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nightttdreamers · 1 year

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Someone Still Loves You | Stan x Kyle

new style fic lets goooooo! it's going to be little snapshots of them growing up and figuring themselves out and also being in love. hope u like it and feel free 2 read on ao3!

AO3 Link | 6k+ words | Chapter 1/3

It's the summer before sophomore year. Kyle just got his braces off and Stan's palms are sweaty, for some reason.

Kyle has a nice smile , Stan decides, and the thought feels like it was beamed to him by aliens.

“What?” Kyle asks mid-laugh, still grinning at his friend.

Stan scrunches his face up, suddenly self-conscious of how Kyle can notice everything. “What?”

Kyle cocks his head, raising his brows expectantly, like Stan would ever explain what just went through his head. The two exchange expressions, and Stan hopes that if he just pretends Kyle’s acting odd too, the whole thing will just drop.

“Whatever, weirdo,” Kyle says, rolling his eyes. Stan lets out a small sigh of relief, slumping back against the wall. “Anyway, we’d have these practice debates, and then we’d do them at night in the dorms, but with stupid topics.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Stan asks, feeling a bit more comfortable staring as Kyle continues his story. He rubs his hands along his thighs, sitting cross-legged on the floor just across from his friend. There’s a strange, tingly sensation in his palms that just won’t go away. It’s been there all day, only getting worse once he actually entered the Broflovski household after eagerly waiting all day. Maybe it’s puberty.

The two boys haven’t seen each other in a month, which is the longest they’ve ever gone since they were in kindergarten. While Stan’s been stuck working on the farm all summer, Kyle has been at debate camp in California (Which wasn’t even a real camp, apparently. It was hosted by some fancy college and they stayed in the dorms . But it’s not like Stan cared).

Excited didn’t begin to describe how Stan had felt all day, it was more like electric. They only had two weeks before they started their sophomore year, and Stan was eager to get Kyle up to speed on what he’d been up to.

What he didn’t expect, however, was for Kyle to come back with stories of his own fantastic summer, the new friends he’d made, and how much better things were outside of South Park. It also doesn’t help that Kyle had gotten his braces off just before camp, and apparently smiled a whole lot more without them.

“-And they had like actual college students in the dorms too to, like, watch us. And they would get so pissed if we were being loud, which I would be too, but it was so funny.” Kyle sits back down on his legs, having gotten up on his knees as he told the story. “Maybe it was a you-had-to-be-there kind of thing.”

“No, no,” Stan says, shaking his head. “It’s funny. You and your debate friends would go wild and stay up all night debating each other, sounds crazy.”

Kyle scoffs, shooting Stan a harmless glare. “Shut up, dude. Like you did anything crazier.”

“Me and Kenny would go on joyrides,” Stan boasts, not even trying to hide the smug smile that comes across his face at Kyle’s expression.

“No fucking way,” Kyle says, jaw hanging open. Stan simply shrugs, pretending like he hasn’t been waiting to tell Kyle this for weeks. “In whose car?”

“Kevin got a new truck. Well, not new new, it’s a piece of shit, but he let us borrow it sometimes. Kenny and I would drive out until there wasn’t anything for miles around us and we’d just start doing donuts.” Now, it was Stan’s turn to get up, rising to his knees as his hands mime driving the car.

“Did you drive it?” Kyle asks, leaning forward.

Stan wanted to. It took some convincing, but Kenny had let him behind the wheel even though Kevin had explicitly said only his brother could drive it. But, Stan only made it about 50 feet before he had to stop, absolutely terrified that the moment he started driving they’d get caught.

“Kevin wouldn’t let me,” Stan says, shaking his head. It’s not a complete lie, but there’s no way he’s telling Kyle that he chickened out.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe I missed that,” Kyle says, shaking his head. Stan feels a small warmth in his chest, accompanied by a slight pang of guilt. It’s not like he wants Kyle to feel jealous or left out, but it does feel good to show the other that he doesn’t have to leave South Park to have a good time.

“We’ll probably try and go again,” Stan offers. “We still have, like, two weeks before school starts.”

Kyle lets out a groan, laying back on his floor. “Don’t remind me. God, my mom’s already talking about when we’re going back to school shopping. I haven’t even been home a day!”

Stan holds back a chuckle as he watches the other, waving his hands dramatically while he speaks. He knows better than to laugh at Kyle when he’s complaining. “Dude, she wasn’t even gonna let me come over tonight.”

“What?” Kyle exclaims, turning his face to look at Stan. “Why not?”

“I was calling her and asking when you were gonna get back, and she kept saying how she wants you to be with family tonight, how she had a whole dinner prepared, how she hasn’t ‘gotten you’ all summer. I was like, no shit, Sheila, I haven’t ‘gotten him’ either!”

Kyle lets out a laugh, looking back up at his ceiling. “Sounds like her. I think she’s mad I didn’t write her back enough.”

“How many letters did you send?” Stan asks.

“Uh, I think it was two or three to her. She would send me these letters that were just pages of family news and drama at the synagogue and updates about Ike. I didn’t have anything to say back.”

Stan smiles, knowing that he and Kyle wrote back and forth at least once a week, and that no one got as many letters as he did. At a certain point, Kyle would just add a section to Stan’s letters that he could tell Kenny and Cartman, rather than writing the two on his own. “I feel like my letters were just pages of the same random bullshit.”

Kyle shakes his head. “No way, yours were at least relevant to stuff I care about. I actually wanted to read them, even though you conveniently left out how you did donuts with Kenny.”

