(no subject)

[youb_st_rds]

Title: The Need to Wear Flowers
Chapter: Two
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Stan/Kyle
Summary: After coming out to his parents, Stan is moved away from South Park and all of his friends. In this chapter, Stan gets an unwanted boyfriend.

Moving into the new house was tiring, as Stan had expected, and it seemed like the car's contents had quadrupled overnight. The fact that tomorrow his father would be going back to South Park for more of their belongings and to see about putting the house up for sale did not improve him mood. He had tried to reason with him, but his parents were now firmly committed to the idea of living permanently in San Francisco. They were now discussing the best ways to become integrated to their new community. Stan sloped upstairs, into his designated room (he refused to call it 'his' room) to discover his phone ringing. Kenny. He answered it.

“Hey, dude.”

“Where the hell are you?” Kenny asked, forgoing any greetings.

“What do you mean?” said Stan, realising that giving an explanation would simply opened further cans of worms.

“I rang your house. No reply. I rang Kyle, asked him, and he hung up on me. I went around to his and he was in tears-”

“Kyle was crying?” Stan asked, ceasing fidgeting abruptly.

“Yeah. He wouldn't say why. But when I mentioned you again, he told me to fuck off and leave him alone. So where the fuck are you?”

“Kyle wouldn't say?” Stan was surprised, after their last unfriendly conversation, that he hadn't been already betrayed.

“Kyle would not fucking say,” Kenny replied, exasperated. “You two break up or something?”

“What the hell? We never dated! What the fuck are you on about?”

“It was a fucking joke! What the hell have you and Kyle been shoving up your asses?” Kenny shouted. Stan pulled the phone away from his ear to preserve his eardrums.“Are you going to tell me where you are?”

“California.” Today it didn't look very Californian. The fog laid thickly on the city and the grey sky reflected Stan's mood.

“Very funny, dude.”

“That wasn't a joke.” Stan considered telling Kenny the truth, but decided against it, at least for the time being. He wasn't in the mood to explain himself. “My parents decided to move after, y'know, being really stupid and seeing that show about, well, one of those shows about houses.”

“About houses,” Kenny repeated, clearly not warming to Stan's story.

“Yeah. Home improvements or something. Or moving. I don't know, they just said they'd seen how beautiful California was and wanted to move there.”

“So you have a second house?”

“No. They're actually moving here. Permanently.” Stan winced as he uttered the last word.

“Why wouldn't Kyle tell me that?”

“I don't know. He's a douche,” Stan spat, his fist clenching.

“Why?” Kenny sounded weary now. Stan could tell he was wishing he had never gotten involved and had headed down to Hooters or wherever on his own.

“He just is.”

“Whatever. He's really upset you're gone, anyway.”

“Good,” Stan lied, ignoring the ache in his chest. Kyle's problems were his own fault and Kyle could fix them himself.

“Fuck, Stan!” Kenny shouted, his temper finally snapping. “He's your best friend!”

“Not any more!” Stan shouted back, forcing fake conviction into his voice.

“You two should talk, since neither of you will talk to me. I'm going.”

“Fine!”

“Wait, where in California are you?” Kenny asked, his anger suddenly abating.

“San Francisco.”

“Any nice beaches?” Stan laughed, despite himself.

“You just want girls in bikinis.”

“Or less.”

“You can come over and see for yourself once we're settled in.”

“Awesome! Catch you later, dude!”

“Bye, Kenny.” Stan hung up, genuinely smiling for the first time since arriving in the city. He turned his attention to the box that had been dumped in the corner and reluctantly began making the room a parody of his old one. His phone soon rung again, this time from Cartman's number. He sighed and answered it, still pulling things from the box.

“'Ey! What's this about you moving to California?” Cartman yelled at him.

“Parents went crazy and decided to move,” Stan replied.

“And Kenny gets an invite to stay with you? What about me?”

“You can come too, Cartman,” Stan said, rolling his eyeballs.

“Good! But I'm not sharing a room with that Jew-rat!” Stan caught the muffled sounds of Kenny swearing from the other end of the line. “What the hell, Kenny?”

“Kyle and I had a disagreement.”

“Why? You left town while owing him fifty cents?”

“Yeah, Cartman, that's why we argued,” Stan said through gritted teeth. “Was there anything else?”

“Nah, it's cool. Bye.” Cartman hung up, having obtained what he wanted. Stan threw his phone back on the bed. He continued pulling out stuff from the box. Clothes, an odd sneaker, a can of deodorant... his hand stopped on a framed photograph of him and Kyle. His thoughts flickered to plans of hurling it into the wall, but he couldn't be bothered to sweep up the glass. He contented himself with pulling out the picture and tearing it into tiny shreds, taking great care to rip up Kyle's face as much as possible.

