I Can Write Something Cute

by Pleaki

I would just gawk at her every time she said that. 'Cute' was something I didn't do. That was for girls. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I write like a chick. :One shot:

Author's Note: Something upset me, so I wrote this.

I Can Write Something Cute

I sat on my bed with my legs crossed and my binder on my lap. I leaned forward and quickly scribbled onto my newsprint scrap paper that I was using for my Algebra II homework.

I put my pen to my lips and nipped at the tip of it. I leaned back on the bed frame and let out a heavy sigh. What the Hell am I doing?

I let my hands fall to my sides and continued to chew on the pen. Poetry was so dumb. Well, it used to be. Back in elementary, anyway.

I don't know, I guess I just sort of found interest in it back in eighth grade when I had to take that stupid creative writing class. The teacher couldn't get enough of me. It wasn't even that big of a deal, though. I just wrote and it kind of just happened. It's not like I was trying to be some poetry genius. I mean, poetry was totally gay, right?

Just like me, I guess. I guess that could explain the connection. I hated that teacher, though. She got on my nerves.

"Oh, Stan," she would say, "this is wonderful! Very eerie and mysterious. Beautifully composed. Reminds me of Poe, almost."

And then she would give me this stupid smile and ask, "Can't you write something more positive? Perhaps, something cute?"

I would just gawk at her every time she said that. "Cute" was something I didn't do. That was for girls. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I write like a chick.

Yeah, I'm gay. I didn't really want to admit it back then, though. No one really knew. Well, Kenny figured it out, somehow. How the Hell does he do that, anyway?

Everyone seemed to take it pretty well when I came out in tenth grade. Cartman made fun of me, of course. But he lost interest in it after a while. I guess I'm not that interesting... Probably because I write poetry.

I looked back at my paper and sighed. There was another reason why I would never write anything like my teacher asked. I can't write something cute. It sometimes starts out like it could be cute, but it always ends up "negative," as the dumb bitch called it.

My cell phone vibrated, causing me to jump. I sat up and pulled it out of my pocket.

Wendy.

I flipped it open.

"Hey, Wendy."

"Oh, hi, Stan," she said back, as if she forgot who she had called in the first place. I shook my head. "You busy right now?"

"No, why?"

"I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out."

"... You want me to help you with the poem assignment for Mrs. Smith," I stated matter-of-factly. I could tell she had that embarrassed smile on her face.

"Well, sort of that, too..." she admitted. It was kind of annoying that she never wanted to admit when she needed help.

"Okay, I'll be over in a bit."

"Thanks, Stan."

I flipped my phone closed and hopped off my bed. I grabbed my hat and binder and walked out of my bedroom, down the stairs and out the front door. As I did so, I called to my mom that I'd be doing my homework at a friend's house.

Hanging out with Wendy wasn't so bad. I could talk to her about stuff. She was sort of cool now.

When I arrived at Wendy's house, I rang the doorbell and Wendy swung it open. It was like she was staring out the window and knew I was there already.

"Stan!" she exclaimed as she threw her arms around me. I hugged her back and we walked inside and up to her room.

Bebe was already in there. She normally was whenever I came over.

"Hey, Stan," she said all cheerful-like.

"Hey."

I sat on the floor and put my binder down next to me.

"What do you need help with?"

I looked at Wendy and she smiled shyly.

"I need a little revision," she stated. "Can I get an opinion?"

She picked up a paper from her desk and handed it to me.

I walk

Down the misty

Path, holding your warm hand

My cold palms and warming heart are

With you

"It's um..."

Wendy sat down on her bed, next to Bebe, who wrapped her arms around her.

Oh, did I mention they're going out? I guess it just didn't seem important.

"It's..."

I looked back down at the paper.

"Maybe you should change warming to something else. The word doesn't seem to fit."

"But it's the right amount of syllables, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it just sounds weird, though."

Wendy pouted, stood up and took the paper from me. I don't know why she asks for my opinion if she doesn't want criticism. I could have been a little more mean about it, and told her that the poem was kind of lame. It was one of those cute poems.

"Let me see yours," she said.

I rolled my eyes and pulled it out of my folder. She snatched it up and read it quickly, out loud.

