Hey guys. I've been a little busy with school since I'm graduating in two weeks, so I may not update as fast as I want to. Sorry about that. I also feel like this isn't the best chapter that I wrote so far but I hope you guys like it anyways. Please review if you liked, it helps me continue the story. Thanks again for all the reviews, guys. You are all awesome.
It was Friday.
Stan groggily made it to the bus stop, his head pounding.
"'Sup, fags." Cartman sauntered up to the bus stop, prodding Stan in the side.
"Fuck off."
"Geez, what the hell's your problem, Stan?"
"I said, fuck off."
Maybe if I keep bothering Stan, he'll spill his secret. Cartman thought wryly.
Kyle stood at the far end of the stop, kicking loose snow on the ground.
He listened to the two rabble on as Kenny stood watch.
"Yo, dude, Stan, but seriously. I need to talk to you. I'm seriously."
"What do you want…?"
"I'll talk to you after school."
Kyle and Stan sat apart for the whole day. Stan sat slumped in his seat, tapping his pencil on the desk monotonously.
"Stan, do you mind?" Mr. Garrison, having been fed up with the noise, asked, rather annoyed.
"Sorry."
He dropped the pencil as it rolled onto the floor. He didn't bother picking it up.
By the end of the day, Stan was getting more and more irritated.
Cartman was pestering him nonstop, prodding him in the side.
"Fag."
"FUCK OFF!"
"Alright, alright. Jesus, Stan."
"Stop fucking poking me, then! Don't you have someone else to bother?!"
"Kyle's not around, so no. Where is that Jewboy, anyway?"
"Why should I know?"
"Aren't you two, like, butt buddies or something?"
Stan glared.
"Shut up."
The bell rang and Stan hopped off of his chair and proceeded to make his way through the flood of students. He would do anything to get away from Cartman.
"Wait! Stan, wait!"
Cartman huffed as he fell in behind Stan.
"Dude, Stan!"
"What?"
"Dude, I need to talk to you. Remember?"
"Hardly."
Cartman pulled Stan aside as the students flooded outdoors. The halls were silent.
"I know something."
Stan gave him a questioning look.
"Look, I know about Kyle." Cartman could barely contain his laughter. "Just wanted you to know that I'm here for you, man." He burst out laughing, his snorts filling the empty halls.
"Know about Kyle how-" Stan started, and then his face contorted into something like shock and anger.
"Who told you?!" Stan's face was inches from Cartman's.
Cartman reeled back as Stan slammed him into a locker.
"Look, Stan, calm down, dude-"
"Who the fuck told you?!"
"I just, heard it through the grapevine."
Stan thought he saw fear flash in Cartman's eyes.
"Don't play games with me, Cartman!"
Cartman laughed nervously.
"I'm not playing games, Stan. I'm super seriously."
"Will you stop saying 'I'm seriously'!?"
Mr. Mackey's door swung open and he glared at the two boys. When he caught sight of Stan holding Cartman against the locker, he tapped his foot on the ground, arms crossed.
"Stanley, what are you doing, mkaay?"
Stan let go of Cartman.
"Nothing, I was just leaving."
"Stanley, I saw you-"
"I said I was just leaving."
Wendy caught up with Stan before he boarded the bus.
"Stan," she called. Stan turned as he saw Wendy approach him.
"Hey."
"H-how are you, Stan?"
"Fine."
"Where were you the other day?"
"I was uhh… sick."
"Oh. You feeling any better?"
"Not really."
Stan sat in the back of the bus, Kyle sitting in the front. Wendy took the seat next to Stan.
"I feel fucking terrible." Stan didn't mean to say those words aloud, but he peered at Kyle from across the way.
"Stan…" Wendy started, frowning.
"I know about Kyle." Her words were carefully planned.
Stan turned to her.
"Who told you?" he tried to keep his composure.
"I just… know."
"Cartman told you, didn't he."
"…Yes."
"Just tell me then, Wendy. Don't lie to me. It seems everyone has been lying to me lately. What is everyone trying to hide from me? Do they think my feelings will get hurt or something?"
"No, it's not that, I just…"
"Just what?"
"N-nothing…"
Stan sighed.
