So Far Away (stan x kyle)

Nostalgia

okay i dont know id im ever going to finish this because yknow life happened and i hope ill come back to it someday (hopefully soon) but for now i feel bad just leaving this unpublished so here yall go:

     Kyle's breath catches in his throat as Stan's fingers crawl over his. Questions burn in his mind but the words dance on his tonsils and choke him when he tries to push them further. He wanted to ask Stan what had changed, what had driven him to show Kyle such kindness, but he couldn't bring himself to jeopardize the elation that hung in the air as they walked through the town they grew up in together.

      Stan knew every crack in the sidewalk his sneakers dragged along, every sprouting plant in the splits in the concrete, and every message engraved by the children of South Park, but he still kept his eyes on only that. There was no one out in the rain but the two of them and as they slowly approached their houses, something in Stan's bones made him freeze.

      "I," he started to say, a catch in his throat interrupting his words as he squeezed Kyle's hand a little tighter. "I don't want to go home right now."

      When Kyle glances down at Stan, he can feel his eyes on him. He feels dizzy at the thought of seeing his mom again, let alone Randy. His stomach bubbles with an unfounded anxiety when Kyle puts his free hand on Stan's. Kyle looked shocked at what his own hand was doing, but he tried to look confident when he told Stan, "It's okay. Do you wanna stay at my house for a while?"

      A new kind of guilt sends shivers through Stan as he remembers just how long it's been since he's been to Kyle's house. He's a bad friend, he thinks, but the word friend sounds wrong to him for a reason he can't put his finger on. He meets Kyle's eyes, still shining through the dense fog.

      "O-Okay," Stan stutters impulsively at the sight of the gold flecks in Kyle's seemingly sparkling irises.

      Kyle feels sick with joy as a relieved smile crawls across Stan's face.

      When Kyle and Stan walked through the door of the Broflovski house, Stan's clothes remained wet from the icy rain that was still hitting against the windows and filling the house with a soft pattering. The warm familiarity of the home was so unlike his own. Stan's house always felt a bit too empty and a bit too cold, a filter of dimness cast over every light and every window even during Summer afternoons—especially during Summer afternoons.

      Kyle reaches his hand out to Stan instinctively, some form of muscle memory overtaking him. Stan glances at him, blinking at Kyle's outstretched arm. Kyle hesitantly returns his hands to his middle, a feeling of stupidity suddenly overtaking his thoughts. Kyle always used to take Stan's jacket when they came into his house because Stan would put the jackets on the hanger "wrong" (according to Sheila), but obviously, Stan must have forgotten. Of course he had.

      "My mom won't like you getting our carpet wet," Kyle reminds Stan nervously, tilting his chin to the side.

      "Aw, man, you're right," Stan admits with an agitated sigh, pushing his wet hair back with both hands. The way the water molded his usually wavy hair left Kyle a bit breathless. He's felt this way about Stan for at least three years but he almost figures it must have started a few weeks ago with the way it makes him act. Stan's voice rings out again, almost frightening Kyle, "Do you think I can borrow your clothes?"

      "Borrow my clothes?" he echoed, his frizzy locks looking particularly messy at that moment. He didn't quite hear the words, even as he repeated them. "Are you sure they'll even fit you?"

      Stan shrugs. "We used to share clothes all the time," he grumbles, reminding Kyle of the times they would swap clothes as kids, or even use the other one's clothes to make a costume for their games. It's a pleasant memory, but he can't bring himself to smile at it.

      "Yeah, in elementary school," Kyle mumbles back, almost stumbling over his mutters. The idea of Stan wearing his clothes again, although they've done it probably dozens of times in the past, made Kyle feel nervous in a way that made his face feel hot.

      Stan's eyes linger on Kyle, putting pressure on his skin like fingers against a bruise. Kyle lets his resolve falter just long enough to meet his eyes and from there, any intransigence left in his veins sizzled out faster than water against a hot stove. "Fine," he sighs with a kind of weakness only Stan could bring.

      He half-heartedly waves his hand, signaling Stan to stay in place as he walks upstairs, presumably to find something in his closet that may fit him. Stan glances around the room, taking in the uncanny sight. He began to breathe in the warm air of the house, but it choked him with shame. The teal walls against the brown carpet, while unflattering, were familiar in a way that brought on a creeping warmth so potent that it threw him back into memories of watching TV and playing games with his friends in this very room, the laughter almost audible despite the silence still hanging in the air. The wistfulness of it all brought on a heavy guilt that stuck to his throat and hampered his breathing. He's pulled from his thoughts when he hears Kyle walking down the stairs. He catches his eye as he hands him clothes, folded neatly. It's odd how Kyle will go out of his way to fold clothes that'll be unfolded immediately after; it's something Stan never really understood. "Th-Thanks," he mumbles absentmindedly.

     "They might not fit you," Kyle reminds him as he's already begun moving up the stairs.

     "Yeah, yeah," he sighs, his face now out of view. Kyle lets out a breath and smiles a bit, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for Stan to get back. Stan pulls the clothes on with ease once in the bathroom, afterward getting a look in the mirror. He doesn't like looking in mirrors, they're just a reminder of the bags under his eyes and the hair he's still too exhausted to wash. He looks down at the t-shirt and long pants, and they actually fit. They're kind of long, the ends of the pants folding onto his foot and the shirt hanging past his hips, but they fit, even a bit loosely. ____. Seeing Stan in his clothes made Kyle's heart jump into his throat, blood rushing to his face, prompting Kyle to plead with god that Stan is too oblivious to notice the flush on his cheeks.

      "They fit," Kyle says in what he hopes is a cheerful manner, making Stan just look at him. He did that a lot, just looking without smiling or moving at all. It made Kyle nervous; Stan had always been hard to read.

      "Yeah, they do," Stan replies, noticing the silence. "Did you buy three sizes too big?" he attempts to joke.

      Kyle walks closer to him on his way to the stairs, lightly punching him in the arm as he says, "You're not that much bigger than me." The punch makes Stan's cheeks burn. Kyle lets out a breath when he's turned away from him, relieved that he has the chance to recompose himself, his face still hot from seeing Stan in his clothing. He didn't wear them often, only when home alone or on weekends, because he didn't like looking at his arms and the pants were too loose to wear on the day-to-day. Yet, it made him feel ill with butterflies seeing Stan wear them.

a/n: YES im aware its cliche NO i do not care and THANK YOU!!! to my friends yoel and HendrixKai as always for giving me ideas and helping me out. finally publishing this part of it after months is super impulsive but i hope yall like it