86 Feelings (Stan x Kenny)[Completed]

29

(Day 536)

Drinking binges don't do anything beneficial, ever. Stan knew better than to give up to this extent, he really did, but therapy couldn't fix this. At least, not right then.

The last few days were a complete blur for Stan, and that's how he wanted to keep it. He knew what happened between him and Kenny, he just didn't want to think about it. That was too much to think about anyway when he spent the entire night, and most of the morning, curled around the toilet.

Kyle didn't press him. He knew it would come eventually, yet the ginger was being surprisingly patient for once. Maybe it was guilt, or anxiety, Stan didn't know, he was just glad he wasn't alone. Well, at least not in that sense.

Stan couldn't fathom the idea of going to work. He was surprised he even had a job after he left in the middle of his shift, and didn't show up for days; the one thought he did have was that Kyle might've covered for him. All that possibility did was make him feel more useless.

Hopeless.

Nothing matters. Stan stared down at the still toilet water, waiting for the storm in his stomach to decide if it was quelled enough for sleep. Kyle had gone to work just a few minutes ago, but it was already too much time alone with his thoughts. He wanted to let his impossibly heavy skull fall into the bowl, and let go of everything.

He pushed away from the toilet.

It was the depression that wanted him to die, not him. Stan had to remember that.

All this over a guy, huh? Stan curled into himself as he slumped back against the bathroom wall. A dry, raspy chuckle fell from his lips like a sick, second nature. God, I'm pathetic.. In my twenties, and I'm broken because he doesn't love me. Is this really what I want for myself? What does any of this fucking do for me?!

He didn't realize he had it in him to snap again; Stan was yelling, and throwing things around the bathroom with the last of his strength, vision blurred by tears as he pounded his fists into the tile. The pain was just so fucking deep, it should've killed him. Why did he have to love?

When a knock at the door interrupted his destruction of their bathroom, Stan debated whether, or not, to answer. It might've been the police - he had made a lot of noise that probably sounded like someone getting murdered - or, it was someone else checking on him. Either way, it pissed him off.

Covered in blood and tears, Stan didn't care as he opened the door. And, of course, of fucking course, it had to be Kenny that would dare to bother him. He slammed the door before the other reacted to the state he was in.

Stan stumbled to the couch, and landed on his back to watch the ceiling with disdain. The shadow under the door hadn't moved though, and it only started to pace as Stan held onto his anger adamantly. Kenny hadn't left, and he was trying not to care. He doesn't care about me, why should I give a shit about him?! He turned on his side to face away from the pacing shadow in the hallway.

He didn't want to forgive Kenny.

"Stan?" Kenny's voice spilled through the thick wooden door, much to Stan's dismay. There was really no way to avoid it now. "Can we talk? Please?"

The way he said 'please' tugged at heartstrings, but only for a split second before the pain eroded back in. Stan didn't answer.

"I-I have some explaining to do, and.. and, well, you deserve that. Please, open the door?"

He sounded desperate, Stan could give him that, yet it wasn't enough to convince him. If it was so easy to explain to him now, why couldn't he do that before? Stan was tired of running in circles. "No. No more games. You've done enough.." When his own voice broke at the end, Stan realized he was crying again. No matter how much Kenny hurt him, he fucking hated hurting him back. He hated it. God, he wanted to go back to destroying the bathroom.

Kenny still hadn't left, though: "You can hate me if you want, I think that's fair.. but, you should know that I never wanted to hurt you. I meant everything I said to you, just-just I have to explain some stuff! Damnit.." Stan could hear Kenny mumbling to himself in frustration, and almost instinctively, a corner of his mouth pulled in the direction of a smile. "You have to come to work eventually, Stanley! I won't give up, okay? I'm gonna annoy the fuck outta you until you punch me, or talk to me!"

Why.. Why is he acting like this now? He gave up before.. Stan scowled, unsure of how to feel with the presentation of other factors. Did he even need to respond to that? What could he say?

"I.." The rest of the words wouldn't come. None of them felt right because he didn't know what he wanted to say, he didn't know how to feel. The blood on his hands was starting to dry painfully too, and he just wanted this to end: "We'll see."

It was all he offered before retreating back to the bathroom with a slam of the door. Damn Kenny - whether he was done talking, or not.

Somehow, after a drinking binge, things had gotten much more complicated.

Stan couldn't do this shit anymore.