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Randy and Sharon Marsh, Stan’s parents, fought almost every single night.
Randy never hit Sharon, he didn’t ever go as far as to lay his hands on her but he was a manipulative asshole with an alcohol problem nonetheless and thus there was fight after fight after fight between the two.
And tonight was no different. They were at it again, having yet another screaming match.
The sounds of yelling shaking up the entire Marsh home. It was fucking happening again and Stan couldn’t take it anymore. He shut off his console as the yelling became too distracting to bear.
As always, he wanted to intervene, wanted to do something, anything to help his mother but he knew he would only make the situation worse if he dared try - He would only upset his mother further who maintained he’d stay out of it.
Randy was her problem to deal with, she insisted.
Just stay in your room and let the adults deal with their issues.
The sudden deafening clang of a plate breaking made Stan's ears ring. He shut his eyes and covered both his ears with his palms out of instinct. Jesus fucking Christ. This sounded bad.
The young boy raced out of his room, slamming the door shut behind him. He’s had enough of this.
“Mom?” he shouted as he rushed down the stairs, his heart racing. Both of his parents had gone quiet. The sudden silence felt unnerving, as though time suddenly stood still.
He found his mother on the couch, in a crouched over sitting position with both hands over her eyes. She was ok, not hurt physically. She just looked tired - done with it all.
Stan took the scene in; his father had thrown a plate across the room which had shattered against the wall. Subsequently, shards were scattered all over the floor.
Randy had then marched out of the house, presumably to cool off. Once again, fleeing a situation which he himself had managed to escalate.
“Are- Are you ok?” Stan broke the silence as he asked his mother.
She looked up at him. “Stanley-”
Her eyes were red. She had been crying.
“It’s over now. I’m fine. You can go back to your room.”
“He’s gone too far this time.” Stan's voice grew aggravated as he motioned towards where the plate had hit the wall.
“Did he throw that at you?”
Sharon’s facial expression grew stern. She was about to defend Randy again. Stan knew it.
“He didn’t. He just threw it against the wall. You know he would never…
He’s a fucking asshole but he wouldn’t actually hurt me. I’m alright. It’s over with.”
Stan's hands had balled up into fists. Anger had flooded him. Anger which was swiftly followed by a hopeless feeling of desperation.
Why does his mother insist on defending his asshole father?
Shelly had also made her way down the stairs in the meantime. Stan's anger mellowed out as he and Shelly exchanged a knowing look. They didn’t always get along all that great but in moments like these they communicated almost telepathically.
The older sister silently walked to the kitchen to gather a broom and dustpan.
Stan remained standing in the living room. He looked back over at his mom. He desperately wanted to help her, at the very least console her somehow. Yet he knew it was fruitless.
Sharon had always hated being seen as a victim in situations involving Randy. She would only grow cold in response to what she perceived as pity and become increasingly agitated.
And so Stan decided to just stay silent and comfort Sharon by simply sitting down next to her for a short while.
When Shelly returned from the kitchen just a moment later, Stan helped her clean up the shards strewn about the wooden floor. Sharon, upon witnessing them helping, insisted again that they go back to their rooms. This wasn’t their mess to deal with after all.
“Thank you.”, she ultimately uttered nonetheless as they finished up. She didn’t hold eye contact for long, her eyes tired and puffy as she promptly looked away again.
Shelly nodded and made her way back up the stairs. She wasn’t much for words in situations like these. Stan knew there wasn’t anything else to be done. It had always been like this. It’s become routine. The situation would somehow escalate and then be over with.
Everyone refusing to speak on it anymore than was absolutely necessary.
Stan sighed as he watched his mother make her way silently to the kitchen. There was nothing more left to say.
He made his way up the stairs now too.
He made his way to his door but decided to walk back to Shelly’s. He put his head on the panel of her door.
“Shelly”, his voice was meek and barely audible. No reply.
He was about to walk away again, back to his room. That’s when Shelly’s door opened slightly. Staring back at the young boy was his older sister. Almost 18 years of age, on the verge of adulthood but it didn’t feel that way.
Her expression was blank.
“What do you want?” she asked her brother.
“Just checking if you’re… you know.. ok.” Stan replied.
“'I'm fine.”
