Chapter Text
Kyle came to face-planted in the carpet of his bedroom with a foul taste lingering in his mouth. Ironically, he was in the same spot next to the bed where he and Stan had first kissed– the origin of all of his pain– why hadn’t he just pushed Stan away and said no? All of this could have been avoided. Kyle wished he could find it within himself to regret kissing Stan that night all the way back in December, but he couldn’t imagine a world in which he didn’t give in. Was there anything he could have done differently, so they didn’t end up here?
After he started drinking at school yesterday, the rest of the afternoon was a blur. Most of what Kyle remembered was that it was bad, really bad.
So bad, that his mom had been called to pick him up from school.
So bad, that the next morning he woke up on the floor of his bedroom with his knuckles purple, throbbing, and undoubtedly fractured.
Kyle rolled over on the carpet and groaned. He sat up and noticed that he was still in his school clothes from yesterday. His vision was still blurry and his head was pounding. He noticed that there was a full bottle of water on his bedside table. He snatched it down and chugged half of it while still sitting on the floor. After that, he heaved himself into bed and noticed there was a note on the bedside table as well, in his father’s professional handwriting.
It read: Come down when you’re ready to talk.
Fuck. He was fucked. Honestly, he should’ve felt more scared than he did. Much, much more scared– but he couldn’t really bring himself to care. Usually, the ire of his parents was his biggest fear in the whole world– but obviously that had changed –and his biggest fear had already been faced. Handled poorly, but still faced.
He summoned up the strength to take a shower in the dark, but didn’t have the energy to put on real clothes and opted for a baggy long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. He tried as hard as he could to not glimpse himself in the mirror, but from the quick snatches he did accidentally see, he knew he looked like total shit. Like shit that had been eaten then shit out again.
When he was as ready as he could be, he stood at the top of the stairs and took a deep breath. His parents were waiting down there to chew him out, no doubt about that. He had seriously fucked up. He could feel the weight of the bags under his eyes, his knuckles ached, and he still felt nauseous from his hangover. He stood at the top of the stairs for a long while, willing himself to go down but not finding the strength. Finally his father called up to him.
“Kyle, buddy? You need to come down here and talk to us. We know you’re awake up there.”
Gerald sounded like he was trying to come off as non-threatening, but there was an underlying tightness to his voice.
Kyle let out a shuttering breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It was time to face the music. Kyle wobbled down the stairs. The sun shone bright through the living room window and he tried to avoid looking at it. He wasn’t sure what time it was– or even where his phone was, for that matter. When his eyes adjusted, he was met with a truly harrowing sight– his parents, sitting in the living room, waiting for him. They had brought two chairs from the kitchen and were sitting facing the couch– where he was evidently expected to sit. Kyle hung his head low and tried not to look at their concerned faces. His mother looked exhausted and was wringing her hands together, her usually pristine hair fraying around the edges. His father looked like he was trying to keep his face and posture as neutral as possible, but it came off as overly formal.
Kyle’s heart beat heavy in his chest as he took his seat on the couch.
“Kyle,” his father began, always the arbitrator, “as parents, we try to give you your space, and trust you to come to us with your problems in your own time, when you feel it’s necessary. You’ve always been an excellent student, and as long as your grades don’t slip, we try to be hands off with you, because you’ve always been a good kid. But what happened yesterday is not acceptable, obviously. Your mother nearly fainted when the school called a told us that you were out of your mind, drunk, sobbing, and punchi–”
“Gerald please!” His mother interrupted frantically, “I don’t need to relive that right now!”
“Shelia, he needs to hear it–”
“Just hold on! Hold on just one second Gerald, he’s not a client he’s your son, and there’s clearly something wrong with him, so just–”
“Shelia, please! Let me–”
“No!” she shouted, turning her attention back to Kyle. “Kyle, do you have a drinking problem? Are you an alcoholic?"
“No, Ma–” he started to defend, but she was already grilling him again.
“Is it drugs then? Who's your dealer? Is it Kenny? I always knew that family was–”
“No, Ma, Jesus, no–”
“So is it Mr. Marsh then? Has he been selling you weed?”
Kyle grimaced at the word Marsh and his mother’s eyes lit up like she’d solved the world’s biggest mystery.
“That’s what it is, isn’t it! Randy Marsh got you addicted to drugs .and now you’re hooked and a maniac and- and–”
“No!” Kyle yelled, his hands clenching painfully. “It’s not that, it’s not drugs, Ma, jesus christ.”
“Don’t lie to me Kyle!” Sheila shouted, her voice reaching a new level of shrillness, “I saw your face just now, I saw it!”
“It’s not- it’s not Mr. Marsh, okay? It’s Stan,” he admitted, his chest squeezing when he spoke his name.
“Stan’s been dealing you drugs?!” Sheila exploded.
