Chapter Text
Kyle is having an ultimately shitty day. In the morning, he’d failed to wake up before his mom did, and had to endure her scent without growling for his whole morning routine, until he’d left for school. Then, he’d slipped on some black ice on the way to his car and had to drive dripping wet. After he’d gotten to school, he’d been running in the halls so he wouldn’t miss first period and fell flat on his face. Thankfully, he’d managed to get through most of his classes without totally embarrassing himself. But now, as he sits through his World Studies class, his last period, he finds himself feeling murderous. Cartman’s annoying ass might have something to do with that, though. What little control over his pheromones he’d been able to muster through practice with Butters was slipping from him with every word out of that idiot’s mouth.
“Mr. Dick,” Cartman raises his hand, “You said that the ancient Indians were the first ancient civilization to have indoor plumbing, right?”
The teacher falters at his question, visibly suspicious. Kyle huffs; he should be.
“…Yes, Eric, that’s right.”
“So how come they stink like shit now?” Cartman asks, garnering some scattered laughter. Kyle glares at Cartman, and he can tell his scent is out of control based on the reactions of some of the kids next to him.
“Stop it!” He snaps at Cartman, wishing they sat next to each other so he could poke him in the back.
Cartman makes eye contact with Kyle, and blinks in that fake-innocent way of his. “Mr. Dick! Kyle is yelling at me.”
“Eric—”
“Cartman!” Kyle growls, making a few kids flinch, “Stop being an ignorant piece of shit for one fucking second, because I really, really, cannot with you right now!”
“Language!” Mr. Dick jumps in, and seriously, he can go fuck himself with that bull. Cartman swore just a second ago!
“All that scent sh—stuff isn’t gonna work on me, Kyle,” Cartman says with a smirk. “And how am I being ignorant? No, seriously—have you ever met an Indian?”
And Kyle just—can’t, right now. He slams his fists on his desk with another growl, pushes his chair back, and fucking leaves, attendance be damned. Ma can scold him all she wants. He needs to be out of that classroom before he reverts back to bad habits. As he storms out of the building, he takes his phone out to text Stan. He could use a calming study session, right about now.
You
Can I come over?
Instead of the instant reply Kyle’s used to, his message stays unread by the time he gets home. Okay. Whatever. He’ll just study alone, then. They were all going out to visit Stan later tonight, anyway. No need to get upset.
A few hours later—after Ma had come back from work with Ike and Kyle’d been scolded to Hell and back for leaving early—his phone buzzes with a message from the only contact he doesn’t have silenced. Kyle reaches for his phone instinctually, swiping the message open and frowning.
Stanley
hey dude
tonight is off
You
OK.
Can I come over?
Just me.
Stanley
no sorry
just.
stuff.
You
Alright.
I’ll tell the guys and we’ll reschedule for tomorrow.
Stanley
no
Kyle scowls.
You
When, then?
Stanley
next week
You
Dude, are you okay?
After five minutes of watching Stan’s typing bubble appear and disappear and appear again, then disappear with no new message sent through, Kyle sighs harshly, pushing his hair back. Okay. Okay, fine. Kyle should probably let the other guys know.
You
Stan said we can’t come over tonight.
Or tomorrow night.
He says he can’t hang out until next week.
Kenny
WHAT
BRO
Fat Ass
omfg that asshole
how come
You
I’m not talking to you right now.
Kenny, ask so I can answer.
Fat Ass
FUCK YOU
Kenny
lolllll
why until next week?
Butters
Yeah, how come??
I got permission from my parents and everything for tonight
They’ll be real sore at me for going back on my word now
You
He wouldn’t say why.
Do you think he’s OK?
Kenny
wait he said a week exactly
Fat Ass
no
hes dead, kyle
You
Yeah.
Shut the fuck up, Cartman.
Fat Ass
all bc of you
you killed him
i thought u werent talking to me kyleeee
Butters
Oh, jeez
I hope Stanley’s okay
Kenny
bro hes presenting
Fat Ass
WHAT
You
Sorry, what?
Kenny
r u guys dumb
he says we cant come over out of nowhere
and he said exactly a week until we can
hes presenting
Butters
I coulda sworn he’d be a Beta!
You
Same.
