Archive of Our Own

Stan's dad was not very intelligent, so he did not take him seriously. Ever. His dad was an oddball alcoholic who would rant about anything, regardless of whether it was logical or not, and most of the time it wasn’t. Randy spouted so much nonsense that he was like a walking toilet with how much shit came out of his mouth. 

As a result, Stan found everything his dad said to be moronic. He remembered a time when he was twelve and sitting at the dinner table, his dad fixated on the topic of wings because one of his coworker’s son’s wings had apparently come in. He was clearly seething in jealousy and annoyed at the fact that he couldn’t gloat himself about his son’s wings. 

"You'll see Stan," He was inebriated, of course, his wings fluttering annoyingly, in a way that worried Stan he’d knock something off the dinner table. While his dad's wings were not particularly impressive, they were a shiny black shade that stood out in their own way. "When you grow up and your wings sprout, you’re gonna get so many chicks. Chicks dig huge wings, and based on the amazing genes we are passing down on you, yours are gonna be huge. Girls will be staring and drooling everywhere you go."

Stan had given up on responding to his dad's weird rants long ago, but that statement struck him in some way. He didn't understand how large wings could make someone more attractive. In his twelve year old mind, the shapes and colors were way more fun to look at, if anything. Of course, if he had attempted explaining that to his dad, he'd have scoffed at him and called him a dumbfuck loser and burped really loud, maybe asked him to find cooler friends than those fucking dungeons and dragons LARPers you insist on hanging with. Then he'd have complained that Stan wasn't smoking weed and going to orgies or something even though he was literally twelve.

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Around four years later, he woke up one morning and stretched his limbs with a moan squeezing out of his lungs. He felt a strange sensation in his upper back, almost like a tickling feeling that he couldn't quite place. As he reached back to scratch it, he felt something that he had never felt before - two new appendages, his wings . His fingers brushed over something soft and feathery, and as he turned his head to look, he saw them protruding from his back. Just like that, seemingly out of nowhere, his wings had come in with no fuss or any sort of warning. 

He felt the smooth feathers under his fingertips, and the sensation was exhilarating.

He remembers going up to his bedroom mirror that morning, staring at his reflection and cautiously flexing them, surprised to find that they moved with ease, almost as if they were a natural extension of his body. He flapped them experimentally, watching the feathers ruffle and shift with each movement. It was like having two extra arms that he could control at will. He took the sight in for the first time; his first thought being that they seemed unique. Small wingspan, but pretty. They were shiny and angular, and his flight feathers were greens and blues and even a red one here and there. 

Randy on the other hand, had not been particularly impressed when he saw his son's new wings, as Stan hopped into the passenger seat. "They're so small," he complained, shaking his head. Stan bit his tongue instead of muttering size isn't everything in response, knowing that his dad's opinion on the matter wouldn’t change no matter what he said. 

He remembers how fascinated everyone had been with him, how they reacted to the wings. They were amazed by them, and that first week he’d been the center of attention. He'd gotten them earlier than most of his peers, so they were all adjusting to this reality, in a way. Wings, at least, had changed Stan's appearance for the better. He’d become a bit of a loser in high school, with his greasy black hair, persistent under-eye bags, and height shorter than most other guys. But now, his wings stood out instead of blending into the background. He'd proudly spread them out, making them flutter so that the shiny blue tips would catch the light and glitter like tanzanite, and his classmates would grin in fascination. 

Kyle had been fascinated too. He'd tried to feel around Stan's back, the spot where they came out through his skin, and Stan's wing had accidentally slapped him in the face, knocking into his eye. Stan apologized immediately, tucking them flat against his back in embarrassment at his newfound lack of control, and Kyle laughed and said it was fine. Everything was fine. 

Later in the week, he'd come to find out that wings aren't just for show, but could actually tell a lot about a person's character. He had never realized that wings were sorted and classified, with titles and bird breeds. He'd not given wings a second thought until then, but now it felt like he was uncovering a world that had been right in front of him this whole time. His documents now officially stated his magpie wings along with his sex and height, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. He didn't understand how wings would impact his life yet. 

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At some point, Stan got this urge to gift Kyle one of his red-tipped feathers. He remembers thinking to himself, is this weird? Kyle was his best friend, and gifting feathers was typically regarded as a show of trust for the other person, so he decided the weird part was how obsessively he’d been thinking about it. So one night, in the dimness of his moonlit room, he tugged at one of his flight feathers. 

