Okay, so this is the third last chapter, as in there will be two more after this one. Everything's winding down. This story doesn't really need this chapter, but it's just something I had to do.
p.s. if you haven't figured it out yet, the title is a pun.
So thanks to everyone for their support/reviews!
Oh, and formal apologies to Indiana Beach Bum, because I kinda stole the whole phone make out attempt from her. smacks self
First disclaimer ever! I don't own South Park. In the real world, that is…
Chapter 14 – Acting Gay KPOV
I woke up sometime later, feeling momentarily disoriented. How did I get into Stan's room? As I regained my focus on the room, my attention drifted to the sleeping boy draped over me. His head was pressed up under my chin, and I felt his hair brush against my neck. His eyes were closed, and he was lying against me on his stomach. His eyes were closed, and I felt a little puddle of drool around the area of my collarbone. And I wasn't grossed out by it. Weird.
I turned my head sideways and noticed that Stan's hand was curled up in mine, my fingers closing around his knuckles awkwardly. Stupid finger splints. I felt his breath against me, and it filled me with a sense of adoration for the boy. For my boyfriend.
Wow. It felt powerful to be able to call him that. I raised my head a little, and noticed a hickie on my chest. I wondered if there were any on my neck too. From the way Stan was going at me, I wouldn't be surprised. I noticed he also sported a few of his own. I didn't even remember doing that. All I remembered really was an amazing sensation that ran through my whole body, the feeling of lips and skin against lips and skin. It didn't feel weird that my first real make-out session was with my best friend.
Stan stirred, and opened one eye sleepily. He muttered something to me, I don't know what, and smiled goofily.
"Shhh," I whispered to him, running my unoccupied hand through his hair. "Go back to sleep." I didn't want him to get up. Not yet. I didn't want the sensation of Stan's bare chest against mine to ever leave me.
"Whu time izzit?" He asked me sleepily.
I checked Stan's clock. "Around five," I told him, still stroking his hair.
"We should get up," he muttered, closing his eye again. "But need… more sleep."
I grinned at him, feeling the same way myself. "I took a lot out of you, didn't I?" I joked.
He smiled a little. "You're a fireball."
I blushed despite myself. "Wow, that says a lot, considering you've made out with your fair share of people."
"Never with a guy," he whispered back, nuzzling his head further into the side of my neck. He rested his free hand against my chest, and my heart exploded.
I think I just fell in love.
"Is it really that different?" I wondered aloud.
"Is what really that different?" Stan asked, curious.
"Making out with a girl versus a guy."
Stan made a startled noise, then grinned and snickered. "Oh yeah. That's right. You've never done anything with girls."
I rolled my eyes. "And thanks for being such a jackass about it."
Stan pouted. "Aw, look. I'm sorry, c'mere." He crawled up me just enough to plant a kiss on my lips. "Let Stan make it all better."
I rolled my eyes again, trying not to smile. "So is it that different?"
"Well, I'd say so. I mean, you don't exactly have tits."
I snickered. "Would you prefer it if I did?"
Stan made a face. "Ew no. That would be creepy. And weird. And traumatizing."
I pretended to be shocked. "Could it be? One Stanley Marsh, womanizer extreme, prefers a man?"
"Hey, I am not a womanizer!"
I pondered this. "No, I guess not. That's more Kenny's area of expertise. But still."
"Let's just say it's a special power you have over me," Stan whispered into my ear. He proceeded to plant another soft kiss on my lips, smiling. I was smiling too as I kissed him back. This turned into a series of brief, light kisses. I couldn't remember the last time life had felt so amazing, so good.
We were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. Stan groaned.
"That would be my parents." He started to pull his body off of me, but I grabbed him by the shoulders, refusing to let him go.
"Nooooo," I moaned playfully. He struggled then collapsed onto me, laughing.
"Dude, you have to let me go. Do you want my parents to find us like this?" A familiar tune started to play from my pants pocket. "And your cell phone is ringing now."
