Wednesday faded into Thursday. Kyle unfortunately slept through most of it. Meanwhile, Stan and Kenny tried to make up for lost time by playing games, watching movies, and keeping up aimless conversation. None of it really soothed their nerves. It went unsaid that an invisible tension still remained between them, but both put in noticeable efforts to ignore it-not alleviate it.

Thursday night, they picked up Butters and the four of them carpooled to the game together; Stan drove, Kenny rode shotgun, and Kyle and Butters sat together in the backseat.

It was decided that having Kyle be the water-boy was a dangerous move; Stan knew that he either wouldn't be able to lift the barrels or he would hurt himself trying. So he was instead going to be a towel bearer and let Butters keep his job-which was news that the little twerp was overwhelmingly excited to hear; though Kyle was blatantly less excited about his job, but Stan knew it was for the better. He told himself that Kyle's hesitance was just due to the fact he was tired, and he would be more enthusiastic once he was a little more awake.

Stan wouldn't say it out loud, of course, but it was actually kind of adorable how Butters and Kyle got along with each other. Butters was finally back in possession of his favorite coat, and that seemed to make him all the more happy. He was doing all of the talking, but Kyle was diligently listening, occasionally nodding along or offering a slight smile at Butters' stories. He talked the entire car ride, educating Kyle about the water-boy position, what to expect at the game, and then eventually ended up talking about books, school, and innocent gossip.

Stan tried to remember if Kyle and Butters were friends once.
Well, they had to be. Butters was friends with everyone. But what Stan tried to remember was if they were good friends.

Right now, they were acting as if they had been good friends at one point or another. However when Stan tried to remember any past events that could confirm this, his mind drew a blank.

As for the front of the car, there was little talking. Stan's eyes kept flicking back to Kyle to check on him, and Kenny kept reminding him to focus on the road. That was just about the extent of their conversation, which was honestly kind of sad. Even after they made up just yesterday, Stan could sense that Kenny was still holding onto some closeted wariness regarding him. Stan didn't address it, though, he figured all the tension would ease over once the game started, and all would be well again.

They were in Clyde's car because Stan was stupid enough to forget to return it Monday, and Clyde was stupid enough to forget that someone else had his car for almost four whole days.

They arranged for Stan to return it at the arena in the parking lot, before any of the festivities began.

Stan was never one to particularly enjoy the pregame festivities and tailgates, strange as it might be. He was the star player and the crowds always knew him by name, so he was practically worshipped when it came to the pregame parties. But something about all of the attention, the idolizing, and the grovelling made him uncomfortable, so he always tried to steer clear from these things when he could.

He couldn't tonight, though. And he supposed that was fine. It was going to be a special night, he could feel it.

Tonight was the night he was finally taking a step forward for himself. Playing this game was going to push him towards his goal of self-betterment for Kyle. He was finally going to reconnect with his teammates to play the sport that he loved. It was going to be good for his head, especially good for his body, but most importantly, good for his heart.

And for the hearts of others, too.
By that statement he wasn't referring to the adoring crowds (though he definitely could; they exalted him), he was referring to the fact that this was a charity game. All the money raised from the game would go to saving the exploited lives of dozens, maybe hundreds. This was perhaps the most important charity Stan had ever played for: preventing the profiteering of child-trafficking, both online and in-person.

It was a punch to the gut that Stan was playing for them now, after everything Kyle told him about what his own father was doing to him at home. It had to be due to bad timing, or even simply due to the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon, that Stan was playing for them now. Whichever reason it was, the significance of this cause nonetheless weighed down on Stan from above.
But at the same time, Stan probably wouldn't value the charity as much if Kyle never told him about his home life. If he hadn't confided in him, Stan might have just brushed off tonight's game like it were any other game without a care in the world.

For that reason Stan found himself even more grateful for his super best friend finally opening up. Thanks to everything Kyle told him, Stan was more determined than ever to play well tonight and to do some good for the cause.

He was glad Kenny and Kyle persuaded him to play tonight. It was going to be a good game.

"Stan!" Kenny cried from the passenger seat, snapping him from his thoughts, "Look at the goddamn road! I swear to God if you get distracted one more time, I'm driving!"

Butters giggled from the backseat, which only embarrassed Stan more.

"Sorry," he grumbled, pulling into the arena's parking lot. The ice on the pavement was nonexistent; it had been scraped dry in anticipation of a large crowd. And a large crowd there was indeed.

Stan had to drive with extra caution as people swamped the entire lot, many of them failing to pay attention to the cars around them. He had to brake the car when literally the entire drumline marched by, right in front of his car, taking their sweet time promenading in pomp and circumstance as they played their music.

"Oh, come on," he groaned, pressing his face into the steering wheel.

"Man, these guys are fire!" Kenny laughed, "This beat hits hard!"

