A/N: Haha, what the fuck did I just write.
Fun was one definition of the party. Stan was currently going to go with horribly tense and on edge. Looking around the crowded room awkwardly, the boy stared down at the drink in his hand and wondered what was inside his cup. Vodka? Tequila? He could just hear Kyle's voice in the back of his head telling him not to drink too much and it made his head hurt. Just leave me alone, it's not like you want to talk to me.
Knocking back half the cup in one go –tequila, god, that stuff was disgusting- Stan edged his way through a group of dancing sophomores till he finally found a wall to lean against. He'd been there for fifteen minutes and he was already regretting letting Kenny talk him into this. Usually, he'd have someone to talk to. Wendy, when he managed to keep her around for long enough to have fun with her, but more often than not Kyle. He could spend hours at a party, enjoying himself and letting loose, just as long as he had the redhead at his back to help him out when he was too drunk to walk straight.
Feeling miserable all over again, Stan glanced down into his cup of tequila and poured it into a trashcan that smelled strongly of puke.
The whole Trap house was a rather disgusting place, one that Stan had only ever been in when there was a party there. They'd been busted by the cops on numerous occasions, the place was notorious after all, but they still gravitated back to it eventually. Everyone knew that it was the best possible place to fuck around, considering it wasn't near any other houses and it was abandoned to boot. The amount of alcohol, drugs, and underage sex the place had seen was probably obscene, not that Stan cared.
Really, the place was far less classy than the other places parties tended to happen at. Bebe's house, for example, was gorgeous and bigger than the trap house and didn't have mold growing behind the wallpaper. But on the flip side, there was no stripper pole in Bebe's basement, nor would there ever be, so that was already one downside. Not that Stan cared. Though he could still remember the time that Clyde had ended up on the stripper pole. That had been a night.
Kyle had practically had to carry him home that night, he'd been so drunk. Stan winced. No, that was most definitely not a night he wanted to remember after all, considering how he'd ended up crying on Kyle's shoulder about Wendy. Again. Fuck, they're right, she does control my life.
After his last fight with Kyle though, Stan was pretty sure he was done for good with the girl. He was sick of the game he had to play with her and besides, he was a junior this year. After next year they'd all move away and he'd be able to find a different girl, one who didn't play with his head quite so much. Hell, if I could find a girl that was like Kyle, that would be perfect. Even though he was trying not to think about the boy, the idea still made Stan chuckle.
That laughter quickly died away as he remembered Kenny's promise to drag Kyle here. He wasn't looking forward to this particular encounter with his super best friend. Of course the sooner it was over with the better but Stan still didn't want to think about it. He knew that Kyle would say I told you so when he admitted to being wrong about Wendy and he also knew that the redhead would still be angry. What he wanted was to just be able to laugh and kick back with his friend, he didn't want to have to deal with all that other shit.
And now he'd managed to come around to wishing he still had that shitty tequila to take the edge off of this shitty night.
As a girl crashed into the wall beside him, her boyfriend, or possibly just drunk acquaintance, doing his best do devour her neck, Stan decided to move again. Pushing his way through the sweaty bodies that undulated and ground against each other in something that was supposed to be dancing, Stan covered his nose and did his best not to get trampled. Fuck, this whole thing is a lot less disgusting when you're shitfaced as well.
Well, he was going to remedy that. Just as soon as he found some alcohol, he was going to get so drunk he couldn't see straight and then no matter how much of a bitch Kyle decided to be, he'd be able to handle it. Never mind that he was an emotional and easily hurt drunk, Stan just wanted to be able to confidently say he'd go to sleep and wake up not remembering a damn thing.
Edging his way towards the kitchen with a renewed purpose to his movements, Stan was finally greeted by the remains of what had been the kitchen of the Trap house, before a large number of teenagers had gotten their hands on the thing. It was probably a good thing the counters were made of thick blocks of wood and nothing else, it meant that while everything around them deteriorated, there was always a place to put the beer.
