Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

August 17th, 2007

stan ur bff 8:11 p.m.

tell me about the first time u saw me :)

Kyle stared at his phone screen, the text staring back at him. He looked up at the room, paranoid that someone else was reading along with him. Eric, Kenny and him were sitting on Craig’s living room couch, squeezed together.

It was Tweek’s birthday and Craig organized a party for him: invited everyone from their grade he deemed tolerable enough, blew up balloons, made a CD mix, and got a probably-bigger-than-necessary cake for the group of approximately ten people.

Stan hadn’t arrived yet, so Kyle started texting him after getting tired of looking at the front door every five minutes.

KYLE B. 7:40 p.m.

You’re coming to Tweek’s right??

stan ur bff 7:42 p.m.

yea probably b there in 30

KYLE B. 7:45 p.m.

Well you're missing out on Craig freaking out over forgetting birthday candles for the cake

stan ur bff 7:46 p.m.

lol

stan ur bff 7:48 p.m.

i cant picture craig going postal over anything

the power of love!!!

KYLE B. 7:53 p.m.

Yeah love at first (or 104th) sight, unbreakable huh

stan ur bff 7:59 p.m.

as if either of them remember when they first saw each other

KYLE B. 8:04 p.m.

If I was so worried over candles like he is I might tbh

stan ur bff 8:03 p.m.

really

stan ur bff 8:11 p.m.

tell me about the first time u saw me :)

The text kept making echoes in Kyle’s head. He debated taking it as a joke and replying with a snarky comeback. A small part of his brain also considered asking Stan what he meant, why he wanted to know. The possibility that this was all just a joke, and the consequences for taking a text about falling in love at the sight of his best friend seriously would be irreversible, held Kyle back.

It was a few weeks before summer ended, Kyle’s grade group started high school, and he and Stan had been attached at the hip for the past several months. Neither of them discussed it, but both boys dreaded the fact that they’d be pulled apart once the school year started. This led the pair to take any opportunity to spend time together. Sure, Stan and Kyle were always hanging out, but half of that time was spent with the rest of their friends. This summer, it’d been just them, and it felt different.

It also didn’t help that Stan seemed to take it as a personal challenge to be as close in proximity to Kyle as possible. His hand would graze his arm slower, fingers linger a bit longer than usual over Kyle’s hand, Stan’s knee would find his and stay together like magnets, or their legs would magically find a way to entangle together. It took Kyle into an frenzied ride of mixed emotions whenever they were close; happiness, comfort, nervousness, self-awareness and excitement taking over.

Whatever, he figured—as long as Stan never questioned it, and Kyle never brought it up, he could ignore these new sensations until they dissipated. Right?

“Craig, stop being a bitch and bring the cake out already, nobody gives a fuck about your candles!” Eric’s complaint brought Kyle back down to earth. He put his phone into his pant’s pocket, mentally storing away his Schrödinger's Stan dilemma for now.

“I’ll eat the whole cake myself if you keep whining,” Craig retorted absentmindedly, standing across from them in the living room. He had one arm around Tweek and was texting with the other. Clyde, Tolkien, and Jimmy were next to the pair.

Eric straightened and shot back, “Please, you’d probably start crying all ‘Oooh, Tweek, sorry I ruined your precious little birthday!’”

“Suck my balls, Cartman,” Craig deadpanned, still focused on his phone.

Eric stood up, sputtering indignantly, “You wish I’d suck your balls! Too bad I’m not a fag like you.”

Craig rolled his eyes and put his phone away, looking ready to confront the other boy.

“You know who I wish would suck my balls,” Kenny interrupted, slurring. He'd brought wine coolers for everyone and already had three bottles. “Megan Fox. She’s so hot, did you guys see Transformers? When she was checking the car, I rediscovered boners. She’s my dream bang.”

Kyle stayed silent. He’d watched the movie with Stan last month and knew what scene Kenny was referring to. He’d felt nothing and took a peek at Stan out of the corner of his eye to catch his reaction. He’d stayed mostly still, and after the movie his comments were mostly about the action scenes and how car customization sounded cool.

“Dude, yes!” Clyde chimed in enthusiastically. “Only one hotter than her is Jessica Alba. I already told Bebe she’s my free pass,” he smirked and nudged Jimmy, who nodded and gave him an approving high five.

Kenny sat up straight and took his hood off, rubbing his hands and looking too serious for the subject at hand. “Okay—fuck, marry, kill: Jessica Alba, Megan Fox and, um… Scarlett Johansson!”

“Easy: fuck Megan, marry Scarlett, kill Jessica. Sorry, Clyde.” Tolkien replied instantly.

Clyde shrugged, “Whatever, more for me. What about you, Tweek?” he snickered and wiggled his eyebrows at the blond.

Tweek fidgeted with his hands with a concerned face, “Uh, shit, I don’t know. I bet they’re all nice, but I don’t wanna fuck them, and I’d hate to kill anyone… I guess I’d marry them all?”

The group laughed, past tension dispersed. Craig pulled Tweek closer to him and kissed his forehead with a small smile, “Don’t sweat it, babe, I’d kill them for you.”

“Gross.” Eric whispered.

Kenny punched his shoulder. “Fine, fine, sorry for making it all straight. How about: Ryan Gosling, Will Ferrell and uh, the guy from Maroon 5, what’s his name?”

“Oh, Adam Levine!” Tweek said enthusiastically, “Definitely marry him; he’s hot and I like their music, so it’s a win-win for me.”

Craig snorted, “Ryan’s hot, I’d keep him alive. I don’t care about the others.”

“Y- you’re both wrong,” Jimmy interjected, “I would never let Will Ferrell die. His com-comedic genius is too important. I would marry him.”

“Again, gross!” Eric repeated, louder this time. “You’re not even gay, Jimmy, how could you even consider marrying a guy?”

“Dude, you’re such a baby,” Kyle said, annoyed at Eric but also trying to ease himself into the conversation, realizing he’d gone non-verbal for the past half-hour. “Is your ego so fragile that you can’t play along to a stupid game?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kyle, are you sad that you didn’t get a chance to answer how many dudes you wanna bang?”

“All I'm saying is, no one’s gonna act like you suddenly wanna fuck guys for real if you just play along, asshole.” Kyle replied, his ears getting red, which happened when he was angry or embarrassed. He was starting to feel a mix of both.

“Fine,” Eric said, standing up from the couch, indignant. “Obviously, I’d marry Will, ‘cause he made Elf. I’d fuck the Maroon 5 guy, because then he’d have to give me concert tickets and the ladies would be all over me. And Ryan Gosling’s gay for being in The Notebook, so he can die.”

“Right,” Kyle rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, “Ryan Gosling’s gay because he’s in a movie where he makes out and has sex scenes with a girl half the time.”

Everyone in the room laughed. They’d all had at least one wine cooler by now and were feeling chipper; except Kyle, who promised Stan the previous day they’d drink together.

Eric crossed his arms and glared daggers at him. “Okay, Kyle. Since you love dudes, here's a fuck, marry, kill just for you: Tom Cruise, Orlando Bloom and Stan Marsh. And don’t worry, we already know your homo ass wants to pick the same person to fuck and marry.” He sneered.

Kyle stood up, his ears on fire. He felt ready to explode on Eric, when the door opened and, almost as if he had been summoned, Stan came into the room. His cheeks were pink and he was carrying a small paper bag.

“‘Sup, guys,” Stan greeted, unaware of the situation and smiling directly at Kyle, who couldn’t help but smile back, feeling his stomach twist with that new sensation again.

Stan walked over to Tweek and Craig, giving Tweek a side-hug to wish him happy birthday, and then handing Craig the bag he was carrying. For the first time since he could recall, Kyle witnessed Craig Tucker grinning ear to ear.

“Thanks, man, I totally owe you one,” he said, squeezing Stan’s shoulder and whispering something into Tweek’s ear before disappearing to the kitchen.

Eric rolled his eyes, muttering “Pussies. I’m surrounded by pussies,” while heading to the bathroom.

Stan walked over to the couch and sat next to Kenny, who passed him a wine cooler. “Stanley, finally gracing us with your presence. What’s up with you getting Craig presents? I thought you only had eyes for me.”

Stan took the bottle and snickered, rubbing his neck. “No, I, well,” he looked over at Kyle, who was still standing, “I heard Craig was stressed about getting a birthday candle. So I texted him and figured I’d get one on the way.”

Kyle felt self-conscious when Stan fixed his gaze on him. It was like a spotlight had been placed on him and Stan had X-ray vision all of a sudden, Kyle’s insides on full display. He wanted to keep their eye contact, see where it could lead them, but felt like running to a hill and hiding there forever at the same time.

“That was really nice,” he offered instead, heading to sit back on the couch next to Stan, who was opening a bottle and handing it to Kyle. He took a sip: he thought it was too sweet for something meant to taste like wine, but liked it enough to take another shot.

Stan shrugged, “It’s no big. So, what’d I miss?” he asked, taking a swig of his drink and tapping Kyle’s foot with his.

“Cartman really wants to know if Kyle would fuck, kill, or marry you.” Kenny blurted without thinking, staring into the distance.

Stan bursted out laughing.

“Dude,” Kyle gritted his teeth. He wondered if there was a SWAT team nearby that could put him out of his misery.

At that moment, Craig came back to the living room, carrying the cake with its awaited candle, singing Happy Birthday to Tweek, whose face lit up brighter than a stadium.

Kenny stood up quickly and started singing along with the rest of the group, happy to avoid further discussion.

Eric made a beeline from the bathroom to the dining table, where everyone was gathering, calling dibs on a slice.

When Kenny was gone, Stan put his arm over Kyle’s shoulder, pulling him closer. There it was, that closeness that made Kyle overthink everything. “I hope you at least chose to marry me—or would you actually kill me?” Stan whispered, so close to Kyle that he wondered if he’d be the first person in the universe to melt, not metaphorically, but literally thanks to Stan.

He chuckled nervously, his stomach still in a knot. “I’ll keep you in the ‘marry’ option if you buy the slushies for Superbad tomorrow,” he said, hoping no possible hint of seriousness slipped through.

Stan flashed a grin that Kyle usually found goofy but was starting to grow endeared to. He clinked their bottles together, “Deal! Come on, the cake looks good,” he said, grabbing Kyle’s hand and leading him to the dining table.

Kyle stood up and followed Stan. They dropped each other’s hands when they reached the rest of the group.

Kyle was aware it wasn’t his birthday, but, when Tweek blew out the candle, he secretly wished his deal with Stan was for real.

Chapter Text

January 25th, 2008

“Dude, we’ve finally come full-circle,” Stan proclaimed, smiling as he and Kyle walked out of the movie theater. They’d just watched Cloverfield, a movie they promised they’d see together since the moment they saw its mysterious trailer during Transformers.

“I wish they showed the monster more, it looked pretty cool.”

“I bet they’re trying to save it for when they make a sequel. Hey, you wanna sit?” Stan noticed Kyle was rubbing his temple.

“Yeah, all those camera movements made me a bit dizzy,” he said as he sat down on the curb. The theater was empty by now, only them and the box office guy behind them.

“Here,” Stan sat next to him and gave him his slushie. Kyle took a long sip through the straw: usually, he’d be grossed out at the idea of passing around spit with someone else—with Stan, he found it weirdly exciting.

“Thanks, man.” He handed back the plastic cup.

Stan finished what was left of the drink and put it aside. He placed both his hands on the curb and leaned into Kyle. “Soooo, are you gonna come with me to Clyde’s next week?” He was putting his grin to work again.

Kyle touched Stan’s knee with his own and replied sarcastically, “Am I even worthy of having Clyde grace me with his presence? Did he finally get the football out his ass?”

Stan laughed, “You know, I actually think since Bebe dumped him, he’s finally realizing playing one junior varsity game doesn’t make you Elway’s second coming.”

“Tolkien’s been pretty fed up with him. He told me all about it when we stayed late on the last day of student council. They haven’t even called him back to play again but he kept lecturing Tolkien about how football is the most important sport in the country and AP classes are a scam.”

“Wendy said you and Tolkien seem pretty close.” Stan muttered, locking eyes with Kyle and picking at the drawstring of his red hoodie, a hint of pique in his voice.

Kyle shrugged and looked at the floor, pretending not to notice. “He’s cool, I like the fundraisers he suggests.” He felt awkward in the silence and asked, “What’s up with you and Wendy anyways? Have you talked at all?”

It was Stan’s turn to look at the ground. “Not really. I don’t know, we said we’d take Christmas break to think and then talk about getting back together if it felt right, but it’s been two weeks and she hasn’t even texted me. And you know, I don’t care about being the one who reaches out first, but, I don’t know…” Stan laughed ruefully, “I feel kinda shit about it all, honestly.”

“What do you mean?” Kyle turned his body to Stan, who did the same.

“When I think about it, I know it’s for the best. That we finally broke up for real, you know. And maybe that’s why she hasn’t talked to me, probably doesn’t wanna try again either, so she probably thinks she’s letting me down easy or whatever.” Stan rested his hands on his thighs. “But I… I hate feeling like everything’s changing around me and I’m just… stuck? Watching as everything changes but not really choosing. Like,” he turns his head to look back at the theater, the marquee’s lights still shining, “this is my movie but I’m not starring. Does that make sense?”

“It does.” Kyle reassured and peered his head down to meet Stan’s eyes. “Is… is this just about Wendy, though?” He gingerly placed his hand above Stan’s, ignoring his ears starting to warm up.

Stan glanced briefly at their hands before meeting Kyle’s eyes again. “I’m dropping out of the football team next season,” he almost whispered.

Stan looked so sullen it made Kyle’s stomach drop. He remembered the first time Stan mentioned joining the team, how excited he was at the prospects of it. He felt the urge to destroy all stadiums in their vicinity, make the sport disappear altogether from the universe however possible if it was causing Stan this much turmoil. “Why? What happened?” is all he offered in reply instead.

“Nothing, really. So I guess that’s what happened. I thought I’d love it—I love watching it, I loved playing with you guys, it made sense. But our coach is crazy; he’s so intense, always yelling, I actually dread it when I get called up to play any games now. And there’s so much fucking politics. Everyone’s either doing favors for the coach or making their parents talk with him so they can play a game. Seriously, you think Clyde’s annoying now? Just imagine having to be around him when he’s up some old man’s ass for 2 hours almost every day of the week. He spent all of last season going around comparing everyone’s stats.” He sighed and looked back at the floor. “I thought this was gonna be my thing, but I hate it and… I feel like a failure.” Stan’s eyes were glassy now.

Instinctively, Kyle reached for Stan’s other hand and gripped both tightly. “You’re not. Look, I- I get it. You know that law elective I’m taking? I hate it. It sucks so much ass. But at least I know it sucks and that I hate law, so now I can do something cooler next year, you know? You’re not a failure, you’re figuring it out. Don’t take this the wrong way, but chill the fuck out. You don’t like football, big deal—we’ll find something else to be your thing. Something better.”

Stan let out a soft laugh and his shoulders deflated, looking less tense now. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m just gonna miss the games. As stressful as it was, whenever my dad went to see me play, it felt like we could finally bond over something.”

“He’ll show up for whatever else you decide to do.”

“You think?”

“I know,” Kyle replied, and, still in ‘comfort-Stan’ mode, blurted out absentmindedly, “and I’ll be there too, I’ll always be there.” Hearing the words out loud, he panicked internally and wished for a meteor to come by and take him out. Leaving Stan unscathed, of course.

Instead of the world collapsing over, Stan started smiling again. “Always? So, that means you’re definitely coming with me to Clyde’s next week?”

Kyle rolled his eyes but was grateful for the change of topic. “Fine. Can I bring the measuring tape for his big head?”

They both laughed and met each other’s eyes, silence taking over again. Kyle remembered they were, essentially, holding hands and his heart started beating faster. Fuck. He tried to calm down, but instead, took note of how pink Stan’s cheeks were. What the fuck, they were so so pink, were they always so fucking rosy? He felt his ears getting hot again and wondered if they could actually catch fire at this point.

Stan stood still and kept his eyes on Kyle, his smile intact. And while Kyle could swear he tried against all the forces of his triune brain, he glanced at Stan’s mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did Stan notice? Should he say something? Should he just–

There was a loud honk suddenly, and both boys released their grip, startled. A car pulling up in front of them lowered its passenger window and revealed Randy Marsh, who yelled, “STAAAAAHN! Staaaan, I’m here. Come on—you too, Kyle! Your dad asked me to take you home.” His smile was wide and oblivious to what was going on.

If Stan was aware that Kyle was seconds away from losing all composure and finding an excuse to ask if they could kiss just this one time (to check if they liked it, to deepen their friendship, for scientific reasons even, to confirm he’s not crazy for dreaming about it once a week and enjoying how real it feels in his head), Stan didn’t show it, pinching the bridge of his nose instead as his father bellowed his name.

