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valmerappreciationhours · 4 years

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Room 313

Clenny Week Day 4--omg they were roommates

(read on ao3 here)

Clyde Donovan has been looking forward to meeting his college roommate for months. Unfortunately for him, Kenny McCormick isn't quite what he was expecting.

“You smell that? That’s the smell of new beginnings, my compatriots.”

“Bold to say for s-someone who peaked in hh—hu—high school.”

“Smells like manure and sweat.”

Clyde stopped in his trek to turn and glare at his companions, varsity jacket-clad arms crossed. His height certainly wasn’t accomplishing any wonders in terms of intimidation. “You’re just grumpy since your boyfriend didn’t come with us.”

Craig’s mouth remained set in a straight line, but a small crease formed between his brows. “I’m simply stating facts. And you didn’t say anything about Jimmy’s comment.”

“Jimmy’s comment was funny.”

“I aim to please.”

As the group continued their teasing, a cold autumn breeze picked up, whisking a few leaves past the party. The spare bits of concrete that were visible under throngs of students were littered with empty chip bags and discarded cigarettes. Booths advertising various clubs and events were scattered throughout the square, with a couple of plain buildings filling the space beyond. The clatter of voices and the rustling of bodies generated a cacophony that was a chore to speak over, but the three had plenty of practice.

“Who has the map? I’m r-ready to get out of this.” Jimmy had cut over to an empty area by a trash can and quickly readjusted his crutches.

“I second that.” Craig swiftly unfolded the campus map from his jacket pocket. “We’re going to my residence hall first. Token’s waiting with Stripe in the car and I need to get her set up.”

“Aw, Craig!” Clyde whined but sped up to keep up with the long strides. “You mean they’re not close?”

“Did you not look at any of your papers?”

The silence from Clyde was deafening.

Jimmy laughed. “Nice to know Clyde’s still the same old guy ev-even at a b-b-bi- a big university.” It was not a big university. It may quality as big by some standards, or a university by others, but the community college was far from any Ivy League school. The minimal requirements and low fees were what made the school attractive more than anything else.

“But I’ll be so quick! I just wanna meet my roommate and then I’ll be right back to help set up! I’ve been waiting forever for this.” Clyde’s excitement and fierce determination sparkled in his brown eyes, and Craig sighed.

“Do you need the map?”

“He needs the map,” Jimmy confirmed.

Clyde raced across campus, dodging other new students and luggage. His backpack thumped uncomfortably against his back, but it was no match for the exhilaration of discovering who he was going to be rooming with. Hopefully someone cool who also loved football and parties! Maybe even a science nerd like Craig, who would be down with making miniature explosions in their dorm. Clyde nearly toppled two boys hefting a crate, and made hasty apology as he scrambled up the stairs. Third floor, room 310, 311, 312, yes, 313! The door was cracked, and Clyde thrust it open to finally reveal…

An empty room.

Wait, no, there was a ratty brown backpack on the floor. Clyde glanced around, searching for something, anything more. He couldn’t have run here just to beat seeing his roommate.

The bunkbeds lacked any personal items, there were no posters, no pets. The beige walls and gray rug stared back, empty and unyielding. The desk, aside from coffee stains and indentations, bore no mark of human life. Clyde stood for a moment more, hoping for something before he left to go help his friends set up.

His saving grace was an incomprehensible muffle from behind him.

Clyde whipped around fast enough to produce a neck injury, and was met with an individual ingulfed by an orange coat covered in patches. His jeans were completely torn at the knees, showing off scrapes and bruises underneath. His shoes were unidentifiable simply by the sheer amount of duct tape holding them together. He stared, and the other stared back, blue eyes unblinking. Eventually the muffle sounded again, but now that Clyde was paying attention it sounded much more like “do you live here?”

“Yeah, I live here.” Clyde flashed a smile, leaning against the doorframe. A surefire way to make a good impression, and if this orange blob was his roommate, he wanted to look like the coolest dude on the face of the Earth.

The boy under the coat stuck out a hand, showing off fingerless gloves. Clyde took it, wondering if the gloves were a sign his roommate was chill or if he was a former homeless person. At any rate, his hands were clammy anyway.

“Kenneth McCormick,” he introduced through a thick layer of fabric. “You want top or bottom?”

Clyde let his hand keep shaking, but his cheeks reddened. “Clyde Donovan, and, uh, that’s pretty straightforward.”

Kenneth put his hands back in the pockets of the orange monstrosity. “Well, we gotta figure it out before bed.”

Oh, geez, that was straightforward! “Hey, man, you seem alright and all, and I’m sure you’re attractive under that hood, but…”

One could practically see the pieces fit their way together in Kenneth’s mind, and his eyebrows shot up. He took a hand and pointed behind Clyde, who turned to see the bunk beds. Well, what did that have to do with---ohh. Oh.

Clyde turned back in horror, cheeks surely flaming. His roommate’s eyes crinkled at the corners, alive with mirth. “Uh, why don’t you have first pick? My treat.” He quickly started moving around to the exit. “I actually gotta go help my friend set up, so, I’ll see you later, I guess.” Once out, Clyde forced a casual stroll down the hall until he couldn’t see his room anymore, then bolted.

He was going to run to Craig’s room, and he was not going to cry all over his friends because he totally bombed his first impression. Jimmy would tell a joke and make everything better, and somehow Token would provide a solution that would make perfect sense and Clyde would wonder how he hadn’t thought of it. Yeah, it would work out. Just the thought of his friends lessened the burn in his face. It would probably be brushed off and forgotten by the time he returned.

Kenneth McCormick had not forgotten. Clyde was sure of this when he headed back to the room, backpack and bags in tow, and his roommate leaned down from the top bunk. Instantly, those blue eyes crinkled. “I chose top,” he said through the coat, and Clyde wanted to scream.

“I’m doomed,” Clyde said into his mug.