“Shelia, for the love of God, let the boy speak!” Gerald snapped back at her, finally getting sick of her catastrophizing.
“But Gerald–” she started hysterically.
“Sheila, you promised you wouldn’t do this. We are having a civilized, adult conversation with our adult child.”
Gerald gave her some sort of look and Sheila settled a little.
The thought of them going over their game plan of this confrontation beforehand made Kyle feel queasy at all the trouble he’d caused. He hadn’t meant for his problems to spill over into his family, he’d thought he could cope on his own without dragging anyone else down with him, but looking at his mother’s watery eyes and his father’s measured tight-lipped expression, that clearly wasn't the case any more.
They turned their attention back to him, having reached some sort of a silent agreement on how to proceed.
“Kyle,” his father began evenly, “what happened with Stan?”
Fuck. That was the million dollar question right there, wasn’t it? What had happened with Stan? How could he possibly explain to his parents everything that had gone down between them? Where would he even start?
It’s not like he could say, ‘So for years now, Stan has been sneaking over here at night, drunk, and this winter we started hooking up one of those times, and we kept hooking up, and he was cheating on Wendy, and I think I love him, and he said we were gonna be together, but now he won’t even look at me, and I wanna fucking die.’ He probably wouldn’t even be able to get through the first sentence without his mother interrupting and bombarding him with questions, let alone the whole fucked up explanation.
Kyle kept opening and closing his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue before they got caught in his throat, his lips twisting as he tried to find something to say, something that would make sense to them, something touched the core of the issue without getting into all of the fucked up, beautiful, horrible details.
They managed to wait patiently for over a minute as he gathered his words, courage, and thoughts, but his mother lost her cool again, shrieking, “What, what? What is it Kyle?!”
“Out with it Kyle, c’mon.” His father concurred, tone verging on exasperated now.
Tears started to pool in Kyle’s eyes, making his vision even blurrier. It felt like his throat was closing up, but he had to say something and get it over with before his mother had a nervous breakdown. Finally, he was able to force some words out, like a stubborn cough lodged deep in his throat.
“We–” he choked out, “I–” he clenched his fists again and found comfort in the shooting pain radiating throughout his knuckles. His parents’ eyes were boring into him, so he stared at his knees. “I–” he bit back a sob, “I’m fucking gay, okay?”
He heard both of his parents suck in a surprised breath, and one of them made a strangled little noise.
Kyle didn’t dare chance a look at them as he struggled to say more, “And Stan, we- we were- he- but not, not anymore- and I–”
That was all he managed to get out before the tears took over and he couldn’t talk anymore. His hands went to his brow and he cried into his palms, hiding his face. Admitting even that small amount to his parents felt like going over the top of a roller coaster when your stomach drops out, but it just kept dropping and dropping with no end in sight. For a terrifying moment, a silent stillness fell over the house. The only sound was Kyle’s crying. Then there was a loud creak and a weight settled next to him and his mother was wrapping him up in her arms like he was a little kid again. He leaned into her comforting warmth and the familiar smell of her perfume, and he cried into her soft shoulder as she stroked his hair.
“Shh shh,” she soothed, her demeanor changed entirely, “it’s okay Bubbabla, it’s okay.”
Her sympathy only made Kyle cry harder.
“But I thought–” Gerald said, sounding hoarse, “but you- but- but isn’t Stan with that Wendy girl?”
Kyle nodded into his mother’s bosom and another sob overcame him like a crashing wave. His mother shushed him again sweetly. There was another stretch of quiet only filled with Kyle’s weeping and his mother’s soothing. Then his father spoke up again.
“Since when are you–”
“Gerald please!” Sheila interrupted, staring daggers at her husband, "Can't you see he’s heartbroken!”
“Yeah but… I just thought… Kyle are you sure–”
“Gerald!” She hissed, “Not now!”
Kyle didn’t even have a bandwidth to process that reaction from his dad, he just cried into his mom’s sweater and tried to will himself to stop crying into his mom’s sweater. He was unsuccessful for an embarrassingly long time. Then he went back to bed for the rest of the day.
His family didn’t talk about ‘the incident’ again after that, not directly at least. His mom let him stay home for the rest of the week, but she got all his lesson plans and homework from school, because he wasn’t getting off that easy. So, like Kenny had suggested, he did end up taking roughly a week off of school, just not of his own volition.
He spent most of his time out of school hiding away in his room; only really leaving to sneak to the kitchen for a snack, or slipping out onto the roof for a cigarette. He had dinner with the rest of his family, but his dad barely made eye-contact with him, and Kyle didn’t push it. It felt awkward and gross for anyone, especially his parents, to know about his messed up feelings and utterly fucked up situation with Stan– even if they didn’t know any of the details. Ike even took it easy on him, offering to let Kyle watch Youtube with him; which Kyle did in a total haze, zoning out on Ike’s beanbag thinking about Stan while some obnoxious vlogger screamed in exaggerated fear at a ‘haunted McDonalds at 3am’ as Ike cackled with laughter from his desk.
