never posted a fic to tumblr but thought i'd try it?? idk
!! only a part of the fic, the rest is 5k words, complete, and available on ao3 !!
vodka, idealism, and you <- link to ao3
“Where’s Kyle?”
Kyle, who’s talking to Tolkien in the corner by a potted plant, does his best not to react. Not to talk, not to blink, not to sigh. Definitely not to turn around.
“Have you seen him? He’s tall – not as tall as he thinks he is. Lanky. Stupid hair. Stupid hair…”
Kyle rolls his eyes, trying not to take the bait. He takes a long drink from his can of beer, some cheap shit Kenny bribed a homeless guy to buy for them. Tolkien raises his eyebrows. Kyle just shakes his head.
“Kyle…”
“Hey, man, I think Stan’s looking for you,” Tolkien says.
“He’s just wasted,” Kyle says. “He’s always looking for me when he’s wasted.”
“He’s not that drunk.”
“Okay, whatever,” Kyle says. He takes another drink. “You know, last time he drank, he emptied our bottle of vodka, told me I was his guardian angel, and puked all down my shirt.”
Tolkien’s expression sparkles with mirth. He presses his grin into the mouth of his beer can. Then, he says, “Was it a nice shirt?”
“Fuck off,” Kyle says. “I still wear it.”
“Gross, dude.” Tolkien wrinkles his nose.
“Ever heard of a washing machine?” Kyle says. Or, he tries to say it, but he’s interrupted by a sudden weight draping over his back. He makes a small oof sound and tries to elbow the weight off, but it’s not budging. “Move, asshole.”
“Hey, Stan,” Tolkien says.
“Why are you hiding?” Stan accuses. He digs his fingers into the meat of Kyle’s shoulders. Kyle winces.
“I’m not, you’re just fucking blind,” Kyle says. “Who snitched?”
“Cartman,” Stan mumbles.
“Of course,” Kyle says through gritted teeth.
“Kyle,” Stan says, though the word is interrupted by a foul-smelling hiccup, “will you come with me? I want to talk to you.”
“Can this wait?” Kyle says.
Stan makes a very disgruntled, dissenting noise. The weight on Kyle’s back gets heavier, more pressing, and Kyle imagines Stan closing his eyes, letting his muscles relax. Kyle takes the opportunity to extract himself from Stan’s grip, propping him up instead with a hand on each of his shoulders.
Kyle gets a good look at Stan’s face. He’s flushed, pupils dilated. Definitely drunk, but not white-girl-wasted like he usually gets by the end of a party. His mouth his hanging open a little, his jaw slack. Mouth-breather. His hair is sweaty and plastered to his forehead. His eyes are half-lidded behind his glasses, not leaving Kyle’s face.
“You can go, man, it’s okay,” Tolkien says.
Kyle gives him a withering look. “Thanks.”
Tolkien shrugs, but Kyle is pretty sure he knows what he’s doing.
That’s the joke, isn’t it? Stan, the whirlwind of half-baked emotions and empty promises and want, gets a terribly singular focus at parties. Kyle doesn’t know how everyone hasn’t gotten tired of watching Stan embarrass himself, flinging himself at his fixation of the night – usually Kyle, but sometimes Wendy or Kenny – and apologizing for years-old drama, expressing supposedly-repressed sentiments.
Kyle can never figure out how much of it is real. Stan hardly ever acknowledges it after.
“Kyle,” Stan says, “I need to talk to you. I feel shitty.”
Kyle steels himself. “What do you feel shitty about, Stan?”
Stan’s eyes shift around, landing on Tolkien suspiciously. He hesitates, then leans in close to whisper into Kyle’s ear. Kyle rolls his eyes.
Far louder than a whisper, audible to anyone in a five-foot radius, Stan hisses, “I’m sorry you got detention for that essay I copied from you. I should’ve said something.”
