Chapter Text
1:30, the analog clock read.
School ends in less than an hour, and Kyle couldn't have been any less impatient.
Normally, Kyle would be paying more attention to the class. As he, unlike many of the kids in his class, actually cared about his education (as much of a loser that made him sound). But this time, Mr. Garrison decided to end the last hour of the class waffling on about his personal life as if anyone gave a shit. Which nobody—like always—did.
Kyle let out a quiet, disinterested sigh. Resting his jaw against the heel of his palm. His eyes glued to the clock above the doorframe. When suddenly, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He tensed at the sudden and unwanted touch of attention, breath hitching slightly and his eyes leering over his shoulder in search of the culprit. Arching an eyebrow at Clyde who was giving him a keenly attentive look.
"Hey, Kyle." Clyde leaned in and against his desk to whisper. Only making Kyle frown with further disinterest. But he twisted the upper half of his body to face him anyways.
"What is it, Clyde."
Clyde's demeanor didn't falter at Kyle's impassivity. "Well...I've got this party at my place, 7:30," He handed him a flyer. Making the whole interaction seem like a scene from some shit 80's movie. Kyle replied with a hushed scoff.
"A party? Have you even met me?"
"Sure have." He replied with a smirk that fed into Kyle's glower. "And i can tell you're secretly wanting to...broaden your horizons. That sound about right?"
"No."
"Right, so," Clyde, once again, brushed off his uncaring attitude with a confident nod. "Why not broaden your horizons by actually, you know.." He paused, rubbing his neck as if thinking of a nicer way to phrase it. "Ditching your study hall of a bedroom?"
"I can leave my normal bedroom enough just fine." Kyle narrowed his eyes. He wasn't that much of a study-freak, was he? "I don't need some party to help with that–or whatever."
"Right. And Butters doesn't need therapy." Clyde pointed a thumb behind his shoulder at Butters as he wore a knowingly watchful grin. Ignoring Butters' concerned look and cutting him off before he could even let a word out. "Just say yes, dude. It's like, really bumming me out watching you drown out here in your misery all the time and stuff." He gave a soft huff as a laugh.
Was he seriously considering going to a party? Kyle, if he knew anything at all about himself, never went to parties. He found them unnecessarily loud and—in his words—'the breeding ground of sexual assault allegations and overdosing records'.
But, if Kyle also knew anything at all about himself, he knew that he was indeed trying to broaden his horizons or whatever stupid shit Clyde sold to his desperation. Ever since his falling out with Stan, he's been trying to put himself out there more; make some new friends. Hell, maybe even make himself a connection. A connection like his and Stan's.
So, after turning back to the clock and reading the time—1:42, he gave it further consideration. Adding an uncertain hum as he chewed on his lip.
"You know what, fine." He eventually gave in, like the recently easily convinced self he was. Turning his torso to look back at Clyde with a small glare. "But i'm doing this because I want to. Not because of your 'broaden your horizon' bullshit."
"Right on." Clyde gave a nod and an amused glance. Knowing damn well Kyle's words of defense were all bull.
"I'll see you then?"
"Yeah, yeah." Kyle ended the conversation with a drained feeling, one he gained just by speaking with Clyde. That's how much Clyde truly peeved him off. But it was too late now to back out now, he said yes. 'No backing out or else you're a fag for life', Cartman always used to say. Christ he's so thankful he stopped being 'friends' with him.
And soon enough, after what felt like ages of baseless ranting from Mr. Garrison, the school bell's ring finally echoed through the hallways like a blissful melody. Indicating his freedom until next Monday.
He gathered his assorted 'pussy junk', as Craig liked to call it, that he took out within the last hour of class time and stuffed it back into his dark navy Jansport backpack. Slinging it over his shoulder and making a move to leave, catching Clyde's knowing nod before he could though. And right then he knew, tonight was either going to royally fuck him, or save his ass from years of solitude. Either way, he remained ever the pessimist.
It was 6:36 now, and Kyle was practically running around like a chicken without a head trying to get his shit together. Truthfully, he knew it wasn't that serious. But he always had the tendency to overreact, even if it was just some stupid party where nobody would focus on him in the slightest.
But despite knowing that, he still continued to silently panic. He shuffled through his closet, looking for the most suitable thing to wear. The hell do people even wear at parties? He hadn't watched enough shitty high school-centered movies to know.
Kyle eventually decided on a green and blue sweater with a white, collared button-up underneath that also poked out slightly near the bottom of the sweater. He paired that with some loose and whiskering copen blue jeans that wrinkled and barely fell over the tops of his stone grey converse. Kyle looked at himself in the mirror for a moment before tussling his hair into an acceptable style, then placing his iconic green ushanka hat over top his curls that poked out in a messy yet put together fashion.
He cleaned up decently at best, he thought. But it was just a party, and he was already doing enough worrying as is. So he left it as decent (reluctantly, of course).
He brushed his teeth quickly and gargled some mouth wash. Spitting it into the sink and then dragging his tongue against his freshly smooth teeth, grimacing lightly at that all too familiar gap tooth. Fuck, he hated that thing.
His feet padded down the carpeted steps of the stairs, rushing to the door and reaching for the door handle without a trace of patience. Ceasing at his mother's sudden yet recognizable squawking that sprouted from the kitchen. Just his luck.
"Bubbeleh? Where are you off to this late?" She leaned to the side and into view from behind the kitchen's pass-through, raising a skeptical brow.
"Oh–Uh. Nowhere, Ma. Another tutoring session. I'll be back soon."
"Ah-ah-ah," She stepped out from the doorway next to the pass-through, a hand on her hip. "A tutoring session this late? Kyle, honey, i'm not that gullible."
