For newcomers: Thank you for taking a look! Beware of swearing and other profanities...if you don't like that kind of stuff, this fic is probably not for you (but I don't discourage you for giving it a try anyway!)
Kenny will be paired with...whomever he pleases!

For oldcomers: Now that I have a general plan on where this fic is going, I had to make some changes. I've done some thorough editing-it may be a bit different, so maybe try to reading this again? (I'll continue to edit the other chapters as well)

Chapter 1: Alphabet Gum

One thing I've always loved are fireworks. I know it's kind of juvenile but, in all honesty, impressing whoever you are is not on the top of my 'shit I need to do' list. (That list is reserved strictly for food that needs to be consumed and sexy folks who need to be fucked) Anyway, who that hell wouldn't like fireworks? They're fantastical displays with explosives, color, and smoke—not to mention it is absolutely free entertainment.

My firework virginity was lost later in life than many other children, actually in my sophomore year in high school. I can't even claim the incident was a drunken mistake—I was perfectly sober. It all transpired out of sheer luck (it wasn't anywhere near the 4th-o-July). I had snuck out of my room late one night, when I noticed two guys from school sneaking around in the shadows of the pawn shop. It was obvious that the fat one was Eric Cartman—there was no other boy in town who can claim to have reach the Cartman standard of bulk. However, from my view, way the hell across the street, his associate could have been almost anyone. Incidentally, most don't know that I am a descendant of bloodhounds—both my grandmas on my mom and my dad's side gave birth to a litter. That is where my sense of curiosity came from most likely. Because, isn't that what bloodhounds are known for? Solving mysteries and stuff? Wasn't Scooby-Doo a bloodhound? So, either my bloodhound heritage kicked in, or the mere fact that I didn't have anything better to do, and I knew I had to find out who was there.

Aware of my every step, I hunched over and walked as briskly as possible without being too obvious. Eventually, the distance was enough were I could hear harsh whispers being exchanged, and soon afterward, I recognized the second voice.

Stan? Squinting through the dark I spotted his signature puffball hat, confirming my query. What are Cartman and Stan Marsh doing out so late at night? And all alone none the less? Perhaps I've come upon some secret paramours?

I took a moment to conjure the image. Stan wouldn't be the the aggressor in that pairing—no way. Cartman is much to proud to do anything less than dominate. And screw modern ideals of beauty. Eric Cartman is grossly underestimated because of his looks, but I know he has the passion to drive someone fucking crazy if he were to go at it.

I looked around and spotted one of those big postboxes conveniently placed only few feet behind from where they were standing. A perfect cover. Double checking to make sure neither of them were paying attention, I promptly made it to my new hiding spot and dipped out of sight. I was kneeling in a damp gutter and my bare hands were pressed against the biting cold mailbox (seriously, it was so fucking cold, I would have rather had a pit bull chewing on me), and I listened to their conversation.

"Come on, Stan! Don't wimp out on me now!" Cartman said in his taunting way.

"I don't know why the hell I let you talk me into this, Cartman, what if we get caught or something?"

"Pshh! What is anybody gonna do? Call the cops?"

"Yeah! I'm pretty sure this is illegal." Stan ran his hands up and down his arms, voice matter-of-fact.

Illegal? My stomach flipped with the the skill of an Olympic Gold Medalist. What are they talking about and why wasn't I invited?

I shook my head as though I could literally shake away my distracting thoughts. Nothing else in the world was more important than finding out if my two friends were playing play in the other park. I forced myself to focus, clenching my teeth and leaning an ear closer. I can't provide much of a detailed description, seeing as I was having a face-off with a cold ass mailbox, but I can try.

"Well, you could have invited someone else!" Stan wined.

"Like who?" Cartman responded. Rightly, because who would want to go out with Cartman? He's an asshole. "I'd rather a dog chew my dick off before I invite Jew boy, and dumb-ass Kenny skipped school today! You, Stan, were the only one left!"

"Why didn't you just go to his house after school and ask him?"

"Across the tracks and to the slums? No, thank you ,Stan. I'd never go over there—probably catch some dirty, poor persons disease!" Eric scoffed. "And why the hell are you being such a pussy? You should be goddamn grateful that I invited you!"

