He glanced about the classroom, at the many posters that lined the wall, with some corny joke about math printed upon them. A shape with some complex equation written in some mathematical format, explaining how to solve each and every problem. And when there were no posters, he found the walls coated in some dull blue, a color that supposedly put them at ease, when it only reminded him of the similarities this school shared with a prison. He turned his attention elsewhere, to the clock whose hands seemed to be held at a standstill, to the teacher who mindlessly stood chatting away, and then to his best friend who sat next to him. Elbow propped up against the desk as his lids fell shut, only to flutter open a moment later as the cycle then repeated. Ever since middle school, the boy began to straighten the red locks of his hair so that it fell against his face, and as he grew, his body lengthened. His gaze sharpened, figure; built. And soon he found that all the girls they had grown up with, now swooned over his best friend, aching for his attention, and even he couldn't but stare.

As the years passed, Stan grew slowly, and still found that he was the shortest of the group. Whereas Cartman was fat, and Kyle Gorgeous, he was lanky, often hiding this embellishment with the bagginess of a jacket. And when he had no beanie to hide his hair, they always found it unkempt. But even so, they continued on being the best of friends, and Stan felt himself becoming drawn to the boy, in such a way that he had never known.

"Hey?"

He was torn from his thoughts as he found himself still staring at Kyle. For how long, he hadn't known, but his friend simply smiled and continued to talk to the boy.

"Will he ever shut up?"

The two chuckled, becoming lost in mindless chatter as the class went on. And as that bell rang, Stan grabbed for his bag, jumping from his seat as Kyle soon followed.

They walked through the courtyard, bypassing all the students who hustled by, eager to finally go home. But they walked towards the bus stop, where they found Cartman and Kenny arguing over some trivial matter.

As they approached the fat boy stopped, and directed his attitude towards them.

"Well if it ain't the fag and the Jew."

Kenny snickered, boosting the teen's vast ego.

"Oh look Stan," Kyle began, pointing from one to the other, "If it isn't the fat ass and his little groupie." The two laughed at this, seemingly proud of their joke as Cartman began to shout some nonsense, cussing and swearing in an attempt to one up them at their petty game.

And from around the corner, the bus pulled up, its doors swinging open as they all began to pile into the vehicle, choosing some seats in the back as they continued on with their chat. But Stan only smiled and nodded as to let them know that he was listening, even if his mind was in another place. He found that every so often his eyes would wander over to his best friend, who would grin as he threw some type of insult out towards the group. Looking as beautiful as ever.

"Fuck."

He shook himself from those thoughts, trying desperately to distract himself as he focused back on the others, who were new staring down at him, looking to him as if he were supposed to say more.

"Oh…Did I say that out loud?"

"'Did I say that out loud?'" Cartman teased with a roll of the eyes, "Fucking dumbass."

The bus soon came to a stop, its doors again opening as they all walked back out onto the streets. When the vehicle rolled away, and they found themselves abandoned at the post, they began to say their goodbyes until Stan found himself alone with Kenny. The one funny blonde kid of the group who never really had much to say.

"Why don't you just tell him already?"

"Huh?" Stan turned, shocked by what his friend had said, but continued walking down his street with Kenny beside him, "What're you talking about?"

"Don't try that shit with me." The blonde spat, hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of his jeans, blue eyes glancing towards him before returning to the town, "I see the way you look at him."

"Fuck off already, I'm straight ok? Not that I have to tell you anything."

"Oh yeah, straight as fuck right?" Kenny chuckled, seemingly pleased with how things were going "And that whole thing with Wendy really worked out right? Yeah, I believe it, you're real straight."

They had stopped, and the two found themselves right in front of the Marsh's residence. From the window they could see the lighting of a TV, followed by the yelling of what they assumed to be his drunken father. But all seemed cozy in this small house, with those familiar green painted walls, and the grass always kept short. And even when his father was an alcoholic, he was a fairly decent man who caused a bit of trouble, much to their amusement.

"Start slow," Kenny began again, picking up the conversation from where it had left off, "Ask him if he's interested in someone, hint that you roll that way or be straight up, some guys like that I guess. Or you can call him up and be like 'Hey, you down to fuck?' He seems like someone who'd be into that kind of shit, but you're his best friend right? You should know this stuff." The blonde looked towards the house again, grinning as Randy's face was now plastered to the window, waving at the boy as he called for Sharron to join him. "Anyway I gotta get home before my parents start. Have fun gay boy." And with that he was gone, shoulders slumped slightly as he walked further down the street until he could be seen no more. And it was in that moment Stan walked through the entrance of his old home, only to be greeted by his father who slurred with each word, obviously happy to see his boy finally home.

When he made it to his room, the boy collapsed on his bed and dug in his pocket for his phone, looking to the screen as several messages from Kyle popped up, asking if he had made it home, what he was doing, and if they were going to hang out tonight.

Stan fingered the keys, typing out a message as it came across the screen. He read it once, then twice, laughing to himself as he thought of sending it. He was curious as to how his friend would respond to opening his phone and being met with a message that ready, "Yeah, if you're down to fuck?" But in all this amusement, he found that his fingers had lightly run across its surface, and with a sudden change of light he got a notification that read "Message sent" and panic soon set it. He had half a mind to call the boy and make up some lame ass excuse about how it wasn't meant for him, and lie about some girl he had slept with, but Kyle had sent one back, and when he opened it he read the text once then twice. The phone slipping from his hands as he froze with fear. What could he say? How should he react?

Slowly, he picked the piece up again and looked to the screen. Its words reading, "Yeah, what time?"