Chapter Text
3.
"’You guys ready for the best idea ever?" Cartman grinned as they sat on the sidewalk, slurping their slushies.
“Go on, do enlighten us,” Kyle sighed, not so much faking the resignation in his voice as he would've liked to, tired of Stan's scent now slightly musky next to him, heightening all of his senses.
Stan giggled.
"No, I'm so seriously, listen up,” Cartman frowned. "My mom left her credit card for us. So we should go somewhere totally swanky for dinner.”
Kyle blinked, sitting up. “You're telling me that you're willingly taking us out to a fancy dinner? Paying for it?”
“No, my mom is. I just said that, keep up.”
“What's in it for you?”
"Uh, that it'll be awesome!" Cartman grinned.
Kyle was dubious, but didn't disagree, especially when Stan stopped him with a deliberate side-glance to Kenny, who was buzzing with excitement and thanking Cartman persistently.
They finished their drinks and headed back to Cartman's, swapping out in the shower and getting dressed for the restaurant. Stan did his makeup in the mirror while Kyle combed his shower-damp hair, the only time he could groom his unruly curls that he'd, no joke, got so infuriated with once that he'd verbally threatened to chop them all off to his reflection.
Kyle kept catching Stan's eye by accident, each time darting it away ignominously and vowing never to again, only to repeat the very same thing thirty seconds later, too enthralled by the way Stan blended concealer under his eyes and applied eyeliner.
"You don't even need that," Kyle murmured before he could stop himself.
Stan paused, the eyeliner pencil hovering in the air. “Hm?” he hummed, most certainly having heard, so now it was over for Kyle.
“I mean- um-...” Kyle sputtered pathetically. “Like… the makeup. You don't need it.”
Stan huffed a laugh. "So? It looks cool." He capped his eyeliner, double-checking it was even. "You think I should invest in some mascara?"
"It ruins your eyelashes," Kyle said quickly, knowing it would also ruin him to see those long, beautiful lashes even more clearly. "It stops them from growing."
Stan quirked a brow, bemused. “Howdaya even know somethin' like that?”
“I don't know, I just read it somewhere!” Kyle responded defensively, and truthfully enough, knowing that Stan knew he was prone to reading up on the most random shit. “Besides, smothering your lashes in a gooey, inky liquid? It's kinda obvious.”
“Alright, alright, smartass,” Stan deadpanned, his eyes even further half-lidded with it, resulting in Kyle admiring how he applied the eye makeup with his hooded eyes. “Yeah, fair enough. ‘Can't really gauge how Jimbo feels about it though. I don't think he approves but doesn't say anything.”
Kyle frowned. “Well, it doesn't matter, dude. It's not up to them.”
“Yeah, ‘guess ‘m lucky,” Stan mumbled, leaving Kyle bewildered at that declaration from the person that he used to class as so negative. “— I mean, ‘cuz like, if it were my dad, it…”
Stan trailed off with a sigh, and Kyle echoed it. Stan's father was still off the grid, the police having claimed they'd been looking for him tirelessly (they definitely hadn't been, but Stan didn't seem to mind all that much).
Stan clattered his make-up away, making Kyle jump. "Okay, I need'a get changed."
Kyle blinked. “Oh, okay,” he murmured. “See ya in a minute.”
Cartman didn't bother with much more than a regular shirt and jeans, and Kenny's best was the same sort of thing, just a little rough around the edges.
Kyle was wearing his bottle green sweater over a collared shirt and jeans, hoping his small Star of David necklace that Stan got him for his thirteenth birthday complemented it.
Stan soon resurfaced. He was wearing deep blue, wide leg cargo jeans and a black baggy t-shirt over a white long-sleeve with a medallion, rings and a bracelet, sporting chunky, black boots. His bleach-blond hair was tousled from being shower damp, and of course, the concealer and eyeliner graced his face impossibly further, his resolve glowing.
Literally glowing.
Kyle wanted to scream, his heart lurching. An image flashed in Kyle's head, an itch to pull Stan towards him and kiss him senseless, a thought not too foreign at all.