The moment he broke into the kitchen, he was accosted by Kenny, who smelled strongly of several different types of drugs and who had a wide grin on his face. "Look who decided to show up!" It wasn't far how well Kenny could handle drugs and alcohol without showing a single effect, he just got even easier going when he was drunk, that was it. Stan would have even trusted him behind the wheel, Kenny was that damn unaffected.
"Shut up asshole." Grabbing a beer off of the counter, Stan looked over the usual suspects who were in the kitchen as well. Several North Park kids were in there, looking high as kites, probably courtesy of Kenny. Sitting at the mostly destroyed kitchen table were Tweek and Craig, who had escaped the melee, probably for Tweek's benefit. Lifting a hand in greeting, which Craig returned with a nod, Stan held out the bottle for Kenny to pop the top off of.
"Shut up, you're just loving me right now," Kenny crooned, walking around the island and throwing an arm around the other boy in the room, Butters, who turned red at the gesture. How Kenny had managed to get Butters to come was anyone's guess. "Look at this party Stan, it's swinging and it's hardly twelve. You know what that means? It means that by the time Clyde starts stripping again, we're going to be shitfaced and loving every moment of it."
"Jesus! Not again!" Tweek squeaked from the table, covering his eyes with his hands as if he was trying to scrub an image from his head. "It was bad enough the f-first time he did it!"
Chortling at the coffee addict's discomfort, Kenny grabbed another beer off the counter and pushed it into Butters' hand so he could open it. "Come on Tweekers, that was the best fucking night of our young lives. We got to see Clyde strip, we got to see Keven get hung from the fan by his pants, you and Craig finally managed to f-" Craig threw an empty bottle at Kenny's head, which he dodged and laughed as it cracked against the wall. "Finish that one conversation you were having."
"Shut the fuck up," Craig muttered, pulling Tweek half into his lap as the boy turned bright red and moaned with embarrassment.
Blowing a kiss at Craig when the boy flipped him off, Kenny turned back to Stan and said, "Come on Stan, admit it, you want to have fun."
"I thought Kyle and 'im were still fightin'," Butters piped up, looking between Kenny and Stan in confusion. "I don't see how he could be havin' any fun i-if 'is best friend is all upset with him and stuff." Stan agreed with Butters privately, but he didn't say anything out loud, not wanting to encourage Kenny.
Of course, Kenny didn't require any encouragement, he was all too eager to answer Butters on his own. "Come on Butterscotch, you don't know these two like I do, they're at they're bestest when they're hissin' and spittin' at each other." Grinning up at Stan, Kenny cocked his head to the side and rested it on Butters' head. "Don't you try and deny it."
Feeling his stomach roll uncomfortably at the thought, mostly because once he got the idea of an angry Kyle into his head he had a hard time of getting rid of it, Stan simply took a swig of his beer and said, "Fuck you. Kyle and I will be fine." Now if only I could get myself to believe it. It was funny, no matter how many times they fought, Stan ended up with this horrible feeling that the next time might be their last. That eventually, Kyle really would get sick of his shit and vanish for good.
There was nothing in the world that scared him more.
"Fine, he says, everything will be alright, he says." Tsking, Kenny shook his head. "You have no idea, do you?" Before he could explain this sudden turn of the conversation, Kenny buried his face in the crook of Butters' neck, making the poor boy stammer out some sort of protest. "Aren't you glad we aren't like Stan and Kyle, Butterfly? That would be miserable. I would be miserable. Just look at him moping. Simply tragic."
"How Kyle and I are getting along is none of your damn business," Stan ground out, glaring at Kenny, who only peaked up through his sandy blond hair so he could raise an eyebrow at that statement. Hating how annoying Kenny could be at times, Stan muttered, "He's just a little upset. Once I talk to him, we'll be fine again."