“Come on, before he starts embarrassing us.” he said, standing and grabbing Kyle’s hand, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed, though he was already embarrassed.

Chapter Text

February 1st, 2008

“So I’m all, seriously? Adult language? That’s what you’re worried about? You’re an adult, Miss Jen, and you’re too afraid to say some stupid words in front of other adults and kids like we don’t know what they mean? And she goes all ‘Eric, think of your mom! Do you think she’d be comfortable with you using such language’ and like, I start laughing and– Kyle? Kyyyyle, are you listening?!”

“Huh?” Kyle turned his head to look at Eric, who was gripping the steering wheel of his car with so much force his knuckles were turning white. Eric, Kenny and him were on their way to Clyde’s party. Kyle met up with Kenny and Eric in the school parking lot after basketball practice, just around the same time they finished their Drama Club meeting.

Eric volunteered to drive, not wanting to pass on the opportunity to brag about his learner’s permit, or the fact that his mom bought him a car for the achievement of “getting into high school”.

Kyle would’ve usually worried about the fact that they didn’t have an adult with them, but he was more nervous about the party. He was aware drinking could make him more sociable, which meant he had to pace himself to avoid any possibility of spilling his guts to Stan in a drunken stupor. Therefore, keeping himself distracted at the party to avoid drinking due to boredom was necessary, and he was trying to come up with a plan when Eric interrupted his train of thought.

“Man, what’s up your vagina today?” Eric said, giving him a nudge. “The point is, I totally owned Miss Jen’s ass about how we should do the original Chicago instead of the stupid teen version.”

“So, you’re not doing the teen version then?” Kyle asked.

Eric sputtered, “We are, but the point is, I totally took her down in front of everyone! No one respects her opinion anymore.”

“Huh, what do you think, Kenny?” Kyle turned his head back to look at him, sitting in the backseat. “Has Miss Jen lost all integrity and honor thanks to Cartman? Are you devastated at the censorship you’ll face on the musical?”

Kenny laughed and leaned forward to poke his head between the front seats, “Cartman didn’t say shit after she brought up his mom. Anyway, who cares? The girls are still gonna dance in fishnets, so I’m good. And the sets we’ll make are gonna kick ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, Kenny’s great at building shit, but I’m the lead, Kyle, so you better not fucking miss it!”

“I thought the leads in Chicago were girls.” Kyle replied.

“Billy Flynn is just as important! Stop trying to minimize my star power.”

“You’re right, Cartman, I’m sorry, I can’t wait to see you dance around in fishnets.”

“They’re not fishnets! They’re compression leggings and you can’t even see them, creep!” Eric took one hand off the steering wheel, aiming to slap Kyle.

Kenny laughed in the back seat. “I think you’d look great dancing in fishnets too, Cartman.”

Soon enough, they were on Clyde’s street. Kyle tried to calm his nerves by giving shit to Eric when he almost knocked out the side-view mirror of the car in front of them by attempting to parallel park, and with just a few steps, they were on Clyde’s front porch. The house was bright, with every single light on; some people were spilling out the front door, while others stood on the steps of the entrance; a Flo Rida song could be heard playing from inside.

Kyle’s palms were slightly sweaty, and against his own logic, he suggested they all go inside for a drink. He'll just take one beer and keep it with him as a buffer for his hands, right?

“Let’s go, leading boy,” Kenny said to Eric, leading the way.

Once inside, Kyle noticed there were at least twenty people, some from grades above them—he recognized a decent amount of students, and a few greeted him when he passed by.

“Look at you, Mr. Popular,” Kenny joked once they were in the kitchen. It was one of those open-room concepts: sans walls, they could see into most of the house. To their right side was the living room they’d just passed; to their left a sliding door that led into the backyard, which was open wide for the traffic of teenagers moving through it. In the middle of the kitchen island laid an open ice cooler, full to the brim with beer cans. Kenny passed a can to both Eric and Kyle and kept one for himself, “Is that why you’ve been so quiet today? Worried we’ll be intimidated now that you’re a public figure.” He flung his arm around Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle gave him a shove. “Shut up, most of them I know from council and all those roundtables we do.”

“Guys,” Eric whined, “focus on the real mission here—if you see Jenny Simmons around, you gotta be my wingmen—I heard she has the hots for me,” he said while wagging his eyebrows.

“Ha, bullshit! Who lied to you?” Kenny asked, excited for the gossip.

As Eric droned on, Kyle’s attention drifted to his surroundings, he scanned the rooms for Stan. They’d been texting earlier: Stan let Kyle know he’d arrive early to help Clyde set up everything. He'd told Kyle to message him once he was at the party.

Kyle had refrained from texting Stan, though: he'd hoped that if he just showed up, both boys would manage to find each other across whatever room they were in, locking eyes and feeling a weird spark that would lead them to spend all their time at the party together. In a very casual, friend-only way, of course.

He sipped his beer and kept scanning the living room areas that he had a clear view of from the kitchen. He noticed Tweek and Craig were making out on the corner of a sofa, and Kyle made an effort to convince himself this irritated him solely because he found PDA distasteful, not a hint of wishful thinking at the back of his mind.

His eyes traveled to the opposite corner. Bebe Stevens and Wendy Testaburger were huddled together, leaning against the wall and laughing. Bebe noticed Kyle’s gaze and her smile widened, making waving motions with her hand for him to go over to them.

Kyle pointed at himself in response, dumbstruck.

Bebe nodded, grinning now and waving harder. She whispered something in Wendy’s ear, who rolled her eyes but smiled, too.

“Uh, I’ll be back in a bit,” he said to Eric and Kenny, grabbing a few beers (for buffer, of course), realizing he’d already finished his first.

Eric groaned in annoyance when he noticed who Kyle was heading towards.

Kenny snickered, “That’s gonna be interesting. Come on,” he said to Eric and pulled him by the arm, “Butters is here, let’s see if he'll chug a few Palm Bays with us.”

Once next to them, Kyle offered a can to both girls. “Hey guys, how’s it going?” Bebe took one, but Wendy declined.

“Oh, Kyle! You have the best timing,” she was dragging her words the same way Wendy used to when she was with Stan, Kyle noticed. “Wendy was telling me all about how great it is to have you in the student council!”

“She was?” Kyle asked unconvinced, looking between them.

“What I was saying is,” Wendy said, giving Bebe a light nudge, “disagreements aside, I appreciate having a fellow member from our grade who pays attention. It’s so annoying to have to go over the same topics because some people just aren’t listening.”

Bebe, who was taking a swig of her beer, lit up at that last sentence. “That’s what I mean! I bet it’s so nice to be around someone who actually cares about things and listens.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Kyle replies, feeling disoriented. “Wendy’s being too nice, I definitely start drifting sometimes,” he looked at the brunette and let out a small laugh, “especially when Scott goes on his rants about how our school color shouldn’t be moss green,” he said, imitating their classmate’s lisp.

Wendy laughed, and Bebe’s cackle was so loud, Kyle worried she broke a window somewhere. When she spoke again, she was practically yelling. “You’re so funny, Kyle, I love that. I love a guy who doesn’t take himself sooo seriously,” she took another sip of her beer and placed her hand on Kyle’s arm, smiling.

Kyle laughed nervously, unsure of what was going on. He scanned the room out of the corner of his eye, convinced he’d pissed someone at Punk’d and this was their revenge. No Hollywood types were around, but he did spot Tolkien in the other corner of the house, near the sliding door that led to the backyard. His back was toward them and he was talking to Clyde, who was staring directly at Kyle and the girls.

Ah. Kyle’s brain recalibrated and he thought for a beat before he made his decision. Okay then.

Kyle placed a hand on Bebe’s shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Bebe, I really appreciate you saying that. I know we haven’t hung out in a long time, but Clyde was right about you.”

Bebe’s face turned stern. “Clyde? What could Clyde possibly know about me? We broke up, you know—like, five weeks ago.” She emphasized on the number.

Kyle dropped his arm off Bebe, “Oh, seriously? Shit, I’m sorry. I- I probably shouldn’t say anything, then.”

Bebe shook Kyle’s arm, “No, come on! Tell me what he saaaid.”

Wendy shot Kyle a questioning look, but he went on, “Well, it was like two weeks ago, but he was telling some of us guys how you always manage to find the best qualities in everyone. And then he kept going on about how you’re the most beautiful girl in all the school, how you’re so funny and smart, how great your hair looks—seriously, we couldn't get him to shut up about you!”

Bebe's eyes lit up, and she let go of Kyle to put both her hands to her chest. Wendy took the can of beer she’d been holding. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m surprised you guys broke up! I bet he misses you like crazy.”

Bebe took Wendy’s hand. “We’re gonna go to the bathroom, ‘kay? See ya later, Kyle!”

“Aaand now you know why I didn’t take your beer,” Wendy whispered as they left and clinked the can she’d saved from Bebe with one of Kyle’s two.

Kyle let out a sigh of relief once he was alone, finishing the last sips of his beer. He checked the end of the hallway again, but Clyde and Tolkien were gone.

He went back into the kitchen to throw the empty can away, then opened up the one Wendy had rejected earlier. He was already starting to feel lightheaded, and laughed to himself when he thought about what had just happened. Fuck it, he thought, taking out his phone.

KYLE B. 8:23 p.m.

Just talked up clyde in front of bebe - tell him not to be stupid

He was about to put away his phone when it started buzzing.

stan ur bff 8:24 p.m.

Omg WHAT!! :0

also what!! ur here?? y didn’t u tell me

stan ur bff 8:25 p.m.

lol clyde’s going crazy

come to the backyard

im w him & tolkien

:))

When Kyle arrived at the backyard, he spotted the three boys a few steps away, next to a folding outdoor table, talking amongst each other. Tolkien noticed him first, “Ah, Cupid has arrived!”

They all laughed and Clyde beelined towards Kyle, shaking him by the arms. “Kyle, man, Bebe just texted me! I don’t know what the hell you told her, but I owe you big time, bro!”

Stan was lingering behind, looking at Kyle with a smile on his face. “We were gonna start a game of beer pong. Wanna join in?” He asked as he started setting up the cups. He took a drink of his beer and Kyle noticed Stan’s shirt rode up.

Fuck. Ever since Stan took up sports, his body had gotten muscular. At first, Kyle made conscious efforts to not notice, but eventually the ‘no staring’ rule became a ‘quick glance’ rule and now the rule was standing somewhere between ‘full 2 minutes’ to ‘as long as no one notices’.

Tolkien interrupted Kyle’s staring session when he placed an arm on his back. “Yeah! Come on, Kyle, you can be my partner.”

“I guess that’s fine,” Stan whispered to no one in particular, almost inaudible.

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Kyle replied and took another sip of his beer.

Fuck this stupid game, Kyle thought five turns in. He’d trusted his basketball skills would help, but he and Tolkien had only managed to knock over one cup, while Clyde and Stan had already managed to take down three of theirs.

A small crowd had formed; Bebe, who’d arrived with Wendy and kept complimenting Clyde and Stan (but more so Clyde); Jimmy, accompanied by Tweek and Craig, who all insisted on making fun of Clyde whenever he missed; and Kenny, who was sharing a drink with Butters, its contents a mystery to everyone but them.

It was Clyde’s turn to go. Stan had already missed his shot and was cheering on Clyde as he stepped in front of the table. It made Kyle wish the drink Clyde was taking would give him diarrhea. Or that his hair fell off sporadically.

Clyde tossed the ball and it landed straight in. “HELL YEAH!” He flexed his arms and high-fived Stan.

Kyle rolled his eyes so hard he could see his brain. He grabbed the cup Clyde landed and removed the ball, downing the beer and trying not to be grossed out at the fact that he was drinking ball covered beer. He then laughed to himself at the thought of ‘ball covered beer’. Yeah, he was drunk.

“Don’t worry dude, I’m landing this one.” Tolkien said confidently. He stood in front of the table, aimed, threw the ball… and after a small bounce on the rim, finally landed on one of the cups. He grinned and turned to Kyle, “Told you!”

“Man, my liver is bowing down to you right now,” Kyle grinned back and put his arm around Tolkien. Craig must’ve heard, because he snickered but said nothing. Shit, did that sound gay, he thought, but Tolkien just chuckled and passed him the other ball.

Kyle stepped up in front of the table. When he was aiming, he could’ve sworn he noticed Stan with his arms crossed, no longer smiling. But then he remembered he was just laughing about balls and beer and telling Tolkien about his liver’s admiration for him, so he decided this was a drunken hallucination. Whatever, he tossed the ball aimlessly and bit the inside of his cheek. It landed straight into the cup next where Tolkien’s ball had landed.

It took Tolkien shaking Kyle by the shoulders and shouting ecstatically for him to realize he’d not only managed to get two cups removed from the opposing team, but also won an extra round of throws.

Kenny hooted in victory and pulled Butters closer to him.

Clyde stared at the cups, mouth agape and incredulous. Stan also looked shocked but had a surprised smile on his face instead.

“Looks like you’re not the only one with a good throw, Clyde,” Stan nudged his soon-to-be former teammate.

Clyde rolled his eyes and drank the beer from both cups without hesitation. He looked at them for a second before he broke out in a smirk, “You know, now that we’re even, maybe we should make this a bit more interesting.” Clyde then wagged his eyebrows at Stan, “We should totally do truth or dare pong, like how I told you the guys from the JV team showed me,” he emphasized. He turned to look at Tolkien and Kyle, “Basically, whoever lands a ball from now on gets to have one of the opponents to either choose a truth or dare.”

“Saucy,” Kenny commented.

Tolkien and Kyle exchanged a look, and the latter shrugged.

“If you want to make your loss more devastating, be my guest,” Tolkien smiled, and though it wasn’t funny, Kyle had to bring a hand to his mouth to cover the giggle-fit he suddenly had.

“Cool, bring it on then,” Stan said loudly, this time with far more edge than before.

Three rounds later, both teams were down to their last cup.

So far, Tolkien had picked truth after Clyde landed a ball, showing to everyone that Our Song by Taylor Swift was currently his most listened to song on his iPod Touch.

Tolkien got revenge when he landed a ball too, and made Clyde chew the stale gum below the table for two minutes after he picked dare.

Most people laughed and groaned in disgust, and Stan cheered on Clyde, telling him to be strong. Nasty chewing gum aside, the scene made Kyle wanna barf.

It was Stan’s turn to go. His eyes were narrowed and focused on the red cup in front of him. Without preamble, he shot the ball and managed to land it directly. In the fraction of a second, he locked eyes with Kyle and flashed a shit-eating grin that made Kyle's body temperature rise.

Clyde started jumping up and down, hugging Bebe like he’d scored the shot himself. Bebe rolled her eyes but hugged him back, smiling.

“Shit, nice one, Stan,” Tolkien said with mild disappointment in his voice, “I was excited to make Clyde eat month-old chips from his couch.” Craig laughed at the mental image.

“Ha ha, eat me, Tolkien,” Clyde retorted and turned to Stan, “maybe you should pick him again, I bet there’s even shittier music hidden on his iPod.”

“Nah, I think it’s Kyle’s turn to go. What do you say, dude: truth or dare?”

Preferring to swallow a beehive or eat mulch before having to confess anything to Stan in front of a crowd, Kyle quickly chose, “Dare.”

Stan crossed his arms and pretended to think, his smile intact. The pounding in Kyle’s chest felt so loud, surely the whole neighborhood was aware of the sound.

Stan opened his mouth to speak and Kyle wished for a tsunami even though they were landlocked.

Before Stan could utter a word, though, a body came flying down and crashing on the table: all the cups spilled out into the lawn, and the person had a drink in their hand that spilled directly onto Kyle’s face.

It was Eric. He’d been thrown face down into the table by… Henrietta Biggle? The girl was standing in front of the crowd, looking quite intimidating. Her regular group of friends were nowhere to be seen, though she was sporting her usual cigarette.

“Brought you guys your trash,” she said calmly in her Valley Girl accent. She took a drag of her cigarette and looked directly at Eric, “Mess with my brother again and I’ll have maggots eat your face while you sleep.” She threatened before turning away and leaving the backyard, completely unfazed by the stares of her peers.

Stan was the first to reach over to help Eric stand up, Kenny and Butters following. Kyle reacted last, still feeling disoriented from the alcohol he’d consumed and the one he’d gotten spilled on his body seconds ago.

“Geez, Eric, what’s Henrietta all angry at you for?” Butters asked.

“Pff, you know how bitches be, she’s probably on her period and needed to let off steam, she’s lucky I don’t fight chicks anymore.” Eric replied, puffing his chest out.

Kenny rolled his eyes, “Maybe she’s not so happy with you since you keep picking on Bradley during Drama class? Didn’t she threaten you last opening night?”

Eric looked down at the floor and mumbled something along the lines of, “Didn’t think she’d do anything.” As the crowd dispersed, he was starting to look embarrassed.

