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Kyle Broflovski was perfect.
Not in the dramatic, movie-star way people tossed around carelessly, but in a way that felt real—solid, dependable. The kind of person you noticed once and then couldn't stop noticing after that. He was thoughtful, always the first to raise his hand when something didn't make sense, the first to speak up when someone was being unfair. Logical to a fault, sometimes, but never cruel. Reasonable. Principled. The kind of boy teachers trusted without question and classmates listened to even when they pretended not to.
And he was kind—genuinely kind. Not performative, not for attention. Just... Kyle.
She loved the way his curly red hair never quite behaved, always springing back no matter how often he tried to flatten it down. The way his expression was usually serious, brows knit together like he was always thinking three steps ahead, but softened completely when he laughed. His posture was confident without being arrogant, his movements purposeful. He wasn't the tallest guy around, but he didn't need to be. He filled space naturally, like he belonged wherever he stood.
Kyle Broflovski was perfect.
And the new girl saw it immediately.
From her very first week at South Park High School, she found excuses to talk to him. Asking about homework she already understood. Commenting on class discussions just to hear his response. Slowing her pace in the hallways so she could walk beside him, even if only for a few seconds. If she saw him at Stark's Pond or in town, she'd strike up a conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world—because talking to Kyle felt natural. Easy. Comforting.
He was polite to her. Friendly. Always willing to listen.
Which only made it worse.
There was just one thing she couldn't understand.
Why was he always with Stan?
Stan Marsh was... fine. That was the nicest thing she could say about him. Perfectly average. Dark hair, blue eyes, nothing remarkable enough to linger on. He dressed like every other boy in town and blended into crowds effortlessly—too effortlessly. If Kyle was someone you noticed immediately, Stan was someone you forgot the moment he left the room.
They were about the same height, sure, but that was where the comparison ended. Stan had a couple of odd details—two mismatched earrings, chipped black nail polish—that felt less like personality and more like an attempt at one. He played football instead of basketball, had dated a cheerleader once, and carried himself with that laid-back confidence of someone who had never really had to try.
Typical. Predictable. Boring.
And yet, no matter where Kyle went, Stan was there.
Sitting next to him in class. Walking beside him in the halls. Showing up when she finally managed to corner Kyle alone, only to insert himself into the conversation like he belonged there. It was infuriating. Kyle deserved better company—someone who could keep up with him intellectually, challenge him, appreciate him.
Stan didn't seem like he had much to offer at all.
She watched him closely, trying to understand what she was missing. The way he lingered just a little too close to Kyle. The way he always deferred to him, laughed at his jokes first, backed him up without hesitation. It almost felt like Stan revolved around Kyle, like he was content just being in his orbit.
A follower.
That was the word that stuck in her mind.
Maybe Stan stuck around because Kyle made him look better by comparison. Maybe he liked being associated with someone smart, respected, admired. Maybe he was just afraid to let go of the one thing that made him interesting.
Whatever the reason, she couldn't stand it.
Every time Stan interrupted, every time Kyle glanced his way instinctively, something twisted uncomfortably in her chest. She didn't understand why Kyle tolerated him—why he chose him. Surely, if Kyle really looked around, he'd see there were better options.
Someone who adored him.
Someone who noticed everything.
Someone who put him first.
There was one moment she replayed more than any other.
She'd run into Kyle at Whole Foods one Saturday afternoon, right by the snack aisle. The universe had practically handed him to her—alone, no less—standing there with a shopping cart and that familiar thoughtful crease between his eyebrows as he compared labels. The lighting was good, too. Natural. Soft. It caught the red in his curls just right.
It felt like fate.
They talked easily, like they always did. About school, about how exhausting junior year already was, about how his weekend had been swallowed by practice and homework. He actually listened to her—nodded, responded, laughed at the right moments. When he smiled at her, it felt warm, genuine, like she'd earned it. She could almost swear there was something charged in the air between them, something delicate and promising.
And then, of course, Stan ruined it.
He appeared out of nowhere, voice cutting straight through the conversation like it had never mattered in the first place.
"Should I get normal buttered popcorn—six in one box for three dollars—or extra buttery popcorn with four in one box for four?"
He didn't even acknowledge her at first. Just leaned against the cart like it was his, crowding Kyle's space in that casual, entitled way of his.
Kyle didn't seem bothered, which annoyed her more than it should have.
"Cheaper, dude," Kyle said immediately, barely even glancing up. "I barely have any money left."
Stan laughed, soft and familiar, like this was a conversation they'd had a hundred times before. He reached past Kyle without asking and dropped the cheaper box into the cart anyway. "Then I'll pay for our stuff. I got paid last week—oh."
Only then did he notice her.
"Oh," he repeated, blinking, like she'd materialized inconveniently. "Hi."
Kyle looked between them, expression lighting up with recognition. "Oh! Right—Stan, this is Jen. Jen, this is Stan."
Of course he knows my name, she thought, heart fluttering.
Stan lifted a hand in a lazy little wave. "Nice to meet you."
Jen smiled politely, though inside she bristled. The moment felt awkward in a way Kyle never was on his own. Kyle was smooth, thoughtful, present. Stan dragged everything down with him—his interruptions, his looming presence, the way Kyle suddenly seemed... distracted.
"Nice to meet you too," she said, evenly.
Stan hovered close to Kyle after that, leaning in to murmur something about dinner plans, nudging the cart forward without asking. It was irritating how comfortable he was—how easily he slipped into Kyle's space, like he belonged there. Like he always had.
Jen told herself it was habit. Convenience. Nothing more.
Kyle glanced back at her, apologetic but smiling. "We should probably get going. See you, Jen."
He waved, and she waved back, clinging to that small kindness like proof.
Stan didn't say goodbye. He just followed after Kyle, close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed. He trailed him down the aisle, one hand gripping the cart, the other gesturing animatedly as he continued talking—too much, too close, too familiar.
It was embarrassing, really.
Stan looked like a lost dog tagging along, like someone afraid to be left behind. Jen watched them disappear toward the checkout, irritation pooling in her chest. Kyle deserved space. He deserved someone who actually saw him, not someone who clung to him out of convenience or comfort.
Coming back to the present, she watched them from across the hallway.
Stan was talking—of course he was. He leaned against the lockers like he owned the place, rambling about something that was, without a doubt, painfully boring. Kyle stood in front of his locker, shoulders tense as he pulled out notebooks and folders, nodding along. Eventually, Kyle slammed his locker shut a little harder than necessary.
There. Proof.
Stan didn't seem the slightest bit bothered, he just smiled at Kyle, soft and stupid, and said something under his breath that made Kyle sigh. Jen almost scoffed aloud. Wow. Stan really couldn't take a hint if it hit him in the face. Kyle was clearly irritated, clearly ready to be left alone, and Stan just kept hovering.
Then Stan did something that made her stomach twist.
He reached out and handed Kyle his notebooks and stepped behind him. Before Kyle could even react, Stan slipped off his varsity jacket and draped it around Kyle's shoulders with practiced ease, fingers lingering just a second too long.
Kyle turned immediately, eyes glimmering, and shoved the notebooks back into Stan's arms. He smiled when he did it, but Jen knew better.
Stan just laughed.
She clenched her jaw.
They started walking together, Stan matching Kyle's pace perfectly. Kyle suddenly stopped and gestured over his shoulder, pointing in the opposite direction—his first class. Stan sighed dramatically, like he'd been personally wronged by the concept of separate schedules.
They talked for another moment, too close, voices low. Stan nodded, then reached out and grabbed Kyle's arm, squeezing it briefly before finally turning away.
Kyle smiled after him.
Jen felt vindicated. Completely, utterly vindicated.
Stan Marsh was a goddamn suck-up.
Kyle turned and headed toward his class, and that was when Jen stepped in front of him.
"Hey, Kyle. Long time no see." He blinked, clearly surprised, then relaxed. "Oh—hey. How's it going?"
She shrugged casually. "Same old, same old. You?"
Kyle yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. "Nothing new. Just tired. Kinda wanna go home already." Jen nodded sympathetically. Stan must have bored him to death.
"So," she said, carefully, "I had a question I wanted to ask you."
Kyle tilted his head, giving her his full attention. "What's up?"
"What's... up with Stan?"
Immediately, Kyle straightened. His posture shifted, like she'd flipped a switch. His eyes lit up, alert and focused in a way they hadn't been seconds ago.
"Stan?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"
She almost smiled. He was probably relieved—finally someone noticed. Finally someone gave him permission to talk about it.
"Does he always follow you around, or...?" she trailed off gently.
Kyle frowned. "Follow me around? No. We just—" he paused, clearly confused. "We hang out all the time. It's not like that. We kinda just... follow each other."
She hummed noncommittally.
"So you like Stan?" she asked.
Kyle didn't hesitate. "Yeah. Yup. A hundred percent." He smiled, but there was something restrained about it, like he was holding back. Like there was more he wanted to say but couldn't bring himself to. Jen's chest tightened with sympathy. Poor Kyle. Too kind for his own good. Too nice to admit when someone was getting under his skin.
"Ah," she said softly. "I see."
