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It isn’t very often that Stan brings Wendy around to hang out with the guys, but he figures that since they’re all supposed to be heading over to Token’s party, anyway, then Cartman (hopefully) won’t object much to her tagging along with Stan as they make their way on to the designated meeting point. Which for tonight happens to be Cartman’s basement, a place they usually actively avoid, but Kyle’s parents never leave the house, no one ever wants to go to Kenny’s, and Stan’s dad has taken over their living room for reasons Stan has no interest in uncovering.
Kenny’s already sent him a text saying that he’s going to be late; there’s something he needs to finish doing. Stan is about ninety percent sure that there’s some kind of double meaning to it. Ever since they hit high school, much to Kyle’s amusement, Cartman’s blatant confusion, and Stan’s mild annoyance, Kenny has managed to surpass them all in the looks department. The amount of action he gets on a weekly basis is truly staggering. He’s probably busy boning Bebe. Or Tweek. Or Craig. Or Tweek and Craig.
Well, that last one is purely speculation, but just last week they had all stumbled into homeroom seeming entirely too chipper for a Monday morning. Even Craig, whose facial expression never ranges beyond permanently bored, was sporting a rare smile. Kyle scoffed and Cartman rolled his eyes, but Stan has a suspicious mind.
And, no, Stan is not jealous of Kenny, despite Cartman’s frequent implications and Kyle’s raised eyebrows. (On a side note, since when does Kyle agree with Cartman on anything? Stan is really going to have to lay down the definition of Super Bests for him again.) Stan has got no reason to be jealous. He has Wendy, who is not only incredibly hot, but also president of the student council.
Dating the Student Body President has its obvious perks, but the most recent one is the fact that Wendy is currently walking in front of him dressed in a plaid skirt and knee-high socks as part of her attempt to appease the principal of a nearby Catholic school into letting South Park High throw prom in one of their function halls.
“I can’t believe they’re making you wear those knee-high socks,” Stan remarks, the corners of his lips twitching.
“Nobody’s making me wear anything,” Wendy reminds him, shooting a knowing smirk in his direction. “But, hey, at least I know it’ll be effective.”
“You’re telling me,” Stan agrees empathetically, and Wendy rolls her eyes fondly.
When they get to Cartman’s, his mom opens the door and tells them that Kyle’s already downstairs. At her words, Stan feels a twinge of panic run through him. Leaving Cartman and Kyle alone in the same place for any extended period of time is never the best idea. Even though their respective tempers have mellowed out over the years, Stan is still convinced that they’re going to kill each other one day.
“Shit, how long have they been alone?” Stan whispers as the two of them make their way down the dim staircase, walking towards the white light at the bottom. “They’ve probably murdered one another by now.”
Wendy gives him a skeptical look. “We’re almost seventeen, Stan. Even Cartman’s got to grow up sometime.”
Stan sincerely doubts that. “Trust me, Wends,” he replies gravely, turning forward. “You don’t know them like I do.”
When his foot finds the last step, he jumps to the ground and calls out, “Kyle? Fatass? What are you…” His eyes take in the scene in front of him and the words promptly die in his throat.
The first thing he notices is Kyle’s hat. Kyle’s hat, which he never takes off, is currently tossed haphazardly on the floor by the staircase. Kyle’s hat, which is no longer on his head, because in its place are Cartman’s fingers, tangling themselves in his red curls. Kyle himself, on the other hand, is pinned to the couch, holding onto Cartman’s waist like he’s afraid to let go.
Somehow, Stan manages to get his mouth to work. “What the fuck?”
His question comes out more dazed than demanding, but it nevertheless effectively startles his two friends apart, both their heads snapping up to stare at him in horror.
“Oh my God,” Kyle says, and his voice is raspy. Stan doesn’t even want to know. This is the single most fucked up thing he’s ever seen, and he’s been to Imaginationland.
“Kyle?” Wendy exclaims, eyes the size of the moon.
“Get off me,” Kyle growls, pushing at Cartman, who is still sprawled on top of him, blinking up at Stan in a stupor. He falls back to the other end of the couch, bracing himself against the armrest, his knees bent.
The impact seems to revive him, because he takes one look at Wendy and his mouth curls into a smirk. “Great outfit.” Then when her expression brightens, he faces Stan and adds, “I see your whore girlfriend is finally dressing like one. Good on you, Marsh.”
“I—shut the fuck up, Cartman!” Stan yells, still fervently hoping that what he just witnessed is the result of some kind of temporary bout of insanity. He turns to address his best friend. “Kyle, what the fuck?”
“Okay, um,” Kyle begins, attempting to sound placating. He sits up properly and angles his body forward, his cheeks as red as his hair. From where he’s standing, Stan can see just how dilated Kyle’s pupils are, despite the fact that he also comes off as incredibly guilty. “What exactly did you see?”
Stan gapes at him in shock. “Are you seriously about to suggest that I didn’t just catch you making out with that fatass over there?” he demands, jerking his head at Cartman and ignoring his, “Eh, fuck you, Stan!”