Kyle and Butters leaned in from the backseat, watching the drumline pass them in awe.

"Oo, look at that drum! It sure plays swell!" Butters cheered, pointing to a percussionist carrying a full quad set of tenor drums on his chest as he played.

"I've always wanted to play one of those," Kyle said, a tinge of bittersweetness in his voice, "What's that type of drum called, Stan?"

"Hm?" Stan was a little distracted, "Oh, I don't know. I don't really care about the drumline, I never really pay attention."

"It's called a quad!" Butters filled in, "It looks really big, though. Could be a quint, or it might even have some spocks or gocks on it!"

Kenny laughed, "Okay, now you're just making up words. Who d'ya think you are? Ike fucking Broflovski?"

Stan winced when Kenny delivered the joke.

But much to his relief, when Stan looked through the rearview mirror to the backseat, he found that Kyle only smirked casually at the line.

"Stan, I swear to fucking God. Focus on the road before you kill someone. I'm gonna trade seats with you, dude, I swear," Kenny scolded, a sort of ironic annoyance in his tone. He wasn't actually angry, but Stan played along anyway.

"Dude! We're not even moving forward! I have my breaks on! Stop yelling at me!"

"I'm not yelling, you're yelling!"

"Uh, hi, fellers? I hate to interrupt, but-" Butters lightly intervened. He gave a delicate point to the front window, "We got a situation..."

When Stan laid eyes on what Butters was referring to, he slapped himself on the forehead, "You've got to be kidding me."

Bebe Stevens was sitting coyly on the hood of Clyde's car. She was dressed in a coquettish skirt far too short for her own good, making a show of her bright red platform stilettos as she spread them for all around her to see. Her face was painted in school colors, but in a way that made her look less childish and more amorous.

Kenny whistled.

Stan shoved his tongue into his cheek and shook his head, "This is why I hate pregame festivities."

"She is the only person who would wear those shoes to a football game."

"She just wants attention."

"At least she's having fun, right?"

"Don't encourage her, Ken," Stan said disgruntledly. He put his hand to the steering wheel and pressed down on the horn.

The beep immediately made Bebe jump, as she whipped around with a start.

Stan rolled down the window and stuck his head out to talk to her, "Bebe, what are you doing? We're trying to get through this lot."

Bebe went red in the face, covering her mouth with her hand, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I thought this was Clyde's car!"

"It is, but I think he hitched a ride with Craig."

"Well! I wish he'd told me that before I went and gammed a bunch of strangers!" Bebe whined, sliding off the hood of the car, the motion making her skirt ride up her rear.

Butters covered his eyes innocently.

Her stilettos clicking down the pavement, Bebe approached the driver's side of the car to apologize when she stopped short at the sight of who the driver actually was. Her jaw dropped in realization, "Stan?!"

He gave a halfhearted wave, "Hi."

She was practically fuming.

"...Sorry about your party."

"You should be! You ruined everything!" her raspy voice resembled a blaring siren, "I had kids over from the whole county, Stan! The whole county! Do you know how hard it was to get a hundred kids together in the middle of a pandemic?! 'cause of you, they all hated it! Every one of them!"

"They didn't hate it. Everyone had a great time," Stan tried to assure her, though he was sure she could pick up on the lack of enthusiasm in his tone.

"No! They all hated it and it's all your fault, you big bully! Why are you such a violent jerk?!"

Kyle peeked forward from the backseat, "Bebe, he apologized, okay? He feels bad about what he did. He's been doing a lot better. So lay off just a bit, would you?"

"Oh my God," Bebe had to do a double-take, "Kyle, is that you? Oh my God, is that you?!"

"Um. Yeah? It's me," Kyle gave a side-glance to Stan, asking for support with his eyes.

Stan provided immediately, "What's your problem, Bebe?"

"...I guess I just- I wasn't expecting him to be so- uh… Wow," she licked her cherry-colored lips in hesitance, "Kyle, you look different, dude. You look really… different."

Kyle gave Stan another side-glance to ask for help.

"He's just not been feeling himself lately, but he's getting better. And he'll be fine for tonight's game, so you don't have to worry about him," Stan said. From his peripheral vision, he could see Kenny giving him a strange look from behind, but he pretended not to notice.

There was a prominent dip in the pacing of their conversation. A full twenty seconds had to have passed before Bebe spoke again, and when she did, she didn't even address Stan.

"Kyle, thanks for coming to my party," she said, "I feel kinda special to've hosted your first. It's just a crying shame it ended the way it did."

"It's no problem, it wasn't your fault. Thanks for having me," Kyle fake-smiled, "You were a great hostess. I had fun for a little while, at least."

"Yeah, but I'm real sorry it was your first party, dude. Like, that's so sad. I'm so sorry about the end. My girlfriends and I were, like, crying for you about it."

