Just like how Stan was there when he fell asleep, Stan was there when Kyle woke up.

Kyle slept through the rest of the morning, which gave Stan plenty of time to attend to things around the house as he slept. Stan called his mom and assured her that everything was okay, just like she wanted. He then busied himself cleaning until the house was shipshape. He knew Kyle valued cleanliness, and at the time, the Marsh household was a far, far cry from that. So he figured it would make for a friendly gesture to have the house clean and ready by the time his friend woke up.

And in an effort to make everything feel a little more okay, Stan cooked him breakfast. Using a recipe he found in one of the diabetic pamphlets, he made an array of pancakes and fruit that he would serve him in bed. Stan wasn't much of a cook, but he had to admit that the pancakes turned out looking pretty good. It was a banally annoying cliché, but it was true that Stan made them with love, so they turned out alright in the end.

The walls and flooring were thin in his house, so from where he was downstairs, he could distinctly hear Kyle starting to stir sometime before noon. In turn, Stan gathered the breakfast tray and carried it up to his bedroom.

When he walked in, Kyle was just barely waking up. He was sitting up with his legs over the side of Stan's mattress, his broken ankle grounded to the floor. He yawned and rubbed his eyes, but went stiff in his spine at Stan's approach.

Stan noticed, and stopped in his tracks, "Hey, you okay?"

Kyle was still impossibly rigid in his body when he answered meekly, "I don't know…"

Something about that line made Stan bite his lips.

"Listen," Kyle propped a hand up against his forehead, "About this morning, I'm sorry I just showed up out of nowhere, and I was probably rambling a lot, and throwing a lot of information at you, and I'm just- I'm sorry about-"

"-Oh, Kyle," Stan set the breakfast tray down on the ground and moved to sit down next to him on the bed. He was about to wrap his arms around him in a sign of comfort, but remembered his sensitivities, and thought better of it. Instead, Stan just folded his hands in his lap and said, "You've really got to stop apologizing so much, Kyle. It's not like you, but you've been doing it all the time, especially for no reason."

"I know, I just-" Kyle squeezed his forehead, "-I don't know…"

"You don't need to be sorry," Stan said softly.
It was honestly a little heartbreaking that he had to take the time to explain this to him. Kyle never used to act like this. Stan felt like he was parenting a small child when he cautiously explained, "Don't apologize for opening up to me this morning. That was a good thing, Kyle. That was a great thing. I'm going to be able to take better care of you now, you realize that, don't you? You helped me. So now I'm helping you, okay?"

"Okay," Kyle said, but the tone of his voice made it sound like he didn't really believe it.

A gentle silence floated into the room. Stan let it remain for a little while, before he did his best to restart conversation on a higher note.

"I'm glad that you slept for a few hours," he smiled.

"Me too," Kyle answered automatically, his attention elsewhere.

"How do you feel?"

"A bit better."

"I'm glad. I feel better, too."

Kyle's attention sprung back into focus on those words, "You do?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? You really do?"

"Yes?" Stan was admittedly a little confused by his reaction.

Kyle drew in his knees on the bed and leaned in close, "Stan, tell me the truth, not just what you want me to hear. Do you actually feel better? Believe me, I want you to, more than anything, dude. But I just- I don't-... It's hard to believe what you tell me sometimes, you know? I- I mean, after everything…"
Kyle trailed off. He looked up at Stan with his wide green eyes, "I'm sure I'm not making sense, but-... Do you know what I mean, dude?"

Stan tilted his head to the side.

"You know, mentally," Kyle scrambled for the right words. He gesticulated with his hands, pointing to his head, "Up here? Do you- Like, are you thinking properly again? Are you feeling better mentally?"

"Yeah," Stan smiled, his heart truly warmed by Kyle's efforts, "I do. I got my priorities in order."

Kyle smiled back, his teeth pearly and white. His lively green eyes were even watering when he delightedly whimpered, "Stan, I-... I'm so glad to hear that. Really, I am! That's- That's great!"

"Kyle, you're so happy!" Stan laughed, "I love it! Never stop being happy, okay? Don't go pouty on me ever again. No more bad stuff between us."

"No more," Kyle giggled.

"I mean that, too," Stan leaned forward on the bed, "No more bad stuff. Today is all about you. You're safe now, and I'm gonna make sure of that. You've had a really tough past two weeks. So today, you're gonna get spoiled, okay?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "Yeah, okay."

"I mean it! Pretend today is your birthday or something! I'm gonna take care of you today, I swear."

Kyle just chortled again. He bent over the side of the bed and fiddled with the straps on his boot, addressing Stan over his shoulder as he did, "So, like, are your folks going to be mad at me? After showing up out of nowhere, and taking up space, and-"

"-They're out of town for the week, it's fine," Stan shrugged.

"You should at least call them."

"I called my mom while you were sleeping."

"And you told her I was here?"

"Well, no."

Kyle pulled up from his broken ankle, "Why not? I don't want to stay if I'm gonna, like, be a problem or anything."

