(Kyle)

(I'm feeling strange in the night

I'm in myself, I feel I'm thrown into a fight

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide nothin's right)

Oh shit.

Something was wrong. I was still standing in the kitchen—I think. There was tile beneath my feet, an intricate diamond and square pattern, and I was leaning against something flat and hard that was swirled with gray and black coloring. A marble countertop? It was cold, very cold against my back. I'd take my jacket off a long time ago, casting it to the tile floor near the refrigerator, so the counter was pressed up against the thin, long sleeved shirt I was wearing. I shivered slightly, feeling goosebumps flare across my back, but at the same time my face felt like it was on fire. I reached up with my free hand, placing my fingers against my cheek. The skin on my fingertips felt eerily cold, and I couldn't help but feel a rush of fear as I felt the burning on my face. I was so cold and so hot at the same time; it was like being torn in two. My whole body felt strange, actually. Like my eyes could see the room around me, the oven, the stovetop, the lights that were hanging from the ceiling; but my arms and legs didn't feel like they were there. They felt heavy, uselessly hanging off my body, awkward and clumsy.

"G-guys…" I leaned back against the counter, so far that my back was arching, hips pushed forward, "I d-don't feel so good…"

Kenny was sitting on the floor, his back leaned against the dark wooden cabinets. He was shirtless, skinny chest open for everyone to see, but he'd managed to keep his ratty jeans on. Kenny's eyes were glassed over, the normally sky blue color looking almost a dull gray. He was wrapping his arms around his torso, squeezing himself, maybe trying to stay warm? I couldn't tell…his eyes looked so far away I didn't know if he even realized I was in the same room as him.

"Kenny? Are you…are you ok?" I tried to focus my eyes on him, but it was difficult. His yellow hair was blurring into the colors of the cabinets, making it hard to tell where the boy ended and the wood began.

"He's fine." Cartman scoffed, "He just needs to stand up and walk off the alcohol some."

I looked up at my sometimes-friend, and it was like my eyes weren't communicating with my brain correctly. Cartman looked huge—not fat, just big, like a giant. He was standing with his back against the marble counter, thick arms folded across his wide chest. The fabric of his red shirt was stretched tightly against his body, and I couldn't help but wonder if he was going to rip himself out of it, flexing his arms and chest so much that he'd turn into a Hulk-like monster. His face was blurry to me—I could make out his chocolate colored eyes. Dog eyes, I once called them. It was fitting; they were a rich brown, and filled with the sort of attention and cunning that a lupine creature would possess. Cartman had, at the time, taken it as an insult…though, I hadn't meant it that way. Actually, half the time Cartman thought I was speaking cruelly of him, I was actually just making an observation, speaking my mind about something I'd seen.

"Come on Kenny." Cartman stepped forward, offering a hand to our friend, "You need to get up. The longer you sit down the worse you'll feel."

"I'm fine." Kenny murmured, but his words were so slurred he might as well have hissed like a cat.

"N-no…" I shook my head, "You should get up, you l-look like shit."

My voice was unsteady, like my tongue had been cut down the middle.

Kenny looked up at me, a mischievous gleam sharpening his cloudy eyes.

"You don't look like shit." The blonde flicked out his tongue in an obscene gesture, "You look good Kyle…"

Was Kenny hitting on me? I wasn't really surprised…he pretty much slept with anything that had a pulse. Normally I'd blush and tell him to stop kidding around, but this time I couldn't help but feel…flattered. And the way Kenny was smiling up at me, his light eyes scanning me up and down… He looked cute sitting on the floor, his eyes full of tricks… The ground was swaying, waving like the ocean, and I had to lean back, placing an arm on the counter to steady myself. Even Kenny himself seemed to be vibrating, like nothing in the damn kitchen could stay still…

I wanted to sit down next to him. I wanted to grab myself by the hair and shake my head until everything stopped moving.

"Ok, you guys have had way too much." Cartman grabbed Kenny by the arm, hauling the blonde to his feet.

"Nah…we're just getting started…" Kenny protested, lips breaking into a smile as he stumbled, barely catching himself in time to stop from falling.

"No…C-Cartman's right." My lips were moving slower than my brain, making my words swim, "I don't f-feel good…"

My body felt so heavy, like someone had tied weights to my hands and feet.

