Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Out of the last five weekends, Wendy had stayed over three. Statistically, that meant Kyle had a 60% chance of spending Saturday night listening to the muffled sounds of Stan's Great Romantic Gestures from behind their not-quite-thick-enough bedroom wall. Tonight's feature: some indie, French rom-com with a moody soundtrack and one sex scene at least every twenty minutes, resulting in giggles from the couple.

Kyle put his charging cable into his headphones once again, begging them to suck energy from the outlet faster. Stan had promised they’d keep it down. And to be fair, the volume was technically lower than the time they watched Eternal Sunshine and Kyle had to Google if that was in fact it was Jim Carrey he was hearing - “and was that Elijah Wood?” - which led him to looking at his entire filmography, which then led him to look at other comedy actors who starred in more serious films.

Still, the murmuring laughter, the rising music cues, the soft ugh of Wendy leaning against Stan’s shoulder like a tragic French film heroine… It was too much.

Kyle slammed his textbook shut, grumbled under his breath, and grabbed his hoodie. He just needed air. That’s all.

The streets were mostly quiet, the occasional rustle of wind through trees doing little to calm Kyle’s buzzing nerves. After seven or so minutes of walking, the calming effect had worn off and the paranoia kicked in.

A guy crossed the street too quickly. A car slowed near the curb too close to him. A shadow by a dumpster looked suspiciously human. Why is that car making a u-turn towards him? Where are its license plates?

Nah. No. Nope nope nope.

He turned around and fished out his phone after another quick glance around him.

Kyle: Hey
Kyle: Sorry to ask but can I crash at yours? Headphones are dead and Stan is in romcom mode again
Kenny 🐶: lol get ur ass over here. I’ll clear the floor. U know the addy right?

Kyle smiled in spite of himself.

Kenny’s apartment smelled like laundry steam and motor oil, but it was all his - quiet yet open.

“Watch your step,” Kenny called once Kyle opened the door. “I lost a wrench and it might be under the blanket again.”

Kyle silently closed the door behind him and hesitated a second at the threshold. The one room loft above the laundromat Kenny lived was small, cluttered, lived in . A pile of half-folded clothes on the chair, a pair of boots next to a paint-streaked skateboard, a cracked mug holding paintbrushes. It was chaotic and messy but warm. Comfy.

Kenny caught him scanning the room and shrugged. “Pardon the mess but the couch is clean-ish. And I promise I sleep in only one of the hoodies in that pile.”

Kyle gave a sheepish half-smile and kicked his shoes off by the door. “Thanks for letting me crash.”

“You say that like I don’t love dramatic 10 p.m. texts from emotionally constipated boys,” Kenny said, grinning. “Snack tax is two compliments, minimum.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “You smell like gasoline and cinnamon, but weirdly in a good way.”

“That’s one.”

“...And your little kitchen hoard is kinda impressive.”

“I’ll take it.” Kenny swung the cabinet open dramatically, revealing a box of vending machine snacks. “That cursed machine stole my dollar. It owes me. With interest. Take whatever.”

Kyle wandered over, pretending to examine the pretzels and six types of jerky, but his eyes caught on the mini fridge instead.

It was plastered with mismatched magnets - some shaped like beer cans, some having state slogans like “EVerything is bigger in Texas” - each holding up a greasy, travel-worn postcard:

“Monte Carlo is awesome. & You suck. -- Eric”

“Swiss chocolate > American cheese. Get wrecked. -- Eric”

“This fountain is super and you are not. -- Eric”

Kyle snorted. “You keep Cartman’s postcards?”

“Of course I did. It’s like watching a delusional raccoon blog from abroad. You think I’d throw that away?” Kenny grabbed himself a Pop-Tart and slid the box of snacks back on the pantry shelf of the pantry.

Kyle snorted, surprised. “I’m convinced he pays someone to send them and he’s still living in his mom’s attic as some weird recluse.“ Kyle grabbed himself a pack of crackers from the box and turn to Kenny. “You’re a weird guy, Kenny.”

“Hey, I’m not the one running from a rom-com like it’s a zombie movie.”

“Ugh, stop, you know how I feel about zombies since that crazy prank.” Kyle collapsed onto the blanket pile on the floor Kenny threw out for him. It smelled like soap and something smoky and not at all something Kyle would expect to comfort him. For the first time all week, his brain quieted a little.

Kyle shifted on the blanket pile Kenny had flattened on the floor, trying not to think too hard about how warm the room felt: small and cramped but oddly comforting. The lights were low, the buzzing fluorescent in the kitchen turned off, only the streetlights outside illuminating the room softly. The soft hum of the fridge and the occasional groan of pipes filled the air.

Then he realized where the discomfort came from: he’d forgotten pajamas.

He sat up slowly, debating if he could sleep in his jeans, but they were tight around the knees and smelled like they hadn’t been washed in a few weeks - because they hadn’t.

Kenny, already flopped on his futon and flicking through something on his cracked tablet, caught the movement. “What, blanket too thick? I got options.”

Kyle “I, uh… forgot sleep clothes. You got some pants I can borrow?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow and leaned back, arms stretched out. “Your skinny ass? Let me see.” He stood up and walked to the closet on the side of the room. “I got, like, seven pairs of pants that all look like they belong to an off-duty firefighter,” he said as he held up a pair of jogger shorts to him.

Kyle hesitated.

Kenny smirked. “Dude. We shared a tent in fourth grade. We went skinny dipping in that lake. I’m not judging your boxers.”

“…Fair.”

A few minutes later, Kyle emerged from the bathroom wearing a pair of grey sweat-shorts that were at least two sizes too big, cinched as tight as the drawstring would allow. The ends pooled around his knees.

“You look like a sad little British schoolboy,” Kenny said mockingly.

“You look like you lost a fight with your own laundry pile.”

“I did , thank you.” Kenny patted the couch beside him. “Can’t sleep, right?” Kyle shook his head, tugging off his hoodie.

Kenny lit up. “Then it’s our first sleepover in years, man! Popcorn?”

“You don’t have a microwave.”

Kenny donned a mischievous smile. “Yeah, yeah. I joined a Buy Nothing group. Lady two blocks down gave me a popcorn popper.” He reached behind the couch, where there was a tiny popcorn machine plugged into a sketchy extension cord, already warming up. “Booyah. Plus, a fondue set for the romance nights .”

Five minutes later they were sharing a bowl of popcorn and watching some absolutely cursed late 2000s parody movie on Kenny’s tablet, screen cracked across the top right corner.

They were sitting close. Too close, maybe, but the couch was small, the blanket was warm, and the tablet speaker only really worked on one side.

“How do you even find these movies?” Kyle mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn.

“The clearance section of Walmart is an inspirational place,” Kenny replied.

Kyle huffed a laugh and leaned slightly closer to hear better. Kenny didn’t move away.

Kyle woke to the smell of stale popcorn and laundry soap. The apartment was chilly with the open window letting in the early morning autumn air. Kyle scrunched up his nose as he lifted his thin hoodie off the floor, finding it slightly damp with popcorn oil from where it had slipped off the couch. Kenny, half-asleep, mumbled something into his pillow.

Kyle shuffled over to the chair where Kenny had dumped some clothes the night before and pulled on one of his hoodies - it was mustard yellow, soft from too many washes, and practically swallowed him whole.

Kenny opened one eye and gave a crooked grin. “Looks good on you.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, pulling the hood up. “I’m stealing this.”

“Add it to the tab.”

By the time Kyle got home, it was nearly nine. The apartment smelled like toast, and Stan was at the stove humming something off-key.

“Hey, man,” Stan said without turning around. “Hope you got some actual sleep last night.”

Kyle kicked off his shoes with a slight groan. “Sort of.”

Wendy popped her head out of the hallway with a basket of folded laundry. Her eyes locked on the oversized hoodie. “Ohh?”

“No,” Kyle said immediately.

Stan turned. “Wait, isn’t that Kenny’s hoodie? Are those shorts his, too?”

Kyle groaned, heading for the couch and already peeling off the hoodie. Wendy’s grin only grew as wiggled her eyebrows. “You dog .”

“I forgot pajamas. It’s not a thing.”

Stan smirked. “Just saying, that hoodie is doing a lot of narrative work right now.”

Kyle face-planted into the couch. “You guys exhaust me. Kenny wouldn’t be happy to hear these jokes.”

“Oh, please. He flirts with anything that talks.” Wendy lowered herself gracefully onto the armrest, balancing the basket of laundry on her hip daintily. “We’re just happy you went to hang out with someone normal for once. Remember Michael?”

Stan shuddered. “He wrote poetry about graveyards. In chalk.” Kyle groaned again and threw his arms over his eyes.

“And Trevor,” Wendy added. “The Model UN guy who would only kiss you if you won a debate against him.” Kyle's continuous groaning was being ignored at this point as he hid himself deeper into the couch, under a blanket, anywhere he can hide from the discussion of his high school romances.

“And Craig ,” Stan said, eyebrow raised. Kyle shot up on the couch and pointed at Stan.

“Okay, that was one kiss during a game of truth or dare I won, thank you very much,” Kyle settled himself back onto the couch and hugged a pillow to his chest. “And Alex was nice,” Kyle said, looking between the two with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh, right. Alex was sweet,” Wendy said. “Shame about the whole asexual thing but good for them for figuring it out.”

Stan slid eggs onto a plate. “I actually liked Alex. They helped me file my FAFSA.”

Kyle let out a small huff and sank back onto the couch. “Can I relax now or do we need to continue down memory lane here?”

“Yeah, yeah get your rest,” Wendy said cheerfully, standing up. “You look like you fought a vending machine and lost.”

The bell above the door jingled as Kyle and Wendy stepped into Michelangelo’s Café, a cozy little haunt with thrifted furniture, dusty art books on mismatched shelves, and a fake statue of David in the corner - someone had once Sharpie’d eyelashes and a moustache onto it, and the owners never bothered to scrub it off and it ended up adding a lot of charm to the place.

Behind the counter, Damien greeted them without looking up from adjusting the display of vegan biscotti.

“Kyle. Wendy. Same thing as last week?”

Kyle bounced on the balls of his feet while staring up at the menu. “Maybe a medium Mexican mocha today.” He glanced at the pastry display. “And a slice of that lemon thing.”

Damien blinked as he grabbed a mug and began writing the order on a sticky note. “Lemon Poppyseed Bread. There’s literally a sign.”

“But it’s more fun to bother you, like good ole PFLAG days.”

Damien sighed as Wendy smiled and leaned on the counter. “Can I get the lavender white mocha, almond milk, sugar-free vanilla, extra foam? With a chocolate chip cookie?”

Damien nodded and got to work, his movements making espresso feel like a sacred ritual, a beautiful dance between man and machine.

A few minutes later, Kyle and Wendy settled into what is slowly becoming their usual table by the window. Kyle took a sip of his mocha and winced slightly. “I forgot this has cayenne in it.”

“Let me try,” Wendy said, her long fingers already wrapped around Kyle’s mug as she brought it to her lips. She took a cautious sip. “Mmmm wait - “ she scrunched her nose. “Why is it spicy ?”

“That’s the point. It’s supposed to be bold and complex.”

“Right. It’s an identity crisis in a cup.”

Kyle pointed to her own drink. “Like yours isn’t just a cup of pretty sugar.”

“It’s lavender. It’s elegant.”

“It tastes like bathwater with whipped cream.”

Wendy offered her mug. “Try it. Come on, I dare you.”

Kyle took a sip, frowned, and pulled a face. “I can’t even taste anything beyond the syrup.”

“Exactly,” she said dreamily. “It’s perfect.”

“At least it’s not that Starbucks swill,” he muttered.

Damien walked past with a bin of dishes and muttered, “Burnt beans and sugar,” without missing a beat.

As they settled in, Wendy pulled out her laptop. “Alright, I’m back on that screenplay.”

“The fish one?”

“Yes. And no, I will not be taking feedback from someone who voluntarily drinks pepper coffee.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and started organizing flashcards. “I told you, I like studying here. It’s within walking distance, the lighting’s good, and the -”

“ - live music gives the perfect ambiance” she finished in a mocking tone without looking up from her laptop. “Kyle, just say you like Craig’s face already.”

Kyle flushed and his shoulders fell. “That’s not why I come here.”

Wendy smirked. “Sure, and that’s not why you sit by him in every class you share. Or why you two have had late night study sessions on weeknights. Or why you eat lunch together in the cafeteria despite it having the world’s saddest, most watered-down coffee.”

“No, hold on, that last one is not related to his face. He doesn’t like sitting in the center of the room either,” Kyle said defensively. “And there’s only so many back tables available so we share out of convenience."

