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hunnysnoops · 4 months ago

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˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Twelve: Slip of the Tongue

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

You make me feel like I've done wrong. Slip of the tongue. I've taken it back, what's done is done.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: After running for years, your legs finally give out.

Warnings: Blood / crude language and humour

MASTERLIST

.˙꩜°˖:*࿔ ☼ ࿔*:˖°꩜˙.

You've been avoiding Kyle ever since that almost kiss. The memory of that moment hangs in your mind like the smell of rain after a storm, making you feel awkward and unsure every time you think about it. Right now, you're pacing around your bedroom, trying to focus on anything but him. The soft hum of your computer and the comforting clutter of your room usually help, but today, they don't.

You walk back and forth, your feet hitting the hardwood floor with each step. You had skipped dinner to eat at your desk to scroll online forums and try to figure out what to do. Every time your family went to visit the Broflovskis, you would fake an illness to avoid the thing you dreaded most.

It didn't help that summer would be drawing to a close and the days until school started were cutting down. The whole thing made you nervous. You had blocked him on everything the moment your phone had service again.

It wasn't Kyle himself that made your stomach churn, the thought of being vulnerable almost caved your head in.

The posters on your walls seem to mock you with their silent, unchanging presence. You run your fingers through your hair, your mind replaying that day over and over. The way he leaned in, the way your heart pounded, and the way you pulled back at the last second. It's all too much.

Usually, you weren't one to be this fragile but walking circles in your bedroom, you cradled yourself like a glass statue. It was like you might shatter at the thought of being honest.

You hoped that you cranked your music up loud enough that no one in the house could hear you frantically pacing. You were sure the inside of your mouth was mangled from the amount you had been chewing on your cheek for the past week and a half.

It was clear you weren't good at processing your emotions, it wasn't a skill you ever learned growing up and now you suffered greatly for it. You were so aware of everything but didn't know how to put your thoughts into words like they were knotted and caught in your throat.

The last guy you dated ended horrifically in tenth grade, due to your lack of being able to articulate feelings; Jason had been crying on the edge of his bed and you stood awkwardly watching him like he was a zoo animal. You almost wanted to scream in your blue and white striped boxer shorts and the very T-shirt you got when you went to the concert with Kyle.

The heat outside was almost insufferable and creeping its way into your bedroom since your dad refused to turn on the AC and duct taped the thermostat so neither you or your brother would raise the bill hence the very mismatched outfit you were wearing. Bebe's cherry-patterned scrunchie was still on your wrist from the late-night fast food drive you endured the night prior.

The way he leaned in, the way your heart pounded, and the way you ducked down at the last second. It's all too much. You like Kyle, really like him, but the thought of being vulnerable and what a relationship might do to your family terrifies you. All you needed was the rest of the summer to make up your mind.

Suddenly, your dad's voice breaks through your thoughts and the loud music that was almost blowing out your eardrums, calls up the stairs. "Jellybean, Kyle's here for you!"

Panic sets in, like ice water coursing through your veins. Your heart races, and you feel a lump in your throat. The last thing you want is to face him now. You glance around your room frantically, your eyes landing on the open window. Without a second thought, you scramble to your feet and head for it.

Your hands tremble as you push the window open wider, the warm breeze hitting your face. You lean out, gauging the drop to the ground. It's a long fall, but the hedge below looks like it might cushion you. You swing one leg over the sill, feeling the rough edge of the window frame against your thigh. Your breath quickens as you pull the other leg over, now perched precariously on the edge.

For a moment, you hesitate, looking back into the familiar comfort of your room. Your feet find purchase on the small ledge below, and you inch your way down, body pressed close to the house. Your hands scramble for the drain pipe immediately. You weren't close to the ground but you were once again wild and desperate.

Shuffling along the edge, you see your neighbour pause where he mows his lawn to watch you. You force a smile and wave to him like this is an everyday activity. You can hear thumps sounding upstairs by your room, Kyle's car is parked out front, your own is stuck behind your mother's and without waiting another beat you grab the drain pipe with your other hand as well to keep you steady as you awkwardly slide down.

You thought for a moment that the pipe might rip from the house and send you spiralling to the ground but between the chance of falling to the lawn or getting caught in this act, you chose the former.

You land with a soft thud, the hedge rustling beneath you. The impact sends a jolt through your body, but you barely notice. Quickly, you crawl out of the hedge, branches scratching your arms, and crouch behind it, your heart pounding in your ears. You listen intently, waiting to see if Kyle or your dad will come looking for you. You can hear a knock on your bedroom door until it inevitably creaks open.

Knowing you can't stay here, you gather your courage and glance around to make sure no one has seen you. You slip through the side yard, the grass damp under your feet, and break into a run. Your neighbour still watches you, his wife joining him on the lawn where they try to decode exactly what you're doing. The world seems to narrow down to the sound of your rapid breaths and the pounding of your feet against the pavement.

In the moment you weren't sure where you were headed and began to think of all those who live close to you- Wendy. You knew she was home, she sent you a picture of her cat only minutes before your grand escape.

Growing up you were always told the best way to win a fight is to not be in one, this felt similar. You knew that no matter what this would end up in an argument with Kyle but not if you were able to outrun it until it simmered out like none of it happened at all.

The pavement was undoubtedly cutting your feet, maybe you should've thought ahead and kept a pair of shoes in your room for situations like this, albeit not very common. You had more adrenaline in your veins than when you had faced life or death at the paws of a raccoon.

As you run, you wish for nothing more than a cigarette, just something to take the edge off so you aren't shaking with nerves. You thought about what Kyle would do or what he had done when he was that you had disappeared from your bedroom. What would your dad do? Probably assume that you had left hours before and he didn't notice.

Finally, Wendy's house comes into view. Relief floods through you, giving you a final burst of energy. You sprint the last few yards, your breath coming in short gasps as you reach her front door, your chest heaving. You knock urgently, praying she's home. After what feels like an eternity, the door swings open, and Wendy's concerned face appears.

"What's wrong?" she asks, taking in your flushed face and frantic eyes. She was wearing a purple cardigan overtop of her denim shorts and white tank top, he silky black hair pulled away from her face in a claw clip that matched her small silver hoop earrings. She looked a lot more cohesive than you did.

You take a deep breath, your words tumbling out in a rush. "Kyle almost kissed me at the lake when we were swimming in our underwear. I think he was going to, but I pulled away. The next morning he didn't bring it up but he kept smiling and trying to hold my hand and giving me stuff and I didn't know what to do! You know I don't know what to do, I'm not nice like his other girlfriends. I just got really freaked out and stopped talking to him and after we went home I blocked him on everything and I haven't seen him since. He was so sweet it's making my teeth rot. And now he's at my house, and I don't know what to do. I like him, Wendy, but I'm so scared. I'm a ruiner, I'll ruin everything and he'll go back to hating me and I'll just see him once a year around the holidays with his wife and kids and I'll just be so bitter staring at him and just thinking 'What if?' like what if I was the one who went to house warming parties with him but I won't because I couldn't sort myself out in highschool but then there's if I do tell him it's just a crazy cycle of it never working out and there's always going to be that unspoken thing between us of what was almost there. My dad told me he was there to see me and I fucking scaled the side of my house and ran here barefoot just so I wouldn't have to see him."

"Oh my god," Wendy mutters "Okay, it's fine, just calm down a bit and we can talk in my room," She gently grabs your bicep to guide you up the stairs.

You nod, beginning to follow her though your eye catches on a black mop of hair peaking over the back of the couch. You freeze "Hey, Stan," You clear your throat in an attempt to sound casual

Slowly, he turns his head to look at you, his face still and unreadable "Hey."

"Who- uh, are you texting?" You try for a friendly smile but it comes across as looking a little psychotic.

He stays quiet, placing his phone on the coffee table slowly, his eye contact not moving from yours. "No one."

"Do you mind if I see your phone really quick?" You approach him steadily, forcing yourself or at least trying to be calm.

"Yeah, I do mind."

The phone dings "Stan, don't look at that message- hey," You point a finger at him like he's a toddler and you're trying to keep him away from an electrical fire. "Stan, I'm not fucking around.”

Before Stan can grab his phone, you dive for it, snatching it off the table and backing away from Stan while you read them, quickly skimming over the messages between him and Kyle. It wasn't brief, Stan had of course informed his best friend about the obscene amount of information you dumped onto Wendy and that you were there. "What the fuck?" You turn to look at him.

"He's my best friend," Stan defends himself. "Can you please give me my phone back, dude?" You take it upon yourself to type out a quick message for Kyle from Stan, along the lines of 'I hope you die, lose this number' before dropping the phone on an armrest and heading for the laundry room at the speed of sound.

Wendy was uncommonly at a loss for words, eyes shooting between Stan gripping his hair while he read what you sent and you tearing the laundry room apart.

"You traitor asshole cunt!" You shout while rummaging through the dryer. The clothes inside were still fresh and warm, you grab the first two socks you see, one of them a bright red knee-high sports sock, the other one is ankle length and covered in little prints of puppies. You didn't care, yanking them on over your feet while you hop to the shoe rack. "Wendy, which pair do you care about the least?"

"Maybe the boots-

Before she could even finish her sentence you were pulling on the brown leather cowboy boots that were mid-length on your shins "I'll bring these back later!" You yell, running back out the door. "Love you, Wendy. kill yourself, Stan!"

While running away from Wendy's without bothering to shut the door, you fumble for your phone and try to dial up Red whilst manoeuvring around trash bins and bikers so you don't take yourself out.

"Hey," Red's voice comes through, light and lazy. "Why are you calling me? You never call me."

"It's honestly so fucked up, I might throw up if I talk about it," You pant into the phone, a little short-breathed from the excess cardio while you ran nowhere in particular "Essentially, I hate Stan Marsh as of now."

