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The star speckled sky was reflected in Stan’s blue eyes. As if they’d taken a jump into the water to get a taste of what earth could feel like, to participate instead of gazing at what was so far away. Kyle could sympathize with that as he was watching the reflections rather than the real things.
Stan’s gaze was unfocused, not quite there, but it was an expression that found itself way too often onto his best friend's face. It made Kyle worry. Pressing his lips into each other until his jaw ached, he finally lifted his gaze back up towards the sky again. Right, they had a task.
It had been Kyle’s idea to come out here to Stark’s Pond to watch the meteorite shower and he had to drag Stan out by his frayed hoodie cuff–the other rather melting into an abomination with his bed than get his ass up and leave the house. It’d been a difficult few weeks and Kyle was just glad he’d gotten the other to move. The meteorite shower had been the perfect excuse and Kyle himself felt like he’d needed that, the tight coil in his chest not exactly unwinding but relinquishing its death grip on his heart.
Every time he looked over at Stan though–he felt like it was ready to snap back into place again. Out of worry, for one. But also because he couldn’t look at his best friend anymore without staring. Couldn’t talk to him anymore without getting breathless. Couldn’t touch him anymore without heat burning up his spine until the all encompassing force of want frightened him so bad he needed to flee the scene. Everything was just too much and he didn’t know where to put all that much.
So rather than saying anything to Stan he simply let it simmer in the hopes it would never boil over. Put a wooden spoon on it and keep a close watch on the bubbles that dared to slip over the rim until they burned ugly stains into the ceramic surface; which he would only be able to get out with some baking soda and rough scrubbing.
They’d seen three shooting stars till now. Kyle had always been the one to excitedly point them out while Stan had given a low hum in lieu of an answer. He hadn’t said much today–the last few weeks to be honest–so Kyle would take anything he could get. Any sound that came out of Stan’s mouth was his to hear, to take. Kyle was greedy like that.
“Oh another one!” Kyle’s pointer finger snapped up and traced the path that had just lit up the night sky. “That was what, the fourth one?” He knew it was the fourth one. He looked over at Stan.
“Yeah, fourth,” Stan said quietly.
That was progress. Kyle pressed on.
“The fourth one and we’ve only been here for like an hour, I think that’s quite good, isn’t it?”
A low hum was the reply.
“This far out even the Milky Way is slightly visible, that’s so cool. Light pollution is a serious problem that I should probably think about more. I mean, the night sky is so huge and there’s so much to see but when you’re in a city the light blocks out any of it, isn’t that crazy? The fact that we can even see light that is so far away is crazy, like dude, how powerful must that light be then. But at the same time isn’t it crazy that we measly humans manage to block our vision of that, simply with how bright our cities are?”
“I know what you’re trying to do.” Stan sounded tired. But he always did, so he sounded as usual. Kyle didn’t want this to be the usual anymore.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kyle replied and let his hands drop back onto his stomach.
Another hum and then–
silence.
Kyle was wrecking his brain for anything to say, but he came up blank. Bringing up Stan’s obvious problems was a hard no, but it was the only thing his thoughts kept circling around. At least the other wasn’t drunk, which had happened more times than Kyle could count these last few months. It had happened more than once that when Kyle came over to the Marsh household he was hit with a wave of stinging smells such as alcohol or vomit. Stan’s room was a mess, with empty bottles of vodka lying around the place, stained clothes covering the entire floor and the air so stale he could taste sweat on his tongue. And in the middle of it was Stan, passed out from whatever concoction he had been drinking, with vomit smeared down his chin and dried tear tracks under his eyes. Kyle wanted to cry every time he stepped into that place, but he shouldered on and cleaned whatever he could clean. He was the only reason Stan got fresh sheets on his bed every two weeks or took a shower.
He’d accepted there was nothing more he could do for his best friend. He’d exhausted all the options at this point. He didn’t like to think about that.
He should concentrate on the here and now though. He’d gotten Stan outside and they were doing an activity that was usually reserved for dates–he couldn’t help but get giddy at the thought.
Another shooting star flew across and Kyle made a soft noise before closing his eyes. Weren’t shooting stars supposed to fulfill wishes? It was a childish notion, but Kyle clasped his hands together and willed himself to repeat a single sentence in his head over and over again: Please let Stan get better. Please let him be happy again. He opened his eyes after a minute of wishful thinking and stared back up at the vast expanse of the universe. The only thing he could hear was the soft tinkling of water from the lake and the leaves rustling in the rolling wind.
“Kyle?” Stan suddenly spoke up in a whisper.
Kyle turned his head around and stared at him with wide eyes. “Yes Stan?”
Stan kept his eyes straight up, body held so still Kyle could barely catch the rise of his chest.
“It never gets better.”
“What are you talking about?” Abruptly, Kyle sat up and stared down at Stan.
“Almost all of the time there’s this… This wall I can’t see behind-”
“Stan we can-”
“No let me explain,” Stan’s eyes flickered over to Kyle shortly before settling back on the stars, though it seemed he wasn’t quite taking them in. “I just feel nothing, like all the time. And when I think about the future or even just tomorrow or the next few hours there’s just…nothing. It’s like fog settles over my mind and the only thing I can with certainty say about tomorrow is that I’ll feel the same. The only certainty is this deeprooted anguish that I can’t fucking get rid off.”
