Archive of Our Own

Kenny is jolted out of sleep by the sound of a high-pitched scream. Panicked and disorientated, he lurches out of bed, grabs the first object he can clobber someone with, and bursts down the hall and into his sister’s bedroom.

“Karen!” he shouts.

Karen is lying on her stomach, kicking her legs and mooning over her phone. She looks up. “Why are you holding a shoe?”

“I—You screamed!” Kenny looks around, flailing his beat-up sneaker. “I thought you were being murdered!”

“How would a shoe stop me from being murdered?”

“I—I don’t know!” he huffs and rubs his eyes. “I’m not very awake right now. I was just trying to save your life.”

“Well, thanks,” she says. “Now please go put some clothes on.”

Kenny looks down at himself and realises that he’s dressed only in a modest pair of heart print boxers. “Right. Clothes. Good call,” he says, backing towards the door. “As you were.” He retreats to his bedroom to push his legs into the first pair of pants that he sees, and pulls an old, motheaten sweater over top. Crisis averted, he slithers back into bed and pulls the covers up. The sacred process of closing his eyes once more is rudely interrupted by yet another scream. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he grumbles, and is about to haul himself out of bed again, when Karen all but busts the door off its rusty hinges.

“Oh my god!” Karen is flailing her phone about like it’s the golden ticket to Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory. “Oh my freaking god!”

Kenny groans. “Karen, please don’t blaspheme in my bedroom.” He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re desecrating holy ground.”

“Look at this!” Karen ignores his nonsense and hurls herself onto Kenny’s bed to shove her phone under his nose. “Just—look!”

Kenny blinks at the phone screen, but it’s too bright and his eyes won’t focus. “I make it a policy never to read this early in the morning, as a moral principle.” He pushes the phone back towards her.

She rolls her eyes. “It’s past noon, Kenny.”

“Mornings last longer on Sundays. Everyone knows that.” He adjusts his pillows so he can sit more comfortably, as it’s becoming increasingly clear that his day of rest has been cut short. “Dictate it to me.”

“’Hey Karen,’” she begins, then rushes out the message in a single breath. “I know this is weird and maybe out of the blue but we’ve been hanging out loads and I think you’re really cool and pretty so I was wondering if you’d maybe like to be my girlfriend or something? But like if not that’s fine I don’t mind like it’s whatever I’m cool with whatever. So yeah.”

“Dude.” Kenny’s eyebrows shoot up. “Woah. Dude!” He holds his hand up, and she drops her phone to high-five him. “Nice one!”

Her smile is so wide that it looks like it’s going to fall off her face. “You said I was going to die a spinster, Kenny. Well, look at me now!”

“Hey, now, there’s still time,” he says. “Twelve years old is too early to call the shots on that one.”

She sticks her nose in the air. “You’re just jealous because this means I officially get more bitches than you.”

Kenny splutters, torn between outrage and feeling overwhelmingly proud of her. She may be a little shit sometimes, but she’s a McCormick, through and through. “I get plenty of bitches!”

“Really?” She makes a show of looking around the room, moving a hand up to her brow. “I’m not seeing any around here.”

“They’re—I’m… in between bitches at the moment. That’s allowed.” It’s a sore spot for Kenny, actually, this recent dry spell, but Karen spares no time for sympathy.

“You get to live vicariously through me now,” she proclaims, rubbing her hands together. “My, how the turntables.”

The pair of them have always had an unconventional relationship, to say the least. Unlike most siblings, they never possessed loathing, resentment, or even general disgust at the fact that their relative is a human being with thoughts and feelings, and not just a pain in their ass. Through a combination of Kenny’s lack of shame and Karen’s general nosiness, they had become each other’s closest confidants when it came to matters of the heart. Kenny doesn’t really do ‘emotional vulnerability,’ but he’s come to make an exception for her. They’ve truly seen the worst of each other, which he finds strangely reassuring. There’s nothing he can possibly say to make her think any lower of him. Not that he doesn’t try to beat that challenge.

“So.” Kenny clasps his hands together. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“Lad, actually,” Karen corrects. “It’s a boy.”

“Oh, ew. Never mind then.” Kenny wrinkles his nose. “Tell him you’re not interested.”

“What? Why?”

“Because twelve-year-old boys are smelly and gross!” Kenny sticks his tongue out. “I should know, I once made the mistake of being one.”

“He’s not like other boys,” Karen reassures him. “He knows the difference between a shower and dosing himself in Axe deodorant.”

“Oh, really?” He rases an eyebrow dubiously. “And just who is this miracle child?”

“Ike.”

“Ike, as in Ike Broflovski?”

“Yeah.”

He blinks. “Isn’t he, like, seven years old?”

“No! He’s in my class.”

“I swear he’s seven.” He scratches his head. “Although, I guess the last time I went to Kyle’s house was probably a good five years ago. Who knows what he’s been up to since then.”

“Ageing,” she says. “Like the rest of us.”

“Don’t.” Kenny clasps a hand to his heart. “You’re growing up too fast. Dating boys. Next thing you know, you’ll have a mortgage and a 401K.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t want to tell you, in case you get one.”

“Nah, I bet you don’t even know what that is.”

“It’s—something to do with dentists!” he says, though he’s not sure that it is. “Anyway, the important thing is, you have to reject him.”

“But he’s nice!”

“Yes, but his older brother’s a shithead.”

“Kyle’s not that bad.”

“You say that now,” Kenny tuts, “but imagine having him as a brother-in-law.” He shivers. “Nightmare. That’s not the kind of family you want to marry into, Karen. And think of what kind of uncle Kyle would make to your children! He’d show up, unannounced, probably critique the cleanliness of your kitchen—”

“Can you please be serious!” she snaps. “I know you and Kyle have this weird hate-fucking thing going on—”

“—We’re not fucking—”

“—Yeah, and you hate that,” she quips, then carries on before he can protest. “But this is quite possibly the most monumental thing that has ever happened in my whole entire life, and I’d appreciate it if you could treat it with the respect and gravitas that it deserves.”

“Gravitas,” Kenny snorts. “Breaking out all the big words for the occasion, huh?” She gives him a dark look. “Alright, alright, sorry. I’m taking this seriously. Call me Mr. Serious from now on.”

“I won’t be doing that.”

“You have to. I’ll get it legally changed."

Karen sighs in exasperation and rereads the message to herself, muttering intelligibly under her breath. “I don’t know how to respond,” she says.

“Well, do you actually want to be his girlfriend, or not?” Kenny asks.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is.” Kenny shrugs. “Back in my day, if you wanted to ask someone out, you’d give them a slip of paper that said ‘Be my girlfriend? Y-slash-N?’ And you’d circle Y for yes or N for no.”

“How romantic,” Karen says flatly.

“It was a fully functional system of courtship,” Kenny says. “The question is, which letter do you want to circle?”

“I’m not sure I want either of them,” she says. “I’ve never been anybody’s girlfriend before. It kind of seems like a big responsibility. I don’t know whether I’d be good at it.”