The other boys exchanged a look. Kenny sighed and put a protective arm around his friend’s shoulder, ushering Butters with him. “Come on, let’s get the dirt off your ass. I’m sure if you promise Etta to lay off Bradley, we can all coexist.”

Stan and Kyle were left alone in silence. The latter spoke up first, “Did Kenny just call Henrietta ‘Etta’?”

Stan shrugged. “They’re kind of friends. Michael told me he bums cigarettes off of her and he’ll stick around and skip a period with them,” he turned to look at Kyle and laughed, “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Fucking Cartman. I swear I’m gonna strangle him one day.”

“Don’t, I don’t have enough money to bail you out. Come on,” he grabbed Kyle’s hand and guided him inside Clyde’s house, “let’s get that crap off your face, I’m worried you’ll get more drunk just by smelling it.”

Kyle let himself be guided, indulging the feeling of holding Stan’s hand. His last game was over a month ago, but Kyle could still feel some calloused spots throughout: stiff, unyielding and essentially incompatible with Stan.

The party was still pretty lively inside: he spotted Clyde and Bebe talking in a corner of the living room, Tolkien had gone off with Wendy and Nichole toward the couch. Kyle noticed Eric in the kitchen by the sink, dusting off his jacket. Kenny and Butters were standing behind him, playing on Butters’s Nintendo DS. Everyone else was starting to blur together. Shit, he was totally wasted by now.

They turned into a hallway and entered the second door on the left, a bathroom. Stan started rummaging through the cabinets below the sink while Kyle sat down on the toilet. The air felt different inside; the music was muted now, background noise for their small, secluded hideout. Though there was only a door separating them from the party, everyone else felt miles away.

“‘M not drunk.” Kyle grumbled, just now processing his friend’s earlier remark.

Stan laughed again and it was starting to piss Kyle off. What was he so jolly about? “You definitely are, you get extra irritable when you’re drunk.”

Kyle frowned. “Fuck you. So what if I am?” He knew being combative only proved Stan’s point, but he couldn't help it.

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Stan held a hand towel under the sink for a moment, sat on the edge of the bathtub next to Kyle and offered it to him, “it’s kind of cute, honestly.” He finished, looking at Kyle with a small smile.

If Kyle’s brow could’ve furrowed further, it’d been on the floor. He grabbed the towel and cleaned his face absentmindedly, feeling his heart speed up again. His mind was reeling, a messy stream of What the fuck, cute? Oh my god, is he shitting me? Jesus Christ, speak up! What the fuck! Is this a good thing? What do I say? I’m not fucking cute, what’s happening? IS this happening? Cute??? What were the symptoms for a heart attack? SAY SOMETHING!!!

“Are you drunk?” he asked stupidly, because as much as he wanted to say “I think you’re cute all the time. We should kiss,” he was terrified that the moment he did, Stan would widen his eyes and realize Kyle actually meant it, not just bantering drunkenly for the hell of it.

“A little, yeah.” Stan offered, turning his gaze to the tile floor, crestfallen.

The look on Stan’s face made Kyle feel more stupid now. He wanted to say something, offer anything. Impulsively, he grabbed Stan’s arm so he’d turn Stan to face him, and started talking faster than a kid at a spelling bee, “Hey, I was thinking about last summer, remember when we were at Stark’s Pond that day? When the weather was decent? Let’s go again, when it cools down. This time we can go and swim. Let’s stay the whole day. Maybe fish or something? I can bring my telescope. We can look for constellations.”

“But you hate the murky lake water. And the mosquitoes at night.”

“Who cares—I’ll put on some repellent and suck it up.”

“Okay, yeah.” Stan’s face slowly brightened back up. He grabbed Kyle’s arm after a beat of silence, “Kyle, listen, I actually wanted to—”

The door flung open and both boys stiffened. Eric, subtle as a tornado in a trailer park, burst inside, proclaiming loudly, “Hey, ass-wipes, I’m leaving so if you don’t wanna walk home and have Barbrady up yours, meet me outside,” he eyed them for a moment before adding, “and keep your hands to yourselves, I’m taking Kenny home, too, sickos.” He turned and left, leaving the door ajar and shouting for Kenny.

A wave of anger surged in Kyle. I’m gonna kill him, I’m going to get a Glock and shoot him and throw the body in a ditch, he thought.

It’s not until Stan chuckled, stood up, and said, “See? Angry drunk, dude,” that Kyle realized he’d actually been speaking out loud. “Come on, I bet Kenny can give us the play-by-play on Henrietta, Bradley and Cartman on the way home.” He didn’t look particularly happy at the interruption, but certainly wasn’t as dejected as before.

They both walked in silence to the front porch of the house. Kyle hadn’t paid attention before, but it was a cold night, remnants of crisp air flowing through. He turned to look at Stan and noticed his cheeks were pink, that color Kyle liked.

The four boys got into Eric’s car, Kyle offering Kenny the front seat this time. Inside the car, he replayed his time with Stan in the bathroom in his mind, going over every word each of them said. He thought about his offer to Stan; how normally, he wouldn’t be the one to look for a way to appease someone else, but in that moment, he would’ve done anything to make Stan feel at ease. He thought about how easy the plan came to his head, because he’d actually love to spend all day with Stan just like last summer, but hadn’t dared to be honest to anyone, not even himself, about it. He thought about how quickly Stan agreed, hoping he wouldn’t forget in the upcoming months.

Kyle turned to look at Stan, who was on the opposite seat next to him in the back. He had his elbow propped up on the armrest and was staring out the window aimlessly. Stan noticed Kyle watching him from the glass’s reflection and smiled softly. Against his better judgment, Kyle smiled back, only turning away when the knot in his stomach felt too tight to bare.

He was so fucked.

Chapter Text

May 2nd, 2008

“Go for it, Kyle!”

Kyle narrowed his eyes and stared at the basketball hoop a few feet away from him. He was the last one up for the round of free throws, and although most of the team was paying attention to his shot, they weren’t Kyle’s main concern. He exhaled and threw the basketball in his hands, which hit the backboard and landed seamlessly in the basket. He heard a few teammates whoop and clap.

Kyle glanced covertly to the stands, expecting Stan to be watching. He was, and although he broke off the eye contact quickly by looking back at the notebook in his lap, it gave Kyle a surge of confidence. “Uh, I’m gonna get water.” He fibbed to his coach, who gave him a side-eye in return, but waved him off.

There was less than an hour left in practice, one of the last of the season, and with Kyle managing to score a winning buzzer beater during playoffs, he was starting to gain more leeway within the team. Nobody even protested when Stan started showing up to practice at least once a week for nearly three months now.

A few weeks after Clyde’s party, Stan broke the news to his football teammates that he would not be rejoining next season. It wasn’t a huge deal, initially, but Clyde seemed to take it weirdly personally - any time they would share a class or see each other in the hallway, Clyde would start rambling on about how Stan should think about his future, blurting out random names of successful football players and how awesome their lives were. It was a minor annoyance at first, but once Clyde started printing out articles and stuffing them in Stan’s locker, he ranted about the situation to Kyle when they met to see a movie, clearly frustrated out of his mind.

Clyde finally stopped pestering Stan when, the next day, he opened his backpack after lunch and found a tub’s worth of spoiled yogurt spilled inside. Clyde tried to blame Stan, but considering he was on a different schedule, and Kyle made sure to leave a few monogrammed pencils his mom made for him inside the bag, it was a cut-and-dried case. Clyde’s rekindling of his relationship with Bebe was jump-started thanks to Kyle, so he knew Clyde wouldn’t try to retaliate.

“Where’d you even get spoiled yogurt?” Stan had asked him after leaving the principal’s office.

Kyle shrugged, “Kenny knows people.”

Kyle got two weeks of detention, and although Stan told him off with variations of you shouldn’t have done that, it wasn’t that big a deal and I can defend myself, he ended up sneaking into half of the detentions to keep Kyle company, bringing along random snacks he got from the vending machine to share with him. By the time the two weeks passed, Kyle had managed to finish half of his year-end assignments, and Stan had read a whole book on music theory he’d picked up from the school library (“I’ve been playing guitar a lot more now that I have free time,” Stan whispered to Kyle when he first noticed it). Stan and him had been inseparable after that, and Kyle couldn’t complain: he was reliving his favorite summer all over again.

“Hey,” Kyle greeted Stan, sitting down next to him. He was scribbling in a squared paper notebook while a trigonometry textbook layed next to him, abandoned. Across the two pages were a combination of paragraphs, doodles and the occasional function.

“Hey,” Stan turned to Kyle briefly before placing his attention back to his page.

Kyle noticed a drawing and pointed at it. “Is that supposed to be me?”

Stan grinned and held the notebook up for Kyle to see, puffing his chest out in pride. “Yeah, you like it? I’m thinking of uploading it to DeviantArt, I’ll probably get a bunch of followers.” He said with a dose of sarcasm. On the paper was a stick figure with loopy lines for hair and what resembled a basketball uniform. A ball was flying out of the figure’s hands and into the air (noted by a few motion lines) above a hoop.

“Maybe don’t quit school yet.” Kyle commented, though when Stan ripped the page from his notebook to give to him, he made a show of saving it in his gym bag that laid below the bench for Stan to notice.

“Fuck you,” Stan replied happily, undeterred and already making another doodle in a new page.

“So, I guess you’re not gonna be done with your homework by the time we get to Cartman’s?” The boys had made plans to play Grand Theft Auto IV, which had been released a few days ago. Liane had allowed Eric to skip school and camp overnight outside GameStop to get it. Eric made the rest of the guys promise to bring alcohol in order to play with him.

Stan sighed and slumped into the bench. “It’s these fucking equations. I don’t get how identities are supposed to help me simplify them,” he twiddled with his pencil, and shot Kyle a wide-eyed look, “do you… think you can help me with it? Back at my place, when we’re done playing?”

And usually, Kyle hated when:

Someone changed his plans sporadically

Someone tried to get a free tutoring session from him

Both of the above

But this was Stan, looking at him bright-eyed and pouting, so what else could he do but say, “Yeah, sure.”

Stan broke into a smile and pressed his leg against Kyle’s, a common move of his at this point. “You can stay over if you want.”

Stan had dialed up the physical intimacy lately. Initially, Kyle had debated internally whether to put a stop to it, maybe not play into it so much, but eventually figured what the hell? He had finally come to terms with the fact that no amount of extracurriculars, time apart, new friendships or different schedules could deter the massive crush he had on his best friend, so he might as well enjoy the ride while it lasted.

So Kyle gave in to the touch and leaned the rest of his body against Stan, shoulder to shoulder. “Your parents won’t mind me showing up unannounced?”

“Nah, I'll just text my mom. And you know my dad, he’ll probably be excited to have someone else to rattle off whatever new bullshit he thinks is cool.” Stan widened his eyes and started flailing his arms around, imitating his father’s voice, “Staaahn, Kylee, you hear about this MySpace thing? Yeah, I already have over 78 friends. You should add me, I’m about to upload my first EP, probably gonna blow up overnight.”

Kyle laughed and leaned closer to Stan, “I don’t know what worries me more: making sure you understand trig or how uncanny that impression of your dad’s gotten,” he teased.

“Gotta make sure I keep you entertained through practice,” Stan teased and leaned back, too. “So you’ll stay over?”

And even though Kyle knew his mom wouldn’t like the sudden change of plans, he couldn’t resist giving into the invitation, “As long as I can get out of my sweaty clothes, yeah.” He said, referring to the fact that he didn’t have an overnight bag, but blushed instantly at the possible implication.

Stan wore a triumphant look on his face, “You got it, no sweaty clothes for you,” he leaned over further and drew a tiny smiley face on Kyle’s knee, before placing his hand on it, “thanks.”

They were extremely close now, Kyle could feel Stan’s breath when he exhaled. “I- I should get back. See you in 30, ‘kay?” And, reminding himself to enjoy the ride, put his hand above Stan’s.

Stan beamed at the touch, “Yep.”

Once basketball practice was over, Kyle and Stan headed over to Eric’s home. They made a pit stop at the convenience store to get a pack of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, their fake IDs (thank you, Ike) barely glanced at by the cashier.

When they reached Eric’s house, Kenny was already there. He’d brought along beer and… Butters, apparently (“He needs to expand his video game knowledge,” Kenny explained, shrugging). They all grabbed a Mike’s Hard, Eric booted up the console and joined Kenny and Butters on the floor, taking a controller and claiming he had ‘infinite dibs’. Stan and Kyle sat on the couch behind them, exchanging an eye roll over Eric’s statement.

They played Grand Theft Auto IV in story mode for about fifteen minutes, until Eric took the ‘infinite dibs’ too seriously and refused to pass the controller. Then, they tried the online multiplayer mode, but concluded ten minutes into it that it sucked ass. Finally, they decided to take turns seeing who could summon the biggest police car chase before getting arrested: winner got the last Mike’s Hard.

After that, it all unraveled pretty fast.

The boys on the floor were up first. Butters died before he could steal a car; he had trouble adjusting to the controller’s many buttons and was unable to get inside the van he’d stolen, the police shooting him in under five minutes. Everyone laughed, and Kenny gave him a supportive pat on the back.

In that same moment, Kyle felt something weighing on his back. He turned to face Stan and noticed he’d put his arm around Kyle’s shoulder. Stan turned to look at him too, and grinned that dopey smile of his, casually taking a sip of his drink. Kyle smiled back sheepishly. He felt something in his chest drop all the way to his butt; his heart, maybe his brain. The adrenaline made it hard to pinpoint. Might as well enjoy the ride, he reminded himself, took a swig of his lemonade and dared himself to scoot closer. Stan responded in kind.

Butters passed the controller to Kenny, who restarted the game.

Stan’s fingers started to curl into the hair at the nape of Kyle’s neck. Kyle held in his breath and delicately pressed his leg next to Stan's.

Kenny managed to get a car and was speeding down a highway, two cops behind him.

Stan upped the ante and started playing footsie. Kyle felt himself getting red, his body heat rising. If spontaneous human combustion was possible, he was nearing it.

Kenny had a police helicopter trailing him now; he tried hiding in a parking garage to avoid the rest of the cop cars chasing him.

Kyle put his hand on Stan’s knee, and noticed how his friend’s pupils dilated almost instantly.

“Hey, Cartman, you’ve got food, right?” Stan asked loudly.

Eric snorted, still looking at the TV. “Yeah, I got food, I’m not fucking poor.” Kenny gave him a quick slap at the end of his sentence, his eyes also glued to the screen in front of him.

Stan rolled his eyes, “Whatever, I’m gonna get some chips from the kitchen, you guys want anything?”

“Yeah, bring the Cheesy Poofs, they’re in the bottom cabinets.” Eric said without turning around, too impressed by Kenny’s current chase: he was launching his car from one freeway to another, managing to ditch police vehicles as soon as they appeared.

Stan leaned forward to stand up and put his free hand on top of the one Kyle had on his knee. “You coming?”

“Yeah,” Kyle replied without thinking, and with that, Stan intertwined their hands and led him into the kitchen.

“Can you grab the chips? I’ll look for a bowl or something.”

“Yeah,” Kyle uttered again, too dumbfounded for his brain to remember another word. Stan dropped his hand to search the kitchen, and Kyle composed himself long enough to search for the bags of snacks. He searched a few of the bottom cabinets before eventually finding the large packet Eric asked for. He grabbed them and set them on top of the counter.

When Kyle turned around, Stan was standing in front of him, close enough that the gap between them couldn’t fit a book (not even The Little Prince, Kyle measured). The aforementioned bowl Stan said he would search for was nowhere in sight. Though Kyle was a few inches taller, he felt intimidated.

“Hey,” Stan said in a low voice that almost felt like a whisper.

“Hey,” Kyle repeated lamely.

“Remember Clyde’s party?”

“Yeah,” Kyle’s breath hitched at the memory, and Stan’s proximity wasn't helping.

“I never got to say my dare.”

“What, shove a stick up my ass?” Kyle chuckled and tried to playfully shove Stan back by putting a hand on his chest, but Stan took it and interlocked their fingers. He felt the metaphorical fence of limits he’d built in his mind getting obliterated.

“No. I want something else.” And when Kyle met Stan’s eyes to search for meaning, his pupils were wide again, jaw slack with his lips slightly parted and–

Oh.

“You’re drunk.” Kyle blurted, giving Stan one last chance to back out.

“I’m really not.” His tone made Kyle’s throat catch.

“Swear?”

“Scout’s honor.”

There was a beat of silence, and everything moved so fast it became a blur.

Kyle’s not sure who moved first, but in an instant their lips met halfway and they were kissing, both holding their breath and eyes shut tight.