Alright, folks. I admit that some of that may be true. My place is across the tracks, on the deemed "bad side" of town. It is considerably dirty. Poor folks do live there… But that's irrelevant to my point. It is the fact Eric was talking behind my back. Well…not really. Cartman busting my balls over how poor I am is like a day without air—It'll only stop when one of us suffocates and dies. Of course I wasn't offended, my feelings aren't made of popsicle sticks. I can handle Cartman being Cartman. However, it's still rude and actually I was getting really sick of kneeling.

I stood upright, holding in the groan that everybody likes to make when they stretch. Eric and Stan both conversed in a little huddle, still completely oblivious to my presence. And if anyone knows me, they know that I am an attention whore.

"Cartman you dickhead, stop talking shit about me!" Stan and Eric both jolted at the suddenness of my voice, like they were synchronized scaredy-cats or something.

Both searched through the darkness, both finding me in a creepily synchronized manor. Stan was holding his heart, and even at a distance I could see his eyes twinkle. "Jesus, Kenny," he gasped, a smile slipping into his tone.

I grinned with a bow, "The one and only!"

"Kenny, you faggot! What the hell are you doing jumping out of nowhere like that—you fucking creep!" I noted the pleasant rouge of Cartman's face as he wheezed his ineffective insults.

"Wow, Cartman. If you didn't notice, both your feet left the ground. That must have been quite the workout for you."

Cartman hissed another insult, easily rejected, as I moved to complete their huddle. "Now, guys. You're gonna have to tell me what you're doing out so late, or I'm just gonna have to contact the authorities about a coupla kids out past their bedtimes. I heard something about something being illegal?"

Stan sighed holding up a paper grocery bag. So...they were being economically friendly? My eyebrow raised in question. He proceeded to unfold the top, tilting the opening in my direction. Thundercat, Shrieking Widow, Grandpas Knuckles. What the hell?

Stan clarified, "Cartman had some fireworks leftover from the 4th and he wanted to shoot them off in that empty lot next to the general store."

"Fireworks?" I didn't know how to respond. Sure, I knew what they were—everyone does—but I had never seen any in person.

My 4th of July is always spent in the bar with my parents. Not that I can complain; I couldn't miss something I'd never experienced. And don't pity the poor, sheltered Kenny who'd never seen fireworks, because, on the plus side, I had my own fun stealing drinks from all the wasted barmen while they grouped together to sing songs about the good ol' 'U.S. of 'Merica!'. Honestly, it was a good time. Expanded my lexicon of alcoholic drinks. (And, with no reflection on my personality, I prefer those that are fruity)

Cartman scoffed, "Oh. My. God. Kenny—you are so unbelievably poor! You don't even know what fireworks are? Are you so poor, you can't even afford free?"

The urge to defend my non-existent 'pride' arose from the dead, "I do too know what fireworks are!"

I guess his condescending attitude can make in under my skin once in a while.

Eric fed off of any sort of reaction, so there was no stopping him, "Sure, sure you do! I'll believe you when you suck my-"

Stan smacked Cartman's shoulder, bringing the insults to an abrupt stop. "Dude, stop fighting and shut up! We're gonna get caught if you keep it up."

Cartman rolled his eyes and snatched the paper bag with the air of a selfish child. "Give me back my bag." He was going to carry his own shit? What a cruel guy.

"I don't know why I agreed to come." Stan breathed his regrets into the space between us. He didn't look particularly remorseful though when he chose that moment to smile. He motioned his head toward Eric and the two of us began to follow our chubby guide.

Stan was such a modest beauty. Full of that kind of boyish charm, while still being anything but innocent. His posture was laid back, his body the sleek model, and his style—classic. I mean, he couldn't go wrong with that cute duffel brown jacket and that same hat he's worn since 4th grade. Although, I admit, the clothes he wears underneath his jacket can be more interesting. He says he owns them for ironies sake, but it's still kinda hot to see Stan wear a shirt, 'I'm not a doctor but I'll check you out anyway'. Well, it actually is hot. So hot. Goddamn, I would give anything to play doctor with Stan.

I shrugged. "Does anyone really know how Cartman gathers his followers?"

When we entered the desolate lot, Cartman had already prepared a destination zone with colorful packages(and obscure names—Beluga Shark?) littering the ground. I also noticed that while Stan and I were once walking side by side, he was slowly falling behind. He probably thought he was being slick, but with as much attention I was paying him, he wasn't going to get away with that cheap disappearing act. I looked over my shoulder, checking to see if there was anything wrong. He shook his head putting a finger to his lips. I see how it is now. Alright, Stan, I'll play along. I nodded, walking ahead and acting as though I knew nothing.

