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“That was a great session! Next week, we can start with that last thought and branch out more, but we are unfortunately out of time today,” Kyle gave a sad, yet hopeful smile through the lens of his computer camera, which had the mildest of delay to the actual Zoom call going on over the screen. Despite the fact that he mostly did virtual therapy sessions for his clients, Kyle still sat himself at his office desk, dressed in a semi-formal way (at least the upper half of his person), and attempted to maintain a level of professionalism through these types of sessions. He didn’t like calling the sessions “calls” because it felt unprofessional to him. His clients didn’t always follow this same manner of properness, oftentimes fidgeting around, breaking eye contact, and sometimes even pacing around the room as if it was a casual conversation on FaceTime and not a paid service he provided. Kyle didn’t mind this. To him, this meant his clients were comfortable. He disliked calling them “patients” and preferred the term “clients” instead. Patients insinuated that the people he spoke to were sick, but in reality they just needed someone to listen to them. Kyle knew he could provide that, always sure to quiet up when he was cut off and listen watchfully and attentive. He knew how important it was to have someone listen. It was, in part at least, why he became a therapist in the first place.
“I figured we would run out of time, but I do feel better,” his client, a 28 year old named Lisa said. She struggled with OCD throughout her life and was going through a rough patch in her marriage as of late. She was one of those people who did a lot of the talking, and to Kyle it seemed that his listening was enough of a justification for a $125 Zoom call that lasted only one short hour. He would not dare judge her for this. Listening to people talk about their problems and assessing solutions for them was his job, and he was damn good at it too. He did his usual goodbyes, made a quick note in his calendar that he would have a follow-up call with Lisa next Thursday, and closed the Zoom tab on his laptop with a heavy sigh. Kyle leaned back in his black office chair, his lower back cracking with two faint popping sounds and stretched his lanky arms above his head. It was late, much later than he thought prior to checking the time on his phone, and he was feeling the desire for a quick dinner.
His condo was small and quiet, but it suited all of Kyle’s needs well and it was much too perfect for him to consider any other options. He lived in Denver Colorado, a few hours from his home town in a quaint area on the outskirts of the city. It had two bedrooms, an open kitchen and living room layout and a spacious bathroom connected to the bedroom on the right of the condo floorplan. The other bedroom, slightly smaller and with more natural lighting from a sliding glass door, was decidedly turned into an office, the one he worked out of most nights. At first, Kyle had wanted it to be a music room, or rather a smaller hobby room of some kind, but the lack of any other hobby besides his job and surfing through social media quickly put a halt to the original plan for the room. It made more sense for it to be his office anyways. Much more logical. It made more sense. Kyle liked when things made sense.
He heated up a microwave dinner for three minutes and forty five seconds, humming to himself and drumming his fingers arbitrarily on the granite countertops while he waited for the food to cook, or rather unfreeze. The package on the frozen dinner specified a time of only three minutes, but after learning that the center of the mashed potatoes was never quite fully unthawed at that time, Kyle mastered the exact time to cook his food to come out perfectly edible. Looking at it from an outside perspective, the idea of mastering the exact time to cook frozen food in a microwave seemed sad, and Kyle might feel that way too if he allowed himself to think about it for long enough. But he didn’t. At least he tried not to.
Peeling the thin plastic top away from the plastic black tray, Kyle tried to avoid letting the condensation drip onto the mashed potatoes and steak that resided inside the little dish. It was already a sad dinner in his sad apartment in his sad pajama pants and sad white polo shirt (which he only wore to feel more professional over his calls). He stripped the shirt off, leaving the white wife beater tank top underneath, not caring if that article of clothing got messy. If a dribble of food landed on his chest while he ate, he wouldn’t really care about the damages. But the Polo? That was too nice of a shirt to get messy.
His job as a therapist meant that any online presence he had would have to be extremely limited, mostly due to the rules of many professional therapy networks regarding social media, and partly in fear that a client of his might find too much information about him with a simple Google search. This was the only con Kyle found since becoming a therapist, as he tended to like social media more than he would be willing to admit. It was an escape, a coping mechanism for his own self-induced loneliness that plagued him, and giving it up seemed nearly impossible. In college, when first striving to gain licensure, Kyle had cleaned up his social media accounts, deleting old comments with curse words and posts of drunken birthday parties with his high school buddies.
He missed those high school days, at least a part of him did. They were easier, less stressful at times, but still full of their own problems. Looking back on it six years later, Kyle could hardly remember any of the smaller issues that plagued his high school days. All but one. One big problem, that never quite resolved. Unless ignorance and space calls for a solution. Unless running away is considered a fix. Kyle studied coping mechanisms when learning to be a therapist. He was good at recommending coping strategies to his clients through various calls and in person meetings. He knew blissful ignorance and space and running away were never permanent solutions. But he could pretend. Kyle was good at that too.
With his phone in hand and a fork full of mashed potatoes in the other, Kyle scrolled through Facebook on his burner account, a private profile with no information or a profile picture. It was tied to an old email used to sign up for various subscriptions and other burner social media accounts. This way, nobody could trace his personal account, also private but with information of his schooling, occupation, and a profile picture, to this burner one he used to scroll through old classmates' pages. Nobody knew of the account and he preferred to keep it that way. Kyle liked the feeling that nobody knew who this ‘random person’ was, but accepted him as a friend on their page anyways, either for the uptick in “friends” displayed on their profile or a lack of care for who follows their page. Regardless, Kyle liked the idea of the burner account and used it almost weekly to check on his friends and family.
He started, as usual, by checking on his close family. It was a bit redundant, as he did this frequently from his own personal account, the one with a profile picture. However, it had become a pattern at this point, and Kyle liked to imagine himself as a complete outsider in these moments, piecing together information from posts to draw conclusions about people's lives. One thing he particularly enjoyed learning from his psychology classes was the ability to read into people and their online presence. To see if it lined up with their in person presence or was a facade. Kyle was great at understanding the difference by now.
His mom was doing well, recently sharing another news story with a sentence or two about her thoughts on a new bill attempting to make its way through the Senate. He skimmed it briefly, scrolling farther down to a flashback, a photo of himself from five years prior compared to a recent picture from when he visited family a few weeks ago. It was his own face on the left side of the screen, unruly curly hair falling into his eyes just slightly, overdue for a haircut by two weeks. Five years ago, Kyle still hadn’t mastered the way his hair curled and frizzed around his face. He had two pimples on his face then, one on his chin and one by his right eyebrow. They weren’t noticeable from far away, and Kyle hated picking at his face anyways. He wore a plain navy blue shirt and a pair of black slacks and sneakers, probably the only clean thing in his closet. He remembered when the photo was taken, in his moms kitchen, visiting for the first time since he moved to Denver for college, a big smile on his face. He was mostly just happy to be eating something that wasn’t fast food or processed slop from the dining hall. He always tasted the love in his mothers cooking, a flavor worth smiling for.
