𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 / 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐱𝐞𝐬

"hey, this kind of burns." he itches at the back of his neck, finger tips grazing his hair. "don't touch it." i warn stan, who keeps nearing his bleach-coated hair. his hair stands in wide strands, slick with the thick substance.

we are in his bathroom at hawthorn hill. it's early in the morning (per his request), which normally i would contest, but the beach sunrise was gorgeous. he surveys his reflection in the giant mirror above the sink, moving his head around to see every angle. he squints his eyes as he does this, mostly in contempt. "this was a bad idea." he mumbles. "anyone could have told you that." i respond smiling. no one reasonable was ever going to support this, especially considering his natural hair colour.

"this isn't funny! why didn't you talk me out of this?" he makes eye contact with me through the mirror but only for a moment before returning to his mournful gaze and intense studying of his hair. "well, i tried. don't worry, it's going to look great." i tell him. my words of encouragement obviously don't meet the mark and his attitude doesn't falter.

"very punk rock!" i support hesitantly, and mostly satirically. he glares at me. he bows his head in defeat to the future, accepting that he can't go back. "what's done is done." he turns around and rests his waist against the counter, not bearing to study his appearance anymore. "what's done is done." i reiterate, nodding my head as i take off my gloves.

stan has a towel wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, protecting his old band t-shirt from the harshness of the corrosive matter. i don't know why he wants to protect the shirt honestly. it's graphic is mostly worn away and what is there is peeling. i can't even tell who the shirts supposed to depict.

he has flannel pajama shorts on which act as little more than boxers despite their slightly longer length. they reach about midway down his thigh. definetly not fingertip test approved.

"can we rinse yet?" he asks impatiently. he's only had the bleach in his hair for a fraction of the time required. "no. you have another twenty minutes." i pick at the old nail polish on my nails now that they're visible.

"why did you kiss kyle if you don't like him?"

where is this coming from? my eyes widen in shock. "umm.." i think. should i even answer this? do i even know? i think it was just kind of a heat of the moment thing but that's not entirely true. "i don't know." i shrug. i truly don't know. we should have waited; im not one to rush into things. "oh come on." he prods, tilting his head in an attempt to get me to reveal further information.

"i am genuinely not sure. i wouldn't say i don't like him, i just think it's all too fast." i respond genuinely. he nods his head in understanding, still leaning against the counter. his eyes focus on the white tiles of the floor.

"he likes you. a lot." he says. i know this. if he knows kyle likes me, why didn't kyle tell him about our morning on the beach? i don't say anything after stan says this.

"just- don't lead him on? he isn't very good with girls." he continues. that's kind of mean to poor kyle! "neither are you," he sighs exaggeratedly at my response. "my bad." i quickly add. it's still really soon and he's been holding up really well. no need for unnecessary reminders. "i mean he doesn't branch out a lot." he talks with his hands, removing his grasp from the corners of cold marble countertops of the bathroom.

i look up at stan, making a mental note to paint my nails before the dinner. his brazen blue eyes are striking against his complexion- and were against his previously black hair, now soon to be blond. his eyes convey words unspoken. he worries for kyle. deeply.

"i wouldn't do anything to hurt him." i assure soundly. our voices echo against the walls softly; faint voices of words past whispering in our ears. it's odd to hear your own voice ring back to you. it makes everything feel unauthentic. like i'm lying to myself, even if i'm not. self-consciously, i decide to speak in a quieter tone from now on.

"i won't force myself to be with him though." i continue. quieter.

