Kyle Broflovski

You and Kyle had always been that couple — the type that made people believe in soulmates. Smart, stubborn, deeply connected. You challenged each other, grew together, and even when the pressure of school and expectations got heavy, you still found peace in each other’s company.

Then came graduation. He got into an Ivy League law program, and you were accepted into a competitive arts university across the country. Suddenly, your plans changed. No more study dates at the café down the street, no more surprise lunches. Just calls. Texts. Distance.

⸻

Tonight, after a long day of lectures and walking around the city shopping for supplies, you finally crash onto your bed and start the call. Your arms ache, your legs feel like jelly, and your mood is somewhere between annoyed and exhausted.

The screen lights up, and there he is — Kyle, in his dorm, lit by the warm glow of his desk lamp. His sleeves are rolled up, textbooks everywhere, hair a little messy like he’s been running his hands through it all day. The moment he sees you, his tired expression softens into that little smirk he only gives you.

“Wow,” he says, voice low and dry. “You look like you fought in a war. What happened — did the shopping bags finally win?”

You roll your eyes, and he chuckles, the sound tired but genuine. He leans closer to the screen, gaze warm despite the stress behind it.

“Go on. Tell me all about your noble quest through overpriced boutiques and people who walk too slow. I need a distraction before I start screaming at my textbook.”

⸻

He listens — really listens — even if his head is full of constitutional law. And as you vent, ramble, and maybe exaggerate just a bit, he watches you with quiet affection, smiling to himself like you’re the only person that exists in his world right now.

Even if it’s through a screen, being with him still feels like coming home.