�� “You’re doomed,” Craig agreed, not batting an eye.

“What is it this time?” Token didn’t look up from his place on the tablet screen. He may be miles away at a fancy university, but he wasn’t getting out of Those Guys hangouts that easily.

Clyde laid his head on the wood grain of the coffee shop table. “My roommate.”

“Shame.” Craig blew on the steam billowing off his mug. “My roommate is the coolest person in the world.”

“I don’t m-mmm-mind my roommate either,” Jimmy added. “What’s the issue with yu-yours?”

“The worst first impression in the world,” Clyde groaned, wallowing in misery. “And he’s never there so now the only thing he thinks of me is that I think about gay sex.”

“So, he’s p-pretty much got it.”

Craig snorted into his tea and even Token howled with laughter through the speaker, Jimmy beaming with pride. Clyde huffed, and Jimmy reached out to poke his cheek.

“Hey, it’s n-n-not a big deal. Do you really wanna be bent on the op-o-opinn-opinion of someone whose name is Kenneth? Th-that’s a nerd name, Clyde.”

That was it. The gamechanger. Clyde’s head snapped up. “You’re right! That is a nerd name!” Finally, it felt like things were starting to come together again, when Clyde’s face fell. “Oh no. I already gave him a nickname.” There went that sacred sliver of hope.

“I thought you didn’t talk to him,” Token pointed out.

Clyde leaned onto his hand. “I said he’s never there. We’ve talked and stuff.”

“H-how cool was the nickname, th-though?”

“I just shortened it to Kenny! I thought, hey, I don’t wanna be saying this long fancy name all the time!”

“You gave him a nickname!” a new voice yelped, causing three of the four boys to jolt. “Oh god, you’re in it now, Clyde!” Tweek hovered above the table, a full coffee pot in one hand, a navy-blue teapot in the other. Despite the shouting and nervous energy radiating off of him, not a drop of liquid found its way onto the table or anyone’s clothes. After years, Tweek was bound to become an expert on handling drinks simultaneous to freaking out.

On the screen, Token bowed his head solemnly. “The Tweek has spoken. You can’t come back from this.” Craig nodded as Tweek refilled the cups around the table.

“C-come on, guys!" Jimmy tried, ever an optimist. “Clyde may have st-st-started out on his dumber foot—”

“I’m gonna let you continue since you’re defending me.”

“—b-but he can ssstill pull through!” Jimmy reached out to grab Clyde’s round cheeks. “Who could say no to this ch-charming face!”

“Gah!”

“Anyone with sense.”

“Literally everyone I can think of.”

“Hm.” Jimmy pulled his hands back and poured more sugar into his mug. “I’ve worked with w-worse audiences.”

“So, you still have faith in me?” Clyde looked to his friend, brown eyes large and vulnerable. He was a drowning voyager, fighting for his life in the open sea, and Jimmy, his good friend Jimmy, was right there with a lifeboat.

Jimmy averted his eyes and loudly sipped his coffee. Fake-Clyde was left to die in the cold water.

The next time Clyde truly interacted with his roommate, it was just past two in the morning on a Saturday. The unlocking of the door roused him from a light sleep, in which he was doing a great job at crumpling his textbook pages. Clyde quickly shut the book and looked over to the other boy, expecting to find him drunk or maybe high. What Clyde did not expect was to see Kenny sporting an apron and black slacks, a to-go cup and battered paper in one hand. A scarf wrapped around his face, effectively blocking out wind, as well as Clyde from getting a look at his face.

When Kenny noticed that Clyde was awake, he lit up and quickly closed the distance, shutting the door with his hip. “Hey man, check this out.” Clyde was barely awake, mind still muddled from sleep, but his brain worked hard enough to understand the colorful paper Kenny sat in front of him. “Are you going?”

Clyde rubbed his eye, works still sticking to form. “Sure, I love a good party. Didn’t think you were a party guy.”

Kenny laughed, muffled. “That hurts, man. Why not?”

Clyde yawned, leaning back down to his homework. His words slurred with sleep. “You gotta name like Kenneth. Dassa nerd name.”

He vaguely registered the creak of the bunk as Kenny climbed up. “Hey, you gave me a nickname all on your own. That’s admitting that I’m cooler than my birth name.” The flop of fabric against mattress. “Go to that party with me, I’ll show you how cool I can be.”

Clyde mumbled into his book. “Bet.” If Kenny was still talking, he didn’t tune in, too busy getting drool all over his homework.

The closer time got to the awaited party, the more Clyde started hearing about it around campus. It became a hot topic in the halls and overtook class whisperings; what people were gonna wear, who they were going with, how crazy it was bound to be. Clyde was feeling like hot stuff for having already known about it (even if he needed the sight of the flyer to remind him), and all the buzz only made him more excited. This would mark his first real, off-the-chain college party. Quite possibly more important than first steps, if you asked him.

Clyde’s pile of homework sat untouched on his bunk. Not today; there were more important things, like the crisp varsity jacket laying on the chair and money on the desk for a dinner of tacos before. He was working on the knots of his sneakers when the door banged open.

“I’m just saying, laser eyes would just be a hazard to itself.” A boy with black hair followed Kenny into the room, still wrapped up in conversation. Clyde may have known next to nothing about the topic, but it sounded like a good one.

Kenny swung around to face Clyde. “Hey, dude, this is Stan. He’s gonna be going with us since his one true super best friend left him for a fancy school.”

“And there was no way I was going with Cartman.” Stan’s eyes were intense, practically radiating revulsion toward the Cartman fellow.

“And there was no way he was going with Cartman,” Kenny agreed, nodding. While he set to work on his parka zippers, Clyde grinned over at the newcomer.

“The more the merrier, man!”

“I’m also bringing alcohol,” Stan mentioned, holding up the twelve pack he carried.

