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hunnysnoops · 4 months

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˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Six: Sweater Weather

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I don’t mind if there’s not much to say.

Premise: It may be possible that hatred is beginning to dissolve. Peace ensues or at least something similar to friendship.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Warnings: mentions of blood and injury / crude humour

MASTERLIST

It felt weird sitting next to Kyle willingly on your sofa but you hadn't had much of a choice when the due date for your final project was cutting so close. You were in too much pain to fill the static silence of the room with mindless chatter that would grate in his head, so you stuck asking him which parts of the assignment were already done before settling back into silence.

He wanted to say something, he just couldn't figure out what. It was unnatural to the both of you.

Kyle was still wearing the same thing he had gone to school in, a simple t-shirt, flannel, and jeans- you had resorted to poaching clothes from your dad's closet while he was out of town for a concert. The second you and Kyle got to your place you ran upstairs to slip into a pair of well-worn sweats and one of your dad's old t-shirts from when he was on his college rowing team. His clothes were just about the only thing that didn't irritate your turf burn further than the red segments where your skin had been scraped off.

You had slathered some type of aloe vera ointment all over the burn on your shins and elbows which scent strongly resembled eucalyptus and florals, leaving you and Kyle to work on your Biology project in a living room that smelled like a Bath & Body Works.

"Do you wanna write about the genetic basis of behaviour or should I do that?" You had broken the fifteen-minute silence which seemed like a record for the both of you. Your parents would've been astonished if they were there to see the pair of you sit without insulting the other. The only sounds that filled the room were the rain beating heavily outside like it wanted to be let in.

"I got it, don't worry," He said absentmindedly, focused on making the slide show look presentable.

"I'm not worried," You answer. As much as you liked to complain to your friends about having Kyle as a partner, he was one of the few who actually did their portion of the work instead of texting you last minute that it wasn't finished. You were still suffering PTSD from having to work in a group with Cylde.

There were some beats when the stillness was growing so unbearable that it almost made you squirm, you fought the urge to put on a sitcom as background noise, knowing that you would get distracted and veer off from the task at hand.

You were disrupted by heavy thumps making their way down the stairs "Hey, Kyle," Weston said, making his way to plop himself between the two of you on the couch, a backpack in his lap.

"Hey," Kyle gives your brother a quick glance paired with a smile before his eyes shift back to the screen of his laptop.

"What are you wearing?" You squint your eyes while trying to read the text on his shirt "The worst day of fishing beats the best day of forcefully withdrawing in jail," The shirt had the graphic of a bass splashing around in a lake beneath the lettering "Where did you get that?"

"I bought it."

"With what money? You don't work."

Weston shrugs and there's the glint of a smile on his face. You stare at him blankly until he answers "Okay, fine, Uncle Richie bought it for me, it's an early birthday gift."

"Dad will kill you and Richie if he finds you wearing that."

"Good thing he's in Vegas seeing Doodle mood," Weston leans back, wedging himself deeper between the two of you in a silent attempt to separate you.

"Depeche Mode," You correct and Kyle huffs the briefest of laughs, a grin lingering on his face while he rakes through paragraphs to find spelling errors. He didn't look in your direction but you could see the slight curve of his lips and the smile lines forming around his straight nose "Why are you down here anyway?"

"To see my sister," He raises his chin, tilting his head in your direction to see the screen of your laptop "What the hell is Pathophysiology?"

"I think it's too big of a concept for you to grasp," You say. While Weston's heart was usually in the right place, his head certainly was not.

"Huh?" He furrows his eyebrows "What?"

"You're dumb, shrimp."

"Hey, I'm not above hitting an old woman," He points at you, finger almost touching the bandage over your nose.

"And I'm not above hitting a toddler," You push his accusatory finger down and away from you. Kyle tended to stay out of bickering between you and your brother, the same way you let him and Ike fight it out without interfering. It would be like disrupting the intricate ecosystem that was siblings "What do you actually want?" You look down at the backpack in his lap, it was dirty from all the places he dragged it to. Both of your parents had begged him to wash it for months and when he finally got around to it, it did nothing, like the grime had set into the navy blue cloth.

"Can you drive me to Dustin's?" His face morphed into a tight-lipped smile, feigning innocence.

