PLEASE READ THIS:
Again, all quotes were done by memory. There's a seriously long chunk done by memory and if anyone has corrections or anything, PLEASE TELL ME
Thank you all reviewer and PMers, it's so so so so so so appreciated! Hope you liked your latest chapter! :D
"Wake up, dude…"
Stan slowly opened his eyes, mumbling back, "What?"
Kyle was smiling to him cutely, his friendly eyes shining as he replied, "I got breakfast ready. My Mom woke me up earlier to tell me she was leaving with Dad to visit my aunt upstate. Ike is with his boy-scout group for this weekend, so we've got the house to ourselves. I made Belgium Waffles…"
Stan immediately shot upright, a growth-spurt edging it's way to his stomach as he grinned, "What kind of ice-cream?"
"Vanilla, just how you like it."
Stan looked to the redhead and noted that he wasn't dressed as he usually was on early Saturday mornings. Stan interviewed, "You're not dressed?"
Kyle looked to his plaid boxers, then back to his ebony-haired friend as he muttered back, "No one's home, I don't wanna wear pants."
Stan chuckled as Kyle gripped him by his arms and dragged him out of bed. They descended the stairs and the aroma of ice-cream, chocolate chips, waffles and bacon filled the first floor. Stan looked to the table to see a plate decorated with the mentioned waffles, a scoop of vanilla ice-cream with chocolate shavings on top, syrup beneath it and three gigantic strawberries set to the side of the plate. A dish in the middle of the table had three hot buns, a few strips of bacon and fried ham, while there was a small bowl of fruit a little to the right of it. Stan sat down and instantaneously began stuffing his face. He was savoring a chunk of his ice-cream-syrup-chocolate-waffles when he looked to his friend at the sink. He inquired after swallowing, "Hey…aren't you having any?"
Stilling brushing away at the pans with his sponge, Kyle chuckled, "You're insane, that'll kill me."
Stan growled; he was officially determined to get Kyle to take at least a bite. He took his napkin, patting at his mouth to pick up the residue as he tried to start inconspicuous conversation,
"So," Stan began, "when did your mom and dad leave?"
Kyle shrugged, "Probably an hour and a half ago. Not too long."
"Bacon? Ham? How did you get your hands on this stuff?"
Stan could hear the smirk in Kyle's voice as he told him, "I've got a secret stash."
Chuckling, Stan looked around the kitchen, spotting a drinking glass he was struck with a good idea. He silently got up and got the glass, put it beside his plate and he looked to the back of Kyle's head, requesting,
"Could you bring the orange juice over, dude?"
Kyle turned around, realizing Stan's empty glass, he apologized, "Oh, sorry, I guess I forgot to pour anything in it."
He walked over to the fridge, then came back to Stan; as Stan had predicted, to make up for not pouring it at all, Kyle was planning on pouring it himself. He was bent over the table, unscrewing the cap as Stan cut a generous lump from his waffle and before Kyle could lift the carton to pour, Stan shoved the delicious treat into Kyle's mouth. Kyle's pupils shrank as he spotted the fork in his mouth; his expression soon melted into a glare to his friend as Stan simpered with soft laughter,
"Eat it."
The redhead closed his eyes, chewed and swallowed. He opened his mouth with a sigh as Stan removed the fork from the boy's mouth. Kyle was smiling, but still scowling as he mumbled,
"You're going to be the death of me."
Stan rolled his eyes, "You're paranoid, you're not going to die."
"You don't respect my blood sugar levels."
Still Stan insisted, "You're not going to die, Kye!"
"One way or another."
It stayed quiet for a moment before Stan ventured, "What?"
"One way or another. I'm going to die one way or another. I don't want to die because of my sugar levels. That's stupid. I want to die in my sleep."
Stan looked away, "I don't think so…"
"What?" Kyle pressed.
