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Stan's right hand gripped the grimy steering wheel of his overworked pick-up truck as the other ran through his hair. Visiting his parents back in South Park was always difficult for him. He lived in San Diego now, working in construction as a senior project manager and living in a typical sloppy bachelor pad. He was now paying a visit to his hometown after his most recent major project at the request of his mother. South Park and its familiar embrace of snow-capped mountains, evergreen woods, and dysfunctional nature should have been comforting, but not to him.
He could feel his resolve crumble as he drove deeper into the town. His eyes scan his surroundings. At the elementary school that all his friends attended. There was the community center his parents had meetings. Craig's house, where Stan and his friends convinced him to use his birthday money to start a Peruvian flute band. Clyde's house, where his mother died on the toilet. That damn bus stop. Butters's house, where his horrible father grounded him constantly. Eric's, where he thought he could fly so he jumped off his roof. Then, his own. Stan's stare was trained on the house he grew up in.
He could feel his heart clench as he pulled into the driveway. He kills the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt, his hand now resting on the door handle. He sighs dismally as he allows his vision to stray next door. Just as it has always been, that olive green house stood. Kyle's house. Out of all his childhood friends, he had at least expected Kyle to keep in touch with him. Except they hadn't. Too busy, he supposed. The last he heard from him was that he was pursuing a career in law, just like his father.
His eyes grow misty and he tilts his head back, trying to keep his tears from falling. Regret and longing fill his gut as he thinks of Kyle's curly, red hair. His aquiline nose, wispy lashes brushing up against gold-framed glasses, and smart mouth. His thoughts drift back to memories of years ago.
---
They were at Stark's pond where Kyle asked to meet up.
"I got accepted, Stan! Holy shit, I can't fucking believe it! I'm going to Yale! The Yale, Stan!" Kyle was elated, gripping the front of Stan's brown coat, whooping and bouncing up and down. Stan's smile was uncontrollable, reciprocating Kyle's.
"Confuckingrats, man. I'm so proud of you! If anyone does, you totally deserve it." Stan was brimming with the feeling. He watched Kyle excel in their academic careers, his intelligence rivaling Wendy's and Tolkien's, their class's valedictorian and salutatorian. He remembers holding up flashcards for him, helping him study at odd hours, and accompanying him on trips to the library. All his hard work paid off.
Suddenly, Kyle deeply frowned. Stan didn't have any time to ask him what the matter was as he saw Kyle's lower lip wobble. He found himself enveloped in Kyle's arms, holding onto each other tightly. He could smell the jojoba oil in his coiled tresses.
Kyle was wailing profusely into the crook of Stan's neck. His breath tickled Stan so badly, he erupted into goosebumps. "Are you shitting me? I couldn't have done this without you, you idiot. Sure, I had the brains to get this far, but you- you had my back when I needed you. You didn't have to do anything of the sort, but you did."
Stan melted further into Kyle's warmth as his throat tightened, burning. "I'd do anything for you, dude."
He thinks that was when he realized he loved Kyle for the first time.
---
Slowly but surely, they drifted apart. Being 2,865 miles away wasn't helping. Life simply just got in the way. Thus, Stan finds himself in his childhood house's driveway, relentless, involuntary tears running down his face, brooding over his incessant love for his friend.
He didn't know why he was so angry. Was it because they fell out? Or because he didn't put more effort into maintaining their relationship? Because he never got to tell Kyle he loved him?
Perhaps, it was all of it.