"My eyes

Open and I

Look up to the bright stars

I look to find that I'm

Alone"

She frowned.

"You're not alone, Stan."

"It's a poem! It doesn't mean anything."

"People normally write about what they feel," Bebe cut in.

She was sort of right. But, I... uh... I don't know. I just shook my head and smiled.

"It's just how I write."

"Maybe you should change up your style," Wendy suggested. "Try to write how you're feeling instead."

I rolled my eyes.

"I'm not an emotional guy just because I'm a fag," I said bluntly.

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Stan," she shot back. It was really no use to argue with a dyke. Gay girls thought they knew freakin' everything. Like they could get into a guy's head just because they liked other girls or something. Well, I don't know if that's what they think, but it seems like it. I wonder if she was just putting on an act to get closer to me, sometimes. That'd be kinda stupid, though.

"Fine," I said as I shrugged it off. "But I write how I want. I don't want to try to do things I can't do."

It was quiet for a while. Wendy was attempting to revise her poem. The whole poem was a disaster and she might as well just start from scratch. I wouldn't tell her that, though. I knew better.

I laid on my stomach and tapped a pencil to my chin. Then, I jotted some more lines down on that old recycled newsprint paper.

I felt someone looming over me. I shot up and looked behind me.

"Damn, Bebe! Don't do that!"

"What'cha writing?" she asked curiously.

God, she was so nosy sometimes.

"None of your business," I shot. She frowned.

"Gee, you don't have to get so defensive about it."

Wendy tossed her paper and pencil aside. She probably gave up on it and was going to get back to it later.

"It's probably about Kyle," she giggled.

Why do girls giggle like that?

"No it's not," I snapped. Shit, that sounded a little too defensive.

"Aw, Stan," Wendy teased. "When are you gonna tell him, already?"

Oh yeah. That was something else I forgot to mention. I had this really lame crush on my super-best-friend. I had for a while, now. Probably since before I even realized I was gay. It's sort of lame. Kyle was one of the straightest guys I knew.

I guess I should mention that I told Wendy about my feelings for Kyle. She was the only one I could talk to about it. Well, there was Kenny, too. He figured it out and got it out of me. I hate how he does that. It's like he knew everything.

Kenny was the biggest man-whore in the school. Almost an equivalent to Cartman's mom. The thought of that shot shivers down my spine. I would say that he was the straightest guy I knew if he didn't put on a huge act to "Impress the ladies," he called it. He's the kind of straight guy who gives guys like me a bad image. Not every freakin' gay guy talks with a lisp and wears rainbows and switches his damn ass cheeks. I mean, I don't mind gay guys who do that. But when straight guys do it, it tends to piss me off.

"I- I... I'm not telling him."

"Why not?" Bebe asked. "You two would make such a cute pair."

"He's not gay!"

We were pretty much used to this kind of talk. It felt weird to talk about this kind of stuff when we were all fairly new to it in tenth grade. We're all seniors, now.

I mean, we always said stuff like, "That's totally gay." It didn't really apply to some of us back then, except for maybe Butters, who actually has a girlfriend now. But I still swear up and down he's a fag. I sort of hoped he was, at least. I'd be the only gay guy in school if he wasn't. It felt so weird being the only guy in the school's GSA.(1) It was mostly full of straight and bisexual girls. Even Bebe was bi. Wendy was the only full-on lesbian there.

"You don't know that, Stan," Wendy told me. I rolled my eyes.

"It's called gaydar, Wendy. I have an idea, and Kyle is not one of those people that the red light blinks at when we're together."

It was true. Kyle just didn't come off as gay. Even if I really wanted him to.

"You should at least tell him."

Wendy was one of those people who wouldn't shut up until she heard what she wanted to hear.

"And risk our friendship? I don't think so."

"If he's really your friend, he wouldn't turn his back on you over that."

She really wasn't getting this through her thick head.

"It's not that simple," I tried to explain. Wendy wouldn't buy it.

"Stan, just tell him."

I sighed.

"I'll think about it," he murmured as I gathered up my things. "I gotta get home, though."