"Well," Stan began, "that doesn't sound right…I mean…if you die in your sleep…you still have a chance of it not being nice…you could die half-way through a nightmare, or you could think you're dreaming your death and not…and what if you die beside a relative during a nap or something, you're going to scar them deep…I mean…I think…dying because of candy and sugar…I think that's a really…sweet way to go. Cause people will know that you were living the way you wanted, not the way your body tried to
make you. Not to mention you could die at any age because of sugar and stuff, but you have to be very old and out of sorts to die in your sleep…I'd much prefer to…not die in my sleep. I don't know how I want to die. I don't think I want to at all."
Kyle was wide-eyed as he responded, "That's…really wonderful reasoning, Stan, but everyone dies…you can't just…choose not to."
Stan looked away, "I don't understand how people can take death so lightly; planning out how you're going to die and all that…I don't like it…it makes it sound like it's coming soon…"
Kyle frowned, "I'm sorry, Stan, but it is coming soon. It always is, for everyone. Imagine I die today, Stan?"
Stan's heart skipped a beat as he looked back to the Jew, "Imagine, Stan…you'd never know, but it could be anything…but I don't…I don't think I'm scared of dying. I think I'm just scared of how I'm going to die."
Stan looked to his feet again, "I'm scared of dying. I don't know what's waiting for me…I don't want to be punished…I don't want to be in pain or…I don't know…I'm scared, though."
Kyle placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder, reclaiming his attention as he responded softly, "I'm sorry, Stan…I'm sorry that you're scared…but you know…I wouldn't care if I were punished in the end…cause…I'd look back on all the time I spent with you and all the bad stuff we did together…and I'd still be proud and I'd still be happy that I spent it and did it all with you…"
Stan's indigo eyes moved into his friend's jade as the redhead continued, "You're my compromise. In the end it wouldn't matter if it was wrong, because I was so happy being with you. And I don't think God would do that to you, Stan."
Stan blushed; ever since middle school, when they first really started understanding the differences in their religions they never spoke of it. Both were destined for Hell in each other's beliefs, so they never talked about it or mentioned their destinies beyond death, because they didn't want to fight or hurt each other. Normally Stan wouldn't talk about his fears so openly, but it was Kyle after all. The angel of perfection, the sympathetic, empathetic, understanding, almighty Kyle Broflovski that cared for him no matter his ail, no matter how long his heartache lasted. Stan mumbled back,
"But…your God…I mean…our God…yours doesn't…uhm…you don't…"
Kyle simpered, "Doesn't matter what my people say, Stan. I don't think he's exactly how they explain him in our books and portraits, and I don't know if I believe everything they tell me, but Stan…I do know God loves you. I know that for certain. And if…if I am damned for having been born into sin, like your people say…then…then I know I was blessed with your friendship."
Stan shot out of his seat, standing and embracing the boy tightly. Kyle hugged him back with equal strength and force; they both knew something happened. Something just occurred that changed them
both, they didn't know what, but they knew it happened. Whatever it was, it brought them closer and their hug was the physical manifestation of that silent idea. Stan suddenly spoke into Kyle's shoulder, imploring,
"Imagine…imagine I died today…what would you do, Kye?"
There was a thick quiet, their bodies still never parting. Stan noticed how Kyle's thick hair was still silky and lovely after having slept on it; he noted how much stronger Kyle's arms were since they were little. His hands concentrated on the muscles in Kyle's back that had never seemed to be there until that moment. He wondered when it was that Kyle's shoulders had grown so broad and boyish, wondered why Kyle smelled so sweet and treated him so kindly. When the silence was washed all around them and Kyle could hesitate no longer without hurting the comfort in the room, he replied,
"I would miss you."
Stan broke away a little bit, still holding onto the freckled boy as he muttered, "Thank you…"
"Don't thank me for what you should know is true."
Stan pulled him closer again, hiding his lips and nose in the parting of Kyle's hair. He felt himself smile,
"You're amazing."
OOOOOOOOOOOO
"How can we have rehearsal on the weekend?! That's evil! Pure evil!" Stan complained.