You let out a long, exaggerated groan and throw your head back into the plush sofa. The rainy atmosphere didn't help you to stay energized, halfway through the school day you decided that you would take painkillers and not leave the couch. You should've predicted that your brother would make plans on the one night when your parents weren't there to drive him and you were lethargic from pain meds. "Dude, I have so much work to do," You really didn't, all that was left on your part was a couple of passages and a statistics graph, you still had a week until you had to turn the project in.

"Why do I even have an older sister if you won't drive me places? I wish I was a lonely child," He rolls his eyes, shaking his head in the slightest.

"It's only child, Wes, a lonely child is what you'll be when I sell you."

"Can you please drive me? We're having a hurricane party and I'm sleeping over."

"We live in Colorado, there aren't hurricanes, just wine-drunk tourists," You turn your focus back to your laptop, turning it away from Weston so he can't see you open a Wordle tab.

"Don't be lazy," He grabs your bicep and begins to shake it back and forth.

You pull your arm out of Weston's grasp "I'm injured, you should be waiting on me and nursing me back to health like a good brother."

"And you should drive me to my friend's house, like a good sister."

"I can take him," Kyle peeps up and Weston swerves his head to look at him.

"For real?" Weston asks.

"Yeah, I need to fill up on gas anyways, I can drive him down and swing back to finish the project."

"Are you sure?" Your eyebrows were slightly furrowed. Usually, these conversations ended with Weston shaking you down and getting what he wanted, whether it was you buying him v bucks or taking him to the movies.

"Yeah, I don't mind," Kyle shut his laptop and gingerly placed it on the coffee table, pushing himself off the couch.

"Sweet," Weston slinked off the couch, hopping over your legs and making his way towards the door but not before slapping the exposed turf burn on your forearm. He hadn't intended to hit you as hard as he did but the skin contact made an audible sound that echoed in the room. A hand flung over his mouth as he watched you jolt forward, jaw hanging slack and eyes wide while you gently held your forearm. The look on your face alone made him grab a pair of sandals and run out the door before he could even put them on or close the door behind him.

"Oh my god," You turn back to look at Kyle who was slipping into a pair of your dad's hiking boots since it was quicker than the century it took to lace up his Converse "Please drive him off a cliff."

"That would make your life too easy," Kyle looks up at you through a mop of red curls, hazel eyes imploring; they tended to look like different colours depending on the light source, at that moment with the dim living room light and dark skies looming outside they sparkled with the rich colours of autumn, a beautiful medley of amber, green, and gold, like fallen leaves swirling in the crisp, cool breeze "Nicer," He says.

"What?"

"For your wordle," He points at the screen of your laptop.

"Oh," You look at your screen where 'river' had been the last guess, you type in 'nicer' and surely all letters flip to green. "Thanks," You say "Uh, do you want money for gas or-

"No, I'm good," Kyle dismisses immediately "My cab services are free, you've done it for Ike more than I can count."

"Okay," You scrape the walls of your brain for something else to say "Drive safe, don't actually drive my brother off a cliff."

"Got it," He shuts the door behind him, shutting out the roar of a heavy downpour. The rain was powerful, a relentless cascade, each drop hitting the ground with force, creating a thunderous choir that drowns out all other sounds, evoking a sense of calm within you, albeit muffled by the walls.

"Is she mad?" Weston stood at the edge of the lawn, waiting by Kyle's car for him to unlock it. He held his backpack over his head in a feeble attempt to keep himself dry though it didn't work, his shirt was soaked and his hair was so full of the droplets that he had to shake them off like a dog at the beach.

"Super mad." Kyle pressed the button to unlock his car, the moment Weston heard the locks shift, he dove into the passenger seat "She's waiting by the door with a shotgun for when you come home."

"Is she actually?" His voice was one hundred percent serious, he fully believed Kyle despite your family not even owning a shotgun.

Kyle ducked into the white Nissan, he prided himself on keeping his car tidy so it was the exact same every time he entered aside from the air fresheners that he swapped out. "Nah, you're fine."

"Phew," He dropped the backpack to his feet "I like your car way more than my sisters, hers always smells like cigarettes and girl stuff."

"Girl stuff?"

"Yeah like deodorant," Weston scoffs.

"You should be wearing deodorant."

"That's what my mom says," He reclines back in the chair, taking in a deep whiff of the air freshener that smelled of Jolly Ranchers "I wish I had a brother but I guess you and Ike are kinda like brothers." It was one of those rainy days that came to mind when someone mentioned a storm brewing.

