-South Park- Style Sickfic/Injury Fic Requests - AlwaysInSTYLE (2024)

Chapter 1: Intro

Chapter Text

I love reading/writing Stan and Kyle sickfics and injury fics because the way they care for each other is just too adorable. So I want to make more!

Feel free to request anything, make multiple requests if you want, or even request a continuation of another chapter! You can be as vague or specific as you want.

Also lmk if you want to see other characters appear in your request!

Chapter 2: Art History

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Kyle walked inside and set his backpack on the counter, eager to whip up a quick lunch between classes. His window of time was short, but luckily his shared apartment with Stan was only a five minute walk from their college campus. As he gathered the ingredients for a simple PB&J, he froze, thinking he heard a faint noise from the living room. Stan was supposed to be in class, so he must have imagined it. Resuming his meal prep, he listened carefully until a definite stir prompted him to check the other room.

Wielding a knife covered in peanut butter, he tiptoed toward the source of the noise. He approached the couch and let out a shriek as a mass under the blankets shifted.

“Jesus Christ! You scared the sh*t out of me, Stan! What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to be in art history right now.”

“Sorry,” Stan muttered. “Don’t kill me with your… butter knife.”

“I thought you were a murderer or something,” Kyle mumbled.

“If you think there’s a murderer in the house, grab a real knife, babe,” Stan half-teased. “You couldn’t cut paper with that thing.”

“Why are you home?” Kyle moved to questioning as he sat down at his boyfriend’s feet. Some concern appeared on his face as he took in Stan’s pained expression.

“I kind of feel like sh*t. I went for a run and now my side hurts like hell.”

“You ate before your run again, didn’t you?” Kyle asked with a smirk.

“Well— yeah, but this feels worse than usual.”

“Dude,” Kyle laughed lightly, standing to retrieve a glass of water from the kitchen. Relief replaced his worry, as this was a common occurrence. No matter how many times Kyle told his boyfriend not to eat a meal before a run, he wouldn’t seem to listen.

“Here, drink this,” he instructed as he returned with the water. He planted a kiss on Stan’s forehead before handing over the beverage.

“I already drank a sh*t ton of water,” Stan whined. “It didn’t help.”

“Drink more. It will help.”

“I swear to god, I barely even ate anything. I feel like something’s wrong, dude.”

“Stan.” Kyle gave a sympathetic smile. “It’s not like I’m gonna make you go to class or tell your mom or something. You don’t have to say that.”

“But it seriously hurts like hell.”

“Side stitches suck, dude,” Kyle agreed, running his fingers through Stan’s hair.

“Can you give me a back rub or something before you go to class?” Stan requested, rolling facedown into a throw pillow.

“I have to leave for my next class in five minutes,” Kyle replied, though he did proceed to rub gently up and down his boyfriend’s back. “I don’t have time to f*ck,” he added with a sly smile.

“I just asked for a back rub…”

“When have back rubs ever not ended in sex?”

“When one of us is sick. Like right now.”

“You get side stitches all the time, dude. It didn’t stop you from going to that party down the hall last Saturday.”

“This one is way worse.”

“I know, everything feels worse when you’re supposed to be in art history class,” Kyle said before moving his lips to meet Stan’s. The redhead knew how much his boyfriend hated that class (and classes in general, for that matter) so it was no shock that he’d milk any excuse to skip out, especially when a little drama also came with a lot of extra attention from Kyle. It was adorable, the way Stan played up his ailments to be coddled.

“I have to go or I’ll be late for my organic chemistry lecture. It’s impossible to catch up if you miss anything, dude.”

Kyle stood up and headed for the door after giving Stan’s hand a light squeeze.

“I know,” Stan said quietly. “It’s okay.”

“I have office hours after my other two classes but I should be back by like 8:30, okay? We can go to Kenny’s party if you want. Something tells me you’ll be feeling all better by then.”

He offered a smile and a wave goodbye, then exited.

A few hours later, an exhausted Kyle traipsed back up the stairs to their third floor apartment. Office hours had run long, so it was pushing 9:30 at this point, but Kenny’s parties barely got started before midnight anyway, so there was nothing to worry about. A little extra down time wasn’t a bad thing for Stan either. With the additional time to recover and no art history class to avoid, he would surely be feeling as good as new. It wasn’t as though Kyle thought Stan was faking, but his boyfriend certainly had a flair for drama when he wasn’t feeling the best, especially when that played to his benefit.

“Stan?” Kyle called out as he entered.

He was met with dead silence. Peering around the living room, he discovered the couch had been abandoned, blankets strewn about but no sign of Stan.

“Babe?” he shouted a bit louder.

Still, there was no response. He extended his search down the hall, finding the bathroom empty, then finally entering the bedroom. He flicked on the lights and his heart dropped instantly.

“Ky,” Stan murmured, barely audible. He was curled up in fetal position on the bed, pale as a sheet and drenched in sweat. His face contorted in pain as he stared back at his boyfriend, visibly shivering.

“Stan, what the hell?” Kyle croaked out, rushing toward him. “What’s wrong?”

He pressed a hand to Stan’s forehead as he took a seat on the bed.

“Jesus Christ, you’re burning up.”

Kyle felt sick to his stomach. How had he been so stupid, to leave Stan all alone for nine hours when he said he didn’t feel well? He hadn’t felt feverish earlier, had he? Kyle was suddenly worried he hadn’t been paying enough attention. Clearly, something was very wrong, and it was his fault for not taking it seriously before.

“What doesn’t feel good, Stan?” He questioned again, panic rising. “Babe, you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

“I feel like I’m gonna die,” Stan muttered. “f*ck, dude, my side hurts like hell.”

“Which side?” Kyle queried as he brushed the sweaty hair back from his boyfriend’s face.

“Right,” Stan answered through gritted teeth.

“Oh god…”

“Kyle… I seriously feel like I’m gonna die.”

“Jesus, Stan, we need to get you to the hospital. Right now.”

“I can’t move.”

“We have to go,” Kyle insisted as he attempted to pull him upright. He quickly recoiled when Stan let out a miserable cry of pain. “I’m sorry, dude! sh*t, sh*t, sh*t! f*ck, Stan, do I need to call an ambulance?”

“Don’t call an ambulance,” Stan weakly protested, but his boyfriend was already dialing the phone. He sighed in mild relief when he realized Kyle hadn’t called 911, but rather was requesting reinforcements.

“Kenny!” Kyle cried into the receiver. “I need you to come over right f*cking now! Something’s wrong with Stan! I need to take him to the hospital and I can’t move him on my own!”

“You need to start lifting weights or something,” Kenny teased. He obviously didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, but his lighthearted attitude made Kyle’s blood boil.

“f*ck you, dude. I can’t move him because he’s in too much pain, not because— forget it, just get over here! Please!”

As soon as he hung up the phone, he sunk to Stan’s side again, gently rubbing his back.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he soothed.

“Kyle, your hands are shaking,” Stan said softly.

“Stop worrying about me. I’m the last thing you should be worrying about. This is all my fault.”

“No it’s not,” Stan mumbled, managing to place a comforting hand on Kyle’s thigh. “Baby, it’s not your fault.”

Kyle didn’t believe that for a second.

Luckily, it wasn’t long before Kenny arrived with Butters trailing behind him.

“You brought Butters?” Kyle asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, dude. I figured we might need extra help since you’re f*cking useless when you’re worried about Stan,” Kenny responded.

He proved not to be entirely wrong, as when the three boys carefully brought Stan upright, Kyle pulled back, releasing a cry of fear each time his boyfriend groaned in discomfort.

They managed to load Stan into Kenny’s car with only mild struggle. Kyle slid into the backseat beside him, refusing to let go of his hand for even a split second.

Turning around to face them, Butters gave a smile of pity. “It’s gonna be alright, Kyle.”

“Why the hell are you comforting me?” Kyle questioned.

“Well, gee, you look a whole lot more upset than Stan does…”

He likely wasn’t wrong.

Upon arrival, they cautiously assisted Stan in walking to the front desk, where the triage nurse took one look at his expression and immediately sent him to to an exam room. Kenny and Butters stayed back in the waiting room, while Kyle kept his fingers tightly interlocked with Stan’s.

Medical professionals breezed in and out of the room, running all manner of tests, but never forcing Kyle to release his boyfriend’s hand. He was lost in thought, imagining every possible horrid scenario, playing out the potential trauma in his mind over and over until a doctor caught his attention. Frankly, he was unsure how long he had been zoned out.

“It looks like acute appendicitis,” the doctor stated. “We’re going to need to take you into surgery immediately.”

“f*cking hell,” Stan groaned.

“Your appendix is more than doubled in size. If you had waited much longer to come in, it might have burst.” He gestured to Kyle. “Your friend here might have saved your life.”

“I’m his boyfriend,” Kyle corrected, tears already escaping his eyes. “Is he gonna be okay?”

The mention of him possibly having “saved Stan’s life” felt like a knife to the chest, because the truth was, he let Stan down. His boyfriend had explicitly stated that something felt very wrong, and he brushed it off like it was nothing. Why hadn’t he skipped class to look after Stan? Missing that organic chemistry lecture would have been nothing compared to this. He felt like an idiot for not staying glued to Stan’s side. In fact, he never, ever wanted to leave Stan’s side again.

“It’s a very routine procedure,” the doctor assured him. “It should only take about an hour, and in the meantime, you can join your other friends in the waiting room.”

Routine or not, Kyle hated the idea of his beloved Stan in surgery, under anesthesia, lingering between life and death. His stomach twisted into knots as he floated to the waiting room to find Kenny and Butters. The moment he spotted them, he burst into tears on Kenny’s shoulder.

“I should have brought him in sooner,” he sobbed. “What the hell is wrong with me?”

“Dude, what happened?” Kenny inquired, concerned. “What’s going on?”

“It’s appendicitis. He has to have surgery. If we had waited any longer to come in it could have ruptured. He could have died!”

“But you didn’t wait any longer,” Butters said gently. “You called me and Kenny and we got here before anything bad happened.”

“Before anything bad happened?! He’s in surgery, Butters! God, this is all my fault!”

“He would have had to have the surgery even if you came in earlier,” Kenny reminded him. “It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You brought him to the hospital!” Butters added cheerfully. “You saved his life, Kyle!”

“You know he wouldn’t have come here unless you made him. Don’t be so hard on yourself, dude.”

Kenny guided Kyle to a chair, where the latter let out a deep sigh, finally calming a bit.

“We’ll get you some water,” Kenny said, taking Butters’ hand into his own and leading him to a nearby vending machine.

The pair returned only a short moment later as Kyle was still simmering down, a few stray tears trickling down his cheeks. He shakily took in another deep breath after a long sip of water. Kenny and Butters flanked him, each placing a hand on his shoulder in support until the wait was finally over. As the doctor approached them, Kyle shot to his feet in an instant.

“The surgery went very well. Stan is in the recovery room now if you want to—”

Before he could even finish the sentence, Kyle was running in the direction of the recovery room. He continued his sprint, heart pounding in his ears, until he laid eyes on his boyfriend. Stan was peacefully sleeping, looking much calmer and healthier than he had all day in spite of just having gone through surgery. Gently stroking his cheek, Kyle leaned in to kiss him softly. Stan’s eyes opened as their lips lost contact, looking as though he longed for another kiss. The redhead complied with his tacit wish, pressing their lips together once more.

“Hey,” he said quietly as he pulled away to meet Stan’s eyes.

“Hey,” Stan replied, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat, then winced in pain. The movement seemed to bother the surgical site.

“Try not to move too much, sweetheart,” Kyle gently instructed. “How do you feel?”

“Better.”

“Thank god.”

“You’re crying again,” Stan observed.

Kyle hadn’t even realized there were tears falling from his eyes, but he brushed the wetness away nonchalantly when Stan pointed it out.

“I’m crying because you’re okay. I was so f*cking scared, Stan. I was terrified of losing you. I never, ever, ever want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Stan promised, flashing a soft smile.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you in sooner, Stan. I’m so sorry.”

His eyes welled with tears yet again.

“Ky… Baby…” Stan wiped Kyle’s cheek with his thumb. “It would have been stupid to bring me in earlier. I was, like, totally fine. It was just a little pain when you came home for lunch. I think maybe those side stitches I’ve been getting haven’t been from eating before my runs, though…”

A smile crossed Kyle’s tear-stained cheeks. “You think?”

“I guess I can eat as much as I want before I workout.”

“That’s still not a good idea, babe.”

“We’ll see,” Stan said with a smirk.

“Not for a while, though. You need to take it easy.”

“I’ll be missing a whole lot of art history class, huh? That’s a perk. I think surgical recovery beats art history any day.”

Kenny and Butters walked through the door, perhaps after the amount of time it would take someone to walk from the waiting area to the recovery room at a normal pace.

“I’m never leaving your side, dude, the whole time you’re recovering,” Kyle vowed.

“Not even to, like, get groceries or something?” Stan challenged.

“Butters can get our groceries,” Kyle suggested, gesturing to their other friends.

“Yeah, that’s alright,” said Butters. “Eric makes me get his groceries too. I-I can just get your groceries when I get his.”

Kyle smugly raised his eyebrows at Stan before smiling to Butters. “I’ll just Venmo you.”

“Oh, well that’d be real nice. Eric makes me pay for his with my own money.”

“No way in hell you’re gonna skip organic chemistry,” Stan shifted the subject back, still skeptical of Kyle’s promise.

“I am,” Kyle said firmly.

“Dude, you said it’s impossible to make up for anything you miss in that class. Your perfect GPA is everything to you.”

“No, Stan. You’re everything to me.”

Kyle meant it, too. He would give up his organic chemistry grade, or absolutely anything else to stay by his boyfriend’s side.

Chapter 3: Tradition

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Stan let out a deep sigh as he knocked on the Broflovskis’ front door. It wasn’t like his boyfriend to be late, nor was it typical for him to ignore messages.

That being said, under these particular circ*mstances, it wasn’t a huge surprise. He and Kyle had planned to ride to Cartman’s birthday party together, and the latter was never especially excited for any event their frenemy would be attending, let alone one dedicated solely to celebrating his existence. Fair enough; Cartman viewed his birthday as a free pass to make Kyle’s life a living hell. Nevertheless, attendance was an obligation.

There was some excitement surrounding the occasion though, at least for Stan, as he had just received his driver’s license— one of the first in his class to do so— and he was looking forward to showing off his new (old) car with his boyfriend in tow. They had agreed to meet up at Stan’s house an hour early, but Kyle never showed. He was dodging myriad texts and calls, too, so Stan was left with no choice but to show up at his door. Kyle was undoubtedly holed up in his room, grumbling about how annoying the day was sure to be.

Stan knocked again after receiving no answer. Gerald and Sheila were out of town for the weekend at one of Ike’s hockey tournaments, meaning Kyle was the only one home, and since he was apparently too grumpy to open the door, Stan decided he would have to utilize the spare key he was given for emergencies.

“Ky?” he called out as he crossed the threshold.

The house was completely silent.

Knowing exactly where Kyle would be hiding away, Stan followed a straight path to his bedroom. He crept in to find his boyfriend curled up in a ball of blankets. He appeared to have no intentions of getting up any time soon.

“Kyle, it’s 2:00,” Stan said blankly. “Why are you in bed? You were supposed to be at my house an hour ago.”

“Ngh,” Kyle moaned, keeping his eyes shut.

“We have to go in like ten minutes, dude, or we’ll be late.”

“I feel sick as sh*t,” Kyle whined.

“Ky, are you seriously doing this again?”

“Doing what?”

“Faking sick to get out of Cartman’s birthday,” Stan clarified with a smirk.

“f*ck.” Kyle rolled onto his back, dramatically covering his eyes with his forearm. “I forgot that was today.”

“Right.” Stan’s smile spread further across his cheeks. “You ‘forgot.’ You’re cute when you play dumb, but we really need to go. We’re supposed to bring the cupcakes, remember?”

“Then you go without me,” Kyle muttered as he compressed his body back into fetal position. “I’m not playing dumb. I feel godawful.”

Stan huffed out a laugh. There was no doubt in his mind that Kyle was, in fact, playing dumb. His attempts at feigning illness to get out of attending Cartman’s birthday parties were almost as much of an annual tradition as the festivities themselves. It all started when they were five years old, when Kyle dipped a thermometer in boiling water to “prove” he had a high fever. His mother only laughed at his alleged 215 degree fever, and it became the most-shared anecdote among the moms at Cartman’s party that year. Kyle was, tragically, still forced to attend.

“Stan, can you please turn the lights back off?” Kyle begged, sounding weak. “The brightness is making me f*cking nauseous.”

“Your acting has gotten better,” Stan lightheartedly remarked.

Upon further contemplation, he decided Kyle’s acting had actually been pretty good in the past, too. In fact, on Cartman’s tenth birthday, he had been so convincing that he only narrowly avoided being dragged to the hospital by his mother after playing himself off as lethargic with fever. It hadn’t helped that he still didn’t really have a good grasp on body temperature— though much better than his previous boiling water attempt— and he held his thermometer to a lightbulb until it displayed “106.5.” His mother’s sheer panic induced a confession just before he could be rushed to the emergency room and he ended up, once again, sent to the party.

Between sore throats and headaches and twisted ankles, though, he had found success in several other years. Stan would have guessed he had an approximate 2/3 success rate. Not bad. The previous year, when Kyle claimed a terrible toothache, everyone was fairly certain it was a ruse. Considering the events of the day before, however— Cartman had walked in on Stan and Kyle kissing for the first time— everyone thought it best to let Kyle get away with skipping the party. Cartman would have undoubtedly taken the taunting to a new level that Kyle wasn’t emotionally prepared for.

“I’m not acting,” Kyle mumbled as he pulled a pillow over his head.

“Of course you are,” Stan stated, still failing to suppress a smile. “It’s a tradition.”

Wasting no more time, he took Kyle’s hands into his own and pulled him upright, sending the pillow tumbling to the ground.

“Come on,” he encouraged once his boyfriend was in a seated position. He kept one hand interlocked with Kyle’s while the other landed between the redhead’s shoulder blades, and with enormous effort, he finally managed to bring him to his feet. Kyle swayed unsteadily until gripping tightly to Stan’s arm. Considering the added element of dizziness, Stan determined his original assessment to have been accurate; Kyle’s acting had definitely improved.

“Alright, dude, get dressed. Let’s go.”

“Stan—” Kyle started, moving a hand to his mouth.

“I know you don’t wanna go. Honestly, I don’t wanna go either, but you know we have to at least show up for a little while. We can leave early.”

“Stan.” Kyle attempted to pull away, but Stan refused to loosen his grip. “I’m—”

“You’re not getting back in bed, Ky.”

“f*ck— I’m gonna—”

As Stan opened his mouth to respond, Kyle turned his head away abruptly, losing the contents of his stomach across the floor. Stan’s eyes widened, guilt melting into his expression. His hand moved to rub his boyfriend’s back as he vomited onto himself and the ground.

“Oh, sh*t,” Stan said quietly. “Baby… you’re sick.”

Tears streamed down Kyle’s cheeks as nausea gripped at his throat, leaving him shakily gasping for breath when his stomach finally granted a moment’s pause. Stan held him closely, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder.

“Do you think you got it all out?” he softly questioned.

Kyle shook his head, tears stinging his tightly closed eyes. Stan steadied him carefully, guiding him down the hall and into the bathroom. He knelt in front of the toilet bowl just seconds before another wave of sick spilled from his mouth.

“Just let it out, it’s okay,” Stan soothed, running a hand up and down the curve of Kyle’s back while he retched. “You’ll feel better.”

After what felt like an eternity, his nausea seemed to mitigate slightly. He cradled his head in his hands, both exhausted and relieved.

“I’m gonna get you some water, okay, baby?” Stan offered, comfortingly running his fingers through Kyle’s hair before exiting.

While filling the glass, he couldn’t help but feel like the biggest asshole on earth. Not only had he accused his boyfriend of faking sick, but he forcibly extracted him from bed, leading him to throw up on his clothes and across his bedroom floor. At the very least, he was thankful the room wasn’t carpeted.

He stopped by the bedroom to collect a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before hurriedly making his way back to the bathroom. He found Kyle lying motionless, face-down on the floor.

“Kyle?”

An incomprehensible mutter served as Kyle’s reply, as his face was buried in the bathmat.

“You feel any better?”

“Mm-mm,” Kyle murmured, shaking his head. “Dizzy.”

“I’m sorry, Ky,” Stan said as he took a seat beside his miserable boyfriend. He helped Kyle upright, guiding him to lean against the bathtub for support. As he pushed the red curls back from Kyle’s sweaty forehead, his brows furrowed in worry.

“You feel hot,” he uttered, barely above a whisper. “You have a fever, Kyle.”

“I know,” Kyle mumbled. Visible discomfort was still painted across his face.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?” said Stan.

He assisted Kyle in sliding his shirt over his head, rolling it carefully so as not to drag the soiled material over his face, then promptly replacing it with the clean one. Offering a half-smile as a thank-you, the sick boy followed suit, removing his vomit-stained pajama pants in favor of the fresh sweatpants his boyfriend had presented. Stan subsequently dabbed Kyle’s face and mouth with a warm washcloth, flashing a sympathetic smile.

“Ready to go back to bed?” he asked.

“There’s no point,” Kyle bemoaned. “I’ll be running back here in like five minutes. I can already tell.”

“I’ll get you a bucket or a trash can or something. I don’t want you sleeping on the bathroom floor.”

Kyle nodded, instantly moving his hands to the edge of the tub in efforts of pushing himself to his feet. Stan, however, scooped him up bridal style before he had the chance to exert any more of his already-minimal energy. Burying his face in Stan’s chest, Kyle let out a satisfied hum.

Once the redhead was carefully tucked back into bed with a freshly-lined trash can on his nightstand, Stan made his way back to the bathroom in search of supplies. He collected a thermometer from the cabinet along with both acetaminophen and ibuprofen, as he really wasn’t sure what would be best for bringing a fever down. He didn’t know much of anything at all about medicine, so he hoped Kyle might be at least slightly more knowledgeable. That train of thought reminded him that he should call his mom as well. She would probably offer to make soup since Stan was hopeless when it came to cooking, and poorly cooked food was the absolute last thing Kyle needed. Besides, Stan would need to ask Sharon’s permission to stay overnight. There was no way in hell he was leaving Kyle alone.

He frowned as he returned to the bedroom to find Kyle slumped forward with his head sunken into the trash can.

“sh*t, dude, are you okay?” he asked.

Kyle nodded weakly, setting the can at his side and collapsing back into the pillows. Good thing Stan thought to bring replacement bags to line the trash can, as it seemed they would be going through them quickly. He hurried over to move it back to the night stand, setting the rest of his supplies there as well. Kyle smiled gratefully as Stan placed a cold, damp cloth across his forehead.

“Want some water?”

“I’ll try a little.”

Stan passed him the glass, keeping his own hands hovering beneath, just in case, as his boyfriend took a small sip.

“I’m gonna take your temperature,” Stan stated, holding the thermometer before Kyle’s mouth. Kyle rolled his eyes, but complied with the request. After a quiet moment of Stan gently rubbing Kyle’s shoulder, the thermometer let out a beep.

“102.7,” Stan read aloud. “That’s pretty sh*tty, dude. Maybe you should take something for that. I brought Tylenol and ibuprofen.” He held the two bottles up for display. “I don’t know what you’re supposed to take for this kind of thing.”

“I think either one is fine,” said Kyle. “But there’s no way in hell I can keep it down.”

Stan sighed. “Maybe later.”

He crawled into bed next to Kyle, carefully taking him into his arms. Kyle adjusted his head to rest in the crook of his neck, and Stan opted to ignore the irritating sensation of the wet cloth against his collar, as his boyfriend’s comfort was the only thing that really mattered right now.

“I called my mom,” he informed Kyle. “She’s bringing soup for dinner later.”

“I can’t eat,” Kyle groaned. “Maybe ever again.”

“You can have the leftovers tomorrow then, or whenever you feel up to it.” Stan pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I’m staying here with you tonight, okay?”

“Your mom is letting you sleep over while my parents are out of town?”

“Yeah.” Stan laughed a little. “It’s not like we’re gonna do anything when you have the f*cking plague.”

He looked down lovingly at Kyle, brushing strands of curly hair away from the washcloth.

“And I’d never leave you alone when you’re sick as hell, dude,” he added.

There was a short silence, filled only by the sound of their breathing.

“You— you haven’t actually been sick any of those other years, right?” Stan questioned. “I didn’t ever force you to go to Cartman’s when you were, like, dying?”

Kyle kept his eyes closed, but a grin crept across his cheeks. “No, dude, of course not. You didn’t drag me to Cartman’s with an impossible 215 degree fever, or anything else. I was always lying, obviously.”

“Thank god,” Stan said with a chuckle as he gently stroked Kyle’s cheek.

“I do think I feel a headache coming on for next year, though.”

“Kyle!”

“I promise I’ll tell you if it’s a fake one.”

“Deal.”

“So… you’re not going to the party today? Won’t Cartman be pissed?”

“f*ck Cartman,” Stan said with a smirk.

“I love you so much,” Kyle sighed dreamily as his face relaxed into a soft smile.

Chapter 4: Midnight

Chapter Text

“Ky?”

Stan rolled over in bed to shake his husband’s shoulder.

“Kyle,” he whined.

The redhead hummed in response, still half-asleep.

“I feel like sh*t,” Stan complained. “My throat f*cking kills.”

Kyle opened his eyes and turned over to face him, tenderly running a thumb across his cheek. His brows furrowed slightly as his hand shifted up to Stan’s forehead.

“You still feel warm,” he said softly.

Stan had been suffering from a nasty cold over the past couple days, and he was becoming less and less tolerant of feeling like sh*t with each passing hour. Kyle had to give him some credit, though, as he definitely seemed to be getting worse, too. Frequent sneezing had turned to coughing fits and fever, and now to a raging sore throat.

“My head feels like it’s gonna f*cking explode,” Stan bemoaned.

And, apparently, a terrible headache.

Kyle tapped the screen of his phone to find that it was midnight, and he let out a frustrated sigh. The time was no issue for Stan, as he would surely be taking another sick day tomorrow, but Kyle, on the other hand, had a 6am meeting. So much for getting a good night’s sleep.

“Do you want me to get you some ibuprofen?” he asked, audibly enervated.

“Yeah,” Stan murmured.

Shifting as close to Kyle as physically possible, Stan buried his face in his neck, wrapping his arms around him like a boa constrictor.

“I can’t get your medicine if you trap me in bed,” Kyle stated.

“I feel like death,” Stan continued to gripe.

“You know what helps with that?” Kyle gave Stan a peck on the forehead. “Medicine.”

Stan shook his head sharply, squeezing his arms even more tightly around his husband.

“You’re impossible, you know that?” Kyle rolled his eyes, smirking. “Alright, time to let go.”

He pried himself free with little effort in spite of Stan’s cries of protest. Luckily, illness seemed to have depleted his strength, as Kyle would have ordinarily struggled to escape the grasp of his cuddles.

“I’ll be back in like two seconds. Don’t be such a baby,” Kyle teased, pressing a kiss to his sick husband’s cheek.

Stan pouted in an exaggerated manner, practically asking for another eye roll from Kyle. The redhead made sure to turn away before a smile plastered itself on his face. He wouldn’t give Stan the satisfaction.

Once he made his way to the guest bathroom cabinet, where they kept all their pharmacy items, he giggled subtly to himself. He found it adorably hilarious, how Stan practically morphed into a new person when he had even the smallest ailment. A healthy Stan would hardly even recognize the clingy, whiny, snuggly, dramatic version of himself he was reduced to in illness.

Kyle successfully located their supply of ibuprofen as well as some tissues and cough drops. Though they lacked standard cough medicine, he found NyQuil, which would definitely do the trick. It was even better, in fact, since it would knock Stan out cold until morning. He would feel better if he got a solid night’s sleep, and Kyle would feel better at his 6am meeting if he got at least a semi-reasonable rest. That would be almost impossible if his husband continued hugging on him like it was their last-ever night together (however cute that may be).

After making one final stop to fill a glass with cold water, Kyle returned to Stan’s side. Stan instantly proceeded to paw at Kyle’s arm like a needy puppy, urging him back to bed.

“Give me one second, dude,” Kyle uttered. “For f*ck’s sake, I need to get this medicine in you before we cuddle.”

Continuing the trend of puerile behavior, Stan groaned in annoyance and crossed his arms defiantly.

“You want to feel better, right?” Kyle said in a tone one would use when speaking to a toddler.

Stan nodded begrudgingly, rolling his eyes at Kyle’s mockery.

“Then take the damn pills, dude.”

Kyle set three ibuprofen in Stan’s palm, subsequently offering the water to wash them down. Stan placed the pills on his tongue, but opted to open his mouth expectantly rather than taking the glass himself. Kyle chuckled softly, shaking his head, but he complied, carefully tilting a sip of water into Stan’s mouth. He used his thumb to wipe a stray droplet from Stan’s chin afterward, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry, should I have put this in a baby bottle for you?” he teased.

“My arms feel weak,” Stan defended himself with a sly smile. “It’s not my fault.”

“Poor little Stan,” Kyle continued to playfully mock.

“Hey, I’m the one who carried you up the stairs last time you were sick,” Stan reminded him. “Who was the baby then?”

“Dude, I was way sicker than you are now,” Kyle contended.

“How do you know?” Stan smirked. “You don’t know how bad I feel right now.”

“I literally passed out before you carried me upstairs. You took me to the f*cking emergency room later that night, remember?”

“That’s beside the point, dude.”

“How?”

“I don’t know, because… maybe— maybe you’ll have to take me to the emergency room later tonight.” Stan raised his eyebrows mischievously.

“Yeah, it might be the worst case of the sniffles the hospital has ever seen,” Kyle joked, unable to suppress a sly smile.

“f*ck off, it’s a really bad cold,” Stan argued through light laughter that soon morphed into a cough.

Kyle shook his head as he measured a dose of NyQuil into the cap.

“Here. You need to take this too,” he instructed.

“You’re drugging me with NyQuil?”

“Yep. It’s the only cough medicine we have, and you need to sleep anyway.”

“So I won’t keep you awake anymore?”

“Exactly,” Kyle said smugly, though he was still beaming at his husband.

Since Stan had claimed his arms were “too weak” to take the water glass himself, Kyle assumed the same rules would apply here. He moved the medicine-filled cap toward Stan’s mouth in a swirling motion.

“Here comes the plane!”

“Well now you’re just being a dick,” Stan said with an eye roll, attempting but failing to force down a smile. He swallowed the medicine, making a face afterward, then sticking his tongue out at Kyle.

“And you’re trying to say you’re not acting like a child?” Kyle said, raising one eyebrow.

“I figure I might as well embrace it at this point,” Stan replied, shrugging.

After huffing out one final laugh, Kyle climbed back into bed, opening his arms for his needy husband. Stan willingly entered the embrace, humming softly as he rested his head atop Kyle’s chest.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured.

To Stan’s surprise, he was still wrapped in the safety of Kyle’s arms when he awoke the next morning. He rolled over to face his husband, furrowing his brows in confusion.

“What time is it?” he questioned.

“Good morning,” Kyle said before pressing his lips to Stan’s. “How do you feel?”

“You’re gonna get sick if you keep kissing me.”

“Eh.” Kyle shrugged, smiling softly, then kissing him again. “We both know damn well I’m gonna get sick anyway.”

“What time is it, baby? Don’t you need to get to work? It’s light outside.”

“It’s 11:30,” Kyle answered. “I called in.”

“Why?”

“To take care of you. Obviously.” He moved his hand to Stan’s forehead. “You still have a fever. You won’t get better if you have to be up taking care of yourself.”

“I thought you’d want a break from my clingy, annoying ass.”

Kyle gently stared into Stan’s eyes for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

“I like it when you cling,” he said sheepishly.

Stan smiled warmly before closing the gap between them. As they laid there, locked in each other’s arms, Kyle hoped to himself that maybe, just maybe, Stan wouldn’t be feeling better tomorrow.

Chapter 5: Love

Chapter Text

Stan set his camping gear down as soon as he entered the apartment, disoriented by the buzz of excitement surrounding him. Sharing an apartment with three other people did make quiet days a rare treasure, but this was a new level. Loud music blared while Cartman arranged decorations and Kenny set out an array of liquors at the counter. How Kenny even got his hands on that much alcohol, Stan wasn’t sure. Maybe he finally got a fake ID, or his brother passed down an old one.

In the midst of the bizarre welcome — or lack thereof — Stan was beginning to regret rooming with Kenny and Cartman. Actually, he fully regretted it, and not just because they had parties constantly (which they did) but largely because he and Kyle craved a little more privacy. Around three months earlier, they had finally come to acknowledge that they were more than friends. They always had been, really, but now sophom*ores in college, they reached a level of maturity that gave them clarity; that’s what they told themselves, anyway. Realistically, they both had enough to drink one night to throw caution to the wind and act on their long-standing feelings. In spite of the way things started, though, what they had was real. The boys had never been happier.

However, with two other roommates, they didn’t have the luxury of freely living out a life together in their shared space. They weren’t quite ready to reveal their relationship to the world— specifically, to Cartman— so they kept their separate bedrooms, reduced to clandestine meetings, sneaking into each other’s arms once Kenny and Cartman were asleep. Often, they would rush home when they knew their friends were in class, when they could share a romantic lunch, openly holding hands across the table or kissing on the couch without judgment.

That train of thought led Stan to an important question.

“Where the hell is Kyle?”

“Huh?!” Cartman shouted over the music.

“Where’s Kyle?” Stan repeated, louder.

“WHAT?!” Cartman screamed instead of lowering the volume, the controls to which were right next to him.

“Hey! Stan, you’re back!” Kenny greeted as though he hadn’t even noticed Stan before. He was already drunk for sure. No doubt, he was a much better roommate than Cartman, but that boy really liked to party.

“Hey, dude,” Stan said flatly.

“How was camping with your dad?” Kenny asked absently, stumbling toward his friend.

“It sucked.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because my dad was there?”

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Kenny nodded, then finally gestured for Cartman to turn down the volume. Shockingly, their frenemy complied.

“Where’s Kyle?” Stan questioned again now that everyone could hear him.

“He’s running a little errand for me, but that’s really none of your damn business,” Cartman sneered. “He’s my servant today.”

“What?”

“He lost a bet again,” Kenny clarified. “We were playing cards last night and they really got into it.”

Of course they did. They always did. It was no surprise that Cartman won, either, because he always cheated at cards. Kyle knew that, but when Cartman got him riled up, he often agreed to irrational things, blinded by rage. Yet another reason why rooming with Cartman was a terrible idea.

“Jesus Christ,” Stan grumbled.

“Oh, don’t get all f*cking high and mighty,” Cartman retorted. “You’re just jealous that you don’t have a servant. As if you wouldn’t have Kyle on his knees for you if you could…”

The way Cartman phrased that particular taunt made heat pool in Stan’s cheeks. He hoped his face wasn’t as red as it felt. Luckily, the door flew open behind him, distracting his friends before they had time to ponder the implications of his blush.

“Here’s the ice,” Kyle croaked out, dropping two enormous bags at Kenny’s feet.

Stan winced at the scratchy quality in his voice.

“Why couldn’t you just use the goddamn ice maker on the fridge?” Kyle complained. “Those bags are heavy as sh*t.”

“Servants don’t ask questions, do they, Kyle?” Cartman jeered. “Now get your twink ass back downstairs. They just delivered three Amazon packages for me.”

“You couldn’t have told me that before I walked up four f*cking flights of stairs?!” Kyle yelled, then proceeded to cough aggressively into the crook of his arm.

“Ba— Kyle, dude, are you good?” Stan inquired, worry lacing his voice.

“Oh, hey, Stan,” Kyle quietly greeted.

Had he not even taken note of Stan’s presence until now? He did look pretty out of it, eyes glazed and unfocused.

“Get the goddamn boxes before I lose my sh*t, Kyle!” Cartman screeched.

The redhead let out a deep sigh, defeated, then exited without another word.

“Dude, has Kyle seemed alright today?” Stan asked Kenny.

“Think so,” Kenny slurred.

“He’s not sick? Why the hell was he coughing like that?”

“He’s faking,” Cartman declared.

“He seemed fine to me,” Kenny reiterated.

“Whatever,” Stan mumbled before gathering his bags and heading to his room.

As he was unpacking a while later, however, he was drawn back to the living room by the sound of another hacking cough. He walked down the hall to discover Kyle slumped over atop a stack of packages while Kenny and Cartman continued with their preparations, unbothered.

“Kyle…”

His boyfriend hummed in response, turning his head but neglecting to lift it.

“Unpack my sh*t, Kyle,” Cartman ordered. “We don’t have all goddamn day.”

Kyle seemed as though he genuinely didn’t hear his frenemy’s demands. The lethargy furthered Stan’s concerns, so he rushed across the room to examine Kyle more closely. He was sickly pale with lips dry and cracked, his face adorned by beads of sweat. Stan hurriedly touched the back of a hand to his forehead.

“Ky… holy sh*t, you’re burning up.”

“He’s faking!” Cartman asserted again.

Stan broke away from Kyle to face him.

“How the hell would he be faking this? You’re such a dick.”

“How the hell does anyone do anything, Stan?”

“…What?”

“You guys,” Kyle weakly interjected, “it’s fine.”

He attempted to lift the first box in the stack, but quickly lost his balance, toppling onto the floor.

“Oh my god!” Stan shouted. “Kyle?”

Rushing to his boyfriend’s side, Stan rolled him onto his back and breathed a sigh of relief upon discovering he was still conscious. Kenny poked his head into the room, alerted by Kyle’s thud against the ground, and though glazed by intoxication, his face displayed some concern.

“Kenny, get him some water!” Stan directed. “Get a wet washcloth too!”

Kyle let out a moan of discomfort, seeming to gain sudden awareness that he was on the floor.

“You’re okay, Ky,” Stan soothed. “Did you hit your head?”

“No,” he murmured. “Don’t think so.”

“Good. Thank god.”

“Stan, I don’t feel very good,” a dazed Kyle announced as if this was news to anyone.

“I know, Ky, I know. Jesus, you’re shaking. I’m taking you to bed, okay?”

Without hesitation, even in the presence of their other roommates, Stan swiftly took Kyle into his arms and headed for his own bedroom.

“Gaywad alert!” Cartman yelled. “God, you two are so gay for each other!”

Well, he wasn’t wrong.

Stan gently placed Kyle in bed, running fingers through his hair as the shivering figure settled in beneath the covers.

“I’m freezing,” Kyle whined.

“Do you want me to get you a sweater?” Stan offered.

“Can I wear your gray sweatshirt?” Kyle asked with doe eyes.

“Sure, baby. Of course.”

Stan retrieved the sweatshirt from his closet, then carefully slid it over his boyfriend’s head.

“I feel better already,” Kyle said with a slow blink and a soft smile. “It smells like you.”

He wrapped himself in a hug, soothed by the warmth and scent of Stan’s sweatshirt.

Only a moment later, Kenny entered with the supplies Stan had requested. He must have felt guilty, as he was thoughtful enough to bring along tissues and a thermometer as well. He set everything on the nightstand, spilling some of the water as he tripped over his own feet on the way there.

“Here you go,” he slurred, handing the cold cloth over to Stan.

It was almost as though he knew Stan should be the one to place it on Kyle’s head, like he knew they somehow belonged to each other. Trying not to think too deeply about the implications of Kenny’s behavior, Stan tenderly laid the washcloth across Kyle’s forehead.

“That’s really cold,” Kyle mumbled.

“You don’t have to use it,” Stan hurried to say.

“No, no, it’s nice,” Kyle sighed, letting his eyes close.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Kenny commented.

Stan raised an eyebrow. Did Kenny just happen to like the sweatshirt, or did he know it was Stan’s and know exactly why Kyle wanted to wear it? If he was gearing up to make some kind of accusation, Stan didn’t want it to be in front of Kyle. The poor thing didn’t need any additional stress.

“Kenny, can we talk in the hall for a sec?” Stan asked, crossing his arms.

“Sure.”

Stan wasted no time in pulling his friend out the door, closing it behind them.

“Why is Kyle in your bed?” Kenny inquired.

At a loss for words, Stan stared blankly for a moment. Cartman was still around the corner, preparing for the party… too close for comfort. For this conversation, he was far too close.

“I have a question for you,” Stan whispered, distracting Kenny from his previous line of questioning.

“Hm? What is it?”

“Are you f*cking stupid?”

“Huh?” Kenny narrowed his eyes, genuinely confused.

“How the hell did you not notice Kyle was sick? He looks and sounds f*cking horrible.”

“Dude, in my defense, I was already drunk when he woke up.”

“That’s not even really in your defense, dude.”

“And I had nothing to do with Cartman’s servant bullsh*t,” Kenny continued, eyes drunkenly trained on the wall behind Stan.

“I don’t f*cking care if you were involved or not. You just sat there watching Cartman boss Kyle around when he’s sick as sh*t. It’s f*cked up.”

“Why are you so upset? He’s fine now.”

“Because he’s my best friend?”

“Okay.”

“I wanna keep an eye on him while I study. That’s the only reason he’s in my bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And he was cold, so I gave him my sweatshirt,” Stan continued to defend himself, though only fostering the growth of suspicion. “It was sitting right there so it was just easier than going all the way to his closet for a sweater.”

“Okay,” Kenny said again, nodding.

“That’s all any of this is, dude.”

“Okay.”

“Can you f*cking say anything other than ‘okay’?”

“f*ck, dude. I’m really drunk.”

“Jesus. I need to just… go take care of Kyle.” Stan reopened the bedroom door. “We can talk about this later. Thanks for the water.”

In the privacy of his room once again, he sat on the edge of the bed, kissing Kyle atop his ginger curls.

“Doing okay?”

Kyle shrugged. “My head is pounding like hell.”

Stan gave a sympathetic hum, then planted another kiss on his cheek. The sensation of his skin was alarmingly warm.

“f*cking sh*t, Kyle… you’re seriously burning up.”

“I’m not surprised,” Kyle mumbled. “The room is spinning so bad.”

Stan reached for the thermometer. “I need to take your temperature.”

“You don’t need to do that—” Kyle tried to argue, but the device had already been pushed beneath his tongue.

Stan’s eyes widened as he read the number on the bright screen a moment later.

“104.2? Holy sh*t… Kyle… that’s not okay. Baby, no wonder you feel so f*cking horrible. We really need to get some medicine in you.”

“There’s some ibuprofen in my nightstand,” Kyle said weakly, pointing to the drawer.

Stan promptly retrieved three pills, the maximum dose allowed by the bottle, then handed them to Kyle. He sighed as he reached for the water glass at the side of the bed and carefully moved it to his boyfriend’s lips.Kyle accepted the sip, but stifled a cough as he swallowed the pills with some difficulty. Stan rubbed his back, brows furrowed in worry.

“It— it kind of… hurts to breathe,” Kyle complained between aggressive coughs.

As Stan was about to reply, the music from the living room increased in volume and cheers echoed through the halls.

“What the hell?” Stan said through gritted teeth.

Kyle groaned, pulling a pillow over his face to block the noise.

“I’ll be right back,” Stan assured him as he exited. “I’ll go shut them up.”

Much to his surprise, when he returned to the main space, so many guests were circulating that it was challenging to even find Kenny and Cartman. He traversed the living room in stunned fury until he bumped into a familiar face— Craig.

“Dude, have you seen Cartman?” he queried.

“No, I always avoid him,” Craig said flatly. “I hate him.”

“If you see him, tell him to f*ck off.”

Craig nodded. “That I can do.”

Stan continued his search, locating Kenny in the most obvious place— next to the spread of alcohol.

“Kenny! What the f*ck is this?”

“The party we’ve been decorating for all day,” Kenny answered plainly, clearly far more intoxicated than he had been last time they spoke— and that was really saying something.

He downed another shot of vodka.

“Jesus, dude,” Stan muttered. “I didn’t think I’d have to flat out tell you to cancel with Kyle as sick as he is. What the f*ck is wrong with you?”

“If I cancelled Cartman would make my life a living hell. You know that.”

That was true. Stan couldn’t deny it.

“If I can find that asshole I’ll tell him to end this bullsh*t myself. He can make my life hell all he wants, I don’t care.” Stan’s voice raised to a scream directed at the entire crowd. “Wherever the f*ck you are, Cartman, turn down the f*cking music and tell everyone to go home!”

“Booooooo, Stan!” Cartman’s grating voice rang through the bustle of the party, though he still wasn’t visible. “Everyone boo Stan, that goddamn narc is trying to shut down the party!”

A large portion of the crowd joined him in booing. Stan balled his fists in fury.

“I’m sorry, dude,” Kenny said, sounding genuine.

Deep down, Stan did know it wasn’t Kenny’s fault. He simmered down a bit. Cartman had put them all in impossible situations too many times to count, so he couldn’t really blame Kenny.

“None of these people give a sh*t that Kyle’s sick in the next room? Assholes…”

“They probably don’t know he’s sick.”

“So what the f*ck are all these people gonna think about me and Kyle hiding away in my bedroom this whole time?” Stan grumbled.

“They’ll think you’re f*cking,” Kenny said matter-of-factly before consuming yet another shot.

“What?!”

“Sorry, I think my filter died three shots ago.”

“Why would they— why would— Kenny, people can hear you!”

“They probably can’t, dude.”

“Kenny—”

Stan took him by the arm, pushing through the crowd, leading him down the hallway then finally into the bathroom, where he slammed the door for privacy.

“Ooh, what are you gonna do to me?” Kenny teased, raising his eyebrows seductively.

Stan wasn’t in the mood for games.

“Do you have something you wanna say to me, dude?” he questioned.

“Uhm, I guess you want me to say ‘I know you and Kyle are f*cking’?”

“I don’t— want you to— dude, what the— how the f*ck do you know that?!”

“You two aren’t as subtle as you think you are,” Kenny responded with a shrug. “I’ve seen you sneaking in and out of each other’s rooms in the night. I’m not stupid.”

“…How long have you known?”

“I don’t know, like a month?”

“A month?! What the f*ck, dude?! Does Cartman know?!”

“Hell no! You’d definitely know if Cartman knew, dude…”

“But you’ve known all this time and you haven’t, like— Why haven’t you been, like… ripping on us about it?”

“Ripping on you? Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s me and Kyle, and we’re— I don’t know, dude, I guess I thought you and Cartman would make fun of us.”

“Well it would be one thing if I thought you were just bending Kyle over the kitchen counter every time Cartman and I left the apartment…”

Stan rolled his eyes.

“But you guys are in love,” Kenny continued. “Why the hell would I make fun of you for that?”

“In love?” Stan’s eyes widened. “We’ve only been, like… a thing for a couple months. I don’t know if we’re—”

“Don’t be stupid.” Kenny smirked. “I was still in the living room one night and I saw you leaving his bedroom at 4am. I saw you kiss him goodnight, then twirl back to your room like a f*cking ballerina after he closed the door… I see Kyle walking around the apartment in your sweatshirts all the damn time, hugging on himself like he’s imagining your arms around him… A couple weeks ago when he helped you tie your tie, you guys just stood there grinning at each other like idiots for like 30 seconds before you even realized he was done. I swear to god, it was obvious that he couldn’t bear to pull his hands away from your chest, and you didn’t want him to… And those longing smirks you guys exchange when you think people aren’t looking? Those aren’t subtle either. You’re in love, dude. Accept it.”

Stan stood with his mouth agape. Kenny patted him on the back.

“Now go take care of your damn boyfriend.”

He exited with one more sly smile, and Stan followed him out the door. He floated back to his bedroom in a haze. As his eyes met Kyle’s again, he knew Kenny was right. He could hear it in every damn silence, how much he loved Kyle. The sweet scent of Kyle’s delicate red curls lingered in his dreams. The mere thought of crashing into Kyle’s arms carried him through his worst days. When it was cold at night, all he wanted was—

“What are you staring at?” Kyle interrupted his thoughts, beaming.

f*ck. He had to say something that sounded normal. He smiled back softly so the pause wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

“You’re just… my best friend.”

“Any news that isn’t 19 years old?” Kyle teased.

“You should have called me to come home when you started feeling like sh*t,” Stan quickly responded. “You needed someone to take care of you.”

“I felt fine until this morning. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. You f*cking keeled over, Kyle. You could have fallen on the stairs.”

“…I know,” Kyle said sheepishly.

“Why did you let Cartman bully you today, baby? You shouldn’t have been carrying his sh*t up and down the stairs when you’re sick like this.”

“You think I wanted to do that sh*t?”

“No, of course not. I just mean… you don’t have to do what he says just because you lost some stupid bet.”

“Dude, don’t you remember Scott Tenorman?” Kyle raised his eyebrows. “You think Cartman would let me off easy just because I have a little cold? No, Stan. Even now he’ll do something to spite me.”

“This is worse than just a cold. I think you have a bad flu or something.”

“So? Cartman doesn’t give a sh*t.”

“I won’t let him do anything f*cked up to you.”

“I’m not worried about me!” Kyle tried to exclaim, though his scratchy throat rendered the sound more of a squeak. “It’s you I’m worried about!”

“Me?” Stan questioned, addled.

“Cartman never does anything to the person he’s pissed at. He goes after the thing you love most.”

In a response probably confusing to his boyfriend, Stan’s lips curved into a soft smile, his eyes welling with tears.

“I’m… the thing you love most?”

“Of course you are,” Kyle said quietly but without hesitation. “f*ck, I’m— I’m so in love with you it drives me crazy.”

Apparently, his high temperature made him brave enough to make such bold statements without even a slight holdback. Perhaps his filter died three degrees ago. A darker blush came over his already-feverish cheeks, and Stan’s smile grew.

“You’re pretty when you blush, you know.”

“Yeah right. I look like sh*t right now,” Kyle grumbled.

“Not even, dude,” Stan argued, smirking. “I think fever flush looks good on you. And so does my sweatshirt.”

“Maybe you’ll let me keep it then.”

“As if,” Stan teased as he moved a hand to caress Kyle’s cheek. Gazing into each other’s eyes, they were silent for a moment.

“I love you too,” Stan finally said, heart fluttering at the words. “I know we’ve said we love each other a million times, like, as friends, but… I love you. I love you more than I’ve ever f*cking loved anyone, or anything.”

“Me too,” Kyle said softly.

Stan leaned in, kissing him deeply, and Kyle mustered the energy to wrap his fatigued arms around Stan’s neck. When they pulled apart for a breath, though, Kyle displayed concern.

“You’re gonna get sick…”

“I think I love you too much to give a sh*t,” Stan responded with a beam.

Kyle playfully rolled his eyes.

“Come snuggle,” he requested, patting the spot beside him in the bed.

His boyfriend willingly complied, climbing in and wrapping his arms around him.

“Baby, you’re still shivering,” Stan worriedly remarked. “You still feel just as hot as before. Is the medicine even helping?”

“I don’t know. I feel just as sh*tty as before. It might take longer to kick in.”

“f*ck. What else can I get for you? What do you need?”

“Nothing, Stan. It’s okay.”

“I should take your temperature again.”

“Whatever it is will just make you worry, sweetheart.”

“Maybe I should be worried,” Stan stated with concern in his voice, sitting up to get a better look at Kyle again.

“Can you just stay with me?” Kyle asked, barely above a whisper.

“Okay. But you have to tell me if you start feeling worse. I hate seeing you sick like this.”

“I will. I promise.”

Stan laid back down and Kyle rolled over to face him, melting into his embrace.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make them shut that f*cking music off,” Stan apologized.

“It’s okay,” Kyle said as his lips curled into a smile. “As long as you’re here with me. Everything’s better when I’m with you.”

Chapter 6: Birthday

Chapter Text

Kyle’s alarm blared in his ears, waking him from a fitful slumber. Was it louder than normal today? He pulled a pillow over his head to block out the noise.

Although 6:45am always seemed to come a bit too soon, today was far worse than usual. Kyle really hadn’t slept well the previous night. Something felt off ever since the evening before, a dull sense of nausea taunting him, but now his stomach was doing flips.

He decided he would go back to sleep. When it was nearing time for school, his mother would undoubtedly come to yell at him, but she’d find him on his sick bed and have no choice but to let him stay home. Unless his stomach’s betrayal forced him to do so, there was no way he was getting out of bed—

Wait.

No, not today. Kyle couldn’t miss school today of all days.

sh*t.

He forced his eyes open, and then came the headache. The light felt as though it was burning his brain, making the room spin like a top. The swirling sensation certainly wasn’t helping with the nausea. In spite of this, he laggardly pushed himself upright, groaning in discomfort as his stomach protested the movement.

He dressed himself in sweatpants and a t-shirt since anything with a tight waistband might have made him hurl on the spot. Though he made a habit of looking at least semi-presentable for school, this would have to do. Even in his comfiest clothes, he felt the urge to hunch over, clutching his aching insides.

As he brushed his teeth, he found that even the subtle minty flavor and the feeling of the toothbrush on his tongue forced him to bite back a wave of nausea. It was going to be a very long day, but there was no way in hell he could skip. This was too important.

He caught a glimpse of his pallid countenance in the mirror and winced. Though he looked awful with his lack of color and prominent eye bags, there was nothing he could do to conceal them. He sighed, then made his way down the stairs, hoping he could slip out the door without drawing his mom’s attention.

“Kyle!” Sheila exclaimed as he tossed on his coat.

So close.

“What, Mom?” Kyle asked weakly, deliberately turning away from her.

“I made pancakes, Bubbie.”

Great. The mere thought of breakfast made him want to gag.

“Oh, I’m— I already ate,” he lied.

“You already ate? When? I’ve been in the kitchen since 6:30, Kyle.”

“I got up early. I had to… study… for a math quiz.”

“Are you sure you had enough to eat? I hope you checked your blood sugar.”

“Of course I did,” Kyle grumbled. “I’m 15 for god’s sake, you don’t have to remind me to check my blood sugar every damn day.”

“Don’t get short with me, Young Man.”

f*ck.

It was hard not to be irritable when he felt like death, but taking an attitude with his mom never went well.

“Sorry. I’m sorry, Mom,” he backtracked. “I’m just really stressed about… that math quiz. I’m sorry.”

“Alright, then I won’t keep you. Just make sure you leave that attitude at the door when you get home, Kyle.”

“Yes, ma’am. I will. I love you.”

Phew, he really dodged a bullet there.

He rushed out the door, slamming it behind him before any further questions or comments could come his way. Though nagged by the feeling he was forgetting something, he proceeded to the bus stop. His legs were beginning to ache as he trudged through the snow, the blustery air worsening his chills. It wasn’t really cold enough to be shivering, so he tried his best to be discreet once his friends came into view.

“Hey, Ky,” Stan greeted as he approached.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” Kyle said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster, plastering a smile on his cheeks. He wrapped his boyfriend in a hug.

“Sick!” Cartman shouted. “Can you two assholes quit having gay sex in front of me?”

“f*ck off, Cartman,” Stan responded, tightening the embrace in defiance.

Kyle didn’t regret his decision to go to school in the slightest when Stan was holding him. There was no way he could stay home and refrain from celebrating, especially when this was Stan’s first birthday since they became a couple. It was bad enough that Stan had school on his birthday. He needed his boyfriend there to make the day at least somewhat tolerable. This wasn’t the day for Kyle to succumb to whatever was plaguing him.

When they pulled apart, however, the redhead came to remember how the bitter cold air nipped his feverish skin. He wished he was back in Stan’s arms, or better yet, back in bed. But today wasn’t about him. His perfect Stan deserved the perfect day.

“You’re really warm,” Stan remarked after kissing Kyle on the cheek.

Warm? That was ironic, yet not surprising.

“My little brother broke the knob on the heater at my house,” Kyle fibbed, keeping his eyes down. He didn’t want anyone to look too closely at his sickly expression. With his stomach tying itself in knots, he hoped to god he didn’t look as green as he felt. “It’s been like 80 degrees in there since yesterday.”

He forced a slight laugh to further diffuse any concern, but it seemed as though the efforts to hide his wan appearance were in vain. Stan neglected to reply, instead holding a pensive stare on his face.

“Ky, you don’t look so good,” he finally stated.

“Yeah, you look like sh*t,” Kenny added casually.

“He always looks like sh*t,” Cartman jeered.

For once, Cartman’s taunts were a welcome addition to the dialogue. Perhaps they would take attention away from Kyle’s illness.

Unfortunately, though, since Kyle lazily nodded in satisfaction instead of quipping a response, it only increased his friends’ suspicion.

“Baby, is your sugar low?” Stan queried, lifting his chin to get a better look at him. “I have a granola bar in my bag if you need it.”

When he raised the snack for display, Kyle shut his eyes and physically turned in the opposite direction. The sight of food was dangerous, threatening to stymie his control over his stomach.

Stan furrowed his brows in worry. “Dude, what’s going on with you?”

“Nothing!” Kyle denied. “Nothing.I just didn’t get any sleep last night. Look, the bus is here!”

“Kyle—”

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously, I’m just tired.”

He caught a glimpse of Stan and Kenny exchanging a shrug, then they filed onto the bus. Kyle took his usual seat beside his boyfriend, but immediately leaned against the window, closing his eyes instead of chattering like normal. As Stan’s hand made gentle contact with his back, he heard his friends exchange a whisper. They must have thought he was asleep.

“I’m worried about Kyle,” said Stan.

“I’m not,” Cartman replied. “If he’s meant to die today, who are we to alter God’s plan?”

“Do you think he’s sick?” Stan questioned, ignoring Cartman’s bullsh*t. “He’s really hot...”

“We already know you’re into dudes, Stan. No need to shove it in our faces.”

“Not like that. Jesus Christ. I mean he feels like he has a fever.”

“He probably would’ve stayed home if he was sick,” Kenny suggested.

“What if he came to school anyway because of my stupid birthday?” Stan pondered with concern in his voice, still rubbing Kyle’s back.

This was unraveling way too quickly. Kyle was already ruining the day for Stan. He needed to double down and really convince everyone he was fine. He needed to be more romantic, more attentive. Later, he would still be able to give Stan his—

“f*ck!” Kyle inadvertently exclaimed out loud, his eyes shooting open.

That’s what he forgot. Stan’s gift.

“What’s wrong?” Stan asked urgently. “Are you okay?”

The worry on his face made Kyle feel guilty, but this would all be worth it in the end. The day would only get better.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, I just… realized I forgot your gift,” he sheepishly confessed.

“Oh— baby, that’s fine.” Stan sighed in relief. “You scared me. I thought something was wrong.”

“Why would anything be wrong?” Kyle facetiously inquired, forcing a beam onto his face.

Thank god the bus came to a stop in front of the school at that moment, as his mouth was watering and his stomachache was intensifying. If he didn’t make it to a bathroom soon, and without Stan, his entire plan would fall apart.

“Dude, why are you walking so fast?” Stan asked as they made their way down the hall.

“I just wanna make sure we’re not late!”

“To homeroom? We’re not gonna be late. It’s the same time as always.”

“Yeah, well I— I— Oh, sh*t, I totally forgot my history book in my locker!” Kyle lied as they crossed the threshold to homeroom. “I better go get it!”

He couldn’t even keep the pained expression off his face anymore.

“You’ll have time to get it after,” Stan stated, confused. “Are you sure you’re good?”

“Y-yeah, I’m great. Just tell the teacher I’m here! I’ll be right back!” Kyle yelled over his shoulder, already sprinting for the bathroom.

He didn’t even have time to shut the stall door before a wave of vomit spilled from his mouth. Dizziness growing worse, he fell to his knees, clutching the toilet bowl with white knuckles. f*ck. He would need to wash his hands really well after this, but he had no choice. If he were to have let go, he surely would have toppled over.

“Are you alright in there?” a soft voice questioned from outside the stall as Kyle heaved again.

A tentative hand pushed the door further open, revealing Butters, who looked even more nervous than usual. He tapped his knuckles together anxiously — a habit he never outgrew — as he took in the pitiful sight before him.

“Gee, Kyle, are ya feelin’ sick?”

That was a stupid question.

“No, I feel f*cking amazing,” Kyle said sarcastically before the bitter taste of bile entered his mouth, then splashed into the bowl.

“Should I… get Stan or somethin’?” Butters asked.

“No!” Kyle sharply replied, spinning to face his friend.

He spun around way too quickly, losing his balance and collapsing into the wall. If he thought before that it was impossible to take a hard fall when you were already on your knees, he certainly didn’t now.

“f*cking hell,” he groaned, clutching his throbbing head. “Please don’t tell Stan…”

“O-okay, I won’t tell him,” Butters said quietly. His eyes were as wide as Kyle had ever seen them. Clearly, he was afraid of making things even worse now.

“Sorry I snapped,” Kyle muttered, letting his eyes drift closed. “That was sh*tty. It’s not like it’s your fault I’m sick or something.”

“Oh boy, that’s a relief, ‘cause if I did somethin’ to make you sick my parents would ground me for sure.”

Kyle just nodded.

“Are ya goin’ home?” Butters finally disrupted the silence.

Kyle straightened uncomfortably, drawing in a deep breath. Any color that had remained in his face drained rapidly as he leaned forward into the bowl, retching again.

“No—” he managed to croak out before his stomach clenched painfully.

“Isn’t it a little silly to stay at school when you’re feelin’ like this?”

“No, Butters,” Kyle answered, out of breath. “It’s Stan’s birthday.”

“Gee, but don’t you think Stan would understand if ya—”

“I’m not gonna change my mind,” Kyle said firmly as he wiped his mouth with a swathe of toilet paper. “That was the last time I’m going to throw up,” he attempted to convince himself.

“I-I don’t know if it works like that…”

“Just forget this ever happened. Okay? We need to get to history, dude. Come on, Stan will get freaked out if I’m late.”

Though Kyle was the one encouraging a speedy return to class, he struggled to stand until Butters offered an arm for assistance. He may have been too proud to say it, but he was grateful for the support.

Upon their arrival, Stan’s face fell immediately. Kyle regretted not looking in the mirror before exiting the bathroom. If his boyfriend’s expression was any indication, he must have looked significantly worse.

“Baby…” Stan uttered with concern as Kyle sat down beside him.

“What’s up?”

Kyle decided his best bet was to pretend not to know why Stan was worried. Playing dumb never really worked with Stan, but his options for deflecting the situation were limited.

“You’re sweating. f*ck, you’re so pale.”

Stan lifted his hand, presumably to press against Kyle’s forehead.

“I’m always pale,” Kyle teased, taking hold of the hand and guiding it away as subtly as possible. He gave it a light pat once it rested on Stan’s knee.

“Not this pale,” Stan said with wide eyes. “You look like a Victorian peasant child with the f*cking plague.”

From the row behind them, Cartman proceeded to laugh his ass off.

“Jesus, Stan. Thanks a lot.”

“No, dude, I— I’m just worried. Where the hell were you? You never came to homeroom.”

“…Butters.”

“Huh?”

Stan narrowed his eyes, probably wondering if his boyfriend was delirious. This lie was off to a terrible start.

“I… ran into Butters… in the hall,” Kyle continued, steadying to a more confident tone. “He had a nose bleed. That’s… why I missed homeroom. Right Butters?”

He whipped around to face the blond, who nodded rapidly in response.

“Y-yeah, that’s right,” Butters confirmed. “It was bleeding real bad.”

Stan sighed, skeptical. He was left with no more time for questions, though, as the teacher began the lecture.

They ended up watching some boring movie, which frankly served as a backdrop for half the class to nap, including Kyle. While it wasn’t unusual for students like Cartman or Kenny to sleep in class, this was something Kyle never did. His grades were far too important to him, and Stan knew it. When he jolted awake, he was met with a worried expression.

“Wha— hey,” he muttered, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the light.

As it turned out, the brightness wasn’t the only disorienting thing to take in. The room was empty with the exception of himself and Stan.

“Are you okay?” Stan asked plainly.

“I’m fine. Why?” Kyle murmured, trying his best to smile.

“Math starts in two minutes.”

“Dude, why the hell didn’t you wake me up when class ended?”

“I tried to wake you up, Kyle.”

“We need to hurry or we’ll be late.”

Kyle stood sharply, quickly gathering his things. Unfortunately, his churning stomach did not appreciate the change in position.

Mind over matter. He was fine.

“Kyle, can you please tell me what the hell is going on?” Stan beseeched. “I know something’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Don’t spend your whole birthday worrying about me, sweetheart.”

He walked speedily to the next classroom, strangely energized by his discomfort. Perhaps it was the sheer motivation to sit down again, as standing felt extraordinarily difficult. Even the subtlest movements made him want to purge his gut.

“I feel like I’ve been chasing you around all day,” Stan joked once they were seated, just in time for class to begin.

“Alright, put all your materials away,” the teacher instructed. “Pop quiz today.”

The students let out a collective groan.

Kyle pondered the irony of the situation. He had lied to his mother about a math quiz that morning, and now he was being forced to take one. It was a good thing the teacher allowed each student to drop their lowest quiz grade, because this was about to be a sh*tshow. After all, it wasn’t the easiest to solve math problems with your stomach tangling itself in knots and saliva pooling ominously under your tongue.

Mind over matter, he mentally repeated. Mind over matter.

While he tried to wrap his head around the first question, he could feel Stan’s glare on him. He probably looked every bit as nauseous as he felt at this point. Making a face was almost inevitable, as he could practically feel whatever precious little remained in his stomach trying to force its way up his throat. He swallowed hard then turned toward Stan, prompting him to look away.

“Everyone keep your eyes on your own paper, please,” the teacher warned.

Her reprimand was the least of Kyle’s worries. His throat stung, eyes welling with tears as his stomach seemed to squeeze in on itself.

Mind over— nope, that wasn’t going to work.

Kyle bolted out of his chair, hastily approaching the teacher.

