True to his word he's there outside Kyle's dorm when he gets there. In fact laying in the grass next to the front walk with the pizza box on his chest, wheezing a little breathlessly.
"I'm gonna hafta put a gate closer to you. The nearest one is like a whole fucking state over."
"You flew from the next state over to get me pizza?" It's not quite disbelief, because Quentin is HERE, after all.
Kyle leans down to offer him a hand up. He looks tired, and as usual is looking just shy of a mess with his frizzy mop of hair and a hoodie that was clearly purchased years ago.
"How else was I going to get here before you?" he huffs and passes Kyle that pizza before taking his other hand to pull himself off the ground. He'll be ok but he should leave the impressive feats of velocity to the speedsters.
"You look tired. How many classes did you have today?"
Somewhere around the edges of his half sleeping mind he can hear Kyle's voice calling his name instead of talking about dwarves and maps and mountains, but he's not there in the comfort of Kyle's mind anymore. He's somewhere dark and endless. The astral hallways Jean showed him. The dark space that connects every consciousness on earth. But where are all the doors? Where can he hide from the shadowy thing pursuing him?
"KYLE!" he calls back into the dark, but when he hears Kyle's distance voice again a door appears. A single brown door on a sage green two story house with icicles hanging from the roof and a single car garage on the right. "Kyle?" he knocks when he hears that creature moving in the darkness. Jean told him what an invasion of privacy it is to go waltzing through these doorways, but the sense that something is almost upon him makes him push through the door.
Kyle still doesn't know what's happening. His palms are sweating and his balls feel like they've pulled themselves back up inside his body. He hasn't felt this scared since he was a kid.
"Quentin?!" he says aloud, looking around. His head feels funny.
His head contains memories of home. The house he lived in from birth until he was nineteen, the house he still goes home to for holidays and summers. Photos on the wall. Stairs leading to the second story, where his room is: desk, bed, dresser, closet. His models of the solar system, his globe, a stuffed orca, the old poster of Einstein he never could bring himself to throw away. His bed is under the window, where it always has been and will be until his mother finally turns the place into a spare room some day.
In the now, Kyle sits on his dorm bed and stares at the wall without seeing. "Quentin?"
Inside, Quentin locks the door behind him and barricades it with some furniture but when Kyle's voice becomes clearer in here he can imagine where it is he's ended up.
He sits on Kyle's bed looks at that poster of Einstein.
"Oh fuck..." he huffs, "Kyle! It's ok! It's ok! I've got it under control! I'm in your memory. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be! But I had to hide from the thing somewhere! But ahm. Listen so... here's like telepathy 101. I can get into people's heads through the astral plane. Think of it like the internet for brains. But remember that thing I said about nightmare spider? Well, it's out there and I don't want it in here. So I can't get out that way right now, ok?"
"You'er just sort of... stuck with me a little while. Until I wake up."
"But you can uh... you can join me in here. If you want."
In his current room, Kyle slowly sinks to his mattress, head on the pillow. He blinks up at the ceiling. "Okay," he says. Then deliberately thinks, Okay.
His boyfriend is hanging out in his memory. That's pretty weird. And god he hopes it's a NICE memory, if he's stuck in any one in particular.
Kyle closes his eyes and thinks about Quentin, thinks about joining him... well. Inside his brain, he guesses. He thinks abut it and in his mind's eye he sees him and then suddenly he's there. In his childhood bedroom.
"...okay, not what I was expecting," he says. Then he marches over to Quentin with determination and hugs him hard.
Quentin's been visibly excited about these plans of theirs, even before he told Kyle they had to stop at his place for a quickie. His anticipation has mostly been mistaken for the same kind of excitement that the majority of mutant-land has been abuzz with since the gala invitations went out, but Quentin's mind has been on just how serious Kyle might have been in those last texts about being ready to go when he gets there.
Not that there's any prep he can do on his end really. As much as he'd like to show up with a hard-on that doesn't seem wise some how. Possible though, given those pictures he'd been reviewing daily.
be there in 15. you want coffee? red bull? something else?
Kyle has spent the last few days in a state of low level frustration. Between the desire to get the heel out of a campus that's slowly shuttering, waiting on pins and needles for his acceptance letters to law schools, and his desperate need to see Quentin again, he's been a mess of frayed nerves.
