Kyle had experienced many emotions that day.
First it had been pure confusion. Then, when he realised Stan was not at the bus stop, fear. Irritation when the Fatass suggested he might be dead, how sad. Even more irritation when he entered the school grounds to see him all wrapped up in Miss Testaburger. Anger when he realised the boy had no intention of telling her the truth, ever. Disgust, in himself, when he realised he didn't care, and would let Stan come back to his room again and again anyway, as much as he wanted. The strongest emotion that Kyle felt that day was bittersweet love.
At least Kenny understood. The orange-hooded boy didn't know what had gone down between the two Super Best Friends, and much to Kyle's eternal gratification, he didn't ask, but he did lend his weight when Kyle would suddenly find his knees buckling beneath him in the corridors, and he did tell the Fatass to shut the fuck up when he tried to start an argument. Yeah, Kenny was a good friend. A good buddy.
He still chose to walk home alone though. Kenny gave a shrug when Kyle told him he'd rather be alone and sorry, and tagged along with Craig, Tweek and Token instead. Cartman had debate club. He mulled around at his locker for a while, the one that was separated from Stan's by only two, that had been swapped for one further down the hall belonging to one certain boy with an affinity for bright orange parkas. It had cost them a month of lunches each, but at the time they'd considered it worth it.
He exited the school ground with minimal enthusiasm at the prospect of home, where he would most likely sit on his computer, try to do homework and avoid going near his bed, which still smelled of Stan. He wasn't sure how he was going to sleep in it tonight. Maybe he could wash his sheets.
He was just thinking about whether he could be bothered hand washing his hand-quilted comforter (a gift from the grandmother) when a familiar, dark head appeared before him, coming out of a nowhere space that Kyle discovered on passing was actually a spare door that, regarding its positioning, he assumed probably led out of the school's drama hall. Drama hall? Stan?
Weird.
Despite the fact that the sight of the boy had filled him with warring emotions of anger and excitement that mingled in a way that made him feel sick to his stomach, he sped up his pace to match the other boy's, who obviously had not noticed he was there yet.
"Did Wendy decide she was sick of you?" He fell into step with his friend, his tone coming out in a more biting fashion than he'd originally intended. Stan jumped and turned his head towards him, his expression startled. Kyle noticed with a sick sort of amusement that the boy's face was turning a steady shade of red. So he did realise what a cock he'd been. Good. Cocking an eyebrow at the other teen's lack of response, he sped up, all of a sudden more determined than he'd ever been to escape Stan's company. It suddenly seemed too large, stifling, omnipresent and inescapable no matter how fast he ran. He was just about to break into a full out, panicked run when his friend finally decided to voice an answer, causing Kyle to stop and turn.
"Debate club." The boy's voice was defensive, as was his face, telling Kyle that if wanted an argument then he was sure to get one. It was unfortunate that all Kyle felt at that exact moment was a weak feeling in his knees and a sudden, overpowering tiredness.
"Oh yeah. Must fucking suck to have to walk home all by yourself, you know, considering you obviously don't have any other friends."
It was weak and Kyle knew it. Inwardly, he winced at the sour tone of his voice, and the way that it sounded like he was trying to exercise biting wit and failing. He saw Stan's eyes darken for a moment, as though he wanted to say something mean back, but then it was as though all the life behind them evaporated, and he too looked knackered.
"Look," the dark haired boy said, his voice quiet and exhausted. Then, he said no more, turning into his house, his shoulders dropped and his head down. Kyle wanted to comfort him, but even more so he wanted him to continue feeling the way he did. Whatever was going through Stan's mind, it obviously wasn't pleasant. When he finally made it home, his thoughts were filled with images of himself and Wendy, dressed for a boxing match, fighting over Stan, who was suspended above the ring by some invisible force, and he was so wrapped up in this detailed mental daydream that he didn't register his mother's voice as he passed her in the kitchen. This lead to him jumping about a mile up into the air when he entered his room and there was a scruffy blonde boy clad in orange lounging across bed, reading the novel that he'd left on his bedside table.
