why don’t we take this from the top, mmkay?” Mr. Mackey gestures at the school marching band, who Wendy had also conned into playing for the show, and then music fills the room, its melody loud and harsh.
Up on the stage, Kyle and Cartman settle into their roles, their glares of profound disdain not unlike the usual expressions they have for one another. Craig semi-watches them practically move into each other’s personal space, grudgingly acknowledging that it was a smart choice casting both of them as the leads since Broflovski’s always had a decent voice and Cartman’s usually belting out stupid songs in public. Though Craig’s pretty sure that there isn’t supposed to be this much sexual tension between their two characters.
When Cartman sings, “And I’m Javert, do not forget my name,” he uses a fake baton to tilt Kyle’s head towards him, bringing them even closer together. That’s when Craig knows that they’ll probably be fucking by the time opening night comes around.
There’s a shift of movement to his left, and then Kenny is collapsing onto the hard theater seat next to Craig’s, slumping against the backrest. “Twenty bucks says Kyle’s going to be sucking Cartman’s dick within the next month,” he whispers, gaze glued on the stage.
Craig snorts derisively. “Do you even have that much money, McCormick?”
There’s a brief flash of something that passes through Kenny’s features, but it’s gone before Craig can pinpoint it. Whatever it is, it leaves him feeling almost guilty.
“Always such a cynic, Tucker,” Kenny says with a sigh. “Get it, you’re a cynic?” Craig just stares at him blankly in reply, and he shakes his head. “Forgot you know nothing about your character.”
Craig wordlessly holds up the book on his lap and Kenny grins delightedly. “You do know there’s a shortened version, right?”
No, Craig did not know that, actually. But like he’s ever going to give McCormick the satisfaction of having him admit it out loud. “I like to read,” he says with a bored shrug, blocking out the noise of the ensuing argument happening in front of him.
“Okay,” Kenny responds dubiously, holding back a smirk. “I’m sure you do.”
Craig flips him off, but Kenny just laughs, eyeing Craig conspiratorially like he’s privy to an inside joke only he’s aware of. There’s an element of comfort to their interaction, a feeling of ease that Craig hadn’t known was possible to have with him.
So when Mr. Mackey shouts, “Eric, get off Kyle!” in alarm, Craig turns to Kenny, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards, and says, “You’ve got yourself a deal, McCormick.”
—
“This book is stupid,” Craig declares, tossing the novel onto Tweek’s bed before dropping down on it himself. “It’s been three hundred pages and the only thing I know about Fantine is what kind of fabric her dresses are.”
Tweek hums thoughtfully from the other end of his room where he’s setting up the video game consoles. “So stop reading it.”
Craig sits up and sends a raised eyebrow Tweek’s way, even though he can’t see it. “I can’t. I need to prove McCormick wrong.”
Tweek finally turns back to him, and there’s something lurking beneath the outwardly neutral glance on his face. “Since when do you care what Kenny thinks?” he asks challengingly, daring Craig to disagree, and Craig is pretty proud of how far Tweek’s come from the paranoid wreck he was when they were kids.
“I don’t,” Craig immediately responds, but Tweek is still watching him, waiting expectantly for a more elaborate answer, and Craig realizes that he doesn’t have one.
In a twisted way, Tweek does kind of make sense. After all, if Stan Marsh had come up to him and demanded that he read a book, Craig probably would have decked him.
“I hate you,” Craig says instead, moving over so Tweek can sit next to him. “Why did I join this stupid club again?”
“Because that’s how whipped you were for me, dude,” Tweek replies knowingly, a grin on his face as he hands Craig an Xbox controller, the opening titles of the game flashing onscreen.
Craig grumbles but doesn’t exactly deny it, and he resolutely spends the next few hours focused on blowing up everything in front of him, leaving all images of the French seaside at the back of his mind.
—
By Tuesday’s rehearsal, Craig finally, finally reaches a point in the novel where actual things start to happen. He’s still not particularly interested in Fantine’s summer fling or Cosette’s life with the Thénardiers, but at least he’s not reading endless facts about boats anymore. He also has a laugh over the idea of scrawny Broflovski playing a character with inhuman strength.
Kenny’s leading the day’s vocal warm up session, which all cast members are required to participate in. When Wendy takes over, these exercises consist of actual scales and harmonizing. Kenny being in charge means that everyone sings whatever song comes to his mind.
Craig enters the room and meets Kenny’s gaze, and he winks at him before returning his attention to the cast sitting around. “Okay, guys. Here we go.” He taps out a short rhythm with his foot, and then the people in front of him burst into song. “Am I more than you bargained for yet? I’ve been dying to tell you anything…”
Craig scoffs and shifts away, hoping to suppress the blush that’s creeping along his neck. He’d auditioned for the club with a Fall Out Boy song, trying as much as possible to put some honest effort into it since he knew Tweek really wanted him to. Kenny, who has been a member of the club since the seventh grade, had been part of the panel of judges alongside Wendy, and Craig suddenly remembers the intent look that had been on his face the moment Craig started to sing.
