Here it is. My first official Kyman fic. And it's going to be a multi-chapter as well, Jesus tap dancing Christ. The title of the story is based off of a song with the same name by Lindy. Let's see where this baby goes from here! Enjoy the story! Feedback is always appreciated!

"I guess the only thing that doesn't change in life, is that things change."

Kyle didn't think this place would be so damn crowded. It hadn't been twenty minutes since he got here and he was already on his third trip to the bathroom. He left the water faucet on - which was already littered with water, hair and God-knows-what-else, thanks to the unsanitary strangers that would flee in and out of the stalls from time to time. He ignored a pair of unfamiliar faces that would later dismiss his memory, as he vigorously (and unsuccessfully) scrubbed off the sickly brown stain on his white t-shirt.

After what seemed like hours, Kyle finally gave up as he begrudgingly stared at the rest of the smeared up coffee, settling on the cotton fibers like a stubborn scar on a child's skin.

He sighed before throwing his wet paper towel in the garbage, and he turned to see the two men, who were staring at him the entire time. His eyebrows knit together, olive green eyes settling at them irritably. They just left, one of them snickering before the other just shrugged and continued his conversation.

Kyle then caught himself at the mirror, noticing his tense form; besides the shirt, his auburn curls appeared disheveled, his posture so stiff and tense, and...God damn it, he looked like a fucking mess. And all this for an opening reception he didn't intend on going to. He only came here for an extra credit assignment. Oh, and there was also his college roommate, Jake, who was able to enter not one, but two of his art pieces to the reception. The brunette told Kyle about the news, and the redhead had nothing else to do on his day off from work.

Kyle was already in the hallway when left the bathroom. He headed straight towards the coat rack, dodging each stranger along the way. Once he got there, he grabbed his orange jacket and put it on.

"Hey, Kyle!" Said man turned to see Jake. One of the lights from the room illuminated his blackish-brown hair and casual attire. His smile faded slightly when he saw Kyle zip up his jacket.

"You're leaving already?" Jake said with a worrying tone.

"No, no," Kyle interjected. "It just got cold in here…"

And to his defense, it is pretty chilly inside. Today was the first time in months it became sunny outside - to the point where every building Kyle went to had the air conditioning on. Ironically, only four days ago it was 25 degrees outside. Got to get use to the Michigan weather.

Jake just shrugged before giving Kyle a paper cup. "I got you some coffee, if you want some," He punctuated his reply with a light chuckle.

Kyle stared at the beverage before kindly refusing the offer. "No, thanks. Oh, um, I saw your painting, by the way, it's awesome."

Jake's face lit up at the compliment, sparks of light reflecting his small, hazel orbs. His dimples displayed his ardent features when he smiled, contemplating his tan face. "Thanks, man. Well, I'm gonna look around some more, wanna come?"

"Uh, yeah, let me just sit here for a few minutes," Kyle said before moving away from the coat rack.

Jake stared at him before replying, "Oh. Okay then…." And just like that he left, running into one of his classmates. Even after nine months of rooming together, Kyle never really considered Jake as a friend. All he knew about the brunette was that he was Hispanic, stood 5'5 tall, and was a happy-go-lucky type of guy majoring in Fine Arts. Or was it Art History? Architecture?

Kyle leaned against the wall, next to a table of light snacks, while his eyes roamed around the room. The area was as big as a school gymnasium; the walls painted with creamy beige, and the floor was under a large, tacky, gray covering. Paintings and drawings were secured on the wall, while small 3D artifacts are placed on each stand, surrounding the entire room. Everyone in here ranged from college students (who may or may not go to Kyle's university) to elders in their eighties who seem to know each other since forever. Speaking if which, the majority seemed to be in groups, chatting away as if they were in some kind of family reunion rather than an exhibit. Kyle grimace at that thought, as if being a complete outsider isn't enough.

Kyle took his phone out of his pocket to look at the time.

8:54 PM

"Better get this over with," he mumbled to himself before he left the table, walking towards the artwork.

Kyle had hardly considered himself as an artist. In fact, after finishing his freshman year with an undecided major, he was more doubtful on his future. It wasn't because he was unsure which positions would work for him - STEM, Philosophy, IT, and English were his strongest points, just to name a few. He would've included Politics on his list, but his idea to become a lawyer has unfortunately became unlikely after spending his youth dealing with his unbearable parents - especially his father, Gerald, whose inconsiderate behavior and hypocritical let-downs towards his own children has given Kyle emotional scars, still fresh on his mind.

Kyle would give himself a pat on the back for managing to stay on the Honor Roll while juggling AP classes and a part-time job up until his high school graduation, earning him a fair amount of scholarships along the way. Unfortunately, once he had started the Fall semester at the University of Michigan, he pondered if each career path would be worth it.

Kyle was a very intelligent and outspoken young man (compared to most of his peers back in South Park) and he was determined to find a solution, no matter how absurd it would be. As he hit puberty, however, not only he was "becoming a man", he knew that his life would suck even more.

Over the last nine years Kyle's insecurity would crawl inside his skin like a plethora of maggots, attacking his hard, tanned flesh with every harsh bite from their acidic fangs. Like the obstinate child he was, he would ignore the bothersome, frightening laceration until it was too late - he would realize the pain but the damage is already done, leaving him helpless and scared for his life. It took him a while to get used to this cycle, and when he did he would try and patch himself up, reminding himself that he wasn't a pussy who caves so damn easily.

