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“Hey, what time is it?” Stan asked tiredly after a long period of empty silence, filled only with the sound of him loosening his ugly purple tie over and over again. No matter what, it felt like he was choking, but if he took it off he'd lose it. It was his matching tie to Wendy's dress, but was also probably going to be the tie he'd wear for the rest of his life, so he couldn't risk it.
Kyle glanced down at his watch, blinking slowly and taking longer to read the face than normal. “Uhh..near midnight, actually.” He glanced at the boy beside him to gauge his reaction.
Next to him on the bleachers, Stan leaned back, rumpling sweaty black hair. “Fuckkk,” he breathed.
The lonely pair sat in the middle tier of the stacked bleachers along the side of the school gym. Cheesy, drowned out 80’s and 90’s bops echoed sadly around them, the same 8 songs looped. Whoever was supposed to be DJ was completely useless and nowhere to be found, but most likely trying to get to second base with one of the (underaged) girls.
“We haven't done shit and it's already tomorrow.”
Kyle tilted his head up to the ceiling, and then around the hall. It was too dark to see much.
“Well that's not true Stan, Wendy broke up with you” He offered.
The recently single bachelor sent him an agonised look in return, pulling on his tie for the nth time. “Yeah, just my fucking luck to get broken up with in the middle of prom.” Stan pinched his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. “You know this is the last time we're ever getting back together.”
Kyle hummed. “And why's that?” He asked, distracted by someone puking in the corner while another patted their back.
Oblivious to the fact that Kyle didn't care at all, Stan continued on over cool hipster beats coming from the shitty loudspeakers with weak agitation in his voice. “Because, there's literally no way I can win her over again. I can't just go up to her locker with flowers or a Denny's coupon anymore, I mean, she's leaving South Park. Leaving Denver, did you know that?” He dragged a hand over his face before continuing. “And she could go anywhere too, not just fucking 'New Haven, Connecticut'," Stan mocked, making air quotes with his hands. "Like, I don't know, California, New Jersey. Wherever Harvad is. Because she's smart, Kyle. And then she'll meet some cool, political guy in college with a stupid ass name like Gary to sweep her off her feet.”
“Or, I don't know. Maybe she'll go all feminist and get with Bebe. They're close enough.” He moaned, kicking the bench in front of them limply.
Maybe Kyle would've said, ‘This is the world's tiniest violin, and it's playing your tune’ while rubbing his thumb and index together. He might've, but he'd be an idiot if he didn't take note of the thought swirling around Stan's blue eyes. He wasn't Stan's 'Super Best Friend' for nothing.
“You don't sound too sad about it”.
Stan groaned.
As his super best friend, Kyle could easily tell that Stan didn't really, well, care anymore. Hadn't for a good few months. Stan and Wendy were sort of a power couple in their year, having been going strong since middle school. Even as other teens cycled through different relationships, Kyle included with his fair share of flings, Stan and Wendy stayed with each other. Stan, because he couldn't handle change and unfortunately didn't possess the drive to move on after a breakup. It was easier to spend two minutes begging for forgiveness and then succumb to a grey relationship than to permanently leave and have to face all his problems in the aftermath. Kyle guessed, at least.
And Wendy because all the other South Park boys were crummy, to say the least, and she also probably liked to have Stan around, for whatever reason. But here Stan was with no Wendy, so apparently she didn't need him all that much.
Kyle watched Stan for a few more moments. His head hung expressionless and his entire back was slumped under the weak strobe lights.
A lesser man (sophomore year Kyle) would half-jokingly suggest that Stan should show up with a boombox outside Wendy's house before she left, blasting her favourite song, but to be frank, staying with your high school sweetheart during college was pathetic. They were graduating, for Christ's sake.
Class of ‘03.
Wow.
So yeah, the two boys sat alone together on the far from comfortable bleachers, exchanging bleak conversation and watching the few left that were still loitering on the makeshift dance floor, mostly just talking instead of dancing. The rest of the attendents had gone to some after-party, home, smoking outside or were under the bleachers doing various things.