"Ugh, fine," I said, pulling myself up once Stan had clambered off of me. I looked at my shirt on the floor, which had gathered a small puddle of water. I heard the door downstairs open.
"Do you mind if I borrow a shirt again?" I asked him. "Mine's still wet." He quickly tossed me one, and I pulled it on before answering my phone. Stan threw one on himself, then opened the windows in his room to get rid of the giveaway heat. As it was freezing out, his room was cool within seconds. Stan closed the windows again, then flung open his bedroom door to look unsuspecting, and quickly straightened out his bed.
I flipped my cell open. "Hello?"
"Hey Kyle. I called your home, but you weren't there so I tried your cell." Stan flicked his computer screen on and turned on the radio as a finishing touch. In the meantime, I did a double take.
"…Wendy?" I asked. I couldn't remember the last time she had called me. In fact, I didn't think she ever had.
"Wendy?" Stan looked equally confused. "What's she doi – oh hey mom," he said, noticing his mother at the doorway. I waved a greeting, while trying to pay attention to what Wendy was saying.
"Hello boys," Mrs. Marsh greeted us. "What have you two been up to?"
"Oh the usual," Stan said. "You know. Hanging out."
Mrs. Marsh smiled at us. "It's so nice to see you two are still friends, even after being away at university for so long. It must have been so hard on both of you."
"Yeah, it was," Stan agreed.
"KYLE!"
"What?" I turned my attention back to my cell phone.
"Did you hear me? I said I'm claiming that favour you owe me."
"What favour?" I said distractedly. Mrs. Marsh was tsking Stan for leaving our coats on the ground downstairs.
Wendy made an exasperated noise. "You know, for telling Bebe that you were offline that one time on MSN."
"Oh yeah," I remembered.
"Is Kyle wearing one of your shirts?" Mrs. Marsh asked, confused.
"Yeah, his is all wet," Stan explained, gesturing at my shirt and sweater. "We went tobogganing."
I saw Mrs. Marsh glance at my glasses trapped inside my sweater. She pursed her lips, but made no mention of it. "Go pick your coats up off the floor," she directed her son before leaving. Stan made his way downstairs.
"So do you want to hear what you owe me?" Wendy asked.
"Not really, but shoot," I told her. Stan came back upstairs, and with a quick glance behind him, began to viciously attack me with kisses. I started laughing.
"Stan stop, I'm talking to Wendy," I told him.
"What the HELL is going on over there?" Wendy demanded.
"Oh, Stan won't stop poking me," I covered quickly.
"Oh, are you with Stan right now? Perfect, because I need two people. And technically, he owes me too for getting Bebe off of him at the party." Stan tried to attack me again, but I fended him off.
"So what's the deal?" I asked Wendy, curious. Stan was creeping around to behind me. I watched him warily.
She hesitated on the other end before she spoke. "As you may know, I'm directing the New Years' annual play for South Park this year. You know, the one that always takes place on December 30th." I actually hadn't known this, but I said nothing. Stan knelt behind me, looking ready to attack. I was getting a little worried.
"And, as you probably know as well, all the directors try to cover important events that occur each year in it. Well, this year, a small part of the play was focused on gay marriage. Just a small part!" she exclaimed. I did not like where this was going. Stan was still not moving; it was kind of creepy.
"It's a short scene, it really is!" She informed me, not wanting to have me make a big deal out of it. "You have a few lines with the other actors, and then there's a proposal scene. It's really not a big deal, it's only a few minutes! And there's just this one, TINY brief kiss! It's not like you have to make out or anything! And the lines wouldn't be all that hard to memorize!"
My stomach twisted into a knot. "So what happened to the other actors?"
"Well, one of them broke their leg on that god-awful ramp YOU built on Phil Collins hill a few years back," she informed me. "And the other one, it turns out, was an alien, and its mothership came to take it back to its planet."
"That's … interesting," I said. "It's also an awful lot to ask for." Stan was NOT going to like this one bit.
"Do you WANT me to tell Bebe that you told me to lie to her for you?"
I cringed. "No."