Clyde glanced at the label and humbly dropped to a knee. “The good stuff! You’re a savior, Stan-the-man.”

“Don’t bother,” Kenny’s muffle advised, “his heart already belongs to a faraway prince.” Clyde turned to respond, but was shocked by lack of the raggedy orange parka. Instead, Kenny was decked out in a marginally better-looking hoodie and a skirt over leggings. That was a surprise, but Clyde couldn’t say it didn’t look great on Kenny. Unfortunately, a surgeon’s mask successfully continued to hide his face, and Clyde couldn’t help from groaning.

“Am I ever gonna see your face?”

Kenny strode over and patted Clyde’s back. “I’m too cute; it’s for the good of humanity that I contain it.”

“He gets sick easy,” Stan supplied from Kenny’s other side. Kenny punched him in the arm, and he glared back. “Dinner, first, right?”

“Yeah!” Clyde punched a fist in the air. “Ya boy wants tacos!”

It was beautiful. So beautiful.

Music thumped and blared out of the house, alight with strobes and the glowing cherries of cigarettes. People spilled out onto the street, most with drinks in hand. The only ones that looked like they weren’t having a good time were sitting against the side of the house, puffing on cigarette smoke. Clyde thought they looked just a bit menacing in all black with dark stares, but Kenny strode right up and held out a fist to the lone girl.

“’Ey, Henri!” She huffed and bumped the offered fist. “Glad you could make it!”

“Whatever.” She took another drag. “We’re just at this conformist party to prove a point that all this is still meaningless and doesn’t drive off the darkness.”

Clyde grimaced. Geez, these guys hit heavy. Kenny just looked infinitely brighter next to them, with his vibrant orange hoodie and blond hair.

To Clyde’s surprise, Kenny was agreeing with her. “I hear that,” he said, muffled, “but there’s nothing wrong with postponing inevitable darkness a while. Save me a smoke later?”

If Clyde wasn’t mistaken, he just saw the girl’s black lips twitch upwards. “I won’t wait around.”

Clyde looked at Stan for some clarification, mouth agape. Stan shrugged. “Goth kids, that’s Henrietta.” He pointed out the girl. “They’re a bunch of downers, but I’m pretty sure Kenny’s immune to everything the world’s got.”

Kenny rejoined their trio and led the way in. If the excitement and energy were evident outside, it was even better in the house. Pounding bass, crowded halls, laughter and dancing and so many attractive people. Clyde was sure he’d died and gone to heaven. This was where he was meant to be, and Kenny’s side pushing up against him in the crowd just made it better.

After a few drinks, the group lost Stan, but neither was too worried. “He’ll be passed out drunk somewhere,” Kenny claimed, and Clyde was too busy being distracted by the lure of beer pong.

An hour in, Clyde had taken back every worry he ever had about his roommate. Kenny was lively and wild, contrary to the stick-in-the-mud nerd assumption. He couldn’t believe he ever thought he had to be concerned about interacting with his roommate; it was as easy as breathing. The two were hovering to the side of a dim room, taking a quick breather and clinking their red solo cups, when a girl caught Clyde’s eye.

A goddess in red! The sun burned in jealously of the shine of her golden locks!

Really, he recognized her from his English class, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t still pretty.

“Go talk to her.” Kenny’s breath was hot on his neck in the crowded room, and it sent chills despite the heat.

Clyde did not blush. He instead focused on making his way through the throngs of partygoers, dodging cups of unknown drinks and young adults grinding on each other. Finally, he stumbled through past a pair of girls, reaching his destination.

“Hey, Clyde,” the girl drawled, pushing back a curl. Her lipstick gleamed blood-red.

Clyde ran a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to make it look less frizzy and sweaty. “Hey, Bebe!” he half-yelled over the noise. “Having fun?”

Bebe swirled her drink, smirking. “Yeah, but maybe not as much fun as you’ve been having with your friend over there.”

Clyde turned his head to see where she was gesturing. Kenny was bathed in a faint blue light, forming a type of halo around windswept blond hair, making him look ethereal amidst the other party-goers. At some point in the night, his hoodie got unzipped, showing off a tank top that complimented his figure in comparison to all those baggy jackets. Kenny was talking with Stan again, who was looking pretty worse for wear. Well, less talking with, more talking to while supporting most of his weight. Kenny was saying something and nodding in Clyde’s direction.

When they locked eyes, Kenny’s blue ones glittered. He winked. The simple action made something flutter in Clyde’s stomach. Maybe it was the alcohol.

He turned back to Bebe. “He’s my roommate.”

Clyde watched Bebe crane her neck to look at Kenny again, maybe noting how cheap his clothes looked. One of the girls that Clyde had pushed past leaned heavily on her friend, voice choked with the heavy emotion characteristic of drunk girls. “Oh my god, they were roommates!”

Clyde groaned, slamming his head down onto his jumble of papers.

“Chemistry?” Kenny guessed, huddled with his own books on the top bunk.

“Spanish,” Clyde corrected. “There’s so many words!” To rub salt into his struggle, Craig just had to be fluent. Not only did that make Clyde feel worse about his own inability, Craig was preoccupied with his physics project and had turned off all notifications. Help from the local genius was inaccessible. “You wouldn’t happen to be taking it, would you?”

“Nah, I tested out.”

Clyde swung around. “You know Spanish? Please help me!”

Kenny peered down. “Not Spanish, I tested out of language with Mandarin.”

That sent Clyde for a loop. “Mandarin?” Was that even one of the languages someone could take here? Not to mention the difficulty; English script was hard enough for Clyde to read without getting jumbled; he couldn’t wrap his head around understanding the strokes of Mandarin.

Kenny flipped a page in his notebook. “I used to work at this local Chinese restaurant. I picked a lot up from the owner.” It was said completely nonchalant, as if he wasn’t talking about casually learning a second language.

