They sat together at a small rounded table, knees touching. Usually either one would be annoyed at the lack of leg room, but for today it felt good, almost intimate. Stan looked away from the cafe's menu, placing the thick laminated paper down. "Do you know what you want?"
Eric shrugged, brows furrowing as he went over the options again. "I don't know, everything looks like shit."
Stan snorted, leaning back in his chair, "Well whatever you choose, it's on me today."
"That's the thing," Eric set his menu down, "I can't get any of the good stuff 'cause I know you're poor as fuck."
"Hey, I'm not that bad." Stan pretended to be insulted, but he knew what Eric was doing. In his own backhanded way, the brunette was showing that he cared. He didn't want Stan to spend too much, he just had to hurl insults around before he could get his message across.
Stan smiled at that, sometimes you had to look closely to see the kindness behind Eric's actions. "How about the blueberry waffles? They look good."
Eric pursed his lips in thought, "I guess... You can't fuck up waffles too bad." Stan fought back a chuckle. "Okay that's done, we just need that idiot to finally give us our drinks and then we can order." He turned around his chair, looking for the waitress from before. "Where is that dumb bitch?"
Shushing his friend lightly, Stan spotted their waitress crossing the room to their table. Stopping in front of them, she began to take their drinks from a platter. "An orange juice," she mumbled passing Stan the glass, "and your coffee." Gently she set a small cream pitcher, a spoon and a sugar bowl with it. Standing up straight, she took a notebook and a pen from her apron pocket. "Now what can I get for you?"
Stan glanced to Eric, smiling when the brunette nodded, turning to their waitress he said "Two orders of blueberry waffles, please." She quickly jolted it down.
"And," Eric cut in "a thing of bacon on the side. A lot. I don't want you guys to skimp out."
The waitress flicked a smile at him, "Of course not. And is that everything for today...?" Eric grunted, now indifferent as he began pouring cream into his mug. He didn't care, he got what he wanted. She questioningly peered at Stan.
"Yes, please." He responded, expression apologetic. She left them, taking the menus with her as she went. Stan gave Eric a sidelong look.
Feeling the heat of his gaze, Eric lifted his head, raising a brow. "What?"
"Nothing." Stan mumbled, shaking his head. He picked up his glass, lowering his face to take a sip. They were silent for a moment, allowing the sound of the cafe's radio to cut in. It was some generic pop song, perfect for background music.
"Do you think she'll spit in our food?"
Stan's lips twitched, "Has anyone ever not spat in your food?" Eric mulled that over, picking his spoon up. After a moment he shrugged, "They'd be stupid if they didn't, wasted a perfectly good opportunity." His friend snorted, amused.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"Hey, you're the one hanging out with me." Eric smiled crookedly, "What does that say about you?" Stan guffawed at Eric, unsettled by the sudden saucy wink from the brunette.
"God, all of my friends are a bunch of weirdos." Lightly Eric kicked him under the table, Stan mockingly winked back.
Kyle ducked his head down to peer inside the car, "Thanks for dropping me off, mom. I'll be home before lunch."
"Just be sure to text when you're on your way, okay?" Kyle nodded. "I'll see you soon, bubby. Have fun!" Kyle stood up, watching the passenger's window roll up. Stepping back, he waited for his mom to drive off before he headed towards the public library.
Lightly jogging up the stone steps, he pulled the heavy front door open and entered. Inhaling the immediate scent of books, Kyle smiled. The library was like a second home to him, a place where he could get some peace and quiet from everything and everyone. Rounding the corner of the main entrance, he approached Ms. Herman at the front desk. As kids they had always made jokes about how ancient she was, but moments like these Kyle really questioned how long she'd live for. At this stage in his life he wholeheartedly believed that the elderly librarian would outlive everyone.
"Hello, Ms. Herman!" He loudly greeted. Unsure if she had her hearing aids in today.
She looked up from her crossword, "Little Broflovsky! How are we?"
"Broflovski." Kyle corrected under his breath.
"What?"
"I said I'm fine, Ms. Herman!"
She tapped her pen against her paper, "That's good. Need help finding a book today?" Kyle nodded, leaning in so he could say it directly into the librarian's ear. "Where can I find some books on dreams?!"
"Did you say dreams?"
"Yes!"
"Oh, that would be in religion and spirituality - 200."
