It all started because Kenny invited him to a party the Broflovski’s organized.
"I swear, dude, it's going to be crazy," his friend assured him with a smile. They were both taking a break after hours of work on the farm, sitting on the porch while passing a joint around. Courtesy of the house.
"I don't know, dude. I don't think I should go," Stan said. "That family almost left us homeless. I don't want to take any risks.."
Stanley doesn't remember exactly what happened, but he knows it perfectly well, since his father keeps mentioning it. Of course he did. Ever so proud Randy Marsh.
It was the same year Stan turned ten. His father had bought a farm in the Colorado countryside, thirty minutes from South Park, so he had to stop taking the bus to school and, simultaneously, see less of his friends. He didn't consult his mother about the investment, which also led to a huge argument that nearly led to their who-keeps-counting divorce, but Randy eventually convinced her with talks about the positive impact it would have in the long run, and she agreed.
Neither Shelley nor Stan wanted that damn farm. Especially because it wasn't an ordinary farm, no; not at all. Their father had them working growing and grinding marijuana to get it ready for sales, which seemed to be increasingly successful. Stanley never really understood who was buying marijuana from his crazy father, but whoever it was at least put food on their tables.
He also hated it because, thanks to the distance, he stopped visiting his friends less and less. And his friends couldn't visit him either. It was horrible.
It all started when Randy visited South Park and ran into Gerald Broflovski at the bar. Neither of them knows exactly why the argument started; over the years, the story has changed. The most likely version is that Gerald had made some comment about the ridiculous way the Marsh family were making a living, and the conversation escalated from there. Broflovski sued Marsh for the dubious legality of his business, arguing in court that, without any regulation, it could collapse with the statewide, and even national order if it continued to grow, and he would have to pay some penalty. The family business was almost over. They would have to sell the farm, and from there, where would they go? They didn't have the old house in South Park, and they couldn't risk investing in one again. Nothing seemed to be going their way.
But with a good lawyer, Randy managed to keep the farm. With conditions, of course. If he wanted to continue growing marijuana in large quantities as he was doing—which exceeded the legal possession of only two pounds by a mile—he would have to limit himself solely to the medicinal sale of the product..Which he did, reluctantly. A very deep hatred towards the Broflovskis formed inside him from those days on. And it was well known that the hatred was mutual. There was no place where a Broflovski and a Marsh crossed paths without discord.
What hurt him most was the loss of his best friend Kyle. If he hadn't seen him much due to the distance, he began to see him even less after the trial. Especially since his father started homeschooling them because of it.
There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't miss him. And he wondered if the feeling was mutual.
"They won't recognize you. How long has it been since the last time they saw you? It's been ages, man!" Kenny insisted. "Besides, it's going to be a costume party. No one will know who you are behind the costume.”
Stan pursed his lips, thoughtful. What Kenny said was true, but he was still afraid. He didn't know the consequences of overstepping the walls that family had put up to keep his family away. He didn't want to know either.
However… even though it was summer, he could barely hang out with his friends. Since graduation, they'd done nothing but spend their days on the farm: harvesting the produce, grinding it, and wrapping it in bales to send to pharmacies across the state. Randy was paying Kenny and Cartman a generous salary for helping him with labor on the farm, and it went a long way toward covering their expenses. Kenny's wanted to support his family and save money for college. Cartman's wanted to have money to spend until he started college.
They were finishing up their produce by then, and would have the following week off while the truck driver sold the product to compounding pharmacies across the state. They wanted to spend their free time enjoying themselves, but they had no idea how. This party seemed like the perfect opportunity.
"It won't be at their house. It'll be at the Hilton in Denver," Kenny explained.
Stan let out a stunned gasp. "Damn, they have that much money?"
Kenny shrugged. "Yeah, well, it's not just them. It's a tribute to their dad and another, even bigger firm in Denver, but we in South Park know it's them. Especially since their mom is inviting families left and right... except for you guys."
"Except for us," Marsh agreed.
He hoped his sudden grief would end this conversation, but Kenny wasn't that easy to appease. He threw the last of the joint to the floor and let out an exasperated pop.
"Please! It'll be like old times, okay?" he insisted again. “I'll be the princess, Cartman the wizard, you the knight, I think Kyle will go as elf king again, and...
"Is Kyle going as elf king?"
"That's what he said, yes. I think so. I don't know. But don't you see?! It'll be like before, man! Like when we were kids!"
Stan remembers perfectly. Their games, their stories, the afternoons they ran from one house to another carrying made-up news and writing fake treatises. Kids' things. Childish foolishness. He loved being Stan Marshwalker, the elf king's right-hand man. The elf king. His king.
"Okay," Stan finally agreed, crossing his arms behind his head as he felt the tingling under his skin that told him the weed was taking effect.
From the nervous chuckles that came from Kenny's lips, he could tell it was the same for him. He let out a shrill, celebratory yell and stepped back.
"You won't regret it, I swear."
"Hey, you two gossiping bitches! When are you going to stop babbling about how many dicks you suck and help me fill this truck?!”