"Perfect. So meet me at the South Park theatre tomorrow at eight in the morning with Stan. We have a lot of work to do." And she hung up. I closed my cell phone, and placed it back in my pocket. The second I slid it in, Stan pulled me backwards roughly, and I fell onto the ground. Before I had even a moment to react, he down on my stomach, pinning me to the ground. I wrestled with him for a moment before he got off, eyes gleaming victory.
"So what did she want?" Stan asked curiously.
I sighed. "You don't get stage-fright, do you?"
---
"Wow. Oh baby. I LOVE you. So. Much." Stan read monotonously from a piece of paper. His face flushed red from humiliation, and I snickered at him. He glared at me.
Wendy smacked her head in exasperation. "Stan, could you read that with a little LESS emotion please?" She asked sarcastically. "Say it like you mean it!"
It had taken a good two hours to convince Stan to go through with this, and nearly as long to get him out of bed that morning. Turns out he WAS the type to get stage fright, as the second I told him he'd be on a stage in front of people, acting really, REALLY gay, he ran to the bathroom and emptied his stomach. Repeatedly. Four times, in fact.
Stan tried to read it again. "Woah, oh Bay. Bee. I love YOU. So. MUCH." Stan looked like he wanted to die. Wendy looked like she was about to lose it.
"Stan… come on!"
"Yeah, come on baby, tell me how much you love me," I said, puckering my lips and batting my eyelashes.
"Fuck. You," Stan replied through gritted teeth. "Maybe I can't say it well because this SHIRT is cutting off my circulation!"
It was true. Stan was wearing a ridiculously tight shirt; it had to be at least three sizes too small. Apparently it was some part of the stereotypical gay cliché; the only thing that could have made it gayer was if it was tie dye. It was definitely not Stan's style.
I, meanwhile, was wearing those ridiculous 70s men's bellbottoms that fit your ass really well. Like girl pants, basically. With a baby blue belt that screamed ass-rammer. Me and Stan would never hear the end of this, that's for sure.
"Stan, it's just a part of the costume!" Wendy exclaimed. "Girls wear tight shirts all the time!"
Stan growled. "Yeah. That's right. GIRLS wear them all the time."
Wendy rolled her eyes. "Well, sorreee for comprising your heterosexuality for one night, but you'll just have to deal with it."
"We're going to be the laughing stock in South Park," Stan complained, refusing to give up.
"Yeah, probably," I agreed.
Wendy threw her arms up in the air. "Holy shit you guys, it's just a stupid play! No one's going to think anything less of you for helping me out at the last minute! I mean, everyone knows you both are totally straight."
Somewhere in the back of my mind I was cackling maniacally. Outwards, I said:
"Yeah, you're right."
"So Stan, can you PLEASE say your line, and mean it?" Wendy demanded.
"Here, try without reading it right off the page," I suggested, taking the papers away from him. Stan made a face at me.
"Go," Wendy ordered.
Stan clutched his heart melodramatically. "Woah, baby, I just love you so much," he declared, staring straight into my eyes with amusement.
Wendy pondered this. "Well, definitely better, but the heart clutch thing is a bit over the top," she decided. "And, would you mind – you know – lisping a bit?" she asked Stan with puppy dog eyes. The only thing Wendy knew about gay couples was clearly the stereotypes. Stan's mouth gaped in horror.
"WHAT?" he screamed at her.
Wendy turned to me. "What about you?" she asked, maintaining the puppy eyes.
"What? NO! No, nonononononono!" Stan sputtered. "NEVER!"
I shook my head. "Sorry Wendy, but I draw the line at lisping. Besides, that's just a retarded stereotype. I doubt many gay people actually lisp."
"Like you would know," Wendy retorted. I tried not to smirk.
"No lisping," I said firmly. She glared at me, then muttered an annoyed 'continue' at us.
I knelt down, and dug a small box out of my pocket with a flourish. I opened it, exposing a ring. I looked up into Stan's eyes.
