Misery Business

Written by: Spirit-the-Titan and Jupiter52987

Fandom: South Park

Pairings: Stan/Wendy, eventual Stan/Kyle

Prologue

Sitting shotgun of Stan's truck, the first day of our senior year couldn't have been more unnerving for me. Just that morning I had been woken by a phone call from none other than Stan himself, quickly saying he had something to tell me before school, and he would give me a ride in return. With all that had happened that summer in mind, I waited anxiously for when Stan would finally tell me what the fuck his news was before I ripped all the curly hair that he was so fond of out of my head in agony.

But none of this probably makes sense, so let me start from the top…

The first weekend after school let out, Clyde decided to throw some stupid party for all of us to celebrate our last summer before we graduated, which I guess could be considered the root of my problems. Anyway, Kenny hadn't shut up about it all week; he really wanted to go because he knew Bebe was bringing her hot, out-of-town cousin along, and he'd had his eye on her from the moment she arrived in South Park. I had told them they could have fun without me, but Stan finally got me to cave by telling me this could be our only opportunity to really hang out this summer, since he was probably getting a job at Harbucks. Well, it's not like I had a choice, when he put it that way.

Two days before the party, I learned that Clyde's parents weren't going to be there, meaning there would be lots of alcohol. This meant I would have to lie to my mother about where I was going to be that night, which made me want to go even less. After I had continuously told Stan how much of a bad idea this was, he finally shut me up, and told me he had already worked everything out. He had arranged for me and Kenny to spend the night at his place (which gave me an alibi), and when it was time to go to the party, we were going to "go to the movies" (which gave him an alibi). Kenny was only there as a witness, really. As much as I didn't want to, I still agreed to go.

The night of the party, Stan had walked over to my house to help me bring my things over. I didn't ask why he didn't just drive. The walk was relatively silent, until he brought up college matters—a topic neither of us had really ever touched on.

"So, do you know were you're going yet?" he asked, and I looked at him.

"What do you mean?"

"College. Do you know where you're applying?" he clarified. I stared ahead as we walked.

"Not a clue. My parents want me to apply to some fancy school, like Stanford or Harvard, but I told them that's too much pressure. I don't wanna work too hard right out of high school, you know?" I looked over at him, and he was smiling.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he said.

"Why?"

"Because I don't know where I'm applying yet either, but it'll probably be like, City, or somewhere in Denver. And to know you don't know where you want to go yet sort of…helps me forget that we won't get to go to school together anymore."

Stan was still smiling, but behind that smile I knew this conversation was breaking him up inside. We had never really accepted the inevitable future of us someday graduating and never seeing each other again until recently, and he didn't seem to be taking it very well. Which made no sense at all, since he was the one to bring it up. But either way, he was my best friend, so I had to say something to make it…I dunno, a less painful pill to swallow?

"Stan…You don't know we won't be going to college together. Who knows, we might both wind up right here in Colorado, going to school together in Denver," I said, trying to cheer him up some. He scoffed.

"Like your parents would let you do something like that." He had a point there.

"Fuck my parents. It's my life, and I'll do what I want!" I said, and he started laughing.

"Now you sound like Cartman." We both laughed at this.

By that time, we had reached his house. We went inside, and up to his room to deposit my items. I was surprised to see Kenny already there, lying on Stan's bed, reading a Playboy. He grinned at us as we walked in.

" ' Bout time you guys get here. I got so bored, I had to find myself some entertainment," he said, waggling the magazine. Stan gasped.

"Don't read that shit on my bed, dude! God knows what you've done while reading it!" he told him, and Kenny laughed.

"I found it under your bed," he replied, and I watched Stan turn bright red, make a lunge for the magazine, and promptly replace it under his mattress.

"Let's just get ready. We only have an hour before the party, and we should probably leave sooner than that," Stan suggested, and Kenny and I nodded, doing just that.

About forty-five minutes later, we were in Stan's truck driving towards the movie theatre (in case we were being followed by one of our parents). Instead of actually parking there, we drove right past and headed for Clyde's house. I remember getting a feeling of dread in my gut for about five seconds over the whole idea, but I let it go. There was no use worrying this late in the game.

When we arrived, there were several cars everywhere, parked at or near Clyde's house. I recognized most of them, but some I had never seen before. Typical of Clyde to invite everyone in existence to his party.

