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hunnysnoops · 3 days

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White Teeth Teens

Chapter Three: Contagious

Kyle Broflovski x fem reader

I picture you in a bad dream, coughing up your guts. It’s funnier in theory but I’ve pictured it too much. You’re saying what you had to say and staring at my mouth.

Premise: What could make an unbearable field trip with an unbearable man any worse? Don’t worry, you’ll find out.

Warnings: crude language+humour / vomit / unconsciousness

You found it increasingly difficult to fight the urge to smash the bus window and drag yourself through broken glass just to hit the pavement with a sickening crack of bones. Easy to say you weren't thrilled about the field trip waiting for you.

The fish filet sandwich you had choked back at the rest stop was already disagreeing with you and you were sure it wouldn't be the only thing troubling you on this day. The driver hits a speed bump, hitting you extra hard in your seat at the back, you feel bile rising up your throat and slap a hand over your mouth. "You okay?" Wendy asks, her voice soft.

You nod, giving a thumbs up with your free hand. When the feeling dissipates, you dig into your backpack for your water and start to chug it until the lingering taste of bile alleviates entirely. "Next time please tell me not to eat gas station fish."

"I told you not to this time," Wendy tells you. The forty-minute bus ride was just about over, you would've been savouring the one-on-one time you got sitting next to Wendy if food poisoning wasn't setting in and sending ripples through your stomach.

"I can't be the only one who ate the fish filet," Arms crossed over your stomach to try and smother out the growing pain you swivel your head to look around the bus where everyone else seemed to be chatting happily or ignoring the world with their headphones in. The walls of the bus are panelled with aged, weathered metal, showcasing patches of chipped paint and faded colours that hint at its former glory. Scuffs and scratches tell stories of bustling school days and the trips long passed upon within these walls, an occasional doodle of graffiti where the faculty had turned a blind eye.

Wendy takes a glance around well, "No, I'm pretty sure you were," The back of the teal seat in front of you was littered with smiley burns from cigarette lighters that degenerate kids had soiled the leather with. "I think it's like the number one rule of gas stations not to eat fish there."

You groan and tilt your head up to look at the rusted ceiling, with each passing second regrets gather in your mind like a high school reunion. This biology trip had slipped from your head completely, it was meant for the class to gather independent research on the local ecosystem by sending teenagers into the woods and expecting them all to turn up at the time they were supposed to when they were done. You were anticipating a few pairs of kids to roll back up to the meeting point at least half an hour past the allotted time.

In your mind, there wasn't anything good about this trip. The information sheets Mr. Waterman had given you explained that you were meant to be using the buddy system with your lab partner, who happened to be Kyle, someone you were definitely not buddies with. You didn't even get to leave any other classes early, you left ten minutes after your last class began which was biology and you were going to be gone for two hours plus the ride there and back. All you needed to gather information on the local ecosystem was ten minutes and a cell phone instead you were missing soccer practice to poke around in the woods.

Kyle wasn't thrilled about this either. He was one of the handful of students who shoved his headphones in and turned the volume up so loud that he couldn't hear anything or anyone besides The Cure. He had unfortunately been stuck next to Cartman who was currently spouting slightly prejudiced remarks towards David that went unheard by Mr. Waterman at the front of the bus.

The bus came to an abrupt stop in a parking lot surrounded by forest. Before the doors even opened you had grabbed your backpack and run to the front, banging on the door to be let out. When you finally set foot into fresh air you were almost brought to your knees almost choking on the clean air. That was what was nice about South Park, the air wasn't dirty and stagnant like the city, it was ever-moving and ever-changing.

One more minute in that bus and you would've thrown up, the combination of, axe spray, perfume, body odour, and teenage angst almost fogged up the windows. The class piled out of the bus, adjusting their eyes to the bright sun that would fade in a few hours. You made note of the outhouse tucked into the corner of the lot, being sure that you would need it later to spill your guts before you get back on the bus.

Mr Waterman wastes no time in hopping off the bus and prepping himself to preach the criteria once again. With the signature clap of his hands, he begins "Okay, I know it's a very exciting day but let's try to hold it in for a moment," There was not one person in that crowd who was excited "I expect you to stay in your assigned groups and to return by four, that is in," He looks down at his watch "An hour and a half, so gather as much information as possible, make sure that you record it, I want to see field observations, species identification, sampling, each group gets one quadrat to use so be careful with it."

Your assigned group begins to awkwardly flock together, no one looks particularly happy. The group was made up of you, Kyle, Cartman, David, Cylde, and Tweek, any bright side may have been overshadowed by the fact that you could tolerate one and a half people in this group. David was usually chill while Clyde was 50/50, depending on the day he might make you want to charge for his throat with unbridled rage and open palms to wrap your fingers around his neck until his eyes roll back in his head.

"Okay, looks like everyone's getting their things in order," Mr Waterman said "Now, please don't stray too far off the trails, it should always be in sight. Remember, you will be back to working one-on-one with your lab partner tomorrow." He looks around for a signifier that his class is listening, the majority seemed spaced out or were divulged entirely in conversation. "Any questions?" Nobody said a word. "If any group cares to join me, I will be walking to the river!"

"So-uh, should we go to the river?" Cylde broke the sickening silence between the six of you.

