Work Text:
"Hey."
It was cold outside. So, so much colder than it had been the past few weeks. The past few months, even. But Lotta had no idea if the reason her blood felt frozen solid in her veins was the weather, or this voice piping up beside her.
She looked over her shoulder to see Butters standing in the doorway that separated the solitary May breeze and the celebration marking the end of high school. The final declaration of victory, that they — most of them — had made it.
Lotta was a little mad at herself for not hearing him approach. The music was blasting, unlike the numbing background noise that was the music at Bebe's place the last time she spoke to Butters. It was only when he closed the door behind him that she could hear her own thoughts again.
As little as she preferred that.
She watched as Butters cautiously leaned against the same brick wall that she did, not letting her out of sight. The air smelled faintly of nicotine, though obviously not due to either of them. Some of the kids must've snuck out here for a smoke earlier, and Lotta made sure not to consider the possibility of who it may have been.
“Hey,” Lotta lazily copied the greeting while looking Butters over. He had swapped his usual coat for a white button up, and a teal vest thrown over top. The buttons of it glimmered like rhinestones, leaving Lotta a little surprised that not the entire attire was doused in glitter like she would have expected from Butters.
It was a stark contrast to the rather plain dress Lotta wore. Muted blue hues, comfortable enough to walk around in. A description that applied to her footwear all the same. Only her brown coat fell out of the ordinary, the wool inside doing its best to keep her exposed arms warm despite everything.
Back to Butters, a black bow tie held the collar of his button up in place though, a feature Lotta was aware matched with the outfit that Kenny, his date to the dance, wore tonight.
She erased the image of Kenny on that dancefloor, afraid she’d spend the rest of the night out here, unmoving. “Enjoying the party?”
Butters steered his gaze toward the floor, in almost a shy manner. “Yeah,” he replied with a grin. A warmth accented his voice, fondness seeping from just this one word alone. “What about you? Still waiting?”
“Waiting?” Lotta tilted her head.
“Yeah, for your date? You must be out here lookin’ for their car!”
She fell silent.
“I was confused, since I didn’t see you in there with anyone. ‘Cause I thought, y’know, pickin’ up your date at home was basic chivalry! But you were here so quick to help set up and whatnot so I guess it makes sense, duty never sleeps and all.”
His continued rambling faded from Lotta’s ears, sounding more akin to waves on a shore that was miles away. But despite this distance, the icy waves swept over Lotta's feet, cold water locking her in place and forcing her to keep her breath still. A futile effort, but none that she could forfeit.
She hadn’t noticed when Butters stopped talking. Or when he started to call out to her, only that he did so twice, trying to gain her attention. What she did know for certain was that eventually, she blinked away something that formed in the corner of her eyes much to her dismay. Then she turned to face Butters, and softly shook her head. And it took him a while, as it usually did, but a few agonizing seconds later he seemed to have picked up on what she was saying. His breath hitched.
“Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” He hastily corrected himself. “I shouldn't have assumed, I mean, plenty of others didn't show up with a date or nothin’... Nothin’ wrong with that!”
His helpless demeanor almost caused Lotta to intervene, concerned that he would bite into his tongue if he kept babbling on. She was about to tell him it’s fine, that he had enough reason to assume so, and that the two of them could move on to a different topic. Like the music, or the food, or anything similarly banal about this prom night.
But she was still locked in place. Still in cold water. These words of reassurance never formed. And it gave Butters too much time, time he felt he had to fill with words, until eventually, he landed on these:
“It's actually quite like you to show up without one.”
And in an instant, her eyes met his again. Though not carefully, like before when she answered his question. They were now torn wide open, and what felt like cold winter waves was now a tsunami swallowing her whole.
It’s actually quite like you. The air drained from her lungs. A pressure mounting on her chest, threatening to crush her in an instant if she couldn't withstand it. It’s like you to show up without one.
Her mouth hung open, but to think she had anything to say in response to that was laughable. So laughable in fact, that that’s exactly what she did. The first noise leaving her throat was a huff, followed by the hints of a smile that grew increasingly contorted, with each bit and piece of a laugh that struggled being born.
Butters just stood by the side, not joining in. In hindsight, it was probably apparent to him that this wasn’t a laugh. At least not an amused one, caused by his remark. Not that it was hard to tell. He eyed Lotta cautiously, sort of like a kid staring at the shards of a plate it just dropped. That was the last thing she could make out before tears began clouding her vision.
