no-one saw me (not in the way you did)

Chapter 4

The next few weeks crawl along painfully for Stan. He's kept busy with a never ending flood of school assignments, some that he knows he could pour his heart into, but finds he just can't seem to get the words from pen to paper. Kenny shares his pain; between hockey and his over-demanding, underpaying job, he finds his own grades barely staying afloat. Stan can at least pride himself on the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he's passing, and he's passing without Kyle's tutelage. It stings slightly to think about, but it's nothing compared to the great sense of accomplishment he feels upon receiving eighties instead of forties.

He's still under Randy's eagle-eyed scrutiny. As his father rots and slums on the couch Stan stares wistfully at his guitar, wishing for nothing more than to be able to play it. He doesn't dare risk it. Not when the wounds of the last abuse hurl are so fresh. He keeps his head low, eats his food, does his schoolwork, plays his hockey, and he doesn't speak a word out of line. It's the way Randy likes it.

He doesn't see much of Kyle, other than in fleeting, stony glares, and in hushed words passed on from Ike. After Shelley brought him to the rink in time for the figure skaters' practice, Stan had to beg Sharon to drop him off earlier. He's immediately disappointed - Craig is scarily eager to deliver the news that Kyle is out of commission while he recovers. He says it with a sly, smug smile that Stan quickly decides he does not like at all.

Stan changes in the extra time that he has before his own practice starts. He then resorts to wandering around the rink, chatting amiably with the staff, killing off the two hours he has spare before any real fun starts.

While Kyle isn't skating, he drops Ike off at hockey practice times instead of figure skating times. He assumes his regular position in the stands - textbook in his lap, glasses on his nose, eyes focused anywhere that isn't on Stan. It's all too quiet, all too lonely, like an isolated island leagues away from anyone else.

Stan has taken to seating himself close to Kyle while his team changes. He'll try to exchange small talk; Kyle only offering irritated, one-word answers to his questions. Over the passing weeks, they seem to grow only slightly in length, Kyle apparently underestimating his conversational skills and cutting himself off before Stan can begin to truly push. One day, amidst the thick tension, Stan takes a brave shot in the dark.

"It's Halloween this weekend. I think Cartman mentioned a party. Would you wanna come with me?" It's a bold statement, settling like a fog on Kyle's conscience, and falling like a weight on Stan's own afterthoughts.

"Why would you want that? You'd have so much more fun without me." Kyle replies curtly, closing his textbook and lifting his head.

Stan takes the risky move to shift closer to Kyle. There's only an armrest separating them now. Stan has an arm resting around the back of Kyle's seat, while their knees knock together awkwardly with the proximity.

"Cause it'd be fun?" Stan tilts his head, like it's an obvious answer. "And it'd be nice to have someone I know there."

"You know the hockey team. You know practically everyone in town. There's nothing special about me being there. Cartman would hate me being there, anyway, you know that."

"Cartman doesn't need to know. We can just have fun together."

"I don't even drink. I'm a massive vibe killer, Marsh." Kyle's cheeks are blooming red, now.

"That literally doesn't bother me. We'd make it fun. Raise the fucking roof, you know?!" Stan laughs as he says it, and leans in closer to Kyle. The other flinches away, paling. Stan stops himself before pulling back, sort of ashamedly.

"I'm not going. Sorry, I guess." But he doesn't sound sorry at all. Kyle turns his attention back to his textbook. He nudges his glasses back up his nose with a trembling hand.