The two maintained eye contact for a while. A part of Stan had remained scared of his older sister. He had grown taller than her over the years but she remained as frightful as ever, bursting into anger at the most unexpected of times. She certainly had a temper.
Stan didn’t feel as though she loved him. She didn’t like anything about her family or this shitty town as a matter of fact and that included him. One day she’d move far, far away from this place and probably forget all about his existence and that of this entire place.
Tonight, however, her expression shifted into something which was far from domineering nor frightful, Stan realized as they maintained eye contact.
He suddenly realized that in front of him stood but a terrified, young girl, herself unsure of the future and whatever it may hold.
They were maybe not all that different from one another after all.
“I’ve seen the bottles in your room.”
Shelly spoke up. Her tone felt accusatory and Stan felt a shiver go down his spine. He didn’t expect this conversation to turn into whatever it was now becoming.
“Shelly-“
“You’re nothing like him, Stan. I know you might look alike and struggle with the same bullshit but you’re different. You’re better than that.”
There was a heartfelt yet stern look in her eye. She wasn’t hiding behind her usual sarcasm or snarky remarks.
Stan suddenly felt a choking sensation in his throat. The one you feel when you’re trying to hold back tears.
“Goodnight Stan.” Her tone was unusually sincere, even gentle.
Without awaiting an answer Shelly softly shut her door, leaving Stan to the empty hallway.
It was a known fact that both he and Randy suffered from easily succumbing to addiction. He was being treated in therapy for it, alongside his depression.
For Stan it started with spending all his time and money on stupid online games and had devolved into relying on alcohol to make his life feel more bearable.
It had helped at first; made him feel normal and social but eventually it got too much. His mother had found him sick one day, blackout drunk from the alcohol when he was just a little kid. That’s when he was put into therapy.
Therapy had helped but bad habits were hard to break - especially in times like these when everything around him seemed to be falling apart again. Now that his parents started getting into fights almost every single night, Stan couldn’t help but go back to indulging in alcohol again when it all felt like too much.
He tried hiding it better this time around. It broke his heart that Shelly must've noticed.
He channeled his sorrow into more anger again.
Fuck it. What does she know? Since when does she care?
Stan returned to his room. Fuck. He felt like punching a hole right into his wall. He couldn’t stand to be confined within the four walls that were his room.
He pulled out his phone. 10:46pm. Thank god it was the Christmas holidays, he wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep on a night like this and attend school the next morning dead-tired.
He needed to take a walk.
He took out a small bottle of whiskey which he had hidden in a box under his bed, held it up in front of himself and eyed it.
It was a pretty amber color. He knew he’d feel better if he had a sip. Just one.
Ugh fuck it. He’d quit tomorrow.
One sip for courage. He proceeded to climb out of his window as he’s done many times before, sneaking out.
He planned the jump he’d have to make perfectly, holding onto a window still when his fingers slipped on the ice which had formed itself due to the unusually cold outside temperature. He fell, mindering his fall with both hands but still ending up having hit the ground with some impact to his left cheek. Ouch.
He quickly stood up and dusted himself off in embarrassment as though he’d been seen by someone, even though there was no chance someone would be out this late roaming the streets.
The adrenaline rush made it so that he had felt no pain but as it wore off, he realized he had mildly scratched up his face.
He touched his cheek to check for bleeding. There wasn’t any blood, he was fine.
Whatever. He took out his whiskey bottle and had another chug.
Outside it was unusually cold. Freezing. All he was wearing was a relatively thick sweater, jeans and his sneakers. It was the Christmas holidays so it was the peak winter season. He knew he wouldn’t last long out here but he didn’t care. The cold felt strangely soothing, clearing his mind.
He made his way down the pitch dark street, weakly illuminated by a few meekly lamp posts here and there. The streets were empty. This was South Park after all. You might find some people still hanging out and about in the bars of the town but the residential areas tended to stay dead quiet at night.
He breathed in the fresh air and left footprints in the freshly fallen snow. He felt at ease. The cold, however, was slowly catching up to him. He didn’t feel like returning home though.
Walking through the cold dark aimlessly, he ended up stopping in front of his best friend's house, the two of them being neighbors.
There was no other place he could really turn to right now. His only other option being to succumb to the cold and freeze to death.
He sighed and looked up into the night sky. Feeling but a tad pathetic to always need to rely on his best friend's help when his home life became too chaotic to deal with.