“Dude! Just like that?” The Spanish worksheets lay forgotten. Who would’ve guessed his roommate was so interesting? Maybe Clyde just wanted to avoid his homework, but learning more could totally be a valid excuse here.

“Mhm.” Aside from the affirmation, Kenny was quiet on his bunk.

“Could you say something in Mandarin?” Clyde prompted hopefully.

Kenny thought for just a moment. “Tā mā de.”

Clyde looked on, starry eyed. “So cool! What’s it mean?”

Kenny scribbled some notes, but paused to glance back at his roommate. His eyes crunched in the way that meant he was smiling, and Clyde’s heart buzzed. “Fuck.”

Clyde dissolved into laughter, and was quickly followed by Kenny. “I think I will start peppering that into my conversations starting today.” He picked up his abandoned pencil and flipped a Spanish worksheet over. “How do you say it again?”

Football practice may not rank as high as triple decker nachos on Clyde’s list of favorite things, but it was up there. The satisfying strain of muscle and delight of messing with his teammates outweighed the yelling of the coaches and the aches the next day by far. It was a time he actually enjoyed, that actually made sense instead of heavy bookwork, so of course the universe wouldn’t let him have it. Ten minutes in, the sky opened up, pouring rain so hard one couldn’t see past their own hand.

Clyde trudged back to his dorm hall, squinting to see through the sheets of water crashing down. He wiped his soppy bangs from his face, but it did no good. His clothes were drenched and heavy, coupled with the weight of his sports bag of equipment. At least the dorm hall wasn’t too much farther. It was benevolent in its way of offering shelter from the storm, but cruel and unforgiving in its broken elevator sign.

Clyde was resigned to heaving himself up the stairs, bag hitting every step behind him. A hot shower sounded so good right now. Or maybe lasagna. Or watching bad television in his soft and warm pajamas, snuggled up in blankets. Yeah, his night just got booked.

He dug in his pocket for his room key, dreaming about the dollar store garlic bread he could cook up. His hand closed on nothing. Clyde switched to his other pocket, then his back pockets, jacket, and bag, growing more desperate with each pocket. Of course.

Clyde let his weight drop, falling to the ground. Tears welled up in his eyes. He was tired, he was cold, he just wanted to go home! To top it off, Kenny had been talking about meeting up with his friend Eric, and the fact that the two might get arrested and wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning.

Fantastic.

Clyde tried to ring out his clothes and leaned against the door. Maybe Kenny would get back early. He would love to see that scraggly hair and patched up jacket right now. Until then, well, no point in trying to get anything done.

Clyde was jolted out of his half-slumber by the door opening behind him, pushing his back. He looked over his shoulder to see an almost startled Kenny gazing down at him. Clyde quickly lept to his feet. “I thought you were still out.”

Kenny opened the door further to let his roommate in. “Things went south,” he explained, but didn’t elaborate.

Clyde pulled his heavy sports bag into the room. “Did you get rained out too?” Most of the water that clung to him had been left in the hall, but his clothes were still damp enough to be uncomfortable.

Kenny threw himself back into the desk chair, which spun with his weight. “I got shot.”

Clyde turned with a start, but Kenny looked fine. Clean clothes, smooth movements, a stunning lack of blood. He laughed. “That bad, huh?”

Kenny’s eyes looked sunken and tired. Clyde quickly decided it didn’t suit him.

“I’m gonna order a pizza. Proven to heal even the most gruesome wounds! What do you want on it?” He was too tired to make lasagna anyway.

Kenny leaned back in his chair. “Everything in the store. I’m starving!”

Clyde dug his phone out and dialed the nearest pizza delivery. His garlic bread was gonna knock Ken’s socks off.

Nothing screamed procrastination quite like watching dumb shows. Clyde pulled his blanket closer and perused his Netflix options. It would be a good night for a comedy, relieve some stress of classes. The lamps were already turned off, the blue light of the laptop the main source of light in the room. The savory smell of noodles wafted in, and Clyde drooled. Oh yeah, it was all coming together.

He turned to see his roommate heralding two cups of noodles. Faded pajama pants hung loose around Kenny’s thin frame, and a splash of broth had stained his shirt, which proudly proclaimed that he was the Denver spelling bee champion of 2005. The lighting made it just too difficult to get a good look at the bottom half of his face. Damn. Kenny set the two steaming cups of ramen on the table and crashed down onto the couch.

“Spelling bee champion?” Clyde finally picked a series to play, and his attention was grabbed by the old tee, the colorful lettering standing out.

Kenny picked up his noodles. “I stole it from Kyle,” he explained, twirling his chopsticks.

They settled in, slurping on seasoned noodles and continuing the series started last week. It had plenty of action, but more importantly, it had comedy. There was something special about laughing with Kenny. He had a great laugh.

Clyde shifted to lean against his friend’s arm. He was expecting maybe a sly comment or for Kenny to gently shove him off; he certainly was not expecting Kenny to take a sharp breath and stiffen. Clyde scrambled to move. “Fuck! Are you okay, dude?”

Kenny rubbed his arm with his other hand, and Clyde barely hesitated to push up the sleeve and examine. Aside from a few scattered freckles, the skin there was smooth. “Just phantom pain,” Kenny explained. “I hurt it yesterday and I guess I’m still feeling it. Don’t worry about it.”

Clyde could almost relate, but his sports injuries always left a mark a day later. “What’d you do?”

Kenny looked like he was considering some options. “Nothing much,” he decided. Clyde frowned, brows furrowed, but Kenny’s face was bright when he looked back. “Don’t worry about it, happens all the time.” He readjusted and leaned back against Clyde. “I always bounce back.”

With Kenny pressed against him, hot ramen on the table, and the next episode of their comedy beginning to play, Clyde wasn’t about to argue or probe for more information. He was content to just grab his cup of noodles and move closer to his friend’s side.