"No," You snatched the quadrat out of his hands and began heading for one of the trails. The group trailed behind you, Cartman uttering complaints as expected.

"Junkie's leading us to her heroin den." He says, obnoxiously loud to Cylde. You almost wanted to swing around and hit him over the head with the grid in your hand.

"Do you even know what we're supposed to be doing?" It was like David read your mind and asked Cartman for you.

"Look at animals and shit, I'm not stupid."

"Had me fooled," You mutter under your breath and delve even further into the thicket. The ancient trunks were adorned with a tapestry of mosses, lichens, and ferns. Shafts of sunlight pierce through the canopy of leaves above your head, illuminating patches of moss and casting dappled shadows to dance across the muddy forest floor.

"Where are we going?" Tweek speaks up, his right eye twitches and his fingers tap against one another. He's shaking as he walks. You wondered how he was able to function day to day with nothing more than caffeine in his veins.

"Into the woods, bro," Cylde walks up next to him, shoving his hands into his pockets. You had been praying that Cylde wouldn't be in your group but whatever gods rest above seem to hate you. He and Bebe had made it official which you had to hear through Nichole since you and Bebe still weren't on speaking terms after the night of the clamp.

This was the point where you tuned yourself out of the conversation to actually get some work done, it seemed like Kyle had been doing the same. With keen eyes and attentive ears, you observed the bustling activity of birds flitting among the branches, the scurrying of small mammals in the underbrush, and the rhythmic chirping of crickets in the distance.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket, ignoring the low battery warning that seemed all too common in recent days and began to flood your camera roll with pictures of birds and little bugs you would find underneath rocks.

Only part of the group was doing something, that part being you, Kyle, Tweek, and David, while the other two buffered around you. Cartman wanted no part in any of the work while Cylde just seemed unsure of what to do so he would just touch things and make a vague comment about it. He crouched down, running his hand over a rock and then looking at his palm "Yeah, that-uh, seems pretty old, maybe like twelve years old."

"We aren't carbon dating rocks," David said as he added to the list of litter in his notebook to mark human impact in the forest.

"Oh, cool," Cylde nodded.

From what you could see, you had the only group on your current trail and the deeper into the forest you moved, the darker it got, trees growing denser and thicker overhead to block out sunlight. The shade was a nice relief, it made you feel a little less nauseous though sickness was still tearing at your insides. You were doing everything in your power to stay on track, figuring it better to focus heavily on the work aspect as opposed to paying attention to your gnarly stomach.

By the time you were out there for an hour, it felt like a decade in your mind, you couldn't stay trained on the research, instead, you passed the metal quadrant off to David and drank the rest of your water while clutching your stomach.

"So how does the square work?" Cylde peered thoughtfully over where David and Tweek were kneeling on the ground. The boys looked back up at him, David had tossed the gridded frame over a random patch of grass to take a survey of the plants.

"We learned about this last class," David answered, unamused.

"Interesting," Cylde rubs his jaw with his hand, furrowing his eyebrows like he's deep in thought.

"I feel like we should all pitch in equally if we're going to be working off the same data," Kyle glares at Cartman who leaned against a tree, playing Subway Surfers on his phone.

"I agree, diabetes boy, so get to work," He answers pausing his game for a moment to look up.

"You're one junior bacon cheeseburger away from diabetes yourself and all you've been doing is scrolling on your phone while everyone else does the work fatass," Kyle retorts, you had suspected he would come to a breaking point at some time today with Cartman.

"Uh, what about Junkie?" He draws the attention to you where you stand, taking slow and laboured breaths in and out, in an attempt to keep the fish filet sandwich inside of you. "I'm pretty sure she's overdosing."

"Can you stop calling her that?" Kyle asks, much to your surprise though you had your priority set on other things.

"Oh?" Cartman's eyebrows raise, that's how you can tell that you piqued his interest. Cartman turns his phone off and tucks it back into his pocket, crossing his arms and staring at Kyle "You're defending her now? Are you guys going to go home together to pop opiates and drown yourselves in a bathtub?"

"No," Kyles's nose wrinkles in distaste "It's just annoying."

"Oh, Jesus man! don't fight!" Tweek looks ready to rip his hair out, and David casts him a side-eye. It was moments like this where you think it would've been more rightful if Tweek was the one who had the nicknames on Junkie and Crash which you considered a cross you had to bear.

"We need to head back soon so can we *hic* please just finish this?" You chime in, voice breaking with hiccups as you speak. The sound of their simmering argument was grating in your head like someone had stuck a fork into a blender.

"Crash, get your nose out of the snow and get back to work unless your brain is too fried from the black tar."

You had taken a complete 180 from trying to leave with as little conflict as possible to be more riled up than Kyle. "Shut the fuck up, Cartman."

His eyes carry the oh-so-familiar hint of challenge that you were so used to seeing "What are you gonna do? Have a seizure on me?"

"No, I'll kick your fucking ass." You take a step towards him pushing back your sickness the best you could. Cartman wasn't the tallest nor was he very agile, you were sure that you could take him even if it might prove to be a bit strenuous.

"Woah," He inches back as you move forward "Back up a little there," Cartman laughs nervously, landing around at someone to intervene. Had it been someone else Kyle probably wouldn't gotten between you two, but having it be you and Cartman, the other four watched with imploring eyes.