I remember as soon as we walked in the door, we were met with Cartman. The stupid fat-ass had yelled to Clyde something about not inviting Jews to his party, so I shoved him hard and walked past him, Stan in tow. Kenny had ditched us ten seconds on arrival.

Stan and I made our way around, saying hi to people we knew, and fighting through crowds of people we didn't. We didn't exactly have a destination, so we kept walking until we found ourselves in the kitchen, where Craig, Token, Tweek, Red, Millie, and several other people I didn't recognize were hanging out, also where all the liquor was. Stan suggested we just hang in there, since the music wasn't quite as loud, and we'd have constant access to the beer. (He was only partially joking about that last part)

We wound up spending hours and hours in there, chatting with our friends, and kicking back beers. Honestly though, we didn't even have enough to get ridiculously drunk, like everyone else. We were only somewhat tipsy (or I was, at least. Don't really know about Stan). But around midnight, Stan decided to drag me and a couple more beers out back, where nobody else was. He told me he had a pounding headache, and needed some fresh air. I agreed, and followed.

The two of us sat out there for a good amount of time, talking about nothing in particular. And by nothing in particular, I mean we were reflecting on the past. That's about the time we started a conversation that would initially change out futures.

"Remember that time in like…fourth grade or something like that when you said you thought my hat was the best hat you knew?" I asked him, and followed my question with a swig of my beer. He did the same before answering.

"Yeah, sure. It really was the best hat around," he told me.

"I thought so, too."

"You know what though? I'm glad you don't wear it anymore. We can all see those pretty curls you hate so much now," he said, almost with a slur. It shocked me when he actually reached over and started fiddling with them. In fact, I think I was blushing.

I remember pushing him away playfully. "Dude, I still hate my hair."

"But why? It's so curly and cute!" I distinctly remember thinking 'what the fuck?' after he said that.

"No, my hair is not cute. It's stupid. It's big and poofy and totally Jewish. I ought to just shave it off or something," I told him sternly, trying not to slur my words, and laughed shortly afterwards at the face he made.

"Dude, don't ever shave your head. I would probably never speak to you again if you did that." He was also sort of laughing as he said that.

"Why not?"

"Because…" he began, and paused for a moment.

A split second later, his forehead was pressed against the side of mine, and I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. It also smelled strongly of alcohol, but I think that's a given. Why I didn't push him away and ask him what in the name of Jesus he was doing, I have no idea. I think I just wanted to see what would happen next. Of course, that didn't really explain the sudden increase in my heart rate, or the heat rising in my cheeks.

"Because…?" I offered, trying to figure out what he was doing. Or going to do, at least.

"Because you would look ridiculous, and you just wouldn't be Kyle anymore," he said finally, and laughed. I snorted at his stupid answer.

But before our conversation could go any further, I felt him turn his head and look behind us into the house. Someone had caught his attention.

"Oh dude, there's Wendy! I haven't seen her all night! I'm gonna go say hi, I'll be right back," he informed me, and stumbled getting up.

"Don't fall, Jesus," I said with a laugh, and watched him walk away.

I was a little disappointed we didn't get to finish talking, and I even started to miss his warm breath on my cheek. I listened to him open and close the back door, and the faint sounds of chatter that followed, but I remained in my spot on the patio and thought about what just happened. It didn't take me long to realize that he had, in fact, been flirting with me like I was some cute girl. And even though I had somewhat known this during our entire conversation, I found it a bit weird that I didn't stop him from doing so. Maybe I thought I'd get a kick out of it later, or something?

What was even weirder, though, was my immediate thought after that: his flirting with me had been the highlight of my time at the party.

My thoughts after that were, "Oh my god, I liked flirting with him…Oh my god, I'm attracted to Stan!" (I may have dropped my beer bottle at that point, because I also faintly remember the sound of glass shattering as I realized this.) Of course, I may have been jumping the gun just a bit, but I had just consumed about four or five bottles of beer, and clearly wasn't in my right mind.

By then, I had gotten up from my spot on the patio, and went inside to find Stan. I figured that if I was having these thoughts, it was best to get the fuck out of there, and get me sobered up. I kept telling myself it was only because of the alcohol and the party-hype as I searched frantically.