“Yeah, and the light hits his cheekbones just right in the cafeteria,” Wendy teased. “Look, I’m not judging. I’ve seen him do that thing where he fidgets with his earrings during presentations. That gets my heart racing.” She smirked and briefly flicked her eyes to Kyle as her fingers continued typing away.

“Stan would be delighted to hear that.” Kyle tried to focus on his flashcards but was clearly losing the battle.

The low buzz of the café shifted as Craig stepped up to the tiny stage in the corner, guitar case slung lazily over his shoulder. His navy hoodie sleeves rolled up to show his various bracelets. He greeted Damien with a chin lift before settling on the stool.

A few folks glanced up. Most kept talking. He played two gentle covers - soft indie stuff with minor chords and quiet tapping on the body of his guitar. Kyle found himself humming along quietly as he continued going through his flash cards. Then, with the slightest cough into the mic, Craig leaned in and, while looking directly at Kyle, nearly whispered into the mic: “This next one is for someone I’ve been thinking about.”

The eye contact continued. Dead-on. Calm. Familiar. A little smile formed on Craig’s lips as he leaned back on his stool and Kyle no doubt looked like a deer in headlights.

Wendy choked on her drink. “Oh my god. ”

Kyle’s eyes widened more as he turned to Wendy. “No. No, no.” He held up his hand as if that could stop her jumping to conclusions.

“Yes!” Wendy excited-whispered while leaning towards Kyle, one hand coming to cover her mouth from the rest of the room.

“Okay, no he - ”

“He looked at you like you were a final exam and he studied for it.”

"What does that even mean?!"

Craig started playing - fingerpicking slow and sure, the rhythm delicate and nostalgic. His voice came in low, husky, steady as his steel gray eyes glided the length of his guitar:

“You left something on my table and I didn’t want to move it like if I touched it, you’d disappear...”

Kyle watched Wendy’s eyes light up as her grin grew.

“And the quiet said more than anything either of us could out loud…”

“Is this about you?!” she whispered. He was frozen but he felt his face heating up.

“I - I don’t - he writes songs?”

“He said he was THINKING ABOUT SOMEONE while looking at YOU .”

From behind the counter, Damien slid near them and casually muttered, “It’s about Tweek. Boneheads.”

Both their heads snapped towards him.

Damien didn’t break stride. “They’re still dating. Long distance. He writes when he misses him.” He blinks slowly at them. “How do you not know this?”

Wendy turned back towards her laptop and rested her head in her hands . “Wow. I feel betrayed.”

Kyle exhaled deeply, running a hand through his curls. “I wasn’t even - I didn’t think… that. ” he fumbled his hands around like that would explain his thoughts as he sunk into his seat.

“You absolutely did, ” she said, reaching for her sugary not-coffee. “But it’s okay. We’ve all been there.” She took a sip and Kyle heard her mash the backspace key over and over while he began scribbling something new on a notecard.

The farmer’s market was already in full swing when Kyle and Wendy arrived, warm sunlight streaming across food stands, kids with balloon animals, and a guy with a banjo playing "Take On Me" slightly off-key.

“This is exactly the kind of serotonin I need,” Wendy said, adjusting her sunglasses. “We’re getting real produce today, not whatever bag of sad lettuce Stan keeps pretending is arugula.”

Kyle nodded, taking in the scene. It smelled like kettle corn and early tomatoes. “He buys everything green and wilty like it’s a punishment.”

“I’d believe that man has never willingly purchased a fruit in his life.”

They wandered toward the produce stalls, pausing at one with bright heirloom carrots and jars of raw honey. Wendy was mid-negotiation with a vendor about zucchini prices based on weight rather than count when Kyle caught sight of a bright blond hair across the crowd.

Kenny.

He seemed to glow as he was crouched beside a vendor’s bike, shirt sleeves pushed to his elbows, a wrench in one hand and a gentle grin on his face. The stand behind him had bundles of fresh herbs and wooden cooking spoons - clearly not his usual scene - but the woman beside him was laughing as she tucked some hair behind her ear, clearly grateful.

His flannel shirt was tied around his waist, his hair pulled back messily, and there was a streak of grease across his cheek. He looked completely at home. Kyle was staring and he knew it but couldn’t break away. Kenny looked up, spotted him, and lit up.

“Yo, Kyle!” he called, wiping his hands on a rag. “No textbooks today?”

Wendy raised an eyebrow and shot a grin at him. “Ah, if it isn’t the mechanic hookup. Here.”

“...Shut up,” Kyle mumbled to her, adjusting the strap of his bag. “Guess he’s doing community service for carbs.”

They crossed the market toward him. Kenny stood up, accepting a small paper bag of kettle corn from the vendor as thanks.

“Scored us snacks for the next movie night,” Kenny said with a glint in his eye, shaking the bag triumphantly.

Kyle blinked. “Next - no, wait, that was a one-time thing.” Kyle could feel Wendy about to burst next to him.

Kenny grinned as he leaned against the streetlight and opened the large bag of kettle corn. “Yeah, and you wore my hoodie home like it was merch. We’re basically back at bestie status now. Maybe even super besties?”

Wendy snorted.

Kenny offered the bag to her. “Long time no see. Popcorn truce?”

She grabbed a handful. “Temporarily. I’m still holding judgment until I see you eat something healthy.”

“I’m too much of a snack guy; we know this.”

Kyle wandered a few feet away as the two caught up with their summer plans, pretending to look at a craft stall selling beaded keychains and crocheted plushies. His eyes landed on a small hand-painted clay magnet of a cartoon raccoon holding a wrench.

He didn’t even think. He just bought it, tucking the magnet into his tote bag before he could second guess it.

I’ll give it to him next time , he thought to himself.

Then he froze, catching his thought.

What do I mean next time? There is no next time. I mean, maybe. But it’s not a thing. This is Kenny we’re talking about.

Wendy appeared at his side and handed him a cup of strawberry lemonade. “Here. Peace offering. For emotionally wrecking you in a public café.”

Kyle accepted it, still staring at the magnet in his bag. “You didn’t wreck me.”

“You looked like you were about to faint.”

He sipped the lemonade. It was sour and sweet and cold in his throat.

“...Do you think he meant anything by it?” he asked quietly.

“Kenny?”

Kyle nodded, eyes still on the bag of kettle corn in Kenny’s hands as he chatted with a vendor.

Wendy was quiet for a moment, thoughtful.

“I think he likes being around you,” she said. “And if that’s something you’re still figuring out - then that’s okay.”

Kyle exhaled slowly. “Yeah.”

They stood side-by-side, watching Kenny inspect the bike, the sun catching the edge of the raccoon magnet sitting at the top in Kyle’s bag.

Back at the apartment, Wendy tossed the reusable bags onto the kitchen counter and began sorting out the produce with a triumphant grin.

“Look,” she said, holding up a bundle of butterhead. “Not sad lettuce.”

Stan, emerging from his room in sweatpants and a faded college t-shirt, raised a brow. “Are those mushrooms, too?”

Wendy nodded as she held the basket out to Stan. “You said you wanted to try sautéing stuff in oil. These are the good kind.”

Stan took them carefully, inspecting the pile of oyster mushrooms and lion’s mane like it might contain treasure. “Fun mushrooms. I’m about to be a chef . ”

“Not that kind of fun,” Kyle muttered, pulling off his shoes.

Fifteen minutes later, the apartment smelled like garlic and butter. Kyle was curled on the couch flipping through his Italian flashcards, Wendy on the floor typing into her laptop again, this time wrapping up an essay rather than her questionable screenplay. Stan moved between the kitchen and living room, narrating his progress like a cooking show contestant.

“So you just… decided to learn Italian?” he asked, flipping mushrooms with exaggerated focus.

“Yeah,” Kyle said without looking up. “It’s just for fun.”

Wendy looked up. “He wants to be proposed to in Italy.”

Kyle froze. “ Wendy. ”

Stan turned. “Wait, seriously?”

“It’s not that serious,” Kyle said, cheeks already warm. “It’s just - if I ever get proposed to, I want it to be somewhere like Florence. Or Venice. In Italian. Romantic. Old-school.”

Wendy grinned. “He’s a softie under all that sarcasm.”

Stan smiled but didn’t press. He plated the mushrooms and set them on the table. “Honestly? Makes sense. You always liked the idea of something big and sweeping. Just never trusted people enough to let it happen.”

Kyle looked down at his flashcards.

Stan walked over, leaning on the couch arm. “You know Craig’s not really… the type for that, right?”

Kyle hesitated. “Yeah. I know. So what?”

“He’s not cold, just… already got someone. And he stays loyal, even if it’s from a distance.”

There was no bitterness in Stan’s voice. Just honesty. And something about it made Kyle’s chest ache a little.

“Thanks,” Kyle said quietly as he set down his flashcards to try these “fun” mushrooms.

After lunch, Wendy pulled out a well-worn board game box with color-coded tokens and too many rules.

“No,” Stan said immediately.

“Yes,” Wendy insisted, already setting it up.

Kyle looked over. “You love this game.”

Stan sighed, defeated. “You two are vicious.”

“You keep trusting Wendy,” Kyle said. “That’s on you.”

They played for over an hour. Wendy and Kyle trash-talked like old pros, swapping alliances mid-game with dramatic monologues each time. Stan groaned his way through every twist, but he didn’t leave.

He never left.

It was late by the time the apartment quieted. Wendy had gone home, promising to return next weekend with “real lasagna materials,” and Stan had collapsed into his room with a mumbled “goodnight.”

Kyle sat at his desk, headphones on, flipping through digital flashcards again.

sposarsi – to get married
fidanzato – fiancé / boyfriend
lontano – far away

He paused at that one.

Lontano.

Like Craig, with his guitar and his unreadable smile. With his heart belonging to someone states away.

Kyle set his phone down and leaned back in his chair.

“You always liked the idea of something big and sweeping.”

Maybe that was true. Maybe that’s all this little crush was with Craig - a beautiful idea. He glanced over at the hoodie still hanging on his desk chair. Kenny’s hoodie. Still oversized, still warm. Maybe Craig’s version of love that didn’t have room for messy apartments or vending machine snacks or movie nights on cracked tablets.

Kyle didn’t know what he felt. Not yet. But he wasn’t going to make a habit of crashing at Kenny’s place.

He had his headphones. He had his flashcards. He was fine. He turned off the light and flopped into bed, hoodie still in sight.

And somewhere between essere and dormire , Kyle drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Text

The fluorescent lights inside Murphy’s Garage buzzed faintly, casting long shadows across the half-closed bay. Outside, the parking lot was silent, save for the occasional chirp of a cricket or the distant hum of traffic. It was late Sunday night - just Kenny, a socket wrench, and Damien’s all-black motorcycle in the half-lit bay.

Kenny exhaled through his nose, wiping his hands on a rag before ducking down to inspect the new windshield. The old one lay off to the side, next to the previous wheel bearings. Kenny glanced at the old windshield, scuffed and barely holding together.

“This thing rattled so loud,” Kenny muttered while poking it with the tip of his left boot, “it sounded like a blender full of nails.”

Damien stood off to the side, arms crossed loosely, posture relaxed in that way that made it impossible to tell if he was judging or just listening. His black hoodie had paint flecks near the hem, and his sleeves were pushed up to reveal his tattoos: clean, stylized linework in geometric patterns and shapes. One of them wrapped neatly around his forearm like scars from a thunderstrike.

“You say that like it’s not part of the charm,” Damien said as he tilted his head. His voice was soft, but carried.

“It’s not charm if it makes pedestrians flinch,” Kenny replied, tightening the bolts. “You trying to make everyone scared of you?”

Damien shrugged. “Maybe.”

Kenny chuckled, putting the socket wrench back in the toolbox. “You ever plan to paint it anything other than ‘murder black,’ or is that part of the image too?”

“Maybe add some silver. For dimension.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

They fell into easy silence for a few minutes, the only sound the click of metal against metal and the low whir of Kenny’s portable fan.

Eventually, Damien leaned in slightly. “You okay?”

Kenny glanced up. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re being quieter than usual. Less swearing. Less bad singing.”

Kenny huffed, brushing his bangs from his face as he picked up a screwdriver. “I’m working, man. Can’t multitask and be the garage jester.”

“You flirted with the cashier from Taco Shack while swapping her battery last week.”

Kenny pointed. “She was hot. You’re just... you.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to be offended?”

“No. I just mean -” Kenny waved vaguely toward Damien’s arms, “- you’ve got those scary hot librarian vibes. I can’t tell if you’d write me poetry or throw a wrench at me.”

“Can’t it be both?”

Kenny laughed and leaned back on his heels, finally done tightening everything into place. “You ever gonna tell me what all the tattoos mean?”

Damien glanced down at his arms. “No.”

Kenny grinned. “Tease.”

“You like a little mystery,” Damien said smoothly. “Even though you always try to solve it.”

