Archive of Our Own

The room is spinning. 

Well, it’s not the room. It’s the car. Some black Peugeot 205 GTI that he got into after drinking a shit-ton. There are people around Stan that he doesn’t know, a few he does, but he doesn’t think he likes any of them. They’re singing something annoying and typical that has been topping the charts on the radio for the past few weeks, and it’s like nails to a chalkboard. 

The lyrics repeat over and over again, and even though the song is piercing Stan’s ears he still can’t get this ringing to leave him. Though, it’s not like Stan’s tastes for shitty and forgettable rock bands are any better. At least the people around him are having fun, he guesses. Now would be a great time to go home. His real home. It’s too big in North Park, and it gets humid in the summertime. 

“Let me out of the car,” he says. It’s disgusting in there, and he can feel sweat forming between everybody’s bodies and himself. Each turn of the car or each melody given has another swerve of legs and torsos pushing into his own. Everybody’s still singing along to the pop tune but one or two people tell whoever’s driving to pull over. He opens the door and trips over a few legs before retching his guts out onto the dirt. 

Someone laughs from behind him and somewhere in the distance a dog is barking. A few amused howls play out from behind him as they watch him pathetically barf. He wants to throw up whatever he ate that night; remove it from his system. His throat burns when he swallows. 

Sober… now. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and his head hurts and when he opens them he still has that ringing sound in the back of his mind. It’s impossible and he stumbles up before turning around to see that the light is on in the car and it hurts to look at for too long. 

Then the car is driving off without him and he can only watch as the light slowly fades into nothing. He can still hear the singing ring in his ears. 

He kicks a rock and feels more acid push up his throat. Stan’s face is hot when he touches his cheeks and the night is not cooling him off. He should probably get a taxi. Or something. He can hitchhike. He fishes his wallet out of his pocket and looks at the money in his hands. How much is a taxi? Stan doesn’t even have two stupid dollars.

A few cars speed past him and he probably looks dumb standing around. It’s about fifteen minutes until a car slows down and then pulls over. It’s some hunk of junk that for some reason is still in good shape. All alone at night when a car is approaching? Beyond creepy. He supposes this is what he deserves. 

Someone gets out and Stan doesn’t recognize him at first. It’s almost blurry when he first catches sight of the guy, but then it starts to come into focus. It takes him a moment because in the back of his mind he’s thinking, I know this guy from somewhere, but it’s not clicking.

Was it the guy who worked the same McDonald’s shifts as when he went in every Friday two years ago? A friend’s cousin who he hasn’t seen in a month or two? No, there’s gotta be something else. Those familiar soft features. The blonde hair with just a slight touch of brown running through it, and of course those eyes that are blue but can’t be seen in the dark. Stan just knows they are because that’s how they always have been. It’s Gary. Even after what, seven years? 

It doesn’t hit him and blow his mind like he thought it would. It’s just a sinking, settling feeling that pushes him down when he realizes. 

The first thing that really settles in is his own appearance. What does Stan look like to Gary? He looks down at the shirt he was too lazy to iron the morning before, and the stain that appeared near his shoulder out of seemingly nowhere. Why’s he looking down, anyway? His face is the worst part. Matted hair inside of a sweaty hat. Some drool. 

“Stan, is that you?” Gary asks incredulously. He frowns and tentatively approaches the other boy, who is still considering puking just a little more. 

Stan just stares at Gary and doesn’t process anything. He doesn’t want to process anything. Gary? Here? “Oh, hey,” is all he says in a breathy manner, and without any shame, because he’s already being seen at a low point, adds, “do you have, like, seventy-five cents on hand?”

“What?” Gary blinks. “Are you alright? How did you get out here ?” He looks around the road as if there’s some explanation for Stan’s being there that isn’t abandonment.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it…” Stan mutters. It’s dismissive. “So, about that seventy-five cents?”

“What are you doing in the middle of the road at three in the morning, Stan? Do you need help?”

Stan gives Gary a drained look. Drained isn’t the right word, but it’s the best word to describe it. Tired. He’s kind of surprised that someone is being nice to him, seeing as he’s kind of an asshole. And then it sets in that he’s not just talking to “someone,” he’s talking to Gary. Gary, as in the “You’ve got a lot of growing up to do, buddy,” Gary. 

“It’s not three in the morning, it’s,” Stan takes out his phone and squints at the screen, “two fifty-five. And no, I don’t need your help. What I need is seventy-five goddamn cents, here.”