"This is for you sweetheart. I will love you forever and always. You are my soul mate, and I want to show our love to the world. We can conquer any barrier while we stand side by side. Gerome, will you marry me?" I had memorized my lines after reading the script about five times, and Stan had shortly after. It turns out there weren't really that many lines, just as Wendy had said. I think we had maybe two minutes of screen time, tops.
"How come Kyle gets to propose?" Stan whined.
"Damnit Stan, does it matter? Just say the damn lines!" Wendy shrieked. Stan rolled his eyes but continued nonetheless.
"Oh, Peter," Stan breathed overdramatically at me. He took me by my free hand, and pulled me up. I took the small cardboard piece painted gold, and placed it expertly on Stan – I mean, Gerome's finger. Stan stepped back and looked at it, much as a woman would.
"It's beautiful," he exclaimed. I stepped forwards, and took him – very awkwardly, mind you – by the waist. Stan, just as awkwardly, put his arms around my neck.
"Come on guys, is it really torture for you to have to touch each other? I mean, you guys are best friends," Wendy said. "Do it again, and try to make it look more – natural."
We pulled apart, then did the same arm placements, trying to make it look more natural as Wendy said, yet awkward at the same time. You have no idea until you've tried it how difficult it is to hold your boyfriend like that and make it look awkward and like you don't really want to be doing it at the same time.
"A little bit better, do it again," Wendy stated. We drew apart yet again.
I decided to throw it all in. I stepped forward quickly, grabbed Stan by the waist and pulled him roughly into me. Startled, Stan automatically wrapped his arms around me to regain his balance.
Wendy beamed at us. "Excellent!" she exclaimed. "Now do the quick kiss," she told us.
We looked at each other, faces apart. I could feel Stan's breath on my own face.
"I can't believe we have to do this in public," he muttered.
"Me neither," I said, smiling a little.
"Could you guys PLEASE stop complaining and get on with it!" Wendy interrupted.
Stan leaned forward, and pecked me on the lips quickly.
"A reallll kiss," Wendy sang out. "Come on, like you did at the party," she told us. "Just pretend you're kissing a girl."
Hah. Hahahahaha.
Stan took a breath, as did I.
"You better not puke," I told him, and he chuckled a little.
Stan leaned in and kissed me gently, much like how he had last afternoon. I kissed him back briefly before our lips parted.
Wendy looked a little shocked, but then she shook her head and her face was back to normal. "Good god guys," she said. "If you two actually became a couple, you'd be making a whole lot of people happy."
I snorted. "Like that will ever happen," I said, trying to sound convincing.
"Just one little thing," she said. "Would you mind – like – resting your foreheads on each other's for a brief moment after the kiss, before you break apart? I think that would be the finishing touch. Kay thanks!" she exclaimed before we had a chance to respond. "Keep practicing, I have to check on everyone else. I'll be back in an hour or so to see how you're doing."
Stan and I practiced all the parts down to near perfection, minus the kissing part. Neither of us felt comfortable doing that in public, even if it was only a play. If there weren't so many people in the room however, that may have been a different story altogether.
By noon Stan and I were practicing our lines with the rest of the cast. They weren't so bad; much less lame and emotional than our other ones. The worst we had to do was hold hands. By late afternoon, we had it down to a tee. A much relieved Wendy Testaburger left us alone to order people around getting all the props and last minute touches together.
By six o clock, with an hour until showtime, Stan was not looking so good. He had begun to pace nervously, muttering random things to himself. He looked a little dizzy and off balance too. No doubt within the next little while he'd be puking all over everything. Which is why I had been busily locating every garbage can in the near vicinity. It was bound to happen sooner or later.
After another fifteen minutes he had taken to jiggling his foot and hopping around. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack or something, so I located a chair for him and made him sit down on it, despite protests that he was fine. I also spotted another garbage can about ten feet away. Stan's face was starting to take the infamous greenish hue. He leaned forwards on the chair and rested his head on his hands.
"Hey Stan, you okay?" I asked him even though I knew he wasn't. I pulled up a chair beside him and tried to rub his back consolingly. Around us people were running around like maniacs.