Kenny stood up, brushing dust off his jeans. “Bike’s good to go. Won’t make a sound now, aside from the gentle purr of doom.”

Damien walked over, inspecting it without a word. He ran a finger along the new windshield, nodding once. “Feels different. Less drag?”

“Yeah, I adjusted the angle. It’ll cut the wind better. You’ll feel it around thirty.”

Damien was quiet a beat. “...I can’t pay you.”

Kenny blinked. “I didn’t ask.”

“I know, you never do. I’m low this week. Dad’s out of town and the shop’s been slow.”

Kenny tossed the rag onto his cart and placed the screwdriver back down. “Then it’s on the house.” Kenny spun on his heel and shot him a big grin.

Damien looked over, serious. “I’m not a charity case.”

“No, you’re an old friend,” Kenny said simply. “Since we were little baby sophomores, remember? When you set fire to the chem lab sink and I covered for you?”

“I said it was an accident.”

“You brought a lighter -”

“Which didn’t even work.”

“- and matches.”

Damien smirked faintly. “Who’s to say I don’t always have those on me?”

Kenny leaned against the bench, arms crossed. “You don’t have to pay me, Damien. You’re basically the only person who still calls me outside of oil changes.”

There was a pause.

Then Damien reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out two concert tickets - crisp, glossy, and clearly unexpected.

Kenny blinked. “What’s this?”

“Girls’ K-pop group. They’re playing that huge venue off Maple. I got the tickets from a regular who owns a vending machine route.”

Kenny squinted at the text. “You’re giving me girl group tickets as payment?”

“Compensation. You like sparkle and volume. I thought of you. I can send you the digital tickets later.”

Kenny stared at the tickets. “Are these seats good?”

“Second row.”

“Damn. Maybe you do love me.”

Damien gave a lopsided smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

The air between them wasn’t tense - just clear.

Kenny tucked the tickets into his back pocket and turned back toward the bay, flipping off one of the work lights.

“I’ve got popcorn if you want to crash and watch old music videos later,” he offered. “But only if you agree not to reorganize my entire kitchen again.”

“I can’t make that promise,” Damien replied.

Kenny sighed. “Fine. You touch my forks, I paint lil kitties and rainbows on your boots.”

Damien smirked. “Fair.”

The café was mercifully cool. The AC was running hard enough to rattle the hanging fern above Kenny’s table. He wasn’t complaining; it beats staying at his place and sweating through his shirt.

Kenny had claimed the seat by the back window - a tiny table too small for two yet too awkward for one - but it was in the path of the air conditioning vent, and that made it premium real estate. His elbows sat on either side of a wrinkled crossword puzzle book with a cracked spine, left behind at the laundromat with half of the answers filled in wrong.

He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his lip.

12 Across: “Lover’s leap?” (4 letters)
He smirked. “Hype.” Too cynical? Probably. Still fit.

A ceramic mug clinked gently onto the table. Kenny looked up to see Damien, perfectly balanced as always, with his usual unreadable expression and apron sporting a couple of spills despite it being before ten.

“One free drink,” Damien said. “You’re lucky I like you more than caffeine.”

Kenny tilted his head with a twinkle in his eye. “You’re putting me above your dark roast?”

Damien slid a plate beside the mug. “Also one pastry. You get one of each per shift. I’m burning my break budget on you.”

Kenny examined the croissant. “Is this... almond?”

“It’s whatever is left. Don’t start critiquing the swirl pattern of the drink again.”

Kenny wrapped his hands around the warm mug. “I’d never insult your swirl.”

Damien pulled up the second chair, sitting with his long legs folded awkwardly under the too-small table and sipped his water. “Still refusing to turn on your AC?”

“Correct.” Kenny scribbled a letter into his crossword. “It’s about building character. Perseverance. Grit.”

“Or,” Damien said as he leaned his elbow on the table, “you just don’t want to pay the electric bill.”

“Also that.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the hum of indie music and espresso machines filling the background as Kenny scanned the crossword for easy answers.

Then, casually, Damien asked, “You seeing anyone lately?”

Kenny didn’t flinch, but his pencil froze mid-word.

“Romantically,” Damien clarified. “Not just who you’re letting crash on your couch.”

Kenny continued to stare at the book. “I’ll have you know my couch is currently booked solid by me and my pride.”

“Kenny.”

Kenny set the pencil down with mock drama as he finally looked away from his crossword. “Listen, between Sudoku, cryptics, and performing oil changes, I simply have no time for romance.”

“You flirt with everyone who hands you change.”

“That’s customer service.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Even when you’re not on the clock?”

“That’s brand loyalty.”

There was a pause. Damien didn’t push, not really. He just looked at him the way Damien always looked when he was waiting for Kenny to be honest.

Kenny scratched the back of his neck.

“I just...” He shrugged. “I’m kind of waiting for the right person. You know? Like - not someone I can just joke around with. Someone I can actually give everything to.”

Damien’s expression softened, just slightly.

“And I worry,” Kenny added quietly as he leaned back, avoiding eye contact, “that might be too much for someone.”

The words sat between them for a second too long.

Damien reached for Kenny’s drink, stealing a sip. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to corner you” he said gently.

Kenny smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s alright. I know you do it out of love. Or pathological curiosity.”

“Bit of both,” Damien said, standing. His break was over. “Finish your croissant. And 14 across in your stolen book is Star Trek .”

“I’m morally reclaiming it,” Kenny called after him. “It’s not stealing if I’m giving it a better life.”

Damien was already halfway to the counter.

Kenny went back to his puzzle, but his eyes weren’t really reading the page anymore.

The bell over the café door jingled.

Kenny looked up just in time to see Craig walk in - shoulder to shoulder with Tweek, both of them looking tired. Not tired like they hadn’t slept - tired like trying to make something work across states and time zones and barely-synced schedules.

They didn’t hold hands. Craig looked over at Kenny, his expression unreadable. Tweek was holding onto a crumpled napkin like it was a lifeline.

Kenny raised a hand and gestured toward the table beside him.

Craig gave a slight nod.

They settled in without much chatter.

Kenny tapped out a quick message under the table, screen dimmed.

Kenny: guess who just walked into the cafe
Kenny: your boy & his boy
Kenny: also tweek looks like he might vibrate into another dimension

He hit send, then took a sip of his drink, eyes flicking from his puzzle to the couple.

He didn't know what was going on between them exactly. But he knew the kind of tired that came from trying too hard to hold on.

Craig sat across from him, one arm slung over the back of his chair, posture perfect in that casually slouched way he always had. Tweek perched beside him, hunched slightly forward with a lemonade in both hands.

“Swear the AC only hits this exact spot,” Kenny said, leaning back dramatically. “Sit two feet to the left and you’re in hell’s waiting room . ” Damien glanced at them as he plated a cinnamon roll.

“It’s nice,” Craig agreed. “I like cafés that are good for people watching.”

Tweek nodded rapidly. “The table legs don’t wobble here. That’s rare.”

They sipped their drinks in companionable silence for a bit, the noise of the café rising and falling around them.

“So,” Kenny asked, eyeing Craig’s mug, “still pretending you both can cook?”

Craig smirked. “We made baked ziti last week on video call. Together. It was medium successful.”

Tweek flinched slightly. “We took out the celery after it was done, though.”

Kenny gave them a dramatic gasp. “Bold culinary choice.”

Tweek flushed. “Who wants stringy in their soup?’”

Craig leaned over and bumped shoulders with him. “You added the celery after everything else was cooked.”

“Yeah, I wanted to try something different!”

Kenny snorted. “Variety is a spice and all that.”

Craig stood up, stretching. “Gonna hit the bathroom. Don’t let Tweek buy more lemon cake.”

“I won’t,” Tweek said flatly. “That frosting was gritty.”

Once Craig disappeared down the hall, Kenny leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the crossword book he hadn’t touched since they arrived.

Tweek looked down at his lemonade, straw barely touched.

“I’m glad we’re trying,” he said softly.

Kenny looked over. “You guys?”

Tweek nodded. “Yeah. It’s hard. Distance. Schedules. Craig’s always tired. I overthink everything. But… I dunno. Trying feels better than not.”

There was a pause.

Kenny smiled gently. “That’s fair.”

“I know we’re not like - ” Tweek waved vaguely, “ - romance movie perfect. But we mean it.”

Kenny didn’t say anything for a second. Just nodded.

He felt that quiet twinge of guilt in his chest. Half an hour ago, he was rooting for Kyle to somehow sweep Craig off his feet. Now? Now he saw how much energy Tweek was pouring in just to keep things together.

When Craig came back, he sat down like nothing had shifted.

“So how’re your classes?” Kenny asked, trying to steer the vibe back to light.

Tweek brightened a bit. “Weirdly good? The history of psychiatry is depressing, but my GSA group’s really great.”

“Y’all doing cool stuff?”

“Yeah! There’s a queer film series next month. And someone’s organizing a zine swap.”

Craig added, “We’re working on one while he’s out here. With glitter glue.”

Kenny grinned. “You two are unstoppable.”

Eventually, after more discussion on classes and recipe recommendations easy enough that even Kenny couldn’t mess them up, Craig and Tweek packed up their leftover pastries and left together, waving on their way out. Tweek gave one of those half-hugs that felt more like gratitude than anything else.

Kenny waited until the bell above the door stopped jingling before checking his phone.

Kyle B 🤓: idk it’s weird
Kyle B 🤓: I guess I’m happy for them but also I feel kinda… bleh?
Kyle B 🤓: maybe I just need to get over it

Kenny stared at the screen for a few seconds.

Kenny:
bleh is valid
come by later if u want
AC’s still broken but i got root beer n popcorn

No response right away, but Kenny didn’t mind.

He stood, brushing crumbs off his lap, and placed the plate and mug in the dish bin. He gave Damien a casual salute as he headed out the door with his crossword book under his arm. The sun hit his face as soon as he stepped outside. Brutal. Blinding. Immediate regret.

Back at his loft, Kenny flipped the fan on high and scrolled on his tablet aimlessly for a few minutes before opening his closet. He pulled Kyle’s freshly washed hoodie off the hanger, folded it neatly, and set it beside the clean pillowcase he’d just swapped out on the couch.

He didn’t expect Kyle to crash there again. But if he did? At least the place would be ready.

The sun was already climbing too high for comfort, turning the metal hood of the old Honda Kenny was working on into a skillet. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow and leaned under the open hood, elbow-deep in oil-streaked reality. Tuesdays were busier than most other weekdays and he felt it in his back.

“You always this good with your hands?”

The voice belonged to a woman leaning casually against the fence, sunglasses tucked into her shirt collar and a slow, easy grin on her face.

Kenny flashed a practiced smile without looking up. “Depends. You always this bold with strangers who could ruin your engine?”

She laughed as she tucked some hair between her right ear. “Only the cute ones.”

Normally, this was his arena - he’d throw something back, get a phone number, maybe meet up at the taco truck or the sushi place by the highway that played suspiciously good lo-fi.

But today? He hesitated. It was barely a second. Just long enough to notice it. Long enough for her to notice it, too.

Still, when he handed her the receipt and waved her back toward the driver’s seat, she tucked a small square of paper into his hand - her name, and a number.

“Just in case you ever want to hear someone talk about anything other than wiper fluid,” she said, half-teasing.

He nodded politely, watched her drive away, then pocketed the paper without a second glance at it.

He didn’t feel giddy.

Didn’t feel excited.

Didn’t even feel flattered.

He just felt... tired.

He wiped his hands and sank onto the stool in the corner to check his texts, but there was nothing new.

He opened his thread with Kyle thread anyway.

Kenny: u survive the test?
Kenny: or did u throw the book out the window and flee the building

A few minutes passed before a reply finally buzzed in.

Kyle B 🤓:
Still alive, just swamped
Model UN ran long and I had to write the recap
Sorry I didn’t come by

Kenny smiled at the screen, but it didn’t quite hit his eyes.

Kenny:
no worries
garage still standing
dishwasher still busted
vibe still impeccable

He set the phone face down on the workbench.

For a second, the shop felt too quiet - even with the distant clatter of tools and some old radio murmuring about local weather before playing another “big 80s hit.”

He looked out the wide garage door, squinting against the sunlight.

He wasn’t used to quiet bothering him.

Wasn’t used to waiting for anyone.

But lately?

He kinda wished someone would show up without needing a reason.

Chapter Text

Friday evening was that weird mix of hot pavement and cold breeze. The sun had already dipped behind the building across the street, but the heat still clung to the bricks like it wasn’t quite done.

Kyle had pulled on Kenny’s hoodie without thinking, tugging the sleeves over his fingers as he sat cross-legged on the couch. The mornings were freezing, but the afternoon had been brutal - this time of year always played with his internal thermostat. Now that it was evening, the AC was still set to high, just as Stan preferred.