"See?" Kenny groaned in frustration. "Stan and Kyle would make the hottest boyfriends."
"Shuddup," Stan snickered, rubbing the back of his neck.
Kyle was still too busy taking in Stan's appearance to reply.
In the corner of his eye, he noted Cartman snicker, nudging Kenny, but Kenny shook his head, watching the spectacle with a smile.
He should've turned away, fought the pink in his cheeks. He should've put up the usual, distant front. But this time, Kyle let it wash over him, rocking the boat until he felt seasick.
"Are we headin' out then?" Stan asked. "Walkin' or drivin'?”
"Let's drive," Cartman responded. "I'll drive there, and Kahl can drive back?"
"Hm?" Kyle murmured, finally snapping out of it. “Yeah, um… sure.”
They headed out, clambering into Cartman's car. Kenny sat shotgun while Cartman drove the short distance to the mall, Stan and Kyle in the back.
Automatically, Kyle's gaze drifted to where it usually did, but this time concern hit him like a wall. Stan's knee bobbed up and down erratically, his hands clutching fistfuls of he jeans as his eyes bored into the back of Kenny's seat, but focused on something no one else could see. From what Kyle remembered, around ninety-nine percent of the time, this was an occurrence whenever Stan got into a car, and admittedly, it had taken Kyle a while to put two and two together as to why.
Kyle slid closer, leaning his head near Stan's ear. "You okay?" He whispered.
“Hm? Um-... yeah, I'm fine,” Stan whispered back naturally. Too naturally.
"Anything I can do to help?"
Stan scowled down at his jeans. "I said I'm fine.”
Kyle flinched, recoiling as if he'd been slapped by the sharpness of Stan's hiss.
“So, uh…” Stan asked quickly, both of his legs bobbing up and down now. “Where're we eatin'?”
“Let's hit the mall,” Cartman decided. “That fancy seafood place is gonna be sweet. The lobster's killer.”
Kenny did a little bounce in his seat while Stan scrunched his nose. Come on, he was surely being cute on purpose at this point. “They only do seafood, right?” he asked tentatively.
“Whatcha expecting, McDonald's three-piece?” Cartman snarked back, finding himself hilarious as per usual.
With a silent sigh, Stan slouched further down into his seat, turning his attention to outside the window and hugging his elbows loosely. The streetlights had just switched on for the evening, an ill-mannered concept against the still relatively light sky, of which was grey with gloomy, lingering clouds.
“Does that mean they don't have any veggie options?” Kyle asked.
“Uh… lettuce, maybe?” Cartman snorted, only himself amused. Lock him in an empty, white room alone, and he could occupy himself all day with ease.
“Yeah, then we can't go,” Kyle instigated. “I'm keeping kosher this year.”
Cartman just let out another incredulous snort, not responding.
"We should go somewhere else," Kenny suggested. "Stan doesn't like seafood, and Kyle can't eat it.”
Cartman exploded as if there had even been much to light the fuse. “For fuck's sake, people! Do you have to be such princesses? Ain't I tryin’ to do somethin’ nice here?”
“Probably not, no!” Kyle snapped back. “There's probably something behind it, like another cruel joke, or even just to steal the quick buck your mom struggles to make as it is, having to provide a banquet's worth of daily groceries for her ungrateful son!”
Kyle scowled at Cartman through the rear view mirror, his piercing emerald gaze merely daring Fatass to go on. Cartman set his jaw, turning his attention back to the road.
Stan had shrunken in on himself a little.
"Yanno what's good?" Kyle murmured, swiftly changing the subject. "They have a gourmet burger place a few paces down from the seafood place. Stan and I went once. It was amazing.”
Stan nodded quietly, a small smile trying to twitch at his lips. He had his palms pressed between his legs, Kyle understanding much too quickly that he was trying to hide any shaking in them.
“Yeah, yeah, I guess,” Cartman put up a front of indifference, his general moodiness shining through petulantly.
"By the way, you two, Cartman is literally drooling at the idea right now," Kenny chuckled.
“Oh, I bet,” Kyle chuckled, meanwhile catching a glimpse of Stan, who had his head bowed, his knees bobbing extensively.
