Chapter Text
About a week and a half later, Stan was walking next door to spend the night at Kyle’s. Their entire lives, nearly every Friday night was sleepover night, and that hadn’t changed when they had started dating last fall (the parents of whoever’s house they were at just kept a closer eye on them).
Kyle’s knee was healing okay, thank god, so at least Sheila might be more inclined to give them a little privacy. It’s not like they really ever got up to anything inappropriate; they were sixteen for Christ sakes. Honestly, their relationship was largely the same as it always had been, with the addition of a kiss here and there.
Stan shivered in the early spring breeze. It wasn’t really that cold of a day, but he had woken up feeling a little off and now couldn’t seem to get warm. Not that anything could keep him from a night of video games and pizza with his SBF, though, so he pushed the feeling aside.
Not bothering to knock, he entered the living room, waving to Kyle’s mom before calling up the stairs.
“Yo, invalid, I escaped homework jail!”
The “invalid” in question appeared at the landing, positively beaming.
“Hey dude! Ma, we’ll be in my room!”
Stan made his way up the stairs, feeling a little dizzy but ignoring it, and gave his boyfriend a kiss on the cheek.
“Hey, man. How’s the leg?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “Stupid, same as the last time I saw you two hours ago. How are YOU doing? Your voice sounds kinda scratchy, and you seemed tired all day.”
Stan waved him off, mentally cursing his ever perceptive Kyle. He was fine, damnit. “Im good, babe. Promise. Good enough to kick your ass at some ‘Kart for sure.”
————-
As it was, Stan was not “good” enough to kick ass at MarioKart, or Mortal Kombat, or any of the games the two cycled through over the next few hours.
He was honestly having trouble focusing on anything, even his favorite person. The facade was getting harder to keep up, too, and even though Kyle didn’t verbally press him to spill what was going on, he didn’t miss those pointed glances.
Stan tried to appear normal, attempting to make conversation, joke around, inhale his half of their usual olive and pineapple pizza, but GOD he just felt so OUT OF IT. His head was starting to pound, too, the ache swapping places with his appetite.
“Stan! Stanley Randall William Marsh!”
He snapped out of his fog, noticing Kyle waving a hand in front of his face, and shook his head in a vain attempt to clear it.
“Dude, you okay? That’s like, the fifth time you’ve zoned out.”
Fuck. He tried for a smile, but the worry didn’t leave Kyle’s face.
“I’m good, Ky, just… long week, you know?” Okay that was a lame excuse if he ever heard one, but no way was he actually like, sick. Deflect, Stan, deflect.
“Gonna get some water, you want anything?” Kyle shook his head, and Stan moved to rise from his position on the floor.
Ah, shit. Black spots swam into his vision, and Stan stumbled backwards into the bed, crumpling at the edge.
“JESUS CHRIST!”
Stan was vaguely aware of Kyle scrambling up as best he could, using the bed frame to haul himself up.
“… Ky, be careful. Your knee.” He could barely hear his own voice.
Kyle ignored him, placing his hands on Stan’s shoulders to steady him.
“Stan, look at me. Talk to me, sweetheart!”
His vision was clearing, Kyle’s worried expression coming back into focus. Oh, did he have any idea how gorgeous he was? That expressive face, so quick to show any emotion. Those deep, deep green eyes, framed by the ever swirling fire of his hair. Mm, his hair. Stan loved that he had let it get longer, that little ponytail he was currently wearing it in was really doing it for him-
“Stan! You are WAY too hot right now!”
Kyle’s hands were on his face, cool and so, so comforting.
“Talk to me, kosher boy.”
He could see Kyle’s face wrinkle in surprise.
“Ew! What the fuck, dude, gross.” His tone softened, concern creeping back in. “I really think you’re sick, Stan. You feel like you’re running a fever. In fact, I know you are if your delirious ass just said that to me.”
Kyle stood with a barely perceptible groan, leaving his crutches on the floor in favor of hopping towards the door.