At that moment he understood his mother’s disdain for pitiful sentiments.
After a while of walking back and forth he started shaking from the freezing cold. He couldn’t stay outside for much longer.
He eyed the front porch and the doorbell. He couldn’t ring it at this late of a time.
Technically, he could. Physically that is. And he knew he’d be let in no matter the time.
Sheila loved him but that’s exactly why he ultimately decided not to ring; he’d prefer to keep it that way. Keep up his respectable facade and not come knocking down the door at 11pm on any given Tuesday.
In his slightly buzzed state, Stan opted to do what he’s seen people do in the movies - He picked up a dozen small pebbles as he headed towards the back of the house where he knew he’d find the window to Kyle’s room.
He started throwing the pebbles at his best friend's window, hoping Kyle would hear. He missed half his aims and soon ran out of pebbles. He’d only successfully managed to throw about… maybe three.
He was gonna give up, lie down in the cold cold snow and accept that he was destined to freeze to death that fateful night when, finally, Kyle’s window opened and the boy peered outside it. His gaze wandered down, meeting Stans.
“Dude.” Kyle spoke with an air of surprise.
“What the fuck?”
Stan didn’t reply. He was too cold. He just crossed his arms, shivering.
“Come to the front door.” Kyle sighed, closing his window again.
And so Stan did. The front door then opened and there he was. Stan's best friend Kyle, staring back at him in bewilderment.
“God, what is wrong with you?” Kyle muttered, no real malice in his voice as he pulled his best friend inside. His best friend, who was wearing nothing but a sweater and jeans in the Colorado winter.
“What happened to your face? Are you ok? Why didn’t you just ring the front door?” he asked, looking his best friend in the eye.
“D-didn’t want to w-wake your parents.” Stan stuttered, shaking from the cold.
“Well, they wouldn’t have been happy but they would’ve understood.
This is about your parents fighting again, isn’t it?”
Stan continued shivering and looked away to the side. He couldn’t bring himself to answer that question.
“Let’s just go upstairs. You can warm up in my room.’
The two of them quietly made their way up the stairs.
-
Stan was sitting on the edge of his best friend's bed with a spare blanket wrapped around his body that said friend had given to him.
“So what happened to your face?” Kyle interrogated again after a quiet while had passed. He marched over to Stan, doubled over, and squinted at his face. “Your left cheek.” the former inquired.
Stans felt a churn in his stomach. His friend had stepped so close that he could feel his breath on his face. He felt way too vulnerable to be having someone standing this close to him right now.
“I just fell.”
“You just fell?”
“Yea.” Stan repeated himself defensively. He felt embarrassed. His body temperature had returned to normal and he could feel a sudden warmth rising up to his cheeks.
“Wait a second. I’ll go get you something.” Kyle said as he swiftly moved away from Stan, who let out a pent-up breath as he did so. Kyle proceeded to walk out of the room.
Stan took this time to take in his surroundings now that he felt warmed up again. Kyle’s room hadn’t changed at all since his last visit which had only been a day prior. They had been playing some video games together alongside their other friends that day.
It was as neat as ever - as opposed to his own bedroom at least.
Well neat as per teenage boy standards - there were still quite a few things hastily strewn about the room, clothes and writing utensils mostly.
Stan peered onto his friend's desk and saw an opened school book lying there. Of course Kyle was the type of person to get his homework done in the first week of Christmas break instead of leaving it all to the very last second as Stan, or any other sane teenager for that matter, usually did. Kyle acted slightly neurotic when it came to academics, Stan thought.
Only a moment later, Kyle returned back to his room with what looked to be medical supplies in his hands - isopropyl alcohol, cotton pads and bandages.
Stan stood up from his spot on the bed's edge, the whiskey bottle he had brought with, falling out of his pocket. He promptly picked it up again.
Kyle seemingly hadn’t seen it fall out as had turned back to shut his bedroom door carefully so as to not make any noise. Or he had but neglected to make any comment on it out of politeness. Stan felt relieved either way. He hid the bottle again by holding it under the blanket which he had still draped over his shoulders.
His friend then proceeded to walk towards him and put both hands on his shoulders to make him sit down onto the floor alongside him. Stan felt sweat forming on his forehead. He felt as though he was a little kid in trouble.