"What an asshole," Red says. The two of you were like the blind leading the blind. You didn't need to give her an in-depth backstory, if you said you hated someone then she hated them too "Fuck him, where are you?"

"Running away from Wendy's," You look around for some sign of where you are, spotting a traffic sign over an intersection "Uh- I'm on Walden."

"Are you actually running?"

"Yes!"

"How bad is your situation?"

"So bad, dude."

"Like bad for a normal person or bad for you because you kinda think everything is awful," You can hear the sound of a huge splash and cheering over the line.

"It's actually bad this time," You failed to mention that you screwed yourself over.

"Okay, well, I'm not far off Walden right now," She moves the phone away from her to mutter a question to someone else "I'm pre-gaming with some friends, it's getting kinda crazy-" She stops mid-sentence to laugh at something, you can hear the smile in her voice "I'll send you the address. Okay?"

"Yeah, okay, thanks," You utter, hanging up and copying the address into your phone. Your head would swerve around to be sure Kyle's car wasn't in sight.

The destination wasn't far from your initial spot. The neighbourhood seemed unusually quiet for a street that was supposed to be housing a rager. The houses are quaint, with well-manicured lawns and the soft glow of porch lights flickering as dusk settles in. You glance at the address Red sent you again, reassuring yourself that you're in the right place.

Slowly you approach the house, a charming two-story with a wide front porch adorned with potted plants and a welcome mat that reads 'WELCOME wait, who did you vote for?'

Feeling a bit uncertain, you decide to call Red, phone pressed to your ear as you walk up the front steps. She answers on the second ring, her voice bright over the sounds of music and chatter in the background. "What's up, whore? where are you?"

"Are you sure this is the right address?"

"Yeah, we're in the backyard, just let yourself in," She says through static. On the other end you can hear laughing and shouting, she excuses herself before hanging up.

With confidence slightly restored, you push the door open, immediately met by the sound of laughter carrying through the home. The scent of home-cooked food fills the air—roast chicken, freshly baked bread, and something sweet and cinnamon-y you can't quite place. Children dart around your legs, laughing and chasing each other, while an older couple sits on a couch, reminiscing over a photo album.

As you make your way through the house, your eyes widen in surprise when you notice a collection of shotguns mounted on the wall. Your heart skips a beat, and a wave of nervousness washes over you.

"Who are you and why are you in my home?" You hear a gruff voice from behind you and turn to see an alarmingly large man. He was taller than anyone you had seen, with a bald shiny head, and muscles bulging out of his white polo.

You glance past him and notice the decorations—a banner that reads 'Happy Family Reunion!' strung across the living room, balloons bobbing gently in the corner, and framed photos of smiling faces you don't recognize lining the walls.

In the living room sits a large group of people, almost every single one blonde, they all stare at you from wherever they are in the room. Glancing back at the threatening display of guns and the photo of the man in front of you happily smiling while he holds up the corpse of a deer, you fumble for an answer "The entertainment, your wife hired me."

"My wife passed away last year."

"Oooohhhhh my god," You mutter and your eyes widen slightly but you make it a point to stay relaxed "That's what I am, she spoke to me from beyond the grave and guided me here, she has messages for you."

He looks like he's about to say something but a woman shoots up from the coach, a sharp exhale escaping through her lips. "What did she say?" Her eyes are wide, her face in shock as she beckons you into the living room.

With a dramatic flair, you place your hand on your forehead and close your eyes. "I'm getting a strong feeling," you say, your voice low and mysterious. This was your absurd and desperate attempt not to end up like the deer in the photo. It didn't help that you were dressed like a blind child who picked their own clothing.

The family members around you fall silent, watching with curious expressions. You open your eyes slowly, pretending to gaze into a distant realm. "I see... a long journey ahead for someone in this room," you continue, pointing vaguely.

A woman wearing a turquoise blouse leans forward eagerly, careful not to spill her wine. "Really? What else do you see?"

You touch your hands to your head and close your eyes, furrowing your brows the same way you had seen fortune tellers do it in the movies "I'm getting the letter N, is there an N name anywhere here?"

Someone raises her hand, eyebrows drawing in slight worry "I'm Nancy."

You open your eyes and point at her "Nancy, you are going to suffer a terrible and painful death."

Nancy squeaks, a hand flying over her mouth while a man gently rubs soothing circles on her back. Everyone stares at you expectantly, waiting for you to continue with eager eyes. "Keep going," The man urges you.

"I see flying, wings- no! A plane," You say opening your eyes "Does anyone have a trip coming up?"

An older man raises his hand "My wife and I are going to Quebec."

"Why would you go to Quebec on purpose?" You wrinkle your nose, muttering before getting back in character "Cancel your trip or you will get diseased and you will die."

Gasps sound from the mini crowd in front of you, each of them murmuring to another. "What will happen in Quebec?"

"An evil French Canadian waiter will spit in your drink and will give you herpes."

They gasp again "How would herpes kill me?"

You shrug "You will die for unrelated reasons but you will regret Quebec on your deathbed."

"What do you see for me?" A woman asks, a long floral sundress cascades down to her ankles. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her striking blue eyes shake you to your core.

"I see a man in an army uniform, yes, he has short hair, wait-no, it's not an army uniform, it's a prison uniform. You will marry a convicted felon," You say simply, giving her a little smile.

A woman with a necklace that reaads 'Sarah' looks at you, her eyes wide with fascination. "What about me? Can you see anything for me?"

You nod, feeling more confident in your role. "I see... a new opportunity coming your way, something related to your passion," you say, seeing a photo of her on the wall at a book signing with an author you didn't recognize. "It will be challenging, but very rewarding."

"Oh my goodness," Sarah smiles, nudging the girl next to her.

With every passing second, you just wanted to leave more and more, the stress only continued to build as lies spilled from your lips. You look at the walls, so many photos of the family going to church and spending Christmas together, one of them in a manger, dressed for the nativity. "I see something divine."

At your words, everyone is captivated once more. They were hanging on every word like it was gospel, sipping their glasses of wine and bottles of beer.

"It's holy- yes, very holy," You nod, eyes pressed shut while you randomly gesture into the air in front of you. You gasp sharply, one hand going to your heart "It's a message from the son of the lord!" You exclaim.

"What did he say?" One of the women sits up, the same one who insisted you (a stranger) entertain them by reading their fortunes "Tell me now, please."

"Jesus is going to be in Nashville on September 11th," You lower your hands from your head.

The room falls quiet, only hushed whispers between a handful of people "Jesus is gonna be in Tennessee on 9/11?" The buff man asks.

"Um, yeah, yup, that is what I said," Now do you realize what you said and all you can do is pray he doesn't take one of those guns on the wall and stuff you like taxidermy.

"Whose ready for drinks?" A woman comes in with a smile, carrying a little tray of shot glasses. Looking closer at the glasses you can see each of them with a little print of the confederate flag on top.

"Oh my god," You mutter under your breath and cough to hide your panic. Thinking quickly, you grip your hair with one hand, squeezing your eyes shut and letting your free hand grasp at the air "That's it..." You say, quietly "The void has gone black."

Some of them sound disappointed, others indifferent but one particular skeezy man catches your attention. You hadn't noticed him watching the entire thing all eery like he had been lurking in the shadows.

"Actually," You say. The lanky man stands against a wall, nursing a beer bottle and grinning at you in a way that makes you squirm. His hair is so greasy that you thought you could've fried a fish on it, on top of his blue jeans there are little crusty white stains, a suspicious wet spot in an unfortunate area. You point at him "Check his hard drive."

You don't want to spend another second in that room, quickly you dash away while the attention turns on the creepy man. Back down the corridor, the same way you came in, you pass decoration that is very telling to the family's nature, you missed it completely on the way in.

While scurrying out of the house, you pass the liquor cabinet. Snatching a black leather purse off the counter and dumping out the contents, you look around and quickly squat down. You almost feel bad stealing then look above the cabinet to see the confederate flag hung beneath a sleek frame then you don't feel so bad.

Quickly and quietly, you slip a bottle of whiskey and another vodka into the bag. Just as before you shut the cabinet, you glance around once more and snatch the fancy tequila in the blue, white, and yellow bottle, intricate designs over the glass. You couldn't show up to a party empty-handed.

Just as you reach the lawn without being caught, your phone rings in your pocket. To no surprise, it's Red "Hey, I totally gave you the wrong address."

"Oh, really?" Sarcasm drips from your tone as you continue moving, looking back at the house.

"Yeah, so- we're on our way to the party, we can meet there if you want the address."

"Are you going to send me to a rednecks house again?"

"No, what the fuck happened?" She asks, tone shifting slightly.

"I'll tell you when I get there," You exasperate, picking up your pace. "Just send me it- no, turn on your damn location and I'll find you, okay?"

“Oki doke, whatever you wanna do," She mumbles into the phone, sending you a link and hanging up.

You glance at her location. Red really wasn't far if you took a shortcut and didn't have to go all the way around the streets. If you could cut through two backyards, you were basically there.

You turn down a narrow alley, the dim light casting long shadows from the overhanging branches. The smell of freshly cut grass mingles with the faint aroma of a barbecue, and you find a low fence that seems easy enough to climb over. You hoist yourself up, swinging one leg over, then the other, and drop softly onto the other side.

As you straighten up, you realize you've landed in the middle of a children's birthday party. Brightly coloured balloons are tied to chairs, streamers hang from the trees, and kids in costumes are running around, shrieking with laughter. The juxtaposition of the chaotic, cheerful scene against your inner turmoil is almost surreal.

Before you can backtrack, a woman in her late thirties with a stern expression approaches you. She is carrying a plate of cupcakes, and her brow furrows as she takes in your dishevelled appearance.

"Excuse me, can I help you?" she asks, her tone sharp and unwelcoming.

"Mommy, is that a bad person?" One of the little girls points at you, her lip trembling.