“Yeah, subtle Cartman,” Stan added, presumably just about able to speak in his state.
"Alright, shuddup!" Cartman snapped.
"Jeez, dude," Kyle chuckled.
Stan was quaking.
Cartman's eyes found Kyle's in the rearview mirror again and, Jesus, if looks could kill. "I'm not kidding, Kyel! This is the problem with you! I'm payin' for dinner and you're dictating where we go!"
"Because of dietary restrictions, stupid!" Kyle retorted.
“Exactly, Fatass!” Kenny chimed in. “It ain't gonna kill you, is it?”
Stan had curled up as if he were bracing for impact.
“No, that's the problem with spoiled brats like Cartman,” Kyle bit ferociously. “He probably thinks it will.”
Cartman turned in his seat, scowling at Kyle behind him. “Are you fucking done, smartass!?”
"CARTMAN, KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE GODDAMN ROAD!"
Everyone froze, even Cartman stunned into silence for just a moment. Kyle turned to the offender, finding his eyes wide with panic. That was the loudest they'd heard Stan yell in years.
“Don't scream in my car like that ever again,” Cartman chastised eventually, nonetheless doing as told.
“Pot meet kettle,” Kenny muttered, scowling at Cartman while Stan buried his hands into his hair, head ducked as his elbows dug into his thighs.
“Hey, hey,” Kyle whispered, not daring to touch him yet. “Breathe…”
"Can't..." Stan gasped.
"Shit, Stan...?" Kenny turned around, noticing. "Hey, Cartman, pull over a minute.”
For once, Cartman had nothing to say, just pulling over to a lay-by on the side of the road. Stan scrambled with the door handle, practically throwing himself out. The other three watched from the car as Stan paced on a patch of grass, unsure as to whether to give space or to go and help.
"Where did that come from?" Cartman asked.
"Your reckless drivin'," Kenny huffed.
"It was all of us, really, fighting like that,” Kyle sighed, burying his face into his hands.
“A little dramatic,” Cartman had the nerve to grumble. The fucking nerve.
Apace, Kyle's head snapped back up. “Are you kidding right now? He has terrible anxiety, of course he's gonna freak out!”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Cartman rolled his eyes.
And Kyle just lost it. "How dare you say "whatever", you dick!?” he yelled. “You just… you just don't care at all, do you!? You actually lack empathy, and not in a sociopathic, unintentional way… just in a form of pure asshole-acy where you pick and choose!”
Cartman had the decency to go quiet as Kyle seethed with red, hot rage.
“I'm proud of him for even setting foot inside a car,” Kyle continued, voice much softer now, “after everything.”
Kenny let out a shaky sigh, most likely recalling the day as vividly as Kyle, when Stan had sat the group down and explained to them exactly what had happened, given the way the whole shitty school had been scheming as if Stan wasn't grieving.
“You know nothing,” Kyle's voice was even quieter now as he continued, but all the more threatening. Cool and chilling, he hoped. He remained watching Stan closely. “Don't ever let me catch you speaking about him —about anyone — like that ever again.”
"That's the worst part,” Kenny glowered at Cartman. “He does know. As much as we do, and he still doesn't care.”
Outside, Stan sunk to his knees on the grass, hands in his hair.
"Jesus," Kyle murmured. He couldn't sit there and make a spectacle of it any longer. Throwing the car door open with the same urgency that Stan himself just had, he hurried out the car and knelt in front of Stan. He was hyperventilating now, hands in his hair again. "Hey, hey. It'll pass. It'll pass, I promise. It's okay.”
“C-can't…” Stan gasped, his hands beginning to tug at his golden locks.
Swiftly, Kyle grabbed Stan by his wrists, gently prising his hands away and into his own. "Don't fight it, honey. Just... let it run its course. It'll pass, I promise," Kyle murmured, surprised that the term he used so unabashedly with his friends and brother now rolled off of his tongue with Stan. Now wasn't the time to dwell, however.
Stan squeezed back, his head dropping as a steep breath was drawn in through his nostrils. And, slowly, just as Kyle had said, it passed by itself, the rattled boy finding the ability to breathe again.
