hunnysnoops - Tumblr blog

hunnysnoops · 8 hours

Text

White Teeth Teens

Chapter Four: History Eraser

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

They made their paints by mixing acid wash and lemonade. In my brain I rearrange the letters on the page to spell your name.

Premise: A birthday party takes an awry turn

Warnings: crude language and humour / blood / injury / marijuana usage

MASTERLIST

Adam's blood was still soaked into the turf by the time track and field practice was in the process of giving you heat stroke. Each gust of humid wind burned at your throat a little more than the last like someone had set fire to your lungs.

While everyone else was jogging around the track in a leisurely manner, you and Kyle were sprinting like you were headed for the sun.

"What was that?" You call behind you, turning your head just the slightest "I can't hear you, you're falling behind."

"I didn't say anything," Kyle runs up beside you, matching your pace. Ginger curls were sticking to the sweat on his forehead and neck, glistening under the fading light of the day.

"That sounds like something that someone who said something would say," you respond, glancing down at your sneakers pounding against the track before quickening your pace.

"What?" His eyebrows furrow in confusion.

With each step, you fell into a steady rhythm, feet pounding against the track with determination to be just a little better than the boy trailing you. You felt the familiar burn in your muscles, the exhilarating rush of adrenaline as you pushed yourself harder, faster.

The wind whipped through your hair, cooling the sweat on your brow as you pushed past your limits, your lungs burning with every sharp breath. You ignored the overexertion gripping at you, the nausea creeping up like little hands of wind pushing at the back of your throat.

Your thoughts focused solely on the rhythmic beating of your feet against the turf and Kyle. It took what must've been a God's power not to glance around every few seconds to see how close he was to you, how steadily he fell into tempo with your pace.

That day was shaping up to be a particularly nasty one and you were quite literally trying to run away from it. Though no matter how far your legs took you, you were still on the track, Kyle only feet behind you.

It only added to that lingering thought that rested in the back of your head that you weren't anything special, you were just as good as everyone else and you needed some way to prove them wrong.

"Aw, look they're running together," Red says from her spot on the bleachers where she sits with Leslie. You can hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Ew, what the hell," you pause looking at Red, you see Kyle ahead and awkwardly jog backwards to create more distance, you only stop completely when you're in front of Red. "We were not."

"So you were racing?"

"No," You scoff "But if we were I would totally win."

"Um, okay, I believe you" She gives Leslie a quick side glance "Are you coming over later?"

"I have a thing," You answer, hands on your hips while you press your lips into a thin line.

"A thing?" Red quirks an eyebrow "Bebe won't be there if that's what you're worried about."

"No, like I actually have a thing," You Answer "Sheila's having a birthday party and I'm obligated to go by my parents."

"Oh," Red nods like everything coming together "A swingers party." She had run a few laps before something more interesting caught her attention then she eventually settled perched on the bleachers with Leslie beside her and a redbull in hand.

"Your parents are swingers?" Leslie asks, dark bangs pinned away from her face.

"No, they're not," You deadpan, any amusement dropping from your face "My parents aren't swingers, they have never swung and they never will."

Red sucks a sharp breath through her teeth before a smile cracks onto her face "Touched a nerve there.”

"No shot," You cross your arms, chest rising and falling as you catch up on lost breath, a group of long-distance runners brushing past behind you.

"I just can't believe you're ditching me for Kyle," Red draws out a deep sigh, teasing you.

A subtle heat rose to your face though you chose to ignore it entirely "Dude, no, I'm ditching you for Kyle's mom." At this, Leslie turns to whisper something to Red before you quickly interject, throwing out one hand in her direction "What could you possibly have to say? I don't even know you."

Leslie swivels her head back to look at you, unsure what to say. Red silently mouths 'Oh my god' one hand slapping over the black headband on her forehead pushing her bangs back. "Sorry?" Leslie breaks the silence.

"Yeah, you should be," You say before bringing your attention back to Red and cutting Leslie out from the equation completely "We still on for Sunday?"

"I'm going to strangle you," Red says, disregarding the question, still stuck on your utter bluntness.

You stick your chin up, exposing your neck "Go ahead." You even brush the stray hairs aside to display your throat like you're ready for her to sink her teeth in. An uneasy quiet settled over the conversation once more as you waited for Red to stay true to her words and strangle you. Of course she doesn't, she just stares at you something like disbelief playing in her eyes. You look at Leslie "We cool?"

"We are." She answers, lips pursed.

"Okay," You say, backing away and carrying on with the run you had initially been focused on, leaving Red and Leslie to watch you lose your breath all over again.

While the younger kids were free to bum around in the basement and play video games, you and Kyle were on the edge of seventeen, not yet adults but you were close enough to intermingle with them and nod with a polite smile while they drone on and on about insignificant things that are massive in their eyes.

After your mother had shown you off to the partygoers in the gauzy white sundress that you reserved only for occasions like this, you had found yourself settled at the dining table amongst the food, scribbling down notes from your binder onto your biology project.

Kyle seemed to have the same idea, he pushed one of the three charcuterie boards aside to make space for his half of the project. He sat silently across from you, the farthest he could get without being dragged into another mindless conversation with someone who held him while he was a baby.

Between the two of you is an abundance of food, everyone seemed to have brought a dish for Sheila's birthday, you couldn't imagine that it would all be finished in one night. You had, of course, a little bit of everything piled on a side plate.

As you worked away, being sure your drawn diagram was perfected and every word had been spaced apart perfectly, you tried your best not to glance at Kyle who seemed absolutely undisturbed while he chewed absent-mindedly on his brownie.

"Oh, look at you two," your dad walked into the dining room with a smile on his face "I can't believe you're getting along."

"Me neither," Kyle answers without looking up from his work. While your mother had stuffed you into your Sunday best, Kyle was looking ready for church that he didn't attend, a white button-up tucked into black dress pants.

"Whatcha working on?" Your dad scooped some pasta salad onto his plate and proceeded to peek over your shoulder, peering down at your paper before nodding like he understood. "Nice, good job, kiddo," He gave you a firm pat on the shoulder before pointing a finger gun at Kyle "And Kyle, looking sharp."

"Thank you, sir," Kyle offers him a tight-lipped smile. In recent years he had almost mastered charming other kid's parents, especially yours who gushed on and on about how good of an influence he was.

"Oh, no need for that, buddy," Your dad waves him off before leaving the room.

"Sir?" You look at Kyle, an unimpressed look clear across your face "Kiss ass."

"I'm not even going to dignify that with a response," He says, shifting his focus to the project in front of him.

"You just did, pretentious douchebag," You mutter under your breath, looking down at your own work. "Dignify," You mock, reaching back for the brownies. Something about them had tasted familiar, somewhat nostalgic like those organic sweets your mother would bring back from the grocery store, which you had written off as being gluten-free or something along those lines.

After roughly forty minutes you had finished not only your half of the biology assignment but all of your homework for your other classes as well. You had looked past the doorway, heard the voices of middle-aged parents, and the grating sound of obnoxious laughter and decided to bum around on your phone.

Empty-headed, you stared drowsily at your timeline, constantly refreshing it in the hopes that something more interesting would pique your interest. It was only seven, the sun was still in the midst of setting yet you felt the strong urge to sleep, maybe it had been over-exertion from track or boredom telling you to close your eyes so you could wake up to something better.

You were too in your own head to notice Kyle who had long finished his assignment and now had his arms crossed in front of him flat on the table, chin resting on top of them, head slightly tilted while he stared at you through the plethora of food.

His mouth abruptly stretched with a yawn, this brought your attention over to him. "What the fuck are you looking at?"

"Nothing," Kyle pushed himself off the table until he was back sitting straight in his chair. He put one hand on his back while he stretched, his neatly tucked-in button-up coming loose from the hem of his pants in the process.

The familiar photo of Remy the rat was now displayed on your dim phone, the meme of him choking that had been floating around the internet since 2007 "Do you think Ratatouille has themes of racism and prejudice?"

"No," Kyle answers, ripping the leg of a rotisserie chicken away from the carcass and tearing the flesh away with his perfect teeth.

"No one thinks a rat can cook, sound familiar?"

"No."

"Anyone can cook," You state the quote like it emphasizes the odd point you're trying to make.

"Ratatouille is not about racism."

"How about when Remy's dad says 'This is what happens when a rat gets too comfortable around humans' and then he's like 'We look out for our own kind, Remy,'" You made sure to throw an awful Italian accent over Djangos parts.

"A movie about a rat making spaghetti is not racist."

"I didn't say it was racist, I said it has themes of racism and prejudice."

"It doesn't."

"Immigration and assimilation perhaps?"

"Stop."

"Why?"

"Because I can't think right now, I'm so tired," his hands find their way into his curls while his elbows rest on the table.

You narrow your eyes at him "Are you on drugs or something?"

"No, it's fucking late, I'm tired," He repeats.

"It's seven," You answer, face straight though your eyelids were growing heavy like they were being pulled down. You rub the back of your hand over your eyes like it's going to wipe away the feeling of daze and set you straight.

Weary you lean back in your chair, slamming your phone face down on the table. You put one hand to rest on your brow like a salute to block out the overwhelming light overhead. It was this moment where you craved nothing more than your bed, to lay your head down on satin pillowcases and let sleep consume you completely.

"This is fucking stupid," You look down awkwardly at the neckline of your dress, your chin pressing against your chest as you do so, you then use one hand to gesture to Kyle in his once wrinkle-free button "We look like we're in a cult, the kind that drinks Koolaid,"

"It was Flavour-Aid actually," He corrects.

"What the fuck is Flavour-Aid?"

"Koolaid, basically."

"Okay," You say, sinking deeper into the uncomfortable spruce chair.

"Who am I really, beyond my thoughts, memories, and experiences?" Kyles's eyes are squinted as he stares past you into absolutely nothing, his thoughts entirely somewhere else.

