A/N: Ahh, okay, to get the end of this you kind of need to have a bit of an idea of American Geography, so I suggest you look at a map of the USA to get it if you're not native to the states (even I had to, living in Canada LOL I was like hmm how can this work). So yeah, I'm not sure if I love this story or hate it. It feels kind of drawn out to me but I like it no less I'm not too sure.

Also, it should be noted that in the letters, the errors are purposeful. As for the rest of the story, the error's aren't. It's 3am so, I'm sorry if I'm kind of grammar-retarded.

I hope you enjoy either way.

-- 003: K2 - "Floor" --

The hammer was proving more difficult than Kyle had imagined, and with his constant prying, his energy zapped itself from his body and he sat down to rest. He stared at the rusty nails scattered around him and bit into the side of his wrist with an emptier sigh than intended.

His work restarted in a matter of time, and once more the disassembly of the floor of the little shack became his goal. One of the floorboards - one of them would be the one he needed, and even if it took him the entire afternoon, he would be uprooting the one he needed. Even if it killed him. Even if things didn't matter anymore.

Each nail came up with a pained memory surfacing, from his childhood to his adult years. His forehead numb with stress and sweat, he tried to imagine how many times he'd actually been nailed into that floor himself, and how many times he'd nailed one of the shack's occupants against it as well. The memories bit into him more and more with each splintering two by four, and as he hoisted up a one coupled by rotting of age, Kyle's lip curled a bit as his treasure was revealed beneath the ply.

Pulling the wear-and-tear shoe box, grey with it's isolation in the dark for at least a decade, Kyle swallowed, letting the object hover in his palms as though fearful that what he needed inside would have dilapidated with time. Standing slowly, he crossed the room to sit in the patch of sunlight by the window, brushing tell-tale red curls from his line of vision and finally gathering the nerve to peel the pieces of curly cardboard apart.

A breath escaped him, something he hadn't been aware of holding, and likely only leaving in relief. Pulling out the collection of papers with a level of hesitance, he dropped them beside him on the dust-strewn floor, ignoring the smear of sweat on his forehead from his own palm to come to terms with his nostalgia.

Letters.

Kyle's fingers curled around the aged printer paper with nerves renewed in their sentiment. From the corners peeking out from some unclosed envelopes, he could recognize the cursive of his own writing, something perfected due to the tight-laced nature he'd grown up with and still not grown out of. Along with his own letters read back to him ones he'd never gotten the opportunity to read - three of them, titled to himself, in a familiar print.

Pulling a post-it from his pocket, Kyle stared at it for a long moment before holding it up to compare. No doubt, it was a match.

Kenny's.

His breath left him in a mix between a tight laugh and a choke of anxiety. Peeling back the envelope of the oldest dated note, he flipped the paper open slowly and ready quietly to himself out loud.

"Kyle,

It's been five days since you moved and you've already sent me two letters dude. I feel bad that I can't afford to send these back to you but things are ruff here and I'm trying to save up so maybe I can come visit you in California some time after senior year. I know that's like two years away but it's okay because I seriously think I will wait that long. Maybe if I can borrow Eric's computer some time I can email you and let you know wassup n stuff.

Kenny."

Kyle dampened his lips, staring the letter down longer than necessary before discarding it to the side and flipping to the next one and following the same routine as prior.

"Hey Kyle,

It's me again and it's been like, forever years since I bothered doing this. I don't know why I'm writing this anyway since you'll never get it but I guess it's just something to do to pass the time. Not that you're interested in my life because fuck dude you live in California still according to the letter I got at Jewmas (haha jewish and christmas) but hey a best friend can dream, right? Nah I'm just kidding man you better be interested in me. So my dad finally kicked the bucket a few days ago but it was only a matter of time. Mom is super bummed and Karen is taking it kinda bad but I dunno Kevin doesn't even know cuz we haven't seen him in a year and I guess I'm sorta bummed but I think I'll be good. I can visit him in hell and stuff if I stop by there again sometime soon. So this is getting kinda long and I'm gonna cut it here cuz I have to do some stuff but whatever.

Kenny."

