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“Sweetheart, it’s fine. Not a big deal.”
“I just didn’t think…” Stan trailed off, growing distracted as Kyle continued to kiss softly at his neck, up his cheek. “Baby…”
“Shhh. Just kiss me.”
And Stan tried to, he really did, but there was too much on his mind to focus, even with his husband frisky and literally clinging to him. “I just don’t know why you would drop that, like, now.”
Kyle groaned, laying his head back in frustration. He’d already shed his pants, and his shirt (delightfully baggy on him and stolen from Stan years ago) hung off his neck, exposing a very alluring collarbone just begging to be marked with kisses. But Kyle was never one to forgo a good discussion for the sake of sex, especially when it came to his husband’s emotions. “Dude, you asked me how the checkup went, and I told you. Then you started getting nervous and stopped touching me. What gives?”
What gives? A lot. Too much, actually, as usual. He’d come home in a fantastic mood, made even better by the fact that Kyle had immediately jumped into his arms, missing him after a Saturday spent alone. And Stan had laughed and taken him upstairs, ready to take him, making small talk about their days in between breathless kisses and roaming hands. That was when Stan had asked about Kyle’s doctors appointment, and the mood had been obliterated.
Apparently, everything was good, but his husband was at the risk of developing arthritis, which he had mentioned so casually, the way someone would offhandedly state that they’d seen a mildly interesting news story.
“It’s just…” Stan fumbled, unsure of how to articulate everything that was on his mind. “I dunno, it’s just, like, that’s kinda the nail in the coffin of being young, right?”
“Not really, dude.” Kyle sat up and grabbed his hand. “It’s just in my knee, and we knew that was an inevitability from the get go, right? Besides, tons of people start showing signs of arthritis at our age.”
There it was. ‘Our age’. October had barely started, and Stan was already dreading turning thirty in a few weeks. It just felt like such a milestone, and not in a good way. Obviously that was clear on his face, because Kyle gave him a sympathetic look and his hand a comforting squeeze.
“Oh, dude. It’s because your birthday’s coming up, that’s why you’re so upset about this.”
Kyle was right, as always, and reading him like a book, also as always. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Thirty just feels so… I dunno, final, I guess? Like life as I know it is gonna be over or something. Like the clock strikes twelve and suddenly I’m my grandpa begging me to put him out of his misery when we were eight.”
“You said the same thing when you turned twenty, melmë,” Kyle gently reminded him, and yeah, he had, playing Patrick Stump’s ‘The Bad Side of 25’ on loop for days. “Did you turn into an old man?”
“…no.”
“Of course you didn’t. Because you’re not going to. You’re always going to have that same boyish energy I love so much about you. You’ll always be a reckless asshole when you get around Kenny, even when we’re ninety.” There was a scratching at the bedroom door, and Kyle laughed. “Guess he can tell that we’re not up to anything he’s not supposed to see. Will you let the young nastyman in?”
Stan nodded, going to open the door for Moose, who immediately hopped on the bed and took to draping himself over Kyle’s left leg. That damn cat, he could always just fucking sense things. Stan laid down beside them.
“Ky,” he started, “it’s bothering you, isn’t it? Moose is being a heating pad.”
Kyle shrugged. “Just because of the weather change. That’s why I mentioned it to the doctor. Like I said, no big deal.”
Throwing his arms over his face, Stan moaned. “We’re both getting old, dude.”
Then there was a weight on his chest, and a tiny brown head nuzzling against him. Moose had a knack for feeling his dads’ distress, after all. It pulled a smile from him.
“Aww, sweet guy.” Kyle reached over to pet him. “He takes after you in that department.”
“Or he’s just scratching himself on my beard.” A thought occurred to him. “Wait, baby, do you think I should shave? Does it make me look older?”
Kyle rolled his eyes. “No, dude, not older. You know I like the beard.”
“Kenny said I was going “full bear” with it.”
“Kenny’s one to talk,” Kyle scoffed. “Have you seen his? I swear, when the two of you stopped shaving, that thing came in overnight. He put glitter in it.”
Stan had seen that. Their best friend had started a bet with him last month that he could grow the better beard, and he was winning so far. It was a typical stupid Disaster Duo stunt, but Stan was kind of regretting it. Yeah, he was gonna shave in the morning.
