Regrettable or Repeatable, You Decide. || Clyde & Wendy || 5.31.24
Well, this was terrifying.
Clyde tried to play it cool, like it was no big deal that he was nuts deep in Wendy just a few days ago. It was a one time thing, right? It wasn't like it was ever going to happen again. And him and Wendy were getting along so well recently, to the point where they had inside jokes and texted each other quite a bit. Even after sleeping together, Wendy seemed excited to see Clyde just as she was before, which made Clyde excited and happy as well.
But this text message... what did she even want to talk about? Clyde felt the nerves build up in him from the moment he sent his last message all the way until he pulled up in front of her house.
Was she going to tell him that she didn't like what they did and break off their friendship? Clyde wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that, but he also wanted to be respectful of her boundaries. Or maybe she felt like they were getting too close? Didn't like the rumors that were spreading about them, especially now that it was publicly known that they did sleep together.
Was he bad in bed? Oh God, Clyde might cry if Wendy told him that.
His anxiety didn't release the grasp it had on his nerves even as he pulled out his phone to text her.
[iMessage to Wendy’s Nuts] herreeee
There. Friendly enough, right? Clyde got out of his car and dragged his feet to her door, shoving the phone back in his pocket and drumming his fingers on his blue jeans. He fiddled with the string of his hoodie in his other hand as he looked around, trying to find anything that might distract him from the literally ticking time bomb in his chest. Clyde blew his cheeks up, holding his breath.
He can do this. Be a man, Clyde - you're the DonoMAN! Whatever she's got to say, he'll take it without a fight. As a man, and as her friend.
@wendy-the-great
Fuck, fuck, fuck fuck fuck!
Wendy's heart was beating a mile a minute. She had told herself over and over again that this talk needed to happen with Clyde, but it had still taken days for her to build up the courage to go through with asking him over. She'd spent the days since their night together playing it over and over in her head. Laying in bed at night, remembering the feel of his lips on her neck as her hand slipped under her panties to satiate the need to be touched as she had been that night.
She flopped back onto her bed and pulled one of her pillows over her face to scream, kicking her feet. When's the last time she'd felt like this? Wendy couldn't remember. Throwing the pillow off her face, she jumped off the bed with the sudden realization that Clyde didn't live far at all from her house and it would only take him a few minutes to get her. She sprinted across her bedroom and flung open the doors to her closet, desperate to find something to change into. She wouldn't be caught dead hanging out with a boy it the ratty sweatpants and stained tank top she wore to the community park clean up. And this wasn't just any boy, this was Clyde. The guy she'd never even thought of as more than a friend until he'd railed her on his living room couch.
Classy.
Still, she couldn't stop the butterflies that fluttered in her gut every time he text her, shared in an inside joke, or sent her a meme. She'd get giddy every time his name lit up on her phone screen, texting him late into the night when she knew she should be sleeping.
Wendy settled on a pair of plain black leggings and an oversized South Park Cows shirt, with matching fuzzy socks: something that coordinated without looking too put together or too lazy. She had just finished pulling on the socks when her phone buzzed. She didn't even have to look at her lock screen to know who it was. She had set up a personalized vibration pattern for Clyde's contact so she would know it was him.
She's not crazy, just organized. All her close friends have a personalized vibration pattern. That's not crazy, right? She didn't have time to think about it. She flew down her staircase and practically crashed into her front door, taking a deep breath to seem calm and collected when she opened the door. She swung it open with a warm smile. "Hey! Come in."
She took a step back to let him in before closing the door and locking it behind him. "My room's upstairs." She gestured up the stairs sheepishly before starting up the stairs. She could hear him behind her, and she was nervous to turn back and look. She propped her bedroom door open wide and stepped in, letting him take it in as she plopped onto her bed criss crossed.
Wendy’s room was massive- certainly more space than most teenagers needed, but not big enough to be considered outrageous. The walls were an incredibly pale pink, with elaborate white crown moulding along the floor and ceiling, the flooring heated white marble tile. Her queen sized bed had four posts, all with various hats and accessories hanging on them. A large bookshelf completely stacked with books dominated the wall next to her closet, her desk on the other facing a large window with billowing pink curtains.
It was usually embarrassing having people in her room. Most just gawked and called her a rich girl, some even said she was spoiled. She just felt grateful that her parents had the means to do this for her, and put all her effort into doing the same for her town. Wendy patted the spot next to her on the bed, motioning Clyde to sit next to her. "I hope I didn't freak you out with my text." She started, awkwardly scratching the back of her head. "I know we were both pretty drunk the other night when we...you know. But yeah, I haven't done this before so please forgive me if this isn't eloquent, but um... ithinkilikeyou." She mumbled the last part quickly, embarrassed. She shoved her head in her hands to hide her blushing cheeks.
Clyde could only smile when he saw Wendy, feeling way too nervous to say anything that didn't sound like bull shit or nonsense. Lucky, she didn't seem to notice and lead him into the house without a second glance. He followed her wordlessly up the stairs and through the hall, looking around at the hanged photographs and pictures. He's never been inside of Wendy's house, he doesn't think. Clyde guesses that was a normal thing to acknowledge, considering they've been friends for a while. It felt like Wendy was always over at his house.
Like the other night. When they fucked. On his couch. And Clyde hadn't had the chance to air out the smell of sex before his dad got home. And then he had to deal with his dads proud grin and horrifying pat on the back.
Clyde felt a shiver go down his spine at the embarrassment as Wendy opened the door to her bedroom. He tried to forget about the memory as he looked around, nosy as ever. He wasn't sure what he was expecting Wendy's bedroom to look like, but everything he saw regardless didn't surprise him. The amount of books just meant she was smart, which she was (she was the smartest girl he knew), and he could imagine her sleeping like a princess in her comfortable looking bed.
