Check Up [Style-South Park]

Holy Shit...

My dad helps me clean up my sick.
Well, more like he cleans it up for me. Heh.
The alcoholic bastard deserves it.

"Welp, update me if you end up playing tonsil tennis with Kyle—"

"DAD, WHAT THE FUCK."
I cut him off. I mean, if I ever end up dating Kyle, I might kiss him but I'm not gonna make out with him! That's gross. And I'm 10, for fuck's sakes! Ugh.

"Sorry, Stan. Just trying to be supportive of my gay son."
He scoffs, before walking downstairs. I genuinely wish it was mom who helped instead.

Kyle walks back in, his coat off. It's soaking wet. He probably tried to wash it in the sink. He looks a little mad, but it's fine. Right?

Anyway, he hangs his coat on my door handle.

He sits on the floor.
I look at him, confused.
He then lies down on the floor, looking at me.

His hat falls off his head and his curly red hair pops out. I don't think he notices, but I don’t wanna tell him. I want to look at Kyle's hair. It's pretty. I can imagine playing with it on my bed and putting my face in it like my pillow when I feel the need to scream.

God, I love him.

Shit. I think I might've said something without realising, because he stares at me with his pretty green eyes.

"Did you say something?"

"N-No!"
I stutter out.

I look away, embarrassed, but before I realise it, he's handed me a sick bowl. Like he knows I feel sick around him. I don't even know where the fuck the beady-eyed fuck got this from just now.

But I then turn to the curly-haired angel in front of me and I'm half way through saying 'Thank you' when I throw up, aiming for the sick bowl and thankfully being sick in that.

"Awh, sick... ugh.."
Kyle goes a bit pale. He seems unnerved by the smell of sick. I get it. It smells like... I dunno. Piss and beer? That's a good way to describe it, yeah.

My throat hurts. It burns. I guess I just regurgitated fucking stomach acid twice, so it's not fucking rocket science.

Either way, I'm ashamed.
"I-I'll throw this away—"

"No, let me do it. Get into bed. I'll even be your fucking mommy and tuck you in."
Kyle cuts me off rudely.
I kinda like the idea of him tucking me into bed though. Is that weird?

Speaking of weird, is it weird to love your best friend? Is it weird to only want to spend your life with your best friend? Is it weird if everything you want to do in life only seems truly fun if you do it with your best friend? Is it—

Okay well now I'm just being a fag.
Oh, shit, I can actually reclaim that one now.

Kyle snatches the sick bowl from me. He runs downstairs, holding his nose, and I hear him throw it in the trash outside, through my slightly open window.

I hear him rush back upstairs. But before he comes back to me, he washes his hands and coughs.

Oh, I forgot to get into bed. I'll do that now.

I put my legs on the bed and pull the duvet over me.

Kyle then walks in. He notices his hat on the floor from when it fell off, and then snaps at me.

"Hey! You could've told me that my hat fell off, jerk!"

I giggle.
"You looked cute without it."

He looks embarrassed but his expression softens. He then hands me another sick bowl.
"I hope you don't throw up again, but have this just in case."

I smile at him.
"Thanks. Now, daddy, aren't you going to tuck me in?"
I say teasingly.

"Please never call me your daddy. Just... don't even. I hate that. But also, fine, I'll tuck you in. I promised."
He flushes a bit pink.

Is it so bad that I like it when his face is pink? I like the idea that I'm making him blush.