Returning home from school was always more of a chore than a pleasure. Somewhere in the mess of frantically attempting to pack everything from essentials to care package gifts to shove into his tiny two-door BMW, Token had found himself wishing more and more that he could simply move permanently to sunny Claremont and only have to take a duffle to trek back home to his snowy mountain town.

Beyond all hope and probably the laws of physics, however, he'd managed to stuff his little graduation present tight, blocking the view of his back windshield with boxes of clothes and books he just couldn't find it in himself to return for that oh-so-generous refund of a whopping thirty dollars total. A long and arduous fifteen hours later, he finally managed to pull into the drive of his childhood home, still standing tall and proud; an eyesore by all means against the meager background of his simple hometown.

South Park was always a different land in the midst of summertime. A lack of snow but still an occasional brisk chill in the air that no one could explain, so they merely accepted it with lightweight jackets and a whole mess of bitching up a storm. Some would just attribute it to altitude, some would shake a fist at climate change, and Craig would tell him that it was because South Park was Hell, and it was finally freezing over. No matter the source, it didn't matter much. Token's mother made damn sure his closet was full of breathable sweaters for his return, knowing he was in for a hell of a change coming from the scorching heat of California back to "real life" as she called it.

No, Token thought, stretching out on his king-sized mattress and listening to the slight crackle of his spine with a yawn. Real life was struggling through school, lying in a single's bed with a lumpy mattress and trying to block out the sound of his roommate tripping on acid going into vivid detail on how fascinating the odd crack in their wall was. Real life was trekking through the hell of people begging him to be in the damn pamphlets for the college so they could showcase their "diversity". Real life was flipping from relationship to relationship, getting in too deep with someone before realizing they were an absolute nut job with a god complex who thought they were "too cultured" to be locked in with their peers.

That's what he got for going to a liberal arts school, he'd finally reasoned well into his third year.

But that's what was nice about coming home: That kind of bleeding heart mentality only when it was socially convenient didn't fly here. Either you were an inherently good person, or you were a jackass. Hiding behind a veil of deceitful conscious was immediately discovered, and people were rightfully called out on their true intentions. It was loud-mouths and rednecks, blunt truths and dismantled false agendas.

It was home.

And home had been waiting for him, immediately getting a slew of texts from buddies either already back in town or well on their way from their own college adventures, telling him that they saw him driving down one of their only three main roads in his conspicuous vehicle. His schedule was already packed with offers of get-togethers and slurrin' soirees, as Kenny had dubbed them after everyone's freshman year. Token knew himself well enough to know he'd only attend a handful, perhaps even only two or three. Parties were just never his thing.

An incessant dinging of his phone on the bedspread beside of him, however, just insisted that they needed to be.

Clyde
'Token, r u coming'
'Answer me!'
'Token we haven't seen u since winter u gotta come'
'David throws the best parties it's awesome'
'Token'
'Token answer me'

Craig
'Take it OFF the group chat if you're gonna fuckin' keep this shit up, Donovan'

Clyde
'Well he won't answer! Gotta tell David to buy more shit if the party monster is coming! ;p'

Token rolled his eyes, a small snort sifting through his nostrils.

Token
'Dude. I got drunk at like two parties. A "monster" I am not.'
'Besides, I'm sure he's plenty stocked up regardless of the invite list.'
'And focus on driving, you retard. Can't keg stand if you're in a damn coma.'

Clyde
'Wanna bet?'
'Soooooooooooooo is that a yes?'

Tweek
'FOCUS ON THE ROAD, CLYDE. JESUS!'

Craig
'Let him crash. I wanna see him convince his dad to buy him a fourth car.'
'Token, me and Tweek are going to meet Jimmy for a beer in a few, you in?'

Token hummed, looking up at his ceiling in thought. His bed was so damn comfortable… But then again, he'd rather see the guys again before a shitfaced shitfest where they could barely hear themselves think.

Token
'Sure. I'll be there in about twenty.'

Clyde
'SO YOU'LL ANSWER HIM AND NOT ME'
'WTF TOKEN I'M YOUR BEST FRIEND'
'Right?'
'I'm your best friend right?'
'TOKEN ANSWER ME'

Token
'See you guys in a few!'

Clyde
'TOKEN WTF'

Token smirked, flipping his phone to silent and slipping it into his jeans pocket, letting it have a mini seizure full of Clyde's brutal offense. He let out a tiny, inconvenienced groan as he sat himself up, eyeing the suitcases and dented cardboard boxes by his closet waiting for him to dump their contents around his floor. He grumbled, knowing his father would be giving him a half-awake stern lecture by tomorrow morning that he had left such a "mess" in his house that he paid for on top of Token's college tuition. It was nothing new, but it was nothing Token enjoyed revisiting at the end of every year either.

With a long sigh, he slipped the distance down to let his shoes touch the floor, rubber soles squeaking against polished oak. He could feel the stretching and popping of his joints as he stood upright, wincing and wondering how the damn hell a twenty-two-year-old could sound like they're a minute away from osteoporosis medication. He attributed it to far too many hours spent in the campus library pouring over scholarly articles about the damn Glorious Revolution.

Nothin' glorious about back pains and eye strain.

He made way out of his room, patting his pockets for his wallet and feeling a brief moment of instinctive panic not feeling his dorm key. He rolled his eyes at himself, wondering if he'd ever shed the habit before venturing down the hall and towards the long staircase awaiting him.

The distinctive clatter of Teflon pots caught his ear and he grimaced as he meandered his way down, knowing his mother was worming her way through their kitchen searching for yet another vat to go to the stove for one of her damn new recipes. Every year like clockwork, a mom who had previously made a production out of weekly meals of plain, baked chicken and organic salad would be overjoyed that her baby was home, and would go way out of her way to make him lavish meals.