It was awkward for just a second, uncharted territory for both of them. But then Kyle parted his lips and Stan sighed into the kiss, and a fuse lit up inside Kyle. His life flashed before his eyes, though the supercut in his mind featured only Stan and him: at Stark’s Pond, watching a sunset; sharing earbuds over an iPod, while Stan talked about a new band he’d discovered; riding their bikes until they found a new spot in South Park or got completely lost; loitering in whatever parking lot they could find, sharing drinks and stories. Stan was always somewhere in his memories.

Kyle exhaled and leaned closer, moving his lips against Stan’s, who was kissing back like Kyle was his main source of oxygen. Stan let go of Kyle’s hand to grip his face and pull him closer, pressing his lips just a bit harder. Kyle rested his hands on Stan’s hips, a spot he’d wanted to touch for longer than he cared to admit.

They fell into an unsteady rhythm, both unsure of how much longer the moment could last and trying to hold on to it by gripping each other as tight as possible. Kyle’s mind usually ran a thousand miles per hour, but in this moment, he felt more at ease than ever. Actually, he felt pretty fucking great: he was kissing Stan and Stan was kissing him back.

But then he heard a light chuckle from Stan and he pulled away.

“What?” Kyle asked, nervous he’d embarrassed himself.

“Nothing, it’s just,” Stan let out a light laugh and rubbed his thumb across Kyle’s face affectionately, “you keep grinning and I end up kissing your teeth.” He explained, eyes half-lidded. When he noticed Kyle getting red, he leaned forward until their noses touched and whispered, “I don’t mind, in case you’re already freaking out about it.”

Kyle, not wanting to waste using his mouth on words, smiled at the response and leaned forward to kiss Stan again, who eagerly followed suit.

They were kissing slower now, more deliberate, each second lasting hours. Kyle tried to take in every detail of this moment, a new memory for the highlight reel he’d play in his head over and over. Stan moved his hands to tangle his fingers into Kyle’s hair; the touch disarmed Kyle completely and against his best effort to restrain himself, he sighed into Stan’s mouth. Stan softly nipped at Kyle’s lip in response. It was bliss, ecstasy, elation and every other positive adjective Kyle could pull from his lexicon.

Until, of course: “Hey, asswipes, what the fuck’s taking you so long?! You’re gonna miss me beating Kenny’s ass!” Eric yelled from the living room. After a second, he added, “You better not be mooching off my food!”

The pair broke apart, faces still close enough to feel each other’s breath. Kyle was the first to regain the power of speech, “Calm down, we’re coming.”

Stan laughed at the choice of words. “Dude.”

“Shut up,” Kyle rolled his eyes, but he was grinning again. He passed the bags of chips to Stan and headed back with the rest of the group.

When they entered the living room and sat back down on the couch, the three other boys turned their heads to look at them. Butters only glanced at them briefly before darting his eyes back to the TV. Eric was shooting daggers.

Kenny smirked but said nothing, stretching out his hand for the Cheesy Poofs. Stan passed them over and Kenny popped them open. “Thanks—I got up to like 20 cop cars and five helicopters, by the way, so you can all admit defeat now,” he said, taking a fistful of the chips and passing the bag to Eric.

Eric got a hold of the bag, still looking at Kyle and Stan with narrow eyes. “I didn’t know your mothers dropped you so hard on your head as babies that you couldn’t find a huge bag of food,” Eric said, grabbing a handful of poofs.

“Are you just stalling ‘cause you know you’re gonna lose, Cartman?” Stan asked with half the usual snark, his body completely relaxed against the couch.

“Fuck you, I’ll show you who’s a loser, you’re all gonna suck it!” Eric replied, shoving the chips into his mouth with determination and turning over to the TV to finally start his car chase.

Kenny’s eyes shifted back and forth between Stan and Kyle, examining them like he was searching for something. When he found whatever he was looking for, he let out a chortle and threw a few chips their way before turning back, scooting closer to Butters to explain how to work the controls of the game properly, while Eric struggled to avoid a police van that was trailing his stolen car.

Stan and Kyle looked at each other, puzzled, but eventually brushed off the interaction. They stayed at Eric’s house a few more hours, not speaking but occasionally sneaking glances at each other, smiling and looking away just as fast as their eyes met. Kyle periodically touched his lips or combed his hair with his fingers where Stan’s hands had previously been, lingering on the touch. He glanced at the knee Stan drew a smiley face on hours ago and couldn’t help but smile back at it.

A few hours later, in Stan’s room, they were sitting next to each other on the floor against his bed. Kyle was walking Stan through the trigonometry problem in his workbook, his eyes focused on the functions. Once Kyle finished explaining, he turned his head to look at Stan. He was taken aback by how close he was, his head practically resting on Kyle’s shoulder. He drew in a sharp breath before asking, “Uh, does that make sense?” Hoping his stutter wasn’t audible.

“Yeah, thanks,” Stan nearly whispered, even though they were alone. He leaned forward and started kissing Kyle. Stan sighed when he felt Kyle reciprocate. It made Kyle’s whole body hum.

Worried about Stan’s academics, though, Kyle tried to get a few words between kisses. “No, but,” kiss, “seriously, you got it, right?” Kiss. “Because, it’s probably gonna be in your,” Kiss. “Exam.” Longer kiss.

Stan pulled back and smiled, “Dude, I got it. I got it, like, six hours ago before your basketball practice ended.”

“Wh— you what?” Kyle asked with indignation.

Stan shrugged, smile still intact. “I re-read the problem and figured out what I was doing wrong.”

“Then why the fuck did you have me ramble on for half an hour?!”

“‘Cause I like hearing you talk, dumbass,” Stan said matter-of-factly and grinned, making Kyle’s annoyance instantly vanish.

“You suck,” Kyle murmured, grabbing Stan’s face, ready to make up for any lost time not kissing.

Stan reached forward to intertwine his fingers into Kyle’s hair again, and Kyle had an abrupt realization: the stares from their friends when Stan and him had returned from the kitchen. Kyle was wearing his hat when they arrived at Eric’s house; he didn’t have it on anymore when they’d returned to the living room.

“Huh, it must’ve fallen somewhere in the kitchen,” Stan said when Kyle told him this. They were laying in bed side by side, legs loosely tangled together. “Good luck getting it back from Cartman, though.”

“Whatever, it’s just a hat.”

“Yeah. I liked it, though.” Stan mumbled before dozing off.

Kyle searched for a replacement at the mall with his mom the next day.

Chapter Text

August 29th, 2008

The light that seeped through Stan’s window always felt nicer than the one in his own bedroom, Kyle thought. He was laying on his back in the middle of Stan’s bed, half-reading the AP World History book he was holding over his head, but mostly listening to the music coming out of Stan’s guitar, who was sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, leaning against the wall at the end of Kyle’s feet.

They spent a lot of time alone these past months. It had become an unspoken agreement by now: find any and all free time to be with each other. Some days would be just like this; each one doing whatever, silently enjoying the other’s company for a while; other times, they would do their homework for fifteen minutes tops, until one of them caved and started kissing the other, any school assignments forgotten for the next hour. They’d hang out at Kyle’s house as well; playing video games and stealing kisses in between before Ike would barge into Kyle’s room, looking to join the game or to recruit them for one of his YouTube videos; or doing actual schoolwork and Stan staying for dinner on the days Sheila, in the spirit of being a good host, wouldn’t stop orbiting Kyle’s room.

Kyle, a new fan of this whole making out thing, looked forward to Wednesdays the most. There was a two for one special at the movie theatre that day. And so, every Wednesday, Stan and Kyle would buy tickets for the same film at two different time slots: they’d spend the first showing watching the movie, paying close attention to plot points their parents might inquire about; once the second showing started, they’d proceed to spend the entirety of the movie making out, hands running amok in the safe confines of the darkness.

And so things were great, amazing even. Kyle felt like he’d been wrapped up in a bubble and elevated to his own personal heaven, not sure what he could’ve done on Earth to deserve it. In this great dimension where Stan seemed to enjoy kissing him and being around him all the time, every second felt like a lifetime and Kyle was more than happy to spend it just like this.

Sometimes, though, he couldn’t help wondering what it meant. Because look, Kyle was having the time of his life, okay? But he wondered, if Stan were to introduce him to someone, what would he say? This is Kyle, my… best friend? Friend who I kiss? How would he introduce Stan to a stranger, not that there were many in South Park? He tried not to question it so much, afraid the happy bubble he was in would burst if he dared disrupt it, but the uncertainty of what this meant for both of them often managed to seep through.

“Is that yours? Like, the music?” Kyle asked, no longer receptive to more information on Postclassical Civilizations.

“Yeah, just some melodies I’ve had in my head.”

“I like it.” Kyle tossed his book aside and turned his head to look at Stan. “You should make it a song,” he thought for a second. “Can it be a song?”

Stan stared up at the ceiling momentarily, thinking. “I hadn’t really considered it, but yeah, it could be part of a song.” He set down the guitar next to his bed, and layed down on his stomach to be face to face with Kyle. “Speaking of, how’s it going with the Song dynasty?” He reached out his hand to play with the loose strands of Kyle’s hair, one of Stan’s favorite things to do when they were alone.

Kyle sighed and leaned in to the touch, “It’s okay. I’m sort of reading ahead.”

Stan mused for a second, “Hmm, so… something else bothering you, then?” He asked, aware of Kyle’s habit to preoccupy himself with anything other than what was actually on his mind. Stan dug his fingers deeper into Kyle’s hair, lightly caressing his head. It soothed Kyle, a gesture meant to remind him he could vent to his heart’s desire.

So naturally, Kyle didn’t hold back. In one inhale, he managed to sputter: “Ugh, it's the student council. We were supposed to pick a theme for homecoming this week, but nobody wants to budge. Some of the freshmen want to do a Vegas theme, because they’re stupid enough to think the school will let us gamble, I guess. Seniors are pushing for A Night In New York, which we all mostly agree is a horrible theme idea, but they wanna cut on any costs to go all out on their prom. We argued about it for so long that now we have to come up with new suggestions since we couldn’t decide, which is a pain in my ass because I could not give a single fuck about the theme, I just want to make we can finish it on time and move on, but we’ve wasted so much time discussing this.” He exhaled at the last part, feeling relieved to let out one of the items bouncing around his mind.

“That does sound like a lot.” Stan reached for Kyle’s hand and stroked it with his thumb. “You want tea? We have that peppermint you like. Or want me to help you come up with some middle ground themes?”

Kyle turned to face Stan. “What would be the middle ground between New York and a Vegas casino?”

Stan’s eyes darted from side to side, thinking. He replied sarcastically, “Probably Omaha,” then smirked and snapped his fingers, “Set up a reuben stand for fundraising. See? This shit’s easy.”

Kyle chuckled and murmured without any real bite, “You’re a dumbass,” hooking his arm around Stan’s neck to bring him in for a kiss. He could feel a light stubble scratching near his chin and absentmindedly wondered if Stan was already shaving.

When they pulled back, Stan gazed at Kyle with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. It stirred something inside Kyle—a feeling that made him abruptly blurt out, “You should go with me.” Nervous, he instantly added, “To the dance, I mean. I- I want us to go together.” And because his foot still hadn’t reached his mouth, he kept going, “I’d like to go with you, is what I’m saying. Us two. Just us. If you want.” He finished lamely and god, that was fucking embarrassing. He immediately understood why people made elaborate plans for this bullshit.

Kyle was ready to fake dementia when Stan did nothing but stare at him, his face still, processing the word vomit his friend spewed. A second passed, and Stan smiled wider, baring all his teeth. “Dude,” he emphasized, “you wanna go to the dance?”

The question made the furious blush Kyle was trying to avoid start to creep up. He looked away from Stan’s gaze and shrugged, “It’s good optics if I go, you know, for student council, and if you’re with me it would actually become bearable, so…”

Stan grabbed Kyle’s face and stopped more potential rambles with a kiss. He was still smiling from ear to ear when he pulled away. “Yeah, let’s go. Together.”

October 3rd, 2008

7:44 pm

“Ok, so vodka for the lemonade and I think… whiskey for the grape juice?” Kenny asked, peering over at Stan for approval.

“Perfect.” Stan agreed.

They were in the school’s gymnasium, which, after much collaboration from Kyle with the janitorial staff, managed not to reek of armpit sweat and old socks for the evening. String lights were hung across the roof to emulate a starry sky and a navy velvet carpet, which was already getting dusted with footprints, rolled out from the front door.

There was a group of freshmen awkwardly glued to a wall, too nervous to mingle with anyone else; some of their own sophomore peers were either sitting at the tables or the benches; the juniors and few seniors that were scattered on the dancefloor were already groping each other to the beat of Rihanna’s Disturbia.

Stan and Kenny were huddled around the concession stand, spiking the bowls of drinks with their liquor of choice. Eric was next to them, passing along the supplies. Kyle and Butters were keeping guard in front of the table.

“So, I see you fellers from the dance committee settled on a… night theme?” Butters asked. He was wearing a tuxedo ensemble that looked straight out Miami Vice: turquoise shirt, magenta tie and all white blazer and pants.

“Yeah, A Night in Paris, isn’t it obvious?” Kyle deadpanned and gestured towards the five feet papier-mâché Eiffel Tower. He was wearing a white shirt with slate gray pants and a matching blazer, the latter carrying an item that was burning a hole in Kyle’s pocket. “We all agreed the tower can be re-used for prom: the seniors want to do a Vegas theme now and they think they can convince the principal to let them gamble if they have all the money raised go to charity.” He shrugged, “Kind of a win-win for everyone.”

“Oh Kyle, recycling props? You’re as stingy as ever.” Eric sniggered, shaking his head as he, Stan and Kenny, returned from their mission, a cup of rum and coconut water in hand. He was wearing an all-black suit he bragged was designer.

“He’s not the one who was trying to avoid buying a ticket.” Stan remarked, carrying two cups. He was wearing navy pants and a white shirt accompanied by a loose red tie that Kyle was sure he’d seen Randy wearing before.

A few weeks before, Kyle let it slip to Kenny that him and Stan would be attending the homecoming dance. Kenny chuckled and breezily replied, “Cool, maybe I’ll see you guys there. I’m thinking of taking Butters: he needs all the socializing he can get, ya know.”

All of this information made its way quickly to Eric, who took the news as an invitation. “So, when are you giving us our tickets?” He asked during lunch the following day as he was sitting down next to Kenny.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Kyle shot back.

“The homecoming dance, genius.” Eric replied while taking a bite of his sandwich. Kyle felt how Stan’s leg, which was pressed against his own under the table, tensed at the words. “Aren’t you like, dictator of the sophomores now?”

“I’m sophomore vice president, bonehead. And even if I could get tickets,” Kyle lied through his teeth, knowing full well he pulled strings with Wendy (sophomore president) to get Stan and Kenny freebies, “why would I get you one? Who the hell even agreed to go with you?”

Eric stopped chewing and shot the three boys a look of genuine confusion. “Huh? Why would I bother with a date if we’re all going together? Not that I can’t score.” He turned to Kenny. “I thought you told Butters so we’d all go?”

Kyle, Stan and Kenny all exchanged nimble glances, trying to communicate a variety of unspoken agreements between each other:

Don’t tell Cartman we’re going together.

Don’t tell Cartman I only invited Butters.

Don’t tell Cartman I asked Stan to go with me.

Stan was the first to speak, as casually as possible, “Yeah, we just weren’t sure if you were still under the delusion Jenny Simmons liked you and were trying to scrounge more tickets.”

“Pff! Jenny’s old news, she played hard to get too long and missed her shot. You know how chicks are!”

Stan didn’t know, but he nodded in agreement anyway.

“You’re giving me and Butters a ride, by the way.” Kenny added and grabbed a chip from Eric’s tray. “I get off at seven from my shift. Kyle has to be there early, so Stan’s giving him a ride early.” Another lie, but he sold it easily.

Eric rolled his eyes but refrained from insults. “Whatever. You want one of my Reese’s cups?” He offered Kenny.

With that, the matter was over, and the five boys all found themselves together inside the school gym, hanging around the bleachers with their spiked drink of choice, ranking which couple was most likely getting laid that night based on their excessive grinding.

Stan handed Kyle a cup with lemonade-vodka mix. “Here, I think you’ll like this one best.”

Kyle took a cautious sip. He could still taste the alcohol, but the flavor was overall better than other concoctions he’d tried before. “It’s not bad. Can you stay around to make me more?” He cracked a grin when Stan shoved him in response.

Butters did not feel the same. Seated between Kyle and Kenny, he pulled a sour face and almost spat out his drink at the first taste of it. “Jeez, I really don’t know how you guys stand such strong flavors.” He turned to look at Kenny and asked, doe-eyed, “Help me finish it?”

Kenny smiled and took the cup from Butters without question. He was wearing his usual knee-ripped jeans and Black Sabbath t-shirt, but sported a black blazer that was at least three sizes too big; Eric’s, Kyle figured. After a drink, he turned to Kyle, “Nice set-up, Mr. Not-President, you’re getting my vote in the next election.”

