changing my major

~ • ∆ two ∆ • ~

Stan’s gaze fell past Kyle, to the rest of the food that Kyle had prepared. He couldn’t tell the order in which everything was made, but there were three different plates with food. Eggs, bacon, and toast. How long had Kyle been up? Stan almost felt guilty, knowing damn well Kyle probably tried (and failed) to wake him up before making all this food himself. There was a lot of it, too - almost as if he were feeding two families of eight. Kyle was good at cooking, too - even if it was only bacon and eggs with some toast, he almost decided that he wanted to be a chef before deciding that he wanted to research more about the human psyche and develop his social skills, hence the theatre and psychology majors. Plus, he used to help his mom cook dinner, and sometimes he’d show Stan how to make the more traditional Jewish meals they had. Stan completely forgot everything he was taught, but somehow Kyle managed to remember.

“Looks good,” Stan commented. Kyle let out a chuckle, flipping one of the last pancakes. He seemed proud of his work, which made Stan feel all the more guilty.

“I’m glad you like the way it looks, but that doesn’t exactly give me any insight on the way you think it tastes,” Kyle remarked.

“Okay, smartass. I’m gonna wait until you finish cooking. Wouldn’t be fair to just start eating now,” Stan countered as he wrapped his finger around another loose curl, twirling it around for a few seconds before letting go, just as he had done before.

“Well, lucky you. I’m almost done.”

As Kyle tossed the last pancake on the plate, Stan backed away and marveled at Kyle’s work. Kyle had so many interesting and useful skills; he could cook, he was damn good with a bow and arrow, he could write, he was a god editor, and he was really good at understanding slurred speech and text. Stan was physically fit, and could lift heavy objects, but most certainly wasn’t as skilled and receptive as Kyle had always seemed.

Kyle reached over and turned the stove off with a sigh, tossing the pan in the sink to be washed later. They had a few things to take care of, but the one thing Saturdays were for was spending time with your bro - which is exactly what Kyle intended on doing. He reached up for the cabinet, standing on his toes until his fingertips grazed the porcelain plate that he intended on grabbing. He let out a content sigh when the plate was finally in his grasp, sliding it down out of the cabinet. Stan just watched, not wanting to interfere in fear of Kyle going on another one of his “I don’t need your help, I’m perfectly fine” speeches - something that just got worse and worse as time went on. Besides, it gave Stan a perfect view of… certain things.

His ass. Stan was staring at his ass.

Stan was a little relieved when Kyle had managed to slip the plates out of the cabinet since he wasn’t exactly ready for a confrontation this early in the morning. (To be fair, it wasn’t that early, but to Stan it was since he had woken up pretty damn late.) They didn’t have a kitchen table because of the size of their apartment, so Kyle and Stan made their plates with the forks Kyle had left out before the two walked out to what they called the living room. In reality, it was just a couch, a carpet, and the old television from Stan’s childhood bedroom that they decided to bring with them when they moved.

Kyle sat on the floor, looking up at Stan and waiting, as if he were saying ‘come here’ with just a glance. Stan obliged, sitting down next to Kyle with his plate on the floor. He slipped his arm to the arm of the couch, grabbing the remote and looking for a channel to watch.

“Why do we need the TV on?” Kyle asked abruptly, stabbing an egg with his fork.

“We don’t- I mean, we don’t have to have it on, I just figured, y’know, if we’re out here,” Stan shrugged as he shoved a forkful of pancakes into his mouth. Kyle sighed, knowing he’d probably be the one to vacuum since the only time Stan could really vacuum was early in the morning, because when it was night, the neighbors would complain about the slightest bit of noise.