“But Stan, I think—“

“I don’t care what you think, Gary.” Stan doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but it feels good anyway.

He looks both ways as if maybe another car with a better person will come parading onto the side of the road and rescue him from this horrible situation. Gary tries approaching one more time.

“How about this, buddy.” Gary stops after the word “buddy,” as if he knows it’s taunting Stan. “I take you home, and you give me seventy-five cents. It’s like you hailed a taxi, except I’m already here.”

Something about that really ticks Stan off. It’s just like being ten years old again. A sudden surge of anger fills him. Frustration is a better word. Why does Gary of all people have to show up? And why now? And why is he acting like he’s all nice and cares about Stan when he knows damn well that it’s a lie? They both know it’s a lie. Stan moves closer towards Gary. In the dim light his features look good. God, what a tool. 

“Buddy,” he hisses, “why don’t you leave me alone? Why do you have to be nice to me?” Stan is now the one taking the step forward and then he continues, “I mean, what kind of bozo actually offers to drive someone home instead of, I dunno, ditching them?” 

Before Stan knows it, he’s tripping over something. Maybe it’s the air or his own feet, but regardless it’s too late to look. Where did he go wrong? Was it the decision to try and push Gary? To drink? To go out partying? 

But he doesn’t eat it. He doesn’t get instant karma for being a dick, because of course Gary stops his fall. Of course he has to catch Stan. 

A second goes by and then Stan is resting on Gary’s shoulder and when his head hits any surface at all it suddenly sets in how exhausted he really is. Reality is like a speeding train.

“Are you okay, Stan?” 

He hates him. He hates him so much.

“I want to go home.” 

*°:⋆ₓₒ　　ₓₒ⋆:°*

Stan looks out the window at the plains that pass by but finds his eyes looking to the person behind him in the reflection. Something is softly playing on the radio, probably that same karaoke song from before, but neither of them can hear it over the low hum of the car. It’s quiet. He can’t even remember why he was mean to Gary in the first place. Was it because he was Mormon? Or was it because he was too nice? A combination of both?

Gary looks over to Stan a few times nervously and taps a finger on the steering wheel before saying anything. “So… Stan. You’re living in North Park now?”

Stan places his hands over his face for a moment in both a way to rub his eyes and to shield himself. He thinks about how he just tried to punch a guy that he hasn’t seen in seven years. What’s wrong with him? “Something like that, I guess.”

“Your family just decided they wanted a change in scenery?” Gary asks.

“Divorce,” Stan says before yawning. It wasn’t a sad thing. Everybody had expected it at that point. What Stan hadn’t expected was that his dad would move out of South Park and start a new life in some other part of Colorado. Nobody could blame him, though.

Gary stops incessantly tapping his fingers on the steering wheel and his smile fades from his face. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s whatever.” 

Stan remembers meeting Gary’s family, and knows that something like divorce isn’t something Gary would be well-versed in. The family nights where they actually did something fun together juxtaposed to Stan’s own sad TV dinners. Thinking about it makes him exhale out of his nose with a slight smile. It’s kind of humorous if he thinks about it long enough. As if Gary’s really sorry.

With all of this reflecting, Stan thinks about how much of an asshole he was back then, and any semblance of mirth is gone from his expression. He glowers out the window at his own reflection. “I should be the one who’s sorry.” Another yawn and he rests his forehead against the window to feel the bumps in the road shake his core. 

“For what?”

“For everything, I guess. I was never a very nice person.” Is he even speaking loud enough for Gary to hear at this point? He’s practically talking to himself. 

“Oh, Stan. That was years ago! Surely you’ve changed since then. Why dwell on such ancient history?” 

Stan’s eyelids flutter open for a brief second and he turns around to see Gary keeping his eyes on the road but smiling, and then he closes them again. Maybe the reason he dwells on such ancient history is because he hasn’t changed a bit since then. He hopes Gary hasn’t, either.

But he doesn’t have the heart to answer Gary’s question and instead, settles for bumping his head repeatedly into the glass pane. 

And the more he thinks about it, at three in the morning, he really can’t deal with Randy. Celebration from his dad for being “cool,” and partying, but increasing disappointment in himself. Having a talk about his dad’s past. Having a talk about Stan’s past—from when he wasn’t living in North Park. The sad longing for South Park is starting to creep back into Stan’s mind from before, despite how horrible of a town it is, and Stan just blurts out what he’s thinking.

