Chapter Text
6.
“You never call it home,” Kyle blurted as they reached Jimbo and Ned's, so comfortably that he wondered if he'd forgotten to pack his filter for this sleepover amongst all the useless garbage he swore he'd need.
“Hm?”
“You tend to say “Jimbo and Ned's”, or — like earlier — just “back”. Come to think of it, you never even say “my house”.”
Another shrug. Stan fumbled with the keys. “‘Cuz ‘s not my house.”
Kyle turned back to Stan, quirking an eyebrow. “Uhh, he says as he unlocks the front door with his own set of keys,” Kyle teased, but not even a twitch arose from Stan's lips. “Aren't they your guardians?”
“Yeah, but still…”
“”Still” what?”
The lock finally clicked, Stan shoving open the door like it had personally offended him. Maybe he was pretending it was Kyle. “‘S still not home.”
Heart clenching, Kyle scuttled after Stan into the dark hallway, watching as he practically dove for the lightswitch.
Kyle dithered, causing Stan to turn. “What're you, a vacuum salesman? Come on, come in,” there was an edge to Stan's voice, something that alluded to it being more than a joke. That Kyle had gone too far. Again.
“It's… quiet,” Kyle whispered, feeling more threatened by the stillness of the air than he had in the pizzeria bathrooms, the house feeling notably more of an evanescence than a reprieve.
"'S always quiet," Stan shrugged, heading down the hall of the bungalow. "C'mon.”
“‘You usually home alone?” Kyle murmured as he followed Stan down the hallways.
"Not usually but, uh-... it happens. Yanno, they can't drop everything after they've already had to take me in on the spot.”
“He's literally your godfather, he would've known th-”
“You'd be surprised,” Stan spoke in a tone as if to tell Kyle he favoured the silence.
But the thick air was still crawling at his skin, so he had to press on. “They know how you feel about the, like,... silence, though, right?” Kyle pressed. “Surely?”
They stopped outside Stan's bedroom. “Yeah, but I don't notice the silence if I have my headphones on.”
Kyle swallowed thickly. Come to think of it, this weekend had been a rare occasion of seeing Stan without them, even as he sat amongst the... clearly not silent hubbub of the cafeteria. Sure, it was normal for any teenage boy to do so, as normal as it was for that teenage boy's best friend to not read between the lines. But that doesn't mean Kyle shouldn't have.
Stan had wavered, but soon gently pushed his bedroom door open, trying to keep it as narrowly ajar as possible.
It wasn't enough, though. Kyle's eyes nearly popped right out of his skull. “Jesus, Stan…”
“Kinda a mess” should've been nominated for the understatement of the century. Clothes weren't just scattered across the floor, but the carpet wasn't even visible underneath the sheer amount of them. Not only that, but sat against the walls were Stan's suitcases and bags, at least half of his life still packed away in them even after a year, the walls bare and beige and not Stan at all.
Because this had been a guest room, and Stan was still treating it that way, save the mess.
“I see what you mean…” Kyle breathed, and God, what was that stench?
Rotting food spilling from the waste paper basket.
Stan hung his head in shame. “Yeah, let's go back to the living room,” he murmured.
Kyle nodded before he couldn't even think about hedging, which probably was for the best, anyway; what would he even say in the first place?
Now, as they sunk onto the couch, Stan switching on the TV and flicking through the channels, Kyle felt it. What he'd felt last night at Stan's confessions, but impossibly heavier a weight in his stomach: he was scared. Terrified for Stan, fearing losing him more than usual.
And not the type of “losing him” that had slowly manifested over the past couple years, where Stan's presence still hummed in the background. Something more dire, more permanent.
— “Stan-”
— “I'm-”
They chuckled awkwardly, Kyle rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, you go first.”
“‘M goin’ for a walk,” Stan stood up from the couch. “You can stay here, I won't be long.”
Kyle blinked. It was certainly an odd concept for someone to just up and leave while having a guest over, but then again, Kyle knew that Stan did this often, just dipping out whenever he needed to go to the graveyard.
Not that they'd ever discussed it with more than their eyes, that is, Kyle for once knowing where to not overstep. His best guess from experience was that Stan would smell a nostalgic, subtle scent in the air, or begin to feel guilty about something or other. “Alright. You don't want me to come with?”