“You’re telling me you didn’t vote for me last year?” his friend asked while Eric, sitting on the bench above the four other boys, laughed mockingly.

Kenny shrugged, “I had my reasons: one being, Wendy’s better at politics than you, more polite and shit,” he put a hand to his heart and said dramatically, “second, I just can’t bear to be without you anymore! This council, it’s taking you away from me!” He leaned back and pulled a face of disgust as soon as he heard Shake It by Metro Station playing, and declared with finality, “Third, the music you picked sucks.”

Stan laughed and agreed.

“That’s all Tolkien, he specifically chose the DJ.” Kyle argued. “Unfortunately, Clyde’s right, his music taste sucks ass.”

Eric let out a low cackle. “Speaking of—Stan, your boyfriend’s coming,” he said and nodded forward.

Stan (and Kyle, as subtle as possible, pretending he didn’t feel a punch to his gut at the word “boyfriend”) glanced toward the direction Eric nodded to. The former rolled his eyes. Clyde, wearing suit pants and his letterman jacket over his shirt, was walking over to them, holding a cup, too. He greeted them all with lame finger guns. “‘Sup guys! Nice job with the drinks, the dance is already less lame.” He looked over to Kyle, who had raised an eyebrow at the comment, and quickly course-corrected. “I mean, not that the committee didn’t do a decent job—Tolkien told me about how little budget you had.” He finished with a smile.

Ever since their minor clash, Clyde would go out of his way to compliment Kyle to get back on his good graces, although Stan assured him there were no hard feelings. Which was true, but Kyle liked that Clyde knew it was better to tread lightly around him and not annoy him (or Stan) again.

So Kyle simply answered, “Thanks, man, congrats on making the starting lineup.”

“Oh yeah, sweet game, Clyde,” Kenny added, “I bet you’re scoring in other places tonight, huh?” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively.

Clyde’s face faltered for a second. “Maybe! I’m kinda going stag right now,” he rolled his eyes as if a memory came back and looked at the boys again, “chicks, you know how they are!”

Kyle didn’t really know, but he did know why Clyde was solo this evening—he got the full scoop when he and Wendy were going over final details for homecoming earlier in the week.

They were in the gymnasium doing a visual walkthrough, going over their checklists to see if any extra items were needed for decorations when Kyle mentioned he’d be attending.

“Oh, yeah, Stan mentioned to me you’re going together. I think it’s so nice!” She said, looking up from her notebook and smiling nonchalant, which put Kyle on edge. He knew she and Stan remained friends, but he wasn’t sure how close they were now. He wanted to shake her and pry for more information about how Stan mentioned it—did he tell you I was the one that asked him? Did he seem excited or like it’s not a big deal? Does it classify as a date?

Instead, Kyle pushed the thoughts away and kept it cool, “Yeah, I figured it was a good idea… are you going with anyone?”

Wendy visibly tensed, but kept her smile, staring at her list. “Yeah! With Bebe. She really wanted to go with Clyde, but…” she paused, considering whether or not to share further. She looked up at the gym, some decorations already in place. She turned to Kyle, clicking her retractable pen as she spoke, “He’s so dense sometimes. She wanted to wear matching outfits, you know like… Britney,” Wendy noticed Kyle’s grimace, and she also winced and let out a laugh, “I know, it’s so cheesy! But… it’s the girl you like! So what if your friends laugh at you? If you like someone, you shouldn’t be afraid to put yourself out there, at least I know I wouldn’t—” she stopped and sighed before letting out a small shrug, “I guess he just doesn’t get it yet.”

Wendy spoke with a conviction that intrigued Kyle, but, not wanting to pry further, he joked, “Maybe when another football hits his head, he’ll come around.”

Wendy let out a soft laugh, “So, these lights,” she used her pen as a pointer and walked forward, and Kyle took that as his cue to move on from the subject.

“Hah, you got that right, bitches be crazy!” Eric said, taking a long sip of his drink and breaking Kyle out of the memory. “Don’t worry Clyde, girls will be all over you after today’s game though. That was a kick-ass catch!”

Clyde smiled at the comment, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. “Thanks!” He turned towards Stan, “Stan-man, what’d you think of the game? That hook and ladder was all me!”

“Wow, really? That’s sick, did you practice with Bartles?” Stan asked and leaned forward, excited to discuss the tactics of the game. He’d been in attendance, but it would’ve been hard to notice considering he’d spent most of the game’s second half with Kyle behind the bleachers, their own game of tonsil hockey at play.

“Do you miss playing?” Kyle asked Stan later into the night.

Kyle wouldn’t say he planned it, but he figured it would come in handy to swipe a key for the football field’s fence from the janitorial staff when he met with them. Looking for some alone time, they sneaked in and were sitting in the lowest bench, leaning into each other, sharing a Stan’s Jack and Coke he’d brought in a canteen and enjoying the soft sounds of the night, both of them starting to feel the buzz of the alcohol.

“I thought I might, especially watching it today and seeing some of the freshman team play, but I just felt relieved it wasn’t me. And honestly, Clyde’s always been a better wide receiver than me,” he shrugged and paused to drink from his canteen. “I do really like the game, though. Maybe I can work on something sports related without having to play when I’m older, like Elway when he retired.”

Kyle smiled at the idea. “Yeah, there’s a bunch of jobs around that. And there’s tons of electives you can take that look good on college aps, there’s even clubs you could join that—”

Stan laughed and grabbed Kyle’s hand, “Slow down, Mr. Extracurricular.”

“I’m just saying! If you wanna have a lot of college options, there’s a bunch of activities that raise your GPA and—”

“I don’t need a lot of college options,” Stan said with ease, “and I’m very pleased with my 3.4 GPA, thank you very much. Are you that worried about college already?”

Kyle glanced at their hands. He felt his blazer pocket burning up again. “Kind of? I mean, everyone says it’s one of the most important decisions we’re gonna make in our lives.” He turned to look back at Stan. He grabbed the canteen and took another drink. He wasn’t exactly keeping score on their alcohol, but Stan always seemed to have more than a fair amount and even though he knew Stan could handle it, Kyle tried to even out the amount by splitting it with him when he could.

“Didn’t your mom teach you that if a bunch of people tell you to jump off a building, you shouldn’t listen to them?” Stan teased.

“If jumping granted me free tuition, she’d probably be fine with it. I’m a pretty good jumper.”

“More like annoyingly stubborn.”

“Well, what is the most important decision we have to make then?” Kyle asked, feeling ready to argue.

Stan shrugged casually. “I don’t know. But you’re pretty smart, so I know you’ll figure it out and tell me.” He gave Kyle a grin, one Kyle was sure Stan knew by now how persuasive it was.

“You’re smart, too, considering you managed to fix that piece of junk into a car all by yourself over the summer.” Kyle shrugged and turned to look at their hands again, and then towards the horizon in front of them. Call it fate, coincidence or plain bullshit, but it was actually starry tonight, the lights in the sky twinkling strongly. That, and his boozed mind, gave Kyle the confidence to grumble in a low voice, “I just think college would be boring without you, okay?”

Stan grabbed Kyle’s face to make their eyes meet. “If you think flattery’s gonna get you anywhere with me, you’re absolutely right.” He said, leaning close until his nose touched Kyle’s, “I’d go to any college that has you in it.” He whispered with finality.

The last sentence left Kyle in a brief trance, his mouth slightly agape when Stan moved forward to kiss him, shifting his body and grabbing at Kyle’s jaw to pull him closer. Kyle moved as well and instinctively reached for the small of Stan’s back, both of them now facing each other and trying to close any gap between their bodies. They kissed slowly, more accustomed to each other’s rhythm, aware of what they liked and how, their hands mindlessly moving through each other's body, eager to know every spot.

Stan ran his tongue against Kyle's parted lips and Kyle hummed into the feeling, opening his mouth and moaning at the warm feeling of the kiss. When Stan lowered his hand to Kyle’s nape, his body started buzzing with excitement and, after Stan sighed into his mouth again, tasting of whiskey and those fruit Tic Tacs he always seemed to have lying around, Kyle took a risk and moved his mouth to Stan’s neck, sucking at the skin. Stan groaned and moved his hands to go under Kyle’s shirt and roamed through the skin, nails scraping ever so slightly, head on his shoulder.

And usually, when they started to move into under-clothing territory, Kyle would become self-aware and try to veer them back into PG-kissing, not confident enough to really go there yet. But now, his body igniting fire wherever Stan touched his skin and his mind slowly turning off (maybe due to the alcohol, they’re conversation from earlier, or the realization that Stan looked so good, so into him), Kyle felt more comfortable than ever, and secure enough to put his hands on Stan’s thighs, gripping them with enough force that Stan grabbed his hips to pull back so they could look at each other. He stared and muttered through a heavy breath, “Kyle?” Stan was flushed, which only fueled Kyle’s lust-filled disposition.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna—”

“Yeah.” Kyle replied almost instantly, any aloofness or worry thrown out the window.

“My car?”

Kyle nodded.

They hastily made their way to the parking lot in silence. They arrived at Stan’s car, and when Kyle stood in front of the driver's door behind Stan, he noticed for the first time that it was located in a very secluded area; the last spot in the far away corner, partially covered by the foliage of a huge tree in the adjacent lawn. It was… convenient, far more than he’d expected.

Kyle was about to bring up the subject, but Stan opened the front door for him and boxed him in, whispering a soft, “After you,” into his ear which made him decide that right now wasn’t the moment for confrontations.

The second Kyle was in the driver seat, Stan wasted no time to climb on top of him and continue to kiss him, hands searching for the skin underneath his shirt again. Kyle felt a flood of heat taking over him in a matter of seconds, and curiously rolled his hips against Stan’s, pressing him against the steering wheel, car horn going off. Stan broke apart and let out a fucking whimper that sent a shockwave through Kyle, too. Panting, their eyes met, both of them giving each other a look that spoke the same words: backseat. Now.

“Wait,” Stan murmured and twisted in the weirdest contortion Kyle had witnessed so he could reach his shitty car radio.

“Stan, come on,” Kyle unabashedly protested.

“Just a sec,” he whispered and pushed a few buttons. A guitar started to play: track five of a CD, according to the screen.

Kyle snickered lightly, “Seriously?” He recalled the music vaguely, the album playing earlier when Stan picked him up.

Stan smiled and gave him a quick kiss in response before he made his way into the back of the car, “Come on.”

As Kyle followed, he asked, “Who is this anyway?”

“Brand New.”

Kyle felt a rush of warmth at the earnestness of it all. “You’re so lame,” he joked, climbing on top of him and taking off his blazer.

Stan smiled and shrugged, “Still wanna do me, though,” he retorted before pulling Kyle by the collar of his shirt, mouths desperate to meet again.

In a matter of seconds, both of them went from aimlessly palming each others’ legs and thighs to furiously pushing down their pants. Their eyes met as their hands wandered through each other, revelling in the feeling of new touch on uncharted skin, not daring to break eye contact and dissipate the lavender haze that was pushing any nervousness or self-consciousness aside.

They gripped each other, quietly sighing and breathing through the movements; they were still looking at each other, noses occasionally brushing, messy and uncoordinated, because who the fuck actually knows what they’re doing the first time they jerk off their best friend.

It was over almost as soon as it started; neither wanted the euphoria surging through their bodies to end (or worse, leave the other unimpressed by the quickness of it all), but the excitement and pent-up tension they’d built up through the day—shit, probably months, Kyle thought—was too much. Kyle buried his face into Stan’s shoulder as he finished with a low moan. The sound was enough to push Stan over the edge, too.

Stan passed Kyle tissues he had stored in the seat’s back pocket (again, too convenient of a coincidence, Kyle thought). After haphazardly cleaning the mess, they stayed still for a few minutes, Kyle resting above Stan with his head in his chest, Stan looking up at the ceiling with a triumphant smile, clean hand resting on Kyle’s back.

“Listen to this one.” Stan whispered and idly caressed Kyle’s hair. A new song had just started playing. “It’s the last one. I love this song.”

Kyle nodded and listened. He absentmindedly reached for Stan’s free hand and stroked through it with his thumb. He stopped when noticed the nearly faded scar on the inside of his palm.

Kyle remembered it clearly. Two years ago, during summer vacation, Stan made an impromptu visit to Kyle’s house one afternoon. His parents had been fighting for hours; one of those times when a disagreement over something miniscule kept building up, past mistakes bubbled up the surface and eventually escalated into a screaming match with no purpose or end in sight. In an attempt to cheer him up, Kyle swiped ten dollars from his dad’s wallet and offered to blow it on sundaes.

Stan had walked over, so they took Kyle’s bike, Stan sitting in the handlebars, but two streets into their ride a car nearly ran them over when it skipped a red light. Kyle tried to maneuver a clean stop but Stan ended up falling, his hand skidding across the rough asphalt, the gravel opening his skin as it dragged across the street.

Back at Kyle’s home, he tended to Stan’s wound; he was about to joke about the accident, until he noticed Stan’s eyes were silently welling up with tears. He knew it wasn’t his hand that was causing the pain, but he hadn’t seen Stan cry for quite some time now, and he didn’t like it. He felt a wave of anger at himself for not being more careful, for suggesting they use one bike, for assuming they were the same small kids they’d been before. For the first time in a while, Kyle looked at Stan and took in how much he’d changed: how much taller he was, how he’d let his hair grow longer, his face sharper.

Kyle grew self-conscious, getting a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach, and focused on finishing bandaging Stan’s hand instead. When he was done, he reached over to hug Stan. “Sorry for being a shit bicycler.”

Stan sniffed and embraced Kyle, too. “‘S not your fault. I’ve just felt like shit today.” He sighed and let out a soft laugh a second after. “Bicycler?”

Kyle smiled to himself when he heard Stan lighten up. “Yeah, you know, a bicycle user.”

“It's called cyclist, idiot.” Stan pulled away to wipe at a stray tear, but he was smiling as well now.

Kyle felt content. He liked that, knowing he could make Stan smile. He shrugged, “Whatever, wanna play a round of Smash?”

Kyle’s mind came back to the present day when the lead singer started to proclaim the world was jealous of him for being young and in love. He glanced at Stan, who was still staring at the ceiling, looking as calm as ever. He felt his cheeks getting red as he mumbled, “Hey, Stan?”

Stan turned his head to look at Kyle, “Hm?”

Kyle exhaled and searched the car floor for his blazer with one hand, gripping it tight when he found it, “I, um, I have something for you.” He reached for the inside pocket and pulled out the aforementioned item, “I just, uh, wasn’t sure when to give it to you, so, yeah…” he said, any confidence he’d had the previous hour drained, extending his hand to show Stan and drifting his gaze elsewhere, as if he was brandishing a knife instead of a red rose boutonniere.

Kyle felt when Stan took the flower, but he didn’t say a single word. A few seconds of silence went by, and Kyle felt like he might hurl (huh, so that’s where Stan’s compulsion came from). He was about to crack a joke and pretend he wasn’t being for real, or maybe make himself explode with his own mind, until Stan placed a hand on Kyle’s chin so he’d meet his eyes. He was grinning from ear to ear. “You must have a pretty big crush on me, huh?”

And truly, Kyle had far more than a crush at this point. He wanted to live in this moment for as long as possible, but also wanted to experience any and everything else with Stan. He wanted nights like this, and any other way, tenfold. He wanted Stan. Those words were lingering in his mouth, but he couldn’t get them out. He was scared his feelings were too intense, that maybe Stan didn’t feel the same way, that if he was joking around now, it was because he wasn’t ready to admit he felt the same, or this was still a situation they were trying out, not something that would stick. So he rolled his eyes, trying to come off blasé. “Yeah, I do.”

“Great, because I have a huge crush on you too.”

Chapter Text

October 3rd, 2008

10:57 pm

“Guys, come on, we should totally take the silverware and re-sell it on Ebay, that shit goes for like two thousand!”

“Cartman, I swear, if you take anything, I will fucking stone you.” Kyle threatened with a serious edge in his tone that made Eric’s face fall.

They were leaning against a wall in the huge living room at Tolkien’s house, homecoming after-party in full swing. Tolkien was initially hesitant to host, but Clyde insisted it would help his rep and ‘establish their status as a group’. Kyle had snorted at that last statement when Tolkien brought up the subject, but a party sounded like a good idea so he offered to steal any snacks left from the dance and get Kenny to hook them up with additional beer if he went through with it. And since not many people offered up their houses for dance after-parties, especially not one as big as Tolkien’s, the event became quite a hot commodity.

“Fuck you, Kyle, I bet your boyfriend Tolkien wouldn’t even notice,” Eric grumbled, giving Kyle the middle finger before walking off to the alcohol-filled kitchen. Kyle responded in kind, his skin prickling with frustration at hearing the B word again tonight.

Kenny, who was next to him, snickered. “Where is Tolkien, anyway?”