Completely spent, Stan's head fell to Kyle's shoulder. He withheld a soft gasp, moving to gently wrap his arms around Stan and giving him a squeeze, noting that this was the first hug they'd shared in eighteen months and five days. Kyle wondered fearfully if it was the first hug Stan had had at all in that time.
"Whaddaya wanna do?" Kyle murmured, rubbing his back. "We're not far from the mall, you wanna walk instead?"
Stan took a deep breath, the sound shaky in his throat. "No, 's fine. Let's get in the car," he murmured determinedly.
“You sure?” Kyle whispered, taken aback. He smoothed his hand over Stan's hair, but he was abruptly shoved away, leaving himself reeling for a moment. But with immense patience (perhaps a little sanctimonious in doing so), he righted his crouching form with his fingertips, balancing on the grass.
Stan bit his lip apologetically, nodding with a large breath.
"Damn, you're so brave," Kyle murmured, blinking away the previous shock of something he should've expected. Standing, he held his hand out for Stan to take, starkly reminded of the night before. "C'mon, then."
They slid back into the car, the middle seat a gap too large.
“Ready now?” Cartman asked gruffly. Kenny elbowed him, and he let out an agonised sigh. "Look, um-... I'm…” he began in a murmur.
Stan glanced back up with a soft, questioning hum.
“I'm. I'm sorry for bein’, well… such a dick…”
Stan seemed to pause, not even as if he was contemplating forgiving Cartman (which he certainly shouldn't — and this wasn't even Kyle being biased, for once), but merely processing the words. Frankly, Kyle was reeling himself from hearing Cartman even attempt a half-assed apology. "Yeah, thanks. Just... stop bein' so-… so-..." he mumbled eventually, yet still struggling to find the words. He took a breath. "I don't wanna be friends with a reckless driver, the kinda person that..." he trailed off again, gnawing on his lip. Kyle reached for his hand resting on the middle seat, but he swiped it away.
“Yeah, I get that,” Cartman sighed.
The car journey wasn't much longer, the four pulling up in the parking lot in two minutes. Despite how carefully Cartman had driven the rest of the way, to the extent that it was as if he was taking his driving test all over again — not even in a teasing manner, but scarily genuine — Stan hauled himself out of the car nearly as hastily as he had earlier.
They entered the mall, going straight for the gourmet burger place. "Awh, Kyle, remember how we went to the arcade next door after eating here too?" Stan asked.
Kyle grinned, nodding. "We should all do that too."
Kenny grinned and nodded eagerly. Ravenous, they headed into the burger place, where they were lucky to immediately get a table. The restaurant buzzed with life, not too overwhelming but just the right amount.
Kyle smiled softly. The day he'd taken Stan here and then the arcade was around a month after Stan's mom had died, and he hadn't left his house in weeks. They ended up having the time of their lives, and it finally put a smile on Stan's face.
The waiter came around, and Stan froze up next to Kyle minutely. However, just when Kyle was about to order for Stan, he managed to speak up in a faux-casual voice: “can I get a chicken burger, please? And can you hold the mayo?”
“Um, lemme get a double bacon cheeseburger,” Cartman mumbled indifferently.
“Make that two, please!” Kenny piped up.
“And for you?” the bored waiter asked Kyle.
“Uh, the plant-based burger, please,” Kyle responded, trying to will the despairing flatness out of his voice.
“Oh my God, comin’ here just to get that veggie muck,” Cartman rolled his eyes when the waiter left.
Kyle hated himself for accidentally copying Cartman's eyeroll. "Ugh, don't remind me," Kyle chuckled. "But I promised I'd keep kosher this year, and I've done amazing so far. Seven months is by far my longest streak. I'm totally proud of it.”
"You should be," Stan smiled at him, and Kyle didn't even have to think about smiling back, fighting with everything he had not to grab his hand. A cruel thought snaked its way into Kyle's head of wishing that Kenny and Cartman weren't there at all, like that time two years ago, and maybe it would've felt like the date with Stan that it wasn't and never would be.
Their burgers arrived promptly, Cartman going through a whole ridiculous procedure to ensure it was properly cooked (Kyle always did the very same).