The skies were grey as cracked pepper, a steady, rhythmic pattern of rain creates a continuous murmur, a comforting white noise that enveloped the surroundings, each drop merging into a flow that washes over the earth. Overhead he could hear thunder rumbling like an angry god was stomping around in the clouds. Cozied up in Kyle's car, safe from the elements, Weston thought that would've been the perfect environment to fall asleep.

"Brothers are overrated," Kyle casually gripped the steering wheel as the rain hammered down on the windshield, the wipers working furiously but barely managing to keep up.

"So are sisters, you're so lucky that you don't have one."

"You're actually pretty lucky that you do have one," His eyes were fixed on the road, a blur of grey and blue on the pavement and his voice was flat "Especially yours, she really loves you."

Weston cast him a sideways glance like he didn't believe him but he didn't prod the topic any further "What are you guys gonna do tonight?"

"Finish our project then I'm headed home," He answers, what he thought to be truthfully.

The younger boy nods, turning his attention to the world outside of his window. He wasn't used to seeing you spend so much time around Kyle or share mutual stories from track or biology, he had always hoped the two of you would get closer and now that it was finally happening he wasn't sure if he liked it.

Kyle cast a look down to your brother, realizing that the talking was over for the time being, he cranked up the radio until Nirvana filled up the car. The trees lining the road swayed and shuddered under the weight of the wind and rain, their leaves rustling like whispers in the night. Kyle could feel the tension in the air, the electricity of the storm to come.

As they drove on in relative silence, the rain seemed to intensify, each drop striking the car with a force like bullets beating down on the roof of his car. He squinted through the windshield, the headlights carving out a narrow path through the darkness, revealing the familiar road ahead.

"I'm just gonna grab some gas up ahead."

"Where do gas stations get their gas?" Weston asked, a crease forming between his brows at the thought.

"Do you actually not know the answer?" Kyle instinctively looked at him with eyebrows furrowed with confusion despite the urge to keep his focus on the road.

"Like did they just find a spot where gas magically comes out of the ground or do they build it over a gas mine?"

"Weston," Kyle said, flat.

"Or is it from a gas pipe that runs underground?" Weston leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs and hands clasped together like he was deep in thought.

"No, they build gas storage tanks under the pumps, there aren't gasoline pipes or mines or whatever else you just said," He was utterly perplexed by your brother and it wasn't the first time Weston asked a question that left someone shocked with its absurdity.

"What happens when they run out of gas?" He asks like an interrogation "Do they tear the gas station down?"

"No, they refill the gas tanks."

"How?"

"Tanker trucks deliver it and they just fill the tanks up when they run out."

"Okay, okay," Weston rubs his chin, humming "So where do tanker trucks get their gas?"

Kyle's hands go flat on the wheel for a brief moment "From gas stations."

"And they all get their gas the same way? would it be illegal if they got their gas in another way?"

Kyle maneuvered the car off the road and into the gas station. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting a cold glow over the puddle-filled lot. He was quick to bring the car to a pump and step out, Weston's questions were becoming a little too much.

"Stay here, I'll run in quick then you can show me to your friend's house," he said, pulling up his tighter before stepping out into the downpour.

"Can you get me some beef jerky?" Weston sweetened his voice "Please." He watched Kyle shut the door and raise his voice slightly so the ginger could hear him "Teriyaki flavour?"

The cold rain immediately soaked through his shirt, Kyle wished he had worn a hoodie to keep some of the rain off his head as he stepped out of his car and into the stormy night. He glanced at the neon glow of the gas station sign, a small beacon of light amidst the darkness and the swirling tempest. The wind howled, pushing him sideways as he made his way to the pump.

He fumbled with his wallet, hands slick with rain, and managed to slide his debit card into the slot. The machine beeped, and he selected his grade of fuel, gripping the pump handle tightly as he began to fill his tank. The rhythmic sound of gasoline pouring into the car was almost drowned out by the rain hammering on the roof of the gas station canopy.

Kyle squinted through the downpour, seeing the lights inside the convenience store flickering. With a sigh, he replaced the pump handle, pocketed his receipt, and jogged towards the entrance, each step splashing water up onto his jeans. The automatic doors slid open with a whoosh, and he was greeted by the bright, fluorescent lights and the comforting hum of refrigerators lining the back wall.