The statement is a little pointed, but leave it to Kyle to call Stan out for something like that. “I just didn’t think words on paper could capture the, uh,” Stan stammers, trying to come up with something dramatic to say. “The spirit! The spirit and the thrill of the drive! You know, the open road, the blazing sun, the wind in your hair-”

His monologue is cut off when Kyle throws a pillow right at his face, which Stan quickly catches. When he turns to look at Kyle, the redhead is already sitting back up, eyes daring Stan to continue. “Sorry, were you saying something?”

Stan throws the pillow right back, but Kyle catches it with ease. “I thought you wanted to hear about my joyrides?” He asks, pretending to be offended. “It’s hard to put them into words you know.”

“So you chose to do spoken-word poetry instead of handwritten?” Kyle asks, cocking his head to the side.

Stan snickers, shaking his head. “Can you imagine me sending you poetry? How fucking gay.”

Kyle laughs after a moment, like it took him a beat to get the joke. Stan notices his hands twisting together, one picking at the other, but before he can mention something about it, Kyle is rising to his feet. “I have so much shit to unpack.”

Stan watches from the floor as Kyle gets up, walking to the suitcase on his bed. “Do you have to do that tonight?” He asks, tilting his body so he can look at Kyle’s face, which is turned away from him.

“I probably should, you know,” Kyle says, in that voice Stan absolutely hates. It’s his I-have-a-ton-of-homework or my-mom-wants-me-back-soon voice, meaning he wants Stan to leave, but is too polite to just ask outright.

“Shit, okay,” Stan mumbles, standing up. “I can get out of your hair.”

Kyle finally turns to look at him, his lips pressed together in a firm line. His eyes dart around Stan’s face for a second before he speaks. “Actually, do you want to just sleep over tonight?”

The question is a bit jarring, partially due to the complete shift in Kyle’s attitude, and partially because Stan hates the phrase “sleep over” with a passion. Their friends already give them enough shit for how much time they spend together, they don’t need to sound like babies who have “sleepovers” too.

Kyle, of course, picks up on the distasteful expression Stan has. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’m just kind of jet-lagged and I’m probably gonna stay up and I know it takes you a while to get over here so,” he trails off, idly picking at his hand once more.

“I’ll stay over,” Stan says, causing Kyle to grin. Looking at his friend’s smile, whatever unease was building in him settles back down. “I was gonna ask you, anyway. My dad keeps making me wake up early to work with him.”

Kyle offers a sympathetic groan, opening up his suitcase. Stan sits down on the bed beside it, folding his legs under himself to leave the other room to unpack. “Are you still working every day?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” Stan says with a nod. He wrote to Kyle a bit about working on the farm for the summer, but after his first few letters, there wasn’t much to say. It was the same thing every day, waking up at the crack of dawn, heading to the fields to plant or harvest, sometimes packaging their products, whatever Randy told him to do. “My dad wants to get everything out super early in the morning because he’s selling to restaurants and shit now, so the work needs an early start.”

“Is…” Kyle begins, pausing his unpacking to look at Stan. “Is your dad okay?”

Stan looks away as he speaks, fidgeting with the hem of his pants. The question is simple enough, but never something that’s easy to answer. Kyle likes to ask about his dad with simple questions like that, which Stan appreciates, because Kyle doesn’t ask is your dad still starting shouting fights with your mom every day or has your dad stopped getting wasted and cursing you out the minute you come home ?

“Yeah,” Stan says in a small voice, then adds, “The farm’s been busy all summer, so he has something to do, I guess.”

Kyle nods, turning back to the clothes on his bed. “That’s good. Any developments on the Shelley conspiracy theory?”

Stan smiles at the question, glad Kyle knows better than to dwell on a topic like Randy for long. “Dude, we have to be right, right?”

“I think so. She’s not really the generous type.”

Kyle is referring to a common topic in their letters, which is how Shelley has been driving Stan into town over the last month. Normally, she doesn’t have a choice in the matter, as their parents make her take Stan to school with her. If he wants to go into town, he either has to beg his mom or try and get a ride with Tolkien. But, his mom’s usually busy, and Tolkien’s been at his vacation home all summer, so he thought he’d be stranded.

However, over the last few weeks, Shelley had been showing uncharacteristic kindness and offering to drive him to Kenny’s house. Stan waited for the catch, like she wanted gas money or him to do her chores, but it never came.

When Kyle heard about this, he quickly declared it a mystery that he wanted to solve. After going back and forth on various ideas, the two concluded that Shelley probably had a crush on Kevin McCormick. Since then, they’ve been seeking further proof of their conspiracy theory.

“She doesn’t even complain about driving me anymore. Usually, she’s like,” Stan clears his throat, doing a Shelley impression that is far more gravelly and deep than her real voice. “‘Ugh, whatever, I’ll drive you, but don’t talk to me or touch my CDs for the entire ride.’ But the other day I asked if she would take me to Kenny’s and she just said ‘whatever,’ nothing else.”

“Does she even see Kevin when she takes you?” Kyle asks.

“Barely,” Stan responds. “If he’s outside, she just tells me to get out and drives away. She doesn’t even try to talk to him. Girls are so weird.”

Kyle snorts, turning his face away when Stan looks up at him. “Sorry, it’s just funny hearing you make fun of her, like you wouldn’t do the same thing.”

“What?” Stan replies, sitting up a bit. “No I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah you would,” Kyle says, continuing to empty his suitcase as he speaks. “You’re both total chickens when you like someone. Even if you’re dating them.”

Stan feels his face heat up, especially when he sees the smirk Kyle is trying to hide. “That’s so not true.”