"No, you're never a problem," Stan assured, "She just doesn't need to worry right now, she's got a lot on her plate. Apparently Shelley's sick."

"Shelley? Is she okay? She doesn't have COVID, does she?"

"No, just the flu."

"Still. That's pretty bad."

"Especially for a college student."

"No kidding. They don't have insurance, they can't go see a doctor."

"Yeah, that's the American government for you. Killing off the future generation of leaders. Her entire dorm was evicted."

"Dude, that's awful."

"Yeah. Luckily, Mom and Dad are taking care of it."

"Poor Shelley."

"I'd agree with you, but she'd sucker punch me if I give her sympathy," Stan sighed. Then he remembered something in the back of his mind, "Hey, that reminds me. When she comes home, Kyle, we're going to need to separate the two of you. No being in the same room, no touching the same materials, none of that. You'd probably get the flu, considering your immune system right now."

"But it's not like I'm staying for long," Kyle pointed out, "I'm sure I'll be out of here by the time she comes home."

"Um. No. No, you're not leaving."

Kyle went still.

He wasn't afraid, not really. Stan would know, because he had seen Kyle petrified in fear so many times within the last few days that it was burned into his memory. Right now, Kyle seemed to only be stalling, pausing, as if in anticipation for something.

"Stan, you're not gonna-..." he dropped off, looking down at his marred wrists.

"Oh God no," Stan shook his head, "No, no. Kyle, I just-... After you opened up to me, and you said all that stuff about home, you know, I can't just let you go back there."

At his words, Kyle softened a little. He looked at Stan eagerly, his eyes begging him to go on.

Stan forced himself to be as alleviating as physically possible when he said, "Now that I know for certain what's happening to you, it just- It makes it worse. I really can't let you get hurt again, Kyle. Not if I can prevent it… You-... You deserve better than that."

Kyle looked away now, pretending to be interested in the boot on his broken ankle, "I'm sorry I never told you sooner."

"Don't be. At least you told me, right?"

"The only reason I never told you before was 'cause I thought you would take it badly… I thought you would try to hurt yourself."

"Oh," Stan's heart swelled, "That's, um, that's sad… That's not true, though."

"I know it's not, because you didn't," Kyle breathed, "That's why I believe you when you say you're really feeling better."

"Oh," was all that Stan could say, smiling again.

"I'm really proud of you, dude," Kyle's eyes were twinkling again.
Then he took a shuddering breath and turned away, wiping at his face with his hands, "Crap-balls… that was getting too wishy-washy for me."

Stan laughed, "It's okay! I liked it."

"Yeah, well, I didn't. God, I'm a mess," Kyle finished wiping his face, "Okay, so what now?"

"Breakfast?" Stan proposed. He lifted the tray from the ground, displaying the array of pancakes and plated fruit like it was a box of jewels, "I made them myself! I know you like waffles more than you do pancakes, but I couldn't find a waffle recipe in the diabetic pamphlet. Sorry, you'll have to make do."

Guilt flashed in Kyle's eyes, and Stan could see it.

"What's wrong?" he asked, resting the tray on his lap.

Kyle eyed the tray peculiarly, "I don't- I mean, thank you for your efforts. Really, thanks, but- I don't think- Well, my stomach…"

"Oh," Stan said knowingly. He set the tray aside, "Don't want any heavy food?"

"I just don't want to puke…"

"Wanna head down to the kitchen and see if we can get you something lighter?"

"I'm not hungry," Kyle looked to the left.

Something stirred in Stan's gut, "Yes, you are."

"...Yes, I am."

"Okay," Stan said, doing his best to stop his overwhelming concern from leaking into his tone. He stood up from his bed, "Do you need help getting downstairs?"

"I think I've got it," Kyle said, standing shakily.

And he did, mostly. Every little movement seemed to strain him, but Kyle pushed on all the way to the kitchen, Stan keeping a close eye on him from behind. When they made it to the kitchen, Kyle immediately sat down in a chair to rest his ankle, while Stan moved on to the pantry.

"Can I get you ice for your foot or something?" Stan offered.

"No, it's okay," Kyle said, propping it up on another chair, "It only hurts when I put pressure on it, so, like, it's fine, I guess."

"So what do you want to eat?" Stan asked, opening the pantry, "We have a lot of food. I had, like, two or three sandwiches while you were still sleeping."

"Just soup," Kyle muttered, resting his face on his hand.

"No crackers or anything?"

"No."

Stan winced as he looked through the contents of the pantry, "All we have is broth."

"That'll do."

"You need something more nutritious than just broth, Kyle," Stan said, hoping he wasn't coming across as too commanding, "How about toast and applesauce? That's what I always have when my stomach's upset."

Kyle just shook his head.

Stan bit the inside of his cheek, "Kyle, I know you don't want to throw up, but you just had DKA and you haven't been eating. We have to get some nutrients in you."

When Kyle didn't respond, Stan went to open the fridge, "How about I make you a protein shake? It'll be completely liquid. Would you be okay with that?"