"Really? A bad person? That is so corny."

"Excuse me," The mother grabs her daughter, pulling her close to her while staring at you with furrowed eyebrows. "Who are you?"

"I'm your worst nightmare," You say though everyone stares at you, some of them reaching for their phones to call for help "Kidding, I just have really poor humour."

"Is she homeless?" The daughter looks up to her mother, eyes wide and her voice squeaky.

"That's just rude, man, like straight up," You shake your head slightly "You should teach your kid some manners."

"I will not have someone on drugs tell me how to raise my child," Her voice rises.

"I am not on drugs, for once, actually," You say and regret it the second it's out.

"Leave," She says plain and firmly. You didn't need to dissect her words to figure out why she didn't want you there.

"Yeah, okay," As you turn to leave, your eyes fall on the plate of cupcakes the woman is still holding. They look delicious, and in a moment of defiance and impulse, you reach out and grab one.

"Mommy, she's taking a cupcake," A little boy wearing a Bluey shirt says. His voice is whiney and his little potbelly spills from the short.

"Look at you, I don't think you need any more cupcakes," You retort.

"You have a big head," He puts his pudgy hands on his hips.

You lick some frosting from the top of the cupcake "Yeah? Well, you're fat so good luck in high school."

The woman's eyes widen in surprise and then narrow in anger, but she doesn't say anything as you quickly back away, cupcake in hand. You make your way toward the gate at the far end of the yard, feeling the weight of their stares on your back.

Leaving the gate of the backyard party behind, you step back onto the sidewalk, your senses heightening with each step. The cool evening air brushes against your skin, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass and faint hints of barbecue smoke from neighbouring houses. The repetitive sound of Wendy's cowboy boots tapping against the pavement echoes in the stillness, punctuated only by the occasional chirp of crickets.

You quicken your pace, driven by a mix of urgency and nervous energy. Your feet move with purpose, yet the path seems to stretch endlessly before you. The streetlights cast elongated shadows, flickering slightly as they illuminate your way. You pass rows of tidy houses, their windows glowing warmly, each one a silent witness to the private lives within.

With each stride, your thoughts race. The embarrassment of crashing the children's birthday party lingers in your mind, mingling with the apprehension of facing Kyle.

You take a sharp turn down a narrow, tree-lined street. The leaves rustle gently above you, creating a soothing canopy that momentarily eases your racing heart. You glance up, catching glimpses of the darkening sky through the foliage, the first stars beginning to twinkle.

Your breathing steadies, matching the rhythm of your footsteps. You focus on the sound, using it to ground yourself, to keep the swirling emotions at bay. Each step forward feels like a small victory, a deliberate choice to move past the fear and confusion.

The houses become less familiar as you venture deeper into the neighbourhood, the route to the party becoming clearer in your mind. You check your phone for the address, the glow of the screen illuminating your face. The party is only a few blocks away now, and you feel renewed.

You move with more ease, your steps lighter despite the weight of your emotions that clung to your heels like mud. The distant sound of music and laughter guides you, growing louder with each passing minute.

Finally, you turn a corner and see the house, festooned with strings of lights that glimmer in the fresh darkness and the unmistakable buzz of a gathering in full swing. The sun had just finished setting and you made it. Salvation at last.

The house is packed with people, the pulse of the music vibrating through the walls and floor. The laughter and conversations swirl around you, but your thoughts keep drifting back to that moment by the lake, the way Kyle's hand felt warm in yours, the look in his eyes before you backed away.

You spot a group of friends near the kitchen and make your way over, joining their animated discussion. You laugh at their jokes and nod at their stories, but it's all a bit of a blur. Your mind is elsewhere, caught in a loop of what-ifs and maybes.

"Oh my god, hey!" Nichole smiles brightly though it falters when her eyes rake up your body "Why are you dressed like an escaped felon?"

"It'll make me mad if I talk about it," You say simply and pass her to grab a diet Coke from the fridge.

"What happened?" Annie asks "Red was telling me that there was a thing going on with Stan and you were running from the cops or something." Both of them are done up well, Annie had straightened her hair and Nichole has taken hers out of her braids after months.

"I'm not running from anyone," You place the leather purse on the kitchen island and begin taking the bottles of liquor out, your friend's eyes widening at the seemingly never-ending supply.

"You are seriously freaking me out right now," Nichole says, picking up one of the bottles and reading the alcohol percentage "Where did you get this?"

"Don't worry about it," You wave it off.

"Who's purse is that?" She asks again, eyes narrowing at the black leather.

You shrug, taking a swig of your Diet Coke, it was lukewarm but you still preferred it to the liquor that would surely amplify your awful state and leave you feeling more paranoid than you already were. "Yours if you want it," You push the bag toward her.

Nichole picks it up, eyes widening as she inspects it "Is this a real Birkin?"

"Shit," You suck a sharp breath through your teeth "I dunno, is it?"

Annie quickly looks over, "Oh my god!" She squeals, eyes lighting up as she leans close to Nichole to look at the bag. She's wearing a pink tank top and low-waisted jeans, effortlessly pretty "Where the hell did you find this?"

"I thrifted it." You lie nonchalantly.

"I can actually keep this?" Nichole holds it close to her chest, hugging it almost protectively. She was in denim shorts and a yellow bikini top though you weren't sure she would even go in the pool.

"Yeah, I don't care," You did care a little. If it was a big deal to them you couldn't imagine the bag you had stolen was cheap and wanted to keep it away from you, the faux fortune teller who interrupted a family reunion.

"Are those Wendy's boots?" Annie furrows her eyebrows, looking down at your shoes while Nichole jumps happily up and down with her new bag.

"Yeah, I had to stop at her place earlier."

"Why didn't you just drive with her?"

"What?" Your face drops.

"Yeah, she should be here soon," Annie brushes a strand of hair away from her face, revealing large golden hoop earrings.

"With Stan?" You ask, trying to hide the nervousness in your voice.

"Yeah?"

You're caught off guard by someone nudging your arm, there stands Tolkien smiling at the three of you "Hey, I didn't know you were coming."

"Me neither," You answer, truthfully. You didn't even know whose house you were at, you just assumed that you probably wouldn't know them anyway.

Tolkien's eyebrows furrow as he looks down at your choice of clothing. You brace yourself for another insult but are met with another response "I think Kyle's wearing the same shirt, did you guys match on purpose?"

"Excuse me?" You poke your head out of the kitchen and glance around, noticing something that sends a fresh wave of embarrassment through you. Both of you are wearing the same band T-shirt. You glance down at your shirt, the familiar logo staring back at you, then look up at Kyle, who seems like he hasn't noticed you yet. He talks animatedly to a couple of people you aren't familiar with. "Tolkien, I need you to switch shirts with me."

"What?" He raises an eyebrow "Are you crazy?"

"Yes!" You say, scuttling deeper into the kitchen to be sure he can't see you "Please?"

"No way, dude."

"Annie?" You turn your attention to her.

She wrinkles her nose at the print of the rotting zombie on your band shirt, it wasn't even close to her style "I'm okay."

Nichole wasn't even wearing a shirt and she was more tuned in to the observation of her purse than you once again avoiding Kyle. "Fuck," You mutter, carefully exiting the kitchen without another word.

You moved through the crowded rooms with a purpose, your eyes scanning for any sign of Kyle. Each time you caught a glimpse of him, you quickly altered your path, slipping into different groups of friends and striking up conversations to blend in. The music thumped loudly, and laughter and chatter filled the air, but your mind was solely focused on staying out of Kyle's line of sight.

After what felt like the hundredth near-miss, you decided you needed to change your shirt. The idea of matching with Kyle was driving you crazy, and you hoped a new shirt would help you blend in and avoid awkward questions.

Your first thought is to find Kenny, he was probably there and would switch shirts with you, no questions asked but he wasn't answering your messages so your eyes landed on Adam. You ran track together and joked around on occasion "Hey, Adam," You say sweetly "Can you switch shirts with me?"

"No, I don't like you," He shakes his head, going right back to his conversation.

"What?" You furrow your eyebrows "I thought we were friends."

"We're not friends, I hate you," he says, agitation clear in his voice. His leg had healed from the horrific injury three months prior. Thinking back to the way you hadn't visited him after his leg snapped in half and how eager you were to replace him, you couldn't really call this out of the blue.

"Wow, jeez, okay," You mutter, turning away. Eye searching the crowd for other people that you knew. "Hey, Butters!" You wave at him.

"Oh, hey," He looks up with a smile.'

"Do you think you could swap shirts with me?" You had your fingers crossed he would say yes.

"Well that's a really neat shirt and all but I don't think my dad will be super happy if I come home in girl clothes," Butters tells you. He seems somewhat nervous, pulling on each of his fingers one by one to crack them.

"Okay, thanks anyway, man," You give him a quick pat on the shoulder. "Betsy, hey, can you please please switch shirts with me?"

Betsy gives you an odd look, glancing down at her own outfit. "Sorry, I kind of like my shirt."

Each answer was more or less the same with the more people you asked. "Sophie, can we swap shirts?"

She looks up from her phone, puzzled. "Why do you want to change shirts in the middle of a party?"

Frustration mounting, you continued your search until you spotted an open bedroom door down the hall. You slipped inside, closing the door softly behind you. The room was dimly lit, a cozy hideaway from the party chaos. Your eyes landed on a pile of clothes haphazardly thrown on a chair, and you quickly began to sift through them.

Your fingers brushed against a large, oversized lavender button-up shirt. It wasn't exactly your style, but it would do the job. It looked like it belonged to a morbidly obese man, even then you imagined it would be over-sized on him. You slipped the button-up on over your t-shirt. The fabric was soft and cool against your skin, the oversized fit providing a sense of comfort like you were a child again who was playing dress up in her parents closet.