It was like ripping out his hair by hand. He hadn't realized how many nerves there were in his wing, hadn't anticipated that he'd struggle for it. Every nerve in his body told him to stop, stop, stop , but he was too far in at that point. Determined, he tugged until he was sobbing and when it finally came out he bled and screamed, pure agony shooting up through his spine. The pain pulsed through him in waves, sharp, stabbing through his body and burning him from inside out as he thrashed uselessly. He vowed to never remove another feather after that. He didn't end up giving it to Kyle at all either, afraid to as if he’d be able to witness what he’d been through solely from the sight of that one feather. He kept the feather hidden in a drawer in his desk ever since.

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Stan had figured his wings would make him popular with girls, and they had. He dated around for the next year or so, a fruitless endeavor. He could barely keep a girl for a month. Most girls were uninteresting and only went out with him because of his wings, and as soon as they realized they had nothing in common, they’d grow distant and end it off. He kind of understood that sentiment, solely dating someone because their wings were pleasing to the eye. Maybe it was a bit shallow of him. He definitely broke a few hearts. 

One girl had been interesting to him, though. Robin's wings were a captivating combination of pretty green and blue hues, small and petite in size. She’d said they were Starling wings. He remembers moving his hands through her feathers and how they shivered under his touch, and how it had made his stomach twist up in knots. He’d enjoyed dating her, but after five weeks of being together, she abruptly ended it off, disliking how little attention Stan paid to her. He had felt no grief over the loss of that relationship.

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Out of nowhere, Kyle's wings also came out. And things instantly changed. 

He remembers Kyle being gone for a solid day from school: zero contact with any of their friend group. He'd been confused but not too worried, sending him a text and asking how he was doing. At around midnight Kyle finally responded, "my wings came in. I'll show u at the bus stop tmr". 

Merely from that message, a weary sleeplessness overtook him. Why was it even a shock to him? Of course Kyle would have grown his wings at some point. Everyone does. Every single fucking person on earth has wings, hell, Cartman got his stupid white eagle wings just weeks ago. He wouldn't stop flexing about how big they were but they were slightly above average at most. Yet the thought of Kyle with deep red wings towering above him, fluttering and twitching softly under his touch, made his stomach hurt in anticipation. He couldn't get the idea out of his mind all night. 

Or maybe he was just anxious about growing up. Kyle having wings made everything more real, in a way. Even more than when his own had first appeared. As though all of a sudden, his actions actually had an impact in the world, like his decisions and words were going to start affecting how things were now. As though Kyle was finally a person outside of himself, who was going to find a pretty girl with nice, long wings and then they'd have beautiful children and he'd work a boring nine-to-five or something. What the fuck is he thinking, that Kyle will wanna stick with his magpie ass for the rest of time? 

A night of restless sleep had not at all prepared Stan for the sight that was to greet him at the bus station that day, hell, not even a full nine hours of sleep could've. Clutching his backpacks straps, Stan nearly didn't recognize the person at the bus stop at first, until he blinked and observed what he was looking at. 

Kyle was (almost) a head taller than him, yes, but his wings were somehow even bigger than himself, towering over him like a magnificent work of art. Even as they lay folded against his back, their sheer size was enough to cause them to drag onto the snow below, leaving a trail in their wake. It was impossible not to be in awe at how incredible they were. The wings had a gradient of colors that added to their ethereal quality, with a deep red at the top that slowly faded into a soft, almost creamy beige at the tips. Each feather was perfectly formed, delicately layered on top of each other in a way that seemed almost too intricate to have occurred naturally. Stan thought he might actually start drooling on the spot.

Stan had no clue how long he had been staring in silence for, until Kyle cleared his throat, his face flushed red with embarrassment. The thought that Kyle was embarrassed over his wings made him almost mad. He had nothing to be ashamed of; in his whole life, Stan didn't think he'd ever seen more beautiful wings than his. His stomach was doing entire flips at the mere idea of touching them. Those monsters could probably engulf him whole if Kyle wrapped them around him. 

"Kyle," He merely said, and Kyle gripped the straps of his backpack tighter, tense. Stan stared. "Dude. You need to stop being embarrassed right now. The fact that you're embarrassed is embarrassing. Holy shit."

He knew he wasn't quite articulating his amazement with Kyle's wings, and he didn't think he could say the perfect words even if he had them. 

