Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Today the weather was quite cold in South Park, Colorado. The new school year had just started, and Stan Marsh thought that this year was going to be a lot weirder than before. This was just a hunch, but a strong one. A really strong one. And not really groundless.

It had all started with a phone call from Eric Cartman at 2 AM. Cartman had wanted to know if Stan was ready for the new school year, and he had told him a thousand times that his intentions were completely innocent, and that he wasn’t calling so late to get his friend out of bed.

“Dude, it’s two in the morning,” Stan had mumbled into the receiver, his voice cracking from sleep.

“Yeah, but like… are you ready for school?” Cartman had replied, suspiciously chipper.

“Why would you even care?”

“I don’t care, I’m just being a good friend, Stan. A better friend than Kyle, by the way. He didn’t call you, did he?”

Stan had groaned and tried to hang up, but Cartman had launched into a long speech about seating charts, government conspiracies, and how the cafeteria meatloaf was probably made of pandas this year. He had even sworn – on his “honor as a future billionaire” – that he wasn’t doing this to keep Stan awake.

It was a big fat lie, of course. Anyway, his plan had worked – Stan couldn’t go back to sleep, and instead had started to imagine all the stupid things that might happen; for example, the new seating arrangement. It changed every year, and Stan would rather have paid that fuckass Cartman twenty bucks (again) than sit next to that smelly weird kid whose name he didn’t even know. Not that he cared, but anyway. The other thing he was really worried about was the timetable. At the end of the previous year, the teachers had threatened the class that this year would be much tougher than the last, and Stan, who was not exactly the nerdy type (because that was something the weird kids did, and he cared a lot about his reputation), dreaded the thought of the inevitable avalanche of classes.

By morning, the cold air outside bit even harder than Cartman’s insults. Stan trudged down the street toward school with his backpack bouncing against his shoulders, the kind of morning where every breath felt like it might freeze in his throat. The sidewalk was littered with dirty slush from last night’s frost, and the sky hung low and gray, like it already knew something he didn’t. He caught sight of a few other kids shuffling toward the building – some half-asleep, some buzzing with way too much energy for this hour – and he wondered if any of them could feel it too, that weird something humming in the air. It wasn’t just the cold. It was…something else. Something Cartman-shaped, probably.

He briefly looked up at the beige building towering above him, let out a sigh that rose like white smoke toward the clouds, then pushed open the massive double doors and glanced down the hallway. Dozens of students were loitering around, chatting with shoulder bags slung over their shoulders, some leaning against the orange lockers or rummaging through them, and Stan immediately felt the oddly nostalgic back-to-school vibe hit him. He fiddled in his pocket for a moment, then pulled out a tiny key with the number forty-two engraved on it. He began making his way toward the locker, but someone was already standing next to it, and the sight of him made Stan break into a wide smile.

“So we’re still locker neighbors, huh?” He remarked playfully as he stepped beside him.

Kyle glanced at him, rolled his eyes, then grinned.

“I think we’ll be stuck like that forever. You can’t escape me.”

“Not that I’d want to…”

Kyle Broflovski, his best friend, was still exactly the same as Stan remembered him from years ago. He was wearing a dark green sweater and brown corduroy pants, his black high-top Converse shoes had seen better days, and an over-the-shoulder bag hung from his shoulder. He no longer wore his ushanka hat – since they weren't allowed to wear hats or hoods during school hours – so his curly red hair was free to hang messily in his face. His gaze was all-knowing, commanding, yet playful, and his eyes reminded Stan of emeralds. His face was dotted with faint freckles, and his nose was slightly crooked. Just like always, Stan thought.

“So, what’s your first class?” Kyle broke the silence. His piercing green eyes were scanning Stan, who cleared his throat and averted his gaze from his friend.

“Biology, I think. You?”

“Math.”

Stan let out a sympathetic grunt.

“Not again,” Kyle laughed. His voice was surprisingly pleasant. “It’s not as bad as you make it sound.”

“Oh really?” Stan crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “Sorry dude, I almost forgot how much of a nerd you are.”

“How dare you!” Kyle mockingly slammed his locker door shut, stuffed a light blue notebook into his bag, and poked Stan in the chest. “As if it’s such a terrible thing that I put time and effort into my studies instead of being a brainless idiot like you!”

“You really hurt my feelings,” Stan burst into laughter. He grabbed Kyle’s wrist and pushed himself away from him. “You have no idea how many pieces you’ve shattered my heart into…” he sighed theatrically, forcing a few fake tears to fall from his eyes to make his soap opera moment more believable. Still holding Kyle’s hand, he pulled him a little closer. “How could you do this to me?!”

“Isn’t it a little early for the drama? Especially in front of poor Butters?” A voice behind them interrupted, and Stan instantly turned around. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Eric Cartman stood there, raising an eyebrow, leaning against the row of lockers. In one hand, he held a mustard-yellow backpack that had seen better days, and in the other, a huge sandwich wrapped in aluminum foil, from which he took such an enthusiastic bite that both boys simultaneously cringed in disgust.

“You hippies are gross, go make out somewhere else,” Cartman continued between two – naturally open-mouthed – bites. “You’re already trying to steal the ‘adorable gay couple’ spotlight from Craig and Tweek? Weak, guys.”

Stan shot a glance sideways. Kyle, now standing beside him, had his arms crossed and was glaring at Cartman. Stan could’ve sworn he saw steam coming from his ears.

“Is this really how you spend your time? Picking on us?”

“That’s not the case at all. You know, unlike you, I’m trying to protect the poor souls who haven’t been infected by the rapidly spreading yaoi culture. I’m doing everything I can to save them,” Cartman gestured toward the boy standing beside him.

Butters Stotch, all one hundred and eighty-four centimeters of him, was grinning widely and looked nothing like someone who needed protection from anything. When he noticed they were looking at him, he tilted his head and started waving.

“Hey, fellas!” he said cheerfully. “I’ve missed you all so much, I couldn’t wait to be in the same classes again!”

“Butters… we saw each other almost every day over the summer,” Kyle furrowed his brow.

“Well, that’s not the same,” Butters pouted. “I like sitting next to you in class, chatting during breaks, and gossiping about everyone during lunch. I didn’t get any of that during the summer.”

Stan smiled. Butters had always been an eternally happy, naive guy, and he had used to look down on him for it. But now, not so much. In fact, if anything, he envied his carefree happiness.

“Where’s Kenny? You guys seen him?” Cartman broke the silence. “I’ve called him like nine times but that fucking hippie hasn’t bothered to answer.”

“He’s running late. He overslept,” Butters mentioned. “He said he might make it by the second period, but I think he’ll probably be here by the third.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“You didn’t ask,” Butters blinked.

Stan quietly listened to the heated exchange – Butters had really grown over the years and no longer let Cartman steamroll him; in fact, he’d even picked up a few sharp comebacks from his friends – but it didn’t take long for him to get bored. He stifled a yawn, then looked over at Kyle, meeting his gaze instantly. The emerald green eyes now sparkled with amusement.

“They’re starting early today,” Kyle noted. He adjusted the bag strap over his shoulder, glanced at the old-fashioned watch on his wrist, then stuffed his hands in his pockets. “One minute, and the bell will ring. Do you think we should tell them, or just leave them here?”

“You ask like you don’t know the answer,” Stan laughed. He playfully nudged Kyle with his shoulder, then started walking down the hallway with quick steps.

“Good luck with biology, I guess,” Kyle grinned as they stopped in front of a classroom with glass doors.

“I’ll be fine. Especially when I’m thinking about how you’ll be struggling with math first thing Monday morning,” Stan shot back, adding a wink for effect.

“You asshole..."

“Sorry not sorry!”

The first period was boring as hell. Stan had spent the entire class absentmindedly twirling his pen between his fingers, lost in thought. About his morning, about summer memories—really, about everything. As much as he missed the carefree feeling he’d had for months - no schoolwork, sleeping in as late as he wanted, and no teachers breathing down his neck about assignments he hadn’t even started - he had to admit that Butters had been right. He missed how close-knit their group was, even if Kenny was still late to literally every single day, Cartman was still a complete asshole, and Kyle… well, Kyle was the one he missed every single minute of every single day. They were best friends, after all - or something like that.

At least now it wasn’t just about hanging out, playing video games, or sneaking off into the nearby woods anymore – though they had spent most of their summer doing exactly that. It had started when Kenny found some kind of bunker-like spot near a clearing, and after that, it just became a routine to sneak out at night, enjoying their teenage freedom. These days, though, they spent almost all their time together – talking and laughing. Stan loved laughing with Kyle. Somehow, they were always on the same wavelength – maybe it was their equally messed-up sense of humor, or maybe they just found each other’s company funny in ways they wouldn’t with anyone else. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that every single time, Stan caught himself feeling grateful for having such an amazing best friend. Even when Kyle was being insufferably know-it-all. Somehow, even that was kind of an endearing quality.

He only realized he’d started chewing on his pen when the teacher’s voice was drowned out by the obnoxiously loud ringing of the bell. The lesson had probably been about perennials or something – he had no idea. He didn’t really care either. All that mattered was that the class was finally over.

When he reached the lockers, number forty-three was already open. Kyle was stuffing most of his bag’s contents inside and was holding a calculator in his hand when Stan walked up beside him.

“So? How was math?” he asked.

Kyle looked up, tossed the calculator into his locker, and shrugged.

“It was fine. Not very exciting. Turns out everyone’s even less motivated to study than last year.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Stan chuckled, reaching up to pluck a crumpled paper ball out of Kyle’s red curls. “Don’t know what you were expecting.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

“I swear, you two are disgusting. If I’d known this is what I was walking into, I wouldn’t have shown up.” Cartman had reappeared beside them, earning yet another unimpressed eye-roll from Kyle. “You could’ve at least warned me that you’d be too busy being gay to function.”

“Shut up, fatass.” Kyle grabbed Stan’s shoulder and pulled him closer. “You’re just trying to hide the fact that you don’t have any friends. Butters, don’t even start!” he added, pointing at the tall blond who had just arrived. Butters quickly shut his mouth with a grin and made a zipping motion across his lips.

“You guys are so mean!” Cartman whined, crossing his arms and pouting dramatically at them.

Stan tried to hold back a laugh as he watched the scene unfold, doing his best to ignore the fact that Kyle’s arm was still slung casually around his shoulders and that his gloveless hand was fiddling with the drawstring on Stan’s hoodie. Instead, he half-listened to the ongoing argument, his eyes scanning the hallway for a particular person – whom he spotted moments later.

Wendy Testaburger was twirling a strand of black hair around her finger while talking to some upperclassman. When she noticed Stan watching, she smiled and waved before turning back to her conversation. It had been years since they’d both realized that “being a couple” just didn’t really work for them, and after finally giving up on their three-and-a-half-year on-and-off relationship, they’d stayed friends. Their friendship was much healthier now; they’d figured out that they actually got along way better when they weren’t constantly worrying about making each other happy. Still, Stan didn’t regret that they had once been something. Wendy was smart, gorgeous – probably too good for him, honestly – and she had been the perfect first relationship. He’d learned a lot from her about romance – mostly what not to do if he ever dated again, though he’d never admit that to anyone, not even himself – and for that, he’d always be grateful.

“Stan! Hello?”

Stan blinked and realized Kyle was waving a hand in front of his face. His arm was no longer around his shoulders, and for some reason, that made Stan feel… weirdly empty.

“What?” he asked blankly. He looked around and noticed the hallway was almost completely empty now. Only Wendy, the upperclassman, Kyle, and him were still there. “Where did everyone go?”

“To class. Which, by the way, we should also be heading to.” Kyle was glaring at him, though the corners of his mouth kept twitching like he was trying not to laugh. “I just thought I’d wait until His Majesty finished daydreaming.”

“Sorry,” Stan said with a sheepish smile.

“It’s fine. You can continue during literature.”

Stan’s mouth fell open.

“We have literature next?”

“Uh-huh. Why do you look so happy about that?”

“'Cuz we have that together!”

Kyle let out a sharp, incredulous laugh.

“If that excites you this much…” he said, smiling. “Let me remind you, whatever you’re planning, no, I’m not playing along. I’m here to actually learn something.”

“Oh come on, Ky, you’re such a nerd!” Stan teased, watching Kyle’s grin grow just a little wider at the nickname. “You’d really choose some boring poet’s miserable life over playing with me?”

“Poets aren’t boring, Stan! There’s a reason we study them!”

Kyle launched into a full-on rant, and Stan rolled his eyes with a grin. By then they were heading up the stairs to the first floor, and Kyle didn’t stop talking all the way to the classroom door.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Stan said, holding his hands up in mock defense, a smile tugging at his lips. “None of the poets were stupid, alright? You can focus on them instead of me.”

They both took their seats at the wooden desks and began unpacking their stuff. Then Kyle turned to Stan again, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know I won’t, though.”

They both pulled out their phones, and the moment their teacher stepped into the room, they shared a grin – then started up the game at the exact same time.

The remaining classes were just as boring as the first. Mondays were always the worst – Stan only had one single class with his friends, and he found that deeply unfair. When Butters had mentioned that morning how excited he was to have fun together like last year, Stan had pictured some kind of earthly paradise. Throwing paper balls at each other, passing notes, working on group projects that were really just excuses to talk and laugh, scrolling through their phones under the desk… Instead, he’d spent the whole day sitting alone, his only company being his pen – which he had almost completely chewed to pieces, despite having bought it (or found it?) just a week ago.

Lunch break felt like a breath of fresh air. He dropped his tray onto their table, let out a long, tired sigh, and met Butters’s eyes across from him. The blond boy smiled faintly in response. Next to him, Kenny – perpetually late as always – was munching on his sandwich, wrapped in his orange parka from neck to toe. The jacket had accumulated even more stains since last year, though Kenny didn’t seem to care. His messy dark blond hair stuck out in every direction, and the silver earrings in his ears glinted under the yellowish cafeteria lights.

“Finally found the school, Kenny?” Stan grinned. “About time.”

“Nice to see you too, Stan,” Kenny rolled his eyes. “Some of us have better things to do than rot in here all day, you know?”

“Believe me, I would too,” Stan groaned. “I woke up painfully early today.”

“Like we all did, Stan!” Cartman whined. “You can’t imagine how tired I was this morning!”

“Maybe you wouldn’t be if you didn’t call me at two in the morning…”

“Let’s forget the past, man!”

Stan shook his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Where’s Kyle?” he asked, which immediately earned a snort from Cartman.

“Why? Miss your little Jewish boyfriend already? Can’t spend a second apart, huh?” he said in a thin, exaggerated voice. “It’s just so disgustingly adorable how you can’t exist without each other! A dash of yaoi with my fried chicken, exactly what I needed! I’m so happy I get to be friends with two disgustingly cute gays!”

Kenny burst out laughing, pressing a napkin to his nose to keep the milk he’d been drinking from coming out.

“I think you guys are cute,” Butters smiled brightly. “It’s nice to see you finally found each other.”

Kenny pressed the napkin even harder against his nose, laughing so much that tears began to spill from his eyes.

“Cartman, go to hell,” Stan said, stabbing his fork into his meat hard enough to scrape the plate underneath. “Butters, we’re not together. Sorry to ruin your dreams.”

“Aw, hamburgers,” the blond boy pouted sadly.

 “Anyway,” Stan continued, “does anyone know where Kyle is?”

“I think he’s at the student council office. Some kinda gay meeting or whatever,” Cartman said through a mouthful of food. “You know, talking about really important stuff, as always.”

Kyle had been part of the student council for three years now, which was relevant because after every single meeting, he felt the irresistible need to tell the others what they’d discussed. It was an incredibly boring and not-at-all-interesting topic – but Stan always listened anyway, because… well, he didn’t really have a choice.

“Cool,” Stan nodded. “Then I’ll wait for him in front of the school.”

A few minutes later, Kenny and Cartman slung their backpacks over their shoulders, ready to leave. Butters did the same, but instead of following them, he turned back and looked at Stan with his head tilted to the side.

“You want me to wait with you? Maybe time will pass faster that way,” he offered kindly. Stan smiled at the gesture.

“Yeah, that’d be nice. Thanks.”

They sat down on the two chairs outside the student council office. For a few minutes, neither of them said a word. Butters tapped his long legs lightly against the laminated floor before finally speaking up.

“So… doesn’t it bother you that everyone keeps saying you and Kyle are dating?”

Stan thought about it for a moment. The truth was – it never really had. Sure, he’d wanted to punch Cartman countless times over it, but not because of what he said, more because of how he said it. The idea of him and Kyle was more funny than annoying.

“No,” he shook his head. “We both learned to take it as a joke. Kyle and I have been best friends for, what, fourteen years now? It was bound to happen eventually, that people would start seeing something more than there actually is.”

“I see,” Butters smiled. “Then you understand why I thought differently, right? You’re not mad at me for it?”

“Of course not! It’s just… you know, things don’t always have to be complicated. Sometimes things really are as simple and nice as they seem. Like the fact that we’re just friends. And I don’t think it could ever be anything more.”

At that exact moment, the door next to them flew open. Kyle stepped out, running his fingers through his red curls, his expression so serious and commanding that Stan immediately thought that if Kyle ordered him to kill someone right then, he probably would, without hesitation. But then Kyle looked at them, and his face softened. His eyes were warm, his smile gentle.

“What are you guys still doing here?” he asked in his soft, familiar voice, as if he hadn’t just stormed out like a man on a mission.

“Waiting for you,” Stan said, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought we could walk home together. You know, since we’re basically neighbors and all.”

“Oh… sure! Thanks for waiting.”

On the walk home, they mostly listened to Butters rambling. Stan noticed that the blond boy talked way more when Cartman wasn’t around – and honestly, who could blame him? Cartman had practically held him hostage since third grade, though that grip seemed to loosen more and more with each passing month. Stan often wished he could do something to help, but deep down, he knew it was hopeless. The only people who willingly fought Cartman were those who had nothing left to lose. And Kyle. That was one of Kyle’s most admirable traits.

“Well… I’ll leave you guys here,” Butters said as they reached his house. “See you tomorrow, fellas!”

“See you,” Stan waved, and Kyle did the same.

Once again, they were left alone on the sidewalk, and the silence suddenly felt heavy. Stan glanced sideways at Kyle, studying the strands of red hair peeking out from under his green ushanka, the ones falling into his eyes. Then he looked up at the sky.

“Long day,” he muttered.

“No kidding,” Kyle huffed. “And it’s only the first one.”

“Hey, I thought you enjoyed it!”

“If you call me a nerd again, I swear–”

They both started laughing.

Stan listened to Kyle’s laughter, and a strange warmth spread through his chest – the kind of happiness he’d been missing all day. The kind that nothing else could replace.

They both looked up at the Marsh house and sighed at almost the exact same time.

“Well… I guess I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Stan mumbled. “Try not to study yourself to death, nerd.”

“One day, I’m actually going to kill you,” Kyle said, shaking his head with a smile. Then he turned and started walking away. Stan watched him go for a long time before finally heading inside, up to his room, and collapsing onto his bed.

It had been a long day. A very, very long day.
And it was only the first.

Chapter Text

The second night of the school year was far more peaceful and uneventful than the first.

The reason for that, of course, was none other than Cartman himself – who, after realizing that harassing his dear friends with early-morning phone calls only backfired on him, decided to let Stan sleep. Only so he could get his full eight hours of “beauty rest,” naturally. Stan was more than grateful.

Instead of Cartman’s nightly harassment, he spent the night drifting through muddled dreams that included scenes such as dinosaur-Butters dying in some kind of weird Armageddon, mixing toxic chemicals in Cartman’s underground bunker – where Cartman was dressed like some sort of witch – and Kenny, Kyle, and himself running from rotting zombies across a suspiciously empty clearing.

Stan woke up with his damp hair sticking to his forehead, his head buzzing, and for a moment he swore he could still feel the spot on his arm where a zombie had bitten him. He sat up, panting, and opened his eyes. Just another average school morning.

In the bathroom, he leaned over the sink, splashed his face with water, then grabbed his toothbrush from the cabinet and stared drowsily at his own reflection. Faint shadows clung beneath his eyes – not surprising, since he’d spent the entire summer staying up until dawn gaming with the guys, and even last night hadn’t brought much rest. His deep blue eyes were slightly bloodshot, his face showed the unmistakable signs of fatigue, and yet… he looked oddly happy. His cheeks were flushed, and the corners of his lips curved into a small smile as he examined himself. The thought of going back to school somehow couldn’t kill his good mood – strange and unfamiliar, but he knew the reason why.

He ruffled his neatly flattened black hair to make it look a bit more tolerable, then headed back to his room to get dressed. He threw on a white short-sleeved shirt, loose black jeans, and his favorite dark-blue hoodie, slung his backpack over one shoulder, and jogged downstairs.

His dad, Randy, was already sitting at the kitchen table with a newspaper in hand. The moment he heard his son’s footsteps, he slammed it down dramatically on the tabletop.

“It’s Tuesday!” he announced, in a tone so grave you’d think a tornado was about to wipe out the whole town. “Do you know what that means, son?”

“No?” Stan raised an eyebrow, dropping into the chair beside him, legs swinging idly as he waited for the inevitable nonsense.

“Your horoscope says you’ll be surrounded by bad luck today, and you should beware of any suddenly appearing men – because they’ll either charm you into submission or stab you in the back.” Randy said this with the expression of a man declaring the end of days.

“Dad… it’s seven-forty-five in the morning,” Stan groaned. “Don’t you think it’s a bit early for your crap?”

“Stanley, this is a prophecy! You’ll see, it’s going to come true!”

“Don’t listen to your father, Stan. He’s talking nonsense again.” Sharon slid a plate of fried eggs in front of her son, ruffled his hair affectionately, then turned toward Randy with her hands on her hips. “Randy, could you please stop filling the boy’s head with stupid ideas first thing in the morning?”

“Sharon, I’m just warning him! This is serious!”

Sharon rolled her eyes and smiled.

“Why did I marry you again?” she muttered distractedly.

“Want me to list the reasons?”

“No. Eat. At least that way you’ll be quiet.”

Eventually, all three of them started eating. As Stan chewed on his eggs, he thought that mealtimes were probably the only peaceful moments in this household. Probably because no one could talk with their mouths full. At least back when Shelley still lived at home, she could silence their bickering parents with one glare, a growl, or some post-concert whiny complaint — but since she’d moved out for college, it had just been the three of them, and her absence sometimes felt heavier than he’d like to admit. Even if they’d never exactly gotten along.

“I’m heading to school,” he said once he’d put his empty plate in the sink. He pulled on his black Adidas sneakers, slung his backpack over his shoulder, and tugged his beanie down over his head. “I’ll be back sometime this afternoon. Might stop by Cartman’s.”

“Have fun!” Sharon waved from the kitchen, then disappeared. Randy, however, wasn’t done. He stared intensely at his son for several seconds before speaking. 

“Watch out for suddenly appearing men, Stanley. They’re after your blood,” he said gravely. “Don’t let them stab you in the back.”

 “I won’t…” Stan sighed, opened the front door, and let out a yell. There on the porch stood Kyle, smiling – the last person he’d expected to see.

“Good morning,” Kyle grinned, clearly struggling to contain a laugh at Stan’s startled face. “Did I scare you?”

“That’s an understatement,” Stan clutched his chest, then exhaled in relief, smiling as he tried to calm his racing heart. “What are you doing here?”

“I’d like to know that too,” came Randy’s voice from behind him. He stood there in his bathrobe, mug in hand, staring so intensely that a chill ran down Stan’s spine.