"Bebe-"

"-Really, we were! We were all FaceTiming later that night, and we were talking about you, and Leslie told us some stuff, and some tears were shed, and it was like-... It sucked, Kyle. It all sucked for you. I'm real sorry, dude."

"Bebe, you're fine. It wasn't your fault. You're okay. I had fun, really."

"Okay, if you don't mind-" Stan interjected, readying his hands at the steering wheel, "We'd like to return Clyde's car now, so…"

"Fine, fine. Go do your fucking thing," Bebe pouted, pulling back from the window, shooting Stan a nasty sneer, "Just don't ruin this game by attacking that innocent linebacker again. You already ruined my party, don't ruin this for me too, bitch."

Stan shifted the car into park, "Hold on a sec. What'd you say?"

She groaned, whipping around to lean through the window again, "I said 'bitch.' You got a problem with a gal calling a guy 'bitch?' It's a way of taking back the word, you bitch!"

"-No, no, I heard that," Stan leaned forward on his seat, something bubbling in his gut, "The- The other thing. What'd you say about a linebacker?"

Kenny stuck his hand out, "Wait, maybe we shouldn't-"

"-No, Ken, it's fine. Bebe, tell me. What linebacker?"

She stared at him, "Don't you know you're playing North Park High tonight?"

Kenny took a sharp inhale, turning away from them to keep his gaze pointed strictly out his window.

Stan, however, was not as easily composed. He was so stunned that he accidentally let go of the clutch and the car jerked forward violently, nearly hitting a few pedestrians. The pedestrians jumped back and responded by throwing their paper snack-bags at the front windshield, pieces of popcorn raining down the window as Stan tried to get a grip on himself.

"I- um. I'm sorry, what?" he could feel himself starting to panic. The breath was completely knocked out of him, and he was struggling to get it back under his control.

Bebe eyed him curiously, "You good?"

Kyle shot forward from the backseat, putting his hand on Stan's shoulder, "Hey, it's okay! Stan- Stan, are you paying attention? Stan, it's okay, dude, honest!"

"But- But she said North Park. But he- I didn't know we were playing North Park, honest to God, I didn't know, I-" Stan stammered wildly, his heart hammering against his ribcage. He barely registered Kyle's hand on his shoulder, despite the fact his grip was as tight as he could muster.

"Stan!" Kyle cried eagerly now, "It's not like you'll be fighting the guy who kissed me. Use some common sense. There's only a slight chance he would be on the football team!"

"And even if he was-" Kenny cut in, strangely serious, "They wouldn't let him play. He's way too injured. I doubt the guy's even out of the hospital yet."

Bebe guffawed, "Wait, you put that hunk of meat who kissed Kyle in the hospital?"

"He did," Kenny pursed his lips, "And like I said, he's probably still there. Pigs would fly before they'd let that kid play a football game, or even come to one."

Stan was halfway alleviated. The tension boiling inside of him was still on the rise, but he was able to get his breathing under control. He took a few deep breaths and tried to collect his thoughts.

Stan had to remind himself that Kyle would spend the game on the field at his side, away from all the other people in the arena. He would be entirely alienated from all strangers who put his health at risk, and would be at a perfectly safe distance from all North Park players. Even if someone tried to approach him from the North Park side of the field, that someone would have to get past Stan, and the idea of someone actually getting past him was so ludicrous it was laughable.

Having come to that conclusion, Stan took another deep breath. He shifted the car into drive, saying, "Okay Bebe, I'm going to drive now. I recommend getting away from the car."

He glanced up at the rearview mirror to see Kyle grinning at him, "Good, Stan. Do you see what I was talking about, Kenny? Stan can control himself really well now! He didn't, like, go off or anything!"

Kenny grinned too, though Stan could tell he only did it for Kyle's sake. Kenny didn't look convinced by his words in the least, but he smiled anyway.

Bebe just watched the whole exchange with an exasperated expression, "Um. Excuse me? Can someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

"I really recommend stepping away from the car, Bebe," Stan repeated, "I'm gonna start driving. I don't want to hit you. Those look like expensive shoes."

"You're a real bitch, you know that?" she snarled, "I don't know why I ever invited you!"

She stood where she was, waiting for him to rebuttal. But Stan had nothing to say. He didn't want to pick a fight. He was saving his energy for the field, because he really was looking forward to this game. Even with the interruption Bebe and the other pregame partiers caused, Stan was excited to get down to the field and play for the cause.

So Stan held his tongue. The sooner Bebe left, the sooner he could return this car, and the sooner he could get down to the field to start warming up.

When it finally dawned on her that Stan didn't have anything more to say, she huffed at him, "You know, I almost wouldn't care if we lose the game tonight! At least if we lose, it'll mean someone finally managed to kick your ass, Stan!"

