A/N: Some Stylenny but not in the fun way oh sadness
Enjoy~
When he'd gone into the police academy straight out of high school, this wasn't exactly the life he'd once pictured back in the day of being an honorary junior detective. It wasn't always a case of good luck that won him a case, and very rarely did he find himself surrounded with gunfire and explosions that singed his eyelashes and got his adrenaline pumping. Back then he'd imagined that that's all that being a cop was; nothing but sleek cars and fast-paced cases and a lot of drama just waiting to be spilled out under the public's feet.
Turns out he was wrong.
Police work was paperwork. A lot of paperwork. Reports and warrants and citations, oh my. Hell, it'd gotten even more tedious upon the idea at twenty-four of trying to graduate to detective. Wendy had told him that they'd finish up their engagement and tie the knot as soon as he finished his training, that she was more than happy for him to not be on the front lines, especially with a newborn lying in the crib not four feet away from them. Kyle and Kenny had met with him as he asked their opinions, the both of them nearly overeager for him to take that path.
"I mean, you joined the force because you wanted to solve mysteries like a fucking Scooby Doo fag," Kenny had drawled, flicking a straw wrapper at him. "What better way than to be fuckin' Velma?"
"His words are fucking stupid," Kyle had added, smacking Kenny's head lightly. "But he's right. I think that'd be a good fit for you, Stan. Besides, that'll keep you off the crazy police schedule and give you a nine to fiver. You need that with Sam, Dude."
Kyle had been beyond right, the days of his cell phone constantly going off after only two hours home were long behind him. But, this job was what he'd never imagined: It was boring.
No longer was he shouting commands to criminals, taking the lead on an arrest. No longer was he pulling out a gun and protecting civilians in the line of fire, being a hero. Now he was interviewing witnesses and victims and suspects. He was taking notes. He was doing nothing but passing paperwork from one source to the next, slaving away at his desk.
The force had put him into an online degree program for criminal justice, the captain and sergeant more than thrilled with the idea of adding another detective to the force, especially if was Stan, who was always willing to learn. The classes had intrigued him beyond all else, learning of blood spatter and the complexities of the law system. He'd learned the ins and outs of the job, shadowing Detective Murphy on cases and watching the wheels in his head turning. He'd found it fascinating, like when he'd watched Kyle solve complicated equations in his head when they were in high school. He wanted to be that smart, wanted to be able to put all the pieces of the puzzle together. Leaning back in his chair, spouting off phrases like 'the evidence suggests' or 'I apprehended the suspect based on...' like he saw in reruns of Forensic Files. He'd be the brilliant detective, sternly pointing the force into the correct direction to get their man.
And, in a way that was true. He certainly did get to put pieces together. But it wasn't a matter of determining from gunpowder residue on fingers just who had shot a gun. It was more along the lines of sitting down frightened teenagers caught with bottles of whiskey and demanding to know who bought it for them.
It was dull. And he wished that he could slip back into the force as a rookie, wide-eyed and learning how to handle his Glock 22, more than eager to clean up his town. Now his poor gun rested in his holster at all times, not being picked up since his 'exciting' night out with an officer where they'd talked down a pair of men involved in a car accident ready to leap at one another with knives clutched in their infuriated grips. He didn't get to ride away with the squad cars, though, help reel them in. He got to stay behind and lecture civilians who'd tried to safely prevent the fight from happening.
All in a day's work, he supposed.
Stan grunted, fingers twisting on his steering wheel as he turned his undercover car into the lot of Kenny's center. He sighed as he parked up at the front, eyes looking lazily at kids half-heartedly fighting and yelling before bursting into laughter with one another and he smiled softly. He loved coming here. He and Wendy loved to bring Sam in with them, teach her how to understand and sympathize while they helped Kenny's team dish out food for their occasional events. Being a detective gave him the first-seat in the statistics department, and he knew better than anyone just how the numbers of homeless youths in his cells had decreased since Ken had opened his doors. Kenny had sent a number of them over to shadow officers, and Stan fondly remembered watching their eyes light up with interest, just as his own had nearly a decade ago.