"Kyle Broflovksi."

"Yeah, what?"

"No, that's who you are, fucking idiot."

"Ah," He nods and the two of you fall back into stillness. Neither of you acknowledged each other for a few minutes, you had forgotten Kyle was there at all and his mind was beginning to fill with existential dread.

"Hey, dudes," In walks your uncle Richie, a cheesy smile across his face, from this alone, you can tell he's been spreading his corny humour. "Didn't know you two were still in here," He was your mother's youngest sibling, being in his mid-thirties; also known as your grandparent's accidental pregnancy.

"Nice," You answer like it's cohesive in any way.

Richie doesn't seem to gather any issue from your response, he just grabs a paper plate and begins to fill it up with all of the goods though he pauses when his eyes fall on the brownies, smile faltering. "Who put these here?"

"My mom," Kyle says.

"His mom," you point at him, repeating his statement.

"Shit, these are for the after party if you know, you know," Richie puts his plate of food down in exchange for the brownie platter "Did you guys catch who ate these?" He must've been the most under-dressed of everyone at the party with his grey sweatpants and Metallica tee poking out from beneath his red zip-up.

You and Kyle stare dead straight at each other, the realization washing over you. It wasn't sleep threatening to take you under but marijuana causing your vision to move in frames and lull you to rest and loosen your tongue.

Richie doesn't fail to catch this exchange "C'mon guys," He sticks a hand out in exasperation and you can't miss the disappointment on his face.

"Uh, we didn't know they were laced," You narrow your eyes at him, never did you think you'd side with Kyle.

"I know, I know, this is just fucked up," He runs a hand through his hair, forcing it through any tangles.

"Fucked up?" Kyle's eyes are half-lidded though he still seems furious. "We're high on my mom's birthday and there's like thirty fuck ass adults in the other room, we're getting busted."

"Nah, it's cool," Richie says and you're unsure if he's assuring you and Kyle or himself. "You're a hophead anyway so you should be a pro at pretending to be sober." He gestures at you and then turns his attention to Kyle "We've been to a handful of barbeques together and I don't think either of us wants to get in trouble right now."

"This is fucking sick," Kyle mutters, burying his head into his hands.

"I know," You nod with the glint of a smile playing on your face. As nervous as you were over the fact you would have to act sober until the party wrapped up, you couldn't ignore the comedic aspect of the situation.

"No," Kyle shoots you a glare "Not sick as in cool, sick in a bad way like I'm sick."

"You guys are teenagers, you do these things it's like a rite of passage and your parents did it all the time when they were your age," Once again, Richie tries to shrug off the circumstances.

"Get accidentally drugged by their uncle?"

"No, uh-not that, I meant getting high in general."

"How much is in them anyways?" You ask.

He shrugs "Like roughly twenty-five mg or so."

"In a single brownie?" Kyle presses for clarification with wide eyes to which Richie nods.

"Twenty-five milligrams?" You tried not to yell, this had shaken you to what felt like sobriety for only a few seconds "I didn't know you were fucking Walter White."

"Hey, man, I left them wrapped up in the fridge with a sticky note that said 'do not eat', I didn't think his mom was gonna put them out."

"Why wouldn't you leave them in your car, dude?" You're looking at him with a tilted gaze, head resting in the palm of one of your hands.

"Temperature sensitive," he says pointing out the fudgy brownies melting into brown sludge like it had been nuked in the microwave.

"What the fuck?" Your mouth falls ajar "Have you ever made a brownie before?

"They usually don't melt," Kyle adds.

"Watch it," Richie had taken this sting straight to heart "They're supposed to be fudgy and you two are the ones who ate them."

"Oh my god, we ate them," Kyle says under his breath, eyes focused on the oak table in front of him, studying each groove. His attention breaks, and he glances around at the food laid before him then reaches to scoop some macaroni onto his grubby paper plate.

"Slow down greedy gut, did you forget you're diabetic?" You slap his hand away from the cheesy macaroni.

"Yeah," He puts the spoon down "I did."

Richie takes a deep breath out "Man, you guys are roasted."

"Time for the family photo!" Sheila yells from the living room, her distinct accent rising over the seemingly endless murmurs.

"Okay, guys, just remember to be cool and act sober, okay?" He tries for a smile, sticking his thumb up and glancing back and forth between the two of you for confirmation "Sober, so good?"

"Relax," You push yourself up from the table, brushing any crumbs away from the skirt of your dress "We're fine."

"Alright," Richie turns on his heels, exiting the dining room with the tray of brownies still in hand.

The moment you and Kyle walked through the doorway, you felt like everyone was staring at you despite not one person turning their head in your direction. Kyle's family had already been sorting themselves out for the photo, he quietly slipped in there, giving his mom a quick hug before smiling at the phone which was being held by Sandra, a woman with far too much wine in her system who took the temporary role of photographer far too seriously.

You settled against a wall next to Weston who had also been suffocating in overly formal clothing. One thought ran through your mind as the Broflovski's smiled for their picture, don't act high.

"What are you doing?" Weston asked, looking up at you with a sneer.

"Huh?"

"You look like taxidermy, why are you doing that with your face?"

You hadn't noticed that the idea of sober you were trying to project was eyes as wide as the moon and a stone face. At Weston's words, you squinted your eyes slightly and began to grin like this was any more natural than the other face you had been making.

"You're weird," Weston tells you before he looks back at the Broflovski family. He wanted to duck back down into Ike's room to hide from everyone as much as you wanted to steal your dad's keys and drive to Dairy Queen.

"Okay, now let's do a silly one," Sandra smiled brightly, she had really drawn this out much longer than it needed to. After the family scrambled to do something vaguely comedic, Sheila motioned for your parents to join.

After what felt like a century, Sandra finally handed the phone back off to Sheila. Just when you're sure that the exchange has ended, Sheila speaks up "I want a picture of the kids together."

Your mom makes a pouty face, placing a hand on Sheila's shoulder "That's a great idea, we haven't taken one of them all together in ages."

"Let's get you two in the back then Weston and Ike can go in front," Sheila's directing you in front of an audience of coworkers and family friends.

Weston had one arm slung around Ike who did the same while Kyle stood stiffly behind his brother. You kept your tradition of keeping your distance from Kyle, standing one metre away from him and your brothers, hands clasped in front of you.

"Sweetie, you aren't in frame," Sheila tells you.

You nod but don't do anything beyond that, you just stay in the same spot that you had initially been in. "Jellybean, maybe you should move closer to Kyle," Your mom smiles softly, though her eyes are telling you that you should probably listen to her.

Taking a step that must've taken you a distance of an inch, you smile at the camera like this has resolved the issue.

"Um, Jellybean," Your mom had a begrudging smile on her face "I meant to stand next to him, behind your brother."

"I'm okay," you say and for a change have no animosity behind your words, you truly were okay with where you were.

Weston's eyebrows had furrowed in confusion as he watched you with a blissfully ignorant smile on your face. His arm was falling asleep, intertwined with Ikes. Kyle was staring at you, just as everyone else who had paid a speck of attention to the photoshoot was.

"Nope, closer," Your mom gestures for you to move in.

She does so rapidly until you take another side step, albeit larger than your last one though you still stood awkwardly out to the side like you were photobombing.

"For fuck sake," Your mom utters under her breath so quietly that no one had picked up on it. "He's not poison, get in there."

"I believe you meant to say venomous," You shuffle your feet again until you are standing next to where you should be, an awkward gap between Kyle where you were meant to be posing behind your brother.

"Don't do this right now, Jellybean," She says through gritted teeth, trying to uphold her composure for the sake of Sheila and the grace of your family.

"Just one quick picture," Sheila tells you, she's still holding up the phone, finger hovering above the shutter button.

Before you can pull any more nonsense that seemed perfectly reasonable in your altered state, you feel a hand slink around your waist. Kyle's hand rested on the outside of your midriff, fingers sinking into your soft skin. Your mind hadn't even processed this fact when he pulled you into him, your body briefly crashing against his. Kyle flashes the camera a movie star smile while you stare up at him, eyebrows furrowed and eyes incredulous. You looked like you were gearing up to yell at him.

Click!

The very second the picture is taken Kyle drops his hand from its spot on your waist and turns to walk away. While the others disperse, you stand stationary and watch Kyle disappear into the blinding light of the kitchen. It was impossible to ignore the heat creeping up your neck and the warmth flushing your cheeks as your hand retraced where his touch lingered.

Against better judgment, you follow him into the kitchen, unsure of what your plan is, but you do it regardless. He's alone in there with a middle-aged man who's speaking to someone on the phone and pays no attention to where Kyle rifles through the fridge.

"That had to be a misdemeanour of some kind," You say, arms crossed while you stand behind the fridge door.

"What are you talking about?" He looks up at you, grabs a jug of water and closes the fridge door.

"That is really fucked up," You add.

"You're kind of in my orbit right now," He holds a hand out and moves it in a circle.

"Then release me, boy." You watch as Kyle reaches into the cupboard to pull out a glass and pour water from the jug into it until it's on the brink of overflowing. He puts the jug down next to his glass and uses one hand to lean against the island.

He swishes his free hand around like he's casting a spell "I release you," Kyle then reaches for the jug instead of the glass he had poured and takes a long swig.

You shake your head watching him drink from the pitcher as if it were a cup "That's not right." You weren't sure what Kyle's tolerance was, you had never smoked with him before, only seeing him take a couple of hits at parties.

"You're not right," He answers, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and putting the jug back down on the marble countertops.

"One time I made you in the sims and then I made you go swimming in the pool so I could take the ladder out and kill you," You say, leaning against the kitchen island. The man on the phone takes a brief time to cast you a judgemental glance before going back to his phone call.

"Did I die?"

"Nah, they took that feature out so you kinda just climbed out from the side," You answer "I did make you bankrupt and homeless though."