Fat Ass
Ur joking
he was obviously gonna be an omega
Kenny
that was my guess too
Butters
You really think so? It’d be so nice to know another Omega that isn’t Bebe
Kenny
bebe’s sweet wdym
Butters
You only like her bc of her tits Kenny
Kenny
shes got killer tits
yeah exactly
Fat Ass
LMAO
Butters
She’s mean to me, tho
You
She’s mean to you because you were a dick to her in middle school, dude.
Butters
Yeah, ik :(
You
You really think he’s an Omega?
Fat Ass
i’d bet kennys money on it
Kenny
get ur grubby hands OFF my fucking savings, tubby
Fat Ass
HEY
Kyle snorts, shutting his phone. He turns back to his homework, biting his lip. Stan…an Omega? What would his scent be? Kyle flushes. He shouldn’t be thinking about this. It’s—it’s wrong, when he knows Stan would probably be uncomfortable. It’s so strange to think of Stan as an Omega. Kyle supposes he could be an Alpha, too. He’s strong, protective, and calming to be around. Those are the main characteristics of Alphas, aren’t they? But then again, he’s sweet and caring, too, like an Omega.
Jesus, what is he doing, thinking about this stuff? It’s none of his business. It’s not like Stan guessed at Kyle’s sec-gen before he presented. He needs to focus on his own shit. With the back of his neck feeling hot, he looks at his homework in earnest this time. Still, every once in a while, his thoughts drift back to Stan. Kyle bites at his lip; he hopes whatever Stan’s going through, rut or heat, that he’s okay—that his first doesn’t suck as bad as Kyle’s own did.
———
A few days later, Wendy notices that something’s up, because of course she does. She keeps shooting concerned glances at him whenever Kyle doesn't jump out of his seat to answer a question like he always does in Sociology, and side-eyes him the whole period. When the bell rings, she corners him.
“What’s wrong with you?” She asks, a wrinkle between her brows.
“Nothing.”
Wendy narrows her eyes, and Kyle sighs.
“Seriously, I’m fine. Now move before I’m late to Calculus.” He tries to side step her, but she moves with him.
“Kyle,” Wendy starts, putting a hand on his shoulder.
The snarl that rips out of him is entirely instinctual, and it makes the girl flinch back. Her scent flares out, and Kyle can see her physically hold back from posturing. Her mouth twitches like she wants to snarl back at him, but when it opens all she does is exhale sharply, stepping back. The smell of acrid, burning incense lingers between them.
Kyle blanches. “Sorry. I—I didn’t—“
“No, no. It’s fine,” Wendy says, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I should know better than to—I shouldn’t have gotten so close. I forget you’re an Alpha now, sometimes,” she offers awkwardly.
“Yeah. I, uh…I gotta go. Bye, Wendy.”
“I’ll see you in Debate, Broflovski!” She calls, and Kyle pretends he’s too far down the hall to hear.
———
Kyle picks up Kenny and drives both of them to work; Kenny to City Wok and himself to his father’s law firm. As much as he’d bitched about it in the past, secretary work was no joke. He sat in the back of his dad’s office, sorting through paperwork and taking notes on new cases. He’s in the middle of organizing the files alphabetically when his phone rings. He picks it up without looking.
“Hello?” He says absently.
“Kyle?”
He stills. “Stan?”
“Yeah, uh. Yeah, it’s me.”
Kyle sets down the papers. “Are you okay?”
Stan makes a low whine of pain in the back of his throat and Kyle’s heart squeezes. “Uh, no. I—not really.”
Kyle frowns, shoving away his frantic instincts that yell at him to rush and protect and provide, to take care of his hurt friend. “What’s wrong?” He asks instead.
“…Can you come over?”
“Right now?”
A muffled noise from the other line. “Yeah.”
“Aren’t you—“ Kyle flushes, “I mean, you’re presenting aren’t you?”
“Kyle, please,” Stan begs, “I promise that part is over, I just—I need—“
Oh, who is he kidding. “Yeah. Yeah I’ll come,” he rushes to say, already abandoning his post in between towers of paper. “Just wait for me, okay?”
“Okay,” Stan sighs thinly. “Okay. Thanks. Bye.”
Kyle is about to find his dad when the Omega comes into the office himself.
“Kyle? Did you already finish?” Gerald asks, eyeing the clearly unfinished pile of paperwork.
“I have to go,” Kyle says.