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, rolling up the sleeves to make the shirt fit a bit better. It was a drastic change from the band T-shirt, but that was exactly what you needed. With a deep breath, you left the bedroom, hoping no one noticed your impromptu outfit change.

This desperation to separate yourself from Kyle was past ridiculous. Why did you hate Kyle in the first place? He was so perfect it made you froth at the mouth with jealousy like you were some dog trying to behave better than him.

There was no way to clear your mind, you felt like you needed a dozen energy drinks just to get a single coherent thought.

You made your way through the crowded house, dodging groups of partygoers with practiced ease. As you headed towards the bathroom, the pulsating music and loud chatter blurred into the background. You reached the door and found it slightly ajar, the sound of muffled voices coming from inside. With a deep breath, you pushed it open, stepping inside without hesitation.

The dimly lit bathroom was small and cramped, one brunette girl held her friend's blonde hair back while she heaved into the toilet. They barely noticed you as you closed the door behind you, the brunette cast you an apologetic glance. You felt a brief pang of awkwardness, but you brushed it aside, your goal clear in your mind.

You moved quickly to the medicine cabinet above the sink, avoiding eye contact with the couple. Your hands trembled slightly as you opened the cabinet, scanning the shelves for the familiar bottle of caffeine pills. The girl's constant gagging and sobs echoed through the bathroom but you chose to ignore it.

Finally, you spotted the bottle, hidden behind a few other containers. You grabbed it, the cool plastic smooth against your fingers. The couple shifted slightly, and you caught a glimpse of them in the mirror- the brunette gently rubbed soothing circles on her friend's back, uttering hushed affirmations. You unscrewed the cap, shaking out far too many pills into your palm before quickly closing the bottle and returning it to its spot.

With a practiced motion, you popped the pills into your mouth and swallowed them dry, the bitter taste lingering for a moment. You took a deep breath, hoping the caffeine would kick in soon and give you the energy boost you desperately needed.

Leaving the bathroom, you step back into the throbbing energy of the party, the caffeine pills already making your hands tremble slightly. You hoped they would help you focus and regain control, but instead, you felt even more jittery and on edge.

As you weave through the crowd, the buzz of conversation and laughter feels overwhelming. Your mind races, unable to settle on any one thought for more than a few seconds. Your eyes dart around the room, and then you see him- Kyle, standing near the kitchen, talking to another girl.

She's leaning in close, her hand lightly resting on his arm, and he's smiling in that charming way that always makes your heart skip a beat. A fresh wave of jealousy crashes over you, stronger than before. The caffeine isn't helping to clear your thoughts; it's only making you more anxious and jittery.

You knew that you didn't have a right to get between him and this girl, especially after you had dodged him for days on end like he was a disease you were desperate not to catch.

You try to take a deep breath, to calm yourself, but it feels impossible. Your mind is a chaotic whirl of emotions and half-formed thoughts. You want to look away, to move on and distract yourself, but you can't. Your eyes are glued to Kyle and the girl, your heart aching with each passing moment.

He laughs at something she says, and you feel a sharp pang in your chest. You know you need to get a grip, to pull yourself together, but it's as if your body and mind are working against you. The jitteriness from the caffeine pills makes it hard to stand still, and you find yourself fidgeting, your fingers tapping nervously against your thigh.

You look around for a scapegoat and your eyes land on Kenny, he's cheering on some kind of drinking game. "Hey, Kenny," You say way louder than intended, causing him to flinch.

"Hey, dude," He grins. He's wearing a pair of sunglasses despite being inside at night, you didn't need to be a genius to know he was covering up the redness of his eyes. Kenny looks you up and down, chuckling slightly "Jeez, what are you on? You're shaking."

"It's just caffeine," you shake your head, trying to soothe the jitters but you are near twitching.

"Uh, okay, buddy," He slings an arm around you, pulling you in to watch the game was partaking in. The two of you were contrasting each other perfectly. Kenny was laughing and smiling, his whole body loose, eyes half-lidded beneath his glasses while you stood stiffly, eyes wide and very much aware.

A group of people stood in a circle around a table, pointing at whoever was most likely to do the thing one of them said. "Who is most likely to start a cult?" One of the girls slurs her words and the group points at some guy wearing a baseball cap backwards who pounds back his drink.

Never had you realized how awful it was to be the only sober person in a large group if you were still qualified as sober from the amount of caffeine you swallowed back like candy. Kenny gives you a squeeze on the shoulder, shaking you slightly as he laughs loudly at something you missed completely.

You were so acutely aware of everything all at once but also nothing at all. Every sound, every movement, every flicker of light seems amplified, almost painfully vivid

You watch as Kenny raises his arms in triumph, a wide grin spreading across his face. The others cheer, their voices blending into a cacophony of celebration and camaraderie. For a moment, you feel a pang of longing to join in, to lose yourself in the carefree abandon of the game. But the hyperactivity from the caffeine, combined with the turmoil over Kyle, makes you hesitant.

"Okay, most likely to commit a felony?" Millie asks with a lazy smile on her face. Everyone glances around before pointing at Kenny. He grins, taking in all of the cheers and the chanting that eggs him on to finish the drink in his hand.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you watch the partygoers; as a kid, you always expected more dancing at parties in high school but the reality was that the majority of people just sat around on their phones. Across the room, Cylde stands next to Tolkien and holds up an empty beer bottle, aiming for the recycling bin in the corner. He's clearly had a few drinks, his movements slightly uncoordinated.

"Watch this!" he calls out, his voice filled with drunken confidence though there is that same lopsided smile on his face. "Kobe!"

You watch as he winds up, his arm swinging back before he throws the bottle. You see the bottle veer off course, heading straight toward you and you feel the inevitable dread. There was no time to think between when the bottle left his hand and when it hit you in the head. Next to him, Tolkien's jaw drops, looking down at his friend in horror.

The bottle smashes over your head with a sickening crash. Pain explodes in your skull, a white-hot flash though you don't even make a sound. The room goes silent, the music and chatter fading into a distant hum. You feel the sting of glass shards embedding in your scalp, the warmth of blood trickling down your forehead, mingling with sweat.

Clyde's face is full of horror as his hands grip his hair, his eyes wide, his mouth moving but the words not reaching your ears. Your heart races even faster, adrenaline mixing with the caffeine, making you feel like you're vibrating from the inside out. The sharp sting of the impact, the throbbing pain, the wetness of the blood, all converge into a sensory overload that leaves you dazed and disoriented.

You stand there, swaying slightly, the world around you a blur of concern and panic. Someone shouts for help, their voice piercing through the fog in your mind. The party now feels distant and unreal, like a dream slipping away as you cling to consciousness. Every detail, every sensation is etched into your mind with excruciating clarity, the caffeine ensuring that you'll remember this moment forever.

"Fuck," You mutter, agitation clinging to your words. You use the sleeve of the lavender button-up to haphazardly wipe away the blood pooling down your face. Everything seemed to get worse with every passing moment, the most awful thing of all is that for what seemed to be the thousandth time that night, everyone was staring at you.

"Holy shit," Even Kenny who was in his own realm seemed to be grounded for a moment as he watched your injury. You give the little crowd of people watching you a thumbs up to signal you are fine and they can go back to their own discussions.

"It's cool," You take a deep breath, trying to shake it off but you weren't sure there was a thing in this world that could still you. This wasn't a great addition to your very shitty day, you were tired from running and sick from caffeine, frustrated by yourself more than anything.

You stumble away from the disorder of the party, your legs shaky and unsteady beneath you. The room feels too bright, too loud, every sound a sharp jab to your already throbbing head. You need to find a quiet space, somewhere to catch your breath and gather your thoughts. You spot a door slightly ajar down a hallway and make your way towards it, each step feeling like a monumental effort.

Your breath comes in short, shallow gasps as if the air itself is too thick to inhale. You try to steady yourself, but your hands are trembling uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin. The pain in your head intensifies, each pulse of blood through your veins sending sharp spikes of agony through your skull.

The master bathroom is a welcome retreat from the party's constant buzz. Despite the light almost hurting your head even more and the face in the mirror that was streaked with blood, you were still thankful to be away from all of the little things that worsened this caffeine overdose.

Yanking the drawers open, you dig around for something to clean yourself up with. You slide one open and find miscellaneous junk though amongst it is the treasure of Spider-Man band-aids.

You turn on the tap, the sound of running water a steady, calming rhythm. Cupping your hands under the stream, you splash your face, the cold water a sharp contrast to the heat of your skin. You grab a towel, pressing it gently to the cut on your forehead, wincing at the sting. The towel quickly turns crimson, and you press harder, hoping to staunch the bleeding.

Looking down at the towel and then back up at yourself in the mirror, you wondered if this injury was worth going to the hospital for. You were almost sure you still had painkillers left over from your broken nose and none of the cuts seemed terrible, they were cat scratches.

The only thing that worried you was the dull thudding in the back of your head though that had been there since you entertained a room full of confederates. With all of the injuries you had acquired, you made a general rule to go in the morning if it was drastically worse. It was all just a waiting game for you.

The door to the master bedroom that was attached to the bathroom opens and clicks shut. You don't even bother checking who it is, you already have a sneaking suspicion as you continue to dab away at the sticky blood.

You had left the door ajar and it pushes further in softly, and Kyle steps in, his tall frame filling the small space. His eyes widen when he sees you, taking in the blood and the glass shards scattered in the sink.

You freeze when you see him in the mirror's reflection and turn to look at him slowly. Eyes desperate and silently pleading "Kyle, please, I just can't right now."

"I'm not asking you to."

"What?"

"You don't have to say anything," Kyle moves closer, his presence comforting in the small room. He takes a deep breath, then looks at you with a certain stillness. "Just let me help."