“Good morning, Mr. Marsh!” Kyle greeted cheerfully, blissfully unaware. Stan silently prayed his dad wouldn’t bring up the horoscope. “I thought Stan and I could walk to school together.”

“I see. Hm. Fine, go ahead. But if you stab my son in the back, Broflovski, we’ll have to talk.” Randy narrowed his eyes one last time before turning back toward the living room.

Stan gave an awkward smile, ushered his best friend off the steps, and shut the door behind him with a frustrated thud.

They started walking side by side down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in their pockets, both quiet. Stan was still silently fuming about what had just happened when he heard a weird noise beside him – kind of like a train. He raised an eyebrow and turned his head just as Kyle burst into hysterical laughter. He laughed so hard like never before, which of course forced Stan to join him. They walked that way, laughing for no real reason, and neither of them questioned it. They both knew why.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Kyle asked between gasps, wiping tears from his eyes. “What the hell was your dad even talking about?”

“You really don’t want to know…” Stan muttered, feeling both happy and embarrassed. “He read in the newspaper that according to my star sign I’m gonna get stabbed in the back by a suddenly appearing man – and then, a few minutes later, you show up out of nowhere.” He laughed again, leaving out the other half of the horoscope warning. Because honestly, if the prophecy were true, Kyle had definitely charmed him rather than stabbed him. Not that he’d ever admit that. It wasn’t true, anyway. “Good day to be a Libra, I guess.”

“Incredible!” Kyle snorted. “Just when I think you guys can’t possibly surprise me anymore… you do. It’s in your blood, seriously.”

As he spoke, he ran a hand through his red curls, which looked even messier than the day before – somehow perfectly matching his face. His ears and the tip of his nose were pink, possibly from the cold, and his lips were a soft peach color. Stan bit his lower lip and shifted his gaze toward the massive shape of the school building in the distance.

“Where’s your ushanka?” he asked casually, realizing Kyle wasn’t wearing his signature hat.

“In the wash,” Kyle grimaced. “Tried to convince Mom to wait until the weekend, but she said it was way too filthy for me to be seen in public with. Why, do I look weird without it?”

“Kinda… but in a good way,” Stan shrugged. “You don’t show your hair often, but honestly, it looks cool. Shame to hide it under a hat.”

A faint blush crept across Kyle’s cheeks.

“If you say so…”

Stan felt the air between them thicken, something heavy pressing against his chest. He couldn’t quite name the feeling, but he didn’t like it, so he decided to change the subject.

“Anyway… you won’t believe what I dreamed about. It was epic,” he began, launching into his retelling.

He described everything, start to finish, and kept talking even after they’d reached their lockers. Kyle, at locker number forty-three, unpacked his books while occasionally humming in acknowledgment or letting out a soft laugh whenever the story reached a ridiculous part. Stan, meanwhile, twisted his beanie in his hands as he spoke, completely animated.

This whole thing felt so nostalgic, so comfortably familiar – just like their mornings back in elementary school, when life was so much simpler. Sometimes Stan wished he could go back to those days, before the teenage angst, the weird emotions, and all the confusion that came with it. But moments like this made it all bearable. He honestly didn’t know what he’d do without memories like these – or without Kyle.

“…And then I woke up. But you know what’s crazy? The spot where I got bitten actually hurt,” he said, completely serious. His facial expression oddly resembled his father’s. “Maybe I really left my body and jumped into some alternate universe.”

“I could spend hours explaining why that’s physically impossible, dude,” Kyle laughed, gently nudging Stan’s back to signal it was time to head to class. “But I’ll let you live in your delusion, because I’m such a good friend.”

“You’re too kind,” Stan grinned.

They walked into the classroom and dropped into their seats in the second row, right in front of Cartman and Butters. No sign of Kenny – but that was hardly surprising. It was only the first period, after all.

“Finally! I thought you two weren’t gonna make it,” Cartman whispered. “I’ve got the best tea to spill!”

All three leaned in closer, ignoring the fact that class had already started. This was way more important.

The gossip session, of course, lasted the entire class. The four boys were actually quite grateful that their chemistry teacher was considerate enough to let them off easy after summer break and didn’t torture the class with real work.

Stan never really found it strange that the boys in their school were way, way more into gossip than the girls. He figured important information deserved to spread – and besides, he knew perfectly well that all five of them were hopelessly curious about any new rumor that surfaced. Somehow, Cartman had these insanely good informants, and thanks to them, by the time Stan passed anyone in the hallway, he already knew everything about them. Or at least all the juicy parts. It was a massive guilty pleasure.

“They met in person for the first time yesterday afternoon, and apparently the girl was totally disappointed, mmph,” Cartman explained, munching on a chocolate-covered pretzel stick. “But that was bound to happen. Clyde’s, like, a professional catfish.”

Butters shrugged, looking genuinely thoughtful.

“Well, gee, I don’t know,” he started uncertainly. “I mean, you guys showed me his pictures before, and he doesn’t seem that, uh… alluring. But maybe that’s just ’cause I’m not a girl.”

“I don’t think even gaywads would go for Clyde, Butters. The guy’s hopeless. He’s never getting laid if he keeps this up,” Cartman shook his head. The motion sent a shower of crumbs all over Kyle’s hoodie. He pressed his lips together in silent fury, visibly restraining himself from throwing a handful of insults back.

“But anyway, enough about him. You guys coming over today? I got this awesome new game we could try. It’s six-player max, so we can all play, just bring your own controllers. And, like, a ton of food.”

“Sure, I’m in,” Stan nodded. It’s not like he had anything better to do, and honestly, it had been, what, four whole days since they’d played together? That was practically torture for a nerd like him.

“Me too!” Butters chirped. “Mom and Dad said I just have to be home by sunset, so I can stay as long as I want!” he grinned proudly.

All three of them turned to Kyle, who gave an apologetic grimace.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got plans, you goddamn Jew,” Cartman grumbled. “What are you doing, counting your money?”

“I’ve got to study…” Kyle scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. By the tone, Stan knew that was a lie.

“It’s only the second day of school,” he frowned. “You sure you can’t put it off? It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

He said the last part softly, his tone warm – like he’d wrapped a bomb in kind words to hide it. Kyle glanced sideways, breaking eye contact.

“Fine. Whatever. I guess I can skip studying for one day,” he said with a sheepish smile. He threw one last glance at Stan, his emerald-green eyes locking onto the deep blue ones, like he was trying to read something in his soul. “How long are you guys planning to stay?”

The answers were, predictably, all over the place. Butters wanted to “rebel” a bit, but the others kindly reminded him that for him, rebellion meant staying till half past seven, because that’s when the sun set. Kyle insisted on getting home early – said he had “things to do” but didn’t elaborate. Cartman, of course, kept trying to convince everyone to stay over until the next day, while Stan just shrugged. He didn’t really want to go home, but he knew he had to be considerate of the others, who didn’t have much of a choice. So he just stayed quiet and nodded at every suggestion.

They eventually decided to wait for Kenny before finalizing plans. The blond stumbled into school around 9:30, hair a mess and looking totally out of it. His silver earrings had been swapped for a black pair, and he kept yawning and blinking hard.

“Doesn’t matter to me,” he said lazily. “I’ll stay as long as you guys want.”

“Oh come on, Kenny! We were literally waiting for you to decide, so get your crap together, you filthy hobo!” Cartman said, shaking his shoulders lightly. Kenny shot him an annoyed look, then his gaze settled on Butters, who was smiling brightly, holding a can of iced coffee. At that sight, Kenny’s expression softened just a little.

“Sunset, then? Does that work for you guys?” he asked finally. “Don’t wanna stay too late, or I’ll never catch up on sleep. And trust me, you don’t want me sleep-deprived,” he laughed.

Stan leaned closer to Kyle, lowering his voice so only he could hear, while pretending to watch Kenny thank Butters for his caffeine fix and his eternal sleeplessness.

“So, what exactly are these mysterious evening plans of yours?” he teased, grinning. The secrecy honestly amused him.

Kyle rolled his eyes, tucked a strand of red hair behind his ear, and sighed.

“I’ve gotta take Ike to judo practice. Some guy came to his school last year and gave a talk about martial arts, and ever since then my dear little brother’s been obsessed with watching boxing matches on TV. Then he begged Mom and Dad to sign him up, and now he’s actually enjoying it. So every Tuesday and Thursday night, I get to sit in that stinky gym and watch a bunch of twelve-year-olds beat the crap out of each other. Riveting, I know.” He sighed again. “I just didn’t tell the others because I don’t feel like listening to them all day about how even my little brother could kick my ass. You know them – that’s exactly what would happen.”

“Yeah, I know,” Stan nodded understandingly. After a moment of thought, he smiled. “If you want, I could come with you.”

“Seriously?” Kyle blinked, surprised. “I don’t want you to die of boredom…”

“I’m more worried about you, honestly. Don’t worry, I’ll survive. Besides, it’s always fun to watch Ike do his thing. Sometimes I can’t even believe he’s twelve already.”

“Tell me about it. Time flies way too fast.”

They both laughed, and Stan felt Kyle’s shoulder brush against his. The touch lasted only a second, but when it was gone, it left behind this strange emptiness. Like something had been ripped out of him – something that had always been there and was supposed to stay.

It was weird. Foreign. And he hated it.

Last night, lying in bed in his pajamas, waiting for sleep to finally come, he couldn’t think of anything else. That emptiness in his chest – it crept in out of nowhere, and he had no idea why. It annoyed him, more than he wanted to admit. He just knew one thing for sure: he’d never felt anything so strong before.

And whatever it was, he wanted it gone. Completely.

They sprawled across the carpet in Cartman’s living room, letting the fat kid claim the entire couch. After a quick rundown of the rules – because the host was extremely touchy about anyone possibly getting grease on his stuff – they started up the game.

It was some kind of zombie apocalypse first-person RPG, full of blood and shooting – a perfectly fitting Tuesday afternoon activity for the five boys. At times like these, they really looked like a completely normal group of teenage friends, and Stan sometimes forgot that his friends were anything but average. The illusion usually didn’t last long, though – it was always shattered by an offensively inappropriate comment from Cartman, an equally harsh comeback from Kyle, a very unmanly scream from Butters, or a burst of laughter from Kenny – and just like that, everything fell back into place.

Over the years, Stan had realized that his friends were never going to change, and honestly, he didn’t even mind. Sure, the constant bickering and arguments could be annoying sometimes (and, let’s face it, there were a lot of those thanks to two people who couldn’t go five minutes without jumping at each other’s throats), but without all that, his days wouldn’t have been half as colorful. Sometimes he really wanted to admit all of this to them, but… that would sound so gay. So, yeah. He never will. But the thought was there, and that was what mattered.

Stan often found himself thinking about the past during these moments – about the years when their friendship was still forming, when they barely knew anything about the world. He remembered exactly what the others had been like, and how they’d treated him. Those memories had a way of pulling him headfirst into a rollercoaster of nostalgia he couldn’t get off of – every steep drop left a knot in his stomach. One good memory, one bad, another good, another bad – they alternated until his head was spinning with thoughts, with all the emotions in his chest that he wanted to get rid of, yet could never let go of, the things that made him him, yet somehow kept pushing him further away from himself. Sometimes he wished he could remember everything. Sometimes he wished he could forget it all. There were certain things he wanted to rip out of his heart so they wouldn’t haunt him anymore – but he knew that was impossible. Just like he knew he couldn’t stop replaying them in his head every night before falling asleep. He was too much of a coward for that. Too broken. Too weak to say no to the memories. And that was what he hated most about himself. That he both remembered and forgot.

“I’d be so happy if our healer actually did his damn job,” Cartman raised his voice, but it fell on deaf ears. Stan was zoned out, button-mashing with just enough awareness to rack up enough kill points to jump straight to second place on the scoreboard. “Stan! You hippie!”

“Stan? Hellooo?” Butters gently shook his shoulder. Stan blinked a few times, looked around, and when he realized what was going on, he cleared his throat, bit his lip for a second to collect his thoughts, and hurried his character over to heal the others.

“Sorry, I was just… thinking,” he said with an apologetic smile.

They went back to playing, while Stan tried with all his might to chase away the thoughts devouring his head – with little success.

“What’s got you so tense?” came a soft, familiar voice that silenced the chaos in his mind. “You’re never this uptight.”

Kyle had subtly scooted closer, just enough to stay within that comfortable, friendly distance. His presence quieted Stan’s mind enough for a faint smile to form on his lips – an almost carefree smile.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Guess I just haven’t adjusted to the fact that every single day’s gonna feel this long till the end of the school year.”

They spoke in whispers, their voices drowned out by the sounds of gunfire and screams from the TV. Stan felt his heartbeat slow, not quite sure why it was suddenly so easy to breathe. Maybe it was Kyle’s nearness. Maybe his voice. Maybe just the thought that there was nothing to worry about; the present was the present, and the past was already far behind him. Well, almost.

“We’ll get used to it eventually. That’s what these game afternoons are for anyway. To unwind a little,” Kyle’s smile was warm and understanding. “Enjoy it while you can, ‘cause judo practice won’t be half as fun. If you’re still planning to come.”

“I told you, I don’t mind,” Stan narrowed his eyes at the TV, his character sprinting into the woods to revive Kenny’s avatar. He handled the controller like he’d been born with it. “I’m sure it’ll be a blast.”

As he said that, he put a bullet through three zombie heads in a row, each headshot giving him just enough points to buy another med kit.

“I guarantee it.” Kyle stuck out his tongue in concentration, then furrowed his brows. “Cartman, could you not chew so loud? I get that you died, but can’t you just wait quietly till we revive you?”

Cartman, his arm buried elbow-deep in a bag of chips, shook his head indignantly.

“I gotta eat or I’ll die!” he declared dramatically.

This went on for another two and a half hours. After each round, they’d huddle together to strategize, then go right back to yelling, arguing, and laughing as they mashed their controllers. When they’d shot enough zombies to start hallucinating them in the living room, they decided to call it a night. The sky was darkening anyway, the pale blue fading into a warm orange glow, and the first faint stars began peeking out from behind the clouds. The sunset painted all their faces gold, and Kyle’s emerald eyes shone brighter than ever.

For a few seconds, Stan couldn’t look away from them. When he finally managed to snap out of it, the others were already walking down the street. Kenny was animatedly explaining something to Butters, who nodded enthusiastically. Behind them, Kyle was scrolling on his phone – probably texting Ike –, while Stan, hands stuffed in his pockets, his hat pulled low, just listened to the murmur of their voices. He was glad he didn’t have to join in; he felt completely drained. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, it was just that… self-reflection was exhausting. He’d learned that a few times before.

Their first stop was the Stotch house. After waving goodbye to Butters – who grinned and waved before disappearing inside – they kept walking in silence. Kenny fussed with the hood of his parka, Kyle was still glued to his phone, and Stan quietly appreciated the peace, only occasionally interrupted by a passing car horn.

He didn’t speak again until it was time to say goodbye to the others, and once he got to his room, he collapsed onto his bed. Right then, his phone buzzed with a message from Kyle:

“we’re leaving at 7:50. get some rest until then.”

“Well, this is really fucking boring.”

“I told you!”

Kyle really had been right. The so-called indoor arena on the edge of town, which looked more like a tiny gym, was run-down, dirty, and smelled like sweat. There were exactly seven people in the bleachers: a hefty dad who occasionally yelled out some lame motivational lines to his kid, two couples, and the two boys, sitting as far away from everyone else as possible.

Stan, blaming the heat, slipped out of his hoodie, adjusted his T-shirt, then raised an eyebrow.

“How long is this going to last?”

Kyle glanced at his old wristwatch and gave an apologetic grimace.

“A bit less than an hour and a half,” he said quietly, which earned a low groan from Stan. “Didn’t I tell you it’d be like this?”

“You seriously sit through this twice a week?”

“I have to,” Kyle shrugged. “As you can see, Ike’s having the time of his life.”

They both looked at the boy. Ike was visibly exhausted, sweat running down his face, his dark hair sticking in damp strands to his forehead, yet he was smiling – beaming – with genuine joy. He smiled in a way Stan had never seen before, and suddenly it didn’t seem so pointless that he was here.

“Yeah, I can see that,” he laughed softly. “Wish we’d played hockey with that kind of enthusiasm back in the day.”

“Don’t remind me, Jesus,” Kyle shook his head, letting out a quiet laugh. “Every time I think about it, I just want to curl up in a ball and cry.”

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad…”

“Do you remember when I knocked out one of Butters’s teeth with my stick? And then, when I tried to help him up, I kicked his legs out from under him, fell on top of him, headbutted him with my helmet, and knocked out another one?”

Stan pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing out loud. Of course, he remembered every single moment of it. The parents had to hold an emergency meeting to decide if it was even safe for kids that young to have hockey practices. The meeting lasted over two and a half hours, and in the meantime, the kids entertained themselves by acting out fairy tales for a bandaged-up Butters – using his own teeth as props. In the end, they voted to cancel hockey altogether, everyone switched their kids to soccer or basketball, and the hockey gear had been gathering dust in basements ever since.

“That’s what I’m talking about. Horrifying childhood memories like that are what keep me up at night,” Kyle shook his head. Stan glanced at him, and the annoying voices in his head started murmuring again.

“It’s wild how much time has passed since then,” he said, trying to sound as casual as he could, even though that strange feeling had started gnawing at him again from the inside. “When we were younger, time felt like it moved way slower.”

“Time feels infinite when you’re young… a month feels like a year, a year feels like forever,” Kyle mused, his eyes still fixed on Ike. “But now it’s just a snap of your fingers, and before you even realize you want to start living, it’s already too late.”

A long silence settled between them after that. A comfortable, understanding silence. Stan thought about what Kyle had said, then glanced over at him. He still wasn’t looking at him, but there was a small smile resting in the corner of his mouth, and his freckled face was flushed with a warm, reddish glow.

“Sorry, was that super gay?” Kyle chuckled.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Stan laughed with him. “But you’re right.”

“I’m honored.”

The next hour and a half was spent coming up with increasingly creative ways to fight boredom. They continued reminiscing, bringing up their funniest childhood memories, then – very unethically – started laughing at the kids doing judo one by one, at the yelling dad, and at the red-faced coach who clearly had better things to do than teach twelve-year-olds how to fight on a Tuesday night. The time spent didn’t feel boring at all, and thanks to Kyle’s company, even the smell and grime weren’t that unbearable to Stan.

On the car ride home, they didn’t talk much – mostly just listened to Ike’s long, enthusiastic storytelling to his dad behind the wheel, who hummed back in that exact tone people use when they couldn’t care less. Stan found it hilarious. 

When the car finally parked in front of his house, he turned to Kyle one last time before getting out.

“Same time Thursday?” he grinned. “That was a blast.”

“If you really want to, sure,” Kyle shrugged. “But I’m warning you, it won’t be any more exciting than this.”

“That’s fine,” Stan said, closing the door behind him.

He watched the car pull away for a few moments, then shook his head with a grin and stepped inside his house.

Kyle had managed to surprise him more than once today, and despite what Randy had said earlier, Stan didn’t feel stabbed in the back at all. In fact, if anything, it felt like they’d grown a little closer. But of course, that didn’t mean anything. Nothing ever meant anything when it came to the two of them.

Chapter Text

The first Saturday of the school year brought a raging storm with it. Wild winds tore trees up by the roots, heavy rain battered the windows of houses, and thunder and lightning shook the streets. Stan stared out the window, watching the blurry scenery in front of him for a while. So much for going to the mall with the guys to drool over the new console today.

According to the digital clock on his dresser, it was nine forty-three, and his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with new notifications, completely ruining the melancholy mood. Although Stan would’ve given anything for just a few more minutes of window-staring contemplation. With a sigh, he picked up his phone and scrolled back through the chat. The others were just as disappointed about the sudden downpour and were already brainstorming alternatives. Stan knew exactly what that meant – over twelve hours of non-stop video game grinding.

He didn’t even bother changing out of his pajamas. Why would he? He wasn’t going anywhere today. Instead, just as he was, he shuffled down to the kitchen, grabbed a bowl, cereal, and milk, and started making himself breakfast while humming softly. The lower floor of the house was silent except for his quiet tune, and he was genuinely thankful for that. Weekend mornings were peaceful – no rush, no one running anywhere. It almost felt like time had stopped.

During moments like this, Stan could finally let the constant stream of thoughts in his head calm down for a bit, take a breath, and exist without stress or overthinking. Not that he only ever felt free or recharged during times like these – if anything, he actually preferred noise and company – but every once in a while, a bit of quiet and peace felt really good. Maybe twice a week, tops.

With his cereal in hand, he sat down in front of his computer and got comfortable in his chair. He checked one last time whether the others had decided to game – just as he’d predicted, the answer was yes – then joined the ongoing Discord call.

When he joined, Butters, hidden behind his Hello Kitty profile picture, was explaining a new key combo he’d discovered a few days earlier during a solo session, and the others were listening with mild interest, chiming in here and there. Then, an invite popped up on Stan’s screen from user “80085supremacy,” and within seconds, all four of them had joined Kenny’s party – the same Kenny who was still suffering every day from the awful lag of the old laptop he’d gotten from Kyle. But he could play, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay, let’s actually talk this through, alright?” came Cartman’s unmistakably annoying voice through Stan’s headset. “We gotta pick smart, because we ranked up twice in August, which means we’re not up against stinky noobs anymore – we’re fighting actual sweaty dickheads now. So right now, I’m thinking we need one tank, one archer, two melee, and one healer.”

In moments like this, Stan could almost respect Cartman.

“Butters, you go melee. Your mastery’s high, and you’re annoyingly good at it. Kenny, you take that invisible-ulti legendary you unlocked last week,” Cartman’s voice had that grinding edge to it. Stan could’ve sworn he was gritting his teeth out of jealousy. “I’ll be tank, obviously, because none of you can handle it. Jew, healer. Stan, archer.”

Kyle grumbled something – probably about the “nickname” – but they all did as instructed, and soon enough, the bloody battle began. By now, it was almost routine. Saturdays were always reserved for doing something together, and it had been that way for as long as Stan could remember. Butters had only officially joined the gang a few years ago, when he’d finally matured enough to be considered “cool” and was accepted into the group, but since then, he hadn’t missed a single weekend. Stan couldn’t imagine his Saturdays any other way.

“Cartman, get your ass over here, Butter and I are holding the front and I don’t know how much longer we can–” Kenny’s voice crackled, but was still mostly clear.

“Yeah, but who’s up top then? There’s this asshole camping there just waiting to take down our tower!”

“I’ll go,” Stan sighed. “Got the poison upgrade for my arrows, won’t be a problem.”

“Fine, but if we lose this, it’s on you,” Cartman muttered. “So much for sticking to the formation we agreed on. Jew, go with him. I doubt they can take down the three of us.”

“I have a name, you know?” Kyle muttered. “You asshole.”

Stan watched for a moment as Kyle’s character sprinted after his, then leapt into action. With each keystroke, his keyboard made a louder sound, but he didn’t care. It was probably about time to invest in a new one anyway.

“Fuck!” he yelled, way louder than intended. “Kyle! Kyle, I need you right now! I’m gonna die without you!”

“I’m coming, calm down!” Stan couldn’t tell whether Kyle was trying to sound serious or laughing – probably both. “I’m here, dude, don’t panic!”

Green particles streamed out from Kyle’s character, instantly filling Stan’s health bar back to full.

“Thanks, that was close,” Stan muttered, firing an arrow at the enemy. “Which button’s for emotes again?” he asked generally.