“Gary, I don’t want to go to my dad’s house.”

Stan doesn’t hear Gary say anything after that, and he feels embarrassed. Maybe Gary just doesn’t want to comment on Stan’s little sob story. Stan wouldn’t want to comment on his little sob story, either.

“… Alright. Where to?” Gary asks. 

Stan opens his eyes and sits up in his seat properly now. It’s easier to think when his eyes are on the dark road stretching out in front of him. It’s honestly kind of shocking that Gary hasn’t told Stan to screw off already. Why’s he so nice? 

He doesn’t know where he wants to go. Anywhere but here. His mouth twists uncomfortably because of the request that he’s about to make, but he says it anyway. “Can you take me to South Park?”

Gary looks at Stan for a split second, careful not to stare for too long because of the traffic, not that there’s a lot at the crack of dawn, but in that second his eyebrow twitches. Stan’s heart beats a little faster, and then Gary opens his mouth. He doesn’t say anything at first but then responds, “That’s far.”

How stupid Stan was for asking. Of course it’s far. Why is he asking Gary to drive him all the way over there? 

“Oh… yeah,” Stan says and then gives a slight smile. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking,” he attempts to chuckle but it sounds forced and they both know it. “Just… forget I asked.”

A few minutes of driving goes by and neither of them can say anything. It must be because Gary pities him, Stan determines. How awkward it must be to sit in a car next to a babbling idiot. A homesick one. He simply stares out as more road is seemingly generated in front of him because the car lights hit it just right. Though, Stan is almost jarred when Gary lets out a long exhale and then smirks to himself. His knuckles are white when he moves the steering wheel, and Stan feels some nervousness overcome him when he glances at Gary’s hands and then his face. 

Then the latter clicks his tongue and looks in the rear-view mirror before swerving around into a U-turn, causing Stan to bump into the car door. Gary’s still smiling.

“Okay, let’s go to South Park.”  

They sit together in the car for an hour straight and the whole time Stan’s heart is beating like crazy. Is this one of the side effects of drinking alcohol? Nobody had ever mentioned that to him. Wasn’t it supposed to be the opposite? But about halfway through that hour he falls asleep.

*°:⋆ₓₒ　　ₓₒ⋆:°*

When Gary makes it to South Park it’s four in the morning and Stan is sleeping with his head leaning on the window still. His shoulder is softly shaken by the other and he groggily opens his eyes. 

“Huh..? What?” He looks around and doesn’t know why but feels warm when he sees Gary so close to him. Touching him. The heater in Gary’s car must be crazy strong.

“Stan, we made it to South Park. Where do you want me to go now?”

Stan tells him the address of his mom’s place and rubs his eyes and stretches. He still can’t believe that Gary is doing this for him. Why is he doing this for him?

He speaks his mind verbatim. “Why are you doing this for me?” He tugs at his seatbelt to pass the time.

Gary just looks ahead at the town and then says lowly, “Hasn’t it been a while, Stan? I want to know more about you.” He covers his mouth.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

He finds Stan’s mom’s house easily because it’s Stan’s old one. She never moved out. The car rolls to a stop and it’s plain to see that the sky is much lighter now—what was once pitch black being turned into an orange gradient. 

Stan gets out of the car, slowly closing the door to not make a loud banging sound so early in the morning, and instantly feels the cold hit him as opposed to the toasty insides of Gary’s car. Once safely on the sidewalk he turns around to face Gary whose eyes are traveling up and down, but at what, Stan doesn’t know. He raps on the car window softly and Gary rolls down the window. 

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t want Gary to go. Not now. Not when he’s this close. 

“Do you… want to come inside?”

Gary gives a difficult expression and sighs. “… I should probably get going. My dad…“

“Please.” 

Gary doesn’t even say anything. He just mouths the words okay and stares at Stan, who starts getting a fluttery feeling in his body.

He parks the car and gets out just as carefully as Stan did. Seeing Gary standing there is different from three in the morning. Two fifty-five, he corrects himself. He has a red windbreaker on, which is much different from that typical sky-blue jacket he used to wear, but he’s still got jeans. Stan feels himself staring and turns away before he’s noticed.

They walk up the stairs to the house and Stan has a spare key in his wallet that he struggles with for a few minutes. It takes a few more attempts to turn it all the way, and with a final push and turn it’s open. The inside of the house is dark, darker than outside, but it feels much better than his dad’s house. 