Things might have played out differently if it weren't for the growling in your stomach, the dry heat, the lack of nicotine you were fiending over, and the past four years you had silently endured Cartman making fun of you for an exaggeration of your smoking issue. "Be quiet or I'm going to knock you upside your fucking head."

You stood a foot away from him, moments passed where he played out every scenario in his head until he finally settled on a response. "Okay, man, we're cool," He raised his hands up in surrender. Just seconds after you had turned your back you heard Cartman speak up "Don't want you to hulk out on me when you're on the Roids."

Out of raw instinct, you turn on your heels and bring your right fist to connect with Cartman's cheekbone. Everyone stares at you in utter shock. Cartman himself looked as if he could never have seen this coming like it was preposterous that he had pushed you to the point where you swung at him.

Tweeks eyes grow so wide you think they might pop out of his head "Ah! I can't take this!"

"What the fuck?" Cartman reaches his hand to touch the area where your knuckles had cracked against his face. "She actually fucking hit me," He looks around at the boys with wide shocked eyes until they land on you "You fucking bitch!"

"And I'll do it again you tiny dick licker." Your gaze is unwavering on Cartman though your wild thoughts are jumping around your head like they're freshly off Adderall.

"That's assault, I can sue you for that."

"Go ahead," you point to Kyle "His dad's a lawyer."

"Shit," Cartman mutters "A Jew lawyer."

"What does my dad have to do with this?"

"Everything," he says, a thought hits him "Kyle, I would kindly like you to ask your dad to represent me."

"No."

"Kyle, be cool," Cartman says.

"Shut up porky, don't tell him to be cool, he isn't a part of this."

"Hey! You’re a crackhead bitch with a drug addiction!" He speaks with so much haste that spit comes flying from his mouth like an alpaca.

"You're yelling? I can yell too!" The pair of you are being so loud that a handful of birds fly away from a tree overhead "You look like you snuck onto earth!" You weren't being attentive to the boy's reactions around you, your mind was stuck between bashing Cartman's teeth into a tree or running back to the parking lot and getting some Zyn off Marshall.

"Okay, that's it," Cartman says, he raises his fists and narrows his eyes "We're having it out right now."

"You just had it out," David is packing everything up, he looks beyond done with this as much as he liked watching Cartman get decked.

"Nuh-uh, she caught me off guard," Cartman shakes his head "Junkie is gonna rue this day, her white blood cells are gonna have to put in more work than on shoot-up Saturdays!"

"You're a lard ass piece of shit and that's why your dad died!"

Cylde sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and the group fell completely silent. The only sound was animals rustling around and the slight breeze cutting its way through the trees to shake their leaves. Even Kyle looked shocked, his eyebrows raised and green eyes wide.

"Okay, too far." Cartman drops his hands to his side.

"Yeah, man, you can't say that," Cylde says from behind Kyle.

You toss your hands up in exasperation, nothing left to say after you had bitched Cartman out and in doing so made it look like you're drifting off the rails. Sticking your middle finger out at Cartman, you turned around and began walking back down the trail, ignoring the flush of embarrassment rising to your cheeks.

You wanted desperately to act like that little spat hadn't made you feel like a spectacle that would catch through students' breaths the next day like folklore. Surely the event would be spun, twisted, and contorted into an exaggeration of the single punch that was thrown.

The boys walked behind you, keeping their distance. Though none of them were directly speaking to you, you were able to make a comment here and there. They weren't speaking about you but you could feel eyes digging down into you like they were prying your flesh open and examining your carcass for any more anomalies that they could tell their friends about later that night.

Over and over again, you looked down at your phone, staring at the time like doing so would make it move faster until your phone froze and died completely. Even when the screen was stuck pitch black, you pretended to scroll on it like you were busy.

Back in middle school, there were those kids whose faces would turn red with anger. They'd flip over desks and scream at the underpaid teachers until their throats itched like sandpaper rubbing on concrete; you remembered how everyone else regarded them after this. They kept their distance and didn't dare utter a word for fear they would be snapped like the teacher's red correction pen. You thought maybe this is how they felt, ashamed of their actions and holding back tears while they bite a quivering lip, facing the tears of humiliation from their brief moments of violence.

It didn't feel too bad but it didn't feel too good either.

Sure you tended to be more on the hot-heated side of things but you couldn't remember the last time you actually hit someone. It didn't matter that it was Cartman, it still made you want to jump into the shower and scrub your skin until it became irritated.

A growl rips through your stomach, loud enough for you to hear but not so much that the boys notice. It felt like your body was breaking up with you. Ripples of pain slice through your stomach and nausea crawls its way up to your throat.

You glance back to the boys behind you who chat amongst themselves, seemingly they've lost interest in you. You had no desire to heave your entire body weight out in front of them so you take a B-line and slip off the trail.

"Hey," Cylde calls after you, watching as you venture into the woods. "Guys she's leaving." He tells the others. You wanted to run back and punch him in the gut before jetting off to empty your guts onto the forest floor.

After the attention is drawn back to you, you pick up your pace "Fuck off, I'm sick," you call back to the group, now jogging to avoid what you had imagined to be more embarrassment than what you had already set for yourself. Surely you would never mentally recover after punching Cartman and then throwing up in front of five guys on a biology field trip. If you were going to spew, it would not be in front of him.