"You guys are fuckin' lame." Kenny snorted, "I'm going to go find someone drunk enough to actually sleep with me."

My head felt slow, and by the time I processed what he had said, Kenny was already walking towards the hallway.

"Don't wait up for me in the morning," Kenny laughed as he glanced over his shoulder, "I'll be in someone's bed."

I reached up with my hand, rubbing my forehead, trying to clear my mind. It didn't work. As Kenny disappeared, the entire room seemed to sway in time with the music that was still making the walls shake. I stuck out my arms, trying to find some balance, but after a moment I found myself leaning to far to the left, and then my head spun in confusion as I felt gravity wrap itself around me. I would've tumbled to the tile, but I felt a firm arm reach out, a hand wrapping around my bicep. I did fall, but it wasn't against the tile, no. I felt my back hit something softer, but incredibly solid, and then I was leaning against a warm body. My entire back was placed against a wide chest, my head resting against someone's collarbone, and then I looked up with drunk, confused green eyes.

"You've drank too much stupid." Cartman led me over to the other side of the kitchen's bar, where there were a few bar stools placed. He helped me onto a stool with more tenderness then I would've ever thought the Nazi was capable of.

"I d-didn't…I didn't…" My mind was both racing and sluggish at the same time. I wanted to tell him that I hadn't drank that much, that'd I'd done shots like this before, that'd I'd never felt so fucked up in my entire life…

What was wrong with me?

"You should go lie down Kahl." Cartman's voice was smooth in my ear.

"I need…I should g-go home…" I said, biting my bottom lip.

I was starting to feel scared. Never before had I felt so messed up from alcohol before… I'd been drunk, been to the point where all my body could do was vomit up the alcohol I had consumed, and this wasn't like that. Now I felt like my eyes weren't seeing correctly, like I couldn't trust them at all. Everything was moving in my vision, and the colors were so bright that it hurt to look at some things. But the worst part was my hands. It was like they had become super sensitive: the counter had felt like a block of ice under my fingers, and Cartman's body had felt so strong when I leaned against him… When I had placed my hand against his chest, helping myself into the bar stool, the fabric of his shirt alone had been enticing, like the smoothest, softest thing I had ever touched.

My eyes and hands were betraying me, tricking my mind. What could I do if I couldn't even trust my own body?

"Token said we could take rooms upstairs." Cartman was using that voice. He didn't know it, but I had come to recognize that voice a long, long time ago.

He was trying to persuade me towards…something. Maybe if I was sober I could've figure out what he wanted.

"N-no…" I shook my head vigorously, making everything spin even more, "I should go h-home."

"You can't drive. And it's too far to walk." Cartman's voice was both logical and patient.

I hated it when he used that voice on me.

"Let me take you upstairs. I'll help you get a room to sleep in." Cartman's face was blurry to me. I could barely make out the brown spots that were his eyes, and the curved line of his mouth was hard to follow. Was he smiling at me?

Cartman placed his hand on my bicep again as he spoke, leaning in close to me, "You're really drunk Kahl. I'll just help you upstairs so you can get to sleep."

He was standing so close to me now. I don't think I've ever found myself this close to Cartman before… I was sitting on the bar stool, leaning forward. He was standing between my open legs, his chest only a few inches away from my head. Even when I was sitting down on the high stool he was so much taller than me. And then there was his hand on my arm, fingers placed against the thin fabric of my striped shirt…were they moving? Were his fingers tracing the length of my bicep? That seemed important somehow, but my muddled brain couldn't really figure out why.

"Y-you're being really nice to me." The words came out of my mouth like an accusation.

"Is there something wrong with that?" Cartman was looking down at me with an amused smile, as if I'd said something very silly.

"No. It's just…I d-don't know." I gulped thickly, realizing how foolish my words were, "You're just never nice to me. You hate me."

"Oh, I assure you Kahl, I don't hate you at all." Cartman actually chuckled at that, "We have our disagreements, yes, but I don't hate you."

"Oh…ok." My voice was still full of suspicion.

