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Stan was just enjoying his night, sorting through his millions of loom rubber bands. Kyle had gotten them for him (at his request) one day for his birthday. Years of digging and flipping through the container had mixed them into oblivion. Random spouts of motivation he had enabled him to do things such as these—sorting thousands of mini colorful bands. He wondered how Kyle was always so constantly motivated, toppling on his feet from place to place.
It was adoring, really. The way he always knew what he had to do. Stan would say Kyle worked until he finished, but he never did. There was always something new to do. Sometimes it worried him; the way Kyle worked himself till he couldn’t walk. Of course, he had his fair share of breaks, but it was only at Stans request. He learned rather quickly that Kyle struggled to say no to him.
Stan had the same problem, too. Perks of being best friends.
¡Ding!
He turned over to his phone, not surprised (but giddy) to see a text from Kyle. His eyes quickly scanned through it.
Kyllllle: “Hey dude. Can Ike come over? He misses you. Wants to play candy land. LOL”
Stan hesitated. It was 11PM—not late for him, but 2 hours past Ike’s bedtime.
Stanned: “isnt it a bit late??? 4 ike at least”
But no response came. He had seen Kyle’s typing immediately after the message, but it soon dissolved without a word. Kyle wasnt one to not respond. Stan bit his lip.
Kyllllle: “he just had a little nightmare about you. He throws a fit whenever I tell him you’re fine.”
He was always such an overthinker (Kyle’s words). He pondered before considering his next words. Ike had a nightmare about him? Poor kid. They barely even interacted.
Stanned: “i meann i dont got a problem. ur parent fine w it? u coming2.?”
Kyllllle: “They said whatever’s fine. And I cant, I’m busy with homework. Sorry dude. He’s coming.”
Stan frowned. It wasn’t really their ‘norm’ to deny plans. They hung whenever they could, homework or not. They had made that agreement long before. Bros before school(and hoes).
Stanned: “are u the 1 dropping him off?”
Kyllllle: “He’s coming on his own. That’s ok?”
And of course it was fine. They were neighbors. But Stan hated not seeing Kyle whenever he could—and he hoped Kyle would feel the same.
Stanned: “it issss ok but i miss u :((“
Kyllllle: “i sent him on his way”
Stan inhaled.
Was Kyle angry with him? The ignorance of his “i miss u :((“ was one thing, but Kyle’s grammar stump was another. He always talked properly. Stan scrolled forward a bit, realizing there had been some mistakes within his grammar throughout the entire conversation.
Stan couldn’t help the way his gut began to feel. Dread. Was something wrong?
(Kyle hummed thoughtfully. “Stan, you seriously need to stop overthinking. I promise I’d never hate you. You can always talk to me, okay?”
“What if you did though?” Stan sniffed.
“I couldn’t.”
“What if you could?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Kyle rubbed his thumb over each of Stan’s calloused fingers, gently brushing them. ‘I love you.’ the action spoke.
“I love you.” Kyle spoke.
Stan’s heart filled with a gross sense of admiration. He loved Kyle so much. So, so much. It was horribly amazing, the way he felt completely alert and drugged at the same time when around him. Looking into his green eyes was like getting high, drunk, and then beat to the ground—but in a good way. It was sick. He was sick. Sick for his best friend.
But he couldn’t say he didn’t enjoy the way his stomach flipped at the short words (even if such words had been brotherly.)
“I love you too.” Stan replied, almost instantly.
Kyle just looked at him and smiled, unreadable. “You’re always such an overthinker, but not for the things that really matter.”
“Like what?”
“Like nothing.”
“What’s nothing?”
“I dunno, Stan.” Kyle pressed his lips thin. Stan opened his mouth to say something, but Kyle beat him. “Stop overthinking again.”
He couldn’t help the dumb smile that gridded across his face. )
Back to reality, Stan.
////
Ike’s door peeled open, Kyle shyly poking though. The light shone on his face, and Ike tried to look away.
