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It took the idle chatter in the lunchroom for him to realise.
They—Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Butters (Cartman having been abandoned in middle school when they decided they couldn’t deal with him any longer, opting for being the three of them until Butters once again expanded their trio)—were discussing classes, home, whatever came up in conversation.
It wasn’t that Stan wasn’t listening, he just wasn’t paying as much attention as he should have been, which would explain why Kenny’s palms slapping against the table almost caused Stan to fall off his seat. Startled, he tuned back into the conversation, seeing Butters, at least, looking almost equally as frightened as Stan felt, Kenny, smile adorning his face in place of his usual smirk, both palms down on the table as he stands over Kyle, voice raised as he exclaimed something about tagging along that Stan should probably listen for an explanation of. Then, there was Kyle, face a little too red as he looked up at Kenny through his eyelashes, hands and food stopped halfway to his mouth in favour of hearing Kenny out.
There was something about the angle, the way Kyle looked from where Stan was sitting that had him thinking along lines that he probably shouldn’t be thinking on, at least about his super best friend. Something along the lines of has Kyle always been so pretty?
In hindsight, Stan should have given the conversation all of his attention, because now he was back at square one, startled by someone—Kyle?—calling his name in an attempt for his attention.
“Stan? Kenny says he’s going to help me pick out a new hat,” because Kyle’s signature hat was worn and torn, stiches fraying from years of continual use. Lord knows why it’s taken him until now to get a new one. “Want to come with?”
Stan thinks that Kyle would look better if he just didn’t wear a hat at all, but he doesn’t know where that thought comes from. It scares him a little, if he’s honest.
“Can’t,” he says simply, even though he can. “Mom wants me home after school ‘cause—” he waves his hands in dismissal, trying to validate his blatant lie, “I got in trouble again.”
Kyle winces, turning back to his conversation with Kenny and Butters.
Stan left the lunchroom with the knowledge that he maybe liked Kyle as a little more than best friends and arrived at school the next day only to have that suspicion confirmed before he even interacted with Kyle.
There he was, Kyle Broflovski, walking into school hatless, stopping just next to Stan, where his own locker was. Kyle wasn’t acting like anything was different—was acting like it was any other day—when it was different. It was so different, because Kyle, during his entire schooling life, had never come to school without his hat, or some other hat in placement when something happened to his.
His red curls were barely styled, as if he’d barely tried to take care of them after rolling out of bed. And Stan wasn’t wrong with his thought that Kyle would look better without his hat. He does, because as much as Kyle hates his hair, it suits him. It’s his and Stan couldn’t imagine Kyle looking better than he does now.
So maybe he was staring, admiring Kyle in a way he shouldn’t be, but what of it? His best friend, who was supposed to have been shopping for a new hat with his other best friend shows up, no hat, something he’d never done before. Stan’s probably entitled to a little bit of staring. Just a little.
Kyle closes his locker, harsh and loud, turning to look at Stan.
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” Kyle asks before Stan even has time to pretend he wasn’t staring. “It’s weird, right? That’s why everyone’s been looking at me?”
No, it’s hot. Stan, caught for a second by his own thought, chokes on his own spit. “No, no, you look fine,” he assures, instead. “It’s just different. Mind explaining why you decided to forego your signature hat for the first time?”
Stan could get used to watching the red tint Kyle’s cheeks.
“Well,” Kyle started, scratching at his cheek in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “Kenny and I were out, like we planned, and well…” Kyle stopped for a second, and if Stan wasn’t staring, he wouldn’t have noticed his blush getting deeper. “He told me that he likes my hair. I thought, maybe, I could leave my hat at home for one day, at least…See how it feels.”
Something in Stan’s chest clenches, leaving him winded after Kyle’s explanation. Would Kyle have done the same if Stan had said what was on his mind yesterday, or was it just Kenny that influenced his decision?
He didn’t have too much time to dwell on this thought, broken from it by the sound of Kenny calling Kyle’s name. He could see him, near the other side of the hall, near-running towards Kyle and Stan.