"Why?" Kyle asked.
She waved a hand. "No reason. I just noticed he's always with you. Must be kinda... exhausting. Having him around everywhere, huh?"
She nudged his arm playfully.
Kyle blinked. "No? I mean—sometimes," he hesitated, stumbling over his words, "when he gets need—uh—when he gets to be a bit of a handful, I guess. But everyone's a handful sometimes, y'know?"
His cheeks flushed slightly.
Anger, she decided. Frustration.
Kyle stopped outside his classroom. "Well, I'll see you around."
"Yeah," she said, smiling. "See you."
He disappeared inside, and Jen stood there for a moment longer, watching the door swing shut. She'd get him to open up eventually. She knew she would.
Kyle Broflovski just needed someone who truly understood him—someone who saw through Stan's clingy behavior, someone who wasn't fooled by surface-level loyalty. It wouldn't be long before Kyle realized who actually deserved to be by his side.
And when he did, Stan Marsh would finally be gone.
-Day 1-
Early that morning, Kyle walked into school with Stan right behind him.
As always.
Jen spotted them the moment they stepped through the doors—Kyle's familiar stride, backpack slung over one shoulder, and Stan keeping pace effortlessly at his side, close enough that their arms brushed every few steps. Stan leaned in as he talked, head tipped toward Kyle like their conversation existed in its own little bubble.
Jen clicked her tongue loudly.
Bebe, who had been fixing her lip gloss in her compact mirror, glanced up at her. "What?"
"I really don't like Stan," Jen said flatly.
Bebe froze. Slowly lowered the mirror. "Wait—what? Why not?"
Jen didn't even have to think about it. "He's annoying. He clings to Kyle like he'll die without him."
Bebe stared at her, genuinely baffled. "Well duh. Jen... Stan's not that bad. He's actually pretty cool if you get to know him."
Jen scoffed. "I don't think Kyle even likes him that much."
Bebe made a louder, sharper sound of surprise. "What?! How did you even come to that conclusion?" She gestured wildly toward the boys. "They've been attached at the hip since they were, like, babies. Everyone knows that."
"More like Stan refuses to let go," Jen muttered. "He's a parasite."
Bebe blinked. "That's—harsh."
Jen chewed on her lip, eyes narrowing as she watched Stan laugh at something Kyle said, bumping their shoulders together like it was instinct. Kyle smiled back without hesitation.
An idea sparked.
"I've got a plan," Jen said suddenly. "Watch this."
"Jen, wait—what are you—?"
Too late.
Jen marched toward them.
Kyle had stopped at his locker, twisting the combination as Stan leaned in, resting his elbow casually against the metal beside Kyle's head. They were standing far too close—close enough that Kyle didn't even flinch.
"I thought Ike said he didn't like when I came over," Stan said, voice teasing.
Kyle snorted. "He said that, like, two years ago, dude. He loves when you come over." Stan's face brightened immediately. "Oh. Good to know." He grinned. "Guess brothers really do think alike."
Kyle shot him a look and punched his shoulder lightly, smiling despite himself. "Shut up." The smile lingered.
Jen's stomach twisted.
Wow. Kyle looked exhausted. Clearly humoring him. Probably too nice to tell Stan to back off.
Jen cleared her throat loudly.
Both of them turned.
"Hey, Kyle!" she said brightly, flashing him her biggest smile—the one she practiced. Then she glanced at Stan and gave him the bare minimum. "Stan."
Stan noticed the hostility immediately.
It was hard not to.
He'd barely opened his mouth when Jen swooped in, voice sharp and overly bright all at once.
"Uh, good mo—"
"So, Kyle," she cut in smoothly, planting herself closer to him, "I heard you have a game this Friday."
Stan blinked, thrown off, then frowned. "I wasn't done talking...”
Kyle glanced over at him, brow furrowing just slightly. He leaned closer and muttered something under his breath—too quiet for Jen to hear—but whatever it was made Stan's shoulders ease instantly, the tension melting out of him like it had never been there.
Jen scoffed internally. What a baby.
"Uh, yeah," Kyle said, turning back to her. "I do. What time was it again, bab—"
He stopped himself abruptly. "S—Stan?"
Stan smiled, unmistakably pleased, and did something behind Kyle's back that made Kyle immediately swat his hand away without even looking. "Cut it out," Kyle muttered, but there was no bite to it at all.
"Six on the dot," Stan said easily. "Five if you wanna sit through conditioning, but that stuff's boring. I'd say get there around five-thirty if you want decent seats."
Jen's jaw tightened.
Suck. Fucking. Up.
"You seem to know a lot," she said flatly.
Stan tilted his head, eyes flicking to her for the first time with genuine interest. Something amused flashed across his face, quick and knowing, like he was finally putting together a puzzle he'd already half-solved.
"Well," Jen continued quickly, forcing her smile back into place, "I was wondering if you wanted to get something to eat after your game. Since you'll obviously win."
Stan raised an eyebrow.
"Oh—uh, I don't think so. Sorry." He shrugged apologetically. "I'm usually exhausted after games. I'll probably just go home and crash." Jen's heart practically melted out of her chest.
God, he was so honest. So sweet. So unlike Stan.
"Oh, that's totally okay!" she said quickly. "But if you change your mind, just let me know, okay?"
She lifted her hand into a fist, holding it there expectantly. Kyle stared at it for a second, confused, before smiling awkwardly and bumping it with his own. "Yeah. Sure."
"See you, Kyle!" she waved, voice sugary.
She spared Stan one last glance. His expression was unreadable—almost entertained. That alone irritated her.
She turned and walked away, heels clicking with purpose, already replaying the interaction in her head. Behind her, she heard Stan speak first, voice low.
"Kyle, dude..."
They started whispering.
Jen glanced back just in time to see Kyle roll his eyes. "Stan. No. Just no."
Stan laughed softly. "You're so oblivious it's actually insane." Kyle groaned. "Drop it."
Jen's chest tightened.
Poor Kyle. Trapped. Cornered. Dealing with Stan's nonsense even after she'd tried to rescue him.
She wanted to march back over there, grab Kyle by the wrist, and pull him away from Stanley Marsh once and for all. Save him from the guy who wouldn't stop clinging, wouldn't stop inserting himself, wouldn't take a hint.
But she stopped herself.
She just had to wait.
The perfect moment would come eventually.
-Day 2-
Jen sat at her usual lunch table, knees angled toward the windows, eyes locked across the cafeteria.
Stan Marsh sat alone at one of the empty tables near the vending machines, slouched in his chair, scrolling through his phone like he owned the place. One leg was hooked around the chair rung, varsity jacket tossed carelessly over the seat beside him—as if he were saving it for someone.
The sight made her jaw tighten.
He didn't even look lonely. Didn't look desperate. Just... comfortable. Like he knew something everyone else didn't.
Wendy cleared her throat.
"Hellooo? Jen?"
Jen didn't respond.
"Jen," Wendy repeated, louder. "You've been staring at Stan for, like, five minutes."
Jen scoffed. "I'm not staring."
Wendy raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. I already told you—you should go for someone else. He's not exactly up for grabs—“
Jen immediately spat out her apple juice.
"I do not like Stan!" she shouted, slamming her fist down on the table hard enough to rattle trays and knock over napkins.
Bebe flinched. Wendy and Bebe exchanged a look—one of those quick, silent conversations Jen never seemed to notice.
"Okay," Bebe said gently. "We get it."
Wendy sighed and reached across the table, calmly reconstructing Bebe's sandwich, which had exploded everywhere from the impact. She fixed it carefully, then slid it back toward her.
Their fingers brushed.
Wendy smiled at Bebe without thinking—soft, fond, familiar.
Bebe smiled back, cheeks dimpling, and instinctively reached up to tuck a loose strand of Wendy's hair behind her ear. Wendy laughed under her breath, leaning closer as they both started giggling quietly over nothing at all.
Jen frowned.
She didn't get what was so funny. Or why Bebe felt the need to touch Wendy's hair—it had been perfectly fine where it was. People at South Park were just close like that. Well, whatever.
"Where's Kyle?" Jen asked suddenly.
Wendy snapped her attention back to her. "Kyle? He's probably on his way. Maybe with Kenny. Or Butters. Maybe with Cartman but really big maybe on that one."
Bebe chimed in cheerfully, "If he's not with Stan, then he's with one of those three on his way to Stan."
Jen shook her head immediately. "Yeah, no. Kyle doesn't like Stan.
The reaction was instant.
"What?!" Wendy shot up so fast her chair screeched against the floor. Her eyes were wide, genuinely alarmed. "He said that?! When?!"
Bebe looked just as startled, quickly patting Wendy's arm and pulling her into a side hug. "Hey—hey. Breathe."
Jen waved her hand dismissively. "He didn't say it. Yet. It's just obvious.”
Wendy stared at her like she'd started speaking another language. "What? No way. That's—Jen, that's completely backwards. Stan is literally Kyle's favorite person, they’re practically marri—"
Bebe snorted before she could stop herself.
Jen shot her a sharp glare. "What's that supposed to mean?" Bebe pressed her lips together, failing to hide her smile.