Stan shook his head, already heading out without even a goodbye, something that had become a very Stan-like thing to do recently, drifting in and out non-verbally. And that wasn't only in a physical sense.
How did this cruel, cruel world deserve this boy after everything it did to him?
As soon as Kyle heard the front door shut, he sprung up, making a beeline for the kitchen, rooting around in the cabinets under the sink, snuffing out trash bags, a cloth, and disinfectant. Marching determinedly down the hall, he threw Stan's bedroom door open and allowed himself a moment to reel and partly mourn before setting to work, cracking the window before emptying the trashcan and disinfecting it, the trash all over the room filling up two whole bags.
Next, the clothes. Some smelled so bad that he didn't have to bury his nose into them (and nestle his cheek against them if they weren't stinking to high heaven) to know to toss them in the laundry basket.
With the floor visible, he then stripped the bed, sought out a change of sheets and got that set too, hands shaking a little after discovering specks of blood on the old ones. The pungent smell still lingered, so he stood on Stan's bed again shoved the window further open, when something caught his eye, something glistening between the bedframe and the wall it was pushed up against.
Kyle hopped down, retrieving the-
the blade.
It still-
It hadn't been washed.
“Stan…” he hissed, tears flowed freely and silently, dripping from Kyle's face to the crisp, new sheets. Hands trembling even further, he hastily threw out the blade, acting on shameless impulse as he perceptively searched through all the drawers and crevices and… did Stan not even have a closet?
Luckily, he came up with nothing, only abashed by the contents of one drawer and saddened by another. With a heavy sigh, he slid against the side of the bed, now situated on a visible carpet as he assessed his work.
His gaze raked over the suitcases and bags, debating for a while before deciding against unpacking anything. Cleaning was one thing, but taking out Stan's life and spreading it around the room against his preferences was another. Besides, with him having had to move out of his home or be locked out for paying nothing off, Kyle had a hunch a good amount of that stuff was sentimental, off-limits.
It made Kyle think deeper, made his stomach drop. Shit, had this been too far? That's when Kyle remembered Stan's hoarding issue from the fourth grade. Secretly, he'd done some research and learned that leaving the hoarder in charge was key; you shouldn't just throw things away. He knew Stan had gotten over it then, but after another traumatic event…
Kyle scarpered downstairs, trying to sit himself back on the couch in the exact spot that Stan had left him at. It was literally a moment after he sat that Stan returned through the door, subdued.
“Hey,” Kyle greeted, beckoning him over even though this was Stan's fucking place. He was so flailing and pathetic, oh my God... “Feeling better?”
“‘M fine,” Stan nodded, offering a small smile. "I had an idea, by the way…”
Kyle perked up. “Mhm. What?”
“‘You remember how I held on to our Guitar Hero?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “It was hypoglycemic episodes, not a fucking lobotomy, Stan,” he retorted, Stan's eyes shining infinitesimally at the reference. There was something in those deep, ocean eyes again — A tiny, fleeting spark, sure, but progress, nonetheless. Kyle's voice softened significantly: “Yeah, dude. ‘Course I remember.”
“You wanna play?”
“Holy shit, you've still got it!?”
“Duh! I'll go get it from my room, then I need help setting it up.”
Kyle swallowed, nodding and watching warily as Stan headed across the hall to his bedroom.
It was inescapable now. He couldn't irrationally hope that Stan would only come to notice after Kyle had left. For a moment, he considered darting out the door, but he quickly shook that corrupted thought away, remembering how freaked out Stan would get in the past year if someone simply disappeared to take a piss unannounced.
Kyle strained his ears, wanting to hear something, anything, over the stifling silence.
But then, he wished he hadn't willed anything of the sort when he heard it. Kyle was up like a shot and across the hall in seconds, Stan's door wide open already, leaving Kyle having to digest the abrupt sight of Stan stood in the middle of the bedroom, body convulsing and a hand over his mouth, not doing much to stifle the sobs.
“Stan, hey…”
Stan turned, hot tears streaming, and he smiled, slowly approaching. Suddenly, he wrapped his arms around Kyle's waist, burying into his chest. Was Stan... actually initiating a hug? Willingly, after everything he'd been through?
