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Stan checks his phone for the umpteenth time, sighing at the lack of new notifications. It was nearing midnight and he had already scrolled through senseless videos, halfheartedly created an outline for an essay, fucked up his stats on most of his games, drained two bottles of water, and rolled a joint before adding it to his tin.
He couldn’t help but look towards the night sky in hope for any indication, his disappointment increasing at the unchanging scenery. He hadn’t even bothered with changing into his pajamas, worried that he may need to leave at a moment’s notice.
It was always like this with Kenny. Stan would wait for him for hours, vowing to himself that when he did see eventually see him, he’d put his foot down and give him a reason to put Stan first for once, to prioritize them for once. He had the imaginary confrontation committed to his memory to the point that he would often find himself mouthing the monologue when performing the most mundane of tasks.
It’s his own fault for relying on Kenny for so much. His friends were great and tried their best, but Kenny got him and Stan did in return. Of course his situation was nowhere near as severe, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel. He tries to be as understanding as possible, but there were times like this where he felt so alone he couldn’t breathe, like the air was closing in on him and there was no remedy but to sit there and suffocate. Something had to give.
Stan couldn’t go on like this, not anymore. He couldn’t keep being a placeholder, meant to stay put and static, until Kenny remembered other people existed outside of his traumatic household and showed his face. But he also couldn’t leave him alone, couldn’t take away one of his escapes. He refused to give him another reason to hate waking up in the morning. There was no way to put a stop to how he felt when he comforted the other and when he got it in return, so, to the detriment of his heart, he’d wait. And wait.
And when he would finally tap on Stan’s unlocked window and grace him with his famous wry grin, Stan’s resolve would melt as he hurried to pull it up for him. Stan would look at him sadly while he downplayed a visible bruise, claims of It’s just a scratch, That’s the worst one, and he’d comply because it got him out of his jacket faster for him to see the rest. They’d hold each other all night, taking turns tracing unspoken words along their backs and Stan would hold in his tears at the way Kenny’s chest constricted, holding in a wince, when he grazed certain areas. When it would be time for Kenny to go back home, Stan wouldn’t try to make him stay because he knew better. He’d acquiesce to his pinky promise kisses and clench his fists together to stop them from shaking as he watched him leave him again.
Tonight Stan actually manages to get some sleep before he shows up. He’s sitting up, or as much as he can, elbow digging into the denim clad meat of his thigh and his chin resting in his palm when he hears the window shut. Stan’s eyes flash open to the sight of an apologetic Kenny.
“Sorry,” he whispers. “Finger slipped.”
“‘S okay,” Stan says, concealing a yawn. Kenny frowns and inches towards him, getting on his knees to survey him properly. He deliberately reaches his hand out, something that’s been a quirk of Kenny’s for as long as he could remember, and cradles his chin in his hand. He gently moves him side to side before lowering his face so their eyes can meet.
“When did you go to sleep?”
“Six hours ago.”
“Right.” Kenny gingerly lets go of his face, placing both hands on Stan’s thighs. “I told you to stop waiting for me.”
Stan sighs, “You know I can’t help it.”
“I know, baby, but–”
“‘But I’m not always able to come’, I know,” Stan interjects, looking at anything but him.
Kenny squeezes his thighs, “If I could–”
“But you can’t.”
“I hate making you like this,” Kenny says dejectedly, pillowing his head in the slit his open thighs create. “I hate when you’re sad.”
“I’m always sad. So are you.”
Kenny looks up at him, eyes shining at the first signs of daybreak.
“But you make it better, you always do. Don’t I?”
Stan’s response is stuck in his throat, too big to swallow it back down or let out into the world.
“Stan?” Kenny questions, wrapping his arms around his hips. He hates that he knows Kenny does this when he needs some form of reassurance from him.
“Yeah?”
“Do I help? Like how you help me?” He nudges his nose against Stan’s clothed snail trail.
“Yes,” he admits, finally reaching out to scratch Kenny’s head, making sure the movement is within his peripheral vision. He lets the silence keep them warm as he fiddles with his hair, smoothing out whatever sticks out and watching it spring up again. It would be easy to think Kenny’s fallen asleep, that the quiet breaths he lets out are those of slumber, but he’s spent a countless amount of nights trying to breathe in sync with him. Stan doesn’t pause his ministrations when he says, “You make it hurt when you take it away. A lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. I’m sorry too.”