“Well, don’t look at me.” Kenny shrugs. “I’ve never been anybody’s girlfriend either.”

“Yes, but you’re more—worldly than I am.” She gestures vaguely. “Don’t you have some sort of profound advice?”

He tilts his head. “Well,” he says, “I guess I’m the try-before-you-buy type. I like to date someone before I date someone, you know?”

She looks at him blankly. “No.”

“I mean, you can go on a date with Ike before you decide whether you want to commit to more.”

“Like a trial run?”

“Sure,” he says. “A trial run.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. She picks up her phone, stares at it for a little bit, then puts it down again. “How do I say that?”

“My dearest Mr. Broflovski,” Kenny begins. “I appreciate the grand gesture of your affection, and upon much consideration—”

“Never mind,” she grumbles, “I’ll write it myself.”

Kenny is rewarded with a few minutes of blissful silence as she types. He lets his eyelids droop shut again, and is about to trip back into unconsciousness, when Karen’s phone buzzes and she gasps dramatically.

“What?” he says.

“He replied!” she squeals.

“Yes, people do tend to do that when you text them.”

Karen ignores this comment. “He says, ‘Yeah cool sounds good smiley face where do you wanna meet?’”

“Did he spell you ‘y-o-u’ or just with a U?”

“Just a U.”

“Cringe. Block him.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sign of disrespect.”

“Kenny, you do that. And worse. You don’t even use capitals.”

“Yes, but that’s because I’m cool enough to live above the law of grammar. Ike Broflovski is not.” At Karen’s age, Kyle always used to text in full sentences, each period in place, a comma before every conjunction. Kenny used to make fun of him for it. Now, he can’t remember the last time he got a text from Kyle. It was probably something like “fuck you” or “I’m blocking you” or “you’re not invited to my birthday party, so there!”

“You’re such a dickhead,” Karen grumbles.

“Maybe so. But I’m the dickhead that you chose to come to for advice, so let me bestow it upon you.” Kenny spreads his hands out. “Roller skating.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“You should take him roller skating. It’s cute, original, and you won’t feel awkward because it gives you both something to concentrate on, but, like, together.”

She tilts her head, mulling it over. “But you have to be sixteen to go without an adult,” she says.

“That’s fine,” Kenny says, “I’ll just chaperone you guys.”

“What? No! Ugh, I don’t want you breathing down my neck the whole time.”

“I’ll keep a respectable distance. You won’t even know I’m there.” Karen still doesn’t look convinced, so he adds, “look, no matter where you go, I’m coming with you.”

“What? No fair!”

“Yes fair,” he says firmly. “I don’t want you getting murdered.”

“Ike’s not going to murder me.”

“That’s exactly what a would-be murderer would want you to think.” He clicks his tongue. “Look, you can bring another adult with you if you like, but I’m not letting you go alone.”

She gives a dramatic sigh. “Fine!” she declares. “But I’m going to pretend not to know you the whole time you’re there.”

Kenny smiles. He certainly won’t make that easy for her.

*

After two excruciating hours of rifling through Karen’s whole entire wardrobe, they’re finally on their way.

“I can’t believe it took you this long to get ready,” Kenny says, making a show of checking his watch. “You don’t even have that many clothes.”

“Yes, but mathematically there’s a lot of different combinations,” she says, adjusting the hem of her skirt. “We can’t all wear just one colour like you.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Kenny says. “Orange flatters my complexion.”

Today he’s kitted out in a hoodie of that precise colour, cropped, revealing the waistband of the fishnets that he’s wearing under his ripped jeans. The criss-cross pattern is visible behind the fraying, distressed denim on his thighs and at his knees. He’s really pulled out all the stops on this one, because that way if, after the date, Kyle asks Ike how Kenny was, he’ll have to say, ‘hot,’ because that will be the most objectively correct answer. Kenny’s just finished up freshman year of community college, so it’s been a good nine months since he’s even seen Kyle. It’s important that his reputation is maintained, even for his enemies’ sake.

Plans of appearing hot-by-proxy are soon scrapped as they approach the pop-up roller rink that comes to South Park every summer. Karen’s face splits into a smile when they arrive, and she calls out, “Ike!” but Kenny’s too busy gaping at the other boy standing at the entrance to pay much attention to him. It’s Kyle Mother-Fucking Broflovksi, in the flesh and blood. Karen bounds over to them, and Kenny is about to run to catch up, but he thinks better of it. Instead, he pushes back his shoulder blades, hooks his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans, and strolls leisurely after her.

“Hi,” Ike mumbles, blinking bashfully at Karen. He makes a small, surprised noise as she pulls him into a hug, before wrapping his arms stiffly around her. Kenny doesn’t get a good look at him until she pulls away.

He’s changed a lot since they last met. Ike is Inuit, with warm brown skin and thick dark hair cut in a heavy fringe that hovers just above his eyebrows. His eyes are shielded behind a large pair of thick-framed glasses, and a timid smile plays on the corners of his lips. He’s put on a button-up dress shirt for the occasion, no doubt ironed by Sheila, which clashes awkwardly with his slightly crusty blue jeans. Still, the effort is sweet. Kenny likes this kid, he decides. Too bad about his brother.

Kenny turns to Kyle and puts his arms out. “What do you say?” He smirks. “Bring it in, pal.”

Kyle looks down his nose at him. “No thanks,” he says coldly.

“Alright,” Kenny says, and hugs Ike instead, who lets him, confused.

“What are you doing here, Kenny?” Kyle snaps.

“I’m here to chaperone my sister as she dips her toe into the river of love,” Kenny says. “Is that not allowed?”

“Gross,” Karen grimaces, “do not ever say ‘river of love’ again.”

“Well, I’m here to chaperone, actually,” Kyle says firmly, as if this is some kind of counterargument.

“You can go on home, if you like,” Kenny says, nonplussed. “I can take one for the team and stick around.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Kyle gives a dry laugh. “I hardly trust you to keep my brother safe. I shudder to think what you’d goad him into the moment I turned my back.”

“What, skydiving and wrestling grizzly bears?” Kenny says. “You’ve got me, that’s my agenda.”

Kyle squares his shoulders. “I’m staying.”

“Cool.” Kenny grins, but only because he knows it’ll piss Kyle off. “I could use the company.”

Kyle opens his mouth to snap back, but Ike gets there first. “Hey,” he elbows his brother, “can you not pick a fight right now please?”

“Yeah.” Karen puts her hands on her hips, glaring between the two of them. “You’re seriously embarrassing us right now.”

“Aw, sorry,” Kenny says, ruffling her hair. She huffs and pulls away, patting it back into place. “We’ll keep it civil, won’t we, Kyle?”

“Yes,” Kyle says, but from the clipped tone Kenny can tell he’s pushing it out through gritted teeth.

Oh, boy, this is going to be fun.

The rink itself is open-air, with a tunnel-like entrance acting as a reception. A bored looking teenager is stationed behind the till, backed by a vast rack of roller skates. Once their tickets and skates have been acquired, they are directed towards the bleachers that line the perimeter of the rink to lace their boots up.