Park County High never bothered locking up on senior prom night, so technically they could stay as long as they wanted. Kyle mumbled this to Stan absentmindedly when he remembered, though they didn't really have much more reason to stay in this shithole.
Stan came with Wendy, of course. Kyle asked Rebecca Cotswold, and she did say yes, but plans changed when he arrived at her front door to find out she was already at the school hall from her intimidating dad and seething twin brother. Then, he was graced with the sight of her munching the face off Bridon Gueermo, dressed in the most provocative dress in South Park and Priscilla-esque eye makeup. Making out with Bridon like they had been days prior, mind (which was literally her FIRST KISS). Back when she was actually normal, if a little nerdy.
So that wasn't cool, but ultimately didn't hurt much since Kyle was already getting fed up with her constantly wanting to tongue at literally every moment of the day.
So was it so bad to say he was sorta happy Stan got dumped too?
Stan sluggishly passed him the flask that got his ass handed to him earlier. When Wendy saw it, she went ballistic. Shouting and yelling, poking him in the chest like they were going to brawl. Eventually she slapped Stan, which was confirmed to seriously hurt, and left in a fir of rage. Though personally, and he'd never say this to Stan, Kyle strongly thought she was just looking for a reason to get rid of him before going to Yale.
Nonetheless, he tipped back the sorry remains of Stan's flask, brain slightly foggy.
“I wish I had a cig right now. Or a pre-roll” he mused aloud. *pat pat pat* He felt around, sighed, and turned back to his comrade. “I've nothing on me though.”
*pat pat pat* “Shit, same.”
They both sighed, lingering in the cruel atmosphere of the sweaty gym they'd been stuck in for years.
Feeling sorry for themselves, sitting bitchless, weedless, college offerless and alone at senior prom was certainly not the way they wanted to go out.
-
“Hey, do you think we can change the shitty music here?” Stan asked later on, heaving himself to his feet and looking around. While he was rising and before he opened his mouth Kyle thought he'd announce deftly that he was going home, and of course Kyle would have to follow him. That's where he was wrong though, Stan never wanted to go home.
Outwardly Kyle shrugged, focusing on locating the source device of the racket. The origin came to be a laptop collecting dust on the makeshift DJ table that was really just two wobbly desks pulled from the nearest classroom and pushed together.
Kyle caught Stan's eye and cocked his head in the laptop's direction. With his eyes, his best friend seemed to ask if he was bothered, foot tapping on the edge of creaky stairs that led to the floor. And what else would Kyle do except shrug his lanky shoulders and gesture for Stan to lead the way.
They poured onto the aisle, and weren't surprised to find out that the air wasn't any less dank the lower you descended. To be honest, it was worse, smelling faintly of teenage sweat, angst and makeup.
When they reached the pretend booth Kyle slid into the spinny chair and Stan leaned on the back, breathing hot air down Kyle's neck. The black haired boy leaned over him to type into the search bar. His fingernails were short and grimy. Kyle wanted to ask if he still played guitar.
‘Metal Guru’ was picked with little thought by Stan. Not his favourite, but a good song nonetheless, Kyle thought. He watched Stan compile a diverse queue of songs that honestly didn't fit the vibe. It was alright though, they didn't exactly fit in with the couples and normal teenagers either.
“Any special requests?”
“Hm? Oh- no. Just play your stuff.”
“You're so cagey about your music Kyle,” Stan said, rolling his eyes. “Give me one song. You know you want to.”
Kyle clawed a hand over the ear that Stan was talking to close to, hairs on his nape standing up slightly. “I like listening to your stuff,” He replied undecided. “It's.. good.”
Stan huffed, and again the wind swept into Kyle's ear, making him cringe. He grinned as Stan muttered “cagey” while clicking along the keyboard.
“There, since you're being difficult I put one in special for you. Now let's get this par-tay started” He murmured, clicking play.
As the scratchy electric guitar rang out through the speakers deafeningly, boyfriends, girlfriends, and groups of chicks left promptly, with dirty looks for Stan and Kyle who hadn't yet adjusted the volume. It wasn't even their fault that it played so loud from the get go but they still received judgy stares. It reminded Kyle that people didn't actually like them, a fact he'd been battling with since Craig and those other guys told them in fourth grade.