Gary mumbles “Pardon the intrusion,” to himself and only to himself as he walks through the doorway and it makes Stan smile. Polite. As always.

“Okay, my mom’s upstairs and she’s sleeping, so we can’t make too much noise. But if you want anything I can get it for you,” Stan whispers. He wipes his shoes and then takes his hat off to reveal black hair sticking to his forehead. ”I should probably take a shower.” And then he looks at Gary, up and down like how Gary was doing before and comments, “You can take one too if you want to.” It’s arguably the loudest part of his statement, and lingers in the air for too long.

Gary doesn’t say anything but shifts awkwardly from his right foot to his left foot and back, and then they go up the stairs together into Stan’s room. It hasn’t changed since fourth grade, with all of the same posters and little knickknacks still hanging around, but it feels older. Something about it.

Stan takes a shower, being careful to bring all of the necessary items into the bathroom with him like his change of clothes. While the hot water beats down on his back he thinks about Gary. 

The water’s mix of sounds and drumming on the top of his head certainly distracts him from the ringing that started up again when he awoke in Gary’s car, but it’s still not gone completely. Why’d he invite Gary in? At the moment it seemed like a great idea, but it’s not looking as brilliant anymore. 

He can see it now: Gary looking around his room for a couple of minutes as they both laugh stiffly over things that aren’t funny, and then saying something like, “I should probably get going now.” 

Then, Stan can see himself asking, “Are you sure?” and Gary’s sure all right. Next thing he knows, Gary’s speeding out of Stan’s divorced mom’s house as fast as he can without seeming impolite, and driving out of South Park thinking, Phew, dodged a bullet there.

Gary’s only doing this because he’s a nice person, Stan reminds himself.

A few weeks will go by and then when Stan’s least expecting it, maybe when he’s taking a walk or talking with friends, he’ll be officially known as that guy who invited a stranger to his house out of desperation. Loneliness. 

And would they be wrong? 

When he gets out, he puts on an old T-shirt with a split graphic and shorts, and washes his face and brushes his teeth. In the end he doesn’t dry his hair all too well. He’s lazy. He looks in the bathroom mirror at his face and wonders if he’s good-looking now. Maybe he’ll blow Gary away with how nice he looks when he’s not throwing up. Then he hates himself and slaps both of his hands on his cheeks to wake himself up. He should be sober by now, right? Shit.

He goes back into his room to find Gary just sitting on his bed patiently, but he’s taken off his windbreaker. It lies next to him. Without it, Gary’s just wearing a plain shirt and jeans but he still looks…. good. “It’s not cold in here, so I don’t need it,” Gary explains when he catches Stan’s eyes.

Stan nods with understanding with his hand on the doorframe and wonders how Gary feels at this exact moment. Does he feel excitement from seeing Stan in his casual clothes? Amusement? 

But Gary averts his gaze and so Stan sits down with a thump next to him and they don’t have anything to say anymore. Stan wants to make eye contact but for some reason can’t bring himself to do it. 

In his peripheral vision he sees Gary leaning inward, a scent of rain hugging him when Stan inhales, and then he gives another fucking smile that just sends Stan to the moon.

He’s waiting for the eventual “I should leave,” or the “This is getting weird,” but it never comes. Rather, Gary says:

“Your hair’s wet.”

Stan isn’t thinking about his hair in the slightest at that exact moment, but when Gary says that he’s snapped out of his weird trance-like state and says, “Huh?” before looking up at his bangs and twisting the ends. “Oh. Yeah.”

Without so much as another word, Gary stands up and leaves the room. Where is he going? Stan doesn’t know, but what he does know is that a bright red jacket is lying just to his right. He glances at it and then decides he’s going to pick it up. Like the rest of his outfit, it smells like rain, and a hint of soap. 

It’s like marjoram with its almost floral hints, but barely. Just light enough to not get any of the sharpness that comes with the herb and retain that gentleness. He tosses it around in his hands a few more times and then takes a deep inhale. 

A few minutes go by and Gary still isn’t back. What’s taking him so long? Stan clenches the red fabric in his fists and buries his face into it. Then he stops when he hears footsteps from down the hall.

What is he doing?

He quickly sets the jacket down again and thinks about what he was about to do. What was he about to do, anyway? 

