This is the last chapter for sure, guys. Kind of an aftermath, and in third person (aka NOT A BLOG, oh dear) just to throw you off.
"You and Butters, eh? Never would've expected you to be a fag, McCormick." Craig commented, his tenor characteristically monotone. His remark wasn't one of malice as much as it was observation, because really, he had no room to talk.
The addressed party made it a point to tighten his hold on the smaller blonde, who was deeply engrossed in an issue of Sanrio Weekly. "I could say the same about you, dude."
"Yeah," Craig sighed, sitting across from Kenny and resting his head in his hand. "It's like, everyone is gay now. I don't feel special anymore."
"I thought you didn't like feeling special," Kyle deducted.
"Well, I don't like excitement," Craig clarified, "but I want people to know who I am."
"No sense in being invisible," Stan added.
"Think about it. Out of all of us, the only totally straight one left… is Cartman."Kyle realized, a horrific air to his tone. "The kid who used to dress up like Britney Spears. The kid who sent me a picture of his balls in fourth grade!"
"Dude!" Stan gasped. "You saw Cartman's balls?"
"Sick," Kenny commented, and then paused. "…What do they look like?"
Kyle grimaced. "I don't want to try and remember that, dude."
Kenny shrugged before turning to Craig. "When does Tweek get off work?"
"Five-thirty," Craig answered. "Why, are you trying to get rid of me?"
"I just need to get out of this coffee shop; the jazz music is getting on my nerves." Kenny said.
"And you've got the car." Stan reminded. "We can't get to Bebe's party without you. And you're obviously not leaving until Tweek does, so…"
"Bebe's parties are really lame," Craig warned. "Everyone gets wasted and people make out and puke everywhere. Kind of gross."
"Then why go?" Kyle wondered aloud.
"My dad got his license back," Stan explained. "I didn't want to ride with Cartman and Wendy. Awkward."
Tweek eventually approached the group, trembling anxiously. The six of them piled into Craig's car and headed to Bebe's house, which was already surrounded by cars and drinking teenagers. Bebe herself dawned in a pair of tight jeans and a low-cut sweater, and Kenny couldn't help but stare as she ushered them inside.
"What? Queer or not, I'm still a dude."
The others rolled their eyes (save for Butters, who held a bewildered expression) and Craig dragged Tweek to the basement. Butters followed Kenny to a table with refreshments (mostly beer), and watched as his boyfriend hoarded the snacks and soda cans in his pockets.
By ten at night, the atmosphere had developed into one of tangible disaster. About ninety-five percent of Bebe's guests were incomprehensibly intoxicated, including the host herself. She managed to pull her mouth from Clyde's and tipsily sway toward Kyle, who was waiting outside the bathroom while Stan threw up (likely a result of the abundance of cheap beer he swallowed – Kyle figured Stan would have known better than to drink so much, considering his weak stomach).
"Are you really gay?" Bebe slurred, her voice rising in pitch at the end of her sentence.
"I'm not interested in you, Bebe." Kyle elucidated. "Just like you weren't interested in actually learning Math, remember?"
"Mmh," She purred. "I bet I could turn you…" Bebe's frizzy mass of flaxen curls curtained her face as she rocked forward.
"Bebe," Kyle spoke, grabbing Bebe's shoulders and steadying her, "stop." He heard Stan retch violently from the other side of the bathroom door and frowned. "When Stan's done, I'm taking him home. I've dealt with enough from you lately."
"I'm sorry!" The inebriated girl blurted. "I shouldn't have… Kyle, don't go—! You're all I ha-aaave…"
Kyle's brows furrowed, and he felt irritated that Bebe didn't respect him enough to confront him sober – however, he doubted she would have done so if that were the case, anyway.
"Please, Bebe. Go back to your party." The redhead ordered in an immensely exasperated tone. Stan then emerged from the lavatory, and Kyle pulled him past Bebe and through her throng of wasted guests.
"You alright?" He asked, and Stan hummed briefly in confirmation. "Okay. Go wait in the car; I'll get Craig and Kenny."
I don't want to be here anymore.
ANGST? No, I'm shit at writing angst. Really. Lol.
I'm also shit at endings, actually. I'm looking to improve.
Considering some sort of sequel – though it won't be nearly as long as this one was.
What do you think I should work on next? Should I alternate the ending…?
TELL ME. PLEASE.