Stan was digging through their stack of DVDs with dramatic flair. “Okay, we’ve got three options: explosions, extra explosions, or… space explosions.”

“Absolutely not,” Wendy said from the kitchen, where she was pouring lemonade. “I am not sitting through another three-hour Michael Bay fever dream.”

Kyle snorted. “Didn’t you make us watch that weird Nordic thriller last time?”

“It was an indie psychological drama.”

“They wore wolf masks and danced to Björk over committing tax fraud.”

“It had layers.”

Stan held up a DVD between his thumb and index finger like it was the winning card in a game of Uno. “ Armageddon has layers. Explosive ones.”

Kyle rolled his eyes and leaned over to grab his phone. “What if we ask Kenny? He hasn’t been here in a while and has normal people's taste in movies.”

Wendy perked up. “Oh yeah! I haven’t seen him since the day after your sleepover.”

Kyle froze slightly. “It wasn’t - we didn’t - it was just hanging out.”

Wendy grinned without even turning around. “Sure, Kyle.”

Kyle ignored the heat rising in his face and sent the text.

Kyle: Hey, movie night at our place
Kyle: Bring snacks if you want
Kyle: Wendy’s here and Stan is about to start his Transformers pitch again
Kyle: Save us?

The reply came in under a minute.

Kenny 🐶 : omw
Kenny 🐶 : bringing popcorn and at least 2 kinds of stale saltiness from the vending machine

Kyle smiled.

By the time Kenny arrived, the apartment smelled like fake butter. He burst in with his usual lazy swagger, a tote bag slung over his shoulder containing two medium-sized bags of pretzels and a bag of salted popcorn kernels.

“Hope y’all like sodium,” he said, kicking the door shut behind him.

“You came bearing gifts,” Wendy said approvingly, slightly clapping her hands.

“I come bearing crimes against nutrition,” Kenny corrected, revealing what was in his hand: a vending machine snack bag labeled “Cheeze Krackles.”

“Jesus Christ,” Stan said. “I thought those were banned.”

Kenny dropped onto the couch next to Kyle, who scooted over slightly to make room. Their knees brushed. Neither moved.

“So what’s the film festival lineup tonight?” Kenny asked, accepting the bowl of popcorn.

“Well,” Wendy said, flopping down beside Stan, “I’ve suggested Melancholla , The Babadook , and Prisoners .”

“Okay, sounds like depression,” Kenny nodded. “Got it.”

“I suggested Armageddon ,” Stan added. “Which would be fun , but I was overruled.”

“Right. They’re cowards,” Kenny nodded.

Kyle lifted a finger. “I vote for High School Musical 2 .”

Kenny blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“It’s been a long week and I just want a movie that’s, like, fun. Haven’t you seen it?” Kyle asked.

“I was busy. Like. Surviving.”

Wendy gasped. “That’s a crime.”

“Oh, come on,” Kenny huffed playfully.

Stan shrugged. “I mean… it is kind of iconic.”

They all looked at each other for a beat.

Then Kyle said, “Sing-along version?”

Wendy screamed. “SING-ALONG VERSION.”

The apartment was soon filled with off-key belting, popcorn being thrown, and arguments about which character was the most chaotic. Kenny insisted Sharpay was misunderstood. Stan did a surprisingly good rendition of “Bet On It.” Kyle found himself wrapped up in the thick afghan. Wendy fell asleep halfway through “Everyday,” her head slumped onto Stan’s shoulder.

Stan shifted carefully, lifting her with practiced ease.

“I’m putting her in bed,” he whispered. “Try not to finish the movie without me.”

Kenny gave him a mock salute. “No promises.”

Kyle adjusted the blanket and sank back into the couch. Kenny had gone quiet; his eyes were still on the screen, but softer somehow.

“I think you’re her favorite,” Kyle said, nodding toward the bedroom.

“She puts up with me,” Kenny smirked. 

They sat in the blue light of the screen, the final song playing quietly in the background.

“I’m glad you came,” Kyle said after a while.

Kenny glanced over. “Would’ve gotten here faster if I knew this was what was waiting for me.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, but smiled. “I mean it.”

Kenny nudged him with his knee. “Hey. I’m still around.”

And it was such a simple thing to say but it landed heavy. Kyle looked at him then, really looked, and saw how tired Kenny’s eyes were under all the usual wit.

Maybe he always carried that, just quietly.

Kyle snorted and the moment passed into something lighter. But he kept thinking about it, even after the credits rolled.

Even after Kenny slumped into the couch and started ranking the cast by hotness.

Even after Stan came back and muttered, “God, I missed all the fun.”

Kyle just sat there, the last line of the movie echoing faintly in the room.

“What time is it? Summertime. It's our vacation.”

And maybe, Kyle thought, this part of life wasn’t so bad.

The credits had barely finished rolling when Stan stretched and said, “You working tomorrow?”

Kenny ended up sprawled on the couch, one leg draped over the side. “Nope. First Saturday off in weeks.”

Stan gave a little shrug. “It’s late. Crash here?”

Kenny flipped around to sit properly. “You serious?”

“Couch is free,” Stan said. “Unless the popcorn made it uninhabitable.”

“I’ll risk it.” Kenny grinned. “Beats falling asleep in a room that smells like Tide Pods.”

Kyle’s heart skipped.

Ignoring it, he stood abruptly. “I’ll grab you some pillows and a blanket.”

He ducked into his bedroom, flipping the light on. The hoodie was still slung around his shoulders, warm from the movie and from… Well, Kenny.

Crap.

He peeled it off in a panic, suddenly flustered by the idea that Kenny had seen him wearing it in front of him, like he was some clingy middle schooler with a crush.

He folded it quickly, probably too neatly, and grabbed an extra blanket from the shelf and two pillows from his bed.

When he came back, Kenny was sitting upright, scrolling something on his phone and humming a little off-key.

Kyle handed him the bedding. “Here. Uh. And this too,” he said, dropping the hoodie next to him like it was something he didn’t want to touch.

Kenny looked at the folded sweatshirt, then back at Kyle, amused. “I don’t know, you looked comfy, cozy in it.”

“I didn’t notice.”

“Mmhmm.”

Kyle sat on the edge of the coffee table. “Don’t - just - don’t be weird about it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Kenny pulled the hoodie into his lap and gave it a playful pat. “She missed me.”

Kyle crossed his arms. “Anyway. Don’t leave before we’re up, okay?”

Kenny tilted his head. “You want me to leave a note or something?”

“No - I mean. Just wake me if you go.”

Kenny blinked. “Oh. Uh… yeah. Sure.”

Kyle felt the tension in the air suddenly thicken, and the weight of his own words settled onto his shoulders. He wasn’t sure why it felt like a big deal. It just did.

Kenny was still staring at him. Kyle stood up. “I’m brushing my teeth.”

He fled down the hall.

When he came back into the kitchen for water, the apartment was quieter. Most of the lights were off except for the glow from Stan’s room and the hallway lamp.

He rounded the corner into the living room to see Stan tossing a pair of sweatpants at Kenny.

“Try not to get popcorn dust all over them,” Stan was saying. “I like these.”

Kenny held them up. “Thanks, Mom.”

“And the bathroom’s all yours if you want to shower.”

Kenny lit up. “Free hot water? Yippee!”

“It’s free for you ,” Stan said, pointing at him. “Don’t take forever.”

Kyle smiled despite himself, leaning against the doorway.

“I got you some water,” he said, holding out a cup to Kenny.

“Look at you,” Kenny said, accepting it. “Actual host behavior.”

Kyle ignored the compliment. “Do you need anything else?”

Kenny shook his head. “Nah. Got pretzels, got pants, got plumbing.”

“Alright. Good night.”

He turned to go, but before he reached the hall, he heard Kenny’s voice, softer.

“Hey.”

Kyle turned back.

Kenny was holding the glass, looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Thanks. For all this.”

Kyle gave a small nod, then disappeared into his room.

Kyle settled on his bed, flipping open his little Italian notebook. Ti amo. Mi manchi. Vorrei vederti presto.

He wasn’t even sure what he was studying for anymore. He knew it was all a fantasy: being proposed to in Italy, by someone who knew him better than he knew himself.

He flipped to a new page. Outside his door, there was a creak of floorboards.

Kenny passed by, towel around his neck, Stan’s sweatpants low on his hips, hoodie already thrown back on over his t-shirt.

Kyle looked up just in time to see him pause at the door.

Kenny didn’t say anything.

He just lifted his hand, gave Kyle a small wave with a tired smile - something quiet and soft and almost sad. Kyle waved back without thinking.

Then the hallway light went out, and Kenny disappeared.

Kyle blinked awake to faint morning light and the smell of something... vaguely toasty? Maybe it was just his pillow.

He wandered out, rubbing his face. Stan was already gone for work - his shift at the grocery store started early on weekends - and the apartment was peacefully still. 

The couch was empty but the blanket was neatly folded, and Kenny’s hoodie was slung over the armrest like it had never moved. Kenny was standing in the kitchen, half-humming, dumping old popcorn kernels into the trash.

Kyle blinking groggily. Kenny stayed.

A note would’ve been fine, maybe. But Kenny being here when he woke up, it did something quiet and good to his chest.

“I was gonna clean that,” Kyle said.

Kenny looked over. “Too late. You’ve been bested.”

Kyle moved to grab the folded blanket from the couch. “I clean the bedding between every guest anyway.”

“Every guest?” Kenny gave him a sly look. “Wow. Lotta sleepovers I’m not invited to?”

Kyle flushed. “I - “ he sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

Kenny just grinned and pulled a water bottle from the fridge. One of the vending machine magnets - a cartoon vampire with glitter eyes - fell off the fridge door and clattered to the floor.

Kyle picked it up and stuck it back on without a word.

Wendy emerged sometime after, hair tousled but face fresh.

“I vote brunch,” she declared, stretching. “I deserve it - my alarm didn’t even go off.

Wendy leaned on the wall and gave Kyle a look. “You okay seeing Craig?”

Kyle hesitated. “We had lunch every day this week.”

Kenny and Wendy exchanged sharp glances.

“He told me Tweek was visiting,” Kyle added.

Kenny nodded. “Oh. Right.”

“Mm,” Wendy hummed, but didn’t say more.

Kyle fiddled with the edge of the couch cushion, like it might offer him an answer.

Kenny clapped his hands. “Okay, new plan. We’re not going there.”

“What?” Kyle said. “Where are we going then?”

“I know a spot.”

“You always know a spot,” Wendy said.

Kenny grinned. “And yet I’ve never steered you wrong.”

“Debatable.”

“C’mooooon,” he said, already heading toward the door. “A little adventure can be so fun .”

Kyle and Wendy exchanged amused, semi-worried looks before following him out.

“Damien’s going to be disappointed,” Wendy added. “No visit from us this week.”

They piled into Wendy’s car, Kenny in the passenger seat giving the vaguest directions imaginable.

“Left here. No - wait, left at the light, obviously.”

“Is this a test?” Kyle asked from the backseat.

“It’s an adventure ,” Kenny replied. “Remember?”

Finally, they pulled up to a tiny café tucked between a flower shop and an antique store. A chalkboard sign out front read: Café Bibliothèque ~ Books, Bites, & Brews ~.

“You dragged us to a place with a French name,” Kyle muttered. “Really?”

“They owe me,” Kenny said proudly. “I fixed their dishwasher last month. Said they’d give me a meal on the house. Seemed perfect for you nerds.”

“And it has a free library!” Wendy beamed. “This place rules.”

Inside, the bistro was all warm wood, chalk menus, and tiny round tables. A wall of used books stood beside the register like a shrine.

“Une table pour trois, s'il vous plaît.,” Kenny told the host, smooth as anything.

Kyle blinked. “You speak French?”

“Don’t ask me to do it again,” Kenny said, deadpan. “That’s all I know. Oui, oui, baguette. Calculatrice. ”

Kyle snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I took French in high school. Passed by the skin of my teeth.”

They were seated by the window, surrounded by old books and the smell of toasted brioche.

“I’ve been feeding a stray lately,” Kenny said offhandedly as he flipped through the menu. “Tabby cat. Sleeps under my bike sometimes.”

“Aww,” Wendy smiled. “You’re a softie.”

Kenny reddened slightly. “Shut up.”

Then, with suspicious quickness, he turned to her. “How was your midterm? The one about—uh, the intersectionality of gender with other identities like race and class?”

Wendy blinked. “How do you even remember that?”

Kenny shrugged. “You told me when you were brainstorming a month ago. That’s what you landed on, right?”

Kyle, mid-sip of his drink, lowered the cup.

Wendy gave him a long look. “You actually listen.”

“I do lots of things,” Kenny said, eyes darting to the stray cat peeking in through the café window.