Fighting off Kenny, Butters managed to stammer, "If you're lookin' for'im, Kyle that is, h-he's down in th'basement. I mean, he might've moved or somethin' but last I checked he was down there." Even though he wanted to pretend he wasn't interested in the information, Stan did a bad job of hiding the way his head jerked and his body tensed up at the sound of Kyle's name. Noticing, Kenny cocked an eyebrow up and purred with laughter.
"You two are the best, honestly. There's no better entertainment." Grinning from ear to ear, Kenny sucked in his cheeks mischievously before calling, "Unless we're talking about Fucker and Tweeky over here, then I'd have to say-"
"No one gives a fuck what you have to say," Craig called over immediately, pausing in his self-appointed task of drawing constellations all over Tweek's arms, an activity he often amused himself with when drunk. "Go back to eye-fucking your own blond, McCormick."
"No need to be throwing about such baseless accusations!" Kenny exclaimed, putting his free hand over his heart in horror before his expression slid back into a grin. "Butterfree and I will fuck for real right here if you so desire."
"N-nobody wants to see that!" both Butters and Tweek shrieked almost in perfect unison. Suddenly feeling horribly awkward as literally the only straight person in the room, Stan edged his way out, taking his beer with him. He didn't bother to say anything, he'd only get dragged back into a useless conversation with Kenny. It wasn't that he had a problem with Kenny and Butters, or Tweek and Craig for that matter, Stan just didn't like watching them act so… so whatever they'd just been doing. It made him feel awkward and think about his own failed attempts at a relationship, which really didn't help.
If Kyle had been there, he would have at least been able to laugh at the redhead's attempts to tell Kenny off. Naturally, it wouldn't have lasted for long because it would have only been a matter of time till Kenny reduced the Kyle to a flustered and irritable mess but it would have been fun while it lasted. Honestly though, Kenny could embarrass a porn star. He was pretty fucking filthy.
Shaking those thoughts from his head, Stan almost unconsciously made his way to the basement. After all, they'd said Kyle was there. He needed to talk to him, needed to look him in the eyes and say he was sorry, probably. Maybe drag him out of here before either of them managed to get too drunk, not that Kyle would be drunk. Kenny was full of shit saying he would be.
Might as well get this over with anyway.
The basement was badly lit and smelled of mold, but with the scent of beer in his nose, Stan managed to mostly ignore that. He wasn't used to being mostly sober when he was heading down here, usually, he was drunk by now, but things changed when Kyle wasn't around. Fuck, we'll just have to fix that, now won't we. Maybe it would all blow over on its own. It had happened before, sometimes Kyle simply decided that whatever he'd been angry about wasn't actually all that important and the whole thing vanished like smoke overnight. Of course Stan knew he wouldn't be that lucky, but a guy could dream, right?
As he reached the base of the stairs, Stan scanned the first room, with its cocaine users and heroin addicts that were snorting up or shooting up their choice of drugs. Quickly judging Kyle to not be there, Stan moved on. Maybe he went home, he thought as he looked into the next room. Or maybe Butters was wrong.
Or maybe, the boy had been just right.
Whatever Stan had been expecting, nothing could have possibly prepared him for what he found. Kyle was sitting cross-legged on the couch, a bottle in one hand and a red solo cup in the other. He was sitting with a bunch of other drunk kids, half of them from North Park and the other half, not people Stan would have usually given a second look. His eyes looked angry but his whole posture just screamed drunk. On his head, in place of his usual hat, which was still at Stan's house, was one of Stan's old hats. Red curls peeked out from under it.
Stan wasn't sure what he was supposed to say as one person made a joke and everyone laughed, except for Kyle, who instead downed the rest of –presumably- the alcohol in his cup. Holy shit, Kenny wasn't kidding when he said he'd get Kyle drunk, was the first thought to run through Stan's mind. It was quickly followed by, holy shit, he looks pissed. What am I doing here again? He was about to excuse himself and pretend like he hadn't seen a thing just so he wouldn't get yelled at when Kyle lowered his cup and looked him dead in the eye.