"i wouldn't expect you to." he tells me with a soft tone. my eyes lower to the tile after he finishes speaking, losing the battle for dominance. but it doesn't really feel that way with stan. i think his unexpected kindness is what defers me, it makes me rethink my own actions towards him.

i've been polite to him of course, and there was that time on the balcony; but wendy gave me a couple pre-conceived notions. when they would break up she would vent to us about him. unreliable. uncaring. reserved. secretive. argumentative. repetitive. that one was weird. wendy was always chasing some thrill she never found with stan, always saying that she doesn't feel the "spark" anymore. i guess stan found his spark at the bottom of a bottle; drunk at someone else's house on someone else's beer.

not the best couple at southpark high.

what she would say would always make me kind of avoid him, or at worst stand-offish. defensive. all wendy ever wanted was a knight in shining armor. someone to protect her from herself and take some of the presssure off of her shoulders. she didn't feel that was stan, so she would turn to her loyal friend group for support- as best friends should do. she never talked about her issues though. just stan.

"we can probably rinse now." i check my phone for confirmation. 6:55. not quite 30 minutes, but it's fine.

he lowers himself over the tub and bows over it on his knees like he's going to be executed. the guillotine, but for wronged teenagers who need to bleach their hair to feel alive.

i check the temperature of the water with my own hand before rinsing his hair. he seethes with shock at the cool wave that floods over his head.

i run my hands through his hair to completely wash out all the bleach. if any is left over it will leave patches. then his hair really is ruined. my fingertips race over his scalp and around his head, massaging out every last remnant of the substance.

he holds his breath as the water rushes down over his face. maybe i should have just had him shower. too late now.

he throws his head back, startling me, as the shower head rests uselessly against the ceramic walls of the tub. it's retractable. "that feels nice." he says with his eyes closed to avoid burning them. his rapid movement splashes water on my shirt. he's like a wet dog.

"lean back over." i tell him, adjusting his head for him. "yes ma'am." he grumbles. finally, all the bleach is rinsed from his hair. "are we done?" he asks, lifting his head up. "basically. you have to tone it still, but you can do that yourself." i gesture to the bottle of purple shampoo i brought (stole), currently laid against the door which is next to the counter.

bebe is naturally blonde but she uses the shampoo to keep it bright instead of brassy. it works well for her so i figured stan would have a similar outcome.

he stands up slowly and uses the towel on his shoulders to quickly dry his hair. he closes his eyes as he walks towards the mirror. i stand behind him awaiting his reaction.

he stares in shock at his reflection. his ruffled hair is a yellow-blonde, drastically different from the deep black it used to be, and had been for the last 16 years of his life. his eyes wander across his head, taking in every last golden strand. "what the fuck!" he exclaims in an angry inflection. i shush him then explain why his hair is like that. fucked up essentially. "if you use the shampoo it goes away and becomes a normal colour." i say gently to a distressed stan. "this was a mistake." he says quietly as to not disturb his roommates.

"just shower. i'll see you later today at the dinner." i tell him, packing up my things and putting them back into the bag i brought. "thank you." he expresses gratefully despite his obviously disappointed expression. i think he expected to not look yellow, and to not look so extremely basic. country club-ish.

"trust me. it will get better." i say as i exit the bathroom. "bye!" he shouts, ignoring his previous reason to stay quiet.

as i sneak down the steps i spot kyle on the couch. i kind of panic for a moment, not expecting anyone to be awake. i decide to ignore him and head straight for the door. he doesn't notice me at all and continues staring blankly at cartoon reruns on the massive flat screen tv.

i sigh as i lock the door of my own house. it's so early. it was fun bleaching his hair though. maybe i'll be a cosmetologist!

no. i don't want to do that.

i quickly clean the left over dishes in the sink from someone's midnight snacks, and then head back to bed for a couple hours.

i don't get too much extra sleep though as im awoken by bebe blaring steve lacy at 10:30.

i wander around the house for awhile aimlessly, doing nothing of importance. watched a couple episodes of tv. sent a couple of texts. liked some instagram posts. at some point i ate lunch- or breakfast? it was like noon but my first meal of the day so either one is appropriate.

then the highlight (and actually point) of the day arrived. it was time to get ready before tolkiens birthday dinner.

