𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 / 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐞

"dude. i can't take it anymore." my attention peaks at this. i roll over, my elbows supporting the weight of my head as i look over at him curiously. "can you please fix my hair?" stan says, his eyes pleading with me as a shadow of a smile graces his face.

we're both laying on the floor in his spacious living room, the carpet beneath us burning red imprints into our skin as it's crushed under our unmoving statures. we've been here for awhile and gone nowhere. conversation, or otherwise.

"yeah. oh! i just remembered this. last night when i got home butters was in the living room and i thought it was you." he drops his head back down onto the plush carpet with a heavy sigh. "leave me alone." he rolls over on his side away from me, the childish manner of actions correlating with his words. "i'm serious! you guys look like twins." i'm just kidding. butters looks significantly younger than stan.

"don't have to make me feel worse than i already do, y/n." he says, his voice softer than usual. i hope i didn't actually hurt his feelings, but i don't see being compared to butters as an aggressive insult. he's almost a grown man. he turns back over to face me, both of us adjusting ourselves until we're lying on our sides facing eachother.

"do you want to watch a movie?" i suggest just to fill the absence. "not really." his almost-black eyes bore into mine, his long eye lashes scarcely blinking. "do you want to have a staring contest?" it seems we've already initiated one, might as well make it an offical competition. "what- is looking illegal now?" he half-heartedly jokes, still butt-hurt at his comparison to butters. "staring should be."

he abruptly sits up, "i wasn't!" he refutes. i sit up too, copying his action. "whatever you say." it's too hot to argue. even with the fans and air conditioning it's still too hot inside the house, but it's only worse outside. if only i was on an island, surrounded by water, with a minimum of three pools at my service. imagine!

stan groans dramatically, throwing his head back towards the tall ceilings. "we should go swimming." he just groans again at this, "it's too hot for that shit." to go swimming? it's too hot to go swimming? "what?" i laugh at his strangeness. "leave me alone bro." he repeats, shaking his head.

maybe there's a bit of truth in his statement, we've been hanging out for like three hours? honestly i don't even know. "you don't mean that." i tell him. how could he? if he really meant it he would have kicked me out by now..i think. "how would you know?" jesus christ; he's so defensive today!

"whatever. can we just do something- please?" i have no interest in arguing today at all. my own house is exhausting enough, tired out through drawn out arguments. bebe and wendy got into again last night (they do almost every night) because wendy wasn't invited along to our little outing earlier in the day. she didn't say anything to me of course, only her new founded arch-nemesis. me and butters just watched awkwardly, resuming our usual position of invested, neutral bystander.

"okay. like what?" stan doesn't help much in coming up with ideas. ever. it seems his only purpose is to cast a cynical point of view on why something is a bad idea, or simply won't work, all for one reason or another. "we could play roblox?" i don't really like roblox that much unless i'm playing with other people honestly.

"that's lame. next." he states blankly. "we could look for seashells?" he looks even less interested in that. "no thanks." he replies, his tone casting judgement on my suggestion. bitch? "then you come up with something." i push the burden onto him.

my least favorite part of being out with friends is deciding what to do. suddenly all of the ideas i had for activities we could do sound stupid, or they're completely forgotten. it seems every time i have a sleepover with the girls we play truth or dare, roblox, gossip, then sleep. just how i like it.

stan hums as he thinks. i can't tell what the song is- if it's anything at all.

"you wanna prank call people?" it takes him awhile to come up with something himself. "like who?" i pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jean shorts, the glittery phone case rubbing off on my warm palms. it's pretty tacky but i've had it since eighth grade at this point so it's strangely sentimental to me. in it's own ugly form.

"anyone. let's do kyle first, he gets so pissed. that's only if he picks up though." he smiles lightly as he watches me type *67, then kyle's number. red taught me that trick after we incessantly called her shitbag ex-boyfriend in ninth grade. he went to a different school. and was like four years older.

i'm not sure kyle would recognise my number anyways, we don't really talk that much online. or at all for that matter. i think i just got his number from some stupid group chat a couple years ago (he doesn't really change up much once he's settled on something). maybe i'll text him later.

"who's this?" he says immediately after picking up. he let the phone ring for a couple seconds. he speaks bluntly and expressively at the same time. i can imagine his face as he talks through the phone, progressively becoming more annoyed at the silence on the other line. "i'm going to hang up." he tells us. me and stan gesture at eachother hurriedly trying to figure out what our bits going to be before he ends the call.

"wait! is this kyle?" stan steals my phone, speaking in a highpiched nasally voice. it sounds like a nerd with a cold. "what's it to you? and who's this?" he asks with rising levels of confusion and contempt. "kyle. is this kyle?" stan mimicks again. he keeps having to mute so he doesn't laugh. "yes it's kyle. who's this?" now that i think about it, where is kyle? is he upstairs? 'the call is coming from inside the house'. that's what it reminds me of.

