Chapter Text
The Broflovski residence felt unexpectedly peaceful that Friday afternoon. The whole house was covered in golden rays of sunshine, thanks to the early spring brightness that South Park was actually rarely known for. Kyle tossed his backpack aimlessly across the room, took off his boots and flopped with his face first onto his bed. After two whole minutes of doing absolutely nothing, his phone vibrated.
Stan: “So prom tonight. U ready, sexy bitch? ;)”
Kyle smiled at his phone. Stan had been sending him messages like this for weeks now. It was a mix of irony, mischief and that typical Marsh energy that somehow made even the dullest events sound like something special. Kyle responded back quickly:
Kyle: “Dude, you mean ready to drag you out of the punch bowl? I'm in.”
He dropped the phone and thoughtfully looked at the ceiling. It was prom night, well actually their senior prom night and for many, it was the big night. But for him, it felt more like some weird obligation. South Park High even held theirs weeks earlier than most schools did, probably because the town was too small-minded and disorganized to stick to any kind of normal schedule. And of course, he didn’t have a date. Not that it bothered him. The past few weeks had been strange anyway.
Stan had broken up with Wendy for good. Kyle had to admit it ended unusually fast, considering how long they had been together. There were no arguments, no apologies and neither of them wanted to change their status. He had always assumed they would stay together forever, get married one day and have a bunch of babies. His best friend had been in love with Wendy since third grade, so much that he literally got sick every time she was around or kissed him. His nerves often got in the way but at least now he managed to keep his stomach under control.
Once the puking phase passed, their relationship started to feel predestined, as if it had been written in stone. They had always been the kind of couple parents adored. She was smart and kind and he had the easy charm of an athlete with a soft heart. They loved each other in a way that was obvious to anyone watching. Wendy gave him her full attention and Stan did everything he could to keep her happy. Together they were like the perfect match. Even when they disagreed, they always found their way back to each other. For it to end so suddenly left a strange echo behind.
Kyle still remembered the afternoon Stan had shown up at his door, eyes wide and fingers trembling, as if the breakup hadn’t just been sad but somehow terrifying for him. Back then Kyle had figured it was just the impact of a first love. Soon after, Stan seemed lighter and had more time for their friendship again. Kyle never held that against him because he knew relationships had their own gravity. And somehow, they had always remained best friends beneath it.
Over the past weeks they had been hanging out almost every day: binge-watching shows at Kyle’s place, playing on the Okama Gamesphere all through the night, bike rides with reckless downhill stretches, hours of talking nonsense that often drifted into unexpectedly deep conversations about the future, about college, about what if they lost each other and things like that. Kyle had appreciated it more than he wanted to admit. Spending time with Stan reminded him of how much he loved being needed. And Kyle truly enjoyed being needed.
He had also noticed that Stan had been more physical with him lately. Whether it was grabbing him by the arm or shoulder, pushing him around or letting his legs fall over Kyle’s on the couch. Small, negligible events that had become more and more frequent. Not that Kyle minded.
A sudden knock at his door snapped him out of his daydreams.
“Kyle, start getting dressed! Prom’s in three hours!” his mom, Sheila, yelled at him.
“I know, Mom! I’m not a girl!”
“But you act like one!” Ike shot back from the hall.
Kyle rolled his eyes. “I can still kick you, you know!” He hurled a pillow at the door, grumbling angrily as he got up with a sigh.
Under the shower, he wondered what would happen if he just relaxed and go with flow tonight. No pressure, no high school drama. Just having fun with his pals, fooling around with Stan, maybe even catching someone’s eye. Bebe had been winking at him again. Nicole too, actually.
After that, he put on a dark blue suit, tried to get his crazy, stubborn red hair that wouldn't cooperate with him into place and neat his black tie with a straight line. Right then, his phone lit up again.
Stan: “Plan for tonight: 1. you & me. 2. alcohol. 3. dance or bail. 4. see who flirts dumber ;)”
Kyle: “That’s easy, dude. It’s you when you’re drunk. I don’t stand a chance.”
Stan: “Challenge accepted.”
Kyle chuckled softly. Maybe that was the right plan: to just enjoy the evening and stop overthinking. Stan was his best friend and maybe, for once, even a decent wingman. If he did hook up with someone tonight, it would feel good to remember he wasn’t always just the responsible one, the nerd, the second guy behind Stan. He stepped in front of the mirror, adjusted his tie and looked at himself. Not perfect, but yeah, good enough, he thought.
Maybe this would be a night to remember after all.
The school’s gym was decorated with balloons in popping colors and somewhere in the background a cheesy pop ballad from the 2000s played. Most students were either on the dance floor or crowded around the punch bowl, which by now (thanks to Stan) was clearly spiked with more than just juice.
For a senior prom, it felt almost ordinary. The same songs, the same bad lighting, the same mix of people pretending the final school dance mattered more than it really did. But hey, this was South Park, so no surprise there. No matter the occasion, things rarely changed.
Stan, supposed to be his wingman, turned out to be terrible at it. After a while he drifted off to his own corner, leaving Kyle to handle the flirting all by himself. And to his own surprise, it actually worked out pretty well. He flirted, he laughed and he danced with a lot of girls all evening. Especially Bebe.
Later, he saw his best friend leaning against the wall, barely standing on his feet with a half-empty red solo cup in his hand. His tux was crooked, his tie loose and a sloppy, drunken smile spread across his face. Kyle, on the other hand, still looked put together in his suit, the dark fabric fitting him well and making him stand out even more than usual.
“Duuuude… you’re so… red,” Stan slurred, blinking exaggeratedly before bursting into laughter. “Like a frickin' tomato with legs... or a lobster!”
Kyle sighed and grabbed his arm. “Come on, we’re leaving before Mr. Mackey kicks you out or you puke on the dance floor. That’s the reason I didn't drink tonight. And just for the record, lobsters aren’t really red anyway.”
“Unless they’re cooked! I’m… I’m not going anywhere without you,” Stan muttered and let Kyle guide him down the hall, past giggling students, kissing couples and Cartman arguing loudly with Butters about the quality of the buffet.
The noise of the dance faded as they moved further away. The corridor was poorly lit and quiet, except for the echo of their steps and Stan’s drunk chuckles. Just as Kyle reached the side exit and fumbled for his keys, Stan yanked his arm back.
“Kyle… wait.”
“God dammit, what now?” Kyle turned, annoyed.
Stan looked at him and for a brief moment he seemed clearer. His gaze lingered longer than it should have, drawn to the way Kyle’s suit still sat neatly on him, how steady and determined he looked.
Suddenly he stepped closer. “Dude, I… I don’t know how to say it right. Maybe I’ve had a little too much to drink, okay? But… this… well… I’ve felt this for a while now.”
Before Kyle could even react, Stan put a hand on his cheek and suddenly leaned in. The kiss only lasted for a hestitant second but it was surprisingly soft for someone who could barely stand. Kyle froze as soon as he realized what had happened.
“Uh Stan?” he pushed him back, gentle but firm. “What the hell was that?!”
Stan immediately backed away, looking small and almost fragile. “I just wanted to try it. What if it’s real? What if I—”
“You’re drunk, man. That doesn’t even count.” Kyle cut him off immediately, still confused. His eyes flickered, not with anger but with something more like uncertainity.
The silence around them felt like an eternity, no one really knew what to do.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Kyle mumbled eventually, avoiding his gaze.
Stan just nodded slowly. “But I wanted to.”
Kyle stayed quiet but something inside him was working—confusion, doubt, anger, annoyance but also the warm feeling of Stan’s lips still on his.
He inhaled deeply. “Come on, jerk. I’ll drive you home now.”