“Dude, what the hell?” Stan whispered.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Kyle said urgently.

“We’re in the middle of a quiz,” the teacher replied, visibly shocked by his bold request. “Go back to your seat.”

“Please.”

“Kyle, I can’t let you—”

She was interrupted by the redhead falling to his already-bruised knees, throwing up into the trash can beside her desk.

“sh*t, Ky…” Stan said sympathetically.

He abandoned his paper, instead hurrying over to rub his boyfriend’s back. The teacher gave no protest. She must have felt guilty for denying Kyle a trip to the bathroom.

“It’s okay, don’t worry. Just let it out,” Stan soothed as another wave of sick fell from Kyle’s mouth.

He probably thought the redhead would be embarrassed to vomit in front of the class, but truthfully, he felt far too ill to care. Tears poured from his eyes as he heaved dryly, throat burning more with every retch.

“Can I take him to the nurse?” Stan inquired.

Kyle’s stomach finally relented. He leaned into Stan’s touch, gasping for breath.

“Go ahead,” the teacher said with a nod. “Be back as soon as you can.”

Stan carefully guided one of Kyle’s arms around his own neck, taking gentle hold of his hand. He wrapped his free arm around his boyfriend’s waist and pulled him upright. With slow steps, they made their way down the hall, out of the view of their murmuring classmates. What Stan had really wanted to do was sweep Kyle off his feet and carry him to the office like a knight in shining armor, but he resisted the urge. He knew the kind of mockery Kyle would face from Cartman if that were to happen in public.

With a deep sigh, Kyle let his exhausted form collapse onto the bed in the nurse’s office. He must have been in some kind of fevered trance while Stan led him there, because the last thing he really remembered was burying his face in the trash can.

“Is she calling my mom?” he weakly asked Stan, who was staring with concern in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Stan answered, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Just try to rest.”

“I’m so sorry, Stan,” Kyle muttered.

“What? What are you sorry for?”

“I ruined your birthday.”

“Baby, no…”

“Your mom is on the way to pick you up,” the nurse interrupted them. “Thanks for helping him get here, Stanley. You should head back to class now.”

Stan looked guiltily at Kyle as the redhead tried desperately to blink away his tears.

“I’ll come check on you later, okay?”

“You don’t have to,” Kyle said, sniffling. “You should do something fun. I ruined enough of your day already.”

Stan shook his head, then planted a kiss on Kyle’s forehead.

“I’m coming to see you, Kyle. I want to.”

He squeezed Kyle’s hand in reassurance before exiting.

Nevertheless, Kyle didn’t expect to see him later. He would surely opt to play basketball with the guys at the park, or maybe play some video games with Kenny. No one wants to spend their birthday caring for the ill.

On the drive home, Kyle avoided eye contact with his mother as much as possible. He leaned against the window, tightly closing his teary eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me you felt sick, Bubbie?” Sheila questioned.

Apparently feigning sleep wasn’t enough to quell her inquiries.

“I don’t know,” Kyle fibbed. The truth was shameful to explain when he had failed so miserably. He wanted to give Stan the perfect birthday, but all he had done was spark worry and create a scene. Now, his boyfriend was still left to spend the rest of the day without him. It was all for nothing. He hadn’t even made it to lunch. It was pathetic, really.

He flopped facedown on the couch as soon as they got home. In his state of disappointment and embarrassment, he would have preferred the solitude of his room, but he wasn’t convinced he could even make it up the stairs. He drifted off in an instant, fading away to forget his sorrows and the painful sensation in his stomach.

A while later, a gentle touch pulled him from sleep. He could tell a significant amount of time had passed since he last awoke to get sick, as the light shining from the windows was much dimmer.

His eyes peeled open to find Stan petting the red curls back from the sweaty mess on his forehead.

“Hi, baby,” he said softly. “How do you feel?”

“Like sh*t,” Kyle admitted, voice muffled by the cushion beneath his cheek.

That was quite possibly the first honest thing he had said all day.

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” said Stan.

“What are you doing here?”

“I told you I was coming over, dude. Did you think I wouldn’t come?”

The heartbreak was evident in his voice at the notion that his boyfriend would ever think he’d break that promise.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle uttered, barely above a whisper.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but for some reason, he felt like an asshole.

“Hey,” Stan soothed. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

He pressed the back of his hand to Kyle’s forehead, then to his cheek, brows furrowing in concern.

“You have a fever. You should take something for that, Ky.”

“I tried to take a Tylenol, but I threw it up. Then I took another one and threw that up too.”

Stan opened his mouth to respond.

“I tried a third time, dude, and you can f*cking guess what happened,” Kyle added.

“Oh, baby… you’re really sick,” Stan quietly remarked.

Kyle hummed in response, burying his face in the pillow again.

“Why the hell did you come to school today, Ky?”

“Why do you think?”

“I know, but Butters told me you were throwing up all morning. I hate that I wasn’t there to comfort you and you didn’t even think you could tell me.”

“I wanted today to be perfect.”

“Not every birthday can be perfect.”

“Well, I wanted this one to be. I don’t know what the hell else to say. Now I’m just making everything even worse.”

“No you’re not, Ky.”

Stan placed a hand on his back, gently rubbing.

“You should go hang out with Kenny or something,” Kyle suggested, choking back tears. Fevers had the tendency to make him emotional, and it was embarrassing as hell “Do something fun so I don’t f*ck up your entire birthday.”

“I don’t wanna hang out with Kenny,” Stan responded. “I’d rather be here with you.”

“Really? Because I’m gonna throw up again in like 30 seconds, dude,” Kyle groaned.

The feeling was unmistakable — his stomach was about to betray him again. Always such inopportune timing.

To his surprise, Stan didn’t take the out, but rather reached for the bucket on the floor, placing it in Kyle’s arms and taking a seat beside him on the couch. He moved his hand slowly up and down between Kyle’s shoulder blades, poised and ready to offer comfort while the redhead lost whatever remained in his stomach.

“I’d rather be sitting here, watching you throw up, than be anywhere else. I’d turn down, like… a f*cking Broncos game, with Kenny or Cartman or anyone…to be here with you, Ky.”

“You really enjoy my suffering, huh?” Kyle teased, though he couldn’t force a smile through the nausea gripping at his throat. “Or maybe you just hate our friends more than I thought.”

“No, dude, neither,” Stan replied, running his fingers through Kyle’s hair.“I just love the hell out of you.”

Chapter 7: Guest Room

Chapter Text

The bed felt cold. Not only because a snowstorm had blown through the night before and their heating system wasn’t the best, but because Kyle was waking up in the guest room.

f*ck.

It was all so stupid, how a dumb comment could turn into a massive 2:30am argument. Kyle pondered how the cover of night had made it so easy to say things he didn’t mean, things he winced at the mere thought of in the light of day. He regretted every word, and even more so, regretted stomping out to sleep in the other room instead of sticking around to resolve the conflict. At the time he had been so exhausted, so hurt by words his fiancé spewed at him — ones he probably didn’t mean either — that he couldn’t take it anymore. It was one of the worst fights he and Stan had ever had, and he just wanted to escape it all. It wasn’t as if did him any good, though. Crying himself to sleep in the lonely guest room bed wasn’t exactly the kind of solace he craved.

Kyle was never one to laze around in bed until 11am, but truthfully, he was afraid to get up and face reality.

No, he wasn’t afraid. He was f*cking terrified. He was completely and utterly mortified. Stan was everything to him — the love of his life, his super best friend, his biggest supporter, his pride and joy. He had been a complete asshole to the person who made his life worth living. What if Stan decided he’d had enough of Kyle’s bullsh*t? f*ck, what if he wanted to call off the wedding? If Kyle lost Stan, the sun wouldn’t rise anymore.

Finally working up the courage, Kyle forced his torpid figure out of bed. There wasn’t much to look forward to that day, obviously, considering the events of the previous night, and to add insult to injury, the snowstorm had ruined Kyle’s plans of going to his parents’ house to celebrate their anniversary that evening. Even if the plows came through, there was no way in hell he would manage to shovel out the driveway. The massive coating of snow made that virtually impossible.

However, when Kyle glanced out the window, he was shocked to see the driveway half-cleared of its snowy blanket. In an even more surprising turn of events, Stan was the one shoveling. He hadn’t planned to leave the house that day, so was he doing all that work for Kyle? After everything that had happened, was he really putting in that much effort just because he knew how much the anniversary dinner meant to his fiancé? There was no way. Maybe Stan was trying to leave him. Perhaps he was so desperate to abandon Kyle that he’d willingly spend hours performing physical labor in zero degree weather to create an escape route. Yep, that was definitely it.

Kyle made his way downstairs, curious to hear Stan’s rationale when he came inside. He made himself a cup of tea and took a seat, waiting patiently on the couch.

The wait was long, though, and Kyle suddenly jolted awake to find he had drifted off for nearly two hours.

sh*t. What if he was too late?

He rushed to the window and his heart sank when he caught no sight of Stan. He definitely would have heard him come inside, so maybe he really had just left without a word.

But wait — he couldn’t have driven off. A large patch of the driveway was still blocked.

Kyle’s stomach dropped as he noticed a figure in a blue and red hat sitting limply on the ground, leaning against the snowbank. He ran outside in his socks and pajamas without a thought in his mind.

“Stan!” he nearly screamed.

Stan lazily looked toward him, humming in confusion.

“What the hell happened, Stan? Are you okay?”

“Mm-yeah…” Stan murmured. “Why are you in your pajamas?”

“Why are you sitting on the ground in the f*cking snow?” Kyle one-upped him.

“I’m— I think I— dude, where are we?”

Stan looked around, addled, then proceeded to practically cough up a lung.

“We need to get you inside, Sweetheart,” Kyle said with concern in his voice.

He carefully guided Stan upright, gripping his freezing cold hands. What the hell was he thinking, shoveling snow without gloves on? He stumbled a bit along the way, disoriented and clearly relying on the arm around his waist for balance. His breathing was alarmingly slow and shallow. This wasn’t good.

“Stan, what happened?” Kyle urgently queried once Stan was situated on the couch. “Did you fall? Are you hurt?”

He removed Stan’s snow-covered hat and coat, promptly searching for every blanket he could get his hands on. The intense shivers were glaringly apparent once Stan’s coat was off. Kneeling to meet his eyes, Kyle tightly wrapped him in a blanket cocoon.

“Stan. You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“I-I… don’t know… what happened,” Stan uttered. “I don’t feel that great.”

His eyes were glazed over, not quite holding focus on Kyle’s.

“I was trying to… clear the driveway… I was shoveling and then I just— then you were yelling my name.”

“You don’t remember hitting your head or anything? You didn’t hurt yourself?” Kyle continued to question.

“I think I was dizzy. I didn’t think it was that bad,” Stan said before coughing aggressively. “I sure as hell feel dizzy now.”

“sh*t, Stan. It’s below zero outside. You shouldn’t have been out there.”

“I’ve been shoveling every day, dude,” he could barely manage to reply through his coughs.

“I know you have. I think you’re sick from being out in the cold too much. Did you feel okay this morning?”

“I already kind of felt like sh*t,” Stan confessed.

Kyle sighed then placed his hand on Stan’s ice-cold cheek, gently stroking with his thumb.

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed. “You’re freezing. Lie down, okay? I’ll make you some tea.”

He rushed to the kitchen, returning after only a brief moment with a hot cup of tea in hand. Stan had followed his instructions, now reclining against some small throw pillows, buried under the extensive pile of blankets.

“Here you go,” said Kyle, sheepishly handing Stan the beverage. “Sorry… you probably don’t… want me taking care of you.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you taking care of me?” Stan asked before shakily sipping the tea. He coughed hard again, making Kyle wince.

“Because you probably… hate me?”

Stan sneezed, then tilted his head curiously.

“Hate you?” he repeated back.

Kyle took a seat on the far end of the room and Stan furrowed his brows at the increased distance between them.

“Why else would you have been trying so hard to leave?” Kyle inquired, tearing up a bit. “You were so desperate to get the hell away from me that you spent hours shoveling out the driveway in the freezing cold.”

“I told you wasn’t going anywhere today, Ky,” Stan stated, confusion still painted on his face. “Why would you think I was trying to get away from you? Because of that stupid fight?”

He huffed out a laugh, but not in a sneer. He looked genuinely amused. Kyle wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“It’s not funny,” he muttered as a tear crossed his cheek.

“Baby…” Stan said softly, attempting to push himself upright.

Kyle quickly crossed the room to guide him back down. He shook his head, pulling the blankets back up to Stan’s neck.

“Don’t get up,” he said gently. “You should rest.”

Stan coughed and sneezed several times consecutively, proving his fiancé’s point.

“Baby, I’m not upset about last night,” he said in a raspy voice. “I mean, f*ck, I started it by hurting your feelings. I honestly had no right to be pissed at you for getting mad about my asshole comment.”

“But… but all the sh*t I said about—”

“Ky, it was the middle of the damn night. We were both tired as sh*t and I was just… off. I already felt like total crap. I didn’t mean any of the sh*t I said. I mean… did you?”

“…No,” Kyle quietly replied. “No, of course not.”

Stan wrapped his chilled fingers around Kyle’s hand, prompting the redhead to breathe warmth onto them.

“Did you seriously think I would just leave you because of one stupid fight?”

“People aren’t very forgiving,” Kyle said with a shrug, eyes trained on the ground.

“Baby, it’s me. Our entire lives, have I ever abandoned you?”

“Well, no, but I— I definitely didn’t think you’d be clearing the driveway for me after I acted like such a f*cking asshole.”

“I was a dick too. And I know your parents’ thing is important to you… I still love you even when I’m pissed at you, Ky.”

“Maybe I don’t deserve it,” Kyle mumbled.

“All couples fight, dude,” Stan replied. “Even us, even though we’re perfect.”

He smirked, but Kyle couldn’t quite bring himself to smile back yet.

“I guess I thought you’d think I was f*cking crazy for overreacting like that.”

Stan raised his eyebrows.

“Baby… I know who I’m marrying,” he lightly teased. “Every time you overreact about something it just… reminds me how much you care. It makes me love you even more.”

Finally, a smile crossed Kyle’s cheeks.

“I love you, Stan. I love you and I’m… so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” Stan said weakly.

His eyes closed tightly, and Kyle suddenly came back to center, taking notice of his fiancé’s shivers and shallow breathing once again.

“You’re not breathing right, Sweetheart,” he remarked. “You’re scaring me.”

“I just feel… really cold,” Stan croaked out.

“I can make some soup to warm you up,” Kyle offered. “Do you want soup?”

“Okay.”

Kyle hurriedly heated a can of soup in the microwave. Though he occasionally made homemade soup, in this situation he thought it best to prioritize time by Stan’s side over a quality meal.

When he returned to the living room, Stan was still hacking up a lung and visibly shivering under his heap of blankets.

“Here,” Kyle said, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

He moved a spoonful of soup to Stan’s mouth. The latter gratefully accepted the bite, but offered a small smirk.

“I can feed myself, you know,” he commented.

“You need to stay warm,” Kyle replied. “Keep your arms under the covers. Just let me take care of you.”

Stan nodded in agreement, allowing the redhead to feed him the entire bowl.

“You know what would help warm me up?” Stan started as Kyle moved the empty bowl to the coffee table.

“What do you need, Sweetheart?” Kyle questioned. “Anything.”

“Cuddle with me.”

Stan lifted one side of his blanket pile, and Kyle slid in beside him without hesitation. His freezing cold skin was a shock to Kyle’s system, but he didn’t mind giving up some of his body heat for Stan.

“I missed sleeping next to you last night,” Kyle said before pressing a kiss to Stan’s forehead. “I never wanna set foot in that f*cking guest room again.”

Wrapping his arms tighter around his fiancé, Stan looked up to meet his eyes.

“We’ll get rid of the bad memories,” he said.

“Maybe we should just burn the whole room down,” Kyle joked.

“Nah. When I’m feeling better I’ll take you into the guest room and make you forget last night ever happened.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows, laughing lightly.

“I’m serious,” Stan continued, though his expression was playful. “It’ll be all you ever think about from then on when you go into that room. You’ll forget all about the fight. You’ll forget your own f*cking name.”

“Jesus, that’s a bold statement from someone who’s couch-ridden,” Kyle teased. “Are you delirious?”

“I might be,” Stan responded, chuckling.

“Your breathing sounds better though.”

“It feels a little better, especially now that— wait, Baby, do you have to leave for your parents’ house soon?”

“I’m not going,” Kyle stated, looking at Stan as if he were crazy for suggesting it. “You’re not feeling up to it.”

“You can still go…”

“And leave you alone? No. I’m staying here with you.”

“No, you’re not,” Stan argued. “That party is important to you.”

“Well, now you’re sick and I’m not leaving your side,” Kyle said firmly. “I can go to my parents’ any time.”

“I’ll be fine on my own, Ky.”

“You won’t take care of yourself, Stan. You’ll get up and try to be productive and I’ll find you in another pile on the floor when I get home.”

“Jesus Christ, you know me too well,” Stan remarked, laughing a little.

“I’m staying. Don’t even bother trying to argue with me.”

“Okay, okay. Fine.”

Stan moved the hand he had wrapped around Kyle’s waist up to lay on his chest, then planted a kiss on his shoulder.

“And Kyle?” he continued. “You don’t ever, ever have to worry about me leaving you. You’re stuck with me forever. I promise.”

Kyle gave his fiancé a warm smile.

“You’re stuck with me too,” he said softly. “Which is why there’s no way in hell I’m going to that party.”

They tightened their embrace, Kyle rubbing Stan’s back as he released another cough.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Stan answered after clearing his throat.

“Okay, good.”

“So… you won’t be pissed if you have to miss the party for me?” Stan asked hesitantly.

“Hell no,” Kyle confidently replied. “I’d rather cuddle with you any day.”

Chapter 8: Sappy Bullsh*t

Chapter Text

Stan stared off into space as the bustling crowd shifted around him. Holiday music served as a gentle backdrop for the the annual Marsh Family Christmas Party, intermixed with echoes of guests laughing and talking. Drinks were flowing and food options were abounding in the decorated kitchen space, but Stan was making every effort to avoid engagement. Family events were a headache when his husband wasn’t there to act as a buffer.

Where the hell was Kyle anyway? It was pushing 9:30 at this point, and really, if anyone should have been late, it was Stan. He was the one who had to take a cab from the airport, rushing directly to his parents’ house after a week-long business trip. Kyle was only making the usual 45 minute drive from home. That was easy enough, wasn’t it? Stan couldn’t wait to give him sh*t about it. The redhead never hesitated to do so when the tables were turned — which, admittedly, was far more often.

Headlights reflecting on him through the window, Stan huffed out a laugh as he spotted Kyle’s car coming up the driveway. He meandered through the crowd to wait for him in the entryway. However, as he watched Kyle trudge through the snow, Stan’s smugness quickly transitioned to concern.

His husband was shivering in the cold in spite of his bundled clothing. His eyes looked unfocused, too — their usual bright, energetic appearance was replaced by a dim and sickly glaze.

Stan swung the front door open to greet him.

“Ky, are you feeling okay?” he immediately questioned.

“I’m fine,” Kyle replied as he crossed the threshold. “I’m totally fine, dude.”

That was clearly not the case. Kyle was sniffling already and terrible congestion was evident in his voice. It was so severe, in fact, that his words were almost difficult to decipher. Upon closer inspection, Stan observed that his nose and upper lip were a painful shade of red from the chafing of tissues. Kyle was obviously unwell.

“Why do you ask?” Kyle added before coughing into the crook of his arm.

Oh, so he wanted to play that game.

It all made sense to Stan now, why Kyle had been avoiding his calls and opting only to communicate via text over the past two days. He knew Stan would immediately hear the rasp in his voice and the congestion clogging his tone. Did he really think he was going to be able to keep it a secret?

The whole charade wasn’t a surprise, truthfully, because the redhead was always in complete denial of any illness that plagued him, but this was ridiculous. Who drags themselves to a Christmas Eve party when they’re evidently sick as sh*t?

Stan answered that question in his mind — of course Kyle would do that. This was the same Kyle who showed up to school on Stan’s 16th birthday with no regard for the fact that he was suffering from a miserable case of the stomach flu.

As they say, history repeats itself.

“Baby, I can tell you’re sick just by looking at you,” Stan said flatly. “The skin around your nose is all f*cked up and you sound congested as hell.”

“It’s not that bad, Stan,” Kyle contended.

“Oh? Then why did you just call me ‘Stad’?” Stan teased, smirking.

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m ‘dot fuddy’?”

“You’re being an asshole,” Kyle said glumly.

His face genuinely sunk, which sent a pang of guilt to Stan’s stomach. Maybe he was pushing too hard. He moved to wrap his husband in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Ky,” he whispered. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

He led Kyle by the hand and unfortunately, they caught his fathers attention as soon as they entered the kitchen.

“Oh, there he is!” Randy exclaimed to someone standing near him. “That’s Stan’s husband.”

“Hi, Mr. Marsh,” Kyle weakly greeted.

“I was starting to think you two were getting a f*cking divorce or something; Stan showing up in a cab with those suitcases and you nowhere to be found…”

“Jesus, Dad,” Stan grumbled. “I told you I was on a business trip.”

“Yeah, and I thought you were a f*cking liar,” Randy calmly stated.

Stan and Kyle let out a collective sigh. Randy had obviously had one too many glasses of wine already.

“It was good to see you,” Kyle muttered.

They attempted to make their escape, but Randy roped them in with another question before they got very far.

“What’s wrong with you?” he pried, pointing to Kyle’s face. “I didn’t know Stan was bringing along Rudolph the f*cking Red-Nosed Reindeer.”

He laughed hard, seeming to hope others would join in. They did not.

“Oh, grow up,” Stan uttered with an eye roll.

“It’s just allergies,” Kyle said as his husband led him away, this time refusing to look back for anything.

Stan handed Kyle a glass of water as the latter sunk into the sofa. He nodded in thanks, then consumed a long sip. As he pulled the glass away from his mouth, he entered a hacking fit, making Stan cringe at the rattling sounds in his chest.

“That doesn’t sound like allergies,” Stan said once Kyle caught his breath. “Let’s go home. We don’t have to be here.”

“It’s your family Christmas party,” Kyle croaked out. “We have to stay.”

“It sounds like it hurts to talk,” Stan remarked. “Does it hurt to talk?”

“No,” Kyle answered, though it was more than likely a blatant lie.

The redhead coughed aggressively again, audibly struggling to breathe between bouts. Stan worriedly held a gaze on him, moving closer as he took notice of his flushed cheeks. Kyle leaned back in exhaustion after finally returning to a normal pattern of breathing. Stan placed a hand on his forehead.

“Baby, you’re burning up,” he stated, brows furrowing in concern. “We’re going home.”

“No! Stan, don’t be f*cking ridiculous, we haven’t even talked to anyone yet. We’re staying.”

Kyle sneezed several times in a row, then winced. The force of the sneeze probably aggravated his sore throat.

“We’re staying,” he shakily reiterated.

“Hell no we’re not,” Stan declared. “Come on.”

He grabbed Kyle by the hands, pulling him upright.

“Come on,” he repeated as he dragged his husband toward the door.

“Where are you two headed?” Sharon asked.

“Kyle’s sick,” Stan responded. “I need to get him to bed.”

“Oh dear, you poor thing,” Sharon cooed.

“I’m fine,” Kyle interjected in a squeak. “I don’t need to go to bed. Stan’s making it sound like I’m a preschooler.”

“You sound awful…”

“See?” Stan exclaimed with smug emphasis.

Kyle narrowed his eyes but neglected to respond.

“Get lots of rest, sweetie,” Sharon advised.

“We don’t have to leave,” Kyle attempted again, but the others seemed to have a mutual agreement to ignore him.

“I’ll see you later, Mom,” Stan bid farewell as he pulled Kyle out the door. “Merry Christmas.”

The drive home was dead silent, Kyle bitter about the events of the evening and ensuring that his husband knew it. He crossed his arms and faced the window, only disrupting the quiet with an occasional sneeze or a stifled cough.

Pulling into the garage, Stan sighed in frustration.

“Why are you mad at me, dude?” he finally dared to ask.

“I’m not mad,” Kyle replied. “I just feel like sh*t that I ruined the party for you.”

“You didn’t ruin anything. I don’t even like going to that damn party.”

“Well, I’m gonna ruin the rest of your Christmas Eve and Christmas too. I wanted it to be perfect and now you just have to sit around dealing with my sick ass.”

“Baby, you didn’t even celebrate Christmas when you were growing up,” Stan reminded him. “It’s just like any other day. It’s fine.”

“I like celebrating it with you,” Kyle pressed. “It’s our first Christmas as a married couple and I wanted to like… sit by the fire and have a candlelit dinner with nice music playing in the background or something, and like… have all the Christmas lights turned on and all the regular lights turned off so it feels like we’re having a picnic under the stars...”

Stan smiled warmly, touched by the notion but simultaneously wondering how much of that fantasy was fever-induced.

“…Or some sappy bullsh*t like that,” Kyle trailed off.

He exited the car and slammed the door, unsteadily traversing directly up the stairs. By the time Stan came to check on him, he was already fast asleep, face-down in bed. The poor thing had really overdone it. He must have been exhausted. After pressing a kiss to the back of his head and setting a glass of water on the nightstand, Stan turned off the lights and left him to rest.

Kyle awoke later to Stan carefully shaking his shoulder. He let out a groan of discomfort, reluctantly opening his eyes.

“How do you feel, Baby?” Stan asked softly.

“Worse,” Kyle groaned, voice plagued by hoarseness.

He quickly fell into a coughing fit. Gently rubbing his back, Stan offered a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry to wake you, but I think you need to eat something. I don’t want your blood sugar to get f*cked.”

“Huh? Dude, it’s still dark outside,” Kyle complained as he covered his eyes with an arm.

“It’s 5:00.”

“You’re waking me up at f*cking 5am to eat?”

“Ky… it’s 5pm,” Stan clarified, raising one eyebrow.

Kyle set his arm back at his side, staring with his mouth agape.

“I slept for 18 f*cking hours?”

“You needed it, Ky. Hey, Merry Christmas.”

Stan planted a soft kiss on Kyle’s forehead, then helped him out of bed, subsequently guiding him down the hallway with care.

“You have to cover your eyes,” he said as they approached the staircase. “I made something for you, but it’s a surprise.”

“Stan, I’m dizzy as hell,” Kyle remarked, sniffling. “I can’t walk down the stairs with my eyes closed.”

“Well, I have a solution for that.”

Without hesitation, Stan scooped Kyle into his arms.

“Now, close your eyes,” he instructed.

Kyle sighed, pretending to be annoyed, but the smile he tried to suppress didn’t go unnoticed by Stan.

“You better not drop me,” he teased.

He kept his arms wrapped around his husband’s neck, safe in his arms until he felt the couch below him. Leaning onto the soft pillows behind his back, he released a deep breath. The warm, comforting sensation of a blanket fell atop him.

Nothing, however, was as comforting as being held Stan’s arms. Kyle wouldn’t admit it, but he was disappointed to be set down.

“Okay, you can look now,” said Stan.

Kyle opened his eyes to a dark room, illuminated only by the lit fireplace and a myriad of candles. The mantle, coffee table, and end tables were all adorned by dozens of twirling flames. Since when did they even own that many candles?

In the corner, the beautifully decorated tree shone bright, strands of Christmas lights also hanging in abundance throughout the other parts of the room. It was, as Kyle hoped, like a clear night under the stars.

“Wha— Stan… Sweetheart, what is all this?” he questioned, congested voice quivering with emotion.

“Just some sappy bullsh*t,” Stan replied with a teasing smile.

“How did— When did you—”

“Here,” Stan drew Kyle’s attention to the TV tray at his side. “I made chicken noodle soup. And I brought this table up from the basem*nt so you can stay lying down while we eat, then I just pulled up a chair on the other side for me. See?”

The perfectly arranged TV tray touted two bowls of soup and one lit candle, surrounded by a strand of lights, serving as a centerpiece. Stan beamed as he took his seat opposite Kyle.

“Oh, one more thing,” Stan exclaimed..

He scrolled on his phone until finally, nodding in satisfaction, he set soft holiday music to play in the background. Kyle couldn’t wait to stop coughing so he could tell his husband how much he adored this. How much he adored him.

“Stan…” he started.

“The perfect Christmas,” Stan said softly.

“I’m sorry for being sick,” Kyle bemoaned. “What I wanted was for you to have the perfect Christmas.”

“Baby…”

Stan reached forward to brush a strand of hair from Kyle’s overheated forehead.

“It is perfect,” he continued. “It’s always perfect when I’m with you.”

“Stan, I— I— You’re— Sweetheart, you—” Kyle stammered.

“I love you too,” Stan interrupted him.

And that, of course, was exactly what Kyle had been trying to say.

Chapter 9: Sleepover Night

Chapter Text

“I f*cking hate Cartman,” Kyle complained as he strolled toward Stan’s house, hand-in-hand with his boyfriend.

“You’ve hated him since we were three, dude,” Stan flatly replied. “You don’t have to say it every goddamn day.”

His comment fell on deaf ears.

“He picked that restaurant just to piss me off,” Kyle continued. “When it’s my turn to pick the place, I swear to god I’ll drag him to a f*cking vegan restaurant or something just to watch him throw a fit.”

“That sounds good to me,” Stan said with a sincere beam.

Kyle playfully rolled his eyes. “Of course your vegetarian ass would love that.”

In a long-standing tradition, Kyle, Stan, Kenny, Cartman and Butters went out to eat together on Fridays after school. They alternated, each getting to choose the restaurant every fifth week. It started out as more of a suggestion from the party whose week it was to choose, but after countless weeks of vetos and arguments — especially between Cartman and Kyle, of course — they implemented a “No Questions Asked” policy. If it was your week, the group would be going to the place of your choice with no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Anyone who kicked up a fuss forfeited their next turn to that week’s chooser. That had successfully ensured compliance.

Recently, though, Cartman had unsurprisingly taken it upon himself to subtly abuse that policy. His selections were never terrible enough to elicit an uprising from the group — that would put their entire system at risk — but he made absolutely sure that every restaurant he dragged them to would piss Kyle off in some way.

First it was a seedy diner decorated with anti-Semitic signs and artwork, then it was a sports-themed eatery with floors so dirty Kyle wanted to throw his shoes away after taking two steps in the door, then it was a food truck that donated all its proceeds to an anti-vaccination campaign. This week, it was a bizarre venue simply named “The Meat Shack” that had absolutely no food choices for Stan. Cartman certainly knew how to hit Kyle where it hurts, going after his boyfriend rather than him.

Stan had been a good sport, essentially ordering a “burger without a burger,” or rather a bun with iceberg lettuce, a pale slice of tomato, and a lazy slathering of yellow mustard on it. Kyle, however, was fuming. He didn’t understand how Stan managed to sit through the meal without griping.

“If I’m not mad, you don’t need to be mad either,” Stan assured Kyle, giving his hand a light squeeze.

“I am mad,” Kyle pressed on. “I am so done with that fat f*ck.”

“Come on, Baby, it’s fine. You liked your meal, right?”

“I mean, yeah… the kabobs were pretty good, but that place is sketchy as hell. I don’t eat at restaurants with C health ratings, dude. I should have just ordered nothing.”

“But Kyle, you know how the rules work. If you didn’t eat you would’ve had to put up with his bullsh*t again in two weeks instead of dragging his fat ass wherever you want.”

Kyle sighed. “I guess you’re right.”

“Don’t worry, dude, we’ll get our revenge. Holy sh*t, we should bring him to the farmer’s market,” Stan suggested.

“Oh my god, I think he might actually start crying if he had to eat a vegetable.”

They smiled to each other, temporarily separating their hands as they crossed the threshold to Stan’s living room. Neither one of them had exactly come out to their parents yet, let alone revealed that the two of them were dating. In spite of what many might have thought, their primary motivation for keeping that secret had a lot to do with fear of losing their Friday night sleepover privileges. The last thing they wanted was for their parents to start watching them like hawks as if anything would really be much different on their super-best-friend sleepover night. Sure, they liked to cuddle and kiss now, but they had always subtly snuggled anyway, and they weren’t really up to anything their parents wouldn’t approve of. They were only 16, after all, and since this was real life, not an episode of Euphoria, their time together was pretty innocent. The main difference since they got together, really, was their ability to openly admit being head-over-heels in love with each other.

Stan was quick to take Kyle’s hand back into his own once they entered his bedroom, pulling him in for a peck on the cheek.

“What should we do first?” he questioned. “You ready for me to kick your ass at Mariokart?”

“You are so on, dude,” Kyle challenged, smirking.

The pair spent a good couple hours playing numerous rounds, practically an even-match for each other. However, toward the end, Stan found an edge, winning race after race, and it was no coincidence. Kyle was feeling a bit… off. His stomach had begun to turn a while earlier, and it seemed increasingly pervasive with each passing moment. At a certain point, the churning sensation went from mildly distracting to overbearing.

“You okay?” Stan asked, noticing his boyfriend had been eerily quiet.

“Y-yeah,” Kyle fibbed unconvincingly. “I’m fine.”

“I know you hate losing,” Stan teased as he playfully nudged Kyle.

He was surprised to receive only a weak huff in response.

“Ky, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Kyle dismissed. “Wanna watch a movie or something?”

There was no need to make a big deal out of a little indigestion. All he needed was some rest, to sit still for a while. If they hopped in Stan’s bed for a movie, he would be as good as new by the time it came to an end.

They cuddled up together, Kyle leaning onto Stan’s chest as they enjoyed one of their old favorite films. It wasn’t long, though, before Kyle lost his ability to focus entirely. His subtle nausea was now accompanied by excruciatingly sharp stomach cramps. As nonchalantly as he could manage, he curled himself into a ball at Stan’s side, head still resting against his boyfriend.

“You’re fidgety,” Stan remarked.

“It’s so hot in here,” Kyle muttered in response.

“It’s cold as hell in here,” Stan disagreed, laughing a little. “I don’t know how you’re sweating right now.”

The mention of sweat made Kyle suddenly aware of the beads rolling down his forehead and cheeks, pooling on his back and even soaking the sleeves of his shirt. He moved the blankets away from himself and instead atop Stan — who was apparently cold — while he, on the other hand, felt as though he had just entered the flaming gates of hell. Even that small movement exacerbated his stabbing abdominal pain enough to provoke a small cry.

“Dude, what’s going on?” Stan queried.

Before Kyle could even respond, an unexpected wave of vomit forcefully made its way up his throat, shooting nearly to the foot of the bed.

Shock sent Stan flying up onto his feet. His eyes widened, brows furrowing in concern.

“Kyle, what the f*ck? Holy sh*t. Are you okay?”

“Oh god,” Kyle mumbled, disoriented by his sudden loss of control over his stomach. “I’m sorry…”

Gathering himself, Stan returned to his boyfriend’s side, gently rubbing his back.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

His face fell further as he inspected Kyle’s appearance more closely. Kyle supposed he must have looked as bad as he felt. Too fatigued to hold his head upright, he allowed it to sink onto the mattress.

“You’re sweating so much,” Stan worriedly remarked. “Ky, I’ve never seen anyone look this pale before. Deadass.”

“Thanks a lot,” Kyle weakly attempted to tease.

“I’m being serious. Your lips are like… white, dude. I think I should get my mom.”

“Don’t wake up your mom, Stan, you don’t—”

Kyle tried to rise, only to produce another forceful wave of vomit as soon as he was sitting upright.

“Oh my god… Ky…”

“Please help me get to the bathroom,” Kyle begged before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Stan complied, helping him to his feet. He was surprised to find himself holding most of Kyle’s body weight, the redhead’s limp figure practically dragging behind him.

As soon as they reached the bathroom, Kyle sunk face-down onto the floor. He usually avoided dirty surfaces at all costs, so his disregard for sanitation sent white-hot streaks of panic through Stan’s veins. Kneeling beside his boyfriend, he gently rubbed between his shoulder blades.

While he mulled over what to do next, a group chat notification on his phone caught his attention.

- Kenny: u guys dying? butters and i are dying.i’ve never been this f*cking sick in mylife.

“Kyle… oh my god,” Stan started after glancing at the message. “I think you have food poisoning from Cartman’s stupid restaurant. Kenny and Butters are sick too.”

“Ngh,” Kyle incoherently replied.

Stan continued to offer soft soothing as he responded to the group.

- Stan: I’m fine but I didn’t eat any of the meat…Kyle’s sick as f*ck.

- Kenny: f*ck this.

- Cartman: i dunno what your problem is but i’mfine you f*cking assholes are weakas sh*t

- Kenny: u ate the same sh*t as us dude weknow ur lying.

- Cartman: AM NOT MAYBE YOU’RE THE ONESLYING BC YOU’RE ALL PISSY I GOTTO PICK WHERE WE ATE

- Stan: Kyle literally projectile vomited acrossmy room… twice…

- Cartman: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

- Stan: It’s not funny dude. He’s really sick.

- Cartman: IT’S f*ckING FUNNY AS f*ck

- Kenny: f*ck u cartman and f*ck urf*cking restaurant.

- Cartman: f*ck YOU KENNY

Stan released an exasperated sigh, tossing his phone onto the counter and focusing his attention back to his sick boyfriend. At that very moment, Kyle laggardly forced his body up and leaned in front of the toilet just in time to lose whatever remained in his stomach.

“Let’s get you back to bed, Baby,” Stan said once the redhead sank back down to his place on the floor.

“I need to sleep in the bathtub,” Kyle groaned. “It’s the only safe place for me right now.”

“You’re not sleeping in the bathtub, dude.”

“I felt, like, no warning before getting sick, Stan. I’ll ruin your entire room.”

“No you won’t.”

“I already ruined your comforter and your carpet,” Kyle bemoaned. “I’m not leaving the goddamn bathroom until this is over.”

“Couldn’t this last all night?” Stan questioned, squeezing his boyfriend’s shoulder sympathetically.

“Yeah,” Kyle murmured. “If I don’t die first.”

“Jesus, Ky, don’t even joke about that.”

“Who’s joking? It feels like I’m being stabbed in the stomach, dude.”

“Let me get you some water,” Stan offered, already standing up to do so. “You need to stay hydrated.”

When he returned a few minutes later with a glass of water and a large pile of bedding in his arms, he found that Kyle had managed to crawl his way into the bathtub, where he now laid in fetal position.

“You okay?”

“Not really,” Kyle grumbled.

Stan frowned. “I’m sorry, Baby.”

He set most of his pile on the floor then carefully slid a pillow beneath Kyle’s head.

“Here,” he said softly. “That’ll be more comfortable.”

“I don’t need any of the blankets,” Kyle muttered. “My body is on fire and I shouldn’t bring any more sh*t in here anyway.”

“These are for me.”

“Huh?”

“These are mine,” Stan repeated as he laid out a blanket and pillow beside the bathtub. “If you’re sleeping in the bathroom, then so am I.”

“That’s f*cking ridiculous,” Kyle argued.

Stan ignored his protests, guiding him to a seated position. He carefully tilted a small sip of water into his mouth.

“You really need to hydrate. And here…”

He reached over to grab a small waste bin, then placed it in Kyle’s hands.

“I don’t want you sitting in a mess if we can avoid it.”

“Thanks,” Kyle said quietly, face wrought with discomfort.

Stan’s gesture had been conveniently timed, as no more than a second later, the water made its return along with a stream of bile, launching into the trash can.

“sh*t, Baby, you can’t even keep down water?” Stan said with concern in his eyes.

He moved a hand to the small of Kyle’s back.

“Guess not…” Kyle barely whispered. “God, everything hurts.”

“Maybe you should close your eyes while you can,” Stan suggested.

Kyle nodded, setting the trash bin at his feet and reclining onto his pillow. Stan lowered the lights and took his place on the blanket beside the bathtub. As his head hit the pillow, he reached over the side of the tub to join hands with Kyle.

“I’m right here, okay?”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna sleep in your bed?” Kyle asked weakly. “You don’t have to sleep on the damn floor.”

“Ky, it’s Friday,” Stan stated. “It’s sleepover night. I sleep wherever you sleep.”

A small smile crossed his cheeks as Kyle silently tightened the interlocking grip of their fingers in gratitude.

Chapter 10: Promise

Chapter Text

Stan lazily checked his wristwatch and let out a sigh. How the f*ck was it only noon? Sure, he loved his job at the veterinary clinic, but the days felt longer when he was dying to get home to Kyle.

For over a week, Kyle had been suffering from an utterly horrible cold that only seemed to be getting worse. That was unsurprising, really, since he refused to take a single day off work or otherwise rest like a normal human would, but Stan was starting to worry he was developing pneumonia or something. His cough had really sounded godawful the previous day, and since he was diabetic, he was predisposed to a more severe form of any illness he contracted.

Even though Kyle would undoubtedly avoid resting, Stan couldn’t wait to get home and take care of him in any small way he could. If he could be the one to prepare dinner, or ensure the chores were done early, or feign desperation to sit down for a movie, perhaps he could swindle his husband into relaxing for a bit.

Interrupting his thoughts as he placed a medication vial back in the cabinet, Stan’s phone rang. He tilted his head in curiosity when he saw the caller was Kyle’s boss. Maybe the others at his office were concerned about catching whatever plague he had and they were calling to reprimand Stan for letting him go to work every day for the past week.

“Hello?” Stan answered.

“Hi Stan, it’s Sophie from Kyle’s office,” the voice on the other end of the line greeted.

“I know, I have your number saved,” Stan said dryly.

“Sorry to bother you…”

“No, you’re not bothering me. Sorry, I was only— What’s up?”

“I just wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“What do you mean?” Stan questioned. “With… me?”

“With Kyle,” Sophie clarified. “I know he’s been a little under the weather, but it’s not like him to miss a day of work.”

Had he actually called in? Stan always left for work about an hour earlier than Kyle, so the redhead was still peacefully sleeping last he knew. Maybe he had finally come to his senses.

“He called in?” Stan asked in disbelief.

“…No, that’s kind of why I’m reaching out to you,” Sophie said in a more serious tone. “He hasn’t shown up at the office, but he didn’t call in this morning and we can’t get ahold of him.”

Stan’s heart dropped to his stomach. Before he was even aware of his own movements, he was hurrying toward his car.

“I— I’ll call you back,” he uttered before hanging up.

His speedy walk turned to a sprint and he flew out the door without even alerting his coworkers of the situation. This was far too dire to allow for any wasted moments.

The short drive home felt hours long, Stan’s heart pounding in his ears the entire time. Upon arrival, with the car hardly even shifted into park, he jumped out and ran for the door.

“Kyle?” he called out as soon as he walked inside.

No answer. f*ck. Something was really wrong. Stan could feel it.

“Kyle?!” he shouted again, much louder.

He still received no reply, so he hastened his search of the house, heading toward the kitchen.

His heart nearly stopped and he froze dead in his tracks when he spotted his husband lying on his side near the fridge. Drenched in sweat with eyelids lazily half-opened and sickly pale skin on display, Kyle appeared to be only semi-conscious.

“Kyle!” Stan nearly screamed as he knelt beside him. “Ky, what the f*ck?! Are you okay?!”

A rough shake of Kyle’s shoulders seemed to bring him slightly back to earth, gaining his attention. With long blinks, his eyes trailed over to meet Stan’s.

“Baby,” Stan said pointedly, voice cracking in fear. “Are you hurt?”

His eyes widened as he brushed the sweat-soaked hair back from Kyle’s forehead.

“Jesus Christ. Ky. You’re burning up. Oh my god, you’re really burning up.”

“I think I fell,” Kyle finally muttered before shakily drawing in a breath.

“You fell? Did you pass out?” Stan pressed, tone laced with concern.

The redhead responded with a weak nod. Stan’s brows furrowed deeper.

“sh*t, baby. f*cking sh*t. How long have you been lying here?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle mumbled. “My sugar felt low so I… walked down here to eat something and then I— I woke up like this.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“I don’t have my phone.”

“You don’t have your phone? Well, you should have f*cking gone to get it, Kyle!” Stan inadvertently scolded.

He didn’t intend to sound harsh, but when it came to Kyle’s well-being, he didn’t mess around.

“I can’t,” Kyle murmured, eyes closing again. “I can’t get up. It hurts.”

“What hurts, baby?”

“Everything. I’m— I’m so tired.”

Stan scooped Kyle into his arms without waiting for any further information, and the way his husband hung limply rather than holding on struck fear in his heart. Scowling with worry, he hurried up the stairs to place Kyle in bed.

“I’ll get you some orange juice for your sugar,” Stan said. “Kyle, why didn’t you tell me you felt so godawful? I would have stayed home from work.”

Kyle neglected to respond. He avoided eye contact, coughing aggressively into the crook of his arm then pulling the blankets tightly around his shivering figure.

When Stan returned a moment later, Kyle hadn’t moved a muscle, still shaking with eyelids drooping half-closed. His breaths were harsh wheezes, probably taking in only a fraction of the air he needed.

“Can you breathe?” Stan queried.

“Obviously I’m breathing, sweetheart,” Kyle softly replied, his eye roll not going unnoticed.

The sarcasm didn’t deter Stan in the least, however.

“It sounds like you’re having trouble taking in breaths, Ky. I’m worried you’re coming down with bronchitis or—”

“I’m not,” Kyle denied before coughing hard.

There was a short pause.

“Sorry you’re missing work,” he added.

“Don’t apologize,” Stan responded as he moved to sit beside him. “I don’t give a sh*t about work… not when you’re at home like this.”

He lifted the orange juice to Kyle’s mouth and the redhead gratefully accepted a long sip. After setting the glass on the bedside table, Stan placed a hand on his husband’s forehead again, face wrought with worry.

“You’re way too hot.”

“Thanks.”

Stan huffed out a laugh. “At least you feel well enough to make jokes, I guess.”

Either that or he was delirious. The latter seemed probable.

Stan pulled a thermometer from his pocket, having collected it when he went downstairs for the juice. He knew Kyle would protest a separate trip to obtain it. He hated when Stan brought out the thermometer, as it would eliminate any shadow of doubt surrounding his illness, rendering his denials futile.

Stan placed the device under Kyle’s tongue, petting the damp curls away from his face until it let out a beep.

Eyes widening in panic, Stan instantly jumped upright.

“Oh my god,” he croaked out.

He rushed around to the other side of the bed, where he promptly lifted Kyle into another bridal-style carry.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle asked, though he was too fatigued to open his eyes.

“I’m taking you to the hospital. Your temperature is 105.9, Kyle.”

The redhead’s only response was a slight lean into his husband’s chest. Though the physical lethargy was concerning, what scared Stan the most was the refrain from argument. Ordinarily, Kyle would fight tooth and nail not to be taken to the emergency room.

He slept soundly through the car ride — far too soundly for comfort, in Stan’s opinion — and remained asleep as he was carried inside. About an hour later, while they still awaited test results, he finally awoke to find Stan at his side, gripping his hand like it was a lifeline.

“Stan?” he murmured.

“Baby,” Stan cried, moving to kiss his forehead. “How do you feel? They gave you something for the fever and they’re trying to hydrate you but… you still… look like sh*t.”

“Did I hit my head?” Kyle questioned weakly.

Apparently he felt too ill to consider his husband’s comment an insult.

“No, Ky. You’re really sick,” Stan softly explained.

“sh*t,” Kyle groaned.

He felt around his face, discovering the tubes delivering oxygen to his nostrils.

“Am I in the hospital?”

“Yeah. You are, but it’s okay,” Stan soothed.

“Glad to see you’re awake!” a doctor stated as he entered. “How are we feeling?”

“Worried,” Stan replied, frowning.

“I was actually hoping for an answer from your husband,” the doctor said with a sly smile, “but hopefully I can put you at ease. Based on the blood tests and the chest x-rays, we’re confident it’s pneumonia.”

“I slept through a f*cking chest x-ray?” Kyle muttered before coughing hard.

“I’m supposed to be less worried because it’s pneumonia?” Stan asked sharply, narrowing his eyes.

“You can take comfort in the fact that we can start antibiotics right away and we know exactly where to go with our course of treatment,” the doctor answered. “Based on Kyle’s other health conditions and the severity of the case, we’ll be keeping him here for a couple days for IV antibiotics and supportive breathing treatments.”

“How soon can I go back to work?” Kyle immediately inquired.

“Kyle,” Stan scolded.

The doctor laughed.

“Let’s slow our roll a bit,” he said lightly. “We’re looking at a few days here, then a solid couple weeks of bed rest at home.”

“I can work from bed,” Kyle declared.

“But you won’t,” Stan said, rubbing a hand gently up and down his husband’s arm.

“Next week?”

“Maybe.”

“Someone will be here shortly to take you up to the floor,” the doctor interrupted them. “Let us know if we can answer any other questions. Otherwise, feel better soon.”

“Thanks,” Stan said with a forced smile as the doctor exited.

He truly was grateful, of course, but he couldn’t muster a genuine smile when the love of his life was in a hospital bed beside him, hooked up to all sorts of mysterious tubes and wires.

“Thank god you’re okay,” Stan could hardly say, choking up as he looked Kyle in the eyes.

“Of course I’m okay,” Kyle replied, smiling weakly. “I feel a little better.”

“That’s good.”

Stan kissed him atop his red curls.

“I’m sorry I scared the hell out of you,” Kyle mumbled.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I just can’t ever f*cking lose you. Ever. Okay?”

Kyle nodded. “Deal.”

“So you’ll actually rest when we get home?” Stan asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I never agreed to that,” Kyle replied, smirking. “That wasn’t part of the deal.”

“f*ck you,” Stan teased before pressing his lips to his husband’s.

“Maybe Kenny will bring my work sh*t into the hospital for me…”

“If he does that, I will kill him.”

“Jesus, you’re really serious about this, huh?”

“Yes, dude. I’m never letting anything bad happen to you, ever again.”

“That’s a big promise…”

Stan smiled. “But I’m gonna keep it.”

He climbed into bed beside Kyle, wrapping his arms tightly around him. The redhead let out a deep sigh, folding his head into the crook of Stan’s neck.

Though that promise was one Stan couldn’t truly be sure to keep, Kyle knew damn well he would try. And on those rare occasions when his efforts couldn’t keep Kyle from harm, he would sure as hell be there to ease the pain with a comforting embrace.

Chapter 11: Cupcakes

Chapter Text

“No, no we just want the original order!” Kyle was shouting into the phone. “The white cake with the white frosting!”

It had been a long f*cking day. Planning a wedding was tiring, obviously, but it had reached a new level of exhausting thanks to Cartman. Their long-time frenemy had apparently decided to prank call several of their vendors that week, pretending to be Stan and Kyle. With just a few simple phone calls he managed to create such a disaster that Kyle had to take the entire day off work to sort everything out.

“I know you won’t produce a p*rnographic cake! I don’t f*cking want that! …No, no, my fiancé doesn’t want that either! …That wasn’t him on the phone! …Right, yeah, cancel the whole order. I don’t want the cupcakes that spell out ‘f*ck you Kyle’ either.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, plopping onto the couch in frustration.

“Dude, I’m Kyle, of course I don’t want ‘f*ck you Kyle’ cupcakes! …No, once again, you weren’t talking to my fiancé.”

The redhead stood back up to pace the room. He was far too angry to sit still.

“‘Am I sure’? Yes, I’m sure! He’s marrying me, you think he wants ‘f*ck you’ cupcakes with my name on them?! Why the hell would he want that?! …Oh, very funny. You’re really— …Yes, for the love of god, cancel everything except the white cake with the white frosting! …I can’t cancel both?! …That doesn’t even make any— You know what, f*ck it. Fine. We’ll keep the ‘f*ck you Kyle’ cupcakes. Thank you. Goodbye.”

Kyle hung up with vigor, groaning loudly as he tossed his phone onto the couch. When the phone instantly rang again, he thought he might actually lose his mind. He rushed over and answered without even checking to see who was calling.

“What?!” he screamed into the receiver.

“…Kyle?” Stan very softly questioned after a short pause.

“sh*t. I’m sorry, dude, I thought you were the f*cking cake guy,” Kyle explained.

“Jesus, I take it things aren’t going well with sorting out Cartman’s bullsh*t?” Stan asked, once again at a lower volume than was typical.

He followed the statement with a slight laugh, but it sounded forced and uncomfortable. There was no question in Kyle’s mind that something was wrong. Suppressing a wave of panic and biting his lower lip in concern, he was silent for a moment, giving Stan an opportunity to say something. However, he said nothing.

“Stan… what’s wrong?” Kyle finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“Don’t freak out, okay, Ky?” Stan muttered.

Oh, great. Now he was freaking out.

“I— I won’t.”

“You promise?”

No!

“Uhm… y-yeah,” Kyle unconvincingly agreed. “Just please tell me what the f*ck is going on, Stan.”

“I… wrecked my car.”

“WHAT?!”

“Dude, you promised you wouldn’t freak out.”

“YOU WRECKED YOUR CAR?!” Kyle nearly screamed.

To hell with that promise.

“I-I don’t know if it’s totaled,” Stan said quickly. “I know it’ll be expensive as sh*t to fix but we could always—“

“You think I give a sh*t about the car?!” Kyle cut him off. “The car could be launched into f*cking outer space for all I care! Where are you, sweetheart? Did anyone stop to help you? Are the police there yet?”

“Oh, um… all that’s actually already— I’m… at the hospital. They took me to the emergency room,” Stan hesitantly admitted.

“THE EMERGENCY ROOM?!”

“Kyle—“

“Jesus f*cking Christ, Stan, I’m on my way,” Kyle said shakily as he snatched his keys off the rack. “I’m coming as fast as I can.”

“I’m okay, baby,” Stan assured him.

Kyle wasn’t convinced, though. His fiancé’s breathing sounded ragged, painful, even through the phone. Nothing about that seemed “okay.”

He sped out of the driveway with abandonment of any concern he could end up in the same situation as Stan.

“How badly are you hurt?” he questioned, brows furrowing tightly as he weaved through traffic.

“I think I kind of f*cked up my shoulder…” Stan offered, his tone clearly indicating there was more.

“Stan. Your breathing sounds weird.”

“I might have… broken a couple ribs…”

“Oh my GOD—”

“I’m fine. I’m okay, Ky, seriously.”

“Stan—”

“The doctor just walked in so I have to go. I’m sorry. I’ll see you when you get here, okay? I love you. I’ll see you soon.”

Kyle slammed his foot on the gas as soon as the call disconnected, determined to make it to the hospital in record time. Panic continued to course through his veins as he veered into the parking lot and ran inside, not subsiding until his eyes fell upon Stan.

Unfortunately, though, the comfort upon seeing him was minimal. As soon Kyle he took in the sight of his fiancé, tears soaked his cheeks.

Stan had no shirt on, readily exposing the bandages wrapped over his ribs. His left arm was casted and held in a sling. There was noticeable bruising around his shoulder, likely from a dislocation. A myriad of small cuts adorned his face, drawing extra attention to the light bruise revealing itself under his right eye. Kyle knew those cuts meant Stan’s windshield must have shattered, and that meant it was bad.

The redhead could hardly keep his knees from giving out beneath him. Releasing a sob, he launched forward to wrap his shaky arms around Stan.

“sh*t—” Stan wheezed out. “Baby— Baby, my ribs—”

“f*ck! I’m sorry!” Kyle exclaimed, promptly releasing his fiancé from the embrace.

He sharply swiped the tears from his own cheeks, then gently moved his hands to caress Stan’s face.

“I could have lost you,” he croaked out. “Damn you, Stan, I could have lost you.”

“You didn’t lose me,” Stan said softly, lifting his uninjured arm to take hold of Kyle’s hand. “I’m right here.”

Tears began to fall from his eyes as well, mostly due to the sight of an utterly terrified Kyle. Stan hated seeing Kyle so scared, especially when he was the cause of it.

“Is your arm broken?” Kyle asked between sniffles.

“My wrist,” Stan replied. “And I dislocated my shoulder.”

“f*cking hell. What happened, dude?”

“I hit a patch of ice and I just… before I even knew what was happening I was off the road. I crashed into a tree and I—”

“—JESUS.”

“What happened to not freaking out, Ky?” Stan gently reminded him.

“I am freaking out,” Kyle sobbed.

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“I was lying!” Kyle yelled, then they both couldn’t help but chuckle through their tears.

“I’m so sorry, Kyle. I shouldn’t have been driving so fast.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault. It could have happened to anyone. Don’t apologize, just— I actually could have lost you, Stan. You could have just been… gone.”

Kyle ran his thumb tenderly along the line of Stan’s bruise, eliciting a slight wince.

“But on the bright side, you get to take care of my needy ass now,” Stan teased in effort to lighten the mood. He couldn’t even stand to imagine the crushing heartbreak Kyle could have experienced if he hadn’t been so lucky.“You love it when I act like a total dramatic baby about not feeling well and you have to dote on me. You’re such a sucker for that sh*t.”

“Am not,” Kyle mumbled, smirking.

“Were you able to fix everything for the wedding?” Stan inquired, hoping to shift the subject even further.

“Sweetheart, I don’t think we’ll be able to fix your face in time for the wedding,” Kyle said, laughing slightly, though his tone evinced genuine pity. “And the bakery wouldn’t let me cancel the cupcakes either.”

Stan brushed the fresh tears from Kyle’s face, then offered a soft smile.

“What do they say again? ‘f*ck you Kyle’?”

“Yeah,” Kyle answered, and Stan was unsure whether he was laughing or sobbing.

“Perfect,” Stan said with a seductive raise of his eyebrows. “I was planning on f*cking you that night anyway.”

“Oh, shut the hell up,” Kyle grumbled, rolling his eyes, though he was unable to suppress a smile. “Are you high on pain meds or something?”

“Very,” Stan answered flatly.

“Well, I guess that’s a good thing. I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Kyle shifted uncomfortably for a moment, holding onto a request he thought he should forgo. But he couldn’t.

“Can I, like… lay next to you, or… will that hurt?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

He needed to feel Stan’s skin against his own, for the love of his life to be safe in his arms, right where he belonged.

“It won’t hurt,” Stan replied.

He lifted his free arm as an invitation and the redhead carefully slid in beside him. Kyle delicately placed a hand on his chest, directly over his heart as though he needed proof that his fiancé was still alive. In fact, he didn’t think he could rest without the constant reminder.

“Promise me you won’t die until I do,” he said quietly before pressing a kiss to Stan’s cheek.

“I promise.”

Chapter 12: Disguise

Chapter Text

“He’s gonna be amazing tonight,” Stan was bragging about his boyfriend as he tossed the football to Kenny.

The two of them, as well as Cartman and Butters, had a few hours to kill before the championship basketball game, so they figured they’d toss a ball around in Cartman’s backyard. Kyle was already with the team, preparing, and Stan already had butterflies in his stomach on the redhead’s behalf. After four years of investing in the team, this was it. This was the last game of his very last season.

“I don’t f*cking get the hype,” Cartman complained. “Who wants to sit on uncomfortable-ass bleachers for hours just to watch a goddamn jew throw a ball into a net?”

“The bleachers aren’t uncomfortable if your ass actually fits on them,” Stan jeered.

“f*ck you, Stan! I hope your f*cking boyfriend loses the game! I don’t wanna hear any more gay ass bullsh*t about how great you think he is.”

“I think it’s sweet, Eric,” Butters chimed in.

Kenny smiled softly at his own boyfriend. He could never get over how lovely and refreshing Butters’ kind nature was. No matter the situation, and no matter how much negative energy Cartman put out into the world, Butters always had something uplifting to say.

“You gaywads are all against me!” Cartman yelled.

“When are you gonna realize calling us gay isn’t an insult?” Kenny questioned with a smirk. “It’s just a fact.”

“I need new goddamn friends,” Cartman griped, throwing the football with enough extra aggression to land it directly atop the roof.

In a stroke of unfortunate luck, it lodged itself between the chimney and a portion of the gutter. It clearly had no intention of returning to the ground anytime soon.

“Look what you assholes made me do!”

“You threw it up there,” Stan remarked.

“Well, which one of you is getting it down?”

“You get it down,” Kenny said flatly.

“I don’t think the roof can hold that much weight,” Stan mocked.

“Ey!” Cartman screeched.

“Well, I-I can’t get it down, I’m real scared of heights,” Butters mumbled.

“Fine. Jesus. I’ll get it,” Stan conceded. “Do you have a ladder in the garage?”

The four boys retrieved said ladder and set it against the house’s siding. Stan climbed up without hesitation, walking swiftly up the slanted roof to retrieve their ball.

“You should probably crawl, dude,” Kenny suggested. “You’ll break your damn neck if you fall from there.”

“I’m fine,” Stan waved him off.

As if on cue, however, he lost his balance and came tumbling down the side of the roof. He had the forethought to tilt himself legs first so as not to die of a head injury, but the shooting pain in his right calf was immediate upon impact.

He felt dizzy, watching three hazy figures move closer as the clouds spun. The vague echo of a terrified shriek swirled around him. Definitely Butters.

When he could finally see straight again, he initially thought he might not be hurt too badly. He wasn’t in that much pain. That being said, his friends’ mortified expressions said otherwise.

“Don’t look, Buttercup,” Kenny said softly, turning a sobbing Butters away from the sight. “Stan… don’t f*cking move. I called an ambulance. Don’t move.”

“Y-you— you already called an ambulance?” Stan murmured.

“Yeah, you’ve been pretty out of it for a few minutes.”

“Why… are you guys looking at me like that?” he hesitantly questioned, almost afraid to know the answer.

“Don’t worry about it, dude,” Kenny replied, trying to sound confident even though he looked utterly nauseated.

“Gee, nothin’s wrong at all, Stan,” Butters shakily lied, still covering his eyes.

“Your leg is f*ckED,” Cartman stated flatly, earning a look of disapproval from the other two.

Stan lifted his head slightly, unfocused eyes trailing downward until he discovered just how badly he was hurt. About halfway between his knee and his ankle, a bone sharply protruded from his skin, and the portion below it rested at an angle that a leg should never be at. It must have been nearly ninety degrees sideways.

“Oh god,” Stan murmured as he bit back a wave of nausea.

He thought he might vomit, but instead he faded from consciousness.

When he awoke again, he was clearly in an emergency room bed, but the bustle of chaos that would have surrounded his arrival had already settled down. Kenny and Butters flanked him and even Cartman looked worried, twiddling his thumbs at the end of the bed.

“Your mom’s on the way,” Butters said gently.

“I didn’t miss Kyle’s game, did I?” Stan immediately asked, face wrought with concern.

“I know you’re on a lot of drugs, dude, but do you know what’s going on right now?” Kenny inquired.

“Yes. I broke my leg. I’m not missing the game over a broken leg. Kyle will freak out if I’m not there. Oh, Jesus, you didn’t tell him I got hurt, did you? If he thinks I’m not okay he’ll panic and if he panics he’ll completely lose focus and if he loses focus he won’t be able to—”

“Relax, we didn’t call your goddamn girlfriend,” Cartman cut him off. “But you’re not going to the game. There’s no way in hell.”

“I was gonna explain that to him more gently,” Kenny scolded through gritted teeth.

“What are you talking about?” Stan queried.

“You sort of f*cked up the nerves in your leg… like, really f*cked them up… not to mention they need to put in a sh*t ton of rods and screws to fix those two broken bones… so basically… you have to have surgery, like, right now.”

“What? No!They can do it later.”

“And you go to the game with a sideways f*cking leg?!” Cartman screeched. “If you’re going, I’m not going!”

“I am going!”

“It can’t wait, dude,” Kenny uttered, shaking his head. “They told us you could lose function of the leg if they don’t operate right away.”

“This is not happening,” Stan groaned, throwing his head back as a tear crossed his cheek.

“Should— should we call Kyle now?” Butters asked carefully.

“No. No, he can’t know about this.”

“He’ll know anyway when you’re not at the game,” Kenny reasoned. “He’d be better off hearing it from you now.”

Stan paused thoughtfully.

“No…” he finally said. “He will see me at the game…”

“You really can’t go, Stan.”

“He only has to think I’m there. He just has to think he sees me.”

“What do you mean, dude?”

“You can wear my hat and my brown jacket, sit in the back and keep your head down as much as possible. If he thinks he sees me in the stands he’ll be fine.”

“Huh? That’s insane, dude. What if he actually tries to talk to me?”

“Take my phone,” Stan said confidently, already passing the device to Kenny. “You can text him or whatever. The password is Kyle’s birthday.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s gay as f*ck,” Cartman said under his breath.

“I don’t know if someone with a concussion should be trying to hatch plans like this,” Kenny stated, raising his eyebrows.

“I have a concussion too?” Stan grumbled. “sh*t. Well— that doesn’t matter. Please do this for me. When have I ever asked you for anything?”

Kenny sighed. “I told him I would be at the game too. You and I always sit together at his games. What if he wonders where the hell I am and he gets suspicious?”

“There’s a solution for that too,” Stan declared, shifting his gaze to Butters.

“Oh, gee…” Butters chirped.

“This is a f*cking terrible idea,” Kenny grumbled. “Let’s hope to god it doesn’t come back to bite us in the ass.”

———————————————

Kyle sprinted across the court, cleanly making a basket just before warmups came to an end. He felt invigorated. He felt ready. Searching the stands for his boyfriend, a smile crossed his cheeks. Stan was in the very back row, but the rest of the crowd seemed to disappear. The only person who mattered was right there to cheer him on. As long as he had Stan’s support, he could handle anything.

He glanced up again after taking his place on the bench. He tilted his head in slight confusion as he noticed Kenny leaning against Stan’s shoulder. That was an unusual interaction for them, but whatever. Kenny must have been sleep deprived. He had his orange hood over his head the way he always used to as well, even though it was fairly hot in the school gym. Maybe he was sick or something. Something else seemed off, but Kyle couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Everything, however, including that puzzling sight, disappeared from his mind when he opened a new text from Stan.

