Do You Even Care? / STYLE SOUTHPARK

☆Chapter 20 ☆

...Stan's POV...

I inhaly sharply as we both lean away to catch our breath. His eyes lock with mine and the things I wanted to say last night begin to rise up inside of me. The guilt of not saying them rises too. It's all burning like a fire in my chest and I can feel the smoke coming up my throat and to the tip of my tongue.

He begins to lean in but I slightly retract and he stops. "Sorry. Are you ok?" he asks, a worried look on his face.

Then I feel his hand on top of mine. His hand is so warm and mine is so cold that the contrast pulls me out of my thoughts for a brief moment. He gives me a soft smile and that's what breaks me. His hand on mine and his sweet smile. "I... I like you, like, I have a crush on you."

His eyes widen slightly and I look away so I don't have to see his further reaction.

"I wanted to tell you last night. I don't know... I just couldn't," I sigh heavily. "I guess it's just that being face to face made it so much harder. And-."

I'm cut off by Kyle leaning in close to me. He gives me a soft peck on the lips when I stop rambling. I don't say anything. For a moment neither of us say anything. We just look at each other withe similar unsure expressions.

"Do you want eggs?" Kyle eventually asks quietly.

I'm slightly surprised by the question but I nod, "Yeah, sure."

He lifts his hand off mine and stands up. He walks to the kitchen. Everything around me feels surreal, like I'm floating around in a little bubble.

I sit there, starting blankly at the wall and I'm unsure what to do. Sometimes life is like that. On some occasion you just have to sit in the surrealism of being alive. So I do for a minute or so. Then it starts to fade and I take a deep breath to ground myself a bit.

Slowly, I get to my feet and follow Kyle's path into the kitchen. He standing at the stove with one of our spatulas in hand. "I'm making scrambled eggs," he informs me.

"Sounds good," I reply. It's undeniably tense in here. The sound of the eggs in the sizzling hot pan is what I decide to focus on. I feel myself start to relax a bit. Just a bit. I sit at the table, tapping my fingers on it to preoccupy myself with something, anything.

He sets the spatula on the counter space next to the stove. "How long have you liked me?" He asks, eyes avoiding mine.

"It was that day, when I locked us in the bathroom," I admit, as I say it my cheeks flush red. His eyes look back at my face and I dart my gaze to the floor in response. "Uh... do you..?" I trail off unsure what exactly to ask.

Kyle chuckles lightly, "Yeah I like you too. Since the summer before freshman's year."

Almost two years. How did I not know? Is Kyle good at hiding it or am I stupid? Both maybe.

We stare at each other, neither of us saying anything, but it isn't uncomfortable. Then Kyle flips back to the stove, grabbing the spatula semi-frantically. After a moment of stirring the eggs he sighs in relief, "I thought I'd burnt them."

We both laugh, just a bit at first, but soon we are hysterically laughing. Laughing over  this whole situation. No matter what just happened we're still super best friends and that makes everything feel sort of ok. It makes me think a little less about what I'm going to do.
...

On the couch Kyle and I sit side by side, shoulder touching. We each have a controller in our hands. It's late now, the street lights have come on and the mosquitos are swarming about as happy as can be.

Soft footsteps come down the stairs and I glance up slightly to see who's coming. "Hey Mom," I say though mainly focused on the TV.

"Hi boys," my mom replies from beside the TV.

I pause the game and turn to look at her. Kyle turns too, "Hi Mrs.Marsh."

"I just came down to remind you that Kyle needs to be heading home," she tells the both of us with a smile. I resist the urge to complain.

We stand from the couch, I move to shut off the switch and Kyle sets our controllers on the shelf. "You're walking me home?" He asks, noticing I'm putting on some slides.

I nod, "I figured we could talk on the way to your house."

He seems to get the message about what I want to talk about because he looks a little uneasy now. He doesn't say anything more, he just puts on his shoes and grabs his stuff.

We leave my house silently. In my head I'm playing tug-o-war, trying to decide what to say. In the meantime, we walk in silence. All there is is the wind and the sound of footsteps on the pavement.

I take in a deep breath, willing myself to say something, anything. I can't... Well I can't have this be something people at school know about, not yet. I'm too scared for anyone to know yet, especially when I barely know myself. I just don't want them all to see me differently. But if they know, its unavoidable, somebody — possibly everybody — will see me differently. I hate that.

I realize that were starting to get close to his house.

"Kyle?" I manage to mumble.

He glances at me, "Yeah?"

"When... when we go to school on Monday none of this happened. Ok?"

His gaze lingers a moment longer than it should and he pauses for a little longer before saying anything. "Yeah, sure," he mumbles to his feet as he turns to his door.

I feel guilt pressing on my chest and shoulder as he opens his door and goes inside. I turn to walk back to my house. I know Kyle, he won't say anything, he'll keep my secret — our secret. Still, I feel a looming anxiety that hovers just below the guilt; It tingles in my finger tips and on the back of my neck. All this emotion makes me want to run back to Kyle, to find solace in his arms.

But I turn, and I look,

and I don't run back to him.