“Tell Ken he wins,” he grumbled, “I’m surprised I lasted this long.”
Kyle trailed his fingers along Stan’s cheek, then kissed him there. “Not gonna lie, it’ll be nice to see those dimples again. You can be grumpy if you want, sweetheart. But maybe you’ll feel better if you do something fun, yeah? Hop on Fall Guys with Ike or something, terrorize that streamer you two like to fuck with. Maybe go to the gym in the morning, throw some heavy shit around and remind yourself that you’re a strong, healthy, YOUNG man.”
As a surprise to absolutely no one, Kyle was right. He just needed to get some endorphins going, or do some dumbass shit like when he was younger. Hell, maybe he’d hit up the local LARP group or something.
That last idea had Stan suddenly grinning like a maniac. He could be a loser at the park downtown on Sunday mornings, and when his mock-battle opponents told him he was “maidenless”, he could show them a picture of Kyle and be like “and thank the gods for that; this is my husband”.
Kyle slipped his index finger under the waistband of Stan’s sweats. “You good?”
“Yeah, baby, I’m good.” He checked the time, glad it was still pretty early. “I think I’ll hit the GTA RP. Wanna watch?”
Kyle slung Moose into his arms. “Are you gonna get embarrassed about your “Mattress Mike” accent this time?”
Stan felt his previous commiserations melt away at the mention of his stupid made up character. “Probably.”
For the record, Stan tended to get kicked off of servers with this character, Kyle enjoyed seeing him wreak havoc, and Moose hated the bad country accent. And before work the next morning, Stan sent a 20$ Venmo to Kenny with the caption “you win, bitch.”
———
A few days later, he was feeling the old age blues again, back in full force.
Stan dramatically draped himself over the back of the couch at a little after five pm, beside where Kyle was answering emails. “Dude.”
“What’s up?”
“I didn’t get fucking I.D.’d.”
Kyle looked up at him, eyebrows raised. “Why would you be getting your I.D. checked?”
Stan dangled his hands down over the cushions, trailing one over to his husband’s thigh. “Got sent out on lunch duty today. You know the janitor, Trent? Asked me to pick him up a pack of cigs, and the guy at the gas station didn’t even ask how old I was.”
“Staniel,” Kyle said, leaning against his arm, “no one’s asked for your age since we were in high school. You’ve seemed older than twenty one since you were eighteen. It’s how you carry yourself.”
“Not because I look ancient?”
Kyle snorted out a laugh. “No, you don’t look ancient. It’s the height too. I’m the one who’s gonna be flashing my license until my hair turns white.”
That was probably true. Kyle honestly still looked like a college kid, even with the smile lines starting to show around his eyes. Plus, he was little. Maybe not as short as Tweek and Kenny, but Kenny had this weird vibe about him, like he’d been around for centuries. That fucker could take up a room in an old folks home and it wouldn’t be questioned.
“Your eternal youth knows no bounds, dude.” He kissed him softly, carefully unwinding the band around his ponytail that was not, in fact, turning white. “How was your day?”
“Mm.” Kyle closed his laptop. “The same two kids got sent to my office for fighting at lunch, but uneventful otherwise. You? Besides doc sending you on lunch pickup.”
Stan brightened, always stoked to talk about the ins and outs of his job as a vet tech. “Holy shit, babe, this lady brought a beardie in. Guess what his name was.”
“Was it, like, Toothless or something? That why you just got so excited?”
“No, dude,” though anything from HTTYD would be a kickass lizard name. “It was Dutch Van Der Linde.”
Kyle burst out laughing. “Dude, you gotta tell Craig. You know how much he likes Red Dead.”
“Definitely.”
And when the group of them could shoot the shit about video games, laugh about things like what people named their pets, Stan was reminded just how young they all truly were.
———
Stan didn’t think too much about his looming birthday until the next week, at the Planet Fitness down the street.
He was minding his business over in the corner, ‘Ass Kicking Mode’ playlist going, until a group of college athletes walked in and essentially elbowed him out of the free weights section. Okay, so maybe they didn’t actually pay him any mind, but Stan wasn’t about to get shown up by a bunch of guys ten years younger than him and talking excitedly about an upcoming football game. Sure, he’d made his peace with his own potential career getting cut short senior year, but it still stung when he was feeling vulnerable.