Kyle gave a tentative nod.

"Great," Stan forced himself to smile, "I make really good ones. My football teammates have me make them by the gallon and bring 'em in to practice."

Kyle gave a half-smile in response.

Stan started taking ingredients out of the fridge and laying them on the counter, "Do you know what flavor you want? I can make just about anything."

Kyle just shrugged.

It was becoming a chore to keep his worry buried at this point. But Stan wouldn't break. He was going to take better care of Kyle, and that meant he wouldn't nitpick over every little thing that worried him, because he knew that it bothered Kyle. He had to make him feel comfortable, despite the many valid reasons he had to blow his concern out of proportion.

Even as Stan moved on to assembling the shake, Kyle was essentially despondent. He just sat in the chair wordlessly, uneasiness written everywhere in his body language.

Stan stopped working and took a moment to look at his friend, frowning. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Kyle was supposed to be happy now. Things were going to get better. Stan made a vow, and Kyle actually believed in him. But right now, it didn't feel like that was the case.

An inkling of an idea sprang in the back of Stan's mind.

He took out his phone and connected it to the kitchen Bluetooth speaker. When it was connected, he went on Spotify and shuffled a Gorillaz playlist.

Only two seconds into the first song, Kyle erupted into laughter, which in turn, immediately brought a genuine smile on Stan's face.

Personally, he hated this kind of music. Anything without an electric guitar turned him off enough as is, but alternative songs with techno noises and cacophonous bases repulsed him to the core. But he knew that Kyle, being the techy he is, was always drawn to this kind of music, and so he picked up an interest in Gorillaz over time. They were just about the only band Kyle loved that Stan could take (if they were even worth calling a "band"). Additionally, Stan just happened to know that they were Kyle's favorite.

"What?" Stan smiled at Kyle's reaction, "Don't like this song?"

"Dude, I love this song!" Kyle laughed, "You hate it, though!"

"I mean, I think it's okay," Stan shrugged, slicing a banana over the blender.

"No, dude," Kyle grinned from ear to ear, "You hate this song!"

"Eh, it's got a good beat for making shakes," Stan said, proving his point by slicing in rhythm, shaking his hips a little to make Kyle laugh even more.

When all of his ingredients were ready, Stan let them sit together in the blender. He moved around the counter to approach Kyle, who at this point, was laughing so much that he was red in the face. On the verge of laughing himself, Stan motioned for Kyle to start dancing with him.

Being the stubborn mule that he was, it took a lot of convincing. But as soon as "Feel Good Inc." came on, Kyle finally gave in and joined in.

To say that they were dancing would be an overstatement. It was more like careless frolicking around the kitchen, the two of them stupidly throwing around their bodies and hoping it was at least to the beat of the music. Of course, the entire time they were laughing like numbskulls.

Honestly, it was exhilarating, and Stan loved it. He couldn't remember the last time he and Kyle had a moment like this, a moment of pure ecstasy together as super best friends. The dancing gave him the same physical pleasure as working out, the music gave him laughter, but most importantly, the fact that he was just allowing himself to let go-and the fact that Kyle was doing it with him- made the dance outstanding. They were drunk with happiness, intoxicated by the sheer rush of joy.

It was cathartic, really.

That was until Kyle stopped.

Stan was still laughing and bucking his hips around, so he didn't notice it at first. He didn't stop until Kyle swayed forward and grabbed onto his shirt.

"Woah woah woah," Stan said breathily, his breathing rugged from the dancing. He put his hands on Kyle's shoulders to steady him, "Kyle, you okay?"

His eyes half-lidded, Kyle leaned in forward against Stan's chest and mumbled incoherently. His hands were still balling tufts of Stan's shirt, like his grasp was the only thing keeping him upright and conscious.

It was only then that Stan noticed how pale Kyle was.

"Oh, Kyle," Stan whispered gently, "Did you overexert yourself? I'm so sorry, I should have thought before I had you dance, I'm so sorry."

It was hard to tell if Kyle registered anything he was saying. So Stan stuck two fingers in front of his face, "Hey, can you see alright? How many fingers?"

Kyle made an effort to respond, but his speech was so slurred and there was so much strain in his expression that Stan couldn't understand him in the slightest.

His entire body fuming with worry, Stan moved Kyle back to the chair to sit him down. He fetched him a glass of water and told him to drink it. He watched Kyle sip it tenuously, and felt something stir in his gut, "See, Kyle, this is why you need to eat better."

Kyle flinched.

"I'm not scolding you," Stan assured, bending down to be at his level, "You just- Your body, it needs fuel. Especially after DKA. If you keep up your eating habits, you're just going to get sick again, maybe sick-er."

Stan's insides were boiling with anxiety by now. He swore he felt a bead of sweat form on his forehead just at the thought of lethal health scares arising yet again. It was especially frightening that he was having to think of this now; now, when they were supposed to be safe and happy.

"I'm not gonna let that happen, okay?" Stan said, his stomach fluttering, "I said I was gonna take better care of you, and I am. We'll start with breakfast."