You’re going to be amazing, it read.

Kyle smiled warmly to himself. He was so excited for his final game, and he was so in love. Could the night possibly get any better?

Throughout the entire first half of the game, he played like a dream. Their team was up by several points and he himself had made a solid number of baskets. Seeing his boyfriend cheer for him each time gave him an even bigger rush than the points scored.

Everything seemed perfect until halftime. Kyle barely had time to take a swig of his water when he realized Stan and Kenny had disappeared. Why would Stan leave the gym now of all times, when he had to know damn well Kyle needed some words of encouragement and a gentle kiss? He pulled out his phone to send a text.

- Kyle: Where the hell are you, Sweetheart?

- Stan: I’m in the bathroom

- Kyle: I’m coming to find you.

- Stan: Don’t, I’ll be right back anyway

That was suspicious. If Stan was sick or something, Kyle was prepared to send him straight home. Sure, he wouldn’t play as well without his boyfriend there to cheer him on, but he would never want Stan to be stuck there in the crowd while he felt miserable.

Kyle scanned the room, catching sight of Cartman near the door. If there was one thing his frenemy was good for, it was exposing any type of ruse. He had an aversion to helping anyone.

“Hey, dude, have you seen Stan?”

“Stan Who?” Cartman responded.

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle muttered.

“I have no idea where Stan is. I don’t give a sh*t about that asshole.”

He didn’t sound as mocking as usual. His voice was almost robotic, unconvincing as he said his words without conviction. Something was seriously going on.

Kyle walked away without another word, heading straight for the bathroom.

“Stan?” he called out as he entered.

No reply. Kyle quickly proceeded to peek under each stall until he caught sight of familiar shoes. Stranger still, Kenny was in the stall with him.

“Stan? You’re sick, aren’t you? I know Kenny’s with you in there. Let me in.”

Quiet hung in the air until a text message from Stan pinged on Kyle’s phone.

I can’t talk, I have laryngitis, it read.

“You don’t have f*cking laryngitis, we talked at school today, dude. What the hell is going on? Kenny, what’s wrong with Stan?”

He then received a text from Kenny as well.

I have laryngitis too.

“Oh, for f*ck’s sake, I’m coming in,” Kyle grumbled.

He crawled under the stall door and his friends both rapidly turned to face the wall.

“What the hell are you doing? Why are you—”

Kyle turned “Stan” around to face him, pulling him by the shoulder. The redhead’s face immediately fell in confusion and concern when he realized who was actually standing before him.

“What the f*ck? Kenny?”

He then whipped “Kenny” around, pulling down his hood to reveal an anxious Butters.

“Butters? Dude, what the hell is this? Where’s Stan?”

No one said anything.

“Where the hell is Stan?” he pressed.

“Oh, hamburgers…” Butters murmured.

“Someone f*cking tell me what’s going on!”

The others recognized the panic in his eyes. There was no turning back now.

“In… the hospital…” Kenny confessed.

“WHAT?!” Kyle screamed, nearly falling to the floor but catching himself on the wall. “Oh my god… oh my GOD, what the hell are you talking about? What happened? Is he sick? Was he in a car accident?”

“Not… a CAR accident…”

“This isn’t funny. Tell me what’s going on right f*cking now, Kenny.”

“He hurt his leg.”

There was no way all this was just about a twisted ankle or something. There had to be more.

“Butters?” Kyle pointedly questioned, walking closer to the nervous blonde.

“H-he fell off Cartman’s roof and the bones were stickin’ right out of his leg! It was turned at a real crazy angle like nothin’ I’ve ever seen before!” Butters confessed in word vomit. “The doctors said he messed up the nerves real bad so they were takin’ him to surgery right away because otherwise he might not… be able to… use that part of his leg… ever again…”

Kyle was rendered wordless in horror, mouth agape.

“And h-he has a concussion too…” Butters added.

“He’s heard enough,” Kenny muttered.

“And— and he’s probably got lots of internal bleeding… with all those bones pokin’ around everywhere…” Butters continued nonetheless.

“I’m going to the hospital,” Kyle croaked out, already fumbling to unlock the stall door.

“What about the game?” Kenny asked.

“f*ck the game!” Kyle shouted as he sprinted out of the bathroom.

He drove his car faster than he ever had before. Though usually teased for driving like a grandma, in this situation he put even Cartman’s erratic racecar driving to shame.

After some frantic searching and chaotic questioning of hospital volunteers, he located Sharon in the waiting room. She looked terrified, sitting there all alone. Kyle placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Kyle? Hi, Sweetie, aren’t you supposed to be at the basketball game?” she questioned.

Kyle burst into sobs.

“I-I found out what happened and I— I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before!” he cried. “Why didn’t anyone tell me? Is Stan gonna be okay?”

“Oh dear,” Sharon soothed, standing up and pulling him into a hug. “Stanley was very worried about scaring you before your last game.”

“The game? He’s in surgery!”

“He told me he made your other friends promise not to tell you,” Sharon calmly explained.

Kyle didn’t understand how she managed to stay so level-headed in situations like this. He felt like he was about to fly through the roof. If Cartman had actually kept a promise to Stan, the latter must have been in bad shape.

“Mrs. Marsh?” a doctor called out as he entered the waiting room. “Your son’s procedure went very smoothly. If you’d like to see him in the recovery room, you can go ahead.”

“Thank god,” Kyle sobbed. “We can see him?”

“We only allow one visitor in the recovery room at a time.”

“Oh…”

Kyle nodded to Sharon, dropping into a chair, where he continued to cry into his hands.

“You go ahead, Sweetie,” Sharon gently urged.

She placed a hand on his back, helping him upright.

“But— you’re his mom, you should go first,” Kyle said, sniffling.

“I’ll see him soon, it’s okay. You made a big sacrifice to come here. Go ahead, Kyle, I’ll talk to the doctor for a few minutes and we can switch places in a bit.”

She smiled warmly, prompting Kyle to cry harder, but this time from mixed emotions.

“Thank you. God, thank you.”

A nurse led Kyle to Stan’s room, where he was still asleep. His leg was in a cast and suspended above him in an apparatus that kept it firmly in place.

Kyle pulled a chair up next to the bed, as close as he could possibly sit. He took Stan’s hand into his own, kissing it repeatedly as he softly wept. When he carefully brushed the hair away from Stan’s forehead, his boyfriend finally opened his eyes.

“Stan,” Kyle cried.

He jumped upright, planting a kiss on Stan’s lips and then on his forehead.

“Hi, Baby,” Stan greeted him groggily.

“How do you feel?”

“Mm— head hurts,” Stan answered, wincing. “And my leg feels… really f*cking weird.”

“You scared the hell out of me, Stan,” Kyle said with a quivering voice.

Stan shook his head, eyes tightly closed.

“How was the game?”

“I don’t know,” Kyle replied.

“What do you mean?”

“The game is still going on. I don’t give a sh*t about that.”

Stan shifted uncomfortably, groaning in pain.

“Kenny and Butters f*cking promised they would go—”

“In f*cking disguise? They did, Stan. I caught on at halftime. Why the hell would you make them do that? You should have just told me.”

“You would have skipped the game.”

“No I—” Kyle started to deny it, but cut himself off, realizing he certainly would have skipped the game.

That was exactly what he was doing right now, after all.

“It was your last game, Ky,” Stan said sadly. “It was really important to you.”

“You’re more important to me.”

“But you could have come here later. You have, like, forever with me.”

Kyle’s lips curled into a smile, then he kissed Stan’s forehead again.

“I wouldn’t have been able to focus, Stan. How could I play basketball knowing you were lying in a hospital bed?”

Stan shrugged, frowning, almost looking ashamed.

“Besides,” Kyle continued, “we won’t have forever if you do dumb sh*t like climbing on Cartman’s roof.”

“You could have Kenny disguised as me.”

Kyle smirked. “f*ck off.”

“I’ll make Cartman go get the damn football himself next time,” Stan assured Kyle, the corners of his lips turning upward again.

“I doubt the roof could support his weight,” Kyle teased.

They both laughed, but Stan groaned in pain afterwards. With a hard fall like that, his entire body must have been bruised up pretty badly.

“Ow, sh*t,” he mumbled.

“Sorry, I won’t make you laugh again.”

Kyle pulled Stan’s hand to his chest, holding it tightly as though he feared someone might swipe it away.

“You really think we’ll be together forever?” he softly questioned with wide, teary eyes.

“Forever and always,” Stan replied, then he drifted to sleep once again.

Chapter 13: Escape Artist

Chapter Text

Kyle slowly peeled his eyes open to the bright light of day. He let out a sigh as soon as he took in the sensation of the cold cloth on his forehead, and as he remembered how godawful he felt.

f*ck.

Aren’t fevers supposed to be lower in the morning? That must have been a lie, because he sure as hell didn’t feel any better. In fact, his aches and chills had very much intensified since the night before.

None of that mattered, though, because his first final exam was in just two short days. His junior year of college was about to come to an end, and like hell was he going to let a case of the flu ruin his perfect 4.0 GPA.

He pushed himself upright, arms shaking with exhaustion in the process, then quickly crossed the room to his desk. Moving rapidly felt like death, but if he stood up any longer he was bound to pass out. He breathed heavily for a moment. Even after sitting down, it took quite a while for the dizziness to subside.

An especially miserable bout of chills made Kyle regret not pulling a blanket along with him, but he couldn’t walk across the room again. No, he would definitely fall over if he did that, and if he collapsed his boyfriend would have a heart attack. So, he was left with no choice but to shiver while he studied. Whatever. It wasn’t as if he could possibly suffer any worse than he already was anyway.

He tried his best to focus on the first page of the study guide, but everything looked like a blurry mess. Rubbing his eyes with his palms did nothing to assist the matter. He released a frustrated groan just as the door to the bedroom flew open.

“Baby, what the hell are you doing?” Stan questioned with worry in his voice.

“Studying,” Kyle muttered in response.

“You’re way too sick to be out of bed, Ky.”

“It’s finals week, Stan. I have no choice.”

“You won’t get better if you don’t rest.”

“And I won’t pass my exams if I don’t study,” Kyle argued.

Stan sighed, frustrated.

“I feel better than yesterday,” Kyle lied in attempt to get his way.

“Then why are you shivering like hell?” Stan challenged.

The redhead shifted his gaze to the floor, unable to give an answer. Stan approached to touch the back of his hand to Kyle’s forehead.

“You’re still burning up, Ky. Come on, back to bed. Right now.”

He carefully corralled Kyle back to bed, steadying him when he almost lost his balance on the way.

“f*ck this,” Kyle murmured.

“You can hardly walk,” Stan remarked as he tucked his boyfriend back in, subsequently placing the cold cloth back on his forehead.

“I just need a little ibuprofen and I’ll be totally fine.”

“I don’t know about totally fine, but I would like you to take something to get that fever down.”

“I don’t even have a fever,” Kyle argued, though stepping on his own point as he pulled another blanket over his shivering arms.

“I’ll get the thermometer,” Stan said smugly. “We’ll see about that.”

“Don’t be an asshole, Stan.”

“How does getting the thermometer make me an asshole?”

“It just does.”

Stan smirked and huffed out a laugh.

“Well,” he began, “if you thought that was bad, you’re gonna think I’m the biggest asshole on the planet when I come back with tissues and cough drops and all kinds of other sh*t too.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Kyle couldn’t help but tease back, smiling weakly.

Stan returned a warm smile, then kissed Kyle on the forehead.

“I’ll be right back,” he stated as he left to gather the supplies.

Kyle instantly rolled to the edge of the bed and dropped his aching legs to the floor. He held the wall for support, moving to the desk as rapidly as possible. He was racing the clock, after all. Though collapsing into his chair with uncomfortable momentum when he arrived, he felt ready. His head had cleared up ever so slightly.

Or maybe not. Okay, focus.

Reading three measly pages shouldn’t have been headache inducing, but it was. It was f*cking ridiculous.

If only Kyle had taken the medicine earlier. When he heard Stan approaching he would jump back in bed and play along, get the ibuprofen in his system, then head back over to his desk as soon as he lulled his boyfriend into a false sense of—

“Kyle!” Stan interrupted him.

f*ck. How did Kyle not hear him coming? Apparently his level of alertness was pitiful at the moment.

“Baby, are you f*cking kidding me? I told you to stay in bed!”

“I can’t,” Kyle contended. “I don’t have time for that.”

“You’ll have to make time. Look at you, you’re sweating. Jesus, you look like you feel awful.”

“Thanks a lot, dude. I feel fine.”

Not. Was it possible to be frozen in an ice cube while your body was also on fire? Because that’s what Kyle felt like. He certainly wasn’t going to let Stan know that, though. His boyfriend was worried enough as it was.

“You do not feel fine,” Stan stated. “Come on, Ky.”

Stan lifted Kyle to his feet and guided him back to bed once again.

Kyle tried to blink his tears away as he settled onto the pillow. Why did he always have to get so f*cking emotional when he was sick? It was embarrassing, and Stan clearly noticed, as he proceeded to rub Kyle’s shoulder sympathetically, planting a kiss atop his head.

“I’m sorry, Baby,” he said softly. “You still have tomorrow to study, okay? You just need to rest right now.”

“I’m gonna f*cking fail all my classes,” Kyle cried.

“No you’re not,” Stan soothed.

Kyle did his best to compose himself, as he certainly couldn’t win this battle as a blubbering mess. He had to get a grip.

“You’re right,” he pretended to concede. “Sorry, Sweetheart. I’ll stay in bed.”

As if.

“Thank you,” Stan said gently. “You worry the hell out of me, dude.”

With the newfound compliance making the task easier, Stan placed the thermometer beneath Kyle’s tongue and waited for the device to beep.

“103.1,” he read aloud. “That’s f*cking bad, Kyle.”

“It’s not that bad,” Kyle asserted. “It’ll basically be nothing once I take the medicine. Did you bring it?”

“Yeah, and some water to take it with. You think you can keep it down?”

Probably not.

“Yeah, dude, I can keep it down.”

Kyle accepted the pill from his boyfriend’s hand and downed it with a swig of water, ignoring the protests of his stomach.

“Actually, do you think you could make me some soup or something?” he added with ulterior motives.

He almost felt guilty for how much Stan’s face lit up at the question.

“You feel up to eating today?” Stan eagerly asked.

Hell no.

“Yeah,” Kyle fibbed. “Definitely.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. You’re okay if I go to the kitchen?”

Stan turned around in the doorway, hesitant to leave his ailing boyfriend to his own devices.

“Yes, Stan, I’m not dying,” Kyle teased.

“I swear to god, if you get up again I’m gonna drag your ass right back to bed.”

As soon as Stan exited the room, the game was on again. Kyle wasted no time in standing, this time grabbing his backpack and heading straight for the window. He was about to do something absolutely insane. Thank god they lived on the first floor of the apartment building. Sometimes, drastic times call for drastic measures, and if Stan wouldn’t allow him to study at his desk, Kyle would have to study at the library.

Wait — Stan would instantly track his location. Thankfully, there was an easy solution to that problem. Kyle tossed his phone back inside, where it landed gracefully on the bed. Now nothing could stop him.

Kyle traipsed to his destination in a haze, probably weaving a bit on the sidewalk. He definitely received a few concerned looks from strangers. Through this, he was reminded of how much Stan would panic upon realizing he was missing. It would be awful. This was a horrible, stupid, selfish idea, so why wasn’t he turning around and heading home? It must have been delirium, because something seemed to keep his legs moving toward the library, even when he thought better of it.

Letting out a sigh, he sunk into a large armchair in the library and opened his book. The medication was doing its job enough that he could actually see straight, so that was a plus. Sure, his head was still pounding like hell and his stomach was turning endlessly, but those symptoms were manageable.

A couple chapters into his review session, however, Kyle couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He looked up to find Craig staring from across the room, raising an eyebrow in concern.

sh*t. If Craig couldn’t ignore how bad Kyle looked, he must have looked like death.

His friend walked over once they made eye contact, scanning the redhead up and down in suspicion.

“Not that I care,” Craig started, “but should you be here right now?”

“Why shouldn’t I be here?” Kyle questioned indignantly.

“You tell me,” Craig said flatly. “You’re sweating so much your hair is soaking wet. And you’re pale as sh*t. Even paler than normal.”

Kyle rolled his eyes.

“Does Stan know you’re here?” Craig pressed.

“Stan doesn’t always have to know where I am,” Kyle jeered.

His stomach felt increasingly worse as he talked, and it was setting him on edge. Craig, however, was entirely undisturbed by his attitude.

“You two are completely codependent. He always knows where you are. You snuck out of bed, didn’t you?”

“I— Maybe…”

“Go home. He’s probably having a panic attack. He’ll put up flyers around campus or something, dude.”

“I have to study,” Kyle groaned. “He’ll be pissed at me later but it’ll be fine.”

“No, it won’t,” Craig argued blankly, “Trust me. I’m dating Tweek. I know what sets off this kind of sh*t. If you don’t get your escape artist ass home, Stan will go nuts.”

Suddenly, Kyle found it difficult to even listen to his friend, as his stomach was demanding his attention. The dull ache of nausea had become all-encompassing. All he could do now was frantically search for a trash can, and luckily one sat just a few feet away at the end of an aisle. Lunging forward onto his knees, Kyle gripped the edges of the bin, immediately losing the already-minimal contents of his stomach.

As he heaved dryly for an eternity, a sense of clarity washed over him. What the hell was he doing? He felt like absolute sh*t and all he wanted was to be in bed, wrapped in blankets with Stan at his side. He would even settle just for Stan to be with him, holding him and rubbing his back while he retched.

“Call Stan,” he begged between waves of sick, tears pouring onto his cheeks. “Please.”

Craig sighed in what was probably fictitious annoyance, then immediately complied with his friend’s wish, dialing Stan’s number.

“Craig!” Stan shouted as soon as he answered. “Kyle’s sick as f*ck and he f*cking climbed out the window while I was making soup! And he f*cking left his phone behind! I think he might be delirious or something! I’ve been calling everyone but no one’s seen him and I’m afraid he’s like, passed out on the ground somewhere or—”

“I have your escape artist,” Craig cut him off in his usual monotone.

“You’re with Kyle?!”

“We’re in the library.”

“Is he okay?!” Stan queried.

“He’s crying and throwing up, and begging for you,” Craig answered nonchalantly.

“What?! Jesus Christ. I’ll be right there.”

Stan arrived no more than five minutes later — he must have actually sprinted from his apartment. His face fell as he took in the sight of a pale Kyle leaned limply against a bookshelf with the trash can situated between his legs. Craig gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement, then left the couple on their own.

“Baby…” Stan said gently, kneeling before the redhead. “I was worried sick.”

Kyle immediately fell forward into Stan’s arms, burying his face in the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey,” Stan soothed as he pulled back slightly to look Kyle in the eyes. “It’s okay.”

He placed a hand on Kyle’s overheated cheek, gently stroking with his thumb.

“I feel sick,” Kyle finally confessed. “I feel so sick. Please take me home.”

Stan wasted no time in scooping Kyle into his arms.

“I’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he said with a small smile as he headed for the door.

“Good,” Kyle murmured, leaning into Stan’s chest. “I don’t wanna be away from you again.”

Chapter 14: Glow

Chapter Text

Stan cursed the world as he heard the front door close behind his family.

Of course, the one weekend they actually planned to do something fun, he would come down with some kind of plague. Of course, the one time he would have actually enjoyed hanging out with his family, he wouldn’t get the chance.

The universe couldn’t just let him go to Denver for the weekend to watch the Broncos play, could it? The tickets were his birthday present, for Christ’s sake, and now his parents were going to the game without him. And what a gift it was… not only watching his parents enjoy the weekend he had been looking forward to for ages, but getting to lie miserably on the couch with no one to look after him. It was like some kind of cruel joke.

His stomach was in knots, he was shivering with fever, every muscle in his body ached to hell and he couldn’t stop coughing. Water would have probably helped with that, but getting a drink would require standing, and that didn’t exactly sound easy.

f*ck his parents for leaving him to fend for himself. Leave it to Randy to talk his wife into abandoning their sick teenage son for the weekend while they went galavanting around the state of Colorado.

Interrupting Stan’s session of self-pitying, his phone rang. Both the loud noise and the brightness of the screen made him wince in discomfort, but he answered nonetheless. It was Kyle. He always picked up when Kyle called.

“Hello?” he answered in a froggy voice.

“Hey dude, I know you’re probably on your way to Denver but I was wondering if you had done the homework yet for— Wait… Stan, are you okay?”

“I’m not going to Denver,” Stan muttered. “I’m sick.”

“sh*t… that sucks, I’m sorry,” Kyle replied. “Were your parents able to switch the tickets to a different weekend or something?”

“No. They went without me.”

“Dude, are you serious?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Stan answered before coughing hard.

“So they left you home alone for the whole f*cking weekend while you’re sick?” Kyle questioned further in disbelief.

“Yeah. Apparently they don’t give a sh*t.”

“I’m coming over.”

“Huh?”

“I’m coming over right now, Stan. You shouldn’t be home alone. You sound awful. I’m hanging up now because I know you’ll try to stop me from coming over, and you can’t. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

As he had said he would, Kyle hung up the phone, and Stan let out a deep sigh. It would definitely be nice to be taken care of, but… the situation with Kyle was complicated.

The fact of the matter was, Stan didn’t really want Kyle to see him like this; he looked like absolute sh*t. Sure, they had seen each other in every state imaginable over the years, but things were different now. Things were different because for the past year, Stan saw fireworks every time Kyle flashed him a smile. Every brush of their skin was electric. For god’s sake, he saw his future in Kyle’s eyes.

And Stan was terrified. He wasn’t even gay… was he? The only person he had ever “dated” was Wendy, and he was a kid at the time. But that didn’t mean he didn’t like girls! Maybe these feelings for Kyle were something else, and he was just confused. It actually didn’t matter either way, because Kyle wouldn’t reciprocate the feelings, obviously. Stan knew this for a fact because Kyle actually had come out as gay, and he still had never so much as hinted at the two being anything other than friends. He clearly didn’t want that. If Stan said anything, it would only f*ck up their perfect friendship.

“Stan,” a voice rang out, sending him flying about three feet in the air above the couch.

“Kyle?” he gasped, catching his breath. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“The door was unlocked.”

“Dude, you just opened the door and walked in without knocking?”

Kyle scoffed, probably at the formalities Stan suddenly expected from him.

“I knocked and rang the doorbell like five times. I was getting freaked out,” he explained with furrowed brows. “Are you okay?”

How the hell did Stan’s daydream filter out all that commotion? His fever must have been getting much worse. If his blissful unawareness of his surroundings wasn’t proof enough of that, the sight before him certainly was. Kyle appeared blurry, but at the same time he seemed to glow with perfection. His delicate red curls, his beautiful eyes soulful with worry… he physically glowed like an angel.

Stan’s brain felt frozen. He couldn’t find words to say, the same ridiculous ones playing over and over in his mind: You’re glowing, Kyle.

“Dude, isn’t that what people say to pregnant women or something?” Kyle questioned with a titter.

f*ck. f*ck. Did he actually say that out loud? He needed Kyle out of here before he said something even worse.

“I didn’t mean to… say that…” he murmured.

In panic at this ridiculous situation, his breathing became rapid and shallow. He moved a hand to cover his eyes in shame, finding his palm instantly soaked from the sweat adorning his face.

“Stan,” Kyle said softly, moving to sit beside him.

The redhead gently moved Stan’s hand away from his face, then pressed the back of his own hand to his forehead.

“Stan, you’re burning up.”

“You should go,” Stan blurted out.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

Kyle brushed the hair back from Stan’s forehead. He must have had no idea how that would send his best friend’s head spinning. The gentle strokes of his fingertips sent bolts of lighting down Stan’s spine.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Kyle asserted.

And why did he have to be so sweet and thoughtful and perfect? f*ck him for that. He looked so spectacular sitting there beside Stan, looking down at him in a way that could only be described as lovingly. It wasn’t fair.

“You look pretty, you know,” Stan mumbled.

He hoped to god he didn’t say that out loud, but if the shade of red on Kyle’s cheeks was any indication, he had.

“Even prettier when you blush,” he continued, then immediately cursed himself. “Ky, I think I’m like… delirious or something.”

“I— I think you are too. Maybe I should get you some medicine. You’re kind of scaring me, dude.”

“It scares you when I call you pretty?”

Apparently every remnant of Stan’s filter was dead.

“No, it— That… doesn’t scare me,” Kyle stammered. “It’s scaring me that you’re sweating like hell and that you’re looking through me instead of at me.”

Okay, both valid points.

Kyle was returning with the medicine before Stan had even realized he left, solidifying the desperate need for it. He carefully fed four ibuprofen pills to his ailing friend, then tilted a sip of water into his mouth to wash them down. Stan desperately hoped the medication would help, if not for the sake of calming his miserable symptoms, then for the sake of shutting his delirious ass up.

“Thanks, Ky.”

Kyle offered a warm smile and proceeded to rub his shoulder sympathetically.

“I like when you call me ‘Ky,’” he said, barely above a whisper.

“I wanna call you that more,” Stan slurred. “It makes me feel closer to you, I guess.”

At this point, he had given up on even trying to hold back his words. The delirium won and he lost. f*ck it.

“Is it even possible for us to be any closer?” Kyle asked with lips curling upward. “We’re already super best friends, dude.”

“We could be closer,” Stan contended. “Like, come here.”

He reached up an arm to wrap behind Kyle’s neck.

“Come here,” he repeated.

With a skeptical smirk, Kyle complied, leaning in toward his best friend’s face.

Much to both of their surprise, Stan confidently shifted his hands to caress Kyle’s cheeks, pulling him in until their lips crashed together. The kiss was soft and slow, and the redhead seemed to have no intentions of pulling away until he suddenly jumped to his feet with an utterly confused expression.

“Dude, what the hell?” he croaked out.

“I’m sorry,” Stan said with a strained voice as his sore throat reared its ugly head. “I’m such a f*cking idiot. That was stupid… and now you’re gonna get sick. I’m sorry. I’m f*cking sorry, Kyle. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. I just— you’re just so f*cking beautiful.”

“You mean… Cartman didn’t put you up to this?”

“What? Why would Cartman have anything to do with this?”

“Because he f*cking knows.”

“Knows what, dude?”

“That I… love you,” Kyle meekly confessed.

This must have been a fever dream. There was no way this was happening in real life.

“You… love me?” Stan parroted.

“f*ck, dude, of course I do! But I didn’t think you were… interested in guys.”

“I don’t know what I’m interested in, but I know you’re all I think about and that when I’m sick and delirious you have this… magic glowing haze around you.”

“Magic glowing haze?” Kyle questioned, looking amused as he took his seat next to Stan once again.

“f*ck, I don’t know,” Stan groaned. “I know I love you too but I think… this might be a fever dream.”

“Should I pinch you and see if you wake up?” Kyle teased.

“No. If this is a dream… I don’t wanna wake up.”

In lieu of a verbal response, Kyle climbed beneath the blanket with Stan, tightly wrapping his arms around him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Stan whispered. “I feel like sh*t, dude.”

“You’ll feel better soon, okay?” Kyle soothed, pressing one more soft kiss to Stan’s shoulder. “The medicine will kick in soon.”

“I hope so. I wanna be able to think again, like… think about something other than how much I wanna call you ‘baby.’”

A smile spread across Kyle’s cheeks, then he looked up to meet Stan’s gaze.

“You don’t have to think about something else. I’d kind of… like it if you called me ‘baby.’”

“There’s no way this isn’t a fever dream,” Stan uttered.

“I think you should get some sleep. You really don’t seem well, Stan. But this isn’t a fever dream, so… I’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

“Okay. f*ck, I can’t wait to get better.”

“Don’t wanna miss any school?” Kyle teased.

“No, I just… wanna kiss you harder.”

Chapter 15: Grief

Chapter Text

Stan paced back and forth at the airport check-in, eagerly waiting to reunite with his boyfriend. Though he and Kyle had been dating for almost two years, they reluctantly went their separate ways for Thanksgiving, as each of their respective families wanted them home for the holiday. It was their senior year of college, after all. Their parents didn’t know how far away they might land after graduation.

“Stan!” Kyle called out from across the crowded space.

He broke into a sprint as soon as they locked eyes.

“Ky!” Stan shouted back, beaming.

The redhead leapt into his arms, kissing him deeply. Their reunion might have been a bit dramatic after a mere three day separation, but it felt like forever considering they were typically joined at the hip. If the travelers around them thought the two hadn’t seen each other in years, that wouldn’t have been an unreasonable assessment, but they couldn’t help making a scene. They were just so in love.

“I missed you like hell, Baby,” Stan said softly.

“God, I missed you too,” Kyle replied before planting another kiss on his lips. “Did you have a good Thanksgiving?”

“Honestly it kind of sucked. My parents had another huge fight about my dad spending their retirement money on TV ads for his weed.”

“Again? Jesus.”

“Was yours better than mine, I hope?”

“It was fine. We didn’t really get to do anything fun because Ike was sick as hell all weekend. He has the sh*ttiest flu, dude. He could barely even get out of bed until today.”

“Damn. Now you’re gonna get sick.”

“What? No I’m not!”

“Ky,” Stan started, smiling sympathetically, “you catch literally everything. You’re gonna catch it.”

“Don’t even say that,” Kyle scolded. “I can’t get sick right before finals. I won’t.”

“Okay… Sorry…”

Stan raised his hands in surrender.

“Let’s just hurry up and get to the gate, okay?” Kyle pressed. “I need coffee. I’m tired as hell.”

When they were finally seated at their gate, Stan noticed the caffeine didn’t appear to be doing much for Kyle. The redhead’s eyelids still drooped heavily and he seemed to be lost in his own world.

“You okay?” Stan asked.

“Yeah,” Kyle replied, though he sounded unsure. “Can I have your sweatshirt? It’s cold as hell in here.”

“You’re cold? Dude, it’s f*cking hot in here.”

“If you’re hot then give me the damn sweatshirt.”

“Fine, here. Jesus.”

Stan handed it over, ignoring the implications of his boyfriend’s temperature, as he knew any questions about it would only anger Kyle.

“Sorry,” Kyle muttered. “I just have a headache from not drinking enough water.”

“Are you… sure it’s from not drinking enough water?” Stan carefully inquired.

“Dude, yes,” Kyle asserted. “Why are you being a dick?”

“I’m not being a dick.”

“Yes you are! You’re trying to gaslight me into thinking I’m sick!”

Ah, there it was… denial… the first stage of grief. Now Stan knew for certain that Kyle could feel symptoms coming on.

“I’m not trying to upset you,” Stan said as he wrapped his arms around Kyle’s shivering figure. “I’m just worried.”

“You don’t need to worry,” Kyle firmly stated, pulling at the sleeves of his sweatshirt in attempt to warm his hands.

“Alright. I’m sorry.”

Stan planted a kiss on Kyle’s cheek, forcing himself to bite down a wave of anxiety at the concerning warmth against his lips.

“I promise I’m okay,” Kyle asserted.

However, once they boarded the plane, Stan’s concern only grew. He noticed sweat pooling on Kyle’s forehead in spite of the fact that he still claimed to be cold, and his boyfriend looked paler with each passing moment.

“Stan,” Kyle murmured shortly after takeoff.

He had been suspiciously silent until then.

“What’s up, Baby?” Stan asked gently, rubbing a hand up and down his arm.

“Wha— don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That pity thing you’re doing,” Kyle hissed. “Don’t f*cking pity me.”

And there was the second stage of grief: anger.

Stan stared at him in silence, unsure of what to say without setting him off.

“And don’t look at me like that either,” Kyle continued.

“You said my name,” Stan said quietly. “That’s the only reason I’m looking at you, dude.”

Kyle sighed, biting his lower lip in discomfort.

“I just— can we trade seats?”

“Really? You always want the window seat.”

“I need the aisle in case I— I just need it, okay?”

Stan quickly stood up to swap seats, as he knew exactly what the request meant, and evidently, Kyle knew he knew.

“There are a lot of reasons I could be feeling nauseous right now,” he muttered as soon as he took his new seat, attempting to prove a point either to Stan or himself. “It could be the breakfast sandwich, you know, maybe I… overate… or it could be this flight. It’s bumpy as hell. We have a sh*tty pilot.”

Apparently, Kyle had already moved on to the bargaining stage. Stan could hardly keep from laughing at his weak attempts to explain away his stomachache.

“A sh*tty pilot?” Stan questioned, softly so as not to sound argumentative.

“Yeah, the worst,” Kyle croaked out in full seriousness.

Stan felt his heart break a little as his boyfriend pulled his knees to his chest and proceeded to bury his face. Though risking an angry outburst, Stan reached over to rub his back. He could feel erratic diaphragm contractions signifying stifled sobs, and he wished he could take Kyle into his arms and hold him so closely that the pain would somehow disappear.

The redhead finally lifted his face to reveal a trail of tears. This must have been the depression stage. No wonder he was upset, as the poor thing looked green as hell at this point.

“Ky…”

“f*ck,” Kyle groaned, leaning his head on Stan’s shoulder only momentarily before abruptly jumping upright.

He rushed down the aisle toward the bathroom, and Stan released a sigh in pity. While he ordinarily would follow along to offer comfort, he knew there was no easy way to squeeze two people into an airplane bathroom, and Kyle certainly wouldn’t want to get sick with the door open. He was left with no choice but to wait for his boyfriend’s return.

When Kyle plopped back into his seat a few minutes later, Stan’s heart shattered even further. It was almost as though the bout of sickness had brought the rest of the symptoms along with it in full force. Kyle was as pale as a sheet, drenched in sweat, and clearly lethargic.

“How do you feel?” Stan asked softly.

“Like sh*t,” Kyle groaned. “I think… I might be sick.”

There it was, the final stage of grief: acceptance.

“Come here,” Stan soothed, pulling Kyle’s weary head over to rest on his lap. “I’m so sorry you’re sick, Baby.”

“I’m so c-cold.”

Stan wished there was more he could do to quell the shivering, but Kyle was already wrapped in his sweatshirt.

“Everything suddenly hurts like hell,” Kyle slurred. “How long until we get to South Park?”

“South Park?” Stan parroted, alarm bells of concern going off in his mind.

“Yeah… how long until we get there?”

“Dude, we just came from South Park. We’re on our way home.”

“Home, yeah,” Kyle mumbled, “We live in South Park.”

“Ky, we haven’t lived there in four years.”

Stan placed a hand on Kyle’s forehead and his face instantly contorted in concern.

“You’re burning up…”

“No I’m not, it’s— I’m cold.”

“Try to rest until we land, okay? We’ll be home soon. It’ll be okay. It’ll be fine.”

Stan was primarily trying to convince himself of that.

Kyle crashed to sleep almost immediately and remained in a fitful slumber until they reached their destination. Stan tried his best not to fret when Kyle somehow managed to sleep through the plane’s landing, but he could only push the concern away with so much effectiveness.

Luckily, the boys had each only been traveling with a small backpack, so Stan was able to carry both while still ensuring Kyle stayed on his feet. The walk across the airport and then through the parking lot was excruciatingly long, leaving Kyle drained enough to drift off again as soon as they reached their car.

Stan didn’t have the heart to wake him up and pull him back into the harsh reality of illness when they got home, so he opted to scoop his boyfriend up bridal style, carrying him inside and setting him directly in bed where he belonged.

He couldn’t wait to climb into bed himself after a long day of travel, but Stan knew Kyle would wake up stressed if he didn’t take care of a few things before settling in. Though he cared much less about these things, he was willing to make the sacrifice if it would help Kyle rest.

“Hey,” Stan whispered, gently shaking Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle’s eyes peeled half-open as he hummed in response.

“Sorry to wake you, but I need you to take something to get that fever down.”

“Where— where are we?”

“We’re home. You’re at home in bed, Ky.”

“Oh… How did we— how did I get here?”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Stan said gently. “I just need you to take some medicine.”

“Why?” Kyle grumbled.

“Because I won’t be able to sleep until your fever is down, Baby. I’ll worry all night.”

“You’re so obsessed with me,” Kyle teased, a smile lazily crossing his cheeks.

Stan gave Kyle a peck on the forehead. “Guilty.”

He lifted a glass of water and a handful of pills, expecting Kyle to take them into his own hands, but the redhead simply opened his mouth. Huffing out a laugh, Stan carefully placed the pills on his tongue, then tilted back a sip of water in to wash them down.

Satisfied with the medical treatment for the time being, Stan climbed in bed beside Kyle, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“Wake me up if you need anything, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” Kyle contended. “I’m not that sick.”

Stan grinned into Kyle’s shoulder, amused. It seemed as though even in Kyle’s delirious state, the stages of grief were about to repeat themselves.

Chapter 16: Closeness

Chapter Text

Stan held his gaze on Kyle. Most of their friends were roaring in laughter and shouting taunts as Cartman and Kenny faced off in Mariokart, but Kyle was silent. Curled up in a ball at the foot of the couch with his knees held closely to his chest, he looked lost in his own world. Stan was worried, but he didn’t know how to verbalize that without getting teased.

“Why the f*ck is no one rooting for me?!” Cartman screeched, pulling Stan from his daydream.

“Because we hate you,” Craig said flatly.

“This is my goddamn sleepover party! I’ll make you sleep on the f*cking porch like a dog!”

“I win,” Kenny muttered through his parka.

“f*ck you!” Cartman yelled. “You f*cking cheater! We’re going outside. I’m not playing this bullsh*t game anymore.”

He immediately stood up and headed for the back door. A few shrugs were exchanged, but the others didn’t hesitate to follow. Kenny, Craig, Tweek, Butters, Tolkien and Clyde all filed out of the room, leaving only Stan and Kyle behind.

“We’re playing ghost in the graveyard!” Cartman shouted from outside.

“Aww gee, I’m real scared of ghosts,” Butters mumbled as the door closed behind them.

Now Stan was really getting concerned. As far as he could tell, Kyle hadn’t even noticed the others had left the room.

“Kyle?” Stan said quietly, crossing the room to sit beside him.

He placed a hand on the redhead’s back to gain his attention, and f*ck, why did the touch make his chest feel so tight? Something strange had been going on with Stan lately. Whenever he and Kyle were apart, he felt empty, like a piece of himself was missing. They had always been inseparable, but this was different. It was like he couldn’t breathe without Kyle, and even being in the same room wasn’t enough. He wanted to be closer. Maybe holding hands?

No, not that. That would be totally gay. Sure, Cartman had always teased Stan and Kyle for their closeness, but Stan didn’t actually want to do anything that gay with Kyle… did he?

Stan shook his head to disperse his thoughts. He needed to focus on the matter at hand. f*ck, worrying about Kyle all the time was pretty gay too, at least by Cartman’s standards, wasn’t it? Whatever. So what if he wanted to make sure his best friend was okay? Was that illegal or something?

“Are you okay?” Stan finally asked.

“Cartman’s just annoying,” Kyle replied, though he sounded unsure.

“He’s always annoying but you don’t usually… get quiet like this, dude. What the hell did he say to you?”

Kyle shrugged. “Nothing. I don’t even know why I came to his stupid party.”

“Boys, it’s time to get ready for bed!” Liane called out as she walked down the stairs.

“Good,” Kyle murmured, and he headed straight for the basem*nt.

“Where’s my sweet little poopsiekins?” Liane asked Stan once she realized the others were missing.

“He went outside,” Stan answered absently.

Furrowing his brows, he rushed after Kyle. Something was definitely up.

Stan couldn’t pry anything out of him before the others joined them to set up their sleeping bags, so he opted for close observation instead. Kyle was moving sluggishly, avoiding conversation, oblivious to his surroundings… he even missed several opportunities to fling insults at Cartman. Whatever was bothering him was obviously serious.

When they laid down in their sleeping bags, Stan continued to keep watch over Kyle until he couldn’t hold his eyes open anymore. He drifted off, melting into dreams of closeness.

Suddenly, he was being shaken awake again. Stan wasn’t sure what time it was, but it was clearly much later in the night. Everyone else was fast asleep except him and whoever had a hand on his shoulder.

“Kyle?” Stan muttered.

“Dude,” Kyle whispered with urgency. “I think my blood sugar is low.”

“Do you have your… insulin or whatever?”

“That’s for high blood sugar, Stan. I need some juice or something. Can you come upstairs with me?”

Stan nodded and jumped upright in an instant. Since the pair tended to stay together during any sleepover adventures like this one, he wasn’t surprised at the ask. He didn’t, however, expect Kyle to cling to his arm, leaning heavily against him on the entire trek to the kitchen.

As Kyle pulled some orange juice out of the fridge, Stan flipped on a light, and one clear look at his best friend revealed that Kyle was not well.

“Dude,” Stan said shakily.

He hurried over, guiding Kyle to sit down at the table. He thengrabbed the juice container away, taking it upon himself to pour a glass on the redhead’s behalf.

“I’m fine,” Kyle assured him. “It’s just my blood sugar.”

“Why do you have low blood sugar anyway?” Stan questioned. “We ate so much sh*t last night.”

“I didn’t…” Kyle admitted, avoiding eye contact.

“What?”

“I didn’t eat my dinner, I just… wasn’t hungry.”

“What about all the snacks? And the ice cream?”

“I wasn’t hungry,” Kyle reiterated.

“Does… your stomach hurt?” Stan hesitantly inquired.

“No!” Kyle lied.

The nauseated look on his face was a dead giveaway.

“You’re like… sweating,” Stan observed. “You look like sh*t. You’re even paler than normal.”

“Thanks a lot, dude.”

“I’m being serious,” Stan asserted as he continued his search for a glass. “Are you sure you’re not, like, sick or something?”

“No,” Kyle said firmly, standing up and moving toward Stan in protest. “I’m not sick, and I can find a glass myself.”

Just as Stan was turning around to argue, Kyle came to a halt, wobbling a bit, then lost consciousness and hit the ground.

“Kyle!” Stan yelled, kneeling at his side in a panic. “Kyle? Dude, can you hear me?”

Heart beating out of his chest, he gave Kyle’s shoulders a hard shake. That probably wasn’t my the right thing to do in this situation, but hell, how else was he supposed to wake someone up?

“Stan?” Kyle weakly croaked out after another moment that felt like an eternity.

“Oh my god,” Stan cried. “Holy sh*t. Are you okay? You scared the hell out of me!”

He suddenly realized there were tears streaming down his face. That was totally lame and embarrassing, but this was Kyle, and he was not okay. Stan was scared out of his mind.

“Dude, be cool,” Kyle mumbled, though the soft smile crossing his cheeks suggested he didn’t mind Stan worrying over him.

“I think I should get Cartman’s mom.”

“Please don’t.”

“But you’re—”

“It’s not a big deal. I don’t want her to wake up Cartman or call my mom or something. Please, Stan.”

“Fine, Jesus Christ, but you better not pass out again. You’ll give me a heart attack.”

“I won’t pass out again,” Kyle insisted. “I just need to drink some juice. Can you help me up?”

He reached an arm up, tacitly asking for Stan to take his hand. When their fingers interlocked, Stan felt the strangest urge to remain that way forever. The closeness felt right. He wondered if Kyle felt the same way, as the redhead still hadn’t let go once they got him settled in a chair. It wasn’t until the temperature of Kyle’s hand crossed Stan’s mind that they finally pulled apart.

“Dude, you’re like… really warm,” Stan remarked.

“It’s just hot in here.”

“Not really. I think maybe you…” trailing off, Stan placed a hand on Kyle’s forehead.

“What the hell are you doing?” Kyle questioned. “Dude, that’s weird. That’s what my mom does.”

“I don’t know… your mom isn’t here and you won’t let me get Ms. Cartman, so… somebody has to make sure you’re okay. I think you’ve got a fever, Kyle.”

“Will you just get me the juice?”

With an eye roll, Stan poured some orange juice into the glass he located just before the incident, then handed it over to Kyle. The latter looked down at the cup for a moment, visibly repulsed.

“What, you don’t like orange juice anymore?” Stan pressed.

“It’s my favorite…”

“I know. So drink it.”

Kyle brought the glass to his lips and took a small sip with a pained expression.

“I just feel a little…” he muttered.

“Nauseous?” Stan offered, raising his eyebrows.

“No! f*ck, no!”

Contrary to what Kyle stated, though, he was visibly biting back gags.

“Kyle,” Stan started, “you’ll feel better if you just let yourself—”

“No! No! I’m not gonna get sick.”

Stan sighed in response. Taking Kyle by the hand once again, he led him to the bathroom.

“Why the hell are we in here?” Kyle could hardly ask, trying desperately not to lose the battle with his stomach.

“Come on,” Stan said gently, guiding him toward the toilet bowl. “It’ll make you feel better, dude.”

“No, it won’t. I’m not gonna—”

“Yes it will.”

Kyle looked to Stan with fear in his eyes, effectively shattering his best friend’s heart.

“Stan, I can’t.”

Though fearing it was an overstep, that it was insanely gay, Stan reached out to place a hand on his back, gently rubbing up and down.

“I’m right here,” he soothed.

The comfort seemed to be helpful, as Kyle finally gave up the fight, letting a wave of sick spill into the bowl. Now, the floodgates were opened, and he could hardly take in a breath between retches. Tears streamed down his face as he sharply gasped amidst the painful clenches of his stomach.

“Just let it out,” Stan continued as Kyle heaved miserably.

“f*ck,” Kyle groaned.

Stan exaggerated his own breathing pattern in attempt to steady Kyle’s.

“See, don’t you feel better?” he asked softly once the redhead began to regain his composure.

“No. I feel like sh*t.”

“Do you think… you’re done for now?”

Kyle nodded, wiping his eyes. “For now.”

“Let’s get you to the couch, okay?” Stan suggested, already guiding him in that direction.

“I’m gonna have to puke again…”

“I’ll find you a trash can or something. You should lie down.”

They took their places side by side on the couch, Stan allowing Kyle extra space to lie down. Much to his surprise, however, the redhead opted not to use that space, instead letting his head fall into his best friend’s lap. Stan froze in place, still as a statue. What the hell was he supposed to do with his hands? This was closer than he thought Kyle would ever want to be with him. He finally allowed a hand to fall onto Kyle’s shoulder, where it offered a slight squeeze in support. The other hand rested atop Kyle’s head, and as Stan carefully ran his fingers through the red curls, he saw an unmistakable smile appear on his best friend’s face.

Maybe Kyle was just delirious, or too sick to realize what was happening… or maybe he, too, longed for closeness between then. Stan felt infinitely less guilty for the feeling, knowing he wasn’t the only one.

Obviously, if their other friends found them this way in the morning, they would be mocked to hell and back… but for some reason, Stan didn’t care.

Chapter 17: Guilt

Chapter Text

“Dude, what should we have for dinner tonight?” Stan asked as he flopped down onto the couch.

“You only ask that question when you already know what you want,” Kyle said with a smirk.

Stan grinned back at him. “Chipotle?”

“That’s cool with me.”

Leaning into Kyle’s shoulder, Stan exaggeratedly batted his eyelashes.

“Can you go get it?” he requested.

Kyle playfully shoved him away.

“It was your idea! You go pick it up!”

“But I’m tired as sh*t,” Stan groaned. “Work sucked ass today.”

“Would you rather be studying for the bar exam? I’ve been bent over my desk all damn day.”

“You didn’t seem to mind being bent over your desk last night,” Stan teased.

Kyle rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but smile.

“Yeah, and now thanks to your little distraction I’m behind schedule.”

“Little distraction? I think you mean huge distraction,” Stan corrected, laughing at his own joke.

“Well, if I fail the bar because of your ‘huge distraction,’ you’ll be stuck distracting yourself for a long ass time.”

“Kyle!”

The redhead snickered and leaned over to kiss his boyfriend’s cheek.

“I’m gonna be cooped up here all weekend,” he bemoaned, getting back to the real subject at hand.

“Then it might be nice to get some fresh air,” Stan nudged him.

“I’m not walking all the way to Chipotle, dude. The car’s still in the shop, remember?”

“You could ride your bike!”

“Kenny hasn’t given my helmet back.”

“It’s just a few blocks…”

“Fine,” Kyle conceded, rising to his feet. “I’ll pick up dinner for your lazy ass.”

Stan stood as well, pulling Kyle in by the arm for a soft kiss.

“I love you,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Lazy Ass,” Kyle teased before pressing his lips to Stan’s once more.

Stan immediately reclined back onto the couch, embracing the nickname.

He spent the next hour or so watching mindless television, then it suddenly dawned on him that Kyle should have been back in way less than an hour. In fact, Stan expected the entire trip to take half that time. Maybe the line was long? But that seemed odd for a small town on a Wednesday night.

If Stan’s friends were here, they would surely be making fun of him for how paranoid and overprotective he was. Kyle was a grown man on a short bike ride. He was fine… but… what if he wasn’t? Ordinarily, he would send an ETA update if he was delayed. Something was definitely wrong.

Just as Stan was picking up his phone to text Kyle, a call from an unknown number came through. He didn’t usually answer such calls, but given his concern for Kyle’s well-being, he picked up without hesitation.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Stanley Marsh?” the voice on the other end of the line asked.

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is Hell’s Pass Hospital. We have you listed as the primary emergency contact for your partner, Kyle Broflovski?”

“What the f*ck…”

“I’m sorry, is this… the wrong number?”

“No! No, I— just— What’s going on?” Stan queried.

He sprung to his feet, pacing anxiously.

“Kyle was in an accident. He—”

“WHAT?!” Stan practically screamed.

“He was riding his bike and—”

“I know he was riding his bike! WHAT HAPPENED?!”

Stan felt a twinge of guilt for his tone with the receptionist, but he couldn’t stop himself. It felt as though he was outside his own body, watching as some unhinged version of himself spiraled out of control.

“Someone in the parking lane opened their door as he was riding by. He crashed into it and flipped over the—”

“f*ck! No, no, no… Is he okay?! f*ck!”

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm—”

“I won’t f*cking calm down! I CAN’T calm down! How the f*ck would I calm down right now?!” Stan shrieked. “Answer the question! Is he f*ckING okay?!”

God, he hated yelling at people. He was the even-keeled one in the relationship. He didn’t do sh*t like this. When Kyle got worked up, Stan was the only one who could bring him back to center, but Stan was too far gone to pull himself back to Earth now.

“Your partner is stable,” the receptionist answered sharply.

She sounded a bit shaken up. Stan hoped someone else would hug her or something, because he was too busy freaking the f*ck out to take a step back and apologize.

“Stable? I-I— I don’t even know what that means!” he exclaimed. “What the f*ck does that MEAN?!”

“Sir, I’m not clinical staff, I can’t answer any specific medical questions you may have about—”

“It’s not specific!” Stan yelled. “I’m saying I don’t f*cking understand what you’re telling me! If you don’t know what the hell is going on just SAY so, and put someone on the phone who knows what they’re talking about!”

Stan winced at his own words. He felt sick to his stomach. Maybe he was lashing out at this poor receptionist because he knew damn well this was all his fault. He sent Kyle out to get dinner because he was too lazy to pick it up himself. He told Kyle to ride his bike. He argued that it was ‘only a few blocks’ when Kyle had said he didn’t have a helmet to wear. What the hell was wrong with him? Whenever anyone or anything hurt Kyle, Stan hated the source of that pain. What was he supposed to do when he was that source? The guilt was crushing. He didn’t know how to keep himself from imploding under that much self-hatred.

“Maybe you should come down here and talk to the doctor yourself,” the receptionist suggested, audibly struggling to keep her cool.

“Fine! Fine!” Stan cried before hanging up the phone.

Wasting no more time, he rushed out the door and broke into a sprint toward the hospital. It would typically take a long time to get there on foot, but adrenaline had his legs moving at record-breaking speed.

As he burst through the emergency room doors, out of breath and practically melting onto the triage desk, the woman on the other side of the counter narrowed her eyes.

“I’m guessing you’re Stanley Marsh,” she said flatly.

“Yeah,” he answered, wiping a mixture of sweat and tears from his face. “Where is he? Where’s Kyle?”

The receptionist pointed to her left.

“Right over there. Trauma room 2.”

Trauma room. f*ck. That sounded bad.

Stan hurried over, throwing the curtain to the side, and there he was. A bruised and bandaged Kyle stared back at him. He looked terrible, but he was awake.

“Baby,” Stan could barely squeak out through his sobs.

He ran to his boyfriend’s side, kissing him hard. Kyle was awake. He was here, he was alive, and he was awake.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” Kyle softly greeted.

Having sped over to hold the redhead in his arms, Stan had yet to take in the full extent of Kyle’s condition. He took a few steps back, stomach turning as he observed the numerous injuries.

Kyle’s face was bruised to hell and a large gash crossed above his left eyebrow. His left arm was in a cast and sling. Some kind of uncomfortable-looking plastic collar was wrapped around his neck. His right leg was casted and his left foot was wrapped in a bandage as well. He looked absolutely awful.

“Don’t cry,” Kyle soothed, holding out his uninjured arm to beckon Stan forward.

“I’m so sorry,” Stan sobbed.

“What? What are you sorry for?” Kyle questioned.

“It’s all my fault,” Stan uttered as he buried his face in Kyle’s chest.

“How is this your fault? You’re not the asshole who doored me.”

“I’m the asshole who was too lazy to go get dinner… and the asshole who told you to ride your bike to Chipotle… and the asshole who thought it was f*cking okay for you to ride without a helmet…”

“Stan, hey—”

“I deserve to die.”

“Stan,” Kyle said firmly enough to prompt a lift of his boyfriend’s head. “This is not your fault. You didn’t make me do anything. And hell, you ride without a helmet all the time, of course you thought it was okay. I don’t even think you own a goddamn helmet.”

“See? I’m stupid and irresponsible!”

“sh*t just happens, Babe. Yeah, I’m gonna be on your ass about wearing a helmet now, but please stop saying this is your fault,” Kyle begged. “It’s not your fault, okay?”

Stan sniffled, wiping his eyes with his palms.

“What hurts, Baby?” he questioned as he squeezed Kyle’s hand.

The redhead huffed out a laugh, though his expression was pained. “A better question would be ‘what doesn’t hurt’…”

“f*ck…”

“I kind of… landed on my head and left arm and basically did a damn cartwheel onto the ground. That’s why my left arm is shattered.”

“Oh my god, Ky. You hit your head?! Are you—”

“It’s just a concussion.”

“‘Just’ a concussion?”

“It… could have been a lot worse…” Kyle hesitantly acknowledged. “They put me through so many scans, dude.”

A doctor entered the room with a cheerful smile before Stan could reply. He wondered how the hell that guy could stay so positive when he sees sh*t like this all day.

“Good news!” the doctor exclaimed. “We can take off that c-collar now. The rest of your scans came back looking great. No spinal damage.”

He proceeded to remove the uncomfortable-looking plastic ring from Kyle’s neck.

“You didn’t tell me you might have a broken neck,” Stan uttered, tears welling in his eyes once again.

“I don’t have a broken neck, okay?” Kyle tried to calm him. “That’s all that matters.”

“Your boyfriend is very lucky,” the doctor stated. “He has no rib damage or internal bleeds. With the force at which he hit his head and considering the fact that he was still unconscious when the paramedics arrived on scene—”

Stan furrowed his brows at Kyle in light of the new information. The latter took tight hold of his hand to stop him from interrupting the doctor again.

“—it’s a miracle that he’s walking away with no spinal damage and only a moderate concussion.”

“Are his legs broken?” Stan inquired, shifting closer to Kyle on the bed.

“His right tibia and fibula sustained minor fractures, but his left ankle is only sprained.”

“Can he… walk?”

“Crutches will be a bit of a challenge with a casted arm, but we can make it happen once the sprained ankle is healed. Until then, he’ll have to settle for a wheelchair.”

“You’ve gotta be f*cking kidding me,” Kyle groaned.

“The nurse will be back in with discharge papers in a few minutes, and then you should be able to be on your way, as long as your partner keeps an eye on you with that concussion. If you experience any confusion or loss of coordination, he should bring you back here.”

“I will,” Stan promised.

As the doctor exited the room, Stan wrapped his arms around Kyle as tightly as was possible without causing pain.

“I need to go get flowers from the gift shop.”

“I don’t need flowers,” Kyle asserted.

“Not for you,” Stan said sheepishly, “for the receptionist I yelled at…”

Once matters were settled at the hospital, they received a ride home from Kenny. Stan was nearly silent on the drive, as he was still stifled by guilt. He couldn’t help but think that he was to blame for this entire situation.

He had only wheeled Kyle a few steps in the door when he opted to abandon the wheelchair, scooping his boyfriend into his arms instead.

“This is so dramatic,” Kyle stated, laughing slightly. “You’re not carrying me around the house for the next two weeks.”

“I don’t think you’re really in any position to stop me,” Stan teased as he carefully set Kyle in bed.

“You’re gonna get tired.”

“No I won’t. I feel better if you’re just… in my arms. You’ll mostly be in bed anyway.”

“I’ll mostly be studying at my desk.”

“What?”

Kyle smirked. “My right arm is fine.”

“You have a head injury, Ky. You need to take it easy,” Stan said, glowering.

He quickly retrieved three extra pillows, one to raise each of Kyle’s legs and one to set beneath his injured arm.

“Is that elevated enough?” he questioned. “I can get more pillows if—”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine,” Kyle replied. “It’s perfect.”

“Does anything hurt? I think you’re allowed to take more pain meds now. Or I can get you some water if you’re thirsty, or orange juice…”

“I’m fine. Stan—”

“Are you hungry at all? I can make something…”

“I’m not hungry, Stan, I promise I’m—”

“I don’t know if you’re tired yet, but the doctor said no TV for a few days and your head probably hurts too much to read. I don’t want you to be bored, but I don’t know what to—”

“Stan.”

Kyle finally caught his attention. Stan tilted his head slightly, tearily looking into Kyle’s eyes.

“Stan, Babe, sit down.”

He patted the place beside him in bed, and his boyfriend reluctantly complied with the request.

“You’re still blaming yourself for this, aren’t you?”

Stan was silent.

“I don’t know what to say to get you to stop doing that.”

“There isn’t anything you can say, because it is my fault,” Stan muttered with a shrug.

“It really isn’t,” Kyle said firmly.

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t.”

“But you could’ve!” Stan shouted before bursting into tears again.

“Come here,” Kyle said gently, using his good arm to pull Stan into an embrace.

Stan nuzzled into Kyle’s neck, tears wetting his boyfriend’s sweatshirt.

“I’m okay,” Kyle soothed. “I’m okay and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Stan shakily conceded.

“I just need to sleep. I promise I’ll tell you if I need anything, so you can stop worrying about that. I think you should try to get some sleep too.”

Stan nodded in agreement. “I’ll try,” he said, but he knew that was a lie.

“I love you,” Kyle whispered, planting a kiss on Stan’s head before drifting off.

Though Stan had promised he would try to get some sleep, the truth was that he had no intentions of doing so. He would watch over Kyle all night, making sure he was still breathing, that he had water at his bedside, that he was comfortable, that he wasn’t in pain…

The obsessive nature stemmed somewhat from guilt, but at the core of the matter, Stan simply couldn’t stand to see Kyle suffer. He thought about the pain Kyle must have been in after the accident, and how he wasn’t there to hold his hand. He never wanted his boyfriend to experience that kind of misery alone, ever again. If Kyle woke up in the night, he had to be ready to soothe him back to sleep. He also thought about the doctor’s specific request for him to keep an eye on Kyle. If anything were to go wrong, he had to be awake and ready to respond in an instant. The harrowing events of the day had him pondering loss, and letting Kyle slip away was unthinkable. Stan loved his boyfriend more than anything in this life.

Chapter 18: Grim Reaper

Chapter Text

“You’re sure your dad won’t find out about this?” Kyle asked anxiously as Stan passed him the joint.

Stan turned to place his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders, planting a light kiss on his forehead.

While he, Cartman and Kenny had a history of mischief in Randy’s barn, Kyle had always been too afraid of his mother’s wrath. However, the perfect opportunity to smoke with the others finally presented itself when Stan’s parents left their son home alone for the weekend. Kyle could stay overnight with no adult supervision and Sheila would have no way of finding out what they were up to, thereby completely eliminating that risk. Better yet, once Kenny and Cartman took off, he and Stan could get up to a few other things their parents didn’t approve of.

“How the hell would my dad find out about this, dude?” Stan rationalized. “He doesn’t even do inventory. He’s too f*cking high himself to do inventory. We’ll be fine.”

Kyle gave a soft smile, then kissed his boyfriend in tacit gratitude for the pep talk.

“I love you,” Stan whispered.

“Would you quit it?” Cartman grumbled. “Just ‘cause you’re blowing your loads into Kyle’s asshole now doesn’t mean I wanna hear this fa*ggy bullsh*t.”

They didn’t deign to respond. With Stan and Kyle having only been dating for a few months, Cartman hadn’t grown tired of bullying them for it yet. Granted, he very well may never grow tired of it.

“Come on, Kyle, take a hit already,” Kenny pressed.

The redhead rolled his eyes, but proceeded to draw in an impressively deep breath, coughing hard afterward.

“Goddamn, dude,” Stan muttered.

Kyle took another long hit, probably to prove a point. He hated when the others tried to paint him as some kind of goody-two-shoes just because he happened to be the only one with strict parents. And so what if he cared about his grades and school reputation? That didn’t mean he couldn’t keep up with the guys. He shrugged nonchalantly, prepared to take yet another puff.

Stan, however, grabbed the joint from his hand before he could attempt to inhale any more. “Ky, that’s enough.”

“Damn, Stan,” Cartman sneered. “You keep a tight leash on your dog.”

“f*ck off, dude. He’s never smoked before.” Stan passed the blunt along to Kenny. “Just give it a minute, Kyle. Don’t listen to him.”

“Fine,” Kyle muttered, stubbornly crossing his arms.

“Of course you’d listen to your goddamn dild* instead of me,” Cartman snarked. “You guys suck… literally.”

“You know what? I’ll take another hit if it’ll get you to shut up for once, fat*ss.”

Kyle leaned over to rip the joint right out of Kenny’s mouth, taking another long drag before returning it to the blond.

“Damn,” Kenny murmured.

“No more at least until it comes back around to you in the circle, okay?” Stan strongly advised, glowering.

“I’m fine,” Kyle assured him before planting a quick kiss on his lips. “I don’t even feel anything yet.”

“But you—”

“Just shut up and let us relax for once, you overprotective asswipe,” Cartman cut him off.

Stan sighed in irritation, but complied nonetheless.

Another half hour of smoking their shared joint was enough to mellow them all out, effectively ending any arguments that had built up earlier in the evening. Kyle and Stan leaned against the barn’s wall, side-by-side, while Kenny laid flat on the floor near their feet and Cartman rested his body against the leg of a nearby chair. Given his direct view, Cartman was the first to take note of Kyle’s wide-eyed expression.

“Dude, Stan,” he mumbled. “I think your sex doll is malfunctioning.”

“What?” Stan questioned, confused.

Cartman simply pointed to Kyle, and as soon as Stan turned to catch sight of his boyfriend he jumped upright in concern.

“Ky,” he said gently, kneeling before the redhead. “Are you okay?”

A very pale and sweaty Kyle continued staring right through him until his expression transitioned from blank to pained. With no warning whatsoever, he vomited onto his own lap.

“Sick!” Cartman screeched.

“sh*t, dude…”

Another wave of sick spilled from Kyle’s mouth, once again directly onto himself.

“Jesus!”

Stan rose to his feet and assisted Kyle in doing so as well, only for his boyfriend to burst into tears.

“Kyle? Ky, what’s wrong?”

Falling forward into Stan’s arms, the redhead only sobbed harder. Stan grimaced at the mess of vomit now pressed against him, but only sighed. His concern outweighed his disgust, and besides, the damage was already done.

“f*cking gross!” Cartman yelled.

Kenny entirely ignored the fiasco, continuing to enjoy his potato chips.

“Baby, dude, hey,” Stan soothed, rubbing gently up and down his back, “I need you to tell me what’s wrong. You’re scaring me.”

“I can’t breathe,” Kyle cried.

“Can we take some slow, deep breaths together?”

“No! Call 911! I’m having a f*cking heart attack!”

Considering their very close proximity, Stan couldn’t help but notice that Kyle’s heart was beating incredibly fast.

“His pulse is going nuts,” Stan announced to the others with worry in his voice.

“He’s greening out,” Kenny said absently. “He’ll be fine.”

“I’m not f*cking fine!” Kyle nearly screamed. “I can feel my heart stopping! Oh my god, I don’t think my heart is beating anymore!”

He pulled away from Stan to grip dramatically at his chest.

“Maybe I should take him to the hospital,” Stan pondered.

“If you do that and you get us in trouble, I will f*cking bury you alive,” Cartman threatened.

Stan didn’t doubt it.

“Don’t listen to that fat guy over there,” Kyle begged.

“Ay!” Cartman interjected.

“I’m dying, dude. I can literally see the Grim Reaper.”

He pointed across the room and Stan — who, granted, wasn’t exactly sober either — couldn’t help but laugh.

“Dude, that’s Kenny.”

“No the f*ck it isn’t! f*ck, Stan, I think I’m already dead. I don’t f*cking remember how to move. How the f*ck do people walk?”

He completely seized to hold his own weight, going limp in Stan’s arms.

“I can’t move.”

Since Kyle seemed to have lost his ability to stay upright, Stan didn’t hesitate to scoop him up bridal style.

“It’ll be okay, baby. I’m right here. Let’s just get you to bed, okay, dude?” he attempted to calm the redhead before starting toward the house.

“Let’s smoke another,” he heard Kenny suggest as he exited the barn with Kyle limp in his arms.

