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luna-themoonie · 5 months

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Chapter Eight

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Summary: It was only meant to be a stupid game of dares, 'The King's Game.' But, of course, nothing could go Stan's way. Cartman thought it would be hilarious to get under everyone's skin with his stupid dare and he did. Now, Stan had no way of getting back with Wendy because he was stuck with this dare.

Butters didn't care too much about the dare in its entirety. Stan was a cool guy and maybe they could get closer. He didn't see anything wrong with this dare from Eric. But, oh boy, if his parents knew, he'd sure be grounded. After this dare ends, he and Stan could still be friends, right?

What was the dare?:

Stan and Butters were forced to date for two months.

~~~

Stan was exhausted by the time Sunday came around. Kyle wasn't available yesterday like he had hoped so they decided today would work instead. Which… kinda sucked because his thoughts didn't leave him alone once it was a new day. He kept replaying the thoughts he had at the picnic and the feeling of constant nausea he would experience. He was still confused and he didn't like it.

He had tried calling Tweek again, hoping he had his phone this time, but to no avail. Craig had picked up for him again and Stan had hung up on him before he was able to work on any of his nerves.

He tried to ignore it, but that just made it worse and he just couldn't stand it. So, he ended up picking up an extra shift to deter his racing mind, but all that did was just make another part of him feel fatigued. Even sleeping wasn't enough to distract him because once he was aware that he was awake, nerves came flooding back and he couldn’t stop thinking about Butters again. He was all he could think about and no distraction was enough. He spent his entire Saturday thinking about the blonde. And he hated it.

He couldn't stop thinking about how he looked under the stars. Or how Stan had thought, for a moment, that the other boy was pretty. Or how when he hugged him, it was like he was given just a few moments of peace and the unfamiliar happiness mixed with a bundle of nerves piling in his stomach. What can he say? Butters' sunny demeanor was addictive once you got a small taste.

It shouldn't bother him, it doesn't bother him… but the more he thought of him, the more out of control his thoughts became. And that's when the nerves and nausea would get worse.

Everything that he recently learned about the blonde would spiral together and create unwanted images in his head. Now he kept on thinking about him making out with different people. It didn't matter if he knew them or not. And it made him feel so guilty.

Then he would start to think about Kenny and Butters kissing. How that would look. It would make his stomach churn. And then Kenny morphed into someone that looked eerily like himself. Now he was thinking about kissing Butters himself. How that would look. He even thought about how it would be like to kiss Kenny.

He felt his stomach give an intense flip and he let out a groan. It was all he could think about ever since the thought had first crossed his mind and he couldn’t help but feel guilty. They were his friends. He shouldn't be thinking about them like that.

Butters did offer to help him if he had any questions, but Stan just felt embarrassed just thinking about it. What was he going to do? He can't just go up to him and say, "Hey, dude! Ever since you told me you were bisexual I can't stop thinking about you making out with random people, including myself! I don’t know why, do you? And can I kiss you to see if it's just as enticing as you make it sound?"

He didn't want to take advantage of Butters' sexuality just because he was curious. But at the same time, he felt if he didn’t do anything, his thoughts would eat him alive. He tried telling himself that he just misses Wendy and that's why he's feeling confused. But the more he tried repeating that, the less his mind believed it.

He was hoping maybe Kyle could talk some sense into him; connect the dots as he usually did. Help him understand why nothing was working to stop him from having these inappropriate thoughts about his friends. And maybe, finally, these stupid thoughts can go away and he can focus on something else. Like finding out how to get Wendy back! Though, he still wasn't sure what he had done wrong in the first place.

He and Kyle had decided to meet up in the park today since his best friend wanted to practice at the basketball court for an upcoming game. It wasn't too far and they planned on even getting some food afterward too. But… there was one problem - he couldn’t get up.

He wanted to, he really did, but all he could manage was to turn to lay on his other side. He still had to see Kyle. He tried repeating in his head to try to convince himself to get up. All this did was fill him with an empty sense of dread that he would have to get up sooner or later.

He didn’t want to cancel on him again - he was more prone to doing that these days - but his entire body just felt like lead. He just couldn't move.