“Thank you. Thank you, Ky. I-... I don't even know what to say…”
Instantaneously, all Kyle's anxieties were extinguished, the angry, burning guilt cooling. “You don't need to say anything, dude,” he whispered into Stan's hair. “It's the least I could do.”
Stan hadn't needed to say anything for a while now. Kyle just wished he'd realised that sooner.
"You even found the-… the-..." Stan sobbed. "You found them and threw them out when I never had the heart to, even though I'm tryna stop.”
“Of course…” Kyle sniffled, apparently crying too now. “Of course I did. I don't-... I don't want you doing that anymore. Any of it.”
“I'm sorry…”
“No, no… Don't do that. There's no need for it.”
Stan whimpered. "I love you," he hicced.
Kyle choked back a sob. “I love you too…” he whispered. “So much.” Stan let out a shaky sigh, leaning his full body weight into Kyle. To adjust, Kyle guided them to their knees, not letting go. “I've got you…” he whispered. “Let me look after you now, okay?”
Stan snorted amongst the tears. “I've not been good at that, have I?”
Huffing through a sniffle, Kyle shook his head against the top of Stan's hair, feeling the way the locks tickled his cheek. “I don't care,” he stated vehemently. “I'm proud of you. So, so proud. You're doing so well, honey.”
Stan let out a last sob, squeezing Kyle. He began to settle, letting out a soft sigh before pulling away.
“‘You okay?” Kyle whispered, practically sitting on his hands to resist mopping up Stan's soaked face.
"More than okay," he smiled... God, he smiled again and it was real, and suddenly it all felt real: the blushing, the touching thighs under tables, his need to sit next to Kyle at every movie night… every last moment Kyle brushed off his shoulder as a self-established mind game as if it would ever take the weight off them.
Finding solace in the darkness of the room, Kyle beamed back, basking in the way Stan lit it up as ever.
Stan giggled, standing and wiping his eyes. "You still wanna play Guitar Hero?" he asked.
Kyle's gaze tracked to Stan's real, acoustic guitar, propped on his stand. "I have a better idea," Kyle murmured, gesturing over at it.
"Yeah, what about it?"
"Play for me, stupid," Kyle murmured, way more softly than intended.
God, he was fucking transparent, but maybe that was a good thing right now, given the way the tautness in Stan's expression seemed to completely give way at it. “Yeah?” He breathed in response.
Kyle nodded, watching Stan cross over the room, just staring at it for a moment before taking a big breath and plucking it from the stand.
Standing too, Kyle sat himself cross-legged on Stan's bed, grinning and clapping his hands excitedly, his insides feeling too fuzzy to care how infantile it was.
Stan rolled his eyes, sitting on the carpet, against the side of his bed with his legs crossed too, the guitar resting on his thigh. He tuned it by ear, as if that wasn't extremely impressive already. "Any requests?"
“I don't care,” Kyle's lips let him murmur without his permission, “anything you want.” His gaze trained on the back of Stan's neck, narked he couldn't see his face but sort of content to fantasise as to why goosebumps were rising there.
Stan seemed to pause for a moment before slackening up again, fingers brushing over the strings before beginning to strum some chords as easily as he could put one foot in front of the other. It was a recognisable chord progression to Kyle, but not enough to put his finger on.
"Sing..."
Stan faltered, the strings making a harsh buzzing sound that rang in Kyle's ears… or maybe that was blood rushing as it travelled to his face. “Wh-what?” Stan sputtered in a chuckle.
Too late to back down now. “Sing,” he repeated.
“Uh… really, dude?”
"Mhm," Kyle moved to lay on his stomach on Stan's bed, his cheek resting against his arm that was folded, with the other under his head like a makeshift pillow.
“Um, okay…” Stan replied, sounding a little breathless. A pause, and then it began.
Well, Stan playing Kyle's favourite artist wasn't on his bingo card, given he knew Stan used to scrunch his nose up at Taylor Swift, even if that was a long time ago. Eyes closed as he listened, a lazy hand came up to bury in Stan's hair, stroking the locks as he sang and played.