The smell of coffee and hot dogs greeted him, a stark contrast to the cold, wet night outside. Kyle wiped dribbles of water off his brow and ran a hand through his damp hair, making his way to the 'Jack's Jerky' stand he grabbed a bag of the teriyaki as per Weston's request, and he grabbed one for the boy and a little baggie of sickly sweet gummies to give to Ike when he got home.

That was all he had intended to buy but his feet had carried him to the back of the rest stop to the coolers. He opened one, the chill air a refreshing break from the humidity outside. He thought back to which flavour of Powerade was your favourite and silently prayed it was still the same from three years prior when you went camping and stocked up on solely green apple Powerade. As he closed the cooler door, he heard the rattle of thunder outside, the storm intensifying.

He walked up to the counter, the clerk giving him a weary smile. "Rough night, huh?" the clerk said, scanning the drink. Kyle had expected that he would see Kenny behind the counter that night since he had informed him that he would be busy and he tended to take the graveyard shift over weekends for some extra cash.

"Yeah, I don't plan to be out long," Kyle reached into his pocket for his wallet, sifting through it until he found his debit card.

The man nods, typing something into the computer "This is everything tonight?" He looked up at Kyle.

"Yup," He offered a tight-lipped smile, swiping his card through before snatching the green apple Powerade off the counter.

"Stay safe out there," His voice was gruff like he had been smoking for decades and singing folk songs around a campfire.

"Thanks, you too," He walks back out through the doors faster than he entered, rushing to the car like he was trying to race the rain.

Weston peered through the foggy window, watching the rivulets of water race each other down the glass. The interior of the car felt warm and safe compared to the bleak, wet world outside. He glanced at Kyle, who was bracing himself against the wind, his silhouette blurred by the rain.

The doors slid open, and he dashed back to his car, rain soaking through his clothes almost instantly. He slid into the driver's seat, shaking off the water, and turned the key in the ignition. Kyle placed the Powerade into the cupholder, tossed the beef jerky over to Weston and tucked the gummies into his pocket, buckling himself in and readjusting himself until his hands had thawed enough to grip the wheel. "Okay, what's Dustin's address?"

Weston took one look at the green drink sitting between the two of them and looked back up at Kyle "Do you like my sister?"

Kyle nearly laughed, but he caught himself, recognizing the seriousness in Weston's voice. "What?" The tone his voice carried was utterly perplexed "I think there's something in that jerky."

"I'm serious, don't get any funny ideas," Weston spoke through a mouth of beef jerky, words muffled.

"I promise all of my ideas are very unfunny," Kyle shook his head, trying to focus on driving through the storm.

"Yeah, sure," Weston's voice was dripping with sarcasm.

Kyle felt his face flush, thankful for the darkness that hid his reaction. They drove in silence for a few more minutes, the storm raging outside, the only sound inside the car being the rhythmic swish of the wipers and the occasional rumble of thunder. Finally, the headlights illuminated the house where Weston's friend lived. His eyes weren't on Weston as he walked into the house but on the green bottle sitting in his cup holder.

By the time Kyle got back to your house, he was soaking wet, curls defined by dampness and clothes clinging to his body. "Is Kyle back? Is that him?" Your dad asked through Facetime to which you nodded "Turn me around I want to say hi."

Kyle squinted his eyes before recognizing it was your dad on the phone "Hey," He smiled "How's Vegas?"

"It is awesome," Your dad said "I got Ike and Weston these trucker hats," he held his phone away from him while he held up the merch "And I got you this hoodie, made me think of you," Your dad flipped the camera around to show the hotel bed where a black hoodie was sprawled out with the album cover of 'Violater' on the front.

"What did you get me?" You ask, turning your phone screen back to face you where you were bundled up and tucked into a corner of the sofa.

"Erm," He sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, turns his head and goes out of frame while he shuffles through some things. Your dad places his phone down, thinking that he has muted himself "Honey, what did we get for our daughter?"

"I dunno, we can buy her something at the airport." You hear your mom say "Can you tell her that I bought her ticket for the lock-in?"

"Oh my god," you can't bite back the smile you have purely from how ridiculous they are, looking at Kyle who has his eyebrows slightly raised.

"Gimme that, I wanna talk to her and Kyle," The phone shifts, and the view of the ceiling is replaced with your mother's face, she's holding the phone far out "Hi, guys."