He heard his dog yawn and let out a whine as he padded around his room. Stan sighed and grabbed his pillow to cover his head. And he had to let Sparky out.

His eyes kept on drifting closed, but sleep wouldn't overtake him no matter how long he stayed in his bed. Sometimes… He just wanted to sleep forever, hide himself from everything and everyone. And plus, nothing bad ever happens when you’re sleeping.

Sparky let out another loud whine and Stan was quick to hush him. "Just hold it a little longer, boy," he mumbled before hiding under his covers. He wrapped his arms around himself and tried again to lull himself back to sleep.

A soft knock on his door had his eyes shooting open instead. "Stan?"

He tried to respond to his mom, but the only thing that came out was a low hum.

He heard his door open. "Stanley?"

He hummed again, this time louder.

"Sparky has been whining this entire time. You should take him for a walk."

He didn't acknowledge this at first. He just shifted under his cocoon of blankets to try to stay within the warmth. He gave her a hum of acknowledgment but still made no effort to move.

His mom sighed from the doorway and he heard her walk into his room. "Fine, Stanley, I'll take him. I made some breakfast for you. Can you at least go down to eat that? Please? And maybe we can talk? "

He took a moment before he gave another hum and listened as she spoke to Sparky in a high voice. She did this for a bit before the door closed and Stan was now left alone. Stan sighed as he continued to lay there, struggling with an internal battle of whether he should go join her or stay in bed. She was always there for him and supported him in all of his endeavors. He at least owed having breakfast with her.

He sighed again and pushed himself up in his bed after making his final decision. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and paused again. Okay, we're getting there. He stretched and the immediate desire to lay back down overtook him. He forced himself to ignore this and got up to walk over to his dresser. This was where the key to surviving most of his days was. He crouched down and pulled open the last drawer, revealing the extra clothes he piled in there without bothering to fold them. He began to rummage through the bottom drawer and pulled out a familiar substance - his just-under-half-empty bottle of Jameson Irish Whiskey.

He licked his lips as he opened the bottle and gulped down the remaining amount, letting the warmth distract him just for a moment. He paused for a long moment before reaching back into the drawer and pulling out a new bottle. He opened it and took a few big gulps before deciding it was enough. He rehid the bottle back in his drawer, planning on disposing of it later when his mom wasn't around to see. He pushed himself up, rubbing the remaining sleep from his face before leaving his room.

As he made his way downstairs to join his mom for breakfast, he couldn't help but feel the effects of the whiskey taking hold of him. The world felt a little fuzzy around the edges, but he was used to this feeling by now. He had been sneaking sips of alcohol every now and then since he was thirteen; originally trying it when he was about ten. It was a way to cope with his problems, a way to forget about all the ways the world was turning to shit around him.

His mom was already seated at the table when he entered the kitchen, munching on a slice of toast. She gave him a small smile, noticeably happy that he had decided to join her. "Good morning, sweetie. Did you sleep well?"

He mumbled a response and took a seat across from her, trying to ignore the way his head was beginning to pound.

She poured him a cup of coffee and pushed a plate of scrambled eggs, his own sausage, and toast towards him. "Eat up, honey. You'll need your energy for the day."

He picked up his fork and started poking at the eggs, trying to force himself to eat despite his lack of appetite. He took a sip of coffee and glanced up at his mom, noticing how her eyes lingered on him. He cleared his throat awkwardly and set his drink down. “So… how has work been?” He asked, hoping to distract her enough for him not to feel like she was watching his every move.

“Oh, it’s been good. There was this client that came in the other day and she-”

Honestly, Stan didn’t care enough to listen, but he hummed and nodded along like he was. He slowly ate his breakfast, staring down at his plate as she droned on about her work and the interesting tidbits she wanted to share.

When she grew quiet once more, Stan decided to look up at her. It was obvious she wanted to talk about something other than work, it was this look she always got. He looked away from her again, trying to avoid her watchful eye. She took a moment to sip at her coffee and hummed quietly. A long moment passed between them and she finally began to speak again. “Stan… I want to talk to you about something.” And there it was…

Stan shifted in his seat and gave a small sigh. “About what?”

