Nice Guy {Kyle Broflovski x Reader}

Part 25

The one night started a chain of events. You missed the feeling of liquor. The way it sent you into a cozy state where you are okay with being yourself, not being tensed, anxious, and worried. It felt good, and you wanted to feel good, or at least normal.

Now you sat in the recliner that sits in your living room, too many shots deep to count. Dialing up a number that you've gone to memorize. Maybe not the numbers, but the contact picture and name. The joy that graced their face captured in a picture. A picture that never failed to make you smile, even now.

"Hey, whatsup?" He asked, propping his phone up on his desk so you could see him.

"I'm fuckeddd up," you giggled.

He glanced at you for a moment, not saying anything, just watching you observe the background of the facetime call. "How bad?"

"Fuckeddd up," you repeated.

"I thought you relaxed on drinking?" he questioned.

"Yeah, but then I tasted vodak again, and it felt too good," you laughed.

He looked back at his computer screen, "Does, until you wake up the next day." You shrugged him off, laughing lightly as you saw his face scrunch up. "Roughly, how much have you drank?"

You thought for a moment, "like half a handle, maybe."

"Jesus Christ."

"The bottle of the bottom," you laughed before correcting yourself, "Wait, it's the bottom of the bottle is my only friend. Yeah, that sounds right. Do ya know the saying?"

"Heard of it," he brushed off, focused on his screen.

He let's the two of you fall into silence, just letting the phone bring you company. After the conversation dropped off, you set your phone onto the end table next to you, resting it on the lamp.

This wasn't the first time you've called him drunk, and likely wasn't the last. Each time, you fell into a trance, looking over every dip and curve of his face. The hook of his nose, the curve of his lips, the sharp line of his jaw, the greens and slight browns of his eyes, and the curls to his red hair. His head resting on his hand, the look of focus on his features as he figured out the next puzzle of his game. All of it was fascinating to you, easy to admire and get lost in.

You sat cozied on the recliner, old yet favorite blanket thrown over you for the most part. Adorn in lazy clothes, shorts, and a favorite comfy tee shirt. The perfect outfit to get drunk in. Despite the recliner being pulled out, you had your legs sat underneath you and hands messing with the threads on the blanket.

The look on your face can only be described as mesmerized. Drunken brain not caring if you stared for too long.

"So," Kyle started, "Why do you always call me when you're drunk?"

You shrugged, "I don't know, just make the time pass quicker."

"Calling Kenny doesn't do that?" He asked.

"He's always at work, plus he can't face time unless he is on his family computer," you state.

"He's saying up for a phone right now. With all the hours he's putting into the arcade, he'll have it soon," he dismissed.

You loved the arcade he worked out. It was an arcade, restaurant, and bowling alley all in one. You were currently in the process of snagging a job alongside Kenny.

"Maybe I just wanted to call you," you said softly.

"Or maybe Kenny is doing the closing shift and is busy right now."

You huffed, "Even then, would have called you. I could have called Craig or Tweek."

"And let them see you this drunk?" He laughed.

"Just accept the fact I wanted to talk to you," you laughed at his behavior. You laughed a little bit too hard, causing you to stand up, grab your phone, and run to the bathroom, "I'm going to go puke."

You have no idea why you grabbed your phone to go puke, and neither did Kyle. You sat puking into the toilet, eyes closed, and head rested on the rim of the toilet. When you weren't puking, you were apologizing to Kyle because you knew it was gross. He pushed past your apologies and told you he was on his way. And that was the last you remember.

Well, all you remember before Kyle was by your side, making sure your hair didn't get covered in puke. You weren't alarmed by the way he got in, knowing that Craig gave him the code to your house a while ago to check on you.

"This feels like deja vu," you laugh between coughs.

"This is not fucking funny," Kyle spoke sternly.

"But it is," you laugh, not aware of his serious expression.

"Dying isn't funny," he spoke just as upset.

You groaned before puking again. Once getting a handle on your breathing, you spoke, "I'm not dying, Kyle."

"You know throwing up from alcohol is overdosing, right?" He spit before grabbing a tissue to clean up your face.

He let you mumble in response as he grabbed you water from the fridge, making you drink small sips at a time in order to not shock your stomach.

"I didn't mean to get this fucked up,c" you said sadly, ashamed.

He lightened up his tone before speaking, making it more gentle, "Yet you do it often."

"I haven't done it for like two months," you defended, "you were fine with me drinking at Stan's."

"You didn't drink nearly the same amount. Throwing up for this long is bad," he said.

You spurted out an apology before putting your head back down on the toilet.

He rubbed your back through it all. Keeping you company even though you puked for 2 hours straight.

"I'm so grossed," you groaned.

"Yeah," he laughed.

Authors Note:
ANOTHER ONE?! OMG
This isn't nearly the normal amount I write but whatever. Do you guys like long chapters? I normally write 1000 words, more or less?