“Drop a heart, break a name…” Kenny’s voice is a cut above the rest, and Craig can almost appreciate how good it is. He watches as Kenny shuts his eyes and earnestly belts out, “We’re always sleeping in, and sleeping with the—”
“Okay, that’s enough warming up for today.” The blare of a megaphone drowns out the rest of the song, and Craig levels a glare in Mr. Mackey’s direction. “Thank you, Kenny. Nichole, we’ll be starting with the song you practiced last week, mmkay?”
Instantly, Cartman raises a hand in the air. Craig observes as Mr. Mackey internally debates with himself before exhaling and saying, “Yes, Eric?”, his tone dripping with resignation.
“Mr. Mackey, I just don’t think you see the problem here,” Cartman starts, putting his hands on his hips. “I know we’re all about political correctness in this school, but I don’t think a person of color, such as Nichole, should be playing Closet’s mom. Because in case you haven’t noticed, Mr. Mackey, Bebe’s white.”
“It’s Cosette,” Kyle retorts, jumping to Nichole’s defense straightaway. “And what the fuck, fatass? It’s a play! This has nothing to do with anything other than you hating blacks.”
“Person of color, Jew,” Cartman corrects him with a patronizing smile. “God, Kyle, it’s twenty-sixteen. Get with the times,” he says with a mocking shake of his head.
Kyle’s practically shaking, his hands curled into fists and his mouth furled into a snarl. “You fucking—”
“Oh my God, guys, just fuck already,” Kenny yells out, causing the rest of the cast to erupt into laughter. “Or better yet, hey, Kyle, why don’t you suck his dick?” he adds cheekily, and Kyle spins around to stare at him, betrayal written all over his features.
Making use of the temporary distraction, Mr. Mackey speaks into the megaphone once again. “Eric, we will discuss your concerns after rehearsal, Nichole, stay where you are. The rest of you sit quietly, mmkay?”
From across the room, Craig notices Kenny beaming at him, practically glowing as he walks down the left staircase and makes a beeline for the seats below the platform. Twenty bucks, Tucker, he mouths.
Craig narrows his eyes at him as he settles onto one of the chairs, a sad tune playing in the background. Without cheating, McCormick, he mouths back, and when he turns his head towards where Nichole is standing in the middle of the stage, he’s surprised to find himself grinning.
Beside him, Tweek regards Craig speculatively, a barely-there smile tugging at the ends of his lips. “Jesus, dude, you’re really oblivious,” Tweek tells him, leaning back in his seat.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Craig says firmly, making sure to keep his gaze fixed on Nichole, who is singing, “And still I dream he’ll come to me…”
“You will,” Tweek promises him, and the thing is, that’s what Craig’s worried about.
—
The next day, Craig’s mom conveniently forgets to let him know that she’ll be taking Tricia to North Park for some sporting event, leaving him without a way home from school. He spends most of the day brooding over this, and when the last bell rings, he wanders through the halls for over an hour, trying to find a way to kill time.
He passes by the auditorium, and a short burst of sound from within reminds him of the ongoing rehearsals for the main cast. He quickly ducks inside, deciding that sitting alone in the dark is preferable to walking aimlessly around the school. He seats himself in one of the last rows beside the aisle and tries to make sense of the happenings in front of him. The last strains of music are filtering away, and standing onstage are DogPoo and Red, who steps away every time DogPoo tries to make a grab for her waist.
“Mr. Mackey!” Red calls out, swatting DogPoo’s hand away, her nose wrinkled in disgust. “DogPoo keeps trying to touch me!”
“But she’s my wife!” DogPoo argues earnestly. “You’re Madame Thénardier! We’re the villains together!”
Red’s expression morphs into one of utter horror and revulsion. “Ew! I don’t wanna be your wife! Mr. Mackey,” she pleads, “tell him I’m not his wife.”
Craig watches Mr. Mackey dry swallow a pill before addressing Red’s concern. “Red, in this play, you’re his wife, mmkay?” he says, his voice booming around the room. “So try and act interested in him,” he suggests, and Red gapes at him.
Before she can do so as much as respond, Mr. Mackey plows on. “Thank you, you’re both done for today. Can I have Stan, Kenny, and Ike Broflovski to the front, please?”
DogPoo ushers a still protesting Red from the platform, and from the wings, Kenny, Marsh, and Broflovski’s little brother emerge. Stan looks slightly apprehensive, Kenny is his usual cocky self, and Ike just seems bored.
“Ike, thank you for joining us today.” Mr. Mackey attempts a smile, but Ike just blinks at him, coming off as vaguely unimpressed.
“Mr. Garrison said I had to come,” Ike replies with a disinterested stare to rival Craig’s own. Shit, seems like he might actually get along with Little Broflovski.
“Yes, right.” Mr. Mackey clears his throat awkwardly. “Let’s just go over your first song, mmkay?” he orders them, waving his hand at the band, and then music is pouring into the room, swelling and rising.
“How do you do? My name’s Gavroche,” Ike sings, not moving from his spot, and Craig is surprised by how mature his singing is. He goes through the rest of the verse cleanly, hitting all the right notes, and when his last, “Follow me!” reverberates throughout the silent auditorium, Stan and Kenny step forward, ready to take their places.
There’s a few beats where no one sings, and then as the tune builds into a crescendo, Kenny’s posture changes, his face hardens, and then he’s—he’s different.