That was a lie. But if I didn't get out of there, Wendy would start having me write a confession speech, and that was something I did not need.

She stood up and kissed me on the cheek. She always did that when we said goodbye. Bebe hugged me, too.

"See you tomorrow, Stan," Wendy said as I walked out the door.

--

I walked down the icy sidewalk with a pen in my hand. I scribbled more words onto the paper I had been writing on all afternoon.

This was starting to come out as the lamest thing I ever wrote.

"Write what you feel," Wendy says.

Jesus Christ, if only she knew. I continued to walk and write.

I probably shouldn't have done that. I wasn't really looking where I was going. I ended up walking right into someone. We both fell over from the impact. I guess this person wasn't looking where they were going either. My binder flew from my hand and my papers flew everywhere.

Whoever it was, they fell on top of me. I opened my eyes. They met with Kyle's.

My face immediately got hot. I was so freakin' obvious. I'm surprised he couldn't tell.

Kyle shot up and helped me up.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Stan."

He knelt down and started to pick up some of my papers. I rubbed the back of my head.

"N- It's okay. I wasn't looking where I was going," I said sheepishly.

Kyle continued to pick up the papers and I knelt down to help. The stupid ice on the sidewalk got them damp. At least it didn't ruin them.

Kyle stopped picking up the papers when his eye caught a particular piece of recycled newsprint that I had been working on all afternoon. I didn't notice until I looked up and saw it in his hand. I think my heart stopped when I saw what he was reading.

SHIT.

The two of us were sitting on our knees on the icy sidewalk. Kyle's eyes left the poem and met with mine. I felt everything around us melt away. It was just me and him. And my poem...

"Stan."

I felt my heart race. I blinked and broke eye contact with him.

"Who is this about?"

Why did he have to ask that. What am I supposed to say. Well, I could say anything. But I didn't want to lie to him. Not my best friend.

I lied to him every day I didn't tell him, though. But it was for a good reason.

But what if I lied to him and he got disappointed? What if he felt the same way about me that I did about him? It wasn't... Likely. But what if...

Why did this have to be so hard?

"You."

Why did I say that?

Kyle bit his lip. He looked down at the poem, then at me again. It looked like he was thinking. His hands crumpled the edges of thin paper a little.

Finally, he stood up. He handed me the paper.

"Stan, I... I don't know what to say."

That was already obvious. But I guess he felt like he needed to say that anyway.

"I... I care about you a lot. You're my best friend. I just..." He looked at me sadly. "I don't want to hurt you."

That was the nice way to put it. I felt my heart sink. It was something I already new, but I somehow still felt disappointment. It's funny how you still get that feeling when you already knew the answer before anyone told you.

"I understand," I said softly. I could feel the ice melting through my pants. I didn't move. I didn't look at him. I could feel him stare down at me. He felt guilty, I could tell.

"I'm sorry, Stan."

"Please, go away," I said. I didn't look up at him. I probably pissed him off, I don't know. I didn't mean to. I just didn't want him to keep staring down at me.

I could practically feel Kyle frown. He walked away without saying anything else. I could feel him staring at me as he walked away. When I knew he was out of sight, I leaned over and buried my face in my arms and broke down. My sleeves got wet from the combination of the icy sidewalk and my tears, but I didn't care. I cried.

How could I be so stupid. I was such an idiot. I was acting like I didn't know he wouldn't feel the same when I knew it very well from the start.

Shit.

I cried harder. I didn't even hear when someone walked up to me from behind until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

"Stan?"

I shot up and wiped my eyes. It wasn't very effective, considering that tears kept coming.

Kenny knelt down next to me with his hand still on my shoulder.

"What's wrong with you?"

Kenny had this thing where he wasn't very good at coming off as caring. It was like he had some sort of attitude. But that was just how he talked. He got pissed at us when we took it the wrong way. The same same way he got pissed when we gave him crap for dressing in rainbows. That's what he was wearing right then, actually. He was wearing that stupid red jacket with the rainbow stripes on the trims and the sleeves rolled up. He had colorful bracelets going up his arms. He also had those damn knee-high rainbow striped socks and those black all stars with rainbow colored laces and some plain, black shorts.