With hesitance, you slowly nod. He steps behind you, his height making him tower over you slightly. The warmth of his body close to yours sends a shiver down your spine. As you continue to clean the cuts on your forehead, Kyle's fingers gently part your hair, searching for any remaining shards of glass.

His touch is careful, each movement precise and deliberate. You feel the warmth of his hands, the gentle pressure as he meticulously picks out the tiny pieces of glass. His focus is intense, his brows furrowed in concentration. The proximity makes you acutely aware of every sensation- the way his breath brushes against your ear, the soft rustle of his clothing, the subtle scent of his cologne.

"Hold still," he murmurs softly, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I've almost got it."

You try to stay as still as possible, the combination of his gentle touch and the methodical task helping to calm your nerves. The pain in your head throbs dully, tears forming in your eyes from it. The intimacy of the moment is heightened by the silence, broken only by the occasional clink of glass shards being dropped into the sink.

You glance at his focused reflection, continuing to clean your cuts in the mirror. The antiseptic stings less now, and the pain fading to a manageable level. Kyle works with quiet efficiency, his fingers deftly removing the last few shards. He drops them into the sink, then runs his fingers through your hair one last time, ensuring it's free of any debris.

"All done," he says, stepping back slightly. "How do you feel?"

You take a deep breath, looking at your reflection. The cuts are clean, the blood washed away, and the Spider-Man band-aids on the counter are ready to be applied. You meet Kyle's gaze in the mirror, tears pricking in your eyes.

"Fine," You say quietly, shifting your eyes to look anywhere but him.

When you bend down slightly to reach into the band-aid box, Kyle catches a glimpse of your band-shirt beneath the collar of the comically large button-up. He looks down at his own shirt, frowning slightly.

The moment hangs in the air, charged with anticipation. You can feel the unspoken tension, the pull between you growing stronger. The party outside fades into insignificance, leaving just the two of you in this small, intimate space. The world narrows down to the warmth of his hand, the steady rhythm of his breath, and those unspoken moments that bind you together.

Over every little cut, you slap a Spider-Man band-aid over it, and a couple of them end up in your hairline while Kyle hangs back and watches.

But then, the memory of last week rushes back—the way Kyle had leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, only to pull back at the last second. You had avoided him since then, afraid of the vulnerability it had stirred within you.

Now, standing so close to him, the air thick with unspoken tension, you can feel the same pull. "Are you okay?" He asks, his voice soft.

"Yeah," You wriggle yourself away from him, leaving the mess on the bathroom counter and sitting on the edge of the bed. The satin beneath you concaves like pearls bending in the sunlight.

"Are we okay?" He asks, standing in the doorway and watching you.

You take a deep breath, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. "I don't know." This was the inevitable, the very thing you spent all day trying to get away from and the whole week prior trying to plan around.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I'm not avoiding you-

"You blocked me on Roblox."

"Okay fine," You raise your hands in defence. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. You needed the rest of summer to smother the flame into ash and let it die, "I know I haven't been fair to you-

"Why, though?"

"Because it's too much," Your voice is louder than you intended it to be. You couldn't even begin to sort out the cluster fuck that was your emotions. "It's gonna ruin our friendship." You didn't even want to say what 'it' was. The both of you knew clearly but still, you tiptoed around it like the earth might shatter if you say it.

"It's ruined anyways." Kyle shakes his head.

You're eyes widen slightly, heartbeat picking up "You're drunk."

"I'm not."

"That's worse," You shudder. "Look at me, I just pretended to be a fortune teller in a redneck's house and I steal and I smell like cigarettes and teenage angst."

"I don't care."

"Why?" You press "I'm not even nice to you, and I'm just- generally fucked. Okay? I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm not a very good person or even really an interesting one. I've been so awful to you, do you remember all of those things I've said to you? Remember when I stole your dad's Viagra to sell it and then I blamed it on you?"

"Yeah, and-

"And? There shouldn't be an 'and'. I'm not a nice girl and this will be the biggest mistake you ever make, that's why I couldn't kiss you at the lake because trust me- I wanted to. Kyle, you don't know what you want and I don't know why you're trying so hard. What if it doesn't work out?"

"But what if it does?" He asks "What if it does work out and we're happy together?"

Your words die in your throat, eyes brimmed with tears that threatened to spill from the sheer pressure crushing you like some kind of torture; had you been a sinner in some kind of ancient myth, you thought that this would be your eternal punishment. His presence is so incredibly unnerving, the way he stares you down, his face unwavering. You shake your head "We don't make sense-

"And we won't, ever, we don't have to."

"Have you thought about this? Like really thought about this. Our families and the fact we'll have to see each other every year no matter what we do. We won't ever move past this." You were scared to death and he seemed perfectly fine.

He moves from the doorway, stepping forward toward you "Can you please just be straight with me?" Kyle asks, voice rising slightly "Do I have a chance or not? because I have been turning myself inside out trying not to like you."

At first, his words feel like some type of cruel prank and then they settle in your head like a nightmare."Oh my god,” You scoff, gripping your hair, eyes wide while you stand up from the bed. "I'm gonna scream, I'm going fucking insane.”

"I wanna hear you go insane. If you're going to scream, I want to hear it!" He exasperates "I don't care what it is, I just want you to let me in."

You stared at him, eyebrows drawn in while your wide eyes tried to study each breath from him, every shift in his posture like he was hiding some ulterior motive. You couldn't believe, that he still liked you after everything.

The thought of kissing him crossed your mind once again. The idea itself made you want to crawl out of your skin but you had to test it just to be sure. Swiftly, you close the gap between you, your lips brushing against his in a tentative, searching kiss. Kyle responds immediately, his hand slipping to the back of your neck, pulling you close.

The kiss deepens, all the unspoken emotions of the past week pouring into it. When you finally pull back, breathless and heart racing, you aren't sure that the awe and adoration in Kyle's eyes match the fear and panic in yours.

He shifts his hands to hold firmly onto your waist, fingers digging into the plush skin of your midriff like you might disappear if he were to let go "Don't leave again, I can't do this again."

Tears prick at your eyes, a mixture of relief and overwhelming emotion threatening to spill over. The caffeine that once fueled your anxiety now seems to heighten your awareness of every sensation- every touch, every breath shared between you.

"Okay," You bury your face in his shoulder, the familiar scent of him filling your senses, a mixture of pine and something uniquely him. His cheek rests against your temple, his breath warm against your skin as he murmurs into your hair. You feel the strength in his arms, the way his muscles tense slightly as he holds you, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours.

His hands move slowly, one settling at the small of your back, the other cradling the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. It's a protective gesture, making you feel cherished and safe. You feel the warmth of his skin through the layers of your shirt fabric, the subtle tremor in his touch.

"My head hurts," You utter softly. You take a deep breath, inhaling the familiar scent of him, and as you exhale, the tension begins to melt away.

"I know," He tilts his head down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the top of your head. He gives you a light squeeze, his arms tightening around you momentarily, just to be sure you won't slip away.

A/N: 95k words and they finally kissed

#south park #south park x reader #south park x y/n #kyle broflovski #kyle south park #kenny mccormick #kyle broflovski x reader #south park kyle #stan marsh #wendy testaburger #tolkien black #red mcarthur #kyle broflovski headcanons #kyle x reader #kyle broflovski fluff #sp kyle #south park hcs #south park fanfiction #nichole daniels

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hunnysnoops · 6 months ago

Text

˗ˋ𝕎𝕙𝕚𝕥𝕖 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕖𝕟𝕤ˊ˗

Chapter Five: Mess Around

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

The heat is rising and only getting hotter, ready to blow. I think I’ll pour myself a glass of water, let it flow.

Also available on Ao3 and Wattpad!

Premise: You’ve practiced all season for this track meet, time to show off your skills.

Warnings: cause language + humour / brief mentions of blood

MASTERLIST

Amidst the chatter of athletes, coaches, and spectators, one figure stood out—you with bruises swallowing your under eyes like Halloween makeup, the bandage covering up the break and the dried blood that stayed beneath your nostrils. You had tried to get rid of the dried blood several times though the swelling kept pushing pressure onto blood vessels and forced it back out leaving you to look like you had gone straight from Fight Club to the track meet.

No matter how many times you raced around the oval track, adrenaline still surged through your veins like an untamed wildfire. You had gone somewhat nonverbal while you reached back to what your PE teacher had taught you about the most successful athletes using mental imagery to win their respective heats.

You stood on the outside of the track, sneakers sinking into the grassy field while you shifted your weight back and forth between your legs, hands on your hips as you stared dead at the track. The rest of the kids from South Park were either catching their breath beneath the shade of the pop-up canopy or they were on the track competing. Currently, speed walking was in session so there wasn't much to watch even if you had been paying attention to anything other than the thought of you winning.

The music blasting through your headphones was nearly turning you deaf, you wanted to block everything out until the time came when you got back on the track for the relay. Your other heats went well though you knew that you wouldn't be satisfied unless all of them were blue ribbons.

The playlist that was spilling out of your headphones was one that Bebe had made for you to listen to before soccer games though you chose to ignore the fact that her absence made her feel even more present in your life than ever.

A boy wearing a maroon Cedar Valley Wildcats uniform had strolled up, saying something with a huge smile on his tanned face. You hadn't assumed he was talking to you until he stood awkwardly, maintaining his crooked smile while he waited for you to answer him. You pulled a headphone out, eyes narrowing at him "What?"

"I asked if you got a nose job," He repeats, pushing his tousled waves of chestnut hair away from the frame of his chiselled jawline.

"No," You answer, face stoic and voice to match. The past few days you heard this question more times than you could keep track of, the first time it was asked you didn't care but the next thirty or so times, it grated in your skull whether it was intended as a blandly unfunny joke or a genuine question.

"Oh," His grin falters for just a second "I'm Hudson,"

"Okay," You move to put your headphones back in but Hudson interrupts the process.