Their first destination was the bedroom, where Stan retrieved fresh clothes for the both of them, and then the bathroom, where Stan proceeded to clean up the mess on Kyle and himself.

“Why is it so quiet?” Kyle whispered as Stan slipped a fresh t-shirt over his head. “I can hear my own blood pumping. Does that mean I’m dead?”

“No,” Stan said gently before pressing his lips to Kyle’s forehead. “Feel that? That was me. You’re right here with me. We’re both alive.”

A smile started to cross Kyle’s cheeks, but it fell suddenly, and he went paler.

“Are you okay?” Stan asked in a panic.

“I’m gonna… faint…”

“Oh god, you— lie down, Ky.”

Stan hurried to help his boyfriend to the floor, but a sharp hand against his chest halted him.

“No,” Kyle muttered. “Not faint… I’m gonna… puke…”

“sh*t!”

Stan redirected Kyle toward the toilet with no time to spare, positioning his head above the bowl just seconds before another productive gag lurched through his body. Thankfully, they avoided dirtying another set of clean clothes.

They remained there for what felt like an eternity. In fact, Stan wasn’t sure he had ever seen someone throw up that much. He offered soft soothing as he rubbed Kyle’s back, wincing at the obvious misery.

When Kyle’s stomach finally relented, he collapsed into Stan’s lap, sobbing harder than before.

“I shouldn’t have talked you into this,” Stan said quietly.

“It’s okay,” Kyle could hardly choke out. “This is the perfect way to die… with you.”

Stan smiled warmly, stroking the red curls back from Kyle’s forehead.

“That’s sweet, Ky, but you’re not dying.”

“That’s not true. My heart’s gonna explode. It’s way too tight in my chest, dude.”

“It fits in your chest just right,” Stan assured him, caressing his cheek. “Let’s get in bed, okay? Think you can walk?”

“No.”

“I’ll help you.”

“No. Carry me.”

“Really?”

“I want you to carry me,” Kyle requested, looking up at his boyfriend with wide, teary eyes. “I love it when you carry me.”

Stan smirked. He had carried Kyle once before when the latter was bedridden with the flu, and Kyle had contended ever since that day that he hated being carried. Now, looking down at his puppy eyes, Stan knew the truth. He scooped Kyle into his arms again and this time, the redhead held on tightly.

Once Kyle was placed safely in bed, Stan coerced him to drink a full glass of water and placed another readily at their bedside. He then settled in as well, wrapping Kyle snugly in his arms.

“Cartman’s gonna rip on me for this, isn’t he?” Kyle whined, apparently just sober enough to be aware of that fact.

Stan only smiled. “If he rips on you for this, I’ll bury him alive.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you feeling any better? You scared the sh*t out of me.”

“No. Closing my eyes makes me dizzy as hell,” Kyle bemoaned. “f*ck. The room looks so weird. The stars followed us inside.”

Stan chuckled. “I kinda wish I was seeing what you’re seeing.”

“No you don’t. I’m f*cking terrified. I can’t remember how to move my arms, dude.”

Stan pressed a kiss to his temple.

“Don’t worry. You don’t have to move your arms. If you need anything, I’m right here to get it for you.”

“You mean you’re not going back out to smoke more with… the fat guy and the Grim Reaper?”

“Hell no. Kyle, I would never leave you alone like this,” Stan stated, voice quivering at the mere thought. “Honestly, I probably can’t even sleep. I can’t sleep when I’m worried about you.”

“Promise you won’t leave?” Kyle barely whispered.

He turned toward Stan, nestling his face into the nape of his neck.

“Promise,” Stan softly replied.

“And you don’t hate me now?”

“What? No? Why would I hate you?”

“Because I’m a loser who can’t smoke,” Kyle said sheepishly. “And I said a bunch of dumb sh*t. And maybe because I’m dead now, possibly.”

Stan pulled him in even closer. “Like I said, you’re very much alive.”

“That doesn’t even matter if you hate me.”

“Baby.” Stan lifted Kyle’s chin to look him in the eyes. “I didn’t think it was f*cking possible… but I love you even more.”

Chapter 19: Worst Case

Chapter Text

Stan trudged up the stairs with a tray in hand, careful so as not to spill the bowl of soup or the glass of juice. When he reached the landing, he set the tray at the closed bedroom door and gave a light knock to announce his presence.

“Ky, I brought you some soup.”

This f*cking sucked. Kyle was being ridiculous, insisting on quarantining himself in the master bedroom for the past four days to avoid giving his fiancé the flu. Sure, Stan did have big plans coming up — his mother was taking him and Shelly on a big trip to celebrate her finalized divorce from Randy — but it drove Stan insane not being at Kyle’s side.

He furrowed his brows at the lack of response. “Kyle?”

“Thanks,” Kyle’s raspy voice replied.

The rattling cough that followed made Stan wince.

“Would you unlock the f*cking door and at least let me carry this in for you?” Stan pressed.

“Stan, no. You’re not getting sick before your trip.”

“I won’t get sick!”

“I’m not unlocking the door.”

“Goddamnit,” Stan grumbled. “Dude, you know this worries the hell out of me.”

He abruptly and aggressively jiggled the door handle, as if that would actually do anything.

“Are you spiraling, Sweetheart?” Kyle asked before coughing hard again.

“No,” Stan lied. “It’s just— it’s dangerous for you to be locked in there alone.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it f*cking is! I’ve imagined like a thousand different ways this could go wrong, Ky.”

The redhead’s exasperated sigh was audible through the door.

“Okay, dude, worst case scenario,” he muttered. “What’s the worst case scenario if I keep the door locked?”

“I’m not playing this f*cking game right now.”

“It’ll calm you down.”

“Fine,” Stan sighed. “You could pass out from the fever and… and choke on your own vomit. I’d be stuck on the other side of the door listening to you choke to death, trying to pound the goddamn door down, and when I finally break through it’s too f*cking late. You’re already gone. And then I’m too grief-stricken to even call anyone so I just f*cking kill myself, because how the hell would I go on? And then in four days when I don’t show up to my mom’s she calls the cops and they come over here and find both of our dead bodies… or something…”

“Oh my god, dude,” Kyle mumbled.

“So can I please come in?”

“No. None of that is gonna happen, but what is going to happen if you come in here, is that you will get sick.”

Though not without a loud groan, Stan removed his hand from the doorknob.

“Promise me you’ll at least try eating something,” he begged.

“I will,” Kyle wearily agreed. “But I won’t be able to keep it down.”

Stan took a deep breath, reluctantly leaving the tray of food behind and returning to his place on the couch downstairs. He was pleased to hear the door click open a moment later. Apparently, Kyle had actually kept his promise, and that calmed Stan’s nerves at least ever so slightly.

However, about twenty minutes later, an alarming thud accompanied by the sound of shattering glass from upstairs sent white-hot streaks of panic through his veins.

“Kyle?!” he called out.

No response, so he rushed up the stairs to pound on the door.

“Kyle! Dude, what the hell was that? Are you okay?”

Still no response. Jesus Christ, would he actually have to pound down the door? If he did, Kyle would inevitably kill him for it. He would have to pick the lock instead. Sprinting downstairs and back up in record time, he returned with a credit card that, thankfully, unlocked the door with ease.

“Kyle!” Stan nearly screamed, panic growing as he laid eyes on an empty bed.

Turning the corner into the bathroom, he immediately caught sight of Kyle lying limply on the ground with heavy eyelids and terrifyingly pale skin. The base of a broken glass was still in his clutches, the shattered pieces scattered about the bathroom.

“Oh my god! Kyle?!”

Stan knelt at his side, gently petting the red curls away from his sweaty forehead.

“Baby, can you hear me?!”

“Mhm,” Kyle murmured in response.

“What the hell happened?!” Stan queried, caressing Kyle’s cheeks. “Are you okay?!”

“I… fell.”

“f*cking sh*t! Did you pass out?”

“No… I just got… really dizzy.”

“Why the hell were you even out of bed in the first place?”

“To throw up the soup that you made me eat,” Kyle weakly explained.

“What is all this glass, dude?”

“I just needed water… but I got dizzy on the way back and then… I was on the ground.”

“This never would have happened if you would have just let me take care of you,” Stan bemoaned.

“Oh my god,” Kyle grumbled, stirring at the realization that his fiancé was being exposed to his illness. “You shouldn’t be in here. You’re gonna get sick.”

“I don’t give a sh*t.”

Proving his point, Stan scooped Kyle off the glass-covered ground and into his arms. The redhead whined in protest, but there was nothing he could do to fight it in his torpid state.

Stan was positive his feet were bleeding from stepping across the minefield of broken glass. That, however, was the least of his worries. Kyle could yell at him for the trail of bloody footprints when he was feeling better. For now, they just had to focus on getting to that point.

“You’re not getting out of bed again,” Stan said firmly as he tucked Kyle back in.

“I throw up once every five f*cking minutes…”

“Then I’ll get you a bucket. I swear to god, you’re not getting up again. I’m taking care of you now.”

Before Kyle could complain any more about their new arrangement, Stan hurried away to gather supplies. He came back armed with water, tissues, cough drops and a thermometer, as well as a freshly lined trash bin.

“I’m back,” he announced with a smirk.

“Why are you so smug, dude?” Kyle questioned as he rolled his eyes. “You better not blame me when you’re too f*cking sick to travel.”

“My immune system isn’t sh*t like yours,” Stan replied, kissing Kyle atop the head in consolation. “Even if I get sick it won’t be like this.”

“But what if—”

“Say ‘ahh,’” Stan interrupted, holding the fresh glass of water before his fiancé’s mouth.

“God, you’re so annoying,” Kyle complained.

He did, however, comply with the order. After he took a few long sips, Stan moved the thermometer to take the place of the glass, earning another eye roll.

Stan clicked his tongue as the device let out a beep a moment later.

“103.4,” he read aloud. “See? This is why you shouldn’t have been up trying to take care of yourself. It could’ve been the worst case scenario.”

“I was fine, Stan.”

“You collapsed. I found you half-conscious on a pile of shattered glass.”

“I was fully conscious… and it wasn’t a pile…”

“Kyle.”

“I get it,” Kyle said under his breath. “You win.”

“This isn’t about winning, Ky.”

In focusing on his lecture, Stan failed to take note of Kyle’s sudden pallor.

“Stan…”

“You need to hear this. If you try to prove a goddamn point every time you get sick you’ll end up—”

He was interrupted by his fiancé’s abrupt reach for the trash can. The contents of Kyle’s stomach spewed into the bin nearly the second he held it beneath his chin.

“Jesus, Baby, you weren’t kidding,” Stan said softly as a he proceeded to rub Kyle’s back. “You can’t even keep water down.”

He placed a hand at the base of the trash bin to assist in holding its weight.

“f*ck,” Kyle croaked out between retches. “God, this hurts.”

“This has been going on for days,” a very worried Stan remarked. “Maybe I should take you to the ER.”

“Hell no,” Kyle asserted before his stomach clenched painfully again, sending a wave of bile into the trash and a flood of tears down his cheeks. “It’s just the f*cking flu, Stan.”

Stan picked at his own fingernails with growing anxiety.

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth, taking the bin from Kyle and setting it on the nightstand. “But if you’re still throwing up tomorrow we’re at least going to urgent care.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Baby, I’m serious, you—”

“I just need to get some sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Stan agreed. “It’s late. Let’s sleep.”

He nuzzled in beside Kyle, wrapping his arms securely around the now-wide-eyed redhead.

“Stan, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Kyle questioned. “I told you I don’t want you catching this.”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch again, Ky. I won’t sleep at all if I can’t keep an eye on you.”

“Dude, if you get sick this is gonna be my worst f*cking nightmare.”

“Your worst nightmare?” Stan lifted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Now you’re the one spiraling.”

“I’m allowed to spiral… I’m running a temperature…” Kyle said sheepishly.

“It’s still spiraling though, dude. Alright, worst case scenario. Go.”

“Okay,” Kyle jumped on board with far more enthusiasm than Stan had anticipated. “You get so sick that you can’t go on your Italy trip and your family blames me and decides they hate me, and then they eventually convince you I totally suck, so you call off the wedding. I get super depressed and get fired from my job for not paying attention anymore and I end up f*cking homeless, and then when I finally get some pathetic temp job with a stupid catering company, my first gig as a server turns out to be your wedding… to Cartman.”

Stan burst into laughter. “What?”

“It’s worst case scenario. You’re not supposed to judge.”

“I’m not judging, just— really? Cartman?”

“Well, I can’t imagine anything worse than that.”

“f*ck, dude, neither can I.”

“See?”

“None of that will happen, Baby. It’s my own fault if I catch your sh*t. No one would blame you. But I won’t get sick anyway. Just try to rest, okay?”

Stan pressed a soft kiss to Kyle’s forehead, then they both drifted to sleep.

The next morning, Stan awoke to find he couldn’t quite clear his throat. In fact, the nagging feeling was unmistakable… the first sign of illness.

No, that couldn’t be. He didn’t have a sh*tty immune system like Kyle did. Reaching for the glass of water on his nightstand, Stan descended into a coughing fit that pulled his fiancé from slumber.

“Stan?” Kyle croaked out.

“I’m fine,” Stan insisted as he finally steadied his breathing.

“Oh my god, I got you sick, didn’t I?”

“The same,” Kyle glumly replied.

“Let’s check your temperature. Open,” Stan instructed as he reached for the thermometer then placed it beneath the redhead’s tongue.

“We don’t need to f*cking do this again,” Kyle attempted to resist, but he was ignored.

Ignoring him wasn’t entirely purposeful, as while Stan wasn’t interested in Kyle’s argument, he also felt a bit too foggy to respond.

“It’s still way too high,” he announced after the device beeped. “103.1.”

“f*ck.”

“What do you need? Do you want some breakfast or something?”

Stan winced as he rolled over to face Kyle, finding his stomach protested the movement.

“I’m never eating again,” Kyle bemoaned.

“Oh, that’s okay, I’m… not really hungry either… yet…”

Kyle raised his eyebrows. “You are sick.”

“No I’m not! I’m—”

Suddenly going pale, Stan hoped Kyle could see his urgency. Luckily, his fiancé passed him the trash bin just in time to catch the first wave of vomit. The tables had turned, and now Kyle was rubbing his back as he lost last night’s dinner.

“f*cking hell,” Stan groaned.

“I guess I better take your temperature now,” Kyle stated, sounding somewhat sympathetic and somewhat smug.

Stan gave no protest — a much better patient than Kyle, in his own opinion — and they discovered his temperature to be 101.3.

“You’ve got a fever,” Kyle said sadly.

“Not as high as yours,” Stan challenged.

“Give it time, Sweetheart.”

“You always get way sicker than I do. I’ll be f*cking fine.”

Kyle gently stroked his hair, giving a half-smile. “If you say so.”

“I’ll be better before the trip. Don’t expect a save the date from me and Cartman just yet,” Stan teased.

“Oh, f*ck you!” Kyle exclaimed, trying not to laugh, the result being a stifled cough.

“Your cough still sounds f*cking sh*tty, Babe. You sure you don’t need anything?”

“No. I’m taking care of you now, Stan.”

“What? You’re still sicker than me.”

“But you’ve been taking care of me for days!”

“So? You’re the one burning to sh*t,” Stan contended. “I barely even have a fever.”

“But you do have a fever.”

Stan sighed.

“Call it even? Stay in bed and cuddle all day?”

“Deal,” Kyle said softly.

They melted into each other’s arms, both overheating but ignoring that fact, as the only consolation in illness was their proximity. If they couldn’t agree on who would take care of whom, they would both simply have to take care of each other, the same way they always had.

Chapter 20: Antarctica

Chapter Text

“It’s just, like, a documentary about climate change and how it’s affecting sh*t in Antarctica,” Kyle explained as he and Stan entered their shared apartment.

“Dude, you know I care a lot about climate change, but that sounds boring as sh*t,” Stan remarked.

“I have to watch it for my environmental science class.”

“You actually watch the movies they assign?”

“Yeah? How the hell else would I get an A on the quiz on Monday?” Kyle questioned with genuine bewilderment.

“f*cking loser,” Stan teased before planting a kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. “I can’t wait to graduate so I don’t have to watch this crap with you anymore.”

“Three more months,” Kyle said with a shrug, gently pushing away from Stan as he changed the subject. “I need water. I’m thirsty as hell.”

“Still? Didn’t you drink like ten f*cking glasses at dinner?”

“Not that many.”

“Then why did you have to piss like a thousand times?”

“sh*t,” Kyle mumbled, stiffening in realization. “My sugar is probably high.”

He promptly ducked into their small kitchen in search of his supplies, which he kept in a drawer by the sink. A quick test revealed a glucometer reading of 198. Too high.

“f*ck,” he groaned, immediately retrieving his insulin from the fridge.

As he drew up his dose from the vial, the abrupt sound of their front door swinging open distracted him from the matter at hand.

“YOU GUYS!” Cartman screamed as he burst in from the hallway.

“What the f*ck, dude?” Stan uttered, backing away from the entrance.

“What’s up your ass, Stan?”

“You almost slammed the door into my goddamn head!”

“It’s a shame I missed.”

“What do you want, Cartman?” Kyle questioned more directly as he came into view with insulin needle in hand.

“Oh, hey, Jewboy. Addicted to heroin now?”

“It’s insulin, asshole.”

Kyle lifted his shirt and mindlessly administered the injection before pressing further.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Kenny…” Cartman began, “is dead.”

“What?!” Stan and Kyle shouted in near-unison.

“He’s dead,” Cartman repeated.

“What the f*ck are you talking about?” Stan questioned.

“You— you wasted all that f*cking time ripping on us when you’re here to tell us that Kenny— that he— what the hell happened?!” Kyle yelled. “Oh my god. Oh my god. What happened to him?”

Stan moved to put a comforting arm around his boyfriend, both of their faces contorting in horror.

“Well, he didn’t come back home last night,” Cartman stated, “and he isn’t answering any of my texts.”

There was a brief pause.

“Wait…” Stan croaked out. “You don’t actually know he’s dead? You’re telling me… you’re just assuming he’s dead because he’s ignoring your ass?”

“I’m saying he probably is dead.”

“You f*cking asshole!” Kyle screamed. “You know damn well he was just out hooking up with some girl last night!”

“That doesn’t explain why he won’t respond to my sh*t!”

“He’s ignoring you because he f*cking hates you!”

“Well,” Cartman huffed, “boy are you two asswipes gonna feel stupid when we find out he—”

“Hey guys,” Kenny said with a small wave as he passed by the open door.

Cartman was met with scowls from the others.

“Hey, Ken, why were you ignoring Cartman’s texts?” Stan called down the hallway.

“Because I f*cking hate him,” Kenny answered flatly.

“See?”

“Get the hell out of our apartment, fat*ss,” Kyle ordered.

“Fine! I wanted to leave anyway, dickhole!” Cartman screeched as Stan slammed and locked the door behind him.

“Jesus Christ,” Kyle grumbled.

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Stan hissed. “God… can you even imagine Kenny dying?”

“No… what would we even do?”

“Thank god we don’t have to find out.”

“Thank god,” Kyle muttered in agreement. “Wait, what was I doing again? Oh, right. Insulin.”

The redhead walked to the refrigerator with syringe in hand, retrieving the vial of insulin, drawing up a dose and promptly administering it.

“Alright, wanna find the movie?”

“What’s it on?” Stan asked, lazily plopping onto the couch.

“Netflix, I think,” Kyle replied as he joined his boyfriend in the living room.

“This is gonna suck.”

Kyle beamed, leaning into Stan’s arms. “At least you get to hang out with your super best boyfriend.”

“There’s a lot of sh*t I’d rather be doing with my super best boyfriend than watching a nature documentary on a Saturday night,” Stan teased.

“If we start it soon, maybe we’ll have time to do something else afterward,” Kyle said suggestively.

“sh*t, start the movie,” Stan said quickly, straightening up to face the television screen.

Kyle laughed and shook his head as he queued up the film.

A mere half hour in, Stan found himself growing bored already. It was like they didn’t even try to make the documentary interesting. Every word out of the narrator’s mouth was some kind of overly-scientific bullsh*t. f*ck Antarctica.

With a mischievous grin, Stan turned to face Kyle. Maybe he could speed things along. The movie wouldn’t be all that bad as background noise for their second activity of the night.

As he leaned in to make his move, however, he froze. Kyle didn’t look well at all upon closer inspection. He was sweating excessively even though it was a cold night, and he looked dazed, unfocused.

“Ky, are you good?” Stan inquired, furrowing his brows in concern.

“Hm?” Kyle hummed.

He turned to face his boyfriend, and Stan’s worry grew upon noticing the glaze over his eyes, as well as the slowness of his blinks.

“Are you okay?” Stan pressed.

“Am— I’m— huh?” Kyle slurred.

“Dude.”

Stan reached for the remote, immediately pausing the movie.

“Kyle, what’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“Mm… tired.”

Kyle hung his head as if he were heavily intoxicated. A very anxious Stan reached out to steady him.

“Ky… What the f*ck…”

“Ss— it’s… blurry… everything’s… blurry…”

“Blurry? What do you mean ‘blurry,’ dude? You’re scaring the sh*t out of me.”

“Need— I need… water,” Kyle murmured as he launched himself upright.

“I don’t think you should—”

Before Stan could even finish voicing his concerns, Kyle collapsed to the ground.

“f*ck! Oh my god!” Stan shouted as he jumped up from the couch.

Don’t panic. Stan had seen Kyle faint many times before. It was no big deal. It was no—

f*ck. Kyle wasn’t simply lying unconscious. He was convulsing on the floor. He was having a seizure.

sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. This had only happened twice in Kyle’s life, and Stan had only witnessed it once before. When they were twelve years old, Kyle had had a seizure during one of their Friday evening video game sessions. What had Sheila done to help him that night besides yell at him for being irresponsible with his insulin dose? For f*ck’s sake, what was Stan supposed to f*cking do besides watch helplessly as his boyfriend shook on the ground?

The sound of Kyle’s foot slamming against the coffee table brought one idea to Stan’s mind: Clear the area. Adrenaline assisted him in rapidly shoving the couch and coffee table a safe distance away from the redhead. When he kicked the end table out of the way, the sound of something shattering on the ground barely registered to him. He didn’t really care what it was, or how mad his boyfriend would be that he broke it. The only thing that mattered was Kyle.

sh*t, he was hitting his head on the ground too, wasn’t he? Stan swiped a blanket from the now-crooked couch and carefully stuck it beneath Kyle’s head. That certainly looked less painful… at least, a little.

It also came to mind that Kyle had gotten sick after his seizure the previous time. He needed to be rolled onto his side so as not to choke. With as much grace as possible, Stan shifted Kyle onto his left side, just as he had watched Sheila do nearly ten years earlier. He had always considered his memory to be sh*t, but when it came to Kyle’s well-being, the steps for caretaking were apparently etched into his mind indelibly.

Satisfied with his first-aid, Stan only wished there was more he could do. It pained him to watch helplessly while his beloved continued to convulse.

———————————————

Kyle awoke with the strangest feeling. He couldn’t bring himself to peel his eyes open yet, as his head was pounding like hell even in the absence of light. No doubt, he had an abysmal migraine coming on.

f*ck, it wasn’t even just his head. Every muscle in his body ached miserably. Had he actually been hit by a truck? The body aches he was experiencing resembled those accompanying a bout of the flu, but with added intensity.

Realizing he was on the hard floor, Kyle suddenly wondered if he had fallen out of bed. Something soft rested beneath his head, but he was undoubtedly on the ground. It would be embarrassing as hell having to wake Stan up for this nonsense, to admit that he had rolled off the bed and had seemingly broken every goddamn bone in his body.

Wait. Stan must have already known Kyle was on the floor. He was right there beside him. A gentle hand was caressing Kyle’s face while incomprehensible words were being uttered in a soothing tone. Calmed by the soft touch of his boyfriend, Kyle finally summoned the strength to open his eyes.

“Baby! Baby, oh my god!” Stan sobbed. “You’re awake!”

They were in the living room. The blurred figure of Stan was kissing Kyle’s hand repeatedly, thanking every god in existence that the redhead was okay. Had he passed out?

“Can you hear me?” Stan continued as he gently brushed the hair back from Kyle’s forehead.

Kyle opened his mouth to respond, but — sh*t. Attempting to speak exacerbated nausea that he hadn’t even been aware of, and before he could fully process the sensation, the contents of his stomach were spilling onto the ground.

“sh*t, Ky…”

Moving away from the line of fire, Stan shifted to kneel behind Kyle, gently rubbing his back as he retched.

With each heave, Kyle’s already-exhausted muscles burned like hell. The involuntary exertion left him feeling abused, the pain so poignant that he nearly dissociated from the reality of it.

“S-Stan,” he croaked out when his stomach finally relented.

“Oh, Baby…”

The tone of pity drew Kyle’s awareness to the tears streaming down his own face. Hell, of course he was crying. Every muscle in his body was on fire, his head felt like it was going to explode, his stomach had miserably betrayed him, and he had absolutely no goddamn idea what was going on.

“I— I ruined the rug,” was somehow the only thing Kyle could think to say.

“I don’t give a sh*t about the rug,” Stan replied with as much sincerity as Kyle had ever heard. “Are you okay?”

“What the hell happened?” Kyle asked weakly. “I’m— f*ck. God. Everything f*cking hurts.”

And just like that, the subtle tears turned to a waterfall of sobs. Now this was just embarrassing. On second thought, Kyle decided the entire situation was already pretty mortifying as it was.

“Come here,” Stan said softly, taking his boyfriend into his arms bridal style.

He gently set Kyle on the couch, ensuring a pillow was supporting his head. They remained locked in each other’s gaze as Stan ran his fingers through Kyle’s hair.

“What’s going on?” Kyle slurred, choking on his sobs.

“You had a seizure, Ky,” Stan shakily explained.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle wept.

f*ck. He had probably scared Stan out of his goddamn mind. Kyle’s perfect boyfriend, looking down at him with those gorgeous, gentle eyes probably wanted to run for the hills now. This was a f*cking nightmare.

“Sorry? What the hell are you sorry for?”

“Ruining… everything,” Kyle mumbled, closing his eyes tightly in attempt to soothe his headache.

It didn’t help.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” Stan assured him.

“We were watching a movie, weren’t we? And… and we were supposed to f*ck later.”

Stan laughed.

“I hated the movie anyway,” he said with a smirk. “It turns out I f*cking hate Antarctica. And Ky, you really don’t need to worry about anything else right now. All that matters is that you’re okay.”

“You’re just saying that,” Kyle groaned.

And then, he felt pretty pathetic for making that statement. He probably sounded like he was fishing for comfort. With that thought, he began to cry harder.

“Jesus, Kyle, you’re not okay, are you?” Stan remarked with worry in his eyes.

“Yes I am. I already ruined your night. You hate medical sh*t. I know you do. I’m fine.”

He was not fine at all. The truth was, Kyle hadn’t felt this sick since the days leading up to his kidney transplant.

“I may hate medical sh*t, but I love taking care of you,” Stan said quietly. “What do you need? What do I need to do for you, Kyle?”

“…Blood sugar,” Kyle weakly admitted. “It might be bad.”

Considering the way the room spun around him like a tornado, his blood sugar was bound to be way off. Not to mention that in the only two other instances in which he had had a seizure, it had been the result of critically low blood sugar.

Kyle came back to center as Stan pricked his finger with a lancet. He must have spaced out while his boyfriend was retrieving the supplies. The world around him seemed to move in slow motion.

“sh*t!” Stan yelled in a panic. “Kyle, f*ck! Your blood sugar is f*cking 29!”

Jesus. No wonder the redhead felt as though he was fading rapidly. No wonder he had seized. But how the hell did his sugar get so goddamn low?

Stan was running back to his side in an instant, before Kyle had even noticed he left in the first place. He wielded an emergency glucagon injection. Kyle felt so out of touch with reality that he completely ignored the sensation of the shot.

“I know you don’t want me to,” Stan started, “but if your sugar isn’t better in 15 minutes I’m calling 911.”

Too weak to argue, Kyle only nodded. He allowed his weary eyes to fall sh*t. Lost in a haze, he felt the world around him drift further away, the only grounding sensation being Stan’s intermittent kisses on the hand he held tightly.

Gradually, reality became clearer, and Kyle found the process to be bittersweet. The dizziness and the mental fog were disappearing, but his other symptoms only intensified. Being all the more aware of his aching body, he could hardly keep from crying yet again.

“Ky,” Stan whispered, taking gentle hold of his shoulder. “Your sugar is up to 70. Thank f*cking god.”

“I’m so sorry, Stan.”

“Kyle, stop apologizing. You don’t need to do that. Look at you, I can tell you’re in pain. What hurts?”

“Just… everything,” Kyle murmured. “I don’t know how this happened.”

“It’s not your fault,” Stan soothed. “But… wasn’t your blood sugar high before we started the movie?”

“Yeah. I don’t f*cking know what happened. I took my regular insulin dose after Cartman left.”

“I thought you took it while we were talking to Cartman.”

“I took it in the kitchen while you were finding the movie.”

“Dude, you gave yourself an insulin shot while Cartman was here. He called you a heroin addict, remember?”

“No, I— Oh, sh*t… I did… I took two doses, Stan…”

“Oh my god,” Stan interjected. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“I’m fine, I think I’m… fine.”

Kyle began to weep again before he could say anything else.

“Ky, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s all my fault,” Kyle bemoaned. “This is so f*cking embarrassing.“

“You never have to be embarrassed with me,” Stan stated. “It’s just me, Kyle.”

“But you— you had to deal with my seizing ass all because I’m too f*cking stupid to give myself the right insulin dose. And I ruined the f*cking rug that you just bought, and you had to carry me to the couch, and now you’ll have to spend the whole night taking care of me and you—”

“Baby, stop,” Stan gently cut him off, placing a hand on his chest to steady his frantic breathing. “You’ll make yourself sick again.”

“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to take care of me.”

“I want to take care of you. You’re clearly miserable, Kyle… does your head still hurt?”

Kyle nodded vigorously as tears continued to cross his cheeks.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Stan suggested. “It’ll help to sit in the dark, right? And I’ll bring you some orange juice to keep your sugar up. Okay?”

“Okay,” Kyle agreed between shaky breaths. “Are you sure you don’t wanna, like, go out with Kenny or something?”

“Hell f*cking no,” Stan exclaimed, taken aback at the mere suggestion. “I would never ever leave you alone like this. I probably won’t let you out of my sight for the next week. You scared the sh*t out of me.”

Kyle sighed.

“I know how much you hate this stuff,” he said quietly.

“I was scared I was gonna f*ck something up,” Stan confessed. “If I did something wrong and I— and I lost you because—”

“Don’t.” Kyle summoned every bit of energy he could muster to reach up, caressing Stan’s cheeks. “You did so good, Sweetheart.”

Stan lifted his own hands to take hold of Kyle’s. Though the latter wouldn’t admit to feeling so weak, he was grateful for the relief from supporting the weight of his own arms.

“I tried to channel your mom,” Stan replied, lips curling upward.

“You forgot to yell at me for being irresponsible,” Kyle teased.

“Oh, I’ll yell at you,” Stan assured him, smirking. “I’ll yell at you about how you almost gave me a goddamn heart attack and how I’ll have to be up all night worrying about your ass and checking your blood sugar every hour while you sleep… I will yell at you… tomorrow.”

“Deal,” Kyle agreed, smiling softly.

He may have been in physical and emotional agony, but god, he was grateful to have Stan by his side. Somehow, his boyfriend managed to brighten even the darkest of times.

Chapter 21: Habit

Chapter Text

After leaving a tray of food at a sleeping Stan’s bedside, Kyle exited to the hallway and began to pace anxiously.

His boyfriend had been sick and bedridden for nearly a week. He didn’t seem to have a fever and he wasn’t vomiting, but he had no appetite or energy, he slept at least 20 hours a day, and he looked godawful. It astounded Kyle with each passing day that Stan remained so weary after sleeping soundly all night, nuzzled into the redhead’s neck like usual. Even when he was awake, he wasn’t really awake. At this point, the pale and exhausted-looking figure barely responded to questions with anything more than a groan of misery. Kyle had a sinking feeling that something was very wrong.

Pivoting back to their shared bedroom, he decided it was time to get to the source of the issue. Stan stirred slightly when the redhead took a seat beside him on the bed.

“Sweetheart?” Kyle said softly as he swept the hair back from Stan’s forehead.

He definitely didn’t feel warm.

Stan only hummed in response, neglecting to open his eyes.

“I’m worried about you,” Kyle admitted. “Honestly, I’m worried sick, dude.”

“Don’t be.”

“I can’t just not worry about you. I mean, this isn’t normal, Stan.”

“I’m sure it’s just the flu,” Stan said weakly as he finally looked Kyle in the face.

The redhead almost smiled in spite of his concern. Even when Stan was sick, his eyes glimmered in the most alluring way. God, he was beautiful.

“It’s not a big deal,” Stan asserted.

“Except, it is though,” Kyle argued. “You’ve never been sick for this long before and you’re not even feverish or throwing up or anything like that. I think you have something weird, dude. I think I should take you to urgent care.”

“You wanna take me to urgent care because I don’t have symptoms?” Stan snarked.

“You do have symptoms. You’re lethargic as hell, you won’t eat, I can barely get you to drink water, you sleep all day and somehow still look completely wiped out all the f*cking time—”

“Okay, okay. I get it, I’ve been annoying as sh*t. You don’t have to deal with me. Go downstairs and do whatever the hell you want and just let me go back to sleep.”

Kyle stared with brows furrowed and mouth agape, taken aback by the coldness. Sure, he and Stan fought like every couple, but Stan had never iced him out like this before.

“Don’t snap at me,” Kyle said shakily.

Stan groaned in frustration. “See? Now I upset you. This is why you should just leave me the f*ck alone.”

“I’m done with this bullsh*t!” Kyle interjected, standing up and moving both hands to clutch his red curls. “Either you actually tell me what hurts or I’m dragging your ass to urgent care right now!”

Stan’s eyes welled with tears over the course of a brief pause, then he suddenly erupted into hysterical sobs.

Kyle’s heart dropped to his stomach. If Stan felt so sick he was crying, maybe Kyle shouldn’t have pushed so hard. He was right, though. Something was obviously very wrong.

“Oh my god… Stan…”

Kyle lowered himself onto the bed once again, proceeding to rub small circles on his boyfriend’s back.

“Babe, what is it?” he questioned with wide eyes.

“I’m a f*cking liar, Kyle,” Stan wept. “You should leave me.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I’m a useless, lying bitch and I don’t deserve you.”

“Stan,” Kyle said softly but firmly, placing both hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders to steady him. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I— I-I… I’m not even sick,” Stan cried. “I just can’t get up. I don’t even wanna be alive, Kyle. Everything feels like sh*t and I can’t get up. I f*cking can’t.”

Oh. Stan wasn’t sick. He was sick.

Kyle felt his heart twist in his chest as guilt fell upon him. He should have known. He should have seen it.

“Every day I tell myself I have to get up at some point but then I don’t,” Stan continued to sob. “I’m such a useless piece of sh*t.”

“You’re not useless,” Kyle said gently, drying Stan’s tears with his thumbs.

“Yes I am. You’ve been catering to my every goddamn whim for days thinking I’m sick and I’ve just been… letting you believe that. What kind of piece of sh*t boyfriend lies about something like that? You’ve probably been worrying like hell when you really should’ve been throwing me out on my ass.”

“You are sick. Maybe not in the way I thought, but… you are sick, Stan.”

“I’m not sick, I’m just a lazy f*cking asshole, Ky. I’ve been using you so I can sit around doing nothing.”

“Stan—”

“Break up with me. You should dump my ass right now.”

“Stan—”

“I’m serious,” Stan bawled. “Tell me to go to hell and die. Then I won’t even have to feel guilty about doing it.”

“What the— Guilty about doing what?” Kyle queried with enough terror in his voice and expression to bring Stan back to center.

“f*ck. I shouldn’t have said that,” Stan sniffled. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad for me. You shouldn’t feel bad for me. I don’t want you to care, dude, okay?”

Kyle could hardly breathe. How had he let Stan get to such a terrible place? Was it all his fault for ignoring the signs? He had been going about business as usual while the love of his life was actually contemplating taking his own life.

“That’s not— Stan, that’s— Do you really think I could ever not care?”

He swallowed hard, trying desperately not to cry. He had to stay strong.

“You’re my entire life, Stan.”

“You wouldn’t even miss me if I was gone.”

“I would have nothing if you were gone.”

Silence hung in the air for a moment.

“I don’t know why you love me,” Stan said, barely above a whisper.

“You’re my best friend,” Kyle replied, unable to keep silent tears from falling down his cheeks. “You’ve been my best friend since we were three years old, and I’ve been in love with you since we were eight. f*ck, dude, I love you more than anything.”

“But why?” Stan pressed, voice cracking with emotion. “What the hell could you possibly love about me right now?”

“Stan. You and I have been through everything together and—”

“Don’t spout some bullsh*t about the past or our childhood or whatever. What do you actually love about the lazy f*cking asshole who’s been in lying in bed, faking sick to get out of work and responsibilities and making you cook for him and clean up after him and pick up all the goddamn slack because he’s such a selfish piece of sh*t? I’m not whatever stupid, perfect, heroic, bullsh*t version of me you’ve conjured up in your mind. What do you actually love about me right now, Kyle?”

The redhead stood with his mouth slightly ajar, eyes wide and glossy with tears. Stan scoffed after a few seconds of emotionally-charged quiet.

“See?” he said sadly. “Next time you say you love me, Ky, you should make sure you’re not just doing it out of habit.”

Kyle slid off the bed, kneeling at Stan’s side to look directly into his eyes. He tightly squeezed his boyfriend’s exposed hand.

“I love that your eyes still sparkle, even when you feel like dying,” he stated with a quivering voice. “I love that you sleep with your face buried in my neck every night, like I’m your safe place. I love that you still call me ‘Ky’ even when you’re pissed at me. I love that you give me the tightest hugs to thank me for bringing you food, and that you never pull away until I do. I love that you let me take care of you. I love that you told me the truth, Stan, even though it was f*cking hard. I still love everything about you.”

For the first time in a week, Kyle saw a slight smile cross Stan’s cheeks.

“I love you,” Stan whispered before pulling his boyfriend in for a kiss. “I love you so much.”

“I’m calling your therapist first thing in the morning, Stan,” Kyle said firmly after they pulled apart. “I’m making you an emergency appointment.”

“Okay.”

“I’m making you go no matter what.”

“Okay. I’ll go if you make me.”

Kyle sighed. “Do you still… want me to leave you alone?”

“Actually, could you… stay?” Stan asked sheepishly.

Kyle planted a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Of course I can.”

“I don’t really feel like… talking any more though.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just… be here.”

Climbing into the bed, Kyle wrapped his arms tightly around Stan. Comfort washed over him as he felt his boyfriend’s breaths even out, eventually slowing as he drifted to sleep. Until Stan was okay again, Kyle didn’t want to let go, even for a second. Stan belonged in his arms.

Getting him better would be a marathon, not a sprint, and it wouldn’t be easy, but Kyle would be there every step of the way. His love for Stan was so much more than habit. It reached the depths of his soul. It was everything.

Chapter 22: Exes

Chapter Text

“I still can’t believe you got Heidi to agree to be your date,” Kenny muttered as he strolled down the hallway, flanked by Kyle and Cartman.

“Everyone knows she has the hots for me,” Cartman stated. “She practically begged me to go to prom with her.”

“I highly doubt that,” Kyle remarked.

“I heard she only agreed because you cried on her doorstep,” Kenny added.

“f*ck you, Kinny!” Cartman shrieked. “Who the hell told you that?”

“Louis Handler.”

“Louis Handler’s dad is a f*cking alcoholic who’s on probation for drunk driving!”

“Wha—”

“He hit Millie Larsen’s little sister with his car when Millie was supposed to be watching her but she was too busy getting railed by Kevin Stoley! That’s why she gets her ass beaten by her crackhead mom every night!”

“Dude, just grow up and admit that it’s true,” Kyle groaned.

“Whatever, Kahl. All that bullsh*t story proves anyway is that I can talk Heidi into anything. She and I are totally gonna bang after prom.”

“Bullsh*t.”

“They probably will, dude,” Kenny said with a shrug. “It’s senior prom. Everyone’s gonna do it afterwards. I mean, aren’t you and Stan?”

Kyle stopped in his tracks, shifting uncomfortably. His disoriented friends backed up a bit to reunite with him.

“I-I… I don’t know,” he stammered.

“Aww, the Virgin Kyle is afraid to get his ass pounded,” Cartman jeered.

“It’s just… I don’t know, we haven’t talked about it or anything…”

“You’ve been dating for what, six months?” Kenny supplied. “Isn’t it about time anyway?”

“Easy for you to say, dude. You’ve hooked up with like half the school… no offense.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“All I’m saying is just… it’s a lot. This is all new to me, you know? I don’t wanna f*ck it up.”

“Dude, it’s Stan,” Kenny reassured him. “You know he’s totally, ridiculously in love with you. You don’t have to be nervous with him.”

Kyle nodded, mostly in attempt to convince himself.

“sh*t, I’ve gotta run,” Kenny interjected. “I need to catch Butters before history class.”

As the blond jogged away, Cartman ominously closed in on Kyle.

“You know, I’d be nervous if I were you,” he started.

“f*ck off,” Kyle grumbled.

“Dude, I’m serious. I mean, think about it. This is your first time, but it isn’t Stan’s.”

“And…?”

”He’s bisexual, right? And he’s only been with hot chicks before.”

“So what?”

“He’s gonna take one look at you without your clothes on and go running for the goddamn hills!” Cartman exclaimed. “He’s been with Wendy, for God’s sakes! Wendy’s boobs are f*cking hot, and he’s seen them! And don’t even get me started on Lola. She goes to the gym, she tans… How do you think your pasty, out-of-shape ass is gonna compare to that, fat boy?”

“You’re calling me fat? Like five people said ‘move over, fat*ss’ to you as we walked past the lockers.”

“They were talking to you.”

“No they weren’t!”

“Fine, keep your head buried in the goddamn sand if you want, but I’m telling you, Stan’s probably gonna throw up the second you take your shirt off.”

“Well…” Kyle began, confidence fading from his voice. “It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before…”

“But not like this, dude. He didn’t have to picture himself f*cking you before. Now he’ll have no choice but to realize just how goddamn ugly you really are.”

“You are such an asshole.”

“I’m saying this as your friend, Kahl!” Cartman contended, raising his hands in surrender. “I’m trying to help you here! All I’m saying is I would be scared sh*tless if I were you. But thankfully I’m not you. I’m not a f*cking fa*g, so it’s not my problem. Do whatever the hell you want, just don’t come crying to me when he dumps your ass.”

The large boy strolled away without another word, leaving Kyle with a massive knot in his stomach.

As much as he hated to admit it, maybe Cartman had a point. Though Kyle wasn’t personally interested (for obvious reasons) he knew as well as anyone else that Stan’s exes were gorgeous. His physical features couldn’t hold a candle to theirs. They always looked so well-groomed. Compared to the spectacular, cascading hair they paraded around, Kyle’s frizzy mess was an eyesore. The girls looked like they spent a great deal of time exercising, while Kyle’s own workouts didn’t extend past basketball practice. They probably watched what they ate, too. Kyle never really did.

f*ck. Cartman was right.

Kyle only had three days to make a massive change. It wouldn’t be easy, but what choice did he have? He wanted to spend the rest of his life with Stan, for f*ck’s sake, and unless he could make an early-2000s-romcom level transformation, that possibility was disappearing before his very eyes.

After school, Kyle opted to jog home rather than taking the bus. The trek was long and his heavy backpack added an extra challenge, but he welcomed that. All the more calories were burned. With the addition of skipping lunch under the guise of needing “extra study time” in the library, he was off to a good start.

As he laid on the couch, catching his breath, a knock at the front door jolted him from his daydream.

“Oh, hello, Stanley,” he heard his mother greet.

“Hi, Mrs. Broflovski,” Stan replied, sounding worried. “Is Kyle okay?”

A confused Sheila opened the door further to grant him the sight of Kyle. “He’s right over there on the couch.”

Stan entered and moved toward his boyfriend with a concerned expression.

“You weren’t on the bus,” he said quickly. “Where the hell were you? I tried calling three times. Did you go home sick or something? You should have told me if—”

“I’m okay,” Kyle cut him off. “Stan, I’m fine.”

“You look beat, dude,” Stan commented, observing Kyle’s sweaty sheen and heavy breathing.

“I jogged home from school.”

Stan looked incredulous. “Why?”

“I needed the exercise,” Kyle said sheepishly. “I’ve put on a few pounds lately, dude.”

“No you haven’t…”

“I just wanted to go for a run, okay? Is that not f*cking allowed?” Kyle snapped, then winced at his own needless attitude.

“Sorry,” Stan said quietly.

“No… no, I’m sorry,” Kyle offered, pulling Stan into a hug. “I didn’t mean to snap like that. I’m just a little on edge. Cartman really pissed me off today.”

“What’s new?” Stan teased before pressing a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. “It’s fine, dude. Wanna go get some food or something?”

Kyle froze. Of course he wanted to spend the time with Stan, but he couldn’t go out to eat, because he couldn’t eat, and Stan would surely have questions if he ordered nothing.

“I wish I could, but I… have to study for calculus,” he lied.

“That sounds sh*tty as f*ck,” Stan muttered. “Thank god I’m not smart enough for that class.”

“Shut up, you so are! You’re really just too lazy for it,” Kyle corrected with a smirk.

Stan rolled his eyes, then kissed Kyle again. “f*ck off. Call me later?”

“I’ll call after dinner,” Kyle promised.

What Stan didn’t know, however, was that Kyle had every intention of skipping dinner. Unbeknownst to him, Kyle had gone a full fourteen hours without eating by the time they spoke on the phone that night.

The next day, Kyle felt invigorated by his dedication to self-improvement, if a bit foggy in the head. Twenty-nine hours was certainly a long time to go without any sort of nutrition.

Stan shook his shoulder in the lunchroom, alerting him to the fact that he had been staring off into space for god-only-knows-how-long.

“Hmm? What’s up?”

“Ky, you haven’t touched your lunch,” an anxious Stan remarked.

“I’m just… not hungry,” Kyle fibbed.

“Are you okay? Does your stomach hurt?”

Stan instantly moved his hand to touch Kyle’s forehead, earning a scoff and an eye roll from Cartman.

“Yeah, I— yeah. I feel a little nauseous,” Kyle conceded.

He could roll with that lie. It was much easier to brush off than the truth was.

“But it’s no big deal,” he added.

The look on Stan’s face implied that he did, in fact, find it to be a big deal. Kyle knew exactly why Stan was concerned about the admission of a stomachache. If the redhead were actually sick, he would claim to feel fine.

As Stan stared pensively, Kyle wondered whether his boyfriend sensed the statement to be dishonest, or if he merely thought the lack of protest implied severity.

“Let’s get you to the nurse,” Stan said urgently.

That answered Kyle’s question. Poor, sweet Stan definitely thought he was gravely ill.

“No, Stan, I don’t need to go to the nurse.”

“You should go home and rest.”

“Dude, he said he’s fine,” Cartman inserted himself. “It’s just a f*cking stomachache. Quit sucking his dick over it.”

“Shut the f*ck up, dude.”

“I’m seriously fine though, Stan,” Kyle assured him. “I think breakfast just didn’t agree with me, okay?”

“Okay… but I swear to god, you have to tell me if you’re feeling worse.”

“I will, Sweetheart.”

With Stan’s concern growing, Kyle felt it necessary to take the bus home from school that evening. He didn’t want to raise any further suspicion. He did, however, go for a long run that evening. Upon returning home from said run, he told his mom he had grabbed dinner with Stan, and he thereby managed to skip another meal without resistance from loved ones.

Hell yeah. Only two more days to go.

Lifting up his shirt before the mirror, Kyle decided he might look slightly better. He still wasn’t toned, and he was as deathly pale as always, and he had kept a few extra pounds lingering in his midsection ever since the holidays…

f*ck. Who was he kidding? He looked as sh*tty as ever. He was no Wendy, and he was no Lola.

But goddamnit, there was still time.

He was going to look amazing for Stan, and the only obstacle was the fact that he, well… felt like absolute sh*t. Something about the afternoon exercise combined with forgoing yet another meal put him over the edge.

Now, even the subtlest movements required the summoning of immense energy. Excessive gravity seemed to pull his arms downward, yet they felt weightless at the same time. Even sitting upright made Kyle dizzy. Standing was another story.

It would all be worth it, though. His relationship was more important than temporary suffering. He couldn’t lose Stan. It was fine. Since it was bedtime anyway, there was really no need for Kyle to concern himself over his lack of energy. He would surely sleep it off. Allowing his eyes to drift shut, he settled into dreams of a perfect prom night with the love of his life.

The next morning, however, he somehow felt more drained than he had the previous night. For god’s sake, wasn’t sleep supposed to be refreshing?

He dragged himself out of bed and readied himself in a daze. He hoped his outfit was presentable, and that his shoes matched, and that he had the right books in his backpack… but with incessant dizziness stymying his concentration, there was really no way to be sure.

As Kyle shut the front door behind himself, he found his hand almost too shaky to handle the knob. Jesus, writing at school was going to be a trick.

No. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let himself waver.

The walk to the bus stop felt significantly longer than usual, but a genuine smile spread across Kyle’s cheeks when he took in the sight of Stan. Rather than returning a beam, though, his boyfriend’s face contorted in worry.

“Kyle,” he said in an almost scolding manner.

“What? What did I do?” Kyle questioned.

Stan clicked his tongue, eyes softening. “You didn’t do anything, you just—”

He reached out to feel Kyle’s forehead, then exhibited genuine surprise upon discovering his temperature to be normal.

“—You look like sh*t,” he finally finished.

Cartman laughed hysterically.

“Wow, thanks,” Kyle scoffed.

“Why the hell are you sweating? It’s cold out here, dude…”

“How am I supposed to answer that question? Am I supposed to know why my body does everything it does? Like, what if I asked you why you’re not sweating?”

“Don’t try to distract me with science sh*t, Ky, I’m just trying to ask if you feel okay.”

“I feel fine.”

“You’re pale as sh*t, too,” Kenny commented.

“Quit ganging up on me,” Kyle half-jokingly complained. “I feel normal.”

The others exchanged a look of disbelief, and Stan’s concern definitely grew when Kyle held tightly to his shoulder for balance as they boarded the bus.

Even through his brain fog, Kyle knew he was on thin ice. Stan would unravel everything with one more wrong move. The only solution was avoidance. They didn’t have any classes together in the first half of the day, and Kyle’s lunch hour would be much better spent running on the treadmill anyway. If Stan didn’t see him at all, he couldn’t ask any questions.

———————————————

Stan anxiously drummed his fingers against the table as he scanned the cafeteria. Why the hell hadn’t Kyle shown up to lunch yet? Was he even still at school? What if he was unconscious on the floor somewhere? He did not look well that morning, and he was ignoring every message that came his way.

“Stop worrying about your fleshlight,” Cartman jeered. “If you keep pounding your fingers against the goddamn table I’m gonna kill your family in their sleep tonight.”

“Damn,” Kenny mumbled, mostly focused on the sandwich he was consuming.

“How the hell could I possibly stop worrying about Kyle?” Stan queried. “He won’t answer any of my texts or calls.”

“Maybe he’s just had it with your ass, Little Drummer Bitch,” Cartman suggested.

“He’s been acting weird ever since you pissed him off.”

“Since I pissed him off?! I piss him off every goddamn day! Maybe you should take a look at the man in the f*cking mirror, Stan. He’s probably sick of your overbearing sh*t.”

“You’re so full of sh*t, Cartman. I’m going to look for him.”

Stan stood up sharply.

“Go ahead, but don’t come crying to me when fat boy dumps your annoying ass!” Cartman shouted.

“Fat boy? What the hell are you even talking about?”

“I’m talking about the goddamn truth.”

“Wait. What the hell did you say to Kyle? God, you son of a bitch! You’re the reason he was so paranoid about his weight the other day, aren’t you?”

“Maybe he should worry about his weight! He’s f*cking fat! When he and I were walking down the hall the other day people kept yelling sh*t like ‘get out of my way, fat*ss’ and ‘move over, tubby’! I’m just telling you what I heard, don’t shoot the f*cking messenger!”

“Dude, they were calling you fat,” Stan corrected, rolling his eyes.

Cartman looked genuinely confused. “Why would they call me fat? I’m the hottest guy in this entire goddamn school.”

“Whatever, dude,” Stan grumbled as he walked away.

Searching in all the usual places, Stan had no luck finding Kyle. His only hope was that his boyfriend would show up for their shared history class, giving any sort of confirmation that he was okay.

Stan breathed a momentary sigh of relief when Kyle strolled into the classroom, but the feeling was short-lived. Kyle’s wan appearance had worsened, dark circles now adorning his eyes and sweat soaking through his jacket. His expression was dead, as though he were in another world entirely.

“Baby,” Stan said shakily as he reached out a hand to hold his boyfriend’s. “Why weren’t you at lunch? Where the hell have you been?”

“I had to fit in a workout,” Kyle stated. “Sorry.”

“A workout? Dude, is this about what Cartman said to—”

“It has nothing to do with Cartman!” Kyle snapped.

“Are you—”

“Mr. Marsh and Mr. Broflovski,” the teacher interrupted them. “Class is beginning, so I’ll need you two to keep the volume to a minimum.”

Goddamnit. Kyle showed up late on purpose so Stan wouldn’t have time to question him. It was obvious. If he was exercising instead of eating lunch, that asshole Cartman must have really gotten to him. It had been a while since their frenemy’s words had really gotten under his skin like that. Stan pondered why these particular taunts might have such a strong affect on Kyle, but he truly wasn’t sure.

The entire class period was a blur, as all Stan could do was watch his boyfriend’s every sluggish move. Something was wrong. Kyle wasn’t okay, and he needed to figure out why.

Seemingly only milliseconds after class ended, Kyle was out of his chair and heading for the door. Damn it. Stan should have known he would continue to evade questioning. He should have been ready to chase Kyle down, to ensure he was alright.

Or… Jesus, maybe Cartman was right. Maybe Kyle was done with Stan, and the apparent symptoms of illness were all just manifestations of stress. Maybe the impending breakup was wearing down Kyle’s emotional strength.

f*ck. f*ck. Stan couldn’t lose Kyle. He wanted to spend every minute of the rest of his life with Kyle.

Cartman was totally right, though. Stan hadn’t given his boyfriend much space lately. Perhaps hunting him down would only make things worse. As much as it pained Stan, he decided to lay low and wait for Kyle to contact him.

The passing of a mere couple of hours felt agonizingly long with no word from Kyle. The redhead wasn’t on the bus — which wasn’t surprising this time, since he had basketball practice — but that eliminated the only easy opportunity for Stan to feel out the situation. Did Kyle even want to go to prom together anymore?

While Stan was plopped facedown in bed, feeling utterly sorry for himself, his phone rang, and he jumped up eagerly to see if it was Kyle.

It wasn’t. It was Tolkien.

Wait, wasn’t Tolkien supposed to be at basketball practice too?

Narrowing his eyes in confusion, Stan answered the call.

“Hello?”

“Stan,” Tolkien began, voice wavering a bit. “I need to talk to you.”

Stan’s heart instantly fell to his stomach. Everything about his friend’s tone indicated that something was seriously wrong.

“What?” Stan questioned. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Kyle…”

“Oh my god…”

“Something happened, Stan.”

“What happened? What the hell happened?” Stan pressed, panic rising in his throat.

“He collapsed at practice. It’s bad, dude. Coach called an ambulance and the paramedics said his blood sugar was too low for them to even get a reading. They took him to the hospital… I don’t know if they’ve been able to wake him up, or…”

“Oh my god! f*ck! f*ck! I have to go!” Stan cried, hanging up the phone and rushing downstairs.

Stan's hands shook as he fumbled for his car keys, his mind racing with worry. The fear of the unknown gripped him tightly, with the fear of losing Kyle nearly strangling him. Without wasting another minute, he bolted out the door and sped toward the hospital.

Arriving at the emergency room, Stan was met with chaos. The sight of medical professionals rushing in every direction turned his stomach on a good day, but in the current circ*mstances it was enough to render him feeling faint. After standing still for a moment, frozen with fear, he took a deep breath and found the courage to approach the nurse's station.

“Hi,” he croaked out. “Kyle Broflovski… um… I’m here for Kyle Broflovski. I’m his boyfriend. Is he— is he okay?”

The look of pity Stan received from the nurse only intensified his fears.

"Your friend has been moved to the ICU,” she revealed. “They're doing everything they can to stabilize him. Have a seat in the waiting area, and someone will update you soon.”

With a heavy heart, Stan made his way to the dimly lit waiting room, where he found Kyle's parents anxiously awaiting an update. He approached them with a mix of apprehension and guilt.

He should have known. f*ck. He should have known what was wrong with Kyle. If he had only been more attentive, maybe he could have done something to help before it was too late.

"Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski," Stan started, his voice breaking, "I'm sorry. I could have— I should have kept this from happening. It’s all my fault."

Sheila wiped a tear from Stan’s cheek then moved to wrap him in a hug.

"Oh dear. Stanley, it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.”

Gerald nodded in agreement, and Stan felt a wave of relief at their understanding. For some unknown reason, though, he still had a sinking feeling that he himself was the root cause of this entire situation.

As they sat together in the waiting room, amidst feelings of dread, Stan’s heart warmed at the sense of belonging he felt with Kyle’s family. They had become family to him too, because Kyle was his family. Hell, Kyle was everything to him.

He couldn’t lose the love of his life. He couldn’t. Others could say what they wanted about the boys being young, still not really knowing how their lives would turn out, but Stan knew one thing for sure: with every twist and turn, he and Kyle would be together.

Time passed, Stan’s heart pounding through the minutes that felt like hours, until finally, a doctor approached them.

"Are you Kyle Broflovski’s family?"

Stan nodded frantically as Sheila answered the question.

“Yes, yes we are,” she said. “Is he alright?”

The doctor gave a solemn look. "Kyle is suffering from severe hypoglycemia, which likely caused him to collapse. We've stabilized his blood sugar levels, but he's yet to regain consciousness.”

“Oh my god,” Stan couldn’t help but interject. “Do you know why? Like, why is this happening?”

“We're running some additional tests. We’ll keep you updated on his condition, but in the meantime, you can see him if you’d like.”

Stan felt a mix of relief and worry. At least they were taking care of Kyle, but the uncertainty over what had caused the collapse was maddening. Cartman had definitely said something to Kyle that somehow set this chain of events in motion. Stan knew damn well he had said something, and he wished he could knock Cartman unconscious as a tradeout for Kyle.

Taking in the sight of Kyle in the hospital bed, Stan could hardly stay upright. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him until he limply sunk into a chair at Kyle’s bedside.

Kyle was paler than Stan had ever seen him. A sickly glow was cast over his skin, beads of sweat lingering across his face. He looked void of life. When the thought crossed his mind, Stan had to stifle a sob.

Hours more passed, and Stan was briefly left to his own devices. In spite of their holdbacks over leaving the premises, Kyle’s parents had to run home to pick up a concerned Ike, who had begged to join them at his brother’s bedside.

Incidentally, it was during that short period of time that Kyle’s eyelids fluttered open.

"Stan," he whispered, his voice weak.

He reached out toward Stan, his fingers trembling. Tears welled in Stan's eyes as he took tight hold of Kyle’s hand.

"You're awake," he uttered, his voice full of relief. "You scared the hell out of me, you know that?"

Kyle tried to give a weak smile but winced in discomfort. “What— what happened? Stan, where am I?”

Stan leaned over to kiss his forehead, too relieved to be bothered by the layer of sweat meeting his lips.

“You’re in the hospital, baby,” he replied. “You passed out at practice. Your sugar was so low that the paramedics couldn’t even read it and you— you wouldn’t wake up. Even after they treated your low sugar you weren’t waking up and I was so scared that you—”

Stan’s explanation was cut off as a cry escaped his lips, emotion overtaking him. Kyle watched with furrowed brows and mouth slightly agape.

"I'm so sorry,” Stan wept. “I should have known your sugar was low. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry."

Kyle expression fell further. “Stan, I— it’s not your fault. It’s my fault.”

“Ky, it’s not your fault. Your diabetes f*cked you over. It is not your fault.”

“Except… it is,” Kyle insisted, bursting into tears. “It is my fault, because I… I haven’t eaten since Wednesday morning.”

“What?! Ky, what the hell? Wha— Why?”

“I just want our first time to be perfect, Stan, and I know you’ll wanna f*ck after prom because Kenny said everyone does! But there’s no way in hell you could be attracted to me when I’m so… so ugly and out of shape! I’m pale and flabby and gross! You’ll think I’m disgusting, Stan. f*ck, dude, you should just go back to Wendy or Lola! They’re both perfect and I’m a total mess! They were probably f*cking great in bed and I’m gonna be sh*t! You should just break up with me right now! Go ahead, I can take it. If we let it go on any longer it’ll only hurt more when you decide you think I’m—”

“Ky,” Stan calmly cut him off, placing a comforting hand on his chest. “Shh, baby… breathe, it’s okay. How could you ever think I’d find you disgusting?”

“Because I am,” Kyle sobbed.

“Dude, you’re like… the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah right. I’m not blind. I’ve seen your exes, Stan. Cartman said—”

“I f*cking knew that asshole said something to you! What the hell did he say, Kyle? I’ll kill him.”

“Well, he… he said some really f*cked up sh*t.”

Kyle looked up to meet Stan’s eyes, hoping he would be satisfied with the brief explanation, but his boyfriend sat silently in wait of details.

“He said you’d be disgusted when you saw me naked,” Kyle confessed. “Your exes are just so much more attractive than me… He— he said that you’d have really hot sex to compare it to and that I’d… send you running for the hills.”

“What?! Kyle—”

“You don’t have to pretend it’s not true.”

“Kyle,” Stan repeated firmly as he moved his hands to caress Kyle’s cheeks. “I’ve never been attracted to anyone the way I’m attracted to you. You’re just… you’re perfect to me. You’re Kyle.”

“Yeah, I’m Kyle,” the redhead sniffled. “Pretty on the inside and ugly on the outside and all that sh*t.”

“No… Ky… I mean it when I say you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. The way your eyes sparkle makes me f*cking melt every damn day. The dimples on your cheeks when you give me that snarky half-smile basically like… pull me in like gravity to kiss you. Do you know how badly I wanted to kiss you for so many goddamn years? It was like f*cking torture. And the way your curls feel when I run my hands through them… f*ck, dude. And your hands fit so perfectly in mine, like we were made to be together or something. You have me thinking about all that cheesy sh*t… just… you’re perfect, Kyle.”

Stan ran his thumb across Kyle’s cheek to dry the fresh tears.

“Don’t let Cartman get in your head,” he continued. “Everything he said was complete bullsh*t. I mean, I’ve seen you naked before anyway, dude.”

“Well, yeah, but… he said it would be different now that you have to picture yourself f*cking me,” Kyle said quietly.

“…You think I wasn’t doing that before?” Stan replied with a smirk.

Finally letting out a slight laugh and smiling through the tears, Kyle leaned his cheek into Stan’s soothing touch.

“I know he was just being a dick,” Kyle said. “I don’t know why I let him get under my skin like that. I guess… I stopped eating because I thought maybe if I could lose just a few pounds, I wouldn’t be such a disappointment to you.”

Stan’s heart ached as he pulled Kyle close. “Baby… I’m so f*cking sorry he said that sh*t to you. None of it is true. You’re everything to me. Don’t ever listen to the sh*t he says.”

“I guess I was just… nervous anyway,” Kyle confessed. “That’s why it got to me, just— No matter what you say, it is true that you have experience and I don’t. I’m gonna be a letdown, Stan.”

“No.” Stan shook his head. “You won’t be a letdown. Kyle, our first time is gonna be amazing because we’re in love. Like, we have that stupid, sappy bullsh*t kind of love we used to make fun of. And… it’s a first for me too, Ky, because it’ll be the first time it’s ever meant something to me. It was honestly never good with my exes because I didn’t love them. With you I just… I just wanna hold you as close as I can and never let go. I wanna like… melt together because I’m so f*cking in love with you. That sounds stupid, but… it’s true, dude.”

Kyle smiled warmly, but his face sunk into a frown only a moment later.

“Well… it’s too bad I f*cked everything up so bad I won’t even get to go to senior prom now. There’s no way in hell I’ll be out of the hospital by tomorrow. What are you gonna do, third wheel with Kenny and Butters?”

Stan was utterly taken aback at the suggestion.

“Are you f*cking kidding me? I’m not going without you. I’m not leaving your side until you’re better. How could I breathe if I were anywhere else, dude?”

“You don’t have to miss prom for me.”

“I want to,” Stan asserted as he climbed under the blanket beside Kyle, wrapping his arms tightly around the redhead. “I only wanted to go because I was going with you. We’ll have our own prom here, but without the uncomfortable-ass suits and all those people we don’t even like.”

“That sounds perfect,” Kyle said quietly.

“And hey, I don’t give a sh*t about Kenny’s rules about when people should do what, okay? We can take things at our own pace. We don’t have to do anything until you’re ready.”

“God, I love you,” Kyle said tearfully.

“I love you too.” Stan lifted Kyle’s chin with his thumb so their eyes would meet. “Baby… I want you to promise you won’t keep it a secret from me if you go through something like this again. If you’re not eating I need to know, Ky, or you’ll get sick again. You scared the hell out of me.”

“I know I did. I’m sorry, and… I promise I’ll tell you if I’m having problems with eating again. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Stan said as he delicately ran a finger along his boyfriend’s cheekbone. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me everything.”