Stan let out a long, shaky breath. "I don't know Kyle, I don't think I can do this."
"Of course you can," I told him reassuringly. "You know your lines just as well as I do."
Stan shook his head. He appeared to be sweating a little more than normal. Or maybe that was just that ridiculously tight shirt talking.
"I don't know man. There's a lot of things I'd do for you, you know that. But I don't think I can do this."
"You owed Wendy too," I reminded him.
"I know," he sighed. "And I think she probably would have chopped off my balls if I hadn't agreed to do this."
"Or sent you flying into the centre of the sun," I said, smirking. Stan snorted.
Wendy chose that moment to come bustling up to us. "Hey guys, how's it going?" she asked us breathlessly. Her face was red. She looked at Stan, and her face immediately turned to concern.
"You all right there Stan?" she asked, trying to hide the edge of panic in her voice. Stan moaned and clutched his head tighter.
"Stage-fright," I explained to her.
"Well, do something! Snap him out of it!" She exclaimed, panic rising in her voice.
"I would if I could," I informed her, narrowing my eyes.
Wendy's eyes darted from left to right, scanning the room. "Here!" she said desperately. "I bet I could get one of the girls to take their tops off for you! Where is Bebe when you need her?" Her eyes darted around some more.
My mouth dropped open. Did Wendy just offer to get a girl to participate in a demoralizing act that contradicted all the morals and principals she stood for? She must be really freaking out – her head clearly wasn't screwed on quite right at the moment.
"How is that going to help?" I demanded, thoroughly confused.
Stan in the meantime, lurched forwards. I grabbed the nearby trash can I thankfully had spotted earlier, and thrust it in front of Stan just as he lost it.
"Ewwww! Gross!" Wendy exclaimed in a high pitched voice. You think she would have been used to barf after all the times Stan had puked on her back in the third and fourth grade.
Stan looked close to hyperventilating. "Oh dude, what if I puke on the stage?" he exclaimed, leaning forward as another wave of nausea hit him. When he looked up, I noticed that his eyes were running a little, and his hair was disheveled from holding his head in his hands. He looked a wreck.
"Stan, you're not going to puke on stage," I told him reassuringly.
"Oh yeah? How do you know?"
"Because by the time you're done here, you won't have anything left."
"Gross!" Wendy exclaimed again, making a face.
"That really hasn't stopped me in the past," Stan reminded me.
Wendy was just standing there, almost looking as if she was about to puke herself.
"Wendy, go on," I told her. "Finish getting everything ready. I'll take care of Stan."
"He better be ready to go on the stage when his parts come," she told me, her eyes gleaming menacingly. She turned on her heel and stomped off to someone else.
I turned all of my attention to Stan now. "Stan, you're not going to puke on stage," I repeated.
"Can you prove it?"
"Yes. Yes I can," I informed him. "Because I have a motivation for you."
"Being?"
"If you keep it down, I'll personally deliver a little something special for you later on," I said in a low voice, winking seductively at him while trying not to laugh at how gay I sounded.
Stan smiled a little. "And if I do puke?"
"Then you get nada," I tell him, crossing my arms triumphantly.
Stan made a face at me. "That's almost cruel. And a lot of pressure."
"What are you? Tweek?"
"Shut up."
"That's the spirit," I told him cheerfully. He looked a little less nauseous, so I helped him back to his feet from the chair. He leaned in to kiss me, but I dodged him.
"You wish," I said. "You just puked twice."
"Which is why I've taken to carrying THESE with me at all times!" Stan told me cheerfully, taking a roll of something out of his pockets and waving it at me with a flourish.
"Mentos?" I asked him, raising an eyebrow.
"The freshmaker," he recited on cue as he popped two into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, then blew into my face to prove its effect.
"Ah! Ah dude!" I complained. Stan took a quick look around, and upon seeing that everyone was far to busy to notice us, leant in and kissed me.
He broke away. "And?" He asked me, waiting for my opinion.
"Minty fresh," I informed him, grinning.
