Title: A Lifetime of Style
Disclaimer: I do not "own" South Park or any of its characters. The lucky bastards Trey Parker and Matt Stone do, however. I only own this plot idea.
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Chapter 3: Home
Stan buried his head in his pillow, hating life at that moment. The fourteen-year-old eighth grader was trying to drown out the sounds of his parents having their ten millionth argument. Maybe it was another marriage-threatening spat. Maybe they were fighting about Randy's drinking. Maybe Randy developed another cooking obsession. Whatever it was, Stan didn't care to know. He felt he was mostly alone in the world, despite the fact that he was the middle school idol and his bond with Kyle was stronger than ever.
Meanwhile, a few houses down, Kyle was also trying to avoid his own family turbulence. The thirteen-year-old thought that once he hit puberty and grew up a bit, his mom would be less of a nag. Not so. Sheila was breathing down Kyle's back even more, protesting against every single infraction (or at least what she perceived to be an infraction), and spoiling Ike like crazy. Gerald would just nod and acquiesce like a good henpecked husband. Ike had become a self-absorbed spoiled brat who took his family for granted and had an expansive social calendar. Kyle felt like he couldn't seek refuge in his own home, despite being the second most popular guy in junior high and having Stan for a super best friend.
That's what made their weekly sleepovers (a tradition still upheld even in their teens) so special. Just one night (many times it would even be two) where it was them, snacks, video games, TV, and each other. They would bond over hours of playing Call of Duty or laugh over Kyle's fruitless attempts to beat Stan at Guitar Hero. They would talk, laugh, and forget all about life's problems. It was their own little sanctuary away from their mundane daily lives.
When Sharon and Randy's argument gets loud enough that Stan can make out what they're saying all the way upstairs, he decides he needs a break from this shit. He sneaks down the stairs and out the door, making his way to Stark's Pond. Stan sees that Kyle is sitting at a bench, and he sits next to him. They smile at each other, glad that they can be away from the fucked up people they have the displeasure of calling their families. The boys vent, sharing their domestic problems with each other, happy that they have a little less than five years to get out of this ignorant mountain town. They vow to always be there for each other and survive teenage problems together, never letting the cruel social realities of high school (a crude reality for them next year) tear them apart.
As they put their arms around each other, cuddled up at the pond, it clicks for them that "home" isn't a house, or even a family. Home is where there is a sense of belonging, safety, love, and security. For Stan and Kyle, "home" is in their super best friendship and in each other.
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