That was Cartman, with the sleeves of his sweater rolled up to his elbows and a baseball cap worn backward. After grinding and baling the harvest, he was given the job of loading 440 pounds of weed into large bundles onto the truck for distribution. He was the strongest of the three, after all.
Actually, he was in a constant competition with Stan to see who was the strongest, and he always won by weight, although Stanley wasn't far behind; it was just more distributed than Eric's. Kenny was nowhere near winning that competition. He was the skinniest and shortest of the three; there was no way he could win.
"Fatty fupa! Are you coming with us to Broflovski's costume party?" Kenny asked in an amused tone.
Cartman snorted. "Not in your wildest dreams, Kenny! It's probably some ritual to drain everyone's blood and drink it at the end or something."
"Yeah, Cartman. Everyone's dying to drink your blood." Stan rolled his eyes.
"You can't say shit, Stan! You don't even live in town to know what those jews are up to these days!"
"Cartman, please don't be like that!" Kenny interrupted. “You can dust off that fursuit I know you have stored in your closet, huh?"
"Dude, we should bring some of this to the party," Stan commented, referring to the weed his father so proudly planted.
"If you can grow four acres by tomorrow night," Cartman said, positioning himself in front of them on the porch. "There's no more merchandise. Did you guys leave any flower left?"
"There's no more?" Stanley asked.
"No, dude. Your AIDS-stricken old dad ordered us to harvest everything. What's in the truck was everything we harvested yesterday."
"He must have heard about Broflovski's party and thinks he'll become a millionaire overnight by emptying the countryside," Kenny opined.
"Or that pharmaceutical companies will give him a recognition at a Hilton." Stan sighed. His father really was stupid.
"I don't know. Hey, don't you guys have any flower left?"
Stan and Kenny exchanged red-eyed glances and then looked back at Cartman.
"Were we supposed to leave you?"
"Are you serious?!" He clicked his tongue. "Fuck off, both of you! I didn't want your faggot drool stained joint anyway! I'm going home!”
"We love you, tubby!" Kenny yelled, laughing as he watched him drive back to town.
Stan laughed too. More from the drug's effect than the situation itself. He'd have to take Kenny home later, since Cartman was the one who brought him to the farm, but it didn't matter. The more ticklish he felt and the more things got twisted, nothing really mattered.
He imagined what the next night would be like.
God, he was really going to see him again after all these years.
His mother was doing everything she could to find him a girlfriend. And it was getting ridiculous.
He could put himself in her shoes for a moment, at least a brief moment. When he was in elementary school, he had many girlfriends; short, childish crushes that didn't last more than a day—but multiple, nonetheless. However, since he turned eleven, he never showed any interest in a single girl again. So, if your teenage son reaches eighteen without you finding at least a condom wrapper in his bedroom trash can, a crumpled bra or pair of panties behind the bedpost, as a parent, you start to worry.
Okay, yes, he didn't like women. Yes, it was true, he was very romantic as a child. At eleven, he thought it was all nonsense, and he didn't come to terms with his homosexuality until he was fifteen, when he discovered that all those "relationships" he had as a child were a compulsive need to cling to his nonexistent heterosexuality. But even if he had a girlfriend, he wouldn't be stupid enough to take fuck her at his house, where there was almost always someone around and the screams of his little brother playing video games in the next room were already uncomfortable enough when he needed to jerk off, much more if he wanted to bed someone. And if he did take her home, he wouldn't be stupid enough to leave any trace. Obviously, he wouldn't go out with a girl stupid enough to overlook the details—a bra or a pair of panties. Who did they take him for?
And yes, he was gay, very gay. But he didn't have a boyfriend either. So who cared?
His mom, apparently, who was increasingly insistent that he was approaching the age to get a good wife. She was far from being the one to determine when Kyle should or shouldn't get married, given that she was promiscuous for most of her twenties, but that was more in her favor, or so she said. It was better to date a good woman before she turned into a used whore. And if Kyle liked women, he was sure he wouldn't care how many past partners his hypothetical wife had. Those things didn't determine her worth. Sheila disagreed.
Once, while they were in the doctor's waiting room for Ike's annual physical, his mother started talking about baby names.
"The boy's name will be Itai," she said out of nowhere, seemingly more to herself than to Kyle.
"What?"
"And the girl Mazal, like your great-grandmother."
The smile on his mother's face was so full of excitement that Kyle couldn't even begin to think about the fact that a future in which he would have children would be far away, if not nonexistent.
Right at that moment, Kyle was getting ready for the costume party his parents had organized, which he would reluctantly attend. The idea of hanging out with boring, stuffy lawyers from Denver didn't seem appealing in the slightest, especially knowing his father would try to force him to talk to "visualize his future." The only thing that seemed exciting was that Kenny and some kids from school would be there. He didn't even talk to them, though. Just Kenny.
He was also excited about the idea of going in costume. It brought back memories of his childhood, when he and his friends would play all kinds of games. Playing superheroes, or kings, knights, and princesses, bickering with each other. He liked that game more than being a superhero because Kyle was the high elf king, and that power made him feel important. Although he also liked playing as an alien.