Kyle frowned, but not in anger. "Stop fucking staring. I know they're huge. Stop. Stan," He whined, pushing at his face with his palm to make him look away. 

But there was no way he could. The way Kyle was so utterly beautiful in that moment had him awestruck. "They're so… nice. They're so nice, dude. How big is your wingspan?" 

And instead of answering, Kyle did something that probably rewired the very fabric of Stan's sexuality for the rest of his life. He spread one, stretching it all the way behind Stan, and even further away. The inside of Kyle's wings were beige and looked soft. Stan thought his wingspan was a whole five feet long, possibly. He suddenly felt weak in the knees at the mere thought that he was only six inches taller than a single of his wings. 

Is that what his dad had meant all those years ago when he was twelve? The mere size of those beasts made Stan's heart flutter and left his mouth agape. He wanted to shove his face in the expanse of it and feel those feathers against his cheek. He wanted to hide in them forever. 

"So? Are they really okay? You don't think people will make fun of me for them, right? Ugh, I don't want everyone to be staring at me today, I wish I could just skip forward to the part where everyone's used to them. Including me." Kyle was rambling a little, and Stan put himself in his shoes. He remembers the list from when they were in elementary; how hard it had affected Kyle knowing that everyone thought he was the ugliest in class. Kyle had never been ugly, but he'd grown insecure over his nose and awkward height because of that incident. 

But now? Stan had never looked at Kyle in this light before. His Adam's apple was suddenly attractive and he watched it bob while he spoke. His thin lips and slightly hollowed cheeks, soft freckles that you couldn't really see unless you leaned in real close. Eyes that mostly looked on angrily, a dark green hazel that was so Kyle he'd come to associate anything green with him. And now, those huge wings of his and their beautiful blend of colors that he didn't think he will ever forget. It was like seeing him for the first time, and yet, he had known him for years. How had he never realized before how attractive Kyle was?

"You're beautiful," Stan said gently, immediately feeling embarrassed about it. But he hadn't had time to say more because Cartman and Kenny appeared at the bus stop as well. Kyle and Cartman immediately started bickering about the size of his wings, Cartman claiming his were better because Kyle's size was "stupid and inconvenient". Even through their senseless arguing, a flush had taken over Kyle's cheeks at Stan's compliment that didn't leave until minutes later. 

The shift in Stan’s view of the world was radical. All of a sudden, Stan had gone from a casual attraction to girls to a complete hyperfocus on Kyle. It was like he could do nothing else other than stare at those incredible wings for as long as he was able to. He'd space out in class, imagining Kyle's wings around himself, petting at the velvety softness of his feathers. Kyle would shiver under his touch, but all Stan would care about was mentally scripting every detail and discoloration on those feathers. His teacher would yell at him to focus, Stan not even realizing that his wings would flutter in agitation and desire every time he thought about Kyle's own. 

Kyle would catch him staring a lot, but he never said anything. Stan hoped the look on his face wasn't too hungry. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of him, Stan's body was reacting in ways that he couldn't control, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. How long had he found Kyle attractive without realizing? 

His attraction going from girls to guys had been like the flip of a switch. Almost instant, and as if he could see the world in a much clearer light. He knew that what he was feeling was desire almost instantly, and he knew that all he wanted was to be with Kyle. It made as much sense to him as needing to drink water to survive. He found himself drawn to Kyle's lean frame, the way he looked down at him from above with a smug look sometimes, his cocky smile when he knew he was right. He loved the way Kyle's curls fell perfectly into place, framing his face in a way that made Stan's heart skip a beat. He'd ditched his old green hat years ago, but sometimes wore green bandanas over his head that made his face look even cuter. He was captivated by Kyle's warm, inviting smile and the way his eyes sparkled when he laughed. Stan couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement every time he was near him, and he longed for Kyle's touch against his skin. It was as if every fiber of his being was attuned to Kyle's presence. 

At some point within the first month of Kyle's wings sprouting, he realized how hopeless his daydreaming was. There was absolutely no way Kyle would ever see him in the same way Stan did. Stan had probably been creeping him out with his more than obvious crush on him. Once he realized that, the look in his eyes as he stared at Kyle became one of pain. As though merely looking at Kyle was physically painful to him. Stan had finally realized what he wanted, and it was something that he could never have. 

