Chapter Track: Girl – Beck
Clyde looks as though he's ready to fall over from exhaustion when he comes trudging into the Harbucks. It's a hot day outside for May, five degrees short of one hundred. Clyde's postman uniform includes shorts, but a sheen of sweat still coats his forehead, making his hair stick to his skin.
"You want your usual?" asks Bebe, as he draws up to the counter, panting slightly.
Clyde nods and says, "Can I get a cup of water, too?" He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and gives her a tired smile. Clyde used to be much more in shape than he is now – he was on the football team in high school. Bebe briefly dated him during that time, until they were making on his bed and he blurted out I can't do this, I'm sorry, I like boys. He'd turned bright red with his admission, holding his hand over his mouth like he wanted to take the words back, before he begged her not to say anything about what he'd just told her. He looked like he wanted to cry, but by then he didn't cry as much anymore. Bebe still hasn't told anybody Clyde's secret, but then, neither has Clyde. She isn't even certain that Craig knows, and Craig is Clyde's best friend, and is shockingly candid about his own sexuality.
Clyde is one of Bebe's closest friends, too. Since Butters left, Clyde is the most happy-go-lucky person that she knows in town, and never fails to cheer her up when everything else in her world seems to be falling apart. At least she's happily single – God knows the last thing Bebe needs right now is the fancy babysitting gig that most people call "a relationship." She has Kenny and Clyde, and that's all she needs.
Despite his cheerful outside, she knows that he struggles some days. Clyde has many loves, but occasionally lets his sadness get the best of him. He's nothing like Stan, who drinks himself into a stupor to forget how miserable he is, but Bebe has held Clyde on her couch before and let him cry into her shoulder. He said that he missed his mom – who passed away when he was ten – but he didn't cry when his mom died. That wasn't how he grieved. Bebe thinks that it might have been Craig that made him cry. She doesn't like Craig. He makes Clyde cry more than anything else. Because really, Clyde doesn't cry much anymore. But when he does, she knows that it's his best friend that's done it to him.
Craig is an awful human being, or so Bebe has always thought. He's intentionally mean, especially to Clyde, who doesn't deserve it even a little bit. Bebe is of the opinion that Craig is a waste of space. All he does is hunker down in his parents' basement and tend to seven guinea pigs, according to Clyde.
Bebe makes Clyde his vanilla frappuccino and brings it him with a plastic cup of ice water. She sits across from him even though she isn't on her break. They don't get much foot traffic in Harbucks. South Park is a small town, and many people are suspicious of the chain stores that have emerged in the past few years.
"I was thinking I'd take Kenny to Denver for his birthday," Bebe says absently, "That's what we did for my twenty-first, and he'll be happy to see Stan, I think." His birthday's only a couple weeks away, but Bebe is terrible at planning, and couldn't pull together anything resembling the party that he deserves. She knows Kenny would be happy with anything, but…
"But I kind of want to do something more," she sighs, putting her face in her hands. She's only three-quarters of the way through her shift, but the heat makes her sleepy, like her body is telling her that the day is already over.
Clyde sucks contentedly at the straw in his frappuccino. The high color in his cheeks is going down a little, which is good. Bebe would hate to be him in this heat, walking from mailbox to mailbox while the sun beats down on his back, and he gets chased by Mr. Garrison's dog, who always outside without a leash. Clyde is too nice to complain, even though he has a scar on his calf from being bitten, once. He slurps down a gulp of water and says, "Shit, brain freeze," clutching his head.
"Clyde? Are you listening to me?" Bebe asks, quirking a brow.
He sheepishly smiles and says, "Yeah – um. Maybe you could take him to Elitches or something. You guys like rollercoasters and stuff, don't you?" Rollercoasters – something Clyde is terrified of unless somebody is holding him close and he can close his eyes.
Kenny loves rollercoasters (more pointedly, he loves doing stupid shit while they're on rollercoasters and giving Bebe the scare of her life).