“Y,” Kenny and Butters replied in unison, the latter following up with, “Why do you need it?”

Stan stuck out his tongue as he searched through the sticker options, finally settling on a cat that winked, blew a kiss, and had giant red hearts floating around it. He proudly pressed it, and the sticker popped up in the party chat.

“Ugh, gross!” Cartman announced. “Can you two take your gay shit somewhere private? Go get a room, ew!” He sounded – at least in Stan’s head – like he was foaming at the mouth.

“That’s adorable!” Butters chimed in cheerfully. “I’m saving that to my favorites.”

“Great, now he’s starting too…”

“Cartman, shut up and help instead,” Kenny groaned. Discord cut out bits of his sentence, making it sound even funnier. “We’re getting wrecked here, so maybe focus!”

“Chill, hippie, I got it.”

Outside, the storm was still raging just as violently. Painfully much time had passed since they’d started playing – but it had flown by in an instant. Stan suddenly realized, somewhere during their sixth victory celebration, that it was already three in the afternoon, and the clouds were rapidly darkening. He told the others he’d be right back, just needed to grab a drink and something to eat because he was dehydrated and hadn’t even noticed.

He put his headset down and stretched. Several of his bones cracked, but he ignored it and made his way back to the kitchen.

His parents weren’t in the living room; the only proof they were even still alive was the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. He added his cereal bowl to the mess, grabbed some lunch and a glass of water, then retreated back to his room.

When he put his headset back on, Kyle and Cartman were arguing, Kenny was laughing – but it was so laggy that he sounded more like an abused rubber chicken than himself – and a small muted icon had appeared next to Butters’s profile picture.

“Where did Butters go?” Stan asked into the mic. The question made all three of them go silent for a second.

“Eating,” Kenny replied – or something that sounded vaguely like that.

“Now that you mention it, I’m starving too,” Cartman mused. “Also, I think my neck’s stiff.”

“Yeah, same. You have no idea how good it felt to stretch for a bit,” Stan said, twisting his wrist and flexing his fingers to make sure they still worked properly.

His words were followed by silence, then the sound of chairs creaking, a few sighs of relief, and various background noises indicating that all three of his friends had stood up to stretch.

“I say we take a break and grab food,” Kyle suggested.

“I’m down,” Cartman replied – and he definitely sounded like he already had something in his mouth. Probably came prepared. Not really out of character for him, Stan thought.

Eventually, they said their goodbyes one by one and ended the call.

Stan sprawled out on his bed, every muscle aching, and just stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain, when his phone buzzed. The notification came with Discord’s unmistakable ping.

the cutest kitty in the world :3: fellas? where’d everyone go?

They decided to quit playing just in time – not long after, a lightning strike knocked out the power in the entire small town. The rain was heavier than ever, and Stan sat helplessly in his dark room. As he wondered what to do with himself now that the internet was gone, Sharon opened the door.

“The power’s out,” she announced. “Everywhere. I just talked to Tolkien’s parents, who live on the other side of town, and they said they don’t have any either. They’ve already called the authorities, but it’s going to take a while to fix.”

“How long are we talking?” Stan asked. He thought of the others and their win streak, which would be a shame to lose.

“A few hours, I’d guess. Maybe even until tomorrow.” Sharon shrugged. “It’s unpredictable. Can you see well enough? Do you want a candle?”

“No, thanks.”

Once the door closed, Stan groaned and flopped back on his bed. The news completely killed his mood. The storm had ruined another Saturday plan, and he had no idea what to do now to keep from dying of boredom. On top of that, his phone was at four percent, so gaming until he passed out like some retiree wasn’t an option either.

He was completely doomed. That was it, this was how he was going to die. Damn, what a lame death...

His eyes suddenly shot open. An idea hit him – so weird and completely random, but it made perfect sense. He jumped off the bed, yanked some clothes out of the closet, changed in record time, shoved his dead phone into his pocket, jammed his shoes on, and ran out into the rain.

The wind hit him square in the face, and he felt the raindrops stream down his hair and skin. He started running – not that it helped much. He was shivering by the time he got to his destination, soaked to the bone. He rang the doorbell once, then a few more times, just to be sure, and as he waited for someone to answer, he looked up at the gray clouds above. Or tried to – the rain had pulled a thick curtain between him and the sky. A white flash split the clouds in two, followed by a loud crack of thunder, and for a moment, Stan forgot how cold he was. The sight was mesmerizing.

“Stan? Oh my goodness, get inside!” It was Kyle’s mom, Sheila, who opened the door. Her face was a mix of shock and worry.

“I’m sorry for just showing up like this, Mrs. Broflovski,” Stan said, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I thought I’d drop by to see Kyle, but I couldn’t text him. My phone’s dead.” He held up the useless device for proof.

“That’s alright, sweetie, just– don’t you dare catch a cold!” she fretted. “Go on up, Kyle’s in his room. I’m sure he’ll give you some dry clothes, and I’ll grab you a towel so you can dry your hair.”

“Thank you,” Stan said gratefully, and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He threw open the door to Kyle’s room and grinned. Kyle was sprawled on his bed, staring at his phone, but at the sudden bang, his head shot up in alarm.

“What the– Stan?” he laughed in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing here?” He jumped to his feet and looked him over from head to toe. “Jesus, did you walk here? In this weather?”

“Technically, I ran,” Stan said, laughing. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything. I wanted to text you, but… well, dead battery.”

“No, you’re fine! I just– damn, I didn’t expect you at all. Wait, I’ll get you some clothes to change into. Unless you want to keep dripping all over the place. But if you stay wet, you’re not getting anywhere near my bed.”

“You’re kidding, right? Of course I want to change,” Stan grinned, rolling his eyes. “I’m freezing to death here!”

“Yeah, I can tell…” Kyle handed him a neatly folded stack of clothes. “Go on, get changed.”

A minute later, Stan was lying on Kyle’s bed in a pair of black sweatpants and a dark green t-shirt, his hair sticking up in every direction from towel-drying it in the bathroom. Kyle shook his head in mock disapproval, though he couldn’t hide his smile.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked at last.

“I was bored out of my mind at home. Literally nothing to do,” Stan said, doing his best to make it sound like he’d survived unspeakable suffering since the blackout began. “So I figured I’d come here. Feel honored, you get to entertain me all afternoon.”

“Oh, great. That makes me so happy.”

Kyle’s voice dripped with sarcasm, but his eyes gleamed – the kind of gleam that said he didn’t mean a word of it. He flopped down beside Stan on the bed, turned toward him, propped his head up on one arm, and smiled. His freckled face was glowing with life.

Stan met his gaze, and for a long moment, he couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t get enough of that familiar, comforting energy between them, and his stomach tightened just a little. That strange feeling washed over him again, like something inside him was missing. Something that should be there.

“So, what do you wanna do?” Kyle asked softly. His voice was quieter than usual – gentle, even. “Just saying, there’s no power here either, so our options are limited.”

“I don’t know,” Stan shrugged. “I just didn’t want to be alone.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how pathetic that sounded. But it was true, and there was nothing wrong with that. He’d trade any lonely moment for one spent with Kyle.

“Well, now you’re not,” Kyle said with a grin, shifting to get more comfortable. Their eyes stayed locked, and neither of them found it strange. “And don’t worry, I’m not letting you get bored.”

That was always guaranteed at the Broflovski house – one of the many reasons Stan loved coming over. Another big one was how homey it felt, and how nice Kyle’s parents were. The third was Kyle himself. And, honestly, so were the fourth, fifth, and every other reason.

“Wanna put on some music?” Kyle asked. “I just got that new speaker, remember? The one I sent a pic of in the group chat. You haven’t heard it yet, it’s got amazing bass.” He jumped up before waiting for an answer.

Stan mumbled a quiet “yeah,” and closed his eyes. The room smelled like Kyle – exactly the same as it always had. His stomach clenched at the wave of memories, like it always did, but this time, it wasn’t sickening. It almost made him smile.

“Hey, remember when we turned your whole room into a bunker and “shot” anyone who tried to come in?” he asked with his eyes still shut. He didn’t see what Kyle was doing, but he heard him stop in his tracks – he could practically picture the fond, defeated expression that came with remembering.

“Of course. Kenny threw a Lego piece in my mom’s eye,” Kyle said. “And that blanket we pinned to the lamp wouldn’t come down for days, I had to dodge it every time I went to bed. It was annoying as hell. But… gotta admit, that bunker looked pretty damn cool.” His voice carried a note of pride as soft music filled the room. “It lasted at least three days.”

The bed creaked, and Stan felt a bit of weight sink down beside him. Kyle’s hand brushed his shoulder for a moment, and goosebumps prickled up Stan’s arm. He cautiously opened his eyes just a sliver – Kyle was lying next to him, eyes closed, fully stretched out. Close enough to feel his warmth.

Thunder boomed outside, and the lightning lit up the whole room. The sound of rain hitting the window was oddly soothing. Stan yawned and closed his eyes again.

When he opened his eyes again, the room seemed significantly darker, and he heard soft breathing beside him. He rubbed his eyes and turned his head. Kyle was lying next to him on the bed, a few strands of hair falling into his face, and his expression was so peaceful that Stan had never seen him look like that before. For a brief moment, he smiled at the sight – then the realization hit him.

“Kyle!” he shook the sleeping boy. “Kyle, wake up!” he tried to whisper as loudly as possible, somehow still managing to be louder than the rain hammering against the window.

“Hm? What is it?” Kyle mumbled, slowly blinking his eyes open as he sat up. His voice was so adorably sleepy that Stan almost told him to lie back down, that it was nothing important – but instead, he sent him a worried look.

“We fell asleep!” he said in disbelief. “I don’t even know what time it is!”

Kyle’s eyes flew wide open. He glanced at the watch on his wrist, then at Stan, then back at the watch, then again at Stan, and burst out laughing.

“It’s half past eleven,” he said, still laughing. “We must’ve been really tired, huh?”

“We played all day. It’d be a miracle if we weren’t tired,” Stan grinned with a shrug. “You think my parents are worried about me?”

“I’m pretty sure they are.”

They exchanged a look, then started laughing again, almost at the exact same moment.

“Damn, is it still raining?” Kyle turned toward the window. He climbed onto the bed to peek out, then shook his head in frustration. “When the hell is this disgusting weather going to end?”

“I don’t know, but if it keeps going like this, I won’t be able to get home,” Stan muttered.

“You don’t have to,” Kyle shrugged, then cleared his throat and sat back down next to his friend, cross-legged. “I mean, you can wait it out here until it stops raining.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“My ideas are never bad.”

“Really, nerd?”

“Don’t call me that, you punk!”

It kept raining for almost another forty-five minutes, and in the meantime, the two boys needed something to pass the time. They chose a ridiculously funny and absolutely evil board game they used to play almost every afternoon back in elementary school.

That time was both insanely fun and strangely depressing. Stan laughed a lot – especially when he was teasing Kyle – but the whole time, he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was missing. It was the same feeling that had been gnawing at him for the past two weeks, every single waking moment, and he could feel it slowly eating him alive. The emptiness was unbearable, and he couldn’t talk about it with anyone – because he didn’t even understand what was causing it himself.

One thing, though, he was sure of: at least part of it was Kyle’s fault.

When he was near him, the feeling either grew stronger or completely disappeared. He either felt like the happiest, most carefree person in the world, or utterly lost, as if he’d fallen into a pit he could never climb out of. It was a double-edged feeling, and Stan was sure he was going insane. He was going crazy because of Kyle’s presence. But also because of his absence. There were two options, and both of them were destroying him.

When the rain finally stopped, he wanted to run as fast as he could and stay forever at the same time. He put on the raincoat Sheila had lent him, and after she made him promise to return the clothes as soon as possible, she walked him to the door, with Kyle beside her. Kyle slipped on his shoes, walked Stan to the end of the path, then stopped in front of him. The playful warmth in his emerald green eyes made Stan’s chest ache.

“Well… I’m glad you came over,” Kyle said with a smile. “Even if we slept through half the hangout.”

“Sometimes you need that, too,” Stan shrugged. His stomach twisted, and the voices in his head started shouting at each other. “Thanks for letting me in. And for the clothes.”

“No problem. Really.”

“See you at school then, Ky.”

“Yeah.”

Stan turned his back to the house and started walking down the sidewalk. He could feel Kyle’s gaze on him, and could picture his expression perfectly. It felt like something was tightening around his throat.

When he got home, he exchanged a few words with his parents about where he’d been – they had been worried about him, though Randy only said he was glad aliens hadn’t abducted his son – and then he went upstairs, peeled off the raincoat, and just stared into space for a while. He was home, but it didn’t feel like home. He was still wearing Kyle’s clothes: one of his worn, dark green t-shirts that carried his scent, and a pair of black sweatpants he’d outgrown. He could feel the ghost of that gentle touch on his shoulder, the soft brush of hair against his face. The smell of rain mixed with the smell of a home that wasn’t his – and this turmoil was tearing him apart.

He collapsed onto his bed, which felt much less comfortable than Kyle’s, and tried with everything he had to push away the thoughts that were devouring him. Completely in vain. His chest was so tight he could barely breathe, his mind was a chaotic mess of thoughts shouting over each other, and an unpleasant tingling ran down his spine. He hated the feeling – and he wanted to hate Kyle for causing it. But he couldn’t. Deep down, he knew he never could.

Chapter Text

"Seven pages? How the hell did you manage to write seven pages about something that boring?" Stan asked in disbelief, almost offended, waving the neatly stapled stack of papers in his hand. "And seriously, when did you even have time for this?"

Kyle grinned and plucked the essay from Stan’s hand.

"A good magician never reveals his secrets," he said proudly with a shrug. "But believe me, you could’ve written just as much if you’d spent more than half an hour on it for once in your life."

His tone was scolding, but his smile made it clear he didn’t mean a word of it.

"Thanks for reminding me I’m wasting my life on useless crap," Stan snorted. "Please, make sure to rub that in ten years from now when you’re running one of the biggest companies in the country and I’m living under a bridge. I’d really appreciate it."

"I’ll make a note of that."

Stan leaned against locker number forty-two, arms crossed, watching Kyle pack his things. It was an almost daily ritual.

"So, how many pages did you write?" Kyle asked, tossing a few things into his shoulder bag: a notebook, a sandwich wrapped in foil, and two pens – one blue, one black.

"I dunno. Three, I think?" Stan said after a pause. "But I’m pretty sure at least half of it’s nonsense. Minimum."

Kyle laughed as they started walking down the hallway. There were still several minutes before the bell rang, so they didn’t hurry – which was great news for Butters, who came rushing into the school just then, hair a mess and eyes wide with panic.

"Hey, you okay?" Stan asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"Uh-huh, just overslept," Butters panted. "I was up late talking last night, and–" He cut himself off mid-sentence, his eyes going even wider – if that was even possible.

"Talking? To whom?" Kyle raised an eyebrow.

"Doesn’t matter," Butters said quickly, shaking his head. He couldn’t have picked a worse answer if he’d tried.

"Oh? Really?" Stan drawled, thoroughly enjoying the way Butters’s already flushed face turned even redder. "Who’s the lucky one?"

"Don’t tell me you’ve fallen for someone?" Kyle teased, wiggling his eyebrows. His tone had that suggestive lilt, his voice raising slightly at the end of each word, like he was applying pressure just for fun. Stan respected the commitment. "Come on, why not tell your pals who it is?"

"Okay, leave me alone!" Butters puffed out his cheeks, his normally sugary-sweet voice jumping two octaves higher. "The bell’s about to ring, let’s go to class!"

Bright red, he stormed off down the hallway, with his two friends following behind, grinning and exchanging glances. Two things were certain: one, they were definitely not dropping this until they found out who it was, and two, they were absolutely not telling Cartman about it. Even they respected Butters’s privacy that much.

They stepped into the classroom just as the bell rang. Stan tossed his bag onto a desk by the window, dropped into his seat, and looked outside. The wind was howling, tearing at the trees as if it wanted to rip them out by the roots. The brown leaves drifting around occasionally rested on the pavement before blowing away again, like they had somewhere to go. Like they belonged somewhere. Stan thought about how September wasn’t even two weeks in, yet summer already felt a lifetime away.

He stifled a yawn, dug out a notebook and a pen, tore off a piece of paper, scribbled a short note, and, with a perfect throw, sent it flying straight at Butters’s forehead. The blond sat two rows behind him, diagonally across the room. The classroom wasn’t very big, and the paper ball flew unusually gracefully through the air before landing perfectly. Stan watched as Butters raised an eyebrow, unfolded it, read the message, pressed his lips together, scribbled a reply so hard his fingertips turned white, and lobbed it back within seconds.

Stan unfolded it.
“B, just tell me who it is.”

“would you just drop it? thx
youre getting really annoying”

“sry
i’ll stop”

Moments later, another reply landed on his desk.

“its ok <3
you know ill tell you eventually youre my friends after all
just don’t want some ppl hearing about it”

Next to the message was a tiny doodle – a potato?

Stan squinted at it, and then burst out laughing when he realized it was a drawing of Cartman. He clapped a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, then scrawled a reply. When the teacher turned to write something on the board, Stan hurled the note back. Just then, another piece of paper landed on his desk – not a crumpled notebook scrap this time, but a neatly folded light-blue post-it, with handwriting that was fancy but perfectly legible. Stan didn’t even need to read it to know who it was from.

“What the hell are you laughing at so loudly?”

That made him laugh even harder. He scribbled a quick response and handed it to Kyle, who sat beside him. Kyle was pretending to pay attention to the teacher but casually extended his palm, waiting.

“butters’ drawing of cartman
wanna see?”

Kyle raised his eyebrows.

“Sure”

Stan tore off the doodle from Butters’s note – which had since been returned to him without another reply. He figured they’d talk more during the break anyway. He actually felt a bit guilty about pushing him and decided to wait until Butters wanted to share. Knowing him, that wouldn’t take long.

He wrapped the doodle in the post-it, handed it to Kyle, and watched his reaction. Kyle carefully unfolded the paper with the delicacy of someone holding a baby bird, looked at it for a moment, expressionless, and then his face shifted into something between suppressed laughter and disbelief. He twirled his pen once between his fingers – a move Stan had seen a thousand times, yet it still impressed him – and scribbled back. The doodle came fluttering back with the post-it.

“This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen”

“right?? i think i’m gonna keep it in my phone case
never realized it before but his head really DOES look like a potato”

“XD
Ff you ask me, the guy is a potato”

“ENOUGHH
i’m gonna start laughing out loud…
it’s already so hard not to”

“My bad”

“i might forgive you
speaking of potatoes, wanna grab food after school? i’d kill for some fries
it’s been ages since we hung out anywhere but home
plus that jerk’s probably starving for fast food by now”

“I’m in”

“sweet
then there’s only one thing left to do”

“Which is?”

“survive this hellhole”

“Don’t play the martyr, it doesn’t suit you”

“>:(”

“It’s just six classes today. You’ll live.”

“and what if i don’t? what if the crushing pressure makes me go dig my own grave in the back yard?”

“Then I’ll dig you back out.”

“you’re such a sweetheart”

“I know, thanks”

“seriously ky i’m going insane”

“You’re not. Just hold on to the comforting thought that the coming months will be even worse.”

“why do i even talk to you”

Reading the last note, Kyle looked up, pretending to be offended. Their eyes met – Stan just grinned and shrugged, watching him for a long while as Kyle turned back to his paper to write one final reply.

“Because without me, you wouldn’t survive”

Beside the sentence was a doodle of Stan wearing his hat, with X’s for eyes. The message was obvious.

“r u dead?”

“Go on, tell me I’m wrong”

“fine
maybe you’re right”

“Knew you’d admit it eventually”

“asshole”

Kyle drew a tiny heart next to Stan’s last message. Stan stared at it blankly for a long time, his thoughts only interrupted by the bell – and Kyle himself, who stopped beside his desk, leaned on it, and looked at him with a raised brow and a grin.

“Lost in thought, warrior?”

“Yeah,” Stan rubbed his eyes, folded the paper carefully, and slipped it into his pocket, silently praying it wouldn’t get crumpled.

“Happens a lot lately. Everything okay?”

“Sure,” Stan nodded, flashing a wide, genuinely happy smile to chase away Kyle’s concern. “School’s just driving me nuts.”

Kyle chuckled. He waited for Stan to shove his stuff into his backpack, then slung an arm over his shoulder as they headed out of the classroom together.

“No one’s ever died from a little studying,” he said casually. “You won’t either.”

Someone always has to be first, Stan thought. He ignored the strange, electric tingle where Kyle’s arm pressed against his shoulder, and the tight knot in his throat, as he reached into his pocket to make sure the note was still there.

As soon as Stan stepped into the locker room, he was hit by its unmistakable smell. He could practically see and hear Clyde and Token chasing each other with towels – God knows why – and other similar memories crept into his mind, but he decided not to dwell on them. Instead, he changed into the school-issued gym uniform – which consisted of dark blue track pants with white stripes down the sides and a white T-shirt, both stamped with the school’s name and logo – slipped on his sneakers, and sat down, just watching the chaos around him while his thoughts ran wild.

He’d been in the same class with these guys since he was six, and somehow that realization startled him. They’d watched each other grow up, and while the years spent in the same classrooms felt fleeting – like everything had happened in the blink of an eye –, it also meant they’d spent a lot of time together. He remembered learning to read and write side by side, kicking a ball around during recess, pulling disgusted faces through their first biology lessons, and joining the soccer and basketball teams together – both of which lasted only a year because of an unusually high number of “accidents.” They never figured out why, though they had a pretty solid suspicion, given that Butters was the one who ended up hurt about seventy percent of the time. And now here they were, high school juniors, in the same environment as eleven years ago. The thought was somehow both overwhelming and… comforting?

He laughed as Cartman threw his shoe at Kyle’s chest and Kyle immediately chucked it back. He caught snippets of Craig and Clyde’s “deep conversation” – which mostly consisted of Clyde bragging about some girl he’d recently hooked up with while Craig pretended to care. Stan got so lost in people-watching that he didn’t even notice Kenny had sat down next to him, rolling up the hem of his sweatpants.

“What’s up?” Kenny asked, practically yanking Stan out of his thoughts before he could get completely lost in them. “You’ve been unusually quiet. Not just today, lately, too.”

That was the second time someone had mentioned this today, and Stan couldn’t help wondering why.

“I’m fucking tired,” he finally admitted, curling his lips into a faint smile and glancing at Kenny. “Guess I’m out of practice with this whole school thing.”

“You’re telling me?” Kenny snorted, fiddling with his earring. His laugh was loud and a little raspy – the kind that made people smile without meaning to. “For the past two weeks, I’ve been sprinting every damn morning just to make it by the second period. My lungs are probably plotting suicide, and my mom’s plotting murder, because she has to keep calling in my absences. Like it’s my fault my brain just filters out the sound of the alarm…” he muttered, and Stan wasn’t sure if Kenny was talking to him or just venting to himself. Either way, it was entertaining as hell.

“Look on the bright side! That makes you the coolest one out of all of us,” Stan grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Think about it – you’re the always-late guy who doesn’t give a shit about school. So chill. The girls are into that.”

He could almost see it – Kenny swaggering into school in the middle of the day, thick chains around his neck, shiny rings on his fingers, sunglasses perched on his messy dark blond hair, ignoring all responsibilities and flirting with every cute girl in the hallway.

“Damn right. At least they’ve got good taste,” Kenny said, hopping off the bench and holding out a hand to pull Stan up. “Come on, Marsh. Not trying to be late again.”