“You’re a weirdo, Kenny.” Clyde clapped a hand on his shoulder. “But I’m gonna miss you.”

Kenny’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “I’m gonna miss you too, you big dummy.”

Ah shit. Tears started leaking out of Clyde’s doe eyes and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He pulled Kenny into a hug. The shoulder of Kenny’s jacket was getting wet but Clyde didn’t notice. “I mean, you’re just so strange, man! I’ve never known anyone like you. My friend thinks you’re a demon.”

“Is it the one that’s always hyped up on coffee?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” After a few more minutes, Kenny managed to extract himself and put his hands in his pockets. “You’ll see me next year.”

No, that was way too long. Clyde pulled his phone from his pocket. “We could text over the summer! Maybe meet up?”

Kenny’s blue eyes lost their shine. “I don’t have a phone. I’m gonna be staying with my brother a few towns over. Sorry, dude.”

Clyde’s face fell, and he quickly wiped his eyes. “Alright. That’s cool. No worries, man.”

“Don’t miss me too much!” Kenny put a hand on Clyde’s shoulder as a goodbye, but it was the wrong move, as it sent the other into another death-grip hug. It might be a while.

Summer felt like a trade of Kenny for Tweek and Token back in person, and it was seriously messing with Clyde’s emotions. He loved his friends, and seeing Craig happier was always a treat, but without Kenny, things felt duller. It might’ve been easier to mope and forget those bright eyes for a while if relationships weren’t such a hot topic of conversation.

“Pretty fffunny that you w-worried all that much and all you did was fall in love with him.”

Clyde floundered. “I did not fall in love with him!”

Tweek pulled on his hair. “Gah! What if he infects you with alien spawn now that he’s gained your trust!”

Token poked at his gelato. “I thought the theory was that he’s a demon?”

Tweek set back to his espresso ice cream. “I’ve been workshopping it.”

“Don’t make him show you the PowerPoint,” Craig added. “It’s full of spelling errors and he won’t let me fix it.”

“You guys are the nerdiest couple I’ve ever seen,” Clyde said, annoyance temporarily forgotten over the pair, “and it’s so cute.” Craig flipped him off.

“S-soon they will be b-b-balanced out by the unt-untamable party couple,” Jimmy snickered.

“We’re not dating! I don’t even know if he likes boys,” Clyde defended. All the other parties present gave Clyde a long look. “What?”

“Dude,” Token began. “Kenny likes boys.”

“And girls. And an-anything that gives consent.”

“WHAT?” Clyde dropped his ice cream. “How have you guys noticed and I haven’t? Token doesn’t even go to our school!”

“Clyde,” Craig deadpanned. “He has a pride flag on his jacket.”

“It was in the—ah! It was in the picture you showed us!”

The boys all watched as Clyde tore out his phone and scrolled through his pictures until he reached the desired one. Sure enough, once he was looking, the pink, yellow, and blue patch was obvious. “Oh no,” Clyde whispered, horrified, “I’m an idiot.” He looked up just in time to see Tweek smack a hand against Craig, who had an amused look on his features. “But that doesn’t mean I like him!”

“One thing at a time, buddy.”

Clyde ripped open his dorm room door, excitement bringing him close to bursting. An agonizingly long summer, three long Kenny-less months. At last, on the other side of that door would be a gross old backpack and an orange parka and everything would fall back into place.

“H-hey, Clyde!”

Clyde stood in the doorway, staring blankly. Jimmy was on the bottom bunk, pulling notebooks out of his backpack. His smile was bright and wonderful as always, but that moment marked the only time it made Clyde feel worse.

“Oh. Hey, Jim.”

“You didn’t c-c-check anyone else’s room n-number,” Jimmy noted, unfazed.

“Nope,” Clyde sighed. If you asked him a year ago, rooming with Jimmy would’ve been the dream, but now? He couldn’t imagine staying with anyone but Kenny McCormick.

“N-no worries.” Jimmy grabbed his crutches, which were propped up against the wall. A confident smile played at his lips. “I know a v-vi-a visit with Cr-Craig will turn that f-frown upside down.”

Clyde didn’t believe it; Craig could be a sourpuss, and his general attitude was not likely to fix Clyde’s mood. Nevertheless, he was still a reliable friend. “CRAAAIIIG,” Clyde groaned, stepping into the dorm, hand over face. He didn’t bother trying to contain his distress. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Craig at his worst, anyway.

“Nice to see you too, Clyde.”

Hold up.

Clyde uncovered an eye to see a mop of blond and a horrendously vibrant orange hoodie. “Kenny!” There was no hesitation in flinging his whole weight at the other, who nearly toppled over. He wrapped his arms tight, and Kenny shifted uncomfortably.

“Might need some air here.”

Clyde loosened his arms marginally, but pressed his face into the jacket. “I’m never letting go.”

“Alright, but I don’t know the last time I washed this hoodie.”

“Same goes for my shirt, man.”

Jimmy and Craig each took a step away from the pair. Craig kept taking steps, out the door and down the hall.

“Should I be worried?” Kenny asked into Clyde’s hair.

“Nah, he’s gonna go do my laundry.”

“How did you ever survive before you met him?”

How did I ever survive without you, Clyde thought. Kenny was the sun, bright and wonderful, even if he didn’t know exactly how it functioned. If he could spend the rest of eternity here with Kenny, reckless, hardworking, witty Kenny, he would be happy. From where he was tucked, Clyde could easily peer over Kenny’s shoulder and get a good view of Jimmy. He was smirking at Clyde knowingly, the kind of look his friends always gave when it was proven that they were right.

Oh.

Dammit.

The group chat chimed a dozen messages, mostly words of encouragement. Clyde puffed his chest and began striding over to his target. The device continued to chime, and it only served to boost his esteem. He positioned himself against a wall, propping himself up against it.

