A/N:Okay, so here's like, the first multi-chaptered fic I've done in about 5000 years. I thought it'd die on it's ass within a couple days, but I've actually done alright with it, and figured it was worth posting. I wanted to do something written in first person, and it ended up as Kenny, naturally, ffff. So... This was basically an experiment that I got carried away with. I've probably jinxed myself by posting it now, so if it dies: my bad, sorry. Secondly, if you were wondering why it's labelled as "0", this is like a prelude of sorts. I know, how irritating, but like, this was too short to be a proper chapter but didn't fit as nicely with the next part. So, this is just like a little introduction, I spose. Oh! Things I should prolly warn you of! This fic contains a fair amount of; Gay, sexy stuff, violence, drug use and lots of bad language (naturally). Okay. I'ma stop rambling and let you read the damn thing.

Last night I had this really bizarre dream where I was reading this kid's book. The story's about this baby penguin looking for his Mom. Turns out at the end she's dead and well, he can't get to her in heaven.

I hate that. Those kinda dreams always make me really apprehensive. Once I was awake I went and grabbed my Mom and buried my face in her shoulder for five minutes.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." She pats me on the back a little and I'm thinking that she smells sorta like vodka and sorta like washing powder and that I don't know where else in the world I'll ever find that combination on a person. And I just stood there until I felt sure she wouldn't just drop down for no reason.

Of course, dreams are always supposed to have deeper meanings, but there's always the possibility of one of those déjà vu type things happening.

This kind of paranoia passed quickly because I found myself thinking that I wanted to do something interesting with my hair. The only problem being that it was always too long, or too short, and pretty much fell every which way, so it was a lost cause. And it's not like I could afford to get it done anyway. It was just a thought worth entertaining.

*

Everybody has favourites. Favourite clothes. Favourite TV shows. Favourite relatives. Kyle's favourite person is Stan.

Stan's favourite person is Wendy.

My favourite person, if you must know, is Kyle. But nobody knows this.

Hell, nobody asks.

And every now and then, at Kyle's place, I listen to Kyle cream his pants over Stan. And nobody ever listens to me cream my pants over Kyle, which is probably a good thing. But tonight it just wasn't cool.

We were in the garden. We were lying in the snow. Our jackets were way too thin to lie in the snow without getting damp, but he'd been speaking so long, it didn't seem to matter.

Half way through one of his sentences, I'd decided I was tired of this shit, and I just sat up. He stumbled through his sentence at that point and just watched me as I rolled over and straddled him.

I kissed him.

I don't know why. It was just something I felt like doing. Just a thought worth entertaining. And besides, I wanted him to stop talking.

So, I was done listening. I stood up and I walked back into his house. This conversation was over.

I didn't care.

I didn't care what he thought of Stan. I didn't care what he thought of Wendy. And I didn't care what he thought of their relationship. I just wanted him to shut up about it. I was done.

He didn't mention it. I wasn't even worth a 'what the fuck?'. That was just it.

But he didn't mention Stan all night.