“You were like Siamese twins joined at the double chin,” Wendy notes, slightly disturbed. Stan loves his girlfriend so hard right now.
“Fuck you, whore!” Cartman yells, getting to his feet and stomping over to the other end of the room. “What the fuck are you even doing in my house?”
“What were you doing with Kyle’s tongue in your mouth?” Wendy counters back, and if Stan’s head wasn’t about to explode under the weight of everything going on, he thinks he might have high fived her for that wicked burn.
Cartman throws his hands up in surrender. “The stupid Jew threw himself at me!”
Kyle’s mouth drops open in disbelief. “You were on top of me, fatass!”
“Because you pulled me!” Cartman argues, crossing his arms. “Never trust a Jew,” he tells Stan and Wendy. “They’re all uncontrollable liars, and I can’t help being this desirable.”
“God, you are so full of shit!” Kyle’s standing up now, his hands curled into fists. “Your argument makes no fucking sense!”
“You make no fucking sense,” Cartman retorts, sneering accusingly at Kyle.
Kyle opens his mouth to reply, but Stan cuts him off. With a groan, he covers his face with his hands. “This is impossible,” he says wearily. “You two hate each other.”
Instead of the enthusiastic agreement he expected would follow his statement, there’s an awkward pause, and when he lifts his head, Kyle and Cartman are still watching each other, locked in some kind of silent conversation.
Before Stan can ask what the hell is going on, the door bursts open and Kenny bounds down the stairs. Even stunned out of his mind, Stan’s not nearly out of it enough to miss the pleased smile and the sex hair.
Kenny grins and claps his hands together, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. He’s got his orange parka thrown on, but it’s only zipped up halfway, exposing his bare chest underneath. “So, what’d I miss?” He surveys the room, takes in the somber mood, then asks, “Jesus Christ, who died?”
“Kyle’s dignity,” Stan explains morosely, pointing a finger at his best friend, “that’s what died.”
“Hey!” Kyle cries, affronted.
Kenny’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion, and he slowly turns towards Wendy. “I don’t follow.” Then his gaze zeroes in on her outfit, and his expression changes. “Very nice.”
Wendy sighs, too exasperated by her boyfriend’s dramatics to really take in the compliment. “Stan caught the two of them making out on the couch.”
“No fucking way,” Kenny says, and just as Stan is about to jump in with a triumphant cry, Kenny’s mouth splits into an even bigger grin. “Fucking finally, you two!”
“What?” Stan whips his head around to stare at Kenny, betrayal written all over his face. “Kenny, what the fuck? This can’t happen!”
“It’s been happening, man.” Stan blinks at him, and Kenny shoots him an amused look. “Dude, you can’t honestly be surprised about this.” When Stan stays silent, Kenny goes on. “They’re obsessed with each other?”
“Fuck you!” Cartman cuts in. “Like I’d ever waste my time being obsessed with a dirty Jew!”
“Same goes to you, you racist, bigoted, obese fuck!” Kyle angrily retorts, his jaw clenching.
Cartman snorts derisively. “I’m not obese anymore, Jew, get those fucking eyes of yours checked.”
Stan gestures towards the two of them, his tone growing desperate. “You see that?”
“All I see is the world’s most elaborate foreplay ritual,” Kenny replies absently, and Stan wants to bash his head against the wall in frustration. How is he the only one with any common sense left?
“Hey, Kyle,” Kenny calls out conversationally, as if he isn’t standing in the middle of a room full of repressed emotions and simmering anger. “Congrats on the boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend!” Kyle immediately protests, and Stan expects Cartman to echo his sentiment. But when Cartman says nothing in response, he watches Kyle peer at him uncertainly.
“Cartman?” Kyle prompts hesitantly, saying his name for the first time.
Kyle’s words appear to have some kind of effect on him, because Cartman shrugs, avoiding everyone’s gaze. When he does finally look up, he only has eyes for Kyle, and he’s acting almost…shy. This is entirely too much for Stan to handle.
“I dunno,” Cartman says, twisting his fingers together, and Stan has never, ever seen Cartman act like anything other than the superior asshole he is. “We’ve been doing this for a while, so, you know, why not?”
A quick glance to his right reveals a complete shit-eating grin on Kenny’s face, and Wendy actually sighs dreamily; Stan thinks if they were in some kind of cartoon movie, there’d be hearts plastered all over her eyes.
Then something occurs to Stan, and before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “Wait, what do you mean you’ve been doing this a while?”
“Way to ruin the moment, Stanley,” Wendy grumbles under her breath, and Kenny groans.
Ignoring them, Stan presses on. “So that time last week, when you said Kyle had to help you study, he was actually…”
“Studying the anatomy of my mouth with his tongue? Yes he was,” Cartman finishes for him, grinning evilly as the color drains from Stan’s cheeks and Kyle lets out a pained noise. “What, Jew? Just because you’ve been lying to your gay life partner for weeks doesn’t mean I have to,” he tells Kyle.
Stan pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Just…how the hell did this even happen?”