He stared silently and intently for a long moment until Kyle narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“Dude, what?” he questioned. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You’re just so f*cking beautiful,” Stan said softly.

Chapter 23: Matzo

Chapter Text

“Kyle?”

Standing over their bed, Stan ran his fingers through his boyfriend’s soft curls, attempting to wake him as gently as possible.

Kyle only hummed in response, keeping his eyes closed tightly.

“Do you feel like you could eat some dinner?” Stan asked.

“No,” Kyle groaned.

“What about, like, a smoothie or something?”

Kyle shook his head as he turned facedown into the pillow.

Stan knelt beside him, nudging his cheek with a glass. “Baby, you at least need to drink some water.”

Finally peeling his weary eyes open, Kyle reluctantly wrapped his lips around the straw to take one small sip.

Stan sighed in defeat.

His boyfriend had been suffering from a nasty stomach bug, and while most people seemed to recover from similar illnesses within 24 hours or so, the hapless Kyle hadn’t seen any improvement over the course of three whole days. Stan was growing concerned for a number of reasons, the worry at the forefront of his mind being dehydration. High temperatures and relentless vomiting have that effect as it is, but Kyle’s stubbornness had pushed him to refuse any food or water since he woke up that morning. He was determined not to get sick anymore, and his plan had worked… in a sense. Stan wasn’t sure how repeatedly dry-heaving was preferable to throwing up, but who was he to say? What he did know was that a lack of food and water could be even more detrimental to Kyle’s health.

“Ky…”

“I can’t drink any more,” Kyle whined. “I already feel my stomach turning.”

“Does anything at all sound good?” Stan questioned, gently stroking Kyle’s flushed cheek with his finger.

He was definitely still running a fever.

“No,” Kyle muttered. “I just wanna sleep.”

Drifting back off in an instant, he left an anxious Stan wondering what he could do to quell a seemingly inevitable trip to the doctor. Kyle’s refusal of fluids couldn’t go on much longer without, at the very least, worsening his symptoms.

As Stan quietly exited to the hallway, an idea crossed his mind. He needed help from someone who had dealt with many more of Kyle’s sick days than he had, so he dialed Sheila’s number.

“Hello, Stanley,” she answered. “How are you? Is Kyle feeling better?”

“Hi, Mrs. Broflovski. I’m okay, but Kyle isn’t really doing any better. He missed his classes again today.”

“Oh dear…”

“I’m actually calling because he kind of… won’t eat or drink anything.”

“My little bubbeleh can be very stubborn when he isn’t feeling well.”

“Tell me about it,” Stan grumbled.

“How long has it been since he’s had something to eat?” Sheila asked, sounding exasperated. “He used to do this for days when he got the stomach flu as a child, but I thought he would’ve outgrown that behavior by now.”

“He hasn’t even tried to eat anything since last night, and he’s only taken like two sips of water today.”

“Maybe you better whip him up some matzo ball soup. He’ll always eat my matzo ball soup.”

“How the— how do you… make that?”

“Oh, it’s very easy. I can send you my recipe.”

“Can you? That would be great. Thanks, Mrs. Broflovski.”

“It’s no problem at all, Stanley. Thank you for taking good care of my Kyle.”

After hanging up the phone, Stan felt confident he could nurture Kyle back to health. Even a few bites of soup could spare Kyle a trip to the hospital, and thereby spare Stan a panic attack. This would be easy.

Or… maybe not. Stan’s confidence faded rapidly when Sheila’s message came through.

Where the f*ck was Stan supposed to get matzo meal? Frankly, he didn’t even know what the hell that was.

f*ck. He needed to call Sheila back and ask. He had literally hung up under five minutes ago, so something about redialing her number felt shameful. However, he was really left with no choice. He needed Kyle to eat something.

“…Mrs. Broflovski?” Stan hesitantly greeted when Sheila picked up the phone.

“What is it?” she questioned. “Is Kyle okay?”

“Yeah, I just— I have no idea what matzo meal is,” Stan sheepishly confessed.

Sheila laughed lightly. “Oh, I should have known you wouldn’t have. That was silly of me. Don’t you worry, it’s very easy to make. Just put some matzo in the blender.”

“Well…” Stan nervously cleared his throat. “What is matzo?”

He really sounded like a goddamn idiot, didn’t he?

“Matzo is an unleavened flatbread. That’s why it’s a staple during Passover. No chametz.”

“No what?”

“Nevermind, dear. You can find it at the store. It looks a bit like big saltine crackers.”

“Okay. Big saltine crackers. Okay.”

“Right, but the package will say ‘matzo,’” Sheila clarified, solidifying Stan’s speculation that he sounded like an absolute moron.

“Thank you so much. Sorry to bother you again.”

“It’s alright, Stanley, don’t worry. Send Kyle my love.”

Stan sighed as he hung up once again.

Scrolling through the recipe, the rest of the ingredients seemed simple enough, but that certainly didn’t mean Stan had them on hand. Fresh dill? Yeah, right. Two college juniors were supposed to have fresh dill lying around? For that matter, they didn’t have any garlic, celery, carrots, or onion in their kitchen, either.

They did have the eggs, salt and pepper, which Stan felt prouder of than he should have.

Yeah, this would definitely require a trip to the grocery store. But there was no way in hell Stan was leaving Kyle alone in his current state. This called for reinforcements. Hoping at least one of their friends would take pity, Stan reached out in a group chat.

——
Stan: Hey guys, could one of you do me a favor

Cartman: no

Kenny: what’s up?

Stan: Kyle’s still really sick and I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. I’m trying to make his mom’s matzo ball soup but I have literally none of the ingredients.

Cartman: oh wait the favor is for kyle?

Cartman: in that case

Cartman: DEFINITELY no

Cartman: LMFAO

Kenny: i have my night class but i can go to the store after? it might be late as hell tho…

Butters: I can help, Stan! Send me the shopping list and I’ll come over as soon as I can!
——

Very predictable. Forwarding the grocery list to Butters, Stan couldn’t help but smile at his friend’s perpetual willingness to assist anyone with anything.

Just as he was setting down his phone and preparing to lay out the few ingredients he did have, the sound of retching drew him to the bedroom.

“Ky?” he called out.

As Stan entered their room, he took in the sight of his boyfriend lurched over a small trash can in his lap, gripping the rim like a lifeline.

“sh*t,” Stan said softly, rushing over to rub Kyle’s back.

“It’s because you made me drink that f*cking water,” Kyle accused before gagging again.

Stan cringed as a wave of bile splashed into the bin, crinkling the lining in a way that turned his stomach. He wished he weren’t so goddamn squeamish, but he was more than willing to push past it to offer comfort to his favorite person.

“Right, because you were doing so f*cking great before that?” Stan quipped, softening his sarcasm with a gentle shoulder massage.

“Better than this.”

“Dry heaving hurts like hell, dude. It feels worse, and you’re getting dehydrated.”

“It doesn’t make a mess.”

“I can get a new bag for the trash can when you need it, Ky, it isn’t a big deal.”

Kyle only groaned as he fell back against the pillow, weakly holding out the bin for his boyfriend to take.

“You okay, Baby?” Stan asked, petting the damp hair back from Kyle’s forehead.

He felt even warmer now, which meant he would dehydrate all the quicker. f*ck. Stan really needed to get his sh*t together and make that soup.

“I’m fine,” Kyle mumbled. “I just wanna die is all.”

“You feel that bad?” Stan asked urgently, brows furrowing in concern.

“More like I’m never gonna be able to catch up on my schoolwork.”

Stan released a deep breath, panic disappearing. “Don’t worry about that right now, dude. You’ll have all weekend to catch up.”

“So you’re already just assuming I’ll miss classes again tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, but I do know you don’t have the energy to worry about it. Try to go back to sleep, okay? I’ll be back in a little bit. I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Kyle questioned, sounding exhausted at the mere thought.

“I just have a feeling I know exactly how I can get you to eat,” Stan hinted before kissing Kyle atop the head.

“As if. You’re gonna make my mom’s matzo ball soup appear out of thin air or something?”

“Something like that.”

“This feels like a fever dream.”

“Maybe it is,” Stan teased.

“f*ck you,” Kyle muttered, though he couldn’t suppress a slight smile.

“The water I left on the nightstand? Drink it,” Stan urged.

He gave his boyfriend one more kiss on the cheek, then exited the room with his phone in hand, seeking an update from Butters.

A knock at the door distracted him from the task at hand, and a look through the peephole revealed that the blond had arrived already.

“Goddamn, that was fast,” Stan remarked as he swung the door open.

“Well,” Butters began, tapping his knuckles together anxiously, “when Eric sends me to the store he sets a 30 minute timer, and if I don’t make it back in time I have to pay for it myself.”

“Jesus Christ. Why the hell would you agree to that?”

“He told me I don’t wanna find out what happens if I don’t pay!”

“Alright, whatever. Did you get the sh*t for Kyle?”

“I did!”

Butters transferred the bag to Stan, who poured its contents across the nearby counter. Everything on the list appeared to be there.

“Thank you so much, dude. You’re a lifesaver.”

“So, you’re makin’ matzo ball soup?” Butters asked.

“Yeah.”

“Well… what’s a matzo ball?”

“It’s, you know… a ball made out of matzo?”

“But… what’s matzo?”

Stan opened his mouth to explain, but… what the hell had Sheila actually said matzo was? Something about… big saltine crackers? Something about Passover?

“You mean… you don’t already know?” Stan scoffed, poorly feigning shock. “Everyone knows what matzo is, dude. If you don’t already know, I’m not explaining it to you.”

“Oh, well, alright then,” Butters cheerfully conceded. “So whaddaya have to do first?”

“I think I have to grind up the matzo in the blender or something?”

“You have a blender?”

“No. sh*t.”

Wow, Stan really was an idiot. Now he was going to have to call Sheila back again and find out what to do. Somehow, that was about the most embarrassing thing imaginable. This was shaping up to be a horrible evening.

“Oh, hamburgers!” Butters exclaimed. “What are you gonna do?”

Stan sighed heavily as he lifted the phone to his ear. “Call Kyle’s mom again. Goddamnit.”

“What is it now, Stanley?” Sheila answered the phone.

She sounded amused, not annoyed, but that didn’t make Stan feel any better.

“We don’t have a blender,” Stan confessed through gritted teeth.

Sheila giggled at his plight.

“You can buy matzo meal at the store, then.”

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?”

Stan was trying his best not to sound irritated, as he was mildly terrified of Sheila, after all.

“I always preferred to make the matzo meal myself,” she explained. “You can add a few spices that way.”

“We don’t even have spices. And— well, I already got the matzo crackers, or whatever, at the store. What do I do?”

“You could always use a rolling pin to crush up the matzo,” Sheila suggested. “Put them in a Ziploc bag first, though, or you’ll make a real mess.”

Once again, she was assuming Stan was completely stupid, but that seemed valid at this point.

“Okay. Thanks, Mrs. Broflovski.”

“What are you gonna do?” Butters asked as soon as Stan hung up the phone.

“Crush the matzo,” Stan absently replied as he retrieved a toolbox from below the sink. “She said to use a rolling pin.”

“Do you… have a rolling pin?”

“Nope.”

Stan opened the box of matzo, dumped it into a large Ziploc, swiftly removed a hammer from the toolbox, then proceeded to pound the bag with an aggression that made Butters wince at each slam.

The rest of the cooking process went about as well as expected, but goddamnit, Stan made matzo balls, however poorly-shaped they may have been.

He selected the least ugly of his creations to place in the bowl of broth, then set the meal on a tray beside a glass of orange juice. He hoped Kyle might be more inclined to drink that than he was to drink water.

“Ky?” Stan said softly as he pushed the bedroom door open with the tray.

“Hmm?”

“I brought you something.”

Kyle opened his eyes as Stan set the tray on his nightstand.

“Dude, is that matzo ball soup?” the redhead questioned, rubbing his tired eyes in confusion. “Where the hell did you get that?”

“I made it,” Stan proudly responded.

“You made it? Jesus, this is definitely a fever dream.”

“You might take that back after you try it. There’s a good chance it tastes like sh*t…”

“I’m gonna eat it anyway,” Kyle said almost wistfully, flashing a genuine smile for the first time in days.

“Really? You’re gonna eat?”

“I mean, I’m gonna try.” Kyle reached out to take Stan’s hand. “Because I can’t believe you cooked for me. I didn’t even think you’d know what matzo was.”

“No, I… totally did,” Stan lied.

Kyle smirked, as he could always see right through his boyfriend. “My mom had to tell you, didn’t she?”

“Well, it is her recipe. I may have had to call her… three times.”

“God, you’re hopeless,” Kyle teased through laughter. “I love you so f*cking much.”

Chapter 24: Painkillers

Chapter Text

Tears welled in Stan’s eyes as he rushed to his boyfriend’s side. He kissed Kyle’s hand repeatedly, infinitely relieved to see the redhead awake.

“Baby, thank god,” he cried, rubbing a hand gently up and down Kyle’s arm.

Stan had always known Kyle would need at least one more kidney transplant in his lifetime, but the news had still managed to catch him off guard when the time came. Shortly after his 24th birthday, Kyle had been diagnosed with end-stage kidney failure once again and subsequently began dialysis treatments. However, he was much luckier this time around and matched with a donor rather quickly.

Less than a year later, Stan was in a hospital room, sitting at Kyle’s bedside while the latter groggily took in his post-operative surroundings.

The whole process was much easier sans stealing a kidney from Cartman.

f*ck Cartman’s kidneys, anyway. The nerve of that bullsh*t kidney to die out after only sixteen years.

Their frenemy would certainly be disappointed at the surgery’s outcome. Cartman had thrown a party the day Kyle broke the news of his kidney failure, and he had also stated no shortage of times that he “hoped Kyle died during the transplant.”

f*ck him. Stan found himself seething with rage all over again.

“Where am I?” Kyle slurred, distracting Stan from his bitterness.

“You’re in the hospital, Ky,” Stan softly explained. “You just got out of surgery. The doctors said it went great.”

Kyle allowed his head to roll to the side in a lazy manner, eyes unfocused but held in Stan’s direction.

“God, you have a nice face,” he mumbled. “Has— has anyone ever told you that before?”

“Once or twice… I’m not nearly as f*cking pretty as you though and you know it.”

“Hmm… you shouldn’t be… flirting like that.”

Stan co*cked his head to the side. “Why not?”

“‘Cause I have a boyfriend,” Kyle muttered.

“Yeah, no sh*t,” Stan chuckled.

“You should… probably let— let go of my hand too. You may be hot as sh*t, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Kyle, it’s me. I’m Stan.”

“Holy sh*t. My boyfriend’s name is Stan too. Holy f*cking sh*t.”

Holy f*cking sh*t was right. Kyle must have been on a lot of painkillers.

“Oh, is that so?” Stan teased, indulging the delirium.

“He looks like you… kind of,” Kyle declared with narrowed eyes. “sh*t. I think you might be hotter though. Yeah… you’re hotter… but only a little bit. I f*cking love my boyfriend.”

“He loves you too,” Stan said as he gave Kyle’s hand a light squeeze. “And I agree, I’ve definitely gotten hotter.”

“sh*t, Sweetheart, it’s you, isn’t it?” Kyle murmured, tightly closing his eyes as though making that connection required immense focus.

“Of course it’s me,” Stan replied with a bright smile. “Where the hell else would I be?”

“I’m glad you’re here. I— I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Baby. I was so worried about you.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course, Ky.”

“I— dude, I… kinda want you to f*ck me right now,” Kyle mumbled.

“I think the doctors might be kind of pissed about that,” Stan said, struggling to stifle his laughter.

“Nah, dude, I— I don’t think they would care. They said they like— they don’t care at all.”

“I think that might be the painkillers talking.”

“They— painkillers can talk?” Kyle asked in genuine confusion.

“Never mind… how do you feel, dude?” Stan shifted the subject. “Are you hurting at all?”

“I don’t— I don’t know. I think I might be floating, like, on a cloud or something. Am I… off the ground right now?”

“If… you consider the bed to be off the ground, then yeah.”

“Jesus, I knew it. I’m— I’m getting… motion sick.”

“Motion sick?” Stan questioned, but soon noticed that Kyle’s face had genuinely paled.

It may not have been “motion sickness,” but there was no doubt about it, the redhead would be vomiting in a matter of seconds. More than likely, the nausea was a lingering effect of the anesthesia.

“sh*t,” Stan interjected.

He swiped a small basin from a nearby table and held it below Kyle’s mouth just in time to catch the first wave of sick. Carefully rubbing his boyfriend’s back, he uttered soothing words, all-the-while worrying about the effects such exertion may have on Kyle’s stitches.

“Oh god,” the redhead groaned between retches. “God, this hurts.”

“I know, Baby. sh*t. I’m so sorry.”

Stan brushed back Kyle’s hair as the latter finally caught his breath, coughs soon morphing to sobs.

“Are you okay, Ky?”

“My stomach hurts,” Kyle whined.

Stan felt his heart break in two as tears poured down his boyfriend’s cheeks.

“Do you need to throw up again?”

“No, I— I think all my f*cking stitches ripped out or something. It hurts.”

“Holy sh*t, are you serious?” Stan asked, trying to mask the white-hot streaks of panic coursing through his veins. “Do I need to call the doctor?”

“No, I was being dramatic,” Kyle slurred, lazily swiping the tears from his face.

Stan had already hit the emergency call button, though. A nurse rushed into the room only seconds later.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“No!” Stan exclaimed. “He threw up and I think it was too much for him to handle! Could that rip his stitches out?”

“I suppose it could.”

How the f*ck was she acting so casual about it? Was she insane? Stan watched with wide-eyes as she nonchalantly lifted Kyle’s bandage to have a look at the incision site.

“Everything looks fine to me,” she remarked. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”

“Are you sure?” Stan pressed.

He realized he was picking at his fingernails, a nervous habit he was trying desperately to break. If Kyle hadn’t been completely out of it, he would definitely be scolding Stan.

“Yes, I’m sure,” the nurse asserted. “The doctor can take a look later, but it looks fine.”

“Okay…”

“Call if you need anything else.”

Kyle giggled a bit as she exited.

“What?” Stan grumbled, almost angry, but only because he had been so concerned.

“You were freaking out,” Kyle murmured. “‘M fine. Totally fine.”

“You were crying.”

“Yeah, it— it just hurts. And I feel weird, dude, like… weird.”

Stan furrowed his brows, turning to get a better look at Kyle’s expression. “Bad weird?”

“Not the kind of weird you need to freak out over.” Kyle’s lips curved upward a bit in spite of the pain behind his eyes. “Do you hate me for— for being dramatic?”

“God, Ky, no. You’re high off your ass on painkillers right now. You’re gonna say a lot of weird sh*t.”

“I haven’t really said anything weird.”

“You… absolutely have, dude.”

“And— and you s-still don’t hate me?”

“No. Honestly, it’s really f*cking cute.”

Stan smiled softly at Kyle before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Don’t tell Cartman any of the weird sh*t I say,” Kyle murmured, tired eyes drifting shut.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Stan teased. “Once you sleep this off we can call Cartman and tell him the surgery went well.”

“You didn’t send out updates yet?”

“I did, just not to Cartman. I figured you’d wanna be there to hear him get all pissed off that you’re totally fine.”

The redhead smiled lazily, eyes still closed.

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever done for me,” he mumbled.

“Dude, I literally stole a kidney for you once.”

“This is nicer.”

Stan smirked. “The painkillers are talking again.”

“Tell them to shut the f*ck up so I can go to sleep,” Kyle slurred.

“I’ll try, but they’re stubborn as sh*t… or maybe that’s just you,” Stan jested.

As his heavily-medicated, goofy, emotional boyfriend’s face relaxed into sleep, Stan let out a deep sigh. He still struggled to keep worry from gripping at his throat, but he found solace in observing Kyle’s steady breathing. He was okay. He was recovering.

The next few days would certainly be entertaining, though. Drugged-out Kyle was a rollercoaster.

Chapter 25: Worry

Chapter Text

“My asshole friend Stan is about to complete an impressive challenge in my very own backyard,” Cartman narrated to all five viewers on his TikTok live.

He panned the camera over to Kyle, who sat facing away from the scene with his arms crossed indignantly.

“And over here we have his best friend Kyle, who I f*cking hate so goddamn much. Look at him, all pissy for no reason. God, he’s such a f*cking dick.”

Though Stan rolled his eyes at the comment, he had to admit, he really wasn’t sure why Kyle was so angry. Ever since Cartman and Kenny talked Stan into this, he had been acting strangely.

“You have anything to say to the fans, Kahl?” Cartman prodded, phone only inches away from Kyle’s face.

“Yes,” Kyle interjected as he shoved the large boy away from himself. “Stan, don’t do this. It’s stupid and you’re gonna get hurt.”

Cartman flipped the camera around to face himself once again. “Aww, you guys, the little fa*g is worried about his boyfriend.”

“You’re damn right I’m worried!” Kyle yelled.

He shifted uncomfortably for a moment. He really was acting weird — Stan couldn’t believe he neglected to shut down the boyfriend comment. Not that he wanted him to…

“Ky, I’m gonna be fine,” Stan assured him as he reached to place a hand on his shoulder.

Kyle spun around to display a soft smile, taking both of Stan’s hands into his own. Stan tried to ignore the way it sent shivers down his spine.

“Be careful, Stan,” Kyle said quietly.

“Aww,” Cartman jeered, physically pushing between the two boys with his annoying-ass camera. “Do you want me to get you two a hotel room so you can make love before we start?”

“f*ck off, Cartman,” Stan retorted, even though the hotel room idea didn’t sound all that bad.

“You guys are making this video lame as sh*t. We’re trying to get cool-ass footage of Stan jumping over a bunch of sh*t and you’re turning it into a goddamn deleted scene from The Notebook.”

“For god’s sake—”

“Apologies to all my loyal viewers,” Cartman continued, turning back to his setup. “Anyway, the feat my gay ass friend Stan will be completing today is a jump from this skateboard ramp to that one over there. Between the two ramps, as you can see, is all the sharpest sh*t I could find in the trash. If he’s too much of a puss* to make this jump, he’s absolutely f*cked.”

“That’s what I’m trying to say!” Kyle cut in again. “You’ll get scraped to sh*t if you don’t make the jump, Stan… not to mention the fact that you’ll probably break your damn legs.”

“He’ll be okay,” Kenny offered.

“God, some of that sh*t is rusty!” Kyle ignored his friend, moving to observe the treacherous setup more closely. “Do you know how dangerous that is? Dude, when was your last tetanus shot?”

“Oh my god, you’re making this so goddamn lame,” Cartman said through gritted teeth.

“Kyle, we already told the seniors we were doing this,” Stan hesitantly remarked. “If I back out now we’ll get branded as total losers.”

“Who cares?” Kyle exclaimed, throwing his hands to the sky in a dramatic fashion.

“Everyone except you,” Kenny muttered.

“Fine. Fine, do whatever the hell you want. Jump to your death and get cut to sh*t by rusty garbage to impress Cartman and a bunch of seniors you don’t even know. f*cking go for it, but I’m not sticking around to watch. I can’t watch, dude.”

“Come on, Ky,” Stan urged as he watched his best friend sulk away.

“What’s up his ass?” Cartman questioned. “Besides your dick, of course.”

Stan ignored the comment. “Kyle, seriously, why are you so upset?”

Kyle didn’t so much as turn around, and soon enough he was out of sight.

“Good riddance,” Cartman sneered. “No one tuned into this TikTok live to watch a goddamn lover’s quarrel.”

“No one tuned in anyway,” Kenny noted.

“f*ck you, Kinny!”

“Can we get this over with?” Stan pled, growing nervous for the jump and struggling to get Kyle’s outburst out of his mind.

Why was Kyle so worried? He never seemed to care when Kenny pulled this sh*t — which was all the damn time. Why was this any different?

“Please f*cking do get it over with!” Cartman screeched. “You were the one who forced me to watch that dramatic ass dialogue between you and Jew Boy!”

“Okay, okay! I’m going!”

Stan backed a significant distance away from the first ramp to get a running start. As he took in the sight of his challenge, he found himself breathing hard already. He broke into sprint nonetheless. With dirt and grass kicking up around him, an ache gripped his chest, but his focus stayed entirely on the task at hand. He leaped with all his might, just barely reaching the second ramp. Falling forward, he rolled down the decline.

Holy sh*t. He did it, almost entirely unscathed (though definitely not without a few bumps and bruises from that fall). Cartman and Kenny were clapping and cheering, their voices loud but their faces hazy through the cloud of dust surrounding Stan.

His excitement began to fade when his chest tightened further. It felt as though Cartman was sitting atop Stan’s lungs with his fat ass. sh*t. No, this was bad. Stan couldn’t even make mental jokes about the situation anymore once he broke out into frantic coughs. It felt like he was drowning in the air.

“Are you okay?!” Kenny yelled.

“Holy sh*t, is he dying or something?” Cartman grumbled.

Stan tried to reply, but he could hardly even take in enough air to cough, let alone speak. The world was going fuzzy, his head spinning and the voices around him muffled.

Was this how he was going to die? Laying in a pile of dirt, desperately gasping for breath, streamed live on Cartman’s TikTok? Damn. Maybe Cartman would finally get his views.

Kenny could be heard shouting something about Kyle, and then Stan couldn’t hear anything but the ringing in his ears. The entire world was a blur until he suddenly came back to earth as he felt the sensation of his inhaler between his lips.

He breathed as deeply as he could. A hand gently stroked his cheek and a soft voice offered soothing — although incomprehensible — words.

“It’s okay, Stan, I’m here.”

It was Kyle.

Stan regained awareness of his surroundings as he took a second puff from his inhaler, finally relaxing into normal breathing. Kyle was kneeling before him with an absolutely mortified expression.

“Stan, can you hear me?” he queried.

“Yeah,” Stan shakily replied, still steadying his breaths.

“You scared the sh*t out of me,” Kyle bemoaned. “How do you feel? That was bad, dude. Should I take you to the hospital?”

“No, Ky, I don’t need to go to the hospital. I just need to rest. You know, catch my breath. Literally.”

He laughed slightly, but it only caused him to cough again.

“Be careful,” Kyle ordered. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

“Aye!” Cartman yelled. “You’re not leaving, asswipes! Stan still needs to say a few words to the fans!”

“There are no fans,” Kenny flatly quipped.

“I don’t give a sh*t about your TikTok,” Kyle retorted. “I’m taking Stan home.”

“Fine,” Cartman hissed. “Have fun jerking each other off.”

Stan felt heat pool in his cheeks. Hopefully no one would notice.

“Dude, are you good?” Kyle asked urgently. “Your face is all red, can you breathe?”

Well, so much for that.

f*ck me, Stan thought — in both a literal and metaphorical sense, at the moment.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m just— I’m fine,” Stan croaked out. “Can we just… not tell my mom about this? I don’t want her to get all freaked out and make me go to the doctor or something.”

He needed to deflect. Deflect, deflect, deflect. That was a good save.

“I won’t tell your mom,” Kyle agreed, “but only if you let me stay overnight to keep an eye on you.”

Stan smiled softly. “Deal.”

The pair was silent on the walk home. It was perfect, actually, because with Kyle’s gentle hand between his shoulder blades for support, Stan would have been at a loss for words anyway. His heart fluttered so hard he almost feared it was another asthma attack coming on.

Once they reached Stan’s bedroom, he plopped down on the bed, releasing a deep sigh. Kyle carefully took a seat beside him.

“You feeling okay?” the redhead questioned with a very worried expression.

He placed a hand on Stan’s arm. Stan thought he might vomit.

“Yeah, I’m just worn out, I guess. That was intense, dude.”

“I know. I mean, f*ck, tell me about it. I was afraid you’d be passed out or something by the time I got there.”

“How the hell did you even find out what was going on?” Stan inquired, narrowing his eyes at the realization. “Did you come back to watch the jump or something?”

“No, I didn’t wanna see that sh*t,” Kyle said tersely, but his face softened immediately following the statement. “Kenny came to find me when he realized you were having an asthma attack. I was still walking home.”

“Cartman stayed with me?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “I think he filmed the whole thing.”

“Of course he did. But you— did you run all the way to my damn house to get my inhaler? It wasn’t in my bag…”

Sheepishly looking to the ground, Kyle moved his hand from Stan’s arm to his own lap.

“I know. I… had one with me, in my bag. I always do.”

“Dude, what? Why?”

“What the hell do you mean, ‘why’?” Kyle exclaimed, rising to his feet. “You never bring yours anywhere and— and I worry about you! I’ve carried this with me ever since you left it at my house in 8th grade, because I worry about you all the damn time!”

Stan’s eyes widened, tearing up. “You worry about me? Is that… why you didn’t want me to do the jump for Cartman’s stupid video?”

“Of course that’s why,” Kyle answered as he sat beside Stan once again. “I can’t f*cking stand the thought of you getting hurt. I just… I can’t.”

“That’s why you left?”

“Yes, Stan. How the hell was I supposed to watch that? I’d probably have a f*cking panic attack.”

“You never care when Kenny does that sh*t.”

“So?”

“So… what’s the difference, Ky?” Stan asked pointedly, pushing himself up to a seated position.

Silence hung in the air for what felt like an eternity.

“Don’t make me say it,” Kyle barely whispered.

“Don’t make you say… what?”

Oh, sh*t. Did Kyle actually feel the same way? Somehow, in all the years of their friendship, Stan had never even considered it a possibility that his feelings could be requited. But apparently, Kyle worried about him all the time, and he didn’t worry about Kenny the same way. That had to mean something… right?

“Don’t make me say that I… love you,” Kyle confessed with a quivering voice.

“What?”

Stan thought his heart might genuinely beat out of his chest. He had to make sure he actually heard that right.

“I know, it’s f*cking stupid and embarrassing, and you probably hate me now. It’s fine. You don’t have to talk to me ever again, dude, I get it. I’m used to this sh*t with Cartman, so now the two of you can just… bully me together about how I’m—”

But Kyle was cut off as Stan’s lips crashed into his own.

Chapter 26: Relapse

Chapter Text

Stan jolted awake as the car hit a pothole. Even the subtle stimulation of the headlights and street lamps strained his eyes, but closing them made the world spin in the most nauseating way.

God, being awake was hell. He couldn’t help but let out an audible groan.

To his left, someone scoffed at the sound. He turned to see the hazy outline of a handsome man driving the vehicle. The man’s face was wrought with worry, but there was anger behind his eyes.

“Are you… mad at me?” Stan slurred.

“No,” the familiar voice tersely responded.

“Where— where are we going?”

“Home.”

“Huh? Dude, I’m— I’m f*cking married! I’m not going home with you!” Stan barely managed to say.

“You’re married to me, dumbass.”

Oh. It was Kyle driving the car. When had he shown up at the bar? How did he even know Stan was there in the first place? Everything from that night was foggy, but the memory of getting picked up by Kyle was absolutely nonexistent.

“How did you— how— how did you know where I was?” Stan asked.

“Oh, you’re questioning me right now?” Kyle snapped. “Seriously?”

He sharply turned into their driveway, sending Stan’s limp form smacking against the passenger-side window.

“You could have warned me about that turn,” Stan muttered.

“You could have stayed sober enough to recognize your own f*cking house,” Kyle retorted.

And it was a fair point.

When Kyle hopped out of the car, Stan wondered if he would be left behind, but the redhead walked around to his side of the vehicle, opening the door to assist him. Stan had to lean heavily against his husband to make the trek inside.

Once he was deposited into a chair at the kitchen table, he found himself sobered up enough to close his eyes without wanting to vomit.

Thank god.

Kyle wordlessly slammed a glass of water down in front of him, subsequently tossing a bag of frozen peas across the table.

“What’s this for?” Stan inquired.

“Your hand, dude,” Kyle replied with an eye roll.

Stan looked down to find his right hand badly bruised, knuckles bloodied. The pain from the injury suddenly reared its ugly head along with remembrance of the source. He had thrown a few punches at Cartman, and to make matters worse, Kyle had witnessed the brawl. He had been the one to physically pull them apart.

f*ck.

“Thanks,” Stan murmured, relief washing over him as the cold bag of peas soothed the abrasions on his skin.

Tension caught in his throat as Kyle sat down stiffly in the chair across from him, staring into his eyes with overwhelming intensity.

“How long has it been going on?” he cut directly to questioning. “The drinking.”

Silence lingered in the air for a moment.

“A couple weeks,” Stan confessed.

Kyle looked utterly broken.

“Jesus Christ,” he said quietly. “I had no idea.”

Stan’s eyes trained down to his injured hand, evading the searing gaze of his husband. “No sh*t. You haven’t been around.”

“Great, dude, got it, thanks,” Kyle huffed, demeanor shifting in an instant. “Sorry for going to actual work to put an actual roof over our heads.”

“‘Actual work’? You think writing isn’t a real job?”

“It sure as hell isn’t a real job when you chug an entire goddamn fifth of vodka before you do it.”

“You can be so judgmental, you know that? Lots of authors drink while they write and they do fine.”

“I’m sure they do. Let’s have this conversation again when your books bring home a single penny.”

“I’m really f*cking trying, Kyle. I write better when—”

“—When you’re drunk off your ass?” Kyle finished for him. “Yeah, dude, I doubt it.”

Stan was silent. He couldn’t refute that.

“And you’re welcome, by the way,” Kyle continued, “for funding your daily binges.”

“Jesus, Kyle. Are we actually gonna talk about what happened tonight or are you just gonna be a dick?”

“I’m not the one being a dick.”

“You’ve been yelling at me since I got in the damn car.”

“I’m not yelling.”

“Alright, dude. Whatever you say.”

“Don’t act like you don’t f*cking know why I’m upset.”

“Because I punched Cartman?”

“No, dude. No. This isn’t about Cartman.”

Stan rolled his eyes, head tilting lazily to rest atop the back of his chair. “You always have some reason to be upset, don’t you?”

“You were almost three years sober, Stan,” Kyle interjected, voice cracking with emotion. “Three years. Why the hell would you do this?”

“I don’t know,” Stan muttered. “Maybe if you came home before 9pm once in a while I’d have something better to do.”

“That’s not fair,” Kyle spat, shooting up from his chair. “That’s not f*cking fair. You know how much pressure I’ve been under since—”

“—Since you made partner,” Stan finished in a mocking tone. “At only 30 years old, the youngest at your firm ever to make partner, and blah blah f*cking blah.”

The room seemed to spin like a tornado as Stan watched Kyle pace over to the living room, rubbing his temples the way he always did when he was melting under stress. Without a doubt, their heated conversation was spiraling into a full-blown argument. Stan’s own words felt fuzzy as they left his mouth, and there was no turning back now.

sh*t.

He was just so f*cking drunk. He was far too intoxicated to pivot. His brain couldn’t stop his mouth from spouting bullsh*t.

“It’s pretty f*cking convenient, you know,” Kyle hissed. “Your alcoholism makes a mysterious reappearance the second I actually start doing something important with my life.”

“Oh, so our relationship isn’t an important part of your life?”

“That is not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant. Go ahead, say it,” Stan taunted. “Say I’m not enough for you.”

“That’s not true and you know it. You’re just so goddamn selfish that you want every minute of my life to revolve around you. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“Don’t f*cking flatter yourself. Not everything is about you, Kyle. My dad was an alcoholic, my grandpa was an alcoholic—”

“I know, Stan, Jesus Christ, I know!” Kyle yelled. “You come from a line of scumbags. All the more reason you shouldn’t be blaming this on me.”

“God, you really think you’re too damn good for me, don’t you?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You pretty much said it yourself, dude!” Stan shouted, launching out of his chair to move toward Kyle. “Why won’t you just be honest for once and admit that you—”

Oh, sh*t.

Stan’s accusation and subsequent march toward his husband were interrupted by a debilitating wave of nausea. Standing up had been a terrible idea.

Stumbling over himself, Stan pivoted back toward the kitchen. He hurried across the room to take graceless hold of the counter, vomiting into the sink. Though he usually found throwing up while drunk to be much less agonizing than it was while sober, this time was different. His insides ached as they squeezed upon themselves, the harsh taste of liquor burning his throat with every retch.

As he processed the sound of Kyle’s exasperated sigh, he figured this was what he deserved. Maybe it was karma. Stan was every bit as miserable as he apparently made his husband.

An unexpected hand found its way to Stan’s back, however, gently rubbing to offer comfort while his myriad vodka shots made their return.

“Are you okay?” Kyle asked softly when Stan’s stomach finally relented.

“Yeah,” Stan replied through heavy breathing, fumbling for a paper towel to clean his face.

Kyle guided his husband’s hand back to its place on the counter, carefully tearing off the paper towel and wiping Stan’s mouth on his behalf.

“Don’t try to use your hand, okay? You’ll make it worse. Just tell me what you need.”

Stan nodded sheepishly. “Thanks.”

“You should lie down,” Kyle suggested.

“In the middle of this?”

“We can talk tomorrow, Stan.”

“What, do you have work to do or something?” Stan scoffed. “Figures.”

Kyle abruptly broke away from Stan, pressing a palm to his forehead in frustration as he began to pace the kitchen.

“Are you kidding me? Are you f*cking kidding me? After all the bullsh*t you said to me, I was still trying to help, and this is what I get from you? God. I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“You can see where I’d make the mistake. It wouldn’t be the first time you blew me off.”

“Blew you off? I’ve put my life on hold for you so many times! I took a f*cking gap year to get you through rehab!”

“Sorry for being sick, Kyle,” Stan said flatly.

“Oh, please,” Kyle grumbled. “Don’t do that. The problem isn’t that you’re sick, Stan, it’s that you’ve turned into your f*cking dad.”

“Oh, f*ck you.”

“Yeah. f*ck you too, Randy.”

“And what about you, huh? You’re exactly like your mother. You should have come with a f*cking warning label before I signed those papers.”

Kyle huffed indignantly, visibly fighting back tears. Stan winced at his own lack of filter. That one was definitely a bridge too far. He knew his husband, though. He wouldn’t let himself cry. Instead, he would go into lawyer mode. Stan proactively cringed at the verbal destruction that would certainly be coming his way.

“There it is! There’s Randy Marsh! Go ahead, let your father out, Stan!” Kyle exclaimed, gesturing dramatically to the sky. “I guess the act is over, huh? I bet it feels good to finally let it out!”

Suddenly, Stan wasn’t even remotely apologetic anymore. That one struck a nerve.

“I can’t believe you!” he shouted. “You sit by my f*cking side for years pretending like you give a sh*t about me, pretending like you’re my biggest supporter, pretending like you understand what I’m going through when all-the-while you’re judging my every move—”

“That is so untrue and so unfair! I never once judged you! I had to put my own sh*t aside all this time and I always kept my mouth shut so I could be there for you! No one took a goddamn second to think about the toll this bullsh*t took on me!”

“This ‘bullsh*t’ is called addiction, Kyle, and it’s a real f*cking disease!”

“I know what addiction is! I have a goddamn bachelor’s degree in psychology! Don’t you dare f*cking lecture me about—”

“Oh, right, the almighty Kyle has a f*cking degree! He knows everything! He knows way more than someone who’s actually been through this sh*t!”

“You don’t think I’ve been through this sh*t?! Where do you think I was during all your detoxes?! Who do you think was crying alone in our bed every damn night while you were locked away in f*cking rehab?!”

“But that’s not my fault! None of this is my fault! You know I can’t help—”

“You can’t blame all your mistakes on your f*cking addiction, Stan! And this? Not just a relapse, but drinking for weeks behind my back—”

“Don’t make this about you,” Stan scoffed.

“—Drinking for WEEKS behind my back,” Kyle pressed on, louder, “going to a f*cking bar with Cartman, shooting the sh*t while I’m at home calling everyone we know in a panic, thinking you were dead in a ditch somewhere—”

“Are you being serious right now? You did not think that. Get over yourself.”

“I did and I was f*cking TERRIFIED! Do you remember Kenny finding you passed out in a f*cking alleyway behind a sh*tty dive bar four years ago? Right… of course you don’t. But I do. God, after everything we’ve been through… after everything YOU’VE put me through, how could I NOT think that?”

“Well, guess what. I was fine. I’m fine. Not everything has to be such a f*cking drama, Kyle.”

“Are you fine? You don’t seem fine to me,” Kyle said solemnly, shaking his head as he sulked away. “This has to be your worst f*cking mistake yet. And that’s really saying something.”

“Is it my worst mistake?” Stan yelled at his back. “Marrying you is pretty high up on that list!”

As soon as the words crossed his lips, Stan’s stomach knotted like a pretzel. What the hell was wrong with him? What was he thinking? What was he saying? Nothing had ever been so far from the truth… even after Cartman’s revelation earlier that night.

Kyle froze in place, turning around so slowly that it made the hair stand up on Stan’s neck. The brief moment of silence seemed to span years.

“What?” Kyle whispered, genuine shock in his expression.

“I didn’t mean that,” Stan murmured as he clutched his pounding head. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But you did say it,” Kyle said in an alarmingly soft tone.

“Ky, please, I’m so drunk, I—”

“—And that makes you regret marrying me?”

Stan wanted to cry at the poignant devastation in Kyle’s voice; the absolute heartbreak on his face.

“No,” Stan said gently. “It never has and it never f*cking will, even though…”

“Even though what?”

“You regret marrying me, Kyle. I know you do. I wish you would just admit it.”

“That’s not true. Now you’re just trying to make me feel bad for the fact that you can’t hold your f*cking tongue.”

“Or maybe I just know more than you think.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?” Stan mumbled, suddenly sounding hostile again.

“I’m sorry, my what?”

“You heard me.”

“What the f*ck are you talking about, Stan?”

“I’m talking about your goddamn affair,” Stan slurred as he pushed away from the counter with difficulty. “Cartman told me everything.”

“Cartman?” Something between a laugh and a scoff escaped Kyle’s lips. “Do you f*cking hear yourself right now?”

“I know what I know.”

“Oh my god, Stan,” Kyle cried out, pulling at his red curls like he thought he might lose his mind. “Why the hell would you ever accuse me of something like that? Why would you ever believe him?”

He moved toward the living room in a huff, still cradling his head in his hands.

“Because Butters f*cking confirmed it,” Stan croaked out, stumbling after Kyle.

“I don’t even know what the hell Cartman made Butters say to you, but I can guarantee it was under duress. But go ahead, tell me,” Kyle patronized. “I’ll bite. What did Butters ‘confirm,’ Stan? What in the actual ever-living-sh*t are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about Alex!”

“Who the f*ck is Alex?!” Kyle nearly screamed.

“Your f*cking assistant!” Stan shouted.

“You’re talking about my assistant?!”

“It’s pretty goddamn cliche, Kyle. I should have known. You’re always blabbing about what a good f*cking time the two of you have at work, having lunch together and all that bullsh*t. He’s probably some hot-ass college guy, right? You come home to me every night like everything’s fine, like he hasn’t been sucking you off under your desk all damn day. I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

“You f*cking asshole,” Kyle barely whispered.

The redhead turned away from Stan with tears in his eyes, gripping the back of the couch for support.

“I don’t hear you denying it,” Stan muttered.

“Alex is a woman, Stan,” Kyle stated, voice quivering with fury.

“Wha— what?”

“Alex is a f*cking woman.” Kyle slowly spun around to face his husband once again. “You jealous f*ck.”

“Then— then why the hell did Butters—”

“I don’t f*cking know, Stan! Why does Butters do any of the sh*t Cartman tells him to?!”

f*ck. f*ck. f*ck.

Stan had really f*cked up.

Suddenly, an avalanche of regret came crashing down on him. He had been an idiot, and he had hurt Kyle, and there was nothing he hated more than hurting Kyle. They had both said things Stan would rather forget, but the memory of his own words stung even worse than his husband’s quips.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out.

It was only thing his muddled mind could think to say.

“That’s it? You’re sorry?”

“I don’t… I don’t know what else to say.”

Kyle released a deep breath. “Jesus Christ, Stan. How— how—”

“How dare I?” Stan offered, hoping he didn’t sound too mocking.

Bitterness was in the undertones, without a doubt, but he felt like sh*t for making assumptions. Since when did he believe Cartman over Kyle?

He hated the person he became when he drank. Hell, that’s why he stopped in the first place.

“How dare I question your loyalty?” he pressed.

“No,” Kyle said, hardly above whisper. “How could you?”

Something about those words and something about the pained expression on Kyle’s face turned Stan to a puddle. He nearly lost his balance, saved only by the dining chair nearest the living room.

“You should really sit down,” Kyle urged.

He took Stan by the shoulders, easing him into the chair. Once Stan was settled, Kyle moved away in an instant, like the physical contact was poison. The display tore Stan’s heart to shreds.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, feeling even more pathetic than he had before.

There was a long pause— long enough to make a very intoxicated Stan wonder if he had actually said the words out loud or if he had only thought them.

“I can’t talk to you when you’re like this,” Kyle finally responded, his tone heartbreakingly soft. “I’m going to bed.”

“You’re right,” Stan agreed. “We need to sleep this off. Let’s go to bed.”

“I’m going to bed,” Kyle clarified as he walked away glumly. “I don’t know where the hell you’re sleeping.”

“Come on,” Stan called out. “Baby, please—”

“I’m really f*cking exhausted, Stan, and I’m really f*cking sad. Just let me go to bed.”

The sensation of tears wetting his cheeks cut through Stan’s state of numbness as soon his husband disappeared up the stairs.

f*ck.

He wished he had passed out drunk that night. It would have been preferable to thoughtlessly tearing apart the person he loved most in the world.

Though tripping over his own feet on the way, Stan managed to reach the couch, where his drunken stupor quickly carried him to sleep.

———————————

As his dry, burning eyes peeled open to the morning light, Stan immediately took notice of Kyle’s presence in a chair across the room. His mouth was painted into a straight line and his eyes were red and puffy. He had obviously cried himself to sleep the night before.

Stan groaned as terrible memories came flooding back to him. Rolling onto his side, he discovered that every muscle in his body ached like hell. His throat was dry, his arms felt weak, his stomach turned, and goddamnit… he really wanted a drink.

“You okay?” Kyle asked hesitantly.

Stan shook his head. “Not really.”

He cringed at the scratchy tone in his voice, then gave several attempts to clear his throat.

“Here,” Kyle said as he moved to Stan’s side, placing a cool glass of water in his hands.

Stan attempted to take hold of it, but even wrapping one shaky hand around the cup caused spillage down the sides. He moaned in frustration, slamming his tremoring fingers to his lap.

“It’s okay,” Kyle said softly.

He carefully tilted the glass back for Stan, giving him a long sip. Once it was obvious that Stan was satiated, Kyle set the half-filled cup on the coffee table.

They silently stared into each other’s eyes for a moment. Though Stan opened his mouth to speak several times, he couldn’t find the words to say.

“I don’t know if you… blacked out last night, but…” Kyle started.

“I didn’t,” Stan revealed, shifting his gaze away from his husband’s.

“sh*t,” Kyle murmured.

“Dude, I— I’m so sorry.”

“No, Stan, I’m sorry. You were drunk. I just… shouldn’t have engaged. I should have just shut up and put you to bed.”

“Ky, I don’t even know what to— I feel— I don’t know how to—”

“I know. I know you feel bad. I feel… awful.”

Stan nodded sadly. “I didn’t mean what I said about this being a mistake— about us being a mistake. We’re not. You’re my entire life.”

“You don’t actually think I regret marrying you… do you? Do you… really believe that?”

“Of course not. I do think I’ve hurt you… really f*cking badly, and I think I haven’t thanked you enough for putting up with my sh*t.”

Kyle shook his head vigorously. “No. I’m not ‘putting up’ with anything. I’m here because I love you.”

A slight smile crossed Stan’s cheeks, but his face sunk again after only a brief moment. “But I— I really have a problem, baby.”

“We got you better before and we’ll get you better again, okay? There are always gonna be bumps in the road. It’s okay.”

“No, Ky, it’s— This isn’t just a bump in the road.”

“Of course it is.” Kyle offered a reassuring smile. “You had a few drinks, but we’ll get you to a meeting, and we can talk through all that horrible, meaningless sh*t we said once you’re feeling—”

“Kyle,” Stan cut him off, his grim expression effectively silencing his husband. “Last night was the worst of it, but… it wasn’t just ‘a few drinks’ and it hasn’t just been a couple weeks. I was drunk at your work party last month. I was drunk at my mom’s birthday dinner. There are water bottles filled with vodka in every goddamn cabinet in this house. I woke up earlier this morning to take a shot, Ky, and I’m already having withdrawals. I’ve been drunk for weeks.”

“Oh my god,” Kyle said under his breath, expression falling. “Where the hell have I been? Jesus Christ, I really… I haven’t been around.”

“You have to work. I know that. I was just being a dick last night.”

“Even if I do have to work, I shouldn’t be— I didn’t even notice you were drinking and that— god, that’s— I should have seen it. I can’t believe I didn’t see it.”

Kyle turned away, choking back tears.

“Hey,” Stan soothed, wearily reaching out to take his hand. “I should have told you about the relapse. You shouldn’t have to f*cking babysit me. That’s not fair. I don’t wanna ruin your life any more than I already have.”

“Stan, you’ve never—”

“I’m gonna check into rehab, and then I’ll find my own apartment… just until I can look you in the eyes again without thinking about how much I’ve let you down. Once I’m better, I’ll come home and we can—”

“No—”

“Just until—”

“Stan, no,” Kyle said firmly, reaching out to caress Stan’s cheeks, staring into his eyes with purpose. “You’re my husband. I’m your husband. In sickness and in health and… all that crap, right? We’re gonna fix this together, because that’s what we do. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Stan softly agreed.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Kyle reiterated before planting a kiss on his forehead. “I’m so sorry I haven’t been around. I’m so sorry.”

“No… I should be grateful that you pay our bills so I can write. I shouldn’t be repaying you with this bullsh*t,” Stan groaned. “When I’m better, maybe I should get a real job.”

“Don’t,” Kyle said quickly before taking a beat, continuing in a calmer tone. “Please don’t. I don’t know what I’d look forward to if it wasn’t hearing what you wrote while I was at work. I would miss it too much. I’ve missed it, you know… lately.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, dude. Getting to hear what you wrote when I come home, it’s just… it feels like I didn’t ever have to be away from you.”

Stan smiled warmly. “I would miss reading to you. I have missed reading to you.”

Kyle’s lips curled upward as he moved to brush the hair back from Stan’s sweaty forehead.

“You feel warm.”

“I’m not feeling the best,” Stan bemoaned, pulling a throw blanket up to his chin. “This is the longest I’ve gone without drinking in… a while, so…”

He was puzzled when Kyle wordlessly hurried to the kitchen, but the redhead promptly returned with a damp cloth in hand. As he took his place on the edge of the couch, he laid the rag across Stan’s forehead.

“Do you want some food or anything?” he offered.

Stan shook his head. “I’d just throw it up.”

“Are you… gonna be okay?”

“I think so.”

“Maybe… I can read to you today,” Kyle suggested with a small smile. “We need to keep your mind occupied.”

“You have work,” Stan reminded him.

“I called in this morning. I told them I won’t be coming in for the rest of the week.”

“Oh my god, are they pissed?”

Kyle shrugged. “I have more important things to worry about.”

Stan gave a genuine smile, contrasting the pain behind his eyes. “I love you. God, I love you, Ky.”

Chapter 27: Confession

Chapter Text

Walking into his bedroom with Kyle at his side, Stan never thought he could feel so tense. It was a Friday night — sleepover night — the highlight of every week. His friendship with Kyle had always been his respite, his greatest source of joy and comfort, but that only made his impending confession all-the-more terrifying. What if Kyle wouldn’t talk to him anymore after he came out as bisexual? What if he thought it was too weird? What if he was afraid Stan was in love with him? Granted… Stan was in love with him, but he was fully willing to repress that to the absolute depths of his soul. He would do anything to maintain their perfect super-best-friendship.

“What’s up, dude?” Kyle questioned as he plopped into Stan’s desk chair. “You’ve been quiet all day.”

“No I haven’t,” Stan mumbled.

He anxiously took a seat on the floor beside his bed, hugging his knees to his chest.

Frankly, he wasn’t sure why he didn’t just make his confession right then and there, but f*ck, it was just too hard. He wondered how the hell people start up conversations like this one. What was he supposed to open with? Should he just say “I’m bi” out of nowhere?

“Are you pissed at me or something?” Kyle pressed.

“No, of course not.”

“Okay, did Cartman do something?”

Stan only shrugged. That was partially the case. Besides, his mind was racing and he didn’t have the energy to continue the guessing game.

“Oh, it’s about that f*cking poster he made, isn’t it?” Kyle continued. “Don’t let that bullsh*t get to you. It doesn’t mean anything. I’m proud of you for going vegetarian, dude. And it’s not like he wouldn’t come up with a different mean-ass nickname for you if you weren’t vegetarian. I mean, goddamn, I pissed myself from laughing that one time like a million years ago and he still calls me ‘Piddler on the Roof.’”

Well, Kyle wasn’t wrong. The stupid poster Cartman made earlier that week certainly had struck a bit of a nerve with Stan.

The day after announcing to his friends that he was going vegetarian, Stan had brought in a Beyond Burger for lunch, and unsurprisingly, he was heavily teased by Cartman for his meal. That was to be expected. However, he didn’t anticipate his frenemy showing up the next day with a large blown-up photograph of Stan, above which the words “Beyond Gay” were painted in bold letters.

Stan didn’t care what Cartman thought about him, or if he judged him for his bisexuality — he obviously would. Honestly, that particular taunt just came at a bad time. Stan had been working up the nerve to come out to Kyle for weeks, and just when he was finally feeling prepared, he ended up getting bullied for being “gay” even before coming out. Great. Very helpful.

And just a minute ago, when Kyle had said the joke “didn’t mean anything,” was he just trying to make Stan feel better, or was he uncomfortable with his best friend being anything other than straight? God, the confession wasn’t getting any easier.

Stan felt his breathing quicken, chest tightening as panic rose in his throat.

“Stan?!” Kyle exclaimed, quickly jumping up from the chair and rushing to his side. “Are you okay? Dude, are you having an asthma attack?”

“No,” Stan croaked out.

He wasn’t having an asthma attack, but he proceeded to grab his inhaler and take a puff nonetheless.

“Dude,” Kyle said pointedly. “You keep staring off into space. Are you feeling okay?”

“I’m— It’s— Kyle, I— I need to talk to you,” Stan stammered.

Kyle’s expression shifted from slight concern to serious worry. “Okay…”

“Um…”

Eyes darting back and forth with panic, Stan searched every corner of his brain for the next words to say. What if he lost Kyle over this? How could he possibly go on without his best friend?

With each passing moment, his turning stomach ached even more intensely. His mouth began to water, a thick warmth lingering in the back of his throat. He could feel the color draining from his face at an alarming rate. Just as it consciously dawned on him that his stomach may not be handle the anxiety, an unexpected wave of vomit spewed from his mouth.

Kyle’s eyes widened like saucers. “Holy sh*t, dude!”

Another forceful retch worked its way through Stan’s body, the discomfort bringing tears to his eyes.

“Jesus Christ, Stan,” Kyle said softly, reaching out to rub his back. “Are you okay? Why didn’t you just tell me you were feeling sick?”

Stan neglected to answer, sheepishly swiping the tears from his cheeks. He released a deep sigh as he processed the sight of the mess on his bedroom floor.

The pool of vomit on the ground was the last thing on Kyle’s mind, though. Clicking his tongue in concern, he placed a hand on Stan’s forehead.

Stan could understand why Kyle would think he was feverish. He could feel the intense blush on his face, heat pooling in his cheeks.

“Let’s get you in bed,” Kyle urged as he pulled his friend up by the arms.

“I have to clean that up, dude.” Stan gestured to the mess on the floor.

“I’ve got it, Stan,” Kyle soothed. “You need to rest.”

“I don’t need to—”

“Yes, you do. You literally just projectile vomited. I’ve never seen anything like that, dude. I’m worried about you. And you’re sweating… You don’t feel worse now, do you?”

“Kyle, I’m fine,” Stan griped, already being tucked in by the redhead.

Poor Kyle completely ignored the statement, clearly distracted by worry.

“I should get you some medicine or something,” he considered out loud.

“No, dude—”

“Should I get your mom?”

“God, no.”

“But—”

“Kyle!” Stan interrupted, finally gaining his friend’s attention.

“What?” Kyle questioned, tilting his head curiously.

“Just… just listen, okay?”

“Okay…”

A charged silence lingered in the air for a long moment.

“Kyle, I’m… bi.”

“Oh,” Kyle barely whispered.

f*ck. Why was his expression unreadable? Stan didn’t think Kyle’s face could ever be so cryptic. Ordinarily, he could read his best friend like a book.

“God, I’m sorry,” Stan cried out. “You can leave if you want… if this is weird now. f*ck, I never should have told you. It was stupid. I’m so goddamn stupid.”

“Stan, no,” Kyle said softly, a genuine smile lighting up his face. “It’s not weird, and you’re not stupid. You’re brave. God, you’re way braver than I am.”

Stan scoffed. “As if. You never repress sh*t like I do.”

“Sometimes… I do.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“Like, uhm…” Kyle gulped. “That I’m gay?”

Eyes wide with shock, Stan rapidly pushed himself to a seated position. “What?”

“Why do you look so surprised? When have I ever shown any interest in any girl?”

“I mean, never, but I just— it’s not like you’ve shown interest in guys either.”

Kyle shrugged. “Neither have you.”

“It was always easier to focus on girls,” Stan admitted. “I mean, you know… without getting bullied by Cartman, or… having to come out or anything. It freaks me out, just… I don’t like the idea of panicking to the point of throwing up in front of, like, everyone I know.”

“Wait, that’s why you threw up? You’re not sick?”

“No, Kyle, I’m not sick.”

“And that’s why you’ve been acting all nervous too… that was all about coming out to me?” Kyle asked, eyes glossy with tears. “Stan, you’re my best friend. Nothing would ever change that.”

Stan wasn’t sure why, but the display absolutely shattered his heart. Now that he knew his best friend wouldn’t reject him — and furthermore, that he was gay — his previous fear of losing Kyle due to his bisexuality seemed pretty ridiculous. In fact, it was almost insulting to Kyle.

“I don’t know why I was so damn scared,” Stan muttered.

“You never have to be scared with me. It’s me.”

“I know. I guess even the smallest chance of losing you was just… too much to take.”

Kyle offered a soft smile. “I get it. That’s kinda why I hadn’t come out to you either.” He laughed lightly. “I don’t think I would’ve thrown up on my bedroom floor, though.”

Stan rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t fight the urge to smile. “You know how I get when I’m nervous. I mean, remember how often I used to throw up on Wendy?”

Kyle chuckled a bit at the memory. “You won’t throw up every time you come out to someone, dude. That was different with Wendy. You only threw up when she made you nervous because you were in love with her.”

Oh, sh*t. Stan felt his throat tighten with anxiety, eyes trailing downward. He silently stared at his feet until he caught, from the corner of his eye, the realization on Kyle’s face.

“Dude…” Kyle murmured.

“Kyle,” Stan said urgently. “Don’t say anything else. I don’t wanna talk about this. I don’t wanna f*ck everything up. I don’t want you to hate me for—”

Then, suddenly, he was cut off as Kyle’s lips connected with his, sending electricity through every nerve in his body. The kiss was passionate, hungry — the years of longing very apparent on both of their ends. After one last delicate swirl of his tongue, Kyle pulled away, still looking Stan in the eyes and gently stroking his cheek.

“Kiss me again,” Stan requested, barely having caught his breath.

Kyle playfully wrinkled his nose in disgust.

“Not until you brush your teeth,” he stated. “Your breath is f*cking sick, dude.”

Stan huffed out a laugh, smirking. “Alright. Let’s go get my damn toothbrush.”

Chapter 28: Failure

Chapter Text

Kyle winced as he opened his eyes, the bright light of day assaulting his senses. He hoped a nap on the couch would clear up the nagging discomfort he had woken up with that morning. It did not.

Ironically, he felt even worse. His rising sense of… not nausea — general malaise, perhaps — had reached a level that he could no longer deny. He was officially couch-ridden for the day, and that pissed him off beyond belief.

But he was not nauseous. Two years ago, he had promised himself he would never vomit again. He was better now. He was eating normal portions, and keeping his food down, and living a healthy lifestyle. The turning in his stomach was a sign of relapse, and he wasn’t about to succumb to it.

God, he shouldn’t have eaten a heaping bowl of sugary cereal for breakfast that morning. It was too much.

Wait, no. He couldn’t start thinking like that. He ate whatever the hell he wanted now and it stayed down.

Disrupting his internal battle, Kyle’s phone rang. The bright light of the screen and the vibrating sensation near his cheek elicited a groan, but he picked it up nonetheless.

“Hello?” he answered weakly.

“Kyle?”

It was Stan, and he already sounded worried. Goddamnit.

“What’s up?” Kyle asked in a poor attempt to sound normal.

“Dude, you were supposed to be at my house an hour ago,” Stan replied. “You don’t sound good. What’s wrong?”

Sometimes Kyle hated how perceptive his boyfriend could be. He had attempted to fake healthy several times since they started dating, and his success rate was exactly 0% so far.

On second thought, that statistic extended back throughout their entire friendship. Stan always knew when Kyle wasn’t doing well, whether it be mentally or physically. Feigning health was hopeless.

“Ky?” Stan pressed.

“I’m okay, I just… need to catch up on some homework,” Kyle fibbed.

“What homework?”

Oh. Right. That lie would be significantly more efficient if the pair didn’t have all the same classes. sh*t.

“I— I mean…” Kyle stammered.

“Dude.”

“Fine. I think I’m coming down with a little cold, okay?”

“I’m coming over,” Stan declared without a moment’s pause.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Dude, I know your parents are gone overnight for Ike’s hockey tournament. You need someone to take care of you.”

“It’s just a stupid cold,” Kyle argued. “It’s nothing.”

“If it was nothing, you’d already be at my house.”

Kyle could practically hear Stan’s smirk through the phone. God, he was so annoying when he was right.

“I’m on the way, I’ll see you in a minute,” Stan said quickly, hanging up before the redhead could protest any further.

With a groan of frustration, Kyle pulled a throw blanket over his head, drifting off to sleep in the dark cave it provided. He hoped to god the rest of whatever this was would pass by the time Stan arrived.

“Ky?” Stan whispered, inadvertently waking his boyfriend as he carefully lowered the blanket.

Kyle hummed in response, the aching in his body apparent before he even opened his eyes. It did not pass.

“Jesus, you’re so pale,” a worried Stan remarked, promptly pressing his hand to Kyle’s forehead. “You’re burning up.”

As Kyle peeled his tired eyes open, Stan lowered himself to sit on the edge of the couch. Concern was painted on his face.

“I’m always pale, and I’m just hot from the blanket,” Kyle contended.

“If it was just from the blanket your skin wouldn’t be burning my damn hand off,” Stan stated firmly.

What was it with Stan and his damn logic today?

“Jesus Christ, it’s not that bad,” Kyle muttered.

“What doesn’t feel good?” Stan asked, gently running his fingers through Kyle’s hair. “You don’t sound congested. Have you been coughing?”

“No.”

“Does your throat hurt?”

Kyle shook his head.

“Well, you definitely have a fever and you’re sweating like hell, do you—”

“I’m fine,” Kyle cut him off.

He was not fine, though. He didn’t want to admit it to himself or his boyfriend, but his stomach was churning unpleasantly in a way he hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The discomfort in combination with the bad memories brought tears to his eyes.

“It’s— This position is just… uncomfortable,” he croaked out as he rotated to hang his legs off the side of the couch, nearly kicking Stan in the process.

He grimaced at the vertigo the sharp movement caused, but he couldn’t sit still. That vague sick feeling he woke up with had greatly intensified. Hair standing up on his neck, he stared straight ahead with immense focus.

In spite of his efforts to bite back the nausea, a gag lurched through his body, sending his hand flying up to cover his mouth.

“Oh, dude…” Stan said softly.

He rushed off to fetch a small trash can from the side of the sofa, quickly returning to hold the bin beneath Kyle’s mouth.

“I don’t need that,” Kyle claimed, voice muffled by the hand over his mouth.

“You’ll feel better if you let it out, baby,” Stan soothed, rubbing small circles on his boyfriend’s back. “It’s okay.”

Kyle shook his head vigorously, causing the room to spin like a top. Even though warmth was pooling in the back of his throat and his stomach felt as though it was knotting into a pretzel, he had no intentions of letting anything out.

“Ky, you’re sick.”

“I don’t do this anymore,” Kyle managed to argue. “I won’t.”

He folded over himself as another gag rose in his throat, his stomach seeming to lift into his chest. Tightening the grip of his palm over his mouth, he couldn’t keep tears from pouring onto his cheeks. He swallowed thickly and audibly.

“You’re not being fair to yourself,” Stan said gently. “You clearly have the stomach flu, it’s not like you’re… choosing to do this.”

“I don’t need the trash can,” Kyle assured Stan, though his voice sounded anything but sure. “Not sick.”

He pushed the bin away, only for Stan to set it back on his lap immediately. Kyle moaned in frustration at the insistence, and even more so at his current, agonizing situation. At this point, he wasn’t sure whether the drips of water coming from his face were droplets of sweat or tears. Probably a mixture of both. Fevers and crippling anxiety were a terrible combination.

“Hey,” Stan comforted as he continued to rub between Kyle’s shoulder blades. “Just breathe with me, okay?”

“I don’t wanna relapse,” Kyle murmured through his hand, voice wavering with every word.

“This isn’t a relapse. You’re just sick, baby, it’s not your fault, I promise. It’s okay. I’m right here, dude.”