“Stan!” He jumped, sending shreds of paper everywhere, at the sound of his mom calling up the stairs. “Stan, honey, we have a surprise for you!” Stan set down the stairs, not bothering to throw away the remnants of his anger yet. He came into the living room, where his pleased parents, two other adults (looking similarly pleased) and a boy around his age were all sat.

“What is it?” he asked, looking around at them all. He had hoped his parents would quell his unavoidable misery with the latest games console, a new bike, or something equally awesome, but he was beginning to suspect this was not the case.

“We've found you a boyfriend!” Randy boomed. “Isn't that great?”

“What?” was all Stan could manage to say. He stared at them, willing them to start laughing, but they continued to grin idiotically.

“Our next door neighbours, Celia Smith-Forsythe and Grant Foster, have a gay son who hasn't got a boyfriend!” Sharon said, giddy with excitement. The gay son waved at Stan, who could only manage a quiet, “Dude.”

“We're sure you two will look lovely together!” Celia Smith-Forsythe chirped. “In fact, how about a photo right now?”

“Maybe later,” said Stan. “Can I talk to the gay son? In private?” The adults all nodded, beaming. Stan beckoned the gay son and they headed up to where Stan's belongings were stashed. He shut the door behind them.

“What the fuck is going on?” Stan asked.

“Arranged dating. Pretty common around here. Especially with us fake-gays.”

“'Fake gays'? You mean you're not actually gay?”

“No, but it's in at the moment to have a gay son. I've been pretending, but because I haven't actually got an official gay boyfriend...” The not so gay son shrugged. “My girlfriend is a bit pissed off, but then again, she's got a fake girlfriend. Well, she thinks she's really her girlfriend and she's just a bi poly, but...”

“Look, I don't care about your story. I don't want a fake boyfriend.”

“Yes, you do,” the boy said, smugly. He glanced down at the floor. “Hey, what happened here?”

“No, I don't!” Stan insisted. “And that's none of your business!” The boy picked up a few pieces of the photo.

“This your ex or something?”

“Ex-best friend,” Stan replied, shortly. “Now, why the hell should I want a straight boyfriend who's going to cheat on me with some chick?”

“Sure, whatever you say. And because fucking a straight guy is the biggest badge of honour you can get.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Winning a straight guy over is big news. You bag me and your gay mates - which I'm sure you'll make soon enough - they'll be all over you. You'll be set. Get me?” Suddenly, South Park didn't seem so stupid.

“That is the single most retarded thing I've heard all day and I live with people who decided to move state in the middle of the night with less than an hour's warning,” Stan told him, wishing that Kyle was less of a douche. They could really have laughed about this.

“Whatever. But your parents said they'll ground you for three months if you don't take me to the cinema this weekend.”

“Look, wait - what the hell is your name?”

“Tom.” Tom dropped the photo shards onto the floor again.

“Tom, I don't even know where the hell the cinema is. And you seem like a total douche, so-”

“You want to get grounded?” Tom interrupted. “Look, I'll make out with you and stuff. And you can do whoever you want on the side. We only want have to date for a month, tops, and then you can do whatever you want.”

“I don't even want to be here for a month!” Stan exploded. “I just want to go home!”

“Even though your best friend turned on you?” Tom asked, standing up and staring Stan in the eye. “If he did, how long do you think it'll take the others?”

“Don't you dare assume stuff about Kyle!” Stan yelled, pushing Tom back. Tom returned the shove, just as hard.

“He must have screwed you over pretty badly,” he retorted. “Do you really want to go crawling back to him?”

“I'd go back to him on hand and foot rather than go out with a giant douche!” Stan hissed, fists poised for fighting. Tom put his hands on Stan's.

“Look, I understand that you're pissed off. I would be, too, if I wasn't so used to my parents and dropping acid every Friday. But really, this is going to make things easier for you. I can show you around-”

“I have people willing to do that already!”

“Yeah, yeah, and I can help. I can settle you in. You can still date other people, your parents don't get pissed off, and who knows? Maybe this Kyle will get jealous.”

“Kyle's straight!” Tom's mouth made an 'o' shape and he nodded, slowly.

“Figures. Then I can help you forget him. Have a little fun.” Tom sat down again and glanced through Stan's window. “Hey, you have a pretty cool view from here. You can see Angel Island.” Stan gave up. He wordlessly left the room and went downstairs to ask if his mom could talk to him in private for a couple of minutes.