"Hi," Kyle says half-heartedly.

"Did you guys read the storm warnings?" Your mom asks and continues before either of you has the chance to answer "There is a storm outside."

"Yeah, we know, we're in it," You say blankly.

"Yeah, big storm tonight," Your dad crams himself next to your mom so he can squish in frame "I got a notification from my weather app."

Your mom nods like this tame fact needed confirmation "He did."

In his damp pocket, Kyle feels his phone vibrate, his mother is on the other end waiting for him to pick up the call "Mom?"

"Kyle," Sheila says, she's on Facetime as well, wearing a blue silk heatless on the top of her head, red hair braided around it. It was the one you had gifted her for Secret Santa "Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah?" He furrows his eyebrows, looking up at you though you were just as clueless as he was.

"I want you guys to stay inside until this storm is over, there's gonna be hail and the last hail storm his not go well for you," This was very much true. The last hail storm was a year prior in early September, huge chunks of ice had plummeted from the sky in excruciating force. Kyle was at Stan's house when it happened, Sparky had gotten out and the two boys were desperate to chase him back outside but the hail only startled the dog further causing him to dash around the streets in a panic, not even resting for a moment. By the time Sparky was back inside safely, both boys had bruises cascading down their backs in an array of deep purples and reds.

Others weren't so lucky to get away with bruises. Butters had been hit smack in his head and had bled into Cartman's white headrest while being driven to the hospital. The poor guy ended up with five staples in a jagged line on the back of his scalp and a wicked scar to show for it.

"Is that Sheila?" Your mom asked, "I want to see her."

Both you and Kyle had turned the phone screens to face each other, trying to ignore the weirdness of doing so. "Hey," Sheila said, "I was just telling the kids to stay inside, there's a big storm down here."

"And hail," your dad added, matter-of-factly.

"There's going to be hail the size of tennis balls," Gerald hadn't heard your dad through the phone, you could hear him sink into the bed beside his wife.

"What?" Your dad asked "Gerald?"

Gerald peeped over at his wife's phone "How was the concert?"

"I know, crazy storm right," Your dad had taken his phone back from your mother and pretended that he could understand what was being said 562 miles away in the Broflovski household. "Kyle, why are you so wet?" He turned his attention to the boy awkwardly holding his screen out.

"He was driving Weston, you know this." You answer for him.

"In the storm?" Sheila asked.

"Don't go out in the storm," Your mom called from somewhere else in the room.

"Okay, I'm gonna hang up, we will stay inside you have my word," You wait for your dad to answer before hanging up.

"Okay, love you Jellybean, save me that gouda in the cheese drawer," His eyes shoot around the screen, in search of the exit button though, he taps around for a minute, muting then unmuting himself before finally hanging up.

Kyle had wandered off, slowly pacing around by the front door while nodding along to the things his mom was rattling off. It took eight minutes until Sheila finally let him go with one last goodbye "Okay, love you too, Mom."

"Uh," You look at Kyle, who was quite literally dripping on the floor, the white shirt beneath his flannel had turned translucent, clinging to the muscle of his stomach "Do you wanna shower or something?"

He looks down at himself his jeans wet and heavy before he looks back up at you "Yeah, I do."

You pry yourself off the couch, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a cape while you lead Kyle upstairs. You were forbidden from touching the thermostat without your father's permission and even though he was in another state entirely, you had a sinking feeling that some way he would find how so you thought it better to bundle up instead.

"Use whatever products, I don't really care," You open the door to the bathroom even though Kyle knew where everything in your house was and would've been fine on his own. To you, it felt like he was more of a formal guest than a friend and you had to show some form of courtesy. "I'll find you something from my dad's closet."

"Alright," Kyle says as you turn away, pushing the door to your parent's room open. You b-lined for the wardrobe, rifling through until you found plaid pyjama pants and one of his well-worn t-shirts that you had seen in pictures from his college years.

On your way back to the bathroom you stopped in your room to shove your feet into your cow slippers since the storm was quickly cooling your house down. Your knuckles wrapped on the door "Are you naked?"