For the sake of holding their ground though, Kyle stubbornly kept his hand over the volume control so Stan's hovering hand couldn't turn it down before all the others left. He stuck his tongue out at the guy who sat behind him in English because he always kicked his seat and was overall a fucking idiot that didn't deserve Kyle's indifference.
Soon, he and Stan were the only two left in the gym.
…
“This feels illegal,” Stan muttered, spaced out.
“Yeah…surreal,” Kyle replied, lying on the floor in the centre of the deserted hall, where they had wandered, and stayed for an hour already.
Just absentmindedly making languid snow angles. Existing. It did feel illegal. It felt illegal to be relaxed or just- himself in school, even when no one was watching.
Kyle felt like a little bug on the ground. He wasn't even drunk but the hall just appeared so big when it was only the two of them.
Eyes trained on the broken ceiling and ears listening for Stan's stuffing as he got up from his place on the sticky floor beside him. Then heavy footsteps getting quieter as he walked away.
He'd always been on high alert, Kyle reflected in the moment of peace and silence. In case someone were to jump him, challenge him to a fight or just prank him, he guessed.
Years of grinding for straight A's to avoid his mother's wrath, debate club taking him to argue nationally, model UN, the cafeteria and everything that went down there, set him up for that kind of stress.
The redhead was hit with a disgusting wave of nostalgia. Of senior year, high school, middle school. Hell, even elementary. Teachers and classmates. Enemies and friends. Memories that he hadn't thought about in a long time.
He stroked his silver Star of David necklace, something he only did when an epiphany or speech was clear in his future.
He didn't even like the people in his grade, not really. As established, they felt very much the same. But something in the high schooler BO air made him want to hug all of them and never let go. It was disgusting and insane, how he wanted to organise a South Park wide group hug, full of people he hated, but it also felt like he'd die if he didn't.
“Feeling the senioritis?” A returning Stan called out laughing, like he could hear Kyle's inner monologue. It always felt like he could.
“For our asshole classmates, asshole teachers or redneck mountain town, do you mean? Because the answer is hell no for all of them.” He lied, lied right through his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was let Stan know that he actually did give a fuck, even if it was just one fuck, about the people he'd spent eighteen years and grown up with. Completely embarrassing. Ugh.
*boink..boink*
*boink…………..boink*
Pushing those nasty emotions aside, Kyle scrambled to his feet when he heard the familiar bouncing of a basketball. He narrowed his eyes, content to grin and charged at Stan like a bull, ready to tackle him.
He swiped his arms, got all up in Stan’s face but somehow the black haired boy got away with the ball before being caught.
“Hey! You're travelling!” Kyle called with a hand cupped around his mouth, running after Stan who began to break into a sprint around the court.
*BOINK* *BOINK* in response.
He laughed at his fleeing opponent, knowing he was much better than Stan at basketball. The ginger athlete was able to catch up and steal the lined orange ball, and slam dunk it into the hoop. Just like how he'd led the South Park basketball team to victory in leagues many times before.
And of course as soon as he came to this conclusion, a bitter taste formed in his mouth yet again.
Unaware of his inner turmoil, Stan dropped to his knees dramatically, mimicking a breakdown. His chest rose and fell rapidly, but mostly from the exertion of running around without warming up. He flailed around in fake despair and dug his head into his arms to added effect
“Weak dude. I demand a rematch actually, that was rigged.” Stan grinned, chin propped up on his forearms now.
“Do you ever miss our childhood?”
“…”
“...”
Kyle was met with a questioning look from the black haired boy. Yeah, he just made it weird.
Nevertheless, he tried to be cool as he approached Stan who still was panting slightly after being chased around the court.
“What? Like when your mom tried to nuke Canada? Nah.” He replied, pulling a hand through his hair.
Kyle huffed, sitting down on the floor beside a recovering Stan. “I mean, like...” He scrambled for the right words.