In his heart, Stan knew there was nobody else he could ever want in life. Maybe since he was a child, since he declared him his super best friend, maybe even back then he'd known and hadn't been able to comprehend it. No matter what happened, he just could not imagine going through his life without Kyle. There was also no doubt in his mind that he would have to go through it without ever letting Kyle know how he felt. In fact, he would never tell anyone. He'd stick by his side, supposed best friend, be with him until he died and that was that. 

He fell into an aggressive depression for a few days, wondering how to cope with his feelings. His mom, a magpie herself with white and blue tipped wings, tried to comfort him, telling him there's a whole world out there full of other people he could meet. Stan knew none of them would fulfill him the way Kyle would. 

He endured. He was mostly fine with Kyle, but when he'd turn his back, those glorious wings on display, Stan would stare with sad eyes. Starving. Kyle would look at him, with a defeated look as he'd notice his stare. He wasn't sure what it meant. Kyle probably knew about his crush and decided to say nothing for the both of them, Stan figured. He was smart and it's not like he’d been discreet with his constant bashful staring. Maybe Kyle even knew how much he was hurting. Could he see how hanging out with Stan brought a pain in his eyes sometimes? How the shorter would get a glassy look in them, as though in another world? 

Maybe he didn't know, though, because out of nowhere Kyle got a girlfriend. And if Kyle knew, he probably wouldn't go around talking about his pretty girlfriend all the time, whose wings were swan white and made her look like an angel from the heavens. He probably wouldn't text her while he and Stan were in a sleepover, laughing and then going "it's nothing" with a smile on his face that Stan knew he'd never be able to give him himself. 

Everything had been torturous, but at least as long as Kyle didn't date anyone, Stan was able to fool himself into thinking that he was the closest to him, that he was the most important person in Kyle's life. Now, he couldn't even play into those delusions. 

He envied her so much. He couldn't even pretend to tolerate her, he just straight up hated her. He hated her and her beautiful hair and smooth, dark skin and gentle eyes that seemed to know exactly what was going through Stan’s brain. He hated that she took Kyle away from him during lunch, that they probably went to make out in some hidden corner of the school while he sat there and suffered. He hated that he wasn't her. Just like that, Stan had lost Kyle and he'd never even had him in the first place. 

He caught himself sighing and brooding more often than he'd like to admit. He even noticed Tweek staring at him once while he'd been giving Kyle puppy eyes behind his back. He shared a glance with Tweek, who gave him a bit of a miserable look then quickly turned his head around, as if he didn't actually want to involve himself in that situation but still felt for him. 

He knew Tweek hadn't had it easy, but at least he had Craig even after all these years. Lucky bastard. He wondered if the Asian girls would be willing to do yaoi so he'd finally be able to date Kyle, but then grimaced at the memory of all the explicit artworks that had plagued the city. 

He and Kyle were in a weird phase of being on and off with each other for some weeks, until the fight. They were out with their friends, and Stan clicked his tongue in annoyance when Kyle mentioned her again. And the taller boy had had enough. 

"What's your fucking problem Stan? Huh?" He'd asked, seemingly pushed over the limit. Kyle's face was turning red from anger, almost the same color as his wings, which made an annoyed flutter as Stan looked at them. Apparently, Kyle didn't like that, cause he grabbed the collar of Stan's shirt, pushing him away. 

"God, do you ever fucking stop staring at them? I get it! I can fucking tell you have some problem with them, alright? Fuck’s sake, Stan, you look at my wings like they killed your entire family. What in the fuck is your problem with me?!" He'd yelled, Tolkien holding his arm so he wouldn't actually attempt to attack Stan or something. Kenny bumped against Stans back, and he turned to look silently, but his stare was also cold. Not judging, but not forgiving, either. Stan didn't understand it. Not yet. 

So he just turned his back to Kyle, his own wings flapping angrily. His heart felt like ice, but his skin was on fire. He was brittle. And he walked away, just went home to brood for the rest of the day, maybe even longer. 

Because he'd promised himself long ago that he would never, ever tell Kyle. That he would stuff his mouth with cotton and smile and pretend everything was okay, even if the pain he felt every time he saw him with her felt like his red feather being ripped out over and over and over. 

Maybe he could… he could somehow tell him. Leave him a message. He had to get his feelings out, and maybe this wasn't the best time now that they were fighting, but he had to do something before he went insane with heartbreak. He cried softly that night, but his heart felt like it was shattering with every sob. What was he supposed to do? He had basically bonded himself to Kyle. He hadn't wanted this either, but it had been set in stone before he even knew what wings were. 