"So I just wonder the streets?" He asks to which you nod "I bet I'm fighting crime."

"No, you just walk around and your hygiene is really bad, you're like visibly dirty."

Kyle freezes for a second, staring past you, he blinks his eyes out rapidly and holds a dinger out to hush you "I think I can hear myself blink." He continues to open and close his eyes "It sounds wet and squishy."

"Gross," You say, letting yourself lean in deeper on the island until you're almost bent in half, across from Kyle.

He runs a hand through his hair and then begins to twirl one finger in his ginger curls before he pats the top of his head "I think I need to cut my hair."

"I think you need to cut yourself," The words fall from your mouth like honey melting from the sun to weigh down the wings of Icarus. His mouth is slightly ajar when you look up to meet his wild gaze. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't say that, don't cut yourself," Had you been sober, you wouldn't have apologized, you would've doubled down and made the statement a million times worse.

"You're an asshole," He says simply.

"So are you," You respond, voice lazy and words drawn out. The man on the phone ends his call, gripping his cell phone like you were going to try and take it from him. He struts past you and Kyle, glaring at the both of you.

"Did we just blow our cover?"

"No, that's Marty, he's an alcoholic so if he tells anyone anything I'll say he's been drinking again," You shrug the question off.

"Is that right? Like morally," He clarifies. "Should we just admit we're high? or maybe that would be bad morally if we got Richie in trouble for something he didn't do." You can see the gears turning in Kyle's head, the way he's analyzing the situation like it's the equation that'll either end the world or save it "Nah, I don't wanna get grounded on my mom's birthday, that's kinda gay."

"That's super gay."

"It's so hot in here," The topic switches once again as Kyle is working on unbuttoning his shirt, taking a deep breath. The very second you notice your eyes linger a moment too long on his hands your head swerves to look at a sign that reads 'This kitchen is seasoned with love' You remember when Sheila bought it, she thought it was hilarious and brought you into the kitchen to see it.

Your mind trails back to the compromising state you and Kyle had been discovered in after the little forest expedition. The interrogation you had to endure, not only with Mr. Waterman but with Wendy as well made you want to hammer nails into your ears. "If it was anyone else but Wendy and our fucking teacher who found us, the rumours would be nuts."

"And that's the worst thing?"

"People thinking that we've slept together? Yeah, it is the worst thing. I'd probably shoot myself and write your name on the wall in my blood."

"How high are you right now?" he squints his eyes.

You shrug "Higher than I think, perhaps."

"Your eyes are kind of insane right now," He points at your face and in turn, you just rub them, too lazy to go check.

"Yours are almost as bright as your hair."

"This isn't even my final form yet."

"What the fuck," You stare at him blankly. You let yourself down the side of the island, spine scraping against it until you drop to the cold tile floors. The frigidness pressing against the back of your calves.

You tuck your head into your hands like it'll magically make you sober. You didn't want to be high anymore or at all that night. You needed a clear head, for your limbs to not feel so loose so you could go back to shutting your thoughts away, so they would die in your throat and never be said.

Kyle has plopped himself onto a stool by the island, peeling a banana from the fruit bowl with precision like he was defusing a time bomb. It seemed like he had entirely forgotten that you were there the second you went out of his sight.

It was nowhere close to your first time smoking though you had taken a little tolerance break for the sake of finals and it was hitting you hard. Everything seemed like it wasn't real like you were in a set where things were hand-crafted to fit the scene. You look down at your hands, balling them up into fists to see if you can feel anything. When all the sensation you receive is a light tap, you put one finger into your mouth and bite, there rested the confirmation that you weren't in a simulation.

What your mind was really craving was a two-leader bottle of diet coke and to curl up on the couch, shrouded in darkness and watch Over the Hedge. You reach a hand up the edge of the countertop to pull yourself up, in the midst of doing so, your foot slips and you are sent toppling over. Your body careened forward, face heading straight for the unforgiving edge of the countertop. There was a sickening crack as your nose collided with the hard surface, followed by a sharp, searing pain that shot through her skull. You collapse back down to the ground, eyes scrunched shut and hand covering your surely felt like a mangled nose.

"What was that?" Kyle turns his head to where he was sure you were though you were no longer in sight. He pries himself away from the stool and makes his way around the island to investigate "What's-oh my fucking god."

"Do you think it's broken?" You ask, moving your hand away to display the nose. The nasal bone itself seemed to be fine, but what rang as concerning was the gash over it that was leaking blood.

"Holy shit, we need to get your parents," He immediately moves to leave but you grab his leg to keep him in place.

"No," you say in what you intended to be a firm voice though it came off as more scared than anything else "We're high, underage, I hate hospitals, and urgent care is expensive."

"You're bleeding from your fucking face."

Gingerly, you poke around the area you had hit, fighting the urge to wince to prove that it wasn't that bad "See? We're good, just a bit of blood." The marijuana had eased the pain in just the slightest by offering the distraction of everything all at once, you were sure it would feel like hell the second you shook your mind clear.

"No, we aren't good, you're fucked up," He says.

"Kyle," Your tone shifts, absolutely serious "My dad will beat the shit out of me if he finds out I'm high, I'll go in the morning if it's actually bad," Truthfully, your dad probably would do some damage if the truth came out. Not only that, but he would bar Richie from seeing you or Weston ever again and your mom was something of a snitch who shared every waking thought with your dad.

He looks down at your figure on the floor, one hand pinching your nose to catch any blood that threatened to spill onto your white dress. His rational thoughts were telling him to rat the both of you out and get you to a hospital though the side of him hazed said it was fine. "You have to go in the morning."

When you move your hand, the blood begins to gush not only from your nostrils but the gash on your nose bridge like juice from cherries that had been torn apart. Now you had a red dress to match your red eyes.

"Yeah, okay cool," You say with a sigh of relief, awkwardly turning on the ground to push yourself up without having your face be inches away from Kyle's. "I need to go upstairs in the bathroom and fix this," What you were trying to get across was that you needed to at least bandage it with the first-aid kit, discreetly.

"What are you going to tell your parents when you go home and you have a huge honker on your face?"

"Um, that I got a nosebleed or that-I don't fucking know, I'll figure it out, fuck face," You answer as you stand up. With a yawn, you shifted to get up, your elbow swinging out in a careless motion. Unfortunately, Kyle had chosen that exact moment to lean forward to grab his phone off the counter, his face perilously close to your elbow's path. Adding another notch to the misfortune of that night, your elbow collided with Kyle's left eye with an audible thud.

Kyle recoiled, his hand instinctively flying to his injured eye as he let out a pained grunt. Your eyes widened in horror as you realized what you had done "Oh my god, it looks like I hit you."

"You did hit me," The anger in his voice isn't unmissable, it's dripping with something that borders between irritation and rage.

"Not on purpose," You retort, quickly wiping away the blood where it pooled above your lip. It had already made it down your face to dribble down your neck and chest before it soaked into the neckline of your dress.

Kyle winced as he gingerly touched the tender skin around his eye, his breath catching in his throat at the searing pain pulsating beneath his fingertips. "Fuck," he mutters.

You felt a tickle in your nose, the pressure builds, the discomfort intensifying with every breath then there came the dreaded sneeze. Instead of the usual sense of relief, there's only pain. A sharp, searing pain radiates from your nose, sending shockwaves of agony through your skull, a splatter of blood from your nose now on Kyles's once pristine button-up.

Your eyes squeeze shut, tears instinctively beginning to push from your eyes as you struggle to regain your composure. The sound that escapes your lips is not the usual sneeze, but a strangled gasp, a testament to the torment wreaked upon your nasal passages. "Fuck, oh my fucking god!" You scream, hands moving upward to cover your nose in the position of a prayer. "Fuck, that fucking hurts, pussy licking cunt face, fuck!"

"Jesus Christ," His voice is breathy, he hadn't entirely comprehended what you had said, his hazy brain was more focused on the throbbing pain enveloping his eye and the blood splattered on his white button-up.

A woman swings around the corner, Alysha, you barely remember what she looked like eight years prior before she bleached her hair to the point it was fried and filled her face with Botox and fillers. "Is everything okay in here?"

"No!" You shout, the vexation wasn't intention but you never thought sneezing would hurt so bad.

"What the hell," Any rage in Kyle's voice was replaced by fear as he stared at Aylsha's face. He looked like a deer caught in headlights though he couldn't bring himself to look away from her pillow face. She had so much filler to the point where her skin would turn loose if it were to be dissolved, her lips were the most obviously overfilled, looking minutes away from bursting. "I think as a society we're way too okay with that."

You brush past him, grabbing his wrist to pull him along. "we're going to the hospital." You're opinion on going to the hospital had changed in an instant. You could've managed if you hadn't sneezed, it felt worse than the initial break. Your senses are overwhelmed by the intensity of the tormenting sensation.

"Why do people do that to themselves?" He lowers his voice.

"Doesn't matter," You dismiss, dragging him into the living room where the majority of the partygoers were gathered. "Danger!" You shout and everyone turns to look at you, startle clear across their wrinkled faces. You split into a grin "There's actually no danger but I need to go to the hospital."

"Jellybean, what happened?" Your mother places her wineglass on the coffee table and rushes over to you, cradling your face in both of her hands while she examines you. Your father isn't far behind, jogging slowly like he was in an action movie, it would've been more efficient to walk over to you.

"We need to go to the hospital," You say simply, clamping your eyes shut so she won't see the redness.

"Kyle!" Sheila exclaims, eyebrows furrowing as she approaches him. She looks up at her tall son, gently touching his swelling eye, red from irritation "My little boy, what happened?" Sheila looks at you, the gash on your nose and the slightly crooked look of it "Did you two fight?"

"No," you answer abruptly, pointing at Richie who was working through a slice of cake "He's sober, he can take us to the hospital."