"Where are you going?" Kyle turns his body to watch you as you slink off deep into the forest, one hand covering your mouth while another clutches the fabric over your stomach. "Someone should go with her," he glances around the group for a voludnteer though everyone just looks at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

You don't respond, you just race further in the thicket until you're out of sight entirely but your feet don't stop, they keep carrying you.

He looks back to the trail and then to where you were before your figure disappeared behind trees, his mind races with thoughts of Mr. Waterman talking about the buddy system. "Fuck," He mutters to himself before abandoning the well-worn trail and chasing after you.

"Jew, why are you going after her? she's probably going to her meth stash!" Cartman called after Kyle to no response. "Oh my god, she's going to kill him for drug money."

"Go *hic* away!" You yell between gags. Out of anyone in that group, you weren't sure if Kyle was the best or worst to see you like this. As he gains on you, you speed up, trying to get him off your trail.

"Can you stop?" He calls after you as you maneuver your way between thick tree stumps, gliding smoothly over the imperfection embedded in the dirt. Kyle didn't want to fathom what would happen if something happened to you in the forest and his mother found out he was supposed to stick to your side. "C'mon, don't be stupid."

Kyle seemed relentless in catching up to you. Everywhere he turned his head, it looked the exact same like someone had copied and pasted an abundance of trees all around him. He wasn't the biggest wilderness guy, he had been in scouts as a boy but the most he usually delved into nature was the occasional weekend camping trip with his family which was a novelty itself.

The queasiness continued to chew at your insides, growing more intense by the minute. Unable to hold back any longer, you doubled over, you fell to your knees, one hand supporting you on a tree so you don't fall over, retching violently as your body expelled its contents. "Uh, do you want me to hold your hair?

"Ew, fuck off!" Kyle watched helplessly, fighting the urge to vomit himself as his face contorted. You notice his presence behind you, glancing back to be sure, you yell out between gags "Turn around!" Before more warm and chunky spittle spills out of your mouth.

"Okay," He raises his hands in defence before swiftly turning around, internally cringing at the sound of your heaving. Just when he thinks it's over you start back up again. He hadn't entirely believed you when you said you were sick, he rationalized that you just wanted to get away from the group.

He did his best to ignore the sound, instead, he focused on the moss clinging onto bark or the tweet of birds hanging onto branches and singing songs to one another. The way you could hardly see the sky with how dense the trees were, just beams of sunlight slipping through. Kyle swivelled his head and that was the moment he had no idea where you were, surely not too far from the trail.

"I'm done," You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Kyle turns around and sees you on your knees, eyes drowsy and face devoid of its usual colour. You swish saliva around in your mouth before spitting on the ground and wobbling up to your feet like a colt. Digging around in your bag you pull out a warm half-drunk Powerade, you were out of the water and would rather throw up again than ask Kyle for some of his. Now your mouth tasted like acid reflux and green apple electrolytes.

"You're going the wrong way," He says bluntly.

"Uh, no," You point past him "We ran from there to here so we just go back, dumbass." Figuring Kyle had followed you for some chivalrous reason that his mother instilled in his brain, you didn't feel like pressing it. Still, you tried to keep communication with him to a minimum.

"You threw up on the far side of the tree, we need to go that way," He points behind you.

You had figured he was right, you were too busy trying to get away from him that you weren't being too attentive to where your tired feet were rushing you too "Sure."

"Sure?" He furrows his eyebrows "What do you mean sure?"

"I mean sure."

"Yeah, but you said it like you were doubting me."

"I'm not," You shrug, beginning to walk in the direction he gestured towards.

"You just did it again," He says "I'm right," Kyle insinuates "I know where we're supposed to be going."

"Okay, cool, fine, sure, yeah, you're right," You turn around and toss your hands up "Were you also rendered paralyzed or can you walk instead of staring at me like you're brain dead?"

He sticks up his bony middle finger but follows you nonetheless. The two of you keep your distance, being sure to stay a metre apart minimum while you hunt for a way out of the thicket. Your eyes drift to Kyle who is trying to get service on his phone, he intended to text Cylde that you two might take a while though he was met with four flat bars and a red 'not delivered' beneath each message he sent.

You didn't bother, your phone was long dead and cold in your backpack, what you were more worried about was finding something to keep you calm before this inevitably escalated. After your gym teacher caught a glimpse of your Marbolos and gotten you an in school suspension, you decided it was best to leave cigarettes in your car and the bottom of your closet. With each passing second. you were wishing that you kept an emergency cigarette or two tucked safely into a ziplock baggie at the bottom of your backpack.

Gnarled branches reached skyward in a tangled embrace, blocking out the fading light of day as the sunlight was being swallowed up by grey clouds leaving everything to look dull. The undergrowth grew denser, forming a tangled maze of ferns, brambles, and fallen branches that blocked your path at every turn.

It had taken you seven minutes to come up with a consensus "We're lost,"

"No, we're not." He says, trudging forward "If we keep walking we'll find a trail or something, they're everywhere."

"It took two minutes till I got to the tree and I puked, we've been walking for ages."

"It hasn't even been ten minutes."

"Okay? You smell like pistachios and we're going the wrong way," You tell him, stopping abruptly under the shade of a tree. You say, taking another dreadful sip of the Powerade, trying not to wince at the penicillin taste that the stagnant drink left in your mouth.