For a moment, as brown met green, Stan felt like either running or puking, then it all got so much worse as Kyle spat, "Oh, it's you." There was so much contempt in Kyle's voice, Stan visibly cringed backward.
As several other people looked up at him curiously, Stan weakly said, "Hey Kyle." Noticing the glassy look in Kyle's eyes, Stan felt worry overtake his fear. He's really drunk, isn't he? "I didn't expect to see you here," he lied, stepping into the room because it was better than awkwardly standing in the doorway. More of the other drunk teens were staring at him now, most of them in confusion.
"Bullshit," Kyle spat, glaring at Stan. "I know Kenny invited both of us here on purpose but I don't care." Waving his bottle at Stan, sloshing some of the liquid around, the redhead rumbled, "I'm still pissed at you." He wasn't at all as well-spoken as he usually was when not drunk. Suddenly realizing that it was probably best if he stayed the sober one, Stan walked towards the coffee table the other kids were all sitting at, holding out his hands placating.
Putting his unfinished beer on the table, Stan said, "Kyle, can we not have this conversation here?" If there was one thing he didn't want, it was to get berated by Kyle about his failed relationship in front of a bunch of other teens he didn't know. "Come on, it's been days since we've even talked."
"Doesn't fucking matter," Kyle told Stan, downing half the beer in his hand in one go. "I'm sick of your shit and I'm not going to deal with it anymore. I've had enough." I've had enough of your shit, was what Stan wanted to say, but he held his tongue. Catching sight of the alarming pile of bottles that had accumulated at Kyle's feet, Stan forgot about the whole Wendy problem for a moment in favor of being concerned.
"Kyle, you're drunk dude," he said, his tone serious. This was the first time he'd seen Kyle in this state and it was understandably alarming. "How much have you had tonight?" Looking at the other kids, as if any of them would have the answers, Stan felt like he was talking to a wall. Most of them were either too drunk or too stoned to answer.
"Don't change the subject!" Kyle snapped, narrowing his eyes even as his body sagged forward alarmingly. "You Stanley Marsh, are a piece of shit who can't even be bothered to try and apologize after making an ass of yourself." He finished off the beer in his hand before grabbing for the one Stan had left on the table and taking it before the more sober teen could stop him.
Getting irritated, mostly because he was used to being the intoxicated one and not Kyle, Stan said, "I wasn't the one who- You know what, no, I'm not having this conversation with you right now. You're drunk." How does Kyle put up with me?
"No, we're absolutely having this conversation right now!" Kyle snapped, getting to his feet before almost falling over. All the other kids in the room found this horribly amusing, but Stan just lurched forward and almost stepped on several people so he could catch his friend before he crashed into the coffee table. Kyle reeked of alcohol, sweat, and vomit, which only managed to make Stan feel worse. "Fuck you, let go of me!" Kyle growled, trying and failing to escape Stan's grip.
"No," Stan said firmly, gritting his teeth and half-dragging, half-leading the drunken Kyle away from the other kids, who didn't even care about his absence. "We're going home, Kyle. I didn't want to be here in the first place and you're not in any shape to be making your own decisions." If Kyle wanted to be angry with him then fine, let him get angry. Stan wasn't going to let his friend make horrible choices just because they weren't getting along at that particular moment.
"You're always getting drunk and I'm always putting up with it, asshole, have I ever been a bitch about it?" Kyle bit out. It stung because Stan knew how Kyle felt about his drinking habits and he knew that the boy purposefully held his tongue anyway. But now, there was nothing telling Kyle to stop talking and he appeared bent on letting everything out. "Let me go, Stan."
Setting his jaw, Stan snapped the bottle out of Kyle's hand and dropped it in the overflowing trashcan they passed on the way to the stairs. "No, you can bitch and moan all you like, but you're going home." Pulling the weakly protesting Kyle up the stairs, Stan secured his arm around the teen's waist and pulled him as close as possible so he wouldn't get swept away by the crowd.