Gary’s back but he has a towel this time and before Stan has time to understand the situation his head is being rubbed back and forth inside of the towel and he can feel Gary’s hands firmly drying off his hair. 

“W-wait..” Stan says through a muffled mouth of cloth. 

“You should dry your hair better,” Gary says as Stan’s hands go up to his head, touching Gary’s hands. He flinches his hand back from having touched the blonde’s and so he’s forced to sit on his bed while Gary stands over him and messes up his hair. 

When he’s done, Gary puts the towel down around Stan’s neck, who looks up at him. Gary’s handsome. When Stan thinks these things he can feel himself heat up and his mouth turns into an embarrassed frown. Why is he like this? What’s happening to him? 

“Thanks,” is all he can really utter at this point. Why can’t he just get his stupid mind straight?

Gary gives a slight smile and he doesn’t sit down. “I think you’re drunk right now. You’re super red, like a tomato.”

And then Stan says something that he immediately regrets. He looks down at his palms and rubs his fingers together before saying “I’m sober,” under his breath. 

He doesn’t look up because shame washes over him but Gary remains silent and then sits next to him the same as before, weighing down the bed and causing the smaller boy to slide a little into him. A few seconds go by before Gary finally speaks up. 

“You still owe me seventy-five cents.”

What is this guy going on about? Stan finds it hard to believe that Gary even remembers the seventy-five cents, but then he feels disappointed. Maybe he just wants to get Stan out of his hair. Get the seventy-five cents and have it be over. 

“Right,” Stan says before looking around for his wallet, which he realizes is left in his jacket pocket that’s still on the bathroom floor. He gets up to go retrieve the money before Gary stops him. 

“You know I was just kidding, right?” Gary leans over with his elbows on his knees and then does that same up and down motion with his eyes and then Stan becomes aware of what he’s been analyzing the whole time. “You think I’m gonna drive to South Park for a chance at some extra pocket change?”

Stan swallows hard and then turns his body back to face Gary. He’s no longer thinking about his wallet or the jacket that he left on the floor. He’s thinking about himself in a T-shirt and shorts, and Gary’s eyes that keep passing over him. 

And hey, wait, yeah, Gary’s right. He’s driving all the way to South Park for a few quarters? Stan sloppily stutters the rest of his words out. “Well, uh… What… what were you thinking instead?” 

He tugs at the hem of his shirt and feels like a stupid schoolgirl but can’t help it. To think he would be in this situation with the guy he hated from seven years ago is odd. 

Gary purses his lips and stares at the floor for a moment as if to gather his thoughts. “…Stan, remember when we were in fourth grade, and I tried so hard to be your friend? Out of all the kids, I tried bonding with you the most. Does that ring any bells?”

Stan remembers it too clearly for a fourth-grade memory. He nods but his lips are still sealed. Gary continues. 

“Well, I want you to think about it for a moment. Think about why I did it. Do you know?”

Stan doesn’t know. He has an idea but he would never say it out loud. Stan doesn’t know how he would react if it were true. He does the next best thing and slowly shakes his head. 

“I think you do know, but you’re not going to say anything, so I’m just gonna spell it out for you.” Gary stands up and holds his red jacket in his right hand. “I had a super big crush on you.”

And there it is. It plows into Stan’s mind and crashes down into his very soul and there’s no more breath in his lungs as he hears it. His face feels a million times hotter than whatever he was feeling before and he doesn’t know how else to describe it but sharp panic. 

“… Oh, really..? Is… is that so?” he hacks up. Because who is he kidding? It’s been a really long time. Gary’s moved on. “Ah… why—why dwell on such ancient history?” he stammers. Did he really have to go and requote something that Gary had said earlier that morning? 

Gary doesn’t say anything at all but still looks at Stan who can feel himself melting. Then he takes a step forward. 

“Well, I was thinking about it, and I thought to myself, I should’ve done something.”

Stan might collapse at any moment. 

“And now I’m thinking to myself now that I’m seeing you again, maybe I should do something.” 

And that’s all Stan needs to hear to know what Gary’s trying to say. 

He still likes him. 

Stan has no clue how he feels about Gary. Didn’t he hate him? Doesn’t he hate him? He licks his lip before he speaks and stiffens his shoulders. “Maybe we should.”

What the fuck did Stan just say? What. The fuck. Did Stan just say?

Gary pauses from hearing those words, his confident facade faltering, but then he moves on. 

“Can I give you a hug?” 