Kyle spent a lot of time sleeping. It was like being so deeply sad all of the time was sapping the energy out of him, even though the most strenuous exercise he had all week was walking up and down the stairs. He wanted to get out of the house and go for a walk– but where would he go? Not Stark’s Pond. Not anymore. And what if someone saw him and asked what was going on, why hadn’t he been at school? He hadn’t come up with a good answer yet. Besides, he didn’t have the energy. It all seemed so tiresome, so pointless. Everyday was somehow agonizing long and painfully short all at the same time. The hours dragged on. Each moment he knew Stan was out there somewhere hating him, or worse, not even thinking about him, clawed at Kyle’s chest as he wallowed in bed, the minutes slowly ticking by, second by second. Then he would blink and it would be night again– time to sleep some more.
Maybe it was because of his exhaustion, but he hadn’t been able to dream in a while. Every night he willed himself to dream of Stan, so he could talk to him and be with him just one more time, but every morning (or late afternoon) he woke up alone without reaping any of the benefits from sleeping. He was always still tired, and always dreamless. Sometimes, when he was half-awake but hadn’t opened his eyes yet, he would try to convince himself that it was still December, that Stan had been there the night before, and he’d only just left out the window. He’d pretended that the lingering smell of liquor on the other side of the bed was from Stan lying there, and not from where Kyle had spilled his own bottle on the carpet. Sometimes, if he really focused, he could even feel Stan’s weight next to him in bed. Time is an illusion anyways, the brain can be tricked, so maybe he was actually somehow phase shifting to a few months ago, back to when everything was still confusing, but there was a happy ending in sight. Now, he couldn’t even imagine what his future might look like.
Then just like that, it was Monday and he had to go to school again.
Earlier than necessary, his mom burst into his room and threw open the shades. Sunlight streamed in and Kyle groaned and hid his face in his pillows, but it seemed like he’d used up his grace period, and even his mom was done with his moping.
“Get up Bubbabla, it’s a new week, and you’re making some big changes.”
Kyle only groaned in response.
“That’s right!” Sheila continued, projecting positivity that was a little forced. “I talked to your school, and they’re willing to keep your little… incident off your record if you agree to meet with the school counselor during lunch.”
Kyle whipped the pillow from his face. The sunlight seared his eyes, but he needed to see his mom’s expression to know if she was messing with him or not.
“Every lunch period?!”
Sheila nodded, “Every lunch.”
“For how long?!”
“Until the counselor says you don’t have to.”
Kyle groaned again, but truthfully, that would be better than sitting next to the dumpster, like the reject he was.
“Plus,” Sheila continued, “you’ll be seeing a real therapist once a week on Wednesdays after school.”
Kyle balked. When the hell did she do all of this?
“And, you have a new class schedule, so you don’t have any classes with... well, you know who.”
“Jesus, you’re acting like I was raped,” Kyle said sarcastically.
“KYLE! That is not appropriate! You sound sick in the head!” His mother shrieked, her fussing around the room halted.
Kyle winced. Yeah, not his finest comment, but the sentiment still stood. To Kyle's surprise, instead of going on a tirade, his mom softened and continued to busy herself again.
“But with your behavior recently, it actually seems like you were,” Sheila added as an afterthought.
She had begun to lay out an outfit for school on his desk chair. She hadn’t done that for him since he was six.
“What the fuck?!” Kyle shouted, shooting up in bed, “What the hell does that mean?”
“Emotionally, Bubbabla, emotionally… assaulted. Let me finish next time. And you know exactly what I mean.”
Kyle turned back around and buried his face in his pillow.
“Kyle, I know you’ve been having a hard time, but it’s time to get it together now, okay? We gave you a little time to recuperate, but you have to pull yourself up now. Be the fighter I know you are. I really don’t know what happened to you, Kyle, this is not the you I know.”
Kyle’s gut twisted with shame. Oh yeah, he used to have convictions. He used to stand up for himself. He used to never let anyone treat him like shit. Where along the lines had he stopped?
“Okay Ma,” Kyle responded unconvincingly, face still in his pillow.
“Now get dressed. There’s strawberry waffles for breakfast, your favorite.”
“Is Dad home?” Kyle grumbled.
He didn't want to have to endure another meal with his father’s pointedly averted gaze.
He heard his mom shift uncomfortably on her feet,“He left for work early today.”
“Okay.” Thank god.
Gerald’s convenient absence was probably his mother’s doing. She wasn’t always the most empathic parent, but she was actually being really understanding in the gay heartbreak department. As much as she was capable of, at least.