She hummed quietly again, taking a moment as though she was trying to figure out how to word her question. “I was just wondering… is there… maybe, I don’t know, something you want to tell me?”

Stan looked up at his mom, confused. “What?”

She shrugged with a nonchalant look. “You know you can be honest with me. I won’t get mad at you, you know. I think it’s completely normal.”

Guilt began to bubble up in his chest and he looked down at his food again to avoid making eye contact with her. “I…" He stabbed at his eggs. "I have some Jameson in my room… I had some this morning.”

His mom was quiet for a long time and Stan was sure she was coming up with a way to punish him. She finally moved and walked over to him before brushing his hair back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “That’s okay. Thank you for telling me. And I just want you to know that I’ll love you no matter what, Stanley.”

He was surprised, but he didn’t show it. “I… I know, Mom. I love you too.”

She patted his cheek with a warm smile and planted another kiss on the top of his head. She paused and played with his hair for a moment. “You… washed your hair?”

Stan ran his head through his hair at the mention of it. “Yeah.”

“For… the meteor shower… with your friend.”

He nodded, confused on why she was mentioning it again. “Yeah. I told you, it was all Bebe’s idea.”

His mom nodded, but something in her eyes told him that she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I see.” She moves to grab her empty plate and mug to bring to the sink. She hums quietly, obviously in thought. “Oh, yeah. Kyle called earlier. He told me to tell you that he’s at the basketball court in the park.”

Stan furrowed his eyebrows and looked at the clock in the kitchen. “Ah, shit!”

“Language!”

Stan fumbled out of his seat and out of the kitchen. He was late! He didn’t even check the time when he got up. He made his way up the stairs as fast as he could and into his room. He grabbed his phone and, sure enough, saw five missed calls from his best friend. He rushed to change out of his pajamas, throwing on whatever he could find that he thought were clean before practically running out of his room.

It wasn’t long before he returned, heading straight to the dresser and pulling the bottom drawer open once again. He took another few large swigs, just enough to feel buzzed enough to be able to withstand the disappointed look Kyle undoubtedly was going to give him. He shoved the bottle back into the drawer and fumbled out of his room once again and down the stairs.

When he reached the front door, he grabbed his keys, struggling to take off his car keys to leave them behind for his mom - a condition she gave him if he was going to drink. He called out a salutation to his mom before leaving the house. He rushed towards the park as fast as he could without slipping or falling and within a matter of minutes he saw the basketball court with a solitary red-head.

When Kyle saw him, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he continued to dribble the ball. “You’re late.” He called out to him as he got closer.

He raised his hand in apology. “Yeah, I’m sorry, dude.”

Kyle was quiet for a moment, but then passed the ball over to him, in which he admittedly fumbled with as it reached him. “It’s fine, just hope you’re up to try to beat me. I need a challenge.”

Kyle was most definitely not going to be challenged by Stan’s skills, but that didn’t stop him from trying. They played a few rounds, Stan stumbling around compared to Kyle’s calculated movements. Not sure how exactly to bring up his issue while they played, he decided to talk about something else until he could figure it out. “So… how’s everything going? With the dare, I mean.” He asked when Kyle scored another point.

Kyle scoffed as he caught the ball. “I don’t want to talk about that right now.”

Stan hummed and caught the ball as it was passed over to him. “Okay…” Unbothered, he dribbled the ball and tried to keep it away from Kyle, which was practically impossible.

Kyle scored another basket and sighed as he caught the ball again. “Everything he has us doing is bullshit!” And there it was. “I don’t even know why we’re doing it. His ‘punishments’ aren’t even that bad. It's not even like sending Ike to Canada is horrible, he’s been mentioning going after he graduates. But who knows where Cartman is going to have him? And my parents would kill me if I'm the reason he got sent off out of the blue.”

“And the college thing,” Stan added.

Kyle huffs and tosses the ball to him again. “Yeah, that too. But I can deal with four months.”

“But can your parents?”

His eyes narrowed at him and Stan decided to try to keep his mouth shut for the time being. They continued to play in silence, which was not what Stan wanted to go for, but he was nervous. It showed in how he played, not that he was much good in the first place, but at least he was manageable without his sweaty palms and jerky reactions.