The photo on the right side was more recent, sitting in the same kitchen as the one adjacent, but his face had matured, more angular and grown. His hair was shorter now, held perfectly in place with products and clearer skin with stubble on his cheeks. His clothing even looked older, and seeing the comparison of himself to a younger memory was almost odd. He didn’t realize how much time had changed him until he was faced with the realization side by side like this. The caption read “My sweet little man” and Kyle decided that was plenty of digging into his moms page as an outsider for the night. He clicked on his fathers profile next, which as expected, had no new updates since the last time he checked. Gerald’s page generally consisted of reposts and long rants, but nothing very personal. Kyle had decided this seemed fitting for his father and moved on.
In no particular order, he clicked on old classmates' profiles and scrolled through each one, carefully analyzing photos and pondering his own opinions on them. Bebe Stevens had posted a pregnancy announcement, her second kid in four years. She went to a cosmetology school and cut hair at a barber shop in Colorado Springs, living with her blue collar husband in a small home in the center of town. She seemed happy enough, black and white ultrasound photos clasped in her hands with a plastered smile on her face and a chalkboard with “Baby Stevens in May” written in simple calligraphy letters by her feet. She kept her last name on the sign, never taking her husband's last name. Kyle absentmindedly wondered why and clicked out of her page, seeking no real answer. Next was Craig Tucker, whose page consisted of travel photos and reposted articles that Kyle doubted anyone actually read. Jimmy Valmer wrote short jokes on his page, which Kyle read and finished off by imagining Jimmy saying them out loud with a smile on his face at the end of the punchline. He chuckled at the thought.
Heidi Turner had just graduated from veterinary school, Tolkien Black opened his own law firm, Clyde Donovon posted daily updates on his whereabouts and plans for the weekend. Kyle read each person's page, analyzed it, and decided whether or not he found it interesting enough to keep scrolling through or boring enough to click out of. However, there were some pages he opted to ignore as best as he could. It was hard to read through Kenny’s Facebook page, not because it was filled with anything vulgar or crass, but rather because it was frozen in time. Kenny hadn’t posted anything on his Facebook page since he went missing years prior, and nobody in their town had any explanation as to where or why this was the case. The idea that he was just gone, no explanation or trace, puzzled Kyle and kept him up at night years ago. He feared that by looking at his page again, these thoughts would resurface and he would lose sleep, so he decided against it. Looking at Butter’s page was particularly difficult because Kyle found no trace of the kid he once knew throughout school. In the past few years, he seemed to go through a transformation of sorts and the idea that he was no longer the sweetest kid around and now seemed closed off and hard frightened Kyle. He didn’t quite know what event could've caused this switch, but knowing how traumatic Butter’s childhood was, he didn't dare to imagine for long. As for Eric, Kyle just found it easier to ignore his page than interact with it, even by simply viewing it. Knowing how much of an ass he was throughout school, he could only imagine how abhorrent his social media presence was. Refusing to look at his page was more out of self respect than fear like the other two.
That could not be said for Stan Marsh’s page however. His page, only used in sporadic bits and times, was one that Kyle desperately wanted to avoid, but found himself drawn to every week, regardless of his desire to ignore it. He knew that Stan never quite understood the idea of posting about your life and whereabouts on social media, but over the years he had opened up to the idea more and more. This was wonderful and detrimental to Kyle all the same, because despite his lack of personality in his posts, at least he posted at all. Kyle enjoyed the random life updates that he could see from the various pictures Stan posted, most of which lacked any captions or explanations of their importance. It became a game of sorts to Kyle, studying the pictures and trying to decipher why, of all things going on, they needed to be publicly posted. And so Kyle played that game. A dog in a yard, must be a new addition to the family. A plate of food, possibly a birthday dinner or a proud achievement of completing an online recipe by himself. His parents at dinner, likely a family dinner celebrating some life goal. However, Kyle knew that with every conclusion he drew, he was cherry picking what posts to analyze in his time. He skipped over the ones that Wendy was in. He just couldn't bear to look at her face next to Stan's for so long. It made him queasy.
The ones Kyle skipped over were the random date photos together, the one time they went hiking in the Colorado mountains, the trip to see her family at Christmas. He especially found himself quickly scrolling past the engagement announcement, followed up a few posts later with an official countdown for his upcoming wedding in the fall. Kyle felt sick. He knew this was a bad idea. This game always left a bitter taste in his mouth and a sick feeling in his stomach that made him want to throw up the food he had for dinner, curl into a ball and delete all social media forever. But he knew, regardless of how much he hated it, the jealousy and panging guilt that came with the online stalking of his classmates and past best friends, that he couldn’t quite let go of the past just yet. He wasn’t sure when he would be okay with letting it go either. He wasn't sure that day would ever come. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted such a day to come, even if it meant he would feel this way forever, longingly staring at his former best friends Facebook page and wondering what life would've been, could've been, if Kyle didn’t force himself to cut so much contact with Stan.
As Kyle finished his final round of internet stalking, he tossed his phone lightly to the side of the couch and picked up the remnants of his dinner dish, throwing the black plastic in the garbage and the fork in the sink to be washed the following day. It was far too late to worry about having an empty sink. Kyle yawned, stretched his arms out and leaned over the couch to grab his phone and previously discarded Polo. Tossing the shirt into the hamper by his dresser, Kyle flopped to the bed, his phone still clutched in his right hand, grabbing the charger and plugging it in. He waited for the familiar vibration that ensured his phone was charging, startled when the phone's vibration was interrupted by a ding. He hadn’t known his ringer was on. He clicked the notification absentmindedly, waiting for the page to load. When it finally came to, Kyle stared, rereading the message over again thrice before whispering the sentences out loud, as if saying the words out loud meant they would disappear.
Stan Marsh: Hey dude! Long time no see am I right? Anyways I saw that you're a therapist now and that's pretty cool. I have been missing you a lot recently. I know you might be busy but I was thinking you should totally come to my wdeding next month. It'd be cool to see you again. Anyways just let me know ok?
1:07 AM
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“South Park Cows are on the left side of the stadium, that’s where you’ll want to find your seat,” the lady at the ticket stand said, grabbing hold of the ticket stub and marking through it with a sharpie.
Kyle had driven fifty minutes outside of town to come to a Friday night football game, not because he cared about the sport, but because he wanted to support his best friend and his flourishing football career. As a junior, Stan was already a starting player on the varsity team and played offensive running back, whatever the hell that meant. Kyle didn’t bother learning every in and out that came with the game, only the parts that mattered when regarding Stan. The games they played as kids never involved much of the actual rules. Plus, he was more of a basketball fan anyways.
Kyle found a seat near the student section, third row from the bottom and situated near the 45 yard line. The band was in their own area towards the left end of the field at one of the endzones, their instruments filling the air with assorted notes. The cheerleaders were already trying to get the crowd riled up, big smiles flashing, jumping up and down with their pompoms swishing all around. Kyle had tried his best to block them out.