It is, of course, completely true, and Stan knows it. Even with Wendy, who he’s dated on-and-off since they were basically kids, he can never bring himself to make the first move. She gets frustrated with him often, since she has to tell him to ask her to school dances or to hold her hand on dates. He’s not sure why his nerves haven’t gone away after their years together. Sometimes, he still gets nauseous when she wants to kiss.

No one knows about this problem, though. So, hearing Kyle poke fun at him about it makes Stan squirmish. “Like you’re any better,” he adds, though the statement is pretty baseless. He’s not sure how Kyle is when he has a crush, as the redhead rarely shows interest in anyone.

Kyle keeps his gaze down, and Stan can see a mix of emotions cross his face. He wants the other to defend himself just so he can point out that Kyle hasn’t had a real girlfriend, or even asked a girl out since they were ten. But, instead, Kyle just shrugs. “Yeah, guess not,” he concedes.

Again, Stan feels an unease between them. He rarely feels unsure of what to say to his best friend. If they’re not speaking, the silence is usually comfortable. This one, however, just hangs in the air, and Stan feels a sense of guilt for it.

Kyle starts to move his clothes back into his dressers, his suitcase empty now. Stan just watches him for a bit, trying to figure out if Kyle feels just as off as he does. He settles on, probably not, you’re just being weird and defensive and making things weird because you’re weird.

“Wanna borrow pajamas?” Kyle asks, bringing Stan out of his thoughts.

“Huh? Oh, uh,” he takes a second to look down at his current outfit, just to gather himself. “No, thanks. I’ll just sleep in my boxers.”

“Are you sure?” Kyle asks. It’s a trait he and his mom share, asking someone if they want something, then insisting that they do if they refuse. It’s part of their know-it-all nature, but Stan finds it kind of endearing. “I have stuff that’ll fit you.”

He knows he’s better off just accepting Kyle’s offer, so he nods. “If you think so.”

“I definitely do,” Kyle says, rummaging through his drawers. “We’re not that different, you know.”

“Maybe if you stopped having stupid growth spurts,” Stan says, knowing that the topic annoys Kyle. They’ve always compared heights, constantly on their tip-toes or marking doorways for each other. There were a few years in elementary school when Stan could boast a few extra inches on Kyle, but that ended when the redhead shot up in middle school. They haven’t been able to share clothes as easily lately, especially since Stan’s been growing into the stockier build his dad has, while Kyle stays stick-thin and lanky.

“If I could, I would,” Kyle says, tossing a pair of sweatpants over to Stan. Unlike Stan, he doesn’t like being the taller of the two, constantly complaining about how his old clothes don’t fit him, and his new ones don’t look right. “Those should be good, though.”

“I forgot your mom keeps your house fucking freezing in the summer,” Stan says as he gets off the bed. He slides off his jeans, pulling the faded pair of sweatpants on. “My mom doesn’t even use the AC most nights, just has us sleep with the windows open.”

Kyle is facing away from him, pulling out his own pair of pajamas from the dresser. “She complains about hot flashes or something, I don’t know, I don’t really listen. I’ll be right back.” Before Stan even finishes getting changed, Kyle’s already leaving his room.

Stan knows he’s heading to the bathroom for his nighttime routine. Kyle always changes in the bathroom, taking his time putting in various hair products or acne creams, whatever products his mom has him trying that month.

While Kyle’s gone, he slides the other’s empty suitcase off the bed to make room for himself. Just beside where the suitcase was is an envelope missing its top flap, near bursting open with its contents. Stan sits down as he picks it up, noticing that it's stuffed with polaroids. Before Stan can even think that he should ask for permission, he empties the envelope, looking through the photos. They’re pretty average, various snapshots of guys that he assumes to be Kyle’s friends from debate camp. There’s lots of pictures of them laughing, shouting at each other, and Stan can recognize locations like the dorms and quads Kyle told him about. There’s one specific boy that’s in almost every picture. Stan’s not sure why he notices him, besides his blonde hair and glasses, there’s nothing special about his appearance. Stan does notice, though, that this boy is next to Kyle in every single polaroid.

When he reaches the bottom of the pile, there’s one picture that makes his stomach twist in a funny way. It’s close up, telling Stan that Kyle took it himself rather than having someone else do it. It’s just Kyle, beaming that brilliant smile, looking at the other boy, who’s grinning right back. The boy’s lips are parted in a way that makes it seem like he’s about to speak, or maybe he was mid-sentence when the photo was taken. They seem unaware of the camera, too caught up in their own laughter to look at it even though Kyle’s the one who pressed the shutter button. Stan holds the picture a bit too tightly, only looking up when he hears Kyle enter the room.

“What are you doing?” Kyle asks, standing in the open doorway. Stan watches as his eyes dart down to the photos, widening when he sees the one in Stan’s hand.

“Who is this?” Stan asks. Kyle told him about his friends in stories and letters, but no one seemed important enough to be in almost every picture.

Kyle crosses the room, taking the polaroid from Stan. He handles it gently, looking down at the picture as he sits on the edge of his bed. “He’s- He was my roommate,” he says, lacking the enthusiasm he usually has when talking about his debate camp friends.

“What’s his name?” Stan asks, knitting his brows together. Kyle hadn’t mentioned a roommate in his stories. At least, not that he could remember.

“Does it matter?” Kyle asks, putting the polaroid back into the pile with the rest. The action is a bit dramatic, and it feels like something Kyle would do if he was trying to prove that this boy didn’t matter.

Stan keeps his tone light, tempted to reach out to the other just to close the weird distance between them. “Guess not. It just looks like you guys were really close.”

Kyle turns to him suddenly, and Stan can see how red his cheeks are. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Stan replies quickly, throwing his hands up defensively. “What? You got a new best friend while you were at camp and you don’t wanna tell me about him?”