“I should warn you now,” Ike says gravely, “I’ve never been roller skating before, so I’ll probably suck ass.”

“That’s okay,” Karen smiles sweetly, “I’ll teach you!”

“Is it like ice skating?” he asks. “I’ve played hockey.”

“Sort of,” she says.

“Bet you’re wishing you didn’t ditch us every time we went skating when we were kids, huh, Kyle?” Kenny says, plopping down next to him.

“No,” he says shortly. “I still stand by the fact that basketball is a far superior sport.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure those skills are super transferrable.”

“That doesn’t matter, anyhow,” Kyle says, lining his skates up neatly on the bench next to him, “because I won’t be skating.”

“Oh, what?” Kenny frowns. “But you paid for a ticket!”

“I’m here to watch them. I can do a far better job of that from the side-lines.”

“Speaking of,” Karen says, “Lets lay some ground rules.” She turns to address her chaperones. “You two must stay a minimum of six feet away from us at all times. Minimum. You will not attempt to talk, touch, or otherwise engage with us unless there is serious danger. The moment we step onto that rink, I do not know you guys, and I do not want to know you guys. Got that?”

“Aye-aye, Captain.” Kenny salutes her. He can’t lie, he’s a little hurt by these instructions, but he’d have given the same to his older brother, if Kevin had particularly cared enough about Kenny at this age to escort him anywhere.

Kyle looks dubiously at Ike. “Is that really what you want?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Ike says. “Don’t want you guys, you know. Harshing our buzz.” He does not, in fact, look like he’s on a buzz right now. He looks a little bit like he’s about to throw up, as Karen grabs his hand and drags him onto the rink.

Kenny gives them a moment to themselves before he gets going. He watches as Ike hobbles off whilst Karen skates circles around him, giggling. Once the six feet limit has officially been achieved, Kenny takes off.

Immediately, he’s thrown forward with more speed than expected. He frantically grabs the railing for support before the ground can totally slip out from under him. From behind him, Kyle stifles a snort.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up.” Kenny waves a hand. “Keep lording over me from your high horse, coward.”

“Coward!” For a moment, Kyle looks genuinely offended, and Kenny is pleased to have located a weakness.

“Yeah,” he says, as he begins to find his footing, toeing forward a little. “I said it. Coward.” He manages a smooth rotation back to face Kyle, leaning his elbows on the railing. “You know that if an idiot like me can get the hang of this, then you can, too.”

“I—I never said you were an idiot.”

“No,” he hums, “but you thought it real loud.” He skates out a little again, making small figure-eights. “See? Easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy.”

“That’s such a stupid phrase,” Kyle mutters.

“Well, it’s certainly not difficult-difficult-lemon-difficult.”

Kyle gives him a withering look. Kenny just shrugs. He thinks he’s pretty funny, even if no one else does.

The radio overhead switches on, and some upbeat poppy drivel starts blaring. “Oh, man!” Kenny claps his hands together. “Listen to that, Kyle! Feel the rhythm! Doesn’t it just make you want to get up and dance?” He starts nodding his head in time to the music, then, gaining confidence, wiggling his elbows back and forth.

Kyle stares at him with his lip curled. “Stop,” he says.

“I can’t!” Kenny pants, swaying his hips. “The music—It’s just too powerful!”

Kyle leans forward in his seat, and hisses, “Seriously, stop. People are staring.”

“It’s out of my control, Kyle!” Kenny moves from rolling his shoulders to flailing his arms. “I’m trapped in this terrible, embarrassing curse! I think the only way to cure me—” he twirls around “—would be to witness my dear old friend Kyle entering this rink with me!”

“Jesus fucking—Fine.” Kyle snatches up his skates. “If it’ll stop you from publicly humiliating me, I’ll give it a go.”

Kenny watches him lace up his boots in smug satisfaction. It’s a minor victory, but a victory, nonetheless. Or, at least, it felt like one, until Kyle says, “and I’m not your friend, by the way,” and then the win tastes bitter, stings his tongue.

“Why not?” Kenny asks, almost without meaning to. It seems to catch Kyle off guard too, because he faulters for a moment before he’s able to answer.

“Because you do stupid shit like this,” he growls, gesturing to Kenny’s body, which is still rocking in time to the rhythm, subconsciously.

“So, you’re telling me that if I didn’t dance, we could be friends?”

“Absolutely not.”

Kenny just shrugs, and says, “Your loss. I could have taught you all these sweet moves, and more.”

With knuckles white against the railing, Kyle begins a slow, unsteady loop of the rink. Kenny glides along beside him and manages to make it a full fifteen seconds before he speaks up again. “You can’t just spend the whole time dragging yourself around like that.”

Kyle looks over from the hunched position that he’s assumed, clinging on for dear life, like it’s that door at the end of Titanic. “I can and I will.”

“But that’s not really skating,” Kenny says. “It’s just rolling.”

“It’s called roller skating.”

“Yeah, but the second half is the fun part!”

A muscle in Kyle’s jaw twitches. “How am I meant to have fun,” he says, “if the ground keeps slipping out from beneath me?”

“You just gotta know how to skate right,” Kenny says. “You can’t just move your feet any old way. You gotta push ‘em forward and out, like this.” He performs a small demonstration to his sceptical audience of one.

“You wobbled,” Kyle says, “at the end there.”

“So?”

“So, you could have fallen.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you almost did.”

“At the risk of repeating myself,” Kenny says, “So? People fall over here all the time. It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, but—”

“Look.” He holds out his hand. “Just give it a go, okay?”

Kyle eyes his open palm like it’s boobie-trapped. “Promise not to laugh?”

“Dude, is that what you’re so worried about?” Kenny wrinkles his nose. “That I’m gonna laugh at you?”

“I—No!” Kyle says quickly. “I couldn’t give a shit about that!”

“Right.” Kenny frowns as he notices for the first time how Kyle’s whole body is trembling. “Well, I wouldn’t laugh at you even if you wanted me to. Now, take my hand.”

Reluctantly, Kyle obliges. Kenny yanks him away from the side and he yelps, flailing. Kenny darts closer and shifts an arm around Kyle’s waist. “I got you, Humpty Dumpty. No great falls on my watch.”

Kyle glowers at him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Not into pet names?”

He doesn’t dignify that with an answer. “Are we doing this, or what?”

“Okay, here we go. Do as I do. Right foot out, left foot out.” Kenny does so, gliding Kyle along beside him. “Right foot, left foot. Right, left. Got it?”

Timidly, Kyle joins in. With their sides pressed together, Kenny can feel just how much Kyle is shaking, flinching with each unsteady movement. Whether from anxiety or exertion, he’s not sure, but he feels kind of bad about it, and almost considers offering to take him back to his seat. But then he’d have to skate by himself, which would be boring. Putting Kyle through this torture for at least a little while longer is far more fun.

Slowly, Kyle begins to adjust to things. His ironclad grip loosens, and Kenny shifts apart from him slightly. “No!” Kyle whines, clinging to his arm. “Don’t let go!”