Stan ended up making it a mocha flavored protein shake. He didn't like coffee and he wasn't fond of caffeine in general. But he knew that Kyle really liked it, and he thought that the familiar flavor would serve as compensation for their rough start to breakfast.

And to make everything a little easier, Stan moved Kyle to the living room and put on the TV as he served him his shake.

"Do I need my pricks?" Kyle weakly asked as Stan set him up on the couch.

"No," Stan strained to remain calm and collected, "I checked the sugar content and did the math and everything. You should be okay."

"But… eventually."

"What's that? I'm having a hard time understanding you."

"'m gonna need my pricks eventually…"

Stan stalled, "...I know."

Kyle looked at him expectantly.

Stan took a deep breath. He started to arrange and rearrange the couch pillows all around Kyle, "But not right now. You don't need them right now, so we're okay. I'll deal with that later. For now, let's just try to have a good day, okay? I said I was going to spoil you, and I mean it."

"Stan," Kyle sighed, a strange tone in his voice that Stan couldn't dissect.

"I mean it. You deserve a good day," Stan said earnestly. He finished propping up the pillows and then he turned to the TV. He put "Terrence and Phillip" on the screen, knowing it was also a favorite of Kyle's. Then he flopped himself down beside him, throwing an arm around the back of the couch as he lied back and looked at the screen.

"Let's just relax together, like old times. Wouldn't that be great?" Stan asked with levity.

Kyle wrapped his hands around the base of his cup, "It would be."

"Why don't you sound excited?"

"I don't know. A lot has changed, I guess."

"Well, yeah. But that doesn't mean we can't relax together. You said it yourself, we're still super best friends," Stan shot him a look from across the couch, "What about our lil' dance party back in the kitchen? You can't tell me you weren't having fun. That was fun."

A smirk played on Kyle's lips, "That was fun."

"There's that smile I've missed," Stan grinned, "See? Everything's gonna be fine. Let's just kick back and watch our show."

"Yeah," Kyle leaned back against the couch cushions, "This episode's a classic."

"Is it?"

"One of my favorites, yeah."

"Cool," Stan said, leaning back onto the sofa.

They spent the next few hours just like this, staring up at the screen and sharing laughs and side commentaries. Stan had his attention divided evenly between "Terrence and Phillip" and Kyle, who didn't seem to notice his overbearing stares. Kyle just watched the television, taking a small sip from the protein shake every now and again.

Much to Stan's satisfaction, he noticed how Kyle relaxed over time. They both did. There even came a point a few hours later where he and Stan were both sprawled out over the sofa, ranting about the acting, arguing about different characters, and laughing at every little thing, even things that weren't funny. It was heartwarming, actually, how just a few hours spent together managed to bring them back to a time when everything was alright.

Kyle finished his protein shake with no complaint, and was looking a lot better as time went on. The few hours of sleep he accomplished made him look more awake than he had in days. He was cognizant and vibrant, and it warmed Stan's soul. But most importantly, Kyle wasn't shying away anymore. He wasn't hiding, he wasn't afraid, he was completely open with Stan, and that's just how it should be.

Kyle was happy, just like Stan wanted.

This was the happy, carefree safe-zone that Stan had hoped for; this was the "right thing" he told his mom he would bring to life. This was it. He had done it.

And as he looked over to his super best friend on the couch beside him, he watched the way Kyle snorted at a dumb joke on the TV, and the way his green eyes came to life, Stan could only wish that this "right thing" could last forever.

Sometime late into the evening, Kyle wanted to go clean himself up.

Stan discouraged a shower, thinking that standing up for too long might overexert him again, so Kyle settled for a bath instead. Stan said he would let Kyle take as long as he needed, and he wouldn't barge in just to check on him like he did last time. But he did make Kyle promise to call him perchance he needed anything; that was the agreement they made.

So while Kyle bathed in the upstairs bathroom, Stan was working out downstairs. He hadn't had an official workout in days now, so it felt great to get back into the rhythm of his hardcore self-care routines.

He had been laboring at a punching bag for at least half an hour before he heard the doorbell ring.

Before he could answer the door, Stan had to take a breather. Not only was he sweating profusely and breathing like a maniac, but he was emotionally unprepared to see anyone today. He hadn't been expecting anyone. His family wasn't supposed to be home for a week and he didn't have regular company.

Having someone stop by was like an invasion to the private sanctuary he built for himself and Kyle. Whoever it was, the visitor had better be gone quickly. Stan wanted to maintain the sanctuary for as long as possible; the sooner he could get rid of the person at the door, the better.

Slapping a sweat towel over his shoulders, Stan opened the front door.

He took a step back in surprise, "Oh. Hi, Kenny."

Kenny McCormick seemed to be just as unsettled as Stan was, if not even more uneasy. His bright blue eyes were wide, and he seemed to be nervous just by standing there at the front door. His hands were fidgeting around a small black bag, one that was eerily familiar to Stan, though he couldn't quite put a finger on why he remembered it so.