Kyle doesn’t seem amused by this joke, probably because he can tell that Stan’s not really joking. The redhead swallows thickly and Stan has to look away to hide the embarrassment on his face. He hadn’t even thought about the comment before he made it.

Everyone knows Stan and Kyle are best friends. They don’t say it out loud often, opting to write it in birthday cards or save the words for special occasions. It’s not something that needs to be affirmed constantly, or even addressed for the most part. Still, Kyle knows that Stan gets insecure about his place in Kyle’s life sometimes. Stan would never admit that, of course, but Kyle knows because he can read him like a book.

“His name is David,” Kyle says after a moment. He’s not looking at Stan, instead, shuffling the polaroids together into a neat little pile. “He’s not my new best friend, don’t worry.”

Stan lets out a puff of air, trying to show just how little he was worried, but it’s clearly forced. “So why didn’t you mention him?”

In the silence that falls after his question, Stan can hear how shallow Kyle’s breathing becomes. The same uneasy feeling starts in his gut as he watches Kyle adjust himself on the bed, nervously twisting his fingers together.

“David, um,” Kyle begins, looking just about anywhere but Stan. “He was kind of more than a friend.”

“What do you mean?” Stan asks slowly, even though he knows there’s no other way to interpret that. Kyle has a friend who is more than a friend. A more-than-friend who’s a boy.

Kyle looks right at him with those bright green eyes, welling with so much uncertainty. “ Stan .” He says his name like it’s a plea, his voice tight.

The entire room feels still, and the twinge of unease in his stomach turns into full-on nausea. Stan grips the comforter beneath his fingers just for something to hold on to. He opens his mouth, wanting to ask a million questions- Are you saying what I think you’re saying? Are you sure? But, he knows they’re all pointless. Kyle doesn’t need to answer anything for Stan to know exactly what he’s trying to tell him.

“Really?” Stan asks, his voice barely a whisper.

Kyle just nods, his jaw clenched too tight to speak.

“So, you,” Stan starts, but the words feel odd in his mouth. “You… You like boys? That’s- that’s,” he stammers, choking on the word okay . He wants to tell the other that it’s okay, but he can’t.

Looking at the boy sitting across from him, it feels like he has no idea who he is. Stan knows about gay people, he’s seen them on the news or in Shelley’s magazines, always talking about how we’re just like you! But, that image doesn’t fit Kyle. He’s not a face on TV, he’s Stan’s best friend, trusted with all of his secrets, hopes, and fears. But now, there’s this massive part of Kyle that’s just been hidden away, that Stan can’t even begin to understand.

“When did you figure this out?” Stan asks.

Kyle lets out a breath, shrugging his shoulders. When he speaks, his voice is uneasy, higher than usual. “I don’t know. Um, I don’t know. Like, I think I’ve always known? But I didn’t really want to know, or, I guess, want it to be true. It’s hard to explain.”

Stan nods, chewing on the inside of his lip as he stares down at the polaroid. The bright expression on David’s face feels smug to him now, like he’s taunting Stan, I know your best friend better than you do.

Still looking down, Stan speaks again. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”

“I wanted to,” Kyle says, quick in his response. “I really wanted to tell you. For a while, actually. I just didn’t know how, I didn’t know if it was real. And I-” His voice breaks, and when Stan looks up, he can see that tears have begun falling down the other’s face. “ Fuck, ” Kyle whispers.

“You’re crying,” Stan says, though it almost sounds like a question. He wants to reach out, his hand twitching to wipe away the other’s tears. But, he finds himself unable to move forward, an invisible wall between them.

Kyle slides the heel of his hand across his cheek, trying to catch the tears before they fall. “I’m sorry, I just-” he pauses, sniffling. “If you don’t want to be around me anymore, or something, just tell me, okay?”

“What are you talking about?” Stan asks. Kyle stares back at him, wide-eyed, and Stan feels like he can actually see the other for the first time tonight. A sudden clarity hits him like a bat to the head. “You’re my best friend, Kyle. You’re always gonna be.”

Kyle exhales, letting the tears pour down his face freely now. “Really?” He asks, and the soft smile that comes across his lips makes Stan want to cry too.

“Yeah, dude. Um, do you,” he looks over Kyle, whose hands are still shaking slightly. “You want a hug?”

Kyle doesn’t even respond, instead falling forward into Stan. The redhead wraps his arms tightly around Stan’s waist, quick to bury his face in his shoulder. He nearly knocks the wind out of Stan, who slowly wraps his arms across his back in return.

Stan exhales, just holding his friend. He can feel his t-shirt grow wet with tears, and that Kyle is trying to hide his face from him. There’s lots of things he wants to say to console the other, this doesn’t change anything, or I don’t care if you like boys . But, that’s not true, there’s no way that things aren’t going to be different after this. Kyle will still be Kyle, his short-tempered smartass best friend. But, Stan feels like he’s been punched in the gut by dozens of unfamiliar, terrifying feelings tonight that he can’t even begin to sort out. The two of them will be okay, Stan is sure of this. But, he’s feeling less and less sure of himself.

After some time, Kyle pulls away, quick to bring his arms back around himself. “Sorry for the waterworks,” he says, still sniffling though it looks like he’s done crying.

“It’s cool,” Stan says. Awkwardly, he reaches a hand up to Kyle’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. And, because he has no idea what he’s supposed to say now, he says, “I’m, uh, glad you told me.”