He'd always known Stan was good, like really good, but it had been so long since he'd last heard him sing that this was almost a totally new experience, given how his voice had deepened in the past two years. Now, not only did every single note carry through the air and flow through the room, but an undertone of rasp helped it along, making Kyle's stomach flip more than ever.
As if it wasn't perfect enough, Stan's confidence palpably increased with every bar, the fact he still couldn't see his face piercing through his heart even further. He gasped when Stan hit a high note, wishing he could've prepared for it, supplied with tissues because he very nearly had a literal nosebleed and/or cried.
Too soon, the song came to a close, and Stan leaned his head back on the bed, tilting it up as Kyle stroked his hair.
Kyle let out a soft breath that he'd been unconsciously holding, rubbing at Stan's scalp a little. “That was-... holy shit, dude!” he chuckled delightedly.
“Like… is that a good thing?”
“Oh, get over yourself. You know how great you are,” Kyle's eyes trailed over Stan's features, struggling to decide between his tender, pink lips that were parted with soft breaths, or his dusty blue eyes, finally deciding on the latter.
And Stan met his gaze, his eyes flitting across Kyle's face alike.
“You're seriously, like,... super gifted. You could be famous, make money off this shit, I swear. Like, I always thought I was gonna grow up as the best friend of a famous artist.”
Stan scrunched his nose up, Kyle very nearly and accidentally kissing him until they couldn't breathe at the mere sight. “No.”
“No?”
“I don't think I'd like my music out there.”
Kyle's jaw dropped. “I'm sorry, what? You don't want people totally swooning over you, or whatever?”
“Nope.”
“Okay, what have you done with my Stan Marsh?”
Fuck, gross. His? He hadn't meant that —
Stan's lips curled into a small smirk, nearly going missed.
— Okay, maybe he had meant it.
“Dude, why the hell not?” Kyle chuckled incredulously, his hand moving down a little, brushing the locks out of Stan's face.
“Because, I- my singing isn't for anyone else.”
Kyle nearly choked to death on his own saliva. “No one else, huh?”
“Mhm.”
“Why's that?”
“Because you're a good listener. I know that you're gonna do more than just hear the music.”
“Wow. Profound, Marsh,” Kyle smiled, his hair-petting not ceasing. "Now, play something else.”
“”Somethin' else”? You better be payin’ me for this.”
“I'm paying you with my adored presence,” Kyle stated faux-importantly.
Stan snickered, even more at ease as he strummed some thoughtful chords before deciding on a song, the notes now settling even more softly in line with the trails of cool, summer breeze seeping through the open window.
Unable to take it any longer, Kyle slid down to the carpet, sitting opposite Stan to watch as he played. To watch how he played, how sometimes his left eyebrow would barely deepen, presumably trying to recall the next chord to play; how his eyes would glow when he reached a lyric he seemed to really enjoy and connect with; how that very gaze would flicker around nervously before relaxing when it found Kyle's. Other than that, the tension absolutely drained from him, as if weightlessly caught between the notes and transported somewhere else that wasn't lesser than the present for once. Perhaps, even more so in the room with Kyle.
As Stan drew the song to a close, playing the last chords, the urge finally became too strong. Kyle needed to touch him somehow, but both of the blond's hands were too occupied with the strings to hold, the guitar obstructing access to his torso, leaving him unable to wrap his arms around him.
Abruptly, he sought no other option. His hands darted out, cradling Stan's face as he lunged forward.
That's when Kyle closed the last of that distance, pressing his lips to Stan's.
For a moment, Kyle caught himself in a whirlwind, encapsulated within the rush of his emotions and held in such a vice grip that he lost connection to the outside world. Fuck brain over body, or vice versa for that matter, his heart came first, and…
Stan recoiled, their lips making a harsh smacking sound as they pulled away. "K-Kyle!? Wha- what are ya-...!?”
Panting now, Kyle's glossed-over eyes finally came back into focus, trailing over the sight. Stan's eyes were blown wide, shallow breaths escaping his lips alike, his resolve pinched with befuddlement.
It hit Kyle like how he'd heard a hangover did, a shock of sheer adrenaline and headache to his system. “Shit… shit...” he hissed, shuffling backwards a touch. “I don't know what came over me, I just…”
Stan's face scrunched up even further. "I didn't think we-... I didn't think you-..." Stan stammered. Gently, he placed his guitar aside, the sound making a soft clunk on the clean carpet.
