86 Feelings (Stan x Kenny)[Completed]

4

(Day 375)

"Come on, Marsh! I know you can kick ass better than this!"

Stan shoved Kenny off the couch at that, causing the controller to go flying from his hands just in time for him to steal first place.

"Fuck yeah! That'll teach you to talk shit, McCormick!" Stan swayed triumphantly as he stood from the couch, extending a hand to a scowling Kenny on the ground: "Shot?"

Snorting like he should've already known the answer, Kenny grasped his hand, and pulled himself to his feet. "Duh! Man, I don't know if cheating really counts as a win, though!"

Pouring two shots of whiskey at the table, Stan smirked: "Never said we couldn't play dirty."

They knocked back their shots. It was hard for Stan not to stare at Kenny the more alcohol he consumed. If it was just them and the boys, he wouldn't have tried to hide it as much, but with Wendy and Tammy watching them from across the room, Stan only poured another round. At that moment, he didn't really care that this was the exact opposite of what Wendy asked of him.

"You assholes gonna share?" Craig elbowed Stan's ribs as he slid next to him. They shared a knowing look that made him feel guilty. He got too wrapped up in Kenny again, and forgot anyone else existed. "Pour six more, dude. Ken, second cabinet on the left - shot glasses."

Over the last year they all worked together, Craig and Kenny ended up butting heads more than anyone anticipated. In fact, it resulted in a fight a few months prior in the parking lot of Craig's apartment building; although they mended whatever the issue was, Stan felt the awkwardness.

They didn't like each other, it seemed as simple as that.

But, since Kenny had been sent to the kitchen, Craig relaxed his demeanor. He sighed, knocking back the shot Stan had poured for himself. "Alright, how long has that been going on, Stan?"

That motherfucker! Why'd he have to catch on?! No one pays attention to my shit until something like this, I guess.. Funny how that works. Stan scowled at the depleting source of liquor - it was the only thing that distracted him from his sick craving for Kenny.

"Dude," Stan hissed a little more harshly than he meant to. He was slipping up, he had to relax. "It's.. nothing."

Catching Kyle's eyes from the couch in the living room, Stan frowned deeply. His best friend was watching him carefully lately, he seemed to be the only one who understood that Stan wasn't exactly stable. Compared to just a few years ago, he was stronger than ever, but that didn't mean the darkest parts of him didn't remain.

It all triggered him lately, and god, did he fucking hate that word. Unfortunately, it was true. It wasn't that anyone was doing anything wrong, Stan just couldn't seem to let go of his self hatred enough to accept the whole truth. Everything made him feel like a shitty person.

Craig let him walk away, despite being intrigued by the obvious denial of what he witnessed. Everyone knew better than to push Stan when he drank; he was fun until someone tried to make him talk about his feelings. Craig wasn't about to ruin game night.

With everyone gathering in the kitchen for more shots, Stan slipped out to the balcony. The cold air comforted his hot, itchy skin. The liquor and anxiety were equally suffocating. He didn't need more of both. This is getting worse.. Stan bit at his thumb nail viciously as he stared at the white scar forever embedded in his skin. I've known him for a year, and yet, I still can't get rid of that fucking feeling.

He chuckled dryly at himself, staring up at the stars in desperation. Stan didn't want to be a bad person. Never did he think that he'd fall in love with someone else while he was in a relationship; Stan thought he wasn't that kind of person.

After losing his mom in middle school, Stan learned a lot about loyalty and relationships. Witnessing his dad stand by her the entire time she was sick taught him everything he needed to know. If someone like Randy could show up for people, why couldn't he?

The sliding door opened enough to spill some voices into the cold silence of the town. Stan looked back to find Kyle smothering the noise behind him, immediately hugging his coat closer as he was separated from the warmth of the apartment. He stood next to him in silence for a few minutes. Kyle knew his best friend, and he knew he wasn't okay.

"Ya know, Ky.." Stan mumbled into his arms draped over the railing. "I dunno what I'm doing. P-Pretty sure I'm fuckin' up here."

Kyle was a bit afraid of this. There were too many unspoken understandings between them, and although he had to push for details, he was grasping the gist already: "What do you mean?"

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, Stan searched desperately into the night for a reason for anything. Kenny flashed through his mind for about the hundredth time that night, and it made him want to scream. "I think I-"

Clyde slammed into the glass door, earning the attention of the two most serious people at the party. He laughed sloppily as he pushed off of the glass, and finally found the handle. Stan and Kyle exchanged a look - Clyde didn't handle his alcohol well.

"'Nother game, da-da-da-dudes!"

They looked at him like he was an idiot. Clyde never seemed to pick up on hints though, especially when he was drunk; Stan was drunk too, sure, but he didn't feel like being a total asshole for the rest of the night. He could pretend for just a little longer. "Yeah, man!" Stan ignored Kyle's protests, and followed Clyde back into the room. As he subtly tried to search for Kenny, his eyes landed on Wendy instead. He forgot about her again.

She seemed too wrapped up in talking with Tammy to notice him. Stan would've been thrilled by the setup if it wasn't for the blatant shit talking unfolding before him; the girls weren't trying to cover up the fact that they were talking about him and Kenny.

He couldn't catch the context.

Stan barely grasped the controller shoved into his hands by Cartman as he swore he heard them mention Tolkien. His vision around the bright colors of the TV screen pulsated with an uncomfortable rage. He nearly flipped around to snap at the bitches, yet he was grounded again as Kenny sat on the couch, even though it was far away from him.

Biting his cheek viciously to turn his attention to the game, Stan wished things were different. He hated himself for not saying something to Kenny. Especially now, as he felt the magnetic pull between them.

Did he really miss his chance?

A/N: Fuck it, I'm posting Ch.5 immediately