Kyle sighed deeply as he finally gave up the fight, reluctantly opening his eyes to peer down at the crinkled lining of the trash can with furrowed brows. Somehow, the bin seemed to stare back at him, taunting him. He allowed his hand to fall to his side, body curling over itself further.

It felt wrong. He felt like a failure. He should have control over his body, but he didn’t.

Only a few seconds passed before a forceful retch coursed through his body, sending a wave of sick into the bin. The disgusting taste and repulsive texture elicited a sob from Kyle. It felt like hell, and it felt like terrible memories. Despite not having purged in ages, he could suddenly feel the years of abuse his stomach had undergone all over again.

He could hardly suck in a breath before another, heavier wave made its way to the bucket. The only things keeping Kyle from absolutely falling apart were his boyfriend’s gentle hand on his back and the soft, soothing words being spoken at his side. Though he was too caught up in misery to process their meaning, the tone kept him grounded.

The bouts of sick were relentless, making Kyle feel as though he was choking. He struggled to gasp for air amidst the painful clenches of his stomach, the intensity of his heaves preventing him from taking a single adequate breath. In that moment, he thought maybe he truly was in hell. Being a failure was his hell. Blinking hard, Kyle felt on the edge of blacking out, the corners of his vision going fuzzy.

“Just breathe,” Stan hummed.

Easier said than done.

He coughed hard as a final wave of bile splashed into the bin, then he listlessly collapsed into Stan’s shoulder.

“You did great, baby,” Stan encouraged before planting a kiss on his temple. “Do you think you got it all out for now?”

Kyle nodded weakly, nuzzling further into Stan’s neck.

“Feel a little better?” Stan attempted, hopeful.

“I feel f*cking awful,” Kyle mumbled.

He only felt marginally better. Though his stomach was granting him pause for the moment, he could tell the nightmare was far from over. The same dull ache in his abdomen was persisting. All in a matter of time, he and Stan would be reliving the past few miserable minutes.

“I’ll get a new bag for the trash can, okay?” Stan said as he carefully assisted Kyle in resting back against the pillows. “Hang tight, dude, I’ll be right back.”

Heat pooling in his cheeks, Kyle was ashamed to be sobbing upon Stan’s return, but he couldn’t fight the urge to cry. That was just one more thing he couldn’t control.

“sh*t, baby, you feel that bad?” Stan questioned with serious concern in his expression.

He quickly moved to sit beside Kyle once again, gauging his temperature.

“No, I— I just— I feel like a failure,” Kyle confessed, only bawling harder with the admission.

“Ky… no…”

“I’m supposed to have control over this sh*t! I’m supposed to be better!”

“You are better, Kyle.”

“I thought I was, but now I just— I could feel it all over again. I could practically feel the f*cking fingers in my throat. It’s like it never went away.”

Stan nodded sympathetically. “You can’t help that you have the flu. Recovering doesn’t mean you’ll never get sick again, Ky.”

“I didn’t think it would feel this sh*tty,” Kyle cried. “And I already feel like I’m gonna throw up again. This f*cking sucks.”

“I know it does, dude.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Stan asserted, caressing Kyle’s cheeks in his hands. “I’m here to help you. Don’t apologize, okay? You never have to apologize to me for being sick. God, it’s not your fault.”

“I should have control over this,” Kyle reiterated, barely above a whisper.

“There’s no way anyone could, Ky. We’re gonna have to ride this one out together, okay?”

Kyle nodded, grimacing as he could already feel nausea wrapping itself around his throat once again.

“Okay,” he grumbled. “f*ck, this day is never gonna end.”

Apparently recognizing Kyle’s pallor and miserable expression, Stan reached for the bucket.

“We’re gonna get through it, dude. But you have to promise me one thing.”

“Hm?” Kyle hummed, rubbing his exhausted eyes until he saw stars.

Stan smirked when their gazes finally met. “You better promise you’ll come take care of me when I catch this sh*t.”

Chapter 29: Orphenadrine

Chapter Text

A sniffling Kyle widened his eyes in disbelief as Stan managed to push their 8-foot-tall Christmas tree upright on his own.

“Goddamn, dude,” he muttered, voice raspy. “You’re gonna break your back doing sh*t like that.”

“Nah, you know I’m ripped as f*ck,” Stan teased as he exaggeratedly flexed his muscles.

Kyle rolled his eyes, but damn, if he weren’t feeling sh*tty, he would’ve been climbing his boyfriend like a tree. Something about the display of Stan’s perfectly toned arm muscles always got to him.

Suddenly, he was coughing hard as a tickle caught in his throat, effectively ruining the moment.

“Jesus, that cough isn’t going away, huh?” Stan said sympathetically as he hurried over to pat Kyle’s back.

“You know how hard sickness hits me,” Kyle replied with a shrug.

It wasn’t fair, really. Stan was the one who passed the cold along to Kyle after only being a tad congested for, like, three days. Kyle, on the other hand, had been coughing his lungs out and unable to breathe through his nose for nearly two weeks. Though he had moved past the fever and sore throat at this point, he still felt generally fatigued. At least Stan, his self-proclaimed knight in shining armor, insisted on carrying him between their bed, the couch and the bathroom literally every single time he needed to move. It was actually getting pretty ridiculous at this point. Kyle was starting to wonder if his leg muscles were atrophying, not to mention his growing concern that Stan’s back would go out from the incessant lifting. A fracture from their teenage years had never quite healed up, leaving him vulnerable to such injuries.

“We should probably get you to bed,” Stan suggested, already moving to scoop Kyle off the couch.

“Dude, it’s 7pm,” Kyle stated as he gently pushed his boyfriend’s arms away. “I’m not going to bed yet.”

“The extra sleep will be good for you.”

“I think I’ve gotten plenty of rest this week since you’ve been carrying me around like I’m paralyzed. I can walk, dude. I’m not dying.”

“You love it,” Stan said with a sly smile.

“I do not,” Kyle lied. “I hate it.”

Yeah, that was the biggest lie in history. Being held in Stan’s arms was pretty much Kyle’s favorite thing in the world, but Stan didn’t need to know that.

“Well, you need to save your energy, baby,” Stan insisted before kissing Kyle on the forehead. “Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I want you feeling better so you can help decorate.”

“That’s your problem,” Kyle teased. “It’s your holiday, and you’re the one who agreed to host your family for Christmas and then chose to wait until two days before to start decorating.”

“As if you don’t love celebrating Christmas with me.”

“I do, but your decorations confuse the sh*t out of me.”

“There’s nothing confusing about Christmas decorations.”

“Dude, you drag a live f*cking pine tree inside the house to celebrate a virgin supposedly giving birth to a demigod baby in a barn next to a bunch of goats and sh*t. Try to tell me that’s not confusing.”

“I mean, you know I don’t believe in that sh*t anymore… but Jesus isn’t a ‘demigod,’ dude.”

“His dad is God and his mom is a human, right?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s a demigod by literal f*cking definition.”

“Well, it’s— whatever, we’re supposed to be getting you to bed,” Stan shifted the subject.

“You can’t make it make sense, can you?” Kyle said with a smirk.

“Shh, it’s bedtime,” Stan sidestepped the redhead’s remark, struggling to suppress a smile.

He lifted Kyle into his arms in spite of the protests, but before he even took a single step away from the couch, he released a pained yelp, buckling over and dropping his boyfriend back onto the cushions.

“Jesus Christ!” Kyle exclaimed, brows knitted in concern. “Are you okay?”

“sh*t!” Stan cried out. “f*cking sh*t!”

Still stiffly leaning over Kyle and gripping the back of the couch, Stan hadn’t moved a muscle since the initial outcry.

“Is it your back?”

“No,” Stan said through gritted teeth. “My back is fine.”

That was an obvious lie.

“Sweetheart,” Kyle began as he carefully placed a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “I told you this would happen.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Stan.”

“I’m fine. Just give me a sec and then I’ll take you to bed.”

“If you’re fine, let go of the couch,” Kyle challenged.

Stan was silent, and unsurprisingly, he didn’t move a muscle.

“Jesus,” Kyle grumbled as he stood from the couch, moving to stand behind his boyfriend.

“Don’t!” Stan exclaimed. “Baby, you shouldn’t be standing—”

“For god’s sake, Stan, I just have a damn head cold. I think I’ll live.”

Placing one hand on Stan’s back and one on his arm, Kyle assisted his boyfriend in stiffly lowering onto the couch. The groans of discomfort made Kyle cringe, but there was no painless way to rotate Stan, and he needed to lie down.

He released a shaky breath as he settled into Kyle’s former place on the sofa. If his expression and pallor were any indication, this was bad.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” Kyle inquired.

“A-another pillow,” Stan stammered, the mere action of speaking appearing to cause him acute pain. “I think I’m stuck like this. I-I can’t lean back.”

Kyle’s expression fell further when he took note of Stan’s hunched position. He promptly added another throw pillow to the stack, which elicited a sigh of relief.

“Better?”

“Y-yeah. A little.”

“Do you want some ibuprofen or something?”

“I don’t think I need it,” Stan asserted.

Yeah, right.

“You should take some, though,” Stan continued. “Your fever might come back.”

“Stan, forget about the damn cold, we’re taking care of you now.”

“It barely even hurts.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Kyle remarked with a raise of his eyebrows. “I’m getting your muscle relaxers.”

“Dude!” Stan shouted at his back as he headed for the bedroom. “I’m not taking that sh*t! I haven’t taken those since college.”

“So last year?” Kyle said flatly, returning with the pill bottle in hand.

“It sounds better when I say ‘since college,’” Stan sheepishly replied.

Kyle remained focused on the task at hand, carefully reading the label information before retrieving a dose.

“I hate how loopy I get on those damn pills,” Stan whined. “It’s that… that… ‘orphan’ sh*t, right?”

“Orphenadrine,” Kyle corrected with a chuckle. “Here, take this. You can have a sip of my water.”

He placed a pill in Stan’s hand along with his own glass of water from the coffee table.

“You want me to drink your sick germs?”

“Dude, you’re the one who got me sick in the first place.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, Stan downed the medication.

“Now there’s no way in hell I’ll get everything ready in time,” he complained.

“I’ll help decorate now,” Kyle offered, beaming. “You can direct me until the muscle relaxers knock you the f*ck out.”

“Ky, I want you to rest.”

“I’m already up.”

“Fine,” Stan conceded. “But if you start feeling sick you need to—”

“I know, sweetheart.” Kyle playfully rolled his eyes. “What should I set up first? We have to do all that Santa sh*t for your niece, right? Do we have to clear a spot on the table for, like, Santa to leave the milk and cookies or whatever?”

“Dude, what? You set out the milk and cookies for Santa to take.”

“You have to f*cking pay him? Is that, like, a courtesy or is it required? Do parents tell their kids he won’t leave gifts if they don’t feed him?”

“Honestly, I have no idea, dude. No one asks these questions.”

“So I’m gonna guess you don’t have an explanation for why you hang socks on the fireplace and the home intruder fills them with candy and sh*t?”

Stan only shrugged.

“Speaking of which, how the f*ck do kids never question how a fat man fits down the chimney?” Kyle pressed.

“Same reason they don’t question how he stops at every house on earth in one night?” Stan answered with narrowed eyes.

“Stupidity?” Kyle jested.

“Exactly.”

“None of this makes any sense. I never would’ve fallen for the Santa Claus bullsh*t.”

“Forget the Santa Claus bullsh*t. What we really need to do tonight is string lights on the tree.”

“Oh god.”

“Kyle.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“You’re not gonna get electrocuted—”

“You say that every damn year, and then I do get electrocuted,” Kyle stated, folding his arms indignantly.

A smile crept across Stan’s cheeks. “And it gets funnier every year.”

“No, it doesn’t! I don’t understand what the hell I do wrong.”

“I don’t either. I didn’t think anyone could f*ck up Christmas lights.”

“Hey,” Kyle said firmly. “I do a great job with the lights. I don’t f*ck them up. They f*ck me up.”

Stan giggled loudly.

“Damn, that orphenadrine is hitting already, huh?” the redhead commented, smirking at his boyfriend’s giddiness.

“I take back what I said before,” Stan mumbled. “I kinda love how the orphan sh*t feels.”

“Isn’t it nice not to be doubled over in pain?”

“I wasn’t in that much pain. I could’ve carried you to bed. Want me to carry you to bed now?”

“You need a break. You’ve been carrying me a sh*t ton if you haven’t noticed.”

“I just love carrying you, okay?” Stan said with puppy dog eyes, effectively melting Kyle’s heart.

“Jesus, don’t look at me like that,” Kyle groaned. “I’ll end up caving and letting your broken-backed, drugged-out ass carry me to bed.”

“That’s kinda the goal.”

“It’s not happening. I have Christmas sh*t to do, remember?” Kyle reached down to retrieve a strand of lights. “I have like a thousand of these to put on the tree.”

“You better test them first. If one in the middle doesn’t work it kind of f*cks up the whole thing.”

Kyle plugged in the first strand, finding it in working condition and adding it to the pile. The second turned on as well, but exposed filament and poor hand placement led to an immediate shock and a loud yelp from the redhead.

“Jesus f*ck!” he screeched. “f*ck this sh*t!”

“How the hell do you manage to put your hand on the one broken bulb on the entire strand?” Stan questioned.

Kyle scoffed as he lifted the lights up for display. “There are like fifty broken bulbs on this! It was a f*cking accident waiting to happen. I’m throwing this one out.”

“It still works.”

“It’s a hazard.”

“Only to you,” Stan noted, stifling laughter.

“It’s not funny.”

“It kind of is, and I don’t wanna throw out working lights. They’re expensive as sh*t.”

“I’ll buy you a new string of lights, okay?” Kyle offered. “I’ll buy you two if they won’t shock my damn hand off.”

“You just really don’t know how to Christmas, dude.”

“I’m gonna be more careful when I test these other ones.”

“You need to be careful,” Stan firmly instructed. “I actually bet Kenny and Cartman you’d only get shocked once this year. Kenny said twice. Cartman said you’d set a record of five times.”

“Real f*cking nice.”

“If you get shocked again I kind of owe Kenny $20, so…”

“I’m glad that’s why you’re concerned.”

“Baby… that’s not what I meant…” Stan said with teary eyes, seeming to fear his boyfriend was genuinely upset.

“Oh god, hey, I was kidding,” Kyle assured him as he rushed over to offer comfort. “You’re really high on that sh*t, aren’t you?”

Stan nodded vigorously, still struggling not to cry. “High off my ass.”

Gently stroking his cheek, Kyle planted a kiss atop his head.

“You’ll fall asleep soon, and I’ll try to have all the lights on the tree when you wake up, okay?”

“You’re gonna figure out how to Christmas?” Stan slurred as his eyelids grew heavy. “Don’t… forget to test out the rest of the lights.”

“I will,” Kyle conceded. “God, you’re lucky I love you so damn much.”

Chapter 30: Angel

Chapter Text

Kyle awoke suddenly to a hand aggressively shaking his shoulder. He released a groan of exhaustion, slowly peeling his eyes open to find his boyfriend standing at his side.

He only hummed in response, still half-asleep.

“Wake up,” Stan whispered.

“No,” Kyle mumbled.

“Ky.”

“Get back in bed.”

Kyle lightly patted Stan on the arm before shutting his eyes and rolling facedown into the pillow. Admittedly, he wasn’t being the most attentive boyfriend in the world, but to his credit, he was exhausted. He and Stan had spent the past few days moving into their new apartment and they were just finally settled in. For the first time in their lives, they were living like real adults — out of college and in a grown-up apartment, working actual jobs. The previous day had been Kyle’s very first day at his very first post-grad job, which was also draining as hell. The last thing he needed was a 3am wake up call over something that could most likely be dealt with in the morning.

“Kyle,” Stan whined as he shook his boyfriend once again. “I threw up.”

“It’s probably the food from that sketchy-ass place you ate at with Kenny,” Kyle speculated, muffled by his pillow. “Try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I don’t know what to do, like, with the trash can,” Stan said hesitantly.

“In the bathroom? There’s a bag lining it. You can just tie it up for now and throw it out in the morning.”

“No… I didn’t— I… puked in the bin next to your desk.”

At this revelation, Kyle suddenly found himself completely awake. He bolted upright to face Stan.

“Are you f*cking kidding me?” he loudly questioned, narrowing his eyes in disbelief. “Dude, you threw up in the mesh trash can by my desk?”

Stan was dead silent, eyes trained on the floor.

Since Stan wouldn’t offer any words, Kyle hopped out of bed to confirm. When he crossed the room and flipped on the lights, he found that his boyfriend had, indeed, vomited in the mesh trash can. A mess was already leaking through. Their carpet was definitely ruined.

“God f*cking damnit, dude,” Kyle exclaimed, pressing his palms to his eyes so firmly he saw stars. “Why the hell would you do something so stupid?”

As he looked over to meet Stan’s gaze, guilt suddenly wrapped itself around his neck like a boa constrictor. Stan’s eyes were wide, innocent and teary. He was trembling as he visibly fought the urge to sob. He basically looked like a shelter animal from one of those damn Sarah McLachlan commercials. In fact, if Cartman were there, he would mockingly sing ‘Angel’ the way he always did when Stan gave Kyle his sad eyes. Their frenemy found the display to be amusing, and found the way it manipulated Kyle every time to be even more amusing. Regardless of the Cartman-related memories, though, the sight of Stan made Kyle feel like he had just kicked a puppy.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said softly, tone changing in an instant as he rushed to wrap his boyfriend in a hug. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry.“

“I’m sorry,” Stan shakily apologized.

“No, don’t—” Kyle began as he tightened the embrace, but he abruptly cut himself off to pull back and feel Stan’s forehead. “You feel warm. God, you’re actually sick. I’m an asshole.”

He hurried to wrap an arm around his boyfriend’s waist, leading him back to his side of bed.

“Do you feel like you’ll get sick again?” Kyle asked as he tucked Stan into the covers.

Stan nodded weakly, wiping a tear from his cheek.

“Don’t cry, dude, I— I’m not mad. I was just tired.”

“Okay,” Stan muttered.

“I’ll get you some medicine, alright?”

“No, go back to bed. You’re clearly exhausted as sh*t.”

“Stan, no,” Kyle argued. “You think I’m just not gonna take care of you?”

Stan shrugged sadly. “I can handle myself.”

“Handle yourself? Your needy ass?” Kyle raised his eyebrows, drawing a reluctant smirk from his boyfriend.

“I just mean if… you don’t want to—”

“I always want to take care of you, dude. I’m going to get your medicine and everything else you need. Don’t even worry about it.”

“Well, I… don’t want that sh*tty cherry-flavored stuff. It tastes like ass.”

“It’ll help your stomach.” Kyle kissed Stan atop the head. “I’ll be right back.”

As he exited to retrieve the supplies, he still couldn’t help but feel crushed beneath the weight of his guilt. Stan almost never got sick, and the one time he actually fell ill, Kyle just had to be an asshole about it for no reason. God, what was he thinking? He basically caught every damn plague that went around and Stan always jumped at the chance to care for him. That had only happened about a million times.

The last time Stan had been sick, on the other hand, was nearly three years ago. Their sophom*ore year of college, when they still lived with Kenny and Cartman, Kyle came down with a godawful flu while Stan was away for the weekend, and he quickly passed it along to his boyfriend upon his return. He wasn’t even granted the opportunity to care for Stan that time since he was still so damn sick himself. They had to rely on their roommates, and their somewhat-secret relationship was quickly exposed when they spent an entire week snuggled in bed together. Though Cartman repeatedly claimed Stan only caught the virus from Kyle because the two “had so much gay sex with each other,” their frenemy was ironically the next to fall ill. Kenny definitely had some fun with that one.

But, considering their previous reliance on Kenny and Cartman, this was Kyle’s first time caring for a sick Stan since they had been together. He had to do better. He had to make it right, to return just a fraction of what Stan had given to him throughout the myriad sagas of his fragile health.

Quickly gathering various medications, a glass of water, a bucket and a thermometer, Kyle headed back to Stan’s side. He was more than prepared to make up for the sh*tty attitude he had so thoughtlessly woken up with.

“How are you feeling, sweetheart?” he asked gently as he reentered the bedroom.

“Stomach doesn’t feel great,” Stan grumbled.

His pallor and the volume of his swallows alerted Kyle to his imminent need to get sick again. The redhead placed the bucket on Stan’s lap, tossing the rest of his items to the bedside table so as to grant full attention to the situation at hand. He wasn’t a moment too soon, as Stan proceeded to retch only a few seconds later.

“It’s okay, let it out,” Kyle soothed, rubbing a hand up and down Stan’s back.

“f*cking sh*t,” Stan groaned before another wave of vomit splashed into the bucket.

Several more grueling heaves eventually turned to a sigh of mixed relief and fatigue, and Stan allowed his head to fall back atop the pillows.

“I’ll wash this out in a second,” Kyle stated as he moved the bucket to the floor. “Here, drink some water. I don’t want you getting dehydrated, dude.”

Stan complied, moving his lips to the glass that Kyle carefully tilted back for him.

“Thanks, mom,” he teased.

“Oh, so you feel well enough to sh*t on me?”

“Always.”

“Well, that makes this a lot easier,” Kyle said with an ominous smirk, raising the dreaded cherry-flavored medicine up for display.

“No,” Stan said firmly, crossing his arms like a kid. “No f*cking way.”

“Would you rather drink one damn capful of sh*tty medicine or spend the rest of the night puking your guts out?”

Stan paused for a moment, genuinely considering his options. He sighed loudly.

“Fine, give me the f*cking medicine.”

He downed the capful, but not without an exaggerated, childlike expression of disgust. Kyle nodded in satisfaction afterward, offering his boyfriend another sip of water to wash down the bad taste.

“Okay, temperature now,” he stated, already pushing the thermometer beneath Stan’s tongue.

His brows knitted slightly as the device let out a beep a moment later.

“101.3,” he announced. “You should take a Tylenol.”

“Do I have to?” Stan griped. “I f*cking hate swallowing pills.”

“You don’t have to,” Kyle began, “if you promise not to whine all night about how damn feverish you feel.”

“Alright, I’ll take the Tylenol,” Stan immediately conceded.

Kyle gave a sly smile. “You’re so difficult, dude.”

“I’m difficult?” Stan raised his eyebrows. “You tried to drive your car with a 104 degree temperature.”

“That’s beside the point. I don’t get all whiny and clingy like you do.”

“You like it when I whine and cling.”

“Do not,” Kyle contended, but he couldn’t keep his lips from curling upward.

He did like it when Stan whined and clung. In fact, he loved it.

“Come cuddle with me now,” Stan urged, pulling at Kyle’s arm with as much force as his illness-ridden body could manage.

“I have to clean up the mess first, dude. You know… the mesh trash can incident.”

“Clean it up in the morning. Please?”

“No, Stan, I can’t—” Kyle started, but he couldn’t bring himself to argue any further, because he was staring into those eyes again. “Dude, don’t give me that look.”

“Is it working?” Stan asked without altering his expression.

“You know it is. Cartman would totally be singing that song right now.”

“In the arms of the angel… fly away from here…” Stan sang, since their frenemy wasn’t there to provide the background music.

“Goddamnit, you win,” Kyle mumbled as he fell to his boyfriend’s side.

He slid under the covers, wrapping Stan’s feverish form tightly in his arms.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” Stan said sheepishly. “I’m… sorry I woke you up, Ky.”

Kyle pulled Stan closer and pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Don’t be. I love taking care of your annoying, whiny, clingy ass. Wake me up if you need anything else, okay?”

“I will. And if you don’t wanna get up, I know exactly the look to give you.”

“f*ck you,” Kyle replied with an eye roll and an irritated expression that quickly became a smile. “I love you.”

Chapter 31: Rejects-giving

Chapter Text

“Can one of you baste the damn turkey?!” a disheveled Kyle shouted at Kenny and Stan, who were sitting across the counter, shamelessly eating loads of marshmallows before dinner.

“Kenny,” Stan volunteered his friend, pushing him up from his barstool.

Kyle rolled his eyes as he turned his focus back to the mashed potatoes.

“What? You know I don’t do meat.”

“Then maybe you can help with something else instead of eating my ingredients,” Kyle said under his breath.

“I said I’d help with the pie once Cartman and Butters get back with the apples!”

“Yeah, the apples you were supposed to pick up yesterday.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows, and Stan looked to the ground in shame.

“Sucks to suck,” Kenny playfully remarked.

“Oh, you think you’re off the hook? Where the hell is the wine you told me you’d bring?”

“Right… but that was less of a forgetting thing and more of a not having money thing.”

“Thanks for telling me that now,” Kyle muttered. “Now that it’s too late for someone else to get it.”

“Maybe Cartman and Butters can grab some wine if they’re still at the store,” Stan suggested. “Cartman has a fake ID, right?”

Just then, however, the sound of an opening front door echoed through the apartment, announcing the return of Cartman and Butters.

“We’re back!” Butters cheerfully exclaimed.

“Here are your goddamn apples,” Cartman stated, unceremoniously slamming the grocery bag onto the counter.

“Great,” Kyle uttered without looking up from his mixing bowl.

“Damn, Chef Girl-ardee, I don’t even get a ‘thank you’?”

“Why would I thank you for buying a bunch of sh*t with my credit card?”

“I still did all the work.”

“You did all the work? I’ve been cooking since 7am!”

“It’s not our fault we’re all stuck at your f*cking Rejects-giving,” Cartman jeered.

Kyle groaned in frustration as if it were his first time hearing that comment, but Kenny had actually coined the term “Rejects-giving” days earlier, and it didn’t feel entirely inaccurate. The lack of a real Thanksgiving to go to was the only reason any of them were present. They did all feel like rejects, in a sense. All the other college freshmen they knew went home for the holiday. But Kyle’s parents and brother were all sick with the flu, Stan’s family was too complicated amidst his parents’ nasty divorce, Kenny’s family complained of Thanksgiving being too expensive to celebrate anymore, Butters had recently gone no-contact with his parents, and Cartman’s mother ditched him for a holiday in Cabo with her latest boyfriend.

“I’m trying to make this a real Thanksgiving, dude, okay?” Kyle leveled with Cartman. “I’m cooking all the sh*t that all of you asked for.”

“I think you’re doing an amazing job, baby,” Stan said with a beam.

“Jesus f*cking Christ, Stan,” Cartman grumbled. “You might as well kneel down on the ground and actually kiss his asshole.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, I’m sure,” Kenny teased, wiggling his eyebrows and smirking suggestively.

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Gross, dude.”

“Well… I can set the table if that’ll help, fellas,” Butters changed the subject.

“Thanks, Butters. The plates are already in the living room.”

“I’ll help,” Stan offered.

“Kiss-ass,” Cartman said under his breath.

The two ignored him, heading over to decorate their makeshift table.

“I‘ve gotta work on something over here… with these marshmallows,” Kenny mumbled before returning to his place at the counter.

He instantly proceeded to eat from the quickly-dwindling bag of sweets once again.

“Damn, Ken, you’re eating like a f*cking pig,” Cartman jeered. “You knocked up or something?”

“f*ck you,” Kenny spoke almost incoherently through his full mouth. “You’re one to talk. I’m just hungry because it’s 3:30 and we still haven’t eaten.”

“I still need to peel and slice all these apples,” Kyle narrated as he proceeded with the first piece of fruit. “I’m trying to hurry.”

“What’s the rush?” Cartman questioned. “You late for a dick appointment with Stan?”

“Shut the hell up, fat*ss. Kenny was literally just complaining about the food taking too long.”

“You better not cut corners on those pies, Kahl. I’m gonna be so f*cking pissed if they taste like sh*t. I swear to god, if you f*ck up the recipe just because you want time to get dicked down before dinner…”

Kyle scoffed. “Dicked down?”

“Don’t give me that dirty look, Dirty Jew. I know you love it when Stan pounds your ass. Kenny told me.”

“Kenny, what the f*ck?!”

“Oh my f*cking god!” Cartman could hardly say through laughter. “I was totally bluffing! Kenny didn’t tell me sh*t! Holy f*cking sh*t, do you actually love taking dick?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a bottom,” Kenny interjected. “Hell, I’m a switch. Can’t complain either way. Pitching? Dope as hell. Catching? Slay as f*ck.”

“Would you both just shut up and let me cook in peace?” Kyle pled.

“Maybe he’s a power bottom!” Kenny continued in spite of the redhead’s orders.

“Sick!” Cartman screeched. “I don’t wanna hear any more of your bullsh*t gaywad terminology!”

“Dude, you started it.”

“Jesus Christ, you guys,” Kyle bemoaned. “I need to concentrate.”

“Maybe we should send you to a concentration camp,” Cartman sneered.

“God f*cking damnit!” Kyle shouted, looking up with a furious expression but still continuing with his frantic peeling. “Would both of you just get the hell out of the kitchen before I—”

He froze abruptly, eyes widening as the knife collided with his hand. Everyone was silent as the instrument fell to the floor with a metallic clank. Once Kyle’s hand was empty, it was apparent that the cut was bad. It ran the length of his palm, lacerating to an alarming depth near his pinky finger. Even Cartman looked worried.

“What’s going on in there?” Stan asked as he reentered, curious as to why the argument came to a sudden end. “What are you— Jesus f*cking Christ, Kyle!”

The redhead stumbled backward into the counter behind him with glazed eyes, pale as a sheet, seeming to ignore the blood pouring down his arm and onto the floor. He blearily rotated his body just in time for a stream of vomit to spill into the sink.

“Baby,” Stan barely managed to croak out in his state of panic.

Rushing to Kyle’s side, he proceeded to rub his back gently as he gagged.

“God, you’re such a sh*tty premed,” Cartman jeered. “You can’t even look at blood without puking.”

“Leave him alone,” Kenny said blankly. “It’s different when he’s the one bleeding.”

“I don’t think so, dude. I hope he f*cking fails out before he gets the chance to screw up a real emergency.”

“How bad is it?” Stan softly inquired, paying no mind to the quarrel behind him. “Let me see.”

As Kyle coughed up another wave of sick, Stan attempted to dry his wound with a paper towel so as to get a good look, but the profuse bleeding wouldn’t allow it.

“Holy sh*t, Ky, I think you need stitches. Jesus, there’s so much blood.”

At this point, Stan’s own hands were stained with red, and the trail of blood adorning the island, floor, counter and sink rendered the place akin to a murder scene.

“I hope you don’t have any open cuts on your hands, Stan, getting all that blood on them,” Cartman retorted. “What if your boy toy has AIDS?”

“They already f*ck anyway,” Kenny mindlessly replied, eyes glued to the gory sight before him.

“I don’t have AIDS, fat*ss,” Kyle said with an absence and lack of conviction that sent Stan’s anxiety levels through the roof.

“Are you guys f*cking insane?!” he nearly screamed. “Does now seem like a good time to be making bullsh*t jokes about AIDS?!”

“Who’s joking?” Cartman huffed.

Stan shook his head sharply, opting to ignore his frenemy’s taunts.

“Kyle, we need to get you to urgent care.”

“ER,” Kyle slurred. “One of my professors says they do a sh*t job with stitches at urgent care.”

“Fine, dude, we just need to take you somewhere. Right now.”

“What’s goin’ on in there?” Butters asked as he casually strolled in, only to fall unconscious the second he caught sight of the injury.

Kenny knelt at his side in a hurry. “Buttercup?”

He was out cold. Cartman burst into laughter, and though the others were annoyed, they were too preoccupied to scold him for his cruel enjoyment of their suffering.

“Holy sh*t, I can’t even get the bleeding to slow down,” Stan cried. “We need to go now.”

He turned Kyle by the shoulders to meet his gaze, hoping to prompt his boyfriend toward the door. He straightened in alarm at the lack of color in Kyle’s expressionless face — his lips were nearly white and his stare was remarkably dim.

“Kyle?”

Only seconds later, the redhead’s body went limp in Stan’s arms, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Baby?!”

“sh*t!” Kenny yelped.

Stan adjusted Kyle in his arms to a bridal-style carry. Once situated, he grabbed a hand towel to wrap around the injury.

“Ken, are you driving?”

“I can’t leave Butters here alone and unconscious…”

“sh*t. I didn’t want Kyle by himself in the backseat. f*cking sh*t. I’ll have to drive him myself.”

“You’re in no shape to drive, dude,” Kenny observed. “You’re shaking like a damn leaf. Cartman needs to drive you.”

“Weak!” Cartman griped.

“Cartman… please,” Stan begged with tears in his eyes.

The softening on Cartman’s face was unmistakeable. He sighed, then cleared his throat as a visible shiver coursed through his body. His brows furrowed once again in an obvious attempt to feign anger.

“Whatever, dude, fine,” he unconvincingly snarked. “I’ll drive your sex doll to the hospital if it’ll get you to shut the f*ck up.”

The drive to the hospital was short, though it felt like an eternity to Stan. Cartman’s car had hardly come to a complete stop when Stan hopped out, running directly to the triage desk with Kyle still in his arms.

“Help!” he exclaimed. “My boyfriend, he— he f*cked up his hand really bad, dude!”

As he moved the towel aside to display the site of the injury, the nurse’s eyes widened a bit. She sent them directly to a room. Although Stan was relieved at the speed of admission, he doubted it was a good sign.

He was confused as to why they left Kyle in the bed with nothing but his haphazard towel wrap to stop the bleeding, but he had to assume they would be returning very shortly. He carefully ran his fingers through Kyle’s red curls while they awaited the physician.

“S-Stan?” Kyle murmured, eyes creeping open.

“Baby, dude, shh,” Stan soothed. “Don’t look down at your hand. It’s okay.”

Kyle winced at the reminder. “sh*t. My hand.”

“They’re gonna fix it, Ky. Just try to breathe.”

“We’re not at urgent care, right?” Kyle questioned with genuine concern.

Stan couldn’t help but smirk. “No, Kyle, we’re not at urgent care. We’re at the hospital.”

“Thank god. I don’t wanna walk out of here looking like a f*cking patchwork quilt.”

“Hello,” a doctor greeted as he entered. “I hear you had a little disagreement with a knife while you were prepping your Thanksgiving meal. Let’s have a look here.”

Pulling back the towel, he seemed significantly less concerned than the woman at the triage desk had. That brought Stan slight solace.

“This is a pretty deep gash you’ve got here. It definitely wouldn’t heal up too well on its own, and I don’t think pressure will do much to stop the bleeding. I’ll send in one of our techs to give the cut a good cleaning, then I’ll come back in to stitch you up.”

“How many stitches do you think I’ll need?” Kyle questioned.

“With this length and depth, I’d say about twelve or fifteen.”

“Goddamnit…”

“Luckily, it looks like you didn’t do any damage to the bone in your pinky finger.”

“So it’s not, like, the worst cut you’ve ever seen or anything?” Stan asked, still looking absolutely mortified.

The doctor huffed out a laugh. “No, it certainly isn’t.”

“And, will Kyle need a blood transfusion or something? He lost a lot of blood, dude.”

“Oh, goodness, no. Blood loss often seems a lot more significant than it is. Transfusions aren’t necessary unless 30-40% of total blood volume is lost.”

Stan wasn’t sure how much blood was in the human body, but it sure looked like a hell of a lot of it was smeared across their kitchen.

“Okay…” he muttered.

“Alright then, I’ll be back shortly. Hang in there.”

As the doctor exited, Kyle sighed in frustration. Stan could tell he was fighting back tears.

“sh*t, it hurts that bad?”

“It’s not that bad,” Kyle replied through gritted teeth. “I’m just f*cking pissed. This sucks.”

Stan gave his hand a firm squeeze. “I know, dude. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all Cartman’s f*cking fault for distracting me.”

“He did drive us here.”

“Not Kenny? Oh, did Butters pass out?”

“Yep.”

“Figures.”

There was a short pause.

“Hey, Ky?” Stan hesitantly began. “I feel like this is partly my fault too. We kind of… made you do everything today.”

Kyle scoffed, but followed with a genuine smile. “Yeah, kind of.”

“I should have helped out more.”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine. I shouldn’t have been arguing with Cartman while I was chopping. That was f*cking stupid.”

“He was being a dick.”

“He’s always being a dick.”

“Well, yeah. Maybe he’s not worth arguing with at all,” Stan suggested.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’ll stop any time soon,” Kyle admitted, then he sighed deeply. “He’s gonna be so pissed that I ruined dinner.”

“No.” Stan placed a kiss on Kyle’s forehead. “You worked really damn hard. We’ll still eat when we get home— Well… eat the food that isn’t covered in blood.”

“Jesus.”

“It is Rejects-giving, dude,” Stan said with a smirk. “The name wouldn’t even fit if the day wasn’t completely f*cked up.”

Kyle lips curled upward. “I guess you’re right. Honestly, this is about as well as I expected sh*t to go. Dinner will be fine warmed up, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, unless you’re not up for it. I can send everyone home.”

“Nah, let them stay. Maybe the doctor will send me off with morphine. That might make Cartman slightly more tolerable.”

Chapter 32: Family

Chapter Text

“This is such bullsh*t,” Stan rasped before coughing hard.

Kyle only shook his head, continuing to practically drag his boyfriend down the street.

“Ky, I’m seriously fine.”

“Fine my ass,” Kyle snarked. “You shouldn’t even be out of bed, let alone out here in the snow.”

As Stan entered another coughing fit, stymying his response, he couldn’t help but think that Kyle may have been right. The bitter cold managed to permeate even his thickest parka, his incessantly runny nose felt frozen solid, and the harshness of the air dried out the very depths of his lungs.

That being said, the importance of the plan to go sledding with Kenny and Cartman outweighed Stan’s fatigue. It was winter break, their freshman year of college, the first time they had all seen each other since summer. Further, quite frankly, Stan was desperate to be out of the house. His sister never came home anymore, his mother was spending the holiday out of town with her new husband, and Randy was most certainly drunk or high, if not both.

“Come on,” Kyle said softly as he ushered Stan through the front door.

Physically, the relief of warmth came over Stan immediately, but entering the Tegridy Farms house brought a certain coldness to his soul. Crossing through a simple doorframe shouldn’t have held the power to hollow out his heart, but it did. He thought it would get easier with time, but it didn’t. Each day, each month, each year, felt emptier. The thick dust that settled over old family photos and unused table surfaces made the space feel utterly lifeless.

Kyle flipped on the lamp beside the couch, dimly lighting the otherwise dark space. The blinds were turned, scaring away most of the natural brightness that the rest of South Park basked in. Randy always kept them that way.

“You should lie down,” Kyle suggested. “I can tell you’re dizzy.”

Stan nodded, eyes closed tightly to keep the room from spinning. The darkness only made him dizzier, really. The action served less for symptom relief and more for an escape from the bleak reality around him. If his eyes were shut, he could pretend he was off somewhere pleasant, wrapped in Kyle’s arms.

Since he was apparently too out of it to follow instructions, Kyle guided him to a seated position on the couch. The cold sensation of the torn leather sent a chill through his body.

That old sofa was one of the few parts of the house that didn’t go unused. Randy spent many-an-afternoon passed out in that very spot. If Stan’s memory was too kind to pull back the mental image of his father in a drunken stupor, carelessly reclining among dozens of crushed beer cans, then the sunken mark beneath him would serve as a cruel reminder. Even the furniture was scorned by the man’s bad habits.

Stan was brought back to center by the brush of Kyle’s fingertips on his cheek, and he leaned into the coolness of the touch. Even though Kyle’s hands carried the briskness of their snowy walk home, the redhead was the warmest thing in the room. He was the warmest thing in any room.

“God, you’re burning up,” Kyle remarked, brows knitting with worry.

On a technicality, Stan may have been the warmest thing in the room at that particular moment.

“‘M fine,” he said with a shrug.

“No, dude, you’re really not. You need to take something to get that fever down. Does your dad keep ibuprofen or anything in the house?”

“I doubt it.”

“I’m checking the medicine cabinet upstairs.”

As Kyle headed up to the bathroom on a mission, Stan finally allowed his exhausted form to sprawl across the sofa. He reached for a small knitted throw from a nearby basket in a desperate attempt to quell his shivering. The blanket was one his mother had made a decade earlier. She left it behind when she moved out, because she had knitted it for Randy.

Pulling the fabric up to his chin as he curled into fetal position, Stan discovered that the comforting aroma of his mother had faded from its fibers. Like the rest of the house, it smelled like the coating of dust on a neglected old book. He tossed it to the ground without a thought in his mind. Basking in that awful scent was worse than chills.

“I found some Advil and cough medicine!” Kyle eagerly announced as he hurried back down the creaky steps.

Stan’s lips curled into a half-smile. He was grateful for his boyfriend’s care, but Kyle was doing too much. He always did too much. Eventually, he was bound to get worn out— to decide it was a burden. Stan would end up on his own again, just as he had been for years. He was more alone than anyone knew.

He desperately wanted to tell Kyle he was fine, that he didn’t need any help… but every muscle in his body ached like he had been hit by a damn truck. His limbs shook with every slight movement, drained of vitality.

“Stan?” Kyle sounded worried as he turned the corner at the bottom of the stairs, surely curious as to why he had been met with silence.

“Hey,” Stan murmured.

“You really don’t feel well…”

Stan sighed deeply. “I feel like f*cking sh*t.”

“I know,” Kyle stressed. “I don’t understand why you tried to go goddamn sledding. Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” Stan said sheepishly. “I didn’t… wanna be here.”

Kyle’s face fell. He nodded in acknowledgement, scanning the dreary space around them.

“Your dad doesn’t put up the Christmas decorations anymore, huh?” he commented, barely above a whisper.

“Christmas decorations? Randy barely does the damn dishes anymore.”

Hardly finishing his solemn observation, Stan erupted into a long fit of coughing. Kyle winced at the miserable rattling sound he produced.

“Let’s get this cough medicine in you, sweetheart. Let me look at the dose on here.” Kyle flipped the bottle around to pour over the instructions. “Wait… are you goddamn kidding me? Dude, this expired in 2007.” He promptly lifted the other bottle for examination. “f*cking 2002? What the hell?”

Stan only shrugged. He wasn’t surprised.

“I’m throwing this sh*t out,” Kyle announced in a huff, hurrying off to toss the bottles in the kitchen trash.

“Okay,” Stan said blankly.

In his fevered state of mind, he imagined the bottles of medication might be relieved to be thrown out— to escape the clutches of Tegridy Farms. Even those old, vile, useless pills probably shuddered at the mere mention of Randy’s name.

“Maybe I can make you some soup or something,” Kyle called out from the other room. “You’re shivering like hell. Maybe chicken noodle soup will help.”

Stan’s eyes welled with tears as a flood of memory assaulted his senses. When he was a child, his mom made him chicken noodle soup every time he fell ill. He suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of resentment— Sharon had a lot of goddamn nerve going on a trip to Mexico with her rich-ass husband. She knew damn well this was the holiday she was leaving her son behind to spend.

But the emotion forcing a stream of tears down Stan’s face was mixed. For once, he felt cared for. Kyle knew what his mother used to cook for him. Kyle wanted to make things better. If Stan had nothing else, he had Kyle’s love— the overwhelming, all-encompassing kind of love that would lead a person to try cooking soup in a filthy, roach-ridden kitchen amidst unwashed pans and rotting ingredients.

“Your dad made brownies?” Kyle remarked, sounding confused.

“I wouldn’t eat one unless you wanna get high off your ass,” Stan grumbled.

“Believe me, I wasn’t planning on it, dude. They’re sitting on a soaking-wet napkin in a puddle of beer.”

“Don’t use that blue towel to wipe it up. Randy would flip sh*t.”

“Is that the towel he thinks he can talk to when he gets wasted?”

“Yeah,” Stan groaned. “He literally thinks it’s f*cking sentient. He told me the towel is a bigger stoner than he is. Talk about f*cking projecting.”

“Jesus. Well, it definitely smells like marijuana. God, it’s like, f*cking saturated in weed.” Kyle huffed out a laugh. “Maybe it is a bigger stoner than he is.”

“Don’t even indulge that bullsh*t,” Stan replied with a small smile that quickly faded as a series of sneezes overtook him.

“Are you good?”

“No, I’m dying of sneezes.”

“It’s the fever I’m worried about,” Kyle mumbled before a series of crash sounds erupted from the kitchen.

“Kyle?”

“I’m trying to see if there are any soup cans in this damn pantry.”

“What the hell was that sound?”

“…Like fifty jars of weed falling on my head.”

Stan moaned in irritation, pressing his palms to his eyes. “Forget the soup, Ky. You’re gonna get hurt or something.”

“You can‘t stop me from taking care of you, okay? I’m not gonna get hurt, dude. That’s ridiculous.”

“There’s no soup in there anyway.”

“I think I see something on the top shelf. I’m climbing up.”

“Jesus, don’t go through all this damn trouble just to…” Stan’s voice faded out as his pervasive concerns overtook him.

This was exactly what he had been worried about. Kyle was doing too much for him. He launched himself upright, opting to ignore the brutal spinning sensation that pounded in his head. As he moved toward the kitchen with determination, the aching and dizziness failed to subside.

“Stan, what the hell are you doing?” Kyle queried as he burst out from the pantry with wide eyes. “Holy sh*t, are you…”

Stan could physically feel the color draining from his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn’t release a sound. His boyfriend’s words were muffled in his mind. Eyes rolling back in his head, he faded from consciousness.

———————————————

Waking to the sound of softly spoken words, Stan forced his heavy eyes open. It was dark outside, but the room was bright. The smell of dust had been replaced by the delicate aroma of pine. His aching head wasn’t on the hard floor, but rather atop a soft pillow. He laggardly lifted a hand to explore the weight resting on his forehead, discovering a cold cloth that seemed to have been placed recently.

“Stan?” Kyle’s soothing voice whispered.

A gentle touch met his shoulder.

“Ky?”

“Thank god.”

“What— what happened?”

“You fainted. You were out for a while, dude. You’ve got a really high fever.”

Stan hummed in discomfort. “My head really f*cking hurts.”

“Yeah, about that… I didn’t exactly catch you. Your kitchen table sort of… caught you instead.”

Stan groaned. He supposed that would be yet another scar Tegridy Farms left on him.

Suddenly, it dawned on him that the couch he rested on was too soft, not sunken enough to be his own. Either he was completely delirious, or Kyle had somehow managed to transport him to another location.

“Where the hell are we?” he questioned.

“My house. I called my mom to pick us up because I was kind of freaking out… sort of…”

Stan looked around and concluded this must have been a fever dream. The space around him was structured like the Broflovskis’ house, but it clearly wasn’t. There were Christmas decorations adorning the living space, including a small, but seemingly real, tree. Not only was the home decorated for the wrong holiday, but the decor was all too familiar. Every last item was one Stan had grown up with in his own house, before his family had fallen apart.

“We’re not at your house,” he mumbled. “There’s Christmas sh*t everywhere.”

Kyle chuckled. “No sh*t?”

He looked around the room, comedically feigning shock.

“It’s your Christmas sh*t,” he finally offered.

“Huh? I know, but… why? How did you…?”

“Kenny and Cartman dug it out of your attic. Kenny wanted to help, and Cartman thinks breaking and entering is badass, so… yeah. It wasn’t hard to find. You know, your mom… took almost everything.”

“Why is it here?” Stan pressed. “Your mom is gonna kill you.”

Kyle tilted his head. “No, she won’t. It was her idea.”

As if on cue, Sheila entered from the kitchen.

“Stanley, you’re awake!” she exclaimed.

The volume of her voice made Stan cringe, but the joy on her face almost made up for it.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “The soup is almost ready.”

“Matzo?” Stan hummed.

“Chicken noodle. Your favorite, right, dear?”

“Oh…” Stan felt tears welling in his eyes once again. “Y-yeah…”

Sheila smiled and nodded before returning to her cooking.

“Kyle, what’s going on?” Stan asked plainly. “Why did your mom put up Christmas sh*t and why is she cooking for me? Why did—”

“My mom thinks maybe you should stay with us for the rest of break. And I think so too, Stan.”

Tears trickled down Stan’s cheeks. The idea of being with Kyle, and with his much-more-functional second family for the rest of break sounded incredible. His dad wouldn’t miss him, anyway. Even the co*ckroaches littering the kitchen would probably be glad to see him go.

But this was a lot to ask.

“That sounds like a burden,” he croaked out.

Kyle kissed him atop the head.

“It’s not. We want you with us. You can’t stay in that house, Stan, especially when you’re sick like this.”

“But your mom doesn’t want my Christmas decorations all over your house. I know it pisses her off. Like, everything pisses her off.”

Kyle laughed a little. “Not this, I guess?”

“She only agreed to it because she feels sorry for me and that’s not f*cking—”

“I already told you, she didn’t agree to it, dude. It was her idea. She suggested it because she wants you to feel welcome. It’s not like we can’t have our Hanukkah sh*t out too.”

Stan shook his head. “Why would she do that for me?”

Flashing a warm smile, Kyle placed a hand atop Stan’s.

“Because,” he said softly, “you’re family.”

Chapter 33: Perfection

Chapter Text

This was going to be the perfect Christmas, because Stan had far too many very imperfect occasions to make up for. He had learned a lot about making amends in rehab, and while his husband had long since forgiven him and even felt partially responsible, Stan still wanted to go further. “Sorry” couldn’t undo the myriad holiday events he had ruined in the past. “Sorry” couldn’t unsay the sh*tty, drunken words he never meant. “Sorry” couldn’t glue together the shattered pieces of all Kyle’s crystal wine glasses — a perpetually intoxicated Stan had been careless with them until every last one was broken.

Since time couldn’t be turned back, new memories had to be made. Stan convinced Kenny and Butters to join them for the holiday, he prepared a grand Christmas Eve feast that was already in the oven, and he was positively thrilled over the gift he found for Kyle. At the end of a painstaking search, he finally got his hands on a replacement for Kyle’s favorite vase, which Stan had broken in a drunken stumble nearly a year prior. That was one way in which he almost literally could undo a mistake.

He had so much work to do that he was almost grateful he hadn’t been home in time for Hanukkah, as that would have been yet another holiday to risk f*cking up.

“Do you think we put up too many ornaments?” Kyle asked, standing back to survey their work.

The redhead would have ordinarily lost it at the idea of waiting until Christmas Eve to put up their tree, but since Stan had been released from rehab only a week earlier, he made his peace with the procrastination.

“Gee, I think it looks real nice!” Butters cheered.

“It’s the best tree we’ve ever had,” Stan stated.

He had made sure of that, actually, when he carefully selected and cut it down himself. He also went out to buy several extra light strands for an additional boost of magic. Perfection was going to begin with the tree.

“I can’t believe you even managed to get it in the house,” Kyle remarked. “This thing is f*cking massive.”

“That’s what she said!” Kenny interjected. “Sorry, I had to.”

Stan couldn’t help but laugh. Kenny’s childish humor never got old to him, though he wouldn’t always admit that to Kyle.

“All we have left is the star.” Kyle placed a hand the small of Stan’s back. “It’s all you, sweetheart. Do the honors.”

“Really?” Stan questioned.

“Yeah, of course.” Kyle placed the tree topper in his husband’s hands.

“Why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?” Stan pondered out loud as he climbed the ladder.

“I don’t know. There aren’t any ornaments left.”

“Or light strands,” Kenny added. “Probably in the whole damn city with how many you bought.”

“f*ck off,” Stan teased as he reached the top rung. “I’m probably just imagining sh*t.”

However, as he leaned out to balance the star, the blaring fire alarm reminded him that he was not imagining things. His dinner had been in the oven for way too long. The startle of the loud noise nearly sent him the the floor, but a desperate shove against the treetop was enough to launch him back to a secure place on the ladder. Unfortunately, though, the force of the push sent the tree crashing in the other direction. Kenny and Butters jumped aside before the sound of shattering glass filled the room, but Kyle, who was directly on the opposite side, took the brunt of the topple. His hands and feet were barely visible as they stuck out through the sides of the boughs. If Stan weren’t flying into a panic, he would’ve found the sight amusing in its almost cartoonish nature.

“Oh my god! Kyle?! Holy f*cking sh*t!” he shouted, jumping down the ladder as rapidly as possible. “sh*t, you guys, help me get this off him!”

Kenny and Butters rushed to assist him in standing the tree upright. As soon as Kyle was freed, Stan fell to his side.

“Baby, can you hear me?!”

“Yeah,” Kyle groaned. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you? f*ck, dude, your head is bleeding.”

The fire alarm finally stopped screeching. Kenny or Butters must have slipped off to deal with the now-ruined dinner.

“Jesus, it is?” Kyle lazily rubbed a hand across his forehead, then found it adorned by a mixture of blood and pine needs. “Oh god.”

“It looks bad, Ky. Does it hurt?”

“I don’t even know, I—” Kyle winced as he shifted his weight. “My wrist really f*cking hurts.”

Kenny knelt down beside the couple to take a look. Stan was grateful a paramedic was present, as he felt on the verge of passing out himself.

“It’s already swelling,” Kenny observed. “It might be broken, dude. And that cut on your forehead is definitely gonna need stitches.”

“Can you stand up?”

“I mean, yeah,” Kyle muttered. “My legs aren’t broken.”

The others carefully helped him to his feet, which seemed to increase the flow of blood from his cut. He wobbled a bit, prompting Stan to fear he might faint.

“sh*t, Ky, are you dizzy?”

“No. I’m just disoriented as sh*t.”

“Did you hit your head?”

“Well yeah, obviously, but it’s not a big deal.”

“f*ck, it is a big deal. Come on, I’ll drive you to the—” Stan cut himself off as he suddenly remembered that he wouldn’t be driving anywhere any time soon. One of the final straws before rehab had been a DUI and a subsequent suspension of his license.

“I’ll drive him,” Kenny said softly, placing a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “It’s okay.”

“Well, I’ll go with you.”

“My car is a two-seater…”

“sh*t.”

“Stan, it’s fine,” Kyle said with forced confidence.

He plastered on a smile that didn’t even begin to hide the pain in his eyes.

“Call me with updates,” Stan conceded, trying not to cry. “Please.”

“We will,” Kenny promised.

“We’ll clean up the mess here while you fellas are at the ER,” Butters volunteered.

He proceeded to do just that as Kenny helped Kyle out the door. Stan, on the other hand, stood listlessly in the center of the room, staring blankly at a wall.

“You okay there, Stan?”

“No,” Stan tersely responded. “I crushed my husband with a f*cking tree. Of course I’m not okay. He probably hates me.”

“Gee, Kyle could never hate you.”

“Did you hear how pissed he sounded?”

“I think he was just hurtin’ a lot. He knows it was an accident.”

“So what? All I’ve done for months is f*ck up his life. This Christmas was supposed to be perfect, but now I landed Kyle in the ER, our tree is f*cked, my dinner burned to sh*t—”

“Why don’t we order some pizza when the guys get back?” Butters suggested. “It’ll be great!”

“I guess…”

“And we can fix the tree! It looks like only a few ornaments are broken.”

Stan sighed. “I’ll go get the vacuum.”

A very long session of tidying and readjusting the tree brought the room back to a tolerable state. The lights and ornaments weren’t what they used to be, and they certainly would never be restored to their original glory, but at least the decor was no longer a complete disaster.

Just as Stan was breathing a sigh of slight relief, the door clicked open.

“We’re back,” Kenny announced, ushering an injured Kyle through the door.

Stan’s frown deepened as he took in the sight of his husband. A prominent line of stitches adorned Kyle’s forehead and his casted arm rested in a sling.

“Oh my god,” Stan cried out, immediately rushing to wrap Kyle in a hug.

He kissed the latter’s forehead while tenderly caressing his cheeks.

“Oh, baby…”

“My arm is broken in two places,” Kyle bemoaned.

“Two places?!” Butters cried.

“He thought he could catch the tree or something,” Kenny teased.

“I did not! It was just an instinct! Honestly, I’m lucky I did reach out to catch it, or my face would probably be even more f*cked up than it is.”

“It doesn’t look so bad,” Stan encouraged.

“It feels bad.”

“Kyle, it’s— I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“It was an accident, Stan. Don’t beat yourself up. I don’t want you to spiral.”

Stan appreciated the sentiment, although he found himself slightly pissed at the notion that he was that predictable. It was f*cking annoying that Kyle was always right, but of course, he was right.

“Do I smell pizza?” Kenny interjected.

“Yeah!” Butters replied.

“f*ck yes.”

“My stomach feels like sh*t but I can probably eat a piece,” Kyle remarked.

Stan gave a soft smile before leading his husband to the kitchen.

Maybe Christmas could still be almost perfect. As Butters said, pizza is never a bad option, and the living room was mostly fixed. Stan still had tomorrow’s gift exchange to look forward to as well. If one thing would still be perfect, it was his present for Kyle. Stan couldn’t wait to see the smile on his face.

Following their meal, everyone turned in early. The day had been chaotic enough to launch them all into a sound sleep by 9pm. However, Stan awoke to tossing and turning around 3 in the morning. Harsh movements were accompanied by moans of discomfort.

“Ky? Are you okay?” Stan asked as he flipped on his bedside lamp.

Kyle shrugged weakly. Glossy eyes stood out against his concerningly pale complexion.

“Baby, you’re in pain…”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Kyle murmured. “I’m… not used to you being in the bed anymore.”

Stan’s face fell further.

“I didn’t mean it like— I mean, I’m glad you’re back in the bed with me. I just didn’t even think about how my annoying ass would wake you up.”

“You’re not annoying,” Stan said as he rubbed his husband’s shoulder. “I can tell you’re hurting.”

“I rolled onto my wrist,” Kyle explained through gritted teeth. “Hurts like a bitch.”

“Didn’t they give you morphine?”

“I’m not taking that sh*t.”

“You’re not the addict here, babe,” Stan said with a teasing smirk.

“I don’t care. I just don’t need it.”

“You look like you’re about to f*cking throw up from the pain, dude.”

“I’m not,” Kyle contended, though his look of disgust when he swallowed didn’t go unnoticed by Stan.

The latter launched himself out of bed to remedy the situation. He promptly returned with a pill in hand, along with a small trash bin, just in case.

“Here, Ky. Think you can keep it down?”

“Yeah,” Kyle replied. “If the pain goes away I’ll be fine.”

Stan gently stroked his cheek before returning to the place beside him. He took Kyle tightly into his arms and they soon fell back into sleep, undisturbed until Kenny burst into their room the next morning.

“Wake up, bitches!” he exclaimed. “It’s Christmas!”

“Jesus, it’s like having a two-year-old,” Stan bemoaned. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” Kyle answered. “Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course. Always.”

Stan pressed a kiss to the redhead’s lips.

“Are you coming or not?!” Kenny playfully nudged. “You can f*ck later!”

The others rolled their eyes but followed him out to the hall.

“Oh, wait, hang on, I have to grab something,” Stan said before breaking away from Kyle. “Go ahead and make coffee. I’ll be right down.”

He had almost forgotten his magnum opus: Kyle’s gift. It was still hidden away on the very top shelf of the linen closet.

Technically, it would have been easier for Stan to reach the present with the assistance of a step ladder, but digging that out in the kitchen sounded like a lot of work. He was running on very little sleep, after all.

Several tip-toed attempts to grip the gift’s bow were unsuccessful until finally, he got hold of it between his fingers. He carefully slid it forward, almost pulling a cascade of towels onto his head. The linens were skillfully pressed back into their places, but at the expense of Stan’s weak hold on the present. It slammed to the ground with an unmistakable shatter.

Stan didn’t even need to open the package to know the vase was broken beyond recognition, but he did so nonetheless, if only to twist the knife.

The very last piece of his perfect Christmas was ruined. Everything was ruined. He was no better than he had been before rehab, was he? How the hell was he supposed to explain that he destroyed Kyle’s vase a second time? Stan couldn’t keep himself from bursting into sobs. Leaning hopelessly against the wall, he wept and wallowed in despair until the bedroom door was hesitantly pushed open.

“Stan?” Butters called out. “Everybody’s waitin’ for you— Oh! Oh, gee, what’s wrong?”

“Look at this,” Stan sobbed as he held up the box full of vase shards. “I f*cking broke Kyle’s present. I got this to replace the sh*t I broke before and now I broke it again. How the hell am I supposed to tell him?”

“Well… maybe we can… glue it back together?”

“Jesus Christ, Butters, that would look ridiculous. There’s nothing we can do. Kyle’s gonna hate me.”

“Kyle won’t be mad,” Butters soothed. “Christmas isn’t just about gettin’ presents. I never really got presents as a kid since I was on the naughty list from gettin’ grounded and all, but I still had a real fun time every year.”

“First of all, that’s depressing as sh*t, and second, it wasn’t actually about the present! It was about me fixing all the sh*t I f*cked up!”

“Well, hey.” Butters pulled the tag from Stan’s gift before patting his friend’s shoulder. “The day’s not over. Maybe you can find another gift.”

Stan sighed. “Yeah, right.”

“Will ya come down and celebrate with us now?”

“Alright.” Stan wiped the tears from his cheeks as Butters helped him up. “Thanks, dude.”

Stan cleaned himself up enough that he hoped the crying session would stay between him and Butters, but that was likely a long shot, especially given the way he struggled to hold back tears throughout the entire morning. With each gift unwrapped, he was forced closer to revealing the truth to his husband. It was either that or let Kyle think he completely forgot to get him a present, and that was surely even worse.

As Kenny unwrapped the final package, Stan anxiously cleared his throat. It was now or never.

“Ky…” he croaked out. “I have to… tell you something…”

“Gee, wait a sec!” Butters interrupted. “There’s somethin’ else behind the tree!”

The blond retrieved a medium sized gift and handed it to Kyle.

“It’s for you, Kyle! From Stan!”

“Wh— I— huh?” Stan stammered.

He leaned over to see that his very own handwritten tag did, in fact, adorn the gift. He was rendered speechless as his husband unwrapped.

“Sweetheart!” Kyle cheerfully exclaimed when he opened the box. “The crystal wine glasses you broke? God, I didn’t think they even made these anymore!”

He wrapped Stan in an embrace — as well as he could with his arm in a sling — and kissed his lips with passion.

“I can’t believe you found these for me, Stan. You’re really back and you’re better and— and I love you so much. Thank you.”

“Y-you— I— I love you too, Kyle,” Stan could hardly reply amidst his confusion.

“On that note, who wants breakfast?” Kenny asked the group. “Those cinnamon rolls are calling my name.”

“I can put on another pot of coffee,” Kyle volunteered before kissing Stan’s cheek once more.

Kenny and Kyle scurried off to the kitchen, leaving Stan and Butters alone in a moment of quiet. The gentle holiday music nearly drowned out the stir in the other room, and Stan decided it had been the perfect Christmas after all. He certainly wasn’t to thank for that in the least, but he was so in love and he had the best friends in the world. His heart was full.

Amid the silence, Butters sheepishly picked at the leather on his chair. His cheeks were flushed, but he didn’t appear embarrassed. He looked as though he could hardly contain his joy — like some secret had him overflowing with happiness.

“That was your present for Kyle, wasn’t it?” Stan softly questioned.

“Yeah,” Butters replied with a warm smile. “But it was a whole lot nicer comin’ from you.”

Chapter 34: Us

Chapter Text

“This is a f*cking terrible idea,” Kyle grumbled as his friends laced up their ice skates.

Skating on Stark’s Pond was today’s endeavor on Stan’s seemingly endless list of adventures he planned for the four of them. Kyle envisioned his winter break a bit differently — more relaxing, perhaps, considering they were seniors in college at this point — but Stan was hell-bent on reliving all their childhood wonders, and the redhead couldn’t bring himself to crush his boyfriend’s holiday spirit. That being said, Kyle drew a line when it came to dangerous activities.

“Lighten up, babe,” Stan encouraged. “We did this all the time as kids.”

“Yeah, as kids. The ice is thin as sh*t, not to mention we were a lot smaller back then. I don’t know if it can hold your weight, dude. It sure as hell can’t hold Cartman’s.”

“Ey!” Cartman screeched.

“We’ll be fine,” Stan insisted.

“Well, I’m not skating on that goddamn death trap,” Kyle asserted.

“Suit yourself, dude,” Kenny said with a shrug.

Kyle crossed his arms indignantly as the other three set off onto the pond.

“Stay close to the edges!” he ordered.

Kenny teasingly skated in the forbidden direction.

“Kenny!”

With a mischievous smirk, Stan followed his friend in the orange parka.

“Stan! Don’t make me drag you home, dude.”

“You keep a tight leash on your dog,” Cartman retorted.

“f*ck off, I’m just worried.”

“No one gives a sh*t.”

“That’s the problem,” Kyle said sharply. “Clearly no one else here gives a sh*t about safety, or logic, or responsibility, or—”

“Spare us the goddamn lecture, Kahl. Save your breath. You’ll need it when you blow Stan tonight.”

“Go to hell, fat*ss.”

“Watch this!” Stan exclaimed with a beam as he zoomed past the quarreling frenemies.

After many years of enduring their tiffs, he was well-versed in stymying them through distraction. He proceeded to jump into the air at high speed, then to land firmly on both feet. The thud of his blades against the thin ice made Kyle wince.

“Dude, that was kinda badass,” Kenny said with complete sincerity.

“Don’t encourage him,” Kyle groaned.

“Ten bucks says I can jump higher.”

Apparently the comment fell on deaf ears, as Kenny immediately proceeded to attempt the very same trick.

“Mine was totally better,” Stan remarked.

“I said it would be higher, not better,” Kenny said with a smirk.

“Whatever. Cartman, whose was better?”

“Neither,” Cartman jeered. “You both looked like total dicks doing your gay-ass fairy-skating jumps.”

“No one’s gonna ask what I think?” Kyle questioned. “Stan’s was—”

“Biased judge!” Kenny teased.

“No one cares what the hell you think because you’re a stupid, whiny asshole,” Cartman snarked.

“I’m stupid?” Kyle scoffed. “I’m a hell of a lot smarter than you.”