“I still got you,” Kenny says. He extracts himself from Kyle’s grasp and takes his hand instead. “If you go down, then we’ll go down together.”

“Great,” Kyle grumbles. “That makes me feel so much better.” But he continues skating forward nonetheless, Kenny by his side.

A slow song starts. All around them, people begin coupling up. Kenny watches Ike’s eyes swell to the size of moons as Karen wraps her arms around him, rolling closer to press their chests together.

“Hey!” Kenny says sharply, shouting across the rink. “Leave room for Jesus!” Karen gives him a murderous glare, and he grins back. He doesn’t give a shit about how close they are, really, he just enjoys harassing them.

“Wow, Kenny,” Kyle drawls from beside him, “you’re telling a Jewish boy to leave room for Jesus? I didn’t have you pegged as an antisemite.”

Kenny flounders for a heartbeat, terrified that he’s serious, until he spots the smirk on Kyle’s face and gets a hold of himself. “Yeah, well, you’ve not pegged me at all yet, actually.”

Kyle’s eyebrows shoot so high up they practically fall off his face. “I—I didn’t mean—” he stammers, but then Kenny snickers, and his face falls back into a mask of bitterness. “Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Kenny says. Kyle doesn’t respond, just glares at the ground like it’s out to get him. So, Kenny slows them down to a halt, then moves to face him. He bows, without letting go of Kyle’s hand. “Would you do me the honour of dancing with me, m’lady?”

Kyle gives him the kind of look that could freeze over the Sahara.

Kenny straightens, smiling. “So… yes?”

“No,” Kyle says. “Absolutely fucking not.”

“Alright, fine,” Kenny says, keeping his expression fixed carefully in place. “I’ll find someone else to dance with.”

“No, wait—” Kyle yelps as Kenny lets go of him completely, gliding away. He tries to follow, but careers to the side instead. His arms flail outwards, but with nothing to grab hold of, his legs simply roll out from underneath him. He crashes to the ground. He lays there, in a tangle of arms and legs, as Kenny returns to him.

“Jesus,” he snorts, unable to wipe his grin off his face, “I’m gone all of three seconds, and you’re already downed. Miss me that much?”

Kyle glares up at him, face bright red. “Fuck. You.”

“Aw, sor-ry,” Kenny says, dragging it out to two syllables to really drive it home. “You’re not actually hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” he snaps, but makes no move to take the hand Kenny offers him. Instead, he grabs at one boot and yanks it off.

“Dude, what?” Kenny looks down at him. “You don’t have to quit. I’ll stick with you, we don’t have to dance.”

Kyle takes off his other skate and shoots upright again. He looks Kenny dead in the eye. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”

“I—I didn’t!” Kenny protests, but Kyle’s already storming away in his sock feet, back from whence he came. “Kyle!”

He doesn’t even spare a second glance behind him.

Kenny skates by himself for a little while. He can feel Kyle’s eyes on him, but every time he looks over to the benches, he finds Kyle’s conveniently got his face buried in a book. He continues to harass Karen and Ike every now and then, until Karen loses it and makes several completely unreasonable violent threats, and he backs off.

Soon after, he spots Bebe and Wendy entering the rink, and then he bothers them instead. They’re bother experienced Roller Derby champions, so he doesn’t have to worry about escorting them to and fro. Instead, he races them round the rink, laughing and shouting and cheating and losing anyway. He even manages to rope them both into dancing with him, although they’re better at that too. They take turn teaching each other increasingly ridiculous moves.

Eventually, Kenny finally catches Kyle in the act of staring, right after he’s just performed the splits (totally on purpose and not at all because he fell). Oddly, Kyle doesn’t look mad anymore. Just kind of… pensive. Of course, he quickly reaffixes his mask of disdain when he realises that he’s been spotted.

“Who are you waving at?” Wendy asks, when he does so.

“Kyle.” Kenny points at him, and waves again.

“Hi Kyle!” the girls chorus.

Kyle pretends not to hear but seems to turn a shade redder as his shoulders hunch up to his ears.

“Don’t mind him,” Kenny says, “he’s in a foul mood because he’s been forced to breath the same air around me.”

“Ah, that’ll do it,” says Bebe.

He doesn’t pay Kyle any more attention for the rest of the session.

They reconvene with Karen and Ike back at the entrance, who are breathless and giggling.

“Did you guys have fun?” Kenny asks.

“Yeah!” Karen says. “It was great!”

“I didn’t even fall over,” Ike adds, and his chest swells.

“Wish we could all say the same, eh?” Kenny elbows Kyle and receives a dark look.

“Didn’t go well?” Ike asks innocently. He’s victim to a similar expression. “Oh. Well, better luck next time.”

“Bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time,” Kyle mutters, and though Kenny thinks he’s talking about himself, and not Ike and Karen, his brother still looks crushed.

Karen picks up on this too, because she grabs Ike’s hand and says, “Hey, want to go back to yours and play video games?”

“Can we?” Ike looks to Kyle. “We’re so close to finishing our Super Mario World playthrough, Kyle!”

“I don’t know,” Kyle says. “Mom and Dad aren’t home. I’m not sure how happy they’d be to have uninvited guests.” He looks pointedly at Kenny during that last remark.

“Well, Kyle, I’m not sure how happy I’d be at the idea of Karen going over to yours unattended anyway.” Kenny puts his hands on his hips. “She might get coerced into skydiving or wrestling bears, or something.”

“I don’t see what you’d have to complain about,” Kyle sniffs. “I thought that was your forte.”

“Yeah, but I’d hate to miss out on the fun.”

“Well—”

“Oh, good lord!” Karen exclaims. “You can both sit and watch us play Mario if you’re really that concerned.” At that, she takes Ike’s hand and begins marching down the street, in the direction of his house. Kenny just shrugs and follows suit. Kyle is left rooted to the spot, fuming.

“You coming, sweet cheeks?” Kenny calls over his shoulder.

Kyle gives a strangled moan and runs after them.

About fifteen minutes into their play through, Karen excuses herself to go to the bathroom. Predictably, Kyle and Kenny have spent the entirety of those excruciating fifteen minutes bickering over who gets to sit where, who gets which controller, who has the right to tell who to shut up. They haven’t even got through one level yet, because Kenny and Kyle keep throwing each other into lava and using up all their lives.

“You guys aren’t being very nice,” Ike mumbles.

“Well, maybe I would be nicer if Kenny didn’t keep stealing my fucking mushrooms!” Kyle snaps.

“Hey, it’s first come first served. Everyone knows that,” Kenny says.

“Not when you’re already big! It’s a useless powerup—”

That’s when they hear Karen scream. She’s been out of Kenny’s sight for all of thirty seconds.

Kenny jumps up from his seat and bolts up the stairs. “Karen! What’s wrong?” He reaches her side with Kyle hot on his heels.

She’s stood in front of the airing closet in the hallway, a small, dark room with the door slightly ajar. “I—I saw something in there,” she says, pointing towards it. “Like an alien, maybe.”