Without even giving Stan a chance to say anything, Kenny raised his arms in the air and said, "Please don't hit me."

Stan tilted his head to the side. His breathing was still coarse and uneven, so much so that he couldn't form words. So he just gave Kenny a pointed look.

The fact that Stan was drenched in sweat and that his biceps were prominently bulging seemed to offput Kenny even more. He looked like he wanted to run away but something was grounding him in place.

"I, uh," Kenny fidgeted with the bag in his hands more, "So, uh, Ike was just at my house a few hours ago. He said Kyle was gone this morning, and I got to thinking, you know. I thought he'd be here if you were here, and you're here, so…"

He looked at Stan expectantly. Stan wiped his face with the towel, struggling to speak coherently, "Yeah? And?"

"Well, is he here?"

"Ike?"

"No, Kyle. Is Kyle here?"

"Yeah."

At just the one word, Stan watched Kenny's anxiety melt away. Watching his reaction was like watching water pour over sugar, everything just dissolving sweetly.
Kenny let out an immediate breath, his hold on the black bag loosening. He pulled back the hood of his parka, a sense of confidence starting to emit off of him. He was smiling, but not because he was happy. To Stan, it looked like Kenny was smiling because he was onto something.

"Fan-flipping-tastic," Kenny exclaimed, "'cause I was not ready to work with the police on a missing persons report again. Those guys are awful."

"But Kyle's not missing," Stan said pointedly, "He's here."

"I know, that's awesome," Kenny looked behind Stan and over his shoulders, "Can I see him?"

"No."

"Stan-"

-In case Kenny was getting any ideas, Stan used his arm to block the whole doorway.

"No," he said with a little more emphasis to his tone.

The last time he and Kenny talked, they ended with a few bones to pick still between them. The last time they spoke one-on-one was back in Bebe's parking lot, and even then, they were aloof and dissonant. And that was after Kenny went a full week avoiding him and trying to distance him from Kyle, all the while acting unreasonably defensive.

That's why right here, right now, it was difficult to tell if Kenny came as a friend or as a foe. Even from the beginning, he was never on anyone's side. At first he acted like he was on Stan's side, but then out of nowhere he jumped to Ike's, and now he seemed to be on his own.

So it was no wonder that Stan felt exceedingly uncomfortable with his random presence at the front door and his sudden demands to see Kyle.

"What's that?" Stan asked, a trail of sweat dripping down his back as he eyed at the black bag in Kenny's hands.

At his question, Kenny hid the bag behind his back, "None of your business. Where's Kyle?"

"He's-" Stan had to stop to take a sharp inhale; he still hadn't caught his breath, "-He's here. Now, what's in the bag?"

"It's none of your beeswax. If he's here, why can't I see him?"

"He's in the bath. What's in the bag?"

"Nunya beeswax," Kenny pressed aggressively now. He kept peeking over Stan's shoulders, "Is he actually? I mean, I don't really know if I can take your word for it, dude. Can I see him, please?"

"He's in the bath, no," Stan was getting defensive. He used both of his arms to block the doorway, "Why're you acting like this, Ken? I thought we left off on pretty neutral terms at the party. You said you were going to stop avoiding me, I thought that meant you would stop acting weird around me."

"I'm not acting weird."

"You're so acting weird."

"Bruh, you've seen me at my weirdest," Kenny shot, "You know very well that shit can get weird with me."

"Uh huh," Stan accidentally smiled at a random memory, "Can you tell me what's in the bag?"

At seeing Stan smile, Kenny softened a bit. He went less offensive when he explained, "It's, uh, it's his needles bag. I thought he would need it, or whatever."

"Oh," Stan's breath hitched, "Yeah. How'd you- uh, how'd you get it?"

"I stopped by Ike's house and asked if I could drop it off to you guys. He said it was a smart idea," Kenny smirked, "And you know if he says something's smart, it's smart. He told me to give it to you guys if only I could manage to not screw things up, or whatever. Anyway, can I come in? To give it to him?"

"No."

"But doesn't he need it?"

"No. I mean-" Stan rubbed the sweat towel over the back of his neck and hair as he struggled to speak coherently, "Sort of. He didn't need it earlier. I mean, I did all the math with his glucose and stuff. I made sure he was okay to eat, and he was. I just- I mean, he'll need it later, yeah. He will. So can I just take that bag off your hands, Kenny?"

Kenny hid the bag behind his back childishly, "No thanks."

"Ken, for the love of God," Stan mumbled, rolling his head back on his shoulders, "You're a lot of work, you know that, right?"