"I don't smell like pistachios," He says blankly.

"How would you know?" You rest one hand on your hip, the other hanging at your side and clutching what was almost an empty bottle of electrolytes.

Kyle's expression morphs into a portrait of confusion, etched with furrowed brows and a perplexed frown, lips slightly ajar. His green eyes, usually clear and focused, now stared at you in disbelief, searching for some type of reasoning behind your question. "What do you mean 'How would I know'?" He asks "You think I've never eaten a fucking pistachio?"

You answer him with a shrug, face unreadable "I always thought they were too exotic for you."

"They're nuts." Kyle says "They don't have a smell."

"You know this because you've eaten nuts?"

"Yes." His voice is tinged with confusion.

"Then why would they make pistachio notes to put in perfume?"

"Because people are fucking idiots who just want to sell stuff."

"Do you eat a lot of nuts?"

"I guess?"

"I bet you do," you snigger.

Realization strikes Kyle and he runs a hand through his curly red locs to soothe his fast-growing frustration, "Wow, super mature joking about nuts."

"Don't talk about being mature when you just spent a minute of your life arguing with me about nuts." You point out "Do you maybe want to be mature and admit that we're lost?"

"We're not, we just need to go this way," Kyle turns and begins in a new direction completely. You glance around at the the long trunks, each looking the same as the next before you follow Kyle in tow.

The further you walked the heavier the sense of uncertainty began to hang over you. Your irrational thoughts began to creep up, maybe there was a knife-wielding maniac who would kill the pair of you for intruding in his forest.

You forge ahead, footsteps echoing softly against the forest floor as you navigate the labyrinth of twisting trails and hidden clearings. Kyle's eyes were narrowed, you could almost see the the gears turning in his head as he tried to retrace your steps or at least find a clearing out of the forest.

While he was hyper-focused on the task at hand, your mind was making up the worst possible scenarios, it forced you to bring a hand to your mouth and chew at your nails. When Kyle caught wind of this, he did a double-take, wrinkling his nose in distaste "When did you start biting your nails?"

"I'm not biting my nails, I'm sucking nicotine traces out of my fingertips," you answer before going back in, tenfold, almost mauling your hands, seeking the sweet release of dopamine that you had grown accustomed to.

"That's disgusting," Kyle turns his attention back ahead of him like he needs to stay alert "You do have an addiction, that's why Cartman gives you shit."

"You call it an addiction, I call it tradition, I rather smoke a cig than puff on a fucking light sabre handle," You thought of Marshall the night of the junior bonfire, how he had but three vapes in his mouth at one. Everyone was hyping him up but you couldn't shake the idea that he looked like he was blowing the sonic screwdriver.

"Still an addiction," He answers. The two of you fall silent until you go back to gnawing at your nails, "Okay, stop."

"Sorry, I'm fucking nervous that we're stranded out in the woods horror movie style and there's probably perverts roaming in here and waiting for me," You say, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

"We're not Hanzel and Gretel, pretty sure we don't have to worry about getting kidnapped on a biology trip."

"Yeah well, you wouldn't have to worry about getting kidnapped, look at the state of you." Your eyes rake up and down his body, a slight scowl on your face as you do so, feigning disgust at his appearance.

A flush creeps its way up Kyle's face he quickly averts his gaze so you can't see the red of his cheeks "Not sure if you realize but you're not hot shit yourself."

"Yeah, okay," You mutter, dodging the fact that every talking stage you've had for the past year has failed immensely. To your credit it wasn't because you were a repulsive person, it was because nothing felt right with any of them and you knew it was best to quit while you were ahead. It was like eating something sweet when you've been craving something spicy.

The forest seemed to conspire against you, its dense foliage and winding paths leading you deeper into the heart of the forest or just chasing you unknowingly in circles.

In the eery stillness of the woods, you suddenly became hyper-aware of all of Kyle's actions, his breathing, footsteps, and sighs, like you could sense the frustration growing in him the further you walked and got nowhere.

"Okay, we're lost." He finally admits, his voice exasperated.

You disregard what he said "Why did you run after me?" You look at him, asking the question that had been nagging at you like a child prodding for candy "Like, that's super weird."

"Not really, it's the buddy system." He shrugs you off, going back to the initial topic "We need to focus on getting out of here."

"Buddy system?" You raise an eyebrow "That's the gayest shit I've ever witnessed."

"You were at the women's national rugby championship."

Knowing that he had got you in a corner you opt to change the topic once again "How are we supposed to focus on getting out of here?" You ask "It's not like a high-security vault, it's a forest, all we can do is walk unless you can call for the cavalry."

"I don't have service," He answers.

"Don't you have an SOS network for emergencies?"

"This is not an emergency," He tucks his phone back into his pocket, it was running low on battery as Kenny had borrowed his portable charger and never returned it "I'm not calling 911 unless one of us is dying or we're still out here by night."

"Then I guess we're walking or alternatively we can scream until someone finds us."

"Don't do that-

"Help!" You cup your hands around your mouth, shouting to no one in particular "Kyle's going insane, he's trying to kill me!"

"Oh my god," He pinches his nose bridge "Shut the hell up."

"If you have such an issue with me why don't you flap your big ass dumbo ears and fly away?"