If she was a better damn cook, he might have enjoyed the spoiling.

He poked his head into the kitchen, nearly wincing at the setting sun through the bay windows blasting against the glass-door cabinets and reflecting straight against his corneas. "Whatcha doing, Mom?" he asked, watching her poke her head from her scavenging and shooting him a smile.

"Looking for the stockpot," she proclaimed, beaming with premature pride at the endeavor she was building towards.

He snorted, pointing towards the door against the right wall. "That's in the pantry."

"…Who moved it?"

"I did. When we bought it. Six years ago," he said flatly, shaking his head as she stood and toed the cabinet shut, bustling her way towards the dictated pantry. He'd had to teach himself to cook, his parents spending many a late night at their respective companies and needing more than goddamn Kraft Mac n Cheese to sate his pallet. He was still a novice at best, but he knew how to sauté and how to not undercook his meats, so he figured he was already well-educated enough in the culinary arts.

He watched her pull out the tall, stainless steel pot, wrapping her arms around it like a toddler. "I'm goin' out with the guys," he informed her.

She looked at him again, face falling into a pout. "But you just got home!"

"It's only for a few drinks," he promised, taking a single step into the kitchen and leaning over, snagging his car keys off the hook hanging around the corner. "I'll be back home for dinner."

"You better," she warned, setting the pot atop the stove and shifting to face him, arms crossed in a sign of betrayal.

Token gulped, faltering a bit at the tired lines around her eyes that hadn't been so present in his youth. Coming home after such long getaways really put it in perspective, that he now towered over her height and she had sparse gray strands racking through pulled-back dark hair. A mandatory Intro to Psychology class had forced him to confront the elements of grief he would more-than-likely have to face down the road. He'd hated it, having to spare the rare call to his parents just to hear them and be able to work through his damn paper on the Kübler-Ross model without a mucked clot of anxiety trying to clutter his chest.

"I will," he assured her.

"You have to be home next Friday night though," she said, pivoting on her heel to tend to a colander of half-diced, half-cubed zucchini.

He raised his brow, "Uh… why?"

"Your father is having another of his parties," she scoffed, fiddling with a scrap of pristine cheesecloth.

Token groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Partners?"

"And their families. And too many clients to keep track of. I have to hire a caterer."

He winced, knowing her utter disdain for having strangers in her home playing the homemaker role. "Great," he sighed.

"But…" she paused, perking up a bit and looking at him with a smile. "A few young men your age will be here. Or close enough," she shrugged. "Could mingle… maybe get to know them…" she raised her brows.

He frowned. Every time. Why did she do this every time?

"Mom. Not interested," he said sharply.

A "cowardly", as Craig had put it, coming out to his parents a mere hour before they had to leave him alone at his dorm for his first semester had gone better than expected, and yet somehow worse. His mom meant well, he knew she did. But trying to join him in finding himself potential partners had been a trial he was not and was never going to be prepared for. She didn't seem to understand how the chances of finding someone out and open were low enough, narrowing it down to people willing to date him put an even smaller vignette around his potentials.

It was easy enough to find boyfriends and flings at his ridiculously open college, but finding one that stuck seemed an all-but-impossible task.

His mother's face fell in yet another pout and Token cringed. If there was one thing Linda Black was great at, it was playing the overworked mother who just wanted what was best for her only child. "But, Token," she stressed. "You said you were lonely at school!"

"Because all my friends are scattered around the west?" he waved his arms a bit in emphasis, his keys jangling from his fingers. "Mom, it happens. That doesn't mean I need someone-"

"It would make you feel better," she interrupted. "Having someone-"

"That's living here would be annoying," he finished. "Then I go to school and don't get to see them."

She wagged her finger to halt his thought, "But, you can always come home for a visit. That would make it easier for you. Plus, I don't want you getting involved with one of those… California children," she said, the word leaving her tongue like a punctured canister of turpentine. He rolled his eyes. He didn't get his parent's disparity for his peers. After all, he hadn't exactly come from humble routes and found himself in the middle of rich culture. He missed the simplicity of home, sure, but he wasn't exactly changing himself to fit in with Pomona society. Growing up in the town's only damn mansion and being called the Rich Kid for the majority of his life didn't exactly make him an underdog in a wealthy man's world.

But his dad's friend's kids… They were the other side of the coin. Very aware of their trust funds and very boastful about it. He could recall sitting with a group of them on the patio when he was fifteen at a New Year's celebration, texting Craig, Jimmy, Tweek, and Clyde the entire time, only participating when addressed. He'd listened to them prattle on and on about their lackluster Christmas gifts; the $1200 shopping spree and the ugly luxury car before even having a license and the pitiful excuse for a new bedroom set of pure bocote. He'd thought about the Xbox he'd received that December, the one that was already out for two years before he'd asked to receive it and how thrilled he'd been at just finding that under the tree with the three games he'd requested.

Token grimaced. The lesson from childhood still rang clear: He really didn't fit in with either level of social class.

"Token," Linda's voice got him back to attention. "You can at least try. You have all summer and some of them have very nice lake houses you could spend time at with them."

"We have a very nice lake house," he reminded her with an eye roll. "Don't need someone else's. Mom, I really don't think-"

"I won't hear another word," she cut him off. "We'll go shopping next week and get you something nice to wear. They'll be all over you. Now, go on and meet your friends. Be home by eight." She turned back to her veggies, putting an end to Token's impending rebuttals.

He stared at her before letting out a loud groan and turning on his heel, practically stomping his way on the long rug towards the front door. He ripped it open and nearly shivered at a gust of cool air on his bared arms from his tee shirt, but paid it no mind as he stepped out and slammed the door behind him, hearing the brass of the knocker rattling with the force. Great.

Just. Fucking. Great.