"Yeah, that's what everybody keeps telling me," he forced a sigh.
Kenny took a pause, then moved to hold the bag in front of him as if it were a business briefcase. He splayed his fingers atop its surface in a showy manner before saying, "Okay, tell you what, Stan. You like making deals, right? I mean, you're shitty at following them-like really, you should get help about that. I think that stems from gambling problems or something. Hey, didn't your grandpa have money problems? You know, that might explain a few things about you-"
-Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, "Sorry, I'm rambling. Back to what I was saying, I know you're not good at doing deals, but I know you like them, and at this point I feel like that's the only way I can get through to you. So I'll tell you what-"
-Kenny pulled out the faux TV announcer impression now, "For just the small price of letting me see my favorite Kylie-B, you will earn this awesome, genuine, one-of-a-kind black diabetic care package!"

Stan was not impressed.

Kenny forced a showy smile.

Stan was slightly amused. He accidentally smiled, "Kenny, do you really have to-"

"-It has a zipper, c'mon. This is a total win-win," Kenny's false smile dissolved away, the cheerfulness in his eyes abating. He lowered the bag to his side, sighing honestly as he said, "Look, Stan, playfulness aside, I really want to see him. I think it's kinda sad I have to ask you permission. Like, that's not right. But here I am, doing it anyway, like the idiot I am. Can I please see him?"

"Why do you want to see him so badly?" Stan crossed his arms over his chest, but not in an aggressive way.

"I don't know, I haven't seen him since Bebe's party."

"You haven't seen me since Bebe's party, either."

"Whoops, you got me," Kenny blew air out of his lips, "Nah, but seriously man, I care about you. I do. I've said it like a billion times by now, but right now my number one on my priorities list is Kyle. You get that, right?"

Stan did get it. More than Kenny even knew. He said nearly the same thing just earlier this morning. He told Kyle he got his priorities in order, and he did.

Stan was touched by his words, but he didn't want to let Kenny see, so he rubbed the sweat towel over his face, and then proceeded to scrub his hair without shame.

"Dude," Kenny laughed, a tendered quality to his spirit, "You reek. What've you been up to?"

"Punching things."

Kenny went silent without delay.

Visibly terror-stricken, he tried to bustle through the doorway, but with Stan's body serving as an impenetrable barrier, he had no chance of getting through. So instead, Kenny just reached over Stan's shoulder and shouted into the house.

"Kyle?" he cried, "Kyle, are you okay? Where are you? I can get you out of here, let's go! Are you okay?!"

"Kenny, what are you doing?" Stan exclaimed, holding him back with every muscle in his body.

"I knew you were gonna be violent with him, I just knew it!" Kenny shrieked, before calling over his shoulders again, "Kyle?! Can you hear me?!"

There was a loud bang upstairs, followed by a few pitter-patter noises, before the bathroom door swung open and Kyle stormed out. He was dressed in his old clothes, his skin and hair still wet from the bath water. He scrambled to get down the stairs in his boot, annoyance written everywhere all over his face.

"Stan, I thought you said you'd let me bathe in peace. Why do you all of a sudden-" he stopped short when he realized who was at the door, "-Kenny?"

Just like before, all of Kenny's anxiety dissolved off of him like water over sugar.

"Kylie-B!" he exclaimed softly, "I missed you. You okay?"

Stan could see that Kyle was endeared by Kenny's reaction, but he was also notably confused. He looked in between Kenny and Stan for some sort of explanation, "Everything okay? What's going on?"

Kenny stepped in, "Stan, can I please talk with the Kylie-B?"

"I mean, I don't know," Stan said meekly. For some reason, having Kyle's presence in the room made him weaker. It was as though he couldn't demonstrate his brutality now that Kyle was watching. He found himself stammering as he went on, "I- Yeah, I mean, only if Kyle wants to."

"I do," Kyle said, smiling, his hair still dripping down his back. He turned to Stan, "Can you let him in, Stan?"

"Actually-" Kenny cut in now, "I wanted to talk with you alone, if that's okay."

Kyle and Stan shared a look.

"Can he, Stan?"

"Can he what?"

Kyle bit his lower lip, "Is it okay if he talks to me alone?"

"Um. Well, I, uh…"

Kenny pursed his lips, "Kyle, don't bother asking him. You know he's gonna say no."

"I- um," Stan cleared his throat, "If- If that's what you want, Kyle, I guess. Sure."

Kyle's elation was evident. Joy was practically shimmering off of his radiant skin as he excitedly turned to Kenny and praised, "Dude, look how much better Stan's doing! Isn't he doing so much better? He's doing so great," he turned back to Stan, "Thanks, dude."

"But can I- um," Stan wiped his face with the sweat towel again, "Do you mind if I stand by? Like, in case anything happens? I won't intervene or anything, I just want to- you know, be around? If that's okay."

"Sure, Stan," Kyle said before Kenny could get a single word out.

"Dude," Kenny groaned.

"He won't be a problem, Kenny. He's not even gonna say anything, are you Stan? He'll just be a chaperone," Kyle took Kenny by the elbow and led him through the house to the living room, sitting him down on the sofa.

Stan followed tentatively. He lingered behind in the kitchen, which was angled in such a way that Stan could see and hear everything on the couch, meanwhile Kenny and Kyle could barely see him, if they could see him at all, from behind the counter.