"That's not a bad idea," Bebe muses. The bell at the door rings – it's Sharon Marsh, looking a little ragged around the edges. She and Randy are in the final stages of their divorce, and it's taken a toll. Bebe gets up to take her drink order, which is an iced caramel macchiato. When she returns to the table, Clyde has polished off his frappuccino and is texting rapidly on his phone.
God, but she wants to do something more special for this birthday. Bebe's was last month, and it was good, but nothing like the kind of present that she wants to get for Kenny. They got themselves trashed together in Denver, with Stan there, almost like old times. Stan is the only other one of their friends that stayed in Colorado – all the others that in state are people that Bebe never really got close to, like Bill or Tammy.
Even fewer of their classmates remained in South Park after high school graduation, not that Kenny ever graduated. He started working at the garage when he was only sixteen. He doesn't take breaks, not even one. Kenny is single-handedly putting Karen through school in Boulder. Most months he pays his parents' bills in addition to theirs, and occasionally houses Kevin when he's been thrown out by his wife. Other than that, it's Bebe, Clyde and Craig. The others only visit on holidays, and even then, most of their friends go out of their way to avoid their hometown. Bebe hates it – but she misses them. Almost against her will, she wishes all her old friends were right back where they belong, which is with her. But no, they're out doing bigger and better things, while she's still got the same job she's had since she was seventeen.
Not that she can complain. She works her tailored shifts at Harbucks and goes straight home when it's done. Kenny slaves over his job even though he's been told that he doesn't have to, and he hasn't taken a single vacation since he started working.
"Oh, fuck," Bebe says, struck by an epiphany, "What if I took him to Disneyland?"
Clyde's attention jerks from the screen of his phone and he says, "I want to go to Disneyland."
"You already had your birthday," Bebe reminds him.
"Yeah, and you got me a juicer – that's not the same as Disneyland!" exclaims Clyde.
"You asked for a juicer," Bebe says, "and anyway, you've already been to Disneyland. Kenny hasn't even been out of the state. He grew up too poor. Hell, he's still too poor. But that's not his fault."
"The car is his fault," Clyde says, "He didn't need that car."
The car refers to Kenny's recent purchase of a BMW convertible – to be fair, he bought it off of an old man that had crashed it and crunched in the front hood for cheap. Kenny lovingly restored it to its original beauty and named her Goldilocks, for reasons unknown, as the car is red. No, he didn't need it, but Bebe is convinced that the car has made Kenny a little bit happier, and is therefore a worthwhile purchase.
"Okay, but do you think it's too much? I mean, we'd drive, I guess," Bebe says, "I could call into his work and ask for the time off. You know they never say no to me."
"They never say no to your boobs," simpers Clyde, "That's different."
"Fine, I'll ask for it in person," Bebe says, "but I'm totally gonna do this. I'm gonna take him to Disneyland."
"Can I come?" Clyde asks.
"If Kenny's okay with it, I don't see why not," says Bebe, "but you're buying your own ticket."
Clyde groans, but Bebe knows that he'll do just about anything to come along. If he does ask Kenny about joining them, she doubts that Kenny will say no. He's always been a firm believer of "the more, the merrier."
After work, Bebe drops by the grocery store. She buys a pint of ice cream and purchases the Disneyland tickets at the customer service counter, where they're sold next to the cigarettes and lottery scratch cards. Shelly Marsh tucks them into a red envelope with Mickey Mouse ear decorations without smiling.
Bebe is relieved to finally go home and looks forward to being able to flop onto the couch and dig into the pint of butter pecan. When she gets there, Kenny is still gone. The mail isn't lying out on the table, and so Kenny hasn't returned home from work, even though the sun is going down. He works too damn hard – she's always told him so, though Bebe doesn't think he believes her. It's a product of his upbringing, or so he says. "I was born to be lazy" – but he isn't. His life is constant overtime at the appropriately named South Park Garage. Nobody fixes cars like Kenny. He makes machines work like they're made with magic. Bebe would know. He tunes up her crappy Civic from time to time and it runs like a dream.