Kyle felt himself tear up, but swallowed to keep them at bay. Stan had never talked about how he felt or how his obvious depression affected him. He didn’t know if that was a sign of improvement or a really, really bad omen of Stan’s spiraling state. He didn’t dare open his mouth and ruin whatever Stan was about to say.
“It’s like… no matter how hard I try there’s nothing left for me except this empty feeling I can’t escape. Every single fucking day it’s the same and I-” Much to Kyle’s horror (or relief he wasn’t quite sure yet) Stan’s words veered off into a choked sob. “I c-can’t do this anymore, Kyle. I’m just so tired. I don’t want to anymore.”
Stan sat up and curled into himself, arms hugging himself as if he was gonna fall apart if he loosened his hold. He pressed his forehead into his knees and started sobbing.
Kyle had never seen him like this. Stan was always quiet in his sadness, pulled into himself and scarce with his words. But this—this was completely new. But bigger than the overwhelming worry in Kyle’s throat was his urge to soothe, to hold.
“Stan, hey,” Kyle whispered, probably not even reaching the other’s ears. He scooted closer on their blanket, hands reaching out before he could second-think himself, and flattened his palm to Stan’s erratic back. He was warm through his shirt and Kyle could feel the way his ribs expanded rapidly, how his spine curled forwards.
“I don’t want t-to anymore, Kyle- I can’t.” Stan barely acknowledged the physical contact, muttering further into his knees and working himself up into hysterics.
Kyle’s own breath stuttered in his chest. He’d never been a sympathy crier, but this was Stan: his best friend, his other half since childhood, the first person he ever had real, soulripping feelings for. Seeing him like this was agonizing. He scooted even closer until their sides were pressed together—legs to shoulders. His hand on Stan’s back rubbed back and forth until it settled around his shoulders, pulling the other into a half-hug. “Shhh, hey. Come here.”
Throwing any and all caution overboard Kyle properly pulled Stan into his arms. Stan was still heaving and sputtering to himself, but he loosened his posture and let himself be cradled against Kyle’s chest. For anyone else it would’ve been a pitiful display to witness but for Kyle it meant everything. Stan trusting him with this, with his feelings, with his comfort. The last time he’d cradled the other in such an embrace had been years ago when they’d still been children.
Wendy had broken up with Stan again, but this time she’d immediately gotten together with Cartman afterwards, rendering Stan and Kyle absolutely speechless. Stan’s insecurities had gotten the best of him and the notion that Cartman had been more attractive than him had been the last straw. Little Stan had sobbed into Kyle’s chest and asked with a small voice if he was so ugly that even Eric was the better option. Of course Kyle repeatedly assured him that Stan was by far the best-looking guy in their school, but how could Stan have known that Kyle had been entirely sincere?
Now curling his extremities tighter around Stan he willed himself to hold the other together with all his might; even if his fingers started cramping and and his back ached from the position he was holding. They stayed quiet for a while, motionless as the night sky slowly turned further. A single shooting star flew directly across Stark’s Pond, mirrored in the water’s reflection.
“I’m sorry,” Kyle muttered quietly into Stan’s greasy hair and there was truly nothing else he could do, no matter how much he wanted to. There were no placating words he could utter, or hopeful speech he could hold. The familiarity of Stan’s hurt made his teeth ache, but he was so used to it the bloody taste on his gums barely registered anymore. The blanket shifted underneath them as Kyle pulled back slightly and slid his hand up to Stan’s jaw, cooing softly at him to raise his gaze.
“Stan…Look at me please,” he inquired with a whisper and a few nudges later Stan’s blue eyes shimmered up at him from underneath his bangs. A wobbly smile found its way onto Kyle’s face. “Hey…”
Stan sniffed. “Hey,” he croaked, hand coming up to press Kyle’s hand further into his cheek. His hand was icy on top of Kyle’s, seemingly devoid of life. But in Stan’s eyes Kyle still found the remains of the person Stan had been–was still to him.
Words lingered on the tip of Kyle’s tongue at the sight, but he held them back. Swallowing them back down to let them fester further, as if there was still space for them to take up, as if it wasn’t the only emotion penetrating his bones and very being. In moments like these he wanted to be selfish and just speak them into existence, make them as palpable to Stan as they were to Kyle.
“Hey,” Kyle repeated back again, smile showing teeth.
“You’re so fucking stupid,” Stan muttered back, but uncurled further so his face was finally back in view.
“I think you’re the stupid one,” Kyle replied and felt himself lighten up. He knocked his knee against Stan and the other let out a huff before elbowing Kyle softly. “And physical, damn.”
“I still know what you’re trying to do,” Stan said softly.
“I know, but is it working?”
“Maybe…”
They both stayed curled against each other, eyes flicking over to the moon, as Stan pulled Kyle’s hand from his cheek and instead interlocked their hands. It was a gesture they had done a thousand times since their childhood, but it told Kyle everything he needed to know. With a small squeeze he let Stan know.
Even if I lose myself, I still have you.