“Kyle?”
“Yep. Just me, Ike. You ready to go to Stan’s? Chrombook packed?”
“Yeah.” He whispered thickly, staring.
Kyle’s eye was completely swelled, unable to open. It was already darkening, red splotches and purple brusing spreading up and down. Even from a few feet, the glass shards lodged in his left cheek were blaring (and bloody.) His body was trembling and he ghastly limped over to Ike.
“Why did mom hurt you?”
Kyle winced, tongue at the roof of his mouth, looking for his words. He bent down in front of Ike and grabbed the smallers arms, rubbing his thumbs on them gently.
“Sometimes,” Kyle started, “Sometimes.. people get really mad, yeah? And they do things they don’t want to. Mom didn’t mean to hit me, you know? But remember that no one should hurt you like that, and you shouldn’t hurt anyone like that either. It’s wrong. But mom didn’t want to hurt me, she was just really mad, yeah?”
Ike nodded.
“But we don’t want her to get more mad. And I don’t want you to get hurt—“
“But you’re hurt.” Ike wobbled.
“I know, baby.” Kyle whispered, accidentally slipping a pet name. He despised getting so emotional like this—but it was his little brother. Ike’s eyes watered even more. “But its ok, because it barely even hurts. Everythings gonna be alright, huh? And tomorrow I’ll be good as new. You don’t need to worry.”
“I’m scared.” Ike sniffled, letting the waterworks out.
“I know.” Kyle hushed, bringing Ike into his chest. The youngers arms fumbled around him, tugging at the back of Kyle’s orange jacket.
“Is she gonna hurt you again?”
“Ike.” Kyle reprimanded, pulling away to look at him, this time bringing and arm to cover his swollen eye. “You don’t need to worry. Not at all. I’ve got this house,” Kyle motioned around, “under control. C’mon, lets go.”
“Are you coming with me?”
“I’m staying here to take care of Mom and Dad, okay?” Kyle smiled softly, beginning to gather Ike’s own belongings in his hands. “Stan’s waiting. Hes gonna take care of you, okay?”
(“Get off of him!” Gerald scream-sobbed, trying throw himself in front of Kyle. Ike’s eyes widended.
“Get out of here, Ike!” Kyle desperately trembled, curled up with his legs protecting his torso and arms protecting himself from the blows. Ike whimpered as Gerald turned back and scooped him up.)
…Ike shook his head—a no to remembering and a no to Kyle staying. “I want you to come. I don’t want her to hurt you again, Kyle. I want Stan to take care of you.”
Kyle inhaled, pausing to reach for a response. But he didn’t have one. Not before screams erupted again.
“Lets go. Now.” Kyle spat, tugging Ike’s hand out of the room and surfing down the stairs.
“You’re coming?—“
“You have NO fucking right to hit your son like that. What the fuck is wrong with you. I’m gonna fucking ki—“
Kyle threw Ike out the front door by is upper arm. “Go.” He commanded, beginning to shut the door. Immediately Ike began to sob hysterically.
“Kyle. Kyle.” He gasped. “Kyle. Come with me. Kyle. Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle Kyle—“ The front door flung open and shut again, Kyle once again scooting down to reach his level. He flinched, feeling his ribs burn.
Kyle breathlessly began to spill. “Hey. Hey. Its ok, you’re ok, I’m ok. What about this, I’ll come to Stan’s after, huh? Let me get my stuff and I’ll be right over. I love you, okay? Make this easy and go there right now. I’ll be with you, ok? Ok. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push you like that.”
Ike kept gasping for breaths. “I hate mom.”
Kyle winced. “That’s—That’s—Lets talk. Lets talk, go to Stan’s. I’ll be there.”
Ike stared.
And then reluctantly nodded. And then Kyle was out of his sight. And then he turned over to Stan’s house, dragging his feet behind and swimming tears out his vision. And then he was knocking.
And then Stan was there.
