"Kenny, I didn't mean this. I wanted to help but not this." I beg.
"C'mon, you didn't mean give him a talk in private about how dying is bad, like Mackey? I'm disappointed in you."
"This WON'T help anyone! It will make life worse for us!"
"Let's go over to his table."
"Dude! He's by himself! Someone will notice!"
"This I why you're worried? Your image?" He gasps an feigns shock.
"I know this life must suck for him, but why make us the same, Kenny?"
"Hey everybody!" He calls out, calling little attention from students. Shit like this happened a lot. "I don't know where the aliens took Stan! Anybody seen him?"
"Shut up!" I scream/whisper.
"Oh, what is that? Is that Stan saying he WILL come with me to Sam's lonely little table?"
"Fine! Shut the hell up already!"
"YAY! STAN IS BACK GUYS!" This only earned a half hearted cheer from what sounded like Butters.
After his little outburst, he confidently strolls over to emo boy's table.
"Hey, SAM." For some reason Kenny must really like saying Sam, because he always throws it around and emphasizes it like the kid should be guilty for it.
"H-hey... Kenny." He sounds completely unsatisfied by us being here. His nose sounds clogged and I realize we came at a bad time.
I hear a broken sob choke out of him and I put my hands on his shoulders.
"You okay man?" Kenny asks.
"Uh... Yea. I'm... Fine. Just fine."
"You're lying." Kenny bluntly mutters.
I step in. "Are you crying?"
"Why would I be crying?" He says, head still down.
"I don't know, you tell me."
He doesn't speak for a minute, and occasionally sniffs.
"Dude, I'm not asking you too tell me your whole life stor-"
"Happy?" He whips his head up and gives me the most painful, no, painfilled. Maybe both? Smile I've ever seen.
He looked pretty realistic, but his face was still tear-stained, red, and his eyes were still puffy.
Maybe it wasn't that. Maybe that was just me. But his eyes, not the puffy-bloodshot part, gave it away.
I could just tell something was wrong with this persons whole being, I knew because of his eyes, not even the bags that hanged around them, not the tired/rundown look I was getting from him.
It was the color.
I just-- I knew by looking into his grey eyes that he needed a lot more help than I could hand over.
I wanted to leave. I needed to leave. Now.
Those stormy eyes are staring into my soul, it knew every nick and scratch if everything I've been through.
I make a gagging sound and run to the bathroom.
I grip the sink and just breathe.
As I calm down I realize I'd been choking and still was, kinda.
In the corner.
I hear the door open to see the very boy I've been dreading.
"Stan? Oh god, are you okay?" He sounds desperate, and for some reason I want to grab him and demand he say my name again.
"Are you having an asthma attack? Oh fuck, I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry..." He mumbles and he comes toward me.
"I, uh, think I may... Yea! I think I still had that inhaler I used to carry around!" He proceeds to search through his bag.
"Oh shit, Stan... Please be okay... Oh Abraham, please be okay... Here!"
He triumphantly holds up a really beat up inhaler.
He probabaly has been hanging on that for a long time.
It seemed nice that he was trusting me to use it, but he didn't give me the chance. Sam stuffed it in my mouth and fumbled around with the button and he didn't seem to know how to use it. I grab it and he lets go, knowing that I actually know how to use it.
I sit and wheeze on the floor, contemplating what just happened.
I look at the label in the inhaler.
Stan Marsh.
"Wait... How do you... Know I have asthma? And... How did you...Have my prescription?"
And the emo boy bolts.
{South Park}](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/14921032-64-k869387.jpg)