He commissioned his own costume to resemble the one he wore as a child, but he took several creative liberties. Instead of a long, all-encompassing tunic, he wore a red cape fastened across his chest, decorated with golden thorn designs and open around the neck in the Elizabethan style, but without all the extravagance. Underneath, he wore a white colonial shirt and a mustard-colored surcoat embroidered with roses that reached his knees and was tied at the waist. To top it off, comfortable brown linen pants and boots. He looked in the mirror and already felt imposing, important, royal…
Somewhat silly, too, but in a good way. He twirled quickly in front of the glass only to see the fabric of his cape lifted by the force of his turns. Back and forth, fast and slow, until he felt dizzy and laughed at his own stupidity.
"Are you ready, Kyle?" his mother asked from the doorway, which immediately made him adjust his posture.
He felt embarrassed to be found in such a state of self-indulgent foolishness, but Sheila didn't seem to mind. She was wearing a Cleopatra costume she bought at Walmart and studying Kyle from head to toe while slipping on an earring that was too big for its own good.
"Oh, bubbah, you look so handsome!" his mother said in an excited voice.
"Thank you," Kyle replied self-consciously.
His mother smiled at him and straightened her posture.
"You know, Yentl is going to be there."
Yentl was the Denver synagogue Rabbi’s daughter, the one they went to for Ike's Bar Mitzvah the year before. It was tedious enough driving an hour from home, but it became even more so when his mother tried to pair him up with her friend's daughters, and he had a hard time making friends with the other kids there. He didn't judge them, not much. His family went to services every Friday, prayed, and left before Kiddush, so he didn't have time to talk to anyone outside of his obligations within the temple. If Kyle were one of them, he'd also be puzzled, to say the least, by his pathetic attempts at socializing. But he felt lame to be alone at the end of the ceremony nonetheless.
During the reception, he sat reading in a corner, and that's when the girl approached him. She had long, curly brown hair and a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of her aquiline nose. The first thing he heard in her voice was a greeting in the Elvish language. It took Kyle a while to understand what she'd said, until she explained.
"You're reading The Return of the King, I thought..."
"Oh!" He exclaimed, realizing it, and then let out a nervous laugh at his stupidity. "You're right! Excuse me, ah... Man esselya ná?”
She smiled from ear to ear and sat down next to him. "Nánye Yentl. Nice to meet you."
"Kyle. The pleasure is mine," he smiled back. "It's nice to meet a Ringer in the wild."
Yentl tilted his head. "Ringer?"
"Lord of the Rings fan, that's what they're called, unofficially I think, but..." Kyle was stuttering and stumbling over his words. He was being an idiot and had probably already scared the girl off.
But that wasn't the case. Yentl gave a hearty laugh, and they started talking about all sorts of things—related to Tolkien’s universe and not. She liked sports too, although she was a soccer girl rather than a basketball one, and she wanted to apply to a good university as well. Yentl was an only child and got along better with her mother than with her father, the synagogue's rabbi. Kyle thought the next few hours until the party was over would be pretty boring, but he thanked Yentl for not letting them be.
His mother glared at him several times during their conversation, and when they got to the car, she gave him a knowing smile.
"Do you like Yentl, Kyle?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Of course he liked her, she was a nice girl, but he didn't feel like he connected with her, no matter how many things they shared in common. She was nice company at the party, however, he couldn't see himself forming a long-term friendship with her.
Much less what his parents had in mind. Oh God, anything but.
Kyle wished Ike would reach his age as quickly as possible so that the focus on relationships and future wives would be solely on him, and Kyle could be the successful single uncle who's actually secretly gay.
He didn't think he'd ever get married, not even to a man. He doubted anyone could drive him crazy enough to consider marriage.
"Yeah?" he said, pinning his prostatic ears. Maybe if he acted busy, he'd draw less attention from his mother.
"Yeah. I texted her mom on Facebook and sent her the invitation," the woman explained. "Aren't you excited to see her again?"
Was he...? Not really. If he wanted to talk to someone, he could talk to Kenny. If Kenny had been at Ike’s Bar Mitzvah , he would have talked with him instead. Yentl wasn't indispensable.
"Sure."
Sheila seemed too excited about the possible events that this event entailed to notice the monotonous tone in her son's voice. She hurried out of his room and went to her own. Kyle let out a breath he hadn't known he was even holding.
He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing how he looked so far. The only thing missing was the crown of thorns.
A face he hadn't seen in years stared back at him when he went to look for the crown at his vanity table. Blue eyes, black hair, and white teeth smiling back at him from the frame next to the mirror. Now that was a must-see face. Now that was someone he'd be excited to see again. At least for a second.
If only it was possible…
"Dude, where did you get this?" Stan asked.
Between his index finger and thumb was a small white pill with a heart in the middle. He swung it back and forth, studying it with one hand while the other rested on the steering wheel of the car he'd gotten for his sixteenth birthday.
They split the transportation into two: Cartman's Tacoma and Stan's Nissan Altima, so he could drive straight back to the farm and not have to spend the night at either Eric's or Kenny's; both seemed like bad options. To his parent's business, Stan was playing video games and stuffing himself with chips in Mrs. Cartman's basement, but they didn't care enough to question it further. He said he'd be back, and yet he took a bag with him, and no one questioned it. The older he got, the more indifferent they became. So he changed into his knight costume without a care.