"Are you gonna let me drive, or what?"

Bebe scowled, stomping her foot. Then without a proper goodbye, she stormed off, following the crowd into the arena, shooting Stan the middle finger behind her back.

Stan could only sigh and shake his head as she walked off.

"Uh, fellers, is she decent now?" Butters asked, his hands still chastely covering his eyes.

"Oh my God, Butters," Kyle tried to hold back laughter, "I was wondering why you were so silent all of a sudden."

"What?" Butters asked innocently. He took his hands off his eyes and started rubbing his knuckles together, "My parents taught me to not look at a woman while she's indecent, even if she wants you to look at 'er."

Kenny pinched the bridge of his nose, though it was clear he was two seconds away from erupting into laughter, too, "How you managed to make it to senior year of high school and still remain so pure, I have no idea."

"What? What'd I say?"

"Nothing, Butters."

"No, really, fellers! What'd I say?"

"I love you, Butters. Never change."

"What'd I say?!"

"Just never change, okay? Never change."

"But I didn't do anything!"

While Kenny and Butters went on prattling in that petty way that only (foster-)siblings do, Stan managed to get through the crowd and park the car in a secure spot close to the back entrance of the arena. He turned off the headlights and killed the engine, unlocking the car so everyone could get out.

Though Stan probably didn't need to, he went around the backside of the car to help Kyle out.

"Dude," Kyle muttered, unclipping his seatbelt, "I can get out on my own."

"No, it's okay, I don't mind," Stan said, helping him anyway by holding onto his arms to keep him steady.

Kyle was still dressed in Clyde's varsity sweater; Stan couldn't remember if he had taken it off a single time since he put it on. It draped over him like a carpet, hanging all the way down to his knees.
The sleeves of it were even worse, dangling at least half a foot, if not longer, from his hands. They tried rolling up the sleeves once or twice, but that just made him look even more derisory, as the fabric doubled in size and made Kyle look like he was trapped in a straight-jacket.
Stan really couldn't complain, though. It covered him up well and kept him warm, what more did he need? Kyle never brought up any problems with it, so Stan had to assume everything was fine.

When Kyle was out of the car, he started fiddling with the sleeves, "Is Clyde gonna want this back?"

Stan shrugged, "He probably forgot he owns it. I mean, if he went four days before realizing he didn't have his car- which, by the way, I don't even know how that's possible, he literally drives it to and from school every day-I doubt he can even remember the sweater exists."

"Good point," Kyle gave a half-hearted smirk.

Kenny and Butters filed out of the car soon afterwards, still estranged in pointless bickering;

"Kenny, why are you not telling me what you meant? What'd I say? I didn't say anything wrong, did I?"

"Butters, you are totally blowing this out of proportion. You're making a big deal out of nothing. Let it slide, dude."

"Did I say something wrong? Am I gonna get in trouble?""

"Jesus Christ, Butters."

Stan was about to announce that they would leave for the locker rooms now, but he stopped himself before he did, and for good reason.

At this point, the foster-brothers' quibbling evolved to a keener altercation. They were now engaged in some sort of senseless argument, spewing out at each other loudly. After giving Stan an exhausted gesture that said "this is gonna take a while," Kenny took Butters by the crook of his elbow, and walked him down the parking lot until they were under the light of a lamppost, where they could bicker without disturbing anyone.

Kyle gave a weak smile, "They're gonna be fine, right?"

"Butters has always been too sensitive. He's making something out of nothing. He'll get over it, I'm sure," Stan shook his head, "They'll catch up with us later. For now, I'm taking you down to the locker rooms."

"Ooo," Kyle gave a dry laugh, falling into step with Stan as he followed him down the sidewalk, "I finally get the grand tour of where my bestie acts gay with the homies."

"Oh, come on. Locker room drama is a total myth and it only happens in movies," Stan grinned, feeling a sense of excitement stir within him at Kyle's use of sarcasm-something he hadn't done for days now.

"Nuh-uh. You're totally lying, Stan. We both know you probably juul and whip everybody in there with a towel."

"That's not true, I do not!"

"I've heard rumors that in the locker room, there's a chart where you guys keep track of days since you last had sex. Is that true?"

"Okay, that's not fair. That was a one time thing!"

"So it is true!"

"Is not! It was just a stupid idea of Bradley's! It was totally a bust, though, and everyone got bored with it after a week!"

"Stan-"

"Really! Half the guys on our team are virgins, and Craig's the only one with a serious relationship, everyone else just sleeps around at random, so there really wasn't any-"

"-Stan-"

"-point to it. Everything else is just a total myth. My team respects that locker rooms are a place of decency and privacy, and-"

"-Stan!" Kyle exclaimed breathlessly, grabbing onto the sleeve of his shirt, tugging until Stan came to a halt. Scrambling to collect his breath, Kyle blurted: "I was jus' gonna ask you to slow down! That's all. You- You're walking too fast."

