Chapter Text
Twelve-year-old Kyle was sitting on his swing set, awaiting the start of his birthday party. Although he still had four hours until guests were scheduled to arrive, he couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness that had become all too familiar lately.
Just like in math class, where he would dart through the problems, consumed with the urge to outdo Wendy Testaburger, the smartest kid in his grade. He would remain so engrossed in the task that the hour would pass without him ever glancing up from his paper.
Or when he watched his favorite TV show, Terrance and Phillip, only to find the scenes suddenly becoming tedious. The dialogues felt too long, the plot too slow to develop; and yet not enough to completely displease the redhead.
The only person who could soothe Kyle's anxiety was his best friend in the whole wide world - Stan or at least that had been the title he had received when they were both five and had filled “about me” charts. He didn’t have to battle anyone for his attention, and their chats were simple yet entertaining.
Perhaps that was why when Stan finally arrived, two hours earlier than everyone else, it didn’t matter that the cake needed extra sprinkles or that Kyle’s mom had threatened to ground him if he wore a hat to cover his wild hair.
However when everyone sang “Happy birthday” around the cake and Kyle searched for Stan’s gaze, he was unpleasantly surprised to find that, for the first time in nine years Stan wasn’t looking at him. Instead, his eyes were locked on Wendy Testaburger who Kyle knew for a fact didn’t even like him and was only at the party because her best friend Bebe had been invited.
The happy afternoon quickly turned into a bitter moment that would be forever captured in photo albums. Maybe Kyle’s future children would think it was because of his terrible hair-do, or the fat boy mocking him in the corner.
After everybody else left Stan sat beside Kyle on the porch stairs who couldn’t help but pry.
"I saw you looking at Wendy," Kyle said while he rubbed his hands. It wasn't that cold, but he had to fidget with something.
"Oh yeah, I wasn't doing it consciously, she just looked pretty I guess," he uttered. When Kyle's silence became uncomfortable, he added, "You don't think so?"
"I didn't really notice," the smaller boy mumbled. But in truth, he had noticed: the way her pin-straight black hair settled over her shoulder and her white teeth showed while she sang.
"It doesn't really matter," Stan giggled. "I haven't talked to her since fourth grade. Now come on, tell me about your presents."
They spent an hour talking on the steps and had their traditional sleepover afterwards. Even though a strange feeling had settled in Kyle's stomach, he knew that in every situation, Stan would be the first to arrive and the last to leave.