Stan Marsh had become a man of regimented habits. So every Friday at five p.m. he would drive his hybrid truck to the town and buy the week's groceries, which usually resumed to anything that he couldn't plant in his garden at home. Stan had developed this habit in particular after getting married, more influenced by Sally's pressing than by his own will. She listed everything that was missing at home, wrote it down and left it on the fridge every Friday morning so he wouldn't forget to take it when he left for work. At that time, Stan still worked in the human resources sector of a soul-eating company, a job he hated with all his strength, which he had left two years ago, finally deciding to do something that would contribute to a great cause. That's how Stan became a communications analyst for a non-profit institution that protected animal rights. Sally was completely supportive of his decision, because that was her job as his wife and she always fulfilled her role very well.
The whole point is: Stan's schedule wasn't the same anymore and, instead of returning from work, those days he was already home at five p.m. of every Friday. But he didn't break the ritual of going to the store with his wife's shopping list weekly. Same day, same time. He had developed a certain taste for those lonely moments he spent choosing a chocolate bar that Sally liked – even though she never wrote "chocolate" on her list – and any soy milk that was on sale. Money was shorter, but they had enough to live decently. He liked to go to the supermarket by himself due to the simple mathematical calculation that Sally would always grab a cart when she entered the store, while Stan always grabbed a basket, two at the most, if they were throwing a party or something.
Stan wasn't thinking of all the reasons that could have prevented him from passing through the Canned Goods aisle at that exact moment. He was completely oblivious to the million factors that could've avoided him from stepping into that grocery aisle at 5:25 p.m. For example: if Sally hadn't felt like eating cake, she wouldn't had written "condensed milk" on her list, which was the only canned item he needed. If Stan had decided to take a shower before going to the grocery store, like he thought of doing, then he would have gotten into the supermarket around 5:30 p.m., twenty minutes later than he actually got there, and he wouldn't be stepping in the Canned Goods aisle around 5:25 p.m. because he would have gone to the Bread & Baked Goods first, so he wouldn't have been there exactly when Kenny McCormick was taking a can of beans off the shelf.
But there he was. It's funny how the universe works sometimes.
They could have never met in that corridor if any slightest little detail had been different.
Stan had no doubt about who that blond man was. It didn't matter that he looked so much older and his hair was a mess covering half of his face. It didn't matter. The encounter happened at the corner of the Canned aisle, they almost bumped into each other. The key word being almost: he was only a couple of inches away from Kenny, but hadn't touched him. That's how close Stan was. Too close not to recognize a childhood best friend.
Even one who was eight years older than Stan remembered.
His dirty blond hair seemed longer, a cut so uneven that could have been homemade. It probably was, knowing Kenny. His hair fell over his eyes, which were as blue as two pools shining under the sunlight, and Kenny shook his hair to get the strands of hair off his ridiculously gorgeous eyes as he looked for the price in the can of beans. He was wearing a grey sweatshirt too big for his size, with two huge blue numbers printed in the front, although Stan couldn't see them properly because Kenny was sideways scanning the can. He hadn't noticed Stan's presence yet.
Well, that's not entirely true. He did feel there was a presence very close to him, strangely close, but he was too distracted to turn and face whoever it was. Stan didn't know what to do about it. Maybe it wasn't too late to step back and leave unnoticed, if he did it really quietly and pretended that encounter had never happened. Not that he was actually considering the possibility; especially because, deep inside, the corners of his lips felt like opening a big smile the moment he laid eyes on Kenny. But he didn't smile. His brain hadn't had the time to process that the figure right in front of him was real.
Stan stepped forward to get awkwardly closer. He raised his pale hand so that his long fingers would cross in front of the blond man's face, pointing the yellow little plaque on the shelf, tapping it with his index finger.
"$3,29. Huh. I never got why they don't just charge it $3,30 and get it over with." He said with the most casual tone he could use, offering a shy smile as Kenny turned to face him suspiciously, as if he didn't understand why (and didn't appreciate the fact that) a strange man would be bitching about the prices to him at the supermarket.