Wendy rubbed her face. "Jen... everyone knows. Like. Everyone."
"Knows what?" Jen snapped, "That they're friends?"
Jen crossed her arms. "My gut never fails me. I just don't think everything is as perfect as it seems."
Right on cue—
"Oh!" Jen's face lit up. "There's Kyle! I'm gonna go talk to him!" she chirped, bouncing away before Wendy could stop her, only watching as she walked to doom.
Kyle entered the cafeteria with Kenny at his side, mid-conversation. Kenny was gesturing wildly, muffled voice spilling out beneath his hood, and Kyle nodded along like he understood every word.
They slid into the long table where Kenny was already slipping go sit beside Butters.
Within seconds—literally seconds—the rest of the table filled up like it always did. Cartman waddled in with Craig and Tweek trailing behind him, Tolkien slipping into a seat with practiced ease. It was automatic. Muscle memory. Like they'd been doing this for years.
Kyle sat down next to Stan without thinking.
Stan noticed immediately. He put his phone face-up on the table and smiled at Kyle—soft, familiar, like the highlight of his lunch had just arrived. Kyle smiled back, leaning in a little as they started talking quietly, heads angled toward each other.
Jen lingered at a nearby table, watching.
The entire group rose almost in unison a moment later and shuffled toward the lunch line in a loud, chaotic cluster. Jen followed instinctively, slipping in behind Kyle.
She didn't mind the wait.
Kyle stood just a few feet ahead of her. The cafeteria lights caught the red in his hair again, and she found herself staring—admiring the slope of his shoulders, the way he shifted his weight when he got impatient.
Five minutes passed before she realized she hadn't blinked.
She could hear the group clearly.
"Mmf mgh mfh mgf!" Kenny said, waving his hands.
"Yeah, hurry the fuck up, Cartman!" Stan yelled. Jen winced. God, Stan was so immature. Cursing in school? Yelling like some kind of—
"Shut up, Stan!" Cartman barked. "Tell that to your greedy Jew who's gonna steal the entire cafeteria stock!"
"Fuck off, fatass!" Kyle snapped immediately, flipping Cartman off without hesitation.
Jen blinked. Okay. So Kyle did yell. And curse. But that was different. He was defending himself. Totally justified.
Cartman lunged dramatically. "You know what, Kahl?! How about you shut up and suck my dick for a change?!"
He shoved into Kenny.
Kenny went flying into Stan.
Stan stumbled into Kyle.
Kyle slammed straight back into Jen.
Who then slammed into someone behind her.
She barely noticed the random girl behind her who scowled and muttered something annoyed. Jen was far too busy processing the fact that Kyle had just bumped into her. Hard. His elbow brushed her arm. For a split second, his back pressed into her.
She didn't mind at all. She was in fact, blessed.
"Fuck off, Cartman!" Stan and Kyle yelled at the exact same time.
In sync.
Cartman laughed, completely satisfied, and waddled off to another line. The tension dissolved instantly. Everyone relaxed, stepping forward to grab their food like nothing had happened.
Kyle, however, was still fuming.
"Why are we still friends with that asshole?" he muttered. "Like, what is his problem? So fucking annoying."
Stan sighed loudly, the sound fond more than tired. He turned toward Kyle—and briefly, his eyes flicked to Jen.
Not in acknowledgment. Not curiosity. Just a glance, then he turned back to Kyle like nothing else in the cafeteria existed. It almost looked like Stan was in love with Kyle.
The way he leaned in. The way he tuned everything else out. The way Kyle didn't pull away. But that was even more sad for Stan. Kyle clearly hated Stan, Stan was just hopelessly attached.
Stan reached out without hesitation, resting his hand on Kyle's shoulder.
His thumb moved slowly, grounding, rubbing up and down Kyle's upper arm in a way that was practiced—like he'd done this a thousand times before and never once thought about it. It wasn't rushed or awkward. It was just... there.
Jen scoffed internally.
God, he was desperate. It was honestly painful to watch.
"Deep breaths, Ky," Stan murmured.
Jen nearly rolled her eyes out of her skull.
Who the hell did Stan think he was, giving Kyle advice? Like he actually knew how to help him? Kyle didn't need this. He needed real comfort. A hug. A kiss. Someone gentle. Someone who actually understood him. Someone like—
"I just—man, he gets on my nerves," Kyle huffed, dragging a hand down his face. He inhaled deeply, then sighed it out.
"There you go," Stan said softly. "Trust me. Breathe first. Then we'll talk shit to our heart's content."
Horrible advice, Jen decided. And he wouldn't even stop touching him. His hand had slid to Kyle's back now, rubbing slow circles like he belonged there. It was irritating. Excessive. Unnecessary.
"Thanks, Stan," Kyle said, reaching up and grabbing the arm that was soothing him. Jen's jaw tightened.
Kyle squeezed Stan's bicep, hard. Probably out of annoyance. Obviously.
"Oh," Kyle added, squeezing again.
Stan startled slightly. "Oh—uh." He raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
Kyle tilted his head, voice dropping just a bit. "Your biceps got bigger. Wow." He squeezed again, fingers lingering.
"Stanley Marsh." He said in a low, murmur.
Stan flushed instantly—pink blooming across his cheeks all the way to his ears as he pulled his arm back. "Dude," he hissed, flustered. "We're in school. Don't fucking start if I start getting to be a handful."
He even made air quotes.
Kyle laughed, bright and genuine, and for a second it looked like he was about to grab Stan's hand again—his fingers twitched toward him—before he caught himself and pulled back.
"Yeah, yeah," Kyle said lightly. "Whatever. I was just observing." He nudged Stan with his shoulder, making some kind of face Jen wished she could've seen.
Stan made a face in response—something soft and stupid and fond—and smiled at Kyle in a way that made his entire expression change. His eyes practically melted, like he forgot where he was for a second. Like Kyle was the only thing in front of him.
Jen watched the whole thing.
Well, that confirmed it.
Stan Marsh was clearly in love with Kyle.
The way he touched him. The way he flushed. The way he looked at him like that.
Pathetic.
Too bad Kyle hated his guts.
Eventually, the line moved forward again. They grabbed their food, Stan drifting back into Kyle's space like it was second nature, and the moment passed.
Jen stood there, heart pounding—not with jealousy, but with resolve. Now all she had to do was help Kyle see it, help him realize how obsessed Stan was.
And once Kyle understood that? Once he saw how weird and inappropriate Stan's feelings were?
He'd finally cut him off. She just had to wait for the right moment.
-Day 3-
School had ended hours ago, the campus mostly quiet now—just the echo of distant voices and the occasional clang from the gym. Jen spotted Kyle sitting by the bleachers, legs stretched out in front of him, phone in hand, gum working lazily between his teeth.
Her heart jumped.
She quickly checked her reflection in her phone, smoothing her hair and adjusting her jacket. Okay. Calm. Casual. She took a breath and started toward him—
Only to be beaten there by Kenny McCormick.
"Hey, Kyle!" Kenny said cheerfully, hood down for once.
Kyle looked up immediately, face softening. "Hey, Kenny."
Kenny plopped down beside him without hesitation and leaned his head straight onto Kyle's shoulder, sighing contentedly like a cat curling up for a nap. His eyes slid shut.
Kyle didn't even flinch.
He just adjusted slightly and went back to his phone.
Jen nearly combusted.
To be able to sleep on Kyle Broflovski's shoulder—willingly—had to be some kind of divine blessing. She swallowed her jealousy and reminded herself that Kenny was just... Kenny. Harmless. Weird. Definitely not competition.
She squared her shoulders and walked over.
"Hey, Kyle," she said brightly.
Kyle glanced up and smiled, waving. "Hey, Jen."
Kenny cracked one eye open and looked at her, then sat up just enough to squint properly. Blonde hair. Blue eyes. He tilted his head.
"Kenny," Kyle said, gesturing between them, "this is Jen. Jen, this is Kenny."
"Hey, Jen!" Kenny waved enthusiastically. Jen waved back. Okay. Kenny was nice. She liked him already.
"Mind if I sit here?" she asked, pointing to the empty spot on Kyle's other side.
Kyle shook his head easily. "Yeah, sure. I don't mind." Her heart fluttered as she sat down.
For a moment, they just existed there together. Jen leaned back, gazing up at the sky, then stole a glance at Kyle. His eyes were glued to his phone, thumbs moving quickly.
He was texting someone.
A girl? Her stomach dropped.
She leaned back a little farther, craning her neck to see the screen. All she could make out was the contact name at the top.
Number One.
Her brain short-circuited. "You texting your girlfriend?"she blurted out.
Kyle startled, almost dropping his phone. "What? No—uh—no, not really. Not a girlfriend, per se."
Her heart cracked. "...You like her?" she asked quietly. Kyle stiffened. "I mean—yeah? But also no. It's hard to explain. But definitely not a girlfriend." He emphasized it, like it mattered. Like he wanted to be very clear.
Jen's heart didn't just mend. It exploded. Oh my god.
He was making it obvious. He was clarifying! He wanted her to know he was single. He was throwing signals left and right and she was finally catching them.