He shook his head, quickly climbing out of his car and gently shutting the door. He glanced down at a streak of scratched-off paint, shaking his head. The story that Murphy had told him of that blemish was more interesting than most of his paperwork combined. Apparently a routine questioning of an outside witness turned into him nearly getting stabbed in the arm, barely moving in time for the car to take the brunt and for the perpetrator to be hauled off. Stan pouted, wondering if he'd ever see action like that again.
Turning and heading towards the building, he sighed to himself. He shouldn't be wishing for his life to be in danger. Hell, it was a saying within the force: A quiet night was the officer's dream night. And it was true, risking your balls time and again for ungrateful citizens wasn't exactly anyone's favorite job... But they couldn't help but love what they did. The handful with the power-high aside, the rest of them were just the good ol' boys in blue who enjoyed the satisfaction of keeping people safe. They got a kick out of knowing that drugs weren't being peddled, spouses were no longer being beaten, and children were safe to play in the streets.
He pushed open the door to the center, heading in a straight line towards Kenny's office, waving to Clyde lecturing a few of the younger kids down the way. The brunette looked at him and waved back listlessly, Stan snorting at his weary expression. Clyde did this job just for the money, using it as a way to afford his late-start college career loans. He was fairly miserable, and pretty shit at his job if Kenny's word meant anything in it all, but he did what he had to do, and that was good enough for the blonde.
He made it to Ken's door, rapping on it quickly. "Yo!" that chipper voice called and Stan shook his head. Maybe Kenny was the only one of the four of their core group who truly loved what he did. He pushed open the barrier and found Kenny comparing papers, looking up at him with a wide grin. "Well if it ain't my favorite coppa'," he drawled. "What can I do ya fer, Officer?"
"You can stop talking like the inbred hick you are," he quirked an amused brow, shutting the door behind him and walking over to his desk. He sighed, plopping down in the chair across from him and giving him a tired smile. "How're you, Ken?"
"Goin' out of my mind, the usual," he chuckled. He waved his papers around, "Got me a goddamn bread shortage of all things if Clyde's counts are right. Though to be honest, I doubt he's able to get much past ten."
He nodded in agreement, "There's a reason he's getting an English degree."
"As Ky put it, 'because he's fucking stupid and has no hope for his future'," Kenny snickered. "How're you, Stan my man?"
He shrugged casually, "Same. Bored out of my mind."
"If you'd like, you can count bread," he offered innocently.
"Not that bored," he scoffed, getting another small chuckle out of the blonde.
Kenny cocked his head, "Seriously, though. Why're you here-" he paused, face dropping. "Are one of my kids in the joint again?"
"No, no," he waved his hands in front of him. "Your kids are great. Haven't had an incident since that one last fall."
"Thank god," he sighed in relief. "I don't have the money to bail any of them out for stealin' food again."
Stan smiled sadly, "Money that low?"
The blonde cleared his throat, putting his papers down on the desk and biting his tongue. "Let's just say donations aren't fantastic this quarter," he winced.
"Well, closer it gets to the school season, maybe more will pour in," he winced.
He gave him a melancholy grin, "Let's hope so. So, what's up?"
"Have you talked to Kyle at all in the last few days?" he asked.
Kenny blinked, body tensing. 'Not since Friday night,' he thought worriedly. "No, why? Everything okay?"
"Well I mean, I texted him earlier this morning," he said with a shrug. "Wanted to talk to him, he said he'd call me back but hasn't. He's been sayin' that since Saturday," he pouted.
He let out a subtle sigh of relief. Good. Kyle was just busy. "Well, maybe he just doesn't have the time to let you take him on a date, Stan," he teased.
Stan raised his brow, "Pretty sure my wife and child wouldn't enjoy that notion."
"Okay, one: Sam loves Kyle more than she loves possibly even you," he pointed at him, getting another frown out of the man. "For another thing, you can only use Wendy as your beard for so long, Man."
