The Old New Kid

You've Learned That You Can't Rewrite History

   Kyle was officially at his limit. Sheila had told him someone was staying with them and gave him a week to figure it out since any inquiries went into a waste basket somewhere in the back of her cranium. Not that she was forgetting them or anything, but it was almost like she was being intentionally ominous, all she really gave him was a first name. Now he was sitting on the floor in the basement, or he guessed it was the new kids bedroom until further notice, watching him unpack boxes of items mailed to them over the past month. Kyle was supposed to be helping but burning lasers into M/n's back with his eyes was infinitely more preoccupying.

   Worst part was he was definitely familiar. He just couldn't recall ever being buddies with some pretty, effeminate, gender ambiguous guy in the past. Now he felt kind of like an asshole for not knowing, it was tearing him apart inside. Would it be awkward to ask now? He wondered.

   Probably but the words fell from his lips before his brain had realized.

   "I can't take it anymore, dude, who the hell are you?" When M/n looked up at him with his brows furrowed he turned a cherry red from the embarrassment. He definitely could have worded that better. He verbally tripped over himself to try and explain, sputtering and blubbering like a fish out of water, meanwhile m/n rummaged through a different box. Pulling out stacks and stacks of photos. Some Polaroids, some printed, some professionally taken. Finally he found what he was rummaging for at the bottom of the box. Two photos, one a Polaroid the other a group photo.

   The group photo was looked at first and it made Kyle feel tingly, goosebumps running down his arms even though it was a simple picture of him and the guys back when they still played that fantasy game in elementary. M/n's manicured finger pointed at someone particular in the photo. Before Kyle could really react the second photo was placed on top of the first. This one made him recoil a bit as realization hit him. It was an old photograph of him, kinky red hair falling from the silver cap trying to contain his ten year old fro'. The stained orange and blue kite taped to his back blocked most of the background but in the corner underneath him, clear as day, was the farting vigilante.

   "... Doucebag?"

   M/n, who was peering at the photos from over his shoulder, grinned and nodded. Surprisingly still un-phased by the bad nickname. During their closeness Kyle managed to make out a few post-pubescent features. Defined jawline and neck aside, not much changed. He still looked just as tired, he was just as worn down now as he was as a child. It didn't sit well with him, Southpark was horrible to newcomers so he could only imagine what the rest of the world had put him through.

   "No way." Kyle looked at the photos and back at him as he crawled back in between the boxes. "But... why?" He watched M/n nervously draw his bottom lip between his teeth and instead of pursuing an answer he shook his head. Not like he thought he'd get one anyways, butthole never talked. "Not important, I have way too much to catch you up on."

   For the next couple hours he talked while M/n organized his room, occasionally getting off his ass to help pop a drawer into a place or fold laundry, he was mostly useless but his company was well received. It wasn't like he was rambling on and on, it was just a one sided conversation. He'd pause occasionally between sentences and wait for a response he knew wasn't coming, then after a minute he'd pick back up. It was partially mindless chatter while he scrolled through social media on his phone. M/n didn't mind too much, he gossiped but there wasn't any surviving Southpark without staying in the loop. Kyle's sweet tooth for drama sort of reminded him of his mother but he didn't dare admit that out loud. Instead he nodded and his lips would purse slightly everytime he tuned back into the conversation.

   Inevitably the amount of boxes dwindled down to just three, all filled with posters and funky knickknacks, and M/n felt accomplished enough to join Kyle on his bed. Kyle continued to blabber on and on. It didn't sound like a lot had changed but I guess M/n would have to see it to believe it. He wondered how Clyde had been doing, if Tweek and Craig were still dating, if Jimmy still went to physical therapy. Of course he wondered about Stan's group, and the girls, and the goths, and butters too. He's been wondering since the name "Sheila Brovloski," popped up in casual conversation a few months back.