He wished he had a bed this big. He only had a full sized mattress and no headboard. Maybe if he actually had dinner with his dad sometime this week Clyde could convince him to give him an upgrade.
Still remaining quiet, which honestly felt more unnatural than being in Wendy's room, Clyde sat down where she told him to on the bed. Not too close, but not too far away. A respectable distance, Clyde thought. Especially now that he was fully prepared for her to tell him that she never wanted to see him again. Tears be damned, he wasn't going to get emotional over it!
But that's not at all what happened. Clyde stared as she rambled, getting quieter and quieter with each word. He had to lean in slightly to hear her better, focusing on her lips to try and figure out what she was saying. Did... did she just say what he thinks she said?
Clyde blinked once, twice, and even a third time before he leaned back. It felt like, if Wendy looked at him, she could have seen the gears in Clyde's brain smoking from how hard they were trying to process what she was saying. He felt the back of his neck heat up, adjusting his seating position so he could look at her more directly.
"You what?" He finally spoke, voice going up an octave due to his surprise. He slapped a hand over his mouth, the burn on his neck traveling to his cheeks. That was so not cool. He removed his hand and tried again, this time his voice sounding almost normal. "Sorry, wait, I don't think I heard you right, Doc. It sounded like you just said you thought you liked me."
Even in his state of nervousness, the nickname fell out of his mouth easier than any of his other words. He wanted to copy her actions, hiding his head in his hands. But he doesn't think he'd be able to look away from her, even if he tried.
Heat crept up her neck, and Wendy swore she could feel her ears burning with blushing school-girl embarrassment. She lifted her head from her hands and looked at him nervously, biting her lip. "I uh, I did. I think I like you, Clyde. Like, like-like you. I get butterflies when we talk, and I can't stop smiling when we text. I've found myself looking for you in the halls in between classes, and I know this sounds really strange and as you can imagine I have never done this before- confess my feelings that is. At least, to someone other than Stan and even that was way back in the fourth grade so I don't really remember much of it." She rambled on, unable to stop the words that poured from her lips.
"I know we were drunk when we had sex, but what I felt was... real, I'm pretty sure. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since." She trailed off.
"Or wanting it." She murmured the last part sheepishly, shrugging her shoulders as she crossed her arms. Wendy was so far out of her comfort zone that even in her safe space - her bedroom - she felt so small. She took a heaving breath before continuing on. "And I just wanna say that if you don't like me the same way that is totally fine, I would much rather keep you as a friend than not have you in my life at all. So uh, no pressure I guess." She finished, biting her lip and looking down to pick at her comforter.
Wendy didn't know what Clyde would say, and she was terrified he'd reject her. She could already picture his face contorting into a look of disgust, telling her he was out of her league or that he didn't want Stan's sloppy seconds. Or that she sucked in bed.
She really hoped she didn't suck in bed.
After a minute of silence which felt like an eternity to Wendy, she lifted her head to look back up at Clyde. "Say something, please."
This was definitely not at all what Clyde was expecting.
He's had girls confess to him before, and he's even turned most of them down. That wasn't new. What was knew was someone like Wendy fucking Testaburger sitting in front of him, obviously so embarrassed and shy while she spilled her heart out. Smiling while texting, looking for him in the halls; that's all stuff that the other girls had told him before, too. He never, not in a million years, would have ever thought that he'd be on the receiving end of her feelings.
Clyde honestly didn't know what to say. Did he liked her, too? He had fun with her, and she laughs at his jokes, and she was super pretty. But he's never thought about her in a romantic way before. At least, until now.
His lips pressed together in a thin line as he stared. This just... seemed so sudden. More sudden than their drunken hook up. Clyde couldn't tell if she was serious or not, but she seemed serious. He felt a little guilty, being so skeptical of what she was saying. But he just couldn't shake it. She kept saying that she thought, she might, she guesses. Normally, Wendy is so confident, one of the most confident people Clyde knew. He straightened when she asked him to say something. He still didn't know if he could, but he tried regardless.
"Uh- Sorry." he started out, his surprise obvious through his voice. "I'm just... I don't know what to say. Um. Are you sure?"
That wasn't the question he wanted to ask. He tried again. "No, wait, like, are you sure you like me? It's not that I don't think it's possible to, but, like, I just want to make sure I'm not a rebound. I mean, everything with Stan happened so recently, and you guys were together for so long... I just want to make sure you're serious first before I give you an answer."
His eyes darted to the side, nervous himself. "And, uh, to tell you the truth I don't know what my answer is yet. I liked Bebe for a really... really long time. I want to be fair. To you. You know?"
Wendy felt a little deflated at his response, but also understood where he was coming from. "I totally get it. I do. I just wanted to make sure you knew how I was feeling. I'd like to think of myself as mature enough to not dive into something head first, and that isn't at all what I'm suggesting.... actually..." She trailed off, biting her lip and crawling off the bed to pace the floor.
She hadn't even gotten to the part where she was going to suggest having sex again to be sure, and now she didn't know if she even wanted to ask. However, despite the awkwardness she was suddenly feeling, it was the most practical option to figure out if she did like him.
Wendy stopped pacing and turned to face Clyde with newfound determination. She would approach this like she would her studies: with an open mind and the most efficient means to do so. "Okay. Let me ask you something. Would you have sex with me again?" She asked him, taking a step forward.
"Think about it. If we fuck again while we're both sober, and my feelings don't go away, then it's realistic that I truly like you. If they do, and it turns out it was purely an effect of the alcohol mixed with heightened stress on both parties, then at least we both still had a good time and can remain friends. Does that sound fair?" She resolved, hands on her hips.