He blinks. “Now?”
“Yes,” Kyle’s already gathering his things. "It's an emergency.”
Gerald frowns disapprovingly. “You know it’s not good work ethic to leave on such short notice,” he points out.
“I said it’s an emergency, Dad,” Kyle replies shortly, shrugging his backpack on and snatching his keys off the table. He shuts the door, calling, “Sorry! Bye, thanks!”
———
Kyle climbs up the tree near Stan’s window, blinking when he notices the window is closed off by wooden planks shaped in a makeshift shutter. Huh. That’s new. Kyle supposes it’s getting too cold for a simple curtain to cut it. So instead of lunging into the room like usual, he knocks on the wood sharply, three times.
The shutters open, and Kyle leans back to allow them the space. Stan shivers at the chilly air, and slinks back into the uncharacteristic darkness of the room as Kyle climbs into the bed. Kyle situates himself with a sigh.
Stan is wrapped in a heavy winter blanket and wearing a sweater, and still his body trembles with the cold. His face is flushed red, like he’s sick. It takes a minute before Kyle registers his scent: overwhelmingly sweet tree sap, almost like maple syrup. Kyle’s cheeks flush, Stan’s room—the bed he’s sitting on right now—smells like heat.
“You’re an Omega,” Kyle whispers, like it should be a secret.
Stan slumps against him, and Kyle’s mouth is thick with his scent. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay?” Kyle asks when he starts shivering against him.
There’s muffled arguing from downstairs. Kyle stiffens. Stan scoffs, turning his face into Kyle’s sleeve, “No.”
Kyle swallows. “Is that—“
“Can you scent me?” Stan cuts him off. “Like you do with Butters, to calm him down?”
Kyle blinks, “I—sure. Yeah. Aren’t you still sensitive from your heat, though?”
“I didn’t ask stupid fucking questions when you came to me after your rut,” Stan replies irritably. Kyle sees that the line of his shoulders are stiff with tension and refrains from pointing out that yes, actually, he had.
“Sorry,” Kyle sighs, holding out his hand. “Are wrists fine?” He asks, aware of how sensitive his own glands were at first.
Stan takes him by the arm and presses Kyle’s wrist gland to his neck, sighing. Kyle stiffens. O-kay. He’d mean wrist-to-wrist not wrist-to-neck.
Then Stan sighs again, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.”
Kyle relaxes a bit, the animal in his brain calming at the knowledge that his Omega is taken care of, isn’t as distressed. He doesn’t bother shutting it up about the “his Omega” thing—he’s accepted that sometimes that’s just how his brain works now, whenever he’s dealing with an Omega. Even with Butters, his brain would get a bit confused and try to act all territorial. Kyle never let it out of control, though. He never could. Still, he releases another wave of calming pheromones, something that says, “It’s okay, you’re safe with me.”
Stan makes a breathless little noise and shuffles closer, wrapping an arm around Kyle’s waist. He shoves his face deeper into Kyle’s sweatshirt.
“You smell different,” Stan hums.
“Different how?”
“Stronger. More clear.” Stan looks up at Kyle with a small smirk, “I can feel that you’re actively trying to calm me down.”
Kyle feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment, and Stan laughs. “My bad for being a good friend,” Kyle snarks.
Suddenly there’s a loud bang from downstairs. Both boys flinch.
“Stop it!” A woman is screaming. “Stop talking about him like that!”
“As if you aren’t thinking it too, Sharon,” a man’s voice slurs. “He’s always been a fucking disappointment, but this takes the fucking cake.”
Kyle glances at Stan, eyes wide. Stan looks away, frowning down at his lap.
“…You have any brothers?”
Stan snorts a humorless laugh.
“Randy!”
“Oh, come on, Sharon,” Randy, apparently, says loudly, “An Omega? A fuckin’ Omega?!”
“He can’t control what he is!”
A heavy, Alpha growl that has Kyle stiffening in preparation for an attack sounds from downstairs. He curls a protective hand around Stan’s arm, hackles rising. His eyes dart to the door, anticipating an aggressive scent to match, but the gap between wood and floor is plugged with a folded towel.
“He was supposed to be an Alpha. He was supposed to be a fucking man. Not some—some whore who needs to be stuffed every month!”
Dangerously, “You do not talk about my son that way.”