Kyle had arrived about fifteen minutes before the game was set to start, which was typical for the home games he went to. He only started driving about a month ago and was just able to convince his mom to take the long drive out to the game in the past week. Scanning the clump of teens in green jerseys, Kyle easily spotted the number 4 in big block letters, the last name MARSH printed right above it. To Kyle, it didn’t matter how boring the game got, or how his ass ached from sitting on the cold hard bleachers, or that he had nobody next to him to talk to during timeouts. He would sit for hours if it meant he could simply watch Stan run in circles.
The Cows broke out of their huddle three minutes before the game was set to start, walking along the track to an endzone so they could do their ritual of running through a tunnel of cheerleaders and dancers while the band blasted their school song and the crowd cheered. As he did, Stan spotted Kyle in the bleachers, flashing him a smile hidden by his white mouth guard. Kyle smiled in return, giving a small wave before Stan left to catch up with the rest of the team.
The game was more exhilarating to watch than Kyle had originally expected, as he usually wasn't a fan of the tackling and personal fouls that seemed to come up every thirty seconds. As he sat, he cheered for Stan at each successful pass and run and tackle. It was almost as if football was a personal haven for Stan, using it as his source to pour out his angry emotions and frustrating feelings. At least that’s how he described it to Kyle.
With every tackle, a part of Stan's anger or resentment for the week left him, each moment where he could run down the field, even if only a few yards, was cathartic. With each passing quarter, his smile grew wider and his desire to win only strengthened. By the time the last few seconds came down to it, South Park was ahead by two touchdowns and a field goal. But no matter how much they were in the lead, Stan was one to fight for every second, to beat the other team as much as humanly possible.
They were positioned twelve yards from their own endzone with eight seconds left on the clock. The morale of the South Park Cows was at an all time high, knowing that even if they didn’t score again, they would still have this game in the bag. Despite this, each member had a silent agreement that they would push to the very last second. Clyde Donovon, star quarterback of their team, knelt down like the rest, eye to eye with the opposing team, eyes twitching side to side slightly, calculating every possible move in his head between his placement and the call from the referee. The timeout they called just two minutes prior was helpful in aiding his decision making, all he had to do was trust his team. With the shrill whistle from the ref, the ball was live and in the quickest flash, McCormick snapped the ball right into his hands. Clyde turned to his left, throwing the ball into a perfect spiral into Stan’s arms. Cradling it close, Stan weaved through the crowd of players hovering towards the endzone. It would be a lie to say that any specific thought was coursing through his head. It felt more like instinct, to run as fast and as far as possible until he reached the end zone or someone stopped him in the process.
Once Stan arrived in the end zone, narrowly missing a tackle from the opposing team, the crowd erupted in cheers, the band blaring their school song and a confetti popper going off in the student section, likely snuck in under someone's hoodie pocket. He tossed the ball to the side while the scoreboard blared its alarm signaling the end of the game. His team came tumbling down on him to celebrate their win, chest bumping and high fiving each other in sweet victory. They walked in a huddle back towards their coach as a group, guzzling down water and watching the crowd pour out of the stands to beat traffic. All but Stan. He ran for the bleachers instead.
“Kyle! You stayed for the whole game?!” Stan cheered, slowing his jog to look up at his curly haired friend standing by the railing. Kyle had a big dopey grin planted on his face. If anyone else looked at them, they would see right through the facade of friendship and see just how deeply Kyle had fallen for Stan. Anyone could see, despite Wendy and Stan’s on again off again relationship and Kyle’s reluctance to comment on the snide remarks and rumors going around school, that the two boys shared a bond deeper than anyone had with someone they consider a friend. And despite this, neither of the boys ever talked about the rumors or the comments or the jokes. When Cartman made remarks at the lunch table Kyle would simply ignore it, which had taken a long time to learn how to do. As for Stan, he would simply laugh and nudge Kyle’s shoulder, changing the subject before anyone else could question their particularly close bond further.
“Of course I stayed! I wouldn’t miss watching you play for the world!”
Stan took off his helmet, shaking his sweaty black hair and wiping his face with his jersey. Kyle could’ve died happy in that moment, Stan’s stomach peeking out when the uniform shirt lifted, only to cling back onto his sweaty figure once he let his shirt back down.
“You think you can drive me back home? I don’t feel like riding the bus back plus it’s late and my mom would have to-” Kyle cut him off, simply stating he would love nothing more than to do just that.
“Okay great! Let me go tell Coach and do my team meeting and I'll meet you at your car?”
“I’ll see you out there Stan.”
The walk back to his car was calm, the warm September wind brushing Kyle’s hair into his face. He used the short walk to reminisce on the game and prepare himself for the long drive home, knowing they would arrive in South Park well after midnight without a doubt. He dug his hand into the left pocket or his jacket, pulling out his keys and unlocking his car, promptly starting it and turning on his headlights. The lot was emptying fast and was sure to cause a slow exit, but Kyle didn’t mind. That was more time with Stan, and he valued that more than the lack of sleep he would surely get that night.
Stan found his car in ten minutes, jumping in and clicking his seatbelt into place while tossing his duffel bag in the backseat. He had changed into sweats and a black compression top, his sweaty hair still sticking to his forehead. He smelled like salt and body spray and the familiar stench of a locker room. Kyle silently hoped that his air freshener would cover the smell. Along with his smell, Stan carried a heavy feeling into the car with him. To Kyle, it seemed so obvious when Stan had something on his mind or felt particularly negatively. He was always good at sensing these things.
“What’s up dude?” Kyle said, putting the car into reverse.
“It’s just Wendy, she’s mad at me again. That’s all she seems to feel towards me anymore dude! I can’t stand it!” Stan exclaimed, pulling his legs up towards himself in the seat and looking out the window.
“Oh. That sucks dude, what for?”
“She’s mad I didn’t run up to her after the game. She said I ran right past her but there’s no way I did. I didn’t even see her, and I feel like I would’ve been able to spot my own girlfriend. I told her she must’ve been with the rest of the cheer girls but that just made her even more upset.”
Kyle smiled slightly at this, which he hated himself for doing. He hated that feeling of happiness he got when Stan and Wendy fought. How happy he was that he would be the one to comfort Stan, to talk him through his problems and help him feel better, and how Wendy wasn’t there to do that. Kyle knew that Stan would never really understand that feeling. To Stan, Kyle was his best friend and greatest companion. To Kyle, Stan was the stars to his sky, and as much as he hated to admit it, Stan would never see him that way. So, Kyle found joy in the times he could take the place of Wendy, and do the things she should be doing as his girlfriend, like comforting him when he was upset. Maybe that’s why Kyle hated this feeling so much. It was fake, and fleeting. He often felt an internal sting when the moment was over, knowing he wouldn’t be able to comfort Stan forever. But he basked in the moments that he could. So he didn’t wipe the smirk from his face. He just turned his head out of Stan’s view.