Richie responds with a nod before he goes back to his cake "Ready to go when you are."

"I just don't understand how this happened," your dad remarks. With each passing second that you weren't on the way to the emergency room, you grew more irritated.

"Kyle, did you hit her?" Gerald stands behind Sheila, his face stony.

"No," You interject "I hit him actually, on accident and I fell and smashed my head on the kitchen island and it really fucking hurts so can we please go?"

"Are you high?" Gerald leans in the slightest to see your red eyes to which you inch back.

"Are you?" Your dad's demeanour changes as he crosses his arms.

All eyes fell on you and you quickly scrambled for an answer, glancing at Richie who looked as panicked as ever before you fell to the conclusion "No, we're teenagers."

Everyone looks either around or at you in confusion over your chosen words. They wondered what exactly you meant by that and you wondered "So why are your eyes red?" Your dad asks.

"It doesn't matter, they need medical attention," Sheila tries to dismiss the topic.

"It's called life, little bro," You clap your hands together like you said something groundbreaking, a small smirk playing on your blood-stained face.

"This is ridiculous," Your dad shakes his head. You glance over at Kyle who's fallen nonverbal, letting his mom poke around his face.

"Because life isn't just all flowers and sausages but we're making the most out of it Gerald so why don't you live a little?" You raise your hands up in the air; in your mind, you are trailblazing by delivering this odd string of words to a crowd of wrinkled faces who watch you like a spectacle. "I would like to get my nose sewn back together.”

"Jellybean, you are acting so strange," Your mother says, catching on to the fact that you might be under the influence.

"It's because of blood loss," Richie cuts in, beginning to usher you and Kyle to the front door. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of them."

You turn your head to stare down your parents as you leave though Kyle's lanky figure blocks them out entirely. He trails behind you, one hand on the small of your back to keep you moving forward. You nearly shudder under his touch but don't make a fight to shake him off.

Sitting in the sterile confines of the hospital waiting room, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of relief and anticipation. Just moments ago, you had emerged from the emergency room, your broken nose carefully repaired by the skilled hands of doctors. Now, as you awaited your discharge, a sense of tiredness was creeping up on you. You had been there entirely too long though the edibles had yet to wear off.

Your nose was still tender, wrapped in layers of gauze and tape, a constant reminder of the trauma it had endured. But beneath the bandages lay four stitches are what was sure to be a nasty bruise. All you could process was that you really wanted a cigarette.

Kyle walks into the waiting room, he scans the few other people in there before his eyes settle on you. He stood still for a moment, thinking whether or not it would be weird if he sat next to you, he decided that it was and opted for the row opposite to you.

Your eyes wander down to his hands where he clutches a little orange bottling, rattling slightly with movement from the pills inside "You got meds already? They just gave me a slip to take to the pharmacy."

"Yup," He shakes the bottle "Did you know that you cracked my cheekbone?"

"No," you narrow your eyes "I don't have X-ray vision."

Silence hangs between the two of you, the only sound being background noise from other patients and nurses. Now that the heat of the painful moment had disbanded you were left unsure of how to talk to Kyle. You didn't even know if you had only shown him the smallest speck of kindness or if he had put his hand around your waist purely from the influence of the drugs.

"I can't believe my dad thought I would hit you," Kyle said the first thing that came to mind, staring at the bandage in the center of your face.

"I can't believe my parents cared more about me being high than having a mangled nose."

"That was kinda crazy."

"This is all kinda crazy," you answer, trying to keep your face as still as possible to avoid the pain of scrunching or moving your nose. "Are you going to tell everyone that I hit you?"

"Not if you don't want me to."

"Please don't," Your voice is hardly above a whisper when you ask this. "It was bad enough when I hit Cartman," That was true, Cartman had made you out to sound like a violent criminal in every rendition of the story he told. He had fabricated so many aspects of it that it seemed more like fiction than reality, even if people didn't believe him, it wouldn't stop them from spreading it.

"Okay," His tone matches the softness of yours "I won't."

"Thanks," You turn your gaze toward the ground, scraping your mind for something else to say so you don't feel like you're drowning beneath unsaid words. "We should smoke and then enter a hotdog eating contest."

"That's a good idea."

"Do you think we're the only ones who've had that idea?"

"I think if we smoked and went to a hot dog eating contest, everyone would be high."

"Do you think I would be a cat or a dog?" You change the topic again, not on purpose but because that was how your brain was functioning.

"I think we would both be dogs," He says with sureness.

"Yeah, maybe you would be like an Australian Sheppard and have gross crusty shit in your eyes because your owners hate you and they never clean you."

"I'm not Australian."

"Well, they don't have Jersey shepherds because I'm pretty sure you can't give dogs spray tans."

"I think I would be a Nova Scotia duck tolling retriever."

"You're not Canadian either and don't make up fake dog breeds, man," You cross your arms.

"It's not fake."

"Totally is, actually, you would be one of those fugly bald dogs that shake all of the time and people adopt them out of pity."

"All dogs are beautiful to me, actually," Kyle says in a matter-of-fact tone like you wouldn't believe his statement.

"Consumerism is so out of hand because how many water bottles do you really need?" You mind once again wondered to things that you had seen online hours prior. What was haunting you was a video of a woman who had collected 78 colours of a reusable water bottle, defeating the purpose of the eco-friendly aspect of it.

He genuinely thinks long and hard about your question "You need one good water bottle, maybe two depending on the circumstances."

"Hey, I have a joke, it's really funny and I just thought of it."

"Shoot."

"If Kyle falls in the forest and no one is around to hear it, did he make any sound at all?" You crack an awkward, faltering smile. The second you said it out loud you realized that it wasn't as funny as intended. It was like you were teetering on the verge of sober, your mind so incredibly close to acting like yourself again before it slipped back into the haziness. "Yeah, it was pretty loud actually."

To your surprise, Kyle actually smiles. His lips curve upwards in a perfect arc, revealing a set of teeth that gleam like pearls against the backdrop of his sun-kissed skin. Each tooth is straight and even, with a dazzling whiteness that seems almost too pristine to be real. You couldn't think back to the last time he smiled at something you said without being sarcastic. Digging through your brain you weren't sure that he had ever smiled at you.

You furrow your eyebrows, mouth pulled back in a grimace, eyes squinting like his perfect grin was an offensive sight "Don't smile at me like that." You could feel your jaw tensing "Jesus, don't smile at me at all."

"Hey kids," Richie had returned, coming to your rescue just when you thought you were going to shatter from the conflict in your mind "Brought you these, a little souvenir from the gift shop," He tossed both of you a Garfield stuffed animal. Garfield looks almost frightening, his half-lidded eyes uneven, weird body emaciated, and fur pale like he's been experimenting. You loved it.

"Thanks," You smile up at your uncle, being careful not to let Garfield touch your blood-stained dress. Kyle has a small grin playing on his face as he holds it in his large hands.

"You got it," He gives you a quick thumbs up "So if everyone is in the clear are we good to go? You and Kyle both nod and Richie turns on his heels, swinging an arm in motion for you to follow him, his car keys jingling in one hand.

The automatic doors slid open as the three of you neared them, the night on the other side of them was brisk. As you and Kyle slipped into the back seat of Richie's prius, you couldn't help but cast one more look at him; a final look at his hooked nose and sharp jaw while you could still write it off as being high.

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #stan marsh #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #bebe stevens #kyle broflovski x reader #south park headcanons #south park hcs #kyle broflovski angst #sp kyle #kyle brovlofski #south park kyle #kyle broflovski fluff

10 notes · View notes

hunnysnoops · 8 days

Text

White Teeth Teens

Chapter Three: Contagious

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I picture you in a bad dream, coughing up your guts. It’s funnier in theory but I’ve pictured it too much. You’re saying what you had to say and staring at my mouth.

Premise: What could make an unbearable field trip with an unbearable man any worse? Don’t worry, you’ll find out.

Warnings: crude language+humour / vomit / unconsciousness

MASTERLIST

You found it increasingly difficult to fight the urge to smash the bus window and drag yourself through broken glass just to hit the pavement with a sickening crack of bones. Easy to say you weren't thrilled about the field trip waiting for you.

The fish filet sandwich you had choked back at the rest stop was already disagreeing with you and you were sure it wouldn't be the only thing troubling you on this day. The driver hits a speed bump, hitting you extra hard in your seat at the back, you feel bile rising up your throat and slap a hand over your mouth. "You okay?" Wendy asks, her voice soft.

You nod, giving a thumbs up with your free hand. When the feeling dissipates, you dig into your backpack for your water and start to chug it until the lingering taste of bile alleviates entirely. "Next time please tell me not to eat gas station fish."

"I told you not to this time," Wendy tells you. The forty-minute bus ride was just about over, you would've been savouring the one-on-one time you got sitting next to Wendy if food poisoning wasn't setting in and sending ripples through your stomach.

"I can't be the only one who ate the fish filet," Arms crossed over your stomach to try and smother out the growing pain you swivel your head to look around the bus where everyone else seemed to be chatting happily or ignoring the world with their headphones in. The walls of the bus are panelled with aged, weathered metal, showcasing patches of chipped paint and faded colours that hint at its former glory. Scuffs and scratches tell stories of bustling school days and the trips long passed upon within these walls, an occasional doodle of graffiti where the faculty had turned a blind eye.

Wendy takes a glance around well, "No, I'm pretty sure you were," The back of the teal seat in front of you was littered with smiley burns from cigarette lighters that degenerate kids had soiled the leather with. "I think it's like the number one rule of gas stations not to eat fish there."

You groan and tilt your head up to look at the rusted ceiling, with each passing second regrets gather in your mind like a high school reunion. This biology trip had slipped from your head completely, it was meant for the class to gather independent research on the local ecosystem by sending teenagers into the woods and expecting them all to turn up at the time they were supposed to when they were done. You were anticipating a few pairs of kids to roll back up to the meeting point at least half an hour past the allotted time.