“Now get dressed, Kyle! Or the waffles will be cold.” Sheila announced before exiting his bedroom, the door left slightly ajar behind her.
“IKE! UP! NOW!” Kyle heard her shout from the hallway.
He huffed a little laugh at that as he dragged himself out of bed.
When he got to school that morning, everyone was either peppering him questions, giving him strange looks, or avoiding him entirely. It seemed like some sort of rumor must’ve spread around about his meltdown and near week-long absence. He brushed off the nosey ones and honestly didn’t care about the others. Let them look, let them ignore him– Stan already was.
Kyle went to the office and picked up his slightly altered class schedule that ensured he wouldn’t have to see Stan at all during the school day. Great. Even the teachers who were milling around the office were giving him strange looks. When he linked up with Kenny before classes started, he didn't ask questions, he just looked at Kyle with wide puppy dog eyes of pity.
Cartman made an appearance too, because obviously he had to talk shit, but Kyle couldn’t have given less of a fuck about the crap Cartman was spewing. He was going on about some rumor that Kyle had punched a dent in the dumpster (that one actually rang kind of true– his knuckles were still recovering from whatever the hell he’d been hitting), then he apparently punched a teacher in the face when they tried to stop him (that was definitely not true); and all this was because he and Wendy had been having a torrid affair behind Stan's back, but Wendy had chosen Stan over him. Oh the brutal irony. If only they fucking knew. Kyle didn’t react to Cartman antics, so eventually he fucked off after a while. Who knew it could be that easy? It turned out the problem wasn’t other people, it was Kyle’s reaction to them.
At lunch, Kyle had trudged into the counselor's office and plopped down ruefully on the couch with his tray of food. The couch was kind of cozy, but other than that, the room was pretty sparse. At least the windows had shades, so no one else could see he was in there. As much as he wasn’t looking forward to his new ‘lunch date,’ she actually turned out to be fine.
The counselor was a lady who was eerily similar to Mr. Mackey– which was weirdly comforting, (but the day he found out they were dating and not related was certainly a shocking one). Her name was Ms. Conduct, and she apparently did admin work along with counseling. Ms. Conduct (or Heather, as he came to know her) did not pry about anything, she just chatted with him about life and school while they ate. She didn’t even seem to mind giving up her lunch period to chat with some sad gay teenager (Kyle had a feeling she didn’t have many friends among her coworkers). Eventually, after a week or so, the shit with Stan came up. Kyle was wary to tell her about it at first– she was connected to the school afterall, so it felt forbidden for her to know about his illicit, at times alcohol-fueled, affair with another male student –it worried him that she might tell the other teachers or something. Even so, after some coaxing and her sharing a few surprisingly wildly inappropriate stories (some of which Kyle suspected were about Mr. Mackey, ew), Kyle divulged a little bit of what happened.
He also came to know about her life and even some drama between his teachers (Heather was kind of a blabbermouth when you got her going). It was nice to not have to eat outside next to a dumpster. After a full month, Kyle was once again allowed to have lunch where he pleased (they’d switched his lunch hour anyways), but most of the time he still chose to eat with her instead of enduring the dumpster or a cafeteria full of underclassmen. Heather was someone who he could rant, and occasionally yap with, but the real counseling happened outside of school, with his new therapist.
In a shocking turn of events, his real therapist ended up being pretty cool as well. Somehow, Sheila had found a ‘queer friendly’ practice within thirty minutes of town, with a real genuine gay man working as a therapist. Not that that was unheard of, but it was something Kyle hadn’t realized he’d desperately needed in his life– a sane gay male adult who could truly empathize with him and didn’t think he was a weird freak or something. The therapist was a calm middle aged man who didn't rattle easily, who told Kyle to just call him Richard. He’d vaguely recognized Richard at first, but it was a small area, so, whatever. It was only when Kyle took off for college that Richard revealed to him that he also went by ‘Rick,’ and that he and Kyle had crossed paths a few years ago through Mr. Garrison (but very thankfully, they weren’t still together).
During the remaining two and half months of school and the subsequent summer, the friend group of Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman fractured entirely. Obviously, he and Stan couldn’t hang out together since Stan was pretending Kyle didn’t exist, so they were already split into two groups of three. After that, Cartman was the next to drift away; Kyle was no fun for him anymore now that his reactivity had abated (along the light in his fucking eyes). Kyle didn’t have him in it to give a shit about Cartman anymore, he was too tired from missing Stan all the goddamn time– it was like a full time job with no days off. Who would’ve known the cure for his anger issues would be depression.