Kenny was already separating his lips to say something nasty when his eyes met the brunet's face, so familiar to him, and the surprise took over his countenance. He leaned back a little bit in shock, laughing out loud with his eyes widen in disbelief.
"Marsh?!" Kenny asked with the largest smile Stan had ever seen in a human being, wide enough for him to notice that there was a tooth missing in the back of Kenny's mouth, but who the hell cared?
Especially given the inviting way the blond opened his arms, making Stan feel like a fool for being afraid of his reaction. After all, eight years was more than enough time to get over any trivial conflict from your twenties, wasn't it? That's what he felt when Kenny's strong arms involved his torso in a warm hug, with two firm taps on the back, supporting his chin on Stan's shoulder for a moment, speaking loudly to his ear:
"Man, I've missed you."
Stan had missed him too. He couldn't say it out loud, but he smiled with his mouth closed and corresponded to the short hug, tapping Kenny on the back too in retribution before the blond pulled away to drop the can of beans in the wrong place on the shelf. The hug was followed by a very long moment of silence, but not long enough to be awkward, filled with shy laughs from both men as a woman pulled her shopping cart with a child inside, right beside them, ascertaining the options of tomato sauce.
"My god, Ken…" Stan let out the mesmerized sound under a heavy breath, accommodating the basket on his arm while his other hand gesticulated in an incredulous sign, giving the other man a long analytic stare with a nervous laugh before finally convincing himself: Kenny was real. "When did you get back?"
Kenny pressed his tongue inside his cheek as he gave it a thought, smiling when he realized he didn't know the answer to that, scratching his head.
"Huh… A week or so, maybe. I don't know. It might have been ten days for all I know."
"Wow. But… You're here to visit?"
"Yeah, no, I came for a funeral."
Stan raised his eyebrows, parting his lips without knowing what he should (or would like to) say to that. The daughter of the tomato sauce lady started to complain to her doll, breaking the silence that started to take place between them once again. The dark haired man recovered as fast as he could, massaging the nape of the neck.
"Oh, Kenny, I'm so sorry, man. Was it someone in the family?"
"Yeah, an aunt. You don't have to make that face, she was a junky, I can't even remember what she looked like. I came for my sister, you know, figured it was time to pay a visit."
"And how long are you staying?"
Kenny's fingers went back to his head, scratching his scalp more loudly this time, giving the impression that he was doing it unconsciously out of pure jitters. Stan could identify himself with this feeling, watching as the blond narrowed his eyes and shrugged carelessly to him.
"A while."
It didn't fail to amaze Stan how, after so many years, in a few moments of talk he could already see lots of traces of the old Kenny; traces that he had carried since he was a child. The lack of attention, of time notion, the unspecific way he answered to the questions he was asked, like he hadn't made any plans and wasn't even worried about it. Stan smiled as he observed this thirty years old man scratching his head like a young guy he had known so long ago, and only then he realized just how badly he had missed Kenny; So much more than he had allowed himself to notice for the past eight years. He didn't think of Kenny too often, but there was no way he could ever forget about him. Because they were friends. When Kenny left, as bad as things had gotten between them, they were still friends. They loved each other like two brothers, and it was so pure and so different from when you feel passion for someone. They both understood very well how it worked.
Nodding in affirmation, Stan's eyes met the basket that the other man was carrying, nearly empty, if not for cans of beer and instant food. Suddenly, the brunet found himself frowning in worry.
"Are you staying at your parent's house?"
"Huh… No, actually I've been crashing at Karen's. She's married already, can you believe it?"
"Yes, I've heard." He replied with a soft smile, with an expression that gave away how silly the question was. But he didn't blame the blond for forgetting how things worked in a small town, giving all the places Kenny had probably visited and lived in this great world.
"Of course you have. Nothing ever happens in this shithole town that the whole population doesn't end up knowing."