Beside her, Kenny suddenly burst out laughing.
"Yeah," Kenny said, grinning. "He could never get a girlfriend. He sucks with girls. He's better with b—"
Kyle rolled his eyes and shrugged the shoulder Kenny was leaning on. Kenny's head bounced up and smacked against Kyle's shoulder blade. "Ow!"
Jen beamed.
Oh, she loved Kenny.
He was helping. He had to be. He was clearly setting the stage, embarrassing Kyle on purpose to make things obvious. Kyle's ears had gone faintly red—he was flustered. Embarrassed. Probably mortified that Kenny was exposing him.
Her face flushed hot with excitement.
This was it.
Before she could overthink it, Jen leaned over and gently rested her head on Kyle's shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as fear and hope crashed together in her chest.
"Uhm..." Kyle said uncertainly. She froze. Then rushed out, "Is it okay if I lay on your shoulder?"
"Sure..." Kyle said after a moment, his voice hesitant in a way that made Jen's chest flutter. She took it as nerves and smiled to herself, settling more comfortably against his shoulder. She was just beginning to relax when Kenny leaned in and whispered something into Kyle's ear. Jen couldn't catch the first part, but the second part reached her clearly enough to make her heart skip.
"...gonna get jealous."
Her thoughts derailed instantly. There was no way this wasn't about her. Kenny had planned this—he'd laid his head on Kyle first to make it feel normal, safe, like an invitation. Now he was warning Kyle that someone—obviously Jen—might get jealous if things went too far. Kyle murmured something back, uncertain, probably trying to brush it off, and Jen felt a rush of excitement bloom in her chest.
She opened her eyes just as someone climbed up the bleachers.
Stan Marsh.
He wasn't looking at her at all. His stare was locked on Kyle, sharp and irritated, his jaw set like he was already pissed off. Jen felt a smug curl tug at her lips. Of course. Kyle had put his phone away by then, his whole expression softening when he noticed Stan.
"Hey, man," Kyle greeted him, smiling.
Stan didn't respond.
Kenny let out a quiet, smug cackle beside him. "Told you."
Kyle's smile faltered into a frown, and Jen had to bite back a laugh. Stan was really doing this right now—interrupting, sulking, making it about himself. Kyle was clearly annoyed; anyone would be. He reached out like he was going to grab Stan's hand or stop him, but Stan shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets instead, taking a step back.
"Well," Stan said flatly, "once you're done with your little cuddle-fest, I'll be waiting in the car."
Jen bristled at the tone. Before Kyle could protest, Stan leaned down, invading Kyle's space so suddenly that everything seemed to slow. Kyle froze, and Jen sat up, heart pounding, barely processing what she was seeing in time to watch Stan turn his head and press a quick kiss to Kenny's forehead instead.
Kenny's eyes flew open as Stan straightened, already walking away. He lifted a hand in a lazy wave over his shoulder. "Bye, Ken."
Kenny touched his forehead like he'd been struck. Kyle stood there, completely frozen, shock written all over his face. Jen felt her stomach twist. Was that seriously Stan's attempt to make Kyle jealous? It was gross—and clearly not working.
"What the fuck," Kenny said, staring for half a second longer before looking at Kyle and absolutely losing it. "I fucking told you!" he wheezed through hysterical laughter, sliding off the bleachers and rolling down step by step onto the ground, clutching his stomach like he might die from it.
That finally snapped Kyle out of it. "Shut up, asshole!" he snapped, grabbing his things in a rush before bolting down the bleachers after Stan. "Stan! Wait up! What the hell was that?!"
Kenny was still laughing down below, gasping for air, but Jen barely registered it. She watched Kyle chase after Stan, stunned but satisfied. Of course he'd go after him—probably to finally confront him, to cut him off for good after that disgusting display.
She couldn't wait for tomorrow. Tomorrow Kyle would come to school on his own, no Stan hovering around him, no Stan ruining everything.
Finally, things would be exactly how they were supposed to be.
-Day 4-
Jen's plan had been perfect. Kyle had walked into school alone that morning, just like she'd hoped, and Stan hadn't appeared until a few minutes later. For one blissful stretch of time, it really felt like things were finally shifting. Except—somehow—Stan still ended up walking Kyle to his class anyway. Too close. Too familiar. Maybe he was trying to take Kyle back, Jen thought bitterly.
They talked the whole way, Stan doing that thing he always did—squeezing Kyle's arm before they split off. It should've meant nothing. It usually meant nothing. But this time, Kyle squeezed his arm back, fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary.
Jen didn't like that at all.
Things only got stranger at lunch.
She was walking into the cafeteria with Wendy and Bebe when they noticed a crowd gathered near the center of the room, a loose circle of students pressed in close, voices overlapping with excitement. Something was definitely happening. Curious—and a little smug—Jen pushed forward with the others until they reached the front.
At the center stood Stan and Butters.
Kenny was behind Butters, hands planted firmly on his hips like a proud coach watching his star player warm up. Butters, red-faced and trembling with what he clearly thought was righteous fury, jabbed a finger toward Stan.
"You can't go around kissin' my boyfriend whenever you feel like it, Stan!" Butters declared. "If you want Kenny, you'll have to go through me first, alright?!"
The threat would've landed harder if not for the soft drawl of his accent and the fact that Kenny immediately pumped his fist into the air behind him. "Woohoo!" Kenny cheered from inside his hood, clearly thriving. It was painfully obvious he had started this.
"Fuck him up, Butters!" Cartman yelled from somewhere in the crowd, laughter bubbling around him.
Stan stood there with his arms crossed, unimpressed and already exhausted. "I'm not fighting you, Butters."
The crowd groaned almost in unison.
"Well why not?" Butters shot back, offended.
"I'll get kicked off the team," Stan replied flatly.
That only made things worse.
"Just fight!"
"Fight already!"
"Who cares about the team?!"
The chanting grew louder, the circle tightening, until suddenly someone shoved their way through the crowd with urgency. Kyle burst into the center, eyes wide as he took in the scene.
"Stan?! What the hell is going on?!" he demanded, his gaze snapping from Stan to Butters and then to Kenny, where understanding dawned on his face a second too late.
He sighed and stepped forward anyway, hands raised slightly like he was trying to defuse a bomb. "Hey—hey, guys, c'mon. Butters? We can talk about this, okay?"
Jen's heart actually fluttered at how gentle he sounded.
"N–No we cannot!" Butters stammered, shaking but resolute. "I will fight Stan if it is the last thing I do!"
Stan dragged a hand down his face, already regretting every life choice that had led him here. "Okay," he groaned, loud enough for the crowd to hear. "Fine. You wanna make it even? I'll make it even."
A murmur rippled through the circle as Stan stepped toward Butters. Butters immediately raised his fists, knees shaking but chin tipped up in determination. Everyone leaned in, breath held, waiting for the hit.
Kyle did the opposite.
"Stan! Don't!" he blurted, panic sharp in his voice as he reached out. He tried to grab Stan's sleeve, but Stan had already bolted forward, quick on his feet, dodging him with infuriating ease. Kyle cursed football in his head—of course it made him fast. Of course it made him impossible to catch.
Just as the crowd braced for impact, Stan stopped short.
Instead of swinging, he gently grabbed Butters by the sides of the head, tilted his face down, and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.
The cafeteria went dead silent.
"MMFHFMGHMGFFMH!" Kenny shrieked, sprinting forward and shoving Stan away from Butters like he'd just committed a felony. Butters stood frozen, staring at the floor, fingers hovering over his forehead like he wasn't sure it was real.
Stan rolled his eyes, thoroughly unimpressed, and grabbed Kenny by the hood before he could escape. He leaned down and kissed his forehead too.
Kenny immediately stopped yelling.
Butters, however, snapped back to life, spluttering in outrage—only for Stan to step forward again and plant another quick kiss on his forehead, effectively rebooting him.
"There," Stan said flatly, throwing his hands up. "I kissed your boyfriend's forehead, and now I kissed yours. We even now?"
"No way!" Kyle shouted, voice cracking with something sharp and heated. He shoved his way forward, pointing accusingly at Stan. "We're not even!"
Before anyone could react, Kyle grabbed Butters by the shoulders and kissed his forehead, quick and angry. Then he yanked Kenny in and did the same, the two of them standing there afterward in stunned silence, eyes wide and brains clearly short-circuiting.
The entire cafeteria froze again.
Jen froze too.
“What the—“ Stan said in pure disbelief, looking almost betrayed.
"Fine!" He snapped. "Since you wanna be even so bad!"
He stormed toward Kyle, who stood his ground with his arms crossed, jaw tight. Stan grabbed Kyle's face, fingers firm against his cheeks. Everyone braced themselves, fully expecting another forehead kiss.
It didn't happen.
Instead, Stan leaned in and kissed Kyle's cheek.
Not a peck.
Not quick.
He stayed there.
A full, unbroken minute passed, the room buzzing with whispers and disbelief. Kyle's face burned bright red, matching his hair perfectly.
"Stan!" Kyle shrieked, finally shoving him away and clutching his cheek like it was on fire.
Stan crossed his arms, smug as hell. "Where's mine?"
