Chapter Text
april 16th, saturday
One Queen song was okay, two was tolerable, but three was just the start of a fucking disaster.
Stan stared at the bottom of his cup, slowly twisting it around and watching the last remnants of liquid roll around the curve of the base. These party playlists were always way too predictable. Always the same few songs from ten years ago that nobody else seemed to grow tired of. Tonight was especially taking the piss. If Stan could be bothered to move, he’d just go change it himself, ending of the tyranny of Queen that was crashing this party. Seriously, it should have been enough after Bohemian Rhapsody.
A pair of heels stumbled past him, and Stan pressed himself further against the wall, not lifting his eyes up. It wasn’t going to be anybody he knew, that was for sure. For some reason, it seemed like tonight everyone he’d ever spoken to had just completely disappeared. Even Cartman had managed to evade him so far, and that was pretty impressive, considering the width of him. Instead, Stan had filled his cup to the brim, and stood against the wall of the living room whilst he watched everyone else laugh and have fun.
To be honest, this party was kind of shit.
It was always an omen that if the music was shit, then the rest of the party was going to be shit too. So far, that was showing itself to be pretty true. The alcohol reminded Stan of something he’d use to start a fire, and he was almost reluctant to go back to the kitchen and pour himself more. Though, at this point, it was looking like that was the only option. Either that, or just up and leave the party as a whole. And it was only eleven. Stan didn’t wanna be that lame.
Another burst of loud giggles echoed out from beside him, and Stan lifted his eyes just enough to see a large group of girls crowded in a circle, wearing outfits that were nearly identical, voices too loud even over the beats of I Want To Break Free. Stan had no idea what they were talking about, or more likely who, and didn’t care either. Girls always started stupid rumours about stupid things. It was a new thing every week.
“-have you seen either of them yet?” a voice called out, and a clutter of other too-loud voices clambered in to reply. Stan shifted to the side slightly, trying to avoid getting sucked into the circle that was rapidly spreading closer to him.
“They’re definitely here-“
“Why don’t you check the bedrooms-?“
“No way!”
“Isn’t it too early for that-“
Stan grit his teeth, and finally forced himself away from the group, pushing through the crowds to get to the kitchen. Jesus Christ, if this was how it was going to be all night, he was going to need more than just lighter-fluid shots to make it through.
Navigating the room was hard in the dark, though Stan was still sober enough to see the right amount of people in front of him. With a frown, he tried to push his way past a group of freshmen, but they didn’t seem to notice his insistent shoving. The music was still blasting loud, and Stan had to yell to get himself heard over the all-encompassing voice of Freddie Mercury.
“Hey- can you let me through-!”
“Stan?”
An arm grabbed his shoulder from behind, and Stan swerved, turning away from the freshmen to see whoever it was who wanted him. The relief that he’d finally found someone who knew his name that had hit him in the first second evaporated instantly as he looked around, and saw Kyle staring back at him.
The emptiness of his cup suddenly seemed a lot more apparent.
“Oh, Kyle, uh-“ Stan struggled to speak, both in finding the words and to find a volume that could reach over the music. “Hi?”
“Can I talk to you?” Kyle asked suddenly, and even in the dim light, Stan could see the glint of seriousness in his eyes. “It’s important.”
“Uh- sure?” The complete off-handedness of the situation was catching him off-guard, and he tried to grasp onto any semblance of coherency left in his brain. Apparently, that wasn’t a lot.
“Can we go outside?” Kyle asked, leaning closer to Stan to allow his voice to carry better. “It’s too loud in here.”
“Yeah, uh-“ Stan glanced down to his cup, then back at Kyle. “Just- give me a minute, I’ll meet you out there.”
Kyle paused for just a moment, and Stan tried not to think too much about the look in his eyes. “Okay.”
And then just like that, he was ducking his way back through the crowds, over towards the hallway. Stan couldn’t force himself to move until all traces of Kyle had completely disappeared, lost in the crowds, making his way to wait outside.
Waiting for him. God. Fuck. What the hell? It felt like there was no way any of this could be real. Kyle hadn’t spoken to him in- in, a really long time. Why would he just suddenly...why would he even be at this party?? Stan had no idea. But, then again, he guessed there were a lot of things he didn’t really know about anymore.
...It was definitely time for a top up.
Finally breaking through the crowds and landing himself in the kitchen, Stan was relieved to see that most of the crowds seemed to be concentrated in the other room. A few people (who he still hardly recognised) were chatting quietly near the sink, but that was it. They paid him no mind as he headed towards the drinks, grabbing bottles without checking the labels. Hardly mattered when everything tasted shitty anyway.