Laughing, he concluded the obvious:
"So I guess you have no intention of moving back, right?"
He could see how Kenny ran his tongue through his front teeth, something he always did when he got nervous. Which made him consider his question more carefully than the first time, switching the basket from one arm to another like this would buy him some time.
"Who knows. It's not like I have a set place to get back to anyway."
When silence fell over them again, Stan was already taking a deep breath and preparing himself to ask the question that echoed inside his skull from the moments he laid eyes on Kenny holding that can of beans. It wouldn't be pleasant, of course, but it was the kind of situation in which ignoring the elephant in the room would only make it bigger. He had to bring the subject up, even if he already knew the answer.
And he did.
"Listen, Kenny… I know this is a little weird, but I have to ask: does Kyle know you're back?"
"Hum?" He replied distractedly, alternating his gaze between Stan and the canned beans, as if he hadn't heard him right. But of course he had. And that's what made the dark haired man regret of mentioning the forbidden name. Because it so clearly still ached inside Kenny's chest.
There was nothing rational about feeling guilty for something he hadn't done, but Stan still couldn't shake out that heavy weight over his shoulders when his eyes met Kenny's blue ones that reflected all the sorrow he carried inside. Stan didn't know exactly what that sorrow meant. It all had happened so long ago that it felt like a dream by now.
"Does Kyle know you're in South Park?" He slowly repeated.
Grabbing one of the cans and throwing it in his basket without checking for the price (which gave away his apprehension) Kenny let escape an almost devious laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.
"What, you're not his super bff anymore to ask me that? Of course he doesn't know. You'd know if he did." And, with a deep sigh, turning his body to face Stan and stepping forward to be closer to him, he proceeded with surlier voice. "And I'd really appreciate if you didn't tell him. I know there is a good chance he'd find out through osmosis just by looking at you, but if you can avoid it…"
It was slightly intriguing how there was no doubt or hesitation in his tone whatsoever when he asked "You're not his super bff anymore?" He didn't ask this with bitterness, he asked as if it was completely obvious, because Kenny knew perfectly well that Stan and Kyle had this thing that was for a lifetime and a little bit more. They survived the hurricane that Kenny had caused before he left and they'd survive anything that came afterwards. "Super bff" might not have been the most accurate description, at least it wasn't anymore, not like when they were ten. But the whole spirit of their relationship would never change. Everyone knew that.
Stan had been the one to look after Kyle, taking care of him every single night that he allowed himself to be taken care of (which wasn't all that common, except when he drank) after the giant tear Kenny had left behind when he took off. He'd nearly ruined Kyle for good, but he knew Stan would clean his mess and keep Kyle from being sucked into the black hole of his own suffering. And that's precisely what he had done.
Kenny left because he knew Stan would be there, knew that he would give everything he had and even what he didn't have for Kyle. Always has, always will. Just like Kyle would do the same for him. How on earth could Kenny compete with something like that?
Staring into those big and sinfully blue eyes, Stan couldn't help but see all those nights he had spent in hell trying to get Kyle to stop crying for a second and eat something. That dark little spot Stan had carried inside of him all those years, with which he was so used to by this point, was the only thing that didn't allow him to feel completely happy for seeing Kenny again.
"I can't lie to him, man."
"I'm not asking you to lie. Just… Stay out of it."
Kenny's tone wasn't accusatory or even rough anymore; it was soft and easy. He was asking for a favor. But still, Stan couldn't feel comfortable and felt like ending that conversation right there before it got any worse. He wished he could just pretend that nothing had ever happened.
Unfortunately for Stan, it was a little late for that.
Not getting any reply, Kenny continued:
"Look, I picked up the phone to call him at least twenty times since I got here, alright? It's not that I don't wanna talk to him. I know I have to. But c'mon, can you really blame me for having a little cold feet on this? He's a fucking time bomb, I didn't know if I was ready to deal with all the drama yet. I just… Want to do this on my time, okay?"