“I-... um-” Cornered. Busted. “Well… yeah, I-...”
The fuck did he do now? Say, what… sorry? Like, “Stan, I'm sorry for kissing you and ruining our life-long friendship”?
Stan's eyes were still searching for something, but now at his bottom right of his sclera.
“Are you…?” Kyle began.
But the next thing Kyle saw was Stan lunging forward, his lips returning back to where they should've been all along. As his hands trailed to Kyle's hair, tugging cautiously at the locks, Kyle's palms automatically slid down Stan's arms to his waist, giving him a squeeze and securing him tightly.
The hum Stan then let out buzzed against Kyle's mouth, his lips parting like a reflex. All over again, Kyle's mind got lost in a tangle of knots, for once the good type that jumbled him up into a hot mess rather than twisting in his stomach. One of his hands glided back upwards, finding Stan's cheek and cupping the side of his face once more, his thumb smoothing back and forth while the kiss didn't break once. When Stan gave his locks another gentle tug, tilting Kyle's head downwards to impossibly deepen it, a gasp slipped from his lips, leaving him in awe at the way Stan swallowed it down, his tongue sliding over Kyle's as if taking it away.
Panting, they drew away simultaneously, pressing their foreheads together as they grinned like idiots amongst giggles.
“Finally…” Kyle breathed.
“I know, right?”
“I've been waiting for this for four years, dude.”
“Amateur. I've been waiting since we were, like, ten.”
Kyle's eyes nearly bugged out. “Seven years? And from so young!? You're serious…?”
“Deadly,” Stan enunciated, eyes large with sincerity, capturing Kyle and swallowing him down whole mercilessly.
“How did you…?”
“A curse: Suppressing emotions.”
Letting out a sympathetic huff, Kyle's other hand moved to hold Stan's face tenderly. “You have the most stunning eyes. Anyone ever told you that?”
“Not a normal thing for people, yanno, not totally gay for me to say,” Stan teased lightly.
“Be serious, for once. Take the damn compliment.”
“But, they're so like…”
“What…?”
Stan seemed to struggle, like he was attempting to return to square one of bluffing. “Like, dead and empty. How can you see anything in them?”
“Because, sometimes, it feels like it's the only way I can find you…”
Kyle heard the way Stan's breath hitched, watched as his eyes welled up, his heart offering an uncomfortable squeeze. “Fuck, Ky… I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” Kyle murmured, his forehead pressing more firmly against Stan's. “More than anything, and no matter what.”
Letting out a stuttering sigh, Stan shifted, burying his face into the crook of Kyle's neck, wrapping his arms around his waist. Squeezing tight and smoothing a hand up and down his back wasn't even a conscious thought for Kyle anymore. The world seemed to pause, even the soft breeze outside ceasing to allow the two a moment.
“I never answered your question.”
Kyle's eyes snapped open. “Hm?”
“”What do you regret the most”? I never answered.”
“And?”
“It's…” Stan's eyes flickered shut, taking a deep breath. “I regret… not doing this earlier. And making you wait when I've known my feelings for longer anyway. ‘M sorry.”
“New rule: no more stupid-ass apologies.”
Stan snickered. “I'd consider that a pretty justified apology, thank you.”
“Agree to disagree,” Kyle murmured, pressing a kiss to Stan's hair. “I doubt you had a spare moment to even consider it, you poor thing.”
Kyle bit his tongue, awaiting a shout, shove away, or at least a tense from the connotion of pity, but was left shocked when none came. Instead, Stan just sighed, a stray sniffle catching him off-guard as he sunk further into Kyle's hold, the whistle of the near-still breeze the only sound daring to ease itself into the room.
“Ky…?”
“Hm…?”
“Can we keep doin’ this? For, like, ever?”
“Which part?”
“All of it. And more. I could replay this weekend over and over all my life and never get bored.”
Kyle chuckled, overcome with fondness. “Really, now? Even all our arguments?”
“It was worth it in the end, right? Like… some things — not all — I think they're meant to happen, the bad things so that good things come later.”