The costume was a lot different from what he'd worn as a kid. He wore shiny armor that gleamed in the moonlight and a helmet he was hesitant to put on. The only things that stayed truly true to the original were his green cape and sword. But the rest was just cheap plastic they'd found at Party City last minute. Still, it felt great. It brought back a lot of nostalgia for simpler times.
"I'm not going to tell you that, dude," Kenny replied, popping the pill in his mouth and swallowing it without water. He was wearing a princess costume that consisted of a wig the length of a building and a medieval-style purple dress. He no longer had the orange parka he always wore. He didn't need it. It would be tedious.
"Ken..."
"Clyde and Craig were talking about a hick in Wyoming who sells Smarties by the bean."
"Did you seriously drive all the way to Wyoming for some pills?"
"As if I'd go, dude. They met at three corners. Streets say the guy lives in an '85 Malibu in the middle of Pine Mountain and has sex with mooses.”
"That's gross, Kenny," Stan wrinkled his nose.
"Yeah, well, whatever—it doesn't matter. What matters is Craig likes me enough to give me about five. And I'm going to share some of my stuff with you, so you can see how benevolent I am."
Stan frowned. "I'm not having that. Who do you take me for?"
"Dude, your dad has a weed farm."
"It's not the same!"
"Come on, man! Do you really want to be in that hotel listening to speeches from stuffy old lawyers groping each other while dancing to Abba songs to call it a 'party'?"
"Well, no, but you made me come here for a reason."
"For a reason! To get fucked up! Come on, dude, I swear you're going to feel like you're in cloud nine after this."
"Ken, I don't want to get in trouble with those people."
Kenny shrugged. "What did I ask? To rob the hotel? To kiss Mrs. Broflovski on the mouth in front of everyone? To pee in the cocktails? No! Just take one, just one pill, and I won't ask for anything else, okay? It's to get us in tune, dude."
Stan tightened his mouth. "Are you sure I'm not going to do anything stupid?"
"Not if I'm there. Besides, I didn't give Cartman a thing. He's going to be sober."
"Yeah, that makes me feel less worried, man, thanks."
"Well, there's going to be other people from town. Maybe we can lean on Butters, or Tolkien, I don't know. Come on, dude, let's do this together."
"God, okay." He sighed in exasperation, then swallowed the pill dry.
Taking that pill had been a mistake.
The effects hit at the hotel, which he didn't know how he'd gotten into—Kenny somehow made up with the doorman. The lights were too bright and the music too loud. People were running around, dancing and drinking. They met up with Cartman just as they were getting tangled up in a group of girls dressed as flappers dancing to Rihanna and Christina Aguilera songs until they could leave, their bodies sweaty and their hair disheveled. That's what he got for staying side by side with Kenny, but the truth was, he was scared of going anywhere else; getting lost in the crowd of people who, when they moved, looked like colorful blurs of flashing lights… It terrified him. Especially in that state. Especially with how unwanted he was there.
When they found Cartman, another sequence of confusing, strange events, intertwined with each other in blurry clouds of lights, colors, sounds, and sensations began. They stuffed themselves with food at the table in the corner of the room and started making up stories for any girl who walked past them, many of them former high school classmates. Cartman tried to pick up Gwen Stacy at the same time Kenny tried to pick up Sailor Moon, and the two got into an unsuccessful fight over Susan Storm, who Stan was almost certain was Bebe, and would've noticed if he wasn't as high. Then they started making bets on who would throw up first on the dance floor to some Europop song he couldn't remember the name of. Seriously, what kind of tribute party was that? It didn't matter, because he'd won two rounds of rock-paper-scissors against Craig, whom they'd run into with Tweek, Clyde, and Tolkien, and had him drink an entire bottle of sangria after losing, which resulted in him throwing up in a flowerpot near the dance floor. Stan and Cartman owed Kenny twenty.
He couldn't stop laughing. He felt so strange and euphoric. Like he could leap and swing from the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling above the two staircases that opened the doors to the hotel lobby and soar above all the dancing bodies rubbing against each other in an obscene dance of heat and ecstasy. He was sweaty, overstimulated, and confused. His hair was a mess.
By the third hour, the drug's effects were wearing off and the atmosphere was calming. Then he realized that three hours had passed and he still hadn't seen Kyle. Maybe going to that party had been a mistake.
After hours of conversing with stuffy lawyers and arrogant businesswomen, Kyle was finally able to escape the clutches of social and family pressure and find peace in a quiet, peaceful corner of the hotel. He couldn't blame his parents for how the party had ended. At first, it was very quiet and reserved; the owner of the Jean-Johnson firm in Denver had given a speech and made way for his father, who gave his own and was honored for his decades of hard work on South Park. However, as the hours passed, the atmosphere became more and more hectic, like a real party. A Hollywood party, full of sweat and euphoria. It was overwhelming, but at least it kept people entertained for a while. Just for a short while.