Kyle eyed their artery-clogging burgers with vague disgust, fighting back half nausea and half longing. “I think what you and Kenny need to really worry about is ordering a side of defibrillator with that.”
“Ay, if I'm gonna be forking out fortunes at some millennial burger place, I'm gettin’ my worth,” Cartman retorted, biting a great hunk out of his burger.
“‘Gonna get your worth on the shitter, too?” Stan snickered, peeling the lettuce off his burger and putting it onto Kyle's plate.
Kyle had to suppress a snort, his muttered scolding of “we're eating” dying in his throat out of pure stultification. Turning to see if he needed to check Stan's chicken was cooked, he noticed Stan's face scrunched with disgust as he tried to scrape mayo off the burger. “Didn't you tell ‘em to hold it?”
“Hm?” Stan turned. “O-Oh, it doesn't matter, really. This happens all the time.” He chuckled nervously, but Kyle wasn't having that.
“Picky ass,” he teased, standing and grabbing Stan's plate. “I'll have them make you a fresh one.”
“Kyle, I-”
But Kyle had already marched away, feeling his mother's DNA tangibly seeping through his MO as he tried to harness his complaints.
"Hi, is everything set for you guys?" the nearest waiter asked as Kyle approached.
"Yeah, my friend asked you to hold the mayo on his order?"
"I'm sorry about that. We'll have a fresh one out ASAP."
"Mhm," Kyle handed the plate back, spinning on his heel and not so inadvertently marching as he walked away.
“You guys are a whole fucking dynamic,” Kenny chuckled with his mouth full when Kyle returned to his seat, not wanting to miss a second of his food, even in purchase of a shipping joke.
“Yeah, yeah,” Kyle rolled his eyes, pushing his plate to Stan. “Have some of my fries while we wait.”
“But, I-”
“Stan, you fainted mere hours ago. Eat.”
Stan buttoned his lip, picking at the fries much more listlessly than Kyle had hoped in return of his oh, so noble act. The act he needed to get together, it seemed, as he tried to not notice Kenny smirking and double-raising his eyebrows from across the table.
They ate peacefully, everyone — even Cartman — discreetly leaving most of the sharing basket of fries for Kenny. While Cartman and Kenny positively pounded back their food, Kyle waited patiently, tactfully eating slowly so it wasn't palpable he was waiting for Stan's food to arrive.
God knew that Stan had had to eat alone enough times.
“Sorry,” Stan mumbled awkwardly to everyone, even the waiter, when his food finally arrived.
Kyle rolled his eyes. “You gotta stop being such a pushover, dude,” he murmured softly. He took a bite into his burger, which was now cold, but he didn't mind one bit. Especially not when Stan's eyes lit up when he took a bite of his own; the sight alone warmed Kyle's insides just enough.
"Are ya sure you don't want us to pay for ours?" Kyle asked. "I can cover-"
"'S fine," Cartman said quickly, shooting a subtle glance Kenny's way, who was stuffing his face with fries, carefree and relaxed. Right. If just one of them offered to pay for theirs, Kenny would do the same in a heartbeat, and he certainly couldn't afford this place. Physically.
After they ate, as promised, they headed to the arcade. This time, Cartman refused to pay for their quarters, but everyone slipped extra to Kenny when he wasn't looking.
Stan and Kyle went straight to the guitar hero, of course attracting a crowd as they worked to beat the high score (their own from two years ago).
"They're so awesome!" Kenny shook Cartman's shoulders.
Unsurprisingly, they beat their high score, setting the new one of around 1.3 million. The small crowd erupted into cheers and applause, Stan flinching like he wanted to disappear into the floor. But Kyle caught Stan's eye, grinning and he grinned back, his shoulders slumping, and both of them high-fived each other.
While Cartman tried his shot at the basketball (as if they hadn't played for hours earlier before) and Kenny hopped over to the MarioKart, claiming he needed to practice to beat Stan later, the other two browsed the arcade for the next thing to catch their eye in the otherwise fusillade of overwhelming, blaring lights.