Their dog barks when she comes in, pawing at the front of her crate. It's Bebe's dog, really, though Hufflepuff and Kenny have a pretty tight relationship (Kenny likes to slip her treats when he thinks Bebe isn't looking).
Bebe lets Hufflepuff out of her crate before she slips out into the hallway and picks up their mail from their box. It's nothing important, only a couple of bills and a handful of junk mail, but it's the perfect amount of camouflage for Kenny's birthday present. She slips the red envelope into the pile, close to the bottom, and places the mail on the kitchen counter.
Though Bebe considers herself to be close to Clyde, Kenny is Bebe's best friend. Her best friend once was Wendy, but Wendy's off living a new life at some fancy university on the east coast. She's in a sorority, and posts pictures of herself smiling arm in arm with other pretty women that look just as ambitious as Wendy is. They talk on AIM sometimes, but as the months fly by, it's been less and less. Kenny's the one that stays up with her and watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer, the one who gets her popsicles when she's not feeling well, and he's the one that stood by her through the mess of her last breakup. They get drunk together, go to the gym together, pig out on junk food together – everything, really. When their best friends dispersed, they came together. It was out of necessity at first. Bebe and Kenny both wanted to escape their houses and strike out on their own. Being that they were the only ones left to do so, they leased their apartment together. It's turned out to be one of Bebe's better decisions, even if she does have to remind him to put the toilet seat down and not keep his bong on the coffee table.
They've opted to keep sex and love out of the equation when it comes to their relationship. That was the unofficial part of the deal when Bebe cosigned the lease for their apartment with him when they weren't even nineteen. They find each other attractive, of course they do, but in order to live comfortably they steer as clear as they can away from love-related drama.
Satisfied, she retreats to her bedroom, where she wiggles out of her Harbucks uniform and into a pair of lightweight, skimpy pajamas. It's almost June, now, and Bebe's glad to see that summer is just around the bend. She can hardly wait for the popsicles and the pools and the annual camping trip that she and Kenny established two years ago, always at the end of August.
When she emerges from her bedroom, Kenny has just come through the door. He's in his jumpsuit, naturally filthy, with his blond hair looking more dirty brown than golden and sticking up all angles. He greets with an exhausted-sounding voice and half-hearted wink, "Hey, pretty lady." Hufflepuff bounds up to Kenny on her fat little legs, and he reaches down to give her a scratch behind the ears, mumbling out affectionate names that he'd only ever give to a dog.
"Hey, yourself," Bebe says. She wonders briefly if she should let him take a shower and kick back before any gift-giving, but she doesn't want to wait. She wants him to find the fucking tickets now. It's her best idea for a birthday present yet, though last year's practical jumbo box of condoms certainly did see its use. Bebe has spent many nights with her headphones in her ears, pretending she can't hear what's going on in Kenny's bedroom. He always brings home the prettiest girls. The girls he brings are of varied shape and size, but they're always, always beautiful.
Bebe decides that she can't wait and gestures toward the counter, "There's some mail for you."
Kenny grunts as he ducks down to unlace his work boots, shoving them in their place beside the door, in a distinctly uncarpeted area. He tramps over and sifts through the envelopes, setting aside one of the bills with a mumble of oh, for fuck's sake. His hands freeze when he comes to the more colorful packaging of her gift.
"You didn't," he says, "Bebe. You – didn't." He finishes lamely. He glances from the red envelope to her face, mouth half-open in what Bebe hopes is surprise.
"I did," she replies, "I figured we could have a little roadtrip out west. Happy birthday." She yanks him into a hug by his waist, even though he smells like oil and dirt and body odor. He's Kenny, that's all, and it's kind of perfect that he got his birthday present while he's in his element.
Kenny wraps an arm around her shoulders and grins, rendered apparently speechless. He runs a hand through his greasy hair lets out a long, happy laugh before he says, "Fuck me, I've always wanted to go to Disneyland." The grin on his face stretches from ear to ear.