Sometimes Kyle liked to imagine that it was actually Stan’s doing that got Cartman to finally leave him alone, and not just Cartman’s own boredom. Kyle fantasized that maybe Stan had told Cartman to back off of Kyle because he still kinda cared about Kyle’s well-being. Stan didn’t want to see him anymore, sure, but he wouldn’t want Kyle to have to put up with Cartman’s shit while he was already in a bad place– right? In actuality, if Stan was involved, it most likely would have to do with the fact that it wouldn’t look good for Stan if Cartman was ruthlessly teasing Kyle about their ‘friend’ breakup. Cartman would undoubtedly point out that it seemed like more a real break up, and that would not go over well with Stan; and since Kenny had ‘betrayed’ Cartman by taking Kyle’s side (even though he was still also cool with Stan), Cartman became allied to Stan by default. Meaning that Stan was the closest thing Cartman had to a best friend at the moment, so he had to stay in Stan’s good graces (at least until he and Kenny made up, which would be easy because they hadn’t been fucking each other).
Despite realizing that most likely none of this was the case, Kyle still sometimes wondered if Stan had maybe bribed Cartman to get him to finally leave Kyle alone, or threatened him somehow. Selfishly, he imagined that Stan had, and he did it all– including suffering Cartman’s continued friendship –to protect Kyle, and not just to guard his own reputation.
So Kenny was his only real friend now. He was still causally friends with Tolkien, Jimmy, Butters, Tweek, and some of those guys, but nothing like he had been with Stan before all this shit had gone down. Under the supervision of his therapist, parents, and even fucking Kenny, Kyle was forced to stop drinking. It hadn’t even been his affliction in the first place, he had copied it from Stan. Kyle wondered how much of his life was just him copying Stan, and visa versa. How big was his overall impact? How much had he changed him? Kyle was still able to sneak a cig on occasion, and sometimes a little burn or two– but he told his therapist when he did, and god bless the man, Richard never made a huge deal out of it or tried to lock Kyle up in a psych ward. Kenny attempted to keep Kyle occupied with fun little outings or even just TV marathons so he wouldn’t be alone sulking; and like the goddamn trooper he was, Kenny endured a freakishly obscene amount of conversations about Stan without complaint.
At first, time passed so fucking slowly and every moment was pain. The days continue dto drag on like taffy being endlessly pulled– one week felt like an eon. Every day was: 7am Wake Up- Miss Stan, 7:30am Breakfast- Think about Stan, 8am First Period- Wonder about Stan, 9am Second Period- Miss Stan some more; but paradoxically, time still also passed like it was nothing. He blinked and a month had gone by. Had seasons changed? Kyle hadn't noticed.
He couldn’t recall what had done for three months, and then it was summer. He’d gotten into and enrolled at Colorado College (a private university by the way, so suck on that, Cartman). He’d managed to do well on his final exams. He’d fucking graduated. Yeah, he’d gone through the motions with a heaviness that constantly weighed him down, but somehow he’d still done it. He’d finished the rest of high school without even noticing. He’d been there, and he’d attended all the big events– yet, the stress, the joy, the parties, the final moments of bonding, and saying goodbye –had been lost on him. He could look through his camera roll and recall fun times he’d had with his other friends– basketball with Kenny, sharing tiktoks with Tolkien, playing Animal Crossing with Butters, a slightly awkward family hike –but he couldn’t feel any of it. His memories consisted of, oh yeah, that happened. If he didn’t have pictures to remind him, the events of the months leading up to college sank into the gray bog of his brain.
Being with Stan had made the world feel like it was technicolor, but now it was like there was no saturation at all. Plus, the universe seemed to be conspiring against him, and suddenly there seemed to be an uptick in the name Stan. It was like he was being mocked by the forces that be. Or maybe he just noticed the name more because even though Stan did everything in their power to avoid Kyle, Stan was on his mind all the time.
Unfortunately, Kyle still never thought of him in anger. Somehow Stan had taken that from him too. Kyle barely even knew who he was anymore. He’d thought the sadness would pass and he would finally get righteously pissed off, but he just… didn’t. The stages of grief were denial, anger, bargaining, depression, (and acceptance, but that wasn’t happening any time soon), so where was his fucking RAGE? Yeah, he popped off a little when he sent that final text, but he hadn’t done it in anger, he’d done it in desperation. After all this time, he never once hated Stan– he couldn’t even say a bad word about him. Even with the worst of what Stan had done, Kyle could excuse it away with, ‘His family is really messed up,’ or ‘He didn’t outright want to hurt me,’ or ‘He’s confused and having a hard time coping with his identity.’ Yes, what he did to Kyle was cruel and awful and gut wrenching, but Stan didn't set out to hurt him like that, he wasn’t a goddamn sadist, he was a messed up teenager. Kyle was collateral damage. Richard had told him once that anger is connected to self respect, that you get mad because you realize you don’t deserve to be treated the way that you were– but he wasn’t mad at Stan and it fucking sucked. How the hell was he supposed to get his catharsis, fucking crying?