And a very short while. His mother kept trying to set him up with poor Yentl, who was conveniently dressed as Princess Arwen of Rivendell. She seemed to be waiting for Kyle's reaction at her costume choice, and he really thought it was impressive—she looked beautiful, but he couldn't offer her what she wanted from him. He didn't know what to say. He was getting nervous. Everything, everything was getting on his nerves. The music, the lights. He tried to dance at first and got so dizzy he had to sit down. Suddenly he wanted to leave and had to excuse himself to Yentl to get some fresh air and clear his mind.
Where was Kenny? He promised he'd go, and Kyle hadn't seen him all night. He saw Wendy, Bebe, and Craig's group, but he didn't see Kenny. The hotel couldn't be that big... Or could it?
Everything would have been different with his friends there. Maybe he would have dared to dance, or sing, or maybe they would have come up with something else to do that would've also be fun. He missed having them around so much. Everything felt lonelier without them.
Kyle sighed deeply. He was doing anything but clearing his mind.
In that secluded corner of the hotel's most recreational area, there was a fish tank. It was a kind of hallway, or something like that. It was up the stairs, near an elevator. The decor was elegant and glamorous. Chandeliers lit dimly, bouncing off the gold details on the walls. And then, there was that fish tank. It was almost in the middle of the hallway, if not for a small space next to it that gave way to pedestrians, and it was decorated with fanciful details all around. It was almost as if it was inside a wall put up there just for decoration. After the atmosphere slowed down… it gave him an indescribable peace.
There were every kind of fish. Of all colors. Large, small, blue, and coral. Surrounded by algae and fish tank stones. They swam back and forth, fast and slow. Kyle approached the glass to admire them closely. He didn't know any fish species, barely recognizing the distinctive goldfish, but he was still moved by its beauty. By its smooth, disordered scales, uniform and extravagant. Fake corals decorated the habitat as if it were real. Kyle bent down a little to better admire the fish's home. The beautifully uneven structure of the coral. He peered through one of its gaps, and an eye saw him back.
An eye. A human eye. One staring back at him. Am I going crazy?
He bolted upright, bewildered, and one eye became two. Two blue eyes that became a face staring back at him from the other side of the glass. Isn't it...?
No, it is. And he could see him in all his splendor. His blue eyes, his black hair, his white skin, slightly reddened by the heat. He was as surprised as Kyle was to see him. What's he doing here?
It was him. It was him. It was Stanley Marsh, God, it's him...
Kyle looked away, half-embarrassed, and pretended to pay attention to the multitude of little blue fish flitting swiftly around the sprawling tank. Stan hadn't taken his eyes off him, paying close attention, and it made Kyle's hair stand on end. His skin tingled, and a flurry of butterflies fluttered wildly in the pit of his stomach.
He looked up again, coming face to face with Stan. There was room for speech, but both seemed afraid their clumsy words would ruin the moment that was blossoming between them. There was nothing left to say. Hundreds of things had already been said, eye to eye. Smile to smile.
Stan smiled as if the world were in darkness and needed to be illuminated with a bright, blinding light found only in the rows of his teeth. It had been so many years since he'd seen him. He looked so handsome, taller by a few inches, with broad shoulders and the posture of a man. Kyle wanted to go up to him and... talk. Make up for lost time...
Why did it all have to be so difficult? Why were they separated so suddenly?
"Kyle! Kyle!"
He hadn't noticed Ike's presence until he said his name. First glaring at him, then frowning at Stan.
"What's wrong?"
"Mom's looking for you. Let's go!" he said in a tone filled with annoyance.
Kyle gave Stan one last look and a sad smile before retreating, dragged along by his brother's strength. He truly didn't want this moment to ever end, but it would be a miracle the day fate would be on his side... and Stan's.
"Dude, where were you? I was looking for you," Kenny asked as he approached him. His face was sweaty, and there were stains on various parts of his dress, but his wig was still pristine, for some reason. "I can't find Cartman, and... Are you okay?"
Was he? Stan wasn't sure. Was he okay? Was he 100 percent okay? Was he? He couldn't tell if his recent encounter with Kyle Broflovski after years of not seeing him was real or a hallucination. Was he okay?
"W-Why are you saying that?" he stammered.
"Your face looks, like, all crazy, dude. It's worn off, right? It must have worn off. I didn't give you that many milligrams."
"The effect...? Yeah. Yeah. I think so."
Kenny tilted his head. "Then...?"
"I just saw Kyle."
"Oh, shit, Kyle! I haven't even said hello! Damnit, that's what I get for hanging out with you guys.”
"It was so... I thought it was a hallucination. Or a divine apparition. He has... he has those eyes. And the hair, and…”
"Did he say anything?"
"No. No. I didn't say anything either." Stan shook his head. "I have to find him."
"Wait!"
Kenny's voice was muffled in his ears as he hurried down the stairs and looked for Kyle somewhere in the living room. He looked everywhere for him, only to find him standing in the middle of the dance floor, dancing with a girl...
Does he have a girlfriend? Of course, of course he does. Why wouldn't he? And why did Stan care so much? Yeah, yeah, maybe he liked Kyle when he was a kid, maybe he still liked him but... God, everything is so stupid.
