Chapter Text
He found himself in an ethereal space that was starting to feel familiar. There was a faint sound of music that he barely recognized.
A hand on his own, another rubbing his back softly, their steps were following the rhythm with a calculated care.
Kyle tried to apply the same care to his movements focusing on the shoes of his partner, but as time passed he decided to relax and let himself go. Out of curiosity the boy tried to take a look at the person currently dancing with him.
And as always it was just a blur, they didn't have a face or any features that would make them someone recognizable, but in some inexplicable way... He knew they were smiling.
Kyle sat up in his bed with a slight red adorning his cheeks. It wasn't the first time he woke up like that.
A warm feeling settled in his chest. What was happening with him? These dreams were plaguing his nights seemingly out of nowhere; they had started as something simple—just a hand touch as far as he could remember.
He looked at his hand. Thinking that with enough concentration he could almost feel it again, but quickly he shuddered the thought away.
"What am I thinking?" he murmured, shaking his head.
Frustration washed over him; he wanted it to stop. His best friend Stan once said something about him being a "control freak" and honestly, it wasn't far from the truth. He hated feeling like he didn't have control over his own mind, so he pushed that dream to the back of his head with the rest of his thoughts and started getting ready for breakfast.
He wasn't ready to acknowledge the way those dreams made him feel, nor like he made any effort to understand it. At some point those dreams eventually would stop. They had to...
***
“Would you stop?! I'm trying to pay attention,” He snapped, minding his tone trying to not interrupt the class.
The other just smirked in response.
Oh he hated that, it was the first day of senior year and the brunette was already trying to get under his skin.
So that's how he spent the rest of the block with Eric Cartman throwing little pieces of paper at him, he knew better than giving him the satisfaction of surrendering to his rage and causing some kind of altercation that would end in the two of them in detention as usually happened when the fatass was this annoying.
But Kyle had promised himself that this year he wouldn't give a crap about Cartman’s shenanigans. It was the last year of high school and after it ended the probability of ever seeing the bicolored-eyed boy again was nearly zero.
Normally, he felt like it was his moral obligation to stop whatever the other boy was planning, but weirdly enough since they had entered high school; Eric’s activities seemed to lose their murdery or world-dominating intent. Now they seemed more like the actions of a jerk.
That didn't seem to make him any less annoying.
At least now he could ignore him without the fear of something incredibly bad happening.
Finally the bell rang indicating the end of class, they proceeded to head to the cafeteria for lunch.
“Hey, Jew.” Nothing seemed to make him stop. “Hey”
“What.”
“What's up with you? It's our first day of class and you already seem stressed out.” He said with a false innocence.
Kyle just rolled his eyes as a response.
“Hey, guys.” Thankfully Stan joined them in line with Kenny behind him.
They picked up their lunches and looked for a table, sitting down in the first one they found available.
For the first time that day, Cartman shifted his focus from making the redhead’s day impossible and started some chitchat with the blond, babbling about trying to slip some alcohol into school or something like that, Stan soon joined the conversation.
He didn't seem to care what his friends were talking about; his eyes apparently found something more interesting.
Craig Tucker and Tweek Tweak were sitting in a nearby table with their friends, Craig had an arm over his boyfriend's shoulders embracing him as he listened to whatever Tweek was telling him, the way the raven-haired boy looked at the blond as he was the most important thing in the world—made Kyle wonder…
How would it feel to be looked at like that?
He started daydreaming about it without meaning to, putting him in that position with the same silhouette he kept meeting at night, holding him close, brushing his red locks out of his gaze with such tender—their fingers barely touching the side of his face, Kyle's own hand mimicked his imagination without even realizing it.
Feeling that touch made his heart race.
“Kyle…”
He felt caught up in their embrace, as a warm, comforting sensation began traveling through his body.
“Kyle.”
If only it were real… if only he could reciprocate the gentleness of their movements… Maybe—
“KYLE!”
The sudden shout of his best friend pulled him out of his fantasy.
A wave of embarrassment washed over him after realizing what he was doing, quickly he averted his eyes, meeting Stan confused stare.
“What?” He dared to ask, trying to play it off.
“Dude, are you alright? You seem out of it.”
“Yeah it's just…” he would never admit what he'd been thinking a moment ago, so he went for making up something believable instead. “It's our last year of high school and I'm a little worried about college applications. Sure, I made some progress during summer practicing my essays but still…”
A loud laugh interrupted their little exchange, causing both of them to turn around.
“Only you would worry about that the first day of fucking school.” Cartman said without stopping his laughter. “You're such a smartass, ginger.”