“What is it, Stan?” she whispered conspiratorially. “Are you wanting some condoms?”

“No!” Stan yelled, disgusted and thrown off guard by her forwardness. He lowered his voice again. “Do I have to date Tom?” His mother turned serious.

“Stan, that poor boy came out a year ago and still hasn't had a boyfriend! Would it kill you to show a little compassion and take him out on a few dates?”

“But he's not gay,” Stan pleaded.

“Stanley! No questioning other people's sexuality! Now you go fix up a date with that boy or you're grounded!” Stan went to do as he was told.

“You were right. I have to date you,” he told Tom as he re-entered the room. “But I'm still not happy about it.”

“You'll get used to it,” said Tom. “So, what film shall we see?”

Stan did, indeed, find himself dragged to the cinema a few days later by his new boyfriend. Also in attendance was Tom's girlfriend Alison and her girlfriend Susannah. As soon as the lights went down, Tom and Alison started making out. Susannah put a hand on Stan's.

“I'm not really into girls,” she whispered with a giggle. Stan didn't bother to take his eyes from the cinema screen.

“Neither am I.” The hand withdrew.

The film was bad. Not awful, just a generic box of bad churned out by the bad film company by the tonne once summer hit. Stan gave up on following the remnants of plot fifteen minutes in. He would have abandoned all efforts sooner than that, but he had wanted something to distract him from the slurping kissy noises so badly. As they were on the back row, he felt no guilt about taking out his phone and texting Karl. Before the lights had gone back on, Stan had been persuaded to meet him and the other boys from the pier at a nearby coffee shop for karaoke. Tom finally pulled himself from Alison and turned his attention to his boyfriend.

“I have to, uh, walk Alison back,” he began. Stan rolled his eyes impatiently.

“Dude, whatever. Just show me the way to Othello's.” His demand was fulfilled. Tom and Alison took him there (Susannah had scarpered immediately after the film) and he was met by all the boys from before, who had taken up an old looking table and a number of thrones. Finn was sporting a paper crown. Othello's was a peculiar place: he was in a room which made a blatant play for olde English style, but through the oak doorway he could see another room of retro furniture and neon signs that reflected off the silver walls. He tried to avoid looking at the gap between the two worlds in order to preserve his eyes.

“Stan, my man,” Finn greeted him, holding a hand out for a high five, “Have you found yourself a manbag already?” Stan stared at him, perplexed, and slap Finn's hand.

“No, my wallet's in my trousers,” he said. The others laughed.

“He meant the guy you were with,” Karl explained. “He was holding your hand, but he's so obviously straight.”

“You can tell? My parents didn't believe me when I told them.”

“The way he didn't notice you leaving was a bit of a hint,” said Phil, who was clutching a tankard too big for his hand. “Ready to sing for us?”

“No.” He was ignored. The others pushed their chairs back, grinning, grabbed their drinks and headed into the other room. Stan groaned and slouched behind them. The karaoke machine was already in use, as a couple warbled that song about saying something stupid. Stan hated that song. So did Kyle. It was once played at a school dance for all of thirty seconds before he and Kyle had pushed the DJ off his stand and replaced it with “Tommy the Cat”. Some people weren't happy, but some people never were. Wendy hadn't spoken to him for a week after. He hadn't noticed until Cartman pointed it out.

“I love this song,” Giles said, his head resting on Karl's shoulder.

“Sap,” Karl teased. “Didn't think it'd be poignant enough for you.” Garfield shook his head.

“It's not heavy enough,” he said. He took two straws (hot pink and electric blue) and beat the table with them. “It needs a kickass drum solo or something.”

“Not everything needs to be heavy,” said Giles.

“No, but everything has to be hard,” Garfield retorted.

“All the time?” Karl asked, eyebrows raised. “You must get very sore.” The others sniggered.

“What's your favourite song, Stan?” Finn asked, flicking through a booklet of available songs.

“Are you trying to wheedle me into singing or are you offering to butcher it yourself?” Stan picked up the song menu and glanced through it. He forced his attention away from the rap section; just seeing the names brought back painful memories of Kyle. Kyle's room. Kyle's car.

“What makes you think I'd butcher it?” Finn acted very offended, but Stan wasn't taken in by it. “I might be the next Pavarotti.”

“And the song might sound dreadful sung by Pavarotti.”

“We have to do this!” Giles said, shaking Karl's wrist. He pointed to his list. Karl looked over, smiled indulgently and nodded.