When Stan was finally able to steal the ball from Kyle long enough, he took a shot. He wobbled a bit and missed the net by a considerable amount. "Ah, shit. Sorry, dude, I had a drink before coming." The excuse was immediate. He didn’t want Kyle to think anything else was wrong with him.

Kyle didn't respond to that, though. Instead, he picked up the ball and tossed it back toward him. So, Stan tried shooting again, but this time he hit the rim of the basket. Kyle was quick to catch the ball, but he didn't try sending the ball back to Stan’s outstretched hands. "I'm going to get a few drills in." Kyle didn't want to play with him anymore. He usually used his 'drills' as an excuse to stop watching Stan being bad at the sport.

So, Stan gave him a silent nod and stepped back to give Kyle some room while he watched him.

Kyle was lean… tall… fiery in a spirited way. His curls were kept short, but still noticeable from under his hat and his skin was on the paler side. He had a sharp, masculine look about him, something Stan was always a little jealous of.

When Stan realized his gaze was slowly moving down his body as he considered his thoughts, he snapped himself out of it and refocused on the ball instead, his cheeks growing warm.

That was it. Maybe he could pretend to ignore the problem if it had just stayed Butters or Kenny. But imagining Kyle! He had to get to the bottom of this fast. But how? What was he supposed to do? He’s never talked to Kyle about his sexuality, and vice-versa. It was just something… they’d never considered talking about. Not that it mattered.

"Hey… you alright, dude?"

Stan refocused on Kyle and saw that he had moved to stand in front of him, holding the ball out and waiting for him. “Y-yeah…" He cleared his throat so his voice could stop shaking. "Just zoned out, my bad." Kyle indicated the ball once again and Stan shook his head. “Nah, man. I don’t think I’m a good match for you. But keep doing your thing.”

Kyle shrugged in response and dribbled the ball to a spot along the line, setting up a shot.

Well, it was now or never. He cleared his throat to try to get Kyle’s attention and hesitated before speaking. “Dude?”

Kyle, still focused on dribbling the ball in his spot to get a good shot, didn’t look at Stan when he responded, “Yeah?”

Stan’s words were caught in his throat and he felt like throwing up. His mouth floundered as he tried to force the words out. Anything, anything to get the ball rolling. “Have…” He swallowed. “Have you ever… I don’t know… wantedtokissaguybefore?” He rushed out.

When Stan had finished his question, Kyle had turned to look at him, eyes wide, just as the ball had left his hand. Everything happened so fast, Stan almost didn't understand how it happened - the ball had hit the corner of the backboard and had shot back to hit Kyle square in the face.

Kyle keeled over, his hands covering his nose.

"Holy shit, dude!" Stan ran over to him and grabbed his shoulders to try to get a better look at the damage. "Fuck, man, you're bleeding!"

"What do you mean?"

"Huh? Your nose, dude."

Kyle’s eyebrows furrowed. "Why would I want to kiss another guy?"

Stan couldn't believe it. Kyle was seriously backtracking the conversation as if a fountain of blood wasn't spilling from his nose. "I don't know! Like how you kissed Craig."

Kyle blanched. "No! Why would you think that?!"

"I-"

"That's gross! I would never do that!" The color in Kyle’s face began to return at a rapid pace, now surpassing its original color. "Especially with Craig!" And you technically already did.

"I-it doesn't have to be- I didn’t mean just Craig."

"What?” He scoffed. “You think I would kiss you?”

Stan felt a harsh pang in his chest at this. “N-no, not…” He let go of Kyle, not understanding why Kyle was being mean about this and why his chest was beginning to hurt. "I just wanted-"

"Wanted what?

I just wanted to know if what I'm feeling is normal.

Instead, what came out was, “Kyle… You’re being a douchebag.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because the look he got from him was scalding. He gave a sound of surprise as Kyle pushed him off and stood. "This is all your fucking fault!”

Stan felt hurt and confused, looking up at his best friend as he seethed with anger. “What-?”