Stan didn't entirely hate rehearsal anymore; he just hated Adam. Every time they went, the brunette would try and get alone-time with Kyle. They had rehearsed together so much, their lines were practically all memorized with three weeks of rehearsal left.
Kyle huffed, "Ugh, you and your complaining! It's almost Hell Week, and you'll be thankful for these rehearsals when it comes around."
Stan looked away lowly, "Yeah, yeah. You sound like your mom."
Kyle was shocked from walking as Stan chuckled and walked ahead; he knew that'd get to him. Kyle chased after him after a while, shouting, "I DO NOT! I DO NOT SOUND LIKE HER! DON'T SAY THAT! TAKE THAT BACK!"
Stan just laughed in response; he loved pressing Kyle's buttons. Ever since that morning the two of them had only separated to shower and there was this overwhelmingly friendly, loving aura between them. They walked into the school, entering the auditorium to see Adam approaching. The boy politely smiled to both of them, inquiring,
"Hey, what's up?"
Kyle returned the smile, "Not much. We just walked here…we aren't late, are we?"
"Course not. We're getting started in a couple minutes."
Stan looked to Kyle as the redhead took his wrist gingerly and tugged him along. Stan blushed, his bang bouncing in rhythm with Kyle's curls as they descended the slanted walkway. His heart was thumping a little harder with each step, but it all ended as suddenly as it started when Mrs. Herit approached them and stated, "I need Kyle and Adam. Stanley, you need to join Peter on stage to go over lines as well."
Ms. Thrunton suddenly called from the other side of the auditorium; she was taking notes in her clipboard on the piano. She called over,
"Wait! I need Stanley and Kyle for measurements!"
Stan mumbled a curse; he hated people calling him 'Stanley', maybe because it reminded him of his mother, or maybe because it reminded him of Wendy, but either way it got him aggravated. He looked to Kyle, then to Ms. Thrunton; they both shrugged and walked over to the woman as Mrs. Herit's voice called over their shoulders,
"Alright, but bring Kyle to me when you're done with him!"
Stan glared; he felt like a puppet. A puppet for their sick and twisted fantasies to play out. Fully grown women who had nothing better to do than torture Stan and Kyle when they had no defenses; trapped by the ruling of their principle. Some strange boy was stealing Stan's best friend from him; or attempting to. Hours were spent without the redhead, hours spent reciting lines that didn't mean anything to Stan because he was far too distracted with the idea of Kyle going away to translate emotions. The way everyone kept him isolated because he screamed at the brunette at the auditions, the way Kyle had looked at him that day, the way he spoke and glared. It wasn't right. And the way Wendy would scowl and shoot him awful looks in the hallways, and the way they would leave angry notes in Kyle's locker.
Kyle didn't talk about it, but Stan knew. Stan could see when Kyle lied, when Kyle hid, when Kyle had secrets he wouldn't confide… It wasn't right. It didn't feel right. It didn't sound right. But then Kyle looked to him, he smiled in the wonderful way he did…and everything was right again. Kyle smiles and he's home again. He sees that curved line draw on his flawless face and his heart can beat again. He witnesses that grin and suddenly the lies, the hiding, the glaring, the yelling and the secrets never looked less important. He sees that smile and all he's capable of is smiling back. He wouldn't speak about his racing thoughts and heart, because he would get scared and something like a lie or a hiding place, a glare or a yell would come out instead. Instead of the secrets he couldn't confide.
The lies that kept him up all night, the lies that he wouldn't think about because he could feel the horror washing over him again. The horror that he's slowly realizing something. That something wasn't clear, it was behind a veil that Stan himself had placed there to hide the worst part of him, but he knew once he looked beyond it, that something would be as clear as day. He was scared that something might tear them apart, that it might send Kyle away and he'd be isolated, alone and unloved. Without a freckly friend who's perfect in every way, without someone to fix him something delicious when he was
grumpy, without someone to break down to, without someone to tell he was scared, without someone to share a bed with, without someone to read lines with, to lend him poetry and that would be the end of him.