No. No no no. Panic started to rise, setting itself ablaze beneath Lotta’s skin. This can’t be happening, not now. Each breath of air let in to try and calm herself would force itself back out violently. Each and every time, until it all gradually twisted itself into full blown sobbing.
The warm streaks running down on her cheeks left a long, black trail. No. Without a second thought Lotta reached up to wipe them clean, smearing it further and causing an even bigger mess. She would seek refuge in her hands, attempting to silence her pathetic crying and hide herself from this. This can’t be happening. Lotta silently begged whoever was listening that this wasn’t happening.
Not here. Not when someone’s watching.
Think. Breathe. It was an effort more exhausting than climbing a mountain, but Lotta regained control. Her eyes were still damp, but lifting her gaze again she could see something to her right. It was Butters, extending his hand to offer her a tissue. He faced the ground, eyes wide open.
Humiliating enough as this was, Lotta figured she might as well take it. She was well aware of her horribly smeared mascara without needing to see it, and if she couldn't save face in this situation figuratively, she may as well do it literally, to the best of her ability.
The way Butters flinched once Lotta closed her fingers around the tissue was impossible to miss. His eyes darted up in less than a second. And what Lotta initially assumed to be his sclera glistening through a coat of tears, she would write off as a simple trick of the light. It was easier to not think about it as she diligently cleaned herself and dried her tears, her breath still barely finding a regular rhythm.
Butters was still staring at her when Lotta had finished making use of the paper tissue. Like a deer in headlights. His lips parted ever so slightly, and Lotta knew if she didn't say something, he would. But it wasn't fear of what she was about to hear that set her into motion. It was complete and utter bitterness, rearing its ugly head.
“You wanna know why I’m out here?”
She knew her wobbly voice didn't carry the strength she intended it to, but she couldn't care less. Without waiting for an answer she reached into her pockets, pulling out her phone. She didn't wait for the message app's loading symbol to fade away before she handed her phone to Butters.
For a second he merely observed, looking at her and then back at the phone, until he carefully picked it up. To Lotta's surprise he turned up the brightness before anything else. Were this any other time, she might have had half the mind to take note of that.
He dragged his thumb across the screen, and Lotta watched as over time his narrowed stare dropped, leaving a mortified expression in its stead.
“He blew you off…?” He whispered in a low voice. It sounded like disbelief, but Lotta couldn't shake the uncanny feeling that there was something more there. Something painful.
“Yeah,” Lotta croaked.
“He blew you off tonight?!”
Lotta almost jumped. Shout it from the rooftops why dont you. Luckily the gym hall was filled to the brim with music, chatter and people living their life, so there was no way anything Butters decided to yell out here could worm its way in. Not that it mattered, since anybody who might care had already seen her in there without a plus one.
Butters scrolled up and down, reviewing the same messages over and over. At one point Lotta thought she heard him mutter ‘Asshole’ under his breath. It felt strangely vindicating, despite the fact that this was Butters Stotch she was talking to here. In other words, the last person she would have expected to react more outraged than herself.
“Wait,” he interrupted himself. “Six hours ago… but that was before prom started.”
She turned away, grimacing. “Don’t look at me. Andy’s idea. Told me not to let some jerk ruin prom night for me.” Yeah, way to go, huh.
As she retrieved her phone and promptly turned it off, Butters’ stare lingered on Lotta. Still shocked by the looks of it, but behind his eyes laid far more, too much for Lotta to decipher.
Eventually, he leaned back against the brick wall. “I can’t believe it,” he muttered quietly, absent-mindedly.
But while his mind may have been absent, Lotta’s was painfully present. He can’t believe it? Something sour crawled up her throat. Maybe she felt like throwing up, but the rest of her body did not follow suit either way. Nevertheless, this sour taste would stick. Of course you can’t believe it. Not with who you have now.
A bitter smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Why not?” She replied to what he didn't ask. “It’s just like me to show up without a date after all.”
Butters looked at her like she just spat acid at him. And he wasn't too far off, judging by how fucking much it hurt to say it. And it continued to burn itself in, as she bit down on her tongue to keep the tears away. Once was already enough, she decided.
“I didn’t mean it like that!” He defended himself, voice pitching higher. A sigh of frustration left him as he chose what to say. Almost like he was fighting himself about whether he wanted to say it or not.