“She’ll get over it, she always does ya know? Just give her the night to sleep, she won’t be mad forever.”
“I doubt that this time dude. She got even more pissed when I told her you were taking me home. She started saying ‘I don't value her time as much’, but it's just so busy with football season and getting back into the swing of things with school. I feel like we’re in one of those off times again and I hate it.”
Kyle could hear the swell of tears in Stan’s voice which made his previous smirk fall almost as fast as it came. With each break they took, Kyle thought it would get easier for Stan to process, but it never did. He was always too sensitive to grow used to the idea of a break between him and Wendy. He just claimed to love her too much, and most of the breaks were brought on by Wendy herself, so Stan almost never knew when they were coming until they had a fight that ended with the claim that they needed time apart.
“You guys have breaks all the time, but I doubt this is a relationship ending conflict. Let her have time to cool off and think. It’s Friday night, give it some time on Saturday and then take her out on Sunday, just something casual. Show her you’re trying, explain things are getting hectic with school and sports. I’m sure she’ll be understanding.”
Kyle hated giving Stan relationship advice, but he hated seeing Stan depressed even more, so he sucked it up. Not only did healing their relationship ruin the delusional thought that Kyle might have a chance at a relationship with Stan, but his advice often worked. Then, he would have to listen to Stan thank him, wondering out loud why Kyle never had a relationship if he was so good at giving him advice on his own. Kyle never answered. He didn’t want to tell Stan the real reason.
To be fair, Kyle wasn’t worried about whether or not Stan would support him, he knew that was guaranteed. He was more worried that word would spread around school that his feelings for Stan were more than that of friendship. He couldn't bear the thought of Stan coming up to him one day, asking if the rumors were true, and being forced to say yes and lose his friendship or lie to Stan’s face and say no. He was already fighting the allegations as is, confirming his sexuality would only heighten the rumors. They would be harder to brush off and laugh through. They were already becoming painful to ignore.
“It’s so hard to talk to her though,” Stan said, shifting in his seat and messing with the chair settings on the side to lay back. “It’s so easy to talk to you and tell you how I feel, but I hesitate in front of her. Why is it like that? Why can’t I just talk to her like I do to you?”
Kyle sighed. “Because Stan, we’re two different people to you. She’s your girlfriend and I’m just your friend. You’re bound to feel differently when talking to us.”
“Hey, you’re not ‘just’ anything. You mean more to me than I can possibly express, you know that! I love you dude, I wouldn’t have come this far in middle school and high school without you! So don’t say you’re ‘just’ my friend. You’ll always mean more to me than that.”
Kyle felt like crying then. He knew Stan didn’t mean that. Not in the way he had prayed Stan would mean it. It reminded him of the time in middle school when the feelings first came to fruition and Kyle would pray almost every day to either take his feelings away or make Stan realize that he also felt the same. But no amount of coins tossed into a fountain or stars wished on could get Stan to match his feelings. Every birthday candle wish and break of a wishbone would yield the same unanswered wish behind it, hoping maybe one of those times it would work. It never did.
The rest of the drive was quiet, the lull of the tires on pavement and soft hum of the engine sending Stan into an exhausted slump. Kyle was fighting to keep his eyes open, occasionally hitting the rumble strips on the edge of the road when he drifted slightly out of his lane. The drive was fairly smooth and hardly scenic, which didn’t matter much since it was pitch black outside anyways. After forty minutes, they rolled into town and through their neighborhood. Stan lived next door, and they practically shared a driveway, so Kyle didn’t bother to pull into the Marshes driveway and instead opted for his own.
“Stan, we’re home,” Kyle said, gently nudging his arm to wake him up. Stan groaned, turning over in the seat to face Kyle, rubbing his eyes. It was blissful to see him in moments like these, when his guard was down and his brain was foggy. “Hey, Kyle,” Stan started, unbuckling his seatbelt and setting his seat back into an upwards position. “Thanks for everything you do for me. I meant what I said earlier, you really are my best friend dude.”
Kyle unbuckled his seatbelt and looked down at his lap. He clasped his hands together and picked at his cuticles. “Yeah Stan, it's no problem. I’d do anything for you dude.”
“I know you would Kyle, but sometimes I don’t deserve that.”
“I know. But I can’t help it.”
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Kyle never thought he would feel the rush of emotions that he felt in that moment. But there they were, rushing at him full force and at the highest capacity possible. He blinked several times in succession, half of him hoping the message was something different and the other half wishing that Stan never reached out to him at all. As if blinking his eyes and rubbing them would make the message dissipate into thin air. As if swiping out of the messenger app and reopening it would somehow make the text go right into his trash and he would forget about the message after a good night's sleep.
But Kyle knew better than that. And he hated himself for it.
He hated that the second he read Stan’s name on his phone he felt a rush of joy, of hope that it would be a different type of conversation. He had hoped for a split second that maybe it was Stan in need of a comforting shoulder to cry on, that he and Wendy were calling off their engagement in lou of another petty fight like they did in high school. But it wasn’t. If anything, it was more confirmation that their relationship was as good as ever. And within the next month they’d be happily married, and with it, the last smidge of Kyle’s absurd delusion that Stan had secretly felt been in love with him this whole time would die. He knew it was absurd and crazy and he knew he would let go but damn was it hard to get rid of a feeling he’d felt for more than half his life. It was time to move on with his own future and forget about Stan like he thought he would be able to by now.
Kyle had to convince himself at that moment that Stan was simply reaching out to be nice, to extend an invitation to his high school best friend about a special day. He knew that Stan likely felt bad and missed having Kyle around and wanted to catch up after years of college and personal life separated them.
If you had told either boy in high school that in seven years they would barely even talk, the both of them would have laughed and claimed nothing would separate their friendship. But after different college choices sent them several miles in the opposite direction, the idea of distancing himself from Stan seemed like a healing idea to Kyle. He thought that maybe distance would erase his feelings and he’d slowly but surely ease out of his high school crush on his childhood best friend. He had no idea it would just lead to a one sided stalking fest every other night from his lonesome apartment. He almost wished he could go back in time and change that, choose the same college as Stan or at least keep in touch more often. Maybe then, Kyle wouldn’t be invited to this wedding at all. But it was all wishful thinking and desperate ‘what-ifs’. No amount of daydreaming would change his reality.
So Kyle sighed and turned over in bed, staring at his phone only a few inches from his face. He kept rereading the message, hoping it would morph and change into something different to no avail. And as he stared at his bright screen, his eyes stinging with the contrast of bright white to pitch black room he wondered to himself quietly; why did he think to invite me in the middle of the night?
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Stan always slept in whenever he could. By the time spring semester of junior year rolled around, he was exhausted between school, sports, college decisions, and all the exciting events that came with being in high school. It was his next big milestone in life and he could not have been more excited for the upcoming events in his life.
This of course, was altered one night in February.