“Ooh! Ooh!” Stan gasped, pointing wildly to somewhere in the corner.
“What, what?” Kyle snickered, already endeared enough before Stan grabbed his hand and dragged him over to the dancing game.
Obviously, they were nowhere near the high-score on this game, but Stan was still very good at it. Kyle... not so good.
“Dude… you're terrible. ‘Can't believe you still can't keep rhythm,” Stan giggled, not breaking a sweat, his makeup still perfectly intact. He was perfect.
They played three more rounds, but only then was Stan too tired after, you know, fainting earlier, and they headed over to the miscellaneous, simplistic games for the next two hours that required next to no effort but next to every ounce of patience. Naturally, Stan was lured to the claw machines.
“Awh, dude. Don't blow all your cash on that garbage,” Kyle tried to tug him away by the arm, addicted to the way Stan wasn't shrugging off.
“Dude, the one good thing my dad left with me was teachin' me how to totally rig these things. May as well use it to my advantage.”
Kyle's heart cracked, his eyes burning empathetically. “What, you gonna give one to Cartman?”
Stan snickered. In fact, he won four, actually handing one to a baffled Cartman and one to Kenny, whose grin nearly consumed his entire face. He tried to give both of the two other bears — a blue and a green — to Kyle.
“Dude, no way,” Kyle rolled his eyes. “We can just have one each!” Selfishly, he wanted to keep the blue for himself, gently pressing the green to Stan's chest.
“No, they're for you!” Stan beamed, pushing the green bear back to Kyle.
“No, idiot. Look… They match! We have to keep one each so we have matching bears.”
“Gay.”
“Homophobic.”
“Fine…” Stan huffed as if he wasn't wearing a massive grin; maybe he wasn't aware.
Kyle nodded with a smile, looking from his blue teddy bear to Stan's green one. "Look after it," he murmured.
“I will,” Stan nodded, his voice growing tender. He patted the plush's head, letting out a soft, seemingly incredulous huff of a chuckle.
“You people make me sick,” Kenny, apparently behind them, drawled out.
Stan giggled, and for once Kyle just joined him, too blissfully bushed to get irritated as they all started to make their way out of the arcade, trailing along the jam-packed mall and hurrying for the nearest exit, shoving out into the gentle spring evening air.
“That was the best!” Kenny bounded along, his plushie in a crushing hold to his chest.
Kyle nodded and smiled. "I'm fuckin' wiped, though. We should head back to Cartman's.”
Stan agreed with a hum, adjusting his own bear under his arm and subconsciously stroking its head.
“Not without, say… milkshakes!” Cartman announced, and Kenny let out a whoop. “C'mon, we'll hit the diner drive-thru on the way back.”
Kyle narrowed his eyes, the breeze of unease returning.
“What's up?” Stan murmured.
“He's being weird,” Kyle whispered, intoxicatingly close to Stan's ear so that he could smell his cologne emanating from his pulse points, “isn't he?”
Stan shrugged, pausing a moment and taking a deep breath as they neared the car. “I think you turn it over too much in your head. — I mean, I don't blame you, but it's okay, alright?” Likewise, Stan's breath tickled Kyle's ear, a suppressed shudder coursing through the latter's body.
With a sigh, Kyle nodded, ducking into the car and Stan following after a moment of dithering. He fiddled with his hands, and Kyle was sure he was humming softly under his breath to settle himself.
"Hey, what milkshake ‘you gonna get then?" Kyle asked softly.
With Kyle's efforts embarrassingly tangible, Stan smiled back gratefully, just the smallest bit. “Chocolate, maybe.”
“Wow, basic. Not even something like Oreo?”
“Oreo’s totally overrated, dude.”
Kenny gasped from the front seats "Stan Marsh! How dare you make such a statement!"
Stan giggled, and so did everyone else. Mission accomplished.
They changed their minds about the drive-thru, deciding to sit in the diner. Kenny with Oreo, of course, Stan now slurping at a cookie dough flavour after discovering they offered it, meanwhile Cartman caning some sort of Eton mess cheesecake flavour as if someone would dare pry it from even his cold, dead hands, and Kyle sipping his usual strawberry.