"Maybe I want to be nice to you, Kahl." Cartman's response was fluid, very smooth…and for some reason that bothered me. There was some small detail that was making me feel very cautious, something that just didn't make sense, didn't fit in…

"I…w-where's Stan?" I asked, looking away from Cartman.

His grip on my bicep tightened.

"Now…why does that matter, Kahl?" Cartman's voice had an edge to it, like it was taking considerable effort for him to control himself.

"I…I want to find S-Stan." I stuttered, still avoiding his glare.

"He ditched you to hang out with his jock friends, remember?" Cartman snapped. He was staring at me real hard now, almost like he was angry with me.

"N-no, it wasn't like that." I was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable. Cartman was still standing so close to me I could smell the scent of Axe body wash radiating off his body, and his glare was growing more and more heated with every passing second.

"He's not your fucking mommy Kahl." Cartman spat, his words full of venom, "You can live without him for one god damn night."

"W-why are you getting mad at me?" I asked, unable to hide my confusion.

I didn't know why he was getting angry, but it was obvious he was. His grip on my arm was so tight now it was actually beginning to hurt, and I shifted uncomfortably under his touch. I had known this boy since childhood, and I knew the signs of danger…

"Look, I gotta…I gotta go…" I placed my arms on Cartman's chest, weakly pushing him away as I slid off the stool, standing up on shaky feet.

"How very typical, Kahl." Cartman's voice took on a nasty, mocking tone as he stepped away from me, "Going to go running to your owner like the little Jew dog you are…I should've expected this."

All kindness had disappeared, and Cartman was glaring down at me with the contempt I was used to. He was red in the face, and his fists had clenched into white-knuckled fists. I could barely coordinate my legs well enough to put one in front of the other, but I knew I needed to get out of there. If Cartman was gearing up for a fight, then I'd be in some real trouble. I could barely function enough to walk; if Cartman decided to start smacking me around I doubt I'd be able to do anything but shield my face.

"I…I'm sorry." I didn't know why I was apologizing to him, maybe because hidden in his eyes was a small amount of hurt.

I didn't know what to think about that.

I didn't want to think about that at all.

I pushed past Cartman, heading towards the hallway. I didn't even turn to look at him as I left, not wanting to see how lonely he looked, standing all by himself in the middle of the kitchen, staring me down with fuming eyes.

As I disappeared, I thought I heard the sound of something shattering, but I did my best to ignore that.

(Stan)

(Hard to say what got my attention

Fixed and crazy, aphid attraction)

"Can we get the cups re-racked?" I called down to the other end of the table. There triangle we had started with had disintegrated into a spotting of island cups—not a good formation for beer pong.

"Yeah, yeah." My team's safety, a blonde senior called Allen was on the opposite side of the beer pong table, calling back at me.

"What shape do you want?" Allen continued, yelling loudly over all the noise from the party.

I shrugged, turning to my left to look at my BP partner: Thomas, our team's wide receiver. He was a tall black junior with skin that was richly dark. What with me being the quarterback and him being the team's starting wide receiver, he and I were pretty close. We had to be, our team wouldn't be so damn good if we weren't.

"Give us a parallelogram." Thomas nodded toward Allen and his partner (a big linebacker who'd just started this season).

"A what?" Allen cocked an eyebrow in confusion.

"I said a parallelogram." Thomas yelled back, placing his hands on his hips, "Ain't you ever heard of a god damn parallelogram? You know, with two pairs of sides that are parallel to each other and equal in length to each other—"

"I know what a parallelogram is!" Allen rolled his eyes, reaching forward and grabbing the red solo cups with his hands, "I just don't know why the hell you want us to rack the cups like a parallelogram…"

"Hey!" Thomas shook his fist in the air as Allen shaped the cups, "That's a fucking rhombus! I said I wanted a parallelogram and—"

"A rhombus is a parallelogram, dumbass!" Allen laughed at him, standing back and crossing his arms after he finished arranging the cups, "You didn't specify what kind of parallelogram you wanted, so you're getting a rhombus."

"He's right you know." I chuckled, holding up my beer and taking a sip just as Thomas was about to open his mouth and fire back, "Who the hell cares anyway? We're kicking ass."