Kyle glared at him, teeth clenched, before his resolve visibly crumbled. Muttering something under his breath, he stepped forward and pressed a quick, flustered peck to Stan's cheek.
"There! Now we're all even, you fucking assholes!" Stan yelled triumphantly as he grabbed Kyle's arm and dragged him out of the circle, shouldering past stunned onlookers.
The crowd stood in silence.
Kenny and Butters just stared at the floor, processing absolutely none of it.
Jen didn't know what to think.
"Well," Wendy said cheerfully, smiling as if the world hadn't just imploded, "that went well! Glad they're all better now." She linked arms with Bebe and walked off, completely unbothered.
Jen spent the rest of the day convincing herself that Stan Marsh was a master manipulator.
To force Kyle into kissing him? Against his will? Absolutely vile.
Tomorrow, she decided, she would confess at Kyle's game. Win or lose, Kyle would be happier knowing someone normal liked him. Someone who wasn't clingy, possessive, or completely unhinged.
-Day 5-
They were tied.
Not just tied—deadlocked, the score glaring down at everyone like a personal insult. The kind of tie that made the gym buzz with nerves, the kind that pressed on Kyle's chest until it was hard to breathe.
Overtime.
The whistle blew for the break, and Kyle bent forward, hands on his knees before dragging them up into his hair. He paced once, then twice, chest heaving as he tried to steady himself. His jaw was tight, eyes unfocused, like he was already replaying every missed shot in his head.
Jen stood immediately.
This was it. This was her moment to say something meaningful, something supportive—something that would stick with him. She stepped into the aisle, heart pounding, rehearsing words in her head.
She didn't even get halfway down the steps.
Wendy was already there, vaulting the railing with the ease of someone who'd done this a hundred times. Stan was there too, because of course he was—Kyle had walked straight toward him without even looking anywhere else, like his body had decided before his brain could catch up.
Jen froze, fingers curling into the hem of her shirt.
Stan had a towel slung over his shoulder, his face flushed from yelling all game. Wendy popped open a cold water bottle and shoved it into Kyle's hands. Kyle took it immediately, chugging like he hadn't had water in days, sweat dripping down his temples.
God, he looked unfairly good.
His curls were clipped back with a claw, a few rebellious strands already escaping and sticking to his forehead from all the movement. Wendy reached up without asking and tightened the clip, fingers gentle and practiced.
Stan leaned over the fence and pulled Kyle into a tight hug, pressing Kyle's forehead against his shoulder as he spoke fast and low. Whatever he was saying was completely lost in the roar of the gym, swallowed by chants and sneakers squeaking on the court.
Jen strained, leaning forward, but all she could see was Stan's hand gripping Kyle's jersey like he was afraid he'd let go.
Kenny, Cartman, and Butters crowded in too, shouting encouragement—Cartman filming like a menace, Kenny pumping his fist, Butters yelling Kyle's name like it was a prayer. Even Craig and Tweek were there, hovering nearby, Tweek vibrating with anxiety while Craig pretended not to care but absolutely did.
This game mattered.
Kyle pulled back slightly, shaking his head at something Stan said, frustration flickering across his face. Stan didn't back down. He kept talking, one hand firm on Kyle's shoulder, eyes locked onto his like nothing else existed. He looked... intense. Focused. Almost reverent.
Kyle's breathing slowed.
The tight panic in his shoulders loosened, replaced by something rawer—his eyes shined like he was right on the edge of tears. Cartman shoved his phone closer, narrating like an idiot, but neither of them even noticed.
Jen finally forced herself forward, raising her voice over the chaos.
"Kyle!" she shouted. "You've got this! Don't worry about it—you're gonna be amazing!"
Kyle didn't react.
He didn't even turn his head.
His eyes stayed on Stan, completely fixed, like Stan was the only anchor keeping him from floating apart. Jen waved harder, heart stuttering in her chest.
Stan reached up and gently smacked Kyle's cheek—not hard, just enough to snap him back. The buzzer for overtime blared through the gym.
Stan pulled Kyle into one last hug, squeezing him so tightly the veins in his hands stood out. Everyone could see it.
"I love you," Stan said loudly this time, voice raw and unwavering. "With everything I've got. You hear me? You fucking own this."
Kyle nodded into his shoulder, gripping the back of Stan's shirt for just a second too long before pulling away.
He didn't look back.
Kyle jogged toward the court as the teams lined up, his expression set and burning with determination. The gym fell into a tense hush, broken only by sneakers hitting the floor and the scoreboard ticking down.
Kyle glanced toward the bleachers.
Stan nodded once, sharp and confident, like he was handing Kyle permission to believe in himself. Jen waved wildly beside him, forcing a bright smile.
Kyle smiled back.
Obviously at her.
The buzzer screamed.
Overtime began.
Half the crowd exploded with cheers, the other half shouting just as loud in protest. South Park High roared as one, every voice blending together—except for Kyle, whose focus stayed razor-sharp, eyes flicking back once more to where Stan stood, hands clenched, heart entirely on the court with him.
Jen pressed her hands together, excitement fluttering in her chest. Stan's leg had not stopped bouncing since overtime started.
It was driving everyone around him insane, but he didn't seem to notice—or care. His knee jittered so fast it practically vibrated the bleacher. Twenty-eight mminutes left on the clock and his entire body was coiled like a spring.
On the court, the opposing team had possession.
Their point guard sliced through South Park's defense like it was nothing, ducking around one player, then another. Kyle was on him immediately, shadowing every move, fingers swiping dangerously close to the ball. For a split second, it looked like Kyle might steal it—
The player shot.
The entire gym inhaled at once.
The ball rattled around the rim, teasing everyone, spinning slow enough to be cruel before finally bouncing out.
It missed.
The noise that followed was unreal. Half the gym screamed in agony, the other half in triumph. Kyle didn't waste a single second celebrating—he lunged for the rebound, snatching the ball and sprinting down the court.
"Let's fucking go!" someone yelled behind him.
His teammates surged forward, sneakers squeaking, jerseys flying. One of them waved frantically, shouting that he was open. Kyle passed without hesitation, the ball sailing clean—
—and immediately getting stolen.
The groan from the South Park side was deafening.
The opposing team moved fast, passing the ball across the court in a blur. Kyle swore under his breath, pivoting and chasing, but it was too late. The ball went up.
Swish.
Perfect shot.
The other side of the gym exploded. Cheering, clapping, jumping—high-fives everywhere. Stan shot to his feet instantly, middle finger raised high, joined by Cartman, Kenny, Tweek, and Craig without hesitation.
Butters had absolutely lost his mind.
He was leaning over the bleachers, yelling at some girl a few rows down who had apparently been running her mouth the entire game. Kenny joined in immediately, pointing and shouting through his hood, the two of them tag-teaming her with zero mercy.
Stan barely cared—until he heard Kyle's name.
"That's why that ginger sucks!" the girl yelled, sneering. "Your team's gonna lose because of him! He can't play for shit!"
That got Stan's attention fast.
"Hey!" he snapped, whipping around. "Back the fuck off! Why don't you get on the court and see how long you last, huh?!"
"Oh my god, shut up," the girl shot back. "No one was talking to you. Go crawl back to your sad little corner and write your suicide letter, emo-ass—"
Cartman, who had been recording everything like a menace, immediately zoomed in on her face.
"What’d you say?" he yelled. "How about you Dora the Explorer back to your country?!"
The girl screamed something back, completely losing it, and suddenly people from her school jumped in, yelling at Cartman, calling him an asshole, a fat racist jerk, telling him to shut up already.
The noise spiraled.
"ACK! SHUT UP! EVERYONE SHUT UP!" someone suddenly shrieked behind Jen... and a full cup of lemonade went flying.
It splashed everywhere.
People screamed and scattered as yellow liquid soaked hoodies, backpacks, hair.
"Tweek—Holy shit!" Craig yelled, grabbing him as Tweek shook violently, eyes shut tight.
Cartman nearly collapsed laughing, pointing at the drenched students. "Yeah! That's you fucking get! Assholes!"
Stan barely heard him.
The gym suddenly erupted again.
Someone from South Park High had scored. Stan jumped straight into the air, fist pumping, voice ripping out of his chest. "Fuck yeah!"
Kenny spun back to the girl he'd been yelling at earlier, pointing at the scoreboard. "Keep talking," he yelled triumphantly.
And just like that, the arguing picked right back up—voices clashing, insults flying, adrenaline still spiking—while down on the court, Kyle reset his stance, locked in, the game far from over.
Fifteen minutes.
Fifteen goddamn minutes left on the clock and the score was still tied, blinking down at them like it was mocking everyone in the gym. One more point—just one—and South Park could finally break the deadlock.
They could do this.
Kyle bent forward, hands braced on his knees as he dragged in air, chest heaving. Sweat dripped down his jaw and onto the hardwood, his curls plastered to his forehead despite the clip holding most of them back. He looked exhausted. Wired. On the edge of either greatness or a full-blown breakdown.
The cheerleaders were doing their jobs a little too enthusiastically.
"Free fruck if you win!" one of them screamed, cupping her hands around her mouth.