Stan giggled. "Look at this hypocrite, though," he murmured, pointing at Kyle. "Dissed me for goin' for chocolate, but look who went for cookie dough in the end, and who's now sittin' with basic ass strawberry?"
"I can't help it's biased towards chocolate flavours!” Kyle snickered. “I prefer more fruity ones."
He walked right into that one, accepting his fate as Kenny broke out into a huge grin, a light bulb practically glowing over his head. "Of course you favour the fruity ones.”
Stan spluttered with laughter while Cartman positively howled with delight, meanwhile Kyle himself couldn't even get mad and just chuckled. "Yeah, yeah," he dismissed half-heartedly. "You and the world knows, already.”
Cartman snorted, but other than that was surprisingly unbothered, taking a slurp of his shake.
“Yeah, ‘wasn't exactly a secret, Ky,” Stan chuckled. Kyle was certain he had sat up straighter.
"Hypocrite, over here!" Kenny made a show of looking around and pointing at Stan. "The most bisexual you'll ever meet, by the way."
"Comin' from the pannest pansexual," Stan retorted.
"And then Cartman's the gayest straight guy," Kyle teased.
That finally drew his attention away from his abominable shake. “Ay! Shuddup, Kyle… chicks dig me!”
“Kyle's gay — I think. Yeah? — and he's scored more in Elementary school alone than you ever will in a lifetime,” Kenny deadpanned.
“Oh, please,” Cartman snorted. “They probably thought that you just wanted to go shopping with them…”
“And how would you know it works like that for some of us?” Kyle blinked, feigning innocence with the doe eyes Cartman himself usually put on. “Have girls asked you to as well?”
Cartman frowned. “Ay!” he repeated, but couldn't fight the chuckle this time.
"So, Kyle," Kenny asked. "What uh-... what type of guy would you be lookin' for, then?" he had that shit-eating grin on his face again, surely knowing that Kyle's type was the guy sitting right next to him, slurping on a cookie dough milkshake. How embarrassing, honestly. Surely Stan had to know too, at this point.
"I, uh-... I don't know!" Kyle blushed. "I don't-... I don't have a type.”
“Oh, spare me the stalling, God...” Kenny snickered. “Everyone has a type, in some sorta li'l’ way.”
“What's your type, anyone who breathes?” Kyle retorted sullenly, unintentionally arising hoots of laughter from the table.
“No! Well, not anymore, anyway,” Kenny's words blended together dreamily, making Kyle's milkshake turn sickly in his mouth.
"Ugh, okay, fine. ...Hm," Kyle thought about how to describe Stan without describing Stan, basically. "Well, I don't have a type in looks, but someone who dresses cool. They have interesting hobbies like, I dunno, music and sports... . But... I also need'a be able to have a laugh with them, y'know? They can't be as serious as I am."
Even Cartman had the decency to be quiet, his green and brown gaze darting from Kyle to Stan.
"What about you, Stan?" Kenny asked, voice significantly gentler.
“I mean, the same thing as Kyle said, I guess,” Stan murmured. “Knows how to have fun, has the same interests as me…”
“Ugh, vague,” Cartman sang out.
"Smart?" Kenny blurted, his gaze burning into Kyle like a magnifying glass burning an ant. He then quickly added, "Given you dated Wendy, and then had a crush on that Gary guy, and all."
Stan nodded with a smile. "Smart, but not in a way that makes me feel stupid. Also, they've gotta... know me. Be patient, because I'm still, like, a human version of "under construction", yanno?”
Kyle chuckled lightly, feeling sick with hope. “Yeah, you are pretty much a “work in progress”, aren't you?”
“Yeah, yeah, shut it, smartass.”
All of a sudden, Kenny and Cartman smiled softly, which had a flick of light sparking deep in Kyle's stomach.
"smartass".
“Still too vague…” Kyle whispered with a smile, telling the truth. Anything Stan had described was too equivocal, and forever would be unless Kyle's very name was uttered from his lips.
“Whatever,” Stan darted his gaze away again, and this time there was no room for ambiguity: Stan's cheeks were glowing pink under the harsh diner light.
