"You can, uh, stay, if you want," Stan blurts.
Kyle whips around to stare at Stan from the bedroom door where he was just about to take his leave. They'd seen Kenny and Marjorine to their bedroom before retrieving a change of clothes for Kyle from Stan's room.
The two just stare at each other in shock, all racing pulses and wide eyes. When Kyle doesn't answer after a minute, Stan scoffs and looks away dejectedly.
"Er, just forget it, you don't-"
"You're really cute when you're nervous," Kyle cuts him off, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him.
Stan sighs out "No I'm not, shut up," sucking his lips in to try and hide his smile. He can't hide the relief in his tone, though.
Kyle just smirks, unsure where his sudden confidence has come from. He suspects it has something to do with the shots kicking in because he feels warm all over and comfortably sluggish. Regardless, he deems it a perfect time to start stripping his clothes.
"Are you changing or are you just gonna stare?" Kyle asks with a chuckle once he's pulled his shirt off. He tosses it in Stan's face like he's seen in the movies. Thankfully, he gets the stereotypical reaction of flushed cheeks and hurried movements to start changing together.
"Yeah, uh, can you turn the light off?"
Stan stands by his bed looking impossibly small, shoulders slouched foward like he's trying to shrink. His hands grip the hem of his shirt like it's the only thing keeping him grounded.
Right, his scars. He's embarrassed.
Kyle complies and blames the tingling in his fingers on the alcohol instead of the fact that Stan apparently sleeps shirtless, based on how he settles into bed wearing only a pair of flannel pajama pants. Kyle steps forward, relishing the way Stan stares at him in the dim blue Christmas lights illuminated under his bed.
"I'm starting to think you didn't actually give a shit if I slept in jeans and just wanted to see me in your clothes," Kyle says lowly with a roll of his eyes.
"You're very smart," Stan grins in response, scooting over and allowing the ginger to join him in bed.
They both adjust to lie on their sides, facing each other. They remain in a comfortable silence for several minutes, just observing each other's features. Kyle notices a slit in his eyebrow that he's almost certain wasn't there last time they saw each other.
"You're really pretty, K," Stan whispers after a while, a soft, genuine smile gracing his lips.
"You've mentioned," Kyle grins. His brain short-circuits at the compliment, the nickname, the proximity, everything.
"Do you believe me?" Stan asks, brows jerking together briefly like he's concerned but wants to remain carefree.
Kyle's eye twitches and his mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out. Instead, he just takes a quiet little breath before closing his mouth into a sheepish smile.
Stan's own smile fades into a lopsided, bittersweet curve. He brings a hand up from his side and tucks a cluster of stray curls behind Kyle's ear.
"That's alright," His touch lingers, fingers tracing gently from Kyle's ear down his jaw and leaving at the tip of his chin. It rests on the mattress between them.
"You're prettier," Kyle blurts, taken aback at how breathless he sounds.
Stan's nose wrinkles lightly as if the idea disgusts him. His smile falls into a tired grimace.
"Don't change the subject," He mutters, eyes locking on Kyle's lips as if eye contact is too much for him to handle.
Kyle frowns, brows creasing together in thought. So his self-loathing is appearance-related, too, not just focused on his personality. If Stan's not ready to hear about how attractive he is, or about his redeeming qualities, pushing him further into this topic will just be beating a dead horse.
