The Sun and The Moon (south park stanxkyle)

The word tragic means a lot to me

Stan was asleep on the floor wrapped in my arm. His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat, his small upper body shook with each breath. He was still drunk and had cried himself to sleep after I told him he needed help and he had to want the help. I watched him carefully as he slept, usually when Stan was asleep he looked younger at peace, and less disturbed by the world, whenever he was drunkenly passed out such as now, his face was pinched tightly and marked heavily with discomfort. I hated seeing him like this. For the past five years, everyone in the group watched Stan slip further into what he is now.

Stan had started drinking after his tenth birthday and we all sort of pulled away from him, everything was shitty to him, and being the dumb pre-teens we were, we didn't want to deal with him acting like that. We all got older and it looked like Stan got better, things started to go back to the way they were. It was the four of us against the world until things all went to shit again. It was getting harder to repress feelings and Stan got worse with his parent's divorce. I blamed not wanting to be around him on his mood and drinking but in reality, it hurt to see him like that all I wanted to do was help but all he wanted was someone else. Stan frequently called me drunk crying because he needed someone or a place to stay or some other bullshit and I always dealt with him. Stan was an emotional drunk he either balled his eyes out or was over the moon happy both could be switched interchangeably. I always picked up the drunken phone calls but left him with Kenny to deal with.

Kenny understood what it was like, he understood Stan. As we got older, Stan and Kenny got closer like he was replacing me but I knew just by the look in his eyes, Stan could never replace me. We were dumb and we still are to consider this normal. It was just one of those things that were always around and no one said anything because when you did he got angry about it and super defensive and we got too tired to argue. There was a far too farminallar pang of guilt in my chest. I was too wrapped up in my own self-indulgent bullshit to see Wendy was right, as much as I hated to say it, she was. He was destroying himself and I was already a shitty friend for waving it off as normal but I'd be an even shitter boyfriend for continuing to wave it off. Since we had gotten together he'd been fine but for the first time, it all came crashing down. All it took was for one big emotional outburst to see, he was hurting someone; himself, and I was an idiot for ignoring it.

I put my hand over his hair ignoring the greasy texture. I studied his face while he slept normally it was smooth, making him look younger and at peace but right now it was pitched tightly in discomfort and a shiver ran threw his body making him shake his entire.

"I'm so fucking sorry Stan, what the fuck is wrong with us," I whispered softly continuing to pet his hair. He eased into my touch, a small sleepy whimper escaping his lips as he shuttered again. It was all so fucked up, why didn't anyone else think it was fucked up?

"Stan, are you awake dude?" I asked getting close to his ear, downstairs I heard the front door open and heavy footsteps downstairs.

"Nooo," Stan whined in a sleepy tone,

"Stan I think your dad's home you need to get up and clean yourself up."

"Why should I-" he was interrupted by a yawn and he stretched out rolling onto his back reaching his hands above his head and forcing himself into a sitting position. "Why should I do that, he doesn't care?"

"Because Stan, you're rank, you smell and you look like shit," I glared.

"Love you too babe," he smirked at me hosting himself off the floor. He offered his hand out to me and I took it allowing myself to be assisted off the ground. For being so skinny Stan was rather strong it was slightly surprising.

"Stan?"

"Hmm?" he was stripping out of his clothes and I awkwardly avoided looking at his bare body now only wearing boxer briefs.

"Do you remember what I said?"

"About?"

"Uh... look, Stan, I-" I paused thinking carefully how to proceed with this conversation. "I said you needed help, and you agreed with me." Stan stopped what he was doing, I looked up from the ground when I heard his sharp inhale of breath, his back was turned to me, and his mussels were tense.

"Kyle, I don't need help dude. I don't have a problem I just," he paused and turned around looking me in the eyes, a desperate look etched on his face. "I don't have a problem, I nodded because I love you, I wasn't agreeing or disagreeing just understanding. See I don't have a problem, I remember." I huffed, why does he have to be so goddamn stubborn.

"Yeah whatever ever Stan, put some clothes on dude," I huffed embarrassed to be standing in his room while he was basically naked.

"Under your suggestion, I'm going to go shower," he narrowed his eyes at me his lips pressed into a thin line. I met his eyes and his gaze softened, "Hey Ky?" I didn't give him any verbal response just some kind of throat grumble. "I love you and, I'm sorry I'm kind of dysfunctional," he slipped out of his room with a bundle of clothes in his hands. I was still awkwardly standing in the middle of the room so I moved to the bed and sat on the edge taking in the atmosphere around me. The air in Stan's room was stale, hot, and stiff with despair. It was dark so I struggled behind me to open the curtains watching as dust flew as I opened them further allowing the light to reach into the depths of Stan's dark room. It was truly depressing in here.

The room seemed so bleak, void of joy or any reminisce of the old Stan. I shuddered at the thought, the old Stan. He really had changed over the last few years in my bedroom and Cartmans, even Kenny's a little bit there was still a variety of remainders from our childhoods. There was a certain brightness that Stan's room lacked. Ever since he moved out here, it was like there was part of him that never moved with him. I don't know long I just sat there, staring into my boyfriend's room taking in the depressing atmosphere but the door opened and Stan reappeared smiling weakly shutting the door behind him quietly.

I bit the inside of my cheek, Stan looked handsome fresh out of the shower. His hair now clung to his face still damp, the messy layers framing his face in a fitting way, there was a dark shadow of his roots showing. He was beautiful.

"What are you staring at?"

"You," I answered without missing a beat, no hesitation in my answer but I started to feel my face heat up and Stan's face started to get a little pink as well.

"Oh," was all he said smiling snapping his head down not wanting to make eye contact.

"Dude... we are like so gay for each other it's sicking," I joked earning a chuckle.

"Didn't we say no homo?" he joked back.

"Hmmm," I tapped my finger on my chin pretending to think, "I don't believe so." Our eyes met for a moment and we both burst out laughing. It was moments like this that I loved the most, times where it was just Stan and I, where nothing else mattered in the world, it was just us together a light in the dark twisted world around us.