I finally found him in the living room with Wendy, talking above the noise and the laughter around them. They saw me walk up, and Stan smiled widely. I could have sworn Wendy gave me a dirty look, but I was too focused on leaving to really care. After explaining the situation, doing my best to leave out my assumptions, Stan said his goodbyes and we left.

The car ride to Stan's house was relatively silent, and it wasn't until we were in his room again that I realized we had forgotten Kenny. He laughed and told me that Kenny had probably hooked up with Bebe's cousin, and would be back in the morning (which he was). The rest of the night was also pretty silent; Stan had a headache too, so we got ready for bed and called it a night.

Or more like, he called it a night. I let myself lay awake and sober up my mind, so I could think about everything more clearly. Was I really having feelings for Stan, or was I drunker than I thought I was, and just wanted some attention?

I had thought I was delusional, or something, because at about five in the morning, after all the alcohol wore off, I still wanted to be back in that place, that…atmosphere. With Stan. Gah, it was almost mentally painful how much I tried to deny it.

In fact, the few days to follow that I nearly drove myself crazy denying it. Though it was a little scary how often the topic even popped into my mind. I just kept reassuring myself, "You're not gay, you can't be gay! Girls are hot, and boys are…boys. You aren't attracted to them." The most frustrating part was when my conscious added, "Except Stan, you love him." I think the first time it did that, I bashed my face into my wall.

By the fourth day of continuous longing and denial, I had to give in. I was attracted to Stan Marsh. My best friend forever. Christ…

After accepting my feelings, I felt kind of good about it. Until I realized that in order for me to have any sort of satisfaction with my decision, Stan would have to feel the same way. And there was absolutely no way I was about to just march up to him and declare my feelings in hopes that he would return them. We're both boys, which made me realize that this was going to be way harder for me than I ever intended. Not to mention, Stan was probably only flirting with me in the first place because he had too much to drink. He wasn't exactly known for his ability to hold his liquor. But there was a part of me that believed maybe he was doing it on purpose?

I decided I needed to experiment with this. My plan was to have him over for a sleepover, and try to create the same type of scenario, or at least get him to talk the way he did at the party, only without the beer. How I managed to pull it off is beyond me. I mean, what if things didn't go as I planned them to? Seriously, how weirded out would Stan have been if I just started coming on to him, and he didn't react the way I hoped he would?

I had the sleepover a few nights later. Stan arrived around eight, and we played video games for several hours, watched some TV, yadda yadda. I basically tried to make everything seem completely normal, as if I didn't have an ulterior motive. We went to bed at like, two or three in the morning, and just stayed awake talking. That's when I put my plan into action.

"So, what did you and Wendy talk about at the party?" I asked. I know it could have very easily led to a completely different topic than I had intended, but it was the only thing I could think of that wouldn't seem suspicious. And even though it was a very simple conversation-starter, my heart was still racing.

"I don't remember, really. I was pretty drunk," he said with a laugh. I almost thought he was going to leave it at that and go somewhere else with the conversation, but he continued. "It was funny though, the first thing she said to me was, 'You guys sure look friendlier than usual.' I guess she had seen our faces pressed together and jumped to conclusions," he told me. Okay, he remembered that, and brought it up. It could show for something, right? I laughed lightly.

"Yeah, you were all up in my grill. [I don't even know why I said that. I thought you were going to kiss me or something." My heart skipped like, five beats after I said that. I had to make sure this was leading somewhere to my benefit. Of course, with such a bold move, it could also very easily have blown up in my face.

"Dude, if I was going to kiss you, I would have just done it. Your aftershave was tempting enough…" he replied, much to my surprise, only he somewhat muttered the last bit. In fact, I had to question myself a few times to make sure I heard him correctly. I would have lingered in the thought that he wanted to kiss me a little longer, but I had to respond before too much time passed.

"I'm surprised you didn't, you were so drunk," was the first thing that came to mind. As much as I wanted to ask it, I wouldn't have wanted to know the answer if I had asked, "why didn't you?"

"Me too. I'm sure if I had just a little more to drink, it would have turned into Gay Fest '07." Another shocking response. I didn't even know what to think of it. Did he mean if he was just a little drunker, he knows he would have kissed me, or he's assuming it's what he would do if he were drunker? I wanted to know so badly, but I couldn't risk asking it.

"Dude, weak." Well, what else was I supposed to say? He wasn't supposed to know I would have wanted that to happen. Not yet, anyway. He laughed.