Both were now sitting face to face with one another. Stan didn’t mantain eye contact and instead chose to distract himself from Kyle’s adamant gaze onto his own face. He glanced at his best friend's facial features and the few freckles which were speckled over his nose. He didn’t have many of them and the ones he had had become barely visible in the winter season. Kyle would often insist that he did not actually have any freckles but if you looked closely at his nose, they were right there. Definitely present. Stan felt a smile form on his face. He felt a bit funny, probably from that alcohol he had had before coming here. Kyle had put some of the alcohol onto one of the cotton pads in the meantime.
Kyle then suddenly lifted Stan's chin with his hand. Surprised, he looked Kyle back in the eye again. Stan swallowed. Kyle was back to looking at him with a focused expression, determined. He was acting way too serious for what it was worth, this wasn’t brain surgery after all. Stan suddenly felt afraid of what he was planning to do to him.
“Here.” He put some disinfectant on the scraped area of skin.
“Ouch! You asshole. Fuck!” Stan whisper-shouted.
“Shhh.” His friend smiled, seemingly amused by his pain.
Kyle dipped another one of the cotton into the alcohol and dabbed it onto Stan's cheek again. The pain wasn’t as prominent this time around.
“So what’s up with that whisky bottle you brought?”
Stan winced slightly.
“I’m so sorry for bringing that. I was just so stressed out and-“
“It’s whatever.” Kyle waved a hand, interrupting him and chuckling. “As long as you let me try some of it.” he added as he finished cleaning up the scratches.
Kyle wasn’t usually this nonchalant about Stan's consumption of alcohol. Not when he was drinking it at inappropriate times like at school or when he was overindulging at parties. Right now were the holidays however and he didn’t seem to mind Stan having brought some alcohol over, himself ready to indulge in some teenage mischief.
Or maybe he’s just given up on him.
Stan shrugged. “Alright.” he said, he started feeling back at ease.
Kyle dabbed Stan’s skin one last time, leaving him with a ticklish sensation on the cheek.
The two of them looking each other in the eyes again, now both smiling.
Stan brought the small bottle of alcohol forward and handed it to his friend. Stan knew Kyle had tried alcohol before. He was far less experienced in that regard however.
After a short pause, the young boy took a big gulp of the liquor which had been handed to him.
He proceeded to cough as a sour facial expression overtook his face.
“This stuff’s nasty. How do you drink it with such ease?”
Stan took the small bottle back out of his friend's grasp and proceeded to take a sip with ease, ignoring the burning sensation tingling his mouth, remaining stone faced, in order to impress his friend.
Kyle was watching him do all that as he leaned backwards, pressing his weight onto his palms.
“Impressive.”
“Nahh, you’re just a virgin to the world of alcohol.” Stan tilted his head to the side provocatively.
“Pffft I’ve had beer before.”
“That’s nothing yet.”
Kyle’s expression turned contemplative as he changed the subject.
“You do know that you can talk to me about anything, right?”
“Yeah… I know.”
Stan knew this to be a prompt for him to finally say something, anything. About the reason he came here or why he’d brought the alcohol . Instead, he pointedly chose to ignore this chance, feigning a smile and directing it at his friend. He smiled as if he had not a single worry in the world. As though it was the most normal-est of things, of behaviors, to come throw pebbles at your best friend’s window in the middle of the night and have a surprise sleepover.
Because, you know what? At that very moment, it had really felt that way. They were just two teenagers having fun, engaging in an act of rebellion behind their parents backs. Stan couldn’t bring himself to address the elephant hovering in the room and break that wishful delusion. He chose to run from it instead.
Kyle simply sighed at his friend's refusal to speak on anything further. Pushing him would always turn out futile anyway, he knew that much. Instead he chose to put a hand onto his best friend's thigh in an awkward attempt to comfort him.
They were no strangers to physical touch but growing older, entering puberty, created a sort of awkwardness around it. Tenderness between male friends had suddenly become something socially unacceptable. He quickly retracted his hand, as though he was feeling like he might’ve overstepped somehow.
Stan leapt up at him in order to hug instead. Kyle padded his back in return. It felt nice to hug. It felt nice to have someone who it felt ok to be this close with. Snide remarks from their friends be damned.