"Oh," Stan frowned. He had been walking at a normal pace.

But here Kyle was, strained, winded, and red in the face.

"Sorry," Stan apologized. He waited for Kyle to catch his breath before he started walking past the fence gate to the small concrete building, this time exercising extreme passiveness. He kept his pace as slothful as he could without making it obvious. But this time, the two of them walked in silence.

Kyle trodded along at his hip, limping because of the boot around his foot. He didn't let go of Stan's shirt, not even as they made it to the front door of the locker room; he kept his grip tight, and his eyes downcast.

Just as they approached the building, the metal door swung open in a quick thrash.

Craig Tucker stood poised in his uniform, his outstretched arm holding the door open. He had a rested expression, but his eyes took upon a sense of elation when he recognized who was outside the door in front of him. His eyebrows raised tremendously as he stared at Stan, his jaw clenched tight around his blue mouthguard.

Stan had to admit he felt a little guilty. He should have told his teammates that he was coming in advance. But it was too late for that now, and here he was, ready to play.

He smiled, "Hey, Craig. Long time no see, right? It's gonna be a great game tonight."

Craig spat out his mouthguard, "Fuck you, Stan."

Stan stalled, "Uh. What? I'm sorry, did I do something?"

Craig responded with his trademark middle finger, before slamming the door shut in his face.

Stan and Kyle shared an uneasy look.

"What was that about?" Kyle asked warily.

"No idea," Stan swallowed, his mouth going dry, "Should- Should we come back later?"

Before Kyle could reply, the door swung open again, this time by none other than Clyde Donovan, grinning toothily. Stan was just about to hand him the car keys, when seemingly out of nowhere, Clyde embraced him in a giant bear hug.

"You came! Oh my God, you actually came!" he shouted with joy, the shoulderpads of his uniform digging into Stan's chest. Without letting Stan go, he called to their teammates in the locker room, "Guys! Guys! Look who showed up after all!"

Over Clyde's shoulders, Stan watched as at least half a dozen of his teammates ran and bounded to greet him with elation, clad in uniform and thrilled faces.

"Oh my God, Stan! Dude, we were worried sick about you!"

"You know damn well I wasn't gonna play without you!"

"Always have to make an entrance, don't you?"

"Hey, I got your tail on the field today, okay? I'll look out for you, man."

"Bro, I missed you!"

As Stan was swamped with hyperactive greetings, he felt a few friendly slaps to the back of his neck, a few rough pats on his shoulders in that two-fisted, masculine way that only teammates could rouse each other. It was a sturdy influx of camaraderie that surrounded him; it was an arduous greeting he hadn't expected, and one he certainly hadn't thought he deserved.

The gesture was something so unexpected that Stan couldn't bring himself to appreciate it.

He held up his hands to signal an end to his grand welcome, the boys only choosing to casually back off into the locker room on their own time, laughing or joshing around unperturbed. As Stan just stood there waiting for them to disappear, Clyde finally released him from the hug, giving his arms a good pat.

"Thank you, Clyde," Stan sighed, shrugging him off. He surrendered the car keys, "All I wanted was to give you your car back."

Clyde blanched, "Wait. So you're not playing?"

"No, I am. I am, I promise."

Clyde smiled.

Stan did, too, "Yeah, I'm playing. I just- I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome, I guess."

Plucking the keys from Stan's hand, Clyde shrugged playfully, "What can I say, dude? The boys missed you. We all did. We all know damn well we're toast without you. You're the saving grace of this team."

"I am not."

"You are so," Clyde laughed, "Literally, we're shit without you, and we all know it. So can you really be mad that everyone was so happy to see you?"

"Almost everyone," Stan rubbed the back of his neck, "My favorite wide receiver didn't seem so happy."

"Who, Craig?" Clyde rolled his eyes, "Nah, man. He and Token were just betting on if you were gonna show up or not. He's only pissed 'cause now he owes Token five dollars. As if he of all people needs any more money."

Stan accidentally laughed, "Okay, well I guess that explains it."

"Really, man, we're all psyched to see you," Clyde persisted even further. He gave Stan's arms another pat, this time with a little more earnestness, his brow tenuously furrowing. He lowered his voice, grip still rested on Stan's arms, before saying, "We, uh, we all saw what happened at Bebe's party. Some of us were in the library when-... some other stuff went down. And, uh, we've all heard rumors, man. We've heard a lot of rumors."

"Oh."

"Yup."

