Breathe Me

Chapter One: Like Judas The Traitor, We Are Both Favored And Deeply Flawed

By: Jondy Macmillan

Disclaimer: They're not mine. If they were mine, South Park would be one giant gay fest, twenty four seven. So be thankful.

A/N: Ummm…so I said I wouldn't write another SP fic until I finish 'You Can Never Go Back'. I lied. Inspiration struck, and I kind of wanted to do something younger and more angsty- because Kyle in YCNGB just has annoyances. He's too practical to angst. And too single minded. So in this fic, they get to be more like seventeen-eighteenish. High school senior types. It will be slash, it will be a Kenny/Kyle/Stan love triangle. By the way, the school stats are my own from when I was in high school. I know what it's like to come from a teeny, tiny little school. Ah high school…so long ago…why the hell am I writing about it?

It was a Salvation Army Christmas. It always is. Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my new, technically pre-owned, pre-ripped, and pre-battered-the-shit-out-of jeans, I sigh. It's not that my shitty Christmases get me all melancholy. I mean, the holiday is about family, and as fucked up as mine is, I still love 'em. They're family. It's an unwritten rule that you're supposed to love each and every one of their obnoxious habits. And I do. I love the way my dad downs Scotch like its fucking oxygen, and I love the way my mom thinks waffles are a nutritional meal. I love the way my older brother thinks anything that's wrong can be fixed by a decent beating, which I'm usually on the receiving end of, and I love the way my little sister thinks that one day a prince will come and save her from poverty. I tell her a college education will be more useful, but she swears by Prince Imaginary-No-Name's bank account, and who am I to tell her it's all bull?

Anyway, the thing that really gets me down about Christmas is my friends.

Don't get me wrong, I have the coolest friends in South Park. They're all fags, but they think they're cool, and thinking it is what really matters. Confidence is all just a state of mind. See, the problem is, we have this whole Secret Santa dealio. Every Christmas, the person whose name I pick out of Stan's poofy, dorky hat is subjected to the McCormick curse. They get the shittiest deal out of anyone, because my one stop shopping usually takes place at the Dollar Store. Meanwhile, Kyle's favorite place to pick out presents is Bose, and Stan's a total Abercrombie freak. Except when he's in goth mode, then he's all 'Hot-Topic-owns-my-dismal-despairing-soul'. Cartman tends to shop at the grocery store, because he really can't imagine up a better gift than food, but he can be pretty generous. So it all comes down to me. I've got my unwrapped present for my Secret Santa in the back pocket of my denims, and I'm quite certain that my gift will be as reviled as it is every year. It would help if we had a price limit on things, but the fact is, my range is about five dollars with a stretch.

I don't know. I always imagined that by senior year I'd have made something of myself.

My job down at the Stop-N-Pump gas station on Main pays okay. I work my ass off, but most of my paycheck goes to mom and dad so that baby sister and I can eat more than stale Doritos. Kevin contributes where he can, but he's trying to make his way through South Park Community College, and his funds are allocated to his tuition.

I plan on being even smarter than him. Ten percent of my weekly paycheck goes into a fund even I can't touch until college. It won't be much, but it'll be enough that combined with loans, I can get the hell out of this Podunk little town. Kyle helped me set the whole thing up a while back. That kid is genius. Possibly the genius of our school.

Sure, you think I'm kidding. No one can know everyone in their high school.

Well, obviously you've never lived in a small town. Not only did I grow up with pretty much every single teenager in this shit hole, but our high school holds roughly two hundred and eighty kids. My senior class consists of sixty two obnoxious teens, and I know each and every single one of their names, and most of their parents as well. Everyone always knows everyone else's business. It's like living in the tabloids, and the paparazzi consists of the entire fucking town.

Have I mentioned that I kind of hate my life? I know I shouldn't; starving kids in Africa and India and all that. Even though I'm dirt poor, I'm not broke. I could buy myself new clothes; maybe not designer, but something decent. It would mean forgoing my nicotine habit and not paying my cell phone bill for a month or two, but I could do it.

No way would I sacrifice my family's food money though; welfare and unemployment only get you so much. Mom might score a temp job soon, but I can't count on that. You can't count on anything in life.

So what I've got isn't great, but it's more than poor kids in most third world countries get. Hell, I even have my own Okama Gamesphere now, and a TV to hook it up to. I'm a king, practically.

The present burning a hole in my pocket tells me I'm wrong. I'm not a king. I'm nothing but a shitty friend, who can't even buy a decent Secret Santa gift. As I make my way to Stark's Pond, I'm getting more and more depressed by the second. I slip on the icy curb, ending up with a sore butt and a scraped knee. The blood is a slash of red through the new rip I've just made in my jeans.

I must have been a really terrible person in my past life.

Sometimes I think there's nothing I have to look forward to. Then, even though they make Christmas hella depressing, I catch sight of my friends. They always cheer me up, even when they're the source of my misery. I see them now, all huddled around the giant stump of a pine tree, trying to get warm from the biting wind and cold. They're such fags.

There's Cartman. He's got enough blubber that I've seriously considered gutting him and sending the lard to one of those Japanese Whale Hunting companies for cash. The fact that he's my best friend is pretty much the only thing that stops me from it.

Stan's on his right, yelling shrilly about something or other that happened during last night's football game. I love how he always seems to think we care. Nobody's as much of a sports freak as Stan Marsh.

That brings us to Kyle. There's this thing about Kyle that I always liked.