"Curtain time!" I heard someone yell into the practice rooms. The sound of the feet of many spectators was beginning to fill the corridors.
"Shall we?" I asked Stan, holding my arm out. He pondered this for a moment, then smiled and shook his head.
"I'll be there in a sec," he told me. And with that he walked away from me, and, with his back turned, spouted the last of his pride and dignity into the trash can.
---
The play, thank God, went off without a hitch. Stan, although very jittery, managed to keep it down AND remembered all of his lines. I did fairly well too, although at the part where I had to grab Stan by the waist I started thinking what if there was someone we knew in the audience. And as I kissed Stan, which ended up being really awkward for both of us up on a stage, I couldn't help but picture my mother as a member of the audience, with her eyes bugging out of her skull. I tried my best to ignore these stupid notions, but regardless, I was happy that it was all over with.
The first thing Stan did when we got off stage was tearing off his ridiculously tight shirt, which earned him a few looks of approval from the ladies in the cast, and throwing it on the ground. He then proceeded to hug me and then promptly release me in favour of bouncing around me like a small dog, chanting 'it's over!' repeatedly.
"It's over! It's over!" Stan beamed at me. Nearly five minutes later, and he was still chanting the same words. And I was still laughing at him.
"Dude, you need to get those pants off. You look like such a flamer in them!" Stan exclaimed at me, who proceeded to try to take the buckle off of my pants. I think he'd snapped a little.
I pushed Stan off of me, laughing. "One step at a time. I need to find my other pants first," I told him. Stan frowned at me.
"You don't need them that badly," he whispered between his teeth, grinning.
"Oh, I really do," I retorted. "We are in quite a public place right now to remind you, in case your current state of euphoria has made you forgotten."
Stan wrinkled his nose at me. "Who the hell says euphoria?"
"I do," I retorted.
"You would, Mr. Harvard."
"I swear to God I'm going to fucking kill you."
It was at this moment that Wendy decided to prance up to us, beaming.
"Oh my God! You guys! Were. SO! Awesome!" She exclaimed. "Seriously. You're such lifesavers! Come here!" She proceeded to wrap one arm around each of us.
She finally let us go for what seemed like five minutes, and revealed our missing clothes; my pants, and Stan's shirt. As Stan once again covered his chest, I noticed out of the corner of my eye a disappointed glance from one of the girls. I chuckled.
"OKAY EVERYONE! AFTER PARTY OFFICIALLY TAKING PLACE IN THE PRACTICE ROOMS!" I heard someone yell over the flurry of voices. A cheer went up as most of the cast and crew stampeded towards the said room.
"So are you changing those pants or what?" Stan demanded.
"Dumbass, I can't do that here. I need to find a washroom."
Stan waved my comment away. "Psssh. You're fine here. Most people are gone, and I don't think they'll care if they see your boxers."
I narrowed my eyes at him, as if challenging him. "Fine," I replied shortly, and before he could even react, I tore of my belt, quickly followed by my pants, right in front of him. Moments later they were replaced with my much more comfortable, baggier ones.
"There, much better," I informed him, smirking. Stan's face was a mixture of shock and something else. He pulled me away from the room rather roughly, and led me down into a dark corridor.
"Stan, what the hell are you doing?" I hissed at him. He said nothing, but rather grabbed me by the waist, pushed me up hard against the wall, and engulfed me in a mind-blowing kiss.
I pried his face off of mine, seeing stars. "Stan, we can't do this HERE, of all places," I informed him. "We'll get caught."
"Relax," Stan whispered to me. "It's too dark, no one will even see us. Plus they're all partying it up right now. AND you owe me for not puking." He kissed me again.
It was harder getting him off of me this time. "Seriously Stan, this is like the worst place to do this," I whispered. He ignored me, and instead went for my neck once again. I tried hard not to moan, but failed. Goddamn. What is it about necks that I can't deal with? And why does Stan have to take advantage of my weak spot?
"Oh, Stan… goddamnit," I breathed. "Please… not here. Have mercy."
"Too bad for you I'm not a very merciful person," he informed me. He went back to my neck. He thought this was all a game. We were going to get caught!