"If you- If you don't want me to play… If you want me to leave, I can totally-"

"-No, dude! No way!" Clyde cried, "None of us believe that shit! I wanted to tell you that! All of us are on your side, man! The whole football team, the whole school, literally everyone in the audience!"

Stan took a step back now.

Confused, he turned to Kyle for an explanation, but he appeared to be just as perplexed as Stan was.

Just in the nick of time, Token stepped in. He was only half-dressed and he was barefoot, but Stan could tell from the confidence in his dark eyes alone that he had a much better understanding of whatever the hell Clyde was trying to say. Giving the linebacker a gentle push to the side, Token took the space of the doorframe, "He means that we don't believe in any of it."

Stan pieced it all together aloud, "You don't believe… the rumors."

"No," Token shook his head, tying his belt around his pants without shame, "We all saw you beat up that guy, but come on, we know you, Stan. We know you wouldn't hurt a fly without a good reason."

"Yeah," Clyde stretched his arms above his head casually, "I mean, I didn't really see what happened, but some people say that the guy was groping Kyle or some shit. And if that was my best friend being touched like that, believe me, I'd go and beat the snot out of him, too."

Kyle and Stan exchanged a look.

"Whether that was the case or just another rumor," Token went on, "We all trust you. We know what you did at Bebe's party had to be for a good reason. And we know you've been absent for personal reasons, and we respect that."

Clyde cut in again, "Literally all of us, dude! You know how much these audiences love you! They all came tonight 'cause they still support you, this whole town does! We all know you didn't do anything bad!"

"Oh," Stan said.

Token and Clyde were gawking at him expectantly, earnestly waiting for him to say more.

But as strange as it may be, Stan found that he wasn't deeply moved. Right now, it felt like this moment mirrored the greeting his team gave him; it was overwhelming with kindness and adoration, but for some reason it didn't resonate with him. Despite the abundance of fidelity encumbering him from all sides, Stan couldn't feel any of it.
What was strange was that nothing was preventing Stan from feeling adored. There were no obstacles, no invisible barriers, nothing. There was just the blatantly clear fact that for Stan, it didn't feel like love.

Just like the long drive home from Laramie, with his Dad opening up about his problems with alcohol beside him, Stan was supposed to be overcome with emotion. He was supposed to respond naturally. But he felt nothing at all.

Stan made himself smile, "That's- uh. That's great, guys. Really. Thanks so much."

"Of course, man, anything for you," Clyde grinned. His eyes darted to the side, finally noticing that Kyle was present for the first time that night, "Who's this? And why's he wearing my sweater?"

Stan and Kyle gave each other another silent exchange.

"Make sure your helmet's on tight tonight, Clyde, I think you've taken a little too much damage to the brain," Stan forced himself to laugh, though it really wasn't funny at all.

But it wasn't just Clyde who was acting a little off.

Token was also looking peculiarly at Kyle, staring at him bewilderedly, as if he were some kind of ghost, "No, but seriously, Stan. Who is this? You can't just bring strangers back here, this is a private area for student athletes only."

"Guys, it's just Kyle," Stan said, suspicion prickling from the center of his chest.

Token and Clyde just stared at him like they were seeing Medusa's head.

Kyle self-consciously wrapped his arms around himself, the sleeves of the sweater racking against his thin frame. A lump visibly rose in his throat when he had to explain, "Hey, guys, it's just me. What's up? Is everything good?"

At the sound of his voice, Token's eyes widened so much that Stan could see white around all sides of his irises, and Clyde released a surprised choking sound.

Kyle hugged himself tighter.

The brunette linebacker nervous-laughed, "Woah! Sorry, dude! Didn't mean to-... freak out, or whatever, I just-... I dunno. I guess you, uh. You look a little-"
Clyde stopped himself midway through the sentence, and then said, "You know what? Just keep that sweater. I got, like, twenty of those things. So just-..."
He bit his lip, "Just keep it."

Stan put his hand on Kyle's shoulder to comfort him, but all Kyle had to say was: "I, um... I have to go to the bathroom."

"Right in here, dude," Token held his arm out, "Come with me, I'll show you."

Stan stepped in, "No, it's okay. I'll take him."

"No, it's no problem. I'll take him," Token said with a guarded sternness. He used his arm to guide Kyle around the bend of the doorway, shooting Stan a look that he couldn't quite understand before he and Kyle both disappeared out of his line of vision.

Stan was just about to follow them, but he felt a hand slap on his shoulder from behind.

"We're back!" Kenny cheered. He gave an eye roll before he said, "Butters just gets emotional on charity nights. Problem solved. We're all good. Right, B?"

Butters jogged up to his side, perfectly content, as if nothing had ever happened, "Yup! Sorry about the delay. Hi, Clyde!"