“Sap. All right, we'll go next.” The two got up as soon as the two onstage had ceased croning. An unfamiliar song started up, but he could tell be the knowing smirks from his friends that it was one they'd heard, or been forced to hear, a number of times. Giles and Karl began their duet, explaining through song how dependent they were on each other. Stan began doubting the safety of such a set-up and panicked, considering how he and Kyle were normally inseparable. Even now, when he had reason to be angry at him, thoughts of Kyle kept returning to him.

“Stan?” Garfield said, waving a hand in front of his face. Stan jumped and realised that the others were all looking at him.

“What?” he asked, feeling foolish.

“We were asking if there was any song you'd trust us with,” said Phil. “Hurry up, I want to go next and there isn't much time before these two finish-”

“Too late,” said Finn, resting his head on one hand. “Beaten to it.” The backing music hadn't finished fading out, but a woman was already climbing the stage steps. Some buttons were pressed and the room was filled with lilting music. The woman's voice was high but bland. Stan found himself tuning out again. Was he too obsessed with Kyle?

His ears perked up again at the word “runaway”. All his attention returned to the song. The woman was singing to her partner at the back of the room, but all Stan could think of was the relevance to his own position. And whilst he really, really doubted that Kyle had fallen in love with him, it was actually plausible that he was - or rather, had been - willing to run away with him. He found himself standing, and all eyes on him again.

“I - I've got to go,” he stammered. “I'll text you guys. Tomorrow. Bye!” And he dashed out, paying no heed to their calls and confusion. As soon as he had fled a safe distance, he dialled Kyle's mobile, the song lyrics still resounding in his head to a new backing track of the pump of blood in his ears. Each ring of Kyle's phone felt like a strike through the chest. He needed Kyle to pick up now, before he lost his nerve. Three strikes. Would a fourth take him out?

“Hello?” Kyle sounded groggy. Stan checked his watch; it was only nine o'clock. It was dark, sure, but there was no reason for Kyle to be tired at this time.

“Hey, dude,” said Stan, his stomach churning.

“Are you ringing to yell at me?” Kyle asked.

“What? No!”

“Good. I really can't take it right now.”

“What's up?”

“Shingles. Which means I have herpes. Cartman's beside himself.”

“Bastard,” said Stan, surprising himself with how much venom he had injected into the word. “How're you feeling?”

“Terrible, even though I'm dosed up on just about everything. And...” Kyle paused. Stan didn't fill the void, despite giving Kyle his full attention, to the extent of nearly walking into a lamppost. “Why are you ringing? I thought you hated me.”

“I wanted to ask you...well, you said something about running away, and...” Stan felt the palms of his hands growing sticky.

“You were going to tell me it was a stupid idea?”

“No! I wanted to ask you if...if you'd have come with me,” Stan finally managed, his words coming out in a rush. There was another torturous pause. “Kyle?”

“Of course, dude,” Kyle replied. “Did you really think I'd let you run off alone?” Stan released breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. “That's...that's really cool of you.”

“Apart from where I fucked it up,” said Kyle, ruefully. “I'm sorry. I should have thought more about what you wanted...” Stan realised he didn't need to hear it.

“Dude, it's okay. “ Even he could notice the change in pitch, the happiness evident in his voice. “You did it for good reasons. And you're still the best friend I could ever have.”

“I miss you,” Kyle said, his voice soft. “Is there any chance of you getting back here anytime soon?” Stan gave a bitter laugh.

“My parents found me a boyfriend,” he explained, booting an empty soda can down the sidewalk. “And I've been ordered to date him for a month or get grounded.”

“Dude! Sick!”

“The best part is that he's not actually gay. He's got a girlfriend.”

“So why the hell do you have to date him?” Kyle was angry now. Stan's spirits, conversely, lifted as he poured out the woes of living in his new town.

“Having a gay kid is the cool thing around here. His parents won't accept him otherwise. And my parents just want to fit in.”

“That's more repressive than living here would be!”

“Yeah. But it's a secretly open relationship. I can do whatever I want on the side.” Kyle grunted angrily down the phone.

“But you don't want that. You're not that kind of guy.”

“Yeah. I know.” Stan had finally reached his house. He unlocked the door, passed the living room where his parents were sitting, waiting to spy on him, and continued straight up the stairs.

“Tell them you can't date this guy. Tell them you're in love with someone else or something,” Kyle suggested. “Hey, say the guy's in South Park, and you want to move back there to be with him!”

“Dude. That might work!” Stan said, kicking his shoes off. “Except then when I go back, they'll ask why I'm not dating whoever...”