Bebe never forgot the look on his face when, in her senior year of high school, Stan was groaning about his family being dragged to Disneyland by his father. Kenny looked almost wounded, like he'd have gladly taken Stan's place any fucking day of the week. She thought of that face when she walked from work to the grocery store, and then how he had followed up by saying, I'd like to take Karen on over to Disneyland someday. That had made Stan shut his mouth on the matter, and he'd looked guilty for the rest of the day.
"I can't believe you did this," he says this into her hair, and she can hear his smile. It makes her feel full and happy. Selfishly, Bebe loves giving gifts because she loves feeling people's happiness. It fuels her. Maybe that's creepy, and maybe it's mean that she leeches off other people's joy and thrives from it, but she loves this.
Kenny pulls out of their hug, rubbing his nose on his arm. He comments, "Got your jammies all dirty," with a hoarse laugh.
They part. Kenny showers and Bebe changes into a new set of pajamas. She scoots back onto her bed, against the headboard with her headphones in her ears, staring at a blank sheet of lined paper in her notebook. She's had a block for weeks now, and it's driving her crazy. Usually poetry flows out onto the paper as if it's leaking from her fingertips, but since April she's only been able to spill out clunky wording and contrived rhymes.
The shower shuts off and wet footsteps sound. A few minutes later, Kenny struts into her bedroom in nothing but a worn pair of heart-patterned boxer shorts. He flops onto her mattress face-up and asks, "How was your day?" in a cloying, teasing tone.
"Meh," expresses Bebe, "Same old. You?"
"I came home intending to bitch about work, but somebody got me motherfucking tickets to Disneyland, and now I can't be cantankerous anymore."
Bebe laughs and kicks his shoulder. She says, "Clyde wants to come. I told him he could ask you."
"Fuck yeah, dude, let's make it a party," Kenny says, "We should take Goldilocks."
Bebe cocks a brow, "That seems ill-advised. She'll get all – like, dirty. I dunno."
"What's the point of having a fast car if I never get to drive it fast?" asks Kenny, "We can blaze down that highway." He makes a whoosh noise and splays out his hands to illustrate.
"We'll get pulled over."
"Fuck cops, I can outdrive them."
"You'll get us arrested," Bebe pointedly says.
Bebe rolls her eyes and shoves him out of her bed, onto the carpet. She says, "Don't forget to comb your hair before you go to sleep. We'll talk logistics later, okay?"
"Yes, mom," Kenny says, but she knows that he appreciates the reminder. He pulls up onto his feet and draws Bebe into a half hug, before exiting her bedroom with a sarcastic salute.
Bebe closes the door behind him, padding back to her bed. She shoves aside her notebook, resolving not to think of her writer's block. As sleep settles into her, she listens to the noises of Kenny getting ready for bed: water running, teeth brushing, and hushed swear words when he remembers to comb out his hair and hits a snag. Excitement bubbles up someplace underneath her ribs, and she falls asleep with a smile firmly on her face.
Kenny isn't scheduled in the morning like he prefers to be, so he uses the time to take the stairs up to Clyde's apartment – there's only one complex in their tiny town, and it's mostly empty, but it's convenient when you're looking to visit somebody. He knocks musically on Clyde's door, which opens a few seconds later. Clyde wears nothing but his striped boxers and towel on his head. He looks surprised to see Kenny.
"Hey, what's up?" asks Clyde, "You wanna come in?"
Kenny struts into the apartment, helping himself to a cookie sitting on a cooling rack on Clyde's kitchen counter. He takes a bite before he says, "You wanna come to Disneyland?"
Clyde's face breaks into a grin. Kenny's always liked that about Clyde – unlike any of Kenny's high school friends, the simplest things could make Clyde smile (though occasionally, the simplest things could make him cry, too, and still do – Kenny has never asked about the times when he has come home to Clyde and Bebe all cuddled up on the couch together, tear tracks still on Clyde's face). Clyde gives an eager nod. He answers, "Oh, God, I want to so bad, but –"
"But?" Kenny asks, frowning.