"Now everyone's going to know soon."
Stan made his way up to his room. His parents weren't home yet. He slumped onto his bed, burying his face into his pillow.
He just wanted things the way they used to be.
The way they used to be before it.
Kyle sat on the edge of his bed, contemplating.
He turned his iPhone around in his hand. He wanted to call Stan. But he knew it would be best if he left him alone for a while.
But he also knew that Stan needed someone right now. But it was a double edged sword. On one hand, Stan needed the help, needed the attention. But on the other hand, he refused it. Kyle was at a loss.
Kyle's phone rang. He peered at the number, blinking, and looked at the time. 4:02 AM. Kyle groaned.
"Hello?"
"Kyle."
"Stan?"
"Kyle, please… please help me." His voice was groggy over the receiver.
Kyle sat up, the sheets shuffling around him.
He rubbed his eyes.
"What do you need, Stan?"
"Just… talk me out of it, please."
Kyle's heart leapt in his chest.
"T-talk you out of what?"
There was a short pause.
"What, Stan?"
"Stan?"
"Stan!"
Kyle jolted up in his bed, his pajama top sticking to his back. Sweat.
Kyle's heart thudded in his chest.
"I-it was just a dream…"
"fuck…"
Kyle took a few deep breaths.
"Just a dream…"
Keep telling yourself that.
It was just a dream.
It was Saturday.
Kyle groggily made his way downstairs to the living room, plopping down on the couch. He switched on the TV. He picked up his iPhone and proceeded to dial a number.
I have to make sure Stan is ok.
Stan woke up on the bedroom floor, hat across the room, hair a mess, jacket thrown over the side of his bed. A familiar bottle lay next to him, half empty.
You have to stop doing this to yourself.
No.
It's hurting you.
But that's hurting me even more.
You're going to have to accept it sooner or later.
Stan groaned. He didn't want to move from his spot on the floor. His head pounded.
"Get out of my head…"
Stan's phone rang.
It rang from inside his jacket pocket.
Stan dragged himself to his coat and clumsily fished it out of his pocket.
"Huh…"
Stan realized that he hadn't clicked the answer button and the phone continued to ring.
"Come on, come on…" Kyle tapped his fingers on his chin, waiting for Stan to answer.
"Pick up…"
"What…."
"Stan?"
"Yeah? Who is this."
"Kyle."
"Oh."
"Are you alright?"
"No."
"What's wrong?"
"I feel like shit."
Kyle frowned.
"Do you need me to come over?"
Thank god for weekends, Kyle thought.
"Thought you weren't talking to me anymore."
There was a short pause.
"Do you need me to come over or not?"
Kyle arrived at Stan's house. The snow was melting slowly, but the sun was barely peeking out from behind the dark clouds.
The air was chilly.
Kyle rang the doorbell.
Stan opened the door slowly, standing in the threshold. He leaned against the door frame for support.
Kyle looked him up and down.
He looked terrible.
His eyes had dark circles under them, his hair a mess, no hat, no jacket, just a plain white t-shirt on and jeans.
Stan nodded.
"Hey."
"Jesus, dude…"
"What?"
"Look at yourself!"
Stan looked down.
"Oh."
No, you know what? I won't judge Stan anymore.
Kyle took a deep breath.
"Can I come in? It's kinda cold out here."
Stan moved out of the way and almost stumbled backwards. Kyle caught him.
"I got it, thanks."
Kyle frowned.
"Where are your parents?"
Stan shrugged.
"Dunno."
Kyle shut the door behind him as cold air swept in.
"How can you not know where your parents are?"
Stan shrugged again.
"They went out, I guess."
The two headed upstairs and into Stan's room.
Stan hastily kicked the bottle under his bed as it rolled.
"What was that?"
"What was what?"
"That noise."
"I didn't hear anything."
Kyle sighed, dropping the subject. He already knew what it was.
"Sit down."
Kyle patted the spot next to him on the bed.
Stan plopped down.
"Cartman told Wendy about… everything." Stan started.
Kyle blinked, frowning.
"I feel like everyone will know now. I just want to hide away."
"…you can't run from who you are, Stan."
There was a brief moment of silence before Stan spoke again.
"I know. But I can try."