“Oh, please. The smartest thing that’s ever come out of your mouth is Stan’s dick.”

“We’re going again and then you both can vote,” Stan interrupted the impending argument. “Last time was just a practice. Watch this. If I get more speed I can jump a hell of a lot higher.”

“Sweetheart, please be careful,” Kyle cautioned.

“You worry too much.”

Stan planted a kiss on Kyle’s cheek before setting off to attempt his feat. He took a quick lap around the pond to gain speed, entering his jump at full force. Though he initially appeared to be landing at a safe distance from the center, a slight imbalance sent him frantically stumbling and eventually collapsing right through the ice.

“Stan!” Kyle nearly screamed as he launched forward without hesitation.

Kenny blocked the redhead’s path, taking him tightly in his arms just as a thrashing Stan released a cry.

“Ky, you can’t just run over there,” Kenny said firmly. “You’ll fall in.”

“I have to—”

“Dude, Cartman, find a branch or something!”

Stan’s head slipped beneath the surface for a second time as he reached helplessly for the unforgiving ice in front of him.

“Help,” he weakly gasped, sputtering and spitting cold water from his mouth.

“Don’t get sand in your vagin*,” Cartman said with little conviction, returning to the pond with a long branch in hand.

“f*cking help him or let go of me!” Kyle cried out, still restrained in Kenny’s arms.

In his state of panic, Kyle hadn’t even noticed Cartman’s stepping away, but it quickly became apparent that a much calmer Kenny and Cartman had already hatched a plan.

He desperately tried to free himself again when a flailing Stan sunk underwater for a third time and came back up coughing miserably, but it was no use. Kenny was stronger, or perhaps Kyle had simply spiraled too far to make any logical movements. Every second was passing in slow motion by the time Cartman laid flat on the surface, extending the branch to Stan’s frantic hands.

“Hurry the f*ck up!” Kyle ordered.

“What are you gonna do, hit me with your purse?” Cartman absently jeered.

It was obvious he was far more focused on the critical task at hand and only quipping out of habit. If Kyle wasn’t mistaken, he actually heard a twinge of fear in his frenemy’s voice.

Stan finally managed to get a solid grasp on the branch after several futile attempts. Cartman slid himself toward the edge of the pond, pulling a lethargic Stan to secure grounds at last. Kyle was at his side in an instant.

“Sweetheart! Sweetheart, oh my god!” Kyle sobbed, repeatedly kissing Stan’s frozen forehead and caressing his red cheeks. “Are you okay? Stan, can you hear me?”

Stan responded with a nod, but failed to speak amidst his fit of hacking.

“God, you’re freezing.”

“We need to get him inside,” said Kenny.

“My house is closest,” Kyle shakily stated. “I’ll take care of him there.”

“You’ll take care of him?” Cartman scoffed. “Is getting your dick ridden a cure for hypothermia now?”

“Dude, lay off him,” Kenny warned.

Kyle was paying no mind to Cartman’s assholery, anyway. He was laser focused on Stan, and besides, he knew damn well Cartman used dick behavior as a defense mechanism. Ever the sad*st he was, he still couldn’t hide the terror in his eyes.

The three of them managed to drag Stan’s limp form to the vehicle, where he sat silently shivering throughout the entire ride. He was still bleary as they practically carried him up to Kyle’s bedroom, and Kyle still found himself struggling to breathe.

“I f-feel like sh*t,” Stan stammered before coughing hard.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t take him to the hospital?” Kenny asked.

“I told you I don’t know, dude!” Kyle inadvertently scolded. “I don’t f*cking know!”

“I guess you should’ve stuck with the pre-med thing instead of trying to become another goddamn Jew lawyer,” Cartman remarked.

“f*ck you, dude.”

“Don’t fight,” Stan mumbled without opening his eyes.

“Hey, babe, we’re not fighting,” Kyle soothed, kneeling before his boyfriend.

“We are too fighting,” Cartman argued.

“I’m s-so c-cold,” Stan whined.

“Share body heat,” Kyle muttered, mostly to himself. “We need to share body heat.”

“That’s my cue to get the hell out of here,” Cartman said flatly. “You three gaywads enjoy your f*cking frostbite orgy. I’m going home.”

Without another word, he exited. The others didn’t miss a beat.

“I’ll go downstairs and make him some hot tea,” Kenny offered before setting off toward the kitchen. “Make sure y’all are decent when I get back.”

He froze in the doorway, turning back to face his friends.

“Or not,” he added with a wink.

Though rolling his eyes at Kenny, Kyle’s concern grew a bit at Stan’s noticeable lack of reaction.

“Let’s get these wet clothes off of you,” he said softly as he guided the boots from his boyfriend’s feet.

“I’m sorry,” Stan murmured through intense shivers.

“For what, babe?”

“I-I don’t… know w-why I didn’t… swim.”

“Stan, you were in shock from the freezing water. It wasn’t your fault.”

“You d-don’t have to rationalize it. I-I was being… an ass.”

“For not swimming?”

“F-for trying to show off.”

“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” Kyle comforted, hastily removing Stan’s coat and shirt. “We just need to get you warmed up. That’s all that matters.”

As soon as Stan was fully undressed, Kyle was quick to slide off his own clothes, then to pull his boyfriend into a warm embrace under the plush comforter.

“I feel better already,” Stan mumbled.

“Like hell you do. You’re ice cold.”

The redhead proceeded to rub his hands rapidly up and down Stan’s arms in an effort to warm them.

“sh*t, Ky, th-that kinda burns.”

“I know, babe, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Kyle?”

“Yeah?”

“Th-this is… by far my least favorite time I’ve ever been naked in bed with you.”

“It’s not f*cking funny,” Kyle reprimanded. “Do you think this is a joke? You’re hypothermic, Stan. You almost drowned.”

Stan smirked, barely conscious enough to enjoy his own teasing. “You’re cute when you’re pissed at me.”

“I think you’re delirious.”

“It’s just sorta funny.”

“It’s really not, Stanley. Don’t make me worry even more about your delirious ass.”

“Tea’s ready!” Kenny announced as he reentered. “Y’all look cozy.”

After setting the cup on the nightstand, a sly smirk appeared on his face. He slowly moved a hand toward the edge of the duvet, which was currently pulled up to his friends’ chins.

“Don’t you dare pull that down,” Kyle warned.

“Jesus, I was just messing with you. f*cking prude,” Kenny jested.

“This sh*t is serious, Kenny.”

“I’m gonna be okay,” Stan mumbled.

“Of course you are, sweetheart,” Kyle assured him before kissing the nape of his neck.

“He won’t let me make jokes either,” Stan muttered in Kenny’s direction.

“Damn, f*cking buzzkill,” Kenny teased. “All worried about keeping you alive and sh*t.”

“Right,” Kyle grumbled. “How dare I.”

“Unless you need anything else, I can leave you two to cuddle this one out.”

“Thanks, dude. I’ve got it from here.”

“Call if you need me.”

Upon Kenny’s exit, Stan was quick to drift into a fitful slumber. Kyle, on the other hand, didn’t sleep for a single moment. He was far too occupied with temperature assessments and the monitoring of his boyfriend’s shallow breathing. It wasn’t until long past sunrise that he finally settled into the idea that Stan was really going to be okay.

“Morning,” Stan hummed through a yawn, turning to face the intensely-staring redhead. “Dude, did you sleep at all?”

“Of course not. You were f*cking hypothermic and—”

“I wasn’t that cold.”

“Okay, well, ever hear of dry drowning?”

“Honestly, dude, no.”

“You went under so many times, Stan. You could’ve— You could’ve—”

Kyle shook his head sharply, unable to keep from bursting into tears of mixed emotion.

“Baby, hey. What is it?”

“You scared the sh*t out of me. I was f*cking terrified.”

“Look at me,” Stan said firmly, caressing Kyle’s cheeks in his hands. “I’m right here.”

“You could’ve died. You could’ve just been… gone.”

“But I’m fine, see? You’re gonna feel better once we get the day started. We’re gonna have lunch at City Wok and then go sledding at—”

“Wait, wait, what?” Kyle’s overflowing emotions rapidly shifted to a state disbelief. “What are you talking about?”

“We haven’t finished my holiday list yet…”

“Stan, you almost drowned in freezing cold water less than 24 hours ago. You’re not getting out of bed today.”

“I’m not staying in bed.”

“Well, you’re sure as hell not going sledding.”

“We only have three more days of break, Kyle. We have to finish the list, and if I stay in bed today it’ll be f*cking impossible.”

Kyle shrugged. “We can finish the damn list next year.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Huh?”

“You don’t know that we can finish the list next year!” Stan exclaimed, suddenly bolting upright. “You don’t know that!”

“Stan, sweetheart.” Kyle sat up to rub his shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“Forget it,” Stan grumbled as he plopped back down, turning his back on his boyfriend.

“Why is that list so important to you?” Kyle softly questioned.

Stan pivoted to face him again, eyes filled with tears.

“Because… because everything’s changing, Ky, don’t you get it? Don’t you f*cking see it? We used to do all this sh*t with Kenny and Cartman and all our other friends every year, but now it’s like… everything’s ending. We get older every f*cking day and I can’t even keep up anymore.”

“So that’s why you insisted on skating at Stark’s even though you knew it wasn’t cold enough? Because we didn’t skate with Kenny and Cartman last year?”

“No, it— it was never really about the skating. It’s more like… what if we never get to skate with Kenny and Cartman again?”

“That’s not gonna happen. Not for a long time, anyway.”

“What the hell is ‘a long time,’ dude? Think about all the other sh*t that used to feel like it was forever away. My sister has a husband and a baby now. Your little brother is starting college next year. Butters won’t come within miles of this f*cking town anymore. Tweek and Craig broke up, for f*ck’s sake! I came home thinking everything would feel just like when we were kids, but I don’t even… recognize South Park anymore.”

With a sympathetic click of his tongue, Kyle laid down to face Stan, holding him so closely their noses nearly touched.

“Stan…”

“Don’t try to rationalize all the sh*t I just said.”

“I won’t, I just— Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling this way?”

“Because it’s stupid,” Stan mumbled. “Everything’s gonna change and I just have to accept it.”

“Not everything is gonna change. Come on, I mean, think about all the sh*t that’s exactly the same as always.”

“Like what?”

“Us doing that thing where we put both our hands in the same glove together and laughing about how Cartman gets all grossed out?”

Stan’s lips curled upward a bit at the thought.

“Kenny still makes pervy jokes all the time just to see us roll our eyes,” Kyle continued, “and we drank hot cocoa by the fire together after you threw a snowball at my head… asshole.”

“You were asking for it,” Stan teased.

They smiled warmly to each other as Stan ran his fingers through Kyle’s red curls.

“Hey, and we’re still waking up in my bed together, like we always have since forever,” Kyle added. “Our sleepovers when we were kids, and then, you know, sneaking around behind our parents’ backs…”

“I guess you’re right,” Stan conceded, barely above a whisper.

“I know you hate change.”

“It f*cking sucks, Ky.”

“I know. But you know what’s always gonna be the same, no matter what?”

“What?” Stan hummed, lost in Kyle’s eyes.

“Us.”

Chapter 35: Two Miles

Chapter Text

“Dude,” Stan alerted Kyle, beaming from ear to ear. “Do you see that bird up there? I think it’s a red-tailed hawk! God, isn’t it f*cking beautiful?”

Kyle returned a warm smile. “It is, sweetheart.”

“I wonder if we’ll see any deer out here.”

Though Stan typically railed against any birthday events planned on his behalf, he couldn’t deny the perfection of the surprise nature hike Kyle arranged for the two of them. Any day he could watch animals thrive in their natural habitat was a good day.

“I guess you don’t get your fill of animals at work, huh?” Kyle teased.

“It’s nice to see some healthy animals,” Stan replied. “Not that I don’t love the sick ones! I do! It just makes me sad as hell sometimes.”

“I know.”

Kyle gently rubbed his fiancé’s shoulder, hoping to pull him from the somber trance.

Stan was a damn good veterinarian, but he cared about his work too much for his own good sometimes. Every single animal he treated meant the world to him, which resulted in some inevitable heartbreak. That being said, Kyle loved how much he cared. It was sweet.

“Thank god this part of the forest didn’t get damaged in that fire last year,” Stan moved on. “Where would all the animals have gone? Like, I hate thinking about that.”

“You wouldn’t have let that happen,” Kyle said sweetly.

Ever the hero Stan insisted on being, he volunteered with the fire station on some of his days off. He had assisted in stymying a massive forest fire the previous year, and Kyle never heard the end of his concern for the resident fauna. He himself was much more worried about Stan’s safety, but he had long since resigned himself to the fact that his fiancé felt compelled to put his own life in danger for the sake of protecting animals and their habitats. It had all started when they were eight years old, when Stan nearly died to protect baby cows from being eaten. He never looked back. Nearly two decades later, he had gone to much more extreme lengths for that same cause. Kyle couldn’t help but roll his eyes on occasion, but only out of love. He loved how much love Stan had in his heart. Hell, it was what made him fall in love with that adorable, vegetarian loser in the first place.

Stan shrugged. “I didn’t have that much control over it. I wish I could’ve done more to help.”

“Dude, if you did any more you’d be f*cking Superman.”

“I’d just be Superman,” Stan amended with a smirk. “You’d be f*cking Superman.”

“Oh god,” Kyle groaned through laughter, giving his fiancé a playful shove.

Stan took the proximity as an opportunity to wrap Kyle in his arms, lifting him into a passionate kiss.

“Stan,” Kyle hummed as he pulled back a bit. “Look behind you.”

“Whatever it is can’t be as good as this,” Stan said before leaning in again.

“It’s a bald eagle—”

“HOLY sh*t!”

Kyle couldn’t help but giggle over the speed at which his fiancé spun in the other direction, abandoning their makeout session for a glance at that bird. He wasn’t the least bit surprised.

“Let me get a picture, dude,” Kyle offered. “If I back up a little I think I can get you and the bird in the shot.”

“Be careful, Ky,” Stan warned.

“Yeah,” Kyle absently muttered as he proceeded to back up, carefully observing Stan and the eagle through his phone screen.

It wasn’t until about five steps backward that he realized exactly why his fiancé had urged him to “be careful.” He should have taken that cue from Stan, who learned as a firefighter to be acutely aware of his surroundings at all times.

Kyle knew they were hiking uphill, but he hadn’t taken note of the steep slope— cliff, practically— he was backing toward. The sensation of floating through the air was over in an instant, quickly replaced by a thick haze as he hit the bottom of the ten foot drop, arms first.

———————————————

“Kyle! Baby, talk to me!” someone was shouting in a muffled voice, and a blurry image of forest came into view as Kyle peeled his heavy eyes open.

He was on his side, cheek pressed against the dirt, and he wondered was why the hell he would ever lie down in the woods. What was he thinking?

With slight movement, however, that became the last thing on his mind. The first thing was all-encompassing pain. His head was throbbing, his arms somehow screamed with agony and tingled with numbness at the same time, and a stabbing sensation plagued his right ankle.

“Kyle! sh*t, sh*t, f*cking sh*t! Baby, can you hear me?!”

“S-Stan?” Kyle croaked out.

He was met with an audible sob of relief.

“Holy sh*t, Ky. Oh my god. Did you hit your head? Can you move?”

Obviously Kyle could move. He took the opportunity to prove it by pushing up into a seated position, but the regret was immediate. His arms heavily protested the movement, sending shooting pains throughout his body.

“f*ck!” he cried, fighting back the overwhelming feeling of faintness.

“I’m calling 911,” Stan said shakily.

“No. N-no, don’t. My neck isn’t broken. I’m fine.”

“A broken neck isn’t the only reason to call 911, Kyle. There’s no way in hell you can get yourself down the mountain like this.”

“Like… like what?” Kyle mumbled.

“Um.” Stan gulped. “Your arms are kind of…”

Kyle took one glance at the disfigurement in his left arm and lost consciousness within seconds.

———————————————

There were no trees anymore. When Kyle opened his eyes, white walls and fluorescent lights surrounded him. A soft, familiar hand caressed his cheek, contrasting the harshness of the space.

“You’re awake,” Stan whispered before planting a kiss on his forehead. “How are you feeling?”

That was a good question. Kyle hadn’t yet taken stock of the sensations in his body, but it quickly became apparent that his arms were both completely immobile and his right ankle was frozen in place as well.

“Like I fell off a f*cking cliff?” Kyle teased, though he was too fatigued to laugh.

They had definitely medicated him, because he was considerably calmer than the situation called for. He wanted to go back to sleep for at least a year.

“So, what are the damages, Dr. Marsh?” Kyle asked in a comedically official tone, chuckling a bit at himself afterwards.

Drugged for sure.

“I’m an animal doctor, not a people doctor,” Stan replied. “But I can tell you, falling down ten f*cking feet like that… you’re lucky as hell your neck isn’t broken.”

“Told you it wasn’t. Didn’t need the ambulance.”

“Yeah, you didn’t come here in an ambulance, dude. There was no f*cking reception out there.”

Kyle’s eyes opened fully for the first time since he had woken up.

“Huh? How the hell did I get here then?”

“Your fiancé carried you,” an unfamiliar voice answered, accompanied by the sound of the privacy curtain sliding open.

The doctor.

“What?” Kyle questioned in disbelief, eyes welling with tears.

f*ck the drugs for making him so emotional.

“I’m Dr. Riley,” the auburn-haired woman in the white coat introduced herself. “I’ll tell you, I’ve seen a lot of things, but I’ve never seen a man carry an injured person down a two mile hiking trail to reach a vehicle. I am thoroughly blended.”

“Wh— huh?”

“I said you’re very blessed.”

Kyle blinked hard. Apparently those pain medications were really going to his head.

“This one’s a keeper,” Dr. Riley continued with a warm smile.

Though Kyle couldn’t see Stan’s expression, he knew damn well his fiancé was blushing. He was too humble to accept compliments without getting flustered.

“Stan… you carried me for two miles?”

“Of course I did,” Stan said softly. “I had to. It’s not like I could leave you there alone to go find reception.”

Kyle wanted to reach out to take his hand, but for obvious reasons, that was impossible.

“So… are my arms broken?” he asked, afraid to hear the inevitable answer.

“I’m afraid so,” Dr. Riley replied. “Fortunately, you have no spinal damage and your concussion is relatively mild. Your fiancé told me your arms appeared to take most of the impact, which may have saved you a head injury, but certainly didn’t do your wrists any favors. You sustained multiple carpal fractures on both sides as well as a comminuted fracture of your right humerus, a transverse fracture of your left ulna, and a segmental fracture of your left radius.”

“sh*t,” Kyle murmured. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Your left shoulder also presented with a minor dislocation, but we corrected that while you were out. Luckily, your ankle fracture is much less severe and should heal up fairly quickly.”

“Luckily?”

Stan placed a hand on Kyle’s arm to subtly deter him from taking attitude.

“Using crutches may be a bit of a challenge with your arm injuries considered, but you’ll get the hang of it. Once we get your paperwork finished up you’re free to head home and get some rest.”

“Thanks,” Stan said as he rubbed Kyle’s shoulder sympathetically.

It wasn’t long before they were pulling up to their apartment building, both hesitating to acknowledge the upcoming challenge. Since the pain medications had mostly subsided, Kyle found himself legitimately concerned.

“How the hell am I gonna crutch my crippled ass up three floors?” he queried.

Stan only gave a knowing smirk.

“No way,” Kyle said firmly. “You’re not carrying me, Stanley.”

“And how are you planning on stopping me?” Stan teased.

“I can kick you with my left leg.”

“Yeah, right. Your left leg? The one with the knee that aches every time it rains?”

“Stop making me sound old.”

“You’re the one who tells me your f*cking knee acts up because of the weather. 26 going on 90.”

“At least I’m not 27 like you. Old man.” Kyle’s face sunk at the sudden remembrance of what day it was. “Wait, sh*t. f*ck, Stan, it’s still your birthday. I’m so sorry, dude. This is probably, like, the worst birthday ever.”

“Ky, no.” Stan leaned over to kiss him. “Not at all.”

“That’s sweet of you to lie, dude.”

“I’m not lying.” Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I think you must be forgetting my 16th...”

“Oh. When your dad was drunk and high off his ass and told you he was divorcing your mom right in the middle of the happy birthday song?”

Stan rolled his eyes. “That’s the one. Besides, how could this be my worst birthday when I’m about to carry my fiancé across the threshold?”

Kyle couldn’t keep a smile from crossing his cheeks. “Isn’t that supposed to happen after the wedding?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll still be carrying you after we get married.”

“I’m never gonna learn to use these crutches, am I?”

“Nope,” Stan said nonchalantly before hopping out of the car, walking around to the passenger side and scooping Kyle up bridal style.

The various casted body parts made the trip a challenge, but it was nothing Stan wasn’t up for. It made the feat feel all the more heroic. He was never happier than he was when he felt like Kyle’s knight in shining armor— and as stubborn as the latter was, he did not present such opportunities readily.

After gently setting his fiancé on the couch, Stan hurriedly opened up the prescribed medication vial.

“It’s time for your next dose,” he announced. “I don’t want you to start hurting any more than you already do.”

“Maybe not,” Kyle grumbled. “Pain meds really f*ck with my stomach.”

“I know…”

And Stan did know. The refusal of all pain relievers for Kyle’s bad knee that “acted up because of the weather” was hard to miss. Ironically, despite the redhead’s insistence, the chronic pain had nothing to do with weather patterns; it still acted up because Kyle refused to acknowledge the injury at its onset in high school. Avoiding proper treatment came back to bite him in the ass, but he apparently learned nothingfrom that.

“But this time is different,” Stan pressed. “You’re really hurt, dude.”

Kyle begrudgingly held his hand out for the pills. He was always hard-pressed to receive any kind of care for any kind of ailment, but he figured he’d be in a better position to avoid further doting sans the severe pain. As he placed the pills on his tongue, he noticed the judging eyes of their cat from across the room.

“I think Moose is afraid of my casts. He won’t come anywhere near me.”

“Do you really think he can tell the difference between casts and, like, the sleeves of a shirt? Maybe he’s just judging your fashion choices.”

“He can tell the difference… or maybe he’s weirded out because my arms are stiff as sh*t.”

“It kinda weirds me out too,” Stan teased before kissing his cheek.

“Oh, f*ck off.”

A long silence hung in the air as Stan rifled through the printed doctor’s notes.

“Hey… Stan?” Kyle hesitantly began.

“What is it? What do you need?” Stan readily questioned.

“I kinda feel really gross from falling in the dirt and sh*t…”

“I’ll help you clean up,” Stan offered with a genuine smile before Kyle even had the chance to formally ask.

Since standing wasn’t exactly convenient for Kyle at the moment, Stan drew a bath. The wrapping of three casted limbs in protective plastic was more of a task than either anticipated, but soon enough they were both settled into the warm water, Kyle leaning back against Stan’s chest while the latter massaged shampoo into his red curls. Aside from the obvious discomfort, Kyle felt more relaxed than he had in ages. He released a deep breath, leaning further into the soothing touch.

“You feel okay?” Stan asked.

He seemed to feel the need to check in about once every five f*cking minutes, which Kyle found equal parts adorable and annoying.

“Mhm,” Kyle answered. “Head hurts.”

“You didn’t look at your phone, did you?” Stan inquired with the urgency of life and death. “The doctor said you shouldn’t look at screens at all for at least 24 hours with your concussion and that you—”

“I didn’t check my phone, sweetheart. How could I? You put it in the kitchen and I can’t f*cking walk, remember?”

Stan breathed a sigh of relief, gently bringing a handful of water up to rinse Kyle’s hair.

“Right. Sorry. I’m just f*cking worried.”

“‘S okay,” Kyle murmured. “You’ll have to let me know what I’m missing in the group chat.”

“Marjorine is concerned as hell. She’s checked in on you like ten times. Kenny flipped sh*t when he found out but now that he knows you’re okay he’s just been making a sh*t ton of memes about you falling off a cliff. A lot of them also involve Life Alert.”

Kyle huffed out a laugh. “Sounds about right. And Cartman?”

“Being an asshole,” Stan groaned. “He said me carrying you to the hospital went against God’s plan. Apparently he thinks I should have left you at the bottom of the cliff.”

“You wish, fat*ss. But… it was really a hill, Stan, not a cliff. It wasn’t that dramatic.”

“Are you kidding? It was a cliff, dude. And it ‘wasn’t that dramatic’? Have you seen yourself?”

Stan sped up in his rinsing of Kyle’s hair, stress levels rising at the denial of severity.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” Kyle conceded. “Don’t take it out on my scalp.”

With a sigh, Stan returned to gentle running of his fingers through Kyle’s hair.

“You scared the sh*t out of me, you know that?” he said, voice quivering with emotion.

“I didn’t mean to fall…”

“I know, I just— I have nothing without you, Ky. You’re my whole f*cking life. I don’t know what I would’ve done if I… lost you. At first you weren’t waking up and I thought—”

“Hey, don’t do that. It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Stan pressed his lips to the top of his fiancé’s head.

“Don’t ever fall off a cliff again,” he muttered.

“Believe me, dude, I’ll try not to.”

Still basking in the lingering warmth of their closeness, Stan wrapped Kyle in a towel and sat him on the edge of the tub.

“I’ll get you some pajamas, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Kyle murmured.

Stan brushed the wet hair back from his partner’s forehead to get a better look at his expression. His pallor had worsened, eyes glossed over with discomfort.

“You look pale, Ky. Is something wrong? Are you hurting?”

Kyle shook his head.

“Are you sure?”

Kyle nodded.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll be right back.”

Contrary to what Stan was told, he returned not five minutes later to find Kyle leaned over the toilet, heaving miserably.

“Oh, sh*t… baby…”

Stan promptly set the pajamas aside to kneel behind his fiancé, rubbing small circles on his back.

“Why didn’t you call for me?”

“Because I’m—” Kyle tried to reply, only to be cut off by another wave of vomit. “—Because I’m fine.”

“Kyle,” Stan tried to say firmly, though he was wincing at the sounds of coughing and gagging. “You’re draped over the f*cking toilet with three broken limbs.”

“Only because you—” Yet another heave overtook him. “—You made me take the f*cking meds. I told— Oh god—” Kyle’s now-empty stomach failed to relent, sending him into a series of painful dry heaves. “—I told you this would happen.”

“I’m sorry, Ky. I didn’t think they’d make you this sick.”

Kyle hummed miserably, leaning weakly into Stan’s arms when his stomach finally granted him mercy.

“Wanna get in bed, baby?” Stan asked softly, squeezing him into a tight, comforting hug. “Think you got it all out?”

“Mhm.”

After helping Kyle into his pajamas and, much to Kyle’s chagrin, brushing his teeth for him to get the putrid taste from his mouth, Stan took the redhead into his arms yet again to transport him.

“You’re gonna get sick of carrying me,” Kyle mumbled, leaning into his chest.

“Not a chance,” Stan responded as set his fiancé on the bed.

His phone pinged several times during his process of carefully arranging of Kyle’s pillows.

“What am I missing now?” Kyle questioned, half-smiling but visibly bummed at being left out.

Stan flipped open his messages app before erupting into laughter. “Kenny asked how we’re gonna have sex now.”

He typed a quick response, then chuckled to himself as he tossed his phone onto the bed.

“What did you say back?”

“I told him you’ll just lay there.”

“Oh god,” Kyle groaned through light laughter. “We’re never gonna hear the end of this.”

Stan plopped down beside him, reopening the group chat once he was finally satisfied with the placement of Kyle’s myriad pillows.

“Kenny said ‘So the same as always.’”

“Tell him I’m coming to kick his ass.”

“I don’t think that threat means much right now, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the sentiment,” Stan teased. “Oh, Cartman’s yelling at as now. He said if he hears one more word about me ‘dicking you down’ that he’ll block us all.”

“Tell him I hope he does.”

“Marj is giving them both an earful about being nicer.”

“Thank god for Marj.”

They were interrupted by the sudden appearance of Moose, who settled himself in the center of Kyle’s chest.

“Hey, look who isn’t afraid of you after all,” Stan remarked. “I knew our son could never be scared of you, Ky.”

“Hey, Moose, I wish I could pet you, but I kind of can’t f*cking move.”

“He probably knows. He can always tell when you’re hurting.”

“Yeah, he does always do this when my knee is acting up because of the rain,” Kyle said, and Stan subtly smirked, rolling his eyes. “He usually lays right on my knee though. I wonder why he’s just on my chest.”

“Dude, which broken limb would he pick?”

Kyle huffed out a laugh. “Fair point.”

“You ready to get some sleep?”

“Yeah. I guess.”

Stan kissed his cheek before pushing himself upright. “I’m gonna get you some water first, okay? I don’t want you getting dehydrated.”

“Okay.”

After flashing another loving smile, Stan made his way toward the door.

“Hey, wait. Stan?”

“Yeah?”

He walked back over to sit beside Kyle, placing a hand on his chest— what little portion of it wasn’t covered by cat, anyway.

“I’m really sorry your birthday was… this.”

“Dude, what? This was pretty much the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

Kyle scoffed. “Should I take offense to that?”

“No. Ky—”

“I ruined the hike, we didn’t get to go out for dinner, I didn’t even get to give you your present—”

“Baby,” Stan cut him off. “It was f*cking great because I was with you. I don’t need fancy dinners or presents or any of that other stupid sh*t people do for birthdays.”

“Really?” Kyle asked with wide, teary eyes.

“Really,” Stan affirmed, leaning down to wrap his arms around him. “Getting to take care of you all day was the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

Chapter 36: sh*tty Superhero

Chapter Text

Kyle fumbled for the key to the front door. His trembling fingers sent the overfilled key ring falling to the ground and he laggardly scooped it off the doormat, bitterly muttering to himself. He wasn’t exactly thrilled about having had to spend a Saturday morning at the office, but that wasn’t all that unusual. Something else was nagging at him and he couldn’t exactly put a finger on it. He usually looked forward to returning home to his family more than anything, but today, being in the presence of three children sounded like a lot.

Perhaps he was simply exhausted. Caring for an infant on top of working a full time job was irrefutably draining no matter what, but it seriously felt like he and Stan’s youngest daughter never slept. Now over a year old, she still hadn’t made it through a single night. Kyle couldn’t remember if it was this difficult last time. What he did know was that Stan slept like the dead, so more often than not, the burden of midnight care fell on him.

Kyle’s face sunk the moment he walked through the door. Sure, he usually found Stan’s lean toward being the “fun dad” to be endearing, but today, something about entering to find a sink full of filthy dishes, a table covered in abandoned crafts and an unattended pot of macaroni boiling over made Kyle want to fall to the floor with his head in his hands. Come to think of it, his head ached like hell, and the cacophony of music and cheerful shouting in the other room wasn’t helping.

“Hey, Ky!” Stan greeted as he twirled into the kitchen, setting the baby in her high chair — which really needed to be cleaned. Two giggling girls followed closely behind him with homemade sock puppets on their hands.

“Daddy!” their eight-year-old exclaimed, rushing over and jumping into Kyle’s arms, weighing his exhausted form down.

“Hey, Ivy. I missed you.” Kyle kissed her head, subsequently setting her down to make room in his arms for her younger sister.

“How was your morning?” Stan asked as he walked over to give his husband a peck on the lips.

“Stan… your pasta…”

All Kyle could think about was the damn mess he’d inevitably be cleaning up from the stovetop.

“Oh, shi— I mean, darn,” Stan censored himself, rushing over to turn down the burner. “Sit down, babe, lunch is almost ready.”

The mere thought of food made Kyle clutch his turning stomach, but he complied nonetheless, taking a seat at the messy table.

“Daddy, look what I made!” the five-year-old shouted. “I made a sock puppet!”

“That’s awesome, Nora, it’s— Wait—” Kyle turned sharply to face Stan. “Are those my socks?”

“Oh, are they?” Stan pondered nonchalantly. “Sorry, dude, I thought they were my old ones.”

“Those were my nice work socks, Stan.”

“They’re just socks.”

Kyle sighed. “It’s fine.”

“This one’s name is Mr. Socky!” Nora continued, oblivious to her father’s fatigue. “He sings! La la la la!”

She flailed the puppet around as part of its performance, accidentally bumping her sister on the arm.

“Hey!” Ivy whined. “Nora hit me! Daddy, she hit me!”

“I did not! Mr. Socky hit you!”

The two erupted into a yelling match, the high volume of which sent their baby sister into a crying fit. Sounds of sobs and shouts spun through Kyle’s head, making him dizzier, making him feel like he might pass out or start crying harder than the baby. The din continued as Stan poured macaroni onto each plate with remarkable lack of precision, spilling pasta and cheese on the already overwhelmingly filthy table.

“Make her apologize!” Ivy kept on. “She didn’t say she was sorry!”

“Mr. Socky will sing a song to make you feel better,” Nora offered.

Mr. Socky did, in fact, sing an incredibly out of tune song while Ivy persisted with her tattling. Stan made an oblivious attempt to wipe up his mess but only made it worse. The baby’s wailing went on, and she smacked her bowl to the floor in protest of being ignored.

Yelling. Singing. Whining. Crying. A goddamn disaster everywhere that was getting worse by the second.

“Goddamnit!” Kyle shouted abruptly, shooting up from his chair. “For f*ck’s sake, can’t we get one f*cking second of peace and quiet around here for once?!”

His outburst effectively silenced the entire room. Every member of the family stared at him in disbelief. He sunk back into his seat with eyes tightly closed, colors dancing in his vision.

“Kyle…”

“Daddy said a bad word,” Ivy remarked.

“Daddy said a lot of bad words,” Stan amended, glowering.

“I— I’m sorry,” Kyle groaned, rubbing his temples. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just not feeling that great.”

“Okay,” Stan said tersely. “Bad day at work, or what?”

“Um… I…”

The corners of Kyle’s vision went blurry, words growing harder to find. His underlying sense of nausea suddenly clawed at his throat and next thing he knew he was on his feet, careening around the corner in a race to the powder room.

Stan wasn’t far behind. He sighed in pity as he took in the sight of his husband losing his breakfast, clutching the porcelain bowl with white knuckles.

“Oh… you’re sick,” he said softly, kneeling behind Kyle to rub his back.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you and the girls,” Kyle croaked out between retches.

Stan seemed to be paying little attention. His hand shifted from Kyle’s back to his forehead.

“sh*t, dude, you’re burning up.”

Letting out a miserable hum in lieu of reply, Kyle sunk back into Stan’s arms.

“It’s alright, Ky, let’s get you to—”

The baby’s crying suddenly resumed, interrupting Stan’s statement.

“f*ck. Okay, I’ll help you to bed and then I’ll get Florence.”

“Stan, I’ll be fine. Just go take care of Florry. I’m good.”

“Can you make it up the stairs?”

“I made it through five hours of work,” Kyle reminded Stan, though he breathed heavily through his words. “I think I can make it up a damn flight of stairs. I’m not dying.”

After carefully helping Kyle to his feet, Stan rushed back to the kitchen to tend to his youngest.

“Where’s Daddy?” Nora whined.

“Daddy’s feeling sick,” Stan explained as he scooped the baby into his arms. “We’re gonna let him get some rest.”

“A puppet show will make him feel better!” Ivy suggested.

“I don’t know about that...“

“But I wanna help!”

Stan reached out to pat her head as he crossed the room to the sink.

“You know what would be a really big help? Will you keep an eye on Florry while I bring Daddy some water?”

“Okay!”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Stan said with a smile as he set the baby back in her highchair along with a glass of milk to keep her occupied.

“Why is Ivy in charge?” Nora complained.

“I’m older,” Ivy bragged.

“But you don’t know how to change a diaper!”

“Neither do you!”

“Yeah I do so! I memorized all the steps!”

“Try to keep it down, girls,” Stan groaned, exiting the room without bothering to break up the argument. He really hoped Kyle couldn’t hear them from upstairs.

When he entered their shared room expecting to find his husband settled in and snuggled up, he instead found a still-perfectly-made bed with no inhabitant.

“Kyle?”

The faint sound of gagging and whimpering beckoned him toward the master bathroom. He sighed, entering swiftly when he heard a splash.

“Jesus, baby.”

Even through another miserable heave, Kyle managed to roll his eyes at Stan’s exclamation. The latter’s concern was far from uncalled for, though. Kyle looked bad — significantly worse than he had only a few minutes earlier. A sheen of sweat adorned his sickly pallor and his depleted red curls stuck messily to his forehead. His weak form was wracked with shivers between bouts of sickness, indicating that his fever had worsened.

Stan’s brows knitted tightly in concern. “You look like sh*t.”

“Thanks, dude,” Kyle snarked before spitting the putrid taste from his mouth. He slid down to lie flat on his back, releasing a groan of agony in the process.

“I brought you some water,” Stan informed him. “You need to stay hydrated.”

Kyle tilted his head up when he was handed the beverage, giving an addled expression that puzzled Stan.

“Dude...”

“What?”

“You put my water in a f*cking baby bottle?”

Stan grumbled something incomprehensible as he realized his mistake.

“Jesus, I’m a f*cking idiot. Ivy and Nora got into this damn argument and I was holding Florence in one arm while I was filling up the—”

“Sweetheart, it’s fine, but does that mean—”

Simultaneously interrupting Kyle and answering his question, the sound of shattering glass echoed from downstairs.

“I gave Florry your glass,” Stan finished the thought. “f*ck. That’s just what I need.”

“I didn’t do it!” they heard Ivy shout.

“Go clean up before someone gets hurt,” Kyle instructed.

“Let’s get you to bed first. You look f*cking awful.”

“No, there’s no point. I’m staying here.”

“I don’t want you lying on the damn floor when you’re sick like this, baby. I’ll bring you a bucket or—”

“Ow!” came a yelp from the kitchen, and then came sobbing.

“Ivy cut her hand!” Nora screeched. “Ivy’s bleeding!”

“Oh my god!” Kyle exclaimed, instinctively pushing himself upright, only for the rapid movement to send his stomach over the edge once again. He leaned over the bowl to lose whatever precious little remained of that morning’s meal. Stan tutted in pity, reaching out to stroke his husband’s hair.

“Stan!” Kyle ordered between dry heaves. “Go!”

“But you’re—”

“I’m fine! Our daughter might be f*cking bleeding to death, dude!”

Stan’s chest tightened at the mere idea of leaving Kyle to his own devices, but he anxiously hurried off to tend to their children.

“Ivy?” he called out as he jogged into the kitchen.

“I cut my finger on the glass,” she wept, lifting her small injury up for display. “Am I gonna die?”

Stan sighed deeply in relief upon discovering the very mild scrape. Kneeling before his daughter, he placed a kiss on the offending digit.

“Oh, sweetie, no. Of course not. It’s hardly bleeding, see? You barely even need a bandaid.”

“Nora helped,” said Ivy.

The younger beamed with pride as Stan turned to face her.

“Daddy taught me to put… pressure on the owie when it’s bleeding,” she explained. “He showed me how when he cut his finger with the avocado knife.”

“Wha— Daddy cut his finger with the avocado knife?! When?!” Stan questioned in retroactive panic.

“Oh… it was s’posed to be a secret. Daddy didn’t want you to make him go to the hospital.”

“I’m gonna have to have a word with him…” Stan said through gritted teeth. Shaking off the thought, he returned to the matter at hand. “Ivy, honey, how did you cut your finger? You know not to touch broken glass.”

The oldest’s eyes welled with tears again. “I didn’t want Nora to step on it and get hurt,” she answered. “I thought I could scoop it up without getting scraped. I just wanted my little sisters to be safe.”

“Hey, don’t cry, it’s okay. I’m not upset. I just want you to be safe too, okay?”

She nodded.

“You’re really brave, you know that?” Stan continued, squeezing her shoulder. “What do you say we all put on some shoes so we don’t hurt our feet and then we can clean up the rest of the glass with a dust pan? It should be under the sink.”

Nora darted over to retrieve it. “It’s not here!”

“It’s not? Maybe just use—”

An unmistakable thud from upstairs cut Stan off, effectively sending white-hot streaks of panic through his body.

“sh*t!” Stan shouted, instantly sprinting for the stairs. “sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!”

Though he mentally cursed himself for the use of profane language around the kids, he had much bigger problems at the forefront of his mind.

“What do we use?” Ivy called after him.

“I don’t know, use— use the vacuum!” Stan mindlessly yelled back just before bursting through the bedroom door. “Ky?!”

The room was still empty, so he hurriedly crossed to the master bathroom. He stopped cold in his tracks upon finding Kyle on his hands and knees, weakly and unsuccessfully attempting to pull himself upright by the knobs of the under-sink cabinet.

“What the hell are you doing?! Did you fall?! Did you pass out?! Are you hurt?!”

“Can we take one question at a time?” Kyle murmured with a subtle smirk.

“I’m dead f*cking serious, Ky, do I need to take you to the hospital?”

After posing his question, Stan hooked his own arms beneath Kyle’s to assist the latter to his feet.

“No,” Kyle tersely replied, clutching the sink for dear life. “Didn’t pass out. Just— I just need to— to catch my breath.”

“What happened, baby?” Stan softened, gently rubbing between Kyle’s shoulder blades. His concern only grew upon contact. He could feel the excessive heat radiating through his husband’s wrinkled, disheveled button-up shirt.

“I just wanted to brush my damn teeth. I got dizzy or something. I don’t f*cking know. My knees just pretty much gave out.”

“f*ck. You should’ve waited for me.”

Kyle groaned, and Stan had known him long enough to understand what that meant — Kyle knew Stan was right, but he was too proud to admit it.

“Is Ivy okay?” the redhead asked after a moment of silence.

“Yeah, dude, she’s fine. She tried to clean up the glass with her hands.”

“What? Why?! Did you tell her she could do that?!”

“Of course not! I’m not f*cking stupid!”

“I know, sorry. f*ck, I just feel like f*cking sh*t.” Kyle clutched his aching head. “Wait… do you hear that? Are the kids f*cking vacuuming?”

“I’ll worry about that. You just rest. Come on.”

Stan scooped Kyle up bridal style and was, surprisingly, met with no complaints. The redhead kept his arms around Stan’s neck even after being placed on the bed. Smiling to himself, Stan placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Let’s get you changed into something more comfortable, yeah?”

Rifling through the closet, Stan located a soft t-shirt and sweatpants for his ailing husband. He proceeded to assist Kyle in unbuttoning his current top. Unsurprisingly, though, he was interrupted yet again when Kyle urgently shot up to a seated position.

“f*ck!” Stan exclaimed, quickly reaching for the trash bin beside their nightstand. Kyle pushed it aside, however, instead taking a deep whiff of the air.

“Dude, I smell something burning,” he stated with worry in his voice. “Is something burning?”

With no hesitation this time, Stan hurried back downstairs to find the source of the smell.

“Girls?” he called as he passed through the living room.

He discovered his two older daughters standing on either side of the vacuum with bewildered expressions. He, himself, was equally confused as to why billows of dark smoke were being emitted from the machine.

“The vacuum isn’t working,” Nora informed him. “I think it’s defec— defecative.”

“Defective?”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe… maybe you can’t vacuum glass,” Stan muttered, mostly to himself. “Let’s just get this out to the garage. I’ll fix it later.”

“You know how to fix stuff?” Nora questioned, skeptical.

“Uncle Kenny will fix it later,” Stan corrected himself before moving the broken vacuum out to the garage and more importantly, out of sight.

On his way back through the mud room he could have sworn he heard an exclamation of “sh*t” echo from the kitchen. He was ready to advise his children not to use bad language, but upon entry, he got a straight-on view of the actual offender — not his older children, but the baby once again uttered the word “sh*t.”

“Florry said her first word!” Ivy cried, jumping up and down.

“Oh my god, what? Where did she… hear that?”

“You said it!”

“Four times,” Nora added.

“Right…”

“Can I tell Daddy?!”

“Let’s… hold off on that one for a minute,” Stan answered, cringing. “Maybe you guys can help me make some soup in a second. Stay out of trouble while I run upstairs again, okay?”

“We always stay out of trouble,” Ivy assured him, though that was far from the truth.

Stan was willing to accept that answer anyway considering his ever-growing worry for Kyle. He was fairly certain his heart couldn’t break any further when he entered their bedroom to discover the redhead with his head hung miserably over the bin in his lap, tears staining his cheeks.

“Oh, Ky…”

“I’m fine,” Kyle mumbled as he lazily transferred the trash can to his bedside table. “Is the house on fire, or…?”

“No, but, uh, what would happen if you vacuumed up a sh*t ton of glass? Just… hypothetically.”

“The vacuum would be non-hypothetically f*cked, dude. Don’t tell me you did that.”

Stan was silent. Kyle raised his eyebrows.

“Jesus, Stan. My mom just gave me that for my birthday.”

“To be fair, a vacuum is kind of a sh*tty gift,” Stan teased.

Kyle stared blankly.

“I’m sorry, Ky, okay? I’ll see if Kenny can fix it.”

“He definitely can’t,” Kyle stated as he pulled another blanket over his shivering arms.

“I’ll buy you a new one. All we need to worry about right now is fixing you. Maybe I should take your temperature. You look worse.”

“Okay.”

The lack of protest was extremely concerning. Stan wanted to take quick action, but he had an important question, the mere thought of which made him wince.

“Um… where do we keep the thermometer, dude?”

“f*ck, I’ll get it myself.”

Stan pressed a hand against Kyle’s chest before he could step out of bed.

“No, no, Ky, don’t get up.”

Kyle released a deep breath of fatigue. Tenderly stroking back his husband’s hair, Stan offered a half-smile as a tacit apology for his lack of organization.

“We’re gonna cook soup!” Ivy cheerily announced from downstairs, effectively bringing a new wave of concern to their tender moment.

“They better not be using the stove, I swear to god,” Kyle bemoaned.

“They wanted to help me make soup.”

“Help you make soup. They can’t make it alone, for f*ck’s sake. I can’t eat anything anyway, Stan. I’d rather f*cking die than eat.”

“Christ.”

Bringing further chaos, the baby abruptly entered another fit of bawling.

“Have you changed her diaper lately?” Kyle asked.

“No, I mean— between taking care of you and everything with Ivy and Nora I’ve been—”

Kyle cut Stan off with a half-assed shooing motion.

“Just go, sweetheart,” he urged. “This day isn’t gonna get any better if we leave Florry crying and let Ivy and Nora burn the house down with the stove.”

“Okay. Alright. I’ll be back.”

A few minutes later, the cacophony of shouting, crying and arguing over god-only-knows-what were still keeping Kyle from any solace between bouts of sick. The sharp reverberation of each sound swirled around his head, intensifying the ache and making the room spin around him. He tried closing his eyes, but it only made the sensation more unbearable. Pressing a pillow over his face failed to drown out the noise, and unfortunately failed to smother him to death either. It was impossible to go on like this anymore. It was time to call in reinforcements.

Working on his unsolicited soup with assistance from the girls, Stan was surprised to hear a knock at the door a short while later.

“Hey gang!” said a familiar voice. The guest apparently felt no need to wait for an invitation.

“Kenny?” Stan questioned.

The blond crossed the threshold to the kitchen and held out his arms expectantly.

“Uncle Kenny!” the kids cheered, leaping into his embrace.

“Dude, what are you doing here?” Stan pressed.

“I don’t know, isn’t somebody dying or something?” Kenny asked in a teasing tone.

“Huh?”

“I don’t know, dude, Kyle sent us a text that said ‘help’ and then he wouldn’t respond again. Actually, technically the message said ‘hekp’ but I figured that just meant the need for help was all-the-more urgent.” He smirked. “Marj is really worried.”

“Oh… yeah. Kyle’s sick as hell.”

“He alright?”

“I think so, it’s just… I kind of have my hands full.”

“Then it’s settled, dude.” Kenny clapped cheerfully. “How would you kids like to spend the day with Uncle Kenny and Aunt Marjorine?”

“Yeah!” Ivy exclaimed.

“I want to! I want to!” Nora added.

“You really don’t have to do that,” said Stan.

“Come on, I want to,” Kenny insisted. “Besides, Aunt Marj made a fresh batch of chocolate chip cookies that aren’t gonna eat themselves.”

“God, Kenny, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Kenny said as he lifted the baby from her high chair. “I’ll spout some spicy ideas when the kids aren’t around.”

He herded the girls toward the front door and Stan huffed out a laugh, flipping Kenny off when all other eyes were in the other direction. The latter returned the gesture.

“Seriously, thank you,” Stan reiterated before the door closed behind them.

Suddenly, the house was remarkably silent in the best way. He took a deep breath and made his way back to Kyle’s side, finally prepared to give him the care he deserved.

“Hey, baby,” he softly greeted.

Kyle rolled over to face him.

“Hey. It’s so quiet all the sudden. What’s going on down there?”

“Kenny saved my ass,” Stan replied honestly as he plopped down on the other side of the bed. “He and Marj took the girls for the day.”

“Thank god. I… may have texted him.”

“He told me. He said you sent ‘hekp’ then wouldn’t answer again.”

“Well, it was supposed to say ‘help’,” Kyle said, offering a tired smirk. “And I got too f*cking dizzy to look at my phone again after that.”

“God, Ky, you haven’t been this sick in a long time,” Stan remarked as he gently ran his thumb across his husband’s cheek. “Good thing I’m all yours now. Do you need anything?”

“Just stay here,” Kyle answered, and Stan gladly took the redhead into his arms. “I just wanna lay with you and not get interrupted by any screaming or injuries or glass vacuuming.”

“Sounds doable,” Stan teased before planting a kiss atop his head.

“I can’t believe the way Ivy’s turned into you. Goddamn martyr complex… picking up glass with her bare hands to protect her sisters, trying to clean and cook before you got back downstairs to help…”

In spite of the snarky comment, Kyle squeezed his arms even tighter around Stan’s waist.

“Yeah? Well, Nora is you,” Stan stated. “Using big words she can barely pronounce all the damn time, memorizing the steps to a diaper change… You know she stopped the bleeding on Ivy’s finger? She remembered how to do it. I guess you showed her, and we’re gonna have a talk about that when you’re better, but I’ll let it slide for now… “

“Damnit, she promised she wouldn’t tell you.”

“Terrible liar, but I swear to god, that kid is already smarter than me.”

“Definitely,” Kyle jested.

“I’ll tell you something else if you promise you won’t get mad.”

“Alright, I won’t get mad.”

Stan knew that very well could be a lie, but he proceeded nonetheless.

“So, Florence said her first word…”

“Oh my god, what?!” Kyle perked his head up. “I missed it?! Well, why would I be mad about that? What did she say?”

“She said, um… ‘sh*t’,” Stan hesitantly admitted.

He felt his chest clench as a moment passed in silence, but Kyle soon burst into hysterical laughter. Once the shock subsided, Stan joined in.

“Jesus, that is— she is our daughter, huh?” Kyle said, still giggling.

“And she had just heard me say it — four times, apparently. Nora was counting.”

“Of course she was.”

“I kinda flipped out when I heard you fall. Which, was my fault, really.”

“What? How? I was the one who tried to stand up when I knew damn well I couldn’t see straight.”

“I did a really sh*t job of taking care of you today, that’s why,” Stan said sadly.

“Hey, no. You had a lot on your plate, sweetheart. You were running up and down the stairs all day like a damn superhero.”

“A really sh*tty superhero,” Stan scoffed.

“Fine, dude,” Kyle hummed. “But you’re my sh*tty superhero.”

Chapter 37: Demotion

Chapter Text

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice, fine humans and elves of Zaron,” Cartman droned, pacing before the gathering of peers. “Kneel before me and I shall inform you of the tragic news.”

Only Butters genuflected.

“What?” Craig deadpanned.

“Kneel before the Grand Wizard of the Kingdom of Kupa Keep and then I shall make my announcement,” Cartman reiterated.

“We have to kneel for you to tell us the news?” Tolkien questioned.

“Pay your respects to your Wizard King, and only then shall you receive the gift of knowledge.”

“Dude, just tell us,” Stan pressed, rolling his eyes.

“If you wish to hear such treasured information—”

“I’m not doing it,” Craig flatly interrupted.

“Goddamnit you guys, just get on your f*cking knees and— God f*cking damnit,” Cartman muttered, dropping his old-timey intonation. “Get off the f*cking ground, Paladin Butters, for f*ck’s sake. You’re embarrassing yourself.” After punching his only loyal servant in the arm as an outlet for his anger, he resumed his previous formalities. “Fine. I shall share the details of this tragedy without requiring you bow down, but only because I changed my mind and no longer wish to see you on your knees. It’s not because you guys don’t want to or because of anything else you guys did. It’s only because the Grand Wizard himself would prefer—”

“Just g-g-ge-get on with it,” Jimmy urged.

“The human and elven kingdoms must come together in solidarity, for our common enemy, the evil Warrior Clyde, has once again gotten his grubby little dick-stroking hands on our precious Stick of Truth.”

There were gasps and murmurs among the crowd.

“Dude, you promised you would keep it safe this time,” Stan complained.

“Don’t put this sh*t on me! Scott Malkinson is the one with his ass on the line! He was supposed to be on watch duty!”

“I had to go home for a dose of insulin,” Scott explained.

“If the Stick is not returned to my hands by 10pm sharp, better known among those in the kingdom as ‘bedtime,’ I will have no choice but to permanently banish Scott Malkinson from space and time.”

“What?! But my Lord, I—”

“No excuses, asshole. If you don’t wanna get banished, don’t be so goddamn diabetic next time.”

“Yes, my Lord,” Scott mumbled, hanging his head low in defeat.

“We must rally the troops,” Cartman continued. “Craig the Thief and Tweek the Barbarian, I instruct thee to recruit the kids from Theatre Club.”

“Theatre Club?” Craig parroted. “We don’t know those kids. I’ve never even talked to them. Why the hell do you want us to recruit them?”

Cartman sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re gay, Craig. Theatre Club is your domain. I can’t f*cking believe I still have to explain this sh*t to you.”

“Whatever.”

“Tolkien the Cleric, I wish for you to recruit… the basketball team.”

Tolkien rolled his eyes. “How did I know that was coming?”

“Cartman, you’re such a moron,” Stan remarked.

“Sir Stanley Marshwalker,” Cartman went on, unbothered. “I order you and— Wait… where the hell is your boyfriend, Marshwalker?”

Stan looked around and suddenly realized Kyle was nowhere to be found. His chest tightened with guilt that he hadn’t noticed sooner.

“Dude, I don’t know where Ky— I mean… who’s my ‘boyfriend,’ Cartman?” Stan caught himself. He knew, of course, that his frenemy was referring to Kyle. Everyone knew that, but moving past the comment with no acknowledgement was a line Stan was afraid to cross. They really were just best friends. It was just that no one else really… understood how super best friendship worked. That was all.

“The High Jew Elf King, dumbass! Where the hell is he?”

“I… I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since school yesterday.” Worry stirred in Stan as he processed just how unusual that was. “sh*t, he hasn’t texted me since last night either…”

“Goddamn, and you’re not sh*tting yourself over it? Is this even real life?” Cartman mocked. “Someone pinch me, is this a f*cking dream or something?”

Butters did as he was told, reaching over to pinch his leader’s arm.

“Ow!” Cartman screeched before whacking the blond with his staff. “f*ck you, Butters!”

“Gee, I’m sorry, Grand Wizard,” Butters yelped.

“Sir Marshwalker, I command you to locate the Jew and bring him to me. Make haste. I insist you both stand before me by the time the clock strikes 1pm… better known among those in the kingdom as ‘when my mom calls me in for lunch’.”

“Alright,” Stan replied, more focused on real-life concerns at this point. He turned on his heels and was on his way in an instant. He really didn’t need any push to go check in on Kyle.

“That’s ‘yes, Your Majesty’ to you, asshole!” Cartman shouted at his back.

Stan ignored the scolding entirely.

A short walk down the street brought him to the Broflovskis’ front door, where he knocked lightly but received no answer. He knocked a bit louder, still to no avail. With all the energy he could muster, he pounded on the door. Still nothing.

Great. Cool. He was officially panicking at this point.

Luckily, he knew where his honorary second family kept their spare key. After rifling through the bed of rocks beside the porch for a moment, he located the fake in which the key was hidden. He wasn’t thrilled at the idea of breaking and entering, but he was even less thrilled at the idea of… whatever was going on with Kyle. It couldn’t be good. He never missed emergency meetings during a Stick of Truth game.

“Kyle?” Stan called out as he crossed the threshold.

Silence.

It wasn’t unusual for Gerald to be working on Saturdays and the absence of Ike and Sheila could be explained by the kindergarteners’ art fair that day… but Kyle should have been home.

A subtle stir on the second floor drew Stan’s attention. Tensing more and more by the second, he hurried to Kyle’s room.

“Kyle? Dude, are you here?”

With no reply to be heard, Stan decided he might as well enter uninvited. Hell, he had gotten this far. He walked inside and scoffed when he found Kyle fast asleep in his bed.

“Kyle, what the hell?” he shouted, loudly enough to jolt his best friend into the air. Kyle sighed as he calmed from the startle, pulling the comforter to his chin.

“Hey, Stan,” he murmured.

“Dude, you scared the sh*t out of me. Why are you still in bed? You know it’s past noon?”

Kyle nodded weakly.

“The Wizard King summons thee, my Lord,” Stan resumed in character now that he knew Kyle was alive and well. “The Stick of Truth has fallen into the hands of the evil Warrior Clyde.”

Kyle neglected to respond, staring blankly as though Stan were speaking to him in a foreign language. As the latter marched over to get a better look at him, he realized his initial assessment may have been inaccurate. Kyle was alive, but he didn’t look well at all. His complexion was paler than usual, accentuated by dark circles beneath his unfocused eyes. Frankly, he looked sick as hell.

“What ails you, my Lord?” Stan continued as Ranger Marshwalker. He hoped the act might perk his friend up. “Are you unwell?”

“I don’t feel like playing,” Kyle croaked out, face twisting with discomfort.

Stan furrowed his brows in worry. Kyle must have really felt like sh*t. The reason for concern was solidified when he coughed aggressively with a rattling sound in his chest that made Stan wince.

“Dude, are you okay?” Stan asked as he placed a hand on his forehead.

Way too warm.

“I don’t know,” Kyle said weakly. “I don’t feel so hot.”

Stan sympathetically brushed a few strands of hair from his eyes, the action leaving his hand damp with sweat. He not-so-subtly dried it on the sheets just as Kyle entered another coughing fit. He officially felt terrible for not being there sooner.

"My whole body f*cking hurts," Kyle muttered, shivering.

If he was admitting an ailment, he must have felt like absolute hell. Stan’s stomach turned at the thought.

"You want some soup or something? I can make you some— er, put some in the microwave if you have it.”

“No.” Kyle cleared his throat. “If you don’t get back to the kingdom soon Cartman will demote you again.”

“I don’t know if you should be home alone, dude.”

“I’m fine. I just wanna sleep.” Kyle punctuated the statement by rolling facedown into his pillow. “My mom will be back soon anyway.”

“But Kyle—”

“You must retrieve the stick, Sir Stan,” Kyle humored his friend, though with little conviction. “That is not a request, but an order.”

Stan sighed. “Your wish is my command… but should you require my assistance at a later time, send a carrier pigeon and I shall make a hasty return… I mean, like, text me if you need me, okay?”

“Yeah.” Kyle sniffled. “Yeah, I will.”

Reluctantly, Stan headed back to Cartman’s house. His focus was lost, but at least he knew Kyle was breathing. He entered Cartman’s makeshift “castle,” met with crossed arms and an angry expression.

“What the f*ck, Stan?” Cartman jeered. “It’s goddamn 1:20. You directly disobeyed my orders, dickbag. What gives?”

“It is with a heavy heart I inform you that the Elf King has taken ill.”

“Oh Jesus Christ, of course he has. You elves and your ‘King’ and his sh*tty ass immune system…”

“Well gee, I’m not surprised, what with the chill in the air and all,” Butters remarked. “Is he alright?”

“The chill in the air? Who are you, my f*cking grandma? We’re done talking about that sickly Jew. Ranger Marshwalker, I instruct you and the insubordinate ass paladin beside me to scope out Stark’s Pond. I saw on Clyde’s TikTok that he— I mean, I shot down one of Clyde’s carrier pigeons and discovered he’s training an army of sixth graders. God only knows what he’s offered them in return…”

“Oh no!” Scott gasped. “We can’t fight the sixth graders!”

“Shut up, Scott Malkinson, no one gives a sh*t what you think. Stan, Butters, if my sources are correct, you can find the army training near the bench at Stark’s Pond. We must find out what we’re dealing with. Report back as soon as possible on weaponry and the size of the army. Their numbers could be as great as… twelve.”

“Gah!” Tweek squawked, twitching to the side in a whiplash-inducing manner. “We’re all gonna die!”

“Ye of little faith, shut the f*ck up!”

“Come on, Butters, let’s go,” Stan urged. He really wasn’t in the mood for Cartman’s power trip.

“What if the sixth graders see us spyin’ on them and they kick our asses?” Butters queried as they exited the tent.

“They won’t see us, for we shall utilize our powers.” Stan handed the other a light blue Gatorade. “Consume this potion and be granted one hour of stealth. If the army pays any mind to us whilst we’re under the spell, the Stick falls into our hands. Because that’s cheating, and if Clyde cheats he has to give us the Stick.”

“You’re a genius!”

Ordinarily, Stan would have appreciated the compliment, but his mind was elsewhere. They were passing Kyle’s house, and… what if Kyle wasn’t okay? He shouldn’t have been home alone. He seemed too sick for that. A little check-in wouldn’t hurt, would it? It would only delay the pair a few minutes.

Stan hadn’t even realized he had already stopped in his tracks until Butters dared to comment.

“…You alright there, Sir Stan?”

“I… kinda think I should check on Kyle.”

“Again?”

“You didn’t see him, dude. I really don’t feel like he should be alone.”

“What about the Grand Wizard? If I don’t fulfill my mission he’ll banish me from space and time, and if I get banished from space and time I’ll get grounded!”

“We’ll still fulfill the mission. I just need like ten minutes, okay? Wait out here and stand guard. I’ll be right back.”

Stan rushed inside before he could be met with any further protest. Kyle’s parents had clearly still not come home, and despite what Kyle had assured Stan, he was not sleeping. Instead, he stared blankly at the wall with his shivering figure wrapped in what must have been at least five blankets. His half-lidded eyes trailed over to the door.

“Dude,” Stan uttered, concern seeping into his tone.

“Hey,” Kyle rasped before practically hacking up a lung.

“You look worse.”

“You came back to tell me I’m ugly?”

“I came back because you’re, like… not okay. Does your mom know how sick you are?”

Kyle shrugged as Stan approached him. The latter placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“She had sh*t to do. It is what it is. She didn’t need to sit here and watch me sleep, or whatever.”

“Well, you said you were going to sleep but you’re clearly not. What’s wrong?”

“It’s not because I feel bad. It’s just because it’s so goddamn freezing in here.”

Looking to the thermostat then returning his focus to Kyle, Stan raised an eyebrow. “It’s 72 degrees in here… and you’re under like seven blankets… and you’re wearing your hat and coat…”

He shifted his hand from Kyle’s arm to rest against his cheek. The moment was soft and tender— much more so than either of the boys was used to— but Stan didn’t mind the closeness. Worry did strike him, though, over the obvious rise in his best friend’s temperature.

“I think the thermostat’s broken,” Kyle complained. “I’m gonna freeze to death.”

“Freeze to death? Dude, you’re on fire.”

Kyle shook his head in protest, but he seemed to be at a loss when it came to arguing his point. That was a first.

“Have you taken anything for your fever?”

The redhead released an exasperated sigh. “…No, I haven’t.”

“I’ll be right back,” Stan announced, hurrying off to rifle through the Broflovskis’ medicine cabinet.

He located some ibuprofen, then stopped by the kitchen to grab a damp cloth and pour a glass of orange juice. Having known Kyle practically his entire life, Stan knew there was nothing else he’d drink while under the weather. Kyle’s face lit up immediately upon sighting the beverage. Stan couldn’t help but smile back.

“You brought me orange juice?”

“And ibuprofen,” Stan added as he placed two pills in Kyle’s hand. The latter tossed them in his mouth before sipping the juice, arm visibly trembling with weakness. Stan kept a hand beneath the glass, just in case. As Kyle’s muscles fatigued and began shaking more intensely, his best friend took full hold of the cup on his behalf.

“Thanks, Stan,” Kyle said quietly. His cheeks were red from embarrassment, or perhaps from fever. Likely a combination of both.

“Want another sip?”

Kyle nodded, so Stan brought the glass to his lips once again.

“Think you can keep it down?”

“I think so.”

“Good. My mom says fevers make you dehydrated.”

There was a short pause as Stan gently laid the cold cloth across his forehead.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing a mission for Cartman or something?” Kyle questioned. “I know damn well he’d banish you from space and time if he knew you were here.”

“Maybe the Wizard King sent me here with instructions to look after you, my Lord.”

“I’m not delirious enough to believe that.”

“It was worth a try,” Stan teased. “I may actually have Butters waiting outside...”

“Then go, dude. I said I’d text if I need you.”

“You promise you will?”

“Yeah, whatever. Go before Cartman finds out you were here.”

“Okay, okay,” Stan conceded, knowing he was very unlikely to hear anything from his very stubborn friend. “I’ll talk to you later.”

As he left the house, he was surprised to be met not only by Butters, but by Cartman and a large portion of his army as well.

“I had to see it to believe it!” Cartman screeched.

“I’m sorry for telling on you, Sir Stan,” Butters anxiously apologized. “I-I just can’t afford to get demoted again.”

“You just had to go suck off your boyfriend right in the middle of the most important mission you’ve had all week, didn’t you?”

