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It had been a rough day, or week, to be more realistic, for Kyle. His friend group was falling apart more-so now than it had even a year ago, his parents were fighting more, and to make all of it worse, he found out (via report card) that he was failing his geometry class.
This, as every high achieving kid knows, is not good. Not good at all.
He was sitting on the bus home, Stan next to him on his phone, paying no mind that his friend was basically about to throw up from the stress he was feeling due to the bad news.
"Dude, chill," Stan had said earlier, when he first got the cursed piece of paper, "It's just one class. You'll be fine."
Stan didn't get it, though. It wasn't like Stan failing a class, this was Kyle failing a class. Unheard of.
The bus stopped. This was what Kyle feared the most, having to go home and face his mother. Sheila was kind, and forgiving of most of his exploits, but a bad grade was where she drew the line. School was important to her and his father.
"See ya later, dude. You're coming over, right?"
His heart sunk even further. "Yeah," Kyle tried to pull off a smile, "I'll see you later."
And now the dreaded walk from the bus stop, which wasn't nearly far enough.
He was engulfed in his thoughts the entire way home. Wondering what he had done wrong, had been not studied enough? That being said he never had to study before, it normally just came naturally, but this was apparently different.
Suddenly, he was at his door, anxiously placing his hand on the doorknob and knowing what was to come.
"Kyle? Is that you?" His mother called from the kitchen, where she was standing at the sink finishing up dishes. She was always very particular about how cleaning was done, and very rarely ever let anyone in the house do more than a few things.
Kyle took a deep breath. "Yeah, it's me mom!" He yelled back.
He heard the water turn off, and his Sheila say something the Ike, who had probably been home for around an hour now. The perks of being younger.
"How's the report card, bubbalah?"
Ah, the dreaded question. "Um..." He set down his bag on the kitchen chair next to where he usually sat. "Not... super great?"
His moms face fell. "What do you mean, Kyle?"
Kyle pulled the report card from his math folder, the first one he had seen to store it in, sliding it towards Sheila.
"Kyle Broflovski!" His full name. Literally never good. "Failing geometry? How did this happen! I expect more from you!"
This is exactly what Kyle was expecting. His mother continues to lament about how disappointed she is, and that she never wants to see this again, and to go to his room to “study”, AKA stew in his thoughts for the rest of the night.
Hopefully Stan won’t be too disappointed. Unless he…
He’s in his room for 2 hours before he officially can’t handle his thoughts. He’s considered everything; from relapsing (he’s been clean for 3 months, that can’t happen), to the more realistic of choices.
His plan is simple: sneak out of his second floor window (easier said than done), and make it to Stan’s house. Stan’s parents will understand. If they care at all.
Kyle is not a clumsy person, by any means. Although, that being said, his escape through his window is pitiful. He’s surprised his mother doesn’t come to check what he’s doing. This is lucky enough, because she doesn’t.
Soon enough he’s down, with only a few scrapes and bruises from the tree he used to climb down. He counts that as a win, at the very least. Which of course then means he has to sneak around the side of the house (where the kitchen window is, mind you), and make his trek to Stan's house.
Stan's house had always been comforting to him. It just had a more... homey, he'd say, smell and feel to it. Something way more comforting and safe than his own home, which he was at rarely enough as-is.
He snapped to attention, peering through his homes kitchen window, seeing his mother helping Ike with some school project, blissfully unaware of her sons' own inner turmoil.
But that was irrelevant. Kyle had made his escape.
The walk to Stan's house is short, only about 5 minutes away. Before he knows it, he's knocking on the door, hoping that just Stan is home.
Sure enough, his friend, best friend, opened the door, looking like he had just woken up from a nap. His eyes lit up when he saw who had been knocking.
"Kyle! Took you long enough, dude, I was starting to think you bailed on me." Stan laughed, and Kyle's stomach did somersaults. Something he refused to address at the moment, as he was too busy holding back the tears that had manifested from the stress of his day. "Kyle? Oh god, are you okay?"
He was blubbering, sobbing in his best friends doorway. He hadn't even made it inside.
Shameful.
"I told you- I told you she was gonna be mad, Stan. She sent me to my room, that's whatever but I was so- so alone I-"
"Did you... it's whatever, come inside, dude. It's cold, you're shaking." He was not shaking from the cold, though. The cold wasn't bothering him in the least.
They made it to Stan's bedroom, still painted purple from when they were younger. Stan hated it. Kyle loved it.
Stan sat Kyle down on his bed, gave him a once over, presumably to make sure there's no new visible marks. The hidden ones were something Stan would, possibly, identify later.
"Kyle, you didn't- y'know- did you?"
Stanley Marsh was many things, including straightforward. It was one of the things he loved most about Stan. He didn't beat around the bush.
"No. No, I didn't," Kyle answers truthfully, "I was... going to. I decided to use the escape route instead."
Stan visibly deflates, relieved. "Good, dude. Now come here." He pulled Kyle up, into a giant hug, "I'm so proud of you, dude. Seriously. It's hard to get through stuff like this. Especially when your brain is playing those tricks on you."\
Kyle's stomach did somersaults once again. He was so close to Stan, he could smell him. The cheap cologne he used, the sweat from sleep.
They pulled away, stared at each other for a minute, or possibly longer, before Stan spoke up. "Kyle..."
"Yeah?"
"I really am proud of you," He looked away, stared down at the floor beside Kyle. "You made a good choice."
"Mm," He hummed. He wasn't sure what to say, really. It wasn't like his friend to get sappy. They were guys, they didn't do that. They certainly didn't hug and stare in each others eyes.
Something was changing, and it was changing fast.
"Stan," He started. He doesn't know what words were going to leave his mouth, but Stan was so close, his eyes were so genuine, "Can I-"
Stan makes the first move. Lunging forward, planting a sloppy, inexperienced kiss right on Kyle's lips. It's a shock, to say the least.
They both just stared. Pulled apart, breaking their half hug they had been in for the past 10 or so minutes.
Something had changed.
Stan smiled, held out his hand for Kyle, invited him back in for that comforting half hug.
Maybe it was for the better.