(What are ten of your guilty pleasures?)
Craig hummed softly beneath his breath as he wandered throughout his house. It was not that big, but it could not be considered small eithre. It was the pro to having parents who worked all the time. In fact, there were a lot of pros. The only con Craig could see was that they were never there. It was always quiet in the house. Ruby was not like him. She had a wide social life. She was deadpanned but could occassionally crack a smile. She even laughed at her friends jokes. Unlike her brother, she was not expressionally deficient. Craig never thought of these things. At least, he tried not to. There was no point to it. Nothing would ever change.
It was his fault really. Years ago he made the mistake of wondering. Curiosity killed the cat as they say. Add a few shots of vodka and a game of strip poker with the guy you call your friend at the moment, and you will have Craig's situation that mistake-filled night. His memory is riddled with holes (the vodka is at the fault), but he does remember his father's facial expression the most. How it hardened. How coolly he told Clyde to go home. How much it hurts when you are dragged up the stairs and thrown into your room.
Craig took a small bite out of the orange he was eating. None of that mattered now. They worked constantly and were never home. This made it easier for Craig to be himself, or whoever he was always trying to be. Craig was always trying to be no one. He wanted to blend in with the static of every day life. He wanted to disappear and be invisible. Nothing matters. He thought it did once, but it does not anymore.
The doorbell rings. Craig looks up from his half finished orange. It is resting in his hands which are sticky with the juice. He does not bother to clean them when he answers the door. It was probably not anyone important. If it was one of Ruby's friends, he would just tell the person to leave. That she was not here. He answered the door with this plan in mind, but he was in for a surprise.
Orange like tangerines. Orange like the colour of cheap watercolour paint palletes. Craig stared at the person before him who just welcomed himself inside. Gold hair brushing his face because he had not moved yet. He had not invited him inside. He never did. He should have been surprised he was surprised. Then again, he never had expected to make a friend with someone who liked to hang around people who regularly called him a douchebag. (Then again, Craig very much was. He was a lot of things and "douchebag" went right next to "unaffectionate asshole." At least that was what all his ex-girlfriends had said.)
"Hey Craig, what are a few of your guilty pleasures?" Kenny asked his blue eyes focusing on the apathetic boy. He had wandered to the couch, slouched over it like a blanket. He looked very comfortable in Craig's home. It was always better than constant yelling and broken beer bottles that had shattered against the walls. It was a lot better than always having to clean and worry and then smile as if everything is okay.
Craig was not surprised at the question. Kenny always did this. He would ask Craig something random, something spontaneous. It would sometimes be personal or perhaps just dirty. Sometimes the question was both or also ridiculous. Craig did not know why he always answered. Maybe it was the way Kenny looked at him. The way he stared as if wanting to know more. More about him. More about the boy no one had ever bothered to see past the cover of since he entered elementary school and discovered being different was being a criminal. Where he learnt that words hurt a lot more than being physically punched in the gut.
"I watch Red Racer every day. Even the reruns." It was true. Craig was addicted to show. It was better than any drug. He had been watching it ever since it had first aired and never planned on stopping. It was a part of a childhood. A part of the life that coulda-woulda been his if he had just always remained that apathetic, Red Racer little boy. Nothing more. Before he would mess up everything and become a label. A stereotype. Someone.
Kenny snorted. He was someone too. A stereotype. A label, but he seemed happy with it. He embraced the labels and never raised a hand to anyone. (Well, anyone who did not deserve it.) He was always nice. Even to people who were despised for being themselves. "I like to listen to the same song on repeat for hours. Then I sing the words," Kenny said with a grin. "I bet you know all the words to some of the Red Racer episodes."
Craig said nothing. Kenny had caught him. He knew the words to not some, but all the Red Racer episodes. Kenny guessed that and his grin grew. He hung his head over the couch and closed his eyes. "Name another one," he hummed.
Craig was quiet. He was not sure he had another guilty please. He searched his mind for one, but he came up with nothing. His mind was blank. He shrugged sitting beside Kenny's limp figure on the couch. He nudged Kenny with his foot before the blond fell over and killed himself on his livingroom floor. (Kenny never had that great of luck.)
"How about your love for eating fruit with your guinea pig?" Kenny said with a laugh. "Or how about how you like to pour a bath and disappear under the water? Maybe, how you like to do laundry?" Kenny made a face at that one. It was almost absurd how Craig would just do laundry almost daily for no real reason other than the fact he liked to do it. "You always play videogames, and apparently you are the biggest closet nerd I have ever met."
Craig blinked absorbing this information slowly. His face showed nothing, but he tilted his head so slightly you would not notice unless you were really close or had very keen vision. Kenny had keen vision and sat up straighter draping himself over Craig. Craig did not bother to try and shove him away. Kenny was the touchy type, and he would never admit he did not mind the other touching him. He was used to it. Tweek always clung to him in the hallways at school. Kenny was a warm presence just like that. Minus the jittery, coffee-smelling, mumbling mess and replace with a boy who smelt like no one other than himself and was always smiling.
At Craig's silence, Kenny just smiled then chuckled at nothing before tugging at a strand of Craig's hair. This resulted a middle finger to his face. Which then resulted in Kenny looking at Craig with an unreadable expression. It was almost as if he was thinking before he grinned and attacked Craig's sides with his slender fingers. This erupted in laughter so rarely heard from the stoic boy. Craig wanted to stop it because it hurt to breathe. Kenny would never have allowed that. He loved hearing Craig's laugh. "My guilty pleasure is listening to you," he finally said after he thought Craig had had enough.
Craig almost did not hear what Kenny said. The blond cleared it up for him by repeating it. "It is being with you and listening to you even if you never say anything to me in your words. It is seeing your smile hidden behind a cough or listening to you sing when you think I've fallen asleep. It is watching you, listening to you, it is everything about you. You're damn addicting and my guilty pleasure is everything about you." Kenny had whispered everything into Craig's ear with a smile Craig could not see because his eyes were open but staring at nothing. He could not say a word because something was closing down on his throat. "I have a feeling that other guilty pleasure you never mentioned is me too."
Craig was quiet. His eyes wandered down to his own lap which still held the half-eaten orange. He picked up a slice and ate it not saying a word. Too many things were running through his mind all at once. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He decided to eat another slice of the orange. He did not want to say anything in honesty. What Kenny had said was true. He knew he loved seeing the blond. He liked having Kenny to talk to him, to play video games with him, to just be a warmth that you can never achieve just through a blanket. He swallowed not daring to meet Kenny's eyes. The words he was about to say might just be the second mistake of his life, but he was ready to take the risk. Maybe another one of his guilty pleasures was to just see how far he could walk along the edge before he fell off the cliff.
"You might be."