"Oh, you know you would have liked it," he said in a somewhat seductive voice. I swear to god, I almost had a heart attack when he said that. I thought he knew something. I had to put on a quick cover, and make it sound like I wasn't shaken up.

"If I knew I would have liked it, I would have made the first move." I still had a shaky voice, but I don't think he noticed.

"Then why didn't you?" I could tell by the way he said that that he was smiling. I couldn't help but smile myself. He was flirting with me again, and he was sober.

"Because, dude, I'm not into guys." It wasn't a lie, because I wasn't. I was just into him. I stopped smiling as soon as I said this though, because I realized I just opened up a door to this conversation that could lead to me spilling the beans. I began to panic.

Lucky for me, that made him remember he hadn't turned in his application for the job at Harbucks he wanted so badly. As he began talking about that, I thanked Jesus for the sudden change in conversation. Shortly afterwards though, we decided it was late enough, and went to sleep.

Though I must admit, despite the very close call I had, I slept with a huge grin on my face that night. I had managed to get Stan to flirt with me again, just like at the party, and without the alcohol. It was almost too perfect. I let myself jump to conclusions when I thought there was a chance he could have feelings for me, too. I didn't want to lose the feeling of euphoria I had.

Of course, this meant there was only one thing to do: continue with my experiment. I began to flirt with him whenever we were together, making it as seemingly unnoticeable as possible (and even less so when we were hanging out with Kenny and Cartman, which, fortunately, wasn't as often as the time we spent alone). It was only little things, really, like small comments, or a playful shove, all of which he positively responded to. I was a little surprised when he even flirted back in public. Fortunately, nobody caught on, that I could tell.

I was on Cloud Nine for about three weeks straight, since Stan and I had spent nearly every day together at the end of June and beginning of July, and our closeness continued to grow. There were no doubts in my feelings then. At one point, I had jokingly gotten mad at him for making me go to Clyde's party on the assumption that we wouldn't see each other often, because he never did get that job.

The Friday after July 4th, though, he blew off our plans to go fishing at Stark's Pond to hang out with Wendy. (He insisted it wasn't a date, but they went to dinner and a movie. Sound like a date? Thought so.) He felt bad for doing so, and I'll admit I was jealous, but I told him he had barely seen her all summer, so it was fine. I wound up going fishing with Kenny that day instead.

However, if Stan ditching me wasn't upsetting enough, the conversation Kenny and I had that afternoon was.

Everything we talked about leading up to said conversation was completely normal. We talked about stupid shit, nothing in particular, as he drank the beer he brought along. I didn't have any of it, told him my mom would smell it on my breath the moment I opened my mouth. But a few hours and a few beers (on his part) later, our conversation shifted to have somewhat of a topic.

"I know I wasn't your first choice, but thanks for inviting me along anyways," Kenny said, and I smiled.

"When you put it that way, it makes me feel bad," I told him. "You're welcome, though." He let a few moments of silence pass before he spoke again.

"So I take it you haven't told him how you feel yet, have you?" he asked nonchalantly, and I almost choked on my own saliva.

"Wh-what??"

"Oh come on, Kyle, don't play dumb. You think I didn't notice the boner you have for Stan?" He had the slyest grin on his face. I winced at his wording, and blushed.

"You asshole, I do not have a boner," I corrected him.

I hate how insightful Kenny can be at times.

"So you admit it," he said, that sly smile growing on his face. I rolled my eyes.

"No sense denying it, since you'll do just about anything to pry the truth out of me, which would make me look like a fool in the end."

"Only if I had to prove it to someone else." I looked up at him with frightful eyes, and he laughed. "Lucky for you, I don't. I'm the only one who has noticed."

"Then you won't tell anyone?" I asked him, relieved.

"I won't tell."

"Not even Stan?"

"Of course I won't tell Stan."

"Or Cartman?" Now he rolled his eyes.

"Why would I tell that fat fuck anything?" I shrugged, and he laughed again. "Like I said, I won't tell anyone."

I sighed and reeled in my line. "Are you ashamed to have a fag for a friend?" I asked him. He shook his head and swallowed his beer.

"You know I don't care about that shit. And you're not a fag, Kyle. You just turned for one guy. And he's your best friend, so I guess it makes sense. I mean…you still think girls are hot, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then you aren't a fag. Just in this one instance." He waited a few moments again before speaking. "Don't persue him, Kyle."