“Where are the leaders of the land? Where are the swells who run this show?” he practically spits, stalking across the stage as he slices a hand through the air.
“Only one man, and that’s Lamarque, speaks for these people here below,” Stan sings in reply, and his voice pales in such comparison to Kenny’s that it’s almost laughable.
The song goes on without either of them saying anything, which Craig supposes is where the ensemble is meant to come in. Stan hangs back, shifting from side to side, but Kenny stays in character, radiating such power and magnetic strength that Craig can’t tear his gaze away.
Finally, in a much stronger tone, Stan declares, “Lamarque is ill and fading fast, won’t last the week out so they say!”
Kenny stops in the center of the stage, his feet planted firmly on the ground. There’s nothing but fire and frenzy reflected in his blue eyes, righteous fury radiating off him as he sings, “With all the anger in the land, how long before the judgement day?” He breathes harshly as he adds, “Before we cut the fat ones down to size?” There’s another brief pause, and then he’s glancing right at the imaginary crowd, his tenor cutting straight through to Craig’s insides. “Before the barricades arise?”
Ike continues on with another section of the song, but Craig can hardly process anything over all the white noise in his head. Then the music dies down, light floods the stage, and Kenny is back to being himself: the charismatic, slightly arrogant asshole who apparently possesses the talent of a god.
Craig’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he pulls it out, grateful for the distraction. He reads his mom’s text and rushes out of the auditorium, his mind still going at a hundred miles a minute. The entire drive back to his house is spent in silence, and Craig knows that he’s just gone to a place he can’t return from.
—
Craig’s not very good at dealing with any semblance of feelings, the rare occasions he actually has them, so he does the first thing that comes to his mind in times of crises.
“Oh, Jesus, dude!” Tweek yelps when Craig storms into his parents’ shop, a thunderous expression on his face and dark circles under his eyes. “What—what are you doing here? Shit, you look terrible, man. Are you dying? Is it contagious?” he rambles, building himself a tidal wave of panic.
Craig, who had slumped into the nearest available booth the second he entered, immediately sits up and casts an annoyed scowl at his ex-boyfriend. “Really? That’s your first concern?” His question comes out flat and detached, but he knows that Tweek will be able to pick up on the small spectrum of emotion present within his tone.
“Something must really be bugging you,” Tweek observes accurately, throwing his apron off and sliding into the leather seat across Craig.
Craig exhales, every nerve in his body willing for him to just say it and get it over with. Outside, the sky is growing dark and overcast, small drifts of snow settling on the streets and washing everything in a sea of white. “It’s about Kenny.”
“I see,” Tweek says, his voice coming out measured and carefully controlled. In the reflection of the glass window overlooking the street, Craig can see the asshole fighting a smile. “You finally figured it out, huh?”
The fluorescent lighting overheard casts an eerie glow over everything, and Craig glares at Tweek as he finally succumbs to the grin that’s spreading across his face. “I haven’t even told you what happened,” Craig mutters sourly in a sad attempt to hold onto what remains of his dignity.
“I think I can guess.” Tweek leans back in his seat and crosses his arms, a huge smile still stretching his lips wide. “Kenny’s hot,” he states factually, like he’s discussing the weather. It makes Craig wonder what else he’s never noticed before. “You just realized this.”
Craig’s initial instinct is to deny until the end of time, so he surprises even himself when what comes out of his mouth instead is, “How long have I felt this way?”
Tweek huffs out a laugh. “Like I said, dude,” he replies, patting Craig’s arm consolingly, “you’re pretty fucking dense.”
The lines between Craig’s eyebrows deepen as his scowl grows dark. “When did you become such an asshole?” he grumbles.
Tweek gets to his feet and moves over to sit next to him. He knocks his shoulder against Craig’s in sympathy, aware that he’s the only person who can get away with showing him any small amount of affection. “I learned from the best,” he says, and despite himself, Craig smiles.
That night, Craig reads until the voice inside his head sounds French and the words begin to blur together. When he finally catches the name Enjolras nestled among the lines of text about Marius Pontmercy and his general awkwardness, Craig forces himself to keep going.
By the time the last light on his street has gone out, Craig is filled with a small amount of fury, indignation, and a little bit more understanding.
—
Craig storms into rehearsal the next day, clutching his copy of the novel in one hand. “Mr. Mackey, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Mr. Mackey lifts his head in surprise, as does the rest of the cast. It’s no secret that Craig hardly gives a fuck about anything, and to have him openly challenging something concerning a musical of all things is a cause for concern. “Yes, Craig?”
Craig flips the book open, pointing to a section of the text he’d highlighted. “It says here that my character is ugly,” he argues, jabbing a finger at the page. “I am not ugly.”
“Damn right, he’s not,” Craig hears Bebe whisper to Heidi, who is sitting next to her. Craig shoots her a partly grateful, mostly confused stare before turning back to his guidance counselor expectantly.
“Craig,” Mr. Mackey starts, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “It’s just a play, mmkay? Details like that don’t mean anything.”
“But—” Craig tries to protest, but Mr. Mackey is already moving away, calling on Wendy to begin the session’s warm up exercises. He wants to fight this, wants to tell Mr. Mackey that, no, he refuses to play the part of a character who is in love with McCormick, because that’s who Grantaire is, a cynic in love with the revolution’s leader.
