Work Text:
Do you ever look at someone and in a rush, all at once, you realise just how much they mean to you?
Of course you don’t, you’re thinking, that’s some perfect romance novel bullshit.
Or do you? In those simple moments. They’re not doing anything out of the ordinary. They’re cross-legged on the sofa, gulping down the coffee they don’t even like to keep them awake just long enough to finish that essay. Their hair is an unkempt mess of ‘I haven’t left this spot in two days and the deadline is three hours away and I’ve still got another 1000 words to bullshit into this’. But somehow, there’s something beautiful about the moment. You don’t even really know what it is. There’s nothing special about it, nothing even remotely romantic. But it’s there, the feeling is there. You can feel it.
Or, I don’t know, maybe it’s just me.
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Kyle hadn’t moved from that spot in what had to be several days now. He’d been sustaining himself on coffee and nothing else the whole time.
Stan sighed and stood from his own perch across the room of the shared apartment. He made his way to the kitchen and hummed, staring at the cupboards as if they were going to jump out at him and tell him what to make. Of course they weren’t. He sighed again and thought harder than he probably should’ve about something this simple. The food needed to be able to be eaten one-handed, so Kyle could keep on typing while he ate. Were sandwiches one-handed food?
Stan glanced back into the living room of their shared apartment. Kyle was scrunching his nose up once more at the horribly bitter coffee he insisted on drinking to keep himself going rather than just, you know, sleeping for a while. Stan had to resist the urge to snort a little at the sight. He commended Kyle on his determination to get this paper done but he did have to wonder why he didn’t just get it done sooner. Oh wait. That was his fault. Granted, Kyle could’ve very easily said no when Stan asked if he wanted to waste the weekend away playing Street Fighter. But he also knew Kyle’s self-restraint was limited when it came to Stan and Street Fighter. So really, combining the two into one request was cruel. At least that’s what Kyle had insisted.
He sighed and turned on his heel, leaving the kitchen. He grabbed his coat, keys and shuffled into a pair of shoes. Kyle was too busy typing away at lightning fast speed to notice Stan’s departure.
An hour and a half later, Kyle of course had not moved and was still typing away. Stan had returned, food in hand, and he promptly slipped his shoes back off, hung his coat up and made his way over to Kyle’s ‘nest’, for lack of better wording.
“Hey, dude.”
No response. It was almost impressive how entranced Kyle was by his essay. “Kyle, dude, earth to Kyle Broflovski, king of poor life choices about things he knew were important yet somehow deemed his roommate and their shared PS2 more important and now regrets said poor life choices-”
Wow, still no response. He really was determined to get this done and Stan was incredibly impressed.
Stan wasn’t about to let this food go cold, nor was he about to let Kyle go on without having something in his stomach. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Or maybe he was just looking for an excuse to kiss him like he’d been feeling the urge to for the past day or so. Who knows. Somehow, in his messy, sleep-deprived state of caffeine-induced focus, Kyle looked perfect. Okay, maybe he was just being weirdly sappy there. But he didn’t often get the chance to just stare, to just appreciate Kyle like this. As such, he felt the distinct need to take a few moments to take it in, as he often did, before acting. Kyle was too focused to notice the staring, so Stan took the opportunity. He took in Kyle’s messy mop of red hair and imagined how Kyle was going to complain about having to brush it after neglecting to for more than a day. He almost let out a sound of amusement at the thought and moved his eyes on.
He looked at Kyle’s eyes, the perfect shade of green and piercing when he was focused on a task or motivated by something he believed in; Stan had always admired the amount of determination they held. He’d always been drawn to the way Kyle stood up for his thoughts and beliefs so firmly, so forcefully. Kyle would never let someone get in the way of what he believed in and Stan really, really loved that about him.
He moved on to Kyle’s freckles. He didn’t have as many as some, they just littered his nose and cheeks. They were fairly light at the moment, it being winter, but in the summer, they darkened and then they were really visible. He remembered how annoyed Kyle had been when they’d started popping up. He’d never had freckles as a kid, something he was always grateful for as one less thing for Cartman to rip into him about. But as he got older, he’d started to develop them. At first, they’d only popped up in the summer and Stan would point them out every year, poking Kyle’s face and making comments about how cute they were. Slowly, they stopped disappearing each winter and Kyle was stuck with them. Stan remembered how he’d grumbled about it and how Stan had laughed and told him they were still cute and now he just had bonus points for cuteness all year round. He still stood by that thought; Kyle’s freckles were always cute to him.