It’s such a simple thing. A hug. Anybody could give one. But it just feels so damn difficult after what Stan has just heard. But really, he owes Gary more than a hug, and so he shakily nods.

Stan reaches his arms out and then walks forward in slow and heavy steps before he’s right in front of Gary and his heart is going to hammer out of his chest. It’s only one more step until he’s touching Gary, but he’s not the one who takes it.

He’s embraced fully and he stands awkwardly without returning the favor for about ten seconds. Then, slowly but surely, he hugs Gary back and buries his face into Gary’s shoulder. He can do that, right? He’s allowed? He’s not sure whether the heartbeat he feels rapidly pumping is his own or not.

Stan can feel Gary breathe into his neck and squeeze softly, as if he’s going to hurt him if he holds on for too long. It feels safe, and it’s something that Stan didn’t realize he needed. The scent from before is much stronger.

The perfect guy has a crush on Stan?

And then it’s over before it even started. Gary retracts his hands and pulls away from Stan, and leaves some sort of emptiness in his place. The jacket’s still in his hand, but Stan didn’t notice it at all before then. He was thinking about other things.

Gary has a smile as always but it’s bittersweet, as if he’s not really there. “I think I should be going now,” he says before putting the jacket back on. 

Stan simply stands with his arms out until he slowly puts them down to his sides and watches as Gary walks out of his room and then his steps can be heard going down the stairs. He can’t see anymore when Gary’s putting his shoes on and is walking out the door and going down the sidewalk.

It almost feels like slow motion, but at the same time, everything is sped up. It’s happening way too fast. Why’s he leaving already? 

All Stan can do is stand there with his arms still out, still reaching for a ghost. But Stan’s stupid body doesn’t move until he hears the ignition. Until he hears the car door shut and the engine rumble. Only then, without any thought, can he feel his legs moving and he trips over the doorframe and pushes his hands into the wall. He stumbles down the stairs and freezes his feet when he hits the cold pavement without any shoes. 

The car’s lights cover him in a harsh yellow shade as he’s standing in front of the almost moving vehicle, and Gary’s nearly about to drive into Stan but stops. He doesn’t get out quite just yet. He simply tenses and then relaxes and has a concerned look on his face when they lock eyes. 

Stan’s standing there with only a T-shirt and shorts on at four in the morning, his whole body shivering, but he doesn’t care. 

Finally, Gary gets out. “Stan, what the fuck are you doing?” he exclaims, and he’s breathing hard. Probably from almost running over the dude he just hugged five minutes prior. 

But Stan doesn’t know what he’s doing. What is he doing? He just continues with his hands starting to rest on his knees and the bright light in his eyes outlining Gary’s figure.

“I…” he coughs. “That, that was nice.” He gets up and allows his heartbeat to try and contain itself once again.

“What?”

“The hug, I mean. Um, it was… nice.”

And suddenly Gary’s angry. Maybe not angry, because he’s too kind for that, but he’s got a furrowed brow and he’s pulling a face. “Stan, is that really all you came out here to tell me? That having a hug was… nice?”

Stan realizes that’s really all he did come out there to say. That the hug… was, nice. No, there’s got to be something more, though. Surely. Stan wouldn’t have run out into the street just to say that “the hug was nice,” right? What’s he really trying to do? 

He’s pondering and pondering but all the while in the real world he’s just standing out on the road and continuing locking eyes with Gary. He tugs at his shirt. “I—I don’t know. Okay? I, uh… I just thought it was nice.” He stands up fully and goes further down to play with the hem of the T-shirt for the second time.  

He says what he really means. “I really liked hugging you.”

Gary doesn’t zoom off, so Stan takes it upon himself to walk forward. It’s more certain and less cautious when he wraps his arms around the other boy and buries his head into his shoulder. The car door’s still open, and the key’s still in the ignition, but that doesn’t change anything. 

Gary’s heart is pounding into both of their ears and he radiates warmth onto Stan who’s still shivering. Or maybe he’s shaking. And so they hug for a second time and there’s no more worrying about being careful. It lasts a while longer than the first time and they hold each other tighter and tighter. 

“Stan,” Gary says, and it doesn’t take long for Stan to respond. The hot air tickles the back of his neck, and he shudders. He feels dazed.

“Yes?” 

“… Are you okay?” 

“…Yeah.” 

Stan’s thinking, but he’s only just now realizing what he’s thinking about.