They’d all changed over the years, but maybe Kenny had changed the most. Stan kind of felt like he was a completely different person on the outside, but on the inside, he’d just shed a layer – a mask he’d used to hide who he really was.

On the surface: he’d barely worn his orange parka since he was eleven – he claimed he’d outgrown it, though that wasn’t entirely true, since he still wore it nostalgically now and then, like on the first day of school, which he justified by calling it an “important personal tradition”, and since he was Kenny, no one questioned it –, these days he wore boots, hand-me-downs from his brother, and thrift-store finds. A thin silver chain hung around his neck, and he always smelled faintly of cheap cologne, but in a good way. His hair was long at the nape and over his forehead, always falling into his eyes, which were such a deep brown they almost looked black. His gaze could be so piercing that it still startled Stan sometimes – but paired with that bright, almost childlike smile, it was a perfect reflection of his true nature.

Inside, though, Kenny had become less of a mystery. Every year, he showed a little more of himself. By now, Stan could pretty much sketch a psychological profile. Kenny was brutally honest – spoke and acted before thinking, which could be a problem, but usually worked in everyone’s favor. Stan didn’t even want to count – not even in his head –, how many times that impulsiveness had saved his ass in awkward situations. He was emotionally sharp, trustworthy, and absolutely the kind of guy who’d take people’s secrets to the grave. He adapted easily – picked up other people’s words and gestures without realizing, and could fit in anywhere because he could talk about anything. Stan was convinced Kenny had always been like that, it had just taken him a while to crawl out of the shell he’d built to protect himself. Kids could be cruel. They were cruel. Especially to Kenny. Stan always hated himself a little when he remembered that, once upon a time, he’d been one of them.

He was grateful for their friendship now.

Mere minutes later, he was holding a volleyball. Everyone had paired off, tossing the ball back and forth. It looked like it was going to be a chill gym class, and for that, Stan was immensely thankful.

“Ready?” he asked, though it felt like someone else had forced the words out of him. His voice sounded oddly distant.

“Sure,” Butters smiled. His long legs made the sweatpants ride a little short at his ankles, but he didn’t seem to care. “Honestly, I’m just glad we don’t have to run around in circles like idiots…” he added, lowering his voice as he glanced around to make sure no one besides his friends had heard him.

“Yeah, same,” Kyle nodded, bumping the volleyball up with a forearm pass. His uniform looked a little too big on him, and he kept tugging at his shirt after every move. “Still weird, though. Mr. Williams isn’t exactly known for going easy on students.”

Mr. Williams was a broad-shouldered, tall man in his forties with a whistle hanging around his neck – which he loved to use –, and an even greater love for yelling. When he did, his eyes bulged, his face turned red, and the veins in his neck popped out, so naturally, the students called him Tomato behind his back.

“Guess somebody finally shoved a stick up his ass the right way,” Cartman said, catching the ball and tossing it lazily above his head as he spoke. “I was getting real tired of him acting like he’s got a fucking broom handle up there instead of a spine.”

“Well, who knows what he gets up to in the equipment closet after we’ve gone home,” Kenny added thoughtfully, hopping on one leg while adjusting his pant leg, which somehow was too long for him, even though he wasn’t short. “Just imagine it…”

“I don’t want to imagine it!” Butters groaned. “Ew, Kenny! Jesus!”

“Pretty sure he just takes care of business with his right hand,” Stan said, adding another log to the fire – and that was it. Seconds later, all five of them were laughing uncontrollably, gasping for air between snorts as they piled on more ridiculous comments.

It was, without question, the most fun they’d ever had in gym class.

“Coming to lunch?” Kyle asked. It was his turn to lean against his locker while Stan packed his things.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I?” came the reply from behind the metal door separating them. Once Stan made sure the little notes they’d been passing during classes – there were more of them now; apparently, it had become their new shared hobby – were safely tucked away, he shut his locker and locked it.

“I don’t know, I just wanted to ask you something,” Kyle shrugged. “It’s hard to get anything out of you lately.”

There it was again – that sentence.

Stan sighed quietly; it wasn’t like he could help what was happening inside him. Oh, how he wished he could control his emotions, silence them – how beautiful life would be then. But it wasn’t that simple. Talking about it was even harder.

He wished he could tell Kyle everything. Tell him that sometimes something invisible squeezed his throat and pressed on his chest so hard he couldn’t speak. That his heart ached for change, for the chance to get rid of that hollow, cold emptiness that followed him every hour of every day and never left him alone. He wanted to tell him about the self-destructive thoughts, the shouting voices in his head that never stayed quiet, not for a second. He wanted to ask for help – what to do with this longing for a home he’d never lived in, for a touch he’d never felt, for a peace he’d never known, built on silence and calm. But he couldn’t. Something held him back. Something in those emerald-green eyes, something Stan couldn’t name. And it suffocated him – in every waking moment.

“Sorry, there’s nothing to talk about,” he said finally, blinking tiredly. 

Their eyes met, and Stan’s heart clenched.

“That’s okay,” Kyle smiled, in that way only he could.

As they started walking toward the cafeteria, Kyle launched into a story, and Stan listened. He paid attention to every word – noticed how Kyle’s voice sometimes dipped in that funny way, just like his mom’s, and how beautifully articulate he was. He laughed at the jokes sprinkled throughout, smiled at the little details, and suddenly realized he didn’t have to force the expression anymore. His face muscles took over, he was smiling because he couldn’t not smile, not because he wanted to convince others he was okay.

Kyle was both poison and cure.

By the time they reached their usual table with trays in hand, the others were already there, deep in a heated discussion about their chemistry teacher. The two boys joined in immediately, naturally sharing in the collective hatred. And for Stan, this was another one of those moments when his heart could relax a little – when nothing needed to be serious. He laughed, cursed, and grinned just like the others. He didn’t feel like an outsider for having inexplicable, dark thoughts inside him. It filled him with something almost like light. Suddenly, everything he’d felt before seemed ridiculous. Pathetic. He couldn’t understand why he’d ever blamed Kyle for his own sadness… Kyle made him happy. Just like the others did.

“Remember when we TP’d that bitch’s house?” Cartman reminisced, as if it were a fond childhood memory.

“No, I don’t, and neither do you, because that never happened,” Kyle said firmly. “We are never talking about that incident again, because we only heard about it, we didn’t do it, and we have no idea who did.”

“Jesus, who shoved a stick up your ass? Was it you, Stan?” Cartman asked, mouth full. His priorities were simple: food first, manners second. “Congrats, that’s a relationship milestone! When’s the baby coming? Can I be the godfather? Only if it’s not Jewish. Or ginger.”

“Cartman, shut up,” Stan growled, though there was a faint, involuntary smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Nooo!” Cartman stuck out his tongue.

“Anyway, I’d obviously be the kid’s godfather,” Kenny said proudly. “I deserve it.”

“Well, I’d like to apply for the position,” Butters added with a sunny smile, glancing at Kenny as if he were a real rival. Naturally, Kenny didn’t let it slide, and the two began a playful argument while Cartman rolled his eyes and stuffed his face.

Stan and Kyle, sitting opposite them, exchanged a look of disbelief.

“I can’t believe this,” Kyle muttered, his face radiating genuine astonishment. “I can’t believe they’re actually arguing about this.”

“I think it’s hilarious,” Stan chuckled. Kyle tilted his head to the side and smiled – not his usual smile, but a softer one. The kind he’d worn that rainy afternoon they’d spent together.

“You’re finally smiling for real,” he said quietly. His voice was soft – almost strangely soft – and the words hit Stan’s chest like a blade. “It’s nice seeing you like this.”

Suddenly, nothing else at the table mattered. Not the chaos, not the laughter – only Kyle. Only him, and this surreal feeling that a single comment could bring peace to his heart, even for just a second. He couldn’t stop smiling; his face felt warm, maybe even flushed, and his eyelids no longer felt so heavy. But the strangest thing was the silence in his head – complete, blessed silence. For the first time in a long while, he could think clearly.

It was just one sentence. One small remark that might’ve meant nothing to Kyle, but to Stan, it meant the world.

“Look at them, being gay as hell again,” Cartman declared, shattering Stan’s fragile peace. Stan wanted to strangle him for that. “Can’t even eat in peace anymore…”

“You finished your food five minutes ago, fatass,” Kyle snapped, his tender smile replaced by an exasperated scowl.

“How could you say that?” Cartman gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “How could you?”

It was the second argument at the table in under six minutes, and this time, there was nothing to distract Stan from it. So he just ate – as much as his tightened stomach allowed – and listened to the chaos.

There wasn’t much else he could do.

If there was one thing Stan really respected about his friends, it was that – unlike him – they didn’t give a single damn about people staring at them. They stayed just as loud even when every head turned their way, when the disapproving looks tried to burn holes into the backs of their necks. For a long time, Stan couldn’t handle that. He’d always apologize or send awkward, apologetic glances toward whoever was around, hoping they wouldn’t be mad. But now… he didn’t really care anymore. Most of the time, anyway. He’d accepted that they wouldn’t be teenagers forever, and they had every right to enjoy themselves while they still could. Anyone judging them for that could go rot for all he cared.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely true. The embarrassment still bubbled somewhere inside him, but nowhere near as badly as before.

“So? What’s everyone getting?” Kyle asked, poking at the screen where they could place their orders. There were already a few things in the basket – a full three-course gourmet meal for Cartman and Kyle’s own lunch of choice.

“I kinda feel like a chicken burger,” Butters mused. “Or should I get nuggets?”

“I’ve got a coupon for the twenty-piece nuggets,” Kenny said, tapping on the fast food app on his phone. “I’ve saved up enough points to get them almost for free. We can split if you want.”

Butters happily agreed, and once Kenny scanned the QR code – gently nudging Kyle aside – they started debating which sauces to get.

The smell of grease hung thick in the air. Almost every table was taken, and everyone seemed louder than usual, but Stan tried not to think about it. Instead, he focused on Cartman and Kyle, who, surprisingly, were having a calm discussion about whether bacon belonged on burgers or not. It didn’t happen often that they spoke to each other without radiating pure hatred, but moments like this always lifted Stan’s mood. Sometimes it felt like he was the only one holding their five-person friend group together – but now, there was hope, and that made him happy.

“Can you guys throw in a cheeseburger combo for me, please?” he called to Kenny, who nodded.

“What drink?”

“Coke Zero.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. A caramel sundae.”

“Make that two,” chirped Kyle. “But I want a strawberry flavoured one.”

Stan raised an eyebrow and grinned.

“Strawberry? Seriously?”

“What, got a problem with that?” Kyle asked, half-distracted.

“No, it’s just–”

“Just that you’ve got no taste.”

“Neither of you do. Chocolate’s obviously the best,” Cartman cut in, clearly done with staying quiet. “No point arguing if you’re both wrong.”

All three of them immediately started arguing their case, while Butters paid with his phone, took the receipt, and headed off with Kenny to find a seat.

“Guys, there’s an empty one over there,” he pointed toward a round table in the back. “Let’s take it before someone else does!”

They sat down one by one, and Butters placed the order number stand right in the middle, turning it so the workers could see it clearly. Stan couldn’t help but laugh to himself – it was number forty-three, exactly the same as Kyle’s locker number.

“Hey! You’re crushing me!” Cartman suddenly complained once he realized he’d been wedged between Stan and Kenny. He clutched his chest and started wheezing like he was having a heart attack – an absolutely hilarious sight, so of course everyone burst out laughing.

“Not our fault you’re fat,” Kyle smirked from the end of the table.

In response, Cartman flipped him off, but before he could actually snap back, their trays of food arrived, and naturally, all five boys dove right in. For a while, no one spoke; only the faint sounds of chewing, slurping, and crumpling wrappers broke the peaceful silence.

Stan took small bites of his cheeseburger and occasionally looked up to take in the others. It was strange, watching them drift into their own little worlds, and he caught himself wondering what might be running through their heads. Did they feel the same subtle shift in the air that he did, or were they just replaying the day in their minds? Did they notice how much everything – and everyone – had changed, or did they never stop to think about life’s dull, incomprehensible weirdness?

The curiosity gnawed at him quietly.

Later, when they walked home – full, content, and sleepy – Stan glanced up at the sky. It was late. The stars had already appeared, and there weren’t any clouds to hide them. The moon was in its first quarter, bright enough that Stan could’ve sworn it was trying to say something to him.

“You guys free tomorrow afternoon?” he asked. His thoughts were back on the things any normal teenage boy would think about. “We could play again.”

“I’m down,” Kenny nodded, kicking a small rock ahead of him and trying to see how far he could send it.

“You can come over to my place again if you want,” Cartman offered. “Just bring a controller.”

Everyone agreed, and Stan felt genuinely happy about it. One more afternoon he didn’t have to spend alone – far from the others, far from the noise in his own head.

Kyle glanced his way and shook his head with a faint, teasing smile.

“Welcome back to us,” he said with a playful edge in his voice. “Don’t disappear into your head again, Stan Marsh. This version of you suits you better.”

Stan’s heart skipped a beat. He kicked a rock in front of him and watched it roll alongside Kenny’s.

“I’ll try.”

Chapter Text

"Three… two… one… go!"

Stan glanced at the clock in the corner of his phone. It was midnight, which meant Butters was officially eighteen, and naturally, they had to be the first to wish him a happy birthday – so they were on call, waiting for the clock to strike twelve.

"Did you send it?" Stan asked excitedly.

"Yup," Kyle replied. "I assume you did too?"

"Uh-huh." Stan nodded. The glow of his screen lit up his face, wiping out every trace of sleepiness. "Still, it’s totally unfair that Butters is the oldest out of all five of us."

"Yeah, no kidding," Kyle agreed. His voice carried a nostalgic tone, like he was remembering something. "Sometimes I still think about how pathetic he used to be, and how much we teased him for it."

"Don’t even mention it, I think about that all the time. Poor guy… I hope we never hurt him too badly."

Kyle let out a soft laugh.

"I love how you take that stuff so personally," he said, and even though Stan couldn’t see his face, he knew Kyle was smiling. "I’ve always been jealous of that."

"Why?"

"Because you’re so empathetic. You actually feel for people. You can regret the smallest mistakes and carry other people’s problems like they’re your own. I think that’s rare, and really admirable."

"I just use that to make up for my lack of common sense," Stan said, trying to ease the heaviness that had settled in his chest.

"Oh, come on. You’re not stupid. Not even close."

"Still, I’ll never measure up to you…"

"And honestly, that’s kind of perfect. I’m the logic, you’re the heart. We balance each other out."

"Guess that’s why we’re best friends," Stan grinned, glancing at Kyle’s profile picture, and then his own below it. Both were photos of them, and together they looked… perfect. Like puzzle pieces that were always meant to fit.

"Exactly."

A few – seemingly endless – seconds of silence passed.

"Guess what," Kyle finally broke it. "I’m taking a test on Saturday."

"A test? For what?"

"The practical driving test. If I pass, I’ll get my license."

"Are you serious?" Stan yelped, louder than he meant to. He slapped a hand over his mouth and glanced toward the door, praying he hadn’t woken his parents, then continued in a whisper. "And you didn’t tell me sooner? Why not?"

"I don’t know… I think it would’ve been too much pressure if you guys knew. You know, once you tell your friends something like that, everyone expects everything to go perfectly… like you’ll pass your first try, three months after starting to study, and then you’ll already have your license, and we’ll be those cool guys blasting music in the drive-thru. You get me?"

Stan pictured the scenario and grimaced. Yeah, that was exactly what would’ve happened, and he’d have been one of the people nagging Kyle every day about it.

"Yeah. You did the right thing," he admitted. "But… you’re not done yet. So why tell me now?"

"Because I know you wouldn’t give me shit if I failed. I like the others too, and we’re good. Surprisingly, I don’t even want to brutally murder Cartman as often anymore," Kyle said with a thoughtful tone. "But sometimes I feel like they don’t take me seriously. That’s why there are things I only share with you. Because I know you wouldn’t laugh."

"Fair," Stan nodded. The trust Kyle placed in him warmed his chest and filled him with pride. "Same goes for me."

Silence settled again, the comfortable kind.

"I only passed the written test on my third try," Kyle confessed suddenly. "Since I’m spilling everything tonight, might as well add this too."

"You’re hardcore," Stan laughed.

"Hey, I spend my whole life trying to seem like I’ve got my shit together. Sometimes I deserve to tell the one person I trust most in the world that I’m not perfect."

"You might not be perfect, but you’re pretty damn close," Stan said before he could stop himself – and didn’t regret it one bit. He’d always looked up to Kyle.

"Wow, I’m honored," Kyle chuckled. "Glad to know the effort isn’t wasted."

"It never is."

"Wanna hear about the emotional trauma I went through before I failed?"

"Of course!"

So Kyle began to tell him, at length, in full detail. Everything, from getting lost on the way to realizing he’d left his ID at home. Both of them laughed through the whole story.

"But seriously, good thing we got there two hours early," Kyle said between laughs. "My mom had to drive all the way back for them, and I just sat there alone in some random building in Denver, taking personality quizzes like ‘What animal were you in your past life?’ Maybe I failed because I got dolphin and it freaked me out five minutes before the test."

Stan could easily picture it. It was such a Kyle thing to happen.

"Yeah, that checks out," he agreed, laughing.

"The second time, I was probably just too sick. I argued with my dad all morning that I didn’t have a fever, and during the test I was blowing my nose every two minutes. Failed, went home, and was bedridden for a week. You probably remember, it was in July."

"Right, I think I do," Stan mused. "Wasn’t that when we were supposed to go to the water park?"

"Yep."

That day had been a total disaster. Since Kyle was out, the rest of them went without him. Kenny stepped on a wasp, Butters had his brand-new Adidas slides stolen, their favorite slide was closed because a six-year-old cracked his head on it, and in the end, Stan ended up at Kyle’s house because he’d had enough of everything. What a day.

"Yeah, you didn’t miss much," Stan grimaced.

"I remember how pissed off you were when you showed up," Kyle laughed. "I had to tell you to slow down ‘cause I couldn’t understand a word."

"Probably because I barged in while you were literally dying from that virus…"

"It’s fine if that’s what you’re worrying about. I was bored out of my mind anyway."

"You could’ve told me to come over more often."

"I didn’t want you to catch it too."

"Aw, how considerate."

"Oh, shut up…"

It was a little past two-thirty, but neither of them felt tired. At least Stan didn’t, and from Kyle’s voice, he didn’t either. They kept talking, sometimes even overlapping – always resolving it with a laugh, just like they always did.

The crescent moon shone through Stan’s window so brightly that he felt like he was glowing. For a brief moment, he wondered if Kyle’s curtains were open too, if the moonlight was spilling onto his face, and whether the faint freckles there looked like constellations. Then he yawned – loudly enough that Kyle probably heard it.

"It’s getting late," came Kyle’s voice from the phone. "Aren’t you tired?"

The answer was obvious, but honestly, Stan didn’t want this conversation to end.

"A little," he admitted, half-truthfully. "But not really. Hey, Ky…"

"Hm?"

"We should go get Butters a birthday present tomorrow. We’re celebrating Friday, and we still have zero ideas."

"I know, but I have no clue what to get him," Kyle sighed. "I suck at gifts."

"I’m lost too, if that helps."

"Not even a little, but I appreciate the effort."

"Thanks, dude…"

"We could brainstorm now," Kyle suggested. "Let’s see… what does he like?"

"Rabbits?"

"No way. We’re not getting him a live rabbit."

"Flowers?"

"That person he’s into can get him those."

"Lego?"

"Now we’re getting somewhere!"

"Oh my god, I’ve got it!" Stan clapped his hands together proudly, louder than he intended, but at this point he didn’t care. He’d been laughing for three hours; if that hadn’t woken his parents, nothing would. "That new Star Wars Lego set he showed us at the mall! You know which one!"

"Jabba’s sail barge? The one with, like, a dozen minifigs?"

"That’s the one!"

"Stan, that’s insanely expensive."

"I know, but imagine how happy he’d be! He deserves it, doesn’t he?"

Kyle sighed deeply – and even though Stan couldn’t see him, he knew he was smiling. He also knew he’d won this battle.

"I give in to you way too easily."

"You’re just considerate of your friends. Not the same thing."

"Fine, we’ll get it tomorrow," Kyle said. "We’ll split it – half you, half me. Maybe that way it’ll hurt less."

"Is that your personality or your Jewish blood talking?"

"I would say something, but I don’t want to hurt your fragile little heart. Let’s just say I’m offended and will remain that way until you’re on your knees begging for forgiveness."

"Yeah, sure…"

Kyle didn’t answer, and Stan wondered how long he could keep quiet. He rolled onto his back, placed the phone on his chest, and tucked his hands behind his head like he was sunbathing, waiting for Kyle to break.

"...Okay, I forgive you."

Two minutes. That’s all it took, and Stan found that absolutely hilarious.

"That was fast…"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

"You’re impossible," Kyle huffed, and Stan grinned. "You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?"

"What, exactly?"

"Getting on my nerves."

"You have no idea how much," Stan laughed. "You’re cutest when you’re grumpy."

Of course, that wasn’t true, but Kyle didn’t need to know that.

"You’re awful. Absolutely awful."

"Hehe, I know."

Kyle didn’t respond right away. A few quiet moments passed.

"It’s quarter to four," he finally said.

Stan’s eyes widened. He checked his phone – Kyle wasn’t lying. Outside the window, the sky was no longer pitch black but a dark blue, and the stars weren’t shining quite as bright.

"Oh, crap," he muttered. "This is gonna hurt as fuck."

"No kidding," Kyle agreed. "I think it’s time we call it a night."

"Yeah."

"Well then… good night, Stan."

"Good night, Ky. Sleep as long as you can," Stan chuckled softly, then ended the call, set his phone on the nightstand, and closed his eyes. Sleep took him almost instantly.

Morning really was painful. When Stan’s phone started buzzing and playing its obnoxious tune to signal it was time to get up, he groaned, silenced it, and started blinking rapidly just to keep himself awake. His limbs felt heavy, his body sluggish, and dragging himself to the bathroom took more effort than it should’ve. One glance in the mirror didn’t help either – dark purple circles framed his eyes, his hair stuck out in every direction, and his expression screamed of someone who hadn’t slept in days.

He splashed cold water on his face in a desperate attempt to wake up, all while cursing himself internally. Sure, staying up late to talk to Kyle had been great – honestly, it always was – but he really should’ve seen this coming. Skipping school wasn’t an option; his parents would never agree, and the teachers had finally hit their stride after the lazy first weeks of September. Falling behind now meant risking the fragile balance of his halfway-decent grades. His only choice was to pull himself together in half an hour, and he hated every second of it.

The moment he stepped outside, the cold autumn wind slapped him across the face. It was chillier than usual, which did nothing to improve his mood. He trudged down the sidewalk, grumbling, until a familiar voice called out his name behind him. Turning around, he saw Kyle coming to a stop, slightly breathless but grinning wide.

“Next time, pay attention, will you? Don’t make me yell my lungs out,” Kyle straightened up, taking quick, shallow breaths – clearly, he’d been running the whole way. “Anyway, good morning. I thought we could walk to school together.”

“Good morning to you too,” Stan said, putting way too much emphasis on good. “But, Ky… how the hell do you not look like complete crap?”

Kyle honestly looked like he’d slept a full eight hours last night. No dark circles, bright eyes that sparkled in the early sunlight, that bouncy energy in his voice – it wasn’t fair. He was practically glowing, lightly bouncing on his feet as if he couldn’t stand still. There was zero sign of exhaustion, and Stan couldn’t wrap his head around it.