“Sure, Sharon,” the eye roll is audible, “he’s a bitch, how bout that? He’s been acting like a bitch his whole life, and now he really is one. He really is a bitch, Sharon.”
“Get out!” Sharon yells. “Get out of my fucking house, Randy!”
“Don’t touch me!”
“Randy!”
There’s a loud bang, and Kyle’s breath damn near stops. He turns to Stan wicked fast. “Did—”
“No.”
“But—”
“He wouldn’t.”
There’s a few beats of silence that make Kyle doubt Stan’s words, but then Sharon speaks again.
“Leave, before I fucking make you,” she orders, voice trembling with rage.
Kyle hears the front door being wrenched open, then slammed hard enough to make the screen door rattle audibly, and then there are footsteps coming up the stairs. Kyle stiffens, glancing at Stan. He just shakes his head, shuffling closer to Kyle, pressing his wrist more firmly against his neck gland.
The footsteps stop at Stan’s door. Kyle holds his breath.
“Stanley?”
Stan squeezes Kyle’s arm, a signal to stay quiet. Kyle purses his lips.
Sharon knocks on the door. “Stan, are you awake?” She tries the handle, and it jiggles, locked. She sighs heavily from behind the door, and Kyle hears her sniffle. She sucks in a choked, wavering breath and goes back down the stairs. Stan doesn't relax against him until there’s the distant sound of a door shutting.
“Is she okay?” Kyle asks, worried.
Stan shrugs, squirming against him.
Okay, so he doesn’t want to talk about it. Kyle bites the inside of his cheek. That’s fine. “Do you wanna lay down?”
Stan gives him a small smile, “Yeah.” He makes to move but Kyle holds him still by his shoulders, maneuvering them so that Kyle is sitting with his back to the shuttered window, with Stan curled up with his head on Kyle’s lap.
Stan hums appreciatively, “Your scent is stronger. Nicer.”
“Uh,” Kyle shifts, flustered. “That’s—y’know, inner thigh glands, and everything.”
Stan blinks. “Huh. Yeah.”
Kyle tentatively sets a hand on Stan’s head, moving his fingers through the strands when the other boy just sighs and tilts his head into Kyle’s fingers. Suddenly, Stan whines, curling in on himself.
“What?” Kyle asks, “What’s wrong? Stan?”
“Cramps,” Stan gasps, arms wrapping around his stomach. He lets out a pained groan.
Kyle tenses at the sound, letting his instincts take over and pump more calming pheromones out of his glands. His Omega is in pain, and he needs to make it better, his mind urges him.
“W-What do you need, Stan?” Kyle asks, remembering Stan’s kind blue eyes and an offer to chew on rubber to ease his toothaches. “Can I—what should I do?”
“I don’t know,” Stan whines, “It hurts. I hate this.”
Kyle can’t—Kyle has to help. His instincts scream at him to take control, and he lets them. He grabs Stan and pushes him so he’s sitting upright. Kyle needs to get their glands together—their neck glands. He can feel the need spread in his body with every beat of his heart.
“This okay?” Kyle asks, pressing a finger against Stan’s neck gland.
Stan shudders, “What?”
“We should—with our glands—“
“Oh. Okay.” Stan huffs, dropping himself into Kyle’s lap, straddling him loosely.
Kyle’s hands twitch, his chest constricts with the new weight across his thighs. Stan makes a choked off noise and tenses, hand drifting to his stomach. Kyle quickly brings their neck glands together, his hand on the back of Stan’s neck. They both gasp at the sensation. Kyle feels the contact like a heavy blanket, settling his nerves. Stan lets out a shaky breath against the back of Kyle’s neck.
“Better?” Kyle asks. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“A little,” Stan huffs.
Kyle clicks his tongue. “Just a little?”
Stan laughs. This close Kyle can feel the vibrations travel from Stan’s chest into Kyle’s heart. The Omega sighs, settling closer, tucking his head underneath Kyle’s chin. “This does help. A lot. Thanks.”
“Of course, dude. I’m here for you,” Kyle murmurs. Then, teasingly, “No matter how needy you are.”
“Shut up,” Stan grins. Then he hums, thinking. “I’m not all—y’know,” he says embarrassedly, “but it’s like, weird. The fever is still there, and my head feels muddy, and my brain keeps telling me to stay with m—the Alpha.”