“Oh, Jesus, it’s probably just a mouse or something,” Kyle huffs. He switches on the light and starts poking around inside.

“I don’t know, dude.” Kenny sidles up behind him. “Alien sounds more likely.” He turns back around to ask Karen what kind of extra-terrestrial she saw, but the door is promptly slammed in his face. “What—”

The lock clicks.

Kenny tries the handle, but it won’t budge. “Hey, Karen, I think you might have locked this thing.”

He hears her voice come through the door, muffled. “I know.” He doesn’t have to see her face to judge her intentions. Her voice is practically oozing smugness.

“What the hell?” Kyle knocks Kenny’s hand aside and rattles the handle. “Let us out!”

“Did you do it?” That’s Ike’s voice, coming from outside.

“Yeah,” Karen replies.

“Ike! Help!” Kyle shouts.

“How?” Ike says, but he seems to be talking to Karen.

“I said I saw an alien in there.”

“Wait, for real?”

“Yeah! I told you they were gullible.”

Ike laughs.

“Isaac Daniel Broflovski, you open this door right damn now!” Kyle yells.

“No thanks,” Ike says.

Kyle growls and slams his shoulder against the door. “You are going to be in so much shit when Mom comes home!”

“So are you if you break the damn door!”

“Karen,” Kenny implores, “come on, this isn’t funny.”

“It kind of is,” she giggles. “Look, I’m sorry Kenny, but you and Kyle are being majorly annoying. You’re ruining our date. If you guys want to fight so bad, then you’ll have to do it away from us.”

“You can’t keep us in here forever.”

“I know,” Karen says. “We’ll let you out in an hour or so. We just need a break. And, y’know, some alone time.”

“Karen!” Kyle shouts, but he receives no answer. The sound of footsteps grows steadily quieter, as their younger siblings retreat downstairs. Kyle groans and leans his forehead against the door. He stays there until he hears Kenny laugh, then whirls on him. “I don’t see how this is funny.”

“Dude, are you kidding?” Kenny grins at him. “Luring us in here so that they don’t have to deal with our bullshit? They’re little geniuses.”

“They’re little shits, is what they are.”

“Maybe so,” he says, “but think of it this way: would you want Ike hanging around you whilst you’re on a date?”

Kyle curls his lip. “He’s—young. It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” Kenny grabs a couple blankets off the shelf and starts laying them out on the floor. “If I were twelve and my older brother was lurking around whilst I was with a girl, I’d lock him out too.”

“This isn’t locking us out, this is locking us in,” Kyle huffs. “And—what are you doing?”

“Making myself comfortable,” Kenny says, flopping himself down. Kyle gazes down at him in contempt, but Kenny is firmly unbothered. “You heard Karen. They’re leaving us hear for the next hour. Might as well.”

Kyle stands there for a minute longer in silence, glaring at the door. Kenny busies himself by adjusting the blankest around himself, sitting upright and nestling himself into a corner. Eventually, he says, “Dude, it’s not gonna pop open, no matter how hard you look at it.”

Kyle growls in frustration and drops to the floor. He lies flat on his back and fixes his glare on the ceiling instead.

Kenny reaches upwards and snags a quilt off the shelf. “Blanket?”

Kyle looks at him like he’s just been offered a rotting rat carcass. “No.”

Kenny doesn’t really want another one himself, so he just lays it on the floor between them. He watches Kyle’s chest rise and fall in short, angry puffs, his green eyes darting back and forth in thought. When it’s not screwed up in rage like it is now, Kyle has kind of a cute face, slender and freckled. Kenny’s always thought so, anyway, although it’s been a while since he’s seen it in anything other than a sour expression. He seems to have a miraculous ability to put Kyle in a foul mood just be existing around him. It’s an ability that he’s admittedly abused on occasion because winding Kyle up is the perfect cure for boredom, and it’s far too easy when he’s already settled into an unpleasant state of mind.

Kyle makes eye contact with him, and holds it, as if to say, I can see you staring at me. Kenny doesn’t flinch, or look away, so Kyle spits, “What?”

“Why do you hate me?” Kenny asks plainly.

Kyle’s face falls, and for a split second, he looks almost confused. “I don’t—Um—”

“No, man, don’t give me that.” Kenny picks at the hem of a blanket. “It’s fine that you hate me. I’m, like, over it. I just always wondered why, that’s all.”

Kyle doesn’t say anything. He’s gone back to glowering at the ceiling.

“Because… I mean we were friends once, weren’t we?” Kenny nudges him with his foot. “When we were younger.”

“A long time ago, maybe,” Kyle says. “Long, long time.”

Kenny doesn’t know what to make of that. “What changed?”

“Are you serious?” Kyle side-eyes him. “You did, dude.”

It’s the first time he’s heard Kyle call him ‘dude’ in years. His heartbeat trips over itself. “Did I?”

“Did you?” Kyle echoes in disbelief. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

“How?”

“You got… louder.”

“Seriously?” Kenny almost wants to laugh but doesn’t. “That’s why we’re not friends anymore? Because I stopped muffling my voice into that stupid parka?”

“I meant in a broader sense.” Kyle swallows. “It’s like, we hit puberty, and suddenly you realised that you were too good looking to keep to yourself anymore. As if you thought you’d be doing a great disservice to the world if you didn’t make it your mission to befriend every other kid in school.”

“So, you’re mad that I made other friends?”

“No!” Kyle says. “It’s—I wouldn’t have had a problem with that. It’s just that it wasn’t just befriend, it was drink with. And smoke with. And party with. And make out with. And—worse.”

“Oh, really,” Kenny says dryly. “I was, like, thirteen when you decided I was top of your hit list. Who was I even making out with by that point?”

“Butters Stotch.”

“Nah, that was later. We were like, fourteen, maybe fif—”

“No,” Kyle interjects, a strange firmness in his tone, “it was thirteen. He’d sit in your lap at lunch time and you two would go to town in front of the whole school.” He grimaces. “Put me right off my food.”

“Oh, come on.” Kenny rolls his eyes. “Butters and I dated for, like, two weeks.”

“Yeah, and then you moved on to Craig Tucker.” Kyle sets his jaw. “And then Nichole Daniels, and then Tweek Tweak, and then Gary Harrison, then—”

“Gary was a nice guy!” That was the only freshman year relationship Kenny had been in that had ended on good terms.

“I don’t care how nice it was, it was still gross!”

“And he came after you and I stopped talking, anyway.”

“Well, maybe I would have started talking to you again if you’d taken a five fucking minute break from sticking your tongue down someone else’s throat.”

“Is that what this is about?” Kenny gives him a judgemental once-over. “I’m too slutty for you?”

“No!”

“Well, then tell me, Kyle,” he snaps, “what exactly is your problem with me sticking my tongue down someone else’s throat?”

“Because I wanted it to be my throat, Jesus!”

There is a pregnant pause.

“You… you what?”

Kyle sits up, breathless. His face has baked to the colour of a tomato. “Just—forget it—”

“You like me?” Kenny blinks. A smile gradually begins to bloom, pushing across his cheeks. “Oh my god, you like me!”