Immediately Ike collapsed in the older boys arms, soaking the last of his tears in the fabric of his shirt. “Stan,” Ike croaked, “Kyle’s ‘urt.”
“Kyle’s hurt? Wha—“ Stan fastened his hands on Ike’s shoulders and pulled him back to make eye contact.
“Moms really mad.”
Stan’s mouth dried. “Sheila hit Kyle?”
“More.” Ike cringed, burying his head into Stan’s shirt again. “He said he’ll come over after he gets his ‘tuff. What if mom hurts ‘im again.”
Stan’s heart began to fasten. He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, trying to find what to say. He wasn’t good at being comforting, he was good at freaking out. He internally called for his mom.
“It’s okay, Ike. Come inside.” Stan rubbed his back, bundling him into the Marsh home. “You’re safe here.”
“What about Kyle?”
Stan’s voice wavered. “Kyle’s safe too.” He heard footsteps approaching.
“Sharon! Sharon, a little help here.” Sharon immediately turned into the threshold.
“Oh—dear. Ike, Ike, come here.” Ike looked up at Stan. Stan nodded, ushering him in the direction. Ike wasted no time running into the comfort of Sharon (practically his 2nd mother.)
Stan knew or was wrong to leave Ike and Sharon all alone, no explanation—but he had more things to worry about. He immediately rushed out of the door, sprinting it to the Broflovski household.
Shit—He knew Kyle’s parents fought. So did his. He just hadn’t expected this. Why had Kyle lied? They told eachother absolutely everything. There was no reason to lie. Stan would have bent over backward to help his friend in a heartbeat—he would do absolutely anything to ensure Kyle’s wellbeing. It just didn’t make any sense.
It also made no sense when he ran straight into the one thing he had been praying to see.
“Shit! —dude.” Kyle groaned, hand immedieatly clutching at his face, stumbling backwards and onto his ass. Stan wasted no time climbing down and grabbing Kyle’s chin, tilting it up and ripping Kyle’s own glued hand from his eye. For a second, he wished there had been no street light to illuminate the boys features.
Kyle’s eye, still swelled, had been rid of the glass. It had not been lodged in his actual eye, no, but small pieces had still been flung about. Small blood splotches bubbled up.
The glass shard submerged into his cheek had obviously suffered an attempt to be pulled out (a miserable, failed attempt). Now more blood poured down the boys face, soaking into his already red hair and green hat.
“Hey.” Kyle breathed. Stan gulped.
“I’m calling the police.”
“No.” Kyle leaned forward, resting his own brusied forehead against Stan’s pale one. “They won’t help.” His eyes fluttered shut.
“You need to go to the hospital.” Stan mumbled, failing to take his eyes off the boy.
“I have first aid.”
“You need medical attention.”
“No.” Kyle restated, this time more assertive. “I have first aid. In my bag.”
“I’m not arguing with you about this.” Stan’s voice raised, and he pulled back harshly. Kyle jerked back.
Stan felt like his whole world was crumbling. Kyle? Flinching at him?
“I am.” Kyle hummed, before it turned into a groan and began to clutch at his head. But Stan understood. No matter what his parents did, he wouldn’t want them locked away.
They were his parents.
But Sheila and Gerald weren’t his parents, and if Stan had it his way, they would be dead. How could someone even think about touching Kyle in this way? It was unfathomable. It was enough to make him physically ill.
Stan reached into Kyle’s clasped arms and pulled his bag. It had his school work and first aid. He reached for the kit and layed it out.
Gauze, tweezers, neosporin, some sort of alcohol used for cleaning wounds, normal cleaning wipes, bandaids, scissors—and such.
“What happened?” Stan clicked, sitting up above Kyle and gently lifting his face up by the chin. Kyle’s eyes fluttered open, half lidded, watching Stans every movement with precision. (He knew damn well Stan would never lay a hand on him.)