"Why don't you just go fuck and makeup with Wendy again? Leave me alone," Kyle insisted, his words slurring together. "I came here to get drunk and you're currently ruining it." Why couldn't he have been a giggly drunk? Stan wondered distantly as he almost ran into Bebe and Red, who were laughing hysterically about something.
Quickly steering Kyle out of their way, not wanting to get into a spat with Wendy's friends, who always got pissy after the two of them broke up again, Stan edged between the dancing and talking teens carefully, not wanting to step on anyone. The music up here was so loud, it reverberated inside his skull, but it wasn't nearly loud enough to cover up Kyle's voice.
"Speaking of Wendy, did I mention that I'm fucking sick of your bullshit, Stan?" Kyle informed Stan angrily, struggling to get away from the boy but once again being unsuccessful. "Because believe me, I'm sick of your bullshit. You know, this has been going on since fourth fucking grade and you still haven't learned your lesson. The only reason you stay with her is because you're too much of a coward to admit that you're just going to fuck it up again."
"Kyle, shut up," Stan told his friend, glaring at the boy. "You're fucking drunk, stop trying to lecture me on Wendy right now dude." Pushing his way out of the Trap house and into the fresh night air which didn't smell so strongly of sex, drugs, and booze, Stan finally let Kyle go, allowing the boy to stumble away unsteadily.
"When Stan, when?" Kyle demanded, spreading his arms wide. His jacket had several stains down the front of it, which Stan would have bet were from some of that tequila. "Because it's never the right time to talk you about it, is it? Either you're crying over her or you're back together with here and there's never a right time to talk to you about it!"
Choking on the horrible clawing sensation in his stomach, Stan managed, "Kyle, I'm not getting back together with her again, I'm done this time." Even though he hated to say it, especially when Kyle seemed to be in a mood to take Stan apart with his words as much as possible, the raven-haired boy admitted, "You were right dude; she's not good for me."
Glaring at Stan, swaying on his feet, Kyle suddenly announced, "You know what, I don't fucking believe you." Turning, he started down the sidewalk, stumbling as he went. "Because when," he called after him. "Have you ever fucking told me the truth about this shit? You're going to go crawling back to her the moment she bats her eyelashes at you and I'm not dealing with it anymore."
"No, I mean it this time!" Stan insisted, hurrying after Kyle. "Dude, where the hell are you going?" The moment he'd asked it, Kyle rounded on him and fixed him with a glare that managed to break through the glassy drunkenness that had a hold over him. At the sight of that all too familiar glare, Stan found himself fighting the desire to pull Kyle closer.
"I'm going home," Kyle spat, his hands clenched into fists as he glared at Stan. "That's why you dragged me out of that shithole, right, so you can pretend to be the better person by taking me home while I'm drunk?" Spinning on his heels, he started his trek home once more. "You know, that's another thing I'm sick of Stan, your moral superiority. You're no better than the rest of us, you're just pretending to be."
"Whoa, when did that become an issue?" Stan demanded, hurrying to catch up with Kyle, not wanting to let the boy get too far away from him unless he almost fell over again. "Can you please not be like this Kyle, you've had a lot to drink and-"
"Will you stop saying that I'm fucking drunk!" Kyle exclaimed, fury pulsing from him in waves. "I get it Stan; I know that I'm wasted. Guess what, that's what I was trying to do! It seems to somehow make all your problems go away, why not mine?" Shooting another furious look at Stan, Kyle added, "Well you know what, it doesn't help. I still feel like shit."
As his insides did uncomfortable things and his brain told him to push Kyle against the fence they were walking by, Stan muttered, "Why do you keep saying that Kyle? Why are you so upset about this? I already told you, you were right. Wendy was bad news and I shouldn't have stuck with her for so long. I'm not upset about it anymore so why are you?"