“I don’t know,” Kyle shrugged cheerfully. “I don’t usually sleep as much as you do, and I need less rest in general. Probably just that.”

Stan thought about it. It was true; whenever they had sleepovers, Kyle was always the first one awake, while Stan was the one dragging himself out of bed hours later.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he admitted. “Still, it’s not fair.”

“Guess that’s just tough luck for you,” Kyle chuckled, then started rummaging through his overstuffed side bag. He pulled out a can of coffee and handed it over. “Here. Maybe this’ll wake you up.”

“Love you dude,” Stan mumbled.

Kyle laughed softly at the remark.

They walked down the sidewalk together, talking nonstop. With every step, Stan felt himself waking up a little more – the wind didn’t sting as much, and though his skin still prickled with goosebumps, he barely noticed. His stomach was tight and empty, but who cared? Right now, the only thing that mattered was keeping up with Kyle’s dumb jokes, which for some reason were way funnier than they should’ve been.

By the time they reached their lockers, a small crowd had already gathered there, enough that Stan couldn’t even see the locker numbers past the cluster of heads. He and Kyle squeezed their way through until he caught sight of a familiar pair of bright blue eyes. Butters was standing in the middle of the chaos, wearing a cardboard crown and smiling wider than Stan had ever seen him smile. And Stan had seen him smile a lot.

“Happy birthday!” he said, throwing an arm around Butters’ shoulders (or as close as he could reach) and giving him a playful shake. “How’s it feel to be eighteen?”

“Well, not all that different,” Butters said thoughtfully. “I still feel just the same as yesterday. Maybe with one little exception…” He leaned down to whisper in Stan’s ear, “I feel a lot happier than I did yesterday. Thanks. Really.”

A moment later, Kyle swooped in to interrogate the birthday boy about whether he felt any older or wiser now, and just like that, Stan was left out of the spotlight. He crossed his arms and smiled, watching as Butters was surrounded by friends and laughter, thinking that he completely, one hundred percent deserved every bit of it. Suddenly, he couldn’t wait for Friday night, when they’d all celebrate properly.

Three minutes before the bell, only Kyle, Butters, and Kenny were still hanging around the lockers. Cartman had called in “sick” for the week – though he’d sworn he’d show up for the party, so everyone knew he was just skipping classes. That meant the whole group was actually present for once, which was rare enough that Stan couldn’t help but notice.

“Kenny, what are you even doing here this early?” Kyle asked before Stan could. It took him a second, but then it clicked – he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Kenny at school before first period.

Kenny shrugged.

“Actually managed to wake up to my damn alarm for once,” he grinned. “And no way I was missing Butters’ birthday.” He nodded toward the tow-headed boy, who smiled back, and Stan could swear his ears turned a little pink.

“That’s sweet,” Kyle nodded. “Anyway, I’m just glad we’re all here. Most of our classes are together today, so I’m looking forward to you guys annoying the hell out of me while I’m trying to actually learn things.”

“Quit it!” Stan laughed. “Come on, let us have some fun while we still can!”

Their math class was anything but fun.

Stan realized he had absolutely no idea what they were even learning. After about twenty minutes of silently listening in growing disbelief as their teacher explained something incomprehensible, his first thought was that he had no clue what he was doing in this class. His second was that he was definitely going to fail. And the third was that he had no idea how on earth he’d managed to pass the past few years at all.

He copied down every step from the board, and maybe for the first time in his life, he actually paid such close attention that he was practically drinking every word the teacher said, but still, he couldn’t understand a single thing. It was like his brain refused to process the connections. He never understood why, on some subconscious level, he resisted math so much – it honestly frustrated him. He could analyze a poem so easily, see the structure, the meaning, the flow… so why wouldn’t numbers show him how they connected? By what logic they merged and split apart? How did numbers turn into letters and then back into numbers as if nothing had happened, and why did they change shape mid-equation? Nothing made sense, and eventually he even gave up on taking notes. He set his pen down, leaving an unfinished equation halfway across the page, and just stared ahead, hoping that maybe if he focused hard enough, it would click.

“Can anyone tell me the final result?” asked their math teacher, Mrs. Taylor.

Mrs. Taylor was a kind woman in her thirties, endlessly patient. Stan could’ve sworn he’d like her a lot more if she weren’t so hopelessly in love with the subject she taught.

“Twenty-nine,” Kyle replied instantly.

Stan turned toward him, stunned. How the hell did Kyle manage to tame numbers like that – understand how they moved, shifted, changed form, and worked together?

“Very good!” Mrs. Taylor smiled. “Kyle, would you mind coming up and showing us your work on the board?”

Stan watched in disbelief as Kyle worked his magic with a piece of chalk. He still had no idea what was happening, but he did know why it was so easy for Kyle. Somehow, the numbers seemed to listen to him, bowing their heads in respect.

The rest of the class dragged on at a snail’s pace. Stan existed in a strange limbo – half-asleep from boredom and lack of rest, yet terrified that he’d never understand any of it. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard. At least, judging by everyone else’s faces around him, it clearly wasn’t.

He was certain the problem was him.

When the bell finally rang, he closed his notebook and just stared blankly ahead. He didn’t even notice Kyle standing next to him, waiting, until a hand waved right in front of his face. The classroom was empty now; everyone else had already left.

“Hello?” Kyle’s voice reached his brain in pieces. “Are you that wiped out, soldier?”

“Ky…” Stan mumbled, lifting his gaze to meet his friend’s face. “I’m gonna fail math.”

“No, you’re not!” Kyle laughed. “It really wasn’t that bad.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“Oh, come on, don’t tell me a few tricky equations beat you up that bad…”

“And what if they did? So what?” Stan suddenly jumped to his feet, shoving his things into his backpack. Every movement grew sharper, more frantic. “Not everyone can be a fucking genius like you, Kyle! Maybe try climbing down from that goddamn high horse once in a while!”

Silence fell between them – heavy, almost tangible. A strange look froze on Kyle’s face, a mix of shock and hurt. His green eyes went cold, distant.

“I’m sorry,” Stan whispered. Shame washed over him instantly. He had no idea why those words had slipped out, he didn’t mean them at all. He admired Kyle for being smart, maybe even envied him a little. But he’d never consciously thought about those things before. “I didn’t mean that…”

“No, no, you’re right,” Kyle said flatly.

“Come on, I didn’t mean it like that– I wasn’t–”

“Sorry, but I have to go work on myself,” Kyle cut him off. His tone was icy, colder than Stan had ever heard it. He turned around, slung his bag over his shoulder, and left the classroom.

Stan just stared after him, wishing he could cry. But no tears came – only that choking helplessness in his throat. He replayed the words in his head. His own words. Words he never wanted to say out loud. Words he’d never, ever throw at his best friend. So why had he? He didn’t know, and that ignorance ate him alive.

With a knot in his stomach, he sat down at his usual spot for their next class. Kyle didn’t look at him, not once. He was chatting with Kenny, who sat on his other side. The message was clear: he was mad. And Stan couldn’t blame him.

His head was spinning. He rubbed his face, thinking about only one thing: why? Why did he say things he didn’t mean? Why to the one person who mattered most in this entire world? Why did he take out his frustration and this inexplicable, rootless sadness on Kyle – the same person who’d always been there for him? Why couldn’t he control himself, his emotions, his words? Why did he keep hurting others when all he wanted was to help them, to be with them? Why did life have to play such a cruel joke on him?

He heard Kyle laugh beside him. His voice was just as bright and alive as always, as if nothing had happened – except he still wasn’t talking to Stan. Stan tried to act busy, to hide how lost and pathetic he felt. He spun his pen between his fingers – not as smoothly as Kyle, just awkwardly – and tried to distract himself from the incident, which was looping endlessly in his mind like a broken film reel.

Halfway through chemistry, he tore a small piece of paper from his notebook, scribbled a message, crumpled it, and tossed it onto Kyle’s desk. A reply came almost instantly.

“ky
still doing the shopping after school?”

“Yeah, we’ve gotta get everything for friday anyway”

“cool”

“Do you want anything else?”

“yeah”

“?”

“to apologize for what i said
i’m sorry, i have no idea what came over me, please believe me i didn’t mean any of it
i think it’s awesome you actually understand this stuff, i didn’t get a single thing :(“

Kyle sighed softly. He didn’t write anything back, just handed the crumpled paper to Stan again. He held his gaze for a few long seconds, then the corner of his mouth lifted into a small, barely-there smile.

“Apology accepted,” he whispered, just loud enough for Stan to hear, but soft enough that no one else would. “But only if you buy me something later.”

“Deal,” Stan nodded.

Suddenly, chemical bonds seemed a lot more interesting.

The cold September wind tousled both the black strands peeking out from under Stan’s hat and Kyle’s bright red curls. The mall was a little less than a twenty-minute walk from school, so they walked side by side, hands shoved into their pockets. Dark clouds gathered overhead in varying shades of gray, and it looked very much like rain was on the way.

“What do you wanna eat?” Stan asked after a while, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.

“I don’t care, as long as there’s a lot of it,” Kyle shrugged. “I’m starving to death.”

There was a playful tone to his voice, but it still sounded flatter than anything he’d ever said to Stan before. It was clear that they hadn’t really moved past what had happened at school, even though Stan wished they could just forget it. He wanted to take back those words so badly.

“Good,” he chuckled softly, trying to swallow the bitterness that wanted to rise in his throat.

They walked into the toy store together and immediately spotted what they were looking for. The Lego set sat proudly on the top shelf, massive and gleaming, and Stan decided it looked like it was sitting on a wooden throne just waiting for them. Then his eyes caught the price tag, and his face drained of color.

“This is gonna hurt,” Kyle groaned when he saw the number. “After this, the least Butters can do is worship us.”

“Oh, come on,” Stan laughed, carefully lifting the box from the shelf. “You’re not gonna die.”

“Yeah, hopefully,” Kyle muttered. A faint smile played at the corner of his lips, and Stan took that as a win.

After they paid, they sat down to eat. Kyle’s tray held a bowl of glass noodles with tofu and soy sauce from the recently opened pad thai place, while Stan’s had two giant, grease-soaked slices of pepperoni pizza. Stan almost felt guilty for the “trashy” food choice, then remembered that this was exactly how they’d always worked: complete opposites, in perfect harmony.

Kyle picked up his chopsticks, snapped them apart, and started eating in silence. A few red strands fell across his face, his green eyes fixed on his tray. The strong lights made his already faint freckles nearly disappear. He popped a piece of tofu into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully, then looked at Stan so intently, so searchingly, that Stan immediately looked away, embarrassed, unable to hold his gaze.

“If you want, I can tutor you in math,” Kyle said casually, then went back to eating.

Stan, with half a slice of pizza in his mouth, stared wide-eyed. He was so surprised he even forgot to chew for a moment.

“Seriously?” he asked after swallowing and washing the bite down with water.

Kyle nodded.

“I don’t want you to feel bad just because it doesn’t come easy. I think I could help, and I’m willing to, if you’ll let me.” His tone sounded strange, almost formal.

“Of course, that’d help a lot!” Stan nodded quickly. “Though honestly, that’s the least of my problems right now.”

He wiped his mouth with a napkin, leaned a little closer to Kyle, and continued:

“Are you still mad about what I said earlier?”

Kyle smiled faintly, shaking his head. His eyes sparkled playfully again, the same way they always did when they talked. His expression was familiar – alive and bright.

“I think what you said hurt you more than it did me,” he said cheerfully. “See? That’s what I mean. You take small things so personally and punish yourself for them like they’re some big tragedy.”

“So… you’re not mad?” Stan blinked, confused.

“No, of course not. Actually, you were right,” Kyle said, raising his hand to stop Stan from interrupting. “It happens a lot; I get so caught up trying to be the best that I forget about other people’s feelings. I need to work on that.”

“Well, I don’t know how much my opinion counts,” Stan said as if stating something as obvious as the season, “but I think you’re already the best. And about that high horse… you must have a great view from up there.”

“Wanna see it for yourself?” Kyle grinned.

“What?”

“The view.”

“Come again?”

“I’m gonna tutor you in math so you can climb up on that high horse one day and see for yourself. The air’s much cleaner up there,” Kyle laughed.

“Sounds good,” Stan nodded gratefully. “Though if I were you, I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I’m kind of… hopeless.”

“Oh, I don’t buy that for a second.”

“Well, you’ll see.”

It took them about half an hour to finish eating, mainly because they couldn’t stop talking. It felt like they’d worked everything out, and things were finally back to normal. People wandered around them, pop music played in the background, and there they were, sitting at a small two-person table on dark blue plastic chairs, with a Lego set that had eaten up two months of allowance between them – and everything felt perfect. Kyle gave Stan a crash course on how to use chopsticks, then handed him his bowl to finish off, and although the conclusion was that Stan, the die-hard carnivore, still didn’t like tofu, they had a great time. Just like old times.

When they were thirteen, they used to go to the mall all the time. Back then, they were sprouting their first stubborn pimples, growing like weeds, and their voices were cracking. They were in that awkward in-between stage, like most kids their age – torn between holding on to childhood and rushing to grow up. Because of that, they did a lot of reckless things and had deep, bizarre conversations about stuff kids that age could barely even comprehend.

“I’m gonna be a racecar driver,” Stan announced once while they were browsing in a toy store. He was holding a red racecar with silver stripes on the side, the coolest thing he’d ever seen.

“Good luck with that,” Kyle said, glancing over his shoulder while inspecting the board games. “I’m sure you’ll be great at it.”

“Yeah, I hope so,” Stan put the car back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and kept talking as he watched Kyle flipping through decks of cards. “But I’m not sure yet. Mom says it’s stupid since it doesn’t pay well and it’s dangerous. But Dad’s all for it. He said he’ll help me with whatever I want. He’s even gonna start teaching me to drive next year,” he added, excitement clear in his voice. “I can’t wait.”

“Sounds fun,” Kyle said, turning around with a deck of French playing cards in his hand. “Dad offered to teach me too, but I don’t want to drive.”

“Why not?”

“I’m scared of it, that’s all.”

“That’s fine! I’ll drive you everywhere,” Stan said with a big grin.

“I’d appreciate that,” Kyle chuckled softly.

“So what do you wanna be?”

They’d moved on to another aisle by then, examining plush toys with the seriousness of experts.

“Dad’s a lawyer, so I guess that,” Kyle shrugged. He was holding a pink rabbit by the ear but froze at the question. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Well, maybe you should. We’re practically adults already!”

“Not even close…”

“Sure we are. Next year’s high school, four years later college, and by then we should have a plan for what we wanna do, so we can pick a school based on that.” Stan tossed a small penguin plush in the air – it was about the size of his fist –, while keeping his gaze on Kyle. “There’s really nothing you’d like to do?”

“I don’t know… I guess not.”

“So, architecture it is, huh?” Stan asked later while rummaging through his backpack for his water bottle. “Got any water?”

“That’s the plan,” Kyle nodded, handing him his flask. “But honestly, I have no clue where I wanna study. There aren’t many universities in the state that appeal to me, but I don’t wanna move far from my family, especially since Ike’ll still be in high school then.”

“What about private colleges?”

“Not really. I’m not in the mood to spend my days surrounded by a bunch of snobs,” Kyle said, folding his arms as they stepped onto the escalator. It was time to head home. “And I don’t want to put that kind of financial pressure on my parents either. It’s already a lot that they’re paying for my driving lessons and are willing to help with college too. But anyway, that’s enough of that, it’s just stressing me out.” He sighed deeply. “You still have no plan?”

Stan shook his head.

“Not one that actually feels right,” he admitted as they stepped back into the wind. “But I think I want to work with people.”

“Yeah, that fits you. Even if you hadn’t said it, that’s what I would’ve guessed.”

Stan shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and looked up at the sky. The sun peeked out between the dark gray clouds, and despite the breeze, it was pleasantly warm. He pulled off his hat, stuffed it in his bag, and ran a hand through his messy hair. A yawn escaped him, then another, and he realized just how tired he was. After everything that had happened, his body must have forgotten he’d barely slept the night before – but now that things were good with Kyle again, exhaustion hit him hard. His eyelids were heavy.

“Well, good thing we’ve got plenty of time to figure that out,” he said, voice slow and drowsy as he stifled another yawn.

“No kidding,” Kyle nodded, then looked over at him and laughed. “What’s up, soldier? Tired?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Stan nodded. “I don’t think I’ve ever missed my bed this much.”

By the time they reached their street, the clouds had completely vanished, and the sun was shining so brightly it could’ve been summer. They stopped in front of the Marsh house and exchanged a glance. There was something in Kyle’s eyes – something Stan couldn’t quite name. Something special.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Stan said, tearing his gaze away from the green irises. “And for forgiving me.”

“Come on, what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?” Kyle smiled, in a joking manner only he could.

Stan didn’t want to say goodbye, so he didn’t. At that exact moment, both their phones buzzed in their pockets – Butters had sent a Discord message to their group, asking if anyone was down to play. They both checked it and replied almost simultaneously. Neither of them saw Cartman’s follow-up message accusing them of being in a “secret gay relationship,” because they were too busy with each other. In the least gay way possible, of course.

“Guess there’s no point saying bye,” Kyle laughed. “We’ll be hearing each other in like, two minutes.”

“That’s fine by me,” Stan shrugged. “I like it that way.”

They shared one last smile before Stan went inside, dropped his stuff on the floor of his room, sat at his desk, put on his headset, and turned on his computer.

It had been a much more eventful day than he’d expected, he thought. But he was glad it could end like this. With his friends.

Chapter Text

Stan sprawled out on the bed, his eyes half-lidded with sleep. The red-covered squared notebook he’d brought with him lay abandoned on the floor, looking like the last thing anyone wanted to deal with.

“So? Where did you get stuck?” Kyle asked, sitting down next to him on the bed.

“At the beginning,” Stan sighed. He pushed himself upright, ruffling his hair. “I don’t get it at all.”

“Okay, then I’ll explain. Trust me, math isn’t rocket science.”

“Do we really have to?” Stan groaned.

“Yes, we really have to. I’m not letting you fail,” Kyle said, picking the notebook up from the floor and flipping through it. “Or feel bad because you’ve fallen behind.”

Stan smiled in defeat.

“You know me too well.”

“That’s life,” Kyle said playfully with a shrug. “Now listen carefully, I’m only explaining this once.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a bit strict with me?”

“Life’s tough, soldier. You’ve got to rise to the challenge.”

“You’re terrible,” Stan laughed, sliding closer to him.

Now they were both looking at the notebook. Kyle had pulled out his own notes and a pen, ready to start explaining.

Stan stifled a yawn and listened, nodding occasionally or asking questions when something didn’t make sense. He didn’t feel like studying at all, but he knew he had to – and honestly, with Kyle explaining, it wasn’t so bad. Time seemed to move faster than it did in class. Maybe because, for once, he actually understood what was happening. Kyle wasn’t the least bit intimidated by numbers; he commanded them like loyal subjects – sorting, grouping, shuffling, combining, and breaking them apart with effortless precision, all while explaining patiently.

It took quite a few follow-up questions, some confused frowns, and two half-muttered “oh, for fuck’s sake”s, but eventually Stan felt like he finally got it.

“Okay, so now I divide both sides by six, right?” he asked, pen in hand.

“Right. But why are you doing that?”

“So I can get rid of the fraction. And then I’m left with eight, two times four, six squared…” Stan wrote down the numbers one after another. They all obeyed him. “And now I combine them.”

“And after that?”

“I guess I use the quadratic formula, because I’ve got all the components.”

Kyle nodded, pointing to an earlier problem.

“If it helps to know which letter stands for which number, you can line them up. Like this.” He took the pen from Stan’s hand and started writing again. “It helped me a lot,” he said, rearranging the numbers.

Stan nearly laughed at how neat Kyle’s handwriting looked next to his own messy scrawl.

“This way you’ll know that the one you wrote in the middle is the one you start the quadratic formula with. Then comes the plus sign, and the minus…”

“Then under the root it’s b squared, then four times a times c. Then a division line, and two times a,” Stan continued, his eyes fixed on the page.

“Exactly. You plug those into the calculator and work out the simplified equation.”

“In two ways?”

“If the result’s greater than zero, yes.”

“And if it’s not?”

“If it’s exactly zero, there’s only one solution. If it’s less than zero, there isn’t one. Know why?”

“Because you can’t take the square root of a negative number?”

“That’s right.”

“And why are we even learning this, again?”

Kyle blinked at him for a few seconds, then burst out laughing.

“I have no idea,” he admitted, shrugging. “Why, you don’t see the point?”

The teasing tone made Stan grin widely.

“Oh, sure I do!” he said, pretending to sound convinced. “I can’t think of anything better to do on a Saturday!”

“See? Life would be so boring without math.”

“Well, I don’t know… I’m pretty sure at Butters’s party last night we didn’t calculate how many glasses we drank of that insanely strong and disgustingly awful stuff.”

“I did.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Not public information,” Kyle said, shaking his head with a laugh. “I refuse to admit it. It’s a miracle I’m not hungover.”

“Yeah, same. I kinda want to check on Kenny…”

Last night they’d celebrated Butters’s eighteenth birthday – longer and harder than planned. There were only five of them, yet they’d managed to line up enough alcohol for twenty, all in plain view of Butters’s dad, who, instead of scolding them, added two more bottles to the pile. They didn’t waste time; after the presents (Butters had been ecstatic about the Lego, hugging both boys for about forty straight seconds), they got right to drinking.

Being teenage boys, they mixed everything with everything, and it took maybe two and a half hours for the effects to hit. By the time the clock struck 11:45, two of the five had already thrown up. They played a board game as an excuse to hurl drunk insults at each other, which quickly turned into a rule where they drank after every move – how much depending on whether they spent or earned money. Stan had never heard Butters swear so much in his life, but he honestly didn’t care; by then, he could barely remember what planet he was on. He’d stumbled home around 1:30, collapsed on his bed fully clothed, and didn’t notice until morning that something was pressing into his head. It was his shoe. He had no idea how it got there, and he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Yeah, me too,” Kyle nodded. “I think I’ll call him, make sure he eats something before he takes anything for his headache.”

“So caring,” Stan teased.

“Oh, shut up.”

Stan glanced down at the notebook, then back at Kyle.

“I don’t feel like doing math,” he declared. “Wanna play something instead?”

“We’ve got a test on Thursday. Are you sure about that?”

“Positive. I think I’ve got it now, we’ll see Monday. If not, you can explain it again,” Stan flashed him a wide grin, and Kyle rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Fine,” he said. “Deal.”

Kyle sat cross-legged while Stan lay on his stomach, both of them staring intently at the TV. Their fingers moved feverishly on the controllers as if their lives depended on it, and neither of them had the slightest idea how long they’d been playing.

Stan stuck his tongue out slightly and made his character take a few steps back to admire his creation.

“Tell me this isn’t the most beautiful house you’ve ever seen, Ky.”

Kyle, who was busy hacking away at zombies and skeletons in a cave, smiled in defeat.

“I’ll look in a second, just let me survive this first,” he muttered through clenched teeth. Two seconds later, a quiet “son of a bitch” escaped his lips, and his character respawned inside the house. “I give up,” he sighed, setting the controller down beside him. “I’m a terrible miner.”

Stan burst out laughing, glancing sideways. Kyle’s expression was somewhere between fury and utter defeat, his brows faintly furrowed.

“Then how about you start building the farm?” Stan suggested. “We can’t keep eating the meat I hunted last time while I was looking for wool. Plus, there’s a ton of seeds in one of the chests.”

“Which one?”