Cartman was leaning over his precious paper bag, scooping up a handful of what looked like batteries with fuses. I wasn't sure, but all the colorful paper and dumb names (Gravy Showers?—sounds like some horrific case of diarrhea) was giving me my doubts. I nudged Eric with the tip of my foot.

"We even gave you a head start—what's taking you so long?"

Cartman swung his arm up. I held my forearm out in defense, but then his palm opened with one of the fused battery things. Hm. I pinched it between my thumb and index finder, picking it up and holding it at eye level. This one didn't have any dumb name, so that was a positive.

"You hold that…" Cartman pushed at the ground, climbing to his feet and straightening out. He stuffed the rest of the batteries in one pocket, while fishing in the other. He pulled out a lighter in triumph, "and I'll light it."

He too eagerly reached to light the fuse, setting off an obvious warning alarm. I pulled my hand away.

"So, I throw this after you light it, right?"

Eric's mouth opened in an over exaggerated look of disbelief. Well, either that or I really did say something stupid without knowing.

"Can't you tell? This is a Roman Candle—you hold it and the fireworks shoot out the end! I thought you said you knew..."

I wasn't ready to grant him the satisfaction of being right, and I held out the fuse again. Cartman smirked and flicked at his lighter again. After his first attempt, he lost his smirk. After a few more attempts, he was frowning. "The fuck?" Eric shook it, attempting to conjure flame without success. He continued shaking the lighter, harder and harder, making it painfully obvious that it wouldn't be working anytime soon.

Cartman cursed, throwing down the cheap piece of plastic. "Stupid, fucking, damned lighter!"

Graciously, I pulled out my own. "Would you like to borrow mine?" I made sure to emphasis how sweet my gesture was, waving the lighter I held like a dog treat.

Cartman grimaced, swiping at it once before staring me right in the eye. "Since when do you carry a lighter?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "Who cares?"

I waved the lighter again, slow enough where Eric was finally able to snatch it. Fft. Fft. Then there was a quiet 'click' as the flame ignited.

I didn't stretch out the battery toward him just yet. I rolled it in my hands, looking at the red wrapping and squishing the fuse under my thumb. "This thing is kind of small. Wouldn't I get burnt by sparks or something?" I didn't know much about fireworks, but I knew that they tended to explode. I didn't want to risk loosing my fingers—or else my career as a hand model would be out the window. But, in all seriousness, I didn't want to blow off my fucking fingers and, if anyone, goddamn Eric Cartman would be the exact guy to help me do it.

His face glowed in the firelight, the shadows created making his face look warped.

"Kenny, Kenny, Kenny… It'll feel like nothing's there!"

Against my better judgment, I inclined the fuse toward the flame.

Stan then decided to make a grand entrance, smacking the lighter away from Eric as if it were a drink of poison about to be taken by his lover. The light was sucked away into darkness. Cartman hissed, searching directly around his feet for where it disappeared.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Cartman? Were you actually gonna let Kenny stand there while you lit a firecracker in his hand? Of course it'd feel like there was nothing there—Kenny would have lost his entire hand!"

Cartman was crouched down, sweeping his hands over the cracked pavement. "I wasn't actually gonna let him do it, alright? I was just testing to see if he would—you don't need to be such a drama queen—I wasn't gonna let him blow off his god-damned hand. God dammit, where the hell did it go?"

Eric held up a rock, observing it in the moonlight before chucking in over his shoulder.

"Aw, Stan. Thank you for trying to be my savior."

Stan's expression of panic melted, shrugging it off in his modesty. I think I love it most when he's modest. There is something really sexy about someone who doesn't abuse their charms. I stepped closer, winding my arms around him for a hug. I couldn't feel his warmth through his clothes. Disappointing. I began to mumble more thanks into his shoulder, hoping to grant myself more time as I searched. Stan was taking everything in stride, even going to far as to give my back a few pats. Slowly, I was able to slip my fingers up, touching the fire that was his lower back.

Stan gasped, grabbing my shoulders and prying me away. "Kenny," he said with warning.

"Stan?"