"kyle. i've been wanting to chat with you for quite some time!" he ticks up his voice gradually as he talks, each word higher than the last. "great. who is this?" he quickly passes over the subject matter, redirecting the conversation back to what our fake identity is.

"kyle! now. can we please have a conversation?" stan breathes exaggeratedly through his mouth into the mic as kyle stays quiet on the other end. i cover my mouth with my hand so i don't burst out laughing and ruin our disguise. "i know my own fucking name, okay? i don't give a fuck how many different ways you can manage to express my own name to me. kyle, kyle, kyle!" he mimicks stan's imitation as he angrily rants.

"why would i speak to you before learning who is actually calling me? do you think i'm a retard? i'm not giving you my credit card number, my social security number, or any fucking giftcards! so, what is your actual name and purpose you nasally, dim-minded, nerd bitch, dick eater- besides wanting my cock up your ass, of course?" he is completely silent after finishing berating stan and i with insane insults to the poor caller stan is pretending to be.

"this is kyle.. schwartz, your cousin. you prick." kyle stays silent, "oh. sorry kyle." he apologizes simply. his tone is empathetic which makes everything he said previously 10x funnier to me. "i ought to tell your mother about your foul language, especially to me. your cousin." kyle scoffs. "come on kyle. don't do that." stan slightly laughs at kyle's calm bargaining, but the real kyle doesn't say anything about it. "i think i will!" he exclaims loudly, barley able to mute before breaking out into laughter.

"fucking snitch." kyle speaks directly into the microphone, his voice sounding closer before he hangs up.

"does kyle actually have a cousin named kyle?" i barley manage to say through my laughter. "yeah. he had to stay at kyle's house for a summer and kyle was pissed." he explains. did kyle the cousin stay at kyle's house or did kyle stay at kyle the cousins house? i don't ask for clarification.

it takes a while for me and stan to collect ourselves completely before calling our next victim.

"hello!" butters cheerfully says. i can hear rumbles from incoherent voices on the tv in the background. "hi! this is leo?" i greet, making my voice sound lighter than usual. airy. "yes it is. how can i help you?" he responds. the voices in the background pause. "i was just wondering if you could complete this little task for me? i'm doing a scavenger hunt with my friends." butters doesn't question who is actually calling him at any point. it's hilarious.

"sure. what do i need to do?" he has very distinctive 'o's, they sound almost southern. "can you dig up 27 holes in your front yard and plant some seeds? any ones will do! thank you!" stan shakes his head at my task. what was i supposed to say? i didn't really expect him to say yes!

"oh. i don't know. it's pretty darn hot outside today. and i'm watching a movie!" he says politely. i plead as annoyingly as possible. "i'm sorry. i can't help you." he tries to decline. i continue whining, "come on! can't you please?" he sighs heavily at this. "it's just 27 holes, come on. you'll do it! it won't be that bad." my throat starts to burn from the strain i'm putting on it.

"hell i am! it's hot enough to make the bees sweat!" butters yelps, sick of my unrelenting begging. "i am sorry, but i cannot help you. good luck!" he hangs up, not waiting to hear more of my spiel.

"you'd make a terrible salesman." is the first thing stan says. well good thing i don't want to be salesman then. "fine by me." i wonder if anyone's dream job is to be a salesman. probably not.

stan drops his head to cover his smile. we both silently sit there in our own worlds, the knowledge of the others presence fulfilling the connection between us sufficiently. i think we've already talked about everything else anyways. i lay back down on the beige carpet with the ceiling as my entertainment. but not for long.

"stupid dick." kyle mumbles as he walks through the door, his phone and dark green converse in hand. well i guess he wasn't in his room. "uh." he frowns in confusion as he looks at me and stan, his hazel eyes darting between us. "y/n?" he squints at me before putting his shoes down and walking closer towards us.

"hey kyle." he looks at me with a distant expression- reserving his feelings for his own appreciation. he moves his dark sunglasses to the top of his head, pushing his fiery ginger curls back and revealing the gentle kisses of the sun upon his skin. i didn't know gingers could tan- albeit lightly. anyways, i wish he would put them down; his intense staring is not very friendly and rather threatening.

"where'd you go?" stan asks, standing up to meet his line of sight. "the beach with tolkien. when did you invite y/n over?" well he could have asked me that too- and do i not have free will? do visits have to be pre-approved by land lord kyle? bitch.

"i don't know. what time is it?" stan doesn't pick up on kyle's attitude. for a multi-millionaire homestead you think they would have more functional clocks. none of the visible ones even have numbers. "5:30." kyle states plainly. oh. it's way later than i thought it was.