Stan was quite sure that if this something was ever revealed it would be ultimate ruination, a tragedy to rip his life from the seams and without a care, throw it to the wolves. Where he would be forgotten. Where Kyle would never set foot again because of the ugliness that would radiate from Stan, the overwhelming selfishness that was hiding behind that veil. That terrible distortion that Kyle knew nothing about. Stan hoped he never would have to know. He just wanted Kyle to smile, and he just wanted to smile back. Because that way no one got hurt. That way no one was terrible. That way no one could say good-bye. Alone was no way to live. Stan was determined to keep that boy with him until the day his worst fear would capture him. That veil would stay in place beyond that day. Of that, Stan was certain.
They stepped into the dressing room that Adam had led them to when first reading lines. Stan and Kyle were ordered to removed shirts and shoes and step into the middle of the room. When Stan shook off his shirt, he went to turn it inside out again, but when he looked to his right he saw Ms. Thrunton sitting on one of the chairs and wrapping a yellow measuring rope around Kyle's chest plates. Stan's friend turned on a slight angle, his arms were lifted awkwardly with his fingers on his shoulders; his silky curls were bobbing as he turned his head to follow Ms. Thrunton's hands. His spine was curved poetically, wonderfully as his seemingly hairless torso was highlighted, the yellow glow from the ceiling lights that sometimes flickered could be admired on the signs of muscles or thinning on Kyle's body. His hips were called attention by the lines that dipped into his boxers and jeans, as wide as his chest got which gave him a girlish shape.
The measuring rope moved from his chest, to his waist that looked smooth like a satin sheet in the lighting of a golden chandelier. From there, the rope moved around a more sensitive area below his waist. It wrapped around from the button of his jeans to the space between two belt loops in the back of his pants. This triggered the now natural response of all of Stan's attention; the rope moved up again; by his shoulders and neck. Stan's indigo eyes moved up the boy's elegant neck, to his somewhat pointed chin, his cute nose to his mesmerizing eyes. His lashes were long and shadowing his emerald eyes as he must have chuckled at a ticklish spot or the unlikely miracle that Ms. Thrunton had said something funny. Stan was consumed by Kyle's dainty hand lifting and pushing one of his tangerine curls behind his ear; it only slipped out again. Suddenly Kyle was looking to him, their eyes met from across the room, but Kyle didn't speak a word. Stan wondered if it was because he saw that something Stan's eyes.
"Alright, Stanley, I can take your measurements now."
"I'd rather you call me Stan."
"Okay then, Stan."
He took Kyle's place while secretly admiring him as he slipped his shirt back on. After a few minutes of the same exercises that were practiced on Kyle she wrote down numbers on a yellow form and announced, "Wow, boys. You guys have almost exact measurements, which is surprising."
Kyle inquired, "Why would that be surprising?"
She looked to Kyle through her thick glasses, replying, "Well, he's so much taller."
Stan snorted a laugh as Kyle glared; Stan couldn't help but adore how insecure his friend was.
As they walked out of the room, Ms. Thrunton yelled across the auditorium, "You've got your Mercutio and Romeo! Where's Juliet?"
Stan and Kyle still didn't look to each other as Mrs. Herit answered, "I sent Adam off to practice some scenes with the nurse! He had his heart set on practicing with Kyle, but I told him that those scenes already seemed to be taken care of!"
Stan smiled; justice.
"I'd like to use you boys, actually. Come on the stage."
…
Stan stood before Kyle who was sitting on a wooden chair, center stage while he stated, "A torch for me, let wantons light of heart tickle the senseless rushes with their heels, for I am proverbed with a grandsire phrase; I'll be a candle-holder, and look on. The game was never so fair, and I am done."
Stan replied cheerily, "Tut, dun's the mouse, the constable's own word; If thou art dun, we'll draw thee from the mire of this sir-reverence love, wherein thou stick'st up to the ears. Come, we burn daylight, ho!"