“I’m not sure. He said something about helping Clyde make-up with Bebe when I saw him at school.”

Kenny took a drink from his red Solo cup. “Huh. I thought her and Wendy were hooking up.” He said this like he was talking about the weather or what he ate for breakfast.

“Yeah,” Kyle replied, until he took a second to actually process what Kenny said. “Wait, what?! Wendy? With Bebe? Wh- How do you even know?” Kyle felt his heart thumping, ready to jump out of his ribcage.

Kenny shrugged. “Last week, me, ‘Etta and Michael were smoking during a free period—well, their free period—and we saw them kissing behind the Samuel Hartsel statue. Maybe they were just fooling around, but you know, they’ve been spending all their time together now that Bebe and Clyde broke up again.”

Kyle was speechless, some of it due to the fact that he was still buzzed from all the drinks they’d had at school, along with what he’d been having at the party, but mostly because of this revelation. He searched frantically around the living room and there was Wendy, talking to Stan, both of them sitting in one of the sofas the room had to offer. Bebe was nowhere in sight—either getting back with Clyde, dumping him for good, or kissing another girl that wasn’t Wendy, maybe. At this point, Kyle assumed the possibilities were endless.

Stan and Kyle had arrived together once the dance was over, but drifted apart at one point during the night, Stan texting him briefly.

stan ur #1 crush 10:16 p.m.

hey ill brb i wanna catch up with wendy about smth

dont get too druuunk ;)

That was nearly an hour ago and Kyle had, in fact, gotten more drunk by now, and was frankly freaking over this new piece of information. Stan and Wendy were both talking pretty animatedly, both gesticulating every few words they spoke. If it wasn’t for the millions of questions running through his head, he would’ve been jealous of the apparent closeness they still had, wondering what could be so important that Stan just had to catch up with Wendy right now.

Okay, maybe there was a tinge of jealousy seeping through him.

Kenny noticed his fidgety state and let out a snicker. “It’s not a big deal, man.”

“Isn’t it?” Kyle asked, a frantic tone in his voice. “What if they actually are dating, you know? They’d have to tell everyone at school, and their families, and what if—”

“I mean, they don’t have to tell everyone at school, or their whole fucking families—not like they have to send an I’M GAY postcard to their uncles or whatever. And Craig and Tweek have been dating forever at this point, do you think anyone would give a shit if other people came out?” He took a sip of his drink and finished half-sarcastically with, “We have a Walmart now, Kyle. We’re city people.”

“I guess.” Kyle said, quieter now. He sneaked another glance at Wendy and Stan, the latter wearing the boutonniere he’d gifted him in his dress shirt pocket.

Kenny sighed and put an arm around Kyle’s shoulder, “I’d beat the crap out of anyone who’d try to mess with any of my friends. Well, maybe not just me, but I know a guy.” He took a swig of his drink and stared directly at Kyle, “You know that, right?”

The look Kenny gave him was intense and Kyle could pick up that he wasn’t referring to Wendy and Bebe anymore. “I know.” He sighed and took a mouthful of his beer. The words felt stuck in his throat, but he figured if he could get them out to anyone, it would be for one of his best friends. “Kenny, look, the past mo—”

“Kyle!” It was Bebe. She was wearing a denim mini dress, probably the one she wanted Clyde to match his suit with. Stan and Wendy were trailing behind, still in conversation. And okay, with Stan not looking his way currently and the added interruption from Bebe—yeah, the jealousy had arrived. “Hi Kennyyy,” she acknowledged with a quick smile, slurring her words as she usually did when she was tipsy, before turning back to Kyle, “you know, we have to stop meeting like this.”

Kyle wasn’t sure which of the possible options of ‘meeting like this’ she meant: Drunk? Out of the loop? Relationship-that-isn't-a-relationship crisis probably running through our heads? So he settled for a chuckle and what he hoped didn’t sound like a totally bitter, “Yeah.”

“Sooo, we’re rallying up people for spin the bottle, you guys should totally join,” Bebe said, waving an empty beer bottle in her hand. She pulled Wendy over to her and hooked her arm around her friend’s neck, “Who knows, we might just score a new boyfriend tonight.” She hummed, while Wendy smiled meekly.

Stan did the same, but directed his smile to his friends, a kind of she’s more demanding than asking us to look.

Kyle weighed his options: he didn’t want to join this stupid game, but Stan seemed willing to participate and he was dreading the idea of Bebe talking his ear off to convince him if he refused—and why was everyone so obsessed with the fucking B word tonight? He downed his beer, feeling piqued over the sludge of thoughts in his head, not in the mood to make his own decisions. “What do you think, Kenny?”

“I’d never pass up a chance to get it on with you, darling.”

Kyle shrugged, hoping it came off chill and indifferent. “Let’s do it, then.”

The group all approached the living room’s center, where most of the party’s attendants were already gathering in a circle, sofas pushed to the corners of the room. Tolkien was there, too, organizing some of the people and making sure no one destroyed any trinkets that were most likely family heirlooms.

Kenny sat down, whispering wistfully to Kyle, “Too bad Butters has his stupid curfew.”

Kyle followed and sat next to him; Wendy sat next to Kyle and Stan seemed like he was approaching Kyle (finally, he thought), but Bebe grabbed him by the sleeve and somehow managed to sit him down next to her with the sheer force of her arm. Kyle made a mental note not to mess with her, independent of his current annoyance; he heard Wendy scoff lightly, and noticed she crossed her arms. Huh. What the hell was going on?

“What are you talking about?” Kenny asked. Oh, Kyle was thinking out loud again.

“Uh, nothing. Can I have some of your drink?”

Kenny chuckled, “If you dare,” he teased, leaning the cup over to Kyle. It was blue, which made him worry for him and his friend’s liver, but it tasted surprisingly sweet and smooth. Kenny laughed at the surprised face Kyle pulled and rejected the drink with his hand when his friend tried to pass it back, “Keep it.”

Bebe clapped her hands to call attention to herself and stop the chatter. “Okay, you all know the rules: spin the bottle and kiss whoever it lands on.” She wielded the bottle like a knight’s sword, directed it to Tolkien and smirked, “Host’s honor.”

Tolkien let out a light scoff at the theatrics, but smiled civilly and grabbed the bottle. Kyle searched the circle to get a glance at Clyde: he was in the same state as Wendy, arms crossed and scowling. He made another mental note: ask Tolkien what the hell was going on between all of his friends.

Tolkien set the bottle in the center of the circle and gave it a spin. While it was going around, Kyle took an extended look around the room and noticed most of his grade was here.

The bottle landed on Nichole, who was a few spots away from Tolkien. They both smiled and shared a kiss, a few of the people in the circle booing the long-term couple, in the mood for a more gossip-worthy combo.

Nichole took her turn. Everyone watched as the bottle slowed to a halt and landed on Tweek, who let out a yelp of both surprise and terror. A few ‘ooohs’ were exchanged, while Clyde and Jimmy jeered both Tolkien and Craig.

“Fuck off, Clyde,” Craig said, shoving his friend away and flipping him off. He gave his boyfriend a supportive pat on the back, “Go for it, babe.” He encouraged Tweek like he was sending him off to war.

Nichole and Tweek crawled to the center of the circle and shared a quick peck on the lips; everyone around reacted like they tongued each other’s mouths passionately.

Tweek took a deep breath before taking his turn. The bottle landed on Wendy. Kyle peered Bebe’s way as discreetly as possible—for the first time since he’d known her, she looked caught off guard, no longer laughing or cheering like on previous turns. Kyle felt like he was prying into their private drama and had an uneasy sensation. He drank the rest of Kenny’s drink, his peripheral vision starting to blur. Tolkien’s house was so big. He was so drunk right now.

“I am so drunk right now,” he muttered to Kenny, who let out a cackle and patted his back.

“Godspeed, brother.”

Wendy gave Tweek a composed smile and threw her long hair back to lean in and kiss him. It only lasted for a second, but Kyle noticed how Bebe visibly relaxed the second it was over.

It was Wendy’s turn. She gave the bottle a spin and Kyle’s eyes nearly popped out of his eyes when he saw who it landed on. A few of the guys started whooping; Craig and Tweek exchanged a look of worry; Tolkien stared at the bottle like he was hoping he could somehow make it blow up with his mind; Jimmy was holding back from bursting out laughing, his eyes brimming with tears; Clyde was essentially petrified.

Both girls were blushing as they neared each other to kiss, though Wendy looked more confident between the two of them. The room was quiet for the first time since the game started; Kyle considered cheering Wendy on for emotional support, until he figured a second later that was a really stupid idea and opted to stay still and watch.

In the blink of an eye, Bebe grabbed Wendy’s neck and pulled her in for a kiss. It was fairly restrained, their lips tight, but it went on for a few seconds and the crowd started to cheer (yeah, stupid idea, Kyle thought); and then, Wendy made the bold move of opening her mouth and deepening the kiss, grabbing the sides of Bebe’s jaw. It lasted a whole second before Wendy quickly pulled away and retreated back to her place, a fiery look in her eyes.

Bebe was left in the middle of the circle with the same distraught look from before. She quickly composed herself, cleared her throat and laughed; a more rehearsed version of her usual cackle, Kyle noticed. “Yeah, yeah, I hope you assholes took a picture because you’re never seeing that again.”

She grabbed the bottle and gave it a spin that was so strong it went on for almost a minute—seriously, what was up with Bebe’s arm strength. Maybe I should join the cheerleaders, Kyle thought, snickering at the idea. He immediately stopped laughing when he saw the bottle stop and heard people’s ‘oooooohs’ once again.

Kyle heard how Wendy, who usually refrained from cursing in any setting, whispered, “Oh, fuck off.” Which, yeah, fuck every cosmic being that made this scenario possible. The bottle was pointing directly at Stan, who was fidgeting with his fingers, looking just as shell-shocked as Bebe. Clyde looked like he didn’t know whether to bury everyone or himself six feet under.

Kyle was already miffed, and not in the mood to torture himself further. He was feeling nauseous at the thought of having to watch Stan kiss someone else, but knowing there was additional intricate drama added to it? No, thank you. The previous scene he’d witnessed was bad enough, and it didn’t even involve him.

He sighed and turned to Kenny, “I’m getting another drink, you want something?” He waited for Kenny’s reply (another beer), before he glanced at Wendy and asked, “You wanna come?” Because hey, if he picked up on anything tonight, this probably wasn’t a pleasant sight for her either.

Wendy’s gaze still held an intensity that could burn up the room, but she gave a small smile and said, “Definitely.”

They quickly rose to their feet—well, Kyle tried and felt immediately dizzy so he swayed for a second before finding his balance—ignoring the people who were now demanding Stan and Bebe to get on with it.

They made their way through the living room into one of the kitchen doors; the other one stood in the opposite wall and led into another hallway. Once inside the kitchen, they didn’t utter a word, mindlessly browsing the drink selection and letting the multiple elephants in the room fill up the awkward silence between them.

Kyle picked up two beer bottles and opened one. Wendy made herself a cranberry vodka and chugged down half of it in one go.

And they could’ve stayed in silence the whole time, but Kyle was slowly starting to learn that getting drunk often left him without a filter, so instead, with his lips resting on the bottle’s neck, he blurted, “I wonder if Clyde will have night terrors after tonight.”

Wendy snorted. “If he does, he’ll probably call Bebe crying about it. Did you know he cried when they saw Click? She had to console him all day after.”

Kyle laughed and rubbed his neck. “Well, I almost shed a tear with that SpongeBob movie, so…”

Wendy giggled and covered her mouth, “Please elaborate on why you were watching the SpongeBob movie in the first place.”

Kyle shrugged, “Ike’s obsessed with that movie and my word has no power over his. And, look, they were about to die okay! It was actually a pretty emotional scene, they were being dried down to death.” He burst out laughing at the scenario he described and Wendy did the same, the moment providing a necessary distraction for both.

As if their joy was a beacon, Eric emerged into the kitchen from the opposite door they’d come from. He had a triumphant smirk on his face as he approached them, “What’s so funny, nerds?”

“Your abysmal GPA,” Wendy replied. Not in the mood to get annoyed further, she grabbed her cup and waved goodbye to Kyle before making her way out of the kitchen.

“‘Ey, I have a 3.3 and don’t even try, so suck it, Testaburger!” He yelled at the back of her head. “Who put the stick up her ass?”

Kyle shrugged, also annoyed at the interruption. To make matters worse, he could hear how the living room crowd started cheering. Jesus Christ, were Stan and Bebe making out? The thought made him want to hurl. “Where were you, anyway?” He asked, desperate to be distracted.

Eric started snickering, “Oh, you know, just… in the bathroom getting it on with Jenny Simons! Suck on that, I told you guys she had a thing for me. Oh my god, Kyle, it was glorious…” he rambled away, leaning closer into Kyle.

Oh. Great. Everyone’s fucking around with whoever they want except him. Awesome. The jealousy and bitterness he’d been trying to push back was creeping up again. Cheers were still coming through the living room. “Cool,” was all Kyle could muster.

Eric stopped his storytime when he noticed how zoned out Kyle was. “Jeez, you’re a worse mood-killer than Wendy. Seriously, what’s up with you both?” He elbowed Kyle and sneered, “Did your boyfriend Stan dump you both at the same time?”

Ugh, screw this: the party, the game, that fucking word, Eric’s persistance to be obnoxious. Kyle’s patience was drained. He shoved Eric back and dug his index finger into his friend’s chest, “First of all, stop breathing into my neck, I can smell your janky dinner from here. Second, I don’t need every fucking detail about your nasty tongue down some girl’s throat. Third,” he raised his voice and enunciated the words, masquerading the pain he felt at what he was about to say with anger, “Stan’s. Not. My. Boyfriend. So stop calling him that, dickhead.”

He didn’t care to wait for Eric’s response; Kyle moved away from in front of him in order to leave the kitchen. He only managed two angry steps when he stopped in his tracks; Stan was standing in the doorway, right below the frame, an empty bottle of Jameson in his hand. He looked taken aback.

“Oh, hey,” Kyle said, uneasy. Behind him, he heard Eric sniggle and mumble something as he left the kitchen through the other door.

“Hey,” Stan replied tersely. He moved into the room and disposed of the bottle he was carrying. He was tense.

“Are you ok?” Kyle asked, feeling more sober every second Stan didn’t speak.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Stan replied calmly. He raised his wrist to stare at the watch he wasn’t wearing, “Actually, I think I’m gonna head home, it’s pretty late. Want me to drop you off?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.”

Stan smiled Kyle’s way, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

The drive was silent and unbearable. Kyle was racking his brain for answers: he usually didn’t have to ask Stan what was troubling him, if there was anything on his mind, he would just tell Kyle. He cleared his throat, “So, uh, was it good?”

“Huh? Was what good?” Stan frowned in confusion, staring ahead.

“You know, Bebe, the kiss.” Kyle tried to sound playful, but some bitterness seeped through.

“Oh, that. We didn’t kiss.”

There was a lump in Kyle’s throat. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.” Stan paused for a second, “I mean, I only joined the game because Bebe kept insisting and I thought that we—” he pursed his lips and let out a tch, “whatever, I didn’t think I'd get her, and I didn’t want to upset Clyde. So I said I’d chug a bottle of whatever everyone wanted if I could skip.”

Kyle’s brain was melting. This was good news, he thought, so why was Stan so upset? Was it because he had to leave after all he drank? He was getting the courage to ask when Stan pulled his car to the curb—they were already at Kyle’s house. Fuck this city for being so small.

“Well, I gotta get home, don’t wanna risk getting stopped.” Stan said matter-of-factly.

Kyle nodded and opened the passenger door, “Wanna do something tomorrow?” he asked before getting out. It was fairly brisk outside, but his palms were sweating.

“Oh, I’m gonna be busy tomorrow, but I'll text you, ok?” Stan offered the same small smile from before. For some reason, it hurt more than when he wasn’t looking at Kyle.

Kyle swallowed. “Okay.” He entered his house, everything moving in slow motion. His chest felt heavy with every step. Okay, Stan didn’t want to see him tomorrow. That’s fine, right? He was busy, he needed alone time. Whatever pissed him off would pass over the weekend and they’d be good the next day, right?

Kyle undressed and climbed into bed, bundling up into his comforter. He stayed still when he tried to fall asleep, hoping that if he didn’t move, he could ignore the feeling that his bubble had finally burst.

Chapter Text

October 4th, 2008

10:01 a.m.

Kyle glanced at his phone: zero notifications.

Stan was busy, he just needed space. That was fine, Kyle told himself. He stared at his wall clock: it was ten in the morning.

He cleaned his room, re-organized his bookshelves and finished all the homework he had due for the week.

He looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. It was noon. He checked his phone. No new messages.

Kyle played Smash Bros. with Ike until his little brother got bored. They ate lunch, then Kyle helped him film his latest vlog. He finished reading the new Percy Jackson book. He read some of his new The Hunger Games book he’d bought last month.