So life went on, but also, it didn’t. On the outside, one would say that Kyle was healing– trying to move on and doing his best to cope in healthy ways this time (at least for now); but internally, Kyle felt like nothing had changed. Emotionally– he was Stan. If he had to describe his private emotional life in one word, it would be: Stan. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that he and Stan were supposed to be together. Deep down, he was always waiting for their relationship to be magically fixed. For Kyle, moving on wasn't accepting that Stan wasn't the love of his life, it was accepting that the love of his life didn't want him– at least not any time soon.
That’s how it was for a long, long time. He didn’t always feel the pain as strongly in the coming years, but Stan was still stuck in the back of his mind. Shrinking, yes, but the thought ‘we’re supposed to be together’ lingered and lingered and lingered. It took that belief over four years to finally and fully dissipate from existence.
***
Now, it had been close to five years now since he and Stan broke up. Kyle was finished with college, at the start of his second semester of graduate school, and living in Colorado Springs.
Kyle hiked his bag up on his shoulder and kissed his boyfriend goodbye as he headed out the door to class. Kyle had been staying at his boyfriend’s apartment most nights now, and things were going well– really well, actually. Easy. Simple. Six months had flown by, but he was savoring them. He was living in the moment again, not lost in a haze. It was kind of stupid to admit, but Kyle was really proud of himself, and his therapist was proud of him too, which deeply satisfied the people pleaser in him.
Throughout college, Kyle kept up with therapy, but he’d switched to a doctor in his area (sorry Richard). Having someone to lean on who he could be totally honest with and who gave actual sound advice and lived outside of South Park was surprisingly helpful (in hindsight, duh). His favorite part of therapy was learning coping skills like DBT and CBT– he enjoyed the class-like structured methodology to it all. In fact, learning stupidly named, but shockingly effective skills such as, ‘D.E.A.R M.A.N’ and ‘S.T.O.P’ had been a huge inspiration and motivator for Kyle when he was coming out of the darkest period of his life. Amidst this, he thought about how he wanted to help kids who were growing up like he and Stan had– kids scared of who they were, who abused substances to cope, who hurt themselves. Towards the end of college, Kyle decided he wanted to become a therapist; and one year after graduation, he was enrolled in a master’s program to do just that.
Freshman year of college, Kyle had a phase of drowning his sorrows with meaningless hookups. Once his parents weren’t breathing down his neck 24/7, his alcoholism had reignited, and this went hand in hand with one night stands. Kyle thought it would make him feel disgusting or used to sleep with random guys, or at least make him feel anything new, really, but all he’d felt was indifference. He wasn’t even sure who’d he’d ‘technically’ lost his virginity to, because it didn’t really matter; even though he and Stan had never ‘gone all the way,’ spiritfully, Stan would always be his first everything.
The first fall semester had been a blur, but by the time the winter semester of freshman year had begun, Kyle was feeling slightly better. It had been almost a year after the break up at that point, and he’d gotten used to the pain of missing Stan. It was less of a bitter sting, and more of a dull ache. He’d accepted that he’d never love anyone in that same intense (borderline obsessive) way again, and he was resigned to it. At his young age, he’d already found the love of his life and lost him, so really, he had nothing left to lose.
He didn’t go home for winter break that year, instead, his family had come to him for a ski vacation. When classes started again, Kyle noticed that when he was focused on school work, it was much easier not to think of Stan. As it turned out, drinking and having meaningless hookups had only been making everything worse. Essentially, he had been wallowing. So Kyle pulled his shit together and stopped all that crap. He stopped hanging out with friends who enabled him, got himself a job at the campus coffee shop, started jogging, and doubled down hard on his studies.
After he made that switch, his life started to slowly get better. Acceptance that it was really and truly over between him and Stan (at least for now) had started to creep in, and his sadness began to morph into apathy. Kyle hid away everything and anything that reminded him of Stan, and left it all in a box in his parent’s basement. Not thrown away, but hidden, so he didn’t have to suffer the subtle, lingering reminders of him on a daily basis. With all of that out of his line of sight, Kyle found it easier to start living in the moment again. New friends, healthy distractions, and purging himself of Stan really helped. It was kind of annoying that what everybody said worked actually did work, but it was the type of thing that had to be learned first-hand, his therapist had assured him.
At the end of his four years, Kyle graduated Summa Cum Laude. The best revenge is a life well lived after all… but by the time he got his diploma, it wasn’t about spiting Stan, it was about doing what was best for himself. Besides, Stan hadn’t reached out to him once during the entirety of college. At first, Kyle would check Stan's social media from dummy accounts, or he’d ask Kenny to send screenshots (because Kyle was still fucking blocked), but after a year, he knew he was only hurting himself with his obsessive need to keep tabs on Stan. After he’d stopped stalking Stan on social media, Kyle did his best to stop asking after him as well. Stan didn't give a shit about him anymore, so why should Kyle give a shit about Stan?