"What? Why?" My heart sunk. I looked at him, and he was looking across the pond.

"Because I'm pretty sure he doesn't feel the same way."

"How do you know?"

"He did ditch you today for Wendy, didn't he?"

"So he wanted to hang out with someone else today, big deal. It's pretty understandable, since we've spent like, three whole weeks together. I think you're wrong," I told him, and he turned to look at me, that smug smile back on his face.

"How do you know?"

"Because every time I flirt with him, he flirts back," I told him matter-of-factly. He gave me a 'really?' look, and I frowned. "And it's been some pretty obvious flirting sometimes." Kenny laughed as he took another drink of beer.

"Okay, clearly I may be wrong. But really, are you going to tell him at some point?"

"At some point," I echoed.

"Good luck with that."

The rest of our time fishing was a little awkward, and I went home questioning myself. What if Kenny was right and Stan didn't feel the same way? I asked myself that all night, as I played out scenarios in my head—I think I'm right, I tell Stan how I feel, but instead of his undying love in return, our friendship ends on a very awkward and humiliating note. I decided I would stop flirting with Stan, in fear that would actually happen. I didn't sleep well that night.

However, all that changed the very next morning. Stan called and suggested we go fishing, since he bailed on me the day before. I told him I already went without him, and he sounded a bit bummed. I couldn't help but grin to myself. Score one for Kyle Broflovski! Then I suggested we go play laser tag, and I heard him perk up.

It was probably the best day we spent together the entire summer.

We ended up hanging out at the laser tag place all day, since they had some sort of "pay for one game, play 12 more free" (or something along those lines) deal going on. Stan insisted on paying for both of us to make up for bailing on our fishing plans, and I let him. Saved me 8 bucks. After a few games of free-for-all, once all the younger kids left, which was after nine o'clock or something, we played a few rounds with some guys around our age in teams of two. Obviously, Stan and I were on the same team.

The third game of those games is when things got exciting. There were about four or five teams, so the field had a lot of hiding room. Because of this, there were many opportunities for us to be ambushed, so I suggested we stick together. Surprisingly, Stan had agreed. He usually likes to split up so we can get more enemies, or be the ones doing the hiding and ambushing.

We were sneaking around on the upper level of the field, and since I was the leader that round, I was the one looking out for enemies, and Stan was covering me from behind. (I would have had him up with me, but I couldn't risk it—if one of us got hit one more time, our team would lose again.) I was so completely focused on everything in front of me, I didn't hear the halt of Stan's feet.

"Stan, how's it looking back there?" I whispered loud enough for him to hear me. I stopped when I didn't get a response. "Stan, did you hear me? Sta—"

Before I could even finish my sentence, a hand swiftly covered my mouth, preventing me from screaming, and pulled me backwards. I was about to fight back, until I was face to face with my attacker—it was Stan. He was silently telling me to shush. I nodded, and examined my new surroundings.

We were in one of those little nooks in the field used for ambushing. I almost got angry at him, because I assumed this was his way of taking the lead and wanting to ambush someone, until I became more focused on the position we were in. He was backed as far into the corner as possible, and I was facing him, his arm wrapped around my waist and holding me close. I had to do everything in my power to keep my heart from racing, or he would surely feel it. The fact that the nook was barely big enough for both of us certainly didn't help matters.

He finally uncovered my mouth, but he didn't move his arm from around my waist. Maybe he was afraid I'd make a run for it? Either way, I'm glad it was really dark, because I would have never been able to hide the blush that took over my cheeks.

"What the hell are we doing?" I whispered, and he shushed me again, then pointed downwards. Through the grated floor, I could see what he was pointing at—another team was below us. With as much noise as I was making walking around, they definitely would have seen us. For the game's sake, I was pretty glad I was practically on Stan.

"They've been lurking down there for quite a bit," he mouthed to me. I cocked an eyebrow.

"And why aren't we going after them ourselves?" I mouthed back. He leaned over slightly, and whispered into my ear.

"Just following captain's orders," he said, almost seductively. It sent a chill down my back, and I was completely lost for words. He leaned back against the wall, and I felt so embarrassed for just standing there with my mouth gaping open in shock.