“When things were, I don't fucking know, simpler. Standing at the bus stop every morning, hanging out every day after school. And that stupid little tune that used to play. Like a country twang.”
He tried to elaborate using hand gestures. “It's just not the same now, I guess.”
Kyle was careful not to mention that a major factor was that Stan moved to a whole ass farm. A weed farm. That did put a teeeny tiny divide between them.
Or that they both joined their respective sports teams and electives, found different partners whether romantic or platonic, making it hard to find time to spend with each other. In short, they grew up and grew apart.
Stan paused and seemed to consider his words.
“I guess.” He echoed. “We were still friends with Cartman and Kenny back then. Come to think of it, we were all friends back then, just with everyone.” His blue eyes appeared glassy from where Kyle was looking, but maybe it was just the lights.
“Yeah, we were even friends with Craig” Stan snorted at Kyle's words. “I wonder how Kenny's doing now”
If Stan and Kyle had grown slightly apart after middle school, it was nothing compared to their friendship with Kenny McCormick. A boy they had known since they were literally in diapers, right through what felt like a million summers and winters.
The four boys, Stan, Kyle, Kenny and Cartman had been each other's ride or die for 14 years until highschool, when they all went through an unfortunate split.
Not to say those 14 years were perfect. Maybe 10 would be fairer, middle school was pretty rocky.
Kyle recognised that he and Stan didn't exactly support their old time friend in the way they should've during his rough patches. He often tried to console himself with the fact that they were only 12 when Kenny first greened out, began excessively drinking, and came to school with new bruises every single day. Kyle was only 12, it's not like he didn't have his own shit too. But as much as he told himself this, the blame looked guilty if it was anywhere but Kyle's shaky hands.
“Kenny's.. Jesus, I haven't talked to him in ages. I don't even know.” Kyle thought aloud.
“Pretty sure I saw him smoking in uniform behind Sharkey's like, last week. Might've been someone else though.”
The year before highschool was basically a shit show. Kenny ran around getting into trouble and suffering the consequences. w
When the three other boys weren't being dragged right under with him, they were either chasing after him or pretending nothing was wrong.
“Do you think it's our fault?”
Stan looked at him quizzically, adjusting his bent posture. “..What do you mean?”
The fray on Kyle's shirt cuff was suddenly very interesting. “Drugs and shit. I don't know.”
“Drugs and shit?”
Kyle huffed. “You know what I mean.”
A pause stretched between them. Kyle felt Stan's eyes on him, flickering across his hung face. He didn't move.
“Nah.” Stan said after the silence. “A little- I guess but like, like..” Kyle turned to look at the boy grappling for the sentences as they came. “What could we even do, in theory. Report his parents to the cops? That'd do more bad than good.”
“And, just because we helped him do his gang shit sometimes doesn't mean we like, pushed him to his doom right? We were stupid middle schoolers, same as him and Cartman. We didn't kill Kenny or anything.”
Stan laughed dryly, then tossed Kyle a meaningful look. “Right?”
In sophomore year, Kenny dropped out. Taking odd jobs, like Shakey’s apparently, when he wasn't trapping, being the sole provider for his family mostly. There was a rumour he was on heroin, and a fact that he was high and/or drunk all the time. He still came to prom anyway, Kyle saw him outside chatting to some people he didn't know.
It seemed that they were all destined to turn into their parents, even just a little bit. Kyle saw it in Kenny's dilated pupils, ones that gave him kind of a dead stare. His chipped teeth, wonky since he was young. The joint that seemed to be cemented between his index and middle finger.
Himself, when he saw a picture taken of him that was posted to the school website. It was of him during a heated debate where he looked far too much like his mother. Flaming red hair and a quick, never fizzling temper. The same anger that made him break stuff when he got mad, explode on his friends for no reason. Even that goddamn Jersey accent that peeked out sometimes.
Kyle saw it in Stan too, in his bloodshot eyes and dark purple bags. The constant slump in his posture that never failed to look uncomfortable. How he acted when he was drunk. Over the years, he saw less of Sharon and more of him, though he'd never tell Stan.