Hot, sour breath splashes across Kyle’s neck. Kyle shivers a little, then pushes Stan back by his chest.
“That’s it?” he says, crossing his arms. “I don’t care about that.”
Stan scrubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle says.
Stan makes a sound that approaches a whimper.
Kyle’s starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable. Stan won’t stop staring. The room is dark, his face splashed in shadow and low lamplight. It’s Craig’s party, so there’s depressing underground prog-rock blaring from the speakers. Color swims at the edges of Kyle’s vision. Maybe he’s drunker than he thought.
“Just come talk to me,” Stan insists. He reaches out and fists a hand in Kyle’s sleeve. Kyle bites the inside of his cheek.
“Fine,” he says, at length. “Five minutes.”
He puts his can of beer down on a random shelf and pretends not to notice Tolkien’s raised eyebrows, his poorly-disguised expression of delight. He lets Stan tug him by his sleeve, through the crowds of people talking and gyrating, over Clyde and Bebe who have been making out so distractedly that they’ve slipped off the couch and onto the floor. Kyle’s heart thuds in his throat as Stan pulls him in the direction of the stairs.
They end up in Craig’s bedroom. Even if Kyle hadn’t been here before, he’d be able to tell it was his. The decorations are neatly spaced with no overlaps, like a complicated jigsaw, and are a combination of surrealist film posters and prints of moody classic rockers. Eraserhead sits above his art supplies. Jim Morrison looks soulfully down at the bed from the ceiling.
Kyle is so distracted by the décor, his head growing slightly fuzzy, that he barely hears the click of the lock turning. When he looks around, vaguely surprised, it’s to the sight of Stan pressing his back against the door, letting his head loll to the side.
“So?” Kyle says. His palms are starting to sweat.
Stan just looks at him. Then, slowly, pushes himself back off the door. He walks carefully, one foot in front of the other, like maybe he’s afraid he’ll fall. He doesn’t look down, though. His eyes don’t leave Kyle’s face. They’re hazy, pupils too fat even for the dark. The blue of his eyes are barely visible.
“What?” Kyle tries to get angry. “You pulled me up here. This better be good.”
Stan’s right in front of him now. He’s really not that much shorter than Kyle, with all the insecurity he projects about his height, and they’re practically nose-to-nose. His expression is splashed plainly across his spread-open face, all the way down to his hands that twist anxiously together.
Suddenly, those hands shoot up to grab the collar of Kyle’s sweater. Stan grips the fabric harder than he needs to, twisting it up in each of his white-knuckled fists. He pulls Kyle a little closer – as if he can get any closer – looks up at him for one more second, and kisses him.
But I Thought They Burned Hot Topic Down / Stan x Kyle
yay another south park fic! this is part one of a three part woooo!! would love any feedback on this. i know the premise is cheesy i promise its not rlly abt vampires. maybe read it on ao3 for format reasons :)
Link | 3k words | Chapter 1/3 “sorry that you’re super depressed”
Stanley Marsh is a vampire. Kyle Broflovski still loves him.
Kyle is 16. Stan is 17.
The two probably hadn’t had a real conversation since they were about 12, maybe 13. It isn’t exactly clear when their friendship began to fizzle out, Kyle tells anyone who asks that he doesn’t even remember, though he does. It’s not like it mattered, he had no plans to reconcile with the other and the sentiment seemed to be returned.
Yet, here he stands in front of Stanley Marsh’s door, feeling just as small as his middle school self despite the fact that he’s grown a considerable amount. Maybe it's the large “KEEP OUT” sign on the door that’s bringing him back due to just how childish it feels. He contemplates turning around, telling Mrs. Marsh that he tried and got rejected. Sorry, your son is a lost cause. He then recalled how upset his own mother got when he said he didn’t want to go see Stan. He’d say he tried, Sheila would say he didn’t try hard enough and send him back, she was always stubborn like that.
Kyle let out a sigh, rocked back and forth on his heels for a second, and knocked on the door.