As Stan poured the coke into his cup, he found himself distantly wondering about why the hell Kyle would want to talk to him. There was no way he thought Stan was the best person to go to for any kind of advice, so just...why? It felt weird, and filled him with a weird sense of anxiety. The same feeling convinced him to add an extra shot to his drink, just in case. He might need it. He’d definitely need it.
Taking a tentative sip to prepare himself for going back into the crowded hell of the next room, Stan tried to remember how to even talk to Kyle. Remember a way that wouldn’t piss him off, or bring up bad memories, or anything else. It was a lot harder than it should have been.
He was probably going to mess this up. There was just that- feeling. A premonition that things were going to go wrong. Kind of like every other thing at this party. And his life too, pretty much.
It was probably the Queen.
With a final mouthful of what was basically just diluted vodka, Stan headed for the doorway, stepping back into the darkness of the living room. And almost instantly, someone crashed into him, causing that very same diluted vodka to spill itself all down the front of Stan’s shirt.
“Hey, asshole-!” he called after them, but the figure was long gone, merging with the rest of the partygoers who didn’t seem to even notice him standing there. Standing there with fucking coke and vodka all over his t-shirt- “Fuck’s sake-“
Stan tried in vain to pull the shirt back from his skin, shaking it a little to try and rid some of the liquid, but it was already far too late. It was soaking in fast, the dark patch spreading further by the second. Fuck. Fuck.
Well, there it was. Hardly thirty seconds after he’d had the thought, and now everything sure was going to shit. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Kyle was waiting for him, but he looked like a dumbass, and probably stank of alcohol too. If he went out like this, there was no doubt that Kyle was going to be seriously pissed off at him.
Stan ducked back into the kitchen as he tried to collect his thoughts, absently looking around for some tissue. Obviously, just like at any party he’d ever been to, the kitchen wipes had disappeared a long time ago, the empty container sitting on the side. Stan sighed, putting a hand to his temple.
He could try to wash it off. After all, he was in the kitchen now, and there was hardly anyone here. But then- he’d have to walk around in a dripping wet shirt all night, and that would definitely make him come across as a weirdo. Kyle would probably think so too. Maybe he’d even think it was sweat. God. No. He couldn’t do that, no way.
So then- maybe he could find another shirt. This was Clyde’s house, so maybe he had some that would fit...? Though, he hadn’t even seen Clyde yet, and they didn’t really talk that much, so. Maybe not him. But someone else, maybe...? Someone could just have a...shirt. Spare shirt. Because everyone carried one of those around with them.
Stan let out a quiet groan, pressing his hand against his head harder. For a moment, the music from the next room lulled, a thankful signal of the song ending, and Stan focused, trying to see if the silence would grant him any better ideas. Then, the heavy bass of Under Pressure started up, and he let out another hard sigh.
Yeah, he was pretty much fucked.
Well, since he was already here, and the night was just getting worse, there was no harm in refilling his cup again. Not like it could get any worse for his shirt. All someone needed to do was spill it on his pants, and he could successfully throw himself off a bridge. Actually, maybe he shouldn’t think that. Might be a jinx.
Stan refilled his cup after downing a first, and then turned back to face the other room, mentally trying to urge the alcohol to take effect faster so he could care less about all of this. For now, all he could do was look around for a solution. There had to be people at this party that he knew. Well, other people besides Kyle. Someone had to be able to help him, somehow.
The front room was still too crowded, and the Queen hadn’t yet been cut (seriously, someone needed to change that goddamn playlist), so Stan made way for the hallway instead. It was better lit, and quieter. Mostly filled with kids ducking in and out for a cigarette or a vape, the smell drifting all around the bottom of the stairs. Stan stood, glancing around with growing desperation, and a cold breeze hit him as another person opened the front door, smoke still wafting from their lips. Gross.
He was about to give up and look somewhere else, when he finally spotted a flash of orange down the end of the hallway, three figures gathered by the side of the stairs.
“Kenny!” Stan called out, the relief washing through him stronger than the alcohol. “Dude, there you are.”
“Hey, Stan,” Kenny greeted as Stan made his way to them, stepping over a stray cup left on the floor. “Welcome to the Sad Blonde Boys Corner.”
Kenny spread his arms out, gesturing to Tweek and Butters who were sat on either side of him. Stan slunk down against the opposite wall, folding his legs and taking another sip from his drink.