When Kenny finally reached his point at the sidewalk, Clyde brushed his hair back and tried for an award-winning smile. “Hey, Ken, top or bottom?”

Kenny was still sporting his work uniform, with the addition of his heavy parka. He looked at Clyde, and his blue eyes were heavy and tired. “We don’t bunk together anymore, Clyde.”

Clyde only grinned back.

Kenny’s eyes widened. “Oh fuck.”

Clyde flashed a finger gun. “You and me, 7:00, sushi shop downtown?”

Kenny made an “okay” sign with his hand. “Hell yeah! Wanna see if Jimmy and Craig are willing to switch roommates?”

“They’ll do it, they’re great wingmen.” Clyde took Kenny’s hand in his own, confident.

Who needed classes or sports or parties or graduation? Hands down, Clyde would say the best thing about college was his super cool, not nerdy, Mandarin-speaking, psych major, idiot roommate. All that other stuff was just extra, pushing him closer to where he needed to be.

Maybe a class on mysterious boyfriend investigation would be beneficial, though.

#clenny #clenny week 2020 #clyde donovan #kenny mccormick #south park #sp clenny #my mediocre writing #it may not be perfect but I had fun making it and thats what matters #sp fic

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nauseateddrive · 4 years

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MYSTERY LIGHT by Catherine Sinow

Something terrible happened one night while Cassie and I were parked on a cliff in Los Feliz. It started off innocently enough; we were looking over a valley of twinkling homes in her 2005 Mercedes, her mom’s old car, listening to Iceage, a band we both love. A Yankee Candle air freshener hung from the mirror, which might have been ironic, which I loved because doing things ironically is so her. The car always made me feel cozy with its vintage leather smell and I imagined that I’d drive something similar if I ever upgraded my tattered old Subaru.

Cassie and I often enjoyed going to Griffith Observatory, sometimes combining it with a trip to Permanent Records, our favorite record shop. We would always park on cliffs and chat afterwards; it had totally become Our Thing. I always enjoyed being with her; just the way she looked at me with her blue-green eyes and laughed at my jokes like she was in a little fit. I really found her kind of flawless, even her weird aspects, like how she had a few too many pictures of her with her grandpa on Facebook.

We’d been hanging out less though since she got her boyfriend, this tall dude named Owen, about six months ago. They met because our good friend Jack is in a band with him. Owen plays guitar, drums, and keyboards, and his voice is pretty smooth, not going to lie. I don’t even understand how one person is so good at so many instruments. But whenever that gets me down I remind myself that he honestly has kind of shit taste in music. I mean, he’s a little too into Tame Impala and Beach House, and everyone knows those bands are cliché and unoriginal. He also has bleached hair and plays a Telecaster. Kind of a poser music boy thing—my style’s a lot more original (I wear mostly beige tones) but also classic (Converse and natural hair color). And I mean I’m pretty tall, too, 6’1” in fact, but this dude is TALL. Like, so tall that other people force him to be on basketball teams. Anyway I was so grateful to have Cassie as a friend, even though I really wished I had gone for her before Owen got to her. She’d been spending less time with me due to him and I can respect that even though it makes me kind of upset.

The Iceage album ended and Cassie switched the music to Ava Luna, a great band we got into together after seeing them play live at Origami Vinyl. Whenever I listen to them I think of her.

“I’m always better at cleaning my room while drunk! I just get the irresistible urge to clean!” she said. I loved little quirky comments like these. We always had great conversations when alone.

“Really!” I said. “I’m better at almost nothing while drunk. I’m better at like, talking about my embarrassing moments from 6th grade while drunk.” She laughed with her cute little scrunched-up-nose giggle. I kind of hoped she’d ask further—I’d been getting pretty good at telling this story about how I was the flag monitor and I left the flag up over the entire two-week winter break. She didn’t ask, unfortunately, but like the sharp girl she is, found a hysterical thing to say instead.

“I’m better at getting the mail while drunk,” she said, giggling. See what I mean?

“I’m better at stowing away in an airplane wheel while drunk,” I said, which really got her going. It made me feel accomplished—an Oscar moment.

Afterward she started to open up to me about some issues she was having with Owen,so I listened attentively. It seemed like even though he always took her amazing places and got presents for her, he was missing a key ingredient—he had a hard time sitting down and really emotionally empathizing. And Cassie’s a really sensitive person, so I know that matters. I found my advice always ended up with the bottom line of “You can do better,” but deep down I wanted to help her talk out her issues and respect her decision to stay with Owen. It was her choice, after all, and I try to respect the choices that people make.

“Jake, look! What the fuck is that?” She pointed out the window. It was plain as day: a big flash of white light trailing through the air. It was completely silent, but it kept expanding in big circles.

“FUCK,” I said.

“What? What? Is that a plane? Is that not just a plane?”

This was bad and I knew it. “I’ve been watching some videos about this recently,” I exclaimed. “It’s a Christ damn nuclear missile. Look, it has that shape. I think the shape determines it.” Yes, I do like looking at Wikipedia articles about strange things such as nuclear missiles.

“Fuck, like, how long do we have to live?”

“I have no fucking idea,” I said, my heart pounding. “Minutes? Look, do you want to make out with me?” I felt the words tumble out of my mouth and a feeling of otherworldly liberation washed over me.

“Um—um—yeah I do! What if we fucking die! I’ve lived such a good life! I miss Owen! My mom was so sweet to me and I was a little brat to her. Fuck, it’s all flashing before my eyes. I can’t stop thinking about this road trip to Utah we took as kids and how my parents took this picture of us by this gigantic sandstone rock formation that was like, these two arches!” She made a perpendicular gesture with her hands. “I thought it was cool then but I think it would be even cooler now! ‘Cause I’m an adult! And it’s all ending! Will I ever get to be old?”