"Oh, fuck you," he rolled his eyes at Ken's laughter picking up.
"Now, now, save that romantic talk for Ky," he winked, watching his face fall into a scowl and guffawing louder. He waved at him with a boneless hand, "Sorry, I'm sorry," he tried to catch his breath again. "I just love your face when I do that."
He rolled his eyes. "Yes. You made that abundantly clear in high school."
He shrugged with a cheeky smirk, "Hey, Man. Ky came out and if I teased him about him and Fatass getting together, he would've broken my jaw. Had to go for you instead."
"Gee. Fucking thanks," he bit, Ken shooting him another wink that he groaned at.
"Anyway," he simmered and took a deep breath. "Whaddya need Kyle for? I'm not his keeper, ya know."
Stan cleared his throat, "Well, no, but you were the last one of us to see him besides Fatboy and Butters. And... I kinda had a question about the both of you."
Kenny leaned back, eying him suspiciously, fingers twitching. "What kind of question?"
"How long did it take Kyle to get you guys started in their company?" Stan asked in concern.
He tilted his head, "Huh?"
"When you went to sign the paperwork for CartAd to get your donation drive started," he waved aimlessly. "How long did it take for it to get started?"
He shrugged, "I dunno, bout a week? Kyle kept me updated throughout the process and kept sending me pictures of design ideas. Gotta tell ya, Dude, I took art in school, but I had no idea why it was so hard to choose a fucking bucket color."
Stan nodded slowly, "Because he hasn't gotten back to me at all, and Yates is kind of getting impatient."
Kenny's expression dropped into a disapproving frown, "Dude, you know how busy Ky is, he's juggling your stuff on top of everything else."
"I know, but I'd love it if he'd tell me that as opposed to, ya know, blowing me off," he drawled. "My boss wants the damn verbal confirmation, because our dogs are out there without goddamn kevlar and it's not good, Ken."
"I'd imagine."
"They're dogs, Kenny," he continued, biting his lip desperately and Ken nearly rolled his eyes at the dramatics. "They need the safety measures!"
He held up his hand and sighed, "Look, you know that Kyle wouldn't be just putting you off for the hell of it, all right? The fact that he had time to text you is a miracle."
"He had time to come in for an impromptu meeting with you," he reminded him.
The blonde winced, "And he skipped his lunch and nearly had a breakdown in my office, Stan."
The detective cocked his head, "Just because he skipped lunch? Did he forget his damn insulin again?"
"Not to my knowledge," he said tiredly. "Look, he's just... kind of breaking under the pressure right now," he chose his words carefully, reminding himself vehemently that he was talking to a member of law enforcement, regardless of who it was. If Kyle wanted to bring up the problems with Stan, that was fine by him, he knew the noirette would never blab it to the department, but it had to be Kyle who did it. He'd probably kill Kenny otherwise, or refuse to help him any further for breaking his trust. "You know it's not against you, Stan."
"I know that," he insisted. "He's just gotten so... I don't know... crazy the past few months. Especially these last few weeks. Haven't you noticed?"
'You have no fucking idea,' he thought exhaustedly. "Did he meet you and Wendy and Sam for dinner like he usually does on the weekend?" he winced.
He shook his head, "No. And he didn't even talk to you?"
"Nah. He's busy," he reiterated.
"Too busy for us?" he scoffed softly.
He shrugged, "Too busy to sleep from what I can tell."
He groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "That idiot's going to kill himself."
Kenny nodded softly in agreement, grabbing his phone and shoving it to the middle of the desk and hitting the speaker. "Let's see if he'll see us tonight. You up for a beer?"
"Always," he snorted quietly, moving closer and watching Kenny hitting the third speed dial button.
Stan raised his brow, "He's your third?"
"Behind my sister and my mother, yes," he shrugged listlessly. He smirked, "Oh, don't pout. You're number four. Ky's my business partner, don't get all huffy."