I clasped my hands together, hugging them to my chest as I batted my eyes. Picture of innocence, right? Yeah, Stan didn't buy the bait it either.

Cartman apparently had given up his search, wedging Stan and I further apart.

"I came out here to set off fireworks, not to start some ass-way romance between you two." Cartman shoved a finger into each of our chests. "Help me find the lighter!"

"Then start already," Grinning, I lifted my foot up and bent to pick up the little piece of plastic. It was my lighter after all; I wasn't going to lose it so easily.

Eric sneered, taking the lighter as well as prying the firecracker from my other hand.

"And no need to feel jealous of our ass-way romance. You'll find a man who likes your ass someday too," I added for good measure.

Finally, the moment came. Something about that moment had my insides suddenly wound tight. I didn't dare breathe, watching as the wick showered sparks. Cartman grunted, flinging them across the lot. There was a pop, a crack, and a flash of light. I loved it. Short lasting, but it definitely left an impression. Cartman set off one after another, slowly getting into the spirit of things as he tried to show off. I hazarded a glance at Stan. He was smiling too.

"What do you think about lighting off the Wumbo-Jumbo?" Eric enthused.

He picked up a huge red, white, and blue cylinder laying off to the side. I drank in the sight eagerly. There is something. There is something about fireworks that...moves me. I know they're inanimate, but seeing them bloom and burn in their last moment, shrieking and blinding anyone there to witness... there is something about that that I want to feel. It looks exhilarating. Living life without hazard—looks like a helluva time.

There was a slight tugging on my sleeve. Looking over, Stan was holding me at the elbow, trying to pull me further away. My happiness twitched, and I resisted his prompt to pull back. I wanted to see them. Up close and personal. I wanted to see them, but Stan wasn't allowing it. He fully wrapped his hand around my arm, backing us both a few more feet.

Cartman was running as fast as he could waddle away from the 'Wumbo-Jumbo'. There was a great howling and my eyes followed as an amber star shot into the sky. For a brief moment, it looked as though it had dissipated completely. I held my breath. There was no disappointment. A boom that no only rung in my ears, but rung in my chest. An explosion of golden light. Goodbye, little star.

I squeezed Stan's hand. Then, I looked down at our hands, because I hadn't noticed them. I looked up, accidentally making eye contact. Stan smiled innocently, giving a squeeze back. I had opened my mouth to make a comment, when instead an alarm began to sound. The deadbeat police decided to make an appearance after all.

"Crap, I told you, Cartman! I told you someone was going to call the police!" His posture was straightened. Stan let go, retreating backwards as he faced the sound of alarms.

"Shut the hell up, Stan! I have my own goddamn ears!"

I didn't stick around to watch Cartman as he bumbled about, trying to save his fireworks or see which direction Stan headed. I was already running like a track star through the streets and over the tracks to home base. I didn't need to add anything else to my already fragile record. It helped that I didn't give one fuck if Cartman got caught—he deserves any punishment he can get. But, Stan? It hurt to leave him behind, and I wished good luck to 'em. Lord knows he only gets into trouble because of the people he hangs out with. And don't be thinking, 'Oh, Kenny. You're such a hypocrite.' 'Cause I know that I'm one of 'em too. I ain't no saint and never tried to be one. It's best to accept yourself for the low-down, dirty person you are and have fun, than to spend all your energy trying to deny it.

I'm sure I had broke a record of some sort when I reached home. I hurdled over our worthless excuse for a 'white picket fence', climbed through my open window, and landed on the lumpy mattress just under the sill. All the lights were out. I crawled across the room, flicking the light switch. The power was out. Again.

I debating taking off my parka for the night, sitting against the wall with my legs crossed. The power was out. The heat would go along with it. The only quilt I have is too short to fit my growing body. Yeah, I should keep the jacket on tonight.

I crawled to my dresser now, emptying my pockets onto the very top. I was able to remove everything, but I couldn't find...

Right. Cartman still had my lighter.

The next day I decided to make an appearance at school. I had to show up once in a while or social services might step in and nobody wanted to go down that road again. Sure I had woken up later than usual and the bus stop was a while away, but that bus was usually late and that would only make my arrival on time.