Once everyone is gathered in the middle of the stage going through different ranges and throat-clearing techniques, Kenny sidles up to him, wearing a teasing grin. “So, you finally figured out who you are,” he comments casually.
For a second, Craig wonders if Kenny knows, if that’s what all his weird hints had been geared towards all along, but he swiftly dismisses the idea. He only realized the sense of unease he usually got around Kenny was actually overwhelming attraction yesterday, there’s no way Kenny was able to catch on that fast.
Besides, Craig reasons, he’s never even seen McCormick touch a book.
Instead Craig replies, “Yeah, I’m the cynic who doesn’t give a shit about anything. Very funny, Mr. Mackey,” in a tone that’s dripping with sarcasm.
Something flickers in Kenny’s appearance, and if Craig had to choose a word to describe it, he thinks he’d point out that Kenny seemed almost disappointed.
But it’s gone as fast as it had appeared, and Kenny just says, “You better up your acting game, Tucker,” with a smile. Craig pretends he doesn’t notice that it’s half as bright as it was before.
—
By the next week, they’ve finally moved on from learning the songs to simple choreography and blocking, with Wendy taking over with the stage directions. To Craig’s irritation, the seemingly endless hours he spends in rehearsals don’t bother him as much as they would have in the past, back when they had nothing to do with Kenny McCormick.
“Stanley!” Mr. Mackey barks, the megaphone causing his voice to sound distorted and uncharacteristically harsh. “You’re supposed to be in love with Bebe, mmkay? Please act like she’s the most beautiful girl in the world.”
Up onstage, Bebe, Marsh, and Wendy are standing around each other, trying out their new positions for “A Heart Full of Love.” Upon finally reaching Marius’ section of the novel, Craig has to admit that it was a good move casting Stan as him, if only in the sense that they’re both little bitches.
Stan just blinks stupidly at Mr. Mackey in response. “But Wendy is the most beautiful girl in the world,” he says dumbly, his body still angled towards his girlfriend, despite the fact that he’s supposed to be singing to Bebe.
Wendy rolls her eyes. “God, Stan, it’s just a play. Act like you’re in love with Bebe so we can finish already.”
“But I don’t want to be in love with Bebe,” Stan protests stubbornly, and Craig has to refrain from growling in frustration. Marsh’s vapid antics mean that he’s preventing them from moving into “Red and Black,” Craig’s favorite number for a host of reasons.
“Hey!” Bebe cries, offended, putting her hands on her hips. “Fine, whatever, like I’d date you, anyway.”
“Hey!” Stan and Wendy exclaim in unison, and Craig swears he sees a vein in Mr. Mackey’s temple throb.
“Fine,” Mr. Mackey concedes with a sigh, massaging the sides of his head in exasperation. “Can I have all the students to the front?”
Craig rises from his seat, trying to appear as reluctant as possible as he ascends the stairs. There’s a wooden table pushed to the middle of the stage, papers scattered across its surface.
He takes his place on an upturned crate that’s meant to be a chair. From this angle, he has a perfect view of Kenny, bent over the table, surveying the blank papers with a look of intense focus on his face. Craig likes to think that this is how Grantaire would do it, always sitting on the fringes of a revolution he doesn’t believe in, just to watch and observe.
Mr. Mackey signals the musicians, and in the brief silence that follows before the opening lines begin, Craig sucks in a breath, willing himself to settle into the role assigned to him.
“Enjolras!” Tweek’s yell precedes his appearance, and then he’s sauntering onto the stage, an uncharacteristic ease to his step as he approaches their leader. It’s times like these that make Craig glad Tweek forced him into this club. It would be such a shame missing out on a confident and self-assured Tweek. “At Notre Dame the sections are prepared!”
“At rue de Bac, they’re straining the leash,” Token jumps in, actually pronouncing the street name correctly. Which is just as well, because Craig’s pretty sure that Token’s the only one of them who has actually been to France.
“Students, workers, everyone, there’s a river on the run,” Clyde declares, following in Token’s footsteps. He’s brimming with enthusiasm, striding around the set, and Craig thinks he makes a good Courfeyrac, whose cheery disposition is the perfect foil to Craig’s Grantaire. “Like the flowing of a tide, Paris coming to our side!”
Kenny’s head jerks upwards, and then he’s Enjolras, all fervor and passion and unwavering morals, and Craig doesn’t know if it’s the part he’s playing or his own attraction, but when Kenny’s like this, it’s pretty impossible to get him to turn away.
“The time is near,” Kenny sings, his tone forceful and sure. “So near, it’s stirring the blood in their veins!” He claps Tweek on the shoulder and then paces the length of the stage, stopping just short of coming into Craig’s space. “And yet beware…” This line is softened to a whisper as Kenny adds, “Don’t let the wine go to your brains,” eyeing Craig with barely concealed disdain, and Craig meets his gaze just as hard, equal parts adoring and challenging.
Kenny instantly moves away and completes the rest of his verse, the volume of his tenor increasing in urgency and intensity as he sings about battles and enemies. Stan stumbles onto the stage, every bit the lovestruck loser he actually is, and Kenny turns to him and scolds, “Marius, you’re late.”