He chuckled, "Considering he's the second on mine before my mother, I can't really complain."
"Someone's a homo," he sang teasingly as the phone rang through the room. Stan flipped him off, Ken winking back before they both looked down at the line picking up.
"Hey, Ken," Kyle answered tiredly.
"Hey, Dude," he responded. "Whatcha up to?"
"Wanting to murder everyone I see, same as usual," he laughed quietly.
They both heard the sound of cars in the background and looked at each other. "You on your smoke break?" Stan questioned.
Kyle paused, "Stan? The hell are you doing there?"
"Arresting Kenny for being a dickhead," he said dryly.
He snorted, "Cool. Book him for his shit puns while you're at it."
Kenny pouted, "Fuck you both, my puns are hilarious," he drawled. "Seriously though, whatcha up to, Kyle?"
He was silent for a minute, "Just... checking out some businesses we work with, that's all. Fatass has me designated as an inspector to make sure they're on the up and up, that we're not investing in the wrong kind of place. You know how he is."
Ken smirked to himself. Lying on his feet and hiding his intent like he was born to do it. Atta boy. "Sounds fun," he said.
"Oh, a fucking riot," Kyle scoffed. "Look, I hate to be a dick, but I'm kind of on a tight schedule here, I really don't have time to just shoot the shit, guys."
"Do you have time tonight?" Stan questioned.
"Um... I... I really don't think-"
"Kyle, you should," Kenny interjected. "You need a breather, you didn't see anyone this weekend, Dude."
He laughed awkwardly, "Been kinda crazy, Kenny."
"It's always crazy for you," he rolled his eyes. "Meet us at Skeeter's tonight."
Kyle sighed tiredly, "Seriously, I have a lot-"
"Ky," Stan interrupted. "Remember how I said I'd arrest you if I had to? I fucking will." Kenny tensed subtly, knowing just what was racing through Kyle's mind, unfortunately, his own spinning in the same direction.
Another lengthy bout of silence passed before Kyle sighed again. "I can't stay out long," he muttered. "I'm really behind on some shit."
"Only a couple hours," Ken promised. "Our treat."
"Stubborn assholes," he murmured. "Fine. Six all right?"
Stan nodded satisfactorily, "Six is great, Dude. We'll see you then."
"Yeah. See you," he agreed, hanging up and the both of them looking at each other as Kenny shut off the line.
"He's gonna kill us for taking him away from his work," Kenny snorted.
Stan nodded, "Rather he'd kill us than it kill him, ya know? Wendy is like, convinced that Cartman keeps him chained to his desk," he frowned. "Adding on inspecting shit to everything he already does?" he gestured to the phone. "We're gonna get a call that he's had a goddamn heart attack at this rate!"
Kenny nodded back in quiet agreement, sliding his phone back into its place. "Yeah. I'm sure he'll figure some shit out and things will get easier," he noted. "Stotch is getting trained to take some of his workload off, I'm sure that'll help."
"It better, or I'm arresting Fatass for employee negligence," he muttered, shaking his head as Kenny clenched his fists together tensely. "We told him this would happen," he said quietly. "We fucking told him."
"Yeah... but..." Kenny paused, recently-learned information flying through his mind at breakneck speed as he scratched at his hair and stared at the noirette sadly, "I don't think any of us knew it would go this far."
Stan glared at Kenny in the booth across from him. "I told you he'd be late."
Kenny rolled his eyes, taking a long sip of his whiskey. "Will you calm the hell down? It's only 6:30. He'll be here." He hoped to crap that his face conveyed the same annoyance as his tone. His body was in a stir, not used to dealing with these thoughts when not alone and his expressions hidden under a mask and hood. He was freaking out just as much as Stan, looking out the window every five seconds waiting for the redhead. 'Fuckin' shit, Kyle, where are you?' he thought worriedly.
"When do you think he'll get out of there?" Stan murmured.
Kenny shot his head towards him, blinking in confusion. "What?"