Y'know how some people just look more alive than others? They have this spark in their eye that always means they're trouble, but also always means they're hella fun to hang out with?

Yeah, Kyle's got that. He's casting Cartman these conspiratorial glances that have something to do with some trick they're about to pull on poor, oblivious Stan. I wonder if they're going to dump him in the lake.

Its awful cold, and he might have my present with him if he's my Secret Santa. Those two dumbasses are probably too stupid to think of that. Taking pity on both the black haired boy and what could possibly be my present, I yell out a greeting.

"Kenneh! You bastard," Cartman seethes when he sees me, "Took you long enough to drag your po' ass down here."

I smile and flip him off. It's pretty much my go-to response when dealing with Cartman. He doesn't really understand anything else.

Kyle looks rather grumpy that he didn't get to dunk his super best friend in the lake, but he gives me a serene smile nonetheless. Stan, on the other hand, is a bundle of Christmas joy and nerves, as always. He throws his arms around my neck and mumbles, "Kenny, oh god, I got Kyle for the Secret Santa, and what if he doesn't like my present?"

Aw. There was no need for me to save Stan, now was there? Oh well. I neglect to tell him that he just totally ruined the point of Secret Santa. I now know that either Kyle or Cartman has me. That means I get cool new stereo equipment or a buttload of food.

Either way, this Christmas thing is looking up.

Now you may ask why Kyle participates in our Secret Santa when he's Jewish. Well, hot damn you people are Anti-Semitic. Just because people come from different religious backgrounds doesn't mean they can't take part in a little gift exchange. Hell, the more the merrier. Come Hindus, come Muslims, come Protestants and Mormons, come Jains, Sikhs, Buddhists, and…well, shit, I can't think of what rhymes with Mormons. That was supposed to be a little play on the whole on Dancer, on Dasher, on all you fucking reindeer with difficult freaking names, but obviously I ain't exactly the brightest guy around.

We talk for a little while; about how winter vacation's going to end too quickly, about which upcoming parties were going to be epic and which would be made of suckage. I don't know, we never really seem to be saying anything at all when we're talking. I think we all just enjoy the sound of each others' voices; even Cartman's annoying little drawl-screech.

Stan starts talking about this cute girl in his Trig class, and I can't say I really sympathize with him much. The other two are handing out advice on what he should do to get the girl's attention. Kyle of the opinion that he should just act like his usual jackass-sexy self. Which says a lot about Kyle, I think, but I keep my mouth shut on that. Cartman says something about just making her beg for it, and then telling her to go make him dinner. He hasn't improved on talking to chicks since we were nine. I don't think he ever will.

No one mentions Wendy. Not even me.

I figured out girls weren't really worth it after the first few times I brought one home. None of them understood why I wasn't sooo upset over the fact that my mom and dad constantly fought. They told me that my parents were awful role models. When I begged to disagree, I got dumped. Each and every time.

You know what; you got an issue with my 'rents? Well fuck you. You know what they get out of fighting? Hot hot makeup sex. It's kind of the reason they do it. And how does that make them bad role models? It's not like they don't love each other, or me. So yeah.

Girls are useless. They think they know everything about everything, which totally isn't true. Plus they never want to set things on fire behind the school. How's a pyro supposed to get his kicks?

Boobs are still cool, though. In fact, if there was any way you could lobotomize a chick legally and then keep her as a sex kitten, I'd so be there. All the fucking and none of the chit chat. You might say that's cold, but I'm male. We've all thought it at one point or another. If you've got an issue with it you're quite obviously of the needing-a-lobotomy-persuasion. Damn females.

I guess I also have an issue with the embarrassment factor. Cartman always used to say my house smelled like a sewer, and while that isn't particularly true, home sweet home's got a funk all of its own. Why would I want to bring girls there? So they can rag on my parents and my house? Fuck that shit.

I don't even like bringing my friends home, but at least they're joking.

Kind of.

We finally decide it's time to open presents. I hand my present over to Cartman, who predictably whines and bitches. I feel my face color slightly and pull my hood tighter around my face. Stan gives his present to Kyle, an anxious smile playing at his lips.

Poor kid's got it bad. I always figured that if anyone in our group was going to get hit by the homo bug, it would be Stan. He's been going strong with the ladies though; something about the combination of the letterman jacket and the emo hair makes them cream their pants. Go figure.

Cartman's present goes to Stan, and it looks like Mr. Kitty vomited wrapping paper on it. Fatboy has no idea how to wrap a gift.

Last but not least, Kyle gives his present to me. It's nowhere near as big as I expected. This isn't greed talking, just surprise. Kyle's gifts are usually predictable, but this neatly wrapped present he just handed me is tiny. I have no idea what's inside.

I look up in surprise, blond hair shading my eyes. I wonder if Kyle can even see my face from beneath the shadows of my parka hood. He's got a look of fierce concentration on his face, aimed directly at me. I think he's excited to see my expression.

Gingerly, I begin the process of unwrapping the gift, savoring the feeling.

A/N: So the Secret Santa with Kyle thing…I did a Secret Santa thing this year with a Muslim girl, a Jain girl, and a Hindu boy. Plus my Jewish friend and I exchange gifts regularly too. So I dunno, I didn't think it was fair that Kyle would be left out. It fact, I thought it was unrealistic. And yeah, sorry, no romance yet. It will jump right into it thought, possibly in the next OR third chapter. 'YCNGB' is still my priority story, so if you want me to update this, review. Otherwise I might forget about it. Pretty please?