“What’s wrong today?” Butters pipes up, stepping forward and guiding Stan to a chair. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
This is Craig’s cue. He raises an empty water bottle in the air and tips it towards Stan, who takes it from his hand. “Some wine and say what’s going on.”
Stan falls onto one of the boxes and clasps the plastic bottle to his chest. Craig has to resist the urge to roll his eyes as Stan sings about his newfound obsession with Cosette. The next bit is his favorite part for all of two reasons. The first is because he gets to ridicule Stan, jumping to his feet and singing, “Is Marius in love at last?”
The second reason is because he stalks over to Kenny, a mocking smile still twisting the ends of his mouth. “You talk of battles to be won,” he announces, sweeping an exaggerated hand out towards the room. “But here he comes like Don Juan.” He finally turns back to Kenny, watching the stare on his face harden as Craig proclaims, “It is better than an opera.”
There’s a few seconds pause between his last bit and Kenny’s reply, and the melody turns into an almost prelude to their interaction, gazes unwavering as they survey each other. Then in a voice so low it’s almost a murmur, Kenny sings, “It is time for us all to decide who we are,” and he curls his fingers into the fabric of Craig’s shirt, pulling them closer together before unceremoniously pushing him away. “Do we fight for the right to a night at the opera now?” Kenny demands, his lines growing stronger and more assured as he moves to address his fellow students, leaving Craig blinking after him in his wake.
Kenny’s never—he’s never done that before. It’s usually nothing more than a disbelieving scoff or a hand wrapped around Craig’s wrist, but never anything that intimate. Craig’s so out of it, his ears ringing with a sound no one else can hear, that he barely manages to croak out, “Red!” in answer to Stan’s persistent defense of his love.
The song ends with Ike’s announcement of General Lamarque’s death, the music abruptly stops, and Mr. Mackey orders them all off the stage. Craig catches Kenny’s eye, and he lifts both eyebrows at Craig, lips curled into a smirk. Craig glares back, and Kenny’s laughter flows into the space between them, filling it with promise.
—
It’s finally Friday, the one day of the week where he doesn’t have to sell his soul to the rebellion. He’s standing by Clyde’s locker, waiting for him to finish packing up his shit so they can go. Craig can practically hear the flat screen in Token’s mansion calling out to him.
“You know,” Clyde starts, slamming his locker door shut, “you’re being really weird about this play,” he tells Craig as they begin to weave their way past all the students crowding the halls.
“Weird?” Craig echoes, cocking a brow at Clyde and speeding up his pace. “What do you mean?”
“Slow down, asshole,” Clyde huffs, unable to keep up with Craig’s long strides. Craig abruptly stops, causing Clyde to knock into him. “Dick,” Clyde mutters when Craig cracks an amused grin. “We can’t all be six-four giants.”
“Don’t worry, man,” Craig drawls, handing over one of Clyde’s notebooks. “I’m sure Bebe likes you tiny.”
“Five-ten is not tiny,” Clyde protests indignantly, then he remembers his original point and shakes his head. “Whatever. Anyway, you’re being weird. You’re, like, participating. I don’t think I’ve heard you complain in weeks.”
“That’s not true,” Craig points out, bristling at the implications of Clyde’s statement. “I complained yesterday.”
Clyde just shoots him a disbelieving stare. “You said,” he begins slowly, drawing the words out, “and I quote: ‘I wish Marsh would suck it up so we can go onstage already.’”
Craig frowns, ready to argue that he was never that bad about the drama club to begin with. But then Clyde gives him another meaningful glance, and Craig knows that they’re both remembering the year he’d been cast as Benny in Rent, where he subsequently spent every waking moment in and out of rehearsals bitching about how stupid everything was. In the end, it had taken Tweek blowing him while dressed as Mark to force Craig into submission.
“I guess…” Craig trails off, and right on cue, Marsh and his little gang walk past them, Kenny and Stan leading the way while Cartman and Kyle hang behind, arguing as usual. Kenny notices Craig and grins, saluting him as he makes his way down the hall.
When Craig turns back to Clyde, his best friend is watching him carefully, and Craig can almost see the cogs inside his head snapping into place. “Forget it,” Clyde says, beaming at him. “I think I just figured it out,” he announces proudly.
Craig shoves a book at Clyde’s chest in response.
—
“Bebe Stevens!” Mr. Mackey yells. “Remember that Kyle is supposed to be your father. Try not to grab his ass, mmkay?”
There’s a ripple of laughter that makes its way through the crowd, but Bebe stays unabashed. “But he’s so cute, Mr. Mackey,” she protests, aiming a wink at Kyle, who is currently standing frozen in front of her, his neck as red as his hair.
“Keep your hands to yourself, slut!” Cartman shouts, and everyone instantly shuts up, looking at Cartman in shock. The guy is prone to exaggerated fits of anger at the best of times, but it’s rare that he actually comes across as genuinely angry the way he does now, steam practically rising from nostrils.
“Twenty bucks is coming my way, Tucker,” Kenny singsongs from where he’s seated beside Craig, a lazy smile on his face.
“Dream on, McCormick,” Craig counters, trying to drown out the sound of Bebe’s wailing. She’s not the most talented singer in the cast, and Craig is half-convinced that Mr. Mackey only cast her as Cosette because of her hair color.
