Remember that great love involves great risk.
-Anonymous


A thick slush gathered in the soles of his boots as he hurried along the sidewalk. The hood of his jacket was pulled up to his face, shielding him from the snow fluttering silently to the pavement. He wasn't late - he was never late to anything. He just wanted to get out of the storm.

"Should've taken the bus," he grumbled under his breath. He wiped the snowflakes off of his forehead and glanced at his watch - 9:46 p.m. In his other hand he cradled a pair of small white boxes, carrying some Chinese food. He squeezed the boxes to his chest in a fatal attempt to keep them warm as he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. The number was dialed before he had time to think; she answered before the second ring.

"Hello?"

"Hey Wendy, it's Stan." Stan leaned against the wall of a gas station by the road. "I picked up dinner for us. Hope you don't mind Chinese again."

"No, that's fine. Thanks. You want me to pick you up? It's snowing pretty hard."

"I should be home in like ten minutes. Don't bother."

"Okay." A pause. "Love you."

Stan smiled even though he knew Wendy couldn't see him. "I love you too. Bye." And like that, the conversation was over, and Stan continued on his way. Not that there would be anything else to talk about anyways; after over a decade of being together, they ran out of things to say. Just a quick smile and hug each morning. Just a brief kiss goodnight. Almost nothing in-between. Stan ignored how vacant their communication was, doing his best to not let it eat away at his thoughts.

Stan was relieved when his house came into view. He upped his pace slightly and nearly slipped on some ice. Even though Stan spent his whole life in South Park, he'd never liked the cold weather. He was planning to move somewhere that never snowed in his teenage years, but this was the only way he could stay with Wendy. She loved South Park and wouldn't even consider leaving.

He was stuck there.

At last, he reached the porch of his small house. "I'm back," Stan said loudly when he opened the front door.

Wendy was sitting on the couch, her legs crossed, a book in her hands. She finished whatever sentence she was reading before she looked at him and smiled. It quickly morphed into a frown. "You should've let me pick you up, Stan. You look halfway-frozen. I'll reheat these," She stood up and took the paper boxes from Stan's hands. "Go change your clothes and come down whenever."

"Okay, mom." Stan smirked and took his wet jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack. Wendy would have a fit if he didn't. He climbed the stairs and came back a couple minutes later in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized T-shirt. Wendy was standing in front of the microwave, her back facing him, tapping her nails on the counter. Her jet-black straight hair fell about a half-foot beyond her shoulders, the bottom few inches tied in a loose braid. She rocked on the balls of her feet, which made her petite frame sway back and forth like a blade of grass in a breeze. She didn't turn around until she took the boxes from the microwave and dumped the contents on a plate.

"Thanks again for picking this up. I didn't feel like cooking tonight." Wendy set the plate on the kitchen table and took a seat.

"No problem." Stan reached across the table and spooned some fried rice on his plate. He picked some up with his plastic fork and shoved it into his mouth, tasting nothing. They ate teetering on silence, the only words spoken about Stan's day at work and how bored Wendy was hanging around the house all day.

Stan left the table first when he was finished. He scraped the remainder of what was on his plate in the trash and set the silverware in the sink. He half-listened to what Wendy was saying as he cleaned up the table, nodding when he knew he was supposed to.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Guess who stopped by today."

Stan considered for a moment and shrugged.

"Remember Kenny? He came here a couple hours ago looking for you. He said that he was in town, so he wanted to visit."

Stan stopped spooning leftovers into the plastic containers and looked up. He hadn't seen Kenny in over a year; he just seemed to disappear after high school, without a trace. "Really?"

"Yeah, he left his number when I told him you weren't here. You should call him tomorrow."

"Oh. Okay." Stan put the Tupperware in the refrigerator and headed for the staircase. "I think I'm gonna go to bed."

"G'night."

"You too." Stan replied. He trudged up the stairs, counting all thirteen of them on the way up. He took a left and went into the bedroom without turning the lights on. Everything he did was a daily ritual, repeating emptily day after day. Stan's life was like a broken record.

He hated it.

Stan laid on his back, with his fingers intertwined behind his head. He stared at he shadows on the ceiling and tried to fall asleep. No luck - his thoughts were eating him alive.

He loved Wendy, probably more than he loved himself, but everything about their relationship had grown so stale. A few months ago he was thinking of proposing to her. Now the thought made him uncomfortable. Married life wouldn't make a difference from life as it was, so why bother? Why go through all the trouble just so he could wear a ring and waste a ton of money? The whole fiasco didn't seem worth the backlash.

Stan held his wrist close to his face to look at the time again. He'd only been in his bedroom for about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes and thirty-two seconds, to be exact.

"Stan, are you still awake?"

He looked up from the face of his watch and saw Wendy standing in the doorway, squinting into the darkness, as if it would allow her to see better. She leaned against the doorframe and cleared her throat.

"Yeah. Can't fall asleep." Stan reached to his left and flicked the switch on the lamp.

"That bites."

Stan chuckled and made a face. "'Bites?' When did you start saying that?"

"Shut up." Wendy crossed her arms but still couldn't stop herself from smiling. "I'm only twenty-three. I can still stay 'bites', can't I?" She opened the drawer of her dresser and took her shirt off, letting it fall behind her in a pool of mauve fabric. She wriggled out of her jeans and hastily tied a short yellow robe on over her body.

Stan realized that he hadn't seen Wendy naked in over two months; they hadn't made love in over five. Wendy always seemed embarrassed whenever Stan looked at her. He thought that everything about her thin-yet-curvy body was faultless, down to the freckles on her lower-back and the scar on her shoulder. She was beautiful.

Her movements were smooth and languid as Wendy maneuvered into the full-sized bed and pulled the blanket up to her chest. Stan reached to his left again and turned off the lamp. His arms wrapped around her stomach and pulled her to his chest, bringing her close enough so he could rest his chin in the crook between her head and shoulder. His heart beat quickly; he was anxious, as he hadn't been this close to her in a long time. Wendy put her hands on top of Stan's and rubbed them gently, in slow circles.

"I love you." Stan turned his head and kissed her on the cheek. Wendy squeezed Stan's hands and craned her neck around to kiss Stan on his mouth. His lips became more needy - he held her closer to him under the blanket, listening to the sound of her rapidly shortening breathing. Stan's fingers inched for the tied belt on her robe, finding the uncomplicated knot and pulling it apart. Wendy froze for a second. Her breathing stilled. Stan ran his cold fingers along her ribcage, trying his best to not let her know that he was even more nervous than she was.

--

Stan woke up with Wendy in a sleepy embrace. He wondered for a moment if he had been dreaming, but that question was answered when he noticed that Wendy was without a bra. He didn't feel like moving and waking her up, so he didn't know what time it was. He guessed that it was early morning, judging by the way that dim light shone through the windows. He still had plenty of time until he needed to go to work, which he was thankful for.

Wendy took a deep breath and sighed. Stan looked at her contently and admired her perfect features. Her worry-lines vanished when she slept, making her look serene and happy. Stan resisted the urge to stroke her cheek in fear of waking her up. He instead leaned a few inches forward, pressing his cool lips lightly to her forehead. She didn't stir.

Stan thought the previous day that they might not be right for one another; now, as he inhaled the sweet scent of her skin, he knew that they made each other whole.


-JetBlackFedoraHat

Author's Note: More to come. I'm looking forward to it. Reviews are loved and cherished.