Kyle's heart soared, only just containing his smile, let alone a cheer. He couldn't be too definite on his hunch yet. He knew better by now than to not expect disappointment.
They finished up their milkshakes and headed back to the car, now only a matter of minutes away from Cartman's. But Stan froze up, not moving to clamber in.
“‘You alright?” Kyle whispered, unconsciously reaching for Stan's hand.
Stan brushed him away. "I think I'm- I'm maybe gonna walk," Stan whispered.
"You sure?"
"I'll be sick if I get in that-...that contraption again.”
Kyle frowned, hyper-aware his forehead creases were way too prominent. “I can come with you?”
“No, ‘s fine.”
“Stan, it's late. It's dark. You shouldn't walk the streets al//one”.
“//It's also fucking South Park. And I'm seventeen years old, for God’s sake,” Stan chuckled mirthlessly.
“Stanley, I just mean…”
“Oh, I know whatcha mean. I'm well-aware,” Stan crossed his arms, his resolve hardening further. “You act like you treat us all equally, but here we are again, with you constantly on my ass, babyin' me, what… because I'm-... I'm-…”
“I do not baby you,” Kyle protested uselessly. “Anyone, for that matter!”
“Oh, please. You totally coddle Kenny, and you know it,” Stan grumbled. “Cartman sees it too, right?”
Cartman raised his palms. “Ay, man. Don't drag me into you and Kyel's li'l lovers’ quarrel.”
“Of course. How convenient. The one time the most problematic one here can shed some light to the guy blinded by his richesse little life, can be rational, he's suddenly a goddamn Saint.God!”
“Stan…” Kenny frowned. “Dude, what's happ'nin’? You're never mad.”
“Oh, is that what we do now? Reduce it down to archetypal emotions? God, he really has watered you down to an infant, Kenny,” Stan bit, his tone nothing less than vile. “Or is Kyle too angry all the time so that no one else can be? Is that it?”
Kyle sighed. "That's enough…”
“Yep, here he goes. Callin' the shots as always, ‘cuz we gotta-”
“I said, that's enough!”
Stan started, finally clamping the fuck up.
“I was gonna offer to walk with you to keep you company, seeing as you're so committed to the whole lone wolf, what did ya say… “archetype”? But if you're gonna be an asshole about it, fine!”
“Fine!” Stan echoed inadequately, stalking off as if he'd been sent to his room without supper.
“Yeah!” Kyle called after him, yelling down the street like some sort of yob. “You can forget that me, or any of us even tried to prod you with a twenty-foot pole! We won't make that mistake ever again.”
With that, Kyle piled himself into the driver's seat of the car, sulking against the window as he waited for the other two to join him. A deathly silence shrouded them, emitting a bitter chill into the spring evening. Switching on the heaters, Kyle buckled in, fumbling with the belt for a while, it receiving a collection of verbal abuse in the process. As he pulled out of the parking lot, he could sense the way the other two held their breaths, not daring to make a noise.
Kyle hated how he reduced people to that. To the shaky, panicky feeling that always sat in his own stomach.
He hated how he could let Stan stomp off that way, let him think that it was a good idea to isolate as always.
He hated the way he sprung into a rant as soon as the tyres hit the road. “Goddamn it! Why- why does he never listen!? The past twenty-four hours I've worked fucking tirelessly to pull him out of whatever little corner he's backed himself into lately, but now he's yanked back like it's a game of fucking tug-of-war! Like, seriously!”
A "don't worry, Kyle. He'll come to his senses," would've been nice, but the radio silence he actually received made his brain feel all crackly with noise.
Kyle's foot rested heavier on the accelerator, trying to find some ground. “Genuinely, what does he want me to do, just… fuckin’… magic everything so he can watch some sorta happily ever after of his own from the sidelines, without having done a damn thing!? It makes no sense!”
“Kyle, slow down,” Kenny mumbled from the back seat. Kyle sighed, taking some weight off of his feet, putting it all back on his shoulders instead, his bones rigid and rattled to the point that they felt brittle.
Most of all, Kyle hated how Stan had been right.