Call It What You Want To - Style

07. Shut Up

Stan stumbles out of Tolkien's house, almost tripping on some random girl's Converse as he does. Save for a bottle of water – he was tired of beer, his search inside garners no results. Kyle is long gone. It's futile to even search outside, but Stan is set on finding him or dying trying. For the millionth time that night, he feels sick, but he pushes it down.

He throws up into a patch of flowers just outside the house. He takes a swig of the water to clean his mouth and spits it into the flowers, too. Sorry, Tolkien.

After another drink, he looks up to see that house that he hates so much. He hates that he had to move and he hates his dad for making him.

Wait.

It has to be at least 11:00. His parents had gone to bed at around 8:30 and his mom turned off all of the lights when they did. So, why was the porch light on?

Stan crosses the street and the 'Tegridy Farms' sign and then he sees him.

Kyle is sitting on Stan's porch in an old rocking chair, another remnant of the house's previous owners. Moths flutter around, bouncing on and off of the light overhead. Kyle's leg bounces restlessly and his hand shakes from the movement, almost spilling the beer he must've picked up on his way out of the party. His eyes are glued to his feet until he hears the stairs' wooden boards creak.

He stands up at the sight of Stan and says, "Your mom let me sit out here and wait for you since you weren't home," he says, answering the question in Stan's head. God, they really do know each other, huh? The thought that Kyle wanted to see Stan so badly that he waited outside his house for him made him feel sick in a new way, like if he threw up, all that would come out is baby blue summer azure butterflies, escaping the confines of his mouth and going to become bright stars in the black, night sky. The music of a heart pounding against a ribcage fills his ears and there is nothing else in the world except his and Kyle's hearts pounding as one.

Stan is about to open his mouth to speak when Kyle interjects. "We can't keep fake dating."

The music stops and the sentence shoots straight through his heart and out his back, landing in the dark hemp field behind him. The music is different now. The pounding is no longer familiar.

Somehow, through a dry mouth and a lost voice, Stan says, "Why?"

Kyle takes in a deep breath, a mockery of the ever quickening breaths of Stan. "We just can't, dude. I can't." His eyes shoot towards the ground below him and if Stan looked down, too, he could see Kyle's shoes grinding against nothing. He doesn't. His eyes are locked on Kyle's explosion of red curls. "I don't even know if I can be your friend. I'm sorry."

"What?" Stan exclaims. An overflow of words replaces his previous lack of any. "Did I really hurt your feelings that bad? I didn't mean to!"

"No, it's not that," Kyle says, thankfully stopping Stan's word vomit before he says something stupid.

"Then what is it?" Stan asks desperately.

"I," Kyle starts, but then he makes eye contact with Stan and swallows hard. "I'm sorry." With a shake of his head, he pushes past Stan and down the porch stairs.

"Dude! You can't just leave me in the dark!" Stan says, following him close behind. It seems like he's been doing that all night. He gets ahead of Kyle and stands in his path. "What's going on?"

Kyle's head tilts with a deep sigh, like he's doing something he's been putting off for a while. He bites his lip and stares into the sky before his eyes dart to Stan's. "I like you."

Stan's body freezes. "What?"

"Like... like like you," Kyle says. "I know I shouldn't and I know you don't like me, you like Wendy. It's not your fault but we can't keep doing this. I can't keep doing this. My crush is only going to get worse if I let this happen any longer and I don't know if I can handle that. I'm barely handling it as it is. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry if you feel gross or weirded out or anything and I get it if you do. Really. I really didn't mean for this to happen. I wouldn't've... I wouldn't have agreed to fake date if I knew it would end up like this. I just–"

His mumbling lips are stopped in their place by Stan's. They stay there for a second before Stan pulls his head back fast. "Oh, shit," Stan says. "I'm sorry. Shit. I know you wanted your first real kiss to be with someone special."

Kyle cuts him off, now, their lips locking like they were sculpted to fit together. His hands hold Stan's face so gently, and Stan wraps his arms around Kyle's waist. Kyle is the first to pull away this time, resting his forehead against Stan's.

"You're my someone special, Stan," Kyle whispers.

Stan smiles hard. "That is so fucking corny, dude."

"Shut up."