“Hey, Tucker,” Kenny suddenly whispers, elbows him in the side. Craig looks over at him and Kenny nods towards the stage doors. “Got a light?” he asks, pulling out a worn pack of cigarettes from the depths of his parka.
Craig takes a last glance towards the stage, decides that they’ll be stuck on that one scene for a while, and gives him a casual shrug in acquiescence. He follows Kenny’s lead, crouches down, ducks his head, and they leave the auditorium and walk out into the empty hallway.
The sky overhead is already turning gray as they stand huddled together on one side of the playground, the sun setting in watery streaks that make their whole town look like a cheap copy of the real thing. Kenny passes him a cigarette and Craig lights up, not knowing how much he needed the release of nicotine until this very moment.
“God, I’m tired,” Kenny declares, blowing out a puff of smoke. Craig watches as it gets swept away into the icy breeze, leaving nothing but a strong smell as it goes. “Being that self-righteous all the time is fucking exhausting, man.”
Craig snorts, his own stick dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Wonder how Broflovski does it, then,” he remarks, and Kenny laughs.
“Or Cartman,” Kenny points out, using his cigarette to gesture at Craig. “They’ve been this way since we were kids, even Stan’s figured it out,” he adds, rolling his eyes fondly, and Craig lets out a rare smile.
Kenny tips his head against the concrete, blinking up at the darkening sky. Craig allows himself a moment to admire the smooth expanse of Kenny’s neck before he forces his gaze away.
“He’s such a hard-ass, you know? Enjolras, I mean,” Kenny explains in reply to Craig’s furrowed eyebrow. “Dude needs to get fucking laid.”
“Think Éponine would put out for him?” Craig suggests, stubbing out the remnants of his cigarette against the wall. It’s possible that Craig’s managed to develop a bit of a soft spot for her character the more he reads the book. Not like he’d ever admit it, but he’s become all too familiar with the feeling of wanting something you know you shouldn’t.
But Kenny just turns to him in surprise, surveying Craig in confusion. “Éponine?” he repeats, then he shakes his head. “No way, dude. Enjolras is totally gay.”
Craig eyes him skeptically. “Your proof for that is?”
“It’s a gut feeling,” Kenny replies firmly, and Craig scoffs in disbelief. “Well, that’s how I’m playing him,” Kenny amends, and Craig starts to wonder if maybe they aren’t talking about the play anymore. “Seriously. You can’t tell me a guy would choose to form an all-boys club and not want to bone at least one of them.”
That startles a weak chuckle out of Craig, who sobers up immediately when he realizes how close Kenny’s face is. “Anyone in particular?”
“Try and guess,” Kenny murmurs, low and smooth. From this distance, Craig can smell the smoke on his breath, can see how his pupils expand and darken. The air around them is tense and charged with electricity, so tangible that Craig can almost taste it. Kenny leans forward slowly, inconspicuously, and Craig’s not turning away—
“There you are!” Clyde’s relieved shout is accompanied by the sound of a metal door banging open, and the sudden noise causes the two of them to jump apart. “Kenny, dude. Mr. Mackey’s been calling for you for the last five minutes," he tells him.
Kenny takes a step back and brushes snow from his shoulders. His blonde hair is windswept, the hue of it standing out in a sharp comparison to the colorless sky, and his face is tinged slightly red. Craig wonders how much of that is from the cold because his own insides feel like they’re on fire.
“Coming,” Kenny says, throwing Craig an unfathomable glance before he disappears into the warmth of the school.
Craig thunks his head against the wall and stifles a groan, and when Clyde wanders over and takes Kenny’s place, he asks him what they were talking about.
“Nothing,” Craig answers back, glaring at the blanketing darkness. “Nothing at all.”
—
Two weeks before opening night signals the start of dress rehearsals, and Craig nearly has an aneurysm when Kenny strolls onto the stage in skintight black pants and a red waistcoat, the top buttons of his white dress shirt undone. Tweek, sporting a blue tailcoat with his unruly hair gelled down, catches him staring and smirks at Craig, who flushes in embarrassment.
Seeing as Craig is only in the play for around twenty minutes tops, he spends most of his waiting time going through the final chapters of the book, wanting to find out how it concludes. He knows almost everyone dies at some point in the novel, but he’s curious as to how Grantaire’s story ends, certain that he’s not going to go down without Enjolras by his side.
Craig’s seated around the makeshift barricade, which thanks to budget cuts is nothing more than cardboard boxes, watching as Stan and Wendy finish “A Little Fall of Rain.” It’s the only scene in the musical that Craig will admit Marsh plays well, probably because the emotion in it is real. Craig watches Kenny’s fist tighten in sorrow as Wendy’s corpse is carried off by Jason and Tweek, and then the rest of the act plays out in vivid detail.
The only minor hiccup that occurs is when Valjean goes to free Javert, and Cartman mutters, “Bet you like seeing me on my knees for once, huh, Jew?”
Kenny breaks character for the first time and bursts into laughter, Stan groans painfully, Kyle’s face blends into his hair, and Cartman cackles evilly before running into the wings. For the next few moments afterwards, Kyle just blinks in place, totally shell-shocked.