"No," He answers. "Why are-

You push the door open and find him standing shirtless by the sink, looking at something on his phone while his wet shirt and flannel are hanging over the shower rod. Your eyes catch to the glucose monitor patch stuck onto his toned bicep before you catch your eyes shifting down towards the well-defined ab muscles, catching yourself within seconds and plopping the clothes onto the counter. "Taking mirror pictures?" You joke halfheartedly.

He turns his phone around to show you his 'mySugr' app where he had been checking his glucose levels "Yeah, something like that."

"It's just a shirt and pants, I don't want you sharing underwear with my dad," You say abruptly, giving the folded clothes a little pat.

"I don't want that either, so thank you," He presses his lips into a thin smile.

"Okay," You say, glancing around the bathroom to see if you were missing anything before you left, closing the door behind you.

You kept listening for the hail but all you heard was a soothing backdrop to the otherwise quiet house, Kyle's shower blending seamlessly in with the rain. You stood at the kitchen counter, wincing slightly as you adjusted the bag of shredded cheese in your hand. Your broken nose, swollen and tender, throbbed dully, while the turf burns on your leg stung every time you shifted your weight. The painkillers you'd taken earlier had dulled the edges of your discomfort, but they left you feeling groggy and disconnected.

With slow, deliberate movements, you laid a tortilla on the skillet, the soft sizzle of the heating pan. You sprinkled a generous handful of cheese onto the tortilla, your fingers fumbling slightly as the drowsiness made even simple tasks a challenge. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself against the counter, trying to focus through the haze of the medication.

The rain grew heavier, a steady drumming that matched the dull ache in your body. You reached for the second tortilla, placing it carefully on top of the melting cheese. Your reflection in the window caught your eye—a girl with tousled hair, a bandaged nose, and dark circles under her eyes. The bruising was beginning to ebb away and by the time of the junior lock-in, you would be able to take the bandage off for good. Eventually, you would be left with no more than a scar on the bridge of your nose and mark this down as your most tormenting injury yet

The smell of melting cheese filled the kitchen, a small comfort amidst your discomfort. You flipped the quesadilla, the action sending a sharp pain through your wrist, making you gasp. You clenched your teeth, riding out the wave of pain until it subsided to a more manageable level. The medication dulled the pain but didn't erase it, leaving you in a strange limbo between relief and awareness.

As the quesadilla finished cooking, you carefully slid it onto a plate. You cut it into quarters, each movement slow and deliberate, then carry the plate to the table. Sitting down, you gingerly touched your swollen nose, wincing at the contact, then picked up a piece of the quesadilla.

The first bite was heavenly, the warm, gooey cheese a small relief against the storm raging both outside and within your body. You chewed slowly, savouring the simple pleasure of a hot meal on a rainy day. Each bite eased a bit of your tension, the repetitive motion meditative in its simplicity.

You heard the familiar thumps signalling someone was coming down the hardwood stairs and didn't need to turn your head to know that it was Kyle. "Quesadilla?" He sits on the opposite side of the couch from you, grabbing his laptop off the coffee table from the exact spot he had left it.

Silence stretches between you as you wait to chew your bite thoroughly and swallow before answering him "Yeah, do you want one?"

"No, I'm good," He opens the tab with the presentation, picking up right where he left off. He would be stuck with you until the hail hit, and then he would leave. Like he told Weston, he was going to finish the project and go home.

"That's good, I wouldn't have made it anyway."

"Why would you ask me then?"

"Courtesy?" Your answer comes out sounding like a question.

While Kyle was dropping your brother off, you had finished your portion of the assignment, leaving you to scroll through your timeline, tuning out to the constant sound of rain and Kyle's quick typing. With a small groan from the soreness of every inch of your body, you grabbed the remote off the table and began to flip through thumbnails of shows and movies.

You had flipped your phone face down on the table and put on Do Not Disturb. You were the kind who didn't pick up the phone when they didn't want to speak and in that moment you had been forgetting that Kyle was even there until you heard him shift.

"Are you going to the lock-in?" You lift your head the slightest to look at Kyle.

"Maybe," He hadn't entirely wanted to go to a school event where nearly everyone in his grade would be locked in the school's gym overnight, it sounded similar to the nightmares that kept him awake though he was being coerced not only by his mother but Kenny who had been the first of his friends who paid for a ticket. "Are you?"

"Yeah, I was gonna stay at Red's and just tell my mom I went but she's going so," You blow a raspberry "I guess I am, I'll probably wanna shoot myself in the head though."

