Making up for how long it's taken to update and whatnot I made a really long one for you guys. This chapter is a whopping ten pages!

NOTE, PLEASE READ THIS:

All Shakespeare quotes in this chapter were by memory, so if anyone knows a site where I can get them easily and correctly please PM me or leave it in a review. And if anyone spots a mistake in the sections that I quoted Macbeth or Romeo and Juliet please tell me! Thank you!

"Two households both alike in dignity, in fair Verona where we lay our scene. From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, where civil blood makes civil hands unclean."

Stan yawned then felt something strange in his mouth. He quickly shut his mouth and looked to his best red-headed friend grinning beside him. The Jew chuckled softly, holding up his index finger and explaining, "My mother taught me to cover my mouth when yawning by tapping my tongue every time I didn't."

Stan scowled, "Butt-head."

Kyle just laughed while turning his attention back to the brunette they had grown to know as Patrick Lokia reciting the prologue of Romeo and Juliet.

"From forth the fatal loins of these two foes a pair of star-crossed lovers take their life; whole misadventured piteous overthrows do with their death bury their parents' strife."

"Now, Patrick," Mrs. Herit interrupted, "Annunciate while reading the opening passage. It's poetry, after all."

Patrick nodded as Stan yawned again, once he realized Kyle's head sharply turning to him he covered his mouth with his hand. Kyle smirked as Stan smiled from beneath his palm. They stared at each other for a very long moment before noticing their faces had sunken into serious, meaningful expressions. Their gaze held for this quiet while until Kyle made a very strange inquiry,

"Hey…can I…"

Stan examined Kyle's hand beginning to raise as he finished, "…touch you?"

Stan blushed, but still ignoring the murmur of Patrick's rhymes, told Kyle, "Uhm…yeah."

The ebony-haired boy watched, as if in slow motion, the hesitant levitation of Kyle's hand to the air before his face. Stan could feel the blood rising and boiling in his cheeks, his heart was pounding, his mouth felt dry and he didn't know why. His muscles were twitching in anticipation and there was this strange sensation running all down his body. Stan ordered focus onto his friend's hand again; the hand that for whatever reason Stan could not find, was giving him an inward seizure and driving him to the awkward state of a middle school girl with severe social anxiety. His hand was then so close that Stan's 

heart skipped a beat at the sight of it and he immediately closed his eyes on the moment that was the cue of physical contact with the boy's fingers. The connection never came, though.

"Dude?"

Stan looked to the Jew, mumbling, "What?"

"You gotta stop daydreaming all day. That's why you're failing Global."

Not again.

"Yeah, shut up, Brainiac."

"Not likely."

"If it isn't my Romeo." A voice suddenly came.

They turned to see their recent acquaintance, Adam Liever smiling flirtatiously to the redhead. Kyle, appearing as romantically retarded as usual, took the expression kindly and replied,

"What's up, Adam?"

Stan just glared as the brunette grinned and suggested, "Well, Mrs. Herit told us to run whatever scenes we wanted for now…I decided on the scene of your confession of undying love for me."

Kyle chuckled nervously before glancing to Stan, then responding politely, "Uhm, yeah, sure." Kyle's somewhat worried face looked to his friend and inquired, "You'll be okay, Stan?"

Oh, this was his chance. Stan was only moments away from bursting into flames when that troubling boy came by and Kyle had just given him an opening to intrude on time Adam hoped would be spent alone with Kyle. Like Hell Stan was going to let that happen; Kyle was too nice to deny anyone anything, after all. That was his angelic, perfect, humane error. Stan found that downfall to be most endearing, though.

"Actually, I think I'll join you two. Seeing as I wanted to rehearse some scenes with you anyway."

Kyle simpered and turned back to Adam, suggesting, "We should let him tag along, then."

Adam smiled back, but there was an anger and irritation built deep in his eyes as he turned a glare to Stan, replying, "Yes. I suppose we should."

Adam led the two to a separate section of the theater, backstage where there was a small room with five wooden chairs and a mirror running the length of the wall. There was a white table jutting out of the wall beneath the mirror, clearly set up for make-up and such; Stan figured it was safe to assume it was a dressing room. Adam twisted his seat around and planted himself on the backwards chair, Kyle sat down across from him while politely crossing his legs and Stan lifted himself onto the white table. Adam smiled to Kyle and requested,

"Was there a scene you wanted to rehearse first?"



Kyle quickly thumbed through the pages in his script and sighing he ultimately decided, "No. We can do the Orchard scene."