"So, does it hurt?" He gestures at his nose.

"Feels great," You answer with sarcasm dripping from your voice like syrup "You should see the other guy."

"Yeah?" Hudson says this like it's a challenge "Where is he?"

You swerve your head to look for the ginger and after a moment you spot him at a concession stand, he was tasked to buy Gatorade for his friends though two girls in Maplewood t-shirts keep prodding him with questions. One of the girls has her arms crossed as she looks up at him with a smile, the other is on her phone, seemingly bored. Even with a black eye, he was still drawing attention from girls. Maybe it was the black eye and bruised cheekbone that caused the intrigue, he should be thanking you. "Right there," You point at him.

Hudson's eyes widen a little bit before he cracks into the huff of a laugh "Holy shit, I thought you were joking," He's undoubtedly tall though you couldn't shake the thought that Kyle would tower over him with his sky-scraping height.

"Cool," You return to the one-word responses.

You would've thought him to be a surfer if you weren't in Denver, he almost checked off every box with his athletic build, bronze tan, and effortlessly charming smile, all he was missing was a puka shell necklace. "I saw you run in the four hundred, you were really good," He smiles once again, his teeth blindingly white in contrast to his skin.

"Thanks," You press your lips together in a thin line. No matter what Hudson was doing to try and flirt with you, it fell flat and rested in awkward silence before he forced out another attempt at small talk.

"Ayo," Another guy from Cedar Valley rolls around, slinging an arm around his buddy. "My boys got W rizz!" He looks back and forth between the two of you, expecting you to laugh or react in any other way that wasn't cringing so hard you felt the urge to gag.

Hudson slowly turned to look at his friend, silently cursing him for ruining what wasn't great to begin with. "Dude," He says, friendly tone and smile dropping completely.

"He's the rizzler," He gives Hudson a firm pat on the shoulder while beaming at you like he was a good wingman "Rizzly bear," he tries again but is met with unnerving stillness from both you and Hudson.

"Ignore him, please," Hudson turns his attention back to you.

His friend didn't seem to catch onto the fact that poking this dead horse wasn't funny in any manner "He's the rizzard or Oz, if you give him your number you can spend Chrizzmas together."

"I'm good, I think I'll just get a rizztraining order," You say, face contorting into a look of disdain as you turn to leave the conversation, putting your headphones back in until the sound of him yelling after you had gone completely.

You spot Red sitting beneath the canopy, a track and field hoodie thrown over her uniform of a green jersey that read 'Park County High' on the front with a graphic of a cow paired with black shorts, the same thing you were wearing.

"I can't fathom that speedwalking is a sport," She says, eyes focused on the track out of boredom while she soaked up the coolness of the shady grass.

"Fathom it, babe," You pause your music to listen to her. Red's hair had been secured tightly by you during the bus ride, you French braided it then secured all of the flyaways from her shaggy haircut with barrettes and bobby pins then finally pushed any hair that dared to touch her face away with a black headband. Her hair had held out through each heat that she ran, only budging slightly during hurdles.

"What was going on with those two guys?"

"I don't know but I feel strangely violated," You respond truthfully, almost shuddering at the thought of the short smiley wingman.

"Checks out," She nods, looking back to the track.

Absentmindedly, your eyes shift back to the concession stand where Kyle still stands, trying to balance entirely too many bottles of Gatorade while he chats with the same girl from before, her friend had disbanded but the short brunette girl held her ground. Kyle was laughing at something she had said, nearly craning his neck to look down at her.

Red follows your gaze and sees the same sight as you "Why the hell is he getting game with a fucked up eye?"

"I wouldn't know, man."

"I mean, you're getting game and you look like you've been lobotomized."

"Thank you, raggedy Ann."

"You're so welcome," A small grin splits onto her face though you look past her at Kyle instead of focusing on your friend. It was compulsive, really, how your eyes just shifted to the dark bruise enveloping his eye.

Maybe it was because he was laughing at the girl in front of him and in turn she put a hand on his forearm. What you had pulled from your head was that he laughed harder at your joke the night he got that bruise which was already drastically lighter while the pain from your broken nose didn't seem to let up.

"I was joking about the lobotomy thing but you're being more off-putting than usual," Red says, eyebrows furrowing in, a glimmer of light bouncing off the copious amounts of jewelry skewered through her ears.

"I'll off-put you," you say, trying to figure out how that statement made sense as it came out of your mouth.

"Sounds kinky," She shrugs, pulling some grass up from the soil until it's spilling out of her hand. She drops the balled-up blades of grass and wipes the remainder on your arm which left nothing more than a little dampness and a few pieces limply stuck onto your skin.

You brush the grass off your arm, ripping some out to toss it on her lap like you were still a petty kid in elementary school.

Shot put was taking place at the same time as speed walking, a little evil part of you snorted at the idea of one of the balls hitting the walkers. You thought back to the one year when Stan had joined track and excelled at shot put though he didn't return the following year due to a little awkwardness between him and Tolkien.

"How funny would it be if one of the shot puts hit someone on the track?" Red asks.

"Oh my god," Your face softens slightly "I love you so much."

"Where you just thinking that?"

"Yeah, I was," You nod, reaching to snatch up her left hand into your right and clutch it tightly. Using your free hand, you rip up more grass and tuck it into the hood of her sweater, she doesn't fight you over it, all Red does is accept the fact that she'll be finding bits of pasture in her hoodie for the next week or so.

"We look kinda gay right now."

"We usually do," You answer.

"Yeah, I guess."

A figure looms above the pair of you and as you glance up at Kyle you can't fight the reflex of narrowing your eyes at him like he was always about to do something evil. "Here you go," He tosses a Gatorade to Red and to you, a Powerade.

"Thanks, man," Red looks from the bottle to him with a little smile.

"No problem," He says, pressing his lips back together and taking off. You did nothing but study the drink with intensity like it was an ancient code waiting to be cracked. While everyone else got a standard bottle of Gatorade he gave you a Powerade.

"That was nice,"

"Too nice," You glare at Kyle as he returns to his little huddle of friends to distribute the drinks.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"He gave me a Powerade instead of Gatorade because he knows that I like them more," You tell Red, eyes still hyper-focused on Kyle where he stood. You had always made a fuss about preferring one to the other even though everyone told you that they tasted exactly the same, you could always tell the difference and made sure that everyone in your vicinity knew that.

"Okay?" Red raises an eyebrow, she had the sense that you were going to break out into a conspiracy theory.

"This isn't right," you conclude, breaking your gaze away from the ginger to turn your attention back to the bottle he had given you.

"What? You think it's poison or something?" She asks.

"No, it's just weird," You tell her dropping the Powerade onto the ground "It's unsettling."

"It isn't unsettling, it was just Kyle being nice."

"Yeah, and that's unsettling."

"Not really, you're always worse to him."

"Nuh-uh."

"Oh my god," Red cracked the lid of her drink open, the icy condensation dampening her palm as she took a deep swig. "It's so weird that nice gestures make you so squirmy, I could put you in a nice meadow with a gentle breeze and you'd find something to seeth about."

"Maybe I don't fuck with meadows."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," She shrugs, taking another sip.

"And nice gestures don't make me squirmy."

"You're squirmy as fuck right now," Red gives you an up-and-down look, your knees are pulled into your chest while you stare at the bottle of Powerade on the ground. "Is it possible that you're becoming friends?"

Your face contorted into a look of terror and disgust, mouth hanging ajar, upper lip curling in while your shoulders tensed "Jesus fucking Christ, don't say that ever again, I might have to take a couple shots of Clorox."

"Alright," She raised her hands in defence "My bad, dude."

"Yeah, it is your bad," Your eyes shifted over to the girl Kyle was talking to. She was short and had mousy brown hair long even in a ponytail, it was so silky that it almost looked like it was shimmering gold the way the light hit it. "Why do we like pretty people?"

"Isn't it called the halo effect or something?"

"Yeah, but I mean do we find super good-looking people attractive because it's rare to see someone so beautiful?" You ask "Like if everyone got nose jobs, BBLs, filler, and botox would their beauty dwindle in value because what was unique becomes common like inflation?”

"Have you been online? Everyone already has all of those things and they're still pretty hot."

"Am I right though?"

"Maybe," She takes another beat to think it over "I guess, yeah, like if everyone looked the exact same then someone with different features might become the new standard."

"I think we should start celebrating grotesque ugliness instead of beauty."

"Or maybe we should just stop being so obsessed with appearance.”

"Yeah," As much as you pretended to be above picking apart appearances it was something drilled into your head since childhood that you weren't sure you would be shaking anytime soon "Maybe."

In your peripheral, you caught a glimpse of the girl from the concession stand. She was making her way in your direction which you didn't think anything of until she flashed a blindingly white smile "Hey."

Red looks to you for a reaction but you just stare up at the girl with gaping eyes and a crease between your brows so she takes the hassle of answering "Uh, hey."

"I'm Alyssa," She says, briefly gesturing to herself before hiding her hands behind her back.

"I'm Rebecca," A faint smile touched her lips, barely noticeable.

"That's a pretty name," Her lips, softly curved and naturally rouge, formed an easy, inviting smile. She had a litter of freckles over her button nose, faint over her caramel skin.

"Thank you," There was a tinge of confusion in Red's voice, it wasn't often that you came across girls your age that were so forwardly kind.

"So, are you guys friends with Kyle? I saw you talking to him," Aylssa's voice gets quieter towards the end of the sentence as she quickly glances around to see if he's in the area.

Once again Red looks at you like you're going to answer, she takes it into her own hands to respond "Yeah, I guess."

"Great!" The relief is evident on her face "I wanted to ask him for his number but I sorta chickened out, is there any way I could get it off one of you?" She looks between the two of you and her face drops at your expression "Unless he has a girlfriend-

"No, you're good," Red waves her off "I don't have his number but she does," She gently elbows your bicep.