"Fuck you," He retorts. There was the signature bite of his cheek, the telltale sign that you were beginning to creep under his skin.

"Fuck you," You counter, mimicking him before trudging ahead.

"You have some goddamn issues," He mutters under his breath, not caring whether you could hear him or not.

"Yeah, I do have a lot of issues like why are there always crumbs in my bed when I never eat in it?" Absentmindedly, you had raised your voice without even realizing you were doing so. It was a natural progression between you and Kyle, it was the next piece of the formula that always ended in a massive shit show.

Kyle tries to ignore this completely, shutting his mouth and clenching his fist so tightly that he is near breaking the soft skin of his palm. "Why does every conversation end with you screaming?"

"Because you're a fucking asshole." You shoot back, taking hasty steps to side away from him to further yourself even more. As childish as it was, you couldn't be mature around Kyle or in general. You surely annoyed yourself as much as you annoyed others.

"No, not just me, you scream at everyone," He says "Why did you have to lose it at Cartman?"

"No shot you're defending Cartman, did hear the shit he was saying?"

"Yeah, he's a dick but did you need to hit him?"

"He needs to learn somehow," You shrug. "I don't know why you're acting so high and mighty, you hit him."

"Yeah, in ninth grade."

"You're a dick."

"And you're an idiot who ate fish from a gas station and gave herself food poisoning, I heard you bitching to Wendy about it the entire bus ride," Kyle's brow furrowing deeply as a simmering frustration bubbled to the surface. His normally composed demeanour cracked, revealing the raw edges of his discontent that pulsed beneath the surface like molten lava.

"Okay well it looked good and I was hungry don't act like you didn't eat the stray burrito from 7/11 on that road trip in ninth grade, you threw up out the window of my dad's car and it was all down the side and really fucking gross and we had to pull over and clean the car with wet wipes and your clothes were in you parents car with our brothers so you had to wear my Greta Thunberg tee shirt until we got to Montana."

"That wasn't from the burrito, it was because we ran out of Gravol and you know I get car sick."

"Yeah and you know that I get hungry, who cares?" Your voice goes up an octave "Why are you acting like you had a gun to your head and you were forced to track me down?"

His jaw clenched tightly, the muscles working overtime to suppress the torrent of words poised on the tip of his tongue. Everything he wanted to say he swallowed back, never to leave his mouth. Kyle gritted his teeth in a silent display of defiance, you took this as a sign that the argument was coming to a close. "You're so annoying and you wonder why you're lonely."

"I'm not lonely," Your posture was rigid and tense, your voice lingering with desperation. You rather just tie the noose for yourself than admit that you care what he thinks about you.

"Okay." He says, short.

"I'm not," You insinuate trying to plead your hopeless case "There's a difference between being alone and being lonely, I'm happy being alone."

"You're definitely not happy."

"How?" You ask "How would you know that? We talk once a blue moon."

"You never go out, you smoke all the time, you ignore your friends, you hardly talk to your family, you hate every show you watch, you don't even like eating anymore because smoking is ruining your tastebuds-

"At least I have more friends than fingers on one fucking hand."

"At least my friends like me." His lips twitched with agitation.

"My friends like me," You counter his statement. Maybe you should have moved to Los Angeles, the city of liars and frauds, surely you would get along great with coked-up directors who thrive in delusion and believe everything they say is more profound than anything Socrates has ever written.

"From what Bebe was saying, it doesn't sound like it."

"Yeah? Well, Bebe's a fucking cunt," You missed her more than anything but she seemed absolutely fine without you. You kept coming across videos that you wanted to send her or funny things you wanted to tell her until reality popped back up and reminded you that she didn't like you anymore.

"You can't just call people who don't like you cunts,"

"Just did, cunt." You snark "Why do you have a fucking file on me?"

"Weston tells me, I guess you're the family bummer now," He shrugs.

"How?" You have an ajar smile on your face, and wide eyes, trying not to show that something inside of you had, bent, cracked, and then broken entirely "I'm only seventeen." You found it hard to believe that you were the blue in your family tree while you had at least three alcoholic uncles, one of them living off welfare.

"When's the last time you've sat down to eat dinner with the family?"

"What?"

"Your brother told me you always skip dinner with them to eat by yourself," Kyle says. You weren't aware that Weston had been reporting your shortcomings to the ginger

"That's not really your business."

"Kinda is." He moves a tree branch out of the way of his lanky frame "Your parents are worried, they think you're on drugs."

Apparently, he knew more about your family than you did, not that this had particularly surprised you, it just made you feel guilty like an outsider looking in. Though guilt was no purifier, it didn't make your lack of self any less unsettling.

"Okay, I get it, I know I'm shitty but you're no prize either," You say, abruptly. "Let's discuss the global political and economic situation." You mock him, speaking in a deeper voice to mimic the ginger "And the fucking cyber security issues, you're a buzzkill man, no matter where you are or who you're with."

"Those are actually important things," The vein in his forehead was prominent, almost cartoonishly protruding "You have eighty viruses on your laptop from pirating Sims 4 mods. Data brokers are stealing your information, you know that, right?"

"I don't give a shit if they steal my data, there's nothing worthwhile there, it's just pictures of pigeons," You cross your arms as you walk "See, just now, how you shat on me for playing the Sims?"