The wounds had barely healed and that same feeling continued to taunt Kyle for the rest of his freshman year, and he was afraid that everything would blow up on his face for the umpteenth time. So during his Winter Break, Kyle thought that he was ready to take his Humanities elective, to take a break from some of the major subjects and actually enjoy something for once in his life.

That's when Kyle decided to take Art History. He would learn something from the creative mindset from past artists, without leaving his analytic side. Plus, he didn't have to buy $150 worth of drawing materials (despite the Art History book costing $110), since it had been years before he considered working on that craft. It started off pretty well, the teacher was decent, the classroom didn't seem so claustrophobic, and for the first time in years he was actually learning for fun. He thought he got everything in the bag until two months ago when he got his second test back. Now a 'C+' inked in bold, red letters wasn't bad per se, but it was still average and mediocre and unexceptional like most people in the world and Kyle knew better than that.

Since then he went straight to the school library to study his ass off until closing, realizing the new routine he has to go with. And everyone knows that extra studying means little to no social life - it was bad enough that he had rarely spoken to his old crew anymore (besides his ex-super best friend, Stan). Because of that, the only moral support he had were from Sheila and their out-of-state relatives (and dare he say his second cousin, who he still hates so fucking much).

Whether Kyle wanted to admit or not, he was somewhat relieved that the art show was tonight. Because it meant that some students who've entered were ready for graduation, which meant that the semester was almost over, which meant that Kyle only had one last week before he completes his first year.

Tonight, all he had to do is to find one piece that he liked and explain why he liked it. It had to be a least a full page, double-spaced, MLA format, 12 fonts, and Times New Roman. It would've been the easiest assignment in the world if Kyle hadn't found almost every submission mediocre and half-assed.

Kyle had his fair share of poor quality craftsmanship, but he was sure that he would die of embarrassment if he were the one who considered a big wad of red wires as "Modern Art".

"A depiction of anger. Yeah right," Kyle snarled before walking away.

After a few minutes Kyle ended up at the photography section. The pictures looked as if they were part of some kind of advertisement, yet they were aesthetically pleasing nonetheless.

As the pair of olive green eyes wandered around the group of pictures, they stopped at one picture that managed to get his attention. It appeared duller than then the rest of the photos, showing a rather down-to-earth atmosphere behind the little white frame. The picture was taken during the winter, as there was a huge blanket of non-virgin snow. The other noticeable things were a small group of children. There were four of them, and they appeared to be playing a snowball fight. Only two of them were truly laughing, as they stood next to each other throwing wads of crystal snowflakes. The boy in distress was bigger, mouth open wide and eyebrows knit together. One of the snowballs busted into white dust when this person took the picture, landing on the boy's oversized coat. He was obviously losing the game and was pissed off, and the boy next to him just stood there with his hands in his pockets staring at something. Kyle couldn't tell whether the boy was either bored or stoned. The lighting wasn't perfect, but the sunlight made up for it, irradiating the boys and the brick house behind them.

And the entire thing felt so natural. There was no huddling around for the camera, trying to find the perfect angle before everyone says "Cheese!" with fake smiles, pretending that everything's Peachy Keene. But this one photograph is the real deal.

Kyle stared at the picture in awe, and he couldn't help but chuckle as he was drawn to the nostalgia. It reminded the redhead so much of himself, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman of all people, and it felt like he's staring at a piece of memory. A piece of memory that drowned from bits and pieces of Kyle's life that was full of regrets and hatred and betrayal. And someone managed to remind him how simpler his life was. And Kyle had a feeling that the photographer felt the same way.

The redhead wouldn't say that things were better back then, it was far from it. However, he would love to feel like a kid again for once in his life.

Things change, and I have to deal with it.

Kyle looked below the photograph, a small label revealing the person behind the camera.

Winter Break by Zach Wilson.

Kyle took the time to record the picture and caption with his phone, before calling it a night and heading towards the exit.

It didn't take Kyle long to head outside, and everything was already dark as the moon and constellations glittered around the night sky. His car was not parked far either, the parking lot was behind the building. He decided to pull his phone out again and check the time. His head was still down before he bumped into someone with a loud thump.

"Woah!" Kyle interjected, "I am so sorry, dude-"

"Goddamnit, watch where you're going-"

Then there was silence.

Kyle and the other man stared at each other for a few moments. That tone, that annoying accent, sounded so familiar. But then a few seconds passed and it hit him like a truck. That chestnut hair, the strong jaw, those blue eyes, that fatass body. And he was holding a plate of the cake that was obviously from the snack section. It's all coming clear...

Motherfucker.

"Cartman?!"

When said man heard those syllables come out of the shorter man's mouth, he started stammering.

"H-holy Shit!"

He then turned around and ran like hell, never looking back, and later left Kyle's sight. The redhead stood there, as if he saw Medusa rather than the immature fat guy from his childhood. He was as stiff as stone but it only took him a minute to realize someone was calling him.

"Kyle? Kyle?" yelled Jake, gently poking Kyle on the shoulder. Kyle later snapped out of his trance, and turned to the shorter guy.

"You okay, Kyle?" Jake asked.

Kyle didn't answer, and instead stared at his oblivious roommate. He then turned straight ahead and walked away, knowing he would have a hard time sleeping tonight.