"Thank you!" Perfect, he knew exactly where that was, right next to the philosophy and psychology section. Hands stuffed into his jean pockets, Kyle wandered down the twisting aisles. Reading the numbers on book spines until he reached the area he was looking for. Under the category of dreams he was drawn to a particular dark blue tome, on the cover was the image of a silver crescent moon with a face. Written in cursive, the name of it was: The Ultimate Dictionary of Dream Language by Briceida Ryan. Just what he needed. Plucking it from the shelf, he promptly flipped through the contents, starting with the letter 'b'. Going through a couple of pages, he went down the line of words.
...burrow...bury... to dream of being buried alive... Moses, he was thankful he hasn't had that one yet. And finally... bus. "Here we go," he whispered, excitement building.
Bus: an overwhelming problem will finally be resolved after much work. You will experience a great deal of satisfaction once it is finally over. Squinting, he read the text again. They got all of that from a bus? Maybe it meant he was going to be happy when Cartman and him finally got on good terms with one another. "Then why did we hold hands?" He moved on to the letter 'h', hoping the answer would be there.
To be holding hands: all doors that were formerly closed to you will now be open and other people will begin to view you in a different way. You will enjoy many new opportunities and achieve success.
Huh... Not what he expected. But a troubling question rose up to forefront of Kyle's mind, did he want Cartman to think of him differently? I mean all of our fighting can be exhausting but... Kyle wet his dry lips, slowly closing the book. Puzzled by his conflicting emotions, he took the book with him as he headed to the front desk. Just in case he had any new weird dreams.
Laughing at Eric's joke, Stan popped another piece of waffle into his mouth. He smiled around the delicious taste, syrup dripping from the corner of his lips and onto his chin. Eric looked back up, grinning as he continued his story of how when they were kids he had convinced Butters that a spirit of a little girl had possessed a frozen turkey.
"There he was, sweater on a fucking turkey, trying to sneak it out of a bathroom window!" Cartman started to laugh, tearing up as he gripped the side of the table.
Choking a bit, Stan swallowed his food before asking, "D-did he do it?"
"Hell no! Ms. Choksondik caught him red-handed! The bitch tackled him and the next thing I know they're rolling on the floor, fighting over the turkey! Obviously Butters was crying the whole time, 'you can't take her!' God, I nearly pissed myself watching."
"Jesus" Stan shook his head. "Do you remember her? Ms. Choksondik?"
"Yeah, I remember her wonky eye and hiding in her dead body." Cartman stabbed at his waffle.
"Things were simpler then."
"Hm." The pair looked at each other once again, and immediately broke out into laughter. This happy atmosphere followed them through the rest of their meal until it was time to pay, grabbing his wallet from his coat, Stan put his money for the bill on the table.
"I'll pay the tip."
Startled, Stan stared at Eric. "You don't have to." What gives? Cartman never pays tips. Thinking that the brunette was in an unbelievably good mood(which was a little scary), he watched in confusion as Eric dug into his pajama bottoms. His wonder soon answered when Eric put a wad of lint and a lone button down.
"Cartman," he warned. Eric ignored him, donning his coat on. Quickly looking over his shoulder, Stan followed suit and put on his jacket again before he followed his friend out of the cafe. Stomachs full, they lazily greeted the chilled air of outside with pleased smiles. "I can't believe you did that, that's so..."
"Cool?" Eric offered with a smirk.
"Gross!"
Eric chuckled, hitting his shoulder into Stan's. Falling into cozy silence, they walked down the main street until they found a bus stop. Stopping there, Eric looked up at the cloudy morning sky. Steam leaving his mouth in bursts, he breathed, "Thanks."
Stan smiled softly, not pressing it as he said, "No problem, dude." Things became quiet between them again. Staring at Eric from the corner of his eye, Stan took in how flushed his cheeks were from the cold, and his sleep ruffled hair. Eric turned to him, noticing the gaze. Stan didn't know why, but he suddenly became awkward, pretending he wasn't admiring his friend's face.
Cartman studied him for a moment, then took a step towards Stan, bridging the distance as he leaned in. Freezing at the movement, Stan's mind became blank as Eric's thumb brushed a line across his chin. Transfixed, he watched as Eric took that same thumb and put it in his mouth, sucking on it. "You had syrup on you" he explained around the digit. Stan cleared his throat, thankful when he saw the bus approaching them. His chin still felt warm where Eric had touched him.
"Weird" he whispered to himself, stomach doing a funny dip. He blamed the waffles.