When his phone pings he grabs it fast enough that he'd feel embarrassed if he wasn't so goddamn horny.
your dick.
door's unlocked.
Which it is, a fact that seems terribly dangerous to a man naked on his bed.
this isn't even fair! you got a head start! what am i supposed to do walk through your dorm with a boner!
im coming tho don't think im not.
Despite his griping about what's equitable in this situation Kyle's text has both his heart and his feet racing the entire way.
He can't shake the feeling that they're doing something clandestine when he lays a hand on the door to Kyle's room. Either that or he thinks for a fleeting moment that this is a some kind of joke and he's about to be the butt of it. Instead the only butt is Kyle's and he locks the door instantly with his mind before he can even turn himself around to find the dead bolt with his hands.
"Holy fucking shit dude," he mutters, immediately wrestling with his pants in a way he wish looked cooler.
It's as honest a summary of himself as Quentin's probably ever heard and frankly it delights him to know Kyle recognizes these distinctions in him.
With a smile he drags his hand lazily over Kyle's shoulder and back. "My folks— I mean like my bio-folks— I don't remember a lot about them. But I know they were white trash. They couldn't keep a home and fought a lot and probably would have had CSA called on them a million times if I'd grown up there anyway. So like. Whatever. You can't control the lot you're dealt. And even if you could there's a... subversiveness about that lifestyle that some people are going to be drawn to," he shrugs. "Besides. I didn't grow up cool. I can nerd out with the best of them," he smirks.
"I'm lucky," Kyle says. "My family is pretty well off. But not like, sophisticated though. Stan's family does well, too, especially since Randy got into growing pot."
He reaches to catch Quentin's hand with his own, pulling it to his mouth for a quick kiss.
"Kenny's family is bad. His parents are addicts and they beat the shit out of each other and can't afford pretty much anything. I think he would have left town ages ago if it wasn't for his little sister. He basically raised her. And Cartman..."
Kyle falls silent a while, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "Cartman's mom was a sex worker. I mean, back then we just called her a crack whore without really quite understanding what that MEANT, but... yeah. His dad was on the fucking Denver Broncos but he never knew him, which is pretty fucking messed up, like he could have helped them out. I already told you what happened to him, with the chilli."
He cranes his neck to look at Quentin. "I once got my folks taken away. I, uh. Lied and said they abused me."
"My parents sound a good bit like Kenny's," he admits, but he can't not laugh a little at the idea of a bunch of kids calling their friend's mom a crack whore— unwitting as they may have been.
"Oh yeah. I remember. Well. I won't bring up tex-mex and maybe we don't have to tell them I neutralized my folks too. Seems like... a weird thing to bond over." The thoughtful look on his face though belies a simpler truth. That it's kind of nice to know he's automatically not the weirdest amongst Kyle's friends.
"Kyle!" he laughs, "Why? And like how mad was your mom?"
"Yeah, I think so," Kyle agrees. "And you're both proof that good people can come out of shitty circumstances."
Kyle snuggles back against Quentin. "You don't have to tell me how that happened," he says quietly. "I'd like you to, some day, but I'm not gonna push because it sounds traumatic as fuck."
Kyle snickers. "Oh, god... they said I couldn't go to a concert even though I did all the stuff they said I had to. Cartman told me if you just call the cops and cry and say they bad touched you they'd be taken away. Pretty soon every single kid in town did it - there was no adults around for ten whole days. It was a mess. But yeah, when they all came back my folks weren't exactly stoked, although they kinda let it slide."
Kyle was fine all the way to the airport. Kyle was fine on the plane. Kyle was even fine while they navigated Denver International and got their rental car sorted. And he was fine on the drive from Denver.
It's only when he takes the exit on the highway that will lead them to his hometown that he starts feeling like maybe he's going to barf. And it's only when they crest an all-too familiar hill and see a sign - not a proper road sign, no, just a hand-painted wooden sign - reading SOUTH PARK that Kyle realises that this is really happening. They are really going to visit his parents for the holiday, they're really going to have family dinner and sleep under their roof, they're really going to wander around his old haunts and oh god oh god
"Oh, god," he says out loud. "You're going to hate this."
Few things leave Quentin more restless and bored than getting from point A to point B. For someone's who's attention and interest moves so quickly the drudgery of boarding processes and TSA line ups is enough to make him feel like his brain could be melting out his ear.