“‘Let’s go to the party, Kyle!’ ‘You need to relax, Kyle!’ ‘It’s just going to be a little party, nothing bad is gonna happen. Take the stick out of your ass Kyle!’ If you didn’t fucking force me to go to that party, I wouldn’t have Cartman up my ass anymore than he already is and dealing with Craig’s bullshit! But, no, you wanted to go to the party for Wendy!”

“That’s not-”

"Look at where that got us! You're so fucking pathetic and desperate for Wendy’s attention that we have to do some bullshit game to entertain Cartman. Why is it always the same damn thing with you?”

Stan swallowed, his eyes wide as he looked up at the redhead. "Are you seriously doing this right now?"

“Yeah, yeah, I am! Because you have been the same ever since I fucking met you. Always so self-centered and pessimistic. It’s no wonder Wendy keeps breaking up with you, you’re so fucking tiring. I wouldn’t want to deal with you either.”

That was a low blow. He pushed himself up and took a step closer, but was still wary of getting too into Kyle’s space. "I really am trying, Kyle."

"Trying what? Nothing has changed. It's always the same damn thing with you! You always make everything about yourself!"

"Like you're any better?" Was Stan’s response and he was suddenly shoved to the ground by Kyle, making him give a loud ‘oof.’

"You better shut the fuck up! I don't give a shit if you're supposed to be my friend, I will still fuck you up if you keep testing me."

“You’re being a shitty friend,” was Stan’s weak attempt at any sort of comeback.

Kyle let out a mocking laugh. "News Flash, Stan: You're just as shitty of a friend! You always think of yourself and fuck how everybody else feels, right?" Stan began to blink rapidly as he felt his eyes begin to sting. "Until you fix whatever the fuck is wrong with you, don't talk to me. I'm done with all of your bullshit." Kyle stomped over to the ball and picked it up as he wiped his nose, staining his sweater. He didn't spare another glance towards Stan as he trudged out of the park.

Stan continued to stare at where his best friend was just a few seconds ago… or could he really call him that anymore? Kyle was right after all. Stan was so desperate to keep the bond between the two of them that he refused to see that it was fraying the entire time during these past years.

He pushed himself up from the ground, stumbling for a moment. He wanted to go home. He should've just listened to himself and canceled again. Maybe, this wouldn't have happened… He could feel tears blurring in his eyes and he hurriedly wiped them away. He didn’t want to cry. Not now, especially not now when there was a chance for Kyle to still see him. He didn’t want him to know that he had completely crushed him. He didn’t bother cleaning himself off as he finally moved to exit the park.

Pathetic… Desperate… That’s what Kyle had called him. He wondered if other people saw him that way, he wondered if Wendy did. If Kyle was right… He must be… it was almost rare for him to be both passionate and wrong. Hey, but at least he can thank Kyle for one thing - He definitely wasn't thinking about Butters anymore.

Stan didn’t even realize when he got home, so lost in his thoughts. He took a breath and tried being quiet as he entered his house, but nothing really went past his mom.

"Stan?" Her head poked out from the kitchen. "You're already back?"

He nodded, clearing his throat. "Yeah."

She paused before taking a step out towards him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He was quick to say. "I'm just-" He choked back a sob and rushed towards the stairs. "I'm just tired. I'm gonna go lay down."

"Oh, Stanley-"

But he didn’t want to hear it. He took two steps at a time to reach his room as quickly as he could. He didn’t want her to worry and dote over him. He didn’t want her to hug him. And he definitely didn't want to cry in front of her.

When he reached his room he immediately holed himself inside, locking the door to make sure he was left alone, falling to his knees next to his dresser and pulling the drawer open. He didn’t bother being careful when digging through it, just wanting to be quick. He pulled out the bottle of Jameson again, this time finishing off the bottle. The burning warmth only distracted him for a moment, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough.

With a shuddery sigh, he pushed himself to stand and went over to his bed without bothering to change. He crawled under his covers once again, letting its warmth and darkness envelop him.

He squeezed his eyes shut and put his pillow over his head, trying to induce drowsiness once more. He wanted to get away so badly. Go to sleep and just forget about everything, even just for a moment.

Because nothing bad ever happens when you're sleeping.

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