“Yeah?” Kyle whispered, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. "That's really beautiful." Burying his nose into Stan's hair, he breathed in his scent of purple shampoo, its softness reminding him of the springs they'd lay on the grass, cloud-watching. Again, his gaze trailed around the room, heart cracking at the bare walls. “Things like…?”
Without being able to see his face, Stan had the same thought, his head shifting to glance around the bedroom. “Like my dad leaving me in the night, then the school eventually findin' out and calling social services. Now I live with Jimbo and Ned, who treat me much better than that… washup ever could.”
Kyle hummed. “Is it worth you treating it that way too?”
Still holding onto Kyle, Stan sat up, tilting his head in endearing perplexity. “How do you mean?"
“Well, this is your bedroom now, right?”
“I guess…”
“It is, Stanley. And, have Jimbo and Ned happened to talk to you about it?”
“They said I could do anything I want with it.”
“So why haven't you?”
Stan shrugged, head dipping. “Didn't think I'd be stayin' long.”
Kyle frowned. “Bullshit. With that attitude, you're attracting that circumstance. You're ensuring you're staying here, but not living here. …C’mon.”
Stan simply observed as Kyle stood, going through the motions as he was pulled up alongside. “What?”
“Now it's tidy, let's get some things unpacked, huh?” Before Stan could even fully shrug, Kyle dragged him to the suitcases.
Into the late afternoon, they both worked diligently, Kyle careful as to not touch anything Stan didn't want him to, gauging it from a mere hunch, a weight in the air as it came into sight.
“How come you don't have a closet?” Kyle murmured as they began to struggle to fit all Stan's clothes into his — his, not the, Kyle had to scold him — chest of drawers.
Stan shrugged.
“You should ask to get one,” Kyle suggested.
Another shrug. “I've already asked for enough.”
“Like what?”
“This room, food, using the TV, having laundry done…”
Trying on some levity, Kyle deadpanned. “Mind you, that's the bare minimum seeing as they're your guardians," he murmured. "You need a closet to store your clothes permanently. You shouldn't have to feel like a guest in their house anymore Stan. This is your new home.”
“Well, I don't like it,” Stan replied, his voice soft and flat, utterly resigned.
Kyle wrapped his arms around him, ushering Stan to lean against him, who did so, bones heavy with defeat. “Poor Stan…” he whispered into his hair, rocking him slightly in his arms. “I know you don't, honey. But remember what you said? It's for the better.”
Stan huffed, mechanically continuing to stuff clothes away, Kyle's tidy folding going to silent waste. “Can you stay the night? Just one more night together this weekend?”
Kyle smiled, unsure as to why Stan felt the need to plead in the slightest. “Of course.”
With all the food they'd eaten over the past few days, they simply made sandwiches as a substitute for dinner, everything about one boy distracting the other in the process.
“I could do this forever,” Stan announced groggily as they slipped into his bed together, his smaller frame curled up against Kyle's side by habit even after only having done it once before, his head resting on his chest.
Humming in agreement, Kyle reached up, his hand trailing through Stan's hair. Hours passed, the moonlight slowly peeking into the bedroom, harmonious against the soft glow of the lamp.
“Kyle?” Stan hummed, not opening his eyes as he spoke.
“Hm?”
“‘Can't sleep.”
“Me neither. Wanna play a game?”
“Mm… yeah,” Stan shifted, nuzzling closer. “Question game.”
They played into the night, the questions sillier as they got sleepier, but at the time making perfect sense, in their perfect way that no-one else needed to understand anyway.
The air shifted, not humid nor heavy with chill through the open window, but a subtle, comforting presence. Things felt different, but a good kind of different. One that hummed peacefully in the background, happy to harmonise along at its own pace, in the same manner that Stan's hands continued to glide over the guitar strings, his hair a lighter and lighter blond but his smile a brighter and brighter beam. And Kyle got to watch this, allowing himself the knowledge that he'd done that in one weekend, and no-one else could've done so except for him, Stan's best friend and, now, boyfriend.
Stan had been right: some things were meant to happen, good or bad. Kyle and Stan were meant to drift apart so that they could cling back tighter once they reached each other again.
Except, this time, Kyle wasn't going to let him go.
(the end)