HAZY [ southpark ]

chapter five

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The weekend hit like a brick to the face, and before they knew it, the gang was crammed into Stan's dad's rust bucket again. This time, their target was clear: some half-collapsed barn on the outskirts of town where everyone went to get wasted and pretend their lives didn't suck for a night. The music was already thumping hard enough to make the whole structure shake like it was having a seizure.

"Someone remind me why we're subjecting ourselves to this shit?" Kyle grumbled, tugging at his ratty hoodie as they pulled into what passed for a parking lot - really just a field littered with cars parked at angles that'd give a geometry teacher an aneurysm.

"Because it's a fucking party, dipshit," Cartman sneered, his eyes already locked on the barn like a fat kid eyeing the last cupcake. "Some of us actually know how to have a life."

Stan killed the engine, which wheezed its last breath with alarming enthusiasm. "Look, if it's a total clusterfuck, we bail. But if it's not, we might actually have fun. Novel concept, I know."

Kenny was already halfway out of the car, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. "I'm always down for a good shitshow."

Y/N followed, the night air hitting her like a slap of cold reality. The dull roar of music and voices drifted from the barn, punctuated by the occasional shriek of laughter or sound of something breaking. It felt like the start of something - probably a massive headache.

The inside of the barn was a sensory overload of cheap strobe lights, writhing bodies, and the unmistakable reek of beer and desperation. Some genius had strung up Christmas lights, giving the whole scene a dim, piss-yellow glow. It was loud, chaotic, and about as classy as a gas station bathroom, but there was an energy to it that was hard to resist.

Cartman made a beeline for the keg, moving faster than anyone had ever seen him move. Stan and Kyle drifted off to find faces they recognized, leaving Y/N with Kenny, who looked like he'd just walked into his own personal playground.

"Wanna poison ourselves with whatever shit they're calling beer?" he asked, leaning in close enough that Y/N could smell the mint gum he'd been chewing.

"Why not?" she shrugged. "But I'm not getting shitfaced. You're on babysitting duty if I do."

Kenny's laugh was lost in the noise. "Deal. But I make no promises about my own sorry ass."

After scoring some lukewarm beer in red plastic cups, they found themselves on the edge of what passed for a dance floor. A group of people were thrashing around to some angry punk song, looking like they were having simultaneous seizures.

"Fuck it," Y/N said, grabbing Kenny's hand. "Let's dance."

Kenny's eyebrows shot up. "You know I don't dance. I just stand and look pretty."

"Tough shit," she said, dragging him into the fray. "It's happening."

For a few minutes, they were just another part of the writhing mass, surrounded by sweaty bodies and the pounding beat. Y/N felt Kenny's hand on her waist, steadying her as she moved. It wasn't exactly graceful, but there was something about the way they kept laughing, stumbling into each other, that made it feel right.

As the song faded out, they staggered back to the edge, breathless and grinning like idiots. Kenny's face was flushed, his hair a mess, but he looked more alive than Y/N had seen him in ages. "Alright, maybe I don't hate dancing as much as I thought," he admitted, taking a long swig of his beer.

Meanwhile, Stan and Kyle had found a quieter corner, if you could call any part of this madhouse "quiet." Stan was nursing his drink, his eyes scanning the room like he was waiting for something to explode. "How the hell do people do this every weekend?" he mused. "I'd be in rehab by Tuesday."

Kyle shrugged, looking marginally less uncomfortable now that they weren't in the thick of it. "Maybe that's the point. One night where you can just... shut your brain off. Exist without thinking."

"Or get plastered and make decisions you'll regret for the next decade," Stan added with a smirk.

Over by the keg, Cartman had somehow wormed his way into a drinking contest and was now bellowing challenges at anyone within earshot. "Come on, you pussies! Try and outdrink the king!" Predictably, this ended with Kyle having to drag his sorry ass away before someone decided to use Cartman's face as a punching bag.

"Can you not be a complete fuckwit for five minutes?" Kyle hissed, exasperated.

"This is called living, Kyle," Cartman slurred, swaying slightly. "You should try it sometime instead of having that stick up your ass."

—

As the night wore on and the party started to thin out, Y/N found herself stepping outside for some air, the music now just a dull throb in the background. She was leaning against the barn, trying to remember how to breathe normally, when she heard footsteps. Kenny appeared beside her, still clutching his drink like a lifeline.

"Escaping the insanity?" he asked, slumping against the wall next to her.

"Just needed a break," she said, tilting her head back to look at the stars. "It's a lot in there."

Kenny nodded, taking a long pull from his cup. "Yeah. But it's kinda nice, though, right? Like, you don't have to think about all the bullshit waiting for you tomorrow. Just... be here."

Y/N glanced over at him, and for a moment, they were both quiet, letting the silence settle around them like a comfortable blanket. "You always say deep shit like that," she said, smiling. "Like you're some wise old man trapped in a delinquent's body."

He shrugged, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, like he was holding back. "Maybe I'm just better at faking it than the rest of you."

They headed back inside to find Stan, Kyle, and Cartman sprawled out on a couch that looked like it had been through a war. Stan was talking animatedly to some randos from school, while Kyle was doing his best impression of a corpse, head lolling against the armrest. Cartman was working on what had to be his millionth drink.

"We thought you two lovebirds had flown the coop," Stan said when he spotted Y/N and Kenny. "Or maybe Kenny finally convinced you to run away with him to Vegas."

"In your dreams, Marsh," Y/N shot back, rolling her eyes but smiling. She squeezed onto the couch next to Kyle, who grunted in acknowledgment but didn't bother opening his eyes.

"Alright, what's next?" Kenny asked, surveying the dwindling crowd. "Because I'm not ready to call it quits on this shitshow just yet."

The party was on its last legs, but the gang wasn't quite ready to face reality yet. Someone mentioned an afterparty happening at a house nearby, and it didn't take much arm-twisting to get everyone on board.

As they all piled back into the car, the night felt like it was getting its second wind, even though it was well past the witching hour. Y/N found herself wedged between Kenny and Stan in the backseat, the car a cacophony of voices and laughter. It felt right, like this was exactly where they were meant to be, at least for now.

"You degenerates ready for round two?" Stan asked, coaxing the car back to life.

"Fuck yeah," Kenny said, throwing an arm over the back of the seat. "Let's make it a night we probably won't remember."

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