“Say he's straight?”

“No, then they won't move. They'll just say it proves the homophobia or some crap.”

“Okay... I'll pretend to be your boyfriend! Or Kenny! He'll probably do it for ten bucks a week.” Stan laughed, wishing he was speaking to Kyle face to face.

“And how much do you charge?” he teased, imagining the way Kyle's face would be wrinkling in disgust.

“Dude. I think you've earned enough customer loyalty points over the years.” They both laughed.

“Do you mean it?” Stan asked. “You'd really do that for me?” The angry huff from the phone was confirmation enough.

“Stan, it's not a big deal. I'd do much more for you.” Stan felt this was a poor choice of words on Kyle's part, but decided to play along regardless. Sadly, playing required thinking, and Stan's brain had temporarily relocated to somewhere with poor signal.

“How much more?”

“I already told you I'd die for you. What more can you want?”

“Okay, assume you're alive-”

“Thanks.”

“Would you...” Stan scoured his mind for a suitable task. “Would you rob a bank with me?”

“Like I'd let you do it alone!”

“Would you beat someone up for me?”

“What am I, your boyfriend?” Kyle scoffed. “But yeah, if you needed me to.”

“How about looking after me for the rest of my life?”

“I wouldn't trust anyone else to do it.”

“Okay, and if I was dying, and this was the only way to save me...”

“Yeah...” Stan's heart pumped painfully in his chest.

“Would you have sex with me?” Kyle laughed, long and hard, and Stan started to doubt he'd ever get his answer.

“Stan, if I'd had the stuff and you'd have gone along with it, I'd have had sex with you to stop you leaving town.” Kyle spoke as though he was explaining the alphabet to a small child. “That was why you were so pissed off, remember?”

“You would not have had sex with me,” said Stan. He was now glad Kyle was far away and couldn't see his flushed face, or hear his heart thumping so loud his ribs were soon sure to crack.

“No, because I don't have lube,” Kyle continued in his elementary school teacher voice. “I'd rather not tear up my asshole.”

“But you don't like men.” Stan didn't need to make it a question. He knew the answer. The answer hurt.

“Yeah, but...” Kyle swallowed. “I like you. Not in that way,” he hurriedly added, “but enough to suck up and bear it if I needed to. Anyway,” he hurriedly added, “What about you? What'd you do for me?”

“I'll bone you whenever you're ready,” said Stan, still stunned and foggy-headed. He felt ready right now.

“Ha, ha,” said Kyle. “You know what I meant.”

“I'd die for you, dude. And. Uh. Whatever else you want.”

“Come back to South Park.”

“I want to! It's my parents who won't let me!” Stan protested. “In the meantime, you want to come down here for a bit?”

“Yeah!”

“When?”

“When can I come?”

It wasn't until the next morning that Stan felt comfortable raising the issue of not dating Tom with his mother. She was in an excellent mood, sipping at her red wine contentedly as she flipped through a book. Stan approached her after finishing all his chores, as well as a couple more he anticipated her asking about later.

“Mom, I realised something when I was out on a date with Tom last night,” he said, reciting his well practised words perfectly.

“What's that, sweetie?” Her response was better than he could have hoped. He plunged on, his heart lighter.

“It's wrong for me to be his boyfriend, because I'm...” He let his gaze fall the floor and shuffled his feet realistically, acting as he had seen Butters do so many times. “I'm in love with someone else.”

“Someone from home?” Stan's head jerked up, this time not a result of his acting.

“How'd you know?” he demanded, leaning over and gripping the chair's armrest tightly. He wondered if she had managed to spy on him and had overheard his entire conversation with Kyle.

“You didn't hide it well. But Kyle's straight.” The colour left Stan's face.

“It's not Kyle!” he said, trying to regain his footing. “It's Kenny!” Sharon just laughed and didn't even bother to look up from her book.

“So why'd we find you at Kyle's before we left?”

“Uh...”

“Why are you always with Kyle? And you should see how you look when you're looking at him. It's a miracle he hasn't guessed.”

“And how do you know Kyle's straight?” Stan demanded, abandoning his previous track. Sharon's face contorted, but she still didn't look up from her book.

“What the hell was this woman on?” she shouted. “That's the most disgusting-”

“Mom!” Stan yelled, waving a hand between her and the book in a desperate attempt for her attention. “How do you know Kyle's straight?”

“Stanley, I'm trying to read!” She finally looked at him, but it was with a glare. “And if he was gay and interested we'd never have gotten you out of South Park, would we? Now can I please get back to my book? A werewolf is going to marry a baby.”