“My brain’s telling me that too,” Kyle murmurs, a hand coming up to play with Stan’s hair again. Kyle likes Stan’s hair. He likes the way it’s light and thick at the same time, the way he can run his fingers through it and it doesn't tangle, the way it falls a bit past Stan’s ears, the way it’s different from his own head of wool. “Any time I’m near an Omega, honestly. It’s really annoying.” He huffs a laugh. “Even with Butters the instinct flares up.”
Stan tenses on Kyle’s lap, and he fists his hands into the back of Kyle’s shirt. Kyle blinks when he hears a low growl coming from the Omega.
“Wh—?”
“Don’t talk about Butters, for fucks sake,” Stan grumbles, his growl disappearing. “It’s rude to talk about other Omegas when you’re in my nest.”
“I’m in your nest?” Kyle blurts, eyes wide. He shoves Stan’s jealous-of-other-Omegas thing to the back of his mind, for now, to mull over later.
“Yes?” Stan frowns against his neck. “I know it doesn’t—I know it’s not really a good nest but—“
“The nest is fine,” Kyle interrupts, getting antsy from Stan’s upset, slightly distressed scent. “I mean, you haven’t had the chance to really build it yet. It’s fine the way it is right now,” Kyle reassures Stan, glancing at the lone pink shirt near Stan’s headboard—it can’t be Stan’s…maybe his sisters?—and the blanket wrapped around Stan’s back. It’s a bit of an abstract nest, sure, but that makes sense for someone who’s just presented. Or maybe it doesn’t; Kyle wouldn’t know.
“Sure,” Stan snorts. “You don’t have to lie to me.”
Kyle frowns. “I’m not lying to you. You just presented a few days ago, dude. I don’t expect a giant, perfect nest. Besides, you’ve got the scent part down. Isn’t that a good sign?”
“You can smell my scent?” Stan asks, pulling away to look excitedly in Kyle’s eyes, all signs of discomfort gone from his face. “What’s it smell like? Is it good?”
Kyle inhales deeply, eyelashes fluttering as he lets Stan’s scent settle in the back of his mouth. It’s an amazing scent. It reminds Kyle of Stark’s Pond in the late spring, when the weather is humid and Mrs. Cartman’s homemade ice pops leave sticky trails down his hands as they melt.
“Sap,” he breathes, watching Stan and kind of wishing their glands were pressed together again. “Pine sap. You smell like summer.”
Stan smiles shyly, cheeks still reddened from his fever, and Kyle’s heart stutters. He asks, “Is it nice?”
“Yeah,” Kyle nods. “It’s sweet.”
Stan grins. “You don’t have your glasses on,” he notices, hands snaking away from the back of Kyle’s shirt.
“Yeah,” Kyle says again. “Uh—I’ve got my contacts in.”
Stan wrinkles his nose and sits back. “You look better with glasses. It fits your nerd image.”
Kyle rolls his eyes, smiling. “Shut up, dude.”
———
Kyle slinks into the house, closing the door quietly behind him. It clicks shut a bit louder than he would have liked, but Kyle exhales his relief anyways. He sets his bag down near the coat closet and kicks his boots off. The house is quiet. Maybe his—
“And just where were you all this time, mister?”
Kyle yelps, turning to face his mother. “Ma, I—”
“Coming home this late with a strange scent on you,” she barrels on.
“Look, I was—”
“Don’t you start with me!” She glares, lips pinched in anger. “Your father came home alone, and said that you left in the middle of the work day, so don’t try to spin any stories.”
Kyle furrows his brows. His nose twitches at the heavy scent of her anger. “I wasn’t going to lie, Ma,” he grumbles, shrugging his jacket off. “I was going to apologize.”
“Were you, now?” She asks, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Even with developing wrinkles and greying hair, Sheila Broflovski has never skipped a spa day.
Frustrated, he snaps, “Yes, I was.”
Sheila scans him with her eyes for a minute before she sighs, deflating. “You know I worry about you, bubbeleh,” she says with a frown.
“I know, Ma.”
She crosses her night robe more tightly around her body, saying as if to herself, “And I know you’ve grown so much already—oy vey, you’re going to college soon—but you’re still my bubbeleh, even though you’ve presented into a beautiful strong Alpha—”
“Ma,” Kyle sighs, embarrassed, moving to stand next to her.