Clyde fidgets, biting on his lower lip. He continues, "But I'd feel really bad if we left out Craig. Is it alright if Craig comes, too?"
"Um," Kenny says, unsure of how to respond. Bebe hates Craig. Kenny doesn't necessarily mind Craig, but he does think that Craig is a waste of space. All he does is sit on his computer and play games, or tend to his small army of guinea pigs – he has like seven or eight of the bastards, something ridiculous. When Craig does emerge from his underground den, he's an asshole to everybody. Maybe because the sun puts vampiric dickwads in bad moods, who knows.
"I know you guys don't really like him," Clyde says, "but I think he'd feel left out if we didn't at least invite him."
Kenny has always thought that Craig is a little lonely, too, which explains the surplus of guinea pig companions. He sighs. It's his birthday roadtrip, but he does feel bad for Craig. And there's nothing Craig could really do to ruin it. It's not like he's Cartman or anything. Kenny agrees reluctantly, "Alright, he can come. I guess."
Clyde brightens. He retreats back into his bedroom and Kenny follows him as Clyde pulls on a fresh t-shirt from a laundry basket on the floor, followed by a pair of shorts. He responds, "Awesome! Now, um, could you come with me? To invite him?"
"What? Why?" asks Kenny.
"Because if I do it alone, he'll think that I had to convince you to give him a pity invite," answers Clyde, pulling socks onto his feet.
"But that's exactly what you did," Kenny says.
Clyde responds, "I know! But – please?"
Kenny's plans for the morning weren't particularly important – he had a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and a viewing of Aladdin in mind, and maybe taking Hufflepuff for a walk. He sighs again, which Clyde seems to take pointed notice of, and says, "Alright, fine. Craig is a smart dude though, man. He's gonna know that you put me up to this."
"Yeah, but – you'll be there. So it's not like I held you at gunpoint or anything," Clyde defends.
Clyde slips on a pair of filthy sneakers that Kenny's pretty sure he's owned since high school, and they head out. It's a nice morning; the heat hasn't overtaken the town completely yet. A soft breeze rustles their clothes, bringing with it the scent of pine trees and the nearby highway.
At the Tuckers' house, Craig's father is outside, watering his rosebushes diligently. Kenny doesn't know he does it. The climate is terrible for those poor plants, but somehow, Thomas Tucker makes his roses look nothing short of perfect, tenderly caring for them every weekend with a garden hose and a pair of shears.
When he sees them shuffling up the walk, Thomas wipes a gloved hand over his sweaty forehead. He greets, "Morning, Clyde. Kenny." He looks puzzled as to why Kenny would be there, which is fair. Kenny's feeling a little puzzled himself.
"Is Craig awake?" asks Clyde. Kenny finds himself surprised that Clyde doesn't know Craig's exact sleeping schedule.
Thomas nods, "He's playing that game of his."
Clyde lets them into the house. It's impeccably neat inside, though the décor is ugly, and there's a glass case of Precious Moments figurines in the front room. They pass Mrs. Tucker on the way down, and Clyde greets her too, with a tight hug and the kind of smile that most people reserve for their own mothers.
The basement is much dimmer than upstairs. The only light comes from lava lamps, a string of Christmas lights taped up near the ceiling, and the light from a computer screen, at which is seated Craig Tucker. Kenny realizes that he hasn't seen Craig in at least a month – and wonders if Craig ever comes up for air of his own accord, or if people like Clyde or his mother have to force him out of this dingy habitat when things get out of hand. It smells strongly of rodent and patchouli incense – perhaps the latter is meant to cover the former, but it doesn't.
Craig turns around when he hears them on the stairs. He says, "Clyde, what the fuck? You're early," and when he sees Kenny, his faces falls into a full scowl, "What the fuck is McCormick here for?"
The awkwardness in the room is almost as thick as the smell of incense.