“Mom, please just leave me alone,” says a faint voice from inside.
“It’s not your mom,” Kyle replies, preparing himself for rejection.
There’s silence for long enough that Kyle is once again ready to call it quits. Until he hears a faint “Kyle?”
How long has it been since he’s heard Stan say his name?
“Yeah, it’s me,” Kyle replies. “Can I come in?”
“Did my mom tell you to come here?”
Kyle rolls his eyes. “No, but she probably told my mom who told me to. Look, can you just let me in? Honestly, you’re doing me a bigger favor than I’m doing you. We don’t even need to talk.”
There’s some shuffling from inside before the door opens. Stan is looking at him pointedly, blue eyes locking with Kyle’s. There’s none of the I haven’t seen you this close in years, you look exactly the same, you’re an entirely different person sensation that Kyle is feeling in his expression. He just looks annoyed. After a moment, Stan simply turns around and sits back on his bed. Kyle follows, closing the door behind him. He stays by the door, just looking over the other. His hair has gotten longer, especially in the back. The pallor of his face makes the dark circles under his eyes look even more pronounced. Kyle’s seen him at school, but there he’s a star football player, always beaming, surrounded by friends. Now, in the dim light of his bedroom, he’s just a greasy teenager.
“You pierced your ears,” Kyle notes neutrally. Stan lifts a hand to the dark stud on one side, feeling it before nodding. This is off to a shit start. “Uh, your mom said you’re like, really depressed. That sucks.”
“I thought you said we didn’t have to talk,” Stan says, looking back to him with that same expression.
Kyle promptly shuts up, lips tightening into a line. Stan exhales, moving over on his bed a bit. “You can sit if you want.”
Kyle joins him on the bed, keeping a good distance. “Thanks.” Stan nods again and leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t look particularly pissed off, just tired. Kyle takes a moment to look around his room, which has barely changed since the last time he was there. There’s a few different posters for bands on the walls, but the most notable feature is just how messy it is, beyond the typical piles of dirty laundry that Kyle will let build up. There’s just stuff everywhere, books on the ground, empty bottles of water and laundry detergent and uneaten plates of food. Kyle feels the urge to get up and just start cleaning.
“Is my mom really telling everyone I’m depressed?” Stan asks.
Sheila’s voice rings in his mind. ‘Kyle, your friend Stanley is having a hard time. His mother says he hardly goes to school, he doesn’t see anyone, he won’t leave his room. I want you to go over there and try to talk to him, you’re a good boy, bubbeh, you’ll rub off on him.’ Kyle shakes his head. “I mean, I haven’t seen you at school in two months, your mom says you’re ‘not yourself,’ I can put two and two together.”
“Why do you care if I’m at school or not?” Stan asks, mumbling.
“Because when one of the most popular guys in our grade drops off the face of the earth people notice,” Kyle says tersely. “And I know how you get sometimes. Or, I guess how you used to get.” Stan looks oddly wounded by this, gaze fixed on the ground. Kyle feels like he’s doing everything wrong. He does remember how Stan would get, especially when things got hard at home. He was prone to shutting down, closing the world out. The only thing that’s changed is that he used to let Kyle in. “I mean, you joined the goth kids that one time.”
Stan cracks a small smile at this which instantly makes Kyle feel lighter. “They understood me when no one else did.”
“Oh, fuck off. They just played into your cringe edgelord schtick.”
“Yeah, that was pretty fucking cringe. I think I still have that black hat.”
“You probably need it for when you come back to school. You can let everyone know that your absence was actually super dark and mysterious.” Stan nods absentmindedly, his smile fading. Kyle inches closer on the bed, watching him. “You’re coming back, right?” Stan’s not answering, facing away from him. Kyle feels a tightness in his chest, he’s closing me out again. “Stan,” he says, tone pleading for a response.
“I don’t know,” Stan finally murmurs.