Sighing and gathering up his stuff, he made his way over to one of the rec rooms where Kyle was playing a game of one on one with some guy. His partner jogged over, a little breathless and sweaty and so, so cute.
“Hey sweetheart, you ready to go?”
Stan nodded, and Kyle grabbed his phone, frowning. “Dude, you never stop in the middle of your playlist. ‘Through The Fire And The Flames’ still has two minutes left. What happened?”
Stan shrugged. “Group of Lumberjacks.”
“Ah.” Because Kyle knew exactly what it was like to be around the local school football team. Honestly, it was probably worse for him.
He picked up Kyle’s bag too, passing a wave to the dude who was now just shooting hoops solo. “Feeling okay? What’re you at?”
Kyle checked his monitor. “I’m okay. Want to stop somewhere for a smoothie or some shit, though?”
“Mhm.”
He wouldn’t say it, because Kyle would definitely kick his ass or at least chew him out, but he got really fucking worried sometimes, especially since they weren’t teenagers anymore. Kyle was diabetic and liked to pretend he wasn’t, and Stan worried about that. A rigorous workout could easily trigger a low. He pulled a couple times on his shirt on the way out to the parking lot.
“What, dude?”
“Dizzy? Pissed off? Leg hurt?”
Kyle rolled his eyes and reached up to cup a hand around the back of his neck. “You worry too much, sweetheart. Levels are fine, knee’s fine, I’m just a little concerned about you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You’ve been all weird about anything age or health related, dude. And you’ve never left the weight room just because some kids came in before.”
The way Kyle lightly scratched his neck was nice, soothing, like he was trying to comfort an agitated puppy. Not that far off, really. Stan unlocked the truck and loaded their backpacks into the backseat. “Just the same old shit, Ky, we’re too damn old. Think we should write up our wills?” He was only half kidding.
Kissing him through his smile before getting into the passenger seat, Kyle laughed. “What’s to write up? Kenny figures all our shit out and Wendy gets Moose.”
“Bebe doesn’t like cats.”
“Yeah, but Bebe likes her wife,” Kyle reminded him. “And Moose is the exception for anyone.”
Traffic was particularly gnarly this time of year living in a college town, and some dick in a red Kia switched lanes without using their blinker, cutting off in front of them. Stan instinctively threw his arm across his husband, who was seemingly trying to shoot laser eyes at the driver.
“Jesus FUCK! Why can no one in this fucking town drive?!”
Stan lowered his hand to Kyle’s, tracing his thumb over the knuckles. “First semester students, baby. College kids are ass at driving.”
“You’re ass at driving.”
“No,” Stan corrected with a grin, “I’m great at driving; I’m ass at parking.”
Kyle scowled, probably still in road rage mode (which was precisely why he didn’t drive unless he had to) and muttering to himself about driving etiquette. Probably needed some sugar in his system, if he was jumping from fine to pissy over one missed blinker. But he relaxed a little into the seat, glancing at Stan with a fondness in his eyes.
“Well, that’s never gonna change.”
______
Stan had the day off that Saturday, and spent the early morning lazing around in bed, dozing off again once Kyle left for the grocery store. Kyle always did groceries with Tweek, who produced chronically horrendous outfits at seven am, and Stan eventually made his way to the living room in hopes of catching a glimpse of his friend when he and Ky finished their Kroger quest.
As it happened, he got more than a glimpse, because Tweek barreled into the apartment without so much as a knock.
“Oh, thank GOD you’re awake!”
Setting down his coffee, Stan took in Tweek’s frantic expression, alarm bells going off in his head. “Dude, what the fuck happened? Are you okay? Is Ky?”
Tweek shook his head, fingers tapping together like when he got nervous. “He’s- (grnhhh) he fell in the parking lot, man!”
Stan bolted up, shoving his feet into the slides he kept by the door for when he took the trash out. Past the security door, it was raining, autumn weather in full force.
Kyle was on the wet pavement, back against his car and with the marks of what were clearly angry tears down his face. The tote bags he used for groceries were tipped over beside him, broken glass and pickle juice spilling out onto the asphalt from one of them. Kyle’s left leg was folded under him, which definitely meant he’d fallen on it, and that definitely meant he was pissed.
Stan knelt down beside him, not caring that he was in the middle of a puddle that immediately soaked into his pajamas. “Dude, Ky, babe, what happened?”