“You… you never seemed like you needed anybody. If I ever see you handle somethin’ you're handlin’ it on your own! That's what I meant.”
Huh. Lotta took a deep breath, letting it sit for a moment. ‘You never seemed like you needed anybody’ — It had a nice ring to it, she had to admit. Despite the obvious past tense, she could almost soothe herself knowing that it worked. That to others she never made an impression that came close to this absolute clown show she put on tonight.
“Doesn’t matter,” Lotta sighed exasperatedly, rubbing her eyelids softly. “You’re not wrong. Whether you meant it that way or not.”
When only a short, uncomfortable silence followed suit, Lotta crossed her arms over her chest. “I just hope Andy will be here soon, it’s cold as fuck out here.” I hope he won’t be mad at me. That’s the last thing I need tonight.
More silence. Lotta supposed that was all there was to expect in response. Then again, one should always expect the unexpected, right?
“... Maybe he’s right.”
“What?”
“Your brother.” Butters suddenly let a certainty guide him that Lotta had no idea where it came from. “He’s right, you shouldn’t let this ruin your night. You shouldn’t shed tears over some bitch who doesn’t even give a fuck about how you feel!”
The anger felt targeted. Too targeted for Lotta to assume he was actually talking about her former date, instead of what sounded like the remnants of a past rendezvous he might have endured.
“And do what,” she dismissively retorted, “Nobody’s gonna want to talk to me anyway, lest they miss out on slobbering all over their significant other. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb."
"So?" Butters shrugged. "Like I said, plenty of ‘em are here without a plus one. Like Jimmy, for example."
The name stung. Like a fork lodging itself between her arteries and twisting them around. It took everything she had to not make it apparent. To not let the words echoing through her head become so loud that they would reach Butters.
‘I just don't feel the same way about you.’
A bitter taste crawled up Lotta's neck all the way to her throat once again. "Please," she spat out, "you know Jimmy gets more than enough."
Butters head tilted to the side, an expression that read ‘confused dog’ more than anything. “What? I’m serious, he doesn’t have a— ”
“Yes, because he had five or so girls ask him out and not because he got dumped!” Like a glass of water tipped over, it was her anger boiling up that caused Lotta to raise her voice in response. But before she could make a fool of herself even more, she strangled any attempt of finishing that sentence, tears drawing close again.
The way Butters looked at her, not entirely devoid of pity but overwritten with a fear that Lotta had to assume was in response to her yelling, caused her to freeze. Regret sunk its sharp teeth in the back of her exposed neck as Lotta forced herself to take a breath.
“He doesn't need some pity date. And I didn’t want to be a pity date tonight, Butters. I just wanted a date.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe I’m asking for too much.
The pine trees framing the parking lot swayed, a harsh wind cut through the air and broke the silence with a miserable howl. Much to her dismay, when Lotta opened her eyes again she was still standing there, next to Butters, who seemed to have shot her a brief, but undoubtedly sorrowful glance.
Great. Why did she tell Butters about this again? She felt even more pathetic thinking about how she just more or less opened up to somebody like him. As though the incident at Bebe’s party hadn't been embarrassing enough already. As though crying just now hadn't been humiliating enough.
The wind continued to rage, carrying away Butters’ voice when he spoke up again at last.
“... Okay… But,” Was there something breaking in his voice? He was being awfully careful. “But, what about first aid? You know, if you leave right now and somethin’ happens, we’ll all be fucked!”
“Come on now. Nobody’s gonna wind up seriously injured in there. At least not in any way I could help it...”
Butters stifled a laugh into the silence that followed. “Not like the 4th grade dance, you mean?”
Time seemed to come to a halt around the two of them as Lotta recalled these memories. The 4th grade dance, already promising itself to be an awkward event for everyone involved, not helped by their usually more-than-PC principal’s sudden 180-shift in character occurring earlier that month. Whereas Lotta had planned to be of medical assistance for the duration of the evening, their principal suddenly had the bright idea to pair everyone on the dance floor up with a member of the opposite sex. To promote ‘Healthy, straight couples,’ as he yelled into the microphone at the podium.