The both of them settled down against the pillows, and strangely, Kyle seemed a lot more comfortable than Kenny did.

Kenny was putting on his detective mask, the one he wore when he wanted to be entirely impassive. Even the depths of his bright blue eyes lacked emotion as he sat down beside Kyle, looking him up and down in that way that only Kenny does.

Kyle didn't seem to notice. He was still grinning when he said, "Dude, I mean it, Stan's been great. He's been really great. I think this is the best I've seen him since the bus accident."

"And you're sure about that?" Kenny asked, running a hand through his hair, "Like, you don't think he's pullin' some kinda scheme or something?"

"No, Stan wouldn't trick me. He's been really honest. I'm proud of him, really."

Even though Kyle couldn't see him, Stan smiled at his praise. Happiness swelled within him, warming his heart and soul.

But he felt his heart sink a little inside his chest when Kenny started speaking again.

"But Kylie-B, it's only been a day. Not even a full day."

"Exactly. It's only been a day, and he's already progressed so much. It's literally insane."

"He's literally insane."

Both Kyle and Stan went still. Stan watched as Kyle teared up a bit, turning his back toward Kenny on the couch.

"Shit," Kenny mumbled, moving forward to comfort him, "I'm sorry, babe, I didn't mean that. I didn't really. You know I love the guy to death, you know I wouldn't say anything to hurt him. That just slipped out…"

Kyle recovered only slightly, "Yeah, I know."

"Jus' keep an eye on him. Keep your guard up," Kenny said, "I know you think everything's fine, but don't settle down just yet, okay? Don't forget everything that's happened so far."

"Yeah, I know," he repeated.

Kenny pursed his lips, "Okay, enough about Stan. How are you? You okay?"

"Yeah," Kyle actually smiled.

"Well, I can see your pretty pearly whites again, so I guess that's a good sign."

Kyle laughed.

Kenny did not, neither did Stan.

"Really, though," Kenny said, "How is everything? We left off at a pretty rough spot."

"Yeah," Kyle sobered almost immediately, "How's the North Park kid?"

"He's, um- He's alive."

Stan felt something stiffen inside of him. It made him uneasy when Kenny shot a warning look toward the kitchen, as if telling Stan to back off.

"Is he okay?" Kyle pleaded, "I never meant for him to get hurt."

"I know you didn't, babe, and he knows that, too. He's, uh-" Kenny rubbed the back of his neck, "He's expected to recover. He got hurt bad. Real bad. But, uh, yeah, he's predicted to be okay."

"Oh," Kyle nodded knowingly.

"So," Kenny blew air out of his lips, "Stan hasn't, uh-Geez, it feels weird to ask this. I know he's listening to us right now. I think I can see him, actually. Whatever. I don't care. I have to ask it. … Stan hasn't been beating up on you like that, has he?"

"Hell, no."

"He hasn't?"

"Hell, no. He hasn't hurt me since-..." he trailed off.
He bit a fingernail before continuing where he left off, "Well, he hasn't hurt me. He's really been doing better today."

"I, um," Kenny looked the other direction, "Your brother told me that something happened to your wrists."

"Oh."

Even all the way from the kitchen, Stan could see the panic in Kyle's eyes. It was like alarm bells were ringing through his head and Stan could hear them, too. He felt something icky and nauseating creep up the back of his spine as he watched Kyle roll up his sleeves and surrender his wrists for inspection.

Kenny took a sharp inhale at the gruesome sight. He looked like he was going to break down, but he was holding himself together at the seams, tears welling in his eyes.

At seeing his reaction, Kyle bit his lip guiltily, lowering his head in shame.

Kenny wiped at his nose and took a little vile out of his parka pocket, "While, uh, while I was at your house getting your needles, I picked up some Neosporin, too. Is it okay if I-?"

He didn't need to finish the sentence.

Kyle shot Stan a look from the living room, "Stan? Is it okay?"

Stan swallowed.

"It's not a pill," Kyle explained, "It's not even really medicine. It's like a cream. Is it okay if I have some?"

Stan's anxiety was threatening to boil over and make him explode from the inside out. Nonetheless, he managed to give a curt nod, before disappearing around the kitchen counter so the others wouldn't see him struggle to keep his breathing under control.

Kenny watched the whole exchange tentatively, very much disturbed by the way Kyle had to ask permission.

But Kyle wasn't disturbed at all. If anything, he looked relieved.

"See, Ken, isn't he doing great?" Kyle grinned as he let Kenny rub the cream over his wrists, "Normally he gets all antsy and he fuckin' hates it when I take meds. 'Cause he gets nervous, you know? But it's only been a day and he's already doing better."

"Mhm," Kenny didn't seem quite as impressed. He kept his gaze down at the redness, carefully letting his fingers smooth the cream over the blisters, hives, and cuts. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down apprehensively.

"What's wrong?" Kyle asked, noticing his restlessness.

"It's just-" Kenny took a breath, "Did Stan do this?"

"Did Stan-?" Kyle trailed off, then shut down completely, "You mean, did he-?"