He tried to stave off that restlessness early on with chatter as per usual. Quizzing Kyle relentlessly on everything he could ever need to know about the history of South Park, Colorado. By the time they're on the highway his feet are on the dash and he's nearly asleep in the passenger seat.
Kyle's voice snaps him around and he rouses like he definitely wasn't drooling or anything. "Huh? What? Hate what? Do you have to stop and whiz again? It's cool just pick somewhere that's one of those weird regionally specific fast food joints. I love those places. They put weird shit on the menu."
Kyle looks over at Quentin briefly. He wants to be annoyed that he slept through his existential crisis, but he must looks too cute all disheveled.
"We're here," Kyle says.
The car crests another hill and spread out below them is a quiet little mountain town. There's the city hall and the main street, neat rows of houses, and even the South Park mall off in the distance. It's all very quaint.
Kyle follows the main road into town, feeling somehow terribly embarrassed and deeply satisfied at the same time.
Main street looks much the same as it always has. Tom's Rhinoplasty, the bank, D-Mobile. It's weirdly comforting.
"Did you want a coffee before we go to my parents' house?" Kyle asks, glancing over to see if maybe Quentin has decided this is a terrible idea.
It's not the fanciest apartment in London, but at a guinea a week it's affordable and central and comes with the promise of a breakfast they don't have to leave the house the rustle up.
Not to mention the hot water. It doesn't exactly come flowing freely from the taps around here, but a warm stove and basin is the next best thing to the baths at the temple when only the former is a private space.
Every floorboard seems to creak underfoot but it's warmer and dryer in here than London's must-see cemeteries.
"Well..." he says trying to shut the window tighter and pulling the curtains across to mitigate the draft there. "It's a step up from an opium den I guess."
As promised, a town car waits for Kyle at the edge of campus. It's impossible to miss because it's pink as a lawn flamingo.
Their apartment is quiet when Kyle gets there. The lights low and purply in colour. It smells faintly like thai food but all the furniture they've been slow to acquire is shuffled around to make room for what looks like a massive blanket fort in the middle of the living room.
When Quentin hears the door he hurries out to the living room in little more than that silk smoking jacket he likes to wear despite never smoking and from some unseen source low-fi vapourwave starts playing.
"Welcome to Trance-lvania," he smiles behind some stupid little round glasses that look solid blue in the low light. "I'm Count Trapula. Your tourguide through the relaxation simulation."
Kyle sees the car and yodels a laugh. No matter how tired he is, or unsure, Quentin never fails to make him smile.
When he comes in his brow furrows in confusion. Due to the open layout it doesn't take him long to see what's been done to their living room, and he starts to smile. The expression only spreads when his boyfriend hustles out in his stupid outfit.
Kyle cackles. He toes his shoes off and hangs up his coat before he moves to drape his arms over Quentin's shoulders. "Can I put on my comfy clothes, Count?"
He lights up when Kyle laughs at him. Clearly just so proud of himself for this.
"Hell yes," he sweeps through the room the way that robe flutters behind him. He looks at Kyle over the top of those frames as he futzes around with their drinks. "In my kingdom. Clothes are optional. But comfort is mandatory."
"Also; Dry Lavender Lemonade or Desert Rose Margarita?"
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Kyle | 3rd Date's a charm
"I'm gonna hafta put a gate closer to you. The nearest one is like a whole fucking state over."
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Kyle leans down to offer him a hand up. He looks tired, and as usual is looking just shy of a mess with his frizzy mop of hair and a hoodie that was clearly purchased years ago.
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"You look tired. How many classes did you have today?"
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"Three. But the end is in sight! At least until law school, anyway. You look nice."
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Kyle | Welcome to My Nightmare
"KYLE!" he calls back into the dark, but when he hears Kyle's distance voice again a door appears. A single brown door on a sage green two story house with icicles hanging from the roof and a single car garage on the right. "Kyle?" he knocks when he hears that creature moving in the darkness. Jean told him what an invasion of privacy it is to go waltzing through these doorways, but the sense that something is almost upon him makes him push through the door.
"I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry!"
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"Quentin?!" he says aloud, looking around. His head feels funny.
