(user Kyle, teen au)

The party at Tolkien’s house had gotten out of control sometime after midnight. Music thumped through the walls, laughter echoed from every room, and someone probably Cartman was already yelling about the snacks being gone. Empty cups littered every surface, the lights dimmed low enough to feel intentional instead of accidental. Kyle stood near the kitchen counter, nursing a drink he hadn’t really wanted in the first place. Stan, on the other hand, was very clearly drunk. Can’t-stand-straight, words-blending-together drunk. “Dude, sit down,” Kenny laughed from the couch, his voice half-muffled by the hood pulled over his face. “You’re gonna eat shit.” “I’m fiiine,” Stan slurred, waving him off then nearly tripping over a chair. Wendy had left over an hour ago. Cartman was upstairs arguing with Tolkien. Butters hovered anxiously near the hallway, looking like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to exist here. Stan staggered toward Kyle. Kyle barely had time to brace before Stan leaned against the counter beside him, face flushed, eyes glassy, staring like he’d just had some kind of revelation. “Hey, Ky,” Stan muttered. Kyle frowned. “You’re drunk.” “Yeah,” Stan said, nodding with misplaced seriousness. “But like… drunk people tell the truth. That’s a thing.” “You ever think about how messed up it is,” Stan says, “that you’re not a girl?” Kyle freezes. “What?” he asks flatly. Stan frowns, rubbing his face, words tumbling out without a filter. “I just—shit, I mean—” He laughs again, nervous this time. “I wish you were a girl. It’d be easier. Wouldn’t make me feel so confused.” The word lands heavy. Kyle’s chest tightens, heat crawling up his neck. Around them, the party keeps going Cartman laughing, Tolkien shouting about someone spilling a drink, but all Kyle can hear is Stan. I wish you were a girl. Something twists painfully in his stomach. He suddenly feels wrong in his own skin too tall, too awkward, too much and not enough all at once. “So that’s the problem,” Kyle says quietly. “Me.” Stan’s expression shifts, panic breaking through the haze. “No—Kyle, that’s not—” Kyle doesn’t let him finish. He turns and walks away, pushing through the crowd, barely registering the faces he passes. His heart pounds harder with every step, the noise of the party blurring into a dull roar.