“We should head to bed now lest we wake up my mother.” Kyle broke the hug softly after what felt like just a little over the limit to the socially acceptable amount of hugging.
“I’m gonna go brush my teeth first. You can borrow pajamas for that drawer over there.” Kyle said as he motioned towards the corner of his room. He then left for the bathroom.
His absence made the air around Stan grow seemingly cold again.
He made his place to the aforementioned dresser and picked out a T-Shirt and some sweatpants. He then brushed his teeth at his turn.
He had his own toothbrush at Kyle’s place, so often he would visit. He avoided looking into the mirror as he put toothpaste onto his toothbrush. After having spit out the toothpaste he glimpsed at his reflection. He looked like shit, he thought to himself. Tired and fragile, so much for the school's star athlete.
To be fair he still was athletic and excelled at sports but it was as though he was watching himself fall apart in front of his very eyes. Neglecting practice and not watching his diet anymore. If not for sports he wasn’t much gifted in anything else. He couldn’t bear to lose the only thing he’s ever excelled at. There wasn’t much else for him to keep living for, except for maybe his friends. His best friend mainly.
He turned off the hot faucet and splashed cold water onto his face to clear his mind. He wished his appearance didn’t occupy his mind this much. He pushed his unwanted thoughts away, great at feigning the facade of unshakable confidence.
He walked back to Kyle’s room and made his way onto the free side of his friend's bed.
Kyle turned towards him, looking at him through a sleepy haze.
Their eyes met. Stan's alert blue eyes with Kyle’s hazel ones, half lidded and tired.
Kyle was nice to look at, Stan thought to himself against his better judgment. To be fair, he couldn’t help but think about it as he was laying right across from him, his features only slightly illuminated by the warm light of his bedside lamp. His red hair fell in such intricate ways as he laid there, reflecting golden tones against the light. His eye color, though often mistaken for brown at first glance, was a mixture between green, dark- and light brown tones all in one. It was a mesmerizing combination for sure. Kyle being nice to look at was a simple observation, a matter of fact - though Stan couldn't help but feel incredibly lucky to be witnessing him in that moment, all peaceful and drowsy. He wished they could stay this way for forever.
“Quit staring.” Kyle spoke up in an amused tone as he broke their prolonged eye contact and turned to lie on his back.
Stan could’ve sworn he saw a blush form on his friend's face, his tired mind starting to imagine things.
“I wasn’t staring. And you looked at me first.” Stan replied, nonchalant and smiling.
“Goodnight Stan.” Kyle rolled his eyes. He shut the light on his nightstand.
After a while he spoke up again.
“We’re gonna hang out so much this upcoming week. I love the winter holidays. You can even stay over almost every single night.”
“Yeah…” Stan replied softly, his voice a meek whisper now. “That’d be nice.”
He felt a hand meeting his in the dark. The two of them joining hands as though per some kind of instinct they had developed years ago when they were but two little kids terrified of the nights dusk.
Like an anchor to a ship the two held each other grounded as to not drift too far ashore.
Cartman would surely insult them as gay if he’d seen them that way. Stan felt amused at the thought, thank god that idiot wasn’t here. He just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t have a friend who’s as close to him as Kyle is to Stan. Stan felt lucky that he did.
“Goodnight Kyle.” he hummed.
“Goodnight.”
He didn’t know whether it was entirely normal to feel as strongly towards a friend as he did. It certainly didn’t feel wrong.
Quite to the contrary, everything felt so right this very moment with the both of them together.
It’s as though everything was in its place. It’s as though he belonged right there, next to him. God. That’s absurd . Alcohol makes everything feel heaps too sentimental, Stan thought to himself.
Whatever it was that he felt towards Kyle, he couldn’t risk losing their friendship over it anyway, Stan reprimanded himself internally.
If they really were some kind of wrong feelings, the kind you aren’t meant to feel towards a friend, he was adamant to ignore it for as long as he’d live. All that mattered was keeping him close.
He felt a kind of yearning towards him that made his heart ache, made him feel sick. It felt more intense than anything else he’d felt before - even his crush towards Wendy, back before they’d broken up. But that was different, Wendy was a girl after all. It’s totally normal to love your best friend, just in a different way.
Whatever.
His eyes fluttered shut after a short while. He soon fell asleep, feeling safe and sound in the company of his very best friend.