It was true, Thomas and I hadn't lost a game since we started over two hours ago. We'd faced pretty much the entire football team, and everyone had fallen to us. Allen and the linebacker—Stephen—were the last two to go. For months Thomas had been raving about how he wanted the two of us to beat out the entire team at BP, and it looked like that was finally going to happen. Allen and Stephen hadn't sunk a single cup yet, and it'd be damn perfect to finish our winning streak by having them do a naked mile.

The beer pong table was set up in the neatly trimmed grass of Token's back yard—a smart idea since, as the night went on, more and more beer was being spilled. At first it had started out with just the starting team surrounding the single table, but as time passed we were gradually joined by everyone else. By this time a lot of guys were clutching girls at their sides—or at least, the ones that were still standing had girls. A lot of the football players had disappeared to the side of the house, puking into the manicured bushes. A couple others had gone back inside to pass out for the night, and the remaining were either dancing or watching Thomas and I dominate. It'd been a real good night; we had done so well at BP that I was barely drunk, but definitely a ways past tipsy. The music coming from the house was still bumping, and the strobe lights could still be seen flashing through the window, so it was my guess that the party was still raging in there too. The best part was that Token had provided us with Corona, which was considerably better tasting then the beer most of these high school parties had—Natty Ice.

I gripped an orange ping pong ball between my thumb and forefinger, holding it up expertly. Narrowing my eyes, I tried to focus as hard as I could on the parallelogram of plastic cups in front of me. Popping my arm out, I tossed the ping pong ball like a basketball player shooting a free throw, arching it into the air.

It sunk into a cup perfectly, splashing out a small drop of water onto the black table.

"Oh hell yeah!" Thomas pumped a fist into the air, his dark eyes gleaming, "That's my boy! Take a drink bitches!"

Allen and Stephen both grudgingly held up their bottles of Corona, tossing back the beer easily.

There were jeers and cheers coming from the other players watching us, some of them laughing at how badly Allen and Stephen were doing. The others were shouting out encouragement to them, a few disgruntled losers eager to see Thomas and I finally lose a game—not that that was going to happen.

"Hey Stan, isn't that your friend Kyle?" Thomas nudged my arm with his elbow, using his beer bottle to point towards the house.

I turned where he was indicating, my eyes scanning the area for my super best friend.

Thanks to his vibrant hair, he was always pretty easy to pick out.

Kyle was walking towards the beer pong table, his eyes nervously shifting from right to left. He looked severely shaken, his face flushed and lips set into a distinct from. He'd lost his jacket at some point I guess, because he was walking wards me in nothing but his dark jeans and gray striped shirt—a very thin shirt that couldn't possibly be keeping him warm in this weather. It was cold out, and a harsh wind had picked up, causing even me—in my thick, green jacket—to shiver a little. How the hell could Kyle even bear to walk outside with nothing but a shirt and pants on?

"Hey…he doesn't look so good…" Thomas's eyes glanced at me warily.

"No…no he doesn't." I set my beer on the pong table before hurriedly turning back to Kyle.

My sneaker stomped into the grass as I jogged towards him, a feeling of surprise and fear settling in my gut. The closer I got to Kyle the worse he appeared to look. His cheeks were red but the areas around his eyes and neck appeared pale. His normally emerald eyes were a stormy, sickly green that I swore I'd never seen in my best friend before. On top of all that, he was stumbling so awkwardly it was amazing he even made it this far. There was a faraway look in his eyes too, like he wasn't really aware that he was walking—or at least, trying to walk—through Token's back yard.

"Kyle?" I stopped in front of him, placing both of my hands on his shoulders and forcing him to come to a halt.

"Stan?" The redhead looked at me with surprise, like he hadn't noticed me coming.

"Dude…are you ok?" Worry had weaved itself into my voice as I stared down at Kyle, forcing his eyes to meet my own.

"No…Stan, I don't feel too g-good…" Kyle shook his head slowly, biting down on his bottom lip.

"Did you drink too much?" I asked the next logical question.

"I…don't know." Kyle shrugged, his shoulders lifting and dropping, "My head's fucked up…"

"Do you feel sick to your stomach? Do you feel like you're going to pass out?" I could already feel the panic setting in. I didn't handle it very well when Kyle got sick.