“Im getting my mom; she keeps the cold meds in her bathroom after Ike tried getting high off NyQuil.”
“Wait! Kyle, it’s late, don’t wake your parents up.”
Using the doorframe for support, Kyle turned, eyebrows knitting together. “You sure?”
Stan was. “Please dude, I’d rather try and sleep it off.”
Kyle sighed, but relented, hopping his way back to the bed. Stan shivered, joining him under the blankets. God, it was cold in here. Either that or it was the fever talking.
They laid in silence for a few minutes, until another shiver wracked through his body, and Kyle wordlessly took him in his arms.
Part of Stan worried about their proximity getting Kyle sick with whatever it was he had (the fucking plague on top of a bum knee would royally suck), but the other was seriously grateful for the embrace. He could admit now that he really did feel like shit.
“Ky?”
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry.”
He felt Kyle squeeze him tighter. “Don’t be sorry, Stanley. It’s not your fault you caught whatever disease is going around at that Petri dish of a school. But why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling good?”
Stan shrugged. “Sounds stupid, but I guess I didn’t think I could actually be sick while you’re on crutches?Thought it would go away if I ignored it. Apparently I was a little off base.”
Kyle snorted. “A little? You almost passed out, dude. And I’m not exactly in prime condition to be catching fainting boyfriends. You could have hit your head or something.”
A soft kiss to the back of his neck, and then,
“I only ever want to take care of you, dude. Even if it’s something as common as a cold, I’m here for you.”
——-
Morning came without Stan even remembering falling asleep. Rolling over with a moan, he sought out Kyle’s form on the other side of the bed. Empty.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.” Ah, speak of the devil.
Kyle crossed the room, extending a hand to his forehead, frowning when he judged Stan to still be too warm for his liking. He leaned his crutches against the side of the bed, offering a glass of water and a few daytime cold and flu pills.
“Here. I know your stubborn ass won’t take the liquid stuff.”
Stan rolled his eyes, but accepted the meds. “Oh, please, you’re so much worse than me about being sick.”
Ew. His voice sounded like garbage. Talking hurt. Evidently Kyle heard it as well.
“Shit, dude. You sound awful. How do you feel?”
Honestly, not so hot. But the fact that Kyle was there with him helped. And for the record, he told himself, Kyle WAS more stubborn than he was when sick. Maybe that’s why the redhead wanted to go to medical school. He already had the whole “doctors make the worst patients” thing down to an impressive level. Heh.
Suddenly remembering something, Stan let out a long groan, which sent poor Kyle into a panicked frenzy.
“Fuck! Stan, is it that bad? Is it your head, your chest? Are you going to pass out on me again!? Are you okay?!”
Stan put a hand up to stop him. “I’m okay baby. I just remembered Randy’s expecting me on the farm today and tomorrow.”
Kyle calmed at this. “Oh. Yeah absolutely not. You’re staying in bed. Preferably here. Where I can keep an eye on you.”
“No arguments here.” Pulling out his phone to shoot his dad a text, he winced at the brightness, passing the device to Kyle, who immediately understood and read aloud as he composed a message.
“Hey dad, I’m not going to make it to the farm this weekend. I caught whatever flu has been going around at school and it’s got me fucked up. I’ll see you soon.”
Kyle looked up. “Can I add a “screw you, Randy” ?”
Stan chuckled, coughing a little. Damn that hurt. “Probably best not to. He’s gonna be pissed as is. You can send the rest, though.”
Kyle did, placing the phone on the nightstand. “If he gives you a hard time, I WILL kick his ass.”
Stan had to fight the urge to laugh at the mental image of his firecracker of a boyfriend dueling a weed fueled Randy, whacking him with his crutches and holding his own despite having to hop around.
“I love you, man.”
Kyle grinned, bending down to plant a kiss right between his eyebrows.
“No, me. You feel up for some juice or something?”
Stan nodded. “Just don’t put salt in it.”
Kyle was grinning again as he hobbled back out of the room. “No promises!”
“Kyyyyyyyleeeee!”