“Cartman's never been better.” The same black haired boy spoke up. “He was feeling Heidi up in the bathroom when I went.”
Ah yes, the biggest fuck you of all. Eric Theodore Cartman stealing Kyle's longest and first real girlfriend. Technically she was with Cartman first, but it did hurt Kyle a little for her to choose Cartman over him. Especially since, Cartman was literally Cartman. The fat ass who low-key bullied Kyle his whole childhood (regardless that Kyle bullied him right back) just kept on taking from him. Kyle hadn't really been in a proper relationship since that freshman year nonsense.
Without him Heidman thrived with little disruption, in stupid couples t-shirts and lovey dovey whispers in class.
Kyle really didn't find himself talking much to the fat imbecile anymore though, so that was a plus. After summer, he'd most likely never see him and his ugly, intolerant face again.
“He's still an asshole though.” Came from Stan, seeming to notice his best friend's silence.
“Yeah” Kyle breathed.
They stewed in the ugly mixture of nostalgia, home sickness and another few indescribable emotions for a second, until Stan spoke up. He never was able to not ignore his problems.
“We should dance”
Kyle quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “Dance?”
“Sure.” Stan got up from his little crisscross on the floor, eager to break the sombre moment. He beckoned Kyle to stand with him, holding a hand out for him to grab.
“Why should we be wasting our prom night, our senior prom aka, last prom ever, on these losers that don't even like us?”
“Let's just enjoy it, you and me. Might as well.”
Kyle shook his head, but grabbed Stan’s outstretched palm to help himself up anyway, hiding the small smile moulding itself around his frown. Stan did have a point.
“What do you reckon, Kyle? Robot, salsa, Congo line? Maybe a little bit of Russian ballet and line dance?”
“Fuck off Stan, what do you know about any of those.”
Instantly he rose to the challenge, arms have folded and moving rigidly. Kyle found himself laughing at the poor robot rendition. “Not a chance,” He grinned.
“Alright alright.” Stan hooked his thumbs on his dress pants and began to perform what Kyle believed to be the Footloose choreography. Again, it was terrible and he told this friend that much.
“You can't just start dancing footloose when your shitty metal is still playing.”
“That's literally Poison” Stan called out from a few feet away. As it turned out, the line dance brought him out pretty far. “And they're not even that metal-ly!”
“Doesn't need to be metal to make my ears bleed. Okay- what the hell are you doing?”
“Russian ballet.”
The sticky floor creaked under Stan's weight as he landed roughly from a failed leap. Kyle choked out a laugh.
“Nevermind.” Stan glanced at Kyle while trying to flatten his mussed up hair. “How many people do you need to make a Conga line again?” He grinned sheepishly.
“More than two you fucking moron.” Kyle said with folded arms. He bit his lip, trying not to be obvious in his laughing of Stan after being thrown onto the floor.
“Eat shit, Broflovski-” But right as Stan was crafting his retort, he was cut off by the cool, confident sax solo of Careless Whisper. The song that, for reasons unknown, all South Park radio stations had held onto since 1985. Kyle couldn't name a single person that liked Wham!, not even his dad. Plus, the song didn't even fit in most situations it was played in, like the grocery store. And yet all that didn't stop their weird little mountain town from over playing it to death.
Stan laughed but it came out as a weird chuckle, realising the final song on the queue had finished. He shook out his joints as he got up and rumpled his hair. Deciding, what the hell?, he finally tossed the matching purple tie to the floor.
“How about Wham!, Kyle? Is Wham! dancey enough for you?” He teased, turning around to face the redhead who groaned.
Paying no real mind, Stan's shoulders rolled with the saxophone. Matter of fact, his whole body moved to the music, right down to the swing of his hips. It sent a shiver down Kyle's spine and he kept his arms firmly crossed.
After all his dancefloor failures just thirty seconds ago, Kyle was seriously starting to wonder if Stan was downplaying his actual dancing ability.
Because, shockingly, and maybe it was Stan's keen ear for music, but he was a surprisingly okay dancer.