“Oh shut up you fatso!” He snapped, embarrassment slowly boiling into anger. “At least I'm making sure I’ll have a college to get into, unlike you. Who's probably never going to make it into one!”
“Hey! What gives you the right to treat me like that?!” the other said, infuriated "Not like I care. Most of the richest people didn't even finish college!”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
“Oh—OH! Kahl, I warn you.” Eric stood up and made his way to the other side of the table. He finished his phrase, putting his index finger into the other’s chest. “If you continue, I'm gonna beat the shit out of you.”
Kyle stood, raising his fists. He was almost amused by the fact that Cartman still had the nerve to threaten him, especially considering the difference between the two of them, Kyle straightened proudly, towering over him with his over-six-foot frame, while the brunette in front of him barely reached his shoulders.
He either had guts or absolutely no sense of self-preservation if he thought he could take Kyle down in a fight. With that in mind, he smirked and answered:
“I'd like to see you try.”
“And here we go, again.” Kenny muttered, rolling his eyes.
Without any more warnings, Cartman threw the first punch aiming for the redhead’s face, Kyle caught it just in time, grabbing his hand and twisting him around, forcing his arm to stay on his back.
Eric fought back, stepping hard on Kyle's foot, the pain made the other loosen his grip, giving the brunette the chance to tackle him using his weight to his advantage.
The fight rolled over the cafeteria floor, and curious students started gathering around it to see it unfold. It continued until their other two friends stepped in, dragging each one away from the other.
“Guys, please. Chill out!” Stan said, struggling to hold Kyle back. “ You don't want to spend the first day in detention. Do you?!”
That seemed to be enough for the redhead to come back to his senses. He scanned the room acknowledging the scene they'd created, and then silently thanked the universe that there wasn't any teacher nearby.
But it wasn't certain that it would remain that way. He touched Stan’s arm as a signal that now he could let go and Stan did, a little cautiously.
His best friend was right. He didn't want to start the year with a bad record. Taking a deep breath to calm himself, he stepped back and stood straight trying to look confident.
“There's nothing to see here.” Kyle announced to the crowd. “This fight is over. Please return to whatever you were doing.”
Without waiting for any response, the redhead made his way out of the cafeteria.
The rest of the day passed by, he tried not to bring more attention to himself. Cartman, surprisingly, seemed to have something similar in mind because he didn't give him more trouble for the remainder of the day.
It was an unusual behavior for him, considering his usual chaotic nature, but it wasn't like Kyle would complain about it.
The bus ride was pretty much the same, it went without any problems. Soon enough, he was home.
He rushed up the stairs and into the restroom to take a look at his face. Since the fight, the right side of it had felt a little itchy. He did his best to cover it with his hair, afraid of having something that would draw a teacher's attention.
Fortunately, moving his curls out of the way, he discovered it wasn't that bad, just a minor bruise on his cheek.
He quickly searched for the first aid kit his mother was always careful to keep stocked, and looking in the mirror, patched it up with a Band-Aid.
He stood there, his gaze fixed on his reflection’s eyes, green emeralds staring back at him in confusion. What was happening to him? he had made a promise, he was determined not to let anything Cartman did get to him—and yet, there he was.
Honestly he couldn't even blame Cartman for the fight. Sure, he had been insufferable since the start of the day, but in that brief exchange, Kyle had been the one trying to provoke him.
He didn't understand why, nor could he explain the strange sense of relief he felt afterwards. Was he going insane? What's up with his mind lately? Those dreams were weird enough for him to go on and start daydreaming in the middle of his school routine.
His hands were holding onto the sink, his arms were tense. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, his breathing slowly picking up.
There must be a reason why he was out of control, why now? He was starting a new phase of his life. He was supposed to be better, he needed recommendations to apply to his bright future and couldn't let his anger issues get in his way.
He raised his face to look at himself once again, ready to confidently say he wasn't going to let anything distract him. But instead, he was met with a feeling of uncertainty.
There was something holding him back, and he wasn't sure what it was until he looked at the Band-aid.
It was on the same side where he felt the hand of the unknown silhouette, his heartbeat raced at that thought. He covered his face with his hands, turned around, and sat on the restroom floor, the back of his head resting on the sink.
This was driving him crazy, why couldn't he stop thinking about it? He wasn't even interested in having a relationship, he had more important things to do—but it was like his brain didn't agree with him.
Those dreams were filling his mind with things he never allowed himself to think about, confusing his emotions and making him a mess.
They needed to stop.