a/n: uberuber short. but whatevs. no ownage. review pleeezus. :D
Right now, you're at a huge New Years party, and everyone is either stoned off their ass, wasted, or passed out. You look around – there's Token and Clyde and Craig, all talking and laughing, and a horde of girls giggling in the corner. Wendy is making out with some asshole and Stan is doing God knows what.
As soon as you see Stan, you hear him, too. "Kyle? Kyle, c'mere!" Stan is yelling from across the room, and his drink is splashing around in his cup. He's telling everyone that it's rum and coke, but you know for a fact that it's just diet coke, because you were doing the same thing earlier.
Now, as you start going across the room, maneuvering around drunken couples and wasted teens, you don't even know what you're drinking. Someone handed it to you, and you didn't ask – all you know is that there's a mean burn when you drink it.
You stop next to him and cock an eyebrow. "Yeah?"
"Dude," he says, and his face lights up with a smile. You catch yourself starting to grin, too. "I was listening to this song. It's by that chick that squirts whipped cream out of her boobs… Uh…"
He trails off, not being able to think of the singer. "Katy Perry?" you offer.
"Yeah! Well, this song made me think of you, dude."
"California Girls? Thanks, dude. Wow." You roll your eyes, and think maybe Stan actually got a drink, instead of his diet coke.
"No, man! It's like," He pauses, gives his drink to a random person passing by, and starts singing. "Baby, you're a fi-i-i-rework! Baby, nuh nuh nuuuuh, nuh nuh…" He trails off, blushing a bit. "Well, I don't know all the words. But that's not the point, man! You're my fucking firework, dude!"
You think of how Stan has most definitely had a few beers, or something. But still, that doesn't excuse the corniness of the song he chose. "Dude, thanks and stuff, and you're totally my firework too, but you could've chosen a cooler song. Like… the Transformers one."
"Man, you don't get it! You're my firework!" And then he kisses you on the mouth.
It's not some magical moment where fireworks shoot off in the distance, and time slows, and our mouth 'melt together' or what-the-fuck-ever. It's sloppy and a little gross because Stan's wasted and you're a little buzzed. Stan pulls away first, and you wipe your mouth because there's a little spit at the corner.
"That would've worked better if you weren't such a shitty kisser and I didn't have three beers."
"Hey!" you say, because you are not a shit kisser. "That's rude. I'm a better kisser than you, dude. And at least I don't fucking drool."
"Not fair, man, not fair. I didn't try and slobber on you." Stan looks a little offended that you would bring up the fact that he drools when drunk.
"Whatever, dude. We'll try again sober, alright?" You're tired of this whole argument by now.
"Fine," he says, and kisses you on the cheek (with exponentially less spit). He looks around for a moment, then turns to you. "Where the fuck did you put my drink, man?"