Do You Even Care? / STYLE SOUTHPARK

☆Chapter 22 ☆

...Kyle's POV...

I step out into the early morning air — it feels nice. The suns still not over the horizon yet so I rely on the street lights to see.

When I walk up to the boys stop Kenny and Butters are already there. They're holding hands and seeing as I already know, they don't stop.

"Morning guys," I say with a half smile.

"Morning, Kyle," Butters replies in his usual happy tone.

When they spot Stan approaching in the distance their hands pull away and rest at their sides. I'm a little surprised that they haven't just told everyone yet.

Stan smiles as he gets near and then stands next to me. He doesn't say anything. Nobody says anything and it's weird, the silence. Usually we all chat and crack jokes until the bus arrives. Well not today I guess.

Not until I see Cartman hobbling down the road from a distance. "Damn, I was hoping he was staying home sick," I hiss under my breath. Stan snickers at my comment.

Kenny chuckles, " I think we were all hoping that."

Soon Cartman is in earshot and we all stop cracking jokes about him. "Hey guys," Cartman says, standing on the other side of Stan.

"Hi, Eric," Butters smiles politely. Nobody else greets him. Then moments later the bus pulls around the corner and I stifle a sigh. I don't really want to go to school today. All I can think about what me and Stan are. Or rather what we aren't.

Before I even have the chance to blink the bus is stopping in-front of us and the doors are already opening up.

We get on the bus, I step on last. Stan takes our normal seat but he scoots over to the window so I sit next to him.

"Morning, super best friend," I mumble with a sarcastic, teasing tone.

As the bus starts door close and the wheels begin to roll again Stan shoots me a glare. "We're not just friends and you know it," he hisses in a whisper.

If it weren't for the scratch of the bus starting up again and the shuffling of our friend's bags someone would have heard that. The bus is always quiet in the mornings — it's too early for anyone to want to talk. I wonder if he knows that because now he won't even look at me.

For a while I say nothing. I just sit and stare at my knees. Then I glance around the dim bus and then lean into Stan, cupping a hand around his ear. "Then tell me what we are," I whisper to him.

The bus pulls up to the school. It's perfect timing, honestly. I don't want an answer from him now, I want him to think about it— to think about us. And a part of me likes that he'll be thinking about me.

...Kenny's POV...

Butters and I get off the bus together per usual. We spend most of our time together (because of living together and all). It's honestly been nice.

The nights have been nice, cuddling on my mattress. Messing around a little (of course never going farther than he wants). Waking to his steady breaths and bed-head. Its all been amazing.

Lately at night we've been talking about telling Stan and Cartman. Stan wouldn't care I don't think. Cartman... well he can suck my dick. I worry about Leo though, he's been going through it — recently being kicked out and all.

I get off the bus and stand and wait for Butters. I feel myself smile when I see him. He smile back at me. My smile widdens from seeing his and I realize that I never remember smiling like this before him.

...Stan's POV...

What the hell do I do?

Its all I can think as I walk down the hall. Kyle
would normally walk with me but today he stormed away in a separate direction. This all sucks ass.

When he whispered in my ear just a second ago I felt like I was going to explode. I could feel his breath on my ear, so much so that the hair on the back of my neck stood up. I can't stop thinking about it— or about him. A soft sigh escapes my lips.

More than anything I want to say, fuck it, and kiss him again because I truly want him more than anything. Especially after seeing him angrily storm away, it was kinda hot. He's always been kinda hot when he's angry. Is that weird?

I'm stills scared. I know I should listen to the advice I gave Wendy. Apparently that advice was easier said then done because the idea of everyone knowing makes me a feel a little sick to my stomach.

i really need to talk to him.

...

The bell rings to signal the end of first period and I'm out of my class in the blink of an eye. I'm walking to my second class when I see Kyle and I stop him.

"Cam we please talk?" I ask, my voice feeling right in my throat as I do.

He nods and look expectantly at me. Not here. I grab his wrist and pull him along until he starts to walk willingly. I lead him out to the football field bleachers. A weird feeling of deja vu washes over me but I don't mention it.

We walk up the stairs to our usual seats on the bleachers. We sit so close together that our shoulders touch. Does he even notice? He doesn't act like he does.

"You're not angry at me right?" I ask, looking straight ahead.

He thinks for a moment and then I see him shake his head from the corner of my eye. "No, I guess not really."

I shift a bit so I can get a clear view of him. He looks back at me and I can't help but take a quick glance over him and grin. I can feel the tension and I slolwly begin to lean in — he does too.

Our lips press together and soon I feel his tongue gently run across my bottom lip. I open my lips slightly without hesitation and quickly are tongues are exploring eachother.

When we both pull away for a breath a string of spit hits my chin. I wipe it with my arm. I realize his face is flushed worse than mine and it makes me grin. He grins back and then we start to laugh. Uncontrollably, in the way we often do together.

As we take on a few deep breaths to compose ourselves again I smile. "Uh... Can I tell you something?" I ask.

"Always," he nods.

"I think it's kinda hot when you're angry," I admit to him. I try to not let myself shrink and shrivel into myself with embarrassment, but the idea is appealing right now.

Kyle's face brightens, he clearly looks flustered. "Shut up," he mutters back.

I chuckle at him but then let out a deep sigh. "Kyle, I'm sorry. For pushing you away and for saying it's nothing," I pause, placing my hand on his, "It's not nothing I— I like you a lot, I'm just scared as shit."

Kyle looks at me, eyebrows slightly furrowed and green eyes full of sympathy. "You don't need to be scared, I'm sure nobody will care," he assures me.

I glance away, "I know." And a part of me does know, but a deeper, larger part of me isn't so sure. It really shouldn't matter, why can't I take my own advice?