Adam nodded and flipped to the marked page as Kyle recited,

"But, soft, what light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief; that thou her maid art far more fair than she. Be not her maid, since she is envious; her vestal livery is but sick and green
And none but fools do wear it; cast it off. It is my lady, oh, it is my love…" Kyle suddenly paused and finished, "Oh, that she…knew she were."

Stan noted the meaningful look in Kyle's eyes. He almost looked hurt and Stan was happy to know that Adam could never see it. He was pleased, feeling like he could see through a mask that no one else saw. There was a secret he could see; a secret he couldn't read, but seeing it was enough. He would ask later, but Kyle continued softly,

"She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that? Her eye discourses; I will answer it…I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks. Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return. What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven would through the airy region stream so bright that birds would sing and think it were not night." Stan watched the small twitch of Kyle's adam's apple, thought it cute and continued to listen to Kyle's poetic and balanced voice complete, "See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand…oh, that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek…"

Stan blushed, recalling his prior daydream of Kyle reaching forward brushing his own cheek. Stan averted his eyes, trying to calm the beat of his heart as Adam's silence penetrated the comfort in the room. Kyle looked up from the script, having been waiting for Adam's line to arrive. He was met only with a wide-eyed stare as the brunette told him,

"That was…wonderful. I mean…it was…that was…you're just…"

"A natural." Stan interjected.

Kyle looked to his friend, meeting his ocean eyes with his jade as Stan repeated, "You're just amazing."

Stan appreciated the fluster that rose into Kyle's face and turned away again, feeling the return of his rapid heartbeat. Kyle looked away also, telling the charcoal-haired boy, "Uh, thanks."

Adam smiled, "Yeah. He's right. I would've said it myself, you just shocked me."

Kyle grinned to him, "Thanks."

The boy across from Kyle told him, "You know…I'll rehearse my lines in a little while…I think I'd like to hear more of yours…"



Both Stan and Kyle looked to Adam with surprise; such outward flattery wouldn't process in Kyle's mind. He was too nice, too shy, too romantically challenged. Stan glared; instincts were kicking in and protecting Kyle from embarrassment or worse—romance—was becoming an ever-growing concern.

"Well…okay, then…"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Ms. Thrunton…like…wants you."

Stan coughed a laugh, spitting out, "What?!"

Kyle chuckled, "No, I mean, like…I dunno, but I get the feeling she wanted you to be Romeo. I mean…Romeo didn't have red, wavy hair…ya know?"

Stan was about to object when Kyle continued, "Not to mention, the entire student body already has this conception that I'm a nerdy teacher's-pet, not a hot romantic."

Stan finally interrupted him, "Doesn't matter what misconception they have. They're wrong and you're gonna fucking blow them away. You're good at this shit, Kye. I mean…you're good at everything, but…you really…it really fit you."

"Well," Kyle began, "it wasn't without practice…I mean, I have read Shakespeare before. It's not like I'm entering this without any experience."

Stan cocked a brow as they turned the corner, "Really? You read that stuff?"

Kyle snorted, "That stuff? It's said to be-"

"The most valuable piece of literature besides the Bible, I know…but…you read it?"

Kyle looked to his feet on the pavement as he muttered, "Well…yeah…it's just so…it makes me…he makes me feel real…"

"What?"

Kyle shook his head, "Shakespeare…his writing just…it makes me feel something, you know? I get anxious, I get angry and I'm constantly being moved by his writing…it makes my heart sink and tingle and my stomach gets tight and my chest contracts and my head spins and I feel like I might cry, but I'm still smiling and I want to carry the feeling with me forever…"

Stan's eyes were wide, his friend finally looked to him and stated, "I dunno…I don't really expect you to…feel the way…I feel."

Stan immediately told the redhead, "No! I want to…I know I've felt that before…I don't…I don't know when and I can't…remember why or what was happening, but I know that feeling…maybe I've only seen 

it on T.V. or I've only read it or I've dreamt it or something stupid like that, but…if you…if you like it…I wanna like it."

Stan smiled to see Kyle's bewildered look, as Stan finished, "I want to…borrow some of the writing…or…something…please…"

Kyle stopped in his walking and faced Stan who was delayed in yielding by confusion, so was only two steps away. Kyle lurched forward and embraced the ebony-haired boy tightly. Stan was almost thrown back by the hug, but quickly returned it, closing his eyes in Kyle's sweet-smelling hair. Having Kyle so close was making his heart thump loud again, his hands wanted to cling a bit tighter, but he suppressed that strange desire and simply continued to hold. His lips were so close to Kyle's forehead, he was tempted to press them down in a parent-like kiss. The moment was torn from Stan's grip, though, as Kyle moved away and told him,

"I know it's retarded and whatever, but…I'm really glad that you're my best friend."