I wanted to kiss him so badly. It took every inch of self control I have to keep me from doing so. What was even worse was the look he was giving me, almost as if he wanted me to kiss him. But I couldn't, I didn't want to risk anything. I had to keep repeating what Kenny told me in my head to prevent myself from going against my better judgment. When I had myself mostly under control, I tried to change the subject.

"Dude, move your gun. It's poking me in the stomach," I told him as quietly as I could manage. I didn't care about being heard by another team at the moment to consider my volume. I was too busy trying not to jump the guy in front of me.

Almost angrily, Stan raised his free hand (which meant it had left my waist) to put his finger to his lips, indicating me to shut the fuck up. I rolled my eyes and began pushing the gun away myself, but he was resisting.

"I'll shut up when you move your fucking gun!" I said a little louder.

Just to spite me, he intentionally jabbed me in the stomach with his gun, causing me to lurch forward. This ended with us knocking our foreheads together, yelping in pain, and beeping. The beeping, however, was coming from our vests, and we could only assume that we made enough noise to let another team know our position and shoot us. But before either of us could accuse the other for making too much noise, I looked down and noticed that my gun was pointing towards the target on his chest. I must have accidentally pulled the trigger when we hit our heads together. Oops.

"Aw-AWW! Way to go, Kyle!" he said out loud, obviously not afraid of being seen anymore. He shoved me off of him.

"Well, maybe if you weren't acting like such a douche and moved your gun, we'd still be in the game!" I retaliated, and shoved him back.

"It was your gun that shot me!"

"Because you jabbed me in the stomach!"

We argued a bit longer as we walked off the field to wait for the round to be over, but it was all in good humor. We were both laughing by the time we got to the sidelines. It was several minutes before the round was over, and when the next one started, Stan grabbed my hand and started leading me through the field at a run.

"What the hell, dude?" I called to him above the loud music. I couldn't not blush when his grip tightened on my hand.

"I'm the leader this time," he explained, not turning around. "And I say we go hide in the highest corner so we can sit there and snipe some bitches."

Okay, it was a good plan and all, but he didn't have to hold my hand. Not that I minded, of course. I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Kenny was so wrong, he had no idea.

Unfortunately, nothing interesting really happened the rest of the game. Stan's plan didn't go over as he thought, since another team had the same idea, and shot us on arrival. We played a few games after that, I being the leader, since Stan clearly wasn't very good at it. The only game we won was the last, and our reward was a coupon that allowed us one free game if used by August 14th. (We didn't end up using it though. I gave it to Ike.)

The next few weeks went by about as quickly as the last. Nothing really happened worth mentioning, except that Stan went on a few more "non-dates" with Wendy. Again, I was jealous, but it's not like he was mine to keep on a leash. Besides, I was very confident he had feelings for me in return.

I was so naïve.

The day after one of his non-dates, Stan didn't call or come by to hang out, so I went to hang out with Kenny instead. I felt bad for continuously making him my fall-back guy, but it's not like that was the only times I saw him. Stan and I still hung out with Kenny and Cartman a great deal over summer, just like normal, only not as much as we had been spending alone together. Anyway, I didn't feel as bad this time, because as I was on my way to his house, Kenny called me on my cell phone. He told me to come over, and I informed him that I was already on my way. I remember the urgency in his voice almost scared me, and I immediately wondered afterwards if he had died again or something.

When I got there, I didn't even get the chance to get out of my car (I was driving by then). He had been waiting for me in front of his house, and got in my passenger seat when I parked. When I questioned his actions, he told me to shut up and listen.

"Dude, I'm sorry in advance, but I couldn't help it," he began, and I gave him a confused glare.

"What the hell did you do now?" I asked.

Kenny liked to get into trouble and pull pranks, mostly for kicks. If he wasn't such a smooth talker, and Officer Barbrady wasn't such a complete moron, he'd probably have some sort of felony record. But from the look in his eyes and the way he was biting his lip, I had a feeling it had nothing to do with pranks. He would have been laughing.

"You won't be mad?"

"What did you do?"

"I followed Stan and Wendy to Shakey's last night…" he told me, his tone sincere. I shrugged and sighed, a little relieved it was only that. He had me thinking he had killed somebody.

"Yeah, so? I already knew they went out last night. You make it sound like he's cheating on me or something. We aren't even dating, dude." I was going to add 'yet' to the end of that, but I didn't want to jinx it.