Craig rolls away from his computer desk, giving Kenny a better look at him. He looks bedraggled, with a few days' worth of beard, unruly hair stuffed under his hat, and bloodshot eyes. He still wears his pajamas.
"Um," Kenny gets out, "Well – Bebe's taking me on a roadtrip to Disneyland, and I invited Clyde, so like, I guess I wanted to invite you too?"
Craig gives Kenny a jaded expression that clearly says really? and folds his arms over his chest. He's put on some weight since Kenny last saw him. He still isn't as filled-out as Clyde, but there is a little pooch of fat right around his abdomen.
"Are you for fucking for real?" Craig asks, "Why would I want to go on a roadtrip with you assholes? Especially since Clyde made you do this. He did, didn't he?"
"They have Toontown in Disneyland!" exclaims Clyde.
"What does that have to do with anything?" mutters Kenny.
"Craig likes the game," Clyde explains, "He –"
"Clyde," Craig says sharply, and adds more quietly, "Toontown Online."
Kenny laughs a deep guffaw straight from the belly. He says, "Are you serious? That's what you play? Not even like World of Warcraft? You play fucking Toontown Online? Isn't that shit for kids?"
"Fuck you," Craig says, "It's fun."
Kenny takes a couple of steps forward and looks at Craig's computer screen. On it, a fat cartoon mouse is sitting off to the side on a sidewalk, beside a droopy looking mailbox. Above his head is the name "Big Harry Wangendoodle."
"Dude, is that your guy's name?" Kenny asks, "That's fucking hilarious. I hope you made him sound phallic on purpose."
"Of course I made it sound phallic on purpose," snaps Craig. He switches off his monitor and glares at Kenny, "How fucking stupid do you think I am? Now get out. Clyde, c'mere."
Not that Kenny expected Craig to take the invitation well, but he doesn't like being dismissed. He protests, "Come on, Craig. You need to get out of here."
"Not with you, I don't," Craig says. Clyde is at his side, and Craig is stroking his hand where it rests on the arm of Craig's computer chair. It suddenly dawns on Kenny – they're together. He doesn't know why it didn't occur to him before. No wonder Clyde is over at their house in tears all the time. If Kenny had to spend that much time with Craig, he'd probably cry, too.
Kenny decides to resort to the most childish tactic in his book and says, "Maybe if you came with us, you'd be less of a smelly loser."
Clyde's brows fly up into his thick brown hair, like he can't believe that Kenny actually called his lover a "smelly loser." But it seems to work. Craig makes a face and says, "Eat shit, Kenny. I'll come on your roadtrip. But only if you get down on your knees and beg me."
Kenny rolls his eyes, but something in Craig's tone says he needs Kenny to do this to validate the request. Kenny doesn't even know why he's going through so much effort to get somebody he doesn't give two shits about come on his birthday roadtrip, but he thinks it might have to do with the wide-eyed look of pleading on Clyde's face. Kenny drops to his knees and holds his hands together. Flatly, he says, "Please, oh, please, Craig, come on my birthday roadtrip, and maybe you'll be less of a smelly loser."
Craig flicks his wrist and says, "I'll go. Now leave."
Kenny doesn't bother disobeying this time, because Craig's hand is crawling suspiciously close to Clyde's zipper, and Kenny doesn't want to know what happens when the shorts come off.
Back at their apartment, Bebe is already at work, though she's left behind the scent of her shampoo and lotion, both of which Kenny uses sometimes because they smell so fucking nice. Kenny eats his cereal and changes into his jumpsuit. He locks Hufflepuff in her crate and makes sure that his turtle is comfortable before he laces on his boots and heads to the garage.
At work it's a pretty slow day, and Kenny spends the bulk of his time sitting on his ass, smoking through a pack of cigarettes, and switching between flipping through a Maxim and a fantasy paperback that Kyle recommended to him some months ago.