I didn't answer him. I threw my arms around him instead and cried harder.

I'm sure I made him feel pretty awkward. He hugged me back, though. He didn't even know what happened and he was whispering, "It'll be okay." and other lame things to me.

When I finally stopped crying so hard, Kenny helped me up. He picked up my folder and handed it to me.

"You gonna be okay?"he asked me as he rubbed his bracelet-coated arm.

I nodded. He could tell I was lying.

"What happened?" he asked me.

"I told Kyle."

He knew what that meant. He bit his lip. I hate it when people do that. I cringed.

"I'm assuming it didn't go over too well."

I didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, dude."

He hugged me again. I kept my arms around my binder, though.

"You..." He backed away. "You want to talk about it? Or... I can just keep you company?"

I looked at him. He seemed like he felt pretty bad about it.

"If you want," I told him. I didn't really want to talk about it, but his company would be okay.

We walked down the neighborhood. We were pretty quiet most of the time. I didn't really want to talk and I guess Kenny didn't know what to say, which was pretty unusual. He normally always had some stupid thing to talk about. But he just kept adjusting his bracelets.

We somehow ended up at Stark's Pond. How did that happen? I should had been paying more attention when we were walking.

Kenny led me to a large log and we sat down. I could see my breath. How the Hell was he walking around in shorts? He said something, but I didn't hear it.

"What?"

"Are you gonna be okay?" he repeated.

"I don't know... It just happened so fast. I wasn't even ready to... I just don't know..."

It was quiet. I pulled the poem Kyle had read out of my folder and looked over the words.

"What's that?"

"Something stupid," I answered. I handed it to him. There was really no point in hiding anything from Kenny. He read it out loud, much to my embarrassment.

"Why is it that when you're not there

I cry like a child?

Why is it that life is worth living

Every time I see you smile?

What is it that makes me love you

And makes me sad when you're away?

Why do I dream about you every night

And think about you every day?

Why is it that without you I feel empty

And around you I feel shy?

Why don't I know what to ever say or do

Yet want you in my life?

Why does my heart tighten

When I hear your voice over the phone?

What is it about you

That lets me know I'm not alone?

Why is it that when we lock eyes

I forget everything else exists?

And how can I stare at lips for hours

That I am too afraid to kiss?

How is it that you bring me comfort

Just by being there?

Why is it so important to me

Just to know you care?

Why is it that when I hear your name

My heart skips a beat?"

He stopped there. That's the last line I wrote before I ran into Kyle. He lowered the paper and looked at me.

"This isn't bad," he said. "You should finish it."

"I can't," I said. I took the paper from him and it wrinkled between my hands.

"Why?"

"I... I was trying to write something positive but I don't think I can finish it off anymore." I admitted.

"Why?" Kenny looked at me dumbly. "You should write how you feel. Not what some dumb teacher says in eighth grade."

I looked down at my paper. Then, I took the pen out of between the papers in my binder. I scribbled something down on it quickly and handed Kenny the paper.

"Why is it that I love you

When I know you'll never love me?"

Kenny frowned. He looked over the paper at me. Then, he placed his hand on mine.

"I know the feeling," he said.

I looked at him. He looked away from me.

"More than you know," he said.

What did that mean?

Kenny stood up and walked away without another word. I noticed something reflect a light where Kenny was sitting. I picked it up. It was once of his bracelets. A red one that had "love" printed on it in black. It was slightly faded.

I put it on my wrist, stood up and looked in the direction Kenny had wandered off to.

"Wait up, Kenny!"

He turned and waited until I caught up and we walked home.

End.

1- GSA stands for Gay-Straight-Alliance.

Author's Note: I sort of got this smack of emo that made me write this. I was feeling better by the end, so I wanted to end on a happy note. I'm the kind of person who supports nearly every pair for South Park. There's ones I prefer over others, but I'm not picky. I actually really like Stan/Kenny.

Please try to not take too much offense in... the offensive things that are said. I'm not dissing lesbians or guys who like rainbows. That would be silly of me, considering I'm a part of that crazy mess referred to as LGBT.
I wanted to end this differently, but thought it was best to keep it simple and cute. Also, the lame poems were written by me.