Tears seemed to dribble out of her eyes and she looked so infinitely sad that it felt profound, more profound than any work of literature I’ve ever read, probably. I wanted so badly to comfort her. Now, I need to let you know that I actually thought I was going to die at that moment. Well, not completely, but maybe like a 75% chance? I don’t remember, but I do remember thinking there was a pretty good chance that this was the end of the world.

We crawled into the back seat and started making out. It felt so, so good to plant my mouth on hers, tasting her rose lip balm, after having only stared (both in real life and on social media) for so long. I tore off my beanie and removed her rounded glasses, tossing them into the front seat since I knew she would never need them again, and let my hands meet her inhumanly smooth skin, her shoulder-length dark brown hair, her denim jacket, her modest but subtly curved body. We panted and slammed our clothed forms over each other like the shirts and pants were barriers to break through. My final fuck, I thought. Just do this and maybe everything will be so beautiful, so powerful, that the world won’t really end after all.

“I’m so scared,” she said as she took her jacket, then long-sleeved shirt off. “The world is actually ending.”

“Just make the most of our last moments!” I shouted. So we had sex in my backseat, me on top. I had only had sex once before, with this girl from Tinder, but it seemed like that one time was decent enough practice for the end of the world. I really felt during that sex that Cassie and I combined into a singular human, maybe not even a human, but a unified plane of energy. I savored every raw bit of emotion outwardly flowing from the pits of our stomachs combining with this incomprehensible fear, knowing that in minutes our entire lives and the entire world would be obliterated into nothing. All my middle school classmates, the toys I got for all my Christmases, every vinyl record I had taken the time and money to purchase was for nothing, all at the devastating hands of fate and the man’s technology careening out of control. All my life, all the life and history of the world spiraled into her and my passion I was driving forward. I cried out her name, and she cried out mine.

After we finished she propped her head on my chest and let the sterile, stony moonlight cast over her face. I wasn’t really thinking anything at all, mostly luxuriating in the afterglow. Then she suddenly jolted upward and I had an internal freak-out. She covered her chest with her denim jacket without putting it on and reached into the front seat for her faux leather backpack. My heart tightened. I saw a message from our friend Molly: “Hey are you free? We’re about to start AHS Hotel but we can wait for you”

This was bad. This was really bad. I felt relieved the world wasn’t ending but that relief wasn’t that significant, probably because I didn’t fully believe that in the first place.

“I don’t think the world is actually ending,” she said, mumbling to herself out the window. “At all. Did I ever think that?” I looked out the other window; the mystery light was now nowhere to be seen. I decided to put on my clothes in the meantime. She eventually did too. We said nothing. And then:

“Just drive me home.”

She sat in the back seat and buckled herself in. I walked around to the front of the car and drove her just like an Uber, but in complete silence. I’ve actually always wanted to be an Uber driver; I think I’d be pretty good at it. I’d be one of those drivers that keeps bottled water and pretzel pouches in the cupholders.

I knew I was totally fucked. I honestly don’t think the sex was bad at all; it was actually pretty great. I found myself wondering if this would cause a rift between her and Owen, giving me a chance to slip in, but at the same time I knew that was unrealistic.

I woke up the next day and snapped some of my friends about the mysterious light. My friend Derek who’s a total news hound told me that it was a nuclear missile test—unarmed—by the government in Eastern California, sort of an empty threat in response to a North Korean missile. So, sort of the end of the world, but not really. I was almost right. I’m a pretty intuitive guy, but intuition can’t get you everywhere.

At the moment my entire friend group is trying to work their schedules around me not seeing Cassie, and I know they’re probably doing the same for her and Owen. I think they’re really good people by trying not to take sides. I haven’t heard from Cassie at all—maybe Owen isn’t allowing for it. I’m pretty sure I lost my best friend that night. It might not have been the actual end of the world, but a big part of my own has ruptured.

Catherine is an ambient music fanatic in the Pacific Northwest. She tweets at @ConceptualCamel

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jdrichie-blog · 7 years

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(JDR) One of the late nights drinking booze in the hotel lobby with the crew, it was decided that I’d be joining a group for a trip to Phu Quoc island. This was a post-TESOL-course celebration. I had planned on looking for a job straight away, but the allure of the island pictures and the thought of a few days away from the busyness of the city, convinced me to join (the half-dozen beers probably helped as well). The group decided to stay at a hostel, but fuck if I was going to be staying at hostel (never have, never will). I booked a bungalow on the beach, a room with two beds, and large enough to easily accommodate three to four people. I need my living space (and space from people).

The night before our trip, it was someone’s brilliant idea to go out and try to pull an “all-nighter.” I don’t have any recollection of the evening. The next morning, I do recall the attendant for the airline telling me I smelled like “drunk”, and despite my efforts to convince her otherwise, I think she may have been right. Our flight was early, like EARLY (6:30 a.m. or something like that) and I was knackered, shattered, and all sorts of ready to give up on life. My body doesn’t always agree with my child-like brain.

The flight to Phu Quoc island from Ho Chi Minh City is only 45 minutes, which meant we arrived before check-in time to our respective short-term residences. As I mentioned, I was staying at a bungalow. Once I arrived, they owners were kind enough to let me store my luggage and change into my beach gear so that I could go chill on the beach (their ‘private’ beach). I immediately went to their restaurant and sat at a table with a view of the ocean. It was extremely peaceful and quiet, but I did notice that this was a place that may have been for couples. Nevertheless, I welcomed the serenity.

The “others” as I’ll call them (a total of seven, I believe) were unable to check-in at their hostel. I eventually walked down to the beach closer to where they were staying (about a ten minute walk). It became apparent as I walked closer to their area of the beach, that it started to resemble a beach on the Jersey Shore (not people, but rubbish). After an hour or so, we made a decision to head back to my bungalow and the ‘private beach’. It’s at this point that the choices made on this trip would begin a nosedive beneath the depths of hell (I even gave a what’s up headnod to Satan on the way down).