A deep sigh escaped his lips, a sigh tinged with exasperation as he struggled to compose himself in the face of mounting aggravation. "I'm not shitting on you for playing the Sims, I'm pointing out how you're committing a crime, downloading something without paying for it is a crime, you're a criminal."

"Boo, you're a buzzkill."

"Better than being in denial," He answers. "There's no way that you're a seventeen-year-old chain smoker and you're genuinely happy," Kyle had brought the conversation full circle, pulling back to you.

"Have you walked around this fucking town? There's no one here who's happy either." Whatever you were feeling, it felt shitty like every inch of your bones were covered with dirt and mildew that could never be cleaned.

Your statement had truth beneath it, everyone in South Park carried themselves with a bit of sadness as if they had grown past the stages of ignorance. Though you were unhappy, you were far from the only one and nothing if not desolate.

"Thanks for being a douche, this has been a lot of fun but could you kindly get off my dick now?" You say, jaw tensing as you ignore the aching behind your eyelids.

"I'm not on your-" Kyle's speaking abruptly ceased, his face contorting in discomfort as he clutched his stomach and stopped in his tracks. You stopped as well, watching his face that moments ago was full of irritation morphing into something like fear.

"Uh, you okay?" Your voice was dripping with concern, observing him as he took laboured breaths, a sense of unease washed over you. Your heart raced with alarm as you recognized the telltale signs of a hypoglycemic episode, mind racing through the steps you had been taught to help Kyle in situations like these.

Kyle's response was barely a whisper, his words slurred and disjointed as he struggled to articulate his thoughts. His complexion was pale, a stark contrast to the tan he had been developing with summer oncoming, as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He leaned against a tree trying to secure his footing before he dazily dropped to the ground, his back depending on the tree to keep him sitting up.

Instinctively, you looked around for someone to help, of course, you were left in an unnerving silence. "It's okay, we're cool, you're fine," You mutter, more comfort to yourself as you shed your backpack and move to kneel next to Kyle.

Moving with haste you yank his bag off, harsher than preferred. "Don't die, asshole," You urged softly, your voice shaking in the slightest. You reached into his bag, retrieved a small pouch containing glucose tablets, and quickly administered them to Kyle, urging him to chew slowly and swallow.

As the glucose tablets took effect, you could've sworn Kyle's colour began to return, the pallor fading from his cheeks as his blood sugar levels stabilized. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm as the immediate threat passed.

Just as you began to breathe a sigh of relief, Kyle's eyes fluttered closed, his body going limp in your arms as he slumped against you. Panic surged through your veins like a tidal wave as you realized that he had lost consciousness. The brief moment of ease was axed in the head and replaced with an even more dire situation.

You snatch his canvas backpack once again, rummaging around for it, after four seconds of not finding what you need you dump the contents onto the ground. Your fingers fumbled with nervous energy as you retrieved an emergency glucagon injection, praying that it would be enough to bring Kyle back from the brink.

In your seventeen years of enmity, you had seen Kyle go through a good bit of complications due to his diabetes though there had always been one of your parents around to help and on a once-off occasion during a middle school assembly, Stan was on the case. You had never had his life in your hands, you made the decision between his life and comatose.

Your mom and dad had sat you down on several occasions to teach you explicitly what to do, you hadn't quite realized the significance until his unconscious body was flaccid over your lap. The hatred you had for him was momentarily pushed aside until he was okay enough to yell at you again.

With trembling hands, you lifted his shirt to expose the raw flesh of his abs. Taking a steadying breath you administered the injection, plunging the needle into Kyle's stomach. You watched with bated breath as the medication took effect, you knew it wouldn't be instant though part of you expected him to shoot back up the second the needle stuck into his skin.

No idea what you are supposed to do next you reach deep into the pocket of his jeans and pull out his phone. The screen was black and unmoving, just as yours was. You toss the phone to your side, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes to press back the overwhelming feeling that fought to spill.

Taking a deep breath and wiping away any remnants of stress that were thrashing to consume you entirely, you move two fingers beneath his jawline to check for a pulse. You had been thinking back to your first aid class from tenth grade PE, what your grouchy teacher had tried to ingrain in your head.

His chest held an unsteady rise and fall and for split seconds between rational thoughts snuck in the idea that this might be it for him. Gingerly, you turn him onto his side, propping his right knee forward so he won't roll onto his stomach.

With care, you had resituated him into the recovery position that Mrs. Jackson had drilled into memory the year prior. You pushed yourself off the ground, pacing back and forth, hands tucked into your armpits, hugging yourself.

You flinched at the slightest sound, eyes quickly shifting to the source just for it to be a bird or the rustle of branches. "Kyle, if you die, that's going to fuck up both of our families for a really long time and I'll probably have to go to therapy which is so boring," You speak to his unconscious body like he's going to respond.

"You're seriously such a fucking loser if you die right now, so not cool," Part of you wanted to sprint away for help but you knew you likely wouldn't find a way out before Kyle regained consciousness and you didn't want to risk losing him entirely.

Your voice was shaking, your lip trembling and each breath coming out wobbly like you were about to faint yourself. That uneasy feeling had settled in your stomach for the second time that day "Dude, you might be ruining my life right now."