"No…no, I d-don't think so…" Kyle shook his head again, closing his eyes like it was difficult to even do that simple task.

"Ok…ok." I wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him against my chest, "Come on, we're going inside."

"Hey!" Allen was shouting from over at the beer pong table, "Aren't you going to finish this game?"

"No, sorry." I yelled curtly back, even though I wasn't sorry at all, "Find someone to fill in for me."

"Why don't you just bring your friend over?" Allen responded, his voice sly.

I turned and look at my football teammates, still holding onto Kyle. Allen and a few others were staring at us…staring at Kyle in a way that was…surprising. Allen had this smirk on his face like he'd caught me doing something I shouldn't be, but he also had this shine to his eyes…like he wanted in on it. A few of the others, the ones standing close to Allen I noticed, were also looking at Kyle in a way that made me bristle. Looking down at my friend, I suddenly understood why. The jeans he was wearing were clinging to his hips in a way that showed off the shape of his lower body quite well, and the striped shirt was tight enough to reveal a thin, alluring waist. My eyes shot back up to Allen, and I sent him a glare that was extremely threatening.

"Fuck off Allen." I growled, my hold on Kyle tightening as I pulled him closer to me.

The safety said something back in response, something that was scathingly insulting, but Thomas snarled something back at him to shut him up.

Whatever. I didn't give a shit about Allen or his damn friends, but the way they had looked at Kyle…

I wouldn't let them anywhere near him.

Tugging my friend along, we marched back towards the house. Kyle was tripping over his own feet every few moments, but he was light enough that I could hold him by his arms and pull him along pretty easily. As soon as we reached the house I yanked open one of the glass French doors, stepping inside and taking Kyle along with me. As soon as we stepped in the music practically burst my ear drums, making my ears throb against my head. We passed a few drunk girls that were puking into some potted plants, but they paid us no attention as I determinedly dragged Kyle towards the stairs. The strobe lights were making my drunk mind even slower, and I had to stare at the floor as we walked to keep my head from hurting as we passed through the pulsing lights. The dance floor was still packed with drunken bodies sliding against each other, but they too paid no mind to me and Kyle as we passed by. I had been looking around for Kenny or Butters or Wendy or…hell, even Cartman. I had hoped to find someone to help me with Kyle, but no such luck. Everyone I passed was either already way too drunk to help or completely unfamiliar to me. Either way, by the time we made it to Token's staircase Kyle had gotten worse. He was barely able to walk now, his legs stumbling like he had no control over them. The flushing in his cheeks had gone away, and now his face was completely, ghostly pale. I only hoped that he didn't get sick to his stomach. I hated puke, but I knew for Kyle that—no matter what happened—I'd help him through it.

When we got to the stairs, Kyle seemed to shake off some of whatever it was that was plaguing him. He was able to focus enough to put one foot above the other, and quickly we found ourselves slowly making our way towards the second floor of the house. Token's parents' mansion had over twelve extra bedrooms, and he always offered them to his closer friends whenever he had a party. He'd told me a long time ago that Kyle and I could crash here, and that was exactly why I decided to lead Kyle upstairs. He needed to lay down badly. As we reached the apex of the stairs, I turned Kyle towards the nearest door. I reached for the doorknob and pushed it open quickly, breathing a sigh of relief as we stepped in and I saw a modest full-sized bed in the center of the room. Quickly slamming the door behind us, I led my friend to the bed. As soon as we approached the mattress I gently lowered him down on the pale beige comforter.

"Kyle?" My voice was soft as I looked down at him, "How are you feeling?"

He was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs dangling over the side.

"I'm ok…I'm ok Stan." Kyle winced as he leaned back, his back hitting the mattress, "I just…my head's spinning…"

"Ok." I leaned forward so that I was hovering above him, "Do you think you're going to be ok? Do you want me to stay with you?"

The music from downstairs was muffled but still pretty loud, still thumping through the walls. I hadn't turned on a light when we walked in, and I could barely make out Kyle's small frame on the bed.

"Y-yes." My friend answered, "Just stay with me."

Something in the back of my mind told me it was a bad idea, but I soon found myself pulling off my jacket, crawling onto the bed.

Please review! Unfortunately I have a trip this weekend, so no update until at least Monday or Tuesday.