Fucking Up What Matters - Ch01
This is more of a prologue, but all the pieces are on the board and I can't wait to see where we end up! I rewrote this so many times, I apologize if it feels a little clunky. 😭
It's Kyle's 19th Birthday and he just wants to go to Jimbo's with the guys. He gets a completely different surprise instead.
Kyle woke up to the smell of vanilla-sugar candles and fake syrup. His stomach twisted. Not in a good way.
“Rise and shine, birthday boy,” Heidi sang from somewhere off to his right, her voice already pushing the upper limit of what a human throat should be capable of. Off-key. Vibrato.
There were balloons. Translucent pink, tied in bunches to the footboard of her bed, one of them shaped like a giant number 1, the other a 9. The room smelled like perfume shop got into a turf war with a pancake house.
He blinked slowly as Heidi set a wooden tray down next to him.
“Did you...” he sat up halfway, squinting, “Did you put glitter on the fucking eggs?”
She giggled like it was a compliment.
“It’s edible shimmer dust,” She said, her long cotton sleep shirt clung to her in all the wrong ways, and it hit Kyle violently that she looked like his mom in the early mornings. Puffy-eyed, smiling too wide, trying too hard.
“I made heart-shaped pancakes,” Heidi added.
Kyle stared down at the plate she’d set beside him. The butter was pink. There was a strawberry on top of the stack.
He pressed a palm to his face, “Jesus Christ,”
Heidi hummed as she poured him juice.
“Oh my god, wait, don’t move,” she gasped, sprinting toward her speaker like her life depended on it, “I have a surprise!”
“Heidi...” Kyle muttered.
Taylor Swift started blaring from her phone, and Heidi began softly, tragically, singing along. She twirled like this was a moment in a wedding montage, not the living embodiment of a hostage video.
Kyle stared straight ahead.
“I thought we could go get brunch,” Heidi was saying, hair swishing like that could distract from the fact she was flat-out bombing, “Or we could go back to that little hot springs place we liked last semester, remember?”
She froze mid-step, her sock sliding awkwardly on the rug.
He sighed, hand dragging over his curls, “I have plans,”
Her mouth moved. Nothing came out.
“Stan and Kenny are taking me shooting,” he added, grabbing his pants off the floor and yanking them on under the covers, “Cartman’s driving,”
Her mouth stayed in a polite little pout while her eyes tracked him like a deer spotting headlights.
“I thought we could just, you know,” she swallowed, “Spend time. Just us. It’s your birthday,”
She sat on the edge of the bed, just far enough that he didn’t feel the mattress move.
“You used to love this kind of stuff,” She said quietly.
Kyle stared down at the pancakes. Glitter sparkled like a threat.
He grabbed his shirt next.
A knock pounded on the front door, sharp, obnoxious, and followed immediately by the sounds of it cracking open.
“Kahl,” Eric called, already halfway inside, “We’re burning daylight. You coming, or what?”
“Oh my god,” Heidi squeaked, yanking the sheets up over herself like she’d been naked instead of aggressively Mormon-coded.
“Hey,” Cartman stepped in the bedroom eyeing the balloons with a smirk, like he’d just walked into the aftermath of something scandalous.
“Cartman,” Kyle growled, voice already going hoarse.
“I brought a gun,” he beamed.
Stan and Kenny followed poured in behind Cartman.
Stan was quiet, dressed down, arms crossed like he regretted all his life choices, especially this one.
“Are you coming or not?” he asked Kyle.
Kyle grabbed his jacket off the dresser, “I’m coming,”
He turned, shrugging on his jacket.
She blinked at him, “Don’t you want to open your gift?”
He looked at her, really looked this time, and saw the cracks in the performance. Her hands were clenched at her sides. Her eyes were too wide. She’d probably been up since five trying to pull this off.
But all he felt was heavy.
“I’ll open it later,” He said.
Cartman grabbed a pancake with his bare hand on the way out.
“This tastes like ass,” He said with his mouth full of glitter.
Kenny let out a loud snort, nudging Kyle as they headed toward the stairs, “How many times did she sing to you?”
“Just once,” Kyle muttered, “Felt like more,”
They stepped out into the crisp morning air, cool and bright and sharp with the smell of frost and motor oil. Cartman was already unlocking the truck.
Kenny pulled up the hood to his parka, “You ready to shoot some shit or what?”
He was already thinking about the way Charli used to hum off-key when she was brushing her hair. About how she’d sneak up behind him and whisper Tichen against the back of his neck just to watch him jump.
He climbed into the back seat without a word.
“You good?” Stan asked, climbing in beside him.
Kyle shut the door harder than necessary.
Cartman grinned in the rearview mirror, “Next stop: Jimbo’s Guns,”
[Read the rest of this chapter on A03!]