“What does it look like happened?!” Kyle snapped. Yep. Pissed. “Use your fucking context clues, Stanathan!”
“Oh, honey…”
At least he seemed more upset than actually hurt, so that was something. Tweek was gathering up the fallen groceries, shuddering sporadically. Great, so Stan was faced with not only the Kyle Rage Volcano, but also a nervous friend. He carefully reached to shift his husband’s position, watching his expression as he straightened his leg out. “Scale of one to ten?”
“Fucking- twelve!” Tweek made a noise of distress, and Kyle sighed. “Okay, okay, more like a four, I didn’t twist it or anything, like I’ll be fine in a few hours, but I’m PRETTY GODDAMN ANNOYED!”
“I know you are, darling,” Stan said gently. “Are you gonna kick my ass if I carry you inside?”
“Maybe later,” Kyle grumbled, and Stan stifled a laugh as he hooked one arm around his back and lifted the other under his thighs. Kyle hung on tight and hid his face in Stan’s shirt, embarrassed even though their only onlooker was Tweek, who was leading the charge to the building with two households worth of groceries. “I get what you mean now, dude. I’m totally feeling like an old man.”
Actually, Stan wasn’t even thinking about his age in the moment, just picking his husband up as easily as he ever had. Hell, he’d happily do this for the rest of their lives, up until he was, like, sixty four and his back gave out or some crap. Great, now that Beatles song was in his head.
“Don’t say you’re old, dude.”
“You’re a total hypocrite,” Kyle said with a groan when he was lowered onto the couch. “And Kenny doesn’t hear about this.”
Tweek giggled from over in the kitchen where he was setting the bags on the island, well aware of the Kennyisms that sprung forth every time he had some new material to work with. Stan grinned and started untying his husband’s shoes. “What, you worried he’s gonna chop your leg off so he can make you a kickass prosthetic?”
“No, I just know he’s gonna make Life Alert jokes until I drive to the city and give him a peace of my mind.”
______
The second Monday of the month was “birthday night” for the local AA chapter, and Stan briefly considered skipping. But he’d promised the geezers that he’d bring Moose, and he’d get an earful from his sponsor, a seventy something year old half deaf man who absolutely adored the cat, if he didn’t.
So he pulled up to the meeting hall with Tweek and a pan of veggie lasagna, Moose riding on his shoulder and Tweek with a loaf of pumpkin bread.
His friend gave him a pointed look by the door. “You good, man?”
“I just… dude, you’ve seen how everyone gets on birthday night. They’re gonna have a shit ton to say when they’re reminded I’m turning thirty in a few days.”
“Well, yeah,” Tweek shrugged and gave a soft smile. “But think about it. In May, Kyle’s gonna be thirty too, and you know what the week after that is?”
Stan thought about it, then felt his heart light up with joy. “Holy shit, dude! I’m about to hit five years sober! I can’t believe I didn’t even think of that!”
Tweek laughed, pushing the door open and waving to their AA buddies. “Thirty’s a big year for you, man. You’re always telling me to focus on the good things, so take your own damn advice.”
(As predicted, Moose was a hit at the meeting, as usual, and Stan felt a lot less dread about a certain milestone.)
______
The next afternoon, he was arriving home from work when his phone started ringing.
Damnit. Fucking Cartman.
He answered, against his better judgement. “Yeah?”
“Ay! Hippie! Check your mailbox!”
Stan groaned and (also against his better judgement) stuck his key in the lock, sighing heavily when he saw the note inside.
“Jesus Christ, fatass, you sent me a ‘Steak Of The Month’ membership?”
“Sweet, right?”
Another voice sounded over the phone. “I told him not to, Stanny Boy, I swear.”
“Ken?” Admittedly though, he was really happy to hear Kenny’s voice. “The hell are you doing in Vegas?”
His best friend besides Kyle was audibly smiling on the other side of the call. “Got a mural commissioned, dude. I’d put Marj on too, but she’s off swindling some assholes at a casino. Happy early birthday, bitch!”
Stan laughed and leaned against the mailbox. “Thanks, Ken. And dude, tell her to be careful. Vegas dickholes could eat her alive.”
“O’ ye of little faith,” Kenny teased, “you know the way Buttercup’s brain works. The wife’ll have ‘em all robbed blind within two poker games, mark my fuckin’ worms.”