Of course, he was unresponsive and the only thing offering you any form of solace was the sound of his breathing, ever so faintly heard through the whispering between trees. With each passing second that he didn't wake up you grew more nervous, leaning on a tree, eyes narrowing in on his limp body for any movement.

If he did survive, he desperately needed to update his glucose monitor. You didn't like him, but that didn't mean you wanted him to die, you just never wanted to hear from him again. You bit your lip until you tasted blood, a desperate attempt to stifle the scream building in your throat, trapped behind a dam of unspoken words and unshed tears. You refused to cry over Kyle, especially when he was alive and breathing. "I think I hate you," You mutter so quietly that it almost gets blown away by the wind.

Kyle stirred, gagging with his mouth closed, eyelids still heavy. "Oh my fucking god," You drop your hands to your side in relief and bound towards him, crouching down to his level. His eyelids fluttered open, still, Kyle's body convulsed with gags as his hands clamoured for the trunk of the tree and your bicep harshly to pull him back up.

Eventually, with choked and shallow breath Kyle lurched forward and wretched, partially onto the ground, partially onto you. Bits of the greenish bile splash onto your clothing. Quickly you scrambled away, fighting the urge to upheave again as you look at the contents spilled onto your clothes.

Instead of coughing up your guts, you scrunch up your nose and hand him the black water bottle that had been dumped onto the ground with the rest of his belongings. At least the two of you were even now.

Repose washed over you when his sharp shallow breaths turned deep and steady. He rinsed his mouth out with water, eyes studying you where you were backing to sifting through his pile of belongings, while his chest rose and fell with every breath of air. His hands were trembling to the point that water almost splashed from the mouth of his bottle with how much he was rocking it.

There hadn't been much vomit on you though you still avoided breathing in through your nose to avoid the putrid smell. Wordlessly you move to grab his hand which he quickly retracts "What are you doing?"

"What do you think? You fucking idiot," You say, lancet pen in hand with a fresh needle inserted to prick his finger "You just threw up on me so don't be a bitch and give me your hand."

With a slight flush to his face, he held his hand out which you took. His fingers were cold to the touch, you took his ring finger and rubbed it between your thumb and index to warm it up and get some blood flow going. The both of you didn't look at one another, just where the skin of your hands connected as you massaged his finger with a hyper-focus.

When the skin of his ring finger was no longer cold against yours you quickly swabbed it down with a rubbing alcohol towelette that had been tucked into the emergency kit Sheila had sewn for Kyle, the fabric had strawberries with smiley faces on it.

Your eyes shifted for a brief moment to the silver medical emergency bracelet on his wrist that you gripped to steady his hand before you stuck the needle of the lancet into his finger. He flinched just the slightest. Kyle was used to using the glucometer on himself, he stopped having his mother do it completely when he reached sixth grade, there were a few times when Kenny and Stan did it out of pure curiosity but at this moment he had been shaking too much and didn't have much to stable himself on aside from trees and the grubby forest floor.

After applying gentle pressure you removed the lancer, inserted a new test strip into the glucometer and held it to the dribble of blood pooled on the pad of his finger like cherry juice. Watching the crimson soak into the test strip, you place it in his hand and rise to your feet.

Instead of watching his blood sugar level on the glucometer, Kyle was watching you riffle through your backpack and pull out what looked to be a change of clothes. He couldn't think of a time where you had ever been that gentle with him, even if you called him a bitch.

You glance back at him, gaze hardening when you see him staring directly at you. "Turn around, gay-ass, I need to change into my gym strip."

Without saying anything, Kyle awkwardly shifts the body to face the other direction. He keeps his gaze focused downwards on the glucometer watching it settle at the number 81. He was in the clear for now.

"Hey, so-uh, are you okay enough to earth it?" You ask as you peel your layers of clothing off, compulsively gagging at the sour smell, you can't help it.

"Earth it?" He furrows his eyebrows, still staring at his blood sugar level like he is analyzing it "What the hell does that mean?"

"I dunno," you say, continuing to strip down until you're left in nothing but undergarments, trying not to shudder with each gust of wind. "Just earth it, like Coyote Peterson, y'know? Be a man and rub some dirt in it."

"Are trying to ask me if I can walk?" Absent-mindedly his free hand reached for the sore spot in his abdomen where he assumed you had put the empty injection needle that now landed discarded next to its container.

"Yeah."

"Then just ask that."

"Woah what's with all this attitude after I saved your life," You shimmy into a pair of biker shorts that were intended for the soccer practice you had to miss that day.

Begrudgingly Kyle said, "Thank you." Though it was so quiet he wasn't even sure you would hear it. His head was pounding, it felt like someone was inside of his skull and beating it with a sledgehammer. “And, yeah, I can walk, just give me a minute.”

You were a little taken aback that he actually thanked you. You were just being a dick when you brought up rescuing him from comatose, in your head this was just something that the two of you would never bring up again. Without knowing what to say, you pretend that you didn't hear him and instead reach for a clean shirt.

"What are you doing?!" A voice cut through the growing silence. Immediately both you and Kyle look to see Mr. Waterman standing with Wendy. Mr. Waterman had turned around and covered his eyes the moment he saw you shirtless while Wendy's gaze shot between you and Kyle wildly. "Put some clothes on right now!"

At the very least it was nice to know someone had been looking for you.