He had dinner with his family. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Seven-thirty. He pulled out his phone under the table. Nothing.

Kyle took a walk around the block. He reached the corner of Stan’s street, lingered for a second and turned around. He washed his face, moving slower than usual this time. He noticed two zits starting to come in above his forehead. Wonderful. He moisturized, brushed his teeth, and flossed. He laid out his clothes for the next day.

He glimpsed at his wall clock again. Nine-fifteen. He grabbed his phone. Zilch.

He put on his pajamas and got into bed. He stared at the ceiling; his glow in the dark solar system stickers were still there. He listed all the planets and listened to the soft noises of the night. He felt his chest get heavier.

He squinted at his digital clock. Nine-forty. He checked his phone one last time. Nada.

Space was hard.

October 5th, 2008

Kyle couldn’t take it any longer.

KYLE B. 11:16 a.m.

Hi

Wanna hang out today?

stan ur #1 crush 6:48 p.m.

hi

sorry i was helping my mom clean the house today

im pretty tired

KYLE B. 8:53 p.m.

Oh ok sorry I had no idea!

Hope you enjoyed the time with your mom

Rest easy

Rest easy? Kyle cringed at his own message.

KYLE B. 8:55 p.m.

See you at school tomorrow?

October 6th, 2008

KYLE B. 1:37 p.m.

Hi!

You wanna work on that bio assignment together?

i’m free after school today

stan ur #1 crush 2:56 p.m.

hey

thats ok it seems pretty easy

stan ur #1 crush 3:01 p.m.

thx tho :)

KYLE B. 3:04 p.m.

Sure! We can still just hang if you want

October 7th, 2008

KYLE B. 12:04 p.m.

Hi! :)

KYLE B. 1:04 p.m.

Any chance you're coming to my practice today?

KYLE B. 1:04 p.m.

It’s the first of the season

Kinda nervous :p

KYLE B. 2:52 p.m.

I dusted off the bench just in case

Lol :P

God, kill him now.

Kyle looked at his phone every ten minutes during practice until he got a response. His heart sank the eleventh time he checked.

stan ur #1 crush 5:03 p.m.

hi

sorry i told pete we’d hang out today

KYLE B. 5:05 p.m.

Oh cool don't worry :)

KYLE B. 7:12 p.m.

Wasn't the same without you

October 8th, 2008

It was lunch time when Kyle’s phone vibrated. Stan had been spending his time with Clyde outside the cafeteria the whole week.

stan ur #1 crush 12:03 p.m.

hi

how are u?

Kyle’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He smiled like an idiot. He pumped his fists to the sky. This was it! It was Wednesday. He remembered. He stared at his phone, thinking of a great reply.

KYLE B. 12:05 p.m.

Heeeeey :)

I’m good!!

How about you?

stan ur #1 crush 12:13 p.m.

all good

stan ur #1 crush 12:16 p.m.

srry ive been awol just super busy w stuff

just wanted to let u know i cant go to the movies 2nite

raincheck?

Kyle looked up at the ceiling, wondering why a bucket of ice water had been dropped on him. Nope, that was just rejection.

KYLE B. 12:05 p.m.

Don’t worry!!

Let me know when youre free :)

Kyle made it a personal goal to not text Stan the rest of the week. If he could manage that, Stan’s funk would wear off and things would go back to normal, he was sure of it.

October 9th, 2008

KYLE B. 11:05 p.m.

I miss you

October 10th, 2008

5:43 p.m.

“Hey, are you going to Stan’s tomorrow?”

“Huh?” Kyle turned to look at Kenny. He’d been busy staring at his phone for what must’ve been the 200th time this week. His new theory was that maybe if he kept staring at his last text, Stan would reply back.

It was after school and he, Kenny and Eric set up lawn chairs in a spot at the vacant junkyard, drinking and throwing rocks at any vermin they spotted. The rules were simple: rack up points when you hit an animal; a rat was worth one point; squirrels, two; hitting a pigeon was a final victory. Kenny and Eric were often the winners, since Stan always reminded them animal cruelty was not okay and would use his shots to divert everyone’s throws. Kyle didn’t care much for the pigeons or rats, but hated the idea of upsetting Stan so he purposefully missed whenever he played along.

“Stan's house.” Kenny, sitting in the middle, spoke slower. “I saw him yesterday in English, he said he found a bootleg of The Machine Girl and to tell Cartman so we could all see it at his house tomorrow.” He quirked his eyebrow and stared at Kyle, bringing the bottle of beer he was drinking closer to his lips, “I figured he’d already told you.”

Kyle blinked, his eyes tired. He’d stayed up most of the night after texting Stan, wondering if he should keep trying to reach out or finally leave him alone or better yet, throw himself into moving traffic. “No, I guess he forgot.”

Kenny looked him up and down. He glanced at Eric's way. They shared a look. “Right.” He paused and stared ahead.

A rat passed and they all shot their rock; Kenny’s hit it in the stomach before it scurried off.

Eric leaned back in his chair. “You know Kyle, it’s funny,” he paused to drink his beer, “me and Kenny ran into Stan today.”

“We invited him and insisted he should come. Since, for some reason, he’s been avoiding us at lunch all week,” Kenny followed up with.

“You know what he said?” Eric snorted. “He said he was free at first, but when we said we were all gonna be here, he started to yammer about how he really needed to study for the chem exam. You know, the one that’s in like, six weeks.”

Kyle felt his ears burn up and grumbled, “Okay, so? He’s planning ahead.”

Eric groaned. “Kenny, just let me hit him.”

Kenny sighed and pulled down the hood of his sweatshirt. He opened the small plastic cooler in front of him and handed Kyle a sangria wine cooler; one of his favorite flavors. “Look, man, just tell us what’s going on. At least try to put an end to your misery fest.”

“Not that it’s not fun to see you trudging around like an idiot.” Eric chuckled and Kenny elbowed him.

Silence sank in. Kyle stared ahead; past the piles of junk, he could make out a small passage where a sliver of light managed to pass through. He considered it an alternative escape route.

Here goes nothing. He took a breath that must’ve lasted hours, and said, “I like Stan.”

He waited for the snickers and teasing to begin, but was met with silence instead. Kyle turned to look at both of his friends. They stared at him, but their faces were blank, like he didn’t just confess to what he considered earth-shattering news. “I like like him. You know, ‘more than friends’ like him. As in, romantic—”

“We get it, dimwit. You’ve got the hots for Stan, how’s that a fucking issue?” Eric interrupted, a hint of bitterness in his tone. He threw a rock at a squirrel inside a tire a few feet away. It fled before the rock could make contact.

Still surprised at his friends’ reactions (or lack thereof), he continued, “Yeah, I know that’s not the problem, asshole! Ugh,” Kyle buried his head in his hands, exasperated, “the problem is that he knows I like him, and I thought he liked me back, but ever since Tolkien’s party, he’s been avoiding me and I don’t know why!”

More silence. Another rat passed by; no one paid it attention.

Kyle looked up to his friends. They were both exchanging a look. “What?!”

Kenny exhaled and tipped his chair back. Eric reached over and punched Kyle’s arm. “Cartman, what the fuck?!”

Eric started laughing, “Kyle, don’t tell me you're actually this stupid? Do you really not get it?”

Kyle wanted to rip his hair out. What did fucking Eric get that Kyle didn’t? He looked at Kenny, who also seemed pretty unimpressed by any of the information that was being revealed to him. “D- did Stan tell you guys something?”

Kenny looked like he was about to speak, but Eric beat him to it, “Stan didn’t have to tell me anything, I was fucking there!” He leaned over again and used his index finger to tap Kyle’s forehead on the side. “Think, Kyle, think. Tolkien’s party.”

Resisting his urge to punch Eric back, irritated by being given instructions, Kyle rewinded back to that night. I was fucking there. “Wait. This is about what I said to you? Why would Stan care that I—”

“Told Cartman he wasn’t your boyfriend?” Kenny interrupted, frustrated. When Kyle turned to face him, wide-eyed, Kenny continued, “Cartman told me.”

Kyle really wanted to rip his hair out—or kill his friends. He wasn’t sure yet. “So you guys knew fucking everything?!”

Kenny shrugged. “Not everything. Pretty obvious you guys had something going on.” He waved his hand around in front of him to indicate the ambiguity of that ‘something’. “We figured you guys fought when Stan went all loner on us, we just weren’t sure why. But if he hasn’t been talking to you since the party, there's your answer.”

Kyle’s head was spinning, “Okay. So you think Stan’s ignoring me… because I told Cartman he wasn’t my boyfriend?”

“Oh look, Kenny, someone’s brain showed up today.”

“Shut up, Cartman! I still don’t get why it’s such a big fucking deal that I said it—it’s true.” He mumbled and crossed his arms, enraged and bitter by now.

Eric and Kenny exchanged another look. It was Kenny’s turn to punch Kyle. “Jesus, what the fuck is wrong with you guys?”

“Us? You’re the one who’s being an idiot.” Kenny grabbed Kyle by the shoulders and pulled him close. He spoke slower again, like trying to get a kindergardener to memorize the alphabet, “Kyle, of course Stan’s ignoring you: you fucking rejected him to one of your closest friends. It’s not what you said, even if it’s true; it’s about what it meant.”

A second passed as he absorbed Kenny’s words. “Oh.” Was all he could muster.

“Yeah.” Kenny released his grip and leaned back against his chair. He took a sip of his beer, “Seriously, what were you thinking?”

Kyle sighed. “I wasn’t thinking. I was pissed off at—ugh, I don’t know, fucking everything,” he ran a hand through his hair, “and I didn’t mean for it to come off like that. I wasn’t sure if Stan saw me like that yet and I didn’t want to...” he bit his lip, realizing his fuck-up before he could finish the sentence; I didn’t want to feel rejected, so I ended up rejecting Stan instead. “Fuck.”

Okay, Kyle was ready to die now. He prayed to any military aircrafts above to nuke him right then and there.

Eric snorted, “Please, you guys have been up each other’s butts for years, I’m surprised it took you homos long enough to finally ‘fess up,” he said, that bitter tone from before coming back. He picked up a rock and threw it at a stray rabbit, hitting its hind leg.

Kyle rolled his eyes and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Guess it doesn't matter, now that I fucked it all up.”

“Gee, Kyle, here’s an idea: how about instead of being a whiny bitch, you actually get off your ass and do something?”

“I’ve texted him all week and he just blows me off!” Kye threw his hands in the air in exasperation.

“Oh, wow, you texted him!” Eric clapped his hands slowly, oozing sarcasm. “You’re right, he hates you forever and you’ve done everything you could.”

Kenny huffed out a laugh, “Have to agree with Cartman on that one, just swallow your fucking pride and apologize.” He tapped his friend’s forearm. “Better yet, bust out one of your annoying speeches, just make it romantic and groveling.”

Kyle wringed his hands, hopelessness still lingering. “What if it’s not enough?”

Kenny picked a rock and rolled it around in his hand. “Look, I know you hate being wrong, and for some reason, you’ve deluded yourself to think Stan doesn’t like you as much as you do him—but you’re wrong. Whatever catastrophic scenario you keep telling yourself will happen, isn’t gonna happen.” He shot at a squirrel, hitting its tail.

“Yeah, stop being a pussy and talk to him. It’s Stan. What the hell could you be so afraid of? It’s fucking Stan.” Eric emphasized, like that drove the point home.

In a way, it kind of did—plain as the words were, they rang true. This was Stan he was talking about. His best friend, who had always been the more compassionate and, frankly, less combative of the two. He knew how to fix this.

He looked ahead, the sun was starting to set. He took out his phone and stared at his messages. He considered sending a new text, asking (or demanding) Stan for a chance to meet and talk.

He fidgeted with the buttons and ended up pressing the two headed backwards arrow, landing on the first messages his phone still stored from over a year ago.

s tan ur #1 crush 08/17/07 12:13 p.m.

tell me about the first time u saw me :)

Kyle stared at his phone screen, the text staring back at him.

Oh. His body lit up with adrenaline, an idea forming.

“Yeah, you’re right.” He downed his wine cooler and grabbed his school bag. “I have to go. Thanks, guys.” He turned to meet his friend’s eyes before leaving, “Actually, can I take one?” He pointed to the drinks—he could use some liquid courage.

Kenny grinned and handed him a bottle, “Good luck, loverboy.”

Eric just flipped him off, “Let us know if your balls managed to drop.”

Chapter Text

October 10th, 2008

9:58 p.m.

Stan was burrowed in a pile of blankets on his bed, a can of Coke in hand. He pulled up the hood of the green sweatshirt he had on while taking a sip of the drink. Once the can had empty space, he added a full whiskey shooter to it, swirled it around and had another taste. Perfect ratio.

He had set up his TV in the dresser in front of his bed and had already sat through The 40-Year-Old Virgin (great), Jackass Number Two (amazing), and was finishing up Epic Movie, which was so ass he took it as an opportunity to load up on treats again. He’d gotten his spiked Coke ready, a pint of ice cream and an assortment of candy and chocolate.

He grabbed the ice cream container, making a conscious effort to avoid his phone next to it on his nightstand. He promised himself not to check it since he had texted Kyle on Wednesday: the possibility that he replied either angry or unbothered when Stan let him know he couldn't hang out that day would make him spiral and he didn’t need that today.

Nope, tonight he was ready to numb himself out with mindless movies and junk food. He could confront the harsh reality of whatever Kyle had texted him (probably a “fuck you then”) on Monday.

He took a spoonful of ice cream and adjusted his reading glasses to see what the next movie was going to be. The channel’s banner announced: I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry.

Stan groaned. Shitty movie aside, he was not in the mood for a string of bad gay jokes and Adam Sandler’s need to remind everyone how much sex with women he had every ten minutes.

He looked around for the remote, eyes darting around the room: it was in the dresser, next to the television. “Ugh, dammit,” he complained and dug himself out from his blankets to reach for it. He stood up and brought the pint of ice cream with him, getting another spoonful in the process.

As he neared the TV, he stopped midway when he picked up on a noise. It sounded like… tapping. He turned to look at his window and let out a startled yell, his hood falling off.

Kyle was in front of Stan’s window, crouching on the backyard’s roof, shaking slightly as he tapped on the glass. He gave Stan a light smile and wave when he met his eyes.

There was a knock on Stan’s bedroom door: his mom. “Stan, sweetheart, is everything okay? I heard a scream.” She asked as she started to open the door and peek her head inside.

Stan quickly set down the ice cream in the cabinet nearby and stopped his mom from coming in, door half-way open. “Yeah, all good, mom. Sorry, put on a scary movie.” He smiled as endearingly as possible at his mother.

Sharon smiled back at him and gave him a pat on the cheek. “If you say so, sweetie. Don’t stay up too late, okay? Especially with scary movies, you’ll have bad dreams.”

“I won’t, I promise,” he smiled wider before she walked off.

Stan waited until she was in her own room to shut the door and hurried to open his window, letting out a shudder when the cold air hit him. Almost instinctively, he pulled Kyle into his room by his forearms before the other boy could make a move.

Kyle clambered inside and found his balance. He let out an awkward cough, “Hi.”

“Dude, what the hell are you doing?!” Stan tried to keep his voice down.

“I—” Kyle turned to look at Stan and paused when he noticed what his friend was wearing. He shaked his head and stared at the floor, gripping the straps of the backpack he was carrying. “I wanted to talk to you.” He answered quietly.

Stan let out a sigh and gripped the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. Wonderful. Kyle had already made his feelings for Stan clear last Friday, but now he needed to look him directly in the eyes and rub some extra salt into the wound. He could already imagine what he was going to say:

It’s not you, it’s me, I’ve tried to like you that way but I just can’t.

We can still be friends, and you can watch from afar when I finally start liking someone. Who won’t be you, by the way.

Actually, our tryst has made me realise that I don’t want to have anything to do with you ever again. I’m leaving South Park and joining a monastery. I just want my hoodie back, weirdo.

“Stan, please?” He broke out of his thoughts and turned to look at Kyle, who had set down his backpack after rummaging through it. He gripped something small inside his hand.

Stan deliberated, sitting on his bed and picking at some of the black Sharpie ink left in his fingernails. He turned his head to stare out his window; it wasn’t snow season yet, but it was still pretty cold outside. He took another drink of his Jack and Coke mix, and tried to sound as relaxed as possible when he said, “Okay, what’s up?”

Kyle took a deep breath and moved to stand in front of Stan. He started speaking fast, “I’m really, really sorry. For a couple of things. Firstly, I really fucked up last week. Back at Tolkien’s party, I didn’t want to say you weren’t my boyfriend,” Kye let a bitter chuckle escape, “I kinda wanted the complete opposite, but I felt insecure and I didn’t want to embarrass myself in case you didn’t feel the same way as I did, but I ended fucking up and hurting you and I’m really, really sorry. If I could swallow back every single word I said I would, and I- I would stop being a fucking coward and just admit I like you to Cartman or anyone else who would’ve asked me that night. Because I really, really fucking like you, Stan. So fucking much.”