"Yeah, well…I'm pretty sure I was right all along when I said he doesn't feel the same way…" I cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Why do you say that?" He hesitated for a moment before he spoke. Now that we were talking about a subject that concerned me, and Kenny was being so suspenseful about it, my heart was racing.

"I…I saw her kiss him…"

My heart sunk, and I was silent for a few moments. I wondered why Kenny had to continuously be the one to bring me down and smash any hope I had of being with Stan. I must've spaced out a bit, because I felt his hand on my shoulder.

"Kyle? You okay, man?" he asked, but I didn't look at him. A thought suddenly struck me.

"Wait, so…You said she kissed him," I asked, and he nodded. "Where did she kiss him?"

"Um…on the cheek." I grinned.

"Then it wasn't his idea. There's still hope for me yet! Unless…He didn't kiss her back, did he?"

"Well, no—"

"Perfect! I have to go tell him now, before she pulls anything else! Get out, Kenny." He gave me a confused look, and didn't budge.

"Dude, no. You're about to make a huge mistake," he warned, but I wasn't even thinking by this point.

"Then let me make it! This mistake could very well be the best thing to ever happen to me!" I started to put the keys in the ignition, but he grabbed them from me.

"Or it could be the worst thing. You could lose your best friend, Kyle. Your best friend."

I considered this for about five seconds, when I realized I didn't want to lose my opportunity. I quickly leaned over and snatched my keys back from his hand, put them in the ignition, and started the car.

"It's a chance I'm willing to take. This feeling I have isn't going to go away, and I need to let him know before it's too late."

I felt kind of bad for acting so rude when he was so clearly concerned about my friendship with Stan. He looked like he wanted to say something, but I think he realized there was no changing my mind. He opened the door and got out of the car, turning to me before he closed it.

"You know where to find me when this all blows up in your face." With that, he closed the car door, and I watched him go inside his house. His parting words stung, but I didn't dwell on them for very long. I sighed, and drove to Stan's house.

Rather than thinking about Kenny's advice on my way there, I thought of how I'd tell Stan. It wasn't going to be easy, that was certain. My heart was racing, and it skipped a beat when his house came into view. I did a few breathing exercises, parked, and made my way to his door. Everything started to feel surreal, and my hands went numb when I knocked.

Stan answered the door, and for a second I thought we had switched places or something, because I felt the need to vomit. Luckily I was able to keep it together, and told him I needed to talk to him. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but we were soon in my car, driving to what eventually became Stark's Pond. I was too busy freaking out internally to wonder why we were here, of all places, and how exactly I got us there safely in my condition. It was a Christmas miracle.

I do remember Stan talking about something in the car, because the sound of his voice was in my head as we drove, but I wasn't listening. And when I parked, he was still talking, and I still wasn't listening. In fact, I was finally thinking about Kenny's advice. The look on his face as he got out of the car…He was concerned.

"Kyle?" The sound of my name brought me back to reality, and I looked over at Stan. "You said you had something to tell me."

Rather than answer him, I turned to look out the windshield at the pond. I did take him there to tell him how I felt, but every nerve in my body was freaking out. Jesus, Kenny was right. Maybe not about whether or not Stan had feelings in return, but telling him wasn't worth the risk of losing him. I couldn't tell him…A rush of frantic thoughts clouded my mind at this point, until Stan interrupted them.

"Kyle!" He sounded a little irritated, and a little concerned. I turned to him again.

"Yeah, uh…" Now I had to think of a cover to tell him…Anything… "I know what college I'm applying to." Jesus Christ, I still can't believe I said that, of everything I could have thought up. It was such a touchy subject with us…

"You…You do?" He sounded hurt. He must've been assuming that it was someplace really far away, since I had us out here and all. I don't blame him, though. I would have thought the same thing. I gave him a small nod, and shrugged.

"Well, sorta…" He was looking at his feet, and I could tell he was upset. But I had dragged him out here to tell him something very important, and since I wouldn't be telling him the real thing, I had to think of something equally concerning. I felt so bad for lying to him…

"Where at?" He had put me on the spot with that one. I couldn't just say 'I dunno', because it would make absolutely no sense. I had to think of something fast.

"Harvard." I wanted so badly to smash my face into the steering wheel at that point. Of all places, why did I say Harvard?