His head contains memories of home. The house he lived in from birth until he was nineteen, the house he still goes home to for holidays and summers. Photos on the wall. Stairs leading to the second story, where his room is: desk, bed, dresser, closet. His models of the solar system, his globe, a stuffed orca, the old poster of Einstein he never could bring himself to throw away. His bed is under the window, where it always has been and will be until his mother finally turns the place into a spare room some day.
In the now, Kyle sits on his dorm bed and stares at the wall without seeing. "Quentin?"
"Quentin? I can't seehear you what's happening?!"
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He sits on Kyle's bed looks at that poster of Einstein.
"Oh fuck..." he huffs, "Kyle! It's ok! It's ok! I've got it under control! I'm in your memory. I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be! But I had to hide from the thing somewhere! But ahm. Listen so... here's like telepathy 101. I can get into people's heads through the astral plane. Think of it like the internet for brains. But remember that thing I said about nightmare spider? Well, it's out there and I don't want it in here. So I can't get out that way right now, ok?"
"You'er just sort of... stuck with me a little while. Until I wake up."
"But you can uh... you can join me in here. If you want."
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His boyfriend is hanging out in his memory. That's pretty weird. And god he hopes it's a NICE memory, if he's stuck in any one in particular.
Kyle closes his eyes and thinks about Quentin, thinks about joining him... well. Inside his brain, he guesses. He thinks abut it and in his mind's eye he sees him and then suddenly he's there. In his childhood bedroom.
"...okay, not what I was expecting," he says. Then he marches over to Quentin with determination and hugs him hard.
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Kyle | Get In Loser. We're Going Shopping.
Not that there's any prep he can do on his end really. As much as he'd like to show up with a hard-on that doesn't seem wise some how. Possible though, given those pictures he'd been reviewing daily.
be there in 15. you want coffee? red bull? something else?
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When his phone pings he grabs it fast enough that he'd feel embarrassed if he wasn't so goddamn horny.
your dick.
door's unlocked.
Which it is, a fact that seems terribly dangerous to a man naked on his bed.
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im coming tho don't think im not.
Despite his griping about what's equitable in this situation Kyle's text has both his heart and his feet racing the entire way.
He can't shake the feeling that they're doing something clandestine when he lays a hand on the door to Kyle's room. Either that or he thinks for a fleeting moment that this is a some kind of joke and he's about to be the butt of it. Instead the only butt is Kyle's and he locks the door instantly with his mind before he can even turn himself around to find the dead bolt with his hands.
"Holy fucking shit dude," he mutters, immediately wrestling with his pants in a way he wish looked cooler.
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"Uhm. I've been, uhm. Literally stopped fucking myself like, uh, a few minutes ago? So... please get over here?"
He reaches for Quentin, not quite smiling.
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Kyle | tfln: https://bakerstreet.dreamwidth.org/7175909.html?thread=3150055653#cmt3150055653
It's as honest a summary of himself as Quentin's probably ever heard and frankly it delights him to know Kyle recognizes these distinctions in him.
With a smile he drags his hand lazily over Kyle's shoulder and back. "My folks— I mean like my bio-folks— I don't remember a lot about them. But I know they were white trash. They couldn't keep a home and fought a lot and probably would have had CSA called on them a million times if I'd grown up there anyway. So like. Whatever. You can't control the lot you're dealt. And even if you could there's a... subversiveness about that lifestyle that some people are going to be drawn to," he shrugs. "Besides. I didn't grow up cool. I can nerd out with the best of them," he smirks.
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He reaches to catch Quentin's hand with his own, pulling it to his mouth for a quick kiss.
"Kenny's family is bad. His parents are addicts and they beat the shit out of each other and can't afford pretty much anything. I think he would have left town ages ago if it wasn't for his little sister. He basically raised her. And Cartman..."
Kyle falls silent a while, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. "Cartman's mom was a sex worker. I mean, back then we just called her a crack whore without really quite understanding what that MEANT, but... yeah. His dad was on the fucking Denver Broncos but he never knew him, which is pretty fucking messed up, like he could have helped them out. I already told you what happened to him, with the chilli."
He cranes his neck to look at Quentin. "I once got my folks taken away. I, uh. Lied and said they abused me."