Stan wrote numerous letters expressing his love for Kyle, but each one ended up crumpled in the trash. Day after day, he wrote until his hand cramped and his brain was drained of further words. Stan poured his heart onto the pages of his notebook, but every time he tried to put his feelings into words, he felt like he fell short. The trash bin overflowed with his love confessions, and Stan didn't know what to do with himself. He felt trapped, unable to speak up and reveal his true feelings to the one person who mattered most to him. He desperately wanted to express his feelings, to tell Kyle how he felt, but he didn't know how to do it without ruining their friendship. He was afraid that Kyle would never see him the same way if he revealed his true emotions; He imagined Kyle looking down at him, with a pitiful smile and apologies whispered to him, I'm just not into you .

He decided then; No signature, no note, nothing. He couldn't let Kyle know it was him, and writing out how he felt ran the risk of revealing his identity. The only thing that could get his message across, while possibly keeping his identity secret, was the single red feather he'd plucked out of himself so long ago. There were a lot of students with wings now, so how would Kyle realize that it was his when he had so few red feathers? He only had four of those reds, originally five, but the red feather he'd plucked never grew back. 

Stan's fingers trembled as he picked up the red feather, twirling it between his fingertips before carefully placing it onto a piece of cloth with a pattern of autumn leaves. He'd found it in his mom's knitting kit, and hoped she wouldn't miss it much. His brow furrowed with worry as he scrutinized the pattern, hoping that it was appropriate enough to suit the gift. With anxious movements, he began to wrap the feather in the cloth, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to keep the folds neat and tidy. He tied the bundle tightly with a strip of fabric, taking extra care to make sure that the knot was secure. Despite his efforts, Stan couldn't shake the feeling that his gift was inadequate. He worried that the feather, no matter how beautiful, was not enough of a confession to satisfy his own heart. There was only one way he could find out. 

The next day at school, he opened Kyle's locker, and just… placed the bundle on his stack of books. He prayed to whatever deity was out there that Kyle would notice it and not just drop a pile of books on top of it. 

He didn't know what Kyle would think. Would he figure out the feather was his own? He certainly wouldn't think it was his girlfriend's, or his own as his feathers were much bigger than Stan's. Would he find it disgusting? Or romantic? Or creepy? He didn't want to freak Kyle out or make him think he had a weird stalker, though Kyle wouldn’t really be afraid of that sort of thing. Worse things had happened to him. 

Stan was more nervous than ever as he watched Kyle approach his locker. He couldn't handle it anymore, didn't want to see his reaction, so he walked off with a nervous breath in his lungs and eyes that pleaded guilty. 

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meet aftr school at park

> :thumbs_up:

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"I don't know what you want from me," Kyle said in the silence of the basketball court. Stan was just sitting on a bench, hugging his knees and his wings wrapped around himself in an attempt to keep warm. It had begun snowing earlier, so everything was coated in a short layer of snow, but there was no way Stan could skip on this. Stan could never skip on Kyle. 

Kyle sat down next to him, his wings having to fold weirdly with the way he was sitting. He struggled for a moment, Stan shuffling a little on the bench so he was slightly facing towards him. 

He spoke again. "I don't get why you're so obsessed with my wings. Ever since I got them you're always staring at them. I figured you were jealous or something… Though it just didn't make sense. You like your wings, right?" 

Stan just nods, unsure if he could speak. The lump in his throat, the cotton stuffing his secrets inside. He looked down at his gloves, picking at some stray lint. 

Kyle stares down at him, neutral. "So? What is it?" He prompts. 

Silence. The wind howls softly. Stan draws a little heart the size of a bee on the snowed-on bench. Pokes a circle in the middle of it. 

He tries hard to open his mouth, to will himself to speak, but he can't. He's sworn an oath of silence on his emotions. He wants to say anything, and desperately he thinks speak, speak!! But there's nothing. 

Kyle just stares at him. Then, he grabs at his backpack, which had been forgotten on the ground in front of them. Fingers searching through his binders and books, until he locates what he's looking for. It's a hard cover book. Stan watches him, a bit confused until he notices a familiar fabric poking out between the pages. 

