♡~Style/Stan x Kyle||We'll get through this together~♡

Chapter 8

Stan's POV:
I sighed, watching the door for a few more moments until I knew he wasn't going to come running back in, and made my way over to the bed, flopping down on it. I tried to think about what could've gone wrong, what did go wrong and what I could possibly do to fix it, but the longer I thought, the less that came to mind.

I tried to mediate the tears that had started to fall, but only ended up crying harder, and eventually moved to hide my face in my pillow; confusion, upset, frustration and heartache pouring out of my system like a waterfall. For a long few moments, I thought I was alone, until the sound of footsteps on my hallway made my head snap up from my pillow. Could it be Kyle? If it isn't then it very well could be a burglar, and I wasn't prepared for that shit, I'd watched too many true crime documentaries.

The closer the footsteps got to my door, the more frozen my body became, and as if it was going to help in any way shape or form, I grabbed my pillow, holding it to my chest, until finally, knock knock knock.

What the fuck kind of burglar knocks?

"Stan?" I suddenly heard a familiar, muffled voice say from outside my door, and as soon as I heard it, every part of me relaxed simultaneously, and I coughed into my hand, clearing my throat.

"Uh—" I cough again, harder this time. "Yeah?" I wait patiently for a response, holding the pillow even tighter to my body.

"Can I come in?" She asked, which I just muttered out a little, "Sure." And put my pillow back in it's appropriate place before flopping down on it, just in time to see my sister's face poke through the door. "Hey nerd, you doing okay?"

I fought the urge to laugh at her silly little nickname and rolled my eyes, averting my gaze to the TV, grabbing the remote and turning it on. "Yeah I'm fine," I lied. "What are you doing back so early? Aren't you supposed to be on some lame little getaway?"

She scoffed, though it was light. "I'll have you know it's one of the best ways to relax."

I then scoffed, unable to hide my amusement. "Ah yes, a total stranger massaging you and being in your presence is so very relaxing."

"Once you get used to that it really is relaxing." She shrugged, only getting another eye roll from me. "Mom forgot some stuff so I came back for it." She then seemed to examine me, her eyes slitting together in suspicion. "What's wrong? You look like you've been hit by a bus."

Wow, that's—"That's out of pocket, Shell," I replied, almost in disbelief.

"You do though!" She laughed, moving to sit next to me on the bed. "You've been crying," she said, poking my damp cheek. "Why have you been crying, Stan?" She actually sounded concerned, and it was more than jarring coming from her.

"Because I'm on my period. Now go get me some chocolate to satisfy my cravings." I tried to joke, even exaggeratedly rolling my eyes to imitate the way she usually acts on her period—she laughed a little, pushing me.

"I'm serious you dork. What's going on?" She asked, her worried expression lightening a little.

"Shelly, why do you care? You've never seemed to care before so why now all of the sudden?" I genuinely wanted to know, and I almost regretted it with the way her face lamented slightly.

"Stan, I was a moody teenager, crazy moody," she laughed, "it was never you that I was mad at, not even Mom or Dad," she then frowned, "well, maybe Dad but," she sighed, putting her hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry for the way I used to treat you," her voice was soft, and so very unlike her that I couldn't help but listen to every word. "You were going through a lot at that time too, and I know now I should've been there instead of shutting myself away and pretending like I didn't need anyone, and that's why I want you to be different." She said, which surprised me,