The gym went insane.
Jen shrieked Kyle's name over and over, voice cracking as she leaned over the bleachers, waving both arms like a lunatic. Stan glanced at her for half a second, unimpressed, before snapping his attention right back to the court.
Kyle looked up.
For one perfect moment, his eyes locked with Jen's. She waved harder, heart soaring when he lifted a hand and waved back. She practically vibrated with excitement—
—and then his focus shifted.
Past her.
To Stan.
"Beat their ass, Kyle!" Stan yelled at the top of his lungs, hands cupped around his mouth.
Kyle nodded immediately, sharp and certain, before a teammate barked something at him and he snapped back into game mode, expression hardening.
South Park had the ball.
The player dribbled forward, inching closer to the hoop as the crowd surged to its feet. Someone screamed for him to shoot, and he did—launching the ball high into the air.
Time slowed.
The ball hit the rim.
Bounced.
Then clattered off completely.
The groan from the South Park side was brutal, drowned out by the opposing school laughing and talking shit like vultures. Kyle's shoulders slumped as the other team grabbed the rebound and hurled the ball across the court before he could even think about intercepting.
They scored.
Again.
"Fuck!" someone yelled.
Kyle dragged a hand down his face, frustration bleeding through every movement. Things were going to shit fast. With nine minutes left, they barely had time to make two clean shots—and that was if everything went perfectly.
Which it wasn't.
A South Park player pushed the ball forward, passing it—then passing again—
—only for it to get stolen.
Kyle let out a sharp, angry breath.
Then—blink and you miss it—a South Park player ripped the ball right back and tossed it to Kyle in one smooth motion.
The gym exploded.
Kyle caught it and ran.
He dribbled like his life depended on it, feet moving fast, heart pounding so hard it probably shook his ribs. An opposing player was glued to him, shoulder-checking every few seconds, hands snapping at the ball like a rabid dog.
"Pass!" a teammate yelled.
Kyle didn't even hesitate.
He hurled the ball just as the other player lunged for it, missing by a hair.
The shot went up.
The ball spun around the rim, teasing everyone, dragging the moment out until the entire gym was holding its breath—
—and then it dropped.
The sound was deafening.
Kyle jumped, fists clenched as South Park High lost its goddamn mind. The scoreboard flashed.
Tied again.
"Yes!" Stan screamed, nearly vaulting the railing.
One point.
That's all they needed.
Four minutes.
Only four minutes left.
The ball flew across the court like a hot potato, passed so fast it was hard to track. Every time someone gained possession, someone else ripped it away. Steal after steal after steal, bodies colliding, sneakers screeching, the gym buzzing with pure chaos.
Two minutes.
The clock glowed like a threat above the court, every second slicing away what little time South Park had left. Sweat slicked the floor, the air thick with heat and screaming and pure desperation.
An opposing player suddenly stole the ball and, for no goddamn reason, launched it straight down the court. It looked stupid—reckless—but it worked. The pass landed clean in his teammate's hands.
The court opened up.
Everyone bolted.
One minute.
Shoes pounded against the hardwood as South Park scrambled back. A player lunged, fingertips grazing the ball—but it was ripped away again almost immediately.
Fifty seconds.
The opposing player nearly stepped out of bounds and panicked, tossing the ball sideways. His teammate caught it just in time.
Thirty-eight seconds.
A South Park player dove in, stole it, and hurled it forward to someone shouting that they were open. The team spread out instinctively, switching to rapid passes, the ball moving faster than the eye could track.
Twenty-five seconds.
It reached midcourt—
—and was stolen again.
Twenty seconds.
Someone chased him down, arms flailing, and by some absolute miracle knocked the ball loose.
Ten seconds.
South Park threw the ball like hell itself was chasing them.
The crowd started counting.
"NINE!"
The ball flew.
"EIGHT!"
Kyle caught it.
"SEVEN!"
He dribbled hard, heart slamming against his ribs.
"SIX!"
The ball was stolen—
"FIVE!"
Kyle ripped it back instantly, pure instinct, pure desperation.
"FOUR!"
He sprinted.
No one was open. No one to pass to.
"THREE!"
He pushed harder, cradling the ball like it was fragile.
"TWO!"
He planted his feet.
"ONE!"
Kyle jumped.
He aimed.
And he threw.
The buzzer screamed.
The gym detonated.
Kyle didn't even register the sound at first. It felt unreal—like everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. The ball hit the backboard, kissed the rim—
—and went in.
He scored.
At the last fucking second, he scored.
Kyle's vision blurred immediately. He was yelling, jumping, laughing—he might have been crying. He didn't know. His teammates tackled him, lifted him off the ground, screamed in his face, pounded his back like he wasn't breakable.
They had won.
They had actually won.
Kyle was still trying to process it when he saw Stan.
Stan was already on the court.
Kyle didn't even have time to wonder how he got there before Stan slammed into him, arms locking around his shoulders, lifting him clean off the ground. Stan was yelling incoherently—about how he knew it, how Kyle was insane, how he fucking told him—jumping up and down like he might explode.
"I love you!" Stan screamed, voice cracking. "I love you so fucking much!"
Kyle laughed, dizzy, barely able to breathe.
Then Stan grabbed his face.
Held him still.
And kissed him.
Not a quick peck. Not subtle. It was hard and messy and full of adrenaline, like Stan was pouring every ounce of fear and pride and love straight into Kyle's mouth. It almost hurt—but Kyle didn't care.
He kissed him back immediately, hands gripping Stan's waist like he was afraid he'd disappear. The noise around them faded into nothing.
Kyle had never felt so happy.
So chosen.
So loved.
Wendy and Bebe rushed over next, screaming, hugging Kyle, nearly knocking him over again. They were crying too—laughing and crying—before turning to each other and kissing without hesitation, arms wrapping tight as they jumped and spun in circles.
The court was chaos.
Pure joy.
Absolute insanity.
And then—
There was Jen.
She stood frozen in the bleachers, her smile shattered before it could fully form.
Her brain refused to catch up.
Why did they just kiss?
Why did Wendy and Bebe kiss?
Why did Stan and Kyle kiss?
Her stomach dropped through the floor.
What.
The.
Fuck.
She didn't cheer.
She didn't scream.
She stood up slowly, heart pounding, and walked away from the court—away from the noise, the happiness, the celebration that suddenly felt like it had nothing to do with her at all.
She went home.
She laid in her bed, staring at the ceiling, the images replaying over and over again.
Kyle's smile.
Stan's hands on his face.
The kiss.
Everything she thought she understood collapsing in on itself.
She didn't sleep.
-Day 6-
Jen woke up with a raw ache in her throat and a pounding behind her eyes, the kind that came from yelling too much and sleeping too little. For a moment, she just stared at her ceiling, blinking slowly, her brain fuzzy and uncooperative. Something important had happened last night. Something big. She could feel it sitting heavy in her chest, just out of reach.
She grabbed her phone, squinting at the time. Earlier than she meant to wake up. Typical. With a groan, she unlocked it and opened Instagram out of habit, her thumb scrolling mindlessly until a familiar face froze her in place.
Kyle.
Her stomach dropped.
The video thumbnail showed the edge of the basketball court, the lights harsh and bright, the crowd roaring in the background. The username at the top made her sigh. Of course it was Cartman.
Oh my god. The game.
She had completely shoved it out of her head.
Jen tapped the video and sat up a little straighter, the fog in her brain clearing as the audio kicked in. Cartman's obnoxious voice filled her room immediately.
"Here we have the whole reason I'm here, the main Star of David! In all his glory! Right, Kyle?! Kyle?!"
The camera shook wildly as Kyle jogged into frame, flushed and sweaty, breathing hard. Stan was already there, waiting for him. Without hesitation, Stan grabbed a towel and started wiping Kyle's face, gentle despite the chaos around them, like the rest of the gym didn't exist.
Wendy stepped in from the side, handing Kyle an already-opened bottle of water. Kyle chugged it gratefully while Wendy fixed his hair, smoothing back his curls with quick, practiced motions. When she stepped away, Stan immediately replaced her, pulling Kyle in and wrapping both arms around him.
Kyle melted into the hug instantly, burying his face against Stan's shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Ugh, never mind," Cartman muttered behind the camera. "The jew's being gay with his boyfriend right now."
Jen barely registered the comment. She was too focused on the way Stan's hand slid up and down Kyle's back, steady and grounding, the way Kyle clutched the back of Stan's shirt like he needed him to stay right there.
"You got this, Kyle," Stan said firmly, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. His hands stayed locked on Kyle's shoulders, thumbs brushing over damp fabric. "You're gonna win. I know you are."
Kyle shook his head, his bravado cracking. "Stan, it's a tie and they're good. Like—good good. We're not winning." His hands trembled slightly at his sides, adrenaline and fear mixing together.
Stan didn't let go.
"No. Listen to me," he said, voice sharp but full of conviction. "You're gonna win, and you wanna know why?" He leaned in closer, foreheads almost touching. "Because you're Kyle-fucking-Broflovski. You're amazing at everything, and when you put your mind to something, nothing can stop you. Nothing."