"Fuck Stan… please… not…" my thoughts were getting jumbled as I started to breathe harder. "Caught…" He slid his hand up my shirt, making me hiss. "Stan… please…Stan…oh God Stan…" I turned my head sideways in a last valiant effort to get away from him. I opened my eyes, and saw staring directly back at me the eyes of a very shocked Wendy Testaburger.
"Stan…STAN!" I said desperately. He must have noticed the panic in my voice, because he stopped and looked at me.
"Tyhpl…" Wendy let out a small cry, stumbling backwards. Stan looked over, and their eyes collided.
"Fuck," I breathed.
"I…I am SO sorry," she stuttered. "I-I won't tell anyone, I swear. I-I, I'm going to… go. Over here! Now."
Stan approached her. "Wendy…" he started.
She held her hands up. "No! No, it's okay. I'll just be going now!" she exclaimed, dashing back to the party.
I growled. "Great. Just FUCKING great, Stan."
"I'm sorry!" Stan exclaimed, returning to me. "I didn't think we would get caught. And she did say she wouldn't tell anyone!"
"Stan, this is like the WORST place on the planet to be doing anything!" I exclaimed, exasperated. "And her best friend is BEBE! If SHE gets wind of it, it will be all over town within hours! And then my mom… my mom…" I said, starting to hyperventilate. "She doesn't need to know, not like THAT!"
Stan wrapped me in a tight hug. "Dude… Kyle… calm down," he told me. "No one's going to find out yet. We can talk to Wendy once she's calmed down a bit. There's no need to panic." I nodded, trying to force myself to relax.
Stan released me finally. "Okay?" he asked me.
I nodded again, closing my eyes and letting out a small breath of air.
---
Stan was right. By the time we meandered to the practice rooms, cans of beer were flying around everywhere, and people were stumbling over props and chairs. Wendy was in a much more jovial mood, despite the fact that she didn't appear to have had anything to drink.
"Hey Wends," Stan said as we approached.
"Oh hey Stan," Wendy replied, still smiling but looking like she felt a little awkward.
"Look, about earlier-"
"I said don't worry about it," Wendy interrupted him, blushing a little. "I mean, it just kind of – surprised me, that's all. And now that I think of it, it really isn't even all that surprising – you guys have been best friends for how long? And I can't pretend I hadn't suspected it for years."
"What?" That surprised me a little. "But… wait-"
Stan cut me off. "Nothing's been going on for YEARS. This has barely even started."
Wendy looked mildly surprised. "Really?" She shrugged. "Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later at any rate."
"So you won't tell anyone?"
"I already said I wouldn't, do I really have to repeat myself again?" Wendy was back to her normal self again.
"Not even Bebe?" I asked her, wanting to confirm everything.
She sighed. "No, I won't tell Bebe. I know her uncanny ability to spread gossip around town faster than a wildfire. But you know, you're going to have to tell everyone sooner or later."
"Yeah, we know," Stan said as I let out a sigh of relief.
Wendy frowned at us. "Guys, don't look so stressed out. It's not that big of a deal. So go, hang out with the rest of the cast members. Have a beer. You guys were great tonight. Oh! And before I forget! New Years' party this year is at my place. So be there tomorrow, no earlier than eight." She smiled genuinely at us as she skipped off to talk to someone else.
"Oh man, tomorrow's New Years already?" I thought aloud, frowning.
Stan looked at me, confused. "Why, is that a problem?"
"Well, classes start again on the fifth of January, so that means I have to leave no later than the afternoon of the third to get back in time."
Stan frowned now too. "Yeah. Classes start on the same day for me."
"Booooooo."
Stan wrapped an arm around my waist, in an attempt to cheer me up. It didn't really matter – I didn't see a single person I recognized other than Wendy.
"Hey – let's not think about that right now," Stan told me. "Let's just follow Wendy's advice; have a beer, and relax with our fellow cast."
"Let's," I agree as Stan kissed the side of my head.
And so that was what we did.
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