Kyle didn’t say anything. But he stared at him for a second longer than usual, stomach warm from coffee and something quieter he couldn’t quite name.

The thrift store bell jingled overhead, sounding more like a haunted triangle than a chime. The shop smelled like aged wood and something vaguely floral - like a grandma’s attic.

Wendy marched confidently toward the kitchenware, her tote bag swinging. “I just need one mug,” she said over her shoulder. “Used. Preferably weird.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “This doesn’t feel like a last minute drop in like you made it sound.”

“New mugs are a scam,” Wendy said. “So many things already exist, unused and unloved. Why buy more when we’re swimming in abandoned ceramic?”

Kenny snorted. “Stan’s gonna inherit your soapbox when you die.”

“She’s not wrong,” Kyle said, trailing after them. “You should see the mugs in the student cafeteria. Half of them are chipped giveaways from the late 2000s.”

Wendy shot him a finger gun and a quick click of the tongue before vanishing down the aisle of dishware.

Kenny drifted toward a set of mismatched trinkets on a shelf. Kyle followed, their shoulders nearly brushing as they scanned the chaos. There were plastic trolls missing hair, a salt shaker shaped like a goose, and an antique tin labeled “Buttons (Definitely Just Buttons).”

Kenny picked up a glittery lava lamp base and gave it a shake. “Do you think this ever worked?”

“I think it’s actively a fire hazard.”

Kyle reached for a snow globe next to it. The plastic Santa inside had fallen face-down in glitter sludge, the snow barely moving when shaken. “Why does this feel like a metaphor for something?”

“Capitalism.”

Kyle laughed.

Kenny set the lava lamp down and picked up a small carved bear, no bigger than his palm. It was smooth, worn from handling, and missing one tiny stone eye.

“Somebody loved this once,” he said quietly.

Kyle looked at him, really looked.

He turned the bear over in his hand. “I always wonder about stuff like this. Like, where it used to sit. If it were a gift from someone. If it was a good memory or a bad one.”

Kyle swallowed. “Do you think objects remember people?”

Kenny glanced over. “You say that like you’re not the kind of person who names your laptop.”

Kyle flushed. “That was one time and it was expensive. ”

Kenny smiled.

They kept browsing. Kenny found a mug shaped like a canary and tried to convince Kyle it was “deeply” his style. Kyle found a music box that tinkled out the first few notes of “My Heart Will Go On” before dying dramatically.

Eventually, Wendy appeared with a triumphant grin, holding up a red mug that read World’s Okayest Lawyer.

“Close enough,” she said. “He can drink mushroom tea out of it and feel powerful.”

Kenny gave her a thumbs up. “Five stars. No notes.”

As they headed to the register, Kyle noticed Kenny still held the little bear.

“You getting that?”

Kenny shrugged. “Maybe. Feels like it needs a second life.”

Kyle said nothing, but felt he couldn't stop smiling.

Chapter Text

Kenny sat on his couch, feet kicked up on the armrest, half a bag of discount gummy worms resting on his chest while some travel vlogger shows off the streets of Seoul on his phone. His phone buzzed with an email from Damien: [Ticket Transfer Successful] .

He thumbed out a text immediately:

Kenny: Thanks, bud. I gotta figure out how a light stick works now, right?

He swung his legs off the couch and wandered into the kitchen, rummaging around for a clean glass for water and only finding a chipped mug that says “#1 Grandma.” His phone buzzed again as he was filling it with water:

D-Dawg 🔥❤️: I’m fairly certain that’s Japanese idol concerts. Not K-pop.

Kenny: and u don’t wanna come w me???

D-Dawg 🔥❤️: Yes. Big crowds. Loud noises. My two least favorite things.

Kenny: so theyre still in ur list of fav things?

No reply. Kenny grinned to himself - he’s fine without a reply. Being annoying is half the fun.

He tossed the empty gummy bag, grabbed a sponge, and started on his pile of dishes in the sink. His eyes flicked to the chair sitting next to the fridge, where Kyle’s small hoodie was still draped over the back of a chair from the last time he stayed over. He knew he should give it back, but it smelled faintly like Kyle’s laundry detergent, and for some reason that made him… not in a hurry.

He scrolled to Kyle’s contact, thumb hovering, then tucked the phone into his pocket instead. Not yet.

Late the next morning, Kenny stepped out into the kind of warm that doesn’t smother you. Sun on his shoulders, a little breeze that prevents becoming a sweat puddle. Perfect weather for walking.

He had a library book tucked under his arm, a Moscow travel guide that he picked up on a whim. The straight shot to the city library was easy enough, but instead, he hooked a left and cut through the college campus. The place was stitched right into the downtown grid, all brick walkways and tidy flowerbeds. Someone had been going all out on the landscaping and Kenny couldn’t help but appreciate the effort with all the bright petunias and tidy rows of tulips.

He slowed upon reaching a vending machine wedged under the science building awning. A quick glance around to make sure it’s all clear and he tapped in the code he learned years ago. The coil spun, and a bag of kettle chips landed in the bin with a satisfying thud. He grabbed it with a grin. Updating the stash is important work.

“Kenny?”

He turned, chips in hand, to see Kyle coming toward him with Craig and a girl he vaguely recognizes - Avery, maybe? All three clearly on their way to class.

“Hey,” Kenny said easily, falling into step with them for a moment.

Avery nodded at the book under his arm. “What’s with Moscow?”

Kenny grinned as he showed off the cover. “Expanding my horizons - for free.”

Kyle huffed out a small laugh and Avery smiled, just a bit warmer than polite. She tilted her head, eyes flicking over him. “Are you a student here?”

Kyle snorted before Kenny can answer, but Kenny waved it off. “Nah. Just passing through.”

And maybe it’s just him, but while Avery was talking, his attention kept drifting. Craig carried two chemistry textbooks; Kyle’s hands were empty except for where they rested on his laptop bag strap, fiddling with it absentmindedly. The two stood close, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed with every step, comfortable in a way that made Kenny’s stomach feel weird. Not bad exactly. Just tight.

“We’re heading to lunch after our lab,” Kyle said, glancing at him. “You should come if you don’t mind sticking around for a bit.”

Kenny shook his head. “Can’t. Gotta return this today.” He tapped the Moscow book, keeping his tone light. “Rain check, though - especially if you’re paying with that student card.”

“I will - I don’t mind,” Avery said quickly, smiling at him.

Kenny flashed her a polite grin, already taking a step back. “Tempting. But seriously, I should get moving.”

They part ways: Kyle, Craig, and Avery toward the chemistry building, Kenny toward the library. He tells himself it’s because of the errand, not because he wanted to get away from that little knot in his chest.

As he gets to the library doors, his phone buzzed.

Kyle B🤓:: Avery’s disappointed you weren’t her type.

Kenny slowed, staring at the screen.
…She was flirting?

Inside the library, Kenny slipped the Moscow travel guide into the metal return slot. The book landed with a muted thunk in the bin behind the desk, and he glanced at the display set up next to the counter.

“National Hair Loss Awareness Month,” he read aloud, grinning as he peeks at the row of books. His eyes scanned the covers of the autobiographies on the shelves.

“Yeah, yeah,” Red said from behind the desk, eyes glued to her monitor as her fingers type away. “You didn’t think it could get worse than Healthy Vision Month.” She’s approving some kind of event forms, barely sparing him a glance. “At least I talked them out of a spinal muscular atrophy theme.”

“I would’ve learned some new words, at least,” Kenny said.

Red smirked without looking up. “Yeah, instead you just get a display of a bunch of bald guys talking about their bald heads.”

Kenny leaned an elbow on the counter. “You sure you’re not secretly into them? I’m sensing a deep love for these bald men. After all, you chose them over muscular spine trophies.”

Red stopped typing and gave him a flat look. “I don’t know how you butchered spinal muscular atrophies like that but all men - bald, hairy, everything in between - are not my type. Now, are you here to actually find something or just to bother me again?”

Kenny rested his other elbow on the counter and rested his head in both hands. “Why are all my friends so mean to me?”

“You make it easy,” she said, already turning back to her screen.

Kenny drifted away. He wandered down to the nonfiction section. He trailed a hand over the spines, waiting for something to jump out at him, until he finally pulled a Mediterranean cookbook off the shelf. Maybe he’ll try cooking something other than boxed pasta and grilled cheese for once.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he sees the last message in his chat with Kyle still sitting unanswered - the one about Avery being disappointed. He realized he hasn’t thought about her once since reading it. And she is his type. Or was. He’s not sure anymore, which is… confusing.

He hovered over the keyboard for a second before typing:

Kenny: when’s lunch w Avery happening? Just us, tho. No Craig. Gotta build rapport.

It’s the truth. And yet, even as he hit send, there’s that lingering, unsettled feeling that maybe rapport isn’t really what he’s after.

By the time Kenny woke up from his midafternoon nap, the sunlight had shifted across the room, catching on the dust motes in the air. His power nap stretched just long enough to make him disoriented for a moment. He groped for his phone to check the time - 3:14 p.m. - and saw a new notification.

Taco Bus Cashier : you free tonight?

Kenny smirked. “Really? On a Wednesday?” he muttered, thumbs tapping the same words back to her.

Before she can respond, he flipped over to his messages with Damien. A whole paragraph was waiting for him. The first half was a detailed explanation of how Kenny was not entirely correct about light sticks being for K-pop concerts and not Japanese idol shows, and the second was Damien apologizing for misleading him but insisting he only said what he thought was true.

Kenny scrolled through the wall of text and just replied with:

Kenny: told ya :P

He swiped back to his conversation list and felt that little sting of disappointment when he saw Kyle’s thread still sitting there, unanswered. Not even a “lol” or an emoji.

Shaking it off, he grabbed the Mediterranean cookbook from the arm of the couch and flipped to the bookmarked page: chicken kabobs. Easy enough. Not too expensive. He started jotting down the ingredients in the margins of a crumpled grocery receipt, but paused halfway through the spice list. Cumin, cinnamon, coriander, smoked paprika… all things he didn’t own and didn’t really feel like buying for one recipe.

Then he remembered: Wendy. Wendy, who has absolutely stocked Stan’s kitchen like she’s prepping for Bobby Flay to bust in and challenge her. If she’s around this weekend, he could easily “borrow” a few teaspoons here and there.

He tucked the list into the book, deciding to wait. No point in wasting money when friends’ cabinets are free pantries.

With the errand postponed, the room felt too quiet. Kenny pushed himself up, stretched the stiffness out of his arms, and approached his easel by the window. The half-finished painting was still there, waiting for him - broad strokes of warm colors, a shape that could become a street scene if he squinted at it long enough.

After setting up some paints, he dipped the brush into ochre, let the bristles drag across the canvas, and tried not to think too hard about his unanswered text.

Kenny woke up tangled in a mess of pale sheets that definitely weren’t his. It took him a second to remember where he was - and then he spotted the plastic name tag on the counter next to a set of keys. Claire . Right. Saved him the trouble of pretending he remembered last night.

She was still asleep beside him, breathing slow and even. He peeled himself out of bed as quietly as possible, tugging on his jeans and slipping his phone into his pocket.

A crumpled receipt from last night’s pizza sat on the coffee table. Kenny flipped it over and scrawled a quick note in his slanted handwriting:

had fun last night. gotta go to work. catch ya later. - Ken

Adding a big heart around his name for good measure.

Keys in hand, he slipped out without a sound, the cool morning air hitting him as soon as the door shut. He whistled his way back to his own apartment, a spring in his step.

Inside, he brushed his teeth, shaved, and swapped into his work clothes. As he was grabbing his keys off the broken key holder hook, his phone pinged.

Kyle B🤓:: Sorry I didn't respond yesterday. It was a crazy day yesterday. Would tomorrow work for you? I’ll pay and I can find an excuse to sneak off early and leave you guys alone. :)

Kenny smiled - small, genuine - but there was an edge to it he didn’t want to examine too closely.

Kenny: heck ya, my little wingman

He slipped the phone back into his pocket, glanced toward his easel. The half-finished painting sat there in patient silence. For a moment, he almost went to it. Instead, he pulled the dust cover over the frame and walked out, locking the door behind him.

The day was waiting, and he was ready to meet it.

Chapter Text

The cafeteria doors clicked after Kyle swiped his student ID, the little green light beeped like an apology for the food inside. He turned, holding the door for Kenny.

“I got you,” Kyle said.

Kenny pressed a hand to his heart. “Ah. Chivalry ain't dead.”

They stepped into the buffet chaos: steam trays, salad bar, suspiciously shiny pasta. Kyle grabbed a plate and Kenny went off to wander. Kyle loaded his plate with the usual - grilled cheese, grilled chicken, french fries - and followed the windows’ glare to the far side of the room.

Avery was already there at a small table, the fountain outside catching the sun in the most picturesque way imaginable. She waved. “Hey!” she said. “I scoped this spot. You can judge everyone’s tray choices.”