In your mind, there wasn't anything good about this trip. The information sheets Mr. Waterman had given you explained that you were meant to be using the buddy system with your lab partner, who happened to be Kyle, someone you were definitely not buddies with. You didn't even get to leave any other classes early, you left ten minutes after your last class began which was biology and you were going to be gone for two hours plus the ride there and back. All you needed to gather information on the local ecosystem was ten minutes and a cell phone instead you were missing soccer practice to poke around in the woods.

Kyle wasn't thrilled about this either. He was one of the handful of students who shoved his headphones in and turned the volume up so loud that he couldn't hear anything or anyone besides The Cure. He had unfortunately been stuck next to Cartman who was currently spouting slightly prejudiced remarks towards David that went unheard by Mr. Waterman at the front of the bus.

The bus came to an abrupt stop in a parking lot surrounded by forest. Before the doors even opened you had grabbed your backpack and run to the front, banging on the door to be let out. When you finally set foot into fresh air you were almost brought to your knees almost choking on the clean air. That was what was nice about South Park, the air wasn't dirty and stagnant like the city, it was ever-moving and ever-changing.

One more minute in that bus and you would've thrown up, the combination of, axe spray, perfume, body odour, and teenage angst almost fogged up the windows. The class piled out of the bus, adjusting their eyes to the bright sun that would fade in a few hours. You made note of the outhouse tucked into the corner of the lot, being sure that you would need it later to spill your guts before you get back on the bus.

Mr Waterman wastes no time in hopping off the bus and prepping himself to preach the criteria once again. With the signature clap of his hands, he begins "Okay, I know it's a very exciting day but let's try to hold it in for a moment," There was not one person in that crowd who was excited "I expect you to stay in your assigned groups and to return by four, that is in," He looks down at his watch "An hour and a half, so gather as much information as possible, make sure that you record it, I want to see field observations, species identification, sampling, each group gets one quadrat to use so be careful with it."

Your assigned group begins to awkwardly flock together, no one looks particularly happy. The group was made up of you, Kyle, Cartman, David, Cylde, and Tweek, any bright side may have been overshadowed by the fact that you could tolerate one and a half people in this group. David was usually chill while Clyde was 50/50, depending on the day he might make you want to charge for his throat with unbridled rage and open palms to wrap your fingers around his neck until his eyes roll back in his head.

"Okay, looks like everyone's getting their things in order," Mr Waterman said "Now, please don't stray too far off the trails, it should always be in sight. Remember, you will be back to working one-on-one with your lab partner tomorrow." He looks around for a signifier that his class is listening, the majority seemed spaced out or were divulged entirely in conversation. "Any questions?" Nobody said a word. "If any group cares to join me, I will be walking to the river!"

"So-uh, should we go to the river?" Cylde broke the sickening silence between the six of you.

"No," You snatched the quadrat out of his hands and began heading for one of the trails. The group trailed behind you, Cartman uttering complaints as expected.

"Junkie's leading us to her heroin den." He says, obnoxiously loud to Cylde. You almost wanted to swing around and hit him over the head with the grid in your hand.

"Do you even know what we're supposed to be doing?" It was like David read your mind and asked Cartman for you.

"Look at animals and shit, I'm not stupid."

"Had me fooled," You mutter under your breath and delve even further into the thicket. The ancient trunks were adorned with a tapestry of mosses, lichens, and ferns. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy of leaves above your head, illuminating patches of moss and casting dappled shadows to dance across the muddy forest floor.

"Where are we going?" Tweek speaks up, his right eye twitches and his fingers tap against one another. He's shaking as he walks. You wondered how he was able to function day to day with nothing more than caffeine in his veins.

"Into the woods, bro," Cylde walks up next to him, shoving his hands into his pockets. You had been praying that Cylde wouldn't be in your group but whatever gods rest above seem to hate you. He and Bebe had made it official which you had to hear through Nichole since you and Bebe still weren't on speaking terms after the night of the clamp.

This was the point where you tuned yourself out of the conversation to actually get some work done, it seemed like Kyle had been doing the same. With keen eyes and attentive ears, you observed the bustling activity of birds flitting among the branches, the scurrying of small mammals in the underbrush, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the distance.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, ignoring the low battery warning that seemed all too common in recent days and began to flood your camera roll with pictures of birds and little bugs you would find underneath rocks.

Only part of the group was doing something, that part being you, Kyle, Tweek, and David, while the other two buffered around you. Cartman wanted no part in any of the work while Cylde just seemed unsure of what to do so he would just touch things and make a vague comment about it. He crouched down, running his hand over a rock and then looking at his palm "Yeah, that-uh, seems pretty old, maybe like twelve years old."

"We aren't carbon dating rocks," David said as he added to the list of litter in his notebook to mark human impact in the forest.

"Oh, cool," Cylde nodded.

From what you could see, you had the only group on your current trail and the deeper into the forest you moved, the darker it got, trees growing denser and thicker overhead to block out sunlight. The shade was a nice relief, it made you feel a little less nauseous though sickness was still tearing at your insides. You were doing everything in your power to stay on track, figuring it better to focus heavily on the work aspect as opposed to paying attention to your gnarly stomach.

By the time you were out there for an hour, it felt like a decade in your mind, you couldn't stay trained on the research, instead, you passed the metal quadrant off to David and drank the rest of your water while clutching your stomach.

"So how does the square work?" Cylde peered thoughtfully over where David and Tweek were kneeling on the ground. The boys looked back up at him, David had tossed the gridded frame over a random patch of grass to take a survey of the plants.

"We learned about this last class," David answered, unamused.

"Interesting," Cylde rubs his jaw with his hand, furrowing his eyebrows like he's deep in thought.

"I feel like we should all pitch in equally if we're going to be working off the same data," Kyle glares at Cartman who leaned against a tree, playing Subway Surfers on his phone.

"I agree, diabetes boy, so get to work," He answers pausing his game for a moment to look up.

"You're one junior bacon cheeseburger away from diabetes yourself and all you've been doing is scrolling on your phone while everyone else does the work fatass," Kyle retorts, you had suspected he would come to a breaking point at some time today with Cartman.

"Uh, what about Junkie?" He draws the attention to you where you stand, taking slow and laboured breaths in and out, in an attempt to keep the fish filet sandwich inside of you. "I'm pretty sure she's overdosing."

"Can you stop calling her that?" Kyle asks, much to your surprise though you had your priority set on other things.

"Oh?" Cartman's eyebrows raise, that's how you can tell that you piqued his interest. Cartman turns his phone off and tucks it back into his pocket, crossing his arms and staring at Kyle "You're defending her now? Are you guys going to go home together to pop opiates and drown yourselves in a bathtub?"

"No," Kyles's nose wrinkles in distaste "It's just annoying."

"Oh, Jesus man! don't fight!" Tweek looks ready to rip his hair out, and David casts him a side-eye. It was moments like this where you think it would've been more rightful if Tweek was the one who had the nicknames on Junkie and Crash which you considered a cross you had to bear.

"We need to head back soon so can we *hic* please just finish this?" You chime in, voice breaking with hiccups as you speak. The sound of their simmering argument was grating in your head like someone had stuck a fork into a blender.

"Crash, get your nose out of the snow and get back to work unless your brain is too fried from the black tar."

You had taken a complete 180 from trying to leave with as little conflict as possible to be more riled up than Kyle. "Shut the fuck up, Cartman."

His eyes carry the oh-so-familiar hint of challenge that you were so used to seeing "What are you gonna do? Have a seizure on me?"

"No, I'll kick your fucking ass." You take a step towards him pushing back your sickness the best you could. Cartman wasn't the tallest nor was he very agile, you were sure that you could take him even if it might prove to be a bit strenuous.

"Woah," He inches back as you move forward "Back up a little there," Cartman laughs nervously, landing around at someone to intervene. Had it been someone else Kyle probably wouldn't gotten between you two, but having it be you and Cartman, the other four watched with imploring eyes.

Things might have played out differently if it weren't for the growling in your stomach, the dry heat, the lack of nicotine you were fiending over, and the past four years you had silently endured Cartman making fun of you for an exaggeration of your smoking issue. "Be quiet or I'm going to knock you upside your fucking head."

You stood a foot away from him, moments passed where he played out every scenario in his head until he finally settled on a response. "Okay, man, we're cool," He raised his hands up in surrender. Just seconds after you had turned your back you heard Cartman speak up "Don't want you to hulk out on me when you're on the Roids."

Out of raw instinct, you turn on your heels and bring your right fist to connect with Cartman's cheekbone. Everyone stares at you in utter shock. Cartman himself looked as if he could never have seen this coming like it was preposterous that he had pushed you to the point where you swung at him.

Tweeks eyes grow so wide you think they might pop out of his head "Ah! I can't take this!"

"What the fuck?" Cartman reaches his hand to touch the area where your knuckles had cracked against his face. "She actually fucking hit me," He looks around at the boys with wide shocked eyes until they land on you "You fucking bitch!"

"And I'll do it again you tiny dick licker." Your gaze is unwavering on Cartman though your wild thoughts are jumping around your head like they're freshly off Adderall.

"That's assault, I can sue you for that."

"Go ahead," you point to Kyle "His dad's a lawyer."

"Shit," Cartman mutters "A Jew lawyer."

"What does my dad have to do with this?"

"Everything," he says, a thought hits him "Kyle, I would kindly like you to ask your dad to represent me."

"No."

"Kyle, be cool," Cartman says.

"Shut up porky, don't tell him to be cool, he isn't a part of this."

"Hey! You’re a crackhead bitch with a drug addiction!" He speaks with so much haste that spit comes flying from his mouth like an alpaca.