Kyle's green eyes continued to trail after Stan watching his every movement. When he caught Kyle watching, Stan executed a saucy version of the Bend and Snap! hoping to elicit a laugh from the other boy. Instead, Kyle rolled his eyes and looked away.
Not giving up, Stan grooved his way up to the redhead. “Scared Broflovski? Come on, you know you want to.” Kyle looked down at his outstretched hand. Yeah, ‘okay’ dancer.
Some may possibly say good.
Like really fucking good.
Kyle however…
“No, no. Absolutely not.”
“Kyleee!!”
Kyle shoved Stan off and out some space between them. If there was one thing he didn't do, couldn't do, it was dance. “I'll wave my hands for some shitty death metal song maybe but I'm not slow dancing to Careless Whisper, uh uh. No.”
“C’mon Kyle! I know you have it in you!”
“Jews don't have any rhythm remember? Well-” Kyle flashed his Star of David necklace in Stan's jeering face. Which he was currently making a mad scramble to get away from.
Careless Whisper had already been played eight times per hour that night, he really didn't need more.
“Kyle” Stan caught his wrist, pleading. “It's prom. We've done genuinely nothing but mope around like two losers.”
Kyle said nothing, unwavering.
Stan sighed. “Look, it's just you are me here. Everyone's gone home, you don't need to worry about people making fun of you or some shit. It's basically like Guitar Hero but dancing.”
Kyle bit his lip, looking down at his captured hand.
~I feel so unsure..as I take your hand, and lead you to the dancefloor~
It just had to be at that moment that the lyric played. Of course. With lips slightly parted, Kyle groaned as he reluctantly let himself be pulled towards Stan. Who, for record, looked absolutely elated.
The ginger boy shifted stiffly, too focused on himself to see what Stan was doing.
“Here.” the boy across from Kyle beckoned softly. He put them into a funny waltz-y sort of position, surprising Kyle when he grasped his hands. He grasped them back.
“Now this is salsa, chico.” Stan grinned, winking before dipping Kyle all the way to the floor and back up again in one swoop.
“SHIT!” Kyle very loudly screamed, embarrassing himself further when he tightened his grip on Stan. Stan laughed at him, in good nature, but Kyle wanted to rip his fucking eyes out. He stood on the other boy's foot roughly to get him back, but quickly found out he couldn't stop. Kyle danced like he had four left feet in a three legged marathon. Bless him, Stan grunted through the pain of having his toes continually stepped on, but when that one goddamn lyric came on and lined up exactly with Kyle stepping on Stan and almost falling himself once again, Kyle pushed himself away harshly.
~I'm never gonna dance again, guilty feet have got no rhythm~
God he hates that dumb song.
“Woah woah woah, where are you going-” Stan and his stupid worried gaze followed Kyle to the third row of the bleachers. Kyle did nothing but scowl on the bench, trying to tune out the music.
“Wha- Ohhhh. This isn't about that rhythm thing Cartman used to always say is it? I thought you didn't care.”
“I don't” Kyle bit through gritted teeth. “That fatass- I dont even- It's just fucked up!”
“It's just fucked up” Stan repeated like he was talking to a petulant child. Kyle kicked the bench in front of him.
“You know how you can't call an ugly person ugly because that just fucked up?” He didn't wait for an answer. “Well I am a Jew and I can't fucking dance because I don't have any fucking rhythm. I mean, you were at Ike's bar mitzvah. It's fucked up!”
“Okay, you can't be that upset about not being able to dance.” Stan quirked an eyebrow, joining him on the seat.
“Try me. I’m the only one in our grade that can't even do the fucking macarena. And somehow, you of all people are a good dancer. What the hell.”
Kyle was definitely red and his hair was definitely frizzy and puffy. He himself didn't even know why it got to him so much, it's not like dancing was a day to day activity, or required for job interviews.
“I hate when Cartman’s right. Fucking gluttonous lard ass.” Kyle mumbled, rubbing his tired eyes and bringing the pair into a bout of silence.
“.....you think I'm a good dancer?”
“Oh PISS OFF.”