“Yeah,” Kyle exhales. He stretches his legs out from beneath him, laying back down on the bed in his usual comfortable position. His face is still blotchy, and Stan wants to reach out and wipe his cheeks dry. Instead, he just hugs his knees up to his chest, looking down at the other.

“Are you gonna tell anyone else?” Stan asks.

Kyle’s face scrunches up for a moment, the same way it does when he looks at a long homework assignment. “Not now. I feel like Cartman doesn’t need to know that the slurs he calls me are true.”

Stan nearly laughs, but falls quiet when he actually thinks about what was just said. How many times has Kyle had to stay silent when his friends were calling their classmates gay? How many times has Stan just listened and laughed at the jokes Cartman made about the two of them?

“Hey,” Kyle reaches out, tugging at the leg of Stan’s pants. There’s a soft smile on his face, but it feels bittersweet when there are still tear marks too. “You can laugh, dude, I was making a joke.”

Stan nods, putting on a smile back. “I know.”

Kyle chews on the inside of his cheek for a second, then turns his face away, staring at the ceiling while he talks. “I don’t really want people to know yet. At least, not the hicks that live around here.”

“What about your mom and dad?”

The question earns a scoff from Kyle. “My mom? Hearing that I’m never going to breed and make her dozens of little Jewish grandchildren? I think she’d faint.”

“Yeah, probably,” Stan says, picking at the lint on the comforter. “But, you’re really not gonna tell them? What about Ike?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Kyle replies, a frown coming across his face. “But, he’s only ten. He’s smart, but he doesn’t really get this kind of stuff yet. Did you even know what a gay person was when you were ten?”

Stan leans back against the headboard as he thinks. He’s pretty sure that, at ten, he didn’t really know what being gay was. In hindsight, his elementary school teachers or boy scout leaders that his dad would call “funny” were probably the first gay people he knew. “I guess not.”

“I think that if I told anyone, I would have maybe a week until the rest of the town found out. They’d probably bully Ike just for being related to me.” Kyle sits up on his elbows, looking over to Stan. “You won’t say anything, right?”

“Of course not,” Stan replies quickly. “I swear, dude. I’d never do that to you.”

A small, relieved smile comes across Kyle’s face as he sits up. “I know. I just, I dunno, wanted to check.”

Stan looks out the window to the mostly dark street, reminding himself that life exists outside of him and Kyle in this room. As far as he knows, there aren’t any out kids in their grade. There’s a few guys that his peers have decided are different, who get pushed around and shoved in lockers despite claiming to be straight. Thinking about Kyle getting treated like that makes an anger that he rarely feels blossom in his chest, and he has to clench his fists. But, when he glances back at Kyle, shuffling his polaroids back into their envelope, he feels a small sense of pride. He’s the only one in town who knows this secret, and Kyle trusts him to protect it.

He’s still not really happy about this David kid, and the fact that Kyle is still looking at his photo as he puts the others away. But, he’ll push that feeling pretty deep down.

“David’s out, at home,” Kyle says, just before tucking the polaroid into the envelope. “He’s from New York City. He says his dad wasn’t really happy about it, and he lost some friends, but he doesn’t regret it.”

“Yeah?” Stan replies, watching as Kyle places the envelope carefully on his nightstand. “Did any of the guys at camp know about you?”

“Not, like, explicitly,” Kyle responds. “They knew about David and they knew me and him spent a lot of time together. No one ever asked, but I think they connected the dots.”

Stan frowns. When their friends see him and Kyle off alone together, they’re quick to poke fun at how gay the two of them act. He can’t imagine how much worse it would be if Kyle was actually out. Thinking back, he understands why Kyle spoke so highly of camp and the new friends he had made.

“So, the two of you guys were together?” Stan asks, trying to keep his voice neutral. “You and David?”

When Stan turns away from the window, Kyle is already looking at him. They both look away quickly, and the tingly sensation in his palms return as he waits for an answer. “We were,” Kyle says in a quiet voice. “I had such a crush on him the first week. He was really smart, and funny, and not arrogant like a lot of the other guys. Do you-” Kyle looks back over at Stan, who’s very focused on staring out the window again. “Do you want to hear this?”

The question makes Stan’s face heat up. He thought he wasn’t being obvious with how uncomfortable the subject was making him feel. “I mean, if you wanna talk about it-” Stan starts, shrugging like it’s not a big deal to him. “I don’t know if I really, um, want details and stuff. N-not because it’s a guy, though!”

When he finally looks at Kyle, the redhead is smiling, trying to contain his laughter. Stan wipes his palms on his pants.

“What’s so funny?” He asks, unable to stop the smile that comes across his face now.

“Your face right now, dude. You look constipated.” Stan opens his mouth to protest, which causes Kyle to break and start laughing. “It’s okay if you don’t want to hear about him. I don’t like hearing about you and Wendy. It’s not a gay thing, it’s just, I dunno, cringey?”

Stan lets out a breath of relief, allowing himself to laugh along. “Fucked up that you never told me you don’t like hearing about Wendy, but, good to know it’s mutual.” He pauses, letting out a loud yawn. “Sorry, I was up at like 6 this morning, I’m beat.”

Kyle rolls his eyes, but Stan can tell that he’s getting pretty tired too. “I can, um,” he begins, glancing down at the space between them on the bed. “Do you want me to grab you extra blankets or something?”

“Why would you do that?” Stan asks, rubbing his eye as he leans back against the headboard.

Kyle takes a second to respond, in which Stan realizes just what he means. “I can sleep on the floor or something, if you don’t want to share. It’s really okay.”

Right . They’ve slept beside each other since they were toddlers, sharing a nap mat in kindergarten. The thought that they wouldn’t do that anymore didn’t even cross Stan’s mind at first, and knowing that Kyle was worried about it makes him feel terrible. “I don’t mind, dude.”

