A/N: I don't know what this is going to end up as, honestly. I started writing it with a very vague idea. It'll probably be short, just a couple chapters of angst.

"I love you."

Those were hollow words, emotions no one had felt in a long time.

"I'm sorry."

That was a blow in itself. Even if he was sorry, it didn't matter, because it didn't fix things.

"It won't happen again."

That was an outright lie, and they both knew it. Stan didn't try and hug Kyle, he didn't kiss his wounds like he used to, or initiate passionate makeup sex. The only sex they had was rough and heartless, both of them going through the motions as if it still meant something. The first time Stan hit Kyle he sat on the floor and cried for an hour, but now he didn't even try to look contrite, and neither of them made eye contact before going separate ways. For Kyle it was dishes or housework, for Stan it was a dead end job that he hated. Things were always the same the morning after a big fight. Stan cleaned his knuckles, and Kyle cleaned the house.

This time was bad. Kyle fell asleep curled into a ball on the floor, and when he woke up everything hurt. Stan had gotten up early; showered Kyle's dried blood off of him, and left without the standard cold apology. There was no point now. After Stan left, Kyle wondered how long he could lie on the floor and pretend he was dead. A knock at the door was what finally got him up. Kyle jumped to his feet, standing for a second in the middle of the destroyed living room and practically vibrating with the tension. He didn't know what to do. The pounding at the door got louder, and a voice joined it. "Kyle I know you're in there. Open the door." It was Kenny, and somehow that made it worse. "C'mon Kyle, I can stand here all day. You and I both know that I will. I'll just plant myself on front steps and wait for you to let me in. I mean it is awfully cold out here, but I could keep myself warm by singing. I know how much you love my singing!" Kenny was a terrible singer. He couldn't hit a note, any note, but he would keep on singing without a care, driving everyone around him nuts.

Kenny started belting out a terribly version of an Adele song, and Kyle nearly ran to the door to stop him, because he knew Kenny meant it when he said he would stay out there all day, he was just that kind of guy - stubborn as a fucking mule, especially when he decided it was the right thing to do. The last thing Kyle needed was the neighbors calling the police for a noise complaint and finding him like this. Standing in front of the door, it took Kyle much longer to actually open it. He put his hand on the doorknob, the cool metal resting in his palm like a salve, something gentle and unobtrusive, waiting for his decision. By the time Kenny reached the chorus for the second time Kyle unlocked the door. When Kenny was on the last verse, Kyle turned the knob, and slowly pulled the door inward. Kenny was standing there, and though it seemed he sang with the usual cocky gusto of a man who didn't mind the fact he couldn't sing, his features were somber, and his blue eyes terrified what he would find when Kyle finally opened the door.

He nearly cried when he saw Kyle, nearly fell to pieces, and he would've, if Kyle wasn't giving him that look. It was the look of someone who couldn't take anymore, the look of someone who needed to be the person breaking down, not the only cleaning up the mess. Kenny stepped forward, and despite how measure his movements were, Kyle still shrank back slightly, just enough to turn Kenny's sorrow into anger. He was going to kill Stan Marsh. That was a fact, plain and simple, but now was not the time for that. Stepping inside, Kenny closed the door, sliding the deadbolt into place while Kyle watched in silence. Then he took Kyle's slim hand in his calloused on, and led him into the bathroom. Kyle followed, too numb to do anything, and Kenny sat him down on the counter. Digging through their closet he found what he needed, and set to the work of cleaning Kyle up. The act was much more painful for Kenny than it was for Kyle.

Using a washcloth, Kenny wiped the blood away so that he could get a clearer picture of what he was dealing with. Finding an unemotional side of his brain, Kenny took stock of what had happened. Kyle's perfect lips were split in two places, his cheek cut open from Stan's wedding ring, his nose clearly broken, and blood in his hair from where he had fallen and bashed his head against a wall. He cleaned the wounds, bandaged what he could, and brought Kyle back to the couch, wrapping him in a blanket. He sat by his friend, attempting to gather his words. There were so many things he could say, so many things he needed to say, but eventually he just said one word. "Please."

Kyle looked at him, tears in his brilliant green eyes. "I-I can't."

"I'll take care of you Kyle, I promise." Kenny said sincerely. "I'll do anything, please just come with me."

What he saw in Kyle's gaze was self-loathing. "I'm not worth it. I deserve this." Those words had been beaten into him for a good five years now, and it wasn't hard for him to start believing it.

"That's not true!" Kenny said, standing up with rage, and Kyle flinched, his eyes pinned to the ground. The blonde's heart broke, and he kneeled at Kyle's feet, making the other man look at him. He spoke the words he had felt for so long, his voice barely above a whisper. "I love you Kyle."

Years ago he heard those words for the first time from his best friend, and his heart flew, because he'd loved Stan since before he could remember. That love story was one he dreamed about for so long, and it had turned into this – pain, fear, and hatred. In his mind, those words had become the kiss of death; they only ever led to bad things. He wasn't going to fall for that shit again; he wasn't going to be that stupid. If this was all that life had in store for him then he would take it, and he would stay with the devil he knew, the one that he used to love so much that it hurt. His love for Stan was long gone, and he held no illusion that Stan felt anything but contempt for him. Yet Stan offered one thing, and that was stability. He could predict Stan's movements; know what would set him off and how he needed to react to take the least amount of damage. To go into another relationship, to have to learn the different ways people could hurt him, that was too much. He couldn't let Kenny, his only remaining friend, turn into someone who hurt him.

To preserve himself, whatever little sanity he had left, Kyle broke Kenny's heart. "I don't love you."

Kenny felt like he was imploding, but even so, he had to keep trying to keep Kyle alive. "You don't have to love me. You can still leave."

The only thing scarier than the world Kyle lived in now was the world he didn't know. Stan and Kyle got together in high school, went through college together, never lived apart afterwards. What would he do on his own? He had no jobs, no skills, only one friend who would probably leave him when nothing happened between them. "I'm not going anywhere." Kyle said, his voice was soft but firm, and there was a terrible determination there.

"Don't you see?" Kenny asked in disbelief. "It's getting worse. He's going to kill you."

"Get out." Kyle said, his voice still quiet, and his mind made up. "Get out of my house Kenny." They both stood up, but Kenny didn't leave. Then Kyle slapped him. His palm was cold, snapping Kenny's head to the side. Of course Kenny had been hit much harder, but this action sent a bullet through his heart. That slap killed him, because that was the day he lost hope.