“—But I still worry about you,” she continues, voice wavering, “I know you need your space, Kyle, especially with another Alpha in the house—”
Kyle can sense she’s about to start crying, and shit, he doesn’t know how to deal with that, so he hugs her to his chest, and she grips onto him like she’s afraid the Boogeyman might come and snatch him. She only comes up to his sternum, now, and Kyle can feel his own eyes start to water. He remembers when his mom used to feel like an unstoppable force, something bigger than his world at nine years old. She’s still an unstoppable force when she wants to be, but less so bigger than his world. He tucks his face into her robe and breathes in the strong perfume of her scent, tentatively letting his own scent unfurl to comfort her.
Suddenly, Sheila laughs against him, pulling away. “That only works on Omegas, Kyle,” she smirks.
Kyle flushes. “Oh.”
“But thank you for trying anyway,” she steps back, holding onto his forearms. “Now mind telling your dear old mother why you came home smelling like an Omega?”
Jesus Christ. There’s no way he can tell the full truth—his mother might actually try giving him The Talk, and fuck it all if he’ll ever let that happen.
He starts, “Ma, I left early from Dad’s office because my friend needed help. That’s all.”
She purses her lips, obviously hearing all the details left out of that vague statement. He knows she can smell the heat on him, and Kyle really really hopes she isn’t taking the word ‘help’ out of context. “The Stotches’ kid?” She finally asks.
Kyle barks out an embarrassed laugh. “Oh, Jesus, no.”
Sheila chuckles, shaking her head. “Well alright then. I’ll stop guessing and leave you with your privacy,” she walks off into the kitchen. “Don’t be up too late, bubbbeleh, tomorrow’s Friday! You have school!”
“I know, Ma,” Kyle answers, already heading upstairs.
———
Later, in the darkness of his room, Kyle reaches for the sweatshirt he’d worn earlier that day. He brings it up to his nose and inhales deeply, his heart fluttering at the scent of sweet pine sap.
———
It’s Monday, and homeroom is as chaotic as usual. Mr. Garrison has somehow managed to follow them to senior year, taking the position of a teacher aide and homeroom teacher. Like Kyle remembers from elementary school, Mr. Garrison does jack shit. He’s sitting at his desk, kicking his legs and smiling giddily at his phone. Kyle looks away, disturbed to see that man happy about anything.
Cartman and Kenny are passing a chromebook back and forth, taking turns on Slope. On the other side of him, Clyde is recounting Saturday’s party at his house to Craig, who’s got an arm firmly wrapped around Tweek’s waist, who in turn is sitting practically on Craig’s lap. Said blond is leaning back to rest his head against the desk behind him—Nichole’s—and letting her play with his hair as they talk. Next to Nichole is Red, who has her head on her arm and is ogling pretty obviously at Bebe’s tits, which are situated a seat away from her. In front of Red is Wendy, who’s giving Kyle a skeptical look and nudging her head towards Red. Kyle snorts, shaking his head back at her.
“Okay, children,” Mr. Garrison says suddenly. “Settle down.”
The class quiets.
“We have a new student coming to join us today.” He pauses as the room bursts into chatter once again at the announcement.
Cartman leans over, whispering, “Do you think it’s a chick or a dude?”
“Doesn’t matter to me.”
“I hope she’s a chick,” Kenny grins, “With nice—”
“Big tits, yeah we know,” Cartman finishes with Kenny. Kyle laughs at Kenny’s glare. Cartman looks back to Kyle, “Okay, fine. Do you think it’s an Omega or an Alpha?”
“How bout you stop saying ‘it’ when referring to a human being?”
“How bout you shove a chili up your ass?” Cartman mocks.
“Settle down, children! I said settle the fuck down, alright?!” Mr. Garrison yells. When all the noise tapers away, he clears his throat. “As I was saying, there’s a new student joining our school, and since he’s been assigned to this homeroom, I’ve been saddled with introductions.”
“It’s a dude,” Cartman whispers.
“I have fucking ears!” Kyle whispers back.
Mr. Garrison goes and opens the door. He sticks his head out of the room.
Kyle blinks as he registers a familiar scent. It’s…it’s very faint, but it kinda smells like—
“Okay, you can come in now,” the teacher says to someone outside, “Introduce yourself and then pick a seat.”