Kyle lets out a frustrated scoff. “You don’t know? What does that even mean? Dude, it’s school, it’s not something you can just opt out of.”
“I’ve been ‘opting out’-” he says in a mocking tone, “-for a good while now. I think I can keep it up.”
“So what, you’re just gonna sit in this disgusting room all day? Look at you!” Kyle grabs Stan’s wrist, yanking it towards him so they can actually look at each other. Stan quickly pulls it back, but doesn’t turn away again. “You look like shit, Stan.”
“Real nice,” Stan replied flatly.
“I know you, you’re just gonna rot away in here-”
“You don’t know anything about me!” Stan cuts Kyle off, voice raising.
Kyle’s fists are clenched at his sides. “That’s not true! Whatever’s going on with you, I know you need help.”
“Didn’t your mom force you to come here? You’re just trying to make yourself feel better. You don’t even fucking care about me!”
The accusation hangs in the air between them. Stan’s jaw is clenched. Kyle shrinks back. After a moment, he asks, in a quiet voice, “How could you say that?”
They were 12. It was after a Friday night with the rest of the gang. Stan and Kyle always left together. They’d walk back to whoever’s house was closest and spend the night there, staying up late and playing video games. Stan was recovering from his most recent breakup with Wendy. Kyle doesn’t remember all of the details anymore. He remembers how sheepish Stan was when he told Kyle he didn’t need a girlfriend as long as they had each other. He remembers how quiet it was after he leaned forward and kissed the dark-haired boy. He remembers Stan staring at him, eyes wide, completely still. He remembers running the entire way back home.
They didn’t hang out again after that, at least not alone. Gradually, they stopped seeing each other all together. Stan climbed the social ladder easily in high school, especially through football. Kyle became irrelevant in his life except for the occasional “Didn’t you used to be friends with that geek?”
His face feels hot. The longer Stan takes to respond, the stronger that impulse to run gets. Kyle opens his mouth, ready to make up some bullshit excuse and leave rather than admit I actually care so deeply for you in the same way I have since we were kids even though we haven’t spoken in five years.
But Stan speaks first. “I’m sorry.”
Kyle stares at him, brows knit together. “What?” He replies, dumbly.
“I’m sorry. I’m just being a dick.” Stan looks sincere as he deflates, leaning back against the wall again. “I know you care about me. It’s just- you shouldn’t.”
Kyle frowns. “Yeah, well, you don’t get much of a choice in that,” he says, picking nervously at his nails. Stan doesn’t push it any further, and Kyle really doesn’t want to continue that conversation. But, it’s quiet again, so he needs to say something to lighten the mood or he’s going to be crushed. “I think I’ve gotten used to how rancid it smells in here now. My nose might just not work anymore though.”
Again, Stan smiles softly. “I’m really committing to the whole ‘rotting in bed’ thing.”
“Dude, you’ve got a combination of dirty laundry and uneaten food that’s marinating in all the shit
everywhere.” Kyle scans the room once more, picking out specific items amongst the mess. “Your trophies are on the floor, I can’t even see your video games anymore and-” His gaze fixates on one particular item that’s out of place, specifically because it’s neatly situated on Stan’s desk. “Dude, is that a collar?”
“No,” Stan replies incredibly quickly. “It’s super gross in here, I know, you can’t even fucking see what’s what-”
Kyle stands, stepping over the mess to Stan’s desk. “Is this like part of your new emo style or-”
Stan rushes to his side, still talking over Kyle. “You shouldn’t touch that- or anything, ‘cause it’s so dirty-”
Kyle picks up the small collar in his hand, looking at the tag. “This is Cartman’s cat’s collar.” It was a little while ago that they found the cat’s corpse just outside of the woods. Kyle remembers it only because Cartman made a big show of accusing him of killing it out for his ‘Jew-y blood libel ritual.’