"-Your wrists, Kyle," Kenny pleaded. He had been deadpan for nearly his entire visit so far, but now he was finally starting to break. He seemed to be seconds away from weeping, but he was miraculously holding himself together for Kyle's sake.
"Did Stan do this to you?" he whispered, holding onto both of his wrists.

"No," Kyle shook his head, his gaze not leaving his marred injuries.

"He didn't?" Kenny was now wrestling to keep himself composed, "But I mean, just, what? Then how did this happen, Kylie-B? This isn't normal. This is really, really bad. How did this happen?"

Kyle's eyes flitted to the kitchen, but only for a second.

"I did it," Kyle said, his head low, "It's my fault. I did it."

Kenny's mouth dropped, "Kylie-B…"

"Yeah… I did it. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, just don't-" Kenny pulled himself back, wiping his hands over his face and groaning. He let out a strained sigh, and pinched the bridge of his nose when he asked, "You're sure?"

Kyle looked to the left, "Yeah."

Kenny peculiarly eyed the prominent bruise on the base of Kyle's skull, then looked to the smaller ones still dotting the sides of his face. It was impossible to read what he was thinking from the somber expression on his face; Kenny was entirely cold-fish.
But the concern was still evident in his voice when he asked, "Kylie-B, is it okay if I keep an eye on you for a while? Like, I know you say everything's fine, and that's cool and all, but there's a lot I still don't understand, you know? Can I, like, come by tomorrow?"

Stan tried to contain his anxiety when Kyle simply answered: "Yeah, dude, of course."

"And are you still gonna be going to school? Will I see you there?"

"I don't see why you wouldn't."

"Stan's still fine with you going to school?"

"I mean, we haven't talked about it or whatever," Kyle looked to the kitchen, "But I'm sure he'd be fine with it. I mean, I'm staying here for a bit. I don't really want to go home right now, and his parents are out of town. So it's just the two of us. I'm sure he'd get bored of me eventually and agree to take me to school just to have something to do."

"Dude," Kenny's brow furrowed, also shooting a look at the kitchen, "He'd never get bored of you. C'mon. That's just preposterous. If you want to go to school, you have to tell him."

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," Kyle said, tenuous hesitation in his tone, "Today's already going so great. I don't want to ruin anything."

"If you think it's best," Kenny sighed, running a hand through his moppy blonde hair, "So I can come by tomorrow?"

"Sure."

Stan could tell from the look in Kenny's eyes that the last thing he wanted to do on the planet earth was leave. There was so much longing evident in his bright blue irises, he looked like he was latching onto Kyle by his expression alone. But by whatever strange magic it was, Kenny gave Kyle a parting hug, and then pried himself away from the couch.

He gave Stan a strange look as he headed for the front door, "Unblock my number, Stan. Let him call me if he wants anything."

Stan didn't take kindly to being ordered around, but with Kyle's presence in the room, he had to oblige.

"Yeah, sure."

Kenny replied by shoving the diabetic bag at Stan's chest, and then walking out the front door, leaving it unlocked behind him.

As soon as he left, Stan buried his face in his sweat towel and groaned.

Kyle peeked his head over the kitchen counter, "Hey, you okay, Stan?"

"Yeah," Stan grumbled against the fabric, "Just stressed out, I guess."

"I think you did great, Stan," Kyle said earnestly, his jade-green eyes looking up at him honestly, "I could tell you were really anxious, but you didn't freak out at all. You remained calm, you're really doing a lot better."

"God damn it, Kyle, I'm supposed to be looking out for you, not the other way around," Stan muttered. His words were harsh, but his tone was soft and weak.

"You are," Kyle said, patting the spot beside him on the sofa, "I had a great day."

"You did?" Stan joined him on the couch.

"Yeah. This has probably been the best day since my birthday last year," Kyle gave a half-smile, "You did great, Stan."

Stan didn't want to say "thank you." He didn't feel the need to, he felt the impulse to say something else.

"Hey, Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

Stan hugged a couch pillow across his chest when he asked, "Why'd you tell Kenny that your wrists are your fault? I mean, it's because of the zip-ties."

A lengthened silence absorbed the living room.

Kyle tugged his sleeves down over his wrists to cover them up and said, "Well, you were right, Stan. I wouldn't be so cut up if I didn't pull on them; it is sort of my fault. I should've known you knew what you were doing when you tied me up like that. I should've had more faith in you."

Stan was weak with gratitude, "Really?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, after everything you've done for me today, the least I could do is have a little trust in you, right?" Kyle took a steadying breath, "Sorry I've been a little timid around you recently. It probably wasn't doing you any favors."

"It's fine. I mean, you were going through a lot," Stan shrugged.

Kyle shook his head, "I don't think that's a good excuse. I'm gonna do my best to put more faith in you."

"Oh, you don't have to-"

"-It's only fair. You're doing better for me, I'll do better for you. Like super best friends."

"Yeah," Stan smiled, gratitude resonating inside of him, "Yeah, just like super best friends."