“Aw jeez, I don’t think I’m that sad right now,” Butters said, fidgeting his hands together. Stan always thought he looked way too young to be at parties like this, even though he was the same age as all the others. Something about the face, and the slightly oversized clothes. Either his parents didn’t know his size, or they just didn’t care.
“What happened to your shirt, dude?” Kenny asked, pointing at him. Stan looked down even though he already knew how bad it looked, frowning again at the reminder. “Don’t tell me you already puked.”
“No, some asshole crashed into me and I spilt it,” he said, scowling. “Everyone here sucks. This party sucks.”
“Yeah, right?” Kenny leaned forwards slightly, something mischievous in his gaze. “This is the kind of party you have before the world ends.”
“Gah, don’t say things like that!!” Tweek piped up, twitching slightly as he shot a look at Kenny. “That’s bad luck, man!”
“I don’t know if the end of the world would be all that bad luck,” Kenny said, snickering to himself, and Stan nodded.
“That’d be a fucking relief,” he said, sighing. “I can’t believe we only have one semester left. I- thought I’d be dead by now, honestly.”
“Yeah, didn’t we all,” Kenny said, shrugging one shoulder with an easy smile, before taking a sip of his drink. Stan risked a glance at the other two, wondering if they cared that he’d crashed their little group. Butters just looked distracted, glancing down at his lap, and Tweek was twitching the same as always. Both of them looked a little...off, somehow, though Stan couldn’t really place how. Like, Tweek had this sullen look in his eyes, like he’d just finished crying, but then, Tweek always looked like that. And Butters was always weird too, so.
“But I need to find a new shirt,” Stan continued after taking a long drink from his cup. “Where the hell am I supposed to find that?”
“Sorry, dude, but you’re not having mine,” Kenny said. “You’re the kind of friend I’d give the shirt off my back to, but not when it’s cold as shit and I have no idea if I’ll get it back.”
“Oh man,” Stan groaned, taking another drink before putting it down and pushing his hands to his face. “I’m so fucked. Seriously. I’m fucked.”
“It’s just a shirt,” Kenny said, shrugging. “I doubt most people are gonna notice anyway.”
“Kyle’s gonna notice.”
Kenny gave him a steady stare, and Stan felt the other two glance towards him. “Kyle?”
“He said- he wanted to talk to me,” Stan admitted, feeling awkward talking about it front of people like Tweek who he hardly knew anymore. “I don’t know why.”
“Are you going to talk to him?” Kenny asked, expression still unchanging.
“Yes?” Stan glanced down at himself. “I don’t know. Can I? My shirt’s fucked, dude. He’s gonna think I’m like...an alcoholic, or some shit.”
“Hmm.”
“Can’t you just, uh, explain?” Butters asked, glancing down when Stan looked at him. “I’m sure Kyle’ll understand it was just an accident!”
“Like he’d believe me,” Stan muttered, shooting a disdainful look towards his drink. He should’ve made it stronger.
“You should talk to him,” Tweek said then, voice softer now in a way Stan didn’t recall ever hearing before. “It’s probably...important, ngh.”
“I mean, I would, but...” Stan groaned, pulling at his shirt again. “Not like this.”
“You’re talking to us,” Kenny pointed out, and Stan frowned.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“Yeah,” Stan said. “Because Kyle hates me.”
“Jeez, I dunno if he hates you-“ Butters started.
“He hates me like fuck, and he’s gonna hate me even more now, ‘cause my shirt’s ruined and it’s gonna piss him off and I ruin fucking everything just like I did the first time. God fucking dammit.”
Stan threw the rest of his drink back, starting to grow frustrated that it didn’t seem to be working. Maybe his thoughts were less uniform and he was being more honest than usual, but- he didn’t feel any better. Everything was just starting to feel worse.
“Maybe you should ask Clyde,” Kenny suggested after a few beats had passed, and Stan looked up again.
“You think he’d have something that’d fit me?” Stan frowned at the thought of wearing a poorly fitted shirt, obviously different to the one he’d been wearing before. Fuck, that was almost worse, in a way. Kyle would think he was an alcoholic and a slut. “I haven’t even seen him yet. You know where he is?”
“They’re upstairs,” Tweek muttered, eyes low, voice growing a little tenser. “Or, they were.”
“Maybe I should go ask,” Stan said, already not believing his own words. He really didn’t want Kyle to think he was a slut.
