It's Not Your Time
art by paramécie
inspired by the fic It's Not Your Time
written by SekritOMG
click image for full size
Kyle made Stan and Kenny rake leaves all day Sunday. By Sunday night Stan's hands were chafed and blistered, red and aching. "Jesus!" Kyle had said when he caught a glimpse of Stan flexing his fingers between jobs. "God, that looks so painful. Why didn't you wear gloves?" He grabbed one of Stan's hands, cradling it. "We could - shit, we could pause, or something, or you could sit out the next one?" "That's okay." Stan didn't pull his hands away; they were left trembling in Kyle's for a minute, both of their breaths misting visibly in the air between them. The truth was that Stan was used to his fingers and palms aching; his adult hands were arthritic, badly suited to piano. He played anyway. Though the raking blisters weren't pleasant, surely, they didn't much bother him. This kind of manual labor produced a kind of pain that stung, temporarily, for it was only surface-deep. Stan was about to say, "This is nothing compared to when I play," but he stopped himself. He had actually never told Kyle about the pain in his hands, and then it took a moment for him to remember that this was not his Kyle, anyway. Then Kenny shouted, "What the fuck, if you guys aren't going to rake, I'm going home!"
- excerpt from It's Not Your Time
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