Drunk Dan and Innocent Dan found a place to buy beer in bulk. The chairs reserved for the guests of the bungalow were soon confiscated by the ‘others’. (The group was unaware that I’d be charged for them using the chairs.) By 11:00 a.m., the group had overtaken the private beach and the restaurant. We were wasted, but some more than others. The group was loud, obnoxious, drunk, and unaware that it was not even noon. We were met with glances that I could only decipher as “What The Fuck!?”

Eventually, my room was ready for me to pass out for a much needed rest. The others left to go check-in to their hostel (the thought of sharing a big room with people you don’t know just disgusts me, but to each their own). Several hours later, we reconvened for dinner at a western style restaurant with fruity drinks and pizza.

(HS) When you finish a vaguely stressful TESOL course in Ho Chi Minh city, what are you to do? Go on the lash, of course. And the only thing better than lashing in Ho Chi Minh City is lashing on Phu Quoc island, a paradisicial island a mere hour long flight away from our newfound hometown. What started out as a girls’ trip for three to get away from the boys (seriously, we all laugh at dick jokes, but would it kill ya to vary it a little?!) turned into a party of nine- definitely for the better, as it turned out.

The night before our 6am flight, almost all of us went out, and many of the group hadn’t even been to bed by the time we boarded. Although I had been in lame, I-should-go-back-and-pack party, I was still knackered, so god knows how the others felt. However, heroically, everyone powered through.

Going through airport security was something of a novelty for me; compared to the super-strict UK, I was surprised to discover that in Vietnam, it’s fine to walk through airport security with pretty much anything except a knife in your hand luggage (from whiskey to leftover Indian food to a cigarette tucked behind your ear, carpenter-style, it’s all good). Taking advantage of this, my friend and I shared some of his aforementioned whiskey on the flight (he stole my window seat, so he owed me) and nobody batted an eyelid.

Once we arrived on the island, we checked into our hostel (and Jonathan into his fancy beach bungalow, a safe distance away from us plebs) and hit the beach at around 8am, where the first order of business was, surprise surprise, beer. We swam a little and wandered around for a while until we found Jonathan’s stretch of beach to ruin. Within an hour, I was both drunk and sunburnt; a true Brit abroad. We passed much of the morning pissing off the bungalow owners with our rowdiness. Belly-buttons were licked (never doing that again), truths were revealed and it was made clear that we were not particularly welcome to return to that stretch of beach any time soon.

A particular delight that morning was the experience of getting to know Dan (mentioned in BJ’s previous posts) a little better. It was the third time he’d been drunk, but to be honest it seemed more like he was high: “I don’t understand words anymore. What do words even mean?” he slurred, in wide-eyed hazy worriment. “Why are those ants on the floor so big?” (To be fair, they were pretty sizeable. But still.)

By lunchtime, we agreed we’d pissed off the owners of Jonathan’s place enough and that it was probably best if we all got a few hours’ rest before the night to come. We headed back to our accommodation to shower, nap and await the arrival of Amey, a friend of one of the group who was supposed to join us on our flight but had gotten too carried away the night before to do so- I liked her already.

(JDR) After dinner, I suggested we should go to this hookah bar (they call it shisha) that I saw on my way to the restaurant. We were all feeling better from the nap and the re-hydration of booze. It was agreed upon that hookah would be the stop. First thing I notice is a bottle of absinthe (um, yes please!). I bought a shot. But then wondered, “Can I just buy the bottle like I would in the States?” And YES, yes I could. Boom! A bottle of absinthe, two big boy hookahs and we were off to the races. I was soon enough pouring shots for patrons as they entered the lounge. We were given access to the music selection (always a big deal for me). The night was turning blissful. I was dancing. We were loud, but in a place where it’s okay to be loud, and making friends with fellow travelers. Unfortunately, the night was coming to an end (we shut the bar down).

Upon leaving the bar, the rain was coming down at a steady pace (not a downpour, but enough to where you’d be comfortably wet after a few minutes, and when I say comfortably, I mean my nipples are visible through my drenched shirt). I began the journey to my bungalow, which was only a mere five minutes away. However, in the midst of darkness, with the rain and absinthe drunkenness, I ended up on the beach, but not close to my bungalow. The next 30 – 45 minutes of my life would be in the hands of some Greek God (or Goddess).

I recall trudging through the wet sand in a new pair of shoes (purchased at Nordstroms before my trip) with heavy steps, ankle deep in sand puddles. Somewhere along the way, I lost my shirt. I found myself wading in the shallow parts of the beach. Soon thereafter, my leg was bloody from an apparent fall, but I was laying on the edge of the beach as the waves crashed upon me, in a futile attempt to wash away my infinite sins. I was in an absinthe daze, floundering around like a fish out of water, looking like I was snared by a fishing hook, gasping for a breath of soberness and familiarity. Finally, I somehow made it back to my bungalow, shirtless, numb, dumb, and incomprehensible, even to myself.

Yes, this was just the first day. Not all of this trip can be summarized in one blog, and thus another will be dedicated to this trip (foreshadowing: a monkey runs across the road, Jonathan on a motorbike, lunch on a floating restaurant, lunch with the most adorable couple in the world, and a laughing gas balloon). Stay tuned.

Thank you to Hannah Stephenson for her contribution to this blog. Please go read her blog @ How Far I’ll Pho for some wonderful writings. Despite her resting “huh” face, she can be quite smart at times (and a literature major, so the writing isn’t half-bad either).

Phu Quoc blog: part 1 (JDR) One of the late nights drinking booze in the hotel lobby with the crew, it was decided that I’d be joining a group for a trip to Phu Quoc island.

#fun drunk #Life #travel #absinthe #beach #drunk #PhuQuoc Vietnam island vietnam absinthe absinthe #vietnam

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