The parents were asleep so that made things easier. I opened up the cupboard, opened up a band new box of Pop-Tarts, and took out one of the silver packages. I tore the edges carefully, taking a single tart out and putting the other back in the box for later. No electric, so no toaster. I looked my breakfast in the eye. The confetti sprinkles always look so depressing to me. I took a cold bite. Blueberry. I always ask for strawberry but they never listen. At least it was something...

I ran outside into the snowy townscape. The wind was blowing particularly heavy today, whipping snowflakes like they were lethal weapons. I tugged my hood tighter, only leaving room to see straight ahead. Turned to the right, and then I took a leisurely pace, walking like I wasn't actually freezing to death.

Stan and Kyle were already there ahead of me, huddled together under the bus-stop sign. They didn't hear my footsteps over the sound of the wind, allowing my to approach to be secret. Their shoulders were pressed firmly against each other, demonstrating a closeness that they could never share with others.

"God, it's cold out today," Stan mumbled out loud.

"Hi, friends." I decided to act as the filling to their sandwich, hooking each of their arms and squeezing in the middle. It was so much warmer already. I hugged them closer, hoping to convince them how nice it was to share body warmth. Kyle pulled away, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets instead.

"You're coming to school today?" the Jew-borne asked.

"I'm here aren't I?" Why bother coming out in the shitty weather for any other reason? Just to have a friendly conversation and leave?

"What happened to you yesterday? Why weren't you at school?"

"I need a reason to skip?" I asked wryly. Stan removed his arm now, copying Kyle's choice of posture.

Kyle shook his head in remorse. "Man. What are you gonna do when you get older?"

I cocked my head as if I were reasoning it. "I was thinking about becoming a good and healthy mechanic. Playing with cars. Vroom, vroom. Beep, beep. Or, maybe something else. Ya know, whatever happens. Let the chips land as they fall or however it goes…"

Kyle shook his head again as the bus pulled up. I looked around. Cartman wasn't here yet. Half the reason I came was because I wanted my lighter back. Where was he? I looked at Stan who stood without giving any verification. If Cartman had been arrested, he would have said so by now, right?

I was gonna have to wait to ask, because they both had already taken themselves into the big yellow source of public transportation. And before giving the bus driver a reason to snap, I hopped up the steps, moved the furthest end of the bus, and waited for my day to begin.

I took a strange amount of relish in forcing my locker shut. (I imagined Eric's fat head was in the way and I was able to squish it inside) Why was I housing such aggression today? Cartman had taken a personal day apparently.

I am less than happy. I want my lighter back. I asked Stan what happened and it turns out that he had checked out just as fast as I had. Didn't even care to see if we were able to fair on our own. I'm not going to judge. I was the same. Save yourself first, worry about the rest later.

The bell had rung maybe a little bit longer then five minutes ago, and I was undoubtedly late for class. I don't really care about missing those vital first few minutes of class, but the teachers sure do. Well, that's not the truth entirely. They don't really care. They're just upset with the system and low budgets, taking their frustrations out on whoever steps out of line first. Because it's not as if this is some classy institution of higher learning or anything. The teachers don't want to waste their time here any more than the students do. But, because of poor decisions made in the past, they're stuck in little, old town of South Park carrying on a lifeless career trying to tame us mountain kids. I say it's a waste of their time and breath to scold kids for being tardy, but you can't stop them if their real motive is to waste time.

"Kenny McCormick, what are you doing coming into class so long after the bell rang?"

I made an inward sigh. So predictable.

"Now, you may not think high school is important, and you may not think History is important, but when you're older you're going to want to thank me. The thing is, kids these days-" Blah, blah, blah. Yes. I've heard the whole spiel before. School, good. No school, bad. But, it's not like they could force me to learn. They can bring a horse to the watering hole…and something about drinking. I don't know how the phrase ends. I really should stop trying to sound philosophical, because it just makes me sound more stupid. Funny how I'm not a big fan of the school, but I hate to sound stupid. It's the worst kind of conundrum.

"-and if anything happens I don't want you blaming me. All I want to do is help-"

She was still going on about everything? Jesus, did she start writing a speech the moment she saw I wasn't in class yet? Can't she see I don't care? This is ridiculous.

I crossed my arms, casually looking at my classmates. Rants like these were prime-time to talk to each other, so I was the last person anyone was paying attention to. I'm kind of jealous. I'd rather be out there whispering, then up here having my ears gnawed off by the crisp and spit-filled voice of Miss Applebee.