"Okay." He finally responded, raising his hand in a gesture that said 'you can stop now', keeping his tone low. "I won't say anything."
The blond sighed intensely, not in relief, but in remorse. He took his hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples and pushing his hair away from his eyes, running his long fingers through his golden locks, biting his bottom lip. He couldn't bring himself to face Stan as he asked:
"Does he still hate me?"
"No, Ken. Jesus, he doesn't hate you." Stan said in characteristic emphatic tone, but keeping it firm enough so that the blond believed him. There was even some sweetness somewhere in his voice.
It was hard to state something so strongly when, deep inside, he had no idea if it was true or not. Kyle hadn't spoken about it in years, and even if it was true, Kenny wouldn't believe him.
Because, still deep inside, Stan agreed to what the blond was saying. He really wished he could raise his hand and deny it, tell him that he didn't know the Kyle of today, the man he had become, since they were all in their thirties now and things had changed dramatically. He wished he could tell Kenny that the heated redhead he had once known didn't exist anymore and that Kyle wouldn't hold grudge of him for so many years. But to be completely honest, from the bottom of his heart, what guarantee did Stan have that Kyle didn't hate Kenny anymore? He was, indeed, a time bomb, since he was a child.
In fact, that was part of the reason why he was so easy to fall in love with: he was so passionate. And intelligent, of course, he had this impeccable logical reasoning and a fantastic good sense, but only to the things that didn't apply to his own life. It was extraordinary how Kenny was so sure of all those things, even after all that time.
"Listen, Stan…" His blue eyes gave away so much more than his mouth was willing to say, so he simply grumbled. "Thank you."
"Why don't you…" He started to say before realizing that he was actually saying it, which also had become a habit of his. "Come and have dinner this week? My wife does the most amazing meatloaf. Well, except that she doesn't actually put meat on it, because… We're vegetarians, so it's soy meat, but you'll never know the difference." He finished with an apologetic smile.
Kenny frowned in an almost theatrical way. He didn't know for sure if it was because of the wife part or the soy meat part, which sounded completely disgusting to him, but questioning that would sound a little rude after the new information that Stan Marsh was now a married man.
"Wow, Marh, you dog." He said with a bright charming smile, that even Stan knew so well, shaking his head to pull away the stubborn locks of hair that insisted on falling over his eyes. He was in desperate need of a haircut. "You got married? That's fucking awesome, congratulations!"
Stan ran his head on top of his head, messing his own dark hair in a shy way, laughing quietly as Kenny slapped him playfully in the arm.
"I always knew you'd live the whole dream of the cute house with the white fence, a dog, kids… Don't tell me you're a dad."
He replied simply shaking his head negatively.
"Oh well." Kenny mumbled, keeping that amazed beautiful smile on his face. "We have so much to catch on, I guess. Sure, I'll love to have your wife's fake meatloaf sometime."
When Stan suggested that they exchanged phone numbers, he wasn't all that surprised to hear that Kenny didn't have a cell phone anymore. It didn't match his whole persona or the lifestyle he seemed to have adopted. It was intriguing, to say the least. But the blond took a pen out of his pocket – which was even more intriguing – rolled his sleeve up and wrote Stan's number on his own arm, assuring that he would call him. He didn't mention any phone number in which Stan would be able to reach him, something that made the brunet slightly suspicious, but he kept his mouth shut.
A part of him was also waiting for Kenny to ask him if Kyle had changed his cell phone number, which he hadn't, but the question never came.
They exchanged a brief hug, much more impersonal than the first one, and Kenny said his goodbyes tipping an imaginary hat in salute, making Stan genuinely laugh.
He had truly missed the blond.
And during the next few days, every time Stan's cell rang, his expectations never went to Kenny McCormick. No, he wasn't expecting a call from the him. But he did expect, and quite anxiously, a call from Kyle. A very, very angry call. And it didn't take him long to receive it.