"i mean.. probably like noon." he called me at 11 to ask if i wanted to come over. he didn't elaborate any further but i had nothing to do, and stan is interesting enough. especially yesterday. i thought it might be a little awkward but we just played on the wii until any apprehension towards eachother wore off.

i have no idea why i didn't befriend stan sooner.

kyle stares through him. stan doesn't sense any anger radiating off of kyle and just lulls around. "i think i should be getting home now." i don't want to stick around to see their weak argument. i don't even know why kyle gives a fuck-it's not like stan and i made out. and even if we did it's not like kyle is my boyfriend. he's so odd.

"why?" kyle turns his head to face me, then looks shocked that he spoke. "i have to make dinner, and i've been here for too long anyways." i probably would have stayed longer if kyle didn't show up. but i won't tell him that.

"thanks for inviting me, stan. i had fun." my mom taught me to always thank my host for letting me stay. it makes me feel stiff saying goodbye so formally, but what can you do? it's just how goodbyes should be. i think all goodbyes are weird though. there's no appropriate way to leave someone, it always comes out wrong.

"anytime." he stands behind the door as i leave, shutting it behind me once i've gone. as soon as the door latches i can hear kyle freaking out.

i pick up my pace on the way home.

i really, really, need to go grocery shopping. maybe i'm not supposed to go out though, maybe i'm supposed to call someone. but who? i don't know. is there even a local grocery store near the docks? i don't know. i think if i make spaghetti again bebe will strangle me though.

i look up from the ground since i hear footsteps besides my own. "hello, craig." i greet, much happier to see him then i was kyle earlier. jesus christ kyle's a tweaker. that's funny. craig's here and he's friends with tweek. his name is basically like 'tweaker'.

well now i feel bad for thinking that- poor tweek. in middle school kids would only refer to him as 'tweeker' for weeks on end because "tweek is a fucking tweaker and d1 crash out" (their words not mine). he about cried every time.

craig freezes. "hey." he says after registering that it's me. it's only like he's known me for 5 years and heard me speak for probably hours.

"where were you at?" he asks. i don't think he actually cares, but it's nice that he stopped to make conversation. "stan's house- well hawthorn hill." as i say that it makes me realize how lucky i am. i get to room with my best friends in a luxurious house on a private island. i don't think i'll ever be this close with a group of people ever again in my life. "oh? well, i have to go. bye." he runs through his sentence like a script, each word kind of robotic.

i hope he doesn't think i'm sleeping with stan. i don't see why he would, but he did look sort of taken aback (for a split second) when i said i was at his house.

i don't bother bidding craig goodbye as he's already focused on speeding away from me.

one thing that i especially like on the island is the safety. we never have to lock our doors because there is no risk of not doing so- like at all. no one wants to break in, or murder us, or rape us, or kidnap us. they'd have to take an entire boat to do so.

the door knob turns easily, and when i walk in i'm met by wendy. "hey wendy." i don't look at her as i speak, instead focusing on unlacing my converse. i should really start wearing sandals instead, this is getting annoying.

wendy doesn't respond, and when i look up she looks at me with contempt. when she's mad, and/or deep in thought, she chews on her lip. "what's up?" i ask confused. she continues biting her lip. maybe bebe made her mad again. they always put me in a terrible position. it's hard to comfort either of them when they're fighting with my other best friend.

"i think you know." her tone borders on aggressive, her words flat and angry. "no, i don't." i rack through my head to try to find where i could've crossed her, but i come up with nothing. "you're fucking with stan?" she scoffs in disbelief. oh my god. i'm not sleeping with stan! this is terrible.

"what?" i say surprised. i don't understand why she would even come to this conclusion. "you think you could just sneak around to hawthorn hill for 6 hours and i wouldn't have been able to find where you went? what the fuck, y/n? me and him dated for basically our whole lives!" she yells, pacing around our foyer. first of all, not even true, me and stan are not boning. second of all, you cheated on him, so.

"wendy i'm no-." she cuts me off. "what is wrong with you? i can't fathom a single reason why you would betray me like this." she stares at me blankly, and i take her silence as an opportunity to speak. "wendy. i'm not with stan. i've never fucked him, or anything even like that. where is this coming from?" she purses her lips and continues staring at me, a crazed look in her eye.

"what?" she says, popping her lips. she laughs lightly after speaking. she still looks mad though. "i haven't slept with stan. i was at his house today just to hang out. as friends." i add emphasis to the 'friends' part of my defense.

her angry expression subsides and her eyes soften, "oh y/n." she rushes towards me enveloping me in a tight embrace. "i'm so, so, so, sorry. i've just been really on edge lately." we rock side to side as we hold eachother. "it's okay, wendy." i laugh. she pulls away from me but keeps close to me as she speaks, "thank you for putting up with me for all these years, y/n. promise me that we'll always be best friends?" her dark eyes hold me in a trance. "i wouldn't wish for anything less." i say, and she hugs me again. she resumes her apologizing.

"god. i wish we could live on this island forever. i'd love to grow old here; together." she whispers to me, refusing to let me go.

i never want to leave.