“Sure, dude,” Kenny said, raising his cup a little. “Hope you can find something.”
“Yeah,” Stan said, glancing to his now empty-again cup. “Hey, can I try what you’re drinking?”
“Sure.” Kenny handed him the cup without a complaint, and Stan took it from him, glancing at the clear liquid. He took a mouthful, then shuddered, eyes pressing shut as his throat burned.
“Jesus, dude, what the fuck is in that?!” Stan swallowed to try and wash away the taste, face screwing up. “Might as well be straight fucking bleach.”
“Well, the night’s still young,” Kenny said, grinning as he took the cup back, sagely taking a sip without the slightest of grimaces.
“God, Kenny, what’s wrong with you,” Stan said, shaking his head. Kenny just replied with a peace sign, hand still wrapped around his cup.
“Good luck talking to the others, ngh,” Tweek muttered as Stan stood up.
“Yeah, good luck with Kyle!” Butters said, grinning up at him, almost nervous. Stan just frowned back. Good luck was no way enough for how screwed he was right now.
“Hope you find them,” Kenny added as a final goodbye, and Stan just nodded as he walked away, half-tempted to go back to the kitchen to refill. No, he could wait a few more minutes. He should probably at least try to find Clyde, to tell himself that at least he’d made the effort.
Upstairs was always a dangerous place to be at parties, and Stan didn’t bother with opening any of the closed doors that greeted him once he reached the top. Even if Clyde actually was hiding somewhere within them, it wasn’t worth the risk.
Stan glanced down at his shirt again, leaning back against the wall with a frown. It still looked bad, he could tell that for sure, but maybe...it wouldn’t be that bad if he just went and met Kyle with it like this? It was dark outside anyway, and maybe if he just splashed a little water over it, the alcohol smell wouldn’t be so strong. Maybe he should just pour more coke over it, to hide any smell of alcohol? Like, fight fire with fire or something.
Stan rounded the corner to the bathroom, mostly just to check his reflection and see how bad the damage actually was, before he spotted the large lump over by the door. At once, Cartman turned to him, face sneering up a little.
“Why, Stan, fancy seeing you here,” he said, stepping away from the door. Stan narrowed his eyes. The only reason for Cartman to be up here alone was him snooping around, or trying to destroy Clyde’s bathroom, and neither of those were good things. Enough people had already died in there.
“Fuck off, Cartman,” Stan muttered, tempted to just turn back around and leave. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Of course you’re not,” Cartman said, rolling his eyes. “When are you ever. Gotta say, Stan, I’m surprised you haven’t killed yourself already with the way you go around like a school shooter in the making.”
“Seriously, shut up,” Stan said, breathing out a heavy sigh. Talking to Cartman always seemed to drain his energy, with the sheer effort of having to deal with such a heavy flow of bullshit. The second they interacted he felt like he needed to go sleep off the conversation for at least a couple hours. And shower, too. “I’m surprised anyone even invited you to this party.”
“Of course they did,” Cartman snapped, in a way that let Stan they most certainly didn’t. “Though this party sucks. The alcohol all tastes like piss.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty shitty.”
“Must be if even the town alcoholic is saying so,” Cartman said, sneering at him, and Stan frowned.
“I’m not an alcoholic.”
“Sure, sure,” Cartman said, eyes flickering down to Stan’s shirt. “And Kenny’s not poor, and Kyle’s not a Jew.”
“God, Cartman, can you at least try to be original-“ Stan stopped suddenly, only then seeming to remember that Kyle was still waiting for him. Cartman seemed to notice his reaction, smirking.
“What, you two got a closet make-out planned or something?”
“No-“ Stan shook his head, mind distracted, “Shut up, fatass.”
“Don’t call me fat!” Cartman snapped, then returned to his sneer as quickly as it had left. “Kyle’s being a little pissy bitch anyway. Doubt he’ll let you stick anything up his ass tonight.”
“Fuck off,” Stan said, and finally backed away down the hallway, leaving a conversation he should’ve bailed on from the first second. Talking to Cartman was so pointless. He just repeated the same five insults he’d had since he was a kid, and only existed to piss everyone else off. And now Stan still hadn’t managed to wash his shirt, or find Clyde, or anyone else to lend him one. So.
The drinks he’d had earlier were definitely starting to take effect, as Stan couldn’t even feel that disappointed or panicked as he descended the stairs, heading back to the front room. It didn’t matter as much anymore. Like- everything didn’t. He’d go meet Kyle with his shirt wet, and maybe he’d be pissed, but at least he’d get to find out what Kyle wanted to tell him. The awkwardness Stan had been dreading was fading too. After another drink, he was sure it’d all be fine.