Once he spotted Lotta patching up a cut on Red’s hand, PC principal had pulled her by the arm, dragged her onto the dance floor and pushed her into Butters, screaming that they would both be expelled if they, quote ‘Didn’t dance right fucking now.’ It was a strange ordeal, their slimy hands had not an inkling of a clue where to put themselves, never mind the fact that they faced nothing but the linoleum floor for the entirety of their dance. Butters was in no way a bad dancer - but there’s only so much he could have done about a girl who had the rhythm of a steel chair. If inventing new dance moves to prevent stepping on your partners toes was a competition, Butters would have won that night without a doubt. Most of the other kids wound up with twisted ankles, bruised feet, and eventually the chaos was grand enough for Lotta to break free and tend to her ailing classmates.
Back in the present, Lotta shifted from one foot to another. It was impressive that Butters managed to recall this event with any sort of apparent fondness, let alone the role she played in it. It managed to draw the weakest of smiles out of her for a moment.
“Yeah,” she replied. “it’s not like that anymore. The paramedic shtick was maybe cute when I was ten, but tonight it just kind of makes obvious that it’s all I can do, doesn’t it.”
Lotta didn’t want to hear an answer to that. She shook her head and took the word before Butters could. “Y’know, Kenny’s probably looking for you in there. Why are you trying so hard to get me to stay?” The attempt at a teasing undertone fell completely flat.
His eyes were wide, and the lack of a response was almost astonishing by itself. For a few moments, his gaze darted around, as though he would find an answer somewhere between stone tiles and parked cars. He swallowed dryly, before finally he said: “Nobody should be alone on prom night…”
It was weak. Not just the tiny voice in which he said it, seemingly more so to himself than Lotta, but the argument in itself. She shrugged. “Prom night is also just a night. Chances are I’ll have the best night of my life once this is all over and I never have to see anyone in that gym hall again.”
The sudden confidence in which Lotta presented her theory caught Butters a little off guard by the looks of it. “South Park is a small town…” he carefully noted. “How can you be so sure you’ll never see any of us again?”
Lotta decided against explaining herself, figuring a simple raise of the eyebrow would be enough for Butters to understand. And eventually, it was.
“... you’re leaving South Park?”
“Thought I would pass up on paying only a tenth of the college tuition?” she joked halfheartedly, until a realization let this faux smile drop again. He’s surprised? “I thought you of all people would know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Lotta stared at her shoes, hesitating for a moment. “you always know the latest gossip. You’re always in everyone’s business.”
When she looked back at him again and was met with an offended grimace, she added: “At least you were in my business when you told everyone I was dating Kenny in middle school.”
There was something really satisfying about seeing everything in his face drop just a second later. Caught red handed, breaking another plate. Her final night here and she got another small, meaningless victory. Isn’t that sweet.
“I’m— ”
“It’s fine, Butters,” Lotta cut him off in an instant, voice flat and devoid of patience. She sighed, frustrated, remains of snot in her nose making themselves audibly present as she breathed in. Leaning back into the wall and pinching the bridge of her nose.
“It’s fucking fine, because you wanna know what Kenny said to me back then? He said ‘Don’t worry Lotta, nobody’s gonna believe that the two of us are dating, that’s stupid!’”
She pictured Kenny roaming the gym hall, scanning the crowd for Butters’ face. Impatiently scuffing his feet against the floor, upset.
While outside this gym hall, Lotta did not dare looking at Butters again. She could only imagine the way he looked at her right now. You never had a thing to worry about. He was always yours.
“... How did you— ”
“Butters.“ Her voice was firm, cutting him off once again. And then cut herself off as well, to face palm. “Nobody else gave a fuck about who Kenny was seeing or not. Cartman only spreads these kinds of rumors if he has something to gain. Or to get one up on Kyle. Name one person who would have done it, other than yourself.”
No reply. Of course not. With the two of them just standing here again, Lotta pictured Kenny stepping toward the exit door, tearing it open to take Butters back inside. This whole thing could be over and everyone involved could forget she was even here.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine.” The tears in her eyes suggested otherwise.
She shifted, unable to stand here for any longer. Lotta had nowhere else to go, but she knew one more second here and it would be the end. Unfortunately for her, Butters had her immediately stop in her tracks as he, too, stepped away from the wall and was now facing her directly.
“Let me make things right.” It was horrible. Lotta wanted to back away, this sorrowful light in his eyes was maddening. Drenched in misplaced, inappropriate guilt that she didn’t want to see. “Let’s dance, just one dance and you can go if you want, just…”
A dance with Butters Stotch? His frame blocked out the stale light from the outdoor lamps. The gym hall would light him up bright, and maybe it would light her up as well. He would have to take the lead, pulling Lotta’s pathetic physique by the arms to make sure she doesn’t trip or step on his feet. Just like 4th grade, but worse. And yet, the offer seemed almost… realistic. Like she could just walk back in with Butters, have a chat, have a dance and then see where the rest of the evening might take her. It would still be bad, but maybe it wouldn’t be horrible.