Kenny was jumping on Kyle before he could even turn, wrapping him in a tight embrace and spinning him in a small circle. “You’re not wearing your hat!” He sounded so genuine, smile wide on his face as he ran a hand through Kyle’s curls.
What Stan would give to have his confidence.
Kyle was laughing, saying something about Kenny influencing him, and then they were laughing together, arms wrapped around each other in something longer than a platonic holy shit that’s amazing hug. Stan’s chest clenches again, harder, longer, hurting more.
The way Kyle was looking at Kenny, softer than anything Stan had seen before, softer than the way he’d looked at Stan, or the way he looks at any of his other friends or had his exes. That was why it hurt so much. Stan had only realised, had only barely come to terms with his less-than-platonic feelings about Kyle this morning, and he was too late.
They looked happy, content, made to be there in each other’s arms. For all that they (probably) weren’t, they looked like a genuine, happy couple.
Stan couldn’t help but feel like he was watching something he shouldn’t be. He was gone with a quick goodbye (barely returned—since when had Stan been the outsider? When did they get so close?), making a quick escape to the nearest bathroom.
Stan thought he’d outgrown the sick feeling in his stomach after breaking it off with Wendy for the last time, but there he was, stomach bubbling and throat clenching as he leant over the toilet and let it go. It hadn’t been pleasant when he was younger, and it was so much worse now.
He leaned against the bathroom stall, not caring that he was sitting on the filthy bathroom floor. It was sticky, but he could think about that later. Right now, all he could think about was Kyle and, in extension, Kenny.
Kyle liked Kenny, if that warm adoration in his eyes and doting smile on his lips were anything to go by, but he hadn’t seen enough to know if it was mutual. Half of him—the side that was still Kyle’s devout best friend, hoping for only the best and for his best friend’s happiness—hoped that it was, if only because Kyle deserved a healthy, mutual relationship like what Kenny could hypothetically give him. The other half of him—the half already a little bit in love with Kyle—bitterly despised the thought, half-hoping that Kenny would break Kyle’s heart so viciously that only Stan could help pick up the pieces.
But that was an ugly thought, one Stan didn’t want to think about any more than in passing in the darkest of moments. Both Kyle and Kenny were his friends, and the best he could do—the best he should do—is hope that, whatever happens between all three of them, they’re still friends at the end of it.
Content that he could face both of them without feeling sick again, Stan started moving towards his first class of the day, barely attempting to dust the bathroom’s grime off of his back and ass. At least he didn’t share first period with either boy—Kyle in his fancy smart-boy classes, Kenny in a different subject—so he could easily push his internal issues to the side in favour of actually paying attention in class. At least Butters was in his first period, offering him a polite smile and greeting as always. That, at least, made Stan feel better. Butters had that effect on people.
He was able to push this morning out of his mind until lunch period. He saw Kyle waiting at a classroom in the direction of the lunchroom, ahead of him, and was going to call out to walk with him before he saw Kenny emerge from the classroom Kyle was standing at. Kyle was in step with him immediately, small smile on his lips as Kenny wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Kyle’s name died in Stan’s throat, and he was left wondering how recently these two became so close; when did Kyle fall for Kenny? Was it recent, or was Stan just too oblivious to the development?
Whenever it was, it didn’t change the now. Stan was left walking towards the lunchroom alone, behind them, pretending he didn’t know that they were directly ahead of him. He was left feeling sorry for himself until he sat down—next to Kyle, across from Butters, diagonal from Kenny, because at least that hasn’t changed—where he acted like he didn’t see the looks Kyle gave Kenny (and the looks Kenny returned, because it was just Stan’s luck that the guy he likes has mutual feelings for another guy) and pretended to be invested in the group conversation.
He pretended he couldn’t see the sympathetic look Butters was sending him the entire lunch period, pretended to pay attention to whatever banter Kyle and Kenny had gotten into today, and pretended to be okay when he spoke to Butters.
It shouldn’t have been so difficult today. It shouldn’t have been so different. His eyes always turning to Kyle, his body a little too close, shouldn’t have meant anything different. And, yet, it did, because his efforts were all for naught. As soon as either Kyle or Kenny realised that their feelings were mutual, it was all over for Stan before he could even think of it beginning.
