Drunk Hearts

A Wake Up Call

TW: same as before

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"Stan?" Kyle shouted, unintentionally bursting through the front door. Even though in theory he knew everything was fine, his body wouldn't stop shaking.

Startled, Stan threw his shirt back over his head and yelled back, "yes?"

The sound of Stan's voice immediately calmed Kyle, but he still couldn't get those images out of his head. He raced up the stairs and into Stan's room.

"Woah, hey Ky," Stan gasped as the red-haired boy flew into his arms, "did something happen?"

"No," Kyle breathed, "just needed a hug."

Stan winced as Kyle tightened the hug, confusing him. He immediately let go from the sound. Stan tried to keep a poker face, but failed since Kyle's hip bone crashed right into the area he had just harmed.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, twisting his face and looking at Stan's body.

"Oh, yeah, just took me by surprise," he half-lied.

And then it clicked. Kyle's face turned sour as he remembered, not being able to stop himself from glaring at Stan. Stan noticed, and turned to hide his face from Kyle's sight.

Kyle ordered, "show me."

Stan didn't move or say anything, and Kyle repeated himself a bit louder. Stan still wouldn't budge, so Kyle reached to Stan's shirt and tried pulling it up. Stan fought back, ripping away from Kyle's grip. He turned his back towards him, and Kyle's anger bubbled over.

"Stanley Marsh! Lift up your fucking shirt!"

Stan, still turned away, put his hands to his eyes. All of his focus was on not crying. This was too much. He knew Kyle was going to find out, but he didn't think it would be so soon. He was hoping they'd have time to heal before Kyle found out he was still doing it.

Kyle grabbed Stan by the shoulders and forcefully turned him around to face him. He pried his hands off of his face to look at him. He could see the pain in Stan's eyes and immediately softened. Though, the speed of the turn made Stan see stars, and he dropped to the bed. He shut his eyes and waited for the static to dissipate.

"Stan," Kyle said quieter as he watched Stan try to regain his composure.

"I had to sit," he muttered under his breath.

Kyle sat next to him on the bed, not knowing what to do. He was growing increasingly more concerned. Slowly, Kyle reached back over to Stan's shirt and lifted it up. Stan didn't fight back this time. As he raised it, he exposed poorly secured bandages on top of red swollen skin.

"Stan..." he said again. He knew what he was going to see, but at the same time he had hoped he was wrong. He didn't know what to say.

Not only did he see Stan's wounds, he also realized just how bad Stan's body was getting. Even with the swelling, he could clearly see his protruding hips and could count every rib. How could he have not noticed the difference before? Stan was rarely shirtless around him, and his clothes were always baggy. Still, Kyle thought he should have been paying closer attention.

Kyle brought the shirt back down, asking, "why didn't you call me?"

"You were studying," Stan admitted, "I didn't want to bother you. I don't want to be that clingy boyfriend that keeps you from doing things."

Kyle's voice cracked, "I don't get it, why do you keep doing this?"

Stan sighed, "I don't know, okay?"

"I can't help you if you don't talk to me! I want to help you get better, Stan!"

"Stop worrying about me! Stop trying to fix me!"

Kyle looked at him, stunned, "what?"

"I-I, I just," Stan couldn't quite formulate his words, "I don't want you to constantly worry about me! You're not my mom, you're not my caretaker, you're my boyfriend!"

Stan jumped out of the bed with a sudden anger, and balled his fists. He turned away from Kyle, and threw a punch to the wall, hard enough to make a dent.

"Fuck!" Stan winced as he grabbed his knuckles and slid to the floor.

Kyle rushed over and fell to his knees, placing his hands delicately on Stan's ankles, "I'm always going to worry about you."

"Don't!" he yelled, "you're my boyfriend, I just want you to be my boyfriend!"

Kyle lowered his voice, showing a mix of guilt and sadness on his face, "Stan..."

"It's always 'Stan, are you staying sober?' 'Stan, are you going to go to therapy?' 'Stan, have you ate anything yet?' and it's so tiring! I know you're just looking out for me, I know you only want what's best and are trying to help me, but god Kyle it's exhausting! I don't want you to worry about me every second, I just want you to love me for who I am, fuck ups and all! Ugh, I hate who I am and I hate how it's affecting you. I just want to be normal and I want to have a normal relationship. I don't know what to do!"

While Stan was ranting, all Kyle could do was listen. Some of the words stung him, but deep down he knew it wasn't personal. Stan felt suffocated, and Kyle truly couldn't blame him. Kyle suddenly realized, that all this time, he has done nothing but try to force him to recover from all of his problems at once. Stan needs time, he needs it to take one step at a time. Kyle was pushing him too fast; it was all too much, and Kyle didn't even notice until it broke him.

"Stan, I'm so sorry."

He began to whimper, "no, god, fuck, it's not your fault. It's mine for being shitty in the first place."

Kyle took his hands off of Stan's ankles and placed them on his cheeks. Stan was shaking, but this seemed to steady him a bit. Kyle looked at him dead in the eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, and spoke, "I love you."

Stan paused and looked back into his shiny green eyes. This was the first time Kyle had said those words. Sure, he showed it through his actions, but he had never out right said it out loud. Stan hadn't really said it either, not since he confessed his feelings. For some reason, it felt weird to say it again, as if it was too soon. Now, it felt right. It felt easy. It felt comfortable.

"I love you too, Ky."

Kyle wiped away the single tear that fell down Stan's cheek and smiled. All he wanted to do was hold him and tell him everything was going to be okay. All of his worries were going to disappear. He was going to be okay. He wanted to promise the world to Stan.

"Please, please get treatment. I'm not saying this as a 'mom' or 'caretaker'. I'm saying this as your boyfriend, who loves you, who wants to spend the rest of his life with you. A long life. It's not going to be easy, I know that. I will be here with you every step of the way, no matter how hard it is or how long it takes. Please Stan, I can't lose you."

Stan sat with Kyle's words, sinking deep into the pit of his stomach. He hated hospitals, he hated the thought of inpatient care, but Kyle was right. He was tired - no, exhausted - of this. Mentally and physically. He had fallen so deep into this disorder, into his addictions, and he hadn't even realized. It had never been this bad before. He was usually able to watch himself, and bounce back when he needed to. Not this time, and he was only going to get worse. He hated himself for it, but it wasn't going to go away on it's own. Maybe a push is exactly what he needed.

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