Mostly. For some reason, Queen was still playing, and nobody had turned it off or questioned why they’d even allowed this to go on for so long. Stan didn’t have any problem with the music by itself, but the amount of times he’d heard his dad trying to imitate the style and voice...it would be enough to make anyone sick of it.
Stan made work on heading back to the kitchen, slinking around the groups that had formed since he’d last been in. It felt like it had been hours since he was last here, cup empty for far too long. With nerves fading, Stan trusted himself enough to only need two shots this time.
He gave a look towards the sink, before deciding it wasn’t worth the effort. All he’d end up doing would be making the stain larger, and awkwardly holding himself over the sink in a room full of people. The outside had started to dry by this point, anyway. It was fine. Whatever. Not like he could help it now.
Time to go find Kyle.
Yet again, Stan found himself trying to manoeuvre around the crowds, even if there were slightly less people packed in here than there had been before. Except- he hadn’t even made it to the door when he noticed Kyle, collecting his bag from under the table and pulling it over his shoulder.
“Kyle-!” Stan called out, voice hardly audible above the music. “Kyle, wait!”
“Forget it,” he heard Kyle spit out as he got close enough to hear, and Stan moved after him, frowning.
“I thought you wanted to talk-“
“I did want to talk!” Kyle snapped at him, turning around with an unexpectedly vicious look in his eyes. “Fifteen minutes ago!”
Stan flinched slightly, blinking. “Dude, it’s only been like, two minutes-“
“I don’t know what’s wrong with you,” Kyle said, shaking his head. “It’s like you’re just- incapable of thinking of other people.”
“I- can’t we just talk now?” Stan frowned, the beginnings of nausea starting in his stomach. “I’m here now.”
“No, I said forget it,” Kyle muttered, turning around again as he secured his bag on his shoulder. “You’re clearly too busy getting wasted. I wouldn’t wanna ruin your fun.”
“Aren’t you overreacting?” Stan asked, and regretted the choice in words the instant Kyle flew back around to stare at him, eyes flashing in fury.
“’Overreacting’??” he repeated, taking a step towards Stan. “You think I’m overreacting, that I’m pissed off with you, because you promised to talk to me and then just fucked off?”
“I-“
“Like, five fucking minutes,” Kyle said, shaking his head. Stan closed his mouth, suddenly forgetting how to form words. It felt like he was drifting out of the situation, watching from the side-lines, only Kyle’s voice and the music existing as they fought to block each other out. “That was all I would’ve needed, but that was still too much for you.”
Find me somebody to love.
“It’s because you’re just- that selfish, you know??”
Find me somebody to love.
“It’s always about yourself. Always about how you’re feeling. Anyone else, and you don’t give a shit.”
Find me somebody to love.
“I don’t know why I even thought you’d want to talk to me anyway. I don’t know why I thought I’d want to talk to you.”
Find me somebody to love.
“You’re never going to change.”
Somebody. Somebody. Somebody. Somebody.
“So just- forget it. I’m not wasting my time on you any longer.”
Somebody find me- somebody find me somebody to love.
“Whatever you do with your life- I hope it’s fucking fun.”
Can anybody find me-
“And I really hope we never have to fucking see each other again.”
Somebody to-
Stan’s mind was still empty as the music faded out slightly, Kyle finally pushing past him and leaving the room for good. In the lull of the music, Stan was sure he could hear the hard slam of the door, though he didn’t turn to look, still staring straight ahead at the empty spot where Kyle had been.
Love.
The silence of the room broke with the end of the last note, the crescendo over, and Stan felt all the bitterness and dejection flood back to him at once. He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder and scowling. That was- over the top. Unfair. Really unnecessary. God, Kyle was such an asshole. Stan didn’t want to talk to him anyway. He didn’t give a shit about whatever stupid thing Kyle wanted to speak to him about. It was probably bullshit.
Stan stared back down to his drink, remnants of his own sullen expression staring back in the darkness of the room. People might’ve been staring at him, but he didn’t give a shit. Fuck those guys. Fuck everyone. Everyone in this town was the worst, and Stan couldn’t give a single shit about any of them.
The song trailed off to an end, and the room was filled with the sounds of only voices talking for a second or two. Then, the first chords of Don’t Stop Me Now started up, and in one swift go, Stan downed his entire cup.
This party really was the worst.