"Hey," Kenny said, pushing himself off his stomach, letting the book flip shut. Kyle winced, knowing his page was good and lost. The parka'd boy must have noticed, because he motioned to the paperback and gave a thumbs up sign, forcing obviously-feigned interest into his voice.
"That's some really interesting stuff right there! I mean, okay, the main character is a bit of a poofter, but that chick he's in love one, the blonde one, she sounds like a real fucking babe, don't you think? Like, if she was real I'd totally tap that. No probs. And..." Eventually he trailed off, obviously figuring that there was no point continuing to talk when Kyle's disinterest was not only apparent, but just downright rude. The redheaded boy was willing himself to care, honestly. He just couldn't really give a flying fuck about the characters in his book (that Kenny in all reality knew shit-all about because he'd barely read it a quarter of the way through), not when his own life was seeming like such a horror story at the moment. When his friend started popping his knuckles after a few moments in silence, a habit that Kyle knew he had when he got bored, he figured he might as well do the polite thing and make conversation.
"So... what's up, dude?" He was pleased when his voice came out sounding friendly. Kenny looked up, his brown eyes appearing relieved at the final attempt at contact.
"Ah, well, you know, same shit different day. Um..." Kyle watched him fidget for a few more seconds, and was just about to tell the boy to get on with whatever he wanted to say when the orange hood was pulled off and Kenny let out a stream of words.
"Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about, and I figured I might as well do it today because I doubt your mood could get any worse-"
At this point Kyle opened his mouth to protest, Kenny cut him off with a wave of his mittened hand.
"-no, don't argue. Anyway. So, I just came her to ask you - tell you, actually - that I don't care what's going on between Stan and you, it's your business and all, but if you don't stop looking so fucking helpless around him all the time, my heart's going to fucking break and then I'll die." He inhaled deeply. "Because it's pathetic to watch." The boy looked pleased with himself for letting his words out into the open uninterrupted, and Kyle stared at him with an open mouth, his eyes non-comprehending and confused.
"Wait... wha-?" He cocked an eyebrow, completely lost, and Kenny sighed at him, sounding frustrated.
"I said, I don't-" Kyle cut him off impatiently, shaking his head sharply.
"N-no, don't say it again. I don't... I mean, oh Jesus. Jesus Christ. I really can't hear this right now. Fuck. Um..." His words were getting jumbled inside his head, and rightly so, because Kyle was fairly sure that in his own roundabout way, Kenny McCormick had just professed his previously concealed feelings of more-than-friend-affection for the red-headed Jew, and it was setting off fireworks in his head. Not the good kind that made you feel dizzy and happy and fuzzy, not like Stan gave him. These were different. They were dangerous and weird and warning him that he needed to let Kenny know, right now, to back off. They were thoroughly unpleasant fireworks.
Kenny sat perched on the edge of Kyle's bed, and as the red-headed boy spewed out his jumbled mess of thoughts, his face began to fall despite what Kyle thought must have been his best efforts to conceal it.
"Oh, yeah, well, that's cool. Y'know. Just though I should... Get this shit cleared the fuck up. So, now I'm going to go." He stood awkwardly, pulling on his hood and tugging at the strings until most of his face was concealed.
"I'll see you later." Muffled words, and then the boy was gone.
Kyle stared after him with disbelief, and then at the ceiling. What was this? Was this possible? Was it Jesus, up in Heaven, exacting the most torturous kind of punishment he could think of because Kyle was Jewish and didn't believe in him? Is that what this was? The Fatass would certainly think so, and for once the redhead doubted if he'd argue. This was insane. This was crazy. Impossible. Stupid. Ridiculous.
This fucking sucked ass.
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AN: Please, please, please review. Let me know how I can make this story better, what you like about it, what you think should happen. I need feedback! Thanks much.