"Huh," He utters simply in acknowledgment.

Settling on watching a reality show where everyone was yelling at everything all of the time, you pulled your blanket higher, letting your head rest on the arm of the couch. Kyle would claim to hate trash reality but you always caught him sneaking glances at the screen whenever it was on.

The soft glow of the television cast flickering shadows across the room. The wind howls and rain lashes against the windows, creating a constant noise that only heightens your sense of isolation.

The reality TV show you're watching is a mindless distraction, a parade of drama and superficiality that you shamelessly indulge in. It's a welcome escape from the throbbing pain in your nose and the raw sting of the turf burn consistently stinging. You shift uncomfortably, trying to find a position that doesn't exacerbate your injuries, wincing as the movement sends fresh waves of pain through your body.

"How's it going?" you ask, your voice thick from the congestion caused by your broken nose. Speaking still hurts, but the silence is becoming unbearable. You had to say something, anything. It was like there had been a shift, where once you happily accepted ignoring Kyle in silence, now you felt like you were being smothered. You needed to talk even if your conversations were stiff and awkward like they had been all night and would only continue to be.

Kyle looks up. "Getting there. How's your nose?"

"It's chill right now." You lie through your teeth, it was hurting badly. "How's your eye?"

His hand absentmindedly moved upward to gently touch the bruised area. There were a few days when it looked like it was healing nicely but it quickly went downhill, he woke one morning to find splotchy colours over his eye and all he could do was accept the fact. "Better than your- well, everything I'm guessing," He gestured to the burn on your arm.

You glance down as well, moving your arm to inspect the injury "Yeah, it feels like a million miniature humans are stabbing me and kicking me like all the time."

He nods, a sympathetic look crossing his face. "Do you need another painkiller or something?"

You shake your head, regretting the motion almost immediately as it sends a sharp ache through your skull. "No, I'm okay, I have so many painkillers in me that I'm rattling like a maraca."

The room falls silent again, save for the drone of the TV and the relentless battering of the storm outside. You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, wishing you could fast-forward through the next few days of recovery. Your eyes drift back to the TV screen, where contestants are arguing over something trivial.

Kyle's fingers tap away at the keyboard, a steady stream of clicks. Finally, he sits back, stretching his arms and letting out a sigh of relief. "It's done," he announces, closing the laptop. "The project is finished."

"Woohoo," You bring your hands together to give him a weak round of applause. Still facing the TV you hadn't noticed the small smile that Kyle cracked, it wasn't the sheepish thin-lipped ones you had grown accustomed to but one that showed his perfect rows of teeth.

He leans back onto the couch, arms crossed while he lets himself tune into the awful show. Feeling a slight chill, he tugged on the blanket sprawled over you until it covered his lap. You hadn't minded when Kyle came under the blanket, giving him leeway so he wouldn't freeze.

You lay on your side, reaching to scratch an itch on your upper lip but instead being met with warm liquid on your fingers. Immediately you shoot up your hand out in front of you, the TV shifts scenes and the room is illuminated, the blood on your hand illuminated.

"Mother fucker," You hiss pushing yourself off the couch to rush to the bathroom before blood from your nose could trickle onto your dad's shirt.

Kyle wasn't sure what had you storming off, he partially thought you were upset about him tucking himself under the blanket but he didn't say anything, he just watched you usher off and up the stairs with perplexing eyes.

You slap the light switch to the bathroom, hands bracing on the bathroom sink while you assess the situation on your face. Sometime while you and Kyle were sitting in darkness lit only by a TV screen you must've irritated the laceration on your nose as it was nose gushing blood and soaking the bandage lying over top.

Despite the pain, you muster the courage to attempt changing the bandage on your own. With trembling hands, you carefully begin to peel away the old bandage, wincing as the adhesive pulls at your tender skin. You grit your teeth, determined to see this through, but as you try to pull the bandage away, you shudder, it is clinging to your nose from the blood soaking in and binding it.

"Shit," you mutter under your breath, frustration bubbling up inside you. You glance at yourself in the mirror, the sight of your bruised under eyes and the trickle of blood making you feel even more helpless. Pounding on the bathroom window you could pinpoint the exact sound that the hail had begun, the patterns of rain turned into a harsh banging noise that crashed over the roof.