“Liked!” Kyle spits. “Emphasis on the past tense.”

“Oh.” Kenny’s smile shrinks a little.

Kyle snatches up the unused blanket. “I’m over it now, so don’t rub it in.”

“Right.” Kenny studies him as he wraps the quilt around his shoulders tight enough to bandage a wound.

The silence hangs for a moment more.

“Stop staring at me,” Kyle mutters.

“Sorry,” Kenny says, “just, y’know. It takes a while to process all this.”

“Yeah, well, process it with your eyeballs pointed in a different direction.”

Kenny yields and averts his gaze, but he can’t stop flicking back to Kyle. Kyle, who hates his guts. Kyle, who takes every opportunity to insult, belittle and bemoan him. Kyle, who’s spent the last five years seething with rage whenever Kenny dares to exist in his vicinity. Kyle, who’s sitting right next to him, breathing in short little gasps, looking desperately at the floor like he’s hoping it’ll split in two and swallow him up.

“So… you were attracted to me, though?” Kenny asks.

“We’re talking years ago, okay? Don’t cream your pants.” Kyle scowls. “That was before I realised you were a total annoying asshole, obviously.”

“But you’re totally not attracted to me anymore?” Kenny asks, brushing past the insult.

“Of course not!”

“Not in the slightest?”

“No.”

“So, if I did… this,” Kenny places his hand on top of Kyle’s, “you wouldn’t care?”

Kyle swallows. He is clearly working very hard not to look at Kenny. “Can’t say I would.”

“How about this?” Kenny scoots closer, curls his fingers in between Kyle’s, and puts it in his lap. “Does that do anything for you?”

“Nope.”

Kenny feels the muscles in Kyle’s arm twitch. “And this?” He slides his free arm across Kyle’s chest, snaking his hand along Kyle’s jaw to cup his face.

Kyle lets his head be turned. He still won’t make eye contact, but now that’s because he’s fixated on Kenny’s mouth. “Couldn’t care less,” he mumbles.

Kenny leans forward until their noses brush. “And now?”

“Fuck you,” Kyle breathes, but his eyes are sliding shut, and he’s leaning forward, and he’s kissing Kenny before Kenny has a chance to kiss him. They hold for one long moment, heat flooding between them and blood coursing through their veins, before Kyle pulls back. “I really hate you,” he whispers, eyes still closed.

Kenny smiles against him. “I just don’t believe that anymore.” He kisses Kyle again, but this time he’s in control. Kyle’s lips part willingly for him, and briefly Kenny thinks about sticking his tongue as far back into Kyle’s throat as it can go, just as a call back. But he doubts it’ll be funny to anyone else but himself, so he only slips the tip in instead.

Kyle makes the softest noise, halfway between a sigh and a mewl. Spurred on, Kenny pushes the fingers of one hand through his curls, and the fingers of the other up his shirt. He might have pushed further, but then he feels something wet against his cheeks. He opens his eyes. Kyle is crying.

“Oh.” Kenny jerks backwards.

Kyle touches his face, mortified. “Oh my god,” he mumbles. “Fuck, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Kenny rushes out. “I mean, I misunderstood—”

“It’s not about the, um,” Kyle says, then stops.

Kenny sits there and waits for him to say more, but he doesn’t, just keeps frantically wiping away the tears as they fall. “I guess I’m just that bad of a kisser, huh?” Kenny says, when he can’t take the silence anymore.

“No, you’re—” Kyle clears his throat, still scrubbing at his face. “I mean, it’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Kenny bites his lip. “So why are you crying?”

“It’s nothing.”

“People don’t cry over nothing.”

“Well, obviously I do!” Kyle snaps, eyes blazing.

Kenny wilts. “Okay. Sorry.”

Kyle’s expression melts into remorse. “God, sorry,” he mumbles, combating another tear. “It’s just, I’ve wanted this for a really long time, and…” He trails off and rubs his eyes, but only succeeds in making them redder. “I guess I never thought I’d get it.”

“Are you kidding?” Kenny braves a smile. “If I’d known that all along—I mean, I wouldn’t have waster all that time sticking my tongue down other people’s throats, that’s for sure.”

Kyle laughs, and even though he’s still crying, it’s beautiful, the first real expression of joy that Kenny’s seen from him in a long, long time.

“We can cool it with the kissing, if you want.” Kenny squeezes Kyle’s hand, the one he’s still clasping. “I don’t mind.”

“No!” Kyle says quickly. “No, don’t. I just got a bit overwhelmed, but I’m fine, really.”

“We’ll take it slower, then.”

Kyle shakes his head. “Don’t, please.” He lowers his lashes. “I mean, even just sitting here not touching you now is excruciating.”

Kenny smirks. “Really?”

“It always has been.” Kyle studies his hands in a manner that could be considered bashful, maybe even shy, which are words Kenny would never have associated with him. “I mean, we’ve got to make up for lost time, and all.”

Kenny cuts off his flimsy excuses by dragging Kyle towards him once more. He melts into Kenny’s mouth like a magnet, pulled together by an inescapable cosmic force, or gravity, or something. Kenny doesn’t know how magnets work. He doesn’t care. He’s too busy tasting Kyle, feeling him, guiding him into his lap. Kyle shifts obligingly, slotting his ass firmly between Kenny’s crossed legs.

With their groins pressed together, Kenny can feel that Kyle’s already hard. He wonders whether Kyle was hard before they started kissing. What did I say to get you going? He wants to ask, but he just can’t seem to tear their hungry mouths apart long enough to ask. It does get him thinking about all the other times that they’d butted heads. Was Kyle secretly aroused, even back then? Kenny’s cock twitches at the thought. He'll definitely be conducting a full investigation on the subject at a later date.

Finally, their lips part. Kyle is about to protest but he can’t get past his first inhale before Kenny starts licking at his throat. Any complaints he might have had die and are resurrected into a breathy moan. Kenny places soft, sincere kisses all the way down to the tender flesh just above Kyle’s collar bone. He begins to suckle, right there. He wants to bruise Kyle, wants to leave a mark, so that he can admire it afterwards as proof that he’s finally, finally won him over.

He earns another moan for his efforts. But each little noise Kyle makes is cut short, as if they’re all fully formed groans that he kills in the back of his throat every time they attempt to escape past his lips. Everything about Kyle right now is like this: teetering on the brink of losing it but reining it in before his self-control can break. Kenny feels Kyle’s hips jerk once, twice, stopped short before a third, like he’s almost afraid of what kind of sensation the friction might bring. Wickedly, Kenny rolls his own hips upwards to graze against Kyle’s, who gasps in shock.

“You like that?” Kenny hisses against his skin.

Kyle makes a low keening sound. “Yes,” he whines, and is rewarded with another jerk. Kenny’s hands grip onto the small of Kyle’s back, holding him in place as their hips begin to circle. They pant out of sync, foreheads pressed together as they work to angle themselves just right.