It was a little past one in the morning, way later than Stan liked to stay up, especially for a school night if he could help it, and the sound of his mother screaming ripped him from his slumber. Stan sprung out of bed, shoving his blanket off and sat startled for a second trying to get his brain out of its fog and run to help his mother.
“Stanley, please come here,” his mom yelled down the hallway. He rushed out of his room in that instant, pushing open his parents bedroom door. The lights had been switched on and his mother was on the floor, cradling his father close who leaned his back against the bed and groaned in pain. He had never seen his mother so distraught and his father in so much distress.
“Mom, what's going on?” Stan asked, rushing to the floor to comfort his mother. “I don't know Stanley, I think he’s having a heart attack or something! He just kept saying his chest hurt and now he can’t even speak.” She sounded more frantic than Stan had heard in his life, and the way his father looked, so powerless and crumpled in on himself was starting to freak him out.
Stan knew he wouldn’t be good in these situations, that he would freeze up in times of desperate need, but this time he felt like he was experiencing an out of body experience. He rushed to his room, pulled his phone off the charger and dialed 911, hoping to God that his father wouldn’t lose consciousness or die from the time he called until the time paramedics arrived at their house. “Mom, I’m calling for help! Is he breathing?” Stan yelled down the hallway, his hands slightly shaking. He hated that even when he tried desperately to have some composure, he couldn’t help the tremors that ran through his body.
“I can’t tell Stanley! It’s so faint, oh God, Randy stay with me!” Sharron screeched, eyes darting between the doorway Stan had found himself standing in and her husband. Randy’s hand gripped his chest so tightly that his knuckles turned white with the pressure. Stan was sure that if he gripped any harder, he would draw blood.
“Hi yes, my dad is having a heart attack or something and we need help!” Stan said through the phone, holding it to his ear with both hands. He paced in the hallway while he watched his father groan and writhe in pain, his mom helpless to ease his pain. Stan answered the questions of the operator with haste, listing his address and any details he had on the situation, glaring through the window at the flashing red and blue lights looming outside. He hung up on the operator then, running downstairs to unlock the door for the paramedics to rush in.
Two men in uniforms barged in, following Stan’s directions to head upstairs and check on his father. By then, Sharron moved out of their way and stood next to her son in the hallway, releasing a breath she had no idea she was holding. She hugged Stan close, watching as the paramedics assisted Randy to stand and then down the stairs to ease his transition onto the stretcher. Neither Stan or Sharron could hold back their cries anymore and they held onto each other as they watched Randy get wheeled out of the house by a young looking paramedic. The other, much older, lingered behind and turned to them, explaining that one of the two could ride with Randy to the hospital and that he would likely be admitted for a minimum of two days.
“You go mom, I’ll be okay here. Dad needs you by his side more than I do.” Sharron nodded and wordlessly followed the paramedic out the door, grabbing her coat and house key.
“I’ll text you when we’re settled into a room. He’s gonna be okay.”
Stan wasn’t sure if she said that last part to him or herself, so he just nodded in response, closing the door behind her and watching through the window as the ambulance rushed away, lights flashing and siren blaring. All words escaped him in the situation he found himself in. Would his father really be okay? He didn’t even hear him speak, couldn’t even say goodbye if it was the end. And how would he make it through the rest of his life without his dad, his mother a widow? The frenzied thoughts swirled in his mind and the tears he was holding back came rushing down his face. A part of him felt like he had already lost his father, watching him be rushed away helplessly right in front of his eyes. Stan couldn’t be alone, he knew that much to be true.
He called Kyle without hesitation.
It took two rings before the line picked up.
“Stan? What’s wrong, it’s late?” Kyle said through the line, his groggy, sleep filled voice filling Stan’s ears.
“It’s dad, I need you here please,” Stan cried through the phone. All composure left him at that moment. The exhaustion, the realization, whatever it was, kicked in at the exact moment those words left his lips.
“I’m coming, Stan.”
It took less than two minutes for Kyle to appear at his front door, entering without a knock to signal his arrival. Stan had migrated to the couch by then, curled into the edge huddled in close with a pillow in his lap. Kyle took one look at his best friend and sat, opening his arms for Stan to collapse into. It was a wordless agreement, a kind of understanding they had since they were children that if the other needed it, a hug was always available. As they grew, it was less and less often that they actually needed a hug. Sometimes, Stan would initiate the hug for no real reason other than to have Kyle hold him close. He would never tell him that though. It never felt like the right time to explain why, and truthfully, he didn’t know why he felt the need to be close to him. He just did. It just made sense. That’s what best friends were for.
“My mom thinks he had a heart attack or something. I called 911 and they took him to the hospital like twenty minutes ago. I’m so afraid he’s gonna die,” Stan sobbed, grabbing onto the back of Kyle's shirt and crying onto his shoulder. Kyle rubbed circles onto his back, rocking gently to soothe Stan as much as possible. “He’s gonna be okay Stan. Randy’s made it through so much already, this won’t be the thing that takes him out,” Kyle assured, wrapping his arms around Stan’s back.
The two boys held their hug while Stan slowly eased out of his cries and snuggled himself closer to his best friend's chest. His heart was thumping at a perfect calming rhythm, lulling him into a sleepy headspace. Stan felt like he was in heaven then, surrounded in warmth and comfort, the smell of laundry detergent and men's deodorant filling his nose. If the arms of his best friend were the closest he could get to heaven, he would be happy dying there. But he couldn’t stay in that solace forever. It would be impossible to. So he reluctantly pulled away.
“Do you feel any better?” They were face to face with each other on the couch now, knees touching in their criss crossed positions. “Yeah, I knew I would be alright if you were here.”
They sat in silence for a minute, looking down at their own hands. Kyle’s breath hitched. “Do you wanna come back? It’s kinda cold in here,” Kyle asked, opening his arms.
“Yeah, I’m not done.”
Stan laid himself back onto Kyle, who was leaning his back against the arm of the couch and let his legs lay across the cushions. Stan moved his body between Kyle's legs, laying on his stomach and up across Kyle's chest, head resting near his collarbone and legs tangled together. He found that familiar spot again, curling his head into the soft fabric of Kyle’s shirt while he rubbed his hands up and down Stan’s back. It was warmer this way, and more comfortable than sitting. He wasn’t sure how long he laid there in his best friend's arms, enjoying the feeling far more than he would’ve liked to admit. The truth was, he enjoyed the place he was more than he would ever enjoy being anywhere else. It’s as if Kyle’s open arms were the pearly gates of heaven and Stan was allowed entrance for as long as he liked. And there he was, content in his place at that moment, lulling back into a restful sleep when his phone rang. Stan barely lifted his head to reach for his phone on the coffee table, reading the contact name before clicking to accept the call.
“Hey mom, how’s dad?” Stan asked, a desperate yet hopeful tone laced between the worry of his voice. Kyle found himself holding his breath then, unsure of whether the news on the other end of the line would be good or bad. He hoped for the latter.