Stan laughed, tossing his head back. He studied Kyle for a second before leaning back against the benches. “I suppose I have a little cha-cha in me.”
“You're so annoying.” Kyle huffed, digging his chin into his propped up hand and turning away from the other boy.
“I'll teach you dude. Everyone deserves to feel the Riverdance.”
“I promise you that's not what you think it is.”
Stan shrugged. “Groove is groove.” He hopped from the rickety bench and offered a hand out to Kyle who was still brooding like fucking Batman. When Kyle didn't take it he cleared his throat.
“Mr Broflovski, I must insist thou and myself tarry destroy the dancefloor if thyst decomposing, sweat gym thy nasium.”
“You're not doing that right.” Kyle deadpanned without looking. In response, Stan pulled his hair and rolled his eyes in deep exasperation. “Yeah and you're not doing dancing right. Ever heard of let's cut the rug? Little jive and jitterbug?”
Silence.
“Ughh you're killing me.” Stan groaned. He latched around one of the ginger boy's arms and began to tug violently. “Come onnnn.” He heaved, but Kyle went nowhere. Maybe he should'nt’ve dropped every single sport he played in freshman year in favour of his crappy acoustic guitar.
Changing his methods, he positioned himself in front of Kyle and made hard eye contact. “Bro.” He began, gripping Kyle's shoulders and the redhead looked at him sceptically with a bit of judgement. Stan ignored him and closed his eyes. “Just listen to the lyrics.” He urged, waving a finger in the air along with the beat.
~I should've known better than to cheat a friend
And waste the chance that I'd been given~
“Do you hear that?” He asked meaningfully, looking into Kyle's eyes.
“I'm questioning how much you hate this song if you know every line.”
“I don't hate it.” Stan said earnestly. “It rings true. I'm your friend, you shouldn't cheat me out of dancing, and we shouldn't waste the chance that we've been given, e.g the empty gym with Careless Whisper blaring!”
“Besides, when are we ever going to be dancing like this again! Also we need to get up now because the instrumentals almost over and there's going to be the sickest beat drop and-”
“Fine.”
“then it literally progresses to a completely new part of the song- oh what?”
Kyle blew air out of his nose like he was the most insuffered, inconvenienced person in all of Denver. He rose slowly to show his agony but nonetheless found Stan on the ‘dancefloor’.
“You're such a sentimental sap.” He called out to Stan, knowing full well the sentimentally was what got him. ‘When are we ever going to be dancing like this again?’ Jesus Christ who says that?
And anyways, Stan was right to a degree. Wasting chances, cheating friends..he understood the message Stan was putting down, which was basically ‘do it for me, please?’. Kyle's back hunched and feet dragged as he made his way up to Stan, but he had to make that idiot happy somehow.
“Ok.” Stan started giddly. “We need to get back into position.” He brought their hands together and put his right hand on Kyle's shoulders, so Kyle had to very awkwardly put his free hand on Stan’s waist.
“I'm going to embarrass myself so hard.” Kyle complained under his breath. He shut up as Stan fixed him with an unimpressed glare. “You need to relax. You're being a real Debby Downer, Debby.”
Kyle mumbled a half assed apology.
All the eclectic instruments that somehow blended so well in the song built up in an undeniably satisfying manner. When ‘the beat dropped’ in Stan's words, Kyle screamed internally as the pair swung around recklessly.
~Tonight the music seems so loud
I wish that we could lose this crowd
Maybe it's better this way
We'd hurt each other with the things we'd want to say~
Stan forcefully dipped both of them which momentarily felt like dying. Kyle felt the absolutely infectious grin of Stan aimed at him and despite his efforts to not smile, he eventually produced a toothy grin making Stan laugh.
Come to think of it, the song was a bit depressing lyrically, but made for a good dancey tune. Kyle found that his skill did not in fact, magically improve and Stan's creative method of teaching was actually just sporadically directing their bodies to random areas of the floor. But as a recovering Debby Downer, Kyle let himself just go with Stan's flow, and allowed him to practically toss him in any direction.
“See!? It's not so bad!” With hair severely missed and reddened cheeks, Stan looked maniacal, but happy.