Okay, Stan was not expecting that. He opened his mouth to speak but Kyle put his hands up and continued.

“And that’s why I’m also really sorry that… I’ve been an idiot. It should’ve been fucking obvious why you were ignoring me and you had every right to avoid me and obviously if you still never want to talk to me again, that’s fine. But I just really wanted you to know because I know I could’ve tried a lot harder to talk to you and apologize from the beginning if I wasn’t such a dumbass, but I at least needed you to know that I do like you. A lot.”

He took another deep breath and continued, “And I’m sorry that I’ve been to scared to say it before but of course I wanted—or want you to be my boyfriend because I love you,” Kyle blurted out the last words, almost on accident; because it was the first thing he thought to say, because he meant it, because it was true, it’d been true for a while and his mind was just now catching up to what every other part of himself had been telling him all along.

And okay, Stan was not expecting that. He felt something stir inside him, his body warm and suddenly jittery. “Kyle,” he whispered, but Kyle would not stop talking.

“And that’s why I- I got this,” Kyle opened his hand, revealing to Stan the trinket he’d gotten from his backpack. “Because I- I want you to know I’m not scared to show you what I feel. I've been thinking about what you asked me last year, about when I first saw you. And honestly, I can’t fucking remember—I’ve know you for so long,” he let out another laugh, a softer one this time, “but I do remember when I knew I liked you for sure. After winter break, when we went to the bowling alley with all of the guys. And you and I stayed behind and we played at the arcade. And you bet you could beat my ass at Ridge Racer and you did, tons of times and told me to get you this from the claw machine as payback.”

“Kyle.”

“I remember trying to get it, and obviously you’re not an asshole so you let me off the hook after like, two tries, and you smiled at me in a way that—I don’t know, but it was all I could think about for the rest of the day. That and how angry I was that I couldn’t fucking get you those keychains. I didn’t know why, but thinking back on it, I just wanted to make you happy. I think I kinda always do.” He extended his arm toward Stan. It was starting to shake. “So I, uh, I went back and got these for you. Or us. If you still wanna be friends, or something else. Or if not maybe you can-”

“Ky,” Stan gripped him by the shoulders and shaked him lightly. “Jesus, dude, breathe.”

And Kyle hated being told what to do, but he pocketed the keychains in his pants and followed Stan’s order. As he started inhaling, Stan wrapped his arms around him to bring him into a hug. Kyle hugged back, closing his eyes and exhaling, the lump that was stuck in his throat starting to dissipate. “I’m sorry. I mentioned that, right?”

Stan loosened his grip and met Kyle’s eyes with a smile. “It may have come up. I’m sorry, too.” At his friend’s puzzled face, he continued, “I shouldn’t have avoided you. I didn’t mean to do it, really. After the party, I just thought maybe you were, I don’t know, overwhelmed or like, not really into this,” he pointed his index finger back and forth between them, “anymore, so I figured I just needed to like, give you space or get used to not being around you so much.” He scrunched his face. “I should’ve just talked to you, it was all kind of stupid.”

“Well, I was being far more stupid.” Kyle brought his hands to Stan’s neck. “Can we call it even?”

Stan smiled again and leaned forward. “Deal.”

Their lips met and neither said anything but felt how the other’s shoulders immediately relaxed, the tonne of weight both were holding in their chests lifting.

Stan broke the kiss and smirked, “I still want my gift, though.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and smiled. “You’re only supposed to keep one.” He took out the keychains, a small silver dolphin hanging from the hook of each. Their rostrums were magnetic, joining to ‘kiss' when they got close. It was one of the cheesiest things they’d ever seen, and it gave Stan an overwhelming amount of joy.

He laughed when he grabbed one, the memory of the day Kyle mentioned coming back to him. “I was totally trying to flirt with you, by the way.”

Kyle looked at Stan like a second head had grown out of his neck. “Huh?”

Stan let out another laugh, and Kyle’s confusion was starting to look like annoyance. “Since we’re getting all vulnerable, I might as well ‘fess up.” He moved to sit on his bed and gestured to the other boy to join him.

Stan took a drink of his Coke and looked at the ceiling, recalling, “I’ve liked you for a while—like, before we kissed. That day, at the bowling alley, I remember it, too. It’d been a month since me and Wendy broke up the last time and I didn’t feel so bad as I usually did when that happened. When we stayed after everyone else, I kinda realized that was why: I was just really happy to be with you. Like, even with everything going on, things were okay and I was okay because I still had you.” He was starting to blush and let out a chuckle, “So yeah, I don’t know, I thought I’d drop you a hint by telling you I wanted to get us matching keychains.” He elbowed Kyle. “Didn’t expect you to be so dense though.”

“How was I supposed to know that was a hint?!”

At that, Stan looked drop dead serious. “Dude. Come on. Matching keychains. They’re practically kissing. They’re dolphins.”

“So what if they’re dolphins?!” He was losing his patience again.

“Dolphins are gay.”

Kyle burst out laughing and fell back into the mattress. “You’re shitting me, right?”

“No, dude, they’re seriously gay. There’s lesbian dolphins, too. Maybe they’re all bi, I don’t know, but they have sex with everyone, it’s crazy.” Stan was trying to keep his face straight but his lips kept twitching the longer Kyle laughed.

Kyle looked at Stan and, wiping away a tear, tried to be as sincere as possible when he said, “I’m sorry. I really had no idea.”

Stan lied on his stomach to be face to face with Kyle again, interlocking his hands and resting his head above them. “That’s not the only time I tried to hit on you.”

“Bullshit.” His friend’s face was more serious now.

“Nuh-uh. Clyde’s party? I told you to text me when you got there so we could spend time alone because I wanted to tell you! But you texted me like two hours later. And then I invited you to play beer pong, and you ended up playing with Tolkien instead of picking me,” Stan huffed and actually pouted, sullen lip and everything.

Kyle’s head was reeling. He opened his mouth, but it was Stan’s turn to keep talking, “Aaaand, even then, I fucking called you cute in the bathroom—you know, making a move, and all you did was ask if I was drunk!” He shaked his head, like he was reliving the night all over. “Clyde told me after that I should just go for the kiss and make sure we were both sober, otherwise you would’ve never gotten the hint.”

Kyle was stupefied. He remembered the party: he remembered some of Stan’s rigid behavior during the game with Tolkien, but never thought to chalk it up to jealousy. He also remembered their time in the bathroom, but had he really been so self-involved to not notice Stan had been reciprocating his feelings all this time?

“I’m an idiot.” He said, rewinding moments in his head, wondering how many more times he—Wait. What? Clyde? He thought. “Wait, what? Clyde told you what?” He repeated, out loud this time.

Stan was blushing harder now and Kyle was ready to kiss his face off if it wasn’t for that last bit of information that’d been dropped on him. Cheeks flushed, he confessed, “I told Clyde I like you, he told me to invite you to his party and tell you there since it was 'neutral ground',” he air-quoted, “and when that backfired, he told me to make a more obvious move.”

Kyle forgot how to move, speak, or breathe. When he finally regained all abilities, he asked the question he already had an answer to, “You told Clyde? Clyde knew?”

“I know he can be… too much sometimes, but he’s my friend and I trust him.” He snorted a laugh, “Honestly, I don’t think I would’ve made a move on you again at Cartman’s house if it wasn’t for him.”

Kyle was still grasping the concept of Clyde being Stan’s wingman when the boy added with an innocent grin, “I kinda told Wendy a while ago, too.”

Okay, Kyle was nearing a stroke, he was sure of it. He thought back to the after-party, to their conversation before the dance when they talked—how unsurprised she’d been throughout.

He grabbed Stan’s Coke and drank a mouthful without a word. “So… you told Wendy that you like me… and it’s not, like, weird?”

Stan shrugged, “Not really, we’re friends. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but she kinda has some stuff going on herself.”

Oh, yeah. That. “I kinda picked up on it.” Kyle muttered and made a mental note to try and be more helpful to his president, all things considered.

“It’s a shitshow, you don’t even wanna know.” Stan shaked his head again, “But yeah, it’s nice talking to her, since she kinda gets it—the whole being in love with your best friend thing.” He smiled.

Oh, yeah. That. Kyle’s eyes widened; he’d forgotten that halfway through his word vomit, he’d managed to slip in the L word when he’d only planned on dropping the B word.

Stan, still calm as ever, reached over to intertwine their fingers, “Because I love you, too. In case it hasn’t been made obvious by the fact that I was desperate enough to turn to Clyde of all people for romantic advice.”

Kyle grinned. The world was on his side again! “I’m glad I brought the gay dolphins then.”

They both laughed. “How many tries did it take you to win them?”

Kyle snorted. “I didn’t try. I love you, but you know that shit’s rigged, right? I sneaked inside when they closed and broke open the machine. That’s why I came so late. ”

Stan felt another wave of joy surge through—from hearing Kyle saying ‘I love you’ again in a more casual manner now, and for trespassing and committing petty theft to get back on his good side.

“Right, which, by the way: any reason you didn’t just knock on the front door?”

Kyle shrugged. “Rom-coms always say this is a great, romantic way to beg for forgiveness. Plus, you can always shut the door in my face, but I figured you wouldn’t throw me off your roof.”

“How did you get on the roof, dude?”

“Told ya I’m a good jumper,” Kyle smirked.

They laughed again. Stan felt warm all over; he did find the idea of Kyle having to do pull-ups to show up to his room’s window romantic. And kind of hot, but that was a topic for another day. “Soooo, if I put the dolphin in my car keys, does that mean we’re official?” He hovered over Kyle’s face.

“I would hope so, yeah. Don’t know if I mentioned it, but I really, really want you to be my boyfriend.”

“Me too, but about you.” Stan started to comb through Kyle’s hair with his fingers; it gave Kyle the sense of peace he’d been longing for. “Where are you gonna put it?” He asked, remembering Kyle didn’t have a car.

“In my backpack zipper.”

“You’re not worried about anyone giving you shit about it?”

Kyle shaked his head, all smiles, “Nah. I’ve got more spoiled yogurt to go around.” He grabbed Stan’s neck to bridge their gap and kissed him. In a matter of minutes, they were making out, Kyle on top of Stan.

“Stay over.” Stan whispered.

Kyle bit his lip. It was tempting, but his curfew was approaching, he hadn’t texted his parents about staying out so late and he didn’t even have a toothbr—Stan slithered his hand under Kyle’s shirt.

Oh well, he could always ask Ike to come up with an alibi. “Okay. One condition though.”

“What?”

“Please turn this shit off.” He pointed his thumb towards the TV, where Adam Sandler was marrying Kevin James.

October 11th, 2008

11:43 a.m.

When Kyle woke up, it took a few seconds to absorb his surroundings. He noticed Stan’s guitar in one corner first, then the pile of board games he’d been collecting (arranged by level of difficulty, which Kyle found incredibly dorky but sweet) and finally took note of the band posters for his brain to conclude: he was, in fact, in Stan’s room. None of last night’s events had been a dream.

He rubbed an eye with the palm of his hand and turned his head. Sure enough, Stan was there next to him, sitting up over the bed’s duvet. He was eating the pint of ice cream from the night before, but he’d changed from his pajamas.

He felt when Kyle turned his way and met his gaze, beaming, “Hey, babe.”

“Hi,” he grumbled, smiling at the pet name, “what time is it?” He noticed the TV was back on, Stan watching American Pie. He pulled off the blankets. He’d gone to sleep in Stan’s old Terrance and Philip pajamas, which fit him small above his ankles and wrists.

“Almost noon.”

“Shit, how come you didn't wake me?” He reached over to the nightstand to check his phone.

Ike 10/10/08 10:34 p.m.

ok

Ike 10/10/08 10:52 p.m.

i told her i saw u come in and put the snoring tape and the body pillow and she bought it lol this is 2 easy

Ike 10/10/08 11:43 p.m.

hey get me a beer i wanna do a vlog of my first time trying it

Ike 8:35 a.m.

fyi told mom u had an emergency school meeting and that u were prob gonna b out the whole day with ur friends after so i think ur off the hook

Ike 8:41 a.m.

you owe me that beer btw

He typed a quick reply to his brother.

Kyle B. 11:47 a.m.

Thank you Ike

I’ll get you some nanaimo bars!

Please don’t drink yet

Ike 11:48 a.m.

ok those will do - for now

“You said you were pretty tired yesterday, and you looked really peaceful. Figured you could use the rest.” It was true, they didn’t stay up past midnight, but he was exhausted from the week and had the best sleep.

“Yeah, you know—guy troubles have kept me up.” He joked.

Stan smiled and tsk’ed. “Bet that’s all resolved now.” He set down his ice cream and wiggled down to be at eye level with his boyfriend. “You hungry? My mom saved you breakfast, I can heat it up.”

“Your mom knows I’m here?”

“Yep.” He rested a hand on Kyle’s hip and asked as innocently as ever, “Didn’t I mention I also may have told her since, like, the dance that we’re dating, since I kinda thought we were?”

It was partially a joke, but Kyle picked up on Stan’s nervous tone. He felt a tiny sting, remembering how oblivious he’d been to Stan’s affections, but he pushed the thought aside and placed his hand over Stan’s, stroking it, “Nope, but it’s good to know. Means I owe you about a week’s worth of dates at least, right?”

Stan’s smile turned dopey. “Right.”

Kyle thought for a second. He knew Stan had a decent relationship with his mom, but if she knew… “Does Randy know?”

Stan let out an incredulous laugh, “Jesus, no fucking way. My mom and I both concluded it was probably for the best to keep him out of the loop for a while. Before Shelley went off to college, she told me he tried to give her the talk, which basically boiled down to ‘if you even dream about having sex or touching someone else, you will get chlamydia and die.’ If that was the straight version, I don’t even wanna think what his idea of a gay one is like. He’s well, you know, him.” He let out a small shudder at the thought. “Is that… okay with you?” The nervous tone was back.

Kyle placed his free hand on Stan’s cheek. “Dude, of course. It’s your call.” He wasn’t particularly excited about the idea of Randy Marsh’s reaction, either. “However and whenever you wanna do it, I’m here. I’ll sit through the whole Gonorrhea Death Talk if I need to.” He smiled as sweetly as someone talking about STIs could.

Stan laughed and leaned down to kiss Kyle, who responded in kind and slid his hand down to Stan’s neck. Stan used the hand he had on his boyfriend’s hip to bring his body closer to his own. They kept kissing, movements slow and lush, both of them enjoying every moment without any worry in their way.

Kyle sighed into Stan’s mouth when he felt him fiddle with the waistband of the too-short pajama bottoms he had on. He was about to move his own hand under Stan’s shirt when they heard brusque knocks on the bedroom door.

“‘Ey, butthole, we're here! Are we watching this movie or not?” Eric’s voice rang from the other side.

Stan sighed and whispered, “Shit, I forgot about that.” He turned his head toward the door and yelled, “Yeah, give me a second! I’ll see you guys downstairs!”

“Your mom told us Kyle’s here, you better not be fucking, you dirty freaks!”

A Kenny-esque laughter filtered through with a muffled, “You sad you can’t watch, or what? Come on, little pervert.”

Kyle huffed and Stan rolled his eyes as they heard their friend’s footsteps fade away, both bickering over who the real pervert was between them two.

“You wanna stay?” Stan asked, “I can lend you some clothes.”

“Sure.” Kyle planted one last kiss on his boyfriend’s mouth as he got up to get Kyle a shirt that fit. “You could just lend me back my hoodie, though. You know, the one you had on yesterday.”

“No idea what you’re talking about. All hoodies in this house are my property.” Stan shot Kyle an innocent smile as he launched him a pair of socks and a shirt with a penguin on it. Which made no sense, Kyle thought, considering the band seemed to be called Arctic Monkeys. Fine: he’d keep this shirt hostage then.

Kyle stood, changing into the tee and putting on his jeans. “What?” He asked when he noticed Stan grinning at him.

Stan shrugged and grabbed at Kyle’s waist, “You should keep it,” he said, playing with the hem of the shirt before sliding his hands under it, pressing the pads of his fingers to Kyle’s skin.

They started kissing again. Kyle stifled a sigh, “Kenny and Cartman are waiting downstairs.”

“I think they can wait a little longer.” Stan whispered and landed a kiss on Kyle’s neck, who hummed in agreement and kissed his boyfriend’s mouth again.

Hours later, once he was back at his own home, Kyle got a text from Stan, the latter finally checking his phone after avoiding it for days.

Kyle grinned at it until his face hurt, noticing Stan had changed his contact name on his phone again.

stan ur boyfriend 10:13 p.m.

missed you too <3