"You're so fucking clueless Stan," Kyle growled. The more he walked, the more the glaze over his eyes faded. Stan wouldn't have ever made the mistake of thinking that Kyle was sobering up, but he was doing marginally better now. He's not going to remember a moment of this tomorrow, is he?
"Well if I'm so clueless then explain it to me," Stan demanded, holding his hands out wide. Stopping at the crosswalk, Kyle rounded on him once more and glared at him, his green eyes burning under the light of the streetlamp. "If you're going to tell me that I don't understand then make me understand," Stan insisted.
"When have you ever cared?" Kyle demanded, advancing on Stan till they were almost nose to nose. All thoughts of Kyle's bad breath and the fact that the boy was drunk fled Stan's mind as those terrifying thoughts that he worked so hard to suppress started creeping up. Like how red Kyle's face got when he was upset and how it heated up enough to feel. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Stan decidedly glared right back.
"About you dude? All the fucking time! You're my best friend, why wouldn't I care about you?" As if that was somehow the wrong answer, Kyle made a sound of disgust and stumbled away from Stan. "What am I supposed to say, Kyle? Why are you acting like this?"
"Maybe because I'm fucking drunk," Kyle said in a high pitched mockery of Stan's own voice. Running a hand through his hair, pushing the hat he had on out of the way, Kyle just stormed across the street, stuffing Stan's old hat into his pocket as he went. "Not that it matters when it comes to you. Sometimes, I think the only time you're not full of shit is when you are drunk."
"Yeah, well right now you're making an ass of yourself," Stan informed his friend, trying not to stare at the boy's red, wild curls that spilled out over his face. Fuck, why does he have to look attractive at a time like this? He didn't like the way Kyle said that, about how he was only truthful when he was drunk. Stan knew for a fact he said all kinds of stupid shit while under the influence and he didn't like that Kyle had been paying attention.
"You know what Stan, I'm so done, I don't care what you think anymore," Kyle informed him. "All you do is spout bullshit at me and expect me to lie back just to stroke your ego. Well, guess what Stan, I don't like it. I'm sick of it. And now that I'm drunk, I guess I don't give a fuck anymore." Well, that much is obvious.
Stan wished that his brain would shut up about the way that Kyle's pale skin glowed in the moonlight because it was making it harder to argue than it should have been. "Kyle, I don't lie to you. You know I'm full of shit when I'm drunk, I get emotional and annoying and you shouldn't listen to me." When Kyle didn't even respond to that, Stan hurried forward and grabbed the hood of the boy's jacket, yanking him around. "Hey! Just because you're drunk doesn't mean you get to be a dick about it."
"You think I'd be saying anything different if I was sober?" Kyle let out a bark of laughter before pushing Stan away from him. Shaking his head, Kyle muttered, "Well one thing's for sure, I'm smart enough to not say what I really think when I'm sober, but you're right about one thing; when you get drunk Stan, you stop caring."
Following the boy, as he started walking away, Stan asked, "Why don't you think I care Kyle, why?" Out of everything, this one think kept tugging at his gut. Well if he gets to say what he wants then so will I. Besides, he'd try anything to distract him from how alluring Kyle looked, pissed and drunk and not caring about anything. God, what's wrong with me?
"Because you're too fucking blind to see what's right in front of you." Running his hand through his hair like he wanted to tear it out, Kyle yelled, "I'm fucking sick of it! Do you have any idea what it feels like Stan? No, because you're just an asshole who gets drunk anytime you start feeling like something might be wrong."
"Why don't you just tell me what I can't see?" Stan demanded, stopping as they drew up in front of Kyle's house. He wasn't even sure how they'd managed to get here already but he wasn't about to drop this conversation topic. It didn't matter what his fucked up brain thought about Kyle and how he looked dripping with anger, Stan was going to figure out why his best friend was upset and not just mad. "If it's so obvious then just tell me!"