He was too head strong, but it was what made him attractive; and what made this all the more cherishable. It wasn’t the best moment for either of them, but they were close. Stan loved being close with Kyle. He wished he could spend forever close with Kyle.
Stan quickly shook the thought from his head. Not the time to be gushing over your best friend—not when he’s bleeding out. Kyle just shrugged.
“You’re gonna have to talk about it at some time, Ky.” Stan spoke, trying to ignore the way it was killing him to see Kyle so reluctant to lean into his touch. Stan hesitated. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
Kyle’s shoulders trembled. “I know.”
No. Stan doesn’t think he could take Kyle crying over all of this.
“You’re safe.”
Kyle hummed, tears slipping from his decent eye. Stan bit his lip, moving his thumb to swipe the newly freed tears.
“My Mom was really mad at my Dad. I got in the way, and I know I shouldn’t have—but it was escalating. I don’t know. I’m dumb, dude.” Kyle inhaled. “I think she just saw red.”
“I’m about to, too.” Stan grinded his teeth, dabbing the alcohol below his swollen eye.
“Ah—shit dude. That fucking burns. Shh—“ Stan swatched his thumb over Kyle’s lips. Kyle’s eyes (eye) widened.
“Just relax, Ky. Let me take care of you.” Stan discarded the alcohol and brought his other hand to the back of Kyle’s head, tilting it even more back and pulling at his lip. Kyle opened his mouth. No damage, luckily.
“I know your tired, Kyle. You don’t gotta be tough all the time.”
Kyle eyed him nervously—before licking Stan’s thumb and relaxing into his hold.
Stan screamed, pulling his hand back and shaking it. Kyle let put a breathily laugh. “Sick, dude! How could you!”
“Sorry, sorry.” Kyle caught his breath, eyes shut again. He loved movements like this—but he loved Stan more. He always knew how cheer him up, even during times like this. He wished he could spend the rest of his life with Stan.
Maybe he could.
“I love you, man.”
Stan paused, heart fluttering. “I love you too.”
“No, like.” Kyle inhaled, bringing his own hand up to Stan’s chin. “I really love you. I love you like you’re a girl. I love love you. I know it’s dumb. Its stupid. But when I look at you, my stomach flips—and I think I finally get why you threw up when you made eye contact with Wendy all those years ago. I don’t think can look in your eyes. I dont think I can even look at you. Whenever you touch me it stings, it burns, because I know I can’t have any more. But I want more, Stan. I want you.”
Stan stared. Stared right into Kyle’s emerald eyes—and if he could throw up, he would, but he had been a little bit too busy daydreaming about Kyle to go down for dinner.
“I would kiss your right now if you weren’t hurt.” Stan whispered.
“Do it.” Kyle croaked.
Stan brought himself down to Kyle. It wasn’t what he was expecting—he guesses with Kyle, he thought it would be agressive. Not that Kyle was agressive, no, just that he thinks Kyle would have been an agressive kisser. Maybe angry that it had taken this long to get his lips on Stan.
But this was sweet. It was sweet and light. Feathery, it ticked his lips as well as his chest. Kyle pulled a bit away, but not far enough to where they were seperate.
“My eye doesn’t even hurt anymore.” He smiled, giddily, lips brushing against Stan’s. He tried to lean in for another kiss, but Stan stopped him.
“I’m probably about to fuck your eye up more. Lets get inside, okay? There’s…. plenty of more time for kissing when you aren’t bleeding.”
Kyle whined mentally, but agreed. “I need to see Ike.”
“Yea.” Stan agreed.
Kyle took a double take at Stan. “Does this mean—?”
“If you want.”
Kyle grinned. “It’s all I ever wanted.”
“This night feels so fucking unreal.”
“I think I might be dreaming.” Kyle hummed, leaning back in to ‘make sure it’s real.’ Stan gladly accepted.
“I love you.” Stan sighed after pulling away.
“I love you more.”
“And I’m gonna kill your mom.”