“Hi Stanley, we just got placed in a room. The doctors expect him to make a full recovery, but he’ll be in the hospital for at least three days for monitoring. He’s going to be okay,” Sharron explained, causing Stan to breathe a huge sign of relief, smiling for the first time in the past two hours. Kyle took this gesture as a good one, listening as he finished up the call, sitting up with Stan as he placed his phone back on the table.
“She said he’s gonna be okay dude! I was sure he would be in worse shape but they said he’ll make a full recovery! They’re gonna watch over him for a few days but that’s okay because he’s alive!” Stan was practically glowing, excitedly relaying the information to Kyle, who was just happy to see his best friend smiling again. He hated when Stan worried, and he would go to the ends of the Earth to fix his woes. Stan stood up, a new found energy about him, pulling Kyle up and trapping him in a bear hug, the third hug they shared in the past hour.
“Dude, thanks for staying with me. I don’t know how I would've been if you weren't here for me,” Stan said, pulling back to look at Kyle, a gentle smile resting on his face. Their chests were barely touching, arms still entangled around each other's waist and both holding their breath. They stayed in their embrace in tension filled silence, staring into each other's eyes. Kyle might've mistaken the look in his eyes for approval if he didn’t recognize that look. The look of complete admiration, his bright blue eyes shining with something akin to love, but not quite the same. But in this moment, in the tired stupor of the night or the high stakes emotions brought on by the events of the past two hours, it didn’t matter to Kyle. Every pent up feeling came down to this exact moment.
Maybe that’s why he decided to kiss Stan then.
It was so gentle, he could almost convince himself he imagined the whole thing. But the feeling of soft lips against his own was a moment he imagined more often than he did anything else. And in that exact moment, his decision seemed like the workings of magic, when Stan’s hands found Kyle’s cheek, cupping him in close and deepening the kiss the slightest bit until he pulled away.
Stan’s wide eyes of surprise warranted an immediate apology.
“Stan, I’m sorry I don't-," Kyle started, pulling himself a few feet in front of Stan, looking down at his feet. How could he have been so stupid? What was he even thinking? Why wasn’t he thinking?
“Dude,” Stan started, wiping his mouth with his forearm, gently touching his lips with his fingers as if to feel if they were still attached to his face. “What was that for?”
“Stan, I don’t know. I’m stupid, I’m sorry,” Kyle exclaimed, trying desperately to come up with some excuse or reason as to why he just kissed his best friend. None came to him. He was so sure Stan would’ve yelled at him then. Cursed at him or kicked him out of the house while screaming that they were no longer friends. What came was almost worse than all of those possibilities combined.
Stan reached out to him, grabbed onto his arms and pulled him into a gentle hug, swaying him back and forth.
“Just dance with me for a second…please?”
The action was almost as gentle as the kiss and it filled Kyle with an anger he had never quite felt before. How could he show this many signs of being irrevocably in love with his best friend and when he finally made the most telling move yet, he got a gentle sway and a soft hug. He would have rather had the confrontation and anger over this. At least then Kyle would finally be able to air out every debilitating feeling that had plagued him for the past six years. But in this way, this gentle way, he couldn’t scream his true feelings at an angry Stan. And he definitely couldn’t tell them to Stan now, swaying Kyle back and forth across the living room, emotionally exhausted and sweet. It would just be mean to overload him with a new groundbreaking, life changing realization. So, like he always did, Kyle tucked his anger away and let Stan dance with him silently in his living room at three in the morning.
They never talked about that night again.
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If Kyle did decide to go to the wedding, he tried to figure out how much of a mess it would end up being. He strongly doubted that the celebration would be lacking in alcohol, and knowing how Stan acted when he would drink in high school, he was worried that Stan would end up making a complete fool of himself at his own wedding. Kyle hoped that he at least learned to manage his liquor better. Then cursed himself for even considering going in the first place.
The question Kyle should’ve started with was wondering how he would react to seeing Stan after all this time. Would he just have to sit there and pretend to be happy seeing Stan stand at the altar, hair slicked back and smiling in his perfect suit while his perfect bride walked down the aisle? He hardly thought he could get through the entrance without crying, let alone hold himself back from objecting at the end of their vows. It was too dangerous to even consider going. He would have to sit there and pretend like things weren't the same as they were all those years ago and Stan would notice, get uncomfortable and they would go their separate ways in life never speaking again.
Kyle wasn’t sure if that's the memory he wanted to have. He liked the ones he kept stored in his mind from when they were kids and teenagers, pretending that life never got as serious as it was then. Where each day felt like their first and their last and they lived each moment in joyous snippets. He wished life could always be like that. He imagined that with Stan, it probably would feel that way. Instead, he just had to wonder why it ended up like this. Of all possibilities, was this really the life he wanted?
Kyle knew the answer to that question. It was an obvious no.
But it was too late to change his reality now.
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By the time graduation rolled around, every student in South Park High was anticipating the graduation party held by none other than Tolkien Black. Everyone except Kyle Broflovski that is.
He knew these parties were all the same, an excuse for the teens of the town to get drunk and make out in the dark corners and hallways of that gargantuan sized house. It was a common occurrence by then and he was sure that this time would be no different, and he wasn’t sure he could subject himself to that torture again.
At Tolkien's senior year parties, which were thrown on every major holiday, week long break, or just when the timing felt right, Stan would convince Kyle to take him, get incredibly drunk, grab onto Kyle and drag him away to a coat closet or empty bedroom to kiss him like he was going off to war. But that wasn't at all how it was to Kyle. He had his occasional drink, usually nursing a red solo cup of whatever spiked juice the night called for, leaning against the wall and nodding his head to the music. He liked to keep a steady head since he would be the one driving home and also because he quite liked remembering the nights he had with Stan, even if the other boy got so black out drunk that he never remembered a thing. At least Kyle had assumed Stan never remembered. He never talked about it like he did.
But lately, with the threat of college separating them, Kyle grew quite angry at the idea of being swept into another make out with Stan. As much as he enjoyed it, he hated the feeling it left him with at the end of the night, knowing that Stan would never do this if he was sober. Part of him wondered if the only reason Stan went to these parties was to have an excuse to kiss him. The other part of him knew that couldn't possibly be the case.
“Kyle, we have to go! It’s going to be the last chance we get to go to one of Tolkien's parties!” Stan practically begged. He grabbed the keys to Kyle’s car from his desk, jingling them in front of his face. ‘Come on dude! You drive, we show up, talk to everyone and just enjoy our newfound freedom! We’re done with high school and we have one summer before we head right back into school! Let’s have fun!” Kyle hated how much this tactic worked on him. He swung his hand in the air, swiftly grabbing his keys with a quiet clink.
“Fine, we can go. But I don’t want to be there all night. We see everyone, have a few drinks, and we leave. Deal?”
Stan made his way out of the bedroom before Kyle could even finish his thought.
