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Summary
In high school, Stan's mother thinks his old friend Kyle will be a good influence. Kyle doubts it.
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Stan’s fine. Totally fine.
He’s just... having a normal one. Thinking normal thoughts. Like how every little thing Kyle does should be illegal. Or how his voice is somehow both a personal attack and a religious experience. Or how being best friends for over a decade is no excuse for looking that good while angrily discussing sandwich classifications.It’s not a crush. Stan doesn’t have crushes on guys. He has… proximity-based cardiac events. And Kyle? Kyle’s a walking emergency.
This is the story to figure out whether he’s gay or just tragically, hopelessly, specifically in love with Kyle Broflovski.
Spoiler: it’s both. -
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Kyle tracks Kenny to an alleyway between the optometrist and the dollar store, not that it's all that difficult; the trail of wet, crimson blood is a dead giveaway. It should’ve been busy, right off Main like that, but it’s strangely peaceful if you ignore the lingering smell of garbage, rat shit, and cigarettes. Kyle’s nose wrinkles as he steps over a stray banana peel. Fucking disgusting.
And there, behind the dumpster, is Kenny, smoking a cigarette with a sour look on his face. Kyle cracks a little grin and saunters over, stepping into the growing puddle of blood with no regard. He crouches down to be eye level with Kenny and rests his arms on his knees, his chin on his arms. “Hey, Kenny,” he murmurs, soft and playful and altogether fairly inappropriate considering the situation.
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Kyle loses a bet. The silver lining? There is none. This could very well be what kills him.
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“Hey dude, if neither of us are married by the time we’re like, thirty, do you think we should marry each other?” Stan kept his eyes trained on the project in front of him as he asked. He forced nonchalance, but he wasn’t sure why. His stomach hurt a little bit, and he also wasn’t sure why. “Like, as best friends.”