After a moment Mr. Garrison comes back into the class, the new student trailing behind him.
—like pine sap.
Kyle stiffens in his seat, and he distantly hears Kenny gasping and Cartman muttering an awed, “No fucking way,” but all he can focus on is the boy standing at the front of the class.
“Uh, I’m Stan Marsh. I’m a senior, I live in North Park, and, uh…” Stan glances at Mr. Garrison, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “And yeah, that’s it.”
“Take a seat,” Mr. Garrison says, already turning back to his phone.
“Dude, what the fuck!” Cartman exclaims quietly, a grin growing on his face.
Stan looks at them and gives a tiny wave as he gets closer to the desks, but falters when he sees there aren’t any empty seats.
“Hey, over here!” It’s Wendy. Kyle turns and sees her waving Stan over. “There’s an empty seat behind me.”
“Oh, thanks,” Stan flashes her a small smile. He sits down.
“You’re Stan, right?” She asks, a bright smile on her face.
“Yeah.”
She holds out her hand. “I’m Wendy Testaburger.”
Stan’s eyes light with recognition and he shakes her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too!” Wendy grins, turning around in her seat. Kyle watches as Stan looks down at his hand for a minute before he clears his throat and rummages through his bag. Wendy catches his eye and raises her eyebrows, still grinning.
“He’s cute,” she mouths. Kyle gives her an awkward thumbs up and turns around.
Cartman, Kenny, and Kyle immediately start their debrief.
“Did you know about this?”
“Dude, of course I fucking didn’t!” Kyle huffs. “Why would I?”
“Other than the fact you two are total fags for each other?” Cartman scoffs under his breath.
“Watch it, fatboy,” Kyle scowls.
Kenny shakes his head, “Dude, can you believe it? Two surprises in one.”
“Two?”
The blond nods, “Stan’s an Omega, and he’s attending South Park County High.”
“Oh,” Kyle blinks. “I knew about the Omega thing.”
Kenny slams his hands on his desk so hard it rattles. “What?!” He yells.
“Shut up,” Kyle growls, too aware of how quiet the class just got. He eyes Kenny until he looks away sheepishly. “He texted me and told me,” Kyle lies.
“Aw man,” Kenny slumps in his seat, “Stan never texts me.”
Cartman snorts. “That’s because you’re barely online, Kenny.”
“He could at least send me a note, or something!”
Someone taps Kyle on the shoulder. It’s Rebecca, who sits behind him. He gives her a confused look.
She holds out a folded piece of paper. “It’s from the new kid,” she says quietly.
“Oh.” Kyle turns around and sees Stan talking with Wendy, the girl’s hands moving excitedly. “Thanks.”
Can we talk after homeroom? The note reads, All of you guys.
Kyle looks to Stan again, and this time they make eye contact. Stan smiles, that same shy smile from last Thursday, when they’d—
Kyle cuts off that train of thought quickly and smiles back at him, nodding once.
“The fuck is that, some gay love confession?” Cartman sneers, snatching the paper from Kyle.
“No. Stan wants to talk to us after homeroom.”
Cartman’s eyes flick through the note before he tosses it onto his desk and leans back with a huff. “Why doesn’t he talk to us now?”
Kenny nudges Cartman with a grin. “I think it’s because he’s too busy talking to Wendy.”
All three of them turn to look at Stan, who is in fact still talking with Wendy.
“Poor virgin boy Stanley,” Cartman tuts mockingly, “His first time seeing a girl other than his ugly ass sister or his droopy-titted mother, and it’s Wendy fucking Testaburger.”
“Dude!” Kyle exclaims.
“No, no, he’s got a point,” Kenny says, pointing a gloved finger at the pair, “See that look in his eyes? He’s totally gone.”
Kyle frowns, looking at Stan and Wendy again. Stan’s leaning on his desk, his cheek propped up on his fist, smiling and nodding earnestly to whatever Wendy is saying. Kyle can catch more of his scent now that he’s closer; it’s not as sweet as before, but it still fills Kyle’s lungs and sits on the tip of his tongue. Wendy leans in closer to Stan, and Kyle can see her taking deep breaths, probably inhaling Stan’s scent, too. Something ticks somewhere in the back of his mind.
“Yeah,” Kyle murmurs, turning back to his Physics homework. “Totally gone.”