as expected, a formal event takes a lot of time to prepare for. it doesn't begin until 6 o'clock sharp, but we should probably come earlier than that. we decided to get ready at, before, or around 4, varying on each of our own personal confidence levels that we can get ready in about an hour and a half.

i got in the shower early to get the hot water. halfway through my shower i hear bebe scream, "ITS FUCKING COLD!" this probably wouldn't have happened if there wasn't three of us showering at the same time, but it's her fault so..

i decided yesterday the style i was going to do with my hair so the only thing i need to plan is my outfit. a black tie dinner requires obviously, formal wear. i only brought one fancy dress so i don't need to plan much. it's a pearl coloured, floor length, crystal satin dress. the straps are thin, and the whole dress is so elegant in every possible way. every step i take ripples through the long skirt, with a cowl neck and mermaid silhouette, the bodice is fitted perfectly to me. it's a dream.

i pick out a pair of matching heels, visible through the slit in the gown. i sift through my jewlery, hoping i have something to fit the occasion. i find one of my favorite necklaces, a chain link one with a pearl heart pendant. two diamonds are set on the side of the pendant, but they aren't outlandish. dainty.

i pick out a pearl earrings, a gold bracelet, and matching golden rings. i go for subtle pieces, but one statement ring. a 4 carat diamond ring from my grandmother. it's radiant, reflecting every light that passes through it.

i look gorgeous (if i do say so myself).

i do my make up then start on my hair. as i work on perfecting my hair in the mirror, i notice my chipped polish, remembering that i was going to paint them. "shit." i say to myself.

i quickly do my hair, setting it in place, then race to bebe's room. she's a professional when it comes to nail painting. "bebe! help!" i cry, stumbling into her room. the heels clack awkwardly on the wooden flooring.

"whats wrong y/n?" she asks worried. she's sat at her vanity, doing her own make up. she's dressed in a deep red dress, fitted tightly to her body. the deep v-neckline is excentuated by a stunning white ribbon border that also appears on the waist. her curly blonde beach waves are tied up elegantly with a white ribbon bow to match the one around her waist. she accessorizes with dazzling white diamonds in her ears, and on a tennis bracelet, opting to leave her neck bare with the exception of a shiny silver necklace. she's absolutely beautiful.

"i need my nails painted but i don't trust myself enough to do it." i explain. i can see a row of nail polishes on the surface infront of her. "i can fix that. what colour?" she finishes her make up look with a lip gloss before turning to me. "dark red." it might look striking against my dress, but i think the colours will go well together, and it matches my dark red lip tint.

my hands tremble on the vanity desk as i kneel next to her. she paints carefully, each streak coating my fingernails evenly. by the time my last nail is done, the first one still hasn't dried. she is truly fast. i blow on them in hopes they'll dry faster, even though i know that's not the case.

"thank you so much." i tell her, admiring my glossy, new, nails. she smiles at me before returning to her mascara.

i walk back to my room more confidently this time, having gotten used to the heel. i didn't quite finish my hair. i packed a string of pearls hoping to recreate elizabeth bennett's look for the ball in pride and prejudice. now is the perfect opportunity. i weave throughout my bun until they look just the way i want them to.

i don't know if i have ever looked prettier.

we all gather in the foyer when we have completed our looks. heidi is in a silk pink gown with tulip sleeves and a square neckline. she looks regal! the dress looks like it was made just for her. butters is in dark blue, but not quite navy, dress pants. he has a sleek white button down top on, with a matching blue tie. the lack of a jacket modernizes the look, and makes it more laid back while still keeping the formality of the outfit. wendy is wearing a beautiful dark green off the shoulder gown. it has embroidered floral detailing up the bodice and down the sides of the gown, around the hips. she looks spectacular! her dark hair is curled in ringlets and she has silver jewelry on.

we all look great!

i am so excited for this dinner. and nervous at the same time. i've never had an occasion where i could dress so elegantly. i have high hopes for tonight. 

-a/n

sorry if you guys want to wear something else, i hope i did y/n justice 🙏