A couple hours before his shift ends, a leggy brunette has her car towed in, reporting that she was on her way through the mountains when it broke down. She looks like the sporty, hiking type girl, with muscled, tan arms and no makeup on her freckled face. Kenny's flirting in the end is rewarded, when he convinces her to come back to the apartment with him.
She's even prettier under her clothes, with small breasts and square hips.
Not a bad day at all.
Bebe takes on an extra few hours when Richard Tweak says that he's going to be late, and leaves work exhausted, so tired that she can feel it in her bones. At the apartment door she can hear Hufflepuff barking, which means the poor dog probably hasn't gone outside today – Kenny probably fell asleep on the couch with a beer in his hand again.
When she's inside, Bebe is hit with the sound of happy moaning coming from Kenny's bedroom. She sighs loudly, wishing that he hadn't chosen today to bring a girl home. She lifts Hufflepuff out of her crate and brings her down to the patch of grass outside their building. Kenny and the girl are still going at it when she returns and feeds Hufflepuff a treat, so Bebe changes into her pajamas and curls up on the couch with the TV up loud, drowning out the sexual cacophony.
The girl emerges first, hair a mess and clothing hastily tucked back into place. Her eyes go wide when she sees Bebe and says, "Shit, are you his girlfriend?"
Bebe laughs and shakes her head, "No, just the roommate. I'm Bebe." She holds out her hand for a shake, but the girl doesn't take it.
Instead, the girl turns a deep shape of red and says, "Oh, um, and you're sure you're not his girlfriend?"
"Last time I checked," Bebe dryly responds.
The girl leans in and whispers, "He said your name when he came."
Bebe laughs again, louder this time and replies, "Shit, I'm sorry. I'll give him hell for it, I promise." She made the same mistake once before, but it was all the way back in high school with a boy from North Park, and he didn't know who Kenny was, so nobody ever found out about her slip up. She didn't know why she'd said it – she and Kenny had never, and to this day have never, slept together. But it slipped out anyway.
The girl slips on her tennis shoes and leaves, still pink in the face as though Bebe had actually walked in and caught them mid-fuck.
Bebe smiles when Kenny comes out, wearing only a pair of plaid pajama pants that are slightly too short in the leg. She grins at him and cocks a brow, prompting him to ask, "What?"
"How was it?" Bebe asks.
He shrugs his shoulders and responds, "Pretty good, I guess."
"You guess? Is that because you accidentally said my name?" she can't contain the giggling, and it explodes in that moment, startling Hufflepuff into a bark.
Kenny goes a little pink and flips her off with a murmured, "Shut up, dude. It was an accident. Like calling your teacher 'mom' or something."
Bebe can't stop laughing, so she gets up and hugs Kenny from behind, laughing into his back. He smells like sex and oil, and like he borrowed her lotion again.
"You're never going to let me live this down, are you?" he asks as he opens the fridge. He pulls out some leftover City Wok from a couple of nights ago and sticks the box in their microwave, setting it to heat up.
Bebe grins and answers, "Mm, nope."
"Evil wench," Kenny sighs.
Bebe chuckles, "I try."
They spend the rest of their night watching Game of Thrones, which Kenny refused to purchase when it was on HBO, but just bought the DVDs for. He and Kyle have read the entire series and are a little crazy about it. Kenny has been trying to convince Bebe to pick up the books for months.
Kenny falls asleep first, likely a combination of a long day at work and the energetic sex he had when he came home. He flops over onto her, his head on her stomach, snoring lightly. Bebe switches off the television and runs a hand through his hair. This boy really does deserve a good birthday. She doesn't think that he's ever had one, though his friends did try their best when they still lived here.
She pulls a throw blanket up over both of them, careful not to cover the pug sleeping on Kenny's chest, and snuggles back into the arm of the couch to fall asleep.
Yeah, she'll give him his best birthday yet.
A couple things about this story – the primary pairing is obviously het. It's also weirdly happy compared to the rest of what I've written. And also, my updates won't be as fast as they have been in the past, mainly because I have a pile of other things to write, and also a recently busy life.