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He knows. Every time he reaches for a bottle, he knows. Still, he pops the cap and takes a sip. The bottle is cold in his grip, even colder on his lips. It doesn't matter anymore, nothing does when that liquid gold is soothing his parched throat.
Noisy. It's too noisy here in Clyde's house. Clyde's playlist was blasting through the speakers, Beyonce's Partition was hard to ignore. The rainbow-colored LED lights bounced off the walls, illuminating the entire house. It smelled like alcohol, weed, and teenagers. Eric and Kenny hit him up and convinced him to stay at the party for a while, to have a good time. That's what summer break's all about, right?
They were in the kitchen, talking about their lives when Kenny spotted Marjorine's blonde hair.
"Oh shit, Marjorine's here. Liquid courage before I go?" Kenny giggles as he holds up a bottle of raspberry-flavored Smirnoff. Stan rolls his eyes, but Kenny knows he doesn't mean it as Stan goes to grab the glasses. Kenny pours them both generous doubles.
"On three?"
"Yuuup."
"Together then." They hook their arms, shots at the ready.
"One, two, three!" Arms still crossed, they down their shots and grimace at the burn.
"You gonna be okay here?" Kenny asks him, his face already peaches and cream.
"'Course. Go get 'er tiger." Grinning, they bumped elbows and Stan watched as the pair faded into the crowd. His smile drops. It was just him in the kitchen now, not a part of the action but just close enough. He was okay with being alone, he believed. He hopped off his barstool and pulled a few more beers out of the cooler that was closest to him.
He knows every time he drinks, he'll try to drown himself further and further. Until he can't feel anymore. Until he can't breathe anymore.
Just one to get a taste.
That first one was nice and refreshing, the second one should be good.
A third should do the trick.
A fourth for the buzz.
A fifth.
A sixth-
-
Disgusting. Stan feels absolutely rank as he rolls over in bed. He lets out a low groan as his head pounds. He tries to open his eyes, only managing a second before the sunlight sears his vision. He could feel the warm light on his face.
He kicks his feet under the covers and he notices how much softer they feel. They're not his. Stan's eyes shoot open as he slowly scans his surroundings. He calms himself as he sees the familiar blue walls. Kyle's room.
The thought of seeing Kyle right now made him increasingly nauseous. He hasn't spoken to him properly for a long while now, much less been in his room. Kyle'd been diligently studying for exams, going to debate club, and hanging around Tolkien. No matter how much he couldn't stand to see them together, he could never do anything about it. He figured it was for the best. He didn't want to drag him down, asking to skip out on class with him. Stan could feel the bile coming up his esophagus and he pitifully empties the contents of his stomach in the bedside wastebin.
"Good morning." Fuckfuckfuck. He didn't hear the door open, he was too busy sicking himself. Footsteps approach him, but he doesn't respond. He doesn't want to see Kyle. He makes everything feel too real. But Kyle wasn't having it, forcing his chin up and wiping the vomit off his face with a hot washcloth. He's come in with a plate of buttered blueberry bagels and sliced strawberries. Stan's favorite. He sets it on the nightstand.
"Drink it." Kyle pushes a glass of lemon water in his hand as he sits himself on the bed across from Stan. He downs the glass in one go, thankful for the taste of something other than his vomit. His heart feels like it's going to burst. It's just Kyle, but somehow his comfort hurts him.
"Kenny asked me to come get you." Stan just fiddles with the empty glass, avoiding his stare.
"He says you've just been drinking for hours again." Kyle's voice was unreadable.
"Please just look at me, Stan." He has no choice but to obey.
Kyle was in green plaid pajama pants and a faded black The Cure tee Stan gifted him years ago. It was a bit tight around his broadening shoulders. The morning rays lit his red curls. They were fiery, wild, and unbounded. Stan thinks it rivals Kyle's evergreen eyes as his best feature. He feels small as he looks upon him, really looks. He's as gorgeous as ever.
"You can't keep this up, you know. Getting drunk, ditching school, fucking off into the woods without telling anyone." Stan knows he's angry, it only makes him want to curl up into a ball and die. He knows he deserves every degrading word directed toward him.
Crack. Crumbling.
"Why the fuck do you keep doing this shit, Stan?" Kyle's fists clenched at his sides, volatile. Kyle sneers at him, he can't hold back anymore.
Crack. Fracturing.
"Do you have any idea how that makes me feel? How Kenny feels? Even Wendy is worried about you. I barely see you anymore, and when I do, you look like shit. Your vague texts don't tell me anything, Stan. I feel like we've been lost at sea, that I'm trying so hard to reach for you, but you're doused in oil. All I can do is watch you slip further, deeper into whatever misery you're in!" His voice was reverberating in his ears, frenzied.
The dam is finally dilapidated as Kyle cries out at him, his ivory skin flushing red, tears racing past the constellations of freckles.
"Please! I'm so afraid I'm going to lose you forever! I feel so stupid thinking about you day in and day out when you don't even care about anything that happens to you! I hate that I want to drop everything to make sure you're okay! I hate that I still love you so much! I fucking hate you!"
Stan was crying too, now. He disregarded every hesitation he had and bought Kyle close. He was tired of avoiding the touch he craved the most as he ran his hand down Kyle's back trying to soothe him, the other wrapped around his waist.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Stan murmurs into his ear, hoping to ease the pain in Kyle's heart even a little.
"I just couldn't understand myself, so I thought no one else would. I felt too alone. My emotions were spiraling out of control and meshing together, I couldn't tell them apart anymore. I was looking for a way out. I didn't want to feel anymore. I was trying to drink myself into oblivion, nothingness. Even when I thought I was there, I still thought about you."
Still locked in an embrace, Kyle tried his best to cease his heaving chest. He couldn't see Stan's face, but he knew he was still crying.
"We've been growing older and I know I can't stop it. We're growing farther and farther away from you and me when we were kids. You were hanging out with Tolkien. Kenny and Cartman hang out with Marj. It was really easy, almost too easy for me to isolate myself. No one in my house asked any questions anyways."
Kyle gritted his teeth.
"Well sorry to say, asshole, but you're wrong. All I ever wanted was to stay by your side. Friends, lovers, it didn't matter to me. You were already walking away from me and I was foolish enough to think you were coming back. Then, you were out of my life. I waited several months, but couldn't wait for you anymore. I knew I'd wait forever. For my own sake, I just decided I had to move on. Even if I didn't want to."
He pulled away from Stan, wanting to look at his face.
"I don't know what made you think I wasn't there for you, but I never left. Not really, anyways. I don't care if you don't understand yourself. Who truly does? I accept you for whatever, whoever you are. If you need help, we'll get it for you. Whatever you think you need, I'll be here always. Nothing changed for me. You were always my best friend."
Stan felt like he was the biggest moron in the world, probably because he was.
"You love me?" Stan asked skeptically. Kyle almost wanted to bash his head in.
"Yes, you dick, were you even listening to anything I was saying?" Kyle was going to say more, but all his thoughts were punted away as Stan's lips were gingerly pressed against his own. He smelled like raspberries.
As Stan pulled away, his stomach let out a roar. He smiled cheekily and pointed to the forgotten plate on the nightstand. "Uhh- are you gonna eat those?"
Kyle scoffed and rolled his eyes, "Really? Jesus Christ, dude." He handed him the plate anyways.
"I'm sure you know, but I love you too," Stan confesses shyly through a mouthful of blueberry bagel.