He couldn’t help the hideous burning of jealousy, deep within his gut, that day. His own feelings made him sick, unable to eat as much as was normal, hot to the touch and a mini scowl seemingly etched onto his skin. It hurt, stomach clenched and hot as he forced down any and all negative remarks that rose within him (most, if not all, directed to Kenny, because, apparently, he was that horrible).
He survived without so much as an “are you okay?” from anyone at the lunch table, probably because he was gone as soon lunch ended, racing to his next period with an enthusiasm he’d never once shown for class.
Rushing wasn’t particularly the best idea, either, because a few minutes after he settled into his seat, Kenny was waltzing into the classroom, setting his stuff down in the seat directly next to Stan.
“Hey, man, are you okay?” he was asking, concern lacing every word. “You were kinda quiet during lunch and left in a hurry.”
Stan bit back a biting response of it’s all your fault in favour of a small “I’m fine,” because it really, really wasn’t. It wasn’t Kenny’s fault that Stan realised his feelings too late, or that Kyle didn’t return them.
Kenny nodded, seeming to accept Stan’s simple response before lapsing into silence.
“So, you and Kyle,” Stan blurted, cursing himself as he saw Kenny flinch slightly. He couldn’t stop now, though. “What’s up with you two?”
Kenny wasn’t typically flustered, so Stan took it as a mini victory (winning, what, exactly?) that he managed to render him speechless, unable to get out more than a nervous “we’re not-!” before the teacher strolled in and silenced them.
Stan sat back, prepared to pay attention. If he couldn’t be Kyle’s boyfriend, he could at least try to be a good wingman, right?
The subject was dropped until the teacher dismissed them, Kenny walking beside Stan as he tried to play it off with a smooth, “there’s nothing between us, but who wouldn’t want a piece of that, am I right?”
He was deflecting, Stan knew. Protecting himself. If he never opened up, nobody could hurt him. Who would want the dirt-poor kid that could barely even provide for himself?
“Kenny,” he scolded, because as much as he despised the situation, he couldn’t just let his friend continue to think of himself as the lowest of the low. He deserved, as much as it hurt Stan, to know that Kyle wanted him as much as he wanted Kyle. “Since when?”
Kenny looked caught, trying to decide whether to relent or keep up the act. In the end, he sighed, giving in easier than Stan had thought he would.
“I think it’s always been him.” Kenny’s voice was quiet; uncharacteristically soft. “For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in love with him.”
Stan felt sick again. Who was he and his budding feelings in comparison to Kenny and his outright love for Kyle? For Kenny, this had been his reality for years, and here Stan was hating him for it.
“It’s why I, uh, had that thing with Leo freshman year.” Stan remembers the thing. Kenny and Butters had gotten together and been downright obnoxious about it. They were all over each other whenever they could be, and, yet, everybody could see that the love they felt for each other was no more than that of best friends. “I was trying to- trying to distract myself from Kyle, while he was trying to cope with having a crush on-” Kenny cut himself off, shaking his head and waving a hand in dismissal.
Stan let out an acknowledging hum.
“Have you ever thought of telling him?”
He could hear Kenny’s sharp inhale, loud and clear.
“Every day, man.” It wasn’t the answer Stan was expecting, but he let Kenny continue. “I imagine it, every day. What would it be like if I told him and, uh, he felt the same? What if, at least, we stayed friends?” There was a dry, unamused laugh. “I don’t like thinking of the other alternatives.”
“So why don’t you?” Stan ignored the last comment, hoping that he could convince Kenny that they wouldn’t happen.
“Are you kidding?” Kenny stopped, letting out a sharp laugh. “What makes you think Kyle would want to get with me of all people?”
A lot of things, Stan stops himself from saying. Instead, he lets out a humourless laugh, gently nudging Kenny with his elbow as he jokes, “fair enough.”
He’s probably given Kenny enough tips.
They walked together in silence until they split for their separate classes. It was too easy for Stan’s mind to wander, plagued by the reality of—and the constant reminder of—too late.