Cartman zoomed the camera in obnoxiously. "Gaaaay, gaaay, gaaay—"
Stan ignored him completely.
"You're Kyle Broflovski," he continued, unwavering. "You kick people's asses when they get in your way. You're Kyle Broflovski, my boyfriend, who I'm insanely proud of and insanely in love with." His voice softened, but his grip didn't. "Win or lose, I'm here. I always will be. I love you with everything I have, and I'm not going anywhere."
Kyle's eyes glassed over. He looked like he might actually cry.
Jen heard her own voice echo faintly from somewhere off-camera. "Kyle! You got this! Don't worry about a thing!"
Kyle didn't even glance in her direction.
His entire world was Stan.
"You're doing amazing," Stan murmured, lifting a hand and lightly tapping Kyle's cheek to pull his focus back. "Don't doubt yourself for even a second, okay?"
The buzzer rang, loud and jarring. Kyle inhaled sharply and surged forward, throwing his arms around Stan in a tight hug.
"Thank you," he whispered rapidly, voice thick. "Thank you, thank you. I love you. I love you so much."
Cartman was still chanting something stupid in the background, but Jen heard those words perfectly.
Stan hugged him back just as hard, almost lifting him off the ground. Even Cartman commented, "Damn, Stan's about to shit himself hugging Kyle that hard."
They finally pulled apart, just enough for Stan to cup Kyle's face with both hands.
"I love you," Stan said, steady and sure and loud. "With everything I've got. You hear me? You fucking own this."
The video ended.
Jen stared at her phone, completely frozen.
Her mind replayed it over and over again. The way Kyle clung to Stan. The way Stan spoke to him like there was no doubt in the world. Like Kyle was his entire heart, out in the open for everyone to see.
How the hell did Stan pull Kyle?
The Kyle Broflovski.
The Kyle with scarlet curls and bright green eyes. The Kyle with freckles and confidence and a body everyone noticed. The Kyle everyone wanted.
And Stan—Stan—had him. Completely. Devotedly.
Jen swallowed hard.
How?!
This wasn't real.
It couldn't be.
Stan had to have tricked Kyle. Manipulated him, guilt-tripped him, slipped his way in somehow. There was no universe where this just... happened naturally. No way Kyle Broflovski woke up one day and decided Stanley fucking Marsh was the one.
Jen couldn't sit with that.
She shot out of bed, got dressed with sharp, irritated movements, and left her house with one goal in mind: find Kyle and get answers. Real ones. She went door to door, asking neighbors, random people on the sidewalk, anyone who might know where the Broflovskis lived. She smiled when she had to, clenched her jaw when she didn't get answers, and kept going until someone finally pointed her down the street.
That house.
Kyle's house.
Her heart kicked up as she stood on the sidewalk, staring at it like it might vanish if she blinked. There was a car in the driveway she didn't recognize, but she brushed it off. Probably family. Or Wendy. Or literally anyone who wasn't—
She walked up the steps and knocked, forcing herself to take a steady breath. This was fine. She was fine.
Muffled voices drifted through the door.
"Is your mom back?"
"She didn't call..."
Some shuffling. A drawer opening.
"...just open it, get the game ready."
Jen straightened immediately, smoothing her clothes and pasting on a bright smile. Any second now. Kyle would open the door. Kyle with his curls and his stupidly pretty face and that soft smile he always wore.
The doorknob rattled.
Her pulse jumped.
The door opened.
Stan.
Marsh.
Jen's smile died on her face.
Stan stood there in a hoodie and sweatpants like he belonged, one hand still on the door, expression flat and unimpressed. He blinked once.
"Oh," he said. "Uh. Hey."
Stanley.
Fucking.
Marsh.
"Can I help you?" he asked, already sounding annoyed.
Jen's shock twisted instantly into anger. "What are you doing here?" she snapped, crossing her arms. She had put effort into her outfit for Kyle, not to stand on a porch arguing with some moody loser.
Stan's brows pulled together. "That's none of your business." His eyes flicked past her, scanning the street. "So—what are you doing here?"
Jen scoffed and looked him up and down openly. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing." She leaned slightly to the side, peering into the house. Past the doorway, she caught sight of a couch—and unmistakably, a spill of red curls hanging over the armrest.
Her chest tightened.
"Where's Kyle?" she demanded.
Stan shifted immediately, blocking her view. "What do you need him for?"
Before she could answer, Kyle's voice called from inside, casual and warm.
"Who is it, Stan?"
Stan didn't look away from her. "No one."
Jen's jaw dropped.
"Then hurry up!" Kyle added. "I'm getting bored!"
"Sure thing, babe," Stan replied without hesitation.
That did it.
Jen slammed her hand against the door, shoving it open. "It's Jen, Kyle! And I need to talk to you!"
Stan's eyes went wide.
Kyle bolted upright on the couch. "Jen?" He stared toward the door, startled. "Hey—chill out with the door, my mom'll get mad!"
Reality hit her all at once. The house. The tone. The babe.
She yanked her hand back like the door had burned her. "Oh—sorry," she said stiffly, then closed it more gently, like that fixed anything.
Stan crossed his arms fully now, body tense, watching her like she was a problem that needed to be removed.
Jen ignored him and stepped inside anyway.
Kyle was still sitting on the couch, remote in hand, confusion written all over his face. His hair was messy, his posture relaxed in a way that screamed comfortable. Like he'd been here awhile.
"Uh... hey?" Kyle said slowly. "What's going on?"
Jen stopped in front of him, chest tight, eyes searching his face like she might find the explanation there.
Stan hovered just behind her, glaring.
Kyle glanced between them, then looked back at Stan. "Did I miss something?"
Stan shrugged. "She just showed up."
Kyle blinked. "...Okay?" He looked back to Jen, genuinely baffled. "Why are you here?"
"Why'd you kiss Stan?"
The question hit the room like a dropped plate.
Kyle froze completely, hand still half-raised from where he'd been gesturing. His brows knitted together as he stared at Jen, like he genuinely wasn't sure he'd heard her right.
He didn't answer right away. A full, heavy minute passed before he cleared his throat.
"...Why did I what?"
Jen scoffed sharply and yanked her phone out, scrolling with frantic precision. "You kissed Stan. Or Stan kissed you—whatever. Why did you let it happen? Friends don't do that."
Stan let out a sharp little tsk from behind her. "Because we're not just friends."
Jen whipped around on him instantly. "Shut up, you harasser." She jabbed a finger in his direction, voice rising. "He clearly didn't want to kiss you in that video. You forced him!"
Stan blinked, then laughed once—short, incredulous. "Oh really? And how exactly would you know that?"
"Because I know Kyle!" Jen snapped, turning back to Kyle like Stan wasn't even worth addressing. "He wouldn't kiss someone like you. He doesn't even like you!"
That one landed.
For a boy as emotional and sensitive as Stan, that line made his heart drop, as if it were true.
Stan's expression shifted—just for a second. His mouth pressed into a thin line, eyes flicking toward Kyle despite himself. The edge in his voice dulled when he spoke again.
"Jen," he said more calmly, "what are you even talking about?"
"Kyle does not like you," Jen insisted, breathless now, spiraling. "It's crazy to me how you can't see that! Every day it's obvious—obvious—that he can't stand you. He hates you, Stan. Why can't you see that?!"
"Shut. Up."
Kyle's voice cracked through the room, sharp and loud enough to make both of them jump. He shot to his feet, chest heaving, hands clenched at his sides.
"Shut up!" he repeated, anger bleeding through every syllable. "Both of you!"
Stan recoiled. "Why me too?!"
Kyle snapped his head toward him. "Shut up, Stan.”
Stan opened his mouth, then closed it. He took a breath instead. "Okay," he said carefully. "But take a deep breath first, Ky. I'm serious."
Kyle inhaled sharply through his nose, then exhaled. "Thank you." He scrubbed a hand down his face and pointed firmly at the couch. "Sit. Both of you."
They did.
Immediately.
Jen sat stiff and upright, jaw set with determination, absolutely convinced that this was the moment Kyle would finally cut Stan off for good. Stan slouched back slightly, arms crossed, irritation simmering just beneath the surface—but his eyes stayed on Kyle.
Kyle stood there for another second, collecting himself, then pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Okay," he said slowly. "First things first. Stan kissed me because he loves me."
Jen rolled her eyes so hard it was almost impressive.
"And," Kyle continued, "I kissed him back because I love him."
Jen's eyes went wide.
So wide.
"Lov—what?"
Stan sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I mean... really. It's not subtle."
Kyle flipped him off without looking. "He—Stan—is my boyfriend. Of two years." He paused, thinking. "And a half. And four days." He checked his watch. "...And twenty-four minutes."
Jen's mouth hung open.
Kyle let out a long, tired sigh and dragged his hands down his face. "We don't make it a big public thing because I don't like attention or PDA or any of that embarrassing stuff. But we don't hide it either. We're just... us."
Stan nodded, perfectly at ease now. "Yeah. That tracks." He glanced at Jen. "Got all that? Cool. Door's over there, so if you'd just—"
"Wait!"
"Goddamnit."