The boys just stare at each other for a second. Stan can watch the gears turning in Kyle’s head, Kyle can see Stan’s panic setting in. They both speak at the same time.
“Did you kill Cartman’s cat?”
“I swear I can explain it-”
Kyle takes a step back from him, looking down at the collar and seeing the stains of blood. “Oh god,” he drops it to the floor.
“Just hear me out, man-”
“Did you do it?” Stan presses his lips together tightly and nods. All Kyle can muster out is a weak “What the fuck?”
“I know, it seems bad,” Stan tries to start, but Kyle won’t let him explain. He doesn’t want to hear how Stan just felt so terrible he had to kill some poor animal.
“Aren’t you a fucking vegetarian?”
Stan pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes shut tight. “Kyle, please just listen to me.”
“Please, Stan, tell me why you murdered Eric Cartman’s cat,” he says sarcastically. “Are you fucked in the head or something?”
The way that Stan looks at him is terrifying. There is an intensity to his gaze that makes Kyle feel like he’s the next victim. However, instead of murdering him, Stan simply pulls the hair around his neck back and turns.
Kyle leans in a little, seeing two faint, circular scars on Stan’s neck. “The cat bit you?”
Stan lets out a frustrated sigh. “Kyle, don’t panic, okay?”
“Why are you saying that?” Stan puts his hands on the other’s shoulders, bringing him close. “What are you doing? Dude-” Stan opens his mouth the same way he used to smile uncomfortably for photos. However, up this close, Kyle can see what he’s trying to show him. Two sharp fangs poke out from beneath his upper lip. The realization dawns on him quickly, showing plainly in his expression. “Is this a fucking joke?” Kyle asks, though he knows it isn’t.
“Please don’t start screaming,” Stan pleads, pulling his hands away. Kyle nods, breathing deeply, biting down on the insides of his lips. “Kyle? You gonna be okay?” Kyle folds his arms over his chest, giving Stan a shaky thumbs up as he crosses the room. He needs the space to process this. Stan just watches him, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.
“So this is why you’ve been missing?” Kyle asks, staring at the wall.
“Uh-huh,” Stan replies.
“And why you don’t leave your room?”
“I mean, I leave at night sometimes.”
“And you don’t eat anything because you just need to drink...”
“Yep, yeah.”
“So you…You ate Cartman’s cat?”
“I didn’t mean to! It was my first time going outside after the whole transformation thing and I saw the cat and I just- I lost control. I took the collar because I wanted them to think it was a stray, I don’t know. I panicked. I swear I can control it so much better now, seriously. I went on a whole solo hunting trip and I’m fine with animals and once I’ve, uh, fed, I’m good for a while!” Stan looks at Kyle with a nervous smile. “Please say something.”
“You ate Cartman’s cat,” Kyle repeated, a strange smile curling his lips.
“I know,” Stan said, tentatively stepping closer to him.
Kyle began to chuckle, an empty, bizarre laugh. “That’s insane, this whole thing is fucking insane.”
Unconsciously, Stan smiled too. “Why are you laughing? I’m being serious.”
“I know, I just think my brain went into shock,” Kyle replies, still laughing. Stan watches him, taking a seat back on his bed. Once the fit subsides, Kyle sits beside him. “Dude, what the literal fuck.”
Stan nods. Both of their smiles fade. Kyle just looks at him, taking it all in once more. It makes sense, maybe less sense than if Stan was just having an awful depressive episode, but it still makes sense. It’s a lot to take in. Kyle can only imagine how Stan has been feeling. He feels like a dick, coming in here and yelling at Stan about things like friendship and school which feel very small now.
“I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with this shit on your own.”
Stan gulps, speaking in a high, uneasy voice. “It’s fine. I mean, the transformation was a nightmare ‘cause I kinda died and came back? And then my mom kept knocking but I thought if I unlocked the door I’d probably kill her. I also have to keep lying to her and ignoring all of my friends because I can’t tell people the truth or they’d hunt me down with torches and stuff.”