"Hey, lil' B. Hey, Ken. Thanks for coming to the game tonight," Clyde greeted with a more reserved friendliness. Stan could tell by the fragility of his nature, he was still disturbed by that strange moment from a few seconds ago. He looked shaken to the core, but he was giving a noticeable effort to be cordial.

"Where's Kyle?" Kenny asked, looking around.

"Bathroom."

"I'd love to stay and chit-chat, fellers," Butters was taking off his shoes as he spoke, "But I gotta get inside and put my jersey on. The game's startin' soon."

"Good call," Clyde said, "I'd better warm up before I sprain my foot or something stupid like that. You coming in, Stan?"

"To the bathroom?"

"To the lockers. To get dressed. You, uh-" Clyde pointed out the fact that Stan was only clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt.

Kenny gently knocked his shoulder, "He will in a moment. I gotta talk to him real quick. Go on in, though. I won't hold him long."

"Bye-bye, Ken! See you in a few!" Butters waved, before jogging off inside the locker room, toting his shoes in his hand. Clyde just offered a peace sign before following him away, the door slamming shut behind them, leaving Kenny and Stan alone in the frigid nighttime air.

The cacophony of arena speakers started to sound in the near distance, but to Stan, it sounded like it was a million miles away.

"Kenny?" Stan asked, his voice accidentally coming across as too loud, "What'd you mean you had to talk to me?"

Kenny waved his hand dismissively, "Just for a sec, dude. Nothing serious. At least, I don't think so."

Stan raised an eyebrow, "Kenny?"

"Calm down. Just two quick things, dude!" Kenny held up fingers for a visual, "Number one, I just wanted to say that if the Kylie-B doesn't wanna be your towel boy, or he gets tired of it, or something like that, he can come sit up with me in the seats, okay? I bought tickets real close to the front. We'd both be able to see each other up close."

"Only if he really wants to, and if you can manage to be six feet away or more from everyone else, and if Ike isn't anywhere in sight."

"That's the second thing," Kenny said, an intrigued twinkle in his eye, "I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna be on the hunt for that boy."

Stan felt himself smile at that, "Now that's a good idea."

"Hold on, now," Kenny backtracked a bit, "I ain't gonna do anything to him! I'm just gonna see if he'll be in the arena at all, and if he is, I'll prolly ask him a few questions."

Just as soon as Stan's excitement started, it deflated.

He sighed, rolling his head back on his shoulders, "Kenny, you're too passive for your own good, you know that?"

"I'll keep that in mind, dude," Kenny said, looking at him strangely. Then, he gave Stan a parting wave, "A'ight, I'm off to the stadium. Keep an eye on the Kylie-B, and let him come to me if he needs me, 'kay?"

"I guess," Stan shrugged. He didn't wait for Kenny to leave, he moved past him through the front door of the locker room, ensuring that it closed behind him.

He had to navigate his way through the chaos and stench of the corridor-esque locker room. A few guys were aimlessly throwing a football around, Craig's bottle of cologne spilled, and Bradley (because there has to be that one kid in every locker room who does this; an athlete of any trade would know) was walking around with his bottom half naked, looking for his lucky underpants.

Stan could only sardonically laugh to himself and inch through the turbid room until he made it to his secluded locker in the corner.

His locker was regally larger than everyone else's, though that wasn't his idea. The spacious locker was a gift from his coach after all the consecutive victories Stan accomplished for the team. A widespread poster of himself in uniform adorned the wall just adjacent to it, but again, that wasn't Stan's idea. The poster made himself out to be a godlike creature, the lighting defining his muscles, the football clenched in his fist shining brightly, and the edits making his fake smile look genuine.

Stan frowned when he approached the poster. He's hated it for as long as he could remember.

He tried to ignore the eyesore and just focus on getting dressed in his uniform. He found with great satisfaction that every piece of clothing still fit the same. Even though it's been months since he's last worn the uniform, everything from the leggings to the shoulder pads still fit perfectly.

When he looked at himself in the mirror of his locker, he felt an immediate wave of relief. Looking at his reflection, he just saw himself, not the over-idolized Hercules everyone else made him out to be. And he found great comfort in that.

He actually smiled at his reflection.

Then the bathroom door opened just behind him, and Kyle and Token filed out accordingly. Token was talking to him, halfway through a sentence, but Kyle was paying him little attention. When the redhead noticed Stan's presence in the room, he made a beeline for his side, an unnatural panic in his fervent green eyes.

He tugged on Stan's sleeve, "Hey, can we talk?"

Stan immediately shot Token a passionate glare, but Token just backed up with a confused look on his face.

Wordlessly, Stan wrapped his arm around Kyle's waist and led him back out the locker room. He walked a good few yards outside, away from the concrete building, before he let Kyle go, backing up to take in the sight of him.