“Are you sure? It’s really fine-” Stan hadn’t noticed, but Kyle’s been keeping a distance between them, sitting at the end of his bed.

“You were gay the last time I stayed over, right?” Stan asks, and, after a pause, he can see the tension leave Kyle’s body.

The redhead smiles, moving over to the same side of the bed as his friend. The two of them don’t need to say anything as they slide under the covers, careful to leave enough room for the other. Stan stays against the wall, coming to lay down on his back just as Kyle flicks the lamp on his nightstand off. In the darkness, there isn’t anything to distract him, just the sound of Kyle’s breathing as he settles into the bed beside him.

They lay there for some time, both staring up at a black ceiling. Even though he was tired before, now that he’s actually laying down, he knows his thoughts are swarming too fast for him to actually get any sleep tonight.

Softly, he hears from beside him, “Stan?”

“Yeah?” He replies.

“Do you think I’m being a wimp if I don’t tell anyone else?”

The answer comes easily to him. “No, not at all.”

“I just- Fuck , it’s scary.”

Stan grips the blanket beneath his hand, because Kyle sounds just like he did when they were little, and all he wants to do is tell his best friend that he’ll be okay. But, Kyle would see right through that, so all he says is, “I know, dude.”

He hears Kyle shuffle beside him, and without looking, he knows the other’s face is turned towards him. “Thanks for coming over tonight.”

“Of course. It’s been a really shitty summer without you.”

“I guess,” Kyle starts. “Thanks for staying . After I told you.”

Stan lets out a breath, trying to exhale some of the weight on his chest. There’s a lot on his mind, and so many things he’s unsure of right now. But, more than anything, he knows he could never lose this , staying beside his best friend. He doesn’t quite know how to verbalize this, for fear of sounding too cheesy or insecure or needy. So, instead, he just looks over at Kyle, giving him a smile that he hopes the other can make out in the dark.

“So,” Stan starts, keeping his voice a whisper. “Do you think you can get your mom to make pancakes for breakfast?”

The question earns a small fit of laughter from Kyle, who starts to complain about how Stan only stays over for the luxury breakfast the next day. Stan turns over to face him when he retorts, and they fall into their usual ritual of whispering lame jokes and stories, which only grow more random and delirious the longer they talk. Eventually, their conversation will dwindle, and they’ll fall asleep facing each other, soft smiles on their faces.

#oh god i hate tagging #south park #fanfiction #style #stan marsh #kyle broflovksi #stan x kyle fanfic #stanky my love #stan marsh x kyle broflovski #uhhh #boys kissing #coming out #angst #fluff #please read this its very important to me

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tiddygame · 3 months

Text

i’ve stared at this for so long that i now hate it and think ive lost all concept of how to write so take this and get it out of my google docs

the introduction is rough and the medical depictions (and accuracy/realism) could use some (a lot of) work but whatever! here it is, my vague yet still oddly specific idea of how the face reveal would go in @myriadblvck ’s streamer au:

tw: description of a panic attack? i think?

[this takes place post first irl meet but before they’re officially together]

imagine ghost has a glasgow smile but on one side they carved a little too deep and left some nerve damage. time and surgery helped, after which he could eat unimpeded and talk without a lisp, but there's still some facial nerve damage and/or skin contractures from scarring, specifically around the corner of his mouth.

now, everytime he smiles, be it shit eating grin or a full genuine joy filled smile that not even grumpy mcgrumperson could hold off, it always looks wrong because one corner doesn't raise fully like the other.

everything else is fine, there isn’t any facial paralysis, he just smiles… wrong. especially since only one eye properly squints when he smiles, giving him the look of someone who got stuck mid wink.

if he wants to look “normal” (or as normal as he could get it) he has to manually squint his other eye. still, it always felt weird; you don't realize how much those muscles affect the rest of your face until they're gone.

it's why he learned to always wear the mask.

when his expression is neutral, you don’t really notice it. if you can see his mouth when he talks however, it’s obvious that there’s something wrong. he wouldn’t say he’s necessarily ashamed of the scars and damage itself, but it’s the stares that are the worst. before he started hiding behind it, people would openly gawk or even glare at him as if he was some ne’er-do-well gang member that got what was coming to him.

he still remembers the cosmetic surgeon that had been talking to him about fixing the contractures— the whole appointment was a fucking nightmare. the cuts had healed nicely enough especially considering how bad it could have been; he was lucky to only need a little cosmetic help. the only reason he was there was so he could fucking eat food without struggling to open his mouth.

the doctor spent god knows how long breaking down everything wrong with his face like he was a fucking car mechanic lying about how dirty your filter is. the guy constantly mentioned that while he was under, they could also fix his jawline, do a rhinoplasty, trying to break him down to agree to more work.

he was already fuming my the time the doc brought up how kids would react. asking ghost if he wanted to scare children since “you cant expect the little youngins that are still learning about the world to not get scared by something scary,” and that “even some adults would cringe at the scarring.”

what stuck out most was the condescending smile he had when he said it. as if he was pointing out the obvious and ghost was being stupid and shortsighted by not agreeing.

he declined everything except what was medically necessary. the procedure went fine and after an aggravatingly long recovery period, he could eat solid foods again without issue. but the comments still stuck with him.