The drive to Tolkien's was short, and despite the fact that it was only seven in the evening and the sun was still up, the house was already packed and blaring with music. Kyle parked along the long stone driveway that led up to the doors, trailing behind an excited Stan who had already ran inside to socialize. Kyle slipped through the doors soon after, sighing before he fully closed the door behind him.
The lights were always switched off in the house, with soft lighting from the lamps providing the only light source. At this point, the pair had been to enough parties to know the layout of the house like it was their own. Especially all the hidden spaces that were easily looked over by the average partygoer. The house, though spacious, was somehow already cramped by various kids from his class and a few from grades below who had snuck in under the radar. Tolkien’s parties really didn’t have much of an invite system going on anyways.
From the living room, the light from the TV shined back on Kyle, where Tweek and Jimmy had been partaking in a heated looking game of Mario Kart on the floor. Craig and Clyde were close by on the couch, both holding a respective drink and having a conversation, Craig's hand resting lazily on Tweek's shoulder. Wendy and Red were already up and dancing around to the music, swaying their hips back and forth with hands in the air, cups resting in each of their hands. Butters leaned against the kitchen counter twiddling his thumbs while Kenny stood across from him, chugging back a few of those small vodka bottles you get as samplers. He had about three in his mouth at once and the liquid drained so quickly, Kyle was sure that if he had blinked, he would've missed the whole ordeal.
Bebe leaned against the wall near the drinks and snacks, which Kyle found himself gravitating towards. He grabbed one of the cups from the stack, writing his name with a sharpie and filling it with the red juice from the crystal punch bowl at the center of the table. He was sure with this many people present by the time he arrived, it was sure to have already been spiked. With a small sip, he confirmed his suspicion, shaking his head back and forth as if it would ease the bitter taste of alcohol on his tongue.
“I swear, I see you at every single one of these parties and you’re telling me you still aren't used to the taste of vodka?”
Kyle often struck up a conversation with Bebe. It was always better than trying to locate Stan, which he found he was unable to do earlier. He assumed he must've already been getting drunk somewhere else, maybe with his football buddies in a separate room or something.
“You know I hardly drink as is. And the punch is never consistent, it's pretty strong this time around. How many cups have you had,” Kyle asked, looking over at Bebe, who was tucking her curled hair behind her ear. “At least four. The stronger the better I always say.”
The reason Bebe and Kyle always struck up a conversation at these parties was because they were the only two who were dragged there by their respective best friends. They had a mutual dislike for the loud and hectic party scene, but both handled it in different ways. Bebe drank and Kyle talked. It was both the worst and best therapy either teen could have. It was also the only thing that kept them both sane when everyone around them acted like complete idiots.
“Did Stan drag you here again?”
“He always does. You know I wouldn’t really come here willingly,” Kyle replied, swirling the red punch in his cup.
“Ouch, I thought you might be here for me this time,” Bebe half joked, nudging Kyle with her shoulder and a small grin, downing the remaining contents of her cup.
Bebe knew exactly what these parties meant to Kyle. How they were really a coverup, an excuse to make out with his best friend who he had no chance with sober. By the fifth party, Bebe was able to catch on to the pattern laid out right in front of her eyes. Either because she was extremely observant or because it was extremely obvious, Kyle wasn't quite sure. When he came back around for the next party several weeks later, she had questioned him about the boy's frequent pattern of disappearing upstairs only to come back when they were ready to leave. At first, Kyle deflected, saying Stan would just get sick and wanted someone next to him, but lost all excuses when Bebe questioned ‘Why doesn't he just find Wendy instead?’
“You know I won’t judge you right?” she had assured him that night, sensing his apprehension of being found out.
“But you're best friends with Wendy. How could you knowingly let me and Stan do that?” Kyle would say with a hushed tone, looking around to make sure he wasn't heard over the blaring music.
“Look at it this way,” Bebe explained. “I know their relationship isn't perfect. Everyone knows that. I don't even know why she keeps him around to be completely honest with you. But I also know the real reason you come here. I also assume the only reason you don't get blackout drunk like the rest of these people is so you can remember these nights. If I told Wendy, not only would I be breaking her heart, I would be outing you and Stan and possibly ruining a friendship in the process. As much as I hate to say it, there's a reason he gets so drunk before he comes and finds you.”
“He’s not gay,” Kyle would remark, taking a longer gulp of his drink than normal.
“You can argue all you want, but I don’t buy it. He knows what he’s doing. Even if you don't want to believe it, he remembers.”
Kyle hated how easily Bebe saw right through him. He wondered if anyone else could see him that way but never had the chance to say it right to his face. He hoped not.
“Well, you better enjoy tonight Kyle. It’s going to be one of the last parties you get to do this at. Enjoy it as much as you can.”
But Kyle knew he wouldn't enjoy it for that exact reason. Because he had no real excuse to kiss Stan after tonight. And knowing that made him angry. He crunched the red cup in his hand, tossing it onto the table next to the punch bowl and crossed his arms. Bebe just pushed out her bottom lip, giving him a sympathetic pout.
It wasn’t much longer before Stan came over, hair messy and cheeks pink with drunkenness. He was slightly squinting his eyes, surely trying to see in the dimly lit room, a dumb smile plastered on his face.
“Kyle!” he cheered, eyes closing as he landed in a hug against Kyle's chest, closing his eyes in satisfaction.
“Hey Stan,” he responded, unable to hold back his small grin. One look over at Bebe and she leaned away from the wall, filling up two cups with the punch she had been drinking from all night.
“I’m off to find Wendy. Y’all have fun!” and with one quick wink, she disappeared into the crowd.
“Kyle, follow me! I wanna show you something cool,” Stan said, grabbing Kyle’s hand and dragging them into a direction of the house he had never been before. Stan must have found a new hiding spot, he thought. Though, he was pleasantly surprised to find he was being led through a back door and outside, a place the two were hardly familiar with.
“I was with Tolkien and he was telling me about how his dad built him this awesome treehouse when he was a kid. Then, I told him about that time we built one in my backyard when we were kids and how cool it was. My dad took it down a few years ago and it made me kind of sad, but now we can go into Tolkien's treehouse dude! It’ll be awesome!”
The boys found themselves standing in front of a giant oak tree with wood plants nailed in the trunk to make a ladder leading up to the main platform of the treehouse. “You go first Stan, and watch your step,” Kyle cautioned, ensuring Stan made it up safely before he climbed up himself.
The treehouse was much better than anything they had ever built as children, with smooth wooden planks as floors and windows to see the house and sky. The inside was dusty and had cobwebs at almost every corner, various toys and folding chairs strewn about. Kyle took two chairs and pushed them together facing a window to look out at the house. Very few people had made their way outside, but the music was still booming and could be heard softly from their seats.
The boys sat in silence for a minute, sprawled on the chairs meant for someone half their size, hands resting a few inches from each other. The air was stiff and their faces were only partially lit by the porch light from the back porch.