Before Stan can continue, Kyle has his arms wrapped around him in a tight hug. After a few seconds, Stan wraps his arms around the other, pressing his face against his shoulder. The two stay like that for some time. Kyle holds Stan until he’s not shaking anymore, feeling tears wet his shirt. Stan grips his shirt, pulling away eventually, wiping his face with his sleeve.
“Fuck,” Stan breathes out, leaning back against the wall. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Dude, I would never,” Kyle says, standing up. “Let me help you clean up in here. I’m serious about how bad it smells.” Stan nods, rubbing his eyes again. “I can clean, you should sleep, dude. I’ll tell your mom we had a heart-to-heart and you’ve changed for the better. We can figure this shit out later.”
“I don’t sleep,” Stan says, looking up at him. Kyle feels a pang in his chest. Stan doesn’t look so pale and exhausted because he’s not taking care of himself, it’s just who he is now.
Kyle swallows. “Shit. Take a mental rest, then. Put some music on. I’ll be right back.” He waits for Stan to give him the go-ahead before he leaves the room. Kyle pauses just outside his door, taking a breath. There’s a million things running through his mind right now, most of them terrible, but he’s holding on to one good thing: He’s with Stan again. He doesn’t know if it’ll last very long, or even past tonight, but at least for now he can help him.
Sharon Marsh is sitting at the kitchen table when Kyle walks in. She looks up at him, a nervous, expectant look on her face. Kyle gives her a small smile. “I’m gonna help him clean up his room. I,” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “I think he’ll be okay.” Sharon smiles, grabbing him some cleaning supplies while thanking him for coming. Kyle’s barely listening, too lost in his own thoughts. Will he be okay?
Stan is still sitting on his bed when Kyle comes back, playing some music softly from his phone.
Kyle holds up the garbage bag Sharon gave him. “I’m just gonna purge your shit.” Stan gives him a thumbs-up and Kyle gets to work. It’s not too bad. Kyle doesn’t hate cleaning, actually, it makes him feel a lot better to fix up a space. As more and more of the floor is revealed, he feels a nice satisfaction. Plus, he talks to Stan while he works. They don’t really dwell on the whole Stan-isn’t-human-anymore thing, mostly catching up from the last few years, complaining about teachers and peers and parents. It’s clear Stan missed talking to people, since he fills up most of the silence. After almost two hours of cleaning, Kyle has successfully gotten the garbage out, put most belongings back, and thrown all the clothes together in one corner. It’s not perfect, but it’s a lot better.
“Did you mean what you said before?” Stan asks softly, just after Kyle’s tied off the garbage bag.
“About what?” He asks, looking over at him.
“Figuring this out with me.”
Kyle knows he’s doing this in part because he misses Stan. Also, there’s all those unresolved 12-year-old feelings inside him. But, beyond that, he’s enjoyed tonight so much. Even though he almost had a nervous breakdown and they fought for the first part of the night, Kyle enjoys being with Stan more than anyone else. “Of course, dude.”
“It’s okay if you want to bail. Seriously, I didn’t tell you because I, like, wanted your help. I told you because I didn’t want you to think I was some psycho cat murderer.”
Kyle doesn’t believe that entirely, but he still says, “I know. But I want to help you, really.” Stan gives him a very sweet smile, relief evident on his face. “Uh, so, random question,” Kyle asks.
“Go for it,” Stan says.
“Is it weird if I ask you to play some Blood Demon 3 with me right now?” Stan bursts out laughing and Kyle blushes with embarrassment. “It’s a serious question! I want to know if it's offensive to you!”