…okay, maybe he’s a little ashamed.

scaring kids with your face doesn’t feel good and being reminded of everything you’ve lost when you try to smile can really fuck you up in a way words fail to describe.

so yeah, he hates it. he’s gotten used to the mask, both skull clad balaclava and simple medical mask, being a permanent layer of armor. even now that he’s a bit more comfortable in his own skin it still feels wrong to pull it off.

when he gets close to soap, it still feels like a layer of vulnerability that he’ll never be prepared for.

the first time he let soap see his face, there hadn’t been any grandiose build up, no extravagant planning.

simon had arrived just a few hours earlier. he hated commercial flights with a burning passion but it was always worth it to see johnny.

with soaps twin out of town for the week, he had decided to take leave to spend time with his friend, a friend that he most certainly did NOT have a crush on (a disclaimer roach and gaz heard everytime they started snickering over ghost taking leave.)

johnny had cooked something nice and simple for dinner, saying that simon had spent too long with MREs and deserved real food (ghost only agreed if he was the one washing the dishes, soap had laughed and told him he's not so kind as to let him off the hook for chores).

when they ate, it was always in the living room with johnny taking care to always stay angled away from simon, never trying to catch a glimpse, regardless of how much he wanted to see what was under the mask. the obvious gesture of kindness and respect for his boundaries always left him feeling all weird and fuzzy inside. but, then again, johnny seemed pretty good at triggering that feeling in general.

their finished plates were on the coffee table and johnny was watching whatever dumb movie he had put on. he was pretty sure the man spent more time talking over it and making fun of everything than he did actually watching it (it was simon’s favorite way to watch a movie.)

ghost however, was watching soap. thinking.

in the end, it was an impulsive decision made after a strong three seconds of consideration.

“you uhm— you can look by the way,” ghost stared at the can of soda in his hands, immediately regretting the words.

“what?” soap didn’t fully turn, just shifted slightly to hear him better. a simple gesture to show he was listening without turning to face him. it normally made simon happy to see that johnny was more than willing to accommodate for his boundaries. now though it made him feel stupid for robbing johnny of a normal face to face conversation, a normal human interaction, just over his idiotic insecurities.

“my face, you—,” he felt his heart block his airway and tried clearing his throat before continuing, “you can look if you want,” christ he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. why was he getting so fucked up over this?

“are you sure?” he hadn’t turned yet, but ghost could see his pensive expression from here. this should be nothing. realistically, he knew johnny seeing his scars wouldn’t suddenly make him hate him… right?

“yes.”

but it was more than the fear of hatred, wasn’t it? he was scared that johnny would see him. see more than just the scars, see all of the ugly idiosyncrasies and insecurities laid bare. afraid that johnny would see the truth of how unlovable he was.

jesus he was getting so fucking worked up and dramatic over nothing.

ghost didn’t look up. he made an effort to not focus on his peripheral vision. he heard soap turn, heard the intake of breath. the silence was loud only for a second. then, deafening white noise surrounded him, inescapable, suffocating.

fuck.

he didn’t regret giving permission but god did he regret everything else; the stupid scars, the stupid nerve damage, the stupid way he had managed to fall for someone so fucking good like johnny while he was unequivocally unworthy of his love.

stop being so fucking dramatic. you are not together, never have been and never will be. reality was blatant in front of him but it didn’t stop his heart from foolishly hoping.

he heard soap stand and walk closer. saw from where he was still staring a hole in the can his feet step in front of his. saw johnny’s hands raise. he took a deep breath in, closed his eyes, and with a great deal of effort didn’t flinch when soaps fingers grazed his cheek.

both of his hands came up to cup his face, holding him and ever so slightly tilting his face up, giving him the chance to pull away. he didn’t. he may be a coward but he wasn’t backing down.

ghost eventually opened his eyes to see soap staring at him with wide eyes. he looked away, staring off to some point on the right. he hated not knowing what soap was thinking.

they stayed there for a while before soap broke the silence, muttering, “i fuckin knew you had freckles.”

it was stupid but it shocked a laugh out of ghost. he meant to drop his head, embarrassed that something so dumb made him laugh, but accidentally just pushed himself further into soaps hands making him blush.

he looked up and saw soap staring even harder than before. the chuckle died in his chest.

“do that again.”

ghost just gave him a confused look.

“smile.”

such a simple request, a one word sentence, but it set his face ablaze. his breath caught in his throat, somewhere around where his heart was still trying to choke him.

…he hadn’t thought it was that bad but soaps reaction indicated otherwise. fuck. was his it that awful? he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. this was stupid. he was stupid.

“simon,” of course, one word from johnny and it felt like he could breathe again.

“please?”

fucking goddamn soap and his stupid fucking puppy dog eyes and the way he has ghost wrapped around his fucking finger without even realizing.

ghost smiled. there was no real mirth, more a grimace than anything else. he just wanted to get this over with.

soap was still staring at him, his thumbs tracing his lips, following scars, drawing imaginary lines between freckles… if he wasn't so terrified it might have felt nice.

“Christ,” ghosts heart cracked more, “you weren't lying when you said you were beautiful.”

ghost huffed a laugh and went back to staring off to the right, the fake smile dropping. of course soap would try to lighten the mood with a joke.

his panic fled as quickly as it had consumed him, now just left sitting in soap's living room, face still cradled in caring hands, resigned to his mistakes.

he felt so tired and johnny's hands felt so inviting.

“i wasn't joking,” soap looked…upset? angry? wait— fuck, what’d he do?

ghost stared back at soap, confused and tired. soaps nails felt the grooves of the scar, catching where the skin was raised and lowered.

“you don't have to lie, soap. im a grown man. I'm not fragile. you don't need to coddle me,” ghost said it like it was a joke, hoping soap would laugh along and that this would all just blow over. that tomorrow morning they could forget this ever happened.