“Bold,” Kenny said, appearing from nowhere and dropping into the seat across from her. “I’m a harsh critic.”

“You grabbed an entire plate of nachos from a vending machine,” Kyle muttered as he slid into the seat next to Avery.

“Art is subjective.”

Avery giggled and they started on their food, the clatter and hum of the room settling around them. Conversation came easy the way it does when the noise gives you cover.

“So you two grew up together?” Avery asked, stabbing a tomato.

“Since forever,” Kyle said. “We used to get in trouble for the dumbest things.”

Kenny smirked. “Speak for yourself.”

“You got banished from my Jew Scouts camp.”

“Through no fault of my own.”

“Yeah, I guess. And you came back to celebrate that kid’s birthday. Just to get kicked out again.”

Avery laughed. “That’s adorable.”

“Humiliating,” Kyle corrected, but he was smiling.

They drifted through more stories - the time they got all the kids in the neighborhood to play one giant real life RPG; the time their friend group got into a fight and had scheduled time to hang out with Kenny; the time Kenny convinced Kyle the coin-op horse outside the grocery store could be hotwired (it could not)

Avery leaned her chin into her hand. “You sound like good trouble.”

Kenny shrugged. “We were kids.”

Kyle glanced at him. “He’s always taken care of people.”

Kenny made a face like he didn’t want credit for that. He kept eating.

“Kenny practically raised his little sister when we were younger,” Kyle added, mostly for Avery’s sake. “It was… I don’t know. I thought it was sweet.”

There was a beat. Kyle felt the words tug something in his chest.

“I was jealous,” he said, quieter, using a fry to poke at his ketchup cup. “I love Ike. It just wasn’t like that for us.”

Kenny looked up then, meeting his eyes but only for a second. “You were still a good big brother.”

Avery smiled at Kenny. “I like this origin story of yours.”

Kenny deflected with a joke about the cafeteria’s mystery casserole on Avery’s plate. Kyle let him, grateful for the shift.

They moved to weekend plans. Avery was helping a friend with a lab poster. Kyle mentioned Wendy would be coming over again and tried to keep it casual.

“Ah,” Kenny said, a knowing little tilt to his mouth.

“Yeah,” Kyle nodded, standing to stack their plates. “I should head back and clean before she gets in today.” He raised his eyebrows at Kenny ever so slightly - their wingman signal since 10th grade, clear as day. “You two keep talking.”

Avery blinked, surprised, then pulled it together with a grin. “I don’t mind that plan.”

Kenny opened his mouth like he might protest, then closed it. “Text me if you need help vacuuming every crease of your couch.”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I’ll manage.”

He shouldered his bag, the sun bright enough through the glass to make the fountain look like it was throwing diamonds.

“Rain check on dessert,” he said, mostly to Kenny, and waved them both off before he could overthink it.

As he walked away, he felt that odd mix of light and heavy. He was happy to help but felt a little empty without exactly knowing why.

Outside, the air was cooler than he expected - end of August weather always felt unpredictable to him. He tugged his hoodie sleeves down and told himself he’d done the reasonable thing.

Wendy and Stan were curled up on the couch, the room washed in the dim blue of an indie dark romance she’d insisted on. Kyle could hear the unknown language from his bed - probably someone whispering about fate, or bad timing, or both.

He slid his noise-canceling headphones over his ears and sat at his desk, a blank document open and the cursor blinking impatiently at him. There wasn’t much to clean after lunch with Kenny; he’d already done the dishes, wiped the counters, fluffed the throw pillow Wendy liked to karate-chop during intense board games. The apartment fet finished. Everyone else felt… paired.

He couldn’t hear the movie anymore, which was the point. Even so, his chest prickled with the familiar fizz of FOMO he never loved naming or even acknowledging. He could probably go sit with them. They wouldn’t mind. They’d make room, offer him tea, ask him what he thought of the third-act metaphor.

Somehow that would feel worse.

Kyle stood, restless. He considered a walk, a lap around the block to watch the streetlights blink awake. He considered the café, then immediately vetoed it—too much risk of seeing Craig. He considered the library; it would be closing soon.

He picked up his phone instead.

Kyle: Hey. You free?

He watched the typing bubble appear.

Kenny: 4 u? prob always
Kenny: what’s up

Kyle stared at the message longer than he needed to. He tugged one earcup off, listening to the faint murmur of the movie down the hall. Then he typed:

Kyle: Nothing urgent. I just wanted to get out of the apartment. You hungry? Up for a convenience store run?

The bubble popped back up.

Kenny: say less
Kenny: i can be there u in 10
Kenny: u want chips or am i pretending to be healthy

Kyle felt his shoulders loosen in a way that had nothing to do with posture.

Kyle: Whatever your feeling. I’ll bring cash.

Kenny: you’re*

Kyle rolled his eyes and smiled at the same time. He slipped the headphones off and tossed on his hoodie. Something caught his eye before he left his room. He hesitated but ended up sliping the trinket into his back pocket. He called toward the living room on his way out, “I’m running out for a minute!”

Wendy’s voice floated back, warm and distracted. “Be safe! Text me when you get there!”

Stan added, “Bring me back gum! Not the minty kind!”

Kyle locked the door behind him and stepped into the hallway. It smelled like somebody’s overcooked dinner. He tucked his hands into his sleeves, and for the first time all night, he didn’t feel like the odd man out. He felt on his way.

The bell over the convenience store door jangled like it was on its last leg. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, reflecting off a wall of chips and neon candy.

Kyle spotted Kenny in the snack aisle, head tilted like he was appraising fine art. His heart did a weird, sudden jump - just excitement, he told himself. Just the relief of being out of the stuffy apartment.

“Hey,” Kyle said, pushing his hands into his hoodie pocket. “I thought you’d still be with Avery this late.”

Kenny waved him off. “I do not work that fast anymore, man.”

Kyle snorted. “Since when?”

“Since I started valuing my beauty sleep.”

“What snacks are you thinking?”

“Baked goods,” Kenny said decisively, lifting a plastic clamshell of brownies. “Cookies. Things the vending machines cannot usually provide me.”

Kyle’s mouth curved. “Some vending machines can. Japan has ones with full cakes.”

Kenny’s eyes lit up. “You are lying.”

“I am absolutely not. Whole fresh cake in a can. The school cafeteria has one with pie.”

“We have to go,” Kenny said, completely serious.

“To Japan?”

“To the cafeteria. The pie vending machine I missed. Show me the magic.”

Kyle laughed. “Sure. Monday?”

“Monday,” Kenny agreed, solemn as a treaty.

They drifted toward the drink fridges. Kyle grabbed a lemonade; the cold sweat of the bottle felt good in his palm. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Kenny weighing the moral calculus of cosmic brownies versus frosted sugar cookies like it mattered.

Even vending machines are exciting with him, Kyle thought, and immediately looked very hard at the nutrition labels.

When he turned, Kenny was already at the front counter with his haul - brownies, sugar cookies, and a bag of kettle chips like a victory flag - waiting expectantly.

“Yes?” Kyle asked, setting down his lemonade and a pack of gum.

“You said you had cash,” Kenny said, innocent.

“Wha - You’re the one with a job -”

“And the one with rent,” Kenny interjected smoothly. “And you are the one with the lawyer father who sends you a hefty allowance every month, soooo…”

Kyle glanced at the cashier, a cute goth guy with chipped black nail polish, who looked like he was listening to this entire exchange and was enjoying it based on the smirk that highlighted his lip ring.

“Whatever happened to ‘friendship is good enough payment for me’?” Kyle muttered.

“They do not take that here,” Kenny said, his grin widening, “I tried.”

Kyle, mortified, slid his card out - he did not bring enough cash for two - and held it to the scanner. The reader beeped.

“Okay, but you owe me.”

“How about a stay at Casa de Kenny?” Kenny said, already gathering the bags of their snacks for the night.

Kyle’s stomach did a small, traitorous flip. “Deal.”

Outside, the air had cooled; the streetlights hummed. They fell into step without talking about it, turning toward a route Kyle knew by heart.

And just like that, he was on his way to Kenny’s - ready to sink back into the familiar creak of the floorboards, the magnets of places he’s never been, the hoodie draped over the chair. The kind of quiet that felt less like empty space and more like room to breathe.

Kenny’s place was its usual soft clutter: a stack of mail on the shoe rack, a paint-splattered drop cloth half-folded by the window, the floorboards that creaked in familiar places. The warmth hit Kyle first - actual temperature, yes, but then something else under his ribs.

He tugged off his hoodie and as he turned, caught sight of the other hoodie, the one he’d left here last time, draped over the back of a chair. Kenny followed his gaze. “Oh, yeah! I’ve been meaning to bring that to you, but I got busy.” He leaned his shoulder against the bathroom door. “Let me wash my face real quick.”

“Go, shoo, stinky,” Kyle said.

When the door clicked shut, Kyle set his hoodie on the arm of the couch. It landed heavier than it should have. He reached into his back pocket and felt the small, solid weight he’d been pretending not to notice all week - the little cartoon raccoon magnet from the farmer’s market. He hadn’t planned when to give it to Kenny. Apparently the answer was now.

He walked to the fridge and placed the raccoon next to a chibi anime vampire and a sun-faded postcard from Barcelona. As his hand dropped, he noticed a pair of concert tickets pinned under a goofy magnet shaped like a hot dog.

He read the band name. Oh. That band. Craig talked about them. Avery too.

The bathroom door opened. “You love reading my fridge,” Kenny said, drying his hands on the small hand towel thrown over a cabinet handle em. “It’s like the town bulletin board.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, still staring at the tickets. “How did you afford these?”

Kenny shrugged. “Guy I know.”

“Craig and Avery love them,” Kyle said, turning back. “You should ditch whoever you planned to go with and bring Avery. She’ll be all over you all night.”

Kenny’s mouth quirked. “Bold prediction.” He moved the magnet to the center top, allowing them to read the ticket text better, then admitted, “I haven’t even invited anyone.”

“Then it’s perfect,” Kyle said, too quick. “Ask her.”

Kenny hesitated. For a second, something un-jokey flickered across his face. He opened his mouth - 

“Or do you want to go,” he said, pivoting with a grin, “ - with Craig? He can be all over you all night. We can test this hypothesis of yours.”

Kyle snorted, because that was the move here. “Hilarious.”

Kenny looked pleased with himself, like he’d stuck the landing.

Kyle looked back at the tickets. The raccoon magnet caught the light.

He wasn’t sure why it stung - just a pinprick - but it did. He swallowed it, the way you do with a too-sour sip of lemonade and kept his voice even.

“Text Avery,” he said. “She’ll say yes.”

Kenny hummed, already reaching for his phone.

Kyle stepped aside, pretending to inspect the other magnets. He let himself want the thing he wasn’t actually offered for exactly one beat, then folded the feeling small and tucked it away next to the borrowed hoodie.

“Also,” Kenny said, tapping the raccoon, “this guy new?”

Kyle kept his eyes on it. “Yeah. Thought he needed a second life.”

Kenny’s smile went soft around the edges. They left it there, both of them pretending it was just another object on a crowded fridge door.

Chapter Text

Kenny turned away from the fridge, ripping open the brownie package with enthusiasm. He plucked one out, still grinning, and spoke around his first bite. “I know we’ve got all these snacks, but there’s takeout down the block if you want actual food. Or we could go crash at the park, sneak up to the roof, hell - there’s even the laundromat at night for hide-and-seek - oh! If the balloon touches the ground we die, or -”

Kyle had just twisted open his lemonade and taken a long swig, but he suddenly stopped, lowering the bottle. “Uh. The laundromat at night?”

“Hell yeah.” Kenny straightened, suddenly proud of this secret knowledge. He motioned with the half-eaten brownie in hand for emphasis. “If we’d gone right instead of left up the stairs earlier, boom - there’s the laundromat. And if I, say, bumped the right switch as we walked down the stairs…” He leaned in, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Camera’s out. Poof. Nobody ever knows.”

“They have cameras?’ Kyle’s brows furrowed. “Why would anyone even want to break into a laundromat? What’s there to steal? Laundry carts?”

Kenny smirked like Kyle was asking all the wrong questions entirely as he popped the last bit of brownie in his mouth. “Ghost hunting. Rumor has it the original owner still comes in at night to balance the register.”

Kyle snorted. “Didn’t you say this building was only twenty years old?”

“A lot can happen in twenty years,” Kenny shot back, making ghost noises and wiggling his fingers dramatically.

Kyle rolled his eyes, but he didn’t actually say no. By the time Kenny wiped the brownie crumbs from his fingers, he was already squatting down to dig through the cabinet under the sink. Two battered flashlights clattered as Kenny placed them onto the tile. Kenny looked up at him with a grin.