Luckily, the mood turns somber immediately once the intro to the next section begins. Kenny walks over to Stan, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Marius, rest,” he commands, and this is what sets everyone back to their roles.
Tthe students chorus, “Here’s to them, and here’s to you!”, and it’s Craig’s turn to sing. This is probably the only song in the whole play that strips him of his deadpan exterior, making him feel rubbed raw with an emotion he can’t quite place.
He asks, “Can it be you fear to die?” and that’s when it hits him that Grantaire’s terrified. He’s afraid that they’re going to lose the rebellion, but more than that, he’s afraid that he’s going to lose Enjolras.
Like a beacon of light in the dark, Kenny is there, reaching for him. The two of them lock eyes with such intensity, Craig can’t separate his own feelings from Grantaire’s. He’s almost relieved once Stan butts in with another lame line about Cosette, and Craig watches Kenny wander away from him, gaze always following him the way a blind man searches for the sun.
When morning arrives and no one comes to their aid, Craig lets himself be shot by the members of the National Guard, and his last fleeting view before the lights go dim is one of Kenny standing tall, proud, and unafraid, waving a flag in the air.
—
Thursday night’s rehearsal ends a lot later than planned, mostly due to Cartman and Kyle’s bickering, Stan’s downright refusal to kiss Bebe, and Kyle crying out every time his brother’s death scene is practiced. Craig stays behind to help Tweek clean up, and when he returns from the supply room, he’s surprised to find Kenny sitting alone in the middle of the empty stage.
“What are you still doing here, McCormick?” he asks, walking over to him. His voice reverberates throughout the silent auditorium, making it come out deeper than usual.
Kenny jumps a little in place, but doesn’t make a move to turn around. “Didn’t really feel like leaving yet,” he replies dully, his finger tracing idle patterns on the dust that’s settled around him.
Craig hovers behind him uncertainly, for once at a loss for words. “Need a ride?” he offers instead, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket before he does something stupid, like reach out to grab Kenny’s shoulder.
There’s a pause while Kenny goes over his suggestion, and then he finally turns to Craig and nods. “Lead the way,” he says, getting to his feet and following Craig out the door.
The two of them quietly walk out into the empty corridor, and as they pass by the janitor’s closet, Craig hears a small thump from within, followed by a hissed, “Shut up!”
Craig stills in place. “Did you hear that?” he whispers, and Kenny nods, a gleam returning to his eye.
Putting a finger to his lips, Kenny tiptoes towards the door, his fingers enclosing around the knob. Taking a deep breath, he quickly twists the handle and pulls the door open, only to reveal—
“Motherfucker!” Kenny yells in alarm, holding up a hand to shield his eyes from the gruesome scene that’s currently happening in front of them.
“Hey, ever heard of knocking?” Cartman demands, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink as he swivels away from them and holds his hands out to cover his exposed crotch area. Jesus Christ, this is something straight out of a horror film.
“This is public property!” Kenny argues, separating his fingers to check if it’s clear to look. “Fucking hell, Cartman, pull your pants up,” he orders, still determinedly staring at the ground.
Kyle shakily gets to his feet, his lips red and dark, and Craig resolutely does not think about where those have just been. “I can explain?” he begins lamely, his face crimson and burning with embarrassment. Craig doesn’t blame him. He’d be pretty mortified to have been caught blowing the fatass, too.
“No excuses needed, man,” Kenny replies cheerfully, holding his hands up in surrender. “You just won me twenty bucks.” He edges towards the door and grips the doorknob tightly. “Also, I’m really happy you guys finally got your shit together. Feel free to continue what you were doing,” he adds, and with that, he slams the door closed.
“Holy shit,” Craig comments in a daze, speaking for the first time since Kenny opened the closet. There are many things he expected to see in his life. Kyle Broflovski with Cartman’s dick in his mouth was definitely not one of them.
They continue their walk into the empty parking lot, snow falling in drifts all around them. Craig ushers Kenny into the warm interior of his car. Before turning on the engine, Craig silently passes Kenny a twenty dollar bill, and the two of them lock eyes. Then they’re laughing so hard they’re practically doubled over, Kenny braced against the stereo and Craig holding onto the steering wheel, and if there’s ever another moment Craig never thought he’d have, it’s this one.
—
The slightly longer drive back to town from South Park High is mostly spent in silence, and when they pass by the frozen-over Stark’s Pond, Kenny suddenly says, “Wait, pull over.”
Craig idles the car on a bank overlooking an icy patch of grass, the surface of the lake illuminated by the weak light of the winter moon. “Why did you make me stop?”
“You can drop me off here,” Kenny tells him, reaching over and unbuckling his seatbelt. “Thanks for the ride, Tucker.” The air outside is cold and dark, and Craig suddenly feels like they’re the only two people standing at the edge of the world.
Craig doesn’t budge, just levels a glare at Kenny and asks, “What the fuck, McCormick?”, his tone irritated. “It’s zero degrees,” he goes on, eyeing the black night. “Why the fuck would you want to stay here?”
“Because, Tucker,” Kenny begins slowly, his voice condescending, like Craig’s possibly too stupid to understand, “I don’t really feel like being home at the moment,” he finishes, a cold look overcoming his features.