"On another note-"

"Yes, Miss Applebee," I interrupted before the barrage could continue. "I think I have learned my lesson. I will now, and forever, hold my education at a higher value. I will cherish each and every moment I am in this classroom, and one day when I'm successful I'll remember you being the one to straighten me out. Thank you, Miss Applebee. I am evermore in your hands and would like to sit down to a fresh start at a new and bright future."

I have no problems with being a suck-up, and If anybody has a problem with it, they can politely go and suck it. I do what I do to stay alive. This was maybe not a 'live or die' situation, but it's the same concept. And it works. Miss Applebee tried to look modest, shaking her head while fanning a blush.

"No, no…I'm not that great."

"Oh, but you are."

"Oh, Kenny, you think too highly of me. Go ahead and sit down."

And the prize goes to, Kenny McCormick! For the fastest scolding in the history of South Park!

I returned to sit in my usual place. As Miss Applebee finally started up that teaching business, I quickly ran a hand along the underside my desk. Finally, I felt something wet and sticky beneath my fingers. I picked the gum off, placing it in my mouth without hesitation. Yummy. Tropical fruit. And don't you be out there wasting your time going 'ew' because that won't turn back time, and I'm not planning on changing my habits yet. I haven't gotten sick so it seems perfectly fine to continue until I'm proven to.

Sometimes, I like wonder who's sitting in this desk the hour before me. All I know is they must be an avid chewer, 'cause there's a fresh piece there every day. I wonder if they'd be offended that I'm chewing their gum every day. What kind of person sits in this desk before me? I've never really taken time to find out.

I felt a tap on my arm, turning to look at Craig.

"Hey, do you have anymore gum? I was dared to lick the inside of an old lunch bag and I can't get the taste of spoiled mayonnaise out of my mouth." As if to emphasize this problem, he brushed his tongue with the collar of his shirt.

"Sorry, Man. This was my only piece."

Lunch is a good time. Lunch is a free meal time. Today's special? Chicken noodle soup with a tuna sandwich, side of lettuce, and your choice of fruit. Not exactly the food of kings, but it was food. I plopped down next to the empty seat where Cartman usually sat, biting into my sandwich. The bread was crusting and the tuna slimy. I swallowed, chasing it down with chocolate milk. Things weren't going my way today.

Kyle was across from me, stirring his soup with a plastic spoon and staring at the lumps of chicken as they surfaced and sunk back into the greasy broth.

"Why do you get a lunch if you never eat it?" I tried to grab a spoonful of his soup, but the only noodle I managed to scoop up quickly slipped off, splashing back into its home.

His eyes connected with mine, hardened with apathy. "If you want it, have it."

I wish he wouldn't do that. I wish he didn't simply assume that that was my own backhanded way of asking for food. I know that other people think that about me, but we're friends. He's supposed to know that I actually give a fuck about him. Kyle hasn't been eating lunch—that's a bad thing.

He wouldn't talk to me about it anyway.

So, there's no use in dwelling. I'm only the clown of the group anyhow—just shut the fuck up and make them laugh.

"Well, if you're not busy then, care to take a piss with me? It's all the rage to go the the bathroom with a friend—all the girls are doing it."

His eyes flew wide open, suddenly very interested in trying to bending the head of his spoon. "Just go by yourself..."

I should explain.

In the recent past I had a sort of 'habit'. At least, that's what I liked to call it. I don't know where the idea came from, but for a while, every day at lunch I would go to the restroom, get completely naked, and wait in a stall. It's not like there was some crazy fetish behind it or anything hardcore like that. It was honestly just a creative form of entertainment. There are a whole lot of bastards who will kick in a stall without a second thought about whether there was someone already in it or not. It is not an uncommon occurrence to be interrupted by a guy walking in on you with his pants already around his ankles. I gave up on trying to hold the stall shut with one leg. I evolved. I would let them come, but I made sure they left with a lesson learned. A lesson to fucking check before backing his ass into somebody else trying to take a crap. Goddamn, their reactions were priceless. They act like they've never seen another guy naked before.

Anyway, it was back in the day when I got the best reaction from none other than Kyle Broflovski. It was shocking at first. The entire time I had been teaching my lesson in bathroom etiquette, I'd never encountered a close friend. I was almost embarrassed—that would have been the first and only time Kyle has seen me fully nude. In retrospect, the thing I regret most is that there wasn't better lighting. Those florescent lights make everything look smaller than they actually are.