As far as he knew, Stan was (somehow) still with Wendy. Honestly, Kyle felt bad for Wendy. He’d been jealous of her to the point of illness at one point, but now that time and space had given him clarity, all he thought about her was that she could do better. As of now, he knew nothing concrete about Stan's life, and it was for the better. There was no need to reopen that wound. Kyle had seen Stan a few times at high school reunions and things like that of course, but one of them would immediately leave the function when they knew the other was there, like an unspoken agreement. They always did have some kind psychic link to each other; that, or, Kenny would give him advance warning of Stan’s presence, and maybe someone did the same thing for Stan with Kyle. Either way, ever since Kyle’s little ‘break’ during senior year of high school (or his, ‘menty b,’ as Kenny so lovingly referred to it), Stan and Kyle avoided each other like two negative magnets.
Kyle comforted himself by thinking that at least their relationship had been seminal for Stan as well– that there was no way in any universe that Stan could forget about Kyle, or what had happened. Maybe Stan would even remember how he’d been the one to fuck it all up. Kyle used to imagine that Stan was wracked with guilt over the whole thing– tormented, hopefully, –and he would realize how he’d ruined everything and came crawling back, drunk and weeping out apologies that Kyle could shush away. But Stan never did that. Maybe it was because he really didn't care, or maybe he was too scared to speak to Kyle again. He’d never really know, and that was just a pill he had to swallow, unfortunately. The working theory was that Stan loved him so much that he had run away scared, and Kyle’s therapist actually kind of agreed (to his delight and surprise), but five years later, it hardly mattered anymore.
Once his mental health started to improve, Kyle’s relationship with his dad had improved as well. Getting good grades in college also helped with that– it was hard to be mad at a kid who got straight A’s, after all. Kyle’s father had pretty much gotten over the whole gay thing at this point. Kyle was still himself after all, it wasn't like he turned into an effeminate gay stereotype just because he liked guys, (not that there was anything wrong with that, it wasn't who Kyle was). Gerald didn’t pal around with him the same way that he used to, but that was a part of growing up anyways, Kyle supposed. It was like Kyle had become a real person, not just an extension of his father, and Gerald had trouble reconciling with that. Plus, Kyle hadn’t dated anyone seriously enough for them to meet his parents (until now), so the gay thing had kind of fallen by the wayside. Besides, if he thought Kyle being gay was bad, wait until he found out that Ike was a fucking burgoning furry, (and that Kyle had chipped in on the kid’s dog fursuit and driven him to a convention because, fuck it, supportive was supportive).
Of course, Kyle had been with other people casually since Stan, but nothing had meant much to him until he met his boyfriend. He’d started dating again sophomore year, but nothing stuck. Even though he tried his hardest to be open to moving on with someone new, Kyle was still guarded and apathetic for a long time. Junior and senior year he’d totally stopped trying to meet someone and focused his energy on other things, like the Philosophy Club and research for his thesis. He even had to re-calibrate what his type in guys was, because every time he tried to think about what he wanted, he’d just start describing Stan.
Worst of all, Kyle had still needed to think about Stan in some capacity to even get off– with other guys and by himself –it was like a compulsion. Thankfully though, that finally ended when Kyle got together with his boyfriend. Stan still crossed his mind sometimes during sex, but the need to think about him had waned to almost nothing. Even though it hadn’t been very long (in the grand scheme of things), being with his new boyfriend had done wonders in the ‘enjoying sex’ department. The change wasn’t instantaneous, in fact, it took a lot of hard work, trust building, and communication, and it was always ongoing. Even still, sometimes something his boyfriend did would remind Kyle of Stan and he’d freak out a little bit, but his boyfriend was always so understanding and patient. He pulled back when Kyle needed him too, and reassured him when he got scared of being too intimate. He was actually able to communicate with Kyle in a civil, honest, and non-fucked up way that Kyle hadn’t thought was possible outside of movies.
He’d met his boyfriend at a gay bar (unoriginal, but at least it was better than some dumb app). Only a few months ago, one of Kyle’s friends had convinced him to go out and have some summer fun before grad school started. By then, Kyle spoke less of Stan, but Stan was still on his mind a lot of time– especially when he drank. Sometimes, if he’d had a few beers, Kyle would find someone– a friend, or even a stranger at the bar –to commiserate with. He’d tell them the whole story about him and Stan, and the listener would say something like, ‘Wowwww, that’s really fucked up,’ and Kyle would feel a little better. That all changed the night he met his boyfriend.