This hits Craig harder than it should, and he feels his chest constrict as the air deflates from his lungs, his body thrumming with unwanted emotion because, fuck it. He never asked for this. “No.”
“I don’t think you really get a say in what I do,” Kenny grits out, and it’s the first time that Craig has heard him sound well and truly pissed off.
Craig stands firm. “I’m not leaving you here alone,” he states, meeting the scowl Kenny throws his way with one of his own. “We can sit here all night if you want, but I’m not leaving.”
Kenny pauses, blinks, then swallows tightly. “Fine,” he practically spits out, and then the two of them settle into their own worlds, the atmosphere inside the car tense and a little unsure.
Outside the window, snow falls slowly in white puffs of cold, trapping them together and keeping the rest of reality at bay. Craig is just drifting into his own thoughts when Kenny’s voice pulls him back again. “Why are you in this play?”
“What do you mean?” Craig asks, turning to him with his brow wrinkled in confusion.
“Why are you still in the drama club?” Kenny repeats, his fingers tapping out an uneven beat on the surface of his dark jeans. “No offense, but this seems like the last thing you’d be into.”
Craig’s got a whole host of reasons lined up: Tweek, the fact that his all friends are in it, he wants to prove everyone wrong. But what comes out of his mouth is the one he’s barely acknowledged, even to himself, and it’s probably the most accurate one of all.
“I guess I’m good at pretending,” he admits, and it’s the wholehearted truth. Craig’s the guy who faked a gay relationship for so long that he actually came out gay by the end of it. Now he’s playing a guy who is so in love with McCormick, Craig can’t help but wonder if he’s doomed to follow down that same path. “Why are you?”
“Same reason, I guess,” Kenny says, his gaze trained on the frozen water and the snowflakes swirling around them, on top of them, everywhere. “Maybe sometimes we all need to pretend to be someone else.”
“I’d hate for you to be anyone else,” Craig blurts out, the words spilling unfound from his mouth before he has a chance to stop them. Even then, the expression on Kenny’s face is enough to keep him going. “Grantaire’s in love with you,” he says. “I mean with Enjolras. Fuck, sometimes I can’t tell us apart anymore.”
Kenny sucks in a deep breath, and then the look on his face, it’s like Craig’s meeting him for the first time. “If I kissed you,” he starts, a slow and pleased smile stretching his mouth wide, “would I have to do it as Enjolras?”
There’s a beat, Craig’s heart in his throat, and then he’s pulling Kenny in by the sweater, one hand cupped around the base of his neck, tilting his head to one side so that their tongues brush against each other, warm and wet and perfect.
He pulls back and Kenny holds on, a grin fixed firmly on his features. “I’m the one who suggested you play Grantaire,” he admits, fiddling with the hem of Craig’s shirt. Craig feels the coolness of his hands contrast sharply with the warmth that’s radiating from inside his body out into the open air.
“What?” Craig asks, a little stupidly. “Why?”
“I read the book, too,” Kenny explains, his gaze dropping to his lap, and Craig wishes the earth would swallow him whole. “I thought it would help us out a little.”
“You could have just told me,” Craig points out, his mind spinning slightly. “You should have just told me that…” I like you, he finishes internally, still unable to put into words all that he feels.
“Well, I didn’t know,” Kenny replies with a self-deprecating shrug, but even that’s not enough to wipe the smile from his face as he meets Craig’s eyes once more. “I hoped.”
Craig has no idea how it happens, but he’s reaches for Kenny again, and before he knows it, they’re lying stretched out in the backseat of his car, one of his legs wedged between their bodies, the two of them grinding against each other furiously.
“So, um,” Kenny whispers, his breath tickling Craig’s cheek. “This Enjolras thing, does it extend to me sucking your dick, or…?”
Craig feels a flush rise to his neck, and in a voice as steady as he can make it with his heartbeat humming beneath Kenny’s fingertips, he says, “Shut up, McCormick.”
—
Craig finishes the novel once and for all just in time for opening night, and he thinks he was right in assuming that Grantaire would have never allowed himself to do down without Enjolras. Despite what they had practiced, Craig wants to end his story a little differently.
It’s the final battle scene, the music being drawn out long and loud and sad, and everyone around him is falling to the ground in slow motion, collapsing as the air is sucked from their bodies. Craig watches as Kenny climbs to the top of the barricade, facing the last of the National Guards with a haughty expression on his face, defiant until the very end.
Then Craig is climbing up after him, pushing past the dead bodies sprawled on the ground and ignoring Mr. Mackey’s hushed objections from the wings. He makes his way to stand next to Kenny, who casts him a brief smile before clutching his hand and turning back to face their fate. Then a boom rattles the stage and they’re going down together, Enjolras and Grantaire as it should be.
When the last of the barricade is cleared from the set and Kyle is out there lugging Stan’s body around like he’s dead weight, Craig backs Kenny into a wall and kisses all the fake blood from his face, lets Kenny push his hands into his hair and kiss him until their mouths taste the same.
During the finale, the whole cast crowds onto the stage to take their bows to the noise of thunderous applause, and when the curtain falls and the house lights dim, amidst all the confusion and the excitement and the relief, Craig is only aware of the fact that Kenny hasn’t let go of his hand.