Stan flustered, smiling softly as he encouraged, "…super best friend."

Kyle laughed shortly, "Yeah. Super Best Friend."

They started walking again, but not a moment of silence passed before Kyle announced, "I think you should've been picked for Romeo."

Stan blushed; his mind was racing again. His heart was thumping, his stomach was twisting and he felt nervous. He had to tear away from this weird emotion that felt like drowning, but flying too and it was dark but bright too. He decided to reply, "I think you should've been picked for basketball."

Kyle grinned, "I can't play that game. Jews can run, though."

"And complain."

Stan laughed at the violent nudge he received from his right side as Kyle chuckled and cursed him. Stan shoved Kyle's shoulder as revenge and was attacked again after a moment of peace by a hand smacking the side of his head. Stan lightly slapped his friend's face, Kyle replied by tugging on his ear and in defense Stan reached down and squeezed the width of Kyle's waist, causing him to shriek girlishly and snap, "AH HA! NO! NO TICKLING, YOU DICK!"

Stan laughed manically as he took his hand away and muttered, "I'm not a dick, you're a dick."

"Am not! You're a dick!"

"You don't even have a dick."

Kyle's face turned a furious, but grinning red as he snarled, "What?!"

Stan laughed again, announcing, "Jews don't have dicks."



"I fuckin' have a dick, you dick!"

"Oh, you have one, then?" Stan teased.

"You're damn right I do! I'm fuckin' hung!" Kyle snapped.

Stan blushed; it was funny to him still. Stan knew he was the only one who could get Kyle worked up like that. It was a talent Stan was incredibly proud of. Kyle's voice suddenly broke the air again as he mumbled,

"Yeah…that's right, you…you stay quiet…you…fuckin'…anti-sematic prick."

Stan chuckled, "You're too easy to wind up."

"You're too…easy…to…fuckin'…whatever, I hate you."

Stan laughed again, "You're cool."

"You're a jerk." Kyle pouted, crossing his arms.

They crossed a street as Stan laughed, then heard Kyle speak again, but his words were blocked by the sound of rushing cars. Stan looked to the boy, asking, "What?"

"You should apologize."

Stan smirked, "I am so sorry, Kyle."

"Mean it."

Stan chuckled, "Why?"

"You hurt my feelings." Kyle chided jokingly.

Stan smirked again, "I'm sorry, Kye. I know you have a dick."

Kyle smiled with a glare and told him, "Damn right I do."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Kyle picked up five books from his shelf on the other side of his room. Stan found himself preoccupied with snooping through the small gadgets and gizmos on Kyle's desk. The desk was next to his unattached closet and it was separated from Kyle's bedside table by a small garbage pail, it was light blue and half full with balled-up loose-leaf. His bedside table had three drawers and a lamp that sat on top, two books, only one of them containing a bookmark that implied he had read far into it thus far. He had a middle-sized bed which was just shy of a queen-sized bed and another bedside table on the opposite side.



That was Stan's side of the bed when he slept over, but it had become common knowledge in the house. About a foot away from that bedside table was the window, always unlocked in case of emergency or in case Kyle's burglar-paranoia grew anymore. Sitting in the corner closest to the window was another case of drawers that played table to a fairly wide-screen television. There were three clocks on there with a few figurines that Kyle just couldn't seem to part with. There was one closet door beside that bureau and next to that were Kyle's shelves, overflowing with books. Under the shelves was his laundry basket, which was oddly color-coordinated with the months.

Kyle dedicated specific colored markers to mark up specific months on his calendar that hung to the left of his shelves. His OCD kept the entire room spotless and it made Stan feel at home. That was a give in, though, because whenever or wherever he was, if it was with Kyle, it always felt like home. That was another strange concept Stan was not willing to think on or try to process.

Kyle walked up to Stan and told him, "Here. There's a Midsummer Night's Dream, The Tempest, Hamlet and Macbeth. The fifth one is a book filled with his sonnets. On page twenty-four is The Rape of Lucrece which is…well, like most of his work, astonishing. In any case, that's all I'll give you for now. It's a lot of reading, so take your time, you can keep them as long as you like."

Stan beamed, "Thanks, dude. This is pretty awesome."

"I think it's pretty awesome that you're giving it a try. Tell me what you think, I'll be really anxious about your opinion."

The raven-haired athlete simpered, "Of course, dude. I'll start reading tonight…I'll uh…I'll talk to you tomorrow, then."