Kyle and Cartman. It just doesn’t make any fucking sense. He tries his best to reconcile the image of his two friends rolling around on the playground, permanently at each other’s throats, with the two people standing in front of him practically declaring their love for one another, but he can’t.
“Stan, I was gonna tell you, I swear,” Kyle hurriedly explains. “I just, um, knew you were gonna react this way,” he adds with a helpless shrug.
Then that’s when Stan knows; Kyle’s head over heels. Because the two of them never keep anything from each other, not if they can help it. And to have Kyle openly admit that he’d rather hide something from Stan than end things with Cartman, it just. It says a lot.
When Stan comes back to himself, it’s in time to hear Cartman say, “Well, like I said, this Jew’s wanted me from the beginning, that much is obvious.”
Kyle growls in frustration and stalks over to where Cartman’s standing. “You threw yourself at me,” he yells, punctuating each word with a fierce jab to Cartman’s chest. “Just fucking admit it already.”
“Like I’d ever make the first move on a filthy Jew!” Cartman laughs meanly, eyes hard and trained on Kyle. “You wanted this, Broflovski,” he states, voice deepening. “What, scared your hippie boyfriend will throw a jealous fit when he finds out you prefer a racist fatass over him?”
Stan can practically see the steam rushing out of Kyle’s ears, anger clouding over his face. “That’s it!” he yells, lunging at Cartman and tackling him to the ground, the sound of his furious cries mingling in with Cartman’s indignant ones. “I don’t want Stan. I’ve never wanted Stan. I want you, you fat turd, so get that into your head!”
“Stan.” Wendy’s urgent tone makes him tear his eyes away from the scene in front of him, and when he meets her gaze, he notices that she seems vaguely uncomfortable. “We need to leave. Now.”
“What?” Stan blinks at her, cocking his head to one side. “Why?”
“Because I think I know how this thing started,” Wendy says simply, and when Stan glances over, Cartman and Kyle are still tangled together on the floor, Kyle pinning Cartman to the linoleum, their breathing ragged and uneven. They’re staring at each other so intensely, Stan can feel the heat of it from across the room.
“Yup, you’re right, let’s go,” Stan agrees, because he’s seen enough to last him a lifetime. The three of them race up the stairs and out the front door, the cool night air a welcome relief from the stifling tension of the basement.
“Holy fuck,” Stan pants, his hands on his knees. “Can you believe that shit?”
Kenny gives him a pitying stare. “Hate to break it to you, dude, but you’re the only one who didn’t see that coming.”
“I don’t understand!” Stan wails. “Cartman’s…” He flaps his hand in the air, trying to think of an accurate description. “…Cartman. He’s made Kyle’s life hell for years.”
“And you seriously never found it weird that Kyle kind of just…lets him?” Kenny prompts.
Stan opens his mouth to comment, then abruptly snaps it shut. Kenny has a point. Truth be told, he thinks about it sometimes, how Cartman goes out of his way just to piss Kyle off, and how Kyle rises to the bait every time. Even when they found out Cartman’s true weakness is being ignored, Kyle’s never really stopped.
Stan has always thought that Kyle using Cartman’s racism as his reason for Cartman sabotaging his chances with Nichole was bullshit, but at the time, he just assumed Cartman didn’t want Kyle to be with anyone. It never once occurred to him that Cartman might have wanted Kyle for himself.
With startling clarity, Stan suddenly remembers the night Kyle came out to them, all nervous and pale, even if he knew Kenny was bisexual and that Cartman’s always leaned more towards men, his childhood infatuation with Wendy notwithstanding. Kenny had clapped him on the back and welcomed him to the club, Stan had given him a reassuring hug, and Cartman…Cartman had just looked at Kyle, this unreadable expression on his face, and Stan recalls thinking that he seemed almost hopeful.
Like a bolt of lightning to the head, a million different things start to fall into place. Like the way Kyle will occasionally laugh at things Cartman says, instead of permanently rolling his eyes at him. Or how Cartman will offer to drop Kyle home on the days Stan has to stay for practice, when before he’d take pleasure in watching Kyle walk, taunting him from his car all the while.
Even though they still fight all the time—they wouldn’t be Kyle and Cartman if they didn’t—there’s also something different about their arguments now, an undercurrent to it that only the two of them are privy to.
Oh, God, Stan is an idiot.
“I’m an idiot,” Stan declares, feeling like the earth has tilted on its axis.
Kenny laughs and slings an arm around Stan’s shoulders. “Oh, Stan, you’re lucky you’re a good looking dude.”
Stan steps away from him and frowns, offended, his scowl only deepening when he catches Wendy nodding along in agreement with the tail end of Kenny’s statement.
Suddenly, Kenny’s eyes brighten. “That reminds me,” he tells them, beginning to cross the street, “I gotta go.”
“What?” Stan calls out after him. “Where are you going?” Beside him, Wendy’s typing furiously on her phone, no doubt sending out a massive group text to her friends about the events that have just transpired.
“Back to Tweek’s!” Kenny yells back over his shoulder. “Craig owes me a blowjob!” Stan blanches and Wendy’s typing accelerates.
Well. At least Stan saw one thing coming today.