Finally, Kyle’s lips. The lips that had uttered so many things. Heated arguments, soft murmurs, cold indifference, warm affirmations. The lips that had once embarrassedly tumbled through words of a confession of feelings neither of them had fully understood at the time. The lips he’d spent so much time after that trying to act like he wasn’t staring at. The lips he’d been caught staring at one time when he was being particularly brazen about it and kissing them had seemed like the only appropriate reaction at the time. The lips he’d kissed so many times since. The lips he always made it very clearly known he loved. The lips that continued to utter words of love he felt so goddamn lucky to hear. The lips that always lulled him to sleep when they found themselves laying together awake late at night. The lips that spilled thoughts that still made sense to him at the times of night where all thought is nonsensical.
Stan used his free hand to tilt Kyle’s head by the chin just enough for him to peck him on the lips. It was short, but it got the job done and Stan now had Kyle’s undivided attention. He then scrunched his nose up in a similar fashion to how Kyle had been doing every time he’d drank more of that coffee. Now he could taste it from Kyle’s lips, he could see the reaction wasn’t an exaggeration.
“Ugh, dude, why are you drinking that stuff? It’s disgusting. Is there even any sugar in there? You could’ve at least put some sugar in there-” Stan sipped some of the milkshake he bought alongside Kyle’s food to wash away the taste. “Anyway - dude stop staring at me like that I needed your attention - I bought you food, McDonalds, eat it and take a break for like half an hour. You can’t have that much more to do, chill a little.”
“You know you could’ve just, like, poked me or something.” Kyle raised an eyebrow at Stan and put his laptop to the side, folding his arms.
“Maybe, but this seemed more efficient.” Stan followed suit and crossed his arms indignantly.
“Are you sure you weren’t just looking for an excuse?” Stan didn’t think Kyle’s eyebrows could rise any higher. Stan was apparently wrong in that assumption.
“Who says I need an excuse?” Stan looked away to the side, grateful he’d forgotten to take his hat off as it hid the redness of his ears quite effectively.
“The same person who makes a tomato jealous every time I call him my boyfriend.”
“That’s because- Ughhhhh-” Stan huffed and leaned forward to press another, longer kiss to Kyle’s lips. “Kyle Broflovski, you are officially the worst. Now I went to the trouble to buy you McDonalds exactly as you like it and if you let it get cold I swear to god so eat your food-”
“Duly noted. Want to play more street fighter while I eat?” The question was asked with a grin.
“You never stop making bad choices, do you?” Stan raised an eyebrow, an amused look on his face. Kyle shrugged and waved a hand dismissively.
“I’m pretty much finished anyway. Just like you’re going to be when I win again.”
Stan scoffed at Kyle’s comment and picked up a controller, turning the old PS2 on and moving to make himself comfortable beside him on the sofa.
“You talk big, better be ready to back it up, dude.”
“You bet your ass I am.” Kyle followed suit and picked up the other controller, grinning widely still as he made an attempt to eat some fries before the fight started.
“We’ll see about that, I’m so gonna kick your ass-” Stan snorted and began his assault, doing all he could to prove himself and finally win a fight against his roommate.
“By the way, I know you were staring at me earlier.”
“I’m gonna kick your a- Wait what?! You were paying attention to that?!” Suddenly, Stan was far less focussed on winning the game and was staring at Kyle, wide-eyed and red-faced as if it were the first time he’d been caught doing such a thing.
“Yeah, it was cute, so I thought I’d let you continue thinking I hadn’t noticed. Oh, would you look at that, Stanley Marsh loses to the great Kyle Broflovski once again!” Kyle dropped the controller, having taken the opportunity to win once again, and continued with the rest of his food, offering Stan fries periodically.
“Dude!” Stan groaned, accepted the fries and his fate along with them, burying his face in a pillow. “You’re officially the worst!” came muffled words as another pillow was swung at Kyle’s face.
“You love me dude and you know it.” Kyle made an effort to pry Stan away from his pillow for a hug, but he ended up with the pillow Stan buried himself in merely resting in his lap with Stan still hiding within it. Oh well, close enough.
“That’s the fucking problem.” Stan grumbled some more as Kyle petted his hair and chuckled. Was he ever going to get over his embarrassment at being sappier than he’d like to admit? Probably not. Was it such a bad thing? Well, if it amused Kyle, it couldn’t all be that bad.