That is until she remembered who would be watching this dance from the sidelines.
A low buzzing tune announced its presence, unmistakably coming from Butters’ pockets. He pulled his phone out without hesitation, the bright screen illuminating his face and making it obvious who was on the other end of the line.
Lotta pocketed her freezing hands, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Told you so.”
“He’s askin’ me where I am,” Butters pointed out the obvious.
“Seems like you already have your one dance,” Lotta shrugged. “And you don’t want to miss it, trust me. I peeked over Scott’s shoulder earlier, the set list has some of his favorites.”
She was begging him to leave. She was begging without saying a word about it. Kenny doesn’t deserve to have prom night ruined just because you feel guilty.
Butters’ eyes darted between Lotta’s eyes and the text messages. Visibly uncertain, seemingly ready to leave in an instant to be with Kenny, but apparently determined to not give up on whatever he was doing here.
“Are you sure you don’t… wanna try?”
Try?
Her eyes tore wide open, glaring at him. Soon followed by a huff, a pathetic attempt to laugh it off like she did before. The everpresent tears in her eyes threatened to fall once more.
“Oh, believe me, I’ve tried. I tried actually having a good night despite everything. I tried coming here in a dress I actually like instead of the one he picked out. I tried not letting it get to me that I got dumped last minute, while I saw Kenny with you on the dance floor, smiling so goddamn hard that for a second I thought I mistook someone else for him.”
A last ditch effort to bite back the tears.
“I tried. I tried over and over again…” Biting down. Shutting her eyes and opening them again. This was beyond pathetic. “I’m tired of trying.”
Another buzz of his cellphone stole his attention again. But to Lotta’s surprise, only briefly. He proceeded to pocket his phone, intently staring at her. If it weren’t for the uphill battle of not breaking out into a sob again, Lotta might have even been a little terrified. He took a step toward her, then another. Among all the awkward, quiet moments between them tonight, this one felt like it went on for the longest. These mere seconds were like the years Lotta wasted here.
And another mere second later, she was in his arms.
It felt less like a hug than it was. Less like a hug and more like Butters was handling an expensive vase. Arms slung around her waist, avoiding the stretch of skin on her neck that laid exposed by her ponytail, making sure to leave room between their two heads. Deliberately careful with her. Oh great, she thought. Here comes the pity. And miraculously, the tears dried up for the time being. He was warm.
Lotta could see her breath forming a cloud when he gently pulled away from her again after god knows how long. A white gleam reflected off his eyes as they searched around, while Butters made an apparent attempt to figure out the words to use now. Lotta would have joked about leaving him speechless if she had anything resembling this lightheartedness left in her.
Eventually their gazes met again, for the last time in their lives, Lotta had to assume. Strange. Her heart sank, realizing that he was the only one who would share an actual goodbye with her, seeing as how everyone else is busy. Him of all people.
“Good Luck.” His voice was hoarse, like he was about to take over the crying part for her. How strange indeed.
His hands were still gripping her shoulders. Not as firm as he was capable of. “You too.”
The grip slackened, his fingers sliding down her arms in a moment of negligence. Yet he was still standing there. Still something left unsaid?
“And, uh…” Lotta braced herself for anything. Absolutely anything at all. It couldn’t get worse, right?
“... It looks good on you. The dress, I mean. You’re beautiful.”
…
At last, he backed away, still keeping her in sight. Still had her locked in place. Butters put a hand on the door handle.
“Uhm… Bye, Lotta.”
“... Bye.”
The door fell shut. The world of prom safe and secure, a night of joy barricaded and locked away. Lotta stood there for a good while after, eventually returning to lean her head against the ice cold wall. She watched her breath disappear into the solitude, time becoming nothing.
And the headlights at the horizon shifted, eventually growing until her brother's run-down Passat entered her field of vision. The exact same moment that, from beyond the walls of the school gymnasium, an opening synth played.
“Yeah, this one right here goes out to all the baby’s mamas.”
Just as she had predicted, one of his favorites was next. And it was the perfect joke to play on her. How could she have expected anything else from this town.
“Mamas’ mamas.”
It was time to leave.