“I labeled all of them, so it should be the one called ‘agriculture.’ You’ll have enough for a while, at least two stacks.”

“Alright. I’ll make an iron hoe then, okay?”

“You’re wasting iron on that?”

“What else are we gonna use it for?”

“Fair point. Go for it.”

“By the way, the house really is nice,” Kyle said as his character ran around the flowery field where the structure stood. “Are you planning to build a second floor?”

“Yeah, just not now. I’ve got to go mining, since someone refuses to…”

“I’m not cut out for the fighting life,” Kyle grinned, picking up his freshly crafted hoe, some fences, and a handful of seeds. “Better to leave the hard work to the professional.”

“Oh, stop, you’ll make me blush…”

“Anyway, aren’t you hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat. My food bar’s getting pretty low.”

“I wasn’t talking about your character,” Kyle laughed. “Stan, are you hungry?”

“Oh,” Stan chuckled. “Now that you mention it, yeah, kinda.”

Kyle paused the game so nothing would attack them while they were gone, and they headed downstairs. The rest of the Broflovski family was already there: Sheila was bustling around in the kitchen, while Ike and Gerald sat on the couch watching some cartoons.

“Hey, boys!” Gerald greeted them cheerfully. His tone was far more enthusiastic than his expression, which said I am losing my mind watching this show. Stan had to bite back a grin. “How’s the studying going?”

“Good, I think,” Kyle said with a shrug, glancing at Stan for confirmation.

“I’d probably fail math without Kyle,” Stan laughed, nodding.

“Well, lucky you two have each other.”

Something about Gerald’s tone – subtle, suggestive – made Stan pause. He wasn’t sure why, but the comment made him wonder what he actually contributed to Kyle’s grades. Probably nothing.

Just then, Sheila peeked her head out of the kitchen, her hair tied up in a loose bun and her rosy face glowing with a smile.

“Here for lunch?” she asked brightly. Both boys nodded. “Two minutes and it’s ready. Would you mind setting the table?”

Stan tried to remember the last time he’d eaten lunch with Kyle’s family. Maybe their elementary school graduation. Usually Kyle ate at his place, not the other way around, so this felt oddly unfamiliar, despite the fact that he’d been visiting this house regularly for fourteen years. Hanging out in Kyle’s room was easy; that was practically his second home. But eating with the family… somehow felt intimate, in a way.

“You set the knife and fork backwards,” Kyle said with a quiet laugh, snapping Stan out of his thoughts. He was holding a stack of bowls, his face close to Stan’s.

“Ah, crap, you’re right,” Stan grinned. “What would I do without you…”

“I ask myself that sometimes.”

“You’re such a sweetheart!”

“I mean, what would you do without me.”

Stan frowned dramatically.

“Don’t get cocky,” he said, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me!”

“You’re excused,” Kyle teased, still smiling as he set the bowls down and crossed his arms.

Stan huffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“You’re insufferable…”

“You said that already!”

“What’s with you today?” Stan laughed. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

“Probably because he’s been looking forward to his driving test,” Sheila said as she set the soup pot on the table.

Kyle’s smile vanished in an instant, and he went pale.

“Oh my god,” he turned to his mom, eyes wide. “That’s today?”

“Yes, sweetie. Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“It completely slipped my mind!” Kyle yelped, hysterically. “What time?”

“Three o’clock. Boys, lunch!” Sheila called to Ike and Gerald, then started ladling soup into a bowl. “You know, you’ve been so scatterbrained lately. I’d appreciate it if you pulled yourself together, I’m tired of reminding you about everything.” Her voice was scolding but fond, amusement peeking through.

Kyle’s ears turned bright red.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pulling out a chair and sitting down.

During lunch, someone was always talking, and Stan found it strangely pleasant. In his own home, there was an unspoken rule: no talking while eating. Honestly, he was grateful for that rule – it spared him from listening to his parents. When they were all in one room, they were either arguing or flirt-teasing each other, both unbearable options. Here, though, the atmosphere was warm, laughter constant, and Stan felt almost like part of the family.

He couldn’t quite place the odd feeling that had hit him just before they all sat down.

“So, Stanley,” Gerald said, turning toward him. “How’s life treating you? How’s school?”

“Well… survivable, I guess,” Stan said thoughtfully. “Obviously I’d be happier if I didn’t have to go at all, but it’s manageable. Considering how much they scared us last year about how tough it’d be and how much work we’d have, I don’t really feel like it’s that bad,” He shrugged. “Though, to be fair, it’s only September. It’ll probably get worse.”

“It will get worse,” Kyle added. “Our teachers are just getting into their rhythm.”

“That sounds awful,” Ike commented flatly.

All four pairs of eyes turned toward the younger boy, who was stuffing a piece of meat, nearly the size of his head, into his mouth. Then they all burst out laughing.

“It is awful,” Stan agreed. “Don’t grow up, kid.”

Ike swallowed, took a big sip of juice, blinked a few times, then shrugged.

“I don’t plan to,” he said in a monotone. “I might end up like you.”

That sent everyone into even louder laughter, except for Stan, who shook his head.

“Is everyone against me today?” he muttered under his breath. “Listen, Ike,” he said, turning to the boy again. “When you’re my age, you’ll realize how cool I am. Just wait.”

Ike didn’t say anything, but his face made it perfectly clear he didn’t believe that for a second.

“Were we like this when we were twelve?” Kyle asked, grinning.

“Oh, no,” Sheila waved her hand. “You two were much worse.”

Gerald, who had just taken a sip of red wine, started coughing.

“She’s right,” he said once he was sure he wouldn’t choke. “You were absolute nightmares. The funny thing is, ten years ago I used to daydream about moments like this; when you’d be teenagers and we could laugh about it. Though back then, I wasn’t sure you two would even stay friends.”

Stan glanced sideways at Kyle, immediately thinking how impossible that sounded.

“I’m glad you did, though,” Gerald continued. “Now I finally get to tell you how difficult you were back then. Remember when we took you both camping in Texas for four days?”

The two boys exchanged a knowing grin. Of course they remembered.

“Oh my God. Jesus. Holy crap.”

Stan was lying on the bed again while Kyle paced nervously around the room, panic written all over his face.

“Ky, relax,” Stan said, smiling. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“No, it’s not! Oh my God, what if it all goes wrong from the very start? What if I can’t even move the damn car?” Kyle muttered, biting the corner of his lip. “Gas, brake, clutch… gas, brake, clutch…”

“You’re overreacting,” Stan said, sitting up on the bed. He tried to pack every ounce of empathy he had into his voice and his eyes. “You’ll be fine.”

“How do you know? How could you possibly know that?”

“Because you’re the best. At everything. If anyone’s getting their license today, it’s you.”

Kyle collapsed onto the bed beside him.

“Okay. Let’s assume you’re right,” he said quietly, staring at the floor. “If by some miracle–”

“The miracle would be if you failed. Chill out already,” Stan reached for Kyle’s hand and squeezed it. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’ll go there, get in that car, show them what you can do, and walk out with a license.” He said it like it was a simple fact.

Kyle looked down at their joined hands, then up at his face. His eyes were full of gratitude.

“Alright,” he sighed. “That’s what I’ll do.”

“Damn right,” Stan nodded back.

For a few seconds they just looked into each other’s eyes. Kyle’s features softened; he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

“You’re an animal,” Stan added with a grin.

“Yeah. I’m an animal,” Kyle smiled too, then his eyes flew open. “What time is it?”

Stan pulled his phone from his pocket.

“Two thirty,” he grimaced. “You have to go?”

“Guess I do,” Kyle sighed again.

They both went downstairs, where Sheila was already waiting. She spun the car keys around her finger and tapped her foot impatiently.

“I thought you’d never come,” she said with a smile, though her eyes were shooting daggers. “Shall we?”

“Yes, Mom.”

As soon as they got in the car and buckled up, Sheila turned to her son.

“Don’t forget to check your blind spot before you move. Be gentle with the clutch, ease it out slowly, don’t lift too fast or you’ll stall. Check if the steering feels smooth and the turn signal works–”

“I know!” Kyle snapped, fidgeting with his hands, radiating nervous energy. “Could you not mess with me right now?”

For a few seconds, only the quiet hum of the engine filled the air.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“I know. But don’t worry, you’ll do great.”

Sheila turned up the radio and didn’t speak again until they dropped Stan off.

“Come by again sometime, Stanley!”

“Sure,” Stan smiled. “Thanks for letting me hang out. Lunch was great.”

“Oh, it was nothing.”

Before closing the car door, Stan leaned back in once more.

“Good luck, Kyle,” he said, and shut the door before Kyle could reply.

He watched the car turn the corner and disappear down the street before climbing the steps to his house. His hand was already on the doorknob when his phone started ringing. He fished it out and glanced at the screen – Butters was calling. That was unusual; they’d almost never talked on the phone one-on-one.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Stan!” chirped Butters’ voice, so cheerful that Stan couldn’t help but smile. “Wanna come over?”

“Sure,” Stan shrugged. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” Butters said mysteriously, his tone filled with the excitement of someone keeping a secret.

“Ten minutes. I’m on my way.”

He only went inside long enough to tell his parents where he was going, then hurried across the street to Butters’ house. The truth was, curiosity was eating him alive, and he made it there in record time. He knocked twice on the mahogany door and waited. A moment later, Butters peeked out with a grin.

“Come on in!” he said, stepping aside.

“So, what’s this about?”

“I can’t tell you,” Butters said, already heading upstairs. “You have to see it.”

Before opening the door to his room, he threw Stan a meaningful look. Stan followed him inside, and immediately clapped a hand over his mouth.

On the floor lay a tiny red-and-white striped kitten, only a few months old at most. Its big, dark eyes blinked innocently up at him as he froze in place.

“Oh my God!” Stan had to hold himself back from letting out a high-pitched squeal. He still had some self-respect, even in front of Butters. “It’s so cute!”

“Got him for my birthday,” Butters said, crouching beside the kitten to pet its head. “I’ve always wanted a pet, but my parents never let me until now. Come on, you can pet him.”

Stan sat down on the floor next to him.

“What’s his name?” he asked, stroking the kitten, who purred loudly and rubbed against his leg.

“Kaiser,” Butters smiled proudly. “It means ‘emperor’ in German.”

“Interesting choice,” Stan laughed. He couldn’t quite imagine the thought process that led there. Pretty much any other name would’ve made sense – but Kaiser?

“I knew you’d appreciate it!”

Kaiser let out a little meow and climbed right into Stan’s lap.

“He likes you,” Butters noted. “That’s weird.”

“Yeah?” Stan kept petting the kitten, who looked up at him curiously.

“Mhm. He’s even scared of my parents. You’re the only person he’s okay with besides me.”

“Well, I don’t know if that means anything, but… I’m kinda scared of your parents too,” Stan laughed. “No offense. They just used to be… uh… pretty terrifying. Especially when they were grounding you for, like, every little thing.”

“Tell me about it,” Butters rolled his eyes. “Thank God they finally realized I’ve grown out of that. Well… mostly,” he smiled again. “Still, following rules isn’t the worst thing.”

Stan looked him over. Even sitting down, Butters was tall, his messy blond hair sticking out in every direction. His light blue eyes radiated warmth, perfectly matching the navy shirt he wore. He tilted his head slightly – curious, kind, just like always. There was something about him that made people feel lighter, calmer. And if Stan was being completely honest, he’d never really understood how anyone could not like Butters. Back when they were younger, people used to pick on him all the time, because he was naïve, small, easy to push around. It wasn’t just Cartman or the others (they only teased him until he laughed with them again), but kids who enjoyed making him cry and curl up in a corner. Stan had never told Butters that this was one of the reasons he’d brought him into the group, and he didn’t plan to. Because ever since they’d become friends, Butters had toughened up. He’d changed. He wasn’t afraid to talk back, to stand up for himself, to see through obvious lies. And even though Stan would never admit it aloud – he was proud of him.

“If you say so…” he smiled. “By the way, did everyone get home okay last night?”

“As far as I remember, Kyle left not long after you, Eric’s mom came to pick him up, and I walked Kenny home since he could barely stand,” Butters recalled. “That must’ve been around, hmm, two-thirty.”

“Ugh,” Stan groaned. “And nothing bad happened? We didn’t leave a total mess, did we?”

“Oh, you definitely did,” Butters laughed, pulling out his phone and showing him a picture. The board game they’d played was nearly unrecognizable – paper money and pieces scattered everywhere, two empty chip bags, and a tray full of bottles and shot glasses.

“Jesus,” Stan shook his head. “Sorry, dude, we didn’t mean to trash the place that badly…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Butters said, looking down at Kaiser, who had climbed off Stan’s lap and curled up between them, eyes half-closed. “I’m just glad you all came. Best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“No, I’m glad we could celebrate with you.”

Those bright blue eyes met his again.

“You’re too nice sometimes,” Butters chuckled. “You still manage to surprise me.”

“Unpredictability is my middle name,” Stan grinned.

Butters was about to say something when Stan’s phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. He fished it out, and his eyes widened at the caller ID.

“Uh, Butters, I… I have to take this.”

“Go ahead!”

Stan pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yeah?” he asked carefully.

“I passed! Dude, I fucking passed!” Kyle yelled through the line. “Guess who’s got a license now? Me!”

Stan felt a huge wave of relief wash over him, like a weight had lifted off his chest.

“Told you,” he said with a smile. “You’re the best.”

“Oh my God,” Kyle muttered. “I can’t believe it. Jesus.”

“You’re a legend, man, that’s all.”

Butters watched him curiously. Stan covered the mic with his hand and turned to him.

“Hey, uh… would you mind if Kyle came over? He’s got news you’ll wanna hear. Plus, he hasn’t met Kaiser yet.”

“Of course not! He’s welcome,” Butters nodded. “I had a feeling that’s who you were talking to,” he said, petting Kaiser, who’d just woken up. “No one else makes you smile like that.”

Stan froze for a moment at the comment. What was that supposed to mean?

“Ky, come over to Butters’s place.”

“Why? You’re there?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“…So I got literally the most disgusting route in the city, and for a second I honestly thought I was going to get cut off,” Kyle was saying, scratching Kaiser’s head. “Parking was easy though, but that’s always been my thing. The examiner even complimented me, he said he rarely sees someone that good.”

Stan grinned and rolled his eyes. Perfectionism was nothing new coming from Kyle.

“So that means you’ll be our official driver from now on?” Butters smiled.

“Well… yeah, with a few exceptions. Until I get my own car, I’ll have to borrow my parents’, and if we go drinking somewhere, I obviously can’t drive.”

“Wild,” Stan sighed. “Think about it… we’ve officially hit that age where we’re allowed to drive. What’s next? College?”

“Jesus, don’t even remind me,” Butters muttered. “My dad’s obsessed with the idea, he’s constantly looking up majors for me. I keep telling him I haven’t decided yet, but he just keeps saying it’s about time.” He ran a nervous hand through his hair. “And now even the teachers keep telling me I should start figuring out what I’m interested in… but what the hell am I supposed to tell them? That at this point, absolutely nothing?”

The other two fell silent, sharing a single shocked glance. They had never seen Butters this worked up before.

“There’s literally not a single career I can see myself doing. I’ve told everyone around me, but no one gets it! Why can’t people understand that just because I turned eighteen doesn’t mean my life’s in order, or that I suddenly feel older or wiser, or that I magically know what I want to do?”

Kaiser meowed and rubbed against Butters’ leg. The boy sighed, petting the cat’s head, and looked at his friends apologetically.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to dump all that on you guys…”

“It’s fine. Get it out of your system,” Stan said kindly.

“You know we’ll listen, no matter what,” Kyle added. “Besides, it’s not like our futures are set in stone either.”

“But at least you know what you want to do…”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I’ll get the chance. Look, Butters, all I’m saying is don’t stress so much about it. You’ve still got time to look around.”

“Exactly. And anyone who tries to rush you or force you to decide can go fuck themselves,” Stan nodded, watching as a small smile crept onto Butters’s face.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said. “It just pisses me off that everyone suddenly expects me to have it all figured out…”

“No surprise there, we’re getting closer to adulthood. It only gets worse from here.”

“Ky, you’re so damn optimistic today, you know that?”

“I always am. It’s in my blood.”

“Yeah, sure…”

All three burst out laughing, almost perfectly in sync.

The future was terrifying, but the more they talked about it, the less it seemed that way. For one, Stan was honestly relieved to know he wasn’t the only one who had no clue what direction he wanted to take in life. And he could tell how much it meant to Butters to get that weight off his chest. It both shocked and impressed Stan – Butters wasn’t the type to open up about things that bothered him. Truthfully, Stan had stupidly assumed it was because Butters didn’t have any big problems. Now he knew how wrong he’d been, and he was grateful that he and Kyle were close enough friends that Butters felt safe to open up to them about the things eating at him.

If only Stan could do the same. If only he could share the things pressing down on his own chest.

Maybe one day… or maybe the feeling would fade.

Stan honestly hoped for the latter.

“I’m telling you, Kaiser’s the cutest cat I’ve ever seen,” Kyle said with heart-shaped eyes at the kitten. “I’d be so happy if we could have one too. Damn my mom’s cat-hair allergy.”

“Well, you can come over anytime. He still needs a bit of time to get used to new people, but I’m sure you two will be best friends in no time.”

Thanks, man. If you don’t mind, I’ll definitely take you up on that.”

“You dummy, why do you think I offered?”

“I say we make ‘post-school Kaiser petting sessions’ part of our daily routine,” Stan said, struggling not to laugh. “I’m pretty sure it’d have therapeutic effects on our grades.”

“You’re the only one of us who’d need that…” Kyle muttered absently.

Stan thought about it. Kyle and Butters were both straight-A students, always neck and neck for future valedictorian.

“Okay, fine, I’ll pitch it to Kenny and Cartman. They’ll definitely be in.” He laughed.

“Yeah, anything to avoid studying. Great principle, just doesn’t work in practice.”

“I don’t know, it works for me when I sleep with my notebook under my pillow,” Butters shrugged. “Once I got an A on a biology test that way. Didn’t study a single word.”

They both stared at him.

“Are you serious?” Stan’s eyes lit up.

“I think that only works for weirdos like you, Butters,” Kyle said, shaking his head before glancing at Stan. “If I were you, I wouldn’t try it. I can already see how it’d end, and your parents wouldn’t be thrilled.”

“Oh come on… you don’t believe in my potential?”

“Not really.”

“Now that hurts...”

“Sorry?”

“Should I call a marriage counselor?” Butters laughed.

“Maybe you should,” Stan sighed dramatically, staying in character. “My husband keeps hurting me…”

“Don’t play the martyr, woman!” Kyle frowned. “It doesn’t suit you.”

“Oh yeah? Then what does suit me?” Stan shot back, batting his eyelashes.

Butters pretended to hold an imaginary bowl of popcorn, munching noisily.

“I…” Kyle mumbled, pausing for effect. “Your big heart. That special way you love.” He finally said it, and his delivery was so convincing that for a split second, Stan could’ve sworn he meant it. “No one’s ever loved like you do.”

Butters mimed feeding a piece of popcorn to Kaiser.

“Then why do you act like you don’t need me?” Stan clutched his chest.

“Because I’m scared I’ll ruin everything between us,” Kyle whispered. “Our relationship is already on shaky ground…”

“Then let’s fix it! Patch what’s broken! Mend what’s torn apart!” Stan clenched his fists – then burst out laughing. That was the point where he couldn’t keep a straight face any longer.

“You can tell you were in the drama club for a year,” Butters laughed. “Fantastic performance, sir! We demand an encore!”

“Sorry audience, I’m all out of spirit,” Stan huffed, glancing at Kyle. There was something strangely unreadable in his gaze. “If you call me ‘woman’ again, I swear to God…”

Kyle cracked up.

“My bad!”

Stan lay sprawled on his bed, exhausted. The light of the setting sun streamed through the window, painting the whole room orange. He held his phone in his hand, deep in thought. He wanted to send a message, but had no idea how to phrase it. After all, how do you tell your best friend you’re proud of him without sounding gay as hell?

The phone buzzed in his hand.

“Yo warrior
You left your notebook here xddd”

“seriously???”

Kyle replied with a picture – holding up the red grid-patterned notebook.

“damn
whatever
you know what?
keep it”

“I don’t want it
But I’m pretty sure you’ll end up crying over it later”

“yeah right”

“Test on Thursday…”

“don’t remind me!”

“Sorry, but someone’s gotta worry about your grades”

“you’re adorable
you’ll bring it monday?”

“Yup”

“thx”

“Np"

“ky”

“Yeah?”

“you were seriously fucking amazing today
proud of you”

“I’m truly honored :D
Thanks”

“no need
but seriously
you’re the best”

“<3
btw Cartman just called
get on Discord”

“damn, I didn’t get the notifications
omw”

Stan joined the call – four people were already there – and immediately smiled. This was how a perfect day came to an end.

Chapter Text

“This was just awful.”

Stan leaned against his locker and pretended to bang his head against the metal door a few times. Kyle, standing opposite him, just rolled his eyes with a smile.

“I don’t think it was that bad,” he said, tossing a few things into his locker. Stan briefly wondered how the hell Kyle could possibly find anything in that chaos but decided not to ask.

“I figured you’d say that…”

“Come on, it was the same type of problems we’ve gone over like, a thousand times. If you did everything the way we practiced, trust me, you’ll be fine.”

Since Saturday, they’d been doing tutoring sessions every day except Sunday, and it hadn’t taken Stan long to realize that maybe he wasn’t the problem. Kyle’s explanations made sense, and he picked things up pretty quickly. Or at least he felt like he did.

He bit his lower lip and nodded.

“I hope so.”

“How are my favorite lovebirds doing? I hope I didn’t interrupt your sappy romantic talk with my presence!” Cartman stopped beside them, fiddling with the strap of his backpack. He ignored the glares they shot him and went on. “How was the test?”

“Shitty,” Stan said honestly.

“Right?! I legit had suicidal thoughts when I saw problem three. I really hope I didn’t completely bomb it, but I’m not holding my breath…” Cartman dug around in the pocket of his red hoodie, pulled out a piece of candy, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. Then he turned to Kyle. “How about you, Jewboy?”

Kyle opened his mouth to answer, but Cartman stopped him, pointing a finger in his direction and furrowing his brow.

“If you say it was easy, I’ll strangle you,” he warned, and immediately began demonstrating how he planned to choke every bit of air out of Kyle’s lungs.

Butters, who’d just appeared with his water bottle, froze beside Stan with a baffled look.

“What in tarnation is going on here?” he asked, but no one answered. “Eric, do you really have to do this in the hallway?”

Every student passing by broke into a grin at the sight. Cartman either didn’t notice or didn’t care – Stan suspected the former. Either way, it was highly entertaining. He had to fight hard not to laugh.

“What are you talking about, Butters?” Cartman frowned. “I’m just demonstrating to Kyle what I’ll do if he starts with his arrogant ‘I’m-better-than-everyone’ talk again…”

“You’re gonna jerk him off?”

Butters said it in such a pure, innocent tone that both Stan and Kyle burst out laughing hysterically.

“I didn’t know you were into that,” Stan snorted between giggles. “But honestly, it explains a lot…”

“What the hell?!” Cartman’s ears turned red from embarrassment. “Butters, this means choking!”

“Even better,” Kyle added, cracking up. “I can already see the headline: Eric Cartman, fearless bully of South Park High, revealed to have a choking kink,” he said, gasping for air through laughter.

The ice broke, even Cartman started laughing. The hallway echoed with their noise, and none of them cared.