Kyle opens the book and pulls the bundle out, cramming the book carelessly back into his overfilled backpack. Stan notices that the knot is done differently than how carefully he'd wrapped it yesterday; Kyle had opened it, then. He knew what was in it. He pulls at one string and the bow on it unwraps itself, and with careful hands, he moves the fabric aside. That lone, red flight feather. He'd never taken notice of it before, not even while he was wrapping it, but right now, he's able to look at all the details on it. The quill of the feather, which serves as its backbone, is completely pitch black, with no other colors visible. The color of the feather gradually shifts to a dull black, which then gives way to a deep, rich shade of red. The transition from black to red is so smooth that it almost appears as though the colors are bleeding into one another. There is a splotch of copper colored crust on its base. 

Stan thinks it's obvious that the feather is his own, and for Kyle to be pulling it out now he must think so too. "Um," He forces out of his throat, a dry coarse sound. He stares down at it, unable to meet Kyle's eyes. He wonders how long Kyle took to realize the feather was his own. Whether he analyzed the feather itself, or if he'd just known instinctively from the moment he saw it. 

"I love you," Stan says, meek and shaky, and all of the cotton in his mouth clears. He sounded ashamed, like a child who's done something bad and is now trying to confess. He doesn't want to sound like that. He wants to stand proudly like a pillar of salt, and say it to Kyle with confidence and certainty that he will reciprocate. But he can't. He's none of those things. He's small and weak and Kyle is beautiful, and he'll marry a pretty girl and have children and work a nine-to-five.

There's a silence before he sees Kyle shift to look towards him. He still can't meet Kyle's eyes. "Look at me, Stan," He says, and he places his hand on Stan's cheek. He’s gentle, as though he can see now that Stan's made of glass shards that are poorly glued together. 

He looks into Kyle's eyes. His pupils are greener than usual, the light reflecting from the white snow all around them making them brighter. Stan looks at him like the sins he's committed are beyond redemption, but Kyle looks back as if he's the god that will forgive him. 

"I love you too," a pause, "But– dude. Please, you have to talk to me. I'm sorry I got angry at you. But you didn't have to… your own feather, just for that. Of course I love you, dude. We're best friends."

Stan feels needles prick all over his skin. No. That's not what he had meant at all. Did Kyle truly not know? Had he, seriously, this entire time, not known how head over heels Stan was for him? It was kind of laughable. Kyle was the smart one. He was the one who always knew what to do, what to say, in every situation, always. And he didn't know this simple thing? This fact that had been so obvious to himself, like a truth above all other truths? 

"Kyle, I'm in love with you." Words upon words upon words suddenly flooded his mind. "I realized it the moment I saw your wings for the first time. I've been in love with you, for ages, this entire time. I thought you knew. I thought you hadn't said anything because you just didn't want to; You kind of know everything and you can read people so easily, and I wasn't being discreet with how into you I was either. I just… at some point, I realized I didn't have a chance. To be with you. I never hated you, or envied your wings. I never stopped thinking about how beautiful they were. I wanted to touch them, all the time. I wanted to disappear in them."

Kyle is stunned into a silence that Stan has never witnessed before. There is a long pause, and both boys have to comprehend exactly what has just been shared between them. One in shock, the other in mourning. 

Kyle speaks first. "Why?-- I mean… Why did you think you didn't have a chance with me?" 

"You never said anything, about the way I'd look at you. so I kind of figured you were uncomfortable about it or that you didn't want to acknowledge it."

"I… I thought you hated them." 

Stan lets out a humorless chuckle until he realizes Kyle is being serious. "W– What? Why? I love your wings."

The way Stan said that with such pure honesty made Kyle's face flush red. He was thrown off course for a moment but then spoke. "It's just… you'd look at me like I cause you physical pain. So then I kind of thought that you just found them totally ugly or something. But then I started dating Jay, and you were a huge asshole about it. And that just made me think you wanted her? But you just genuinely seemed to hate her. I don't know dude, it was all so fricking confusing and I decided I'd rather just not think about it."

Stan nodded, and there was a step of silence. Kyle spoke again. "I'm in love with you too."

Stan was completely taken aback, his head suddenly jerking towards Kyle in shock. He had never felt such a powerful sense of surprise before in his life, and his mouth hung open in disbelief. As the realization of the situation hit him, he could feel the blood coursing through his veins, causing his veins, his palms to tingle with energy. The idea of Kyle actually reciprocating his feelings was so unexpected and unfamiliar that Stan could hardly wrap his head around it. What? This simply is not a timeline Stan had ever considered to exist, at all, let alone believed to be in. It didn't make sense. He wanted to deny it in any way he could in case he'd misunderstood him somehow, but his heart was racing at those words, I'm in love with you too . 