“Do I ever scare you?”
Kyle hadn’t expected a conversation. They usually didn't have those. They also didn’t usually have this much time between being dragged somewhere dark and secluded and having their lips planted on each other, so Kyle was really unsure how to feel at all.
“What do you mean?”
“When I kiss you. You always just let it happen when I do it. You never initiate it but you never stop me. Do you feel like you have to or something?”
Stan had never shown he had been aware of the drunken kisses they shared. Kyle had even mentioned it the first time it happened after Stan sobered up, who claimed he had no idea what he was talking about. Kyle just assumed from then on he was just too drunk to remember. Now he knew differently.
“Wait, you remember doing it?”
“Well, most of the time. I don’t really want to, but it’s hard to forget something like that dude. I always feel so guilty afterwards.”
Kyle felt his anger bubble up, a newfound type of rage. How long had Stan been knowingly doing this? How long had he known Kyle’s true feelings?
“Why? Why do you feel so guilty, Stan? Because you practically cheat on Wendy every few weeks when you drag me somewhere to kiss me or because every time you do it, I let you because I know that’s all I’m ever going to get from you!? Which is it!?”
Kyle stood now, looking down at Stan who hadn’t bothered to move his head from looking out the treehouse window. He looked stoic, not smiling nor frowning. To Kyle, Stan was unreadable for the very first time.
“I don’t know what you want me to tell you Kyle.”
That just angered him more.
“Tell me the truth Stan! I let you drag me away and know I won’t ever have the chance to talk about it with you when you’re sober because you say you don't remember. But you do! You’ve known each and every time you bring me here what the night is going to lead to based on what you just asked! So you feel guilty for what? Actually doing it or lying about remembering?”
“You know I can’t just go out and talk about this dude. It’s more than that. It always has been.”
“More than what Stan? How long have you known about my true feelings for you? How long has it just been a fun game of seeing how many times you can kiss me before you completely break my heart?”
“I have Wendy dude, you know that. And coming out after all this time with that is just too much, it's too complicated. People will see me completely differently than they do now and I just can’t have that.”
Kyle just had to stare at Stan then, still sitting and straight faced like the complete jackass that he was. He fought back tears, his anger getting the better of him.
“I should've known you thought your image was more important than anything else. You know what, I bet you don't even feel bad! You don't feel guilty at all, because if you did, you wouldn't be sitting there like that! You wouldn't have let it get to the point where you do this at every single party. And you just sit there and lie. Right to my face Stan, you lie and say you care, but you sure don't look like you do.”
Only then did Stan turn his head, face still just as unreadable to Kyle as before.
“I don't understand why this is such a big deal to you. You’re getting what you want from me aren't you?”
“What I want from you? Stan, this is the opposite of what I want! If I could have what I want, Wendy would never be in the picture! We wouldn't have to sneak off to kiss each other in the dark! We would be able to do that right in front of everyone like every other couple in high school does! I could hold your hand in the hallways and call you at night and tell you how I really feel about you! I could tell everyone just how sweet you are to me, take you out on dinner dates and play with your hair! If I had it the way I wanted, I would love you so loudly that everyone would be absolutely sick of us! But you can't even stand the thought of that, the mere concept that I could love you that much, so you just give me drunk kisses to hold me over and hope I won't get sick of this! Well I’m done! I’m finally sick of it, Stan! I have loved you since middle school and I can’t subject myself to anymore torture by being around you any longer. It’s killing me. And you’re letting that happen. And I am not about to let you say you feel guilty about that when you’ve known this long. I will not fucking let you take that excuse.”
Kyle’s anger drained with each sentence and by the end of it, he was a blubbering mess of a man. When he had imagined spilling his guts out to Stan, it was never like this. He had imagined that after a kiss, Stan would start off by saying just how much he loved Kyle and how he wanted everyone to know. They would share a tender kiss and walk out of the dark coat closet holding hands, telling everyone just how in love they were and that would be that. He hadn’t imagined that it would end like this, even if it was the more realistic outcome.
He didn’t stay around to see any reaction from Stan, didn't stay to listen to him come up with a new excuse for his actions. Kyle hated himself for not putting a stop to this whole ordeal sooner. But could anyone really blame him for wanting to live in that sweet delusion? It was much better to imagine a better outcome than actually expect one.
Grabbing his keys from his jeans pocket, Kyle ran around the house to avoid anyone questioning his tear stained face, finding his car and peeling out of the driveway towards home as fast as possible. He didn't care that he was the one who always took Stan home. He could sleep up in that treehouse for all Kyle cared. He couldn’t stand to be near him now. He wasn’t sure when the next time he could stand to be close to Stan either. He just knew he needed his space.
And space is exactly what Kyle provided for himself.
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Kyle had no reply prepared for Stan then. He wasn't even sure what he would say after all this time. What could he realistically even say to convey every single thought he had about the message he just received.
Kyle hated how much he thought about it. How much the message consumed his mind in the past hour since it was sent. How much Stan consumed his mind after all this time and space apart. He typed out at first a short yes, then a yes with a bit of an explanation as to how much he missed Stan and how much time had passed between now and the last time they saw each other.
He deleted both messages.
He then began working on a message to say he would not go, how it was insensitive of Stan to even think to ask after the events of their last in person conversation. He deleted it then, wondering to himself if Stan ever did come clean to Wendy about the drunken kisses they shared in high school throughout their senior year. He doubted it. If he did, he doubted Stan and Wendy would have made it through this long without some serious counseling. Even then, Kyle was sure someone would've told her after all this time, but since he never heard anyone talk about it, he just assumed it was forgotten and left in the past.
Kyle finally came up with a simple rejection, claiming he was busy with work, but something inside of his mind told him not to send it, his finger hovering over the blue send button. He thought then, of all their shared moments in high school, how close they were and how they fell out right at the end. How he wondered if much, if anything, had really changed between then and now, and if it did change, then why was Kyle still on Stan’s mind after all these years. He just couldn't fathom the idea of seeing Stan again, knowing deep down that nothing had changed. That all the anger and resentment towards Stan and his buried feelings had hurt. How the anger of that night still stayed fresh on his heart like a gaping wound without stitches. How despite every passing second, Kyle had never truly got over his feelings for his best friend.
So he deleted that last message too. And with the quick swipe of his finger, he deleted the text conversation with Stan entirely. In that moment, Kyle decided that he would never respond to Stan. He wouldn’t give him that. He would simply force himself to move on.
Turning off his phone, Kyle sat it down on the bedside table, screen down as if to surround his room in complete pitch black darkness.
And in the dark, Kyle reminded himself of all the late night conversations and kisses they shared. How they always seemed to happen in the pitch black of night. Dark and away from everyone. Hidden away, like a secret kept from anyone's view. And when his head hit the pillow, Kyle couldn’t help but let the good memories of Stan take over his mind, lulling him to sleep like they had for the past ten years of his life.