"Oh, wow. He improved the Elven King costume one hundred percent. I'm impressed," Kenny said from beside him. Stan barely even realized he was there.
"Yeah, yeah. Look how well they go together," He spat out in a disdainful tone. Stan rarely got jealous in his life, and a good chunk of it had to do with Kyle. Either because he was jealous of him or because he was jealous of the person who caught his attention instead of Stan.
"Dude, are you jealous?" Kenny asked in an amused tone.
That made him feel even more stupid. Because, really, why was he jealous? He hadn't seen Kyle in years. He barely knew a few things about him from what Kenny told him. Their parents hated each other, and they were two boys. The chances of them even imagining being together were slim. Very slim.
Besides... Kyle would probably look for a girl. And a very smart girl at that. Not Stan.
"No, no. Don't take it like that, dude. It's just—funny, because you don't have anything to be jealous of." Kenny corrected himself when he saw the expression on Stan's face. Why shouldn't he be jealous? "They're not dating."
Stanley blinked several times, looking at Kenny, then at the couple on the dance floor dancing to the slow song the band was singing, then back at Kenny.
"They're not? Are you sure?"
"Yeah, yeah. Look, Kyle told me about this. His mom's desperate to get him a girlfriend, and since he talked to this girl at Ike's Jewish birthday party... Well, it's just his mom's insistence. They can't be dating. And if they were, you'd still have a chance."
"Chance...? What?"
"Dude, he's gay.”
Oh.
Oh!
"Are you sure?"
"Of course, I'm pretty much the only person he talks to. Me and Wendy, sometimes, if you wanted to know that," Kenny explained. "Come on, dude! The song's almost over, go get your man!"
Stan snorted playfully. "My man.”
The song finally ended, and a round of applause was given to the singer. Kyle was awkwardly caught in a slow dance with Yentl, twirling slowly and painfully around the room at the request of their mothers.
He tried to excuse himself by saying he couldn't dance, which wasn't entirely a lie. He didn't dance very well, but he could try if he wanted, which he didn't want to at that moment. Yentl seemed to understand his displeasure, so she gave him a sympathetic smile and tried to lighten the situation by talking to him. Kyle appreciated that, he really did, but it was hard to hold a conversation with anyone when all he had on his mind was Stan Marsh.
What... how... How had he gotten in? What was he doing there? Well, the same as everyone else, probably: getting drunk and dancing until he passed out from a heat stroke. But Stanley seemed lucid and serene, and the costume made him look great. It was different from the one they used to wear as kids. Did he remember all that? Did he remember when he saw Kyle? Could they be friends again and put their differences aside?
They'd smiled at each other; wasn't that enough of an answer? He doubted Stan followed Randy's rules religiously. In fact, quite the opposite. So, it would be nice if they had the chance to get along again. To be friends who played video games and watched movies together in the evenings. There was so much to talk about. What was the farm like? What did he want to do in the future? Would he go to college? Does his sister still live with them? Do you feel the same way I do?
No, not that last one; they could barely be friends again. He wouldn't ruin it with stupid questions and unnecessary feelings.
A hand took his from behind him, and Kyle stifled a squeal as he looked up and met the same pair of blue eyes he'd seen through the glass of the fish tank. Kyle bit his lip and followed him toward the column behind him.
A man was about to give a speech, and his mother seemed amused by it. Yentl and her mother too. Perfect.
Stan let go of his hand and spoke from the other side of the column.
"If I profane such a divine altar with my hand, forgive me. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, are ready to wipe away the stain with a kiss."
Kyle raised his eyebrows for a moment. Still puzzled by such a sudden change of tone, he was willing to play along. After all, he had to perform Romeo and Juliet in eleventh grade, and he memorized the entire script verbatim, even if he ended up only as Mercutio.
He turned around to face Stan. They both wore goofy grins.
"Pilgrim, you don't give your hands enough credit. Your touch alone shows your devotion, for saints have hands that pilgrims do touch. And hand to hand is holy Palmer's kiss."
"Do Saints not have lips, just like Palmers do?" Stan continued in a whisper, leaning in as if with ulterior motives. Kyle averted his face and continued walking.
"Yes, pilgrim. Lips that must be used for prayer," he answered from behind, approaching the stairs.
Stanley had one of those smiles plastered on his face that reached his eyes. They'd wandered around so much that they were standing in front of the second-floor elevator, the one that took people to their hotel rooms just steps from their reunion point. The speech had ended, the music started again, and the crowd had dispersed to every part of the hotel within reach. Kye lost sight of his mother and Yentl. Better. He was distracted by something that caught his interest much more.
He couldn't believe what was happening. It was silly, like many of his childhood games, but there was a mischief that could only be expressed through maturity and the desire of two people to be together on greater levels than one.
"Then, Your Majesty, my king," Stan said, one of his hands capturing Kye's in front of the elevator. “Let lips do what hands do. They pray that you grant what they ask, or else there will be despair.”
"Saints don't move, not even to fulfill prayers."
Stanley approached, leaning over his face. Kyle's skin tingled with anticipation. "Then don't move while I fulfill my prayer."