Kyle had been posted up at the bar with his friend, sipping a beer and biting back the urge to bring up Stan now that he was tipsy. Then, Kyle spotted a very cute guy at the pool table. He couldn’t help but stare a little, and when the guy looked up from his pool shot, their eyes met. Kyle quickly glanced away in embarrassment, but his friend hyped him up, so he bit the bullet, steeled himself, walked over, and challenged the cute guy to a game of pool– and that was that. They’d clicked instantly, and a month later, they were official. Since they’d met, not a day had gone by where they hadn’t talked to each other. His new man kind of looked like Stan– he had dark hair and was shorter than Kyle –but he was also very different and so much better for him. For one, he wasn’t an alcoholic, and he actually knew how to talk about his feelings. They were a little less similar than he and Stan had been in personality, but it was good for Kyle, it challenged him. He encouraged Kyle to be better instead of dragging him down with his shit. In turn, Kyle tried not to bog him down with baggage either. They helped each other. It was mutual, not unbalanced like it had been with Stan. He made Kyle feel like he was truly healing now, not just pushing it all down.
Honestly, Kyle wasn't sure how he would respond if Stan finally did reach out to him again after all this time and after so much growth. Would he fall back into old habits? Would he start drinking again? Would he cheat and lie to his boyfriend? Or maybe, he and Stan would be best friends again – if that even possible. For once in his life, Kyle didn't know and he didn’t want to know.
Nevertheless, fate had other plans.
After just one more kiss goodbye, Kyle finally headed out the door for the day. He got in his car and tossed his backpack into the passenger seat, buckling up then glancing at his phone while starting the engine. His heart dropped and he did a double take at the notification that popped up– it was from motherfucking Stan Marsh?!
Even though Stan had blocked Kyle's number all those years ago, Kyle had never blocked Stan. It seemed rude to do something like that. Keeping him unblocked was Kyle’s way of saying, ‘I still care about you, even if we're not in each other's lives.’ At some point, Stan must’ve unblocked him as well. Kyle wondered how long ago he’d done it, and what could’ve made him think about Kyle again after five freaking years. Had he been waiting for Kyle to text first? Did he agonize over unblocking him, or did he just do it on a drunken whim one day?
Feeling uneasy, his heart rate spiking, Kyle opened the text.
Stan: hey Kyle, I know it's been a long time, but I miss you and I'm sorry about everything that happened. You'll always be my best friend. Wendy and I are officially over. Do you think we could give us another try? Im working on my drinking, it's better, I swear. I can be good. I still like you.
Once upon a time, Stan reaching out and saying these exact words would've made Kyle happier than anything else in the world. He would’ve dropped everything to be with him again, but now, it was too little too late. Plus, the way Stan had used subtle language like ‘be good’ and 'I like you’ that called back to some of their most intimate moments had Kyle feeling a bit sick to his stomach. Had he used those phrases as some kind of manipulation? Or was he just fucking drunk at goddamn 8am, despite what he’d claimed?
Kyle had been worried about how he’d react if this red code situation ever occurred, but it seemed that years of therapy and learning healthy coping mechanisms had actually paid off. He took some deep, steadying breaths. His hands were shaking and his heart was racing, but had to know that. He quickly typed out a text and sent it off, then he put his phone on ‘do not disturb.’
Kyle: Hi Stan. It’s nice to hear from you again, I hope you’ve been well. I’ll always consider you one of my best friends too, but I think it’s best for both of us if we continue to keep our lives separate. Maybe I'll see you next time I visit home and we can get a coffee. Have a nice day.
Kyle wondered if he could even drive after this. His hands were still shaking. He sat in the parking lot processing everything that had just happened for a few long minutes. If Stan had responded, Kyle couldn’t see it. He toyed with the idea of checking Stan’s texts again, but then Kyle thought, Fuck that, Stan has no power over my life any more. He cranked up his upbeat playlist and drove to school. Kyle felt good– glowing, even. Ego boosted, and vindicated. He felt like he'd triumphed. Not over Stan, but over his own negative bullshit. He felt happy, balanced, and emotionally regulated. Stan could've thrown his new life into a spiral and demolished all of Kyle’s progress, but he hadn’t. In fact, aside from being a little shaken up, Kyle was totally fine.
His windows were down and air was pleasantly tousling through his curls. The car was blasting a love song now, one that reminded Kyle of the man who actually loved him– the guy who’d woken up early with him this morning to help pack his lunch and give him a kiss goodbye, the guy who was openly and outwardly committed to him.
It was then that Kyle realized that he had really and truly moved on. It didn't matter to him what happened with Stan– maybe they’d get married someday, or maybe that text was the last time they would ever speak. Maybe they would manage to become friends again.
It didn't matter. It wasn't even a big deal.
He didn’t have the burning desire to control Stan anymore, because he had grown beyond basing his emotions off of other people’s fucked up actions. His dependence on Stan and being beholden to the fucked up dynamic that had festered between them was over. Stan wasn’t capable of hurting him anymore.
Kyle was free.