"Nay," Kyle replied, "Tis not so."
"I mean, sir, in delay, we waste our lights in vain, like lamps by day. Take our good meaning, for our judgment sits five times in that here once in our five wits."
"And we mean well in going to this mask; But 'tis no wit to go." Kyle insisted.
"Why, may one ask?" Stan implored.
"I dreamt a dream tonight."
"Mmm," Stan hummed, "And so did I."
"Well what was yours?"
Stan smiled, "That dreamers often lie."
"In bed, asleep" Kyle told him, "while they dreams things true."
"O, then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. She is the fairies'
midwife, and she comes
in shape no bigger than an agate-stone on
the fore-finger of an alderman, drawn with a team of little atomies
athwart men's noses as they lie asleep; her wagon-spokes made of long
spiders' legs. The cover of the wings of grasshoppers, the traces of
the smallest spider's web, the collars of the moonshine's watery
beams, her whip of cricket's bone, the lash of film, her wagoner a
small grey-coated gnat--not so big as a round little worm pricked
from the lazy finger of a maid…" Stan paused, looking off into
the empty seats of the auditorium, "Her chariot is an empty
hazel-nut made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, time out of mind
the fairies' coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by
night through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love; over
courtiers' knees, that dream on court'sies straight, over lawyers'
fingers, who straight dream on fees, over ladies ' lips, who straight
on kisses dream which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues,
because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. Sometime she
gallops over a courtier's nose, and then dreams he of smelling out a
suit; and sometime comes she with a tithe-pig's tail tickling a
parson's nose as a' lies asleep,"
Stan didn't pause, but Kyle's mind did. He loved the second half of Mercutio's monologue. It wasn't entirely that he loved how the second half was written, but it was something about the way Stan's voice comforted him. Stan's voice was so recognizable, so familiar and it felt like home when Stan spoke. It was warm like a fireplace and welcoming like flowers in the front yard. He loved the way Stan's eyes sparked up; Kyle knew he must feel smart up there, reciting ancient poetry. That was fine, though. It didn't matter what he said. As long as Stan was there, Kyle was happy. And all Kyle wanted from the boy was to hear him speak of love in the finest way History offered.
"Then dreams, he of another benefice; sometime she driveth over a soldier's neck, and then dreams he dreams of cutting foreign throats, Spanish blades, of healths five-fathom deep; and then anon drums in his ear, at which he starts and wakes, and being thus frightened swears a prayer or two and sleeps again. This is that very Mab that plats the manes of horses in the night, and bakes the elflocks in foul sluttish hairs, which once untangled, much misfortune bodes. This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs, that presses them and learns them first to bear, making them women of good carriage. This is she, this is she—"
Kyle interrupted the boy, "Peace, peace, Mercutio…thou talk'st of nothing."
The ebony-haired boy looked to him and responded softly, "True…I
talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain. Begot of
nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the
air
and more inconstant than the wind, who woes even now the
frozen bosom of the north…and, being angered, puffs away from
thence, turning his face to the dew-dropping south."
Mrs. Herit seemed hypnotized by her eagerness and giddiness; they were good. She then read Benvolio's line off her script, "This wind, you talk of, blows us from ourselves; supper is done, and we shall come too late."
Kyle looked away, replying, "I fear, too early…for my mind misgives some consequence yet hanging in the stars shall bitterly begin his fearful date with this night's revels and expire the term of a despised life closed in my breast by some vile forfeit of untimely death." Kyle breathed out deeply, turning around again, "But He, that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail! On, lusty gentlemen!"
Mrs. Herit clapped furiously, telling them, "OH! Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful! You have no idea how happy this made me, boys! You can go and relax until Adam comes back!"
They walked off the stage as Paris and his servant met; they sat down in the third isle together and sighed in unison. Stan looked beside him, Kyle was staring blankly ahead and all Stan could do was admire his profile. That is, until Kyle looked to him again. His heart sank, but then Kyle smiled.
And everything was right again.