"Is everything okay? Token didn't- Did Token do something? Did he-"

"-Stan, it's not just Token," Kyle puled, the sadness in his eyes making him look like an entirely different person.

"Wha- What do you mean?"

"It's not just Token, it's everyone," Kyle crossed his arms, "Why did he have to 'take me' to the bathroom, huh? What am I, three years old? Am I too incompetent to take a piss on my own?"

Stan felt ice prickling at the back of his neck, "You're not incompetent. You're really smart, Kyle, I've said that a million times."

"Nobody treats me like I am!" he wrapped his arms tighter around himself, "And why were Token and Clyde looking at me like that? Bebe, too. It was- It was like they didn't recognize me. Why were they doing that? Is this- Is this some kind of mean game that I don't know about?"

"No, Kyle, there's no game."

"This has to be a game, right?" Kyle was on the verge of tears now, but he was fighting against them, "'cause I'm just an incompetent three-year-old and it's funny for you guys to make fun of me and pretend you don't recognize me! That has to be it, right?"

"No, Kyle!" Stan was about to lurch forward and hug him, but it took every muscle in his body to restrain himself, remembering that Kyle didn't like being touched anymore. He could feel his muscles twitching with anticipation, his gut lurching as he held himself back. He felt like at any moment he could break and reach out to touch Kyle, but he held his ground in his private turmoil.

Stan had to take a deep breath to calm himself before saying, "You- People just look different when they've been sick. And- And you were a little bit sick for a little while. That's all. It's normal, Kyle."

"You think that's it?"

"That, and they're probably just a little antsy because of the game tonight. Their nerves are all over the place. They're probably just not in their right minds."

Kyle looked him up and down. He hugged himself a little tighter before saying, "Stan, make sure to protect your head out there, okay? Make sure your helmet's on nice and tight."

"I will," Stan vowed, not acknowledging that he thought it was a strange request, "It's gonna be a great game."

"If you say so."

"What's wrong?"

Kyle didn't make eye contact when he asked, "Do I have to be your towel bearer?"

"It's an important job," Stan blinked.

"Is it? I mean, all I do is literally sit on a bench and then come give you a towel when you get sweaty."

"I want to have you at arm's length during the game so I don't have to worry about you. That's not a crime."

Stan's words didn't seem to settle Kyle in the slightest. If anything, Kyle just got more tense.

"Just-" Kyle's stare was vacant now, "Just wear your helmet right tonight, okay? You- You're gonna get a lot better tonight. This exercise is gonna be really good for you."

"It is," Stan promised, "I know it is. I'm feeling better already."

The redhead brought his eyes up to Stan's level now, "Good. That's-... That's good. This is going to be so good for you. Really, everyone is here for you tonight, dude. They're all here 'cause they love you."

"...Yeah."

"You gave me my day," Kyle said, smiling at the memory of the Sunday they spent together, "This night is yours, okay? Stay safe and make the most of it."

"I will."

"And hey, Stan, I just remembered! Did anybody tell you that your favorite person is going to sing the national anthem?"

"You are?"

Kyle pulled a strange face, "No, dude. Wendy Testaburger. She's singing the Star Spangled Banner for opening."

"Oh," for some reason, Stan felt his heart drop down into his gut.

"Yeah, I didn't know she could sing either. Hopefully her voice is as good as her grades," Kyle said, a touch of irony in his tone. When he looked at Stan again, his expression shifted, "Dude, you okay?"

"Wendy…" Stan struggled to find the right words, "Wendy's not my favorite person."

"Oh," Kyle said. A moment later, a smirk showed up on his face, "I think I know who is."

"You probably do."

"Miss Nichole Daniels," he smirked, a glint in his eye.

Something went cold in Stan's chest, the blood in his veins going icy. His tongue was frozen to the back of his throat; he found that he couldn't bring himself to speak.

"I saw the two of you dancing at Bebe's party," Kyle grinned innocently, "She totally has the hots for you, dude. You should ask her out."

"Kyle, I can't-" Stan choked out, his stone-cold tongue feeling like a dead weight in his mouth.

"Oh," Kyle lightly laughed, "Are you worried about me being jealous? Dude, she only had a thing for me in the fourth grade, and it only lasted for like a week. I'm sure her crush dispelled after that stunt Cartman pulled. Besides, it's not like I could ever be with her. She is way out of my league!"

"Kyle…"

"She's all yours, dude. Go for her," Kyle turned to his side, "Anyway, I have to get back to the locker room now. Butters said he was gonna find me a jersey to wear for the field, and he has to get me fitted. I'll see you in five?"

"...Sure."

"Okay, then," Kyle gave a halfheated wave. He looked Stan up and down again before turning inside the locker room, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving Stan alone in the dark of the night, surrounded by nothing but his overwhelming thoughts, the speakers of the stadium booming aimlessly in the background.