He shrugged, a sad glaze over his eyes. "Ky. When do you think he'll get out of CartAd and somewhere better?"
He forced a smirk on his face, "The second he gets a better offer, that's when."
Stan sighed, "I'm not so sure, ya know?" He listlessly flicked his beer label. "Ky's a creature of habit, I feel like he'd get the opportunity but not take it out of... dedication or something."
Kenny raised his brow, "You think he's dedicated to Fatass?"
"No, but he is to the company," he reminded him quietly. Kenny frowned. Okay, he couldn't exactly deny that...
"He'll figure it out, I'm sure," he said gently. "Things are just crazy right now, he'll-"
"Hi, sorry," Kyle's voice broke through, the both of them looking up to see him hurrying over and sliding into the booth next to Kenny. "Fuckin' trains, Man," he grumbled.
Kenny let out a long, silent sigh of relief at his presence, "You actually got out on time?"
"Didn't say that," he muttered, rubbing his temple.
He jerked back as a waitress bound up to him, smiling widely. "What can I get for ya, Babe?"
"Uh, vodka and tonic. Please," he added. She shot him a wink and he rolled his eyes as she scampered away. "Bitch can knock that shit off, she's getting the same tip regardless..." he sighed, putting his forehead on the table and taking a deep breath.
The others looked at each other before back to their crestfallen friend. "You okay, Kyle?" Stan asked.
He nodded a bit from his compromised position. "I'm just tired," he murmured. "Typical Monday, you know how it is."
"Not to this extent," Kenny said, scooping his hand under Kyle's head and bringing him back upright, the both of them watching him limply slump back in his seat, staring at the table dejectedly. The blonde's chest twisted. He knew that look. He'd found more problems with more charities, and it was eating him alive. "Kyle," he said gently. "Bud, you sure that's it?"
He looked at him and nodded again. "Yeah. Just overwhelmed, that's all."
"That's the understatement of the century," Stan muttered, shaking his head. "You need to get on a real schedule, Dude."
The redhead snorted half-heartedly. "Yeah, okay. And then the building will fucking collapse as the paperwork weighs down my office about eight tons, Stan."
"I think you're exaggerating just a tad, Ky," Kenny smiled sympathetically.
"Unfortunately, probably not as much as one would expect," he said. Kenny patted his head a bit as he sighed again.
Stan and Kenny looked at each other, the blonde shrugging at him helplessly. Stan twisted his lips in thought, "The three of us should do something."
"Do you not see us here?" Kyle cocked his brow. "We're fuckin' doing something right now."
He rolled his eyes, "No, you idiot. I mean we should take a weekend, do a guys' trip," he proposed. "Go fishing or some shit."
Kenny and Kyle looked at each other before looking back at him wryly. "Stan, we thought fishing was lame when we were kids," Kenny reminded him. "The fuck makes you think we'll enjoy it as adults?"
"It was just a suggestion," he scoffed. "We can hit Vegas or something."
"Yeah, no, I don't gamble," Kyle rolled his eyes. "I have a fear of my father's little addiction being hereditary, I'm not going to risk that shit. I kinda like my house, shit as it may be."
Kenny looked up in thought, breaking into a grin. "Well then we won't gamble, we'll just pick us up some hookers."
"I'm married," Stan reminded him, pointing to the gold band on his ring finger firmly.
He waved off the notion, "Look, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, all right? We'll pick you up a chick, get Kyle some dick, and then I'll take a turn with both your flings," he winked, the both of them staring at him in disgust.
"What is wrong with you?" Stan blinked.
"I feel bad for whatever poor sap ends up with you if you think that being in another city somehow negates cheating," Kyle hit his arm.
Stan looked over at him and sputtered, "Uh, how about the fact he's talking about prostitutes?"