His gut had been caught in a constant, consistent twist for the entirety of his conversation with Kenny. He was trying to be a good friend to both of them, but it was so hard when it hurt so bad. The truth that he couldn’t give Kyle what he wanted hurt more than he wanted to acknowledge.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it. His brain was a constant cycle of Kyle, Kyle, Kyle, KyleAndKenny, Kyle, et cetera, even when he really shouldn’t be thinking about it.
He was thinking about it, lost in that thought, as Kyle lay on his bed in front of him, book open and pen in his mouth. It was cute—a trait that Stan had come to often associate with Kyle and anything he does.
They were supposed to be studying, but Stan was distracted. Kyle, diligently working on his homework, seemed oblivious to Stan’s staring.
Maybe, just maybe, if Stan told him, he could move on. If he let it out, he could be rejected and kickstart his feelings into getting over Kyle.
“Kyle,” because apparently his brain to mouth filter wasn’t adept enough to catch the maybe. The redhead turned, looking at Stan with the pen still in his mouth, eyebrow raised in question. Stan didn’t say anything, only gesturing for Kyle to come closer. He does, eyebrow unmoving, confusion clear on his every feature.
They sat, face to face, on Stan’s bed, holding eye contact for what felt like forever. A breath each, a harsh swallow from Stan before a quiet, “close your eyes.”
It should have been obvious where this was going. Kyle should have known, should have expected Stan leaning forward as soon as he complied, should have anticipated to feel his friend’s lips on his. But it wasn’t, and he didn’t.
Kyle flinched back, face red, arm covering his lips as shock clouded his eyes. Stan would have been more offended if he hadn’t expected a far worse outcome. “Stan- I-”
“I know you’re in love with Kenny.” Stan’s voice halted any further remark Kyle was going to say. Silence filled the air, Kyle processing his words, trying to grasp what his best friend had just said and done, contradictory as they were.
“Then why’d you kiss me?” There it was, challenging and deflecting, all in one.
Immediately, the reply was, “because I’m in love with you.”
Silence. A breath, then two, then three, then more, until Stan was worried that Kyle wasn’t going to reply at all.
“You’re right,” was what Kyle eventually decided on. He was fidgeting with his sleeve, looking anywhere but at Stan. But that was okay. Stan didn’t mind. “I’m…in love with Kenny.” He sounded choked, like it was the first time he had said it aloud (it probably was, because Stan hadn’t heard it, only observed it) and it only made it more real to him. “I’m so sorry.”
Stan was thrown, because the last thing he had expected was an apology. He’d expected screaming, crying, hitting, the worst of it, but he hadn’t expected Kyle to say sorry.
“What are you apologising for?”
A hand on his, comforting and warm. Kyle still wasn’t looking at him, but the contact was a positive. Kyle wasn’t disgusted.
“The way you feel for me…I can’t return it,” he explained. The hand covering Stan’s started rubbing over his, smoothly, in comforting motions. “You’re not him, so I can’t…” Kyle shook his head, looking more distressed than Stan can remember ever seeing him.
Stan smiled, moving his hand out from under Kyle’s so that he could turn his face, make him look him in the eyes. He wanted him to know that there were no hard feelings, that Stan understood, no matter how bad he felt about it.
“I know,” he said, simple and to the point. “You want to know what else I know?” He didn’t wait for Kyle to reply, interrupting any response he could have made with, “Kenny’s in love with you. And if you two can work it out, I will be just as happy as I would be if you could love me back.”
The second statement was a lie, one that Kyle could probably sense if he tried, but it didn’t stop him from saying it. Just because it wasn’t the truth doesn’t mean that it’s not what Kyle needed to hear.
Stan let go of Kyle’s chin when his smile was returned.
“Thank you, Stan.” And then Kyle was rushing into his arms, hugging him tight. Stan was quick to return it, resting his face in Kyle’s curls.
It was over before long, replaced by Kyle standing triumphantly in front of his bed, determined look sparkling in his eyes. “I’m going to tell him.” He stated. Stan didn’t need clarification. He gave a thumbs up, smile turning crooked.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” he answered, earning an eyeroll from Kyle as he gathered his belongings and wished his best friend a goodbye.
Stan waited until he heard the front door click shut downstairs before he let the first tears fall.