He turned to face her, putting on his best convincing and 'i'm a perfect and well behaved son that would never do anything to deceive you' look. "They just called me, I swear it. Theres a test tomorrow they forgot about until now and they're paying me extra for helping so late."
Sheila gave her son a skeptical hum, her usual suspicion tacking away at her expression. But, Kyle knew his mom. And his mom was stern, but when it came to his tutoring sessions? She was weak. Too busy admiring her baby boy's generosity with a gentle, motherly fondness—money involved or not. She still saw him as the smartest little helper he's always been since he was only a tot. So, she let him off the hook. As he ultimately expected.
"Fine. But you'll be home at 9:30 at the latest. Is that clear?"
"Deal. Thanks, Ma."
She gave her son a nod with a prolonged sigh that was draped with notable concern. But he decided not to dwell on it, opening the door after throwing on his obviously aging orange coat. Starting off in an amble-paced stroll once he walked out the door.
And so, Kyle began his perilous journey to Clyde's fucking house party.
'Okay...Just an average house party, no big whoop.' Kyle's thoughts attempted to ease. Making a somewhat desperate attempt at easing his anxious mind. 'It'll be fun! You'll have some drinks, mingle, maybe even learn to let loose for a night. You just got to stop being a socially constipated loser.'
Kyle was ripped from his train of thought once his shoes came to a halt. Now standing a few feet from the door of Clyde's house, which bursted full of bright lights and loud, muffled music. He wondered how much he'd have to drink to adapt to this mess.
His lungs took in a deep breath, his feet picking up into a lightly hesitant walk that turned more confident once he neared the porch—stepping up the stairs with caution, although.
He paused in front of the door, and he runs the pads of his fingers through his thick, ginger curls resting underneath his hat. Acquiring a more assured demeanor as he brought his curled fist to the door—knocking on it gingerly.
The sound of muffled and rushed steps could be heard increasing within earshot from inside. The sound of the door whooshing open quickly ending the muffled din. "Oh, no way, you actually came!"
Lo and behold, the 'beloved' party thrower himself. Clyde Donovan. Obviously fueled on a drink or five already as he ushered Kyle inside. "Come in dude! The party's just getting started!"
Kyle let himself be towed along much to his dismay, pulling his wrist back once dragged fully inside. The loud, resounding bass of the music blaring from the speakers reaching his eardrums and ricocheting against the buzzing floorboards. It took him a second to adjust, to say the least.
"One hell of a party, Clyde."
"I know right!" He laughed. Pulling Kyle by the arm, making him bump into his shoulder as he pointed at the kitchen counter riddled full of drunk teenagers.
"The drinks are over there, and the bathroom's upstairs and down the hall in case you're wondering. But Tammy Carmichael and Reed Bennette just went up there. So i'd knock!"
Clyde let out another guffaw. Making Kyle wince a small bit. His lips tightening into a forced and awkward smile. "Right, right...Thanks, Clyde."
"Sure thing, man! Hey, hey.." He leaned in slightly to whisper with a small giggle, "Have fun. I mean it." and gave Kyle a stern look a second before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Patting him on the back a bit roughly. Then walking away backwards and shooting him a pair of sloppy finger guns.
"And hey, don't be a stranger!"
"Yeah, sure thing." He muttered with a look of shock and disbelief. Having a feeling Clyde would for sure be first to get sent to the ambulance on a stretcher after one too many drinks. That is if Kenny wasn't already here, at least.
Kyle soon made his way to the marble counter chock-full of assorted cheap drinks, solo cups, and mixers. Chewing on the inside of his cheek whilst his eyes glazed over the options. Each one leaving him with further unease than the last. This amount of drinks had to be concerning to at least some degree, he thought anyways...
The ginger shrugged it off quickly. Remembering the main objective; to let go and relax for one night at the very least. He had no chance of making any friends or possibly connecting with anyone if he just stood there in the same spot for the entire party and judged everything with an uncertain glare. 'It's a party, not a book club. There's going to be drinks, moron.'
And with that singular thought, he gave himself a nod with a convinced look in his green eyes. Picking up a plastic solo cup and filling it with beer.
Kyle was never the biggest alcohol drinker, but he assumed beer was the most popular choice considering the multiple discarded and empty beer boxes piled on the wooden floor next to the countertop.
He stared down at the red cup halfway full of beer, the substance fizzling at the top—then smoothing out after a moment of sitting. He gave one last tentative eyebrow furrow before bringing the cup to his lips, and taking a small yet thirsty sip.
The cup was quickly yanked away from his lips, as he recoiled at the strong and bitter taste like a cat reacts to a spritz of water from a spray bottle. Realizing he hasn't ever really drank beer before. A drink of a soft seltzer or two, sure. But beer? Never more than just a sip. Kyle dusted the reaction off quickly before someone could notice and laugh at him, taking another sip and reacting tamer this time. Slowly beginning to require a taste for it.
And for a moment, he just stood in the background of it all, as awkward as ever. But he was content in his own, Kyle-like way. Still a bit anxious, of course, but tame enough (probably due to the beer) to not be freaking out and sweating like a track runner like he usually did when caught in cramped events.
Then, just as Kyle was about to take another sip, his heart stilled, as did his entire body. He could feel his skin freezing over with shock that easily melted into residual fear.
It was his worst fear.
He was left stunned for a long, weighty moment, unsure if it was really what he thought it was. His motionless heart dropping in his chest once proven right.
It was him.
The slightly shorter boy with black roots spilling into his fading bleached blonde hair turned around just enough for Kyle's fateful eyes to see.
Stan mother-fucking Marsh.