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"Oh yeah. I remember. Well. I won't bring up tex-mex and maybe we don't have to tell them I neutralized my folks too. Seems like... a weird thing to bond over." The thoughtful look on his face though belies a simpler truth. That it's kind of nice to know he's automatically not the weirdest amongst Kyle's friends.
"Kyle!" he laughs, "Why? And like how mad was your mom?"
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Kyle snuggles back against Quentin. "You don't have to tell me how that happened," he says quietly. "I'd like you to, some day, but I'm not gonna push because it sounds traumatic as fuck."
Kyle snickers. "Oh, god... they said I couldn't go to a concert even though I did all the stuff they said I had to. Cartman told me if you just call the cops and cry and say they bad touched you they'd be taken away. Pretty soon every single kid in town did it - there was no adults around for ten whole days. It was a mess. But yeah, when they all came back my folks weren't exactly stoked, although they kinda let it slide."
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Happy Hanukkah
It's only when he takes the exit on the highway that will lead them to his hometown that he starts feeling like maybe he's going to barf. And it's only when they crest an all-too familiar hill and see a sign - not a proper road sign, no, just a hand-painted wooden sign - reading SOUTH PARK that Kyle realises that this is really happening. They are really going to visit his parents for the holiday, they're really going to have family dinner and sleep under their roof, they're really going to wander around his old haunts and oh god oh god
"Oh, god," he says out loud. "You're going to hate this."
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He tried to stave off that restlessness early on with chatter as per usual. Quizzing Kyle relentlessly on everything he could ever need to know about the history of South Park, Colorado. By the time they're on the highway his feet are on the dash and he's nearly asleep in the passenger seat.
Kyle's voice snaps him around and he rouses like he definitely wasn't drooling or anything. "Huh? What? Hate what? Do you have to stop and whiz again? It's cool just pick somewhere that's one of those weird regionally specific fast food joints. I love those places. They put weird shit on the menu."
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"We're here," Kyle says.
The car crests another hill and spread out below them is a quiet little mountain town. There's the city hall and the main street, neat rows of houses, and even the South Park mall off in the distance. It's all very quaint.
Kyle follows the main road into town, feeling somehow terribly embarrassed and deeply satisfied at the same time.
Main street looks much the same as it always has. Tom's Rhinoplasty, the bank, D-Mobile. It's weirdly comforting.
"Did you want a coffee before we go to my parents' house?" Kyle asks, glancing over to see if maybe Quentin has decided this is a terrible idea.
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POLYMYTHOS OPEN LOGS
Room & Bored
Not to mention the hot water. It doesn't exactly come flowing freely from the taps around here, but a warm stove and basin is the next best thing to the baths at the temple when only the former is a private space.
Every floorboard seems to creak underfoot but it's warmer and dryer in here than London's must-see cemeteries.
"Well..." he says trying to shut the window tighter and pulling the curtains across to mitigate the draft there. "It's a step up from an opium den I guess."
Re: Room & Bored
"There's a lot more drugs in Victorian England than I thought there would be," Kyle muses. He sighs happily.
"This is great."
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Kyle | inbox https://kyley-b.dreamwidth.org/7203.html?thread=2083363#cmt2083363
Their apartment is quiet when Kyle gets there. The lights low and purply in colour. It smells faintly like thai food but all the furniture they've been slow to acquire is shuffled around to make room for what looks like a massive blanket fort in the middle of the living room.
When Quentin hears the door he hurries out to the living room in little more than that silk smoking jacket he likes to wear despite never smoking and from some unseen source low-fi vapourwave starts playing.
"Welcome to Trance-lvania," he smiles behind some stupid little round glasses that look solid blue in the low light. "I'm Count Trapula. Your tourguide through the relaxation simulation."
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When he comes in his brow furrows in confusion. Due to the open layout it doesn't take him long to see what's been done to their living room, and he starts to smile. The expression only spreads when his boyfriend hustles out in his stupid outfit.
Kyle cackles. He toes his shoes off and hangs up his coat before he moves to drape his arms over Quentin's shoulders. "Can I put on my comfy clothes, Count?"
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"Hell yes," he sweeps through the room the way that robe flutters behind him. He looks at Kyle over the top of those frames as he futzes around with their drinks. "In my kingdom. Clothes are optional. But comfort is mandatory."
"Also; Dry Lavender Lemonade or Desert Rose Margarita?"
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