"You're yelling? I can yell too!" The pair of you are being so loud that a handful of birds fly away from a tree overhead "You look like you snuck onto earth!" You weren't being attentive to the boy's reactions around you, your mind was stuck between bashing Cartman's teeth into a tree or running back to the parking lot and getting some Zyn off Marshall.

"Okay, that's it," Cartman says, he raises his fists and narrows his eyes "We're having it out right now."

"You just had it out," David is packing everything up, he looks beyond done with this as much as he liked watching Cartman get decked.

"Nuh-uh, she caught me off guard," Cartman shakes his head "Junkie is gonna rue this day, her white blood cells are gonna have to put in more work than on shoot-up Saturdays!"

"You're a lard ass piece of shit and that's why your dad died!"

Cylde sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and the group fell completely silent. The only sound was animals rustling around and the slight breeze cutting its way through the trees to shake their leaves. Even Kyle looked shocked, his eyebrows raised and green eyes wide.

"Okay, too far." Cartman drops his hands to his side.

"Yeah, man, you can't say that," Cylde says from behind Kyle.

You toss your hands up in exasperation, nothing left to say after you had bitched Cartman out and in doing so made it look like you're drifting off the rails. Sticking your middle finger out at Cartman, you turned around and began walking back down the trail, ignoring the flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

You wanted desperately to act like that little spat hadn't made you feel like a spectacle that would catch through students' breaths the next day like folklore. Surely the event would be spun, twisted, and contorted into an exaggeration of the single punch that was thrown.

The boys walked behind you, keeping their distance. Though none of them were directly speaking to you, you were able to make a comment here and there. They weren't speaking about you but you could feel eyes digging down into you like they were prying your flesh open and examining your carcass for any more anomalies that they could tell their friends about later that night.

Over and over again, you looked down at your phone, staring at the time like doing so would make it move faster until your phone froze and died completely. Even when the screen was stuck pitch black, you pretended to scroll on it like you were busy.

Back in middle school, there were those kids whose faces would turn red with anger. They'd flip over desks and scream at the underpaid teachers until their throats itched like sandpaper rubbing on concrete; you remembered how everyone else regarded them after this. They kept their distance and didn't dare utter a word for fear they would be snapped like the teacher's red correction pen. You thought maybe this is how they felt, ashamed of their actions and holding back tears while they bite a quivering lip, facing the tears of humiliation from their brief moments of violence.

It didn't feel too bad but it didn't feel too good either.

Sure you tended to be more on the hot-heated side of things but you couldn't remember the last time you actually hit someone. It didn't matter that it was Cartman, it still made you want to jump into the shower and scrub your skin until it became irritated.

A growl rips through your stomach, loud enough for you to hear but not so much that the boys notice. It felt like your body was breaking up with you. Ripples of pain slice through your stomach and nausea crawls its way up to your throat.

You glance back to the boys behind you who chat amongst themselves, seemingly they've lost interest in you. You had no desire to heave your entire body weight out in front of them so you take a B-line and slip off the trail.

"Hey," Cylde calls after you, watching as you venture into the woods. "Guys she's leaving." He tells the others. You wanted to run back and punch him in the gut before jetting off to empty your guts onto the forest floor.

After the attention is drawn back to you, you pick up your pace "Fuck off, I'm sick," you call back to the group, now jogging to avoid what you had imagined to be more embarrassment than what you had already set for yourself. Surely you would never mentally recover after punching Cartman and then throwing up in front of five guys on a biology field trip. If you were going to spew, it would not be in front of him.

"Where are you going?" Kyle turns his body to watch you as you slink off deep into the forest, one hand covering your mouth while another clutches the fabric over your stomach. "Someone should go with her," he glances around the group for a voludnteer though everyone just looks at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

You don't respond, you just race further in the thicket until you're out of sight entirely but your feet don't stop, they keep carrying you.

He looks back to the trail and then to where you were before your figure disappeared behind trees, his mind races with thoughts of Mr. Waterman talking about the buddy system. "Fuck," He mutters to himself before abandoning the well-worn trail and chasing after you.

"Jew, why are you going after her? she's probably going to her meth stash!" Cartman called after Kyle to no response. "Oh my god, she's going to kill him for drug money."

"Go *hic* away!" You yell between gags. Out of anyone in that group, you weren't sure if Kyle was the best or worst to see you like this. As he gains on you, you speed up, trying to get him off your trail.

"Can you stop?" He calls after you as you maneuver your way between thick tree stumps, gliding smoothly over the imperfection embedded in the dirt. Kyle didn't want to fathom what would happen if something happened to you in the forest and his mother found out he was supposed to stick to your side. "C'mon, don't be stupid."

Kyle seemed relentless in catching up to you. Everywhere he turned his head, it looked the exact same like someone had copied and pasted an abundance of trees all around him. He wasn't the biggest wilderness guy, he had been in scouts as a boy but the most he usually delved into nature was the occasional weekend camping trip with his family which was a novelty itself.

The queasiness continued to chew at your insides, growing more intense by the minute. Unable to hold back any longer, you doubled over, you fell to your knees, one hand supporting you on a tree so you don't fall over, retching violently as your body expelled its contents. "Uh, do you want me to hold your hair?

"Ew, fuck off!" Kyle watched helplessly, fighting the urge to vomit himself as his face contorted. You notice his presence behind you, glancing back to be sure, you yell out between gags "Turn around!" Before more warm and chunky spittle spills out of your mouth.

"Okay," He raises his hands in defence before swiftly turning around, internally cringing at the sound of your heaving. Just when he thinks it's over you start back up again. He hadn't entirely believed you when you said you were sick, he rationalized that you just wanted to get away from the group.

He did his best to ignore the sound, instead, he focused on the moss clinging onto bark or the tweet of birds hanging onto branches and singing songs to one another. The way you could hardly see the sky with how dense the trees were, just beams of sunlight slipping through. Kyle swivelled his head and that was the moment he had no idea where you were, surely not too far from the trail.

"I'm done," You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Kyle turns around and sees you on your knees, eyes drowsy and face devoid of its usual colour. You swish saliva around in your mouth before spitting on the ground and wobbling up to your feet like a colt. Digging around in your bag you pull out a warm half-drunk Powerade, you were out of the water and would rather throw up again than ask Kyle for some of his. Now your mouth tasted like acid reflux and green apple electrolytes.

"You're going the wrong way," He says bluntly.

"Uh, no," You point past him "We ran from there to here so we just go back, dumbass." Figuring Kyle had followed you for some chivalrous reason that his mother instilled in his brain, you didn't feel like pressing it. Still, you tried to keep communication with him to a minimum.

"You threw up on the far side of the tree, we need to go that way," He points behind you.

You had figured he was right, you were too busy trying to get away from him that you weren't being too attentive to where your tired feet were rushing you too "Sure."

"Sure?" He furrows his eyebrows "What do you mean sure?"

"I mean sure."

"Yeah, but you said it like you were doubting me."

"I'm not," You shrug, beginning to walk in the direction he gestured towards.

"You just did it again," He says "I'm right," Kyle insinuates "I know where we're supposed to be going."

"Okay, cool, fine, sure, yeah, you're right," You turn around and toss your hands up "Were you also rendered paralyzed or can you walk instead of staring at me like you're brain dead?"

He sticks up his bony middle finger but follows you nonetheless. The two of you keep your distance, being sure to stay a metre apart minimum while you hunt for a way out of the thicket. Your eyes drift to Kyle who is trying to get service on his phone, he intended to text Cylde that you two might take a while though he was met with four flat bars and a red 'not delivered' beneath each message he sent.

You didn't bother, your phone was long dead and cold in your backpack, what you were more worried about was finding something to keep you calm before this inevitably escalated. After your gym teacher caught a glimpse of your Marbolos and gotten you an in school suspension, you decided it was best to leave cigarettes in your car and the bottom of your closet. With each passing second. you were wishing that you kept an emergency cigarette or two tucked safely into a ziplock baggie at the bottom of your backpack.

Gnarled branches reached skyward in a tangled embrace, blocking out the fading light of day as the sunlight was being swallowed up by grey clouds leaving everything to look dull. The undergrowth grew denser, forming a tangled maze of ferns, brambles, and fallen branches that blocked your path at every turn.

It had taken you seven minutes to come up with a consensus "We're lost,"

"No, we're not." He says, trudging forward "If we keep walking we'll find a trail or something, they're everywhere."

"It took two minutes till I got to the tree and I puked, we've been walking for ages."

"It hasn't even been ten minutes."

"Okay? You smell like pistachios and we're going the wrong way," You tell him, stopping abruptly under the shade of a tree. You say, taking another dreadful sip of the Powerade, trying not to wince at the penicillin taste that the stagnant drink left in your mouth.

"I don't smell like pistachios," He says blankly.

"How would you know?" You rest one hand on your hip, the other hanging at your side and clutching what was almost an empty bottle of electrolytes.

Kyle's expression morphs into a portrait of confusion, etched with furrowed brows and a perplexed frown, lips slightly ajar. His green eyes, usually clear and focused, now stared at you in disbelief, searching for some type of reasoning behind your question. "What do you mean 'How would I know'?" He asks "You think I've never eaten a fucking pistachio?"

You answer him with a shrug, face unreadable "I always thought they were too exotic for you."

"They're nuts." Kyle says "They don't have a smell."

"You know this because you've eaten nuts?"

"Yes." His voice is tinged with confusion.

"Then why would they make pistachio notes to put in perfume?"

"Because people are fucking idiots who just want to sell stuff."

"Do you eat a lot of nuts?"

"I guess?"

"I bet you do," you snigger.

Realization strikes Kyle and he runs a hand through his curly red locs to soothe his fast-growing frustration, "Wow, super mature joking about nuts."

"Don't talk about being mature when you just spent a minute of your life arguing with me about nuts." You point out "Do you maybe want to be mature and admit that we're lost?"