Kyle smiled sadly, "Uh…yeah. I guess I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Stan waved him off and walked home in the slowly-cloaking night. He stared at the covers of the books, slipping them under and over each other over and over. They were still warm like Kyle's room and Kyle's smile and they smelled like him too. They smelled like the redwood of Kyle's polished shelves, they were in pristine condition, untarnished and seemingly untouched like Kyle's soul and Kyle's pride. They grabbed at Stan's intrigue like Kyle's stories and explanations while they were soft in his hands like Kyle's silky hair and Kyle's light, yet not pale skin. Stan wondered why Kyle was taking over his mind like he was. Every thought led back to Kyle, every word and action was Kyle, it was his smile and his shift and his laugh and his look. Every movie and book and song was Kyle's glance and mumble and breath. Somehow it was relaxing while it still worried Stan. He blamed it on fatigue.

Stan got to his house, entering quietly to hear his mother and father in the living room. They were drinking coffee and his mother was smiling at the story his father seemed to be telling. The television was on, but they were concentrated only on each other and that warmed Stan's heart. He grinned when his mother spotted him by the door, triggering his father to turn to him and welcome him home. Stan thought it appropriate to sit down and join their conversation for a while, they asked him about his day and asked where he was going out to so late. He explained how rehearsal ran a bit late and he walked 

home with Kyle to borrow the books they noticed. He told them how Kyle seemed born to play the role of Romeo and told them about how he didn't have homework and hoped to get some sleep. His mother asked where a lunch box had come from that she found in the dishwasher earlier that day. He explained that Kyle had brought him sweets from the parlor to ensure he wouldn't fall asleep in class. His mother liked that.

Once an hour and a half of talking had passed, Stan announced that he wanted to retire to his room and read until he fell asleep. His parents told him they liked the idea so he left them to their own affairs. He went into his room and sat on his bed, picking book at random.

When shall we three meet again
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

When the hurlyburly's done,
When the battle's lost and won.

That will be ere the set of sun.

Where the place?

Upon the heath.

There to meet with Macbeth.

A silent hour passed and Stan was consumed…

The earth hath bubbles, as the water has,
And these are of them. Whither are they vanish'd?

Into the air; and what seem'd corporal melted
As breath into the wind. Would they had stay'd!

Were such things here as we do speak about?
Or have we eaten on the insane root
That takes the reason prisoner?

Your children shall be kings.

You shall be king.

The hours passed, the hours flew overcome with poetry…

Who dares receive it other,
As we shall make our griefs and clamour roar
Upon his death?

I am settled, and bend up
Each corporal agent to this terrible feat.

Away, and mock the time with fairest show:
False face must hide what the false heart doth know.

How goes the night, boy?

The moon is down; I have not heard the clock.

And she goes down at twelve.

I take't, 'tis later, sir.

Hold, take my sword. There's husbandry in heaven;
Their candles are all out. Take thee that too.
A heavy summons lies like lead upon me,
And yet I would not sleep: merciful powers,
Restrain in me the cursed thoughts that nature
Gives way to in repose!

Give me my sword.
Who's there?

A friend.

Stan looked out his window and the sun was slowly rising. He looked down, realizing he had only ten pages remaining. He cursed himself for taking none of the hours offered to him this night for sleep and told himself he had to finish the story. The sunlight warmed the right side of his face as it broke through his open window and onto him…

He's worth more sorrow,
And that I'll spend for him.

He's worth no more
They say he parted well, and paid his score:
And so, God be with him! Here comes newer comfort.

Hail, king! for so thou art: behold, where stands
The usurper's cursed head: the time is free:
I see thee compass'd with thy kingdom's pearl,
That speak my salutation in their minds;
Whose voices I desire aloud with mine:
Hail, King of Scotland!

His eyes were heavy as lead and his hand was twitching with tire from holding to the book's spine for so many hours without waver.

We shall not spend a large expense of time
Before we reckon with your several loves,
And make us even with you. My thanes and kinsmen,
Henceforth be earls, the first that ever Scotland
In such an honour named. What's more to do,
Which would be planted newly with the time,
As calling home our exiled friends abroad


That fled the snares of watchful tyranny;
Producing forth the cruel ministers
Of this dead butcher and his fiend-like queen,
Who, as 'tis thought, by self and violent hands
Took off her life; this, and what needful else
That calls upon us, by the grace of Grace,
We will perform in measure, time and place:
So, thanks to all at once and to each one,
Whom we invite to see us crown'd at Scone.

He closed the book and sighed. He couldn't form a word, a sound or bodily function. He had a feeling he wouldn't be going into school this morning. He smiled, hoping he wouldn't have to so that he could stay home and read more of Shakespeare's wonderful words.

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