“Consider your worms marked then.” Stan sighed when Cartman took the phone back, but it was halfhearted.
“Aight, so anyway, what’s JewBot up to?”
“Still at work. He’ll be home later. We’re gonna go out to dinner with the Tuckers.”
“I didn’t ask for your life’s story, buttplug,” and Stan nearly lost his mind trying not to laugh at that, because Cartman was definitely only asking about Kyle to see if he could get a potential rise out of him. That’s what the two of them did, one of those rare things that never changed.
Cartman changed tactics. “Put Twerk on. I know his twink ass works from home.”
Stan bypassed apartment two and entered his own place. “Tweek doesn’t like you. Did you call me just because you felt like bothering someone?”
“Nooo.”
“Yes.”
“Shut up, Kinny!”
Chuckling and grabbing a can of Pepsi from the fridge, Stan rolled his eyes. “Anyway, fuck you for the dead creature club membership, you guys say hi to Marj for me.”
“Tell Thumbelina I hate him.”
“Yeah, yeah,” because Stan knew they didn’t actually hate each other, they just had a really weird relationship. Something else that was a constant. “Love you guys.”
“Gay.” And then Cartman hung up. Stan grinned. That asshole.
______
Stan didn’t take off work on the nineteenth, preferring the distraction and liking to make himself useful on the accursed day. If he was gonna be set upon the universe, he at least wasn’t going to be a black hole in it.
He was handing someone back his hedgehog when Wendy called over from the front desk.
“Stanley, Doctor F. wants you in exam room one.”
“Gotcha.” He smiled at his hometown friend turned veterinary clinic coordinator. “Is it the owl that zookeeper guy brought in?”
She nodded and pointed to the back, picking up her phone. “Yep. Broken wing, and you’re good at calming the patients down.”
In fact, Stan was very good at keeping the animals subdued during the less pleasant aspects of his work. Sure there were anomalies, like the ferret who escaped his carrier and darted around the waiting room a few months back, and then there was the time that he went to give a horse an antibiotic shot and the poor thing was so nervous that he kicked Stan in the ribs on instinct. Thankfully, this owl was super chill, and after helping Dr. Fuller splint her wing and tucked her in for overnight observation, he was led to the break room for a “surprise” that absolutely wasn’t a surprise, because Stan knew his coworkers and especially Wendy. He braced himself for the birthday balloons and streamers.
“SURPRISE!!!”
There they were. Not that far off from what he was expecting, either. The staff of the clinic was crowded into the small space, wayyyy too energetic for four in the afternoon. The lights were dimmed, a damn disco ball was spinning from the ceiling, and a rainbow of balloons took up the whole space, their ribbons dangling down. Maybe he’d suck the helium out if a few for shits and giggles. Okay, yeah, he definitely would, because Kenny was emerging from the shadows and jumping on him like he was made to be climbed.
“Damnit, Ken, you can’t just run at people and expect them to catch you!” But he slung his best friend over his shoulder like how a firefighter carried people they rescued, completely reflexively. Also, Kenny was about as easy to sling around as a cat.
Speaking of, Kyle was there with Moose in his arms, standing on his tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. “Surprised?”
“No,” he admitted, because he knew the people in his life well enough to expect this very thing. “But not mad about it. Thanks, everyone.”
He received a lot of claps on the back, a lot of joyful smirks and urges to check out what they got him, and then fucking 30/90 from Tick Tick Boom was playing in the background, and he knew that was Bebe fucking with him. Oh yeah, Wendy’s wife was over by the speaker with a massive grin on her face.
“Fuck you, Barbie, like, actually.” But there was no malice behind it. “I didn’t even think you remembered when my birthday was.”
“Kyle and I went to the mall last week, and Wendy’s been talking about you being an old man for weeks.”
“Old ass bitch,” Craig quipped from over by the cupcakes, “happy birthday, asshole. Do you feel ancient?”
To be truly honest, he really didn’t. Not right now anyway. More than likely he’d get weird about it in the morning, but right now, he was nothing but happy.
“Okay, so I’ll probably die first, but I’ll keep hell warm for all of you.”
And he was definitely in trouble with Kyle for saying that, but the way everyone got a kick out of it? Stan wouldn’t trade that for the world.