He realized the clichéd nature of his situation immediately. How many crappy pornos had he seen where the guy wakes up hungover next to another dude? Actually, only one. But that's not the point.
Kyle groaned as pain flooded into his head, nausea bubbled in his stomach, his eyeballs burned with each tiny fraction of light that crept in through his eyelids. His backside ached, which only stood to remind him of his poor judgement even more. To speak nothing of the long, muscular arm that was draped over his torso and the head of black hair nestled against his chest and neck.
What had happened? Of course he remembered the celebratory drink the four friends (plus Ike, unfortunately) had all shared last night (what had we been celebrating again?), but most of the night seemed like a blur. A muddled, sexy blur. He managed to remember snippets of the night's events – Cartman puking after doing a straight shot of tequila at nine, Kenny playing karaoke at ten, Ike making everyone milkshakes before we went to sleep at eleven, Stan screwing his brains out for god knows how long.
Stan cuddled closer to him and snaked their legs together. Kyle didn't want to move, but he felt his stomach turn and he had to bolt out of the room to the bathroom. He purged his stomach of the too-many-to-count shots of whiskey he'd done the previous night. After cleaning himself up, he returned to Stan's bedroom and put his glasses on.
"Stan," he whispered to the sleeping man on the bed. "Got any aspirin?"
His friend shifted on the mattress and pointed to his desk across the room. "Second drawer." He stirred slowly, watching hazily as his best friend found the pills.
Kyle retrieved the Advil and took one, begging the second heartbeat in his head to relent. Realizing he was buck naked, he retrieved his clothes and put them on. He tied his long curls of red hair back and put his hands to his eyes. He sat back down next to Stan, who ran a calloused hand up Kyle's arm. They kissed for a few moments, if only to delay getting up.
After, Kyle, despite his body ordering him back to sleep, went out to the living room to inspect the damage and possibly locate his brother, Kenny and Cartman.
The fat man had previously been located on Stan's parents' couch, which Kyle could infer from the huge ass groove in the sofa. A few glass bottles littered the room, which Kyle gathered up, knowing he was the likely the least hungover and the only one that would voluntarily clean up.
Stan finally emerged from his room, hair a mess, half naked and his eyes telling Kyle that he was surely the victim of a terrible headache. "Thanks," he muttered in response to his friend cleaning up his living room.
"Sit down," Kyle advised him, leaning into him for another, brief, kiss. He did so and put a hand to his forehead in exhaustion.
"Where's Cartman?" Stan asked quietly. "And Kenny. And Ike."
Kyle shook his head. "Dunno. Oh, I'm pretty sure Ike's in Shelly's room." Stan nodded, closing his eyes and laying back on the couch. "I can't remember much after nine or ten o'clock, you?"
"I remember going to work in the morning. Then going to the liquor store after. Then nothing. Oh – I remember picking up my coke from Clyde..."
Kyle gave his friend an angry look. "You knew Kenny was coming, why would you keep drugs in the same house as him?"
Stan sighed. "Sorry, I know. I keep forgetting."
"Well we'd better find him, make sure he didn't snort himself to death," the redhead grumbled pointedly. The other man agreed and they looked around the house for their friend.
Kyle was surprised to find Cartman in the kitchen, pouring spoonful after spoonful of sugar into a cup of coffee. "Morning," he said.
"Morning."
Kyle raised his eyebrows as the fat man continued to heave piles of sugar into the cup. "Would you like some coffee with your sugar, sir?" Kyle mocked him. Cartman stuck his tongue out at him and took a sip. He shook his head and went back for more sugar. The Jew just laughed to himself.
"Where's your fuck-buddy?" Eric grumbled.
The other rolled his eyes. "Looking for Kenny. Have you seen him?"
"Nope. Check the strip club down the street, though."
"Ha-ha," Kyle deadpanned. "Stan was stupid enough to bring home a bunch of coke last night, and Kenny just got his 'six month sober' chip."
Cartman scoffed and Kyle went to check the downstairs bathroom and the garage, but to no avail. He headed upstairs to see if Stan had located the blonde.
"Not up here," Stan informed him when they met. "Want to call his phone, maybe?"
Kyle nodded. "Good idea." He retrieved his phone from Stan's room (locating it under a sock, next to a bottle of lube) and punched Kenny's number into the device. They listened intently for the ring, hoping Kenny's phone wouldn't be on silent or lost.
They heard the chirp of their friend's phone coming from down the hall. "Didn't you check Shelly's room?" Kyle asked, sure that said room was the origin of the noise.
Stan shook his head. "Ike's in there."
Kyle opened the door before yelping in shock at the sight of his sixteen-year-old brother entwined with his twenty-one-year-old friend on the bed.
"KENNY?!"
The blonde snapped awake and nearly fell off the bed. Ike, too, stirred suddenly and jerked his head in the direction of the door. Kyle lunged across the room and grabbed Kenny by the throat, pulling him away from his brother. He gave him one swift, well-deserved punch in the face.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Kyle yelled afterward, eyes glaring daggers at the blonde, who, despite Kyle's raised voice and fist in his face, was still scarcely awake. At the same time, he looked terrified of the Jew's angry expression. "He's sixteen, you pervert!"
The still-naked man grabbed Kyle's hand and separated it from his neck while pleading his case: "Holy shit, Kyle, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to, I swear, I was just really drunk, so was he! It's all a misunderstanding! Please don't rip my throat out!"
When Kyle had managed to calm down slightly, he turned to Ike. "What were you thinking?" he scolded.
Ike looked positively mortified. "Kyle, I'm sorry, it's my fault, I started it, okay? Honestly, it was me."
Kyle looked between the two offenders with a glare, but didn't scream at either one any further. He sighed, left them to get dressed, and headed back downstairs with Stan.
"Well that's pretty fucked up," Stan said simply.
"That's for sure."
Stan frowned. "Hey, if Kenny's upstairs, then where's my stash?"
The ginger scoffed. "Hopefully in the garbage."
Cartman was on the couch again, eyes closed, coffee drunk. Kyle stepped out back to smoke and think of a hundred and one ways to kill Kenny. He'd come back to life anyway, so why not?
Stan joined him on the deck a few moments later, holding his hand casually. The bitter cold ate at their bare arms and feet, but they'd gotten used to it. If you're gonna be a smoker in South Park, you'd better be ready to stand in the cold for most of your free time. "Want the rest?" Kyle asked, referring to the one-third of a cigarette he had left. Stan nodded, smoking it right down to the filter.
"So I think I know where it went," he said, referring to his drugs.
"Where?" Kyle asked, only half-caring.
The black-haired man smirked and directed them back inside. He pointed to Cartman, who was sitting straight up, grinding his teeth furiously and staring at an imaginary spot on his arm. He suddenly jerked his head up and started laughing.
Kyle shot Stan a confused look.
"Thought it was sugar, loaded it in his coffee. Fucking idiot."
Kyle face-palmed. Kenny and Ike came downstairs, only intensifying Kyle's feelings of wondering why he was friends with these insane people. Stan got Kenny to help drag Cartman out of the crater he'd made in the sofa.
"C'mon," the blonde said patronizingly to Cartman, coaxing him off the couch and into the bathroom. "You're gonna have to throw up, okay?"
The fat man protested, but the other three heard Kenny kick him in the stomach a few seconds later. A groan, a wretch, then running water.
"It's all good!" they heard him call out.
With a monstrous sigh, Kyle went to get more aspirin and collapsed on Stan's bed with the intent to sleep for the rest of his life.