Before Kyle could say anything, or allow any prayer to be fulfilled, the voice of his mother, who was running back and forth not far from them, made him look away. There was a group of people gathered in front of the elevator, and good old Sheila, as sociable as ever, was introducing Yentl's mother to her South Park friends, whom she had invited.
Kyle feared being discovered and taken away from his old friend again. The elevator suddenly opened, and between his clumsy intrusion and the feeling of Marsh's hands on his face, everything happened very quickly. Before he knew it, before he could say a word, break the play, greet him nicely, and begin a casual, natural conversation; before he could even breathe, Stan's lips were opening against his. And he submitted.
How many times had he dreamed of that moment in recent years? How many times had he imagined the touch of his lips against his, the sensation, the warmth, the smell, the sound, everything? Everything, everything. How everything would invade every one of his senses. He dreamed of Whitney Houston's voice in the background, the lights surrounding them, the strong scent of cologne and air freshener filling his nose inside that elevator. He closed his eyes and let himself go, just as he dreamed he would.
They broke apart and stared at each other for a few seconds. Blue and green. Green and blue.
Two giggles escaped both of their lips.
"Hi," Stan whispered.
"Hi," Kyle replied in the same tone.
He thought their Romeo and Juliet game had ceased, until Stanley straightened his back and cleared his throat.
"By your lips my sin has been purged."
Kyle laughed. "And was it left on my lips?"
"Sin from my lips? We are very sorry, my lord. You can return it."
He leaned in for another kiss. And another. And another. It was all miraculous. Something he could never have imagined. No, not like that. Something he could only imagine. Something that could only be the product of his wildest fantasies, and could never be realized. Like dress-up, and children's games, and that Shakespearean act between them.
"You kiss by the book," Kyle praised as they broke away.
Stan smirked. "Like you would tell the difference, dude."
Kyle blinked several times. The suffocating spell of romance was broken, but it wasn't enough to break the bubble they lived in. The Stan and Kyle bubble, the one that hadn't formed in almost a decade.
"And how would you know that?"
"I know you. And you suck at love."
Broflovski gasped in surprise, forming an offended gasp. "No, I don't!"
"You do."
"I don't!"
"Do!"
"Well, forgive me for not having scarecrows to practice on like you do on that farm, dude."
Stan chuckled. “Scarecrows.”
Stan’s arms wrapped Kyle's waist. He felt happy, euphoric, almost drunk, as Marsh leaned closer and kissed his neck.
"I didn't know you read Shakespeare," he mumbled after a sigh, letting himself be carried away by the warmth and moisture of the other's lips on his neck and face.
"You don't know anything about me. Not much," Stan said as he continued his kissing journey.
"Don't be like that, dude. I do know something about you," Kyle replied. "Besides, we can always catch up, don't you think?"
Stan gave him one of those smiles that stirs everything inside you and short-circuits your mind. The elevator door opened, and they walked out laughing, following each other. It was a secret. A childish thing. A trick. It was their moment. Just theirs.
"Kyle! Kyle!" His mother's voice called throughout the entire upstairs.
Hurriedly, and wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, Kyle grabbed Stan's arm and dragged him back into the elevator. His mother's screams grew more exasperated, but he didn't stop. He had to escape her as soon as possible. He didn't want to get involved in another awkward dance again.
Let alone with Marsh's lips capturing his as soon as they entered the elevator. Kyle let out a sigh of joy as he reciprocated Stan's intrusion. He still couldn't believe that was happening. He hadn't touched a single drop of alcohol all night, but he felt drunker than ever, enveloped in the warmth and sweetness he longed for.
"This is so silly," he said as soon as they separated, their foreheads resting against each other.
“You think... Do you think we're making a mistake?"
"No, no! I mean... Well, maybe. But not in the way you think."
"I'm... I'm not getting you."
"It's just..." Kyle clicked his tongue. "God! You don't know how much I've missed you, and I always imagined our reunion would be different. Aren't we moving too fast?"
"You think so?"
"And you don't?"
"I don't know. I just don't think we've ever been like that before... you know."
Kyle tilted his head. " 'Like that?’ "
"Like... those people who stop talking and try to get back together, and it all starts out so awkward, with these small, insignificant conversations and... I don't know," he shrugged. "I don't think you and I work this way. Things always felt more natural with you. This whole thing felt natural to me, didn't it to you?"
Kyle shook his head and laughed. "That's not what I meant... I didn't mean to imply..."
"So?"
"I don't know! It's so fast! It's weird! It's so silly!" He started laughing, incredulous. "Jesus, Romeo and Juliet?"
"Hey, it suits us, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right," he said, wrapping both arms around Stan's shoulders, bringing their faces closer together for emphasis. Marsh, by impulse, took him by the waist. "O Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo? Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, and I'lI no longer be a Capulet."
"See? All this is natural to me. It's natural to love you."
Stanley felt less weight on him as soon as Kyle released his shoulders and looked down at the ground.
"For... for how long... since when... you know."
"Since I was born, possibly. I'm sure the first beat of my heart whispered your name."
Kyle looked up and rolled his eyes. Despite his reaction, his face was flushed from his cheeks to the patches of skin on his neck peeking out from his cape.
