god, if he could shut off emotions, he would. 

currently, it’s midnight in the mountain, rocky town of South Park, Colorado—where the norm doesn’t quite exist. everything in this moment stilled to a breathless sigh of annoyance. all alone, bony fingers in his unkempt locks, kyle sat in the discomfort of his own room. he threw his head back against the headboard, chest heaving softly. 

normal. 

a simple word, yet to the boy it stabbed through his chest like a spear. warped in his existential overbearing thoughts. shoulders shaking, he no longer could hold back his pained cries. for the umpteenth time today, his emotions struck him like a bullet train as they whirled around violently in his head—lingering a massive migraine that is both unpleasant and terrifying. 

“You can’t control your emotions like a normal person, Kyle. It’s like walking on eggshells with you.”

a text from his very own best friend, stan, at the brink of their argument. how long did he feel this way? why didn’t he say anything sooner? he’s going to leave me, isn’t he? this is it. I fucked up. am I really the problem?

the littlest things happened to trigger him, but so what? he knew that was out of his control, because how does someone explain, “This may not be a big deal to you, but to me, it feels like my heart’s being stepped on. I need a moment to gather myself before it all comes imploding.”

he no longer could sit here. it’s either he screams, rages until he can’t remember what’s happened, or he crawls back to that one person he knows will never turn their back on him. 

he grabs his jacket from the bed, standing up and slipping it over his trembling form. next, were his mismatched shoes. right now, he didn’t care. 

he knew what he needed. 

he could be put on a pedestal, even if he knew it’d come down later. they’d make him feel like it’s all going to be okay, even if it is for a moment. 

without so much as a glance back, he bolts out of his room. 

he knows he’s being pulled towards something that is not right:

{{user}}.