"Awesome, is it cool if I grab it off you?"

"What the fuck is happening today?" You mutter to yourself.

"Mixed *mmph* will begin shortly, all competing *crack* to the track, please," A pot-bellied man with whispy grey and white hair calls through a megaphone, his voice is muffled and staticky through it, though the message is intercepted by a decrepit microphone, you were well aware that this was the announcement of the final relay.

You stood next to Tolkien and Kyle, the three of you watching Red where she prepped herself for the lead-off. She stood a few meters down the track, bouncing lightly on her toes and rolling her shoulders. She shook her hands out in front of her while taking deep breaths to loosen her body. It wasn't often that you saw Red so focused on something, the last time you saw her this earnest was at the soccer tournament last summer where she had to face off against her ex.

The man with the megaphone looked past the three of you to Coach Dawsey, who was chewing loudly on three pieces of bubblegum, from metres away you could hear him smacking his lips. Megaphone man held up a thumbs up and a thumbs down to the coach, a subtle way of asking whether our team was set to go.

"Yeah," Dawsey says through a mouthful of gum "We're good to go Marty."

"Huh?" Marty narrows his eyes and cranes his neck forward to get a better look at you coach.

"I said we're good to go, Marty!" Coach shouts, cupping his hands around his cracked lips.

Marty shrugs, megaphone hanging limp by his side while he uses his other hand to tap his ear "I can't hear ya' Steve."

"We are good to go!" He shouts even louder, causing the crowd of Coaches, teachers and students alike to cast him odd glances.

"You gotta be louder, Steve," Marty addresses Dawsey, ignoring the abundance of spectators silently judging his senility.

“We are good!”

"What?" Marty holds the microphone back to his mouth "Park County, are all of your racers accounted for?"

"Yes!" You shout, holding two thumbs up high to be sure the old man can see them before gesturing to you, Tolkien, Kyle, and then Red "One, two, three, four."

"I don't see the fourth," Marty shakes his head. "Young lady, you cannot count well."

"The girl with red hair on the vaguely empty track, in a Park County uniform, do you think she's stretching to watch the relay?" You point at your friend who seems completely tuned out along with the few other people warming up.

Marty says something to a woman with a clipboard then doesn't address you or your team again. It wasn't your first time running the 4x400 though it was the first time without Adam and that thought made you sway a little on your feet. Adam had always been the finisher and now you had replaced that position.

"Runners two to four please line up with your team, lead runners please find your lane on the track," The woman with the clip board's voice carries effortlessly over the others and almost immediately everyone begins to straighten themselves out. Being behind Tolkien and Kyle you couldn't see directly ahead of you so you awkwardly tilted your head to keep your eyes steadied on Red.

"Hey," Hudson calls from the line beside you. He's in the middle of two other runners, meaning he'll be running third for his team, he was parallel to Kyle. You grace him with a brief glimpse before focusing your attention back on Red "I'm sorry about my friend, earlier."

"Sick," You tell him without even looking in his direction though both Kyle and Tolkien were keen to pick up on this conversation.

"Just pretend that never happened."

"Sure."

You really weren't attentive to what Hudson was saying, your mind was elsewhere whereas the two boys in front of you seemed more interested in the exchange, Tolkien had one eyebrow raised while he regarded Hudson. Kyle was however looking at you for any indication that what he was saying mattered to you, your face was unmoving.

"I-uh, didn't catch your name," Hudson still maintains his crooked smile.

"I didn't throw it."

"That's a good one," He chuckles, rocking back and forth on his heels. You were less interested in him and more interested in the guy behind him who was the one you would be racing against, he was pasty, slim, and tall, maybe a few inches shorter than Tolkien and Kyle though it was hard to tell without him standing next to them. "I just feel like we got off on the wrong foot."

"Yeah," You answer truthfully, asking if you got a nose job wasn't a great opener and bothering you before what you considered the most difficult sprint wasn't aiding his case.

"Maybe I could get your number and we could redo this whole thing?"

"No."

Kyle and Tolkien glance at one another before Tolkien whispers "What's going on?"

"Dude, I don't know," He wasn't entirely sure why this boy was chasing someone clearly uninterested though he may have been one to go for the mean girls.

"How about if my team ranks higher in the relay, you give me your number," He proposes.

"And when my team ranks higher you'll put a shotgun in your mouth while I watch?" You say with ease. Like usual you were teetering very dangerously on the line between standoffish and obscenely confident.

"You're really funny," Hudson smiles and there was not a single speck of evidence that he took any of that statement poorly.

'What the fuck?' Tolkien mouths with furrowed eyebrows, he couldn't tell whether Hudson was truly self-assured enough not to be bothered with your cold regard or if he was stupid enough to consider it flirting.

"So if I win, I get your number?" He presses for confirmation.

"Yeah, sure, stop talking."

When Hudson finally turns back to his group Tolkien looks past Kyle and at you "You're going to give that guy your number?"

You shake your head "We're not losing to him," You and Kyle manage to say in sync, staring at each other and horror. It always scared you when your words happened to match up with Kyle, as rare as it was, it happened more than you would've liked.

"Runners, on your mark," Marty's crackly voice sounded out amongst you. The three of you fell silent while you trained your eyes on Red, her muscles tense and ready for the long sprint ahead. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, and visualized her lap—every stride, every breath, the smooth curve of the track.

She adjusted herself into the blocks, clutching the orange baton in her right hand while tapping her fingers lightly against the turf. You were glad that you had been given the fifth lane, it would prove to be gentler as opposed to the inner lanes and their sharp turns.

"Get set," He announces and Red angles herself on the starting block, eyes narrowing on the length ahead. Marty holds the air horn to the sky and the very moment it sounds the runners take off.

Red launched forward with powerful, determined strides, her legs pumping rhythmically as she rounded the first bend. The cheers of spectators blurred into a distant roar as she concentrated on maintaining her speed and form. She was neck and neck with a girl in a bright yellow uniform who took up her pace and passed her.

You wanted to cheer for Red until your lungs felt like sandpaper but she never paid any attention to the cheering and yelling, just the stretch that she had to cross and the amount she had left. Tolkien shifted forward along with the others taking the second lap of the sprint, the volunteers had been quick to move the starting block out of the way. He took the fifth lane, standing sideways on the curve of the track, he bounced slightly on his feet to stay light.

The final leg of her sprint approached quickly, and Red leaned into it, her body angled perfectly to maintain speed without losing balance. Her breaths were deep and controlled, her focus unbroken. The wind rushed past her ears, carrying the faint cheers of the crowd. She knew the other teams were right behind and ready to swallow her. She neared the handoff zone as two other teams pushed past her narrowly, their bright uniforms a blur past her eyeline. Physically you winced as you watched this.

Coming into the first handoff, Tolkien was already in motion, his arm extended backward. The baton pass was seamless, a fluid exchange born of countless hours of practice that only one of the two had attended. Tolkien took off like a shot, his long legs eating up the distance. He pushed through the first curve with smooth, even strides, his eyes fixed on the track ahead. His determination was palpable, driving him to push ahead.

His eyes flicked to the runners behind him, gauging their distance. The rival teams were close, their presence a constant pressure, but Tolkien thrived on it. It pushed him to dig deeper, to find that extra burst of speed.

The runners taking the third lap were called forward to take their positions, despite not intending to, Kyle looked back at you to see you already staring at the back of his head. "You'll do good," You would deny that you ever said it but in that moment it was what he needed to hear. You let the words simmer between the two of you only for a second before everyone began to inch forward into their new positions.

"You'll do great," His mouth drew into a thin line, curving upwards so slightly that you would've missed it had he jogged his way to the handoff zone a second sooner.

You look to the boy now standing alone a few feet away from you, the lanky pale kid that was allegedly faster than Adam. Your mind recovered the memories of every coach and PE teacher you had ever come across telling you that running was a mental game; they meant you needed to train your mind so you could push past your current physical capabilities and achieve new levels of success, something like that. Though you had something else in mind entirely "My grandma just died."

The lanky boy who stood behind Hudson minutes ago looked around to be sure you were talking to him "I'm sorry?"

"Yeah," You let out a long sigh "She was doing well until she tried to crawl over the patio of her retirement home to buy Fireball at the liquor store across the street."

"That sucks, did she hit her head or something?"

"No, she made it over the railing but tripped and broke her hip so she got sent to the hospital without Fireball."

"Oh, I'm-

"And then she got better and was sent back to her retirement home and snuck out again, she made it across the street but they were out of Fireball so she had to buy Jägermeister."

"Jägermeister's good too," He said sheepishly.

"That's what grandma thought before she got hit by a truck crossing the street to get back to her retirement home," You shook your head, feigning melancholy.

"That's unfortunate."

"No, it's not," You say "She survived getting hit by the truck but it happened to be transporting cashews and grandma's deathly allergic to tree nuts."

He pressed his lips into a thin line, nodding slowly "My dad's allergic to peanuts, that's sad for her."

"Luckily she had her Epi-pen on her and a bystander was able to bring her back from anaphylactic shock."

"Oh?"

"She died a year later from liver failure, she's a terrible drunk, and takes her wig off when she gets tipsy."

"Sorry for your loss-

"Grandma said all she wanted me to achieve in life was to win the 4x400 relay at the Kettle Valley junior track meet," You mustered up your best guilt-tripping look, you weren't sure whether it was working or not but you hoped that your broken nose added sympathy points. Running is a mental game after all.

His eyebrows furrowed "No she did not."

As Tolkien rounded the curve and entered the back straight, he lengthened his stride, his legs a blur of motion. His arms pumped rhythmically at his sides, each swing helping to propel him forward. The strain was building in his muscles, a familiar burn that he welcomed. It meant he was pushing his limits, giving everything he had until he flew past a boy from Northridge leaving two more runners roughly five metres ahead.