Kyle stopped again to absorb the full text before picking up the last letter from within the box and peeling it open to read.

"Kyle,

Things are going pretty rough. I'm moving out in a few days and taking my sister and mom with me cuz mom is getting a job out of town and she's going to need the help she can get. I'm really scared to leave south park. I'm more scared because I don't think I'll get your letters anymore. Your letters keep me in my place and I feel kind of informed. I can't believe you're still writing me after all these years. I called Stan last week on a payphone and he said he hasn't heard from you since he graduated high school and I feel pretty special. I've been thinking about how you're moving out with that dude from your dorm and I gotta say I'm super jealous. I wonder if you guys are seeing eachother, probably, because you're such a queer-o dude. I dunno if well okay let me restart that.

I'm thinking back to when you left in highschool and I can't believe you still write to me all the time like seven years later. I miss you so much dude. I miss what we had too. I was so bad for you but you were so right for me and I guess I just miss you that much. Life just aint the same since you left and your letters just dont suffice. I guess I'm just gonna tuck this shit away and you're never gonna read it either so writing it out is pointless so I guess it makes me feel better in the end."

Kyle paused, rolling his shoulders forward a bit as he chewed on his lower lip and pressed himself forward with a wavering voice.

"One day I'm gonna meet up with you again and you'll probably have some nice guy and a big house and all that and you'll have forgotten about me. I dunno. But I'm gonna see you because I love you. I told you before you left and I would tell you again if I could but that's not a reality right now so... I guess I gotta leave and hope for the best. I hope you still send me letters even if I don't get to read some of them. Maybe I'll come back to look some days. But I swear I'll find you, I'll bring your address with me and I'll finally get to California and see you again. Or maybe you can 'meet me half way'.

Love Kenny."

The silence following the last two words pressed in on Kyle in an effect he hadn't known possible for the longest time. He glanced up, fidgeting within the folds of his jacket in the May weather before pulling the post-it back out of his pocket, where upon it were written instructions.

Kyle,

Go to the old McCormick house. Under one of the floor boards in the third room you'll find a shoe box with some old letters. Open it.

When you see the three you don't recognize, take them out and read them aloud.

Kyle stared at the paper, aware he'd followed all of the instructions with care. He glanced down at the rusty nails and then back at the three notes set aside for him specifically, trying to process the significance of his venture. He'd felt that there should have been some kind of reward behind this. Or perhaps a reunion of sorts, something he'd prayed for for a long, long time.

Standing slowly amongst the scattered papers on the floor, he stepped over the shoe box to stare out the broken window at the rusted train tracks north to the dilapidated shack of what was once known as a house. A piece of him was stunned it was even still there at all, and he gazed down at the post-it at his fingers, trying to decipher some kind of secret message maybe embedded in the text, some kind of alternate direction that he maybe missed, but nothing.

Point blank, Kenny had meant something sending him a letter with no return address to come back to the place of their childhood. Doctor Broflovski had taken a hasty plane back into Colorado for the first time in around twelve years, and now with his age rounding his twenty-seventh birthday, Kyle began to question his going there at all, his hopes, and his motives all-around in the first place.

A sound of creaking boards snapped him out of his contemplations and he turned, a faint feeling rising in his chest as he stood in place, the piece of paper still pressed between his thumb and index finger as the door to Kenny's bedroom opened. A tall blond moved through the door, features distinguishable only as the bedroom's previous owner's, even through a good decade and something of ageing. Kyle felt the slip fall from his fingertips as the other man peeked his face over a plaid sweater, grin treating his face with perfect teeth that almost gave Kyle a start.

"I got my degree a few months ago. I'm officially a dentist. Fancy that, huh? I live in Illinois."

Kyle stared as the other man's words processed, before beginning to laugh, doubling over and pressing his fingertips into the knees of his jeans before stumbling through the rusty nails and jarred floorboards to throw his arms around Kenny's shoulders, pressing their mouthes together in a longing mingle. After several minutes passed, mostly of intimate kissing, Kyle smiled as he pulled away slowly from the man that had a hold on his heart strong enough to write to for years and years passed.

"Meet me half way..."