"We're not, we just need to go this way," Kyle turns and begins in a new direction completely. You glance around at the the long trunks, each looking the same as the next before you follow Kyle in tow.

The further you walked the heavier the sense of uncertainty began to hang over you. Your irrational thoughts began to creep up, maybe there was a knife-wielding maniac who would kill the pair of you for intruding in his forest.

You forge ahead, footsteps echoing softly against the forest floor as you navigate the labyrinth of twisting trails and hidden clearings. Kyle's eyes were narrowed, you could almost see the the gears turning in his head as he tried to retrace your steps or at least find a clearing out of the forest.

While he was hyper-focused on the task at hand, your mind was making up the worst possible scenarios, it forced you to bring a hand to your mouth and chew at your nails. When Kyle caught wind of this, he did a double-take, wrinkling his nose in distaste "When did you start biting your nails?"

"I'm not biting my nails, I'm sucking nicotine traces out of my fingertips," you answer before going back in, tenfold, almost mauling your hands, seeking the sweet release of dopamine that you had grown accustomed to.

"That's disgusting," Kyle turns his attention back ahead of him like he needs to stay alert "You do have an addiction, that's why Cartman gives you shit."

"You call it an addiction, I call it tradition, I rather smoke a cig than puff on a fucking light sabre handle," You thought of Marshall the night of the junior bonfire, how he had but three vapes in his mouth at one. Everyone was hyping him up but you couldn't shake the idea that he looked like he was blowing the sonic screwdriver.

"Still an addiction," He answers. The two of you fall silent until you go back to gnawing at your nails, "Okay, stop."

"Sorry, I'm fucking nervous that we're stranded out in the woods horror movie style and there's probably perverts roaming in here and waiting for me," You say, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"We're not Hanzel and Gretel, pretty sure we don't have to worry about getting kidnapped on a biology trip."

"Yeah well, you wouldn't have to worry about getting kidnapped, look at the state of you." Your eyes rake up and down his body, a slight scowl on your face as you do so, feigning disgust at his appearance.

A flush creeps its way up Kyle's face he quickly averts his gaze so you can't see the red of his cheeks "Not sure if you realize but you're not hot shit yourself."

"Yeah, okay," You mutter, dodging the fact that every talking stage you've had for the past year has failed immensely. To your credit it wasn't because you were a repulsive person, it was because nothing felt right with any of them and you knew it was best to quit while you were ahead. It was like eating something sweet when you've been craving something spicy.

The forest seemed to conspire against you, its dense foliage and winding paths leading you deeper into the heart of the forest or just chasing you unknowingly in circles.

In the eery stillness of the woods, you suddenly became hyper-aware of all of Kyle's actions, his breathing, footsteps, and sighs, like you could sense the frustration growing in him the further you walked and got nowhere.

"Okay, we're lost." He finally admits, his voice exasperated.

You disregard what he said "Why did you run after me?" You look at him, asking the question that had been nagging at you like a child prodding for candy "Like, that's super weird."

"Not really, it's the buddy system." He shrugs you off, going back to the initial topic "We need to focus on getting out of here."

"Buddy system?" You raise an eyebrow "That's the gayest shit I've ever witnessed."

"You were at the women's national rugby championship."

Knowing that he had got you in a corner you opt to change the topic once again "How are we supposed to focus on getting out of here?" You ask "It's not like a high-security vault, it's a forest, all we can do is walk unless you can call for the cavalry."

"I don't have service," He answers.

"Don't you have an SOS network for emergencies?"

"This is not an emergency," He tucks his phone back into his pocket, it was running low on battery as Kenny had borrowed his portable charger and never returned it "I'm not calling 911 unless one of us is dying or we're still out here by night."

"Then I guess we're walking or alternatively we can scream until someone finds us."

"Don't do that-

"Help!" You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting to no one in particular "Kyle's going insane, he's trying to kill me!"

"Oh my god," He pinches his nose bridge "Shut the hell up."

"If you have such an issue with me why don't you flap your big ass dumbo ears and fly away?"

"Fuck you," He retorts. There was the signature bite of his cheek, the telltale sign that you were beginning to creep under his skin.

"Fuck you," You counter, mimicking him before trudging ahead.

"You have some goddamn issues," He mutters under his breath, not caring whether you could hear him or not.

"Yeah, I do have a lot of issues like why are there always crumbs in my bed when I never eat in it?" Absentmindedly, you had raised your voice without even realizing you were doing so. It was a natural progression between you and Kyle, it was the next piece of the formula that always ended in a massive shit show.

Kyle tries to ignore this completely, shutting his mouth and clenching his fist so tightly that he is near breaking the soft skin of his palm. "Why does every conversation end with you screaming?"

"Because you're a fucking asshole." You shoot back, taking hasty steps to side away from him to further yourself even more. As childish as it was, you couldn't be mature around Kyle or in general. You surely annoyed yourself as much as you annoyed others.

"No, not just me, you scream at everyone," He says "Why did you have to lose it at Cartman?"

"No shot you're defending Cartman, did hear the shit he was saying?"

"Yeah, he's a dick but did you need to hit him?"

"He needs to learn somehow," You shrug. "I don't know why you're acting so high and mighty, you hit him."

"Yeah, in ninth grade."

"You're a dick."

"And you're an idiot who ate fish from a gas station and gave herself food poisoning, I heard you bitching to Wendy about it the entire bus ride," Kyle's brow furrowing deeply as a simmering frustration bubbled to the surface. His normally composed demeanour cracked, revealing the raw edges of his discontent that pulsed beneath the surface like molten lava.

"Okay well it looked good and I was hungry don't act like you didn't eat the stray burrito from 7/11 on that road trip in ninth grade, you threw up out the window of my dad's car and it was all down the side and really fucking gross and we had to pull over and clean the car with wet wipes and your clothes were in you parents car with our brothers so you had to wear my Greta Thunberg tee shirt until we got to Montana."

"That wasn't from the burrito, it was because we ran out of Gravol and you know I get car sick."

"Yeah and you know that I get hungry, who cares?" Your voice goes up an octave "Why are you acting like you had a gun to your head and you were forced to track me down?"

His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles working overtime to suppress the torrent of words poised on the tip of his tongue. Everything he wanted to say he swallowed back, never to leave his mouth. Kyle gritted his teeth in a silent display of defiance, you took this as a sign that the argument was coming to a close. "You're so annoying and you wonder why you're lonely."

"I'm not lonely," Your posture was rigid and tense, your voice lingering with desperation. You rather just tie the noose for yourself than admit that you care what he thinks about you.

"Okay." He says, short.

"I'm not," You insinuate trying to plead your hopeless case "There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, I'm happy being alone."

"You're definitely not happy."

"How?" You ask "How would you know that? We talk once a blue moon."

"You never go out, you smoke all the time, you ignore your friends, you hardly talk to your family, you hate every show you watch, you don't even like eating anymore because smoking is ruining your tastebuds-

"At least I have more friends than fingers on one fucking hand."

"At least my friends like me." His lips twitched with agitation.

"My friends like me," You counter his statement. Maybe you should have moved to Los Angeles, the city of liars and frauds, surely you would get along great with coked-up directors who thrive in delusion and believe everything they say is more profound than anything Socrates has ever written.

"From what Bebe was saying, it doesn't sound like it."

"Yeah? Well, Bebe's a fucking cunt," You missed her more than anything but she seemed absolutely fine without you. You kept coming across videos that you wanted to send her or funny things you wanted to tell her until reality popped back up and reminded you that she didn't like you anymore.

"You can't just call people who don't like you cunts,"

"Just did, cunt." You snark "Why do you have a fucking file on me?"

"Weston tells me, I guess you're the family bummer now," He shrugs.

"How?" You have an ajar smile on your face, and wide eyes, trying not to show that something inside of you had, bent, cracked, and then broken entirely "I'm only seventeen." You found it hard to believe that you were the blue in your family tree while you had at least three alcoholic uncles, one of them living off welfare.

"When's the last time you've sat down to eat dinner with the family?"

"What?"

"Your brother told me you always skip dinner with them to eat by yourself," Kyle says. You weren't aware that Weston had been reporting your shortcomings to the ginger

"That's not really your business."

"Kinda is." He moves a tree branch out of the way of his lanky frame "Your parents are worried, they think you're on drugs."

Apparently, he knew more about your family than you did, not that this had particularly surprised you, it just made you feel guilty like an outsider looking in. Though guilt was no purifier, it didn't make your lack of self any less unsettling.

"Okay, I get it, I know I'm shitty but you're no prize either," You say, abruptly. "Let's discuss the global political and economic situation." You mock him, speaking in a deeper voice to mimic the ginger "And the fucking cyber security issues, you're a buzzkill man, no matter where you are or who you're with."

"Those are actually important things," The vein in his forehead was prominent, almost cartoonishly protruding "You have eighty viruses on your laptop from pirating Sims 4 mods. Data brokers are stealing your information, you know that, right?"

"I don't give a shit if they steal my data, there's nothing worthwhile there, it's just pictures of pigeons," You cross your arms as you walk "See, just now, how you shat on me for playing the Sims?"

A deep sigh escaped his lips, a sigh tinged with exasperation as he struggled to compose himself in the face of mounting aggravation. "I'm not shitting on you for playing the Sims, I'm pointing out how you're committing a crime, downloading something without paying for it is a crime, you're a criminal."

"Boo, you're a buzzkill."

"Better than being in denial," He answers. "There's no way that you're a seventeen-year-old chain smoker and you're genuinely happy," Kyle had brought the conversation full circle, pulling back to you.

"Have you walked around this fucking town? There's no one here who's happy either." Whatever you were feeling, it felt shitty like every inch of your bones were covered with dirt and mildew that could never be cleaned.