After sneaking down the narrow back stairs and giving the breaker switch a “casual bump” with his elbow, Kenny led the way into the laundromat. The hum of the building cut out, leaving them in thick, unnatural silence. Even with the windows shuttered, pale orange light from the streetlamps managed to bleed through the gaps, painting faint lines across the rows of silent washers. It wasn’t nearly enough, though, so Kenny clicked on his flashlight. The beam caught Kyle immediately.

Kyle held his own light like it was a lifeline, jaw tight as he forced himself to walk forward between the machines. He kept his light directly in front of him, obviously trying to keep his imagination in check by not looking around.

“And you do this how often?” Kyle asked. His voice wavered near the end, betraying him.

“Only when I want payback from the vending machine,” Kenny said easily, swinging his beam around the room like he owned it. The strange metallic clank echoed through the space again, faint but steady. Almost like one of the machines was still running - or trying to - but way too distant to be any of the ones here. “It’s in the break room so it’s on a different breaker switch. C’mon, I’ll show you and you can pick out whatever you want for conquering the ghost.”

They circled a row of dryers, Kyle’s steps growing steadier now that nothing had leapt out at them. Kenny glanced at him, lips twitching. He couldn’t resist. He leaned in and blew lightly across the back of Kyle’s neck. Kyle screamed - actually screamed - and turned to throw himself against Kenny’s side. Kenny doubled over laughing.

But then -

“Kyle…” A woman’s voice floated out, soft, deliberate, calling his name.

Both boys froze.

The clanking went still.

Then - two eyes, faintly glowing, peered through the slats of one of the shuttered windows. “Kyle…?” the voice called again, softer. Closer.

Kenny and Kyle bolted as one, diving behind a row of washers. “That’s her,” Kenny whisper-yelled, eyes wide. “The original owner - she - that’s - we pissed her off, dude!”

“Kyle!” Stan’s voice boomed suddenly from outside, causing him to flinch against Kenny harder. “Dude, are you in there? You didn’t text Wendy when you got to the store so she got - ow - sorry, we got worried and went to see if you were at the store still or hanging with Kenny. Then we saw lights and heard you scream - ow, Wendy, why are your elbows like tiny, bony knives? We heard you talking, sorry!”

Kenny blinked. He glanced sideways. Kyle was still clinging to him, breath quick against his arm. They both realized it at the same time. Pulled back, cleared their throats, stood up like nothing had happened.

Kyle raised his voice, uneven but steady enough. “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry to worry you guys. We’re just goofing around.”

“Hi, Kenny!” Wendy called brightly from outside.

Kenny lifted a hand automatically, forgetting she couldn’t see it. “Hey guys.”

“Well, we’ll leave you to it. Glad you’re good. See you later, man.” Stan’s shadow shifted as he gave a lazy wave, Wendy catching up beside him with a bounce in her step.

“Have fun, be safe!” She called after them, sounding farther away with each word.

Silence fell again in the laundromat.

Kenny looked at Kyle. Kyle looked at Kenny.

And then Kenny cracked up, laughter spilling out until Kyle snorted too, muffling his own giggle against his sleeve.

Later, they ended up settling down, stretching out on Kenny’s couch, the cheap frame creaking every time one of them shifted. Kyle lay on his back, thumb scrolling idly through his phone, the soft blue glow casting shadows across his face. Beside him, Kenny laid on the long portion of the couch and had his tablet screen tilted toward the ceiling, a webpage open with glossy thumbnails of oil paintings, sculptures, and abstract sketches housed at a local art studio.

Kyle glanced over. “You thinking of going to one of those shows?”

Kenny smirked without looking up. “Nah. Just scouting out the new hot spots in town. Gotta keep a few places like this up my sleeve to impress any potential dates later.” He gave a little waggle of his eyebrows as he turned the screen away like it was confidential intel.

Kyle rolled his eyes but pushed up on his elbow to peek anyway, invading Kenny’s personal space. “Some of those look familiar… pretty sure I’ve seen that one in the café.” He blinked slowly and stifled a yawn into the blanket.

“Mmhm,” Kenny hummed, leaning back toward Kyle, finally swiping to the next piece. “That’s ‘cause Damien and me went around grabbing some for the walls last month. The place was starting to look kinda barren.”

Kyle blinked at him as he settled back onto a pillow. “Wait, you helped pick those out?”

Kenny looked like he was about to take the compliment. Instead, he grinned crookedly and undercut himself. “Well, Damien did all the schmoozing with the artists, like, nodding real serious at brushstrokes and talking about ‘negative space’ or whatever. I mostly hung out by the snack table stuffing my face with those little… how do you say it - ” He exaggerated a posh accent. “‘Whole dervs.’”

Kyle snorted, shaking his head against the pillow, blinking growing ever slower. Kenny just leaned back, folding one arm behind his head, like he hadn’t just called hors d’oeuvre “whole dervs” with full confidence.

“God, you at an art show just for the food… that’s… that’s so - ” His words slowed as his phone tilted toward his chest, eyes fighting to stay open.

“Unsurprising?” Kenny supplied with a grin.

“Classic… you,” Kyle mumbled out before sagging into the couch entirely, with his phone slipping against his hoodie. His breathing evened out in that telltale, almost immediate way.

Kenny sighed softly, reaching over to pluck the phone from Kyle’s loose grip and set it on the table. “Nice conversation, dude,” he muttered under his breath, though the fondness was obvious.

He got up and clicked off the lamp, the room dipping into a warm, streetlight-filtered glow. Before settling in, his eyes drifted toward the windowed corner where his easel and canvas leaned, draped in the old sheet. Kenny hesitated, then tugged the cover back just enough to peek at the brushstrokes he’d been working on the past week.

The paint still looked wet from how thick the strokes were in some places, raw and stubborn under the dim light. Kenny studied it for a second longer, then pulled the sheet back over with a little sigh, tiptoeing back toward the futon. He dropped down beside Kyle gently, folding his arms behind his head.

“Guess we’ll see how it turns out,” he murmured to himself before closing his eyes.

Kenny woke up to a warm weight against his shoulder and the uncomfortable realization that he and Kyle had somehow ended up sharing the same pillow. His neck ached, and his wrist was numb from the crooked way he lay, but it was the sight of Kyle’s face just a few inches away - breathing slow, curls in disarray - that made him jolt awake enough to shove him gently.

“Get up, dude. You’re drooling on me.”

Kyle groaned, shoving back with about as much energy as a wet noodle. “I am not.” His voice was raspy, heavy with sleep. He cracked one eye open. Slowly, with a groan, he rose to sit up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “...I could really go for some coffee, though. Wanna come with to see your bestie, art-expert Damien?” He dragged out the title with a smirk.

Kenny rolled his eyes, stretching his arms over his head. “Ugh, fine. I do owe you for the brownies. I got work this afternoon so I can use some caffeine.”

Kyle sat up fully, rubbing his face before glancing down at his rumpled clothes. “Can we swing by my place first? I need to shower. And change.”

Kenny smirked, propping himself up on his elbows. “Good call. I probably should wash up too. You know, after our wild night of… eating snacks and running into a ghost.”

Kyle gave him a flat look, but his ears went pink. “Right. Wild.”

Kennt shuffled up and shook the numbness out of his wrist, the futon creaking under their weight as they both fully stood up. Kyle grabbed his phone and wallet and headed toward the door. At the door, Kenny leaned on the frame as Kyle tugged his hoodie on and stepped out into the small hallway to the stairs.

“I’ll meet you at your place since it's kinda on the way?” Kenny said.

Kyle nodded, already halfway turned down the stairs.

“Hey,” Kenny called after him suddenly. Kyle looked back. “Thanks for the magnet. Found a perfect second home.”

Kyle blinked, then smiled - quick, soft, like he hadn’t expected Kenny to bring it up. “Good.”

Kenny grinned back, waiting until Kyle disappeared from sight before shutting and locking the door.

The apartment felt too quiet once the door clicked shut. Kenny stretched, rubbing the back of his neck as he shuffled toward the kitchen area, intending to sneak the last brownie for breakfast, but his eyes snagged on the fridge. The magnet Kyle had bought him - a little kitschy thing he’s seen at the farmers market before - sat proudly beside some coupons, holding up the concert tickets.

He leaned a hand on the counter, staring at them longer than he meant to. The magnet felt like Kyle more than himself - bright, a little silly, but stubbornly solid. And under it, the tickets, bright paper mocking him. He should’ve just asked Kyle to go. Should’ve just said it instead of joking, deflecting.

Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and thumbed open Avery’s contact. Hey, you heard about this band? he typed, hitting send before he could overthink it. “Time to start the day,” he exclaimed to himself as he tossed his phone onto the table and headed into the bathroom.

A hot shower later, he tugged on a clean shirt and ran a hand through his damp hair. On his way out, his gaze stopping on the sweater hanging over the back of a chair: Kyle’s, from the first night. Kenny couldn’t stop the grin tugging at his face as he picked it up, giving it a little shake before slinging it over his arm.

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long time, Kyle couldn’t decide what to wear. Freshly showered and teeth cleaned, he stood in front of his closet in pajama shorts and an undershirt like his outfit options had personally betrayed him.

“Nothing is speaking to me,” he muttered, tugging at the sleeve of the sweater he was holding before tossing it onto the bed.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complain about sweater weather.” Wendy was busy straightening the clothes he’d left in a heap. “Just throw on a hoodie. Kenny will be here any second.”

Kyle frowned into the closet. “You think Stan has something I can steal?”

Wendy’s eyes flicked over his thin frame, then she pressed her lips together.

“Right. Never mind,” Kyle sighed.

“Oh! We can go to the thrift store again today and see if anything ‘speaks to you’!” Wendy said, too brightly.

Before he could answer, the knock came. Kenny stepped into the room like he belonged there, returning Kyle’s forgotten sweater with a grin. He was in clean jeans and a button-up layered under a jacket, casual but somehow… put together. Kyle blinked. Since when did Kenny look well-dressed?

“Your door was unlocked. Found this hanging around at my place,” Kenny said, tossing the sweater into Kyle’s arms.

“Thanks,” Kyle mumbled, tugging it close before Wendy could make a comment.

The three of them chatted a bit, Kenny leaning against the doorframe, easy and animated. But when it became clear Wendy was coming along to the café too, Kyle thought - just for a moment - he caught a flicker of disappointment on Kenny’s face. Or maybe he imagined it, because in the next second Kenny was grinning and already leading them out the door, bragging about all the cute dogs he’d seen on the way over.

Kyle tugged his jacket tighter against the wind as they turned the corner. “I’m telling you, gas station coffee doesn’t count as actual coffee. It’s coffee-flavored water.”

Kenny grinned. “You think they even use real coffee beans?”

Wendy snorted, adjusting her scarf. “So what do you drink at two a.m. when you’re desperate, on your way home from campus, and the café’s closed?”

“Ice water,” Kyle said flatly.

“Picky, picky. You forget your roots,” Kenny shot back. Then, after a beat, his grin widened. “Okay, new question. Would you rather never drink coffee again… or only eat gas station food for the rest of your life?”

Kyle slowed like the question had physical weight. “Wait. Clarify. Am I allowed smoothies? Milkshakes?”

Kenny shrugged, “well you drink those not eat them so - yes?”

“Okay.” Kyle nodded. “What about prepackaged stuff? Like, ramen I can buy packaged then cook it at home - is that considered ‘gas station food’ or does it have to be fresh and hot?”

Kenny opened his mouth to answer but was clearly unsure.

Wendy rolled her eyes before Kenny could even attempt an answer. “I’d drop coffee. I’d just drink tea instead.”

Kenny barked out a laugh. “See? That’s the difference between you two. Kyle’s building a whole dissertation and Wendy just decides like it’s nothing. And yet everyone swore you were basically the same person in high school.”

Kyle huffed. “That was just because we shared the same class schedule.”

“And because you were constantly competing,” Wendy teased. “God, you acted like every quiz was a championship.”

“Don’t forget fighting over Stan’s time,” Kenny added, a little smug. “I thought you were gonna split him down the middle at one point.”

Kyle rolled his eyes but he was smiling now. “We figured out we could just share him eventually.”

“Exactly,” Wendy laughed. “Peace in our time.”

“Yeah, the day you two stopped being rivals was the day my life got about ten times easier,” Kenny said, bumping his shoulder against Kyle’s.

They reached the café, the glass front glowing warm against the street, and Kenny pulled the door open with a flourish. “Ladies first.” Wendy bounced in as Kenny motioned for Kyle to go, still holding the door.

Kyle groaned but walked in anyway. “You’re insufferable.”

“Must be all the gas station food,” Kenny said, grinning as they went inside.

“Dami-o!” Kenny called as soon as they stepped inside, his voice echoing off the wood-paneled walls.