"But… You're dating–" 

"I know. I kind of… liked you for a long time, but after your wings came in you dated some random girls and I figured you'd never be interested in me anyway, so I gave up…

"I remember when you showed up to school with your wings and they were just so pretty to me. I wanted to touch them constantly, I'd find any little opportunity I could to. I'd bump against you in the hallways. I'd poke at them while sitting behind you in class. Even in sleepovers I'd sometimes stay up a little just to look at them. You shine under the moonlight, it's… you're so pretty."

Stan was bewildered at this new information entering his brain, struggling to comprehend it. He simply couldn’t imagine Kyle ever showing attraction or affection like this in any way. He'd loved him for this long and yet he'd never actually imagined Kyle in a romantic setting. His face turns red quickly, and he hides a little behind his wing, the words echoing in his head in Kyle's voice. You're so pretty. 

He wanted to hear Kyle's voice whisper nice things like that to him for the rest of his life. 

"Are you gonna break up with her?" 

Kyle scoots a bit closer with him on the bench. He moves his wing around Stan's back, shielding him from the cold. It's like a dream come true. His heart beats faster with the remnants of Kyle's confession. 

"Well, yeah. I mean, she's cool and all but we never really connected that much, romantically." 

"Come find me when you do."

Kyle nods. 

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For the next two days, Stan didn’t run into Kyle, and he began to wonder if their encounter had all just been a figment of his imagination. But it felt so real, like his wildest dreams had finally come to life. The memory of Kyle's gentle voice lingered in his mind, and he couldn’t help but replay the moment over and over. Then, out of nowhere, Kyle sends a text saying he's on his way over, and suddenly it hit him: this is really happening. Will Kyle ask him out? Or should he make the first move? Stan was paralyzed with uncertainty for a few moments and then started pacing back and forth and stress cleaning his room while his heart raced with anticipation, even as he heard his doorbell ring and his parents open the door and invite Kyle inside. He's never had a boyfriend. He's never even had romantic feelings this– this intense . He doesn't know what the fuck he's supposed to say or do. 

Kyle knows not to knock on his door at this point and he just walks in, just as Stan's fluffing his pillows and smoothing out his comforter. He turns to look at Kyle, whose wings aren't tucked in either. Both of their wings are fluttering with nervous energy. 

"I did it," Kyle says, and Stan has no fucking idea what he's talking about and his brain doesn't even have space for thoughts in that moment. 

"What?" 

"Um. I broke up with her. I'm here."

Stan and Kyle stood facing each other, their eyes locked in a vulnerable stare, both unsure of what to do. A touch of fear sparks in Stan's heart at the thought of crossing a romantic boundary in their fourteen year old friendship. He's the one who moves first though, coming up to Kyle. He's almost up to Kyle's mouth height when they're not wearing shoes like this, but Stan is wider. He presses his face in the crook of Kyle's neck, but doesn't hug him. His stomach is doing too many flips and he thinks he might lose it if he initiates anything more than this, for now. 

Slowly, he feels Kyle's arms wrap around his back in a hesitant embrace. At first, they’re both stiff, their bodies tense with nervous energy, but then something shifts, and they both relax into the hug. Stan presses himself flush against him, arms looping naturally around his shoulders, the warmth of Kyle's body against his like no other experience he's ever had. His skin feels prickly with excitement. Kyle's wings act like a bubble that separates him from the world. They're soft and warm around him, and Stan breathes a deep sigh. He can feel the rise and fall of Kyle's chest against his own. This is the most comforting feeling he's ever felt. He'd never thought about Kyle's arms and how they'd feel around himself before, but now everything just feels right . As though a piece in his heart he hadn't even realized was missing is finally there, the puzzle piece slotting perfectly within himself. Loving Kyle is the only thing he'd ever known, whether he was aware of it or not, but being loved back is new and thrilling. 

"So are we dating now," Stan says more than asks, and Kyle lets out a giggle at how straightforward he'd spoken, his voice coming out muffled into Kyle's jacket. 

"Yes, Stan. Unless I totally misunderstood you when you said you were in love with me."

"You did, I fucking hate you."

"Oh fuck you. " 

"Asshole." 

Stan grins and holds on tighter.