Your statement had truth beneath it, everyone in South Park carried themselves with a bit of sadness as if they had grown past the stages of ignorance. Though you were unhappy, you were far from the only one and nothing if not desolate.

"Thanks for being a douche, this has been a lot of fun but could you kindly get off my dick now?" You say, jaw tensing as you ignore the aching behind your eyelids.

"I'm not on your-" Kyle's speaking abruptly ceased, his face contorting in discomfort as he clutched his stomach and stopped in his tracks. You stopped as well, watching his face that moments ago was full of irritation morphing into something like fear.

"Uh, you okay?" Your voice was dripping with concern, observing him as he took laboured breaths, a sense of unease washed over you. Your heart raced with alarm as you recognized the telltale signs of a hypoglycemic episode, mind racing through the steps you had been taught to help Kyle in situations like these.

Kyle's response was barely a whisper, his words slurred and disjointed as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His complexion was pale, a stark contrast to the tan he had been developing with summer oncoming, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He leaned against a tree trying to secure his footing before he dazily dropped to the ground, his back depending on the tree to keep him sitting up.

Instinctively, you looked around for someone to help, of course, you were left in an unnerving silence. "It's okay, we're cool, you're fine," You mutter, more comfort to yourself as you shed your backpack and move to kneel next to Kyle.

Moving with haste you yank his bag off, harsher than preferred. "Don't die, asshole," You urged softly, your voice shaking in the slightest. You reached into his bag, retrieved a small pouch containing glucose tablets, and quickly administered them to Kyle, urging him to chew slowly and swallow.

As the glucose tablets took effect, you could've sworn Kyle's colour began to return, the pallor fading from his cheeks as his blood sugar levels stabilized. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as the immediate threat passed.

Just as you began to breathe a sigh of relief, Kyle's eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp in your arms as he slumped against you. Panic surged through your veins like a tidal wave as you realized that he had lost consciousness. The brief moment of ease was axed in the head and replaced with an even more dire situation.

You snatch his canvas backpack once again, rummaging around for it, after four seconds of not finding what you need you dump the contents onto the ground. Your fingers fumbled with nervous energy as you retrieved an emergency glucagon injection, praying that it would be enough to bring Kyle back from the brink.

In your seventeen years of enmity, you had seen Kyle go through a good bit of complications due to his diabetes though there had always been one of your parents around to help and on a once-off occasion during a middle school assembly, Stan was on the case. You had never had his life in your hands, you made the decision between his life and comatose.

Your mom and dad had sat you down on several occasions to teach you explicitly what to do, you hadn't quite realized the significance until his unconscious body was flaccid over your lap. The hatred you had for him was momentarily pushed aside until he was okay enough to yell at you again.

With trembling hands, you lifted his shirt to expose the raw flesh of his abs. Taking a steadying breath you administered the injection, plunging the needle into Kyle's stomach. You watched with bated breath as the medication took effect, you knew it wouldn't be instant though part of you expected him to shoot back up the second the needle stuck into his skin.

No idea what you are supposed to do next you reach deep into the pocket of his jeans and pull out his phone. The screen was black and unmoving, just as yours was. You toss the phone to your side, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to press back the overwhelming feeling that fought to spill.

Taking a deep breath and wiping away any remnants of stress that were thrashing to consume you entirely, you move two fingers beneath his jawline to check for a pulse. You had been thinking back to your first aid class from tenth grade PE, what your grouchy teacher had tried to ingrain in your head.

His chest held an unsteady rise and fall and for split seconds between rational thoughts snuck in the idea that this might be it for him. Gingerly, you turn him onto his side, propping his right knee forward so he won't roll onto his stomach.

With care, you had resituated him into the recovery position that Mrs. Jackson had drilled into memory the year prior. You pushed yourself off the ground, pacing back and forth, hands tucked into your armpits, hugging yourself.

You flinched at the slightest sound, eyes quickly shifting to the source just for it to be a bird or the rustle of branches. "Kyle, if you die, that's going to fuck up both of our families for a really long time and I'll probably have to go to therapy which is so boring," You speak to his unconscious body like he's going to respond.

"You're seriously such a fucking loser if you die right now, so not cool," Part of you wanted to sprint away for help but you knew you likely wouldn't find a way out before Kyle regained consciousness and you didn't want to risk losing him entirely.

Your voice was shaking, your lip trembling and each breath coming out wobbly like you were about to faint yourself. That uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach for the second time that day "Dude, you might be ruining my life right now."

Of course, he was unresponsive and the only thing offering you any form of solace was the sound of his breathing, ever so faintly heard through the whispering between trees. With each passing second that he didn't wake up you grew more nervous, leaning on a tree, eyes narrowing in on his limp body for any movement.

If he did survive, he desperately needed to update his glucose monitor. You didn't like him, but that didn't mean you wanted him to die, you just never wanted to hear from him again. You bit your lip until you tasted blood, a desperate attempt to stifle the scream building in your throat, trapped behind a dam of unspoken words and unshed tears. You refused to cry over Kyle, especially when he was alive and breathing. "I think I hate you," You mutter so quietly that it almost gets blown away by the wind.

Kyle stirred, gagging with his mouth closed, eyelids still heavy. "Oh my fucking god," You drop your hands to your side in relief and bound towards him, crouching down to his level. His eyelids fluttered open, still, Kyle's body convulsed with gags as his hands clamoured for the trunk of the tree and your bicep harshly to pull him back up.

Eventually, with choked and shallow breath Kyle lurched forward and wretched, partially onto the ground, partially onto you. Bits of the greenish bile splash onto your clothing. Quickly you scrambled away, fighting the urge to upheave again as you look at the contents spilled onto your clothes.

Instead of coughing up your guts, you scrunch up your nose and hand him the black water bottle that had been dumped onto the ground with the rest of his belongings. At least the two of you were even now.

Repose washed over you when his sharp shallow breaths turned deep and steady. He rinsed his mouth out with water, eyes studying you where you were backing to sifting through his pile of belongings, while his chest rose and fell with every breath of air. His hands were trembling to the point that water almost splashed from the mouth of his bottle with how much he was rocking it.

There hadn't been much vomit on you though you still avoided breathing in through your nose to avoid the putrid smell. Wordlessly you move to grab his hand which he quickly retracts "What are you doing?"

"What do you think? You fucking idiot," You say, lancet pen in hand with a fresh needle inserted to prick his finger "You just threw up on me so don't be a bitch and give me your hand."

With a slight flush to his face, he held his hand out which you took. His fingers were cold to the touch, you took his ring finger and rubbed it between your thumb and index to warm it up and get some blood flow going. The both of you didn't look at one another, just where the skin of your hands connected as you massaged his finger with a hyper-focus.

When the skin of his ring finger was no longer cold against yours you quickly swabbed it down with a rubbing alcohol towelette that had been tucked into the emergency kit Sheila had sewn for Kyle, the fabric had strawberries with smiley faces on it.

Your eyes shifted for a brief moment to the silver medical emergency bracelet on his wrist that you gripped to steady his hand before you stuck the needle of the lancet into his finger. He flinched just the slightest. Kyle was used to using the glucometer on himself, he stopped having his mother do it completely when he reached sixth grade, there were a few times when Kenny and Stan did it out of pure curiosity but at this moment he had been shaking too much and didn't have much to stable himself on aside from trees and the grubby forest floor.

After applying gentle pressure you removed the lancer, inserted a new test strip into the glucometer and held it to the dribble of blood pooled on the pad of his finger like cherry juice. Watching the crimson soak into the test strip, you place it in his hand and rise to your feet.

Instead of watching his blood sugar level on the glucometer, Kyle was watching you riffle through your backpack and pull out what looked to be a change of clothes. He couldn't think of a time where you had ever been that gentle with him, even if you called him a bitch.

You glance back at him, gaze hardening when you see him staring directly at you. "Turn around, gay-ass, I need to change into my gym strip."

Without saying anything, Kyle awkwardly shifts the body to face the other direction. He keeps his gaze focused downwards on the glucometer watching it settle at the number 81. He was in the clear for now.

"Hey, so-uh, are you okay enough to earth it?" You ask as you peel your layers of clothing off, compulsively gagging at the sour smell, you can't help it.

"Earth it?" He furrows his eyebrows, still staring at his blood sugar level like he is analyzing it "What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno," you say, continuing to strip down until you're left in nothing but undergarments, trying not to shudder with each gust of wind. "Just earth it, like Coyote Peterson, y'know? Be a man and rub some dirt in it."

"Are trying to ask me if I can walk?" Absent-mindedly his free hand reached for the sore spot in his abdomen where he assumed you had put the empty injection needle that now landed discarded next to its container.

"Yeah."

"Then just ask that."

"Woah what's with all this attitude after I saved your life," You shimmy into a pair of biker shorts that were intended for the soccer practice you had to miss that day.

Begrudgingly Kyle said, "Thank you." Though it was so quiet he wasn't even sure you would hear it. His head was pounding, it felt like someone was inside of his skull and beating it with a sledgehammer. “And, yeah, I can walk, just give me a minute.”

You were a little taken aback that he actually thanked you. You were just being a dick when you brought up rescuing him from comatose, in your head this was just something that the two of you would never bring up again. Without knowing what to say, you pretend that you didn't hear him and instead reach for a clean shirt.

"What are you doing?!" A voice cut through the growing silence. Immediately both you and Kyle look to see Mr. Waterman standing with Wendy. Mr. Waterman had turned around and covered his eyes the moment he saw you shirtless while Wendy's gaze shot between you and Kyle wildly. "Put some clothes on right now!"

At the very least it was nice to know someone had been looking for you.

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #stan marsh #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #bebe stevens #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle broflovski angst #kyle brovlofski #sp kyle #south park kyle #kyle broflovski fluff #clyde donovan #tweek tweak #wendy testaburger

39 notes · View notes