“Just to be clear, that’s slander,” Cartman grinned. “If anyone here’s into that, it’s you, Stan.”

“Excuse me?” Stan asked, pretending to be offended, trying not to laugh again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Cartman didn’t reply, just smirked and shrugged.

Over the years, as Butters toughened up, Cartman, strangely enough, seemed to soften. He was still an asshole – rude, arrogant, used pejorative nicknames and racial jokes –, but somehow, he’d mellowed out a little. He still teased Butters, but only in ways the blond could handle, never crossing too far. Sometimes something almost really nice would slip out of his mouth, and he really did treat the others like his friends.

Stan, who’d witnessed this character development firsthand, was surprised at how noticeable it had become. He caught himself laughing at Cartman’s jokes more often, realizing that beneath all the layers of nastiness and racism, Cartman was actually one of the funniest people he knew. He’d become an essential part of the group, without him, things just wouldn’t be the same. And now that he’d started to show his good side, Stan didn’t mind admitting it; change looked good on Cartman.

And he knew how hard that change must’ve been. He’d once thought Cartman was rotten to the core. But he also knew exactly what triggered it. The same incident that made Butters who he was now – years ago, when they were thirteen.

“Guys! Guys!” Cartman burst into Kyle’s room, where Stan, Kenny, and Kyle were all hanging out. “You won’t believe what I’ve got to tell you!”

He waved his phone in the air and plopped down into the circle.

“You know that Canadian girl Butters has been dating for like, four months?” he began excitedly. The three boys nodded. “Well, they broke up a few hours ago, and poor baby Butters is so heartbroken right now,” he cooed, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“And how exactly do you know that?” Kyle raised an eyebrow. Stan was about to ask the same thing, but one look at Cartman’s face told him everything.

“Because I was the girl, that’s how,” Cartman said proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Dude, that’s messed up,” Kenny muttered, fidgeting with the lining of his orange parka. “Don’t you think it’s cruel to mess with someone’s feelings like that?”

Kyle’s face went red with fury. His fists clenched, and for several seconds he said nothing – Stan was sure it was because he was trying to hold back the explosion.

“You disgusting, shameless, insensitive, selfish, pathetic idiot!” he finally yelled, louder with every insult. “Do you have any idea how serious it is to toy with someone’s emotions like that? You realize you’ve probably scarred him for life?” He stopped, breathing heavily. “Does he even know it was you?” he asked, a little quieter.

“No, and he’s not going to,” Cartman said firmly, completely unmoved by Kyle’s outrage. “This little thing stays between the four of us.”

The next day, Kyle’s first act at school was to tell Butters the truth. Stan went with him as moral support – to provide a little emotional weight to Kyle’s facts –, but it didn’t go well. Butters didn’t believe them at first. Then his face twisted with anger. He didn’t stick around to hear their reasoning or their suggestions to handle it maturely – like telling a teacher or Cartman’s mom –, just stormed out into the hallway, kicked Cartman in the shin, and started beating him, sobbing and screaming the whole time. When they finally pulled him off him, he was still crying, gasping for air, mumbling about secrets, trust, and betrayal.

That was the first and last time Stan ever saw him like that.

After the incident, Butters got suspended for two weeks for breaking a classmate’s nose, and Cartman got three weeks for his “nasty prank”. They didn’t talk for about a month afterward. But when Cartman finally pulled himself together and apologized – how exactly that went down, only the two of them know –, their friendship became stronger than ever.

That was the turning point. Cartman became kinder. Butters became tougher.

And Stan can only hope that, by now, that memory has finally faded for the tow-headed boy.

The classes were unbearably boring. All Stan wanted was to go home, lie down in his bed, and get some sleep. Lately, he’d gotten into the habit of taking a nap after school whenever he had time. It helped him recharge and study better at night, but it also seriously lowered his stamina for staying awake without breaks.

“I’m gonna fall asleep any second,” he declared after a loud yawn, right in the middle of their last class. Truth be told, even though he was sitting at his desk and pretending very hard to pay attention to the teacher, he had no clue what subject this even was.

Kyle, who sat to his right as always, snorted in response.

“Then sleep,” he whispered. “I don’t think you’ll be missing much.”

“But the desk is so uncomfortable,” Stan whined.

It really was. He’d thought about bringing a pillow or one of those neck cushions countless times, but never actually did – partly because he always forgot, partly because just imagining himself sitting in class with a neck pillow made his face burn. He didn’t want to look like an idiot.

Kyle watched him for a few seconds in silence, and from his eyes, Stan could tell he was amused by the situation. Then he smiled. Pulling his dark green hoodie from the back of his chair, he handed it toward Stan.

“Here. Maybe this’ll be comfortable enough.”

He turned his head forward again, and their eyes didn’t meet anymore, but the hoodie still hung from his arm until Stan took it. The soft fabric brushed his palm, and he immediately stifled another yawn. He whispered a quiet “thanks,” laid the hoodie on his desk, rested his head on it, and closed his eyes.

The hoodie smelled pleasantly familiar – like Kyle. Exactly like his room. Stan suppressed a smile that tried to creep onto his face and let the sounds around him lull him toward sleep. The crinkle of foil, the clicking of pens, hushed whispers, chalk tapping the board, the hum of a computer, and the teacher’s voice, rising and falling, and every time it rose, Kyle would respond. His voice was a little louder than the others, and Stan could tell from the tone whether he was frowning or smiling that proud, confident smile. That was the last thing Stan thought about before everything faded to black.

When he opened his eyes again, he was standing in an unfamiliar place. The ground beneath his feet was rough, dark gray dirt. Looking up, he saw nothing but clouds – thousands of them, heavy and angry, flashing occasionally with lightning that tore bright gates between heaven and earth. But no rain fell. Though the wind was tearing at the pale, thin trees around him, he didn’t feel cold.

He didn’t really think about where he was, he just started walking, long and steady steps, his back straight, scanning the landscape for anything interesting. But there was nothing: only the stony soil beneath him and the furious sky above. Still, that didn’t discourage him. He walked as long as his legs would carry him.

Then suddenly, he stopped. He wasn’t out of breath, but something deep in his gut told him to rest. He inhaled sharply – his breath turned to white mist that twisted into strange, circular shapes against the starless sky, as if trying to tell him something. He didn’t pay attention, just sank onto a nearby rock. It felt pleasantly cool, or at least he thought it did.

He sat for what could have been minutes or hours, watching time pass. Around him, the trees began to grow at an impossible speed; mushrooms sprouted at their roots, leaves unfolded, turned yellow, fell, fruits blossomed and ripened into plump, juicy shapes, then rotted, dropped, and the cycle began anew. He looked down at his hand and saw the lines on his palm shifting. Adjusting his position slightly to sit more comfortably on the rock, he kept watching. It was oddly entertaining, watching everything from the outside. A strange lightness brushed through his chest – maybe relief.

But it didn’t last long. Eventually, no new fruits grew. The leaves fell before they could turn yellow. The dark gray sky sank lower, hanging just a few meters above his head, and one by one, golden lightning bolts split the trees apart, burning and destroying them completely. The thunder roared in his ears, drowning out his cries, until even those stopped. He closed his mouth and silently watched the destruction of a world he barely knew.

Steam rose from the charred tree trunks; here and there, a few small flames still flickered. One such flame danced on a branch just a few steps away. He picked it up, watching the stubborn little fire that refused to die out, and a crushing heaviness filled his chest. Grief, maybe. Or disbelief that he’d lost something he’d only just begun to understand. Maybe it was simply the helplessness of having to watch a world burn. Or maybe he was just jealous of the flame – jealous that it could still burn, still glow and dance, when everything else around it was nothing but ash and ruin and death.

He threw the branch, but it didn’t go far. It hit the ground a few meters ahead, leaving behind a thin wisp of smoke. The flame went out, like all the others.

Now there was nothing left but destruction.

Anger and sorrow filled his chest. Familiar feelings, ones he hated more than anything. He fell to his knees, clenching his fists so hard that his nails dug into his palms, wanting the pain to be real – but there was none. Instead, he felt warmth. When blood trickled down his hand and dripped onto the ground, the soil immediately drank it up, and, to his shock, a tiny flower sprouted from the spot.

The wind toyed with its petals, bending its fragile stem, but couldn’t tear it out.

A faint smile curved across his face as he gently touched the fiery red petals. The flower kept swaying gracefully with the breeze, and when the sky split open like a curtain, golden light shone down on it. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Somewhere in the distance, soft music began to play, maybe harp, piano, and violin, and the little flower kept dancing alone, as if the world around it wasn’t in ruins, as if there was still hope left to save it.

“Stan?” a voice called. It came from the clouds, and it was familiar. His stomach tightened.

“Stan!” it was louder now, echoing like thunder. A strange, flashy lightning bolt ripped through the clouds.

“Hm?” he answered. His voice sounded like his own again. His body began to shake, a heavy veil descended over his vision. The fiery flower stopped dancing, but fluttered once more before everything went dark.

“Stan, for God’s sake!” someone said, shaking his shoulder. He jerked awake, blinking groggily, then looked around the classroom. Kyle stood beside him, hands on his shoulders, looking equal parts annoyed and amused.

“Yeah?” Stan mumbled sleepily. 

Kyle laughed, gesturing around.

“Class ended twenty minutes ago,” he said, grinning wide. “You’ve been asleep this whole time.”

Stan rubbed his face – it was surprisingly warm –, and glanced down at his desk. There was the green hoodie, right where he’d laid his head.

“Oh, right,” he stretched, standing up slowly. “Jesus, please tell me I didn’t do anything too embarrassing?” he grimaced. He thought about the dream – yelling at the storm, the music, the dancing flower –, and wanted to disappear.

“Not really,” Kyle shook his head. “You mumbled something a few times, but it wasn’t loud. Entertaining, though,” he added with a teasing smirk.

“I’m glad I could entertain you,” Stan sighed, then smiled fondly.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, and the two of them headed out of the school together.

When he got home, no one was there. Normally he would’ve found that strange, but right now he didn’t have the energy to care. He grabbed a popsicle from the freezer, trudged upstairs with his backpack still on, and collapsed onto his bed with a loud, exhausted groan. He closed his eyes and tried to rest.

He couldn’t get the fiery-colored flower out of his head.

He replayed the dream over and over, wondering why the destruction of a world he didn’t even know had affected him so deeply. He thought maybe Kyle had been right when he said Stan could turn an anthill into a mountain – a trait Stan absolutely despised about himself. He knew exactly how sensitive he was, he’d always been that way – “pussy” had been Cartman’s favorite nickname for him when they were younger –, and he hated that part of himself so, so much. Why couldn’t he just not care? Why couldn’t he be indifferent to things that had nothing to do with him and didn’t affect him at all? Why couldn’t he be like that fiery little flower, spinning gracefully with the wind, paying no mind to the circumstances around it?

His eyes snapped open. He sat up, unwrapped the popsicle he’d tossed on his nightstand earlier, and began to eat it while his thoughts kept racing. He’d never understood why nonexistent things could ruin his peace so easily, but the truth was, he was used to it by now. As a kid, he had vivid, almost lifelike dreams, sometimes he even confused reality with them. His parents and doctors chalked it up to having a stronger imagination than average, but Stan felt deep down that something was wrong with him. The recent dreams only strengthened that feeling.

But he couldn’t accept it. How could he possibly accept that something was wrong with him, rotten, twisted, something that needed to be ripped out of him by the roots? 

His train of thought was interrupted by the garage door opening, followed by muffled voices drifting up from downstairs. Stan listened – there were three voices. His parents were talking to someone he couldn’t recognize, so he decided not to go down and reveal he was already home. His jacket hanging by the door was already proof enough, and he really didn’t want to make small talk with another one of his dad’s weird coworkers or one of his mom’s friends. So he grabbed his phone and started browsing the internet.

He got so absorbed in it that he only half-registered the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs and his door slowly creaking open.

“What’s up, asshat? Miss me?”

Stan’s head whipped to the side, and his jaw dropped. A brown-haired girl he knew all too well leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. She was wearing the same sly grin she always wore whenever she was about to screw with her little brother – but Stan didn’t care about that at all right now.

He jumped up from the bed, threw his arms around her, and pulled her into a tight hug.

“Shelley! It’s been forever!” he blurted, squeezing her.

“Okay, no need to get dramatic,” Shelley pushed him off almost immediately, but she was smiling. “Good to see you too, turd.”

They ended up sitting together on his bed. Stan swung his legs, while Shelley picked at her nails and occasionally blew a tiny bubble with her gum.

“This shitty town hasn’t changed at all since I left,” she said. “Everyone’s still an idiot, it still smells like crap, and nothing ever happens.”

“I mean… what did you expect?” Stan shrugged. “I can imagine Denver’s a lot more exciting…”

“Don’t even get me started.”

“So, did you find an apartment yet, or are you still living in the dorm?”

“Well…” Shelley twirled a strand of her hair, and Stan could’ve sworn she blushed. “I’m actually moving.”

“To where?”

“If you dare tell Mom and Dad what I’m about to tell you, I’ll kill you.” Shelley’s expression was terrifyingly serious, so Stan mimed zipping his lips shut to show he could keep a secret. “I met a guy recently who offered to let me move in with him… but we’ve only been dating for a few months, and I don’t want to make it a big deal yet. Especially after my last boyfriend, who was a total douchebag.”

“The one who said he’d only shower once a month, or the one who had an account on every dating app known to mankind?”

“Haha, hilarious… the Tinder one.”

“Yeah. Figured.”

Shelley’s love life was a regular topic at family dinners. Sharon and Randy loved discussing how terrible their daughter’s taste in men was, sometimes even blaming each other for it. Stan hated listening to all that – on rare occasions when they actually agreed on something, the conclusion was always that Shelley simply made bad decisions. But Stan knew that wasn’t true.

He glanced at his sister. Her brown hair now had streaks of highlighted blonde, a piercing glinted on her nose, her makeup was neat and beautiful. She’d grown a lot in high school, now nearly as tall as Stan, and she knew exactly how to dress to highlight that. Her nails were done, pastel purple this time. But it wasn’t just her appearance that had changed since she moved out; she’d gone through real character growth, too. Stan believed it was because she finally escaped an environment she hated. Compared to how negative, hostile, and rude she used to be, she seemed to find the world a little prettier now. She smiled more, laughed more, and Stan was convinced it suited her. And their relationship as siblings had improved massively because of it.

“So,” Shelley said, blowing another bubble, “are your friends still those idiots? The asshole, the hobo, the lapdog, and the nerd?”

Stan burst out laughing. It was a crude way to describe his friends, but honestly… painfully accurate.

“Yeah,” he grinned.

“And, my one and only little brother…” Shelley wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “How’s your romantic life? Have you accepted your undeniable attraction to your little red-haired buddy yet?”

“Sorry, what?” Stan choked, staring at her with his mouth open.

“You know, the Jewish kid from down the street. What’s his name? Kayden?”

“Kyle?”

“Yeah! The freckly kid with the green ushanka.”

“Shelley… I’m not into Kyle.” Stan didn’t even know why he felt the need to clarify that. Everyone knew they were best friends.

“Of course you are,” she said matter-of-factly, as if stating the sky is blue. “Even when you were younger, you looked at him with those little heart eyes, like no one else existed in the world.”

Only one thought ran through Stan’s mind: what the fuck?

“No, no, listen,” he shook his head quickly. “You’ve got it wrong. I’m totally straight.”

Shelley raised an eyebrow at him. With her icy blue eyes – lighter and far more intimidating than Stan’s – she stared without blinking, as though she could see right through him.

“That is impossible,” she declared.

“But it’s true.”

“Whatever,” she said, releasing his shoulder and stretching. “You’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan sighed, giving up. This was a pointless battle, even if he knew he was right. “How long are you staying?”

“Nice diversion, I’m proud,” Shelley grinned. “A week. Then I’m heading back to help Kevin move in…”

“So his name is Kevin, huh?” Stan leaned back on his hands. “Tell me about him!”

They talked for over an hour and a half. During that time, Stan learned that Kevin was twenty-three, an absolute hotshot, graduated in mechanical engineering, and was now trying to build his own business from scratch. To save up starting funds, he worked at the same café where Shelley had taken a part-time job – that’s how they first met. According to her, Kevin was kind, understanding, honest, humble, the most polite and well-put-together guy she’d ever met. He treated women as equals, never flirted around, never tried to charm anyone, he saved all of that for her. They bonded over the fact that both their exes were total assholes, and they laughed about it a lot. Shelley didn’t mention a single thing that bothered her about him, which filled Stan with relief. It was about time his sister found someone who genuinely deserved her.

“We haven’t talked about this, obviously, since the relationship is still fresh, but honestly…” Shelley lowered her voice, glancing toward the door to make sure no one else could hear. “If he asked me to marry him right now, I’d say yes without hesitation.”

Stan had never seen her look so fragile and human in his entire life.

“Wow,” he smiled wide, “so it’s that serious?”

He received a nod in response.

“All the best to you two,” he said, meaning it. His chest swelled with pride.

“Thanks.”

Shelley stood and grabbed the doorknob, but before leaving, she turned back.

“Think about what I said,” she said with a smile. “You might figure out a few things about yourself.”

The door closed softly behind her, leaving Stan alone with a pile of questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. Yeah… better not think about any of that.

“Are you not cold?”

“No, I dressed according to the weather. You should try it sometime.”

“You’re so mean, Ky…”

“I’m not mean, I’m just stating facts.”

Stan shook his head and pulled his jacket tighter around himself. The gym on the edge of town was way colder than he expected, and he would’ve loved nothing more than to run home and soak in hot water, but he couldn’t. First, he didn’t have a license yet. Second, he didn’t want to leave Kyle here. Third, Ike’s judo practice was still going on, and the tradition of the two teenagers accompanying him was so ingrained in the kid that he once threw a tantrum when Stan didn’t want to come because he said he needed to study. So, just like every Tuesday and Thursday, they were sitting on the bleachers now too, laughing at the kids as they flailed their arms and legs around. Only one thing was different today: Shelley had planted a thought in Stan’s mind that he couldn’t shake.

“Do we have a test tomorrow?” he asked casually.

Kyle pursed his lips in thought.

“I don’t think so. But a pop quiz could happen in math or bio. I see chances for both.”

“Great,” Stan grumbled. “Wanna use our tried-and-true method again?”

“You mean I read the material out loud while you sit next to me, hoping you absorb something by accident?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Fine by me. I’m going to study either way, and if that helps you, you can listen.”

“Thanks,” Stan grinned. “You’re the best.”

That comment tied a knot in his stomach.

“So I’m not dropping you home right away today,” Kyle said, eyes still on Ike with a look that would’ve convinced Stan he was fully focused on his brother, if Stan weren’t sitting right next to him. “We’ll study a bit, then I’ll drive you.”

“You mean you study…”

“Well, yeah. You know, warrior, it wouldn’t hurt if you put at least as much effort into studying as you put into all the other pointless crap you do.”

“Okay, Mom,” Stan couldn’t take that motherly tone seriously. Kyle did it all the time, especially during the school year, and every time it was ridiculously funny – but Stan genuinely loved it. It entertained him to no end. “But only if you make me hot cocoa afterwards, tuck me into bed, and give me a goodnight kiss on my forehead.”

“If that’s what you need, why not?” Kyle burst out laughing. “Should I turn off the big light too, or are you scared of the dark?”

“Better keep it on. What if something attacks me?”

“You’re right. Light stays on, and we’ll put your plushies to bed one by one so they don’t stay up all night. They might get mad at you otherwise.”

“Will you sing for me?”

“Only if you want. Fair warning, my voice is terrible.”

“That’s okay. Even off-key, you’re the best mom in the world.”

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds before both erupted in laughter.

“What the fuck is wrong with us?” Stan wheezed.

“You have no idea how many times I ask myself that…” Kyle muttered, a huge grin on his face. His eyes were sparkling with happiness and tears from laughing, reflecting the harsh neon lights above.

“This stays between us. We’re never telling anyone.”

“Agreed.”

“My God boys, could you shut up already?” snapped the same single dad who was at every practice and always barked the world’s worst motivational speeches at his kid. His eyebrows were knit together, his voice full of annoyance. “You’re distracting the coach. And honestly, you should keep your fetishes in the bedroom. You’re ruining the kids’ future!”

Stan wanted to evaporate on the spot.

“Yeah, sorry…” he mumbled weakly.

Kyle, on the other hand, didn’t seem like someone who would let that slide.

“Look,” he began, with an oddly sweet tone. “I’m sorry if our laughing is ruining your enjoyment, but I’d like to point out that we have exactly as much right to talk as you have to yell down from the bleachers. This is a children’s evening practice that no one here takes seriously, and cheering is just as distracting for their mental development as what we’re doing. Maybe we’re not handling the ‘what’s allowed here’ thing correctly, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t play the hypocrite, because you have no right. I apologize for disturbing your peace, and I’d be grateful if you apologized to us too, first for your false assumptions, second for that vulgar insult. We can talk about this normally. I’m absolutely willing to compromise, whatever you have in mind, but the best option would be if you shut up too. Thank you.”

Kyle leaned back, looked at the kids practicing below, and when he noticed Ike glance up, he waved at him, as if nothing had happened.

Stan watched the bright-red-faced dad clench his fists, deciding whether to fight back, then collapse into his chair with a huff. Stan leaned a little closer to whisper into Kyle’s ear.

“That was brutal,” he said. “I swear, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” Kyle smiled. “I just hate when people act all high and mighty for no reason. We have the same right to laugh as he does to yell.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Kyle had always been like this, and Stan had always admired him for it. He never hesitated to speak his mind, even when it seemed pointless – he had a huge sense of justice, a good heart, and that was such a rare, admirable trait Stan had never seen in anyone else. Sometimes he wished he were that brave too, that outspoken, but then he pushed that thought away. He had Kyle, and that was enough.

Shelley’s face flashed in his mind. Then the fiery-colored flower.

This day was tragically eventful, and it wasn’t even over yet.

He was still thinking about it when he sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the dark, streetlit city. Ike was unusually quiet in the back, fiddling with his seatbelt, and Kyle was humming along to some song on the radio.

“How was practice, Ike?” Kyle asked.

“Good,” the little boy nodded. “Coach said I improved a lot this month and that he’ll take me to a competition soon.”

“Really? That’s awesome!”

“Right? But I dunno,” Ike thought aloud. “Maybe I don’t wanna go. I like it and all, but I don’t wanna compete.”

“How come?” Stan asked, immediately regretting he butted in.

“Well, once you told Kyle that the moment you stop doing something just as a hobby, it gets bad.”

Stan’s jaw dropped. Kyle glanced at him for a swift moment, shrugging.

“Well yeah,” Stan muttered, “that was my experience. But hey, that doesn’t mean it’ll be the same for you! Go ahead and try it, and if you don’t like it, you can still tell your coach you don’t wanna keep competing. But you should definitely give it a shot. You might end up loving it. I mean, there’s nothing disgustingly beautiful like the feeling of winning.”

“Okay,” Ike nodded, and didn’t speak again until they got home.

They all stepped out of the car one after the other, and right before following Ike into the house, Kyle paused.

“I never would've thought he takes your words this seriously,” he said, equal parts surprised and impressed. “But I gotta admit, you’ve got some good motivational speeches. You’re a good influence on him.”

“Better than that guy on the bleachers?”

“You idiot,” Kyle laughed. “Obviously. Come on, we’ve got a ton to do.”

“You do,” Stan grinned, following him inside. “I’m just gonna watch.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Chapter Text

It’s finally Friday. Holy fucking shit, it’s finally Friday.