"H-Harvard? I thought you said you don't want to go there?"

"I don't. My parents are making me apply, and if I get accepted I have to go, or they won't pay for my college…"

"Well, shit! You may as well already be accepted!" I watched him begin to have a small meltdown, and started to get a little choked up. I didn't mean to mess with his head that much…I had to undo some of the damage.

"Dude, chill. I'll just fuck with my application enough so they don't accept me," I reassured him, and he began to calm down. "You know I don't want to go there."

"Well…where do you want to go?"

"Wherever you're going," I told him, and smiled. God, it was probably the corniest moment of my life. But I swear I saw him blushing. He sighed and sat back in his seat.

"Fuck, dude. Don't do that to me."

"Do what?"

"Scare me like that! For a second, I thought you had forgotten everything you said about going to school in Denver! And you didn't have to make it sound like you wanted to go to Harvard, Jesus Christ…"

I had to laugh. I did wind up making it way more dramatic than was necessary. And even if it wasn't what I wanted to tell him, it was still a very difficult moment, and probably one we would have had to face later on anyways, since my parents really are making me do that. (Not to Harvard, but to one of those other fancy schools. And I really do intend on fucking with my application.) The funniest part about it was that it wasn't even that big of a deal. He must've found it all incredibly ridiculous, since I drove him out to the pond and everything.

After all that, I drove Stan home, and went home myself. I had to call Kenny to tell him I didn't go through with it, so he didn't go and talk to Stan about it or something. He was very relieved. I must admit, I was, too. I couldn't help but feel like all of it would have blown up in my face somehow, had I actually told him.

Before I knew it, the last few weeks before school started had slipped by. Stan and I saw each other relatively less, when we weren't with Cartman and Kenny. I didn't mind as much, though. I was still recovering from almost telling him how I felt.

Which would bring things back up to speed with where I am now, sitting in Stan's passenger seat on the way to school, on a drive that has probably been the longest and most nerve-wracking car ride ever. The two of us sit in silence waiting for the other to speak first, and I decide to break the silence.

"Where's your schedule? I wanna see if we have any classes together." I begin rummaging around his things before he even gives me permission.

"It's in the front pocket of my backpack…No no, the other one. Yeah."

I find his schedule, and pull mine out of my back pocket. I carefully compare them, and fold mine up in frustration when I finish.

"God damn it, we never have anything together," I swear, and shove my schedule back in my pocket, then replace his in his backpack.

"Really? I thought you said you have Daniels for Econ?"

"I do, but we have him separate periods." I lean back in my seat, disappointed, and drum my fingers on the little compartment-thing in between our seats. "Didn't you have something to tell me?"

"Yeah," he says as he pulls into the school parking lot. I see people still loitering around outside the building. Good, we aren't late, like I thought we'd be.

He parks the car in the parking lot designated for students, in one of the last available slots. Unfortunately, it's in the very back of the lot, so we're going to have a lot farther to walk. Ugh. I hear him turn off the ignition, but neither of us moves. I know he drove me to school today because whatever he has to tell me needs to be said in the privacy of his car. We sit in silence for a few moments before he speaks.

"Um, I don't really know how to tell you this…" he begins, and I turn to look at him.

What the hell could he possibly have to tell me that he'd start off like that? Wait a second…Could he be telling me what I've been wanting to tell him? Oh shit, I can't be thinking this. Now my hopes are up! Weak!

I watch him fiddle with his fingers, as I try to keep my composure the same. Oh Jesus, I can't help but wonder if he's really going to confess his undying love. But he's not saying anything…Is he really trying to find the words to tell me what he wants to tell me, or is he just stalling? I can't take it anymore.

"Just say it already, we don't have all day." My voice sounds funny and cracked, and a little nervous. I hope he didn't pick up on that.

"You promise you won't get mad?" Get mad? What the hell?

"Why would I get mad?"

"Because you've advised me several times in the past not to do…what I did…" Jesus Christ, I want to punch him out for pussyfooting around!

"What did you do?" I ask him, frustration in my voice. I look at him, and I watch him swallow. I'm sure whatever it is he did can't be that bad. What did he do, join another Scientology cult again?

"I'm dating Wendy again."

Oh, okay, that's not that bad. At least he didn't like, burn down the mayor's office or somethi—

Wait, what??