"Dude, I'm serious."
"Me too." Stan laughed. "I don't know. I think it's only since we stopped talking so much that I realized, a little... I mean, it was hard to process at first, and I think that's why it doesn't feel so weird to me now. It's a good thing we did this now and not, like, two years ago. I would’ve lost my mind then."
"You're so calm."
"Yeah? I feel like my heart's about to burst out of my chest," he said. "Kenny gave me an ecstasy pill, and I feel kind of light now that the effects have worn off. Can you imagine if we were both losing our minds? Dude, that would be a hot mess."
“Wouldn't surprise me."
"I don't know. I also think I gained confidence when I discovered you don't hate me."
"You thought…?"
It was Stan's turn to look away, self-conscious. Did he really think Kyle hated him?
"Of course I don't hate you, you super-dunderhead. How could I?"
Stan shrugged, but didn't raise his face.
"I don't know. I think your dad hates me, or at least Randy. Which is fair, I hate him too. But… I don't know. I was afraid I'd look bad in your eyes."
"No, no, no. Come here."
Kyle wrapped both arms around him and pulled him in for a kiss. Stan reciprocated, and for a moment Kyle thought he might start to cry. He couldn't believe the thought of hating him could even cross his mind. There were few people he loved as much as Stan. Maybe he didn't love anyone the way he loved him at all.
The elevator made its final stop, back in the hallway that led to the stairs. Stan and Kyle separated as soon as the doors opened, and they were greeted by Ike's surprised and weary face.
"Ike, I..." He tried to correct himself as soon as he saw him. How could he explain a situation like this? No one even knew he was gay!
"Mom's looking for you. Hurry. I'm tired of her sending me to get you."
Kyle didn't have time to react or say goodbye to Stan when Ike started pulling him down the hallway and down the stairs. He gave Stan one last look over his shoulder. He hoped to see him again soon. There was still so much to talk about.
The first thing that greeted him as soon as he walked down the stairs was Kenny's hand on his shoulder.
"Dude, we need to leave as quickly as possible."
Stan blinked several times. The new burst of music and lights after a lull had disoriented him. At least it wasn't as intense as it had been a few hours before, and people were starting to leave.
"What? Why? What are you talking about?"
"Cartman screwed up, and now we have to get the hell out of here."
"I didn't screw up! You're just jealous because I got a bitch tonight and you didn't!" Eric yelled from outside the hotel. Several people around them were leaving.
Stan and Kenny were leaving at a brisk pace, and the sudden blast of cold air from outside gave him a lucidity he didn't know he was capable of after all. He was trying to analyze the situation and the events that led to it. He was with Kenny on his farm, he took ecstasy...
Cartman did what?
"What are you guys talking about?"
Kenny rolled his eyes, walking toward the parking lot. "They found him in the bathroom giving head to the girl Kyle was dancing with. The mother was all outraged and started yelling a bunch of things in both English and Hungarian, and we're sure she's planning on reporting Cartman to the cops."
"What? What?!"
"That stuck-up old bitch doesn't know anything about life!" the man bellowed as he opened his truck. "Let her report me, I want to see her! That doesn't take away the fact that stuck my tongue deep in her daughter's hole!"
"Dude, that's fucking gross, shut up!" Kenny yelled.
"Yeah, fatass. No one wants to imagine you doing that," Stan yelled, then turned to Kenny. "So what do we do now?"
"We'd better go home before they throw us into the mess too. Where were you?"
Stan looked away, remembering exactly where he'd been just minutes ago. He could still feel Kyle's lips on his skin.
In the sudden silence and stillness of the night, it all seemed surreal. He couldn't believe how calmly he processed everything. But he was so happy. He was so, so, so happy.
"I'll... I'll tell you tomorrow, okay?"
Kenny gave him a quick look, then a mischievous smile.
"Okay, casanova, you'll tell me yours. Good luck on your trip, okay? I hope I make it home alive before an army of that woman's henchmen chases us down to kill us. Seriously, you should have seen the way she talked. God." He shook his head and climbed into the backseat of Cartman's truck. "Take care! See you!"
Stan waved goodbye and followed them with his eyes as they left the parking lot. He was curious to know the details about Cartman and that girl. All of them except… those.
He got into his car and closed his eyes, thinking about the events of the past hour. The kisses, the caresses, the freckled cheeks blending into the pinkish tint that tinged them. Green eyes blinking self-consciously in rows of small coppery hairs. Conspiratorial smiles. Sighs. Hugs. The warmth of a body that felt so familiar and, simultaneously, completely alien.
It was so quick, so sudden; they hadn't even said hello before their lips were already on each other's. But it was right, it felt natural. It was what was meant to be, what was meant to happen between Stan and Kyle. It always was. From sleepovers, inside jokes, and adventures together to the seven years apart from each other. Everything was perfectly structured to lead to that moment.
And it wouldn't stay that way. Just a moment the two of them shared inside an elevator. Just a memory, and nothing more.
He opened his eyes, looked at himself in the mirror, gripped the wheel with both hands, and pulled out onto the opposite side of Tegridy Farms.
Things wouldn't stay that way. He wouldn't allow it.