By the time the long outro came around, their movements cooled down to be slower, more precise. Kyle looked thoughtfully at where to place his feet on the ground, aware that Stan was looking straight at him. He ignored him.
“Go on then, give us a spin.”
Kyle rolled his eyes “This is so cringe.” He complained, but complied anyway. Stan brought their intertwined hands over Kyle's head as he spun, not gracefully, to the sway of the dissipating music.
Stan tried to get back to the newly established slow dancing, but of course he needed a turn too. “Now you ballet boy.” Kyle teased, trying to force Stan into a twirl of his own. It worked to some extent, Stan was caught by surprise and did manage to be manhandled into a pirouette. Unfortunately, however, the highschooler lost his footing and crashed onto the dusty, sticky gym floor, bringing Kyle right down with him with a shriek.
They landed in a pitiful, and also painful heap on the ground. Kyle found himself on top of Stan, who looked like he had the wind knocked out of him completely. He struggled to undo their legs which were tangled together with ankles hooking over each other.
“Pro dancer huh?” He huffed, trying to free himself. “For a self established primaballerina, you can't twirl for shit.”
Unsuccessful in his debacle, Kyle faced Stan, hands braced on either side of his head. He was going to make another dig at the other boy's supposed talent, but first felt the hot air of Stan's breath on his face.
The only thing between Stan and Kyle was Kyle's dangling necklace.
Stan reached out to graze the delicate silver with his fingertips, exhaling slowly.
“I fucking hate this town.” Stan breathed out of the blue, still fiddling with Kyle's Star of David.
“What?” Kyle asked, caught off guard by the sudden change in tone.
“It's all just fucking- rednecks and other freaks. Everyone hates everyone..” Stan trailed off, dropping Kyle's necklace. “I want out. You and me should just leave.”
Kyle was surprised at his friend's thought dump. He nodded slowly, and carefully. “Okay.. leave and do what exactly.”
“Fucking- build a cabin. Get a dog. Most important thing get away from this disaster that's stuck in 80’s music and 1950’s ideology about everything. And my dad too.” Stan glanced past Kyle with a wistful look in his eye. “Maybe, LA. Or New York I don't know. I've never been past the South Park sign.”
“You dream big then.”
“And you need to open your heart more.”
They weren't really only talking about leaving, were they?
“I have family in Jersey, is that adventurous enough for you?” Kyle laughed quietly, faking obliviousness. The music had fully drowned out by then.
“Not the kind of lively I'm looking for.”
“What are you looking for?”
“An escape.” Stan muttered. “But I haven't drank since like 2 hours ago and I feel fine.”
“Try coke.” Kyle suggested.
“Nah.” Stan brushed off. “I just want to feel something real. Without people telling me that I shouldn't and shouldn't even want to.” He looked at Kyle. “But I do, and I don't care what those losers say.”
Kyle's breath hitched, his Adams Apple visible when he swallowed dryly.
Stan's daring gaze bore into his green eyes, and flickered down to Kyle's lips. Kyle's heart rate picked up.
He shifted above Stan, adjusting his sweaty hands on the floor. He didn't even care about the germs.
“I..feel the same.” He managed to force out.
“You don't care what people’ll say?” Stan breathed.
“Won't matter when we're in New York, will it?”
With a ping of registration and a sharp intake of breath, Stan pulled Kyle's neck down and kissed him.
One of Kyle's hands was planted on the floor to keep balance and the other tangled in Stan's hair. Kyle kissed him back with just as much desperate passion, gripping onto him as if the pair were still dancing. It was just them in the dark, school gym. It would be just them running from this trainwreck ghost town, hand in hand.
They drew back for air ,only allocating a few seconds before Kyle cupped Stan's face and they collided once more. Stan's grubby guitar nails dug uncomfortably into Kyle's nape but he didn't care.
In Kindergarten, elementary, middle, highschool. Through fights and breakdowns and betrayals. Despite different friends groups, or all the challenges life waterboarded them with.
In the South Park Highschool gym, on the sticky floor.
It'd always been just them.