“Hang on,” Kenny says. “Sorry, can we—change positions? This kind of hurts my knees.”

“Alright, old man.” Kyle chuckles and shuffles off of him.

“Hey,” Kenny winks, “you promised not to laugh.”

“I did not such thing.”

Kenny can’t feel how hard Kyle is anymore, but he sure as hell can see it, erection straining against the stiff denim. He reaches out and undoes Kyle’s jeans with his long, nimble fingers. Kyle sighs, as if only just realising that taking them off was a possibility. He grasps for Kenny’s pants and affords him the same freedom, then moves onto the shirt. He leaves the fishnets on, though, hooking a finger through the lace and pinging it back against Kenny’s thigh with a thrilled expression. Kenny can’t complain. He crawls forward, pushing Kyle until he’s pinned with his back against the floor.

Kyle’s eyes flick downwards, and he snorts.

“What?”

“You have hearts on your underwear.”

“Yeah, and you’re the one getting all hard for it,” Kenny says. “I don’t think I’m the one who should be embarrassed right now.”

“Hey!” Kyle says. He’s keeping himself perfectly still, resisting the urge to rut which is no doubt mounting, which is obviously taking some effort, given the way he’s trembling. “You’re—ah, hard too.”

“Yes, but for completely excusable reasons.”

“Those being?”

“Your hair,” Kenny says, and he leans down to kiss the top of Kyle’s head. “Your nose.” He kisses the tip. “Your sweet little mouth.” He kisses that too. Then, chests flush, he starts to grind their hips together once more.

Kyle lets out something akin to a sob of relief.

“Shh,” Kenny clamps a hand over his mouth. “They’ll hear us downstairs.” He hates that he has to silence him, because Christ, if that wasn’t the hottest thing he’s ever heard in his entire horny life.

“Fuck,” Kyle whimpers against his palm, trembling. “Kenny, god, oh my god.”

“I know,” Kenny says, pressing harder. “I know, Kyle, I know.”

Kyle starts to push up against him, like it’s the first time he’s thought of it. Kenny obliges and meets him halfway with his own cock. Another whine of “Fuck!” escapes him, and Kenny kisses him, because it’s the only thing he can think to do to keep him quiet. He braces himself up on his elbows, framing Kyle’s face, shifting just the right amount of weight to the spot where their pelvises meet.

Kyle’s movements start to grow more frantic, almost feral, as he tangles his legs between Kenny’s. At a certain point their rutting gets too frantic to maintain any semblance of a kiss, and it becomes little more than just mushing their mouths together. Kenny doesn’t mind, though. He loves the way Kyle tastes, no matter how he’s getting the flavour.

Despite the fact that he’s probably a little more experienced at frottage than Kyle, in this moment he feels like a total virgin again, overwhelmed by his sheer capacity to feel pleasure. His own groans start to overtake him, and Kyle, dizzy with bliss, shoves two fingers into Kenny’s mouth to keep him quiet.

Kenny chokes in surprise. Kyle looks a little humiliated, and tries to take them out again, but Kenny grabs his wrist and shoves it back in. Kyle whines happily and spreads his own tongue out over his teeth, begging for Kenny to fill him too.

Well, Kenny’s not one to say no.

Obediently, Kyle begins to suck on his fingers. Kenny tries to do the same but is too distracted by the heat and pressure building between them. He lets his head drop into the crook of Kyle’s neck, screwing his eyes shut as he jerks faster.

When Kyle comes, his mouth is pressed against Kenny’s ear. The desperate hmhh! he makes around the fingers when he’s pushed over the edge is enough to bring Kenny off too, scarcely able to muffle his own groans.

They lie there together, panting, sweating, flushed at every point flesh rests against flesh. They’re pressed so tightly together that it’s hard to tell where one body ends and the other begins. When they finally peel apart, it’s like rebirth. Their bodies no longer feel like their own, and yet Kenny’s never felt more comfortable in his skin, curled up right there on the carpet.

Kyle is still on his back. He gazes, dazed, up at the ceiling. “Woah.”

“Woah, indeed,” Kenny says.

Kyle giggles nervously.

“Cute.”

“What?”

“You.”

“Oh.” Kyle covers his face with his hands. “Um. You, too.”

“Yeah?” Kenny shuffles closer and props himself up on one arm, grinning down at him. “Any bits of me specifically you think are cute? Or just all of me in general?”

“That single freckle on your jaw,” Kyle says. “And nothing else.”

“Nothing?” Kenny squawks.

“Yep.” Kyle crosses his arms. “I’d say the rest of you is pretty mediocre.”

“You’d say that, would you?”

“Uh-huh.”

Kenny slumps back in a sulk, though he knows he’s only being teased. His silence seems to worry Kyle, though, because he keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

Finally, he murmurs, “Your eyes.”

“What?”

“I think that your eyes are beautiful.”

“Really?” Kenny rolls back onto his side to face him. It doesn’t seem like Kyle can quite bring himself to do the same, as he averts his gaze once more.

“Yeah. Like, some people have plain, cornflower blue eyes, and that’s—that’s fine, that’s whatever. But you… Yours are like this incredible crystalline colour, like the clearest parts of the ocean, so blue that it’s almost green. And there’s these little flecks of gold that encircle your irises, that just—God, they’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And they’re so expressive, your eyes. I could have a whole conversation with you without you saying a word, if only I could look into your eyes. The way they grow dark and light up and shine and how your pupils swell and shrink and swell again and those flecks, those little gold flecks, they just…”

Kenny watches the gentle rise and fall of Kyle’s hands settled on his stomach. “Damn,” he says. “You’ve thought a lot about my eyes, huh?”

“I guess I have,” Kyle says. “I guess I’ve put a lot of thought into just about every inch of you.” He sits up and reaches for his shirt. As he struggles to yank it over his head, he says, “God, that’s like, so fucking embarrassing. Sorry.”

“Dude, what? No.” Kenny touches his arm, and despite everything that’s passed between them, Kyle flinches like he wasn’t expecting the contact. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“No, it’s so stupid.” Kyle gropes for his jeans. “I’ve spent the last five years basically fucking obsessed with you. Maybe even longer if I’m being honest. I just—I thought you were the coolest kid in the world, and it sucked knowing that you didn’t think the same of me! If you ever even thought about me at all, that is. After a while I realised it was just easier to hate you than keep crushing on you, so I switched over to that instead.” Kyle’s brow lowers. “It hurt less.”

“I think about you all the time!” Kenny says quickly. “I never could stand that you hated me. It drove me mad.” He puts his hand on Kyle’s bare thigh before he has a chance to pull up his pants, because he feels like Kyle’s regressing back into his festering resentment as he dresses, bitterness seeping back into his face. “I was—still am desperate for you to like me, Kyle! God, I want you to like me so much. Please don’t hate me again. I don’t think I could stand it.”

Kyle looks at Kenny in confusion. Kenny, who’s sitting on the floor of his airing closet in nothing but his soiled underwear and a pair of fishnets, gazing imploringly at him with his beautiful, beautiful blue eyes. “But… you never chose me.”

