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There were two boys sitting side-by-side down by the pond.
The grass stains and dew had probably already begun to seep into their clothes, but Kyle couldn't care less. He giggled around another sip of wine — elderflower, home-made by Stan's dad and one of three bottles that had been stolen from his personal cellar — and dipped his head back, eyes catching on the few stars above. It was a virtually cloudless night, clear enough to see anything in the inky black stretch of sky. The moon was far too big tonight, Kyle thought when his gaze drifted towards it. Large enough to tear a hole in the sky and suck all those stars down with it. It's terrifying, almost, and as he stared, transfixed on the cool white glow, he inhaled deeply and cracked another smile.
"That one there, that's Sirius."
Stan turned to him, looking incredulous. "Bullshit."
"No, I'm serious." It was an unintentional joke, but garnered a drunken laugh from Kyle anyway. "No, I mean— just, just look at it."
He raised a finger towards the sky, aimlessly pointing at anything that could vaguely resemble this star. Stan laughed and pulled his arm down. "You're such a dumbass."
"No I'm not, it's literally—"
"Kyle, Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky. You've probably confused it with the moon."
"Shut up", Kyle said as he pushed Stan's hand away. "I can see it perfectly fine."
"Your glasses are covered in dew, for starters. And Canis Major isn't going to be visible on a summer night in fucking South Park, of all places. This place is not worthy of the blessed Dog Star."
This place isn't worthy of anything. But it has you, and for that I'm eternally grateful.
He didn't vocalise this, however, instead opting to drink more wine and lean back on his elbows. His cheeks were burning, like the alcohol catching alight in his chest and warming his increasingly relaxed body.
There was a pause. Contemplation from one of them, and bleary observation of their surroundings from the other.
"How do you feel?" Stan asked
"Weightless." Floating. Tired. Out of body, out of mind.
"Is that so?" He smiled coyly.
"I see no reason to lie." After all, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts. Although, he hadn't quite reached adulthood yet; rather, he was two years off, and spending his Saturday night drinking down by the river behind his best friend's house with the best friend in question. Perhaps it wasn't exciting, and perhaps there were better ways to spend one's youth — but as Kyle watched the moonlight shine off Stan's face, feather soft hair looking as dark as ever, he couldn't help but think of how there was no other place he'd rather be.
"It feels nice, doesn't it?"
"You ask a lot of questions when you've been drinking, Stan."
Stan shrugged, and almost seemed to humour him by drawing his bottle of wine to his lips and taking a generous mouthful from it. "I'm just curious. Just want to make sure you're going okay with this."
"I'm okay."
It wasn't really a lie; for someone who had never gotten drunk before, he thought he was handling it pretty well. He was only mildly dizzy. The urge to throw up had not hit yet. The sound of crickets chirping closer to the riverbed was starting to irritate him, although that might have been out of a general annoyance with nature rather than the effects of alcohol.
The grass crunched, and Kyle turned to see Stan laying down with his hands over his chest.
"Why are you laying on the grass?" No point in being subtle.
"Why aren't you?" He laughed again, and Kyle had never realised how much that sound struck him, like some earth-shattering force. It terrified him even more than the stupidly large moon and the warming buzzing feeling in his stomach that started to do somersaults. "Come on. Join me, yeah?"
He pat the small gap of grass between them, and Kyle wordlessly obliged, putting his bottle aside and shuffling over as he lay down. He adjusted his glasses and tried to focus, again, on the few stars he could see, twisting his brain and eyelids so that they all blurred, sharpened, blurred again, sharpened again. They twinkled and beamed back at him.
"They remind me of you", he whispered. Not a single, coherent thought seemed to back this statement up, just mindless and slurred rambling. He kept his head up, but out of his peripherals could see Stan turn his head to the side and look at him.
"What does?"
"The stars."
He didn't respond; maybe his own thoughts had vacated his mind as well, maybe the two of them had reached the point where they were nothing more than mindless zombies. Folie à deux. Some kind of docile madness shared between them.
"You're just everywhere." His own voice didn't even sound normal; it was so soft, gentle, like he'd suddenly decided to take some care with these previously mindless sentiments. "There's pieces of you everywhere I go, scattered all over the place. You're brighter than anything, brighter than— than fucking Sirius, god."
Stan snorted. "If I'm the stars, does that make you the moon?"
"I fucking hope not. The moon is too intimidating."
"I don't think so", he murmured. "I think it's beautiful. What keeps the night from pure, pitch black, Kyle? The moon shines through all that darkness."
God, how fucking sappy. Then again, you did just compare him to stars. You're in no position to criticise. "We get poetic when we're drunk, apparently."
"There's no better time or place to do that. Drunk and laying under a starlit sky by the river with my best friend. The poets have got nothing on us."
He smiled, and there was a sudden shift in Kyle's stomach as the space between them became smaller. Kyle instantly thought of how close the pond was, how he could quickly roll into it and let the water consume him. Maybe the headlines would be forgiving. Local teenager gets drunk and drowns. Local teenager suspected of murdering his stupid, drunk friend. But the water did not grace his cold skin, and only the warm touch of gentle fingers on his forearm got the thought of suffocation out of his mind as he eventually smiled back.
There were two boys laying side-by-side down by the river, and the warm July air seemed to ignite around them