“are you calling me a liar?” soap’s brow furrowed. great. instead, he had managed to make everything worse and piss off soap as well.

ghost took in a deep breath, giving himself another shot at calming things down, “no, I'm not. I think you're lying, but you're not a liar,” he stood and stepped to the side, grabbing their dirty plates and walking them to the kitchen sink, “you just don't want to upset me, it's fine. I get it. you're a nice person but you don't have to lie to spare my feelings.”

“I am not fucking lying!” as per usual, all ghost had managed to do was make things worse. there’s a reason he had decided to stick to the battlefield and give up on domesticity.

“well alright then. agree to disagree,” he turned the kitchen tap and started rinsing the dishes, waiting for the water to heat up. just walk away. end it there. let us forget about this stupid blunder and move on. please just leave it. please, please, please—

“no.”

the force behind it damn near made ghost drop the plate he was holding. he managed to set it in the sink carefully and turned to face soap, who was now in the kitchen as well.

“i— I'm not just gonna fucking— simon,” soap took in a deeper breath and went to continue but ghost was faster.

“johnny,” he interrupted, walking forward with his hands up in a gesture of surrender, approaching slowly.

one last chance to not fuck everything up.

“the fact is they're called deformities for a reason. they're not cute. they're not pretty. they're your body’s way of healing what it can and protecting what it can't. it's not meant to look nice, it's just—”

“bullshit they’re not pretty! says fucking who?” the genuine distress in soap’s voice and force behind his words caught him off guard. “simon—”

he huffed and ran his fingers through his hair roughly, pulling slightly at the strands. christ, ghost needs to shut the fuck up. every single time he speaks he just upsets soap more and more.

he needs to retake his hostage negotiations courses. clearly he has forgotten everything about how to diffuse a situation.

johnny takes another second to breathe and collect his thoughts before he speaks.

“simon. I know that— that ‘this’ isn't something that's going to fix itself overnight and I don't expect it to. but, ‘the fact is,’ I think you're pretty.”

ghost opens his mouth to disagree but johnny doesn’t let him.

“no no,” johnny put his hand over simon’s mouth, shocking him into silence. he blinks twice, stupefied.

“i think— no. I know you're pretty. cute even. beautiful is a given but obviously worth mentioning.”

his hand moved to cup simon’s cheek. ghost grabbed his wrist but didn’t stop him, wether it was a warning or encouragement he himself didn’t know.

johnny continued, unperturbed, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right?”

there was a pause and simon realized he wanted an answer.

“johnny-”

“ah ah!” his hand moved back to cover his mouth, grabbing his face and shaking his head back and forth, over accentuating his words, “you disagreeing doesn't change that, right? yes or no.”

he stopped shaking him and moved his hand back to simon’s cheek. simon sighed, defeated, “yes. you are right.”

johnny looked smug, “good. and what do you say when i give you a compliment you don’t agree with?”

simon sputtered, “wha— i don't fucking know—”

“nothing! you don’t say anything!” soap looked way too proud of himself and he continued, “or thank you if you feel so inclined.”

“that was a trick question,” simon replied eventually.

johnny thumbed over his scars once more, again tracing them, “sure it was. now go take a shower.”

he patted his cheek twice and walked to the hallway.

“wait,” johnny probably shook the few remaining brain cells out of his head. “this whole conversation ends with you telling me that I stink?”

“yes. rancid,” johnny opened the door to the linen closet. simon was still in the kitchen. the tap was still running.

“no dipshit, do you not remember telling me that commercial planes makes you feel gross?” johnny threw a towel at him, which he caught just in time for johnny to hit him with a bath rag.

ghost had mentioned that… ages ago, he thinks. on facetime with each other, discussing the merits of bathrooms on public transport. he had said that enclosed, crowded spaces like commercial planes or buses made him feel, well, gross. how—or why—did he remember that?

“but… I’m supposed to wash the dishes?” a weak argument against the stubbornness he was faced with but simon had officially lost track of his mind and this conversation.

johnny shot him a weird look as he walked back towards the kitchen sink. simon still hadn’t moved.

“did you think i was being serious earlier?”

“yes???” he felt like he had been given a lobotomy.

johnny decided to take pity on him and explained in a soft voice that felt out of place, “i was being sarcastic. i’m not going to make you wash the dishes, simon.”

“but that was the agreement: you cook and i wash the dishes.”

johnny laughed as if he remembered something funny, “yeah, i lied.”

simon still stood there, trying to figure out if he had a stroke. johnny had been angry, completely pissed at him, but now was letting him off the hook and calling him pretty? what the fuck is happening?

johnny turned him and pushed him towards the hallway. simon could have resisted but his resolve always seems to crumble around johnny mactavish.

“now go shower, you beautiful bastard,” soap grabbed one of the plates out of the sink and started washing it with water that had probably heated ages ago.

ghost walked towards the bathroom, feeling like he was on autopilot, limbs disconnected from his brain. his cheek still felt… odd? weird? tingly?

it felt something from where johnny had grabbed it. ghost thinks… he thinks he likes the feeling, whatever it is.

he needs to sleep.

#ghost: i look like a monster :(#soap: OH NO HES HOT #[also the interaction ghost has with the doctor is based on real life experience both me and other family members have had lmao]#also also it goes w/o saying but this isn’t negative towards cosmetic surgery but rather the cosmetic surgery industry #not pictured: me having a full scale debate w/ myself over tagging the person this is literally for #look i have anxiety alright #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #unreliable narrator #(soap is so fucking in love and ghost is so fucking stupid)#streamer au #streamer! au #streamer! soap #or is it #streamer!soap #god i hate tumblrs tagging system #my writing

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