“What?”

“All the people you’ve been with. Our friends. Our classmates. Our neighbours. You’ve worked your way through them all, which is fine, I mean, that’s fine, you’re allowed to do whatever you want with your body. But I was always left wondering, ‘when is it my turn?’”

“Your turn for what?”

Kyle pushes Kenny away and pulls his jeans up to his waist.

“Kyle?”

“I kept waiting for you to choose me. To wake up and realise that your biggest fan had been in front of you all this while. But you never did,” he snaps. “There was always someone else. Someone taller, someone hotter, someone better—”

“You were totally out of my league!” Kenny throws his hands up. “I mean, this is Kyle motherfucking Broflovski we’re talking about! Star of the basketball team, champion of debate club, top of every class. Everyone’s favourite golden child.” He huffs. “You always had this air about you like you were better than everyone else and you knew it. And I knew it too! You think I had the guts to ask you out? No way!”

“But I was a nerdy loser who never got invited to parties or dances or dates!” Kyle cries. “I’d never even been kissed, for Christ’s sake, let alone garnered enough sexual experience to match yours. There’s no way I was out of your league. You were so obviously out of mine.”

“Well, you’re wrong.”

“I’m really not.”

Kenny opens his mouth to keep fighting, then hesitates. “I think,” he says slowly, “that we were two very stupid people.”

“I think,” Kyle says, “that we still are.”

Kenny starts putting his clothes back on, a little dejected. His head is halfway through the hole of his hoodie when he pauses. “Hang on,” he says, confused, “did you say never been kissed?” He hears Kyle’s breath catch in his throat and yanks the top over his head.

“Um,” Kyle says in a high, strained voice. “Sort of, yeah.”

“And since then, have you?”

“You kissed me today.”

“I know that,” Kenny says. “I’m asking, when was your first kiss?”

“You kissed me today,” Kyle says again.

“I was your first kiss?” Kenny can’t quite believe it.

Kyle shuffles towards the blankets pile and drags one over himself. “It’s not a big deal.”

Kenny lands next to him. “It kind of seems like a big deal.”

Kyle rolls away, turning his back to Kenny. “It’s not.”

“You cried.”

“That was a spur of the moment decision.”

“It didn’t seem like you had much control over it.”

Kyle opts for icy silence as a response.

Kenny sighs, grabs Kyle’s shoulder, and pulls him back around to look him in the eye. “Kyle,” he says softly, despite the hostile expression he’s facing. “I am honoured to have been your first.”

Kyle’s mask falters. “It’s nothing, really,” he says, trying to act like he’s completely unbothered by the whole thing. “I’m sure you’ve been loads of people’s firsts.”

“I don’t care about other people. I care about you.” Kenny slides his fingers under Kyle’s jaw, then kisses him, and feels him shiver in surprise. “I care about you,” he whispers once more.

Kyle looks a little bit like he’s going to cry again. “You do?”

“Kyle, of course.” Kenny pulls Kyle into an embrace. To his surprise, Kyle timidly snuggles in, burying his face in Kenny’s chest.

“That’s very nice of you,” he mumbles. “I guess I care about you too.”

They lie there together, in each other’s arms, holding one another gently and with care.

Kenny’s not quite sure when it is that he falls asleep, but he wakes up to the door swinging open and knocking against his foot.

“Aw,” Karen whispers. “They’re sleeping.”

“Not anymore,” Kenny grumbles. Kyle blinks awake next to him, then, noticing their spectators, quickly sits up.

Karen wrinkles her nose.  “It smells kind of funny in here.”

Ike looks at the two of them. At their messy hair and their flushed cheeks and the proximity under the blankets. “Oh my God.” He begins to back away. “Oh, gross!”

“What?” Karen looks at Ike, then back at her brother, and realisation dawns. “Ew, Kenny! Did you guys, like, do it?”

“Don’t answer that!” Ike says quickly, sticking his fingers in his ears and screwing his eyes up.

“I mean, you locked us in a closet together,” Kenny says matter-of-factly. “What else were we supposed to do?” He grins at Kyle, who smiles back sheepishly.

“We had to make our own fun somehow,” he says.

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Ike moans. He starts to bolt down the stairs, yelling, “I’m so telling Mom when she gets home!”

“Don’t you dare!” Kyle scrambles to his feet and races after him.

Karen stands over Kenny with her hands on her hips. “Honestly,” she scoffs, “I can’t take you anywhere.”

“Sorry,” Kenny says, but he doesn’t mean it. “I think we’d better show ourselves out.”

On the walk home, Karen is uncharacteristically pensive.

“So, how was your first ever date?” Kenny asks eventually.

“It was… fine.”

“But not spectacular?”

“Ike asked if he could kiss me, and I said no.” She rushes these words out with her arms wrapped around her stomach. “And now I feel bad.”

“No, hey, that’s bullshit.” Kenny frowns. “Don’t ever feel guilty about saying no, you hear me?” He knocks his elbow into hers.

“I know. But I just do. It was awkward.”

“Ike seems like a nice guy, I’m sure he understood, and if he didn’t, then fuck ‘em. It’s okay if you’re not ready for stuff like that.”

“I know,” she says again in an even small voice, eyes on the pavement. “But I’m not sure if I’ll ever be ready.”

“Well, that’s okay too. Some people never are, and that’s fine.” Kenny puts his hands in his pockets and summons all the wisdom that being a big brother affords him. “You’re only twelve. You don’t have to spend time worrying about what you’ll like and what you’ll hate for the rest of your life. In fact, you should never have to worry about that at any age!” he declares. “If you wake up one day and decide you like kissing, and then wake up the next day and decide you don’t, who cares? So long as you’re happy and safe, then that’s all that matters.”

“I guess,” she says, then adds, “I think I might tell Ike I just want to stay friends.” She looks up at Kenny. “Would that be alright?”

He nods. “That’s totally alright.”

“But what if he’s mad?”

“He’d have no right to be mad. You made no promises, no commitments. This was just one date. And if he’s had such a nice time being your friend up until now, then he should count himself lucky to keep that going.”

“Yeah,” she says, and seems to build a little confidence. “I should think so!”

Kenny ruffles her hair. “Good kid,” he says. She huffs and bats him away. “Did you at least complete Super Mario?”

“Yeah, finally!”

“Well, then that’s all that matters.”

Kenny’s phone pings just as they get home.

[Hey, is this still your number?]

His heart does a giddy little backflip in his chest. He waits till he’s made it to his bedroom, then flops down on his stomach and texts [who r u after?] though it’s completely unnecessary and entirely obvious.

[Some guy who I just dry-humped in my airing closet,] Kyle writes.

Kenny snorts.

[yh thats me]

He watches the three dots bounce, then disappear. Bounce, then disappear. Bounce, then disappear. Finally, a text comes through. A single word.

[Date?]

Kenny kicks his feet. [boyfriend?] he types back.

[Oh, God. Yes, please.]

Kenny doesn’t mind skipping the trial run. They’ve waited long enough.