That single thought was the only thing keeping Stan alive as he shuffled from classroom to classroom, blinking sleepily through the teachers’ explanations and scribbling down notes that were mostly readable. He could barely stay awake – actually, he slept through a couple of the more useless classes entirely (on Kyle’s hoodie, which they had more or less officially declared a shared pillow). It was the most disgusting week of his life, and the knowledge that the school year had only been going on for a month horrified him even more. How the hell was he supposed to survive the remaining eight?

He imagined himself three meters underground in a nice brown coffin, with a tombstone that read: “Stan Marsh, died at almost eighteen. Cause of death: academic overload. May he rest in peace; his memory lives forever in our hearts.” The thought entertained him enough that he accidentally burst out laughing. The biggest problem with that was that everyone else in the hallway heard it.

“Do I want to know why you’re laughing by yourself?” the owner of locker forty-three asked as he started tossing his stuff into said locker.

“I was thinking about how embarrassing it would be to die here,” Stan answered with deadly honesty, suppressing another wave of laughter trying to break free. “I mean, think about it… having ‘died because school killed him’ written on my tombstone? Totally humiliating. And honestly, totally possible.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, but his face clearly showed he had imagined the scenario too, and that visual was extremely funny.

“It’s only September,” he said finally, sounding confused.

“Exactly!” Stan whined. “What’s going to happen to me during the rest of the school year if after just thirty days I already want to smash my head into my locker until my skull cracks and I die?” He sighed theatrically, clenched his right hand into a fist, and took a dramatic step toward Kyle. “Tell me, what will become of me?”

To reinforce his point, he grabbed Kyle’s collar and pulled him closer. He tried to look as heartbreakingly tragic as he possibly could – and did not concern himself at all with the fact that Kyle’s eyes looked ridiculously green under the fluorescent hallway lights.

His soap-opera performance – much louder and more dramatic than anyone would expect from a mid-break meltdown – quickly attracted the attention of the students hanging out nearby. Stan somehow didn’t care, so lost was he in this Shakespearean-level act that his brain filtered out all the whispering around them. Kyle, on the other hand, apparently did notice, because he shoved Stan away with ears turning pink, wearing the world's least convincing this-is-not-what-it-looks-like expression.

“…but oh, save my soul from eternal misery, and–”

“Stan!” Kyle hissed. “Stop it!”

“Hm?” Stan’s hand – previously waving wildly as he gestured – froze in the air. Considering his brain wasn't functioning properly due to exhaustion, it took him a few seconds to realize what was happening. When he looked around, his face went pale. “Jesus Christ…”

“Everyone mind your own business! Nothing to see here!” Kyle made a shooing motion with his hand, as if herding a flock of harmless animals away from a field. Then he looked back at Stan, and his expression softened. “Dude, what is wrong with you?”

“I lost it,” Stan muttered, staring at the floor. “I’m going crazy, Ky.”

Kyle burst out laughing. He seemed relieved that it was pretty much just the two of them left in that hallway – at least the part he could see. Behind him, a few freshmen were still gawking, but Stan decided not to say anything. He didn’t want Kyle to scold them.

“Yeah, I’m starting to believe that too,” he said casually, crossing his arms. “You poor thing, try not to die from studying…”

The sarcasm dripped from his voice, and Stan couldn’t help but grin.

“Oh, I absolutely will die,” he sighed deeply. “How are you even holding up?”

“By not being made of sugar like some people.”

“Haha, very funny…”

“I’m not joking. You’re a wimp.”

“How dare you!”

“Sorry,” Kyle shrugged, and Stan was pretty sure his eyes said he wasn’t sorry at all. “But don’t worry, you’ll survive. Just three more classes and we can go home.”

“That’s way too much!” Stan whined. He slammed his locker door shut and tried to give his best puppy-dog eyes to his best friend. “I’ll go insane before that!”

“No, you won’t. Relax, you’ll manage. Anyway, see you at lunch, bye!” Kyle waved before heading down the hallway. As soon as he turned the corner, the bell rang, forcing Stan to shuffle off in the opposite direction with a sigh.

“What would you guys say if we opened a FeetFinder account, uploaded pictures of our feet, and sold them for good money?” Cartman suggested, poking at the meat on his plate with his fork. “I think we could make a ton with it, and we’d never have to set foot in this shithole again.”

“Dude, gross, I’m eating!” Stan growled, imagining all of them sitting together, uploading photos, and doing business with filthy-rich middle-aged men. The thought made his stomach churn worse than the smell of the meat. 

“You might be onto something,” Kenny mused. One hand toyed with his earring, the other drummed on the table. “But it depends on how we’d execute the whole thing. Like, do we sell all five of our feet, or just a few of us, while the others take on different roles in the business? Like, I don’t know… employee contact holder? Social media manager?”

“Why the hell would we need a social media manager?” Butters laughed. “Do you think people who sell their feet advertise themselves online?”

“Who knows?”

“I was thinking we could all participate equally in running the profile,” Cartman explained with the seriousness of someone presenting at a business conference. “That way we could attract people with different, uh, preferences. For example, Butters, you could paint your nails, and I don’t know, Kahl, someone’s definitely into freckled feet.”

“My feet are not freckled,” Kyle said, deeply offended. “And anyway, this is stupid. Tens of thousands of accounts register on sites like that every day, so the competition is outrageous, and most pigs stay loyal to the sellers they’ve paid many times before. It’s a lost cause,” he said, popping a parsley potato into his mouth and thoroughly ignoring the way all four of his friends stared at him.

“Uhm, Kyle…” Butters began cautiously. “Do we want to know why you’re so knowledgeable about this?”

“Excuse me?” Kyle raised an eyebrow. “You don’t actually think I do this, right?” 

“We can’t know for sure. Maybe you’re hiding it really well,” Stan shrugged, grinning.

“I really hope that’s not the case,” Cartman said, folding his arms, “because then you’d just be proving even further that you’re a stereotypical filthy, stingy Jew. You ruin every one of my amazing plans. If I find out you’re behind this too, you’re dead.”

“Kenny?” Kyle looked desperately at the blond boy, who was sipping apple juice through a straw.

“I just feel sorry you didn’t even think to tell me. I thought we were friends,” he said sadly.

“Okay, enough!” Kyle snapped. “I can’t believe you guys would even assume– pfft,” he couldn’t finish because the last few words dissolved into laughter. “You’re awful!” he added, laughing.

A few seconds later, the others joined in.

“But seriously,” Cartman continued, still grinning, “I think we could make real money with this.”

“Then give it a try,” Butters suggested. “If it works for you, we’ll join in, and everyone gets their own 20% of the money. Although… I don’t know who would pay for your feet,” he added teasingly.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? You little–”

“Yes? What were you going to say?”

Cartman bit his lower lip.

“Nothing. Hippie.”

Butters nodded with satisfaction, though Stan could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes for just a moment, and he knew exactly why. But he didn’t want to ruin the group’s good mood, and he was sure Butters didn’t want him bringing up the memory either. So he continued eating and chimed into the conversation occasionally.

“By the way, I have a student council meeting today,” Kyle mentioned. “I don’t know what it’s about yet, but knowing our school, we’re definitely preparing for some big event again.”

“And we care because…?” Cartman mumbled.

“I know you don’t give a shit, but I’ll still tell you, just to annoy you,” Kyle replied with a mocking grin. “Plus, if I weren’t in the council, you wouldn’t know when the no-school days, winter break, or the end-of-year ceremonies are.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” Kenny nodded. “At least we have an insider. Makes us the coolest people in school.”

“Wait, aren’t we already?” Stan raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Of course we are,” Butters said thoughtfully. “Everyone knows who we are, and I often catch people staring at us wherever we go. Although maybe that’s because we’re always doing something stupid.”

“Yeah. If I were someone else, I’d stare at us too,” Kyle agreed. “Just imagine trying to exist peacefully in the hallway, and you see five junior idiots laughing so hard at some absolute bullshit that one of them is rolling on the floor, the other is punching the lockers, and the remaining three are gasping for air because they’re laughing too much.”

Stan thought about it. That exact scenario had happened more than once, so he barely needed imagination.

“Okay, maybe on paper we’re not cool,” Cartman shrugged. “But you know what? Coolness is a mindset. From now on, I identify as cool, and nobody can say I don’t have the right, because I could report them to the principal for transphobia,” he added, flexing his right arm. “This American woke propaganda might actually work in our favor. We just need to tell everyone.”

The idea was a huge success – at least in the sense that they all burst out laughing.

“No one’s that stupid,” Kyle said, shaking his head with a grin. “Give it a few years.”

“In a few years we won’t even be here, hippie.”

Cartman tried to say it playfully, but the heavy truth settled onto all five of them.

“Shit…” Kenny whispered. “We’ve got a little over a year and a half left. Next year we’re seniors.”

“And then college…” Stan added.

“In different places,” Butters said quietly.

“And we’ll never have what we have now again.” Kyle finished.

They all fell silent.

“So much for the good mood,” Stan muttered. “We just had to think about the future.”

“I’d love to say this is your fault, asshole,” Kyle said toward Cartman, who remained silent, “but it’s not. For once. This is the fault of time, which has run ahead of us.”

“Look on the bright side!” Butters smiled, and somehow his voice warmed the cold spot in Stan’s chest. “We still have a year and a half together! Let’s make the most of it!”

“He’s right,” Kenny nodded. “No point stressing over it. We might not even live to see graduation.”

“I was thinking the same thing this morning,” Stan laughed. “I’ll probably be six feet under by then.”

“You guys are unbelievable…” Kyle shook his head, smiling.

Cartman still didn’t say a word, just kept chewing his lunch, which he somehow still hadn’t finished. After a moment, he finally spoke.

“We’re gonna enjoy this time, goddammit,” he said, his voice just raspy enough for his friends to notice. “Even if we all rot. Maybe then we’ll finally get sick of each other and I won’t have to be seen with you in public,” he added, and Stan exhaled in relief. The old Cartman was back.

“So be it,” he nodded.

Stan was stuffing his things into his backpack at a snail’s pace after his last class. He wanted only one thing – to go home and sleep. The room was already empty, or at least he thought so, until someone stopped beside him.

When he looked up, he immediately smiled. It was Wendy Testaburger, wearing the same all-knowing expression and elevated smile she always seemed to give him.

“Hey,” she said, putting a hand on her hip, and before Stan could even say hi back, she continued. “I hope that now that you two got together, your boyfriend will still have time for his student council duties. We’re absolutely swamped, and it’d be deeply disappointing if he started skipping meetings just because the two of you are off flirting somewhere.”

“Sorry, what?” Stan raised an eyebrow in utter confusion.

“You haven’t heard?” Wendy burst out laughing. “Everyone’s saying you and Kyle are dating!”

“Wendy,” Stan took a deep breath, his heart pounding as he tried to process the information, “what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I overheard three freshmen in the girls’ bathroom a couple breaks ago. They were gossiping about two junior boys who supposedly got together recently and are being totally gross and gay in the hallways. Then they started talking about how it’s such a shame both are homosexual because they’re good-looking, and one of them added that she finds it especially tragic because Broflovski is one of the hottest guys in our grade.” Wendy heavily emphasized the surname. “Wasn’t exactly hard to figure out that the other half of that rumor is you. I can’t imagine Kyle doing that stuff with anyone else.”

“Oh my God,” Stan muttered. “So that’s why everyone was staring at us like they were about to pass out at lunch?”

“Pretty likely.”

They walked through the hallway, all the way to Wendy’s locker – the one decorated with the number twenty-nine.

“You know, I’m a tiny bit disappointed,” she said, sliding two notebooks into the locker.

“Why?”

“Because for a moment, I actually believed it. That you finally pulled yourself together and confessed your feelings to Kyle, the ones you’ve been trying to hide from us and from yourself for years.”

Stan sighed in defeat. Why was it that the two girls he was closest to were both firmly convinced he was hopelessly in love with his best friend?

“Yeah, the feelings I totally don’t have,” he said firmly. “Sorry to ruin your theory, but I’m not attracted to guys at all, especially not Kyle. He’s my best friend.”

Wendy looked at him like she didn’t believe a single word, but she didn’t push it further.

“Up to you,” she finally said. “I’m obviously not going to argue with you about what you feel – you’d know best –, but you should know your face is saying the opposite. You never even looked at me the way you look at him now, not even when we were together.” She laughed softly, closed her locker, and tucked a long black strand of hair behind her ear. Her remark was left unanswered. “Want to grab something to eat? The meeting only starts in an hour, and normally I’d have stayed with Kyle, but he went home. So I figured I’d go with you instead.”

“Yeah, sure,” Stan nodded.

They walked to a small convenience store nearby. The plan was to buy a few things and then sit somewhere to talk. They had plenty of time, and Stan felt there was a lot to discuss.

“You know when we were last here alone?” Wendy asked while comparing yogurts. “Back in sixth grade, when you walked with me to volleyball practice, but only on the condition that I buy you something.”

“I was an asshole back then, I can’t help it,” Stan let out a small laugh. “Five years ago… crazy.”

“Well, I somehow loved that asshole.”

“You loved me? Really?”

Wendy straightened up, thinking for a moment.

“No, I don’t think I loved you. I was fond of you, sure, but love? No way. I don’t even know why we were together for so long.”

Their relationship had lasted almost three years and to say the least, it had been a mess. Both of them were busy with their own things, and somehow they never had time for each other. Their relationship – if it could even be called that – quickly turned into pure habit. They told people they were dating simply because it seemed like the logical thing to say. But they didn’t suit each other, they barely spent time alone, and they treated each other more like friends, with the difference that Stan always thought Wendy was way smarter and prettier than all the other girls. He never loved her, he respected her.

And the truth was, as they both grew older, Wendy turned out exactly the way Stan expected. She stayed grounded, straightforward, confident, and completely on top of her life. No wonder she’d been student council president for a year – she was the most reliable student in the school, had an almost perfect GPA, and played competitively on a team. Stan had no idea how she found time for everything she did, but he admired her for it.

He looked over at Wendy. Her long black hair draped over her shoulders, impulsively cut bangs pinned back on both sides with star-shaped clips. She wore a dark purple cardigan, a black skirt with tights, and despite it being September, beige snow boots. She’d always had a sense of style, but this was probably her peak.

Stan knew exactly why he’d liked her back then, and why he didn’t now.

“Well, what happened happened,” he commented, earning a headshake in return.

“Those three years were definitely educational.”

“Yeah? In what way?”

“You were the last asshole I ever dated. My taste’s improved since then.”

“Wendy!” Stan whined. “That was really hurtful!”

“Sorry,” she laughed, then grabbed two iced teas from a shelf – one lemon, one peach – and handed him the lemon one. “Here.”

“So you do remember…”

“There’s very little I can forget about you.”

“Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“I’ll let you decide.”

They paid and sat down on the bench outside the store. The street was surprisingly quiet, perfect for continuing their conversation.

“So… people at school actually think Kyle is my boyfriend?” Stan asked, unwrapping a pre-packaged sandwich. He already knew the answer, but hoped he was wrong.

“Looks like it,” Wendy confirmed, pulling a spoon from her bag.

“Do I want to ask why you’re carrying a spoon around?”

“No,” Wendy shook her head, laughing. “Anyway, back to the topic, if I were you, I’d just accept that everyone’s labeled you as gay. If you try to deny it, it’ll only make things worse. And if you two don’t do anything… questionable, at least publicly, people will eventually realize it’s just gossip.”

“What do you mean by ‘at least publicly’?” Stan shook his head in disapproval. “I’m telling you, nothing is going on between us, and people are reading way too much into whatever Kyle and I do!”

“Why, has anyone else assumed you two are together?”

“Yeah… my sister, Kyle’s brother, Cartman, Butters…” Stan listed them, feeling worse with every name. “And now a bunch of people I haven’t even spoken a single damn word to.”

“I mean, if that many people think so, maybe there’s a reason…”

“Look, we just don’t feel weird making jokes about how we’d totally be gay for each other. It’s something guys do all the time. Not just us, tons of others too.”

“Such as?”

“Kenny and Butters,” Stan said confidently. To him, this was a solid example. Those two were always lost in their own world, often oblivious to what was happening around them. And while he wasn’t sure of anything about Butters, Kenny was most definitely into girls – everyone knew that.

“Oh wow, they’re literally the worst example you could’ve brought up,” Wendy grimaced.

“Why?”

“Well…” Wendy hesitated. “I don’t think they’re as obvious as you two.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I don’t see myself from the outside, I don’t know how gay we look, but apparently gay enough for strangers to assume we’re dating.”

“Oh, you have no idea.”

“Great…”

“Stan, seriously, I wouldn’t bother denying it. Not to people, anyway,” Wendy corrected herself when he threw her a dirty look. “If the rumor spreads this much, fighting it is pointless.”

“Yeah… fair.”

Wendy tossed her yogurt cup into the trash and checked her watch.

“I should head back.”

“Want me to walk you?”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

As they started walking, the conversation shifted to student council matters – something Stan had heard Kyle rant about a thousand times –, but he still put on a polite face. It had been a long time since he’d been able to talk with Wendy this freely. Even though they’d agreed to stay friends when they broke up, the fact that they’d once dated always hovered above them. But today finally broke that. They’d clarified that there had been nothing between them aside from a tiny mutual crush, and that eased Stan’s heart noticeably. When they broke up, he’d already realized Wendy was a great friend, and today’s conversation only reinforced that – he really liked her, but only platonically. And that tiny difference meant everything.

They walked back into the school, where a handful of students were still wandering around. Kyle was sitting in one of the chairs outside the student council room, earbuds in. His curly hair covered most of his profile, but even from the side, Stan could clearly see his hooked nose and faint freckles as they approached. The sight made him smile, and he had absolutely no idea why.

“Three minutes and we’re starting,” Wendy said, tapping Kyle’s shoulder. He yanked out an earbud and stared at them in confusion.

“Okay, cool,” he nodded. “Stan? What are you doing here?”

“Wendy and I grabbed something to eat.”

Kyle’s shoulders dropped – only slightly, but noticeably. He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I see. That’s nice.” 

There was something off in his voice.

“Should I wait for you? We could walk home together.”

“This is going to last an hour and a half. You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”

Stan’s breath caught a little when Kyle smiled.

“Okay. That’d be great.”

Wendy just shook her head and unlocked the council room door with a key she took from her pocket.

Stan would love to say that that hour and a half just flew by, but that would be a gigantic lie. He was bored out of his mind.

He managed to entertain himself for about ten minutes playing a cooking game, but he got tired of it pretty quickly. Then he decided he’d try studying, but while he was reading his notes, he had the overwhelming feeling that the analog clock hanging on the wall in front of him was ticking backwards, so he gave that up too. After that he wanted to sleep, but the chair was insanely uncomfortable, and his head kept bumping against the cold wall, so he had no choice but to think – something even less interesting than anything he’d done so far.

Several times the thought crossed his mind that he should just fuck off and go home already, like he had planned two hours earlier, but in the end he didn’t, because he’d promised Kyle, and he wasn’t the kind of person who broke his promises.

When the student council office door finally opened, Stan could’ve sworn he saw the light at the end of the tunnel. The students poured out, Wendy and Kyle among them. They exchanged a few words – words Stan couldn’t hear –, and then the girl left the school with a wave and a smile.

“I can’t believe you actually stayed,” Kyle laughed, looking down at Stan curled up on the chair. “I thought you’d ditch me.”

“I thought about it,” Stan groaned tiredly. “Do you know how much I suffered?”

“I can imagine,” Kyle held out his hand to pull him up. “You’re a hero.”

“I feel like one,” Stan stifled a yawn.

They stepped out of the school, and the cold late-September wind hit them immediately. The sky was darkening fast and thick clouds drifted across it.

“So… what were you talking about with Wendy?” Kyle asked.

“About the time when we dated.”

Kyle didn’t answer immediately, and his jaw seemed to tense.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. We talked about how we never loved each other and how we don’t understand why we stayed together for so long.”

They looked at each other. Kyle’s eyes widened, and Stan didn’t really understand why. He’d always thought it was obvious that he and Wendy never worked as a couple.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. We closed everything between us and we’re not letting it haunt us anymore,” Stan stuffed his hands into his pockets, watching his breath float into the night like a white cloud. “I really like Wendy, but only in a friendly way. And I think it was always like that.”

“I see,” Kyle nodded. “So you both needed to finally put a dot on the end of that sentence.”

“Exactly.”

The sky was already dark blue, and Stan hated this part of autumn. He missed summer – how even the evenings were bright, how the sun only said goodbye when he said goodbye to his friends, how they watched the sunset together as the sky turned pink then orange, and the light painted all five of them gold, how everything felt so simple back then. Now the sun didn’t stay long; it left quickly, as if hurrying somewhere. And even though the stars and the moon that replaced it were beautiful, without the sunlight Stan felt like a part of his heart was missing – an element without which happiness couldn’t quite spread in his chest, without which his smile never reached his eyes… But why was he even thinking about this? Where were his thoughts wandering? His day had been perfectly eventful, he’d finally let go of a bunch of heaviness that had been sitting on his chest, so why couldn’t he just enjoy it?

“You’re thinking way too hard about something again,” Kyle observed, narrowing his eyes. “What is it?”

“Hm? Nothing important,” Stan shook his head, trying to sound believable. “I was thinking about next week.”

“Why, what’s happening then?”

“A bunch of crap I have to study…”

Kyle laughed. Compared to the quiet earlier, his voice sounded almost loud, but Stan didn’t mind at all. Kyle had always had a pleasant laugh.

“You stress about this stuff way too much,” his voice was scolding, but he was smiling. “It’s the weekend, relax a little!”

“I’ll try…”

“That’s the spirit. And we’re gonna be gaming all day tomorrow anyway, right?”

“If it’s up to the others, definitely,” Stan shook his head, amused. He loved video games himself, but no one could ever outdo Cartman and Kenny.

“Great. At least it’ll pull you out of your head for a bit.”

“You don’t have to worry about me this much, Ky.”

“I can’t help it,” Kyle shrugged. “That’s what best friends are for.”

The evening star was already shining in the darkening sky when Stan glanced up again.

“Thanks.”

The air between them suddenly felt heavy. It wasn’t the first time they slipped into serious topics without warning, but this one felt especially unexpected. Stan wanted to say something – anything –, to make it less serious.

“This is the part where you’re supposed to say you worry about me too, because we’re really super best friends, and you’ll do anything to make sure I’m happy,” Kyle said, tiny laugh-lines appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“Of course,” Stan rolled his eyes, sounding distinctly relieved. “Why? Aren’t you happy?”

Their eyes met again, and the streetlight’s reflection danced in Kyle’s emerald green eyes.

“I am.”

“Well, then? What more do you want from me?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle said thoughtfully. “Your company.”

“Well, here you go. I’m right here.”

At that moment, they arrived at Kyle’s house. Both of them stopped, unsure what to do next.

“You wanna come in?” Kyle offered, nodding toward the house.

“Do I have a choice if you’re craving my company this badly?” Stan grinned.

“Not really.”

“Yeah, figured.”

As soon as they got to Kyle’s room, the first thing Stan did was flop onto the huge, soft bed.

“Your mattress is so fucking comfortable, Ky,” he said with his eyes closed. “I’m gonna fall asleep.”

“Go ahead,” Kyle’s voice came from somewhere nearby. “I’ll wake you.”

Stan wanted to protest, but no sound came out. Instead everything slowly went dark, and Kyle’s voice – that voice he loved listening to – faded away completely.

He dreamt of a fiery flower dancing with the wind.