“I know,” Kenny says, placing a chaste kiss on his navel.
“Can we go to bed?” Stan asks. When Kenny doesn’t immediately respond, he already has his answer. Stan tries not to speak harshly, “You can go.”
“I don’t want to.”
“I know. You have to though.”
“...I do,” he sighs. “He hit her.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t gotta be, she got him back,” he huffs out a laugh. “Can we go to bed? For a minute?”
“I don’t know,” Stan says hesitatingly. “You have to leave.”
“Just for a little?”
Stan lets go of the stubborn knot he was failing to untangle. “It hurts.”
“Stan,” Kenny starts.
“You have to leave.”
“Baby–”
“No.” Stan gently maneuvers Kenny off of his lap before shrugging off his pants and getting into bed, facing away from him
“I’ll come back,” he hears him promise. Stan fights the pointless hope blooming inside.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He turns his head, blinking rapidly, “So I can wait for you then? Until you come back?” Stan scoffs when Kenny lowers his gaze and faces his closet again.
“Ba–Stan,” he corrects himself. “I’ll be back.” He hears footsteps approach his bed and he tightens the blanket over him. They stop. “I’m sorry.”
Stan squeezes his eyes until they burn, “Okay.”
“I don’t want to leave like this,” Kenny says. Stan would let his rare shred of shame take over, but the slight hiccup in Kenny’s spent voice ruins any backbone he was beginning to have. Mechanically, he shifts his position until his back is to the wall and opens the side of the blanket facing Kenny in offering. This time, he doesn’t have to wait and Kenny rushes into the space, and softly, because it always is with Kenny, crashes into his chest. A series of Thank you’s pressed into his breastbone as they encircled one another.
“I know I take too much, I know, I just–Baby, I can’t help it. You’re you and you help so much and I’m me and I keep hurting you,” he sniffles, rubbing his face into Stan’s chest as if they could get any closer. “I know I do, every time I keep thinking you’re gonna get sick of me and you are, but I can’t help it. I use you and then I leave, I always do and I see how much it hurts, it hurts me too, Baby, and I know coming back isn’t enough, I know I need to stay, but I get so scared that something’s g-gonna happen if I’m not there, so I have to go,” he gasps. “But every time I do, you’re closer to leaving me, and you can’t, Baby, you just can’t, cause if you did then I’d have to let you and I don’t want to,” he cries. “I don’t ever want to, you’re one of the only good things I have, I can’t do this without you, I won’t–”
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” Stan shushes, rubbing his back through his jacket. He can smell his house clinging onto him. “You won’t ever have to, I’m here.”
“You won’t always be, I keep taking advantage of you and–”
“You need to breathe,” Stan says softly. He peels one of Kenny’s hands off of his back and places it over his raging heartbeat before Kenny can question the action. “We’ll breathe together okay? One,” he inhales deeply, placing a hand on Kenny’s chest. When he doesn’t follow, he exhales and repeats himself. “One,” he starts again, this time with Kenny mirroring him. “Two,” he exhales with Kenny. They inhale and exhale until both their heartbeats regulate, Kenny’s still a tad faster but Stan’ll take what he can get.
“We’re okay, I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re with me, I’m with you.”
“But–”
“Me and you,” he swears. “You and me, okay?”
“You and me,” Kenny answers.
“And?”
“Me and you.”
“Good.” Stan shuffles up his pillow and tucks Kenny under his chin before ensconcing him in his arms. He wishes he could keep him safe like this forever.
“Stan, Baby?”
“Shh.”
“No, I have to tell you,”
“I know.”
“Stan–”
“I know, Kenny, me too, okay? Let’s just sleep.”
“Okay,” he says, shoulders sagging.
“Kenny?”
“Yeah?” He says hopefully.
“Can you be quiet when you go?”
A beat. And then:
“Yeah, anything for you,” he kisses the center of Stan’s throat. “Whatever you want, Baby.”