Kyle blinked at him for a moment, the waitress coming over and sliding his drink in front of him. She put her hand on his arm and he jerked back from her touch. "Do you mind?" he hissed. She straightened up and frowned at him, turning on her heel and storming back towards the bar. He rolled his eyes and looked at Stan still waiting for his reply. "Look, people make money how they have to," he drawled. "And if Ken wants to pay some poor chick's-"
"Or dude's," Kenny added.
"Or dude's," he corrected, "bills, then who the fuck am I to judge?" He took a long sip of his drink and sighed, his best friend staring at him blankly. "What?"
He shook his head, "Dude, don't encourage Kenny to have hookers."
"I ain't buyin' him one, Officer," he drawled.
"That's Detective," he smirked, Kyle rolling his eyes amusedly.
Kenny nodded in approval, wrapping his arm around Kyle's shoulders. "Excellent. So if I buy you a nice lookin' dude for the night, you'd be all over that?"
Kyle laughed softly, looking at Stan. "If he pays and I'm just the guy who thinks his friend found him a hook-up, do I go to jail?"
Stan rolled his eyes, "Technically no, but-"
"Excellent," he echoed, looking up at Kenny. "If you can find me one that's cool with taking a break so I can check the company bank statement, I'm all in."
"Atta boy," he shook him with a grin. "I knew I'd get you on my side one of these days as opposed to Mr. Prude over there," he jerked his head towards the unamused noirette.
Stan shook his head slowly, "How am I Mr. Prude?"
Kyle scoffed playfully, "Please. Out of the three of us, you're the one with less partners, Man. You've had two."
"Three!" he protested.
"Blowjobs only don't count," Kenny pointed at him, watching Stan fall into a pout.
"Just because I'm not a whore like two assholes I know doesn't mean I'm a prude."
"Who're you calling whore?" Kyle scoffed.
Stan raised his brow, "The guy who called me after hooking up with some random coffee guy complaining how boring it was."
Kenny took his turn to pout, "You didn't call me?" he whined at the redhead.
"Well I tried but you wouldn't answer your damn phone," he hit him lightly. Kenny sunk a little deeper, knowing well enough just what it was that'd kept his time preoccupied. Kyle chuckled at his expression, patting his head back. "Stan, if it makes you feel any better, I'm the prude of us all now," he rolled his eyes. "Too busy with my face in paperwork to have it on someone's dick."
"Gross," he scrunched his face in distaste.
"I know, right? Paper is disgusting," he teased, he and Kenny laughing as Stan gave a nauseated shudder.
Kenny watched Kyle taking another long sip and sighed in relief to himself, watching Kyle gradually shedding off the stress of the day and going back to his normal self. They rarely got to all three get together anymore, schedules of work, family, and some sidelining vigilantism were so jumbled that finding a good place to make it happen was impossible.
Stan sighed, "So. Speaking of paperwork..." he started, Kenny's shoulders dropping. So much for Kyle ridding himself of work for a few minutes. "Ky, Yates is on my ass about the kevlar thing," he winced.
Kyle stared at him for a few moments and took a deep breath, "Yeah, about that..." he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, handing him a bright blue business card.
Stan cocked his head, "What's this?"
"The only competition ad agency left," he muttered, the two of them looking at him in shock. "Stan, there's too much going on right now for me to get to it," he confessed quietly. "I'm really sorry, you know I want to help... But right now it's just not feasible, not with how Fatass has me working."
Stan narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion, putting the card on the table. "We already did the contract, isn't it up to the design team now?"
He shook his head. "I still have to work through all the details, and I simply don't have the time."
The man twisted his lips, "Will you have time down the line?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "I really don't see an opening for a good while at the very least. Not until Butters is trained maybe," he shrugged awkwardly.
Stan nodded softly, tapping his finger on the card before pulling it up and ripping it apart. "We'll wait. I'm not working with someone else," he said firmly.
Kyle narrowed his eyes, "Why the fuck not?"