Kyle just stood there panting, furious and drunk, swaying on his feet but still managing to look hot. What the fuck, why now? I can't fucking deal with this right now. Stan knew what he wanted to do and he hated himself for thinking something so fucked up about his best friend. He just wanted Kyle to tell him what was wrong so he could go inside and forget about the whole thing. If things went back to normal, then everything would be alright again.
But Kyle didn't say a word.
Fed up with the redhead, Stan took a step backward and turned towards his house, sick of this stupid game. "Whatever dude," he muttered, his mind still a mess and his insides not fairing any better.
"Oh, so you're just going to run away," Kyle spat, making Stan clench his fists in anger and stop walking away. "You're a fucking coward Stan." He sounded so sure of himself, it pissed Stan off. What the hell is that supposed to mean? "Anytime anything is even slightly difficult, you turn tail and run."
I'm done with this. "You know what," Stan snapped, rounding on the drunken redhead. "Fuck you!"
"I've been wanting you to for years!" Kyle suddenly exploded in return, his green eyes boring holes in Stan's face. "But you still haven't done shit!"
"Well I- I…"Suddenly, his words sputtered to a halt as what Kyle just said registered. Stan literally couldn't speak; he just stared at his friend with his mouth hanging open. "W-what?" he stammered at last, unsure if he'd heard Kyle right. But wait, I thought… I thought Kyle was- But I'm- What?
"Oh don't you give me that," Kyle muttered. "You heard me right Stan. I have had to watch you and Wendy for years and you know what, I bit my tongue, I didn't say a damn thing, no matter how much it hurt but I'm fucking done with this shit." Advancing on the stunned boy, Kyle continued, "Do you have any idea what I want to do with you? To you? No, of course you fucking don't, because you're Stan Marsh and you can't see past the shit on your own nose."
"Dude," Stan said weakly, feeling altogether too small in the face of Kyle's anger. That overwhelming desire to reach forward and dig his fingers into Kyle's hair and pull him closer was still there and it wasn't helping because now he had no idea what he was supposed to think. "You're drunk," he managed to push out. "You don't know what-"
"Don't tell me that I don't know what I'm saying right now," Kyle snapped, his eyes angry and so so green. "I know exactly what I'm saying, Stan. You're the only one who doesn't understand right now." He kept getting closer which only made Stan's mind feel more clouded by the moment. "Well guess what, for once, I can't make it any simpler for you."
"Kyle," Stan breathed, unsure if he should be running or not. Hell, he wasn't sure he'd be able to run even if he wanted to. He was caught in those furious emerald eyes and he didn't think he could have pulled himself away if he tried. "Please-" He wasn't even sure what he was asking for, Stan just knew that between the teen's anger and his words, he couldn't even begin to get away.
"What? Do I need to fucking show you?" So close that Stan could feel Kyle's breath on his face, the redhead spat, "How stupid can you get?" Suddenly, he reached a hand up, digging it under Stan's hat and into his hair, gripping his raven locks hard. Before Stan could even begin to comprehend what was happening, he was being dragged down and then Kyle's lips met his and his brain short-circuited.
Kyle tasted like tequila and beer, but all Stan could think was how soft his lips were and how wrong this whole thing was for something that felt so good. His body wouldn't respond to him anymore, he wouldn't have been able to move away or kiss back or anything even if he'd wanted to. My best friend is kissing me. My drunk, angry, super best friend is fucking kissing me. He probably whimpered, he wasn't even sure anymore.
Then Kyle moved back and glared at Stan. "That's what I fucking mean," he spat before storming away and walking up to his front steps and into his house. For a moment, all Stan could do was stare after him, a knot of confusion and mental agony making his head hurt. Finally, he shook himself awake and numbly walked to his own house, unsure what else he was supposed to do.
Kyle just kissed me…
He wanted to run, he wanted to hide, he wanted to shut himself up in his room and never talk to Kyle again. At the same time, he wanted nothing more than to chase after the boy. And the worst part was that Stan wasn't sure if it had been because Kyle was drunk or because he meant it.
Fuck, I'm too sober to deal with this.