He’s thinking about what they’re doing right now, and about holding hands and kissing, and he realizes that he’s always been thinking about it. He cares for Gary.

He can’t make it stop, and it doesn’t really matter. He just cares about Gary, and he wants to keep that up. 

Stan’s never told Gary that he likes him. 

He thinks about what’s going to happen. He doesn’t want to just hug Gary and then just let go and let the cold do whatever it does. So then Stan takes his head off of Gary’s shoulder and looks up at him and says, “Can you come back inside?”

They’re still holding onto each other, but when Stan says that, Gary plainly breathes in and out a couple of times before backing up and grabbing his keys and shutting the car door. They’re no longer illuminated by any lights and it’s dark once more. He wonders if anybody saw them. 

And then Stan grabs Gary’s hand, who is caught off-guard, and is led back inside of the house. Stan squeezes his hand and feels a rush of warm air when he enters his home again, and rubs his thumb over the top of the blonde’s hand. He probably cares for Gary more than he should.

Gary closes the door with a silent click behind him, and then they’re both looking each other in the eyes and it’s difficult. He rips away his hand as if it hurts and his expression is pained. 

“Can I?” Gary asks, and he looks awkward. 

“Please, Gary.”

Gary takes Stan’s hand.

And they go on.

And they keep going.

They keep going and going until they finally get back to the place they had that first hug. 

And when they go into Stan’s room Gary starts pecking his cheeks and forehead and is holding his head and Stan isn’t used to the sensation but he’s not against it either. And when Gary looks at Stan for some kind of uncomfortable face to be made and he’s instead met with a nervous smile, he can only smile back.

“Can I kiss you, honestly?”

Stan doesn’t even think about his answer, because what is he supposed to say? No? As if. 

“Okay.” 

The last kiss that Stan had was in the ninth grade. He and Wendy had gone to a banquet that was really just a different word for prom back then, and he remembered seeing her wear a violet dress with sequins attached to the bodice. It was the last dance of the night, and all of the other couples had leaned in for a kiss, so she did the same. He did what he thought was right, and they touched lips for about two seconds. 

It’s different this time. 

They don’t kiss for a long time at first. They just feel. 

Gary initiates it by leaning forward, and then he waits for Stan to lean forward just a little too, which he does, and it’s enough. Stan’s heart is beating faster and faster and his mouth is open just enough for Gary to push his own lips onto his. There’s nothing in his brain at the moment when the planes of Gary’s face get darker and darker as he closes in on the former, and his eyes are only half-open for the moment. Once they kiss, Stan knows he can never go back to how they were before. It’ll be too late. 

But the instant he puts his lips onto Gary’s, he can only think of all of the reasons that he should feel bad about it, because he doesn’t know if it’s right or wrong, but he doesn’t want to quit. He grips the front of Gary’s jacket in a way that makes it painfully obvious he’s impatient and needy. It’s delicate, and Stan’s way of doing it shows some innocence, but Gary makes it much more sensual and bruising. The way he pushes further into Stan and grinds into him.

His lips are soft, and there’s a hint of mint somewhere in there, and his hand is pushing Stan’s hip closer in a familiar way. It’s hard for Stan, because this isn’t something he does often. His palms are sweaty and he’s wondering if he’s doing it right with how experienced Gary seems with it. Gary pushes his hands through Stan’s hair, and Stan stifles a moan. 

Gary’s a good kisser.

Gary pulls back just a little bit, as if resisting something. Stan has stopped breathing. There’s nothing in between them now. They’ve crossed the first barrier without even knowing it. 

He’s lost how much time they’ve been there. He’s too focused on what’s in front of him to be thinking about times, but it feels too short. At least it’s longer than Wendy’s.

Stan’s huffing and he doesn’t want to pull away, and every time either of them tries to back out the other simply follows. His hip is pushed further into Gary’s body and they’re pressing against each other with shared breaths. They don’t care about being interrupted, and they definitely don’t care about the time. They’ve been spending far too much of it without each other. 

And then Stan can’t take it anymore, because it’s getting a little too heated, so finally, he breaks away. His chest aches as he rests his forehead against Gary’s and he’s still panting. Then Stan sighs and touches his lip with a single finger and asks, “What are we doing, Gary?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Yeah, me neither.” 

“…I like you, Stan.” 

Stan gives a breathy laugh in response. “I really like you too, Gary. I like you, too.”