I watched as his gaze as it traveled my body in confusion. He gripped the top of the stall door, looking around before looking back at me. "Kenny?" I had to take the opportunity when granted. I spread my legs, placing a hand on the inside of my thigh. The movement caught his attention, and he finally found where the money was. I kept my voice low and quiet as I invited him to come in.

Kyle fainted. He fainted. Fell straight backwards like they do in the movies.

Although, to defend his manly honor, he had been complaining about feeling sick all that day. It was still funny. Well, I didn't laugh about it right away; I had to check if he was okay first. I dressed myself and dragged Kyle's body into the hallway, propping him against the wall. I called out his name a few times, and he finally opened his eyes. Once he saw me…his eyes widened as he automatically checked to see what I was (or wasn't) wearing. I asked what was wrong. He turned his head and noticed he was in front of the lunchroom again. I asked if he'd collapsed or something while trying to get to the nurse's office. He agreed with my lie. That moment, I had to summon the will of an iron vault to hold in my laughter. There was only one thing that could have meant. Kyle Broflovski thought he had a dream about me. Oh, isn't life sweet? I think so.

I gave up the whole 'naked in the stall' thing afterword though. I probably wouldn't be so lucky next time, so I quit while I was ahead.

Kyle still remembers that day clearly it seems and whenever I need a quick fix to Kyle being gloomy, I advertently remind him. He still hasn't admitted to what he's thinking while he tried to hide his expression. I look forward to when he does.

So, now that Kyle was healthily in some sort of emotional state, I was able to rest easy. Job well done.

Stan was looking at Kyle too, noticing his shift in attitude. "Kyle-?"

"So where's Cartman?" I asked in an interruption. Stan was always ruining my work these days. I manage to get Kyle into a place of peace, and as soon as our raven-haired pal speaks, he fucks it up. Nobody thinks I pay attention to these things but that's all I ever do.

Stan picked up his orange, stabbing a thumb nail into it's flesh. "I'm telling you, I don't know." He peeled the skin back, citrus spraying into the air.

I hate to dis on a friend, but Stan was seriously ignorant sometimes.

There was a -clack- as a plastic lunch tray sat down next to mine. Leave it to Cartman to arrive at lunch time.

I turned, ready to have a face-off and let go of some steam. Butters might as well have stomped on my kidneys—getting my hopes up like that. Maybe I was being melodramatic, but I really wanted my lighter.

Butters stood with eyes darting just below eye-level, twisting the hem of his sweater. "H-hey, guys."

"Hey, Butters," Stan greeted without any particular concern.

Butters sat down cautiously, pulling himself into as little space as he could fit. He's grown up a lot, but he still carries around with the confidence of a claustrophobic agoraphobic kid in a Disney park. I tousled his hair, relishing in its downy softness. He'd grown it out since elementary school and now he kinda had this 'humble artist' look about him. Like, slap a beret on him and send him to France to paint a picture of a classy prostitute, kind of look.

"Hello, Butters," I said in my most sweetest voice. "Lookin' good."

He didn't respond, clearing his throat and peeling into his orange. Hm. He also became very good at sensing bullshit and responding accordingly. It usually gets him through the day at least. He's pretty good with comebacks and even better at ignoring everyone.

It hurt a bit. I didn't want Butters to treat me like everyone else did. Like, everything I said was a joke.

"Thanks."

The response was barely a mumble, but I heard it and felt a ripple of happiness travel through my veins. I locked my arm around his neck, pulling him close. I planted a kiss on his ear.

"Welcome, Sweetie."

Don't know where that came from. I guess I was being one of those southern waitress with the big smile and bigger hips calling everyone 'Hun,' 'Sweetie,' and 'Darlin'. I let him go, and Butters returned back to his orange. I really liked that little quirk at the corner of his lips. I wanted to kiss there too. I couldn't though. Between friends, only once in a day and I usually tried not to make it intimate.

I was a little less irritated now. Stan was normal, Kyle wasn't brooding anymore, and Butters had taken me seriously. But, what the hell, I was still going to give Eric a hard time when I visited him after school.

Thank you for reviews! I really would like getting input on how I'm doing!