Sticky blood gripped onto your skin and the more effort you put into clearing it away, the harder you were pushing on your broken nose. Taking a deep breath, you grab hold of one end of the bandage then rip it off at record speed, trying to ignore the pain that shot through you and how it had tugged on the stitches but it was impossible.

"Fuck, ow!" You shout, throwing the soiled bandage into the sink in anger "I'm not fucking doing this."

Looking up and into the mirror, you see the gash over your nose, the blood dripping from it and pooling around the area, slinking its way into the crevices of your under eyes and knowing that you didn't have much choice. Dabbing a bit of rubbing alcohol onto a cotton pad, you brought it up to your nose and winced on instinct, body shuddering from the sting.

You put the cotton pad down, chewing your lip in an attempt to bite back the tears and the array of colourful words you wanted to scream. Tears were brimming in your eyes purely from the sensation. "Kyle!" You call out, hands cupping your mouth.

It took him a minute to reach you but when he did he paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of you "Are you taking out your stitches?" His voice bordered somewhere between panic and intrigue.

"No, but it's bleeding and I need to fix it and it really fucking hurts so can you please do it?"

He spends a moment just staring at you, drinking in the request before it finally rendered "You definitely can't do it yourself?"

"Yeah."

"And it's not one of those wait-it-out things?"

"Don't be a dick, are you helping me or not?"

He runs a hand through his hair, the other on his hip. His nose wrinkled slightly at the thought of pressing too hard on your nose or making the stitches bleed even more "What if I hurt you?"

"I'm already hurt."

"Yeah, okay, fine." Kyle pulls his phone from the pocket of his flannel pants and begins searching for guidance.

You propped yourself to sit up on the bathroom counter, eye level with Kyle as he bent down just the slightest. "Do you know what you're doing?"

"Uh, yup," Beside you, he placed his phone, it was open to a wikiHow article on bandaging a broken nose. He carefully soaked a cotton pad and began to clear away the blood, revealing the raw, stitched wound beneath. You clenched your teeth, eyes watering from the sharp, stinging pain that accompanied the exposure of the wound. "Sorry," Kyle murmured, his voice bordering somewhere between concentration and sympathy. "I'll be quick, I promise."

"Okay," You cast your gaze to the side, trying desperately to avoid making eye contact with Kyle when he was so close to you and studying your face with such intensity.

He dabbed at the wound with a clean cloth, wiping away the fresh blood with gentle, meticulous strokes. The antiseptic came next, its cool sting causing you to flinch despite your best efforts to stay still. Kyle couldn't help the face he made at the sight of the bruising swallowing up your nose and the irritation surrounding the wound itself.

You were quick to catch onto this "I know I look gross."

"No, you don't look gross," He shook his head slightly, his hands moved to bring your head upwards, chin between his index and thumb while he wiped away the last of the blood. You held your breath, The strength in his hands and forearms was evident though each movement was slow and benign as a feather-stroke.

He looked like honey and you couldn't ignore that. His ginger hair was streaked with gold from sun exposure, and his hazel eyes were flecked with brown. He remained sweet as honey too, and as gentle as the wings that made it.

He placed the gauze on your nose for padding very meticulously and followed the guide on his phone while taping it. "Done," Kyle said finally, pressing a new, clean bandage over the stitches. He secured it with tender, precise fingers, then looked into your eyes for reassurance "How does that feel?"

You took a deep breath, feeling the snug, secure fit of the new bandage. With a gentle touch, you tapped around at the freshly bandaged area "It's good, thanks."

Kyle nodded, quickly backing up, throwing out the soiled medical supplies and tucking the first aid kit back underneath the sink. He cleared his thought, looking at the window where the hail was slowing down, it was back to the heavy rain "Hails passed, I'll grab my stuff and head out."

"Um, okay," You stayed on the counter, watching him fumble around to his clothes that had been drying on the shower curtain rod. In one minute a million thoughts were mauling at your mind but there was one that stood out from the rest "Or we could watch a movie?"

Abruptly his head swerved to look at you. He had assumed this to be mocking but you just stared at him and waited for an answer, as cool as he wanted to play it he broke into a small small with furrowed brows "Yeah, okay." Suddenly he was wishing he had given you the powerade that he bought for you.

A/N: oml I meant to post this days ago, it’s just been chilling in my drafts

#kyle broflovski #south park #kyle south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle brovlofski #south park hcs #south park kyle #sp kyle

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