Chapter Text
The idea came to Kyle a couple weeks before the end of Cartman’s two-year IT program. He, Kenny, and Stan had been brainstorming how to celebrate Cartman’s imminent graduation for awhile; naturally, they all agreed it would involve dinner of some kind, but debated on where to go.
Stan and Kenny would send Kyle restaurants at random, which he bookmarked in a folder on his phone. Scrolling through the ever-growing list late in bed one night, he sat up with sudden inspiration.
Too excited to keep it to himself, he plodded to Stan’s bedroom down the hall and knocked on the door.
“C’mon in,” Kenny answered.
The tinny reverb of an unamplified Seinfeld riff played as Kyle opened the door.
Kenny grinned up at Kyle’s flat stare, perched at Stan’s desk with his bass sitting in his lap. One ankle folded over the opposite thigh, chipped nail polish sparkled off his toenails. His long hair was tucked behind his pierced and gauged ears to keep it out of the way while he played. The sleeves of his threadbare drug rug rolled up to his elbows, patchwork tattoos covered his forearms; half were self-administered stick ‘n pokes, their quality a chronological illustration of his artistic abilities.
He glanced over at Stan, who sat on the bed holding his guitar. Dirty laundry piled on the floor, Stan had apparently stolen a pair of Kyle’s sweats (the cuffs stretched past his feet) and one of Cartman’s XL t-shirts (the collar sagged to reveal his bulky shoulder).
A pair of chunky amp headphones hung around his neck; Kyle belatedly noticed a similar pair around Kenny’s. They must’ve pulled them off just before Kyle had arrived.
He didn’t have to wonder why; looking closer, he could see their lips were swollen bright red—Stan blushing under his scrutiny, whilst Kenny merely gave him a satisfied smirk.
Stan cleared his throat and set aside his guitar by the neck. His dark bangs sticking out of an old My Chemical Romance beanie, he had to flick them out of his eyes before addressing Kyle. “What’s up, man?”
Kenny pushed his foot off the floor, sending the desk chair into a lackadaisical spin. “We were kinda in the middle of something.”
“Clearly,” Kyle intoned. He lifted a pile of clothes next to Stan and added them to the heap on the floor, only to be met with more clutter hidden underneath. “How the hell do you sleep in here, dude?”
“It’s fine,” Stan insisted, hurriedly scraping everything off the bed. “Just sit down.”
Kenny plucked another Seinfeld transition as Kyle sat next to him.
“Would you stop that?” Kyle snapped.
“Make me,” Kenny snickered.
Kyle leaned forward, leveling him an unimpressed glare. “I mean it.”
Kenny blanched. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry.” He finally lowered his bass, his cheeks flushed a telling shade of pink.
Stan looked at Kyle with newfound servility. “What’s up?”
“I know what we’re going to do for Cartman,” Kyle announced.
“Like, his graduation?” Kenny asked.
Kyle nodded, and told them his plan.