Jen's face was flushed bright red now, brows furrowed so tightly they nearly met. "I just—" she faltered, then pushed through. "What do you even see in him, Kyle? He's got, like... nothing going for him."
Kyle's head snapped up.
"Don't talk about him like he isn't standing right here," he said sharply. "And don't degrade him like that. I don't appreciate it."
Stan felt it happen in real time—the familiar, embarrassing, unavoidable sensation of falling even deeper in love with his boyfriend while sitting on Kyle's couch like this was just another normal morning.
Kyle didn't even seem aware of it. He just kept talking, hands moving slightly as he tried to put something enormous into words.
"Stan's amazing once you actually get to know him," Kyle said, voice steady but earnest. "And honestly, as his boyfriend? It feels like I'm the insanely lucky one." He glanced over at Stan briefly, then back to Jen, like this was just a fact he was stating. "He's been there for me through every up and down. Every single one. He always has my back, even when I'm being an idiot."
Stan shifted uncomfortably, eyes fixed on the floor. Heat was pooling on his face and a familiar feeling was bubbling in his stomach.
"He calls me out when I'm wrong," Kyle continued. "Which is annoying, but also... necessary. And he loves me through every step of the way. I can't think of a single point in my life where I ever thought I'd be completely fine without him. He's—" Kyle paused, frowning like he was searching for the right word. "He's everything to me."
Stan slapped a hand over his mouth. "Kyle, I'm actually going to throw up listening to you declare your undying love for me, I’m being so serious.”
"Gross, dude," Kyle said immediately. "Don't."
Stan flipped him off without missing a beat. Kyle returned it, equally automatic.
"And," Kyle added, undeterred, "he's my best friend. So yeah, we're comfortable with each other. We bicker, we're annoying, we get jealous sometimes—but that's part of it. He's perfect. At least to me." He shrugged lightly. "He's literally everything I could've asked for... if I were the kind of person who asked for things like that."
Stan stared at the ceiling like he was praying for mercy.
"Okay," he cut in quickly, pointing toward the hallway. "I think she gets it now. Right, Jen? You get it? Great. So if you just take a left, there's a door—"
"Wait!"
"Fuck!"
Jen shot to her feet, panic and desperation written all over her face. "So then—every morning—when he was at your locker, he wasn't bothering you?"
Kyle blinked at her. "Bothering me? No. He picks me up and we go to school together."
Jen's mouth opened, then closed.
"Then what about that time he kissed Kenzy?" she blurted.
Kyle's eyes widened. "You kissed Mackenzie?!"
"What? Fuck no!" Stan said immediately, recoiling. "Why would I—no!"
"Not Mackenzie," Jen snapped. "Kenzy! That guy with the orange coat, and his boyfriend's name is, like, Butler or something!"
Kyle visibly relaxed. "Oh. Kenny."
"When did you kiss Kenny?" Kyle asked, turning slowly toward Stan.
Stan fought a grin. "At the bleachers. Remember?"
Kyle's expression hardened instantly. "Oh. That." He crossed his arms. "That was you being a petty bi—"
"Petty?!" Stan exploded. "You were the one being all cuddly with Kenny and Jen! Two bitches on your shoulders—what did you expect?"
"For my boyfriend not to act like one!"
"I'm gonna beat your a—"
Jen waved her hands wildly between them. "But—you called him a handful!"
Stan let out a quiet, delighted cackle, shoulders shaking. "Yeah," he said, tilting his head toward Kyle. "Explain that, Kyle."
Kyle's face immediately flushed a soft, telltale red. He huffed, crossed his arms, and looked away like that might save him. "I meant it as in he gets... needy sometimes," he muttered. "He starts asking for hugs and kisses and attention like—like a cat or something. That can be a handful."
Jen blinked. "But... you tried to kill him, remember?" she said slowly. "When you squeezed his arm?"
"I—what?" Kyle said at the same time Stan went, "Huh?"
"I usually squeeze his arms in the morning," Stan added thoughtfully, completely unbothered. "Y'know. Can't keep my hands off him."
"Not you," Jen snapped. "At the lunch line. After Cartman made you mad. You were squeezing Stan's arm and—"
Stan buried his face into the couch and lost it, laughter muffled and helpless. Kyle's face went from pink to absolutely nuclear as he scrambled for words.
"I—I wasn't trying to kill him!" Kyle blurted. "I was just— I was—ugh, whatever! I wasn't trying to kill him!"
Jen crossed her arms. "Then what exactly were you trying to do?"
Stan sat up, still grinning, and casually reached for Kyle's hand, lacing their fingers together like it was second nature. "Tell her, Ky," he said sweetly. "Be honest."
Kyle looked like he might pass out.
"I was just—" he started, voice barely audible. "I was just... checking him... out."
Stan hummed, clearly enjoying this far too much. "C'mon," he teased. "Say it louder. Don't be shy now."
Kyle snapped.
"Ahh—fine!" he yelled, throwing his free hand up. "I was checking him out! Is it so wrong to find your boyfriend hot and look at him?! Is it?!"
Stan laughed openly now and stood up to pull Kyle into a hug, arms wrapping around him like he'd won something. Kyle groaned and buried his face in his hands, mortified beyond belief.
"It's okay, Ky," Stan said warmly. "I get it. You're pretty hot too."
Kyle made a sound somewhere between a groan and a whine.
Stan leaned in, rubbing his face briefly against Kyle's neck, murmuring something low and unmistakably flirtatious. Kyle jolted and shoved him away, face blazing.
"J-Jen is still here, bastard!" Kyle hissed, rubbing his ear like it was on fire.
Jen stared at them, stunned, watching the way Stan only laughed and shrugged like this was all completely normal.
"Well," Stan said easily, stretching, "I'm gonna go hang out in your room. Come find me when you're done." He paused by the stairs, glanced back, and added with a smirk, "See ya, Jen."
Then he disappeared upstairs.
Kyle sat there for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, finally exhaling. He dropped onto the couch beside Jen, his expression softer now—apologetic, but steady.
"Sorry to burst your bubble," he said gently. "I really didn't mean to hurt you." He hesitated, then offered, "But... we can still be friends. If you want."
Jen stared at the floor for a long second.
Everything she thought she knew had been wrong. Painfully, embarrassingly wrong. And yet... Kyle looked happy. Genuinely happy. In a way she had never once been the cause of.
She sighed, then smiled—small, tired, but real. "Yeah," she said quietly. "I'd like that. Friends sounds... good."
Kyle smiled back, relieved.
Upstairs, Stan laughed at something—bright and familiar—and Kyle glanced toward the sound without thinking, warmth settling easily in his chest.
Jen noticed.
And this time, she understood.
— Day 916, 56 minutes —
Kyle shut the front door carefully behind him, letting the latch click into place with deliberate quiet. For a moment, he just stood there, forehead resting against the wood, breathing out slowly through his nose. Everything from the day—Jen, the confrontation, the confusion—finally began to drain out of him.
Then he turned and jogged up the stairs.
He stopped outside his bedroom, pushed the door open, and slipped inside before closing it again. The familiar space wrapped around him instantly, grounding and calm. He shut his eyes and exhaled, shoulders relaxing for the first time in hours.
"She gone?"
Stan's voice came from the bed, easy and familiar.
Kyle opened his eyes and crossed the room, his steps light, instinctive. Stan was sitting at the edge of the mattress, already reaching out for him without even looking. Kyle stepped between his legs naturally, like he'd done a thousand times before, and Stan's hands found his waist immediately—warm, secure, unquestioning.
"Mm-hm," Kyle hummed, fingers sliding through Stan's messy black-and-blond hair. "Guess you were right after all."
His hands drifted to Stan's neck, holding him gently, thumbs brushing skin with reverence rather than urgency.
Stan huffed a quiet laugh. "Yeah, asshole."
He pinched Kyle's side, earning a startled yelp.
"Bastard," Kyle shot back, swatting his hand away, but he was smiling already.
They laughed softly together, the tension finally breaking. Kyle's smile lingered as he looked down at Stan, something tender and unmistakable settling in his chest. He traced his hands up Stan's neck again, one palm cupping his jaw with careful affection.
"Doesn't matter, though," Kyle said quietly. He leaned down, hovering just close enough that their breaths mingled. "You're my number one."
Stan's smile was immediate and unguarded. He closed the distance without hesitation, kissing Kyle with the kind of ease that only came from years of trust. It wasn't rushed or desperate—just two familiar mouths moving together, a rhythm they'd learned by heart.
When they pulled apart, Stan stole one more quick kiss before flopping back onto the bed with a satisfied sigh.
Kyle stayed standing for a moment, just looking at him.
The way Stan's hair fanned out messily against the blankets. The way his hoodie rode up slightly, revealing warm skin. The way his face looked completely relaxed—safe, happy, at home.
Kyle's chest tightened with affection.
He reached out, laced their fingers together, and tugged gently. "C'mon," he said with a fond smile. "We still have a game to play."
Stan laughed as he stood, squeezing Kyle's hand a little tighter. "Then let's go play."
Kyle smiled back, heart full, as they left the room together—content, certain, and exactly where they were meant to be