The café’s mellow hum of conversation stuttered for half a second. Behind the counter, Damien lifted his eyes with glacier-cold calm. “Call me that again and you’re out.”

“Harsh.” Kenny pressed a hand to his chest, grinning.

“You’re disturbing the peace,” Damien replied evenly, and then turned his attention to the next customer in line. The room’s chatter gradually resumed, like nothing had happened.

Kyle trailed the others to the counter, already scanning the pastry case when they arrived at the front of the line. “Cold brew and an almond biscotti, please.”

“One pumpkin spice latte.” Wendy leaned across the register, all brightness. “It’s almost time for pumpkin everything.”

Damien raised an unimpressed brow. “Almost.”

“Wait, wait,” Wendy pressed, “can you make it with tea instead?”

“No.”

“Okay!” She beamed as though he’d agreed, then added, “And a cinnamon roll, please.”

When it was Kenny’s turn, he leaned forward, solemn as if making a serious order. “One sixteen-ounce water in a tall glass. Extra ice. No foam.”

Damien didn’t even blink as he typed it in.

Kyle sighed, but before he knew it, the words left his mouth: “And a blueberry muffin. For him.” He didn’t quite know what compelled him - it just felt like the right thanks for something unspoken.

A few minutes later, they slid into a cushy corner booth with a clear view of the tiny stage tucked against the far wall. Kyle’s chest tightened a little at the sight of it. If Craig played today, would it feel good? Or would it be too much, after all the time spent together that week?

He was still staring when Wendy’s giggles pulled him back.

“I’m telling you,” Kenny said, holding up his condensation-dripping cup like proof. “Different cafés, different water. This one? Out of this world.”

“You sound like you’re bragging,” Wendy teased.

“I am bragging. I’ve had a lot of free water in my day.”

Kyle blinked, dragging himself into the conversation. “Right. Speaking of taste.” He turned to Kenny. “Which pieces did you pick out?”

Wendy tilted her head. “Wait, what do you mean, which pieces?”

Kyle leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Kenny helped pick out some of the art in here.”

“Ooooh,” Wendy sing-songed, her grin widening as Kenny’s cheeks turned the faintest pink. “Which ones? How did that happen? I love the one with the triangles and circles shaped like a bunny, and those squiggly blue lines that make that cool textured look and-”

“None of those were Kenny,” Damien’s voice cut through smoothly as he appeared at their booth, sliding in next to Wendy with the tray of drinks and pastries balanced on one arm. He set everything down with practiced grace, then jabbed his thumb toward the counter. “He picked Nighthawks (Cat Version). Behind me at the counter. That way I don’t have to look at it while talking to customers.”

Relief flickered over Kenny’s face as the attention shifted. “It’s genius!”

“I vetoed his other suggestion,” Damien said flatly.

“Dogs Playing Poker but people were playing instead,” Kenny defended, hands lifted. “C’mon, that’s art history in the making.”

Damien ignored him and turned his steady gaze on Kyle. “What about you? Which is your favorite?”

Kyle glanced around the café, chewing lightly on his biscotti. “The one of the canals in Paris. Or maybe the Glacier National Park landscape.”

For once, Damien’s expression softened with something close to pride. “I purchased Glacier at my first art show,  still one of my favorites.” He leaned back slightly, then added, “But the canals - that one was Kenny. He gets one pick per show. Could’ve wasted it on a deer statue with a bowtie. Picked the painting instead. I’m still grateful.”

Wendy spoke up, eyes wide. “I’m still shocked. I would expect you only went for the free food.”

Kyle broke into laughter at the same moment Kenny did, like they’d shared an inside joke.

Damien rolled his eyes. “That’s what he did most of the time. He didn’t appreciate it at all.”

They sipped their drinks between lines, the easy rhythm of their banter blending with the café’s low hum. For a moment, Kyle almost forgot he’d been dreading seeing Craig.

Damien stood, smoothing the front of his apron. “I’d better get back before the line backs up.” He paused, offering them a quick, sly smile that somehow felt aimed at all three of them at once. “Good catching up, though.”

A shiver ran up Kyle’s spine before he could stop it. There was no denying Damien was dangerously attractive. Wendy animatedly waved goodbye to Damien like he wasn’t walking 15 feet to the counter.

The door opened with a soft chime, and Kyle’s pulse jumped. Craig walked in - solo, but without his guitar. He looked drained, dark bags under his eyes, pulling out his phone as moved out of the way of the door. Before Kyle could react, Wendy jabbed him hard in the ribs.

Craig bypassed the line, grabbing a paper cup with a sleeve from the small shelf labeled Online Orders. Damien glanced up just long enough to give him a quick nod; Craig mirrored it, a greeting and farewell rolled into one.

Kenny’s grin widened. Before Kyle could stop him, he lifted a hand and flagged Craig down. “Hey, join us!”

Kyle shot him a glare. It’s clear he’s tired- but Craig didn’t hesitate. He slid into the booth right where Damien had been sitting a moment ago, next to Wendy, looking perfectly at ease.

“Not playing today?” Kenny asked, tone all innocent curiosity.

Craig shook his head. “Didn’t think anyone really noticed me up there.”

Kyle’s fingers tightened around his cold brew straw. He thought of that fleeting moment - the love song, the smile, the eye contact he’d misread. Apparently it meant even less than he thought. Kyle forced himself to sip his drink, gaze low.

“I wasn’t up for it today,” Craig went on, scratching the back of his neck. “Was up late, is all.” He didn’t explain further, just lifted his cup - something milky and fragrant - and took a slow sip.

Kenny leaned back, smirk tugging at his mouth. “How’re the long-distance cooking classes? You guys make anything with enough servings I need to come help eat?”

“Not yet.” Craig rubbed the sleep out of his eye some more as Kenny dramatically sighed. “Speaking of lunch…” Craig said, almost too casually, “I heard you’ve been hanging out with Avery.”

The words landed heavy in Kyle’s chest.

“Ooooh, who’s Avery?” Wendy leaned forward, eyes bright with interest.

Kenny, not flustered at all, launched into the explanation of how they met and how it’s been going - something about Avery’s sharp humor and how she “kept him on his toes.”

For the first time, Craig’s mouth curved slightly. “She’s a handful. Be careful.”  Craig chuckled, shaking his head. Then his eyes shifted, landing on Kyle. “Hey - are you busy the first weekend in November?”

Kyle’s mind stuttered. He did have something that day, didn’t he? Or… maybe not. Why was it suddenly so hard to think around Craig? “I don’t think so.”

“There’s a special 4-day exhibit at the museum - ocean animals, some rare specimens they’re bringing in. Thought it’d be more fun with someone who’d actually care about it.”

Kyle’s face warmed.

Craig’s gaze flicked to Kenny and Wendy. “Open invite, of course.”

“No can do,” Kenny said instantly, too fast, leaning on his elbow. “I’ve got… a thing.”

“Way too far for me,” Wendy chimed, equally quick.

Kyle narrowed his eyes slightly at both of them, but Craig only shrugged. “Just Kyle and me, then. That’s fine.” He glanced at his phone, then stood, tucking the cup in his hand. “I’ve gotta get back - music comp analysis due. Talk to you guys later.”

Kyle watched him leave, wishing the interaction hadn’t ended so quickly, yet also feeling wrung out. He saw Craig every day. Why did the energy shift so much when Kenny was there?

He turned back and found Kenny licking blueberry bits off his thumb, his blueberry muffin demolished, a satisfied sigh leaving him. “Thanks for that, man. Perfect muffin.”

Kyle handed him a napkin before he could smear the remaining crumbs on his hoodie. Somehow, the knot in his chest loosened.

Wendy suddenly blurted, “OH. There’s chai in here. That’s why it tastes so weird.” She held up her nearly empty cup like a revelation.

Kyle raised an eyebrow. “If it tastes weird, why’d you keep drinking it?”

“It was a good weird,” she insisted cheerily.

Kenny nodded, mouth full. “I like good weird.”

Kyle’s laugh slipped out before he could stop it, his nerves dissolving completely.

About forty-five minutes later, the three of them were sprawled around the coffee table at Kyle and Stan’s apartment, a messy pile of cards between them. Kyle had insisted “it’s not hard to explain” when he introduced the game. Kenny quickly learned two things:

1. It was, in fact, hard to explain.
   
   
2. He didn’t mind, because it was cooperative - and that meant Wendy and Kyle couldn’t team up against him the way they always did in board games.
   
   

By round four, Wendy was practically yelling across the table, flinging her cards at him. “He’s doing it on purpose!”

Kenny leaned back with his arms raised, laughing. “How can I do it on purpose if I don’t even understand what’s happening?”

The front door opened. Stan stepped inside, sweaty from his shift, a canvas grocery bag hanging off one arm. He took one look at the scene and smirked. “Ah, I see Kyle’s dragged you into that game.”

“Dragged us?” Wendy said. “Kenny’s sabotaging us.”

Stan tossed his bag into his room and disappeared toward the bathroom. “Once I scrub off all the grocery store germs, deal me a hand.”

Kenny checked the time on his phone and pushed back from the table. “Actually, Stan can take my spot. I should head out anyway, gotta get ready for my shift.”

Kyle opened his mouth to say goodbye but found himself rising too, trailing Kenny to the door. It felt like too much to walk him home just because. But still, he lingered there while Kenny tugged on his jacket and bent to lace his boots.

“See you,” Kenny said, casual as always, giving him a quick wave before slipping into the hall.

“Right, see ya.” Kyle stood for a beat longer, then shut the door.

Back at the coffee table, Wendy immediately leaned toward him, wiggling her eyebrows.

“No,” Kyle said flatly, already rolling his eyes.

Wendy laughed, collapsing against the couch. “Okay, okay. But we are doing a mall trip. Get you that updated wardrobe.”

Kyle groaned. “Fine. But Stan’s coming too. I don’t want a women’s-gaze-focused wardrobe.”

“Deal. Whatever that means.” Wendy’s grin turned wicked. “But first, you’re helping me make noodles for lunch. Not gas station noodles, either. Don’t worry, I won’t tell Kenny.”

Kyle muttered something under his breath but dragged himself to the kitchen, pulling out a pot and measuring cup while Wendy rooted through the cabinet for seasoning.

The noodles were nearly finished when Stan padded back out from his room, hair damp from his shower, a clean T-shirt clinging to his shoulders. He stopped at the kitchen counter, eyeing the steam rising from the pot.

“You guys making lunch without me after playing cards without me?” he teased.

“There’s still some left to do,” Wendy said brightly, stirring.

Stan opened the fridge, pulled out a carton, and held it up. “Want me to chop some mushrooms to toss in?”

Kyle shrugged from where he was pulling out bowls. “Sure. Bulk it up.”

They all fell into a comfortable rhythm - Wendy keeping the noodles from sticking, Kyle portioning out broth, Stan methodically slicing mushrooms into neat, even pieces. It was warm and domestic in a way Kyle wasn’t used to, and it made the little kitchen feel less like a crash pad and more like home.

Wendy, as usual, was the first to break the quiet. “Oh! Kyle’s got a museum date.”

Kyle nearly dropped the ladle. “It’s not a date -”

Stan glanced up, brows knitting. “Wait, with Craig?”

Kyle froze. “...yes? What a guess.”

Stan slid the mushrooms into the pan. “Huh. Well, makes sense if he and Tweek are on a break. Did you see Tweek’s story last night? Some dude kissed his cheek. Not in a jokey way either.”

Wendy waved her spoon dismissively. “Oh, please. Guys can kiss each other’s cheeks as friends.”

Kyle gave her a look. “I’ve never kissed Stan’s cheek.”

Stan arched an eyebrow. “So, what, if I kissed your cheek right now it’d be weird?”

“Yeah,” Kyle said firmly. He turned to Wendy. “What about me kissing your cheek? That cool?”

Wendy narrowed her eyes at the pot of noodles, thinking about it with exaggerated seriousness. Finally, she shook her head. “...No. Definitely no.”

That made Stan grin, but Wendy was already pivoting to Kyle, sing-songy now. “Point is: Craig inviting you. Total afterthought including Kenny and me. He wanted it one-on-one.”

Kyle felt his stomach twist. “He also looked like he hadn’t slept in three days,” he muttered, but they were both grinning at him now, merciless.

“You’ve got a chance,” Wendy said.

Stan nodded like it was fact.

Kyle’s pulse kicked up, heat rising to his face. He looked down at the table. “Guess I really do need that wardrobe upgrade.”

Stan let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You? Complaining about clothes? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complain about sweater weather. You’d just throw on a hoodie.”

“That’s what I said!” Wendy jabbed her spoon toward him, triumphant.

Kyle groaned and dropped into his chair as they all sat down to eat, but the truth was he was already mentally cataloging which of his sweaters looked the least boring.