Stan tries his best to stop laughing for just long enough to say, “Dude, I missed you.”
omg, wouldja look at that, its tommy, back at it again with the south park ficlets ! this time, i come bearing a self indulgent style fic, ft nonbinary stan using they/them pronouns, stan wearing eyeliner, and plenty of domestic vibes. i hope u all enjoy ♥
ps! im still taking requests for short drabbles in this same sorta style (i prefer style, bunny, or creek requests, but i can get down with some friendship shenanigans ^_^), so if youve got something youd like in mind, send in your request here! now, onto the ficlet!
“quit squirming,” kyle says softly, fingers grasping at stan’s chin firmly to keep them still. his voice is just as firm, though there is a certain fondness clear in his tone.
stan is sitting on the closed toilet seat, eyes scrunched closed as kyle leans over them and holds an eyeliner pencil to their eyes. they always hate this part. they make kyle do it for a reason - stan’s hands start shaking too much the closer they get to their eyes with the pencil, and they’re deathly afraid of accidentally poking their eye out. they know they could go without the eyeliner all together, but they like the way it makes them look, so make their boyfriend do it for them it is.
“i’m not squirming,” stan says, squirming in their place. the hand is pulled away from their face, and when stans open their eyes, they see kyle standing with a hand on his hip and his head tilted. stan laughs. “okay, maybe i was squirming!”
kyle huffs out a soft laugh, leaning down to kissing stan softly. “the more you keep squirming around, the longer this takes, dude,” he says quietly, reaching up to gently brush stan’s hair out of their face.
“i know,” stan groans. they take a deep breath in through their nose, closing their hands into fists on their lap and shutting their eyes. “okay, i got this. go ahead, babe.”
kyle snorts, bringing his hand back to gently hold stan’s chin still. “you so got this,” he says teasingly. stan decides not to dignify him with a response, simply sticking their tongue out at their boyfriend. kyle laughs again before bringing the eyeliner pencil down to stan’s eyes. stan immediately squeezes their eyes shut before he can even reach. “babe?” kyle asks.
“yes?”
“stop squeezing your eyes so tight. i can’t get to your eyes when you do that.”
stan hesitates for a moment before opening their eyes just enough so that their eyes aren’t so tightly shut. “better?”
“much better,” kyle says, voice barely above a whisper. he slowly starts tracing stan’s eyes with the black pencil, stan holding their breath to keep from messing up kyle’s handiwork and kyle moving stan’s jaw as he works in order to get better angles at their face. after what feels like hours of forcing themself to stay still, kyle finally pulls away and speaks up. “there. open your eyes?”
stan opens their eyes, blinking owlishly up at kyle. “what do you think?”
kyle smiles so big and wide that it makes stan’s heart beat a little harder and makes their cheeks flush a little with affection. “you look so handsome,” kyle says fondly, leaning down to kiss stan sweetly. stan laughs bashfully against his mouth, reaching up to wrap their arms around his neck.
when stan pulls away, they smile impishly and tilt their head. “your turn?”
kyle laughs and shakes his head. “oh hell no. i don’t trust you with sharp objects near my eyes, dude!”
stan laughs at that until they’re wheezing from it, lightly shoving at kyle’s chest. “aw, c’mon, i bet you’d look great!”
kyle snorts and rolls his eyes good naturedly, leaning down to wrap his arms around stan’s waist, straightening up to lift stan off the toilet seat and momentarily lifting them off the floor entirely before setting them down on their feet. “yeah, i’d look great with my eyes poked out.”
stan laughs a little more at that, rolling their eyes and taking the eyeliner pencil from kyle’s hand. “you’re so boring! one day i’ll get you to wear makeup, i promise,” they say with a playful smile, depositing the pencil with the rest of the different little makeup products they’ve amassed over the years. their collection is quite small as they don’t use makeup often enough to warrant spending a lot of money on product, but they have just enough for the days where they decide to experiment with their appearance a little.
kyle laughs and starts to exit the bathroom, though not without a sharp poke to stan’s side that makes them yelp and jump away. “keep telling yourself that, babe!” stan simply rolls their eyes fondly in response before trailing after their boyfriend.