"Because I don't trust someone else," he stressed. "Kyle, do you know how much people in this town hate the force?" he winced. "We worked with some other ad agency a few years back and they took fucking fifty percent of our profit without us even realizing it," he scoffed, both Kyle and Kenny freezing. "Worked it into the contract in the fine print, the bastards," he rolled his eyes. "But you went through every fucking line with me," he reminded the redhead who sighed quietly. "We'll find some other way to raise the money for the dogs."
"How much do you need?" Kyle asked quietly.
"NO," Kenny broke in, slamming his hands over Kyle's ears, Stan looking at him in shock. The blonde glared at the noirette and shook his head. "If you give him an amount, he'll fucking give you a check."
Kyle batted his hands off of him, "Fuck you! You don't know what I'd-" he stopped as Kenny turned his firm stare down at him, the redhead sinking down silently and taking another sip of his drink.
Stan looked between the both of them, "The fuck was that about?"
Kenny rolled his eyes, "I made an offhanded comment to him about how we were a little low on donations and this tiny bastard decided to make up the difference," he gestured to Kyle stirring his drink in silence. "You tell me how much you need later. I'll organize the kids to hold a fucking bake sale or some shit and we'll split the profit from that," he offered.
"I'm not taking money from kids," Stan frowned.
"You bring those dogs in and let them pet 'em a little, and those kids will want to give you every cent," he promised. "Besides, they need more exposure to the cops," he shrugged. "A lot of 'em still don't trust you guys, the more connected we make the two of us, the better. A joint event could boost us both up a good deal if we get some word-of-mouth goin'."
Kyle looked up at him and smiled softly, "That's... actually a great idea, Ken," he said.
"I do have them occasionally," he smirked, giving him a wink.
Stan looked up in thought, nodding slowly. "Actually, it is. I'll run it by-" he paused, his ringtone blaring from his pocket and he brought it up over the table. He rolled his eyes amusedly. "Speak of the devil, it's Yates. I'll be back," he said, answering it and sliding out of the booth, walking to the front door to step outside.
Kenny and Kyle watched after him before turning back to each other. "Thanks," Kyle whispered.
"For what?"
"For not telling him the actual reason I gave you the money," he said defeatedly, looking back at the table.
The blonde sighed through his nose, "Still not figuring it out?"
"Let's just say it's getting worse every day," he said miserably, clutching around his glass and biting his lip.
Kenny watched him sympathetically, wrapping back around his shoulders, "You'll figure it out, Ky."
"I hope so," he said softly. "I feel so awful..." he looked up at him and sniffled. "This is going to put me in the hospital at this rate."
"I know," he agreed with a soft nod. "Stan's right. You need to get out for a few days. Out of South Park for awhile."
He smirked a bit, "I have nowhere to go. Once I get your problem worked out, things will get better..." his face dropped a bit, licking his lips in thought. "Do... do you think I should say something to Stan? Not as a cop, but as... Stan," he winced.
Kenny paused, letting himself drift between both sides of his coin for a moment. That could raise a lot of suspicion, but Stan would never accuse Kyle of what was happening. But getting a cop involved and so close to the redhead could be either an asset or the worst kind of liability for him. There really was no clear answer here. "I don't know," he said earnestly. "That's up to you, Kyle. Just... remember that you don't know if he's going to be your best friend first, or a cop," he winced. "I'd hate t' see ya get in trouble for something you're trying to prevent."
Kyle nodded softly in agreement. "Yeah... I'll have to think on it." He looked at him with a small, crooked smile, "So, was it yours or Stan's idea to get me out here?"
"Stan came in whining that you two hadn't sexted or something all weekend," he teased. "So I suggested it."
He groaned a bit before laughing quietly. "Thanks. I actually really needed this," he said honestly. "A lot more than I thought I did... Things are so crazy right now."
"It'll even out," he assured him.
Kyle shook his head, "Ken, you don't know the half of it."
The blonde nodded softly, indulging himself in a small smile and squeezing his shoulders just a bit tighter. "No, I Guess I don't."
A/N: I love these boys interacting it means so much to me ugh. Stupid assholes.
Thanks for R&Ring!