The next handoff zone loomed ahead, and Tolkien locked eyes with Kyle, who was already in motion. The coordination had to be perfect. He could see Kyle's hand extended back, ready to receive the baton. Tolkien's focus sharpened, his entire being centred on making a flawless pass.

Kyle felt a surge of adrenaline as Tolkien approached the handoff zone. He began his run, matching his steps to Tolkien's pace, his hand outstretched and steady. The baton was placed firmly into his grip, and without missing a beat, Kyle accelerated down the track. The smooth handoff gave him confidence, and he launched into his leg of the relay with a new determination. As he passed he couldn't help but steal a glance as you stuck up your middle finger to the tall boy beside you who moved on to say he didn't believe your grandma was dead.

"Stop talking shit about my grandma."

"She's not dead," He said bluntly.

"How would you know? Mabel was really sick in the last year of her life."

"Maybe some of that sickness passed to you." He shrugged.

You glared at him "Alright, Slim Jim, I'm gonna kick your ass and then shove peanuts down your dad's throat and make you retrieve his Epi-pen through a saw trap."

"Jesus," He uttered.

While the runners were nearing the midpoint of the track the anchor runners were directed to the final handoff zone. Kyle swung his legs faster than he thought was possible, he was used to endurance running, not the panicky surge of sprints and the anxious feeling of the other teams pulling ahead any moment.

The two ahead were a girl from Summit in a deep blue colour and Hudson, the boy he recognized only as the one who had asked for your number. The one who would be getting your number if he won and that was something that irked Kyle to the point he quickened his strides, chasing down the Cedar Valley boy.

In mere seconds he passed the girl from Summit who was quickly swallowed by another runner and Kyle was feet away from closing the gap with Hudson, His long legs were being put to use. His steady steps pounded in rhythm with the beat of his heart.

Kyle ignored the way his body ached like someone had set in on fire, he kept his mind focused on pulling past Hudson and his smug crooked grin. He thought the muscles flexing in his calves were ready to give out at any second until he said you at the handoff, eyes steady and unmoving on his panting figure. He glanced to the side at Hudson who was paralleled to him, their strides almost fell in complete sync, each time either sped up so did the other leaving them completely levelled.

With a nod of your head, Kyle extended the baton forward, his grip firm but ready to release. Your hand met his with perfect timing, and the baton passed smoothly. Kyle felt the slight resistance of the transfer before letting go, ensuring it was secure before he released it.

His part in the race complete, Kyle slowed his pace, his chest heaving with exertion. He turned to watch you take off, his heart swelling in anticipation. The handoff had been perfect, and now it was up to you to bring them home as he and Hudson had reached the handoff at the same time. Kyle jogged off the track, joining Red and Tolkien on the grassy sidelines of the track.

They were all breathless but exhilarated, their eyes fixed on you. Kyle had no doubt in his mind that you would break the tie and take the lead.

Your powerful strides ate up the track as you took the baton and surged forward. Every muscle in your body hummed with exertion, the focus was entirely on you and you had no intentions of losing to the lanky boy struggling to match your pace.

Kyle watched as you navigated the back straight, your form perfect and pace relentless. The crowd's noise seemed to swell, a thunderous backdrop to the subtle drama unfolding on the track. Kyle's eyes were locked on you, every step pushing you forward seemed like it didn't phase you though your shaky breath displayed otherwise.

The final curve approached, and you leaned into it, your speed undiminished and ever-consistent. Kyle could see the strain on your face, the sheer effort it took to maintain such a blistering pace. But there stood the overwhelming urge to win, the finish line was in sight, and you were giving it everything you had.

With the home stretch before you, your strides lengthened, arms swinging with renewed vigour. The other teams were close, but you had a slight edge with the Cedar Valley boy beginning to pass you. Every muscle strained as you forced yourself to push further, moving so fast you felt like you had broken a record.

The tall boy from Cedar Valley was watching you take the final stride across the finish line, barely passing him but still you did so despite catching the turf with the toe of your runner and tumbling, colliding with the track. Your skin burned with bare friction against the turf as you slid, you had made sure to protect your already broken nose, not bothering to rescue your limbs which were previously fine. It may have not been the mightiest of victories but it was still a victory nonetheless.

You dragged yourself off the ground before anyone could reach you, the skin from your knees and elbows had been scraped a violent shade of red, so raw that spectators visibly watched droplets of blood emerge and pool over the shallow wound. Disregarding the newfound injury, you threw the baton on the ground, sticking the middle finger up to the lanky Cedar Valley boy and then to Hudson "Fuck you!" You smiled brightly. “My grandmas been dead for five years!”

"Yeah, fuck you, her grandmas dead as hell,” Red matched your gesture to the opposing school "Why are we doing this?"

"That's enough," the woman from earlier with the clipboard approached you and the pair of you were quick to drop your hands to your side. Wordlessly she handed blue ribbons to each of you, you slipped yours onto the the safety pin tasked to carry your other ribbons from the day and dangled it in front of Tolkien's face.

Kyle hangs back and watches you drink in the win, unmoved by the stinging of the scrape of the blood dribbling down your shins like juice from a cherry.

The turf burn hurt far worse when the adrenaline wore off. Sally had misplaced her bag and in doing so held up the bus from departure, a little group of volunteers helped her look for it, a group which you had happily opted out from in exchange for a few extra beats of sleep on the bus.

You balled your hoodie into a makeshift pillow and wedged it between your head and the window of the bus. It didn't take long for you to succumb to sleep despite the sun still shining brightly. Between the pain medication you had taken for your nose and the absurd amount of cardio you had performed that day, you were beyond thrilled to put your headphones in and close your eyes until sleep washed you over.

"Found it," Sally chuckled awkwardly, holding up her lavender duffle bag as she scuttled onto the already overfilled bus. The little search and rescue group piled onto the bus, shoving themselves into seats though Kyle paused next to the driver's seat. "Are we allowed this many people on a bus?"

"Yuh," Dawsey smacks his lips together "Legally we are allowed seventy-two kids on a school bus."

"Kids?" He asks "Like children?"

"Yuh, that's right."

"We're almost adults."

"No, you're good, sit down."

"It's obscenely crowded in here," His nose wrinkles as hazel eyes rake over the rows of sweaty teenagers.

"For god's sake boy, sit down or we're leaving ya' here," Coach yanks off his baseball cap to use it as a fan for his sweaty face.

Kyle shuffles through the aisle scanning for an open seat. The first he spotted was next to Emily Marx and the second was next to you. He tried to be quick about the decision, I mean you were asleep and Emily talked too much. It wasn't that he preferred either company in particular, he just preferred the silence and landed himself next to you.

"Anyone missing?" Coach called back, he took the stillness as a no and geared up for the ride. He wasn't the best driver, there were times when Kyle thought he was so upset about Adam's injury that he wanted to drive the remainder of the team off the freeway as revenge for the tragedy.

As usual, Kyle put his headphones on, ignoring the buzz of chatter from the rest of the team. it was quieter than usual as everyone was so beat, aside from the speed walkers. He was sure you wouldn't be the only one to fall asleep on the hour-long drive.

The bus rumbled down the highway, the soft hum of the engine blending with the muffled conversations of the other passengers. The late afternoon sun cast a warm, golden glow through the windows, creating patterns of light and shadow on the seats. In the middle of the bus, Kyle reclined into the leather chair while you sunk against the window. His headphones securely in place, the world outside a blur as it whizzed past.

His body was pleasantly tired from the day's exertions, the kind of fatigue that comes from giving your all in competition and having blue ribbons to show for it. His playlist was a mix of his favourite tracks mixed in with some of the pop-punk stuff he begrudgingly listened to as per Stan's request, the music providing a not-so-soothing backdrop to his thoughts.

He replayed the events of the track meet in his mind, the adrenaline of his race still lingering. His muscles ached, but it was a satisfying ache that mingled with the thoughts of smiles lingering a moment too long.

The bus hit a small bump, jostling him slightly, but he didn't mind. Kyle opened his eyes and glanced around at his teammates. Some were chatting animatedly, still riding the high of their performances. Others, like him, were lost in their own worlds, headphones in, gazing out the windows or dozing off. Coaches sharp turn failed to wake you, only shifting you until you had slumped against him, head uncomfortably digging into his bicep though Kyle didn't dare wake you or shrug you off him.

He had known you too long to be so childish to make a spectacle over it. Not to mention he made the executive decision to sit next to you.

Still and unwavering Kyle looked at your lulled figure, he couldn't tear his mind away from how serene you looked when you weren't tense with defensiveness and challenge or lying about your grandmother. Then he wondered what you dreamed of that had you looking like you were drifting into eternal bliss.

You had the occasional sniffling, little twitches and spasms in your face from what he presumed to be caused by the broken bone in the centre of your face as well as the abundance of padding to keep it in place. In his pocket, Kyles phone abruptly buzzes.

Unknown Number: Heyyy :)

Kyle: ?

Unknown Number: Oh it's Alyssa lol

Unknown Number: From the concession stand

Kyle: How did you get my number?

Unknown Number: ur friend with the broken nose gave it to me

Kyle: oh cool

Unknown Number: Do you wanna go out in the summer sometime?

His eyes shift from the blue light radiating off the screen of his phone and then to you and you and scraps over your knees, the bandage over your nose, and the half-drunken Powerade he had bought you tucked beneath your arm despite your endless murmuring to Red that you would sooner eat a pack of cigarettes before ingesting anything Kyle bought for you.

Kyle: No, sorry

Kyle: I’ll be pretty busy this summer

Unknown Number: Oh

Unknown Number: that sucks

Unknown Number: I thought we hit it off

Kyle: Sorry

A/N: sorry for lack of updates, I’ve been on vacation. Got home from Greece at three am last night! Missed you guys lol

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