“Gross, dude,” Stan grumbled. “I just needed to—”

“Be silent, gaywad! Your days under the title ‘Sir Stanley Marshwalker’ are over. Seeing as the punishment should fit the crime, I hereby formally demote thee to ‘Sir Stanley Dicksucker’.”

“That’s not a demotion,” Craig commented without looking up from his phone.

“f*cking excuse me, Craig?”

“It’s not a demotion. His title is exactly the same. You just gave him a different last name.”

“I’m the goddamn Wizard King, Craig! If I say it’s a demotion it’s a f*cking demotion!”

“Whatever.”

“If Butters and I fulfill your stupid mission, then can I have my name back?” Stan asked, mildly irritated.

“That’s ‘can I have my name back, Your Excellency’ to you!” Cartman jeered. “And no, you f*cking can’t, because I already sent Jimmy and Tweek out to take care of your f*cking mess. In order to regain your title, you’ll have to attend to every matter referenced here.”

Cartman snapped his fingers, which prompted a visibly nervous Butters to hand Stan a piece of paper. Upon skimming the document, Stan huffed out an indignant laugh.

“You’re giving me a goddamn list of demands?”

“Don’t you f*cking dare disrespect me!” Cartman yelled. “That is a formal order issued by the office of the Grand Wizard! Each item on that list is an honorable royal task, not a demand.”

“Dude, it says ‘List of Demands’ right at the top.” Stan turned it around for display.

“Oh, sh*t, does it? Butters, goddamnit, I told you to write— What the f*ck ever, that’s beside the point. As you can see, item number one on the list is a new mission, which I expect you’ll have accomplished by sundown.”

“Recruit the girls?” Stan read aloud. “f*ck no!”

“I thought you might say that, which is why I’ll be escorting you personally, Sir Dicksucker. Shall we?”

Cartman flashed a sinister smirk and Stan reluctantly complied, ushered down the road by his frenemy’s “Royal Guard.”

The trek was as long as it was silent, everyone afraid to further cross a moody Cartman.

“Why do I have to be the one to do this?” Stan eventually dared to question.

“Connections,” Cartman answered. “That whor* Wendy won’t even answer my goddamn texts, but I know she’ll talk to you. God only knows why...”

“Wendy and I broke up, dude.”

“Yeah, yeah. You always do. But this isn’t about you, Sir Dicksucker, this is about the fate of Zaron. If getting back together with her is what it takes, you’ll damn well do it.”

“I’m not getting back together with Wendy.”

“Selfish asshole.”

Before Stan could quip a reply, a ping from his phone caught his attention. His heart dropped to his stomach as he tried to make sense of Kyle’s one-word message: “Stan.” He abruptly stopped walking.

“The hell are you doing?” Cartman griped. “My time is really goddamn valuable, you know.”

“I just got a message from Kyle.”

“You can look at his dick pics later. We have sh*t to do.”

“No, dude, I think I need to go over there.“

“Oh god. You can’t be f*cking serious.”

“I think a something’s wrong… I have to go.”

“Are you goddamn kidding me?! You can swing by to give him a quickie after you recruit the girls, asswipe! Unless you want another demotion—”

“I don’t give a sh*t,” Stan said flatly, already hurrying in the other direction.

“Then it’s settled!” Cartman screamed at his back. “You will henceforth be known as Sir Stanley Buttf*cker!”

“That’s still not a demotion,” Stan heard Craig comment, but at his rapid pace, it was only seconds before he was entirely out of earshot. The trip to Kyle’s house could have taken several minutes, but Stan made it there in an impressively short time.

“Ky?!” he shouted as he burst through the door.

Gerald and Sheila still weren’t home. Kyle’s earlier comment about his mom returning soon was an obvious lie.

“Kyle,” Stan repeated, this time with a quiver in his voice as stared down at his best friend, who sat limply on the floor beside the bed. Curled over himself, Kyle looked infinitely more exhausted than he had before. His limbs shook with fatigue, skin glistening with a layer of cold sweat.

“Hi,” Kyle murmured.

Stan hurriedly knelt at his side.

“Dude, what’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing, really.”

“Kyle.”

“Okay… I-I tried to get up for more juice,” Kyle confessed, eyes low. “I fell.”

“sh*t. Are you hurt?”

“No, but… I’m sort of… too dizzy to get back in bed on my own. I didn’t wanna text you but I—”

“—Kyle, Jesus. You’re really sick.”

“Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

There was a brief moment of silence.

“Okay,” Stan agreed, barely above a whisper. He reached out to steady his friend, guiding him to his feet. Nearly all Kyle’s weight fell against Stan, but thankfully he only needed to be guided a step or two backward onto the bed.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as Stan tucked the covers around him.

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad you texted me. What the f*ck else would you have done, stayed on the floor for the next hour until your mom got home?”

Kyle shrugged before coughing into the crook of his elbow. “Or longer. When I told you she was coming home soon, that wasn’t exactly true.”

“It wasn’t exactly true?”

“Okay, it was a total lie. But she’ll be back by like nine or ten tonight and I’m completely fine until—”

“Kyle!”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m staying.”

“What? No,” Kyle rasped. “You helped me back to bed. You can go play with the guys now.”

“Dude, no way in hell.”

“I’m not gonna be pissed if you go hang out with them, Stan. It’s not like I’m not… used to it.”

Stan’s face fell. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Well, you know…” Kyle sighed, resenting the way Stan’s teary puppy eyes pulled at his heart strings. “Last summer after my kidney transplant, it wasn’t like I ever got to hang out with you guys...”

“Oh, dude.” Stan subconsciously took hold of Kyle’s hand.

“Don’t look at me like that. I don’t want you to feel bad. It wasn’t anyone’s fault I had to be left out of everything, least of all yours.”

Feeling his lip begin to quiver, Kyle cursed the way fevers made him so weepy. Oh, well. It wasn’t like the day could possibly be any more embarrassing anyway.

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, everything was sh*t without you,” said Stan.

“You don’t have to say that,” Kyle muttered, struggling to fight back tears.

“I’m serious, dude. I got f*cking bullied all summer by, like, literally everyone except Butters.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I… never mind.” Stan evaded eye contact. He could feel his cheeks turning a dark shade of pink. “Forget I said anything.”

“You can’t do that. What were you gonna say?”

“Let it go, Kyle. It’s embarrassing.”

“More embarrassing than f*cking crying for no reason after having to text your best friend to come peel you off the floor like a goddamn pancake because you were too weak to move?”

“Yes.”

“Well now I have to know,” Kyle said with a smirk, wiping a stray tear from his cheek.

Stan bit his lip in a poor attempt to hide the smile creeping across his cheeks. “Fine, but you can’t make fun of me. I was just… I was sort of… crying all the time.”

“What? Why?”

“I was worried... about you. And I just missed you like hell all the time and I was constantly wondering if you were okay or if you were, like, in pain or something.”

“That’s not embarrassing,” Kyle said softly, rotating his hand to return Stan’s hold.

“Cartman thought otherwise.”

“Cartman’s a dick.”

“Yeah, well… it wasn’t just him.”

“All the more reason you should probably go back to the guys now. They’re gonna give you so much sh*t about this.”

"So what if they do? You need somebody to look after you."

“I’m not that sick, I really just—”

“Dude.”

“Fine.” Kyle sighed. “I feel awful.”

Stan smiled warmly. “Was that so hard to admit?”

“Yes,” Kyle jested, though he definitely meant it to some degree.

“So it’s settled. I’m staying.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. I already go demoted twice anyway.”

“Oh god, to what?”

“Sir Stanley Buttf*cker,” Stan grumbled.

Kyle couldn’t fight the urge to laugh, and Stan rolled his eyes.

“It’s not that funny.”

“Does Cartman know that’s not technically a demotion?”

“Dude, don’t get me started on that.”

Kyle took a deep breath to compose himself. “When I get back, I’ll use my powers as Elf King to reinstate you to your normal title, okay? It’s the least I can do.”

“Alright.” Stan’s lips curled into a smile. “Deal.”

Patting the place beside him, Kyle beckoned Stan to take a seat on the bed, and he readily did so. None of Cartman’s bullsh*t mattered when they had each other. In fact, nothing else in the world mattered when they were together. Kyle quickly drifted into a peaceful slumber, head resting on his best friend’s shoulder.

Chapter 38: Clandestine Meetings

Chapter Text

Kyle set one foot out of his carriage and already sighed in exhaustion at the damage his kingdom had taken, visible even in the dark of late evening. Repairs would be costly, but he tried to remind himself that money was of little importance in comparison to the matter that drove such a vicious battle. They had finally defeated the Wizard King. That was a cause worth celebrating, and it mattered far more than the facade of any building.

Two of Larnion’s most esteemed knights— Kenny and Tolkien— eagerly awaited his return at the castle’s gates. Kyle had been incredibly reluctant to abandon his post at such a dire time, but he had no choice. The Royal Guard had insisted he go into hiding. After all, it was the Elven King himself who the Grand Wizard sought to kill. Kyle had been ushered far away and travelled for days with little knowledge of the great battle’s outcome. A week in the dark was only a small price to pay, though. Both he and his beloved kingdom were finally safe. Considering that news, he couldn’t help but wonder why the faces before him were so sullen.

“It is true, then?” he asked his knights. “The Wizard King is no more?”

“Aye,” Kenny replied. “Powerless. A distant memory. I personally instructed him to go fornicate himself.”

“Thank gods.”

“Unfortunately, it could not be so without a price,” Tolkien solemnly added. “No battle can be overcome without loss, but in this instance the casualties were great.”

It was at that statement that Kyle’s chest tightened. His Head Knight was notably missing from the welcome wagon, and even in the most precedented of times his absence was atypical. The grim mood in such an hour of great victory could not have been without reason. Something was surely wrong.

“Where is Sir Stan?”

Kenny and Tolkien exchanged a look that sent daggers through Kyle’s heart.

“As you know, the valiant Sir Stan has never been one to shy away from the depths of battle,” Kenny started with hesitation in his voice. “He led our charge. He is to thank for our victory, but he… I’m afraid he was stricken by the halberd of the Wizard King himself. He took great damage to the abdomen.”

“Is he alive?!” Kyle cried out with such desperation that he scarcely recognized the sound of his own voice.

“Yes, but you must understand, he is not well. Our beloved medic Butters has been by his side day and night, but the wound was already infected when he was brought to the infirmary.”

It took every ounce of will in Kyle’s body to keep him from collapsing to his knees.

“Infected?” he pressed.

“I’m afraid he has fallen with fever. We feared him to be mortally wounded, but by strength he has held on.”

“Take me to him at once,” Kyle ordered. He typically prided himself on his kindness and gentleness even in such a position of power, but those traits were long gone when he feared for Stan’s very being.

“I will bring you to him,” Tolkien offered. “Sir Kenny must be off to train the young warriors.”

“Considering my grandeur, I have graciously stepped in to lead them in Sir Stan’s absence,” Kenny explained in a teasing tone. Unfortunately, his jests failed to brighten the king’s spirits.

“Thank you, Sir Kenny,” Kyle said absently. He held a glare on Tolkien, his expression urging the latter to escort him to Stan.

“Let us go to Sir Stan’s chambers,” Tolkien said, and Kyle immediately headed in that direction.

The walk there was utterly silent. Though a million questions circled Kyle’s mind, fear barred him from asking any one of them. He sighed shakily as the door to Stan’s chambers came into view.

“I will return in an instant if I can assist in any further matter,” Tolkien assured the king before leaving him to his own devices.

Kyle saw no purpose in further delaying the inevitable, so he burst forth into the room. Emotion caught in his throat as he took stock of the sight before him. Stan’s torpid figure appeared entirely drained of vitality. Illuminated only by dancing candlelight, the flush on his cheeks and the glisten of sweat on his forehead reassured Kyle that there was still life in him, though his shivers and sharp breaths evinced misery even in sleep. At his bedside, Paladin Butters softy hummed to himself as he dipped a rag in a basin of cool water, subsequently dabbing it along Stan’s forehead.

“Oh, hello, your majesty,” Butters acknowledged Kyle’s presence, suddenly rising from his chair to bow.

“Butters… how… how is he?”

“He’s a fighter, my lord. His wound is healing well, but the infection has shown little improvement. His fever rages every night, I’m afraid.”

“Has he been awake? Has he spoken to you?”

“He’s been in and out of consciousness since he returned from battle. H-he… he cries out for you in his sleep. His lady has been here often, but I believe he misses his dearest friend.”

The revelation made Kyle feel physically ill, and he was unsure whether the source of his nausea was the situation as a whole, his failure to return to Stan’s side sooner, or the prospect of being referred to as Stan’s dearest friend.

“Oh…” he barely whispered.

“K-Kyle?” Stan slurred, stirring uncomfortably.

The king rushed over to take his hand. “I’m here, Sir Stan.”

“It’s— it’s really you, my lord?”

“Indeed.” Kyle turned his head to face the medic. “Butters, could you kindly give us a moment alone… to— to discuss matters of the kingdom?”

“Well, certainly, but I ought to finish his treatment,” Butters responded.

“I will care for him in your absence.”

The medic nodded awkwardly, visibly gulping before he headed for the door.

“Y-your grace,” he croaked out as he craned back around to face the others.

“Yes?” Kyle huffed, eyebrows raised.

“I believe it may be my duty to say this…”

“Then on with it.”

Butters beckoned Kyle closer so as to speak at a volume Stan would be unable to hear. Though not without an eye roll, the king crossed the room to listen.

“I fear harm to your heart,” Butters confessed. “I… understand your closeness to Sir Stan as your Head Knight, but… at times it seems you possess… a deeper love for him.”

Kyle stared with his mouth agape for a painfully quiet moment.

“I fear you may be out of line.”

“Then so be it, my lord. In such emotional times, words may leave one’s lips with little thought. I would be remiss not to remind you of the harm a confession may cause to Sir Stan and to his dear Lady Wendy… and to you, most of all. I wish not to see you hurt, especially by your most beloved warrior. Some words are better left unsaid, your grace. You and Sir Stan are certainly closer than most in your positions, and neither I nor Sir Kenny see any wrong in that—”

“You and Sir Kenny have conversed on the matter?” Kyle scoffed, crossing his arms indignantly.

“Forgive me for that, your majesty. All I wish to say is that… lines which can never be uncrossed do exist.”

“Your concern is duly noted, Paladin, but I assure you, my relationship with Sir Stan is as I intend to keep it. I have no intention of crossing any lines which have not been crossed already.”

“Then I-I shall leave you to it,” Butters stammered before scurrying off.

Kyle stood perfectly still, pondering his own words until he heard the door shut. He did mean what he said, wholeheartedly. He truly had no intention of crossing any further lines with Stan… but that was only because there were no more lines to be crossed. What line could exist beyond the hundreds of passionate nights they had spent in that very room? Unbeknownst to the rest of the kingdom, Kyle’s protection was not the only purpose served by their bedchambers’ adjoining doors.

“Secrets to share, my lord?” Stan teased, a lazy smile crossing his cheeks.

“You know you needn’t use my title in the absence of others. There is no need for formality.”

“If there is no need for facade, then I must ask that you kiss me.”

Kyle hurried over to do just that, cradling Stan’s overheated cheeks in his hands. Their kiss was deep, passionate in spite of the latter’s chapped and faded lips. The way he tasted of strange herbs and medicines didn’t deter Kyle from leaning in again after a breath.

“Oh, Stan… you’re burning,” he said softly as he lowered himself into the chair beside the bed.

“I am alive. That is more than the medics anticipated.”

“Are you in pain, my dearest?”

Stan nodded, wincing. “I’m afraid so. They have stitched my wound shut, but it feels as though the weapon still resides within me.”

He leaned his head back, tightly closing his eyes in fatigue from the brief conversation.

“Sleep,” Kyle urged. “I will be at your side when you wake.”

An ache plagued his heart as he watched Stan drift back into troubled slumber. Despite the joy in victory over the Wizard King, the toll battle had taken on his beloved Sir Stan weighed heavily on him.

His worry only intensified as he waited vigilantly beside Stan, whose condition seemed to worsen by the minute. The knight tossed and turned in discomfort as his fever burned hotter in the late hours of night. His labored breathing became harsher and his complexion grew paler, a stark contrast to the flush of fever on his cheeks.

Careful and deliberate in every movement, Kyle dipped the rag into the basin of cool water, gently dabbing it against Stan’s fevered brow. Each touch brought a pang of anguish, as he desperately wished he could do more to ease Stan’s suffering.

“Help,” the fitfully stirring knight mumbled in his sleep. “The Wizard King— I’ve been— I’m struck—”

"Easy, Stan," Kyle hummed, his voice filled with concern. "You're safe. I am here with you."

Stan's delirious murmurs tugged at Kyle's heartstrings. The words were barely coherent, but perspicuously fueled by pain and fear. The king leaned in closer, his hand never parting from Stan's.

"You are no longer in battle, my brave one," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "I am right beside you, and under no circ*mstances will I leave."

As the night wore on, Kyle remained steadfast at Stan's bedside, worry etched so deeply into every line of his face that the threat of permanent wrinkles seemed quite realistic. Stan finally stirred awake just before the sun crested the horizon, his breaths coming in shallow gasps. Anticipation rose in Kyle’s chest as his knight’s glazed eyes fluttered open. The redhead leaned in closer, heart pounding with dread.

"My love? Can you hear me?" His voice trembled with concern as he tightened his grasp on the Stan’s hand.

Stan's gaze shifted slowly to Kyle, unfocused and dazed.

"Kyle? Is that you?" he questioned, voice hoarse from disuse.

"I am here," Kyle softly replied.

Shaking his head vigorously, Stan suddenly looked overwhelmed with concern.

“You should be in hiding, my lord,” he stated firmly. “You must go at once before the Wizard King arrives.”

“The battle is over, Stan. I have safely returned. I was at your side as you fell asleep.” The knit in Kyle’s brow deepened. “Does your memory fail you?”

Stan attempted to speak again, but his words were muffled by a cough that wracked his weakened body. He cringed at the sharp pain the exertion caused to his wound. Kyle quickly reached for a vessel of water and assisted him in taking small sips, hoping to soothe his parched throat.

"Thank you," Stan rasped, his voice barely audible. "I... I thought I was... dreaming."

"You were awake, My Stan," Kyle reassured him, eyes brimming with tears. "I have been by your side since dusk, and I will not be going elsewhere until you are well again."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Stan's lips, a fleeting moment of relief amidst the pain.

"I was lost without your presence,” he said breathily. “I... I need you."

"And you have me," Kyle promised, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of Stan’s hand. “I love you, my brave one, and I wish terribly that I could shout it openly to the kingdom.”

His candid statement hung in the air between them, the weight of unspoken truths lingering in the dimly lit chamber.

“I do often yearn to take hold of your hand in the presence of others,” Stan said wistfully.

“I fantasize about the same,” Kyle admitted with a warm smile. “I wanted nothing more than to be held in your arms at the Royal Ball, turning among the others who danced.”

“As did I.”

“I must also confess, I donned my finest robes that evening only with the hope you may take them off.”

A smirk crossed Stan’s flushed cheeks. “And that I did, my lord.”

“Our clandestine meetings are the joy of my very existence, but… I do long for a world in which we needn’t remain secret.”

“It is for the best that we protect your standing with the kingdom, my love. And in doing so, we protect the secrecy of the love Lady Wendy and Lady Bebe share.”

“But, my dearest, I can still dream.” Kyle’s lips curled upward as he lifted a hand to caress Stan’s cheek. “It’s quite a relief to see you so coherent. You gave me a terrible fright while you slept. How are you feeling?”

"I have been better. The pain has yet to subside, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Stan…” Kyle murmured, soul aching at Stan’s admission. “I will do everything in my power to ease your suffering.”

Stan’s gaze softened, gratitude evident in his eyes as he gave Kyle’s fingers a weak squeeze.

“Your presence alone brings me great comfort. I fear I may not have made it through the night without you at my side.”

Kyle felt a swell of emotion in his chest at Stan’s words. He was fiercely determined to see his beloved knight through this trial.

“You will survive this, Stan. You will heal, and I will be with you at every moment along the way. I am yours, completely and utterly.”

With those words, Kyle tightened his grip on Stan’s hand. He would not leave the knight’s side while they faced the trials ahead, as they were bound by a love that transcended secrecy and wounds of battle.

Chapter 39: Quarterback

Chapter Text

Kyle cheered wildly as he watched Stan— his Stan— celebrate a touchdown.

This was real life.

Stan was actually playing in the NFL. He had actually been drafted to the Broncos. He was the first openly gay quarterback in the history of the league.

Somewhere along the way, after Kyle and Stan left the insanity of South Park behind, their luck had turned. Kyle got to spend weekdays working his dream job in pro bono public defense law, and he got to spend every Sunday watching his talented boyfriend shine on the football field. Stan had led the Broncos to a win in their division, and with one playoff win already behind them, only two more victories would take them straight to the Super Bowl. At the mere thought of the joy that would bring Stan, Kyle’s lips curled so far upward he thought his cheeks might break.

Stan glanced up to the box seats with bright eyes and a million dollar smile, and Kyle knew that smile was for him. His own beam widened as one of the other players’ wives leaned over to share a celebratory hug. It was something strange to get used to at first, sitting in a private box with all the wives and girlfriends — not to mention various celebrities. He was pleasantly surprised, though, to be welcomed with open arms.

Something, however, had to interrupt the perfect moment, and it was the sound of a familiar grating voice.

“I know you can hear me, gaywad!” echoed from the seats just below the box.

Kyle was already rolling his eyes before he even looked down.

“What the hell do you want, Cartman?” he grumbled.

“Oh, it’s just Stan’s trophy wife!” Cartman jeered. “I thought it was Taylor Swift here to fawn over her boyfriend!”

“Dude, what are you doing here? How did you even find me?”

“Find you? America’s Sweetheart? All I had to do was look at the f*cking Jumbotron. They’ve showed you so many times I was starting to think this was a goddamn gay pride rally.”

“I didn’t ask for any media attention, Cartman. Stan’s just a really damn talented player who also happens to be breaking ground for the gay community.”

“The f*ck does that have to do with you? Is this a goddamn football game, or an episode of ‘Who’s Blowing the Quarterback’?”

“I’m just here supporting my boyfriend. If you hate it so much, stop coming to the games,” Kyle said flatly. “Why are you always here?”

“I’ve always been a Broncos fan, dickhole, but I’m starting to think I need to find a new f*cking team to root for! Maybe one that isn’t such a fa*g-fest!”

“Clearly you’re just jealous of Stan.”

“Jealous?” Cartman scoffed. “Of that literal buttf*cker? Hell no! Why would I be jealous of him?”

“I don’t know, because you couldn’t even make the college team?”

“f*ck you, Kahl!”

“Or because he has a $260 million contract and a $52 million annual salary while you still work at KFC?”

“For your information, I’m the assistant manager now, asswipe!”

Kyle feigned shock. “Oh, sh*t, so you must be getting paid, what, $53 million a year?”

“It’s better than your salary of goddamn nothing!” Cartman spat.

“It’s pro bono work, dude. That’s the whole point.”

“Right, if by ‘pro bono’ you mean a ‘pro’ football player is ‘boning’ you. That’s the only reason you’re not living in a soggy cardboard box on the street.”

“That is not true.”

“Isn’t it? If you weren’t getting dicked down by a quarterback, you’d probably be off in an alleyway, sucking some homeless dudes off for a few bucks to make rent.”

“You’re such an ignorant asshole.”

“Whatever, Miss Americana. How does it feel to be nothing more than a piece of ass?”

“You know what, you fat f*ck?! Don’t push me or I’ll climb down there and kick your sorry ass, I swear to—”

“Kyle,” a soft voice from beside him interrupted.

“What?” Kyle sharply questioned, still abrasive from his unfortunate encounter. It was only milliseconds, however, before his irritation turned to sheer panic.

Stan was on the ground and he wasn’t getting up. He was clutching his knee, writhing, and the other players looked concerned. Evidently, Kyle had missed something major.

“What the hell happened?!” he queried.

“A really bad tackle…”

“Oh my god!”

Without a thought in his head — like some kind of crazy person — Kyle found himself climbing out of the box, using Cartman’s shoulder as a stepladder.

“Get the hell off me, Twinkerbell!” Cartman screeched as Kyle gripped his head for balance, subsequently hopping to the floor.

The redhead wasn’t listening. He was already sprinting down the bleachers. He was making a beeline for Stan, and nothing would get in his way.

His heart pounded in his ears as he finally reached Stan's side, his mind consumed with worry. He paid no attention to the confused questioning from his boyfriend’s teammates or the coach’s shouts over how he ‘wasn’t allowed on the field.’

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" he asked, breathless, as he knelt beside Stan.

The latter winced in pain, but managed a forced smile. It didn’t fool Kyle one bit.

"I'm fine, baby,” Stan reassured. “Just a nasty hit.”

The agony in his eyes told a different story. With the assistance of a paramedic who seemed to have appeared from nowhere, Kyle helped Stan to his feet, supporting him as they made their way off the field. Kyle had never before seen this much fear on his boyfriend’s face. They both knew damn well he could lose it all, just like that. As they disappeared into the tunnel, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread gnawing at his insides. He hoped to god the injury wasn't serious.

“He can walk,” Kyle shakily remarked. “Th-that’s a good sign, right?”

“We’ll have the team physician take a look at him,” the paramedic replied.

Kyle nodded. “Okay.”

As they navigated through the tunnel and into the team's medical area, Kyle never released his tight hold on Stan’s hand. It would be fine. It had to be.

He managed not to freak out while the doctor poked and prodded at Stan’s knee, asking all manner of questions. He wasn’t sure how long he could bite down his concern, though, when he noticed Stan gripping his forehead, closing his eyes tightly and wavering a bit in his chair.

“…Stan, did you hit your head?” he finally asked. The doctor looked expectantly at the injured quarterback.

He only hummed in response, face twisting in discomfort until a wave of vomit suddenly spewed from his mouth. Kyle rushed to place a hand on his back, while the doctor’s priority was to shine a light in each of his eyes the second he stopped gagging.

“Both eyes are responsive, but your left pupil is larger than your right,” the physician reported. “You’ve most likely got a concussion.”

“Is he gonna be okay?!”

“He’ll be just fine, but I’m going to insist you take him home to rest right away.”

“No way in f*cking hell,” Stan griped.

“Stan!” Kyle scolded.

“They need me out there!”

“I’m afraid I can’t in good conscience allow you to play with a head injury and a sprained knee,” the doctor said firmly.

“Well, I need to stay on the sidelines! Even if I can’t play tonight I still—”

“A quick recovery is the number one priority, Marsh. I’m going to send you home on crutches, and you’re going to stay off that leg if you want any chance of making it back out on the field this season. I’ll give you some painkillers, and you know the drill. Ice, heat, ice.”

“You guys have obviously already won tonight anyway,” Kyle added. “You’re crushing them. If you wanna be there for the team, do that by getting better in time for the next game. Yeah?”

Stan sighed. “Fine.”

The drive home was deadly silent, Stan’s frustration and Kyle’s concern heavy in the air — that is, until Stan’s painkillers kicked in. Apparently, whatever the doctor sent him off with was strong as hell, because he seemed to let go of his grievances entirely, replacing bitter quiet with slurred words and eruptions of laughter.

Helping him crutch his way into the house was a chore, but Kyle couldn’t complain, as he had anticipated a sour mood from his partner all night. To the contrary, a very loopy Stan was nuzzling him before the door was even shut behind them.

“Carry me to the couch,” he mumbled into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck.

Kyle huffed out an indignant laugh. “Carry you? Sweetheart, you weigh twice as much as me.”

“No I don’t,” Stan slurred through giggles.

“Really? So you didn’t throw me over your shoulder and carry me down the stairs with one arm this morning?”

“I don’t remember.”

Stan suddenly leaned into Kyle with more weight and almost sent them both to the floor.

“—Jesus! Okay, come on, I’ll help you to the couch.”

Kyle couldn't help but chuckle at Stan's loopy state, grateful for the temporary reprieve from the tension. He still couldn't shake the image of his boyfriend's vulnerable moment on the field. It was a stark reminder of the fragility of their happiness, of how quickly their life could change. Everything was so perfect — too perfect — and it could all fall apart in a split second.

He really needed to stop thinking like that, but growing up in a f*cked up town like South Park had a way of tainting his mindset. Whenever things felt right, something always went wrong.

"Alright, dude, easy does it," Kyle said, gently guiding Stan onto the couch.

Stan flopped onto the cushions with a dramatic sigh. "Thanks, baby. You're the best nurse.”

Kyle smiled, tucking a blanket around him before kissing his forehead.

“I always wanted a sexy nurse,” Stan continued, teasingly.

"I’m not wearing one of those costumes, so don’t get any ideas.”

Stan grinned lazily. "Hey, what would I do without you?"

Kyle settled down beside him, wrapping an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulders.

"Probably refuse to walk with the crutches and f*ck up your leg so badly you’d never walk again," he answered plainly.

Stan snorted. "Honestly, yeah. Probably."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he cuddled further against Kyle, practically climbing into the redhead’s lap.

“Are you trying to crush me?” Kyle joked, although it genuinely was a slight challenge to breathe with Stan lying atop him.

“No, dude,” Stan murmured. “I just want you to hold me.”

“Why am I holding you when you’re the one who could literally snap me in half?”

“Because my head feels f*cking weird and I’m high off my ass and I just want you to take care of me.”

“You’re such a baby,” Kyle whispered before adjusting to a position where he was still technically holding Stan, but he could actually take adequate breaths.

Stan's eyelids quickly grew heavy from the painkillers, and a soft smile spread across Kyle’s cheeks. He pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s forehead, silently promising that he would take care of him. Though reluctant to admit it, he loved caring for Stan when he was needy. He thought it was adorable when Stan acted like a total baby about his ailments, and he never wanted it to end.

Kyle allowed his own eyes to drift shut, at peace once he felt Stan’s breaths even out. There on that couch with his boyfriend in his arms, he decided he had nothing to fear. Life could throw as many curveballs as it wanted. Their happiness had nothing to do with football or money or fame. All they needed was this.

Chapter 40: Even

Chapter Text

Kyle had been a menace during finals week. Yeah, there was really no other way to put it. He had probably been neglecting his boyfriend, but he wasn’t entirely sure if Stan felt that way, as he hadn’t even been present enough to check in. Yikes. He winced at the mere thought of how terrible he had been to Stan. Being a pre-med sucked sometimes, and junior year was supposed to be the hardest — he hoped, anyway, that the next wouldn’t be even worse. If it was, he could say goodbye to ever sleeping again.

But that was a later problem. He wasn’t willing to give up his relationship the way he had tossed aside eating and sleeping, so tonight, Kyle had only one goal, and that was to make it up to Stan.

The perfect romantic dinner awaited them with no distractions — finally, they would be even. It was next to impossible to get a reservation at this restaurant, so the cancellation that got them in at prime time was pure luck. Kyle was prepared to focus entirely on his super best boyfriend, and he hoped to god it would smooth things over. Stan had been quite terse with him in discussions of their plan for the night, so no doubt, he was pissed.

In fact, Kyle was starting to wonder if Stan was angrier than he had even realized, as it seemed the redhead was being stood up. He had been twiddling his thumbs at the table for nearly thirty minutes with no physical sign of Stan and no response to texts or calls. It wasn’t until about fifteen minutes later that he finally plopped down in the seat across from Kyle with an exhausted sigh.

“Where the hell have you been?” the latter questioned, attempting not to sound too irritated since he was the one who had been a total dick for the past two weeks.

“I just… was walking here,” Stan mumbled.

“Yeah, but it’s a two minute walk and our reservation was forty-five minutes ago. I think they might, like, kick us out soon or something.”

“Do they do that?”

“I don’t know.”

Stan silently stared down at his lap.

“Are you good, dude?” Kyle pressed.

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“You’re pissed at me.”

“I’m not pissed, Ky.”

“There’s no point in lying. I know you didn’t even want to come out with me tonight. You barely looked up from the TV when I asked.”

“Kyle—”

“I’m trying to make it up to you. I’m trying to even things out. I don’t know how to get you to stop hating me.”

“I don’t hate you,” Stan murmured.

“I’m sorry for being a dick this week, okay?” Kyle said with tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve just been so stressed that I—”

“Baby, I’m not mad,” Stan interrupted, a bit more conviction filling his voice. “Seriously. I get it, and we don’t have to make sh*t ‘even’.”

He reached across the table to take his boyfriend’s hands, and as soon as their skin made contact, alarm bells rang in Kyle’s mind.

“Stan, Jesus!”

Pushing his chair out and rushing around the table, he pressed the back of his hand against Stan’s forehead.

“Oh, dude,” he said softly. “You’re way too warm.”

It was suddenly apparent to Kyle that Stan could hardly hold his eyes open. His skin was sickly pale and beads of sweat lined his forehead. How the hell had Kyle overlooked his signs of illness all day?

“I’m taking you home.”

“Babe, no. We’ll never get another reservation here. I know this was important to you.”

“Only because I’ve been so sh*tty, but it’s even sh*ttier to make you sit through dinner. You should be in bed.”

“I’m fine,” Stan protested, though weakening his argument with a harsh cough afterward. “Really.”

“No, you’re really not.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I know what you’re like when you’re tired, and this is not it. Come on.”

Kyle proceeded to pull Stan upright and it was immediately apparent that the latter was dizzy. He could hardly keep from toppling over. The redhead wrapped an arm around his waist for support and made a beeline for the door. Though wincing at the challenge of keeping them both on their feet, nothing would stop him from getting his boyfriend home. He owed Stan as it was.

Keeping a firm grip on Stan's arm, Kyle navigated through the bustling restaurant, his senses hyperaware of every stumble and sway from his weakened boyfriend. The once lively chatter around them faded into a distant murmur as he focused solely on getting Stan home.

It felt like an eternity before they made their way out of the restaurant and onto the dimly lit street. Despite his efforts to remain composed, worry gnawed at Kyle's insides and he couldn't shake the guilt of not noticing Stan's declining health sooner, especially as their journey was punctuated by the latter’s labored breathing and frequent coughs. The weight of the situation — both literally and metaphorically — pressed heavily on Kyle's shoulders, but he refused to let it crush him. He had to stay strong for Stan.

“Hang in there,” he soothed. “We’re almost home.”

Stan offered no response, only continuing to drag along weakly with the redhead’s careful steps.

Finally, they reached their apartment. Kyle guided Stan to the living room couch, where he sank down heavily, his exhaustion evident in the droop of his shoulders and the weariness etched into his features. Kyle hurried off to fetch a blanket and a glass of water.

"Here, sweetheart," he said gently, draping the blanket over Stan's shoulders and handing him the glass. "You need to hydrate."

Stan nodded tiredly, taking small sips of water as Kyle hovered nearby.

“Thanks, Ky,” he rasped.

“Yeah, of course, I mean… it’s the least I can do.”

Stan coughed hard for a moment. “Can you stop punishing yourself for being stressed this week, baby?”

“I’m not punishing myself. I just wanted to take you to dinner because I clearly owe you for putting up with the damn study monster all week.”

Stan shrugged. “You’re cute when you’re all stressed and determined about your future. It’s like… fiery. I like it.”

“You’re delirious.”

“Fine, ask me when I’m better if I still think it’s hot when you’re all worked up. You’ll get the same answer.”

Kyle couldn’t help but smile back at his partner. “Whatever, dude.”

“The study monster is hot,” Stan teased. “Deal with it.”

“I’m glad at least one of us wasn’t f*cking miserable over exams then,” Kyle grumbled. “Alright, dude, I’ll be right back, okay?”

“What? No! Come lay with me.”

“First I need to get a thermometer and some tissues and maybe make you some soup or—”

“No,” Stan whined. “Just snuggle.”

“If I can’t take you to dinner, I’m at least gonna take good care of you,” Kyle replied with an eye roll.

“I don’t need all that sh*t. I need you to cuddle with me.”

“But—”

“I don’t need that kind of give and take, dude. You don’t have to pay me back with dinner or soup or… tissues or whatever. Just be here.”

Stan patted the seat beside himself. Kyle sighed, but complied nonetheless, reclining against his boyfriend’s shoulder. Stan wrapped his shivering arms possessively around the redhead.

“There,” he said softly, already fighting the urge to sleep. “Now we’re even.”

Chapter 41: Ghost

Chapter Text

Stan was on an absolute high. He felt like he was floating as he made his way to the front door with Kenny and Cartman trailing behind him. Performing never got old, even if it was only covers. He still felt like a star when he was on stage and nothing could bring him down — except, maybe, the grim expression on his boyfriend’s face. Kyle awaited his roommates on the sofa in their dimly lit living room, glowering.

“Hey,” Stan greeted, beam remaining on his face in spite of the bleak atmosphere. “The show was f*cking amazing, dude. The crowd was totally into it. Kenny threw his guitar pick into the audience and these two drunk girls actually fought over it, like, we felt like total rockstars.”

“That’s good,” Kyle said absently. He proceeded to flip to a different television channel, paying little mind to the others.

“Even the guy who runs the bar was super into it. I don’t know what it was, but we were on another level tonight, Ky.”

Kyle nodded, still avoiding eye contact. “Nice.”

“They want us to come back next month as the headliner, so like, this is huge.”

“Cool.”

“So… how was your night?”

“Fine.”

“We’re gonna put our sh*t in the garage,” Kenny stated, clearing his throat before dragging Cartman along with him.

“I’ll be right out!” Stan called after them.

“Go ahead,” Kyle grumbled. “No need to stick around.”

“Dude, you’ve said, like, three whole words since I got home. Are you gonna tell me why you’re pissed off?”

“Just leave it the hell alone,” Kyle muttered, firmly holding his gaze on the TV until Stan marched over to turn it off, eliciting a groan from the redhead.

“Ky, seriously. What did I do?”

“Really? No guesses? You have no idea why I might be pissed right now?”

Stan sighed. “Why don’t you save us both some time and tell me? I can’t read your damn mind.”

“Apparently you can’t read a calendar either,” Kyle sneered before retreating to the kitchen.

Stan promptly opened his phone to check for any calendar events, but as soon as he took note of the date, there was no need to look any further. His heart dropped to his stomach.

“Oh… baby… it’s your birthday.”

Holding back tears, Stan rushed into the kitchen to make amends.

“Yeah, it is,” Kyle said flatly, staring out the window above the sink rather than facing his boyfriend.

“I can’t f*cking believe I forgot your birthday.” Stan wrapped Kyle in a tight, unreciprocated hug from behind. “I’m so sorry, dude. I just— I completely forgot. With all the shows we’ve been playing—”

“I’m just starting to wonder what the hell we even are.”

“What?” Stan questioned, looking utterly broken as he backed up to lower himself into a chair at the table. “What are you talking about?”

“I took a gap year for you. You’re the one who talked me into taking a year off before reapplying to medical school so we could ‘spend time together.’ That’s what I signed up for. I never asked to be your damn housewife.”

“You knew I’d be playing with the band.”

“Not every goddamn night!” Kyle exclaimed as he turned around to face Stan.

“I know I’ve been a little busier than we expected, dude, but it’s a good thing.”

“Maybe for you.”

“Yeah, and it’s my career.”

Kyle let out a snide chuckle. “Career?”

“Alright, now you’re just trying to piss me off. Are you jealous or something? You couldn’t get into med school so now you’re pissed that the band is taking off?”

“You play Fall Out Boy covers in bars, Stan. I don’t know if you can really call that ‘taking off’.”

“Oh, f*ck you, dude.”

“f*ck me? f*ck you for being such a damn hypocrite.”

Stan rolled his eyes. “How am I a hypocrite, Kyle? That’s ridiculous.”

“You are a hypocrite. When I was volunteering at that free clinic a few months ago, you got pissed at me for never being home.”

“That was different.”

“It was the same,” Kyle mumbled, crossing his arms indignantly.

“It was COMPLETELY different and you KNOW it!”

“How?! How was it different in any way?!”

“It took over your f*cking life, Kyle, just like school and work and everything else you’ve ever done! Why the hell do you think I wanted you to take a gap year? Just once in our lives I wanted to feel like the most important thing to you, but I guess that was too much to ask.”

“Right, you’re such a goddamn narcissist that you can’t share me with anything. I have to be sitting on my ass, waiting around at your constant beck and call.”

“You think I can’t share you?” Stan raised his voice, shooting up from his seat. “I’ve put up with your sh*t for twenty-three years, haven’t I?!”

“So instead of telling me you need more f*cking attention, this is your revenge?”

“No! Kyle, what the f*ck? I’m sorry I forgot your birthday, okay? It was sh*tty and I’m sorry. I wish you’d cut me some slack for once.”

Kyle dropped his hands to the counter, releasing a deep breath in frustration.

“God, this is why I told you to leave it alone,” he bemoaned. “I knew you would get like this.”

“Oh, how do I get, Kyle?” Stan jeered.

“You act like a f*cking crazy person and turn sh*t back on me as if you’re not the one screwing everything up.”

“I’m the crazy person? Not the grown-ass adult throwing a bitch fit over his birthday?”

“It’s not about the birthday! You know damn well it’s not just about the birthday!”

“What is it about then, Kyle? Maybe if you’d just tell me what you want from me—”

“I have to tell you when it’s my birthday? Should I tell you when it’s our anniversary too, or can you manage to remember one goddamn thing?”

“It wouldn’t matter if I remembered every important date for the rest of our lives. You’d still find a way to get pissed at me. You know what the thing is, Ky? It’s f*cking impossible to meet your damn expectations.”

“Are you kidding? It’s the first time in months I’ve expected anything from you, Stan. The first time in MONTHS! Every other goddamn day of the year, I suck it up and tolerate living in Stan Land. I thought maybe for once, on my damn birthday, you’d pull yourself together and I would actually be—”

Kyle cut himself off, closing his eyes tightly.

“Say it,” Stan hissed.

“No,” Kyle murmured, shaking his head and staring at the floor, visibly biting back the words on his mind.

“You’d actually be what? Happy? Fulfilled? Go ahead and say you hate our life!” Stan pressed, moving closer to his boyfriend until their faces were only inches apart. “Go ahead and say I make you unhappy! Say it, dude! Why don’t you just ADMIT that I don’t fulfill you and that your life—”

“I HAVE NO LIFE!” Kyle finally snapped. “I have no f*cking life! I’m a med school reject who waits around for his boyfriend to waltz in at midnight if I’m lucky, listens to your half-assed drunken recap of the night, crashes to sleep alone while you party with Kenny and Cartman until the crack of dawn, wakes up the next day, cleans up all your sh*t and scrubs your pile of dishes until you finally crawl out of bed at 5pm! I have absolutely ZERO life, Stan! I am a goddamn GHOST!”

Stan huffed out an indignant laugh as he sauntered off to the living room. “Wow, dude, that is really something.”

“f*ck no, Stan, you don’t get to just walk away,” Kyle said through gritted teeth, hurrying after his boyfriend. The latter whipped around to face him just before reaching the stairs.

“What the hell do you want me to say, Ky? Do you want me to tell you how f*cking ungrateful you are? I pay for our entire goddamn life with my Tegridy inheritance and you don’t contribute to sh*t! You couldn’t even take this gap year if it wasn’t for my money!”

“I never wanted this f*cking gap year, don’t you get it?! I would be supporting myself if I hadn’t—”

“—Gotten rejected? It’s not my f*cking fault you weren’t good enough, Kyle! And even if you had gotten accepted you’d be f*cking burying yourself in debt and I’d still be paying for everything! You’d be flushing all your money down the damn toilet!”

“An investment in our future is not flushing my money down the toilet, Stan! Who the hell do you think will be bringing home all the money when I’m a surgeon? Or am I ‘not good enough’ to ever make that happen?”

“I’ll tell you what’ll happen! Your pay will all go towards those bullsh*t loans AND I’ll never see you!”

“So I guess I should just do nothing forever? Great. Awesome. Sounds good. You really hate when I have something going for myself, don’t you?”

“I hate when you forget I exist because you’re so caught up in your usual bullsh*t!”

Kyle scoffed. “What is my ‘usual bullsh*t’, dude? Please f*cking enlighten me!”

“It’s you being so damn set on being the best at everything that you turn into the worst f*cking boyfriend! You completely neglect me and you guilt the hell out of me for ever enjoying myself.”

“And by ‘enjoying yourself’ you mean getting drunk off your ass at every gig?”

“I do not do that.”

“You’re probably drunk right now!”

“I’m not f*cking drunk, Kyle!”

The redhead glowered.

“Alright, I’m a little buzzed, what the f*ck ever!” Stan conceded. “It’s like I’m living with a damn cop. You’re exhausting!”

“If I’m really that exhausting, maybe I should just leave.”

“Maybe you should! Maybe if you get the hell out I can finally enjoy my life without you getting in the way!” Stan shouted, then instantly felt sick to his stomach. In the heat of the moment and with a few drinks in his system, he had a knack for saying things he didn’t mean.

“Wow,” Kyle barely whispered. “I never thought of myself as being in your way, Stan.”

“Jesus, Ky, I didn’t mean that.” Stan approached to take his hand, but the redhead clenched his fists in protest. “I had too much to drink tonight, baby, that’s all. I’m so sorry, Kyle. I love you.”

“What do you love about me?”

“Huh?”

“What do you love about me, Stan? If I exhaust you, and neglect you, and guilt you, and I’m ungrateful, and all that other horrible sh*t you said… then why the hell would you say you love me? What do you actually love about me?”

Stan’s mind suddenly ran 100 miles per hour but felt stagnant at the same time. Kyle was his entire life. There were millions of things he adored about the redhead, but somehow, the alcohol in his system in tandem with the rush of emotions rendered him silent. He was left staring blankly, jaw shifting in a desperate attempt to form words.

“Yeah,” Kyle croaked out, holding back tears, “so the next time you tell me that you love me, make sure you f*cking mean it.”

“Kyle, please—”

Stan reached out for his boyfriend’s hand once more, but to no avail.

“I’m exhausted, and I’m sad as hell, and I’m going to bed,” Kyle muttered, glumly making his way up the stairs. “Please let me.”

As the sound of their slamming bedroom door reverberated through the house, Stan released a deep sigh of regret.

———————————————————————

The next morning, Stan anxiously wrung his hands together, staring blankly at the wall. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had been this stressed. Hell, he felt like Butters or something.

He had slept on the couch — or rather, sat on the couch and didn’t sleep at all. His mind was too busy replaying every word he hadn’t meant and every insult Kyle had flung in his direction. It all felt so stupid in the light of day.

“Morning, dude,” Kenny greeted as he made his way down the stairs.

“Have you seen Kyle?” Stan asked quickly.

“I think he’s still in his room,” Kenny remarked, then offered a smirk. “I figured you were in there with him, having marathon makeup sex.”

“Definitely not,” Stan grumbled, burying his face in his hands. “That fight… god, it was f*cking awful.”

“I know. Apparently the wall between the kitchen and the garage is hella thin.”

“Great…”

“Cartman live-streamed an audio of the entire thing, dude.”

“Again… great…”

“You guys’ll be fine,” Kenny offered, placing a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder. “It’s you and Kyle.”

“It was all just so stupid,” Stan bemoaned. “And where the hell is he? He never sleeps this late. He probably climbed out the f*cking window and I’ll never hear from him again.”

“No way. I’ll probably get home from work and find you two losers wrapped in each other’s arms on the couch like nothing ever happened. Either that or I’ll hear a headboard rattling upstairs.”

“Shut up,” Stan groaned, mildly annoyed yet somewhat amused.

“After a fight like that? The damn ceiling tiles will probably be crashing down.”

“Bye. You can go to work now, dude.”

“You’ll miss me,” Kenny teased as he sauntered out the door.

It was only a few minutes later that Kyle appeared on the staircase, leaning heavily on the railing as he made his way downstairs.

“Oh,” he croaked out upon sighting Stan. “I thought… I heard you leave.”

Stan shook his head. “Kenny.”

“Oh,” Kyle said again before continuing to the kitchen.

Instead of feeling angered by the snub, Stan felt his heart twist in his chest at the expression worn on Kyle’s face. His eyes were red and glossy like he hadn’t slept, and visibly heavy with fatigue. He wore a pallor that indicated he was just sick over the argument.

It was only upon noticing the redhead’s stumbling gait and hearing him descend into a coughing fit that Stan wondered if he was actually just sick.

“Are you feeling okay, Ky?”

Receiving no response, he followed Kyle into the kitchen.

“M’fine.” Kyle sniffled. “Totally fine.”

Approaching him, though, Stan found his appearance even more concerning than he initially thought. Beads of sweat pooled on his forehead, his cheeks were flushed with fever, and his arms were wracked with noticeable shivers.

No wonder he slept until noon.

“I’ll make your breakfast,” Stan softly offered. “Why don’t you go lie down on the couch?”

“As if I want your help?” Kyle retorted, then coughed hard again. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. I didn’t… mean any of that. I can tell you’re sick, so please just let me help.”

“You can help me by f*cking off,” Kyle mumbled, gripping the counter for support. He looked as though he might fall over without it. “The last thing I wanna do right now is look at you. I feel f*cking awful about last night, and I physically feel f*cking awful. Please just go the hell away.”

Giving a sad nod, Stan reluctantly sulked away. It was only moments later, however, that a loud crash and a thud prompted him to rush back to the kitchen.

“Kyle?! Oh my god!”

Stan’s heartbeat pounded in his ears as he discovered the redhead flat on his side, barely conscious, with several pots and pans scattered around him.

“Baby?!” Stan urgently placed his hands on Kyle’s alarmingly warm cheeks to steady him.“Can you hear me?!”

“Mhm,” Kyle hummed.

“What happened? Are you hurt? Did you pass out?”

“I was looking for a pan in the cabinet and… and I just…” His eyes lazily fell shut. “Dizzy.”

“sh*t. sh*t. Let’s get you to the couch.”

Alarm bells rang in Stan’s mind when Kyle failed to protest being scooped up bridal style, but he was ultimately grateful for the compliance. He settled his boyfriend on the sofa, pulling their softest blanket up to his chin and planting a kiss on his forehead.

“Why were you dizzy, Ky? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

“Probably dehydrated,” Kyle mumbled. “I was sort of… throwing up all night.”

“Baby… I wish you’d woken me up,” Stan spoke barely above a whisper as he ran his fingers through Kyle’s hair.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to. I thought… you wanted me to leave.”

“Ky, nothing has ever been so far from the truth, I swear to god. What I should have said yesterday is that I was a f*cking asshole for forgetting your birthday and I’ll spend every year for the rest of our lives trying to make it up to you.”

“I don’t know if I deserve that.” Kyle gulped, fighting off fever-induced tears. “Not after I insulted your life and career and like, everything else about you.”

Stan shrugged. “I know you. I know you didn’t mean it. You were just trying to hurt me the way I hurt you.”

“Yeah, and that’s f*cked up and mean!” Kyle sobbed, unable to hold back any longer. “You were right, dude. I am jealous of you. I’m so f*cking jealous I could die, but that’s not an excuse. I was an asshole, like I always am. That’s probably why you don’t love me anymore.”

“Kyle, I—” Stan reached for a thick stack of papers on the coffee table and lifted them up for display. “Just… here.”

“What’s that?”

“I couldn’t sleep, so I started writing down all the things I love about you. When you asked last night, I was drunk and panicking and I couldn’t stop kicking myself over it, so… I made this.”

“Dude, that’s like 25 pages…”

“36,” Stan corrected with a warm smile. “Front and back. And it barely scratches the surface.”

At those words, Kyle cried harder. “I love you, Stan. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you so much,” Stan replied as he leaned down to hug and kiss his boyfriend, “and I’m sorry for everything, Ky.”

“If you kiss me you’ll get sick,” Kyle warned through his tears.

“I’ll be fine.” Stan smirked. “I don’t have a sh*tty immune system like yours.”

“I know,” Kyle groaned. “f*ck me.”

“I really want to, so let’s get you better fast.”

Kyle huffed out a laugh that quickly morphed into a coughing fit. The rattling sound in his chest made Stan cringe.

“Jesus. That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s okay. I’m okay now that we’re okay.”

Weakly lifting his hand, Kyle laced his fingers through Stan’s.

“But what can I get you?” Stan asked. “Soup? You need to eat something.”

“I don’t think I can keep anything down, sweetheart.”

“I don’t want your sugar getting low.”

“We’ll keep checking it, okay? Can you just stay with me for now? It sucked, you know… not having you there with me in the night. I didn’t realize how much I need you.”

“I hate that I wasn’t there, Ky. I’ll never f*cking ever leave your side again when you’re sick, okay?”

“That’s a big promise, dude.” The corners of Kyle’s lips turned upward, then quickly fell. “Wait, don’t you have a gig tonight?”

“I’m not going to that,” Stan said firmly. “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

“No, Stan, I’m okay.”

“You almost f*cking passed out, Kyle! I’m not going!”

“But… performing is, like, your favorite thing.”

“No, dude, you’re my favorite thing.”

“Well, I don’t want you to give anything up for me.”

“I know,” Stan said softly. “But I’d give up everything for you.”

Chapter 42: Yours

Chapter Text

“And then— and then Clyde was like ‘No, no, please don’t take my girlfriend, Eric!’” Cartman was shouting through cackles as he strolled down the hall with Stan and Kenny at his sides. “He was begging me like ‘Don’t take her just ‘cause you’re so much f*cking hotter than me!’”

“Dude,” Kenny muttered. “I formally nominate that story for a Didn’t Happen of the Year Award.”

He looked to Stan expecting laughter, but the other boy was silent, staring straight ahead in a trance.

“Stan? You good?”

Stan tilted his head thoughtfully. “When do the exchange students get the hell out of here again?”

Kenny raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Cartman.

“Is this about—”

“It’s not about that French f*cker, I was just wondering.”

“We know damn well you’re still obsessing over who might be shoving their dick up Kyle’s ass these days,” Cartman sneered.

“I don’t give a damn about Kyle,” Stan contended, stopping in his tracks and crossing his arms indignantly. “I broke up with him, remember?”

Kenny offered a small smile of pity. “Well… yeah… but you kind of only did that because you were scared he’d break up with you first…”

“You don’t know sh*t about why I did what I did.”

“I sorta do know. I mean, come on… he gets accepted to Yale… you abruptly end sh*t the second he tells you…”

“Are you seriously still—”

A loud, muffled bang interrupted Stan and they all froze in confusion for a moment, but they quickly shrugged it off, resuming their walk to World History class. They figured another student’s sh*tty-ass car must have backfired in the parking lot.

“Can you drop it?” Stan continued. “It’s been a month. I’m completely over him.”

“Dude, just because you sit in your room every night listening to ‘The Kill’ by Thirty Seconds to Mars on repeat doesn’t mean you’re over him,” Kenny half-teased.

“Would you f*ck off?”

“Alright.” Kenny raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, dude. Let’s talk about something else.”

“Thank f*ck,” Cartman huffed. “I thought I was finally done listening to you pine over that goddamn Jew.”

Suddenly, Butters was sprinting toward them, and their often-frantic friend wasn’t the only one picking up the pace. Hushed voices grew louder as more and more students hurried in various directions.

“Fellas!” Butters cried out, nearly falling into Kenny’s arms as he reached the group. “Somebody’s got a gun!”

“What?” Stan questioned in disbelief.

“People were runnin’ all over the place! Jimmy was goin’ past my locker and he told me I’d better get outta here ‘cause one of the guys from Computer Club fired a gun over in the east wing!”

“Holy sh*t!” Cartman screeched. “Why the hell are you gaywads still standing around? Let’s get the f*ck out of here!”

Kenny promptly took tight hold of Butters’ hand, gesturing for the others to follow.

“The supply closet by the chem lab has a lock on it,” he stated, out of breath before they even started moving. “Come on!”

The four boys sprinted through the chaos, turning the corner just in time to see Clyde, Tolkien and Craig ushering a sobbing Tweek into the aforementioned closet.

“Hold up, fellas!” Butters called to them.

Their friends complied.

Not slowing down in the slightest, Cartman barreled through them, ensuring he was the first to safety. Tolkien scoffed as he helped Tweek back to his feet, still in the process of regaining his own balance.

“Really, dude?” he scolded. “Tweek’s having a panic attack.”

“That’s not my goddamn problem,” Cartman retorted.

The last of the group to enter, Stan lingered in the doorway, earning anxious glares from the others.

“What the hell are you waiting for, asshole? Shut the door! Are you trying to get us f*cking killed?”

“The shooter is in the east wing,” Stan muttered, almost under his breath. “Kyle…”

“AH!” Tweek shrieked with a sharp tic to the left. “KYLE is the SHOOTER?”

“No, dude, Kyle’s in the library during fourth period… he’s right there…”

“He’ll get somewhere safe,” Kenny soothed, placing a comforting hand on Stan’s shoulder. “We can’t keep the door open, Stan.”

“Why the hell do you care so much about your goddamn ex anyway?” Cartman scoffed. “Let him get f*cking shot.”

“You’re not helping. At all.”

“I have to find him,” Stan said shakily. “I have to.”

“It’s not safe to go running through the halls,” Clyde warned while Kenny moved to close the door. “You can’t do that.”

Stan rushed to place his own hand over Kenny’s on the doorknob. “I can, and I am.”

“Are you insane?” Craig asked flatly.

“Maybe,” Stan quietly replied. “But I’m not shutting myself in here when Kyle might still be out there.”

Next thing he knew he was sprinting back out into the fray without a thought in his mind. Only one thing mattered: He had to find Kyle.

A sixth sense seemed to carry him to the second floor of the East Wing, and it was no coincidence — he knew Kyle’s routine like the back of his own hand. They had walked these halls together every day for years.

As he reached the top of the stairs, heart pounding in his ears, his eyes widened in confusion. It was crowded as hell, and everyone in proximity to the upstairs lockers seemed oblivious to the chaos below them. They must have made the same assumption of the car backfire, or perhaps the sounds of chatter and slamming lockers had distracted them.

“Kyle,” Stan tried to call out, though the croak that actually escaped his lips was barely audible.

He spotted red curls in the crowd and moved toward him in a haze.

“Ky,” he said urgently, taking him by the arm.

“What the hell do you want?” was all Kyle had time to say before the sound of gunshots filled the hall, sending the students into a state of mass chaos.

Amidst the cacophony of screams, cries, and footsteps, it took a moment for Stan and Kyle to even process what had occurred — Stan had instinctively tackled the redhead to the floor, shielding his body with his own.

“Stan,” Kyle said shakily, tearful over the act of protection. But there was no time for conversation, so he shook his head sharply as though the action would reset his mind. “f*ck, dude, we need to get somewhere safe. The janitor’s closet is just around the corner. Come on. We need to go now.”

Adrenaline brought him to his feet and after pulling a wide-eyed Stan upright, he dragged his stunned hero to the closet. Until Kyle slammed the door behind them, neither had realized their fingers were tightly interlocked.

Kyle cleared his throat uncomfortably as they pulled apart. “There’s no lock. We need to push something in front of the door.”

Shaky hands flipping on the only dim lightbulb in the room, he proceeded to scan for something heavy. He quickly set his sights on a large metal storage rack, which he made a futile attempt to move on his own before scoffing at the lack of effort on Stan’s part.

“A little help, dude?” he urged through gritted teeth. As he turned around to see what had Stan so distracted, the latter choked out a cough, sending streaks of blood down his chin.

“Holy sh*t, dude, did you break a tooth when you tackled me?” Kyle questioned, but as he walked closer, it became apparent that something was really wrong. Stan stared straight ahead with glossy eyes, his pale skin adorned by a sheen of sweat.

“Stan?”

Eyes still blearily trained on the redhead, Stan dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the floor.

“Stan?!”

Kyle rushed to kneel beside him and immediately discovered a pool of red forming on his sweatshirt. Making short work of removing the garment, Kyle choked out a sob.

There was a bullet hole directly in Stan’s side. Stan had been hit.

“Stan… oh my god.”

“Are you sure… your French boyfriend would… want you undressing me?” Stan mumbled through heavy breaths, laughing for only a second before it turned to a sputtering cough.

Kyle ignored the comment in favor of focus on balling up the sweatshirt, using it to apply firm pressure on the wound.

“What French boyfriend?” he finally asked, albeit absently, once he was satisfied with the temporary dressing.

“Do you have more than one French boyfriend?” Stan wheezed out, managing to roll his eyes.

“He and I are just friends, Stan. What the hell do you care anyway?” Kyle huffed, but his face immediately softened as he remembered the situation at hand. The pressure he was holding against Stan’s side was the difference between life and death. Or maybe it was futile. Either way, his bitterness had no place there.

“I didn’t wanna admit this… but what the hell,” Stan muttered. “I’m… dying anyway.”

“Do not f*cking say that, Stanley!” Kyle scolded.

“You need to h-hear this, Ky. Listen. I do care. I… care a sh*t ton.” Stan smiled lazily. “I knew it as— as soon as I heard the gunshot. I had to find you. You were… all I cared about.”

“You mean you already knew when you came to find me?! Why the hell would you risk your life like that—”

“Do I have to write it on the f*cking wall? I’m in love with you!” Stan said a bit louder, though he was visibly drained from the exclamation, chest heaving and eyes unfocused.

“You—“ Kyle cleared his throat to keep from crying. “You love me? You’re telling me you love me a month after blurting out ‘I’m done with this’ out of f*cking nowhere?” He sighed, biting back his anger as he came back to center. “I know you’re only saying this because you’re scared and you’re in pain and I’m the only person here, but Stan… I just finally figured out how to thinkabout you without it ripping my heart out… so you can’t just say that.”

“I’m not just saying anything. Kenny was… r-right about everything. I-I just… I knew you were gonna break my heart so... I broke yours first.”

“What are you—”

Stan cut Kyle off with a squeeze of his hand.

“You were gonna accept Yale’s offer… and you should,” he said between heavy breaths. “You shouldn’t give that up… for me.”

“I didn’t—”

The urgent grip of Stan’s fingers on his forearm effectively silenced him again. Terror etched in his expression, tears streamed down Stan’s cheeks as his breathing became erratic with stifled sobs.

“Ky… I know you’re not, like, down for forever, but I’m f*cking scared so can you just… pretend?”

Now weeping himself, Kyle immediately shifted Stan’s head into his lap, one hand remaining on the wound while the other stroked Stan’s tear-stained cheek.

“I wanted to spend my life with you,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t have gone to Yale without you, but you didn’t even give me a chance to ask. I’m not going to Connecticut, Stan.”

“Wha— why?”

“I told you, I didn’t wanna go without you! I didn’t wanna move away and start a whole new life unless it was with you.”

“God… I’m a f*cking idiot. I never… wanted to b-break up. I was just scared and stupid.”

“A bad combination,” Kyle replied, half-laughing and half-crying.

“It was the worst f*cking mistake I ever made and I’m sorry. I only wish… I had been able to make it up to you.” He briefly paused, holding gentle contact with the eyes staring down at him. “I don’t have a whole lot to lose, but… I’m not… ready to go. I wish I could’ve lived a life with you first.”

“You will, Stan. You’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this.”

“Yeah?” Stan murmured.

“Hell yeah.” Kyle forced his tear-soaked lips to curl upwards. “You and I, dude, we're gonna to have it all together. We're gonna to have the big moments and the small moments, and the great times, and the sh*tty times. It's gonna be one for the ages, yeah?”

Stan’s blinks slowed, the edges of his vision going black. “Do you mean that or… are you just saying it… because the world is ending?”

“I mean it, Stan,” Kyle rasped, stroking the hair back from his best friend’s sweaty forehead. “I don’t have to bullsh*t anything because nothing is ending. You’re gonna be fine, do you hear me?”

Stan hummed, dry lips curling into a weak smile. The pain was fading. A haze of serenity was taking over. Kyle was there holding him and soothing him. With exhaustion clawing behind his eyes, he couldn’t fight the urge to close them.

“No!” Kyle shouted, shaking Stan’s shoulders aggressively. The latter found himself only slightly more awake again. “Don’t. You’ve gotta stay with me, sweetheart.”

“I just need to close my eyes for a second, baby,” Stan mumbled. “Please.”

“No. You have to stay awake.”

“Ky—”

“Hold on, Stan. Hold on. I love you, okay? You don’t get to f*cking die on me.”

Stan coughed, wheezing and sputtering blood. “Kyle—”

“Do. Not. Die. I can’t f*cking live without you, Stan!” Now Kyle was yelling through the tears he couldn’t hold back. “If you die, I die, don’t you get it?! You don’t get to die on me!”

Stan’s eyes drifted shut, but they reopened as Kyle shook his shoulders again.

“No! You stay awake! Stay the f*ck awake!“

“I’m— I’m awake. I’m awake. Kyle?”

“Hm?”

“Please… just…”

“What, sweetheart?”

“Kiss me,” Stan softly requested.

And Kyle did. In spite of the terror and the taste of blood and the tears pouring from his own cheeks onto Stan’s, he put everything he had into that kiss. When he pulled back, Stan’s face relaxed into a smile.

“So… you’ll take me back?” Stan teased.

“For f*ck’s sake.” Kyle laughed, though he was still weeping. “I’m already yours.”

Stan opened his mouth, but his reply was stymied as he faded from consciousness.

The closet door burst open behind them at the very same moment, but Kyle had fallen too deep into a trance to pay any mind. A trail of police officers filed in and only moments later two paramedics were ushering Kyle aside. His hands fell against his blood-stained jeans as he moved to the periphery feeling utterly helpless. The steady rhythm of the medics blurred around him, his focus staying solely on Stan’s pale face.

He could still hear every word of the conversation they had exchanged, feel every touch they had shared. Amidst the chaos and instability, one thing remained abundantly clear to Kyle: he loved Stan more than anything in the world.

He wasn’t letting go without a fight.

Chapter 43: Mine